Armida
Paolo de Matteis
Armida
a poem by Torquato Tasso & a painting by Paolo de Matteis with an essay by J. Patrice Marandel
NI C H HO OL A S H HAALL L
Plate I
Armida Satan his fiends and spirits assembleth all, And sends them forth to work the Christians woe, False Hidraort their aid from hell doth call, And sends Armida to entrap his foe: She tells her birth, her fortune, and her fall, Asks aid, allures and wins the worthies so That they consent her enterprise to prove; She wins them with deceit, craft, beauty, love.
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Yet never eye to Cupid’s service vowed Beheld a face of such a lovely pride; A tinsel veil her amber locks did shroud, That strove to cover what it could not hide, The golden sun behind a silver cloud, So streameth out his beams on every side, The marble goddess, set at Cnidos, naked She seemed, were she unclothed, or that awaked.
a poem by Torquato Tasso
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The gamesome wind among her tresses plays, And curleth up those growing riches short; Her spareful eye to spread his beams denays, But keeps his shot where Cupid keeps his fort; The rose and lily on her cheek assays To paint true fairness out in bravest sort, Her lips, where blooms naught but the single rose, Still blush, for still they kiss while still they close.
“Fie no! complaints farewell! with arms and art I will pursue to death this spiteful knight, Not earth’s low centre, nor sea’s deepest part, Not heaven, nor hell, can shield him from my might, I will o’ertake him, take him, cleave his heart, Such vengeance fits a wronged lover’s spite, In cruelty that cruel knight surpass I will, but what avail vain words, alas?
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Her breasts, two hills o’erspread with purest snow, Sweet, smooth and supple, soft and gently swelling, Between them lies a milken dale below, Where love, youth, gladness, whiteness make their dwelling, Her breasts half hid, and half were laid to show, So was the wanton clad, as if this much Should please the eye, the rest unseen, the touch.
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When she came home, she called with outcries shrill, A thousand devils in Limbo deep that won, Black clouds the skies with horrid darkness fill, And pale for dread became the eclipsed sun, The whirlwind blustered big on every hill, And hell to roar under her feet begun, You might have heard how through the palace wide, Some spirits howled, some barked, some hissed, some cried.
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Armida
holding a wand in her right hand, an open book in her left and stepping over a diagram of cabbalistic symbols, the figure in a revealing dress and surrounded by demons is Armida (plate I), a key protagonist in Torquato Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata, the often quoted, if nowadays seldom read, source for a host of Baroque paintings. In the poem, the seductive Armida, a Saracen princess with magical powers, is sent off to seduce and kill the Christian prince Rinaldo. Following Tasso’s narrative, De Matteis shows the princess, armed with the weapons of seduction as described in the verses quoted before (see pp 5–7). While the painter, for the sake of clarity, simplified the poet’s narrative, all elements of Tasso’s poem remain in place: in the background, a towering palace illuminated by explosions and fires stands for the hellish realm of Armida’s father. The beauty of Armida, compared by Tasso to that of the Cnidian Venus, the monstrous figures surrounding her, and her revealing dress are all faithful illustrations of the poem. Tasso’s poem first published in 1581 inspired countless European artists, as it was translated shortly after its publication in several languages.1 Paolo de Matteis according to De Dominici had ‘an acute memory he used to recite by heart Virgil’s Aeneid, Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Tasso’s Jerusalem Delivered.’ To our knowledge, this painting is the only—and hitherto unknown—image of the enchantress by herself.
an essay by J. Patrice Marandel
The majority of the depictions of Armida show her either lying before her Enchanted Castle with Rinaldo in a state of sensual rapture or the amorous couple being interrupted by Rinaldo’s fellow crusaders Carlo and Ubaldo who, using a magic diamond mirror succeed in breaking Armida’s spell over their companion. Armida in a rage calls upon the spirits and monsters of her father’s realm to seek revenge and perhaps they are alluded to in this painting. Tasso’s epic seems to have had a particular resonance in France: as early as 1631 Simon Vouet painted a series of twelve panels illustrating the story for the grand galerie of the château at Chessy for the powerful courtier Henri de Fourcy. Perhaps most importantly, the French Crown acquired Domenichino’s depiction of the star-crossed lovers in 1685 (fig. 1). The story engaged the energies of generations of French artists among them Antoine Coypel, Charles de la Fosse and Louis de Boullogne who were exact contemporaries when De Matteis was working in Paris. Afterwards, François Lemoyne and François Boucher both painted scenes from the drama.
