Artemisia GentileschiCleopatra

Giuseppe Porzio Maria Cristina Terzaghi

GALERIE G.SARTI

Galerie G. SARTI137 rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré - 75008 Paris (France)Tel. (33)1.42.89.33.66 - Fax : (33) 1 42 89 33 77giovanni.sarti@wanadoo.frwww.sarti-gallery.com

AuthorsGiuseppe Porzio Maria Cristina Terzaghi

TraslationsAudrey Pate (M.C.T.)Gordon Poole (G.P.)

PhotoAndré Morin

Graphic designMilagro Advwww.milagroadv.it

© 2014 G. Sarti Antiques Ltd., Londra

A new CleopatraGiuseppe Porzio 8

Notes on Artemisia in LondonMaria Cristina Terzaghi 31

Table of contents

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Artemisia GentileschiRome 1593–Naples 1656 c.

Cleopatra

Oil on canvas, 223 × 150 cm.

Provenance: private collection near Toulon, France (formerly on loan to Musée d’Art, Toulon)

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Cleopatra’s crowning moment has its classical origin in Chapters 85–86 of Plutarch’s

Life of Antonius.1 As the most accredited of the sundry historical traditions tells it, after

her country had been defeated and Mark Antonio had committed suicide, the queen of

Egypt, faced with the ignominius prospect of being taken to Rome as Octavian’s trophey,

chose to kill herself too, bitten by an asp hidden in a basket of figs brought to her by a

slave.

Thanks to the pathos of this drama of the last Ptolemaic sovereign, this heroine’s last

act, moved by a fatal mixture of ambition, love, and despair, was a favorite theme in

the culture of the Baroque. Painters of that period, however, were prone to focus their

attention above all on the private, psychological dimension of that episode, especially

Cleopatra’s erotic, sensual potential, which thus became—as with the Roman virgin

Lucretia, with whom she is often iconographically associated—a pretext to expose the

female body.2

In a private collection held at the Musée d’art in Toulon, no longer on display since

1 See Plutarch, Vite di Demetrio e Antonio, ed. Luigi Santi Amantini, Carlo Carena, and Mario Manfredini, Milan: Mondadori, 1995, pp. 297–301, 459–461 (notes). A major text for the post-classical tradition on Cleopatra, rein-terpreted as an exemplum of lust and avarice, is Giovanni Boccaccio, De mulieribus claris [ca. 1360], LXXXVIII, 26–27 (idem, Famous Women, ed. and trans. Virginia Brown, Cambridge [MA]: Harvard University Press, 2001, pp. 370–373).

2 On the use of these two images, especially in reference to seventeenth-century iconography, see Mary D. Gar-rard, Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art, Princeton (NJ): Princeton University Press, 1989, Chapter IV, pp. 211–277 (especially 211–216); and Philippe Boyer, “Cléopâtre vs Lucrèce. Du suicide comme vecteur de rapprochement,” in Cléopâtre dans le miroir de l’art occidental, exh. cat. (Geneva, Musée Rath, March 25–August 1, 2004), Milan: 5 Continents, 2004, pp. 53–59.

A new CleopatraGiuseppe Porzio

1. Andrea Vaccaro, Cleopatra. Present location unknown

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the first half of the last century, the Sarti Cleopatra had been registered by Arnauld

Brejon de Lavergnée in the repertory of Italian paintings in French museums as work

of the Neapolitan Andrea Vaccaro, correcting a previous attribution to Guido Reni.3

One cannot but be surprised, given the virtuosity of this painting, that bibliographical

references to it are limited to this one mention.

Once Reni’s authorship has been excluded, which was likely suggested by the classical

austerity of the figure and by other Cleopatras he had painted, the attribution to

Vaccaro was based on comparison with a canvas of his that had turned up in London at

Sotheby’s in 19874 (fig. 1). Although the Cleopatra was not his, at least the proposal had

the merit of reconducting the painting into a more likely creative environment. Indeed,

when the painting showed up again on sale in Paris, it was presented generically as

coming from the Neapolitan school of the seventeenth century, although the catalogue

entry, instead of Vaccaro, proposed attributing it to Massimo Stanzione or someone in

his circle, such as Onofrio Palumbo or Artemisia Gentileschi.5

These three names had been brought forward—it is well to stress this—before the

canvas was cleaned, restoring its astounding pictorial qualities, above all its exquisite

execution and chromatic harmony. The proposed attributions, seen closely, are based

on similar suppositions that all lead in the same direction. In fact, there can be little

doubt that in Naples the canons of the popular iconographic theme of biblical and

classical heroines (Susanna, Lucretia, etc.) were canonized by the interaction, in the

3 See Arnauld Brejon de Brejon de Lavergnée, Nathalie Volle, Musées de France. Répertoire des peintures italiennes du XVIIe siècle, Paris: Réunion des musées nationaux, 1988, p. 336. The canvas, inventoried in the Provencal museum with no. 971.1.1, according to the documentation had been lent to that institution between 1953 and 1955 following an unspecified local exhibit by a private collector, a certain “B. de Rosemont Saint-Georges,” according to Jean Perreau.

4 The canvas was discussed by Riccardo Lattuada, “I percorsi di Andrea Vaccaro (1604-1670),” in Mariaclaudia Izzo, Nicola Vaccaro (1640-1709). Un artista a Napoli tra Barocco e Arcadia, Todi: Tau, 2009, pp. 96, 98 (fig. 99), and lately by Nicola Spinosa, Grazia e tenerezza ‘in posa’. Bernardo Cavallino e il suo tempo 1616-1656, Rome: Ugo Bozzi, 2013, p. 488, note D58.

5 See Christie’s, Paris, June 21, 2012, lot 34. The attribution to Artemisia, supported in the present essay, was ad-vanced by Nicola Spinosa.

2. Massimo Stanzione, Cleopatra. The State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg

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second quarter of the seventeenth century, between Artemisia and the “Cavalier

Massimo” (fig. 2). Indeed, biographer Bernardo De Dominici, on the basis of striking

formal and thematic resemblances between their styles, inferred the existence of a

master-disciple relationship between the two: “Massimo, always modest, humble, and

judicious, agreed to copy some stories of minor figures colored by Artemisia, which

he handled very well, and also some life-sized figures that were no less praiseworthy.”6

Hence, if a work of such importance as Cleopatra is set in the cultural context of

the Naples Viceroy period, it can hardly be assumed to have come other than from

Artemisia Gentileschi’s prestigious atelier and from her repertoir of virtuous, tragic

female protagonists. On the other hand, the name of Onofrio Palumbo (more correctly,

Palomba), whom documentation indicates as her most assiduous collaborator in

Naples,7 is often evoked in cases where it becomes hard to explain certain features in

works done by Artemisia in southern Italy, which are stylistically quite varied and in

some respects puzzling.8 In fact, her works were so commercially successful, thanks

to her acute business sense, that she soon had to set up a well-organized workshop,

6 Bernardo De Dominici, Vite de’ pittori, scultori ed architetti napoletani […], III, Naples: Francesco e Cristoforo Ricciardi, 1743 [but ca. 1745], p. 45.

