Some of the most beautiful red chalk drawings of all time were created in Italy in the late 15th century and 16th centuries. They document the great range of chalk colors used by artists. The drawings show that some chalk was more lustrous, some was harder and left a more precise mark, and other chalk was thicker and more powdery. This doesn’t begin to explain the variety.
Unfortunately, the written record on red chalk is very slim in the 15th and 16th centuries. Leonardo writes of it in his notebooks (see earlier post). Vasari provides some detail in his Vite, writing that it came from the mountains of Germany. Armenini discusses red chalk at some length, but never says where it comes from. Other art historical texts hardly provide any amplification. There are no references to Italian quarries or places where it was found, and we can’t find any similar chalks in Italy today. But, if you look outside of art historical texts, there are references. This post looks at what the 16th century physician and naturalist Pietro Andrea Mattioli (1501-1578) writes about red chalk. Here is what he says:
THE STONE/CHALK called Hematite, that is blood-red, which is commonly called Chalk, and very well known to everyone & we have in Italy very many versions in the pharmacies, not only for use in medicine, but also by painters, by woodworkers, & by tailors, to be put to use for drawing, & for the marking of various lines. However, this is not the one which Dioscorides and Galen meant, because what’s in common use is counterfeited from common Armenian bole, & other mixtures/stuff. It happens that the true one is found to be a mineral, which when broken open, one sees the vivid color of blood, from which it’s gotten its name: because the Greeks called blood haema.
The context is his entry on hematite from the book, Discorsi nei sei libri della materia medicinale di Pedacio Dioscoride. I’m using an online edition (Vinegia: Valgrisi, 1555). Essentially, the book tries to makes sense of what the physician Pedanus Dioscorides (c. 40-90 AD) was writing about in De Materia Medica, matching the plants and minerals to their names in Italian, where they could be sourced, and how they should be employed. Mattioli translations of Dioscorides’s text appear just above Mattioli’s comments, which are italicized. Mattioli also examines what other doctors, such as Galen of Pergamon (c. 130 – 200 AD) wrote. Galen, like Dioscorides, was Greek-born and educated, but practiced in Rome.
Mattioli generally wrote in Latin, but he wrote the Discorsi in Italian as to make Dioscorides’s Greek text intelligible to a wide readership. It was a reference book, a pharmacopoeia for doctors and pharmacists, but it was also for the broader public. I used to look at my father’s Merck Manuals, and look is the better word than read. While I miss a lot in the Discorsi, it is less difficult to understand than the Merck Manual. The Discorsi went through numerous printings and was translated into other languages. The first edition came out in 1544, where it is known as cinque libri/five books, following Dioscorides’s five books. The sixth may be may not be by Mattioli. It deals with snake bites, which had been discussed in the earlier books, and sounds like a publisher add-on to push the book. The hematite entry appears in the fifth book, so we don’t have to concern ourselves with this. In earlier editions, he does not say where the chalk comes from, nor who uses it, but he says it’s very commonly available. Starting about 1553, he describes who uses the chalk and refers to counterfeit chalk until at least 1563. By 1568 or so, he revises the counterfeit part, writing, “…the one in common use is soft like clay, & is to be found in open mountain areas.” (Discorsi 1568:1443) Since the Discorsi was reprinted many times, and Mattioli made frequent revisions, I would need to get to a/some very well furnished medical library/ies and systematically go through them to know for sure when and how the hematite entry changed over time. I haven’t done this. First, it’s worth trying to understand what he’s talking about in the 1553, 1554 Latin ed., 1555, 1563, editions, which I have looked at online, where the entry on hematite reflects the above block quote.
Italian Pharmacies (Spezierie)
Mattioli lived in a number of Italian cities, and as a famed doctor would have traveled to others to attend to patients, meet with other doctors, visit his publishers etc. (He also lived in Prague, where he was doctor to the Habsburg Archduke Ferdinand I and Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian II.) Since he was a physician he would have been intimately aware of what pharmacies stocked. Italian pharmacies, in addition to selling the plant, mineral, and animal based medicines that were central to their business, also sold pigments and dyeing agents. The chalk shows there was crossover between medicinal and art supplies. Gold is another item that was used both in medicine and in art. Artists bought their supplies at pharmacies. (Vendecolori, literally color vendors, was a budding profession in 16th century Venice. Louisa C. Matthew wrote an interesting article on the subject. She writes that vendecolori was a profession peculiar to Venice.)
