Quatremère de Quincy, Letters to Miranda. Part One

Translation by Francesco Mazzaferro
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Antoine Ch. Quatremère de Quincy

Lettere a Miranda (Letters to Miranda)
With writings by Edouard Pommier
Edited by Michela Scolaro

Bologna, Minerva Publishers, 2002

Part One

Art works seized by the French Army during the 1796-1797 Italian campaign:
Paolo Veronese, The Wedding at Cana (Paris, Louvre Museum)
Source: Wikimedia Commons

A manifesto against the seizure of art works

There are texts that have a symbolic significance in the history of the protection of the artistic heritage. The Letters to Miranda by the French art critic Antoine Chrysostome Quatremère de Quincy, published in the very mid of the French Revolution, in July 1796, are one of these works. Mind you, the letters of Quatremère (as we shall see) are born as 'dead' and have no practical effect. If one wants to study the real steps materially taken to protect art works, the book to consult is a pioneering writing by Andrea Emiliani in 1978 (Leggi, bandi e provvedimenti per la tutela dei beni artistici e culturali negli antichi Stati italiani (1571-1860) - (Laws, edicts and measures for the protection of the artistic and cultural heritage in the ancient Italian States (1571-1860)). For example, the so-called Chirograph Chiaromonti (Chiaromonti was Pope Pius VII) of October 1802 and the edict of the Cardinal Pacca (1820) cannot be ignored. However, the Letters by Quatremère have a high symbolic value: they are a programmatic manifesto (the first planned in such an organic manner) against the plundering of art works by right of conquest. In this specific case, we are of course talking about the requisition of Italian, and especially Roman, art works made by Napoleon’s French army, following his first military campaign in the Peninsula. The reasons that lead Quatremère to challenge the move (just when it is occurring and is celebrated by the entire French public opinion) are not only political (that is, relating to major or minor convenience to humiliate other peoples, plundering them of their wealth) but are developed in the area of the so-called 'theory of context', whereby only where they were placed originally, only included in the cultural milieu that produced them, those works have sense and return in full their wealth. We shall see further below.

This review is divided into two parts. In the first one we will try to learn more about the individuals, the historical and editorial events that move around the letters. In the second one will examine specifically the theses by Quatremère.

Art works seized by the French Army during the 1796-1797 Italian campaign:
Raphael, The Ecstasy of St. Cecilia (Bologna, National Art Galley)
Source: Wikimedia commons

July 1796: publication of the Letters

Quatremère drafts seven Letters. They are all fictitious, in the sense that they are not private letters, but are intended for publication. They are printed in an unspecified date, but probably in the first fortnight of July 1796 (nowhere dates are so important as in the events of the French Revolution, not only as to the years, but also to the months and sometimes to the days). Their exact title is Lettere sul pregiudizio che potrebbero causare alle Arti e alla Scienza, la rimozione dei monumenti dell’arte in Italia, lo smembramento delle sue scuole, la spoliazione delle sue collezioni, gallerie, musei etc. (Letters on the injury that the removal of the monuments of art in Italy, the dismemberment of its schools, the plundering of its collections, galleries, museums etc. could cause to the Arts and Science).  In the original edition, the author only appears in code (AQ) and the recipient is unknown. Only in a later edition (in 1836) Quatremère specifies that his counterparty is the Venezuelan General Francisco de Miranda (if you thought that Miranda was a woman, do not worry, as it happens to everyone). About General Miranda, we will discuss later; for now, imagine him as a ‘Hero of two worlds’, just like Garibaldi, but terribly less lucky). As said, the effect of the letters on the dispossession of the Italian art works is nil. The operation is already in progress. We have already discussed it on previous occasions. See for example Paul Wescher, I furti d’arte (Art thefts) e le Lettere dall’Italia (Letters from Italy) by Gaspard Monge. All what the work produces is a petition addressed to the Directory and signed by 50 among the most famous artists of France, asking to temporarily suspend the move of the works and to better assess the validity of the thesis by Quatremère. An appeal that will fall on deaf ears and that we only remember because, among the fifty artists, also appears the name of Dominique Vivant-Denon, future director of the Napoleon Museum (the Louvre), which from 1802 will direct (with great competence) the selection of the works to be removed not only from Italy, but from all over Europe.