7 On this artist see the entry by the present writer in the Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, LXXX, Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 2014, being printed.

8 As for Artemisia’s activity in Naples, I find that she was still living in August 1654, some seven months later than indicated in the most recent documentation; she paid 9 ducats, 2 tarì and 10 grana to the administrators of the Annunziata in Napoli “in conto dell’annata di censo di d(ocati) 100 fenita nell(o) m(es)e di ap(ri)le p(rossi)mo pa(ssa)to” [installment against the yearly tax of 100 ducats due last April] (Archivio Storico dell’Istituto Banco di Napoli-Fondazione [= ASBNa], Banco dello Spirito Santo, giornale di cassa [cash ledger] matr. 405, p. 18, August 12, 1654). To add to the information on Artemisia’s stay in Naples, about which little is known (see Alexandra Lapierre’s complaints in Artemisia, trans. Doriana Comerlati, 2nd ed., Milan 2000, p. 458), I can now identify Artemisia’s dwelling place during her last years in Naples: from May 1651 she rented from Vittoria Corenzio (daughter and heir of Belisario) an apartment “sit[o] al incontro la chiesa di Montecalvario con intrata, acqua d(i) formale et astraco comune co(n) altri piggionanti, cantina ad s(upr)a in sala et alcune cam(er)e in piano” [located across from the Montecalvario Church, with entry, running water, mezzanine, and cellar and a few rooms in common with other residents] (ASBNa, Banco di San Giacomo e Vittoria, giornale di cassa matr. 223, c. 152v, June 1, 1651, payment of 27 ducats).

3. Massimo Stanzione, Lucretia. Private collection

4. Onofrio Palomba, Annunciation, detail. Church of Santa Maria della Salute, Naples

5. Artemisia Gentileschi and workshop (Onofrio Palomba), Bethsabea at Her Bath, detail. The Columbus Museum of Art, Columbus (OH)

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which benefitted from the presence of gifted artists such as Bernardo Cavallino9 and

the above-mentioned Palomba.

However, Palomba’s professional figure, both as an independent painter and

an assistant to Artemisia, is by now sufficiently clear and distinct to exclude his

having had a hand in painting the Sarti Cleopatra. One need only compare it with

the Annunciation at the Santa Maria della Salute church in Naples, completed

by Palomba in September 164110 (fig. 3), and Bathsheba at Her Bath at the

Columbus Museum of Art11 (fig. 4) to see that the Parisian canvas is stylistically

quite different. Furthermore, the rhetorical solemnity of Cleopatra reveals too

lofty a conception to be attributed to a mere pupil or assistant and suggests

9 The most spectacular result of this collaboration was surely The Triumph of Galatea in the National Gallery, Washington (inv. no. 2000.61.1). Apart from the different opinions on how much Cavallino had to do with this painting, to whom it is in any case universally attributed (e.g., N. Spinosa, op. cit., pp. 368–369, note 103), the powerful female figure of the nymph certainly comes from Artemisia, nor can there be any doubt that the canvas responds, in its iconography, conception, and organization, to what the market was demanding from Artemisia.

10 This remarkable canvas, together with its pendant representing The Adoration of the Shepherds, was done between 1640 and 1641 and is presently located in the choir of the Neapolitan church. Recent doubts about the signature and whether the two canvases were painted by only one hand (Nicola Spinosa, in Ritorno al barocco. Da Caravaggio a Vanvitelli, exh. cat. [Naples, various places, December 12, 2009–March 11, 2010], ed. N. Spinosa, I, Naples: arte’m, 2009, pp. 158–161, nos. 1.69–1.70; Roberto Contini, in Artemisia 1593–1654. Gloire, pouvoir et passions d’une femme peintre, exh. cat. [Paris, Fondation Dina Vierny-Musée Maillol, March 14–July 15, 2012], ed. Roberto Contini and Francesco Solinas, Paris: Gallimard, 2011, pp. 127–128) have been given credence only because of a prejudice about the true stature of the painter and a failure to consult bibliographies and archival documents. In fact, it is clear when the works were begun and how long it took to paint them, and that they cost a total of 74 ducats. The commission was paid by a grant in favor of the chapel dedicated to San Mirocleto in the last will and testament of the quondam Bernardino Ramirez de Montalvo, marquis of San Giuliano, regent of Chancery and the Collateral Council of the Kingdom of Naples. The first two installments in December 11, 1640, and June 12, 1641, refer generically to “a picture [...] to be done and painted.” However, the final installment, September 9, 1641 (ed. Eduardo Nappi, “Materdei. Edifici sacri. Notizie”, Ricerche sul ’600 napoletano. Saggi e documenti 2008, Naples: Electa Napoli, 2009, p. 78) and a further integration of 2 ducats on September 28 for the purchase of ultramarine blue (ASBNa, Banco dello Spirito Santo, giornale di cassa [cash ledger] matr. 312, pp. 198–199; inedited) refer explicitly to the completion “due quadri uno della Natività del n(ost)ro Salvatore, l’altro della S(anti)s(si)ma Ann(unzia)ta” [two paintings, one of the Nativity of our Savior, the other of the Most Holy Annunciated].

11 Inv. 1967.006. See Mario Alberto Pavone, “Onofrio Palumbo e Francesco Guarini: due percorsi paralleli”, in Francesco Guarini. Nuovi contributi 1, proceedings of the international studies conference (Salerno–Solofra, December 16, 2011), ed. M.A. Pavone, Naples: Paparo, 2012, pp. 108 and 115 (fig. 6).

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that the work was commissioned by a person of considerable prestige and taste.