Binders were used by the pharmacists, by artists, and by the public at large. In my last post, I listed the 32 binding agents that were in the 1498 Florence Nuovo Ricettario Fiorentino (online text and excellent index courtesy of Olimpia Fittipaldi), as to what a pharmacy should stock, in addition to the core prescription recipes. Binders were important for the work of the pharmacy itself—they needed binders to compound the pills they sold, the irregularly shaped pills known as trocisci, and also for the chalk they put together for medicinal use and for use by artists, woodworkers, and tailors. The amount of binder in chalk influences its hardness. The more binder there is, the finer and crisper the lines. Sharpening also influences line weight. Artists used chalk of different consistencies, mainly placing it in a chalk holder, called or toccalapis or matitatoio in Italian. The chalk for woodworkers, as in lumberyard workers and carpenters, would probably have been broader and they could have gotten away with using a lump in the hand to draw and snap lines. Tailors may or may not have used a holder. Their chalk would have been more powdery or friable. Tailors today use a variety of colors, including red. If there was red chalk remaining on the fabric after brushing it away, they could have cleaned the residual chalk with some lightly acidic liquid. Leonardo writes in the Institut de France MS F, fol. 96r of using wine, vinegar, or aqua fortis for dissolving chalk, before forming it again with a weak binder.
If you read manuals such as Girolamo Ruscelli’s Secreti del Reverendo Donno Alessio Piemontese (Alessio Piemontese was his pen name for this book), you get a sense of the problems of storing loose pigments. Girolamo Ruscelli (c. 1518 – 1566) was a contemporary of Mattioli’s, and was a humanist/literary critic and cartographer. There are sections of the book on medicinal remedies, beauty recipes, directions for making writing and art materials, faking gold and precious stones, and a good deal else. It’s often described as a book of alchemy, and it is that in a very broad sense. Since so many of its entries have practical home applications, such as directions for removing spots from clothing, maybe it is better to say that it’s a book of alchemy and household science. Anyway, it’s a very entertaining how-to manual, and it gives an idea of how industrious people were in the 16th century. He describes everything with such terrific enthusiasm that you want to get to work carrying out his projects. Perfettissimo/most perfect is how he terms the results, and he continuously reminds his readers how much money they are saving by carrying out his secrets. The book had an enormous success.
The Secreti reveals how people were making use of the many gums and glues available at their pharmacies. About pigments, he cautions his audience to store them carefully in suede pouches or well sealed boxes, so as to avoid having the powders fly away. He sometimes gives directions for pigments, for cosmetics or art use, to be formed into pieces or loaves. His directions, for example, for artificial cinnabar loaves comes under the title and heading “To Make Cinnabar, To Make Loaves Of It, of one hundred or two hundred libre, or as big as you wish, like the ones that come from Germany. Until now no one in Italy has known how.” (Secreti 1555:197). It may be that Ruscelli was using expensive quicksilver to arrive at German artificial cinnabar loaves, which may instead have been red chalk. Cinnabar was very often faked. Cennini writes of cinnabar faked from ground bricks and warns his readers to always buy cinnabar whole (Milanesi Cennini 1859:27). From the way Ruscelli writes about pigments, you get the impression that pharmacies would have particularly liked to sell pigments in pieces or clumps since they could handle and package it more easily. They could have wrapped it in paper, thereby avoiding the expense of providing a suede bag for every purchase. The binder would have been weak, so the client could again reduce it to a powder with a few blows of the pestle.
When the pharmacies started selling the chalk suited to the needs of the various professions would be interesting to know. The 1498 Ricettario does list lapis emathites, and it gives formulations that include hematite. Whether they were referring to true hematite chalk or its counterfeit is impossible to say. Leonardo made his own hematite chalk. He didn’t seem to have any trouble experimenting and making things, and he may not have liked what was available at the pharmacies. Piero della Francesca was also an early user of red chalk. See the Biblioteca Reggiana manuscript De propsectiva pingendi MS A 41/2, fol. 26r.
As other Italians of his period, Mattioli refers to chalk as pietra and lapis. The words can also refer to stone, and it’s worth thinking about whether the terms for chalk refer back to the mineral origin of chalk, or whether the chalk itself looked like stone. It’s probably a bit of both. Maybe the chalk available at pharmacies was formed into individual rock-like shapes, although I think it is more likely that it was made in large batches and then broken into chunks. The other commonly used word for chalk was matita. According to the Accademia della Crusca’s dictionary, the word first appears in print in 1528. It definitely refers back to the mineral hematite, but only implied chalk. (In current usage, it implies pencil or chalk.)
