VENUS SUBLIME

February 2000

CONTENTS



Introduction

Chapter 1: The Myth and the Mortal

Chapter 2: The Renaissance Face

Chapter 3: The Rediscovery of Botticelli

Conclusion: Venus the Sublime

Bibliography

INTRODUCTION

What makes Sandro Botticelli's The Birth of Venus compelling? On a personal level, not too difficult a question; most of us like to think that we know what we like, and that we understand what we see. But are we all seeing the same thing? I, like many others, admire Botticelli’sBirth of Venus (c.1484). I find this Renaissance re-working of the classical story beautiful, but I am intrigued by the face of Venus; and that the same face should look out from so many other works by the same artist. At first I assumed that this was, therefore, the same woman; a real girl: a real face. I pictured her, shivering in studios; this goddess with grubby feet. Pure naive fantasy of course, but there was something in this face which I found moving and which, for me, was a poignant reminder of the transience of youth, beauty and life itself:- the divineVenus, paradoxically, epitomised humanity.

Botticelli'sVenus has been the focus of many such highly subjective views which by-pass more contemporary art-historical issues; principally those of identity, and the representation of beauty. The Renaissance saw the revival of Platonic ideals of beauty where the artist, according to Plato, strives to male real '...a dream for those who are awake'(Gombrich,1986,p.170). This dream, he taught, or this Idea of absolute beauty, survived from that previous state of existence before the soul entered the body. It was a glorious memory which, when manifest, would transcend the banality of the material: an essential truth which Erwin Panofsky describes as the 'glorious prototype of beauty upon which, he [the artist] may cast his inner eye'(Panofsky,1968,p.13), and subsequently we, the audience, may be allowed to share his vision. With such superhuman ideals as this, could it be possible that the face of Venus was the face of a real woman? Could a real woman fulfil this seemingly impossible criteria? And what of her devotees? Why did this particular Venus fall out of favour for several hundred years , in Britain at least? And having remained so for such a long time, why was there a revival of interest in Botticelli and his works in nineteenth-century England?

In this thesis, I will examine the myth of Botticelli'sVenus by attempting to establish
the possibility of her connections to the model, Simonetta Vespucci. I will then connect the myth to questions of beauty and ask whether it is possible to delve behind the subjectivity of this concept and to define it - in Renaissance terms at least. I shall consider this in the context of the style of Botticelli; the handwriting, so to speak, of the artist. Is the face of Venus the result of training; a learnt schema passed down from Master to Pupil? Or was it the artist's interpretation of the Platonic Ideal? Finally, I will examine who was responsible for the 'rediscovery ' of these works and why it was that they had been overlooked . In unravelling the myth of Botticelli'sVenus I intend to probe the unique and variable relationship betweenVenus and her successive viewers.



CHAPTER 1: THE MYTH AND THE MORTAL.


‘The Birth of Venus `(fig.1) was painted around the mid 1480's; probably about 1484. It was painted on canvas, rather than the more expensive wood panelling, which Barbara Deimling explains, was the practice in works destined for the less ostentatious country villas. Here, it would very likely have shared rooms with other mythological paintings, or those representing cheerful arcadian scenes. (Deimling,1994). Diletta Corsini describes the painting and its origins in greater detail (Corsini,1998): the familiar title of The Birth of Venus only dates back to the nineteenth century, and, alleges Corsini, the painting was originally an `ekphrasis’ an attempt by Botticelli to recreate Anadyomene Venus (Venus rising from the sea), which was a lost work of the classical period by the Greek artist, Apelles. The actual tale of the birth or conception, would have made for a far different image. The mythological story of her creation is that she '...sprang from the foaming waters of the sea...froth had formed around the genitals of Uranus, God of the Sky, his son Cronus having cut them off and thrown them into the sea as an act of revenge for the cruelty perpetrated by his father' (Deimling,1994,52).

The work was a commission, probably for Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de' Medici, the cousin of that more illustrious Lorenzo, 'Il Magnifico' , and was, quite likely, destined for the marriage chamber (Kermode,1982,p.12). In the early part of the sixteenth century, it was known to have hung in the villa of the Medici in Castello:- the artist and biographer, Giorgio Vasari bore witness to its being there at this time in his book Lives of the Artists, Volume 1, published in 1550. Botticelli's design may have been inspired by the verses of his friend, the humanist poet, Agnolo Poliziano. This is a quote from the translation included by Corsini:-

'A young woman with a face divine
pushed shorewards on a shell by lustful winds;
and heaven seemed pleased by her and the foam and sea seem real
The Hours clothed in white on the sand
The Wind ruffles the smooth flowing hair
You could swear that the goddess came from the waves
holding back her hair with her right hand
and covering her breast with the other' (Corsini,1998,p.6)

Significantly, Poliziano's interpretation of the classical myth was written in 1475, on
the occasion of a joust; a tournament to honour the younger brother of Lorenzo, Giuliano de' Medici.

There are other attendant figures in the painting:- the male figure is Zephyr (the spring wind), the female figure with her arms wrapped around him is probably identifiable as a Breeze called Aura. Both of these are blowing the goddess to the shore. The young woman caught in the act of throwing a cloak around Venus' shoulders is one of the Horae or Hours, goddesses of the seasons. The flowers on her dress suggest that this Hora is the goddess of spring. The background, as described by Corsini, is one reduced to bare essentials. There is a tree lined shoreline to the right of the painting, and the water is depicted by stylised waves. The flowers scattered around the composition suggest further echoes of spring but the focus of the painting is on the figures. Interestingly, what may have been apparent to Renaissance sensibilities and not to our own, is the pattern of the dance in the grouping of figures. Michael Baxendall explains that the dances of the period were semi- dramatic. For example; in a dance called Cupido or Desire the steps of the men suggest that they are in pursuit of their partners, whose own steps suggest retreat Similarly, in a dance called Jealousy three man and three women change partners, with each man going through a stage of standing alone (Baxendall,1988,p.78). We know that Lorenzo the Magnificent had composed a dance calledVenus, the steps of which called for two side figures to be dependent on a central one. Although Baxendall doubts that The Birth of Venus is a literal interpretation of the choreography of Lorenzo's dance, it does suggest that the public of the time were used to, and adept at, interpreting semi-dramatic arrangements of figures. However, regardless of dance analogies, and to either Renaissance sensibilities or to our own, the main focus is inVenus herself.

