“Conquête Militaire”: The Ethics of Restitution of the Louvre’s Napoleonic Legacy
Francesca Bisi
Citation: Bisi, Francesca. “‘Conquête Militaire’: The Ethics of Restitution of the Louvre’s Napoleonic Legacy.” The Coalition of Master’s Scholars on Material Culture, February 25, 2022.
Abstract: While art provides a physical and transportable object within which heritage and, by extension, national identity is stored and displayed, it nonetheless also exudes and absorbs these same intangible concepts. The Wedding Feast at Cana, one of the largest and most prominent paintings removed from Venice during the 1797 French invasion, is one of those works under discussion when defining where and to whom material culture belongs. This article explores the history and the ethics behind the story of the Wedding Feast at Cana and examines the viewpoints from which ownership and intangible connection for material culture is often viewed.
Keywords: museum ethics, Wedding Feast at Cana, the Louvre, restitution, repatriation
Introduction
The arrival of French forces in Venice in May 1797 marked a turning point in the history of Venetian art. Within a year, the Republic of Venice had ceased to exist, becoming a mere territory of the Austrian Empire, and had lost a considerable number of its most iconic works of art. Among those most coveted by French forces was Paolo Veronese’s Wedding Feast at Cana, whose enormous canvas was ripped from the wall of San Giorgio Maggiore and shipped to Paris. The removal of art from conquered territories was a common occurrence throughout Napoleon’s campaigns, but his fervor for plunder was especially felt by the Italian states. Approximately 506 works of art were removed from Italy, of which 258 remained in France after the Congress of Vienna.[1] The Wedding Feast at Cana, one of the largest and most prominent paintings removed from Venice, is one of those works that has not returned to Italy since 1797.
This plunder was not taken lightly by Italian figures both contemporary to Napoleon and after his time, as seen in the efforts made by artist-turned-ambassador Antonio Canova to return looted art during the Congress of Vienna. Later generations of Italians saw the presence of these works in France as an extended attack on their heritage, revealing the role of art and wartime plunder in the construction of a national Italian identity. As art presents a physical representation of nationality and this, in turn, is an extension of the individual, the theft of this material culture is interpreted as an attack on the citizens themselves.
While art provides a physical and transportable object within which heritage and, by extension, national identity is stored and displayed, it nonetheless also exudes and absorbs these same intangible concepts. Professor of international law Wayne Sandholtz discusses this topic in terms of the intangible essence that material culture emanates. The aura of these culturally significant objects gives it a place in and power over identity. Thus, their essence is “consumed” and subsequently emanated by the “body,” or, in this case, the nation of France. He writes, “by appropriating and carrying home the greatest artistic and cultural artifacts of the defeated, the winners in war thus symbolically absorbed ‘lesser’ cultures.” Quoting historian Hugh Trevor-Roper, Sandholtz goes on to describe the absorption of this intangible heritage and its linked prestige. Trevor-Roper provides a striking visualization to the consumption of heritage at the hands of conquering nations, claiming that nation-states plunder “like cannibals who, by devouring parts of their enemies, think thereby to acquire their mana, the intangible source of their strength.”[2]
The vast and complex topic of restitution and the Napoleonic plunders in Italy will be approached in three sections. The first will focus on the Congress of Vienna itself and the initial debates over the restitution of works plundered during Napoleon’s campaigns in Italy. Centered primarily around the differing approaches to restitution proposed during the Congress of Vienna, this section will also explore the reception of the plunders themselves and the aforementioned debates, focusing on the writings of the revolutionary author Ugo Foscolo and Canova. This will provide a foundation to understanding the complexities surrounding restitution of the cultural treasures looted by French forces. The second section will proceed to the post-unification reception of the Napoleonic plunders still present in France. By focusing on the importance of looted collections after the creation of a single Italian nation, this section will provide insight into the role of these works in the formation of a cultural identity. This will be achieved by looking at Vincenzo Peruggia’s theft of Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, which occurred as the culmination of Peruggia’s mistaken belief that the painting was one of Napoleon’s plundered works. This case study will provide valuable insight into art as an extension of national identity, which in turn is part of the citizen’s identity itself. Lastly, the paper will conclude by examining how this history of plunder and the construction of the Italian nationality fits into contemporary debates over restitution, ending with the question of whether the provenance of these works, so prominently displayed on the Louvre’s website, is at odds with its contemporary collecting practices.
Those works plundered by Napoleon which remain in the Louvre to this day provide an important look into the role of art plunder and restitution, or lack thereof, in the creation of the national Italian identity. As these works continue to remain on display in France, it could be argued that they are becoming progressively “French” in identity, losing more and more of their original Italian aura as time goes on. The concept of heritage is intangible and, thus, hard to pin down, as it shifts often as nations redraw their borders and attitudes towards the past change. As such, the tangible manifestations of this heritage, seen here in the form of art, create a battleground for contentions of ownership over heritage. These three case studies will allow for this example of looting to be considered in a new light. Often sidelined in modern discussions of restitution and plunder in military campaigns, the Wedding at Cana and the Napoleonic plunders provide a valuable look into the complexities of material culture and the construction of modern nation-states and national identities.
“The Interests and Honor of the Fatherland”: The Congress of Vienna and Initial Efforts for Restitution
Restitution of the artistic patrimony of conquered areas was a crucial element of the Congress of Vienna, which saw a multinational discussion of the ethics of plunder in military campaigns. Debates brought different stances on the right of the Allied forces to demand restitution from France to the forefront. It resulted, however, in the requirement of France to return those works which French armies and officials had seized from conquered nations throughout the Napoleonic Wars.[3] These debates set a new standard for the ethics of military conquest, claiming that nations were not justified in removing art and cultural treasures from invaded areas. This was certainly not the end of plunder during war, but the Congress of Vienna can be seen as a starting point in debates over the ethics of plunder and restitution in military conquests.
Before discussing the place of the Napoleonic plunders in the Congress of Vienna, it is necessary to provide context with a brief historical background of Veronese’s work. Finished in 1563, The Wedding at Cana is a monumental painting largely recognized as one of Paolo Veronese’s masterpieces, and certainly one of the prime examples of sixteenth century Venetian art. The enormous canvas, spanning 6.77 x 9.94 m, was created specially to fit one of the walls of the refectory of San Giorgio Maggiore.[4] The massive size meant that Veronese and his assistants had to construct the canvas to fit the proportions of the space. Several pieces of cloth were sewn together to create a single canvas on which the piece was painted.[5] Due to its size, Veronese was also forced to work in situ, meaning that the painting was specifically created for and within the refectory. These customizations speak to the uniqueness of the piece and the extent to which it was created especially for this space. It is important to note that the work was not intended to be transported and was in fact not even moved from the artist’s workshop to San Giorgio Maggiore. The subject of the piece itself also emphasizes the original intended location. Refectories were often adorned with biblical feast scenes, such as the Wedding at Cana or the Last Supper.[6] This particular painting would have adorned the wall above the Abbot’s table, watching over the rest of the room and its occupants. Both its subject and construction denote how important the refectory of San Giorgio Maggiore was to the display of the work. From a museal perspective, a great amount of context is lost when the work is removed from its original location.
