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Canova and the writing of art criticism in eighteenth-century NaplesChristina FerandoPublished online: 19 Jan 2014.

To cite this article: Christina Ferando (2014) Canova and the writing of art criticism in eighteenth-century Naples, Word &Image: A Journal of Verbal/Visual Enquiry, 30:4, 362-376, DOI: 10.1080/02666286.2014.949530

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Canova and the writing of art criticism ineighteenth-century NaplesCHRISTINA FERANDO

In the eighteenth century, ekphrastic texts were fundamental tothe examination and enjoyment of works of art. Texts thatdescribed and analyzed works of art flourished as a result ofa heightened interest in connoisseurship and the social mannerin which art was viewed. Salons, for instance, were oftenorganized around the unveiling of a work of art. An evening’sentertainment might revolve around identifying a work’s ico-nography or the artist’s identity, whether ancient or modern.1

Historical texts might be read to contextualize the object, andparticipants might also share contemporary open letters, songs,and poems about the work. These same letters and poems wereoften published as stand-alone texts or in public journals,affording them a wide circulation. This public interminglingof art and literature was paralleled in private correspondence,as the same open letters, poems, epigrams, and inscriptionswere often exchanged as signs of intimacy and friendship.Writing about a work of art was therefore both a way ofcontributing to its public understanding and a fundamentalpart of the viewing experience in the late eighteenth century.Transforming observation into a larger literary and performa-tive experience may have been seen, in part, as imitation of thevery actions of the ancients themselves.2 This was, after all, aperiod when the fascination with antiquity manifested itself innumerous forms. At the same time, these texts became crucialto the viewer’s relationship with the work, for both the writingand reading of them became part and parcel of connoisseur-ship itself.3

The work of the great modern sculptor, Antonio Canova,was particularly embedded in the literary culture of the per-iod. His celebrity, reputation, and political stature — to saynothing of the beauty of his sculptures — ensured the circula-tion of countless literary descriptions of his statues and innu-merable poems and odes dedicated both to the works and tothe man himself. In fact, the multifaceted relationshipbetween his works and literary texts made them the perfectpoint of departure for the broad consideration of the relation-ship between word and image. Consider, for instance, thesculptor’s own relationship to text. It is well known thatassistants often read classical literature out loud to him as heworked, and in seeking out his subjects he often drew uponthose same sources.4 Such was the case with Venus and Adonis,from 1795, long heralded as one of his most sensual works

(figure 1). The subject is drawn from Ovid’s Metamorphoses.According to Ovid’s account of the myth, Adonis abandonshis lover to take part in a hunting expedition. Confident andrash, he disregards Venus’s entreaty to be wary of large preyand is soon gored by an angry boar. As he dies in her arms,Venus sprinkles his blood on the ground, creating the beauti-ful but fragile flower, the anemone.Despite the story’s tragic ending, the moment captured by

Canova is that of the lovers’ farewell. The instant is rich withindecision and indeterminacy. Venus caresses Adonis’s facetenderly, and rests her hand and head on his shoulder, as hisown arm loops casually around her lower back (figure 2). Herseductive touch implores him to remain by her side. Theirintertwined limbs make their imminent parting even morepoignant, and there is tension between the lingering gaze andregretful departure of touch.Canova’s selection of a well-known myth from a classical text

invites discussion about the complexities involved in transform-ing the temporal progression inherent to literature into a workof art; as a sculptor, Canova had to distill Ovid’s narrative intoa single, concrete moment that best captured the story’s drama.Within months of the work’s display in Naples, two authors,Marcello Marchesini and Carlo Castone, Count della Torre diRezzonico, tackled the question of how best to accomplish thisfeat in two public treatises about the sculpture. Both took astheir subject Canova’s working process; one focused on thedifficulty of imagining and selecting the perfect moment fromthe many possibilities suggested by Ovid’s text, the other on theway that idea was subsequently translated into marble. Theywere, in effect, questioning the relationship between literatureand the basic components of artistic production, the twinned,yet juxtaposed elements of invenzione, the creative selection ofthe subject, and esecuzione, the act of chiseling and shaping themarble block. Venus and Adonis therefore provided a lensthrough which viewers could examine Canova’s working meth-ods and consider the art of sculptural production morebroadly.Yet these two texts were only the beginning of a series of

letters and articles that explored the relationship betweenCanova’s work and the written word. A third writer,Tommaso Gargallo, responded to the two texts and sparkeda polemic that raged among Neapolitan literati for nearly a

WORD & IMAGE, VOL. 30, NO. 4, OCTOBER–DECEMBER 2014362http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/02666286.2014.949530

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year. This debate, never before discussed in the secondaryliterature, soon shifted its focus from Canova’s workingmethod per se to the question of which author had bestcaptured — and communicated — the most intimate under-standing of the artist and his work. In short, the true subjectof the debate was how best to write about a work of art.What did it mean to describe a work of art? Who had theauthority to do so? To whom should these texts beaddressed? What type of language should be used? Howshould contemporary writing make use of ancient texts —

if at all? In the end, critics were more preoccupied with themeans of expression than they were with the content of thearticles — or even the sculpture itself. The polemic, there-fore, facilitated discussion about the writing of art criticism.It gives us new insight into the way these issues were beingworked out and debated at the end of the eighteenth cen-tury. Venus and Adonis allowed writers to explore larger, time-less questions regarding the nature of sculpture, itsrelationship to text, and the best way to describe sculpturaltechnique and its visual effects.

***From its very arrival in the city of Naples, Canova’s Venus andAdonis became a stimulus for literary expression. Part of theallure of Venus and Adonis lay not just in the beauty of thesculpture itself, but in the way the work served as the point ofdeparture for numerous discussions about the status of sculp-ture in Naples and the city’s relationship to the arts in gen-eral. After its completion and display in Naples in March1795, for instance, the sculpture was used as a political tool.The work was hailed immediately in public journals as anhonor to the city, one that signaled Naples’ thriving artisticculture. More importantly, this cultural regeneration was onethat was supported by the Neapolitan government. Thework’s patron, Francesco Maria Berio, the Marchese diSalza, had capitalized on Canova’s fame by requesting thatKing Ferdinand IV waive the import taxes on the work.5 TheKing agreed, and this generous gesture was eagerly reportedin Neapolitan and European newspapers and journals, includ-ing German, French, Dutch, and English publications.6 Theseaccounts signal the enthusiasm with which this commission

Figure 1. Antonio Canova, Venus and Adonis, c.1795. Marble. 185 x 80 x 86 cm. Musée d’art et d’histoire, Geneva, Switzerland. © Mimmo Jodice/Corbis.

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was heralded in Naples and reiterate the way the work wasused to elevate the city’s cultural profile. Naples, after all, hada privileged relationship to ancient art due to its proximity toPompeii and Herculaneum, but the arrival of Canova’s groupallowed the city to claim preeminence in the field of modernart as well. At the same time, these reports reflected the wayboth aristocratic and royal patronage were announced to theburgeoning middle classes through new forms of journalism;they remind us that written texts were fundamental to theway Canova’s works of art were publicized throughout hiscareer.The rhetorical fervor generated by the King’s generosity,

Marchese Berio’s distinguished taste, and Canova’s excellentwork was further promoted by Berio’s dramatic display of thesculpture, which visitors wrote about almost as much as thesculpture itself. In keeping with Naples’s unique identity, inwhich antiquity and modernity were mediated by a sublime,dramatic, and potentially devastating natural landscape, Berioopted to display Canova’s work in a temple in the garden of hispalazzo. Located on the fashionable Via Toledo (now the Via

Roma), the Palazzo Berio had been commissioned by Berio’sfather, Giovan Domenico, and built by the architect LuigiVanvitelli in the early 1770s. Although concrete evidence isscant due to the destruction of many archives in Naples duringWorld War II, it appears the garden was designed around thesame time by Felice Abate, the royal gardener. Given that oneof Felice Abate’s descendants — of the same name — pub-lished a treatise in 1840 on the ‘Anglo-Chinese’ garden,7 it isprobable the garden evoked eighteenth-century English gar-dens, such as that at Stowe. Contemporary descriptions areevocative but imprecise. The landscaping appears to have beentiered, reminiscent of ‘the hanging-garden of Semiramis.’8

There is no doubt, however, that the ‘paradise of flowers’transformed the Palazzo Berio into an oasis within the chaoticcity center.9

We are lucky to have a few detailed descriptions of Canova’swork in situ. Perhaps the most comprehensive is that of theMarchesa Sparapani Gentili Boccapaduli, who visited Naplesbetween October 16 and December 21, 1795 and was treated toa private visit of Berio’s garden led by Antonio d’Este, who was

Figure 2. Antonio Canova, Venus and Adonis, c.1795. Marble. 185 x 80 x 86 cm. Musée d’art et d’histoire, Geneva, Switzerland. © Mimmo Jodice/Corbis.

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then the director of Canova’s studio. In her travel diary, shedescribed at length the way the statue was enshrined in a Dorictemple (figure 3). The temple itself had a turquoise vault and abas-relief stucco frieze and was encircled by a green satincurtain. Inside, above the statue, hung a ‘small canopy of redgauze’ that alternately highlighted the creamy marble of thework or shielded it from viewers’ prying eyes. The pedestalupon which the work rested could be rotated by viewers whowanted to delight in all the statue’s charms, and for thosevisiting the garden at night, ‘three candles in a semicirculartin lamp’ illuminated the lovers’ voluptuous flesh. It was aninstallation that was worthy of both Berio and Canova; ‘thepossessor of this great work knows its value,’ she proclaimed,‘and he did not fail to give it the place it deserved.’10

Boccapaduli’s description captures the way Canova’s workwas set apart and literally enshrined in the garden. The

approach to the temple through a ‘beautiful, cultivated garden,a paradise of flowers’11 in balmy Mediterranean air wasdesigned to enliven all the senses. During the day, the riot ofcolors — the temple’s blue cupola, the crimson and emeraldsilks, the green foliage, and vibrant flowers — would make thecreaminess of sculpture’s marble stand out, while the gentlecurvature of the figures would have contrasted with the geo-metric rigidity of the Doric columns.12 It would have beenduring the evening visits, however, that Venus and Adonis wasdisplayed to best effect. Meandering through the garden toarrive at the temple, parting the silk curtains to reveal aglimpse of the lovers’ embrace, and watching gentle curves offlesh disappear into the shadows cast by the torch would havebeen a delight for all the senses.Such displays were encouraged by Canova and often utilized

by patrons to highlight his sculptures. In 1808, for instance,

Figure 3. Daniel Bozkhov, Artist’s rendering of Antonio Canova’s Venus and Adonis in situ, based on Marchesa Boccapaduli’s description, 2007. Pencil. 20.32 x25.4 cm. Collection of the author.