We have to do, then, with one of those cases—not frequent among the paintings

attributed to Artemisia—where the excellence of the work matches the exaltedness

of the artist’s name. The attribution we are suggesting is further supported

by comparison with another well-known Cleopatra, the one once owned by

Matthiesen and now in the Ducrot collection in Rome.12 There is a marked

similarity in how the torsos are molded, and in the anatomy of the feet, which

can readily be likened to work by Massimo Stanzione (figs. 6–7). And the fingers

grasping the asp (painted and re-painted before reaching the final form, as x-rays

have shown) have the same tapered softness as the fingers gripping the knee in the

beautiful Magdalene Penitent edited by Papi, now available on the Parisian art

market (figs. 8–9). Moreover, Cleopatra’s stature in the Sarti painting is strikingly

similar to the elevated composure13 of the renowned Clio at the Fondazione Cassa

di Risparmio in Pisa14 (fig. 10), which the signature and date (1632) certify as a high

point in Artemisia’s career. Also the bold coloring of the drapes corresponds to her

sensitivity, and perhaps to that of her father Orazio as well. For instance, think of

the sumptuous red curtain in the background of Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife in the

Royal Collection (fig. 11), an impressive tour de force of mimetical illusion.15

12 For a summary of the critical discussion of the painting, see Roberto Contini, in Artemisia Gentileschi. Storia di una passione, exh. cat. (Milan, Palazzo Reale, September 22, 2011–January 29, 2012), ed. Roberto Contini and Francesco Solinas, Milan: 24 Ore Cultura, 2011, pp. 206–207, no. 32.

13 See Gianni Papi, “Artemisia. Milan” (exh. review), The Burlington Magazine, CLIII, 1305, 2011, p. 847 (fig. 83).

14 Inv. no. Pl6. See Francesco Solinas, in Artemisia. La musa Clio e gli anni napoletani, exh. cat. (Pisa, Palazzo Blu, March–June 30, 2013), ed. Roberto Contini and Francesco Solinas, Rome: De Luca, 2013, pp. 49–52, no. 5.

15 Inv. no. RCIN 405477. On the Hampton Court canvas, painted by Orazio for the court of King Charles I be-tween 1630 and ca. 1632, see Lucy Whitaker, Martin Clayton, The Art of Italy in the Royal Collection: Renaissance & Baroque, London: Royal Collection Publications, 2007, pp. 298–300, no. 105.

6. Artemisia Gentileschi, Cleopatra, detail. Private collection

7. Artemisia Gentileschi, Cleopatra, detail. Private collection

Detail of Sarti Cleopatra

8. Artemisia Gentileschi, Penitent Mary Magdalene, detail. Art market, Paris

9. X-ray detail of Sarti Cleopatra

10. Artemisia Gentileschi, Clio, Muse of History. Palazzo Blu, Pisa

11. Orazio Gentileschi, Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife, detail. The Royal Collection

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Admittedly, the queen’s head has features that are somewhat untypical for Artemisia,16

but these must be considered in the light of the artist’s tendency to draw on a heterogeneous

multitude of types; she was famous for hybridizing her pictorial language with components

from the many contexts that her activity brought her into contact with. For instance, the

vigorous naturalism of the basket of figs on the right suggests the influence of her work in

still lifes, attested by some sources but not sufficiently documented at present to allow for

evaluation, being restricted to single examples in larger compositions.17

We are left then with the question as to when the painting may have been done. Certain

parallels between Cleopatra and Artemisia Gentileschi brought out by Bissell are stimulating

indications that the artist was intensely interested in Cleopatria as a subject,18 but this is

not enough to offer compelling evidence for dating the painting with any precision. One

may wonder whether the ostentatious magniloquence and international implications of the

painting—a marked break with the typical routine of the art being produced in Naples,

although one senses in the painting the presence of this substratum too—are not in some way

related to the obscurity of the artist’s experience at the English royal court. The hypothesis is

tempting but would require careful investigation to verify its historical validity.

16 The facial features show contact with the Madonna con il Bambino no. 158 in the Spada Galleria, Rome, usually as-signed to Bartolomeo Cavarozzi’s late phase (see Marieke von Bernstorff, Agent und Maler als Akteure im Kunstbetrieb des frühen 17. Jahrhunderts. Giovan Battista Crescenzi und Bartolomeo Cavarozzi, Munich: Hirmer, 2010, pp. 53 and 177 [tab. 1]), but to my mind this painting is not compatible with Cavarozzi’s work.

17 The question has been updated in Raymond Ward Bissell, “Artemisia Gentileschi: Painter of Still Lifes?”, Notes in the History of Art, XXXII, 2, 2013, pp. 27–34.

18 “In 1632, around the time of the picture, Gentileschi was thirty-nine, as was Cleopatra at her death, and, like Cleopatra, had borne the children of more than one man, the first of whom, at least, was with her no longer” (Raymond Ward Bissell, Artemisia Gentileschi and the Authority of Art. Critical Reading and Catalogue Raisonné, University Park [PA]: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999, p. 245).

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12. Artemisia Gentileschi, Allegory of Painting, The Royal Collection

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Judging by the letters that Artemisia Gentileschi addresses to her patrons and clients

Cassiano Dal Pozzo and Antonio Ruffo1 from 1630 on, her Self Portrait would appear

to be a work that was particularly loved by the Princes of Europe, present in many

of the most qualified galleries.2 Unfortunately, we have lost all traces of most of

these paintings, but we can be certain of how the painter looked thanks to a famous

engraving by Jérôme David which was more than probably based on a Self Portrait of

Artemisia, now lost.3 This is the essential point of departure for those seeking to unravel

the tangled web of the painter’s Self Portraits, a constant element in her adventurous

I began studying the Italian paintings acquired by Charles I and his court thanks to the contribution received from the Francis Haskell Memorial Fund. Here, I present a fragment of the research in progress. I have also been ably assisted by Linda Borean, Caroline Elam, Gabriele Finaldi, Scott Nethersold, Nicholas Penny, Karen Serres and Jeremy Wood, to whom I am deeply grateful.

1 The entire collection of Artemisia Gentileschi’s letters is now present in Lettere di Artemisia. A critical edition, with notes and forty-two unpublished documents, ed. Francesco Solinas, with the collaboration of Michele Nicolaci and Yuri Primarosa, Rome: De Luca, 2011 (hereinafter Lettere). Here I am referring to the Lettere, nos. 37–39, pp. 85–87 and 49, pp. 117–118 for the commission by Cassiano Dal Pozzo of “an(other) [painting] for your Lordship, in addition to my portrait as commissioned in order to count it among those of the illustrious painters”; and no. 52, p. 126 addressed to don Antonio Ruffo, the first prince of the Scaletta: “And if your Lordship likes the work, I will also send him my portrait, so that he can keep it in his gallery as all the Princes do.” More is said of the Self Portrait for Ruffo (Lettere, nos. 54 and 56, pp. 128 and 129–130).

