An illustrated essay by Isobel Ali (Rutgers ’22)

Nestled in the Alban Hills of Lazio, less than twenty miles southeast of Rome, lies the inconspicuous city of Frascati. Though known by many as the namesake of the wine produced in this relatively small region, Frascati boasts a rich history that extends back to Republican Rome and beyond, and much of it remains tangible today. Take, for instance, the Istituto Salesiano Villa Sora.

Established by St John Bosco (1815-1888) in 1859, the Society of Saint Francis of Sales, now the Salesians of Don Bosco, is a religious congregation originally founded to aid impoverished children during the Industrial Revolution. Its initial school was created in 1845 in Torino, but the organization rapidly spread, establishing schools around the world. One of the best known locations the Salesians managed to acquire was the Villa Sora, one of the twelve famed Ville Tuscolane, in 1900.

Owing their collective name to their location in the shadow of Monte Tuscolo, this series of villas was built in the old Roman tradition of the landed aristocracy owning country estates that both marked their status and served as places of leisure away from Rome. Though they are spread across Frascati and neighboring Grottaferrata (to its south) and Monte Porzio Catone (to its northeast), these palatial estates unify the region and convey upon it a sense of old nobility, especially when considered in the context of the wider Castelli Romani region.

Indeed, the Alban Hills came to be known under this title for their castles and fortified towns, and though many are private, the properties remain a series of stunning examples of Renaissance and early modern architecture and landscape design. The Villa Sora, like the others, possesses an abundance of these historical attributes. What is more, its status as an operating secondary school allows for a unique opportunity at insight into its history.

While many of these estates bear the family name of their owners—for example, the Ville Aldobrandini, Falconieri, and Torlonia (formerly a Ludovisi possession)—the Villa Sora bears a feudal name, that of the Duchy of Sora. This was a fairly small region in southeast Lazio that resembled a growth at the foot of the Papal States at the border with the Kingdom of Naples. Today the area stands near Lazio’s borders with Abruzzo, Molise, and Campania.

The Duchy of Sora dealt with its fair share of instability. This was partly owed to its historical context: the Italian states of the Middle Ages were notoriously fraught with unrest. But a contributing factor was its ambiguous seat of power, considered to either be the Duke’s palace in the city of Sora, or the fortress at Isola del Liri, less than five miles to the south. In brief, the early history of Sora is one of struggling to gain autonomy and to resist the influence of the Kingdom of Naples, the Aragonese, and other powers vying for control in the medieval Italian states. As with the rest of the states, the Duchy of Sora’s story was often a bloodstained one, and those in power were frequently rotated out, especially in the late 15th century.

Despite fending off attacks like that of the Borgias in the early 16th century, the Duchy exchanged hands a few more times before finding a stable leading family, the Boncompagni of Bologna. In 1579 Pope Gregory XIII Boncompagni (1502-1572-1585) bought the Duchy for 100,000 scudi and donated it to his son Giacomo (1548-1612)—the first of many major titles the Boncompagni would amass in the following centuries.

A word of explanation. Due in large part to his desire to moralize the Church—at least visibly—Pope Gregory XIII had chosen not to involve Giacomo in his political maneuvers. Despite legitimizing Giacomo as his son in 1548 (as well as 1552 and 1572), the Pope opted to pass property and money down to his son instead of political power, theoretically cutting down on the nepotism plaguing the church establishment, but still enabling the Boncompagni to build strength.

As it happens, Giacomo had no small career: he served as General of the Holy Roman Church in 1573 before being declared Captain General of the Spanish troops in the State of Milan by King Philip II of Spain in 1575; the latter appointment would create a burning loyalty of the Boncompagni to the Spanish that would last centuries. Following his marriage to Costanza Sforza in 1576, Giacomo was gifted all the Bolognese properties Pope Gregory XIII was holding, and the Pope compounded this by purchasing the Marquisate of Vignola in 1577.

When he purchased the Duchy of Sora in 1579, Pope Gregory XIII was clearly intent on making his son a leader, even if not for his own political gain. The later absorptions of Aquino and Arpino into the Duchy in 1583 were evidence of the continued growth of Boncompagni influence. At the time, all this may have seemed like a land grab by the Papal States. But the purchase of Sora proved to be a turning point for the fortunes of the city and its region, with Boncompagni rule lasting from 1580 through 1796, when the King of Naples Ferdinand IV forced Antonio II Boncompagni Ludovisi (1735-1805) to relinquish control.

As Maria Barbara Guerrieri Borsoi discusses in her essential 2000 work, Villa Sora a Frascati, the precise history of the Villa Sora itself is obscured, seemingly as the result of a series of misfortunes which had fallen upon the owners since its construction. What is known is that the land that would become the Villa Sora —on the Via Tuscolana as one approaches Frascati from Rome to the northwest—was originally owned ca. 1562 by one Angelo di Bernardo Floridi, in the form of a vineyard. Following his death, the property was left to what is now known as the Archconfraternity of the Gonfalone, an organization of penitents who observed rules set down by St Bonaventure.

Not long after, the property was sold to a Giulio Morone for 1800 scudi. Through the generous financial aid of his uncle Cardinal Giovanni Morone (1509-1542-1580), Giulio was able to build up the estate, known at that time as the Villa Torricella, likely for its proximity to one of the small watchtowers that had long since been dotted across the area of Frascati. This would be the third of the Ville Tuscolane to be established, preceded only by the Villa Falconieri (previously the Villa Rufina) and the Villa Vecchia (occupied after 1552 by the Farnese).

No plans of the original Villa Torricella building survive, though it is clear it was much smaller than the modern Villa Sora. Despite this, the Villa Sora and its corresponding estate was one of the most significant villas in Frascati, and hosted Pope Gregory XIII Boncompagni. It was still in construction in 1581, when Giulio Morone died, a year after his rich uncle Cardinal Morone. The property soon became a financial burden for the man’s children. Thus, Bartolomeo Morone, one of Giulio’s heirs, in 1600 sold the property to Giacomo Boncompagni, now Duke of Sora for a full two decades.

As was common practice—evidenced by some of the other Ville Tuscolane, not to mention the city of Rome itself—the Villa Sora was built on the bones of its predecessor. Indeed, Guerrieri Borsoi points out that the Morone family may have done the same in their attempts to construct the Villa Torricella. This theory cements both the mystique and longevity of the property.

Upon Pope Gregory XIII’s death in 1585, his son Giacomo Boncompagni left Rome, spending the majority of his time in the territory of Sora, especially at his magnificent castle at Isola del Liri. While he maintained positive relationships with the succeeding popes, his political influence waned and he eventually gave up his position as General of the Spanish troops to focus on his personal interests. Though his income had also decreased significantly since his father’s death, Giacomo still retained the wealth to serve as a patron to many various artists, composers and writers.