Nearly three centuries after the Wedding at Cana was first displayed at San Giorgio Maggiore, Napoleon began systematically removing works from Venice.[7] The 1790s had seen French forces race through Europe with Napoleon taking command of the Army of Italy.[8] The French invasions began under the newly formed republican government but continued as Napoleon gained more power and crowned himself Emperor of France. French influence in Italy increased as the armies conquered more and more land, reaching as far south as Rome, as Pope Pius VI was forced to surrender in the 1797 Treaty of Tolentino.[9] In May of 1797, French troops under the command of General Louis Baraguey d’Hilliers entered Venice.[10] It did not take long for the plunder of art to begin. Piero Edwards, an English art restorer born in Italy in 1744, was assigned the task of assessing the works spread throughout Venetian palazzi and churches and preparing them for shipment to France.[11] Throughout the process of selection and preparation, Edwards often complained about the state of the paintings and the stress and danger that they would be placed under during travel. These warnings went unheeded, however, and, in a list created between 1797 and 1798, several works were inscribed under the heading that they “must be removed” to France.[12] Napoleon was adamant about the removal of art from Venice, instructing his troops, “You must draw as much as you can from Venetian territory, paying for nothing.”[13] Following in the tradition of the victorious commander removing spoils of war, Napoleon also physically transferred the material signifiers of heritage from Venice, and Italy more broadly, to France.
Interestingly, Napoleon himself commented on the ethics of plunder during the Italian Campaigns. In Napoleon: The Path to Power, Phillip Dwyer highlights several instances when the French commander had to punish or plead with his troops to end pillages, destruction, and looting.[14] In 1796, Napoleon resorted to giving his troops twenty-four livres per soldier in an attempt to stop them from looting once they took the city.[15] When he arrived in Rome in April of that same year, he reprimanded his troops on the looting taking place throughout the city. Addressing the soldiers, he added that “looters will be shot mercilessly; several have been already.”[16] This clearly stands in stark contrast with the state-sponsored plunder that Napoleon himself oversaw and encouraged. For his soldiers, pillaging is vile and punishable by death while, for Napoleon, it is not only acceptable but is his duty. This brings forth the question of the ethics of plunder to Napoleon and his contemporaries, and the issue of class and standing. When it is on behalf of the nation, plunder enhances the expansion of heritage through material means, but when it is for personal gain for those lacking refinement or of lower social standing, it is merely a sign of crass greed.
In October of 1797, the Treaty of Compoformio ended the Italian Campaign and shifted control of Venice from the French to the Austrian Empire. It should be noted that this removal of French power from the region was met with mixed receptions, reflecting different views on what constituted Italian heritage and who could be seen as either a protector or destroyer of it. A renowned writer sympathetic to the French Republic, Ugo Foscolo fought as a soldier in the Cisalpine Republic, which was allied with France during the Italian Campaigns.[17] His admiration for Napoleon and the Republican values that France claimed to be imparting through its conquests can be clearly seen in his writings before and immediately after the invasion of Venice and is a sentiment found in the minds of many young Italians during this period. Of the French commander, he writes:
You, therefore, oh Bonaparte, I will name with the unprecedented title Liberator of the People, and Founder of the Republic. In this way you, standing tall, alone, immortal, will dominate eternity, equal to the other great men in deeds and merits; but comparable to none in the undertaking of founding nations…[18]
In his ode to Napoleon, A Bonaparte Liberatore, Foscolo further frames Italy as a nation imprisoned by tyrants and despots, eagerly awaiting the Republican ideals and freedom that he believed would be granted by Napoleon and his armies. In May of 1797, after French armies had already forced the creation of a Lombard republic, and in conjunction with the abdication of the Venetian Republic, Foscolo published his Napoleonic ode, writing:
Italy, Italy, with ethereal rays
On your horizon the dawn returns
Herald of a perpetual sun;
See how your foggy sky
turns purple and red
and it seems that it consoles itself
on the sacred branches
in whose shade you sit![19]
Here the French army is neither threat nor foe. Instead, Foscolo frames them as a new age dawning after the dark centuries of tyranny that have loomed over Italy. They are not plunderers or violent invaders but are instead seen as an extension of Italy preserving the glorious heritage that Foscolo laments as having been soiled by the rulers of its past. It should also be noted that the Italy to which Foscolo is referring is a shared cultural identity but not a unified political entity. As will be discussed later in this paper, Italy as a single nation-state did not emerge until 1861.
Just a year later, however, in his 1798 novel The Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis, Foscolo shifts away from this high praise.[20] In one of the fictional letters, the titular character asks, “would you that in order to save myself I entrust myself to the man who betrayed me?”[21] This letter is dated October 11, 1797 and refers to Napoleon betraying the people of Italy who had awaited his liberation by turning over Venice to the Austrian Empire. Foscolo, through the character of Ortis, claims that Napoleon betrayed him personally as there is no distinction between Venice, the united Italian identity, and the individual himself. The dramatic shift of Napoleon’s title from “Liberator of the People” to “traitor” speaks to the rapidly changing views and alliances throughout the Napoleonic Wars. It also reveals the manner in which Italy was helplessly passed from foreign power to foreign power throughout the period of conflict. Most importantly, however, it shows Foscolo’s ability to accept Napoleon not as an invader but as a protector of Italy when he believed him to be a herald of Republican ideals. Yet when this vision faded, Foscolo swiftly erased any link he may have made between Napoleon and his Italian heritage, or to the united Italian identity awaiting his liberation, and characterized him as a betrayer of Italy.
Foscolo’s writings reflect the change in Napoleon’s status in the minds of Italian revolutionaries. His heroic myth did not exempt him from heavy criticism both regarding his theft of Italian art and artifacts and in his “betrayal” of revolutionary ideals. This came to a head in 1804, when Napoleon abandoned all semblances of French values upon declaring himself emperor of France. It took the united forces of several European states to eventually defeat the growing French empire, resulting in the Congress of Vienna in 1815. One of the central issues discussed during this summit was the return of the hundreds of works looted under Napoleon’s direction from the European states that he had invaded. The Italian sculptor Canova, previously employed by Napoleon himself, was sent as an emissary by the Pope to ensure the return of the artworks taken from the Papal states. Canova found an opposing force in Vivant Denon, the first director of the Louvre, who was desperately trying to retain as many works as possible. While the Papal States had an ardent spokesperson in Canova, the city of Venice lacked the same power to advocate for the return of their stolen art as the city remained under the control the Austrian Empire. As such, it was the Austrian government controlling negotiations of Napoleon’s Venetian plunder. 258 of the 506 works of art looted during the Italian Campaigns returned to Italy, including fifteen of the eighteen works taken from Venice.[22] The Wedding at Cana was among those kept in France with French officials citing its large size and fragile state as reasons to prevent its transportation.