2 In this period, Artemisia exchanged letters and had a working relationship with the Duke of Modena and Reggio, Francesco I d’Este (Lettere, nos. 41 and 42, pp. 94–96 and no. 51, pp. 121–122); with Ferdinando de’ Medici the Grand Duke of Tuscany (Lettere, no. 43 pp. 104–105); in these letters she requested, among other things, the mediation of Galileo Galilei (Lettere, no. 44, pp. 109–110). Her relations with Phillip IV of Spain and Charles of England were also well-known, and we will come back to these. Regarding the presence of the Self Portraits of the painter in the Galleries of Europe, to those mentioned in the correspondence, it is quite important to add the Self Portrait that belonged to Carlo I Stuart, which we will discuss later, and furthermore the “great au naturel portrait of Artemisia Gentileschi painted by her own hand” from the collection of Francesco Maria Balbi in Genoa (Raymond Ward Bissell, Artemisia Gentileschi and the Authority of Art. Critical Reading and Catalogue Raisonné, University Park [PA]: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999, p. 384, no. L–92), the inventory of which describes a previous situation, even if it does date back to the eighteenth century.

3 In this regard, see the paper of R.W. Bissell, op. cit., pp. 227–228, no. 20. Francesco Solinas publishes another example of the engraving as the front page of the above-mentioned collection of letters (Lettere), kept in Naples in a private collection.

Notes on Artemisia in LondonMaria Cristina Terzaghi

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existence.4 Whether the Allegory of Painting (fig. 12) owned by the British Monarchy,

which bears the initials “A.G. F.” in the right-hand table, belongs to this series remains

doubtful and requires definitive clarification: although the idea that the painter might

have captured her own essence in the painting is plausible, the beautiful young woman

depicted in the painting in the Royal Collection, who descends extravagantly from the

allegorical representation offered in the Iconologia by Cesare Ripa,5 seemed too distant in

chronological and physiognomic terms from the Artemisia who was surely in London in

the winter of 1639, where the work was completed6. As the painter’s Self Portrait was lost,

certainly in the possession of Charles I, it is therefore very difficult to imagine Artemisia

at the court of the Stuarts.7

We hardly know anything at all about the painter’s stay in London. We can only be

sure of one date, 16 December 1639, when Artemisia addresses a letter to Francesco

4 For example, he deems excessive the suggestions that the painter had painted herself made by critic Mary D. Garrard, “Artemisia’s Hand,” in The Artemisia Files. Artemisia for Feminists and Other Thinking People, ed. Mieke Bal, Princeton (NJ): Princeton University Press, 2005, pp. 1–2.

5 As initially highlighted by Michael Levey, “Notes on The Royal Collection II: Artemisia Gentileschi’s ‘Self-Portrait’ at Hampton Court,” The Burlington Magazine, CIV, 707, 1962, pp. 79–80.

6 Oil on canvas, cm 98.6 × 72.5, Royal Collection, inv. no. RCIN 405551. The work is registered in the inventory of the extraordinary collection of Carlo I Stuart drawn up in 1649, after his tragic demise. At the beginning of October 1649 the painting was in Hampton Court: “A Picture of Painting by Arthemesia” (British Library, ms. Harley 4898, c. 290. This manuscript must be considered an early copy of the manuscript London, Public Record Office [hereinafter PRO], LR 2/124, and Corsham Court, Manuscript, which says: “97: A Pintura A Painteinge: by Arthemisia,” cf. Oliver Millar, “The Inventories and Valuations of the King’s Goods 1649–1651,” The Walpole Society, 1970–1972, p. 191. About the history of Charles I’s handwritten inventories, see Oliver Millar, “Introduction,” in Idem, “The Inventories and Valuations of the King’s Goods 1649–1651,” The Walpole Society, 1970–1972, pp. XXII–XV) On the painting, see the detailed paper by R.W. Bissell, op. cit., pp. 272–275, and recently: Lucy Whitake, Aislinn Loconte, The Art of Italy in the Royal Collection: Renaissance & Baroque, London: Royal Collection Publications, 2007, pp. 301–302, and Roberto Contini, “Quello che sa fare una donna’: Napoli anni Quaranta,” in Artemisia Gentileschi. Storia di una passione, exh. cat. (Milan, Palazzo Reale, September 23, 2011- January 29, 2012), ed. Roberto Contini and Francesco Solinas, Milano: 24 Ore Cultura, 2011, pp. 109–110. On the inventory entries relative to the painting, and on linking the period in which the painting was produced to the painter’s stay in London, see below.

7 Indeed, the following entry appears in the above-mentioned inventory of Carlo I’s collection, drawn up between 1649–1651: “A True Inventory of ye Pictures now remaining att Hampton Court, veiwed and appraised Ye 3, 4th & 5th of October 1649 […]. / 5. Arthemasia Gentilescoe done by her selfe. Sold M.r Jackson y.e 23rd Oct.r 1651 for 20 £” (British Library, MS. Harley 4898, c. 280 in the old numbering system, see O. Millar, op.cit., 1970-1972, p. 186. If it is legitimate to doubt that Artemisia might have attempted to conceal her appearance in the Allegory of Painting of the Royal Collection, instead it is absolutely impossible to identify the painting now kept in the UK with the Self Portrait entered here: the two paintings are described in two different moments during the same inventory (R.W. Bissell has already discussed this: op. cit., pp. 272–275).

