Luciano Mazzaferro. The 'Original Treatises' of Mary Philadelphia Merrifield. Part Four: The Other Manuscripts

Translation by Francesco Mazzaferro

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Luciano Mazzaferro
The Original Treatises of Mary Philadelphia Merrifield
Part Four: The Other Manuscripts

Candida Hofer, The University Library of Bologna, 2006

JUNE 2018: This post was published in 2014. Afterwards, an important set of letters were discovered in Brighton. They were sent by Mary Philadelphia Merrifield to her husband from Italy during the trip she conducted there between 1845 and 1846, in search of manuscripts evidencing the artistic techniques of the ancient Italian masters. Much of the information contained in this post may therefore be outdated, incomplete and sometimes incorrect. I published the letters in 2018 in La donna che amava i colori. Mary P. Merrifield. Lettere dall’Italia (1845-1846) – i.e. The Lady Who Loved Colours. Mary P. Merrifield. Letters from Italy (1845-1846) – Milan, Officina Libraria, 2018, isbn 88-99765-70-5. I would therefore like to point out this new publication to anybody interested. Nevertheless, I am keeping the old posts visible, as they testify ​​what information was available before the letters were discovered and how the research on Mary P. Merrifield has evolved in recent years.

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Note: Around 1998, our father, Luciano Mazzaferro, devoted several months to the study of the 'Original Treatises' published by Mary Philadelphia Merrifield in 1849. The result of his studies is witnessed by a manuscript of about fifty pages that we are displaying in full, divided into four parts: first of all the manuscripts found by Ms Merrifield in Paris (the so-called Le Bègue manuscripts), then the Volpato manuscript, further on those of Pietro and Giovanni Edwards, and finally all the rest. The notes to the text are editorial and compiled in 2014, and of course take account of updates appeared since the time of compilation to date.

This essay is part of a series devoted to the life and works of Mary Philadelphia Merrifield. For the first part, we refer to Giovanni Mazzaferro, “Mary Philadelphia Merrifield, the Lady of Brighton who loved the colours”.

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To get a comprehensive picture of all manuscripts published in the Original Treatises see figures 1 and 2 in Luciano Mazzaferro. The Original Treatises of Mary Philadelphia Merrifield. Manuscripts The Bègue.

Secrets for Colors (Bolognese Manuscript)

From page 323 to page 600 [1]. When Ms Merrifield decided to let it completely transcribe by one of his sons, the manuscript was preserved with the number 165, in the library at the monastery of the Canonici Regolari (Regular Canon Moncks) of St. Salvatore in Bologna. It is an anonymous work. Ms Merrifield learnt about its existence through the third series of the Memorie di Belle Arti (Memoirs of Fine Arts) by Michelangelo Gualandi [2] (Bologna, 1842, page 111), which mentions that, along with this work, about 500 manuscripts were transported to Paris in the Napoleonic era. They had been first marked with a stamp certifying the acquisition in the "Bibliothèque Nationale" and finally relocated in the deposits of origin after the Congress of Vienna. Gualandi became and remained the benchmark of Merrifield: “On my arrival at Bologna Sig. Gualandi very kindly introduced my son to the Generale of the Canonici Regolari at the convent of S. Salvatore, and obtained permission for him to copy it” (p. 325).

Although the title speaks only of colours, the manuscript contains instructions for all decorative arts practiced at that time in Bologna. Ms Merrifield points out that, contrary to what normally happens in the recipe books, the script does not consist of requirements placed together without any order or connection and without a minimum of frame. Mind: here also the rule applies, at least in part, of random inclusion of materials, but those materials gradually coming into possession of the anonymous collector were allocated to various chapters taking account of their contents. Between one chapter and the other one some space were left empty, so that it would be possible to use it for more information or recipes. Merrifield, exposing her opinion, sums up: “I consider it an arranged collection, the author having copied different recipes as he became acquainted with them, and arranged them in their proper places, leaving blank sheets between each chapter or subject, for additional recipes” (page 326). And, in fact, other recipes, probably after the death of the first compiler, were added. In the text of Merrifield, the new prescriptions - in reality not many, and in a few chapters not present at all - are preceded by the letter B.

“The language in which the MS is written, is sometimes Italianised Latin, and sometimes Italian, with a mixture of Latin words, as was usual at that period…” The exact date of the manuscript is not indicated by the collector or other author, but the detailed examination of the text (see page 327) has led Ms Merrifield to assign the first and by far the most numerous group of recipes to the first quarter, or at the latest, to the middle of the fifteenth century: in other words, between the 1400 and 1425, or, at most, before 1450. Writings added by a different hand “appear by the handwriting to have been made at least half a century after the other part of the work…” (p. 326).

