Arundel Society: The translation of a translation - ANU Repository

Arundel Society: The translation of a translation - ANU Repository

A translation of a translation: Dissemination of the Arundel Society’s chromolithographs Lucina Ward May 2016 A thesis submitted for the degree of D...

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A translation of a translation: Dissemination of the Arundel Society’s chromolithographs

Lucina Ward May 2016

A thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy of The Australian National University

I confirm that the following work is my own, and the ideas of others, and material previously published, is appropriately acknowledged in the text.

Lucina Ward (u347330) 16 May 2016

Abstract―A translation of translation: The dissemination of the Arundel Society’s chromolithographs1 The thesis casts new light on the activities of the London-based Arundel Society (1848–1897). It examines the watercolours and chromolithographs produced for the Society made after pre-Renaissance frescoes and Northern altarpieces, the discourse around them, and the ways the prints were collected by organisations and individual subscribers. The Society’s commercial and ideological strategies, its didactic and archival programs, as well as the multi-faceted nature of its authorship are analysed. Using the notion of translation, this thesis explores how mediation affects the reception and meaning of a work of art.

The Arundel Society, or Society for Promoting the Knowledge of Art, was one of the first entities to issue high-quality colour reproductions of works of art. Through an investigation of the impact of these colour images on art writing, and the ways in which they helped give visual form to ideas about art, this thesis proposes new value for the Society’s publications. The prints, sculptural casts and texts issued over fifty years were an important contribution to art history in a period when the discipline was developing; they were distributed around the world, bringing popular awareness to the art of earlier times. By examining subscriber lists and exploring the connections between the Society’s members, this thesis demonstrates the ubiquity of the chromolithographs. By considering the prints in a range of domestic and religious spheres, within museums and other institutional contexts, the thesis challenges the idea that reproductive prints are by nature unilateral and poses further complexities about the original, its image and the viewer—it asks questions about what happens if works of art look back.

This thesis is the first to examine the Arundel Society’s contribution to a nascent art history and only the second, since Tanya Ledger’s more than forty years ago, to assess its activities in depth. Initially the Society aimed to record and spread knowledge of important monuments. Later it placed greater emphasis on

1

Christian Barman used the phrase ‘translation from a translation’ to describe the Arundel Society’s prints in 1949; ‘Printed pictures,’ Penrose Annual, vol.XLIII 1949, pp.55–57, at p.56; see also Conclusion. page i

recording works of art to which general access was difficult, and those threatened by decay or destruction; the function of the watercolours and prints as a ‘condition report’ was recognised at the time. In 1860s and 1870s, at the height of the Society’s popularity, the chromolithographs were also used as home furnishings, while in various churches they remain as items for devotion. By surveying extant holdings, this thesis assesses the role of the Society’s publications in the development of museum collections in Britain, the colonies and further afield, and reconsiders the possibilities for these works in the twenty-first century.

page ii

Acknowledgments Many people have helped with this project, over an extended period of time. Dr Andrew Montana—to whom I took two proposals many years ago—has been a wonderful supervisor, helping to shape the project, wielding the right combination of carrot and stick, seeing past the many competing priorities of my curatorial work with patience and encouragement, to the end. At the National Gallery of Australia (NGA) my supervisor and colleague Christine Dixon has also overseen my progress, reviewing and editing text, and likewise insisting I see this project through, despite the many demands of several major exhibitions during this time. My heartfelt thanks to two anonymous readers who have been forthright in their praise, acute in criticisms, offered several useful additions and collected a few infelicities.

Advisors Dr Elisabeth Findlay, Professor Sasha Grishin, Mark Henshaw, Dr Alison Inglis of the Melbourne University, as well as a range of other ANU associates and NGA colleagues, provided valuable feedback on a Thesis Proposal Review seminar, motivating me to pursue some of the ideas in Chapter 2 into other contexts. In the early days Margaret Brown and Raewyn Arthur, and later Kathryne Ford, helped with many practicalities. Some of my fieldwork, specifically research in Boston and Washington, was partially funded by the Australian National University as an HDR grant; the majority, however, was achieved under my own auspices or as an add-on to business for the Gallery during periods of study leave. Subsequently others at the ANU, including Dr Denise Ferris, Helen Ennis and staff of the School of Art History and Theory, have also supported my final campaign.

NGA staff in other departments have provided valuable support. The Research Library under Margaret Shaw, then Joye Volker, especially Gillian Currie, Helen Hyland, Vicki Marsh, Kathleen Collins, Sonja Barfoed and Charmaine Head were, quite simply, marvellous. Dr Jane Kinsman and Jaklyn Babington, curators of International Prints, Drawings and Illustrated Books, have kindly allowed me access to the Arundel Society collection at the NGA. Also much appreciated is the work of the conservators and new photography of the Gallery’s Arundel holdings produced by Imaging Services.

In Australian libraries and archives, the Petherick staff at the National Library of Australia, Canberra, those at the Australian National University, Michael Watson as librarian at the National Gallery of Victoria, and the Melbourne Athenaeum’s Marjorie Dalvean have provided valuable assistance. In New Zealand, the staff at the Alexander Turnbull Library, National Library of New Zealand Te Puna Mātauranga o Aotearoa, was also most helpful. page iii

In Melbourne, at the National Gallery of Victoria, the assistance of curators Dr Ted Gott, Cathy Leahy, Alisa Bunbury, Petra Kayser and Kirrily Hammond is gratefully acknowledged, as is that of Jennie Moloney. Reverend Scott Holmes, Ewen Tyler and others at St Martin’s Hawksburn were most accommodating in providing access to the Arundel Society prints there, as were Dr Colin Holden and staff at St Peter's Eastern Hill.

Further afield several individuals have been especially generous in sharing knowledge and ideas about their collections, Arundel Society issues and related matters: chief among these are Frances Rankine at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, and staff at the National Art Library; Louise Pullen, Ruskin Curator, Museums Sheffield; Dr Jenny Graham, University of Plymouth; the print librarians at the Bibliothèque nationale de France; and Catharina Slautterback and Hina Hirayama at the Boston Athenaeum. Staff at the Archives of American Art, Washington, were also helpful as were the curators, librarians and other custodians who have provided information about their collections, and are acknowledged in the text.

Ted Gott and Simeran Maxwell have faithfully and carefully proof-read the thesis, offering suggestions and averting embarrassments, small and large. Christie Costello also helped to check the bibliography. Thanks are also due to many other friends and extended family who kept study and household commitments in balance: the FosterHarrisons; the Ferru-Maconachies; the Andlee family; Zeljko Markov; Lawrence Hennessy and Andrew Martin; Jennifer Spence and Adam Noble; as well as neighbours and helpmates further afield.

Finally, it is a pleasure to acknowledge my parents, who took us to so many museums it felt normal, and immediate family who, I am sure, never thought this time would come. Dr Graeme Ward embraced the complexities of getting around in Italy, becoming an enthusiastic ‘fresco-hunter’ and rallying the troupes for more expeditions. Sue (Kathleen) Ward, to whom I owe an emphasis on sensible and careful expression, also travelled with me to several key sites; I am grateful for her initial proof-reading of the text. Dr Vanessa (Buffy) Ward whose thoughtful and critical advice on a first proposal, as well as subsequent help with a seminar paper worked to shape my progress; she and Dr Adrian Muckle also assisted in the final stages. And to Alex Reddaway, likewise a good travelling companion and proof-reader, who was there almost to the end; to Rosa Roxy who was company in the darkest hours; and to Lux Ward who has known this ‘younger sibling’ all her life but, at last, no longer has a challenger.

Lucina Ward March 2015 / May 2016 page iv

TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstract―A translation of translation: The dissemination of the Arundel Society’s chromolithographs i Acknowledgments iii Introduction—Translating frescoes, altarpieces and other works of art 1 Chapter one―Art history without images, writers without biographies 35 Chapter two―‘An age of science, new knowledge, searching criticism, multiplied doubts and shaken beliefs’ 95 Chapter three―Attitudes to conservation: The Giotto project and the Ovetari Chapel, Church of the Eremitani, Padua 139 Chapter four―Decorating the hearth, furnishing the soul 199 Chapter five―Worldwide networks: The dissemination of Arundel Society publications 253 Conclusion―‘Much new light on the history of art’ 309 Details of works illustrated 318 Bibliography 326

figure 1 Vincent BROOKS, lithographer View of the interior of the Arena Chapel, Padua, 1306 after a watercolour by (Mrs) Margaretta Higford Burr lithograph, 57.2 x 64.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1856 Boston Athenaeum

Introduction—Translating frescoes, altarpieces and other works of art The London-based Arundel Society (1848–1897), or Society for Promoting the Knowledge of Art, was established for ‘the systematic study of the monuments of painting and other arts in which the middle ages were so eminently successful’ and to investigate ‘the theoretical principles common to all branches of art.’1 The watercolours and chromolithographs produced for the Society were copies after pre-Renaissance works of art, mainly Umbrian and Tuscan fresco painting of the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Copies were also made after altarpieces of the Italian, Flemish and German schools, Italian sepulchral monuments and ivories from the second to the fifteenth century. As well as chromolithographs, the Society published monographs, casts and other sculptural facsimiles, and issued photographs and prints in a range of other techniques. Initially the Society aimed to record and to diffuse knowledge of ‘the finest monuments … from past times,’ to improve both public taste and to elevate the ‘tone of our national schools of painting and sculpture.’2 Later it placed greater emphasis on recording works of art to which general access was difficult, and those threatened by decay or destruction. The prints, fictile ivories 3 and text publications issued by the Society over fifty years were an important contribution during the period of development of art history as a discipline; they were widely distributed and brought popular awareness to early art.

This thesis addresses an important gap in the literature on the Arundel Society—a visual analysis of the copyists’ interpretation of the Medieval and early Renaissance works in watercolour form, their subsequent translation to the third medium of colour lithography, and the discourse surrounding them. In exploring the Society’s commercial and ideological strategies, and considering

1

Frederic W Maynard, Descriptive notice of the drawings and publications of the Arundel Society: Arranged in the order of their issue, London: For the author by J B Nichols and Sons 1869, p.6 2

Notice of the Arundel Society, or Society for Promoting the Knowledge of Art, London: Arundel Society 1860, p.1, p.2; see also General rules of the Arundel Society or Society for Promoting the Knowledge of Art, passed at the Annual General Meeting, June 2nd, 1863, London: Arundel Society 1863 3

The ‘fictile ivories’ produced by the Society were actually a superior form of cast plaster, treated to form a hard, smooth surface. page 1 of 355

the value of its program (both in the didactic and archival sense), the thesis examines notions of the ‘original’ in art and art history, qualitative judgments about facsimiles and assumptions about creative processes, as well as nineteenth-century connoisseurship and aesthetic sensibilities. A temporal ‘shift’ between pre-Renaissance frescoes and altarpieces, and copyists in the nineteenth century, is also considered, as is the importance of the Society’s chromolithographs in promoting the role of colour in earlier art.4 The parallel translocation between ‘the primitives’5 and British eyes is of direct relevance to this project, as is transition through the copyists’ drawings and watercolours to the printed form, and their dissemination around the world. In the course of this research several key questions have been posed: how do the chromolithographs, and the Society’s role as one of the first entities to circulate colour reproductions, affect the ways in which we write about art? where the original frescoes or panel paintings have been lost or destroyed, how do the prints operate as records of those works of art? what functions do the chromolithographs serve in the early twenty-first century, and what value might they have in the future? _________________________________

Given the length of its existence, the number of publications produced and the extensive discussion of its activities in the press of the day (see Chapter 2), the Arundel Society’s lack of critical attention and in-depth study is surprising. The catalogue raisonné produced by watercolourist W Noel Johnson (active 1887– 1914) for the Whitworth Institute, Manchester, only a decade after the Society’s

4

New approaches to, and theories about, colour in the 1860s, as well as developments in the fields of optics and colour perceptions, are important in this context. These new ideas had an enormous impact on artists and designers across a range of fields; the influence of colour and new technologies for decoration and furnishings is explored in Chapter 4. 5

Many commentators have traced the rise of interest in early Italian and Northern art during the early nineteenth century (see Chapter 1), and the work of Francis Haskell and Robyn Cooper has been particularly useful for this thesis (see below). For the purposes of discussion, the ‘primitives’ are defined as painters of the late thirteenth, fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and, while Italian art is mainly intended, early Netherlandish and German works are included. ‘Italy’ is used in a smaller sense than the geographic boundaries of the country today since, for a nineteenth-century English reader, the emphasis was on northern and central regions: he or she would have been more familiar with distinctions between Sienese and Roman art and artists than, for example, the Sicilian south. page 2 of 355

demise, ensured the chromolithographs remained well-documented,6 as did the publications produced by the Society’s secretary Frederick W Maynard in the 1860s and 70s.7 The Manchester handbook and collection were promoted as a convenient way for the student to begin his art education. Johnson diligently described the works of art, provided potted biographies, characterised the tendencies of each school, and appended an interesting discussion on the role of landscape in religious art, but his attitudes to the role of the artist and role of art remain firmly anchored in the nineteenth century.8 The chromolithographs are mentioned in several subsequent histories of printmaking and discussions of colour print techniques; although dominated by facts and figures, these serve to give an impression of waxing and waning interest in the publications. In 1928, for example, we are told that the Giotto chromolithograph St Francis preaching to the birds is one of the Society’s rarest prints (fig.50), while others previously held in high esteem are now ‘somewhat out of favour.’9 Fifty-five years later we hear that the Arundel Society was ‘the most important non-commercial application of chromolithography’ in Britain, the prints are ‘much in demand,’ and examples may be seen in ‘almost every second-hand print dealer’s window.’10

A study of the English lithographic trade produced by art historian Kathy Kajander Tidman includes a chapter on the Arundel Society but this is modelled

6

W Noel Johnson’s A handbook (catalogue raisonné) to the collection of chromo-lithographs from copies of important works of ancient masters published by the Arundel Society, with historical and special artistic record and notes, (Manchester: Whitworth Institute 1907), was issued in an edition of 150 copies, and is now rare. The Whitworth Institute and Park, established in 1889, opened its first building in 1908. The Institute joined the University of Manchester in 1958, and is now the Whitworth Art Gallery. 7

Descriptive notice of the drawings and publications of the Arundel Society: Arranged in the order of their issue (1869) and Descriptive notice of the drawings and publications of the Arundel society, from 1869 to 1873 inclusive; (being a continuation of "Twenty years of the Arundel society.") Illustrated by photographs of all the publications, arranged in the order of their issue (1873); both published in London: For the author by J B Nichols and Sons. 8

There are hints at new approaches to art criticism: Johnson appeals to his reader, for example, to put aside religious chauvinism, not to regard the works too literally and to consider the work of art in its context (pp.xvii–xviii). 9

Charles Thomas Courtney Lewis, The story of picture printing in England during the nineteenth century: Or forty years of wood and stone, London: Sampson Low, Marston & Co 1928, pp.161–162 10

R M Burch comments that the 197 prints issued are ‘now valuable,’ the Perugino Martyrdom of St Sebastian chromolithographs being available for 30s while others such as Bellini’s Madonna and Child may fetch 300s, making the original subscription rate of one guinea the ‘envy of current collectors.’ Colour printing and colour printers, Edinburgh: Paul Harris 1983, pp.211–212 page 3 of 355

on published sources and heavily dependent on the Society’s own materials. 11 While Tidman’s discussion of lithography firms such as Day and Sons—later acquired by Vincent Brooks—provides illuminating context, her remit is confined to Britain and thus excludes the lithographers working directly for the Society. More recent coverage given by print historian Michael Twyman in A history of chromolithography: Printed colour for all is commensurate with the ambition of the Society’s projects and the impact of the chromolithographs.12 Not only does Twyman discuss the organisation of the key print houses, the roles of the copyists and advisers, he also sheds light on the production mechanics of these complex lithographs.13 His information about the Society is drawn from Maynard’s and Johnson’s commentary, and from more recent scholarship by Tanya Ledger and Anthony J Hamber; he is not particularly concerned, for example, with the distribution of the prints or the ways in which they were used.

The rise of serious interest in the Arundel Society and its activities in the 1960s and 1970s is broadly aligned with visual and cultural studies, and the new tendency towards vernacular subjects and ‘secondary’ representational images.14 Art historian and director of the National Gallery, London, Michael Levey (1927–2008) was one of the first modern commentators to include

11

Kathy Kajander Tidman, Art for the Victorian household, London & Bordeaux: Online Originals 1997, http://www.onlineoriginals.com (first accessed October 2003). Tidman quotes the Society’s Annual reports and two membership lists, the Art Journal and Athenaeum, W H Gregory’s 1884 article (see Chapter 2), Johnson’s handbook and Cooper’s 1978 article but not, surprisingly, Ledger’s work (see below). 12

Michael Twyman, A history of chromolithography: Printed colour for all, London: British Library; New Castle (USA): Oak Knoll Press 2013 13

Another recent publication, Richard Benson’s book to accompany the 2008 exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art, New York, The printed page, discusses the processes for producing complex lithographs such as those after the Ghent altarpiece. He reproduces, for example, the print after the Knights of Christ panel (printed by Storch and Kramer, and published 1868–71), but without identifying it as an Arundel Society publication; see The printed page, New York: Museum of Modern Art 2008, pp.64–65. 14

David Robertson’s vast, art-historical biography of Charles Eastlake serves to place the Arundel Society in the context of the British interest in Old Masters and the range of reproductions available at the time; see Sir Charles Eastlake and the Victorian art world, Princeton University Press 1978, pp.435–436. More recently Susanna Avery-Quash and Julie Sheldon, Art for the nation: The Eastlakes and the Victorian art world, (London: National Gallery Company Ltd 2011) have elucidated Eastlake’s support, at a distance, for the Society. Donata Levi’s essay, ‘“Let agents be sent to all the cities of Italy”: British public museums and the Italian art market in the mid-19th century,’ mentions the Arundel Society in the context of Layard’s pamphlet on Ghirlandaio; see John E Law and Lene Østermark-Johansen (ed.), Victorian and Edwardian responses to the Italian Renaissance, Ashgate 2005, pp.33–53, at p.41, p.51. page 4 of 355

reference to the Society.15 His 1960 article on Botticelli—essential reading for tracing the artist’s importance for Walter Pater and the broader Aesthetic Movement—combines formalism, connoisseurship and meticulous scholarship with quotations from Punch. Levey’s remarks about the Primavera chromolithograph (rf fig.90) suggest at once a casual awareness of the Society and the ways in which the print signalled a break with traditional Victorian values.16 The Society received a great deal more attention in the 1970s, thanks to several displays of the prints and watercolours, and under the impetus of art historians such as Francis Haskell (1928–2000).17 Haskell, whose pioneering studies contributed much to understanding the social history of art, encouraged the use of ‘non-art’ documents and other broader evidence—rather than the mainstays of connoisseurship and attribution—fostering an interest in museums, patronage, collecting and exhibitions. In Rediscoveries in art he outlines the impact of critics and collectors on the reputations of particular artists or schools, the means by which individuals developed their collections, and the ways in which those who admired early Italian art, or travelled in Italy, reconciled this with Protestant, or High and Low Church principles. Haskell’s work has been valuable for information about the art market, art world connections and the range of art resources available in the period 1780–1880. His approach, in examining materials and issues outside the art world, has informed subsequent research on the Society and has been key to this thesis.

Exhibitions at the universities of Leeds and Nottingham, and the Bodleian Library, Oxford, likewise shaped and motivated interest in the Arundel Society during the 1970s.18 Art historian and biographer of Scottish painter Allan Ramsay, Alistair

15

Michael Levey, ‘Botticelli and nineteenth-century England,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol.23, no.3/4, July–December 1960, pp.291–306. Levey presumably knew the Arundel Society watercolours which alternated between the National Gallery, London, and the Victoria and Albert Museum (see below). 16

Although little known until 1815, the Primavera was engraved in the nineteenth century; see Levey, p.292. 17

Francis Haskell, Rediscoveries in art: Some aspects of taste, fashion and collecting in England and France, London: Phaidon 1976. Haskell reproduces the 1856 chromolithograph, The interior of the Arena Chapel, Padua, with Dante and Giotto, after Mrs Higford Burr’s watercolour and specifically acknowledges Harrod’s research (see p.105, pl.234). It would be interesting to discover whether Haskell and Levey, who had collaborated on a 1958 article about exhibitions in eighteenth-century Venice, may also have shared an interest in the Society’s activities. 18

The exhibition of Arundel Society watercolours—on loan from the National Gallery, London, and the Victoria and Albert Museum—was shown in the Department of Fine Arts at the page 5 of 355

Smart (1922–1992), produced one of the first in-depth discussions of the Society’s watercolours but the focus of his article is what the study of the copies after the frescoes at Assisi can bring to attribution.19 He examined several of Kaiser’s copies in detail—including aspects of the frescoes no longer visible in the original (see Chapter 3)—and reproduced some watercolours for the first time. Another richly illustrated article, in Country Life by the writer Alan Bird, provides an efficient summary of the Society’s history, key players and broader historical context but with limited sources and no references. Bird compares the chromolithographs to other key projects of the period: the appeal of the prints was for the ‘Victorian love of detail’ and for the way in which they demonstrated an ‘earnest application to hard work on the part of the artist.’ 20

The art historian and lecturer Robyn Cooper (1942–2008), who devoted a chapter to the Arundel Society in her 1976 thesis on British attitudes to the primitives,21 demonstrated that most illustrations after early Italian art circulating in the first half of the nineteenth century were copied after existing prints. She also analysed how contemporary concerns—the revival of religious art and feeling in Britain, as well as anxieties arising from the Industrial Revolution— were major motivations for the dissemination of knowledge about earlier masters, a process which justified art by linking it to education and reform. Tanya Ledger’s thesis, completed in 1978 and supervised by Haskell, also engages some of these key issues and remains the most importance source for information on the Society.22 Having earlier worked with keeper Christopher Lloyd on Art and its images for the Bodleian Library exhibition, she was well placed to ‘illustrate the plight of the connoisseur working from engraving before

University of Leeds, in 1974; Kaiser’s watercolours of Assisi, were shown in the Nottingham University Art Gallery, February–March 1974; and Art and its images: An exhibition of printed books containing engraved illustrations after Italian painting, Bodleian Library, Oxford, April– June 1975. 19

Alistair Smart, ‘Some unpublished copies of frescoes at Assisi,’ Apollo xciv, April 1974, pp.228–231 20

Alan Bird, ‘Earnest passion for art: The Arundel Society,’ Country Life (London, England) vol.159, 3 June 1976, p.1513, p.1515; Bird’s article contains one of the few mentions of the fictile ivories. 21

Robyn Cooper, British attitudes to the Italian primitives 1815–1866, PhD dissertation (University of Sussex) 1976 22

Tanya Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, PhD dissertation (Oxford University) 1978 page 6 of 355

the discovery of photograph.’23 Both Cooper and Ledger (as Tanya Harrod) later published articles synthesising aspects of their doctoral research—and these are the most authoritative assessments.24

Ledger’s was the first full study of the Arundel Society. She considered its activities in the context of scholarly and popular interest in Italian and Northern art in the second half of the nineteenth century, and made a thorough examination of the people and personalities involved, especially in the Society’s early days. Her analysis of Ruskin and the Giotto project is acute (see Chapter 3) and has been important for subsequent scholars. She drew on published and unpublished material but was unable then, as now, to locate the minutes kept by the Society’s secretaries, as well as the correspondence between the Council and the copyists, lithographers and authors. Instead she relied on the watercolours and prints, annual reports, advertisements and other materials, as well as the letters and papers of Council members for elucidation.25 Ledger’s work is particularly good at drawing out the individuals behind the Society and their motivations, and demonstrating how the preferences of the archaeologist, art historian and politician Austen Henry Layard (1817–1894) shaped the development and program of the publications. The current study, while begun from Ledger’s and at times building on her research, amends the missing annual reports (1868–75), and adds in-depth study of the published membership lists, as well as information about the agents, subscribers and upto-date institutional collections both in Britain and internationally. 26

Quantitative methods dominated early work on the Arundel Society, and qualitative and issues-based studies have only recently appeared. Again much of the research has coincided with, or been motivated by, exhibitions which 23

Christopher Lloyd and Tanya Ledger, Art and its images: An exhibition of printed books containing engraved illustrations after Italian painting, held in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, April–June 1975, Oxford: Ashmolean Museum 1976, p.3 24

Robyn Cooper, ‘The popularisation of Renaissance art in Victorian England: The Arundel Society,’ Art History, vol.1, no.3, September 1978, pp.263–292 and Tanya Harrod, ‘John Ruskin and the Arundel Society,’ Apollo, no.127, March 1988, pp.180–188; more recently Harrod’s paper, ‘Ideal and spiritual’: The Arundel Society and the trecento,’ delivered at the National Gallery, London: http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/whats-on/calendar/conference-2-march-2013 25

Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.iii

26

Ledger had access to only two membership lists, those from 1859 and 1866. page 7 of 355

included Society material, especially the Victoria and Albert Museum’s The image multiplied in 1987, and subsequent displays in the 1990s.27 Curator Susan Lambert’s work for The image multiplied is informed by constructions of narrative, notions of authenticity and status, and the importance of context for perception.28 Her analysis of issues raised by entities such as the Society, and of the circulation of reproductive prints from the Renaissance until the 1960s, has been invaluable for this thesis, particularly in offering leads such as William Morris’ ownership of chromolithographs, and the large collection at Oxford University (see Chapters 4 and 5). Important work completed by art historian and lecturer Alison Inglis provides an understanding of the development of art institutions in the colonies, attitudes to collecting, and the uses of the prints in the early days of the Melbourne Public Library.29 Inglis also surveyed other prints circulating at the time, and discussed specific examples of responses to the chromolithographs. These give valuable context for the role of reproductive prints in one of the first museum collections, and the work of individuals such as Eugene von Guérard (1811–1901) as an early curator and teacher in Australia.

Hamber’s work has also been important for this thesis, especially for the examination of pedagogical concerns, and the parallel development of the Arundel Society and photography.30 He provides essential information about the technical possibilities of early film, the Society’s distribution of art-related photographic prints and the use of photographs by art historians in the nineteenth century—as do a range of the other essays in Art history through the camera's lens.31 Discussion of specific watercolours and details about the approaches of

27

The Arundel Society 1848–1897, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 7 October 1996–30 March 1997 and Historicism: Revival and religion, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra, December 1998–May 1999 28

Susan Lambert, The image multiplied: Five centuries of printed reproductions of paintings and drawings, London: Trefoil 1987 29

Alison Inglis, ‘Art at second hand: Prints after European pictures in Victoria before 1870,’ Australian Journal of Art, vol.VII, 1988, pp.51–63; see also Alison Inglis, ‘Engravings, chromolithographs and autotypes,’ in Ann Galbally and Alison Inglis, with Christine Downer and Terence Lane, The first collections: The Public Library and the National Gallery of Victoria, University of Melbourne Museum of Art 1992, pp.65–69 30

Anthony J Hamber, ‘The Arundel Society’ in "A higher branch of the art": Photographing the fine arts in England, 1839–1880, Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach Publishers 1996, pp.303–314 31

Helene E Roberts (ed.), Art history through the camera's lens, Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach 1995; Roberts’ ideas about the photography of art as a ‘social phenomenon’—and summarised by Glenn G Willumson as performing ‘a transformative function within the discipline page 8 of 355

individual copyists has been enhanced by the research of curator Frances Rankine and conservator Victoria Button, who worked on the 1996–97 exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum.32 The work of decorative arts scholar Charlotte Gere and academic Matthew Plampin have informed particular aspects of this thesis. Gere’s study of artist Joseph Southall is one example of the aesthetic impact of the Society’s prints, and the ways in which membership of an association (in this case the Birmingham Group of Artist-Craftsmen) influenced professional practice.33 Plampin’s article, though dependent on the work of Cooper and Ledger where the Society is concerned, is a perceptive analysis of Ruskin’s contribution, and the dichotomy between the intellectual and populist strands of its program.34 A recent article by Ruskin scholar Paul Tucker―one of the few published in Italian―chronicles the production of Kaiser’s copies at Assisi to focus again on Ruskin’s involvement. Tucker argues the restoration program undertaken in the early 1870s, as well as the photographic documentation produced by Società Fotografica Artistica di Assisi and others, impacted at once on the readability of the frescoes and approach to their copying.35

Art historian Jenny Graham’s excellent monograph, Inventing van Eyck: The remaking of an artist for the modern age, includes brief references to the Society but its broader methodology, or reception approach, has encouraged

of art history’—have been particularly useful for this thesis, especially for Chapter 1; Willumson’s review is published in Victorian Studies, vol.40, no.3, Spring 1997, pp.520–522. 32

As well assisting with access to the watercolour, prints and tracings held by the Victoria and Albert Museum, Rankine shared her knowledge of the Society over several discussions in September 2006 and October 2008, and during subsequent correspondence, as well as generously providing copies of labels and other didactic material from her show. Button’s assessment of the watercolours in preparation for the exhibition clarified, for example, that Christian Schultz’s copies from the Memling altarpiece were produced on vellum—he was, at one time, thought to have worked over photographs—and shows how the copyist’s choice of materials and technique allowed him to mimic the original oils. ‘The Arundel Society: Techniques in the art of copying,’ Conservation Journal, April 1997, no.23, pp.16–19; see also on-line version: http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/journals/conservation-journal/issue-23/thearundel-society-techniques-in-the-art-of-copying/#ref3 (last accessed July 2014) 33

Charlotte Gere, ‘Gleams of gold,’ Apollo, vol.161, no.518, April 2005, pp.76–81

34

Matthew Plampin, ‘“A stern and just respect for truth”: John Ruskin, Giotto and the Arundel Society,’ Visual Culture in Britain, vol.6, no.1, 2005, pp.59–78; http://journals.mup.man.ac.uk/cgi-bin/pdfdisp//MUPpdf/VCB/V6I1/060059.pdf (accessed December 2005) 35

Paul Tucker, ‘Nuove testimonianze sugli affreschi assisiati: Ruskin e gli acquerelli di Eduard Kaiser per la Arundel Society,’ Studi di Memofonte, vol.7, 2011, pp.33–58 page 9 of 355

consideration of the ways in which the particular prints have been received.36 Two further studies, by academic Thad Logan and art historian Ingrid R Vermeulen have informed aspects of the thesis, in particular Chapters 1 and 4. Logan’s interdisciplinary, social history approach to the parlour as a site of contested values, for contemporary aesthetic and moral debates, has proved invaluable. Although she makes no mention of the Arundel Society, or chromolithographs in particular, Logan’s ideas about reproductive prints in the ‘privileged cultural space’ of the parlour have prompted an in-depth analysis of the Society’s publications in the domestic sphere, and the parlour as a site of collection and display, the home equivalent of the museum.37 Vermeulen’s Picturing art history has helped to articulate ideas about the role of images in the emergent discipline of art history, ideas that first motivated this thesis but benefited from her work on the eighteenth century. In particular her assessment of art literature and art illustration as distinct phenomena has been useful. Vermeulen’s discussion of the eighteenth century as the period when the history of art began to replace the history of artist’s lives has informed this project, as has the use of images (or an absence of images) made by scholars of the period to picture the past.38 By focussing on collecting traditions which highlight drawings and prints—a drawing being a more pure rendition of an artist’s first idea than the final painting—Vermeulen examines the ways reproductive prints are judged for reliability and for quality, a ‘lack of faithfulness’ sometimes excused because of ‘artistic ingenuity.’ She shows how scholars ruled out the engraver’s ‘interpreting hand’ and looked for ‘more mechanically produced reproductions’ and, in doing so, prepared the way for the use of photography in the early nineteenth century. (p.13)

Lastly Anachronic Renaissance, by art historians Alexander Nagel and Christopher S Wood, has provided critical intellectual impetus and, like

36

Jenny Graham, Inventing van Eyck: The remaking of an artist for the modern age, New York: Berg 2007 37

Thad Logan, The Victorian parlour, Cambridge University Press 2001, p.xii

Deborah Cohen’s monograph has likewise provided a wealth of background material, especially on attitudes to home decoration, the lingua franca of objects and, as Britons became increasingly wealthy, concerns about morality and the possibilities of teaching good taste; see Household gods: The British and their possessions, New Haven:Yale University Press 2006. 38

Ingrid R Vermeulen, Picturing art history: The rise of the illustrated history of art in the eighteenth century, Amsterdam University Press 2010, p.10, p.12; other references in the text. page 10 of 355

Vermeulen’s research, helped to articulate the original motivations for the thesis in the final stages of its writing. The notion of art as allowing ‘doubling’ or ‘bending’ of time is key: a work of art, being made at a specific moment in time, exists as a continuum from that moment onwards, and future recipients may activate or reactive its meanings.39 Nagel and Wood’s use of intersecting temporal modes applied to the Arundel Society publications—as an overlay of Renaissance, nineteenth-century concern and current theoretical discourse— has offered rich possibilities. The interchange of one work or image for another, the possibility that a work of art may substitute, or has the capacity to stand for absent authority (p.11), is especially appropriate for religious works where the object provides a focus for veneration. The concept of authorship institutionalised during the Renaissance—‘enshrined as the protagonist in histories and theories of art’ (p.18)—suggests the multiplicity of authors involved in the Society’s projects.

The thesis methodology has evolved from an interdisciplinary approach. Rather than concentrating on the individual frescoes and panel paintings, watercolour copies, prints or texts themselves, it considers the relationships between them as a way of disseminating ideas about these works of art. It adopts elements of New Art History to focus on the ‘purpose’ of the Arundel Society’s publications, the economics of its subscribers and social connections between members. In doing this, the thesis considers the half century of the Society’s operation as a period in which change led by artists, scientists and the technological elite combined with an art-historical narrative to distinguish art as a ‘record of conjunction between human mind and amenable material.’40 In dealing with the relatively little-explored area of reproductive prints, and in considering the nature of the messages portrayed by them in a range of contexts and over time, the thesis combines empirical research—surveying extant institutional collections, assessment of membership lists, auction records, provenance, display information and published records—with a broad awareness of art discourse. Work in other fields, specifically museology and literary theory, and reception theory in particular, has

Alexander Nagel and Christopher S Wood, Anachronic Renaissance, New York; Cambridge, Mass: Zone Books 2010, p.8, with other references given in the text. 39

40

’ John Murdoch, ‘Foreword,’ in Lambert, The image multiplied, p.8 page 11 of 355

also influenced the approach to the topic. For example, the ‘message’ of an image is balanced throughout by an emphasis on the material quality of works of art. Likewise notions drawn from literature, linguistics and new historicism are tempered against attitudes to visual art in the nineteenth century.

As well as being the first in almost forty years to assess the Arundel Society’s activities in depth, this thesis situates the Society in terms of art historiography. By applying the notion of translation, and exploring the multi-faceted authorship of the Society’s publications, it casts new light on the impact of colour images on writing about art. It looks at the ways in which the colour copies provided new modes of analysis and positions the Society as a key contributor to a nascent art history. Using several case studies, the thesis examines the chromolithographs in a range of other contexts: in critical discourse, as documentation, as decoration and for veneration and, in this way, goes further than previous research to date. By assessing the Society’s involvement in preservation and conservation the thesis brings to the fore issues of nationalism and patrimony. Likewise, in considering the chromolithographs in a domestic sphere, it shows the impact of debates about consumerism, education and taste.

The thesis contributes new research on the Arundel Society’s agents, distribution networks and collectors. Access to a greater number of subscriber lists has helped to elucidate the connections between members. Distribution of the Society’s publications outside Britain has provided new spheres for analysis. In surveying current institutional holdings, the thesis questions the value of the Society’s publications in the twentieth-first century. Collections of the Victorian and Albert Museum,41 National Art Library, and British Museum, London; Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris; New York Public Library and Boston Athenaeum; National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne, and National Gallery of Australia, Canberra, as well as several church collections and on-line databases, have been essential for this project. Many other institutions and individuals have 41

A group of watercolours were deposited in the National Gallery in 1889 (see Annual report); a smaller number (thirty-nine) having been earlier acquired by the Kensington Museum. The Society lent its remaining watercolours to the National Gallery in 1896 and in 1906 the Victoria and Albert Museum holdings were transferred to the National Gallery. The entire group reverted to the V&A in 1951. The majority were on extended loan to Leeds University from 1961 until 1995, when they passed back to the V&A. page 12 of 355

provided information about holdings of Arundel Society material elsewhere, and these are acknowledged in the notes. _________________________________

The notion of ‘translation’ was fundamental to the Arundel Society’s project, although naïve in its application. According to feminist and philosopher Julia Kristeva’s theory of intertextuality, there exists a vertical relationship between texts, while the author and reader are connected though a horizontal axis. This concept is particularly interesting when applied to the Arundel Society: first, because its ‘texts’ are visual rather than literary, and second because of the many authors and multiple nature of these ‘texts’. The most fundamental vertical relationship is between the Society’s Council as the commissioning body and the chosen copyist who interprets a trecento fresco in Italy into a portable watercolour to send to London. Next there is the lithographer, who must confidently and sensitively translate a drawn image onto multiple stones, and the printers who attend to complexities of registration and the editioning of the chromolithograph. The publisher then circulates the prints, through agents or directly to subscribers all over the world. To make the most complete use of the notion of intertextuality, however, it is necessary to go beyond these unilinear relationships to consider the choice of subject matter, the expertise of the Council and its directions, and subsequent uses including those of the present day. The mapping of the associations between key individuals associated with the Society’s main ideals, and the corresponding distribution of the chromolithographs and published texts, may be compared to epistolary discourse. Studying correspondence involves several non-exclusive choices: the reconstruction of its exchange, or the lack of, when the letters of one party are lost; a chronological reading by production date; biographical readings with reference to broader networks; or the analysis of content and historical context. In modern art history reproductive prints are often discounted as secondary, as mere simulacra, offering neither ‘truth’ to the artist’s intention nor the scale, texture, presence or emotive experience of an original work of art. If, however, we embrace this disembodiment, the mimetic quality of the chromolithographs allows a certain freedom to engage imaginatively. Read intertextually, they are neither isolated art objects nor material culture, but rather discursive texts that page 13 of 355

embrace notions of didacticism, class and gender, and manufacture, reception or dissemination. The Arundel Society’s polemic captures an historical moment when the idea of ‘betterment’ was largely one-dimensional and implied an ascent of class: in the nineteenth century there was less knowledge of the ways people learn, the importance of motivation, and especially the impact of demographics on education. In becoming a subscriber, the institution or private collector joined a privileged circle. In producing desirable, collectable ‘texts’ in multiples, the Society also appealed to a diverse audience. For these reasons the visual analogy chosen for this project is a web with the Society as its core and the chromolithographs as strands radiating out from the centre; the connections between those strands are the human relationships, the history of ownership, and the uses of the prints. This is a simplified, more schematic form of the rhizomatic notion conceived by post-structuralists Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari,42 but it also suggests the reconfiguration of experiences of time and space, the possibility of the Society and its subscribers as the nineteenthcentury equivalent of a global communication network. By avoiding a dichotomy, which positions a reproductive or ‘secondary’ work as less than or a reflection of the original, we move beyond the unilateral viewpoint. This type of binary is insufficient to capture the range of applications of the Society’s productions.

If the epistolary analogy is applied, we enter a community of the first professional art historians in the early, formative stages of establishing their discipline as a serious intellectual endeavour. Chapter 1 explores some of the connections between art historians, and examines the ways in which early reproductions were reused or ‘repurposed.’ The primary subject of the majority of the Society’s publications was art from the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Thus the originating ‘texts’ are Christian—often with origins in pagan creation stories—from the Old and New Testaments, and the lives of the saints. In a smaller number of instances, the original work of art commemorates historical or other secular events chosen by the patron. The commissions given to artists such as Giotto or the Master of the St Francis cycle have the dual

42

Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, Capitalisme et Schizophrénie 1972–1980, translated as Anti-Oedipus 1977 and A thousand plateaus 1987. Their approach to ‘multiple, non-hierarchical entry and exit points’ has encouraged the range of approaches, both thematic and interdisciplinary, in the thesis. page 14 of 355

purpose of ensuring the patron’s positive reception in heaven while educating the illiterate masses, or in the case of some of the later altarpieces, of focussing the thoughts of the faithful. The production of Tiepolo’s frescoes for the Palazzo Labia, on the other hand, served a more worldly purpose. Recently arrived from Spain, the commissioning family was determined to create an impression by employing the greatest Venetian decorator. By choosing such geographically and historically diverse works, as well as subject matter which is occasionally obscure, the Society’s Council positioned themselves as instructors to their subscribers. As Plampin points out, there is a certain tension between those Council members who were rich in economic capital as opposed to those rich in intellectual capital.43 The inter-relationships of the members and the construction of ‘texts’—their capital in having travelled, their knowledge about art and of art history, as well as an ability to recognise importance, beauty and rarity—is central. Ideas of connoisseurship were changing in this period, moving beyond aristocrats and their collections, and there was a new interest in understanding the artist as an agent of his work. Issues of class, as well as the hierarchy of genres, conceptions of originality and artistic skill, meant that distinctions remained between the artists and copyists.

An Arundel Society ‘text’ is a multi-authored entity. Over the course of its life the Society employed English, Italian and German artists from a range of backgrounds. The copyists were most often professionally trained, albeit with fairly undistinguished individual careers, and their selection came about largely through associations with members of the Council. On two occasions the Society employed an amateur artist. Margaretta Higford Burr (1817–1892) and her husband were friends of the archaeologist, politician and entrepreneur A H Layard, and the trio toured Italy together in 1856.44 Layard expressed the

43

‘“A stern and just respect for truth”: John Ruskin, Giotto and the Arundel Society,’ p.60

44

Anne-Margaretta Scobell married the politician Daniel Higford Davall Burr (1811–1885) in 1839; the couple lived at Aldermaston Court, Reading, until his death when she retired to Venice. Mrs Burr produced a large number of watercolour and other copies of Italian frescoes on various tours: her work was widely admired, including by the German art historian Gustav Friedrich Waagen (1794–1868) and artist-engraver Ludwig Grüner (1801–1882). Mrs Burr’s collection of drawings is not mentioned, however, by Symonds—who, as Tanya Ledger points out, refers only to the tracings made by Layard; see A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, Oxford University 1976, p.95—and she probably retained her copies as they are not with the other Arundel Society watercolours at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London. page 15 of 355

figure 2 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Ottaviano Nelli’s Madonna with saints by (Mrs) Margaretta Higford Burr lithograph, 26.1 x 37.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1857 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra page 16 of 355

opinion that ‘an amateur’ (and female) copyist might better achieve the ‘tender and delicate fancy and the artless sentiment of the original’ than the professional artist whose hand might be ‘cramped into these antique forms.’45 His unsigned 1858 article for the Quarterly Review emphasised the particular quality of the copy after Nelli’s Madonna and Child in San Maria Nuova, Gubbio, produced by his friend (fig.2): To say that this drawing is beautiful and a truthful rendering of the spirit of the original is no slight praise. It required no ordinary qualifications to copy without exaggeration the works of these early masters; to preserve their real feeling, without either concealing or giving too much prominence to defects or peculiarities of manner. (p.306)

The Council provided its copyists with specific and often very direct instruction. In 1864 for example, Cesari Mariannecci (active 1856–1882), the Council’s longest-standing employee, was told to ‘avoid all restoration of parts injured or destroyed, and to aim at rendering the existing rather than the supposed original tone of colour.’46 Relations between the copyist and the ‘cultural capitalists’ were so close as to become strained. In 1874 when the Austrian artist Eduard Kaiser (1820–1895) was sent to copy the frescoes in the upper church at Assisi under John Ruskin’s supervision, the art historian complained continually about his charge’s work in letters to Frederic W Maynard, the Society’s secretary. Revealingly, Ruskin also admitted the Society would probably regret his own involvement. There were problems, too, with the choice of lithographers. The first lithographs were printed by Vincent Brooks (1814– 1885) in London but, after the delayed issue of the prints for 1856 and 1857, the Society sent its jobs to the more established and sophisticated firms of Storch and Kramer, and to Wilhelm Greve (flourished 1885–1894), both of Berlin, or the Parisian Hangard Maugé. Thus authorial networks were expanded further.

A horizontal axis suggests not only narrative progression or a sequence but also responses to that text over time. This is compounded once the text leaves 45

[A H Layard] ‘Publications of the Arundel Society,’ Quarterly Review, vol.104, no.202, July and October 1858, pp.277–325, at p.306; further quotations are to this article. Layard’s authorship was known and, as discussed in Chapter 2, mentioned by his contemporaries. 46

Sixteenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1865, p.2 page 17 of 355

its point of production. Subscribers to the Arundel Society received publications in annual instalments, and in the case of the first major project, Giotto’s Arena Chapel, engravings were issued over an extended period from 1853 to 1860. After issue, the Society relinquished its control over the reception and use of the works. The most explicit, and energetic, discussion of the Society’s publications are within the London-based periodicals Art Journal, the Athenaeum, and Saturday Review, but their impact is also evident outside art circles. Chapter 2 deals with the critical reception of the Society’s publications, mainly in Britain and the colonies, and engages theories of critical reception to track attitudes to the Society’s projects over almost fifty years.

Another element of layering, or rhizome, is established when we consider the ways in which the nineteenth-century copies document a moment of existence for the original work of art. Many of the frescoes and panel paintings have been restored since the Arundel Society’s copies were produced; some have been reattributed, and others lost completely. Two case studies form the substance of Chapter 3, which explores the role of the Society’s publications as cultural documents. Layard’s and Ruskin’s agitations and the development of the Copying Fund, the growing interest in ‘the primitives,’ and attitudes to conservation, preservation and restoration are examined against the backdrop of the Austrian occupation of Italy and the Risorgimento. The Society’s choice of artists, program of works and commissioning of copyists, the disjunction between its conservation and commercial imperatives are considered. This chapter also addresses issues of chauvinism and cultural imperialism, the tussle between Italian and British art historians and officials, and the desire of the British to claim ownership of Italian and Renaissance traditions.

Chapter 4 looks at the ways the Arundel Society’s prints and other publications were used in decorative and religious contexts. The practitioners of the Arts and Crafts movement may have taken inspiration from the chromolithographic palette; as Lambert points out, the Society’s print of Botticelli’s Primavera was a key feature of William Morris’ library at Kelmscott and the chromolithograph is also shown in a photograph dated 1902 of the interior designed by Frederick

page 18 of 355

Rowntree at Daleside, Harrogate (figs.89 and 91).47 Other visual resonances are suggested through related circles. Curator Stephen Calloway traces a secondary use of the van Eyck Ghent altarpiece in the Aesthetic household interior in the painting by Atkinson Grimshaw, Summer 1875 (fig.84B).48 The museums, mechanics institutes, art schools and religious institutions that acquired the Society’s publications used them in a range of ways; the motivations of individual collectors were also many and varied.49 These are examined in Chapter 5, which is also a survey of extant holdings. In some cases the spiritual aura of the work of art remains: the Ghent altarpiece chromolithograph is still the focus of a chapel in St Peter’s Eastern Hill, Melbourne (fig.113); another is found in St Peter’s Cathedral in Adelaide. Ultimately, while it is questionable whether the stories of pagans and Christians have remained intelligible, it is clear that these texts have been rewritten, ‘re-imaged’ and re-imagined into an intriguing and sometimes bewildering number of new forms.

The multi-facetted nature of authorship, when applied to the Arundel Society, raises issues of class, gender, national identity, didacticism and historicism. Perceptions of truth, concerns about the accuracy of the copies produced by the nineteenth-century artists, and notions of essentialism, pervade the discussions of the Society’s publications. German copyists, according to Layard, were apt to produce the ‘general effect of an old picture by exaggerating its archaisms.’50 Implicit in the idea of the drawings and prints as visual records is a certain nostalgia, for both manual (as opposed to lens-based) reproduction and a spiritual simplicity perceived in earlier times. But more than recording and ‘translating’ truth is the notion that the pre-Renaissance works of art could transmit a ‘deep, earnest religious sentiment’ which was missing in the modern world, after the Industrial Revolution. The copyist’s role became that of an

47

The image multiplied, p.193

48

Stephen Calloway, English prints for the collector, Guildford: Lutterworth Press 1980, p.133

49

See, for example, the artist and collector Thomas Gambier Parry (1816–1888) who was briefly on Council, and whose tastes and collection parallel the Arundel Society’s development and the rise of interest in early Italian art. As well as collecting fine examples of Florentine and Tuscan painting, marble sculpture and a group of ivories, Gambier Parry developed the ‘spirit fresco’ technique to resist the damp of the English climate. Most of his collection is now in the Courtauld Gallery, London. 50

[A H Layard] ‘Publications of the Arundel Society,’ Quarterly Review, vol.104, no.202, July and October 1858, pp.277–325, at p.306 page 19 of 355

figure 3 Owen JONES and Francis BEDFORD, lithographer Title page of The grammar of ornament, lithograph, 55.8 x 37.2 cm London: Day & Son 1856 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra page 20 of 355

amanuensis, as he or she sought to transmit the form, essence and ‘aura’ of the original work of art back to the art historians and connoisseurs—many of whom were reliant on distant memories, or the advice of other members on issues of accuracy—and then to translate these to the broader public in turn. 51 _________________________________

RULE 1. – The object of the Arundel Society shall be to illustrate the history and monuments of Art, by publications of any character and form that may be found convenient. Seventh annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1856, p.1 The Arundel Society’s commercial and ideological strategies were closely tied to the choice of chromolithography as the dominant technique for its publications. In order to understand the key ways in which the prints and text publications were used in the nineteenth century—and the reasons they became so ubiquitous—an outline of the Society’s aims and the broader context of its activities is essential. Extraordinary developments in colour printmaking had occurred since Johann Alois Senefelder’s (1771–1834) use of tint stones in his treatise on chromolithography, Vollstaendiges Lehrbuch der Steindruckerey 1818,52 and Joseph Lanzedelly’s two nine-stone lithographs produced in Vienna in 1820. A series of tinted lithographs by Johann Nepomuk Strixner (1782– 1855) for the Royal Bavarian Art Gallery in Munich and Schleissheim in 1817– 36 are considered fine examples of early reproductive prints, and include several of the artists, and subjects, later copied for the Society.53

51

Sometimes the Council had considerable difficulty in assessing the accuracy of the commissioned copies especially when, as Ledger points out, only the member who had proposed the work had actually seen it. In February 1884, Secretary Douglas Gordon wrote to Browning: ‘The council had before them yesterday Herr Kaiser’s drawing of the second part of the Tournament [the frescoes attributed to Romanino at Malpaga] with the subject of authorising the Payment to him of £80 should it be approved. They felt however that as none of those present had actually seen the original it was difficult to form a fair opinion of the merits of the picture. It was eventually decided to send the drawings to you.’ Oscar Browning Collection, quoted in A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.104 52

Translated into French and English in the following year; published by R Ackermann as A complete course of lithography 1819. 53

See, for example, Strixner’s prints after Rogier van der Weyden, Jan van Eyck, Memling and others and, in particular, those of the Ghent altarpiece and Dürer’s Evangelists. As Lambert points out, the director of the Bavarian Royal Museum, Johann Christian von Mannlich, took page 21 of 355

The art of drawing on stone 1824, the handbook produced by Charles Joseph Hullmandel (1789–1850) helped to bring the technique to wider attention.54 In 1837 the Franco-German artist-lithographer Godfroy Engelmann (1788–1839)— whose firm Engelmann et Graf later produced some of the Arundel Society’s prints—was granted a patent; the Engelmanns are credited for promoting colour lithography in France, especially for Album chromolithographique 1837.55 Plans, elevations, sections and details of the Alhambra 1842–45 by architect and designer Owen Jones (1809–1874) is regarded as the first chromolithographic publication of consequence published in Britain.56 Owens was also involved with several other memorable works produced in the following decades including: H Noel Humphrey’s Illuminated books of the Middle Ages 1844–49 printed with thirty-nine richly-coloured illustrations; Jones’ own Grammar of ornament 1856 (fig.3), lithographed by Francis Bedford (1816–1894) and others; and his Victoria Psalter 1861. The architect and art historian Matthew Digby Wyatt (1820–1877), another associated with the Society, was responsible for one of the most complex lithographic projects of the period. To produce Industrial arts of the nineteenth century at the Great Exhibition 1851–53 three printmakers copied 160 images by twenty artists on to 1069 stones, a process that, as Wyatt tells, entailed 1,350,500 runs of the press.57 Various of these projects ensured an appetite for high-quality lithographs by the time the Society began to issue prints in the mid-1850s. Nineteenth-century consumers were increasingly surrounded by visual images, and more and more of these were colour. The Great Exhibition of 1851, and two Expositions Universelles of 1867 and 1878 in Paris, consolidated the over Senefelder’s printworks with a view to using lithography to promote German painting; The image multiplied, cat.86, p.103. 54

The chromolithographs in George Alexander Hoskins’ Travels in Ethiopia 1835 were printed by Hullmandel and those of Picturesque architecture in Paris, Ghent, Antwerp, Rouen &c 1839 for Thomas Shotter Boy. Both used sophisticated tint stones, and were notable for their graded tones, and watercolour-like qualities. 55

Tanya Szrajber, ‘Documents on Godefroy Engelmann’s chromolithographie,’ Print Quarterly, vol.XXVIII, no.4, 2011, pp.414–417 56

Michael Darby, ‘Owen Jones,’ in Grove Art Online, (accessed June 2014). As Superintendent of Works, Jones designed the colour schemes of the 1851 Great Exhibition and oversaw the arrangement of its displays. Although not a subscriber he must have known the Society’s work through his association with Matthew Digby Wyatt, Henry Cole and via related art circles. 57

Pat Gilmour, ‘Lithography,’ Grove Art Online, (last accessed June 2014); the other figures are within the preface to Industrial arts of the nineteenth century at the Great Exhibition, and quoted by Lewis, The story of picture printing in England, p.159. page 22 of 355

chromolithographic era, leading to popular ‘estampes’ and, as curator Pat Gilmour reminds us, a ‘flood of cheap ephemera, including labels, calendars, playing and greetings cards, postcards, fans and even ‘diaphanies’ imitating stained glass.’58 The number of print-houses in London grew over the course of the second half of the nineteenth century from 123 listed in 1852, to 474 in 1893, and many of these developed specialist arrangements for the reproduction of works of art.59 When it came to copying frescoes there seemed few doubts that watercolour was the appropriate medium. Several other reproductive techniques adopted by the Arundel Society were quickly discontinued—for instance Rainford’s copies of Tintoretto reproduced as photographs in 1857,60 as well as the engravings made from tracings which were issued to provide a sense of scale (see Chapter 5)—until the Council settled on the combination of watercolour copies and chromolithography. On the one hand, the Society’s prints had the advantage of alignment with an earlier tradition in art history; on the other, a colour reproduction was an innovation likely to appeal to a wide range of art lovers. Although the concept of ‘generational’ images had little relevance in the period, it is clear that the reproduction provided the viewer with as much edification, if not more, than witnessing the original.

In the 1860s the Arundel Society had more than 2000 subscribers across four continents: Europe, North America, Asia and Australia and New Zealand. There were distributors in Berlin, Boston, Florence, Leipzig, Melbourne, New York, Paris, Rome and Venice. Some of the original institutional subscribers retain their prints to this day, almost always with a very different status from when first acquired. The Society had a range of strategies for attracting and retaining members, and relied on close connections between members of the aristocracy, the art world, and existing subscribers to increase membership and to promote its activities. Subscribers paid an annual fee of one guinea (about $200 in today’s terms) or could invest ten guineas for a lifetime subscription; several

58

Gilmour, ‘Lithography,’ Grove Art Online, see also Pat Gilmour (ed.), Lasting impressions: Lithography as art, Canberra: Australian National Gallery 1988 59

Twyman, ‘Growth and regulation,’ A history of chromolithography, pp.331–342

60

A Mr Rainford, probably Edward Rainford (fl.1850–64?), went to Scuola di San Rocco to copy Tintoretto, and the Society issued photographs of his watercolours in 1857; see Chapter 5; the pamphlet issued, ‘Notice of the paintings by Tintoretto in the Scuola di San Rocco,’ was an extracted from Ruskin's Stones of Venice, London: Arundel Society 1857. page 23 of 355

types of membership, including multiple subscriptions, were also offered. The prints, casts and monographs were also available to ‘strangers,’ or nonsubscribers, at higher prices. The Council, elected annually from members at the Annual General Meeting, reviewed the rules and, at times, made adjustments to them. An outline of the Society’s origins, structures and processes is useful for understanding the motivations of subscribers and the connections between members. Its inaugural Council comprised sixteen men, some of whom were ‘distinguished for their zeal and taste in Art, together with others of less well-grounded pretension.’61 In addition to the Marquis of Lansdowne, Lord Lindsay, John Ruskin and Giovanni Aubrey Bezzi, the Society’s first secretary—all discussed in detail elsewhere—they included politicians, aristocrats, collectors and scholars, several of whom were associated with the National Gallery or British Museum.62 Charles Henry Bellenden Ker (1785–1871) barrister, legal reformer, early patron of Blake and an enthusiastic member for the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge (SDUK), had been involved, with Charles Eastlake, in commissioning images for the Penny Magazine.63 Sir John Stuart Hippisley (1790–1867), who collected engravings by Old Masters such as Dürer and Rembrandt, as well as reproductive prints and photographs of Michelangelo’s and Raphael’s drawings, was an active member until his death. Although the barrister and Tractician James Hope (1812–1873), later Hope-Scott, was on the Council for only one year, he probably provided practical publishing experience: he had engaged the Dresden artist-engraver Ludwig Grüner (1801–1882) and Roman draughtsman Nicola Consoni (1814–1884) to produce the engravings after Raphael’s Loggia

61

Unnamed author, possibly Matthew Digby Wyatt, ‘Fine-art gossip,’ Athenaeum, no.1108, Saturday 20 July 1849, p.73. 62

Ledger’s thesis provides a summary of the Council and the Arundel Society’s early days; see A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, pp.7–16. Other first Council members include: the banker-poet Samuel Rogers (1763–1855), who collected early Italian and Northern paintings, ‘well before the mid-nineteenth century for such works’ and was made a National Gallery Trustee on the basis of his ‘exquisite taste;’ H G Liddell (1811–1898) previously tutor at Christ Church, Oxford, and an important influence on Ruskin; he was headmaster at Westminster, delegate of the University Museum and Curator of the University Galleries, but only on Council for a few years (see also Chapter 5); and the archaeologist Charles Newton (1816–1894), another important influence on Ruskin, who was involved in the Department of Antiquities at British Museum, but left the Council and England in 1852 to carry out excavations at Mytilene. 63

Ker wrote a life of Michelangelo for the Penny Magazine; he collected Eastlake’s paintings, commissioned him to decorate one of his rooms in the Pompeiian style, and edited Eastlake’s Contributions to the fine arts 1848. For a useful summary of Ker’s activities, see Ledger, pp.3–5. page 24 of 355

cartoons.64 Ruskin’s contemporary Edmund Oldfield (1816–1902), assistant keeper of the Department of Antiquities at the British Museum from 1848, was a long-time member of the Council and served as its Treasurer from 1858 until 1897 (see Chapter 1). Acknowledged as an expert on medieval and classical antiquities, Oldfield produced the catalogue of the ivory collection in 1858, and may have contributed at least one text for the Society. The roles of many other early Council members were largely honorific.

One of the Arundel Society’s earliest strategies for attracting new subscribers was to publicise its membership: in advertisements in the Athenaeum in 1849, for example, 407 subscribers are listed—forty are women, fifty-four peers and twentythree men of the church—a pattern of membership which continued throughout the Society’s life (fig.4). Her Majesty the Queen and Prince Albert top the list.65 Further down we find Charles Dickens, the great Victorian writer who appears on no further lists of members. Also recorded in the Athenaeum are key men of the art world.66 Charles Eastlake (1793–1865), painter, member of the Royal Academy, collector and the first director of the National Gallery in London, spent extensive periods in Italy and shaped the collections in the earlier years, acquiring works by Cimabue, Giotto, Fra Angelico, Lippi, Gozzoli, Botticelli and Piero della Francesca. The Marquis of Lansdowne (1780–1863), a National Gallery Trustee— whose great

64

According to Ledger, Hope-Scott’s period as an Oxford undergraduate during the troubled 1830s—where he had met John Henry Newman, Edward Bouverie Pusey and other Tractarians— had led him to sympathise with their desire for a more Catholic Church of England (A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.16, p.17). For the Oxford Movement, see also Chapter 4. Wilhelm Heinrich Ludwig Grüner, also known in Britain as Lewis Grüner, trained as a decorative painter and spent time in Rome, England, Spain and France before being appointed Art Advisor to Queen Victoria in 1845. He returned to Dresden in 1856 as Director of the Royal Print Room, and remained an advisor to the Society until his death. Prince Albert and Queen Victoria were impressed by Grüner’s Fresco decorations and stuccoes of churches and palaces in Italy, during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (London: John Murray 1844), copies of which are recorded as hand-coloured by him. Consini later produced the engravings after the Piccolomini Library frescoes published by the Society in 1881. 65

Prince Albert was, of course, an early enthusiast for ‘the primitives’ of North Italy, Germany and the Netherlands; see ‘Prince Albert as a collector,’ Burlington Magazine, vol.5, p.9, 1904 which mentions also the ‘pioneer work’ of Layard and Higford Burr, and the role of the Arundel Society in ‘stimulating the interest of the average educated person in the works of the so-called called ‘gothic’ period.’; see http://www.archive.org/details/burlingtonmagazi05londuoft 66

The politician and collector, William Coningham (1815–1884) who later gave works by Lorenzo Monaco to the National Gallery, London, is also listed but only in 1849. For details of Coningham’s collecting, see Francis Haskell, ‘William Coningham and his collection of Old Masters,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.133, no.1063, 1991, pp.676–681 page 25 of 355

figure 4 Advertisement for the Arundel Society from the Athenaeum, no.1138, Saturday 18 August 1849, p.827

page 26 of 355

wealth from his Irish estates enabled him to form a fine collection of high Renaissance, seventeenth-century Dutch and contemporary English painting―also lent his name.67 Lord Lindsay (1812–1880), the author of the influential and popular Sketches of the history of Christian art 1845, was the most learned art historian on the Society’s Council but resigned in 1851. George Scharf (1820–1895), who worked on the Crystal Palace at Sydenham in 1854 and the Manchester Art Treasures exhibition in 1856, was Secretary (1857) and later (1882) Director of the newly founded National Portrait Gallery. Each of these individuals is discussed in the following chapters: Chapter 1, in particular, examines of the role of the Society’s publications, both text and image, against the backdrop of art history as a developing discipline.

In the first half of the 1850s membership of the Arundel Society grew very gradually from 425 members in 1849 to more than 580 in 1855. Just as many members of the German royal family and further afield were encouraged to join by Prince Albert, the membership lists include many instances of the same last name, suggesting that members of the same family held multiple subscriptions.68 Apart from familial and other connections, in the mid-1850s the Society’s strategy to attract members was to maintain large premises in order to display their copies; and in October 1855 it also set up at the Crystal Palace at Sydenham.69 New rules and a new class of membership were introduced in the 1860s (see Chapter 5). Ostensibly the two tiered system of First and Second subscribers was adopted to ensue that each group had a maximum of 1500 members since this was the designated number of prints which could be pulled from a stone before the image was compromised. Contemporary lithographers, on the other hand, believed that 5000 prints were possible without loss of quality.70 In the 1860s and 1870s the Society had so many members that 67

Lansdowne was also a member of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. Eastlake subscribed to the Arundel Society until at least 1863; painter William Boxall (1800–1879), Eastlake’s successor at the National Gallery, was a member from 1849 until his death. Boxall’s Arundel collection sold at auction in June 1880 for £31; see Hamber, "A higher branch of the art," p.355 68

The 1856 Annual report, for example, contains this appeal: Council ‘relies on the co-operation of every Member in endeavouring to enlarge the ranks of the Society within the sphere of its own influence.’ Seventh annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1856, p.3 69

Digby Wyatt’s address at the Crystal Palace was later published and distributed to members: (London: Bell and Daldy 1855); see also Chapter 2. 70

The information re 1500 impressions had come on Oldfield’s advice; in 1869, however, Storch and Kramer recommended 5000 as a maximum print-run; see Henry Danby Seymour to Layard, page 27 of 355

prospective subscribers were offered the opportunity to become Associates— and therefore to purchase prints at reduced prices—while awaiting full membership. A new rule introduced in 1864 allowed all public institutions, whether in England or abroad, the privilege of immediately becoming subscribers, without passing through the ranks of Associates. As well as being concerned with collectors and collections, the fifth and final chapter offers a ‘stocktake’ of the Society’s chromolithographs in extant collections.71

A major change came about in June 1857. At a Special General Meeting—open to all by ticket, rather than the Arundel Society’s annual general meeting for subscribers only—the audience was addressed by Layard and John Ruskin who both lamented the state of art in Italy (see Chapter 3). Ruskin was of the opinion that the Society ought to devote its energies to recording the frescoes before they disappeared completely. Layard detailed examples suffering neglect, or damage at the hands of ignorant restorers. Donations to the Copying Fund, set up in the following year, were initially voluntary but, after 1863, all new subscribers were obliged to contribute. In 1858 the Society attracted 200 more subscribers, the largest growth in membership in its history to date, and in some years of the early 1860s, it attracted as many as 1000 new members in one year. The display at the International Exhibition in 1862—which attracted six million visitors and won the Society a Prize Medal for its contributions in the Educational Department—seems to have been particularly effective in raising interest. In 1863 the Society’s premises were again enlarged, and it employed staff to distribute the growing number of annual and occasional publications. As well as those sent directly to subscribers, prints were available through a network of booksellers and print specialists throughout Britain, Europe and further afield.(see Chapter 5)

February 1869, quoted by Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.141. After 1893, with abolishment of the second group, the Society did indeed issue editions of more than 1500. 71

I have not attempted an equivalent survey of the Society’s other publications, specifically the fictile ivories or casts. Many were no doubt destroyed or deaccessioned in the twentieth century, as part of changes in art education in which the role of copying was no longer regarded as key to training; see, for example, Alison Inglis, ‘“A mania for copies”: Replicas, reproductions and copies in Colonial Victoria,’ in The first collections: The Public Library and the National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne: University of Melbourne Museum of Art 1992, pp.31–40. page 28 of 355

In the early days the engravings issued by the Arundel Society were after existing drawings, often those provided by members of Council from their own collections. Soon, however, the Society began to make use of, and then commission, copies from amateur and professional artists. The Council decided the style of the copies and the technique of the reproductions. When colour lithography was adopted in 1856, Mrs Higford Burr’s interior of the Giotto chapel was immensely popular (fig.1), with many commentators finding the coloured print a relief after the ‘tough’ woodcuts that accompanied Ruskin’s text (cf fig.61). Layard had agitated for chromolithography as an effective means of publicising the conditions of frescoes throughout Italy in this complex period of the country’s early history. Higford Burr seems to have made her watercolour, or at least preparations for it, in situ.72 It, like its subject, was chosen to display the peculiar characteristic of Umbria.73 Her drawing after Nelli’s Madonna and saints from San Maria Nuova at Gubbio (fig.2), reproduced as the Society’s third chromolithograph, was accompanied by a twelve-page descriptive notice by Layard, an overview of the region and its history, the location of the fresco, the artist’s reputation and his other works. Unlike the positive reception for the Giotto interior there were grumblings in the press and Higford Burr was accused of having ‘idealised’ Nelli’s Madonna and saints into prettiness.74

From modest takings in the 1850s, the Arundel Society’s income grew in the mid-1850s from between £4,541 (1864) and £6,829 (1870) per annum, to a maximum of £8,547 in 1876. A print such as Fra Angelico’s Annunciation, for example, issued in 1863 as an Occasional publication, earned as much as £85 in 1865.75 The Society’s other income came from backsales, its role as distributor

72

See comments by Rossetti and Layard in Chapters 2 and 3.

73

‘The Virgin and Child, surrounded by saints and by angels of a quaint and innocent simplicity, receive the adoration of the members of the family for whom the fresco was painted, probably in fulfilment of a vow. The head of the Virgin, of which a tracing will be given, is, from the peculiarity of its treatment, and from its sweet pensive expression, highly characteristic of the school. The whole picture is a rich yet harmonious combination of colour, reminding one of the illuminations of a mediaeval manuscript.’ [A H Layard] ‘Publications of the Arundel Society,’ Quarterly Review, vol.104, no.202, July and October 1858, pp.277–325, at p.306 74

‘Nelli’s Madonna and saints have, we should be afraid, been rather idealised into prettiness by Mrs Burr. The angels’ noses are so exquisitely and pertly retroussés and Roxolanish; their eyebrows are arched and cosmeticized, we could almost venture to guess.’ Athenaeum, no.1656, Saturday 23 July 1859, pp.119–120 75

Other amounts received for the print of Fra Angelico’s Annunciation include £44 (1864); £85 (1865); £35 (1866) and £29 (1867). page 29 of 355

figure 5 Cesari MARIANNECCI, copyist after Ghirlandaio’s Nativity of the Virgin in Santa Maria Novella, Florence (1865) watercolour, 45.3 x 67.3 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1895 page 30 of 355

for the Kensington Museum’s photographs and, from 1862, the production of frames and portfolios for members (rf fig.110). Only a few years later, the Annual report records that these were becoming an important source of income. On the other hand the expenses for producing the Society’s richly-coloured lithographs were high: the copyists were paid between £50 and £100 for each watercolour, depending on complexity or whether they were part of a series.76 Furthermore the number of times the work was copied, and the separate colour for each lithographic stone, meant the production costs for the prints were high: £200–300 for each subject. The delay in the issue of the Pinturicchio chromolithograph from the fresco in San Maria Maggiore, Spello, was explained as the ‘amount of work in preparing the lithographic stones for a subject so elaborate and delicate as the Christ among the doctors having much exceeded expectation, and the large great time in the mechanical process of printing.’77 Agents’ commissions, number of impressions required by the increased subscription-list, associated expenses for packing and delivery of publications, as well as costs for staff and the Society’s rooms were also key expenditure items.

In the 1860s the Italian copyist Mariannecci was paid between £25 and £536 each year for his copies. In 1865, for example, he was in Florence where he copied at least nine of Ghirlandaio’s frescoes from the Stories of the Virgin and St John the Baptist cycles at Santa Maria Novella; the Society continued to publish from its stock of Mariannecci’s work until 1895, when a chromolithograph was issued after his copy of the Ghirlandaio frescoes produced thirty years earlier (fig.5). Increasingly, however, the Italian artist was criticised for ‘restoring’ frescoes (see Chapter 3), and as the Society’s program of publication became more ambitious, they began to employ other copyists.78 The German Christian Schultz (1817–1882/83) was engaged in the mid-1860s, and went on to become 76

By way of comparison some nineteenth-century artists earned large amounts for selling the reproductive rights to their work: in 1874, for example William Holman Hunt received £1000 for the right to engrave and exhibit Shadow of the Cross; see Thad Logan, The Victorian parlour, Cambridge University Press 2001, p.140. 77

Tenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1859, p.2; after the second subject from Spello, The Nativity (Adoration of the Shepherds), lithographer Vincent Brook received no further commissions to produce the Society’s prints. 78

When Schultz was employed in the mid-1860s he was asked by the council to copy three Italian works without making any restorations; displayed to the Society’s members at the annual general meeting of 1864, Schultz’s watercolours were met with such approval that Mariannecci was then instructed to emulate the new copyist. page 31 of 355

one of the Society’s most prolific artists, devoted almost entirely to the copying of German and Flemish panel paintings. Schultz’s transcripts were so accurate that at one stage he was thought to have painted over photographic images of the work of art. The critic Joseph Beavington Atkinson (1822–1886), increasingly impatient with the Society’s publications, described the copyist as pledging ‘himself to daguerreotype the minutest crack upon plaster.’79 Schultz’s technique was particularly suitable for copying Northern European panel painting: as Button observes his use of vellum, with a heavy application of body colour and watercolour evoked the appearance of Memling’s oil paintings, and the fact that the copy is close in size to the original panel, gave advantages for his accuracy.80

In the mid-1850s chromolithographic processes were more advanced than those for mass-production photography (see Chapter 1). Even so, the Arundel Society had difficulties in finding, and retaining suitable lithographers to produce its works. After unsatisfactory results with English firms, the Society engaged German and French lithographers, a fact for which it was often criticised.81 The majority of the prints were produced by the Berlin-based Storch and Kramer, more than ninety from the late 1850s until the 1880s. Many of these were made under the supervision of Grüner who, as a trained engraver, adviser to Queen Victoria and curator of prints at the Dresden Royal Collection, was considered both knowledgeable about the original works of art and conversant with print techniques.82 After his death, the Society turned to Wilhelm Greve, another Berlin firm that subsequently employed many of the Storch and Kramer lithographers. Ledger has reconstructed some of the issues from an analysis of the extant correspondence: in 1872 the lithographers rejected one print as too difficult for production; industrial unrest in the following year, and claims for pay

79

[J B A], ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.IV, October 1865, pp.303–304, at p.303

80

‘The Arundel Society: Techniques in the art of copying,’ Conservation Journal, April 1997, no.23, pp.16–19 81

Trevor Fawcett notes that, from the 1850s, chromolithography was increasingly regarded as a French speciality: firms such as Hangard-Maugé set ‘a superb standard’ with Les Arts Somptuaires 1858, with its 324 plates ‘displaying a huge range of medieval art in multiple colour overprinting;’ see ‘Planes, surfaces and solid bodies: Reproducing three-dimensional art in the nineteenth century,’ in Roberts, Art history through the camera's lens, pp.59–85, p.73 82

See Victoria & Albert: Art & love (London: Royal Collection 2010) and Jonathan Marsden’s ‘Mr Green and Mr Brown: Ludwig Grüner and Emil Braun in the service of Prince Albert,’ http://www.royalcollection.org.uk/sites/default/files/V%20and%20A%20Art%20and%20Love%20% 28Marsden%29.pdf page 32 of 355

increases by the Berlin workmen, meant deadlines were unable to be kept; while, by 1876, Grüner was complaining of the delays in his own payments from the Society.83 For the mid-1870s the Parisian lithographer Etienne Isidore Hangard-Maugé (active 1860s–70s) was employed, working under Schultz’s supervision, as was the prolific firm Lemercier et cie (active 1827–99) in the 1880s and 1890s. Given the complexity of the prints it is not surprising that the lithographic firms required several years’ notice, a fact that impacted in the 1880s and 1890s when the Society’s income from subscriptions was uncertain. With the rise of the artist-printmaker, unions and guild-like protections in which the limestone block had been the sole domain of the lithographer were relaxed, with resultant changes for the role of the specialist reproductive printmaker.

Ultimately the reliance on lithography, as well as its commitment to mid-century tastes, meant the Arundel Society was unable, or unwilling, to innovate. The final decades of the nineteenth century saw not only developments in photography but an increasing desire of the avant-garde to separate art from commerce.84 Documentation of art showed a general tendency to move away from hand-drawn coloured objects to more ‘serious’ and accurate carbon prints. When the Society came to a formal close after fifty years in 1897 its chromolithographs and other publications had permeated a wide range of art, social, institutional, religious and domestic spheres. By then, as we shall see, ideas about the ‘primitives,’ the place of images and the role of colour reproductions were playing an important role in both art historical and broader cultural discourse. Moreover colour, and the Society’s publications, meant that writers about art were no longer expected to simply describe, assess or interpret a work of art. Now they could rely on their readers to conjure up a visual image of those works, and to have some knowledge of the way a work fitted into an artist’s oeuvre or its place a broader art-historical context.

83

Grüner’s letters to John Murray (November 1872, February 1873 and November 1876) as summarised by Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.140 84

Pat Gilmour, ‘Lithography’ in Grove Art Online page 33 of 355

figure 6 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus or Venus rising from the sea by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 40.2 x 64.2 cm London: Arundel Society 1870 Felix Man Collection National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Chapter one―Art history without images, writers without biographies1 When the Arundel Society began the study of art was in its infancy. In 1848 there was little sense of art history as an independent discipline: the number of art museums was small, there were few positions within universities,2 and little by way of conventions, or agreed standards for writing and art publishing. 3 Connoisseurship, art criticism, theory and history were largely dependent on the written word. Those who studied culture in its visual forms had few resources on which to draw and the illustrations that did exist were often reused in a range of contexts. The 1850s and 1860s were a boom-time for illustrated material, for an interest in art, and an awareness of art history: people travelled more and, with the establishment of art museums, were less dependent on access to religious institutions, aristocratic or private collections to see works of art. The art world, moreover, was becoming increasingly visual. The authors employed by the Society—Giovanni Audrey Bezzi, John Ruskin, A H Layard, M Digby Wyatt, W H James Weale, Frederic W Maynard, Ralph Wornum, George Edmund Street, G W Kitchen, George Scharf and Oscar Browning—had a range of motivations, and drew on very different experiences and resources. Initially concerned with text and three-dimensional works, from the late 1850s and 1860s the Society was dominated by pictorial reproductions. Colour was the Arundel Society’s great innovation but, by the early 1880s, this was not enough to keep its publications in demand.4

1

The notion of a ‘writer without biography’ is taken from Boris Tomashevsky (1890–1957) and here extended to include visual artists; see ‘Literature and Biography,’ in Readings in Russian poetics: Formalist and structuralist views and quoted in Robert C Holub, Reception theory: A critical introduction, London, New York: Methuen 1984, p.20. 2

Aloys Hirt was the University of Berlin's first professor of art theory and art history in 1810. August Schlegel’s appointment in literature and art history to the newly established university in Bonn was in 1817, while Franz Kugler was Professor of art history at the Akademie der Künste, Berlin, from 1833. Gustav Waagen’s professorship of ‘Modern Art History’ at Berlin in 1844 marked an early acknowledgement of art history as a university discipline. Jacob Burckhardt’s chair of art history at Eidgenössische Technische Hochschule (ETH), Zurich, was the first in Switzerland (1855). In the English-speaking world, art chairs or professorship came later: in 1869 Felix Slade donated funds for positions at Cambridge and Oxford universities, and Charles Eliot Norton was the first Professor of Fine Arts at Harvard University in 1873. 3

J A Crowe and G B Cavalcaselle’s The early Flemish painters (London: J Murray 1857), for example, throughout notes dimensions for works of art in ‘Prussian measure,’ ‘Bavarian measure’ and ‘Spanish measure;’ the metric system was adopted in Germany in 1872 and Austria in 1876. 4

The notice for the Annual General Meeting for 1893 admitted that the novelty of coloured prints had receded; the large number of autotypes and other reproductions now available page 35 of 355

The text publications issued by the Arundel Society have been very little discussed in an art historiographical context. 5 While, in many cases, the publications contribute few insights into the artist or works of arts under consideration, their value is as a summary of existing knowledge or for revealing ways of thinking about the subject. The line drawings reproduced within the Society’s text publications are, for the most part, standard for the period. But when considered in conjunction with the chromolithographs received by subscribers, or the watercolours on display in the Society’s rooms, the ‘notices’ take on new resonances. In the Vasari Fra Angelico monograph 1850, and Ruskin’s Arena Chapel album 1860 (fig.64), images were set within the type or juxtaposed with text; the chromolithographs, on the other hand, were produced as stand-alone publications, and were not always accompanied by discursive or explanatory narrative. Only a handful of the Society’s prints were produced with engraved captions;6 instead subscribers seem to have been provided with printed labels which are often found applied to the verso, or to the mount or frame. This emphasises the idea of the chromolithograph as an individual work of art, rather than one of an album of prints, or an illustration within a book. 7 The Society’s publications seek to persuade the viewer he or she is in the presence of the object in a way that is quite new for the nineteenth century. 8

elsewhere had met ‘the need for the illustration of early Art,’ and the sheer number of prints owned by early subscribers meant they ‘don't care to increase [their collections], at least in the same proportion as formerly.’ (London: Arundel Society 1893), pp.1–2; see also Conclusion 5

Ledger’s chapter ‘The print and monographs in context,’ is the main resource for the Society’s text publications; see A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, pp.163–250 6

The Dante portrait, lithographed by Vincent Brooks in 1859, is inscribed on the mount with details of its discovery, the tracing made by Kirkup in 1841 (and its ownership by Dante scholar Lord Vernon), with production details of the ‘facsimile.’ 7

We find a related strategy to appeal the collector’s idea of rarity in the ‘artist’s proof’ engravings produced in 1860 by Ernst Gambert of Holman Hunt’s Christ in the temple: those printed before letters, in a quantity of 1000–2000, were priced at fifteen guineas each, while the 10,000 examples of the ‘final’ version were priced at five guineas. Jeremy Maas, Gambart: Prince of the Victorian art world, London: Barrie and Jenkins 1975 and quoted by Martha Tedeschi, ‘“Where the picture cannot go, the engravings penetrate:” Prints and the Victorian art market,’ Art Institute of Chicago Museum Studies, vol.31, no.1, 2005, pp.9–19, at p.17 8

See for example, Ruskin on the 1879 chromolithograph issued after Giorgione’s Castelfranco altarpiece—one of the few he admired and included in the Art Collection assembled by him for students at the Ruskin School of Drawing—and his comment that ‘it announces itself clearly to you as a work of Art, not as a mere colour stain of nature.’ The stones of Venice (vol.11, p.241) and quoted by Christopher Lloyd and Tanya Ledger, Art and its images, Oxford: Ashmolean Museum 1976, p.131. page 36 of 355

Modern art historians rely on high quality, colour reproductions of work of art— and, from the 1990s, a range of digital images and other web-based tools. Art publications and exhibition catalogues, especially, illustrate works of art in profusion; it is not uncommon for them to include conservation sections, reproducing details of works which are otherwise inaccessible to the viewer or are invisible to the naked eye. With digital print techniques, the costs for reproducing colour images are no greater than for black and white, or for text. Parallel changes for digital images mean that production processes for art books, photographs and printed material have merged. The inter-connected nature of image and text in modern art publications means the viewer / reader is rarely required to imagine, to recall or to speculate about the work of art under discussion. An emphasis on the work, rather than its maker, means that biography is often a secondary concern.

Early art writing is, to a large extent, unillustrated and relies on the author’s ability to describe or set the scene for the reader. When subsequent editions of a text are illustrated, existing images upgraded, engravings replaced by photographs, or monochrome replaced by colour, subtle changes are set up between the text and images.9 How does reference to reproductions influence the way in which we write about art? Does it help to ‘anchor’ the work of art in time?10 Or does the proliferation of images imply the work of art has transcended a specific historical moment? Often images can date writing or betray the author’s reliance on secondary sources (see Chapter 3). Commentary produced without reference to the original work of art, or without the writer’s direct experience of the work, is regarded as less authentic or without persuasive power. Images that accompany text may thus complement— or at times fight—the argument. As academic Valerie Holman points out, those reproductions stand for the missing object and, through an effective layout,

9

By 1900, for the George Allen edition of Ruskin’s Giotto and his works in Padua, the Arundel Society’s woodcuts had been replaced by Carlo Naya’s photographs; these add a certain slickness to the publication and seems to undermine the writer’s ideas about Giotto’s ‘workman’like qualities; for the Naya photographs see also Chapter 3. Alexander Nagel and Christopher S Wood, Anachronic Renaissance, New York; Cambridge, Mass.: Zone Books 2010, p.7 10

page 37 of 355

‘reinforce the argument of a text, suggest a dialogue between verbal and visual, or create a discreet, even discordant, narrative.’11

Boris Tomashevsky’s notion of the writer without biography and Heinrich Wölfflin’s of an ‘art history without names’ are intriguing here.12 Named writers or artists, and a direct connection between their production and biography, are relatively recent concepts. As Tomashevsky reminds us, while the name and personality of the author play a role in our perception, these are directly linked to the advent of ‘individualization of creativity.’ 13 The author’s biography and the artist’s curriculum vitae may be interesting as a cultural phenomenon, but only the ‘legend of the life,’ and the ‘ideal biography,’ are important for the literary or art historian. Wölfflin’s insistence on the primacy of vision, his emphasis on the physical evidence of the work of art, raise interesting possibilities when applied to entities such as the Arundel Society whose writers, after all, are dependent on names and notions of authorial intention. It seems counterintuitive that in the mid-nineteenth century—a period when more publications are illustrated and, in some cases, are structured around images—so many writers on art remain tied to an older, Vasarian and biographic form of history. _________________________

Leonardo, famously, tells us that painting is beyond reproduction: [Painting] cannot be copied as can writing, in which the copy has as much worth as the original. It cannot be reproduced as can sculpture, in which the cast shares with the original the essential merits of the piece. It cannot produce infinite offspring, like printed books. Painting alone retains its nobility, bringing honours singularly to its author and remaining precious and unique. 14

11

Valerie Holman, ‘”Still a makeshift”? Changing representations of the Renaissance in twentieth-century art books,’ The rise of the image, pp.244–264, at p.245 12

Heinrich Wölfflin, Principles of art history: The problem of the development of style in later art, New York: Dover Publications 1950 13

‘Literature and Biography’ ‘in Readings in Russian poetics: Formalist and structuralist views and quoted by Holub, Reception theory, p.57 14

‘Of the imitable sciences,’ in Martin Kemp (ed.), Leonardo on painting: An anthology of writings, New Haven; London: Yale University Press 2001, p.19; see also https://archive.org/details/treatiseofpainti00leon (last accessed January 2014) page 38 of 355

The singularity of painting, according to Leonardo, makes it more excellent than the widely-published sciences. Essayist William Hazlitt (1778–1830) echoes these ideas in 1824, writing that one ‘disadvantage of pictures’ is that they cannot be multiplied like books or prints. This, however, is also an advantage in that it makes: the sight of a fine original picture an event so much the more memorable, and the impression so much the deeper. A visit to a genuine Collection is like going [on] a pilgrimage—it is an act of devotion performed at the shrine of Art! … The ancients, before the invention of printing, were nearly in the same situation with respect to books, that we are with regard to pictures; and at the revival of letters, we find the same unmingled satisfaction, or fervid enthusiasm, manifested in the pursuit or the discovery of an old manuscript, that connoisseurs still feel in the purchase and possession of an antique cameo, or a fine specimen of the Italian school of painting.15 Through philosopher and cultural critic Walter Benjamin (1892–1940), on the other hand, we know the reproduction of a work of art radically affects our reception of, and ability to understand, that work of art. Combined with text, or another form of communication, a series of arbitrated mediations is established. If we privilege, above all, uniqueness and authenticity in art we may destroy its aura. Although this may be inevitable in the age of mechanical reproduction, the trade-off is the emancipation of art from a ‘parasitical dependence on ritual.’16

Between these statements lie the productions of the Arundel Society which encapsulate, on the one hand, the idea of the creations of the Renaissance artists being precious and unique, and notions of reception. Until the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries art literature and art illustration were, to all intents and purposes, separate traditions: prints and drawings were collected in albums and portfolios, while texts were independent entities or issued

15

Sketches of the principal picture galleries of England, London: Taylor and Hessey 1834, pp.6–7; Hazlitt’s comments were prompted by the ‘finest gallery, perhaps, in the world,’ the collection of John Julius Angerstein (1732–1823) and soon to be the foundation collection of the National Gallery, London. 16

‘The work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.), Illuminations, New York: Schocken Books 1968, p.224 page 39 of 355

separately.17 The Art Unions established throughout Europe and America—the Berlin Kunstverein was the oldest, founded in 1814, while the London Union originated in 1836—were some of the first entities to circulate mass reproductions of works of art.18 Originally winners of the London Art Union received funds to spend on a painting or sculpture from one of the exhibitions in that city, thus providing considerable support to contemporary artists. Later the Art Unions also distributed engravings, chromolithographs and other prints, as well as medals, Parian ware and bronzes. Entities such as the Arundel Society were, in effect, a specialist version of the Art Unions and the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge (1826–48); both Societies had common members and it is pertinent to note that one started up in the same year the other left off.