The Congress of Vienna marks an important turning point in the perception of plunder in military campaigns. The issue was not as simple as reclaiming objects stolen from conquered lands and instead included attitudes towards plunder rooted in older forms of warfare and concerns for the future of the fragile French government. Trends emerged immediately among the present powers with vastly differing opinions arising on the future of the works then in France. German states were adamant about their immediate restitution while Russia agreed that they should remain in France.[23] Those who were against restitution argued that a victorious power had the right to claim spoils of war from a territory that it successfully invaded, a more traditional approach to the ethics of plunder.[24] Additionally, they believed that restitution would serve as another form of humiliation for France and further discredit the newly established French government. More important than the return of the works, then, was the stabilizing of a France which fit the Allied powers’ vision of the future. This was, thus, nullified when Napoleon returned to power, which led to a renewed fervor in restitution debates.
While the ethics of military plunder were being debated among Allied powers, the underlying issue of restitution remained prevalent. Pope Pius VI ensured that the Papal States would have their say by sending Canova to secure the return of their masterpieces. When arguing for the return of works looted from Rome, Canova was faced with the claim that these works rightfully belonged to France. The Papal States had ceded them in the Treaty of Tolentino in 1797, and, as such, had relinquished the right to request restitution. The armistices and treaties forced onto different Italian states nearly always included demands for specific works to be handed over to French forces.[25] However, as Canova argued, the treaty had been signed under duress in the form of the threat of further destruction and theft and as such should be considered illegitimate.[26]
While Canova’s primary goal was to secure art stolen from Rome, he was well-aware of and, most importantly, profoundly concerned with the fate of other Italian art. Through the invasion of Venice by French forces and its forced annexation into Austrian territory, Venice was pushed out of discussions of the fate of its own cultural heritage. Just before Canova’s arrival, French and Austrian diplomats came to an agreement regarding the fate of Venetian art. Of the eighteen works taken from Venice, all but three returned. Discussions over the future of Venetian art occurred exclusively between French and Austrian officials with the future of these works decided largely by the whims of the Austrian emperor. Correspondence between the Emperor’s officials, primarily one of the curators of the Vienna Gallery, M. Rosa, and the Louvre does not make it clear as to whether the calls to remove the Wedding Feast at Cana from France intended to return it to Venice or bring it to Vienna. Either way, the Louvre workers steadfastly refused, citing the painting’s fragile state as reason for preventing its removal.[27] On October 2, 1815, B. G. Visconti, one of the museum’s commissioners, stated that:
I have pointed out to [Rosa] that the colossal dimensions of this painting, in view of the relining which has been made of it, render its transport, if not impracticable, at least very difficult; that when it was carried away from Venice this painting was split in two above the platform… this same operation becomes very dangerous, and undoubtedly leads to the ruin of this painting… there is no doubt that any attempt of this nature does not become very detrimental to its conservation and does not expose it to irreparable mutilations.[28]
In exchange for the painting, French officials offered one by Charles Le Brun, The Feast in the House of Simon. A letter from September 29, 1815, marks the acceptance of this appraisal, with the Austrian emperor authorizing the trade of Veronese’s Wedding Feast at Cana in exchange for the Le Brun.[29] Canova was dismayed when he learned of this agreement. He wrote:
Let them know that when it was said that the Emperor Francis wanted to know of my opinion on the proposed exchange for Paolo’s Feast, I answered that I would never have betrayed the interest and honor of my fatherland, nor approved of such an exchange. And better for those who proposed it that I arrived late, when there was no longer time.[30]
Canova’s concern for the fate of this Venetian work, and his indignation at its exchange for a French painting in place of its return, speaks to the role of art in the creation of a unified Italian identity. In this letter, written to the Ferrarese-born nobleman Count Leopoldo Cicognara, the two men, born in different Italian states and working in conjunction with the Pope, express solidarity in the fate of Venetian art. Canova, it should be noted, was born within the Republic of Venice, but the men that he wrote to and worked for were not. Still, he speaks of the art’s fate as a shared concern, adding “…I have the consolation of telling you that our Venetian paintings have been regained, and are already being packed for Italy.”[31] Two elements stand out here, the first being the use of the term “our” to refer to the Venetian paintings. The works did not legally belong to Canova or the people of Venice, let alone the inhabitants of the Italian peninsula at large. Yet even though they were the property of some other individual, they “belonged,” in a more abstract, cultural sense, to the people of Venice, and, as Canova here implies, to the people of Italy. Secondly, Canova does not say the works are returning to Venice, even though that would have been their ideal destination. Instead, he remarks that they are heading for Italy, a nation which, at the time of his writing this letter, would not exist for at least another half century.
The Creation of Italian Identity and the Role of the Napoleonic Plunders
As the previous section discussed, the material culture plundered by Napoleon played a key role in the construction of national identity, to the extent that its removal was felt deeply by citizens who had no legal or proprietary claim to it. This trend continued in the following centuries, as the works still held in France came to represent an extension of the invasion and insult suffered by a pre-unified Italy at the hands of the French. Canova’s use of the term “Italy” and the implication of a shared identity, expressed through the understood shared ownership of material culture, is not unique to the early nineteenth century. Over five hundred years before, the Renaissance poet Petrarca lamented the strife and war ripping apart God’s “beloved and noble country.”[32] Other renowned Italian figures alluded to Italy as a whole, encompassing all of the independent and fractured city-states within the peninsula. In Storia della letteratura Italiana, Francesco De Sanctis explains the diplomat and philosopher Machiavelli’s view of Italy, saying: “…In Machiavelli’s utopia [Italy] is the fatherland, an autonomous and independent nation.”[33] Giacomo Leopardi, a contemporary of Ugo Foscolo and Napoleon, mourned in his poem To Italy the loss of Italian soldiers who had died fighting not for their fatherland but for a foreign force.[34] Here, he refers to the Italian soldiers who were forced to fight under the banners of foreign emperors and governments rather than for Italy. While Italy as a nation would not exist until decades later, the idea of a shared cultural identity was undoubtedly present. This was manifested through material culture. As such, the Napoleonic plunders and the discussion which occurred during the Congress of Vienna were felt deeply by those Italian contemporaries aware of the debate.
