Vol. 132 / No. 1053
Vol. 132 / No. 1053
PUBLIC BRONZES are intensely political objects, as Philip Ward
Jackson's article on Marochetti's Wellington Monument (p.851) reminds
us. For three months this winter (to 13thJanuary) the entrance hall of
the British Museum is dominated by a political animal brought to London
for political reasons - the recently cleaned bronze lion of St Mark from
the Piazzetta in Venice, which has been put on show to coincide with
the President of
Italy's state visit in October. Much as one may
disapprove in principle of shunting objects of great antiquity around
the world for diplomatic ends, the showing of the lion amid the British
Museum's collections provides a valuable opportunity to rethink its
origins.
There can be few artefacts of this size and importance that
have remained quite so baffling. This apparently alien creature of
forbidding aspect has been dated anywhere between the eighth century
B.C. and the Duecento; it has been identified as romanesque,gothic,
Assyrian, Etruscan, Sassanian, Chinese, and as a product of the ancient
near east in the seventh, sixth, fourth or third centuries. For most of
the present century it has been assumed that the lion, like the bronze
horses of San Marco, was brought to Venice from some eastern shore, and
transformed into an image of the evangelist in the twelfth or early
thirteenth century.
The only hard fact of any kind we have about the
lion between the time of its manufacture and the Napoleonic wars is
that in 1293 the Venetian Great Council ordered that 'the lion which is
on top of the column should be repaired (or adapted – aptari)
from the revenue of the wine and wood taxes'. For the next six hundred
years it was regarded not as a work of art, but as a politico religious
symbol, 'St Mark in the form of a lion', the protector and patron of
Venice. Spared the wholesale lion-slaughter that followed the fall of
the republic in
1797, it was taken as booty to Paris and erected in
front of the Invalides. When the Venetians demanded it back in 1815,
only Austrian workmen could be found to bring it down, reported Countess
Potocka, for no Frenchman would agree to 'despoil France'! It fell and
broke in many pieces, elicting cries of joy from the crowd. 'Le lion de Saint-Marc ne sera plus pourpersonne',
the Countess lamented prematurely. Bolted together, patched, and given
Neo-classical wings, the lion re-ascended its granite column. Since then
it has been brought down only three times: in 1891 for a superb
restoration on Ruskinian/Morrisian principles laid down by the heroic
Giacomo Boni; at the end of the Second World War in 1945; and, most
recently, in 1985. On the first two occasions it aroused brief interest,
reverting each time to art-historical oblivion.
It is perhaps not
surprising that the first person to give serious thought to the lion as a
work of art was Ruskin, who described it as 'that noble winged lion,
one of the grandest things produced by mediaeval art, which all men
admire and none can draw'. Although he had not
seen it from close quarters ('I have not been up to the lion, and cannot answer for it'), he thought initially (Stones of Venice) that it was thirteenth century, revising this by the
time of St Mark's Rest
to a date in the eleventh or twelfth centuries. In assigning it to a
medieval Venetian craftsman, Ruskin was followed by the faithful Boni.
By
the 1890s, however, a contrary view that the lion was an ancient
oriental chimera had become well established. Layard was cited to
support the view that it was Assyrian; Venturi believed it to be
Sassanian; and these assertions were repeated in the guidebooks. In
1945, Ward Perkins, struck by its archaic vitality, assigned it
hesitantly to eastern Anatolia or northern Syria in the seventh or sixth
centuries B.C. During the recent campaign it was decided initially that
the statue 'could not possibly be a product of medieval Venetian art',
and so responsibility for it was given to the Soprintendenza per i Beni
Archeologici. Having succeeded in distinguishing four stages of
restoration before that of 1815 (only the head, neck and breast, and
parts of the legs are original), and analysing the differences in the
composition of the various bronze alloys, Bianca Maria Scarfi in the
catalogue of the BM
exhibition has arrived at the conclusion that the 'lion' is a Hellenistic interpretation of the
Mesopotamian/Persian
lion-headed griffin, made in the fourth or third centuries B.C., going
so far as to suggest that it may originally have seen ridden by a figure
of Sandon brandishing an axe.
Looking at the lion in the British Museum, which offers such a profusion of comparanda
from the ancient world east and west, one's faith in its oriental
qualities begins to wobble, like Marcel's in front of the church at
Balbec. Does the lion's small head with its humanoid ears and wavy,
flame-like mane make it more like the frieze of Miletus or acroteria
near
Ephesus than it is to the myriad stone lions supporting romanesque cathedral porches up
and down the Italian peninsula? One thing is sure: very few centres in the world could
equal the resources offered by the British Museum to answer such questions. At the
symposium
held on 16th November to discuss the lion, it was the mediaevalists who
seemed most anxious to claim it, after it had been successively
disowned by the Greek and Roman and western Asiatic departments.
The bronze group at Cliveden discussed by Antonia Bostrbm on p.829 hardly presents a problem of such epoch-spanning proportions as the lion of St Mark. But here too the starting point was the object itself and a single fact. From these unpromising beginnings she has succeeded in restoring to the Pluto and Proserpina its sculptor, patron, subsequent history and place in renaissance art. The article has been judged the 1990 winner of the Elfrida Manning prize for the study of sculpture. Submissions are invited for the 1991 contest, to be received by 3lst June.