The publications of the Arundel Society put ideas about art in visual form, and brought visual art, texts about art history and images of works of art, to a broad public. Until the widespread growth of museums in the nineteenth century, most works of art were housed in private, often royal, collections or within religious institutions. The increasing interest in art and art history takes place against the rise of nineteenth-century tourism: the Grand Tour—previously the exclusive domain of the aristocracy—became a partial reality for the privileged classes. With the Industrial Revolution more people had money to travel, and the railways became a convenient way to move between major cultural centres.19 In the eighteenth and early nineteenth century the first-hand study of art was largely dependent on personal finances or an association with a private collection. Historically, writers on art were collectors of art—or more often those who worked for them—and therefore had direct access to canvases, cabinets, engravings and other manuscripts. Familial connections were also important: often art critics were sons and (occasionally) daughters of artists. Anna Jameson (1794–1860), for example, was the daughter of an enamel painter and miniaturist; she first toured Italy in her role as a governess but her later travels

17

Ingrid R Vermeulen, Picturing art history: The rise of the illustrated history of art in the eighteenth century, Amsterdam University Press 2010, p.7 18

Elizabeth Aslin, ‘The rise and progress of the Art-Union of London,’ Apollo 82, January 1967, pp.12–16 19

Elizabeth K Helsinger, ‘History as criticism,’ Ruskin and the art of the beholder, http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/ruskin/artofthebeholder/5.html (accessed January 2014) page 40 of 355

were largely self-funded and influenced her approach to her writing,20 as did the network of aristocratic and intellectual contacts that she developed over three continents.21 Lord Lindsay was independently wealthy; in his letters, from which art historian Hugh Brigstocke has made a detailed reconstruction of his travels, we see how much time he was able to devote to touring collections, studying and writing about art, to developing his own taste and acquiring works for his own collection.22 Eastlake spent his early years in Rome, and as Director of the National Gallery, travelled for about six weeks each year. A H Layard famously journeyed to Nineveh, and ‘escaped to Italy’ as often as he could, studying frescoes (see Chapter 3), building his own collection and ‘scouting’ for the National Gallery.23 Layard remained an active Trustee of the Gallery, even during his ambassadorships and retirement in Venice. The voyages of George Scharf were mainly in his youth and mostly in Turkey and Greece; he visited Italy en route in 1840. It is not surprising, then, that many texts produced about art in this period should be in the form of guides and travel logs.

Despite the growing interest in fifteenth- and sixteenth-century architecture, painting, political and scientific thought there was little coherent notion of the Renaissance as a historical period before the first decade of the nineteenth century.24 The radical demarcation between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, which became a prominent feature of nineteenth-century historiography, came later, as academic J B Bullen reminds us.25 Most histories

20

[A B Jameson] Diary of an ennuyée (London: Henry Colburn 1826). Jameson was influential in encouraging her British readers to understand developments in contemporary art. Her travels in Germany in the 1830s—where she experienced new museological approaches in which collections were organised chronologically—would later impact on her handbooks; see for example, Companion to the most celebrated private galleries of art in London where she writes that German galleries are so well organised that guides are hardly needed (London: Saunders and Otley 1844). 21

Katharine Patterson, ‘The "Anna Jameson and her friends database": Mapping Anna Jameson's associative links with the Victorian intellectual community,’ http://www.chass.utoronto.ca/epc/chwp/patterson/ (accessed December 2005) 22

‘Lord Lindsay: Travel in Italy and Northern Europe, 1841-42, for "Sketches of The history of Christian art,"’ The Volume of the Walpole Society, vol.65, 2003, pp.161–258 23

Gordon Waterfield, ‘Henry Layard: Nineteenth-century aesthete,’ Apollo¸vol.LXXXIII, March 1966, pp.166–173, at p.170 24

Lynne J Walhout Hinojosa, The Renaissance, English cultural nationalism, and modernism, 1860–1920, New York: Palgrave Macmillan 2009 25

The myth of the Renaissance in nineteenth-century writing, Oxford: Clarendon Press; New York: Oxford University Press 1994, p.314 page 41 of 355

figure 7 plate I: Portrait of Masaccio from Thomas Patch’s Life of the celebrated Painter Masaccio, with some specimens of his works in fresco, at Florence, Florence 1770 figure 8 Tommaso PIROLI plate XXIII: Puccio Capanna’s Christ taken down from the cross painting in the Lower Church of San Francesco at Assisi c.1330 from William Young Ottley’s Series of plates, engraved after the paintings and sculptures of the most eminent masters of the early Florentine school, London: W Y Ottley 1826

figure 9 title page from Maria Callcott’s Description of the Chapel of the Annunziata dell’Arena; or Giotto’s chapel in Padua, London: printed for the author by Thomas Brettell 1835 figure 10 plate CLVI: Collection of the principal works of Masaccio at Rome and Florence from Jean Baptiste Séroux d'Agincourt’s Histoire de l’art par les monuments Paris: 1823 page 42 of 355

of art followed Vasari’s biographical form; monographs, likewise, privileged the artist’s life, influences and reputation over the works of art produced. From the early 1800s, concepts of the Italian Renaissance began to take greater account of stylistic change. In a move away from connoisseurship, writers placed less emphasis on individual techniques and methods; they became more ‘aware of the origins of style in cultural terms’26 and, taking cues from German art historian and archaeologist Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717–1768), the notion of a systematic pattern of rise and decline emerges. As art historian Alex Pott observes, Winckelmann’s idea of ‘elaborating a pattern of development through a logical sequence of period styles became hugely influential for the new scholarly study of the history of art that emerged in the nineteenth century.’27

The French archaeologist and historian Jean Baptiste Séroux d'Agincourt (1730– 1814) was one of the first to formulate the idea of the Italian Renaissance; his Histoire de l’art par les monuments, produced in Rome between 1779 and 1789, was later published in six folio volumes in Paris in 1823 (fig.9).28 It was conceived as an ‘imaginary museum,’ an extension of Winckelmann’s Geschichte der Kunst des Alterthums 1764, and aimed to do for the Renaissance what the German writer had done for Greek, Egyptian and Etruscan art. Séroux d'Agincourt’s rather detached introduction positions art within broader human history in a way which is typical of the Enlightenment period. As Vermeulen points out he applied the categories of actual collections, especially drawing and print cabinets, but with new order: in placing chronology first, before schools and artists, he emphasised an Universalist story of art.29 The publication is primarily an extended series of engravings with captions, and there is little analysis of the works illustrated or connections drawn between them; this is, instead, left to the images themselves. Séroux d'Agincourt employed a veritable network of copyists and correspondents throughout Europe to complete 3,335 subjects on 328 plates, covering architecture, sculpture and painting from ‘its decline in the fourth century to its

26

Bullen, The myth of the Renaissance in nineteenth-century writing, pp.319–320

27

‘Johann Joachim Winckelmann,’ Grove Art Online (accessed January 2014); an English translation of Winckelmann’s work was produced in four volumes in 1849–72. 28

Published in Italian in 1826–29; and English in 1847 as History of Art by its monuments.

29

Vermeulen, Picturing art history, p.179, p.185 page 43 of 355

restoration in the sixteenth.’30 Indeed, the immense influence of this publication was largely because of its lavish illustrations, and it was translated into German, Italian and, later, English. Many of the works reproduced were later reprised by Arundel Society: the frescoes at Assisi, those by Masaccio from the Brancacci Chapel, Florence, and the same angel musicians by Melozzo da Forli from the large Ascension fresco in Santi Apostoli, Rome (figs.52 and 53). Although rooted in the eighteenth century, the methods applied by Séroux d'Agincourt were a model for subsequent historians; as Ledger and Lloyd point out, Histoire de l’art at once ‘summarised a tradition and began another.’31

Art historian and archaeologist Luigi Lanzi (1732–1810) formulated the concept of a history of Italian painting in terms of school and genres, although social or political issues played small part in his work.32 His Storia pittorica della Italia, published in two volumes in 1795–96, and translated into English in 1828, contains descriptions of both individual artists and their work. The survey is remarkable for its emphasis on local schools and is considered significant as ‘the first attempt at a meaningful synthesis of investigative research methods.’ 33 He cast Cimabue as Michelangelo, to Giotto’s Raphael, an analogy which, as Cooper points out, was popular with English writers.34 Despite Lanzi’s conviction that, although the progress of art could be read in Vasari, it was best understood in a cabinet where the works of themselves demonstrated these improvements,35 his text was published without reproductions. The English churchman J T James (1786–1828) continued in this classificatory mode for The Italian schools of painting, with observations on the present state of the art, published in 1820—partially motivated by the discontinuation of William Young

30

Half of the subjects—buildings, sculptures and paintings—had not been published previously. Ottley was among the copyists employed on the project, along with Antonio Canova, JeanFrançois-Pierre Peyron, David-Pierre Humbert de Superville, and others. see John Hale, England and the Italian Renaissance: The growth of interest in its history and art, Malden, MA ; Oxford: Blackwell Publishing 2005, pp.80–81 31

Art and its images, p.38

32

Franco Bernabei, ‘Luigi Lanzi,’ Grove Art Online (accessed January 2014)

33

Bernabei, ‘Luigi Lanzi,’ Grove Art Online

34

British attitudes to the Italian primitives 1815–1866, 1976, p.20; furthermore, and as Cooper points out, Lanzi’s estimation of artist such as Gozzoli (and the Campo Santo frescoes in particular), Massaccio, Francia, Ghirlandaio and Pinturicchio promoted their reputations in the nineteenth century. 35

Vermeulen, Picturing art history, p.252 page 44 of 355

Ottley’s project—and, two years later, his The Flemish, Dutch, and German schools of painting.36 James outlines the main schools and tendencies, as well as the connections between the artists, but only occasionally mentions individual works of art; key sites such as the Scrovegni and Eremitani Chapels in Padua, for example, are omitted from his catalogue. On the other hand he commented, prophetically, that artists such as Masaccio, Filippo Lippi and Ghirlandaio ‘by no means deserve to lie in that oblivion to which they have generally been consigned by posterity.’37

In Germany Karl Friedrich von Rumohr (1785–1843) began from Vasari. Initially he planned a translation of The lives of artists but, realizing how little of Vasari could be supported by documentary evidence, was compelled to undertake his own research, based on first-hand knowledge and scrupulous, critical assessment of the primary sources.38 Although Rumohr’s Italienische Forschungen 1827–31 also sought to extend many of Winckelmann’s aims, his approach is often described as anti-Romantic and contrasted with that of Winckelmann.39 Rumohr, like his contemporaries, emphasised the artists before Raphael: he considered art after 1530 to be in decline. His influence is strongly felt in Alexis-François Rio’s La Poésie Chrétienne dans son principe, dans sa matiére et dans ses formes 1836, a volume which circulated rapidly throughout British art circles and had a remarkable impact on attitudes to Italian art (see Chapter 3), most obviously on Lord Lindsay’s Sketches of the history of Christian art 1847. As Bullen points out, the essential connection made by Rio (1797–1874) between religion and art resulted in the performance of all kinds of ‘intellectual gymnastics’ to sanitise overt Roman Catholicism in discussions of

36

Hale points out that Henri Fuseli may have composed A history of art in the schools of Italy (London: H Colburn and R Bentley 1831) as early as 1802; this would make his work one of the first large-scale histories of Italian art in English; see England and the Italian Renaissance, p.86. 37

James continues: ‘If they fail in the just gradations of aerial perspective, in variety of composition, in freedom of touch, in the fullness of design, we must yet observe in them a feeling of simple and natural elegance, and a degree of life and truth such as strikes us with surprise at the present day …’ The Italian schools of painting, with observations on the present state of the art, London: J Murray 1820, p.63. 38

Rumohr was later, with Waagen, an advisor for the Berlin National Gallery, one of first institutions to be established along art historical principles. 39

‘Karl Friedrich von Rumohr,’ Dictionary of art historians, http://www.dictionaryofarthistorians.org/rumohrk.htm (accessed January 2014) page 45 of 355

early Italian art.40 The first edition of La Poésie Chrétienne was unillustrated. The single illustration for the English translation issued in 1854 was after the ‘instrument of God’—Fra Angelico—and for which, as Rio’s translator noted, the celebrated Coronation from San Marco was reproduced with one difference: ‘in the original there are six kneeling figures of saints, two of which have been omitted, as the size of the page did not admit their being introduced.’41 In his Storia della pittura italiana eposta coi monumenti 1838–47, the Italian writer Giovanni Rosini (1776–1855), in turn, aimed to complete the work of Séroux d'Agincourt, while contributing images of works of art which were regarded as scientifically accurate rather than schematic or impressionistic.42 He was inspired by a visit to the Musée Napoleon where Western art looted by the French armies was beautifully displayed by epoch, from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century.43 Rosini’s artistic canon was composed in four successive periods—origin, progress, decadence and the re-flowering of art—and published with 250 works of art engraved in an elegant outline style by Giovanni Paolo Lasinio, Giuseppe Rossi, F Grassini, A E Lappi and others.

William Young Ottley’s The Italian school of design 1823 is considered the first systematic, chronological treatment of the Italian schools by a British art historian;44 it is also one of first illustrated art publications produced in Britain. Travelling in Italy from 1791 until 1798, Ottley (1771–1836) took advantage of the large number of objects available during the Napoleonic era to assemble an extensive collection of drawings and other Renaissance works. His volume was part of an ambitious program to publish ‘a chronological sequence of the designs of the most eminent artists of Italy.’45 Biographies and notices of the work of artists—from Cimabue, Giotto and Mantegna; through Michelangelo,

40

The pre-Raphaelite body: Fear and desire in painting, poetry, and criticism, Oxford: Clarendon Press; New York: Oxford University Press 1998, p.24 41

A F Rio, The poetry of Christian art, London: T Bosworth 1854

42

Franco Bernabei, ‘Giovanni Rosini,’ Grove Art Online (accessed January 2014). Although Rosini’s comments on Giotto are limited to his biography and influence, and those about the Scrovegni Chapel to its beauty, the line drawings in Storia della pittura italiana do manage to suggest a range of forms and structures for the artists reproduced. 43

Vermeulen, Picturing art history, p.255

44

Obituary in The Gentleman's Magazine, and historical chronicle, for the year ..., vol.160, August 1836, pp.210–11; see also J Allan Gere, ‘William Young Ottley as a collector of drawings,’ The British Museum Quarterly, vol.18, no.2, 1953, pp.44–53 45

see Prospectus; quoted by Gere, ‘William Young Ottley as a collector of drawings,’ p.45 page 46 of 355

Raphael and Caravaggio; to the Poussins, Claude and Rosa—were included, with ‘facsimiles’ of drawings from his own collection, many engraved by Ottley himself.46 The project was first suggested by ‘several eminent connoisseurs and artists’ who were of the opinion that a series of the finest of his drawings ‘engraved in exact conformity to the originals’ would prove ‘an offering at once grateful to the amateur, and beneficial to the student.’47 Although Ottley’s project was curtailed by its very ambition—the number of reproductions after Michelangelo and Raphael was ‘far more complete’ than had ‘appeared in any work hitherto published’—he conceded that it did not contain ‘drawings illustrative of the decline of art.’ (p.ii) Thus, for the nineteenth-century didactic purposes, it was unfinished. Ottley’s The Italian school of design does, on the other hand, represent an early example of the emergent form of collection catalogue and artist survey.

Ottely’s later volume, A series of plates, engraved after the paintings and sculptures of the most eminent masters of the early Florentine school, published in London in 1826, brought together 54 engravings of works after Cimabue, Giotto, Cavallini, Fra Angelico, Gaddi, Masaccio, Lippi, Gozzoli, Botticelli and others (fig.8). The Dutch draughtsman, printmaker and writer David-Pierre Humbert de Superville (1770–1849), who travelled with Ottley as his assistant in Tuscany and Umbria in the 1790s, produced many of the drawings;48 the other principal contributors were the Italian engraver Tommaso Piroli (1750–1824) and Carlo Cencioni (active 1790s–1820s). Ottley’s book brought together ‘the beauties dispersed here and there in works of these early artists’ rather than ‘a mere average view of their merits’ and was immensely influential for the British revaluation of Italian ‘primitives.’ 49 Several of these frescoes were likewise reproduced by the Arundel Society: the Christ taken down from the cross given

46

The full title is The Italian school of design: ‘being a series of fac-similes of original drawings, by the most eminent painters and sculptors of Italy; with biographical notices of the artists, and observations on their work, (London: Taylor and Hessey 1823). 47

They would, he continues, ‘thereby become more intimately acquainted with the mode of conduct observed by the greatest artists, in the preparation and process of their works, than he could by the examination of their finished productions only.’ [p.ii] 48

Humbert de Superville’s Essai sur les signes inconditionnels dans l’art, (Essay on absolute signs in art) 1827 sought to introduce a universal language of forms, as well as theories of colour, but was largely ignored in his lifetime. 49

quoted by Lloyd and Ledger, Art and its images, p.41 page 47 of 355

by Ottley to Capanna in the 1826 publication was fifty years later issued as Lorenzetti (see figs.8 and 49).

Other British precursors50 include the series of books of engravings after the work of Masaccio, Fra Bartolommeo, Giotto and Ghiberti, produced by Thomas Patch (1725–1782) in the 1770s (fig.7).51 Each is presented as a ‘Life of’ but, as art historian Robert Rosemblum observes, the engravings make little distinction between the styles of each artist.52 They were also rare: only forty copies of each were produced, after which the plates were destroyed. The Masaccio volume includes 24 engraved heads and two groups of figures from the Brancacci Chapel frescoes, with letterpress text in Italian and English, and includes the comment that the heads were traced from the originals.53 Carlo Lasinio’s two large volumes of etchings, Frescoes of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries 1787 and Frescoes and oil paintings at Florence 1789 were hugely influential, as was the English translation of Séroux d'Agincourt’s volumes, History of art by its monuments 1847. The Irish poet novelist and critic, George Darley (1795–1846), writing for the Athenaeum but published anonymously, was also important for promoting knowledge of the ‘primitives.’54 Between 1843 and 1845 Jameson’s articles on Italian quattrocento artists in the Penny Magazine reached many tens of thousands of readers,55 and from the 1850s art

50

For English publications on Italian art, see Appendix D, Charles Peter Brand, Italy and the English Romantics: The Italianate fashion in early nineteenth England, (CUP Archive, 1957) pp.246–267 51

The life of Masaccio (Florence 1770); The Life of Fra Bartolommeo della Porta … ; The life of Giotto (Florence 1772) and the untitled volume of prints after Ghilberti’s Gates of Paradise (Florence 1774); see also Jeremy Howard, ‘Renaissance Florence: Inventing the 1470s in the Britain of the 1870s,’ The British Art Journal, vol.1, no.1, pp.75–77. 52

Transformations in late eighteenth century art, Princeton University Press 1967, p.165

53

Patch’s subsequent volume, Life of Giotto 1772, includes twelve plates after the frescoes given to Giotto and workshop from the chapel dedicated to St John the Baptist in Santa Maria del Carmine, Florence, destroyed by fire in 1771; these were the first prints issued after Giotto ‘given to the public;’ see Lloyd and Ledger, Art and its images, p.57. 54

Robyn Cooper, ‘The growth of interest in early Italian painting in Britain: George Darley and the Athenaeum, 1834-1846,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol.43, 1980, pp.201–220; see also Graham, Inventing van Eyck, pp.79–83 55

The beautifully produced woodcuts that accompanied Jameson’s ‘Essays on the lives of remarkable painters,’ the series which ran January 1843 to December 1845, were designed by William Harvey and etched by Harriet Clarke; see Judith Johnson, ‘Invading the house of Titian: The colonisation of Italian art. Anna Jameson, John Ruskin and the "Penny Magazine"’ in Victorian Periodicals Review, vol.27, no.2, Summer 1994, pp.127–143, at p.129; see also Rachel Teukolsky, The literate eye: Victorian art writing and modernist aesthetics, Oxford University Press 2009, p.17. page 48 of 355

journals and newspapers began to carry a greater number of illustrations of the line-drawing type: the Art Journal, for example, featured essays on Florentine art and issued a series of engravings.56 When Jameson’s series was published as Memoirs of the early Italian painters 1845, it featured the woodblocks and engravings from the Penny Magazine: the usual artist portraits at the beginning of each chapter which, as Ruskin commented when reviewing a later edition, ‘enliven the letter-press.’57 Jameson also referred her readers to a range of other publications: d'Agincourt’s, Callcott, Ottley, Rosini noting that copies of the final two may be consulted in the British Museum.

The German art historian, poet and administrator Franz Kugler (1808–1858) was a prodigious scholar, editor and educator committed to the preservation of national monuments; like Séroux d'Agincourt he believed art history should be studied in a broader historical context. He was also, as we shall see, committed to the use of images in the study of art history and for history more generally.58 Although the first edition of Kugler’s Handbook of the history of painting in Italy 1842 was issued without reproductions, the 1855 Murray edition edited by Sir Charles Eastlake, touted ‘more than one hundred illustrations from the works of the Old Masters.’ These were, as Eastlake acknowledged in his preface, able to provide little more than a sense of the composition but would ‘at least invite attention to larger transcripts of those works where the originals are not accessible.’59 Sketches of the history of Christian art 1847 was also unillustrated. Again Lindsay referred his readers to engravings reproduced elsewhere, including those in Lasino’s and Séroux d'Agincourt’s volumes. Lindsay’s scholarly interests—his understanding of medieval iconography, symbolism,

56

See, for example, Jameson’s ‘Some thoughts on art,’ Art Journal, 1 March 1849, pp.67–71. The Athenaeum published a significant coverage of early Italian art but remained unillustrated. 57

‘Mrs Jameson’s early Italian painters,’ Saturday Review, vol.5, no.136, 5 June 1858, pp.593– 594, at p. 594 58

The illustrated popular history, History of Frederick the Great 1842 was a collaboration between Kugler and the painter-printmaker Adolph Menzel in which the woodcuts were closely integrated into the text. 59

The schools of painting in Italy. Handbook of painting. The Italian schools. Based on the handbook of Kugler, London: Murray 1855, p.vii; the Scharf / Kugler images were later reproduced in Crowe and Cavalcaselle’s A history of painting in Italy, London: J Murray 1864 page 49 of 355

figure 11 Ludwig GRÜNER, engraver after a copy of Raphael’s The martyrdom of St Stephen by Nicola Consoni line engraving, 40 x 38.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1867 British Museum, London

figure 12 Cesari MARIANNECCI, copyist after Raphael's The poets of Mount Parnassus in the Stanza della Segnatura, Vatican, Rome watercolour, 54 x 81.9 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1873 figure 13 Raphael’s Camera della Segnatura in the Vatican, Rome from Heinrich Kohler’s Polychrome Meisterwerke Der Monumentalen Kunst in Italien Leipzig: Baumgaertner's Buchhandlung 1870 Boston Athenaeum page 50 of 355

and legends of the saints—anticipates Jameson, as Brigstocke points out.60 Jameson’s Sacred and legendary art 1848 was extensively illustrated; like the Kugler Handbook, the line-drawing illustrations gave no sense of the colour, tonal contrasts or modelling of the original paintings.61 Although this was often admitted by various authors there was, intriguingly, rarely any attempt to supplement this information in the text. Sacred and legendary art is celebrated as one of the first systematic studies of Christian iconography.62 It was also, as Jameson announced in the Introduction, illustrated in a ‘variety of forms’ throughout the text which would lead readers ‘to make comparisons, and discover analogies and exceptions for themselves.’ (p.xlvi)

Raphael’s prominence is obvious in these and other publications. Ottley and d'Agincourt reproduced 24 and 16 of his works respectively, while Kugler devoted 87 pages to Raphael and his school. The monograph produced by German art historian and painter Johann David Passavant (1787–1861) drew on collections and archives throughout Europe, and was much admired.63 Apart from a biography, Passavant’s volumes include a catalogue of Raphael’s paintings, chronologically arranged, with an index of subjects, his drawings, architectural projects and poetry. Many nineteenth-century publications—Fraser counts at least seventeen books devoted to the artist published in Britain before 185064— continue the narrative set out by Vasari: when Raphael’s talents soon surpassed those of his father and early master, he was apprentice to Perugino whose style he was soon able to replicate to perfection; how in Florence he studied the works 60

Indeed Brigstocke argues it was, in part, the engravings completed by Ottley, Humperville and others that inspired Lindsay’s work; see ‘Lord Lindsay: Travel in Italy and Northern Europe, 184142,’ p.170; see also Brigstocke, ‘Lindsay, Alexander William Crawford, twenty-fifth earl of Crawford and eighth earl of Balcarres (1812–1880),’ Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press 2004; online edition, October 2007, http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/16686 61

London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans 1848

62

Clara Thomas, ‘Anna Jameson: Art historian and critic,’ Woman's Art Journal, vol.1, no.1, Spring–Summer 1980, pp.20–22 63

Rafael von Urbino und sein Vater Giovanni Santi was published in two volumes in Leipzig in 1839, with a third added in 1858; it was translated into French, and much enlarged, in 1860, and then English by Macmillan and Co in 1872, illustrated with 20 woodblocks produced by a Mr Woodbury. Reproduced works included Christ on the cross, The vision of the knight and the Ansidei Madonna (engraved by L Grüner in 1832; he was also responsible for 13 other illustrations) and the Vatican frescoes. As Lloyd and Ledger point out, Passavant’s selection of works for reproduction belies his scholarly enquiry in the emphasis on the search for an ‘authentic likeness’ of the artist. Art and its images, p.67 64

Hilary Fraser, ‘The spirit of Raphael’ in The Victorians and Renaissance Italy, Oxford, UK; Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell 1992, p.61 page 51 of 355

of Masaccio, Leonardo and Michelangelo, and made friends with many local artists including Fra Bartolomeo; how he was called to Rome by Julius II and worked on the great Vatican frescoes, the Stanza della Segnatura and Stanza d’Eliodoro,65 designed tapestries for the Sistine Chapel and made a great many beautiful altarpieces, as well as painting portraits and working on architectural projects; how he had many love affairs and died too young of a fever brought on by sexual excesses. As well as his talent, Vasari emphases Raphael’s obliging and sweet nature, describing him as gracious, genial and generous to other artists.66 Given Raphael’s prominence, publication by the Arundel Society would have been expected: at first it was by association—the fresco by his father at Cagli said to contain a portrait of the young artist—but in due course two engravings and seven chromolithographs were issued in the 1860s and 1870s.67

Raphael as a key artist for popular and serious scholarship remained unchallenged in Britain for most of the nineteenth-century—despite being positioned as a point of rebellion by the Pre-Raphaelites and conceived by Ruskin as the beginning of decline.68 Raphael’s reputation was enhanced by increasing awareness of the Cartoons in the Royal Collection, works in other British hands, as well as the Prince Consort’s project to document the artist’s

65

The Stanze fresco Causarum Cognitio (Knowledge of causes) or the ‘School of Athens’ was one of the most widely published images of the nineteenth century (see also Chapter 4). 66

Given Vasari’s impact it is interesting to realise the Lives of the most eminent painters, sculptors and architects was not fully translated into English until 1850–85; see translation by Mrs Jonathan Foster published, unillustrated, by H G Bohn from 1850; for its critical reception, see http://archiv.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/artdok/2179/1/Davis_Fontes75.pdf) 67

The engravings were produced by Ludwig Grüner, after copies by Nicola Consoni of Raphael’s The martyrdom of St Stephen (fig.11) and The martyrdom of St Stephen from the Vatican tapestries (Arundel Society 1864 and 1867) The chromolithographs were produced by Storch & Kramer after a copies by Cesari Mariannecci of Raphael’s St Peter delivered in prison from the Stanza di Eliodoro, Vatican, Rome (1865); The four sibyls from the Chigi chapel, Santa Maria della Pace, Rome (1866); Theology, Poetry, Philosophy (fig.113) and Jurisprudence from the ceiling of the Stanza della Segnatura, Vatican (1867, 1867, 1871 and 1873); and The poets of Mount Parnassus in the Stanza della Segnatura, Vatican, Rome (1873; fig.12). 68

In his lecture on Pre-Raphaelitism, in November 1853, Ruskin comments that ‘the medieval principles led up to Raphael, and the modern principles lead down from him.’ Works, vol.12, p.150. In 1883 Ruskin claimed, of his visit in Rome in 1840, to be underwhelmed: ‘Of Raphael, however, I found I could make nothing whatever. The only thing clearly manifest to me in his compositions was, that everybody seemed to be pointing at everybody else, and that nobody, to my notion, was worth pointing at.’ Works, vol.4, p.117. page 52 of 355

oeuvre.69 From 1852, inspired by the collections assembled by previous monarchs, and his work to catalogue and classify them, Albert and his librarians Ernst Becker (dates unknown) and Carl Ruland (1834–1907) worked to amass engravings and lithographs of all the works noted by Passavant; photographs were commissioned for those works unpublished to date. In order to encourage photography of the works in other royal, museum and private collections on the Continent, and by way of exchange, Albert sent a set of photographs after the drawings at Windsor.70 Photographs of the Windsor works, as well those from some of the other collections, were available, for a time, from the South Kensington Museum.71 Printmaker and Kensington Museum curator J C Robinson (1824–1913) seems to have used the photographs in preparing his catalogue of the drawings at Oxford.72 The Arundel Society contributed to this dissemination of reproductions, issuing line engravings after two of the three missing compositions for the Cartoons.73 These, and subsequent chromolithographs, are duly listed in the Raphael Collection publications.74 As Ruland attested, writing in 1876, ‘without any exaggeration it may be asserted that the natural development of the Prince Consort’s first idea has given this 69

The Raphael cartoons, seven of ten designs for tapestries produced in glue distemper on paper in 1515–16, were purchased in 1623 by Charles I, then Prince Wales; since 1865 they have been on loan to the Victorian and Albert Museum, London. 70

See, for example, Jennifer Montagu, ‘The "Ruland / Raphael" collection,’ in Helene E Roberts (ed.), Art history through the camera's lens, Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach 1995, pp.37–57 71

An extensive number of photographs after the drawings were available: Academy of Fine Arts, Venice (90); the Gallery of Duke Albrecht, Vienna (80); Uffizi, Florence (35); Louvre, Paris (33); Vicar Collection, Lille (67); Windsor (54); British Museum (12); University Galleries, Oxford (188); Duke of Devonshire Gallery, Chatsworth (12) as well as the drawings at Sienna, Dresden and in several private collections. 72

‘For the purposes of his present undertaking, the writer has been enabled to make use of photography in the most complete manner. … [I]t would have been altogether impossible [for the writer] to have made himself master … without constant reference to the monuments themselves, as practically brought within his reach by photography. A critical account of the drawings by Michel Angelo and Raffaello in the University Galleries, Oxford, Oxford: Claredon Press 1870, p.xi. As Hamber points out, some of Robinson’s subsequent publications were also produced with photographic illustrations. “A higher branch of the art”: Photographing the fine arts in England, 1839–1880, pp.106–107 73

The conversion of Saul 1864 and The martyrdom of St Stephen 1867 as above.

74

The first was published, in a very small, privately printed edition, in 1867; many amendments and additions were included in the subsequent version: The works of Raphael Santi da Urbino as represented in the Raphael Collection in the Royal Library at Windsor Castle formed by H R H The Prince Consort, 1853–1861 and completed by Her Majesty Queen Victoria, Weimar 1876. The Arundel Society publications after Raphael are listed within sections on the ‘Stanza della Segnature’ and ‘Stanza dell' Eliodoro,’ while the print after the fresco of the Prophets and sibyls is found in Sta. Maria della Pace, Rome.; the chromolithograph of the Santi fresco in San Domenico, Cagli, published in 1859, is listed under ‘Portraits supposed to be of Raphael’ while the Adam and Eve fresco from the Brancacci Chapel is also cross-referenced. The interior view of the Piccolomini Library is listed as ‘executed with the assistance of Raphael.’ page 53 of 355

collection such importance that not only can no future biographer of Raphael Santi [Sanzio] avoid giving it the deepest attention, but it also forms a beautiful illustrated memorial of how an artist can be, and ought to be studied.’ 75 By the time of J A Crowe and Giovanni Cavalcaselle’s monograph, published by John Murray in two volumes in 1882–85, notes on the condition and restoration of particular works were included—alongside the more standard information such as remarks about attribution, dating, dimensions, location and provenance—and we see the form of the modern catalogue emerging.

Masaccio was second to Raphael in d’Agincourt’s History of art by its monuments, with nine works, and the Brancacci Chapel frescoes feature several times, in different sections.76 Described by Berenson as the Florentine ‘Sistine Chapel,’ the Brancacci cycle in the Church of the Carmine has long been recognised as a masterwork of the early Renaissance.77 It is also one of the earliest works of art reproduced, as early as 1770, and one of the first restored using the latest techniques, after being damaged by fire in 1771. Patch’s volume contained twenty-four engravings after the frescoes, an introduction and a brief life of the painter, as well as a discussion of fresco painting technique; 78 the portrait of Masaccio had been traced by Patch (fig.7) from the head in St Peter and St Paul raising the king's son (cf fig.14F). The reproductions also reflected a concern with the condition of the work: they showed sinopia and areas of repainting, as well as recording sections which had fallen off completely.79 Patch’s enthusiasm for Masaccio and the Brancacci Chapel is likely to have provided introduction for

75

The works of Raphael Santi da Urbino … p.xiv; the collection is now on loan to the British Museum, and was published by the Warburg Institute. See also Montagu, ‘The "Ruland / Raphael" Collection,’ pp.37–57 and Hamber, ‘Photography in nineteenth-century art publications,’ in Rodney Palmer and Thomas Frangenberg (ed.), The rise of the image: Essays on the history of the illustrated art book, Aldershot and Burlington: Ashgate 2003, pp.218–219 76

Jean Baptiste Séroux D'Agincourt, L'Histoire de l'art par les monuments, depuis sa décadence au quatrième siècle jusqu'à son renouvellement au seizième, vol.III, plates CXLVII– CLI show various scenes from the Church del Carmine at Florence, including two heads ‘traced from the originals’; CLII–CLIV reproduce the St Catherine frescoes from Church of St Clement at Rome, now given to Masolino. 77

Bernard Berenson, The Italian painters of the Renaissance, London: Phaidon 1952

78

F J B Watson, ‘Thomas Patch (1725-1782) notes on his life, together with a catalogue of his known works,’ The Volume of the Walpole Society, vol.28, 1939–1940, pp.15–50; see p.46 for a description of each of Patch’s three volumes of which only forty copies of each were produced. 79

Vermeulen, Picturing art history, p.78; indeed Patch was ‘desirous of preserving at the least the memory, which may give some pleasure to those, who are willing to reflect on the different stages of painting.’ The life of Masaccio, p.II (see also n.51 above) page 54 of 355

painter Joshua Reynolds (1723–1792) who first admired the frescoes while a student in Italy in the 1750s: in the twelfth of his Discourses, lectures delivered at the Royal Academy between 1769 and 1790, he describes both Masaccio’s ‘noble’ figures and their effect on Raphael, though without naming the Chapel.80 Thereafter, as historian Rosemary Sweet points out, a visit to the Chapel was a feature of tourist itineraries.81 Another artist Johann Anton Ramboux (1790– 1866)—later curator at Cologne’s Wallraf Museum—recorded the works in the early 1800s.82 The painter-archaeologist Alfred de Surigny (1805–1878) commented that the Society’s chromolithographs recalled his many happy hours spent in contemplation of the frescoes.83 In these and other documentation of the Brancacci Chapel we find a range of opinions about the attribution of specific scenes. Séroux d'Agincourt, for example, attributed the double scene of the Martyrdom of St Peter and Disputation (Plate CXLVIII) to Masaccio,84 as do Hugford, Lasinio and Rosini, but Kugler sides with Rumohr in giving the work to Lippi. Six plates are devoted to the frescoes in the second edition of Kugler’s Handbook of painting 1855—including a detail of the figure in St Paul addressing St Peter borrowed by Raphael—and many of the illustrations were reproduced in Crowe and Cavalscalle’s A history of painting 1864. Cavalscalle’s detailed, annotated drawings in his sketchbooks give credence to specific observations of

80

Reynolds’ Discourses were each published after their first delivery as lectures; the first seven appeared as a group in 1778, and were subsequently translated into Italian and German; a French edition of the thirteen lectures was published in 1787. The first collection of all fifteen lectures, with Reynolds' other writings, was printed in 1797. Later editions, including that of 1842 published by Carpenter included illustrations of the works of Raphael, Michelangelo, Titian and others of the high Renaissance rather than ‘the primitives.’ 81

Cities and the grand tour: The British in Italy, c.1690–1820, Cambridge University Press 2012, p.92

82

Ramboux, who later worked on the restoration of the Cologne Cathedral and edited collections of lithographs of Renaissance works, copied the Brancacci Chapel, the frescoes at Assisi, Piero della Francesca and others; his copies are often valuable because they record the state of the frescoes pre-deterioration and restoration. (see also Chapter 3) 83

De Surigny discussed the strengths and weaknesses of the Society’s publications in an article addressed to douard Didron, ‘La Société d'Arundel,’ Annales Archéologiques, vol.26, 1869, pp.277–284, and to which Didron amended a note reminding readers that he was the Society’s French agent (see Chapter 5). De Surigny became a subscriber in 1858 and is listed until 1883; perhaps his membership was retained by his son or another family member after his death. 84

The martyrdom is also known as the Crucifixion. The second subject is from the last episodes of Peter’s life, and shows him and St Paul disputing with Simon Magus before the Emperor Nero; the fresco is variously known as ‘St Peter and St Paul before the Proconsul Felix’ or ‘Disputation with Simon Magus’ or ‘St Peter and St Paul before Nero.’ page 55 of 355

figure 14 ABCDEF STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after copies of frescoes in the Cappella Brancacci, Santa Maria del Carmine, at Florence by Cesari Mariannecci Fillipino Lippi’s The fall and Masaccio’s The expulsion lithographs, 28.0 x 10.2 cm (each) London: Arundel Society 1861 Fillipino Lippi’s St Peter in prison visited by St Paul and St Peter delivered from prison lithographs, 28.0 x 10.6 cm (each) Head from St Peter in prison visited by St Paul lithograph,36.2 x 25.4 cm London: Arundel Society 1862

Masaccio and Lippi’s St Peter and St Paul raising the king's son and The homage to St Peter lithograph, 72.8 x 36.4 cm London: Arundel Society 1863 Felix Man Collection National Gallery of Australia, Canberra page 56 of 355

the frescoes and reinforce the by-line of the volume: ‘from personal inspection of the works of art scattered throughout Europe.’85

The Brancacci Chapel and Masolino, Masaccio, and Filippino Lippi 1868 was the last of five pamphlets written by Layard for the Arundel Society. His approach is, in many ways, typical of much writing of the period. He regards art in terms of progressive development: in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, he writes, the ‘human intellect was rapidly emancipating itself from those traditions of the dark ages which still weighed upon it.’86 Masaccio is described as taking up from Giotto and carrying painting towards its next great step, (p.7) and the Brancacci frescoes as holding the ‘same place in the history of art during the fifteenth century, as the works of Giotto, in the Arena Chapel, at Padua, hold during the fourteenth.’ (p.4) Like Giotto, Masaccio looked to nature but his innovation was to ‘represent the various aspects and subtle shades of human feeling and passion.’ (p.8) Layard quotes Vasari and Reynolds, but goes further in pointing out that much of the praise is due to Masolino and Lippi. He cites Kugler, and Crowe and Cavalcaselle as the principal modern authorities on the works. His biographical sketches for Masolino, Masaccio and Lippi offer standard fare—although he takes issue with Vasari over dates and other details, correcting them from period documents, quoted in the Italian. He surveys the artist’s other works. Layard opines that Raising of Tabitha is the only fresco by Masolino and agrees with Cavalcaselle in giving Preaching of St Peter to Masaccio, rather than, like Vasari, to Masolino (p.18). He compares Masolino’s frescoes at Castiglione d'Olona: his text is accompanied by an engraved, interior view of the baptistery drawn by Mrs Higford Burr, and a woodcut of the scene of the Daughter of Herodias before Herod.87

85

See also the preface to A history of painting were he comments that the illustrations offer the opportunity to make ‘direct comparison of extant works among each other.’ (p.v). For reproductions of Cavalcaselle’s drawings of the frescoes at the Castiglione Olona, for example, see Steffi Roettgen, Italian frescoes, New York: Abbeville Press 1996-97, p.162, figs.42 and 43. Cavalcaselle was employed by George Scharf during the period of his London residence (1850–57); see Donata Levi, ‘Cavalcaselle, Giovanni Battista,’ Grove Art Online (last accessed January 2015) 86

The Brancacci Chapel and Masolino, Masaccio, and Filippino Lippi, London: Arundel Society 1868, p.7, with further references given within the text. 87

Layard had studied the frescoes at Castiglione d'Olona in 1856 (see one of his tracings, fig.40) but also notes working from the woodcut, lent by John Murray, produced after a drawing by Cavalcaselle. Layard refers to woodcuts of Masaccio’s fresco in San Clemente at Rome and to Lippi’s St Paul addressing St Peter. (p.20) As Ledger points out he based his attribution of page 57 of 355

In his description of each fresco, Layard also notes the date for each of the chromolithographs issued by the Arundel Society, the heads and other details produced, and what may be learnt from them. He discusses aspects of the gesture and expression, drapery and compositional innovations. He observes that the colour of the Tribute money (fig.104) is compromised by dirt and dust which covers the surface of the intonaco, and affects the original brightness and transparency of the paintwork, but that it hasn’t been ‘destroyed by repainting and injudicious restoration.’ (p.54) The colours, he announces, are ‘restored as nearly as possible to their original state’ in the Society’s publication. Masaccio died, as Vasari tells us, while the combined scene of St Peter and St Paul raising the king's son and The homage to St Peter was in progress (cf fig.14E)—the king, the two counsellors below him, and the central group including the figure in green behind the king's son, as well as the scene of St Peter enthroned with kneeling figures, and the groups either side of the Apostle were completed by him. The four figures behind the king, the nine which form the centre of the picture, and the king's son were completed at a later stage by Lippi, and the distinct style of each artist is retained for the Arundel Society’s chromolithograph (p.58). Like many other commentators, Layard points out Raphael’s debt to Masaccio, and reproduces Masaccio’s St Paul figure who raises a single arm (fig.14C) and Raphael’s with both arms raised.88 He finishes his pamphlet by pointing out that the Brancacci Chapel chromolithographs are an example of the Society fulfilling one of its principal objects: to record and publish works which ‘hold so high a place in the history of art, and have exercised so marked an influence upon the development of painting.’ (p.67)

Although Masaccio was a relatively recent discovery, Layard’s Brancacci Chapel was produced at a time of a broader popular awareness of fifteenth century Italian art. 89 The interest in the ‘primitives’ dates from the 1840s and

the Raising of St Tabitha to Masolino on a comparison between the several figures in the fresco of Herod’s banquet. A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.186 88

Raphael’s figure was used in his cartoon, St Paul preaching at Athens 1515, and again in slight variation in The punishment of Elynias the Sorcerer, Royal Collection, on loan to the Victoria and Albert Museum, London 89

A painting on tile in the Uffizi collection, Florence, called a self-portrait by Masaccio in the eighteenth century, is now linked with Lippi. Bruce Cole and Ulrich Middeldorf, on the other hand make a fascinating case for Ignazio Hugford (1703–1778) as its author. ‘Masaccio, Lippi, or Hugford?’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.113, no.822, September 1971, pp.500–505, p.507 page 58 of 355

1850s but the inclusion of artists such as Cimabue, Giotto, Masaccio and Lippi in historical surveys—rather than indicating progress towards the perfection encapsulated by Raphael—saw their frescoes and panel paintings discussed in more than antiquarian terms (see Chapter 3).90 Eastlake’s championing of the trecentro and quattrocento and his acquisitions for the fledging National Gallery, London, were influenced by his awareness of new German trends and his association with art historian and museum director, Gustav Friedrich Waagen (1794–1868).91 According Brigstocke, Eastlake was exceptional in this regard: other British critics had failed to recognise the importance of new museological approaches in Germany that saw collection displays organised according to historical principles, schools and nationalities rather than subject matter.92 August Wilhelm Schlegel (1767–1845), Wilhelm Heinrich Wackenroder (1773– 1798), Rumohr and others saw the Italian, Flemish and German ‘primitives’ as works to be admired rather than treated as mere curiosities. This new appreciation was closely tied to Romantic concepts of earlier artistic periods, before Raphael, when artistic creativity and emotions were in harmony. It was also connected with form and technique. Jakob Burckhardt (1818–1897), for example, regarded fresco as an ideal union of the artist and his task, the technique being closely integrated with architecture, the pinnacle in the hierarchy of genres. Burckhardt’s great achievement—to encourage the understanding of art in its social and institutional contexts—played down the idea of history as progression suggesting, instead, the notion of a new and highly individualised, artistic consciousness. He linked greater autonomy to the rise of panel painting; instead of being an itinerant fresco painter, moving ‘from church to church, from palace to palace,’ the artist instead sent works out from

90

In France William Haussoulier (1818–1891) contributed to a parallel appreciation of the ‘primitives;’ see, for example, his Copie d'un Saint d'après Giotto au museé du Bargello, Florence (Collection: Moreau Museum, Paris). Haussoulier later produced a series of etchings after Italian artists, published by the Gazette des Beaux Arts, including an 1876 etching after Masaccio’s Jésus, Christ et Saint Pierre. 91

Waagen’s importance for the National Gallery and broader art appreciation in British is considerable: not only did he offer highly practical advice on the housing and display of national collections, his catalogues provide valuable information about the state of private art collections in Britain. 92

‘Lord Lindsay and the Sketches of the history of Christian art,’ Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester, vol.64, no.1, 1981, pp.27–60, at p.28 page 59 of 355

the studio.93 These ideas are consistent with Ruskin’s and the Arundel Society’s ideas about fresco as an earlier and more ‘pure’ expression.

Under Eastlake’s directorship (1855–65), the National Gallery London began to acquire with a view to a collection founded on comprehensive historical principles, rather than the taste of individual trustees. Founded by decree of the House of Commons in April 1824, and established with the purchase of John Julius Angerstein’s collection, the National Gallery contained very few nonBritish works until the 1850s. From the mid-1850 a large number of early Italian works were acquired: in only two years from 1855–57 Eastlake and his travelling agent Otto Mündler (1811–1870) bought 59 pictures in Italy.94 There were also more and more opportunities for seeing early Italian and Northern art. The British Institution’s 1848 exhibition, for example, featured paintings attributed to artists such as Fra Angelico, Giotto, Perugino and Ghirlandaio. In 1857 the Manchester Art Treasures exhibition, famously, brought together many thousands of Old Master paintings from private collections, a large selection of works by living artists, as well as decorative art, works on paper and photography. George Scharf, the exhibition’s secretary, worked to a committee headed by Lord Ellesmere then Lord Overstone,95 and was informed by Waagen’s Treasures of art in Great Britain 1854. The rooms were hung chronologically with the section devoted to Southern and Northern European set on opposite walls. The architecture encouraged juxtaposition, as Haskell points out: the aisles at each side of the central hall were long enough for an extensive sequence and narrow enough for comparisons.96 Many of the privately owned works made their way into museum collections over the next decades.

While Renaissance and early Italian art remained the dominant interest, German, Flemish and Dutch schools were collected and admired, especially for 93

Lionel Gossman, Basel in the age of Burckhardt: A study in unseasonable ideas, University of Chicago Press 2000, p.384; Burckhardt, like Winckelmann and his French disciple Quatremère de Quincy (1755–1849) argued frescoes should be seen in context and studied in Italy. 94

As well as one painting at The Hague and 23 in England; David Robertson, ‘Charles Eastlake,’ Grove Art Online (accessed December 2005) 95

Overstone assumed the leadership role on the death of Ellesmere in 1857; both men were subscribers to the Arundel Society. 96

Francis Haskell, The ephemeral museum: Old Master paintings and the rise of the art exhibition, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press 2000, p.86 page 60 of 355

their extreme realism and as the first exponents of the new technique of oil painting. Although the Romantic writer Wackenroder promoted the parity of German and Italian art,97 ‘Northern’ art was largely presented as an appendage to the main Italian tradition.98 Schlegel, against conventional opinion, declared the works of van Eyck and Memling’s works superior to many of their Italian counterparts, including Raphael’s Sistine Madonna in Dresden, for their religious content, spirituality and ‘expression of Christian truth.’99 The van Eycks, it was maintained, were the inventors and first practitioners of oil painting, and, following Vasari, the technique was introduced to Italy by Antonello of Messina, who studied with the youngest brother Lambert. Jan van Eyck’s Arnolfini portrait 1434 entered the National Gallery collection in 1842, its ‘technical perfection’ singled out by Ruskin in an 1848 review.100 Johnson, for example, commented simply that there is ‘much kinship’ between the German, Flemish and Dutch schools in their practice and characteristics—care and integrity of workmanship.101 Indeed, discerning the hand of Jan or Hubert van Eyck in the Ghent altarpiece seems to have consumed almost as much energy as the division of frescoes in the Brancacci Chapel.

Waagen’s first publication was a monograph on Jan and Hubert van Eyck and, as art historian Anne Hagopian van Buren notes, the van Eycks were the first of the ‘Flemish primitives’ to be studied by the developing critical methods in the nineteenth century.102 Über Hubert und Johann van Eyck 1822 is also one of first art-historical monographs: Waagen’s ‘exceptionally sharp visual analysis’ and study of the surviving historical sources did much to establish a catalogue raisonné of the artists’ works.103 As Graham points out Waagen himself

97

Outpourings from the heart of an art-loving monk 1797

98

John Steegman, ‘Lord Lindsay's history of Christian art,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol.10, 1967, pp.123–131, at p.125 99

Julien Chapius, ‘Early Netherlandish painting: Shifting perspectives,’ in Maryan W Ainsworth and Keith Christiansen (ed.), From Van Eyck to Bruegel: Early Netherlandish painting in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art 1998, p.6 100

Elizabeth Prettejohn, ‘Chapter 11: Art,’ in Francis O'Gorman (ed.), The Cambridge companion to Victorian culture, Cambridge University Press 2010, p.204 101

Johnson, A handbook (catalogue raisonné), p.xv

102

Anne Hagopian van Buren, ‘Van Eyck’ Grove Art Online (accessed January 2014)

103

Many works, actually by Memling and others, were given to either of the van Eycks at the time. see Graham, Inventing van Eyck, p.61 and Ainsworth and Christiansen (ed.), From Van Eyck to Bruegel, p.7; ‘Much of the groundwork was laid in the early 1800s, before the advent of page 61 of 355

characterised the ‘Germanic artistic temperament’ as a pious naturalism, while Italians were given to idealization.104 In 1830 when he was appointed Director of the Gemäldegalerie, Berlin, the collection comprised mainly Italian Baroque and French Rococo paintings owned by the Prussian king Frederic the Great. Under Waagen the institution developed to become one of the greatest repositories of the early Netherlandish painting.

In The early Flemish painters: Notices of their lives and works Crowe and Cavalcaselle began by contrasting the two great schools of art of the fourteenth century: the Italian school rose to ‘robust and healthy vigour’ under ‘warm and genial sun’ while, in Belgium, the second grew under a ‘colder and more clouded atmosphere.’105 They admitted the inferiority of the Northern traditions in terms of design and sentiment but noted that the Flemish school’s ‘superior claims’ from ‘an early tendency towards a new mode of colour.’ (p.v) They outlined the social and political circumstances which led to the flowering of painting in the Netherlands, the luxury of the French courts in Bruges, and the churches’ enrichment by these princes. They admired Memling over Rogier van der Weyden, and considered the central panels of the upper register of the Ghent altarpiece by Hubert, said to be the stronger artist of the brothers.106 The publication was illustrated with fourteen plates drawn by T D Scott and engraved by J Cooper, J W Whymper or J S Williams, and the later edition included the same modest number. These, however, were considered of inferior quality, even by the standards of the time; art historian Barbara G Lane goes as far as to declare them almost unrecognizable to the original.107 Indeed Crowe

photography, when connoisseurs, who travelled from collection to collection, were required to combine a sharp eye with great visual memory. By applying classification methods deriving from the natural sciences, they developed ways to define a painter’s characteristic and distinguish his individual style.’ 104

Graham, Inventing van Eyck, p.13, and Wessel Krul, 'Realism, Renaissance and nationalism,' in Bernhard Ridderbos, Anne H Buren and Henk van Veen (eds.), Early Netherlandish paintings rediscovery, reception and research, Los Angeles: Getty Publications 2005, pp.252–289, at p.266 105

J A Crowe and G B Cavalcaselle, The early Flemish painters: Notices of their lives and works, London: J Murray 1857, p.v with other references in the text. 106

Ridderbos et al, Early Netherlandish paintings , pp.234–235

107

‘Introduction: The problem of two Rogiers,’ Flemish painting outside Bruges, 1400–1500: An annotated bibliography, Boston: G K Hall 1986, p.2; Lee Sorensen also points out that Crowe and Cavalcaselle repeated many of the errors of earlier scholars, some of which were repaired by Alexandre Pinchart who revised the work for the French edition of 1862—and incorporated in the second English edition—and for Anton Springer’s German edition. Crowe admits as much in page 62 of 355

seems to have regarded illustrations as unnecessary, describing, in reminiscences published some forty years later, time being 'needlessly wasted' in their preparation.108

Kugler’s Handbook of painting for the German, Flemish, and Dutch schools, by contrast, ‘remodelled’ by Waagen and published in English in 1860, was accompanied by nearly fifty line drawings.109 These included the Ghent altarpiece, the altarpiece in the Cologne Cathedral given to Lothener, Dürer’s Trinity in Vienna and his Apostles in Munich, and Holbein’s Meyer Madonna— all works reproduced by the Arundel Society (figs.98, 101, 102 and 122)—as well as engravings by Schongauer in the British Museum and paintings by Rubens. As noted in his preface, Waagen selected many of his examples for discussion for their accessibility—in the National Gallery, British Museum or the Royal collection at Hampton Court—since he was ‘especially interested’ that each of his readers ‘should have it in his power, by personal inspection of the pictures quoted, to verify the justice of my opinions.’ (p.iv) The handbook was structured on familiar principles: beginning with Early Christian-Byzantine and Byzantine-Romanesque epochs and finishing with nineteenth-century artists and the ‘decline of art’. Books II to IV were given to exploring the ‘Teutonic’ styles, divided into four epochs 1250–1420; 1420–1530; 1530–1600 and 1600– 1690 thus establishing the standard sequence, as historian Mitchell Schwarzer notes, for survey texts well into the twentieth century. 110 Kugler’s publication was, moreover, part of a broader struggle to establish a German identity.111 The van Eycks are given almost twenty pages and five illustrations; however, as Graham

his reminiscences. ‘Sir Joseph Archer Crowe,’ Dictionary of Art Historians, https://dictionaryofarthistorians.org/crowej.htm (accessed March 2014) 108

Crowe goes on to explain that Cavalcaselle tried to supplement Scharf’s woodcuts with additional drawings from outlines of d’Alemagna’s Annunciation at Genoa produced by Crowe, and a drawing of Van der Weyden’s Last Judgment at Beaune by Cavalcaselle. Reminiscences of thirty-five years of my life, London: J Murray 1895, p.227 109

Handbook of painting. The German, Flemish, and Dutch schools. Based on the handbook of Kugler, London: J Murray 1860, with other references in the text. 110

(1) art in its earliest developmental stages, (2) classical art, (3) romantic (i.e., medieval) art, and (4) modern art; see Mitchell Schwarzer, ’Origins of the art history survey text,’ Art Journal, vol.54, no.3, 1995, pp.24–29, at p.25 111

Schwarzer, ’Origins of the art history survey text,’ p.25 page 63 of 355

points out, van Eyck was synonymous with ‘Flemish primitives’ but actually, more often than not, meant Memling or van der Weyden.112

The German art historian Wilhelm Lübke (1826–1893) is considered one of the founders of the popular art historical survey. His Grundriß der Kunstgeschichte 1860, translated as the two-volume History of art in 1868, contains a large number of line illustrations throughout, including some remarkably atmospheric images of the interiors and exteriors of Renaissance buildings.113 There is a direct connection between Lübke’s text and his use of illustrations; the images are positioned within the text and often demonstrate the point being made within the prose. Where there is no reproduction included, he refers the reader elsewhere. The treatment of Italian painting follows a familiar path—the Tuscan school covers Giotto and Orcagna, Ucello the Brancacci Chapel, Lippi, Botticelli, Gozzoli, Rosselli, Ghirlandaio, Signorelli, Pier dell Francesca—but his inclusion of architecture, sculpture and objects provides greater artistic context than other surveys of the time. In 1878, when the work was reissued as Outlines of the history of art, Kellerhoven’s chromolithographs, Goupil’s photogravures and the Arundel Society’s prints of the Ghirlandaio frescoes at Spello are noted. (In the foreword of his history of Italian painting he makes specific reference to the Society’s publications as offering coloured interpretations of the works reproduced.)114 By 1904, for the next edition of Outlines of the history of art, several of the overall views of key buildings, sculptures and some paintings were photographic—including Primavera described as being one of Botticelli’s most important works and as being ‘greatly admired, much studied, and often copied.’ (p.210)

Most commentators drew parallels between the northern and southern traditions. In his (unsigned) article on Kugler’s Handbook of painting: The German, Flemish, and Dutch schools for the Quarterly Review, for example, Layard

112

Graham, Inventing van Eyck, p.126

113

History of art, London: Smith, Elder and Co. 1868; see also Clarence Cook (ed.), Outlines of the history of art, New York: Dodd, Mead and co. 1878, vol.2, and that by Russell Sturgis (ed.) New York: Dodd, Mead and co. 1904, vol.2, with other references in the text. 114

Geschichte der Italienischen Malerei von vierten bis ins sechzehnte Jahrhundert, Stuttgart: Verlag von Ebner & Seubert 1878, vol.1, p.vii page 64 of 355

compares Meister Wilhelm to Fra Angelico, and Rubens to Michelangelo, while the Cologne school contains the ‘spirit of Italian art.’115 In 1871 the Arundel Society consciously paired ‘examples of oil painting in Flanders, and fresco painting in Italy, each taken from the greatest masterpieces of those Arts,’ in issuing prints from the Ghent altarpiece and sections of the Sistine Chapel.116 Eastlake, rehanging the galleries in 1861, juxtaposed early German with a few Italian works in the first room,117 but in the following galleries the schools diverged. The Society produced a handful of chromolithographs after panel paintings of the Northern masters: Memling, van Eycks, Meister Wilhelm of Cologne (also identified as Stephen Lochner; fig.29), Dürer and Holbein, but the frescoes of Tuscany and Umbria remained their primary concern. All the copies produced by Christian Schultz (1817–1882/83) after the Northern works were published;118 they were, after all, panel paintings held in church or museum collections rather than the frescoes recorded for the Copying Fund which were, as outlined, subject to a range of threats.

Two texts were produced by the Arundel Society on Northern artists, and that by W H James Weale (1832–1917) is an interesting case in point. 119 The circumstances of his commission to produce A Notice of Hans Memlinc and his works, published in 1865, are not known.120 He was, at this time, a resident of 115

‘German, Flemish and Dutch Art,’ Quarterly Review, vol.109, no.218, July and October 1861, pp.463–496, at p.473, p.489, p.472 116

Twenty-first annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1870, p.2

117

Charlotter Klonk, ‘Mounting vision: Charles Eastlake and the National Gallery of London,’ The Art Bulletin, vol.82, no.2, 2000, pp.331–347, at p.338 118

All except six copies produced by Schultz were published: according to the Annual reports he copied a triptych by Mabuse (Jan Gossaert c.1478–1532) then, as now, in the Galleria Nazionale della Sicilia, Palermo (Twenty-seventh annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1876, p.2); Quentin Massys’ St Anne altarpiece 1507–08, painted for the church of St Peter at Louvain and now in the Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts, Brussels, as well as a group of four fifteenth-century French miniatures from the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris (Thirty-second annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1881, p.2). None of these were published nor do they seem to be with other holdings of Arundel Society watercolours at the Victoria and Albert Museum. They are not listed by Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897. 119

The Memling pamphlet, and the subsquent Holbein publications (1871), are good examples of the Society’s entrepreneurialism. Memling’s ‘Donne triptych’ c.1478 had been acquired by the Duke of Devonshire; lent to the National Portrait Exhibition in 1866, it attracted a great deal of attention. Rankine suggests that the chromolithograph after Holbein’s Virgin and Child (The Meyer Madonna) 1526/28 (fig.102) may have been issued to coincide with an important exhibition of the artist’s work in Dresden in 1871; didactic material produced for The Arundel Society 1848–1897, Victoria and Albert Museum, London (7 October 1996–30 March 1997) 120

The Annual report for 1866 records an amount of £10 10s to Weale for writing the notice. Ruskin, Layard, Scharf, Street and other authors, on the other hand, seem to have provided page 65 of 355

Bruges—a city which was more tolerant of Catholics than his native Britain— and had access to the archives, collections and architecture which he so admired. In 1861 he published on van Eyck (there were further publications in 1908 and 1912) and, later, after his return to London in 1878, continued to publish in a range of journals including the Athenaeum and Burlington Magazine.121 He was keeper at the National Art Library, South Kensington (1890–97), produced collection and exhibition catalogues, biographies of Memling and Gerard David, and was a key part of the rediscovery of Flemish painters. Weale was one of the more qualified writers employed by the Society, but his work was better known on the Continent; his single-minded, anti-social nature seems to have alienated some of his contemporaries.122 He was not involved with the Council and does not seem ever to have been a member. The suggestion by Sir William Gregory (1817–1892) that the Society commission Weale to produce a text to complement the publication of the Ghent altarpiece was not adopted.123

In A Notice of Hans Memlinc and his works, Weale offered a summary of period documents, much of it from his own research, including his decision to use the final ‘C’ in the artist’s name on the ‘authority of contemporary evidence.’124 He

their work gratis. In 1881 and 1883, for example, the Council voted to grant Honorary Memberships to G W Kitchen, and to Scharf and Charles C Perkins for their ‘courtesy and liberality’ in contributing ‘their valuable essays for publication.’ Perkins had compiled Street’s notes for publication after his death: Sepulchral monuments in Italy, medieval and renaissance, London: Arundel Society 1883; see also Thirty-fourth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1883, p.2; see Chapter 5. 121

See, for example, ‘The annunciation by Roger De La Pasture,’ The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs, vol.7, no.26, May 1905, pp.140–141 amongst many others. 122

In 1897 Weale ‘retired’ from the National Art Library after a public examination of his conduct: he had attempted to introduce ‘drastic reforms’ which would have made the library ‘more accessible to researchers and its catalogue more accurate.’ Lori van Biervliet. ‘W H J Weale,’ Grove Art Online (last accessed March 2014) 123

Ledger quotes Oldfield’s letter to Layard in which he declares that Weale’s work would be too dry: ‘Weale’s name would not carry sufficient weigh to make anything from him valuable, however interesting.’ As Ledger suggests, this statement reveals the Society’s preference for famous or fashionable authors over those who were merely erudite; she goes on to point out that Browning, Kitchen, Layard and Ruskin were all well-known at the time of their projects for the Society but not necessarily in the field of art criticism. The letter from Edmund Oldfield to A H Layard, 12 February 1870, is in the British Museum collection, manuscript no.38997, folio.242; see also Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.215 124

A notice of Hans Memlinc and his works, London: Arundel Society 1865, p.4, p.6, notes, and with other references in the text. Weale’s original research into the archives at Bruges was recognised at the time; he also noted his research findings published in Journal des Beaux Arts (vol.iii) and a forthcoming issue of Le Beffroi, of which he was co-founder, in 1863. Le Beffroi was dedicated to medieval and Renaissance art of Belgium, Holland, French Flanders and page 66 of 355

compared Memling to his contemporaries, commenting that Memling’s Madonnas—unlike van Eyck’s ‘worldly, often repulsive’ figures—are, by their ‘exquisite purity, tenderness, dignity, and mild intellectual majesty,’ alone in realising the ‘character of the Mother of our Lord as revealed to us in the Gospel.’ (p.7) Memling is, likewise, more ideal than the van Eycks, and more ‘skilful in constricting expressions.’ (p.8) Weale described Memling’s technique, and discussed his works in England, including the Duke of Devonshire’s triptych at Cheswick, considered one of his finest.125 In describing the triptych from Bruges, published by the Society, he identifies the saints and iconography, the patrons of the hospital; he notes also that it has suffered from over-cleaning and restoration but that the colouring, despite this, is ‘wonderfully soft and harmonious.’ (pp.11–13, p.11 note) After surveying several other works in Munich, Bruges, and elsewhere, Weale goes on to comment that Schultz’s chromolithograph admirably reproduces the colour of Memling’s masterpiece (p.15). Weale also offers comments on several paintings for which the date is uncertain, in private collections, in Paris, Turin, Florence and in Poland, where the attribution is uncertain, or paintings that he has be unable to inspect. Despite the reservations of some members of Council, it is interesting to note that Weale’s highly-measured monograph on Memling survived through various reprints and updates,126 and, with Scharf’s on the Wilton diptych, still regularly appears in bibliographies. Many of the other notices, including Layard’s, on the other hand, receive very little attention; indeed several are difficult to trace.127

After training as an artist, Ralph Wornum (1812–1877) travelled in France, Germany and Italy between 1834 and 1839, and was a regular contributor to the Art Journal. His The life and works of Holbein 1867 was, like Alfred Woltmann’s Holbein und Seine Zeit 1866, considered model scholarship England, its conservation, and to highlighting the vital importance of archives for the attribution and dating of works of art. 125

The Virgin and Child with saints and donors (The Donne triptych) c.1478, National Gallery, London, Acquired under the terms of the Finance Act from the Duke of Devonshire's Collection 1957 (see also Chapter 2). Like Crowe and Cavalcaselle, Weale points out that the landscape of the Donne triptych reappears in Memling’s Madonna painting in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence. 126

It was published by George Bell in 1901 with black and white photographs, and again by T C and E C Jack in 1909 with eight colour images. 127

Street et al’s Sepulchral monuments in Italy, Medieval and cinquecentist (London: Arundel Society 1878) and Sepulchral monuments in Italy, Medieval and Renaissance (London: Arundel Society 1883) are relatively rare. page 67 of 355

although, as Ledger observes, the British author’s was judged the lesser written of the two.128 Wornum offered period documents, including a transcription of Holbein’s will, to debunk many popular anecdotes of the artist’s life. He explored in details the provenance and arguments behind the two versions of the Meyer Madonna, then in Dresden and Darmstadt; much of this was repeated in his pamphlet for the Arundel Society.129 His disappointment with the Dresden painting, on his third visit in 1863 and after many years interval, as well as a subsequent visit to Darmstadt, convinced him that the latter was the original work.130 The 1871 ‘Holbein Exhibition’ in Dresden, where the two paintings were brought together, convinced the majority of critics ‘that Holbein’s hand is undeniable in the Darmstadt picture [and not] in the Dresden picture.’131

Wornum’s commissioning by the Arundel Society for the Holbein work is documented,132 and his connections to the Society are likewise secure: he is listed as a subscriber in the 1849 prospectus and in 1855, but no doubt retained a longer association with the Council and awareness of the Society’s activities, via Eastlake and others, and through his role as the National Gallery’s Keeper and Secretary (1855–77).133 Ledger points out that Wornum, as a professional art historian, was in many ways an ideal author; he was however an unlikely choice for the Society being ‘neither a gifted, nor an entertaining writer.’134 On the other hand, the Meyer Madonna was (fig.102), in many ways, the Society’s ideal work,

128

Wornum’s anti-Catholicism also irritated many reviewers: see Edmund Head in the Edinburgh Review CXXV (1867), p.47 and the unnamed writer in the Fine Arts Quarterly, ns 11 (1867) p.227; see Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.223 129

Both works were considered by Holbein, the Dresden work being the second version, possibly with studio assistance, but now given to Bartholomäus Sarburgh (1590–1637); the other painting, after being on loan for many years to the Städel Art Museum, Frankfurt, is now owned by a private collector and on display in Schwäbisch Hall. 130

The Ralph Nicholson Wornum Papers, at the National Archives, contain details of his travel, copies made by him, and a range of letters which suggest his methods and the thorough work practices for which he was well-known; Wornum won Ruskin’s praises, for example, for his careful work on the Tuner Bequest. The two men were good friends and The life and works of Holbein is dedicated to Ruskin. 131

The life and works of Holbein [Hans Holbein and the Meier Madonna], London: Arundel Society 1871, p.23, with other references in the text. 132

Ralph Nicholson Wornum Papers c.1831–c.1900, National Gallery Archive, London, https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/nra/onlinelists/GB%200345%20NGA2.pdf 133

Wornum’s catalogue of Italian Old Masters in the National Gallery—in which he mentions the Arundel Society’s publications—was issued with photographic illustrations; London: National Gallery 1868 134

A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, pp.221–222 page 68 of 355

demonstrating a combination of traditions, from Italian religious paintings to elements of Netherlandish portraits, with Holbein adopting cues from artists such as Raphael and Michelangelo. The illustrations for the earlier volume were drawn by Andrew Reid (1831–1902), under Wornum’s direction, and executed as woodcuts by the Dalziel Brothers; it was decorated throughout with capital letters and, as head- and tail-pieces, details from various manuscripts.135 The Darmstadt Madonna appears in both volumes but the drawings are quite different. Despite the fact that his text was produced for the Society, Wornum’s comments about the Society’s lithograph are rather scathing: ‘the reader must not expect to see any great niceties reproduced in a chromolithograph, nor can any picture be at all judged by such a reproduction.’ (pp.20–21) Suffice to say the Darmstadt work was copied by Schultz, with the lithograph after the painting produced by the French firm Engelmann et Graf in 1871 (fig.102). _________________________________

If Kugler, Waagen, Eastlake and Weale are the some of the first generation of art historians producing text with illustrations, it is, perhaps, to subsequent writers and researchers that we should look for the application of such principles as encapsulated by the Arundel Society and its projects. The French painter and writer Eugène Fromentin (1820–1876), for example, incorporates early Flemish artists into his ‘resuscitation’ of Rubens, Rembrandt and other seventeenth-century artists. In Part III of Les Maîtres d’autrefois 1876,136 he compares, almost casually, works by the van Eycks and Memling to their equivalents in the Louvre, assuming his audience’s familiarity with the prime French collection. Throughout his writing Fromentin emphasizes technique and visual analysis with an awareness that his reader will be equally literate with images as with text. The British essayist and critic Walter Pater (1839–1894), famously, introduced a whole series of new ideas about the Renaissance: his essays in the Fortnightly Review on Leonardo da Vinci, Sandro Botticelli and

135

Wornum also referred his readers to a series of photographs executed by Adolph Braun from designs in the Basel Museum: They are ‘printed the size of the originals, by Swan's carbon process, and are supposed to be permanent: they are very forcible, and constitute a magnificent series of designs.’ Some account of the life and works of Hans Holbein, painter, of Augsburg, with numerous illustrations, London: Chapman and Hall 1867, p.5 136

Translated into English, The Old Masters of Belgium and Holland, Boston: J R Osgood & co. 1882, p.325, see also Introduction page 69 of 355

Michelangelo, produced in 1869, 1870 and 1871 respectively, were later published as Studies in the history of the Renaissance. His travel in Florence, Ravenna and Pisa in 1865, as well as his awareness of the work of Winckelmann, lead Pater to recognise his ‘own quest for an ideal beauty revealed in physical form.’137 Pater’s imaginative treatment of artists harks back to Vasari but, for factual information, he looked to more recent research: on Botticelli to Crowe and Cavalcaselle. Levey, Hoch and others remark on the publication of the Arundel Society’s chromolithograph of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus in 1870 (fig.6) but not many commentators seem to realise the watercolour copy was made two years earlier by Mariannecci;138 thus it may have been displayed, as was the usually the practice, in the Society’s rooms from 1868. The idea that art could be understood aesthetically, hedonistically even, was radical in the face of Victorian didacticism and morality—and suggests a greater awareness of the open-ended nature of images over words.

The poet and critic John Addington Symonds (1840–1893) travelled in Switzerland, Italy, France, Sicily and Greece, producing travel books, a biography of Michelangelo, as well as texts on ethics and sexuality. Renaissance in Italy, his multi-volume project published from 1875 until 1886, is compared to Burckhardt’s in importance. Renaissance in Italy is unillustrated but Symonds is one of a number of writers, from the 1860s and 1870s onwards, who refer to the Arundel Society’s publications or associated projects. In the text of his prized-winning 1863 essay he mentions the Dante portrait, one of the Society’s enduringly popular prints (see Chapter 3; fig.34); moreover his description of Dante and Giotto in the Arena Chapel sounds remarkably like a reference to the drawing by Mrs Higford Burr, or the chromolithograph made after it, published by the Society in 1856 (fig.1).139 In volume III of Renaissance in Italy, on the fine arts, Symonds commends Ruskin’s Giotto text; he also, intriguingly, mentions his ‘good fortune’ in examining, through Higford Burr’s kindness, ‘a large series of tracings, taken chiefly by the Right Hon. A H Layard, 137

Gerald Monsman, Walter Pater, Boston: Twayne Publishers 1977, p.48

138

Michael Levey, ‘Botticelli and nineteenth-century England,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol.23, no.3/4, July–December 1960, pp.291–306, at p.303; Adrian S Hoch, ‘The art of Alessandro Botticelli through the eyes of Victorian aesthetes,’ Law and ØstermarkJohansen (ed.), Victorian and Edwardian responses to the Italian Renaissance, pp.55–85, at p.65 139

The Renaissance: An essay read in the theatre, Oxford, June 17, 1863, p.19 page 70 of 355

from the frescoes of Giottoesque and other early masters.’140 Indeed Ledger posits that Symonds’ description of Piero della Francesca’s fresco in the Pinacoteca Comunale at Sansepolcro as ‘the grandest, most poetical and awe inspiring picture of the Resurrection’ may have motivated the Society’s 1879 chromolithograph (fig.28).141 Perhaps it was an instance of cross-pollination: Symonds would have known the Arundel prints and text publications owned by his father and uncle.142

By the 1880s and 1890s the Arundel Society’s moment seems to have passed. In his 1892 thesis on the Birth of Venus and Primavera,143 the German artist historian Aby Warburg (1866–1929) mentions the Society’s print but reproduces photographs of the paintings. His study and travel in Munich, Strasbourg and, especially, Florence, as well as his interests in a wide range of historical, mythological and psychological issues, led him to develop theories of visual representation and iconographical transmission between cultures. Warburg, in the early 1890s, had no need to relate Botticelli’s biography nor to rehash Vasari’s anecdotes; instead he analysed the artist’s use of pagan and classical motifs. His interest in drapery styles, initially in Lippi and Botticelli, was later extended to Ghirlandaio, and the female attendant figure in his fresco the Birth of St John the Baptist, dubbed by Warburg ‘the nympha’ for her free-flowing hair and swirling garments. Much later, in the 1920s, Warburg’s ‘Mnemosyne Atlas’ demonstrates his visual notations of the role of memory, his way of connecting art production across cultures and history, and suggests the new primacy of the 140

He goes on to comment that these, by the ‘selection of simple form in outline, demonstrate not only the grand composition of these religious paintings, but also the incomparable loveliness of their type.’ Renaissance in Italy: The fine arts, London: Smith, Elder & Co 1877, p.200, note i. Waagen had earlier commented on the tracings, listing specific examples and observing that Layard’s power of rendering the forms improved considerably as he went along. Galleries and cabinets of arts in Great Britain, London: John Murray 1857, Letter V, vol.supplemental, pp.298–300 141

Fattorini copied the fresco in 1875; the chromolithograph was issued in 1879. Symonds described it as ‘by far the grandest, most poetical and awe inspiring picture of the Resurrection.’ Renaissance in Italy, p.234, quoted by Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.213 142

John Addington Symonds senior (1807–1871), physician and author, subscribed from 1855 until his death; his subscription seems to have been taken over by his son who is listed in 1878, 1879, 1881 and 1883. John senior’s brother Frederick (1813–1881), a surgeon, was a member from at least 1866 until his death. 143

Later published as Sandro Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and Spring: An examination of the concepts of antiquity in the Italian early Renaissance (Hamburg and Leipzig: Leopald Voss 1893). Warburg points out, for example, how it is difficult to discern the point of the caduceus, held in upright Hermes’ or Mercury’s right hand, which in the Society’s print was being used to part clouds, and this was later clarified following the 1982 restoration, which revealed the relief work. page 71 of 355

image. Moreover, in assembling this compendium of images to explore a ‘typology of emotions,’ Warburg brought together photographs, prints and newspaper illustrations with diverse cultural materials such as postage stamps, posters and playing cards.144

Photography rapidly became the technique for art illustration—and the new tool for art historians. In the early 1850s a small but significant number of publications on Renaissance art used photographic reproductions; in the 1860s, with the development of techniques which made possible the production of photographs en masse, these numbers had expanded substantially and, by the 1870s, the impact of photography was being acknowledged in print.145 The Arundel Society acted as an agent and distributor for photographic prints issued by the South Kensington Museum’s Department of Science and Arts—the Raphael Cartoons in five sizes, Holbein’s drawings at Windsor, Italian sculpture, and Turner’s Liber Studorium, amongst others—and these sales provided welcome income from the mid-1860s.146 Albumen prints of two Holbein drawings are included in the 34 illustrations in Wornum’s monograph—an early use of photographs within an art book.147 The Society’s Council is recorded as having used photographs to check the accuracy of the commissioned copies, and Twyman feels certain that, given the accuracy of their watercolours, some of the copyists must also have used photographic prints.148 While the use of

144

Deborah J Haynes, ‘Aby Warburg,’ Grove Art Online (last accessed March 2014)

145

Hamber, ‘Photography in nineteenth-century art publications,’ p.219

146

Classified list of photographs of drawings, paintings, and sculpture … London: Arundel Society 1867, pp.66–67. The photographs, which had been taken by Charles Thurston Thompson (1816–1868) when the cartoons will still at Hampton Court, were available as sets or individually; studies of specific heads were also produced. At 15s 7½ d, the most expensive of the photographs was comparatively cheap, as Hamber observes; the Society’s engravings of the cartoons were priced at 16s for members (or £1 1s to strangers), while the chromolithographs varied between 7s, 6d or 8s, for the Dante portrait or the Roman wall painting, and £5 for the Memling triptych or £7 7s for the twenty prints which made up the van Eyck altarpiece. Most of the single prints were £1 1s to members (£1 7s 6l to strangers). Richard Henry Smith’s Expositions of the cartoons of Raphael (London: James Nisbet 1860) was illustrated with seven albumen prints, an early example of photographically-illustrated monograph, aimed at the popular market; see Hamber, ‘The use of photography,’ p.105. 147

Lord Vaux c.1535–40 (Royal Collection, Windsor) and Portrait of Charles de Solier, Sieur de Morette 1534–35 (Staatliche Kunstsammlungen, Dresden) are reproduced at p.216 and p.300; Wornum recommends his reader consult the Braun carbon prints after Holbein’s works in Basel which were also published by the London firm Charles Hauff and Co. Some account of the life and works of Hans Holbein, p.5; quoted by Hamber, ‘The use of photography ,’ p.113 148

A history of chromolithography, p.544. Schultz’s copy of Daddi’s Annunciation 1863 was, at one stage, thought to have been painted over a photograph but a close examination of the work page 72 of 355

photography by art historians and critics encouraged comparative analysis, and led to many reattributions and ‘demotions,’ in many cases it also resulted in more nuanced, non-positivistic approach to art history.