The importance of art in the expression of a region’s identity can also be seen within Venice itself. In 1773, the Venetian Senate “forbade monasteries and churches to sell works of art without obtaining government permission first.”[35] Art is here seen as an extension of Venice. The city loses a part of itself, both literally and metaphorically, when the works created within the city and by Venetian artists is removed. Here, we see how artworks constitute a physical manifestation of heritage, and whose loss is viewed as a sort of extended injury to the “wholeness” of the city. In other words, The Wedding Feast at Cana as alluded to by Canova, “belonged” not only to San Giorgio Maggiore but also to the people of Venice and, more broadly, to the people who identified with the more abstract Italian identity. The theft of the painting was not merely a crime against the church but also against the citizens who, like Canova, may have referred to the works as “ours.” Art and material culture contain an intangible extension of the heritage of a people or city and, beyond the questions of legal ownership, represent a manifestation of the heritage itself. Therefore, art that has not been returned after a military conflict represents an extension of heritage, or identity, kept prisoner.
However, Italians were not alone in claiming that art created within the peninsula was an integral part of their cultural identity. The Republic of France, newly formed, found itself a modern nation in search of an established heritage which could cement its prestige and right to rule. In part, its government did this by claiming itself to be the true heir of the Italian Renaissance, a desire which was not new to the ruling French government but which was crucial in understanding the role of the works plundered from Italy during this period. Three of the directors of the French Directory wrote to Napoleon on this concept, stating “Italy owes to [the Fine Arts] a great part of its riches and fame; but the time has come when their reign must pass to France to solidify and embellish that of liberty.”[36] The idea that eighteenth-century Italian states were no longer worthy of housing the material representations of Italian Renaissance ideals is further emphasized by Édouard Pommier, who claimed that “The final and legitimate home of masterpieces should be the country of liberty, because the work of art is essentially a creation of liberty. It can only address itself to free people.”[37] This is further exemplified in a song composed for the Fête de la Liberté, which took place on July 27, 1798. The event was planned around the arrival of the hundreds of works of art removed from Italy with the specific intention of displaying them for the masses. The song proclaimed that “Every Hero/Every Great Man/Has changed country:/Rome is no more in Rome/It is all in Paris,” emphasizing the shift of “Italian” heritage from Italy to France.[38] Rome, metaphorically represented through the troves of art removed by Napoleon, was no longer within the geographical city itself. Instead, its art, alongside the heritage and cultural and social prestige that it represented, was now firmly in the possession of France.
France’s imagined heritage extended beyond the Italian Renaissance and can be again seen in the emulation of the Roman Republic and Empire. French art commissioner André Thouin suggested to Napoleon that the hundreds of artistic treasures removed from Italy should not simply be shipped directly to the Louvre to be “disembarked on the Quai du Louvre like crates of soap.”[39] Instead, they should be put on display for all of Paris to see in the form of a triumphal procession. This was made reality in the aforementioned Fête de la Liberté, which saw the display of looted art, featuring the bronze horses removed from St. Mark’s Basilica in Venice. A parallel can clearly be drawn between this and the procession of plundered trophies shown in one of the reliefs on the Arch of Titus, which represents the display of power and appropriation of culture undertaken by the Romans.[40] In this way, French forces could simultaneously emulate the marching of plundered art through the city, which was so central to ancient Roman wars, and display the Renaissance art, which they claimed now belonged to their French heritage.[41]
The desire to return those works which had remained in France did not end with the Congress of Vienna and, instead, morphed with time and responded to the changing trends of the Italian national identity. Canova’s fight for the return of Italian art and dismay at the remainder of some works in France was mirrored nearly a century later, when, in 1911, Vincenzo Peruggia walked out of the Louvre with the Portrait of Lisa Giocondo by Leonardo da Vinci, the world-famous painting we know today as the Mona Lisa, tucked under his arm. The actions of a working class, uneducated Italian immigrant may seem irrelevant to a discussion of the role of material culture in the creation of a national Italian identity, but, in reality, his motivations were directly linked to this issue. Peruggia allegedly believed that the Mona Lisa had been part of the Napoleonic plunders and, thus, represented the invasion of what was to become his native country and what he perceived as a continued discrimination against Italians at the hands of the French. This belief was blatantly incorrect, as the Mona Lisa accompanied Leonardo when he left Italy for France in 1516. The work had remained there since the sixteenth century, first in the possession of King Francis I and later moving to the Louvre.[42]
The painting was found in 1913, two years after its disappearance, when Peruggia attempted to sell it to an art dealer in Italy. While Peruggia’s family insists that he had never intended to profit from the theft, it should be taken into consideration that it was, after all, his attempt at selling it that led to his capture. From the moment the painting was found, speculation from authorities and the public on whether Peruggia had acted for patriotic beliefs or for profit erupted, continuing to this day. The true drive behind his actions may never be known for certain. However, it could certainly be argued that if his primary motivation was to remove this work from France, he could have simply donated it to an Italian museum rather than attempting to profit from its sale. On the other hand, it is equally important to recognize that he brought the painting back to Italy before offering it to a dealer, speaking to his speculated misguided beliefs that the painting was stolen and belonged back in its home country. Peruggia maintained throughout the trial that he had stolen the painting so that “this masterpiece should be put in its place of honor, here, in Florence.”[43]
The uneducated Peruggia, likely influenced by the lead poisoning that eventually caused his death, defended his actions by claiming that he had been motivated by patriotic beliefs. This is reaffirmed during his 1914 trial, in which he described his theft as having been done in order to “render a service to the fatherland.”[44] He also claimed to have found a set of documents at the Louvre, where his job had briefly led him, which supposedly contained images of Italian paintings at the museum and stated that “all the great paintings of Italian authors had been stolen by Napoleon.”[45] The veracity and identity of these documents is unclear, alongside the manner in which Peruggia would have accessed them. It should also be noted that the Mona Lisa was not the first and only target of Peruggia’s as he had originally intended to take works by Giorgione or other Italian artists, but eventually settled on the Leonardo due to its size and easy access. Thus, it was not the Mona Lisa itself and its provenance that interested him but, rather, his perceived injustice at the presence of all Italian art at the Louvre.
