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UBC Theses and Dissertations

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UBC Theses and Dissertations

Multo in parvo : Joris Hoefnagel's illuminations and the gathered practices of Central European court… Boychuk, Joan 2016

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   MULTO IN PARVO: JORIS HOEFNAGEL’S ILLUMINATIONS AND THE GATHERED PRACTICES OF CENTRAL EUROPEAN COURT CULTURE    by  JOAN BOYCHUK  B.A., McGill University, 2004 M.A., McGill University, 2006      A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF  THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY  in  THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Art History and Theory)   THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver)  August 2016   © Joan Boychuk, 2016         ii Abstract   This dissertation examines the works of illumination produced by the itinerant Flemish miniator, Joris Hoefnagel (1542-1600), during his tenure as court artist to the Wittelsbachs and Habsburgs in the last two decades of the sixteenth century. Comprising illuminated manuscripts as well as independent miniatures, the works at the center of this study provide novel insight into Hoefnagel’s practice as an illuminator and also into the status and function of illumination at the Central European courts of Munich, Ambras, and Prague. Not simply extending a traditional interest in the medium at these sites, Hoefnagel’s works on parchment transformed illumination into a new form bringing together a range of practices and discourses associated with the courts, with humanism, and with emerging disciplines dedicated to the production of new knowledge. Artistically inventive and conceptually productive, Hoefnagel’s compositions helped shaped an identity for the artist as a hieroglyphicus—an initiate into and maker of a privileged language of representation.   Unlike other medieval and early modern art, the illuminated page could bring together, on one surface, different media (text and image), genres (heraldry, portraiture, nature studies, biblical narrative, and ornament, among others), and modes of representation (realism, illusionism, symbolism, and abstraction). This study shows that the persistence of illumination into the late 1500s—particularly in the form of Hoefnagel’s projects—stemmed from this aggregative character. The medium enabled the artist to present his viewers with diverse and innovative compositions of pictorial and textual content. Set against the contemporary interest in assemblage which shaped the early modern Kunstkammer and led to the production of atlases, natural history albums, and other compendia, Hoefnagel’s artworks come into focus as dialogic responses to these surrounding processes of aggregation.           iii Preface  This dissertation is an original intellectual product of the author, J. Boychuk.  Chapter Three. A version of this material was presented as “Parataxis and Disjunctive Time: Joris Hoefnagel’s Artistic Interaction with the Habsburg Kunstkammer,” Renaissance Society of America Conference, San Diego, USA, 4-6 April 2013.                                           iv Table of Contents  Abstract ..................................................................................................................................... ii Preface ...................................................................................................................................... iii Table of Contents ..................................................................................................................... iv List of Figures ........................................................................................................................... v Acknowledgements ................................................................................................................. xii Dedication .............................................................................................................................. xiii Chapter 1  Introduction ............................................................................................................. 1 A Flemish Illuminator at the Courts of Central Europe ..................................................................... 7 Hoefnagel’s Illuminations in Context ................................................................................................ 9 Overview of Chapters ....................................................................................................................... 18 Chapter 2   Copious Margins: The Missal of Archduke Ferdinand II of Tyrol ...................... 23 Malwercksarbait an ainem Meßpuch: The Making of an Illuminated Manuscript ......................... 26 In Margine: Hoefnagel’s Marginalia ................................................................................................ 36 Exornator Hieroglyphicus: Between Illumination and Emblem ...................................................... 46 Illumination at the Ambras and Munich Courts ............................................................................... 60 Conclusion: The Persistent Medium ................................................................................................ 80 Chapter 3  Ideal Assemblage: The Schriftmusterbuch of Emperor Rudolf II ......................... 82 With Quill and Brush: The Collaboration of a Secretarius and an Exornator ................................. 86 Kaiserliche Majestät Diener: Hoefnagel as Imperial Court Artist .................................................. 92 A Belgian Zeuxis at the Imperial Court ........................................................................................... 97 Recontextualizing the Legacies of Illumination ............................................................................. 112 Conclusion: A Vessel Full of Wisdom ........................................................................................... 130 Chapter 4  From Manuscript to Miniature: Hoefnagel’s Independent Illuminations ........... 135 The Mobility of Hoefnagel’s Miniatures ....................................................................................... 139 Variety and Visual Flux: Hoefnagel’s Composite Miniatures ....................................................... 143 Citing Antiquity: Cultural Transfer North of the Alps ................................................................... 148 Harnessing Nature: The Representation and Collection of Natural Matter ................................... 166 Conclusion: Between Center and Frame ........................................................................................ 189 Chapter 5  Conclusion ........................................................................................................... 192 Figures ................................................................................................................................... 200 Bibliography ......................................................................................................................... 267         v List of Figures  Figure 1.1  Joris Hoefnagel, View of Seville with Allegorical Frame, 1573. Gouache and watercolor on parchment, 21.6 cm x 32.3 cm. Brussels, Bibliothèque Royale  de Belgique, Inv. Nr. SI 23.045. Image reproduced by permission of the Bibliothèque Royale de Belgique ………………………………………….200  Figure 2.1 Joris Hoefnagel, Missal, fol. 37v, ca. 1581-ca. 1590. Gouache and watercolor on parchment, 39.2 cm x 28.6 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 1784 Han. Image reproduced by permission of the ÖNB/Wien………………………………………………………………….201  Figure 2.2 Joris Hoefnagel, Missal, fol. 197r, ca. 1581-ca. 1590. Gouache and watercolor on parchment, 39.2 cm x 28.6 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 1784 Han. Image reproduced by permission of the ÖNB/Wien………………………………………………………………….202  Figure 2.3 Joris Hoefnagel, Missal, fol. 3r, ca. 1581-ca. 1590. Gouache and watercolor on parchment, 39.2 cm x 28.6 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 1784 Han. Image reproduced by permission of the ÖNB/Wien……………………….…………………………………………203  Figure 2.4 Joris Hoefnagel, Missal, fol. 637v, ca. 1581-ca. 1590. Gouache and watercolor on parchment, 39.2 cm x 28.6 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 1784 Han. Image reproduced by permission of the ÖNB/Wien………………………………………………………………….204  Figure 2.5 Joris Hoefnagel, Missal, fols. 310v and 311r, ca. 1581-ca. 1590. Gouache and  watercolor on parchment, 39.2 cm x 28.6 cm. Vienna, Österreichische   Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 1784 Han. Image reproduced by permission of the ÖNB/Wien………………………………………………………………….205  Figure 2.6 Joris Hoefnagel, Missal, fol. 318v, ca. 1581-ca. 1591. Gouache and watercolor on parchment, 39.2 cm x 28.6 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 1784 Han. Image reproduced by permission of the ÖNB/Wien………………………………………………………………….206  Figure 2.7 Joris Hoefnagel, Missal, fols. 318v and 319r, ca. 1581-ca. 1590. Gouache and   watercolor on parchment, 39.2 cm x 28.6 cm. Vienna, Österreichische    Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 1784 Han. Image reproduced by permission of the  ÖNB/Wien………………………………………………………………….207  Figure 2.8 Joris Hoefnagel, Missal, fols. 213v and 214r, ca. 1581-ca. 1590. Gouache and   watercolor on parchment, 39.2 cm x 28.6 cm. Vienna, Österreichische    Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 1784 Han. Image reproduced by permission of the  ÖNB/Wien…………….…………………………………………………. ..208   vi  Figure 2.9 Joris Hoefnagel, Hans von Aachen, and Aegidius Sadeler,     Cursus/Hermathena, ca. 1589. Engraving, 39.8 cm x 29.6 cm. Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum, Inv. RP-P-OB 7026. Image reproduced by permission of the Rijksmuseum………………………………………………………………..209  Figure 2.10 Joris Hoefnagel, Missal, fol. 34v, ca. 1581-ca. 1590. Gouache and watercolor on parchment, 39.2 cm x 28.6 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 1784 Han. Image reproduced by permission of the ÖNB/Wien………………………………………………………………….210  Figure 2.11 Joris Hoefnagel, Aier: Animalia Volatilia et Cochilata from The Four Elements, Plate III, ca. 1575-ca. 1582. Watercolor, gouache, and gold on parchment, 14.5 cm x 18.5 cm. Paris, Musée du Louvre, R. F. 38985. © Musée du Louvre, dist. RMN-Grand Palais - Photo M. Beck-Coppola (by permission)………………………………………………………………….211  Figure 2.12 Hans Mielich, Motets of Cypriano de Rore, fol. 36, 1559. Watercolor, gouache, and gold on parchment, 61.0 x 43.5 cm. Munich, Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek, Mus. ms. B1. Image reproduced by permission of the BSB…………………………………………………………………………212  Figure 2.13 Hans Mielich, The Seven Penitential Psalms of Orlando di Lasso, Vol. II, P. 3, ca. 1570. Watercolor, gouache, and gold on parchment, 44 cm x 60 cm. Munich, Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek, Mus. Ms. A. Image reproduced by permission of the BSB.…………….….……………………………………213  Figure 2.14 Hans Mielich, The Seven Penitential Psalms of Orlando di Lasso, Vol. II, P. 187, ca. 1570. Watercolor, gouache, and gold on parchment, 44 cm x 60 cm. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Mus. Ms. A. Image reproduced by permission of the BSB ……………………………………………………..214  Figure 2.15 Hans Mielich, The Seven Penitential Psalms of Orlando di Lasso, Vol. I, P. 72, ca. 1565. Watercolor, gouache, and gold on parchment, 44 cm x 60 cm. Munich, Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek, Mus. Ms. A. Image reproduced by permission of the BSB ……………………………………………………..215  Figure 2.16 Andreas Staudenmair after Samuel Quiccheberg, commentary volume for Motets  of Cypriano de Rore, fol. 3r, 1564. Ink on parchment. Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek, Munich, Hss Mus. ms. B2. Inage reproduced by permission of the BSB …………….………….………………………………………...216  Figure 2.17 Samuel Quiccheberg, commentary volume for the first manuscript of the Seven Penitential Psalms of Orlando di Lasso, fol. 10v, ca. 1565. Ink on parchment. Munich, Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek, Hss Clm 269. Image reproduced by permission of the BSB.……………………………………..217   vii  Figure 2.18 Andreas Staudenmair after Samuel Quiccheberg, commentary volume for first manuscript of the Seven Penitential Psalms of Orlando di Lasso, fol. 9r, ca. 1565. Ink on parchment. Munich, Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek, Hss Mus. ms. AI. Image reproduced by permission of the BSB.………………………….218 . Figure 3.1 Jan Vermeyen, Cover for the Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, ca. 1600-05. Heliotrope, gold, enamel and garnets, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975. ……………………………………...219  Figure 3.2 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 48. 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.………………………………………………………….… …………...220  Figure 3.3 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 118, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.………………………………………… ……………………..………..221  Figure 3.4 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 76, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.………………………………………………………………….………222  Figure 3.5 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 24, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.…………………………………………….…………… ……………...223  Figure 3.6 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 29, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.………………………………………………………………………….224  Figure 3.7 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta, fol. 10,   1561-62 (script), ca.1594-96 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on   parchment, 16.6 cm x 12.4 cm. Los Angeles, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Ms.  20. Digital image courtesy of the Getty's Open Content Program …………225  Figure 3.8 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 60, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.…………………………………………………..……………………...226 .   viii Figure 3.9 Nicolas Neufchatel, Emperor Maximilian II, ca. 1566. Oil on canvas, 81 cm x 65 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Inv. Nr. GG_374…………….227  Figure 3.10 Joseph Heintz the Elder, Emperor Rudolf II, ca. 1592. Oil on copper, 16.2 cm x 12.7 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Inv. Nr. GG_1124……….228  Figure 3.11 Nicholas Hilliard, Queen Elizabeth I, 1572. Watercolour on vellum, 5.1 cm x 4.8 cm. London, National Portrait Gallery, Inv. no 108. © National Portrait Gallery, London (by permission)….…….………………………………….229  Figure 3.12 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 101, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.…………………………………………………………..……….……..230  Figure 3.13 Abraham Ortelius, Typus orbis terrarum, Plate 1 of the Theatrum orbis   terrarum, published by Aegidius Coppenius Diesth, 1570. 46 cm x 64 cm.   Map reproduction courtesy of the Norman B. Leventhal Map Center at the   Boston Public Library.……………………………………………………...231  Figure 3.14 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 68, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.…………………………………………………………..… ………….232 . Figure 3.15 Lucas van Valckenborch, Tower of Babel, 1594. Oil on canvas, 42 cm x 56 cm. Paris, Musée du Louvre, R.F. 2427……………..……………………...233  Figure 3.16 Gerard David, Maximilian as Emperor, Encomia for Maximilian by Johannes Michael Nagonius, fol. 4v, 1493-1504. Watercolor and gouache on parchment, 24 cm x16.2 cm.Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Ms. 12750. Image reproduced by permission of the ÖNB/Wien………………..234     Figure 3.17 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 2, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975. ……………………………………………………………….………...235  Figure 3.18 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 1r, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.………………………………………………………….………………236  Figure 3.19 Anonymous, Medal of Emperor Rudolf II, ca. 1600. Gold, 4.6 cm x 3.3 cm. Los Angeles, The J. Paul Getty Museum, 92.NJ.87. Digital image courtesy of the Getty's Open Content Program ………………………………………...237   ix  Figure 3.20 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 46, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.……………………………………………………………. …………...238  Figure 3.21 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 7, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.……………………………………………… …………………………239  Figure 3.22 Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Vertumnus, ca. 1590. Oil on panel, 68 cm x 56 cm.    Skokloster, Skokloster Castle. Photo: Erik Lernestål, Skokloster Castle   (Public Domain)………………………………………………..…………...240  Figure 3.23 Hans Bol, Prayer book of Hercules François, Duke of Anjou, fol. 21v, 1582. Gouache on parchment, 6.5 cm x 8.5 cm. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, 10564. Image reproduced by permission of the BnF………………241  Figure 3.24 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 96, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.………………………………………………………..…… …………..242  Figure 3.25 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 67, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975.…………………………………………………..……………………...243  Figure 4.1 Joris Hoefnagel, Vanitas, 1591. Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment glued to a panel, 12.3 cm x 18 cm. Lille, Musée des Beaux Arts, Inv. no. 732.   ………………………………………………………………………………244  Figure 4.2 Joris Hoefnagel, Allegory for Johannes Radermacher, 1589. Watercolor on paper, affixed to wood panel, 11.8 cm x 16.3 cm. Zeeuws Museum, Middleburg, Inv. no. M98-072. Photograph by Ivo Wennekes. Image reproduced by permission of the Zeeuws Museum………………………...245  Figure 4.3 Joris Hoefnagel, Miniature with Venus Disarming Cupid, 1590. Gouache and watercolor on parchment, 17.4 cm x 22.7 cm. Private collection…………..246  Figure 4.4 Joris Hoefnagel, Miniature with Leda and the Swan, 1591. Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18 cm x 25.6 cm. Private collection….247  Figure 4.5 Joris Hoefnagel, Miniature with Venus Disarming Cupid, ca. 1592. Gouache and watercolor on parchment, 16.2 cm x 21.7 cm. Copenhagen, Statens   x Museum for Kunst, Inv. no. KKS2008-13. Image reproduced by permission of the National Gallery of Denmark. ………………………………………….248  Figure 4.6 Joris Hoefnagel, Miniature with Vanitas Scene, 1598. Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 16.8 x 23.6 cm. London, British Museum, Inv. no. 1997,0712.56. © Trustees of the British Museum (by permission)………...249  Figure 4.7 Joris Hoefnagel, Allegory for Abraham Ortelius, 1593. Watercolor on parchment, 11.8 cm x 16.5 cm. Museum Plantin-Moretus, Antwerp, Inv. no. PK.OT.00535. Image reproduced by permission of the Museum Plantin-Moretus, Antwerp – UNESCO World Heritage……………………….…...250  Figure 4.8 Antiquarium, Munich Residenz. Photograph by author. …………………..251  Figure 4.9 Inner courtyard of Trausnitz Castle, Landshut. Photograph by author..……252    Figure 4.10 Joris Hoefnagel, An Allegory of Duke Albrecht’s Rule, 1579. Watercolor and gouache on parchment, 24.0 x 18.0 cm. Berlin, Kupferstichkabinett, Inv. no. 4804…………………………………………………………………………253  Figure 4.11 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, fol. 69, 1571-73 (script), 1591-94 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 18.8 cm x 14 cm. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, KK 975…………………………………………………………………..………254  Figure 4.12 Bartholomeus Spranger, Vanitas, ca. 1600. Oil on canvas, 68 cm x 95.8 cm. Krakow, Wawel Castle……………………………………………………..255  Figure 4.13 Hans von Aachen, Allegory, ca. 1598. Oil on copper, 55.5 cm x 47 cm. Stuttgart, Staatsgalerie, Inv.Nr.2130. © Staatsgalerie Stuttgart (by permission) ………………………………………………………………………………256  Figure 4.14 Joris Hoefnagel, Aier: Animalia Volatilia et Cochilata from The Four Elements, Plate I, ca. 1575-ca. 1582. Watercolor, gouache, and gold on parchment, 14.3 cm x 18.4 cm. Washington, National Gallery of Art, 1987.20.8.2. Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington………………257  Figure 4.15 Joris Hoefnagel, Ignis: Animalia Rationalia et Insecta from The Four Elements, Plate XXXIII. ca. 1575-ca. 1582. Watercolor, gouache, and gold on parchment, 14.3 cm x 18.4 cm. Washington, National Gallery of Art, 1987.20.5.34. Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington……………..258  Figure 4.16 Albrecht Dürer, Stag Beetle, 1505. Watercolor and gouache on parchment, 14.1 cm x 11.4 cm. Los Angeles, The J. Paul Getty Museum, 83.GC.214. Digital image courtesy of the Getty's Open Content Program……………..259    xi Figure 4.17 Joris Hoefnagel, Ignis: Animalia Rationalia et Insecta from The Four Elements, Plate V. ca. 1575-ca. 1582. Watercolor, gouache, and gold on parchment, 14.3 cm x 18.4 cm. Washington, National Gallery of Art, 1987.20.5.6. Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington ……………...260  Figure 4.18 Georg Bocskay and Joris Hoefnagel, Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta, fol. 36, 1561-62 (script), ca.1594-96 (illumination). Gouache, watercolor, and gold on parchment, 16.6 cm x 12.4 cm. Los Angeles, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Ms. 20. Digital image courtesy of the Getty's Open Content Program …………261  Figure 4.19 Hans Bol, Landscape with the Sacrifice of Isaac within a Decorative Border, 1584. Pen and brown ink with brown and gray wash, and incising on ivory laid paper, 14.5 cm x 21.2 cm. Chicago, The Art Institute of Chicago, 2001.322. Courtesy Art Institute of Chicago ………………………………262  Figure 5.1 Joris Hoefnagel, Missal, fol. 340r, ca. 1581-ca. 1590. Gouache and watercolor on parchment, 39.2 cm x 28.6 cm. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 1784 Han. Image reproduced by permission of the ÖNB/Wien …………………………………………………………………263  Figure 5.2 Joris Hoefnagel, Hans von Aachen, Aegidius Sadeler, Ascension, from the series, Salus Generis Humani, Plate 11, 1590. Engraving………………….264  Figure 5.3 Hans Bul of Regensburg, Samuel Braun of Kadan, and Christoph Hartwig of Wernigerode, Epitaph of Florian of Gryspek and his Wife, Church of Sts. Peter and Paul, Královice, 1593. 3.5 m x 6 m. Photograph courtesy of, photo: MVDr. Tomáš Soukup.…………………………..265  Figure 5.4 Hans Bul of Regensburg, Samuel Braun of Kadan, and Christoph Hartwig of Wernigerode, Detail of the Epitaph of Florian of Gryspek and his Wife, Church of Sts. Peter and Paul, Královice, 1593. Photograph courtesy of, photo: MVDr. Tomáš Soukup.…………………………..266      xii Acknowledgements  The completion of this dissertation would not have been possible without the generous help and contributions of several individuals and institutions. I would first like to express my sincere gratitude to my supervisor, Dr. Bronwen Wilson, for her unflagging and unstinting support throughout my graduate studies. Over the years that I have had the privilege to work with Bronwen, I have benefitted immensely from her remarkable knowledge, incisive guidance, and kind encouragement. I would also like to extend my appreciation to my committee members, Dr. Carol Knicely and Dr. Katherine Hacker. Their thoughtful questions and suggestions throughout the research and writing process were invaluable.  The research for this project was facilitated by funding provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, the Making Publics Project, the Early Modern Conversions Project, the PALATIUM Program, the UBC Faculty of Arts, and the UBC Department of Art History. I am also indebted to the Institute of Art History at the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic for allowing me to make use of their valuable resources. In particular, I would like to thank Dr. Lubomír Konečný and Dr. Beket Bukovinská for providing me with access to the rich collection of materials in the Studia Rudolphina. Likewise, I am grateful to Dr. Katja Schmitz von Ledebur and the curatorial team at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna for letting me view their digital records; to Dr. Veronika Sandbichler for granting me the opportunity to reside at Scholss Ambras and to examine its Kunstkammer in such detail; and to the staff at the Zentralinstitut für Kunstgeschichte, the Bavarian National Library, the Albertina, the Austrian National Library, the National Gallery in Prague, the Czech National Library, the Kupferstichkabinett at the Staatliche Museen in Berlin, the British Museum, and the Musée du Louvre for their time and assistance.   For the many positive experiences I have had as a doctoral student, I am particularly indebted to my cohort of early modernists at the Department of Art History, Visual Art, and Theory at UBC: Lisa Andersen, Kystel Chehab, Michael Coughlin, Maja Dujakovic, Ivana Horacek, Heather Muckart, and Ivana Vranic. I will be forever grateful for their willingness to read drafts, listen to presentations, and provide reassurance. I would also like to extend my heartfelt thanks to my colleagues, Dr. Efrat El-Hanany, Dr. Megan Smetzer, Dr. Evelyn Reitz, Dr. Devon Smither, Tomas Gruziecki, and Daniella Zutic not only for their excellent art historical insights but also for their friendship.  Last but not least, I would like to thank my family for their unconditional love, endless patience, and constant faith in my efforts.       xiii Dedication  I dedicate this dissertation to my husband, who is always there to help me find my way.               1 Chapter 1  Introduction “The artist – as also the artisan – is an itinerant, and his work is consubstantial with the trajectory of his or her own life.”               - Tim Ingold1  In the autumn of 1577, a Flemish merchant by the name of Joris Hoefnagel visited the Duke of Bavaria’s new Kunstkammer in Munich en route to the Italian peninsula. During the visit, Hoefnagel showed his host—Duke Albrecht V Wittelsbach—a miniature he had painted in gouache and watercolor on a piece of parchment measuring roughly 20 cm by 30 cm. This miniature, which is currently held at the Bibliothèque Royale de Belgique in Brussels, displays a profile view of Seville framed by a cacophony of figures, forms, and motifs representing the fruits of Spanish commerce (Fig. 1.1).2 Along the bottom register, a fantastical vessel symbolizing the New World meets a trade ship flying the arms of King Philip II—an encounter witnessed by exotic and imaginary creatures, personifications, and mythological deities.3 Along the upper band of the image, overlapping groupings of naturalistic and symbolic objects speak to the prosperity, concord, and might defining the Spanish city featured at the center of the page. Around the border, Latin phrases excerpted from classical authors supply additional nuance to this message. Seville, we are shown, is a gateway to the bounty of the world—a position echoed by the artist, whose inventive                                                 1 Tim Ingold, “Bringing Things to Life: Creative Entanglements in a World of Materials,” NCRM Working Papers, 15 (Manchester: ESRC National Centre for Research Methods, 2010), 10.  2 The miniature (Inv. Nr. SI 23.045) is generally given the title, View of Seville with Allegorical Frame. An inscription along the base of the image reads, “Georgivs Hoefnagle Antverpianvs Inventor Facierat Anno MDLXXIII. Natura sola magistra.” A second date of 1570 is included below the central view of Seville.  3 Anita Albus examines the miniature’s references to the New World in Paradies und Paradox: Wunderwerke aus fünf Jahrhunderten (Frankfurt am Main: Eichborn Verlag, 2003), 159-200.   2 composition brings the plenitude to light. Upon seeing the work, the duke not only purchased it for his own collection, but he also offered its maker immediate employment as court miniator.4 It was thus this small painting that initiated Hoefnagel’s transformation from merchant into one of the most successful court artists of the late sixteenth century. Executed on parchment, defined by pictorial diversity, inclusive of text, evocative of humanist pursuits, and associated with courtly practices, the Seville miniature is emblematic of the works at the center of this study. Consequently, it will serve here as a point of departure. The first known record of the painting comes from a letter of introduction sent to Duke Albrecht V on behalf of Hoefnagel and his travelling companion, Abraham Ortelius, prior to the abovementioned visit to the Munich court.5 The letter’s author, Augsburg physician and humanist Adolph Occo, refers to the picture directly, declaring it to be unlike anything he has ever seen.6 “Behold, your Serene Highness, and wonder,” Occo writes.7 Confirmation that the Duke of Bavaria did indeed behold and wonder comes from Karel van Mander’s Het Schilder-boeck of 1604, where the biographer avers that it was Hoefnagel’s work in miniature which led Albrecht to offer the Netherlandish traveller employment at his                                                 4 In the late sixteenth century, the term miniator was used interchangeably to refer to an illuminator of manuscripts and to a painter of small-scale pictures. Hoefnagel carried out both types of work. Although Duke Albecht V offered Hoefnagel a position in 1577, Hoefnagel did not begin working at the court until 1578 since he first completed his journey to Italy—a journey he had embarked on with the geographer, Abraham Ortelius. For an overview of Hoefnagel’s entry into the Munich court, see Thea Vignau-Wilberg, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien 81 (1985): 105-107. 5 “…picturas stupendas, quales non puto me vidisse usque, praesertium Hispalis (quam modo Silbilam vocant) delineationem tam artificiosam ut visum propemodum subterfugiat.” The letter of introduction, which is undated but refers to both Hoefnagel and Ortelius, is held at the Bayerische Hauptstaatsarchiv, Munich (Kurbayern, Äußeres Archiv 4854, Fol.218r); for a published transcription of the original text, see ibid., 159 (A-3). A second letter of introduction was written to Duke Albrecht V on behalf of Hoefnagel and Ortelius concurrently by Marx Fugger (Bayerische Hauptstaatsarchiv, Munich, Kurbayern, Äußeres Archiv 4854, Fol.210r-210v); for a published transcription, see ibid., (A-2).    6 Ibid., (A-3) 7 “Videbit Serenissima Celsitudo Tua et mirabitur.” Ibid.     3 court—in spite of the fact that this was apparently the first occasion upon which Hoefnagel presented himself as an artist.8 Documents drawn up at the Wittelsbach court under the reigns of Duke Albrecht V and his son, Duke Wilhelm V, reveal that the emerging artist’s initial reception into this courtly milieu was followed by a term of service that lasted more than a decade; at the end of this term, Hoefnagel was admitted to the roster of artists working for the Holy Roman Emperor, Rudolf II.  Other historical materials shed light on the trajectory of the Seville image itself, from the origins of its pictorial sources to its eventual location within the Munich Kunstkammer. In 1572, Franz Hogenberg and Georg Braun published the first volume of the Civitates Orbis Terrarum, a printed atlas of cities that by 1612 comprised six volumes and whose production corresponded to an international coterie of artists, geographers, publishers, merchants, and patrons. The first volume contained views of cities primarily copied from existing publications, with only a handful of images providing original content. Of the latter, the majority were chorographic renderings of Spanish towns by Hoefnagel, which he drew during his travels throughout the Iberian Peninsula between 1561 and 1567.9 Included among these views is the same representation of Seville that is at the center of the painted miniature shown to Duke Albrecht V in 1577. While the drawing for the Civitates atlas helped                                                 8 Carel Van Mander, Dutch and Flemish Painters: Translation from the Schilderboeck, trans. and introduction Constant Van de Wall (New York: McFarlane, Warde, McFarlane, 1936), 282. Van Mander specifies that Duke Albrecht V was compelled to offer Hoefnagel a permanent position at his court as an artist upon seeing two works by the Flemish traveler—one of which he describes as a miniature landscape. This vague reference—along with several errors in Van Mander’s account of Hoefnagel’s career—can be attributed to the temporal distance between the writing of the biography and Hoefnagel’s initial encounter with the duke. Vignau-Wilberg also comes to this conclusion in, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München”, 107, 110-112. 9 Jessica Chiswick Robey, “From the City Witnessed to the Community Dreamed: The Civitates Orbis Terrarum and the Circle of Abraham Ortelius and Joris Hoefnagel” (PhD diss. University of California Santa Barbara, 2006), 29. Robey’s dissertation is the first close study of Hoefnagel’s contributions to the atlas project. For an earlier approach, see A. E. Popham, “Georg Hoefnagel and the Civitats Orbis Terrarum.” Maso Finiguerra 1 (1936): 183-201.   4 Hoefnagel to establish a foothold in an expansive community of individuals joined together in the production of knowledge, the miniature marked the beginning of Hoefnagel’s involvement with the courts of the Holy Roman Empire.10 Both associations came to shape the artist’s life, career, and practice.  Where the depiction of Seville in the center of the miniature speaks to Hoefnagel’s encounter with distant places, the elements surrounding the city view reveal his familiarity with a more local environment: the visual culture of Antwerp. For instance, a grotesque face in the upper left corner recalls the masks of Cornelis Floris, which were published as a series in the Flemish city in 1555.11 A pile of armor and weapons further to the right along the upper band of the miniature draws upon motifs from the printed cartouches of Jacob Floris the Elder, published in Antwerp in 1564.12 Also evocative of this context is the particular manner in which Hoefnagel integrated classical elements into his composition. In the miniature, phrases from a range of ancient authors—including Virgil, Ovid, and Pomponius Mela—are inserted into the painted gold band encircling the image, while figures such as Hermes and Athena bring to life antiquity’s celebration of the arts, learning, and travel. Not the central focus of the image, these citations of the ancient past function as one component of many in a larger whole united above all by variety. In this way, the citations align with the                                                 10 Looking to the subsequent Civitates volumes, it is apparent that Hoefnagel’s first cartographic endeavors established a place for the artist in both the ongoing cartographic project and its attendant community. For Hoefnagel’s contributions to later volumes, see Robey, “From the City Witnessed,” esp. chapters 1 and 4.  11  Pourtraicture ingenieuse de plusieurs facons de Masques (engraved by Frans Huys and published in Antwerp in 1555 by Hans Liefrinck).  12 Veelderhande cierlijcke Compartementen profitelijck voor Schilders goutsmeden beeltsnijders ende ander constenaren (engraved by Herman Müller and published in Antwerp in 1564 by Hans Liefrinck).    5 ways in which sixteenth-century Antwerp artists and authors assimilated ancient sources as one aspect of a polyglot approach to artistic expression.13  In his 1598 inventory of the Munich “Kunstcamer”, Johann Baptist Fickler describes an image in which the city of Seville—rendered delicately “von miniatur”—is framed on all sides by “Rollwerckh” articulated with figures.14 Although no artist’s name is given, the specificity of Fickler’s remarks identifies the work as Hoefnagel’s miniature. Working from Fickler’s inventory and other records, art historian Katharina Pilaski has recreated the physical layout and organization of the Munich collection. Of particular interest are her remarks concerning table no. 7, which was situated in the very center of the northern gallery, which was in turn the main reception hall for the ducal Kunstkammer as a whole.15 Pilaski observes that this table, with its assemblage of dynastic portraits and religious objects crafted from precious materials, “functioned as a conceptual focal point of the entire gallery’s argumentative structure.”16 Also included on this table, Pilaski notes, was a seemingly “unrelated” image of Seville.17 With reference to its inventory number and description, the puzzling picture is in fact identifiable as the miniature of Seville that facilitated Hoefnagel’s entrance into the Munich court. The prominent placement of the small painting in the main reception hall of the Wittelsbach Residenz makes evident that some 21 years following Duke                                                 13 Bart Ramakers, ed., Understanding Art in Antwerp: Classicising the Popular, Popularising the Classic (1540-1580) (Leuven, Paris, and Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2011).  14 The entry reads, “Ein viereckhete hülzene Tafl, umb und umb mit ainem Compartiment von Rollwerckh außgeschnitten, mit figuren versezt. In der Tafl ist die Statt Siuiglia in Hispania von miniatur subtil aufgemahlt, darüber glaß gezogen.” Dorothy Diemer et al., eds., Die München Kunstkammer, vol. 1 (Munich: Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2008), 140-141. 15 Katharina Pilaski, “The Munich Kunstkammer: Art, Nature, and the Representation of Knowledge in Courtly Contexts” (PhD diss., University of California of Santa Barbara, 2007), 19, 25. 16 Ibid., 25-27. 17 Ibid., 28.   6 Albrecht’s first encounter with the work, it not only retained a high level of appreciation within this courtly context, but it also took on a representative function in relation to the cultural identity of the Wittelsbach dynasty. Hoefnagel’s miniature of Seville is an entangled image. Carried out as an independent miniature on parchment, it constitutes a medium that originally emerged from the manufacture of illuminated manuscripts.18 Exploring the accommodating structural characteristics of this older form of artistic production, the artist gathered together on a single sheet a variety of modes of representation and forms of knowledge. The central chorographic rendition of Seville indexes the processes of mapping as well as the growing interest in accurately recording the sites, peoples, and customs of distant places. The objects and creatures of nature that abound in the miniature’s “Rollwerckh” speak to the developing field of natural history, just as the texts and figures excerpted from ancient authors reference the growing influence of classicism within Northern Europe. With its inclusion of text, the work also evokes the mechanisms of the emblem—a humanistic medium predicated on the juxtaposition of word and image. Painted from life, from existing pictorial models, and from the artist’s imagination, the miniature locates Hoefnagel’s practice at the nexus of observation, emulation, and innovation. A moving image, it brings to mind the artist’s mobility, harnesses circulating visual forms and epistemologies, and combines them on a small page. The miniature evidently resonated with elite patrons: it warranted a position of prominence within the extensive holdings of the Wittelsbach collection, not to mention a courtly appointment for the artist. Providing its princely owner with access to a broader                                                 18 As explained below, independent miniatures could be purchased separately and then added to completed manuscripts. For more information on this form of illumination, see Chapter Four.    7 world, the miniature makes visible the threads connecting the early modern court to interests and ideas developing beyond the boundaries of its traditional domain. A Flemish Illuminator at the Courts of Central Europe  In this dissertation, I bring together three intersecting avenues of investigation: Hoefnagel’s practice as a court artist, illumination as an early modern medium, and the courts of Central Europe as nodes for established and emerging forms of visual culture and knowledge. After gaining his first court appointment in 1577 with Duke Albrecht V, Hoefnagel went on to serve as miniator to Duke Wilhelm V, Archduke Ferdinand II of Tyrol, and Emperor Rudolf II. Over the course of the twenty or so years of this court service, Hoefnagel’s primary mode of artistic production was illumination: he embellished manuscripts for his patrons and created independent illuminations (miniatures on individual parchment sheets) that circulated both within and beyond the courts for which he worked. All of these projects are comparable to the Seville miniature discussed above in that they share the same medium, comprise diverse pictorial and textual matter, solicit careful study, and display the artist’s skill and erudition. By most accounts, illumination was a largely obsolete art form by the late sixteenth century. However, Kunstkammer inventories, court administrative records, and epistolary exchanges reveal that Hoefnagel’s work as an illuminator yielded continuous elite patronage, considerable remuneration, privileged status, and remarkably flexible terms of employment. Looking to Hoefnagel’s illuminations and the culture of the courts at Munich, Ambras, and Prague, I argue that the artist’s sustained engagement with illumination constituted a strategic intervention not only in the conventions of a traditional yet increasingly rare form of art, but also in the practices gathered together at the courts at which he served.   8 The historiography on Hoefnagel can best be described as diverse, which in many ways stems from the range of the artist’s endeavors as well as his itinerancy.19 We know, for instance, that he created an emblem book while visiting England; drew chorographic landscapes when travelling through Spain, Italy, and other regions; worked on albums of natural history prior to leaving Flanders; published engravings during his residency in Germany; and embellished manuscripts and painted miniatures for individuals living in cities across Europe. We also know that throughout his artistic career, Hoefnagel was intimately connected with humanist communities, primarily those revolving around the circle of Abraham Ortelius in Antwerp. Likewise, evidence shows that the illuminator continued to carry out mercantile activities while serving as a court artist, a key component of which was dealing with the pan-European trade in art.  This study takes up Hoefnagel’s works of illumination as its subject for a number of reasons. It is the most sustained form of Hoefnagel’s artistic practice and one that is markedly contained by the artist’s affiliation with Central European court culture. It is also an aspect of Hoefnagel’s oeuvre whose study is incomplete.20 Moreover, the aggregative character of Hoefnagel’s illuminations, elucidated below, effectively accommodated the artist’s engagement with other types of visual culture, including emblematics, cartography, and natural history. Consequently, the Flemish artist’s projects on parchment offer rich insight not only into sixteenth-century illumination, but also into early modern solutions for rendering knowledge visible.                                                 19 In art historical scholarship, Joris Hoefnagel emerges as a multifaceted figure. In some ways, the range of material covered by this artist’s oeuvre has made it difficult for scholars to agree on how to define his practice or how to describe his artistic identity.  20 To the best of my knowledge, I am the first to trace Hoefnagel’s practice as illuminator across both manuscripts and miniatures and, as mentioned above, to include all of these works—and Hoefnagel’s association with mutliple Central European courts—in one study.    9 Hoefnagel’s Illuminations in Context  Manuscript illumination presents scholars with a complex set of challenges. As Otto Pächt—an eminent contributor to the field—stated succinctly, the illuminated manuscript is “an organism with its own special configuration.”21 Inherently combinatory in its juxtaposition of text and image, the painted page addresses both a reader and a viewer. Comparable to the medium of print in this respect, illumination entails analysis that is not solely anchored in pictorial form. Sometimes intertextual and other times independent of the words written on a page, illuminations function in diverse ways, just as they encompass manifold pictorial genres and embellish diverse book types.  Traditionally, the illuminated manuscript has been viewed as a medieval medium, with the printed book seen as dominating the market in the early modern period. In recent years, however, art historians have become increasingly interested in the persistence of the older form beyond the Middle Ages. As a result, the period following the invention of moveable type is now understood to be defined by a productive coexistence of and interchange between the printed volume and the handwritten, handpainted codex.22 That said, the majority of studies exploring the early modern illuminated manuscript shed little light on the practice of illumination or its products beyond the mid-sixteenth century.                                                 