It was said that the Letters are born dead. It could not be otherwise. It is a manifesto clearly directed against the policy of the Convention, written by a man who lives in hiding, sentenced to death in absentia after the attempted coup of 5 October 1795 (13 Vendemiaire year IV), in which the supporters the constitutional monarchy try to take back the power. The personal history of Quatremère, in reality, is linear: he is involved in the Revolution in the ranks of those who look at the English political model as a possible outcome, with a monarchy whose powers are amply subjected to parliamentary control. His revolution is that of the Universal Declaration of Rights and of the Constitution of 1791. Of course, the sequencing of historical events overwhelms him. After the arrest of Louis XVI, in August 1792, he goes into hiding. He is arrested in March 1794; he survives the Terror; he is released after the coup that deposes Robespierre (July 27) and goes back to militate in the ranks of the monarchists, until, in fact, a new underground period following charges of conspiring against the Convention. Sentenced to death in August 1796 (one month after the publication of the Letters), he is acquitted. Again accused of conspiracy, he takes refuge in Germany until the amnesty proclaimed by Napoleon after the new political reversal leading the general to power (1798). But even under the regime of Bonaparte, he will hold himself in the background, returning to public life only after the restoration of the monarchy in 1814.

There is great uncertainty as to the date of publication of the Letters. In the text published in July, Quatremère frequently references to a previous publication of the letters in the press. Traditionally, one tends to say that the letters appear first individually on 'The Rédacteur' and then are printed in one single volume immediately afterwards. Edouard Pommier believes he can rule out this thesis, not only because he has sifted the complete collection of the newspaper, finding no trace of it, but also because he notes that, at the time, 'The Rédacteur' was a newspaper fully supporting the Convention, which would have never published the letters of an anti-revolutionary.

Art works seized by the French Army during the 1796-1797 Italian campaign:
Correggio, Madonna of St. Jerome (Parma, National Art Gallery)
Source: Wikimedia commons

Editorial fortune

The fortune of the pamphlet by Quatremère was as rapid as fleeting. We referred to the petition to the Directory. Afterwards, there is no reference to the  Letters anymore. Yet, though indirectly, they do not fail to have their own importance. We know for example from the correspondence between Canova and Quatremère (the two were very close) that the Italian sculptor reads them in 1802, a fortnight after having been named by Pope Pius VII Chiaromonti as Inspector General of the Arts in Rome, and that in turn he makes sure also the Pope, who appreciated them a lot, read them [1]. It is certainly not impossible to think that Pius VII has in mind them when, two months later, he writes the Chirograph, which establishes certain rules to ban the export of art works abroad. The same correspondence shows that Canova lets them reprint for the first time in 1803 [2] and a second time in 1815, when he distributes the text to dignitaries and ambassadors of the various governments involved, once he is commissioned by the Pope to go to Paris to retrieve the masterpieces seized by the French. Against the legal constraints agitated by Denon (who makes the point that the works have not been stolen, but that their ownership has been transferred according to regular peace treaties, recognized by international law) Canova responds with the need to repair the cultural tissue and to restore a context that has been violated to the detriment of the entire international community, and not just of the Pope. In 1836, Quatremère issues a new edition of the work, and on that occasion - as seen – he makes public that the recipient of the letters is General Miranda.