The material culture that Peruggia targeted provides a clear parallel to his own experiences as an Italian immigrant in France. The evidence that he had allegedly found regarding the theft of paintings from his home country mirrored the insults and harassment he had faced himself. Thus, he recognized the crimes against himself as an Italian citizen within the supposed provenance of the artworks. In a recent interview with the Italian newspaper Il Giornale, Peruggia’s granddaughter Graziella Peruggia explains that:
[Peruggia] emigrated to France at the beginning of the 1900s and felt the weight of being an Italian abroad that weighed like a mark of infamy. My grandfather was profoundly proud of his origins. He loved Italy and the theft of the Mona Lisa should be interpreted also with the injustices he experienced in mind.[46]
During his trial, Peruggia and his defense underscored the struggles that he had faced as an immigrant in France. He added that, although his boss treated him well, his coworkers regularly mistreated him. In his testimony, Peruggia stated, “the French workers even stole my belongings, they harassed me, they put salt and pepper in my wine.”[47] The crime was covered worldwide, but the reception of the theft was largely positive in Italy. Peruggia’s granddaughter adds that “People never stopped supporting him. They asked him for his autograph on photographs of the Mona Lisa.” These shows of support included famous Italian figures like the renowned author Gabriele d’Annunzio, who allegedly wrote to him personally to praise his actions. Peruggia’s lawyer, in an interview with the newspaper La Stampa, claimed that “it was not a theft, but a restitution.”[48] As such, it can be surmised that the insults Peruggia faced, which seemingly fueled his desire to steal an Italian painting at the Louvre, were shared by many others.
At the same time, the ambiguity of his motivations can also be seen in the immediate and wildly varying response to his trial. When Peruggia’s sentence, one year and fifteen days in prison, was announced, the present public protested, fueled by a “sentimentality” for the “disgraced thief artist”.[49] Peruggia himself appeared pleased as he had originally faced three years. The defense had based their argument almost entirely on the idea that Peruggia had stolen the work with a nationalistic intent, and the court ultimately seemed swayed to reduce the proposed sentence because of this.[50] Yet not everyone in Italy responded so favorably to the thief’s alleged motivations. The newspaper La Stampa frames these not as the actions of “the most noble patriotic vindication, but only that of making a few coins.”[51] An open letter to the president of France published in the Corriere della Sera on the day that the trial ended paints a somewhat sympathetic and altogether pitiful picture of Peruggia, referring to him not as an evil conspirator but as a misguided fool who did not realize “the immorality, and also the futility of his actions.”[52] It’s clear that Peruggia’s theft received a mixed reception, with debates raging in contemporary newspapers and courtrooms as to whether he was guided by patriotic beliefs or sheer greed. Yet one aspect that is undeniable is the Italian public’s fervor at the opportunity to see the painting in Italy.
Again, it is impossible to determine whether Peruggia stole the painting for patriotic beliefs or profit. However, the reception of the painting during its short stay in Italy reveals just how excited his compatriots were to see it in person. The Mona Lisa, of course, returned to the Louvre, with its newly acquired global fame catapulting it into a central spot of the museum’s collections. Yet before it was shipped back to its current home, the painting went on a triumphal tour of Italy, during which it was placed on public view in several Italian museums. When the doors opened for visitors to view it at the Uffizi, crowds of Florentines rushed in, a scene described by a journalist as being “like the rush of a flooding stream that has burst, and invades the stairs and the corridors and all the halls.”[53] For the first time in nearly four hundred years, the painting was displayed in Florence. Soon, it would make its way to Milan, where it was displayed for two days in the Pinacoteca di Brera.
As the painting made its way through Italy, few could contain their enthusiasm at the opportunity to view the work in person. The Milanese publication Pagine d’Arte reported a similar crowd to that in Florence, claiming that 8,000 paying visitors saw it first, with a further estimated 50,000 visiting during the hours of free entry.[54] Both Pagine d’Arte and Letture della Domenica refer to the crowds of people lining the streets outside the gallery as pilgrims, drawn by the chance to view this work in the flesh.[55] These numbers, however, should not be seen as solely caused by a nationalistic fervor for the return of the Mona Lisa. The large crowds were also part of “the greatest and most noble celebration of the genius of Leonardo.”[56] As such, surely many of these visitors were also drawn by the status of Leonardo in the art historical canon. This same art journal stated:
[…] we cannot fail to register in these columns the wave of enthusiasm that passed through Milan in the two days in which the work created by the divine genius of Leonardo stopped among us, interrupting its return journey towards the country which has had it in its custody for four centuries.[57]
In a way, Peruggia succeeded in his efforts to return the painting which he incorrectly believed to have been plundered by Napoleon, in that the work was indeed paraded through Italy in a manner reminiscent of Napoleon’s own triumphal processions of the Italian plunders.
The Ethics of the Louvre’s Napoleonic Plunders in Restitution Debates
From Canova to Peruggia, material culture played a key role in the formation of national identity. Its role in larger social and political issues could become warped by personal or communal rhetoric and ideology, seemingly extending beyond the shackles of historical fact. The ethics of plunder are thus far from being a new debate. The theft of art and material culture more generally has been a central part of military conquest throughout the history of warfare. The jurist Emmer de Vattel, born in 1714, wrote on the rights of conquering armies to plunder that “all enemy property is subject to seizure.” However, he added the somewhat vague clarification that such actions should only be undertaken when necessary to achieving the goal of that particular military campaign.[58] By the eighteenth century, the belief that material culture should be untouchable in the midst of war began to emerge and be cemented into law in the twentieth century.
The question of whether past figures should be held to modern standards is complex and goes beyond the scope of this paper. Yet while some may argue that we should not hold past nations or collectors to modern day ethics that they could not have possibly known or followed, modern museums can and should be scrutinized for not following those standards. Museums and their collections are not frozen in the past but are rather continually changing in response to audience needs and professional standards. When new laws and ethics on what objects should be retained in museum collections were enacted and a critical eye was thrown on provenance, similar arguments arose from critics. Yet after time and adaptation, these same controversial or seemingly impossible tasks became standard practice.
Political and military leaders have been appropriating heritage and looting art for as long as war and art have coexisted. What I argue is not that art historians and museum professionals should reprimand Napoleon as a historical figure, but, rather, ask one of the largest and most eminent art museums in the world to critically examine its collections and provenance. The use of the term “military conquest” on the Louvre’s website speaks to an understanding of the manner in which the work was accessioned into the Louvre’s collections but begs the question of where the provenance ethics in this particular situation stand. However, Dr. Michèle Perny of the Centre Dominique-Vivant Denon emphasized the limitations of the site, which only allow for brief and surface-level explanations of the provenance of the work.[59] Further, Dr. Vincent Delieuvin, chief curator at the Louvre, has stated that works acquired through military conquest are a common occurrence in museums throughout Europe, and as such there has been no discussion regarding the restitution of these works.[60]
The history of works acquired through military conquest is neither new nor unusual. Such provenances can be found throughout the collections of museums worldwide. The Louvre could undoubtedly claim that as a victorious commander, Napoleon had every right to remove spoils of war from Venice, and that the Congress of Vienna secured France’s right to retain the Wedding at Cana. Yet while this argument has a solid legal standing, a critical lens should be placed on the ethics of works acquired through military conquest and the way in which they reflect museum ethics and missions.