Venus the Roman goddess of love and fertility (known as Aphrodite in Greek mythology) is shown floating ashore on a scallop shell. Barbara Deimling describes her as being 'almost like a classical statue'(Deimling,1994, p.52) and her flesh as being reminiscent of marble. She describes the 'hard modelling' of the outline as giving 'coldness and clarity' to the painting, although I suspect that Deimling is expressing a much older view of Botticelli's handling of paint. On the contrary, my own feeling on seeing her, is that the outlining lends an illustrative quality, and I was impressed by the light airiness of the painting, and by the warmth of Venus herself, particularly the golden shimmer of her hair; a quality not too apparent in reproductions. Also the method of outlining left me with an unusual, though not unattractive, impression of less than spotless finger and toe-nails. However, and less subjectively, the pose itself recalls classical sculpture; in particular, as Deimling points out, the Venus Pudica or modest Venus (Deimling,1994,p.53) and what Corsini cites as the Chaste Venus (Corsini,1998,p16).

The Neoplatonic and Humanist philosophies of the period would have interpreted the nudity ofVenus as a synonym for purity, truth or simplicity, so this pose, and her modest and slightly melancholy gaze would have conformed to that notion. However, no matter how demure she may appear, she is still the goddess of love. Plato had written about the dual aspects of love in Symposium. In this work, he introduced the idea of twin Venuses; Venus Vulgaris, and Venus Celestis. The former embodied the beauty of the material world and the principle of procreation and artists portrayed her in rich, worldly dress. The Heavenly Venus is nude, as in Botticelli'sBirth of Venus, and she represents 'love...aroused by the contemplation of the eternal and divine'(Hall,1996,p.319). But the sensuality of Botticelli's Venus creates some ambiguity in its reading. Corsini goes on to describe her as being 'seductive' (Corsini,1998,p.5) substantiating this by quoting the scholar Eckart Peterich's remark of 1942 when he called her [Venus] 'the cleverest and most seductive pagan goddess'(Corsini,1998.p.28). If this painting was originally intended to hang in the bed- chamber of newly weds, then, that may have been the initial reading of her in situ; Venus the seductress; an analogy of courtly -and conjugal- love. But she is that and far more; a knowing innocent: pure yet provocative. Her very ambiguity has allowed her to be the repository for a series of, often, conflicting ideas about love and beauty. The iconic power of Venus, beyond the boundaries of Renaissance philosophy, has remained a staple of art practice; whilst Botticelli's version has fallen in and out of favour. She occupied a peculiar position perhaps because Venus is bound up with classical mythology and simultaneously very specific to fifteenth century re-interpretations. But additionally, she has created yet another legend and one more intriguing than ancient yarns. Because this legend lived, And her name? Simonetta Vespucci.

Sifting the truth from the tall tales that surround this woman is not easy. The facts are further clouded by the tone of the faithful; those who write about her at all, tend to eulogise. It is, certainly, an attractive story, but I shall attempt to peel away the prose, and find concurring facts. Alexander Theroux writes what claims to be the unravelled myth of Simonetta in an article called Mortal Goddess, however the hyperbole, so typical of the type of poetic discourse that has emerged around Simonetta Vespucci, is still very much in evidence. 'Tall and meltingly beautiful...[her] ideal loveliness: the exquisite face, the soft willing eyes, the full bust and golden hair, the high forehead of refined birth and intellect' (Theroux,1998,p.85).Theroux claims that she was the inspiration for poets and painters alike and as well as having Poliziano composing verses for her, she was also sketched by Leonardo and painted by such greats as Filippo Lippi, Domenico Ghirlandaio, and Piero di Cosimo. These claims are contestable as the only named
portrait of her is by Cosimo. The 'Chantilly Simonetta' (fig.2) from the Musee Conde, Chantilly, was according to J.H. Plumb (Plumb,1961,p.374) painted after her death. The consumption which killed her is symbolized by the serpent coiled around her neck. However, the claim I want to look into is Theroux’s assertion that Simonetta was Botticelli’s inspiration forVenus inThe Birth of Venus, Primavera, Mars and Venus, Pallas and the Centaur and many others. In particular, he believes she played an active part in the invention of the legend, quoting her as saying to Botticelli: "I will be your lady Venus. You shall paint me rising from the waves."(Theroux,1998,p.86).

What can be verified about this woman is that she was born Simonetta Cattaneo, at, according to Dr. J.H. Plumb, Porto Venere, the legendary site of Venus' rising from the sea (Plumb,1961,p.374). Theroux states her birthplace was in Genoa, in 1454 (Theroux,1998, p.86) and that she was married at fifteen to Marco Vespucci; a distant cousin of Amerigo Vespucci, the navigator who was to give his name to America (Hibbert, 1998,p.308). The family of Sandro Botticelli (real name Filipepi) were neighbours to Giorgio Antonio Vespucci, and it was possibly through the influence of this man and his association with the leading families of Florence, that the artist was able to enter influential circles of patronage (Cornini,1998,p.11). Simonetta was no stranger to Florentine high society and knew the illustrious dynastic rulers, the Medici Family. It was the head of the clan himself, none other than Lorenzo the Magnificent, who had given the nuptial feast at her wedding (Theroux,1998,p.86). She was about twenty when Marco brought her to his native Florence; at which time this city was said to be enjoying its 'golden age' as the artistic centre of Italy (Hibbert,p.xiii). Lorenzo (1449-92), presiding over all of this creativity, was then in his mid twenties, and seemingly inexhaustible in his exhuberance. Contemporary philosopher and friend, Marsilio Ficino, said he had a naturally joyful nature (Hibbert,1998,p.97), and this lust for life was applied with special vigour to the arranging of a tournament, or giostra.

