Engraved broadside, (450 x 355 mm] on laid paper, contemporary paper watermarked with a star and anchor (Woodward 174, ca.1567]. Featuring rondelles of each of the visages, within a Pantheon-like architectural border; legends within Mannerist cartouches below. Good margins on all sides, but lower left corner shaved, just touching blank margin of platemark. One or two minor repaired closed tears to left and right margins. A good, crisp strike. [Offered with:] A further contemporary print on the same subject, (300 x 205 mm), also with no imprint, and also in excellent condition.

“Although not in any technical sense a primary source, Nicephorus’ work possessed in the eyes of early modern Christians an aura of venerable authority, given its provenance in the court of the Byzantine emperor to which it had originally been dedicated. Moreover, the very circumstances of its survival…seemed to show the direct hand of divine providence at work preserving it for posterity… stolen in Buda by a member of the invading Turkish army from the library of Hungarian king Matthias Corvinus, it was taken to Constantinople where it was later ransomed by a Christian, eventually funding its way to the Imperial Library in Vienna… The authority of that text in that age was such that Nicephorus’s word alone sufficed to establish historical fact as fact.” (Mormando, pp. 265 & 269).

Calling Nicephorus “a widely consulted sourcebook for artists,” Mormando notes that the rediscovered text was not simply used by controversialists. “In fact, Nicephorus and Nicephorus alone offers what he claims are authentic descriptions of the ‘true likeness’ of several New Testament figures, including that of Jesus Christ himself and his mother Mary. These obviously would have been of great interest to artists and patrons alike… Another New Testament figure for whom Nicephorus furnishes a physical description is Saint Peter… Peter’s true likeness was the object of much attention on the part of the post-Tridentine papacy (and the artists in its service), which aggressively used ‘the power of images’ to defend its legitimacy and sovereignty…” (p. 270)

In this context, the present broadside begins to make sense: each portrait is accompanied by engraved text offering a relevant quote from Nicephorus; and at the lower right is a diminutive but important dedicatory text addressed to Diego Guzmán de Silva (ca. 1520-1578, Spanish ambassador to Venice):

“En tibi, sanctissimae illius parentis, ac Apostolorum Petri, et Pauli effigies, ex netustissimis exemplaribus Sacelli Summorum Pontificum, atque Epiphanii, et Necephori testimoniis expressa; quae tibi dicata esse volvi, tamquae exiguum pignus observantiae in te meae, qui maiora in dies in animo habeam tibi consecrare.”

[Behold for you, the effigies of those most holy parents, and of the Apostles Peter and Paul, reproduced from the finest copies of the Chapel of the Supreme Pontiffs, and the testimonies of Epiphanius and Nicephorus; which I have chosen to be dedicated to you, as a small pledge of my observance to you, for I have in mind to consecrate greater things to you every day.]

Guzmán, formerly ambassador to Elizabeth I, was a complex figure. “As the resident ambassador, he had many tasks in addition to diplomacy and espionage; one of these duties, in which he excelled, was as a purchasing agent. Renaissance Venice was of course a centre of arts, learning, and culture, and as ambassador, Guzmán became a conduit for Venetian goods and services back toSpain. King Philip in particular utilised Guzmán to obtain paintings, books, and religious artefacts, most of which ended up at El Escorial, Philip’s great palace/mausoleum. During his time in Venice, Guzmán arranged for dozens of shipments of such commodities back to Madrid…” (Levin, p. 43). Guzmán, for example, was responsible for introducing the paintings of Jacopo Bassano to the court of Philip II in 1574, which were to have a profound effect on Spanish painting. His status as a patron of the arts would thus have made him a fittingdedicatee for Bertelli’s exposition of such an important artistic source.

Luca Bertelli (fl. 1564-1589 in Venice) seems to have specialized in single-sheet prints. Whether the engraved faces indeed correspond to Nicephorus’ text is another matter: for example, in the legend beneath Peter’s face, Nicephorus is quoted directly as saying that “his eyebrows were raised. His nose was long but did not end in a point; rather, he was flat-nosed”; but Bertelli’s depictions do not necessarily show either of these features!

We have been unable to trace either print (nor any similar) in print collections worldwide, including in the British Museum, the Metropolitan Museum, and the Rijksmusem. We are grateful to Professor Mormando for his confirmation that he had never come across the present imagery during his own research into Nicephorus’ reception in Baroque Rome.
cf Mormando, "Nicephorus and the Battle of the Books Between Catholics and Protestants" in his essay, "Pestilence, Apostasy and Heresy in Seventeenth- Century Rome," in Piety and Plague: From Byzantium to the Baroque (2007), pp. 264–71; on Guzmán, cf Levin, “Diego Guzmán de Silva and Sixteenth-century Venice: A Case Study in Structural Intelligence Failure” in Szechi (ed.), The Dangerous Trade: Spies, Spymasters and the Making of Europe (2010), pp. 22-44; and on Bertelli, cf. eg. Bury, The Print in Italy 1550-1625 (2001), p.222.