Giacomo Boncompagni also took a lively interest in Frascati, which is about 50 miles west of Sora, on a principal route to Rome. When he could no longer rely on the hospitality of the aristocratic families residing in the other Ville Tuscolane, he turned his attention to what would become his own property. So in 1600, Giacomo paid Bartolomeo Morone a mere 9000 scudi for the estate. From here on, the property would officially resign its name as La Torricella, and instead be known to most as the Villa Sora.

Guerrieri Borsoi rightly describes the focal point of the Villa Sora, its crown jewel, as the series of frescoes adorning the Sala of the Muses. A brief summary of her observations will be provided here, beginning with a clarification of the attribution of the works. Though previously credited as the works of Federico Zuccari (ca. 1540-1609), many subsequent studies by art historians have since determined the primary artist responsible to be Giuseppe Cesari (1568-1640), a Mannerist painter better known as the Cavalier d’Arpino and a mentor to the likes of Caravaggio and Guido Reni.

Guerrieri Borsoi goes on to compare Giuseppe Cesari’s works to those of his brother, Bernardino, before concluding that Giuseppe was undoubtedly the mastermind behind the decoration of the Sala of the Muses of the Villa Sora, potentially in collaboration with Cesare Rossetti (ca. 1565-ca. 1623), a landscape painter. Even without concrete knowledge of the parties responsible, though, the artistry of the frescoes is beyond dispute, and their subject matter is enough to occupy any viewer.

Organized into three registers, the uppermost depicts alternating images of landscapes and seated women; the second depicts garlands of fruit and flowers borne by cherubic figures, here alternating with busts of various male figures; the final register depicts a series of ten figures, alternating with the windows and doors around the hall. Throughout, various decorative elements adorn the walls, quite literally from floor to ceiling. At this point the room is, at the very least, overwhelming; the artistry exhibited in the frescoes entirely absorbs its viewer, surrounding them with larger-than-life figures and plunging them into scenic landscapes. The use of colors is dazzling and the strategic use of the trompe-l’œil imagery that was so characteristic of the Renaissance creates an environment that seems to move and breathe. That, however, is only half the story.

Upon a closer look at the Sala of the Muses of the Villa Sora, a rich world of symbolism begins to reveal itself in even the smallest details. The first images to draw the viewer’s attention are the female figures in the third register: these women, ten in total, are identified via individual symbols by Guerrieri Borsoi as a mix of personifications of some of the liberal arts—Rhetoric, Arithmetic, Geometry—and of other similarly intellectual activities, here described as Dance, Astrology, Philosophy, Heroic Poetry, Lyric Poetry, Comedy, and Tragedy. All of these women are framed in likenesses of marble with gold detailing, evoking the idealized splendor of classical Rome.

As one’s eyes move upward, the garlands of fruits and flowers above the ten women’s heads bring to mind ideas of abundance. Seated in these garlands are alternating depictions of the Boncompagni dragon and the Sforza lion, and interspersed between them are images of the busts of various male figures. The busts are difficult to identify, owing at least in part to the fact that they lack the iconography of the female personifications. Of the ten busts, Guerrieri Borsoi is certain at least one is Cicero, who hailed from Arpino, and that three others are likely to be Homer, Lucullus (the first century BCE commander supposed to have had a villa in Frascati), and Vergil, as a result of either their respective iconography, or their resemblance to other artworks.

Following the gaze of the cherubic figures in the second register upward still, the first register is a corona of seated female figures and pastoral scenes, punctuated by a coat of arms on either side of the room, about half-way down the hall. Here too, one can see the lion and dragon of the Boncompagni and Sforza families, this time in a marriage coat-of-arms. Though the ten women in this register have been identified as the Muses and Mnemosyne due to their iconography, an Apollo figure is conspicuously missing, leading some art historians to misattribute the name to certain other figures.

The landscapes, though, are the most puzzling pieces in the whole room. While some depict mythological scenes, it is uncertain whether they are symbolic references to the Sforza and Boncompagni, or if they are linked to any of the surrounding artworks. Guerrieri Borsoi argues the centrality of the landscape over the human figure creates a sense of tranquility, a fitting purpose for a leisure estate in the country, and a potential reference to the related Roman aristocratic tradition. Just above this register, even the beams share in the symbolism, bearing a faded coat of arms at their center points and edges; their undersides are painted with images of garlands.

What is notably omitted is Giacomo Boncompagni’s history as a political and military figure. The frescoes serve as a stark contrast to his outward life, indicating a more complicated character. The overall message of the room is clear: not only did this property belong to an historic family of wealth and status, with deep reverence for the classical tradition, but the frescoes—which highlight the Boncompagni and Sforza family symbols with roughly equal prominence—were commissioned by a couple with an affinity for the arts and for heroes, a cultured man and his cultured wife.

In 1612, four years after marrying his son Gregorio I Boncompagni (1590-1628) to Eleonora Zapata (1593-1679), Giacomo would die, leaving the property to this son. Unfortunately, the Villa Sora at Frascati would then see little attention for more than a century following. The inventories of this period prove particularly telling, as they show many of the original installations remained, though in increasing disrepair.

Gregorio I Boncompagni largely kept to himself, avoiding politics and spending most of his time on the Isola del Liri near Sora, another component of Pope Gregory XIII’s 1579 purchase, renovated and decorated by Costanza Sforza. Gregorio’s death in 1628 essentially would leave Eleonora Zapata to manage the Villa Sora, first in the name of their son Giacomo II Boncompagni (1613-1636), who died at age 23, and then until her own death in 1679. Though Ugo I Boncompagni (1614-1676), another of Gregory’s sons, came into possession of the villa—still sometimes referred to as “La Torricella” at this point—he ended up selling it to his mother in 1651 for 10,000 scudi as a result of debts he had racked up participating in the 1647 Masaniello revolt and a subsequent series of peasant uprisings.

Eleonora Zapata went on to spend most of her time on the Isola del Liri, and then in Rome. Cardinal Girolamo Boncompagni (1622-1664-1684) would be the next owner of the Villa Sora. As both grand-nephew of Cardinal Filippo Boncompagni (1548-1572-1586, himself nephew of Pope Gregory XIII) and nephew of Cardinal Francesco Boncompagni (1592-1621-1641, son of Giacomo Boncompagni), Girolamo is a somewhat confusing inheritor, only taking precedence through a convoluted rule about first-born heirs. He owned the estate for only about five years; on his death in 1684 it was transferred to his nephew Gregorio II Boncompagni (1642-1707, Ugo’s eldest son).

By this point, Gregorio II Boncompagni was an established figure, most widely known for his 1681 marriage to Olimpia Ippolita I Ludovisi (1663-1707-1733), Princess of Piombino, a union that merged the two great Bolognese papal families, the Boncompagni and Ludovisi. For a short time (ca. 1621-1632) the Ludovisi had maintained their own grand Tusculan villa just 1.5 kilometers distant, southwest of the town of Frascati—the Villa Ludovisi, which passed to the Conti and eventually (in the 19th century) the Torlonia.