The tournament of the 7th. of February 1469 is worthy of mention. It was initially a sweetener of sorts for the Florentines, who were not too impressed with Lorenzo's marriage to a Roman woman, rather than to a home grown beauty. He had married Clarice Orsini by proxy; an alliance between two powerful and influential families arranged by Lorenzo's mother, Lucrezia. The tournament (ostensibly to honour Clarice, who only arrived in Florence four months later) was spectacular, and inspired the fifteenth century poem by Luigi Pulci La Giostra di Lorenzo de' Medici. During this sumptuous display of courage, strength and finery, a Florentine beauty, Lucrezia Donati, was crowned 'Queen of the Tornament' and Lorenzo was awarded first prize for his prowess in the joust (Hibbert,1998,p.100). Lorenzo and his younger brother Giuliano, took enormous delight in events such as this, and much as the tournamnent of 1469 had been spectacular, it was to be surpassed by that of 1475. This, explains Hibbert, was to honour Giuliano de' Medici and was staged at the Piazza Santa Croce. As in the earlier giostra of '69, Lucrezia Donati was once again Tournament Queen, but another 'crown' was awarded; that of Queen of Beauty, to Simonetta Vespucci.

Her name and Giuliano's constantly crop up in connection with one another. Theroux mentions the rumour that they were secretly betrothed (Theroux, 1988,p.86), Hibbert says of Simonetta, by this time dying of consumption, that Giuliano wore her favour on a specially designed costume. George Pottinger, another devotee, is also of the opinion that the younger Medici brother was 'first in her favour' (Pottinger,1978, p.52). Botticelli's portrait of Giuliano, painted after Simonetta's death in 1476, shows a turtle dove perched on a window ledge, within which Giuliano is framed (fig.3). Patricia Lee Rubin and Alison Wright suggest that this could have been a symbol of mourning following the death of his 'ideal lady-love of his joust, Simonetta Vespucci' (Rubin,Wright,1999,p.126). J.H. Plumb includes a quote, allegedly from Lorenzo, stating that "It seemed impossible that she was loved by so many men without any jealousy and praised by so many women without envy" yet it seemed to have been true (Plumb,1961,p.374). She must have been remarkable, but, arguably, it was by dying at such a young age (about twenty two) that she managed to attain her legendary status. Death, at the height of her popularity, claims George Pottinger, was the 'perfect operatic solution' (Pottinger,1978,p.53), and he also believes that her death on the 26th. of April 1476, marked the end of the Medici Spring, or certainly a dramatic turning point in their fortunes. Two years to the day from Simonetta's death, the twenty five year old Giuliano de' Medici was murdered; adding another dimension of pathos to the tale.

Theroux's claim that she was the inspiration for Botticelli's Venus is still a matter for
conjecture, but what several writers do concur is that she was the embodiment of a type: the Renaissance ideal. In the next chapter I shall attempt to define what this means, and the significance of type in the paintings of Botticelli.




CHAPTER 2: THE RENAISSANCE FACE

Within the parameters of Botticelli's period, notions of beauty were, then, as now, subject to historical contingencies which would influence theories; specifically those concerning the ideal female face. Whether taken from life or from some other source of inspiration, a face can take on a powerful identity of its own. Looking at Venus, I 'believed' the face, and needed to tag a name to it, and the name that came up time and time again was that of Simonetta Vespicci, although my conclusions were undermined by the knowledge that Simonetta died in 1476, and the period during which Botticelli allegedly painted her was some ten years after that. A posthumous recollection? Possibly, yes; the fact of her death does not preclude her being the source of inspiration, but it does distance her. She was not present during the execution of these works, merely, at best, as a memory however, Botticelli would have had other influences too.

The source of the Renaissance Ideal: It is impossible to research those other influences which shaped the aesthetics of this period, without acknowledging the importance of the classical revival. Florence had an influential link with Constantinople particularly since the city hosted the meeting of the General Council in 1439. The Medici factor played a large part in this, as it was Cosimo who persuaded the Pope, Eugenius IV, of its suitability. This was a chance to reconcile the two great factions of Christendom; the Roman Catholic and the Greek Orthodox. There was, not surprisingly, a political agenda; the Ottoman Empire was an ever growing threat to Constaninople, and it was expedient to foment an alliance in the face of impending catastrophe. However, the long term consequences for the Eastern faction were not good; an ecumenical compromise, signed with great ceremony on the 5th. of July, 1439 (Hibbert,1998,p.51) was swiftly abandoned and
Constantinople was only to survive another fourteen years before being invaded by the Turks.

A consequence for Florence, however, was what became known as the Rinascimento, or Renaissance. The influx of Greek scholars from the doomed Constantinople stimulated interest in classical art, history, literature and philosophy (Hibbert,1998). The Archbishop of Siponto, Gemistos Plethon, was a great authority on Plato and Cosimo attended his lectures; his interest resulting in the founding of an Academy for Platonic Studies in Florence. The son of a physician of Cosimo's, a young medical student named Marsilio Ficino, was to attain prominence as tutor. The influence of the Academy, and of thinkers such as Ficino, was to be of enormous significance on the development of European thought (Hibbert,1998). Plato's philosophy is relevant here, not only because of his theories on beauty, but because of his notion of artistic reality. Vernon Hyde Minor writes about the process of mimesis, or imitation, and that it was Plato's belief that the natural appearance of something is only a reflection of its true identity; not real at all. The immaterial universal essences; the True, the Good and the Beautiful, are the 'ultimate reality against which other phenomena must be gauged' (Minor,1994,p.31). However, other philosophical notions on beauty were less abstract and involved Pythagorean
ideas about ratio, harmony and symmetry in composition; symmetria. (Vernon Hyde,1994,p.32). The artist putting this philosophy into practice would, presumably,
sacrifice the merely mimetic in favour of a harmonious composition, and could also
withdraw from the 'world of experience so as better to ponder on the world of forms'
(Minor,1994,p.58). In Plato'sSymposium the contemplation of beauty begins with an erotic impulse. Using the metaphor of a ladder, the lover progresses from an understanding of the physical, ascending'to an awareness of the true and everlasting beauty that exists in the realm of ideas' (Minor,1994,p.33). As we have seen the first and final stages of love, were represented by twin Venuses; Venus Vulgaris, and Venus Celestis.