Once the date of the manuscript has been established, Ms Merrifield uses it to draw some logical conclusions and motivated. She pauses therefore to indicate certain systems and technical processes, usually referring to a later period, which rather deserved of being backdated for the simple reason that these systems are described in the Bolognese collection as procedures belonging to the technical skills of the artists and artisans at that time. Here is an example: the recipe no. 284 - describing a particular type of pottery - should have caused Mr Passeri (and scholars that were based on the authority of Passeri) to rectify the opinion expressed in the 1700s that this particular genre or sector production would have begun only in 1500s (pages 338 and 537). On the other hand, Ms Merrifield does not only propose back-dating, but also considers contrary cases: certain techniques should have been rather post-dated, i.e. referred to a time later than that one commonly accepted, since they are not mentioned in the manuscript. And it is almost needless to add that such silence would be incomprehensible, if some familiarity had already existed with these practices of artistic workmanship at that time.

On p. 600 an index is included, however a very incomplete one, in reality. Ms Merrifield warns the reader that this was a late intervention: “The unfinished Table of Contents is by another hand, probably of the seventeenth century” (p. 339).

Diverse Secrets (Marciana Manuscript)

Venice, The Marciana LIbrary

From page 601 to page 640 [3]. An anonymous manuscript is partially reproduced, formerly belonging to the patrician Nani and then provided to the Marciana Library in Venice.

The manuscript had been succinctly described by Jacopo Morelli in I codici manoscritti volgari della Libreria Naniana (The vernacular manuscripts of the Naniana Library) published in 1776, and it is not improbable - indeed it is very likely - that Ms Merrifield (or someone in his circle) had learnt about it just referring to this catalogue. Unfortunately I was not able to find the text of Morelli in Bologna, and I am obliged to display a fragment of it as it appears in the English translation made by Merrifield: “It is a collection of recipes which make us acquainted with many compositions of the old professors, used in medicine, surgery, farriery, chemistry, painting, illuminating, gilding, working in stucco, varnishing, and similar works” (page 603) [5]. It is, as you can see, a miscellany of recipes and it is therefore quite natural that, faced with the diversity of topics covered, Ms Merrifield had decided not to publish the full text, but only some parts of it. It should be noted that some of the recipes published either start or close with the name of the artists who had used. Among them we find aids to and followers of Raphael, as well as the sculptor Jacopo Tatti, called Sansovino.

Much attention should be paid to the termination of the recipe no. 328: "I had the recipe from Master Andrea de Salerno "(p. 619). And whether the recipe was supplied by Andrea Sabatini, precisely called ‘da Salerno’ (as Merrifield suggests and also seems very likely, by the way), or rather by another Andrea da Salerno (i.e. by Mr Guarna, known for a number of literary initiatives and for a funny satire on Bramante and his alleged construction obsessions), one would always come to a conclusion: the meeting took place (and could not be otherwise) for reasons closely linked to episodes in the lives of any of the two figures from Salerno, in the early days of 1500s. One must therefore conclude that the compilation dates back to that period or not too far away. The statement by Merrifield (“…the authors lived during the beginning and middle of the sixteenth century”, p. 604) appears, therefore, fully consistent.

To the contrary, another statement by Merrifield should be examined with some caution; she thought that the compiler of the manuscript did not only met Andrea da Salerno (it does not matter here whether the painter or the humanist), but also Giovanni da Udine, also an assistant to Raphael and Jacopo Sansovino: thereby, all these links would have been established before the "Sack of Rome" of 1527, at a time when several artists had gathered in Rome, invited from many parts of Italy. It is worth repeating that great caution is here of the essence. Merrifield intentionally uses some ambiguity for the occasion, caressing certain ideas and at the same time showing the slyness needed to not remain completely captive of those hypotheses. Neither for Sansovino nor for Giovanni da Udine nor for any other artists who adhered to recipes quoted in the manuscript, the author used expressions identical to those for Andrea da Salerno. There is no reference to any information received directly from those artists. For example, less demanding expressions and almost elusive are used for Sansovino; this is the case at the beginning of the recipe note no. 398 ("... paint proven by Master Jacobo de Monte S. Savino, sculptor" on p. 631) or recipe no. 393 ("from Master Jacobo de Monte S. Savino, sculptor" on p. 639). There are perhaps elements to formulate a working hypothesis, not to draw definitive conclusions.