21 Otto Pächt, Book Illumination in the Middle Ages: An Introduction (London: Harvey Miller Publishers and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), 10.  22 See, for instance, Lisa Jardine, “The Triumph of the Book,” in Worldy Goods (London: Macmillan, 1996), 133-180; J. B. Trapp, ed., Manuscripts in the Fifty Years after the Invention of Printing (London: Warburg Institute, University of London, 1983); and Sandra Hindman, “Cross-Fertilization: Experiments in Mixing the Media,” in Pen to Press: Illustrated Manuscripts and Printed Books in the First Century of Printing, ed. Sandra Hindman and James Douglas Farquhar (Baltimore: University of Maryland and Johns Hopkins University, 1977), 101-156. For a useful theorization of the interpolations between old and new media, see Marshall McLuhan, “Medium is the Message,” in Media and Cultural Studies: KeyWorks, ed. Meenakshi Gigi Durham and Douglas M. Kellner (Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 107-116.   10 A useful example here is Thomas Kren and Scot McKendrick’s publication on manuscript illumination in Renaissance Flanders.23 The authors’ stated aim is to move beyond earlier scholarship whose upper limit was the late fifteenth century.24 The gathered essays investigate the impact of changing patterns of patronage on Flemish illumination into the 1500s, the continuity of artistic exchange between illuminators and painters in this period, and the innovations in the medium that emerge as a result (e.g. the increasingly three-dimensional rendering of marginalia). The point of termination for the study is given as the death of the illuminator Simon Bening in 1561. Making this endpoint emphatic, the editors write in their introduction that with Bening’s death, “the tradition of Flemish manuscript illumination was no longer an important part of Netherlandish artistic culture.”25 Notably, following this statement Kren and McKendrick then remark that the only contributions made beyond this date can be attributed to Joris Hoefnagel, whom they present briefly as the last “gifted figure” of the tradition and one who appears seemingly out of nowhere “a full two generations after Bening.”26 They only mention Hoefnagel’s association with Emperor Rudolf II, omitting the artist’s affiliation with the Wittelsbach dukes and with Rudolf’s uncle, Archduke Ferdinand II.                                                 23 Thomas Kren and Scot McKendrick, eds. Illuminating the Renaissance: The Triumph of Flemish Manuscript Painting in Europe (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2003). 24 As the editors stress in their introduction, theirs is the first study of Flemish illumination to offer an in-depth assessment of the given period. While earlier studies certainly do not disregard the achievements of the late fifteenth century, the sixteenth century has received little to no attention. Ibid., 1-14.  25 Ibid., 9.This association—between Bening and the termination of the Flemish school of illumination—is made mutliple times throughout Illuminating the Renaissance. In his essay on the final period under consideration (“New Directions in Manuscript Painting, circa 1510-1561”), Kren writes similarly that, “by 1548, when Bening was still in his prime, the production of significant Flemish illuminated manuscripts was rapidly diminishing and no major new talent was emerging on the scene. Within a decade the great era of Flemish manuscript illumination would finally come to a close” (p.413).   26 Kren and McKendrick, “Introduction,” 9.   11 The reference by Kren and McKendrick indicates the difficulties in situating Hoefnagel within the Flemish context and also leaves a number of questions unanswered. Hoefnagel was a native of Antwerp; however, the entirety of his professional career as a court artist took place in the German lands. He carried out his first major project of illumination while living in Munich, and his other projects on parchment correspond to his time in Frankfurt-am-Main, Prague, and Vienna. Thus, it is problematic to align his work unequivocally with the Flemish school.27 This point is also reinforced by the fact that Hoefnagel’s approach to illumination differed substantially from the conventions and traditions established in the Netherlands. 28 Kren and McKendrick also do not explore the particular conditions which prompted and permitted a Flemish artist working in a foreign context to extend the life of the medium into the late 1590s. As I show, the underlying conditions shaping Hoefnagel’s encounter with Central European court culture were a critical component not only of the commissions Hoefnagel received, but also of the manner in which the illuminator carried out his work. As with the assessment of early modern illumination, Hoefnagel’s exploits as an artist have gained ground as a topic of interest in art historical scholarship. However, as noted above, our understanding of the artist and his place within Central European court culture is still incomplete. The majority of the studies carried out on the artist have focused on his natural history undertaking, The Four Elements (discussed here in Chapter Four), as well as                                                 27 Other scholars also associate Hoefnagel with Flemish illumination. See, for instance, Maurits Smeyers, Flemish Miniatures from the 8th to the mid-16th Century (Leuven: Brepols, 1999), 498-499; and Dagmar Thoss, Flämische Buchmalerei Handschriftenschätze aus dem Burgunderreich. Ausstellung der Handschriften- und Inkunabelsammlung der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek, 21. Mai – 26. Oktober 1987 (Graz: Akademische Druk- u.- Verlagsantalt, 1987), 21, 146, 148-149. 28 I address this point in Chapter Two.    12 his aforementioned cartographic contributions to the Civitates Orbis Terrarum atlas.29 Some scholars have turned to the manuscripts Hoefnagel illuminated for his Habsburg patrons, which comprise the Ambras missal, the Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, and the Mira calligraphiae monument (discussed here in Chapters Two and Three).30 However, these accounts primarily treat the manuscripts in isolation, with their analyses directed towards contained topics such as iconography or the representation of the natural world. Consequently, there has been little discussion of the function and significance of the medium with regards to these projects, of the range of visual and textual matter included in the manuscripts, or of the processes employed by the artist in assembling his multifaceted and multivalent programs of illumination. Similarly, in the handful of references made to Hoefnagel’s independent illuminations, the miniatures are typically treated individually and without connection to the artist’s book projects.31 More also needs to be known about the ways in which Hoefnagel adapted the work he carried out for his courtly patrons to create mobile images that were particularly well suited to reinforcing and extending the illuminator’s reputation as a skillful, specialized, and knowledgeable artist. When scholars                                                 29 The two most comprehensive studies of these two projects are Lee Hendrix, “Joris Hoefnagel and the ‘Four Elements’: A Study in Sixteenth-Century Nature Painting” (PhD diss., Princeton University, 1984); and Robey, “From the City Witnessed to the Community Dreamed.”  30 The most in-depth assessment of the missal and the Schriftmusterbuch remains, Thea Wilberg Vignau-Schuurman, Die Emblematischen Elemente im Werke Joris Hoefnagels. 2 vols. Leiden: Universitaire pers Leiden, 1969. Because thefa author now publishes under the name Thea Vignau-Wilberg, I will refer to her by this name throughout the dissertation, including in reference to the book cited here. For the most recent account of the Mira manuscript, see Lee Hendrix and Thea Vignau-Wilberg, eds., Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta: A Sixteenth Century Calligraphic Manuscript Inscribed by Georg Bocskay and Illuminated by Joris Hoefnagel (Malibu: The J. Paul Getty Museum, 1992). For an early yet still useful overview of Hoefnagel’s manuscript projects, see Chmelarz, Eduard. “Georg und Jakob Hoefnagel.” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses 17 (1896): 277-291.  31 See, for instance, Thea Vignau-Wilberg, In Europa zu Hause: Niederländer in München um 1600 (Munich: Hirmer Verlag, 2005), 263-273; Larry Silver, “German Drawings from a Private Collection.” Pantheon 43 (October-December 1984): 394-395; and Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, Arcimboldo: Visual Jokes, Natural History, and Still-Life Painting (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 185.    13 locate Hoefnagel’s practice in the context of a court, the focus is most often on his associations with and within a single site; no scholar has looked closely at Hoefnagel’s trajectory across the courts at Munich, Ambras, and Prague, or considered the artist’s persistent use of illumination in conjunction with this moving trajectory. This is an omission that I seek to redress.  In my study, I also direct attention towards the production, reception, and circulation of art at the early modern courts of the Holy Roman Empire. Justifiably, the most robust treatment of this area has had as its focus the imperial court at Prague. Following the inroads of art historians such as Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann and Eliška Fučíková, the Rudolfine court has not only gained ground in anglophone publications, but it has also become integral to a more balanced and comprehensive understanding of early modern court art in general—an understanding that moves beyond the courts of the Italian peninsula.32 Currently, the Prague court is perceived as a preeminent site of rigorous artistic patronage, collecting, and knowledge production in sixteenth-century Central Europe. Rudolfine artists such as Giuseppe Arcimboldo, Bartholomeus Spranger, and Hans von Aachen have all received monographic publications, and their paintings are recognized as complex responses to the dynamics of the court as well as pan-European artistic and epistemological developments. 33                                                 32 One of the foundational English-language studies of the Prague court remains, Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, The School of Prague: Painting at the Court of Rudolf II (Chicago and London 1988). Kaufmann has contrbuted extensively to this field of inquiry. More recent of his publications on the topic include: The Mastery of Nature: Aspects of Art, Science, and Humanism in the Renaissance (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993); and “Princely Patronage of the Later Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries: The Example and Impact of Art at the Court of Rudolf II.” In Court, Cloister and City: The Art and Culture of Central Europe, 1450-1800, 185-203 (London: Weidenfield and Nicholson Ltd., 1995). Eliška Fučíková recently published the book, Prague in the Reign of Rudolf II: Mannerist Art and Architecture in the Imperial Capital, 1583-1612. (Prague, Karolinum Press, 2015). Key among her earlier contributions are the anthologies, Prag um 1600: Beiträge zur Kunst und Kultur am Hofe Rudolfs II (Freren: LucaVerlag, 1988); and Rudolf II and Prague: The Court and the City (London: Thames and Hudson Ltd., 1997). 33 Of these three, Arcimboldo has garnered the most numerous publications; see, for instance, Kaufmann, Arcimboldo; and Sylvia Ferino-Pagden, Arcimboldo: 1526-1593 (Milan: Skira Editore, 2007). For Spranger and   14 The Prague Kunstkammer, no longer seen simply as evidence of Emperor Rudolf’s mismanagement of finances and unwillingness to govern over his domain, is now defined as a central institution of the imperial court, with its encyclopedic collection likened to a microcosm that accorded the emperor symbolic ownership of and rulership over the macrocosm of the world.34 Still missing from these studies, however, is an account of the variations of imperial court service and the function of artworks that challenge established categories of court art. Scholars often note the social elevation granted to several Rudolfine artists, including Arcimboldo, Spranger, and Von Aachen, who were ennobled and who frequently acted as diplomatic representatives of the imperial court.35 Usually presented as evidence of the high status of painting in Prague, this narrative does not, however, elucidate how artists such as Hoefnagel could contribute to the court while remaining separate from it. Traditionally listed among Rudolfine artists, Hoefnagel in fact resided in Frankfurt and Vienna while carrying out commissions for the emperor.36 What this separation from the court proper indicates about the artist’s standing vis-à-vis the court has not been investigated. Comparable to artists such as Albrecht Dürer and Peter Paul Rubens, whose proximity to their patrons was not a demand of their court service, Hoefnagel expands our understanding of the courtly system                                                                                                                                                   Von Aachen, see Sally Metzler, Bartholomeus Spranger: Splendor and Eroticism in Imperial Prague: The Complete Works (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2014) and Thomas Fusenig, ed., Hans von Aachen (1552-1615): Court Artist in Europe (Aachen: Suermondt-Ludwig Museum, 2010).  34 Important studies on this topic remain, Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, “Remarks on the Collections of Rudolf II: The Kunstkammer as a Form of Representatio,” Art Journal 38, 1 (Autumn, 1978): 22-28; and R.J.W. Evans, Rudolf II and his World: A Study in Intellectual History, 1576-1612 (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1973.) 35 Lubomír Konečný, “Picturing the Artist in Rudolfine Prague,” in Rudolf II and Prague: The Court and the City, ed. Eliška Fučíková et al. (London: Thames and Hudson Ltd., 1997), 108; Kaufmann, The School of Prague, 42, 133. 36 I discuss this point in Chapter Three.    15 beyond the traditional model of the artist-in-residence.37 The visual evidence offered by the manuscripts Hoefnagel painted for Emperor Rudolf suggests that the artist’s role was one of purveyor of novel, edifying, and inventive visual matter—a role based to a considerable extent on the illuminator’s fluency with artistic and humanist endeavors carried out beyond the boundaries of the imperial court.  As discussed in Chapter Three, the principal works that connect Hoefnagel to the Rudolfine court are two model books of calligraphy that the artist embellished over the course of approximately six years. Unique in both form and function, these manuscripts do not align easily with the categories generally applied to the two-dimensional art produced at the court. Bringing together diverse pictorial forms while conveying knowledge, Hoefnagel’s illuminations resonate with the multimedial objects collected in the imperial Kunstkammer as much as with the mythological allegories and portraits on display in Rudolf’s painting gallery. While court records reveal that Hoefnagel’s works for the emperor were very well received, art historians have yet to explore the significance of their distinctive combination of novelty—the aggregation of new forms and ideas—with the potentialities of an older medium.   As noted above, Prague, with its status as the imperial capital and site of Rudolf’s celebrated Kunstkammer, has garnered the lion’s share of art historical attention in relation to other cultural centers within sixteenth-century Central Europe. That said, discussions of the courts at Munich and Ambras are gaining ground in the literature on early modern collecting,                                                 37 Larry Silver, “Civic Courtship: Albrecht Dürer, the Saxon Duke, and the Emperor”, in Artists at Court: Image-Making and Identity, 1300-1550, ed. Stephen J. Campbell (Boston and Chicago: Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and University of Chicago Press, 2004), 149. The exceptional nature of Rubens’ terms of employment, which permitted the artist to work away from the Brussels court, is also stressed by Frits Scholten and Joanna Woodall in, “Netherlandish artists on the move,” Netherlands Yearbook for History of Art (Art and Migration: Netherlandish Artists on the Move, 1400-1750) 63 (2013): 12.     16 the integration of classicism into artistic and architectural practices in Northern Europe, and the centrality of artistic, scientific, and literary forms of production to courtly pursuits and patronage.38 Scholars are also establishing the extent to which Central European courts were imbricated in a larger network and tracing how artists, as well as objects, ideas, and innovations, circulated within it. For instance, a recently published anthology brings into focus the associations between Prague and Munich around the year 1600.39 Many of the contributors question the validity of maintaining distinctions between the art produced at these two sites, particularly since many of the artists working for the Bavarian dukes eventually migrated to the imperial capital.40 Consequently, long enduring labels such as the “school of Prague” are problematized, while certain aspects of the artistic output at the two courts (e.g. the celebration of painting’s intellectual status) are presented as interconnected.  Likewise, where the Ambras court of Archduke Ferdinand II was once seen as a peripheral entity in the Holy Roman Empire, it is now acknowledged as a key site for, among others, advances in the nascent sciences, the development of a material-based system of Kunstkammer organization, and the integration of spectacle into the rituals of the court.41                                                 38 The range of topics associated with these courts in considerable. See, for instance, Susan Maxwell, The Court Art of Friedrich Sustris: Patronage in Late Renaissance Bavaria (Farnham, Ashgate Publishing, 2011); Eva Irblich, “Naturstudien Erzherzog Ferdinands II (1520-1598): zur Kunstkammer auf Schloss Ambras bei Innsbruck,” in Thesaurus Austriacus: Glanz im Spiegel der Buchkunst: Handschriften und Kunstablen von 800 bis 1600 (Vienna: Nationalbibliothek, 1996), 209-225; Peter Diemer et al., eds., Baptist Fickler: Das Inventar der Münchner herzoglichen Kunstkammer von 1598 (Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2004). The cultures of these courts are discussed here in Chapter Two and Chapter Four.  39 Beket Bukovinská and Lubomír Konečný, eds., München – Prag um 1600 (Studia Rudolphina: Sonderherft) (Prague: Artefactum, 2009). 40 Eliska Fucikova addresses the issue directly in her essay, “Münchner Schule – Prager Schule?” in ibid., 71-75. It is important to note that an earlier articulation of this issue is present in Thea Vignau-Wilberg’s essay, “Künstlerische Beziehungen zwischen Prag und München zur Zeit Rudolfs II.” In Prag um 1600: Beiträge zur Kunst und Kultur am Hofe Rudolfs II, ed.  Eliška Fučíková (Freren: Luca Verlag, 1988), 299-305. 41 See, for instance, Alfred Auer and Eva Irblich, eds. Natur und Kunst: Handschriften und Alben aus der Ambraser Sammlung Ezrherzog Ferdinands II. (1529-1595) (Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 1995); Elisabeth Scheicher, "The Collection of Archduke Ferdinand II at Schloss Ambras: Its Purpose, Composition   17 Charged with the stewardship of the Kingdom of Bohemia prior to his nephew Rudolf’s ascension to the imperial throne, Archduke Ferdinand established Prague as an important cultural center even before Rudolf transferred the imperial capital there in 1583. Furthermore, the brisk exchange of correspondence—along with objects—between uncle and nephew into the 1590s makes clear that Ferdinand’s affiliation with Prague did not end upon his move to Innsbruck.42  What these considerations reveal is a cultural landscape whose defining features were variously intertwined and constantly in flux. This revelation challenges views of Central European courts as static and isolated institutions and prompts analytical approaches that endeavor to encompass this shifting environment.43 My examination of Hoefnagel’s work as an illuminator attends to these dynamics by tracing the ways in which the artist’s practice often exceeded the boundaries of a single court. For instance, while in the employ of the Bavarian dukes, Hoefnagel was also illuminating a manuscript for Archduke Ferdinand—a manuscript that was eventually acquired by Emperor Rudolf. Similarly, while serving the emperor, the artist was creating independent miniatures that were disseminated to elite collectors as well as personal acquaintances outside the imperial court. Acknowledging this fluidity in relation to the content of Hoefnagel’s illuminations, I argue that the subject matter encompassed by the artist in his various projects on parchment attests to a shared interest                                                                                                                                                   and Evolution," in The Origins of Museums: The Cabinets of Curiosities and Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Europe, ed. Oliver Impey and Arthur MacGregor (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), 37-50; and Madelon Simons, “Archduke Ferdinand II of Austria, Governor in Bohemia, and the Theatre of Representation.” In Rudolf II, Prague and the World, ed. Lubomír Konečný et al. (Prague: Artefactum, 1998), 270-277. The culture of the Ambras court is discussed in Chapter Two.  42 Václav Bůžek, Ferdinand Tyrolský mezi Prahou a Innsbruckem: Šlechta z českých zemí na cestě k dvorům prvních Habsburků (České Budějovice: Historický ústav Filozofické fakulty Jihočeské univerzity, 2006).  43 For an example of this more traditional, segregated approach, see A. G. Dickens, ed. The Courts of Europe: Politics, Patronage, and Royalty: 1400-1800 (London: Thames and Hudson, 1977).   18 across the courts in the interconnectedness of the processes of representation, making knowledge, and shaping identity.  Overview of Chapters   The medium of illumination was defined above all by its aggregative character. Unlike other medieval and early modern art, the illuminated page could bring together, on one surface, different media (text and image), genres (heraldry, portraiture, flora, fauna, biblical narrative, ornament, etc.), and modes of representation (realism, illusionism, symbolism, etc.). I believe that the persistence of illumination into the late 1500s—particularly in the form it took in Hoefnagel’s projects—stemmed from this very character. In the second half of the sixteenth century, many practices surrounding visual and material culture were informed by what I would term a “collecting impulse.”44 Not confined to the emergence and ensuing popularity of Kunstkammern and Wunderkammern, which are certainly the most patent products of this inclination to assemble, the collecting impulse also shaped the materials produced by disciplines concerned with knowing the world, including but not limited to natural history, anatomy, cartography, and emblematics. Compendia, treatises, and atlases were all defined at this time by an incessant accumulation of information.45 A similar tendency can be seen in the specifically early modern phenomenon of the album amicorum, which gathered together the marks of different individuals in the evocation of community. Set against this fray of assemblage, illumination comes into focus                                                 44 Here I take inspiration from Mary Franklin-Brown’s use of the phrase “encyclopedic impulse” in relation to her examination of the prominent interest in and production of encyclopedias in the thirteenth century; in Reading the World: Encyclopedic Writing in the Scholastic Age (Chicago: University Of Chicago Press, 2012). 45 For a particularly evocative discussion of the impact this had on the field of natural history, see Brian W. Ogilvie, “The Many Books of Nature: Renaissance Naturalists and Information Overload” Journal of the History of Ideas  64, 1 (Jan. 2003): 29-40.    19 as an art form capable not only of accommodating variety, but also of engaging dialogically with these surrounding processes of aggregation.  In this dissertation, I examine the various ways in which Hoefnagel exploited the aggregative operating structure of illumination, as well as the artistic, social, and epistemological potentialities of this manner of assemblage. With both manuscript illuminations and independent miniatures, the artist gathered together diverse forms, genres, practices, and modes of representation on single sheets of parchment. Many of the elements in his works articulated associations with early modern processes of making and collecting knowledge; yet others indexed elite collecting practices and attendant interest in both the ancient and natural worlds. While the visually and conceptually hetereogeneous programs of Hoefnagel’s works elude easy correspondence with established art historical taxonomies, they constitute a strategic negotiation of early modern court culture. Protean in their pictorial strategies, fields of inquiry, and mechanisms of authorship, they presented discerning viewers of the late sixteenth century with inventive and substantive configurations of multo in parvo.46  Representative rather than exhaustive, the works selected for the investigation shed light on the chief strategies the artist employed in his work with the medium, just as they provide the opportunity to map the itinerant artist’s responses to his shifting environment. In Chapter Two, I examine Hoefnagel’s illumination of a missal for Archduke Ferdinand II of Tyrol. Carried out between circa 1581 and circa 1590, the artist’s embellishment of the religious manuscript constituted his first major project in this medium. In the missal, Hoefnagel brought together pictorial and textual elements in order to fashion a mode of                                                 46 For a relevant literary perspective on “much in little”, see Rosalie Colie, “Small Forms: Multo in Parvo,” in The Resources of Kind: Genre-Theory in the Renaissance, ed. Barbara L. Lewalski (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1973), 32-75.   20 illumination expressive of erudition and invention. Looking both to the artist’s contributions to the missal and to the status of the painted book at the Ambras and Munich courts, I analyze the ways in which Hoefnagel adapted the practice of illumination to suit the needs and interests of his patron while also developing his own distinctive artistic language. In so doing, I demonstrate that at the sixteenth-century courts of the Wittelsbachs and Habsburgs, illumination was a valued and substantive practice associated with prestige, skill, and the production of knowledge. The focus of Chapter Three is a model book of calligraphy Hoefnagel embellished for Emperor Rudolf II in the 1590s. Known as the Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, the manuscript provided the artist with a unique format for his program of illumination as well as considerable freedom in the selection and juxtaposition of subjects and modes of representation. In this chapter, I assess the particular manner in which Hoefnagel approached his work as well as his service to the emperor. With reference to the artist’s own pronouncements on this topic and the evidence provided by the manuscript itself, I argue that the illuminator conceived of his practice as a process bringing together discerning judgment, virtuosic skill, and the effective recontextualization of existing and emerging forms of art and knowledge in the configuration of ideal assemblages of inventive and edifying visual matter.  In Chapter Four, I move to a consideration of a different yet still related facet of Hoefnagel’s work as an illuminator: the independent miniature. Starting as early as the fourteenth century, shifting interests in the book trade prompted illuminators to create independent illuminations that could be sold individually to book merchants and purchasers   21 as pages to be added to completed manuscripts.47 The practice became so widespread that the individual sheets came to be known as “little pictures to put in books.”48 Typically comprising a central image along with text, these painted sheets of parchment also came to be sold for independent use.49 Over the course of the two decades that Hoefnagel served the Wittelsbachs and Habsburgs, he created a number of works associated with this form. Evocative of the visual and semantic diversity defining his manuscript projects, Hoefnagel’s independent illuminations effectively buttressed and extended his status as a maker of unique and conceptually complex art.  At the center of the chapter is a grouping of Hoefnagel’s miniatures that coheres in the repeated configuration of specific visual and textual elements. The artist’s return to the same composition is particularly notable since the dates of these works span almost a decade, thereby bridging Hoefnagel’s transition from ducal to imperial service. Focusing on the juxtaposition of classicism and nature at the center of these works, I argue that the artist made use of this medium to mark associations with both the court and external communities of artists and humanists.  The objects and artistic practices explored in this dissertation prompt consideration of recent investigations of early modern mobility and the entangled worlds of people and things.50 Drawing on Tim Ingold’s theorization of formation as a “meshwork of interwoven                                                 47 For an insightful account of the emergence of single-leaf miniatures, see Catherine Reynolds, “Illuminators and the Painters’ Guilds,” in Illuminating the Renaissance: The Triumph of Flemish Manuscript Painting in Europe, ed. Thomas Kren and Scot McKendrick (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2003), 15-34.  48 Ibid., 23.  49 Ibid., 24-29.   50 See, for instance, Scholten and Woodall, “Netherlandish artists on the move.” The authors present the migration of artists as an important factor in the dissemination of forms and ideas and the formation of networks across Europe. Hoefnagel is mentioned as “one among a remarkable number of Netherlandish artists who travelled in connection with their ascent to the highest positions imaginable in Europe’s major centres” (p.11).   22 lines of growth and movement,” I approach Hoefnagel’s illuminations as forms consubstantial with the meshwork of practices shaping the artist’s encounters with and responses to the courts of the Wittelsbachs and Habsburgs.51 As this study demonstrates, the artist’s works need to be understood as entangled things inhabiting a world of movement—a world comprising currents of production, circulation, and exchange.                                                                                                                                                      See also, David Young Kim, The Traveling Artist in the Italian Renaissance: Geography, Mobility, and Style (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2014). 51 Ingold, “Bringing Things to Life,” 3.    23 Chapter 2   Copious Margins: The Missal of Archduke Ferdinand II of Tyrol    On 9 February 1591, Archduke Ferdinand II of Tyrol (1529-95) wrote two letters at his castle of Ambras near Innsbruck, both of which concerned a missal whose illumination had just been completed for him by the Munich court artist, Joris Hoefnagel.52 The first epistle, which was addressed to Duke Wilhelm V of Bavaria (1548-1626), expressed Ferdinand’s satisfaction with Wilhelm’s miniator in carrying out this project.53 The archduke declared that he was pleased with the final product and that Hoefnagel’s program of illumination had received the approval of three learned masters (drei verständige Meister) who had been contracted to review its contents.54 Ferdinand’s second missive, intended for the Tyrolean Chamber, gave instructions regarding the final remuneration of the illuminator’s services, noting that he was to receive a bonus of 3,000 Rhenish guilders. This veritable fortune was intended to supplement the 200 guilders Hoefnagel had been earning annually since commencing with the project nine years previous.55 On 6 October 1596—over five years after the archduke penned these documents and one year after his death—Emperor Rudolf II dispatched a letter from his Prague court to the President of the Tyrolean Chamber                                                 52 For a published transcription of these letters, see David Ritter von Schönherr, “Urkunden und Regesten aus dem Statthalterei-Archiv in Innsbruck (1588-1626),” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses 17 (1896): xiv, nos. 14203 and 14204. The documents have been discussed in relation to the missal by a number of scholars. For an early yet foundational contribution, see Chmelarz, “Georg und Jakob Hoefnagel,” 281-283. See also, Vignau-Wilberg, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 122-123, 128- 129. The missal is currently held at the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek in Vienna, cod. 1784. The manuscript measures 39.2 by 28.6 cm and consists of 658 parchment folios; the binding is not original (it dates to the eighteenth century).  53 Von Schönherr, “Urkunden und Regesten aus dem Statthalterei-Archiv in Innsbruck (1588-1626),” xiv, no. 14204.  54 Ibid.  55 Ibid., no. 14203.     24 in which he instructed the official to send him the missal in question. The emperor asserted that he knew the work to be truly well executed (gar künstlich) and that he wished very much to see its pictures with their “mystical” (mystica) subject matter.56 Although Rudolf promised to return the codex without delay, the inventory of the Prague Kunstkammer from 1607-11 reveals that the emperor had in fact been unwilling to part with the book once he had obtained it.57 The same inventory also lists an entry for a volume designated as an explanatory text for the manuscript’s hieroglyphics (hieroglyphici)—a volume most likely commissioned by the emperor after coming into possession of the missal.58  The Ambras missal constituted Hoefnagel’s first major undertaking as an illuminator. The scope of this undertaking was considerable, as it consisted of embellishing over 500 of the manuscript’s 658 parchment folios; this was a task, as noted above, that took the artist almost a decade to complete. The text of the manuscript, which was handwritten by an unknown scribe, is a copy of a printed Missale Romanum published by Christopher Plantin in Antwerp in 1571. Hoefnagel’s intervention in the book took place primarily in the margins surrounding the blocks of text and in the spaces marking out the different sections of the Catholic liturgy (Fig. 2.1). The illuminator filled the silences of the page with religious motifs, emblematic elements, and representations of nature, among others; to these he added a range of textual citations from religious and humanist sources (Fig. 2.2). Hoefnagel’s work                                                 56 Ibid., xxxvii-xxxviii, no. 14415.  57 For the published inventory, see Rotrand Bauer and Herbert Haupt, eds., “Das Kunstkammerinventar Kaiser Rudolfs II., 1607-1611,” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien 72 (1976): 1-140.  58 Ibid., 139, 131. The missal, listed as inventory no. 2783, is described as, “Das schöne grosse in schwarz musierten samet gebunden und vil silber beschlagene missalbuch, uff pergamen gar sauber geschriben und von miniatur gemalt von Huffnagel.” The explanatory volume, recorded as entry no. 2602, is given in Italian as, “In quarto. Expositioni delli hieroglyphici nel ornamento della missale in penna miniata da G. Hufnagel.” The volume of Expositioni is no longer extant and no other documentation has been recovered regarding its content. However, in “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München”, Vignau-Wilberg suggests that it may have been written by the imperial antiquarius, Ottavio Strada, after the missal’s arrival at the Prague court in 1596 (p.138).   25 on the missal effectively bridged the courts of Munich and Ambras, since the artist retained his appointment to the Bavarian dukes while completing the commission for Ferdinand.59 Emperor Rudolf’s acquisition of the manuscript in 1596 took place when Hoefnagel was already in his employ—a position to which the artist had transitioned following his service to the Witteslbachs and the archduke in 1591.  For many scholars of manuscript illumination, the second half of the sixteenth century coincides with the medium’s “last convulsions.”60 If treated at all, it typically serves as a brief epilogue to the substantive contributions of the preceding centuries. The history of the Ambras missal sketched briefly above suggests that a more careful examination of the medium’s postscript is in order. Spanning thirty years from origins to imperial inventory, the narrative of the missal’s patronage, production, and reception implicates three major courts in the Holy Roman Empire: the Ambras court of Archduke Ferdinand II, the Munich court of Duke Wilhelm V, and the Prague court of Emperor Rudolf II. Transcending geopolitical divisions, it brings to light a shared and persistent interest in illumination that extends well beyond what is generally taken to be the historical endpoint of the art form. The substantial economic and cultural capital accrued by the painted missal—evidenced by the funds and effort exerted to create, own, assess, and decipher the book—points to illumination as a highly valued practice in early modern Central Europe.  The focus of this chapter, the Ambras missal serves to shed light on illumination as a form of court art in the late sixteenth century. As Hoefnagel’s first extended engagement with the medium, it also provides a useful foundation for exploring the artist’s practice as an                                                 59 As mentioned in the introduction to this study, Hoefnagel served the Wittelsbach duke from 1578 until 1591.   60 Smeyers, Flemish Miniatures, 496.   26 illuminator—a practice that shaped the remainder of his courtly career and which defines the other works examined in this dissertation. Looking to the missal’s rich historical record, Hoefnagel’s extensive illumination of the manuscript, and the function of illumination at the courts of Ambras and Munich, I assess the conditions that fostered sustained engagement with the art form and Hoefnagel’s own response to this tradition. Moving beyond earlier studies of the missal that attend primarily to the iconography of Hoefnagel’s illuminations (discussed below), I take up the particular manner in which the artist explored the potential of both text and image to assemble and generate meaning. That is, I examine the artist’s purposeful representation, integration, and juxtaposition of textual and pictorial elements, as well as the ways in which the missal’s illuminations solicit interpretation based on the intersection of these elements. In so doing, I show that the artist brought together the mechanics of emblematic form with the operating structure of illumination as a way to create new associations between a range of forms and systems of knowledge. By means of this method, Hoefnagel was able to align himself with the practices of illumination and collecting in place at both Ambras and Munich, as well as to set himself apart as an innovative artist capable of offering elite patrons with novel as well as meaningful iterations of a traditional courtly medium.  Malwercksarbait an ainem Meßpuch: The Making of an Illuminated Manuscript  In his biography of Joris Hoefnagel in the Schilder-Boeck (1604), Karel van Mander describes the missal commissioned by Archduke Ferdinand of Tyrol as beautifully written, with its illumination symbolic, varied, and neat.61 Hoefnagel’s execution of the latter seems                                                 61 With regards to the missal, Van Mander writes: “Oock gaf hem Ferdinandus Hertogh van Insbroeck twee hondert Florijnen, dat zijn vier hondert gulden s'Iaers, acht Iaer lang: binnen welcken tijt hy hadde aenghenomen te verlichten een seer schoon gheschreven Misboeck. Hier maeckte Hoefnaghel als die gheestigh,   27 contingent, for Van Mander, upon the qualities of wit, erudition, and inventiveness.62 The number and quality of the artist’s pictorial additions cause the biographer to express wonder that one individual could accomplish so much and so well by hand.63 Underscoring the magnitude of this virtuosity, Van Mander then notes Ferdinand’s supplemental compensation for the completion of the work in the form of 2,000 gold crowns and a gold chain worth 100 crowns.64 Although less than what is stipulated by the archduke in his own accounts, Van Mander’s estimate still exceeds the yearly income of successful court artists at this time by a factor of ten.65 Van Mander’s inclusion of these details indicates that both the project and its positive reception were worthy of note to a contemporary audience.   Between Van Mander’s account of the missal, the court archives from Ambras, Munich, and Prague, and the content of the manuscript itself, the historical record for the project is remarkably rich. Missing among this documentation, however, are the details regarding the specific conditions under which the contract between Ferdinand and Hoefnagel was forged. We know that the manuscript was to be a gift for Ferdinand’s son, Cardinal                                                                                                                                                   gheleert, en seer vindigh was, op de canten, in de letters, oft daer de plaets was, alderley beteyckeninghe, aanwijsinghe, en beduytselen oft sinnekens, op t'ghene daer neffens gheschreven was, dat met alderley aerdicheyt en cleen Historikens uytbeeldende, en leverde den Boeck t'eynden acht besproken Iaren al voldaen, soo heel uytnemende ghedaen, en soo vol werck, datmen verwonderen mocht, hoe yemant binnen al zijn leven soo veel dinghen met handen soude moghen maken. Hier voor gaf hem den Hertogh van Insbroeck twee duysent gouden Croonen, en een gouden Keten van een hondert gouden Croonen.” Karel van Mander, Het schilder-boeck (Utrecht: Davaco, 1969), fol. 263r.  62 Ibid.  63 Ibid. 64 Ibid.  65 Vignau-Wilberg offers a useful point of comparison for this sum in “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München;” she writes that the average annual salary of the top artists at the Munich court—e.g. the painters Friedrich Sustris and Peter Candid and the engraver Jan Sadeler—was about 200 to 350 guilders a year plus some benefits (p. 115).   28 Andreas of Austria;66 nevertheless, it is not clear how Hoefnagel—an artist working in Munich at the Wittelsbach court—came to carry out the project. What seems likely is that Ferdinand’s close ties with the Bavarian dukes brought the artist and his skill set to the archduke’s attention (Ferdinand’s sister, Anna of Austria, was the mother of Duke Wilhelm V). Ferdinand may not have had a local illuminator on hand and Hoefnagel may have been recommended by Wilhelm himself. Interestingly, very little of Hoefnagel’s work for the Wittelsbach dukes survives, and the Munich records offer little insight as to what constituted the artist’s service to his primary patrons.67 Although it is possible Hoefnagel was carrying out major work at the ducal court that is no longer extant, it seems more probable that the missal was Hoefnagel’s main project at this time.68  The first documented reference to Hoefnagel’s task from the Ambras court is dated 25 May 1582; here, Archduke Ferdinand outlined the compensation Hoefnagel was to receive for his “painted work in a missal” (Malwercksarbait an ainem Meßpuch) and the manner in which it was to be dispensed.69 The final record of Hoefnagel’s service to the archduke comes from the two aforementioned texts written by Ferdinand in February 1591—one the letter to Hoefnagel’s primary patron, Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria, expressing                                                 66 That the missal was intended as a gift for Cardinal Andreas is indicated both by pictorial evidence in the manuscript and the content of the aforementioned letter written by Emperor Rudolf. Fol. 346 of the missal includes Andreas’ crest, and the emperor’s missive describes the book as having been made for Ferdinand’s beloved son. This connection is already addressed by Chmelarz in, “Georg und Jakob Hoefnagel,” 283. 67 The Wittelshbach accounts note only a few small decorative objects. For an discussion of these works, see Vignau-Wilberg, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 138-146. 