Abstract
I first heard the story about El Greco’s curtain-drawn room in a bar called “Pub des Artistes.” It was what my effete grandmother called a “watering hole” for painters, writers, aesthetes, and others who, although they had never heard of it, were more fin than siècle. Most of the custom there believed they were bar-coded for fame and immortality and increasingly suffered, like El Greco, from what can only be called “room fever.” They were neurotic, manic depressive, melancholy and sceptical. In short, the patrons of the Pub des Artistes were Baroque and, at times, even baroque: they were victims of a room-milieu essential to Art, yet uncongenial to healthy living. Once the pink gin flowed, there were those who even insisted that it was simply because El Greco was near-sighted, hence the perspectivism of his painting was always visually awry, and only made more so by the darkened room.
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References
Federico Zuccaro, L’Idea dei scultori, pittori e architetti (1607), cited by Panofsky, Idea. A Concept in Art Theory., p. 77. See also A Documentary History of Art, selected and edited by Elizabeth G. Holt, Vol. II, pp. 87–92.; Maniates, Mannerism in Italian Music and Culture , pp. 18f., 22.
Hauser, Mannerism, Vol. I, p. 54. Also see Foucault, The Order of Things, Chapter, for another approach from the standpoint of the change in the idea of wealth in the seventeenth century and the creation of the idea of “exchange value.”
Ibid., pp. 55f. See also Friedrich, The Age of the Baroque, Chapter 1.
See above, pp. 9. We shall return to this equivalency, below, pp. 122f.
Hauser, ibid., , pp. 55, 56.
Ibid., pp. 56ff. See also Fred Kersten, “The Line in the Middle,” pp. 90ff., 96f.; “Heidegger and the History of Platonism,” pp. 289ff.
Hauser, ibid , p. 58; see also pp. 68ff.
To be sure, it is a formulation somewhat different from the rather more Aristotelian version that we have considered so far. Zuccaro, like others, gives the Classical formulation a much more Platonic and neo-Platonic twist; see Maniates, p. 22; Hauser, p. 92; in contrast, see Panofsky, Idea, pp. 86, 88ff. who finds a much more Aristotelian (and Scholastic) aspect to the Classical formulation in Zuccaro—except for the idea of beauty, which Panofsky sees as much more neo-Platonic (pp. 94f.), more Platonic than in name only (p.86). Certainly Lomazzo is much more neo-Platonic, pp. 95ff. See above, pp. 94f.
See Panofsky, Idea, p., 86; Holt, p. 87, note 2.
Zuccaro, in Holt, op. cit.., p. 89.
Ibid. Thus, for Hauser, Zuccaro suggests that the creative category is “neither purely subjective nor objectively present in nature, and therefore, as Erwin Panosky rightly saw, there arose for the first time the question of how it is possible for the mind to form an idea which cannot simply be derived from nature and yet cannot originate in man—which amounts in the last resort to the question of how artistic creation is altogether possible,” op. cit., pp. 91f. Maniates insists that the “most sensational embodiment of the disegno interno is...the Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror” by Parmigianino, Mannerism in Italian Music, p. 43 (reproduction Figure 6, p. 44); see also Hauser, Mannerism, p. 120, and below p. 133.
Holt, p. 92; Panofsky, p. 77 (for the original text).
See Holt, pp. 90f. for Zucarro’s account of how the “substitution” and likeness are effected. The term, “substitution,” is not Zuccaro’s.
See above, pp. 35f., 38f., 48f.
Zuccaro, cited in Panosky, p. 95.
Holt, p. 90.
Herman Melville, “Bartelby,” in Billy Budd, Sailor & Other Stories.
Carlo Ridolfi, cited by Panosky, p. 95.
Hauser, p. 56.
Cited by Panofsky, p. 93.
See above, pp. 41f.
See, for example, Hauser, Chapter VIII on narsicism and alienation.
José Ortega y Gasset, Papeles sobre Velázquez y Goya, p. 105 :“... Las meninas, donde un retratista retrata el retratar.” See also Foucault, The Order of Things, Chapter 1, pp. 6f.
See Holt, op. cit.., Vol. II, “Trial Before the Holy Tribunal,” pp. 66ff., especially pp. 67–68.
Above, pp. 42f.,
Above, pp. 101f.