In Objectif 12 of the “Contrat de Performance,” titled “Strengthening the Role of the Louvre in France and Abroad,” the Louvre itself emphasizes this moral role of the institution, stating:
Due to its history as the first museum in France and its status as the largest museum, the Louvre has a national vocation that should be recalled here… the Louvre must continue its mission to serve all territories and strengthen its position as a privileged partner of the Museums of France in its fields of competence.[61]
One of the central tenets of museum outreach is trust in the institution, both from the public and from its colleagues.[62] A museum cannot truly accomplish its mission if it does not have public trust in its integrity and in the information that it presents. One key way to not lose this trust is to reexamine the history of its collections and provenance and apply its contemporary standards for accessioning to its already existing collections.
Where once the Wedding at Cana overlooked the meals of the Benedictine monks of San Giorgio Maggiore, today it watches over the millions of visitors who pass through the Louvre Museum every year. Its placement directly in front of the Louvre’s headlining masterpiece, the Mona Lisa, means that in most cases, the painting only sees the backs of its potential audiences. Numerous arguments could certainly be made for the right of the Louvre to hold and display this work. As one of the world’s most visited and renowned museums, it certainly provides the opportunity for many to see and enjoy the painting.
The Wedding at Cana’s tumultuous history brings to mind questions over the role of heritage in constructing national identities, and the place that these ideas of shared cultural ownership have in restitution debates. Beginning with Canova and extending centuries into the future, as seen in Peruggia’s theft of the Mona Lisa, Italians believed these works to rightfully belong to them even though strictly legal debates would have discussed the ownership as belonging either to the Louvre Museum, the Austrian Emperor, or the Basilica of San Giorgio Maggiore in Venice. Regardless of contracts, treaties, or formal agreements, the painting represented an extension of a nascent national Italian identity through material culture. Yet for Napoleon and the Louvre officials at the time, these paintings were part of their own newly constructed French heritage. By their view, the works had been inherited by France due to their imagined tie to the Italian Renaissance and Ancient Rome. Both of these ideas of ownership are abstract and refer back to the construction of heritage in a period of rapid nation-building in Europe, but if both rely on intangible links to material culture, how can one decide to whom this painting rightfully belongs?
This question provides a foundation for examining the chronological context of the construction of heritage. If it is created once an object, in this case a painting, is finished, then the Wedding Feast at Cana would be squarely Venetian, and, more broadly, Italian. Yet if heritage is imbued in an object through time, the question of whose heritage the Wedding Feast at Cana represents becomes more nuanced. Finished in 1563 and removed from Venice in 1797, the work has spent 224 of its 458 years in France, in contrast to 234 in Venice. Has the painting, thus, become increasingly more “French” throughout time? The work can be seen as having become an intrinsic part of French heritage through its role in the Napoleonic plunders and its place in the original collections of the Louvre. As Sandholtz explains, conquering nations can be seen, in a way, to consume the intangible heritage of the areas that they conquer. On the other hand, its removal from Venice itself may be seen as making it distinctly Italian through its representation of the invasion, occupation, and plunder of Italian territories. As a physical symbol of these violent actions, the painting may be seen as being a testament to the harm done by French forces to Italian states, thus also making it more “Italian”. Ultimately, these questions revolve around the abstract and everchanging understanding of heritage as being linked to the creation of the French and Italian nations, prompting each nation’s citizens to see these works as representations of their national identity.
Conclusion
Most of these questions harken back to the role that museums play in constructing heritage. In “Making and Remaking National Identities,” Flora Kaplan explains:
Museums are more than the sum of their parts. They played and continue to play important roles in creating national identity. Although museums arise in particular historical contexts, everywhere they evolve the selections and display of made objects and those of the natural world.[63]
Historian Mrinalini Rajagolopan similarly writes about the “invention of tradition” associated with the rise of imagined heritages in the modern period.[64] As I have already outlined, Napoleon and the French government took these works from Italy partially because they believed themselves to be the true and most deserving heirs. The Louvre became a physical space within which to display and create a new French identity through the use of older material culture. Even though many of the works that they collected either visually represented or had close historical ties to values that the Republic did not support, their presence in the Louvre helped cement their right to rule. The building itself, once a royal palace, had its physicality and its meaning morphed to legitimize the new government and provide it with adequate prestige.
Dr. Lisa Yun Lee, director of the National Public Housing Museum, stated “At some point, the history of your institution will disappoint you. Tell this history, and take responsibility for the past.”[65] Museum and societal standards change over time, and museum collections and provenance work should reflect that. Change of this magnitude is always overwhelming and seemingly impossible at first but, as has been evidenced in the past, gradually becomes more standardized and accessible over time.[66] To revise the place of military plunder in collections such as the Louvre’s is not to call for the tearing down of a global institution but is rather asking a leader in museum studies and art history to present the highest standards of provenance.
Endnotes
[1] The Congress of Vienna took place between 1814 and 1815. Throughout this summit, several European powers, including Great Britain, Austria, and Prussia, discussed a variety of issues, focusing primarily on land redistribution and treatises. During these proceedings, the future of the vast amount of art plundered by Napoleon’s forces from the territories that he had conquered also took a central role. Cynthia Saltzman, Plunder: Napoleon’s Theft of Veronese’s Feast, First edition (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021), 218.
[2] Wayne Sandholtz, “Napoleonic Plunder and the Emergence of Norms,” in Prohibiting Plunder: How Norms Change (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 33.
[3] Sandholtz 2007, 68.
[4] Saltzman 2021, 37.
[5] Saltzman 2021, 37.
[6] Saltzman 2021, 46.
[7] A detailed history of the removal of the Wedding Feast at Cana is beyond the scope of this paper but can be found in Saltzman, Plunder; further, a summary of the Italian Campaigns, the Italian Wars of Independence, and the construction of a national Italian identity during this period can be found in Christopher Duggan, A Concise History of Italy, 8th ed., Cambridge Concise Histories 6 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006).
[8] Phillip Dwyer, Napoleon: The Path to Power (Yale University Press, 2008).
[9] Dwyer 2008.
[10] Saltzman 2021, 110.
[11] Saltzman 2021, 115.
[12] Saltzman 2021, 119.
[13] Margaret Plant, Venice: Fragile City, 1797-1997 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), 26.
[14] Dwyer 2008.
[15] Dwyer 2008, loc. 2408.
[16] Saltzman 2021, 17.
[17] Duggan 2006, 89.