While they are subject of several studies in the early twentieth century, the Letters are never republished until 1989, when at the same time a new French edition, curated by Edouard Pommier, and the first Italian translation, operated by Michela Scolaro [3], appear. This edition (2002) combines both the original French and Italian translation and adds three essays previously published by Pommier on the policy of requisitions and translated by Michela Scolaro. Pommier is definitely the art historian who best manages to extricate himself in the maze of the revolutionary years. This review is mostly based on his essay La Rivoluzione e il destino delle opere d’arte (The Revolution and the fate of the works of art) that originally accompanies the French edition of 1989 and which, in fact, Ms Scolaro has translated for the 2002 edition.

Art works seized by the French Army during the 1796-1797 Italian campaign:
Mantegna, Our Lady of the Victory (Paris, Louvre Museum)
Source: Wikimedia commons

Francisco de Miranda

Born in Venezuela in 1750, Miranda is a career officer in the Spanish army (Venezuela was an Iberian colony). He has a brilliant career, which is however blocked for reasons unrelated to military life. In fact, Miranda also nourishes interests of a cultural nature; he accumulates a huge private library and becomes the object of (unwelcome) attention by the Spanish Inquisition for possession of books and art works with a content deemed to be immoral. After a short period of detention, in 1783 he manages to escape to North America. The encounter with the world of the American Revolution is withering. Miranda plans the creation of a federation of states encompassing from Mississippi to Cape Horn, to which he dreams of giving the name of Colombea. Of course, in order to rid the South American continent from the yoke of the Spanish (and Portuguese) colonies, he needs the support of the major European powers. Clandestinely, he moves to England, where he takes contact with the British Government, asking a financing for the endeavour, but not obtaining any of it. With a similar goal he literally travels across Europe (often under a false name), reaching up to Russia. He arrives in France in 1792, in the full mid of the revolution, and he enrols in the ranks of the army with the intimate hope to promote his cause. After a series of victories, promoted from sergeant to general and placed in charge of the Army of the North, he is defeated by the anti-French troops in Belgium and accused, fairly unjustly, to have colluded for the defeat. He is arrested in 1793 and released only in 1795, but (as Quatremère) he conducts a substantially clandestine life afterwards: his revolution is the parliamentary and constitutional one of the United States of America and has little to do with the Convention and the Directory. Back in England, he reorganizes the ranks of those who aspire to independence of Latin American, and is ready for the great adventure in 1806. His plan for liberation starts right away from his native Venezuela, but it is not lucky: it is true that Miranda can raise the flag of independent Venezuela (which he personally designed) for the first time, but it is also true that he is forced to a rapid retreat not to be swept away by Spanish troops. The general returns to England and continues to weave his plots for the South American revolution. In the meantime, though, Venezuela rises again against Spain and becomes independent thanks to the deeds of Simón Bolivar. As first thing, the insurgents travel to London and convince Miranda to return to Venezuela, where (in 1810) he is welcomed as the noble father of the nation. In fact, a series of events (including a devastating earthquake) mean that the fledgling republic encounters many difficulties, and the image of Miranda results particularly blurred to the eyes of the population. Bolivar himself, who had convinced him to return home, delivers him to the Spaniards. General Miranda dies in prison in July 1816.

Today virtually unknown, Francisco de Miranda was at his time a symbol of the struggle for freedom of all oppressed peoples. His concept of freedom is one of the Enlightenment and with a liberal imprint. Beyond the real effectiveness of his projects, what matters is the popularity which the ideas of Miranda had, especially in the European ruling classes of the time. Miranda became a synonymous with freedom. It is very nice what Quatremère writes of him in a text chronologically following the Letters (p. 17): "Miranda is not the man of a country, he converted himself into a kind of common property, inviolable". More or less, it is what the French critic will write also of the art works.