Much more convincing are other points of the presentation, such as when Ms Merrifield claims that the recipes reflect the mode of operation of a mature Renaissance or when she puts readers on guard (or even warns them) that although preserved in Venice, the manuscript can not be attributed to a person who was born or at least part of the Venetian circles and – it can be added – even capable of addressing issues of art in Venice. The argument put forward by the Merrifield runs the risk of looking like as a mere joke, but (after maybe having made a smile for the occasion) it should be said immediately that there is no reason to challenge their validity. Among the vast amount of material that appears in the manuscript of the Marciana Library also happen to track down recipes for farriers and other prescriptions which should little sense for a Venetian. Indeed, no sense at all.

Recipes to make every Kind of Colour (Paduan Manuscript)

From page 641 to page 717 [6]. Undated and without the author's name, the manuscript is preserved at the Library of the University of Padua, where, at least when Merrifield saw it, it bore the mark 992. The script is typical of the seventeenth century and this feature, combined with other findings, led the curator to reject any temptation to backdate the work to the previous century. Ms Merrifield ran (or let one of the accompanying children run) the transcript of the text and, after running the English version, divided it into several sections. The original is in Italian, with the exception of para. 83 containing texts in Latin, “which seem to have been considered secrets” (p. 645).

In the preliminary observations commenting this recipe book, several points are touched, among which it is worth to recall at least two. Here is the first: Ms Merrifield emphasizes the natural change of technical solutions, documenting them through the comparison between this manuscript and the previous work at the Marciana Library: “A change seems to have taken place during the interval that elapsed between the composition of the MS. of the Marcian and the Paduan MS., not only in the pigments used, but in the varnishes. Essential oil varnishes are introduced in great abundance; Spirit of Turpentine; Oil of Spike, and Naphta, are the diluents; while the hard varnishes, made with amber and sandarac, have nearly given place to mastic and olio di abezzo” (p. 644).  Ms Merrifield goes on to mention other solutions described in the Paduan text, which serve also to witness the significant change that can certainly be asserted between preferences and the devices of the Renaissance and those of the following century.

The second point is less obvious and, on the whole, less foreseeable than the previous one. Careful reader of manuscripts and printed treatises on art, Merrifield captures some profound similarities between parts of the job kept at the University of Padua and the Trattato dell’arte della pittura, scoltura e architettura (Treaty of the Art of Painting, Sculpture and Architecture ) [7] published in 1585 by Lomazzo. And whoever gets to do some verification can not help but note the accuracy of the survey carried out by the British authoress. It is good to provide a few examples among many. In the manuscript it is stated that the colour white "is made with gypsum, lime, white lead, crushed marble ...."; in Lomazzo you notice that the colours with which the white is realised "are gypsum, white lead and trite marble." To the author of the manuscript, the colour yellow is accomplished "with Gialdolino of Flamish or German furnace, orpiment et ochre ..."; for Lomazzo "colours that are yellow are the gialdolino furnace of Flanders and Germany, and orpiment and dark ochre." The two versions also coincide for the colour green: in the manuscript it is mentioned that you get green "them with azure greens, verdigris, verdetto (which is called holy gialdo and tends to gialdo), green earth ..."; in the Treaty Lomazzo prescribes, for the same purpose, to use "azure greens, verdigris, the verdetto, which is called holy but tends to yellow, and again green earth…" The deep blue, according to the manuscript, "is prepared with ultramarine azures and azures from Hungary; others are made with glaze ..., especially with that of Flanders, as it is the best ..."; Lomazzo says that colours creating the blue are the "azures, such as ultramarine, the ongaro and still others, and glazes, like that of Flanders, which is the best of all the others." The passages quoted above are from recipes placed under par. 1 of the manuscript from Padua and the chapter IV of Book III of the Treaty of Lomazzo. Other significant points of contact could be achieved by contrasting paragraphs 2 and 13 of the manuscript with chapters VII and VIII, always in Chapter IV, of the work by Lomazzo.