A prevailing ethos of philosophical idealism did not prevent art from being naturalistic- far from it. But neither was realistic representation; the believable face, the same as portraiture. The evidence against this being a face modelled from life seems overwhelming; but Botticelli's Venus and Cosimo's Simonetta do bear a passing resemblance to one another. Before looking at the questions raised by that conundrum, we need to deal with the logistical problems of the workshop.

How is the philosophical notion of heavenly beauty translated into studio practice? How did the schema of the face come about? One method was by applying the laws of the golden section. To ensure correct proportion a mathematical formula involving the use of ratio could be applied to figurative work, and this would enable the artist to create a perfectly (classically) proportioned head. This technique could apply to anything in Nature, not specifically the human face, and would have been well known to Plato, and widely used during the Renaissance. (Bruce and Young,1998,p.132). Alternatively, Vicki Bruce and AndyYoung specifically target the face ofVenus (fig.10) as being perfectly divisible by seven, and suggest that this was the preferred formula of many medieval artists. 'The hair occupies the top seventh, the forehead the next two sevenths, the nose two sevenths,..a seventh for the space between nose and mouth, and a seventh for the chin' (Bruce, Young, 1998,p.132). Both of these methods have remained in use in the twentieth century as teaching aids (according to the accounts of contemporaries). Bruce and
Young do not claim that Botticelli used this as a modus operandi or even that he was aware of this formula, but he does appear to use similar facial types. Of possible significance is the fact that his teacher, Filippo Lippi also used facial types that were not dissimilar to those later painted by his pupil. Was the face of Venus a direct consequence of a learnt schema being passed from Master to apprentice?

E.H. Gombrich looks in detail at the notion of ideal types, and describes the style used by Fra Filippo Lippi in Madonna and Child (fig.4); 'Notice the articulated and divided chin in this broad face with a hint of a snub nose, full cheeks and a smooth curved forehead' (Gombrich,1986,p.103). Gombrich goes on to say that Filippo Lippi fell in love with his model who was, he claims, a nun named Lucrezia Buti. The couple eloped before Lippi received dispensation to marry her. Sadly, according to J.H. Plumb, even when offered freedom from his monastic vows, he did not go through with the marriage, believing that matrimony was even more binding than monasticism! (Plumb,1961). It seems that on the Platonic Ladder of Love, Lippi never progressed beyond the first rung. Regardless of how morally lax he may have been, his artistic influence on Botticelli is easier to demonstrate and another work by Lippi, Madonna and Child with Angels fig.5) is almost stylistically interchangeable with that of his famous pupil. In Botticelli's paintings, the face has become a little more oval shaped, and the cleft of the chin is softened, but the recurring similarity of schema when certain works are side by side, is startling. I have already commented onVenus; arguably the same character would call for a repeat schema, regardless of the initial inspiration for its inception. However, if we compare the features of St. Catherine, the figure on the extreme left in Madonna and Child Enthroned (fig.6), and those of the Virgin in Madonna of the Pomegranate (fig.7) once again, we seem to be looking at the same woman. Gombrich comments on the representation of sacred and profane, and the apparent ease with which they were so interchangeable. In Botticelli's time to represent anything other than a religious theme was a new phenemenon, and to have given the Virgin the same face as an eroticised pagan goddess seems incredibly risky. Did no-one notice? Of course, the intended audience and setting for either religious or secular works would have been completely different. The mythological scenes were privately commissioned, and were not for public display, so a possible juxtaposition of the naked Venus and the Virgin Mary was unlikely. Gombrich is of the opinion that Botticelli deploys a different style when depicting Venus (and in this instance, he is referring to her appearance in Primavera) and says that '...somehow theVenus is illuminated from within through the smile and most of all through the look of the eyes' (Gombrich,1986,p.105) and he further claims that 'he transforms the type he had learned from his master into a vision of haunting beauty' (Gombrich,1986,p.108) I interpret this as Gombrich's belief that Botticelli employed subtle techniques of eroticising an image. Apart from the using the obvious device of nudity, Diletta Corsini suggests that Botticelli also deliberately painted the pupils of the eyes too large, to give them 'a more profound and mysterious expression'(Corsini,1998,p.16). This, she says, accurately reflects the practice of fifteenth century Florentine women, who used drops of belladonna to dilate their pupils (1). Another possible device to eroticise Venus could be the portrayal of her with golden, flowing hair(2).