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Canova’s Penitent Magdalene was displayed by her owner,Giambattista Sommariva, in a room that was described as‘partly a chapel, partly a boudoir.’13 Years later, Hercules andLychas reigned in an apsidal alcove in the home of the Duke ofTorlonia in Rome, and the Duke of Bedford famouslyensconced The Three Graces in a similar space at WoburnAbbey.14 Yet, the display in Naples was one of the earliestmoments in which Canova’s work was set apart in such adramatic fashion for admiration. It is no surprise, then, thathundreds of visitors flocked to see the work after its unveiling.Berio kept the Palazzo open to the public, at no charge, andpeople arrived in droves to see the work of the man they calledthe ‘Praxiteles of our times.’15 Luigia Giuli, Canova’s house-keeper, even noted that the work moved viewers to emotionalecstasy. In a letter to the architect Giannantonio Selva datedMarch 21, 1795, she informed him that:

Neapolitans are processing to see the work. So many peoplehave gathered that many people shout, ‘Long live MonsieurBerio and long live the artist.’ That which surprises me themost is that the millions of tourists from Naples have beenseen crying while observing the beauty of the work, and somany accolades have been written to me [about the sculp-ture] that it would be too much to recount them all.16

The ‘accolades’ Giuli described were yet another form ofwriting that reinforced the popularity of Venus and Adonis.While some were sent as private missives to the artist and hisfriends and compatriots, others were printed for public circula-tion, whether by independent publishers or in local, national,and even international journals. Such was the case, forinstance, with the first treatise to be published about thesculpture, Lettera di Dorillo Dafneio a Diodoro Delfico, an open letterby Carlo Castone, Count della Torre di Rezzonico.17

Rezzonico was a traveler, intellectual, and aristocrat relatedto the reigning pope, Clement XIII. His letter was publishedprivately under his pseudonym with the Accademiadell’Arcadia in Rome, Dorillo Dafneio. It was addressed toSaverio Bettinelli, another prominent literato, under his pseu-donym, Diodoro Delfico, and sent to a select number of noblesand intellectuals, as well as to the King and Queen of Naples.The work was also known to Berio himself, who, it appears,wanted to have it published for a larger audience.18 The extentof Berio’s intervention in its circulation is unknown, although itwas suggested at the time that Berio did finance thepublication.19 By August 1795, however, Rezzonico’s letterwas also published in at least one public journal, theVenetian publication Memorie per servire alla storia letteraria e civile,signaling the way Canova’s works, and writing about his works,was of interest to the entire Italian peninsula.20

Rezzonico’s letter was almost immediately followed by alyrical text written by Marcello Marchesini, who was a writer,poet, and lawyer active in Naples and Venice. Although thereis no evidence that Marchesini’s text was intended as a directresponse to Rezzonico’s,21 the two complement each other in

such a way that they are worth comparing with one another.Both Marchesini and Rezzonico praise Canova’s work — thatwas never in doubt — but, more interestingly, both also focuson different aspects of artistic production, crystallizing thedebate that flourished since the Renaissance regarding inven-

zione and esecuzione and the two-pronged nature of artisticproduction.Although Marchesini’s text came second, his piece encap-

sulates the first phase of artistic production, that of invenzione.Marchesini therefore privileges Canova’s concept of the work.In what is the most poetic and beautifully written of the twotexts, he not only describes the narrative moment Canovaselected, but projects himself into the text, imagining himselfas Canova. The language he uses describes physical labor —‘I sweat, suffer, anguish’ — but it is not physical labor thatpushes Canova to such extremes.22 Rather, it is the intellec-tual labor and the great distance Marchesini, as Canova, seesbetween the sublimity of his ideas and the final product. Theexpectations of others, and of himself, cause the artist greatpain, and although Marchesini’s imaginary Canova wouldlike to find comfort in the praise he receives, he is ‘heldback by a thousand difficulties that are born in my mind. Iturn inward: I think, reflect, and the image of the beautifuland the grand that I picture in my imagination transports meto ecstasy.’ Marchesini then goes on to describe the immensedifference between what the artist imagines and that whichmust emerge from the marble block; it is the difficulty ofselecting the perfect moment: ‘I see Adonis. I see Venus.How handsome the first, how beautiful the second. Adonisgoes to hunt; Venus holds him back. I see in that subject athousand moments of action that could all be interesting. Letus choose the most delicate. There it is.’23

The importance placed on invenzione in Marchesini’s text hasits roots in Renaissance arguments on the paragone, the relation-ship between painting and sculpture. This debate originatedwith the writings of Leonardo, who characterized painting asan intellectual craft, sculpture as a mechanical one.24

Michelangelo was among the many to defend his art, and theemphasis on invention in Marchesini’s text can be seen as partof a long-standing desire to counter the supposed anti-intellec-tualism of sculpture.25 In so doing, Marchesini affirms themedium’s status as an art, rather than merely a craft, andensures that its practitioners — particularly Canova — areappreciated as artists and intellectuals.Moreover, for Marchesini, Canova’s selection of the perfect

moment occurs in an instant, in a flash of inspiration whichlikewise can be traced to the Renaissance concepts of furia andfurore.26 Canova’s ‘genius’ allowed him to sketch out the firstbozzetto of the work with ‘more spirit than correctness.’27 Thesketch, completed with a rapidity of execution that reveals thefire of imagination and does not stifle its spirit, is the ultimateproduct of invention. Certainly Marchesini is concerned aboutthe final execution of the work, but only in so far as he believesthat a sculptor must have the right tools and enough ability to

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achieve a perfect enough imitation of the subject so that it isnot cold and inanimate; there must be no difference other thanthat of the material between the marble and the ‘real subject’that the artist wishes to express. The true challenge of the artist,therefore, is ‘to seek out the beautiful, know it, gather it,distribute it, and apply it to your subject.’28

Rezzonico, on the other hand, privileges Canova’s handlingof the marble throughout his text, foretelling the recent interestin Canova’s sculpting techniques.29 His treatise exploresCanova’s working method in great detail, even delineatingthe different tools used for different sections of the sculpture.30

It is Canova’s skill with ‘the serrated teeth, the sharpenedchisel, the biting rasp’ that creates the imitation of skin andincites the viewer’s marvel.31 In his text, Rezzonico even guidesthe viewer’s eye to points of the sculpture where this mastery isbest seen, steering viewers who are not connoisseurs to look atpassages in the sculpture that will best reveal Canova’s handi-work. ‘There is no better place to see the magisterial use of thetools,’ he wrote, ‘the impasto of their point, their cut, theirgrooves and their channels and roughness than in the draperyaround Venus.’32 Rezzonico’s focus on technique was unusualin eighteenth-century criticism, and, indeed, in the criticism ofsculpture in general, which tended to privilege the idea behindthe work, as we have already seen, or celebrate the sculpture’sillusionistic success.33

Rezzonico’s language underscores the physical act of carvingand the materiality of marble, disrupting the illusion of fleshthat Canova’s sculptures create. For him, this is the real artistryof Canova’s work, the manipulation of an unyielding, unforgiv-ing medium. By pointing out these particular passages in themarble surface, Rezzonico draws our attention to those areaswhere we can best see the artist’s touch and handling of thematerial — in an area, it must be noted, that is also one of themost suggestive, the ‘fluid folds’ of Venus’s drapery. Rezzonicoeven goes so far as to direct the beholder’s viewing methods,suggesting that such ‘varied artifice’ cannot be recognized bythe ‘wise eye’ alone, but must be examined with candlelight tosee the mastery of the touch.34 Even as the gloom created bynightfall would heighten the sensation that the beholder wasadmiring something otherworldly, the light and shadows castby candlelight would call attention to Canova’s technique.Shade would deepen the undulating grooves created by therasp, and the contrast between light and dark would render thetool marks more prominent. At the same time, Rezzonico’scomment also reflects a certain awareness of the fallibility ofvision. The eyes alone could not be trusted to discern detailswithout external assistance, and the ease with which thebeholders of Canova’s sculptures could be deceived by theworks’ smooth and luminous surface reveals a new conscious-ness of subjectivity and the unreliability of sight.35

Taken together, therefore, Marchesini and Rezzonico’s textsperfectly complement one another. Not only to do they callattention to the particularities of Canova’s own artistic produc-tion and his unique manner of finishing works of art, but they

also represent the full scope of artistic production itself.Invention and execution, after all, necessarily go hand inhand in the creation of the ideal work of art. Yet, given theexacting attention Canova paid to the surface of the marble,one could argue that far more important were his executionand the masterly skills, particularly in the final finishing andpolishing steps, that gave each of his works such a life-likequality. In this light, Rezzonico’s text might provide betteraccess to Canova’s sculpture, both for appreciators of his art,and even for other sculptors and craftsmen seeking to imitatethe artist.36 In fact, his description of Canova’s tools was sodetailed that Jean-Baptiste Seroux d’Agincourt, a Frencharchaeologist and art historian, believed Rezzonico’s descrip-tion could be used as a guide to future artists; should Venus and

Adonis be lost, or, should even the art of carving itself beforgotten, the work could be recreated through Rezzonico’sdetailed description of the tools used.37

It was Rezzonico’s continual referencing of artists’ tools,however, that led a third party to enter the debate and placedRezzonico and Marchesini’s texts at the heart of a majorpolemic that raged in Naples throughout 1795 and 1796. Thetwo texts were pitted against one another by another writer,Tommaso Gargallo, a young intellectual from Syracuse whopublished a vituperative response to Rezzonico’s text entitledAlcune annotazioni ad una lettera di Dorillo Dafneio in the summer of1795.38 One of the central issues of Gargallo’s Annotazioni wasprecisely the question of which text, Rezzonico’s orMarchesini’s, provided the reader with the best understandingof Canova’s sculpture. Gargallo’s annotations, a line-by-linecritique of Rezzonico’s text appended to a republication ofRezzonico’s original letter, then prompted additional responsesby both Marchesini and Rezzonico, as well as other anon-ymous authors.Naples’s literary scene was dynamic and energetic. Journals

published a wide variety of book reviews, poems, literarycritiques, and commentary in a conversation that was wide-spread and intellectually stimulating. Yet Gargallo’s verypointed critique transformed civil dialogue into mayhem inNeapolitan literary circles. The chain of publications theseparticular texts aroused was vast. Each article seemed toprompt a new response, and it is therefore worth clarifyingthe sequence of publications to give a sense of the lengthy andfar-reaching debate.39