How to explain these peculiar coincidences? At first Ms Merrifield does not seem to have doubts whatsoever and takes for granted that the author of the manuscript copied and pasted Lomazzo, looting a few steps of his famous treatise. And, in fact, on the second page of the "Preliminary Observations", one can read: “Some parts of the early sections of the work… bear such strong resemblance to parts of the 3rd book of Lomazzo’s Treatise on Painting, that it can scarcely be supposed that one was not copied from the other” (p. 644). But then, when Ms Merrifield started writing down the notes for the text, some doubt (maybe already present in her soul) came out and, even with the necessary caution needed, she did not totally exclude the possibility that even Lomazzo might have copied, also referring to a common source of information ("common original work", p. 648 n.1). One hypothesis to prove, of course; but not impossible and improbable, differently from what the previous, peremptory statement should have advised.

PIERRE LE BRUN, Recueuil des essaies des merveilles de la peinture (Brussels Manuscript)

From page 757 to page 841 [8]. Partial transcript of the manuscript 15552 of the Library ("Public Library," writes Merrifield) in Brussels, written in 1635 by a French painter of the third or fourth row. The pages reproduced by Merrifield constitute the first part of the manuscript; the subsequent pages, i.e. the omitted parts, treat on sculpture, architecture and perspective. The manuscript was prepared for a publication in print, which however never materialised [9].

Le Brun says he had written to the Treaty to provide amateurs with knowledge of technical topics and terms and to give them the opportunity to talk about painting and other artistic genres in an appropriate manner and without the risk of ridicule. The preface opens by resurrecting an old story on the meeting that would have taken place between Alexander the Great and the painter Apelles: Alexander would have spoken of colours and painting in such a reckless way that apprentices and associates of Apelles would have not been able to hold back laughter. This would have created a painful and unfortunate situation, which only the skill of Apelles and the broad-mindedness of Alexander allowed to overcome. Addressing the reader of his writing and confidentially calling his good friend, Le Brun adds, that he wants to "rid of this trouble and of the fear to be mocked because of your silliness, when you want to talk about painting, one of the noble arts of the world ...... "(p. 767).

At least at first, one could fear to have in his hands a booklet for purposes tellers [10] or a sort of handbook for absent-minded society meetings and small talks in which what matters is not so much criticism of art works, but rather a way of phrasing full of exclamations. And one cannot say that the first impression is – either wholly or partially – incorrect, at least when we focus on the ninth chapter, which is entitled “La façon de parler des beaux tableaux” (How to talk about beautiful paintings) and where one can read disarming expressions in abundance. What is most striking is not the presence of ancient prejudices or of evaluation criteria that provoke in us moderns an almost physical nuisance, as if it were a form of hives. And it is in fact pretty obvious that - surrounded by his era - Le Brun considered art as a form of imitation of nature or as a "noble artifice" designed to impress more or less naive observers. Even less, one should wonder that Le Brun believed in the so-called progress of art, a long virtuous journey that would lead from the unacceptable and elementary forms of the Middle Ages to the perfect ones of Renaissance and of the following decades. Other things irritate and disarm, as the unnecessary turning of words, void and conventional images, the obvious contradictions, the greedy acceptance of clichés and phrases deemed of immediate effect. In translating certain parts in English, the Merrifield is compelled to record them with a forest of exclamation or question marks that, better than any other method, seems to be able to provide an idea of ​​the rhetorical construction in which the author of the manuscript had collapsed. “Do you see those fish? Why they would swim if you were to pour water on them!” reads in step 2, near the beginning of p. 824. And at the end of the same page, Ms Merrifield is induced to translate the following emphatic phrasing of the French painter like this: “See how well the folds of that drapery are arranged! Look at those snow white hands, where the veins seem to swell at each beat of the pulse! See how those muscles grow and swell! One may count the ribs, and the body is as well done as if Nature herself had formed it! It is natural and real, or is it produced by art?” And, mind you, we are not discussing at all here of colourful expressions that the author pronounces in front of one or more works that struck his imagination and aroused his enthusiasm. These are, in fact, only ways of speaking, "prefabricated phrases" that are reported and recommended to the reader in a way that he would be at ease in conversation and avoid - as happened in his time even to the great Alexander – the pain of dropping in ridiculous. It is taught to make a good impression and to excel in conversation, and not to understand well one or more artistic messages. It is clear that, for each situation, there must be an appropriate reaction. If the speech is to fall on the major steps taken by the Dark Ages to the Renaissance and beyond, Le Brun suggested to stick to this scheme, all centred on a conflict that in his view had to appear to great effect: " When the paint was still in the cradle and in his first milk, the brush was so silly, and the works so heavy, it was necessary to write of it: it is an ox. Otherwise you would have taken it for a quarter of veal .... "(p. 825). And now? What can be said for the new painting? Here it is: "... now one should include an inscription below the painting, to make sure the observer is not caught in fear that the people stuck on the canvas are lifeless and dead living characters, as everything is well done " (ibid.). Forced to translate, Ms Merrifield feels the need to temper those "morts" pasted on the canvas and get to talk more serenely of "dead figures."