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This sumptuous work painted on a grand scale must surely have been an important commission and the foreshortening of the figure suggests it was site specific. Perhaps it was intended to be one of a series of life-size figures from Tasso. Its impeccable condition is a result of the high quality of the materials used. The dazzling blue of Armida’s drapery is painted with pure azurite while the whole composition is confidently painted onto a series of horizontal oak planks joined to make a large vertical panel. This unusual format and the costly materials were presumably at the behest of the picture’s original patron. One can still admire, as if it were painted yesterday, the fluidity of the paint whose sprezzatura brushstrokes emphasize Armida’s legendary sensuality. Although a sorceress with a bad temper she is very different from the terrifying wizened old hags painted 10
Fig. 2 Jean Bérain and Jean Dolivar, Armide Frontispiece, illustration based on the set design, first published 1686
Fig. 1 Domenichino, Rinaldo and Armida, ca. 1600–25. Musée du Louvre, Paris
And drama is perhaps the appropriate word. The narrative also furnished the basis for the ballet La Délivrance de Renaud in which Louis XIII starred, while his successor Louis XIV, performed in the Ballets Les Amours Déguisés also based on Tasso’s poem, set to music by Jean-Baptiste Lully in 1664. In 1686, Lully dedicated to the king what was to become one of his most successful operas, Armide (fig. 2), with sets by Jean Bérain. Armide was revived many times, including in 1703. Could there be a connection between the opera and our painting by Paolo de Matteis?
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Gifted and ambitious, the young Paolo De Matteis studied first under Luca Giordano in Naples. From Giordano, De Matteis learned how to paint quickly, in precise and rapid touches, speedily enough to be the author of a large catalogue of works. In Rome, De Matteis apprenticed with the less illustrious but able Giovanni Maria Morandi (1622–1717) before returning to Giordano’s studio. De Matteis’s exposure to Roman classicism, Carlo Maratti in particular, left an indelible mark on the artist. Throughout his work, including in this Armida, allusions to Roman classicism—and even to classical antiquity—bring a soothing note to his compositions. Paradoxically, De Matteis’s aptitude to adopt Maratti’s lessons brings him on occasions to the threshold of Neoclassicism. Such a ‘modern’ sensibility may have contributed to his success with French and English patrons.
Fig. 5 Paolo de Matteis, Allegory on the End of the War of the Spanish Succession, ca. 1714. Museum of Fine Arts, Houston
Unsigned, Armida is nonetheless unmistakably the work of Paolo de Matteis (1662–1728), the prolific Neapolitan artist. Nicola Spinosa was the first to confirm the attribution of this work and dated it to the artist’s Parisian period.2 Comparison can be made to an equally sensual depiction of Danaë, signed and dated 1704, in a private collection. Much younger than Luca Giordano (1634–1705) and only five years younger than Francesco Solimena (1657–1747), Paolo de Matteis reflects in his production the challenge facing an ambitious and gifted artist whose entire career, indeed his entire life, developed in a timespan dominated by the shadow of his predecessor and the immensely successful career of his exact contemporary Francesco Solimena. Paolo de Matteis has often been described as the third member
Left to right: Fig. 3 Salvator Rosa, La Strega (The Witch), ca. 1647–49. Galleria degli Uffizi, Fig. 4 François Boucher, The Toilette of Venus, 1751. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
by De Matteis’s fellow Neapolitan, Salvator Rosa (fig. 3). Here Armida is, as Tasso describes her, Venus-like, and the way her flesh tones, hair and pearls are handled anticipates the sensual rococo Venuses painted a generation later by Boucher (fig. 4). But central to Armida’s character, as Tasso makes clear—“She wins them with deceit, craft,beauty, love”—is her power. Though beautiful, Armida is a force to be reckoned with, and this is why De Matteis paints her alone, surrounded by her hellish servants. Like Venus, a goddess who was not to be taken lightly for all her charms, so too Armida is a potent figure who combines both power and beauty.
of that trinity of Neapolitan artists that covered the end of the Seicento, and the first half of the Settecento. The comparison has not always been kind, or even fair, to Paolo de Matteis whose originality is sometimes hidden behind the multiplicity of sources from which he drew. More than Solimena’s, however, De Matteis’s large production—covering all genres apart from portraiture—is an essential step in the formation of a high spirited and decorative style, sometimes referred to as Barochetto.
