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Lot Essay
This commanding, full-length portrait of a swaggering gentleman was first recognized by Judith Mann for the 2011 exhibition as the work of Artemisia Gentileschi, dating to around 1626-7 (loc. cit.). Artemisia included her initials woven into the knotted lace tassels of the sitter’s linen falling band collar, a detail that went unnoticed until the painting’s publication in 2011 (loc. cit.).
At the time of its reattribution, this canvas was only the second portrait to be given to the artist. Yet in her own lifetime, Artemisia was celebrated as a portraitist, as is evidenced in primary sources, including during the trial against Agostino Tassi in 1612, when reference was made to one of her portraits. Accounts written by Filippo Baldinucci (published between 1681 and 1728) described how she 'dedicated herself to making portraits, of which she made very many in Rome' and, similarly, the historiographer Bernardo de Dominici, writing in 1742, ascribed her fame to the 'portraits of important personages that she had so excellently painted.' (see K. Christiansen and J.W. Mann, Orazio and Artemisia Gentileschi, exhibition catalogue, New Haven, 2001, p. 360). The assertion of her mastery in portraiture persisted into the eighteenth century when the British critic Horace Walpole declared that, while in England, she proved to be more gifted in the genre than her father, Orazio, court painter to King Charles I (see M.D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art, Princeton, 1989, p. 62). With only one portrait previously known, however, art historians assumed the assertions that Artemisia specialized in portraiture were the projection of male writers who presumed a woman to be incapable of success in the sphere of history painting. As more portraits gradually come to light, it seems Artemisia’s prowess in both genres may yet prove to have been true.
The dashing sitter depicted here was identified thanks to an engraving by Jerome David – inscribed with Artemisia Gentileschi’s name and the date 1627 – depicting the French military engineer Antoine de Ville (fig. 1). The engraving graced the frontispiece of de Ville’s 1628 engineering treatise, Les fortifications du chevalier Antoine de Ville (Lyon, 1628). The date inscribed on the print was presumably the year Artemisia painted de Ville, or perhaps the year David executed his engraving after her portrait. Artemisia was in Rome between 1622 and 1627, and it would therefore have been in the Eternal City that she encountered the French engineer. The two presumably met through the city’s Accademia dei Desiosi, a cultural institution founded by Cardinal Maurizio of Savoy in 1626, with which they were both involved. Having overseen the construction of military fortifications in campaigns against the Huguenots, by 1626 de Ville was employed by Duke Carlo Emmanuelle I of Savoy and his son, Prince Thomas of Carignano, who was at that time ambassador to Paris. De Ville had been sent to Rome to further his scientific education, hence his relationship with the illustrious members of the Accademia and its patron, Cardinal Maurizio, who was Carlo Emmanuelle’s son.
De Ville’s patrons made him a condottiero of the Savoy Order of Saints Maurice and Lazarus. The identity of the sitter in Artemisia’s first securely attributed portrait, that of a Papal Gonfaloniere (fig. 2), now in the Collezioni Comunale d’Arte, Bologna, remains unknown. Like de Ville, he was a member of the Savoy Order and proudly wears the Order’s cross emblazoned on his breastplate and its green sash, decadently trimmed in gold lace, across his torso. While the gonfaloniere’s military credentials are explicitly trumpeted through his choice to be depicted in armor, his hand resting on his sword hilt and with a standard and feather-festooned helmet in the background, de Ville’s are more subtle. Artemisia expertly conveys his military status through his pose and gestures: his confidence is arresting, while the low viewpoint and full-length format assert his high position. His sword is visible but tucked behind his hip and largely concealed by the black cloak pulled around his waist. His clothing, meanwhile, is 'civilian' and unmistakably French. He wears a paned doublet, a fashion proliferated by the landsknecht mercenary soldiers and supposedly derived from clothing slashed in sword skirmishes and stripped as spoils from the battlefield. His undershirt has corresponding strips of lace, aligned with the open panes, and the linen and lace of his cuffs and falling band collar are so fine they are completely translucent. Artemisia’s decision to include her initials in the very fabric of her sitter’s clothing – conspicuously placed on his person, yet so discreet it went unnoticed for centuries – is remarkable and suggests a certain affinity between artist and sitter.
