(Rome active in the late 17th and early 18th Century)
Leda and the Swan,
oil on canvas, 170 x 217 cm, framed

We are grateful to Francesco Petrucci and to Andrea G. De Marchi for their help in cataloguing the present painting. A written analysis by Andrea G. De Marchi accompanies this lot.

Francesco Petrucci considers the present painting to be by the same hand as two large works conserved in the Sala dei Velluti in the Palazzo Doria Pamphilj in Rome: Narcissus at the Fountain (oil on canvas, 218 x 172 cm, inv. no. FC 149) and Diana and Endymion (oil on canvas, 215 x 166 cm, inv. no. FC 144).

Andrea G. De Marchi has also, independently, suggested the same comparison and he intends to group the Doria Pamphilj scenes and the present painting in a future publication under the name of the ‘Maestro Ovidiano Doria Pamhilj’.

The attribution of the two Doria Pamphilj paintings have been subject of discussion. Salvatore Tonci, in his first guidebook of the Gallery in 1791 attributed Diana and Endymion to Rubens, and Narcissus to Guido Cagnacci (see S. Tonci, Descrizione ragionata della Galleria Doria, preceduta da un breve saggio di pittura, Rome 1791, pp. 75, 196–197). Diana and Endymion was later attributed to Pier Francesco Mola by Faldi in 1957 (see I. Faldi, Palazzo Pamphilj al Collegio Romano, Rome 1957, p. 18). Andrea G. De Marchi has suggested that this as yet unidentified artist may be the young Ventura Lamberti (see A. G. De Marchi, Collezione Doria Pamphilj, catalogo generale dei dipinti, Cinisello Balsamo/Milan 2016, p. 239).

Ventura Lamberti (circa 1653–1721) was born in Carpi, and after some years working in Modena became a pupil of Carlo Cignani in Rome. There, he became attached to the household of the Marchese Gabrieli. De Marchi mentions a painting of Diana and Endymion with similar dimensions as the painting in the Galleria Doria Pamphilj described in 1730 by Lione Pascoli as having been executed by Lamberti for this important early patron (L. Pascoli, Vite de pittori, scultori, ed architetti moderni, Rome 1730, p. 769). No trace of this painting remains, and it would appear very plausible to identify it with the Endymion from the group discussed here. Also, Ventura Lamberti was a close friend of the composer Arcangelo Corelli, who, for years, was in the service of Cardinal Benedetto Pamphilj. It would be pleasing to attribute the group in full to an artist who otherwise primarily worked in Christian iconography. In Rome, Lamberti painted Saint Francis of Paola resuscitating a dead Child for the Chiesa dello Spirito Santo dei Napoletani and some cartoons used for mosaics for Saint Peter by Ottaviani. His Madonna showing the Infant Saviour to Saint Jerome was engraved by Ludovico Dorigny. Among his pupils was Marco Benefial.

De Marchi has also discussed the young Benefial as the possible artist responsible for the so-called Ovidian group. Benefial would later work for Camillo Pamphilj the younger, such as in a painting executed in circa 1713, depicting the allegorical personifications of the figurative arts in the Ballroom of the Palazzo Doria Pamphilj. De Marchi has briefly considered a possible attribution to Daniel Seiter, but favours a tentative identification of the artist as Ventura Lamberti. It has been suggested that the beautifully painted wine jug with its shimmering texture could be the work of a potential second artist involved in the execution of the present painting, with Carlo Manieri (circa 1662–1700) being discussed as the most likely candidate. As a final thought on the question of attributing the group, which is of very high quality, it is perhaps worth noting that De Marchi mentions a painting of Narcissus with similar dimensions as the one in the Sala dei Velluti described as early as 1682 as a collaborative work by Carlo Maratta (1625–1713) and Crescenzio Onofri (1632–1712) (see A. G. De Marchi, ibid., 2016, p. 239).

The two paintings in the Galleria Doria Pamphilj in Rome were purchased by Camillo Filippo Pamphilj in 1716 and are described in the inventory compiled after Camillo’s death in 1747: ‘Due quadri, uno [...] Indimione, e Diana, e l’altro narciso con un putto’ (see A. G. De Marchi, ibid., 2016, p. 239). Camillo Filippo Pamphilj (Rome 1675–1747) was the son of Giambattista Pamphilj and his wife Violante Facchinetti. After his father’s death in 1717 he became the 3rd Principe di San Martino al Cimino e Valmontone. He was celebrated as an art collector and as a patron of music, also endorsing public and ecclesiastical institutions such as Sant’Agnese in Agone at Piazza Navona. During his lifetime the family collection expanded significantly to include works by Lionello Spada, Francesco Solimena and also by ‘artisti stranieri’ such as Cornelis de Vos and Jacob van Loo (see A. G. De Marchi, Il Fascino dell’esotico in un bastimento di quadri per Camillo Pamphilj Junior, in: Bollettino d’arte, Ser. VII, no. 22–23, pp. 237–246). It is not unlikely that the present painting once also belonged to the Pamphilj collection but left it before Camillo Filippo Pamphilj’s demise in 1747. Undoubtedly the most risqué subject of the group, Leda would have shared this fate with other paintings dispersed for various reasons.