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I d’Este, duke of Modena and Reggio, offering him several paintings in exchange for

his patronage and, if possible, a position within his court.8 One single work, which is

definitely hand-painted, survives in the Royal Collections, the Allegory of Painting as

mentioned above; and various laconic but significant entries of paintings in the court

inventories, based on which the painter appears to have painted the following works

for the King and Queen: Fame, Susanna and the Elders, Tarquin and Lucretia by 1639,

the date when an inventory of Charles I’s belongings was drawn up by Dutch painter

Abraham van der Doort;9 a mysterious Saint laying his hand on fruit; a Self Portrait,

an Allegory of Painting and Diana and her nymphs bathing, which instead only appear

in the subsequent inventory drawn up relative to the dispersion of the sovereign’s

collection in 1649, and which can therefore be dated subsequently to the other three

paintings, which were, in any case, newly registered in the second inventory.10 Opinions

were then divided as some critics identified Artemisia’s hand in the paintings created

by Orazio Gentileschi for the ceiling of the Queen’s House of Greenwich, taken down

8 Lettere, no. 51, pp. 121–122. The following works support the theory that the painting can be dated to the painter’s London stay: R. Contini, “Artemisia a Napoli 1627-30 – 1652-53”, in Artemisia Gentileschi, exh. cat. (Firenze, Casa Buonarroti, June, 18 – November 4 1991), ed. Roberto Contini, Florence: Leonardo, 1991, p. 75; Elizabeth Cropper, “Artemisia Gentileschi, la pittura,” in Barocco al femminile, ed. Giulia Calvi, Rome: Lsterza, 1992, pp. 191–218; R.W. Bissell, op. cit., pp. 175, 272–275, no. 42; Artemisia Gentileschi: Taking Stock, ed. Judith Mann, Turnhout: Brepols, 2005. Instead, Garrard dates the work to the thirties, sustaining that it is the Self Portrait that Artemisia had promised to give her protector Cassiano dal Pozzo in the correspondence mentioned above.

9 As competently illustrated by Oliver Millar (“Introduction,” in “Abraham van der Doort’s Catalogue of the Collections of Charles I”, ed. Oliver Millar, The Walpole Society, 1958–1960”, pp. XVII–XXII) The famous inventory is contained in various manuscripts: the Bodleian Library, Ashmole MS 1514 (which I have consulted), drawn up by a copyist, but featuring many handwritten notes by the compiler, Dutch painter Abraham van der Doort; the Windsor MS, a copy of the Oxford version, with a few sheets missing at the end; British Museum ADD. MS. 10112, the fair copy of the version mentioned above (Bodl. Ashmole 1514); Bodleian Library, Ashmole MS 1513, this too being a copy of the first example mentioned. There is also a copy which was the property of George Vertue, which now belongs to the British Museum (British Museum, Harleian MS. 4718). Vertue’s intention had been to publish a list of the pieces in the collection and dedicate it to his own patron Frederick, Prince of Wales. The project was abandoned, but the copy that had belonged to Vertue was used by William Bathoe to produce the printed version in 1757. The inventory was compiled between 1637 and November 1639, as has been accurately reconstructed based on the references within the text (O. Millar, op. cit., 1960, p. XX).

10 All listed by O. Millar, op. cit., 1970–1972, pp. 186, 306, 312, 316, 315 and the relative papers by R.W. Bissell, op. cit., pp. 363, 367, 381, 388–390). For the inventory entries in Artemisia’s paintings, see the useful register of Yuri Primarosa, “Artemisia nelle collezioni europee (1612–1723),” in Artemisia Gentileschi. Storia, op. cit., in particular on the paintings in the collections of Charles I, pp. 273–274.

13. Orazio Gentileschi (and Artemisia Gentileschi?), An Allegory of Peace and the Arts under the English Crown, London, Marlborough House

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and put back up between 1711 and 1736 in Marlborough House (fig. 13),11 while others

were sceptical.

Our sources tell us very little about this matter, failing to mention Artemisia’s presence

in the court of Charles I, where instead references to her father Orazio’s stay are well

documented.12

In terms of prestige, Artemisia was instead believed to have attributed great importance

to her convocation to the court of Charles I Stuart: she appears to have been highly

flattered by this gesture and cites it as a credential when speaking to other patrons.

However, around 1635, having been firmly installed in Naples for several years and well

established in the Parthenopean pictorial scene by that time, Gentileschi, who was

probably tired of change, addressed a series of pained letters to all the major Italian

lords, in an attempt to delay her departure in turn to the Court of Saint James, where

she claims that they had been expecting her for a long time. By reading between the lines

11 The following have declared themselves particularly in favour of attributing six of the nine Muses and Personifications of the Arts that compose the ceiling to Artemisia: Mary D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art, Princeton (NJ): Princeton University Press, 1989, pp. 112–120; R.W. Bissell, op. cit., pp. 87 and 271–272 (the scholar first presented this theory in 1968, and the text cited appears to be the conclusion of his studies on this matter, reference also being made to this text for the complete previous bibliography). Of notable interest is the case sustained by G. Finaldi, op. cit., pp. 30–32. This interpretation of the paintings is the subject of considerable contention, on one hand sustaining and on the other opposing the theory that the painter participated in her father’s work. More is said about these matters later in the text.

12 Moreover, it is no coincidence that the only ancient source to dedicate a biographical paper to Artemisia is the Florentine Filippo Baldinucci, Notizie de’ professori del disegno da Cimabue in qua, Firenze 1681, ed. Francesco Ranalli, III, Firenze: Studio per Edizioni Scelte, 1975, pp. 713–716, which does not mention the painter’s stay in London. A complete collection of the sources that instead describe Orazio’s trip to Britain can be found in Orazio Gentileschi at the Court of Charles I, exh. cat. (London, National Gallery, March 3–May 23, 1999; Bilbao, Museo de Bellas Artes, June 7– September 5, 1999; Madrid, Museo del Prado, September 20 –November 20, 1999), ed. Gabriele Finaldi, London 1999, pp. 101–104. In modern times, Artemisia’s trip to England has been handled in depth by: M. Garrard, op. cit., pp. 110–121; Bissell, op. cit., pp. 65–69 and 87; Alexandra Lapierre, Artemisia. Un duel pour l’immortalité, Paris: R. Laffont 1998, pp. 391–413; Francesco Solinas (Francesco Solinas, “Lo stile Barberini,” in I Barberini e la cultura europea del Seicento, ed. L. Mochi Onori, S. Schütze, F. Solinas, Roma: De Luca, 2007, p. 108; and Francesco Solinas, “Fortune di Artemisia,” in Lettere, pp. 12–13) formulated several theories on the motivations behind Artemisia’s trip to England, claiming that the painter was entering into a circuit of diplomatic relations, woven together by the Barberinis through Cassiano Dal Pozzo to promote the Catholic culture on English soil. Instead the studies carried out by Gabriele Finaldi are decisive for the reconstruction of Orazio’s trip to London (Orazio Gentileschi, op. cit.; Gabriele Finaldi, Jeremy Wood, “Orazio Gentileschi at the Court of Charles I,” in Orazio e Artemisia Gentileschi, exh. cat. (Rome, Museo Nazionale di Palazzo Venezia, October 20, 2001–January 20, 2002; New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, February 14 – May 12, 2002; Saint Louis, Saint Louis Art Museum, June 15, 2002–September 15, 2002), ed. Keith Christiansen and Judith Mann, New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 2001, pp. 232–247).