Hamber tracks the use of photographs to record the physical state of paintings by museum professionals such as Eastlake and Richard Redgrave (1804– 1888); in Italy the art historian and politician Giovanni Morelli (1816–1891) and others—as we will see in Chapter 3—used photographs to document works of art before and after restoration.149 Although Morelli had a large collection of photographs and reproductive prints, according to Hamber he seems to have preferred his own drawings and notes taken in situ.150 The Arundel Society promoted its chromolithographs of Jeremiah and the Delphic sibyl after Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel frescoes, for example, for use in conjunction with the photograph series of the ceiling produced by Adolphe Braun and sons in 1868–70.151 The professor of art history and literary scholar Charles Eliot Norton (1827–1908)—also a long time subscriber152—was one of the more enthusiastic commentators on photography. In 1869, and singling out the photographic prints produced by Braun, he declared that the best examples were as ‘valuable

by National Gallery conservators discounted this idea. The watercolour is now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London; the painting, then attributed to Memmi, is in the Louvre, Paris; see Hamber, "A higher branch of the art," p.308, p.325 n.32 and Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.109 149

Hamber, "A higher branch of the art," p.103

150

Morelli’s support of the Arundel Society extended in practical ways: he is said to have arranged for the translation of its prospectus and other materials into Italian, and promoted its publications within his circles. J Beavington Atkinson’s ‘The fresco-painting of Italy—the Arundel Society,’ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine LXXXVIII, October 1860, pp.458–471 and John Fleming, ‘Art dealing and the Risorgimento – I,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.115, no.838, pp.4–17, at p.7, n.30. Provo states that Morelli collected the Society’s prints; while he is not listed as a subscriber, there were certainly strong connections through Layard and the diplomat–collector Sir James Hudson KCB (1810–1885), another long-time subscriber to the Society. Alexandra Alisa Provo, Notions of method: Text and photograph in methods of connoisseurship, BA dissertation (Wesleyan University) 2010, p.116 151

Thirty-fourth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1870, p.2; Braun’s Sistine Ceiling project comprised 125 photographs. Ledger and Twyman also link the Arundel Society’s enthusiasm for chromolithography to the large coloured print of the Sistine Chapel—102.7 x 470cm on two sheets—commissioned by the Michelangelo biographer John S Harford, and produced, after a drawing by C Kopper under the direction of Grüner and Storch, by the Berlin firm Winckelmann and sons in 1852–54. see Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.91, and Twyman, A history of chromolithography, pp.173–174 152

Norton is listed from 1855 until 1872 but seems to have collected for much longer; his collection of material relating to the Society—reports, annotated catalogues and pamphlets, and correspondence deposited in the Harvard Fine Arts Library—provides a glimpse of one subscriber’s archive, including material which is not generally available elsewhere. page 73 of 355

as the original.’153 Bernard Berenson (1865–1959), on the other hand, favoured the productions of the Alinari Brothers of Florence and those of Domenico Anderson in Rome. Berenson compared the impact of the medium on the study of Old Masters to that of printing for study of literary classics 154—and declared one could never have too many photographs. Indeed Lloyd and Ledger point out that Berenson’s reputation as a connoisseur was dependant on photographic records.155

While photographs of drawings, objects, sculpture and architecture proliferated during the 1850s and 1860s, the ability to document or reproduce oil paintings was compromised until the 1880s. 156 The sensitivity of early films to blue light meant that, in the translation to monotone photographic print, certain colours or tones were rendered dark: reds and yellows registered as black, while blues showed as white.157 Many paintings, under layers of yellowed varnish, were rendered almost unrecognisable; until the development of isochromatic films, photographic prints were often retouched then re-photographed.158 Thus, as Berensen observes in his 1893 article, those on the colour side in the disegno153

‘The autotype or carbon process in photography,’ The Nation¸ vol.8, no.186, 1869, at p.47 Norton went on to comment that ‘in the best examples a perfection has been reached which renders the copy ill all important respects, in all respects of art and use, as valuable as the original.’ Norton’s enthusiasm was echoed by his Boston contemporaries; the Athenaeum and Boston Museum of Fine Arts collected, and on occasions displayed, photographs of European masterpieces, especially those produced by Braun; see Neil Harris, ‘The gilded age revisited: Boston and the museum movement,’ American Quarterly, vol.14, no.4, Winter 1962, pp.545– 566, at p.553 and also Chapter 5 154

Bernard Berenson, ‘Isochromatic photography and Venetian pictures,’ The Nation¸ vol.57, no.1480, November 1893, pp.346–347; reprinted in Helene E Roberts (ed.), Art history through the camera's lens, Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach 1995, pp.127–131 155

Art and its images, p.5

156

Hamber points out that, by 1870, the scale and scope of photographic dissemination of Italian Renaissance drawing had had a profound effect on the academic study of the subject. ‘Photography in nineteenth-century art publications,’ p.219 157

This discussion is dependent on Berenson’s, in ‘Isochromatic photography and Venetian pictures.’ The ‘misregistration’ of colours was acknowledged at the time: see, for example, J C Robinson’s preface to Catalogue général des photographies where he write: ‘It is well known that blue and all derivatives of that colour, in ordinary photography come out more or less white or colourless, whilst regard to red and yellow, the opposite extreme, blackness is the result.’ (Paris: Braun et cie 1887, p.xxx) and quoted by Montagu, ‘The "Ruland / Raphael" collection,’ pp.37–57, at p.54, n.10 158

Strategies for reproducing three dimensional objects likewise involved dramatic interventions: powdered clay, whiting or thinned plaster were often applied to the surface to achieve a sharp outline or to dull yellow stains, and plaster casts of coins and medals were used since the yellow and red tones of gold and copper did not reproduce. Trevor Fawcett, ‘Planes surfaces and solid bodies: Reproducing three-dimensional art in the nineteenth century,’ in Helene E Roberts (ed.), Art history through the camera's lens, Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach 1995, pp.59–85, at p.70 page 74 of 355

colore divide were heavily disadvantaged.159 Knowledge of the Venetian school, especially, had suffered until isochromatic film and the photographic campaigns of Alinari and Anderson in Venice and its surrounds. Berenson notes, also, the importance of photography for the connoisseur: ‘Of the writer on art today we all expect not only that intimate acquaintance with his subject which [the railways] have made possible, but also that patient comparison of a given work with all the other works by the same master which photography has rendered easy.’ 160 Here are early suggestions of methodical analysis, the impact of thinking about art and its history as a science, ideas which are only hinted at in earlier periods when drawings or prints were the major form of reproduction. Photography, moreover, was radically altering visual perception.161 ________________________________

In producing as its first publication an English translation of Vasari’s Life of Fra Giovanni Angelico da Fiesole 1850, the Society’s models were clear from the beginning. Bezzi’s translation was highly regarded: he rendered the Italian sixteenth-century text in clear, unadorned prose, providing notes and updating the locations for the artist’s works.162 But it is, of course, the twenty-one illustrations of the works of Fra Angelico which mark out the Arundel Society publication. All except one—the profile portrait of the artist from Giovanni Battista Nocchi’s volume—were produced by George Scharf (1788–1860), printed by E Pistrucci, and the London firm Stannard & Dixon, and tipped into the publication. Responses to the lithographs were mixed. The artist and engraver Solomon Hart (1806–1881), writing in the Athenaeum, complimented Scharf’s taste and delicacy of hand, but was concerned about the size of the images, especially when compared to the larger print of St Lawrence distributing alms produced previously by the Society in 1849–50 (fig.18). The smaller scale was ‘hardly fitted

159

While drawings were photographed ‘pretty satisfactorily by the old system,’ as were the Tuscans in whose works ‘line is of much greater importance than the colour’ for the Venetians this system was ‘totally inadequate.’ Berenson, ‘Isochromatic photography and Venetian pictures,’ pp.129–130 160

Berenson, ‘Isochromatic photography and Venetian pictures,’ p.129

161

Hamber, ‘The use of photography by nineteenth-century art historians,’ p.94

162

Bezzi drew on the Florentine edition published by David Passigli in 1832–38, and from the German translation by Ludwig Schorn, published in Stuttgart und Tübingen in 1837. He also included references to the research of Florentine Dominican priest, Vincenzo Marchese. page 75 of 355

to the true representation of the pathos and expression of this artist's style’ and was ‘unjust to the character of the originals.’163

At the time Fra Angelico was known through the engravings of the Cappella di Niccolò in the Vatican produced by German archaeologist Alois Hirt (1759– 1837) in the 1780s and Schlegel’s richly-illustrated essay on the Coronation of the Virgin, in the Louvre, published in German and French in 1817.164 Schlegel referred to the artist as Jean de Fiesole—the French form of his name Giovanni di Pietro or da Fiesole—the designation ‘Fra Angelico’ coming into common usage in the later nineteenth century. As well as a line drawing of the whole work, the publication includes details of Mary, the Christ figure with the crown, the various angel musicians, and St Dominic, as well as the scenes of the predella; these line details are reminiscent of the outlines subsequently issued by the Society alongside its chromolithographs. Ottley’s 1826 publication on the early Florentine school includes engravings of two of the Vatican frescoes,165 and the British artist Thomas Hartley Cromek (1809–1873), who spent extended periods in Italy, produced a lithograph after The annunciation to the Virgin in San Marco in 1838. Nocchi’s La vita di Gesù Cristo, published in Florence 1843, reproduced eight large-scale plates after Fra Angelico’s works. Rio, Jameson and Lindsay all contributed to British knowledge so that by 1865, it was claimed, Fra Angelico's name is almost a ‘household word in this country.’166 The Arundel Society’s publications were issued on the wave of this interest. St Lawrence distributing alms was the first in a series of engravings intended to

163

‘Fine arts: The life of Fra Angelico da Fiesole,’ Athenaeum, no.1186, Saturday 20 July 1850, p.770. The works in question were: A group of prophets from the duomo (16 x 13.2 cm); God the father seated on a cloud (18.7 x 13.3 cm); The marriage of the Virgin (11.7 x 26.8 cm) and The coronation of the Virgin (11.2 x 13.4 cm). 164

Le Couronnement de la Sainte Vierge; et les Miracles de Saint Dominique, with outline drawings by Wilhelm Ternite (1786–1871) and a notice by Schlegel, was published in Paris in 1817, and in German as Mariae Krönung und die Wunder des heiligen Dominicus: nach Johann von Fiesole: in funfzehn Blättern. In the text Schlegel commented that only very few the artists’ works had been engraved: he knew only Lastri’s L’Etruria pittrice (‘mal exécutée’) and that of the chapel (‘un travail grossier’) from Francesco Giangiacomo Romano’s Le Pitture della Cappella di Nicolo V (Roma 1810) p.8. The volume reproduces as frontispiece the artist portrait from Romano. 165

Plates XL and XLI, St Stephen preaching and St Lawrence distributing alms are credited to Piroli and seem to date from copies produced in 1799. As Cooper points out Piroli’s copies after Fra Angelico and Uccello show period influences: some forms are rounded and filled out, while folds and other features are rendered in a Neo-Classical style. British attitudes to the Italian primitives 1815–1866, p.346, figs.5 and 6 166

Athenaeum, Saturday 29 July 1865, p.153 page 76 of 355

illustrate the frescoes in the Cappella di Niccolò. Thirteen subjects, engraved by Ludwig Grüner, Eugen Eduard Schäffer or Christian Ernst Stölzel, issued after drawings completed by Leopold Kupelwieser (1796–1862) and Joseph Tunner (1792–1877) in 1824,167 were eventually published in 1850–52 and 1865 (see figs.18 and 19). Kupelwieser, who had travelled to Italy with Alexander von Beresin to make drawings for an intended publication, discovered Fra Angelico’s frescoes while on leave from his duties. The chapel of Pope Nicolas V, with its two tiers of frescoes illustrating the missions and martyrdoms of saints Stephen and Lawrence, had been ‘rediscovered’ by Hirt in 1778—the chapel having been neglected for many years after the loss of its key. Fra Angelico’s ‘divine spirit,’ the devotion he inspired in Kupelwieser and others, is suggested in a letter by the German artist dated February 1824: ‘one cannot describe in words how truly heavenly he is … . One should come to Rome if for no other reason than to view this chapel.’168 The connection drawn between the sanctity of Fra Angelico’s person and the spirituality of his work were so close that the two were rarely separated in nineteenth-century commentary. Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–1882), inspired by Vasari and quite possibly having read Bezzi’s translation, drew Fra Angelico painting a Madonna and Child in 1853.169 The Italian artist Gabriele Castagnola (1828–1883) offered comparable ‘vignettes’ for Fra Lippi and, at the other end of the spectrum, his romance with the novice Lucrezia Buti; several of his paintings were produced as

167

Two of these: St Lawrence brought before Decious (pen and ink, 33 x 32.4 cm) and St Stephen before the High Council (pen and ink, 42.0 x 30 cm) are the in Victoria and Albert Museum; the others are in Niederösterreichisches Landesmuseum and Albertina Vienna, a private collection, Britain, or unknown; see Colin J Bailey, ‘St Stephen before the High Council: A Kupelwieser drawing wrongly attributed to Moritz von Schwind,’ Master Drawings, vol.18, no.2, Summer 1980, pp.149–154, p.202 168

The complete section of the letter reads: ‘The little time that I still have here I shall use ... principally in the Vatican, making drawings after my dear beato Angelico Fiesole. I am writing his name here in full in order to convey him properly to you, but one cannot describe in words how truly heavenly he is. I am not drawing his work merely to have a replica of it, for it simply cannot be imitated, but rather so as to observe him more closely as I draw and to be inspired as far as possible through quiet contemplation by his divine spirit. One should come to Rome if for no other reason than to view this chapel.' Rupert Feuchtmüller, Leopold Kupelwieser und die kunst der osterreichischen Spdtromantik (Vienna: Osterr. Bundesverl 1970) and quoted by Bailey p.150 169

Although Rossetti never travelled to Italy, he did visit Paris and saw The coronation of the Virgin at the Louvre in 1849. The altarpiece, made c.1430-32 for San Domenico in Fiesole, had been brought to Paris in 1812. page 77 of 355

figure 15 Franz KELLERHOVEN, after Fra Angelico’s Deposition from the cross from Florence, oleograph, 38.1 x 47.2 cm Paris: Firmin Didot c.1854 © The Trustees of the British Museum

figure 16 Franz KELLERHOVEN, after Giotto’s The raising of Lazarus from the Arena Chapel, Padua from Les Chefs-d’oeuvre de la Peinture Italienne by Paul Mantz, Paris: Firmin Didot 1870 page 78 of 355

chromolithographs by Hangard-Maugé.170 By the mid-1850s we see the impact of photography. Alinari’s 1856 catalogue, for example, offered architectural views and photographs of sculpture, including fifty-four Florentine examples, as well as announcing the preparation of twenty photographs of Fra Angelico’s paintings.171

The French firm Ambroise Firmin-Didot published large oleographs (varnished chromolithographs) of Fra Angelico’s The coronation of the Virgin and The deposition in the mid-1850s, both prints made by the Cologne-born Franz Kellerhoven (c.1814–1872) (fig.15).172 Kellerhoven, who worked in the Netherlands and France, produced illustrations for popular histories such as Paul Lacroix’s Les arts au moyen âge et à l'époque de la renaissance 1869.173 His prints are often remarkable for the extremity of colour, and include many subjects in common with the Society.174 Indeed Kellerhoven’s and the Arundel productions were often compared. Atkinson, for example, in an article of 1865 opined that the brilliant colour, accuracy and minuteness of detail achieved by Kellerhoven in Jules Labarte’s Histoire des arts industriels au Moyen Age et l po ue de la Renaissance 1864, in part due to the ‘Poitevin process’ of photolithography, would be well considered by the Council.175

In 1862 the Arundel Society issued a volume of engravings of illuminated letters copied from fifteenth- and sixteenth-century choral books from San Marco and

170

See, for example, Love of duty, variously dated 1871 or 1873, showing the couple adjacent to Lippi’s Madonna and Child with angels from the Uffizi—a chromolithograph of which was published by the Arundel Society in 1877. 171

Graham Smith, ‘Florence, photography and the Victorians’ in Law and Østermark-Johansen, pp.7–32, at p.22 172

The prints obtained through the subscription held by Monsieurs A F Didot in the 1870s and 1880s were presumably acquired as reference for their own productions. Examples of Kellerhoven’s The coronation of the Virgin before 1856 (oleograph, 51.4 x 48.2 cm) and Deposition c.1854 (oleograph, 38.1 x 47.2 cm) are held in the British Museum, London, and Bibliothèque nationale de France 173

Translated into English and published the following year (London: Bickers and son 1870)

174

See, for example, Fillippino Lippi’s The vision of St Bernard produced by Kellerhoven in Chefs-d’oeuvre des grands maîtres reproduits en couleur par F Kellerhoven d’après de nouveaux procédés (Paris: Firmin Didot frères, fils & cie 1864) and four years later by the Arundel Society after a copy made by Mariannecci in 1866. Twyman reproduces both works in A history of chromolithography, p.354, figs.279 a,b and 280 a,b 175

The French author and journalist, Paul Lacroix (1806–1884) is also known by his pseudonym P L Jacob. Atkinson also judges Kellerhoven’s print of Fra Angelico’s Adoration of the Magi as surpassing the Arundel ‘chromos.’ J B A [J Beavington Atkinson], ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, October 1865, pp.303–304, at p.305 page 79 of 355

the duomo at Florence, and the Piccolomini Library, Siena; the ‘F’, one of the letters given to Fra Angelico, was printed in colour.176 Such was the demand for illuminated manuscripts that a whole industry of facsimile makers developed in the nineteenth century, many of whom were highly skilled copyists with access to an extensive number of templates or, in some cases, the original manuscripts. The Society’s engravings were also available separately, ‘printed upon a paper which will allow of their being coloured by hand.’177 More prints after Fra Angelico were issued in the two following years: The annunciation and the Coronation of the Virgin from the frescoes in San Marco, Florence, in 1863 and 1864 respectively. Nine chromolithographs of the San Marco frescoes were eventually published but these were not, it seems, intended as a series with four different copyists employed: Mariannecci in 1862, Schultz in 1864, Kaiser in c.1869 and Costantini in 1888–89.178 Kaiser returned to Rome in 1878 to copy the Cappella di Niccolò frescoes in colour, but only one of his six watercolours was produced as a chromolithograph.179 In the 1860s prints after Fra Angelico’s frescoes brought in an average of £80 per year and the works continued to sell into the 1880s, long after the main enthusiasm for the artist’s work had subsided.180 They do not, however, seem to have been much discussed by either critics or historians.

176

The copies, in watercolour and gold on vellum, some of which were made by the Italian artist Ernesto Sprega (1829–1911), were lent by Henry Cottrell (1811–1871), who also provided copper plates of the outlines; 15 copies are now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Sprega’s work was so accurate that one of his letters, an ‘O’ copied from Liberale da Verona, was published several times (1926–59) as fifteenth–century, given to Girolamo da Cremona. 177

Thirteenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1862, p.1. ‘Young ladies who devote themselves to imitating the mediaeval miniaturists,’ as the writer for Auckland’s Daily Southern Cross advised, ‘will do well to improve their style by choosing these exquisite outlines for their next experiment in gilding and colouring. ‘The Arundel Society's Publications for 1861,’ Daily Southern Cross, vol.18, no.1579, 13 August 1862, p.4 178

Only one of the ten copies produced by the four artists remained unpublished. Each of Mariannecci’s three watercolours, completed in 1862, was issued as a chromolithographs: The annunciation 1863, Coronation of the Virgin 1864 and The Madonna and Child with attendant saints 1882. Schultz’s The crucifixion, copied in 1864, was issued in 1872. All three of Kaiser’s copies, made c.1869? were published: Noli me Tangere and The transfiguration in 1870, and The Marys at the sepulchre in 1875. Costantini completed two copies in 1888–89, from which The Entombment was issued in 1889 and Christ and the disciplines at Emmaus in 1891. Only Kaiser’s large copy of the Adoration of the Magi scene c.1875 from San Marco remained unpublished. 179

Of the six copies made by Kaiser of Cappella di Niccolò in 1878, only St Stephen’s ordination and distribution of alms was published in 1888. 180

The income for the engravings totalled £230 7 1 and the chromolithographs £384 6 6. page 80 of 355

Botticelli is the most famous of nineteenth-century rediscoveries. Seroux d’Agincourt (1823), Rio (1836) and Ottley (1836) had all included Botticelli in their books. D’Agincourt’s volume contains, as plate CLXXIII, four scenes from the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel completed by Botticelli, Ghirlandaio, Perugino, Rosselli and Signorelli for Pope Sixtus IV in 1480–82. Rio praised the frescoes in the Vatican—he described Botticelli’s Moses as mixture of ‘heroic and pastoral poetry’ which left nothing to desire181—and from the 1830s these were subject of new attention. Rio’s enthusiasm affected Jameson, Ruskin and the Eastlakes. Ottley had acquired Botticelli’s The mystical nativity c.1500–01 c.1799; he offered the painting, unsuccessfully, for sale in Britain in 1811, later including an engraving of the central sections in Plates of the early Florentine school 1826. Acquired by William Fuller-Maitland (1813–1876) in 1848, it was later lent to the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition, alongside several other works given to the artist.182 The Eastlakes had visited Florence in 1855: Lady Eastlake declared Botticelli ‘worthy to stand in the Florentine genealogy between Giotto and Michelangelo’ and advised a friend, departing for Italy in June 1858, to ‘try and fill your heart especially with the grandeur and earnestness of the great four—Sandro Botticelli, Domenico Ghirlandaio, Fra Filippo Lippi, and his son Filippino, who constitute the core of Florentine art.’183 On her first visit to Rome in October 1858 Lady Eastlake and Sir Charles looked with ‘intense interest’ at Botticelli’s frescoes, pronouncing that one contained ‘every element of art, grace, action, grandeur, splendid colour and fine landscape, that constitutes the maturity of art.’184 It is significant that the National Gallery acquired several works by Botticelli in the 1850s, 1860s and 1870s but that the first, Portrait of a young man c.1480–85, purchased in 1859, was

181

A F Rio, The poetry of Christian art, London: T Bosworth 1854, p.100

182

In his ‘Catalogue of the Art Treasures of the United Kingdom,’ Layard wrote ‘Sandro Botticelli, who holds so important a position in the transition period … of the fifteenth century, and whose works have of late years become very popular amongst collectors in this country, we have only one good specimen [The mystic nativity] injured by bad restoration, but not so much as to destroy its original fancy and life.’ Quarterly Review, July 1857, p.175 Fuller Maitland was an early subscriber to the Arundel Society (listed in 1849 and 1855) but not in the later years when the copies after Botticelli were made. The mystical nativity entered the National Gallery’s collection in 1878. 183

In John Steegman, The consort of taste, London: Sidgwick and Jackson 1950 p.239 (source not identified) and quoted by Hoch, ‘The art of Alessandro Botticelli through the eyes of Victorian aesthetes,’ p.56; see also Journals and correspondence of Lady Eastlake, London: J Murray 1895, vol.II, p.89 184

Journals and correspondence of Lady Eastlake, vol.II, pp.108–109 page 81 of 355

acquired as a work of Masaccio.185 Crowe and Cavalcaselle’s A history of painting in Italy 1864—with its long discussion of Botticelli based on Vasari and Rio, his ‘mournful’ Madonnas and use of classical antiquity—was, as we have seen, a principal guide for Victorian art lovers.186

The Pre-Raphaelite artists also responded to Botticelli. Edward Burne-Jones (1833–1898) saw the Coronation when he visited the Academia in Florence in 1859; late he recorded longing to see the work again, as well as the Primavera, and the Calumny of Apelles in the Uffizi.187 His Phyllis and Demophoon 1870 is partially modelled on the figures of Chloris and Zephyrus in the Primavera.188 William Michael Rossetti, unlike his brother, did travel to Italy in 1860 and on his return ‘talked of the Birth of Venus’.189 Venus Pudica, a Botticelli painting (now acknowledged as workshop) sold at auction in June 1863, was likewise much admired by Rossetti, William Morris (1834–1996), and John Roddam Spencer Stanhope (1829–1908).190 From Florence in November 1865 Layard—he was gaining great pleasure from ‘going over’ the galleries with John Everett Millais (1829–1896)—wrote to Lady Eastlake of Millais’ admiration for the Primavera. In the same letter he recommends the four-part Nastagio degli Onesti cycle by Botticelli for acquisition by the National Gallery.191 Rossetti’s 1867 purchase of the

185

Tempera and oil on wood, 37.5 x 28.3 cm; Colonel Matthew Smith owned the painting by 1804, it then passed to Lord Northwick, and was displayed at Thirlestaine House as Masaccio. 186

Crowe and Cavalcaselle, A history of painting in Italy, London: J Murray 1864, pp.255–256

187

These comments were made in a letter written in 1876, to friends then travelling in Italy, in which he asks for photographs, should they be available, of the angels in the Coronation painting; see Memorials of Edward Burne-Jones, New York: Macmillan 1904, vol.II, p.64 188

Body- and watercolour, gold medium, gum arabic on paper on canvas, 93.8 x 47.5 cm, Birmingham Museums and Art Gallery 189

Levey, ‘Botticelli and nineteenth-century England,’ p.301

190

Palazzo Feroni, Florence, and now in a private collection in Geneva; another of the type is reproduced by Simon Poë who proposes the works as inspiration for Morris’ Aphrodite с 1870 (oil on canvas, 132 x 62.5 cm, Collection: Society of Antiquaries of London) and Spencer Stanhope’s Venus rising from the sea (tempera on panel, 56 x 30.5 cm, Private collection); ‘Venus rising from the waves: Morris, Stanhope, Botticelli and “Aphrodite Anadyomene,”’ The British Art Journal, vol.7, no.3, Winter 2006/7, pp.54-57, at p.55 191

Layard to Lady Eastlake, letter from Florence, 13 November 1865; Sir A Henry Layard, GCB, DCL: Autobiography and letters from his childhood until his appointment as HM ambassador at Madrid, London: Murray 1903, p.231. Millais also wrote to Eastlake in support of the Botticelli painting but Eastlake, who was ill in Milan never made it to Florence and died in Pisa in December 1865. Although Eastlake’s successor, William Boxall, also inspected the works the following year, he was put off by the subject and the high price. The works were bought in 1868 by Alexander Barker (c.1797–1873), the Englishman who also sold the National Gallery its next Botticelli, Venus and Mars c.1485; it page 82 of 355

portrait of Smeralda Brandini c.1470–80 provoked the admiration of visitors at his home in Cheyne Walk, and probably prompted the development of some of his female types: languid, three-quarter figures with almond-eyes.192 In ‘Notes on Designs of the Old Masters at Florence,’ his 1868 review of the Uffizi drawing collection he had seen four years previously, Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837–1909) hailed Botticelli’s ‘faint and almost painful grace,’ and his ambition for ‘new things, the desire of various and liberal invention, the love of soft hints and veiled meanings.’193 Walter Crane (1845–1915), in his The Renaissance of Venus 1877, adopted elements of Botticelli’s work and took inspiration from the recently excavated classical marble sculpture, Venus Esquilina c.50. Using a pale palette and exploiting the ‘chalky’ qualities of the tempera medium, Crane produced an effect reminiscent of fresco painting.194

In 1869 another of the Arundel Society’s copyists, Eliseo Fattorini (1830–1887), went to Rome to copy the frescoes:195 he completed twelve large watercolours from 1869 until 1875, of which two were issued as chromolithographs, neither of them scenes by Botticelli.196 Ruskin, who had claimed indifference to Botticelli before reading Rio, travelled to Rome in May 1872, and set himself to copying sections of Botticelli’s Moses frescoes in the Sistine Chapel—he made several

seems likely that Barker was another Arundel Society subscriber. The Nastagio degli Onesti cycle was donated to the Museo del Prado, Madrid, in 1941. 192

Ellis Waterhouse, ‘Holman Hunt's “Giovanni Bellini” and the Pre-Raphaelites’ own early Italian pictures,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.123, no.941, August 1981, pp.473-475, at p.474. The painting is now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, catalogued as Botticelli, but this attribution is not broadly accepted. 193

The Fortnightly Review, July/December, 1868 p.6, quoted by Levey, ‘Botticelli and nineteenth-century England,’ p.302. Both Swinburne and Rossetti wrote verse in response to the painting: Swinburne’s A vision of spring in winter 1878 and Rossetti’s For spring by Sandro Botticelli 1880. 194

The sculpture was excavated in Rome in 1874. Crane’s painting (tempera on canvas, 138.4 x 184.1 cm) was later owned by G F Watts, and is now in the Tate. 195

Fattorini also copied Fra Angelico’s The annunciation 1869; the watercolour (34.1 x 32.3 cm) is in the British Museum 1990,0623.16 196

The first of Fattorini’s copies, Signorelli’s Scenes from the life of Moses, was completed in 1869; two years later, in 1871, he copied Rosselli’s The sermon on the mount, Perugino’s Moses and the Angel and Botticelli’s The destruction of the Koran, Dathan and Abritim. The following year he worked on Ghirlandaio’s The calling of the Apostles, Perugino’s Christ’s charge to St Peter, and two Botticelli’s Moses at the well and The temptation. Two works after Rosselli were completed—The passage of the Red Sea in 1873 and The Last supper in 1874— and the final two copies, made in 1875 were Perugino’s Baptism of Christ and The Israelites worshipping the Golden calf. Only two were published: Christ’s charge to St Peter in 1877 and Scenes from the life of Moses in 1878. page 83 of 355

visits to record the daughters of Jethro and the figure of Zipporah in particular.197 In 'Sandro Botticelli and the Florentine schools of engraving', his lectures delivered at Oxford in November and December 1872, and later published as Ariadne Florentina, Ruskin espoused the idea of Holbein and Botticelli as ‘reformers,’ drawing parallels between the Florentine artist and his contemporary, the radical monk Savonarola. The lectures are witness to Ruskin’s growing enthusiasm for Botticelli, inspired by his reading of Pater, his own observations and, in likelihood, the Arundel copies.198 Although his sources are not always identified, Ruskin, as a member of Council for more than fifty years, would have been aware of the Society’s program and deliberations. He claimed a distance from the Society and its activities, was relatively uninvolved in its Council and voiced his disagreement with some decisions made; but as a subscriber he would have been, at minimum, in regular contact with the publications. His admiration for Botticelli also led him to acquire, in the late 1870s, his own painting of the Virgin and Child.199

In 1870 the Arundel Society issued, as an Occasional publication, the chromolithograph after Mariannecci’s copy of Venus rising from the sea (fig.6). Pater, in his essay of the same year, described the figure as reminiscent of Ingres and the colour of the painting as ‘cadaverous, or at least cold.’200 He emphasised the combination of ‘conflict and a lassitude’ in the goddess of pleasure painted by Botticelli with a ‘shadow of death in the grey flesh and wan

197

His highly detailed watercolour copy of, Zipporah, completed in 1874, is in the Ruskin Library, University of Lancaster, as is a photograph of the Zipporah figure, from Botticelli's Temptation of Moses fresco, produced by Fratelli Alinari in the 1870. Charles Fairfax Murray’s copies, after Botticelli and others, are further discussed in Chapter 5. 198

Ruskin’s changing attitude to Botticelli may be traced through several letters to Charles Eliot Norton in the period 1870–74. In a letter dated 12 July 1870, Ruskin writes of Botticelli as one of those Italian painters whose work is characterised by 'a strange hardness and gloom'. On 10 August 1872, after his time in Rome, he writes that 'nothing I have ever seen in mythic and religious art has interested or delighted me as much as Sandro and Perugino in the Sistine Chapel'. By 19 June 1874, Ruskin confides that 'Botticelli remains where he was, only because he couldn't get higher ... I wish I could give him the rest of my life,' and, two months later, on 226 August 1874 ‘I am more and more crushed every day under the stupendous power of Botticelli.’ see Works, vol.37, pp.10–11, pp.52-53, p.112 and p.138 199

Studio of Sandro Botticelli, The Virgin and Child, oil on panel, 88 x 57.9 cm, Ashmolean Museum; the work was acquired for Ruskin by Fairfax Murray in 1877. 200

William E Buckler, Walter Pater: Three major texts (The Renaissance, Appreciations, and Imaginary portraits), New York University Press 1986, p.110, with other references in the text. page 84 of 355

flowers.’ (p.111) For Pater, and as Levey reminds us, Botticelli fits perfectly into the theme of all Pater's work: the duality of Christianity and Paganism.201 Men go forth to their labours until the evening; but she is awake before them, and you might think that the sorrow in her face was at the thought of the whole long day of love yet to come ... What is unmistakeable is the sadness with which he has conceived the goddess of pleasure, as the depository of a great power over men. (p.110)

Swinburne’s and Pater’s texts mark a change in attitudes to writing about art. As Prettejohn explains, ‘what had seemed merely quaint or 'Gothic' in the previous generation becomes … the expression of a new and complex sense of inexplicable melancholy.'202 An artist such Botticelli, whose works were enigmatic, mythological and aesthetic, prompted literary responses—rather than the emphasis by earlier writers on spiritual qualities.203 Symonds summarises this awareness: The study of the fine arts offers few subjects of more curious interest than the vicissitudes through which painters of the type of Botticelli, not absolutely and confessedly in the first rank, but attractive by reason of their relation to the spirit of their age, and of the seal of intimité set upon their work, have passed. In the last century and the beginning of this, our present preoccupation with Botticelli would have passed for a mild lunacy, because he has none of the qualities then most in vogue and most enthusiastically studied, and because the moment in the history of culture he so faithfully represents was then but little understood. The prophecy of Mr Ruskin, the tendencies of our best contemporary art in Mr Burne Jones's painting, the specific note of our recent fashionable poetry, and, more than all, our delight in the delicately-poised

201

Levey, ‘Botticelli and nineteenth-century England,’ p.302

202

Prettejohn, ‘Chapter 11: Art,’ in The Cambridge companion to Victorian culture, p.205

203

Irma B Jaffe, in The Italian Presence in American Art, 1860–1920, posits the ability to appreciate early Italian works on aesthetic rather than overtly religious (and Catholic) ground as a reason for the American appreciation of Botticelli, New York and Rome: Fordham University Press; Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana 1989, p.8 page 85 of 355

psychological problems of the middle Renaissance, have evoked a kind of hero-worship for this excellent artist and true poet.204

By the mid-1880s, when Emilio Costantini (active 1870–80s) took up the commission to copy the Primavera painting in the Academia, Florence (fig.90), the enthusiasm of the ‘aesthetes’ for Botticelli had become the subject of ridicule.205 The chromolithograph of 1888 was issued as an Annual, rather than Occasional, publication meaning that approximately 1300 first subscribers received the print; in the period until the Society’s demise in 1897, it continued to sell between twenty and sixty copies each year. There was no text publication issued for Botticelli—perhaps the state of art writing in the 1880s rendered it unnecessary—meaning it is difficult to gauge the level of awareness of the new tendencies in art writing. The text publications, moreover, especially those issued by the Society in the 1880s and 1890s, tend to the factual. 206 While they were prepared to hunt out specialist copyists, the authors were mainly members of Council and, as such, the program of publications seems opportune rather than structured.

A broad number of writers and artists were aware of the Arundel Society’s publications (see also Chapter 4). An imaginative portrait of Botticelli made in 1893 by Aubrey Beardsley (1872–1898) was based on elements he discerned in the Renaissance artist’s work. This suggests that he made use of reproductions, as well as a range of the ideas circulating at the fin-de-siècle.207 An etching after the Birth of Venus by the Polish-born printmaker Félix Jasiński (1862–1901), and published by Jules Hautecoeur in Paris in 1893, also

204

Renaissance in Italy: The fine arts, (Holt 1879) p.249, ft.1

205

Most famously in the caricatures produced by George Du Maurier for Punch but see also William Hurrell Mallock’s The New Republic 1877 and Gilbert and Sullivan’s Patience 1881. Costantini seems to have made his copy of the Primavera c.1887 but it is not mentioned in the Annual report, nor are any amounts listed as payments to artists in that year. 206

Kitchen’s Life of Pope Pius 1881, Scharf’s Description of the diptych at Wilton House 1882, the photographic volumes Sepulchral monuments in Italy produced by Street and Thompson in 1878/1883, an (untraced) pamphlet for the Riccardi Palace c.1887 and Browning’s The life of Bartolomeo Colleoni 1891. 207

Aymer Vallance, ‘The Invention of Aubrey Beardsley,’ Magazine of Art, vol.22, November 1897–October 1898, p.365 page 86 of 355

circulated in Britain.208 Although the numbers of Arundel Society prints after Botticelli were relatively small—in the main subscribers favoured the chromolithographs after Albertinelli, Bellini, Luini, Lippi and the Northern altarpieces—it is clear from the broader level of interest in Botticelli and the Florentine school, that a good many art historians, critics and artists knew the publications. Indeed Levey grants the Botticelli chromolithographs wider importance: ‘Thanks to the Arundel Society, many a suburban home could at last hang something which must ultimately have come to be an image of rebellion against stuffy conventional values.’209

Morelli asserted, writing in 1893, that Botticelli’s merits were first rediscovered in England.210 Although recent commentators have discounted this as an overstatement, it is certainly true that Botticelli’s fame was widespread and, by 1900, he had almost surpassed Raphael as the most admired artist; between 1900 and 1920, as Levey notes, more books were published on Botticelli than on any other great painter.211 One of the most important of these was produced by the British poet, designer and art historian Herbert Horne (1864–1916). Horne, who had been commissioned in 1894 to write a popular text on Botticelli, moved to Italy in order to study the artist.212 Horne had a large collection of prints and other objects in his London apartment, decorated in the Aesthetic mode; had he belonged to an earlier generation, he might have depended on reproductions. Instead he reiterates Dante Gabriel Rossetti and others as some of the first to appreciate Botticelli, and traces Ruskin’s growing awareness; he repeats William’s recollection that his brother was unaware of the Birth of Venus until being sent a photograph of the works in 1879.213

208

This etching was much admired by Burne-Jones, and led him to commission Jasiński to produce prints after his own work (see also Chapter 4). 209

Levey, ‘Botticelli and nineteenth-century England,’ p.303

210

Botticelli’s merits ‘have only been recognised again in recent years and first of all in England.’ Italian painters: Critical studies of their works, vol.II, p.96 211

Levey, ‘Botticelli and nineteenth-century England,’ p.291

212

Horne had first travelled to Italy in 1889, on a study tour with the artist-designer Frederick Shields (1833–1911), examining Romanesque and Renaissance architecture and frescoes towards an architectural commission. The Chapel of the Ascension, a memorial chapel in Bayswater, London, was produced for Emelia Russell Gurney (1823–1896) in commemoration of her husband, the judge and politician Russell Gurney (1804–1878). 213

Herbert Horne, Alessandro Filipepi, commonly called Sandro Botticelli, painter of Florence, London: G Bell & Sons 1908, p.vii page 87 of 355

Horne’s publisher George Bell & Sons had hoped to capitalise on the success of the 1892 publication on Burne-Jones but, in the end, Horne’s project was of an altogether different type: designed by him, Alessandro Filipepi, commonly called Sandro Botticelli, painter of Florence, was finally published in 1908, illustrated with photogravure plates prepared by Emery Walker, in edition of 240. It was dedicated to his teacher, Daniel Barron Brightwell, and to Pater. Given Horne’s circles and, especially, connections to key members of the Arts and Crafts movement, it is most unlikely he was unaware of the Arundel Society’s Botticelli publications. As art historian Caroline Elam points out, Horne’s achievement benefits from contextualisation: against the climate of art publishing in Britain, the revival of Botticelli’s artistic reputation, the developing methodology of art history and the revival of fine printing. 214 To this we might add literary references which continue into the twentieth century, with Ezra Pound, E M Forster and others.215 Clearly the ambiguity discovered in the work of Botticelli and other ‘primitives’ inspired both a multiplicity of readings and a rich range of new projects. ________________________

In surveying illustrated publications in the first half of the nineteenth century, it rapidly becomes apparent that many of the line drawings reproduced as wood engravings are remarkably consistent: indeed we find that a small number of visual resources were often ‘repurposed.’ Séroux d’Agincourt and Rosini, for example, are said to have used Lasinio’s engraving of The death of the Virgin, from Marco Lastri’s L’Etruria pittrice ovvero storia della pittura toscana dedotta dai suoi monumneti che si esibiscono in stampa dal secolo X fino presente 1791.216 The painting, previously owned by the Anglo-Florentine painter and dealer Ignazio Hugford (1703–1778), and later by Ottley, was for a time given to

214

‘Herbert Horne: "a king of posteritorious distinction,"’ in Rab Hatfield (ed.) Sandro Botticelli and Herbert Horne: New research, Syracuse University Press 2009, pp.169–225, at p.183, p.185–186 215

See, for example, E H Gombrich, ‘Botticelli's Mythologies: A study in the Neoplatonic symbolism of his circle,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol.8, 1945, pp.7–60 and Antonella Francini, ‘Herbert Horne and an English "fable" for Botticelli,’ in Hatfield (ed.) Sandro Botticelli and Herbert Horne: New research, pp.227–250 216

Considered the first example of an illustrated book devoted to a specific school, L’Etruria pittrice includes sixty plates supervised and executed in aquatint and engraving by Carlo Lasinio; see Lloyd and Ledger, Art and its images, p.74 page 88 of 355

Giotto;217 although the master’s hand was discounted in the 1830s, it took until 1837 for Waagen to attribute the work to Fra Angelico.218 Jameson and her niece Geraldine Bates prepared the illustrations for Sacred and legendary art— ‘trifling’ sketches and woodcuts identified only by the name of the artist—but for works no longer extant, such as the angels from the Campo Santo frescoes destroyed in 1771, they relied on the images produced by Patch half a century earlier.219 When existing images were reused, attributions often followed, but in small number of cases, authors were prepared take issue with their predecessors. Although Layard’s Brancacci publication was, to a large extent, dependant over published sources he did venture variant opinions about the authorship of some frescoes.

Through the transcript of Wyatt’s lecture, delivered at the opening of the Arundel Society’s exhibition at the Crystal Palace in November 1855, we witness his application of images from a range of sources: In the illustration of the objects described, assistance has been obtained from Mr Murray, who has kindly lent, for the present publication, six woodcuts, executed by Mr Scharf, after the frescoes of the Arena Chapel and the Chapel of Nicolas V, which appeared in Sir Charles Eastlake's edition of Kugler’s Handbook of painting in Italy and Messrs Clowes & Sons have, in like manner, allowed the use of three woodcuts from the Parthenon Sculpture, of which they are the proprietors, and which were published first in Sir Henry Ellis' Account of the Elgin Marbles, and subsequently Mr Vaux's Handbook to the antiquities in the British Museum. The remaining cuts are the property of the Society, have been made for some of its former publications.220

217

Now Philadelphia Museum of Art, John G Johnson Collection

218

Giuseppe Montani and Giovanni Masselli (ed.), Giorgio Vasari: Opere, 2 vols. Florence: 1832–33; Waagen, Works of art and artists in England, London: J Murray 1838, p.124 and Carl Brandon Strehlke, ‘Fra Angelico and early Florentine Renaissance painting in the John G. Johnson Collection at the Philadelphia Museum of Art,’ Philadelphia Museum of Art Bulletin, vol.88, no.376, Spring 1993, pp.1+4–26, at p.7 219

Jameson, Sacred and legendary art, p.xiii, p.35

220

An address delivered in the Crystal Palace on November 3, 1855, by M Digby Wyatt at the opening of an exhibition of works of art belonging to the Arundel Society, and consisting of tracings and drawings from paintings by Giotto and other early Italian artists, with some illustrations of Greek sculpture and of ancient ivory-carving, London: Bell and Daldy 1855 [p.iv] page 89 of 355

Rather than a simple acknowledgment of his sources, Wyatt’s comments demonstrate his ability to access and accumulate visual aides. The lecture would have been a novelty for Wyatt’s audience because, in addition to Scharf’s woodcuts of the Vatican frescos and those by the Dalziel Brothers of the Arena Chapel, he showed both Williams’ coloured copy of the Ascension scene and Rapisardi’s watercolour of Ghirlandaio’s fresco of the Death of St Francis in the Trinitá at Florence.221 Another lecture, delivered two years later by Henry Ottley (1811–1878) at the Marylebone Literary and Scientific Institution, suggests the ways in which photographs provided the opportunity for art historians and other amateurs to expand their resources for lectures, research and writing projects, a fact which granted greater authority. As well as various engravings after the Old Masters, Ottley showed a ‘very large and splendid photograph of the Last supper,’ leading the reviewer to remark that he demonstrated ‘habitual familiarity’ with his subject, the materials having not been ‘got up’ for the occasion.222 A lecture given by Atkinson, ‘On fresco painting as a suitable mode of mural decoration,’ in February 1864 was illustrated by use of a selection of the Society’s chromolithographs, cartoons and actual frescoes made by the painter Edward Armitage (1817–1896), as well as specimens of pigments and other materials for the production of fresco.223

In March 1860, when Jameson died, she was working on The history of our Lord as exemplified in works of art in the Print Room at the British Museum. Lady Eastlake subsequently edited and prepared the manuscript; when it was published in 1864, the work was illustrated with etchings prepared by the artist Edward Poynter (1836–1919),224 including the fictile ivories and other works of art published by the Arundel Society.225 Indeed the publisher was at pains to point out that, of the 147 subjects illustrated, only fifty-five had been engraved

221

Williams’ Ascension copy is described as being in Roger’s collection, see p.15, p.16; William Oliver Williams (c.1829–1901) is discussed in Chapter 3. 222

‘Lecture by Mr Henry Ottley, ’The Spectator, 7 March 1857, p.20

223

Reproduced, with a record of the subsequent discussion, in The Journal of the Society of Arts, vol.12, no.586, 12 February 1864, pp.194–204. 224

His father, the architect Ambrose Poynter (1796–1886), was an Arundel Society subscriber.

225

The history of Our Lord as exemplified in works of art: with that of His types; St John the Baptist; and other persons of the Old and New Testament, London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts & Green 1864, see, for example, fig.63, pp.168–169 page 90 of 355

before.226 By this stage Eastlake and Poynter would have had access both to the ivories themselves and photographic illustrations of the objects from the catalogue published in 1856. While text is clearly privileged in most of Jameson’s and other nineteenth-century publications, in The history of our Lord and a handful of other cases we can gauge the beginning of change. In studying Kugler’s use of reproductions, art historian Heinrich Dilly argues that there is a concern to strike a balance between text and image. 227 The German scholar produced a large number of drawings, many of which are extant, and claimed his own studies were ‘made less with the writing quill than the drawing pencil.’ Kugler amassed a collection of small prints, made tracings from books and prints, as well as reductions with a pantograph which he used, Dilly maintains, while travelling for analysis and comparison. Hugford, on the other hand, recorded his impression on or made corrections to various reproductions which he took to inspect works, another key example of the role of images as tools for an art professional of the previous century.228

A survey of art historical texts—from late eighteenth-century illustrated volumes, through the critical art writing of the 1830s and 1840s which gave primacy to the word, to the boom in illustrated material in the 1860, to new ways of writing about art in the 1890s vis-à-vis changing attitudes to the Renaissance—serves to contextualise the contributions made by the Arundel Society’s publications, and the authors who sought to interpret works of art for a general audience. The lists of its subscribers, the number of institutional collections, and the close connections between members of the art world in Britain and on the Continent, demonstrate the ubiquitousness of the chromolithographs. But given the importance of the Society’s project, as well as its length, the prints receive

226

Several works later published by the Society are included, such as Michelangelo’s sibyls from the Sistine Chapel (fig.102, vol.I, p.255), Fra Angelico’s San Marco frescoes (fig.126, vol.I, p.342; vol.II, pp.188–189 and fig.225, vol.II, p.290) and some of the Arena Chapel frescos (fig.143, vol.II, p.15; fig.149, vol.II, p.49) 227

Kugler’s drawings are held in Kunstbibliothek der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin; see Dilly, ‘Kunsthistorische Studien, “weniger mit der Schreibfeder als mit dem Zeichenstift gemacht,” Franz Kuglers Zeichenkunst,’ in Michel Espagne, Bénédicte Savoy, Céline Trautmann-Waller (eds.), Franz Theodor Kugler. Deutscher Kunsthistoriker und Berliner Dichter, Berlin Akademie Verlag 2010) and Eric Garberson’s review, Journal of Art Historiography, no.5, December 2011, p.3 228

Giovanna Perini, ‘Dresden and the Italian art market in the eighteenth century: Ignazio Hugford and Giovanni Ludovico Bianconi,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.135, no.1085, August 1993, pp.550–559, p.552 page 91 of 355

surprisingly few mentions by authors writing in the period. Layard’s editions of Kugler’s handbook, thoroughly revised and partly rewritten, published in 1887 and 1891, diligently footnote each of the Society’s publications but these are some of the last mentions. A ‘snapshot’ of available publications for 1881— illustrated biographies, volumes of Florentine painters, catalogues, almanacs, art unions and societies—emphasises how far knowledge of art in Britain had come since the Society’s first tentative efforts in 1849/50.229 An analysis of three of Arundel Society’s publications, by three very different writers, shows their impact on the study of art, and their contribution to an aspect of the historiography of art that remains largely unwritten.230 The Society’s text publications were highly variable and, at times, rather unpredictable: from the highly scholarly works by Scharf, Weale and Wornum, through Ruskin’s fanciful orations and Layard’s variations—from tour guide to a lively combination of journalism and archival research—to the rather amateur (and anonymous) production on Giorgione's Madonna and Child at Castelfranco issued in 1879. At times there is a disjunction between the text and image: the writer of the Giorgione text, as Ledger points out, tends to overcompensate, describing the works so closely, as if he ‘feared that the print did not do justice to the painting.’231 For a modern reader Layard’s enthusiasm or Ruskin’s associative and, at times, unrelenting morality, appears eccentric.232 With increasing professionalization of art writers, came changes in attitudes to works of art—from objects for possession, to an examination of documentation and other primary sources, identification of styles and tendencies, and an exploration of artist’s intentions and works as the inspiration for the author’s own theories. 229

Marcus B Huish’s compendium—bringing together an artist’s calendar for the following year, exhibitions at galleries and museums; information about societies, clubs and art unions; charities, bequests and sales for the year; engravings, etchings and books published; copyright and legal decisions relating to art; obituaries, lists of dealers and artists—runs to 275 pages. The Arundel Society’s publications are listed at p.128. The years art 1881, London: Macmillan 1881 230

Hamber’s point is about the lack of knowledge about the impact of photography on the study of art but this applies equally to reproductive prints, especially those produced by the Arundel Society; see ‘Photography in nineteenth-century art publications,’ The rise of the image, pp.215–244, at p.231 231

Ledger suspects the Giorgione text was written by F Lambe Price or Oldfield. She also discusses Neglected frescoes in Northern Italy (London: Chiswick Press 1890), a ‘determinedly amateur’ pamphlet by the Society’s final secretary, Douglas Hamilton Gordon, which, although published independently, grew out of his work with the Society. A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.226, pp.251–252 232

Layard’s image of Giotto relies on anecdotes and emphasises the painter’s piety, Ruskin, on the other hand, conceives the artist as a workman whose subject matter was determined by his employers. page 92 of 355

The Arundel Society offered its subscribers both the potential for knowledge, as well as a role in an emergent art historical tradition. It took until the late nineteenth century, as art historians Wayne R Dynes and Gérard Mermoz remind us, for a concerted effort to be made to give art history a philosophical basis: As art history subsequently became increasingly linked to and rooted in academic and educational institutions, it was accompanied by a shift in the status of the art historian, who came to be seen as the exponent of an increasingly sophisticated and specialized professional practice.233 Eastlake and German art historians such as Waagen, Passavent and Kugler were the first generation of art professionals whose 'authority depended on the combination of their sophisticated visual judgment with their ability to make critical use of textual evidence for the purposes of dating.'234 They represent a new kind of research in the history of art, as opposed to the habit of copying Vasari.235 The Society’s publications are often singled out as an innovation but they could not have developed without the ‘framework’ established by earlier writers and earlier reproductive traditions. The chromolithographs are at once firmly anchored in the mid-nineteenth century and contribute to the continuity of the pre-Renaissance frescoes and altarpieces.

233

‘Art history,’ Grove Art Online (accessed October 2006)

234

Klonk, ‘Mounting vision: Charles Eastlake and the National Gallery of London,’ p.344

235

Robertson, Sir Charles Eastlake and the Victorian Art World, p.55 page 93 of 355

figure 17 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Angelico’s The annunciation at San Marco by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 36.7 x 50.2 cm London: Arundel Society 1863 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Chapter two―‘An age of science, new knowledge, searching criticism, multiplied doubts and shaken beliefs’1 The activities of the Arundel Society provoked much discussion, particularly in the pages of the Art Journal, the Athenaeum and Saturday Review. This Chapter analyses these published responses and the ways in which they reveal much about the ‘public face’ of the Society. A focus on commentary in the Art Journal, from the years of the Society’s inception and its first tentative beginnings, as well as on the decades of its greatest popularity in the 1860s and 1870s, provides a range of material both quantitative and qualitative. Assumptions about audience reception through the eyes of the critics, named and anonymous, writing in a major art periodical are examined. Expectations of continuous readership, shared attitudes to art history and connoisseurship, and the ability to visualise works of art are also explored. The Art Journal commentary is set against two major articles—produced by writers who were directly involved with the Society and were part of its Council—published at opposite moments in the Society’s most productive period. ‘Publications of the Arundel Society’ by A H Layard appeared in 1858 in the Quarterly Review,2 while Sir William Gregory’s article in the Nineteenth Century: A Monthly Review was printed in the issue of April 1884.3 Here the primary focus, therefore, is not the watercolours, the prints or monographs issued by the Society but the mediation of public attitudes through the written word of its critics and supporters—the texts as a phenomenon of reception. _________________________________ What do we do when we look at a work of art? Hopefully we do just that: we look, we look again, we return to look. We may use aides, read about art, listen to others talking about art, watch artists make or ourselves create art. We might

1

The phrase is a partial quotation from John Morley: ‘It was the age of science, new knowledge, searching criticism, followed by multiplied doubts and shaken beliefs.’ from Recollections (2 volumes, 1917) and reproduced by Walter E Houghton, ‘Periodic literature and the articulate classes’ in Joanne Shattock and Michael Wolff (ed.) The Victorian periodical press: Samplings and soundings, Leicester University Press; Buffalo: University of Toronto Press 1982, pp.3–27, at p.4 2

[A H Layard], ‘Publications of the Arundel Society,’ Quarterly Review, vol.104, no.202, July and October 1858, pp.277–325 3

W H Gregory, ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Nineteenth Century: A Monthly Review, vol.xv, April 1884, pp.610–625; the article was reprinted as a pamphlet in 1887. page 95 of 355

seek out other works of art by the same artist. We can study other works from the same period. But can the work of art look back? Or rather, and for the purposes of this thesis, what can we do when the work looks back? Many works of art incorporate an implied beholder. A saint points to the donor. A path leads into the landscape. A gestural mark in an abstract painting links it back to the artist’s hand. We may recognise in the components of minimalist sculpture references to the dimensions and proportions of our own bodies. These visual clues are designed by the artist to evoke a response in the viewer. In the nineteenth century, it may be argued, opportunities to view art increased, and the growth of public institutions facilitated conditions in which the beholder’s share was important to viewing those works of art.4 The idea of collective ownership of works of art, and that collectors are their custodians, also emerges in this period.5 In his ‘aesthetics of reception’ German academic Hans Robert Jauss (1921– 1997) maintains that the historical essence of a work of art cannot be elucidated by description, or by examining its production, but should be treated as a dialectical process of production and reception. Literature and art only obtain a history that has the characters of a process when the succession of works is mediated not only through the producing of subject, but also through the consuming subject—through the interaction of author and public.’6 As the academic Robert C Holub explains, by situating literature in the larger process of events, Jauss meets a Marxist demand for historical mediations. In placing the perceiving subject at the centre, however, he also retains the Formalist achievement, and thus unites history and aesthetics.7 The aesthetic implication lies in the fact that the first reception of a work by the reader includes a test of its aesthetic value in comparison with works already read. The obvious historical implication of this is that

4

Indeed Wolfgang Kemp goes further, pointing out that reception theories may be integrated historically: many nineteenth-century paintings implicate the role of the beholder and, furthermore, institutions of the period increased conditions in which the beholder’s share was important to viewing the work. ‘The work of art and its beholder: The methodology of the aesthetic of reception,’ in Mark A Cheetham, Michael Ann Holly and Keith Moxey (eds.), The subjects of art history: Historical objects in contemporary perspectives, Cambridge University Press 1998, pp.180–196 5

Plampin, ‘“A stern and just respect for truth”: John Ruskin, Giotto and the Arundel Society,’ p.61

6

Rezeptionsäthetik and quoted by Robert C Holub, Reception theory: A critical introduction, London, New York: Methuen 1984, p.57 7

Holub, Reception theory, p.57 page 96 of 355

understanding of the first reader will be sustained and enriched in a chain of receptions from generation to generation; in this way the historical significance of a works will be decided and its aesthetic value made evident. If there is only one thing to be learnt from the Marxist debate it is that the history of art or literature can no longer be written as an autonomous history, but only as a part of the social process. The history of the reception of an image is conceived as an hermeneutic search for its meaning, part of the effort to recover the intention of its author. (p.57) For the Arundel Society recovering authorial intention is problematized because of multiple authorship. The reception of its image and print publications offer an intriguing scenario: their subjects are conceived as an art historical continuum, but in form they have few precedents, their value to readers being largely as innovation. The notices and articles in the Art Journal read as exemplary instances of spectatorship in the Albertian model: like so much nineteenthcentury commentary, these texts are unilateral in direction, examples of the active critic and the object of perception. The Art Journal has been selected because, apart from providing a valuable directory to Victorian taste, it is little studied compared to the two other serials that offer on-going commentary on the Society, the Athenaeum and the Saturday Review.8 Because the Art Journal’s focus was the visual arts, the activities of the Society may be directly compared with other achievements within the Victorian art world and endeavours further afield.9

8

Leslie A Marchand, The Athenaeum; A mirror of Victorian culture, University of North Carolina Press 1941 (reprint New York: Octagon Books 1971) and Merle Mowbray Bevington, The Saturday Review 1855–1868: Representative educated opinion in Victorian England, New York: Columbia University Press 1941; see pp.288–318 for an overview of response to the arts in The Saturday Review. 9

Founded by print publishers Hodgson & Graves in 1839 as the Art Union, the journal ran under the stewardship of poet and editor Samuel Carter Hall (1800–1899) until 1880. George C Virtue (1794–1868) acquired the publication in 1849 and it was renamed The Art Journal; his son James S Virtue (1829–1892) expanded both the journal and the broader Virtue publishing business. The Art Journal had an office in New York and a series of regular correspondents throughout Europe and the British colonies. page 97 of 355

The first reference to the Arundel Society, in the July 1849 issue of the Journal,10 sits at the end of a page of notices whose range may seem bizarre to a reader of twentieth-century art serials, but which is quite typical of the period. We find notes about a proposed exhibition of Shakespeare relics, a meeting of the freemasons of the Church, tassel fasteners (ladies’ cloaks, mantles etc), the robbery of the studio of the Royal Academician Daniel Maclise, a Mr Galpin’s pencil drawings and the suitability of their style for sketching from Nature. Other notices are less disparate, and of greater relevance to the Society, including: a notice about the availability of an engraving by Murillo and another about an aquatint by a Mr Scott; the issue of the prospectus for Views of America; a death note for the Italian art connoisseur and dealer Andrew Wilson; the acquisition by Her Majesty of a work by van Eyck; and a notice about the cleaning of pictures at the Royal Academy in Edinburgh. As this sample suggests, the audience for publications such as the Art Journal and the Magazine of Art was remarkably wide. Indeed art commentary, exhibition notices and discussion of all range of artistic matters appears in many diverse types of periodicals. The attention given to art in general serials—in a quarterly such as the Contemporary Review, or in the New Monthly Magazine and the weekly-issued Athenaeum and Spectator—many of which had regular art columns, conveys the level of interest in art in this period. As scholar Helene E Roberts points out, art exhibitions were reviewed by both serious intellectual periodicals, like Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine and the Fortnightly Review, and those such as the Illustrated London News that served primarily to report newsworthy events. ‘The fashionable world read the art critics of Frasers’ Magazine and Belgravia while the more earnest lower middle class learned about art from the pages of Chambers’ Edinburgh Journal.’11 The Art Journal’s readership was certainly middle-class and the publication incorporates a good dose of the moralising deemed appropriate for this audience by those responsible for the journal’s production. In 1851 the Art

10

(anon.) The Art Journal, vol.XI, July 1849, p.66: ‘The Arundel Society – The Council of this Society, to which we alluded about six months since, is now formed; we shall find occasion next month to refer more fully to it.’ 11

‘Exhibition and review: The periodical press and the Victorian art exhibition system’ in Joanne Shattock and Michael Wolff (ed.), The Victorian periodical press: samplings and soundings, Leicester University Press; Buffalo: University of Toronto Press 1982, pp.70–107, p.79 page 98 of 355

Journal claimed monthly circulation figures of 25,000, having grown from 700 in 1839.12 In the same period the popular Penny Magazine, issued weekly by the Society of Diffusion of Useful Knowledge printed as many as 200,000 copies per issue—when Anna Jameson was writing in the 1830s; in 1845, the final year of its existence, it dropped to 40,000—while circulation figures for the upper-class the Athenaeum ranged from 500 to 1,000 copies per week in the 1830s and to a maximum of 7,200 in 1854.13 As well as commentary on the prints and monographs issued by the Arundel Society, editor Samuel Carter Hall (1800–1899) and writers of the Art Journal also concerned themselves with Society matters more generally.14 From the year of the Society’s inception in 1848, and the following year when its first prospectus was issued, until 1879 more than twenty texts appear in the pages of the Art Journal. They range from short announcements and anonymous notices of thirty words to fully articulated discussions, the longest of which spans seven columns over three pages. 15 All five long articles are signed J Beavington Atkinson, or initialled J B A, but for reasons of style and content it is reasonable to assume that at least three of the unsigned texts were also produced by him.

There was considerable discussion in this period, some of it acrimonious, about whether unsigned material was acceptable, particularly for reviews of the annual Royal Academy exhibitions in which negative remarks could have a devastating impact on a young artist’s career. The specialist critic typically signed his or her work and, as art historian Elizabeth Prettejohn points out, this became more common following William Michael Rossetti’s articles from the period 1861–65 in Fraser’s Magazine.16 Joseph Beavington Atkinson (1822– 1886) wrote often and on a range of topics for the Art Journal, the Saturday

12

From The Art Journal 1851, p.31, and quoted by George P Landow in ‘The power of the press and Victorian art criticism,’ http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/ruskin/finearts/criticism4.html (accessed November 2006) 13

The figures for the Penny Magazine and the Athenaeum are from Richard Daniel Altick, The English common reader; A social history of the mass reading public, 1800–1900, University of Chicago Press 1957, p.255 14

S C Hall is listed in the Arundel Society’s 1849 prospectus but does not seem to have maintained his membership. 15

J Beavington Atkinson, ‘Publications of the Arundel Society for promoting the knowledge of art,’ The Art Journal, vol.V, October 1859, pp.309–311 16

Elizabeth Prettejohn, ‘Morality versus aesthetics in critical interpretations of Frederic Leighton, 1855–75,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.138, no.1115, February 1996, pp.79–86 page 99 of 355

Review and for Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, where he succeeded Reverend John Eagles. He seems to have been very influential. Although Atkinson regularly expresses his dismay at the democracy of the arts— complaining, for example, of the survival of ‘too little of ideal beauty, too little of scholarly culture, too little of gentlemanly refinement’17—unlike many conservative critics, he also displays a remarkable willingness to change his attitudes to an artist, or to be persuaded by the work over time.

Descended from prominent family of Quakers in Bristol, Atkinson had initially been articled to a solicitor but never seriously practiced in the profession, being more interested in studying and copying works of art.18 It is said that his ‘thorough course of drawings and painting in one of the best schools’ well qualified him for art criticism.19 He was also widely travelled; on his return from Italy, Greece, Turkey, Damascus and Upper Egypt in the 1850s he began to lecture on art and to publish widely. He was in Dresden in 1864 and in Russia in the early 1870s—he seems to have relinquished his role as resident Arundel Society expert at this time. He continued as professional art writer, later publishing a survey of German art and a monograph on the Nazarene painter Friedrich Overbeck (1789–1869).20 Through Atkinson’s texts, and those which were probably produced by him or under his influence, we gauge the increasing professionalism of art writing in the period. The concerns of early Victorian critics is apparent still—the judgement of a picture on its ability to communicate a message to the audience and issues of narrative legibility drawn from literary criticism—but there is greater discussion of works of art within artistic traditions or from an aesthetic perspective.21

17

Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, no.98, 1865, p.336

18

[anonymous obituary for J Beavington Atkinson], The Art Journal 1886, p.382

19

[anonymous obituary for J Beavington Atkinson in the ‘Fine-Art Gossip’ section], Athenaeum no.3079, Saturday 30 October 1886, p.574 20

An account of J Beavington Atkinson’s Russian travels was published as An art tour to northern capitals of Europe (also known as An art tour to Russia) (London: Macmillian 1873). : His The schools of modern art in Germany was published in 1880 (London: Seeley, Jackson, and Halliday 1880) and his book on Overbeck followed two years later (London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington 1882). 21

The specialist approach, especially from those periodicals aimed at progressive or intellectual readerships, became more common in the 1880s. As Elizabeth Prettejohn explains: ‘Espoused by critics who considered themselves professionals in the art world, these new approaches introduced “purely aesthetic” evaluative criteria which claimed kinship with the emerging discipline of art-historical stylistic analysis, and were influenced by increasing exposure to page 100 of 355

There are three mentions of the Arundel Society in the pages of the Art Journal for 1849, the year the prospectus was launched. The third is a long letter in the Correspondence section written by Giovanni Aubrey Bezzi, one of the Society’s founding members and its honorary secretary.22 Bezzi is credited, along with Seymour Kirkup (1788–1880), with discovering and recording the supposed portrait of Dante given to Giotto at the Bargello, Florence, in 1840 (see Chapter 3). Exiled to London from Piedmont, he translated Vasari’s The life of Giovanni Angelico da Fiesole published, with notes and Illustrations, by the Society in 1850, and remained involved with its activities until his return to Italy in the mid-1850s. Sir, — You have more than once alluded with praise to the plans and purposes of the Arundel Society, even before they were matured; they have now reached a certain degree of completeness, and may fairly therefore be submitted to the examination of the public whose acceptance they claim; I therefore enclose the prospectus of the Society, and I venture to accompany it with a short statement of the present condition of this Society, and with a few observations on the effect it may have on Art, and its appreciation in England.23 Bezzi notes that subscribers number more than 400 and counts among them several eminent artists: the Gothic-revival architect Charles Barry (1795–1860); the portrait-painter and museum director William Boxall (1800–1879); the Scottish painter, theorist and designer William Dyce (1806–1864); the influential artist, writer and collector, Charles Eastlake (1793–1865), soon to be named director of the National Gallery; John Callcott Horsley (1817–1903), who produced the 1848–49 frescoes for the Houses of Parliament; the popular animal painter Edwin Landseer (1802–1873); the painter–draughtsman– engraver George Richmond (1809–1896); and painter and traveller David

French art criticism.’ in ‘Morality versus Aesthetics in critical interpretations of Frederic Leighton, 1855–75,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.138, no.1115, February 1996, p.80 22

Bezzi also served as Eastlake’s assistant on the Fine Arts Commission, the body responsible for government art patronage, and later served as a member of Sardinian Parliament. The lithograph of Kirkup’s drawing of the Dante portrait, produced by Vincent Brooks and issued in 1859, was one of the Society’s most popular publications and sold steadily until 1897. 23

[G A B] ‘Correspondence: The Arundel Society, to the Editor of the Art-Journal,’ The Art Journal, vol.XI, July 1849, p.207; the earlier texts are in the July 1849 issue, vol.XI, p.66 and p.131 page 101 of 355

figure 18 Ludwig GRÜNER, engraver after a copy of Fra Angelico’s St Lawrence distributing alms from the Cappella Niccolina, Vatican by Joseph Tunner engraving, London: Arundel Society 1849–50 Victoria and Albert Museum, London figure 19 Eugen Eduard SCHÄFFER, engraver after a copy of Fra Angelico’s The ordination of St Laurence from the Cappella Niccolina, Vatican by Leopold Kupelweiser engraving, London: Arundel Society 1869 Victoria and Albert Museum, London

figure 20 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Angelico’s Noli me Tangere or Christ and Mary Magdalene in the garden in San Marco by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 47.0 x 37.4 cm London: Arundel Society 1870 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra figure 21 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Angelico’s The transfiguration in San Marco by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 49.5 x 42.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1870 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery ofpage Australia, Canberra 102 of 355

Roberts (1796–1864).24 Although the Society required additional six- or sevenhundred members to operate efficiently, Bezzi was confident that, as result of the ‘influential members of the educated classes’ who had already subscribed, these would be quickly forthcoming. There follows a justification for the Society’s existence: English art, and painting in particular, is of such poor quality as to require a ‘powerful agency’ for its repair. Various factors are given for this state of affairs, from the structure of the Royal Academy with its inherent jealousies, and prejudices against the study of anatomy, to the size of English houses, and the unsuitability of churches and public buildings. Bezzi confidently opines that these physical difficulties will soon be overcome by the newlyestablished National Gallery, and the soon-to-be New Houses of Parliament that will be both Pinacotheca and Glyptotheca. Larger contributing factors for the state of art in England include the lack of patronage, and the fact money is accepted by artists as a means to independence, without the engagement of higher ideals. Artists and the public, Bezzi writes, are ignorant of the true end of art, regarding it neither with sufficient reverence, nor as an efficient means for individual and social education. Bezzi’s letter concludes by promoting the Society as part of the solution; it will ‘collect diligently and with discrimination the highest and best examples of Art and to bring them before hundreds of English minds, which never otherwise have been touched by such guiding and elevating influences.’ A better general appreciation of works of art will influence the English school of painting and students, whether professional or not, will be enabled to: ‘trace the progress of Art from its earliest efforts, to discover leading characteristics, to follow them in later works and more perfect examples.’ It follows that the painter will become more conscious of the great power he wields and ‘will shrink more and more from misapplying it in the perpetuation of thoughts without poetry, and forms without beauty.’ In the first years of the 1850s, subscribers to the Arundel Society received the following: Bezzi’s translation of Vasari’s life of Fra Angelico issued with twenty lithographic illustrations by George Scharf senior (1850); a series of copperplate engravings of Fra Angelico’s frescoes in the chapel of Nicholas V in the Vatican

24

Barry, Boxall, Dyce, Eastlake and Roberts remained members until their deaths; Horsley and Landseer are listed only til 1855. Richmond was a life member, serving on Council from 1867 until 1889. Charles Barry junior (1823–1900), also an architect, is listed from 1866 until at least 1883. page 103 of 355

(1849–52); and a single copperplate engraving of the Pièta (1851/52), one of Giotto’s fresco scenes from the Scrovegni or Arena Chapel in Padua (fig.61). According to the review in the Art Journal in 1850, the print, St Lawrence distributing alms, from the Fra Angelico cycle (fig.18), compared favourably with William Young Ottley’s engraving of the same work. The following year, the reviewer expressed some reservations about the choice of subject matter but was again generally positive. However, the tone of the next text in 1853, implies that Bezzi’s confidence was misplaced: The report of this Society exhibits rather the wish to do great things, than the consummation of any. We much fear that they have set themselves tasks, which however worthy they may be, will ask a greater outlay than they are likely to have at command, the publication of drawings from a large series of frescoes is proposed, and arrangements have been made for securing the series by Giotto in the Arena Chapel at Padua. A young artist from the Royal Academy has been sent out for the purpose at the expense of the Society; and this among other expenses will hinder the body from issuing any engravings to their subscribers this year.25 The young artist was William Oliver Williams (c.1829–1901), and the drawings and watercolours, made by him in situ, were published by the Arundel Society as thirty-eight large-scale wood engravings, made by the Dalziel Brothers of London. They were issued over an extended period. Between 1852 and 1854, subscribers received the sixteen images showing the lives of Joachim and the Virgin (fig.61). The scenes of the life of Christ were spread over the following six years, with the final twelve issued in twos and fours between 1855 and 1860. The Society’s previous publications had been produced from pre-existing drawings, some of them up to thirty years old. The Arena Chapel prints were important because they were produced, for the first time, by copies commissioned by the Society; the Council decided the style of the copies and the technique of the reproductions. Despite this innovation, the review in the Art Journal in 1855 suggests the general lack of enthusiasm for the project: However strange and comparatively ill-favoured, if such a term may be applied, these compositions seem to us who have seen what has been 25

(anon.)‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.V, 1853, p.140 page 104 of 355

done since the days of Giotto, his is a name which must be reverenced by every lover of Art as the leader of the glorious army of painters, who for more than five centuries, have, in succession, kept possession of her realms. Of him Mr Ruskin has remarked, with his accustomed felicity and beauty of language, “that legend upon his crown was that of David’s: – ‘I took thee from the sheepcote, and from following the flock,’” in allusion to Giotto being found by Cimabue in the act of sketching a lamb while tending the sheep which his father had in charge. The subjects of his Paduan frescoes are scriptural, and are interesting as incipient evidences of the grace and beauty to which the pencil of the painter mainly contributed to raise Art. This is the chief value of such publications as these; they are for the learned in antiquarian art, and not for those who see pictures only with modern eyes.26

The 1856 review—at the time of the fifth of nine instalments of the woodengravings—continues in the tone of that of the previous year: With all our veneration of the antique, and our respect for the name of Giotto, we cannot, for the life of us, supply a satisfactory argument for thus revivifying him from the sepulchre where he has lain for five centuries and a half. It is one thing to visit Padua on a tour through Italy, and see these what his mind and his hand wrought, as we should go to see anything else that is curious or historically interesting, but quite another thing to have his works brought home to us in their present form; however, this is rather the affair of the society at whose cost they are executed, than our own: we only think that it funds might be employed far more profitably to its subscribers and to the public. 27

26

(anon.) ‘Review: The frescoes of Giotto, at Padua. Engraved by Dalziel Brothers, from the Drawings by W O Williams. Published by the Arundel Society, London,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, 1854, p.123 27

(anon.) ‘The frescoes of Giotto. Notices sculpture in ivory. Published by the Arundel Society, London,’ The Art Journal, vol.II, July 1856, pp.227–228. The break-down of the instalments of the wood-engravings was as follows: 1852–53: eight prints, being the Life of Joachim (I–VI) and two of Life of Virgin (VII–VIII); 1853: six prints of the six in the Life of Virgin (IX–XIV) together with first instalment of Ruskin’s commentary; 1854: eight prints, the last scene of Life of Virgin (XV)and first seven of Life of Christ (XVI–XXII) with the second instalment of Ruskin’s commentary; 1855, 1856 and 1857: four, then two, then two prints (XXIII–XXXI); 1858 and 1859: the final six scenes of the life of Christ (XXXII–XXXVIII) were issued; finally in 1860: the title page and list of subjects, A notice of Giotto and his works in Padua. page 105 of 355

The unnamed writer was relieved to turn to the Notices of sculpture in ivory. This small volume, representing another ‘department’ of the Society’s endeavours, comprises Matthew Digby Wyatt’s lecture on the history, methods and production of ivory, a catalogue by Edmund Oldfield of the specimens of ancient ivory book-covers, tablets, diptychs in various collections, accompanied by nine albumen photographic plates by J A Spencer. It received another mention in the pages of the Art Journal in 1855 as one of the ‘minor topics’: THE ARUNDEL SOCIETY have opened, for a limited period only, in the “Industrial Court” of the Crystal Palace, an exhibition of the works of Art they have accumulated during the last twenty years [sic]. These works consist of drawings, tracings, and wood-engravings from the frescoes of Giotto in the Arena Chapel, Padua; coloured specimens of the ornamental borders in the same edifice; drawings and engravings from the frescoes of Fra Angelico in the Vatican; reductions from the Elgin marbles, in alabaster, bronze and plaster, and fac-similes of ancient ivory carvings. In a well-digested lecture delivered by Mr Digby Wyatt on the day of the opening, he drew the attention of his hearers to the attractive nature of the exhibition, as well as the instructive lessons it was calculated to convey to the successive developments of Art.28 The Society received a general boost during this period with the Crystal Palace exhibition proving a key success.29 The Arena Chapel project and Ruskin’s explanatory texts have prompted much discussion,30 not all of which need be

28

(anon.) ‘Minor topic of the month,’ The Art Journal, vol.I, 1855, p.318

29

After the Great Exhibition of 1851, the Crystal Palace was rebuilt at Sydenham (1852–54) and remained an important venue, attracting an average of two million visitors per annum over the next three decades; see, amongst others, Eric de Maré, London 1851: The year of the Great Exhibition, London: Folio Press 1973, p.[114] ‘The Aftermath.’ The displays of raw materials, machinery, manufactures and plastic arts, as well as the range of other exhibitions received substantial coverage in The Art Journal, as many as fourteen separate articles in a single volume; in the year of the Society’s exhibition, for example, there was discussion of the picture gallery proposed for within the building. William Oliver Williams’ tracings taken at Padua, arranged at the 1855 exhibition so as to simulate the chapel’s interior, were probably on display until 1859 and possibly as late as 1864; see Wyatt’s speech, and Ledger’s A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, Oxford University 1978, pp.66–69, for contrasting reactions from Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Ford Madox Brown. 30

A parallel discussion runs in the pages of the Athenaeum, see for example no.1378, Saturday 25 March 1854, p.378; no.1414, Saturday 2 December 1854, pp.1453–1467; and no.1443, Saturday 23 June 1855, p.736. As well as Ledger’s A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897 (rf pp.42–62), more recent analysis includes Cooper’s ‘The popularisation of Renaissance art in Victorian England: The Arundel page 106 of 355

reconstituted here: it is sufficient to remark that the Notices of sculpture in ivory was one reason for the extended issue of the wood-engravings. Although the reception of the Arena Chapel project may have affected the subsequent refocussing of energies, it should be noted that 1855 marks the year of review of the Society’s rules and from this point forward its activities took on a more entrepreneurial flavour.

A H Layard (1817–1894), Layard of Nineveh later Sir, joined the Council in 1853. Layard, who had spent his boyhood in Florence, regularly travelled throughout Italy and established a reputation as a connoisseur of frescoes from the late thirteenth to the early sixteenth century. Concerned that the paintings so highly regarded by him were suffering neglect, or damage at the hands of ignorant restorers, Layard set about recording them, and by 1855 he had accumulated several hundred tracings, outlines either of the whole or the most important portions of the frescoes (see figs.39–42). In 1855 he was accompanied by Mrs Margaretta Higford Burr; the watercolour she produced at the Arena Chapel might almost have been designed to illustrate a passage from Lindsay’s Sketches of the history of Christian art: It is not difficult, gazing on these silent but eloquent walls, to repeople them with the group once, as we know, five hundred years ago, assembled within them: Giotto intent upon his work, his wife Ciuta admiring his progress; and Dante, with abstracted eye, alternatively conversing with his friend, and watching the gambols of the children playing on the grass before the door.31

Intended for issue in 1856, but delayed until 1858, this ‘lives of the artist’ chromolithograph was an immediate success (fig.1).32 Although the scene that Higford Burr pictures is entirely imaginary, the lithograph proved more effective than the wood-engravings at portraying the overall scheme of Giotto’s design and the interconnected-nature of his scenes. The Art Journal review in 1858 is largely Society,’ Art History, vol.1, no.3, September 1978, pp.263–292, rf pp.268–72 and Plampin’s ‘“A stern and just respect for truth”: John Ruskin, Giotto and the Arundel Society,’ pp.59–78. 31

Alexander William Crawford, Lord Lindsay, Sketches of the history of Christian art, vol.II, London: Murray 1847, p.199, and quoted by Ruskin as the final paragraph of his Padua text . 32

By the time of the 1869 catalogue, it was out of print and no longer sold by the Society. page 107 of 355

descriptive, a summary of the publications for that year which included, in additional to the Higford Burr chromolithograph, another based on the watercolour copy after Perugino produced by Cesari Mariannecci (active 1856–1882): If the public be not acquiring an extensive knowledge of the works of the Italian pioneers of Art, it is not the fault of their instructors. The National Gallery will now afford the amateur an insight into the beginnings and early development of painting: but constituted authorities are not our only teachers — the Arundel Society has published four prints from the works of Giotto and Perugino — “The Giotto Chapel, at Padua,” and “The martyrdom of St Sebastian,” two chromolithographs by Mr Vincent Brooks, and “The hiring of Judas,” and “The last supper,” two wood engravings by Messrs Dalziel Brothers.33 The writer concedes that within the chromolithographed Martyrdom, Perugino’s figures are immediately recognisable—the saint is attached to a column, and four figures with the long and cross-bow are discharging their arrows at him— but complains that although the figures are highly finished, they are too pleasing in expression and graceful in action for murderers (figs.35 and 36). He goes on to comment that the character and costume of the figures is very like those in the new Perugino in the National Gallery. The original fresco, on the wall behind the high-altar in the chapel of St Sebastian near the small town of Panicale above the Lake of Perugia was painted in 1505 and: although the cost was only to be eleven florins, the Panicalese had not in 1507 paid the money. In that year, Perugino was requested to lend some banners for the fiesta of Corpus Christi, to which he replied that he would paint fourteen for the occasion, but that he required that they should be returned to him unless the money agreed for the frescoes were paid; the debt was of course liquidated, and the banners were kept. Both the Giotto and the Perugino are large plates, and so well executed that, in the chapel, we readily recognise all the subjects on the walls. 34

33

(anon.) ‘The publications of the Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, 1858, pp.253–254

34

(anon.) ‘The publications of the Arundel Society,’ pp.253–254 page 108 of 355

By virtue of its detailed description we may presume that these passages, from the new series of the Art Journal in 1858, were written by an individual with at least a passing familiarity with the Panicale frescoes or, at bare minimum, a writer well-read or briefed. Atkinson signed his first extended article on the Arundel Society for the Art Journal in 1859.35 In the 1860s he was responsible for a further four long texts, and in all likelihood produced a fifth on the Society’s new photographic work.36 In October 1860 he published another major article entitled ‘The fresco-painting of Italy–the Arundel Society’ for Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine.37 Atkinson’s writing evidences his in-depth awareness of the Society’s didactic mission.

At times the urgency of Atkinson’s appeals to preserve or record frescoes before they are damaged beyond repair—given greater immediacy because of the 1856 Austrian invasion of Italy, the subsequent political turmoils, insurrection and the war of independence culminating in unification under Piermont—seems to come directly from Layard.38 (see also Chapter 3) In his articles for May and October 1860 Atkinson endorses the Copying Fund which was launched by Layard at the annual general meeting in 1859, contributions to which were initially voluntary but by 1863 were compulsory for new members. In the early years of the 1860s the Copying Fund provided employment for a 35

J Beavington Atkinson, ‘Publications of the Arundel Society for promoting the knowledge of art,’ The Art Journal, vol.V, October 1859, pp.309–311 36

J Beavington Atkinson, ‘The Arundel Society: For promoting the knowledge of art,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, May 1860, pp.133–134; J Beavington Atkinson, ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, October 1860, pp.299–300; J B A, ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, October 1865, pp.303–304; (J B A) ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.III [new series], February 1864, p.39; (unsigned but probably J Beavington Atkinson), ‘The new photographic work of the Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VIII, January 1869, p.26 37

Hinojosa, The Renaissance, English cultural nationalism, and modernism, pp.52–53

38

For example, Atkinson in May 1860 writes: ‘The havoc which time has already made is terrible. And in the impending state of Italy—the victim probably in coming years of military rapine, political uproar, and social anarchy—what devastation may not overtake pictures which a stray cannon shot will suffice to destroy!’ ‘The Arundel Society: For promoting the knowledge of art,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, May 1860, p.134 Later in the year, he continues in the same vein: ‘Italy, ever the land of chequered hopes and fears, of liberty, license, and despotism—a land of an ancient civilization just dying out—and of a new order of things struggling into birth, has naturally at the present juncture claimed the attention of the Arundel Society, entrusted with the interest of Art, no less than our politicians responsible for the peace of Europe.’ ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, October 1860, p.300 The consistency of opinions, and the overlaps between Atkinson’s material and Layard’s 1858 article are examined in the second part of this chapter; [A H Layard] ‘Publications of the Arundel Society,’ Quarterly Review, vol.104, no.202, July and October 1858, pp.277–325 page 109 of 355

figure 22 Vincent BROOKS, lithographer after a copy of Pinturicchio’s Christ among the doctors in Cappella Baglioni, Collegiata di Santa Maria Maggiore, Spello by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 58.4 x 63.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1857/59 Purchased by the Trustees of the Melbourne Public Library 1860, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne figure 23 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Francesco Francia’s Burial of Cecilia in San Giacomo Maggiore, Bologna by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, London: Arundel Society 1862 Victoria and Albert Museum, London

figure 24 Cesari MARIANNECCI,copyist after Benozzo Gozzoli’s St Augustine visits the monks of Monte Pisano and see the vision of Christ on the shore at St Agostino San Gimignano (1863) watercolour, 58.8 x 71.1 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1897 page 110 of 355

single specialist copyist who produced several large watercolours of a single fresco scheme; by 1865 the Society diversified and had engaged a German artist Christian Schultz (1817–1882/83) to travel to Paris, Bruges, Ghent, Brussels and Berlin copy works on panel and the Memling triptych.39 Another outcome of the fund was that the Society had a greater number of watercolours to display in its rooms. In late 1860 Atkinson conveys the wish of the Council to draw public attention to the watercolours on display at the Society’s Bond St rooms for the purposes of obtaining signatures towards their production into printed form. Atkinson’s writing certainly gave excellent coverage to the Society’s activities; however, to avoid unnecessary duplication, a single article is here examined in detail. In October 1859 Atkinson begins by recognising a decade of the Society’s survival; in summarising its history to date, he reminds his reader of its purpose to promote ‘knowledge of the higher branches of the arts’ and that it had worked in the ‘steadfast persuasion that its mission was high and its objects praiseworthy.’40 Atkinson goes on to remark that the Society has at last entered upon a new career in which by its use of chromolithography the public eye will: be allured by the beauty of colour, and the correct taste of the already educated few satisfied by essential excellence. It has thus, for the last two years, satisfied both zealous supporters and murmuring objectors, by the publication of carefully executed chromo-lithographs from some of the rarest, as well as some of the most beauteous, of early Italian frescoes. (p.309)

After summarising the chromolithographs already issued—their choice of subject matter largely as a result of Layard’s travels through Umbria and the north of Italy, ‘with Vasari in hand’—he goes on to list the watercolours made recently by a professional. Mariannecci had been employed copying the frescoes by Pinturicchio at Spello (fig.22); those by Benozzo Gozzoli at San Gimignano (fig.24); and ‘not less important pictures by Francesco Francia in the desecrated 39

After 1865, Schultz was engaged in copying projects in Munich, Darmstadt, Cologne, Lübeck, Vienna and Palermo. 40

‘Publications of the Arundel Society for promoting the knowledge of art,’ The Art Journal, vol.V, October 1859, pp.309–311, at p.309, with further references given within the text. page 111 of 355

chapel of St Cecilia, at Bologna.’(fig.23) Atkinson outlines the three forms in which the frescoes are presented to English public: the copyists’ watercolours are used to record the entire scheme, with single works made into coloured lithographs for broader circulation, while the outlines traced from specific heads or individual figures give a sense of the dimensions of the original work of art. These provide the ‘actual, pictorial and decorative effect.’ (p.309)

The treatment of Fra Angelico is given next, from the Bezzi translation of Vasari, and the chapel at the Vatican, through to the most recent chromolithographs. The writing produced during this period on Fra Angelico is remarkable for its hagiographical quality: We all know the history of this good man. Fra Angelico, gifted from his earliest youth, with the genius of an artist, patronage and wealth within his reach, he yet determined, for the “peace of his mind, and in order to attend, above all things, to the saving of his soul, to enter the religious order of the Dominicans.” History, and Poetry, and Art, are never weary of dwelling on a life so eminently pure and good; and for ourselves, we feel that we cannot know enough of the ways, and thoughts, and works of a man, who prayed, and wept, and painted, and again watched and fasted, and then again painted, as angels seemed to whisper, and visions came to tell. We can never look upon these beauteous and spiritual works, either in the originals, or through the translation of engravings, with subtle questions touching the doctrine of artistic inspiration. (p.309)

In considering the present series Atkinson and his readers find figures and faces ‘so pure and gentle’ and ‘so little tainted by the grosser materialism of earth,’ that, in Vasari’s words, they are like ‘no work of mortal hand, but as if painted in Paradise.’ Fra Angelico regarded his art as a direct ‘gift of heaven’: he neither retouched nor altered his works, preferring, instead, to leave them as inspiration had shaped them by the ‘will of God.’ In giving these works to the secular English public, the Arundel Society might well preach ‘a homily to holiness,’ and, indeed, the carefully executed engravings are judged to convey Fra Angelico’s serene faith: page 112 of 355

The spiritual sensibility of the faces, no less than the frailty of the bodily lineaments, seem to take us to that land where no storms shake the tranquil sky, and no ears corrode the calm check of beauty. These engravings, in the present aspect of our own English school, teach an important lesson, and tell us what the much-abused term “PreRaphaelite” really implies. For one thing, they show us that ugliness was not, in those days, deemed the outward sign of holiness. Vasari expressly tells us that Angelico was one of those who held that the saints in heaven are as much more beautiful than mere mortal beings, as heaven itself is more beauteous than earth. (p.309) Throughout the artist’s work we find ‘the innocence of childhood, the purity of woman and the blessed of the saints, ever clothed in the serenity of heavenly loveliness.’ Ugliness is the taint of sin, the work of Satan, and religious art must ‘restore to the outward form, even as the work of grace to the inward soul, the original, though lost perfection.’ This meant Fra Angelico—and other the artist of the Florentine school—was unable to portray earthy ‘passion and the conflict’: his hand ‘wanting in power,’ his genius ‘incapable of dramatic intensity.’ Within the monastery, walking in ‘cloisters shadowy in the evening light, treading in paths softly strewn with gentle flowers, looking into sunset skies of rainbow glories,’ Fra Angelico was ‘shut out from the ruder nature where thunders reign, or that wider world where passions triumph.’ One of the chief advantages incident to a society like the Arundel, is that it carries its members back to a world and an age which is no more. In the noise and the conflict of a city life, in the midst of an art and epoch wholly material and mechanical. It is salutary and refreshing to be taken back to men and times with whom we have now little in common. These were men to whom the natural laws of science were unknown, and just in proposition as natural and material facts were beyond their reach, do we find them soaring into the supernatural, never doubting whether angels could by wings defy the Newton law of gravity. This series of engraving, sketchy and slight, are carefully executed, giving the special character of the original works. On comparison with certain outlines published in Italy we can thank the Arundel Society for placing within our reach transcripts of far greater accuracy and value. (p.309) page 113 of 355

After reviewing the Arena Chapel projects, the importance of Giotto’s masterpiece and the negative reception of the Arundel Society’s engravings— redeemed in some small part by the attractiveness of Higford–Burr’s work— Atkinson touches on recent attempts in England to make accessories to architectural design and decorative effect.41 We are told that the annual grant of £100 made by the Privy Council for the Department of Sciences and Art means that schools throughout the country will be furnished with the Society’s prints; the Perugino chromolithograph is deemed in great measure satisfactory; and the latest chromo-tints—Christ among the doctors from Pinturicchio’s fresco at Spello and the Madonna and saints painted by Ottaviano Nelli (fig.2)—are an advance on the previous publications. The Society’s ambitious programme for the future includes: frescoes by Francesco Francia and Lorenzo Costa, at Bologna; Benozzo Gozzoli’s, thronging with angels of matchless beauty, in the Riccardi Chapel, at Florence (figs.25 and 26) and his Life of St Augustine at San Gimignano (fig.24); works of the early and spiritual Sienese school; and lastly the famous frescoes of the Brancacci Chapel, in Florence, by Masolino, Masaccio, and Lippi (fig.14ABCDEF). Atkinson rallies his readers to support the Society to record works before they are damaged and bring them to the knowledge of the British public: We know of no surer means of educating the English taste up to the standard of noblest Italian art. In a day when the most vital questions concerning the Arts are still in doubtful agitation; when Gothic finds itself opposed to Classic, Christian to Pagan; when the term “Pre-Raphaelite” is used as a watchword; when naturalism and spiritualism, and other pretentious phrases, are handed about without definite meaning, it certainly has been important that the public should see, and judge for themselves, the works about which these controversies have arisen. We can only hope—as, indeed, we believe—that the Arundel Society is now in a fair way to accomplish the purpose for which it was established—the

41

Atkinson expresses his scepticism of recent architects and decorators who, seized with ‘the love of ornamental colour,’ have experimented in cathedrals, chapter-houses and secular halls in London and the provinces, using the effects of gold and glittering colour to ‘dazzle’ the public. He concludes, however, there are many ‘unsolved difficulties’ and that it is still a matter of dispute whether Britain’s cold, foggy climate requires ‘consonant colouring’ or, on the other hand, its ‘very coldness does not the more demand the artificial aid of a coloured warmth.’ (p.310) page 114 of 355

elevation of the public taste, and the advancement of our native school of sculpture, and of painting. (p.311) Atkinson’s reviews and the other writings about the Society are premised on the belief that art is learned though example and imitation; it follows, then, that artists and the English public do not need the originals. The ‘secular’ audience is regaled with language that seems, to present-day ears at least, to originate in the pulpit. Atkinson’s readers may be worldly but it is not necessary to explain the content of religious narratives of the original works of art or the prints that convey them. Built into the text is an expectation of shared Christian heritage but also the assumption that the reader will not own works of art or have an indepth knowledge of art history. Conversely, the reference to science— appearing within the passage nostalgic for earlier times when angels were not bothered by gravity—has fascinating implications early in a period when Darwin’s theories were soon about to lead to even greater questioning of ‘universal’ truths. This teetering between nostalgia for ‘a world and an age which is no more’ and an embrace of contemporary technologies and inventions of the period is not, of course, peculiar to Atkinson or many of the other writers in the Art Journal but rather an aspect of much Victorian literature and periods of flux. He describes the Burial of St Catherine after Luini,42 issued in 1858 (fig.119), in language comparable to that earlier reserved for Fra Angelico: Luini who ‘we love as one of the tenderest of painters’ also lives at the ‘happy epoch when the earnest faith of early days, yet unextinguished, was most happily blended with that intellectual knowledge which Art, in its progress, had at length accumulated.’43 Atkinson is consistently positive about the choice of technique, recognising that the ‘present advanced stage’ of chromolithography, in its all but ‘an ultimate perfection’, has enabled the society to ‘indulge in the fascination of colour’ without surrendering the ‘higher and more spiritual attribute’: the beauty

42

Then as now in the Brera, Milan, one of the frescoes transferred early to canvas. As M T Binaghi Olivari points out, the extreme popularity of Luini’s paintings with both collectors and critics (c.1790–end 1900s) had unfortunate consequences: many of the frescoes were detached from their original settings, many of his panel paintings were transferred to canvas and other works were heavily restored, and a result, few survive in a good state. ‘Bernardino Luini’ in Grove Art Online (accessed June 2005). The Luini was also issued by the Society as a photograph. 43

J Beavington Atkinson, ‘The Arundel Society: For promoting the knowledge of art,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, May 1860, pp.133–134 page 115 of 355

and the expression of form.44 Later in the same year he ventures the Society’s prints as representing ‘a new and important epoch in illustrative art.’45

Atkinson’s texts reveal other expectations of his audience. In 1859 and 1860 his name is spelt out in full. If the 1859 text is his first, he may be being introduced as a new author; by 1864 and 1865 he requires initials only and presumably his authoritative tone would have been recognisable to the regular reader. 46 As a writer on art it is assumed that Atkinson will paint word pictures effectively and, in turn, that his audience will be able to visualise a style of work, or oeuvre of an artist. Moreover he expects a certain familiarity with the Society’s project and the relevance of this agenda is presumed by its reiteration. He provides cues for his readers to recollect previously published passages or to return to past articles. The serial nature of the Art Journal is implicit. The independent but interconnected nature of the articles mediates the range of voices, or the writer’s absence of entity, at this time.