Stefano Guazzo, La civile conversazione (Venezia, 1586). Cited by Garin, Italian Humanism , p. 159; see above, pp.52f. When we come to Descartes, below, pp.143f, we shall try to see whether “learned conversation” is essential or not to the room-milieu. It certainly is for Galileo, as is the fact that rather than night his learned conversation always proceeds by day—as it does for Descartes; see above, p. 104.
Galileo Galilei, Discorsi e dimostrazioni matematiche intorno a due nuove scienze (Leyden, 1638), in Opere Vol. VIII, pp. 138ff (Galileo Galilei, Dialogues Concerning Two New Sciences, pp. 94ff. (This edition contains the pagination of the Edizione Nazionale.). Cf. Palisca, Humanism, pp. 275ff.
See Walker, Studies in Musical Science in the Late Renaissance, pp. 29f.; cf. Cohen, who says that Walker is the first to try this “experiment” in 350 years, Quantifying Music, pp. 89f. Walker’s criticism is that Galileo would seem to have recorded (Cohen: “with the help of an early forerunner of the gramophone record”) musical vibrations exactly and so as to compare them; however, instead of comparing the strokes made in the same distance Galileo should have compared the number of lines made in the same time; see also Cohen, p. 89f Walker insists that this “experiment” was unlikely to have been carried out in reality. We shall return to this issue shortly.
Walker claims to have tried the “experiment,” but insists that the waves in the water are as difficult to see as the vibrating strings; moreover, unlike Galileo’s claim, he could not make the sound jump an octave, p. 29; cf. Cohen, pp. 88f. See Koyré, Metaphysics and Measurement, pp. 96ff. See below, pp. 211f.
Walker, p. 31; Cohen, pp. 90f.; Palisca, p. 275.
Galileo, Dialogues, p. 107; see Cohen, p. 91; Walker, pp. 30ff.
Walker, p. 32; Galileo, p. 107; cf. Cohen, p. 91 (Cohen is concerned, however, just with the account of the “visual” demonstration of the degrees of consonance). See above, pp. 83f.
Nor does it take a Heidegger (Der Satz vom Grund, p. 186) to translate the marginal note of Leibniz, discovered by Cassirer, Cum deus calculat fit mundus, as “while god plays, the world gets made.” The principle that governs the compossibility of the conceptual as much as the “sensory” is the self-generative “game” one expression of which is the calculus. See below, pp. 189f.
See above, pp.65f. and note 47, p.65.
See above, p. 104.
For what follows, I draw upon Doran, Endeavors of Art, pp. 74ff., and pp. 216ff.; Maniates, Mannerism in Italian Music, pp. 19ff.; Vasari, Lives of the Artists, Preface to Part Three (volume 1, pp. 249ff.).
Doran, pp. 76f.; and Garin, Italian Humanism, pp. 168f. Garin gives a rather more Platonistic account, bordering on the sort we sketched in connection with the neoPlatonism of Zuccaro, above, pp.121 f. Doran would seem to find Aristotle more prominently in Fracastoro, despite the latter’s Platonistic lingo at times. I think she is right in this respect.
See below, pp.184f., 23 5ff..
See F. Kersten, “Phenomenology, History and Myth,” loc. cit. , pp. 256f.
Doran, pp. 77f.; Maniates, pp. 24ff.
Maniates, p. 26, reference is to Guarini’s Lezione (Naples, 1599).
See above, pp. 69f.; Doran, pp. 79–84; Maniates, pp. 27f.
Doran, p. 334.Cf. Hauser, Mannerism, pp. 126f., where the kiss itself represents the narcissistic alienation of Othello.
Dante, Inferno, Canto V, 133–136. (Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy: Inferno, translated by Charles S. Singleton, p. 55.)
See above, p. 101.
The translation is Walker’s, op cit., p. 32.