68 A letter Hoefnagel wrote to Joachim Camerarius suggests, as Vignau-Wilberg points out, that Hoefnagel was carrying out work for both patrons simultaneously. Ibid., 128-129; for a transcription of the letter see p. 161 (C-3). The letter, which is undated, is currently held at the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Cod. bav. cat. 120, Fol.2-26).  69 The records detailing Hoefnagel’s contract with Archduke Ferdinand and the distribution of payments to the artist are held at the Tiroler Landesarchiv in Innsbruck (Abt. Statthalterei-Archiv, Geschäfte von Hof); they span from 1582 to 1590. For a published transcription of the records, see Vignau-Wilberg, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 162-165 (F-1 to F-11); for the first document from 25 May 1582, see p.162 (F-1).    29 satisfaction with the completed book, and the other confirming the artist’s additional recompense. Notably, these dates seem to be contradicted within the missal by the artist himself. On fol. 3r, Hoefnagel presented a rendition of his monogram (the letter G with two intersecting nails70) alongside the year 1581—the earliest date given in the book as a whole (Fig. 2.3). Then, in a colophon near the end of the manuscript (fol. 637v), the illuminator declared the work to have been begun in 1582 after all, but concluded already in 1590 (Fig. 2.4). While it is difficult to resolve the discrepancy in start dates, it is possible that the final stage of the project took place late in 1590, with the review by Ferdinand’s ‘three learned masters’ occurring over the following month or two and delivery of the artist’s final payment taking place afterwards in early 1591.71 Either way, illumination of the manuscript spanned a minimum of eight years, which is a considerable length of time by any account. The payment reports written up at Ferdinand’s Ambras court are the most numerous among the archival materials related to the missal. Issued over a range of eight years, these documents show that Hoefnagel was to be paid 100 guilders twice yearly by way of an agent (hanndlsman) employed by the archduke in Munich.72 While the agent changed over time, it appears the payment remained relatively regular.73 From these documents, it is likewise made                                                 70 Most often, Hoefnagel used a single nail in an upright position at the center of the letter G. The nail is the type used to affix horseshoes—thus, a ‘hoof nail’, or, huf nagel in German and hoef nagel in Dutch.  71 This payment was to be made in two parts, with 1,500 guilders given in February 1591 and the other half dispensed in July 1591. Notably, Ferdinand stipulates that if Hoefnagel were to die before the second payment is made, the difference should be paid to the artist’s heirs. Von Schönherr, “Urkunden und Regesten aus dem Statthalterei-Archiv in Innsbruck (1588-1626),” xiv, no. 14203.  72 As noted above, the transcription of these documents has been published by Vignau-Wilberg in, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 162-165 (F-1 to F-11). The payment documents are also annotated by Von Schönherr in two sections of “Urkunden und Regesten aus dem Statthalterei-Archiv in Innsbruck”: Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses 14 (1893): nos. 10970, 11057, 11102, 11134, 11204; and Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses 17 (1896), nos. 14029, 14119, 14125, 14167.  73 For a concise overview of the payment history and the different agents responsible for distributing Hoefnagel’s wages, see Vignau-Wilberg, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 127-128.    30 clear that while the patron of the project was situated at his castle of Ambras near Innsbruck, the artist relinquished neither his employment nor his residence in Munich as a consequence of the commission. Hoefnagel is consistently identified in the archducal records as the Bavarian servant from Munich (Bayrischem diener zu München), the painter from Munich (Maler zu Münichen), or simply as Joris Hoefnagel of Munich (Geörgen Hofnagl zu München).74 Similarly, a record generated by the Munich court mentions a payment given to Hoefnagel for a trip to Innsbruck (Geörgen huefnagel Malern nach Inßprugg f. 15)—an expense that would not have been necessary had the artist been residing in the Tyrolean town at the time.75  Evidently, Hoefnagel’s terms of service as court artist to Duke Wilhelm V were sufficiently flexible to allow the artist to take on outside projects—even those that spanned nearly a decade. Martin Warnke, writing on the mobility of early modern court artists, submits that, “The exchange of artists between courts might be linked with a semi-diplomatic role.”76 Thus, one of Hoefnagel’s functions may have been to facilitate interaction between the two courts. Some evidence to this effect can be found in the aforementioned epistolary exchange between Munich and Ambras. Ferdinand’s letter to Duke Wilhelm from 1591 regarding the completion of the missal also includes a section in which the archduke refers to two books he had borrowed from his nephew in order to have their contents transcribed; he                                                 74 Ibid., 162-165 (F1-F11). The noted references to Hoefnagel come from the records dated as follows: “Bayrischem diener zu München” (25 May 1582), “Maler zu Münichen” (15 October 1585, 4 December 1587, 14 January 1588, 1 August 1589, and 11 July 1590), “Geörgen Hofnagl zu München” (9 September 1583).    75 This record, which is included in a volume of expenses paid by the Munich court between 1578 and 1589, is held at the Bayerische Hauptstaatsarchiv in Munich (Kurbayern, Hofzahlamt, Bd. 24-35). Other entries in the document detail payments made to Hoefnagel for the work he carried out for his Munich patron, Duke Wilhelm V; notably, none matches the magnitude—in terms of labor and expense—of the missal. For a published transcription of the record (in shortened form), see ibid., 158 (A-1). 76 Martin Warnke, The Court Artist: On the Ancestry of the Modern Artist, trans. David McLintock (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 204.   31 suggests that he can send the books back to Munich with Hoefnagel.77 Without further documentation, it is impossible to gauge the full extent of Hoefnagel’s engagement with Ferdinand’s court. What is certain, however, is that the artist’s affiliation with the archduke could only have enhanced his (Hoefnagel’s) status and extended the range of his associations. It may even be that Emperor Rudolf came to know of the artist by means of his uncle (Ferdinand) since the two Habsburgs often communicated about their artistic and other projects.  As a missal, the manuscript contains the texts and rubrics used in the celebration of the Catholic Mass throughout the year. The specific source of this material is acknowledged in the book’s opening pages, where it is identified as a copy of the Missale Romanum printed by Plantin in Antwerp after receiving the privilege to do so by Pope Pius V on 28 July 1570.78 Stemming from counter-reformatory developments, this version of the missal corresponded to the decrees established by the Council of Trent regarding the revision of books used in church services. A reformed breviary was published by the pope already on 9 July 1568, with the new missal and Book of Hours of the Virgin following soon thereafter.79 Plantin obtained the monopoly rights to publish the volumes in the north from the Roman                                                 77 Von Schönherr, “Urkunden und Regesten aus dem Statthalterei-Archiv in Innsbruck (1588-1626),” xiv. Hoefnagel also made detailed drawings of Innsbruck and Ambras castle, which likewise confirms to that he was familiar with the archduke’s residence. 78 While most sources dealing with the Ambras missal date Plantin’s publication to 1570, Vignau-Wilberg, in one of her most recent treatments of the missal, gives the date of 1571. See her catalogue entry for the missal in, In Europa zu Hause: Niederländer in München um 1600 (Munich: Hirmer Verlag, 2005), 240-243. The dating of 1571 corresponds with historical data, according to which Pope Pius V granted the rights for publication to Plantin in 1570 but the first edition did not appear until 24 July 1571. For more on these dates, see W. H. James Weale, A Descriptive Catalogue of Rare Manuscripts and Printed Books, Chiefly Liturgical. (London: Bernard Quaritch, 1886), 110. For a recent and insightful account of Plantin’s publication of the Missale Romanum and other related texts, see Karen L. Bowen and Dirk Imhof, Christopher Plantin and Engraved Book Illustrations in Sixteenth-Century Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008).  79 Jardine, “The Triumph of the Book,” 152.    32 printer, Paulus Manutius, and by 1571 was using four of his five presses to print the new books of the Church.80 In the Ambras missal, the text’s adherence to the Tridentine decrees is stated clearly—an emphasis that aligns the religious book with recognized Catholic doctrine. The replication of this particular text was therefore especially suitable with regards to the manuscript’s intended recipient, namely the Cardinal of Austria.   Unfortunately, the historical record is mute regarding the identity of the scribe who copied the Plantin Missale onto the pages of the Ambras manuscript, just as it provides very little information regarding the circumstances under which the textual component was executed. Contemporary accounts reveal that the high quality of the missal’s tidy, uniform, and print-like script was deemed worthy of both comment and commendation. As mentioned above, Van Mander pronounced the writing to be beautiful (seer schoon gheschreven). Likewise, Emperor Rudolf, in his 1596 letter requesting the missal be sent to him, mentioned the script’s skillful execution (von schrift…gar künstlich). In his 1607-11 inventory of the Rudolfine collection, Daniel Fröschl described the book in similar terms, noting that it was very neatly written (gar sauber geschriben).81 Certain oblique references in the Ambras archives indicate that the writing of the text may have been carried out by a scribe in Munich.82 This could suggest that the scribe and illuminator worked on the project together,                                                 80 Ibid. 81 Bauer and Haupt, eds., “Das Kunstkammerinventar Kaiser Rudolfs II., 1607-1611,” 139, no. 2783. 82 Vignau-Wilberg avers that the scribe must have been active in Munich and that he and Hoefnagel worked on the missal together. She comes to this conclusion based on a document from the archducal archives dated 1586, which references the purchase of ultramarine that was to be used for a book the archduke was having written in Munich. For Vignau-Wilberg, this matches well with the missal since the manuscript includes many sections of script embellished with blue ink. See “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 27, n.116. In contrast, Andreas Fingernagel, in his brief description of the missal, concludes that in all probability the manuscript was copied in Innsbruck. Fingernagel does not, however, include historical evidence to support this position. See “Missale für Kardinal Andreas ‘von Österreich’ (Cod.1784),” in Natur und Kunst: Handschriften und Alben aus der Ambraser Sammlung Erzherzog Ferdinands II. (1529-1595), ed. Alfred Auer and Eva Irblich (Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 1995), 105.    33 since both resided in the same city. However, based on the missal’s contents it appears instead that the two components of the work were carried out independently of one another, either partially or wholly. For instance, it looks as though the text was applied to the page with no special accommodation for subsequent illumination. Likewise, it seems that Hoefnagel designed his additions in response to the spacing and alignment of the script, in some cases working around or even covering elements such as pagination or headings.83 It is not clear if Hoefnagel worked on pages separately or as groupings of folios, although the dates added throughout the missal do ascend in chronological order as one moves from the front of the manuscript to the back.84  Both text and illuminations in the Ambras missal surpassed the visual dimension of Plantin’s Missale. While the manuscript text adheres to the original in terms of its content, the script itself exceeds the printed volume with inventive arrangements of text blocks, with different script types, and with additional colors.85 Hoefnagel’s profuse, detailed, and colorful illuminations clearly go beyond the handful of pictorial elements included in the printed source. That said, one point of intersection between the two is the inclusion of a scene of the Crucifixion at the opening of the Canon of the Mass—a placement present in Plantin’s volume as a full-page engraved illustration and in Ferdinand’s manuscript as a full-page                                                 83 For different examples see, for instance, fols. 8v, 37v, 124v, and 197v. 84 We can also presume that Hoefnagel worked on the folios prior to their being bound together, since several of his illuminations extend to the edge of the margin towards the spine of the book—an area that would be difficult if not impossible to paint once bound. That said, the binding is not original, which needs to be considered with regards to these details. 85 Plantin’s Missale Romanum is primarily organized as two columns of text. While the scribe of the Ambras missal also applied this layout, many folios in the manuscript feature more dynamic configurations (fols. 4r and 39r are two such examples). The scribe of the Ambras missal used red, black, blue, and gold for the text, whereas the Plantin Missale was printed using only red and black ink.    34 miniature (fol. 310v; Fig. 2.5).86 As Otto Pächt explains, however, the Canon of the Mass corresponds to the core of a missal, and opening the Canon with this image was established as a convention for the illumination of missals already in the Middle Ages.87 Thus, both Plantin and Hoefnagel can be seen as continuing in this tradition with their respective iterations.  The labor and cost expended in the creation of the Ambras missal make plain the importance of the project to the patron. That Ferdinand had a lengthy printed volume converted into a handwritten, handpainted manuscript reveals a continued appreciation for the older medium at the archducal court—an appreciation that extended to nearby centers, as witnessed by Duke Wilhelm’s and Emperor Rudolf’s employment of Hoefnagel as miniator, not to mention the emperor’s determined pursuit of the missal upon Ferdinand’s death. The translation of a printed book into manuscript form was not unique in terms of broader sixteenth-century bookmaking practices; however, it was also not common and was typically carried out for specialized projects and for individuals of high status often connected to the courts.88 Several scholars have turned their attention to the question of why manuscripts persisted in early modernity despite the growing popularity and use of print. Looking to the Netherlands, Maurits Smeyers observes that the manuscript offered bookmakers and buyers a durable medium well suited to individualized content and adaptation to specific needs or                                                 86 Bowen and Imhof, Christopher Plantin and Engraved Book Illustrations, 122-176.  87 Pächt, Book Illumination in the Middle Ages, 43. 88 For the intersection of manuscript and print making, see Hindman, “Cross-Fertilization: Experiments in Mixing the Media,” 101-156; Smeyers, Flemish Miniatures, 495; and David McKitterick, Print, Manuscript, and the Search for Order, 1450-1830 (Cambridge: Cambridge Unversity Press, 2003).    35 interests.89 He also notes that manuscripts in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries continued to convey the aura of prestige and grandeur that had first been attributed to books in the Middle Ages; in the later period, much of this aura was still connected to the function of the inscribed and painted book as a vessel for wisdom, authority, and skill.90 These properties, Smeyers adds, were often sufficient incentive for book collectors to purchase manuscripts rather than printed volumes.91   Brian Richardson, who writes about the persistence of scribal culture in Renaissance Italy, shows that in contradistinction to the dissemination of printed works, the circulation of the more exclusive manuscript “created and fostered a sense of close communication and solidarity among those with similar interests and tastes.”92 As a more finite and private medium, the manuscript could convey “special appreciation” when given as a gift, just as possession of material that was available only to a few could confer “a sense of privilege.”93 Richardson also underscores the positive value attributed to the material trace of an author’s hand—a value that would undoubtedly apply to the artist’s hand as well.94   The Ambras missal was intended as a gift, and this special status was made evident by means of the labor and funds dedicated to its creation. Archduke Ferdinand paid no small sum to see it carried out, just as Hoefnagel devoted many years of his life to the endeavor. Its aura of prestige, privilege, and authority was apprehensible by means of the text selected for                                                 89 Smeyers, Flemish Miniatures, 492-495. 90 Ibid., 492. 91 Ibid. 92 Brian Richardson, Manuscript Culture in Renaissance Italy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 1-2.   93 Ibid., 2, 7. 94 Ibid., 10.   36 its contents; the value of the materials used; the skill displayed by both scribe and illuminator; and the knowledge contained within the liturgy as well as Hoefnagel’s erudite additions. As will be shown below, Hoefnagel’s inventive illuminations also lent the manuscript an original character that set it apart from other painted books.   In Margine: Hoefnagel’s Marginalia   With the exception of the Crucifixion miniature mentioned above, all of Hoefnagel’s illuminations in the missal take the form of marginal imagery: they either frame columns of text or inhabit gaps left vacant between text blocks. Since the missal contains multiple blank folios that the artist chose not to fill with imagery, the inclusion of only one full-page miniature appears to be purposeful.95 It implies that among the key interests determining Hoefnagel’s program of illumination was an engagement with the liminality of the margin. The margin, as Kathryn Smith reflects, is “the frame that structures the apprehension of [a book’s] contents and the filter through which they are viewed.”96 Throughout the long history of manuscript illumination, the margin was also often the principle arena for innovation and invention.97 In the missal, Hoefnagel likewise used the spaces around and between text to explore the boundaries of representation in the interplay of word and image, in the communication of visual information, and in the production of meaning.                                                   95 It is evident that Hoefnagel was neither incapable of nor opposed to creating full-page miniatures in manuscripts. Prior to beginning his work on the Ambras missal, Hoefnagel added six full-page miniatures to a prayer book owned by the valet to Hans Jakob Fugger, Laureins van den Haute (also a Fleming). An inscription in the manuscript states that Van den Haute acquired the book in 1574, although one of the miniatures gives the date of 1581. The prayer book is currently held in the Museum van de Bijloke, Ghent (Inv. 3546).   96 Kathryn A. Smith, “Margin,” Studies in Iconography 33 (2012), 42. 97 James Marrow, for instance, writes that the margin was the area of “greatest elaboration” in the Middle Ages; Pictorial Invention in Netherlandish Manuscript Illumination of the Late Middle Ages: The Play of Illusion and Meaning, ed. Brigitte Dekeyzer and Jan van der Stock (Paris, Leuven and Dudley, MA: Uitgeverij Peeters, 2005), 7. Similary, Mary Orth, aligning herself with the conclusions of Meyer Schapiro, defines the margin as a region of artistic freedom; “What Goes Around: Borders and Frames in French Manuscripts,” The Journal of the Walters Art Gallery 54 (1996): 189.   37 A comprehensive summary of Hoefnagel’s marginalia in the Ambras missal would require more space than this chapter allows; however, certain points do present themselves as applicable to the manuscript as a whole. The most pervasive form of illumination in the codex is typically carried out as a symmetrical framing composition that gathers together diverse and distinctly rendered pictorial matter between the edges of the missal’s textual contents (Masses, calendars of liturgical events, rubrics, and indices, among others) and the edges of the parchment. Hoefnagel’s borders include a range of flora, fauna, objects of daily life, biblical motifs and scenes, heraldry, and abstracted ornament—features long common to manuscript illumination in general and to devotional books intended for courtly patrons in particular. However, it is Hoefnagel’s rendition of these forms that is of significance, in so far as it constitutes a departure from tradition. Eschewing such earlier models as the illusionistic borders of Flemish manuscripts98 and the classically inspired borders framing Italian books,99 the artist instead dedicated the margins in the Ambras missal to the isolation and visual description of signifying forms. Not set within landscapes, against bands of color, or among curling vines, Hoefnagel’s pictorial elements are executed directly on the blank parchment of the page. Often connected to one another along the vertical and horizontal axes, these elements are nevertheless clearly delineated and differentiated. While the level of                                                 98 Here I refer to the frames defining manuscripts produced in Flanders in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century, where increasingly, three-dimensional motifs such as flowers and insects are set against bright bands of color, or the illusionistic space of the central miniature expands into the space of the margin. A number of illuminators are associated with this mode of illumination, including Gerard Horenbout, Alexander Bening, Simon Bening, and Gerard David. Scholarship on Flemish illumination is vast. For a useful overview, see Smeyers, Flemish Miniatures.  99 These emerge along the peninsula also in the late 1400s; in many such examples, margins are used to integrate classical architectural structures (e.g. gates and arches) or densely woven bands of groteques and arabeques that are set against a brightly painted ground. The work of Giulio Clovio can be considered the culmination of this approach. For scholarship on Italian illumination, see, for instance, See, for instance, J. J. G. Alexander, ed., The Painted Page: Italian Renaissance Book Illumination, 1450-1550 (Munich: Prestel, 1994); and Nicholas Herman, “Excavating the Page: Virtuosity and Illusionism in Italian Book Illumination, 1460-1520.” Word & Image 27, 2 (2011): 190-211.   38 realism is not consistent (e.g. some features are more abstracted than others), effort has clearly been expended to make all individual motifs—no matter how reduced in scale—distinct and legible. Similarly, the artist’s selection of forms indicates that the capacity to convey meaning was of import, since the majority of these forms are recognizable rather than abstract. Consequently, Hoefnagel’s embellishment of the missal is largely defined by diverse arrangements of contained pictorial entities that offer an assortment of matter for interpretation.   A further departure from the norm that extends to most of Hoefnagel’s illuminations in the Ambras manuscript is the inclusion of a novel amount of text. Offering both a visual and semantic challenge to the work carried out by the scribe of the missal, Hoefnagel’s texts are interspersed on almost every illuminated page as single words or lengthier passages citing Biblical verse, classical authors, and Erasmus’ Adagia, among others. Not only providing reflections on the primary text of the book (the Missale Romanum), the textual fragments also prompt the reader—in the case of the missal’s intended audience, this would be a well-educated and knowledgeable individual—to consider frames of reference or literary associations that exceed the liturgies on the page. Significantly, Hoefnagel set all of his textual additions within some type of framing device rather than letting the words simply float free on the surface of the page. That is, he set all of his text fragments within miniaturized painted books, stone tablets, obelisks, scrolls, plaques, banners, and cartouches. In each case, the framing device recontextualized the text as an inscribed object—a point elucidated below. A characteristic example of Hoefnagel’s framing marginalia can be seen on fol. 318v of the missal, which presents the opening text of the Resurrection Mass for Easter Sunday   39 (Dominica Resurrectionis Domini) (Fig. 2.6).100 At the top of the page, an elaborate coat of arms of the missal’s patron, Archduke Ferdinand, vies for attention with the title of the Mass, which is written in large red and gold lettering.101 The right and left margins are filled with nearly identical interconnecting components set along the vertical axis. Topmost on each is a bejeweled Chi-Rho, with the left-hand Rho inverted to allow for symmetrical balance across the page.102 On both sides the monogram crowns a pole supporting a gold-framed banner emblazoned with text that alludes to Christ and salvation—text excerpted without reference from the 1567 Poemata sacra of the poet, Georg Fabricius.103 Oval images surrounded by an assemblage of elements are affixed to the bases of both banner shafts. On the left, the oval scene depicts Jonah’s emergence from the whale (a prefiguration of Christ’s resurrection), while the encircling motifs consist of the branches of an apple tree and a dead serpent (an unambiguous reference to the Fall and Christ’s subsequent redemption of humanity); immediately below are stylized stone tablets flanked by a pair of empty shackles (an allusion to Christianity’s liberation from the severe laws of the Old Testament). The facing medallion                                                 100 The foliation was added at a later date; for instance, the original pagination lists this as page 1 of section II. There are a total of four sections in the missal, along with an index. For discussions of the symbolism on this page, see Fingernagel, “Missale für Kardinal Andreas ‘von Österreich’,” 106-107; Vignau-Wilberg, Die Emblematischen Elemente im Werke Joris Hoefnagels, I., 53, 71, 75, 85, 143, 223, 229; and Chmelarz, “Georg und Jakob Hoefnagel,” 282.  101 The coat of arms is flanked by narrow blue panels bearing the archduke’s motto, Vincit Potentia Fati. The same motto can be found in a portrait of the archduke by the Munich engraver, Johann Sadeler, dated to the second half of the sixteenth century (Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Inv. P949_d). The phrase references the overcoming of the forces of destiny or fate.  102 The manner in which the Chi-Rho is represented emphasizes the shape and delineation of the cross (with a painted gem at its center); this may also be a reference to the True Cross.  103 Georg Fabricius, Christi in Vitam reditus. VI. Calend. April. HYMNUS X. Joachim Jacoby explores Hoefnagel’s references to Fabricius in the printed series, Salus Generis Humani, with brief mention made of quotations from the poet in the missal; see “Salus Generis Humani: Some Observations on Joris Hoefnagel’s Christianity,” in Hans von Aachen in Context, ed. Lubomír Konečný and Štepan Vácha (Prague: Artefactum, 2012), 104-106; for citations of Fabricius in the missal, see esp. note 16. For further information on the poet, see Sarah Knight and Stefan Tilg, eds., The Oxford Handbook of Neo-Latin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 452.   40 shows Samson dismantling the gates at Gaza (a parallel to Christ overcoming the gates of death), with a broken arrow and halberd placed behind the medallion and above a globe (a representation of Death and Satan losing power over the earth through Christ’s return).104 The vanquishing of death is figured more directly in the lower corners of the margins, where on each side a macabre skull is visually overpowered by the spiraling forms of corn plants and where falling kernels intimate the continuity of life. Hoefnagel anchors his composition along the bottom of the page by means of a gold-framed cartouche fitted with a red panel of text (a citation—again given without attribution—from the fourth-century Christian writer, St. Paulinus of Nola). White ovals set into the cartouche frame provide the date of 1586 as well as the artist’s initials (GH). The base is inscribed with the word “alleluia”, which is a direct echo of the Mass written across the central portion of the page where the introit ends with this expression.105  On a pictorial level, the illumination of fol. 318v is visually diversified. Although all motifs are miniaturized, they are not of a consistent scale. Indeed, dimensions seem defined more by the size necessary for identification than by interest in a unity of representational systems or spaces. For instance, the globe in the right margin is not much larger than the skull immediately below it, but it is large enough to include a recognizable outline of the European continent. Similarly, the figures in the two miniaturized scenes from the Old Testament are much smaller than the elements surrounding the medallions (e.g. the dead snake at left and broken weapons at right), but they are also visible enough to be legible—a                                                 104 The association of the spear and halberd with Death and the Devil respectively is made more apparent on other pages of the missal, such as fol. 244r, where these two figures are seen brandishing the weapons directly. 105 Additionally, the motto, Spes altera vitae, is inscribed in two panels flanking the cartouche. This detail is discussed below.    41 factor reinforced by the inclusion of distinctive features such as the whale with Jonah and gates with Samson.  Fol. 318v offers the viewer/reader a range of concepts and associations. The Chi-Rho, as text become picture, crowns the margins celebrating Christ’s victory over death and asserts the conceptual nature of the page’s contents.106 The Resurrection is presented as matter for contemplation, with its impact enunciated on multiple levels. Typological comparisons between the Old and New Testament underscore the promise of the Resurrection, while the forceful allusions to death render Christ’s salvation of humanity a matter of direct relevance for the viewer. The inclusion of Archduke Ferdinand’s coat of arms on this particular folio in a manuscript intended for his son grants the folio a commemorative function—a type of victory over death in its own right. The same is suggested for the artist with the integration of his initials at the base of the page opposite the archduke’s insignia. The celebratory nature of the folio’s theme is reinforced by both visual and textual cues: the former is present in the upright banners defining the lateral margins (objects recognizable from both churchly and courtly spectacle), while the latter takes the form of the inscribed alleluia along the base of the sheet. The association of these laudatory elements with Christ, patron, and/or artist also invites interpretation. It is evident that Hoefnagel’s marginal illuminations throughout the missal were not to be confined to a decorative or illustrative function. While in many cases the text of the Missale Romanum seems to inform the selection of pictorial matter gathered together in the borders (as when the marginalia surrounding the calendar pages refers to activities carried                                                 106 Tracing the origins of various motifs in manuscript illumination, Pächt writes of the Chi-Rho that, “The holy monogram is not intended to be deciphered, to be read; like the sign of the cross, it is meant to be apprehended spontaneously;” in Book Illumination in the Middle Ages, 68.     42 out in each month), the manner in which this matter is juxtaposed, overlapped, and connected often exceeds what is written across the respective page. This is also a feature of the folio examined above, where the content of the Latin text of the Resurrection Mass neither mentions the various typological, associative elements found in the margins, nor does it reference directly the subjects addressed by the textual fragments integrated into the illuminations. Likewise, the process of viewing and interpreting the many visual features of the page engenders levels of contemplation that may lead the viewer/reader to draw conclusions that extend beyond the concepts set out in the liturgy.  The secondary type of Hoefnagel’s illumination in the missal—that set into spaces demarcating where one text terminates and another commences—is primarily executed as small, ovoid medallions painted with miniaturized narrative scenes. An example of this type can be found on the page facing the opening of the Resurrection Mass discussed above: fol. 319r (Fig. 2.7). Here, the only pictorial element on a page filled with two columns of the Easter Mass is a diminutive and visually compact horizontal oval portraying the three Marys visiting Christ’s tomb on Easter morning—a scene that illustrates the text inscribed immediately below, which speaks of the arrival of Mary Magdalene, Mary of Jacob, and (Mary) Salome at the sepulcher. Often associated with the surrounding text in this manner, the vignettes act as both markers and visualizations of textual narrative.107  Notable in being the primary sites of figural action among Hoefnagel’s illuminations, the vignettes nonetheless function more as discrete pictorial motifs than as expansive zones of narrative pictorial space. That is, as condensations of story points set within prominent                                                 107 Vignau-Wilberg suggests that a number of these vignettes may have been inspired by woodcuts included in a book by Gilles Corrozet titled, “La tapisserie de l’Eglise chrestienne et catholique” (published 1544). Apparently, this was one of the books Hoefnagel borrowed from the ducal library in Munich in the 1580s. In “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 123-125.    43 frames, these medallions reduce narrative to its most essential elements. In this way, the self-contained scenes occupy a category of illumination situated in closer proximity to the historiated initial than to the traditional ‘miniature’ of illumination. The former comprised an enlarged letter filled with narrative elements that both marked the beginning of a text and was frequently connected with the contents of that text; in contrast, the latter was usually conceived as a narrative, perspectivally structured scene that took up the central area of a page, if not the page in its entirety.108 In the missal, Hoefnagel’s vignettes provide points of visual interest. As with historiated initials, they may also have served as a visual mnemonic and devotional device, helping the reader trace the progression of the religious text and contemplate its significance.   The artist also filled several of the missal’s textual gaps with a type of paragone. Using trompe l’oeil conventions, Hoefnagel carried out various forms of dialogue between image and text, surface and depth. This can be seen, for instance, on fol. 214r, which articulates part of the text for Holy Tuesday and the St. Mark Passion (Feria III: Maioris Hebdomadae) (Fig. 2.8). In the lower right-hand corner of the page, Hoefnagel appropriated the final stanza of the column as his own. Here, the phrase declaring, “Passio Domini nostri Iesu Christi secundum Marcum” (The Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ according to Mark), disengages from the page by being transferred, through the addition of strategically-placed                                                 108 An early medieval manuscript, the Drogo Sacramentary (ca. 850), provides an interesting point of comparison. Fol. 58 of the codex features the Mass for Easter Sunday as well a a historiated initial D that contains an image of the Three Marys at the Tomb along with leafy foliation. Clearly, the tradition both of representing this scene and doing so in a contained pictorial manner was long established. For more on this particular historiated initial as well as the connection established by this device between image and text, see, Leslie Ross, Language in the Visual Arts: The Interplay of Text and Imagery (Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 2014), 15-25. The pictures in the Ambras missal are also comparable to the circular figurative scenes found in some Flemish manuscripts, where these scenes are integrated into the lateral margins of the page. However, in the case of the missal, the medallions are again isolated against the blank surface of the parchment rather than integrated into decorative bands as is the case with the Flemish examples. Early modern printed books also intersected with this tradition by marking divisions of text with comparable, if much simplified, vignettes.    44 shadows and lines, onto what appears to be a piece of curling parchment affixed by its top two corners to the manuscript leaf. The materiality of the ‘attached’ message is reinforced by a cord that is ‘woven’ through a number of slits in this second layer of writing surface, as well as by three-dimensional round seals hanging from the cord to either side.109   The only pictorial intervention across the open pages of fols. 213v and 214r, Hoefnagel’s illumination brackets the declaratory textual fragment while simultaneously challenging the work carried out by the scribe. As a ‘second’ layer on the page, the trompe l’oeil element appears to have been added overtop the original inscription in a manner that supersedes the text of the missal page proper. Contributing a temporal as well as spatial dimension to the content of the page, Hoefnagel’s intervention draws attention to the materiality of the manuscript’s surface by echoing real surface with a pictorial substitute. Effecting what Victor Stoichita would term a “structural consubstanitaliality”,110 the juxtaposition of illusory surface and real surface proffers a meditation on the ontology and limits of surface while simultaneously confronting the viewer/reader’s perception of representation in both written and painted form.111 While the numerous trompe l’oeil elements integrated elsewhere in the missal make use of varying techniques that result in                                                 109 The left seal depicts the winged lion of St. Mark while the seal on the right is carved with an abbreviated quotation of Isaiah 50:6.  110 This phrase is used by Victor Stoichita to describe the inclusion of a niche, window, or door in a painting; he sees elements such as these as a “confirmation of a meditation on the structural consubstantiality between the picture frame and all other types of enframement;” in The Self-Aware Image: An Insight into Early Modern Meta-Painting (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 55. I see the type of trompe l’oeil effects rendered by Hoefnagel in the missal as positing a similar referentiality between the surface of the page and other types of surface. 111 Hoefnagel’s depiction of a painted surface can also be considered a type of “transformation intermediality”, whereby one medium is represented by means of another. Importantly, with this model of intermediality, transformation is located in representation rather than in a direct cross-over between media. For a discussion of transformation intermediality as well as other types of relations between media, see Jens Schröter, “Discourses and Models of Intemediality,” Comparative Literature and Culture 13, 3 (2011): 1, 5.   45 different forms of visual play, all offer comparable explorations of the boundaries between text and image.  In sum, legibility was a key factor in Hoefnagel’s selection and depiction of the diverse motifs in the Ambras missal. The viewer/reader of the manuscript was meant to identify the forms inhabiting the margins; it was this identification that supplied incentive to explore associations and construct interpretations—acts upon which the illuminations seem predicated. This perception is reinforced by the artist’s consistent isolation of forms on the parchment, which seems a way to limit visual confusion while emphasizing the juxtaposition of different motifs. While Hoefnagel added abstract ornament to many of the missal’s illuminated pages, he did so primarily in the form of bracketing devices (e.g. lines and frames) that create visual continuity and clarity among the signifying elements. Abstracted figural forms without distinct referents are noticeably rare. Accordingly, it is possible to conclude that the communication of information was a key factor in the illuminator’s selection of pictorial elements and subject matter.  Also prevalent among Hoefnagel’s interventions in the missal is the sustained meditation on both the materiality and semiotics of the written word. Nearly every illuminated page includes textual fragments among the added pictorial elements. Never floating free on the blank parchment, they are always anchored within painted depictions of different writing surfaces: they are inscribed on pediments, plaques, cartouches, and stone tablets; they unfold across curling scrolls, open books, and hanging banners. Appropriated by the visual forms of these painted surfaces, the written word consequently comes to inhabit a space of representation between image and text. This effect aligns with the function demanded of the illuminations’ pictorial matter, which, through its insistent legibility,   46 becomes a type of writing with images. Repeated time and again across the hundreds of pages of the missal, the interplay of text and image in the visual domain becomes an interrogation of the intermediality of language and the interconnectedness of viewing and reading. The significance of this approach can be better determined when considered in relation to Hoefnagel’s engagement with the field of emblematics. Exornator Hieroglyphicus: Between Illumination and Emblem   The conceptual density of Hoefnagel’s illuminations in the Ambras missal did not go unnoticed among the manuscript’s contemporary audience. Van Mander commented specifically on the symbolic quality of Hoefnagel’s work (en beduytselen oft sinnekens); Emperor Rudolf wrote of its mystical dimension (pictur auf die mystica hailiger schrift); and the inventory entry for the missal’s commentary volume in the Rudolfine Kunstkammer describes the illuminations as hieroglyphics (hieroglyphici). Similar terms were communicated by the artist himself, who used his colophon in the manuscript (fol. 637v) to self-identify as an illuminator whose genius coincides with the capacity to create and wield this pictorial language of hidden meaning (Libri huius exornator hieroglyphicus inventor et factor genio magistro) (Fig. 2.4).112  The term ‘hieroglyph’ was brought into common use in early modern Europe by the Hieroglyphica of Horapollo—a fifth-century volume of Egyptian hieroglyphs rediscovered in the early fifteenth century and first printed in 1505 (over thirty editions followed                                                 112 For an insightful contextualization of Hoefnagel’s uses of the term genio and the multivalence of both genio and ingenium in the late sixteenth century, see Nina Eugenia Serebrennikov, “Imitating Nature/Imitating Bruegel,” Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Jaarboek 47 (1996): 222-246.   47 thereafter).113 Resonating with the precepts of Neoplatonism and the development of emblematics, these enigmatic pictorial forms were generally interpreted as “reflections of divine ideas in the things themselves.”114 Their pan-European impact is evident in two works involving Albrecht Dürer and Emperor Maximilian I Habsburg. The first is Willibald Pirckheimer’s 1512 Latin translation of the Hieroglyphica, which the German artist illustrated and which was presented to the Emperor in 1514.115 The other project, identified by Peter Daly as the “most celebrated hieroglyphic monument”, is the 1515 Triumphal Arch of Maximilian—a tour de force comprising thirty-six large sheets of Dürer’s woodcuts that integrated the hieroglyphs of Horapollo into a multifaceted celebration of the Emperor’s heritage, virtues, and victories.116 In both cases, the high status of the patron suggested a concurrently elevated status for hieroglyphics. Over the course of the sixteenth century, the hieroglyphs of Horapollo were added to, altered, and integrated into the emblem’s portfolio; what was maintained, however, was the hieroglyph’s value as a “mode of symbolic thought,”117 as well as its standing as a language of the elite that, as Joaneath Spicer observes, was “accessible only to the initiated or the worthy.”118  Hoefnagel’s claim in the Ambras missal with regards to this form can thus be seen as affirming his elevated standing, along with the conceptual nature and cultural elitism of his                                                 113 Peter M. Daly, Literature in the Light of the Emblem: Structural Parallels between the Emblem and Literature in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press, 1998), 20.   