In order to ensure the security of his family name despite a lack of sons, Gregorio II made the choice to marry his eldest daughter, Maria Eleonora Boncompagni Ludovisi (1686-1745), to Antonio I Boncompagni (1658-1721), his own brother and Maria’s uncle. On Gregorio’s death in 1707, the property was destined to pass to Cardinal Giacomo Boncompagni (1652-1695-1731) due to another technicality concerning first-born heirs. Though it is uncertain who actually held the Villa Sora at this time—Antonio was primarily located at the Isola del Liri—it is likely that it was Cardinal Giacomo who was responsible for the works commissioned on the property during this time from at least 1714 onward, if not immediately after Gregory II’s death.

During Cardinal Giacomo Boncompagni’s time at the Villa Sora, the paintings in the sala were restored, and the property’s surrounding landscape, which had long characterized the country villas of the aristocracy, might have been cultivated into a garden, as depicted in the works of Johann Wilhelm Baur (1607-1640) and Melchior Küsel (1626-1684). At any rate, subsequent plans of the property show a central fountain and stables along with a garden. Around this time, it is believed Niccolò Racciolini (1687-1772) was also commissioned to paint scenes of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary and the Trinity in the property’s chapel, a building which had existed since at least 1627.

Neighboring and directly contrasting the chapel was a building defined in a 1716 inventory as a cabinet used for the purpose of what Guerrieri Borsoi describes as “painted hermitage,” which she explains was likely meditation in a simulated hermetic environment, as it was supposed to be decorated with frescoes depicting ruin and isolation. Though the extent of Cardinal Giacomo’s involvement is unclear, he is generally believed to be responsible for the maintenance and additions to the property during this time.

Gaetano Boncompagni Ludovisi (1706-1745-1777) was the next caretaker of the Villa Sora. Though it does not appear that he spent much of his time there—like many Boncompagni before him, Gaetano was deeply entrenched in pro-Spanish politics—the inventories left behind in the wake of his death betray not only his wealth, but an interest in taking care of and preserving the property, while also maintaining the nearby Villa Ludovisi just southeast of the town of Frascati, as well as numerous other holdings in Rome and elsewhere. Over the course of the 18th century, some of the rooms on the ground floor had suffered water damage, but by the time Gaetano died, not only had the water pipes been restored, but a new barn had been added to the property, the fountains were fixed, and there were new additions to the villa itself.

The decorations of the Villa Sora in the 18th century saw a change in theme, with many of the decorations and paintings featuring religious and military iconography, likely to represent Gaetano’s career highlights. Reminiscent of the architectural style of ancient Roman fresco, these paintings open their rooms up beyond the confines of their respective walls, creating the impression of having stepped into another world. Then, in an 1805 inventory drawn up in the wake of the death of Gaetano’s son Antonio II Boncompagni Ludovisi (1735-1777-1805), further details describe what Guerrieri Borsoi dubs the “neoclassical room,” which prominently features mythological scenes and related classical themes. Melchiorre Passalacqua, son of Pietro Passalacqua (1690-1748) and the architect working for Antonio from at least 1777-1805, was also mentioned as being responsible for a series of designs concerning additions to the property, but it remains unclear whether they were ever implemented. What is certain is that this Passalacqua designed a new main gate for the entrance to the Villa Ludovisi, constructed in 1809.

The Napoleonic era brought profound changes to Boncompagni Ludovisi political power. Antonio II Boncompagni Ludovisi had lived through the period of the French Revolution and its aftershocks. Like much of the Roman aristocracy, in this era the family’s power atrophied. In the latter half of the 1790s, he saw Napoleon’s French troops invade the principality of Piombino, which was later integrated into the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, and King Ferdinand IV of the Two Sicilies occupy the Duchy of Sora. Another family feudal property, the Marquisate of Vignola in Emilia-Romagna, was absorbed by the Cisalpine Republic.

Luigi Boncompagni Ludovisi (1767-1805-1841), Antonio II’s son, at the Congress of Vienna (1814-1815) managed to hold onto his hereditary titles and was partially compensated for the loss of Piombino; he would go on to reinvest that money in property purchases closer to Rome, seemingly uninterested in the Villa Sora. His son, Antonio III Boncompagni Ludovisi (1808-1841-1883), was similarly unconcerned with the property, so when it finally passed to Rodolfo Boncompagni Ludovisi (1832-1883-1911), it had all but faded into obscurity. By chance however we learn that Luigi’s younger brother, Giuseppe Boncompagni Ludovisi (1774-1849) and his wife Maria Celeste Gervasi had an interest in the property; their daughter Laura was born in Frascati in 1810. It must be stressed that even if the heads of the Boncompagni Ludovisi did not favor the Villa Sora as a residence, they still benefited financially from the produce of its land, as detailed family archival records in the Vatican Apostolic Archive (especially the annual Libro Mastro di Roma) amply show.

Though Prince Rodolfo was the last of the family to own the Villa Sora, scant public evidence remains of his relationship with the Frascati property. His son Monsignor Ugo Boncompagni Ludovisi (1856-1935), in Ricordi di mia Madre, a compendious 1921 memoir of Rodolfo’s wife and his mother Agnese Borghese, altogether neglects to mention the Villa Sora. On Agnese’s trips to the Frascati area—where for instance she sat out an 1854 cholera epidemic—she seems to have stayed at Villa Taverna, a Borghese possession from 1615 until 1896.

Guerrieri Borsoi in her 2000 study of the Villa Sora laments her lack of access to the family archive. As it happens, the cache of tens of thousands of documents brought to light by HSH Princess Rita Boncompagni Ludovisi in 2010 has some previously unknown material on the Villa Sora, filling in some important gaps, and justifying a fresh look at this historic property.

Most spectacular is a 1691 ‘Catasto’ by the surveyor Antonio Giuliani that illustrates the property of the Villa Sora in extreme (and somewhat whimsical) detail, with special attention to renters of Boncompagni vineyards and the rents they paid.

Also of particular note for the general situation in Frascati in the earliest 19th century is a long series of letters from the administrator of the Villa Sora, one Angelo Antonio de Marchis, addressed to Luigi Boncompagni Ludovisi, shortly after his accession as Prince of Piombino in 1805. The letters—sometimes multiple missives are written in the span of a week—contain lavish detail of how French troops were bivouacked at the Villa Sora, as well as more mundane matters. There is even an itemized grocery list from this period (3 July 1806), for the meals (two lunches and a dinner) of the “architect and capo mastro” who worked at the Villa Sora during this time. Angelo Antonio de Marchis was succeeded as administrator by his son, Pietro de Marchis, whom we find in the role by 1822, serving into the early 1830s.