The association between Fra Lippi and his model seems fairly straightforward; we have a name and a history, and it doesn't seem too far fetched to presume that Madonna and Child is a likeness of Lucrezia Buti. But, however much a progenitor of type she may have become, I suspect that her particular brand of beauty was already recognised as a Renaissance ideal. Simonetta Vespucci, as represented in the portrait by Piero di Cosimo, conformed to that type also. The length of the face, in this case in profile, is exactly divisible by seven, although this alone proves nothing. The positioning of the head does not allow us to see the shape of the face or cheeks too clearly, but once again, there is a hint of a snub nose and a smooth curved forehead. Women of the time admired a high forehead and the roundness of the brow is emphasised by plucking (Kybalova,1968). Further emphasis was given to a high forehead by the arrangement of her hair. However, along with the portrait by Cosimo, there are two other artworks which have been associated with Simonetta. Theroux writes that in the famous Ghirlandaio fresco in the Chapel of S.Salvadore d'Ognissanti church (fig. 8) '..where the Madonna maternally enfolds the entire Vespucci family- she [Simonetta Vespucci] is almost without doubt the beautiful young woman with the attractive pearl draped coiffure' (Theroux,1998,p.86). Theroux claims that the hair style in some way adds to the evidence of her identity, suggesting that in representations of her, her hair was almost always intertwined with strings of pearls, and that pearls were synonymous with pledges of love; another attractive facet to the mythology of a much loved woman, but sadly insubstantial. The second artwork is attributed to Verrocchio, and simply called Bust of a Woman (fig.9). Hair, once again, has been used in evidence here, but in this case, its stylistic representation acts as a pointer towards the identity of the artist rather than the sitter. What can be safely assumed is that this is a high ranking woman; the hair, the style of dress and the posture all substantiate this. Rubin and Wright in describing it comment on contemporary beliefs, that external beauty expressed inner virtue; an inverse expression of the Platonic Ideal, and that because of this portraits of women were more strongly idealised than those of men of the same period. This, of course, tended to mask individual identity behind the accepted forms of female representation. (Rubin and Wright,1999). However, they state that the bust clearly depicts an individual, but since such possibly distinguishing features as her unnaturally high hairline were fashionable for Florentine women of the 1470's, this does not help to identify her. A connection is again suggested between the woman depicted here, and the woman in Ghirlandaio's fresco as Rubin and Wright suggest that the woman sheltering underneath the Virgin's mantle is probably a member of the Vespucci family, but, they doubt the certainty of Theroux's claim to her being Simonetta. That she is a woman of status there can be no doubt due to her dress and finery. 'Her hair is bound in a fine snood covering her ears, which then laces at the back near the nape of the neck, leaving neat waves of hair visible on the crown and brow. She is shown wearing the most fashionable and expensive type of silk brocaded velvet cotta..... '(Rubin and Wright,1999, p.324). Clothing such as this was restricted by law, sanctioned to be worn only for a restricted time before and after marriage. As the date of the fresco is c.1472, this would coincide with the early married life of Simonetta, but doesn't constitute hard evidence. The date of the bust is, judging by the style of the marble sculpted brocade, probably around the 1460's or early 1470's, so this does not rule out its being a representation of Simonetta, but once again, cannot constitute proof. However, regardless of their actual identity, these were representations of real women of status, and the artist would not have had the license to present them as anything else. As Rubin and Wright point out, a
certain amount of idealisation in presentation would have been normal practice, but to a lesser degree than when depicting a figure from mythology; and certainly one as evocative as Venus. I have already mentioned Gombrich's comments on Botticelli's transformation of type, and the implication of his eroticising the image. I would suggest that this is not necessarily just the manifestation of subtle technique on the part of the artist but also an act of transference by the viewer; endowing the image with a certain complicity in its own eroticism. However much the sensuality of The Birth of Venus may be accepted and admired now, it was this perceived quality which was to jar with public sensibilities, and have a profound effect on the later life of Botticelli, and his reputation posthumously.

(1). The size of the pupil changes as a function of sexual arousal, and dilated pupils are seen as sexually attractive(Bruce and Young,1998,p.7) For the cosmetic use of belladonna eyedrops to be so widespread, this, presumably, was known to Renaissance women, and no doubt to Botticelli also. (2).Blondeness and beauty have had a mutual association ever since the goddess of Love's hair was described as xanthe or, golden by Homer. The etymology of the word 'blond(e)' is not known for certain, but it appears to relate to blandus, Latin for charming (Warner,1995, p.362).


CHAPTER 3: THE REDISCOVERY OF BOTTICELLI


A fall from favour: the paintings of Sandro Botticelli, particularly Primavera and The
Birth Of Venus are so well known that it's hard for us to imagine their being controversial in any way. And yet until the nineteenth century, these and other works by the same artist, were virtually unknown to the British public, and were out of favour even in their country of origin. There, a revival of interest in Dante, also triggered a revival of interest in his illustrator; Botticelli. This eventually led to the emergence from obscurity of Primavera and The Birth of Venus and to their being displayed in the Uffizi Gallery of Florence in 1815 (Kermode,1982). Even so, there was not an immediate acceptance of these works and for some time they were still regarded as vaguely barbarous and were generally misunderstood. But why was it that these paintings; once so highly prized, by an artist once so highly acclaimed, had been excluded for such a long time from the canon of great art? Part of the answer may lie in the decline of Botticelli's reputation towards the end of his life. He is mentioned, albeit in a rather perfunctory manner in Vasari's Lives of the Artists but historically, he is eclipsed by luminaries such as Leonardo Da Vinci and Michelangelo. The tumultuous events during the fading years of the Quattrocento had a profound effect on Botticelli's reputation; not just at the time, but posthumously.


The fourteen-nineties were a time of turbulence in Florence. Lorenzo de' Medici died in 1492, aged only forty three, and his son Piero came to power. He, according to Christopher Hibbert, lacked his father's political nous, and failed to endear himself to the Florentine people. He was, perhaps, too confident of his name and position, even though, historically, the risk of a rival faction's struggle to wrest control from the Medici had always been present, particularly during the vulnerable period of transition. Upheaval of an even worse sort had been predicted in the most dramatic terms by 'an eloquent, fiery, ascetic Dominican Friar from Ferrara' (Hibbert,1998,p.162) who had been threatening his quaking congregation with nightmarish visions of an impending apocalypse. His name was Girolamo Savonarola, and in 1489, he had settled permanently in Florence at the Monastery
of San Marco. The Angels, it seemed, were on his side for a while at least and he made political capital out of catastrophe. The timing of the invasion by the French, under Charles VIII, must have seemed like the predicted act of a vengeful God, and Savonarola was quick to tell the Florentines that this was indeed, retribution for their sinful ways. With such apparently divine endorsement, he was able to dominate the political scene, welcoming Charles as a liberator, whilst the young Piero fled into exile with a price on his head. Savonarola's tenuous grasp on power ended in the ignominy of excommunication and, eventually, in death at the stake on the 7th. of April, 1498 (Hibbert,1998,p.183).


However, in the years leading up to this, the nature of Florentine society had suffered a radical change. Savonarola was convinced that only a return to the simplicity of the early church could save the people of Florence. Claiming that the voice of God spoke thorough him, he demanded that they should turn their backs on Aristotle and Plato, who were now rotting in Hell; they should give up the dissolute luxuries they so indulged in, and that '...they must blot out all those pictures so wantonly painted that they made the Virgin Mary look like a harlot' (Hibbert,1998, p.164). Clearly, an implicit blasphemy in the similarity of treatment of the sacred and profane hadn't gone unnoticed. This was the climate in the last few years of Lorenzo's life. Not only did Savonarola attack so much of the society that he held dear, but he also attacked the regime of the Medici itself. However, Lorenzo apparently dealt with this potential spark of insurrection with tolerance, being advised by friends; Poliziano and Botticelli among them, that this Friar was a great and gifted man.