It does not appear that the situation will improve greatly in the next chapter, the tenth, when the author tries to strike up a speech about "the most excellent painters of the world" (pp. 827-831). In the title of the chapter we resort to a supplementary term and it is called "traicté/treatise", but if one just scrolls down a few lines, it is easy to understand that the intention of providing an accurate historical profile has been quickly given way to a barren and incomplete string of names. For the oldest age, it is referred to the usual Polygnotus, Parrasio, Zeuxis and some other name taken from Pliny and Quintilian or, more likely, overheard by some improvised reciter, mixed among the people of the Parisian salons. For what was once called 'the golden age of Italian art’ come out a few names, which include - in addition to Raphael, a battered Michelangelo, Titian, and Parmigianino in Bassano - even Cigoli and Antonio Tempesti . The Merrifield can not help but smile when she realises that Michelangelo Buonarroti was split, giving rise to two artists, one called Michelangelo and the other Buonarroti (p. 764). Le Brun excludes from the list of great artists Leonardo da Vinci and reports him to a note. Then he continues with the Carraccis ("three Italian brothers"[sic]), mentions Rubens and finally rattles off the names little known - or even strangers, as the Thiesson or Thierson called "highly skilled man" - who probably were friends and colleagues, and attest very little, if not the author's lack of connection with artists of great value, or at least securely renowned.

If everything were limited to these poor things, you would not really understand why Ms Merrifield worked on the Brussels Manuscript 15552, translated and albeit partially published it. But to understand what happened, it should be noted that, in addition to similar futilities and amenities, some stretches of undoubted importance are also to be found. And the things that remain, those which buy credit and deserve consideration are the technical information and the descriptions of procedures for processing scattered in dozens of pages. And this is a key point that could not be overlooked by Merrifield: some news, such as on oil painting, “must be considered as indications of the practice of… art in France, or rather at Paris, during the middle of the seventeenth century” (page 759). In one chapter, you will hear significant convergence with the teachings provided by Rubens ("in accordance with the precept of Rubens"). In another chapter (the fourth), which treats of painting on glass, are outlined noticeable similarities with the technique described long after in a popular Treaty by Le Vieil [11]. In the hundred and forty years that separate the two writings changes did definitely take place, but not as decisive as one might have imagined. "The practice of the art" - Ms Merrifield states - “appears to have changed but little from the time of Le Brun (1635) to the date of the work of Le Vieil, 1774”.

There is no doubt: the reading of the manuscript may hold little surprises and useful information. Provided, of course, the reader devotes himself to the chapters discussing technical issues and abandons to their fate the pages hopelessly compromised by a vacuous taste and small talk purposes.

NOTES

[1] Of all the manuscripts submitted in the Original Treatises, the one on the Secrets for Colors, then preserved at the Library of the Monastery of St. Salvatore, now in the Biblioteca Universitaria di Bologna is, without doubt, the text that has received most attention from 1849 to date. Let's briefly recap: in 1887 Olindo Guerrini (director of the University Library, where the script had finished after suppression of ecclesiastical entities) reprinted it with Corrado Ricci, with the title Il libro dei colori. Segreti del sec. XV (The Book of colors. Secrets of the XV century). Neither Guerrini nor Ricci realised that this was the text produced by Merrifield. In recent times, it is worth noting the transcription of the manuscript on the website of the University Library and curated by Pietro Baraldi (address http://www.bub.unibo.it/it-IT/Biblioteca-digitale/Contributi/Manoscritto-bolognese.aspx?LN=it-IT&idC=61817), and above all the critical edition proposed by Francesca Muzio in 2012 (Un trattato universale dei colori. Il Ms. 2861 della Biblioteca Universitaria di Bologna - A Universal Treatise of Colours. Ms. 2861 of the Biblioteca Universitaria di Bologna). Please refer to the review of the text published on this blog. According to the analysis of the editor, the code would have been assembled in the mid-fifteenth century in the areas of ceramics and pottery in Pesaro (although also affected by influences of Siena).