It is with Rodolfo Boncompagni Ludovisi (1834-1911, Prince of Piombino from 1883) that the story of the family at the Villa Sora comes to a close. As attested to in the Vatican Apostolic Archives, on 2 September 1893, Rodolfo sold the now-downtrodden property to Tommaso Saulini for 200,000 lire. And just like that, over two centuries of history—not to mention all the art and architecture that the Boncompagni and Boncompagni Ludovisi had sponsored—were essentially lost. Also, a large number of documents concerning the villa were handed over to Saulini and today remain inaccessible.

Saulini was by profession a hardstone cutter—he was the son of Italy’s foremost artist in that medium—and, along with his own son, made a career specializing in cameos. Guerrieri Borsoi was unable to trace Saulini’s heirs, so she posits that the family was likely attempting to make a profit off the property, and that they sold it a number of times to various owners; whatever their intentions, when the Salesians bought the Villa Sora from them on 28 October 1900 for 32,000 lire, the Villa Sora’s turbulent history was over.

Well, for the most part.

The Salesians’ aims for the Villa Sora involved the construction of a school that would eventually become the Collegio Salesiano Villa Sora. Because the remnants of the once-proud villa were too limited for the scope of the Salesian project, they began adding buildings to the property. In 1905, a section was built against the southern face, and in 1912 an entirely new building was added; by 1926 the latter was connected to the original villa by a two-story hall. In 1933, the addition of a theater and a chapel were initiated, and work continued through 1955.

The renovations might have finished earlier, if not for bombings during WWII. In Rome, on the 13th of August 1943 allied bombs killed over five hundred civilians. Just three months previous, Pope Pius XII had written US President Franklin D. Roosevelt a plea to spare the city of Rome. Roosevelt’s response at the time was to say bombings over Rome and the Vatican were being limited as much as possible. Yet 14 August 1943 saw Rome declared an “open city,” a title generally reserved for cities attempting to spare their infrastructure in the face of imminent capture. Despite Rome’s designation as an “open city”, however, sporadic bombings continued through the end of 1943 and into the beginning of 1944.

On 8 September 1943, the Villa Sora was hit, resulting in the loss of the most recent buildings. The Salesians were quick to bounce back, though, and as the property was restored the villa served as home for many who had been displaced during the war. The school is still operational, and though deeply transformed, the history always manages to peek through.

The Villa Sora, much like its Roman cousin the Villa Ludovisi, upholds the Boncompagni Ludovisi legacy of treasures hidden in plain sight. Whereas the Villa Ludovisi has now entered a state of diamond-in-the-rough obscurity thanks to the rapid division and development of much of the property in the mid 1880s, the history of the Villa Sora—though remaining fairly intact and with its most important features largely unchanged—is mostly forgotten. The reasons? A combination of the Boncompagni Ludovisi using the Villa as a secondary (even tertiary) home, the Salesians’ thoroughly repurposing the property, and the damage brought about during several occupations and World War II. Still, in 2006, the Villa Sora found itself on a tentative list of UNESCO World Heritage Sites.

If there is any lesson to be learned from the history of the Villa Sora at Frascati, it should be that these works deserve to be protected and cherished as soon as possible—a message with clear relevance to the present situation with the Casino dell’Aurora in Rome. This history belongs to everyone, and it would be foolish to wait, hoping an external group may intervene just in time to protect another integral piece of the Boncompagni Ludovisi legacy.

In conversations about the Boncompagni Ludovisi properties with Rutgers professor Corey Brennan, the late Prince Nicolò Boncompagni Ludovisi (1941-1988-2018) expressed deep regret at the forfeiture of such an important ancestral property, to the point where he would refuse to talk about the Villa Sora. The loss was a wound too deep to be safely reopened. The gaps in the already skeletal outline of the Villa Sora’s history above should be evidence enough that some pieces of history can never be replaced. Now, the Casino dell’Aurora is on the line, in spite of the work that has been put in to save it— why should it too be forgotten?

Isobel Ali is a recent (2022) graduate of the School of Arts & Sciences, Rutgers University, with a BA in Ancient History and Criminal Justice. As a 2022 summer intern, she hopes to see the Villa Ludovisi officially made an historical site in the coming years, and she conveys her deepest thanks to both HSH Princess Rita Boncompagni Ludovisi and Dr. T. Corey Brennan for the unparalleled opportunity to work with this historical material.

By Hatice Köroglu Çam (Rutgers ’22)

A 16th-century life-size marble statue, inspired by a sculptor’s deep passion for antiquities, shows the characteristic features of the Greek god Pan: pointed ears, short horns, goat-like legs, animal pelt, and erect phallus. It is the heavily-weathered Ludovisi Pan in the garden of Rome’s Casino dell’Aurora, which has stood outside in the area of the Villa Ludovisi for 400 years. Originally the sculpture was one of the pieces of the collection of Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi (1595-1621-1632), the nephew of Alessandro Ludovisi (= Pope Gregory XV, reigned 1621-1623). Presumably even before the statue passed into the Cardinal’s possession, it was associated with Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564), an identification taken for granted by the early nineteenth century.

Considering Michelangelo’s obsession with physical details and his perfection of nude male figures, it is challenging to be conclusive on the attribution of a damaged sculpture. My previous post “A new self-portrait of Michelangelo? The statue of Pan at the Casino dell’Aurora in Rome. Part I: Correspondences” argued for attribution to Michelangelo by using a good number of stylistic comparisons between the statue of Pan and the artist’s well-known works of art, including his sculptures the Moses, the Bacchus, and the David, and presenting significant artistic correspondences between them. I maintained however that the closest stylistic parallel is between the facial depiction of the Ludovisi Pan and the mask at the center of the box in Michelangelo’s sketch the Dream of Human Life (ca. 1533), where an identical appearance strongly reinforces the attribution to Michelangelo. That mask is widely considered to be a a self-portrait of Michelangelo. And so I argued that Pan’s face also displays a satirical self-portrait of Michelangelo, probably not the effort of a copyist.

Here I will examine a second drawing, a red-chalk sheet by Michelangelo now in Frankfurt’s Städel Museum. I also will discuss representations of the Ludovisi Pan in 18th century sketchbooks by principally Hamlet Winstanley (1723), Bernardino Ciferri (1710-30), Pompeo Batoni and Antonio Canova (1780), comparing these with a series of historical photographs of the statue from 1885. Moreover, this study explores Ludovisi and then Boncompagni Ludovisi inventory records, especially from 1633 and 1749; I underline the significance of the latter inventory, which shows the unusually high valuation placed on this statue. I should say at the outset that the reader will not find a certain document showing that this Pan is Michelangelo’s work—which of course would be the easiest scenario.