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Fig. 6 Alexis Simon-Belle, Portrait of Antoine Crozat, marquis du Châtel, ca. 1701–25. Musée Fabre, Montpellier
De Dominici’s Vita of Paolo de Matteis—the most reliable source of information on the painter—gives little insight into the personality of the artist. His work, however, may be more explicit: one of De Matteis’s most famous pictures is the very odd Allegory on the End of the War of the Spanish Succession (fig. 5) in which the painter positioned himself audaciously in the middle of his composition, essentially transforming a political allegory into an allegory of painting. Only a fragment of the painting has survived but its composition is known from a large, finished sketch or ricordo, today in Houston. That painting was not the first instance in which the artist had represented himself slightly incongruously amid another subject. In Paris, de Matteis painted himself in a double portrait (now lost) of Monsieur and Madame Antoine Crozat. It is not known if the brother of the famous Parisian collector, Pierre Crozat, had found it appropriate to have the image of the man he had commissioned to paint his portrait alongside the likenesses of his wife and himself, but the French critic Mariette was not impressed by the life-size double portrait, most likely shocked by the intrusion of the artist in his own composition.3 In his monograph, Livio Pestilli observed dryly: ‘…relegating the patrons’ portraits to a painting within a painting and letting his artistic ego overshadow the sitters was not exactly the best way to elicit a positive response from an aristocratic audience.’4 De Matteis’s aggrandized opinion of himself was well-known among fellow artists. The artist boasted being the equal of Correggio and Raphael, using his technical ability to imitate their work. Just as Mariette found inappropriate the insertion of de Matteis’s selfportrait within those of the Crozat couple, De Dominici wrote about the poor reception of the Spanish allegory when first exhibited at the Monte dei’ Poveri Vergognosi.5
The high esteem in which the artist held himself may have fanned his desire to accept an invitation to work in Paris.7 Giordano, employed by the court of Spain, had declined such an invitation and so had Solimena, too busy at home and internationally to abandon his studio. The opportunity of accepting a position that had been passed over by both Giordano and Solimena was still too prestigious to be ignored. Despite the checkered history of Italian artists
working for the court of France (the example of Bernini’s half-successful visit in 1665 was still remembered almost half a century later), the prestige of the French court still functioned as an irresistible magnet to many foreign artists. Indubitably De Matteis’s aspiration was to obtain the patronage of the French King. However, when De Matteis arrived in Paris in 1702, it was not as guest of the King, as described by Mariette. Rather, he was answering an invitation from the duc d’Estrées, a significant figure at the Spanish court of Philip V, rather unsuccessful in his political or military endeavors but better remembered today as an important collector. Shortly after their meeting in Naples, where d’Estrées was on a diplomatic mission, De Matteis departed for Paris, where he evidently worked with extreme diligence. Soon after his arrival in the French capital, he embarked on the decoration of a gallery in Antoine Crozat’s (fig. 6) opulent new hôtel built by Pierre Bullet on the Place Vendôme, drawing the attention of many connoisseurs, but not necessarily their admiration.8 Unfortunately, all these decorations have disappeared, and are poorly documented. At the same time, De Matteis was commissioned to decorate the new house of the wealthy financier Jean Thévenin (fig. 7) on rue Neuve des Petits-Champs also designed by Bullet. These prestigious commissions underscore the fact that despite the absence of royal patronage, De Matteis still obtained the support of some of the highest aristocrats and best collectors of the time. A handwritten note kept at the French National Archives and
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Pier Leone Ghezzi’s (1674–1755) famous caricature of De Matteis in his studio (see p. 27–29)6 wittily represents the artist wearing a raggedy version of the more opulent robe and cap he wears in the Houston picture. Painted in 1732 in Rome, it perfectly captures the resentment felt by Roman artists at the intrusion of the proud, but annoyingly successful, Neapolitan artist into their market in the Eternal City.
The name of the collector who commissioned the painting remains unknown to this day. The earliest mention of an ‘Armida’ by Paolo de Matteis appears in the inventory made after the death of Stefano Conti, a well-known Lucchese collector (1664–1739). Conti’s activity as a collector, his establishment of a large picture gallery, and the chronology of his commissions (largely through the painter Alessandro Marchesini (1664– 1738)) are well-documented.9 That Conti acquired such a painting as this Armida is not impossible, even though it is perhaps unlikely that Conti/ Marchesini would have gone to the extent of reaching out to the Neapolitan painter in France and bringing the painting back to Italy after its completion. Furthermore, the painting was back to France at an unknown date where it would ultimately reside in the collection of the Baillehache family by the second half of the nineteenth century. The design of its original frame could not have originated anywhere but in France, further suggesting a French history of the painting.