114 Ibid., 17.  115 Ibid., 24.  116 Ibid.  117 Ibid., 27.  118 Joaneath Spicer, “The Role of “Invention” in Art and Science at the Court of Rudolf II” Studia Rudolphina 5 (2005): 12.    48 work. That this frame of reference was legible to his patron is likely. Not only did the archduke have a copy of Horapollo’s Hieroglyphica in his library, but he was also actively engaged in a range of significant humanist, artistic, architectural, and collecting pursuits that mark him as a discerning patron.119 He funded various endeavors dedicated to expanding knowledge of the world, such as a natural history compendium on the fishes of the Adriatic painted by Giorgio Liberale from 1562 to circa 1580.120 He was known for organizing spectacles—ceremonial entries, weddings, and other festivities—based on his own complex designs that brought together diverse media with complex symbolic themes.121 While serving as governor of Bohemia (1547-67), Ferdinand was involved with projects based on the latest developments in architecture; these ranged from adjustments made to Hradčany (Prague Castle) to the construction—based on his own plans—of a unique, star-shaped summerhouse known as Hvězda (built 1555-56).122 After moving from Prague to Ambras in 1567, the sovereign prince of the Tyrol established his new residence as a cultural center of the region, with spaces dedicated to a library, a portrait gallery, an armor and weapons exhibit, and what is often held to be the first significant Kunst- and Wunderkammer in Central Europe.123                                                 119 Ernst Gamillscheg, “Horapollon, Hieroglyphika,” in Natur und Kunst: Handschriften und Alben aus der Ambraser Sammlung Erzherzog Ferdinands II. (1529-1595), ed. Alfred Auer and Eva Irblich (Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 1995), 48-49. 120 Hendrix, “Joris Hoefnagel and the ‘Four Elements’,” 137-138. 121 Eliška Fučíková, “Prague Castle under Rudolf II, His Predecessors and Successors, 1530-1648,” in Rudolf II and Prague: The Imperial Court and Residential City as the Cultural and Spiritual Heart of Central Europe, ed. Eliška Fučíková et al. (Prague, London and Milan: Prague Castle Administration, Thames and Hudson, and Skira Editore, 1997), 8. 122 Ibid., 7.  123 Horst Bredekamp even goes so far as to argue that the archduke’s Ambras Kunskammer was the first instance “in the history of post-antiquity architecture” of a structure “designed specifically for the purpose of housing a collection;” in The Lure of Antiquity and the Cult of the Machine: The Kunstkammer and the Evolution of Nature, Art and Technology, trans. Allison Brown (Princeton: Markus Wiener Publishers, 1995), 31. See also, Scheicher, "The Collection of Archduke Ferdinand II at Schloss Ambras,” 37-50.   49 Based on Ferdinand’s response to Hoefnagel’s work on the missal (as noted above), it is evident that the patron was satisfied with the artistic execution of the project. His appointment of ‘learned masters’ to review its illuminations also implies that he expected Hoefnagel’s embellishment to be defined by a high degree of intellectual sophistication. Thea Vignau-Wilberg explores the extent of this sophistication in her study of the missal’s iconography.124 Looking to certain motifs Hoefnagel integrated into the manuscript, she identifies connections between the artist’s illuminations and early modern emblematics. The author’s aim is twofold: to assess the impact of emblem books on the artist’s work, and, with reference to these contemporary sources, to unpack some of the symbolic content of his illuminations. Vignau-Wilberg finds, for instance, that one of the motifs Hoefnagel painted onto the page of the Resurrection Mass discussed above also appeared in a number of late sixteenth-century emblem books.125 The motif in question, which combines a skull with ears of corn, appears along the lower margins of the missal folio. Hoefnagel also added the same configuration to other of his compositions in the manuscript, including on fols. 36r and 638v. In each case, he paired the image with the phrase, “Hope for a better life” (Spes altera vitae). Vignau-Wilberg traces this composition to an emblem included in the Devise heroïques of Claude Paradin, published in Antwerp in 1563.126 She also notes the motif’s wider resonance:                                                 124 Vignau-Wilberg, Die Emblematischen Elemente im Werke Joris Hoefnagels, 2 vols. The main component of Vignau-Wilberg’s publication consists of a critical catalogue of Hoefnagel’s iconographic motifs. Organized according to religious, political, and humanist themes, the catalogue explains specific motifs found among Hoefnagel’s illuminations and identifies links with contemporary materials that may have acted as models for the illuminator. 125 Ibid. vol. I, 223-224.  126 Ibid.    50 Joachim Camerarius included it in the Symbolorum et Emblematum (1590-1593), and Nicolaus Taurellus did so in his Emblemata (1595).127  What emerges from Vignau-Wilberg's careful investigation is that Hoefnagel was not only intimately familiar with the emblematic forms circulating among courts and humanist communities in the late sixteenth century, but that he himself needs to be seen as a keen contributor to this genre.128 In establishing the iconographic connections between Hoefnagel’s illuminations and the broader culture of emblem books in the late sixteenth century, Vignau-Wilberg provides valuable insight into a major component of Hoefnagel’s work as an illuminator. Her study also prompts a number of questions that cannot be explained solely with reference to iconography. For instance, what can be said about Hoefnagel’s mode of translating the emblem into the medium of illumination? Daly observes that the production of emblems “was accompanied by a continuing theoretical discourse concerned with the representation of knowledge in the form of images.”129 In what ways do Hoefnagel’s illuminations engage with this discourse? How does this dimension intersect with the court cultures connected with the missal?  As scholars in the fields of literature, art history, and even the history of science have made clear, few forms were more ubiquitous in the sixteenth century than the emblem. It was, declares William Ashworth, “one of the most influential creations of the late                                                 127 Ibid., 224.  128 Vignau-Wilberg articulates this view more than once; see, for instance, Ibid., 265, 269.  129 Peter Daly, “George Wither’s Use of Emblem Terminology,” in Aspects of Renaissance and Baroque Symbol Theory, 1500-1700, ed. Peter M. Daly and John Manning (New York: AMS Press, 1999), 27. Elsewhere, Daly suggests that emblem books reveal what was known about the natural world, history, and classicism and how this knowledge was interpreted; see Literature in the Light of the Emblem.   51 Renaissance.”130 Emerging in the early years of the 1500s along with the impresa and devise, it rapidly found purchase across Europe among humanists, theologians, alchemists, artists, and collectors.131 The first reference to the “emblem” is generally attributed to the Italian writer, Andrea Alciato (1492-1550), who coined the term for his volume of illustrated epigrams, the Emblematum libellus (first published in Augsburg in 1531 and also known simply as the Emblemata).132 As observed by Denis Drysdall, Alciato’s treatise emerged from a concern with “the nature and use of images in language.”133 While the first arrangement of the Emblemata did not include a pictorial component, most later versions set out what became the conventional tripartite structure of the emblem; this comprised a heading, an image, and a longer text or epigram (elsewhere identified as the inscriptio, pictura, and subscriptio).134 The heading was usually a quotation or motto, while the second text was often a verse excerpted from a learned source or a composition penned by the emblematist.135 The image could show one or several pictorial elements representing objects, figures, events, gestures, or motifs that could range from the real to the imagined.                                                  130 William B. Ashworth Jr., “Natural history and the emblematic world view,” in Reappraisals of the Scientific Revolution, ed. David C. Lindberg and Robert S. Westman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 310. 131 John Manning, “Renaissance and Baroque Symbol Theory: Some Introductory Questions and Problems,” in Aspects of Renaissance and Baroque Symbol Theory, 1500-1700, ed. Peter M. Daly and John Manning (New York: AMS Press, 1999), xiii.  132 Ibid., xiv.  133 Denis Drysdall, “Authorities for Symbolism in the Sixteenth Century,” in Aspects of Renaissance and Baroque Symbol Theory, 1500-1700, ed. Peter M. Daly and John Manning (New York: AMS Press, 1999), 116.   134 Vignau-Wilberg observes that Alciato’s volume had considerable influence on later emblematists, with pictorial and/or textual quotations of the Emblemata present in almost every emblem book published in the century. Vignau-Wilberg, Die Emblematischen Elemente im Werke Joris Hoefnagels, vol. I, 12.  On the composition of the emblem, see Daly, Literature in the Light of the Emblem, 7.  135 Daly, Literature in the Light of the Emblem,7.   52 While the number and variety of emblems increased dramatically during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Daly estimates that more than 6,000 different emblem books were printed in Europe in this period),136 the aggregation of multiple signifying components remained a defining feature of the genre. In semiotic terms, the most productive facet of the emblem’s form was located in the disjunction of text and image. Integral to both the construction and resolution of this fracture was the perceived location of meaning with regards to the emblem’s constituent parts. Connecting with the medieval tradition, early modern emblematists held that all things that exist in the world convey meaning that exceeds the things themselves.137 Based on this worldview, the relationship between object and meaning was not seen as arbitrary, but rather as derived from qualities generated by or inherent to the object.138 Accordingly, emblematic images indexed meanings believed to be true with regards to the qualities of the forms pictured.  The function of an emblem’s textual components—the inscriptio and subscriptio—varied. They could, among others, respond to, extend, elucidate, repeat, or counter the meaning implied by the emblem’s picture. Importantly, establishing the primacy of image or text within the structure of an emblem was not a condition of the genre; indeed, such hierarchization undermined the emblem’s interconnected nature. The dislocation of text and image asserted a continuous oscillation between the two rather than a linear progression from one to the other. Reinforcing this act of mutual inflection was the multiplicity of roles enacted simultaneously by each component of the emblem—roles that included                                                 136 Ibid., 4.  137 Ibid., 38. 138 Ibid.   53 representation, interpretation, description, and explanation.139 As Rosalie Colie explains, “no part of the emblem…was supposed to translate any other: rather all the elements were by their special means to point inward to a single idea, supported in part by them all.”140 That is, proper comprehension of an emblem was meant to be effected only by the interplay and synthesis of all given elements.  The emblem became a vital component of early modern visual and literary cultures and their attendant epistemologies. A genre founded on the integration of manifold sources (e.g. hieroglyphics, classical mythology and fables, epigrams, commonplace books, commemorative medals, heraldry, medieval bestiaries, Biblical exegesis, and mnemonic devices), emblematics offered a wide range of complex pictorial and textual matter that could serve didactic, moralizing, and/or political ends.141 It inflected allegorical themes in the arts, provided writers with sophisticated turns of phrase and associations, facilitated pedagogical aims, and indexed erudition among the educated. According to some scholars, the emblematic representation and interpretation of knowledge was so pervasive that it constituted a way of seeing and constructing the world; it was, according to Daly, a “mode of thought”.142  Membership to the culture of emblematics was considerably elite and based on the scope of one’s knowledge. As Daly contends, with emblems, “Recognition of meaning depends on an understanding of the thing portrayed.”143 In some cases, the association                                                 139 Ibid., 43. 140 Colie, “Small Forms: Multo in Parvo,” 37. 141 Daly provides a valuable overview of the different traditions comprising the emblem in Literature in the Light of the Emblem, 9-42.  142 See, for instance, Ibid., 58; and Ashworth Jr., “Natural History and the Emblematic World View,” 311. 143 Daly, Literature in the Light of the Emblem, 49.   54 between ‘things portrayed’ and their meanings were tropes familiar from popular culture (as seen in proverbs, for instance). However, the range of subject matter treated by emblematists ensured that many emblems were legible only to the learned few—that is, to those with the resources to carry out an assiduous study of the nature of the world, which included its literary, visual, and material components. The extent of the knowledge needed to successfully decode this hybrid language of text and image is particularly evident when meaning was to be gleaned from an object’s unpictured qualities. In such cases, the viewer had to be aware of inherent traits rather than simply the visible ones.144 As a consequence of such requisite erudition, the participants in this culture—both its producers and consumers—could make claims for intellectual superiority. Moreover, the transmission of emblematic materials, buttressed by the reproducibility of print and systems of exchange such as the Republic of Letters, generated a community of individuals united by a shared language of knowledge.  When Hoefnagel identified himself in the Ambras missal as an illuminator of hieroglyphics (exornator hieroglyphicus), he was declaring his own membership in this select community. Both emblematics and hieroglyphics were perceived as mechanisms of intellectual endeavor—a correlation that Hoefnagel developed pictorially on the same folio as his colophon with metonymic references to Pallas Athena, the goddess of wisdom, and Hermes, the god of rhetoric (Fig. 2.4).145 The former is made present via an owl perched on the handle of a shovel in the left margin, while the latter is evoked by means of a caduceus-like staff marking the central axis of the page (two snakes are entwined along its shaft). Not                                                 144 Ibid., 9.  145 Hoefnagel’s reference in the missal to these two gods and their respective attributes is noted by a number of scholars. See, for instance, Serebrennikov, “Imitating Nature/Imitating Bruegel,” 232-233.    55 confined to this folio, the pairing of these deities is also in evidence elsewhere in the missal. For instance, the base of fol. 332r displays the motif of an owl perched on Hermes’ staff, while on fol. 370r an owl in the lower left corner clutches a caduceus. Similarly, at the top of fol. 107v the most common of Hoefnagel’s monograms—a nail combined with the letter G—is surmounted by a small sphere pierced by a caduceus and two olive branches. With the last example in particular, the qualities represented by the god and goddess are unequivocally equated with the artist and his work in the manuscript.   Hoefnagel’s repetition of these references in the Ambras missal demonstrates one of the ways in which the illuminator framed his practice. Importantly, the trope of combining the values embodied by Athena and Hermes enjoyed wide socio-cultural resonance in the second half of the sixteenth century. When brought together as ‘Hermathena’, the paired figures signified the union of eloquentia and sapientia, with a concomitant interconnectedness of the arts, rhetoric, and knowledge.146 In his focused study of the theme at the early modern courts of Munich and Prague, Günter Irmscher remarks that the emerging interest in Hermathena corresponded to an increasing complexity of subject matter in the arts that could be decrypted be ever smaller, humanistically oriented circles of patrons and collectors.147 In such circles, the Hermathenic associations with learning, understanding, and eloquence offered parallels to the aims of both artistic and collecting practices.                                                 146 The union of Hermes and Athena is often associated with Cicero and the academic ideal. For sources that address this tradition as well as the broader impact of the Hermathenic trope in the late sixteenth century see, among others, Günter Irmscher, “Hermathena in der Hofkunst Prags und Münchens um 1600,” in München – Prag um 1600 (Studia Rudolphina: Sonderherft), ed. Beket Bukovinská and Lubomír Konečný (Prague: Artefactum, 2009), 80-81; Dorothy Limouze, “Aegidius Sadeler (c. 1570-1629): Drawings, Prints and Art Theory,” (PhD diss., Princeton University, 1990), 47; and Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, “The Eloquent Artist: Towards an Understanding of the Stylistics of Painting at the Court of Rudolf II,” Leids Kunsthistorisch Jaarboek: Rudolf II and His Court 1 (1982): 125-126. 147 Irmscher, “Hermathena in der Hofkunst Prags und Münchens um 1600,” 77.   56 A common concern among painters in the late sixteenth century was the positioning of their art in relation to craft on the one hand and to poetry on the other; the former carried with it unwanted connotations of manual labor, while the latter belonged among the noble liberal arts. Painters sought to confirm the intellectual value of their art form, thereby asserting the nobility of their endeavors. In Central Europe, painters’ efforts in this vein were rewarded by a Letter of Majesty issued by Emperor Rudolf II in 1595—just a few years after the completion of the Ambras missal. In his proclamation, Rudolf declared unequivocally that painting was to be understood to be an art rather than a craft.148 Notably, the same decree also allowed the Prague painters’ guild to include a figure of Athena in its coat of arms—an unambiguous reference to the learned nature of the members’ practice.149    At the same time that Hoefnagel was nearing the completion of his project for Archduke Ferdinand, he joined with four other Munich artists to create a series of three emblematic engravings, one of which was dedicated to a representation of Hermathena.150   Dated circa 1589, the collaborative effort brought Hoefnagel together with the painters Christoph Schwarz (ca. 1545-92), Hans von Aachen (1552-1615), and Pieter Candid (1548-1628), and the engraver, Aegidius Sadeler (1570-1629). Hoefnagel, as the “auctor” and                                                 148 Konečný, “Picturing the Artist in Rudolfine Prague,” 107. 149 Ibid. Scholars such as Konečný stress that Rudolf’s concession to the guild was simply a gesture intended to placate the institution in light of the fact that court painters enjoyed much greater flexibility, freedom, and prestige than did the members of the guild (p.107-109). For a general discussion of the intellectual status of art at the Prague court, see Kaufmann, The School of Prague, 43-54.  150 Recent interest in this series has emerged from studies of Munich’s court art and artists, as well as considerations of the association between Munich and Prague court culture. See, for instance, Thomas Fusenig, ed., Hans von Aachen (1552-1615): Court Artist in Europe (Aachen: Suermondt-Ludwig Museum, 2010), 178-179; Evelyn Reitz, “Emblem, Imprese und Allegorie: Wechselbeziehungen Zwischen München und Prag am Beispiel Hans von Aachens,” in München – Prag um 1600 (Studia Rudolphina: Sonderherft), ed. Beket Bukovinská and Lubomír Konečný (Prague: Artefactum, 2009), 103-116; and Vignau-Wilberg, In Europa zu Hause, 409-413.   57 publisher of the series, devised its iconographic program.151 The painters each created a preparatory drawing for one image in the series, while Sadeler was responsible for the final rendering of all three. The series marks the three stages of a life lived following the humanist ideals of wisdom and reason: Occasio (pursuing opportunities at the right time), Cursus (overcoming life’s challenges by means of intellect and skill), and Praemium (reaping the rewards such a life has to offer).152 The Hermathenic image corresponds to the second print of the sequence (Cursus) (Fig. 2.9). Taken together, the three prints communicate the growing preoccupation in Munich—as at other courtly centers—with the illustration of classical content as an affirmation of the intellectual status of the arts and, concomitantly, of artists.153  The image of Hermathena/Cursus is the most explicit of the three in its representation of conceits highlighting the intellectual weight of the arts. Significantly, it is also the only print in the series to include Hoefnagel’s signature and an imperial privilegium, which both affirms Hoefnagel’s role in the conception of the image and indicates the weight of this engraving among the three.154 The majority of the emblem is given over to the foregrounded, entwined figures of the god and goddess, whose combined symbolic significance is made                                                 151 Irmscher, “Hermathena in der Hofkunst Prags und Münchens um 1600,” 77-102. 152 Vignau-Wilberg, In Europa zu Hause, 409-413. 153 I discuss this phenomenon in more depth in Chapter Four.  154 Limouze observes that even though Hoefnagel’s signature is confined to the Cursus print, his monogram is included in the preparatory drawing executed by Pieter Candid for the third image (Praemium); thus, it is possible to conclude that Hoefnagel was involved in the production of all three works in the series. Limouze, “Aegidius Sadeler,” 45 (note 78). A privilegium was a declaration of imperial protection from illicit replication. Notably, since the privilegium was issued by the office of the Emperor, it also acted to draw the imperial court’s attention to artists working in the Holy Roman Empire beyond the boundaries of the capital.     58 clear by the heading of “Hermathena” set within a strapwork frame at the top of the print.155 The subscriptio, which compares life to a game of dice where one’s skills can make the best of even unwanted outcomes, is inscribed along the base of the plinth on which the figures stand. In the background, representations of Perseus (holding Medusa’s head) and the Muses allude to virtue and the liberal arts. Multivalent yet also cohesive, the print exploits the aggregative structure of the emblem to posit as inseparable the qualities of eloquentia (Hermes), sapientia (Pallas Athena), and ars (the outcome of the deities’ union and the source of virtuous artistic and literary creation). Hoefnagel’s invocation of the Hermathenic trope throughout the Ambras missal and in connection with his signature brings into focus the artist’s approach to the practice of illumination. Conceptually substantive, his additions to the manuscript intellectualize both the page and the process by which it came to be adorned. The folio discussed at length above (fol. 318v) elucidates this strategy. On one page, Hoefnagel brought together citations from contemporary and ancient authors, Christian symbols and narratives, a newly circulated emblem, representations of nature that are both descriptive and symbolic (e.g. the apple that also stands in for the Fall), a heraldic reference to his patron, and his own signature. All of these elements are specific and expressive rather than purely decorative. By means of this assemblage, the artist demonstrated his knowledge of the literary arts, Christian doctrine and history, and contemporary fields such as emblematics and natural history.156 When he added Ferdinand’s coat of arms as well as his own initials, the illuminator made clear the affiliation between the erudition manifested on the page and the two figures involved with its                                                 155  On the intersection of Hoefnagel’s print with humanism and Neo-stoicism, see Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, “The Nature of Imitation: Hoefnagel on Dürer,” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien 82/83 (1986): 163-177. 156 Hoefnagel’s engagement with natural history is discussed in Chapter Four.    59 production—both members of the elite community equipped with the requisite knowledge to understand and appreciate the configuration of texts, motifs, and concepts representative of learned and original content.  Importantly, Hoefnagel’s illuminations in the Ambras missal do not evoke knowledge by means of their content alone. Also significant is the manner in which the artist assembled his designs for the missal’s margins. The artist composed his additions as discrete elements brought together in various assemblages set against the pristine surface of the parchment. The diverse components of Hoefnagel’s illuminations—be they pictures or text—constitute contained objects set alongside and against each other. With the absence of a meaningful pictorial setting that would serve to unite, contextualize, or elucidate these disparate elements, juxtaposition emerges as the defining mode by means of which the elements are to be connected and interpreted. In this way, each page appropriates the mechanisms of the emblem, albeit on a more extensive scale and with a greater degree of both visual diversity and conceptual complexity.  As established earlier, the early modern emblem was based on the confluence of concepts as articulated by combinations of text and image. The constituent parts of an emblem were considered to be complementary rather than explanatory, just as the two media of picture and text were granted the same status as conveyers of meaning and knowledge. With his illuminations in the Ambras missal, Hoefnagel established the same level of equivalence in terms of the semantic weight of his pictorial and textual components. The artist emphasized this dimension by means of rendering his pictures as text, and his texts as pictures. That is, he painted the pictorial elements in a way that made their contents legible and evocative of meaning. Isolated against the parchment, they echo the script of the Missale,   60 suggesting that they, too, are words to be read. Likewise, Hoefnagel transformed his selected citations into banners, scrolls, pediments, and cartouches, thereby converting text into a pictorial object. As a result, the artist was able to differentiate his textual fragments from the text of the Missale while integrating them visually into the overall program of illumination.  Hoefnagel’s strategy for the missal can be seen as combining the operating structure of the emblem with that of illumination. Rather than restrict each page to a single emblematic composition as was the standard with emblem books, the artist set out instead to confront the viewer/reader with a dense web of meaningful configurations. The majority of the missal’s illuminations combine multiple genres, prompting the viewer/reader to perform multiple interpretative acts within the space of a single folio—a process that is heightened when components of the illuminations respond to the content of the Missale. Both the emblem and the illuminated page could accommodate a range of subject matter as well as the juxtaposition of text and image. By merging the two, Hoefnagel was able to exploit the signifying potential of both text and image—as well as their interplay—in creating new avenues for the production of meaning. In doing so repeatedly over hundreds of folios, Hoefnagel presented his discerning patron with a substantial and substantive intervention in the genre of the emblem and in the medium of illumination. By means of this intervention, the artist was able to assert his authority over both. Illumination at the Ambras and Munich Courts  At the courts most intimately connected with Hoefnagel’s work on the missal, namely those at Ambras and Munich, the illuminated manuscript remained an integral component of   61 literary and visual culture well into the second half of the sixteenth century.157 What German scholarship in particular has revealed is that the Habsburgs and the Wittelsbachs ruling in this period upheld longstanding familial traditions of bibliophily—traditions looking back to the fifteenth-century dukes of Burgundy. With reference to the Bavarian court, for instance, Rupert Hacker avers that the richly lettered, decorated, and bound manuscript continued to index prestige and wealth, as well as to impart a princely grandeur no less legible than a new wing of a palace, a precious jewel, or a courtly festivity.158 Thus, it can be said that Hoefnagel developed his practice and identity as an illuminator in a milieu where the illuminated manuscript as both book and artwork wielded significant cultural and social capital.  As noted earlier, when Archduke Ferdinand established his seat at Ambras, his renovations of the castle included the creation of a library along with a Kunstkammer. Constructed in the 1560s and 1570s, both spaces were designed as large, open halls set within the presentation wing of the residence.159 Interestingly, an inventory of the Ambras holdings recorded after Ferdinand’s death in 1596 shows that certain books with particular artistic and intellectual merit migrated from the library into the Kunstkammer, where they                                                 157 This phenomenon is still largely disregarded in anglophone publications. That is not to say that important contributions by English-language publications have not been made to the study of these courts. Nevertheless, the focus of such texts is primarily the collecting practices in place at these sites, rather than the courts’ book culture. For more on the collection at Munich, see Chapter Four. 158 Rupert Hacker, “Die bayerischen Herrscher der Spätrenaissance und das schöne Buch,” in Das Gebetbuch Maximilians I. von Bayern, ed. Rupert Hacker (Munich: Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 1986), 7. 159 For the layout of the castle and the phases of reconstruction carried out by Archduke Ferdinand II, see Alfred Auer, “Erzherzog Ferdinand II. (1529-1595) Renaissancefürst und Herr über Rüstkammern, Kunstkammer und Bibliothek auf Schloss Ambras,” in Natur und Kunst: Handschriften und Alben aus der Ambraser Sammlung Erzherzog Ferdinands II, ed. Alfred Auer and Eva Irblich (Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 1995), 15; and Scheicher, “The Collection of Archduke Ferdinand II at Schloss Ambras,” 37-50; see p.47 for a description of the library’s contents.    62 were integrated into a well-ordered system of display.160 All of these select tomes were held in what the Kunstkammer inventory identifies as the eighth case (Achtet casten, darinnen allerei büecher), where they comprised a considerable array of materials including illuminated manuscripts, printed books, and albums containing collections of prints. While some were inherited volumes, others seem to have been acquired by the archduke directly.161 The subject matter of these books also ranged widely, from natural history, to liturgy, to the symbols of ancient Roman rulers, to the knightly games of fencing and jousting, to courtly festivities.162 Telling not only in terms of the archduke’s eclectic interests, the record of these volumes shows that at Ambras the book was a supple object with both literary and artistic status.  Archduke Ferdinand II also invested in the creation of new volumes exploring topics as wide-ranging as the natural world, military practices, and ceremonial events. The first category is particularly noteworthy, since illustrated manuscripts of natural history were among the books singled out for the holdings of the Kunstkammer. One of these may correspond to the aforementioned endeavor carried out by the artist Liberale to record the sea life of the Adriatic; in the inventory it is described as a volume of various fishes, crabs, and                                                 160 Wendelin Boeheim, ed., “Inventar des Nachlasses Erzherzog Ferdinands II. in Ruhelust, Innbruck und Ambras, vom 30. Mai 1596,” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorisches Sammlungen des Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses, 7 (1888), Part II, cclxxxviii.  161 One example of a book that came to the archduke by means of inheritance was a survey on the fishing waters of the county of Tyrol from the time of the first Emperor Maximilian. In contrast, the two books of the Simbola Romanorum assembled by Octavio Strada in 1590 were clearly added to the collection by Ferdinand himself. Boeheim, ed., “Inventar des Nachlasses Erzherzog Ferdinands II. in Ruhelust, Innbruck und Ambras, vom 30. Mai 1596,” cclxxxviii. For an important study of Ferdinand’s print holdings, including those materials held in the Kunstkammer, see Peter W. Parshall, “The Print Collection of Ferdinand, Archduke of Tyrol,” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien 78 (1982): 145 162 Boeheim, ed., “Inventar des Nachlasses Erzherzog Ferdinands II. in Ruhelust, Innbruck und Ambras, vom 30. Mai 1596,” cclxxxviii-cclxxxix.    63 similar creatures (allerei mörfish, kreps und andere dergleichen sachen).163 Liberale had also carried out an earlier project for the archduke which consisted of illustrating an herbal of Bohemian plants compiled by the celebrated naturalist, Pier Andrea Mattioli.164 The contents of both manuscripts were shaped by Ferdinand’s interest in visual knowledge and the different modes with which it could be recorded in book form.  These interests are of considerable significance with regards to Hoefnagel’s illuminations in the missal, particularly in light of the fact that many of the manuscript’s pictorial components were taken from the world of nature. For instance, the bottom of fol. 8r, which coincides with the end of the general rubric of the Missale, features an owl with wings spread wide; similarly, the liturgical calendar for July on fol. 34v includes a stately eagle in the top right corner (Fig. 2.10). Both miniaturized birds are represented with specificity: they are not abstracted ornament, but rather careful nature studies. That this mode of representation warrants such a designation is reinforced by the fact that an identical owl and eagle are also found in Hoefnagel’s major natural history project, The Four Elements (1575-82). As discussed in depth in Chapter Four, the Four Elements was a series of four manuscripts in which the artist painted hundreds of animals and with which he established his reputation as a naturalist (Fig. 2.11). It is clear that Hoefnagel looked to this earlier work frequently when composing his illuminations for Ferdinand, since the two examples given here are not the only instances of such re-iteration.165 When translating these images into the                                                 163 Eva Irblich, “Giorgio Liberale, Meeresfauna des Adriatischen Meeres,” in Natur und Kunst: Handschriften und Alben aus der Ambraser Sammlung Erzherzog Ferdinands II. (1529-1595), ed. Alfred Auer and Eva Irblich (Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 1995), 67-68. 164 Hendrix, “Joris Hoefnagel and the ‘Four Elements’,” 137-138.  165 A particularly evocative example is fol. 37r, which includes an iguana, peacock, and bird of paradise—all creatures also represented in The Four Elements.    64 missal, the illuminator generally reduced their scale and stripped them of their setting. For instance, the eagle in Ferdinand’s manuscript is shown without the tree trunk that forms a backdrop for its double in The Four Elements. However, even with this adjustment the missal’s animals are recognizable and informative with regards to their species. Set into larger collections of forms within the missal’s margins, these representatives of nature take on a variety of functions. For an informed sixteenth-century viewer, they would stand in for the world of nature, represent certain traits or values associated with the given creature, form part of a larger narrative in relation to the other content of the page, and provide pictorial and thematic diversity. 166 In this capacity, Hoefnagel’s animals contributed another level of nuance and meaning to an already dense program of illumination, and also aligned this program with the patron’s own pursuits.   While the culture fostered at Ambras is certainly of relevance here, it is also useful to consider the context of Hoefnagel’s primary residence in the years that he worked on the missal. When the illuminator commenced with his court service at the Munich Residenz in 1578, his patron had been Duke Albrecht V (r.1550-1579)—an individual often associated with the apogee of bibliophily at the Bavarian court.167 The duke’s appreciation for the literary arts echoed his interest in visual culture, as evidenced by his construction of new spaces dedicated solely to their assemblage, including a library, a Kunstkammer, and an Antiquarium. During Albrecht’s reign, the ducal library expanded considerably due to a number of large acquisitions. Already in 1558 Albrecht purchased the private library that had belonged to the lawyer, Johann Albrecht Widmanstetter—a collection of 1,000 volumes that                                                 166  This multivalence was generally associated with emblematic practice. For an account of the intersection of nature and emblems in the early modern period, see Ashworth Jr., “Natural history and the emblematic world view,” 303-332. 167 Hacker, “Die bayerischen Herrscher der Spätrenaissance und das schöne Buch,” 9.    65 included Arabic and Hebrew materials, along with literature on topics such as philology, religion, politics, history, and law.168 More impressively, in 1571 Duke Albrecht added more than 10,000 volumes to his collection as recompense for securing the debt of Augsburg merchant Hans Jakob Fugger.169 A knowledgeable collector and patron of the arts, Fugger provided Albrecht’s library with works of humanist merit. The growing value of the ducal library was acknowledged by a prominent location in the new topography of the palace. That is, it came to be housed on the second story of a wing erected from 1568 to 1571, the ground floor of which was used for the display of Albrecht’s cherished antiquities.170  At the same time that Albrecht was expanding his collection of books and establishing the new representative spaces of his residence, the painter, Hans Mielich (1516-1573), was creating some of the most significant works of illumination to come from the Bavarian court. Primarily a portraitist, Mielich also occupied the position of Albrecht’s court miniator—a position in which he was succeeded by Hoefnagel.171 Most prominent among the German artist’s projects are three choir books he illuminated between the late 1550s and                                                 168 Ibid., 14.  169 This acquisition is mentioned by most sources taking up the ducal library or Kunstkammer. See, for instance, Mark A. Meadow, “Introduction,” in The First Treatise of Museums: Samuel Quiccheberg’s Inscriptiones, 1565, trans. and ed. by Mark A. Meadow and Bruce Robertson (Los Angeles: Gettery Research Institute, 2013), 10; Parshall, “The Print Collection of Ferdinand, Archduke of Tyrol,” 140-142; and Hacker, “Die bayerischen Herrscher der Spätrenaissance und das schöne Buch,” 15.  170 According to Dr. Stephan Hoppe, a scholar specializing in the spatial organization of the Munich Residenz, the library was moved to the northeastern corner of the Alterhof in the 1590s, where it remained until the 1800s (Personal communication, March 3, 2015, Munich). The literature on the Munich Antiquarium is considerable, particularly in terms of German publications. For an incisive and comprehensive account, see Dorothy Diemer and Peter Diemer, “Das Antiquarium Herzog Albrechts V. von Bayern: Schicksale einer fürstlichen Antikensammlung der Spätrenaissance,” Zeitschrirft für Kunstgeschichte 58, 1 (1995): 55-104. The Antiquarium is also mentioned in English-language studies of the Munich court. For instance, Susan Maxwell provides insight on the relation of the hall to other spaces in the Residenz in her essay, “The Pursuit of Art and Pleasure in the Secret Grotto of Wilhelm V of Bavaria,” Renaissance Quarterly 61, 2 (Summer 2008): 414-462. 171 For a recent monograph on Mielich, see Kurt Löcher, Hans Mielich (1516-1573): Bildnismaler in München (Munich and Berlin: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 2002).     66 circa 1570. The first—the Motetorum celeberrimi musici Cypriani de Rore—is a manuscript with 26 motets composed by Cipriano de Rore (1515-1565), a musician active at the Este court in Ferrara; the other two, known as the Septem poenitentiales cum duobus psalmis laudate, comprise the penitential psalms of Albrecht’s court composer, Orlando di Lasso (1532-1594).172 Mielich’s work on these books is revealing with regards to the reception and function of illumination at the Munich court and as a point of comparison to Hoefnagel’s contributions in the Ambras missal. Throughout the three choir books, Mielich’s illuminations act as pictorial extensions of the scores’ lyrics as well as celebrations of the manuscripts’ patron and producers. Articulated primarily as detailed and brightly colored narrative scenes set within receding landscapes surrounded by complex, painted frames, the artist’s additions to the manuscripts cover all available space on each page designated for embellishment (Fig. 2.12). At the front and back of each manuscript, folios left empty of musical notation become the ground for full-page portraits and coats of arms celebrating Duke Albrecht, his wife, his composers, and his illuminator (Fig. 2.13). From page to page, Mielich’s illuminations assemble an assortment of forms that range from naturalistic figures to fantastical grotesques to scrollwork cartouches to classically inspired sculpted borders. In some cases, the artist took inspiration from his immediate milieu, as with his representation of an orchestra playing a concert in the relatively new hall of the Neuveste erected at the Munich Residenz by Duke Albrecht V (built 1558-1560) (Fig. 2.14). On a number of other pages, Mielich looked to                                                 172 These manuscripts are currently held in the Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek in Munich (Mus. ms. B. and Mus. ms. A, I and II). As illuminated choir books, they offer an intriguing counterpoint to the more common books of hours and breviaries as well as the illuminated Utraquist hymnals produced in Prague for the merchant class from the 1550s into the early seventeenth century. For a discussion of the latter, see Martina Šárovcová, “Mezi anachronismem a historismem: Nové pohledy na české renasanční knižní malířství,” Umění LV (2007): 274-285; as well as the foundational study by Jarmila Vacková, “Podoba a Příčiny Anachronismu,” Umění XVI (1968): 379-393.   67 existing artworks for models, including, for instance, the animal imagery of Albrecht Dürer and the architectural spaces of Albrecht Altdorfer.173 Inclusive of history and landscape painting, courtly portraiture, classical ornament, and natural forms, the Munich choir books are a gallery in miniature.  The most in-depth investigations of the manuscripts to date are those carried out by musicologist Jessie Ann Owens and art historian Lieselotte Schütz. Where the former takes up the manuscript of de Rore motets, the latter addresses the two di Lasso volumes.174 Citing contemporary accounts, both scholars demonstrate that the manuscripts were not only highly esteemed objects, but that they were also not confined to private delectation. Owens cites a description of the three choir books written by Massimo Troiano, a Neapolitan musician visiting the Munich Residenz for the 1568 marriage of Wilhelm V to Renata of Lorraine.175 Troiano structured his text as a dialogue between two friends discussing musical culture at the court. During the course of this conversation, one of the characters declares that the three volumes are “so sumptuous that I am more content to have seen them and turned their pages than the great pyramids of Mensi, city in Egypt.”176 We know that the manuscripts were originally put on display in the newly completed space of the ducal Kunstkammer (built 1563-1567) rather than in the library, which implies that they were considered objects                                                 173 Lieselotte Schütz examines Mielich’s borrowings from Dürer’s representations of animals such as those found among the latter’s illuminations in Emperor Maximilian’s Prayerbook; in “Hans Mielichs Illustrationen zu den Bußpsalmen des Orlando di Lasso” (PhD diss., Ludwigs-Maximilians-Universität, 1966), 87-88. Wolfgang Pfeiffer offers a case study of a folio in the first volume of the di Lasso manuscript (P.115) which Mielich bases on Altdorfer’s depiction of a church interior; “Eine Altdorfer-Kopie von Hans Mielich,” Pantheon 50 (1992): 28-31.  