This atmosphere of religious zeal was taken up by a public fearful for their souls, and at its peak was to result in the notorious 'Bonfire of the Vanities', c.1497, (Pottinger,1978). Much of the accoutrements of a more carefree time were destroyed, and smouldering amongst the embers were paintings by Botticelli; sacrificed by the artist himself (Hibbert,1998). He had apparently joined the breast beating band of the Friar's followers called, mockingly, by those who had resisted the fearsome oratory, masticapaternostri (prayer mumblers) or piagnoni (snivellers). Vasari is of the opinion that having joined this sect, Botticelli abandoned painting (Vasari,1987,p.227), but in this he seems to be mistaken. The Mystic Nativity was painted in 1500, two years after the Friar's death, and although the Nativity had been a constant theme in Botticelli's career, this was different. The style is naive; almost medieval, and the inscription written in Greek at the top of the painting, refers to the imminent ending of the world; the apocalypse (National Gallery,2000). The fact that Vasari didn't know about this work suggests that it is unlikely to have received acclaim at the time, however, it could explain Botticelli's own efforts at self censorship when he destroyed some of his earlier work. Perhaps Savonarola's words about the Virgin being painted as a harlot had struck a chord with him; which may have been the case if he had deployed deliberate techniques to convey sensuality as an integral part of his schema. What is identifiable is a marked change of face in The Mystic Nativity ; the Virgin is still beautiful, but the eyes closed in prayer rescue it from dangerous overtones of sensuality. But by now, Florentines were heartily sick of Apocalyptical tales, especially one presented in such an old fashioned way. If Botticelli was making a stand for artistic ascetism, he stood alone.


Sandro's friend, Leonardo da Vinci had returned to Florence shortly after the Savonarola debacle, and found it lacking its former ebullience, and though some artists had remained well regarded, Botticelli was 'out of fashion' (Vezzosi,1997,p.87). Leonardo had been fairly vocal in his criticism of Botticelli in the past, and, though of a similar age, still managed to maintain his own high profile. The younger Michelangelo was only twenty five at the turn of the half millenium, and when he was an old man he was to say that he could still hear the friar's voice ringing in his ears (Hibbert,1998,p.165). However, he was not to be deterred. Possibly, his ceiling in the Sistine Chapel overpowered the neighbouring legacy of Botticelli, who, at the end of his days seemed out of tune with his time, and whose reputation didn't even survived his own lifetime.


The return from obscurity: centuries later, following the hanging of Botticelli's work in the Uffizi, the side walls of the Sistine Chapel began, at last, to excite a little curiosity; and, as Frank Kermode points out, to even attract admiration. The rehabilitation was a slow process however, as it was some years again after this that Alexis-Francois Rio published De La Poesie Chretienne, (Poetry of Christian Art) a book which contained some praise of the Botticelli frescoes. It was not until this was translated into English in 1854, that interest was aroused further afield. It was possibly this publication, suggests Michael Levey (Kermode,1982) that was to induce John Ruskin to investigate Botticelli. Others were instrumental in bringing public attention to this painter, but Ruskin probably took the greatest credit for it. However, interest came before informed interest and as the pagan themes were initially read at face value, these paintings were seen, by the conventional, as being quite shocking. What is more surprising than a merely simple misunderstanding of the imagery, is the reaction they caused. How did the nineteenth century audience respond to the Renaissance type? To that distilled essence of beauty that was the platonic ideal? They interpreted the Quattrocento type as being gothic; his madonnas 'peevish...[conforming to] no acknowledged type of beauty' (Pater,1961,p.73) But it was the writer of this quote, Walter Pater, who was eventually charmed by this same type of beauty, and who was to become so important in the reinstatement of Botticelli.


Walter Pater was an Oxford Don; a teacher of the classics and a self styled student of the sensual. His name would be far more familiar to us now had his skills for self
promotion been as highly developed as those of fellow writer and art-critic, John Ruskin, more of whom later. However, in spite of living and working in a dry academic environment, and even though his personal habits bordered on the ascetic, he was a passionate student of aesthetics. It was this passion, following journeys to Italy and his subsequent essays, that was so influential in changing attitudes towards Botticelli. Even during his early days at Oxford, Pater had earned something of a reputation, for his 'new and daring philosophy' (Levey,1978,p.95), and was something of a cult figure amongst undergraduates. In an atmosphere of austere, Christian morality, his allusions to male beauty and, probably more importantly at the time, his apparent agnosticism, made him suspiciously subversive. In 1863, Pater joined other free thinkers in a circle named the 'Old Mortality' Essay Society. It was their declared intention to maximise the mortal experience by cramming in as many 'pulsations' as possible; and this was to be achieved by the pursuit of passion. This may seem like the advocation of a dissolute life style, but in this context the moments of greatest passion were those engaged in the appreciation of art. Another member of this circle was Charles Lancelot Shadwell, an ex pupil and admirer of Pater, and it was Shadwell, '...undoubtedly the handsomest man in the University' (Levey,1978,p.102) who was to accompany Pater on his artistic crusade to Italy in 1865.


They must have made an odd couple; Pater, described rather bluntly as ugly, by Kenneth Clark, (Pater,1961,p.11) was drawn to the company of attractive young men, and Levey surmises that in Shadwell, he had found his ideal companion. Whether Shadwell ever understood or responded is doubtful, but Pater seemed content merely to admire. His capacity for admiring art was aided by his excitable visual sense, which he described as 'the lust of the eye' (Levey,1978,p.88). It was on the occasion of this trip that Pater and Shadwell would first encounter Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. Pater describes this event in an essay originally published in 1870 and later to become part of a collection of essays titled The Renaissance. On seeing Venus, he describes the surrounding landscape as gothic; filled with 'grotesque emblems of the middle age'(Pater,1961,p.74) and yet the figure of Venus herself he sees as modern, and somewhat reminiscent of Ingres. He concurred with what seemed to be the popular opinion of the cadaverous or cold colour of Venus. While this view differs from my own, Frank Kermode claims that this was in fact not the intended skin colouring and what Pater was seeing was the result of a marked deterioration of the pigment (Kermode,1982). Pater also refers to the coolness of the light; not in pejorative terms, but as an evocation of first dawn. Zephyr, he describes as 'an emblematical figure of the wind [who] blows hard across the grey water, moving the dainty-lipped shell on which she sails' (Pater,1961,p.75). The flowers he describes as 'embrowned' once again presumably through the fading of pigment, but what Pater gleans from this mix of imagery is Botticelli's propensity for the minor tones; the conveying of a certain sadness in his conception of the goddess of pleasure.