Fig. 7 Jean-Michel Chevotet, Elevation and profile of the hôtel Crozat 17 Place Vendôme, 1st arrondissement, 1718–36, Musée Carnavalet – Histoire de Paris, Paris
published in Arnauld Brejon’s article offers the names of several of these individuals eager to employ the Neapolitan artist, among them ‘S.A.R. le prince de Conty, M. le duc d’Orléans […].’ The mention of the prince de Conti, a cousin of the King brings us back directly to our Armida.
most famous branches of the Bourbon family—is also associated with Paolo De Matteis, as one of those aristocratic patrons close to the French Crown who welcomed De Matteis in Paris.10 In the sales following the death of Louis-François de Bourbon, Prince de Conti (1717–1776), were included several paintings by Paolo De Matteis, among these a Renaud et Armide. All paintings had likely been acquired earlier in the century by LouisFrançois’s grandfather, François-Louis de Bourbon, Prince de Conti (1664–1709). Successful in Naples, encouraged by the duc d’Estrées, and ambitious by nature, Paolo de Matteis was naturally inclined to embrace the possibilities offered by the offer to work in Paris. He had all qualities required for the adventure: his considerable production covered every aspect of history painting—religious subjects, political allegories and mythology—the most admired genre in the hierarchy established by the rules of the French academy. De Matteis was also certainly guided by the example of Giovanni Francesco Romanelli (1610–1662) who during his two sojourns in the French capital (1646–1648 and 1655–1657) had painted the much-admired gallery of Cardinal Mazarin’s palace and the ceilings of several salons of the Louvre. Even though his death did not leave a void in French artistic life, due to the activity of artists for the most part trained under him (Houasse, Jouvenet, among others), an eager De Matteis may have sensed that a window of opportunity was open for him. There were obstacles, however. This official system put in place by the French Academy favored French artists trained in its rigid strictures. As can be deduced from an even partial reconstruction of De Matteis’s corpus of paintings executed in France (and/ or for French patrons)—among which this Armida must now count as one of his most accomplished examples—De Matteis’s clearly responded to the new spirit that began to take over French painting. The last decade of Louis XIV’s reign was marred by the endless wars waged for the succession to the throne of Spain; the court of Versailles under the influence of Madame de Maintenon, the King’s morganatic wife, had adopted at least the appearance of widespread devotion and moral order. It was up to collectors to demand a new kind of decoration and to some artists to respond accordingly. It was also easier for a foreign artist such as De Matteis to introduce more fantasy and innovation without having to conform to the most stringent of academic rules.
By a pure coincidence the name Conti—this time belonging to one of the
It is revealing to consider that Antoine Crozat, already mentioned for his double portrait by De Matteis, was the brother of Pierre Crozat (1655–
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Fig. 8 Paolo de Matteis, Woman of the Apocalypse and St. Michael Fighting the Dragon, 1698. Gesù Nuovo, Naples
1740), Watteau’s early champion. That Paolo de Matteis found patrons among new collectors eager to own light and spirited subjects is proven by the paintings of his we know for certain to have been created in France and for French patrons. Another example would be that of Thévenin who commissioned paintings of the Seasons and of the Signs of the Zodiac by the artist11—subjects not entirely distant from this Armida—for his new Parisian residence. Novelty was not limited to subject matter. This Armida represents also a substantial stylistic shift in the painter’s career. In 1698, just a few years before painting Armida, De Matteis had completed a large fresco in the Gesù Nuovo representing The Woman of the Apocalypse and St. Michael Fighting the Dragon (fig. 8). Notwithstanding the chasm between a religious image loaded with theological polemics and a literary figure, the two paintings share common features but are stylistically worlds apart. Because of the lack of documentation, it is difficult to ascertain which works De Matteis executed in France. The difficulty is compounded by the fact that De Matteis may have continued in his ‘French manner’ after his return to Naples. A softening of his figures and more flexible compositions traditionally define the paintings of his French period. To remain within the
Fig. 9 Paolo de Matteis, Rinaldo and Armida, ca. 1698–1710. Private Collection
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As noted by Arnauld Brejon, much remains to be known about Paolo de Matteis’s interferaction with French artists.12 Brejon suggests that painters working for the Grand Dauphin (Louis XIV’s eldest son, 1661–1711) at his Meudon residence may have been aware of the Neapolitan’s work. It is certain that De Matteis’s virtuoso technique—reminiscent of Giordano’s proverbial fa presto—was a reason for French artists and connoisseurs to notice the Neapolitan newcomer in their city. That virtuosity was scorned by writers such as Germain Brice, whose criticism based more on national propaganda for home-grown painters than on rigorous objections may even disguise envy, if not admiration, for the artist.13 More positive judgements have been recorded: another commission De Matteis received in Paris was for a fresco for the library of the convent of the Augustinian Discalced Fathers. According to a note written in 1703: ‘All good painters in town envy him.’ 14