[2] Michelangelo Gualandi, Memorie originali risguardanti le belle arti (Original Memoirs concerning the fine arts), Volume III, Bologna, 1842, page 111.

[3] An integral edition of the manuscript was recently published. It is: Fabio Frezzato and Claudio Seccaroni, Segreti d’arti diverse nel Regno di Napoli. Il manoscritto It.III. 10 della Biblioteca Marciana di Venezia (Secrets of the different arts in the Kingdom of Naples. The manuscript It.III. 10 of the Biblioteca Marciana in Venice), with a preface by Paolo Bensi, Saonara, Il prato publishing house, 2010. According to the editors, the code would have been written around 1570, probably in Gaeta, or somewhere else in the then Kingdom of Naples.

[4] I codici manoscritti volgari della Libreria Naniana riferiti da Don Jacopo Morelli, (The vernacular manuscripts of the Naniana Library, reported by Don Jacopo Morelli), Venice, Zatta Printing House, 1776, pages 31-32.

[5] The work is now freely available on the Internet. This is the original text of Morelli, partially translated by Merrifield, "It is a collection of recipes, showing us more prescriptions by old professors used in medicine, in surgery, in equine hoof care, in chemistry, in painting, in illumination, in works with stucco and paint, and other similar works. At the beginning of the recipes (some of which are common, and some are little known, and in any case have been dictated in Tuscany) sometimes are added the names of those who put them into practice. They are: Ferrante d’Alvito Gaetano, Maestro Cola di Monforte Maniscalco del Re Ferrando di Sicilia, Ormanno degli Albizzi Gaetano, Vespasiano Colonna, Prete Pietro di Gaeta, Maestro Girolamo da Castiglione Aretino, Roderigo Ursiano Spagnuolo, Lionardo Bartolini Fiorentino, Maestro Angelo di Trajetto Ebreo, Maestro Cardoso Portoghese, Maestro Castello di Gaeta, Maestro Giovanni Piccino Tedesco, Maestro Vicenzo da Gaeta, Stefano miniatore di Firenze, Fra Domenico da Perugia, Fra Apollinare da Viterbo, Maestro Andrea di Jato, Fra Domenico da Spoleti, Maestro Bartolommeo da Verona, Fra Aurelio da Napoli, Maestro Giuseppe da Trajetto Ebreo, Maestro Luigi da Napoli, Fra Giovanni di Monte Oliveto, Prete Pasquale di Gaeta, Maestro Vicenzo Greco, Maestro Andrea di Salerno, Prete Salvatore di Gaeta, Maestro Matteo di Terranuova miniatore in Firenze, e Maestro Jacopo da Monte San Savino, of whom you see the way he produced paint and stucco. It is the same way as it is explained in the Riposo (The Rest) by Raffaello Borghini (page 492) and had already been discovered by Giovanni d'Udine, and later on implementation in the famous Vatican Loggie."

[6] To our knowledge, there are no annotated editions of the manuscript.

[7] Gian Paolo Lomazzo, Trattato dell’arte della pittura, scoltura et architettura (Treatise on the Art of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture) in Gian Paolo Lomazzo, Scritti sulle arti (Writings on the Arts), edited by Roberto Paolo Ciardi, Florence, Centro Di publishers, 1974.

[8] Of all the treatises published in the work of Merrifield this is the only one for which we have no idea how it came to the translator. There were no trips to Brussels, as far as we know. Two hypotheses are plausible: either someone of the circle of Merrifield’s advisors had a copy, or a copy thereof was sent to the writer of Brighton along with The Bègue manuscripts from Paris.

[9] As far as I know, there is no modern edition of the treaty. However it should be remembered that – according to a thesis - the text of Le Brun would be nothing more than a copy of part of a series of papers published in 1621 under the name of René François, pseudonym of the Jesuit Etienne Binet (Essay des merveilles de nature, et des plus nobles artifices - Essay of the wonders of nature, and the noblest artifice). See about it: Art Market and Connoisseurship: A Closer Look at Paintings by Rembrandt, Rubens and their Contemporaries (edited by Anna Tummers e Koenraad Jonckheere) and Conservation of Easel Paintings, curated by Joyce Hill Stoner and Rebecca Rushfield.

[10] It should not be forgotten that the text of Binet, which would be the source of the text by Le Brun (see above) was a treaty of eloquence.

[11] Pierre Le Vieil, L’art de la peinture sur verre et de la vitrerie (The art of painting on glass and of glazing), Paris, 1774.