Gargallo’s Annotazioni inspired another critique ofRezzonico’s work by an anonymous Roman writer in theAugust 1795 issue of the Giornale lettario di Napoli.40

Subsequently, a defense of Rezzonico’s text (and, conversely,a critique of Gargallo’s Annotazioni), appeared in the Septemberissue of Effemeridi enciclopediche.41 Although this too was sub-mitted by an anonymous writer, Rezzonico suggests it waswritten by Marcello Marchesini himself.42 This was followedby another letter from the anonymous Roman writer, sub-mitted to the November volume of the Giornale letterario.43

After a brief lull in the winter months, the new year brought

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a flurry of publications. The January 1796 issue of Effemeridienciclopediche was dedicated to Rezzonico and also included anessay by yet another anonymous writer (perhaps Marchesiniagain?) in response to and critiquing the November issue of theGiornale letterario.44 To this text, our Roman writer respondedfor the third time, defending his theories in the April 1796journal of the Giornale letterario.45 As these texts were circling,Rezzonico published his own anonymous response to Gargallo,Lettera di Filalete Nemesiano a Don Limone, in 1796.46 Gargallo, notto be outdone, then wrote some very witty and cruel epigramsabout Rezzonico. Although there is no evidence that thesewere published in 1796, it is likely that they circulated in salonsand other literary circles; they were finally published byGargallo in 1830 along with other epigrams.47 The publicdebate died only with the death of Rezzonico himself in June1796.It seems the debate may have been sparked partly by a

personal misunderstanding between the two men, and certainlyits viciousness was fueled by wounded egos.48 Gargallo, for hispart, refused to spare any aspect of Rezzonico’s Lettera di DorilloDafneio in his Annotazioni. Although Gargallo’s criticisms areprimarily rooted in Rezzonico’s use of language, to which Iwill return, he also ferociously attacks Rezzonico’s sense of self-importance. Gargallo accuses Rezzonico of having an inflatedsense of self-worth, for instance, and berates him for includinghis real name on the title page of his letter underneath hisArcadian identity. Such an obvious declaration of authorship,Gargallo argued, was indicative of Rezzonico’s fear that hewould otherwise not receive the praise that was his due.49

Equally galling was the fact that Rezzonico did not immedi-ately mention or praise Marchese Berio in the text, despiteGargallo’s suggestion that Berio in fact financed thepublication.50 For Gargallo, these gestures signal Rezzonico’shubris; they imply that Rezzonico’s identity as the writer of theletter was more important than the generosity of the patron,the talent of the artist, or the content of the text itself.Gargallo’s personal criticisms of Rezzonico concentrated

mainly on Rezzonico’s claims for expertise in sculpture. Firstand foremost was Rezzonico’s use of technical vocabulary,particularly the language of tools.51 Gargallo feels these phrasesto be, at best, bastardized Italian, and at worst, pompous andincomprehensible. This is prompted, in part, by Gargallo’sfeeling that Rezzonico has somehow overstepped his bound-aries and overstated his understanding of sculptural practice.Gargallo was particularly irked that in anticipation of thepublication of Rezzonico’s text the citizens of Naples were insuch ecstasy that they exclaimed, the ‘greatest writer […] writesabout the greatest sculptor!’ They were apparently so over-come by this union that ‘some of them even thought to engravea special monogram, entwining a pen and a chisel.’52 Greatnesswith the pen, however, would hardly lead to competency with achisel, and it is precisely this blurring between the boundariesof writing and art that frustrates Gargallo.53 How could awriter, one who had himself never handled these tools, possibly

understand sculptural technique? For that matter, how couldhe even identify the tools at all?If Rezzonico is not in the position to recognize the tools he

so carefully lists, who then is qualified to write about sculpturalpractice? For Gargallo, it must be someone who has practical,hands-on experience. In this case, he suggests that any techni-cal knowledge Rezzonico gained about Canova’s sculptureshad nothing to do with Rezzonico’s ‘forty years of study,’but, rather, was dependent on the practical knowledge ofAntonio d’Este — the director of Canova’s studio and sculptorin his own right.54 It must be remembered, after all, that it wasd’Este who oversaw the placement of Venus and Adonis in Berio’stempietto and also led visitors to see the work. D’Este may verywell have discussed Canova’s technical merit with those visitors(and perhaps helped dictate the particulars regarding the sculp-ture’s display). Nonetheless, d’Este, as an artist himself, wouldhave a better understanding of the technical aspects of carvingthan Rezzonico could ever have; connoisseurship that resultedfrom vision alone could only go so far in the absence ofpractical knowledge, according to Gargallo.For his part, Rezzonico defends himself by suggesting his

text had been written well before he met d’Este and that all thetechnical observations were truly his own.55 More importantly,for him, d’Este’s identity as a sculptor does not necessarilyrender him more qualified to speak about works of art. Oneneed not be an artist to comprehend sculptural practice; obser-vation was on par with execution as a means of understandingand appreciating a work of art. In fact, attentive observationestablished authority. Recall, for instance, Rezzonico’s direc-tive to use candlelight to study Venus and Adonis’s drapery. Heclearly thought of himself as a guide; when directed by anindividual trained in the art of looking — who understoodwhere to look, how to look — any viewer could achieve deeperunderstanding of an object. This applied both to trained anduntrained viewers. In fact, Rezzonico even suggested that hisobservations would ultimately prove ‘necessary, useful andvaluable to craftsmen,’56 inverting the chain of knowledge forwhich Gargallo had criticized him!If Gargallo’s criticism cast doubt on Rezzonico’s interpreta-

tion of Canova’s modern work, so too did it threatenRezzonico’s judgment on ancient works as well. Rezzonicorelied on ancient citations and comparisons between ancientand modern sculpting techniques to establish his authority as acritic of modern art, reinforcing the period’s belief that under-standing one period could provide access to and better knowl-edge of the other. This fluidity, the reciprocal relationshipbetween antiquity and modernity, manifested itself in his textin numerous ways. Consider, for instance, Rezzonico’s argu-ment that the eyes of Canova’s Venus ‘spark with a languid,loving laugh’ as a result of the sculptor’s use of ancient techni-ques. He suggests Canova used a technique similar to thatfound in the Venus de’Medici, in which the ‘natural globosity’of the pupil has been rendered ‘smoother and flatter, revealingthe roundness of the eyelid, so the shadow that it casts on the

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pupil marvelously imitated that tender smile that was expressedso well by Ovid: limis subrisit ocellis.’57 For Gargallo, this precisedescription can only be due, once again, to Antonio d’Este’stechnical expertise. Moreover, Gargallo was irked by theserepeated references to antiquity, particularly Rezzonico’s reli-ance on ancient authors to reinforce his points; Gargalloloathes these citations for their obfuscating nature — not tomention for what he sees as the indulgent self-promotion ofRezzonico’s own erudition.

Of course, for Rezzonico, the citation of ancient texts did

reaffirm the strength of his education. More importantly, thesecitations — and the production of his own written text —

allowed him to contribute to and participate in a long chainof ekphrastic writing, validating his scholarly endeavor. At thesame time, however, citation of ancient sources was yet anotherway for Rezzonico to reiterate the parallels between antiquityand the eighteenth century. This was particularly the casebecause the act of reading was one way that viewers in bothantiquity and the eighteenth century gained a better under-standing of the object, and, moreover, increased the pleasurethey received from the work. In antiquity, for instance, literarysubjects were transformed into wall paintings and sculpturesand the profusion of inscriptions provided multiple ways ofreading works of art.58 At times, literature was recited infront of works of art; in a memorable passage in Plutarch, forinstance, Porcia and Brutus contemplate a painting depicting ascene from the Iliad, the parting of Hector and Andromache.Brutus himself is about to leave his wife, and while Porciaweeps, one of Brutus’s friends recites Homer’s poem.59

Likewise, eighteenth-century admirers of the fine arts had asimilar relationship to text. At times, contemporary authorswere praised and cited. Visitors often read JohannWinckelmann’s description of ancient sculptures in preparationfor visits to the Museo Pio-Clementino or the Capitoline.60

Winckelmann’s writing not only provided insight into ancientworks, but also into modern ones; Rezzonico, for instance,suggested that anyone who had read and studiedWinckelmann would be able to understand the heroic propor-tions of Canova’s Venus and Adonis ‘at a glance.’61 Indeed,Rezzonico had a personal interest in this habit of reading inpreparation for the examination and admiration of a work ofart, for his Lettera a Dorillo Dafneio was read aloud both in theAccademia dell’Arcadia and in front of Canova’s statue at thePalazzo Berio.62

The tight link between viewing and reading therefore reiter-ates the idea that neoclassicism was not simply a style of art,but a style of thought that depended on a neoclassical educa-tion, as Viccy Coltman has argued.63 Education and materialculture went hand in hand, and books were crucial to thecritical examination of both classical and contemporaryobjects. Moreover, not only did such practices reaffirm thelinks between antiquity and the eighteenth century, but theyalso reaffirmed Canova’s status as the modern Praxiteles —

thereby cementing the claim that modern artists could produceworks of art as impressive as those of the ancients. In fact,Rezzonico ruminated on the marvel that Callicrates, one of thearchitects of the Parthenon, felt when confronted withPraxiteles’s Cnidian Venus, suggesting that Callicrates wouldexpress the very same emotions and even utter the very sameexclamations if he were confronted with Canova’s Venus and

Adonis. Eliminating any understanding that Callicrates wouldhave venerated the Cnidian Venus as a goddess, Rezzonico insteadreimagines Callicrates’s encounter with the Cnidian Venus as anexhibition similar to that of Canova’s Venus and Adonis. Aestheticappreciation, wonder, and marvel in the face of a work of artare therefore presented as timeless and universal, uniting theclassical past and ‘this most illustrious century.’64