A significant representation of the Ludovisi Pan from the 18th century, and a remarkable connection

Of the hundreds of ancient sculptures in the collection of Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi, it is noteworthy that the Ludovisi Pan was one of the chief pieces that caught the attention and interest of 18th century artists. An unnoticed drawing of this Pan dated 1723 by Hamlet Winstanley at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, which I am the first to bring into the discussion of this statue, goes some way toward erasing doubts and questions about references to Michelangelo. This spectacular presentation drawing is of unusual importance, in that it articulates the statue of Pan in its once near-flawless state, and also establishes a connection between Michelangelo’s drawing at the Städel Museum and this particular statue.

Hamlet Winstanley (1694-1756) made this drawing for Lord Coleraine (Henry Hare, 3rd Baron Coleraine, (1693-1749), who was an English antiquary, politician, and active member of the Society of Antiquaries. In all, Winstanley produced some twelve copies for Coleraine from the Ludovisi and Medici collections in Rome. After Coleraine’s death, his collection of prints and drawings of antiquities was given to Corpus Christi College, Oxford. Winstanley’s letter to James Stanley (10th Earl of Derby) from 22 January 1724 provides a snippet of information about his visit to Rome and his artistic work there. Winstanley wrote: “Since I’ve been Rome I have drawn Several Antique figures (for) my Lord Colerain, …” Here Wistanley mentions merely ancient sculptures, and does not mention the modern one he had drawn, namely the Ludovisi Pan (1723). His sketch does not identify it as by Michelangelo, and it is possible that he thought the piece was ancient.

Winstanley’s drawing carefully shows the anatomical forms of this sculpture, and so functions as a mirror of the sculptor’s meticulous depiction of the whole half-human, half-goat body of this god Pan. The painstaking effort of Winstanley to convey all the surface features of this statue showcases his deep interest in it. At first glance, the most striking features of this Pan are how the Winstanley depicts the very detailed facial expression with curly, long forked beard; the pronounced veins on the right hand through the right arm and on the left arm; and also the gestures of each hand holding the animal pelt, especially the curving index finger of the left hand of this muscular Pan. All of these depictions explicitly reveal not only Winstanley’s but also the sculptor’s obsession with the figure’s attributes. In the depiction of the facial expression, we can see a fastidious rendering of the elongated eyes and eyebrows, and of the curls between the eyebrows and forehead, plus a long and broken nose, open mouth, the curvilinear and organic forms of a long forked beard, and a mustache that curves down. Exaggerated pointed ears, short horns, an animal pelt (presumably a deerskin) hanging over his right shoulder, but especially goat-like legs and animal hooves represent the figure as the god Pan.

It is important to stress that what Winstanley provides us with this drawing are the finer details of the Ludovisi Pan that have now largely disappeared. In particular, the curls on the figure’s face, the long and curly forked beard, the highly elaborated details on the animal pelt hanging over his right shoulder, and the long curly fur on the goat-like legs are mostly not visible today. Considering Winstanley’s very detailed depiction of the face and beard, and comparing these details with other 18th-century other drawings and sketches, as well as historical and archival photographs from 1885 and 1986, I have come to the conclusion (to be discussed at length in Part III of this study) that the original statue has deteriorated quite severely over time. The forked beard seems badly damaged; nevertheless, even in its present state it recalls again Michelangelo’s own forked beard style in his portraits by other artists and his self-portraits.

Now, a drawing located in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford—formerly attributed to Raphael (1483 – 1520) and the school of Michelangelo—has some relevance here. This drawing (on the verso) shows a nude man seen from behind, in addition to other studies. At the top left of the sheet, there is a depiction of a head. The depiction of the beard of this figure is very close to the artistic style of Pan’s forked beard before it was damaged; Winstanley’s drawing clearly shows that similarity.

More significantly, there is a close connection between the Oxford piece by Winstanley and a red-chalk sheet by Michelangelo from the Städel Museum in Frankfurt. In the Städel Museum piece, there are heads and torsos of various grotesque figures on the recto, dated 1525. Two of them are faun-like creatures. On the left of the sheet (not far left), there is a depiction of a faun-like figure, who looks “fierce,” with an open mouth, tense face and quite exaggerated ears and horns, and a muscular torso. One immediately thinks of the mask in the middle of the box in Michelangelo’s Dream of Human Life.

Scholarly support is strong for the authenticity of this Städel Museum piece. Achim Gnann in Michelangelo: The Drawings of a Genius (2010) provides a very detailed description of the verso and recto of this sheet, and points out that many scholars such as M. Hirst, P. Joannides, H. Chapman, E. Jacobsen, and M. Delacre agreed that both sides of the sheet are the master’s own hand. Leonard Barkan in his Michelangelo: A Life on Paper (2011) concurs. In Michelangelo: Divine Draftsman & Designer (2017), Carmen C. Bambach exhibits both verso and recto of this sheet and explains “scattered incidental jottings by pupils also appear on the Frankfurt verso, but the main motifs on the recto and verso are forceful enough that they may be mostly the master’s autographs.”

A comparison between the facial expression of the red chalk faun-like figure on the left of the Frankfurt sheet by Michelangelo to the depiction of Oxford drawing by Hamlet Winstanley reveals very close similarities in appearance and in artistic style, with variation of some forms. The depiction of the eyes, the shape of the eyebrows, and the treatment of the lower forehead between the eyebrows are the same. Significantly, the long, broken, and wide-shaped nose and wide-shaped nostrils are almost identical. Unfortunately, today these details on the actual Ludovisi Pan statue have largely disappeared, but are visible in 1885 photos, confirming the accuracy of Winstanley’s drawing.

There are more points of contact between the Frankfurt sheet and the Ludovisi Pan. In the drawing, the depiction of each iris of the eyes reflects the artist’s Mannerist style, in that the irises seem to be looking in different directions; the direction of the irises of our Pan seems not exactly the same but is slightly close. Even though Ludovisi Pan does not have teeth, the open mouth and the shape of the lip are almost the same. Also, the depiction of the mustache of this figure is very similar to Ludovisi Pan, especially when compared to Pan’s historical photos.

There are also dissimilarities in some details. The most striking one is the depiction of the beard; the Städel Museum sheet shows a very different beard from our Pan, but it is still forked. Plus the horns and the ears seem more exaggerated than those of the Ludovisi Pan. Still it is fair to state that the whole appearance of the face in the Städel Museum drawing is evocative of the Ludovisi Pan. In other words, the culmination of stylistic similarities demonstrates that Ludovisi Pan reflects Michelangelo’s artistic style.

Other 18th century representations on paper of the Ludovisi Pan

Another significant sketch of the Ludovisi Pan is in the hand of the noted portrait painter Pompeo Batoni (1708-1787), today found in Richard Topham’s collection (1671-1730) at Eton College (Palma I 4, p. 133 fig. 136). Batoni first arrived in Rome in May 1727, and so presumably sketched the Ludovisi Pan between that time and before Topham’s death on 7 September 1730. It is one of many Batoni drawings in the Topham collection of sculptures and artifacts from the Ludovisi collection, the others being largely ancient, such as the Pan and Daphnis ( Palma I 4, fig. 132), the group of Amor and Psyche (Palma I 4, fig. 114), and Silenus (Palma I 4, fig. 131.)