During the 1870s material in the Art Journal reverts to being unsigned, and becomes increasingly curt in tone. The attitude of the editor-authors seems to have progressed from admiration for the ambitious nature of the projects, to praise, to a sense that the whole premise is obsolete. The 1873 text is cursory, largely a list of the publications for that year—St Francis preaching before Honorius III at Assisi, given to Cimabue by the author and the Titian fresco at Padua St Anthony of Padua healing the foot of a young man are described in some detail—which may be comprehended, along with past issues, as many of the most valuable and beautiful remnants of ancient art.47 The following year a new author marks the production of a handsome volume by the Society’s secretary, Frederic W Maynard, which contains photographs from the publications of the past five years. He goes on to comment that during the

44

‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, May 1860, pp.133–134, at p.133

45

J Beavington Atkinson, ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, October 1860, pp.299–300

46

Although the unsigned 1858 text suggests Atkinson, unlike those articles published anonymously in the following decade, the voice is not convincingly his. Perhaps S C Hall had the writer on trial. (anon.) ‘The publications of the Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, 1858, pp.253–254 47

(anon.) ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.XII [new series], 1873, p.203 page 116 of 355

twenty-five years that have elapsed since the Society’s inception there have been changes in the ‘condition of the Arts within our country.’ The people have been roused from a state of apathy and comparative ignorance, the knowledge and the love of Art have penetrated all classes of society, and so manifest have the movement and the amelioration been, that foreign nations are now jealous where they were formerly contemptuous; and instead of looking on English Artmanufacturers as unrivalled compounds of ugliness and utility, they find English Art on an equality with the most favoured nations for beauty of design, excellence of execution and balance, if not always for brilliance of colour. In recounting these triumphs, which sound almost trite as truisms, by reason of constant repetition, it is no small satisfaction to remember the part it has been the privilege of the Art Journal to take.48 The Art Journal, it seems, has declared the aims achieved and by 1879 there is nothing left to be said—the writer concedes the journal did its utmost to promote the Society in the early years but that in the recent past there has been ‘no evidence of its vitality.’49 The Society and it publications continue to receive occasional attention in the Athenaeum in the 1880s and in 1890s, however the enthusiasm for its publications and the support of its agenda is largely extinguished. _________________________________

The notices and articles in the Art Journal appear, initially at least, as exemplars of Albertian spectatorship: the gaze is unilateral, the critic is active, and the role of the object is to be perceived. On further investigation, however, the apparently close relationship between texts and visual objects unwinds. If we assume a causal relationship between unfavourable responses to the early projects and the Arundel Society’s adaptation of its activities from the mid1850s, we overlook a complex system of power relations. The Council, those 48

(anon.) ‘Five years of the Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.XIII [new series], 1874, pp.39–40

49

He continues: ‘It is not, therefore, with satisfaction we copy the following passage from the Athenaeum, which has also striven to uphold an important and valuable institution that one cannot conceive to be impaired by old age: – “The annual report of the Arundel Society has been issued, and describes the position of the association as not materially changed since last year; £6,325 have been spent. There has been a continuous decline in the number of accessions to the society during the last four years.”’ (anon.) ‘The Arundel Society’, The Art Journal, vol.XVIII [new series], 1879, p.165 page 117 of 355

figure 25 Fritz FRICK, lithographer after a copy of Benozzo Gozzoli’s Angels adorning from the Palazzo Medici-Riccardi, Florence by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 75.7 x 46.6 cm London: Arundel Society 1884 Collection of the Guild of St George, Museums Sheffield

figure 26 Eduard KAISER, copyist after a detail of Benozzo Gozzoli’s The procession of the Kings, John Paleologus in the Palazzo Medici-Ricardi Chapel, Florence (1881) watercolour, 62.3 x 79.8 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London page 118 of 355

selecting the works of art for publication, the press, and the audience to whom the chromolithographs and texts were addressed, all take for granted that the frescoes and other paintings were, in the first instance, genuine and secondly correctly attributed. Our spectators expect this authenticity to be presented through evidence of age, that damage to the frescoes is recorded—but not enough to make the pictorial records of them unattractive—and, as we have seen, have certain expectations about conservation or preservation. The interpreter may betray his or her presence through interpretation, but when faced with multiple texts by anonymous authors, or critics who are peripatetic, dynamic or inconsistent, notions of reception become more problematic. Perhaps, as art historian Michael Ann Holly suggests, if we are to consider the notion of looking as power, we should be equally mindful of the power inherent in the ability to make someone look.50

Whatever our views may be regarding the value and religious purpose of the Christian art of the past, and however much opinions may differ regarding some of the subjects represented, there can be little difference of thought among persons of culture as to the importance of studying it. All sensitive to art influences will acknowledge the tender beauty, the depth of religious feeling, the natural simplicity, the impressive grandeur, of its greatest productions. ... In ‘reading’ many of their works, it is well to take the contents as a ‘poetical’ interpretation of some sure conviction, desired purpose, or underlying truth, rather than as a presentation of fact. We should approach them, as far as may be, in the spirit of the artist; and also, as far as may be, with knowledge of the conditions and ideas of the time during which they were produced.51

Over the fifty years of its history the published responses to the Arundel Society exhibit remarkable changes in the attitudes to its projects; its extended life offers many opportunities for the exploration of a broad range of commentary, both of a quantitative and qualitative nature. The continuous production of text 50

‘Past looking,’ Critical Inquiry, vol.16, no.2, winter 1990, pp.371–396, p.395; see also p.393

51

Johnson, A handbook (catalogue raisonné), p.xvii page 119 of 355

and images also has an impact over time. Throughout the discussion of the Society’s activities we are presented with three type of elevation: aesthetic taste; moral of both the religious and the social spheres; and notions of refinement for English art and British culture. A survey of the Art Journal in the half-century of the Society’s existence demonstrates enthusiasm for art and exhibitions, art history, aspects of Italian art and society, and broader European cultures. The awareness of historic works of art, particularly trecento and quattrocento painting, the new collections at the National Gallery, London, essays on the Florentine and Sienese schools, amongst others, place the activities of the Society in a discursive context. Conceptions of art are structured dialectically to literature: the narrative models applied to ‘pictures’ inevitably result in certain limitations but despite this, we find little questioning of these modes and their relevance to visual art. In the post-modern period we know that, as Holly put it, every image ‘comes to us already emplotted in the context and history of earlier images,’52 but for the professional Victorian art writer, the development of new languages for visual art and the benefits of a range of vantage points was a distant future. A yearning for the power of simpler truths predominates within the Arundel Society and the Art Journal. When Jauss’ four vantage points are adapted to visual art and the Society, Atkinson and the other writers are cast as narrators. It follows, then, that the frescos, Northern altarpieces and other original works of art are the characters, and the plot is the Society’s didactic agenda. What role is marked out for the reader?53 He or she is largely absent in the commentary: it is the narrator who controls the characters, offering few opportunities for ‘wandering viewpoints.’ The role prescribed by the narrator is to be elevated; the script for elevation is reading about art. Looking at works of art comes later. The reader can make images while reading but this ‘passive synthesis’ is tightly mediated through the narrator. By subscribing he or she becomes a consumer and thus validates the cultural capital of the Society, in turn contributing to English art and commerce. The essence of a work of art may be based on its historicity but this plot is a discourse in which there is little possibility for interruption.

52

‘Past looking,’ Critical Inquiry, vol.16, no.2, Winter 1990, pp.371–396, p.393

53

Holub, Reception theory: A critical introduction, p.89; see also p.72 and p.90 page 120 of 355

Atkinson’s texts in the Art Journal are episodic; despite his close alignment with its ideals, he also stands outside the Society. The two major nineteenth-century articles on the Arundel Society are produced at either end of its life, both by writers closely associated with the Society. The archaeologist, politician, diplomat, collector and writer A H Layard joined the Council in 1852–53 and, following his return from a tour of the theatre of the Crimean War in 1856, dominated the Society’s affairs for almost a decade.54 He produced a series of texts to accompany the chromolithographs: on the St Sebastian fresco by Perugino in the church at Panicale (1856; fig.37); on Nelli’s Madonna and Child in San Maria Nuova at Gubbio (1857; fig.2); on the Pinturicchio frescoes at Maria Maggiore, at Spello (1858; fig.22); the Cagli frescoes by Sanzio (1859); Domenico Ghirlandaio and his fresco of the death of St Francis (1860) and The Brancacci Chapel and Masolino, Masaccio, and Filippino Lippi (1868; fig.14ABCDEF) (see Chapter 1). At the same time he started collecting art and became more involved in the governing of the National Gallery, London—indeed when the director, Sir Charles Eastlake died in 1865, Layard was considered a possible successor, but was instead made a trustee (1866)—and many of his paintings were later deposited there. Layard’s diplomatic posts in Madrid (1869) and Constantinople (1877) broadened the field of art for his study. Much later in the early 1890s he updated and substantially revised Kugler’s Handbook of painting: The Italian schools, the original English translation of which had been made by Eastlake in 1851.

The combination of the density of print and recurring content in nineteenthcentury journals can be challenging to the modern reader. As academics James Mussell and Suzanne Paylor point out, the volumes that have come down to us represent a fraction of the published material in the nineteenth century. Moreover in bound form—without advertising wrappers, covers and the regular supplements—we may get a false impression of reading practices. There is a physical and conceptual unity that individual numbers lack.55 In a material sense, periodicals are relatively stable and portable: they have a life far beyond the first reader and could be passed around, resold, separated and collected. A reader 54

Member of Parliament for Aylesbury (1852–57) and Southwark (1860–70); British ambassador to Spain (1869–77) and ambassador to the Ottoman Empire (1877–80) 55

James Mussell and Suzanne Paylor, ‘Mapping the “mighty maze”: the nineteenth-century serials edition,’ 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century, 1, 2005, www.19.bbk.ac.uk (accessed September 2007) p.4 page 121 of 355

could try out a range of titles or indeed different combinations of titles. 56 Moreover, and as academic Gavin Budge reminds us, there is a built-in, internal logical which may not be obvious to contemporary readers: to evaluate nineteenth-century or Romantic-era periodicals it is necessary to understand the inter-relationship between articles in the same, or adjacent, number, rather than simply assessing the contents of an individual item: In the first number of the Quarterly Review, for instance, it is clear that the review of Southey's translation of the Cid should be understood in the context of the opening and closing articles on the Napoleonic invasion of Spain, and that the review of a Sanscrit grammar is related to the article on the Baptist Missionary Society; likewise, the hostile review of a Unitarian-sponsored translation of the New Testament in the second number forms a significant context for the apparently rather dry review of a book on the Greek article in the third number.57 ‘Publications of the Arundel Society,’ the 1858 article in the Quarterly Review is lengthy, stretching over fifty pages and comprising almost 22,000 words. Gregory’s text in the Nineteenth Century is considerably shorter, and drew substantially on the earlier article. Layard and Gregory (1817–1892) were personal friends; Gregory was also a contemporary of the British Museum keeper Edmund Oldfield at Christ Church College, Oxford University. In and out of politics, addicted to gambling, and with a keen interested in institutions such as the National Gallery and British Museum, Gregory is better known for having married Isabella Augusta Persse (1852–1932) one of the central figures in the Irish literary renaissance. Gregory was elected as conservative member for Dublin in 1842, retaining the seat until 1847; after a decade in which he managed to lose two-thirds of his estates, he was re-elected as member for Galway in 1857 and remained in office to 1872. In the 1850s, and early 1880s he travelled in Egypt and the United States, and was appointed Governor General of Ceylon in 1872; he was knighted in 1875 and, on his retirement in 1877, returned to Ireland via Australia. He initiated a committee examining the management of the British Museum in 1860, was made a Trustee of the National Gallery in 1867, and 56

Mussell and Paylor, ‘Mapping the “mighty maze,”’ p.3

57

Gavin Budge, ‘The Quarterly Review and the Romantic Periodical Project’ in Romantic circles, http://www.rc.umd.edu/reference/qr_budge/intro.html (accessed August 2007) page 122 of 355

presented a selection of works from his collection.58 His memoirs were edited and published by Lady Gregory in 1894.Layard and Gregory are described as ‘Gentleman amateurs’—gentlemen definitely, but their status as amateurs is not so clear cut. Certainly they were not professional writers like Atkinson. Layard’s interest in early Italian art was largely antiquarian (he was sceptical of PreRaphaelitism) and his writing on art is in the travelogue mould. As a follower of Rio, his approach contrasts with Ruskin; according to Plampin, he had little of Ruskin’s theoretical complexity and ‘no developed contemporary agenda beyond a passionate wish to spread art education throughout British society.'59 Gregory’s involvement was one step removed. His friend Oldfield claimed that he set out to interest Gregory in the British Museum and the arts generally to distract him from the races; as Ledger points out Gregory and Oldfield exemplify the symbiotic relationship in the early days of the nation’s museum between old wealth and influence, and new learning. 60 This dualism carries over to the ‘vehicles’ for the two articles: the Quarterly Review and the Nineteenth Century belong to the first decade and last quarter of the century respectively. Both serials are distinctly serious in tone, largely unillustrated, and directed at the ‘articulate classes.’ Established in 1809 by John Murray (1778–1843)61 the Quarterly Review is regarded as a conservative voicepiece, its contributors concerned with preserving the status quo. The publications under ‘review’ often received very little direct treatment: they provide the subject (or a spring-board) for the author’s following discussion. Literary or artistic values are in most cases subordinate to politics. The texts in volume 104, issue number 208 for July and October 1858, are as diverse as those of the first issue some fifty years earlier, meaning Budge’s point about the need to contextualise

58

Gregory’s collecting focussed on the Portuguese and Spanish schools: Velázquez’s Christ in the house of Martha and Mary c.1618 is the most important painting of his bequest. He advocated for state funding for the arts and the opening of museums on Sunday; see C L Falkiner, ‘Sir William Henry Gregory, (1816–1892)’, rev. Peter Gray, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press 2004; online edition September 2014 http://www.oxforddnb.com.virtual.anu.edu.au/view/article/11476 (last accessed January 2015) 59

‘“A stern and just respect for truth”: John Ruskin, Giotto and the Arundel Society,’ p.70

60

Quoted by Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.247

61

A John Murray, probably John Murray III (1808–1892), is like S C Hall, is listed in the Arundel Society’s 1849 prospectus but seems to have retained his membership until at least until 1866. page 123 of 355

individual articles is equally valid here.62 The second article of volume 104 brings together four books of the Odes of Horace published between 1844 and 1858, followed by recollections of the last four Popes by H E Cardinal Wiseman. Article 4 assembles various publications on the life of James Watt; then we find botany Professor Charles Daubeny’s Oxford lectures on Roman Husbandry; papers relating to The life and opinions of General Sir Charles James Napier; and finally a review of the 1858 session of parliament. In 1859, within volume 105, are articles on the National Gallery and the British Museum, and on the war in Italy.63 Clearly Layard’s commentary on the Arundel Society and Italian frescoes was granted equal importance as the study of Latin lyric poetry, religious and scientific matters, and domestic politics. Presumably he would have been gratified to have his opinions on art and warnings about the state of Italy reinforced through the articles which appeared in of the following year.

By the time of the 1858 article, the Arundel Society had been in existence for a decade.64 The monographs published to date are listed: Vasari’s life of Giovanni Angelico da Fiesole as translated by Bezzi (1850); Ruskin’s Giotto volume (1854); Digby’s lecture on ivories, accompanied by Oldfield’s photographicallyillustrated catalogue (1856); Layard’s own account of the Panicale frescoes by Perugino (1858) and the photographs of Tintoretto’s Scuola di San Rocco paintings with an extract from Ruskin’s Stones of Venice (1851–53). Layard outlines the Society’s founding members, their motivations, its namesake, and aims. He describes the Elgin Marble reductions and the seventy fictile ivories issued for general sale, before going on to announce the Society’s new direction: [to publish] a series of copies in colour of the most important frescoes of Italy, as comprising the greatest works of the greatest masters nursed in

62

‘The Quarterly Review and the Romantic Periodical Project’ in Romantic Circles, http://www.rc.umd.edu/reference/qr_budge/intro.html (accessed August 2007) 63

ART. III – 1. Report of the National Gallery Site Commission presented to both Houses of Parliament 1857; 2. Catalogues of the pictures in the National Gallery, with biographical notices of the deceased painters (Foreign and English schools). by Ralph N Wornum; revised by Sir Charles Lock Eastlake, P.R.A. 1858; 3. Copy of a Report of the Keeper of the Department of Antiquities to the trustees of the British Museum respecting the want of accommodation for that th department, dated 7 July. 1858. Presented to the House of Commons; 4. Copy of Communications made by the officers and architect of the British Museum to the trustees respecting the want of space, etc.. Presented to the House of Commons March, 1859 64

[A H Layard], ‘Publications of the Arundel Society’, Quarterly Review, vol.104, no.202, July and October 1858, pp.277–325, with further references within the text. page 124 of 355

the cradle of Christian art, and more specially as illustrating the highest object and aim of painting, when forming, as in its best period, an essential part of architectural decoration. We think its decision a wise one, and well calculated, if judiciously executed, to enable those who lack the advantage of seeing the frescoes themselves, to understand their character and merits, and to aid in giving a right direction to that better feeling for art which is gradually, but we trust surely, springing up in England. (p.278)

The differences between frescoes and portable oil paintings are outlined and there follows an impassioned plea for the better treatment of the ‘frescoes of the golden age of modern art.’ (p.278) A substantial portion of the article is devoted to lamenting the physical condition of the frescoes, to jibes at their custodians, and to berating the ‘army of restorers’ who ‘refresh’ or otherwise maltreat them (p.280). The reader is reminded that, unlike the thinker and the poet whose words can be preserved forever by printing—and despite the copies or engravings which may convey an impression of a work—the only way the painter’s mind may only be fully and completely impressed is through his hand. Once the traces of his work are gone, his genius has passed away. (p.280)

In his article, as in his lectures, Layard aimed to shock his audience, with horror stories of water pouring down frescoes when it rained, windows cut through them and altars built up against them (see Chapter 3). In 1855 a window had been enlarged in the choir containing Piero della Francesco’s frescoes at Arezzo, while at Panicale Perugino’s St Sebastian had nails banged into it to hold up the veil to conceal the saint’s nakedness.65 As Cooper points out, the unstable political situation in Italy, the Austrian invasion and the Risorgimento movement towards independence and national unity was clearly having an impact on the frescoes. In 1848, we are told, in the great year of revolution, bands of patriots conducted noisy exercises within the grand cloister of Santa Maria Novella. The convent of Leonard’s Last supper, in Milan and the monastery of San Marco in Florence were used as barracks for Austrian 65

Much of this summary is from Cooper, ‘The popularisation of Renaissance art in Victorian England: The Arundel Society’, Art History, vol.1 no.3, September 1978, pp.263–292, at p.278 page 125 of 355

soldiers. 66 Churches became stables, while the hall painted with Piero della Francesco’s Resurrection 1463–65 became a storehouse for the pledges deposited in the Monte di Pietà, the Government pawnbroking establishment (p.303; cf fig.28). Layard’s love of Italian culture—as well as his liberal political convictions—made him a supporter of Italy’s liberation, and it is likely that his concern about the frescoes had a political dimension. He regarded the neglect of the records of the country’s former glory by her clergy and rulers as a ‘sign of its oppression and degradation.’ Later, after unification and the succeeding wave of anti-clericalism, frescoes faced ‘new threats from the suppression of religious orders and secularization of convents.’67 Layard next outlines the development of art on the Italian peninsula, from the close connection between architecture and sculpture, to the early use of mosaic, and the didactic and decorative role of fresco within churches: When the Gothic spirit fully exercised its influence on Italian architecture in the thirteenth century, there arose a long line of industrious fresco painters which may be said to have ended with Raphael and his contemporaries, and which raised the art to the highest excellence it has ever attained. For two centuries and a half they laboured over the broad face of the Peninsula. There is scarcely a church or a public edifice built during that period, from the Alps to the shores of Calabria, the walls of which they did not adorn with their pencil. (p.285) He mentions the impact of the Franciscan order with its enforced poverty, monastic life generally and the importance of Cimabue’s and Giotto’s work at Assisi: ‘The church and monastic buildings of Assisi should be diligently studied by all who desire to obtain a just insight into the religious feelings of the middle ages, and a knowledge of the history of art.’ (p.290)

At this time the Society had, as we have seen, issued the Higford Burr view of the Arena Chapel (fig.1) and almost finalised Ruskin’s Giotto project. Later in 1874–75 they commissioned Eduard Kaiser (1820–1895) to copy the Old 66

In Blackwood’s, J Beavington Atkinson had described San Marco as where ‘Fra Angelico the blessed has painted upon chamber and cloister walls his matchless frescoes of purity and peace.’ ‘The fresco-painting of Italy—the Arundel Society,’ pp.458–471, at p.464 67

Cooper, ‘The popularisation of Renaissance art in Victorian England: The Arundel Society’, p.278 page 126 of 355

Testament scenes from the Upper Church and some of the St Francis—in the 1858 article Layard urge the Council not to forget this ‘great storehouse of early Christian art’—but only four of more than forty copies made were issued as chromolithographs (cf figs.45, 46, 48).68 Layard goes on to make further recommendations to the Council of the Arundel Society: the frescoes in the Bargello at Florence (and to discuss the discovery of the Dante portrait there; see figs.33 and 34);69 those by Andrea da Firenze [Andrea di Buonaiuto but given by Layard to Taddeo Gaddi] and Orcagna (Strozzi Chapel) in the Santa Maria Novella in Florence;70 Spinello’s frescoes in St Agnolo at Arezzo, part of which (the head of the archangel and a group of angels behind him) was last seen at the Manchester Exhibition in 1857. The various schools of central Italy are then compared. The Sienese are contrasted to the Florentine school of fresco painting. Lorenzetti, we are told, at Palazzo Pubblico in Siena paints the fruits of good government and the blessings of peace, justice, and concord (p.297). Piero della Francesco’s frescoes at Borgo San Sepolero are praised highly (fig.28)—the artist was little known at the time. The Riccardi Chapel and San Augustine in San Gimignano (Benozzo Gozzoli; figs.24–26) and the Brancacci Chapel in Florence are also to be admired (figs.14ABCDEF and 104). The Nelli Madonna and saints issued as a chromolithograph (fig.2) was chosen as displaying the particular characteristic of Umbria: ‘a deep, earnest religious sentiment, expressed by elevating rather than idealising natural types, and absence of dramatic power, a peculiar grace in its

68

It is interesting to note that Atkinson, in 1865, had urged the Society not to reproduce too many of the Assisi frescoes, which are ‘rather too archaic to fall within any but inveterate antiquarian and “Anglican” sympathies,’ to avoid the mistake of the Giotto project and ‘stop short of driving a good idea to the death.’ He advised a ‘judicious selection’ as being ‘all that the interest of Art demands,’ and furthermore ‘which the patience of the members will bear.’ J B A, ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, October 1865, pp.303–304, at p.303 and also Cooper p.283. Those published were all after Kaiser’s copies: Giotto’s St Francis preaching before Honorius III (lithographed by Storch & Kramer and published in 1873); Pietro Lorenzetti’s The Deposition from the Cross (lithographed by Storch & Kramer and published in 1875; fig.49); Giotto’s St Francis preaching to the birds (lithographed by Lemercier et cie, under the direction of Christian Schultz, and published in 1877; fig.50); and Cavallini’s The Madonna and Child with St John the Evangelist and St Francis (lithographed by Storch & Kramer and published in 1877). 69

Layard’s opinions, and others, of the ‘Dante’ portrait are further discussed in Chapter 3.

70

According to a 1857 letter from Layard to Mrs Austen, Constantinople, 2 January 1857; Mrs Higford Burr was copying the great fresco of Orcagna in the Santa Maria Novella at Florence. Sir A Henry Layard, GCB, DCL: Autobiography and letters from his childhood until his appointment as H M ambassador at Madrid, London: Murray 1903, pp.211–212. page 127 of 355

forms, and pure, warm, and harmonious colour.’ (p.306) Perugino is held out as the Umbrian school’s highest type; we have seen how his St Sebastian was much celebrated and the Arundel Society print was praised (fig.37). Pinturicchio comes a close second, his richly-coloured, dramatic compositions by their symmetrical arrangements being well suited to architectural decoration (fig.22). The Quarterly Review article reveals the author’s biases towards trecento, quattrocento and provincial cinquecento Italian art. The great age of fresco painting is aligned with education and the struggle for freedom, before the evitable decline into luxury and love of mere material beauty, encapsulated by easel painting. Raphael, Michelangelo, Leonardo and their great contemporaries painted to ‘glory their religion,’ to ‘instruct their fellow men,’ and, alongside the clergy, shared the task of educating the people—the one ‘taught by the eye,’ the other ‘through the ear.’ (p.281, 282) The chief aim of painting had been to illustrate the intimate connection between art and life, to express religious sentiment and embody mystical doctrines, to teach and edify the people (p.299). Italy in the fifteenth century changed dramatically. But despite the establishment of independent republics, the resulting political and intellectual freedoms, and new demands for easel painting, fresco still held the foremost rank. After all the three most illustrious paints of the age, Michelangelo, Raphael, and Leonardo, chose fresco as the vehicle to embody their loftiest conceptions. (p.309) The last ten pages of the article are devoted to the technical qualities of early Italian fresco, the worrying tendency to remove frescoes for sale or preservation in museums, to the recent revivals of fresco painting in Germany and, it is to be hoped, in England. The deficiency of the House of Parliament frescoes would have been avoided if the artists had studied the works of the Italian masters in the best period. (p.321) A more general acquaintance with the works with which the painters of the 14th and 15th centuries adorned the churches and public edifices of Italy is well calculated to further this end, and to improve public taste. We therefore heartily welcome any publications which may extend the knowledge of those great monuments of art, and may preserve a lasting

page 128 of 355

and faithful record of such as are perishing. We urge those who think with us to give support and encouragement to the Arundel Society. (p.325) Although the Arundel Society article was issued anonymously, Layard’s authorship was in all likelihood known. We find regular reference to his activities in the pages of the Art Journal, the Athenaeum, Saturday Review and The Times. Indeed publicity was Layard’s forte and, it may be argued, his long article had far greater impact—albeit in a secondary sense since the estimated circulation figures for the Quarterly Review at this time were 8,000 per issue71— than the small news pieces or advertisements placed by the Society in its early years. In 1858 we are told, in the wonderfully dry tone typical of the Athenaeum, that: ‘Mr Layard has been very intelligent and indefatigable in putting off the Arundel life-boat and rescuing very Old Masters, fast sinking into oozing Lethe.’72 The following year the Athenaeum critic quotes substantial sections of Layard’s 1856 text on Nelli’s Madonna and saints under his name. Did the Quarterly Review article reflect the decisions made by Council or did Layard seek, through this extensive piece, to set the agenda for them? In the absence of the Society’s papers it is often difficult to say with certainty which members initiated or supported the publication of any particular project. In June 1863, in a short article in the Athenaeum reporting on the Society’s adoption of new rules, Layard is described as the spokesman for the Council.73 Indeed the scope of the Society’s projects—the artists, the schools, specific works and sites published— as outlined in the Quarterly Review are followed in the 1860s and 70s. Between 1856 and 1868 the Society’s copyist Cesare Mariannecci produced more than eighty-five watercolour copies in Panicale, Spello, Cagli, Bologna, Florence,

71

Alvar Ellegård, ‘The readership of the periodic press in mid-Victorian England’, Göteborgs Universitets Årsskrift, LXIII (1957), no.3 and reprinted in Victorian Periodic Newspapers (September 1971); see also Houghton’s ‘Periodic Literature and the Articulate classes,’ p.7. Of course, and as Houghton points out, there is a great deal of difference between circulation and readership: every Carlton Club member without a subscription would have read the club’s copy of Quarterly Review, while middle-class readers frequented the circulating libraries, and ambitious artisans had their Mechanic’s Institutes. 72

Athenaeum, no.1604, Saturday 10 July 1858, p.54

73

A revision to the Society’s rules required new members, admitted as associates, to contribute to the Copying Fund. At the June 1863 meeting, disagreements were voiced about the mode and role of the Society’s publications: some members agitated for a return to engraving, and preferred the ‘production of popular pictures’ for domestic use over ‘faithful and legitimate transcripts’ of Old Master works. The article, attributed to F G Stephens, reports the comments of architect G E Street and the solicitor-collector J Anderson Rose; Athenaeum, no.1859, Saturday 13 June 1863, p.784 (see also Chapter 5). page 129 of 355

Padua, Prato and Rome. Layard was also effective at obtaining permission for the Society’s copyists and Italian subscribers.74 What Layard’s article does not indicate is that the Society had any interests in art outside Italy. He makes no mention of the Memling, van Eyck, Dürer, Holbein and Lochner projects which were, as we shall see, so important in the following decades. The approach in the Nineteenth Century is fundamentally different to the Quarterly Review in that it comprises almost entirely essays given to identified authors. James Knowles (1831–1908), co-founder of the Metaphysical Society in 1868–69, had established the journal in 1877. He had previously edited the Contemporary Review and was gradually abandoning his father’s architectural practice. Under his editorship the Contemporary Review had become ‘an entirely free and open field, where all forms of honest opinion and belief [were] not only tolerated but equally welcomed’.75 When Knowles was dismissed by new owners, a good number of his contributors, many of them connections through the Metaphysical Society, went with him. Poet Laureate Alfred Tennyson (for whom Knowles had designed a house) was a close friend and annually gave his new poems to Knowles for publication. Thomas Henry Huxley—the physiologist, anatomist, anthropologist and agnostic known as Darwin's bulldog—was a regular contributor. Other writers include the poet and cultural critic Matthew Arnold and the Russian geographer, writer and anarchist Prince Kropotkin. As an intellectual forum for political and theological issues, the Nineteenth Century was especially known for its willingness to explore the boundaries between religion and science. The famous debate between Huxley and Prime Minister William Ewart Gladstone took place in the pages of Knowles’ review in 1885–86 and 1890–91.

74

According to Layard’s letter to Mrs Austen, from Rome, 5 October 1859, the authorities were ‘anxious to oblige’ when it came to making copies of the Brancacci Chapel frescoes in Florence (Sir A Henry Layard, p.223). In November 1858 when Layard was in Assisi and Perugia with Tom Taylor (1817–1880)—dramatist, critic, biographer, public servant, editor of Punch magazine and subscriber to the Arundel Society from 1849—he wrote of obtaining a copy of Sanzi’s fresco at Cagli (published 1859) and that he hoped to secure subscribers for the Society through his Italian friends. Letter to Mrs Austen, from Rome, 11 November 1858, pp.220–221 75

Priscilla Metcalf, James Knowles, Victorian editor and architect, Oxford: Clarendon Press 1980, pp.324–325; Metcalf also makes the point that the monthlies were in part propelled by reviews and counter-reviews of books (p.309). page 130 of 355

By 1884 the average circulation of the Nineteenth Century was claimed by its publishers Kegan Paul, Trench & Co to be 20,000, the highest of the monthly reviews.76 Much of the journal’s popularity was due to its editor’s ability to extract pertinent summaries from his expert authors. This is true of the issues for period January–June 1884. Either side of Gregory’s is an article on democracy and socialism and Frederic Harrison’s ‘The ghost of religion’. There is an article by the Commissioner of works, G Shaw Lefevre on London statues and monuments; one by Sir Henry Parkes entitled ‘Our growing Australian empire’ and another on female public speaking (Miss Lonsdale, Platform women). John Tyndell (known as the ‘poet of science’) provided the text of a lecture on rainbows given at the Royal Institution in January 1884; there is a contribution from George Eliot’s friend and correspondent, Edith Simcox, the British writer, trade union activist, and early feminist. The churchman and Catholic convert, Cardinal John Henry Newman, proved his essay, ‘On the inspiration of scripture.’ Knowles insisted on every article being signed and increasingly capitalised on the journal’s ‘big name’ contributors.77 His Nineteenth Century is an extraordinary gathering of minds of great intellectual sweep—that seems quite inconceivable nowadays—and deserves its description as ‘the last embodiment of polydiscursive Victorian intellectual curiosity.’78 Gregory’s article drew substantially on Layard’s and in opening he does not hesitate to acknowledge that debt: In the year 1858 Sir Henry Layard wrote a very full and admirable article in the Quarterly Review on the aims and progress of the Society; but as a quarter of a century has passed over our heads from the publication of that article, it is not unfair to resume that many persons have grown up since then who, taking a deep interest in art, would gladly have much of the information contained within it re-conveyed to them, together with an account of the society’s doings from that period. It is impossible to avoid a certain amount of plagiarism, but the writer has beforehand asked for and received plenary absolution from Sir H. Layard, and he also does not scruple to borrow verbatim from the ‘Account of Twenty-five years of 76

Metcalf, James Knowles, Victorian editor and architect, p.285

77

Houghton, ‘Periodic literature and the articulate classes,’ p.13

78

Mussell and Paylor, ‘Mapping the “mighty maze,”’ p.5 page 131 of 355

the Arundel Society,’ published by Mr Maynard, the late secretary. (pp.611–612) There follows a ‘simplified account of the intellectual climate in which the Society was founded: when the National Gallery collection was small, the Museum at South Kensington did not exist and the only major art school in the country was the Royal Academy School. Those wealthy enough to travel were interested in Italian art of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries although a small group of art lovers, including the Prince Consort, were beginning to appreciate earlier schools of art.’79 Gregory then goes on to give an account of the Society’s founding and outlines its publications over the years. He admits the tenuous nature of the Society’s early history, confessing that the success of the Society seemed ‘very doubtful.’ But succour, effective succour, was at hand. About the year 1852, Mr (now Sir Henry) Layard, having returned from the exploration of Nineveh, turned his energies to Italian Art. Traversing Central and North Italy, he made tracing in outline with his own hand from the most interesting groups and figures in the frescoes of the masters of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. On coming to England he was elected to the Council, and at once proposed that all the Society’s efforts should be thrown into ‘chromo-lithography.’ Nor was this all; he determined to make a strong impression by the splendour of the publications, believing that new members would thereby be attracted, additional funds raised, and the Society place in an influential and secure position for the future. [Layard had volunteered to publish, at his own expense, Mariannecci’s watercolour copy of Perugino’s ‘Martyrdom of St Sebastian’ at Panicale, as well as five heads in the fresco engraved in outline from his own tracings (see figs.37 and 38ABCD; and Chapter 3.)] Mr Layard carried his colleagues with him; his public-spirited offer was accepted, and was attended to with such success that the Council were enabled to act with almost a profuseness of liberality henceforward to their subscribers; all apprehension of collapse being at an end, when the society’s popularity was thus re-established. (pp.615–616)

79

Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.294 page 132 of 355

Gregory enumerates the masters whose frescoes have been published—Filippo Lippi, Botticelli, Albertinelli, Giorgione, Girolamo dei Libri, with works by Simone Memmi and Fiorenzo di Lorenzo in preparation—and explains that, while the Society’s resources have been mainly directed to this end, ‘the Council have not thought it right to exclude altogether important examples of panel painting, whether in tempera or oil.’ (p.619) A few of the earliest and finest works of the Flemish and German schools have been included: Memling’s triptych at Bruges (1865) and the Lübeck Cathedral altarpiece (1878); the great altarpiece of the Adoration of the Lamb by the van Eyck brothers at Ghent (1868–71; fig.98 and 122); Dürer’s Four Apostles at Munich (1870) and the Adoration of the holy trinity at Vienna (1879; fig.101); the ‘Burgomaster Mayer’ family group by Holbein in Darmstadt (1871; fig.102); two Cologne school paintings, the Madonna by Master Wilhelm (1873) and Master Stephen’s great altarpiece (1874–75); and Antonio Mor’s portrait of Queen Mary of England at Madrid (1878). Grehory also mentions Hans Memlinc: A notice of his life and works by W H James Weale—one of the few cases when the Society engaged a specialist author (see Chapter 1). This diverse list of publications was about to get broader still. In its later years the Society reveals the special preferences and specific interests of individual members of Council. With his friend J C Robinson, of the South Kensington Museum, Gregory had visited Spain and Portugal in 1866. There he saw Gran Vasco’s masterpiece of St Peter enthroned as Pope and later persuaded the Society to send its last copyist Emilio Costantini (active 1870–80s) to make a watercolour of the painting in 1887. It was issued as a chromolithograph in 1892 (fig.30), with a notice contributed by Gregory or his wife Augusta Persse.80 Gregory was also responsible for the print of the Classical Roman wall decoration.81 The article finishes with a sketch of the current government and administration. Although the Society endeavours to make money, it is anxious to gain funds only with a view to maintaining and extending its operations; it 80

Sir William Gregory, KCMG, formerly Member of Parliament and sometime Governor of Ceylon: An autobiography, London: John Murray 1894, p.237 81

Lady Gregory recounts her husband’s enthusiasm for the discovery: they were at court, and she was about to be introduced to Benjamin Disraeli when Gregory rushed away to an Arundel Society meeting to discuss the fresco. She also records that the print of Luini’s Burial of St Catherine hung in his room during his last illness in London before his death in 1904; Lady Gregory and Colin Smythe (ed.), Seventy years: Being the autobiography of Lady Gregory, New York Macmillan 1974, p.30, p.178; for the Roman fresco, see also Chapter 3 page 133 of 355

figure 27 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of the Monument to Tommaso Pellegrini by Adolf Gnauth lithograph, 52.4 x 34.0 cm, London: Arundel Society 1878 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra figure 28 Eliseo FATTORINI, copyist after a copy of Piero della Francesca’s The resurrection of Christ in the Pinacoteca Comunale, Sansepolcro watercolour, 33.3 x 40.6 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1879

figure 29 Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer after a copy of The Madonna with the violet by Meister Wilhelm of Cologne by Charles Schultz lithograph, 50.0 x 26.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1873 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra figure 30 Emilio COSTANTINI, copyist after a copy of Gran Vasco’s St Peter enthroned as Pope from the Cathedral at Vizeu, Portugal (1887) watercolour, 51.4 x 56.2 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1892 page 134 of 355

declares no dividend and makes no personal gain (p.623). Gregory notes that recepts have gradually been falling off and this is attributed by him to the general financial depression of the 1880s, as well as the fact that chromolithography has lost some of its charm for the public. He personally believes in the qualities of chromolithography—emphasising its ability to convey the style of the artist—and predicts a whole field of future activity copying and publishing Spanish and Portuguese works of art.

Was Gregory’s article intended to have the same impact as Layard’s in the Quarterly Review? The author states its object is to call attention to the Arundel Society’s aims and to encourage visitors to see the watercolour copies in the show rooms at 24 Old Bond Street. There, we are advised, the collection is arranged chronologically and ready for publication ‘whenever opportunity and means allow.’ (p.610) Several other descriptions within the periodicals indicate the Society had previously solicited responses to the watercolours in advance of their publication but it is difficult to know how much impact public comments or the opinions of the Society’s subscribers actually had. Certainly the tone of Gregory’s article implies that visitors were not arriving at the Society’s rooms in large numbers. Indeed many of the later publications not only had limited public appeal, they were also out of touch with art historical advances. Of the Society’s thirty or so text publications, only Scharf’s on the Wilton diptych (1882) or possibly Weale’s on Memling (1865) had any lasting impact. Despite newcomers to Council such as the painter–collector–politician G J Howard (1843–1911), the Society showed little desire to innovate.82 Gregory’s article is in itself interesting as a short history of the Society, and is particularly valuable

82

George James Howard (1843–1911), after 1889 9th Earl of Carlisle, was a friend and patron of the Pre-Raphaelite artists—his Kensington home was built by Phillip Webb, various residences were decorated by William Morris and he was particularly close to Edward BurneJones—a founding member of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings and a Trustee of the National Gallery. He joined the Society in 1866, was on Council from 1889 until 1897. According to David B Elliott, Howard also proposed Charles Fairfax Murray for Council but he appears neither on the list of members nor on the list of Council published in each Annual report. Charles Fairfax Murray: The unknown Pre-Raphaelite, Lewes, Sussex: Book Guild; New Castle, DE: Oak Knoll Press 2000, p.169 Ledger notes also Grosvenor Gallery founder Sir Coutts Lindsay (1824–1913)—who subscribed from 1860, and is listed on Council from 1868 until 1897. p.253 page 135 of 355

for its description of the watercolour displays, but the fillip it gave to its flagging membership was only temporary.83

All the writing on the Arundel Society evidences the urge to justify art by allying it to education and reform.84 But the Society’s didactic agenda was also intended to reach a select group of people and then to be filtered down. It is significant, as Plampin points out, that the Society aimed to ‘collect diligently and with discrimination the highest and best examples of art, and to bring them before hundreds of English minds, which would never otherwise have been touched by such guiding and elevating influences.’85 A larger ‘secondary’ audience was reached through lectures, the displays of the watercolours, the use of the chromolithographs in teaching collections, and the coverage in the pages of the periodicals. It is however necessary to measure these numbers with due regard to the ruling- and middle-class readership of the Athenaeum and of the Art Journal, as distinct from Penny Magazine’s focus on working people. The horizon of expectations assumes shared Christian heritage, but not that the reader has an in-depth knowledge of art history, or will desire to interact with a work of art directly. It is as if the viewers in the front rows of the theatre can see the works of art but those further back can only try to peer over shoulders or must be satisfied with hearing about pictures. ‘The Albertian model of the viewer implies that interpretations may really become transparent; the text represents the painting, as if to place us physically before the [work of art.]’86 As the philosopher and critic David Carrier explains, the relationship between the spectator and the work of art can be categorised grammatically: Gombrich, an Albertian, says. “I see the picture;” he treats viewing as a one-way relation between the active spectator and the object of his

83

Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, pp.249–250

84

Cooper, ‘The popularisation of Renaissance art in Victorian England: The Arundel Society’, Art History, vol.1, no.3, September 1978, pp.263–292, at p.292 85

[G A B] ‘Correspondence: The Arundel Society, to the Editor of the Art-Journal,’ The Art Journal, vol.XI, July 1849, p.207; quoted by Plampin, ‘“A stern and just respect for truth,” p.60 (my emphasis) 86

David Carrier, ‘Art and its spectators,’ The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, vol.45, no.1, 1986, pp.5–17, at p.16 page 136 of 355

perception. Steinberg says: “I see the picture and the picture sees me”; he described a two-way relation between the picture and the spectator. Fried says, “the picture is seen”; he transforms Gombrich’s statement, omitting the reference to the spectator. Finally a fourth statement is possible, i.e. negation. Foucault says, “it is not the case that the picture can be seen.”87 If, as Jauss has it, ‘the history of art is a creative interplay of the traditional and the new … the old can only be preserved through ever newer realisations— through selection, forgetting and reappropriation.’88 The creative ‘interplay’ between the frescoes, watercolours and chromolithographs generates new knowledge of works of art, transporting the images from Italy, Northern Europe and elsewhere, to Britain and then around the world. Moreover the images are ‘privatised’: from a range of cathedrals, chapels and aristocrat collections to homes and portfolios where they were viewed by individuals. Earlier the four vantage points conceived by Jauss were adapted to the activities of the Arundel Society, casting Atkinson, Layard and Gregory as narrators, the original works of art as the characters, the Society’s didactic agenda as the plot. In this scenario, the thesis concludes, the reader becomes a cipher. By virtue of the narrator’s tight mediation, the reader is passive—or even absent completely— accorded little opportunity to look or visualise works of art. Arbitrated through the nineteenth-century published responses, the texts stand in the way of us seeing the pictures. We can see the frescoes but, if we involve the Arundel Society, we have to accept that the frescoes won’t be able to look back.

87

Carrier, ‘Art and its spectators,’ p.6

88

Hans Robert Jauss, ‘Tradition, innovation, and aesthetic experience’, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, vol.46, no.3, Spring 1988, pp.375–388, at p.375 page 137 of 355

figure 31 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Andrea Mantegna’s The Conversion of Homogenes by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 49.0 x 39.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1863 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Chapter three―Attitudes to conservation: The Giotto project and the Ovetari Chapel, Church of the Eremitani, Padua Whenever a fresco peels and drops, Wherever an outline weakens and wanes Till the latest life in the painting stops, Stands One whom each fainter pulse-ticks pains: One, wishful each scrap should cluth the brick, Each tinge not wholly escape the plaster, A lion who dies of an ass’s kick, The wronged great soul of an ancient Master. Robert Browning, Old pictures in Florence 1855 (verse VI) The Arundel Society was motivated by a need to protect and promote key fresco cycles, especially those the British considered neglected by their Italian custodians. The decision to agitate for the protection of art treasures was driven by a number of factors: cultural, political and social. A growing awareness of European art history, the revival of interest in the fresco technique, the tendency to historicism evidenced by groups such as the Nazarenes in Rome and the Pre-Raphaelites in Britain occurred concurrently during this period and represent other key instances with similar, and at times overlapping, concerns. The impact of influential art historians such as Gustav Waagen (1794–1868); the commission and production from the 1840s of the fresco cycles in the British Houses of Parliament; the pivotal role of the Italian Renaissance, as well as concerns about the presence of foreign powers such as Austria, and the impact of political discord on the Italian Peninsula are the backdrop to the period of the Society’s most intense involvement with issues of conservation, restoration and preservation. The Society’s systematic, meticulous and at times quasi-scientific approach to recording works of art is reminiscent of developing and overlapping disciplines in the natural sciences—botany, geology, meteorology and the like1—all of which were inflected with religious ideas and broader spiritual causes (see Chapter 5).

1

The Arundel Society’s subscribers included some of the nineteenth century’s most important scientists: see Chapter 2. page 139 of 355

figure 32 Fresco of Paradise, Capella Maria Maddlen, Bargello, Florence from Richard Thayer Holbrook’s Portraits of Dante from Giotto to Raffael: A critical study, with a concise iconography, London: P L Warner 1911, pp.104–105

figure 33 Seymour KIRKUP Sketch of the Portrait of Dante given to Giotto (1840) from Holbrook’s Portraits of Dante from Giotto to Raffael: A critical study, with a concise iconography, London: P L Warner 1911, p.91 figure 34 Vincent BROOKS, lithographer after a copy by Seymour Kirkup of the Portrait of Dante given to Giotto lithograph, 45.3 x 34.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1859 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra page 140 of 355

The story of the ‘Dante’ portrait—much circulated during the mid-nineteenth century and with all of the polemic of its British narrators—illustrated the lack of regard for treasures in Italy, the complicity of the authorities and the insensitivity of restorers. The Paradiso and other frescoes in the Maddalena Chapel of the Palazzo del Podestà (now Bargello), Florence, are thought to have been painted by Giotto and his studio in the 1330s. The paradise scene includes a lower tier of some two dozen figures, likenesses of contemporary persons, one of which is traditionally considered Dante (fig.32). The frescoes were overpainted in the sixteenth century (c.1574) and the building adapted for other uses.2 When the whitewash was removed and the fresco rediscovered in July 1840, the portrait was found to have a nail driven into the eye; when this was carelessly removed the painting was further damaged meaning eventually the entire head was threatened. The restorer called to make a fresh eye then altered the rest of the face to match it. The Government took offence to the tricolour of the poet’s dress—green, white and red being the symbol of Italian liberalism—so the green was changed to brown. A tracing, made after these alterations, was published but the authorities with ‘that narrow minded jealousy which characterises the modern rulers of the Italy’ refused permission for any further copies. Fortunately Seymour Kirkup had succeeded in obtaining a ‘facsimile of the head as painted by Giotto,’ having ‘bribed a jailer to lock him up for the night in the prison’ before restoration of the fresco.3 The drawing by Kirkup, one of several made by him and then owned by Dante scholar Lord Vernon, was lent to the Arundel Society for a chromolithograph published in 1859 (fig.34); copies of the print were sent to the Italian Minister of Public Instruction in the vain hope it would provide impetus for the restoration of the fresco.4 By 1874 Kirkup despaired: Three ministers of public instruction have promised me, have accepted three proofs of the Arundel print, and have done nothing, tho' millions 2

Richard Thayer Holbrook explores various images of Dante, with a particular focus on the Bargello likeness, and quotes both Italian and English sources in response to the uncovering of the frescoes. The Arundel Society print and other drawings, including another pre-restoration copy by Faltoni, are compared. Portraits of Dante from Giotto to Raffael: A critical study, with a concise iconography; London: P L Warner 1911, publisher for the Medici Society 3

As related in ‘Publications of the Arundel Society;’ Layard’s telling relies heavily on Kirkup’s account; Quarterly Review, vol.104, no.202, July and October 1858, pp.277–325, at pp.293– 294. Cavalcaselle also sided with Kirkup; see Donata Levi, ‘Cavalcaselle, Giovanni Battista,’ Grove Art Online (last accessed January 2015) 4

Kirkup’s letter to Layard, May 1859; see Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.168 page 141 of 355

have been squandered on bridges, streets, promenades, and stables. What other could boast such monuments as these few treasures of Dante? The ignorant fools will neither preserve them nor let others do it. Think if we had such memorials of Shakespeare, what care would be taken to save them!'5

Compelling examples of these cultural, political and social factors at play is provided by two of the Arundel Society’s projects in Padua: the Arena Chapel cycle painted by Giotto c.1305 for Enrico Scrovegni, and the Ovetari Chapel in the Church of the Eremitani 1448–57, produced 150 years later by Andrea Mantegna and others. In considering the relative role of the Society’s copies and prints after these two key sites, in the context of other documentation and copies made after Renaissance works, we gain an understanding of both the ways in which the Society’s approach built on the knowledge of and attitudes to visual art at the time, as well as several instances where their members may be considered as forward-thinking, even enlightened. In some cases their discussions seem to demonstrate a lack of awareness of, or deliberate disregard for, the work of their Italian counterparts.6 The conservation project at Assisi, for example, under the direction of art historian Giovanni Battista Cavalcaselle (1819–1897) was derided by John Ruskin and others, while restoration projects such as the re-laying of the floor of St Mark’s in Venice were disparagingly compared to locusts,7 and Italian art restorers described as ‘monkeys who tear holes in the pictures.’8 While efforts might have been applied to preserving equivalent art and material culture on the British Isles—the few examples which had survived Puritan iconoclasm during the English Civil War— 5

Kirkup’s letter to Colonel Gillum, November 1874; see Holbrook, Portraits of Dante from Giotto to Raffael, p.93. William Gillum (1827–1910) was a benefactor, patron of the Pre-Raphaelites, amateur artist and member of the Arundel Society in the 1860s. 6

Consider, for example, Carlo Lasinio’s pioneering work, Pitture a fresco del Campo Santo di Pisa (Florence: Molini, Landi e Campagno 1812) or the fact that Congress of Italian Scientists, held at the University of Pisa in 1839 and the first scientific congress in Italy, included discussion of the best techniques for fresco restoration. 7

Frequent references to Ruskin’s distress at the destruction of historical sites and neglect of works of art appear throughout his correspondence: 'The infant democracy had done little to relieve poverty, Venice was going to ruin, and Ancient Rome overlaid with factories and lodging houses. … “No one cares for anything.”’ Van Akin Burd (ed.), Christmas story: John Ruskin's Venetian letters of 1876–1877, Newark: University of Delaware Press; London: Associated University Presses 1990, p.87; see also p.92, for Cavalcaselle at Assisi. 8

From Ruskin’s lectures at the Art Treasures Manchester exhibition, later republished as ‘A Joy for Ever,’ see Works, vol.16, p.74 page 142 of 355

the Society and other like entities directed their energies to newly-rediscovered ‘primitives’ such as Giotto and other Renaissance work where they found no moral ambiguity.9 The British considered themselves the natural heirs to this tradition and Renaissance art was, by extension, under collective ownership. Objections by Italian authorities to the export or removal of works of art from Italy tended to be dismissed as petty jealousies or examples of chauvinism. 10 The complex history of, and attitudes to, the fresco cycles raise significant issues of patrimony. __________________________________ They pass; for them the panels may thrill, The tempera grow alive and tinglish; Their pictures are left to the mercies still Of dealers and stealers, Jews and the English, Who, seeing mere money's worth in their prize, Will sell it to somebody calm as Zeno At naked High Art, and in ecstasies Before some clay-cold vile Carlino! Browning, Old pictures in Florence 1855 (verse XXIX) Attitudes of the Arundel Society to the conservation and preservation of works of art was contradictory, at least in the modern sense. In the 1860s a notorious story circulated that the Society intended to purchase the Arena Chapel and transport it, piece by piece, from Padua to Britain.11 While neither the Society’s annual reports nor other extant records contain any reference to this project, it is consistent with approaches at the time. Ruskin, for example, is reported to 9

The Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings, also known as ‘Anti-Scrape,’ is a notable exception. Founded in 1877 by William Morris, Edward Burne-Jones, Philip Webb and others it was dedicated repairing rather than restoring British buildings. The Society also mounted a protest about the program of works at St Marks in Venice; for example Bunney’s Western façade of the Basilica of San Marco, Venice 1877–82 (see Chapter 5) was commissioned by Ruskin to record the condition of the building in advance of the works there. 10

See, for example, the unsigned article on the National Gallery in the Quarterly Review, vol.105, no.210, 1859, pp.340–381, at p.362; and Layard’s Ghirlandaio pamphlet, London: Arundel Society 1860, p.32 11

Alessandro Prosdocimi, ‘Il Comune di Padova e la Cappella degli Scrovegni nell’Ottocento – Acquisto e restauri agli affreschi,’ Bollettino del Museo Civico di Padova, vol.XLIX, no.1, 1960; see also Cooper, ‘The popularisation of Renaissance art in Victorian England: The Arundel Society’, Art History, vol.1, no.3, September 1978, pp.263–292, at p.291, n.113, and AveryQuash and Sheldon, Art for the nation: The Eastlakes and the Victorian art world, p.117 page 143 of 355

figure 35 plate IX Tommaso PIROLI, engraver after Giovanni Cimabue’s The dead body of Christ, mourned over, after his crucifixion, by the Maries and other disciples.— painting in fresco of the Upper Church of San Francesco at Assisi from William Young Ottley’s Series of plates, engraved after the paintings and sculptures of the most eminent masters of the early Florentine school, London: W Y Ottley 1826

figure 36 Giuseppe GNOLI, copyist after Lorenzo da Viterbo’s Presentation and marriage of the Virgin at Ciesa della Verita, Viterbo (1881) watercolour, 59.1 x 69.2 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London page 144 of 355

have told his audience at the Society’s General Meeting in 1861 that frescoes should be purchased and transferred to England: ‘We should not be satisfied with only copies, but, if possible, obtain the originals.’ 12 Museums then, as now, are replete with fragments of frescoes removed from secular and religious buildings, some ‘rescued’ from destruction, others obtained through subterfuge or by a sense of entitlement.13 Even if such a drastic means of protecting work was regarded as a temporary solution during the Austrian occupation, Italian attitudes to preservation and conservation were also found lacking, and thus removal of the works was justified.14 To keep them in repair and to preserve them from injury by weather or men’s hands money was required; and money is unfortunately not easily obtained for such purposes from the Italian citizen. Covering in rich profusion the sides within and without, of towns-halls, cathedrals, chapels, and convents, they were exposed to every process of destruction and decay. The suppression of religious orders, and of ancient municipal corporations, during periods of revolution or conquest, had led to the desecration, the abandonment, and frequently to the pulling down of these buildings. Such had been the fate of many of those ‘public palaces.’15

From the beginning, the Arundel Society was alert to the damage sustained by the Italian frescoes but from the mid-1850s this awareness became the impetus for its activities. The Copying Fund, established in 1858, broadened this aim by developing a reserve of watercolour copies that were both a record of the frescoes and a library of drawings for future publications. The Society also issued instructions to its copyists to record the ‘present’ condition of the fresco 12

‘The Arundel Society,’ Athenaeum, no.1756, Saturday 22 June 1861, p.836

13

Key examples in prominent museum collections include the two unattributed angels dated to first quarter fourteenth century from a chapel in the Torre della Gabbia in Mantu, in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, and the fresco fragments from Spinello Aretino’s fresco at San Michele Arcangelo, Arezzo, in London’s National Gallery. The latter were a gift of A H Layard who, we are told in the Saturday Review, ‘discovered this fresco among the ruins of the Santa Maria degli Angeli at Arezzo, and made a prize of it.’ see ‘The earlier Italian schools at Manchester,’ Saturday Review, vol.3, no.83, pp.476–478, at p.477 14

The Austrian-Hungarian powers also tended to be more lenient with export permits, a factor which worked in favour of the National Gallery, London, for some Northern Italian acquisitions; the Tuscan government, on the other hand, refused Director Charles Eastlake a license to export a Ghirlandaio Virgin and Child painting purchased in Florence in the 1860s; Avery-Quash and Sheldon, Art for the nation: The Eastlakes and the Victorian art world, p.157 15

‘Publications of the Arundel Society’, Quarterly Review, pp.278–279 (see also Chapter 2) page 145 of 355

(rf fig.36), rather than their interpretation of its original colour and effect, but also sought to mediate this without overemphasising any cracks or other damage which would distract the viewer’s attention from the composition as a whole or, indeed, from the attractiveness of the print. Although the Society began by selecting frescoes to record, it soon diversified into copies of altarpieces and other oil paintings in order to show the development of art. For example the choice of publications issued in 1871—Michelangelo’s prophet from the Sistine Chapel and van Eyck’s Ghent altarpiece—was intended to demonstrate this development by illustrating the ‘greatest masterpieces’ of oil painting in Flanders and fresco painting in Italy.’16

A H Layard’s were the most extensive statements on the condition of the works of art. In 1855–56, when he toured through the central districts of the Italian Peninsula guided by Vasari’s texts, he was ‘surprised and grieved’ to find that hardly one in ten of the frescoes ‘minutely and lovingly described by the historian’ remained; those which did were, in too many instances, perishing from neglect.17 In an attempt to record these works, and to interest ‘the authorities in the preservation of the treasures which they possessed, ’ Layard began to trace the frescoes he so admired. Some of these drawings were hung, with ‘highly-finished pictures’ by Mrs Higford Burr, in the Arundel Society’s rooms for the 1857 Annual Meeting in May and a Special General Meeting held on 25 June 1857, the later event open to the general public by ticket. Layard and Ruskin addressed the assembled audience.18 Several articles allow us to reconstruct the speeches in some detail and give a sense of the audience reception. The first, in the week following the Annual Meeting in May, was a 4,000-word text in The Saturday Review (6 June 1857) which may have been written by the proprietor A J B Beresford Hope (1820–1887), a subscriber from

16

Twenty-first annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1870, p.2

17

‘The Arundel Society,’ The Saturday Review, vol.3, no.84, 6 June 1857, pp.519–520, at p.519, all further references in the text. Although Layard probably traced a good number of the frescoes himself, he seems also to have engaged Mariannecci and other copyists to produce tracings for him. 18

Ruskin’s comments were subsequently summarised as ‘The Preservation of Italian Pictures 1,’ in Works vol.16, p.448; for comments on frescoes and restoration, see also his 1857 lecture at the Manchester Art Exhibition for: http://www.ucd.ie/pages/99/articles/leahy.pdf page 146 of 355

1849 until his death.19 Layard, we are told, appealed to readers to support the Society’s activity to record these ‘beautiful and little-known works of art’ before they ‘ceased to exist.’ He told of a church ‘blessed with five directors’, which required the assembly of officials from ‘opposite ends of the country’ to gain access to the frescoes (SR p.519). Ruskin, speaking after Layard, declared himself ‘out of his province’ in attempting to advise the Society and quite overcome by the ‘vandalism of modern Italy.’(SR p.520) The subsequent Special General Meeting also attracted considerable attention, being reported in The Times (26 June 1857), the Athenaeum (27 June 1857), the Boston Courier (July 1857) and elsewhere.

The late 1850s, after a decade of the Arundel Society’s existence, mark a change in its direction. The emphasis on fresco painting was new. From the beginning the Society announced literary as well as graphic publications; for example, the list of intended projects published as part of the prospectus material in 1848–49 indicated further translations of Vasari and publications of some ‘unedited manuscripts’ in ‘Continental and British libraries.’ It planned engravings after the architecture, sculpture and frescoes of the Orvieto Cathedral;20 illustrations of the sculptural monuments of the Spina Chapel at Pisa and Pisano’s pulpit from San Andrea, Pitoja; copies of the work in San Francesco at Assisi; as well as individual fresco cycles by Giotto, Gozzoli, Gaddi and Lippi; panel paintings by Bellini from several Venetian churches,21 and after van Eyck, Memling and others.22 Given these stated aims, it is not immediately clear, then, why the program of Chevron casts and reproductive ivories—followed by the program of frescoes—dominated the early years. By the late 1850s, at the time of Layard’s lectures, the Arena Chapel project was the only one under way; indeed the Orvieto23 and Spina projects seem to have

19

Some of the ivories owned by Beresford Hope were included in Edmund Oldfield’s Catalogue of Select examples of Ancient ivory-carvings, in various collections (London: Arundel Society 1856) and reproduced as casts. 20

Possibly as a result of John Flaxman’s copies of the sculptures on the façade made between 1787 and 1794; see Cooper, British attitudes to the Italian primitives 1815–1866, p.29 21

San Zaccaria, the Redentore, San Giovanni Crisostomo, and the Frari at Venice

22

As reported in the Athenaeum, no.1135, Saturday 28 July 1849, p.755 and no.1141, Saturday 8 September 1849, p.898. 23

Much later Kaiser’s copies of Luca Signorelli’s Head of Virgil and Head of Dante in the duomo, Orvieto were issued as chromolithographs in 1887. page 147 of 355

figure 37 Cesari MARIANNECCI, copyist after Pietro Perugino’s The martyrdom of St Sebastian at San Sebastiano Panicale (1856) watercolour, 58.4 x 58.4 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1856

figure 38 ABCD Vincent BROOKS, engraver

page 148 of 355

outline contours after Layard’s tracings of the Sebastian figure, archers and executioner in Perugino's The martyrdom of St Sebastian in the chapel at Panicale lithographs, 86.5 x 78.5 cm London: Arundel Society1856 British Museum, London

been abandoned, although chromolithographs after some of the Assisi frescoes, Bellini’s Madonna and Child from Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari in Venice, and the Northern masters were eventually published.24 As the writer for The Saturday Review surmises Layard’s chief object was to point out the places where the Society ought to ‘obtain faithful representations of beautiful and littleknown works of art.’ (p.519)

In his address to Arundel Society members, as elsewhere, Layard emphasised the Florentine, Umbrian and Lombard schools—he favoured artists such as Benozzo Gozzoli, Pietro Perugino, Pinturicchio, Ottaviano Nelli, Pietro della Francesca and, especially, Bernardino Luini.25 His desiderata included: the Spanish chapel in Santa Maria Novella, Florence; San Augustine in San Gimignano; Lorenzetti’s frescoes in the Palazzo Publico, Siena; and various churches in Arezzo.26 The Council had accepted Layard’s proposal to fund the copying and publication of Perugino’s San Sebastian fresco at Panicale; a chromolithograph of the composition, along with engraved outlines of the upper sections of the five main figures, were duly issued to subscribers for 1856 with his text (figs.37 and 38ABCD). Layard’s innovation, taste and influence were lasting. His choice of copyist and attitude to that artist are also relevant. The Saturday Review correspondent recorded Layard’s opinion that ‘the spirit of the different schools’ was best caught by those who had been ‘born and bred amongst their masterpieces.’ (p.520) Cesari Mariannecci (active 1856–1882)— the Roman artist found at Panicale who had ‘made the school of Umbria his

24

Four prints were issued from the Assisi frescoes, two each from the upper and lower churches: the scenes of St Francis preaching before Honorius III (1873) and St Francis preaching to the birds (1877; fig.50); and Pietro Lorenzetti’s The deposition from the cross (1875; fig.49) and Pietro Cavallini’s Virgin and Child with saints (1877). 25

Benozzo Gozzoli’s work was copied by Mariannecci: San Gimignano, St Agostino (1863); Fattorini: Montefalco (1872); and Kaiser: Palazzo Medici-Riccardi, Florence (1881). Various frescoes by Luini were recorded by Bignoli: Pinacoteca di Brera, Milan (1857); Mariannecci: Saronno, Santuario, S Maria dei Miracoli (1860s? 1866?); Desideri S. Maria degli Angeli, Lugano (1866); Costantini: Milan, S. Maurizio (1890s?) and Saronno, Santuario dell Madonna (c.1889). Piero della Francesca’s frescoes at San Francesco were copied by Mariannecci but only one of the artist’s works was published: The resurrection of Christ from the Pinacoteca Comunale, Sansepolcro (1879) after a copy by Fattorini (fig.28). 26

In his lectures Layard mentions several further artists which were not completed as Arundel Society projects including Taddeo Gaddi and Simone Memmi. page 149 of 355

study’27—went on to copy works identified ‘going fast to ruin’ (p.520) such as Pinturicchio’s frescoes in San Maria Maggiore at Spello (fig.22) and those by Luini at Saronno. While images of these works circulated widely during the next decades as chromolithographs, individual watercolours remained on display in the Society’s rooms in London.

For the audience at the Annual and General Meetings in 1857, the works on show were intended to convey an impression of the frescoes in two ways: Layard’s pencil outlines, traced directly, recorded the dimensions of the figures, while Mrs Burr’s highly finished watercolours portrayed both the colour, and the overall decorative and narrative scheme. The Times writer describes the effect of the drawings after Piero della Francesca’s frescoes at Borgo San Sepolcro: By the tracing of the solemn figure of the Saviour stepping from the sarcophagus [rf fig.28], and by help of Mrs Burr's drawing the audience could appreciate the power of the painter’s conception—the gray dawn between the twilight tree-trunks and beyond the summits of the darkling hills, the soldiers quietly sleeping round the tomb, and the figure of the Redeemer, white and wan, with the banner of the cross in his wasted hand, rising, with a still serene majesty, from the arms of death. Another and scarcely inferior fresco of the same painter was shown, representing that sleep of Constantine in which the victorious cross was revealed to him in a dream—the very fresco so praised by Vasari in his life of the painter as having given an impulse to the art by its light and shade. While Mr Layard was tracing this fresco the workmen were breaking through the wall above it, and a brick falling struck away half the head of the page who is watching the Emperor.28

Layard’s many tracings—on his return to England, the collection is said to have numbered 700—may have started as his own study tool but he rapidly became 27

A H Layard, The martyrdom of St Sebastian painted in fresco by Pietro Perugino in the Chapel of the saint at Panicale, London: Arundel Society 1856, p.5 28

‘The Arundel Society,’ The Times, 26 June 1857, p.12. Lord Lindsay had previously described the frescoes as 'absolutely in the last agonies of dissolution, hanging in flakes from the walls.' letter to his wife Anne, Florence, March 1842, quoted as Letter III by Brigstocke, ‘Lord Lindsay: Travel in Italy and Northern Europe, 1841-42, for "Sketches of The history of Christian art,"’ The Volume of the Walpole Society, vol.65, 2003, pp.161–258, at p.194 page 150 of 355

convinced of their broader use (figs.37–40).29 Indeed he must have been gratified by the interest shown in his tracings and their application for the production of engraved outlines issued by the Society (figs.39–42). Layard had recommended the Panicale frescoes as being utterly characteristic of Perugino and bringing together his ‘best qualities,’ but explained that it is ‘difficult, in reducing works of this nature within the size required for publication, to convey the full expression of the heads, and those details which render the peculiar feeling of the master.’ The ‘careful outlines … will afford at the same time materials for study.’30 For the first few years the Society adhered to the model of the San Sebastian suite when publishing the prints for annual issue: in 1857, for example, subscribers received a further four engravings—the figure of Christ and the head of the Virgin from Pinturicchio’s Christ among the doctors and two heads from Nelli’s Madonna and saints—to accompany the colour prints. Engraved outlines were again issued in 1858,31 185932 and 186133 but subsequent scaled details were made as chromolithographs.34

In 1859 the annual subscriptions for the eleventh year included: the penultimate instalment of Arena Chapel series; a chromolithograph after the Madonna and Child fresco in St Onofrio, Rome, by Boltraffio (then published as Leonardo) with an engraved outline of the head of the Virgin (figs.43 and 44); and the Madonna and saints with the Resurrection by Giovanni Sanzio at Cagli, with

29

‘The Arundel Society,’ The Times, 26 June 1857, p.12; see also ‘Mr Bayard Taylor in London,’ The Argus, Wednesday 21 October 1857, p.6. The Victoria and Albert Museum holds many of the tracings, a group of which were given by Miss Enid Du Cane in 1913. They are pencil or ink on large sheets of thin, buff or off-white paper, inscribed with the name of the church or location, sometimes dated, and exist in a range of landscape- and portrait-formats, approx. 80–90 cm; many are adhered to heavier white or charcoal-coloured card; accessioned stamped or inscribed, and in some case labelled with summary catalogue details. 30

Layard, The martyrdom of St Sebastian, p.5

31

Two heads, details from Pinturicchio’s Nativity of the Lord and described as ‘engraved by Signor Bartoccini from a tracing from the original by Signor Mariannecci,’ were issued in 1858, as well as heads from Luini’s Burial of St Catherine. The engraved outlines were issued to subscribers with the chromolithographs and were not available separately. 32

The figure of the angel, supposed to be a portrait of Raphael, from Santi’s fresco at Cagli; and Virgin’s head from the fresco attributed to Leonardo at St Onofio, Rome, appeared in 1859. 33

Three heads, including the Virgin and the portrait of Pinturicchio, from the Annunciation at Spello were published in 1861. 34

Heads of a bishop and a priest from Ghirlandaio’s Death of St Francis of Assisi at Florence (1860); two heads from the Tribute money in the Brancacci Chapel, Florence (1861); head of Joseph from Luini’s Presentation in the temple at Saronno (1864) page 151 of 355

figure 39 Austen Henry LAYARD tracing after Giovanni Sanzio’s Madonna and Child fresco at San Domenico, Cagli 1850s pencil on paper Victoria and Albert Museum, London figure 40 Austen Henry LAYARD tracing after Piero della Francesca’s Battle between Heraclius and Chosroes at San Francesco, Arezzo 1850s pencil on paper Victoria and Albert Museum, London

figure 41 Austen Henry LAYARD tracing after Spinello Aretino’s Annunciation fresco in Chiesa della SS Annunziata, Arezzo September 1855 pencil on paper Victoria and Albert Museum, London figure 42 Austen Henry LAYARD tracing after Masolino’s Burial of St John the Baptist fresco in the baptistery at Castiglione d'Olona 1850s pencil on paper Victoria and Albert Museum, London page 152 of 355

engraved outlines of the head and the figure of an angel (cf fig.39), and another text by Layard, this time described as a ‘biographical and critical memoir,’ Giovanni Sanzio and his fresco at Cagli. Between 1856 and 1860 Mariannecci travelled in Umbria, and to Rome, Bologna, and Florence; although contributions to the Copying Fund were modest, the Council could report: Materials for future publications are thus fast accumulating. Nevertheless, in view of the actual condition of Italy, its troubled present and doubtful future, its liability at once to military rapine, political disturbances, and social anarchy, no lover of the Arts can regard with indifference the danger to which the monuments of genius in that once gifted country are now more than ever exposed. The Council, therefore, have felt, that a Society founded with such objects as the Arundel ought not to waiver in undertaking a service which it may soon be no longer in its power to render to the cause which it represents, by securing, with or without prospect of immediate publication, copies of some few at least of the little known works of the greatest masters, which still survive, but may shortly perish, or suffer injuries which, though not beyond restoration, are certainly beyond cure … .35

The political situation in Northern Italy became increasingly unstable in the period preceding the Second Italian War of Independence in 1859. English and other commentators told of soldiers and horses stabled in churches and convents, adding insult to injuries sustained through years of neglect;36 the situation, it was feared, would become far worse if Austria sought to expand control of the Italian states beyond Lombardy and Veneto. In May 1861 Layard again appealed to the Society’s members, this time by letter as he was unable to attend the Annual Meeting. His letter was quoted in and subsequently published as an addendum to the Annual report. In the meantime he had been vocal on the subject: several of the pamphlets written by him for the Society include commentary on the state of preservation of the frescoes, the dangers and the perils of Italian activities.37 As

35

Tenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1859, p.2

36

‘Publications of the Arundel Society’, Quarterly Review, p.279

37

Layard’s pamphlets contain various comments on the conditions of the frescoes: Perugino’s colours are ‘bright, transparent and brilliant but injured by nails’ (1856, p.2); while Nelli is in ‘near perfect condition except feet destroyed by the erection of a modern altar (1857, p.7, p.9). At page 153 of 355

he commented wryly, in the Ghirlandaio St Francis text, ‘A successful struggle for political regeneration is not, unfortunately, always favourable to the preservation of monuments of early art.’38

A survey of some of the main sites recorded by the Society’s copyists in the first decade suggests several factors at play. The program of works reveals both the imperatives for preservation of the frescoes, and the prerogative of the authors who imparted their own views on the choice of form and medium for the reproductions. The English artist William Oliver Williams (c.1829–1901), who undertook at least three Paduan campaigns, copied the Arena Chapel over spring and summer in 1853, 1854 and 1855; the copying of the frescoes there, whose condition was held to be reasonable, and their reproduction as woodblocks, dates from the first phase when the Society was establishing its aims (figs.59 and 61). For Ruskin the choice of the woodblock medium to illustrate his text—later issued bound in a large format album—was at once sympathetic to the works of Old Masters, and emblematic of the ‘simplicity’ and ‘robustness’ of earlier visual traditions.39 The adoption of the lithographic technique represented a break on several levels: the woodblocks and steel engravings were neither a critical nor popular success and, while the Society was much criticised for the quality of its lithographs, the colour prints brought other benefits. After the ‘Perugino initiative’ was well received, Mariannecci was commissioned c.1857 to copy Pinturicchio’s Adoration of the Kings in San Maria Maggiore at Spello. According to Layard, whilst the Pinturicchio frescoes were neglected, treated with indifference and those on the roof were ‘fast disappearing altogether,’ they were ‘more fortunate than most’ in having escaped restoration.40 The timing for other subjects seems more opportunistic: for example, when the Society was refused permission to copy the other two

Cagli we hear that another fresco by Sanzio [Santi] in the same church is ‘under whitewash’ and ‘destroyed by the monks’ (1859, p.20); and for Ghirlandaio’s in the Sassetti Chapel at SS Trinita, Florence, one of the St Francis scenes is ‘much and very badly restored’ (1860, p.15). 38

A H Layard, Domenico Ghirlandaio and his fresco of the death of S. Francis, London: Arundel Society 1860, n.30 39

Ruskin conceded, however, that Giotto’s work, far more than subsequent artists, sustained ‘injury’ by being ‘deprived’ of colour, and reminded his readers to allow for this when looking at any engravings. A notice of Giotto and his works in Padua, London: Arundel Society 1853, p.34 40

The Frescoes by Bern: Pinturicchio, in the collegiate church of S. Maria Maggiore, at Spello, London: Arundel Society 1858, pp.6–7 page 154 of 355

frescoes at Spello, Mariannecci was dispatched to Cagli then Rome. The desire to illustrate the development of art from the trecentro to the cinquecentro was balanced by practicalities as the Society embarked on its second phase: the recording of large numbers of frescoes, the expansion of its collection of copies and the issue of chromolithographs which became increasingly popular as items used for didactic and decorative purposes.

Layard’s letters and biography record his role in organising the program for copying the frescoes and securing access to the churches and convents that housed them. Those to Sara Austen (c.1796–1888)—wife of his uncle, the lawyer Benjamin Austen, and friend to Elizabeth Eastlake—are particularly useful in understanding the factors involved. Layard’s three-month tour of Italy in 1855 in ‘search of health’ was otherwise profitably employed obtaining ‘a pretty complete illustration of the history of fresco painting from Giotto to Fra Bartolomeo.’ He wrote to his aunt from Paris in December 1855 of finding so many ‘useful friends in Florence,’ that he ‘could obtain almost anything, and [had] serious thoughts of publishing a selection of tracings, as nobody knows anything about frescoes, which are, after all, by far the most interesting and most beautiful of the works of the great Italian painters.’41 I have been very busy making fresh plans for the Arundel Society, and endeavouring to find some means of preserving records of the great works of art with which the sanctuary of St Francis at Assisi abounds, but which are fast perishing. The neglect and wilful destruction to which they are exposed is truly lamentable. Every time I return to Italy I find fresh progress in the work of decay. In very few years but little will be left of the frescoes which covered the walls of the Church of Assisi, and I am anxious to find the means of having the most important copied before it is too late.42

The fresco cycles in the upper and lower churches in San Francesco, Assisi, are a clear instance of differing approaches to works of art and their condition. Cavalcaselle—who had studied painting at the Accademia in Venice and with 41

A H Layard, Paris, 16 December 1855; to his aunt, Mrs Austen; see Sir A Henry Layard, GCB, DCL: Autobiography and letters from his childhood until his appointment as HM ambassador at Madrid, London: Murray 1903, vol.2, p.208 42

Layard, Rome, 11 November 1858 to Mrs Austin, Autobiography, vol.2, pp.220–221 page 155 of 355

figure 43 Bartolomeo BARTOCCINI, engraver Head of the Virgin from a fresco given to Leonardo da Vinci in the monastery of San Onofrio at Rome engraving, 31.5 x 25.2 cm London: Arundel Society 1859 British Museum, London

figure 44 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Boltraffio’s Madonna and Child in San Onofrio at Rome by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 34.0 x 51.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1859 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra page 156 of 355

architect and historian Pietro Selvatico (1803–1880)—was appointed director of the art department for the Italian State’s Ministry of Public Education in 1870; in this capacity he was responsible for the Assisi project, as well as others at Padua, Mantua and elsewhere. Cavalcaselle’s strategy at San Francesco was primarily concerned with stabilisation rather than reconstruction: as he wrote in 1871, ‘the work to be done comes down to securing the intonaco which is threatening to fall and stabilizing the paint which is separating from the intonaco’.43 To prevent continuing water damage to the frescoes, he also urged repairs to the roof, sealing of the windows, and replastering of the outside walls. Cavalcaselle also opposed integration of losses in the artist’s style, and emphasised retaining a visible distinction between restoration and the original; works of art, for him, should be viewed as historical documents.44 The restoration on the frescoes completed by Botti at Assisi made little or no provision for reconstruction of lacunae and, in a treatment which sounds remarkably modern, losses were toned back with neutral watercolours. Conservator Wendy Partridge characterises this approach as ‘archaeological’— she contrasts it with British tendencies, as represented by Charles Eastlake and his restorer Giuseppe Molteni (1799–1867), whose additions and ‘corrections’ were made to conform to contemporary tastes and requirements of nineteenthcentury collecting.45

As one of the most famous works in European history, considered the first flowering of Renaissance art, status alone may have granted the Assisi frescoes a place on the Arundel Society’s desiderata: it is listed as an intended publication in the prospectus issued 1848/49, reiterated by Layard, Ruskin and

43

Donata Levi, Cavalcaselle: il pioniere della conservazione dell'arte italiana, Torino: G. Einaudi 1988, p.337, n.36, quoted by Wendy Partridge, ‘Philosophies and tastes in nineteenth-century paintings conservation’ in Studying and conserving paintings: Occasional papers on the Samuel H Kress Collection, London: Archetype Publications in association with the Conservation Center of the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University 2006, pp.19–29, at p.20 44

As Cavalcaselle later wrote, as part of regulations for State restoration work, in 1877: ‘It does not matter if you recognize a restoration, in fact, you should be able to recognize it, since what is necessary is respect for the original work at least for works belonging to the State. A lie, even a beautiful lie, must be avoided. Scholars should be able to recognize in a restored picture what is original and what is new.’ Levi, Cavalcaselle, pp.350–51; see Partridge, ‘Philosophies and tastes,’ p.26 45

‘Philosophies and tastes,’ p.20 page 157 of 355

others 46 Despite this declared importance, the Society published only four lithographs after its copies and, as Ledger points out, none of these were Old or New Testament subjects.47 The large suite of watercolours—most of which were completed over several summers by Kaiser in 1873–75—remained on display at the Society’s rooms where they served to reiterate the urgency of the preservation message to members and visiting guests (figs.43–46). Kaiser’s watercolours, under Ruskin’s instruction, showed the frescoes ‘copied, without any restoration, so as to show the originals in their present condition.’48 Ruskin, as we have seen, was not impressed by Cavalcaselle’s conservation work, which makes his directions to Kaiser all the more intriguing. As Ledger observes, two watercolour copies of the Betrayal of Christ from the Upper Church at Assisi, collected by the Society more than a decade apart, demonstrate aspects of differing agendas. The first, produced in 1862, probably by one of the unnamed artists supervised by Bartolommeo Bartoccini (1816– 1882), shows the work as it might have been restored (fig.47); the second, by Kaiser, is a largely accurate rendering of the state of the fresco in the 1870s (fig.48).49 Elsewhere, for his 1885 copy of Masolino’s Herodias receiving the head of St John the Baptist at Castiglione d’Olana, Kaiser goes so far as to reproduce the graffiti-like marks on the robe of the Herodias figure. Indeed,

46

Ruskin, in Manchester lecture in July 1857, recorded that Giotto's frescoes at Assisi were ‘perishing at this moment for want of decent care.’ In October 1858, in his extensive article for the Quarterly Review, Layard urged the Council of the Arundel Society ‘not to forget this great storehouse of early Christian art.’ (p.290). The artist William Blake Richmond (1842–1921), who visited Assisi in 1859, described the colour of the San Francesco frescoes as ‘very fair’, having been ‘washed away during centuries of careless or senseless friars who left the upper church to decay’. In the late 1850s ‘the roof was leaking, wet poured down the frescoes, plaster was hanging like shreds from the walls, and the very stones were mouldering away under the damp. It would have been ‘completely’ ruined had it not in recent years been made a ‘monument’ by the Italian Government. Assisi: Impressions of half a century, London: MacMillan 1919, p.150 47

The published prints were: Kaiser after Master of the St Francis cycle St Francis preaching before Honorius III 1873; Kaiser after Lorenzetti The deposition from the cross 1875 (fig.49); Kaiser after Giotto St Francis preaching to the birds 1875 (fig.50); Kaiser after Cavallini The Madonna and Child with St John the Evangelist and St Francis 1877 Kaiser’s copies are remarkably similar to those produced several decades earlier by Ramboux although, in the case of St Francis preaching to the birds, some details are recorded differently: the second bird in flight is missing from the German artist’s copy, and the space between the foliage is reduced (fig.51). Two of Ramboux’s Assisi copies are dated to 1808 but, as his tours of Italy are documented in 1816–22 and 1832–44, they are more likely later; see St Francis preaching to the birds 1808 (watercolour, 41.0 x 32.0 cm) and The Stigmatisation of St Francis 1808 (watercolour, 41.0 x 39.1 cm) Collection: Museum Kunstpalast, Düsseldorf 48

Twenty-Seventh annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1876, p.2; see also the report of the following year in which, it was noted, Kaiser’s advice was ‘to represent the actual condition of the originals, without any restoration.’ (p.2) 49

Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.121 page 158 of 355

Smart describes as ‘scrupulous’ Kaiser’s recording of the damage to the frescoes at Assisi, observing in the copies details that contribute to the conundrum of attribution there.50

The idea that the Society’s publications could be a record of the original works of art—a kind of condition report—is suggested in the catalogue for the 1855 Crystal Palace exhibition: There is a peculiar value in this finished workmanship, when applied to monuments of such surpassing interest as the fragments from the Parthenon. For the very scars and dilapidations of their form, which are the growth of ages, or sometimes the record of violence, – the blurred feature and interrupted vein, – the skin channelled by the raindrop of the pedimented eaves, or disintegration by the frosts of twenty-three hundred winters, – are all so associated in our minds with whatever is venerable and characteristic in the sculptures themselves, as to have acquired a sort of historic significance, which rendered the reproductions of their individual markings essential to our ideal of complete resemblance. The exact expression of every minute accident of decomposition, which has been obtained in these reproductions, has the further advantage of making them, at any further period, trustworthy witness to the precise condition of the originals, at the time when such reductions were made, a consideration not without interest with reference to the supposed deterioration of works of art in the public galleries of this country.51 At this stage the Society’s resources for ‘Illustrations of Painting’ were limited to a dozen existing drawings acquired by the Council,52 two commissioned works later found ‘unsuitable’ for publication, and Williams’ suite of Arena Chapel copies (see below). The materials for illustrating sculpture, on the other hand,

50

‘Some unpublished copies of frescoes at Assisi’, Apollo xciv, April 1974, pp.228–231

51

Descriptive notice of the drawings, tracings, models and miscellaneous publications of the Arundel Society exhibited November 1855, in the Crystal Palace, Sydenham, London: Office of the Arundel Society 1885, p.24 52

Those by Kupelwieser and Tunner, dating from the 1820s, which had appeared in the Eastlake edition of Kugler’s The schools of painting in Italy, (London: Murray 1851); see Chapter 1 page 159 of 355

figure 45 Eduard KAISER, copyist after The Pieta given to the Isaac Master in the Upper Church, San Francesco, Assisi (1876) watercolour, 60.6 x 64.5 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London figure 46 Eduard KAISER, copyist after The crucifixion given to an unknown master sometimes thought to be Duccio (1876) watercolour, 59.7 x 54.5 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London

figure 47 Artist unknown after The betrayal of Christ attributed to Jacobo Torriti in the Upper Church, San Francesco, Assisi (1862) watercolour, 39.3 x 35.4 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London figure 48 Eduard KAISER, copyist after The betrayal of Christ attributed to Jacobo Torriti in the Upper Church, San Francesco, Assisi (c.1875) watercolour, 61 x 55.5 cm Victoria andpage Albert Museum, 160 of 355 London

were comparatively rich. Three-dimensional copies—produced with the reduction machine invented by Benjamin Cheverton (1794–1876) which ensured high levels of accuracy—were used to issue casts in electroplate, alabaster and two grades of plaster. As well as sections from the Parthenon frieze, casts of the Theseus and Ilissus, and the Society’s reproductions of ivory plaques, diptychs and triptychs from the second to the sixteenth century, were exhibited at the Crystal Palace; these were produced by the Italian-British specialist Giovanni Franchi (c.1812–1874). Indeed part of the Society’s rationale for its issue of a systematic illustrative scheme of ivories was that they offered a continuously preserved form as opposed the sculpture in metals, especially precious, which was prone to be melted down.53 (The sculptural reproductions, although comparatively little discussed then as now, remained available until the end of the Society’s life.) Nineteenth-century threats to the ‘Elgin’ marbles, deterioration from the effects of London pollution, the effects of ‘ignorant or careless’ moulding,54 and restoration work using unsympathetic materials were remarked. Debates about the National Gallery ‘pictures’ ran parallel to those at the British Museum collection, especially while new premises were considered, away from the central-city building at Trafalgar Square. As historian Donata Levi points out, some contemporary critics were uneasy that national institutions such as the National Gallery, London, should deprive another state, so newly formed, of its heritage.55 Despite a broad awareness of preservation issues, opponents of the removal of objects were less vocal. Removal and export were, it seemed, regarded as a necessary evil.