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in Artemisia’s letters, we can attempt to piece together what was probably a fleeting but

important stage in the painter’s existence.

The first mention of the English monarchy’s interest in the Gentileschis’ trip to London

can be dated to a letter of 25 January 1635 from the painter to Francesco I d’Este, duke

of Modena and Reggio, in which we learn that Artemisia’s brother, Francesco, had

travelled from London to Naples, to take Artemisia to the court of the Stuarts.13 He

had probably arrived in the Parthenopean city some time ago, as four days previously

we surprise him on the road to Rome, travelling to give one of Artemisia’s paintings as

a gift to Don Antonio Barberini.14 We can therefore imagine that at the least, Charles I

Stuart and his consort Henrietta Maria, a French Catholic, must have asked the painter

to come to London at the end of 1634, to join her father Orazio and her brothers

Francesco, Marco and Giulio who had been living there for several years by then.

Orazio had presumably arrived in London in October 1626, with the permission

of the Queen of France, Maria de’ Medici, probably in the company of the French

courtier, warrant officer Bassompierre, and on the invitation of George Villers, the

Duke of Buckingham who was well-known in that period in Paris where he was on a

diplomatic mission to negotiate the marriage of Charles I to Princess Henrietta Maria.

Orazio’s three sons soon followed him: Francesco, Giulio and the youngest, Marco.15

However, Amerigo Salvetti, a member of the Medici family resident in London,

spread he rumour that the circumstances surrounding Orazio’s arrival in London were

cloaked in international intrigue.16 Whether Charles I wanted to use the Gentileschi for

13 Lettere, no. 41, p. 94 (with previous bibliography): “I decided to also send your Serene Highness those [paintings] that I have been delighted to prepare for Your Highness, and which I am sending here by way of my brother, who was sent by his Majesty the King of England to bring me to his service.”

14 We learn this from the letter the painter wrote to Cassiano Dal Pozzo, knight and commendatore of the Medici order of Santo Stefano, in which she begs the influential scholar to recommend that her broche enter the court of the Barberini, to which Cassiano belonged (Lettere, no. 40, pp. 87–88, with previous bibliography).

15 For an updated, detailed account of the matter, see Gabriele Finaldi, “Orazio Gentileschi at the Court of Charles I,” in Orazio Gentileschi at the Court of Charles I, op. cit., pp. 10–12 and Jeremy Wood (Gabriele Finaldi, Jeremy Wood, Orazio Gentileschi at the Court of Charles I, in Orazio e Artemisia Gentileschi, op. cit., 2001, pp. 232–247.

16 As made clear in a letter written by the ambassador to the Grand Duke: Florence State Archive, Archivio Mediceo del Principato, b. 4196, first mentioned by Anna Maria Crinò, “The Date of Orazio Gentileschi’s Arrival in Rome,” The Burlington Magazine, CIX, 1967, p. 533.

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diplomatic missions as well as artistic ones is difficult to understand, but in any case he

did not lose any time in sending the young Gentileschi to Italy, openly declaring that

the purpose of their trip was to buy paintings17. The first trip we know about indeed

dates back to August 1627, when Francesco and Giulio went to Genoa to buy up the

pictorial collection of the little-known Filippo San Micheli, remaining outside England

for seven months, and returning separately to London by February 1628.18

In addition to a monthly wage and an allowance for accommodation, the king also

gave Orazio money for the colours to use in his canvases and for the models that

he still used constantly in this extreme phase of his career.19 From the documents

available, the life of the Gentileschis in London would in any case appear to have

been punctuated by accusations, intrigues and rivalries, in particular with the Dutch

painter Balthazar Gerbier, the former favourite of the Duke of Buckingham, and

following the assassination of the gentleman in August 1628, at the service of Charles I.

Despite the honours of court, monthly wage and comfortable accommodation granted

to the Gentileschis, they did not seem to live peacefully in any case.20 In the meantime,

other giants from the European painting scene were arriving in London: Rubens, who

stayed there between 1629 and 1630 and Van Dyck who entered the service of Charles I

in 1632. Orazio was then employed by Queen Henrietta Maria, who was designing the

construction of her delightful villa in Greenwich, the Queen’s House.

17 An unpublished document testifies that Giulio Gentileschi was still travelling between London in 22 October 1660, when he obtains the licence to build a theatre for an Italian band of Musicians (London, PRO, SP 29/19, f. 23).

18 On this subject, see the letter from Orazio Gentileschi to Lord Dorchester first mentioned by William Noel Sainsbury, Original Unpublished Papers Illustrative of the Life of Sir Peter Paul Rubens, London: Bradbury & Evans, 1859, pp. 311–313.

19 As can be seen in a note of the expenses presented by the painter to Lord Dorchester in March 1629 (London, PRO, SP85/6, cc. 333r–v, first mentioned by G. Finaldi, op. cit., p. 33).

20 Many of the documents relative to the relations between Orazio and his children and Bathazar Gerbier were first mentioned by W. Noel Sainsbury, Original Unpublished Papers Illustrative of the Life of Sir Peter Paul Rubens, London: Bradbury & Evans, 1859. They are again the subject of close focus by G. Finaldi, op. cit., pp. 17–18. In order to obtain a balanced view of Gentileschi’s pictorial production in the court of Charles I, which was largely seen in a negative light by critics, see Orazio Gentileschi at the Court of Charles I, exh. cat., op. cit., and Gabriele Finaldi, Jeremy Wood, Orazio Gentileschi at the Court of Charles I, in Orazio e Artemisia Gentileschi, op.cit., pp. 232–247.

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Despite being engaged in these new projects, in 1633 Orazio did not seem to be satisfied

and sent Phillip IV of Spain a gift in the form of the signed Finding of Moses which is

today kept in the Museo del Prado, offering his services to the Spanish Crown, perhaps

as a result of his desire to conclude his honoured career in warmer climates.21 But things

did not go according to plan: no negotiations with Spain ever took place, and instead,

Queen Henrietta Maria asked him to decorate the ceiling of the Great Hall of her new

Greenwich residence, which had been completed in 1635.