Batoni’s sketch of the Ludovisi Pan highlights the muscular depiction of the figure—an obsession of Michelangelo’s—and in so doing creates tactile forms. Batoni’s depiction of the upper body of this Pan is especially reminiscent of Michelangelo’s muscular men in the master’s drawings, paintings, and sculptures. Like Winstanley’s drawing, Batoni documents details now lost to us: pronounced pointed ears, a long and curly forked beard, and long curly fur on the goat-like legs. When comparing both Winstanley’s and Batoni’s depiction of the beard with the Ashmolean Museum sheet, we can easily notice the stylistic similarities. I should note that both Winstanley’s and Batoni’s depictions of the head and each of the hands seem smaller and inconsistent with the Pan’s entire muscular torso—especially the hands, which are shown as very elegant.

Another 18th century drawing that focuses on the exaggerated musculature of the Ludovisi Pan is by Bernardino Ciferri. He died in 1760, but his works were obtained by Richard Topham in the era 1720-1730, and in that way came to Eton College. So presumably Ciferri made his drawing of the Pan before 1730. A comparison of Ciferri’s rendering of the facial expression to the depiction of the details found in Batoni (as well as other artists) and also to the original statue, it is quite clear that Ciferri aimed intentionally to differentiate the appearance of the face by emphasizing the muscular body of the figure with the characteristic features of the god Pan. In other words, this different face reflects the artist’s own interpretation.

On closer examination of Ciferri’s treatment of the anatomy, especially on the right hand side, we can recognize a careful rendering of the ribcage, all the muscular details, and the veins of the right hand—anatomical details visible in the photos of 1885 and indeed also those of 1986. Yet on the whole, Ciferri’s muscular body depiction seems more exaggerated than other artists’ representations of Ludovisi Pan, while the small head and elegant hand seem not entirely consistent with the other parts of the body. 

In contrast to Winstanley, Batoni, and Ciferri’s drawings, Antonio Canova (1757-1822) depicts the Ludovisi Pan coexisting on the same sheet with an ancient sculpture group, namely the Ludovisi Pan and Daphnis (now at the Palazzo Altemps). This important sheet, dated 1780, showing the ancient and Renaissance sculptures together, raises several important questions about this famed artist’s approach to the Pan statue and its physical location at this time period.

The first question: why would an artist choose to draw a modern statue next to a very important Pan and Daphnis, an ancient group that is a Roman copy of the Hellenistic original? As Francis Haskell has noted, in 1556 Ulisse Aldrovandi recorded this group in the Cesi sculpture garden—a very important source for Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi’s later sculpture collection. Ulisse Aldrovandi described it as “one of those most beautiful works that one sees in Rome. And perhaps it is one of the three satyrs which Pliny celebrates so much.”

Beatrice Palma (I 4, Fig. 169) gives the exact date of Canova’s sheet that combines the Ludovisi Pan with an ancient group of sculptures: it was sketched between 29 April and 5 May 1780. Were both pieces located in the same place? According to Haskell, in 1780 the Pan and Daphnis group seems to have been located in the Villa Ludovisi outside the Palazzo Grande. More precisely, Haskell reports that “this ancient piece was given to Ludovisi Family in the Summer of 1622 and eleven years later was recorded in the ‘Bosco delle Statue’ outside the Palazzo Grande until the early years of the nineteenth century with the other statues. Between 1885 and 1890 this ancient statue was taken with the other statues in the collection to the new palace built for the Prince of Piombino”, i.e., the extension of the Palazzo Grande that was constructed on the Via Veneto, today the US Embassy in Rome. In 1901, the Italian government purchased the Pan and Daphnis and it was moved to the Museo Nazionale Romano.

Though much is uncertain, it seems appropriate to suggest that Canova’s depiction of the Ludovisi Pan and the Pan and Daphnis group together on the same sheet both announces the importance of this marble Ludovisi Pan, and may give a clue about its location in 1780. Even though on the sheet Canova’s depiction of the Ludovisi Pan seems a little unfinished—especially the right arm—his rendering of the head and face corroborate the disappeared details pictured by Winstanley, Batoni and Ciferri, especially the long forked beard. Considering the well-known skill of these artists, all of their depictions of the Pan statue may be accepted as definitive testimonia in our quest for attribution.

Testimony from Guercino?

The collection of Sir Robert Witt at the Courtauld Institute Galleries in London holds an intriguing drawing executed ca. 1625 by Guercino (inv. no 1346) that seems quite relevant to my inquiry. It shows a satyr with a forked beard furtively watching two seated nymphs from behind a tree. The depiction of the satyr is evocative of the Ludovisi Pan in some important respects, especially the forked beard, muscular shoulders, and goat-like appearance of the upper part of the right leg. Other key details of the Guercino drawing differ from the statue, most importantly the satyr’s shaded face, long horns, and exaggerated horn-like ears.

We have no certain information about precisely when Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi first came into possession of the Pan sculpture, and whether he acquired it by purchase or gift. However we are sure that starting in late 1621 Guercino had an important commission from the Ludovisi to decorate ceilings of the Casino dell’Aurora, returning to his native Cento only after the death of Pope Gregory XV on 8 July 1623. Given this chronology, it is quite possible that Guercino took inspiration from the Ludovisi Pan and drew this satyr and two nymphs even as late as ca. 1625, despite the fact he was out of Rome. This satyr may be read as a different representation of the Ludovisi Pan. Indeed it may be a bit earlier than 1625, and a preparatory sketch for the fresco of a Satyr that Guercino executed in the Casino dell’ Aurora, now no longer visible but seen as recently as 1904, as T. Corey Brennan has shown in Storia dell’ Arte 157 (2022).

An enormous fig leaf for the Ludovisi Pan

After examining all these drawings and sketches from the 18th century, one factor is quite important: while Joseph Vernet (1737) depicted this Pan in its larger garden context with an enormous fig leaf, Batoni, Ciferri, and Canova explicitly show the statue with its erect phallus. In Part III of this study I will provide and discuss Vernet’s 1737 depiction. The latest sketch we possess, that by Canova in 1780, shows that whoever decided to add a fig-leaf to the statue drilled a hole into the marble of the phallus to fasten it. That hole is still visible on the actual statue today. Yet the historical photographs from 1885 show this Pan, now located in a temple-like structure (aedicula) on a garden path of the north-central portion of the Villa Ludovisi along the Aurelian Wall, with a fig leaf covering its genitalia. For these images, we owe Prince Ignazio Boncompagni Ludovisi (1845-1913), who oversaw a comprehensive photography campaign of the exterior portions of the Villa Ludovisi before the destruction and development of its greater part in the latter half of the 1880s.