174 Jessie Ann Owens, “An Illuminated Manuscript of Motets by Cipriano de Rore (München, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Mus. Ms. B)” (PhD diss., Princeton University, 1979); and Schütz, “Hans Mielichs Illustrationen zu den Bußpsalmen des Orlando di Lasso.” Other scholars have mentioned the illuminated choir books in passing. See, for instance, Löcher, Hans Mielich. 175 Owens, “An Illuminated Manuscript of Motets by Cipriano de Rore,” 47.   176 Ibid., 47.     68 representative of the court’s privileged culture and wealth.177 As Troiano’s account discloses, this manner of display was apparently warranted, since contemporary viewers perceived the painted books as wonders.  When set against Mielich’s work in the choir books, Hoefnagel’s additions to the Ambras missal are revealed as both an extension of and deviation from his predecessor’s mode of illumination. In some cases, the two artists integrated the same themes into their illuminations, which is useful when comparing their two methods. On page 72 in the first volume of the di Lasso psalms (ca. 1565), Mielich painted Jonah’s emergence from the whale across the lower third of the page (Fig. 2.15); it is the same scene Hoefnagel included on the previously discussed fol. 318v of the missal as a small, oval picture (Fig. 2.7). Mielich devoted the largest segment of pictorial space on the page to the scene. Extended horizontally within a scrollwork frame, Mielich’s version confronts the viewer with a frontal view of the whale’s gaping jaw and a foreshortened representation of Jonah’s dramatic release. With spatial recession effected by the positioning of both figure and fish and the inclusion of a distant horizon, Mielich’s image disavows the surface onto which it is painted. Consequently, it connects visually with the remainder of the illuminations on the page, which present as a dense mixture of figures and ornament, color and line. At the center of the folio, Mielich painted another scene (an interpretation of Ephesians 6) in which the landscape recedes while certain elements project towards the viewer (e.g. in the lower right-hand corner, a nude female figure and the cloth on which she sits extend beyond the gold frame). The illuminator also explored the dynamics of surface, depth, and projection when designing his frames with                                                 177 Ibid., 49. Owens notes that they were relocated to the library by 1611.      69 overlapping and intersecting forms—forms starkly opposed to the bands of blank parchment reserved for musical notation and lyrics.178  In Hoefnagel’s rendition of Jonah’s tale, the scene is not only considerably miniaturized, but it is also reduced to its most explicit iconographic elements. The illuminator showed the two figures of man and sea creature side by side in an intriguing approximation of text that suggests a reading from left to right. Unlike in the Munich choir book, the illusion of depth suggested here is mitigated by the frame containing the scene, which renders the encounter a contained pictorial object. This impression is heightened by the surrounding, unpainted parchment and the inclusion of other forms such as branches, a serpent, and palm fronds immediately behind the oval picture. As a small yet expressive pictorial object, the biblical scene in the missal aligns with the other, equally expressive components comprising the symmetrically organized composition of the folio.  Mielich’s approach was to make use of all possible areas of a given page; he did so with different types of pictorial space and gave particular prominence to landscape and ornament. In contrast, Hoefnagel condensed his diverse forms into distinct and substantive elements that are framed by rather than used to conceal the surface of the parchment. Where Mielich added text only as descriptive inscriptions—as with his full-page portraits at the opening and closing of each book, Hoefnagel took up text as an integral component of his entire program of illumination—both in visual and conceptual terms. The overall effect of the Munich choir books is of a lavish and unrestrained display of Mielich’s skill as a painter of figures, narratives, landscapes, and ornament; these elements also register as a declaration of the artist’s ability to create novel, complex, and visually dynamic compositions that adapt the                                                 178 The lyrics repeat the same line twice: “circumdedit me exultatio mea erue me a circundantibus me / que circumdedit me exultatio mea erue me a circundantibus me.”   70 conventions of large-scale paintings to the reduced dimensions of a page. With the Ambras missal, Hoefnagel’s illuminations are defined instead by a particularized and restrained deployment of visual information that harnesses and maximizes the signifying potential of both image and text. By juxtaposing a considerable assortment of pictorial and textual sources, Hoefnagel’s compositions demonstrate the range of the artist’s knowledge and creativity.  Both Mielich and Hoefnagel approached the practice of illumination as an opportunity to bring together varied subject matter and forms and to showcase their respective talents. Both artists also wielded illumination as a significant mode of artistic expression. In the Munich choir books as well as in the Ambras missal, illumination was made an integral—if not the dominant—component of the page. And in both cases, the results were very well received.   In addition to the cited account of the Munich manuscripts written by Troiano, there is yet another source that sheds light on the reception of these books and their pictorial contents at the Bavarian court. The information comes from a set of commentary volumes that were assembled as descriptions of Mielich’s illuminations. The author of these exegetical texts was Samuel Quiccheberg (1529-1567), who was also responsible for the first-known treatise on collecting practices, the Inscriptiones; vel, tituli theatri amplissimi (1565).179 Quiccheberg worked on both projects during his tenure as librarian and advisor to Duke Albrecht V at the Munich court, with the collecting treatise published in 1565 and the commentary volumes for the illuminated choir books spanning from 1564 to 1570 (the final                                                 179 For an English translation of the treatise, see Samuel Quiccheberg, “Inscriptiones; or, Titles of the Most Ample Theater,” in The First Treatise on Museums: Samuel Quiccheberg’s Inscriptiones, 1565, ed. and trans. Mark A. Meadow and Bruce Robertson (Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2013), 61-107.   71 section of the commentary was completed by Kaspar Lindel after Quiccheberg’s death).180 While Quiccheberg’s treatise is well known, his response to Mielich’s illuminations has received very little attention thus far.181 However, his three explanatory volumes— one for the de Rore motet manuscript (the Declaratio picturarum imaginum, acguorumcunque, ornamentorum, in lobro, Motetorum celebrimi musici Cypriani de Rore) and two to match the books of di Lasso’s psalm compositions (the Declaratio psalmorum poenitentialium ac duorum psalmorum Laudate, compositionis excellentissimi musici Orlandi de Lassus and the Declaratio imaginum secundi tomi psalmorum poenitentialium, in quosunt postremi tres poentitentiales psalmi et duo psalmi Laudate, compositionis excellentissimi musici Orlandi de Lassus)—provide a unique opportunity to examine the ways in which the medium of illumination was described and evaluated in the second half of the sixteenth century, as well as how it was understood to function by individuals familiar with the courtly practices of Central Europe.182 Moreover, the commentaries also shed light on what may have been written in the now-lost volume recorded in the Rudolfine Kunstkammer inventory that purported to explain Hoefnagel’s ‘hieroglyphics’ in the Ambras missal.                                                  180 As Meadow points out, Quiccheberg was working for Albrecht by 1559; in “Introduction,” 11.  181 To the best of my knowledge, the commentary volumes have only been mentioned in passing in publications on Mielich’s illuminations and Quiccheberg’s treatise on collecting. They are also yet to be translated from their original Latin. In terms of their dates of production, Mielich completed the motet manuscript in 1559, with Quicchberg’s commentary coming five years later in 1564. In contrast, Quiccheberg’s commentary for the first of the Di Lasso manuscripts came soon after Mielich’s completion of the illuminations in 1565. The same timeline was followed with the second Di Lasso manuscript, which Mielich completed in 1570. However, with this last volume, the final components of the commentary were carried out by Kaspar Lindel after Quiccheberg’s death. It appears that Quiccheberg wrote drafts of his commentary volumes that were then transcribed by the scribe, Andreas Staudenmair. The Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek in Munich holds Staudenmair’s final transcriptions of all three commentary volumes (Hss Mus. ms. B and Hss. Mus. ms. A I and II), as well as Quiccheberg’s draft for the first of the two commentary volumes for the penitential psalms (Hss Clm 269). 182 In a footnote to his recent analysis of Quiccheberg’s collecting treatise, Meadow also points out that these volumes “are among the most sustained discussions of individual artworks produced in sixteenth-century transalpine Europe;” in “Introduction,” 40, n. 51.   72 Quiccheberg’s relation to the choir books seems to be one in which the humanist provided a detailed account of the illuminations once they were completed, rather than being involved in their original design. This point is brought forward by Owens, who observes that Quiccheberg completed his first commentary volume in 1564, which was almost five years after Mielich finished the illuminations for the motet manuscript; she also notes that there are multiple errors regarding Quiccheberg’s identification of Mielich’s motifs and narratives—facts that suggest he was not privy to the process that established the illuminations’ program.183 That said, however, it appears that in the context of the court, the commentaries came to be closely affiliated with the choir books in terms of their usage and presentation. For instance, Quiccheberg’s manuscripts were bound in the same manner as the music volumes, and Troiano’s aforementioned discussion of the musical manuscripts also includes a reference to Quiccheberg’s role as “commentator on the images, stories, and ornaments.”184  Although Quiccheberg’s three manuscripts of commentary are not identical in structure, they do share a number of key features. The sequencing of text adheres to a logical framework that ostensibly presents all the information required to fully understand and appreciate the manuscripts’ illuminations. First, the author introduces the individuals involved in creating the choir books and the commentary volumes. Second, he provides a topographical overview of the different illuminated areas of the page in order to help the reader navigate his subsequent commentary. Next, he presents indices for the manuscript being discussed and for the commentary volume itself. Finally, he describes and explains, in                                                 183 Owens, “An Illuminated Manuscript of Motets by Cipriano de Rore,” iv, 130-132. 184 Ibid., 45, 130.     73 sequential order, each illuminated page, including the content and source of the lyrics and the various scenes and motifs pictured by the artist.  In each of Quiccheberg’s volumes, the first section—the list of contributors—makes clear that the choir books and their appended commentaries constituted a major undertaking that involved the collaboration of several specialized individuals, including the composers, the illuminator, the scribe of the musical notation, the binder, the author of the commentaries, and the transcriber of the commentaries (Fol. 2.17). The section that follows deals with the spatial arrangement of the illuminated page, which is revealed to be an important aspect of Quiccheberg’s approach to organizing his observations. The author provides his readers with a list of spatial descriptors and the abbreviations used throughout the volume to identify which area of an illuminated page is being addressed. For instance, “Superius in medio” is used to describe the central part of the upper margin, and its abbreviation is given as “Super. in med.”185  That Quiccheberg perceived this spatial structuring of the page to be of value is suggested by the fact that after the first volume, he chose to add a diagram translating the list of descriptors into a pictorial and therefore more easily comprehensible format. In his draft for the second commentary, Quiccheberg included a small sketch at the bottom of fol. 10v showing the division of a page into different blocks that appear to designate areas of illumination and notation (Fig. 2.18).186 He realized the concept fully in the final version of the volume, which he then repeated in the third (and last) of the commentaries. In its                                                 185 See, for instance, the commentary for the motet manuscript, Declaratio picturarum imaginum, acguorumcunque, ornamentorum, in libro, Motetorum celebrimi musici Cypriani de Rore, fols. 7v-8r.  186 The draft manuscript is the original version of the commentary volume for the first of the two di Lasso choir books; as with the other commentary volumes, it was transcribed into its final form by the “exscriptor” Andreas Staudenmair.    74 finalized iteration, the diagram merited a full page and the many possible zones of illumination were labeled directly (Fig. 2.19). The diagram was clearly intended to accommodate the variety of compositions used throughout the choir books, with areas of illumination placed around the edges of the page (In margine) as well as laterally at its top (In coronide), middle (In medio centro), and base (In limbo). Quiccheberg also allowed for pictorial zones that would be created outside of these areas, including corners (In angulo interno) and intermediate bands (In media zona), among others. What this feature of the commentary reveals is the effort Quiccheberg expended in order to delimit a medium conventionally given free form in the spaces left free by text. No longer an indefinite and generalized “margin”, the space of illumination as delineated by Quiccheberg’s schema became a defined area contained by a finite number of designated spatial categories and configurations.  The third—and most extensive—component of Quiccheberg’s commentaries comprises the explanation of Mielich’s illuminations. Here, ekphrasis is combined with exegesis as the author addresses the contents of each page in detail. Not limited to pictorial elements, the commentary also quotes the text contained on the folio (the lyrics of the composition or, in the case of full-page miniatures and portraits, whatever inscriptions or dedications are included with the image), and identifies their source (the chapter and verse if a Biblical text, the name of the author if a classical text, etc.). Finally, Quiccheberg tackles the illuminations. Generally moving from the top of a page to the bottom—with the location of the area under discussion noted in the margin using the spatial descriptors established by means of the aforementioned list and diagram—he identifies the scenes portrayed and explains their meaning and significance. This approach was clearly not always   75 straightforward, as Mielich’s illuminations could represent the full narrative of a given text, a scene suggested by a fragment of the text, or a theme implied by the text. As Owens notes, Quiccheberg often cited learned sources to assist in the process of decrypting the multifarious scenes, features, and motifs populating each manuscript.187  Notably, the first commentary volume differs from the ones that followed in its inclusion of a glossary of the terms Quiccheberg used throughout his text to differentiate the many pictorial forms found in Mielich’s illuminations.188 Remarkable in its specificity and diversity, the list of “Picturam et ornamentorum genera” includes, among others, effigies, parerga, sculpture, angels, flora, trophies, grotesques, and emblems.189 Spanning seven pages of the manuscript’s preface, it is a testament to the variety of Mielich’s illuminations. It is also a window into sixteenth-century perspectives regarding different modes of representation and their assemblage in the medium of illumination. For instance, Quiccheberg describes “effigies” as images of faces, bodies and other subjects carried out after life (ad vivum) in both painted and sculpted form.190 “Emblemata,” in contrast, are                                                 187 Owens, “An Illuminated Manuscript of Motets by Cipriano de Rore,” 124-130.   188 Declaratio picturarum imaginum, acguorumcunque, ornamentorum, in libro, Motetorum celebrimi musici Cypriani de Rore (Hss. B). The glossary is presented as a preface immediately after the list of individuals associated with the motet manuscript and the commentary. It spans seven pages, from fol. 3v to fol. 6v.  189 On fol. 3v, he introduces his glossary with, “Quandoquidem frequenter hic usurpamus nomina ista. Imagines, effigies, emblemata, parerga, statuae, ornamenta, volutata, grotesca, beluata, florida, et similia, atque interea quandoque barabara vel perregrina aut alias non satis cognita occurunt vocabula, paucis illa explicanda videbantur, qua significatione tam ista, quam alia pleraque adhi beantur.” He expands on this list in the course of the glossary itself, including entries such as “plantarum”, “elementaria,” “undulata,” “pegmata,” and others. As with all the other references made to the commentary text here, the translation is mine. 190 Fol. 4r. “Effiigies: sunt verae et ad vivum effigiatae imagines, de faciebus, corporibus et aliis rebus vulgo Conterfectungen tam pictae quam sculptae.” It seems the Quiccheberg is here emphasizing the mimetic quality of representation. That said, however, his description may be connected with a growing interest in the documentary function of the image that was particularly resonant with the genre of portraiture, the authentication of wondrous events, and the pictorial recording of the natural world. For more on the “ad vivum” mode of representation in the early modern period, see especially Claudia Swan, “Ad vivum, near het leven, from the life: defining a mode of representation,” Word & Image 11, 4 (October-December 1995): 353-372.   76 defined by Quiccheberg as clever, succinct images (succinta imagines ingeniose) that evoke meaning in the manner of enigmatic symbols.191 This is apparently not to be confused with the following category of “hieroglyphica”, which are signs or marks with sacred connotations.192 Quiccheberg’s glossary of “genera” underscores the expansive range of forms wielded by the illuminator, just as it seems to assert that a familiarity with these forms is a requisite for properly comprehending and appreciating the practice of illumination in general. Within his glossary, Quiccheberg also writes more broadly with regards to the value of pictures (picturae). In particular, he comments on their association with and use by all the branches of learning and the arts, including theology, medicine, history, and math.193 As a visual form comprising a variety of pictures, illumination seems to be posited as intersecting with a range of practices, including those dedicated to learning. This impression is reinforced by Quiccheberg’s dedicated efforts to classify and delineate the constituent elements of the medium. His resulting list frames illumination not as an amorphous or unruly mixture of forms, but rather as a visual language made up of clearly defined components expressive of ideas, histories, traditions, innovations, and systems of meaning.  As Quiccheberg was writing the first commentary volume for Mielich’s illuminations in the Munich choir books, he was also compiling his aforementioned treatise on collecting                                                 191Declaratio picturarum imaginum, acguorumcunque, ornamentorum, in libro, Motetorum celebrimi musici Cypriani de Rore, fol. 5r. “Emblemata: sunt succincta imagines ingeniose aliquid significantes tanquam ex symbolis, vel apophtegmatibus breviter producta, eaque animalia, homines, numina, flores etc quasi per aenigmata subinde inflectentia.”  192 Fol. 5r. “Hieroglyphica: sunt quasi sacrae notae, ex animalium, et carundem partium aliarumque rerum figuris simpliciter exaratae ad sensum mentis exprimendu literaru monimenta aliquo modo supplentes.”  193 Fol. 4r. “Adquae quidem latius distinguenda transire oportet ad disciplinas et artes universas, ut theologiam, medicinam, historias, mathemata et omnia alia studia, quae picturis exornari et iuvari possunt.”    77 practices (the Inscriptiones); significantly, the two projects overlap in a number of ways.194 In his account of how to gather together and organize a collection, Quiccheberg offered practical and straightforward guidelines to collectors of both great and little means.195 He outlined the types of objects a collection should include, the ways in which to display and conserve these objects, the types of workshops and similar spaces to establish in relation to a collection, and the sorts of collectors to emulate. As with his commentaries on Mielich’s illuminations, he organized his discourse into clearly defined sections and lists. For instance, when setting out the contents of the ideal collection, he did so by means of five classes, each of which then has numerous subcategories. Each subcategory includes a specific range of objects grouped together based on their material, function, or content. This manner of organization shares much with the author’s list of the different pictorial components (genera) found in Mielich’s illuminations.     It is notable that Quiccheberg approached his explanation of illumination in a manner comparable to his approach to collecting. For the humanist, it was the assemblage and juxtaposition of different categories of things in the collection that enhanced knowledge about the world. Even the title for his collecting treatise makes this clear where it states, “It is recommended that these things be brought together…so that by their frequent viewing and handling one might quickly, easily, and confidently be able to acquire a unique knowledge                                                 194 Owens also observes this similarity in her dissertation; however, she remarks only that “he [Quiccheberg] evidently viewed the task of defining his terminology as similar to the task of arranging material in categories for the purpose of display.” She does not explore what the similiarities suggest regarding the practice of illumination vis-à-vis the culture of knowledge emerging at the Bavarian court at this time. Owens, “An Illuminated Manuscript of Motets by Cipriano de Rore,” 116-117.  195 Quiccheberg suggests the ways in which a collection could be gathered together depending on individual means and ability. For instance, he remarks that “someone of meager fortune” will be able to accumulate various objects or images “without great expense, and merely through diligence of inquiry and research.” Quiccheberg, “Inscriptiones,” 73-74.    78 and admirable understanding of things.”196 Extended to Mielich’s illuminations, which bring together different types of pictures on each page, the humanist’s methodology grants the work a comparable function.              Quiccheberg also established explicit points of intersection between the illuminations in the Munich manuscripts and his views on collecting within the actual text of his Inscriptiones. One prominent example comes in the midst of his “Digressions and Clarifications” on the Fifth Class—a class comprising, among others, oil paintings, watercolors, engravings, tables, catalogues, chronologies, genealogies, images of eminent personages, coats of arms, tapestries, inscriptions, and containers.197 As Mark Meadow observes, it is a category dedicated to objects “codifying and displaying the knowledge derived from the rest of the collection” as well as summarizing “the collection as a whole.”198 Quiccheberg, in his additional comments on this class and immediately following a discussion of the wonders of the world and their proper categorization, writes the following: I seem to have dwelled at length on the fact that my prince, Albrecht, Duke of Bavaria, has been the foremost to initiate the introduction of new wonders of the world… many thousands of which have been exclusively painted for the prince by the hand of Hans Mielich of Munich. Anyone who has the opportunity to see these books will think that the wondrous theater is all the more distinguished on their account alone.199                                                  196 The full title is as follows: Inscriptiones, or Titles, of the Most Ample Theater That Houses Exemplary Objects and Exceptional Images of the Entire World, So That One Could Also Rightly Call It a: Repository of artificial and marvelous things, and of every rare treasure, precious object, construction, and picture. It is recommended that these things be brought together here in the theater so that by their frequent viewing and handling one might quickly, easily, and confidently be able to acquire a unique knowledge and admirable understanding of things. The translation is provided in Ibid., 61.  197 Ibid., 69-71.  198 Meadow, “Introduction,” 22. 199 Quiccheberg, “Inscriptiones,” 90.     79 In a later section presenting “Exemplars for the Reader and for Furnishers of Storehouses of Wisdom, and Founders of Libraries Equipped with Diverse Furnishings,” Quiccheberg writes again of Duke Albrecht in order to point out how his “theater” surpasses those assembled by collectors in Augsburg.200 Among the evidence the author uses to establish the preeminence of the Bavarian collection are the Munich choir books, which the author declares to be “of such splendor that these books and images, having already been combined, would seem to constitute a storehouse of pictures, as if a library unto themselves.”201  Thus, in the course of his treatise on collecting, Quiccheberg presents illumination as a wonder, a library, and an important feature contributing to the superiority of Duke Albrecht’s theater of knowledge. Although the author mentions other examples of the visual arts within his categories and classes—as when he includes oil paintings, watercolors, and engravings in his Fifth Class, it is only illumination that is singled out in this manner. While the preferential treatment may stem from Quiccheberg’s own personal relationship with the medium in the form of his commentaries for the Munich choir books, the references are nonetheless revealing in terms of how illumination was practiced and perceived at a prominent court. Quiccheberg’s comments also indicate that the medium’s capacity for diversity was considered valuable and of note. As a “storehouse of pictures,” the painted page was a source of both admiration and knowledge.  While Hoefnagel’s illuminations for the Ambras missal differ from those Mielich painted onto the pages of the Munich choir books, the work of the two illuminators comes together in its shared integration of varied and valued subject matter. Both sets of projects—                                                200 Ibid., 100. 201 Ibid.   80 the missal and the choir books—attest to the interrelated nature of artistic, literary, and humanist interests at the Central European courts in the second half of the sixteenth century. Quiccheberg’s intensive engagement with Mielich’s art demonstrates that the practices of illumination and knowledge production were intimately connected at the ducal court in the period immediately preceding Hoefnagel’s arrival upon the scene. Both practices involved the assemblage of different categories—of objects and genera—the outcome of which was a better understanding of existing and emerging perceptions of the world.  Hoefnagel’s illumination of the Ambras missal was clearly enmeshed in this culture. The artist’s work was considered to be of such conceptual complexity that it garnered review by three learned masters as well as the composition of an exegetical text. The first point intimates that the language of Hoefnagel’s illuminations was of such specificity and sophistication that only individuals with the requisite knowledge could properly appraise its quality. The commentary written in response to the missal’s visual material underscores this perspective. Both the review and commentary demonstrate that contemporary viewers considered Hoefnagel’s work as an illuminator to constitute a language of erudite and meaningful expression—one akin to the sacred language of hieroglyphics. Conclusion: The Persistent Medium  At the early modern courts of Central Europe, illumination was evidently not a waning artistic practice; instead, it was actively harnessed for its cultural, material, and intellectual value. At these sites, the handpainted, handwritten book continued to serve as a symbol of status, wealth, and privilege well into the second half of the sixteenth century. Indeed, in many cases the illuminated manuscript comprised a prominent role within systems of courtly display. In the iterations made for discerning patrons such as Archduke Ferdinand   81 II and the Wittelsbach dukes, the illuminated manuscript was often associated with erudition as well as prestige.  The Ambras missal was the first of Hoefnagel’s major works of illumination, and it was the most extensive of his projects overall. In this manuscript, Hoefnagel transformed the margin into a space of new possibilities. Using this space to interrogate the intermediality of illumination, Hoefnagel carried out a complex meditation on representation and the potential of the visual domain to convey meaning and knowledge. The artist configured his illuminations to showcase his ability to weave together diverse visual and textual matter in ways that generated new associations, new narratives, and new types of understanding about the world. By means of these explorations, Hoefnagel harnessed illumination as a mode of expression capable of picturing knowledge in a way that exceeded the limits of other forms of art—courtly or otherwise. In redefining the limits of the medium, Hoefnagel engaged with the culture of knowledge dominating the courts at which he served.      82 Chapter 3  Ideal Assemblage: The Schriftmusterbuch of Emperor Rudolf II    In the 1607-11 inventory of Emperor Rudolf’s Kunstkammer in Prague, a number of objects were set apart under the designation of “Beste Sache”, or best things.202 Described in terms that stress their material value, these best things comprise such items as gilded Indian vessels, gold crucifixes studded with emeralds and rubies, a clock encased in transparent crystal with gold and garnet detailing, and a gold writing table adorned with metal casts of various animals.203 Also listed here is a book, whose inclusion in the prestigious category likely derives from its cover of ‘beautiful jasper’ (schönem jaspis) and ‘many garnets’ (vilen granaten).204 The codex that warranted this marked level of embellishment is best known today as the Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay. An illuminated manuscript of calligraphic samples, the book constitutes a hereditary object of the Habsburg dynasty as well as Hoefnagel’s first commission for the imperial court.  The production history of the Schriftmusterbuch spans thirty years and the reigns of two Habsburg emperors. The model book of calligraphy was first assembled in the early                                                 202 The inventory lists four groupings of objects defined as “Beste Sachen”, with thirty-two entries making up the total number of these select works. The first object to fall under this heading—a gold goblet—corresponds to Inv. no. 1476, while the last object—a case containing a variety of gold and silver coins—is listed as Inv. no. 1507. For this section of the inventory, see Bauer and Haupt, eds., “Das Kunstkammerinventar Kaiser Rudolfs II., 1607-1611,” 79-81. The valuation of the “best things” is comparative in terms of the rest of the collection, as evidenced by the subsequent categorization of items as “Gutte Sachen” (good things)—a descriptor that indicates a lesser degree of quality or value.  203 The objects listed here correspond to the following inventory numbers: vessels (Inv. no. 1479), crucifixes (Inv. nos. 1482, 1483), clock (Inv. no. 1495), and writing table (Inv. no. 1500). Ibid The makers of these objects are rarely mentioned; a notable exception is the entry for the writing table, which attributes the work to the “older Jamnitzer” (alten Jamnitzer), most probably meaning the celebrated Nuremberg goldsmith, Wenzel Jamnitzer.  204 The full text of the entry is as follows: “Ein buch mit lehr papyr, ist an beyden seitten mit schönen jaspis wie landtschäfftlein von natur also und mit vilen granaten gefaßt.” Ibid., 80.    83 1570s by the imperial scribe and secretary Georg Bocskay, who served at the Viennese court under both Emperor Ferdinand I (r. 1556-64) and Emperor Maximilian II (r. 1564-76).205 Not a unique project, the Schriftmusterbuch was one of three such books the scribe created for his imperial patrons: he compiled two for Ferdinand I in the early 1560s, and then a third—the Schriftmusterbuch—for Ferdinand’s son and successor, Maximilian II, from 1571 to 1573.206 All three model books remained in the Habsburg collections upon the ascension to the throne of Maximilian’s son, Rudolf II (r. 1576-1612), and, as suggested by the Rudolfine Kunstkammer inventory and other records, at least two of the books were included among the objects transferred from the family’s Viennese residence to the newly established Prague court in the 1580s.207 In 1591, the function of the Schriftmusterbuch evolved when Rudolf II commissioned Hoefnagel to illuminate its 127 parchment folios. Approximately a decade later, the manuscript was endowed with its aforementioned cover of stone and gems by the goldsmith, Jan Vermeyen (ca. 1559-1606).208 Also the maker of Rudolf’s new imperial crown, Vermeyen contributed the last component to an object already expressive of history, dynasty, and skillful labor (Fig. 3.1).                                                 205 Bocskay died in 1575.  206 Vignau-Wilberg, Die Emblematischen Elemente im Werke Joris Hoefnagels, vol. I, 102. 207 Prague became a seat of the Habsburgs in 1526; Rudolf II moved to the city permanently in 1583, while his younger brother and successor, Matthias, returned the court to Vienna in 1612. 208 Katja Schmitz-von Ledebur suggests that the 1607-11 inventory description of the Schriftmusterbuch refers only to Vermeyen’s binding and that the manuscript was added later (i.e. after 1611). However, she acknowledges neither that the inventory refers explicitly to a book (i.e. not simply a binding), nor that it also mentions the book’s contents (“mit lehr papyr” suggests the manuscript’s function as as model book). Nonetheless, even if the manuscript were paired with the binding at a later point (i.e. rather than have the binding made specifically for the manuscript), the use of such a costly cover attests to the importance of the book’s contents. For Schmitz-von Ledebur’s assessment, see “Calligraphic Specimen Book,” The Kunstkammer: The Treasures of the Habsburgs, ed. Sabine Haag and Franz Kirchweger (Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum and Christian Brandstätter Verlag, 2012), 213.   84 Hoefnagel’s illumination of the Schriftmusterbuch is the focus of this chapter. Echoing the display of variety set out by Bocskay’s manifold examples of calligraphy, Hoefnagel rendered his contributions to the book as an almost encyclopedic assortment of visual matter. Passage from page to page yields, among others, figural and symbolic representations of Rudolf II and the Habsburg dynasty, records of the Holy Roman Empire’s recent battles and victories against the Ottoman Turks, religious as well as mythological motifs and allegories, chorographic and bird’s-eye views of cities, representations of common and rare specimens from the natural world, and references to the tools and processes of inscription and illumination.209 Building on the pictorial abundance and semiotic complexity developed throughout the Ambras missal—and also continuing to explore the interconnectedness of text and image that was central to the earlier project, Hoefnagel’s work on the Schriftmusterbuch incorporates an even greater range of genres and also features more extensive experimentation with the potential of the medium to incorporate different modes of representation.  Encompassing over one hundred inscribed and painted pages, the Schriftmusterbuch—as with Archduke Ferdinand’s missal—was an ambitious project. Carried out over several years for an exacting patron, the manuscript’s illuminations represent another critical source of insight with regards to Hoefnagel’s sustained practice as court illuminator. Discussions of this work in art historical scholarship are telling, in so far as they reveal the difficulty of confining the manuscript and its embellishment to a single mode of analysis or providing a comprehensive assessment of its extensive and complex content. It is notable, for instance, that the Schriftmusterbuch is one of the most commonly mentioned                                                 209 For examples of these illumination types, see fols. 2, 3, 6, 8, 29, 57, and 86.     85 of Hoefnagel’s works, yet it has received very little attention beyond cursory references. Some scholars declare the manuscript to be Hoefnagel’s “masterwork”; others bring it up variously as evidence of Hoefnagel’s association with the Rudolfine court, as an indication of the diversity of artistic practices carried out at the court, and as an example of the intellectual sophistication underlying these practices.210 However, in each of these cases the complexity and variety of the pictorial and conceptual content of Hoefnagel’s illuminations is glossed over and generalized rather than pursued as a particular artistic strategy. One important exception is Vignau-Wilberg’s aforementioned publication, which provides an iconographic analysis of emblematic motifs that Hoefnagel applied both to the Schriftmusterbuch and to the Ambras missal.211 By means of her careful comparisons between Hoefnagel’s illuminations and contemporary emblem books, Vignau-Wilberg makes clear that Hoefnagel’s additions to the Rudolfine manuscript are not simply “a highly fanciful form of grotesque ornament” as other scholars have suggested,212 but rather a collection of substantive and meaningful forms.  My study builds on the existing scholarship by exploring associations between the Schriftmusterbuch, the Rudolfine context, and Hoefnagel’s practice. Hoefnagel’s work in the Schriftmusterbuch was carried out for an individual whom Van Mander described as the                                                 210 Evans describes the manuscript as Hoefnagel’s “masterwork” in Rudolf II and His World, 172. In this he echoes a similar sentiment expressed by Chmelarz, who presented the project as Hoefnagel’s main contribution to the Rudolfine court; in “Georg und Jakob Hoefnagel,” 284. See also, Kren and McKendrick, Illuminating the Renaissance, 9; and Kaufmann, The School of Prague, 33, 58.  211 Vignau-Wilberg, Die Emblematischen Elemente im Werke Joris Hoefnagels, 2 vols. Since Vignau-Wilberg’s study of the Schriftmusterbuch, no scholars have engaged with the manuscript in any extended fashion. 212 Lee Hendrix, “An Introduction to Hoefnagel and Bocskay’s Model Book of Calligraphy in the J. Paul Getty Museum,” in Prag um 1600: Beiträge zur Kunst und Kultur am Hofe Rudolfs II., ed. Eliška Fučíková (Freren: Luca Verlag, 1988), 113.   86 premier art enthusiast in the world.213 With their multiplicity and multivalence, Hoefnagel’s illuminations not only catered to the interests of this discerning patron, they also reproduced the diversity defining the visual culture sponsored and gathered by Emperor Rudolf at his court. In order to examine this reciprocity, I look to the eclectic and entangled nature of the forms assembled by Hoefnagel in the Schriftmusterbuch—forms expressive of associations with artistic practices, humanist concerns, epistemological developments, and contemporary art theory, among others. Rather than focus solely on the discrete motifs that articulate these associations, I also take into account the processes shaping Hoefnagel’s polyphonous compositions. By tracing Hoefnagel’s acts of selection, recontextualization, and synthesis, I demonstrate that the artist exploited the capaciousness of his medium and the pages of the Schriftmusterbuch to assert his position as a purveyor of expansive erudition, discerning judgment, and manifold artistic capabilities.  With Quill and Brush: The Collaboration of a Secretarius and an Exornator Throughout the Schriftmusterbuch, both scribe and illuminator proclaim their role in the creation of the manuscript and their association with the imperial court. For instance, on fol. 48 Bocskay included an inscription that asserts his authorship and delineates his position as Secretarius, or secretary, to Emperor Maximilian II (Fig. 3.2).214 Hoefnagel, in more elaborate fashion, used fol. 118 to set out his contribution by way of a colophon, monogram, personal device, and coat of arms.215 While the colophon includes the same designation that                                                 213 In Van Mander’s words: “meesten Schilder-constbeminder der Weerelt.” Van Mander, “Voor-reden, op den grondt der edel vry Schilder-const,” Het schilder-boeck, fol. 4v.    214 The Latin inscription reads, “Maximiliani secundi Dei gratia electi Romanorum Imperatoris consiliarius Secretarius Georgius Bochkai Hungarus Viennae Austriae scriebat MDLXXI.” 215 Hoefnagel’s personal device consists of a nail (or sometimes the letter G) being hammered on an anvil that bears the motto, “Dum extendar” (until I am forged). The same device is present in a view of Solfatara the artist   87 appears in the Ambras missal (Exornator Hieroglyphicus), his coat of arms—a new feature in the artist’s oeuvre—incorporates the imperial eagle (Fig. 3.3). Although Bocskay and Hoefnagel’s collaboration on the Schriftmusterbuch took place across an expanse of time and space, within the manuscript their endeavors are presented as a fusion of script and image that often sees these forms intertwined into a two-fold visual encounter with virtuosic display. Hoefnagel pictorialized this partnership—both its means and end—on the same folio Bocskay had used for his aforementioned signature (fol.48); here the illuminator added life-sized renderings of a quill and paintbrush to the margins, along with scrolls quoting phrases associating immortality with fame.216 What these self-referential elements make clear is that while the Schriftmusterbuch resulted from the patronage of emperors, it served as a site where more than imperial identity and status were inscribed.  When referring to the manuscript in his account of Hoefnagel’s works, Van Mander describes it as “een Boeck, van den besten Schrijver van der Weerelt ghescreven” (a book written by the best writer of the world).217 A model book rather than a writing manual, the manuscript was dedicated to showing the scribe’s facility with different script types rather than providing instruction on how to recreate these types.218 Largely confined to the recto                                                                                                                                                   had drawn after his visit to Italy in 1578 and which was reproduced in the third volume of the Civitates atlas in 1583, as well as at the top of an engraved portrait of Hoefnagel created by Jan Sadeler in 1591 (discussed below). For a detailed analysis of this motif, see Lubomír Konečný, “Joris Hoefnagel’s ‘Emblematic’ Signature Reconsidered,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 61 (1998): 267-272. 