For Rezzonico, then, if contemporary writing increased theunderstanding and enjoyment of Canova’s Venus and Adonis,ancient texts were as, if not more, useful. Those writers notonly had had direct contact with the ancient masterpiecesupon which the doctrine of imitation was based, but theirdescriptions could also be readily applied to modern works.Not only were the mythological subjects and sculpting techni-ques of ancient and modern artists similar to one another, butwhat better way was there to reinforce the parallels betweenantiquity and the eighteenth century than the use of ancientsources? Examining Rezzonico’s letter in this light, then,explains this dependence on the ancient texts he so oftencites. Canova’s Venus and Adonis ‘challenges’ the verses ofTheocritus, which encapsulate the beauty of Adonis and thesweetness of his kiss;65 Ovid captures the spark of Venus’sglance;66 and who better to describe the translucent tunic thatdrapes around body of Venus than Seneca, Pliny the Elder,Marcus Valerius Martialis, Horace, and Sextus AureliusPropertius, all of whom would have witnessed those veryfabrics clinging to the hips of beautiful Greek and Romanwomen?67 Likewise, it is no wonder that in a letter to CanovaRezzonico bragged that in his ‘Grecian work,’ he used ‘manyGreek phrases taken from poets and writers that spoke of theCnidian Venus,’ and he even ‘wanted to turn your [Canova’s]name into Greek, to substitute that of Praxiteles in an epi-gram of the anthology.’68 If, as Rezzonico claimed, the CnidianVenus and Canova’s Venus and Adonis equaled one another intheir beauty, ancient texts describing the former could readilybe applied to the latter; the works were equivalent to oneanother.If Gargallo dismisses the idea that these citations might

provide better access to Canova’s sculpture, Rezzonicoincludes them precisely because they enable him — and hisreaders — to see more clearly; one learns to look through theprocess of reading. For Rezzonico, an education in the classicaltexts and the understanding of ancient and contemporarysculpture go hand in hand. To Canova, he wrote, ‘Manyboast that they appreciate works of art, and speak plentyabout it; very few have done the studies necessary to fully

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understand the depth of the mastery of the ancients, and thoserare moderns who approach them.’ For those who are not upto snuff, it is up to Rezzonico, as a scholar of both ancient andcontemporary literature and a student of observation, to act astheir guide. His ‘tireless study’ will not only help observersappreciate Canova’s work, but even artists, ‘since the craftsmanwho does not reason and imagine will not succeed in reachingthe apex of imitation.’69

Gargallo and Rezzonico therefore propose two opposingmodels of connoisseurship — one based on practical training,the other on study and observation; one that is not contingenton the study of the literature and antiquity, the other that isfully so. In the end, though, the issue that really set the twoagainst one another was the question of how this knowledge ofart — however it might be gained — should then be expressed.For Rezzonico, knowledge and expression went hand in hand;understanding of the arts, which depended on a classical edu-cation and appreciation of technique, could only be expressedthrough ancient citations, Greek and Latin quotations, andtechnical language. The complexity of the text paralleled thecomplexity of the work of art — its ancient source, its technicaldifficulty, its complex execution. Gargallo, on the other hand,criticizes this complexity and what he sees as poor grammar,manipulation and misuse of Italian words, rambling and ped-antic sentences, and mistranslations from Greek and Latin.70

Rezzonico’s language, Gargallo suggests, was alienating andnarrowly focused — not to mention overstated and pompous.This was a far cry from the writing of Marchesini and hislyrical contemplation of Canova’s creative imagination.Marchesini’s text, for Gargallo, provides the best understand-ing of Canova’s work. According to Gargallo, this understand-ing does not occur despite the absence of technical language,but precisely because of that absence. Not only is the text betterwritten from a grammatical point of view, but the omission ofpompous and pedantic phrases makes Marchesini’s meaningclearer. In fact, Marchesini’s writing mimics the art of inven-tion itself; the freedom with which invention inspires a sketchequally inspires graceful, natural, and clear writing.Connoisseurship overly weighed down by facts and informa-tion, therefore, can never provide intimate knowledge of art —all it can do, as Gargallo notes, dripping with sarcasm, ishighlight a ‘sublime manner of making phrases.’71

Ironically, despite their different approaches to connoisseur-ship and writing, both Rezzonico and Gargallo turn to thesame individual to reassert the correctness of their opinions —Canova himself. Rezzonico, for instance, includes a letter bythe artist as an appendix to his Lettera di Dorillo Dafneio. ForRezzonico, this aligned Canova with other great artists whohad written about their work — a gesture which inserted theartist’s writing into an historical continuum and asserted hisposition as both artist and author.72 In so doing, Rezzonicotreated Canova’s writing the same way he did the writing ofclassical authors and contemporary scholars; the sculptor’sletter did not just add local color to his text, but it was also

supporting evidence for Rezzonico’s argument. Likewise, byreaffirming Canova’s identity as an author, the letter linkedRezzonico to the sculptor, as the former strove to cement hisown legacy as author and connoisseur.For Gargallo, on the other hand, Rezzonico’s inclusion of

Canova’s letter serves only to reinforce the terrible failure ofRezzonico’s text; it forces a comparison between Rezzonico’sstilted language and Canova’s graceful expression. The formerinevitably suffers by comparison: ‘[W]hat grace, what natural-ness and what heat of imagination in the few lines of theimmortal sculptor! [Canova] does not set [words], he doesnot inlay [them]: he writes. [H]e feels, and writes.’ ForGargallo, Rezzonico was guilty of the crime of so many ‘scho-lars of the fine arts’ — ‘patching together their writing’ byintricately laying in one idea after another, in ‘leadenpedantry.’73 The artist’s expression about his own work, onthe other hand, was seen as the most honest, and reassertedthe superiority of Marchesini’s text, for Marchesini also writes‘clearly,’ as freely as Canova, with the same ‘naturalness, love-liness and sentiment.’ In fact, according to Gargallo, rumorsabounded that Canova himself had spoken with Marchesini,revealing the intimate details of his sculptural process preciselybecause he had been unhappy with Rezzonico’s text. Canova,it would seem, thought that Marchesini would be best able ‘todescribe [his sentiments] in a manner most intelligible to usmortals.’74

The dichotomy Gargallo establishes between Marchesini’sand Rezzonico’s writing therefore reasserts the respective inter-est in invention and execution expressed by the two authors;their means of expression mimics the content of the textsthemselves. At the same time, the fact that both Rezzonicoand Gargallo turn to Canova to validate their arguments aboutwriting, artistic practice, and forms of connoisseurship indicatesthe way artists’ thoughts were regularly used to endorse theauthority of critics.75 Such deference implies there is no bettercritic than the artist himself, an argument that stretches back toantiquity.76 More interestingly, Rezzonico’s and Gargallo’seagerness to cite Canova suggests a truth that both men weresurely unwilling to admit, particularly once their feud becameso public and so vituperative — namely, that the dialecticbetween invention and execution, both in the practice of artand in the practice of writing about art — is a false one. Bothare necessary to the production of a great work of art, and, Iwould argue, a great piece of writing.Venus and Adonis would not have achieved the fame it did had

it not so perfectly encapsulated the poignant departurebetween the two lovers and been so exquisitely carved. Worksof art, especially great works of art, rely on a combination ofconception and execution, in which ideas are translated andtransformed into concrete, often beautiful, objects. For thework to exist, the thought must be performed in some way.Both parts of the creative process are difficult and time-con-suming, even when — particularly when — the final productseems effortless. Perhaps the biggest danger of the Rezzonico/

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Gargallo debate is that it threatens to obscure the real laborthat is at the core of both parts of the process. It is easy tounderstand why the act of sculpting would be difficult; the toolsand manual labor require an exacting precision that is daunt-ing. Yet, even sketching those initial ideas, imagining the per-fect moment — those too are fraught with difficulty.Marchesini understood this; ‘I sweat, suffer, anguish,’77 hewrote, about the artist’s thought process. So too, of course,did Canova. The difficulty of the physical process of sculptingwas evident simply in his declining health, damaged, it wassaid, from years of crushing his chest against the chisel as itpressed into the stone block.78 The conceptual process was nodifferent. Years after Venus and Adonis debuted in Naples,Canova articulated the difficult work that went into the act ofcomposition in a letter to his lifelong friend and correspondent,the theorist and academician Quatremère de Quincy. ‘It takesmore than stealing here and there from ancient pieces andsticking them together indiscriminately to make a great artist!’he wrote. ‘You have to sweat night and day over Greek models,absorb their style, take them into your blood, and create yourown work by always having the beauties of nature beneathyour eye and by reading there the same maxims.’79 Both sidesof the coin were essential to the process, and both were equallydifficult. Canova’s sculptures may have looked effortless, butthat was only because of the intense labor they required, on allfronts.Although the debate between Marchesini, Rezzonico, and

Gargallo may seem like a tempest in a teapot, its ferocity andlengthy duration affirm that it tapped into ideas that critics,scholars, and artists took very seriously. Marchesini’s andRezzonico’s respective explorations of invention and execu-tion reveal the multiple ways viewers could approach thewriting of artistic practice. Venus and Adonis was the perfectpoint of departure for examining Canova’s sculpting techni-ques. By seriously considering his conceptual and technicalattitude to sculpture, they were able to fit Canova into thedeveloping canon of art history, establishing his connection tothe great sculptors of antiquity and reasserting the importanceof eighteenth-century art in general. Yet this bifurcatedapproach to the creative process was ultimately detrimentalto Canova’s reputation. The Neapolitan debate was only thebeginning of an outpouring of criticism about Canova’s workthat lasted until well after his death in 1822.80 In these texts,the division of artistic practice into two poles continued.Canova’s work was regularly judged according to its strengthsand weaknesses in invention and execution. Unfortunately forthe sculptor, however, he was regularly seen as lacking in theformer. As the exemplar of the neoclassical ideal, Canovaregularly modeled works on ancient sources and was soonderided for his lack of originality.81 Winckelmann’s emphasison imitation backfired and devolved into plagiarism.82 Yeteven his harshest critics could not condemn him for hisexecution. Among his peers, Canova’s mastery with the chiselwas unequalled.

