The three cosmic systems: Ptolemaic, Copernican and Tychonic with the inscription ALY ET ALIA VIDENT

At the base of this piece of paper in tiny but very precise writing are the Latin words “ALY ET ALIA VIDENT” meaning “Others see it yet otherwise”, suggesting that the three systems presented here are not exhaustive. Could this be a reference to Johannes Kepler who proposed that the planets orbit the sun in elliptical paths, did not believe Tycho’s system was physically plausible and abandoned Copernicus’s solid crystalline spheres? Behind the diagram of the cosmic systems is an astrological geniture for an as yet unidentified person born in the month of March. Perhaps the artist is suggesting the extremely close link between astronomy and astrology in the seventeenth century –  Tycho Brahe and Kepler both earned income from casting horoscopes.

It is interesting that ALY ET ALIA VIDENT is such a central phrase to the painting, almost like a caption — Others see it yet otherwise — the universe is amenable to different forms of interpretation. This is a strikingly casual stance for the period just a few years prior to Galileo’s Inquisition trial for Copernicanism. References to Galileo’s telescopic discoveries, incidentally, are surprisingly absent from the Linder Gallery, here we seem to be much more in the realm of precision measurement.

ALY ET ALIA VIDENT. What is behind this intriguing phrase? Could it be an oblique reference to Kepler? Or is it just a lack of cosmic committment? Given its prominence in the painting, could it be a suggestion that the painting itself is open to radically different forms of interpretation, or is that just a 21st century way of reading too much into a scrap of painted paper?

Again, this drawing seems to relate to the frontispiece of Kepler’s Rudolphine Tables, the book present on the green table, where we behold the Temple of Urania, muse of astronomy, inhabited by great astronomers of the past. Tycho Brahe points at the ceiling which is marked with his own cosmic system, asking the words “Quid si sic?” — “What if it is like that?”. Kepler himself is not included in the temple but sits in the base, looking at an architect’s model as the “humble” architect of a new edifice of astronomy. Another puzzle: given that the painting is all about measurement, geometry and perspective and their relationship with the arts, why is the perspective of the octagonal green table itself so wonky, apparently tilting forward?

Temple of Urania, Georg Celer's frontispiece for the Rudolphine Tables

Disegno from the Linder Gallery

It is by no means clear whether the figure of Disegno in the Linder gallery is intended to be generic or a specific portrait.  Michael John has suggested Kepler as a possible candidate – which is certainly plausible, although I have yet to be convinced of the similarity between known portraits of Kepler and the features of the Linder gallery figure, and (frustratingly) there is no evidence that either Oddi or Linder was especially interested in Kepler and his works. An alternative possibility is that the figure of Disegno is in fact modelled on Mutio Oddi’s first tutor in the visual arts, the famous painter Federico Barocci of Urbino.  Barocci’s features, as depicted in his self-portrait of ca. 1600 are close to those of Disegno in the Linder gallery, if we imagine Barocci 20-30 years older (for the gallery was painted in the late 1620s).  Barocci would have been an ideal model for Disegno – he was internationally renowned as a master of design and  was the brother of the celebrated mathematical instrument maker, Simone Barocci, whose works Oddi distributed in Milan to patrons and friends – including Linder.  In fact, as Ian Verstegen has shown in a recent article, Federico used his brother’s instruments (notably the reduction compass) in making his drawings and paintings.  Thus, Barocci could be thought of as a figure for whom mathematics underpinned drawing, and the arts in general.  Oddi – who was exiled from Urbino – was always eager to promote his homeland (indeed, he circulated Barocci drawings in Milan).  What better way of doing this than by incorporating one of its greatest (but recently deceased) artists into the painting he helped to devise?  Just a thought…

Federico Barocci, Self-portrait (ca. 1600)

Cornelis Drebbel's Perpetuum Mobile, detail from Hieronymus Francken the Younger, The Archdukes Albert and Isabella Visiting a Collector's Cabinet, The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore. Compare the shadowy device at no. 43 in the zoomable image of the Linder Gallery

By all accounts, Drebbel’s instrument combined two features, first, a self-winding astronomical almanac showing the date and the phases of the moon, and second, a cylindrical ring in which water moved endlessly to and fro. Even if the Perpetuum Mobile was only a simple air thermoscope (relying on temperature changes), or at best a crude baroscope (subject to changes in air pressure), Drebbel invested it with great mystery and great value, and saw it as a confirmation of the principles he elaborated in his Ein Kurßer Tractat von der Natur Der Elementen first published in 1608. Although clearly his claim was unfounded, perhaps we at least to try to understand what he thought he was doing when he speaks of the instrument’s secret as ‘the fiery spirit of the air’. Perhaps the glass cylinder was filled not with mere air, but with oxygen produced by heating saltpetre, or nitre, which Drebbel was convinced held the secret to chemical transformations of many kinds. As Jennifer Drake-Brockman astutely observes, Drebbel stands on the threshold between two ways of looking at the natural world. As she writes ‘On the one hand, were those philosophers, including Drebbel himself, who explained the machine in mystical or alchemical terms, and whose mind-set might be described as the Rosicrucian tendency; their thinking was ultimately grounded in the Aristotelian universe, the building blocks of which were the four elements. On the other hand, were the exponents of the scientific tendency, whose efforts were directed towards an understanding of observed physical phenomena and to whom the Aristotelian worldview was increasingly an irrelevance; […]’. Drebbel’s alchemy was indeed Aristotelian, and he accorded nitre a special significance as part of Paracelsus’s tria prima of Mercury, Sulfur and Salt, hence his experiments with cooling, underwater travel, explosives and of course, the Perpetuum Mobile.