There are many points in the 19th century where ideas about decorum may have influenced the owners of the statue to retain the covering. Luigi Boncompagni Ludovisi, Prince of Piombino from 1805 until his death in 1841, had the reputation of adding fig-leaves to sculptures in the family collection. The Irish novelist and travel writer Sydney, Lady Morgan (1781-1859), who sojourned in Italy in 1819-1820, is said to have told Prince Luigi she would accept his invitation to revisit the Villa Ludovisi “at the fall of the leaf“. The drive toward artistic modesty only intensified during the reigns of Popes Gregory XVI (1831-1846) and Pius IX (1846-1878). Indeed, Pius IX personally visited the Villa Ludovisi on 10 September 1853 “in order to view the antiquities lately found in the Garden of Sallustius“, as was widely reported at the time. Official events such as this explain the retention of fig-leaves.

Whatever the date, the state of the Pan with an enormous fig leaf underlines its problematic subject matter. Indeed, its erect phallus surely negatively affected its attribution to Michelangelo in the second half of the 19th century.   

Documentary evidence from the inventories

Having reviewed this testimony for the physical state of the Ludovisi Pan in the 18th and 19th centuries, we can now turn our focus to the family’s inventory records, and how they value this statue. It would seem that the 28 January 1633 inventory record of the Villa Ludovisi (Palma I 4 doc. 13 p. 78 no. 262), compiled soon after the death of Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi, mentions for the first time this statue as a part of his collection. It appears in the ‘Galleria del Bosco’, also known as “the Labyrinth” a formal garden within the Villa Ludovisi that extended north of the Palazzo Grande, which the Cardinal used as a secondary space for exhibiting sculptures in his collection.

In this “Gallery” is reported “an ancient marble sarcophagus, above four columns, with diverse bas-reliefs, with a figure underneath of a satyr of life-size height, set on the ground between two cypresses” [Un Pilo antico di marmo sopra quattro colonne con diversi bassirilievi, con sotto una figura d’un satiro alto del naturale posato in Terra trà due Cipressi]. Palma (I 4 p. 78) identifies this satyr with our Pan. This 1633 inventory does not attribute the sculpture to Michelangelo, though it explicitly notes that a room in the Palazzo Grande had two herms in metal (i.e., bronze) said to be by the master’s hand (Palma I 4 doc. 13 p. 74 nos. 75-76).

A century later, in a 29 December 1733 inventory (Palma I 4 doc. 29 p. 132 no. 352), we find listed as the sole work of art on the “avenue facing the hunting-dog house that belongs to the Casino—a large statue standing on a stone pedestal between two cypresses near the road leading to Porta Pinciana” [Viale in faccia alla Braccheria corrispondente al Casino—Una statua grande in piedi sopra piedestallo di muro in mezzo a due cipressi vicino alla strada che va a Porta Pinciana“. The mention of the two cypresses reminds one of the placement of the satyr in 1633.

If so, what happened to the four columns and the sarcophagus? Already in a 1641 inventory of the “outside” sculptures in the Villa Ludovisi, listed right after the colossal Juno (today in Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts) that stood at the north boundary of the Villa Ludovisi hard against the Aurelian wall, one finds (Palma I 4 doc. 16 p. 84 nos. 6-7) “A statue—a Satyr of the natural [size] with his adornment. A decorated large sarcophagus placed above the decoration of said Satyr with its lid on which sarcophagus there are two reclining figures” [Una statua un Satiro del naturale con suo adornamento. Un Pilo Grande historiato posto sopra L’adornamento di detto Satiro con il suo Coperchio nel qual pilo vi sono due figure colche]. In an immensely valuable 1670 view of the Villa Ludovisi by Giovanni Battista Falda (1643-1678), indeed one can see a structure against the city wall with a facade of four evenly spaced columns, with what appears to be a sarcophagus on top. One important point: the structure stands at the top of a long and straight path precisely on axis with the main entrance of the Palazzo Grande. We know that this avenue was called the “Viale del Satiro”—the “Avenue of the Satyr”.

The 1733 Boncompagni Ludovisi inventory (Palma I 4 doc. 29 p. 132 no. 358-359) offers further information. We learn that “attached to the aforementioned [i.e., Aurelian] walls facing the so-called Avenue of the Satyr” is “a large niche supported by four columns faced in marble, above it a large urn [i.e., sarcophagus] with various figures in low relief, and other ornamentations; under this niche, and within it [is] a satyr standing in marble on a small marble pedestal” [Una nicchia grande sostenuta da quattro colonne di facciata di Marmo, sopra di essa un’Urna grande con diverse figure di basso rilievo, ed altri ornamenti, sotto della qual nicchia, ed entro di essa un Satiro in piedi di marmo sopra piccolo piedestallo di marmo].

To this notice we can join the inventory of the Topham collection, which as we have seen was compiled ca. 1720-1730. That lists right after the ‘Faustina’ (= colossal Juno), a “statue of the God Pan inside a niche, and above, a bas-relief with three divisions, with two figures for each one, and above two reclining portraits of a man and a woman” [Statua del Dio Pan dentro una nicchia e sopra un Basso relievo con tre spartimenti , con due figure per ciascheduno e sopra due Ritratti a giacere d ‘uomo e di Donna] (Palma I 4 doc. 28 p. 125 no. 108).

Most significantly, the Topham inventory calls the statue “the God Pan”. And its description of the sarcophagus allows us to confidently identify it with one that came, together with a non-matching lid, to Cardinal Ludovisi from the Cesarini collection (T. Schreiber, Die antiken Bildwerke der Villa Ludovisi in Rom nos. 212 and 213). Today the assemblage is in Rome’s Villa Ada (for full discussion see especially M. E. Micheli in Palma I 6 pp. 134-140; also Palma 2012 p. 157). As it happens, sometime in the years 1720-1730 Giovanni Domenico Campiglia (1692-1775) drew this sarcophagus and its lid, with his work now also at Eton College. In the Topham Collection the lid and Bernadino Ciferri’s sketch of the Pan were catalogued together: volume Bm.12 fol. 108 (lid), 109-110 (Pan), 123-124 (sarcophagus proper).

These testimonia from 1641 and the 1720s-1730s would seem to settle the question of the final placement of the Pan statue. But do they? Giuseppe Felici in his Villa Ludovisi in Roma (1952) states flatly that until the early 19th century the satyr sculpture in the “niche” was a completely different figure, an ancient copy of the “Pouring Satyr” (now in the Museo Nazionale Romano Palazzo Altemps), and that is what gave the name to the “Viale del Satiro”. Palma herself equivocates on whether the satyr sculpture in the “niche” was originally the “Pouring Satyr” or the Ludovisi Pan: see especially Palma I 4 p. 211; also p. 84, on 1641, against p. 125 on 1720-1730, and p. 132, on 1733. In Part III, after a survey of further testimonia—especially that of early guidebooks—on the statue, I will offer my answer to the question, and explain how Felici made what is in fact a mistake.