Apart from the ceiling, Orazio painted various other works for the Greenwich

residence, and Gabriele Finaldi’s reconstruction of this period appears extremely

plausible when he suggests that one of the frames of the four paintings included in the

expense accounts for the palace between 1633 and 1634 was also destined for a Tarquinio

e Lucrezia, which is attributed to Artemisia in the court inventories and can therefore

be considered an all-new Italian preview for the painter’s trip to England.22 To support

this theory, I would like to add that the inventory mention is absolutely reliable as

the canvas was registered by the Dutch artist Abraham van der Doort, compiler of

a goods inventory for the assets of Charles, drawn up between 1637 and 1639, when

the painter was in London.23 Orazio therefore wished to introduce Artemisia to the

court of Charles I, if not with the intention of having her replace himself in the King’s

service, then at least with a view to helping her.

It was in this period, around 1633–1634, that, according to the chronological evidence

provided by the above-mentioned letters, Francesco Gentileschi set off from Italy to

21 On the two versions of the painting, see in particular the exhibition catalogue Orazio Gentileschi at the Court, op. cit., in particular pp. 68–71, and Aidan Weston-Lewis, “Orazio Gentileschi’s two versions of the Finding of Moses reassessed,” in Orazio Gentileschi at the Court, op. cit., pp. 39–49.

22 G. Finaldi, op. cit., p. 27.

23 The inventory was compiled between 1637 and November 1639, as has been accurately reconstructed based on the references contained within the text (O. Millar, op. cit., 1960, p. XX).

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accompany his sister to London, despite her reluctance to go with him. And indeed, on

20 July 1635, Artemisia herself told Ferdinando II de’ Medici, the Grand Duke of Tuscany,

that at that time she was in Naples serving Phillip IV of Spain, thanks to the intervention

of viceroy Manuel de Acevedo y Zuñiga the Count of Monterrey, and that this was why

she had delayed her departure for London, although her brother Francesco had already

travelled over to accompany her to England. Furthermore, the painter also stated that she

was almost ready to leave and that she was waiting for the permission to travel that the

Duchess of Savoy had promised to provide for her journey: “so that I can move freely

in France” .24 Even so, Artemisia only left Italy two years later. She addressed her last

letter to Cassiano Dal Pozzo from Naples on 24 November 1637, expressing her desire to

marry off her daughter and move to Rome. The painter was tired of Naples, as she had

significantly stated some time previously: “I no longer want to stay in Naples, both due

to the riots caused by the war and also to the poor standard of living and expense” .25 This

last exchange of correspondence with Cassiano forms the basis of the tempting theory

that the main purpose of Artemisia’s trip to London was a secret diplomatic mission for

the Barberinis26. Regarding the period in which Artemisia travelled to England, two

interesting pieces of information should be considered. On 22 May 1639, Francesco

Gentileschi received fifty pounds in London to cover the expenses sustained during a

“trip to Italy” which he had carried out for the Queen,27 and he also received another

payment for the year 1638, which would appear to be an annual salary and if this is true,

it shows that Francesco did not stay in the city all year. It is registered in the accounting

24 Lettere, no. 43, p. 104.

25 Lettere, no. 47, p. 115, 11 February 1636.

26 Francesco Solinas, “Lo stile Barberini,” in I Barberini e la cultura europea del Seicento, edited by Lorenza Mochi Onori, Sebastian Schütze, Francesco Solinas, Rome: De Luca, 2007, p. 108; and Idem, “Fortune di Artemisia,” in Lettere di Artemisia, op. cit., pp. 12–13.

27 G. Finaldi, op. cit., p. 35, note 35.

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ledgers of the treasury of Henrietta Maria, Sir Richard Wynn.28 In the end, we know

that Francesco travelled to Italy for the queen between 1638 and 1639, and that therefore

he must have accompanied his sister to London during one of these trips.

This period was characterised by sadness. Indeed, Orazio passed away in February

1639, leaving his estate to his three sons. Instead, Artemisia was not mentioned in her

father’s last wishes.29 Although this may seem unusual for a reader in the 21st century,

in seventeenth century bureaucratic forms it was normal practice: if a dowry had been

provided for a daughter, she had no rights to inheritance.30

There are doubts about whether Artemisia had already arrived at the court of London

at this point. The most recent critical paper on the matter excluded her presence in

England before her father’s death and therefore the possibility that she may have helped

to paint the ceiling in the Queen’s House, based on the fact that she did not feature in

Orazio’s will and on a payment that would seem to allude to the installation of canvases

in the ceiling of the Great Hall in Greenwich between October 1637 and September

1638, the period in which the work was probably concluded.31 The difficulty experienced

in interpreting the style of the ceiling in Greenwich is evident and widespread. The

canvases, which had already been notably shortened to fit the new dimensions of the

hall when moved from the Queen’s House to Marlborough House at the beginning of

the eighteenth century, were also extensively painted over.32

In addition to this eighteenth century trauma, I would like to point out here that the

ceiling was the subject of another, equally serious intervention during the Second

World War. Indeed, at the Public Record Office in London there are a number of

interesting documents dating from 28 November 1641, regarding the detachment and

28 Ibidem.

29 The will is kept at the London, PRO, Prob 11/180, f. 473, cf. G. Finaldi, op. cit., p. 33.

30 Instead, G. Finaldi (op. cit., p. 32) maintains that the fact that Artemisia does not figure in her father’s will implies that the painter was not yet in London on this date.

31 G. Finaldi, op. cit., p. 32.

32 An important analysis of the paintings is provided by Raymond Ward Bissell, Orazio Gentileschi and the Poetic Tradition in Caravaggesque Painting, University Park (PA): Pennsylvania State University Press, 1981, pp. 195–198. On the cycle, see the more recent work by G. Finaldi, op. cit., pp. 24–32.

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safekeeping of the ceiling in a deposit in Mentmore to protect it from bombing.33 On

27 February 1942, Kenneth Clark, who was the director of the National Gallery at the

time, expressed his extremely severe judgement on the outcome of the operation: “I am

sorry to say that the work has not been at all well done. Large areas had been allowed

to crack and the paint has flaked off.”34 Therefore it is not easy to evaluate paintings in

such a bad condition, only a skilled restoration intervention would allow us to interpret

them fully. Despite this, it seems definitely impossible to attribute the Neapolitan feel

of some of the figures portrayed to the hand of Orazio alone.