Allegorical figures, detail from Linder Gallery

The laurel wreath and sun-pennant worn by the young woman correspond to the attributes of Virtue, according to Cesare Ripa’s Iconologia, a reference text much consulted by artists. If she represents the Arts, perhaps exhausted from her labours in creating all of the paintings and sculpture in the room, then who is the man? The impressive array of astronomical instruments, mathematical tools and diagrams in the painting would seem to suggest that he has something to do with science. The books on the table by Kepler and a physical resemblence to Kepler’s known portraits suggest that the man may be intended as a likeness of astronomer Johannes Kepler. But if so why would a young woman representing the Arts be lying in Kepler’s lap?

There is another painting, now unfortunately lost, which shows a similar composition of a woman representing Painting resting in the lap of an old bearded man. In that painting the old man (with a flaming crown) appears to represent “Disegno” — design or drawing, considered in the seventeenth century as a universal skill embodied in any form of measurement or proportion, from perspective drawing to the measurement of the position of the stars.

Anonymous, Gallery Interior with Personifications of Pictura and Disegno

So one reading of the allegorical figures in the Linder Gallery is a play on words: “Painting “rests on” Drawing”, or to flesh it out more fully, “The Arts and Virtue rest on Design”, where design includes the sense of moral purpose (as in the phrase “by accident or by design”). This kind of punning and emblematic word play was extremely popular in Flemish painting of the seventeenth century. But why would the astronomer Johannes Kepler be used to represent Design?

There are a few possibilities here:

First, perhaps the male figure is not in fact intended to be Kepler, but just a generic personification of Disegno. That’s possible, but I would suggest, apart from the resemblance and the other references to Kepler in the painting, that the careful way his face is painted strongly follows the conventions of portraiture.

Second, perhaps the painting (informed by mathematician Muzio Oddi) is deliberately putting forward a highly mathematical vision of Design, arguing for the importance of a deep understanding of geometry, astronomy and astrology to all the arts. In this case, if you wanted a person to embody mathematical skill in the late 1620s, Kepler as the Imperial mathematician who had just published the most important planetary tables for more than a century seems like a pretty good candidate. However, in spite of the very clear references to Kepler in the painting, we have yet to discover any direct links between Muzio Oddi or Peter Linder and Kepler — the search continues.

Giovanni Battista Caravaggio, letter to Muzio Oddi, 28 March 1629

Here is an excerpt from the translation Alex and I made of the letter:

Three days ago, spurred on in part by my duty and in part by curiosity, I went to visit Signor Pietro Linder [...]. He offered to show me various beautiful objects in his study, where, as well as the little ivory statues and others of less noble material, and the casket arranged beautifully with various mathematical instruments, I saw in particular, among many other paintings which had appeared since I was there last, a painting of decent size in which a gallery is shown in perspective, adorned with various paintings, depicted with no less study than skill, both in the extreme diligence used in them, and in that one can see there the styles of different individual painters imitated.

Three tables are then depicted in a well-proportioned position, on which are various beautifully feigned mathematical instruments, concave mirrors, crystal lenses, pieces of prints, demonstrations and mathematical figures, and finally various medals, among which I saw the one with the image of your Lordship represented there with better fortune than the good Signor Pietro had with the cast, as in addition to displaying an extremely good likeness of your Lordship, there are also the letters that spell your name, carried out with such precision that, however small they may be, they can be read without difficulty. In sum it appeared to be that this painting, both for the inventione, which I understood to be in a large part due to your Lordship, and for the work, was worthy of the cabinet of any great prince.

There are a few interesting points to raise about this letter:

First, can we be sure he is really talking about the same painting? Although he describes the three tables and the astronomical instruments in detail, it seems strange that Caravaggio (not to be confused with the famous painter) makes no mention of the two figures — the bearded old man and the woman — dominating the foreground. Could it be that the allegorical figures were added later? Technical analysis makes that seem very unlikely. Given that Caravaggio cites Linder as the owner of the painting, and the Linder coat of arms appear in the upper left-hand window of the painting it seems pretty certain that he is describing this painting.

Second, Caravaggio suggests that his tutor the Urbino mathematician Muzio Oddi had a very important role in the “invention” of the painting. He also mentions that Oddi’s portrait medal is included in the painting. Close inspection of the Linder Gallery painting reveals Oddi’s portait on the octagonal table, the darkest and most illegible of all the medals (see the zoomable detail of the Green Table in particular). Oddi would appear to be a key figure in coming up with the strong mathematical emphasis of the painting (though curiously Oddi is not known to have had any particular interest in Kepler — strange given the strong references to Kepler in the painting).

Third, Caravaggio’s letter helps us date the completion of the painting. There are two objects represented in the painting that date from 1627 (Kepler’s Rudolphine Tables and the Muzio Oddi portrait medal) so it seems likely that the painting was completed between 1627 and 1629, while it may have been commenced well before then. It is of course possible that the painting was completed by a different artist to the artist who commenced it (gallery interiors were frequently collaborative works).

It is somewhat frustrating that Caravaggio doesn’t bother to mention the name of the artist in his lengthy description of the Linder Gallery. His letter does demonstrate clearly that the artist wasn’t working in isolation but in close consultation with at least two other people — merchant and collector Peter Linder and mathematician Muzio Oddi.