[18] Ugo Foscolo, Orazione a Bonaparte pel Congresso di Lione (Lugano: G. Ruggia e Comp., 1829), 9–10. This and all future translations by author unless otherwise stated.
[19] Ugo Foscolo, Scelte Opere Di Ugo Foscolo (Florence: Poligrafico Fiesolana, 1835).
[20] This novel can be dated to either 1798 or 1802. The first edition was published in 1798, the date used in this paper, but there was a second version published four years later with significant changes, which do not affect the line quoted here.
[21] Ugo Foscolo and Domenico Starnone, Ultime Lettere di Jacopo Ortis, ed. Pierantonio Frare, 7th ed. (Milan: Feltrinelli Editore, 1994), 39.
[22] Saltzman 2021, 218.
[23] Sandholtz 2007, 58.
[24] Sandholtz 2007, 59.
[25] “The armistice with the Duke of Parma (May 1796) required him to turn over 20 paintings, to be chosen by the French commanding general. The duke of Modena was obligated to offer 20 paintings plus 70 manuscripts from the library. Bologna lost 31 paintings, 115 prints, 546 manuscripts, and some Etruscan antiquities. In addition, the French carried away the four bronze horses of St. Mark’s cathedral and the lion of St. Mark’s square, though the treaty had made no mention of them. Milan, Verona, Perugia, Loreto, Pavia, Cento, Cremona, Pesaro, Fano, and Massa all rendered to Napoleon his artistic tribute. By the Treaty of Tolentino (February 1797), Pope Pius VI agreed to hand over 100 treasures from the Vatican, to be shipped immediately to France.” Sandholtz 2007, 50.
[26] Sandholtz 2007, 61.
[27] It should be noted that a considerable amount of this damage was incurred when French forces removed the painting from Venice. When soldiers attempted to lower the Wedding at Cana from the wall of the refectory of San Giorgio Maggiore, they failed to notice a line of nails anchoring it to the wall. As the heavy canvas was lowered, the nails ripped through the paint and canvas, leaving a line of damage through the top third of the painting. Further, in times of need the painting has been moved, the first being in 1870 during the Franco-Prussian War. It was removed from the Louvre a second time during World War II, when it was moved several times to prevent theft or damage. Saltzman 2021, 118; Michel Laclotte and Andrea Emiliani, “Les Noces de Cana,” in Opere d’arte prese in Italia: nel corso della Campagna napoleonica 1796-1814 e riprese da Antonio Canova nel 1815 (Bologna: Carta Bianca Editore, 2018), 295–96.
[28] Laclotte and Emiliani 2018.
[29] Laclotte and Emiliani 2018.
[30] Antonio Canova and Cicognara, Leopoldo, Un’amicizia di Antonio Canova: lettere da lui al Conte Leopoldo Cicognara, ed. Vittorio Malamano (Città di Castello: S. Lapi Tipografo-Editore, 1890), 60.
[31] Canova and Cicoganra 1890, 59.
[32] Francesco Petrarca, Il Canzoniere, ed. Giancarlo Contini (Torino: Einaudi, 1964), 168.
[33] Francesco De Sanctis, Storia della letteratura Italiana, vol. 2 (Naples: A. Morano, 1870), 119, https://archive.org/details/bub_gb_llDiOtnVSMYC.
[34] Giacomo Leopardi, “All’Italia,” in Canti (Bari: Gius. Laterza e Figli, 1831), 4–5.
[35] Saltzman 2021, 33.
[36] Translation from Saltzman 2021.
[37] Translation from Robert W. Scheller, “The Age of Confusion,” in Napoleon’s Legacy: The Rise of National Museums in Europe 1794-1830, ed. Ellinoor Bergvelt et al. (Berlin: G+H Verlag, 2009), 18.
[38] Translation from Saltzman 2021, 139.
[39] Patricia Mainardi, “Assuring the Empire of the Future: The 1798 Fête de La Liberté,” Art Journal 48, no. 2 (1989): 157, https://doi.org/10.1080/00043249.1989.10792604.
[40] Mainardi 1989, 157.
[41] Sandholtz 2007, 51.
[42] Michael L. Nash, “The Politics of Possession: The Ownership of the World’s Cultural Icons,” Contemporary Review 193, no. 1700 (2011): 85.
[43] La Stampa, “Il Velocissimo Processo Della ‘Gioconda,’” June 4, 1914, 5.
[44] “Il Peruggia riafferma di aver rubato la ‘Gioconda’ per rendere un servizio alla Patria,” La Stampa, January 22, 1914, sec. Ultime Notizie.
[45] “Il Velocissimo Processo Della ‘Gioconda,’” 5.
[46] Nino Materi, “Mio nonno rubò la Gioconda e D’Annunzio gli disse bravo,” ilGiornale.it, September 15, 2020, sec. Cultura, https://www.ilgiornale.it/news/mio-nonno-rub-gioconda-e-dannunzio-disse-bravo-1889832.html.
[47] “Il Velocissimo Processo Della ‘Gioconda,’” 5.
[48] “Un’intervista col difensore del Peruggia,” La Stampa, January 10, 1914.
[49] La Stampa, “Il Trafugatore Della ‘Gioconda’ Condannato a Un Anno e 15 Giorni: Vincenzo Peruggia Si Proclama Artista e Patriota,” June 5, 1914, 2.
[50] “Il Trafugatore Della ‘Gioconda’,” 2.
[51] “Il Trafugatore Della ‘Gioconda’,” 2.
[52] Il Corriere della Sera, “Lettera Aperta al Presidente Della Repubblica Francese,” June 6, 1914, 3.
[53] “Il popolo di Firenze rende omaggio a ‘Monna Lisa...,’” La Stampa, December 14, 1913.
[54] R., G., “La ‘Gioconda’ a Brera,” Pagine d’Arte: Cronaca Critica e Polemica, January 15, 1914, sec. Cronaca e Notiziario della Rassegna d’Arte Antica e Moderna, 3.
[55] Letture della Domenica: Settimanale Illustrato, “La ‘Gioconda’ a Milano,” January 1914, sec. Cronaca, 2; R., “La ‘Gioconda’ a Brera,” 3.
[56] R., “La ‘Gioconda’ a Brera,” 3.
[57] R., “La ‘Gioconda’ a Brera,” 3.
[58] Sandholtz 2007, 44.
[59] Michèle Perny, E-mail correspondence with author, E-mail, December 19, 2021.
[60] Delieuvin, Vincent, E-mail correspondence with author, E-mail, February 12, 2022.
[61] “Contrat de Performance 2015 – 2019: Établissement Public du Musée du Louvre” (Musé du Louvre, n.d.), 47, https://www.louvre.fr/l-etablissement-public.