The discovery of this Armida compels us to reopen the case of Paolo de Matteis’s Parisian sojourn. The irreparable loss of his fresco decorations and the lack of original documents make the reconstruction of that puzzle particularly challenging. The fact that his activity does not take place in the official light of the court contributes to the complexity of his story. Despite important recent research, our knowledge of the group of highranking collectors who patronized De Matteis in Paris remains incomplete. The group was far from homogeneous. How much their diverse personalities affected the artist remains to be discovered. What is certain is that Paolo De Matteis participated in and benefited from his French experience. His years in Paris were not crucial enough for him to alter his style significantly. At the same time, however, his French experience was not foreign to contributing to many original compositions of his later Neapolitan years. On one hand, 20
he surprisingly moderated the Roman, Maratti-inspired, high Baroque formulas of earlier compositions. His Annunciation (1712; fig. 10), for instance, even evokes the pure classicism of Le Sueur (1650; fig. 11). On the other hand, and particularly in his rare paintings of single figures, Paolo de Matteis embraces a new spirit introduced by the painters entrusted to the decoration of the Trianon (1688 –1714) and of the Grand Dauphin’s
Fig. 12 Louis de Boullogne, Rinaldo and Armida, 1704. Private Collection [formerly Christie’s]
As observed by Brejon, there is no proof that De Matteis’s signature compositions—best exemplified by his Allegory of a Hoped-for Alliance between France and the Kingdom of Naples (1700–1702, Mainz, Landesmuseum), painted just before his departure for Paris—inspired Henri de Favanne’s (1688–1752) political allegory illustrating The Rendition of the Kingdoms of Valencia and Aragon to Philip V, ca. 1714. Yet the similarities between the two compositions, particularly in the groupings of the figures may suggest a direct connection.
Left to right: Fig. 10 Paolo de Matteis, The Annunciation, 1712. St. Louis Art Museum, St. Fig. 11 Eustache Le Sueur, The Annunciation, 1650. Toledo Art Museum, Toledo
iconographic limits of our painting’s subject, a celebrated Rinaldo and Armida (fig. 9), of which several versions are known, displays these characteristics. It has been prudently dated by Nicola Spinosa ‘between 1698 and 1710.’
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residence at Meudon (1702–1703): Charles de La Fosse, Louis de Boullogne (fig. 12), René-Antoine Houasse and Antoine Coypel among others. His Danaë (ca. 1710), like this Armida, fully prefigures the accomplishments of a François Lemoyne (fig. 13), and beyond to the great representatives of the generation of artists born around 1700 and active around 1730: Boucher and Natoire. Fig. 13 François Lemoyne, Pygmalion and Galatea, 1729. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Tours
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.
7. 8.
9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.
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The first English translation by Edward Fairfax was published in 1600; the French translation (by Blaise de Vigenère) in 1610. Confirmed via email on September 09, 2025. Philippe de Chennevières and Anatole de Montaiglon, eds., Abecedario de P.J. Mariette…, 1845–56, Paris, vol. 3, p. 291 (new edition, Paris, F. de Nobele, 1966). Livio Pestilli, Paolo de Matteis: Neapolitan Painting and Cultural History in Baroque Europe, 2013, Burlington, p. 145. Id. P. 147 147 See John Maxon and Joseph J. Rishel, eds., Painting in Italy in the Eighteenth Century: Rococo to Romanticism, Art Institute of Chicago, Minneapolis Institute of Arts, and Toledo Museum of Art, 1970, exh. cat., p. 194, no. 81, reproduced p. 195. See Arnauld Brejon de Lavergnée, ‘Plaidoyer pour un peintre “de pratique”: le séjour de Paolo de Matteis en France (1702–1705),’ Revue de l’Art, 1990/2, no. 88, pp. 70–79. Brice, quoted by Brejon writing about Paolo de Matteis’s work for Crozat declared ‘… he had also painted a few rooms in that hotel, as well as a ceiling above a staircase, in a manner that is not appropriate.’ op. cit. p. 72. See Francis Haskell, ‘Stefano Conti, Patron of Canaletto and Others,’ The Burlington Magazine 98, no. 642, (1956) pp. 296–301. See Bréjon, op.cit, p.72. I thank Yuan Fang for having brought this collector to my attention. Brejon, op.cit, p.77. Germain Brice, Description de la ville de Paris et de tout ce qu’elle contient, Paris 1706; cited in Pestilli, op. cit, p. 41. J. Guiffrey, ‘Lettres de filiation accordées par les religieux Augustins de Paris à Paolo de Matteis, peintre napolitain etc.,’ Nouvelles Archives de l’Art Français, ser. II, 8 (1880–1881), p. 357, n. 38, ‘Il donne de la jalousie à tous les habiles peintres de cette ville,’ cited in
Paolo de Matteis Piano del Cilento 1662–1728 Naples Armida Invoking the Demons ca. 1702–05 oil on panel 86 ⅝ x 68 ⅜ inches 220 x 173.5 cm
provenance Stefano Conti (1659–1739) (?), Lucca (with its counterpart Erminia) Comte de Baillehache, Paris, by circa 1880 by descent until 2025 related literature Arnauld Brejon de Lavergnée, ‘Plaidoyer pour un peintre “de pratique”: le séjour de Paolo de Matteis en France (1702–1705)’, Revue de l’art, Paris, 1990/2, no. 88, pp. 70–79. Vincent Drognet, ‘La maison d’un financier au début du XVIIIe siècle: nouveaux documents sur l’hôtel de Jean Thévenin, rue Neuve des Petits-Champs, à Paris’, Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de l’Art français, Paris, 2004, pp. 57–84.