216 An inscription wound around the quill reads, “Defendit ab annis”, while the scroll around the brush states, “Ad astra tollit.” Vignau-Wilberg traces these phrases to the Imagines Gentis Austriacae by Francesco Terzio. Vignau-Wilberg, Die Emblematischen Elemente im Werke Joris Hoefnagels, I, 260.  This is not the only folio where Hoefnagel represents the tools used to create the manuscript. On fol. 57, for instance, he shows greater range of the tools used by a scribe, including a quill, knife, and ink pot.  217 Van Mander, “Het leven van Iooris Hoefnaghel, Schilder en Poeet, van Antwerpen,” Het schilder-boeck, fol. 263r.  218 Although the Schriftmusterbuch is not a writing manual, scholars have traced many of its script types to contemporary manuals such as Giovanni Battista Palatino’s Libro nuovo d’imparare a scrivere (1540) and the   88 sides of the manuscript’s parchment folios, Bocskay’s handwritten demonstrations include basic italic and gothic scripts; scripts that feature decorative elements such as extended serifs; and scripts that are rendered in exhibition form such as diminutive writing, mirror writing, and monograms.219 The text used by the scribe for these demonstrations is non-sequential, as it consists chiefly of excerpts—in Latin, German, Italian, Greek, and Hebrew—from religious sources (e.g. prayers, psalms, and hymns) as well as court documents (e.g. imperial missives and dedications).220 Intended to be judged above all according to visual criteria, the selected texts served as a conduit for the scribe’s manual dexterity and inventiveness.  Throughout the manuscript, Hoefnagel’s illuminations respond to Bocskay’s calligraphic samples in a variety of ways.221 In some cases, a word or phrase from the given text clearly supplied the stimulus for the illuminator’s work. For instance, on fol. 76, the scribe used a Latin hymn on the Old Testament theme of the Second Day of Creation to display a neat form of italic script (Fig. 3.4). The formation of the heavens (coeli) referred to in this passage evidently served as the theme for Hoefnagel’s additions: a cartouche set across the top of the page contains a grisaille scene of astronomers who point to the night                                                                                                                                                   works of Johann Neudorfer (1519, 1538, 1544, 1549). See Lee Hendrix and Thea Vignau-Wilberg, eds. The Art of the Pen: Calligraphy from the Court of the Emperor Rudolf II, (London: Thames and Hudson, 2003), 8-11. 219 The combination of italic and gothic script in the Schritfmusterbuch stems from the different functions and associations of different script types in the sixteenth century. While the italic script had its elevated origins in the lettering of antiquity and was thereby fast becoming the defining font of the social and humanist elite across Europe, gothic was retained primarily in the German lands where it continued to service official documents at courts and in administrative centers. For the hierarchy and uses of different scripts, see Jonathan Goldberg, Writing Matter: From the Hands of the English Renaissance (Stanford University Press, 1990), 50; Hendrix, “The Writing Model Book, 35; and Richardson, Manuscript Culture in Renaissance Italy, 59-68. 220 Hendrix, “The Writing Model Book,” 34; Ritter, 337.  221 While many of the script samples leave large areas of the page blank, this is not necessarily evidence that the manuscript was intended for illumination from the outset. Instead, each folio appears dedicated to displaying the individual script forms in the most effective manner possible, with the area of page coverage a byproduct of this consideration. In some cases, this resulted in a page covered entirely in calligraphic flourishes, while in other cases—as when the script was of a more contained type—a smaller section of the page sufficed for the demonstration.    89 sky; a sun and moon occupy the lateral margins; and two monkeys—one with a telescope and the other with a celestial globe—take up the bottom register. As with most other examples of this type in the manuscript, these illuminations also exceed their textual anchorage. Each pictured element offers additional layers of meaning that would have had particular resonance for a patron such as Rudolf, who was heavily invested in astronomical and astrological study, not to mention the collection of exotic animals.222 The parody suggested by the parallel of astronomers and apes is also not far removed from the medieval drollery tradition of representing simian figures in manuscript margins to demonstrate humanity’s folly, although here the message is inflected to suggest the difference between an informed and ignorant application of knowledge. As an active node for humanists and scholars—including the astronomers Johannes Kepler and Tycho Brahe, the Rudolfine court served as a site where the pursuit of knowledge about the world and the cosmos was a serious and sustained undertaking. On other folios in the manuscript, Hoefnagel’s pictorial rejoinders are liberated from the role of illustration and respond instead to the visual features of Bocskay’s script.223 This is typified by fol. 24, where Hoefnagel’s images either transform or engage directly with the inked lines of Bocskay’s calligraphy rather than corresponding to the religious content of the text (Fig. 3.5).224 The most remarkable example emerges at the top of the folio, where a                                                 222 During the reign of Emperor Rudolf II, the grounds of Hradčany came to include a menagerie for animals that had been brought the the court from distant lands, including apes, lions, and rare birds. In addition to different iterations of monkeys, Hoefnagel integrates a number of other exotic (i.e. non-local) species into the Schriftmusterbuch, such as an ostrich (fol. 8), parrots (e.g. fols. 42 and 88), lions (e.g. fols. 84 and 88), and seahorses (fol. 112). 223 The disconnection between text and image is likely due to the non-narrative and therefore less restrictive function of the manuscript. Chmelarz compares the Schriftmusterbuch’s variety of textual sources with the uniformity of the Ambras missal, arguing that it was this variety that granted Hoefnagel greater freedom of expression in the later project; in “Georg und Jakob Hoefnagel,” 284-285.  224 I have not been able to identify the source of this text.    90 curved ascender morphs into the variegated face of a bird whose long bill is kept closed by the coils of a hissing serpent. In the folio’s lateral margins, birds, butterflies, slugs, and caterpillars perch on or hang off Bocskay’s flourishes, while at the base of the page another monkey lies sleeping with the end of its gold chain held in place by the looping line of a calligraphic descender. Hoefnagel rendered these playful pictorial elements with an eye to specificity, and many of the figures such as the pheasant at the top left are readily identifiable specimens from the natural world. Not confined to this folio, nature is a dominant presence throughout the Schriftmusterbuch—a feature of the manuscript that repeatedly asserts the artist’s expertise in the observation and reproduction of nature.    Hoefnagel’s skill in translating the observable world into an illumination is also often put on display in cases where the pictorial program of a page is largely if not completely divorced from the preexisting script. For instance, on fol. 29, Hoefnagel added Rudolf’s monogram, the coat of arms of Bohemia, and a view of Prague to a page where Bocskay used a liturgical passage about God’s gifts to display an ornate form of mirror writing (Fig. 3.6).225 The city view, which Hoefnagel labeled with the word ‘Praga’ in gold lettering, shows the imperial capital from the north, with Hradčany (Prague Castle) elevated on a hill to the right and Old Town a hazy expanse to the left of the meandering Vltava River. Although the curve of hills and river and the overlapping lines of streets provide somewhat of a visual echo for Bocskay’s calligraphy, the correspondence is not as closely forged as in the previously discussed folio. Instead, the emphasis here appears to be on the identifiable portrayal of the city rather than a clever connection between script and image. Notably, this view of Prague, along with a second representation of the imperial residence included on fol. 59, was                                                 225 The passage is from the Mass for Feria V, Second Sunday in Lent.   91 reproduced in the fifth volume of the Civitates Orbis Terrarum in 1598.226  The migration of these views from a courtly object into a widely-disseminated humanist project further attests to the entangled nature of Hoefnagel’s illuminations.   It is important to note here that after completing his illuminations for the Schriftmusterbuch, Hoefnagel was commissioned by Rudolf to illuminate a second of the Bocskay model books. Known today as the Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta, the book was one of the two manuscripts Bocskay had assembled for Emperor Ferdinand I in the 1560s; its illumination occupied Hoefnagel from circa 1594 to 1596.227 In this chapter, I focus on the Schriftmusterbuch rather than the Mira for a number of reasons. The Schriftmusterbuch was the first of Hoefnagel’s projects for the emperor, just as it was the first of Bocskay’s model books to be illuminated and the version that was granted both an ornate cover and privileged status in the Rudolfine Kunstkammer. Consequently, the Schriftmusterbuch sheds light on Hoefnagel’s entry into imperial service and his initial negotiation of this position, just as it serves as evidence that Hoefnagel’s work was well received by the emperor. Additionally, in contrast to the Schriftmusterbuch, the Mira manuscript presents a largely unified range of imagery: aside from a set of two alphabets appended to the end of the manuscript that are embellished with Hoefnagel’s typically varied illuminations, the rest of the book comprises life-sized representations of naturalia (Fig. 3.7). The Schriftmusterbuch’s diverse content thus sheds more light on Hoefnagel’s multifarious explorations of his medium’s potentialities                                                 226 Jan Kozák, “Joris Hoefnagel a počátky ikonografie Prahy,” Staletá Praha 8 (1977): 274-281; Lucia Nuti, “The Urban Imagery of Georg Hoefnagel,” Prag um 1600: Beiträge zur Kunst und Kultur am Hofe Rudolfs II (Freren: Luca Verlag, 1988), 216. 227 Unlike the Schriftmusterbuch, the Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta was removed from the Habsburg collection upon Rudolf’s death in 1612 and was perceived to be lost until the late nineteenth century, when it resurfaced in a private European collection. It was acquired by the J. Paul Getty Museum in 1986 (Ms. 20); it measures 16.6 x 12.4 cm and contains 151 folios (of these, five are paper while the remainder are parchment).    92 and capacity. Also, where Hoefnagel’s first model book project has received little scholarly attention, the Mira codex was the subject of a relatively recent and in-depth publication.228 That said, with its particular focus on the representation of nature, the Mira forms a useful point of comparison for Hoefnagel’s independent illuminations; consequently, its content will be addressed more fully in the subsequent chapter.  Kaiserliche Majestät Diener: Hoefnagel as Imperial Court Artist  Hoefnagel’s entry into imperial service took place soon after the artist finished the illumination of Archduke Ferdinand II’s missal. The termination of Hoefnagel’s appointment at the Munich court was possibly connected to Duke Wilhelm V’s increasingly stringent policies regarding the court’s adherence to Catholicism (Hoefnagel had a Calvinist background), or, just as likely, was a result of the duke’s growing debt.229 The illuminator’s dismissal from the Bavarian court is recorded in a directory that also lists several other artists                                                 228 Franz Ritter provides one of the earliest discussions of the Mira codex in, “Ein Wiener Schriftmusterbuch aus dem 16. Jahrhundert mit Miniaturmalereien,” Mittheilungen des k. k. Österreichischen Museums für Kunst und Industrie  N.F. II, 17 (1887): 337-342. Ritter is also the first scholar to identify the types of scripts employed by Bocskay, observing that several replicate the calligraphic types published in sixteenth-century writing books (p. 338-339). In his oft-cited essay, “Georg Hoefnagel und der wissenchaftliche Naturalismus,” Ernst Kris focuses instead on the Mira illuminations and their connection to Hoefnagel’s use of “wissenschaftliche Naturalismus” (scientific naturalism) in the rendering of objects from nature; in Festschrift für Julius von Schlosser zum 60. Geburtstag, ed. Arpad Weixlgärtner and Leo Planiscig (Vienna: Amalthea, 1927), 243-253. For the most comprehensive assessment of the manuscript in English see the facsimile publication released by the J. Paul Getty Museum with appended essays on its calligraphic and pictorial contents: Lee Hendrix and Thea Vignau-Wilberg, eds., Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta: A Sixteenth-Century Calligraphic Manuscript Inscribed by Georg Bocskay and Illuminated by Joris Hoefnagel (Malibu: The J. Paul Getty Museum, 1992). 229 In 1591, every member of Duke Wilhelm V’s court was required to sign a Professio fidei according to the tenets set out by the Council of Trent; Hoefnagel may have been forced to leave the court in response to this requirement. For more on this issue, see Vignau-Wilberg, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 151. For Hoefnagel’s religious leanings, see Joachim Jacoby, “Salus Generis Humani: Some Observations on Joris Hoefnagel’s Christianity,” in Hans von Aachen in Context (Prague: Artefactum, 2012), 102-125; and Nicolette Mout, “Political and Religious Ideas of Netherlanders at the Court in Prague,” in Acta Historiae Neerlandicae: Studies on the History of the Netherlands IX, ed. I. Schöffer et al. (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1976), 15-20.    93 slated for termination.230 While this directory, which spans from 1590 to 1592, does not specify the exact date when Hoefnagel left Munich, the correspondence between Archduke Ferdinand and Duke Wilhelm with regards to Hoefnagel’s completion of the Ambras missal (as cited in the previous chapter) suggests that the artist was still associated with the Wittelsbach court in February of 1591. However, it also appears that Hoefnagel’s transition to the imperial court must have followed shortly thereafter, since an inscription on a portrait of Hoefnagel by Jan Sadeler dated to the same year already references the illuminator’s employment to Emperor Rudolf.231  It is probable that Hoefnagel had first come to Rudolf’s attention by way of the archduke, who was in frequent contact with his nephew regarding their shared interests in art, architecture, and collecting. Another avenue of association between artist and emperor may have been established by means of Hoefnagel’s publishing endeavors in Munich. The artist had requested an imperial privilegium for many of his printed works (most of which were published in the late 1580s and early 1590s), and it was expected that any publications which did receive imperial protection would be made available to the emperor.232 That Rudolf did indeed encounter Hoefnagel’s work in this manner is evidenced by the content of a                                                 230 The court directory lists artists according to those whose dismissal was to take place immediately and those who were to be kept on only until they had finished their projects; Hoefnagel’s name is included in the first group. The record is held at the Bayerische Hauptstaatsarchiv in Munich (Kurbayern, Äußeres Archiv 1980, Fol.149r-152v). For a published transcription of the relevant section of this record, see Vignau-Wilberg, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 160 (A-5).  231 The engraved portrait simply bears the date 1591 along with an inscription giving Hoefnagel’s origins and work for Albrecht and Wilhelm Wittelsbach, Ferdinand of Austria, and Emperor Rudolf. However, as noted by Vignau-Wilberg, the drawing on which the print is based is dated 21 July 1591; “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 151, n.225.  232 Limouze outlines this system in her dissertation, “Aegidius Sadeler,” 38. Nicolette Mout shows that Rudolf actively benefited from the arrangement, as when he stipulated that he would only grant Abraham Ortelius a privilege for his Theatrum Orbis Terrarum if the geographer provided him with three presentation copies of the atlas; see her essay, “Political and Religious Ideas of Netherlanders at the Court in Prague,” 22.   94 privilegium that was granted the artist in 1590 for the engraved series, Salus generis humani. In the text of this official declaration, the emperor expresses his personal praise for Hoefnagel’s ‘elegant’ (elegantiam) images that comprise ‘hieroglyphics’ (hieroglyphicam) and convey ‘mystical meaning’ (mysticam interpretationem).233  Aside from such references and the Kunstkammer inventory, very few imperial documents remain that provide information with regards to Hoefnagel’s terms of service for Emperor Rudolf II. However, archival materials from sites outside Prague attest to the fact that much of the artist’s affiliation with the Rudolfine court was carried out at a physical remove from the imperial capital. Specifically, records kept by the city council in Frankfurt am Main show that on 23 September 1591, Hoefnagel requested residency in the municipality for the length of time it would take him to complete some work commissioned by the emperor—a request that was refused until Emperor Rudolf personally intervened one week later.234 Subsequently identified by the council as a servant to his imperial majesty (Kaiserliche Majestät Diener), Hoefnagel was permitted to reside in Frankfurt but not to become a full citizen.235 On 13 June 1594, he took his leave of the city, thanking the council for their protection and noting that he was moving on to the imperial court.236 Not a permanent relocation, however, Hoefnagel’s time in Prague seemed to be quickly followed by a move to Vienna, where records show that, in addition to completing illuminations for                                                 233 The privilegium, dated 1590, is held at the Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv in Vienna (Reichsreg. Rudolf II, Bd. 18: Rudolphi Secundi Privilegia. De annis Domini 1585-1591, Fol. 332r-332v). The full Latin text is reproduced in, Vignau-Wilberg, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 165 (G). 234 Walther Karl Zülch, Frankfurter Künstler, 1223-1700 (Frankfurt am Main: Verlag Moritz Diesterweg, 1935), 433.  235 Ibid., 433-434.  236 Ibid., 434.    95 the second of the Bocskay calligraphy model books, he engaged in mercantile activities with his brother.237   Hoefnagel’s residency in Frankfurt is coeval with his illumination of Rudolf’s Schriftmusterbuch, and it is therefore likely that it is this project that is referenced in the aforesaid negotiations between the artist and the city council in September of 1591.238 Although not the imperial court, Frankfurt was also a vital destination for European humanists and artists. Many scholars, booksellers, printers, publishers, and collectors were drawn to its celebrated book fair that took place in the spring and fall.239 As observed by Walther Karl Zülch, in the late sixteenth century the city was also a vibrant gathering site for itinerant painters, printers, goldsmiths, and the like, many of whom migrated there from areas of Europe affected by religious conflict.240 As will be discussed below, visual evidence in the                                                 237 Apparently the two brothers—Joris and Daniel Hoefnagel—registered a business in the city. Thea Vignau-Wilberg, “Joris Hoefnagel, The Illuminator,” Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta: A Sixteenth-Century Calligraphic Manuscript Inscribed by Georg Bocskay and Illuminated by Joris Hoefnagel, ed. Lee Hendrix and Thea Vignau-Wilberg (Malibu: The J. Paul Getty Museum, 1992), 22. In tracing Hoefnagel’s relation to the imperial court, Vignau-Wilberg also stresses that Hoefnagel should not be labelled a court artist but rather a “painter under court protection”; she does not, however, elaborate on this distinction (p.21). Van Mander gives little information on Hoefnagel’s service to Rudolf II, aside from noting that the illuminator received a considerable yearly salary and that he moved to Vienna to “live there and avoid the noise of the court.” See Van Mander, Dutch and Flemish Painters, 284.   238 Notably, Hoefnagel’s artistic activities in the city did not remain confined to the Schriftmusterbuch. In 1592, he contributed to Frankfurt’s publishing industry with the Archetypa studiaque patris Georgii Hoefnagelii—a series of forty-eight emblematic sheets engraved by his son, Jacob, according to his (Joris’) own designs. Possibly a way for the elder Hoefnagel to execute works outside his committment to the emperor, the collaboration of father and son served to extend Joris’ particular artistic form to a wider audience while helping establish his son’s artistic career. For an extensive discussion of the Archetypa’s content and function, along with a facsimile of the series, see, Thea Vignau-Wilberg, Archetypa Studiaque Patris Georgii Hoefnagelii, 1592: Nature, Poetry and Science in Art around 1600 (Munich: Staatliche Graphische Sammlung München, 1994).  239 The book fair in Frankfurt was established already in 1475 and continued to serve as a preeminent site of the book trade in Europe for the following two centuries. Andrew Pettegree, The French Book and the European Book World (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2007), 130-131. An early though still relevant English study of the event is James W. Thompson, The Frankfort Book Fair: The Francofordiense Emporium of Henri Estienne (Chicago: Caxton Club, 1911).  240 Zülch, Frankfurter Künstler, see esp. 388-461.   96 Schriftmusterbuch attests to Hoefnagel’s engagement with this expatriate community of artistic practitioners.  In the sixteenth century, the most typical model of employment for court painters was that of the artist-in-residence, according to which the artist belonged to the court’s household and generated work in proximity to his/her courtly patron.241 Examples of artists who deviated from this norm are generally held up as exceptional, as is the case with, for instance, Albrecht Dürer, Anthonis Mor, and Peter Paul Rubens.242 These northern artists all worked for members of the Habsburg dynasty, yet were free to do so away from their respective courts. As Martin Warnke points out, this position—one in which the artist acted as a “purveyor to the court” while benefitting from the privileges of courtly association—was “much sought after” and usually reserved for artists of high status.243 Warnke also argues that the artist as court purveyor “represented the most advanced type of artistic sovereignty, ostensibly opposed to the court, yet at the same time linked to it.”244 At the Rudolfine court, Hoefnagel was not alone in enjoying this distinct status. For instance, when Hans von Aachen was appointed court painter (Kammermaler) in 1592, a provision in his deeds of appointment stipulated that he could carry out his tasks “from home” (von Haus aus).245 The                                                 241 See, for instance, Warnke, The Court Artist; Stephen J. Campbell, ed. Artists at Court: Image-Making and Identity, 1300-1550 (Boston and Chicago: Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and University of Chicago Press, 2004); and Bette Talvacchia, “Notes for a Job Description to be Filed Under ‘Court Artist,’” in The Search for a Patron in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, ed. David G. Wilkins and Rebecca L. Wilkins (Lewiston, Queenston and Lampeter: Edwin Mellen Press, 1996), 179-190.  242 While I list only northern European examples here, Italian artists such as Titian and Tintoretto were also granted this level of independence.  243 Warnke, The Court Artist, 71.  244 Ibid., 74.  245 Ibid., 71. See also, Eliška Fučíková, “The Life,” in Hans von Aachen (1552-1615): Court Artist in Europe, ed. Thomas Fusenig (Aachen: Suermondt-Ludwig Museum, 2010), 5.   97 connection between independence and recognition is particularly manifest in Von Aachen’s case, since the artist was raised to the ranks of the nobility in 1594.246  In this context, Hoefnagel’s relation to the Prague court as that of a pictor vagabondis, or itinerant artist, comes into focus as a mark of privilege.247 At a remove from the court, Hoefnagel served his patron as a purveyor of novel encounters between multiple forms of knowledge and representation; of intellectual, political, and moral edification; and of insight into the makeup and mysteries of the world. Wielding a medium that was increasingly rare and uniquely capable of bringing together diverse subjects and genres, Hoefnagel also wielded authority over the subjects and material he integrated into his multifaceted illuminations.   A Belgian Zeuxis at the Imperial Court  Throughout the Schriftmusterbuch, Hoefnagel employed different strategies for marking out his role as a purveyor of singular pictorial and conceptual matter. Noteworthy in this regard is an inscription the illuminator added to a folio nearly halfway through the manuscript in which he declares: “Like the Hungarian Zeuxis with his pen, so the Belgian [Zeuxis] decorates your treasures with his artistic ability, eminent Rudolf. Both are equal in talent, learning, and reputation. Let him burst who bursts with envy” (fol. 48; Fig. 3.2).248                                                 246 Fučíková, “The Life,” 6. Fučíková notes that the patent of nobility for the artist was ratified in 1605—the same year in which Von Aachen was granted imperial protection. On the evolution of the title ‘Kammermaler’, see Warnke, The Court Artist, 118-119.  Notably, Von Aachen was not entirely freed from the constraints of patronage. As Warnke points out, a decree issued by Rudolf II in 1599 set out certain limits to the artist’s freedom by forbidding him from giving away “imperial portraits without the emperor’s prior knowledge” (p.145). 247 For a discussion of the pictor vagabundis and the ways in which itinerant artists could solicit connections with courtly patrons, see Warnke, The Court Artist, 95-96. 248 The original Latin text reads, “Hungarus ut calamo Zeuxis sic Belcigus arte Delicias ornant magne RVDOLPHE tuas. Ingenio pares, studiis, et nomine pares rumpatur quisquis rumpitur invidia.” The translation used here is given in Vignau-Wilberg, “Georg Bocskay, The Calligrapher,” 7.    98 The text is written in Latin inside a cartouche set at the bottom of the page—the same page that also includes Hoefnagel’s aforementioned representations of a quill and paintbrush. Hoefnagel’s pronouncement makes clear the ties between the manuscript project and its patron, just as it characterizes the codex as one of Rudolf’s treasures. The text also stresses the high level of skill exhibited by both scribe and illuminator—skill that warrants, according to Hoefnagel, both the envy of others and association with an illustrious Greek artist. In evoking comparisons between Hoefnagel’s illuminations and Zeuxis’ art, the inscription likewise suggests a thematization of illumination as a selective process predicated on discernment and the skillful synthesis of elements into ideal forms of assemblage. The figure of Zeuxis was not an uncommon trope in the sixteenth century. Various stories about the artist were reported by celebrated classical authors such as Cicero and Pliny the Elder, which established the painter as a popular topos for early modern discourse on the making of art.249 One of the most commonly related Zeuxisian tales in the sixteenth century tells of the artist’s strategy when painting an image of Helen of Troy.250 In creating this image, Zeuxis wished to be true to the subject by rendering his heroine as the ideal female figure. However, the artist was thwarted in this undertaking by the imperfection of the models at his disposal. The artist’s solution was to select five women from whom he took only the best features, with the resulting assemblage coalescing into an ideal of beauty.  Zeuxis’ selection of ideal traits was based on the artist’s ability to discern perfection, as was his subsequent translation of these fragmented elements into a coherent and flawless whole. In her study of the Zeuxisian narrative, Elizabeth Mansfield observes that its                                                 249 Elizabeth Mansfield,  Too Beautiful to Picture: Zeuxis, Myth, And Mimesis (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007), xvi. 250 The more common version of this story originated with Cicero’s De Inventione; while Pliny also addresses the narrative in Natural History, in his version Zeuxis is painting Hera rather than Helen of Troy.    99 illustration of idealization differs from the anecdotes of other well-known representatives from the Greek canon. That is, in contrast to the stories of Apelles and Pygmalion, for instance, the case of Zeuxis is expressly a “commentary on aesthetic theory” that “valorizes an intellectual rather than emotional approach to art making.”251 Zeuxis’ strategy, Mansfield stresses, brought together the copying of nature with its manipulation—a process whereby the real was yoked to the ideal.252  On each page of the Schriftmusterbuch, Hoefnagel carried out a selective process not dissimilar from Zeuxis’ approach to painting his Helen of Troy. That is, the illuminator took elements from a variety of sources in order to compose his own ideal assemblage. He combined elements from established Rudolfine propaganda, contemporary proto-scientific fields such as cartography and natural history, the symbolic language of emblematics, the conventions of illumination, and his own observations and fantasia to create compositions productive of political, cultural, moral, and intellectual insight. Where Zeuxis’ story hinges on the human figure—a familiar focal point in classical discourse on the ideal, Hoefnagel’s approach is firmly rooted in contemporary views regarding the signifying potential and concomitant epistemological value of the visual field, as well as the significance attributed to comprehensive knowledge. In the Schriftmusterbuch, the illuminator carried out the processes of selection, recontextualization, and synthesis in order to present the viewer with access to a varied range of visual information, ideas, and references—an effort that echoes courtly pursuits such as collecting. As with Zeuxis, it was Hoefnagel’s discernment and skill                                                 251 Mansfield, Too Beautiful to Picture, 7. 252 Ibid., 7-8; 154.   100 that guided these processes. It was also by means of these processes that Hoefnagel inscribed his agency, authority, and originality into the Rudolfine manuscript.  There is insufficient space here to address each of Hoefnagel’s composite designs in the Schriftmusterbuch; nonetheless, it is useful to consider certain strategies that informed the artist’s modes of assemblage. One such strategy involved the integration of pre-existing forms. Never a case of slavish imitation, each instance of this type of pictorial repetition was defined by mediation that transformed the borrowed image or motif into an embedded object within Hoefnagel’s larger composition. The value of this process can be seen as twofold: while Hoefnagel’s selective acts of repetition showcased his engagement with an extensive array of artistic genres and practices, his acts of transformation supplied Rudolf with new and often sophisticated perspectives on familiar elements.  One of the most telling examples of this process of re-iteration can be seen on fol. 60, where Hoefnagel used his medium to reinvent the state portrait (Fig. 3.8). The central block of the page is taken up by four monograms designed by Bocskay to spell out the names of four prominent Habsburgs: Emperor Maximilian II (the scribe’s patron and the first owner of the Schriftmusterbuch), Empress Maria of Austria (Maximilian’s wife), and their two oldest sons, Rudolf and Matthias. Hoefnagel’s response to this design was explicitly intertextual: he translated each of the monograms into an oval, bust-length portrait of the named individual. He placed his four portraits along the bottom of the page, where the procession from patriarch to empress to progeny proceeds from left to right. Each member of the Habsburg family is isolated within a gold frame against a blue ground. The two most important figures—Maximilian and his heir, Rudolf—are given the distinction of black clothes, while   101 Maria and Matthias are more muted in grey.253 Painted ornamental clasps embellished with the red and white of the House of Austria draw the portraits together, while at the top of the page an inscription added by Hoefnagel underscores the family’s solidarity with reference to its pillar-like strength, nobility, and immortality.254 This message is extended along the sides of the page, where heraldic representations of Bohemia, Hungary, Castile, León, Burgundy, and Austria stand in for the expansive Habsburg domain.  Hoefnagel’s representation of the Habsburgs constitutes not only a genealogy but a portrait gallery, with each miniature image a repetition of an existing oil painting made for the imperial family. Hoefnagel’s Maximilian II, with his cap, collar, and goatee, repeats the key features of Nicolas Neufchatel’s portrait of the emperor from around 1566 (Fig. 3.9); the empress is likely a quotation of a state portrait made by an anonymous artist in the late 1550s; and Archduke Matthias’ likeness in the manuscript seems to be excerpted from a three-quarter-length portrait painted by Lucas van Valckenborch circa 1583.255 The portrait of Rudolf in the manuscript approximates its source most closely: the emperor’s hat, collar, buttons, chain, and tilted face are all elements extracted from a small half-length image of Rudolf painted by the imperial portraitist, Joseph Heintz the Elder, circa 1592 (Fig. 3.10).256                                                 253 Black was the established sartorial color at the Spanish court—the site of Rudolf’s upbringing.  254 The inscription reads, “O generosa domus virtutis, firma columna: Immortalis eris posteritate tua.” 255 To the best of my knowledge, Hoefnagel’s appropriation of existing portraits for this folio has not been discussed in earlier scholarship. All three of the original portraits were retained in the Habsburg collections and so are currently held at the KhM in Vienna. Neufchatel’s painting of Maximilian (Inv. Nr. GG_374) measures 81 x 65 cm and was painted on canvas. The portrait of Maria of Austria (Inv. Nr. GG_1042)  measures 100 x 72 cm and was painted on wood. Van Valckenborch’s depiction of Matthias (Inv. Nr. GG_3400) measures 132 x 96 cm and was painted on canvas. Since Neufchatel and Van Valckenborch each created a number of portraits of Maximilian and Matthias (respectively), it is possible that Hoefnagel’s miniatures borrow from different versions than the ones mentioned here. However, since Maximilain was deceased by the time Hoefnagel painted his portrait, it is likely that the artist looked to earlier works to render his visage.  256 Rudolf’s portrait is also held at the KhM (Inv. Nr. GG_1124); it measures 16.2 x 12.7 cm and was painted on copper. According to the museum, the date of 1594 in the upper left-hand corner was added later.    102 Far from losing value as secondary rather than ‘true’ representations of the four sitters, Hoefnagel’s portraits combine the cultural weight of their recognizable models with an inventive re-inscription of their forms that underscores the theme of lineage, evokes the personalized nature of the manuscript, and establishes Hoefnagel as victor in the contest between illumination and court portraiture. In order to unify his sequence of portraits on the manuscript page, Hoefnagel carried out a number of adjustments to his source material. He confined all of the portraits to bust-length representations, he reduced the range of color for his sitters’ costumes, and he placed each figure against the same background. The resulting impression of uniformity communicates the line of succession established between parents and sons and, with the selective use of black costume, makes visible the direct link between the two emperors (Maximilian and Rudolf). Notably, the illuminator’s use of a pendant-like format, gold frame, and blue background for each likeness also transforms the pictures into portrait miniatures.  The portrait miniature was an art form that emerged in England in the first half of the sixteenth century and then gained popularity on the continent throughout the second half of the 1500s.257 Hoefnagel’s reference to this relatively novel medium in the Schriftmusterbuch is emphatic—a point that becomes especially evident when the illuminations are compared to works produced by Hoefnagel’s contemporary, the limner Nicholas Hilliard (ca. 1547-1619). Hilliard created portrait miniatures for the English monarchy and nobility, many of which are oval pendants that present their sitters delineated with extensive detail against a blue                                                 257 A useful overview of British portrait miniatures remains Roy Strong’s exhibition catalogue, Artists of the Tudor Court: The Portrait Miniature Rediscovered, 1520-1620 (London: Victoria and Albert Museum, 1983). For a more recent study that focuses on the portrait miniatures at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, see Katherine Coombs, The Portrait Miniature in England (London: V & A Publications, 1998).    103 background. One such example is a miniature of Queen Elizabeth I that Hilliard painted in 1572 (Fig. 3.11).258 Here, a bust-length representation of the monarch is set against the familiar blue ground; she is angled towards the viewer, with her face, ornate costume, and coiffure displayed to best effect.  Portrait miniatures served as personal keepsakes that also communicated social connections within the public sphere; usually placed inside ornate lockets of gold and other precious materials, they were likewise markers of conspicuous consumption. In late sixteenth-century England, these objects were often used to convey political ties and status, as when an individual wore a portrait miniature of the queen to signify royal favor or to express loyalty.259 The origins of this object are closely tied to the practice of manuscript illumination, which had been adding portraits to folio margins since the Late Middle Ages.260 Usually painted with watercolor on vellum, portrait miniatures retained this link to the older medium. The portrait miniature infiltrated courtly circles in Central Europe only slowly, and so it is likely that Hoefnagel gained familiarly with the form during his stay in England in 1568 and 1569.261   In the Schriftmusterbuch portraits, Hoefnagel converted existing images into new forms by recontextualizing the images as portrait miniatures. An itinerant, Hoefnagel made                                                 258 Hilliard’s miniature of Queen Elizabeth I is at the National Portrait Gallery in London, England (NPG 108). It measures 5.1 x 4.8 cm, and it was painted with watercolor on vellum. For a recent publication on Hilliard, see Karen Hearn, Nicholas Hilliard (London: Unicorn Press Publishing Group, 2005).   259 Roy Strong, Gloriana: The Portraits of Queen Elizabeth I (London: Pimlico, 2003), 22-30. 260 Torben Holck Colding, Aspects of Miniature Painting: Its Origins and Development (Copenhagen: Ejnar Munksgaard, 1953),18. 261 To the best of my knowledge, very few portrait miniatures in the “English” style were made for or collected at the Central European courts. An exception is a wooden diptych dated 1578 that contains a portrait of Duke Albrecht V Wittelsbach within the left panel and a portrait of Duchess Anna of Austria on the right. Both are circular bust-length miniaturized portraits where each sitter is set against a blue ground. The object is held at Bayerisches Nationalmuseum in Munich (Inv. Nr. R 951).     104 use of his knowledge of foreign innovations in order to provide his patron with novelty. Most if not all the original portraits referenced by Hoefnagel were part of Rudolf’s collections at Prague Castle when the illuminator was working on the manuscript, and thus the emperor would have recognized the painted faces in his book as citations. He would therefore also have been aware of the alterations made by his miniator when translating the portraits from one medium to the other. Hoefnagel’s alterations transformed discrete public images into a private, commemorative representation of the patron and his family—a transformation that echoed the function of the Schriftmusterbuch as a personalized object that represented dynastic continuity. In carrying out this transformation, Hoefnagel asserted that as an illuminator he could not only work in other genres, but he could manipulate their visual codes in order to create new and singular compositions.     The Schriftmusterbuch features many such opportunities that would have allowed Rudolf to identify borrowed motifs and, by extension, marvel at the scope of his illuminator’s abilities. On fol. 101, Hoefnagel’s act of repetition provides the enlightened viewer with a reference to contemporary cartographic developments (Fig. 3.12). While much of the folio is consigned to a series of concentric rings comprising Bocskay’s gothic script, the bas-de-page consists of a scrollwork frame painted around a simplified yet identifiable quotation of the world map Abraham Ortelius featured in his printed atlas, Theatrum orbis terrarum (Fig. 3.13).262 Counted among the earliest modern world atlases, the Theatrum was first published in Antwerp in 1570, with the map of the world—the Typus orbis terrarum—serving as the                                                 262 To the best of my knowledge, the original source for this motif has not been addressed in the scholarship on either the manuscript in particular or on Hoefnagel’s work in general. With regards to Bocskay’s script on this page, the lettering and scale of the text have made it impossible to identify its content.   105 opening plate.263 Ortelius’ map not only presents the configuration of the world’s continents and oceans, but it also includes lines of latitude and longitude, with the equator and two tropics emphasized.264 In Hoefnagel’s miniaturized rendition, the same layout is visible: the map is an oval projection centered on the Atlantic Ocean with a large landmass—an extended version of present-day Antarctica—stretching along its base; the continents are likewise shown with the same outlines and proportions. While Ortelius’ longitudinal lines are absent on the manuscript folio, the lines of latitude emphasized on the printed map are included.  The textual quotations Hoefnagel added to the strapwork cartouche around the map and to banners in the top corners of the folio frame the pictorial contents of the page as a comparison between the glory of the visible, material, temporal world and the greatness of the invisible, immaterial, and eternal God.265 The former is anchored in the map of the world, which makes the extent of the world both visible and knowable by way of cartographic mechanisms (e.g. clearly delineated land masses and quantifiable lines of latitude). The materiality of the represented world is further asserted by the inscription of “Materia” along the bottom of the map and reinforced by the three-dimensional quality of the surrounding strapwork frame. Hoefnagel makes the divine present by means of a Tetragrammaton, a winged cherub head, and smoke rising from censors—a symbol of the immateriality of faith.                                                  263 The scholarship on Ortelius is extensive. For a particularly insightful account of his world map, see Lucia Nuti, “The World Map as an Emblem: Abraham Ortelius and the Stoic Contemplation,” Imago Mundi 55 (2003): 38-55.  264 Ortelius’ map was engraved by Franz Hoegenberg, who was also responsible for much of the content in the Civitates Orbis Terrarum volumes. Many of the map’s details draw on Gerard Mercator’s multi-sheet version from 1569.  265 For instance, Hoefnagel cites St. Augustine with inscriptions that flank the world map; to the left is the text, “Visibilium omnium maximus est mundus invisibilium deus,” while to the right is “Sed mundum esse videm deum esse credimus.”    