Nonetheless, despite the praise Canova received for hissculptural technique, very rarely did that criticism exhibit thekind of technical understanding showed by Rezzonico — how-ever marginal it may truly have been. Instead, critics fell backon generic praise for Canova’s ability to create the illusion offlesh. The omission of technical language, then, even in theface of quite detailed criticism concerning Canova’s invention,indicates the fundamental challenge of writing about sculpture.Namely, it is nearly impossible to speak with specificity abouttechnique when it is dependent on a complex artisanal systemand craft that few understand, much less have attempted.Criticism about idea and form requires much less particular-ized knowledge; in the neoclassical period, in fact, one mightargue that dependence on those classical models made this kindof criticism even easier, for one need not be a connoisseur torecognize the most famous antique models and see the depen-dence of modern works upon them.The polemic that ensued at Naples therefore reflects much

more than the fact that it is impossible to separate criticism andconnoisseurship from their expression and ekphrastic form.Gargallo’s inflammatory reaction to Rezzonico’s technical lan-guage and his praise for Marchesini’s supposedly more intuitiveunderstanding of Canova’s work reflects longstanding problemsin the criticism of sculpture, in which the key aspects of sculp-tural production are always treated as separate. Rezzonico’sattention to technique, which was so unusual and so grating toGargallo, may well be one of the first modern articulations ofsculptural practice in criticism. Rezzonico’s precision andattention to detail reflects transformations to the art of criticismthat would occur in the late nineteenth century. In fact,Gargallo’s reaction and the polemic as a whole presage reac-tions against professional art criticism that would occur acentury later, which pit naïve understanding and enjoymentof the work against erudite analysis.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This article expands on ideas presented in my dissertation,‘Staging Canova: Sculpture, Connoisseurship and Display,1780–1843’ (Columbia University, 2011). Much of the researchand writing that has gone into it were generously funded byinstitutions that supported that project, including ColumbiaUniversity, the American Academy in Rome, the Samuel H.Kress Foundation, the Gladys Krieble Delmas Foundation,and the Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts. AnneHigonnet and Gregory Waldrop both provided invaluablefeedback on this piece during the course of my dissertationwriting, while Patrick Crowley was kind enough to share hisexpertise on ekphrasis in antiquity. Likewise, CarolinaMangone’s thoughts on Renaissance and Baroque criticism ofMichelangelo and Bernini were immensely useful. JessicaMaratsos helpfully provided input on the conclusion. I havealso benefited greatly from Aimee Ng’s careful and thoroughreading of several drafts; her comments were instrumental to

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the revision process. I owe particular thanks to the librariansand staff at the Biblioteca della Fondazione Querini Stampalia,Venice, the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze, theSocietà Napoletana di Storia Patria, the Biblioteca di Storiadell’Arte ‘Bruno Molajoli’ in Castel Sant’Elmo, and theBiblioteca Nazionale di Napoli, who helped me track downthese rare texts and in some cases even granted me permissionto photograph them. Finally, many thanks are due to theanonymous reviewer whose comments significantly improvedthe final piece.

NOTES

1 – For examples specific to Canova, see Wendy Wassyng Roworth,“Pulling Parrhasius’s Curtain: Trickery and Fakery in the Roman ArtWorld,” in Regarding Romantic Rome, ed. Richard Wrigley (Bern: PeterLang, 2007), 17–27.2 – The literature on the relationship between text and image in theancient world is vast. For a brief introduction to this issue, see Jaś Elsner,Roman Eyes: Visuality and Subjectivity in Art and Text (Princeton, NJ: PrincetonUniversity Press, 2007).3 – This holds true throughout the nineteenth century, as many works ofart were accompanied by pamphlets or textual descriptions to assist viewersin their examination of the work, and, in particular, to ensure they tookaway the proper moral meaning. One iconic example is that of HiramPowers’s White Slave, which was accompanied by a pamphlet that directedthe beholder’s attention and attempted to contain the erotic elements of thework. See Joy S. Kasson, “Mind in Matter in History: Viewing the GreekSlave,” Yale Journal of Criticism 11, no. 1 (Spring 1998): 79–83.4 – Canova’s habit of having someone read aloud to him is noted in HughHonour, “Canova’s Studio Practice I: The Early Years,” Burlington Magazine

114, no. 828 (March 1972): 146–59, p. 148. While working on anothersculpture, Theseus and the Minotaur, Canova was particularly concernedwith whether Theseus held a sword or a club, and since he himself hadread Ovid only in translation, he set out to have someone check theoriginal Latin text. See the letter from Canova to Giovanni Falier,December 29, 1781, as cited in Giovanni Gaetano Bottari and StefanoTicozzi, Raccolta di lettere sulla pittura, scultura ed architettura scritte da’ più celebripersonaggi dei secoli XV, XVI, e XVII, 8 vols. (Milan: G. Silvestri, 1822–25), vol.8, 169–70.5 – For a brief biography of Francesco Maria Berio, see P. Giannantonio,“Berio, Francesco Maria,” in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani, 8 vols. (Rome:Istituto della enciclopedia italiana, 1967–2014), vol. 9, 106–80. I have alsoseen “Salza” written as “Salsa” in various sources.6 – See Serafino Petroncelli, “Napoli. Sovrana determinazione a favoredelle belle arti. Al Sig. D. Vincenzo Pecorari,” Giornale letterario di Napoli

per servire di continuazione all’analisi ragionata de’ libri nuovi XXXIII (August15, 1795): 101; “Literarische Nachrichten. I. Italiänische Literatur,”Intelligenzblatt der Allgemeinen Literatur-Zeitung vom Jahre 1796 86 (6 July 1796):726; “Sur l’état actuel de la littérature italienne,” Magasin encyclopédique, ou

journal des sciences des lettres et des arts 2nd année, tome IV (1796): 52;“Italiaansche Letterkunde. Eerste Beschouwing,” Niewe Algemene Konst-en

Letter-Bode voor meer en min Geöffenden 138 (August 19, 1796): 61; and“Present State of Literature in Italy,” Monthly Magazine and British Register

3, no. XVI (April 1797): 270.7 – Felice Abate, Sui giardini anglo-cinesi e sulla condizione del giardinaggio in

Napoli (n.p.: n.p., [1840?]).8 – Augustus von Kotzebue, Travels through Italy in the Years 1804 and 1805, 4vols. (London: Richard Phillips, 1806), vol. 2, 242.9 – Lady [Sydney] Morgan, Italy, 2 vols. (New York: J. Seymour, 1821), vol.2, 307.

10 – Unless otherwise indicated, all translations are my own. Quoted inIsabella Colucci, “Antonio Canova, la Marchesa Margherita Boccapaduli eAlessandro Verri: Lettere e altre testimonianze inedite,” Paragone. Arte 49,no. 579 (1998): 64–74, p. 67.11 – Morgan, Italy, vol. 2, 307.12 – The tempietto’s Doric columns are noted by Count della Torre diRezzonico in a letter to Canova, dated March 20, 1795. Cited in PaolaFardella, Antonio Canova a Napoli: Tra collezionismo e mercato (Naples: Paparo,2002), 151.13 – Auguste François Fauveau Frénilly, Recollections of Baron de Frénilly,trans. Frederic Lees, ed. Arthur Chuquet (New York: G. P. Putnam’sSons, 1909), 199–200.14 – For more on Hercules and Lychas and the Three Graces, see, respectively,Antonio Pinelli, “Due quadri in cerca d’autore: Canova, i Torlonia el’Ercole e Lica,” Studi in onore di Giulio Carlo Argan, ed. Giulio Carlo Argan(Florence: Nuova Italia, 1994), 308–18 and Timothy Clifford, HughHonour, John Kenworthy-Browne, Iain Gordon Brown, and AidanWeston-Lewis, eds., Three Graces: Antonio Canova (Edinburgh: NationalGallery of Scotland, 1995).15 – For just one example, see Roberto Paolini, Memorie sui monumenti di

antichità e di belle arti, ch’esistono in Miseno, in Baoli, in Baja, in Cuma, in Pozzuoli,

in Napoli, in Capua Antica, in Ercolano, in Pompei, ed in Pesto (Naples: Dai torchidel Monitore delle Due Sicilie, 1812), 178.16 – Luigia Giuli to Giannantonio Selva, March 21, 1795. “Ora vi dico cheè stato situato il gruppo di Addone e Venere fatto dal nostro amico, gia mifiguro che saprete il comitente di tal opera. deste [Antonio d’Este] e statoquello che la situata nel tempio quel sig.e padro[ne] del grupo fecce fare aposta, in Napoli dunque sta il bel gruppo, e li Napoletani vano a proces-sioni per vederlo[.] fá [?] si gran incontro che tanti strilono [‘]e viva ilMar:e Berio e viva chi la fatto[.’] quello che più mi sorprende è che limilioni turisti di Napoli sono stati veduti piangere nel osservare le bellezzedi quel gruppo; e mi viene scrite tanti tanti eloggi che sarebe troppoil dir tutto.” La Biblioteca della Fondazione Querini Stampalia, VII. 104.m. 736. I have maintained the original orthography, including spellingerrors, when transcribing this text.17 – I have often seen “Castone” written as “Gastone.” See DorilloDafneio [Carlo Castone, Conte della Torre di Rezzonico], Lettera di

Dorillo Dafneio a Diodoro Delfico (n.p.: Serafino Petroncelli, 1795). This willhenceforth be abbreviated as Lettera di Dorillo Dafneio in the text. Theoriginal publication can be difficult to find, but the text was also reprintedyears later in Carlo Castone, Opere del Cavaliere Carlo Castone Conte della Torredi Rezzonico, ed. Francesco Mocchetti, 10 vols. (Como: CarlantonioOstinelli, 1815–30), vol. 1, Prose sulle belle arti, 191–209 and AntonioPochini, Biblioteca Canoviana, ossia raccolta delle migliori prose, e de’ più scelti

componimenti poetici sulla vita, sulle opere ed in morte di Antonio Canova, ed.Arnaldo Bruni, Manlio Pastore Stocchi, and Gianni Venturi, 4 v. in 2

vols., Testi (1824; Bassano del Grappa: Istituto di ricerca per gli studi suCanova e il neoclassicismo, 2005), vol. 1, 75–87.18 – In a letter to his cousin, Count Preposto Luigi Scutellari, written July24, 1795, Rezzonico described the distribution of his letter to friends andother intellectuals, noting that Berio wished to publish it. He also pointedout that he had presented it to the Neapolitan court, including the Kingand Queen of Naples, who applauded his description of Canova’s sculp-ture. See Castone, Opere del Cavaliere Carlo Castone Conte della Torre di

Rezzonico, vol. 10, Corrispondenza epistolare con illustri letterati del Cavaliere Carlo

Castone Conte della Torre di Rezzonico, 47–48.19 – For the suggestion that Berio financed Rezzonico’s publication, see[Tommaso Gargallo], Alcune annotazioni ad una lettera di Dorillo Dafneio

([Naples?]: n.p., [1795]), 16.20 – See Dorillo Dafneio [Carlo Castone, Conte della Torre di Rezzonico],“Del Gruppo di Venere e Adone scolpito dall’illustre veneto scultore Sig. A.Canova, Ec. Lettera di Dorillo Dafneio a Diodoro Delfico,” Memorie per servire alla

storia letteraria e civile 27 (August 1795): 53–59. It is possible that Rezzonico’stext was published in additional journals, of which I am not aware.