The high value placed on that statue of a satyr in the “niche” emerges clearly from an inventory record of 31 March 1749 of the sculptures in the Villa Ludovisi (Palma I 4 doc. 31 p. 146 nos. 156-157). In a section devoted to the part of the collection placed at the “Walls of Rome”, we find: “The famous marble satyr in Greek style of natural (size) [Il famoso satiro di marmo in maniera greca al naturale]: 4000 scudi.” Then “Urn above four columns that form an ornament for the aforementioned satyr, in Gothic style, with a lid of two figures reclining, in the manner of a tomb: 200 scudi.”

For comparison, the same 1749 inventory shows the value of Bernini’s Pluto and Proserpina as 10,000 scudi, and the Suicidal Gaul group as 15,000 scudi. Of statues exhibited outside in the Villa Ludovisi, only three earn a higher valuation, each of them colossal in scale: a Dionysus and satyr group (Schreiber no. 77, 11000 scudi), a reclining Silenus (Schreiber 137 and 138, 10,000 scudi), and the Great Battle Sarcophagus (Schreiber no. 186, 6000 scudi).

It is helpful to compare the value of the satyr in the “niche” in 1749 with that of the famed Dying Gaul in 1733, a Roman copy from a Hellenistic (230-220 BCE) original, once a Ludovisi possession, and now exhibited at the Capitoline Museums. As Paolo Coen has noted (The Art Market in Rome in the Eighteenth Century: A Study in the Social History of Art), in December 1733, upon the death of Princess Ippolita Ludovisi, the Marquis Alessandro Gregorio Capponi began negotiations with Cardinal Troiano d’Acquaviva for the purchase of the Dying Gaul. The starting price of 12,000 scudi, set by the sculptor Agostino Cornacchini, nephew of Cardinal Carlo Agostino Fabroni, was reduced to 6,000 scudi. In addition, in a 2018 contribution, Daniela Gallo (“Economic and Scholarly Appraisal of Ancient Marbles in Late 18th- Century Rome”) studies the purchase prices for the Museo Clementino Museums between 1772-1778. According to Gallo, in 1772 Princess Cornelia Constanza Barberini received 2600 scudi for the sale of a colossal statue of Juno. These examples open a window to rethink the relative value of statues in the 18th century, and shows that 4000 scudi is a value in a range that would be reserved for only the most valuable sculptures.

One further note. By the time of the 1885 photo campaign of the Villa Ludovisi, we find that the “niche” against the Aurelian Wall at the top of the Viale del Satiro has been transformed into an aedicula. The four columns that formed the facade of the original assemblage have been respaced, a pair grouped at either side. The structure now has a traditional pediment with the head of a Medusa at center; an additional pair of columns has been added as supports to the roof at rear. A fence closes off open areas of the aedicula, protecting our Pan (now with a fig-leaf) within. As for the sarcophagus and its lid, they are repositioned on the ground along the wall a few dozen meters to the east. In Part III I will discuss the probable date of that transformation.

Conclusion

The representations of the Ludovisi Pan created by 18th-century artists, principally Winstanley, Batoni, Canova, and Ciferri, demonstrate not only their great interest in this 16th-century marble sculpture, but also its importance among other pieces in the collection of Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi. More significantly, their artworks, which show the former state of this now-damaged sculpture, provide an invaluable opportunity to compare the Ludovisi Pan’s stylistic forms with Michelangelo’s work of art.

The very detailed work by Winstanley especially shows how this statue was inspirational for the artist. Indeed, the stylistic correspondence between the Frankfurt Michelangelo sheet and Winstanley’s Oxford drawing should be seen as one of the pieces of evidence for the attribution to the master. Furthermore, Canova’s sketch showing the Ludovisi Pan and the ancient statue group of Pan and Daphnis together in the same sheet should be read for his high regard for these sculptures. Like the drawings and sketches from the 18th century, historical photographs from 1885 also provide a chance to compare the former state and present state of the statue. Together, this evidence reveals that this Pan has suffered an unfortunate loss of detail, especially in the face, which has caused the few modern scholars who have seen the sculpture to undervalue it. In addition to these representations of this statue, the inventory records through the mid-18th century (especially that of 1749, that may suggest a high price for the statue) should be read as important documentary evidence for rethinking the Ludovisi Pan, a task that we shall return to in Part III.

Principal works referenced

Bambach, C. C. Michelangelo, Divine Draftsman & Designer. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2017.

Barkan, L. Unearthing the Past: Archaeology and Aesthetics in the Making of Renaissance Culture. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1999.

Brennan, T. C. “L’archivio Boncompagni Ludovisi e gli affreschi di Guercino per il Casino dell’ Aurora”. Storia dell’ Arte 157 (2022) 1-8.

Brooks, J., and N. E. Silver. Guercino: Mind to Paper. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2006.

Bulman, L. C. “The market for commissioned drawings after the antique”. The Georgian Group Journal 12 (2002): 59-73.

Candilio, D. and B. Palma Venetucci. “Alcune novità sulla dispersione della Collezione Ludovisi”. Eidola 9 (2012): 141-163.

Gallo, D. “Economic and Scholarly Appraisal of Ancient Marbles in Late 18th-Century Rome”, in P. Coen (ed.), The Art Market in Rome in the Eighteenth Century: A Study in the Social History of Art, 199-210. Leiden: Brill, 2018.

Gnann, A. Michelangelo: The Drawings of a Genius. Stuttgart and Berlin: Hatje Cantz, 2010.

Haskell, F.  Taste and the Antique: The Lure of Classical Sculpture. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1981.

Palma, B. (ed.), Museo Nazionale Romano. Le sculture 1.4: i Marmi Ludovisi, storia della Collezione. Milan: De Luca Editore, 1983.

Palma, B. L. de Lachenal and M.E. Micheli (eds.), Museo Nazionale Romano. Le sculture. I Marmi Ludovisi dispersi. I.6. Milan: De Luca Editore, 1986.

Russell, A. G. B.. Drawings by Guercino. London: E. Arnold & Co.,1923.

Russell, F. “The Derby Collection (1721-1735).” The Volume of the Walpole Society 53 (1987): 143–80.

Hatice Köroğlu Çam is a 2022 graduate of Rutgers University, with a degree in Art History, and has been researching the Statue of Pan under the direction of Professor T. Corey Brennan since January.  Hatice plans to pursue her academic journey towards a Ph.D. in Renaissance art. She expresses her sincerest gratitude to Professor Brennan for introducing her to this statue and encouraging her throughout the process of this research, for his translation of all Italian inventory documents, and his interpretations, guidance, and support. She extends a special thanks to HSH Princess Rita Boncompagni Ludovisi for her wonderful encouragement and inspiration for this project.