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Pier Leone Ghezzi was an artist with an unexpectedly varied oeuvre: he painted altarpieces, portraits, frescoes and, of course, drew hundreds of his famous ‘caricatures’. But his twentieth-century supporter the art historian Anthony Clark was frustrated that today his audience defined this artist merely as a producer of ‘caricatures’. In fact, Ghezzi was known in his own day as a fine musician, the godson of Carlo Maratti, a curator, an archeologist, and a connoisseur of Roman antiquities as well as a member of the Accademia di San Luca and an accomplished painter in many genres. Ghezzi’s likenesses of just about anyone who was anyone in early eighteenth-century Rome were merely a record of life and the people, high and low, in contemporary Rome. They were not mean-spirited and had none of the bite of the slightly later caricatures of Zanotti and Tiepolo in Venice. Ghezzi’s portraits, almost always in the instantly recognizable pen and ink outlines with striated lines and sometimes a little wash, were more like rapidly executed, unidealized mementos than satirical caricatures. This famous painting depicts the Neapolitan painter Paolo de Matteis (1662–1728) standing in front of his easel on which rests a depiction of ‘Fortuna’. As Marandel notes, Paolo de Matteis took his high self-esteem to extraordinary lengths, and included himself, inappropriately according to his contemporaries, in larger compositions. Among the most extreme was a painting measuring 416 x 312 cm depicting the Allegory of the Consequences of the Treaty of Utrecht, which featured a life-size self-portrait at the center. This painting originally hung in the main gallery of the artist’s own residence on the Via Toledo in Naples. It is arguably, in fact, an allegory of the nobility of the grand manner in painting as espoused by his most important influence, Carlo Maratti, and featuring himself as its greatest living exponent. A related work, possibly a modello, is in the Sarah Campbell Blaffer Foundation, Houston (p.13, fig. 5), while the original and more refined self-portrait was cut out of the larger painting and is now in the Museo di Capodimonte, Naples. It is interesting to note that, perhaps with an unexpected touch of self-deprecation De Matteis placed a beautifully painted baboon right next to the artist. This could allude to the artist’s ability to ‘ape’ nature or could it be a nod to the fact, as his biographer wrote ‘his physiognomy seemed a bit like a monkey’s’? In 1723 De Matteis came to Rome, center of the civilized world, where he worked for Pope Innocent XIII and hoped to consolidate what was already a successful career. Rome turned out to be inhospitable, and De Matteis was lam28
pooned there by Ghezzi who inscribed a caricature saying ‘Pavolo de Matteis an extemporaneous painter who came to Rome, cranked out many canvases, relieved many Roman nobles of their money and then, disgusted with Rome, returned to Naples on June 15, 1725.’ A pen and ink caricature dated June 30, 1725, and now in the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (Ott.lat.3115, p.111), shows De Matteis sitting at his easel painting an allegory wearing a painter’s gown and turban. He is clearly short of stature and looks like a monkey. But in De Matteis’s Neapolitan biographer, De Dominici, describes him rather as Ghezzi has painted him: ‘Paolo’s stature was small, with minute limbs but a broad forehead…His physiognomy seemed a bit like a monkey’s, just as one sees in his most natural self-portrait that he painted as seated, wearing a housecoat’. So, perhaps Ghezzi’s seemingly unflattering likeness was actually accurate. Clearly Ghezzi was intrigued by his Neapolitan rival, for in October 1725 he made another caricature (Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Ott. lat.3116, p.92) this time of the painter with the same simian features, but standing, pondering an empty canvas on his easel. It is now inscribed, more positively, ‘Paolo de Mattei, Neapolitan Painter, good master and also most erudite in designing fables and stories.’ As Livio Pestilli suggests, Ghezzi’s portrait is more sympathetic than it initially appears. From it we understand that ‘Ghezzi ultimately considered Paolo de Matteis not only as a true master but also the very embodiment of a noble artist who has had to endure Fortune’s fickleness and an environment, Rome, that failed to appreciate his true merit’. This painting depends on the second of the two drawn caricatures. Strangely, the inscription says that the painting was executed on March 8, 1726, by which time De Matteis was already back in Naples. Ghezzi recorded in his memoirs that the picture was commissioned from the Perugian abbot and artists’ biographer, Leone Pascoli (1674–1744). He writes, ‘I have finished the caricature of Paolo de Matteis who is painting Fortune standing on a wheel in the act of crowning a Donkey and next to said Donkey there is a beautiful Horse. This is to signify that Fortune always protects the ignorant, something one notices in our time.’ From Pascoli, the biographer of Pier Leone Ghezzi’s father and many other late Baroque Roman artists, this remarkable painting passed unrecorded for two centuries until it was acquired by the Ghezzi’s most sympathetic twentieth-century admirer, Tony Clark. 29
Pier Leone Ghezzi Rome 1674–1755 Rome Paolo de Matteis in his Studio 1732 oil on canvas 15 ½ x 11 ⅝ inches 39.5 x 29.5 cm signed, top, center: ‘Ritratto di Paolo/De Matteis, Pittore/Napoletano, fatto dà/Me, Cav Ghezzi, il di 8/Marzo 1726, il quale/fù Scolaro di Luca/Giordano Pittore Na/poletano’
provenance Lione Pascoli (1674–1744), Rome Anthony M. Clark (1923–1976) his sale, Christie’s, London, 6 July 1978, lot 37 with Chaucer Fine Arts Inc., London Christie’s, New York, Important Old Master Paintings, 15 April 2008, lot 47 Jaqui Safra, New York his sale, Christie’s, New York, 24 January 2023, lot 29 exhibited Chicago, Art Institute of Chicago, Painting in Italy in the Eighteenth Century: Rococo to Romanticism, 16 September–1 November 1970; traveled to Minneapolis, Minneapolis Institute of Arts, 24 November 1970–10 January 1971; traveled to Toledo, Toledo Museum of Art, 7 February–21 March 1971 Rome, Palazzo Ruspoli, Artisti in Roma nel Sei e Settecento, 1988 Paris, Haboldt & Co., Portrait de l’artiste: Images des peintres 1600–1890, 1991–1992 Ascoli Piceno, Palazzo dei Capitani, Pier Leone Ghezzi: Settecento alla Moda, 8 May–22 August 1999 New York, Nicholas Hall Ltd., The Hub of the World: Art in EighteenthCentury Rome, 6 October–30 November 2023
bibliography John Maxon and Joseph Rishel, Painting in Italy in the Eighteenth Century: Rococo to Romanticism, Chicago, 1970, exh. cat., pp. 194–95, reproduced no. 81. Eugenio Riccòmini, Pittura Italiana del Settecento, Bologna, 1974, exh. cat., p. 185. Stefania M. Rinaldi and Eric Young, Old Master Paintings, London, 1978, exh. cat., reproduced no. 8. Charles McCorquodale, ‘Old Master Paintings at the Chaucer and Van Dam Galleries’, The Burlington Magazine, London, 1978, vol. 120, no. 909, p. 866. Anna Lo Bianco, Pier Leone Ghezzi pittore, Palermo, 1985, pp. 130–31, reproduced no. 69. Galleria Gasparrini, Artisti in Roma nel Sei e Settecento, Rome, 1988, exh. cat., p. 44, reproduced p. 45. John T. Spike, et al., Portrait de l’Artiste: images des peintres 1600–1800, exh. cat., Paris, 1991, no. 17. Anna Lo Bianco, Pier Leone Ghezzi: Settecento alla moda, Ascoli Piceno, 1999, exh. cat., p. 144–45, reproduced no. 39. Angela Negro, ‘Un “Allegoria della fortuna” di Giacinto Gimignani per la Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica’, Studi di storia dell’arte in onore di Denis Mahon, Milan, 2000, p. 292. Pier Leone Ghezzi, ‘Memorie del cavalier Leone Ghezzi scritte da semedesimo da gennaio 1731 a luglio 1734’, in Maria C. D. da Empoli, ed., Pier Leone Ghezzi: Un protagonista del Settecento romano, Rome, 2008, pp. 116, 216, 239. Livio Pestilli, Paolo de Matteis: Neapolitan Painting and Cultural History in Baroque Europe, London, 2013, p. 151, reproduced pl. 42. Nicholas Hall, ed., The Hub of the World: Art in Eighteenth-Century Rome, New York, 2023, exh. cat., pp. 89–91, reproduced no. 4.