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21 – The anonymous author in the September Effemeridi enciclopediche statesthat Marchesini’s text was published second, and that Marchesini acknowl-edged Rezzonico’s text in his introduction. Rezzonico goes even further,suggesting that his text was the very foundation for Marchesini’s writing.See “Alcune annotazioni ad una Lettera di Dorillo Dafnejo. Opera senzadata, e senza nome tipografico, d’autore anonimo. In 8 vo. di pag 55, chegira per Napoli, e che si vende da varj libraj al prezzo di carlini 2. lacopia,” Effemeridi enciclopediche per servire di continuazione all’analisi ragionata

de’libri nuovi (September 1795): 89–90 and Filalete Nemesiano [CarloCastone, Conte della Torre di Rezzonico], Lettera di Filalete Nemesiano a

Don Limone (Rome: n.p., 1796), 114, respectively.22 – “Mi figuro il riflessivo Canova nell’atto d’inventare questo belgruppo…. Mi concentro in mestesso: penso: rifletto; e l’immagine delbello e del grande, che veggo effigiata nella mi[a] fantasia, mi trasportafino all’estasi. Mi pongo al cimento di svilupparla: sudo, peno, travaglio, enelle mie opere non iscorgo, che l’immagine finora della mediocrità.”Marcello Marchesini, Sul gruppo d’Adone e Venere del Signor Antonio Canova,

posseduto dal … Marchese Berio. Lettera di Marcello Marchesini … al … Conte D.

Faustino Tadini (n.p.: n.p., [1795]), v–vi.23 – “Io veggo Adone: io veggo Venere. Quanto è bello il primo, quanto èvaga la seconda! Adone và alla caccia: Venere lo trattiene. Veggo in questosoggetto mille istanti d’azione, che tutti possono interessare. Sciegliamone ilpiù delicato. Eccolo.” Ibid., vi.24 – See Claire J. Farago, ed., Leonardo da Vinci’s “Paragone”: A Critical

Interpretation with a New Edition of the Text in the Codex Urbinas (Leiden: E. J.Brill, 1992), esp. 257.25 – For more on the debate in the Renaissance, and particularlyMichelangelo’s thoughts, see Leatrice Mendelsohn, Paragoni: Benedetto

Varchi’s “Due Lezzioni” and Cinquecento Art Theory (Ann Arbor, MI: UMIResearch Press, 1982) and David Summers, Michelangelo and the Language of

Art (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1981), 269–78.26 – For furia and furore see the entries in Luigi Grassi and Mario Pepe,Dizionario della critica d’arte, 2 vols. (Turin: UTET, 1978), vol. 1, 207–8. Formore on Michelangelo’s thoughts on furia, especially the relationshipbetween furia and invenzione, see Summers, Michelangelo and the Language of

Art, chapter IV, 60–70.27 – “Eccolo: Il proferire queste parole: il dar mano al lavoro del suomodello, tutto da un attivo impaziente entusiasmo irradiato, è per l’ardintoCanova un istante medesimo. Lo termina egli questo parte del genio. Ha insulle prime molto più di spirito, che di correzione; ma finalmente tale ei nelmarmo comparisce, dopo molti studj, e dopo molte fatiche, qual io miespongo adesso al cimento di qui descriverlo.” Marchesini, Sul gruppo

d’Adone e Venere del Signor Antonio Canova, vi.28 – “Dee inoltre lo Scultore, proponendosi questa imitazione, saperlatrarre non già da’soggetti freddi, ed inanimati, che niente dicono; nelqual caso l’opera sua, benchè perfetta, e bene imitata, eccitar nonpotrebbe, a fronte di qualunque esattezza, che una sensazione leggiera,senza commovere l’anima d’uno spettatore; ma debb’egli trarla piutostodalla natura vivente, animata, appassionata, e trarla in maniera, che fra ilmarmo, ed il vero soggetto che vuol esprimere, altra differenza nonv’abbia, che quelle della materia. Per riuscire in questa malagevoleimpresa, quanto mai affaticarsi egli non dee! Cercare il bello, e conoscerlo;congregarlo, e distribuirlo; applicarlo al suo soggetto, e senza affettazione,esprimerlo nelle vive attitudini, che si è proposto; questa è un impresa dapochi; ma questa appunto è l’impresa per la quale meritarono un postosingolare ne’ trofei della gloria, gli eccellenti Scultori.” Ibid., ix–x.29 – See, for instance, Alex Potts, The Sculptural Imagination: Figurative,

Modernist, Minimalist (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), esp.“Surface Values,” 38–60.30 – Of course, Rezzonico makes no mention of the complicated workshopsystem that would be involved in the production of these final marbles. Hedoes not mention the large clay modelli and plaster models through whichCanova would have finalized the sculpture’s form, nor does he mention thefact that the marble probably would have been roughed out by assistants.

Instead, as with so many other writers, he focuses solely on the final touchCanova gave to the work. For more on the realities of the studio system, seeJohannes Myssok, “Modern Sculpture in the Making: Antonio Canova andPlaster Casts,” in Plaster Casts: Making, Collecting, and Displaying from Classical

Antiquity to the Present, ed. Rune Frederiksen and Eckart Marchand,Transformationen der Antike (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010), 269–88, p. 277.31 – “Ammirabile al certo si è il modo, onde questo epiderma si èdall’artefice imitato, colla dentata gradina, coll’affilato scarpello, e collamordente raspa in tal guisa, che dal loro misto cincischiare, radere, tornire,aspreggiare un’apparenza ne risultasse di trattabili carni, che solo collanativa fredezza della pietra disinganno il tatto.” Dafneio, Lettera di Dorillo

Dafneio a Diodoro Delfico, 7.32 – “In nessun luogo poi trionfa maggiormente il magistrale uso de’ferri, el’impasto delle loro punte, de’loro taglj, de’solchi, delle canalature,dell’asperità, che nella fascia di Venere, o in quella sindone, che raccoltain un gruppo verso l’anche e disciolta, e cadente in fluidissime pieghe versole piante, rompe con tanta grazia il nudo, e lo circonda, e col suo candore,e colle rughe ben imitate si distingue dalle carni….” Ibid., 12.33 – Richard Wrigley, for instance, points out that sculptural criticism inthe eighteenth century was often devoid of any technical language. Criticssought other means for discussing sculpture, often falling back on thequestion of propriety, seduction, and desire, particularly in the face ofmarble nudes. Malcolm Baker likewise argues that in the eighteenth cen-tury there was “an absence of any sustained discussion of sculpture”; as aresult, viewers often focused on the sculpture’s setting, which allowed themto create a narrative for the sculpture and interpret its meaning — regard-less of whether the sculpture was conceived with the setting in mind. SeeRichard Wrigley, “Sculpture and the Language of Criticism in Eighteenth-Century France,” Augustin Pajou et ses contemporains: Actes du colloque organisé auMusée du Louvre par le service culturel les 7 et 8 Novembre 1997, ed. Guilhem Scherf(Paris: Documentation française, 1999), 75–89 and Malcolm Baker, Figuredin Marble: The Making and Viewing of Eighteenth-Century Sculpture (London: V &A Publications, 2000), 9 and 15–17.34 – “Ma tanto, e sì vario artificio non si può dal sagace occhio abbastanzariconoscere, che al lume di candela; allora dalle sfumate ombre, e dallamodesta luce si appalesano via via le tenere modulazioni, il fiore de’senti-menti, la maestria del tocco, onde tutte son ricercate le parti, ed indicata lanotomia senza la minima durezza, e lasciando alla pelle, ed alle carni tuttoil loro morbido, e l’adipe, ed il sugo, che molti valenti artefici non sepperoconservare per far pompa di loro anatomica scienza pronunciando aspra-mente i muscoli, i tendini, e l’ossa, che informar debbono soavemente, enon pungere, e trafiggere la florida cute d’un leggiadrissimo giovinetto.”Dafneio, Lettera di Dorillo Dafneio, 7–8.35 – For more on the way vision was increasingly understood as a sub-jective sensory experience highly influenced by the viewer’s own individualbody, see Jonathan Crary, Techniques of the Observer: On Vision and Modernity in

the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992).36 – A point which Rezzonico himself makes. See Nemesiano, Lettera di

Filalete Nemesiano a Don Limone, 94.37 – In Giambattista Giovio’s biography of Rezzonico, Giovio quotesd’Agincourt’s comments. In a footnote to this citation, he even goes on tolist all the tools Rezzonico mentions in his Lettera di Dorillo Dafneio. SeeGiambattista Giovio, “Della vita e degli scritti del Cavaliere Carlo CastoneConte della Torre di Rezzonico, Patrizio Comasco, memorie del Cavalieree Conte Giambatista Giovio,” in Castone, Opere del Cavaliere Carlo Castone

Conte della Torre di Rezzonico, ed. Francesco Mocchetti, 10 vols. (Como: Daifigli di Carlantonio Ostinelli, 1830), vol. 1, Prose sulle belle arti, xxxix–cxix,pp. cviii–cix, and cix, note 2.38 – For Gargallo’s biography, see Francesco Sesti, “Biografie d’illustriSiciliani. Tommaso Gargallo,” La favilla. Giornale di scienze, lettere, arti e

pedagogia, serie seconda, anno primo (1863): 552–58. Gargallo’s autobiogra-phy was published posthumously in Tommaso Gargallo, Opere edite ed inedite.Memorie autobiografiche, ed. Marchese Filippo Francesco di Castel Lentini, 4vols. (Florence: Le Monnier, 1923), vol. 1.