I do not believe that it is “by chance” that Galileo introduces the second “demonstration” by chance. Among the “fantastic images,” in contrast to the icastic ones, we have to count those identified already by Alberti in De Statua; see the thorough discussion by H. W. Janson, “The ‘Image Made by Chance’ in Renaissance Thought,” pp. 254–266. Images made by chance, “the spontaneous discovery of representational meanings in chance formations,” is precisely the case with the lines engraved in a certain order and form on the copper plate. The association of fortuna and chance-images is already established in antiquity (see Janson’s references, p. 255f.). Galileo’s example, aside from its intrinsic meaning as a permanent visual representation of a fifth, may well have a precedent in the chance-images in stone as a special branch of Renaissance mineralogy; see Jurgis Baltrusaitis, “Pierres imagées,” in Aberrations, quatre essais sur la légende des forms (Paris, 1957, pp. 47ff.; referred to by Janson, p. 256, and p. 264, note 50, in connection with a group of paintings from the first half of the seventeenth century “done on the polished surfaces of agates or other strongly veined stones in such a way that the colored veins become a part of the composition, providing ‘natural’ backgrounds of clouds, landscapes, etc. for the figures.” In the case of the copper plate, however, and the iron chisel the sounds of a fifth that are appresented rather than visual images. We cannot develop this historiographical, but interesting, reflection on the precedents for what Galileo introduces: the appresentation of consonant pairs of notes. We shall return to the chance-image and sculpture shortly when we examine Galileo’s view of the controversy of painting and sculpture and the non-mimetic representation of music, below, pp. 13 5f.
The Mannerist and Baroque mirror is hardly that of the Classical formulation of consciousness, the change in which is already signaled by Alberti (above, p. 80).
Hauser, Mannerism, p. 121. See and compare Maniates, Mannerism in Italian Music, pp. 40ff. for other examples (although I disagree with the idea that Parmigianino’s selfportrait is a case of disegno interno, any more than are the waves in the water produced by rubbing the finger around the rim of the glass); the examples are distributed throughout the various stages of Mannerism that she distinguishes. The term, “inconsistent,” used by Hauser is not the best, or most consistent, i.e., it tends to belie the coherency of image, of character, of decorum generally. Doran uses the term, individualizing, but that too has its difficulties. Perhaps it is best to say, without elaborately developing the issue, that “inconsistency” does not signify incoherence and impropriety as to type or typology; “individualizing” and “individuality” do not signify character without paradox, or clarity without obscurity; see Doran, pp. 217f., 256ff.
We shall return to these ideas below, pp.184ff. when we discuss Monteverdi’s Euridice, Arianna, Penolope and Poppea as the archetypes of the Baroque Narcissus (in much the same way that Joaquin Casalduero pointed to Maritormes as the “Baroque Venus” (Sentido y Forma del Quijote, pp. 91 f.). The study of the Baroque Narcissus has yet to be written, and the Baroque Venus is indeed the Baroque Narcissus. Narcissus figures throughout Galileo’s scientific writings as well.; for example, the account of motion with constant velocity is a “narcissistic” account of motion—as yet unstudied, though by no means unnoticed by commentators on Galileo’s account of motion. See below, pp.149f. Orfeo, Nero, for instance, are more plausibly exemplifications of Hermes rather than Narcissus.
See Doran, pp. 219ff. for a discussion of the rules of decorum.
In this connection, for the iconographical history of Hermes see Eric Heller, Thomas Mann. The Ironic German pp. 286ff.; see also Elder Olson, The Theory of Comedy, Chapters 1 and 3; and Hugh Kenner, Samuel Beckett, Chapter 1 (which is also important for the “room-milieu” in literature).
Above, pp. 91f.
In contrast to the Baroque formulation of consciousness, the appresenting element on the Classical formulation is skiagraphic rather than versimilar. See below, pp.182f..
Panofsky, Galileo as a Critic of the Arts, pp. 5ff.; Cigoli’s painting is reproduced as Figure 2. For the relationship between Cigoli and Galileo, see pp. 5f. (including an account of Cigoli’s role in the “sunspot campaign”); see also Drake’s Galileo, Discoveries and Opinions, pp. 32ff.
Panofsky discusses the letter, pp. 8ff.; it is printed in its original on pp. 32f., its authenticity documented p. 32, n. 1. The letter is published in Galileo, Opere, Vol. XI with the caveat about dubious attribution and the alleged fact that it does not always have the “sapore galileiano.” (As Panofsky notes, the letter was authenticated as early as 1922 by Margherita Màrgani, “Sull’autenticità di una lettera attribuita a G. Galilei,” pp. 556ff. That it would still be printed as of dubious authenticity in the 1934 edition of Opere XI is unusual.)