106 As with Hoefnagel’s other pictorial repetitions, the world map is embedded within the program of the page while maintaining its referentiality to Ortelius’ atlas. With its careful configuration of landmasses and inclusion of lines, Hoefnagel’s re-iteration of the Theatrum map stands as much more than a symbol of the world. It is also a reference to the methodical, scientific process of mapping—an undertaking with which the illuminator was himself closely associated.266 As the inventory for the imperial Kunstkammer shows, Emperor Rudolf was in possession of Ortelius’ atlas; consequently, it is again not unlikely that he would have recognized its double in his manuscript.267 However, on the manuscript page, the map is subsumed into a complex program that encourages the viewer to consider the content and implications of the map in a different light. Imitation, as art historical scholarship of the past two decades has stressed, was a significant component of early modern artistic practice and theory.268 While not always perceived positively—as when it was seen as theft, imitation circumscribed by wit and innovation could engender considerable cultural distinction. Indeed, when achieved by means of a judicious selection and translation of established models, imitation was often described as a form of originality.269 In the Schriftmusterbuch, Hoefnagel mediated his acts of repetition so that they simultaneously retained an association with their source material and revealed the illuminator’s contribution of a new and original mode of presentation. The                                                 266 I am here referring to Hoefnagel’s contributions to the Civitates volumes.  267 The atlas is listed under Inv. no. 2604 as “Theatrum orbis Abra: Ortelii illuminirt, in rot leder gebunden, ligt in schwartzem copert.” Bauer and Haupt, eds., “Das Kunstkammerinventar Kaiser Rudolfs II., 1607-1611,” 378. Interestingly enough, the inventory shows that the atlas was kept in the same chest as the commentary volume for Hoefnagel’s illuminations in the Ambras missal (as discussed in the previous chapter).  268 For an overview of early modern imitation, see James S. Ackerman, “Imitation,” in Origins, Imitation, Conventions: Representation in the Visual Arts (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002), 125-142. 269 Maria H. Loh, “New and Improved: Repetition as Originality in Italian Baroque Practice and Theory,” The Art Bulletin 86, 3 (Sept. 2004): 478.   107 duality of Hoefnagel’s imitative practice can be contextualized with relation to what Mariah Loh defines as an “aesthetic of repetition.” 270 Loh, writing on sixteenth- and seventeenth-century painting in Italy, equates the aesthetic of repetition with “an insistently demonstrative species of imitation” that “intentionally glosses, appropriates, or recontextualizes previous works…and that builds into the logic of the work of art the moment of recognition of the repeated elements.”271 For early modern viewers, discerning the act of imitation, “untangling difference from repetition,” and tracing elements to their sources marked intellectual and cultural erudition just as it brought pleasure.272 Thus, in the Schriftmusterbuch, repetition can be understood as a critical strategy with which Hoefnagel was able to assert the range as well as the cultural and intellectual weight of his illuminations while providing his patron with the gratification of recognizing the visual references embedded into his manuscript.  That said, there are also certain locations in the Schriftmusterbuch where Hoefnagel borrowed from sources with which his patron had probably not come into contact. In these cases, the value of the cited forms resided above all in their contribution to Hoefnagel’s intersecting programs of eclecticism and edification.273 For a particularly instructive example we can turn to fol. 68, where Hoefnagel included a miniaturized repetition of a Tower of Babel that had been painted in Frankfurt by Lucas van Valckenborch (ca. 1535-97) in 1594 (Figs. 3.14-3.15).274 Hoefnagel’s citation of Van Valckenborch’s work is interesting for a                                                 270 Ibid.  271 Ibid.  272 Ibid., 489. 273 I am here borrowing from Loh’s phrase, “doctrine of eclecticism”, which the author uses to reference the combination of repeated components from different sources. Ibid., 488.  274 The painting is held at the Musée du Louvre in Paris (R.F. 2427); it measures 41 x 56 cm. The connection between Van Valckenborch’s painting and the Schriftmusterbuch folio is also made by Vignau-Wilberg in, Die Emblematischen Elemente im Werke Joris Hoefnagels, I, 64, 268. Notably, Van Valckenborch had also   108 number of reasons. First, Van Valckenborch became a fellow resident of Frankfurt in the early 1590s, which corresponded to Hoefnagel’s own time in the city. Hoefnagel’s integration of Van Valckenborch’s design into the Rudolfine manuscript indicates that the two artists interacted during their time in the same city—a point reinforced by the fact that Hoefnagel completed the Schriftmusterbuch in the same year that Van Valckenborch created his painting.275 Finally, Van Valckenborch and Hoefnagel had come to know each other in Antwerp already in the 1570s; the intersection of their work two decades later points to Hoefnagel’s continued ties with fellow Netherlanders during his time abroad.276 Hoefnagel’s repetition and recontextualization of Van Valckenborch’s Tower of Babel in Rudolf’s model book stages a clever and witty response to Bocskay’s calligraphic display while demonstrating the artist’s fluency with history painting. The scribe confined his inscription to the top half of the page, where two passages show his skill with Hebrew and Greek script.277 Since half of the page was available for illumination, Hoefnagel’s additions not only frame but also dominate the surface. The artist used decorative flourishes to enclose Bocskay’s texts and added the image of the Tower of Babel to the lower half of the folio—an addition that, as will be shown below, was clearly intended to exploit Bocskay’s presentation of different linguistic alphabets. Taking a cue from the circular shape of the tower, Hoefnagel                                                                                                                                                   authored the aforementioned portrait of Archduke Matthias that Hoefnagel had excerpted for his Habsburg genealogy. Van  Valckenborch had been employed as Matthias’ court painter when the archduke served as the governor of the Spanish Netherlands in Brussels and then also when Matthias moved to Linz. A key source on this artist is still Alexander Wied, “Lucas van Valckenborch,” Jahrbuch der kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien 67 (1971): 119-231. 275 It is clear that Van Valckenborch was also connected to the imperial court in some capacity in the 1590s, since shortly after 1594 he created a small painting of Emperor Rudolf II at a mineral spring. This work is held at the KhM in Vienna (Inv. Nr. GG_5655).  276 Jörg Diefenbacher, “Eine Pragansicht von Anton Mirou, entstanden in einem dichten Beziehungsgeflecth niederländischer Künstler in Frankenthal, Frankfurt und Prag,” STUDIA RUDOLPHINA 8 (2008): 44. 277 Both passages are religious in content (e.g. the Hebrew provides the text of Psalm 1:1-2).    109 changed the horizontal format of the painting into a roundel, and framed the scene with leaves, abstracted ornament, and Latin phrases.  Hoefnagel’s translation of Van Valckenborch’s painting is comparable to his transformation of state portraits: he reduced the scale of the original, removed extraneous details that could distract from the main signifying elements, and then framed his work to create a new form. In Van Valckenborch’s representation of the Genesis narrative, the tower occupies both the central axis and midground of the painting, with King Nimrod—ruler of the Babylonians and fabled builder of the tower—perched in the foreground with his attendants and a distinctly Netherlandish landscape extending into the distance. 278 Van Valckenborch’s design for his tower is comparable to the many other iterations of the narrative painted in the sixteenth century—particularly those created by fellow northerners such as Pieter Bruegel the Elder. 279 Van Valckenborch’s conical structure—undeniably inspired by the Roman Colosseum—is conceived as successive rows of increasingly narrow registers with the top left incomplete. The bottom-most level is reinforced by wide, curving buttresses, with a narrow bridge and two turrets along the right side projecting outwards at an angle; the levels above are punctuated by paired, round-arch openings, with scaffolding indicating the ongoing process of construction. To the right of the tower, a wide quay circles around and connects with a ship-filled bay.                                                  278 Genesis 11:1-4. 279 Van Valckenborch created multiple versions of the Tower of Babel, including one dated to 1568 (in a private collection) that clearly references Bruegel’s painting of the topic from 1563 (held at the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen in Rotterdam). Bruegel’s tower paintings have prompted considerable dicussion and debate among art historians. For particularly insightful perspectives, see Vytas Narusevicius, “The Labours of Translation: Towards Utopia in Breugel’s Tower of Babel,” WRECK 4 (2013): 30-45; Margaret D. Carroll, “The Conceits of Empire: Bruegel’s Ice-Skating Outside St. George’s Gate in Antwerp and Tower of Babel,” in Painting and Politics in Northern Europe: Van Eyck, Bruegel, Rubens, and Their Contemporaries (University Park: Pensylvania State University Press, 2008), 64-87; and S. A. Mansbach, “Pieter Bruegel’s Towers of Babel,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 45 (1982): 43-56.   110 For the Schriftmusterbuch folio, Hoefnagel recreated all of these features: the same conical structure with registers, buttresses, arched openings, bridge, towers, and quay. These markers of equivalence, or what Loh would deem “demonstrative imitation”, are made all the more emphatic by Hoefnagel’s circular cropping of the image—an adjustment that draws additional attention to the tower and its forms.280 The circular frame contains the narrative, transforming it into a discrete pictorial motif that takes its place as one component of several in the overarching program of the page.  The biblical narrative of the Babylonian tower treats two key themes: humanity’s hubris and the loss of an original language that once bound humanity together. Hoefnagel’s multimedial program of illumination addresses both. The first is referenced pictorially with the representation of the ill-fated tower, and then also reiterated with a quotation from Horace placed in the middle of the page that states, “Force without wisdom falls of its own weight.”281 Hoefnagel also omitted the figures of King Nimrod and his retinue. This omission may have been a way to adhere more closely to the biblical source material (which does not mention the king), but it may also have been a strategy for placing the viewer into the position of the erring king, looking out over the scene and contemplating the consequences of injudicious action. The narrative’s second theme—the confusion of languages that was God’s punishment for trying to build a tower to the heavens, is referenced directly by means of text Hoefnagel appended to either side of the circular image of the tower.282 Notably, these Latin                                                 280 Loh, “New and Improved,” 478. 281 “Sperate memorem: Vis consilii expers mole ruit sua.” The second part of the statement comes from Horace, Odes III, 4, 65. See, for instance, David West, Horace Odes III. Dulce Periculum (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 42.  282 These phrases are added to the sides of the tower scene as blue panels of gold script; the left reads “Confusio labii” and the right “universae terrae.”    111 phrases, along with the text from Horace and Bocskay’s Hebrew and Greek passages, bring to light the multilingualism associated with the outcome of the depicted story.283  As noted above, the Tower of Babel was a common topic for artists north of the Alps. Even though it is unlikely that Rudolf was familiar with Van Valckenborch’s version, he would have known other renditions—a point reinforced by the fact that the emperor acquired one of Bruegel’s paintings of the tower for his collection.284 Consequently, Hoefnagel’s use of the scene for the Schriftmusterbuch would undoubtedly have been associated and compared with such depictions of the narrative. Within the configuration of the manuscript folio, the status of the scene as a fragment is emphasized but also mitigated by its insertion into an aggregate of other quotations. It is contained by its circular frame, but also tied visually to its surroundings. It is with this extension of association that Hoefnagel’s translation trumps both its source material and other paintings of the subject. The illuminator’s tower joins in a program that is not only suggestive of multiple modes of interpretation, but it is also expressive of a pictorial and textual polyphony with parallels in the culture of an international court defined by a proliferation of artistic, linguistic, religious, and political dialects.     As with Hoefnagel’s other repetitions in the manuscript, his recontextualization of Van Valckenborch’s painting would buttress the illuminator’s claims to artistic and intellectual versatility. Not limited to one genre, the illuminator showed himself capable of                                                 283 It is also possible that Hoefnagel’s addition of his Tower of Babel to a page with Hebrew stemmed from contemporary discourse on the origins of language, according to which Hebrew was identified as the ‘first’ language—that is, the language that preexisted the construction of the tower and the subsequent linguistic confusion. For more on early modern views on Hebrew and linguistic origins, see Martin Elsky, “Georg Herbert’s Pattern Poems and the Materiality of Language: A New Approach to Renaissance Hieroglyphics,” ELH 50, no. 2 (Summer 1983): 249-250. 284 This version dates from 1563 and is now in the possession of the KhM in Vienna (Inv. Inv.-Nr. GG_1026).    112 integrating numerous pictorial forms into his compositions, including portraiture, cartography, narrative painting, and landscape. In each of the examples discussed here, the re-iteration of existing visual culture also reveals the extent to which Hoefnagel’s portfolio of forms corresponded to the artist’s mobility and ties to communities beyond the courts. He encountered the portrait miniature in England; he gained access to cartographic projects by means of his Netherlandish roots; and he extended the range of his narrative imagery as a result of his ties to the artistic community in Frankfurt.  Recontextualizing the Legacies of Illumination In crafting his Schriftmusterbuch compilations, Hoefnagel also recontextualized tropes specific to the medium in which he worked. In some cases, this consisted of a repetition of content that was traditional to courtly manuscripts, while in others it constituted a return to pictorial devices that had been designed to heighten the experiential potential of an illuminated page. As with Hoefnagel’s appropriation of forms and motifs from contemporary genres, his reconstitution of these legacies was not without nuance. In drawing such forms into the Rudolfine manuscript, Hoefnagel again asserted his role as a purveyor of a culturally valuable and atypically comprehensive artistic practice.   One of the most frequently repeated pictorial elements in courtly manuscripts from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance is the throne room scene, namely a scene that features the prince—usually the recipient or dedicatee of the manuscript—seated in ceremony on his throne in full regalia and often in the company of his closest advisors. Use of this trope is already in evidence in tenth-century manuscripts, and many later examples—particularly in books associated with the Holy Roman Emperors—prove that its popularity did not wane in   113 subsequent centuries.285 A relevant example here is Gerard David’s full-page miniature of Emperor Maximilian I on fol. 4r in Johannes Michael Nagonius’ Encomia for Maximilian (dated 1493 to 1504) (Fig. 3.16).286 A manuscript that was retained in the Habsburg collections, it presents Rudolf’s great-grandfather seated frontally on an ornate marble throne under a green canopy held open by two imperial eagles and embellished with the letters SPQR. Although intended for private viewing, the scene nonetheless engages the mechanisms of political propaganda. Hoefnagel’s opening to the Schriftmusterbuch acknowledges the authority of this tradition with a full-page miniature on fol. 2 centered on a scene of Emperor Rudolf II enthroned on an elevated dais surrounded by the six Electors of the Holy Roman Empire (Fig. 3.17). All of the imperial iconography featured in David’s rendition of Maximilian is shown here: the eagles, the acronym of empire, and the emperor, seated frontally, wearing the imperial crown and holding the symbols of his office. Hoefnagel also added features to the margins that heighten these associations with imperial power and authority, such as the fasces set to either side of the scene. The similarities between the two portraits are so many that the continuity of the tradition is without doubt; in fact, it is even possible that Hoefnagel looked to this particular image as a formula to be repeated—albeit with some alterations.287                                                 285 See, for instance, the Reichenau Gospels, which dates from 998-1001 and which includes an image of Emperor Otto III enthroned. For information on this image and on the tradition of this mode of representation, see Malcolm Vale, “Courts, Art, and Power,” in The Renaissance World, ed. John Jeffires Martin (New York and London: Routledge, 2007), 293-296.  286 The manuscript is currently held at the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek in Vienna (Ms. 12750). For an overview of the manuscript’s history and illumination, see Thomas Kren, “Consolidation and Renewal: Manuscript Painting under the Habpsburgs, circa 1485-1510,” in Illuminating the Renaissance: The Triumph of Flemish Manuscript Painting in Europe, ed. Thomas Kren and Scot McKendrick (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2003), 356-358. 287 For instance, where David’s eagles are naturalistic and included within the scene, Hoefnagel’s have been transformed into abstracted, grotesque forms and removed to the top border of the page.    114 In the Schriftmusterbuch, the invocation of this tradition fulfills multiple functions: it indexes the long history of manuscript illumination as a court art, it establishes associations between Rudolf and his predecessors, and, with the reference to the Electors, it substantiates the emperor’s claim to the throne.  However, Hoefnagel’s throne room scene also exceeds its foundations in tradition by means of its placement opposite a folio representative of a more ‘modern’—and expressly Rudolfine—iteration of political power. Where the focal point of fol. 2r is a mimetic rendering of Rudolf’s power, fol. 1v is dedicated to a symbolic portrayal of his supremacy (Fig. 3.18). At the center of the folio, a medallion with a gold frame and blue ground contains an emblematic formulation of elements that equate Rudolf’s reign with that of Emperor Augustus. A lion and a fish-tailed ram are positioned on either side of a globe, while an eagle is shown soaring overhead with a sun at its breast. Where Leo was Rudolf’s astrological sign, Capricorn was Augustus’. The eagle, which stands in for Jupiter and the empire, holds the light of the sun over the world as ratification of Rudolf’s dominion.  In late sixteenth-century rhetoric on rulership, the reign of Emperor Augustus was often presented as the ideal model. At the Rudolfine court, drawing lines of association between the ancient ruler and the Habsburg emperor was one of the most popular topoi of propaganda in the 1590s and early 1600s.288 Not only did it feature on prominent examples of court art, as was the case with the well-known bronze bust of the emperor made by Adriaen de Vries in 1603, but it also circulated more widely by means of imperial coins and printed                                                 288 This association is mentioned in a number of publications taking up the art of the Prague court. See, for instance, Lubomír Konečný, “Pictorial Content,” in Hans von Aachen (1552-1615): Court Artist in Europe, ed. Thomas Fusenig (Aachen: Suermondt-Ludwig-Museum, 2010), 80-83; and Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, The School of Prague: Painting at the Court of Rudolf II (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), 7, 57-59.       115 portraits (Fig. 3.19).289 The same motif was likewise integrated into a number of Rudolf’s imprese, many of which were recorded in the Symbola Divina et Humana—a series of printed volumes containing papal, imperial, and royal devices that were assembled by court historian Jacob Typotius and engraved by court artist Aegidius Sadeler.290 Hoefnagel’s prominently placed rendition of this imagery in the Schriftmusterbuch clearly corresponds to these larger trends at the Prague court; moreover, completed in the first half of the 1590s, his illuminated page possibly informed the abovementioned iterations.291  Viewed together, the two facing pages that open the Schriftmusterbuch are thus both a pictorial panegyric to Hoefnagel’s patron and a demonstration of Hoefnagel’s ability to join tradition with innovation. The first, or left, page is couched in the esoteric terms that were promoted by the emperor at his court. Here, the illuminator manifests his skill and identity as a hieroglyphicus: his pictorial forms stand in for multiple meanings, with their interpretation                                                 289 For an account of the motif on the bust, see Jürgen Müller and Betram Kaschek, “Adriaen de Vries: Bildnisbüste Rudolfs II. von 1603,” STUDIA RUDOLPHINA 1 (2001): 8. The authors suggest that one source for this imagery may have been the Gemma Augustea—an ancient cameo featuring Emperor Augustus and his astrological sign. As they point out, records show that Rudolf acquired the cameo for his collection, and so was certainly familiar with its imagery. For a discussion of the motif on imperial coins and engravings and its relation to Rudolfine astrological practices, see Nicholas Johnson, “Carolus Luython’s “Missa Super Basim”: Caeser Vive and Hermetic Astrology in Early Seventeenth-Century Prague,” Musica Disciplina 56 (2011): 429-430. 290 Müller and Kaschek, “Adriaen de Vries,” 8.  The imprese in question are included on page 25 of the first volume of the Symbola Divina et Humana (dated 1600-1603). The series is mentioned most often as evidence of the intellectual humanist culture fostered at the Prague court. See, for instance, R. J. W. Evans, Rudolf II and His World: A Study in Intellectual History, 1576-1612 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), 128, 169-171. Notably, one of the imprese listed under Rudolf’s father, Emperor Maximilian II, also forges a connection to Emperor Augustus (page 23 of volume I)—an indication that this was not an unfamiliar trope at the imperial court before Rudolf’s ascension to the throne. However, the large number of Rudolfine works featuring the symbolic alignment of the two emperors shows that its propagandistic potential was realized most fully during the younger Habsburg’s reign. 291 Hoefnagel’s contributions to the allegorical conceptualization of Rudolf’s imperial status is particularly evident with the last page of the Schriftmusterbuch. Here the artist expands the composition of the manuscript’s first folio by bringing together four distinct emblems or devices, of which the image on the left seems to be the basis for one of the Rudolfine imprese recorded in the abovementioned Symbola Divina et Humana (page 24 of volume I).    116 accessible only to those with privileged knowledge.292 The second page, as described above, asserts the value of historically sanctioned courtly representations while demonstrating Hoefnagel’s familiarity with the decorum appropriate to these forms.  In addition to integrating motifs traditional to courtly manuscripts into the Schriftmusterbuch, Hoefnagel also made frequent use of pictorial illusionism—a mode of illumination that had become an established part of the practice a century earlier. In the Rudolfine book, Hoefnagel applied this mode of representation in a variety of ways. For instance, on fol. 12 miniaturized birds are painted as if covered by strips of parchment that extend from the text block above. Fols. 22 and 94 both include an inscribed scroll apparently ‘woven’ through the page, while fol. 86 presents an imperial eagle adorned with palm branches whose tips ‘pierce’ the page. Another variation—effectively an extension of a technique used by Hoefnagel in the Ambras missal—is presented on fol. 46, where the illuminator creates a second plane beneath the text on the page, thereby transferring Bocskay’s maze of script onto a seemingly elevated, three-dimensional surface (Fig. 3.20).293 On many other folios, such as fol. 7 and fol. 24, the artist emphasized the presence of his pictured motifs by adding the conceit of cast shadows.294  Pictorial illusionism emerged as a component of illuminating practices already in the late fifteenth century, when it became especially predominant in works produced by representatives of the Flemish school (e.g. Simon Marmion and the Master of Mary of                                                 292 For instance, his eagle is simultaneously a creature of nature, a symbol of empire, and one aspect of a god. 293 This motif is discussed in the previous chapter. 294 It is evident that Hoefnagel’s games with perception were well received by his patron since the artist multiplied his use of this motif from one model book project to the next. The Mira codex includes a number of versions of the trompe l’oeil motif whereby a leaf or stem is painted as though it moves through the surface of the parchment. See, for instance, fols. 20, 37, 41, 61, and 126.    117 Burgundy). In books of hours and other prayer books made from around 1475 onwards, margins often include flowers, shells, jewels, and other small objects that cast shadows on colored backgrounds, as well as variations on the device in which a flower stem is either ‘stuck through’ fictive incisions in the page or is ‘attached’ to the page with a pin.295 In more elaborate examples, borders present narrative scenes or sequences rendered with illusory spatial depth.296    That Hoefnagel had more than a passing familiarity with the foundations of Flemish trompe l’oeil illumination is made apparent by a book of hours that was assembled for Philip of Cleves in the 1480s.297 Several of the pages in this manuscript feature additions painted by Hoefnagel’s hand over a century later.298 For our purposes, what is particularly noteworthy is that many of the original fifteenth-century illuminations consist of illusionistic motifs, as well as a pronounced interest in natural forms. Hoefnagel’s own marginalia in the book responds to this original visual content and is chiefly rendered as hyper-realistic flowers, insects, fruits, and nuts. Some of these illuminations are embellished with overt trompe l’oeil features, as is the case with a flower Hoefnagel painted onto the right margin of fol. 57r. Here, the flower’s stem is ostensibly held in place by a metal pin, with the hidden parts of the pin then painted onto the verso of the page. For Dagmar Thoss, Hoefnagel’s work in the                                                 295 See, for instance, the Book of Hours of Engelbert of Nassau (ca. 1480s) and the Grimani Breviary (ca. 1510).   296 See, for instance, the Book of Hours of William Hastings (ca. 1480s), or the Mayer van den Bergh Breviary (ca. 1510-15). Many of these elaborate borders challenge the traditional pictorial prominence of miniatures—the pictures that, from the late Middle Ages onward, usually occupied a central position on a manuscript page and comprised narrative elements. The shifting relationship between the central miniature and the margin has been the subject of many studies; for different perspectives see, Marrow, Pictorial Invention in Netherlandish Manuscript Illumination of the Late Middle Ages; Orth, “What Goes Around: Borders and Frames in French Manuscripts;” and Pächt, Book Illumination in the Middle Ages. 297 The manuscript is at the Bibliothèque Royale in Brussels, Belgium (Ms. IV 40).  298 Several studies take up Hoefnagel’s additions to this manuscript. For a particularly thorough analysis, see Dagmar Thoss, “Georg Hoefnagel und seine Beziehungen zur Gent-Brügger Buchmalerei,” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien 82/83 (1986/1987): 199-211.   118 Cleves manuscript serves as an extension of its older forms—an extension that explores more fully the mimetic representation of nature.299 Thoss notes, for instance, that Hoefnagel’s representations are isolated on the parchment rather than strewn across bands of color as is the case with the older illuminations, and they are rendered with much more lifelike qualities (e.g. larger scale and greater specificity in their details) than their century-old counterparts.300 While it has not been possible to establish how Hoefnagel came into contact with the Flemish prayer book, the manner of his illuminations in the manuscript suggests that they were carried out in the 1590s—the same period of time in which the artist was also working on the Schriftmusterbuch and Mira for Emperor Rudolf.301   In their study of the origins of Netherlandish illusionistic illumination, Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann and Virginia Roehrig Kaufmann argue that this type of imagery emerged as a byproduct of medieval devotional practices that saw personal prayer books frequently used as repositories for pilgrim badges, devotional images, and objects that were collected by pilgrims during their travels (e.g. flowers, feathers, and insects such as butterflies and dragonflies).302 The scholars contend that the trompe l’oeil elements painted into Flemish                                                 299 Ibid., 203-204. Thoss concludes that the resulting juxtaposition of approaches in the Flemish manuscript evokes Hoefnagel’s intermediate position between illumination and the emergence of independent nature studies in the latter half of the sixteenth century (p. 211). Echoing this assessment, Hendrix observes that Hoefnagel’s work on the Philip of Cleves manuscript is comparable to his arrangement of insects in the Ignis album of his Four Elements series—a series, as discussed in the next chapter, with unequivocal ties to the study of natural history. Hendrix, “Joris Hoefnagel and the ‘Four Elements’,” 37.  300 Thoss, “Georg Hoefnagel und seine Beziehungen zur Gent-Brügger Buchmalerei,” 203-204. 301 In both scale and composition, Hoefnagel’s additions to the fifteenth-century manuscript can also be likened to the Mira codex where the dominant form of Hoefnagel’s illuminations are life-sized naturalia rendered with volume and shadows. That said, a number of pages in the Schriftmusterbuch (e.g. fol. 90) also display comparable elements.  302 Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann and Virginia Roehrig Kaufmann, “The Sanctification of Nature: Observations on the Origins of Trompe l’oeil in Netherlandish Book Painting of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries,” The J. Paul Getty Museum Journal 19 (1991): 43-64. Maurits Smeyers contributes an alternate perspective with regards to the growing presence of these elements in Flemish illumination at the turn of the fifteenth century. He writes of the concurrence of this development with the emergence of print making, and suggests that those   119 manuscripts effectively “reproduce these forms of devotionalia.”303 What this indicates is that illusionistic border illuminations were not only decorative, but that they functioned above all as substitutes for objects with considerable symbolic value.  Of particular relevance to the current discussion is the authors’ subsequent claim that many of Hoefnagel’s illuminations—such as his trompe l‘oeil flower stems and naturalistic depictions of insects—are an extension of this earlier tradition, albeit one in which the aura of sanctity has been largely evacuated.304 To buttress this connection, Kaufmann and Kaufmann also reference Hoefnagel’s additions to the Book of Hours of Philip of Cleves, which, as they reveal, includes unmistakable representations of devotionalia within its original, fifteenth-century program of illumination. One example—fol. 42r—features a miniature scene of the Virgin and Child surrounded by numerous painted pilgrim badges (rendered as trompe l’oeil objects) as well as a small devotional image of the Holy Face of Christ; a Latin epigram written by Hoefnagel occupies the bottom border of the page.305 The scholars suggest that due to Hoefnagel’s contributions to this book, it is possible to argue that the artist was well aware of the conceptual weight carried by illusionistic imagery in earlier manuscript illumination. It can likewise be proposed that Hoefnagel transformed the traditional values associated with these forms to suit the needs of his own practice.                                                                                                                                                      involved in the manufacture of manuscripts made use of techniques such as pictorial illusionism to maintain superiority over the new medium; in Flemish Miniatures, 419. A similar argument is presented by Marrow, who concludes that the introduction of print spurred illuminators to experiment with their medium to a greater extent; in Pictorial Invention in Netherlandish Manuscript Illumination of the Late Middle Ages, 1. 303 Kaufmann and Kaufmann, “The Sanctification of Nature,” 57. 304 The scholars note that instead of conveying devotional content, Hoefnagel’s illusionistic images evoke the “the matter and process of the natural world.” Ibid., 60-61. 305 Ibid., 49. The authors also attribute an inscription on fol. 54r of the Cleves manuscript to Hoefnagel (reproduced on p. 50).    120 James Marrow, also writing about the origins of Netherlandish illusionistic illumination, argues that this form of artistic experimentation corresponded to “a new concern with the viewer’s presence in relation to the image.”306 He observers that illuminators explored different ways to manipulate picture planes and surfaces as they discovered that illusionistic imagery could compel both cognitive and experiential engagement with its subject matter.307 In the Schriftmusterbuch, Hoefnagel’s experiments with pictorial illusionism make a variety of claims on the viewer, often prompting the viewer to shift between visual, experiential, and cognitive modes of perception. In fact, oscillating between these different perspectives is often a requirement for gaining a comprehensive understanding of the manuscript’s contents.  While Hoefnagel’s use of trompe l’oeil devices may have been founded on the traditions of the medium, the inclusion of these devices in the Schriftmusterbuch also aligns Hoefnagel’s art with contemporary discourse on mimetic representation. This is particularly evident on fol. 7, where the artist configured his illuminations as an analogy of yet another classical topos featuring the artist Zeuxis. According to Pliny, Zeuxis engaged in a trial of skill with the painter Parrhasius; the aim of the contest was to carry out the most accomplished imitation of nature.308 Zeuxis painted grapes on a wall, and so true to life was his image that birds flew down to peck at the represented fruit.309 Confident from his success                                                 306 Marrow, Pictorial Invention in Netherlandish Manuscript Illumination of the Late Middle Ages, 29. 307 Ibid. 308 Pliny the Elder, The Natural History, ed. John Bostock and H. T. Riley (London: Taylor and Francis, 1855), 35.36.  309 Pliny also recounts a second story in which Zeuxis painted illusionistic grapes, although in this tale the painter expanded the composition so that a boy was represented carrying the fruit. When the birds still flew down to peck at the grapes the artist saw this as a failure on his part since the birds would not have risked approaching the fruit if they had perceived the painted human figure as real. Ibid.    121 in deceiving nature itself, Zeuxis turned to Parrhasius, telling his opponent to pull back the curtain covering his work so that they could judge its merits. It was then revealed that Parrhasius’ curtain was the image—an image whose mimetic fidelity had deceived not only a man but a fellow artist.  The majority of fol. 7 in the Schriftmusterbuch is occupied by Bocskay’s ornate script, yet Hoefnagel’s illuminations overtake the visual field as brightly colored and textured miniaturized birds, lizards, insects, and flora that frequently engage directly with the flourishes left behind by Bocskay’s pen (Fig. 3.21). At the base of the page, a peacock stretches his tail along a horizontal register of bare parchment while with his beak he reaches towards berries hanging from a branch that emerges from penned eddies along the left margin.310 Not confined to this interaction, the Zeuxisian anecdote is also enacted by a parrot in the top right hand corner, who similarly angles towards a strawberry, and by a lizard in the left hand corner, which flicks its tongue towards a tiny caterpillar. With these three painted scenes Hoefnagel not only evokes the ancient story, but also builds on it by rendering his birds as various exotic specimens and expanding the given narrative to other creatures of nature.  Contributing an additional layer of visual and thematic nuance to this folio is a trompe l’oeil leaf that appears to be ‘woven through’ slits in the parchment along the length of the right margin. A flat, vertical shape that casts a shadow on the surface of the page, the                                                 310 Throughout the Schriftmusterbuch, one of the most dominant pictorial elements is the bird: eagles, swallows, pelicans, owls, ostriches, and many other species swoop, perch, hang from hooks, emerge from script, and transform into stylized symbols. While the bird became common to manuscript illumination already in the Middle Ages, the abundance of this creature in the Schriftmusterbuch indicates a more invested interest in the specificity of its forms, movements, and attendant meanings. With regards to the peacock in particular, Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann observes that it had been used as a heraldic bird by the Habsburgs from the time of Charles V. Kaufmann, Arcimboldo, 100. The peacock was also a common feature in medieval Christian art—including manuscript illumination.    122 leaf is life-sized, which contrasts strongly with the miniaturized naturalia scattered elsewhere on the page. With its unsettling presence, the leaf effectively rotates the narrative represented in the other three margins so that it is the viewer instead of birds and lizards who is confronted by an illusory image. The effect is heightened all the more when the viewer turns the page over only to see that the ‘missing’ segments of the leaf have been painted onto the otherwise blank verso of the folio. That is, the two pieces of the leaf not visible on the obverse of the page are represented on its flip side, lending weight to the impression that the leaf has truly been ‘woven’ through the surface of the parchment. Surpassing Zeuxis along with other painters confined to single-sided surfaces, the illuminator exploits the mechanics of the book to obscure further the line between reality and illusion and to defer the viewer’s awareness of the deception. The illumination of fol.7 constitutes sophisticated discourse on mimesis and a play on the limits and potentialities of its interpretation. Viewed in isolation, the leaf ‘inserted’ into the margin seems excised from a referential context by its banality and by the void of parchment that surrounds it. Considered in relation to the remainder of the page, however, the leaf transforms from a “blank sign” into a signifying component of a larger narrative—a transformation predicated on the viewer’s ability to bring together the Zeuxisian ‘vignettes’ with the artist’s particular mode of representing nature in the form of the trompe l’oeil leaf.311 In this shift, the heightened mimicry of the leaf gains meaning as the artist’s own trial of skill, with the viewer occupying the place of judge. In turning over the page to ascertain the truth of Hoefnagel’s representation, the viewer acknowledges the victory of the artist over                                                 311 Jean Baudrillard describes trompe l’oeil objects as “blank signs” whose presentation denies narrative while “throwing radical doubt on the principle of reality.” Jean Baudrillard, “The Trompe-L’Oeil,” in Calligram: Essays in New Art History from France, ed. Norman Bryson (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1988), 54, 58. Hoefnagel’s illumination demonstrates, however, that trompe l’oeil and narrative do not necessarily need to be mutually exclusive.   123 perception. In this dialectic of illusionistic form and reality, mimesis and meaning, the artist implicates the viewer in what is both a representation and re-enactment of ancient history.  By actively referencing elements that came to characterize illuminating practices at their height, Hoefnagel brought forward the historical value of the medium while also exploring its capacity to provide viewers with different ways of experiencing and interpreting visual matter. In many cases serving as pictorial puzzles, Hoefnagel’s trompe l’oeil compositions likewise catered to the culture of the Prague court, where the inventive manipulation of both perception and expectations was received with approbation.  With their visual and semiotic dynamics, Hoefnagel’s illuminations are comparable to some of the best-known works of art produced for the Habsburg dynasty: the composite heads painted by Giuseppe Arcimboldo (1526-93). Arcimboldo served principally as a court portraitist to Emperor Maximilian II and then to Emperor Rudolf II. However, in addition to his official portraits of the rulers and their families, the artist also created a number of innovative allegorical works in which he combined portraiture with the depiction of highly detailed objects representative of different themes such as the seasons, the elements, and various occupations. Notably, these were the works that garnered considerable interest among collectors and theorists beyond the imperial court.  An apposite example here is the painting titled Vertumnus, which Arcimboldo executed circa 1590 for Emperor Rudolf (Fig. 3.22).312 In this work, the Lombard artist assembled an allegorical portrait of the ruler in which the physiognomy of the emperor as god of the seasons is rendered by means of carefully selected and placed fruits and vegetables representing each season’s bounty: a pear is a nose, cherries are lips, an ear of                                                 312 The painting is currently held in Skoklosters Slott, Sweden (Inv. no. 11615).   124 corn is an ear, flowers are the prince’s mantle, etc. As with Hoefnagel’s illusionistic illuminations, Arcimboldo’s composite heads require the viewer to acknowledge different levels of representation. That is, a coherent conceptualization of the image necessitates vacillating between individual motifs (e.g. vegetables and fruits) and the larger whole, whereby the individual motifs coalesce into a human figure. It is only in the interrelation of these components that an interpretation of the image as an allegory can take shape.  In the majority of his composite works, Arcimboldo provided his patrons with inventive visual puzzles that were based on detailed and abundant studies of nature.313 Notably, this unification of invention with mimesis became matter for both celebration and debate in an art treatise written by Gregorio Comanini, Il Figino overo del fine della Pittura (1591).314 Comanini’s study centers on defining and distinguishing between creativity, imitation, and fantasy in art; at the crux of this discussion is the differentiation of ‘icastic’ art (art that takes the real world as its subject and is often didactic in nature) and fantastic art (art that is the result of imagination and invention).315 Arcimboldo initially features in this discussion as a representative of the latter, with his composite images casting him as a “tremendously ingenious fantastic painter” and marking his imagination as                                                 313 The description of Arcimboldo’s works as bringing together nature and artifice has been well rehearsed in art historical scholarship. Recent accounts include Kaufmann, “The Artificial and the Natural: Arcimboldo and the Origins of Still Life,” in The Artificial and the Natural: An Evolving Polarity, ed. Bernadette Bensaude-Vincent and William R. Newman (Cambridge, Massachusetts and London: MIT Press, 2007), 149-184; and Franz Kirchweger, “Between Art and Nature: Arcimboldo and the World of the Kunstkammer,” in Arcimboldo, 1526-1593, ed. Sylvia Ferino-Pagden (Milan: Skira Editore and Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 2007), 189-194. 