Pater reads into this work the blending of the joy of the human condition with its vulnerability, seeing as he does an ever present 'shadow of death' in the fleshtones. As we know from Kermode, to portrayVenus with a death like hue had not been the artist's intention, but this is the interpretation of an agnostic in a Christian age, whose discourse on mortality set him apart from his fellows. Interestingly, he mentions the story of Simonetta and her traditional association with Venus and he also names her as Giuliano de' Medici's mistress. Recognising the same features, he claims that she appears again as Judith and, more importantly, as Veritas in Calumnia (Calumny of Appelles), and comments on the apparent incongruity of identifying the figure of Truth with Venus; referring to this as an 'accident'(Pater,1961,p.76). It seems odd that he should be unaware that the neoplatonists associated her withTruth, but perhaps the fact that he was, to some extent, ill-informed allowed him to respond intuitively; and what he saw mirrored his own human frailty. He described Venus as 'the depositary of a great power over the lives of men' but a goddess of delight tinged with despondency (Kermode,1982,p.6).


Michael Levey describes how an accumulation of Renaissance essays resulting from his Tuscan travels, had become the nucleus of a book, and Studies in the History of the Renaissance was published, by Macmillan, in March 1973, (Levey,1978,p.136). Levey states that Pater was, almost without doubt the first Englishman to write an article on Botticelli and was responsible for creating the impetus which transformed a little known work The Birth of Venus, into one of the most famous paintings in the world. However, Pater was to be usurped by John Ruskin who claimed in the Epilogue to Modern Painters, published in 1883, that he, and he alone, had 'discerned the excellence and supremacy of five great painters, despised until he spoke of them' (Levey,1978,p.138) and amongst this list of Ruskin's 'discoveries' was Botticelli. Pater's refuting of this was more low-key; in later editions of The Renaissance, he added the original publishing date of his essay on Botticelli, which was, as stated above, 1870. This precedes Ruskin's first mention of the artist during a lecture at Oxford, in the lent term of 1871 (Levey,1978,p.138). Be that as it may, Ruskin's claims were the loudest and the most enduring.

Why credit for Botticelli's rediscovery should have been so important to a man of Ruskin's stature is a matter for conjecture, but Kenneth Clark offers an explanation of sorts. He writes that throughout his life, Ruskin suffered from alternating bouts of exaltation and depression quoting R.H. Wilenski's 1933 biography of Ruskin, in which Wilenski confidently asserts that John Ruskin was a manic depressive. Clark posits that it was this illness which accounted for the 'tone of messianic self-confidence' (Clark,1967,p.4) and this may shed some light on his evangelical declamations on his own significance in the Botticelli's rediscovery. But whatever dispute there was over the chain of events leading to it, Botticelli was back and embraced with enthusiasm, although historical knowledge of him was still patchy. However, that situation was to be redressed by the later writings of Herbert Horne.

Born in 1864, around the time of the Botticelli revival, Horne had, very early on in life, acquired a prodigious repertoire of talents. As well as being a trained architect and designer, he was also a painter and a poet, and added to this was a passion for collecting. Horne was an admirer of Pater's, and Levey documents the beginning of their relationship, when Horne sent a gift; a drawing, by Simeon Solomon, on the occasion of the older man's fiftieth birthday. This, Levey tells us, was warmly received by Pater (Levey,1978,p.107). Horne also shared Pater's interest in Italian art, and more specifically in Botticelli, and this was to grow into a life long passion. This interest led to his spending a great deal of time in Florence, where, around 1912 he eventually bought and restored an old palazzo. Horne dedicated the years in Florence, to writing the seminal art-historical work; Alessandro Filipeppi called Sandro Botticelli, Painter of Florence, which was published in 1908 (Kermode,1982). This was, finally, an informed study of the painter; the result of a tireless trawl through Florentine archives. Subsequently, Horne was quite critical of some of Pater's pioneering work; mainly where errors of
attribution had occurred, nevertheless, he acknowledges Pater's uniquely personal
appreciation of Botticelli, and the pivotal part that played in his restoration to the canon. Horne also comments wryly on the formerly outre beauty of the 'peevish madonnas' and the irony that this type should now be fully accepted by the public. This style of beauty, he suggests, had not only influenced artists such as Burne-Jones (regarded by Horne, incidentally, as second rate and vulgar) but had validated the earlier work of his fellow Pre-Raphaelites. This movement, had looked to early Italian art for inspiration and their subsequent work had been condemned for being primitive and ugly (Chilvers and Osbourne,1999). Changing hearts and minds about earlier Italian art; and even re-introducing unfamiliar notions of beauty was a difficult task in the face of popular prejudice, but eventually an informed reappraisal of the quattrocento had started, and nearly four hundred years after his death, Botticelli was back in fashion.

The discourse continues: given the choice between the vagaries of interpretation and historical fact, Horne chose facts. Commenting on Ruskin's summation of the 'strangeness and gloominess' of Botticelli's work, Horne was critical, suggesting that Ruskin took as his criterion the 'refined and gentle art of the English landscape painters'. (Kermode,1982,p.16) The problem of defining the elusive aria virile which was thought by Botticelli's contemporaries to be his defining trait, and was first mentioned by Giorgo Vasari, was understood more by Horne. He recognised that there was a disparity of views; the modern and the Renaissance, but that each could be equally true. He was also at pains to point out that restoration can reduce the 'force' or 'virility' of a painting: can diminish its fourteenth century identity, he cited as an example of this, Botticalli's 'Tondo of the Magnificat' as being 'prettified' and subsequently becoming very popular with a modern audience:- implying that this was detrimental to the true nature of the work.

Horne is a rarity among his peers. His awareness of the contemporary issues at a painting's inception, sets him apart, but, nevertheless extreme subjectivity seems to
remain an integral part of the experience of art. In my summary, I shall investigate the experience of two successive viewers of Botticelli'sVenus; separated by a hundred years and specifically their relationship withVenus herself.