Opere XII, p. 342; Panofsky, p. 34.
This and other translations of the letter are Panofsky’s, pp. 34–38.
Galileo, Opere XI, pp. 341, 342; the translation, slightly modified, is by Panosky, pp.36, 37. I have retained Galileo’s “maravigliosa” and “artificiosissima” (“the most artificial”)—the “most artistic”—to emphasize the distinction made earlier between “artificial” and “natural” made earlier, e.g., above, pp. 76f. We shall return to the “marvelous” below, pp.140ff. Panofsky finds these statements of Galileo without “parallel in either sixteenth or seventeenth-century criticism,” p. 9. However, we have seen that, rather than without parallel, the view expressed is central to the Baroque formulation of consciousness and, indeed, a commonplace. See above, pp. 104ff. One can also make a similar case for Da Vinci, see Emanuel Winternitz, “The Role of Music in Leonardo’s Pargone,” pp. 270, especially, pp. 290ff.; Janson, op. cit., loc. cit., pp. 261ff. See also Kivy, Sound and Semblance, pp. 125ff., who discusses Vincenzo Galilei’s criticism of representation and opts, instead, for what we have called here a “nonmimetic” appresentation, e.g., of emotions—a criticism and alternative obviously expressed by Galileo in the passages cited.
Panofsky, p, 9, stresses Galileo’s reliance of “reason” or “imagination” (see above, p. 104), referring to “Galileo’s unbounded admiration for Aristarchus and Copernicus ‘because they trusted reason rather than sensory experience’,” Opere, VII, pp. 355, 362.
Opere, XII, p. 342; the translation is by Panofsky, p. 37. Panofsky notes that Galileo would seem to express a preference for instrumental over vocal music, in contrast to the views of his father; but see Walker, op. cit., pp. 27ff. for a quite different picture of the relationship and continuity of views of music in the “Galilean” style. For what Galileo has in mind here, see Celletti, A History of Bel Canto, pp. 3, 5—the “’singing’ of instruments in the execution of melody.” In any case, whatever the preferences, the “mimetic” principle is operative in vocal as well as instrumental music; see also our discussion above, pp. 83ff. It would seem that Galileo’s principle of non-mimetic representation is consistent with that found in Vincenzo’s Dialogo of 1581 (see the passages cited by Kivy, op. cit., loc. cit.); see also Walker, op. cit., and the problem of intervals in music, p. 65.
For a discussion of these issues in Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata and Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso, see Doran, Endeavors of Art, pp. 265ff. Of course, the other unities, of time and place, were at issue as well.
Galileo’s discussions of Tasso and Ariosto are published in Opere, Vol. IX, pp. 10ff.; for a review of Galileo’s views, see Panofsky, op. cit. , pp. 16ff. ; see also Maniates, Mannerism , p. 83, and Chapter V for a survey of the chief characteristics of mannerist poetry. In general I have relied on Ernest Hatch Wilkins, A History of Italian Literature, Chapters 21 and 29. See Mario Biagioli, Galileo Courtier. The Practice of Science in the Culture of Absolutism, pp. 116ff., who notes that the questions raised about Tasso and Ariosto, likewise those concerning painting and sculpture “were routinely discussed in the Florentine Accademia del Disegno and in other artistic academic circles.” This, of course, does not alter the significance of Galileo’s views, as developed by Panosky (to whom Baglioni refers, fn 52, p. 118) and Hauser.
Opere, Vol. IX, p. 87; the translation is by Panofsky, and I have altered the order of the sentences slightly for the purpose of emphasizing the comparison of Tasso and Ariosto.
Hauser’s comment on Galileo’s criticism of Tasso is interesting, although I cannot agree with it: Galileo, he says, “fails to appreciate the significance of the stylistic revolution represented by Tasso; he fails to see that Ariosto’s plastic method of representation is yielding a more fleeting, more impressional, more emotional as well as more musical, more poetical, and more differentiated description of experiences.” Galileo “objects to anything so insubstantial as an echo, dream, or shadow being scattered by the wind like smoke or mist, but underrates the poetical gain that lies in the increase of sensibility that allows the substantiality of sense impressions to evaporate, though without losing anything of their sharpness and wealth,” Hauser, Mannerism, p. 305. Hauser makes his judgment about Galileo in connection with the passages cited in the text. It is my belief that Galileo does appreciate Tasso for what he does, and employs precisely the same principle of appresentation that emerges from his comparison of painting and sculpture: the “farther removed the means of imitation are from the thing imitated, the more marvelous the imitation will be.” In these terms, Tasso makes the imitation and imitated as close as possible.