Art works seized by the French Army during the 1796-1797 Italian campaign:
Raphael, Transfiguration (Vatican City)
Source: Wikimedia commons

The theory of repatriation

Before considering the merits of the Letters, it is right to recall what the dominant ideology in France was, at the time of publication. Pommier gives an account of it with great clarity and effectiveness. The years of the Revolution - let us not forget - are also the years of iconoclasm that breaks down the symbols of the monarchy. It is wrong to think that everything happened in one night. We are facing a spiral that spins on itself until it reaches its peak in 1792, with the arrest of the King on the one hand and the destruction and the melting down of the statue 'par excellence', or the huge bronze group dedicated to Louis XIV in the Place des Victoires, on the other hand. [4] The first to affirm – against the wave of destruction still in full swing – the will of making of France the new home of the masterpieces of Europe is Armand Guy Kersaint, in his Discours sur les monuments publics prononcé au Conseil du département de Paris le 15 décembre 1791 (Speech on the public documents, pronounced at the Council of the Paris Department on 15 December 1791) [5]. "Kersaint [editor's note: he will eventually be guillotined under Robespierre] is linked, in fact, to an entire school of thought of the eighteenth century, which leveraging in particular on the thesis by Winckelmann on Greek art, identifies the flowering of the arts with the realm of freedom" (p.74). The arts cannot flourish where there is no freedom. And given that the home of the only and true freedom is France, it follows directly that the arts cannot flourish but in France. All works of art produced by mankind, and stored in any other country, are, in fact, prisoners of political systems where freedom does not exist and cannot wait for to be freed, and in fact do not ask more than that. The thesis by Kersaint will be proposed again in the following years and will become a real cornerstone of French politics. It is absolutely true that, in this sense, domestic policy, foreign policy and cultural policy are held together in an unbreakable bond, and no real solution of continuity exists between the various stages of the Revolution. It is not France that claims for itself the artwork of others by right of conquest; are the works of art that expressly ask to be able to return to the realm of freedom to escape from captivity. At this logical overturning, Pommier brilliantly gives the name of the theory of repatriation. The first examples of 'repatriation' materialise with the conquest of Belgium in 1794: "The Flemish school stands up in mass to come to adorn our museums" (pp. 79-80), the French scholars will write [6]. The great ‘job’ of organising requisition has its beginning.

Is there a place in which art works, once arrived in France, will find a worthy place? Obviously yes. And it is the National Museum (later Napoleon Museum), i.e. the Louvre, the former residence of the sovereign, as an expression of an encyclopaedic and universal culture.

How does Quatremère respond to these theses? We'll see it in the second part.

END OF PART ONE

GO TO PART TWO 

NOTES

[1] Il carteggio Canova-Quatremère de Quincy 1785-1822 nell’edizione di Francesco Paolo Luiso (The correspondence Canova-Quatremère de Quincy 1785-1822 in the edition by Francesco Paolo Luiso), edited by Giuseppe Pavanello, Ponzano (TV), Vianelli Books, 2005. See the letters X, XII and XVI.

[2] Il carteggio quoted…Letter XXIX of 26 October 1803 ("Herewith a reprint is made of your letters already known, which are read with due pleasure").

[3] Included in Lo studio delle arti e il genio dell’Europa. Scritti di A.C. Quatremère de Quincy e di Pio VII Chiaromonti (1796-1802) (The study of the arts and the genius of Europe. Writings of A. C. Quatremère de Quincy and Pius VII Chiaromonti (1796-1802). Bologna, Nuova Alfa Editoriale, 1989.

[4] See François Lemée, Traité des Statuës, edited by Diane H. Bodart and Hendrick Ziegler, Weimar, VDG, 2012.

[5] For a recent bilingual (German and French) version of the work see Armand-Guy Kersaint, Abhandlung über die öffentlichen baudenkmäler. Paris, 1791/92 (Treatise on the public monuments), edited by Christine Tauber, Heidelberg, Manutius Verlag, 2010.

[6] See also Bénédicte Savoy, Patrimoine annexé. Les biens culturels saisis par la France en Allemagne autour de 1800 (Annexed Heritage. Cultural property seized by France in Germany around 1800). Éditions de la Maison des Sciences de l’homme, 2003 .