In some cases the frescoes recorded had already been detached from their original walls. Kaiser made six copies after Melozzo da Forli’s angel musicians from fragments in 1856 (fig.53); sections of the large Ascension fresco, painted

53

See, for example, Wyatt’s Notices of sculpture in ivory, consisting of a lecture on the history, methods, and chief productions of the art, delivered at the first annual general meeting of the Arundel Society, on the 29th June, 1855, London: Arundel Society 1856, p.1 54

Keeper Richard Westmacott to the British Museum’s Standing Committee, March 1858, and quoted in Andrew Oddy, ‘The conservation of marble sculptures in the British Museum before 1975,’ Studies in Conservation, vol.47 no.3, 2002, p.148 55

‘“Let agents be sent to all the cities of Italy”: British public museums and the Italian art market in the mid-19th century,’ in John E Law and Lene Østermark-Johansen (ed.), Victorian and Edwardian responses to the Italian Renaissance, Ashgate 2005, pp.33–53, at p.33 page 161 of 355

figure 49 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Pietro Lorenzetti’s The deposition from the cross in the Lower Church, San Francesco, Assisi by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 41.0 x 58.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1875 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

figure 50 Christian SCHULTZ, printer with Lemercier et cie Paris after a copy of Giotto’s St Francis preaching to the birds in the Lower Church, San Francesco, Assisi by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 57.4 x 41.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1877 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra figure 51 Johann Anton RAMBOUX St Francis preaching to the birds 1808 page 162 ofDüsseldorf 355 watercolour, 41.0 x 32.0 cm Museum Kunstpalast,

for the apse of Santi Apostoli, Rome, had been retained when the church was remodelled in 1708–11,56 and two chromolithographs of Melozzo’s influential work were issued in 1872 and 1892. Another of his frescoes, Sixtus IV giving audience from the Biblioteca Ponfica in the Vatican Library, was transferred to canvas, as were several works by Luini (see below and Chapter 2).57 A range of methods for detaching frescoes had developed from the eighteenth century, some of them highly experimental; fresco detachment techniques coincided with work to transfer panel paintings to canvas and these developments, in turn, were concurrent with efforts to regulate the practice of painting restoration. The stacco technique had the painting removed with the layer of lime plaster below, while strappo involved detaching the painted section only.58 More ancient techniques, such as the stacco a massello used at Santi Apostoli, saw whole sections of the wall section cut out, often leaving the composition fragmented.59 Although some nineteenth-century processes were less destructive, many custodians, especially in Italy, regarded detachment as a last resort, especially when so many sites showed the culmination of past treatments.60 Fresco detachment—as with the removal of other more portable treasures from the Italian peninsula—became increasingly widespread during the Napoleonic Wars; indeed such was the enthusiasm for Raphael that the removal of his frescoes from the Vatican Palace was planned.61

56

The angel section went to the sacristy at St Peter's, now part of the Vatican collections; the other major section, Christ blessing, is in the Palazzo del Quirinale in Rome. 57

Sixtus IV appoints Bartolomeo Platina Prefect of the Vatican Library c.1477, fresco removed and transferred to canvas, 370 x 315 cm Pinacoteca, Vatican Museums, Rome 58

This discussion of fresco conservation methods is informed by the work of Cathleen Hoeniger; especially, ‘The art requisitions by the French under Napoléon and the detachment of frescoes in Rome, with an Emphasis on Raphael’, http://ceroart.revues.org/2367#ftn6 (accessed March 2014); see also The afterlife of Raphael’s paintings, Cambridge University Press 2011 and The renovation of paintings in Tuscany, 1250–1500, Cambridge University Press 1995. 59

This technique, mentioned by Pliny and Vitruvius, was revived during the Renaissance; see for example, Domenico Veneziano’s St John the Baptist and St Francis, originally in the Cavalcanti Chapel in Santa Croce, Florence, but removed as part of Vasari’s modernisation of the church in 1566, and now Museo dell'Opera di Santa Croce. For stacco a massello see also Paolo Mora, Laura Mora and Paul Philippot, Conservation of wall paintings, London; Boston: Butterworths 1984, pp.245–261 60

Marcia B Hall, ‘The “tramezzo” in S. Croce, Florence and Domenico Veneziano’s Fresco,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.12, no.813, 1970, pp.797–799 61

Ernst Steinmann, ‘Die Plünderung Roms durch Bonaparte,’ Internationale Monatsschrift für Wissenschaft, Kunst und Technik, 11/6-7, Leipzig c.1917, pp.1–46, p.29; quoted by Hoeniger, ‘The art requisitions by the French under Napoléon,’ para.30 page 163 of 355

figure 52 MELOZZO da Forli, Angel with lute c.1480 fresco from the apse of Santi Apostoli, Pinacoteca Vaticana, Rome figure 53 Eduard KAISER, copyist after Melozzo da Forli’s Angel with lute in the Pinacoteca Vaticana, Rome (1872) watercolour, 38.1 x 30.8 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London

figure 54 Eduard KAISER, copyist

page 164 of 355

after Sodoma’s Christ bound to a column in the Accademia delle Belle Arti, Siena (1878) watercolour, 57.3 x 63.3 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1889

Other frescoes documented had been ‘rescued’ from decay in situ. The Nursing of Bacchus, the Society’s sole foray into Classical Rome, was copied by Fattorini in 1882 and issued as a lithograph in 1895. The fresco was part of the mural scheme in a sumptuous Augustinian residence at Trastevere on the right embankments; ‘expert artists’ from Rome and Pompei ‘skilfully detached’ some of the frescoes before the Casa della Farnesina was reinterred.62 Luini’s frescoes, highly prized in the nineteenth century, were subjected to detachment in large numbers. His Burial of St Catherine, after which a chromolithograph was issued in 1858 (fig.121), is one of the better preserved frescoes removed from a chapel in the Villa Pelucca, near Monza, and transferred to canvas in 1821–22.63 The print issued in 1889 after Sodoma’s fresco for the cloister of San Francesco, Siena, suggests some of the damp and exposure to elements which caused its removal (fig.54); in 1842 the work was ‘sawn off the wall,’ enclosed in an ‘inappropriate and ugly’ frame, and displayed at the Accademia delle Belle Arti, Siena.64 Despite its fragmented, compromised state Sodoma’s Christ at the column remained much admired and was often reproduced. A decade after the demise of the Arundel Society, commentators such as W Noel Johnson were still of the opinion that its publications were valuable as a ‘litmus test’ for the condition of the frescoes, altarpieces and other works of art. It seems certain that these Copies of the Works of Ancient Masters will become increasingly valuable as time passes: because the method followed by the Arundel Society is the only one which gives us a true idea of the original works, in the fact that we have in them the colours as well as the forms. Neglect, restoration and in some cases wilful injury, are doing more to obliterate and destroy many of the works of the past, than the so-called 62

Alessandro Castellani, ‘The antique mural paintings and stuccos: Discovered near the Farnesina,’ The American Art Review, vol.1, no.9, 1880, pp.389–396, at p.396; the frescoes are now displayed at the Palazzo Massimo, part of the collection of Museo Nazionale Romano. 63

Also known as St Catherine carried to her tomb by angels 1520–23, fresco fragment transferred to canvas, 120.0 x 226.0 cm, Collection: Pinacoteca di Brera, Milan. The conservation work was undertaken by Stefano Barezzi, using the lattice technique common at the time, which resulted in the extensive surface cracking now visible in the work. 64

Guglielmo Della Valle (1746–1805), in Lettere Sanesi 1782–86, described water damage to the work, the result of a well mouth behind the painting which opened on the Christ figure’s lower half. Several unsuccessful ‘repairs’ to the work were undertaken, including a door to the well, with an overpainted ‘curtain’ so that the whitewash did not detract from the composition. See Robert Henry Hobart Cust, Giovanni Antonio Bazzi, hitherto usually styled “Sodoma,” the man and the painter, 1477–1549; a study, London: Murray 1906, p.128, 129 page 165 of 355

‘ravages of time.’ When the destruction has been completed, a coloured copy will be the only true record of what has perished forever. In the Spring of this year I was looking at Pinturicchio frescoes in Spello [rf fig.22] and found some of them mere wrecks, only parts here and there being clearly discernible. They are shrouded in a veil of darkness, and spotted all over with crumbling plaster, either from injury or damp. Before very long they will have vanished entirely, and then the Arundel copies will be the only means of showing us the graceful forms and rich colours which once adorned the walls of the Baglioni Chapel. This is more or less true of a large number of other works. The frescoes in the Brancacci Chapel [rf fig.14ABCDEF] are now only pale representations of what they once must have been : and so it is that the work accomplished by the Arundel Society becomes of value: not merely as a collection of pictures, but as the preserver of works which are being lost, and can never be replaced.65 __________________________________

Executed some 10 years apart, the Society’s projects in Padua, documenting the Arena Chapel frescoes and those at the Ovetari chapel, represent two different approaches. A brief outline of the circumstances of each work—and their history since production—serves to elucidate the connections between the two, their place in the reputations of both artists and their status as key works of art history. In 1300 Enrico Scrovegni, one of the richest and most prominent citizens of Padua, erected a splendid palace on land adjacent to a Roman Arena. He commissioned Giotto: the fresco cycles depicting the lives of Mary and Jesus, the Last Judgment scene and the triumphal arch (with the panel painted of God inserted) were completed between 1303 and 1305. Unlike more modest family chapels situated within the domestic building, Scrovegni’s capella was a separate structure directly adjacent to his palazzo; his newly erected place of worship was both accessible directly from the palazzo, and had a grand public entrance, a factor which led to the nearby Eremitani monks to petition

65

A handbook (catalogue raisonné), pp.xvi–xvii page 166 of 355

against it. Recognised early as one of the great monuments of Italian art, Giotto’s scheme of frescoes survived almost five centuries largely intact only to face its most serious threats in the nineteenth century.

Late eighteenth-century and nineteenth-century documentation for the Arena Chapel is extensive, demonstrating a growing awareness of historic monuments and their preservation.66 A guide to notable sites of Padua published in 1791, by art historian and collector Pietro Brandolese (1754–1809), records the condition of the frescoes as good, observing the scene of Hell covered with a cloth.67 Renaissance art historian Luigi Lanzi (1732–1810) in his Storia pittorica dell’Italia 1795–96, and in subsequent English translations, describes the ‘high state of preservation’ of Arena Chapel frescoes, as being far better than any others by Giotto.68 However the collapse of the portico on the chapel’s west side in 1817, and the subsequent deterioration of the structures, led to the demolition of the adjoining palace from 1824 to 1827, factors which dramatically affected the building’s structure and meant it was no longer watertight. The potential impact on the frescoes was recognised by Italian and other commentators—and remarked upon by many of the English artists who began to visit at this time. In the late 1820s the German art historian Carl Friedrich von Rumohr (1785–1843) noted that the frescoes were in a ‘most sorry’ state69 and a decade later the authorities were becoming more closely involved: Selvatico, a member of the committee devoted to the conservation of Artistic and Historical Monuments of

66

The conservation history of the chapel draws on http://www.giottoagliscrovegni.it/eng/resta/interventi.htm#1885, Francesca Capanna’s paper, ‘The restoration of Giotto’s wall paintings in the Scrovegni Chapel of Padua according to the principles of Cesare Brandi’s Theory,’ http://193.175.110.9/hornemann/german/epubl_txt/Capanna_Brandi_Seminar.pdf; and M Paris’ appendix, ‘The condition survey of Giotto’s frescos in the ICR training worksites, 1988–92’ http://www.giottoagliscrovegni.it/eng/resta/pdf/botti01.rtf; 67

Le cose più notabili di Padova; principalmènte riguardo alle belle arti, Padova: Brandolese 1791, pp.34–35 68

Storia pittorica dell Italia, vol.3, Pisa: Niccolò Capurro 1816, p.10; see also The history of painting in Italy, from the period of the revival of the fine arts to the end of the eighteenth century, vol.3, London: W Simpkin and R Marshall 1828, p.10; in the 1847 edition published by Bohn, Lanzi describes in detail the strappo technique developed by Antonio Contri, pp.227–228 69

Although Rumohr claimed that the frescoes had been ‘roughly washed by hand and then painted over in tempera,’ no trace of this overall repainting was subsequently detected; see http://www.giottoagliscrovegni.it/eng/resta/interventi.htm. Lindsay opined that Rumohr’s comment on the Padua frescoes was so brief and of ‘such ignorance’ as to doubt he had actually visited the Arena Chapel; see Brigstocke, ‘Lord Lindsay: Travel in Italy and Northern Europe,’ p.227 page 167 of 355

figure 55 Marino URBANI The Scrovegni Palace and Arena Chapel, Padua watercolour

figure 56 Fioravanti PENUTI, engraver after Marino Urbani’s The Eremitani Church, Padua engraving page 168 of 355

the province of Veneto, commented on particular images in an illustrated guide book published in 1836. A watercolour by Marino Urbani (1764–1853)—later reproduced as an engraving—shows a view of the Scrovegni Palace and chapel before the larger construction was dismantled (fig.55).70

In the 1850s the Chapel was owned by the Gradenigo family and various plans were enacted to counter the deterioration of the frescoes: the works were suffering from water damage and the broader effects the building’s structural changes. Cavalcaselle had proposed, in about 1857, applying a ‘compact mortar’ to the external walls, specifically the north wall and the façade, in order to protect the interior.71 The dramatic events of the 1860s and 70s are traceable through photographic and other documentation. A series of albumen prints produced 1864–65 by the Italian photographer Carlo Naya (1816–1882), for instance, show the main frescoes and Seven virtues from the dado section; another photograph from 1865 records the external frescoes.72 While some plans, fortunately, came to naught, efforts by the Italian authorities achieved partial success. In 1867 the Municipality of Padua appointed Selvatico as chair of a technical committee to conserve the chapel and its precious frescoes. As Francesca Capanna points out, the approach taken by this body was remarkably modern: a survey of the building and its contents.73 The first assessment of the chapel was completed

70

The print, produced by draughtsman Alessandro Buzzaccarini and engraver Fioravanti Penuti, is reproduced in Alessandro de Marchi, Cenni storici sulle famiglie di Padova, Padua: Minerva 1842, pl.25; see Anne Derbes and Mark Sandona, The usurer’s heart: Giotto, Enrico Scrovegni, and the Arena Chapel in Padua, Pennsylvania State University Press 2008, fig.3, p.5 71

Cavalcaselle’s study tour of early Italian painting in the 1840s had taken him to Assisi, Florence and Milan before his exile to England in 1850. Notes for specific Arena Chapel frescoes are included in Cavalcaselle and Crowe’s publication; these were probably based on an extensive tour undertaken in 1857 and 1861 for an edition of Vasari’s Vite, as well as earlier observations. No.21 Christ among the doctors, for example, is noted as ‘greatly altered’ and ‘blackened by damp’: the colours are ‘part gone, and where they remain, are raw and unpleasant.’ Elsewhere the saint’s nimbuses in The Last supper have blackened and the lower part of the figures in The Kiss of Judas has fallen, ‘laying bare the under preparation.’ J A Crowe and CB Cavalcaselle’s A history of painting in Italy: from the second to the fourteenth century¸ London: Murray 1864. As Levi points out from his earliest travels, Cavalcaselle developed a sort of shorthand in his drawings to analyse and record details. ‘Cavalcaselle, Giovanni Battista,’ Grove Art Online (last accessed January 2015) 72

Copies of Naya’s Arena Chapel photographs are held in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London; Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, amongst others; Hamber reproduces four of the prints showing the Raising of Lazarus, Entry into Jerusalem; Pieta and Resurrection scenes; see “A higher branch of the art,” illus.181–184 73

P Selvatico, ‘Commissione conservatrice dei Pubblici monumenti della città e Provincia di Padova. 1 Statuto. 2 Relazioni del Quadriennio 1868, 1869, 1870, 1871,’ Padova: Premiata Tipografia Francesco Sacchetto 1874 page 169 of 355

figure 57 Carlo NAYA exterior of the Arena Chapel, Padua 1865 figure 58 Carlo NAYA Last judgement fresco from the Arena Chapel, Padua 1864–65

figure 59 AB Fioravanti PENUTI, engraver after Marino Urbani’s The Eremitani Church, Padua engraving page 170 of 355

in 1869; it included detailed drawings of the state of each fresco, in advance of restoration work by Guglielmo Botti (1829–after 1906) on the west wall and the chancel arch in 1869–71.74 Botti—who had previously worked on Benozzo Gozzoli’s frescoes in the Campo Santo, Pisa, and later treated Mantegna’s frescoes in the Eremitani Church, Padua—readhered sections of the Last Judgment; the treatment assessed successful, he was tasked, during the course of repairs to the arch, with detaching some of the frescoes and replacing them on the consolidated wall. In a second survey, undertaken by the engineersculptor team of Gabriele Benvenisti and Vincenzo Grasselli in 1871, a series of watercolour plans, aerial and exterior views were produced (fig.59AB).75 These include the Baroque frescoes on the exterior.

Disputes over the Chapel and its custodianship had also taken their toll. As negotiations between the Gradenigo family and the Municipal Council of Padua over the Chapel’s purchase extended over a decade, the restoration work began in 1869 was suspended and, in 1871, an appeal by the family led to the Chapel being impounded by the courts. While the condition survey commissioned in the same year was one positive side to the dispute, the final approval, in May 1880, for the City to acquire the property led to another radical intervention. As part of the process to reinforce the structure of the architecture, the external frescoes were removed. Although the result was a building more pleasing to nineteenthcentury tastes, this meant the internal frescoes suffered more water damage because of moisture in the brickwork. It could have been vastly more disastrous: at one stage, it was rumoured, the Arundel Society was negotiating to have the frescoes removed completely and brought to England.76 An extensive program of treatment, under the direction of Antonio Bertolli, the Paduan conservator and student of Botti, was undertaken from 1880, along with a water drainage system for the building. From 1889 until 1899 Bertolli worked on a section of the entrance 74

Summarised from A Prosdocimi, ‘Il comune di Padova e la Cappella degli Scrovegni nell’ottocento,’ Bollettino del Museo Civico di Padova, vol.XLIX, no.1, 1960, pp.1–225 75

Now part of the collection in the public library at Padua.

76

The suggestion appears in Henry Cole’s letter, from Padua in October 1868, to Layard: ‘We have been busy all day, alighting on unknown things & new ideas. Here is an idea. Giotto’s chapel is badly kept & going to ruin. The Custode says it is private property and belongs to the Conte Gradenigo at Venice. If so, why not ask him to sell it & so preserve it? If sold to the State, it will be better kept. If sold to the [South Kensington] museum, it will be best kept. Is this practicable? and worth inquiry?’ British Museum Manuscript Collection, MSS.38995, f.335, Cole to Layard, 24 October 1868 page 171 of 355

and part of the west wall, before moving to the left wall, chancel arch and the vault. As part of this program, two of the most prized scenes, Christ among the doctors and the Ascent to Calvary, were detached and given backing boards so they would not come into direct contact with the damp walls.

British interest in the Arena Chapel was relatively recent. While the importance of Giotto’s frescoes in Padua was certainly recognised within the art intelligentsia, it took until the 1840s and 1850s, with the development of mass tourism and a broader awareness of Italian art, for the ‘primitives’ to be discussed in other than purely antiquarian terms, and for the frescoes to be appreciated in their own right.77 Ottley published engravings from Cimabue, Giotto, Lippi and others, and his publication, The Italian School of Design 1808– 23, was hugely influential. An early tourist, the Royal Academician and portrait painter William Hilton (1786–1839), remarked on Giotto’s ‘simplicity of conception,’ the extraordinary character and expression of the Arena Chapel frescoes.78 David Wilkie (1785–1841), visiting in October 1826, admired Giotto’s use of perspective, tone and expression, and recommended that copies of the frescoes be made for use by students at the Royal Academy. 79 Eastlake who was in Padua in March 1827, noted the action and expression of Giotto’s

77

Although earlier an artist such as John Flaxman (1755–1826) admired Giotto, Orcagna, Gaddi and other ‘primitives,’ and was in Italy 1787–94, he does not seem to have visited Padua or the Arena Chapel. David Irwin, ‘Flaxman: Italian journals and correspondence,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.101, no.675, pp.212–217, at p.216. 78

Hilton, writing in a letter dated 22 October 1825 to his sister Harriet De Wint, goes on to make the unlikely connection between Giotto and his near contemporary, the painter and draughtsman Thomas Stothard (1755–1834). ‘Padua is a very ancient town, and has what I was greatly pleased to find, a chappel [sic] the walls of which are covered in pictures in fresco by Giotto, which for simplicity of conception, for character and expressions are very extraordinary; and have so much the look of Stothard's design, that you would think he had formed himself upon this early painter's works.’ In his sketchbook, Hilton drew Giotto’s Madonna and Child, from the fresco in San Croce, Florence, the Entombment from the Bardi Chapel, the Delphic sibyl from the Sistine Chapel, as well as a full-page drawing and description of Albertinello's The visitation 1503. Marcia R Pointon, ‘The Italian Tour of William Hilton R A in 1825,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol.34, 1972, pp.339–358, at p.347; and plates 52b, 53a 79

In a letter to Thomas Phillips, from Florence dated 6 November 1826, he writes that he had ‘stopped two days in Padua’ to see what he had ‘missed before, the Chapel of Giotto.’ Wilkie, who had felt unable to draw the works himself, asked a Count Cicognara at Padua to commission an artist of their mutual acquaintance to sketch two of the scenes; there being no prints, he asked Phillips, should the Academy get a few drawings made? The life of Sir David Wilkie with his journals, tours and critical remarks on works of Art, vol.2, London: John Murray 1843, pp.368–373, at p.369 and p.370 page 172 of 355

figures.80 Maria Graham (1785–1842) visited in November the same year with her husband on their honeymoon; on finding the Chapel neglected—and being anxious to preserve ‘a memorial of the state of this interesting relic’ which was ‘likely to perish in a few years’—she published a handbook, illustrated by Augustus Callcott (1779–1844), in 1835 (figs.10 and 61). Although the design of the majority of the pictures was completely preserved, Mrs Callcott recorded that a few suffered from mildew, much of the colours in the drapery had changed or been chipped, and that some of the frescoes, including those of the east end over the entrance to the choir, were almost completely obliterated.81 The painter William Collins (1788–1847), visiting in 1838, found the frescoes ‘much defaced’ but beautiful still.82 Mrs Jameson, writing in the Penny Magazine, also contributed to the broader awareness of early Italian art in the 1830s and 40s; later, in her compendium Memoirs of the early Italian painters, she identified the Chapel as one of a list of Giotto’s achievements, and referred readers to Mrs Callcott’s account.83

Lord Lindsay, Alexander William Crawford (1812–1880), drew on his extensive travels in Italy for his influential Sketches of the history of Christian art. Although his visit to the Chapel in August 1829 hardly rates a mention, on a second trip to Padua in June 1842, Lindsay spent five hours in close examination of Giotto’s work, describing almost all of the large compartments to be in good preservation.84 Other more general travel guides, such as those produced by

80

David Allan Robertson, Sir Charles Eastlake and the Victorian art world, Princeton University Press 1978, p.33 81

Maria Callcott, Description of the Chapel of the Annunziata dell’Arena; or Giotto’s Chapel in Padua, London: printed for the author by Thomas Brettell 1835, p.2. In an interesting premonition of the Arundel Society, Ruskin, reviewing Callcott’s publication, comments that Giotto’s subjects are ‘just of that class of which good copies should be made for our National Gallery.’ These copies, which should made ‘whilst the originals are in a good state,’ would provide useful for ‘artists who are commencing the practice of mural decoration.’ Athenaeum, no.927, Saturday 2 August 1845, p.770 82

W Wilkie Collins, Memoirs of the life of William Collins: With selections from his journals and correspondence, vol.2, London: Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans 1848, p.142 83

Memoirs of the early Italian painters & of the progress of painting in Italy from Cimabue to Bassano, London: C Knight 1845, p.39 84

In one of the extensive letters recording his travels in 1841–42 sent to Anne Lindsay, wife of his cousin James; Alexander, James and Anne had travelled together when the couple lived in Italy in the late 1820s; see Letter VIII, Rovigo, 3 June 1842, quoted by Brigstocke, ‘Lord Lindsay: Travel in Italy and Northern Europe …’ p.226. In Sketches of the history of Christian art 1847, Lindsay commends the frescoes to his reader with ‘admiration and love’ and describes them as being as ‘in excellent preservation. p.182, 184 page 173 of 355

figure 60 Augustus CALLCOTT The Virgin Mary returns to her home from Maria Callcott’s Description of the Chapel of the Annunziata dell’Arena; or Giotto’s Chapel in Padua London: printed for the author by Thomas Brettell 1835

figure 61 DALZIEL BROTHERS, engravers plate XII: The Virgin Mary returns to her home, wood engraving after copies of Giotto by W Oliver Williams from John Ruskin’s The frescoes of Giotto London: Arundel Society 1853 page 174 of 355

Murray for northern Italy in 1842, written by Francis Palgrave, devote several pages to the ‘Giotto Chapel’ including the advice that inquiry should be made to a residence in the Arena for the key.85 Kugler’s handbook, in its various English editions translated and edited by the Eastlakes from 1847, and ‘the chief guide of the English traveller in Italy,’86 discussed the iconography of Giotto’s frescoes, noting that the ‘paintings have suffered some injury’ and only those in the choir, including the Virgin nursing the Child, have been fully preserved.87 Graham’s and Lindsay’s volumes remained key resources for English art lovers, and provided inspiration and motivation for John Ruskin: his extensive tours of Italy in 1845 and 1846 provided valuable background to the Arundel Society’s Arena Chapel project.

The Arundel Society’s program was, in many cases, conventional and followed the canon established by Vasari. Where it differed to a certain extent was its emphasis on the physical condition of the works of art and commentary on their current use. While most English commentators had visited the sites, and wrote with certain expectations about their audience’s knowledge, they didn’t always assume familiarity with the works of art. The idea of an ‘eye-witness’ account was new: not only did this provide a certain authority, it also emphasised the currency of the larger project as a moralising force for the broader good. The Society’s willingness to distance art from religious doctrine was necessary to make the subject of its publications palatable in Protestant England. By positioning its activities as part of a nationalistic program, the Society avoided specific religious messages, bypassing sectarian issues and anti-Catholic sentiment. In casting works of art as the focus of a historical narrative, and as part of an emerging art historical discipline, the frescoes, altarpieces and other objects are presented in a broader, even universalist, context (see also Chapter 4).

85

Commentary on frescoes is extended for the 1847 edition: at the Arena Chapel, where ‘carelessness and neglect’ are the ‘order of the day,’ how ‘wonderful is the preservation of many of the frescoes and much of the decoration!’(p.xxix). Eight columns over four pages are devoted to describing the history, subjects and iconography of the Chapel; the Last judgement is ‘much injured’ (p.303) and nearby are the fine Mantegna frescoes although the ‘best compartment, though unfortunately damaged, is that representing the death of St Christopher.’ (p.306) 86

Handbook of painting: The Italian schools, London: Murray 1874, preface to 4 edition, p.iii

th

87

Handbook of painting: The Italian schools, London: Murray 1855, p.128 page 175 of 355

figure 62 Romualdo BELLOLI, copyist after Giotto’s Pièta from the Arena Chapel (c.1850) watercolour Victoria and Albert Museum, London

figure 63 EE SCHAFFER, engraver after Giotto’s Pièta from the Arena Chapel engraving London: Arundel Society 1851/52 page 176 of 355

The Society’s emphasis on authenticity, their commission of copies, and directives to the copyists and printers—even though many on Council would have been relying on faded memories of specific works—was an innovation. The Annual report for 1851 records payment of £18 for a drawing by the Italian artist Romualdo Belloli (1813–1890).88 The subject is Giotto’s Pièta, also known as Lamentation previous to the Interment, from the second tier of the fresco cycle in the Arena Chapel. Carefully rendered in watercolour, highlighted with gold, the drawing is unusual in that it reproduces the geometric borders of the scene (fig.62). It is, in effect, very close to the elaborate coloured, watercolour copies later commissioned by the Society for reproduction as chromolithographs. Although the circumstances of the drawing’s acquisition are not known, it was purchased as the model for E E Schaffer’s copper plate engraving published in 1851 (fig.63),89 and marked a new emphasis on colour.90

After 1853 the Society concentrated on commissioning its own copies from selected artists. Williams’ three trips to Padua, as we have seen, resulted in thirty-eight drawings of the main scenes of the Arena Chapel frescoes, later translated into engravings; during this period the Society also paid for a further fourteen watercolours of the Virtues and Vices from the monochrome dado section (fig.64ABC), and watercolours of roundels from the chapel roof, none of which were published.91 The Last Judgment fresco on the west wall was considered too vast (and out-of- keeping with contemporary sensibilities) to

88

Second annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1851, p.3; this watercolour is now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London 89

Two other copies were acquired at this time: a ‘Signor Rapisardi’ was commissioned to copy Ghirlandaio’s Death of St Francis and Mr Harding—possibly Ruskin’s drawing master James Duffield Harding—to copy one of Tintoretto’s paintings at the Scuolo di san Rocco, Venice. Both artists were paid £30 but both drawings were later deemed unsuitable for engraving; their current location is unknown. The Fourth annual report of the Council¸ London: Arundel Society 1853, p.3 90

Wyatt comments, with reference to a coloured copy of The Ascension produced by Williams and owned by Mr Rogers, that he had no doubt the blue in the drawing represented the strength of colour in the fresco when first painted. An address delivered in the Crystal Palace on November 3, 1855, p.16 91

The form of the drawings executed by Williams is not known, nor is their whereabouts; the annual reports record that he was paid four amounts: £50 for ‘copies of 10 frescoes’ (AR1853); £46 9s for ‘17 frescoes complete’ (AR1854); £175 for ‘all 38 frescoes complete and 14 virtues and vices in ‘chiaroscuro’’ (AR1855) and £108 6s for ‘completion of his drawings’ (AR1856). Wyatt, in his Crystal Palace address (p.10), refers to an ‘interesting series of drawings by Signor Allegri.’ Christ in majesty and the Virgin and Child, now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, may be two of the series. page 177 of 355

figure 64 title page from John Ruskin’s The frescoes of Giotto London: Arundel Society 1860

figure 65 ABC W O Williams, copyist after Giotto’s Virtues: Temperance, Justice, Faith from the Arena Chapel, Padua (c.1854–55) watercolours, 27.6 x 15.7 cm (largest) Victoria and Albert Museum, London page 178 of 355

justify publication;92 the frescoes in the chancel were also not recorded because, although their design was given to Giotto, they were thought to have been executed by his followers. When displayed at the Crystal Palace in 1855, the Society’s tracings and other documentation of the Arena Chapel was arranged to represent the shape and aspect of the building in Padua. In his address on 3 November, in the absence of Ruskin, Wyatt used ‘tracings’ made from the frescoes, supplemented by Belloli’s watercolour of the Pièta (fig.62) and a coloured drawing by Williams of the Ascension,93 to explain the structure of the Chapel’s narrative, from the lives of Joachim and Anna, through those of the Virgin and Christ, to his Passion.

Although Williams omitted the geometric borders and other architectural details, those copies completed by Allegri, under his supervision, were considered ‘sufficient to explain the system of ornamentation adopted throughout the interior.’94 The drawing produced by Mrs Higford Burr from the period of her travels with Layard—she thought nothing of spending ‘ten hours at the top of a ladder to copy a Giotto ceiling’95—conveyed the overall impression of the interior but avoided any suggestion of the decay which alarmed other commentators. Presumably, as implied by the chromolithograph issued by the Society in 1858 (fig.1), this is because viewers are seeing the frescoes just finished in Giotto’s and Dante’s time. In this work, as Wyatt alerted his audience, we appreciate Giotto’s great improvements in form, ‘almost exceeded by the improvements he effected in colour.’ While everything in Cimabue is ‘dark and heavy brown 92

Layard had urged the Society to complete the Arena Chapel program by commissioning a coloured copy of the Last Judgment fresco; in his 1858 article he described how, by 1856, ‘large portions of the plaster has already fallen away from this fresco and from other parts of the chapel. It was to no avail to appeal to those who are the ignoble inheritors of this priceless monument. With Italian indifference they watch the progress of decay, unmindful of the loss of another trace of their country’s glory.’ ‘Publications of the Arundel Society,’ Quarterly Review, p.292. However, by the time the engravings of the lives of Mary and Jesus had been issued, the Society’s priorities were elsewhere. 93

As above, and lent by Mr Rogers; see Wyatt, An address delivered in the Crystal Palace on November 3, 1855, p.15; with other references in the text 94

Sixth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1855, p.3

95

Dante Rossetti, writing to William Allingham, April 1856: ‘She has been travelling all over Italy with Layard, and they together have given one one’s first real chance of forming a congruous idea of early art without going there.’ Oswald Doughty and John R Wahl (eds.), Letters of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, vol.1, Oxford: Claredon Press 1965, p.298 In a letter to his aunt Mrs Austen, from Constantinople, dated 2 January 1857, Layard writes that Mrs Burr has improved her ‘Giotto’s Chapel from the notes and drawings of details she made during our last journey.’ see Sir A Henry Layard, GCB, DCL: Autobiography, p.211 page 179 of 355

green’ and as ‘dead’ as Greek painting, Giotto was the first painter who ‘appreciated white and tenderness of colour.’ (p.15)

Ruskin wrote the essay for the Giotto project in 1853. Part one was published the same year, and issued to subscribers with wood engravings from the Chapel’s first tier of frescoes, scenes of the Life of the Virgin. Subsequent instalments were accompanied by his letterpress descriptions, and all the prints and text, with a title page and list of subjects, were published by 1860 (fig.64).96 Ruskin acknowledged that he was heavily dependent on material from Lindsay’s Sketches of the history of Christian art; he also acknowledged sourcing material from Selvatico’s history of the Chapel.97 More revealing, perhaps, is that much of his commentary was based on the woodblock prints rather than the frescoes themselves;98 indeed he admitted his lack of familiarity with some of the work of art.99 Ruskin notes the condition of several of the frescoes. Christ and the doctors, for example, from the second tier, has suffered ‘grievously.’ (p.90) In other cases, the damage is more dramatic: in The presentation of the rods, from the life of Joachim at the top and centre of the north wall, the condition of the central figure has made it ‘impossible for the draftsman to distinguish the true folds of the drapery,’ and this, he concludes, is cause for the scene having attracted so little commentary. (p.66) On occasions, by basing his observations on the woodcuts, Ruskin was drawn into error: in copying Expulsion of the merchants from the temple, one of the mid-tier frescoes at the extreme right of the north wall, Williams seems to have omitted the scourge held up by Jesus in his right hand, a fact that leads Ruskin to

96

Part two of Ruskin’s text was issued in 1854, and part three in 1860. The engravings and letterpress were available bound in a volume, or separately. 97

Sulla cappellina degli Scrovegni nell'Arena di Padova e sui freschi di Giotto in essa dipinti; osservazioni di Pietro Estense Selvatico (Padua: Tipi della Minerva 1836) includes 21 lineengravings drawn by the author and engraved by A Bernati: these comprise a ground plan and two reproductions of sculptural monuments, a set of the Virtues and Vices, and three of the fresco scenes: The meeting at the Golden gate; The raising of Lazarus; and The Lamentation; see Lloyd and Ledger, Art and its images, pp.64–65 98

Ledger is the first to make this point; A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.58

99

‘I have not examined the original fresco with care enough to be able to say whether the uninteresting quietness of its design is redeemed by more than ordinary attention to expression; it is one of the least attractive subjects in the Arena Chapel, and always sure to be palled over in any general observation of the series.’ A notice of Giotto and his works in Padua, London: Arundel Society 1853, p.105, with other references within the text. page 180 of 355

ponder Giotto’s intentions.100 Ruskin also explained the lack of determination of the animals in the scene as result of the condition of the fresco, even though they seem legible today. Although the copies were adjusted, or amendments noted by subsequent editions, Ruskin never revised his text. Such was the interest in the Explanatory Notice—from announcement of its publication came requests from booksellers to stock it for sale—that the Society commissioned the publishing company Bell and Daldy to produce a version without illustrations.101 The Arena Chapel engravings continued to sell into the mid1890s and remain one of the Society’s most frequently cited publications.

From the late 1850s, the Society’s determination to record frescoes in Italy was directed to commissioning copies rather than producing publications, and given further impetus via its Copying Fund.102 Although the amounts expended through this Fund were, at times, considered unequal to the Society’s other aims, the political and cultural imperatives were thought to justify the financial outlays: The considerations stated in the last Annual Report impressed strongly on the Council the policy of at once securing drawings from frescoes which, in the present state of Italy, are daily exposed to new dangers. … Already those drawings of Signor Mariannecci which the Society has published have been disposed of at cost price; and any of the remaining drawings could probably be sold, were such a measure expedient, with little or no loss. … The Council propose this year to engage Mariannecci on a new expedition, to copy first the masterpiece of Perugino at Citta della Pieve, representing the Adoration of the King, and afterwards the frescoes of Mantegna in the Church of the Eremitani at Padua. The value and the interest of the collection of drawings thus gradually

100

Whether Williams missed this detail, or it was not visible at time, is unclear; the scourge was amended in subsequent editions of A notice of Giotto and his works in Padua as Cook and Wedderburn explain; Works, vol.24, p.xlv 101

Sixth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1855, p.2

102

Or, as Maynard explained: ‘During the first ten years of the Society's existence only such original drawings were obtained as were found necessary for immediate publication; but in 1859 the Council felt that a Society founded with such objects as the Arundel ought not to waver in undertaking a service which might soon no longer be in its power to render to the cause which it represented, but should endeavour to secure, with or without prospect of immediate publication, copies of some few at least of the little known works of the greatest masters in Italy and elsewhere which still survived, but might perish or suffer injuries, which, though not beyond restoration, were certainly beyond cure.’ Descriptive notice of the drawings …1869, p.8 page 181 of 355

figure 66 ABCDEF Cesari MARIANNECCI, copyist after Mantegna’s frescoes from the Church of the Eremitani, Padua (1861) The Conversion of Homogenes watercolour, 63.3 x 55.6 cm St James before Herod Agrippa watercolour, 67.9 x 57.8 cm issued as chromolithographs by the Arundel Society in 1863 and 1865 St James on the way to his execution and The martyrdom of St James watercolours, 67.3 x 58.7 cm and 64.9 x 58.4 cm The martyrdom and death of St Christopher watercolours, 69.4 x 58.4 cm and 68.6 x 60.3 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London page 182 of 355

forming, and the opportunity for augmenting it which peace in Italy for the present allows, will, it is hoped, induced lovers of Art to make further effort for the increase of the Copying Fund.103

Mariannecci’s six watercolours of the Mantegna frescoes, duly copied in 1861, seem to have initially been well received by the Council; two chromolithographs—The Conversion of Homogenes the Sorcerer and St James before Herod Agrippa—were issued in 1863 and 1865 (figs.31, 66AB and 69). Mantegna’s work was much admired, with his Triumphs of Caesar c.1485–1506 at Hampton Court held in particular esteem. The Brancacci Chapel was copied in 1861, and several lithographs after the frescoes were issued in the period 1861–63 (fig.14ABCDEF). The Ovetari projects had, therefore, a certain logic according to nineteenth-century ideas of progress in art, as Julia Cartwright’s 1881 monograph suggests: This chapel, which stands to the right of the high altar, at the east end of the great Eremitani Church, belonged to the Ovetari family, whose last representative … left a sum of seven hundred gold ducats to be spent in decorating its walls with frescoes illustrating the history of St James and St Christopher. ... Thus, only a few steps from the garden which encloses Giotto’s Chapel, another great series was painted, to become for the schools of North Italy what the Brancacci Chapel had been for Florence.104

Giotto’s Scrovegni frescoes and the works produced for the Ovetari Chapel were intended to honour the dead, announce certain principles to the audience and to communicate religious messages. There are distinct differences and many connections between the two entities. In the first instance, and most obviously, the fresco programs are separated by time and art-historical distinctions: as a late-Gothic-proto-Renaissance work and early Renaissance work they show very different approaches to perspective and Classical themes. They also differ in structure and size: thirty-eight main scenes around the four walls of the stand-alone Arena Chapel, compared with the two sets of six frescoes, tribune and arch of the Ovetari Chapel in the transept of the Eremitani 103

Twelfth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1861, pp.1–2

104

Mantegna and Francia, Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington 1881, p.4 page 183 of 355

Church. The individual scenes are both intelligible as stand-alone compositions and united by elements across the narrative: they are unified using architecture and repetition in the form of processions, figure groupings, form and colour. Mantegna and his collaborators—the designer of the overall program for the Ovetari Chapel is uncertain—make links using perspective, architectural elements and a stage-like setting, as well as colour and sculptural mass. The use of geometric borders and other architectural elements in the Arena Chapel serves to unify the program, while garlands, fruit and putti link the scenes in the Ovetari frescoes. They also serve to emphasis the sculptural and architectural elements of Mantegna’s work, making a compelling play between two- and three-dimensional space.

The physical proximity and shared history of the Scrovegni and Ovetari chapels meant they were often linked by commentators, and that visitors took in the works at both sites.105 Padua’s role as one of the chief learning centres of the Venetian Republic forms an important backdrop to the Ovetari Chapel. Mantegna’s association with Classical scholars at Padua University, established in 1222 and renowned as a centre for early humanism, is suggested in his work, as are the collections of antiquities in the city.106 The monumental, sculptural qualities of Mantegna’s figures, his control of di sotto in su, or extreme foreshortening, and the movement and individuality of his characters, as well as the accuracy of his use of Roman art and architecture, are much admired. St James before Herod Agrippa, also known as the Trial of St James, incorporates impressive details all’antica: the triumphal arch is modelled on the nowdestroyed Arco dei Gavi, Verona, and contains heads of Augustus and Nero (or Vesasium) derived from Roman coins, with a scene of pagan sacrifice, as well

105

Marcantonio Michiel (1484–1552), for example, provided one of the earliest descriptions of the Ovetari Chapel and mentions also the Arena Chapel; his notes, made between 1521 and 1543, were published in Italian (ed. Frizzoni) in 1884 and English (ed. George Charles Williamson) in 1903. The Anonimo notes on pictures and works of art in Italy, London: G Bell and sons 1903, pp.29–33 106

Many of the figures in the crowd in the St Christopher frescoes wear contemporary dress; the group of three, clustered against the central pillar of The martyrdom of St Christopher are named by Vasari as: the banker and patron Nofri di Palla Strozzi; the celebrated physician, orator and poet Girolano della Valle; and Boniface Frigimelica, a doctor of laws. Squarcione is the stout man at left, holding the combination axe-and-lance. Further citizens of Padua— bankers, noblemen and a goldsmith—are identified in an adjoining scene, The death of St Christopher; see R W Lightbown, Mantegna: With a complete catalogue of the paintings, drawings, and prints, Berkeley: University of California Press 1986, cat.1, pp.398–399 page 184 of 355

as female allegorical figures of Victory above the arch.107 Herod Agrippa’s throne, on the other hand, is a more inventive amalgam of classical devices, its zoomorphic supports probably taken from Donatello’s sculpture, Virgin and Child enthroned c.1448, in the Basilica di Sant'Antonio, Padua. The soldier at left—thought to be a self-portrait—wears a ‘musculated cuirass with cingulum’ and shows, as art historian Gabriele Finaldi points out, the artist’s accurate understanding of Roman armour.108 (figs.66B and 69)

Under the terms of his will, the Paduan notary Antonio degli Ovetari (died 1448) dedicated frescoes to St James and St Christopher in the family chapel. Imperatrice Capodilista set to work in the same year to honour her husband’s wishes: she commissioned two Venetian and two Paduan painters to produce the frescoes, based on the Gospel narratives and Jacobus de Voragine’s The Golden Legend. Intriguingly, the origins of the overall scheme remain a mystery, despite the wealth of contemporary documents which survives.109 The May 1448 contract shows that the two Paduans, Andrea Mantegna and Niccolo Pizzolò (c.1420– 1453), were engaged to work on part of Antonio Ovetari’s funerary chapel: to paint the fresco cycle of St James on the left wall; to produce the chapel tribune; and to create a terracotta altarpiece. The rest of the commission was given to the more established Muranese partnership of Antonio Vivarini (fl.1440–1476/84) and his brother-in-law Giovanni d’Alemagna (c.1399–1450). The Mantegna-Pizzolò component of the partnership was dissolved in September 1448, with external arbitration directing that neither should obstruct the work of the other;110 two further artists, Bono da Ferrara and Ansuino da Forlì (act. c.1434–51), were enlisted c.1450 to work on the St Christopher scenes after the death of Giovanni d’Alemagna and because Vivarini, having completed the Four Evangelists on the chapel’s vault, abandoned the project the following year.

107

Gabriele Finaldi, ‘Andrea Mantegna,’ Grove Art Online (accessed March 2014). Lightbown describes the arch as an ‘eclectic elaboration’ and points out that the inscription in the fresco St James on the way to execution also originates from the Arco dei Gavi. Mantegna, cat.1, p.397; see also Davide Banzato (et al), Mantegna e Padova, 1445–1460, Milano: Skira; Padua: Comune di Padova 2006, pp.50–61 108

‘Andrea Mantegna,’ Grove Art Online (accessed March 2014)

109

These are detailed by Lightbown, Mantegna, cat.1, pp.389–392; see also Otto P cht, Venetian painting in the 15th century: Jacopo, Gentile and Giovanni Bellini and Andrea Mantegna, London: Harvey Miller 2003, p.96 110

Joseph Manca, Andrea Mantegna and the Italian Renaissance, New York: Parkstone 2006, p.33 page 185 of 355

figure 67 Francesco BENAGLIO or fifteenth-century Ferrarese copyist after Mantegna’s The martyrdom of St Christopher from the Church of the Eremitani, Padua distemper on panel transferred to canvas, 51 x 51 cm Musee Jacquemart-Andre, Paris

figure 68 AB Giovanni DAVID, engraver after Mantegna’s The martyrdom of St James and St Christopher c.1776 etchings Bequeathed by Rev. Alexander Dyce, Victoria and Albert Museum, London page 186 of 355

Mantegna’s work seems to have begun in 1450 when he produced The calling of James and John111 and The preaching of St James. The following year he worked on the Conversion of Hermogenes (fig.66A) and The trial of St James which are remarkable for the unified perspective and putto-bearing swags which hang across and in front of both pictorial fields. The artist’s visual jokes and acute observation appear through the frescoes: in Conversion of Hermogenes for example, the water splashes off the sorcerer’s bald head, a detail which is dutifully relayed in the Arundel Society’s print. The whole project paused in 1451, due to disputes and lack of funds, and from 1453 Mantegna, after the death of Pizzolò, worked alone. St James led to execution probably dates to 1453–54, the second period, as does The execution of St James112 which had originally been allocated to Pizzolò but was unfinished, and completed by Mantegna between 1453 and February 1457. Two final scenes, The martyrdom of St Christopher and The death of St Christopher, were also completed in this period. The Assumption was probably painted last in 1456–57, either by Mantegna or Pizzolò, or both. It was the subject of a further round of disagreement: originally the area behind the altar was intended for Christ blessing (possibly an Ascension scene), but Ovetari’s executors made adjustment to the iconography, later contesting the fee charged by Mantegna because he had included only eight apostle figures.

Contemporary copies, often attributed to Francesco Benaglio (c.1430–1492?), produced in distemper on panel and now transferred to canvas, are an early record of the Overtari frescoes (fig.67). These are documented by Marcantonio Michiel in the house of a Paduan cloth merchant, a M— de Stra; they are thought to be the same set of four panels, which belonged to the Scotti family in the eighteenth century, and to represent the two lowest compartments of the frescoes on both sides: St James on the way to execution and The execution of St James, and the St Christopher pair.113 In 1776 Count Giacomo Durazzo 111

The figure is later repeated in Adoration of the Shepherds 1450–55, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. 112

This was reconstructed, post-war, by the art historian and conservation theorist Cesare Brandi (1906–1988). 113

The copies are also, occasionally, given to an unnamed fifteenth-century Ferrarese artist. St James on the way to execution and The martyrdom and death of St Christopher, tempera on panel transferred to canvas, 51.0 x 51.0– 53.0 cm (each), are both Collection: Musée Jacquemart-Andre, Paris. A fourth panel from the group is in the Schickler collection, Paris. see page 187 of 355

(1717–1794), a Genoese diplomat and theatre director who was also ambassador to the court at Vienna, commissioned four etchings after Mantegna’s frescoes, with frontispiece, from Giovanni David (1743–1790; fig.68AB).114 Goethe's wonder at the frescoes, recorded in a letter penned during his visit to Padua in September 1786, is often reproduced: ‘Words can't express the clear, confident present these pictures contain ... this rough, pure, luminous, detailed, conscientious, delicate, circumscribed present, which at the same time had something austere, diligent, laborious about it, is what his successors started from.’115 Ottley remarked on Mantegna’s frescoes at Padua—classing those of St James and Christopher as some of his most masterly productions, and admiring the artist’s use of perspective—although he does not comment on the condition of the works.116 Callcott included mention of the Church of the Erimitani (sic) dell' Arena in her Giotto publication; although she notes the condition of other works in the church, she reports Mantegna’s extraordinary talents for composition, particularly the Martyrdom of St Christopher, and the inclusion of a self-portrait and one of his master Francesco Squarcione (c.1395–after 1468).117 Jameson again mentions the unflattering portrait of Squarcione but notes only that this appears in a ‘picture of St Christopher’ mentioning neither the form nor the location of the work.118 In one of his letters Lindsay devotes a long section to the Ovetari frescoes but found in them ‘little to praise’ except for the ‘truth of characters.’ He declared those depicting the martyrdom to exhibit Mantegna’s ‘merits and demerits in the most striking manner’ and again admired the portraits: the artist himself is shown as ‘short and thin with a pinched pale face’ while Squarcione is ‘large bluff and turgid—twice the breadth of his pupil.’119 Further nineteenth-century copies, by Vincenzo Gazzotto (1807–1884) and Antonio

The Anonimo notes on pictures and works of art in Italy, p.33 and P Selvatico, ‘Commentario alla Vita di Andrea Mantegna,’ as summarised by Lightbown, Mantegna, cat.1, p.400. 114

David produced an unique, hand-coloured version of his etchings for his patron (third state, coloured, 33.1 x 40.3 cm, Staatsgalerie Stuttgart); the earlier states are an outline and hatched versions; see http://www.staatsgalerie.de/ausstellung_e/rueckblick/mantegna 115

In letter to Charlotte von Stein, 27 September 1786, The flight to Italy, diary and selected letters, Oxford University Press 1999, p.28 116

The Italian school of design, London: Taylor and Hessey 1823, p.15

117

Description of the Chapel of the Annunziata dell’Arena; or Giotto’s Chapel in Padua, p.15

118

Memoirs of the early Italian painters, p.156

119

See Letter VIII, Rovigo, 3 June 1842, quoted by Brigstocke, ‘Lord Lindsay: Travel in Italy and Northern Europe,’ p.229 page 188 of 355

Sorgato (1802–1875), were collected by the Musei Civici, Padua.120 Already, in 1849, Selvatico records the frescoes as being damaged by damp.121

In 1861 Layard was again writing from Italy, lamenting the condition of works in Italy and agitating for members to support the Copying Fund: ‘The frescoes by Mantegna and his two pupils, in the Church of the Eremitani, at Padua, almost the only works known in fresco by this great master, are actually falling off the walls. Some of the principal figures have nearly disappeared during the last few years.’122 Mariannecci’s copies, by contrast, showed little evidence of damage. Indeed by the time the chromolithographs were issued, in 1863 and 1865, there were rumblings (figs.31 and 66ABCDEF). The Athenaeum critic, for example, regretted that ‘reproduction of the present state of the pictures is not aimed at in these transcripts. It cannot be wise to restore ancient frescoes, or impart to copies from them an almost identical character of execution—whether the originals be by Mantegna, Masaccio, or Filippino Lippi.’123 Indeed, as well as heavy restoration, Mariannecci made seemingly arbitrary omissions such as leaving out the swags and cherubs which loop along the top of the frescoes of The conversion of Homogenes and St James the Greater before Herod Agrippa to combine the Ovetari arms with those of his widow. 124 Furthermore, as Ledger points out, in Martyrdom of St Christopher he shows the semi-naked figure, bound to a column, gazing up (fig.66E).125 In the copy at the Musée Jacquemart-

120

Reproduced in Banzato (et al), Mantegna e Padova, 1445–1460, figs.3, 5, p.135, p.137

121

P Selvatico, ‘Commentario alla Vita di Andrea Mantegna’ in Vasari, Le vite de’piu eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori, Firenze 1849, pp.182–241 122

Layard’s letter was reprinted in the Society’s Report of the Council for May 1861, with sections repeated by the Athenaeum in June 1861. Frescoes by Mantegna and his two pupils, writes the critic reporting the Society’s Annual General, ‘in the Eremiti (sic), Padua, almost the only known frescoes by the master, are actually falling off the walls.’ Also reported are that the Society's Rooms are hung with the ‘series of the historical compositions in the Brancacci Chapel, copied on a reduced scale, and thirteen heads on that of the originals.’ ‘The Arundel Society,’ Athenaeum, no.1756, Saturday 22 June 1861, p.836 123

‘Fine Arts: The Arundel Society,’ Athenaeum, no.1896, Saturday 27 February 1864, p.305 The writer finishes the review by contrasting Fra Angelico's ‘subtle and pathetic symbolization and spiritualism’ with Andrea Mantegna’s ‘scientific picture,’ The Conversion of Hermogenes; by ‘reading nature through a pair of classical spectacles,’ he concludes, Mantegna was ‘a slave to linear perspective … an artist of the first rank, unhappily born a little too late.’ p.306 124

Perhaps, given Layard’s and others comments about churches and frescoes decorated for contemporary festivals, these were deemed too frivolous. 125

A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.105, p.106; cf St Sebastian c.1455–60, Kunsthistoriches, Vienna page 189 of 355

figure 69 Domenico ANDERSON after Mantegna’s St James before Herod Agrippa c.1890 from the Church of the Eremitani, Padua silver salt gelatin photograph Alinari Archives-Anderson Archive, Florence figure 70 post-reconstruction: Andrea Mantegna, Bono da Ferrara and Ansuimo da Forli’s Ovetari Chapel in the Church of the Eremitani, Padua 1453–57

figure 71 facade of the Eremitani Church, Padua, March 1944

page 190 of 355

André, Paris, by contrast, the saint is portrayed looking down (fig.67), while in later documentation the entire figure has disappeared.

Crowe and Cavalcaselle recorded in 1871 that the Chapel has ‘suffered in all its parts from damp; the plaster is scaled in many places; more than once repairs have taken place, the latest in 1865, when the frescoes were isolated by the care of the civil engineer, Grandenigo.’126 By 1881 Cartwright described the frescoes as having much suffered ‘from the damp of the walls.’ She records that ‘a great part of the subjects in the apse, as well as several figures in the martyrdom and burial of St Christopher, are completely destroyed;’ nevertheless other ‘portions are still in good preservation, and afford excellent examples of the peculiarities of the Paduan school and the studies which laid the foundation of Mantegna’s subsequent greatness.’127 Several years later, Gregory described the originals as ‘wofully [sic] dilapidated’ and having, in parts, ‘quite disappeared.’128 In early 1880s the condition of the two St Christopher scenes and the Assumption of the Virgin was considered so poor that the frescoes were transferred to canvas.129 From the mid-1880s a series of silver salt gelatin photographs were produced by Domenico Anderson (1854–1938; fig.69); these, and subsequent documentation of the frescoes and vault, were later supplemented by others showing specific heads, and c.1915–20, other details by Fratelli Alinari.130 These are the images reproduced in the monographs by

126

A history of painting in north Italy: Venice, Padua, Vicenza, Verona, Ferrara, Milan, Friuli, Brescia, from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century, London: Murray 1871, p.308. Comment is made on the condition of individual frescoes: for instance, a section of the upper part of the ruin to the right in Martyrdom of St James is restored in oil (p.336, n.1), while almost all of the figure of St Christopher is obliterated, as are the legs of the archers and spectators to the right, and three spectators’ dresses also deprived of colour (pp.336–337, n.2). The condition of the Assumption is also recorded, in some detail (p.294, n.1). In the 1912 edition it is noted that The martyrdom of St Christopher and the removal of his body frescoes have subsequently be restored by Signor A Bertolli (p.15, n.2). 127

Mantegna and Francia, p.4

128

‘The Arundel Society,’ The Nineteenth Century , p.610

129

The damage from moisture rising through the walls was particularly harsh on the St Christopher frescoes. Wax treatment was attempted in the 1870 and further consolidation work by Bertolli in the 1880s; once the later was deemed unsuccessful, the decision was made to transfer the frescoes to canvas in 1886 and 1891; see ‘La capella Ovetari o la tarea de recomponer un puzzle,’ http://unicum.cat/es/2011/12/la-capella-ovetari-o-la-feina-derecomposar-un-puzle/ (last accessed March 2014) and Lightbown, Mantegna, cat.1, pp.388 130

Son of the British-born James Anderson (1813–1877), Domenico took over the business after his father's death; his archive was bought by Fratelli Alinari, Florence. Three frescoes, St James before Herod Agrippa (fig.69), Ansuino da Forli’s St Christopher before the King and Nicolò Pizzolo’s Eternal Father were photographed c.1890; further photographs date to c.1900 and c.1910. page 191 of 355

Maud Cruttwell (1901)131 and Fritz Knapp (1911),132 in the 1912 edition of Crowe and Cavalcaselle’s A history of painting in north Italy, and most subsequent works dealing with Mantegna’s frescoes in Padua. The Ovetari Chapel was destroyed by Allied bombing in World War II.133

Both the Arena Chapel and the Eremitani Church were threatened by military action in March 1944. Giotto’s frescoes narrowly avoided destruction but the bombs which hit the Ovetari Chapel at 11.30am on 11 March—variously described as intended for the railway yard, the bridge over the Piovega Canal, barracks on the church’s north wall, or Nazi headquarters—destroyed the upper part of the east front of the church, the east end and most of the adjacent Dotto Chapel (fig.71).134 Some of the Mantegna frescoes had been moved to Venice for protection, others were partially protected by a concrete blast wall; 135 the St Christopher scenes and the Assumption of the Virgin frescoes, detached in 1886 and 1890, were also housed elsewhere at the time. But the other frescoes in the Ovetari Chapel were reduced to rubble:136 students from the art school were employed to pick out the fragments which filled eighteen cases stored at the Church of the Santo, to ‘await possible restoration, about which no decision has been yet made.’137 As Ferdinando Forlati and Maria Luisa Gengaro wrote, somewhat optimistically, in La chiesa degli Eremitani a Padova (1945) the church was: a remarkable monument, and its destruction is an irreparable loss to the beauty of the world. Even if it were possible to reconstruct, when the war is over, the architectural whole of the Church, nothing could give us 131

Maud Cruttwell, Andrea Mantegna, London: George Bell 1901, pp.46–56 (Alinari photos)

132

Fritz Knapp, Andrea Mantegna: Des Meisters Gemaelde und Kupferstiche, Stuttgart: deutsche Verlags-Anstalt 1910; see also French edition: Paris: Librairie Hachette et cie 1911 133

Until colour photographs were produced in March 1944; these are reproduced in Giuseppe Fiocco’s Mantegna: La Cappella Ovetari nella Chiesa degli Eremitani, (Milano: Silvana Editoriale d'Arte 1947). 134

John Guthrie, ‘A note on the destruction of the Church of the Eremitani in Padua,’ The Burlington Magazine, May 1946, pp.122–123, p.125 135

The interior was packed with sandbags and scaffolding when Stanley Meltzoff visited; see his letter to Creighton Gilbert, 14 June 1945, and reprinted as ‘Letter from North Italy, in College Art Journal, vol.5, no.1, November 1945, pp.34–36 136

Meltzoff describes ‘a glaring eye, a classical nose, some views of antique building, some fractured pears’ as being all that remained of Mantegna’s St James, about ‘twenty square inches in all’ which is kept in a safe place by the superintendent in Venice. p.34 137

Guthrie, ‘A note on the destruction of the Church of the Eremitani in Padua,’ p.123 page 192 of 355

again the paintings of the tribune, of the great apse, of the Cappella Dotto, and above all those of the Capella Ovetari. But if such a sacrifice were to make mankind wiser and more cautious in unchaining the terrible scourge of war, one might hope that such a horrible massacre might not have been made in vain.138

If the Ovetari frescoes had survived they might, like those at the Arena Chapel, have suffered another drastic threat: in the 1960s and 1970s, as a result of atmospheric pollution, the build-up of salts in the works was found to be at dangerous levels, causing the pigments to powder and the colours to fade. This resulted in one of the most extensive conservation projects to date: after a thorough campaign of structural surveys, monitoring and diagnosis the decision was made to erect a new entrance to the chapel, as a micro-climatic control unit separate and adjacent to the original building. The most recent treatment to the frescoes thus proceeded under controlled conditions and, when the Chapel reopened in 2002, meant that only a set number of visitors in the space is permitted at any one time (fig.72ABC).139 The other contemporary conservation project is of a different type. Between 1992 and 1997, for the Laboratorio Progetto Mantegna (Mantegna Project), as many as 88,000 fragments salvaged from the Ovetari Chapel—approximately seventy-seven square metres, being less than one-tenth of the original area of the frescoes—were documented, cleaned and catalogued.140 Later, from 2000, and assisted by an algorithm which assessed possible positions for each piece, a team of art historians, conservators, computer programmers, students and volunteers worked to reconstruct the giant puzzle.141 The result is both a virtual reconstruction of the Ovetari frescoes, and the ‘reapplication’ of the fragments to the interior of the chapel, launched in 2006 to mark the fifth centenary of Mantegna’s death (fig.70).

138

La chiesa degli Eremitani a Padova, Florence: Electa editrice 1945; quoted by Guthrie, ‘A note on the destruction of the Church of the Eremitani in Padua,’ p.123 139

Visitors are channelled in via a multimedia room, where they see an introductory video, before entering the Chapel for approximately 20 minutes. 140

Laboratorio Progetto Mantegna: http://www.progettomantegna.it/storia.html and http://www.progettomantegna.it/gal.html (last accessed March 2014) 141

Holger Dambeck, ‘Bombed fresco: Using math to piece together a lost treasure,’ Spiegel Online, 9 October 2001, http://www.spiegel.de/international/zeitgeist/bombed-fresco-usingmath-to-piece-together-a-lost-treasure-a-792781.html page 193 of 355

figure 72 ABC exterior of the Scrovegni Chapel, Padua, with the visitors room and multimedia displays, September 2004

page 194 of 355

A survey of late eighteenth- and nineteenth-century literature and documentation for the two projects undertaken in Padua contextualises the role of the Arundel Society in publishing and publicising the condition of these works of art. The Arena Chapel wood engravings, accompanied by Ruskin’s text, seem to have had some impact on bringing the frescoes to wider, or at least British, attention. But the importance of the Giotto project came surely as a result of Ruskin’s reputation—the wood engravings were not popular and the critical reception was not particularly positive. Apart from offering a larger record of the Arena Chapel narrative, the prints were within an existing pictorial mode. While the Society’s Giotto publication is regularly mentioned in the art historical literature, the Mantegna watercolour copies have had surprisingly little exposure. The two published copies, issued in the period following the establishment of the Copying Fund, were criticised for ‘restoring’ the frescoes. The prints were also issued singly and not, like several other publications of the period, supplemented by explanatory text.

There was always a perceived misalignment between the larger ideals of the Copying Fund and the popularity of the Arundel Society’s chromolithographs, especially where Ruskin was concerned. Indeed he subsequently appealed to the Society to separate its conservation work from its publishing activities: The Arundel Society, as I have always conceived, and as, I trust, many other members of it from the beginning understood, was founded, first, to preserve record of good art that was perishing, and secondly, to make more general the knowledge of good art that was too little known. It was not founded with the view of obtaining for each of its members more than twenty shillings’ worth of coloured prints for twenty shillings though that may be an agreeable result and reward of its operations. But it was never its first object any more than that of the Bible Society was to get handsome Bibles for themselves. The Arundel Society proposed as I repeat to copy the illuminated manuscripts of sacred art before they perished and to place what multiplications might be possible of them in the hands of those who had never read, and never more could read the originals. The conscientious fulfilment of so noble a design would, I am persuaded, bring more true pleasure to the greater number of our members than the mere page 195 of 355

enrichment of their own folios, or decoration of their own walls. But I believe that both the riches and the decoration would by such disinterested efforts be made for ourselves more covetable and more brilliant.142

According to Ruskin the Mantegna drawings, and other watercolour copies made for the Copying Fund, should be made for the greater good. Apart from the idea that the copies and chromolithographs would influence taste, and provide models for English artists, the implication is that these recordings should be static. Certainly many of the copyists were at pains to ensure the accuracy of their drawings: in one of Fattorini’s 1872 copies, for example, we note the careful scale along the lower edge of the composition.143 At the very least the watercolours represent the copyist’s skill in scaling a large fresco to a much reduced format. Ironically, the fact of the copies being coloured, and therefore offering another set of possibilities for recording the frescoes, was little remarked. Colour as a tool for art historians (amateur or otherwise) conservators or custodians seemed then, as now, to hardly register. The Mantegna project, for example, makes no mention of either Mariannecci’s watercolours or the Arundel Society chromolithographs, or indeed of the 1944 colour photographs of the frescoes; rather the earlier Anderson/Allinari photographs are highlighted as the sole record of the frescoes before their destruction.144 Given the importance of colour in the Ovetari frescoes, the commitment to the black and white photographs, whatever the intrinsic quality of this documentation, is surprising. In any case, as art historian Nicolas Penny wrote in a review of the exhibitions to commemorate the Mantegna centenary, the Society’s copies deserve to be better known.145

The Arundel Society has become … the public trustee of those great national frescoes which are indeed the world’s heritage. Its position as

142

Address to the Arundel Society, July 1878, Works, vol.34, p.635

143

Eliseo Fattorini after Benozzo Gozzoli’s Scenes from the life of St Francis from San Francesco, Montefalco 1872, watercolour, Victoria and Albert Museum, London 144

Instead we find reference to ‘a thermodynamic process’ used to estimate the original colours for the virtual restoration; mathematician Massimo Fornasier, who worked on the positioning software; see Dambeck, ‘Bombed fresco: Using math to piece together a lost treasure’ 145

‘Mantegna Exhibitions in Italy,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.149, no.1246, January 2007, pp.32–35, at p.32 page 196 of 355

guardian and protector of the art-treasures of Italy—its office of mediator and translator between England and Italy, between the arts of an early age and as distant people, and the present wants and tastes of our own country—is now generally acknowledged. It has gained the sanction and support of public authorities—it has obtained from the existing government in Florence permission in to copy frescoes to which the world has been hitherto denied access.146

The Arundel Society’s involvement with issues of restoration, preservation and patrimony is a clear instance of broader Victorian attempts to historicise their modernity.147 An engagement with issues of preservation and conservation techniques, the adoption of a systematic approach to art, art history and museology on German models, was an assertion of this determination to be modern. It is intriguing to consider, as curator Susanna Avery-Quash and art historian Julie Sheldon suggest, whether British commentary about damage to frescoes and other works of art was, in fact, overstated at the time.148 Certainly the activities of many Italian authorities, conservators and art historians would suggest other motives at play. Nineteenth-century British ideas about the preservation of Italian frescoes were very much on their own terms; this paternalism was often at the expense of broader conservation principles and newly-formed notions of patrimony. The notion of ‘historicising modernity’ is implicitly tied to ideas of nationalism, a sense of justifying ownership or, at least, contribution to art-historical discourse on the European stage. Art history as a developing discipline is thus intimately entwined with political rivalries between Great Britain, Germany, France and Italy. By tracing the encounters of artists, critics and other visitors to sites such as the Arena and Ovetari Chapels we can see how the works were forced into art historical prominence.

146

[J Beavington Atkinson], ‘The fresco-painting of Italy—the Arundel Society,’ p.464

147

Law and Østermark-Johansen (ed.), Victorian and Edwardian responses to the Italian Renaissance; see also Stefano Evangelista’s review in Victorian Studies, vol.48, no.4, Summer 2006, pp.729–731 148

We have seen how Ruskin and Layard fed the Society with ‘horror stories’ of frescoes peeling off the wall, and both were ‘implicated’ in rescue schemes, including ‘the rumoured removal of Giotto's frescoes from the Arena Chapel in Padua.’ As Avery-Quash and Sheldon point out, it is interesting to note the parallels between the perception of the Arundel Society as a ‘force for good’ and the National Gallery’s acquisition program at this time. Art for the nation, p.117 page 197 of 355

figure 73 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Lippi’s Virgin and Child by Anziglione lithograph, 57.8 x 44.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1877 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Chapter four―Decorating the hearth, furnishing the soul A living-room, built and decorated in the best manner of 1905, and cluttered with the souvenirs of maternal love, European travel, and an orthodox enthusiasm for the arts. There is a vast quantity of Braun, Clement and Arundel Society reproductions of the Renaissance Italian masters. The piano features Greig, Sibelius and MacDowell. Sidney Howard, The silver cord 19271 Industrialisation in Victorian Britain brought technological innovation, a rising middle class and unprecedented material prosperity. Between 1851 and 1901 average income doubled in real terms, while the price of food and other essentials dropped. The city of London, which had expanded threefold in area since the previous century, grew to at least 130 square miles: in the mid-1860s it incorporated large suburban areas with, according to one commentator, a thousand houses added each year.2 Accommodation accounted for a relatively small percentage of income. Most middle-class Victorians rented their home, and a typical property accounted for 10% of earnings.3

With the increase in disposable income came debates about taste. From the 1840s critics bemoaned the severe decline of decorative and architectural arts; they regretted unrestrained eclecticism and revivalism, excessive ornament, poor construction. Appealing to nationalist sentiment, commentators such as civil servant Sir Henry Cole (1808–1882) and artist-instructor William Dyce (1806–1864) raised concerns about the status of British art and design within Europe and internationally. The many schools for art and design education established during this period aimed to repair this situation. Opinion columns in newspapers and manuals on household management and beautification were intended to influence public taste. Some parties argued the importance of

1

Sidney Howard, The silver cord: A comedy in three acts, New York: Charles Scribner’s sons 1927, Act I, p.3 2

Charles L Eastlake, Hints on household taste in furniture, upholstery and other details, London: Longmans, Green and co 1868, p.21 3

Kathy Brewis, ‘Make mine an antimacassar,’ The Sunday Times¸ 29 October 2006, http://property.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/property/interiors/article610476.ece (accessed November 2006); percentages and statistics are drawn from Cohen, Household gods, p.13 page 199 of 355

educating the public and consumers; others emphatically rejected industrialisation or mass production and promoted a return to past standards and practices. Another group of commentators encouraged a middle ground, promoting designs and styles more suited to modern manufacturing techniques, outside the strictures of fine art.4 Other concerns in the second half of the nineteenth century—the rise of science, the role of religion in a changing society, a perceived lack of propriety and lax moral standards—add to a lively debate (see Chapter 2).

Much of the discourse surrounding these debates about taste emphasised the civilising role of women in society, the impact of female consumers and the effect of feminine influences on household art. The promotion of prints as a suitable and economical decoration for the home built on an existing interest in the Renaissance and other art of the past, or the appeal of contemporary narrative or genre scenes incorporating ‘edifying’ content. In the nineteenth century parallels were often drawn between Britain and the great early Italian mercantile republics. Queen Victoria’s expanding realm was conceived as the modern successor to the Greek and Roman Empires, particularly in the British ‘thirst for knowledge,’ love of the antique, luxury and materialism.5 As publishers of taste manuals and furnishing manufacturers looked to outside markets, many successful patterns were exported or developed for overseas trade. Readers of one American publication, for example, were advised to beautify their homes with ‘chromos’ which, when ‘well selected and of the best class,’ will provide all the charm and colour of a painting. For approximately one-fourth of her budget, a thrifty lady decorating her parlour could invest in reproductions of works by some of the country’s best artists, and then make the frames herself according to several templates given.6

4

Eastlake, for example and as Thad Logan points out, opines that ‘the progress of industrial art is not likely to be arrested by the narrow prejudice of those whose perceptions of beauty are strictly limited to the fields of painting and sculpture.’ Hints on household taste, p.vi-vii, and Logan, The Victorian parlour, Cambridge University Press 2001, p.162 5

Eliza Haweis, The art of decoration, New York & London: Garland Publishing 1977, p.204

6

Catherine E Beecher and Harriet Beecher Stowe, The American woman's home: Or, principles of domestic science; being a guide to the formation and maintenance of economical, healthful, beautiful, and Christian homes, New York: JB Ford & Co; Boston: H A Brown & Co 1869, pp.91–93. The suggested works were a Miss Oakley’s The little scrap book maker, described as a ‘charming little cabinet picture’; Eastman Johnson’s Barefoot boy; Robert L Newman’s Bluefringed gentians; and Albert Bierstadt’s Sunset in the Yo Semite Vallery, available from Louis page 200 of 355

Such concerns about taste, and the mass circulation of instructional manuals, coincide with the Arundel Society’s greatest popularity in the 1860s and 1870s. The adoption of chromolithography in these decades as well as the broad circulation of the Society’s publications prompted the consternation of some members; these resulted in discussions within the Council and outside and, for a while, line engraving was re-adopted ‘in compliance with desires expressed by original members.’7 The development and success of polychrome lithography in the nineteenth century, its associations with mass production and adoption for advertising, meant it was difficult for some to reconcile the technique with high-minded, artistic ideals. The appeal of bright, saturated colour was also cause for broader concern. Aniline dyes rapidly impacted on the textile industry; mauve, for example, invented in 1859, was adopted for clothing and furnishings, and from the mid-1870s a range of other synthetic dyes meant that more colours were available. The proliferation of strong colour, wealth of pattern and texture, as well as objects and furniture of various styles, resulted in richlylayered interiors.

Working from subscriber lists, this Chapter explores the application of Arundel Society prints, and other comparable lithographs, in a range of domestic spaces: from a Royal salon to a sitting room designed in the Aesthetic style. Using a sample of the advice given in household management and beautification manuals—one each from the 1860s, 1870s and 1880s, and some targeted at specific audiences—attitudes to pictorial adornment are investigated. Philosopher Pierre Bourdieu’s ideas about class distinction and the sociological impacts on taste and aesthetics are engaged to examine the prints in both masculine and feminine spheres, within upper- and middle-class milieus, and secular and religious contexts.8 Notions of langue [language] and parole [speaking] are applied to interiors and their contents, and considered in conjunction with the idea that individual speech is only meaningful within

Prang's, ranging from $5 to $12; and the budget calculations are from Lori E Rotskoff, ‘Decorating the dining-room: Still-life chromolithographs and domestic ideology in nineteenthcentury America,’ Journal of American Studies, vol.31, no.1, 1997 pp.19–42 7

Thirteenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1862 p.2; see Chapter 2

8

Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction, Oxford: Polity Press 1984; see also Michael Grenfell and Cheryl Hardy, Art rules: Pierre Bourdieu and the visual arts, New York: Berg 2007 page 201 of 355

figure 74 The hall at Kelmscott Manor: the Primavera print above the fireplace suggests connections between early Italian art and Morris’ decorative program.

page 202 of 355

figure 75 Altar in the Lady Chapel at St Peter's Eastern Hill, Melbourne, which provides a counterpoint to the nearby van Eyck Ghent altarpiece (with equivalent cabinetry; see fig.113). The painting, a reproduction on tin, is after Carlo Dolci's Madonna of the thumb while the Fra Angelico angels and saints below are described as Arundel Society reproductions.

linguistic systems. The evangelistic possibilities of religious subject matter, disseminated in printed form and to ecclesiastical venues, both formal and otherwise, are also discussed with reference to the Oxford Movement. While the original frescoes and altarpieces copied for the Society were intended to impart Christian stories, the nineteenth-century reproductions raise a complex web of issues including taste, beauty, posterity and historicism, as well as notions of originality in an age of mechanical reproduction. _______________________________

It is unfortunate for the interest of Art at the present time that in civilized countries it has come to be regarded as the result of theories utterly remote from the question of general taste, totally distinct from those principles which influence manufacture and structural science, and independent of any standard of excellence, which we might expect to be derived from common sense.9 Thus wrote architect and designer Charles Locke Eastlake (1836–1906) in the opening paragraph of his Hints on household taste in furniture, upholstery and other details in 1868. This manual developed from a series of articles published in the Queen and the London Review; Eastlake provides advice on everything from framing and hanging prints, to jewellery, cutlery and household buckets. Eastlake, who was Secretary to the Royal Institute of British Architects at the time, addressed a general audience. His philosophy of design emphasised a careful balance of function and beauty, and he argued against the Victorian Rococo Revival, and for a return to simple, sturdily-constructed Gothic style. He railed against milliners, furniture manufacturers, shopkeepers who claimed to have taste, built-in redundancy, change for change’s sake and paintings reproduced in cross-stitch. Vitiated taste, declared Eastlake, is not confined to pictorial art: it pervades and infects the judgment by which we are accustomed to select and approve the objects of everyday use in our houses. It crosses our path in the Brussels carpet of our drawing-rooms; it is about our beds in the shape of gaudy chintz; it compels us to rest on chairs and to sit at tables which are designed in accordance with the worst principles

9

Eastlake, Hints on household taste p.1; further references given within the text. page 203 of 355

of construction and invested with shapes confessedly unpicturesque. It sends us metal work from Birmingham which is as vulgar in form as it is flimsy in execution. It decorates the finest modern porcelain with the most objectionable character of ornament. It lines our walls with silly representations of vegetable life, or with a mass of uninteresting diaper. It bids us, in short, furnish our houses after the same fashion as we dress ourselves, and that is with no more sense of real beauty than if art were a dead letter. (pp.2–3)

Eastlake reserved particular ire, in Hints on household taste, for women. He condemned their tendency to be influenced by vagaries of fashion and distracted by novelties. At times his views are vituperative, misogynistic even. He abhorred that ‘class of young ladies’ which circumvents all differences of opinion in a picture-gallery or concert-room by ‘knowing what they like.’ While, he wrote, this may prove an advantage with regards music or painting, it assists no one in furnishing a house ‘in accordance with any established principles of art.’ (p.13) On the other hand, while recognising many of his readers would be female, he conceded some could have knowledge of art, even if this were ‘only’ flower-painting. Like many other critics at the time—whether named individuals or the anonymous tastemakers—Eastlake expressed definite beliefs about the types of art suitable for the home. He was firmly of the view that original works such as oil paintings or watercolours were out of reach of all except the wealthy, that reproductions such as photographs and good wood engravings were ‘far more serviceable than chromolithography in the development of household taste.’ (p.177) While a good plaster cast may provide a nice finish to a room, chromolithography, he argued and despite a few rare exceptions, does more harm than good. (p.118, p.176)10

10

Eastlake regarded new technique as unsuitable for ‘robust’ painting styles: chromolithography was appropriare for decorative art, for design which depends on outline rather than gradation or blending of tints, but is ‘worse than useless’ for landscape art where its ‘tricky effects of colour’ falsify nature. It encouraged a ‘flimsy style of water-colour paintings’ which ‘no true artist would adopt.’ While a draughtsman’s delineation of form and his ‘distribution of light and shade’ may be ‘reproduced by mechanical means, the ‘subtle delicacies of colour in good pictorial art are utterly unapproachable in the print which attempts to render, with a few superimposed tints, the dexterity and refinement of manual skill.’ pp.176–177 page 204 of 355

Hints on household taste is one of the earliest and most popular of the instructional texts published from the 1860s and 1870s onwards, a period in which books and journals became more affordable, and new markets developed.11 Most nineteenth-century manuals, as the design historian Helen C Long points out,12 were aimed at the prosperous middle class or the consciously artistic—or those who aspired to be perceived as such. The rise of education, culminating in compulsory schooling, meant a growth in literacy. The mass circulation of printed texts took place against a ‘background of Liberalism with its philosophy of self-help and self-improvement’.13 Middle-class consumers had more money to spend, and a broader section of the population had greater leisure time, both of which began to be devoted to decorating and furnishing of the home. Much of the population was considered ill-equipped for these tasks. Everywhere the reader was exhorted and admonished not to fall prey to ‘poor’ or ‘bad’ taste. Art, traditionally the realm of church and aristocracy, or the state and the seriously well-off, was yet more fraught. Opinions were idiosyncratic, and often conflicting, despite the didacticism of the style and authoritative tone of address. Is it any wonder readers were confused about what ‘art’ they should acquire for their homes? Indeed, Eastlake admitted as much: ‘In the field of taste, whether moral or aesthetical, it is always much easier to point out paths which should be avoided than to indicate the road that leads to excellence.’ (p.130)

Other tastemakers expressed equally firm views. The writer and clergyman W J Loftie (1839–1911), and the doyenne of interior decoration Mary Eliza Haweis (1848–1898), built on Eastlake’s work, but much of their counsel was more specific. Loftie's A plea for art in the home 1876, part of the Macmillan series 'Art at Home' published between 1876 and 1883, contains advice about collecting, the need to balance taste with knowledge, wall colours and display. 14 As the title suggests, the author’s intention was to ‘help the man who wishes to

11

Hints on household taste was revised several times and an American edition issued in 1872; by 1887 the fourth edition was produced in London and in 1886 the eighth appeared in Boston. 12

The Edwardian house: The middle-class home in Britain 1880–1914, Manchester University Press 1993, p.21 13

Long, The Edwardian house, p.20

14

The 12 volumes of Art at home include Rhoda and Agnes Garrett’s Suggestions for house decoration 1877; The drawing room 1877 and The dining room 1878 by Mrs Loftie and Mrs Orrinsmith; Lady Barker’s The bedroom and the boudoir 1878; as well as advice on dress and music. page 205 of 355

bring art home,’ and his commentary is eminently practical.15 Loftie discussed the characteristics of print techniques, states and impressions, as well as the vexed question of whether to combine mediums and periods within a room or on a single wall: On the whole, for decorative purposes, modern prints are the best when there is plenty of wall space, and ancient, being smaller, where there is little. As prints do not suffer by being exposed to the light, but are injured by being rubbed together in portfolios, it seems strange that we do not more often see good engravings such on the walls. A Melancholia by Dürer, or a Burgomaster Six by Rembrandt, is eminently decorative. It gives a room an air which the best modern pictures would fail to impart.16

Loftie admits the pleasures of acquisition and collecting but tells his readers not to encourage bad painting (p.52). He outlines some principles for collecting: aim to have one first rate object, to balance good things against plain, and to accept imitation as a last resort (p.32). Unlike many of his contemporaries however, Loftie did not prescribe suitable subject matter for specific rooms. Rather, he left choice about the placement of works to the owner: these should be decided according to taste and where they will give most pleasure (p.69). He advised well-arranged books as one of the best types of collection but counsels restraint: a bibliomaniac ‘often forgets others in his comparatively solitary pursuit’ while the autograph collector has ‘little regard for the pleasures of his family.' (p.21) Photographs are admissible as decoration, but only in isolation, and for subjects such scenery, buildings or architectural remains; the souvenirlike quality of photography is regrettable. Loftie concedes that the medium is developing—individuals such as ‘Mrs Cameron’ have demonstrated that ‘much is possible’—but warns that the man who ‘buys many [photographs] should remember they will probably fade before long, and that the same money spent

15

W J Loftie, A plea for art in the home 1876, New York & London: Garland Publishing 1978, vol.1, p.58; he goes on to add that ‘strange as it may seem, more taste and knowledge are required in the choice of prints than in the choice of paintings.’ All other references to Loftie’s A plea for art in the home are to this facsimile edition and given within the text. 16

Loftie reveals a highly optimistic approach for prints displayed on walls as opposed to within portfolios, as he wrongly assumes prints do not fade when exposed to light. p.59 page 206 of 355

on one picture might do something for the encouragement and improvement of real art.’ (p.66)17

Given the extended nature of his commentary on other prints, Loftie’s silence on the subject of chromolithography is surprising. Indeed he says remarkably little in A plea for art in the home about colour per se. On the other hand, his views on the purpose of art are consistent with other critics of the period. Art should educate and provide an example to others. ‘It must be remembered,’ he writes, that ‘in buying prints to hang on our walls, that we do not live alone in houses, but that what we hang is for the entertainment of our guests and the instruction of our children, and only for our enjoyment in a second degree.’ (p.64) A plea for art in the home contains a section on art in the nursery and the importance of supplying good art: a child’s taste may be ‘greatly influenced by the habitual contemplation of a print by Raffaelle, or Rembrandt.’ (pp.69–70) For Loftie, daily life and spiritual existence are closely intertwined: the higher ‘our conception of material beauty, the higher will be our ideal of moral beauty.’ (p.99)

The language and ideology employed by many nineteenth-century tastemakers is decidedly evangelical as these samples from Hints on household taste and A plea for art in the home indicate. If Loftie’s tone is that of a gentle country parson, Mrs Haweis’ in The art of decoration 1881 is closer to that of a preacher or campaigning politician.18 While he speaks to the individual reader, she proclaims to the mass. The art of decoration comprises three books of unequal length: in the first, ‘The search after beauty,’ Haweis recognises the wealth of items available to consumers—‘objects de vertu from all countries are within

17

‘Mrs Cameron’ is, of course, the photographer Julia Margaret Cameron (1815–1879) whose portraits of the Victorian art and literary worlds capture a sense of the age. Some recent commentators mention that Cameron was a member of the Arundel Society; however she appears on no subscriber lists after 1860. Julia Margaret Cameron: Photographs from the J Paul Getty Museum has her as a member 1857–59 (Los Angeles: J Paul Getty Museum 1996, p.141), and in subsequent publications such as Julian Cox and Colin Ford’s Julia Margaret Cameron: The complete photographs ‘for many years.’ (Los Angeles: Getty Publications 2003, p.71, n.104) 18

Her husband, the cleric and journalist Reverend Hugh Reginald Haweis (1838–1901) had responded positively to Whistler’s Peacock Room: see Money and Morals: a Sermon Preached at St James' Hall, London, February 18, 1877 by H R Haweis, Cornhill: H S King 1877 page 207 of 355

everybody's reach, and all that is lacking is the cool power of choice’19—and examines the current state of interiors, with a critical focus on the range of Queen Anne styles. In the second book, ‘A retrospective of room’ she maps a history of interior decoration, exploring early English furniture, Roman and Pompeian precedents, Gothic and Tudor, French Court and Empire styles. Britain in the past was always ruled by foreign art and politics; in developing an indigenous school, she warns, it must not be a poor copy (pp.396–397). Just as the missionary habituates ‘the savage to civilised manners until they become necessary to him,’ artists must give the public their best work (p.372).

Artists, by applying their knowledge and taste to design applications, can play an essential role in teaching the public. Past artists, moreover, provide a precedent for the support of contemporary practice: as well as painting, Giotto built the bell-tower for the Cathedral in Florence; Hans Holbein was both the painter of kings and a designer of jewellery and buildings; while the ultimate polymath, Leonardo da Vinci, ‘fortified Florence’ (p.403). Haweis’ expectations for art and artists are largely consistent with her contemporaries’; her ambitions for her female audience, however, go beyond that of many of her male colleagues. She provides models, assumes a need for knowledge and willingness to learn the history of the developing discipline of interior decoration, treating it as a profession rather than a hobby or ‘feminine’ pastime. The art of decoration is one of the first texts to consider the interior as a distinct field of architecture.20 Haweis asserts for women, and artists, the right to individuality and to ‘freedom.’ The art of decoration concludes with a rallying cry for decorating and colour: it is now ‘time for an artist of sufficient calibre to attack the chairs and pianos, iron bedsteads and wardrobes’ (p.406).

These attitudes towards household art, as art historian Martha Crabill McClaugherty points out, are an extension of the ideas promoted by Cole,

19

Eliza Haweis, The art of decoration 1881, New York & London: Garland Publishing 1977, p.3; all other references to Haweis are to this facsimile edition and given within the text. 20

Mark Taylor, ‘Coloured houses: Transgressing the limits of the domestic realm,’ in Harriet Edquest and Helène Frichot (ed.), LIMITS, Proceedings from the 21st Annual Conference of the Society of Architectural Historians Australia and New Zealand, Melbourne: RMIT University 2004, pp.461–466, at p.462 page 208 of 355

Wyatt and others.21 In The art of decoration, Haweis’ views are overtly political and altruistic morally: How can we thank, how greatly would we honour, those few men who, repudiating class-prejudice, deign to recognise the sole function of the artist—to educate the unknowing, to chronicle the best thoughts, aspirations, sympathies of his period, represented by that ‘herd’ of which he himself forms one atom, as the priest educates and teaches those from whose ranks he sprang. Mr Walter Crane, Mr Burne Jones, Mr William Burges, who being an architect was peculiarly fitted to understand how to harmonise colour and construction, have designed for wall-papers, windows, curtains, plate; Mr Caldecott, like Mr Crane, for cheap childish books, and thus have had more influence in raising public taste in ‘some of the least of these,’ than the rest have had in half a century’s exhibiting at the Royal Academy and Bond Street show-rooms. (p.372) If you permit pictures in your rooms, advises Haweis in ‘General applications,’ the third book of The art of decoration, they should be of the highest quality and ‘properly set in the wall’ (p.406). Although interior spaces with good proportions are to be preferred for decorating, because the majority of ‘common English rooms’ lack any claim to the ‘dignity’ of architecture, an eclectic approach to furnishing is recommended (p.202). The Renaissance period, furthermore, offers the benefit of a wide range of styles. Genuine fragments or original examples of either the Northern or southern tradition: may mix with Raphaels and Murillos on the walls, Vandykes, and Dürer prints, autotypes of the Old Masters’ sketches, and even photographs of fine pictures, as well as Venetian glass, Brussels and Arras tapestry, old Oriental tissues and panels of leather, or leather paper. (p.204) One may, in arranging the room, take advantage of many styles of the past but these should not become overpowering. The tables and chairs must be in harmony, as taste demands. To make a ‘beautiful and artistic room,’ warns Haweis, it is not sufficient to collect en masse and mix; rather systems are required since a ‘conglomeration of discordant periods and schools can be 21

‘Household art: Creating the artistic home, 1868–1893’, Winterthur Portfolio, vol.18, no.1, 1983, pp.1–26 page 209 of 355

figure 76 George SCHARF No.29 Great George Street, Westminster 1863 pencil drawing bound in album, 23.2 x 34.0 cm approx. Bequeathed by Sir George Scharf 1900, British Museum, London

page 210 of 355

figure 77 George SCHARF [Entrance hall] 29 Great George Street, Westminster 1869 pencil drawing British Museum, London

confusing and unpleasant’ (p.201). As Ledger points out, Haweis did not bother to state the obvious: the Raphaels, Van Dykes and other Old Masters would be reproductions.22 The prints produced by the Arundel Society and other publishers nourished this need for images of the works of the Old Masters. _______________________________

Only a small number of instances of Arundel Society prints used as household art have been identified to date. In situ examples, illustrated in visual form or described in prose, from the 1860s and 1870s are rarer still. These are the peak decades for subscription, when membership grew exponentially from approximately 600 persons in 1855 to nearly 3000 in 1872. The Society continued to publish lists of members and introduced various strategies to promote its activities, to ensure publications remained sought-after without compromising perceptions of quality (see Chapter 2). George Scharf Esq. is listed in the first group of subscribers published in the Athenaeum in July 1849, and again in the list issued in 1855 as part of a ‘Descriptive notice’ of the Arundel material exhibited in the Crystal Palace. The Bavarian-born watercolourist and lithographer George Johann Scharf (1788–1860) illustrated one of the Society’s first publications, the version of Vasari’s life of Fra Angelico translated by Giovanni Aubrey Bezzi and published in 1850. His son and pupil George Scharf (1820–1895) worked on the Sydenham Crystal Palace displays, and on the Manchester Art Treasures exhibition of 1857. He was Secretary, then the Director of the National Portrait Gallery, an active member of the Society of Antiquaries, and was later elected to the Arundel Society’s Council.23 He also wrote one of its only scholarly publications, Description of the Wilton House diptych 1882.