For examples, see Hauser’s examples from Tasso, ibid.
Panofsky refers to Galileo’s letters to Francesco Rinuccini of 5/11/ 1639 and 19/5/1640 (Opere, XVIII, pp. 120f., 192f.).
Panofsky, p. 20.
See above, pp.65f..
There is yet another question that arises here, but with which we cannot deal at the moment: the question of the “validity” of the Baroque formulation of consciousness today. Perhaps the most significant argument against its validity in recent times is to be found in Eric Auerbach’s Mimesis. The Representation of Reality in Western Literature (1946). To be sure, it is interesting in this connection that Auerbach has become the favorite target of attack in the development of structuralism as much, if not more, as of deconstructionism, both of which develop semiological theories of consciousness. In this light, the observation is suggested that the whole controversy concerning “mimesis” and the representation of reality, with its Saussurian critique by Derrida, Barthes, and others, is strikingly foreshadowed by very similar controversies at the beginning of the seventeenth century, i.e., they are Mannerist controversies. For an attempt to revive the Baroque ideas of the fantastic and its verisimilitude, see Milan Kundera, Testaments Betrayed, Part One.
See the discussion of Maniates, pp. 26ff. and Tesauro’s comparison of the poet’s conceits, fusing “maniera” and “meraviglia” with the illusionism of art.
Doran, p. 83.
Cited by Doran, p. 82.
Above, p. 71.
Above, p.96.
Above, p. 120. For a thorough and brilliant discussion of Guarini, see Doran, pp. 202 and 203ff.
See Foss, op. cit. , Chapter One.
See the discussions, for instance, of Poliziano by Katz, op. cit., pp. 116ff. (especially of Poliziano’s Favola di Orfeo), of the favola by Sommi, Poliziano, Giraldi, especially of Rinuccini, by Hanning, op. cit., pp. 2ff. See also the discussion by John D. Drummond, Opera in Perspective, pp. 105ff.
See Drummond, pp. 110f., who distinguishes three “Camerata groups,” and who notes the obvious, namely that “Literally a camerata is a room shared by a number of people, in artistic terminology a salon. In fact, there were several groups of like-minded artists and scholars who met in different nobles’ houses in Florence...” (p. 108). This is one of the few cases where a “room” is called just that, a “room;” we might even say that it is a room aware of itself as a room! Their “like-mindedness,” to be sure, is as much a determination of the room-milieu as the specifics of the discussions, the polemics, the production of works of theatre and music. As it were, they carried their “room-milieu” with them, whether they were in Florence, Rome, Frostbite Falls, or wherever.
There is, of course, the received tradition that opera emerged from an attempt to reinvent Greek tragedy, of course within the specific literary tradition at a specific time and place. This is obviously both too simple and too complex a view. If there is any merit whatever in the view, however, then it is necessary to single out a defining feature of that reinvention. In comparing Handel’s operas with those of his Italian predecessors using the libretti of Metastasio, Reinhard Strom makes the point that “the Italian public regarded the singer more as a kind of acoustic instrument for reciting poetry, distinct from his or her role” than is found in Handel where singers “were more closely identified with the historical characters whom they represented,” Reinhard Strom, Essays on Handel & Italian Opera, p. 234. The comparison is instructive because it signifies that for the Italians, inventors of opera and reinventors of Greek tragedy, the singers take on the function of the chorus (cf. Bukofzer, op. cit., p. 59) in Greek tragedy rather than that of the actors; thus the Prologues of Rinuccini, as Hanning notes, are like the chorus at the beginning of the Greek tragedy (pp. 2f., 5, 31ff.). See, in contrast, Leo Schrade, Tragedy in the Art of Music, p. 58; and F. W. Sternfeld, “The Orpheus myth and the libretto of ‘Orfeo’,” in Claudio Monteverdi, Orfeo, pp. 26f.; Lippman, A History of Western Musical Aesthetics, pp. 32ff.
Above, pp.91 f..