At the time of its reattribution, this canvas was only the second portrait to be given to the artist. Yet in her own lifetime, Artemisia was celebrated as a portraitist, as is evidenced in primary sources, including during the trial against Agostino Tassi in 1612, when reference was made to one of her portraits. Accounts written by Filippo Baldinucci (published between 1681 and 1728) described how she 'dedicated herself to making portraits, of which she made very many in Rome' and, similarly, the historiographer Bernardo de Dominici, writing in 1742, ascribed her fame to the 'portraits of important personages that she had so excellently painted.' (see K. Christiansen and J.W. Mann, Orazio and Artemisia Gentileschi, exhibition catalogue, New Haven, 2001, p. 360). The assertion of her mastery in portraiture persisted into the eighteenth century when the British critic Horace Walpole declared that, while in England, she proved to be more gifted in the genre than her father, Orazio, court painter to King Charles I (see M.D. Garrard, Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art, Princeton, 1989, p. 62). With only one portrait previously known, however, art historians assumed the assertions that Artemisia specialized in portraiture were the projection of male writers who presumed a woman to be incapable of success in the sphere of history painting. As more portraits gradually come to light, it seems Artemisia’s prowess in both genres may yet prove to have been true.
The dashing sitter depicted here was identified thanks to an engraving by Jerome David – inscribed with Artemisia Gentileschi’s name and the date 1627 – depicting the French military engineer Antoine de Ville (fig. 1). The engraving graced the frontispiece of de Ville’s 1628 engineering treatise, Les fortifications du chevalier Antoine de Ville (Lyon, 1628). The date inscribed on the print was presumably the year Artemisia painted de Ville, or perhaps the year David executed his engraving after her portrait. Artemisia was in Rome between 1622 and 1627, and it would therefore have been in the Eternal City that she encountered the French engineer. The two presumably met through the city’s Accademia dei Desiosi, a cultural institution founded by Cardinal Maurizio of Savoy in 1626, with which they were both involved. Having overseen the construction of military fortifications in campaigns against the Huguenots, by 1626 de Ville was employed by Duke Carlo Emmanuelle I of Savoy and his son, Prince Thomas of Carignano, who was at that time ambassador to Paris. De Ville had been sent to Rome to further his scientific education, hence his relationship with the illustrious members of the Accademia and its patron, Cardinal Maurizio, who was Carlo Emmanuelle’s son.
De Ville’s patrons made him a condottiero of the Savoy Order of Saints Maurice and Lazarus. The identity of the sitter in Artemisia’s first securely attributed portrait, that of a Papal Gonfaloniere (fig. 2), now in the Collezioni Comunale d’Arte, Bologna, remains unknown. Like de Ville, he was a member of the Savoy Order and proudly wears the Order’s cross emblazoned on his breastplate and its green sash, decadently trimmed in gold lace, across his torso. While the gonfaloniere’s military credentials are explicitly trumpeted through his choice to be depicted in armor, his hand resting on his sword hilt and with a standard and feather-festooned helmet in the background, de Ville’s are more subtle. Artemisia expertly conveys his military status through his pose and gestures: his confidence is arresting, while the low viewpoint and full-length format assert his high position. His sword is visible but tucked behind his hip and largely concealed by the black cloak pulled around his waist. His clothing, meanwhile, is 'civilian' and unmistakably French. He wears a paned doublet, a fashion proliferated by the landsknecht mercenary soldiers and supposedly derived from clothing slashed in sword skirmishes and stripped as spoils from the battlefield. His undershirt has corresponding strips of lace, aligned with the open panes, and the linen and lace of his cuffs and falling band collar are so fine they are completely translucent. Artemisia’s decision to include her initials in the very fabric of her sitter’s clothing – conspicuously placed on his person, yet so discreet it went unnoticed for centuries – is remarkable and suggests a certain affinity between artist and sitter.