An ‘art professional,’ well-travelled bachelor, fine host and enthusiastic homemaker, Scharf the younger was renowned for his memory and acuity. He left many sketchbooks with illustrated notes, tracings and other documentation

22

Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, pp.154–155

23

The National Portrait Gallery provides a useful summary of George Scharf’s directorship: see http://www.npg.org.uk/about/history.php and http://www.npg.org.uk/whatson/display/2005/sirgeorge-scharf.php (last accessed August 2014); see also Scharf’s drawing, Meeting room of the Society of Antiquaries at Sommerset House. 2nd September 1874, reproduced in Peter Jackson, Drawings of Westminster, London: London Topographical Society 1994, pp.52–53 page 211 of 355

figure 78 George SCHARF My bedroom, 29 Great George Street, Westminster 1868 pencil drawing British Museum, London

figure 79 George SCHARF Backroom, second floor 1868 pencil drawing British Museum, London page 212 of 355

of portraits in private collections and potential acquisitions for the Portrait Gallery, as well as journals of his dinner parties, accounts and daily activities. As a museum official, art historian and artist-illustrator, he had ample motivation for joining the Arundel Society. Several of his drawings, particularly those produced at 29 Great George Street in Westminster, the first home of the National Portrait Gallery, suggest some intriguing possibilities for his ownership and use of the Society’s publications. The Gallery, which had been formally established in December 1858, opened to the public on 15 January 1859, displaying fifty-seven pictures in a brick terrace house. Scharf recorded the exterior of the four-storey eighteenth-century residence in September 1863, as part of a group of topographical drawings of London streets focusing on buildings to be demolished or under threat of destruction (fig.76).24 Great George Street housed the Gallery and its Secretary until late 1869 when the collection, now numbering some 288 works, moved to South Kensington and its Secretary to a new home at Ashley Place.25

A series of richly-detailed drawings of the interior, produced between late June 1868 and December 1869, shows Scharf’s rooms ‘above the shop.’ They record an environment replete with books, casts and prints of the works of arts admired by Scharf and his contemporaries. His notes add to the visual density. Some objects are annotated, including several casts shown on top of the wardrobe in the bedroom.26 Others, such as the Last supper and Raphael’s School of Athens fresco, are clearly too famous to require any description. The male figure in the library—a young Jacob Luard Pattison (1841–1915) recorded in Scharf’s journal as his ‘most preferred friend’—and the female figure labelled ‘my mother’ in the sky-lit room seem almost suffocated by things (figs.80 and 81).

24

This drawing, bound in an album with the interiors, was bequeathed to the British Museum in 1900. No.29 Great George Street—one of a row of elegant, four-storey brick, eighteenth-century townhouses—was demolished in 1910. 25

At the time of his appointment, Scharf lived in a house in Camden Town he had bought in September 1856, with his mother and her sister; by 1860 he was living at 29 Great George Street and was granted permission to bring his mother and aunt to live with him. Elizabeth and Mary Hicks moved, with their maid, into the rooms on the third-floor in April 1860. Although George Scharf (senior) was not included initially in these arrangements, he stayed during an illness, from which he did not recover, and died at the house in November 1860. see Jackson, Drawings of Westminster, p.9 and Freeman Marius O'Donoghue’s entry in the Dictionary of National Biography 1885-1900, vol.50 26

‘British Museum, Bacchante’, ‘Euterpa’ and ‘clapping faun’; elsewhere, a circular relief above the mantle is inscribed ‘Perseus’ while another print to the left is marked ‘Holbein.’ page 213 of 355

figure 80 George SCHARF [The library] 1869 pencil drawing British Museum, London

figure 81 George SCHARF Mother's room [?] 1868 pencil drawing British Museum, London page 214 of 355

By all accounts the accommodation for the Gallery’s collection below was equally crowded. A drawing of the entrance hall, dated September 1868, shows portraits hung frame-to-frame, as visitors ascended the stairs to the first storey where the collection displays continued (fig.77). As the fine arts correspondent for the Illustrated London News complained in April 1870, the move was long overdue: ‘The unworthy manner in which the portraits were necessarily huddled together in the private house at Westminster, in small dark rooms, on staircases and in passages, where it was impossible to adequately inspect a large proportion, had long been a public scandal.’27 Scharf’s library and workroom were on the next level, at the front of the building. The two drawings of the library show that every available wall was jammed with books, including the space between the south-facing windows. Nestled amongst the shelves on the other side of the room are eight framed works in various sizes (fig.80). The arched print above a large work may be one of the Arundel Society’s first chromolithographs, Ottaviano Nelli’s Madonna with saints copied by Mrs Margaretta Higford Burr (fig.2). In the back bedroom, tucked behind the library and study, is a collection of sculpture (fig.79). Scharf’s view from his bed is a medley of Madonna and saints, ‘Elgin’ marbles, and Rembrandt’s Anatomy lesson of Dr Nicolaes Tulp 1632, shown underneath the shelf of casts (fig.78), while in the view of the other bedroom we find the Delphic sibyl from the Sistine Chapel. In the early 1850s the Society had issued casts of Parthenon figures, including Theseus, Ilissus and the horsemen from the frieze, and these are consistent with the size of the figure on the shelf, at far right.28 The Society also issued chromolithographs of the Sistine sibyls in the 1870s. The Raphael next to the bed is the Ansidei Madonna, which Scharf would have known from the Duke of Marlborough’s collection.29 Another Raphael Madonna, this time the Sistine Madonna from Dresden, is shown in one of the rooms on the top floor

27

2 April 1870, p.350; quoted in Jackson, Drawings of Westminster, p.36

28

See Maynard, Descriptive notice of the drawings and publications of the Arundel Society: Arranged in the order of their issue, pp.21–22. The Society’s Theseus reduction is described as being one-third size of the original sculpture (121.9 x 152.4 cm) or approximately 40 x 50 cm. 29

The Ansidei Madonna was acquired by the National Gallery, London, to great fanfare in 1885; see also the guide to Blenheim Palace, the Duke of Marlborough’s seat, published by W Eccles in 1861, p.26 page 215 of 355

figure 82 George SCHARF [The sitting room] 1869 pencil drawing British Museum, London

figure 83 George SCHARF [The study] 1869 pencil drawing British Museum, London © The Trustees of the British Museum page 216 of 355

(fig.81) while in the view of the sitting room, on the left hand side above, the sofa hangs the Dürer Trinity (figs.82 and 101).

These are exactly the sort of rooms deplored by Eastlake and others30—and the owner could be the subject of Loftie’s ‘bibliomaniac’ counsel. Scharf’s collection of prints and casts of sculptural monuments, interspersed with photographs of friends and family, provides an intimate picture of the man and his interests. In many of his choices, Scharf conforms to mid-nineteenth-century taste and an art-historical canon that privileges the Italian tradition. On the other hand, some of the juxtapositions are rather unexpected, both in terms of their subject matter and the placement of works in rooms which would have been semi-private. In his library, or perhaps his workroom, the Secretary may have met other professionals or those of his inner circle. The 28-year Pattison, for example, was soon to embark on a career in the Civil Service.31 Visitors, however, unless members of the family, would not have ventured to the top floor of the house to the rooms Scharf shared with his mother and aunt, his ‘elderlillies’. In the sitting and ‘top room,’ we might expect more neutral furnishings: the figure of Scharf’s mother is dwarfed by a bust of Apollo atop a porphyry pedestal (fig.81). She reads alongside an elaborate mahogany sideboard with equestrian figures, facing the Raphaels hanging on the door and above the chest of drawers. Either she and her sister Mary shared the same tastes as their well-read host or, one suspects, the upper level spaces were complete with Scharf’s things when they arrived in April 1860.32

30

Scharf’s drawings ‘reveal his culture and scholarship’ and his ‘crimson-covered mahogany furniture and crimson walls demonstrated precisely the sort of popular taste which Charles Eastlake and his friends condemned.’ Susan Lasdun, Victorians at home, New York: Viking Press 1981, p.99 31

Pattison worked in the Admiralty before being appointed as secretary first to Lord Dufferin— with whom he travelled to Canada on his appointment as Governor General (1872–78)—and then to W H Smith, newsagent, politician and First Lord of the Treasury; see Who was who and Jackson, Drawings of Westminster, p.40. Frederick Hamilton-Temple-Blackwood (1826–1902), Marquess of Dufferin and Ava, succeeded Layard as ambassador to the Ottoman Empire (1881–84) and was also a long-time subscriber to the Arundel Society. Pattison was also later private secretary to Lord Iveagh. 32

A second porphyry pedestal, flanking the sideboard housing trinkets or a lady’s things, is empty perhaps as a concession to the heavy curtain; presumably, as Jackson points out, this was put up to block the drafts from the two doors in the far corner. Drawings of Westminster, p.48 page 217 of 355

Some of Scharf’s prints and casts came from the Arundel Society. The provenance of several other things can also be postulated. The cast of the clapping faun, on the shelf in ‘My bedroom,’ may be a reduced version after the marble in the Bargello Museum in Florence, said to have been restored by Michelangelo (fig.78).33 In Scharf’s study, above the Sistine Chapel scheme propped on the fireplace mantle, is a print or copy after the 'Chandos’ portrait of William Shakespeare, the first work collected for the National Portrait Gallery (fig.81). More prosaically, the drawing of the upper level sitting room is inscribed with details of the piano, suggesting it was the focus of many evenings’ entertainment.34 Scharf probably drew his rooms for his own enjoyment and as an aide memoire rather than with any intention for circulation—perhaps to document the rooms in preparation for his move or following his mother’s death in 1869.35 The notes and inscriptions throughout hint at further possibilities: did Scharf intend a series of paintings, watercolours or prints after the views? Were the notes on colours, fabrics and materials, as well as the dates and times of day, intended to recapture the atmosphere, or to become instructions to a lithographer? Most of Scharf’s drawings and annotated sketches relate to his business at the Portrait Gallery, and form part of the collection there. But the Great George Street and other topographical drawings were bequeathed by Scharf to the British Museum, and were inscribed ‘to be placed with my Father’s drawings now in the Print Room. May 3rd 1873.’36

In contrast, a pair of oil paintings by John Atkinson Grimshaw (1836–1893) provides a very different example of Arundel Society chromolithographs ‘at home’. Spring and Summer 1875 were both painted at Knostrop Old Hall, a seventeenth-century manor house outside Leeds, where the artist lived from

33

The sculpture is included, for example, in George Redford’s Ancient Sculpture (Sampson Low, Marston, Searle and Rivington 1888) fig. 39, p.47, p.204. Casts of the clapping faun and many others were available via firms such as Hennecke, in Milwaukee and Chicago; see, for example, Hennecke's art studies, (Milwauke: Hennecke 1889), p.91, for both 34 inch (86.4 cm) and 60 inch (152.4 cm) versions. 34

Inscribed, lower left: ‘Piano 6 octaves & one note, beginning with the base on F natural & ending to the right on G natural. Collard & Collard, late Clementi.’ 35

Scharf’s diary entry for 22 December 1869 reads: ‘Slept in my own bedroom for the last time at 29 Great George Street, see Jackson, Drawings of Westminster, p.44. 36

See Editor’s note by Ann Saunders in Jackson, Drawings of Westminster, p.5 page 218 of 355

1870 (fig.84AB).37 Each shows a solitary female figure, beautifully dressed and within in a sumptuous interior, standing near a window. In Spring she wears a loose, richly-embroidered morning gown and cap, and tends to potted plants in front of the window. The well-groomed courtyard beyond, with greenhouse and trellised plants, pales by comparison with the gloriously layered and patterned furnishings inside.38 A gold screen, large blue-and-white jar, ornate carpet below and wallpaper behind all compete for attention with the fabrics of the shawls draped over the seventeenth-century style chair and the settee.39 For Summer the woman is dressed to go out, lifting the blind as though to check on the arrival of a companion. Again the rich fabrics of her gown complement the surfaces and the textures of the surrounding objects. An ‘enamel’ chair, blueand-white china and green-glass goblet atop an inlaid cabinet, patterned carpet and dramatically striped rugs are juxtaposed against palms, dark furniture and a painting of broadly ‘Renaissance’ style in the adjacent room. Japanese fans are displayed above the doorway, a Rococo-style urn on a mirrored wall-stand and corner table with yellow vase are arranged next to the door, and five of the twelve Arundel Society chromolithographs after the Ghent altarpiece hang above. The combination of vegetation, embellished pattern and objects encapsulates the comments of architectural historian Mark Girouard who characterises Victorian interiors as bringing together elements of ‘nest’ and ‘forest,’ woven together into a ‘richly indistinguishable fuzz.’ 40

Almost entirely a self-taught artist, Grimshaw’s paintings refer to an aspect of his training. There were few opportunities for specialist art training in Leeds in

37

Spring and Summer are reproduced in Alexander Robertson, Atkinson Grimshaw, Oxford: Phaidon 1988, pl.1, 36 in the same volume (see also pp.35–71); see also Calloway, English prints for the collector, p.133 38

see also In the Pleasaunce 1875; Robertson, Atkinson Grimshaw, pl.44, p.39

39

The chorale 1878, set at Scarborough, features Eastlake’s ‘Solanum’ wallpaper and Japanese matting dado; see Charlotte Gere, Artistic circles: Design & decoration in the aesthetic movement, London: V&A Publishing 2010, p.102 and pl.73, p.101 40

The nest component are provided by Japanese fans, vases, photographs, bronze statues, and clocks—the Victorians ‘equivalents of twine, straw and leaves’—while the ‘forests’ are the potted palms and other greenery which ‘spilled over from the conservatory into the living rooms’ in the more prosperous homes. Girouard goes on to describe Burne-Jones’ ‘created forests’ as ‘mysterious light percolating through hangings and stained-glass windows.’ See Girouard in Susan Lasdun, Victorians at home, New York: Viking 1981, p.20; see also Thad Logan, 'Decorating domestic space: Middle-class women and Victorian interiors,' in Vanessa D Dickerson (ed.), Keeping the Victorian house: A collection of essays, New Garland 1995, pp.207–234, p.219 page 219 of 355

figure 84 AB (John) Atkinson GRIMSHAW Spring and Summer 1875 oil on canvas 61 x 91 cm, 63.5 x 76.2 cm both private collections page 220 of 355

the early 1850s, and he probably started by looking at prints and works in local galleries.41 He abandoned a career at the Great Northern Railway in 1861. He began to paint full-time in the early 1860s, exhibiting locally and achieving some remarkable success quickly, mostly with still-lifes and landscapes of the areas around Leeds. By the time he took on the tenancy at Knostrop Old Hall, he was also successful further afield, selling his paintings through William Agnew, London. A painting was accepted to the Royal Academy in 1874. Grimshaw became known for his nocturnal scenes, or ‘moonlights,’ and by 1876 was able to rent a second home, Castle by the Sea, on the coast at Scarborough. In the 1880s he also maintained a London studio in Chelsea. Spring and Summer are part of a group of interior and garden scenes set at Knostrop and at Scarborough, which show artfully arranged and decorated rooms, the overall effect suggesting the artist’s reputation for moving in ‘bohemian’ circles.42 Dulce domum 1876–85, a painting set in the dining-room at Knostrop, provides even richer evidence of Grimshaw’s collecting: another inlaid cabinet; prints in ‘Oxford’ frames hanging down the wall; Chinese ceramics including a large jar used as a vase for sunflowers; a classical statue; the Eastern embroidery on the central figure’s chair; framed oil paintings above the piano; and an ebonised chair for the player. Mrs Haweis would have admired the panelled walls and plasterwork in the ‘Queen Anne’ dining-room.43

Twenty chromolithographs after the van Eyck polyptych were issued by the Arundel Society in between 1868 and 1871, and were available in special

41

Grimshaw may also have had access to the collection of Thomas Plint (1823–1861), the Leeds stockbroker who supported the Pre-Raphaelites. Other prominent families in Leeds, such as the Gotts whose wealth came from the wool trade and manufacturing, are also recorded with Arundel Society material; Benjamin Gott (1762– 1840) had built a fine collection of art at Armley House while his son, William Gott (1797–1863), of Wyther Grange, collected rare books. Gott family archives at Leeds University 42

The majority of Grimshaw’s Knostrop interiors are held in private collections: El penseroso 1875 is owned by Lord Lloyd Webber, while In the Pleasaunce 1875; Dulce domum 1876–85; Day dreams 1877; and At the artist’s home 1878 are all private hands. The Scarborough paintings, The chorale 1878 and The cradle song 1878, are likewise private collections. 43

Dulce domum prompted a range of commentary when exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1885: according to The Times: 'there is hardly to be found in the exhibition such another piece of sheer painting as the dress of the lady in the foreground,’ while the Art Journal described it as 'a bold and not altogether unsatisfactory attempt to revive the tradition of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.' F G Stephens, in the Athenaeum, described the painting as 'one of the most original and powerful interiors [with a] splendour and intensity … worthy of [early] Holman Hunt.’ quoted by Roberston, Atkinson Grimshaw, p.39, 46 page 221 of 355

frames (figs.98 and 122).44 If the room pictured in Summer is indeed Grimshaw’s, we may presume he did own at least some of the Ghent altarpiece prints. He probably purchased them from the Society’s agent in Leeds, from another London printseller or through an intermediary.45 The auto-didactic nature of Grimshaw’s early training and subsequent development was not unusual. Studying the works of past masters in print form, via writers such as Vasari, Rio or Mrs Jameson, was certainly an expected route to a career as an artist, especially for those who lived outside the main art centres.46 Another regional artist, the Birmingham-based painter Joseph Southall (1861–1944), had his eyes opened ‘to the marvels of medieval art and mural decoration’ by reading Ruskin and discovering the prints published by the Arundel Society. 47

The magnificent residences built by phenomenally successful painters such as Frederic Leighton (1830–1896) and Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836–1912)— known from their open-house days, as well as a range of other press notices in the popular press—are testament to the possibilities for artistic careers during the period. F G Stephens’ Artists at home 1884, illustrated with photographs by J P Mayall, is one example, albeit rarefied, of public interest in artist-designed spaces.48 In the 1870s Grimshaw could afford to shop and decorate, although on a more modest scale than some of his contemporaries; the painted interiors are, however, an isolated group within his oeuvre. He continued to produce landscapes, often incorporating Knostrop Old Hall, and townscapes around Leeds, in which smaller figures shown within laneways serve to suggest 44

The central panel Adoration of the lamb was issued in 1868, and the other two sections, the right wing (The last judges and Warriors of Christ) and left wing (The hermits and The pilgrims) of the altarpiece were completed in 1869. The upper panels, not shown in Grimshaw’s painting, came out in two instalments in 1870 and 1871. 45

Grimshaw does not appear on subscriber lists for 1872 and 1879. Printseller Edward Hassé (1816–1864) is listed as the Society agent in Leeds in 1855; his nephew Alexander Hassé (c.1846–1930), in Commercial St, is listed by 1878. Grimshaw's painting, Luxury 1874, has Hassé label. 46

See also Lady Trevelyan’s ‘salon’ at Wallington, Northumberland; see Chapter 5.

47

Through these influences, Southall was drawn into experiments with media and technique; see Charlotte Gere, ‘Gleams of gold’, Apollo, vol.161, no.518, April 2005, pp.76–81, at p.76. As a leader of the Birmingham Group which flourished before 1914, Southall was a key figure in the revival of the use of tempera: see also the painter-deisgner Charles March Gere (1869–1934); and painter-etchers Henry Rushbury (1889–1968) and Gerald Leslie Brockhurst. 48

Despite the small circulation of Artists at home (edition of 500), a broader interest is documented in various press notices and elsewhere. This strand of Victorian architecture and decoration is explored by Charlotte Gere in Artistic circles: Design & decoration in the aesthetic movement, London: V&A Publishing 2010. page 222 of 355

loneliness or a sense of alienation, or are simply staffage for the scene. From the mid-1860s onwards he made use of photographs for his composition, but seems to have remained true to Ruskin's dictum that the medium should serve as an aide memoire rather than for imitation.49 Frances Hubbard (1835–1917), Grimshaw’s cousin and wife, is thought to have modelled the female figure in Spring and Summer. But, as curator Alexander Robertson suggests, the fact that these paintings, and the other interiors circulated almost immediately, implies they were produced for sale rather than for any personal reasons.50 Spring and Summer may thus be regarded as contributing to a popular subgenre of the period; they are fine examples of the artist’s home as setting, and, subsequently, a record of Aesthetic decoration. _______________________________

It would be quite safe, we think, to assert that throughout the length and breadth of the kingdom there is not one domicile into which the chromo has not penetrated. In the richest homes the chromos may be relegated to the nursery and the domestic offices, but it is there nevertheless, and to some members at least of the household it is as attractive as the more ambitious oil painting. In the humbler home the chromo-lithograph is almost the only available artistic product. It is seen in the best room as well as the smallest—in the passage of the lobby as well as in the bedroom.51

We know that large numbers of Arundel Society chromolithographs circulated from the 1860s onwards. It is surprising, perhaps, that recorded examples in situ are so few. On the other hand, traditional collectors would have kept their prints stored within folios or incorporated them into existing albums. By the 1860s and 1870s the Society seems to have targeted new collectors, offering portfolios and stands for sale, as well as the option of purchasing prints with 49

This aspect of the artist’s practice is examined in detail by Robertson in ‘“No marks of handling”: Grimshaw’s method and technique,’ Atkinson Grimshaw, London: Phaidon 1996, pp.107–123 50

An undated note ‘must paint Fanny in the garden’—interpreted as In the Pleasaunce 1875—is within the same Leeds sketchbook in which Grimshaw has listed the plants bought for the conservatory at Knostrop: see El penseroso 1875; this seems to be the artist’s only reference to his series. Robertson, Atkinson Grimshaw, p.39. 51

‘Art for the households of the people,’ British and Colonial printer and stationer, 21 January 1892, p.5, and quoted by Tidman, Art for the Victorian Household, p.7 page 223 of 355

figure 85 Edward HAU Empress Marie’s salon in the Winter Palace 1850s–60s watercolour Schlossmuseum Darmstadt

figure 86 Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer (under Schultz's supervision) after a copy of Mariotto Albertinelli’s The visitation by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 63.8 x 40.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1875 Felix Man Collection, National page 224 of 355 Gallery of Australia, Canberra

customised frames. In the case of the subjects produced in series after multiple frescoes, or after the panels of altarpieces issued in instalments, this option would have been particularly appealing. The Society’s first Northern or ‘Germanic’ subject was the Memling altarpiece c.1475, now in Bruges; five prints were issued on three sheets in 1865. Another Memling painting, known as the ‘Donne triptych,’ had been acquired by the Duke of Devonshire, and attracted much critical acclaim when shown at the National Portrait Exhibition in 1866.52 This, and the subsequent Holbein publications issued in 1871 (fig.102), is a good example of the Society’s entrepreneurship: the later may have been timed to coincide with an exhibition of the artist’s work in Dresden in 1871.

Many Victorian decorators took cues from aristocratic styles, both past and present, just as royalty and the aristocracy in this period adopted the manners and mores of the middle-class. The Arundel Society did not stint in promoting its royal connections. Marie of Russia (1824–1880)53 was announced as a life subscriber from 1872 and we may suppose that her connection to the Society was familial: Maria Alexandrovna’s nephew married Princess Alice, daughter of Victoria and Prince Albert, and the two women were known to have met at the house of Marie’s brother, in Heiligenberg, Germany. Empress Marie owned a version of Albertinelli’s The visitation, the main panel for the high altar in San Martino, Florence, painted in 1503 and now in the Uffizi. It is shown in a watercolour by Edward Hau from 1850–60 (fig.85).54 This apparently grand salon in the Winter Palace was regarded as remarkably informal at the time, and Hau’s watercolour is exactly the sort of image recorded for posterity by owners and viewed with much fascination outside royal circles. The Society’s print after Albertinelli’s painting, issued in 1875, was one of its most successful to date (fig.86). Sales in a single year more than repaid the entire costs of its

52

Virgin and Child with saints and donors c.1478, oil on panel, 71 x 131.3 cm (overall) National Gallery, London 53

She was a princess of the Grand Duchy of Hesse and, as Maria Alexandrovna, Empress consort of Alexander II of Russia: Her Grand Ducal Highness Princess Marie of Hesse and by Rhine (1824–41); Her Imperial Highness Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna of Russia (1841– 55); Her Imperial Majesty The Empress of all the Russias (1855–80) 54

Empress Marie’s salon in the Winter Palace (Schlossmuseum Damstadt) is reproduced in Charlotte Gere, Nineteenth-century decoration: The art of the interior, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson 1989, illus. p.238 page 225 of 355

figure 87 John Everett MILLAIS Mrs James Wyatt Jr and her daughter Sarah c.1850 oil on mahogany, 35.3 x 45.7 cm Tate

figure 88 Ernest George & Peto, designers

page 226 of 355

The main staircase at 5 Collingham Gardens, Kensington, London 1886 photograph: Bedford Lemere & Co 1888 RIBA Library Photographs Collection, London

preparation.55 In another watercolour of a royal interior in Berlin, a room within the apartment of Crown Prince Wilhelm and his wife Marianne, painted by Eduard Gaertner and dated 1852, we find Holbein’s Madonna and Child.56 By producing images of the works of art owned by members of the European royal family, or the images of them which circulated, the Society appealed to bourgeois audiences.

Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen and His Royal Highness the Prince Albert headed the Arundel Society’s subscriber lists (rf fig.4).57 As well as publicising their royal and aristocratic membership, the Society also appealed to those who desired cultural capital (see Chapter 2). Influential collectors such as the Marquess of Lansdowne and the art historian and writer Lord Lindsay were cultivated noblemen. The great wealth of Henry Petty-Fitzmaurice (1780–1863), 3rd Marquess of Lansdowne KG, PC, FRS, was largely derived from Irish estates and enabled him to form a fine collection of High Renaissance seventeenth-century Dutch and contemporary English paintings. A Trustee of the National Gallery, London, Lansdowne was twice stood down from the Council for not attending meetings, then was re-instated on special grounds.58 As Ledger points out, his role was probably largely honorific and he lent his name to a number of other art causes.59 Alexander Lindsay, author of the influential and popular Sketches of the history of Christian art 1845, had the benefit of being knowledgeable about Italian frescoes. Although Lindsay’s involvement with the Society was very short—he resigned in 1851—many of his concerns about the condition and treatment of frescoes in Italy were pursued by Ruskin and Layard. The painter Charles Eastlake (1779–1844), uncle of the author, whose decade-long directorship of the National Gallery was extremely influential in shaping attitudes to early Italian art in Britain, was also very 55

Twenty-seventh annual report of the Council, June 1876, p.1

56

The green room at the Berlin Stadtschloss (Schlossmuseum Damstadt) is reproduced in Peter Thornton, Authentic decor: The domestic interior, 1620–1920, New York: Viking 1984, illus.376, p.284 57

Prince Albert was, of course, an early enthusiast for ‘the primitives’ of Northern Italy, Germany and the Netherlands; see ‘Prince Albert as a collector,’ Burlington Magazine, vol.5, p.9, 1904, which mentions also the ‘pioneer work’ of Layard and Higford Burr, and the role of the Arundel Society in ‘stimulating the interest of the average educated person in the works of the so-called called ‘gothic’ period.’; http://www.archive.org/details/burlingtonmagazi05londuoft 58

National Gallery Trustee (1834–63); see Annual reports 1861, 1862, etc.

59

Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.9 page 227 of 355

important to the Society.60 National Portrait Gallery Director George Scharf, whose knowledge of art and collections was much valued, came from a more modest background but, as one of the new ‘art professionals,’ rose to be an establishment figure.

To admire Renaissance masterpieces was expected and, as we have seen in Scharf’s drawings, a large number of prints after major works was available in the nineteenth century. The Victorians’ taste for Leonardo, Michelangelo and Raphael may be demonstrated by numerous other examples. Millais’ portrait, Mrs James Wyatt Jr and her daughter Sarah c.1850, incorporates a print of Leonardo’s Last supper, flanked on either side by Raphael’s Madonna della Sedia and the Alba Madonna (fig.87). Eliza Wyatt and baby Sarah—daughterin-law and grand-daughter of James Wyatt (1774–1853),61 the Oxford art dealer, printseller and frame-maker, and early supporter of the Pre-Raphaelites—are thus posed as a modern-day mother and child, descendants of the Marian tradition. The appeal of Raphael, and his grand fresco schemes, continues: in a late 1880s photograph of Ernest George and Peto’s design for the main staircase in a Kensington residence, we find a large print after Raphael’s School of Athens produced by an unidentified publisher (fig.88).62 Likewise works such as the Madonna della Sedia continued to be promoted as suitable household decoration, especially for nurseries, until the early 1900s.63 The Arundel Society issued a single print after Leonardo, a Madonna and Child now attributed to Boltraffio, in 1859 (fig.117), and the three Michelangelo sibyls from the Sistine Chapel in 1871, 1877 and 1881. A total of nine Raphael or Raphael-based subjects were produced between 1859 and 1873, including the fresco The 60

Uncle of the author of Hints. Eastlake had visited Padua in the 1820s, with the painter Sir Augustus Callcott and his wife Maria Graham; in 1835, Mrs Graham published a small handbook about the chapel, illustrated by her husband. Eastlake was Director 1855–65. 61

Wyatt who lived and worked from 115 High Street, Oxford, was also the curator of the Duke of Marlborough's picture collection at Blenheim. 62

See Jeremy Wood, ‘Raphael copies and exemplary picture galleries in mid eighteenth-century London,’ Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, 62 Bd, H 3, 1999, pp.394–417. 63

See the design for a nursery mantle, using Raphael’s Madonna della seggiola and other broadly aesthetic style illustrations, in Maria R Dewing’s Beauty in the Household, (New York: Harpe & Brothers 1882) in which she recommends pictures which develop a child's sense of colour and form, including copies of 'Renaissance Madonna and Child' or Walter Crane's illustrations; see also Martha Crabill McClaugherty, ‘Household Art: Creating the Artistic Home, 1868-1893’, fig.5, p.7. Robert Verhoogt in Art in reproduction: Nineteenth-century prints after Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Jozef Israels and Ary Scheffer, (Amsterdam University Press 2007), discusses a range other printed examples of Raphael Madonnas; at p.226. page 228 of 355

poets of Mount Parnassus from the Vatican, presumably intended to build on the enthusiasm for the School of Athens (fig.12).64

The painter and sculptor George Frederic Watts (1817–1904), who lived in Italy between 1843 and 1847, took inspiration from Raphael's School of Athens for his huge fresco completed for Lincoln's Inn, Justice, a hemicycle of lawgivers 1859. Watts kept casts of the Elgin marbles in his studio at Holland House and was also inspired by the Sistine and Arena chapels. His period of involvement with the Arundel Society, serving on the Council from 1851 until at least 1857, suggests he may have been more interested in the early phase of its development than the later period of the 1860s and 1870s when its chromolithographic publications were most popular. As we have seen, looking to the ‘primitives,’ to admire Gothic art and other traditions before Raphael, was a new tendency: Giotto and Botticelli were rediscovered in the nineteenth century, and Botticelli’s re-emergence, as Levey points out, was regarded as a particularly English achievement, in which artists played a key role. 65 Dante Gabriel Rossetti, although expressing much enthusiasm for the Society’s Giotto display, did not subscribe. William Morris (1834–1896), on the other hand, was a member by 1855, although probably not for long; some of his Arundel chromolithographs were probably acquired as Occasional publications. George Edmund Street (1824–1881), who praised the Arena Chapel and San Francisco, Assisi, as ‘two of the most perfect examples of painted churches in Italy,’ was another subscriber who served on the Council.66 He recommended the Society and its publications to his fellow architects and members of the Ecclesiological Society and, although he countered the idea that the Society should produce 64

Giovanni Sanzio’s Madonna and Child and The Resurrection in 1859 (the head of the angel being supposedly a portrait of Raphael by his father); The Conversion of Saul as a line engraving in 1864; St Peter delivered in prison and The poets of Mount Parnassus from the Vatican in 1865 and 1873; The four sibyls from the Chigi chapel, Santa Maria della Pace, Rome in 1866; the four allegorical figures from the Sistine Chapel: Poetry 1867; Theology 1867 (and again 1882); Philosophy 1871 and Jurisprudence 1873. 65

‘Botticelli and nineteenth-century England,’ p.291. The Smeralda Bandinelli portrait, then attributed to Botticelli, was acquired in 1867 by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–1882) and greatly admired in by his fellow Pre-Raphaelites; the work is now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Rossetti’s composition of a sonnet ‘For Spring by Sandro Botticelli (in the Accademia of Florence)’ 1880 was, according to Levey and others, prompted by being given a reproduction of Primavera; Levey, p.302 66

Street’s address, delivered at the Ecclesiological Society’s anniversary meeting, 1 June 1858, was published as ‘On the Future of Art in England,’ in Ecclesiologist, vol.19, June 1858, pp.232–240. He was a member from 1855, and served on Council from 1868. page 229 of 355

figure 89 William Morris’ library at Kelmscott House after 1888

figure 90 Emilio COSTANTINI, copyist after Botticelli’s Primavera (c.1887) watercolour, 53.3 x 82.6 cm © Victoria and Albert Museum, London issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1888 page 230 of 355

popular pictures that ‘might be hung on the walls of houses,’ he remained on the Council until his death.67

Edward Burne-Jones (1833–1898) made four trips to Italy, the last with Morris, and copied many of the works he most admired there for his own uses and for others. His itineraries, the first especially, were guided by Ruskin: in 1859, travelling with friend Charles Faulkner (1833–1892) and the painter Val Prinsep (1838–1904), he went to Pisa, Florence, Siena, Bologna, Verona, Padua, Venice and Milan. He copied Simone Martini, Benozzo Gozzoli and the works attributed to Andrea Orcagna at the Campo Santi; Fra Angelico at San Marco; and Vittore Carpaccio in the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni, amongst others. He was directly inspired by Giotto’s frescoes, probably via the Arundel Society’s woodcuts and Ruskin’s text, for the murals painted at the Red House in 1860, the Morris home designed by their friend Phillip Webb (1831–1915).68 On his second trip in 1862—financed by Ruskin and partially in his company, partially with Georgiana Burne-Jones (1840–1920)—he drew the Virtues and Vices from the Arena Chapel, and works by Luini in the Monastero Maggiore, Milan.69 Indeed the artists and works favoured by Burne-Jones mirror very directly those published by the Society and its supporters. His awareness of Italian art, both first-hand and through secondary sources, in turn affected his work, both his painting and his broader approach to design and art objects. He drew on his Italian experiences and others for the mosaic cycle in St Peter's Within the walls, the American Church in Rome designed by Street, as well as several other decorative projects.70

67

F G Stephens, Athenaem, no.1859, Saturday 13 June 1863, p.784

68

The Red House, its interiors, furnishing and garden layout, had a profound effect on later nineteenth-century design and, especially, Morris & Co (see below). For Burne-Jones and Giotto, see Stephen Wildman and John Christian’s ‘Ruskin and Italy,’ in Edward Burne-Jones, Victorian artist-dreamer, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art 1998, pp.77–86, at p.81 69

See, for example, copy after Luini, Sts Apollonia and Agatha 1862, watercolour, 37.5 x 25 cm, Royal Cornwell Museum, Truro; some of the copies made for Ruskin entered, via Ruskin’s Drawing School, the Ashmolean Museum, and others are in an album at the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge. 70

Three of the mosaics were installed between 1881 and the artist’s death in 1898, with the fourth, after the artist’s designs, executed in 1906–07 by Burne-Jones’ studio assistant T M Rooke (1844–1944). The tesserae were produced by Compagnia Venezia Murano, the company set up by lawyer glass manufacturer Antonio Salviati (1816–1890) with the backing of Layard and Sir William Drake. Richard Dorment, ‘Burne-Jones's Roman Mosaics,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.120, no.899, February 1978, pp.72–82 page 231 of 355

The Arundel Society promoted its artist-subscribers, particularly the Royal Academicians: George Richmond (1809–1896), William Holman Hunt (1827– 1910) and Edward Poynter (1836–1919), amongst others, were involved with the Society and its management over an extended period, and are often mentioned in Annual reports and other publications (see Chapters 2 and 4). Holman Hunt’s period on the Council from 1858 to 1868, may have informed his savvy financial decisions about the publication of his painting The light of the world 1853–54. Issued in 1860, the engraving was described in the Illustrated London News as ‘one of the most perfect things modern art has produced,’ and was displayed in many homes.71 Poynter (ARA, RA, later Sir) contributed from 1875 until the Society’s end in 1897; he may have assumed his father’s subscription, as the architect and painter Ambrose Poynter (1796–1886) was an early member. Burne-Jones’ fame was partly built on the numerous reproductions of his work that circulated in printed and photographic form.72 He, however, was less conscious of the monetary rewards to be gained from the large number of photographs produced after his works, many of which were hung by his friends and admirers within their homes.73

Increasingly in the second half of the nineteenth century the artistic or avantgarde owned another, more symbolic form of capital. A photograph from the mid-1890s by an unidentified photographer—showing a print of Botticelli’s Primavera in the library at Kelmscott House (fig.89)—demonstrates a new use for Arundel Society chromolithographs, and through it we discover a further

71

Quoted by Robert Fulford ‘The Light fantastic; Loved but neglected painting of Jesus became a touchstone of mass culture,’ The National Post, 24 December 2007. 72

His admiration of the etching after Botticelli’s Birth of Venus produced by Félix Jasiński (see also Chapter 1) meant he trusted Jasiński to ‘translate’ his work: from 1892 a series of five prints after Burne-Jones’ paintings were issued by the London publisher Arthur Tooth, including The golden stairs 1984 and Venus’ mirror 1896. see Julian Hartnoll, The reproductive engravings after Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones, London: J Hartnoll 1988 73

As Fiona MacCarthy explains Burne-Jones developed an early apathy to mass-produced engravings; by the 1880s he was searching out skilled printmakers and producing specialist fine art editions over which he kept tight control. Not until 1885, at the time of the death of his friend and patron William Graham (1817–1885), did Burne-Jones accept his advice to take payment for photographs produced by Frederick Hollyer (1838–1933); Graham also advised Burne-Jones to negotiate a copyright fee as part of the purchase price for his paintings. The last PreRaphaelite Edward Burne-Jones and the Victorian imagination, Cambridge: Harvard University Press 2014, pp.165–166, pp.343–344, p.361 page 232 of 355

circle of influences and interconnections.74 Morris lived in this large Georgian house in Hammersmith from the late 1870s until his death, naming the property Kelmscott House to distinguish it from Kelmscott Manor, his country residence. As we have seen, it was not unusual to spend a large amount of money redecorating or refurbishing a rental property. In 1878, for example, Morris spent £1000 on the house, for which he paid an annual rent of £85.75 This was a good proportion of his projected income of £1200 for 1879. His private income, as well as the success of Morris & Co from the mid-1870s onwards, meant there was no financial reason for Morris to curtail his expenditure. His aesthetic principles and reform agenda resulted in a relatively austere décor: Morris' own rooms, his bedroom and his study in the ground floor facing in the river, have no wallpaper, the walls are almost entirely lined with books, and were described as being almost 'frugally bare'.76 In 1895–96, just before Morris’ death, he and Burne-Jones designed a tapestry after the Botticelli Spring for the poet and writer Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (1840–1922) and Lady Anne Blunt (1837–1917). The tapestry was commissioned to mark the twenty-first birthday of their daughter Judith, and hung in their drawing-room at Newbuildings.77

Morris and other practitioners of the Arts and Crafts Movement may have been inspired by the chromolithographic palette and by a certain ‘hardness’ intrinsic to the print technique. Arundel Society chromolithographs within Arts and Crafts interiors are shown in two photographs by Harry Bedford Lemere (1864–1944) dating to 1895 and 1902 (figs.91 and 92). The earlier documented rooms were

74

Lambert, The image multiplied, p.193, p.215. This may be one of the photographs used by Edmund H New in the production of drawings after Morris’ homes or one of those taken by Emery Walker after Morris’ death (Victorian and Albert Museum, London, V&A: M2-1973). See also Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Jane Burden Morris and John Bryson (ed), Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Jane Morris: Their correspondence, Oxford: Clarendon Press 1976, p.205. 75

This was below the going rate for London residence, a house with garden outside the central city area, which was typically between £120 and £140; in the following decades, Morris’ rental costs were closer to £1800 per annum. 76

Fiona MacCarthy, William Morris: A life for our time, London: Faber and Faber 1994 p.397

77

Lady Anne, better known as co-founder of the Crabbet Arabian Stud, was also a talented linguist, musician and artist who studied drawing with Ruskin. Morris’ letter of August 1894 records his loss of a paper recording the inscription: ‘this tapestry from sando botticelli’s picture was done at merton abbey by william morris for wilfrid scawen blunt to commemorate the coming of age of his daughter.’ See The Collected Letters of William Morris, Volume IV: 1893– 1896, Princeton University Press 1996, letter 2296, p.197. In August 1895 Blunt noted visiting Merton to view the tapestry in progress: My diaries; being a personal narrative of events, 1888– 1914, New York: A A Knopf 1921, p.173. page 233 of 355

figure 91 Fred ROWNTREE, designer The sitting room at Daleside, Harrogate 1902 Bedford Lemere & Co 1902 RIBA Library Photographs Collection, London

figure 92 Phillip WEBB, designer Bedroom at Great Tangely Manor, Sussex 1895 (with detail) photograph by Harry Bedford Lemere page 234 of 355

designed by Webb. Morris and Webb had worked together in the offices of the architect Street in 1856, and their firm friendship developed into a partnership, with Burne-Jones and Rossetti, as Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co (1861–75).

In the bedroom at Great Tangely Manor, Sussex,78 partially obscured by the shadow cast by the door, we find a print of Fra Filippino Lippi’s Virgin and Child issued by the Society in 1877 (figs.73 and 92AB). Mr and Mrs Wickham Flower, who bought the sixteenth-century Tudor house in 1884, employed Webb to conduct an extensive programme of repairs, alterations and additions. Bedford Lemere’s 1895 photograph shows the second of two enlargements for the couple. The bedroom and sitting room feature soft and hard furnishings by Morris & Co (1875–1940), including a chair designed by Rossetti and a table by Webb, which are interspersed with eighteenth-century pieces such as a Chippendale chair. Webb’s work at Great Tangely Manor has an outstanding simplicity and directness. He or Morris may have suggested Lippi’s Virgin and Child, or it may have been contributed by the owners; the colours and decorative qualities of the print complement the other furnishings, while its ‘restful’ subject matter meant that it was appropriate for a bedroom. German architect Hermann Muthesius (1861– 1927) wrote of Great Tangely Manor: ‘It is simply a house in which one wants to live … it is without pomp or decoration, and has that natural decency which— natural as it ought to be—is so rare in our present culture.’ 79

The other Bedford Lemere photograph, from 1902 (fig.91), records a sitting room at Daleside, near Harrogate in Yorkshire, designed by Fred Rowntree (1860– 1927). This residence—which may have been built in 1894 but seems to be little documented—is probably a freestanding or semi-detached house, as suggested by the entrance foyer at left and the external windows opposite. An Arundel Society Primavera features on the wall above the fireplace, and another Botticelli,

78

Peter Burman, ‘“A stern thinker and most able constructor”: Philip Webb, Architect,’ Architectural History, vol.42, 1999, pp.1-23 79

Muthesius, who from 1896 worked as the cultural attaché in the German Embassy in London, wrote a three-volume report Das englische Haus, later developed into a book and published under the same name; Bedford Lemere’s photograph is reproduced in the English transition, The English House, published in 1904; quoted by Nicholas Cooper, The opulent eye: Late Victorian and Edwardian taste in interior design, London: Architectural Press 1976, p.31 page 235 of 355

Madonna of the Magnificat, hangs in the alcove at right.80 The stencilling around the fireplace is echoed both by the wallpaper in the bay-windowed space and the graphic pattern of the floor covering. The copper sheet work of the fireplace surround is continued on the arched door; comparable copper work is found in other Arts and Crafts style interiors.81 Elsewhere the attenuated forms of the other metalwork—the mantelpiece supports, fire tools and lamps—are reprised by Botticelli’s elongated female figures and sinuous shapes around them. This is a carefully composed and artfully decorated sitting room, a balance between modest suburban design and advanced architecture: the large supporting beams have been left unadorned, and, as Long points out, the roofing for the window alcove would been an innovation at the time. 82 The photographic documentation is likely to have been commissioned by the owner, perhaps one of the many ‘Bradford and Leeds business men’ who owned second homes in the spa town.83 Rowntree’s Arts and Crafts period was short-lived however, and he soon adopted a more sentimentalised old English manner. 84

Other close connections between artists and art-world identities suggest a shared love for the many of the ‘primitives’ whose works were circulated via the Arundel Society’s and other reproductive prints, and the range of uses made of historical and other themes. Simeon Solomon (1840–1905), who was a friend of Rossetti and worked with Burne-Jones in the 1860s, probably saw the Arena Chapel engravings and perhaps the Society’s Botticelli prints; curator Henrietta Ward traces the influence of the fresco of Joachim and Anna at the Golden Gate in Solomon’s pen and ink drawing, The meeting of Joachim and Jacob c.1857, and shows the increasing influence of Botticelli in the 1860s and 1870s.85 Solomon 80

Madonna of the Magnificat c.1485, tempera on panel, 118 cm (diam), Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence 81

See, for example, Edmund Rathbone’s Broad Eaves, West Kirby, Liverpool; rf Cooper, The opulent eye, pl.124, p.176. 82

The Edwardian house, p.87

83

As well as private clients, Lemere worked for architects and interior decorators, agents and magazines. He photographed many significant houses, and a great many more which were not; as well as being highly prolific, he was known as a perfectionist and fine craftsman, his carefully arranged and skillfully composed images much admired; see Cooper, The opulent eye, pp.2–3; H H Walker and M G Neesam, History of Harrogate under the Improvement Commissioners, 1841–1884, Manor Place 1986. 84

Cooper, The opulent eye, p.40

85

Collection: Jewish Museum, London. ‘'The rising genius': Simeon Solomon's unexplored interpretation of Sandro Botticelli,’ British Art Journal, vol.12, no.3, pp.60–71; Solomon visited page 236 of 355

was also close to Algernon Charles Swinburne and, from 1868, Oscar Browning, with whom he travelled to Italy in 1869, and therefore would have ample opportunity to see Arundel material. The King René's honeymoon cabinet 1861— commissioned by the architect John Pollard Seddon (1827–1906) for his own use, and decorated with panels depicting the Fine and Applied Arts by Madox Brown, Burne-Jones, Rossetti and Prinsep—offers another instance of artistic collaboration.86 The essayist, critic and Oxford don Walter Pater (1839–1894) collected the Society’s prints. Indeed the vividness of Pater’s descriptions of Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea and other works suggest he may have composed his text with the chromolithographs around him (see also Chapter 1). As Ledger reports, the writer Vernon Lee (1856–1935), staying with Pater and his sisters in Oxford, wrote to her mother in August 1882: ‘I have a sweet little room at the top of the house with Arundels of Luini and Francias.’87

Three prints—the Primavera, Giorgione’s Castelfranco altarpiece, and Forli's Pope Sixtus giving audience—alongside paintings and other bona fide objects, are found in a 1880s photograph of the drawing room at the Hill House, Great Stanmore, Middlesex, home of the collector and scholar Charles Drury Fortnum (1820–1899) (figs.90 and 93–95). Born in modest circumstances, Fortnum spent his early years in South Australia before marriage to a rich cousin allowed him to reinvent himself as a gentleman-connoisseur. Hill House, acquired by Fortnum and his wife Fanny Matilda in September 1852 remained their home until she died in 1890 and his death nine years later; an album of photographs,

Italy in 1866, 1869 and 1870—his Botticellian Love in Autumn 1866 (oil on canvas, 84 x 66 cm, Private collection) was painted in Florence—and several critics draw connections between Solomon’s composition in A prelude by Bach 1868 (watercolour on paper, 41.6 x 63.5 cm, Private collection) and the Primavera; see also Colin Cruise, ‘“Lovely devils”: Simeon Solomon and Pre-Raphaelite masculinity,’ in Ellen Harding (ed.) Re-framing the Pre-Raphaelites: Historical and theoretical essays, Brookfield, VT: Scolar Press 1996, p.195. 86

Seddon and his partner the Welsh architect John Prichard (1817–1886) appear as subscribers in 1860, after which Seddon is listed. The cabinet was constructed by his father's firm and the panels were commisioned through Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co; it is now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London. 87

Vernon Lee’s letters (1937), p.109, and quoted in Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.157; Pater is not recorded on the Society’s subscriber lists: he may have acquired his prints as Occasional publications or had access to those acquired under of one of the subscriptions at Oxford University (see Chapter 5). page 237 of 355

figure 93 Interior of CDE Fortnum’s home, Hill House 1880s from the photographic album, ‘The Hill House, Great Stanmore,’ Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford

figure 94 Eduard KAISER, copyist after Melozzo da Forli’s Sixtus IV giving audience in the Pinacoteca Vaticana, Rome watercolour, 62.2 x 55.2 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1875 figure 95 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Giorgione’s Virgin and Child between St Liberale and St Francis (The Castelfranco altarpiece) by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 66.0 x 48.1 cm page 238 of 355 London: Arundel Society 1879 Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford

begun in 1873, shows views of the collection displayed there.88 The couple travelled through Europe, especially in Italy, making regular trips in the 1860s, 1870s and 1880s. Fortnum favoured ceramics, especially majolica, and his collection of Renaissance bronzes was also highly regarded;89 he collaborated with South Kensington’s director Henry Cole and curator J C Robinson, recommending works for acquisition, and compiling catalogues for the museum’s collections of majolica and European bronzes.90 Fortnum’s commitment to the Arundel Society and its publications—he was a long-term subscriber and a member of the Council in the later years—clearly meant that he had no objection to displaying reproductive prints alongside his paintings, bronzes and ceramics.91 Indeed his systematic notes, correspondence and other papers, as well as the documentary collections he maintained, suggest that Fortnum valued a range of objects as a means for developing his connoisseurship. Presumably were it possible to open the cases and cabinets in his study—shown in another photograph from the Hill House album92 and within

88

The photographic album, ‘The Hill House, Great Stanmore,’ was given to the Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archeology, Oxford University, in 1943. Other photographs in the album show the various paintings acquired by Fortnum in Florence in 1864: circle of Giovanni Bellini, St Jerome reading in a Landscape (tempera and oil (?) on panel; 26.6 x 21.7 cm) and Master San Martino alla Palma, The Entombment (tempera and gilding on panel; 31.5 x 23.7 cm) and Studio of Andrea Orcagna, The angel of the annunciation and The Virgin of the annunciation (tempera and gilding on panel; diameter 6.5 cm (each). Later he purchased from the 1884 Castellani sale in Rome, Vittore Crivelli, St Catherine of Alexandria (tempera and gilding on panel; 73.7 x 41 cm). All Ashmolean collection: A302; A300; A300a and b and A301 89

One of his first major bronzes, Pan listening to echo, now attributed to Desiderio da Firenze, was acquired in Genoa in 1848, while on honeymoon. Fortnum was much respected by his contemporaries on the Continent and in Britain, and was a generous lender: to the South Kensington’s great Loan Exhibition of 1862; to Bronze and ivories of European origin at the Burlington Fine Arts Club in 1879; and to the Winter Old Masters Exhibtion at the Royal Academy in 1888. Jeremy Warren, Renaissance master bronzes from the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford: The Fortnum Collection, Oxford: Daniel Katz and the Ashmolean Museum in association with the National Art Collections Fund 1999, pp.20–21 90

A descriptive catalogue of the Maiolica, Hispano-Moresco, Persian, Damascus, and Rhodian wares in the South Kensington Museum (London: Chapman & Hall 1873) and A descriptive catalogue of the bronzes of European origin in the South Kensington Museum, with an introductory notice by C Drury E Fortnum (London: George E. Eyre and William Spottiswoode 1876) were intended for completion by Robinson but left unfinished on his departure in 1868. 91

Fortnum served on Council 1884–93. He was also active in the Society of Antiquities— elected in 1858 and later Vice-President—and Royal Archeological Institute, as well as a Trustee of the British Museum. Fortnum’s archive and activities have been extensively documented and discussed: a special issue of the Journal of the History of Collections, vol.11 no.2, 1999, includes essays by Elizabeth Warbuton and Clive Wainwright which have been especially useful here: see ‘CDE Fortnum, DCL (Oxon), JP, FSA, of Hill House, Great Stanmore,’ pp.129–146; ‘Shopping for South Kensington: Fortnum and Henry Cole in Florence 1858–1859,’ pp.171–185. 92

Reproduced in Warren, Renaissance master bronzes from the Ashmolean Museum, p.12. page 239 of 355

the portrait painted by Charles Alexander93—we might find some of the Society’s casts or fictile ivories. In Fortnum’s case, collecting and connoisseurship allowed him to overcome a tenuous social position as the son of a bankrupt, while balancing the source of his funds from the grocer’s Fortnum & Mason. ‘The study of Archaeology and ancient and Renaissance Art,’ as he wrote for a carefully drafted autobiographical note prepared in his later years, became the ‘favourite pursuits and enabled him, at that time, to form the knowledge and judgement requisite to form his valuable collection.’94 For ‘cultural capitalists’ such as Scharf and Fortnum—part of a new bourgeois class in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries—art performed different functions for those who produced it from those who consumed it.

By the end of the century, as Logan points out, there were three largely distinct styles for fashionable interiors: versions of eighteenth century French design; more serious antiquarian neoclassical; and arts and crafts with links to aestheticism and modernism.95 The earlier models were often more obviously aspirational to aristocratic examples but, from the 1870, 1880s and 1890s, newly rich industrialists, especially, commissioned original design or confidently ‘composed’ their own settings. The remodelling of 49 Princes Gate, Kensington, the home of shipping magnate and collector F R Leyland (1832–1892) is one of the best-known, and notorious, interior decoration schemes of the Aesthetic Movement. The first remodelling phase in 1875–76, by the architecturedesigner Thomas Jeckyll (1827–1881), comprised the hall, study and dining room—Whistler’s infamous Peacock room. The second phase, by architect Richard Norman Shaw (1831–1912), consisted of a suite of drawing rooms on the second floor, including the Botticelli room, in 1879–80 and a morning room

93

Charles Alexander’s L'amateur chez lui (The collector at home) 1893–94 shows Fortnum surrounded by favourite objects: Pintoricchio’s Virgin and Child is propped on the chair, Severo da Ravenna’s St John the Baptist, the Grandi bronze candlestick and one of his Palissy figures are on the desk, and he holds a Medici porcelain jug; the portrait (oil on panel; 38 x 56 cm [A299a]), the Renaissance painting (tempera and gold on panel, 41.3 x 30.2 cm) and the objects were bequeathed to the Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archeology, Oxford, in 1899. 94

‘Autobiographical sketch by CDE Fortnum,’ Journal of the History of Collections, vol.11 no.2, 1999, pp.269–270 95

The Victorian parlour, pp.74–75 page 240 of 355

(also known as the tapestry room) on the ground floor in 1885–86.96 Leyland’s Old Master collection was combined with works by Burne–Jones and others, seemingly satisfying its owner’s desire to ‘live the life of an old Venetian merchant in modern London,’97 a clear instance of the ways an individual constructs a self-image and the ways in which the things he chooses may, in turn, say something about that individual. As Bourdieu avers in La Distinction, taste classifies, and it classifies the classifier: the treatment of consumption and production are effective categories for an analysis of social organisation.98

Jeckyll’s earlier projects include work for Alexander Constantine Ionides (1810– 1890) at 1 Holland Park, a new fashionable district of London, a lively neighbourhood of industrialists, merchants, bankers and artists. An extension in the 1870s, comprising the servants’ hall in the basement, ground-floor billiard room and morning room above, featured Japanese-inspired decoration; the house was later redesigned by Webb for the son Alecco Ionides (1840–1898) to incorporate a staircase extension at rear (1879), dining room, drawing-room and anquities room (1883), and then a garden room (1888), decorated throughout with wallpapers, tapestries, carpets and other furnishings by Morris and Company, including many works by Burne-Jones. It is hard to believe that some of the Arundel Society chromolithographs acquired under Iionides’ subscription would not have been displayed.99 Academic Caroline Dakers comments that, unlike other art patrons from a similar mercantile background, members of the

96

'Princes Gate and Princes Gardens: The Freake Estate: Development by C J Freake', Survey of London, vol.45, Knightsbridge, 2000, pp.191–205. URL: http://www.britishhistory.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=45941 (accessed: September 2014) 97

The interiors were photographed by Bedford Lemere in 1892. Leyland quoted by MacCarthy, The last Pre-Raphaelite, p.186. Leyland was advised by dealer and collector, Murray Marks (1840–1919) who is listed as a member of the Arundel Society in 1883. 98

Logan’s use of Bourdieu’s ideas, as well those of Michel de Certeau in The practice of everyday life 1984, has been particularly useful for thinking about the the use of art and art objects in the domestic sphere. cf Logan, The Victorian parlour, pp.77–78 99

Ionides subscribed from 1855 until c.1881. His sons, Constantine Alexander (1833–1900) and Alexander Alexander known as Alecco, formed the majority of the collection—Old Master and seventeenth-century painting, and nineteenth-century French and British works—later given to the Victoria and Albert Museum. Zambellou Isabella Ionides (1853–1913), Alecco’s widow sold the house in 1908; the decorations were painted over in the 1920s and the building was destroyed during the Second World War. page 241 of 355

Ionides family bought the art they liked, rather collecting for the social acceptability it brought.100

In the 1870s and 1880s collections were increasingly being built by members of the mercantile classes, artists and those of more modest background. F G Stephens’ ‘The private collections of England,’ a series of ninety articles published in the Athenaeum from 1873 to 1887—in effect an updated and expanded version of Waagen’s survey two decades earlier—provides a valuable snapshot of collecting patterns in this period. Not only do the collectors and collections under discussion demonstrate the effects of the wealth and ambitions of newly rich industrialists, they are a litmus test of British attitudes to art in the later part of the century. Stephens singles out the connoisseurship of self-made men, highlighting examples of good taste, and praising those collectors who preferred modern British art to dubious Old Master paintings.101 Several of the collectors were also members of the Arundel Society. Two examples will suffice. The Tynemouth-based chemical broker and insurance agent Alexander Stevenson (1827–1900) acquired Rossetti’s and Solomon’s works, probably inspired by the example of James Leathart’s remarkable collection of Pre-Raphaelite art.102 The attentions of the Birkenhead cotton broker Edward Quaile (died 1900) were directed to illuminated manuscripts, and he wrote a monograph illustrated with examples from his collection.103 The collections, the majority of which are now dispersed, offer insights into the ways in which education and travel could influence aesthetic appreciation.104 They, like the interiors studied here, are illuminating examples of cultural capital, showing the ways possession of ‘symbolical valued cultural accoutrements and attitudes’—objects such as books, paintings, clothing or the qualities which

100

The Holland Park circle: Artists and Victorian society, New Haven: Yale University Press 1999, p.111 101

Dianne Sachko Macleod, ‘F G Stephens, Pre-Raphaelite critic and art historian,’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.128, no.999, June 1986, pp.398–403, pp.405–406, at p.402 102

Stevenson subscribed from 1866 to at least 1883. 'The private collections of England, no.III, Gosforth House, Tynemouth', Athenaeum, no.2396, Saturday 27 September 1873, pp.406–408 103

Quaile is listed in the 1860s. Athenaeum, no.3073, Saturday 18 September 1886, pp.377– 378 [Joseph Beausire, Edward Quaile, Philip H Rathbone]; Edward Quaile, Illuminated Manuscripts: Their Origin, History and Characteristics, Liverpool: H Young & sons 1897 104

Dianne Sachko Macleod, ‘Mid-Victorian Patronage of the Arts: F G Stephens's 'The private collections of England',’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.128, no.1001, August 1986, pp.597–607, at p.599 page 242 of 355

reveal class, like accent, qualifications or manners—may be expressed materially, corporally or via gesture. In short, they show how taste may function as a marker of ‘class.’105 _______________________________

[The Arundel Society] has educated the tastes of the English people upon models high in form and pure in spirit. It has, at a comparatively small cost, brought the grand frescoes of Italy within our homes, so that Ghirlandajo's ‘Death of St Francis,’ and Fra Angelico's ‘Coronation of the Virgin,’ have been transferred from Florence, and may be now seen hanging in the Parsonage of country clergyman, or in the mansion of a city merchant.106

While a good number of Arundel Society chromolithographs were intended for display as household art, many were also acquired for churches: subscriptions were held by ‘men of the cloth’ and prints were also given to religious institutions (see Chapter 5). The mid-nineteenth century was an important time for the building, restoring and reviving of church buildings, and many High Church clergymen promoted ritual and ecclesiology through their own parishes. One of the most dramatically decorated churches of the period—and one of the first to use the polychrome brickwork later so ubiquitous in Victorian architecture—is All Saints Margaret Street, London, 1850–59. Designed by the Gothic Revival architect William Butterfield (1814–1900), who was a member of the Ecclesiological Society and another long-term subscriber to the Society, the church combines a range of Italianate, German and early English models.107 At All Saints, and many other churches of the period, dramatic and elaborate interior schemes were commissioned, bringing together stained glass windows, mosaics and other tile work, polychromed woodwork and, on occasions, frescoes. Some commentators hoped that by making ‘painting her handmaiden’

105

Bourdieu’s Distinction in Carolyn Korsmeyer (ed.), Aesthetics: The big questions, Malden: Blackwell Publishers 1998, pp.150–155, at p.150 106

J B A [J Beavington Atkinson], ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, October 1865, pp.303–304, at p.304 107

Butterfield’s work at All Saints Margaret Street was conducted under the auspices of the Ecclesiological Society (known as the Cambridge Camden Society before 1845), supervised and largely sponsored by Alexander Beresford-Hope; All Saints rector, Reverend William Upton Richards (1811–1873), was another subscriber to the Arundel Society. page 243 of 355

the Anglican Church might promote a new national school to rival the English artists who, in 1350, made St Stephen’s chapel in Westminster the glory of both England and Christendom.108 The historicist tendencies of the period, the celebration of the Middle Ages and Gothic Revivalism, as well as an emphasis on ritual and religious decorations meant that architects, artists and collectors drew on early art in a great range of ways. 109

Attitudes to early art and its content went through dramatic changes in the nineteenth century, and the rise of the emerging discipline of art history took place against a range of religious disputes, most notably the Oxford Movement of the 1830s and 1840s. The Anglo-Catholic movement in the Church of England, a broader intellectual revival, a series of prominent and celebrated converts, and, ultimately, religious reformations occurred in a society increasingly dominated by secular concerns. Indeed the scholar Peter Benedict Nockles proposes that, in harnessing Romanticism and its cultural concepts, the Oxford Movement gained religious eloquence and theological stature which defines it as a key moment in the intellectual history of Europe.110 An equivalent, perhaps less grandiose, point might be made for art history: in unshackling religious art, by making its interpretation less dependent on church theologians, and ‘inserting’ it into a historical context, art was at once made available to a broader public while relinquishing some of its original purpose. Traditionally the aesthetic and theological values of early religious painting were seen as competing values; in nineteenth-century Britain, however, these were ‘drawn together in such a way that the clear division between sacred and secular and between public and private became blurred.’111

108

Anon, ‘Altar-Screens,’ Ecclesiologist, vol.2, November 1843, p.35 and quoted by Susanna Avery-Quash, ‘Collector connoisseurs or spiritual aesthetes? The role of Anglican clergy in the growth of interest in collecting and displaying early Italian art (1830s–1880s)’ in Joseph Sterrett and Peter Wynn Thomas (ed.), Sacred text, sacred space: Architectural, spiritual, and literary convergences in England and Wales, Leiden; Boston: Brill 2011, p.272 109

The nineteenth-century revivals in Britain, France and Germany saw the Middle Ages as a golden age of faith, stability and creativity, and medievalist or Gothick styles adopted for art and architecture, literature and philosophy, politics and religion. 110

Peter Benedict Nockles, The Oxford Movement in context: Anglican high churchmanship, 1760-1857, Cambridge University Press 1996 111

Avery-Quash, ‘Collector connoisseurs or spiritual aesthetes? The role of Anglican clergy in the growth of interest in collecting and displaying early Italian art (1830s–1880s),’ in Joseph Sterrett and Peter Wynn Thomas (ed.), Sacred text, sacred space: Architectural, spiritual, and page 244 of 355

From the 1840s, as Avery-Quash demonstrates, many clerics and the laity were more knowledgeable about religious art of the western tradition, their churchmanship often dictated the ways works were regarded and displayed.112 While Italian art was celebrated it was impossible to avoid the fact that the earlier artists were in the service of the Catholic Church, a point which was often highly problematic in an emphatically Reformed and Protestant Britain. Rio’s La poésie chrétienne, as we have seen, was highly influential, especially for Lord Lindsay, and the differences between the two authors illustrates some of the tensions of the period. The Protestant Lindsay had, according to Brigstocke, a ‘staunch determination’ not to be taken for a Roman Catholic or Catholic sympathiser because of his choice of subject matter, and was dismayed by some of the reactions to his work.113 After he was accused of being a Papist, he produced no further works of art history; as Plampin points out, he also ended his association with the Arundel Society.114 In positing the idea of an universal Christianity, and European art tradition, Lindsay and others hoped to avoid accusations of promoting Roman Catholicism through its art.

The clergyman-collector Reverend John Fuller Russell (1813–1884) was an Arundel Society subscriber from 1855 until 1883. While studying civil law at Cambridge he developed an interest in the revival of church ritual and sympathies for the Oxford Movement. He was ordained in 1838 and, when he graduated the following year, was admitted to priest’s orders, later working in Enfield and Kent. His art collection was built through London auction houses and on the Continent, and benefited from a series of extensive study trips to Holland, Germany and France. He collected paintings by di Cione, Ugolino, Martini, and works of the Flemish and German Schools, some of which were shown in the 1857 Manchester Exhibition. He was vice-president of the Royal Archaeological Institute and served on the Ecclesiological Society.115 When

literary convergences in England and Wales, Leiden, Boston: Brill 2011, pp.269–295, at pp.293–295 112

Avery-Quash, ‘Collector connoisseurs or spiritual aesthetes?’ p.274 and p.270

113

'Lord Lindsay and the Sketches of the history of Christian art', p.51

114

‘“A stern and just respect for truth”: John Ruskin, Giotto and the Arundel Society,’ p.63

115

Fuller Russell had hoped the National Gallery, London, would acquire his collection but was told there were not funds available; it was auctioned by Christies in April 1885, and several works are now in public collections. See, for example, panels from Ugolino di Nerio’s altarpiece page 245 of 355

figure 96 Beatrice Olive CORFE Mrs Valpy’s sitting room at 3 The Close, Winchester c.1900 watercolour 27.9 x 38.4 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London

figure 97 Beatrice Olive CORFE Canon Valpy’s study at 3 The Close, Winchester c.1900 watercolour, 21.6 x 28.9 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London

c.1325–28 for Santa Croce, Florence, in the National Gallery, London, and Metropolitan Museum, New York; di Cione Crucifixion (previously attributed to Spinello Aretino) also in the National Gallery, London; Martini's St Geminianus, St Michael and St Augustine, each with an angel above (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge). Fuller Russell also owned a Flemish school panel painting, Diptych of Jeanne de France, then given to Memling (Musée Condé, Chantilly). page 246 of 355

Waagen visited Eagle House, Fuller Russell’s home near Enfield, in 1854 or 1856, he compared it to a chapel: ‘So richly are his walls adorned with Italian specimens of the fourteenth-century, that the spectator feels as if transported into chapel at Siena or Florence.’116 While we cannot be certain that Fuller Russell, like Fortnum and others, would have displayed his chromolithographs in his ‘chapel,’ he is a clear example of the fluidity of boundaries between the ecclesiastical and secular, and the changes to the form and content of cultural capital over time. As Avery-Quash explains, he had an ‘altogether different relationship’ to his early Italian pictures, enjoying them as much as ‘religious images as historical curiosities or financial investments.’117

[It is] a good sign of the mental condition of the inmates of a country mansion when we have been greeted in the hall or corridor with chromolithographs of Annunciations, Nativities, Crucifixions and Ascensions. We need not say that such these show a family to be more widely read and travelled than the households who use as wall furniture horses by Stubbs, pigs by Morland, or even the Meeting of the Hunt by Sir Francis Grant.118

Thus asserted the unnamed commentator in the Saturday Review in 1874. Royal residences were often documented in watercolours and drawings for a range of purposes. During the nineteenth century proud owners of the middle-classes also began to record their homes, and the decorative schemes of particular rooms. A Winchester artist, Beatrice Olive Corfe (1866–1947), painted at least four watercolours of the interior of a late seventeenth-century residence in Cathedral Close, the home of Canon and Mrs Valpy (figs.96–97).119 Four Arundel Society chromolithographs are displayed on the walls of the study—the two Ghirlandaios, Death of St Fina and The nativity of the Virgin 1895 (fig.5), issued in 1895 and 1892, the Fra Angelico Crucifixion 1872, and Carpaccio’s St Jerome in his study 116

Galleries and cabinets of arts in Great Britain, London: John Murray 1854, Letter XXII, vol.2, p.461

117

Avery-Quash, ‘Collector connoisseurs or spiritual aesthetes?’, p.286

118

Saturday Review, vol.XXXVI, 1874, p.156, quoted by Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.151 119

Corfe’s watercolours on paper showing the drawing room, dining room, Canon Valpy’s study and Mrs Valpy’s sitting room were a gift of Mrs Henry G Dakyns to the Victoria and Albert Museum, London: E.222-1955, E.223-1955, E.224-1955 and E.225-1955 page 247 of 355

1887—alongside a print of Holman Hunt’s The light of the world.120 Arthur Sutton Valpy (1849–1909), who was appointed to Winchester in 1895, may have received his ‘art education’ at Cambridge University. It is clear that he moved in artistic circles.121 Interior designer and historian Carolyn McDowall identifies a Rossetti portrait over the mantel in the sitting room, and comments that Valpy also collected eighteenth-century furniture (fig.96). The walls were decorated with ‘clusters of low hung watercolors and prints, used a pretty chintz loose cover on the chairs, replaced indiscriminate clutter with a few well chosen ornaments and placed piles of books lying around for reading, rather than for show.’122 Indeed the Valpys’ interiors, their mixture of real or reproduction Georgian objects with ‘Aesthetic’ or ‘Art furniture’ could have been composed from one of the taste manuals. The Society’s chromolithographs, it should be noted, seem to have been confined to the semi-private sphere of Valpy’s study and in the drawing room, for example, landscapes, historical and genres scenes dominate. _______________________________

The Arundel Society’s richly-coloured lithographs with customised-frames brought images of early Italian and Northern art into the domestic realm. They were also found in religious establishments and museum collections. From the 1860s and 1870s the Society attracted subscribers in large numbers and many of these new members were motivated by the prospect of brightly-coloured chromolithographs. Although copies of entire fresco cycles were commissioned, these were rarely issued as complete sets, especially following the protracted and much-criticised Giotto project (1853 to 1860; see Chapters 2 and 6). Approximately two-thirds of the commissioned watercolour copies were eventually translated into print form. The Society also adopted new strategies— such as exhibitions held in its rooms and elsewhere—and revised its rules to 120

I am grateful to curator Frances Rankine for identifying Ghirlandaio's Death of Santa Fina. The light of the world 1851–53 (oil on canvas over panel, 125.5 x 59.6 cm) is at Keble College, Oxford; Jeremy Maas, Holman Hunt and the Light of the world, London: Scholar 1984 121

Valpy took a MA from Cambridge in 1876 and was a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries; he also worked as a curate in Kensington (1875–78) and later migrated to South Africa. He was a descendent of Richard Valpy—part of his 1871 inheritence, the property Champneys, was sold to Lady Rothschild in 1902—who may have been the source of the chromolithographs: a Richard Valpy is recorded as a subscriber in the 1860s and early 1870s. 122

Carolyn McDowall, ‘Creating the English style,’ http://www.thecultureconcept.com/circle/creating-the-english-interior-style (last accessed November 2009) page 248 of 355

attract and maintain members. The different types of subscription, as well as the range of subjects offered, meant that very few individual subscribers would have had a full collection of Arundel prints. When the Society ended in 1897 it had issued 197 separate chromolithographs, about 200,000 prints over fifty years. Many of these continued to circulate on the second-hand market, through print-sellers and at auction.123 Many of the chromolithographs acquired by institutions at the time may be found there today. Those owned by private subscribers are more difficult to trace.

While the frescoes and altarpieces were intended for religious purposes, the casts and prints were often used as household art. They appealed to an educated and cultivated public and became a feature of the Aesthetic household. Furnishing was said to be ‘the pre-eminent British art form’ in this period.124 Artists decorated houses, while manufacturers produced a range of historical styles, offering many variants for individual tastes. Increasingly, too, many of the prints which circulated were issued by artists or with their collaboration. When research for this chapter began, it was with expectations that Arundel Society chromolithographs would be found in Gothic Revival spaces such as William Burges’ extraordinary and fanciful Tower House. Many photographs of customdesigned interiors, as well as many prosaic Victorian examples, were searched, and the size, style and overall impression of the pictures on walls examined closely. We are told that the Society’s prints appeared with ‘monotonous regularity’ on the walls of undergraduates rooms at Oxford and Cambridge; alas, these rooms were not often recorded in drawings or photographs. Whether on display in parlours and drawing rooms, in a library or a nursery, or whether viewed on folio stands and in albums, the various prints communicated a range of ideas and ideals. By appealing to the elevation of public taste and knowledge of art, the Society offered attractive objects as well as a certain cachet.

123

Auction catalogues gathered from the period 1910 to 1914 show how the prices paid for the prints varied a great deal. For example the Botticelli prints, Primavera and Venus rising from the sea, sold in 1895 for £1 11s and £1, now fetched between £6 10s (April 1910) and £1 11s (February 1913) or £5 5s (April 1910) and £3 15s (November 1912). On the other hand, Dürer’s Adoration of the holy trinity, first offered at £1 14s, could be snapped up for between 10s (November 1912) and 15s (January 1914, July 1914). 124

Cohen, Household gods, p.xi page 249 of 355

The Arundel Society aimed to educate and to promote knowledge of art but an unexpected and perhaps not entirely warranted outcome was the adoption of the decorative qualities, and colour, of Northern and Italian art. Elements of richly-coloured and minutely detailed Flemish and German altarpieces, the decorative qualities of the frescoes which seemed to cover every surface, as well as adorned and gilded manuscripts, were adopted by decorators and collectors for domestic, religious and public buildings alike. As High Victorian styles faded, the Aesthetic Movement claimed new elements and reconfigured these for different purposes, revelling in eclecticism. The mass migration of works of art from churches to museums, often through private collections, had seen subtle and not so subtle changes to interpretations of context and content. The Society’s projects were likewise dependent on, and configured by cultural capital change, and particular changes in social structure: art lovers negotiated, and accepted, a different function for painting in trecento and quattrocento Italy than nineteenth-century Britain.

My mother, who had spent two years in Florence, was delighted to be able to talk about Italy. She has been brought up in that Italianate taste which had been the vogue two or three decades earlier and on which Queen Victoria had set the seal. My father had great regard for my mother’s culture, and she was not insensible to the lustre of refinement which it cast upon the household. The house was cluttered like a picture gallery with Italian views, Arundel reproductions of the Primitives and Beato Angelico angels in Florentine gilt frames. There were prints of Rossetti, Holman Hunt, and Burne Jones. The walls had William Morris papers. The side tables and chiffoniers were loaded with models of the leaning tower of Pisa in alabaster, Venetian glasses, and majolica.125

While the Arundel Society’s chromolithographs were, in many cases, considered works of art—by virtue of the places occupied by the original frescoes, altarpieces and canvases—they were also adopted for a larger range of functions: they might set the colour, mood, or decorative scheme of a room; be a means of suggesting educational or cultural engagement; or, coming full-circle, propose a place of 125

Robert Briffault, Europa: The days of ignorance, New York 1937, p.64 page 250 of 355

contemplation or a focus for veneration. The action of understanding the material surroundings of the work of art, and the space in which it is displayed, may be abstracted to reveal the social organisations of groups—in this case a range of tastemakers, artists and collectors. In the process of analysing the structure of social spaces, products, and the relations between producer and consumers we see how structures within the domestic sphere, semi-public spaces such as parlour or the library, or the hallway or the nursery were considered more appropriate for certain subjects. The critic Walter Benjamin argues that the modern capacity in the twentieth century to reproduce works of art for mass market through photography radically altered the understanding of the nature of art.126 Nineteenth-century Britons, newly rich and with access to a huge range of products, to travel, education and to knowledge of art, were part of this new understanding. Engagement with art provided nuanced ways for parole.

126

‘The work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction,’ pp.217–251 page 251 of 355

figure 98 Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer after copies of Hubert and Jan van Eyck’s Ghent altarpiece by Christian Schultz 20 lithographs, 120.9 x 154.3 x 8.3 cm (framed, open) London: Arundel Society 1868–71 National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne

Chapter five―Worldwide networks: The dissemination of Arundel Society publications I immediately joined [the Arundel Society], as one of the first subscribers, perhaps not many of whom are still remaining to give it their support. As it was just then the time that I was occupied with my History of the art of painting, I welcomed these researches into early Italian and German art as a most opportune help and encouragement, and not only has the beautiful series of chromo-lithographs given the greatest pleasure to their subscribers, but to the numerous individuals and societies on whom they have been bestowed, when their numbers outgrew the portfolios of the possessors. Into many a house must they have brought refined and devotional conceptions of art, and have replaced upon the walls the unworthy productions of a lower grade. Louisa Twining, Recollections of life and work 18931

Over its long life, from 1848 to 1897, the Arundel Society circulated prints of nearly 200 different works of art. From its London base, the Society distributed print and text publications throughout Britain and its colonies, to Europe and North America. It gathered subscriptions via agents in Paris, Bonn, Dresden, Leipzig, Venice, Florence, Rome, Cape Town, Boston, New York, Montreal, Melbourne and Auckland. The agents, in turn, adopted many of the Society’s own strategies to attract subscribers.2 By the mid-1860s, when membership had grown to more than 1,900, the Society’s thirty-five institutional subscribers included places as diverse as the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts in St Petersburg, the Parliamentary Library in Quebec, and Sir Jamsetjee

1

Recollections of life and work: Being the autobiography of Louisa Twining, London: Edward Arnold 1893, p.98 2

Subscription dates, given in brackets throughout this chapter, are taken from six main published sources: information for 1849 is from the Athenaeum July, August and September advertisements; that for 1850 is from the first Annual report; for 1855 from the list of members within the Descriptive notice of the drawings, tracings, models and miscellaneous publications of the Arundel Society exhibited November 1855, in the Crystal Palace, Sydenham; for 1858 from the Report, Letter from the Secretary, List of the annual publications, List of members; and the 1860 list is from the (newly revised) General rules. The remaining information is drawn from the Society’s printed subscriber lists for 1866, 1867, 1868, 1869, 1871, 1872, 1878, 1879, 1881 and 1883. Thus (1860–83+) should be understood to mean that a member is first listed in 1860 and retained his subscription until at least 1883; many 1883 members remained until 1897. page 253 of 355

Jeejebhoy’s School of Art in Bombay.3 In 1865 a founder member would have owned forty-three large chromolithographs, thirty-eight wood engravings from the Arena Chapel, as well as numerous engravings and pamphlets. It is estimated the Society produced a total of 200,000 sheets over five decades.

Reasons for joining the Arundel Society were many and varied. Although there are tantalisingly few specific instances recorded in diaries or letters, it is clear that key individuals were influential in encouraging family members, friends and associates to join to Society. The collections developed by some of the first members, a handful of which are extant today, reveal a breadth of intentions and range of uses, from the period of their formation until now. In time many prints were traded through the secondary market and have, in turn, also made their way into church or museum collections.4 Tracing connections between the individuals and institutions reveals a range of social, artistic, and intellectual networks. Many of the original institutional subscribers acquired the Society’s publications in their earliest collecting phase, before acquisition policies were set or strategies articulated: where the museums retain their holdings, these are of particular interest in the light of subsequent collection development. While works have been dispersed or transferred between institutions, and those acquired for teaching collections especially show their history of heavy use, others remain dormant, often in the same albums of portfolios as when acquired. A number of chromolithographs are reproduced on collection websites, carefully catalogued and accompanied by high-quality images. ______________________________

Contrasting projects are suggested by the collections made by John Ruskin (1819–1900), and those of Sir Walter Calverly Trevelyan (1789–1879) and 3

Also in India, at Jaipur—and as Tim Barringer points out a fascinating example of ‘colonial hybridity’—is a large fresco in Albert Hall based one of the Arundel Society Giotto chromolithographs and made by Rajasthani court artists; the prints have not been traced but were presumably sourced during a visit made by Prince Albert, or sent by the Royal Family. ‘Victorian culture and the museum: Before and after the white cube,’ Journal of Victorian Culture, vol.11, no.1, Spring 2006, pp.133–145 4

The prints at St Martin at Bole, Nottingham, for example, seem to be those collected by members of the Vernon Harcourt family, including the lawyer, journalist and statesman, W G Vernon Harcourt (1827–1904), Lady Frances Harcourt and Lady Catherine Vernon Harcourt (1837–1877) who were members during the 1850s, 1860s and 1870s; see http://southwellchurches.nottingham.ac.uk/bole/hfitting.php page 254 of 355

Pauline Jermyn, Lady Trevelyan (1816–1866). Ruskin and Sir Walter were early members; both appear in the Arundel Society’s first prospectus in July 1849, while Lady Trevelyan seems to have joined a little later and is listed as a subscriber in 1855 and 1860. Ruskin was also on the Society’s Council, although his involvement varied enormously over time.5 He wrote several texts for the Society (see Chapter 1), and oversaw some of its copying work. He would have received a complete set of the Society’s prints via his subscription and in all likelihood multiple copies of some subjects would have passed through his hands. Ruskin was, of course, acquisitive from an early age but in the 1870s, as his thoughts turned to social issues, his purchases and commissions took on new urgency.6 In Fors Clavigera: Letter to the workmen and labourers of Great Britain, Ruskin outlined his moral and social vision, and his views on the value of labour. He proposed utopian communities with ‘model schools and museums on every estate;’ each cottage would have ‘its Shepherd’s Library and selected pictures ordained for it by the master.’7 The Guild of St George, founded in 1871, was established to give form to many of these ideas: by 1878 it had seven members who gave a tenth of their income.8 Although the Guild’s principal aim was to reclaim land for agricultural communities, it rapidly turned to educational purposes. In his Guild Master's Report of 1879, Ruskin reminded his Companions that every member of the ‘little company’ should keep in mind ‘their work is primarily educational, rather than economical; that while engaging in every kind of honest effort to put wholesome food into the stomachs of the poor,

5

The Society’s Council was elected from its membership. Ruskin is listed as a member of Council in the first prospectus in June 1849, and throughout all of its annual reports, to the last in 1897; however the record of his 1882 presentation implies he had been absent since his previous address to the Society, in June or July 1878; see Works, vol.24, p.637. One of the first references to the Society’s publishing activities appears within Ruskin’s letter of 17 August 1850 to Thomas Goff Lupton (1791–1873), the artist-engraver who produced many of Turner’s prints. Ruskin ‘inquires about the possibility of Lupton making an engraving for the Arundel Society,’ and requests details of the process and time required, saying he would like to provide this information to the Council promptly. But his description of the subject as about ‘three feet by two feet’ and involving figures, ‘logs of woods, baskets, vegetables, and such stuff’ is quite unlike any of the Society’s publications; see Fiona Robinson, ‘John Ruskin: Letters to Thomas Goff Lupton,’ MSS 5, box 1, folder 2, Yale University Library, http://drs.library.yale.edu 6

Robert Hewison’s ‘Father and son: The Ruskin family art collection,’ in Hewison (ed.) Ruskin's artists: Studies in the Victorian visual economy: Papers from the Ruskin Programme, Lancaster University, Aldershot: Ashgate 2000, pp.1–14. Ruskin’s ten per cent contribution would have been substantial: during this period he earnt as much as £4000 per annum from his writing and royalties. 7

Introduction to Works, vol.30, p.xxiii

8

George Baker, John Henry Chamberlain, Samuel Timmins, Fanny Talbot, Robert Somervell, Herbert Fletcher and Ruskin; see ‘Memorandum of Association’ 1878 in Works, vol.30, p.7. page 255 of 355

they are yet more bound to make every gracious effort to put wholesome thought into their heads.’9 Indeed Ruskin soon realised he had few practical abilities where it came to managing estates; by 1885 he was directing all its resources into the branch of work which ‘none deny my capacity for directing rightly’— educational and archaeological purposes.10

Ruskin, who had declared it impossible for a socialist to be rich, distributed his inheritance, giving groups of works to the Guild of St George and to the drawing school founded by him at Oxford in 1871.11 His first museum, set up in a stone cottage acquired for this purpose in Walkley, Sheffield, was intended as a resource for the local workers: the inaugural curator was Henry Swan (c.1821– 1889), an engraver and Ruskin’s former student at the Working Men’s College, London, in the 1850s. The St George’s Museum (1875–90) displayed a confabulation of architectural plaster casts, ceramics, manuscripts, minerals, assorted drawings and paintings—but not, as far as may be established, Arundel Society chromolithographs.12 The spaces at Walkley were small and during this period much of the collection was lent to Oxford or Whitelands College.13 The museum attracted ‘pilgrims’ from London, Leeds, Hull, Manchester, Chester, Birmingham, New York, Canada, Australia and China. As Cook and Wedderburn point out, the secret to the attraction of the ‘little Museum’ was its adherence to two golden rules: ‘there was no confusing mass of heterogeneous objects. In quantity there was very little, and everything was co-ordinated in an intelligible scheme of artistic education. [And all was] ‘beautiful and good of its kind.’14

9

Works, vol.30, p.17

10

‘The Guild of St George: Master's report,’ January 1886, see Works, vol.30, p.97

11

Approximately 1500 works, arranged in series within special cabinets, were given to the school. In the Teaching Collection at Oxford is another example of Giorgione's Virgin enthroned between St Francis and St Liberale: it is first recorded at the Drawing School in 1906 and is presumed a gift from John Ruskin but is more likely to have been sourced from the Oxford print seller John Ryman (see http://ruskin.ashmolean.org/object/WA.RS.REF.174) 12

The interiors of the museum are recorded in photographs c.1886–87; see Ruskin at Walkley: Reconstructing the St George’s Museum: http://www.ruskinatwalkley.org (last accessed July 2011); Ruskin Collection curator, Louise Pullen, correspondence with the author, May, June 2011 and March 2015 13

Ruskin’s friend and fellow Arundel Society subscriber, Reverend John Pincher Faunthorpe (1839–1924) was principal at Whitelands College from 1874. 14

E T Cook and Alexander Wedderburn, ‘Introduction,’ Works, vol.30, p.xliii page 256 of 355

Ruskin’s program for the St George’s Museum collection had many parallels with that of the Arundel Society although the intended audience was very different. Terracotta reliefs by the knife-grinder-turned-sculptor Benjamin Creswick (1853–1946) and various plaster casts were acquired for the museum: completed under Ruskin’s supervision, the casts were intended to teach ‘the ordinary workman the use of his chisel, and his wits.’ 15 In addition to his own copies, Ruskin commissioned works from a series of British, American and Italian artists. These included John Wharlton Bunney (1828–1882), Charles Fairfax Murray (1849–1919)—then based in Italy, later better known as an art dealer and advisor to major art collections—as well as Henry Roderick Newman (1833–1918) and Angelo Alessandri (1854–1931).16 He had them draw the architectural monuments of France and Italy, copy frescoes and other paintings —often specific details which he admired—as well as a range of other studies and teaching aides. There were subjects in common. Ruskin set Fairfax Murray to copy Perugino’s frescoes in the convent of Santa Maria Maddalena dei' Pazzi, Florence;17 the Society’s lithographs, issued in 1872, were made after drawings of the frescoes by the Austrian artist Eduard Kaiser (1820–1895).18

Fairfax Murray also copied Lippi’s Madonna and Child in the Uffizi collection; the Arundel print was issued from an undated watercolour by Ansiglione [or 15

Works, vol.30, p.56

16

Fairfax Murray and Alessandri were mainly concerned with copying works by Giotto, Lippi, Botticelli, Carpaccio, Titian and Tintoretto; Alessandri’s pencil copy of the detail of the Three Garces from the Primavera 1881 is interesting in the context of Ruskin’s developing enthusiasm for the artist. Frank Randall (1852–1917) on the other hand, was employed to copy glass at Chartres, mosaic at Ravenna, and scenes of Verona and Amiens. Matthews Rooke (1842– 1942) also painted mosaics but, more typically, street scenes in Brieg and Sallenches, while Newman recorded architectural details in Venice and Florence. W G Collingwood (1854–1932) author, artist, antiquary and Professor of Fine Arts at Reading University was another of Ruskin’s copyists. Janet Barnes, Ruskin in Sheffield, Sheffield Arts and Museum Department 1985, p.52, p.55, p.63 David B Elliott has Fairfax Murray producing copies for the Arundel Society but there is no reference to his employment as a copyist or his works being acquired for reproduction. Charles Fairfax Murray:The unknown Pre-Raphaelite, p.43. Jeanne Clegg suggests Alessandri may have done some ‘Tintoretto studies’ for the Arundel Society but, again, there is no mention of him in the annual reports. ‘John Ruskin's correspondence with Angelo Alessandri,’ Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, vol.60, 1978, pp.404–433, at p.410, and with reference to a letter from T M Rooke dated 10 October 1891. 17

The Madonna and St Bernard and St John and St Benedict 1876–80, watercolour and bodycolour on paper, 27.5 x 17.4 cm and 36.8 x 24.3 cm, Collection of the Guild of St George, Sheffield Galleries & Museums Trust 18

Fairfax Murray’s drawings may have been intended by Ruskin as an ‘improvement’ to those made by Kaiser, the copyist whose work Ruskin had ‘corrected’ at Assisi in April and June 1874. page 257 of 355

figure 99 AB The Ruskin Museum at Meersbrook House c.1895–1910, glass plate negatives Collection of the Guild of St George, Museums Sheffield top: architectural copies—Gnauth’s sepulchral monuments (1872, 1875, 1878 and 1881, as well as the Botticelli Primavera (1888)—are visible on the far wall and at right bottom: John Wharlton Bunney’s Western façade of the Basilica of San Marco, Venice 1877–82 and a group of Arundel Society chromolithographs on the right hand wall page 258 of 355

Anziglione] in 1877 (fig.73).19 In 1886 Ruskin organised an exhibition of drawings commissioned for the Guild of St George in the Fine Art Society’s rooms in London, via which he hoped to generate subscriptions. Like the Society, the Guild also had a copying fund that financed much of the later work until 1892. Intriguingly, however, there are no indications of any intention to circulate the works more broadly or in printed form.