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[Gargallo], Alcune Annotazioni ad una Lettera di Dorillo Dafneio. This willhenceforth be abbreviated as Annotazioni in the text. Gargallo’s text is veryrare. At the moment I know of only three copies. Two are held in theBiblioteca Nazionale Firenze, Biblioteca Palatina (Palat. Misc. 1.A.16.11and Palat. Misc. 2.C.13.6), and the other is in the Biblioteca ComunaleAugusta di Perugia (Misc. IV C 1 (15)). None of these copies has beenadded to Italy’s national online library catalog.

Although both Gargallo’s and Rezzonico’s texts are anonymous, theirauthorship of these texts is confirmed not only through their private lettersand biographies, but also through several extremely useful dictionariesrevealing identities of anonymous writers. See, for instance, VincenzoLancetti, Pseudonimia ovvero tavole alfabetiche de’ nomi finti o supposti degli scrittori

con la contrapposizione de’ veri (Milan: Luigi di Giacomo Pirole Tipografo-Librajo, 1836), 110, 374, and 420.39 – Although I believe I have identified all the publications pertaining tothe debate, there may well be additional works that are relevant.40 – “Roma. Essendoci pervenuta la seguente lettera […],” Giornale letterariodi Napoli per servire di continuazione all’analisi ragionata de’libri nuovi XXXIII(August 15, 1795): 75–79.41 – “Alcune annotazioni ad una lettera di Dorillo Dafnejo.” Effemeridi

enciclopediche (September 1795), 64–90. Cited in full in note 21.42 – Rezzonico never explicitly states that the article in the September issueof Effemeridi enciclopediche is written by Marchesini, but he does make clearthat Marchesini responded to the feud in print, in his defense. Later in hisLettera di Filalete Nemesiano he refers to the specific points Marchesini made inhis text, which seem to correspond to the article in the Effemeridi enciclope-

diche. Nemesiano, Lettera di Filalete Nemesiano a Don Limone, 6–9 and 25.Likewise, a letter from Luigi Tadini to Antonio d’Este, dated September28, 1795, suggests that Marchesini wrote in defense of Rezzonico. As citedin Antonio d’Este, Memorie di Antonio Canova, ed. Paolo Mariuz (1864;Bassano del Grappa: Istituto di ricerca per gli studi su Canova e ilneoclassicismo, 1999), 388.43 – “Roma. Dopo di aver pubblicata nel volume XXXIII la lettera di unanonimo …,” Giornale letterario di Napoli per servire di continuazione all’analisi

ragionata de’libri nuovi XXXVIII (November 1, 1795): 45–47.44 – “A’ Signori compilatori del Giornale letterario di Napoli,” Effemeridi

enciclopediche per servire di continuazione all’analisi ragionata de’libri nuovi (January1796): 81–91.45 – “Roma. Dopo le due lettere di un anonimo romano …,” Giornale

letterario di Napoli per servire di continuazione all’analisi ragionata de’libri nuovi

XLIX (April 15, 1796): 3–7.46 – Nemesiano, Lettera di Filalete Nemesiano a Don Limone. Cited in full innote 21.47 – These epigrams are published as “Estratti dallo Zeronico” — a playon Rezzonico’s name. It is unclear whether there were more than thefourteen that are published there. See Tommaso Gargallo, Degli epigrammi.Libri due (Florence: Nella tipografia Chiari, 1830), 73–80.48 – For the full details of the personal nature of the debate, see ChristinaFerando, “Staging Canova: Sculpture, Connoisseurship and Display, 1780–1843” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 2011), 170–72.49 – “Voi con la vostra nota modestia vi avete apposto il nome arcadicodi Dorillo; voi stesso in piè di pagina avete subito dichiarato che Dorillosignificava Castone: dubitavate forse sotto l’arcadica denominazionenon esser noto abbastanza? Perchè servirvi del nome arcade, operchè apporvi immediatamente la nota? Si potrebbe ciò forse chiamarepedanteria, e puerilità? Eravate sempre un Giove, anche nascosto sottol’immagine di un toro. I poeti per altro debbono prescegliere le voci piùarmoniose, e la definenza il illo, che termina il vostro nome pastorale, èpiù gentile della desinenza in one, che termine il vostro nome proprio.Castone!” [Gargallo], Alcune annotazioni ad una lettera di Dorillo Dafneio, 16.50 – “Voi avete pubblicata la lettera (benchè a spese dell’ottimo MarcheseBerio, cui non vi siete pur degnato di nominare)[.]” Ibid., 16.51 – Even one of Rezzonico’s biographers suggests that he exaggerated thedescription of the tools out of an affected desire to claim “scientific”

knowledge. See Carlo Antonio de Rosa Villarosa, Notizie di alcuni Cavalieridel Sacro Ordine Gerosolimitano illustri per lettere e per belle arti (Naples: Dallastamperia e cartiere del Fibreno, 1840), 273–74.52 – “Il più grande scrittore, diceano, scrive dello scultore più grande!Pensavasi fin da taluni di far incidere una specia di cifra, intrecciando unapenna ed uno scarpello.” [Gargallo], Alcune annotazioni ad una Lettera di DorilloDafneio, 4.53 – “Vedete come somministrate sempre materia a’ vostri tenebricosicritici, di adoperare l’ugnetta ritonda, la dentata gradina, l’affilato scar-pello, e la mordente raspa sulla vostra ben operata, condotta, e leccatalettera, il capolavoro, il prodigio, la quintessenza di tutte le lettere, frutto diquarant’anni di studio, di quindici anni di segretariato, di dieci annidi viaggi &c. Compiagnete, signor Conte, compagniete pure la nostraignoranza, mentre noi ridiamo allegramente della vostra dottrina.” Ibid.,43–44.54 – “Tutto questo periodo, come i precedenti, ove si rilevano le bellezzedell’opera, e la difficoltà superate, ben sono d’attribuirsi al signor Antoniod’Este, che venne espressamente spedito dal Canova per situare il suogruppo. Intelligente, e valoroso artefice egli stesso, ed amicissimo dell’au-tore, ne sapea conoscere e ne appalesava il magistero. Ed a me, ed amoltissimi amatori delle belle arti compiaceasi egli di additare le finezzedell’opera, il che usò poi in modo particolare con voi, mio signor Conte,poichè vi accigneste a descriverla. Voi l’avete taciuto, forse per dimenti-canza, ma un uomo ricco di tante lodi proprie, non è giusto che usurpil’altrui. Al signor d’Este dobbiamo dunque le notizie dell’ugnetta, dellagradina, dello scarpello, della raspa, ed a voi i vaghi epiteti di ritonda,dentata, affilato, mordente, ed in oltre il cincischiare, radere, tornire, aspreggiare, edindi a poco altre belle cose intorno al trapano, al violino &c. Non avresteperò dovuto dire mie osservazioni quelle, che sono altrui, perchè altrimentidiranno di voi Aptavitque suis incongrua tegmina membris (Avien.).” Ibid., 36.55 – “Molti udirono quelle dotte ricerche, e quelle dilicate avvertenze,che saranno fatte di pubblico diritto colle stampe, ed allora Dorillo nonconosceva nepur di nome Tonin da Este.” Nemesiano, Lettera di Filalete

Nemesiano a Don Limone, 96 and also 104.56 – “Necessarie, ed utili, e pregiatissime saranno agli artefici le minuzie,che non approva D.L. ….” Ibid., 104.57 – “… negli occhi li scintilla un riso languido, amoroso, che rabbelliscetutto il suo volto; e l’artefice usò la diligenza, che nella Venere Medicea si èda sottili investigatori dell’arte avvertita. Questa consiste nel togliere allepupille in parte la loro globosità naturale, e farle più lisce, e piatte,rilevando il giro delle palpebre, cosicchè dall’ombra, che gittano sullepupille pel loro aggetto, imitasi a maraviglia il tenero sorriso, che sì benefu espresso da Ovidio: limis subrisit ocellis.” Dafneio, Lettera di Dorillo Dafneio,11–12.58 – See, for instance, the essays in Zahra Newby and Ruth E. Leader-Newby, Art and Inscriptions in the Ancient World (Cambridge: CambridgeUniversity Press, 2007).59 – Many thanks to Hérica Valladares for bringing this to my attention.For her analysis of this passage as “empathetic realism,” see HéricaValladares, “The Lover as Model Viewer: Gendered Dynamics inPropertius 1.3,” in Gendered Dynamics in Latin Love Poetry, ed. RonnieAncona and Ellen Greene. Arethusa Books (Baltimore: Johns HopkinsUniversity Press, 2005), 206–42, pp. 217–18.60 – See Elisabeth Chevallier, “L’Œuvre d’art dans le temps. Comment ona vu le Laocoön et l’Apollon du Belvedere à la fin du XVIIIè siècle, d’aprèsla relation d’un voyageur allemand venu à rome en 1783. Naissance etdisparition d’une mode,” in Aiôn: Le temps chez les Romains, ed. RaymondChevallier, Caesarodunum; 10 bis (Paris: A. & J. Picard, 1976), 333–53.61 – “Chi però sulle statue de’Greci abbia alquanto erudite le pupille, esiasi rese famigliari le profonde osservazioni di Winkelmanno, saprà d’uncolpo d’occhio raffigurare queste forme, e queste eroiche proporzioni, cheper l’esercizio dell’erranti cacce si vanno già dispiegando nell’allungategiunture delle mani, e delle gambe, e promettono d’assumere un carattereatletico per le future fatiche del Pancrazio nel fiorente, ed ampio torace,

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ne’fianchi ristretti, ne’popliti agilissimi, e nelle braccia nervose, ma nonancora risentite, nè segnate da gonfj muscoli, che nel molle epidermagiacciono tuttavia spenti, e sepolti.” Dafneio, Lettera di Dorillo Dafneio a

Diodoro Delfico, 6–7.62 – For the suggestion that Rezzonico’s text was read aloud at theAccademia dell’Arcadia, see Giambattista Giovio, “Della vita e degli scrittidel Cavaliere Carlo Castone Conte della Torre di Rezzonico, PatrizioComasco, memorie del Cavaliere e Conte Giambatista Giovio,” cviii.The suggestion that Rezzico’s text was read aloud in front of the sculpturecomes from Rezzonico himself in Nemesiano, Lettera di Filalete Nemesiano a