Text Credits pp. 5–7: Text excerpts from Gerusalemme Liberata by Torquato Tasso (Parma, 1581), translated by Edward Fairfax (London, 1600). /The Argument and verses XXIX, XXX, and XXXI from Canto IV; verses LXIII and LXVII from Canto XVI. Image Credits Fig. 1 Domenichino, Rinaldo and Armida, ca. 1600–25, oil on canvas (138 x 160 cm). Musée du Louvre, Paris, INV 806; MR 1614; MV 6139./Fig. 2 Jean Bérain and Jean Dolivar, Armide Frontispiece, illustration based on the set design, first published 1686, print. Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris/Fig. 3 Salvator Rosa, La Strega (The Witch), ca. 1647–49, oil on canvas (212 x 147 cm). Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence/Fig. 4 François Boucher, The Toilette of Venus, 1751, oil on canvas (108.3 x 85.1 cm). Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Bequest of William K. Vanderbilt, 1920, 20.155.9/Fig. 5 Paolo de Matteis, Allegory on the End of the War of the Spanish Succession, ca. 1714, oil on canvas (76.2 x 101.6 cm). Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Sarah Campbell Blaffer Foundation, BF.1980.4/Fig. 6 Alexis Simon-Belle, Portrait of Antoine Crozat, marquis du Châtel, ca. 1701–25, oil on canvas (138 x 105 cm). Musée Fabre, Montpellier, 2021.1.1. Photo credit Courtesy of Studio Sebert/Fig. 7 Jean-Michel Chevotet, Elevation and profile of the hôtel Crozat 17 Place Vendôme, 1st arrondissement, 1718–36, pen, ink, and wash (20.8 x 31.9 cm). Musée Carnavalet – Histoire de Paris, Paris, D.11145/Fig. 8 Paolo de Matteis, Woman of the Apocalypse and St. Michael Fighting the Dragon, 1698, fresco. Gesù Nuovo, Naples. Photo credit Claudio Garofalo /Fig. 9 Paolo de Matteis, Rinaldo and Armida, ca. 1698–1710, oil on panel (51.1 x 59.1 cm). Private Collection [formerly Christie’s]/Fig. 10 Paolo de Matteis, The Annunciation, 1712, oil on canvas (206.1 x 178.1 cm). St. Louis Art Museum, St. Louis, Museum Purchase, 69:1973/Fig. 11 Eustache Le Sueur, The Annunciation, 1650, oil on canvas (156.2 x 125.7 cm). Toledo Museum of Art, Toledo, Purchased with funds from the Libbey Endowment, Gift of Edward Drummond Libbey, 1952.63. Courtesy of Toldeo Museum of Art /Fig. 12 Louis de Boullogne, Rinaldo and Armida, 1704, oil on canvas (92.5 x 126 cm). Private Collection [formerly Christie’s] Courtesy Colnaghi's/Fig. 13 François Lemoyne, Pygmalion and Galatea, 1729, oil on canvas (212 x 168 cm). Musée des Beaux-Arts, Tours, 1951-5-1. Photo credit Josse/Bridgeman Images Editor Nicholas H.J. Hall Acknowledgements Alexandra Coutavas, Yuan Fang, Suzanne Salinetti © Nicholas Hall Ltd., 2026 NICHOLAS HALL 17 East 76 Street New York United States +1 212 772 9100 info@nicholashall.art A limited edition of 100 copies No part of this catalogue may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of research or private study, or criticism and review.
ISBN: 979-8-9949189-0-6
J. PATRICE MARANDEL is the curator emeritus of European art at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, mounting key exhibitions on Caravaggio, Dürer and Cranach, among others, during his tenure between 1993 and 2017. He has also held curatorial positions at the Detroit Institute of Art and the Art Institute of Chicago. A native of Paris, he resides in Los Angeles.
Nicholas Hall is a private gallery in New York specializing in museumquality European Old Master paintings. With over 40 years of experience, the gallery is distinguished by its quality scholarship and exhibition programme.
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