The aims of the Arundel Society, to educate the public and protect works of art, were of course closely aligned to Ruskin’s own. His attitude to the chromolithographs was, on the other hand, inconsistent and at times highly contradictory, like so many things in his life. Writing from Turin in August 1858, Ruskin was agreeing with his father’s dislike of that ‘shiny Brown Earthenware sort of Chromo Lithographic,’ and dismissing their ‘stamped colour’ as ‘popular abomination.’ But he also conceded that he had not opposed publication since ‘anything that serves to extend the society is at present desirable.’20 He appears to have softened by the time of ‘Notes on the present state of engraving in England’—one of six Oxford lectures given in November and December 1872 and later published as Ariadne Florentina—appreciating their ‘daily companionship’ and ability to serve as aide memoires. Relating a visit to the home of a friend in which Arundel prints were the principal form of decoration,21 he claimed to have learnt more from one of the copies of the Brancacci Chapel frescoes than when he saw them in situ. Ruskin admitted he had not until now: rightly appreciate[d] the results of the labour of the Arundel Society in this direction. Although, from the beginning I have been honoured in being a member of its council, my action has been hitherto rather of a

19

Ruskin, we are told, was underwhelmed by Fairfax Murray’s copy and preferred instead to admire Lippi’s draughtsmanship through a photograph, viewed in conjunction with the watercolour to provide an idea of the colour, light and shadow. Fairfax Murray after Lippi, The Madonna and Child c.1876–80, watercolour and bodycolour on paper, 35.0 x 24.8 cm, Collection of the Guild of St George, Sheffield Galleries & Museums Trust; see http://www.museums-sheffield.org.uk/collections/item?acc=CGSG00292 See also Ruskin’s and Fairfax Murray’s copies of the Carpaccio cycle in the Scuola of San Giorgio degli Schiavoni; the Arundel Society-issued St George baptising the princess Cleodolinda, after drawings by Luigi Desideri, in 1888. 20

John Hayman (ed.), Letters from the Continent 1858, University of Toronto Press 1982, p.39, and quoted by Harrod, ‘John Ruskin and the Arundel Society’, p.183 21

The friend is not, unfortunately, identified but at the time Ruskin was probably at Oxford where, as we shall see, many Arundel Society prints were displayed. page 259 of 355

check than help, because I thought more of the differences between our copies and the great originals, than of their unquestionable superiority to anything the public could otherwise obtain.22

Addressing members gathered at the 1878 Annual General Meeting, Ruskin emphasised the value of copying and recording the frescoes: the Society was not, he reminded his audience, ‘founded with the view of obtaining for each of its members more than twenty shillings’ worth of coloured prints for twenty shillings though that may be an agreeable result and reward of its operations.’23 He went on to bemoan the current state of the art market, and the difficulty of persuading artists of faithfulness and skill to make copies. In the Epilogue to Stones of Venice 1881, Arundel Society prints were described as being in the ‘first rank in purpose and principle.’24 Later, writing in November 1887 to M H Spielman, editor of the Magazine of Art, Ruskin dismissed the Society’s copies as ‘rot’.25

In 1890, when Ruskin had essentially retired, the St George’s Museum collection moved to Meersbrook House, a large Georgian building with extensive grounds overlooking central Sheffield.26 The institution, renamed the Ruskin Museum, looked radically different under the curatorship of William White and his successor Gill Parker.27 With more space—Carpaccio and Turner rooms, a gallery for prints, lecture room and storeroom on the entrance level, as well as a library, picture gallery and another space for minerals and sculpture

22

‘Appendix Article I in Works, vol.22, pp.474–475, and quoted by Clegg, ‘John Ruskin's correspondence with Angelo Alessandri,’ p.417 23

Address to the Arundel Society, the notes for which are incomplete; see Works, vol.24, pp.634–639, at p.635; a second address, to the Society’s Annual General Meeting in 1882, consists, for the large part, of a complaint about the lack of seriousness and the search for novelty in modern art, holding the Arundel Society copies up in their protest against many of these tendencies. Works, vol.24, p.638 24

Works, vol.11, p.240

25

Ruskin to M H Spielman, Magazine of Art editor, November 1887: ‘If you can get good artists to copy the pictures—small—for you—not finished work but bold and yet careful wash, you would do things fifty times better than the Arundel has done yet. Our copies have always been such rot, before the lithotint was troubled at all.’ quoted by Harrod, ‘John Ruskin and the Arundel Society’, p.188 26

In the later 1880s, George Thomson and George Baker managed the Guild, and they accepted an offer by the Corporation of Sheffield to move the Museum to Meersbrook. 27

White oversaw the move and was curator until 1890; he was succeeded by Parker (1890– 1931); then Genevieve Pilley, who had served as assistant to both previous curators (1931–49). page 260 of 355

above—much of the collection was recalled. A series of interior photographs, probably dating to the period 1895–1910 (fig.99AB), show galleries hung chronologically, divided by category and labelled by subject.

One view of the picture gallery shows Newman’s watercolours of the duomo at Lucca, and the duomo and baptistery of San Giovanni at Florence down the long wall under a plaque ‘Architecture and Sculpture’ (fig.99A). The Arundel Society’s Primavera is displayed on the partition in front of the alcove, while Gnauth’s architecture views are visible to the right of the other window, in the upper row (figs.90 and 27).28 Another view of the picture gallery is dominated by Bunney’s grand Western façade of the Basilica of San Marco, Venice 1877– 82—commissioned by Ruskin for the Guild when the building was ‘threatened’ by restoration—while the wall adjacent features the ‘Ruskin Madonna’ c.1470, a painting by Andrea del Verrocchio (fig.99B).29 Clustered around the Madonna are various watercolour copies commissioned by Ruskin: at left is Fairfax Murray’s Lippi Virgin and Child, while four of the Arundel works hang high on the wall: Perugino Crucifixion, above the door to the curator’s office; then Fra Angelico’s Noli me Tangere (fig.20); directly above the Verrocchio painting is Perugino’s Prophets and Sibyls; and the Castelfranco altarpiece by Giorgione is at right (fig.95).30 In a contemporary photograph of the lecture theatre are prints of Holbein’s Meyer Madonna and Dürer’s Adoration of the holy trinity issued in 1871 and 1879 respectively (figs.100–102). Ruskin’s endearingly chaotic, multidisciplinary displays have been given order.

The Arundel Society prints in the Guild of St George collection—which may or may not have been those received via Ruskin’s membership—as well as the range of opinions expressed publically and in private by ‘the Master,’ suggest some of the difficulties in understanding their role in the collection. Multiple

28

(L-R) Monument to the Doge Michiel Morosini (1882) or Monument to Tommaso Pellegrini (1878; fig.27); Monument to the Doge Vendramini (1875) and Monuments of the Cavalli Family (1872) 29

Bunney’s Western façade of the Basilica of San Marco, Venice 1877–82 (oil on canvas, 144.7 x 226 cm) remains at Sheffield; Andrea del Verrocchio’s The Virgin Adoring the Christ Child c.1470 is now Collection: National Gallery of Scotland 30

Lippi Virgin and Child (1877); Fra Angelico’s Noli me Tangere (1870); Perugino Crucifixion (1872) and Prophets and Sibyls (1883); and Giorgione’s Virgin and Child between St Liberale and St Francis (1879) page 261 of 355

figure 100 The lecture theatre in the Ruskin Museum at Meersbrook House c.1895–1910 glass plate negative Collection of the Guild of St George, Museums Sheffield

figure 101 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Dürer’s Adoration of the holy trinity by Christian Schultz lithograph, 67.5 x 60.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1879 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris figure 102 ENGELMANN et GRAF, lithographic firm after a copy of Holbein’s Virgin and Child (The Meyer Madonna) by Christian Schultz lithograph, 55.9 x 36.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1871 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Parispage 262 of 355

copies of specific subjects31 imply more than one provenance, and several other companions were also members of the Society. The architect J H Chamberlain (1831–1883), for example, held a subscription from 1855 until his death. Another contender for the original ownership of the prints was the educational reformer and politician, Thomas Dyke Acland (1809–1898), a joint-trustee of the Guild of St George and another long-term member of the Society from 1860 until at least 1883. The Birmingham industrialist and scholar, Samuel Timmins (1826–1902), who subscribed in 1872, 1879 and 1883, and Ruskin’s family friends, the Oldhams, were also involved in both organisations. The prints in the collection seem, in any case, to have been selected with a view to complementing the watercolour copies commissioned by Ruskin. ______________________________

The year 1855 signals a period of change for the Arundel Society, and the beginning of a series of initiatives which were successful in attracting new members. At the General Meeting of Members in June the Society’s management and future directions were discussed.32 In November an exhibition of its works opened at the Crystal Palace in Sydenham, and arrangements were also made for the Society’s first chromolithographs. At this time an equally intriguing project was coming to fruition at Wallington Hall in Northumberland, the northern seat of the Trevelyan family, inherited by Walter Calverly in 1846.33 The geologist and naturalist had met the young Pauline at the 1833 conference for British Association for the Advancement of Science in Cambridge. The Trevelyans spent the first decade of their married life travelling, passing extended periods in Rome, staying in Florence and visiting San Gimignano, and acquiring works by Domenichino, Piero della Francesco, Ghirlandaio, Della

31

Two copies of the Storch and Kramer print after Dürer’s Adoration of the holy trinity are held in the collection, as well extra copies of the Dalziel wood engravings. 32

Ruskin, Chamberlain and Sir Walter, amongst others, may have been present at the General Meeting of members on 29 June 1855, which was called for the purpose of considering future directions and management of the Arundel Society. Sir Walter was in London in June–early July 1855; he visited the Crystal Palace at Sydenham and the Royal Academy, went to the theatres and dined at the Athenaeum, and made calls on various family members and friends, before returning to Wallington in time to see Bell Scott. 33

In 1934 Sir Charles Philips Trevelyan gave Wallington to the National Trust and it passed to the nation on his death in 1958.Of the 83 prints listed at Wallington, at least 67 (framed and unframed) have been located; House and Collections Manager, Lloyd Langley, correspondence with the author, June and July 2010. page 263 of 355

Robbia and Sodoma.34 Sir Walter was the proud owner of a large collection of minerals, geological specimens and other ‘curiosities,’ left to him by his grandmother, and employed a curator to ‘arrange’ these objects.35 Lady Trevelyan’s campaign for a ‘salon for sophisticated entertainment’ and a space to ‘display of works of art and geological specimens’ dates to the period 1849– 51 when Wallington became her and Sir Walter’s primary residence. 36 The house and its inhabitants are emblematic of the kind of intellectually curious, well-travelled and financially independent collectors of Arundel material.

Wallington is best known for its central court adorned with large, mural-like scenes from Northumberland history painted by William Bell Scott (1811–1890) between 1856 and 1861. This salon, achieved by covering an internal quadrangle, was planned by Lady Trevelyan in consultation with Ruskin and executed in 1852–53 by the Newcastle architect John Dobson: its program of decoration includes spandrels of the first-floor arcade, and pilasters painted with local flowers and foliage by Lady Trevelyan and her friends.37 The initial idea for the paintings at Wallington may date to the Ruskin’s and the Trevelyans’ involvement with the Oxford Museum: it was to have had frescoes and Bell Scott was to have contributed.38 Pauline had first met Ruskin in June 1843, at a breakfast at the 34

The Piero della Francesco Virgin and Child enthroned with four angels c.1460–70 is Collection: Sterling and Francine Clark Institute, Williamstown; the Sodoma, now given to Procaccini, is in the National Gallery, London. 35

Previously in charge of geology museum in Ipswich, David Wooster (c.1826–1888) was also Sir Walter’s secretary and librarian, and lived at Wallington from 1855. It was popularly held that he had come to ‘arrange the shells’ and ‘never gone away.’ As Augustus Hare (1834–1903) recounted: ‘What he does here nobody seems to know; the Trevelyans say he puts the shells to rights, but the shells cannot take four years to dust.’ After Lady Trevelyan’s death Wooster arranged her poetry and critical writing for publication. Story of my life, vol.2, London: George Allen 1896, p.349, quoted by John Batchelor, Lady Trevelyan and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, London: Chatto & Windus 2006, p.67 36

Batchelor, Lady Trevelyan and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, p.82; Wallington was the home of Sir Walter’s mother until 1848, while the fifth baronet, Sir John Trevelyan, was installed at Nettlecombe, Somerset. 37

These include Francis Strong (1840–1904), artist and art historian writing under the name of Mrs Mark Pattison, and after 1885 Lady Dilke. Her father-in-law, the first Sir Charles Dilke (1810–1869), politician and commissioner for the Great Exhibition of 1862, was a member of the Arundel Society from 1849 until his death. 38

In 1842 Bell Scott had entered, unsuccessfully, a cartoon for the competition to decorate Westminster Hall. The schemes of the Oxford Museum—Arthurian battle scenes for the lower walls with plant and flower patterns above—and at Wallington were both conceived as archetypal Victorian instruments of instruction: the first told the ‘history of earth before civilization,’ the second chronicles the history of a particular place: Northumbria from the Roman times until 1861. Sir Walter and the museum’s first Director, John Phillips, corresponded regularly over the project in the period 1854–57. Lady Trevelyan also greatly admired the Oxford Union murals, painted in page 264 of 355

Oxford home of geologist and family friend Dr William Buckland (1784–1856), and this encounter blossomed into a friendship some five years later, around the time of Ruskin’s marriage to Effie Gray. They had a mutual friend in the form of Henry Acland (1815–1900)39—Walter Trevelyan and Acland were the only two people to whom Ruskin confided his feelings over the breakdown of his marriage—and these close relationships informed the Wallington project. The central court was partially glazed and, in its early planning stages, was intended for the display of the geological specimens and a collection of stuffed birds,40 a museum of a model more akin to that planned for Oxford.

Bell Scott, who lamented the unsuitability of the fresco medium in the British climate, chose instead to produce his large scenes in oil on canvas then mounted between the arches in the hall. Later, in 1868, he painted the battle of Chevy Chase directly onto the upper walls of the hall at Wallington, within the second tier of spandrels. The Trevelyans installed works by other Pre-Raphaelite artists at Wallington, most notably Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s Mary in the House of John 1858,41 and sculpture by Alexander Munro (1825–1871) and Thomas Woolner (1825–1892).42 The poet Swinburne—whose family home was at nearby Capheaton Hall and whom Bell Scott had hoped to use as a model for one of his figures—was another frequent visitor.43 Other Wallington regulars and Northumberland locals also modelled for the paintings. Lady Trevelyan wanted

1857–59 by Rossetti, Edward Burne Jones, William Morris, Alexander Munro, Arthur Hughes, Val Prinsep, J H Pollen, and John Roddam Spencer Stanhope; see, for example, her letter to Bell Scott, of 12 November 1857. Batchelor, Lady Trevelyan and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, p.63, p.65, p.234; Autobiographical notes of the life of William Bell Scott and notices of his artistic and poetic circle of friends, 1830 to 1882, London: Osgood, McIlvaine 1892, vol.2, p.38; Virginia Surtees (ed.), Reflections of a friendship: John Ruskin's letters to Pauline Trevelyan, 1848–1866, London: George Allen 1979, pp.277–278 39

His elder brother, the educational reformer and politician Thomas Dyke Acland (1809–1898), was another member of the Arundel Society and joint-trustee of the Guild of St George. Henry’s daughter, Sarah Angelina Acland (1849–1930), was a pioneer of colour photography. 40

Batchelor, Lady Trevelyan and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, p.66

41

watercolour on paper, 45.7 x 35.5 cm Delaware Art Museum

42

Woolner’s Mother and Child 1867, as known as Civilisation or the Lord’s Prayer, was installed in the hall at Wallington. Munro, who also produced a bust of Alcand (1857), Sir Walter and Lady Trevelyan—hers was inscribed ‘She enclosed and decorated this hall on the advice of John Ruskin’—was a member of the Arundel Society in the late 1860s. The Acland bust is in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. 43

Another close neighbour, the watercolourist, philanthropist and Marchioness of Waterford, Louisa Anne Beresford (1818–1891), subscribed to the Society in 1855 and 1860, but strangely, given their proximity, is not known to have met the Trevelyans. page 265 of 355

figure 103 The Library at Wallington Hall, Northumberland, home to Sir Walter Trevelyan and Lady Trevelyan from 1849–51 until 1879, National Trust from 1958 The open portfolio, with Masaccio’s The tribute money, and the items on the writing desk are arranged so as to suggest the Trevelyans have only momentarily paused in their research

figure 104 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Masaccio’s The tribute money in the Cappella Brancacci, Santa Maria del Carmine, at Florence by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph London: Arundel Society 1861 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris page 266 of 355

her great friend and frequent holiday companion, Louise Stewart Mackenzie, later Lady Ashburton (1827–1903), to be involved and called her to Wallington in mid-1857. She is recorded, instead, in a watercolour sketch by Bell Scott, being taught by Ruskin to draw.44 Although Ruskin visited several times in the 1850s he left his pillar unfinished in 1864; he was travelling with the Trevelyans at the time of Lady Trevelyan’s death in Switzerland in 1866.

Direct references to the Arundel Society in the Ruskin-Trevelyan correspondence are remarkably brief. Their published letters—initially formal, always chatty and at times teasing—are filled with requests for plant identification, advice on sketching, discussion of art, talk of travel, news of friends and dogs. Photography was another shared interest. Lady Trevelyan’s diaries and letters record frequent attendance at photographic exhibitions in Edinburgh, London and Rome, notes about techniques, her acquisitions and exchanges with other practitioners. The Trevelyans saw examples of ‘photogenic drawings’ as early as May 1838.45 In September the following year Sir Walter received a group of ‘photographic drawings’ from his childhood friend, William Henry Fox Talbot (1800–1877), and in 1845 he gave his wife a callotype camera for her birthday. They particularly admired the photographic exhibits during visits to the 1851 Great Exhibition in London.46 Lady Trevelyan was in London from February to April 1853, and stayed with the Ruskins in Herne Hill for part of the time: she sought out the daguerreotypes of Venice, and she and Effie had portraits made in the studio of Antoine Claudet (1797–1867). In January 1855 she notes looking at callotypes with Ruskin before visiting a ‘capital’ photographic exhibition the following day. It is hardly surprising then,

44

The watercolour is at Wallington, Northumberland, part of the National Trust collection. The businessman and politician, William Bingham Baring (1799–1864) Lord Ashburton, who married Louisa in 1858 was a founding member of the Arundel Society. Ashburton’s cousin Thomas George Baring, 1st Earl of Northbrook, (1826–1904), was likewise a founding member. 45

The examples produced by Allan Maconochie (1806–1885), later Professor of Law at the University of Glasgow; see by Larry J Schaaf, ‘‘Splendid calotypes’ and ‘Hideous men’: Photography in the diaries of Lady Pauline Trevelyan’ in History of Photography, vol.34, no.4, pp.326–341, at p.329. 46

Sir Walter visited almost daily in 1851, when Lady Trevelyan was too unwell to travel: his diary is ‘crammed with statistics’ and lists which include ‘American daguerreotypes;’ see Raleigh Trevelyan, A Pre-Raphaelite circle, London: Chatto and Windus 1978, p.62, p.65; for quotes from her extensive diary notes during their joint-visits in September, see Schaaf, ‘‘Splendid Calotypes’ and ‘Hideous Men,’’ pp.337–338. page 267 of 355

that in March 1855 Ruskin chose Lady Trevelyan to confide the Society’s ‘unsatisfactory’ experiments with photography: Luca Signorelli is actually under examination at present by the Arundel people—but we really don’t know how to get anything nicely engraved of that kind. I am entrusted with experiments on photography which I am sorry to say are but very unsatisfactory.47

Ruskin was largely concerned with photography as a tool for conservation. It is, however, interesting to note that in the early days, before the Society adopted colour lithography as the primary technique for its publications, it experimented with producing photographic images of works of art. In 1856 the Council sent Edward? Rainford (fl.1850–64?) to Venice to copy Tintoretto’s Christ before Pilate and Christ bearing his cross in the Scuola di San Rocco. In the following year photographs of the watercolour copies were issued as Occasional publications with a description by Ruskin. The Annual report for 1857 goes some way to explaining the rationale for these ‘multigenerational’ images in which a fresco is copied as a drawing, then photographed and photographic prints issued: Although direct photographic representations of paintings, as well as other objects, can now be sold at a very cheap rate, yet it is believed that few, if any, photographs from copies expressly made to meet those peculiarities in the originals which do not admit of direct photographic representation have been produced at such low prices as these from Tintoretto, even in the countries where the paintings themselves are; still less in a distant country, from which an artist must be sent to execute copies required for the photographic process. Whether the outlay will so far be repaid to the Society as to encourage the Council to undertake the production of another similar work, entirely depends on the progress of the sale.48

An amount of £50 10s, as expenditure for copies and photographs by Mr Rainford, is listed in the Society’s financial records for 1856; perhaps Rainford completed the photography himself, as well as executing the copies. The Tintoretto project

47

John Ruskin to Pauline Trevelyan, 18 March 1855, in Surtees, Reflections of a friendship, p.98

48

Eighth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1857, p.2 page 268 of 355

returned this expense in three years and, although the income produced by the photographic prints was steady, the experiment was not repeated.49

Both Ruskin and the Trevelyans seem to have had greater success with another of the Arundel Society’s challenges: in 1856 members were called upon to cooperate with the Council to ‘enlarge the ranks of the Society within the sphere of his own influence.’50 Ellen Heaton (1816–1894), a collector in Leeds and one of Ruskin’s protégées, was a long-time member from 1855 until at least 1883. Woolner’s supporter and housemate, the critic Francis Turner Palgrave (1824– 1897), subscribed briefly in 1860 and 1866, as did the sculptor Munro in 1866 and 1868. A Mrs Faunthorpe, wife of the Principal of Whitelands Training College for Girls at Chelsea, is also listed (1872–83+). The politician and author, George Otto Trevelyan (1838–1928), the son of Sir Walter's cousin Charles and eventual heir to Wallington, was an associate member in 1872, and is listed as a second subscriber in 1879 and 1883. Although the circumstances of Ruskin’s or the Trevelyans’ involvement, direct or otherwise, in soliciting new subscriptions are not known, it is clear that during the 1860s and 1870s, the periods of greatest increase in the Society’s membership, some influential people were concerned. ______________________________

The subscribers to the Arundel Society in Auckland, will receive copies of the above-mentioned chromo lithographs, on the arrival of the ‘African,’ on board which ship they have been placed. Mr Varty, the New Zealand agent for the Society, will distribute them on their arrival. This shows that no time has been lost in forwarding them to New Zealand.51

This note by the editor of the Auckland Daily Southern Cross ran at the end of an article reprinted from the London Saturday Review, a discussion of the works issued for 1861: prints from the Brancacci Chapel frescoes—including several details—and Pinturicchio’s Annunciation at Spello issued as an Occasional

49

£29 16s (1858); £11 6s (1859); £10 5s (1860); £9 15s (1861); £9 10s (1862) and £9 5s (1863)

50

Seventh annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1856, p.2, p.3

51

Editor’s note, Daily Southern Cross, vol.XVIII, no.1579, 13 August 1862, p.4 page 269 of 355

publication.52 The writer marvelled at the number of prints issued (seven colour images on three sheets) and the Society’s ability to provide such return on an investment of a single guinea. He questioned however the wisdom of issuing printed images of frescoes without the full-sized outlines or instructive brochures to which members had become accustomed to receiving, before going on to provide some background to the Brancacci Chapel and the three artists involved. After describing the subjects of the fresco, the Saturday Review article concludes by outlining the publications in preparation for 1862.

The New Zealand agent for the Arundel Society of London, John Varty, was a stationer and bookseller who worked from the Canada Buildings in Queen Street, Auckland. He may have trained as a lithographer: apart from producing ‘every description of lithographic printing,’ he published maps and operated a circulating library, as well as advertising for repairs of pianofortes and harmoniums. Following on from the syndicated article we find, in a November 1862 issue of the Daily Southern Cross, an advertisement for soon-to-beavailable books and a map of the Coromandel Peninsula newly published by Varty. A further notice in January 1863 spells out the arrangements: SUBSCRIBERS to the ‘ARUNDEL SOCIETY’ are respectfully requested to PAY THEIR SUBSCRIPTIONS for the year 1862, to me on or before the 4th of the ensuing month (February), in order that instructions may be forwarded to the Society in London, by the mail of the 7th February. 53 Varty seems to have remained an active agent only a short time: he is listed by the Society in 1865 but not in 1878. Apart from some enthusiastic advertisements about expansions to his ‘lithographic plan and machinery’ during 1863, there is no evidence of any further activities for the Society.54

Pianofortes and harmoniums aside, Varty’s profile is largely consistent with the Society’s agents in Britain and Europe ‘through whom subscriptions may be paid and publications obtained’. The agents varied in number (from an original group 52

The Brancacci Chapel prints: ‘Adam and Eve,’ attributed to Filippino Lippi; ‘Expulsion from Paradise’ credited to Masaccio; ‘Tribute money’ after Masaccio followed by two heads from the principal group of full size; and ‘St Peter preaching’ by Masolino da Panicale. 53

Advertisements, Daily Southern Cross, vol.XIIX, no.1714, 16 January 1863, p.1

54

Daily Southern Cross, vol.XIX, no.1812, 9 May 1863, p.1 page 270 of 355

of thirteen listed in 1849, to a maximum of twenty-two in the 1860s) length of association and types of business. By 1855 the Society boasted a total of nineteen distributors throughout England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland; a decade later it also had a further ten overseas. Some exhibited a remarkable continuity: for example Rymans, in High Street, Oxford, is listed in 1849 and remained an agent until at least 1895.55 On the other hand the relationship was presumably not as worthwhile for Mssrs Jacob & Johnson, Booksellers of Winchester who appear once only, in 1855. In the early days the majority of English agents were described are printsellers or booksellers, with a smaller number listed as publishers.56 In Glasgow the firm of James McClure & Son (established 1825– active until 1941)—carvers, gilders, printsellers and appointed by Royal Warrant from Queen Victoria—agent from 1849 until at least 1865, also seems to have traded in oils and watercolours. In addition to selling prints and frames, the Leeds agent Alexander Hassé (c.1846–1930) exhibited works of art and operated as an art dealer.57 The Exeter printseller and agent, John Gendall (1789–1865), was also an artist of some renown. Occasionally individuals seem to have acted as informal brokers: for example in 1860 Sir F E Scott (1824–1863) of Great Barr Hall is designated as an agent however those desirous of viewing ‘Specimens of the publications’ were directed to a Mr Turner in Paradise Street, Birmingham. A similar arrangement seems to have operated in Cheltenham where the works could be seen at Arthur Whitcombe’s in Clarence Street, while Frederick Hartland of The Oaklands presumably collected subscriptions.

The Arundel Society’s subscription allowed for free delivery within three miles of its office in Bond St, London.58 Ruskin’s prints would probably have been delivered to his London home, sent to Oxford or wherever else he was residing. 55

This would, perhaps, account for the remarkable number of Arundel Society prints said to be displayed at Oxford University (see below); for Rymans’ various dates, see also http://www.oxfordhistory.org.uk/high/tour/north/024_031.html 56

Cambridge publisher, engraver and miniature painter Robert Roe is listed 1849 only; from 1855 until at least 1865, the Cambridge agent is listed as Messrs Deighton & Bell, Booksellers of Trinity Street, and from 1878 Mr William Spalding, in Sidney Street. Likewise R Slocombe, publisher in Leeds, is listed only for 1849. 57

He took over the business started by his uncle Edward Hassé, early described as a framer then printseller. Hassé’s Print Rooms in Boar Lane was advertised from 1853; a new gallery opened in Commercial St in 1856. Hassé was also an agent for the Art Union of London. 58

Beyond the three miles ‘all expenses of packing, booking, and conveyance of publications shall be paid by the Members or purchasers receiving such publications, except when forwarded in a Local Agent's usual parcel.’ General rules of the Arundel Society 1863, p.8 page 271 of 355

Those at Wallington Hall, the Northumberland home of Sir Walter and Lady Trevelyan were likely received via the Edinburgh agent, initially the printseller and artists’ colourman James Keith (died c.1858), followed by R Nelson of South Hanover Street until the 1890s: first Robert Renton Nelson (c.1816–1899) , then from 1877 his nephew Alfred Nelson (1877–1904). Nelson’s is recorded as stocking artists’ tools and supplies—including Newman’s watercolours, in soft and hard cakes; tubes of oil paint; sable and hog brushes; and drawing pencils59—as well as stationery, books and prints. They also offered framing services, carving and gilding. Despite the distinction made between booksellers, printsellers and publishers, in reality many of the agents probably operated comparable ‘mixed’ businesses, stocking artist’s materials, offering framing services and a range of printed matters. Manchester’s agent from 1855, the leading printseller John Clowes Grundy (1806–1867), was more unusual in that he had early experience as a restorer and was himself a collector.60

At Oxford and Cambridge, for a time, Arundel Society chromolithographs were quite a feature. Oxford had one of the largest concentrations of members. Various of the university organisations subscribed, including the Oxford University Union Society, the Common Room at Cuddeson College and Worcestor College.61 Ruskin’s tutor H G Liddell (1811–1898), as we have seen, was an early member; although his time on Council was brief he retained his membership until the end. Liddell and Acland encouraged the study of art at

59

Caledonian Mercury, 23 June 1853; quoted in the National Portrait Gallery’s British picture framemakers, 1600–1950, http://www.npg.org.uk/research/programmes/directory-ofsuppliers/n.php (last accessed July 2011) 60

Grundy was described in 1853 as ‘print-seller and publisher, carver and gilder, artists’ colourman, fancy stationer, picture and plate glass dealer, and repository of arts’ and in 1863 as ‘ancient and modern print seller to Her Majesty, picture frame manufacturer, artists’ colourman, dealer in pictures, water-colour drawings and articles of vertu.’ When he died in June 1867, Grundy was a wealthy man; his collection of ‘modern paintings and drawings and engravings’ from his home, Cliff House at Higher Broughton, was auctioned in 1867 (The Times 1 November 1867); see http://www.npg.org.uk/research/conservation/directory-of-british-framemakers/g.php 61

Although most of the prints obtained under the various subscriptions at Oxford have not been traced, at least three remain at Ripon College Cuddeson; archivist John B Davies correspondence with the author, June 2007. Those at the Bodleian Library were acquired as part of the collection assembled by John de Monins Johnson (1882–1956), now known as the John Johnson Collection of Printed Ephemera; Julie Anne Lambert, Librarian of the John Johnson Collection, correspondence with the author, March and April 2011. The provenance of the prints at the Ashmolean Museum is uncertain; curator, Caroline Palmer, correspondence with the author, May 2011 page 272 of 355

Oxford and, through this, gained the admiration of Ruskin and others. Pater’s tutor, William Wolfe Capes (1834–1914), was also a member from 1855 until at least 1883. Thomas William Jex-Blake (1832–1915), headmaster of Rugby, Dean of Wells, was a life subscriber; presumably he was also the motivation behind the subscription taken out for the Museum at Rugby School.62

A fellow of Brasemose College, Oxford, Humphrey Ward (1845–1926) described Pater’s rooms, with his Eastern carpet and bright chintz curtains, as being in sharp contrast to the other dons’ ‘oaken respectability and heaviness.’ 63 Pater’s ‘three or four line engravings’ served ‘to remind him of the noble originals’ rather represent them, but the presence of prints by Botticelli and others is also felt. The poet and writer Oscar Wilde (1854–1900), who was at Oxford from 1874 to 1878 and owned a large collection of Arundel Society works, may have acquired his prints there.64 As Lambert points out, encased in ‘Oxford frames’ the prints would have added to the general milieu: Then, as now, there were ‘cultured’ undergraduates, and those who were very cultured indeed, read Shelly and burned incense, would always have a few photographs after Simeon Solomon on their wall – little notes of illicit sentiment to vary the monotony of Burne-Jones and

62

The Museum at Rugby School is first listed as a member of the Arundel Society in 1879. JexBlake was also a member of the Somersetshire Archaeological and Natural History Society, and the author of A long vacation in Continental picture galleries. His sister was the feminist, medical pioneer Sophia Louisa Jex-Blake (1840–1912). 63

Ward remembered his first visit: ‘small freshly painted in greenish white, and hung with three of four line-engravings. All dons have line-engravings then, but they were all after Raphael. Pater has something more characteristic: the ‘Three Fates,’ attributed to to M Angelo; a head after Corregio; and I think something of Ingres—a new name to Oxford! The clean, clear table, the stained border round the matting and Eastern carpet, and the scanty, bright chintz curtains, were a novelty and a contrast to the oaken respectability and heaviness of all other dons' rooms at that day. The effect was in keeping with his own clear-cut view of life, and made, in a small way, ‘the colours freshen on this threadbare world.’ A C Benson, Walter Pater, New York and London: Macmillan 1906, p.18 64

Prints are listed in the sale of his home contents following Wilde’s bankruptcy of April 1895: ‘Catalogue of the library of valuable books, pictures, portraits of celebrities … to be sold by auction, by Mr Bullock, on the premises, on Wednesday, April 24th, 1895, at one o'clock.’ Wilde had hired architect E W Godwin in 1884 to design the interiors of his home in Tite St, Chelsea; he had previously shared a house on Salisbury St with artist Frank Miles (1852–1891) where the rooms had been partially modelled on those at Magdalene College, Oxford; Richard W Hayes, ‘At home, 16 Tite Street,’ Penny Sparke and Anne Massey (eds.) Biography, identity and the modern interior, Burlington: Ashgate 2013, pp.37–51. A gift of a print, to fellow undergraduate Reginald Harding, is also recorded in a letter of December 1876; see Letters of Oscar Wilde, New York: Harcourt, Brace & World 1962, p.28. page 273 of 355

figure 105 G A DEAN, photographer The Art Museum at Rugby School from Rugby School: Handbooks to the Great Public Schools, London: George Bell & Sons 1900

figure 106 Charles NETTLETON Public Library Art Exhibition 1869 albumen silver photograph, 22.8 x 29.2 cm State Library of Victoria, Melbourne page 274 of 355

Botticelli. When uncles and aunts came up for Gaugys and Commen, while ‘Temperantia’ and the ‘Primavera’ were left in their places, ‘Love dying from breath of Lust,’ ‘Antinous,’ and other drawings by Solomon with titles from the Latin Vulgate, were taken down for the occasion. Views from the sister University, Cambridge took their places, being more appropriate to Uncle Parker’s and Aunt Jane’s taste.65

At Cambridge the rooms of Oscar Browning (1837–1923) were also hung with Arundel Society prints, including Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea (fig.6). Browning may have been inspired to join by his Eton tutor William Johnson (1823–1892),66 and mentions, in his memoirs, that Johnson was one of the first subscribers to the Society of which he was later a ‘Director.’67 As a member since 1860, Browning would have had a large collection. When a visiting would-be connoisseur commented that the proportions of the Venus figure in the Botticelli print seemed out, and looked to his host for confirmation, Browning commented dryly, ‘It's no good asking me, my dear fellow, I've never seen a naked woman.’68

The Arundel Society’s international representatives were, on the whole, more diverse than their British counterparts. The first mentions were in 1849, an outline of the Society and its functions, in Bulletin of the American Art-Union. The first overseas agent, Boston’s William H Dennet (1819–1895), who was in partnership with James Munroe, circulated prints from 1855.69 In a guide to the city of Boston James Munroe & Co is described as occupying a stand that has been used ‘for the Book business for more than fifty years’ and as having ‘an extensive trade as publishers, booksellers and importers.’70 As well as 65

Robert Ross, Masques and phases, London: A L Humphreys 1906, pp.135–136; quoted in Lambert, The image multiplied, p.106, p.214 66

Johnson is listed from 1849 until at least 1869; he does not seem to have maintained his subscription after he retired in 1872, and changed his name to Cory. 67

Memories of sixty years at Eton, Cambridge and elsewhere, London: Bodley Head 1906, p.19; Browning mentions his involvement in the Malpaga project (1890) and the Veronese frescoes at Villa of Maser (1887) both of which he persuaded the Society to publish; p.281, p.305 68

H E Wortham, Oscar Browning, London: Constable & Co 1927 and quoted in ‘Stories new and old,’ The West Australian, Saturday 1 October 1927, p.11 69

‘The Arundel Society,’ Bulletin of the American Art-Union, vol.2, no.9, December 1849, pp.25– 26; see also Mrs Jameson, ‘Some thoughts on art. Addressed to the uninitiated,’ Bulletin of the American Art-Union, vol.2, no.3, June 1849, pp.17–24. 70

Stranger's guide in the city of Boston, Boston: Andrews & Co 1848, p.16 page 275 of 355

publishing Classical works, they supplied ‘Sabbath Schools, Parish and District Libraries, and also Book-Clubs, and Societies in general.’ From 1860, additional agents are listed for Cape Town (Edgar Layard), Melbourne (R Edmond Chester Waters) and Paris (the Didrons).71 In Dresden interested parties were directed to Professor Grüner, Director of the Gallery of Prints in the Royal Museum (see Chapter 1), while the statesman Georg von Bunsen collected subscriptions in Bonn. The two agents in Italy were Giuseppe [?] Spithoven, in the Piazza di Spagna in Rome, and a Mr Goodman whose address was given as via de'Legnaioli, Florence. In later years further agents were under commission in Montreal, Auckland, New York, Berlin, Leipzig and Venice.

Commentary on the chromolithographic medium was, like that in the British press, often closely aligned to issues of taste and questions of quality. An 1867 edition of The Nation, the newly established weekly published in New York, contained an extensive discussion of the relative merits of the technique. 72 Prompted by the receipt of two lithographes by the Boston-based publisher Louis Prang (1824–1909), the writer compared American, English and French examples. Prang’s prints were much criticised, especially when overprinted with lines to simulate the thread of canvas and varnished to imitate oil paintings, while those of the Arundel Society were held up as ‘subjects of the highest interest and value.’ The writer admired the flat and pale qualities of the Society’s chromolithographs as being ‘wholly without pretense of being fac-similes or imitations.’ He regretted the lack of examples in New York—the nearest collection being held in the Boston Athenaeum (see below)—and notes that

71

The art historian, archaeologist publisher, Adolphe-Napoléon Didron (1806–1867) and his brother Victor (1844–1881) were appointed agent for the Society in 1856 or 1857; they circulated at least one prospectus translated into French (1859). In the 1858 edition of Annales Archéologiques, as part of a discussion on the iconography of angels, the Didrons refer to the Society’s fictile ivories and Oldfield’s catalogue; they also announce three new members in France: the painter Ary Scheffer (1795–1858); the curator and critic Alfred Darcel (1818–1893) and painter-archaeologist Alfred de Surigny (1805–1878); see vol.18, 1858, p.34, 174, 307. Both Darcel and De Surigny are recorded on the Society’s membership lists until the 1880s (see also Chapter 1). Adolphe’s son, the art historian douard Amedée Didron (1836–1902), seems to have maintained Didron’s subscription after his death. 72

‘Fine Arts: Chromo-lithographs, American, English and French,’ The Nation: A Weekly Journal devoted to Politics, Literature, Science and Art, vol.5, no.122, 31 October 1867, p.359. Further lengthy discussion of the merits and purposes of chromolithography appears in a following issue with Prang’s reply and reposte from the Nation’s editor; see ‘Correspondence. On theories of chromo-lithography,’ The Nation: A Weekly Journal devoted to Politics, Literature, Science and Art, vol.5, no.126, 28 November 1867, pp.437–439. page 276 of 355

Lawrence Kehoe (1832–1890), Manager of the Catholic Publication Society, has recently imported a number of the prints but these have sold out. The work of Kellerhoven was held in higher regard still: there is ‘none modern which is, on the whole, so good,’ and no English works can compare. The writer admired both Labarte’s magnificent Histoire des arts industriels au Moyen Age et l po ue de la Renaissance (1864) and Firmin Didot’s Les Chefs-d’oeuvre des Grand Maîtres (1864), reserving particular admiration for the print after Memling’s Baptism of Christ from Bruges. The time will come, we are told, when Prang will select ‘noble works and copy them in the right way.’

The art journal The Crayon, published in New York by William Stillman (1828– 1901) and John Durand (1822–1908) between 1855 and 1861 connects Ruskin, Pre-Raphaelite artists and their American compatriots.73 Through this publication, devoted to the ‘graphic arts and the literature related to them,’ we can trace the earliest spread of Ruskinian tenets in America. Stillman, who much admired Ruskin’s treatise Modern painters, travelled to England in early 1850 where he made the author’s acquaintance and met J M W Turner. He also fell under the influence of Rossetti and Millais to such an extent that he became known as ‘the American Pre-Raphaelite’.74 As well as Ruskin’s writings, Stillman and Durand published poems by Dante Gabriel Rossetti and the works of Henry James, amongst others. They employed William Michael Rossetti, as foreign correspondent from April 1855 until January 1857, and writers such as F G Stephens and Charles Eliot Norton.75 The earliest mention of the Arundel Society comes in January 1855 with a review of Ruskin’s ‘Life of Giotto’ reprinted from the Athenaeum; ‘Notice of Giotto and his works in Padua’ was printed over two issues in July and August.76 Later the same year, in November, William Michael notes the Society’s display at the Crystal Palace, which he

73

The Crayon was published weekly for the first year and, subsequently, monthly.

74

Stillman returned to England and later travelled in Switzerland with Ruskin; he was appointed US consul in Rome in 1861 and later also served in Crete. In London he lived with Rossetti and married, as his second wife in 1871, the Pre-Raphaelite artist Marie Spartali (1844–1927). Stillman was a correspondent for The Times in Balkans, Athens and Rome. 75

Other Crayon contributors include Rembrandt Peale, Asher B Durand, J L Tupper, William Allingham, and A H Clough, as well as the poet, critic and diplomat James Russell Lowell (1819–1891), and the poet and travel writer Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836–1907). 76

‘Sketchings,’ The Crayon, vol.1, no.5, 31 January 1855, p.76; for ‘Giotto and his works in Padua,’ see vol.2, no.3, 18 July 1855, p.35–37 and vol.2, no.6, 8 August 1855, pp.80–81. page 277 of 355

admired, albeit with less enthusiasm than his brother Dante Gabriel.77 A series of advertisements in the August, October and December issues alerted readers to the Arena Chapel wood engravings ($5.50 per annum), and past issues available from Dennet in Boston: This society is one of the best mediums extant for diffusing a knowledge of Art by the publication of such works as illustrate its progress in the old world. It is an institution composed of members who subscribe annually the sum of one guinea each, the proceeds of which subscription are devoted to the publication of engravings from “certain works of Art, as are not sufficiently popular in character to induce any private publisher to risk the expense of engraving.” The plan of the institution is an ArtUnion, carried on with little expense for officers, &c, and free from any objectionable features: it appeals to those who love Art for its own sake, and to those who are interested in the study of its history; to both classes its publications are especially valuable. So far the society has met with encouragement, numbering among its members in England, the first men of that Country. We give below a list of its publications thus far, and, having the works of two years in our possession, we should be happy to show them to any persons who would like to subscribe.78

Further descriptions of the Sydenham displays, Wyatt’s lecture and his descriptive notice followed in the November and December 1855 issues, quoting material from the Athenaeum and the London Observer.79 William Michael’s correspondence during 1856 discussed the next instalments of the Arena Chapel engravings, Crystal Palace displays and Wyatt’s volume on the ivories.80 An article published in May 1858, bemoaned the American Government’s lack of commitment to art, the dismal quality and vast expense of 77

‘Correspondence: Art news from England – Letter 8,’ The Crayon, vol.2, no.22, 28 November 1855, p.341 78

William Page and John Neal, ‘Sketchings: The Arundel Society,’ The Crayon, vol.2, no.8, 22 August 1855, pp.120–121 79

W J S, ‘Sketchings,’ The Crayon, vol.2, no.22, 28 November 1855, p.346 and P Green, ‘Sketchings: The Arundel Society,’ The Crayon, vol.2, no.24, 12 December 1855, p.378; Wyatt’s lecture, at the Crystal Palace in November 1855, was later published; see Chapter 1. 80

‘Correspondence: Art news from England – Letter 9,’ The Crayon, vol.3, no.1, January 1856, p.24 and ‘Correspondence: Art News from England – Letter 16,’ The Crayon, vol.3, no.8, August 1856, pp.244–247, at p.246; he also wrote a long article about the state of Italian art, ‘Correspondence: Italy in 1855–1856,’ The Crayon, vol.3, no.7, July 1856, pp.206–214 page 278 of 355

the engravings included in government publications. Within these ‘Gleanings and Items’ was a notice clipped from a July 1857 issue of the Boston Courier describing Layard’s and Ruskin’s speeches on the state of frescoes in Italy delivered at the Special General Meeting in London. The Society’s publications, wrote ‘F,’ should be in every art collection, and ‘certainly in our public libraries, which are too scantily supplied with historical illustrations of Art.’81 A long article in October 1858, reprinting material from the London Times covering some of the same ground as the Saturday Review text reprinted in Auckland, was more emphatic: ‘No lover of art, or what is better, no student of art, should hold back from subscribing to the best public effort of the day for diffusing a knowledge of rare and instructive works of art.’ 82 Thus by the time a second American agent, the New York bookseller John McClure, began to circulate prints during the 1860s, the East Coast art public was well primed.

A number of Arundel Society agents were part of a growing band of museum professionals. No doubt some appreciated the role of agent because it brought them into contact with others who shared their interests or because the commission supplemented their incomes. The diplomat and naturalist Edgar Leopold Layard (1824–1900), younger brother of Austen Henry and the Society’s agent in Cape Town in the 1860s,83 was curator of the South African Museum from 1855 until 1872. He arrived in 1854 to take up a Civil Service post and took charge of the collections, then in a ‘pitiful state,’ in his spare time, overseeing the move into a new building.84 Although Layard’s interests were mainly ornithology, minerals, fossils and ethnological material, he believed the Museum should cater for all tastes; his energy and dedication to the displays were much admired by visitors. Layard does not seem to have acquired Arundel material for himself or the museum but was, presumably, responsible for

81

‘Sketchings,’ The Crayon, vol.5, no.5, May 1858, p.150; see also the coverage in the Saturday Review, The Times, and others in Chapter 3. 82

‘Foreign correspondence, items, etc,’ The Crayon, vol.5, no.10, October 1858, pp.294–295

83

Listed in 1860 and 1865; Layard left Cape Town for Brazil, and later administered government in Fiji and became British Consul in New Caledonia. 84

The South African Museum was established in 1825 by the Governor of the Cape Colony, Lord Charles Somerset (1767–1831); it was reorganised under a Board of Trustees in 1855, and the new building opened by the HRH Prince Alfred in 1860. ‘History of the museum’ and ‘Edgar Leopold Layard: Curator of the South African Museum 1855–1872,’ Iziko: Museums of Cape Town, http://www.iziko.org.za/sam/muse/hist/layard.html (last accessed July 2011) page 279 of 355

figure 107 AB Doll and Richards Fine Art Gallery at Parks St, Boston c.1878

figure 108 AB N L STEBBINS Doll and Richards Gallery at 71 Newbury St after 1908 with details showing a framed set of the Ghent altarpiece chromolithographs (1868–1871) and Dürer’s St John the Evangelist and St Peter (1870) silver gelatin photographs, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution page 280 of 355

shepherding the safe arrival of its publications to the politician Saul Solomon (1817–1892) and others in Cape Town. 85

Elsewhere the first agent of Australia, R Edmond Chester Waters (1828–1898) who, as representative for the Colony of Victoria, worked with the founding Trustees of the Public Library, would have been influential, albeit at a distance, in soliciting subscribers in Melbourne and further afield.86 Following Waters, the Melbourne Public Library’s Augustus Tulk (1810–1873) promoted the Society’s publications from 1864. Tulk died in office, after which time the role of agent passed to Samuel Mullen (1828–1890)—variously referred to as the agent in Melbourne or the agent for Australia. 87 The three Australian representatives form a rough schema of the modes of circulation over the Society’s lifetime. Waters’ status gave him important connections in aristocratic circles. Tulk’s period as agent corresponds with a second phase when the prints connected with scholars and new middle-class professionals, while Mullen’s role, after 1874, represents a more straightforward commercial relationship.

The growing numbers of agents, as well as their geographical diversity, is reflected in the expenditure recorded in the Annual reports. In 1855, when the Society had nineteen distributors throughout Britain, it spent £24 16 0 on ‘collector’s poundage and country agencies.’ In the 1860s and 1870s, a period when the Society collected between 1500 and 3400 subscriptions annually88 and its publications were distributed via twelve to fifteen British and eight to ten overseas agents, its fees to collectors, agents, and sundry commissions ranged between £67 19s 2d in 1860 to a maximum of £189 2s in 1879.89 The archives of

85

Solomon was a long-term subscriber and is listed in 1868, 1872, 1879 and 1883; the Lord Bishop of Cape Town is also listed in 1879 and 1883. 86

Waters was the Trustees’ representative in London and had arranged for the Library to become a subscriber; later he was the Arundel Society agent for the Colony of Victoria ‘through who subscriptions may be paid and publications obtained.’ General rules of the Arundel Society 1863, p.20 87

Melville, Mullen & Slade were the agent after 1889 and, later, Melville & Mullen of Collins Street, Melbourne, the Australian distributor for Medici Society prints. 88

The Society’s subscribers numbered 1,500 in 1860, and grew rapidly in this period: there were 1,975 in 1886; 2,900 in 1872; and more than 3,400 in 1879. 89

In the Sixth annual report of the Council, (London: Arundel Society 1855), for example, ‘Collector's Poundage and Country Agencies,’ is itemised as £24 16s. In following years this increased to £67 page 281 of 355

the Boston firm of Doll and Richards offer the best evidence of the operations of the American agents. The firm seems to have been appointed agents in the late 1870s; it retained this function until the Society’s close in 1897 and operated parallel to the New York agents.90 Doll and Richards is best known for promoting the Barbizon School and works of their American counterparts, and as the Boston agent for landscape painter Winslow Homer (1836–1910).91 Its clientele was mostly from the social register: the gallery influenced the taste and collecting habits of Bostonians in the 1870s, 1880s and 1890s and was described as being to Boston as ‘Goupil is to New York or Haseltine to Philadelphia.’92

Joseph Dudley Richards (1842–1922) had early worked for the picture house of John P Sowle (died 1866) and, when the latter found himself in debt, Richards acquired part of his business. As a partnership between Charles E Hendrickson (ret.1870), Eutychus Adam Doll (1830–1880) and Richards, it ran as a framing shop and art gallery from 1866.93 The gallery was renamed Doll and Richards after Hendrickson’s retirement and retained the name after the death of Doll. From its early days, the gallery sold engravings and lithographs, and, occasionally, produced and published prints. In 1878 Doll and Richards moved to Parks Street, and took over Warren House which was remodelled with up-todate facilities.94 Printed stationery items at this time announced the gallery as agents to the Arundel Society. A ledger from the period 1885–97 records details of the subscribers: names, addresses and subscription dates for members, as 19s 2d (1860); £151 16s 3d (1865); £134 4s 1d (1878); £189 s2 (1879); £105 s3 4d (1893) and £49 s7 6d (1895) and variously described as Collector's, Agents and Sundry Commissions. 90

Pott, Young & Co operated as a retail store from 1871, specialising in church books, publishing religious and miscellaneous items, and are listed as agents in 1878 and 1879. Pott set up his own firm in 1880, with his son James as partner from 1884, becoming James Pott & Co. E & J B Young & Co traded from 1885 until 1903 when it merged with the Bible house of Thomas Nelson & Sons. The company is recorded as agents in the 1880s—by the New York Times, for example, 12 December 1889—and circulated a pamphlet version (1887) of Gregory’s Arundel Society article reprinted from the Nineteenth Century. They were agents until at least 1892 and likely 1895. 91

Beth A Treadway, ‘The Doll and Richards Gallery,’ Archives of American Art Journal, vol.15, no.1, 1975, pp.12–14 92

M F Sweetser, King’s handbook of the United States, Buffalo NY: Moses King Co 1891

93

The agreement of 1866 shows the parties forming a limited partnership in the ‘business of manufacturing picture and looking-glass frames, and for the sale of looking-glasses, paintings, prints and articles of fine art in Boston.’ Edward W Saunders, Richards’ father-in-law, is also listed as a partner, probably because Sowle’s debt had been to him. Doll and Richards Gallery, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution, b.17, f.12 94

Doll and Richards occupied all three floors of the premises from 1878 until 1908, with one gallery dedicated each to oil, watercolours and prints; the Hawthorne Room, on the second floor, was rented out for lectures. page 282 of 355

well as notes about notification and delivery of the prints. In the mid-1880s the gallery had between thirty-five and forty subscribers, many of whom retained their memberships for between five and twelve years. Cross-referenced against the Society’s published lists, it is clear that a large number of prints circulated in Boston. John B Pearse (1842–1914) of Roxbury—a chemist who worked for iron or steel works in Pennsylvania and Boston, and whose large library covered a range of subjects—collected English, French, German and American prints. His collection of Arundel publications was ‘the most extensive series of the finely printed colored and illuminated plates ever offered at public sale in America,’ covering from 1856 to 1897 and ‘including no less than 137 different subjects.’95

Several of the Arundel Society’s members were key players in Boston, members of the Athenaeum, and later donors and trustees of the Museum of Fine Arts (MFA). George Washington Wales (1815–1896), for example, who had joined the Society in 1871, gave his collection to the museum on the condition that the museum maintained his subscription (see below). Martin Brimmer (1829–1896)—philanthropist, legislator, collector and the first president of the MFA—subscribed from 1878 until 1894. The art critic and philanthropist Charles C Perkins (1823–1886) seems to have maintained a subscription from 1860; he was made an honorary member with Thompson, as we have seen, for his contribution to Sepulchral monuments in Italy; mediæval and renaissance 1883. Perkins had spent extended periods in Europe in his early life—his early work was inspired by Rio96—and was influential in bringing South Kensington methods to the United States; he was honorary director of the Museum from 1876 until his death. Charles Eliot Norton, another Athenaeum trustee, also subscribed; the wife of his cousin—the historian, educator, philanthropist, MFA trustee Samuel Eliot (1821–1898)—is also listed as member in the 1880s. Mrs Thorndike Perkins, a great granddaughter of the painter John Singleton Copley and whose husband, Augustus Thorndike Perkins (1827–1891), wrote a memoir, 95

English, French and German color print in mezzotint and stipple … collected by the late Mr John B Pearse, New York: American Art Association 1922 96

Perkins’ reputation was made with Tuscan sculptors (London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts and Green 1864), dedicated to Rio, and Italian sculptors: Being a history of sculpture in northern, southern, and eastern Italy (Longmans, Green, and Co 1868) both of which were illustrated with his own etchings. He also edited the American editions of Charles Locke Eastlake's Hints on household taste (Boston: Osgood 1872) and Jakob von Falke’s Art in the House (L Prang & Co 1879). page 283 of 355

was a member of the Society in the 1880s.97 Clearly the prints remained attractive to collectors: in December 1887 a Mr Henry Hume of Albany, New York, wrote requesting a complete set of the Society’s publications.98 The chromolithographs, moreover, remained on display at Doll and Richards into the twentieth century as we see in several photographs of the interiors at Newbury Street (fig.108AB)

While we cannot be certain how other agents operated, several indications are provided in the wide range of commentary in the British and foreign press, commentary which paralleled the expansion of the Arundel Society’s activities during the 1860s. The first appearances in Australian newspapers are syndicated, like the American and New Zealand examples given earlier. In a February 1856 issue of the Sydney Morning Heard is a discussion of the London art world, the affairs of the Royal Academy and Wyatt’s well-received lecture on ivories, all taken from the Illustrated London News of November the previous year.99 In the Melbourne Argus in 1857, via the London correspondent for The New York Tribune, we hear of the ‘remarkable researches’ of A H Layard in Italy during the past two years: Taking Vasari as his guide, he set off upon the hunt for the lost frescoes of Giotto and painters of the Pre-Raphaelite period, and now brings back seven hundred tracings of works, the existence of which has been hitherto unknown. Some of these will shortly be published by the Arundel Society.100

The Argus continued to devote column-space to the Arundel Society’s activities in the 1860s and 1870s, particularly in the context of the Melbourne Public Library, and the subsequent efforts of its Trustees to develop an Art Gallery. On 97

A sketch of the life and a list of some of the works of John Singleton Copley RA, Cambridge MA: Press of J Wilson and Son 1873 98

‘I am contemplating procurring the publications of the Arundel Society. Have you in this country a complete set of all the publications or of all the publications, except those of casts and of carvings in ivory, from the commencement of its existence in 1848? If so, at what price can I obtain it?’ Henry Hume, letter dated 20 December 1887, to Doll and Richards. Doll and Richards Gallery, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution, b.17, f.13 99

‘Town and table talk on literature, art, &c,’The Sydney Morning Herald, Thursday 7 February 1856, p.3 100

This report, by the American poet, critic and travel writer Bayard Taylor (1825–1878), comes amongst news of Handel's oratorios in the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, his compatriots in London, Dickens’ reading of Christmas Carol in St Martin’s Hall, and lectures by Thackeray. page 284 of 355

the other hand, the broader functions of the Melbourne agent, Waters, seem to have attracted little attention. A series of articles written by James Smith (1820– 1910)—who joined the Argus as leader-writer, theatre, literature and art critic in 1856, and continued to write for it and several other papers for the next five decades—published between October 1868 and March 1869, provide the most extensive understanding of the role of the Society’s prints in the early artistic life of the colony. While Smith and others sustained this interest after the 1870s, noting the release of new publications, as well as various displays in Melbourne and elsewhere, it is the auction notices that provide the best insights into circulating patterns.

After the success of the opening of the Melbourne Public Library in 1856, the next logical step was an art gallery. Two thousand pounds was voted by Parliament for the purchase of works of art, and in May 1859 the trustees met to decide how to approach the task. Waters, working from London, organised the first purchases for the Melbourne Museum: he had been told that it was not the intention to buy pictures or copies, however excellent or cheap,101 and that he should confine his purchases to photographs and casts, medals, coins and gems, and other ‘miscellaneous objects.’ In a letter of October 1860 Waters wrote proposing to ask Layard to recommend ‘Lycian and Assyrian bas reliefs’; he also advised having secured a complete set of the fictile ivory carvings produced by the Arundel Society, as well as having placed orders for the print publications.102 Many of these were evidently on display when the museum of art opened in May 1861: on the ground floor of the south wing of the Library, casts of the Elgin marbles, seventy antique statues, sixty-three busts and a ‘quantity of other art exhibits’ were on show.103

Subsequently a Fine Arts Commission was established in 1863 to report on the feasibility of a National Gallery for the Colony of Victoria. The judge and 101

Leonard B Cox, The National Gallery of Victoria, 1861 to 1968: A search for a collection, Melbourne: National Gallery of Victoria 1970, p.8 102

Waters’ letters are in the Public Records Office; quoted by Anne Galbally, ‘The lost museum: Redmond Barry and Melbourne's “Musée des copies,”’ Australian Journal of Art, vol.VII, 1988, pp.36–37 and Cox, The National Gallery of Victoria, p.10 103

Further casts and busts were acquired by Barry from the South Kensington Museum when he represented Victoria at the 1862 exhibition in London. page 285 of 355

Melbourne Public Library trustee Sir Redmond Barry (1813–1880), politician and banker Sir George Verdon (1834–1896),104 sculptor Charles Summers (1825–1878) and journalist James Smith were part of the eleven-strong committee that produced favourable recommendations: The selection should proceed on an organised system, capable of extension in various directions …[to illustrate] those subjects immediately required for instruction in drawing, and that such copies as may deemed necessary from time to time. A two-fold object would thus be accomplished; one, in the acquisition of choice works of contemporary artists, for the pleasure, improvement variety and contrast which they afford; another [i.e. the copies] in the illustration of the History of Art.105 With the completion of a north wing for the Library in December 1864, the sculpture collection was rearranged on the ground floor. A picture gallery on the first floor, in a space erected for the 1866 Intercolonial Exhibition and intended as temporary, were also used for the growing collections. The Gallery was formally established by the Library, Museum and National Gallery Act in 1869. ______________________________

VII – All Public Institutions, whether in England or elsewhere, shall, at the discretion of the Council, be admitted as First Subscribers, immediately on paying an entrance donation to the Copying Fund, without passing through either of the Classes of the Associates or the Second Subscribers.106

104

Verdon is listed as a subscriber in 1879 and 1883, and his collection of 18 prints was sold in June 1891; see Catalogue of the most beautiful and costly art furniture, marble statuary, real bronzes, art treasures, oil paintings, water-colour drawings, fine old engravings etc. Collected by Sir George Verdon, KCMC … Melbourne: Gemmell, Tuckett and Co. 1891, pp.27–30; see p.29; Alison Inglis, ‘Engravings, chromolithographs and autotypes’, in Ann Galbally and Alison Inglis, with Christine Downer and Terence Lane, The first collections: The Public Library and the National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne: University of Melbourne Museum of Art 1992, pp.66–69, at p.69, n.14 105

Second progress report of the Commission on the Fine Arts, Melbourne: John Ferres Government Printer 1865 106

General rules of the Arundel Society, London: Arundel Society, pp.2–3 page 286 of 355

In the 1860s the Arundel Society introduced new rules and a new class of membership.107 A two tiered system of first and second subscribers was adopted to ensure that each group had a maximum of 1500 members, and that the quality (and quantity) of the lithographs was not compromised. Second subscribers were ranked in order of joining and, when a place became free in the first subscriber list, invited to ‘graduate’. Many members choose to be both first and second subscribers—and thus obtain a copy of the Annual and Occasional publications for each year—by paying a double fee (ie two guineas annually). Associate members, unlimited in number, were eligible to purchase publications at reduced rates. In 1864 the Society made another adjustment to the rules, that allowed institutions to obtain all of the subscription prints issued yearly as first subscribers, rather than waiting for a place to become vacant.

In January 1864 came the announcement that Tulk, the Melbourne Public Librarian, had been appointed Arundel Society agent in the Colony of Victoria: This well-known society was established in 1849, for the purpose ‘of promoting the knowledge of art,’ and now numbers about 1,300 subscribers, including the principal art institutions and connoisseurs of art in Europe. By the periodical issue of engravings, photographs, casts, and other representations of many of the chef d'oeuvres of art in the middle ages, accompanied by able letter-press descriptions, it has already done much to carry out the object for which it was formed, and its works are deservedly held in high estimation. The ordinary terms of subscription are £1 1s. a year, which entitles each subscriber to a copy of the annual publications of the society.108

107

Following on from the first adjustments in 1858, further changes to the Society’s rules were adopted at the General Meeting in June 1863, and duly reported by the Athenaeum. The architect G E Street (1824–1881) and solicitor and print collector J Anderson Rose (1819– 1890) ‘depreciated the idea,’ held by some members, that ‘the Society’s objects were to encourage the production of popular pictures, such as might be hung on the walls of houses, rather than of faithful and legitimate transcripts from the works of the Old Masters in their present state.’ Rose, furthermore, urged the reemployment of engraving as suiting ‘the objects of the Society;’ he averred that chromolithography, the current method of reproduction, is ‘not so satisfactory as might be wished.’ Athenaeum, no.1859, Saturday 13 June 1863, p.784 108

The Argus, Monday 18 January 1864, pp.4–5 page 287 of 355

Some of the chromolithographs seem to have been admitted to the Public Library displays as early as 1861. In a May 1867 issue of the Argus there is a direct reference to some of the Florentine and Bolognese subjects on display— probably the Brancacci Chapel prints and Francia’s The burial of Cecilia from San Giacomo Maggiore in Bologna. The galleries had reopened at this time with some ‘very striking alterations and improvements,’ reflecting ‘great credit on Mr Tulk.’109 The most extensive discussion comes as part of the Public Library series in the Argus, which described the arrangement, classification and contents of the collection, as well as the works on display. The sixth in the series, from December 1868, was devoted to the ‘vexed issue of copies.’ After bemoaning the quality of the art collection, the paucity of its display spaces, and the amounts paid for poor copies, the writer went on to comment: ‘It is painfully evident to any one who enters the picture-gallery at present, that the taste of our people, if such a thing exists at all, is still very little developed.’ Argus readers were reminded of the need to carefully select artists: This is so well known at present in the art-circles of Europe, that no connoisseur would think of employing even a first-class painter to copy outside the range of works for which he is suited! …. If only proper care be taken in the selection of the artist, we may have copies of the most celebrated works in existence which would be second only to the originals, and would infinitely surpass, not alone for teaching purposes, but for the elevation of the taste of the multitude, the best of the modern productions which our gallery contains.110

In 1869 and 1870 there was further activity. Arundel chromos are described, in March 1869, on display in two glass cases at the centre of the hall.111 In February 1870 it was announced that 100 works will be hung in the room facing Latrobe Street, previously occupied by the Technological Commission, while in

109

‘The Victorian Gallery of Fine Arts,’ The Argus, Monday 27 May 1867, p.2; the writer further describes: ‘we find that those interesting specimens of coloured engravings painted in oil, copies from the early German school have now also found wall-room, where they can be seen and studied to advantage. They are four in number, and consist of one Van Eyck, one Albert Dürer, one Meister Wilhelm (of Cologne) [fig.29], and one Melem. They represent, of course, all Scriptural subjects, conceived in the extreme imaginative style of the period.’ 110

[James Smith] ‘The Public Library. No.VI,’ The Argus, Wednesday 30 December 1868, pp.5– 6, at p.5 111

[James Smith] ‘The Public Library. No. IX,’ The Argus, Monday 1 March 1869, p.7 page 288 of 355

April 1870 the Argus writer devotes a whole article to a single work, the Society’s much-admired Adoration of the Lamb: twenty prints after the multipanelled altarpiece by the van Eycks were issued over four years from 1868 (figs.98 and 122). Smith hints at the complexities of obtaining permissions to copy the altarpiece—only the third time the canons of St Bavon has granted permission—significant factors being, apparently, the copyist Schultz’s PlattDeutsch, his status as a native of Mecklenburgh, and his previous copies of Memling’s Bruges altarpiece, Adoration of the Magi, issued in 1865. 112 Clearly by this time there also were a good number of prints and medium-sized collections in Australian private hands: the chromolithographs were starting to appear on the secondary market and to be lent for exhibitions.113 At various times, for example, the Society’s final agent in Melbourne, Mullen, lent works for exhibition including in 1886 for the Juvenile and Industrial Exhibition in Bendigo. In Victoria, other nineteenth-century subscribers included St Patrick’s College, East Melbourne (1854–1968) and Hawthorne Church, both of which are listed in 1879 and 1883, and therefore would have received at least fifty-five prints; the former may have been destroyed but the later have not been traced.114 The physician and poet Dr Patrick Moloney (1843–1904)—who was probably a member for a brief period, being listed for 1881 and 1883 only—had a collection, sold at auction before his departure for Europe in 1898.115 Following Tulk’s death, Eugene von Guérard (1811–1901), as Curator and Master of the School of Painting at the National Gallery, was the custodian of the Public Library chromolithographs for more than a decade. Tulk and von Guérard were well known to each other: the artist had tutored Tulk’s son in London, and it was on von Guérard’s recommendation that Tulk, seeking a

112

‘Chromo-lithographs at the Public Library,’ The Argus, Thursday 10 February 1870, p.5 and ‘The "Adoration of The Lamb"—Chromolithographs at the Public Library,’ The Argus, Wednesday 20 April 1870, p.6 113

Apart from the examples discussed, and the small number of individual subscribers, the chromolithographs circulating via auction notices or lent for exhibitions suggests that most Melbourne collectors purchased single prints or small groups. 114

Those at St Patrick’s College, East Melbourne, may have been destroyed by fire in 1963; see Colin Holden, ‘A potted history: A not so respectable church in a very respectable city,’ (revised from the catalogue for the exhibition in the Old Treasury Building, Melbourne, October–November 1996); see also http://web.stpeters.org.au/history/history.shtml (last accessed March 2015) 115

Prints owned by a W H Jarrett—possibly the clergyman-artist (active 1840–70), though more likely William Henry Jennett (1835–1922), a businessman and insurance agent, who was also honorary secretary for the Art Union—appeared at auction in May 1885. page 289 of 355

warmer climate for health reasons, migrated to Australia in July 1854. In von Guérard’s reports to the Trustees—from 1870 until his retirement in late 1881 and departure for Europe in January 1882—we can track the various receipts, movements, framing and display of the Arundel Society collection. In one report, from late 1876 or early 1877, he writes: Having had all of the chromos of the Arundel Society of the last four or five years framed, I arranged all of those pictures in chronological order, from Giotto down to the followers of Rafael, the Italian schools, and in the same way those of the German and Flemish schools, forming a very interesting and instructive medium in knowledge of the progress and history of art. Descriptive tickets have to be printed for all the new chromos.116

The National Gallery’s School of Art had opened in 1867. The students were regularly set to copy Arundel Society material and other parts of the collection. Frederick McCubbin (1855–1917), writing some forty years later, recalled paying a visit to his old tutor at the Carlton School of Design, Thomas Clark (1814–1883), who had recently been appointed Master of Drawings at the National Gallery. As he wandered round, he saw students of all ages, including ‘a good number of middle-aged men,’ drawing the statuary, another group ‘copying one or two of the Arundel Society lithographs of Old Masters’ and four young men ‘engaged copying an enamel picture.’ From this, he concluded, the School was ‘no end of a place to study.’117 No doubt many students, before and after McCubbin, had similar thoughts. The Trustees of the Melbourne Public Library continued to acquire reproductive prints, photographs and the Society’s chromolithographs—as variously noted in the newspapers in the 1870s and 1880s—and remained a subscriber until the end in 1897. Consequently NGV holdings are the largest in Australia, bringing together those obtained via Melbourne Public Library subscription with a smaller number of items previously held by the Parliamentary Library.

116

Report of the Master of the School of Painting, late 1876 or early 1877, Public Record Office Victoria, VPRS 1074 117

Notes by Frederick McCubbin, edited by Ann Galbally, pp.69–83, at p.70; see also http://nishi.slv.vic.gov.au/latrobejournal/issue/latrobe-24/t1-g-t2.html#fn12-070-ref. Clark served as the drawing master from 1870 until 1876; McCubbin describes the School as being opened ‘about a year’, so if his memory serves him correctly, this would have been in 1871 or 1872. page 290 of 355

After the Melbourne Public Library, the largest colonial collection of Arundel Society material is at the Canterbury Museum in Christchurch, the result of the subscription held by the Canterbury Philosophical Institute from 1879 until 1883.118 Geologist Sir Julius von Haast (1824–1887) was, from 1868, the Museum’s first Director, and founder and president of the Philosophical Institute—he was, in many ways, the New Zealand equivalent of Redmond Barry. In the Institute’s first meeting on 7 March 1878 it is noted that the Council, ‘feeling that one of the great aims of this Institute is the encouragement of Art, and the spread of its knowledge amongst the people of this district, have decided to obtain the principal publications of the Arundel Society.’ 119 The Institute’s Annual report for 1879 records a payment of £48 17s for Arundel Society pictures, probably for the new subscription and for back issues. The prints were displayed and formed the subject of one of the Institute’s conversazione, held in the old Provincial Council Chambers, in March 1879. A long article in the Christchurch Star, the issue for 27 March, reported recent increases in the Institute’s membership and some background to the Society: [A number of gentlemen lovers of fine arts] placed themselves in communication with some of the greatest living artists and commissioned the[m] to produce fac-similes of the paintings chosen, some of these being frescoes on the walls of churches or public buildings, and others, pictures which were hung in churches, or various widely scattered galleries. The facsimiles once secured, their multiplication was easy, thanks to the rapid strides made in the art of printing, and the chromo-lithographs and oleographs which are now to be obtained, enable people with modest incomes to surround themselves with faithful reproductions of the greatest masters, and art students to perfect themselves without the large outlay once required for travelling from place to place on the Continent.120

118

Curator of Pictorial Collections, Kerry McCarthy, provided information about the Canterbury Museum holdings; correspondence with the author, June 2007. A small collection of Arundel prints, whose provenance is unknown, is also in the Alexander Turnbull Library, at the National Library of New Zealand; Curator of Drawings, Paintings and Prints, Marian Minson, correspondence with the author, June and August 2007. 119

‘Philosophical Institute of Canterbury – First Meeting. 7th March, 1878,’ Transactions and proceedings of the Royal Society of New Zealand 1868–1961, http://rsnz.natlib.govt.nz/volume/rsnz_11/rsnz_11_00_005680.html (last accessed July 2011) 120

The Star, no.3420, 27 March 1879, p.4; the other references are to this article. page 291 of 355

The writer went on to point out that the Arundel Society’s publications had been ‘eagerly welcomed’ into ‘not a few of the English Museums and Galleries,’ and that two rooms in the Melbourne Picture Gallery had been specially set apart for them. Those attending the conversazione, he pointed out, ‘will be afforded an opportunity of inspecting the collection under ‘the most favourable conditions’ since Haast has ‘most kindly undertaken the preparation of a descriptive catalogue, a copy of which is to be presented to every visitor.’ The writer finished by congratulating the Institute for securing the collection, in commending its early display to the public, and by declaring there no doubt the prints would aid ‘the aesthetic education of the rising generation.’

Haast delivered a second illustrated lecture using the prints, in the Science Lecture Theatre of Canterbury College on the evening of 24 April 1879, which was extensively reported in the Star.121 At the Annual Meeting the following year the Institute purchased and presented the series of imitation ivories issued by the Arundel Society to the Canterbury Museum: this was in accordance with the Institute’s rule which ‘directs that it shall devote one-third of its annual revenue to the formation or support of some public library or museum.’ The fifth in Haast’s series of popular lectures on ‘Raffaelle and his Contemporaries,’ illustrated by the Society’s prints, was delivered at Canterbury College in October 1880. In 1884 ninety-four prints were donated to the Canterbury Museum and are recorded on display in Mosley’s Illustrated guide to Christchurch and neighbourhood: [The Museum is] one of the richest and most complete in the Southern Hemisphere. There is a fine series of ethnological specimens from New Guinea, Australia, Fiji, and Samoa, as well as Africa and America. A large collection of casts of ivory carvings from the Roman period to the seventeenth century is very interesting, and a collection of ancient Japan tools, paintings, and warlike implements. The wall on the south side is decorated with specimens of Egyptian papyri, and on the opposite side is a collection of publications of the Arundel Society, being fac-similes of celebrated works of art.122

121

Haast’s remarks included commentary on the van Eycks’ innovative use of oils, especially in their finest work being an altar-piece in twelve panels, which had, he noted, become widely separated. ‘Pictorial art,’ The Star, no.3445, 26 April 1879, p.3 122

Illustrated guide to Christchurch and neighbourhood, Christchurch: J T Smith & Co 1885, p.76 page 292 of 355

There were comparatively few collections of Arundel Society material in Sydney or NSW.123 The main nineteenth-century collectors in Sydney were those of the politician-merchant Sir Saul Samuel (1820–1900) and the politician-pastoralist Sir Patrick Jennings (1831–1897). Samuel’s prints—he is not listed as a member so we assume he acquired some occasional publications—were dispersed at a Harris and Ackman auction in 1880, at the time of his appointment as agent-general for New South Wales in London.124 Jennings, on the other hand, seems to have subscribed in the 1870s and is listed in 1883; his collection, shown at Sydney’s Metropolitan Intercolonial Exhibition in April 1875, was auctioned in 1896.125 The Art Gallery of NSW did not acquire the Society’s publications until the twentieth century: ten prints were purchased in 1903 which, as curator Kay Vernon pointed out, indicated a shift in the original decision not to buy reproductions of Old Masters.126 Several more were donated to the Sydney gallery by the newspaperman Sir James Fairfax (1834–1919) in the teens. These, and other reproductive prints, were disbursed in the 1950s and 1960s, when they were thought to be of educational use only.127

Elsewhere in Australia, several Arundel Society works—including two of the head outlines, issued as line engravings—were lent by the Catholic priest and medical man Martin Griver (1814–1886) to the Loan Exhibition in Perth in 1870.128 Raphael’s St Peter delivered in prison (1865), from the Vatican frescoes, and a

123

Chromolithographs are recorded at Enmore House, for example, in the collection of the Sydney musician, businessman and judge Joshua Frey Josephson (1815–1892). Although these are not specifically identified, they are ‘copies of celebrated pictures, and convey very correct ideas of the paintings from which they were taken.’ ‘Mr Josephson's Fine Art Collection,’ Sydney Morning Herald, Saturday 4 August 1862, p.2 124

Samuel’s very ‘Superior and Recherché’ household furniture and effects, sold from Auburn Villa, his home in Bourke St, Surry Hills, were described as ‘collected at every opportunity by great connoisseurs from all parts of the Continent of Europe,’ presumably his prints may also have been acquired while visiting London. Advertisement in the Sydney Morning Herald, Saturday 11 September 1880, p.12 125

See Freeman’s Journal, Saturday 17 April 1875, p.8; Jennings was the NSW commissioner for the larger Intercolonial Exhibition in Melbourne later in the year (2 September–16 November 1875); for the auction, see Sydney Morning Herald, Saturday 12 December 1896, p.8, p.9. 126

Kay Vernon, ‘Prints at the Art Gallery of New South Wales,’ The first Australian print symposium, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra, 25-27 March 1989, http://www.printsandprintmaking.gov.au/references/1020/ (last accessed July 2011) 127

Curater Peter Raissis, correspondence with the author, July 2010

128

‘The loan exhibition,’ Perth Gazette and West Australian, Friday 9 September 1870, p.3 page 293 of 355

figure 109 unknown photographer Interior view of the House of Grace at Williams c.1911 Anglican church, in the parish of Williams, Diocese of Bunbury J S Battye Library of West Australian History, State Library of Western Australia, Perth

figure 110 advertisement for the Memling altarpiece 1878 figure 111 ABC Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer after a copy of Hans Memling’s altarpiece by Christian Schultz The crucifixion lithograph, 56.3 x 40.8 cm

page 294 of 355

Angel Gabriel and The Virgin Annunciate and The entombment and Resurrection lithographs, 56.0 x 17.6– 17.9 cm (each) London: Arundel Society 1876 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

second chromolithograph were lent by the Honourable Mr Littleton for the National Society's Exhibition of 1877 in Brisbane.129 In Hobart in the 1880s there are some tantalising references to prints being included, and winning prizes, in the Tasmanian Juvenile and Industrial Exhibition—we can only assume some intervention, and that the prizes were awarded for copying, mounting or framing the ‘Arundel Society picture’ by a Mrs Hugill of Richmond.130 As an educated, free settler population, we might expect a greater number of the Society’s prints in Adelaide and South Australian collections, especially in the ‘City of Churches.’ The Adelaide firm Wigg & Sons sold a range of reproductive prints but not, apparently, the Society’s publications. Some prints were sold by Theodore Bruce in September 1931 but these have not been identified. Adelaide newspaper sources indicate an awareness of related issues, recording, for example, the death of George Scharf, director of London’s National Portrait Gallery and author of the publication on the Wilton diptych.131 Much later, in 1946, a Dr Edgar Brown took his collection of Baxter and Arundel prints to auction, but in Melbourne.132 To date the only prints located in Adelaide are the set of van Eyck altarpiece in St Peter’s Cathedral, given by the friends of the Cathedral, in memory of Marion Dora Finnis (1880–1944) the first wife of Canon Finnis.

The acquisition of Arundel Society chromolithographs by religious institutions has proved remarkably fertile ground for investigation. The provenance of the prints in the House of Grace at Williams in Bunbury Western Australia is unknown; the works shown in a photograph dated c.1911 are uncertain

but may be the Memling Crucifixion from Lübeck in their special frame or, possibly, the chromolithographs after Perugino’s The crucifixion (figs.109 and

129

Henry S Littleton—a director of the Queensland Investment and Land Mortgage Company who visited ‘the colonies’ in 1896—subscribed in 1883; W F Littleton was secretary (1877–80) to the administrator in South Africa, Sir Henry Bartle Edward Frere (1815–1884), and a subscriber 1878–83 but does not seem to have had Australian connections. 130

Mrs Hugill also had a glass case with cushion and a tea cosy. The Mercury, Tuesday 10 April 1883, p.3 131

South Australian Register, Monday 22 April 1895, p.5

132

As well as British and French prints, Brown’s collection included Japanese and sporting prints, drawings and a work by Arthur Streeton. The auctioned was conducted by Leonard Joel; Argus, Saturday 24 August 1946, p.22 page 295 of 355

111).133 In 1930 Christ Church, Darwin, received three chromolithographs, a gift of unnamed English donors, but their current whereabouts is also unknown.134 In Melbourne, Canon Ernest Selwyn Hughes (1860–1942) and Mrs Isabel Hughes acquired a collection of Arundel prints in Europe in 1913. Some of the works were sold at auction in 1942 and 1943, and others were subsequently exhibited, in 1947 and 1949, at Joshua McClelland's print gallery in Collins Street. The remaining collection was then split. Some were given to St Peter’s Church in Eastern Hill, Melbourne, and transferred in the 1960s to Trinity College at the University of Melbourne; the Hughes’ van Eyck altarpiece, which probably came to St Peter's in the mid-1940s, remains on display today (fig.113). Approximately twenty of the Hughes’ prints were given to St Martins, Hawksburn; the collection was augmented by a further fifteen given by Hughes’ brother Dr Wilfred Kent Hughes in 1924. In the 1970s Father Nigel Wright worked to expand the holdings; prints were located in both Western Australia and the Middle East, and others were also subsequently donated, bringing the total to thirty-nine.135

This survey of Arundel Society holdings in Australasia indicates the main distribution patterns of the publications. The three largest Australian collections—the National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne (NGV); the National Gallery of Australia, Canberra (NGA); and St Martin’s Church in Hawthorn— represent three phases and methods of collecting the chromolithographs in the 1860s and 1870s, and their subsequent circulation on the secondary market, particularly in the first half of the twentieth century.136 The NGV’s holdings show the typical signs of a teaching collection, the heavy use of continuous display and regular handling. The sixty-one prints in the NGA collection were purchased on the secondary market in Britain, as additions to the Felix Man Collection, 133

Now held in the J S Battye Library.

134

Fra Angelico's The crucifixion (1872); Fra Bartolomeo/Sogliani work, The supper and vision of St Dominic (1884); and probably Perugino's Marriage of the Virgin (1893); archivist Françoise Barr, correspondence with the author, February 2011. 135

Ewen Tyler et al, Exhibition catalogue: The parish collection of Arundel prints, Melbourne: St Martin’s Hawksburn 2009 and http://stmartinshawksburn.org.au/arundel-prints.shtml (last accessed February 2015); Dr Colin Holden, correspondence with the author, September 2005; also Lara Nicholls, In a new light: The art collection of Trinity College, The University of Melbourne 2001, pp.84–87. 136

The example of Niccolo da Foligno’s Madonna and child by Scaraviglia, the lithograph produced by Wilhelm Greve in 1886 and part of the collection at St Johns in Reid, ACT, was presumably a gift of a parishioner; thanks to Mary McKenzie and Dr Montana for bringing this work to my attention. page 296 of 355

acquired by the Gallery in 1972 to show the history of lithography. Although near new in condition, the prints are a haphazard group: the Brancacci set is incomplete, and while the two altarpieces by Memling are included, the prints after the Ghent altarpiece are not. The third largest collection, at St Martin’s Church, as we have seen, was gathered from a range of sources, on the secondary market and by gift. They show signs of continuous display in earlier times, but were treated in 2006–09 and re-framed using archival mounts.

