Raphael - Portrait of Baldassare Castiglione

Raphael, Portrait of Baldassare Castiglione, 1514-15, oil on canvas, Louvre Museum, Paris

The sitter for this portrait, Baldassare Castiglione, was not only a diplomat, polymath and humanist but he was also a friend of the artist. They shared a philosophy, an outlook on their respective writerly and artistic practices that was given expression through their work. Castiglione became famous for his book, Il Cortegiano, a highly influential manual in the form of a series of dialogues which explore the qualities needed to become the perfect courtier. It specifies the codes of behaviour, the manners and the etiquette required to succeed in that role. Castiglione himself served the Duke of Urbino, at whose highly sophisticated and cultured court Raphael too was known in the early years of the sixteenth century before he left to pursue his career in Florence and Rome. Castiglione’s position meant that he was ideally placed to observe and comment on courtesy, punctilio, wit and the social graces. Above all he suggests in his book that courtiers should act with what he described as sprezzatura, that is, an attitude of appearing not to be trying too hard. One should dress well but with a style that seems natural and effortless, and one should comport oneself in any activity, be it dancing, handling weapons, games, conversation (multi-lingual of course) or when playing a musical instrument (ladies only) for example, with grace, fluency and apparent spontaneity that never betrays nervousness or having put in hours of practice. Self-deprecation and circumspection beats braggadocio too, every time. Sprezzatura then, is all about artlessness, even if you have to be artful to convey it.

Have you ever met one of those people who seem to be able to wear anything, often just the first thing to hand in the wardrobe, and carry it off with style? People who put on clothes that would look ugly, boring or tasteless on you but which they appropriate so nonchalantly and with such poise that you can’t take your eyes off them, people who can converse easily with others, even strangers, and make them smile with warmth almost straight away? They have sprezzatura. Conversely, we all know people who spend a lot of money on outfits, the latest fashions or the coolest brands, but who look like they’ve just spent too much time in front of the mirror. Or those who try and fail to make an impression in any group gathering. That’s the opposite of sprezzatura and often comes off as affectation, awkward self-consciousness or just plain boorishness.

Although the book was not published until 1528, some fourteen years after the painting’s date, it was first drafted much earlier, and we are not the first art writers to observe that the demeanour of the sitter in this painting perfectly demonstrates the ideal attributes it describes. Nor that the artist succeeded in similarly executing the portrait as if he too was gifted with an innate ability that was controlled, unflashy and exquisitely tasteful while simultaneously and ‘inadvertently’ demonstrating his own astonishing and felicitous talent. It wouldn’t be fanciful to see the portrait as a direct if precursive response to the book’s ideas, a work whose self-proclaimed aim is to ‘paint a portrait in words’ of a courtly paragon, just as Raphael is described in it as a paragone of painting.

But for all that this involves pretence or artifice at some level, what shines through in this painting is authenticity (and not fake authenticity either). The look on Castiglione’s face captured by the artist is not straightforwardly ‘courtly’ or mannered. It is far more nuanced. It seems to express some amusement, yes, and intellect, wisdom and nobility of bearing but there is also a vulnerability there too, an openness, a modesty, tolerance, some gentleness, a little worry and even a sense of sadness and aloneness. This is an insightfully complex psychological study of the sitter as much as it is a likeness.  It reveals something ineffable to us of the mind within.

Set against a neutral background, one with which the figure harmonises rather than clashes, Castiglione’s black doublet and cap etch out a sombre substance to his presence. The headgear contrasts flatteringly with the high pale forehead (it is known that he was bald underneath it) to frame it. This Renaissance bonnet is soft, only semi structured, while its band fits snugly. The puffiness of the hat’s fold at the top makes it reminiscent of those worn by artists or scholars and not that of a soldier, although we can just see the top of a gold pommelled sword, its body tucked discreetly under the arm, in slight contradiction to this and as a reminder that at one time this sitter had held a minor military command. The hat is unshowy, without feathers, jewels, badges (save for what might be the self-colour relief motif or pattern on the band and what looks like a discreet medal on the side) or other obvious ornaments, and succeeds by offering scant distraction from the face. The doublet looks equally soft, probably velvet. It fits if only loosely and appears comfortable, standing unconstrictingly away from the back of the neck. The overgarment is animal fur, probably squirrel. No doubt this would have been very costly – note the merest suggestion of the red silk lining too - but it again renounces flamboyance. Raphael was able to demonstrate his absolute mastery of contrasting material textures and colours through its depiction, without drawing undue attention to his skill, but which would be appreciated nevertheless by the cognoscenti (if not by the hoi polloi) discerning their minutely detailed differences. The chemise of white laceless linen is the brightest element in a composition of a highly subtle and restrained palette. The whole ensemble is not the dress of a dandy but instead speaks a language of quiet taste and sophistication rather than conspicuous status signalling, but it is matched by the artist’s own refinement of compositional style and brushwork delicacy.

Two other elements remain to be considered here, the hands and the beard.

Unlike the similarly half-length, three-quarter profile Mona Lisa, a painting made by Leonardo some ten years or more beforehand and with which it has sometimes been compared (Raphael has been accused of ‘borrowing’ from it), this portrait does not show the joined hands in full. This has led to speculation that the canvas may have suffered a shortening at some point in its history although this is disputed by those who consider the cropping to be intentional. However, we can see enough of the hands to read in their positioning a certain composure and self-possession but also possibly a little defensiveness too.

The beard is full and Raphael shows it glinting at the corners of the mouth, a detail that reflects the catchlights in the remarkably cerulean shaded irises. It is assertively masculine at one level, but at another it is painted to appear as un-bristly, as soft as some of the clothing and this quality also focuses attention on the suppleness of the lips from which such equally well-formed and urbane apercus might fall. It adds rather than detracts from the femininity of the sloping shoulders. These are subtleties which were not intended to make veiled suggestions about sexual orientation but more to convey the courtier’s need to inhabit not just the one-note persona of maladroit manliness but to sensitively shape oneself to whatever were the finespun vagaries in the mood, politics or relationship dynamics that highborn society made manifest.