On the other hand, if the conditions of the ceiling of Marlborough House cannot be

decisively assessed from a stylistic viewpoint, I suggest that another painting, which

has recently been the main focus of research, has a great deal to teach us about the

collaboration of Orazio and Artemisia in London. It is a canvas with an unusual

subject: Ulysses finds Achilles among Lycomedes’ daughters. The painting, which appeared

in the Milanese antique market in May 2009 as the work of Artemisia Gentileschi, had

been attributed to Orazio’s London period,35 only to be newly published as the work

of Artemisia in 1641, the next year.36 This beautiful painting, with its unique stylistic

resemblance to the above-mentioned Finding of Moses painted by Orazio in London, in

the two versions present in the Prado and in the private collection currently on loan to

the National Gallery, is unquestionably datable to the Tuscan artist’s English period, and

is very probably a collaborative work. Indeed, the backward facing female figure sitting

on the left would appear to be the work of Artemisia, as she has a more naturalistic air

compared with the rest of the composition.

The story told by the Ulysses painted by the Gentileschis would therefore appear to

be as follows: when she arrived in London, Artemisia began working in the projects

33 London, PRO, AE3284/1.

34 London, PRO, AE3284/1. I intend to examine this issue in more depth at a later date.

35 Massimo Pulini, “Il grandangolo gentileschiano,” in Da Caravaggio ai Caravaggeschi, ed. Maurizio Calvesi and Alessandro Zuccari, Rome: CAM, 2009, pp. 369–370.

36 Judith W. Mann, “Artemisia Gentileschi: caravaggesca?,” in I Caravaggeschi. Percorsi e protagonisti, ed. Alessandro Zuccari, II, Milan: Skira, 2010, pp. 218–219.

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already started by her father, whose testimony she took over when he died. Moreover,

none of her brothers had ever been able to do this. Ever the transformist, the painter

then toned down her Neapolitan naturalism and absorbed the international register

which had characterised her father’s pictorial universe at the end of the fourth decade

of the seventeenth century. In my opinion, clear examples of this can be seen in the

few surviving works which can be unequivocally dated to this period: in addition

to the Ulysses, the memorable Allegory of Painting in the Royal Collection, and the

beautiful Cleopatra presented here. A far cry from the tired sensuality that had often

characterised the interpretation of Gentileschi’s subjects, here the figure of the heroine

seems soaked in an almost solemn, statue-like monumental air rarely seen in Artemisia’s

work from her first period in Naples (instead a positive example is the Muse Clio in

the Pisa Foundation). In Cleopatra, Artemisia even incorporates classical references,

proof of which can be seen in the bas-relief on which the basket of fruit rests, and

ensures she includes an interesting still life element, an extremely popular genre on the

international scene and one in which Artemisia excelled, according to the biographer

Baldinucci.37

Indeed, there is an explicit reference to a composition of fruit in the works by Artemisia

that belonged to Charles I. It concerns a mysterious painting registered in the inventory

as “269. A S.t Laying his Hand on fruite, by Artamazia 12 00 00 /Sold Mr. Jackson Ye

23 Oct.r 1651 for 12,” and listed as one of the paintings in Somerset House.38 The canvas

37 In this regard, now see Raymond Ward Bissell, “Artemisia Gentileschi Painter of Still-life?,” Notes in the History of Art, XXXII, 2, 2013, pp. 27–34.

38 I am quoting from the copy of the inventory now preserved in the British Library (but originally from the British Museum), 4898 Harley MS, p. 229 (old numbering system). O. Millar, op. cit., 1970–1972, p. 315, no. 270 quotes from Corsham Court Manuscript, c. 23v, property of Lord Methuen and R.W. Bissell, op. cit., p. 381, no. L–79 quotes the manuscript kept in London, PRO, LR 2/124, c. 192, and describes the painting as having originated from Greenwich, however the canvas was in Somerset House according to every manuscript consulted (and to O. Millar, op. cit., 1970–1972, p. pp. 304–315, as well).

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was purchased on 23 October 1651 by Jackson, the representative of Charles I’s creditors,

together with other works by Artemisia: her Self Portrait and, five days later on the 28

October, the Allegory of Painting of the Royal Collection. Regarding painting no.

269, it is truly surprising to think that Artemisia might have painted the male figure of

a saint laying his hand on fruit, a subject that was not of the type she usually preferred.

Furthermore, it was not even a favourite with the King, who did not like surrounding

himself with this kind of Catholic depictions, or with the Queen, who instead favoured

feminine heroines. It should also be emphasised that, besides the three golden apples

of Saint Nicholas, it is quite difficult to find an example of fruit as the iconographic

attribute of a male saint and, indeed, even of a female saint. In any case the work

features for the first time in the 1649–1651 inventory, there being no trace of it in that

compiled by van der Doort between 1637 and 1639, and it can therefore be dated to

between 1639 and 1640, when Artemisia left London. A cross-reference in the other

handwritten copies of the inventory compiled following the tragic passing of Charles I

presents us with further surprises as in the first copy we read: “A S.t Laying h[…] hand

on fruite; by Artemisia 12 00 00,”39 while in a subsequent version of the inventory,

which Millar attributes to the same compiler, the missing word “his” is added.40

It would therefore seem quite clear that there is a certain level of confusion in the

inventory compiled following the tragic passing of Charles I, as part of an attempt to

sell the collection, and also, based on the previous comments, it is possible to believe

that a mistake had been made. In any case, if it was possible for an English gentleman

not to be completely familiar with the role of the human figure as protagonist of a

painting in the middle of the seventeenth century, whether it was a male or female

39 London, PRO, LR 2/124, c. 192, quoted by R.W. Bissell, op. cit., p. 381, cat. L–79. I personally checked this manuscript:: the paper was torn in correspondence of the word that should be “his” or “her.”

40 Corsham MS, Lord Methuen, c. 23v. (O. Millar, op. cit., 1970–1972, p. 315, no. 270 and R.W. Bissell, op. cit., p. 381, no. L–79). I have been unable to check this text personally.

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saint, hero or heroine, it is less likely that he might make a mistake when registering a

gesture, such as that of laying a hand on fruit. Of course, it is truly tempting to recognise

here the description of the beautiful Cleopatra with her eyes raised towards the sky, in

an iconographic setting that is truly relevant to the representation of a saint, reaching

out to touch the fruit from which a small, almost invisible, vicious asp is leaning out.

Indeed, of all the known paintings by Artemisia this is the only one that could even

loosely represent such an inventory description. In any case, if it is possible for us to

speculate an erroneous interpretation of the subject of Artemisia’s painting between

the lines of the inventory listing the assets of the last King, instead, for now, identifying

this listing with the Cleopatra presented must remain an exciting pathway for research

that would surely lead to many interesting insights.

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GALERIE G.SARTI