In 1855 the Arundel Society had ten institutional subscribers, eight in Great Britain and two overseas; by 1883 this number had grown to sixty-one, of which twenty-one were British institutions and forty international. In London, the Royal Library at Windsor Castle and the Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A) retain the most comprehensive collections of Arundel material. In the Royal Collection, the majority of the chromolithographs are held in the Print Room as loose prints although a few are framed and hang in the residences.137 As well as the publications obtained under the subscription of the Department of Science and Art, South Kensington, the V&A holds most of the extant watercolour copies by Mariannecci, Kaiser, Schultz and others, a substantial collection of Layard’s outline drawings, and a number of other groups of chromolithographs donated by private collectors.138 In 1996–97 the V&A mounted a display to mark the Society’s centenary139 and recently more prints have been published online with images. Other institutions in London, such as the Royal Academy Library, which subscribed from 1868, also holds more than one set: those originally purchased by the Royal Academy, and a partial group donated by the Society of Antiquaries in 1991.140 The British Museum, which also subscribed from 1868, holds several portfolios; a handful of prints are catalogued on the museum’s database.141 At

137

Curator Martin Clayton, correspondence with the author, July 2006; basic entries for the chromolithographs, text publications and photographs now appear on the website. 138

A group of prints were given by Miss Helen Mitchell; she inherited a collection from her father, Reverend John T Mitchell (possibly later Canon of St Bridget’s Church, Wavertree, Liverpool) who subscribed in 1879 and 1883. 139

The Arundel Society 1848–1897, Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 7 October 1996–30 March 1997; the exhibition was curated by Frances Rankine (see Chapter 1). 140

Neither is fully catalogued, displayed or reproduced; researcher Andrew Potter, correspondence with the author, August 2006. 141

Research trip during November 2008 and information supplied by curators Stephen Coppel and Sheila O'Connell, correspondence with the author July 2006 and February 2009 and. page 297 of 355

figure 112 St Peter's Eastern Hill, Melbourne

figure 113 Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer after copies of Hubert and Jan van Eyck’s Ghent altarpiece by Christian Schultz 12 lithographs, framed London: Arundel Society 1868–71 Handfield Chapel, St Peter's Eastern Hill, Melbourne page 298 of 355

least one collection may have been lost: during the 1940 Blitz when the Woolwich building of the Royal Artillery Institution (1868–83+) was bombed, much of the collection, along with the paperwork and collection files, was destroyed over three days of incendiary bombing.142

Substantial numbers of Arundel Society prints remain in university, library and museum collections elsewhere in Britain. In Liverpool, the Free Public Library was one of the first to subscribe (1855), and retains its prints. The University of Liverpool’s Victoria Gallery and Museum holds a collection of approximately thirty chromolithographs which seem to have been part of the bequest of shipowner and politician Charles Sydney Jones (1872–1947).143 The prints, previously on display in the Sydney Jones Library, were transferred to the art collection in February 1989, around the time an exhibition of Arundel material was organised, for which works were also lent by Miss Helen Mitchell; since then the chromolithographs have also featured as part of the public programs. In Manchester the subscription prints obtained by the Manchester Free Public Library have not been traced. At the University of Manchester, the John Rylands University Library holds a complete set of the prints that were probably acquired on the secondary market in the 1890s; these were donated by the Library’s founder Enriqueta Augustina Rylands (1843–1908) and accessioned in May 1910.144 The Free Public Library at Birmingham was an early subscriber (from 1868) and holds approximately 194 prints which have been catalogued and carefully stored; they show the signs of age and are generally considered too fragile for display.145 One of the most interesting examples of deaccessioning—or ‘redeployment’—is that of the Northampton Museum and 142

The collections were housed in temporary accommodation for the following 20 years, where they suffered further damage from fire and flood, understaffed and without finances. The surviving collections were moved to their new home inside the Royal Arsenal in 1999–2000, where, though now safe from further abuse, they remain without suitable resources; keeper Paul Evans, correspondence with the author, June 2010. 143

An inventory of Jones’ collection—he also gave several houses and his home in Princes Parkuse to the University—lists one print displayed in a maid’s bedroom. Information about the prints at the University of Liverpool was provided by curator, Moira A Lindsay, correspondence with the author, June 2011 144

Mrs Tennant founded The John Rylands Library in memory of her husband John Rylands (1801–1888), the successful cotton manufacturer; one of the prints, Simone Memmi's Annunciation (1884), was purchased from the London bookseller Bernard Quaritch for £4 4s in 13 May 1910; the example in Mrs Rylands’ collection was presumably missing or damaged, and this purchase completed the set. Librarian Julie Ramwell, correspondence with the author, June 2011 145

Librarian Robert Ebbutt, correspondence with the author, June 2007 page 299 of 355

Art Gallery. In 2003 the gallery advertised its collection of chromolithographs (obtained via subscription from 1868) to other registered museums; when the offer was not taken up, the prints were given to the Art History Department of Plymouth University, Devon, and are thus a teaching collection once again.146

The holdings in Wales, Scotland and Ireland follow the same broad patterns. Often there are at least two collections in each main city: one in a university, another in the public library. The Scottish collections are the earliest. All three subscriptions date to 1855 and were maintained until at least 1883. In Edinburgh the Royal Scottish Academy acquired prints to use as teaching aids; the Academy’s role as a training institution transferred to the Edinburgh College of Art when it was established in 1907, and the collection has remained largely dormant since.147 The Signet Library’s chromolithographs were deaccessioned in the nineteenth century, and offered to the National Library of Scotland.148 The prints acquired by the University of Glasgow Library (1855–83+) are now held in the Hunterian Museum and Art Gallery, and catalogued online.149 Both the National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin, and the School of Design in Cork subscribed from 1866; Dublin’s prints remain in the collection but are not catalogued,150 while those at Cork have not been traced. The prints at University College, Aberystwyth (1879–83+)—which hung on the walls of university buildings in the early twentieth century—are now fully catalogued, mounted and housed as part of the collection of the School of Art Gallery, and used occasionally in teaching as examples of lithographic processes.151

The earliest Continental collections were royal, as we have seen, and reflect, especially, the close links between the English and German royal families. Very little remains of the original German institutional subscriptions: those from the 146

Northampton Museums and Art Gallery’s Alison Marks, correspondence with the author, June 2007; also University of Plymouth lecturer Jenny Graham, correspondence with the author, June and July 2007 147

Keeper Joanna Soden, correspondence with the author, July 2006 and July 2007

148

The National Library of Scotland holdings are stamped ‘Museum of Science and Art’ in Edinburgh (now part of the National Museums of Scotland) and were donated 24 June 1952; curator Eoin Shalloo, correspondence with the author, July 2007 149

Librarian Robert MacLean, correspondence with the author, June 2007

150

Curator Anne Hodge, correspondence with the author, August 2006 and July 2007

151

Curator Neil Holland and cataloguer Phil Garratt, correspondence with the author, June 2007 page 300 of 355

Print Gallery of the Royal Museum, Dresden (1855–83+) cannot be located, neither can those from the Royal Library in Berlin (1860–83+), the Berlin State Library (1860–83+) nor the Munich Royal Library (1860–83+).152 The prints obtained by the Staedelsche Künst Institut, Frankfurt (1868–83+) may have been lost in the war.153 Likewise the prints received at Königsberg University (1868–83+)—where 80% of the campus was destroyed in August 1944—are probably also lost. Based on the subscriptions of the Grand Ducal Museum Darmstadt (1872–83+), the Hessian National Museum should hold approximately ninety prints. Those received by the Library of the Grand Ducal School, Karlsruhe, (1872–83+) have not been traced. The Universitätsbibliothek Tübingen holds thirty chromolithographs acquired from the Leipzig agent, Alexander Twietmeyer, in March 1886.154

Two French institutions subscribed: the Dijon Public Library joined in 1866, as did the Imperial Library in Paris (now Bibliothèque nationale de France) from 1866; the accession ledgers in the print room record their sources as the Paris agent Didron, from whom back issues were also obtained. The chromolithographs in Paris are bound in three large albums; they show some signs of handling but seem to have been very little consulted in recent times. In The Netherlands, Utrecht’s Diocese of the Cathedral Museum, now the Museum Catharijneconvent, remains one of the most complete European collections: although the Cathedral Museum is listed as a subscriber in 1879 and 1883 only, the number of works in the collection means that it probably acquired retrospectively. Many members of the Russian royal family, like the German, subscribed, and presumably some of their prints remain in museum collections and archives. Very little is known of the Russian institutional subscribers, nor those in Austria, Spain or Italy. 155

152

Information from the Royal Museum, Berlin, provided by curator Michael Roth, correspondence with the author, July 2011; for Munich, from the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek by Thomas Jahn, July 2010, and the Staatliche Graphische Sammlung by curator Andreas Strobl, April 2011; and that for Kölnischer Kunstverein by Theresa Reusch, May 2011. The whereabouts of the prints collected by the art unions in Bremen, Cologne and Frankfurt is also unknown. 153

Curator Jutta Schütt, correspondence with the author, May 2011

154

Librarian Anna-Elisabeth Bruckhaus, correspondence with the author, May 2011

155

Imperial Academy of Fine Arts, St Petersburg (1860–83+) should hold c.190 prints; both the Imperial Museum of Moscow and the University of Kharkov subscribed from 1868; University Museum of Fine Arts, Odessa also subscribed (1879–83+) page 301 of 355

figure 114 Thomas E Marr, Art Room, looking east 1902 silver gelatin print Purchase Fine Arts Fund 1902 Boston Athenaeum figure 115 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Raphael’s Philosophy from the Sistine Chapel by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 35.0 x 35.3 cm London: Arundel Society 1871 Felix Man Collection National Gallery of Australia, Canberra figure 116 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Angelico’s Coronation of the Virgin in San Marco at Florence by Cesari Mariannecci, lithograph 48.3 x 42.3 cm London: Arundel Society 1864 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris

figure 117 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Boltraffio’s Madonna and Child in San Onofrio at Rome by Cesari Mariannecci, lithograph, 34.0 x 51.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1859 Felix Man Collection National Gallery of Australia, Canberra figure 118 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Sodoma’s The ecstasy of St Catherine in San Domenico at Siena by Cesari Mariannecci, lithograph, 61.1 x 45.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1867 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris Infigure Vienna, Academy the Arts of Design and the University Arts School subscribed from 119the STORCH & of KRAMER, lithographic firm 1879 at least as did Prague Theby Municipality of Padua is listed in 1879 after until a copy of Fra1883, Bartolommeo’s TheUniversity. annunciation Cesari Mariannecci and 1883, the Library of the University of Seville in 1879 only. lithograph, 30.4 x 56.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1866 Felix Man Collection National Gallery of Australia, page 302 ofCanberra 355

In North America the situation in extant collections is remarkably variable. Boston Athenaeum was the earliest and most consistent of the subscriber collections, and was closely tied to the development of the Museum of Fine Arts.156 One of the first cultural institutions in the United States, the Athenaeum was formed by amalgamation of the membership library and reading room, and, from the beginning, the institution showed a commitment to art, believing that an aesthetically pleasing environment was conducive to intellectual endeavours. A Fine Art Committee was set up in 1826, annual exhibitions commenced the following year, with profits applied to acquisitions.157 Like the Melbourne museum, fear of fakes and a desire to act economically meant that copies and reproductive works were acquired: the watercolours after Old Master paintings given by Thomas Dowse (1772–1856), Arundel Society chromolithographs and Braun photographs. The Athenaeum subscribed as early as 1855, and the chromolithographs were often on display. In the 1860s, however, the institution turned away from aesthetic interests, and the sculpture space converted to library. Many of those involved in the Athenaeum were actively working towards the establishment of an art museum and, with the founding of the Museum of Fine Arts in 1870, the function of the earlier institution changed fundamentally. In July 1876, for the opening, much of the Athenaeum’s collection, including fifty-one Arundel prints, were displayed at the MFA; a further thirty chromolithographs were deposited in 1882. By 1885 they and the Braun photographs were the subject of dispute, and in 1886 the chromolithographs and many of the photographic prints were returned to the Athenaeum building on Beacon Street.158

156

Hina Hirayama, ‘With clat’: The Boston Athenaeum and the origin of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, The Boston Athenaeum 2013; Stanley Ellis Cushing and David B Dearinger refer to the Arundel Society’s prints in the collection but only indirectly; see Acquired tastes: 200 years of collecting for the Boston Athenaeum, Boston Athenaeum 2006, p.33. The section on the Boston Athenaeum has benefitted from discussions with both curators, Hina Hirayama and Catharina Slautterback, during a research trip in September 2011. 157

The exhibition, which opened in November 1827, was shown a specially built annexe on Perkin’s mansion in Pearl St; the Athenaem’s various buildings were home to annual exhibitions until 1874. Arundel Society prints featured in the last three exhibitions, in 1871, 1872 and 1873 158

Some of the proprietors of the Boston Athenaeum objected to having to pay entry to the museum to view the photographs and were subsequently granted free entries. The Athenaeum collected the Braun photographs well into the 20th century and, by 1911, they numbered more than 30,000; see Hirayama, ‘With clat,’ p.146, p.157. page 303 of 355

figure 120 Charles H CURRIER Boston Athenaeum, second floor 1900, silver gelatin print, Boston Athenaum, Gift of Charles H Currier 1902

figure 121 STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Bernardino Luini’s Burial of St Catherine by Signor Bignoli lithograph, 32.3 x 58.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1858 Felix Man Collection, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra page 304 of 355

The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, which assumed the subscription of long-term member George Washington Wales, seems to have deaccessioned, or withdrawn, some of the prints in the 1950s.159 The fifty-five or so prints obtained under subscription by the Harvard University Library have recently been rediscovered. The Free Public Library at Worcester, Massachusetts, (1879– 83+) retains about 140 images in large portfolios.160 The library of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, received a large group of chromolithographs and other publications from Robert Gordon (1829–1918), businessman, patron and trustee, when he returned to Britain in 1884.161 Although the New York Public Library is not listed as a subscriber, press notices record prints at the library and the existing holdings of secondary material are certainly consistent with a large collection. The prints obtained under subscription by the Young Men’s Library, Buffalo, and the Social Art Club of Syracuse, as well as those at the Young Men’s Library Association, Cincinnati, (1868–83+) and the Chicago Public Library all seem to have been dispersed.162 The Pennsylvania Museum records a collection of fictile ivories but not, it seems, chromolithographs.163 The single West Coast collection, at the Mercantile Library of San Francisco seems to have been destroyed by the 1906 earthquake and fire. None of the three Canadian collections—obtained under subscription by the Montreal Art Association (1866–68+), the Parliamentary libraries in Quebec and Ottawa (1860–83+), and the Educational Museum of Upper Canada in Toronto (1868–72+)—cannot be traced.164

159

A small number of prints are listed on the museum’s website.

160

The Library subscribed in 1879 and 1883 but also purchased retrospectively; librarians Nancy E Gaudette and Joy Hennig, correspondence with the author, July 2007 161

‘Donations of books, prints and etchings, to the Library,’ Annual report of the Trustees of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, no.15, 1884, pp.297–300, at p.298; Gordon subscribed from at least 1866 until 1883. In 1881 the museum had also been presented with nearly 200 casts from ivory carvings, collected by Alphonse Duprat, largely those prepared by the Society since 1855; see ‘American Art Chronicle,’ The American Art Review, vol.2, no.12, October 1881, pp.259– 264, at p.259. A further 57 prints were accessioned for the library c.1907 but their source is not identified; The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, vol.2, no.9, September 1907, p.58. 162

The Art Institute of Chicago’s prints were a gift of Edward E Ayer in 1889; after this point the instution took up its own subscription thus obtaining an ‘almost complete set.’ General catalogue of objects in the museum, Art Institute of Chicago 1901, p.237 163

M E Dawson, ‘Fictile ivories,’ Bulletin of the Pennsylvania Museum, vol.3, no.9, 1905, pp.6-8

164

Mary F Williamson writes that the Toronto Public Library had hosted an exhibition of Arundel Society works—as the librarian observed the prints ‘tended to awaken an interest in art and the history of these times’—in the late 1890s. ‘The art museum and the public library under a single roof: A nineteenth-century ideal pursued at the Toronto Public Library from 1883 to World War I,’ Ontario History, vol.XCVIII, no.2, Autumn 2006, pp.135–160, at p.150. They also seem to be page 305 of 355

A cluster of new institutional subscribers in the 1860s implies that the adjustment of the rules was a significant factor in encouraging museum, library and educational institutions to join the Arundel Society. Moreover, as this was also a key period for the establishment and expansion of institutions, many of these new entities no doubt perceived a subscription as a prudent investment, a way of obtaining a good number of attractive, scholarly and ‘sanctioned’ objects for a relatively small amount of money. Just as provincial and colonial museums took their cues from Ruskin and the South Kensington Museum in London, the Melbourne Public Library’s case for collecting was, in turn, influential further afield. A letter published October 1884 in the West Australian, for example, advocates the establishment of a Public Library, Industrial Museum, and Art Gallery for Perth. Collections, it is noted, may be developed for a moderate outlay: witness, for instance, the splendid casts of the statuary in their keeping furnished by the authorities of the British Museum, and the magnificent copies from the Old Masters prepared with such loving care by the artists who work for the Arundel Society. We trust the Government and Legislature may not remain so wholly engrossed with their usual routine work as to neglect much longer to minister to the educational wants of the people.165

So determined were the Trustees of the Melbourne Pubic Library that copies, reproductive prints and casts were essential to the education and development of good taste in the colonies, that they approached the Arundel Society in 1869 for assistance in commissioning copies for the collection. The Council replied, via secretary Frederick W Maynard, regretfully and in the negative, stating they had difficulty fulfilling their own requirements.166 The Library’s casts after classical sculpture have long since been dispersed167—indeed the Society’s

listed in J George Hodgins’ Documentary history of education in Upper Canada, from the passing of the Constitutional Act of 1791, to the close of Rev. Dr. Ryerson's administration of the Education Department in 1876, Toronto: Warwick Bros & Rutter Printers 1894, p.137 165

The West Australian, Tuesday 4 November 1884, p.3

166

‘The Public Gallery of Art,’ The Argus, Monday 25 October 1869, p.1

167

Some were damaged while in use in the art school; in 1900 a large number were lent to the Working Men’s College (RMIT) and destroyed in the 1960s; others (including the fictile ivories) were lent to the Melbourne Exhibition Building, becoming part of the museum housed in the aquarium, and many were subsequently destroyed in the 1953 fire; the remaining works were sold, auctioned or given to the galleries or Town Council in Alexandra, Bendigo, Castlemaine, page 306 of 355

fictile ivories seem to have been withdrawn as early as 1865—and we may imagine what other ‘curiosities’ might have joined the collection if Mariannecci, Schultz and others had not been fully occupied by their Arundel duties. Perhaps the task was achieved rather too successfully. Following generations seem anxious to clear out the evidence of the conscientious, even obsessive, mimicry of past creation. While earnestly amassing reproductions, the point of stimulating new works of art seems to have been lost. What seems clear now, at a distance, is that Arundel Society and other comparable reproductive prints were circulated and collected in a period when art criticism and art education were becoming increasingly dominated by visual material rather than words.

Geelong, Mildura, Warnambool and other galleries in the 1940s; Galbally, ‘The lost museum: Redmond Barry and Melbourne's “Musée des copies,”’ pp.46–47 page 307 of 355

figure 122 Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer after copies of Hubert and Jan van Eyck’s Ghent altarpiece by Christian Schultz 20 lithographs, 120.9 x 77.2 x 8.3 cm (framed, closed) London: Arundel Society 1868–71 National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne

Conclusion―‘Much new light on the history of art’1 ARUNDEL SOCIETY: NOTICE OF ANNUAL MEETING …1893 I. – … there were many original works, particularly of early Italian frescopainters, which, though of great artistic interest and attractiveness, had never been published in any pictorial form, and were, therefore, quite unknown in this country, except to the travelled few. Since that time the constant issue of chromolithographs by this Society, and the great multiplication of photographic copies from Italian frescoes by the Autotype and other processes, have so largely met the need for the illustration of early Art … Two results have ensued which practically affect the Society's position with regard its publications: – 1. – That the interest at first excited by the novelty of colouredprinted representations of coloured originals, brought out with a cheapness hitherto quite unexampled, has naturally abated in the course of twenty-five years, whilst at the same time the early subscribers to the Society have by this time been supplied with so extensive a collection of chromolithographs that many of them don't care to increase it, at least in the same proportion as formerly. 2. – That from the very abundance of the Society's past publications, in addition to those brought out by other agencies and persons, it had become increasingly difficult to find frescoes and other works of art which are still unknown, and which at the same time fulfil all the conditions requisite for copying in watercolour and reproducing by chromolithography with adequate success. Under these circumstances, the Council consider that it will, in future, be easier to sustain the interest and artistic quality of the annual publications by restricting them to one issue. II. – When chromolithography was first introduced, it was not thought practicable to print more than 1,500 or at most 1,800, perfect impressions from the same set of stones. … Now, however, owing to improvements recently made in the machinery of print, no difficulty is found in producing twice as many copies as could formerly have been produced from the same lithographic stones without any risk of deterioration ... Notice of Annual Meeting, London: Arundel Society 1893, pp.1–2 1

Johnson, A handbook (catalogue raisonné), p.v page 309 of 355

‘The art criticism and comparative study of our time has thrown much new light on the history of art,’ wrote Johnson in 1907.2 The Arundel Society’s beginnings, in a period when art-historical conventions were being established, mark a key moment for visual communication. By surveying art-historical texts from the last decades of the 1700s until the early 1900s, and exploring the use of images in these publications, the thesis examines the Society’s contributions to the canon of Italian art and the emerging interest in the ‘primitives.’ In harnessing the notion of translation it considers the relationships between the frescoes and altarpieces, the copyists, publishers, distributors, commentators and collectors to examine colour as new means of disseminating information about art.

As an early witness to the discipline of art history and the development of illustrated publications, the Arundel Society’s position was quixotic. The primacy of the word, uncertainties about images, subject matter and religion, disjunctions between scholarship and popularism, and contradictions between physical object and ideas play out throughout its life. Authors were writing when there were significant changes to genres: a transition from travel logs, guidebooks and inventories, to art historical surveys, monographs and illustrated catalogues. By building on the work of previous scholars, examining archives and collections internationally, and motivated by theories from a range of disciplines, this thesis demonstrates a new awareness of the importance of nineteenth-century writing, illustrated publications and high-quality reproductive prints for the development of visual language. It demonstrates the ubiquity, importance and a range of applications for the publications produced over fifty years, as well as the significant contribution made by the individuals associated with the Society. Moreover, by closely mapping the late twentieth- and early twentieth-first century holdings the thesis highlights the Society’s importance for documentation purposes and art historiography.

The Arundel Society’s watercolour copies and chromolithographs offer a snapshot of mid-nineteenth century attitudes to art, taste and art history, captured in a period when image and text were relatively separate. The emotion, devotion and rapture of early Italian art and the modern intellectual capacity and 2

A handbook (catalogue raisonné), p.v page 310 of 355

scientific spirit was clearly a winning combination: colour had the dual purpose of teaching emotion and expression, and through this, would aid knowledge, appreciation and writing about art. Authors of the late nineteenth century, as specialist art writers, critics or art historians, took inspiration from works of art rather than restricting themselves to factual information. Increasingly they could expect their reader to be familiar with key works, tendencies and historical periods. Freed from the need to directly describe works of art to their readers, they drew connections between works or artists across different periods, or were inspired in further directions.

The major innovation of the Arundel Society was that it commissioned copies and most of those copies were made in colour. Many copyists, the Society’s included, succumbed to the need to ‘correct’ the original; because later reproductions were often based on existing images, adjustments were perpetuated and often exaggerated over time. There is an inherent contradiction set up between the Society’s text and image publications. On one hand, the chromolithographs are presented as stand-alone works of art, and only in very few cases are inscriptions or identification included; on the other, many of the texts issued in conjunction with the prints rarely addressed the work directly. Rather we read about physical surroundings and how to get to the site, the artist’s biography and reputation, characteristics of the broader school, related artists and other works. There are remarkably few references to colour, let alone the tone or surface qualities of the work, something which is surprising given the novelty of the chromolithographic technique. It is as if there is a time lag between the issuing of coloured prints and other forms of illustration, and writing about the works.

If, as Lambert suggests, colour contributed to the revaluation of Old Masters, it also brought distortions.3 The dichotomy of disegno and colore, characterised by the Florentine and Venetian schools, was applied to summarise rivalries and to explain local, geographic, historical and cultural factors. As we have seen, Berensen’s observation in 1893 that the Venetians and those schools dominated by colour were distinctly disadvantaged in the early stages of

3

The image multiplied, p.99 page 311 of 355

photographic documentation is also pertinent here.4 It seems counterintuitive, then, that the Society’s publications were dominated by Florentine and Umbrian art, and so few Venetian subjects were published.5 It should be emphasised however that for a non-specialist art audience the concentration on frescoes and altarpieces from the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth century was unexpected and, at times, jarring for those brought up to admire history paintings, sombre landscapes and portraits. The privileging of frescoes, with their subtle colour and decorative qualities, brought a new awareness of the ‘cradle of Christian art.’6 Much later the novelist, art historian and politician André Malraux (1901–1967) went further in his assessment that the lack of colour had affected appreciation of Byzantine art: ‘its drawing was conventional—whereas its life-force, genius and discoveries were recorded in its colour.’7 In the early twentieth century—on the cusp of Malraux’s ‘aesthetic revolution,’ when the new world of art began to include non-Western cultures, just as European art had earlier widened to include the ‘primitives,’ then Romanesque and Byzantine traditions—attitudes to reproductive prints were rapidly revised.

The Arundel Society’s chromolithographs were often held to be facsimiles. The technique, we are told, is the ‘one which gives us a true idea of the original works, in the fact that we have in them the colours as well as the forms.’ 8 And yet while the frescoes were copied in situ, the prints themselves were made by distant lithographic houses and authorised by members of Council whose knowledge of the works was sometimes more distant still. Accuracy, as well as the impact of the copyists and lithographers in producing the ‘translations,’ were constant preoccupations for the critics whose discussion of the publications influenced and, at times, maintained interest in the Society’s work. In their role

4

Berenson, ‘Isochromatic photography and Venetian pictures,’ pp.127–131

5

The Arundel Society’s Venetian school comprised fourteen artists and a group of sepulchral monuments, a total of twenty-four subjects produced mainly in the 1870s and 1880s. There were seventy Florentine subjects from an equivalent number of artists issued from 1859 until 1897. For other details, including Sienese, Umbrian and Milanese / Lombard projects, including the German, Flemish and Dutch schools. 6

[A H Layard], ‘Publications of the Arundel Society’, Quarterly Review, vol.104, no.202, July and October 1858, pp.277–325, at p.278 7

André Malraux, The psychology of art, London: A Zwemmer 1949, p.32

8

A handbook (catalogue raisonné), p.xvi page 312 of 355

as intermediaries, Atkinson and others sought to influence readers and shape the activities of art entities such as the Society. Ruskin’s and Layard’s agitations were also important for the attention focused on the Society’s activities and for bringing issues of conservation, and patrimony to the fore.9

The tussle for control, both physically and conceptually, of key art sites on the Italian peninsula is emphasised by the conflicts of the late 1850s and 1860s. The contradictions of nineteenth-century conservation, preservation and restoration become more obvious against the backdrop of war, and in the context of acquisitive museums and collectors. In implementing the Copying Fund, the Arundel Society promoted it as necessary to complete essential work. While members were reluctant to make donations independently, the large number of drawings completed under this program meant that material for future publications was amassed. The reputation of the Arena Chapel, and its extensive documentation, considered against the destroyed and now relatively little known fresco cycle in the Eremitani Church, show the Society’s publications in context. Although the role of the chromolithographs and watercolours as a record of the work of art was recognised at the time, there is little evidence that this aspect has been used to advantage since. In examining the differing approaches to each subject, the case studies serve to contrast the relative lack of success of the Giotto project compared with the vastly more popular chromolithographs that followed. Through this critical examination we see that the Society’s role in propelling works of art to prominence was the result of national rivalries, and a number of other social and geo-political factors.

The statements produced by the Arundel Society offer a rationale that is the visual art equivalent of the writings of Eastlake, Haweis, Loftie and other reformers: knowledge and good taste are beneficial to the collective, for the household, even nation building. Polychrome fabrics, furnishings, prints and a large range of available consumer goods were both desirable and fraught. Too much colour and pattern was potentially dangerous. Morris and his contemporaries were influenced by blocks of colour and a certain 9

The relations developed between Layard and several of the custodians of the frescoes seem to have been influential for access to the works but more research is needed in this area. page 313 of 355

‘chromolithographic’ hardness but they, like the other artists and designers of the second half of the nineteenth century, were also influenced by brighter and richer ranges of colours. In using a white ground and coloured glazes the PreRaphaelite artists achieved saturated, jewel-like effects in their art. The impact of quattrocento art, photography and, more generally, the great range of coloured prints circulating during the nineteenth century is readily apparent. Stephens and other contemporary critics articulated Renaissance antecedents in Burne-Jones’ work, likening his use of dense colour to artists such as Carlo Crivelli (1435–1495). As we have seen, this may be explained by Burne-Jones’ Italian experiences, his own copies and reproductions, as well as secondary contacts.10 Holman Hunt acknowledged the importance of reproductions for him and his contemporaries: We knew less of Michael Angelo in England than we do now, when we have the Sixtine Chapel and the Medici tombs photographed, while Tintoretto in his might was not known at all. Della Robbia, Donatello, Luini, and Angelico were mere names in books or, at the most, to be seen in the Print Room.11

By focusing on lists of the Arundel Society’s subscribers and exploring the connections between collectors, writers and other members of the art world we have seen how the chromolithographs, especially, were very common in certain circles. Institutional subscribers such as museums, libraries, mechanics’ institutes and other educational entities brought the prints into contact with many people who could not afford or were not inclined to collect. Ruskin’s didactic efforts, the Guild of St George and his drawing school demonstrate his commitment to the Society’s aims even during periods when, less publicly, he expressed an aversion to its means. The Trevelyans and the range of their interests as recorded in letters, journals and elsewhere provide concrete examples of connections between aristocratic and learned circles.

10

Fiona MacCarthy, The last Pre-Raphaelite Edward Burne-Jones and the Victorian imagination, Cambridge: Harvard University Press 2014, pp 342–343, p.342 11

William H Hunt, Pre-Raphaelitism and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, New York: AMS Press 1967 (reprint of 1905–06 edition), p.52 page 314 of 355

Individuals had a range of motivations for joining the Arundel Society. A significant number retained long-term memberships and their commitment was often relied on to attract new subscribers. Through agents in Britain and overseas we trace further networks, especially as some agents were also dealers, framers, booksellers and art supply stockists offering a diverse range of other services, particularly in the Colonies. Through auction records and other instances of sales of prints on the secondary market, it is clear that many members also collected original works of art. In Australia, for example, these included paintings by artists such as Eugene von Guérard. By focussing on Melbourne—its library, gallery and art school—we see the role of chromolithographs and other reproductive works in a wealthy city of the Empire. Within institutional collections, renewed interest in the skills of the expert copyist and the broader attractiveness of the prints has led to more Arundel material being preserved, exhibited and catalogued on collection websites.

The art world changed rapidly in the final decades of the nineteenth century. The Arundel Society’s commitment to the tastes of the 1850s meant that it was increasingly unwilling to diversify and, moreover, diminishing annual incomes had an impact on its ability to undertake new projects. By the 1880s many of the Society’s didactic aims had been achieved and, in many ways, it had simply run its course. In 1892 Oldfield wrote to Layard about the running down of the Society: he complained about the number of members attending meetings—on one occasion he was the only Council member present—and gloomily concluded that few people in England ‘care for such things.’12 The Annual Notice for the following year announces, four years before its actual winding up, the reasons for the Society’s closure: the quantity of autotypes and other photographic copies made the chromolithographs unnecessary; existing subscribers had too many works; larger editions were possible; and colour prints were no longer novel. Indeed the carbon prints issued by the Autotype Company—which by the early 1880s was offering many comparable subjects, available in a variety of mounts and frames, from its Fine Art Gallery on New

12

Edmund Oldfield to A H Layard, letter dated 27 March 1892, summarised by Ledger, A study of the Arundel Society 1848–1897, p.253 page 315 of 355

Oxford Street—were described in terms previously used by the Society.13 Clearly a monochrome ‘true representation of the original’ was preferred to a coloured copy. The next generation was offered ‘little known pictures of the Old Masters’ in photogravure produced by the Arundel Club, the Medici Society’s collotypes in ‘perfect colour’ and ‘mechanical’ paintings.14 As photography and other print techniques came to replace the documentary functions of works of art, and original artist’s prints became the new mode of lithography, the Society ceased operations. Having disposed of their lease, sold their stock, settled with the printers, awarded the stockman and secretary a bonus for long and committed service, and written off a bad debt to the agent in Berlin, the Society resolved to give a cash balance gift to the Artists' General Benevolent Institution.15

‘It would be too much,’ wrote the architect and industrial designer Christian Barman (1898–1980) in 1949, to expect an Arundel Society print to directly translate, or fully transcribe, a work of art as ‘by the standard of modern photography.’ But as translations the Society’s publications had the ‘same qualities of scholarship and understanding as our best translations of Homer and Dante.’16 The implicit assumption in these comments, that words and image are separate but related ‘languages’ which may be translated but are the exact equivalents, is core to the arguments presented here. The Society, as Atkinson and others recognised in 1860s, was considered both ‘mediator and translator’

13

The Autotype Company, agents for Braun & cie, offered prints of the Great Masters in British and foreign galleries, as well as modern and contemporary artists. The works reproduced in the National Gallery were promoted as having been being selected by its Director; the 1888 catalogue reprints a notice from the Athenaeum describing the reproduction of Francia’s lunette of Dead Christ and angels as ‘simply perfect.’ Autotype process printing, London: The Autotype Co 1888, p.17 14

Hamber’s review of The image multiplied in Visual Resources: An International Journal of Documentation, vol.5, no.2, 1988, pp.173–176; the reviewer of the ‘Medici’ Prints, for example, declared that the prints for 1906—after Luini’s Head of the Virgin from the Brera fresco, Leonardo da Vinici’s Head of Christ, in the same collection, and Botticelli’s Virgin and Child from the Poldi-Pezzoli—far surpass the Arundel Society’s chromolithographs for ‘photographic accuracy of detail,’ and ‘clearness, freshness and variety of hue.’ The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs, vol.10, no.43, October 1906, pp 46–48 15

Report of the Council to the Special General Meeting, on 28th December, 1897, London: Arundel Society 1897 and Supplementary report of the Council, June, 1899, London: Arundel Society 1899 16

‘Printed pictures,’ Penrose Annual, vol.XLIII 1949, pp.55–57, at p.56 page 316 of 355

across time, cultures and intention.17 As a distributor of coloured images it brought new modes for communication to the fore, and injected new impetus in the debates about art and taste. More than a century later we recognise the Arundel Society’s contribution to the appreciation of art and dissemination of knowledge in the nineteenth century.

17

[J Beavington], ‘The fresco-painting of Italy—the Arundel Society,’ p.464, p.468 (see Chapter 3); see also Hinojosa, The Renaissance, English cultural nationalism, and modernism, p.53 page 317 of 355

Details of works illustrated Introduction 1.

Vincent BROOKS, lithographer View of the interior of the Arena Chapel, Padua, 1306 after a watercolour by (Mrs) Margaretta Higford Burr colour lithograph, 57.2 x 64.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1856 Boston Athenaeum D F66 Ch.g.1856

2.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Ottaviano Nelli’s Madonna with saints by (Mrs) Margaretta Higford Burr colour lithograph, 26.1 x 37.0 cm (comp.); 46.0 x 65.6 cm (sheet) London: Arundel Society 1857 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.576

3.

Owen JONES and Francis BEDFORD, lithographer Title page of The grammar of ornament, lithograph, 55.8 x 37.2 cm London: Day & Son 1856 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.1160.1-101

4.

Advertisement for the Arundel Society from the Athenaeum, no.1138, Saturday 18 August 1849, p.827

5.

Cesari MARIANNECCI, copyist after Ghirlandaio’s Nativity of the Virgin in Santa Maria Novella, Florence (1865) watercolour, 45.3 x 67.3 cm issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1895 Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.110-1995

Chapter 1 6.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 40.2 x 64.2 cm London: Arundel Society 1870 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.548

7.

plate I: Portrait of Masaccio from Thomas Patch’s Life of the celebrated Painter Masaccio, with some specimens of his works in fresco, at Florence, Florence 1770

8.

Tommaso PIROLI plate XXIII: Puccio Capanna’s Christ taken down from the cross painting in the Lower Church of San Francesco at Assisi c.1330 from William Young Ottley’s series of plates, engraved after the paintings and sculptures of the most eminent masters of the early Florentine school, London: W Y Ottley 1826

9.

plate CLVI: Collection of the principal works of Masaccio at Rome and Florence from Jean Baptiste Séroux d'Agincourt’s Histoire de l’art par les monuments Paris: 1823

10.

title page from Maria Callcott’s Description of the Chapel of the Annunziata dell’Arena; or Giotto’s Chapel in Padua, London: printed for the author by Thomas Brettell 1835

11.

Ludwig GRÜNER, engraver after a copy of Raphael’s The martyrdom of St Stephen by Nicola Consoni line engraving, 40 x 38.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1867 British Museum, London, 2006,U.902

12.

Cesari MARIANNECCI, copyist after Raphael's The poets of Mount Parnassus in the Stanza della Segnatura, Vatican, Rome watercolour, 54 x 81.9 cm issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1873 Victoria and Albert Museum, London

13.

Raphael’s Camera della Segnatura in the Vatican, Rome from Heinrich Kohler’s Polychrome Meisterwerke Der Monumentalen Kunst in Italien Leipzig: Baumgaertner's Buchhandlung 1870 Boston Athenaeum

14.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after copies of frescoes in the Cappella Brancacci, Santa Maria del Carmine, at Florence by Cesari Mariannecci Fillipino Lippi’s The fall and Masaccio The expulsion page 318 of 355

lithographs, 28.0 x 10.2 cm (each) London: Arundel Society 1861 Fillipino Lippi’s St Peter in prison visited by St Paul and St Peter delivered from prison lithographs, 28.0 x 10.6 cm (each) Head from St Peter in prison visited by St Paul lithograph, 36.2 x 25.4 cm London: Arundel Society 1862 Masaccio and Lippi’s St Peter and St Paul raising the king's son and The homage to St Peter lithograph, 72.8 x 36.4 cm London: Arundel Society 1863 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.569, 72.509.568, 72.509.552 and 72.509.566 15.

Franz KELLERHOVEN, after Fra Angelico’s Deposition from the cross from Florence, oleograph, 38.1 x 47.2 cm Paris: Firmin Didot c.1854 © The Trustees of the British Museum

16.

Franz KELLERHOVEN, after Giotto’s The raising of Lazarus from the Arena Chapel, Padua from Les Chefs-d’oeuvre de la Peinture Italienne by Paul Mantz, Paris: Firmin Didot 1870

Chapter 2 17.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Angelico’s The annunciation at San Marco by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 36.7 x 50.2 cm London: Arundel Society 1863 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.558

18.

Ludwig GRÜNER, engraver after a copy of Fra Angelico’s St Lawrence distributing alms from the Cappella Niccolina, Vatican by Joseph Tunner engraving London: Arundel Society 1849-50 © Victoria and Albert Museum, London 16620

19.

Eugen Eduard SCHÄFFER, engraver after a copy of Fra Angelico’s The ordination of St Laurence from the Cappella Niccolina, Vatican by Leopold Kupelweiser engraving London: Arundel Society 1869 © Victoria and Albert Museum, London 23109

20.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Angelico’s Noli me Tangere or Christ and Mary Magdalene in the garden in San Marco by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 47.0 x 37.4 cm London: Arundel Society 1870 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.560

21.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Angelico’s The transfiguration in San Marco by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 49.5 x 42.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1870 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.570

22.

Vincent BROOKS, lithographer after a copy of Pinturicchio’s Christ among the doctors in Cappella Baglioni, Collegiata di Santa Maria Maggiore, Spello by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 58.4 x 63.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1857/59 Purchased by the Trustees of the Melbourne Public Library 1860 National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne

23.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Francesco Francia’s The burial of Cecilia in San Giacomo Maggiore, Bologna by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph London: Arundel Society 1862 Victoria and Albert Museum, London 19532

24.

Cesari MARIANNECCI,copyist after Benozzo Gozzoli’s St Augustine visits the monks of Monte Pisano and sees the vision of Christ on the shore at St Agostino San Gimignano (1863) watercolour, 58.8 x 71.1 cm issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1897 Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.170-1995

page 319 of 355

25.

Fritz FRICK, lithographer after a copy of Benozzo Gozzoli’s Angels adorning from the Palazzo Medici-Riccardi, Florence by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 75.7 x 46.6 cm London: Arundel Society 1884 Collection of the Guild of St George, Museums Sheffield CGSG01649

26.

Eduard KAISER, copyist after a detail of Benozzo Gozzoli’s The procession of the Kings, John Paleologus in the Palazzo Medici-Ricardi Chapel, Florence (1881) watercolour, 62.3 x 79.8 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.162–1995

27.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of the Monument to Tommaso Pellegrini by Adolf Gnauth lithograph, 52.4 x 34.0 cm, London: Arundel Society 1878 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.578

28.

Eliseo FATTORINI, copyist after a copy of Piero della Francesca’s The resurrection of Christ in the Pinacoteca Comunale, Sansepolcro watercolour, 33.3 x 40.6 cm issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1879 Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.97–1995

29.

Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer after a copy of The Madonna with the violet by Meister Wilhelm of Cologne by Charles Schultz lithograph, 50.0 x 26.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1873 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.545

30.

Emilio COSTANTINI, copyist after a copy of Gran Vasco’s St Peter enthroned as Pope from the Cathedral at Vizeu, Portugal (1887) watercolour, 51.8 x 56.2 cm issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1892 Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.171–1995

Chapter 3 31.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Andrea Mantegna’s The Conversion of Homogenes by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 49.0 x 39.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1863 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.557

32.

Fresco of Paradise, Capella Maria Maddlen, Bargello, Florence from Holbrook’s Portraits of Dante from Giotto to Raffael: a critical study, with a concise iconography, London: P L Warner 1911, pp.104–105

33.

Seymour KIRKUP Sketch of the Portrait of Dante given to Giotto (1840) from Holbrook’s Portraits of Dante from Giotto to Raffael: A critical study, with a concise iconography, London: P L Warner 1911, p.91

34.

Vincent BROOKS, lithographer after a copy of the Portrait of Dante given to Giotto by Seymour Kirkup lithograph, 45.3 x 34.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1859 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.590

35.

plate IX Tommaso PIROLI, engraver after Giovanni Cimabue’s The dead body of Christ, mourned over, after his crucifixion, by the Maries and other disciples.— painting in fresco of the Upper Church of San Francesco at Assisi from William Young Ottley’s Series of Plates, engraved after the Paintings and Sculptures of the Most Eminent Masters of The Early Florentine School, London: W Y Ottley 1826

36.

Giuseppe GNOLI, copyist after Lorenzo da Viterbo’s Presentation and marriage of the Virgin at Ciesa della Verita, Viterbo (1881) watercolour, 59.1 x 69.2 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London page 320 of 355

37.

Cesari MARIANNECCI, copyist after Pietro Perugino’s The martyrdom of St Sebastian at San Sebastiano Panicale (1856) watercolour, 58.4 x 58.4 cm issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1856 Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.241-1995

38.

ABCD Vincent BROOKS, engraver outline contours after Layard’s tracings of the Sebastian figure, archers and executioner in Perugino's The martyrdom of St Sebastian in the chapel at Panicale) lithographs, 86.5 x 78.5 cm London: Arundel Society 1856 British Museum, London 1858,1113.313, 1858,1113.314 and 1858,1113.312

39.

Austen Henry LAYARD tracing after Giovanni Sanzio’s Madonna and Child fresco at San Domenico, Cagli 1850s pencil on paper Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.1783–1913

40.

Austen Henry LAYARD tracing after Piero della Francesca’s Battle between Heraclius and Chosroes at San Francesco, Arezzo 1850s pencil on paper Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.1750–1913

41.

Austen Henry LAYARD tracing after Spinello Aretino’s Annunciation fresco in Chiesa della SS Annunziata, Arezzo September 1855 pencil on paper Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.1764–1913

42.

Austen Henry LAYARD tracing after Masolino’s Burial of St John the Baptist fresco in the baptistery at Castiglione d'Olona 1850s pencil on paper Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.1792–1913

43.

Bartolomeo BARTOCCINI, engraver Head of the Virgin from a fresco given to Leonardo da Vinci in the monastery of San Onofrio at Rome engraving, 31.5 x 25.2 cm London: Arundel Society 1859 © The Trustees of the British Museum 1865,0812.175

44.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Boltraffio’s Madonna and Child in San Onofrio at Rome by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 34.0 x 51.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1859 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.554

45.

Eduard KAISER, copyist after The Pieta given to the Isaac Master in the Upper Church, San Francesco, Assisi (1876) watercolour, 60.6 x 64.5 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.64-1995

46.

Eduard KAISER, copyist after The crucifixion given to an unknown master sometimes thought to be Duccio (1876) watercolour, 59.7 x 54.5 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.63-1995

47.

Artist unknown after The betrayal of Christ attributed to Jacobo Torriti in the Upper Church, San Francesco, Assisi (1862) watercolour, 39.3 x 35.4 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.66-1995

48.

Eduard KAISER, copyist after The betrayal of Christ attributed to Jacobo Torriti in the Upper Church, San Francesco, Assisi (c.1875) watercolour, 61 x 55.5 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.61-1995

49.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Pietro Lorenzetti’s The deposition from the cross in the Lower Church, San Francesco, Assisi by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 41.0 x 58.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1875 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.573

50.

Christian SCHULTZ, printer with Lemercier et cie Paris after a copy of Giotto’s St Francis preaching to the birds in the Lower Church, San Francesco, Assisi by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 57.4 x 41.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1877 page 321 of 355

Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.585 51.

Johann Anton RAMBOUX, St Francis preaching to the birds 1808 watercolour, 41 x 32 cm Museum Kunstpalast, Düsseldorf

52.

MELOZZO da Forli, Angel with lute c.1480 fresco from the apse of Santi Apostoli Pinacoteca Vaticana, Rome

53.

Eduard KAISER, copyist after Melozzo da Forli’s Angel with lute in the Pinacoteca Vaticana, Rome (1872) watercolour, 38.1 x 30.8 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.93–1995

54.

Eduard KAISER, copyist after Sodoma’s Christ bound to a column in the Accademia delle Belle Arti, Siena (1878) watercolour, 57.3 x 63.3 cm issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1889 Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.28–1995

55.

Marino URBANI The Scrovegni Palace and Arena Chapel, Padua watercolour

56.

Fioravanti PENUTI, engraver after Marino Urbani’s The Eremitani Church, Padua engraving

57.

Carlo NAYA exterior of the Arena Chapel, Padua 1865

58.

Carlo NAYA Last judgement fresco from the Arena Chapel, Padua 1864–65

59.

AB BENVENISTI & GRASSELLI Cross section of the chapel showing the triumphal arch and Plan of the ground floor 1871 watercolours Public Library, Padua

60.

Augustus CALLCOTT The Virgin Mary returns to her home from Maria Callcott’s Description of the Chapel of the Annunziata dell’Arena; or Giotto’s Chapel in Padua London: printed for the author by Thomas Brettell 1835

61.

DALZIEL BROTHERS, engravers plate XII: The Virgin Mary returns to her home, wood engraving after copies of Giotto by W Oliver Williams from John Ruskin’s The frescoes of Giotto London: Arundel Society 1853

62.

Romualdo BELLOLI, copyist after Giotto’s Pièta from the Arena Chapel (c.1850) watercolour Victoria and Albert Museum, London

63.

EE SCHAFFER, engraver after Giotto’s Pièta from the Arena Chapel engraving London: Arundel Society 1851

64.

title page from John Ruskin’s The frescoes of Giotto London: Arundel Society 1853

65.

W O Williams, copyist after Giotto’s virtues: Temperance, Justice and Faith from the Arena Chapel, Padua (c.1854–55) watercolours, 27.6 x 15.7 cm (largest) Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.138–1995, E.148–1995 and E.142–1995

66.

ABCDEF Cesari MARIANNECCI, copyist after Mantegna’s frescoes from the Church of the Eremitani, Padua (1861) The Conversion of Homogenes watercolour, 63.3 x 55.6 cm St James before Herod Agrippa watercolour, 67.9 x 57.8 cm issued as a chromolithographs by the Arundel Society in 1863 and 1865 St James on the way to his execution and The martyrdom of St James watercolours, 67.3 x 58.7 cm and 64.9 x 58.4 cm The martyrdom and death of St Christopher watercolours, 69.4 x 58.4 cm and 68.6 x 60.3 cm Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.193–1995, E.194–1995, E.195–1995, E.196–1995, E.198–1995 and E.197–1995

67.

Francesco BENAGLIO or fifteenth-century Ferrarese copyist after Mantegna’s The martyrdom of St Christopher from the Church of the Eremitani, Padua distemper on panel transferred to canvas, 51 x 51 cm Musee Jacquemart-Andre, Paris page 322 of 355

68.

Giovanni DAVID, engraver after Mantegna’s The martyrdom of St James and St Christopher c.1776 etchings Bequeathed by Rev. Alexander Dyce Victoria and Albert Museum, London DYCE.1579 and DYCE.1582

69.

Domenico ANDERSON after Mantegna’s St James before Herod Agrippa c.1890 from the Church of the Eremitani, Padua silver salt gelatin photograph Alinari Archives-Anderson Archive, Florence

70.

post-reconstruction: Andrea Mantegna, Bono da Ferrara and Ansuimo da Forli’s Ovetari Chapel in the Church of the Eremitani, Padua 1453–57

71.

facade of the Eremitani Church, Padua, March 1944

72.

ABC exterior of the Scrovegni Chapel, Padua, with the visitors room and multimedia displays, September 2004

Chapter 4 73.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Lippi’s Virgin and Child by Anziglione lithograph, 57.8 x 44.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1877 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.536

74.

The hall at Kelmscott Manor

75.

Altar in the Lady Chapel, St Peter's Eastern Hill, Melbourne

76.

George SCHARF No.29 Great George Street, Westminster 1863 pencil drawing bound in album, 23.2 x 34.0 cm approx. Bequeathed by Sir George Scharf 1900 British Museum, London 1900,0725.138–181

77.

George SCHARF [Entrance hall] 29 Great George Street, Westminster 1869 pencil drawing British Museum, London

78.

George SCHARF My bedroom, 29 Great George Street, Westminster 1868 pencil drawing British Museum, London

79.

George SCHARF Backroom, second floor 1868 pencil drawing British Museum, London

80.

George SCHARF [The library] 1869 pencil drawing British Museum, London

81.

George SCHARF Mother's room [?] 1868 pencil drawing British Museum, London

82.

George SCHARF [The sitting room] 1869 pencil drawing British Museum, London

83.

George SCHARF [The study] 1869 pencil drawing © The Trustees of the British Museum

84.

AB (John) Atkinson GRIMSHAW Spring and Summer 1875 oil on canvas 61 x 91 cm, 63.5 x 76.2 cm both private collections

85.

Edward HAU Empress Marie’s salon in the Winter Palace 1850s–60s watercolour Schlossmuseum Darmstadt

86.

Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer (under Schultz's supervision) after a copy of Mariotto Albertinelli’s The visitation by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 63.8 x 40.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1875 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.588

87.

John Everett MILLAIS Mrs James Wyatt Jr and her daughter Sarah c.1850 oil on mahogany, 35.3 x 45.7 cm Tate T03858

88.

Ernest George & Peto (designers) The main staircase at 5 Collingham Gardens, Kensington, London 1886 photograph: Bedford Lemere & Co 1888 RIBA Library Photographs Collection, London page 323 of 355

89.

William Morris’ library at Kelmscott House after 1888

90.

Emilio COSTANTINI, copyist after Botticelli’s Primavera (c.1887) watercolour, 53.3 x 82.6 cm issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1888 © Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.34–1995

91.

Fred ROWNTREE, designer The sitting room at Daleside, Harrogate 1902 Bedford Lemere & Co 1902 RIBA Library Photographs Collection, London

92.

AB Phillip WEBB, designer Bedroom at Great Tangely Manor, Sussex 1895 (with detail) photograph by Harry Bedford Lemere

93.

Interior of CDE Fortnum’s home, Hill House 1880s from the photographic album, ‘The Hill House, Great Stanmore’ Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford

94.

Eduard KAISER, copyist after Melozzo da Forli’s Sixtus IV giving audience in the Pinacoteca Vaticana, Rome watercolour, 62.2 x 55.2 cm issued as a chromolithograph by the Arundel Society in 1875 Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.91–1995

95.

STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Giorgione’s Virgin and Child between St Liberale and St Francis (The Castelfranco altarpiece) by Eduard Kaiser lithograph, 66.0 x 48.1 cm London: Arundel Society 1879 Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford

96.

Beatrice Olive CORFE Mrs Valpy’s sitting room at 3 The Close, Winchester c.1900 watercolour, 27.9 x 38.4 cm Given by Mrs Henry G Dakyns © Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.223-1955

97.

Beatrice Olive CORFE Canon Valpy’s study at 3 The Close, Winchester c.1900 watercolour, 21.6 x 28.9 cm Given by Mrs Henry G Dakyns Victoria and Albert Museum, London E.224–1955

Chapter 5 98.

Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer after copies of Hubert and Jan van Eyck’s Ghent altarpiece by Christian Schultz 20 lithographs, 120.9 x 154.3 x 8.3 cm (framed, open) London: Arundel Society 1868–71 Purchased 1868 National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne p.15.10-1

99.

AB The Ruskin Museum at Meersbrook House c1895–1910 glass plate negatives Collection of the Guild of St George, Museums Sheffield

100. The lecture theatre in the Ruskin Museum at Meersbrook House c1895–1910 glass plate negative Collection of the Guild of St George, Museums Sheffield 101. STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Dürer’s Adoration of the holy trinity by Christian Schultz lithograph, 67.5 x 60.0 cm London: Arundel Society 1879 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris 102. ENGELMANN et GRAF, lithographic firm after a copy of Holbein’s Virgin and Child (The Meyer Madonna) by Christian Schultz lithograph, 55.9 x 36.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1871 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris 103. The Library at Wallington Hall, Northumberland, home to Sir Walter Trevelyan and Lady Trevelyan from 1849–51 until 1879, National Trust from 1958 104. STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Masaccio’s The tribute money in the Cappella Brancacci, Santa Maria del Carmine, at Florence by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph London: Arundel Society 1861 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris 105. G A DEAN, photographer The Art Museum at Rugby School from Rugby School: Handbooks to the Great Public Schools, London: George Bell & Sons 1900 106. Charles NETTLETON Public Library Art Exhibition 1869 albumen silver photograph, 22.8 x 29.2 cm State Library of Victoria, Melbourne page 324 of 355

107. AB Doll and Richards Fine Art Gallery at Parks St, Boston, c.1878 108. AB N L STEBBINS Doll and Richards Gallery at 71 Newbury St after 1908 109. unknown photographer Interior view of the House of Grace at Williams c.1911 Anglican church, in the parish of Williams, Diocese of Bunbury J S Battye Library of West Australian History State Library of Western Australia, Perth 110. advertisement for the Memling altarpiece 1878 111. ABC Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer after a copy of Hans Memling’s altarpiece by Christian Schultz The Crucifixion lithograph, 56.3 x 40.8 cm Angel Gabriel and The Virgin Annunciate and The entombment and resurrection lithographs, 56.0 x 17.6-17.9 cm (each) London: Arundel Society 1876 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.580, 1972.509.581 and 1972.509.584 112. St Peter's Eastern Hill, Melbourne 113. Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer after copies of Hubert and Jan van Eyck’s Ghent altarpiece by Christian Schultz 12 lithographs, framed London: Arundel Society 1868–71 Handfield Chapel St Peter's Eastern Hill, Melbourne 114. Thomas E MARR, Art room, looking east 1902 silver gelatin print Purchase Fine Arts Fund 1902 Boston Athenaeum 115. STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Raphael’s Philosophy from the Sistine Chapel by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 35.0 x 35.3 cm London: Arundel Society 1871 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.533 116. STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Angelico’s Coronation of the Virgin in San Marco at Florence by Cesari Mariannecci, lithograph 48.3 x 42.3 cm London: Arundel Society 1864 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris 117. STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Boltraffio’s Madonna and Child in San Onofrio at Rome by Cesari Mariannecci, lithograph, 34.0 x 51.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1859 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.534 118. STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Sodoma’s The ecstasy of St Catherine in San Domenico at Siena by Cesari Mariannecci, lithograph, 61.1 x 45.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1867 Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris 119. STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Fra Bartolommeo’s The annunciation by Cesari Mariannecci lithograph, 30.4 x 56.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1866 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.556 120. Charles H CURRIER, Boston Athenaeum, second floor 1900 silver gelatin print Gift of Charles H Currier 1902 Boston Athenaeum 121. STORCH & KRAMER, lithographic firm after a copy of Bernardino Luini’s Burial of St Catherine by Signor Bignoli lithograph, 32.3 x 58.8 cm London: Arundel Society 1858 Felix Man Collection, Special Government Grant 1972 National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 1972.509.591 122. Etienne Isidore HANGARD-MAUGÉ, lithographer after copies of Hubert and Jan van Eyck’s Ghent altarpiece by Christian Schultz 20 lithographs, 120.9 x 77.2 x 8.3 cm (framed, closed) London: Arundel Society 1868–71 Purchased 1868 National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne p.15.10-1

page 325 of 355

Bibliography List of the main sources consulted, period and contemporary, alphabetically by author; when the work is anonymous or author unknown, listed by publication or corporate identity

A Henry Adams, ‘John La Farge's discovery of Japanese art: A new perspective on the origins of Japonisme,’ The Art Bulletin, vol.67, no.3, 1985, pp.449–485 Diane Cole Ahl, ‘Benozzo Gozzoli's frescoes of the life of Saint Augustine in San Gimignano: Their meaning in context', Artibus et Historiae, vol.7, no.13, 1986, pp.35–53 Regina Akel, Maria Graham: A literary biography, Amherst, N Y: Cambria Press 2009 David Alexander, ‘“After-Images:” A review of recent studies of reproductive print-making,’ Oxford Art Journal, vol.6, no.1, 1983, pp.11–17 Elizabeth Alsin, ‘The rise and progress of the Art-Union of London.’ Apollo, no. 82, January 1967, pp.12–16 Richard Daniel Altick, The English common reader: A social history of the mass reading public, 1800–1900, University of Chicago Press 1957 English, French and German color print in mezzotint and stipple … collected by the late Mr John B Pearse, New York: American Art Association 1922 American Art Chronicle,’ The American Art Review, vol.2, no.12, October 1881, pp.259–264 Kenneth L Ames, Death in the dining room and other tales of Victorian culture, Philadelphia Temple University Press 1992 Jaynie Anderson, The Restoration of Renaissance Painting in Mid Nineteenth-Century Milan : Giuseppe Molteni in Correspondence with Giovanni Morelli, Florence: Edifir 2014 John H G Archer (ed.), Art and architecture in Victorian Manchester, Manchester University Press 1985

Argus (see also Lancelot and Smith) ‘Mr Bayard Taylor in London,’ The Argus, Wednesday 21 October 1857, p.6 The Argus, Saturday 9 November 1861, pp.4–5 The Argus, Monday 18 January 1864, pp.4–5 ‘The Victorian Gallery of Fine Arts,’ The Argus, Monday 27 May 1867, p.2 ‘The Public Library No.II, ’The Argus, Friday 16 October 1868, pp.5–6 ‘New works of art at the Public Library,’ The Argus, Monday 22 February 1869, p.6 ‘The Public Gallery of Art,’ The Argus, Monday 25 October 1869, p.1 ‘The Public Library and Museum, The Argus, Tuesday 4 January 1870, p.6 ‘Chromo-lithographs at the Public Library,’ The Argus, Thursday 10 February 1870, p.5 ‘The "Adoration of The Lamb"—Chromolithographs at the Public Library,’ The Argus, Wednesday 20 April 1870, p.6 ‘Public Library and National Gallery,’ The Argus, Friday 14 July 1876, p.7 ‘The Public Library,’ The Argus, Friday 22 November 1878, p.6 ‘The Public Library,’ The Argus, Tuesday 21 January 1879, p.6 ‘The Public Library and National Gallery,’ The Argus, Monday 14 July 1879, p.3 ‘Italy,’ The Argus, Saturday 15 November 1879, p.4 ‘The Wilton diptych,’ The Argus, Saturday 15 June 1929, p.23 ‘Arundel prints,’ The Argus, Saturday 27 September 1930, p.19 ‘Art in the saleroom,’ The Argus, Friday 17 November 1933, p.7 ‘Art in the saleroom,’ The Argus, Friday 2 February 1934, p.5 ‘Art works sold,’ The Argus, Thursday 30 December 1937, p.9 The Argus, Saturday 24 August 1946, p.22 ‘Old colour prints,’ The Argus, Saturday 9 April 1949, p.14 page 326 of 355

Edmund La Touche Armstrong, The book of the Public Library, Museums and National Gallery of Victoria: 1856–1906, Melbourne: Printed for the trustees of the Public Library, Museums and National Gallery of Victoria 1906 General catalogue of objects in the museum, Art Institute of Chicago 1901

The Art Journal (see also Atkinson and Bezzi) The Art Journal, vol.XI, July 1849, p.66 The Art Journal, vol.XI, July 1849, p.131 ‘Book review [Engravings of the works of Fra Angelico],’ The Art Journal, October 1851, p.264 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.V, 1853, p.140 ‘Review: The frescoes of Giotto, at Padua. Engraved by Dalziel Brothers, from the Drawings by W O Williams. Published by the Arundel Society, London,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, 1854, p.123 ‘Minor topic of the month,’ The Art Journal, vol.I, 1855, p.318 ‘The frescoes of Giotto. Notices sculpture in ivory. Published by the Arundel Society, London,’ The Art Journal, vol.II, July 1856, pp.227–228 ‘The publications of the Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, 1858, pp.253–254 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, October 1865, pp.303–304 ‘New photographic work of the Arundel Society.’ The Art Journal, vol.VIII, January 1869, p.26 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.XII [new series], 1873, p.203 ‘Five years of the Arundel Society,’The Art Journal, vol.XIII [new series], 1874, pp.39–40 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.XVIII [new series], 1879, p.165 [anonymous obituary for J Beavington Atkinson], The Art Journal 1886, p.382

Arundel Society (see also Browning, Kitchen, Layard, Maskell, Oldfield, Ruskin, Scharf, Street, Weale and Wornum) Second annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1851 Third annual report of the Council¸ London: Arundel Society 1852 Fourth annual report of the Council¸ London: Arundel Society 1853 Fifth annual report of the Council¸ London: Arundel Society 1854 Descriptive notice of the drawings, tracings, models and miscellaneous publications of the Arundel Society exhibited November 1855, in the Crystal Palace, Sydenham, London: Office of the Arundel Society 1855 (with list of subscribers) Sixth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1855 Seventh annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1856 Eighth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1857 Ninth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1858 Report, Letter from the Secretary, List of the annual publications, List of members, London: Arundel Society 1858 Tenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1859 Arundel Society, London (Agence de Paris), Société d'Arundel pour la propagation des oeuvres d'art: Prospectus, Paris: Librairie archéologique de Victor Didron 1859 Eleventh annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1860 Notice of the Arundel Society, or Society for Promoting the Knowledge of Art, London: Arundel Society 1860 (with list of subscribers) Twelfth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1861 Thirteenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1862 Fourteenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1863 General rules of the Arundel Society or Society for Promoting the Knowledge of Art, passed at the Annual General Meeting, June 2nd, 1863, London: Arundel Society 1863 Fifteenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1864 page 327 of 355

Sixteenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1865 ‘List of publications of the Arundel Society,’ London: Arundel Society 1865 List of members (corrected to August 1866), London: Arundel Society 1866 Seventeenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1866 Eighteenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1867 List of members (corrected to September 1867), London: Arundel Society 1867 Classified list of photographs of drawings, paintings, and sculpture … London: Arundel Society 1867 Nineteenth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1868 A list of members of the Arundel Society corrected to August 1868, London: Arundel Society 1868 Twentieth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1869 A list of members of the Arundel Society corrected to August 1869, London: Arundel Society 1869 Twenty-second annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1870 A list of members of the Arundel Society corrected to September 1871, London: Arundel Society 1871 A list of members of the Arundel Society corrected to September 1872, London: Arundel Society 1872 Twenty-seventh annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1876 Twenty-eighth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1877 Twenty-ninth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1878 A list of members of the Arundel Society corrected to September 1878, London: Arundel Society 1878 Thirtieth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1879 A List of members of the Arundel Society corrected to September 1879, London: Arundel Society 1879 ‘Catalogue of the Annual and Occasional Publications of the Arundel Society. With table of painters, localities, etc,’ London: Arundel Society 1879 Giorgione's Madonna and Child at Castelfranco, London: Arundel Society 1879 Thirty-second annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1881 A list of members of the Arundel Society corrected to September 1881, London: Arundel Society 1881 Engravings from the frescoes in the Piccolomini Library at Siena, London: Arundel Society 1881 A List of members of the Arundel Society corrected to September 1883, London: Arundel Society 1883 Thirty-third Annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1882 Thirty-sixth annual Report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1885 Thirty-seventh annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1886 Thirty-eighth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1887 Thirty-ninth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1888 Fortieth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1889 Forty-first annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1890 Forty-second annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1891 Forty-third annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1892 ‘Arundel Society, or, Society for promoting the knowledge of art by copying and publishing important works of ancient masters: Founded in 1848: Council for 1892, catalogue and list of Agents,’ London: Arundel Society 1892 Forty-fourth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1893 The notice for the Annual General Meeting, London: Arundel Society 1893 Forty-fifth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1894 ‘Illustrated catalogue,’ London: Arundel Society 1895 Forty-seventh annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1896 Forty-eighth annual report of the Council, London: Arundel Society 1897

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Report of the Council to the Special General Meeting, on 28th December, 1897, London: Arundel Society 1897 Supplementary report of the Council, June 1899, London: Arundel Society 1899 Publikationen Der Arundel-Society, Leipzig: Karl W Hierseman 1900 Elizabeth Aslin, ‘The Rise and Progress of the Art-Union of London,’ Apollo 82, January 1967, pp.12–16

The Athenaeum (see also Atkinson, Layard, Stephens and Wyatt) 'Fine-Art Gossip', The Athenaeum, no.1108, Saturday 20 July 1849, p.73 Athenaeum, no.1135, Saturday 28 July 1849, p.755 Athenaeum, no.1141, Saturday 8 September 1849, p.898 ‘Fine arts: The life of Fra Angelico da Fiesole,’ Athenaeum, no.1186, Saturday 20 July 1850, p.770 ‘Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum, no.1188, Saturday 3 August 1850, p.819 ‘The Arundel Society's Publications,’ The Athenaeum, no.1270, Saturday 28 February 1852, p.257 [George Walter Thornbury], ‘Fine Arts. New publications. The Publications of the Arundel Society … ‘ The Athenaeum, no.1378, Saturday 25 March 1854, p.378 Athenaeum, no.1414, Saturday 2 December 1854, pp.1453–1467 Athenaeum, no.1443, Saturday 23 June 1855, p.736 ‘An address delivered in the Crystal Palace, November 8, 1855, at the opening of the exhibition of the works of art belonging to the Arundel Society', The Athenaeum, no.1482, Saturday 22 March 1856, pp.360–361 ‘Fine arts: Notices of sculpture in ivory, consisting of a lecture on the history ...’ The Athenaeum, no.1507, Saturday 13 September 1856, pp.1145–1146 'Arundel Society', The Athenaeum, no.1537, 11 April 1857, p.471 ‘Fine art gossip,’ The Athenaeum, no.1548, 27 June 1857, p. 826 Athenaeum, no.1604, Saturday 10 July 1858, p.54 Athenaeum, no.1656, Saturday 23 July 1859, pp.119–120 ‘The Arundel Society's publications,’ The Athenaeum, no.1695, Saturday 21 April 1860, p.550 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum, no.1710, Saturday 4 August 1860, pp.164–165 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum, no.1716, Saturday 15 September 1860, p.359 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum, no.1756, Saturday 22 June 1861, p.836 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum, no.1795, Saturday 22 March 1862, p.400 ‘Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum¸ no.1836, Saturday 3 January 1863, pp.22–23 'The Arundel Society', The Athenaeum, no.1879, Saturday 31 October 1863, pp.576–577 ‘Fine Arts: The Arundel Society,’ Athenaeum, no.1896, Saturday 27 February 1864, p.305 ‘Arundel Society.’ The Athenaeum, no.1917, Saturday 23 July 1864, pp.120–121 The Athenaeum, no.1945, Saturday 4 February 1865, p.169 ‘Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum, no.1951, Saturday 18 March 1865, pp.390–391 ‘Fine-Art Gossip,’ The Athenaeum, no.2078, Saturday 24 August 1867, pp.248–249 ‘Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum, no.2122, Saturday 27 June 1868, pp.898–899 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum, no.2357, Saturday 28 December 1872, pp.872–873 ‘The ‘Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum, no.2457, Saturday 18 November 1874, pp.720–721 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Athenaeum, no.2807, Saturday 13 August 1881, p.214 ‘The Arundel Society,' The Athenaeum, no.2890, Saturday 17 March 1883, p.350 ‘Fine-Art Gossip,’ [obituary for J Beavington Atkinson], Athenaeum, no.3079, Saturday 30 October 1886, p.574 ‘New prints,’ The Athenaeum, no.3247, Saturday 18 January 1890, p.92 ‘The Arundel Society', The Athenaeum, no.3249, Saturday 1 February 1890, p.154 ‘New prints,’ The Athenaeum, no.3536, Saturday 3 August 1895, pp.167–168 page 329 of 355

‘Fine-art gossip,’ The Athenaeum, no.3535, Saturday 27 July 1895, pp.138–139 ‘New prints,’ The Athenaeum, no.3599, Saturday 17 October 1896, p.353 ‘Fine-art gossip,’ The Athenaeum, no.3636, Saturday 3 July 1897, pp.42–43 ‘New prints,’ The Athenaeum, no.3639, Saturday 24 July 1897, p.1373 ‘Fine-art gossip,’ The Athenaeum, no.4112, Saturday 18 August 1906, p.195 ‘Fine-art gossip,’ The Athenaeum, no.4134, Saturday 19 January 1907, p.82 ‘The National Gallery,’ The Athenaeum, no.4261, Saturday 26 June 1909, p.65 J Beavington Atkinson, ‘Publications of the Arundel Society for promoting the knowledge of art,’ The Art Journal, vol.V, October 1859, pp.309–311 J Beavington Atkinson, ‘The Arundel Society: For promoting the knowledge of art,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, May 1860, pp.133–134 J Beavington Atkinson, ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VI, October 1860, pp.299–300 [J Beavington Atkinson], ‘The fresco-painting of Italy—the Arundel Society,’ Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine LXXXVIII, October 1860, pp.458–471 J Beavington Atkinson, ‘On fresco painting as a suitable mode of mural decoration,’ The Journal of the Society of Arts, vol.12, no.586, 12 February 1864, pp.194–204 (J B A) ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.III [new series], February 1864, p.39 [J Beavington Atkinson], ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.IV, October 1865, pp.303–304 [unsigned but probably J Beavington Atkinson] ‘The new photographic work of the Arundel Society,’ The Art Journal, vol.VIII, January 1869, p.26 J Beavington Atkinson, ‘Holbein’s rival Madonnas of Dresden and Darmstadt,’ The Art Journal, vol.XI, 1872, pp.37–38 J Beavington Atkinson, An art tour to northern capitals of Europe (or An art tour to Russia), London: Macmillian 1873 :

J Beavington Atkinson, The schools of modern art in Germany, London: Seeley, Jackson, and Halliday 1880 J Beavington Atkinson, Overbeck, London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington 1882 The paintings of Atkinson Grimshaw & his followers, Harrogate: Alexander Galleries 1976 Autotype process printing, London: The Autotype Co 1888 Autotype: A decorative and educational art, London: The Autotype Co 1888 Susanna Avery-Quash, ‘‘Incessant personal exertions and comprehensive artistic knowledge’: Prince Albert’s interest in early Italian art,’ in Jonathan Marsden, Victoria & Albert: Art & love London: Royal Collection 2010; see also papers for the symposium in June 2010: http://www.royalcollection.org.uk/sites/default/files/V%20and%20A%20Art%20and%20Love%20 %28Avery-Quash%29.pdf Susanna Avery-Quash, ‘Collector connoisseurs or spiritual aesthetes? The role of Anglican clergy in the growth of interest in collecting and displaying early Italian art (1830s–1880s)’ in Joseph Sterrett and Peter Wynn Thomas (ed.), Sacred text, sacred space: Architectural, spiritual, and literary convergences in England and Wales, Leiden; Boston: Brill 2011, pp.269–295 Susanna Avery-Quash and Julie Sheldon, Art for the nation: The Eastlakes and the Victorian art world, London: National Gallery Company Ltd 2011

B W A B, ‘Fra Angelico. A sketch of early Italian art,’ Bulletin of the American Art-Union, no.1, 1 April 1850, pp.7–10 Colin J Bailey, ‘St Stephen before the High Council: A Kupelwieser drawing wrongly attributed to Moritz von Schwind,’ Master Drawings, vol.18, no.2, Summer 1980, pp.149–154 Umberto Baldini and Ornella Casazza, Primavera: The restoration of Botticelli's masterpiece New York: H N Abrams 1986 Umberto Baldini and Casazza Ornella, The Brancacci Chapel, New York: Abrams 1992 Davide Banzato (et al), Mantegna e Padova, 1445–1460, Milano: Skira; Padua: Comune di Padova 2006 page 330 of 355

Paul Barlow, ‘Introduction: The death of history painting in nineteenth-century art?’ Special issue, vol.6, no.1, Summer 2005, pp.1–119 Christian Barman, ‘Printed pictures,’ Penrose Annual, vol.XLIII 1949, pp.55–57 Janet Barnes, Ruskin in Sheffield, Sheffield Arts and Museum Department 1985 Tim Barringer, ‘Victorian culture and the museum: Before and after the white cube,’ Journal of Victorian Culture, vol.11, no.1, Spring 2006, pp.133–145 John Batchelor, Lady Trevelyan and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, London: Chatto & Windus 2006 E Becker, and Karl Ruland, ‘“The 'Raphael collection” of H R H the Prince Consort.’ The Fine Arts Quarterly Review, vol.1, 1863, pp.27–39 Catherine E Beecher and Harriet Beecher Stowe, The American woman's home: Or, principles of domestic science; being a guide to the formation and maintenance of economical, healthful, beautiful, and Christian homes, New York: JB Ford & Co; Boston: H A Brown & Co 1869 James Bell, ‘Francia's Masterpiece,’ Saturday Review, vol.108, no.2807, 1909, pp.197 Walter Benjamin, ‘The work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.) Illuminations, New York: Schocken Books 1968 A C Benson, Walter Pater, New York and London: Macmillan 1906 D M R Bentley, ‘William Young Ottley’s the Italian school of design among the Pre-Raphaelites,’ Notes & Queries, vol.58, no.4, 2011, pp.561–563 Richard Benson,The printed page, New York: Museum of Modern Art 2008 Bernard Berenson, ‘Isochromatic photography and Venetian pictures,’ The Nation¸ vol.57, no.1480, November 1893, pp.346–347; reprinted in Helene E Roberts (ed.), Art history through the camera's lens, Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach 1995, pp.127–131 Bernard Berenson, The Italian painters of the Renaissance, London: Phaidon 1952 Franco Bernabei, ‘Luigi Lanzi,’ Grove Art Online (accessed January 2014) Anthony Bertram, ‘The English discovery of Botticelli,’ Journal of the Royal Society of Arts, vol.98, no.4819, 1950, pp.468–484 [Giovanni Aubrey Bezzi] ‘Correspondence: the Arundel Society, to the Editor of the Art-Journal,’ The Art Journal, vol.XI, July 1849, p.207 Merle Mowbray Bevington ,The Saturday Review 1855–1868: Representative educated opinion in Victorian England, New York: Columbia University Press 1941 Lori van Biervliet, ‘W H J Weale,’ Grove Art Online (last accessed March 2014) Alan Bird, ‘Earnest passion for art: The Arundel Society,’ Country Life (London, England) vol.159, 3 June 1976, p.1513, p.1515 ‘Mr Ruskin and his theories-sublime and ridiculous,’ Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, vol.80, no.493, November 1856, pp.503–527 Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, no.98, 1865, p.336 Anthony Blunt, ‘The history of Thomas Gambier Parry's collection.’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.109, no.768, 1967, pp.112–171 Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, My diaries; being a personal narrative of events, 1888–1914, New York: A A Knopf 1921 Wilfrid Blunt, England's Michelangelo: A biography of George Frederic Watts, OM, RA, London: Hamilton 1975 T S R Boase, ‘The decoration of the new palace of Westminster, 1841–1863,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol.17, no.3/4, 1954, pp.319–358 Albert Boime, ‘Le Musée des Copies,’ Gazette des Beaux-Arts, Octobre 1964, pp.237–247, http://www.albertboime.com/Articles/1.pdf (accessed May 2010) Charles Knowles Bolton, The Athenaeum centenary: The influence and history of the Boston Athenaeum from 1807 to 1907 with a record of its officers and benefactors and a complete list of proprietors, Boston Athenaeum 1907 Stranger's guide in the city of Boston, Boston: Andrews & Co 1848 ‘The Layard collection: A great gift for England's National Gallery – A remarkable portrait by Gentile Bellini,’ Boston Evening Transcript, 25 November 1912, p.11 page 331 of 355

Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction, Oxford: Polity Press 1984 H C Bradby, Rugby School, London: George Bell & Sons 1900 John Lewis Bradley (ed.), The letters of John Ruskin to Lord and Lady Mount-Temple, Columbus: Ohio State University Press 1964 John Lewis Bradley, A Ruskin chronology, Houndmills, Basingstoke: Macmillan Press; New York: St Martin's Press 1997 John Lewis Bradley and Ian Ousby (eds.), The correspondence of John Ruskin and Charles Eliot Norton, Cambridge University Press 2010 Charles Peter Brand, Italy and the English Romantics: The Italianate fashion in early nineteenthcentury England, Cambridge University Press 1957 Pietro Brandolese, Le cose più notabili di Padova; principalmènte riguardo alle belle arti, Padova: Brandolese 1791; see also 1795 edition Pietro Brandolese, Pitture, sculture, architetture ed altre cose notabili di Padova nuovamente descritte Kathy Brewis, ‘Make mine an antimacassar,’ The Sunday Times¸ 29 October 2006, http://property.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/property/interiors/article610476.ece (accessed November 2006) Robert Briffault, Europa: The days of ignorance, New York 1937 Hugh Brigstocke, ‘Lord Lindsay and the Sketches of the history of Christian art,’ Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester, vol.64, no.1, 1981, pp.27–60 Hugh Brigstocke, ‘Lord Lindsay: Travel in Italy and Northern Europe, 1841-42, for "Sketches of The history of Christian art,"’ The Volume of the Walpole Society, vol.65, 2003, pp.161–258 Hugh Brigstocke, ‘Lindsay, Alexander William Crawford, twenty-fifth earl of Crawford and eighth earl of Balcarres (1812–1880),’ Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press 2004; online edition, October 2007, http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/16686 ‘Opening of the National Society's exhibition,’ The Brisbane Courier, Wednesday 22 August 1877, pp.5–6 ‘To-Day.—December 9 [death of Stephen Thompson]’ The Brisbane Courier, Friday 9 December 1892, p.4 Oscar Browning, The life of Bartolomeo Colleoni, London: Arundel Society 1891 Oscar Browning, Memories of sixty years at Eton, Cambridge and elsewhere, London: Bodley Head 1906 Kathryn Brush, The shaping of art history: Wilhelm Vöge, Adolph Goldschmidt, and the study of medieval art, Cambridge University Press 1996 William E Buckler, Walter Pater: Three major texts (the Renaissance, appreciations, and imaginary portraits), New York University Press 1986 I Bryden and J Floyd, Domestic space: Reading the nineteenth-century interior, Manchester University Press 1999 Gavin Budge, ‘The Quarterly Review and the Romantic periodical project’ in Romantic circles, http://www.rc.umd.edu/reference/qr_budge/intro.html (accessed August 2007) ‘The Arundel Society,’ Bulletin of the American Art-Union, vol.2, no.9, December 1849, pp.25–26 J B Bullen, The myth of the Renaissance in nineteenth-century writing, Oxford: Clarendon Press; New York: Oxford University Press 1994 J B Bullen, The Pre-Raphaelite body: Fear and desire in painting, poetry, and criticism, Oxford: Clarendon Press; New York: Oxford University Press 1998 ‘The Arundel Society,’ Bulletin of the American Art-Union, vol.2, no.9, December 1849, pp.25–26 Alisa Bunbury, ‘Picture to print: Reproductive prints in the NGV collection,’ Melbourne: National Gallery of Victoria 2006 R M Burch Colour printing and colour printers, Edinburgh: Paul Harris 1983 Van Akin Burd (ed.), Christmas story: John Ruskin's Venetian letters of 1876–1877, Newark: University of Delaware Press; London: Associated University Presses 1990 W Burges, ‘The late M Didron,’ The Building News and Engineering Journal, 10 January 1868, pp.31–32 Anne Hagopian van Buren, ‘Van Eyck’ Grove Art Online (accessed January 2014) page 332 of 355

‘Prince Albert as a collector,’ Burlington Magazine, vol.5, 1904, p.9: http://www.archive.org/details/burlingtonmagazi05londuoft The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs, vol.10, no.43, October 1906, pp 46-48 Peter Burman, ‘“A stern thinker and most able constructor”: Philip Webb, Architect,’ Architectural History, vol.42, 1999, pp.1-23 Georgiana Burne-Jones and Oliver Wendell, Memorials of Edward Burne-Jones, New York: Macmillan 1904 Victoria Button, ‘The Arundel Society: Techniques in the art of copying,’ Conservation Journal, April 1997, no.23, pp.16–19: http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/journals/conservation-journal/issue23/the-arundel-society-techniques-in-the-art-of-copying/#ref3 (last accessed July 2014)

C Caledonian Mercury, 23 June 1853; quoted in the National Portrait Gallery’s British picture framemakers, 1600–1950, http://www.npg.org.uk/research/programmes/directory-ofsuppliers/n.php (last accessed July 2011) Maria Callcott, Description of the Chapel of the Annunziata dell’Arena; or Giotto’s Chapel in Padua, London: printed for the author by Thomas Brettell 1835 Stephen Calloway, English prints for the collector, Guildford: Lutterworth Press 1980 Julia Margaret Cameron: Photographs from the J Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles: J Paul Getty Museum 1996 Francesca Capanna, ‘The restoration of Giotto’s wall paintings in the Scrovegni Chapel of Padua according to the principles of Cesare Brandi’s theory,’ http://193.175.110.9/hornemann/german/epubl_txt/Capanna_Brandi_Seminar.pdf David Carrier, ‘Art and its spectators,’ The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, vol.45, no.1, 1986, pp.5–17 Julia Cartwright, Mantegna and Francia, Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington 1881 Alessandro Castellani, ‘The antique mural paintings and stuccos: Discovered near the Farnesina,’ The American Art Review, vol.1, no.9, 1880, pp.389–396 Edward Chaney and Jane Hall, ‘Herbert Horne's 1889 diary of his first visit to Italy,’' The Volume of the Walpole Society, vol. 64, 2002, pp.69–125 Julien Chapius, ‘Early Netherlandish painting: Shifting perspectives,’ in Maryan W Ainsworth and Keith Christiansen (ed.), From Van Eyck to Bruegel: Early Netherlandish painting in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art 1998 Mark A Cheetham, Michael Ann Holly and Keith Moxey (eds.), The subjects of art history: Historical objects in contemporary perspectives, Cambridge University Press 1998 John Christian, ‘Burne-Jones Studies.’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.115, no.839, 1973, pp.92–109 Illustrated Guide to Christchurch and Neighbourhood, Christchurch: J T Smith & Co 1885 M V Clarke, 'The Wilton diptych', The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs,vol.58, no.339, 1931, pp.283–294 Jeanne Clegg, ‘John Ruskin's correspondence with Angelo Alessandri,’ Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, vol.60, 1978, pp.404–433 Julie F Codell, ‘The aura of mechanical reproduction: Victorian art and the press.’, Victorian Periodicals Review,vol.24, no.1, 1991, pp.4–10 Deborah Cohen, Household gods: The British and their possessions, New Haven Yale University Press 2006 Bruce Cole and Ulrich Middeldorf, ‘Masaccio, Lippi, or Hugford?’ The Burlington Magazine, vol.113, no.822, September 1971, pp.500–505 Henry Cole to A H Layard, 24 October 1868, British Museum Manuscript Collection, MSS.38995, f.335 Second progress report of the Commission on the Fine Arts, Melbourne: John Ferres Government Printer 1865 Martin Conway, ‘The Wilton diptych.’ The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs, vol.55, no.320, 1929, pp.208–212 Edward Tyas Cook, The life of John Ruskin, London: G Allen & Company 1912 page 333 of 355

Jeremy Cooper, Victorian and Edwardian furniture and interiors: From the gothic revival to art nouveau, London: Thames and Hudson 1987 Nicholas Cooper, The opulent eye: Late Victorian and Edwardian taste in interior design, London: Architectural Press 1976 Robyn Cooper, British attitudes to the Italian primitives 1815–1866, PhD dissertation (University of Sussex) 1976 Robyn Cooper, ‘The popularisation of Renaissance art in Victorian England: The Arundel Society,’ Art History, vol.1, no.3, September 1978, pp.263–292 Robyn Cooper, ‘The Growth of Interest in Early Italian Painting in Britain: George Darley and the Athenaeum, 1834–1846,’ Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol.43, 1980, pp.201–220 Brigitte Corley, ‘A plausible provenance for Stefan Lochner?’ Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte, vol.59, no.1, 1996, pp.78–96 Julian Cox and Colin Ford, Julia Margaret Cameron: The complete photographs, Los Angeles: Getty Publications 2003 Leonard B Cox, The National Gallery of Victoria, 1861 to 1968: A search for a collection, Melbourne: National Gallery of Victoria 1970, p.8

The Crayon (see also Rossetti and Stillman) ‘Sketchings,’ The Crayon, vol.1, no.5, 31 January 1855, p.76 ‘Giotto and his works in Padua,’ The Crayon, vol.2, no.3, 18 July 1855, p.35–37 ‘Giotto and his works in Padua,’ The Crayon, vol.2, no.6, 8 August 1855, pp.80–81 'Foreign correspondence, items, etc', The Crayon, vol.4, no.10, October 1857, pp.311–314 ‘The Arundel Society,’ The Crayon, vol.5, no.5, May 1858, p.150 ‘Foreign correspondence, items, etc,’ The Crayon, vol.5, no.10, October 1858, pp.294–295 ‘Art and artists,' The Critic, vol.22, no. 551, 26 January 1861, pp.123–125 J A Crowe, Reminiscences of thirty-five years of my life, London: J Murray 1895 J A Crowe and G B Cavalcaselle, The early Flemish painters: Notices of their lives and works, London: J Murray 1857 J A Crowe and G B Cavalcaselle, A history of painting in Italy, London: J Murray 1864 J A Crowe and G B Cavalcaselle, A history of painting in north Italy: Venice, Padua, Vicenza, Verona, Ferrara, Milan, Friuli, Brescia, from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century, London: Murray 1871 Colin Cruise, ‘“Lovely devils:” Simeon Solomon and Pre-Raphaelite masculinity,’ in Ellen Harding (ed.) Re-framing the Pre-Raphaelites: Historical and theoretical essays, Brookfield, VT: Scolar Press 1996 Maud Cruttwell, Andrea Mantegna, London: George Bell 1901 Stanley Ellis Cushing and David B Dearinger, Acquired tastes: 200 years of collecting for the Boston Athenæum, Boston Athenaeum 2006 Lionel Cust, ‘The Royal Collections. Article I. H R H Prince Albert as an art collector,’ The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs, vol.5, no.13, 1904, pp.7–11 Robert Henry Hobart Cust, Giovanni Antonio Bazzi, hitherto usually styled “Sodoma,” the man and the painter, 1477–1549; a study, London: Murray 1906

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