All three paintings of the group show similar characteristics. They all display an essential sensual character (Narcissus, so De Marchi argued in 1999, most probably has a later applied cloak draped over him in an effort to censor the painting, see A. G. De Marchi, Il Palazzo Doria Pamphilj al Corso e le sue collezioni, Florence 1999, p. 217). The compositions are all set in a dark, moody landscape very much reminiscent of paintings by Pier Francesco Mola. They are close in the depiction of flesh tones, rich fabrics and golden textures. Interestingly, there is a small painting in London in the National Gallery, attributed to the ‘Style of Mola’, which features a very similar composition as the present Leda (oil on canvas, 38.6 x 50.1 cm, inv. no.  NG151.1). The three paintings in the group are of remarkably similar sizes, even though both paintings in Rome are upright whilst Leda is in horizontal format.

The subject of Leda and the Swan is one of the most well-known myths of ancient Greek and Roman antiquity. Ancient authors such as Homer (Odyssey) and Ovid (Metamorphoses) handed them down to modern times and, alongside ancient artifacts that successively were rediscovered, they formed the basis for the artistic treatment of the subject from the fourteenth century on. It is known, for example, that Lorenzo de’ Medici was in possession of an ancient cameo and marble relief showing Leda and the Swan. As a classicising topic, with erotic overtones, it emerged prominently in the Italian Renaissance from 1500 onwards. Some of the most famous artists treated the subject through­out the sixteenth century such as Leonardo (see for example his drawing on paper from circa 1503–10, Devonshire Collection, Chatsworth), Michelangelo (1529, original painting lost, but conserved in various copies, such as the version in the National Gallery, London, inv. no. NG1868) and Correggio (circa 1532, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, inv. no. 218). The inherent erotic connotations of the classical subject, allowing for artistic expression in that time in Christian Europe, made it a very popular one in painting and sculpture.

According to ancient sources, Leda was the daughter of King Thestius of Aetolia. She married King Tyndareus and thus became Queen of Sparta. The King of gods Zeus was well known for his illegitimate children and his legendary infidelity, much to the chagrin of his wife, Hera. He was aided in his efforts by the fact that he was able to transform his appearance at will. According to the myth, Zeus was captivated by Leda’s beauty, appeared before her in the form of a swan and subsequently seduces her. The same night, Leda was also visited by her husband, and as a result of these two unions, Leda gave birth to two sets of twins, two of whom are fathered by Tyndareus and two of whom are fathered by Zeus: the Dioscuri Castor and Pollux and Clytemnestra and Helen, the later Helen of Troy.

From among the many versions and available scenes of the myth, the present painting represents the most widely depicted one: Zeus approaches Leda in the guise of a swan and seduces her. The setting is a grove on the banks of the Eurotas River. In the foreground, Leda, totally nude except for a blue hairband holding her braided hair, rests on a white sheet spread out on the floor. The light, soft skin and white plumage are finely modeled in the play of light and shadow. The recent cleaning of the present painting has brought these artistic qualities back to light. Supporting the upper body and right arm on a pillow, the right leg is bent. The left one is shown shortened as it encloses the swan’s body. Taking hold of a wing, her nose and the swans’ beak just touch. The scene is interpreted in a very sensitively way, with the gentle touch of the heads in addition to Leda’s smile and Zeus’ reserved gesture. To the left behind the group, Cupid appears, recognisable by his wings and the strap of his quiver, as he points to Leda and Zeus in his function as the god of love.

In the foreground of the present composition there is a finely designed bronze wine jug, resting on folds of red velvet. This jug depicts a scene on its bowl that once again takes the viewer into the world of ancient myths: In the centre, Mercury can be identified by his winged helmet, playing the flute with his leg bent in front of a male figure falling asleep. Behind him there is the head and torso of a cow. The triad of characters proves that the scene is based on the legend of Io. Zeus fell in love with Io, a priestess of Hera, and seduced her like he does with Leda. However, his jealous wife Hera noticed this. To cover up his infidelity, Zeus transforms Io into a cow. Hera discovered this and demanded the cow as a gift, which Zeus was unable to refuse. Hera had the hundred-eyed giant Argos guard the cow. Out of pity for Io, Zeus sent the heavenly messenger Hermes to Argos with the order to kill him. Hermes put Argos to sleep by playing his flute so that Io could escape. As a ‘picture within a picture’, another love story of Zeus is shown in the present painting. It is not clear whether this parallel of two Metamorphoses points to an intended moralising statement.