See Schrade, op. cit.., pp. 55f. who collates the many and various uses of “favola” as well as other allied terms such as “dramma musicale,” “opera rappresentata in musica;” and Franco Rello, “Fabula,” pp. 147f., 150f. for an account from the side of Vico.
Jean Beaufret, “La Fable du Monde,” in Martin Heidegger zum Siebzigsten Geburtstag, pp. 11ff.; cf. Gurwitsch, “Compossibility and Incompossibility in Leibniz,” pp. 11ff.
Above, pp. 101f.; see below, pp. 199f.
Above, pp. 101f.; see below, pp. 199f.
Beaufret, p. 16.
For this more conventional meaning of “fable” as argument and organized structure and action, see Wolfgang Kayser, Interpretacion y Analisis de la Obra Literaria, Chapter II, §4.
Ibid. (the translation is mine).
Oeuvres de Descartes, publiées par Charles Adam et Paul Tannery, VI: Discours de la Méthode & Essais (Paris: Vrin, 1968), pp.41 ff. The English translation is by Laurence J. LaFleur, René Descartes, Philosophical Essays, p. 31, 31ff.
See above, p. 69f. for a very similar notion of “god” by Alberti. See also above, pp. 93f. for a further specification of the Albertian deity. There is also a striking similarity with another mid-fifteenth century account of the “creation of the world,” Cusa’s De Ludo Globi, the frontispiece of the Paris edition of 1514 showing a hand casting dice which generates the cosmos and the (circular) order of things: it is a game, he says, practiced as much in the sciences as in music and “arithmetic,” and no different from gaming or even chess.
See above, pp.64f., 69
Above, pp. 96f..
Schrade, op. cit.., p. 57. For further on the idea of melancholy in the Baroque, see Judith Butler, “Thresholds of Melancholy,” pp. 6f
Auden, The Dyers Hand, p. 468.
Ruth Katz, Divining the Powers of Music, p. 118; see especially, pp. 113ff.; for the Baroque idea of Arcadia, see Panofsky, “Et in Arcadia Ego: On the Conception of Transience in Poussin and Watteau,” pp. 229–232.
See above, pp. 113f..
Schrade, op. cit., loc. cit.; Hammond, Music & Spectacle in Baroque Rome, pp. 240, 243f. and Chapter 13, passim.
See above, p. 130.
Above, pp. 26f., 76f., 116.
Or, we expressed it before, in Auden’s terms, time and space are “purified” of every historical singularity, above, pp. 6f.
Above, pp. 101f., 113f.
It was a distinction that greatly offended Leibniz; see Alexandre Koyré, From the Closed World to the Infinite Universe, pp. 300f., note 3 for Clarke and Leibniz, and Chapter XI; see also Ernst Cassirer, “Newton and Leibniz,” pp. 366ff.
Whether the concept of the fantastic image, of the marvelous, is sufficiently broad to include the hypothesis as it figures in Baroque science requires a special study. It may be objected that, after all, with Newton, we do not “feign” hypotheses but we do indeed “feign” fantastic images (in contradistinction to icastic ones). On the other hand, fantastic images, subject to the rules of decorum and the other rhetorical devices favored in the Baroque—even the aesthetic rules of Mannerism—constitute verisimilitude as much as do the hypotheses of mathematics or geometry and, unlike the Classical formulation of consciousness, require some sort of verification by icastic images, i.e., in the actual practice of ruling, or of behavior of people toward each other, or of actual architectual construction, etc. Finally, fantastic images generally are constituted in “imaginings” which, if specifically different in painting or theatre, like hypotheses in mathematics “rendere ragione,” render Nature.
The phenomenology and history of the laboratory have yet to be written, or at least given the attention received by the painter’s windowed room. Moreover, there is a close relationship between the Baroque invention of the “scientific society” and the legal and political warranting of the laboratory as a specification of the room-milieu. A fragment of this phenomenology and history has been studied in a late 18th century development of the laboratory, the clinic, by Michel Foucault, The Birth of the Clinic. An Archaeology of Medical Perception.
Above, pp. 119ff.
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Kersten, F. (1997). The Room, the Universe And the Gap. In: Galileo and the ‘Invention’ of Opera. Contributions to Phenomenology, vol 29. Springer, Dordrecht. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-94-015-8931-4_5
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