Don Limone, 75.63 – Viccy Coltman, Fabricating the Antique: Neoclassicism in Britain, 1760–1800

(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006).64 – “… Callicratide veggendo la membra della Dea, che piaccionone’giovanetti, in un modo più insano di Caricle si pose ad esclamare. PerErcole! quanta concinnità negli omeri? Ve’ come mai tumidi s’alzano ifianchi ad empiere tutta la capacità delle mani, che d’intorno vi si foggianoper brancicarli! Ed oh come le carni ben condotte dell’anche in se tondeg-giano, nè troppo tenui, e strette all’ossa, nè troppo diffuse in soverchiapinguedine! Ma ridir non si può quanto sia dolce il riso delle forme, cheimpresse quincie quindi si segnano dall’unione delle cluni, e quanto esattesiano le misure del femore, e dalla gamba infino al piede rettamentedistesa. Così parlò Callicratide ammirando la Venere di Prassitele, e cosìavrebbe, se avesso potuto contemplare quella di Canova.” Dafneio, Letteradi Dorillo Dafneio a Diodoro Delfico, 9–10.65 – “Il simulacro di Adone gareggia con quei mollissimi versi del SicilianoTeocrito, che sì vivamente ne dipingono la fresca età, e la bellezza [… che]Potrebbero così suonare in Italiano: Il vago Adon dalle rosate braccia, /Lontan

d’un anno, o due dal quarto lustro, / Già di Venere Sposo. A lui d’intorno/ Le bionde

labbra ancor non punge il bacio.” Ibid., 6.66 – See note 57.67 – “Seneca, Plinio, Marziale, e prima di questi Orazio, e Properziofecero menzione delle coe, delle bombicine, e Petronio con vivissimafrase chiamolle nebbie tessute, e Suida tuniche interlucenti, e penetrabiliallo sguardo.” Dafneio, Lettera di Dorillo Dafneio a Diodoro Delfico, 14.68 – Letter from Rezzonico to Canova, March 20, 1795. “In un grecanicolavoro mi sono servito di molte grecaniche frasi tolte a’Poeti; ed agliScrittori, che parlarono della Venere Cnidia, e perfino hò voluto rivolegerein Greco il suo nome, sosituendolo a quella di Prassitele in un epigrammadell’antologia.” Cited in Fardella, Antonio Canova a Napoli: Tra collezionismo emercato, 151.69 – Rezzonico to Canova, August 18, 1795. “Molto si vantano di gustare ilavori dell’arte, e ne parlano assai; pochissimi hanno fatto gli studj necessarjper ben’intendere la profondità del magistero degli antichi, e de’rarissimimoderni che a loro s’accostano. Ella che tanto a’ quei sublimi esemplari siavvicina, e supera di gran lunga quei maestri che in Roma si avevanousurpato la gloria dei romani artefici, avrà ben conosciuto nelle mie parolelo studio indefesso d’ogni più astrusa teoria da me fatto per gustare ogniparte del greco Bello, e salire alle fonti con la meditazione filosoficaimperocché l’artefice, che non ragiona e combina, non giunge a toccarl’apice dell’imitazione.” Ibid., 151–52.70 – See [Gargallo], Alcune annotazioni ad una lettera di Dorillo Dafneio, 25–26,34 and 41.71 – “Eppure veramente non va scritto così, benchè ciò non meriti atten-zione, ove siegue sì tosto quel mischiare il taglio de’ ferri per impastar le tinte,sublime maniera di fraseggiare, tolta da una profonda cognizione dellastatuaria, e che vi mostra maraviglioso conoscitore.” Ibid., 39.72 – Rezzonico compares the letter to the one which Raphael wrote toBaldassare Castiglione about his Galatea. See Dafneio, Lettera di Dorillo

Dafneio a Diodoro Delfico, 16.73 – “Mal vi siete avvisato, signor Dorillo, a riportare la leggiadra lettera diCanova. Il confronto non riesce per voi vantaggioso. Vedete qual grazia,qual naturalezza, qual calore di fantasia nelle poche righe dell’immortaleartefice! Egli non incastona, non fa lavori di tarsia: scrivendo. sente, e

scrive. I cultori delle belle arti quando si danno a far lavori di tarsia, è pureun cattivo segno. La plumbea pedanteria (vedete come comincio ad imitarvi)non ha luogo tra le muse. Chi scrive lavorando di tarsia, o sia rattopando isuoi scritti, come il mantello del piovano Arlotto, abbandoni pure la bifida

penna, il premente torchio, e la candida carta, o vero tutto al più s’applichia scriver comenti, note e vocabularj. Ad metalla, a’lavori di schiena l’hasciaguratamente condannato l’implacabile Genio persecutore degli Orbilj,degli Scioppj, de’Prisciani, e de’Conti Castoni.” [Gargallo], Alcune annota-zioni ad una lettera di Dorillo Dafneio, 50–52.74 – “Il signor Marcello Marchesini ci ha testè data un’altra descrizionedello stesso gruppo, dove senza la strepitoso rimbombo di tanta erudizioneci ha presentato lo scultore nell’atto d’immaginare l’opera sua, rilevandocon moltissimo ingegno il momento da lui prescelto per atteggiare le suefigure, e mettendogli in bocca le profonde riflessioni, onde fu preparata, edeterminata la felice sua scelta. Passa indi il Marchesini a descrivernel’esecuzione, dove senza lusso di notomia, e d’epiteti mette sotto gli occhia’lettori le due egregie statue, e mostra di partecipare di quel fuoco divino,che animò il fervido scultore. Ha sostituita ad una mal raccozzata erudi-zione quella, che appellasi filosofia dell’arte. Voi lavorate di tarsia; quegli digetto: quegli sente, voi riferite le sensazioni altrui, o proccurate di pescarne’libri ciò, che dovreste sentire. Si accigne finalmente il vivace descrittorveneto ad esaminar l’opera ne’contorni, nell’espressione, e nel panneggiamento,nitidissima partizione, nella quale non tace alcune accuse date all’artefice, enel rispondere istruisce, e svela maggiormente la finezza del magistero diquello. Rileva egli quell’ottima ritrovamento del cane posto, come puntod’appoggio con singolare, e dottissima avvedutezza; e pure voi non l’av-vertiste, nè so come vi sieno sfuggite così fatte osservazioni, ch’eranocertamente delle più importanti.

Qualche maligno ha creduto che lo stesso Canova, si gran lodatore inpublico della vostra lettera, poco in segreto essondone rimasto contento,abbia svelati i suoi sentimenti a chi potea descrivergli in maniera piùintelligibile a noi mortali. Marchesini non ci si annunzia come il redivivoBoccaccio, nè ci si presenta come un testo di lingua in una lettera di verostile didascalico, tutta naturalezza, leggiadria, e sentimento: quindi benvolentieri gli si potrebbe concedere qualche negligenza, o vogliam dirlicenza in taluna frase non filtrata con tutto il rigor de’precetti; benchèper altro la sua lettera non possa nè anche dirsi scritta con istile negletto, epoco elegante.” Ibid., 50–52.75 – As does Vasari, for instance, with Michelangelo’s letters. See DeborahParker, Michelangelo and the Art of Letter Writing (New York: CambridgeUniversity Press, 2010), esp. chapter 1, “The Role of Letters inMichelangelo’s Biographies,” 11–23.76 – For an excellent article on the history of judgment, including claims byMichelangelo and Leonardo that artists were the best critics, see LivioPestilli, “Bellori’s ‘Old Lady’: On Informed Versus UninformedCriticism,” Word & Image: A Journal of Verbal/Visual Inquiry (2010): 393–99,p. 396. The idea that the artist was the best judge of his craft was repeatedby eighteenth-century sculptors, notably Étienne Falconet. See Anne BettyWeinshenker, Falconet: His Writings and His Friend Diderot (Geneva: Droz,1966), 67–74.77 – See note 22.78 – Leopoldo Cicognara, “Biographical Memoir,” in The Works of Antonio

Canova in Sculpture and Modelling Engraved in Outline by Henry Moses and with

Descriptions by the Countess Albrizzi, 3 vols. (London: Henry G. Bohn, 1849),vol. 1, i–xl, p. xiii.79 – Letter from Canova to Quatremère de Quincy, November 26, 1806.“Vi vuol altro che rubbare qua e là de’ pezzi antichi e raccozzarli assiemesenza giudizio, per darsi valore di grande artista! Convien sudare dì e nottesu’ greci esemplari, investirsi del loro stile, mandarselo in sangue, farseneuno proprio coll’aver sempre sott’occhio la bella natura, con leggervi lestesse massime.” Cited in Antonio Canova and Antoine-ChrysosthômeQuatremère de Quincy, Il carteggio Canova-Quatremère de Quincy, 1785–1822,ed. Giuseppe Pavanello and Francesco Paolo Luiso, Quaderni del CentroStudi Canoviani; 4 (Ponzano, Italy: Vianello, 2005), 90.

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80 – The criticism on Canova is too vast to cite here. Some, particularlythat of German critics, has been treated by David Bindman in his recentlypublished book. See David Bindman, Warm Flesh, Cold Marble: Canova,

Thorvaldsen and their Critics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014).81 – Carl Ludwig Fernow was one of Canova’s harshest critics on this issue.See, for instance, his comments on the Triumphant Perseus (1801), in which hedisparages the sculpture as “nothing more, and nothing less than an Apollo

disguised as and transformed into a hero, but in a different pose.” CarlLudwig Fernow, “Über den Bildhauer Canova und dessen Werke,” [On

the Sculptor Canova and his Works] in Römische Studien. 3 vols. (Zürich: H.Gessner, 1806), vol. 1, 11–248, pp. 196–97.82 – There are a number of writers who used the word “plagiarism”

when describing Canova’s works. For two examples, see T. Medwin,“Canova: Leaves from the Autobiography of an Amateur,” Fraser’s

Magazine for Town and Country XX, no. CXVII (September 1839):370–75, p. 374 and James Wilson, A Journal of Two Successive Tours

upon the Continent, in the Years 1816, 1817, & 1818, 3 vols. (London: T.Cadell and W. Davies, 1820), vol. 2, 114.

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