CONCLUSION: VENUS THE SUBLIME


I initially asked the question: what makes Botticelli's Birth of Venus, and specifically
the face of Venus, so compelling? For me, the intriguingly believable face of Venus
brought the quattrocentro to life; acquiring as she did, the personality which I, spuriously, chose to impose upon her. But however fanciful these imaginings may have been, they are still powerfully evocative. So much so, in fact, that to disentangle the actuality of the painting from the projected, perceived actuality created by the viewer, can be difficult. Arguably, every time the painting is looked at, this relationship is different, but given that the subject matter is the goddess of love, there are further dimensions of complexity to contend with. In an earlier chapter I quote E.H. Gombrich; ‘Venus is illuminated from within through the smile and most of all through the look of the eyes' (Gombrich,1986,p.108). My argument here was that the same face was used to represent both sacred and profane subject; in this instance, the saintly heads of both the Virgin and Saint Catherine are identical to the head of Venus, with subtle erotic touches added, when desired, by the artist. These slight differences in design; the nudity, uncovered golden hair, and enlarged pupils are attributes of Venus alone rather than of her sacred sisters, and yet there is a perceived sensuality in Botticelli's religious paintings which may have contributed to their exclusion. Savonarola's denouncing of harlot-like Madonnas may seem extreme, but Walter Pater also senses something less than divine in a Botticelli Virgin when he describes her as; shrinking from the pressure of the divine child, and pleading in unmistakable undertones for a warmer, lower humanity (Pater,1961,p.76).

Is this sensuality an innate part of the design? Or could it be a construct of the viewer? This is a quote from Alexander Theroux relating to his first encounter with Botticelli's The Birth of Venus, he describes '...the movie star beauty and sensuous, modern good looks, the olive flesh tones, the long neck and sloping shoulders, the honeyed torrent of cascading hair about the exquisite body. More than anything I was struck by the sweet face. A ripe mouth, as paperback writers say. I wanted secretly to kiss her. There is something basic and wistful and heartbreakingly feminine about her' (Theroux,1998,p,86). Theroux first saw this painting as a young man in 1965, exactly a hundred years after Walter pater, but his experience of it seems completely different. Why? The painting hadn't changed, but the two men describing it were polarised by time and type. Theroux revels in the sensuality of Venus and makes overt sexual associations, while Pater, the repressed, agnostic Oxford don, connects with her humanity but in an almost painfully poignant way. In his reading of The Birth of Venus, sensuality, humanity and mortality sit uncomfortably close to each other. Theroux, of course, was a young man in a liberated decade, and the pioneering work to overcome reactionary ideas about art, specifically about Sandro Botticelli, had been done.

We all assimilate information and opinions from our environment, that is apriori, and possibly the best we can hope for in evaluating a work of art is an informed subjectivity. Then, at least, we are aware that the context of our combined circumstances and experiences is going to colour our impressions. When Pater first wrote about Botticelli'sVenus the popular prejudice was that paintings of this period were more mediaeval than a part of the Renaissance and this precept influenced his reading. In the descriptions of Theroux and Pater, even their basic perceptions of colour are at odds with one another. Pater saw the faded pigment and assumed that pale tones were an intentional part of the design. This established a convention, and even now it's not unusual to read about the marbled quality of Venus; Barbara Deimling uses this metaphor in an earlier chapter. Theroux, however, doesn't see a cold, cadaverous and melancholy figure, but an olive skinned movie star beauty, which sits comfortably with his contemporary ideals. He doesn't question the beauty ofVenus or catagorise it as gothic or archaic; he doesn't need to categorise at all as that convention no longer operates. His epoch's aesthetic values have broadened out since Pater's time when there was a cut-off point of acceptability. Interestingly, both see her as modern, though Pater's was the braver opinion back in 1865. More disparate are their associations with sex and death, but this again echoes the disparity of the two men; sexually and socially.


Until the painstaking research of Herbert Horne, little was understood about the painting (or the artist) and Walter Pater, to his credit, wrote his ground breaking work intuitively and with passion. By the time Theroux visited the Uffizi in Florence,
Botticelli had been part of the art historical canon for the best part of a hundred years, andVenus had by then acquired an icon like status. It is doubtful whether Pater would have confessed to desiring to kissVenus, but less likely that he would have wanted to anyway, preferring , as he did, the company of men. But, nevertheless, both he and Theroux, and countless other people: myself included, have customised the image to our own taste and specification. A prevailing mind set of a society can affect aesthetic perceptions and shift them from sensual, to ugly or peevish, right back to sensual once again, but an icon, once firmly established is imbued with an immutable, though enigmatic presence.

We have seen how Botticelli'sThe Birth of Venus came back into the public domain and eventually into the established art canon. We have also seenVenus emerging as an undisputed icon of beauty; the unacknowledged type that Pater wrote of, was not only accepted, but it influenced nineteenth century artists and the quattrocento style became a nineteenth century stable. The familiarity of an image can only compound its iconic status; it adds to the mystery, allowing as it does the murmur of speculation about its source, its history and that face to grow louder. It doesn't surprise me, therefore, that a whole mythology has grown around who the owner of that face may have been. Initially I was intrigued by the question of identity; did the face belong to a real woman? Much as I wanted to believe the compelling tragedy of Simonetta Vespucci; that this was her face immortalised, I seriously doubt that she, literally, was Botticelli's model, or even his inspiration. That she was famous, I don't doubt, and that her early death added to that fame, is entirely plausible. That she was also a Renaissance type, seems indisputable, but the fact that she was fortunate to be born with a fashionable face doesn't mean that that a similar face is modelled on her own. It is far more likely that the face ofVenus was a deliberately fashionable construct, conforming to expectations of the period as outlined above. However, asVenus has been the repository of this myth and more for such a long time, the truth becomes less important; in some ways she has become a sublime version of Simonetta, and when we choose to continue associating her with this story, and to imbue her with an infinity of attributes of our choice; we create an enigma in order to explain one. We create the sublime Venus.




VENUS THE SUBLIME

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