314 For an English translation of the treatise, see Gregorio Comanini, Il Figino, or On the Purpose of Painting: Art Theory in the Late Renaissance, trans. Ann Doyle-Anderson and Giancarlo Maiorino (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2001). Kaufmann discusses Comanini’s appraisal of Arcimboldo’s paintings in depth in his essay, “The Artificial and the Natural: Arcimboldo and the Origins of Still Life,” in The Artificial and the Natural: An Evolving Polarity, ed. Bernadette Bensaude-Vincent and William R. Newman (Cambridge and London: MIT Press, 2007), 149-184. 315 Comaini, by way of the interlocutor Figino, writes that, “The icastic is an imitation of things that exist in nature, and the fantastic, of things that exist only in the mind of the imitator.” Comanini, Il Figino, 32.   125 “extraordinary.”316 However, in other passages, Comanini attends to the ways in which the artist brings together “images of visible things”, or what the author refers to elsewhere as  “concrete simulacra” (realistic representations of flora, fauna, as well as man-made objects).317 The fusion of the two types of imitation—of nature and of imagination—in Arcimboldo’s works is remarked upon directly by one of Comanini’s interlocutors (Stefano Guazzo), who contends that the paintings are in fact both icastic and fantastic.318  In his monograph on Arcimboldo, Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann associates the artist’s composite heads with the early modern concept of serio ludere, or serious play.319 The playful character of these paintings is a result of their visual and semiotic fluidity, while their serious character is demarcated by means of their close ties to natural history.320 That is, the varied forms that Arcimboldo used to build up his allegorical busts constitute accurate and largely empirical depictions of nature—depictions that Kaufmann holds to be foundational in the development of still life and independent animal painting at the Prague court and beyond.321 Kaufmann further avers that several of Arcimboldo’s nature studies, which served as preparatory images for the composite works, came into the possession of Ulisse                                                 316 Ibid., 17, 28.  317 A number of Arcimboldo’s composite heads assemble representations of man-made objects. One example is his painting of Fire, in which the figure is made up of objects such as fire-making utensils.  318 Comanini, Il Figino, xii. Comanini also describes this fusion in a more poetic manner by means of a madrigal, read by his characters, on Arcimboldo’s painting of Flora (p. 18).  319 Kaufmann, Arcimboldo. While the notion of Arcimboldo’s paintings as serious jokes is a key theme of the publication as a whole, the topic is discussed in most depth in the chapter, “Serious Jokes,” 91-114. The early modern connection between nature and playfulness is also explored by Paula Findlen in, “Jokes of Nature and Jokes of Knowledge: The Playfulness of Scientific Discourse in Early Modern Europe,” Renaissance Quarterly 43, 2 (Summer 1990): 292-331.   320 Kaufmann, Arcimboldo, esp. 10-13, 124-125. 321 Ibid., see esp. the chapters, “Arcimboldo and the Origins of Still Life,” and “Arcimboldo’s Paradoxical Paintings and the Origins of Still Life,” 167-212.   126 Aldrovandi (1522-1605)—professor at the University of Bologna, founder of the city’s botanical garden, and owner of one of the most significant natural history collections in Italy.322 Kaufmann considers this association to constitute further evidence of the substantive nature of Arcimboldo’s humorous and witty images, since their visual content corresponded with a mode of representing nature that was valued by one of the most respected naturalists of the sixteenth century.323  In the Schriftmusterbuch, Hoefnagel accomplished a comparable balance of the playful with the serious. The trompe l’oeil illuminations in the manuscript elicit wonder and pleasure by means of their paradoxical confrontations with the surface of the parchment page, Bocskay’s script, and the visual planes established by surrounding visual elements. This is readily apparent with fol. 7, where the abovementioned illusory leaf projects into the viewer’s space, the peacock extends into a fictive background by means of its cast shadow, and the other forms of naturalia included on the page simultaneously affirm and deny the flatness of the calligraphic lines. The optical play offered by these vacillating planes is then only magnified by the addition of the ‘missing’ leaf segments to the back of the page.  On the other hand, the actual forms of nature rendered on this folio are detailed and recognizable, their features specific. Their contiguity with nature studies rather than ornament can be demonstrated by means of a comparison with illuminations executed in 1582 by the Flemish artist Hans Bol (1534-93).324 On fol. 21v of the prayer book of the Duke                                                 322 Ibid., see esp. 122-125 and 146-147. For the association between Arcimboldo and Aldrovandi, see also Manfred Staudinger, “Arcimboldo and Ulisse Aldrovandi,” in Arcimboldo, 1526-1593, ed. Sylvia Ferino-Pagden (Milan: Skira Editore and Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 2007), 113-118. 323 Kaufmann, Arcimboldo, 122-125. 324 According to Van Mander, Hoefnagel received artistic training from Hans Bol; in Dutch and Flemish Painters, 282. For a recent account of Bol’s artistic practice, see Stefaan Hautekeete, “New Insights into the Working Methods of Hans Bol” Master Drawings 50, 3 (2012): 329-356. While no other extant documentation   127 of Anjou, Bol painted a peacock along the horizontal length of the bas-de-page (Fig. 3.23).325 The points of similarity between this motif and Hoefnagel’s bird in the Schriftmusterbuch are many: Bol’s peacock is also shown in profile; it is also reaching for berries; and it is also accompanied by a trompe l’oeil device in which a pictorial element—in this case a branch supporting the berries—appears to pierce the page. However, in contrast to Hoefnagel’s version, Bol’s is painted with much less realism. That is, it is depicted against an abstracting gold background, its features are stylized, it does not cast a shadow, and its scale is out of proportion with relation to a dragonfly that occupies the same band of space. Thus, while Hoefnagel’s peacock constitutes a motif of visual interest as well as a form of visual knowledge, Bol’s carries out the first function only. Like Arcimboldo, Hoefnagel was an avid participant in the project of creating accurate and comprehensive representations of the natural world, and many of his illusionistic illuminations reflect this aspect of his activities with their exploration of the mimetic potential of natural forms and their insight into nature’s variety.   The serious character of Hoefnagel’s experiments with illusionism can also be associated with contemporary humanist discourse on the edifying potential of visual deception. Caecile Weissert investigates this topic in the context of sixteenth-century Antwerp.326 She writes of the regional festival of drama and rhetoric (Landjueweel) that took                                                                                                                                                   confirms this connection, certain similarities in the work of the two artists suggests at least a familiaritity with one another’s projects. I address this in more depth in the next chapter.  325 Bol’s authorship of the illuminations and the date of their execution are established by an inscription on fol. 25r of the manuscript. The prayer book has received little attention in scholarship. The most in-depth account of the manuscript and Bol’s illuminations remains, Madeleine Huillet d’Istria, “Le livre de prières de François de France, duc d’Anjou (Alençon) enluminé par Hans Bol, 1582),” Jaarboek van het Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten Antwerpen (1970): 85-118.  326 Caecile Weissert, “The Annexation of the Antique: The Topic of the Living Picture in Sixteenth-Century Antwerp,” in Understanding Art in Antwerp: Classicising the Popular, Popularising the Classic (1540-1580) (Leuven, Paris, and Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2011), 53-67.   128 place in the city in 1561, where a discussion of Pliny’s account of Zeuxis and Parrhasius accompanied ruminations about the value of painting in comparison to literature.327 As set out by the chamber of rhetoric facilitating this discussion (a prominent chamber known as The Marigold, or De Goudbloem), painting was to be elevated from a craft to a liberal art not only because of its proximity to the literary arts or because of its capacity to delight, but rather due to “its capacity for visual deception.”328 The term ‘deception’, Weissert clarifies, was understood in the Netherlands to have positive connotations. For instance, the influential humanist and poet, Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert (1522-1590), described deception as “a path to self-knowledge, to the insight that one must be careful not to pass judgment too quickly, but employ scrutiny instead.”329 With regards to the aesthetic deception of mimetic representation, he argued that it can lead to “more cautious, prudential judgments.”330 According to this view, trompe l’oeil imagery—be it the convincing imitation of nature, objects, or materials—constitutes a tool of instruction and edification as much as a mechanism of pleasure.331  Hoefnagel remained closely allied with Antwerp humanism even during his sojourn in Central Europe, and so it is certainly possible that he was familiar with the discourse set out above. The artist’s unbroken personal affiliation with the city of his birth is in evidence                                                 327 Ibid., 55. 328 Ibid., 56. 329 Ibid., 56-57, 66. See also, Ethan Matt Kavaler, “Pieter Aertsen’s Meat Stall: Divers Aspects of the Market Place,” Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Jaarboeck 49 (1989): 80.  330 Weissert, “The Annexation of the Antique,” 67.  331 For more theoretical observations regarding the greater scrutiny demanded by trompe l’oeil and the attendant questioning of what constitutes reality, see Jennifer Anna Gosetti-Ferencei, “Trompe L’Oeil and the Mimetic Tradition in Aesthetics,” in Human Creation Between Realit and Illusion, ed. Anna-Teresa Tymieniecka (Dordrecht: Springer, 2005), 87. For a discussion of how the early modern naturalist Conrad Gessner viewed the imitation of nature and the story of Zeuxis and Parrhasius, see Pilaski, “The Munich Kunstkammer,” 232.    129 throughout the works he produced while serving the courts. For instance, the aforementioned colophon on fol. 118 of the Schriftmusterbuch gives his name as “Georgius Houfnaglius Antverp.”332 On fol. 96 of the manuscript, Hoefnagel dedicates the page to a celebration of the Flemish city (Fig. 3.24). The artist’s additions to the folio dwarf Bocskay’s Latin text; they include a frontal representation of Antwerp’s city hall, a more expansive view of the town from across the water, and a Latin phrase declaring it to be the fountain of life (Fons irrigans omnia).333 As documented in preserved letters and alba amicorum, Hoefnagel was in constant contact with prominent residents of the city and was probably familiar with Coornhert, if not personally then through the mediation of mutual associates. It is known, for example, that Ortelius—Hoefnagel’s good friend and long-time correspondent—not only communicated with Coornhert directly but did so regarding the exchange of art.334  As Weissert also observes, an earlier but no less influential voice in the discussion of deception as a font for prudential judgment was Desiderius Erasmus. As noted before, Hoefnagel was certainly familiar with the author’s work: he borrowed many citations from the humanist’s publications for his illuminations (particularly the Adagia), and, according to                                                 332 The full colophon reads: “Georgius Houfnaglius Antverpianus / Huius libelli / Exornator hieroglyphicus / Genio duce.” 333 The overall composition of this folio is intriguing in its reference to Spanish dominion over the the city (a letter ‘P’ for King Philip II of Spain crowns the page), even though conflict between Spanish rule and the city’s residents resulted in the Spanish Fury of 1576—the event that led to Hoefnagel’s exile from his hometown. Further troubling a straightforward reading of the page is Hoefnagel’s prominent representation of the Antwerp town hall, which suffered heavy damage by fire during the Spanish Fury.  334 For the connection between Ortelius and Coornhert, see A. E. Popham, “Pieter Bruegel and Abraham Ortelius,” Burlington Magazine 59 (1931): 185. For the letters sent to Ortelius by Coornhert and Hoefnagel, see J.H. Hessels ed., Abrahami Ortelii (Geographi Antverpiensis) et Virorvm Ervditorvm ad Evndem et ad Jacobvm Colivm Ortelianvm (Abrahami Ortelii Sororis Filivm) Epistvlae, vol. 4 (Cambridge: Cambridge Unversity Press, 1887). Hoefnagel’s friendship with the Ortelius has been explored extensively by several scholars. For a discussion of their correspondence, see A. E. Popham, “Georg Hoefnagel and the Civitats Orbis Terrarum.” Maso Finiguerra 1 (1936): 183-201. For an in-depth account of their joint endeavors in cartographer, see Robey, “The City Witnessed.” For a facsimile publication of Ortelius’ album amicorum, which includes an entry by Hoefnagel, see Jean Puraye, Amicorum Abraham Ortelius (Amsterdam: De Graff, 1969).    130 the records kept at the Munich court, he had borrowed one of Erasmus’ books from the ducal library. 335 In Praise of Folly includes a passage in which Erasmus states, “it is most terrible to not let oneself be deceived. For truly foolhardy are those who believe that human happiness lies in the things themselves; on the contrary, it depends on our opinions of things.”336 Here Erasmus asserts the importance of deception to learning the value of applying judgment and scrutiny to one’s experience and perception of reality. Discerning deception makes individuals more capable of a reasoned understanding of and approach to the world that they inhabit.  Zeuxis learned about the deceptive qualities of representation first-hand when he tried to pull back Parrhasius’ curtain but found it to be an illusion. Hoefnagel, as a Belgian Zeuxis, extended this lesson to the reader/viewer of the Schriftmusterbuch by formulating a number of his illuminations to show that where perception can be fallible, reason is a guiding force for true understanding. In so doing, the artist provided his audience—the emperor—with a model of how to negotiate his engagement with the world by means of careful and discerning judgment. Conclusion: A Vessel Full of Wisdom Hoefnagel’s designs for the Schriftmusterbuch furnished the Holy Roman Emperor with a sophisticated, unique, and edifying assemblage of diverse visual and conceptual matter. With its complexity, this content undoubtedly gratified Rudolf’s keen interest in his illuminator’s ‘mystical’ and ‘hieroglyphic’ pictorial language. In return, the artist enjoyed the privilege and prestige of being affiliated with the imperial court—a center at the forefront of                                                 335 This was in addition to books by Gilles Corrozet and Joannes Chrysostomos. Vignau-Wilberg, “Joris Hoefnagels Tätigkeit in München,” 117, 123.  336 As translated in Weissert, “The Annexation of the Antique,” 67.    131 artistic and humanist developments in Central Europe at this time. An account of the dynamics of this exchange between patron and illuminator is intimated by fol. 67 of the manuscript.  On fol. 67, Hoefnagel organized his design around the encounter between Alexander the Great and Diogenes—a theme suggested by the content of Bocskay’s Greek text (Fig. 3.25).337 According to legend, Diogenes was a celebrated thinker and ascetic who lived in a barrel, spending his days contemplating the world. During a visit to Diogenes’ town, Alexander called in on the philosopher and asked if there was anything he could grant him. In response, Diogenes, who had been enjoying the sun while sitting in his barrel, requested only that the ruler stop blocking his sunlight. Rather than be angered by this bold reply, Alexander was appreciative of Diogenes’ candor and admiring of the philosopher’s contentment with his humble life. Indeed, he even claimed that if he had to be anyone but himself, he would be Diogenes. As with the stories of Zeuxis, the meeting of Alexander and Diogenes was a familiar narrative in sixteenth-century art and literature. Its most common venue was the field of emblematics, where it usually illustrated concepts of moral sincerity and the value of wisdom.338 A typical sixteenth-century example comes from the widely circulated emblem book of Laurentius Haechtanus, Μικροκόσµος—Parvus Mundus (published in Antwerp in 1579).339 On plate 36 of the publication, Diogenes is shown inside his barrel, looking up at                                                 337 Vignau-Wilberg, Die Emblematischen Elemente im Werke Joris Hoefnagels, I, 166.  338 Ibid., 168. See also Hugh Roberts, Dogs’ Tales: Representations of Ancient Cynicism in French Renaissance Texts (Amsterdam and New York: Rodophi, 2006), 24.  339 Vignau-Wilberg also mentions the Diogenes plate from the Haechtanus emblem book in her discussion of Hoefnagel’s version of the theme in the Schriftmusterbuch. However, she uses the emblem above all to demonstrate Hoefnagel’s engagement with contemporary emblematics rather than to set out the manner in   132 Alexander who stands to his right in the company of servants with his offending shadow extending over the philosopher. The engraving presents the interaction as a narrative scene set in a landscape of trees, hills, and river. No text is added to the image, but the arrangement of the figures makes clear the focal point of the work: the exchange between king and philosopher. In his version of this subject in the Schriftmusterbuch, Hoefnagel included many of the same elements found in the emblem; however, he also re-organized these elements so as to emphasize different aspects of the story. The top of fol. 67 displays an inscription set within a cartouche that acts as a title and frame for the rest of the pictorial program. In this inscription, Alexander describes Diogenes as a vessel of wisdom (vas sapientiae plenum). The exchange between the two figures continues lower on the page, where Hoefnagel added lines of their dialogue to the open pages of a manuscript he painted in between the text blocks of Bocskay’s script. The words written into this book have Diogenes telling the king that he would prefer a drop of favor (favoris) to a vessel full of wisdom, which suggests that knowledge alone is insufficient in the face of the rewards that favor brings.340 At the base of the page we see a vignette in which the protagonists stand on either side of a large barrel whose open mouth faces the viewer and reveals that its interior holds two books. Where Haechtanus’ engraved emblem places the dialogue between Alexander and Diogenes at the center, Hoefnagel’s illuminated page moves these figures to the margins and instead gives pride of place to the book as object and symbol. The motif features at the bottom of the page in the form of the codices set within the philosopher’s barrel—a position                                                                                                                                                   which the illuminator diverged from such sources or to explore the impact and significance of these alterations. For her analysis, see Vignau-Wilberg, Die Emblematischen Elemente im Werke Joris Hoefnagels, 166-168. 340 The inscription reads, “Maxime Rex malo Guttam favoris quam vas plenum Sapientiae.” As Vignau-Wilberg points out, this statement echoes the content of Bocskay’s text. Ibid., 166.    133 the artist accentuated by placing the figures of Alexander and Diogenes to either side and by representing them with dynamic gestures directed towards the vat and its contents. Similarly, when adding the inscribed, open manuscript to the middle of the page, Hoefnagel rendered it with illusory volume and depth; consequently, it appears to project upwards from the surface of the parchment and thereby dominate visually over Bocskay’s script. The two iterations are brought together by the central axis of the folio, which runs along the spine of the open book and intersects with the books inside the barrel; a v-shaped line of ornament above the barrel reinforces the trajectory. By means of this emphasis on and connection between the books painted onto the page, the composition suggests an association with yet another book: the Schriftmusterbuch itself. Indeed, the book at center even angles upward in a way that would echo the placement of the calligraphy model book when being viewed. The deployment of these associations is significant, since it extends to the Schriftmusterbuch the qualities attributed to the books painted on the page. As noted above, Hoefnagel added an inscription referring to a vessel full of wisdom within a cartouche at the top of the folio. As with most of the elements in Hoefnagel’s compositions, this phrase presents the viewer/reader with more than one point of intersection with regards to the other elements comprising the program of illumination. On the one hand, it refers to Diogenes, whose wisdom King Alexander admired. On the other hand, it also connects analogously to the barrel at the bottom of the page—a vessel whose sagacious content is equated with books. By extension, and with reference to the syntactic structure delineated above, the Schriftmusterbuch likewise takes on the guise of a material embodiment of wisdom. Accordingly, Hoefnagel, as the source of that wisdom, also becomes the Diogenes to Rudolf’s Alexander.    134 Hoefnagel provided his king with erudition. As the artist made clear with his illuminations, however, knowledge on its own is not enough. Indeed, the inscription mentioned above—the one written across the open manuscript at the center of the folio—articulates the necessity of balancing wisdom with favor. With the Schriftmusterbuch project, the balance of wisdom and favor was realized above all by means of the transaction between illuminator and patron. Just as Hoefnagel provided the emperor with edification, Rudolf conferred social favor upon his artist by means of a position at the imperial court. As Hoefnagel seems to suggest with this composition, the exchange was one of mutual benefit. More versatile and capacious than most other forms of court art, illumination in Hoefnagel’s hands brought together varied content by means of inventive re-iterations and configurations. As with Zeuxis’ painting of Helen of Troy, Hoefnagel’s illuminations for the Schriftmusterbuch were not confined to a single source. Instead, they were the result of a discerning selection of components from a range of fields, genres, and media and a subsequent process of careful assemblage. Where the Greek painter selected forms representative of perfection, the Flemish illuminator chose forms representative of meaningful cultural and epistemological associations. In the Rudolfine manuscript, these associations often mediated between the culture of the imperial court and the artistic and humanist practices Hoefnagel encountered as a pictor vagabundis. Through the process of translation and recontextualization, ancient and early modern artist alike made their appropriations their own. In so doing, each harnessed an array of fragments in the evocation of transcendent ideas.        135 Chapter 4  From Manuscript to Miniature: Hoefnagel’s Independent Illuminations   In the two decades spanning his service to the Wittelsbachs and Habsburgs, Hoefnagel’s primary activity as a court artist consisted of illuminating manuscripts. However, this was not the only component of his artistic practice. While embellishing the Ambras missal, the Schriftmusterbuch von Georg Bocskay, and the Mira calligraphiae monumenta, the artist was also creating single-leaf illuminations that he distributed to his primary patrons, other elite collectors, associates in humanist and mercantile communities, as well as family members.341 Echoing his manuscript projects to a great extent, these small works on parchment fulfilled multiple functions. As individuated and mobile versions of Hoefnagel’s expansive courtly projects, they made the artist’s unique art form more widely available; indeed, several circulated beyond the Munich, Ambras, and Prague courts. Indexing courtly interests and pursuits, they likewise reinforced the artist’s affiliation with these culturally and politically dominant centers. With their varied forms and sophisticated compositions, they promoted Hoefnagel’s versatility, skill, and knowledge, and, as circulating objects, they bolstered the artist’s sphere of association.  Hoefnagel’s Seville miniature discussed in the introduction to this dissertation is the earliest of these individual works, and in many ways it stands as a precursor to the independent illuminations the artist created during his terms of court service (Fig. 1.1). Rendered on parchment with watercolor, gouache, and gold, it features different pictorial genres, combines text and image, and emphasizes the artist’s authorial presence not only by                                                 341 This was also in addition to creating a number of printed works, such as the aforementioned Cursus and Salus Generis Humani series.    136 way of a signature, but also by means of an inventive composition that draws attention to his mediating role in assembling the varied forms. Pushing at the limits of the page with its formal and semantic diversity, the miniature showcases Hoefnagel’s ability to bring disparate elements together into a complex, dense, and polysemous composition—one that solicits careful study and interpretative acts to bridge the textual and pictorial, natural and fantastic, descriptive and symbolic content.  With the exception of the Seville picture, all of Hoefnagel’s extant single-sheet illuminations date from the late 1570s into the late 1590s, which coincides directly with the artist’s service to the Wittelsbachs and the Habsburgs. The twenty or so works all feature a compositional strategy that is consistent with the artist’s approach to illumination studied throughout this thesis (Figs. 4.1-4.2). Each sheet is a repository for a play of forms, modes of representation, and subject matters. In carrying out these individual projects, Hoefnagel also continued to use the white surface of his parchment as a background and to deploy different configurations of image and text across this surface. In so doing, the illuminator created miniatures that diverged from the small-scale paintings of his contemporaries, which were typically conceived as miniaturized narrative scenes or landscapes that took up the entirety of a given surface and were dedicated to a single topic and genre.342 Hoefnagel chose instead to create compositions organized around the process of juxtaposition, with discrete pictorial and textual elements presented against a blank backdrop that invites open-ended visual associations. While nature is a dominant theme in these compositions, it is set alongside symbolic, narrative, and ornamental motifs from sources such as mythology, astrology, cartography, and emblematics. As heterogeneous assemblages, Hoefnagel’s miniatures                                                 342 See, for instance, the miniature paintings by Hans Bol, Lucas Van Valckenborch, and Bartholomeus Spranger.    137 would have provided contemporary viewers with the opportunity to contemplate the meaning and value of the individual subjects represented and of their relation to one another. In this chapter, I examine a selection of Hoefnagel’s independent illuminations in order to explore this component of his artistic practice. At the center of the discussion is a grouping of four works that is particularly productive in shedding light on the artist’s use of the art form as a means of negotiating and engaging with court culture and its politics. The four examples—to which I refer as composite miniatures—all feature the same composition. A central scene (most often an excerpt from a mythological narrative) is set within a landscape populated by an assortment of realistically rendered specimens of naturalia (insects, flowers, shells, and small creatures); in each, the relation between central scene and surrounding space is mediated by means of decorative framing elements, strapwork, and cartouches inscribed with text (Figs. 4.3-4.6). The measurements of the four works are also similar, with the average size approximately 17 cm by 22 cm.  Significantly, the composite miniatures were not created as a contained set, but rather were made over the course of eight years. The first known work of the sequence is dated 1590 and therefore corresponds with the final year of Hoefnagel’s more than decade-long employment at the Bavarian court of the Wittelsbach dukes and also coincides with the artist’s completion of the Ambras missal for Archduke Ferdinand II. 343 The three subsequent works span the next eight years (dating from 1591, circa 1592, and 1598), which overlaps with Hoefnagel’s service to Emperor Rudolf II, his illumination of the emperor’s two calligraphic model books, as well as his move from Munich to Frankfurt to Prague and then                                                 343 This miniature is currently held in a private collection in Hamburg. While it is important to allow that Hoefnagel may have created earlier miniatures—no longer extant—that made use of this composition, the miniatures’ explicit references to courtly pursuits (discussed below) indicate that it is not likely Hoefnagel would have produced images of this type prior to his residency in Munich.    138 finally to Vienna.344 Consequently, the four sheets reveal the artist’s consistent interest in the juxtaposition of classical and natural forms during his affiliation with different courts, just as they intimate a positive response to this particular arrangement and selection of content among different audiences. Heretofore, the four composite miniatures have not been brought together in a single study. Two of the works have been mentioned by scholars, but only briefly and independently of one another.345 To redress this gap, I analyze the miniatures with regards to their representation of particular pictorial and epistemological interests, their compositional continuity, and their connection to Hoefnagel’s manuscript illuminations. Hoefnagel was a court artist with unusual flexibility in terms of his mobility, conditions of employment, and artistic self-definition. With this independence in mind, what is the significance of his repeated engagement with this compositional format? How does the selection and combination of pictorial languages invite interpretation? And what can we learn from the                                                 344 The second work, which dates to 1591, is currently in a private collection. Similar in size to the 1590 miniature, it measures 18 x 25.6 cm. The artist signed the work G. HF (Georg Hoefnagel fecit) and added the date. Following the convention established by the first composite miniature, the inscription is here also located in a blue cartouche set within strapwork at the top of the sheet. The date of the third miniature is not indicated on the work; however, the Statens Museum for Kunst in Copenhagen (where it is held as Inv. no. KKS2008-13) dates it to some time between 1592-96 on the basis of comparison with other of Hoefnagel’s works. It measures 16.2 x 21.7 cm and, as with the other works in the series, makes use of watercolor and gouache. The artist’s initials (G and H) are included within the ornamental band along the top of the work. The final miniature—dated 1598—is held in the collections of the British Museum (Inv. no. 1997,0712.56); it measures 16.8 x 23.6 cm and also uses a combination of watercolor, gouache, and gold on vellum; it is inscribed with the text "Pragae A◦ 1598 / Joris Hoefnagel ft.". 345 To the best of my knowledge, only the first version from 1590 and the final version from 1598 have received any attention in the literature. For the former, see Kaufmann, Arcimboldo, 185; Vignau-Wilberg, In Europa zu Hause, 272, and eadem, “Registrierender Blick und enzyklopädischer Geist: der Miniaturist Joris Hoefnagel (1542-1600),” in Aspekte deutscher Zeichenkunst, ed. Iris Lauterbach and Margret Stuffman (Munich: Zentralinstitut für Kunstgeschichte, 1994), 88-89. The 1598 miniature is mentioned briefly in Silver, “German Drawings from a Private Collection,” 395; Kaufmann, The School of Prague, 208; and Thea Vignau-Wilberg, Rudolf II and Prague: The Court and the City, ed. Eliška Fučíková et al. (London: Thames and Hudson Ltd., 1997), 433.    139 miniatures about the production and reception of visual knowledge at the courts of early modern Central Europe?   The Mobility of Hoefnagel’s Miniatures  All four composite miniatures include the artist’s signature and three are dated. None, however, features a dedication or comparable inscription specifying an intended recipient or patron. Only the last of the series (from 1598) refers to a location, which in this case is Prague; however, it is not clear if this relates information about where Hoefnagel made the miniature or about its final destination. There is no extant documentation detailing any of the works’ origins. Nevertheless, some insight can be gleaned from the inventories of contemporary Kunstkammern, which indicate that these small images were considered art objects worthy of elite tastes.  For instance, an inventory of the imperial collection written up in 1619 after the death of Rudolf’s brother and successor, Emperor Matthias, includes two entries for Hoefnagel’s independent illuminations. While the first refers to a miniature showing only animals and flowers (mit tierl und blumen), the second entry describes a work comprising flowers and a central landscape (mit blomben und in der mit ein landschafter), which may be a reference to one of the four composite miniatures or to another, now lost member of this group.346 It is possible if not probable that the two miniatures listed in this inventory had been created for or acquired by Emperor Rudolf and then simply retained by Matthias, as was the case with the Schriftmusterbuch.347 If their origins were indeed connected with Rudolf, then it                                                 346 The entry includes an attribution to “Georg Hueffnagel.” No. 143 of the inventory includes a reference to another individual miniature made by Hoefnagel, although the contents of this work were apparently confined to animals and flowers (“Ein taffel von miniatur mit tierl und blomben von Georg Hueffnagel”). As cited in Kaufmann, The School of Prague, 210.  347 Bauer and Haupt, eds., “Die Kunstkammerinventar Kaiser Rudolfs II., 1607-1611,” xxxii.   140 contributes to a picture of his positive inclination towards Hoefnagel’s experimentation with painting von miniatur beyond the bounds of manuscript illumination. Hoefnagel’s association with Rudolf’s immediate family also extended to the emperor’s other brother, Archduke Ernst, who came into the possession of at least three of the artist’s miniatures before the year 1595 (the date when Ernst’s collection was inventoried).348 It is likely that the archduke acquired these works directly from Hoefnagel when travelling through Frankfurt in 1593 on his way from Prague to Brussels.349 Documentation indicates that Ernst purchased works by Lucas van Valckenborch during this trip, when he may have acquired his miniatures from Hoefnagel, a close associate of Van Valckenborch.350 The acquisition and retention of the composite miniatures by two emperors and an archduke indicates their specialized and relatively exclusive nature was a quality that attracted discerning, elite collectors. More than a half century later, the House of Habsburg continued to demonstrate an avid interest in this component of Hoefnagel’s oeuvre, as attested to by the 1659 inventory of the Kunstkammer assembled by Archduke Leopold Wilhelm. The document makes several references to Hoefnagel’s miniatures. Two are comparable to the above cited entry in the 1619 Matthias inventory in their description of small pieces (kleines Stückhel) containing                                                 348 The inventory, which was assembled immediately following Ernst’s death in July of 1595, includes an entry for three works by Hoefnagel painted with flowers (Blumenstück). I am grateful to Ivo Raband for this information, since the archducal inventory remains unpublished (Personal Communication, March 2015, Munich, Germany). For an account of Archduke Ernst’s collection, see Ivo Raband, “Collecting the Painted Netherlands: The Art Collection of Archduke Ernst of Austria in Brussels,” in Collecting Nature, ed. Andrea Gáldy and Sylvia Heudecker (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2014), 109-124.   349 Archduke Ernst travelled to Brussels in order to serve as governor to the Spanish Netherlands. As was established in the previous chapter with reference to Hoefnagel’s repetition of Van Valckenborch’s painting of the Tower of Babel, the two artists moved in the same circles in Frankfurt.  350 Raband, Personal Communication, March 2016, Munich, Germany.    141 representations of flora and a small landscape scene.351 The archduke was a renowned art connoisseur eager to rebuild the Habsburg holdings after they were ransacked and heavily depleted by the Swedish army during the Thirty Years’ War; his evident appreciation for Hoefnagel’s artworks may therefore constitute part of this process of revivification as much as a response to the miniatures’ conceptual, visual, and material appeal.    In addition to these records, other information about Hoefnagel’s four composite miniatures can be inferred by means of the independent illuminations to which the artist did add dedications. A particularly well-documented example is an allegorical miniature Hoefnagel made for Abraham Ortelius in 1593 (Fig. 4.7). On a small piece of parchment measuring 11.8 by 16.5 cm, Hoefnagel assembled motifs and texts that delineate Ortelius’ fame as a cartographer, equate the arts with erudition, and affirm the friendship between the humanist and the artist. At the center of the miniature, an owl is represented clutching a caduceus—a Hermathenic trope familiar from Hoefnagel’s illuminations in the Ambras missal and the design for his Cursus engraving.352 Here, Minerva’s owl sits on a globe that rests on top of a codex. For Jessica Chiswick Robey, this configuration references Ortelius’ atlas, the Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, and the conjunction of wisdom with the representation                                                 351 No. 216: “Ein kleines Stückhel von Waszerfarb auf Pergament, warin ein gar kleines Landtschäfftel, auff der Seithen zwei Merkaczen, zwey Festonen, einer von Früchten vnndt der andere von Blumen. In einer eben Ramen, hoch 1 Span vndt 1 Span 2 Finger braith. Von dem Hoefnagel Original.” No. 238: “Ein kleines Stückhel mit Fraweneysz überzogen von Waszerfarb auf Pergament, in der Mitten ein Landtschäfftl, warin ein Stättlein, auff beeden Seithen ein Merkacz, zwey Festonen, einer mit Früchten vnd der ander mitt Blumen gezierth; oben stehe: Nullus in orbe locus Bays praelucet amoenis. In einer schwarz eben, geflambten Ramen, hoch  9 Finger vnnd 8 Finger braidt. Von der Handt von Hoefnagel.” As transcribed in the published version of the inventory, Adolf Berger, ed. “Kunstsammlung des Erzherzogs Leopold Wilhelm von Österreich,” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses 1 (1883): cxxvi-cxxvii, cxxviii. The archducal inventory has more detailed entries than those written in 1619 for the imperial collection; for instance, it makes clear the size of the miniatures as well as the fact that they were painted on parchment.   352 See Chapter Two.    142 of the visible world.353 Surrounding the owl are the tools used for mapping as well as illumination, including a pen, paintbrushes, empty shells intended to hold pigment, and dividers. An inscription set within strapwork at the base of the miniature declares the image to be a monument to friendship (Amicitiae monumentum). According to Kate Bomford, the miniature alludes to “the two men’s shared professional aspirations and achievements” and shows “their respective artistic practices as intellectual, founded on wisdom and knowledge.”354 The terms of their friendship, Bomford adds, are thus located “in the realm of moral and intellectual similitude.”355  A unique feature of this work is that its route from court artist to cartographer can be traced directly to an epistolary exchange from 20 September 1593. On this date, Hoefnagel wrote a letter in Frankfurt addressed to Ortelius in Antwerp in which he mentions “a little drawing from my hand” (een stuxken van mijnder handt) that he had sent to his friend.356 The dedication on the miniature to Ortelius and its corresponding date are compelling points to indicate that this is indeed the “little drawing” to which Hoefnagel refers.357 What this exchange suggests is that Hoefnagel’s miniatures were a mobile form of art comparable to the letters that were a crucial component of the humanist network spread across Europe.358                                                 353 Robey, “From the City Witnessed to the Community Dreamed,” 264-265.   354 Kate Bomford, “The Visual Representation of Friendship Among Humanists in the Southern Netherlands, c. 1560-1630” (PhD diss., Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London, 2000), 181.  355 Ibid.  356 Hessels, Abrahami Ortelii, 566 (Letter 239). 357 The connection between letter and miniature was first made in A. E. Popham, “On a Letter of Joris Hoefnagel,” Oud Holland (1936): 148. 358 Much has been written on the Republic of Letters. For a good overview of this phenomenon, see Françoise Waquet, “Qu’est-ce que la République des Lettres? Essai de sémantique historique,” Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes 147, no. 1 (1989): 473–502. Also useful is the anthology, Toon van Houdt et al., eds. Self-Presentation and Social Identification: The Rhetoric and Pragmatics of Letter Writing in Early Modern Times (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2002).    143 The drawing and its trajectory also imply that Hoefnagel considered his small-scale, single-leaf works to function as modes of communication that could reinforce his ties to individuals actively engaged in shared pursuits.359  The above information provides a frame of reference for Hoefnagel’s composite miniatures. It indicates that the artist used his individual illuminations to buttress his standing in courtly as well as humanist circles. In terms of the four miniatures in question, I propose that they reveal ways in which the artist was able to bring the two circuits of association together. Indeed, the miniatures are designed as points of intersection for the visual codes shaping courtly as well as humanist practices.  Variety and Visual Flux: Hoefnagel’s Composite Miniatures  Even though we do not have detailed evidence regarding the circulation of Hoefnagel’s composite miniatures, we can surmise that their design resonated with the  intended audience since the artist repeated the same striking composition on multiple occasions over an extended period of time. As noted above, all four works share the same medium and format: a single parchment sheet juxtaposes a central narrative scene with a surrounding arrangement of life-sized flora and fauna; an inscription of some kind (typically a Latin citation from a classical poet), along with the artist’s signature, is set into a cartouche situated along either the top or bottom edge of the image; all elements are rendered using watercolour and gouache, with highlights carried out in gold. In each of the four miniatures,                                                 359 There are other miniatures on which Hoefnagel wrote dedications, including two made for Netherlandish merchants (Johannes Radermacher and Johannes Muizenhol) and one the artist painted for his mother. All three date to Hoefnagel’s time as a court artist, yet all three were also destined for locations outside Munich and Prague. The miniature