[62] Michael Conforti, “Dream a Different Dream of Cultural Exchange,” Curator: The Museum Journal 63, no. 1 (2020): 19.
[63] Flora Edouwaye S. Kaplan, “Making and Remaking National Identities,” in A Companion to Museum Studies, ed. Sharon Macdonald (New Jersey: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 165.
[64] Mrinalini Rajagopalan, “Preservation and Modernity: Competing Perspectives, Contested Histories and the Question of Authenticity,” in The SAGE Handbook of Architectural Theory, ed. C. Greig Crysler, Stephen Cairns, and Hilde Heynen (Los Angeles: SAGE, 2012), 310.
[65] Lisa Yun Lee, “Hope Is Not a Metaphor: An Annotated Guide to Twenty-Five Essential Skills for Museum Leaders,” in The Inclusive Museum Leader, ed. Cinnamon Catlin-Legutko and Chris Taylor, American Alliance of Museums (London: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021), 77.
[66] During our class discussion, Dr. Kathryn Wysocki Gunsch spoke on this subject, explaining that efforts to identify and return Nazi-era looted art, the upheaval of museum collections after NAGPRA, and the current focus on decolonization all caused discomfort among art historians and museum professionals. Yet while these tasks were initially considered near impossible or far beyond the capabilities of museums, they have all become standards informing provenance research.
Bibliography
Canova, Antonio, and Cicognara, Leopoldo. Un’amicizia di Antonio Canova: lettere da lui al Conte Leopoldo Cicognara. Edited by Vittorio Malamano. Città di Castello: S. Lapi Tipografo-Editore, 1890.
Conforti, Michael. “Dream a Different Dream of Cultural Exchange.” Curator: The Museum Journal 63, no. 1 (2020): 15–19.
“Contrat de Performance 2015 – 2019: Établissement Public du Musée du Louvre.” Musé du Louvre, n.d. https://www.louvre.fr/l-etablissement-public.
De Sanctis, Francesco. Storia della letteratura Italiana. Vol. 2. Naples: A. Morano, 1870. https://archive.org/details/bub_gb_llDiOtnVSMYC.
Duggan, Christopher. A Concise History of Italy. 8th ed. Cambridge Concise Histories 6. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006.
Dwyer, Phillip. Napoleon: The Path to Power. Yale University Press, 2008.
Foscolo, Ugo. Orazione a Bonaparte pel Congresso di Lione. Lugano: G. Ruggia e Comp., 1829.
———. Scelte Opere Di Ugo Foscolo. Florence: Poligrafico Fiesolana, 1835.
Foscolo, Ugo, and Domenico Starnone. Ultime Lettere di Jacopo Ortis. Edited by Pierantonio Frare. 7th ed. Milan: Feltrinelli Editore, 1994.
Il Corriere della Sera. “Lettera Aperta al Presidente Della Repubblica Francese.” June 6, 1914.
Kaplan, Flora Edouwaye S. “Making and Remaking National Identities.” In A Companion to Museum Studies, edited by Sharon Macdonald, 152–69. New Jersey: Blackwell Publishing, 2006.
La Stampa. “Il Peruggia riafferma di aver rubato la ‘Gioconda’ per rendere un servizio alla Patria.” January 22, 1914, sec. Ultime Notizie.
La Stampa. “Il popolo di Firenze rende omaggio a ‘Monna Lisa...’” December 14, 1913.
La Stampa. “Il Trafugatore Della ‘Gioconda’ Condannato a Un Anno e 15 Giorni: Vincenzo Peruggia Si Proclama Artista e Patriota.” June 5, 1914, 2.
La Stampa. “Il Velocissimo Processo Della ‘Gioconda.’” June 4, 1914, 5.
La Stampa. “Un’intervista col difensore del Peruggia.” January 10, 1914.
Laclotte, Michel, and Andrea Emiliani. “Les Noces de Cana.” In Opere d’arte prese in Italia: nel corso della Campagna napoleonica 1796-1814 e riprese da Antonio Canova nel 1815, 295–96. Bologna: Carta Bianca Editore, 2018.
Lee, Lisa Yun. “Hope Is Not a Metaphor: An Annotated Guide to Twenty-Five Essential Skills for Museum Leaders.” In The Inclusive Museum Leader, edited by Cinnamon Catlin-Legutko and Chris Taylor, 75–82. American Alliance of Museums. London: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021.
Leopardi, Giacomo. “All’Italia.” In Canti, 3–7. Bari: Gius. Laterza e Figli, 1831.
Letture della Domenica: Settimanale Illustrato. “La ‘Gioconda’ a Milano.” January 1914, sec.Cronaca.
Mainardi, Patricia. “Assuring the Empire of the Future: The 1798 Fête de La Liberté.” Art Journal 48, no. 2 (1989): 155–63. https://doi.org/10.1080/00043249.1989.10792604.
Materi, Nino. “Mio nonno rubò la Gioconda e D’Annunzio gli disse bravo.” ilGiornale.it, September 15, 2020, sec. Cultura. https://www.ilgiornale.it/news/mio-nonno-rub-gioconda-e-dannunzio-disse-bravo-1889832.html.
Nash, Michael L. “The Politics of Possession: The Ownership of the World’s Cultural Icons.” Contemporary Review 193, no. 1700 (2011): 85–91.
Perny, Michèle. E-mail correspondence with author. E-mail, December 19, 2021.
Petrarca, Francesco. Il Canzoniere. Edited by Giancarlo Contini. Torino: Einaudi, 1964.
Plant, Margaret. Venice: Fragile City, 1797-1997. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002.
R., G. “La ‘Gioconda’ a Brera.” Pagine d’Arte: Cronaca Critica e Polemica. January 15, 1914, sec.Cronaca e Notiziario della Rassegna d’Arte Antica e Moderna.
Rajagopalan, Mrinalini. “Preservation and Modernity: Competing Perspectives, Contested Histories and the Question of Authenticity.” In The SAGE Handbook of Architectural Theory, edited by C. Greig Crysler, Stephen Cairns, and Hilde Heynen, 308–24. Los Angeles: SAGE, 2012.
Saltzman, Cynthia. Plunder: Napoleon’s Theft of Veronese’s Feast. First edition. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2021.
Sandholtz, Wayne. “Napoleonic Plunder and the Emergence of Norms.” In Prohibiting Plunder: How Norms Change, 47–70. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007.
Scheller, Robert W. “The Age of Confusion.” In Napoleon’s Legacy: The Rise of National Museums in Europe 1794-1830, edited by Ellinoor Bergvelt, Debora Meijers, Lieske Tibbe, and Elsa van Wezel, 17–28. Berlin: G+H Verlag, 2009.