The 1528 use of the word matita comes in a comic play by Ludovico Ariosto (1474-1533). The exchange is in La Lena and appears in Act III, Scene 8.
Fazio: La matita prendere potete, e notar questo./Take up the chalk you can, and note this.
Torbido: Io lo noto, eccolo./I note it, here it is.
The lines aren’t particularly interesting in themselves, but the word matita gains relevance when you understand Torbido’s profession. He’s a perticatore/surveyor, and the characters are measuring a room in the scene. A surveyor would use pen and ink for finished documents, but in the field they used chalk to make marks on walls to measure from point to point. They would also have used chalk to draw rough ground plans and property boundary lines in a notebook. It is also where they would write down the measurements crucial to their work. Chalk, in essence, is a vehicle for pigment and something that’s highly portable. Surveyors might have made their marks with a brush and paint and notations with pen and ink, but chalk was much easier to handle. Similarly, a pill, is an efficient delivery system. Pharmacies, in the past and today, could just dispense a container of loose powder medicine and instruct the client to shake the container and take out however many spoons. Pills, and the trocisci antecedents, insure that the ingredients are equally divided into doses. Like chalk, they’re easy to handle and also highly portable.
Hematite and Armenian Bole
Because Matttioli uses the words contrafatta/counterfeited about the chalk, it’s clear that he would have avoided prescribing imitation of hematite chalk in the pharmacies. He also describes it as containing misturaggini, which I’ve translated as mixtures/stuff. This word also has bad connotations. Mistruaggini sounds as if it’s the equivalent of current usage miscuglie. I’ve heard many Italians speak of food that they didn’t like, and especially of food consumed on trips abroad, disparagingly say, “Certe miscuglie!”. The English translation would be, “What a hodgepodge!” or worse.
According to Mattioli, hematite was reduced to a powder with a grinding wheel. He relates that it was prescribed for, among other conditions: eye disorders, including bloodshot eyes; menses issues; and the spitting up of blood. Prof. Marco Tizzoni, an archeologist focused on ancient iron mining, says that hematite has bacteriostatic properties. I don’t see that hematite has uses in 20th or 21st century medical practice. People today, mostly iron miners, are treated for conditions resulting from occupational exposure to hematite. Mattioli’s entry on hematite is in some ways strange. He completely misses Elba as the prime source for hematite. This is particularly odd since he was Tuscan and because he does say Helba was a source for armenian bole. Armenian bole is essentially kaolin, and kaolin is used in modern medicine, however it’s mainly used in the ceramics, cosmetics, and paper industries.
Today we mostly think of armenian bole in terms of the material that gilders use. It’s the cinnamon-colored tacky base onto which gold leaf is applied. It was also used in that way in Italy. The 14th century artist and treatise writer, Cennino Cennini writes of bolo armeniaco for applying gold leaf to paper in his Libro dell’arte (Milanesi, 1859:110). The color of gilding bole, or kaolin, is due to impurities from its contact with iron.
Kaolin, caolino in Italian, is a word that comes from Chinese (gāolíng/high hill). In English it’s also known as China white clay and porcelain clay. The word kaolin entered European vocabulary in the 18th century, so we shouldn’t expect to find the word caolino in 16th century texts. Among the terms that Mattioli uses for kaolin are: terra sigillata, terra di Lemnia, bolo orientale, bolo Armeno, and bolo Armeno commune. These were used to treat a host of ailments, from plague to snake bites. Modern medicine uses kaolin in some of the same ways that Mattioli and Dioscorides used them. Mattioli writes of kaolin and its use for dysentery, wound dressings, and mouth ulcers. Today it’s used for upset stomach; the Mayo Clinic has an interesting page on the reappearance of tourniquets, sometimes impregnated with kaolin; and it is given to patients undergoing radiation treatments, for the side effects of mouth swelling and soreness.
Mattioli spends a great deal of time puzzling about what Dioscorides and Galen meant in their discussion of these medicinal clays in relation to what was available to him. He examines the colors, he tastes them, and puts the earths on his lips to match them up to earths of the ancient doctors. Since kaolin is naturally fine it would have required less grinding than hematite. The colors could be white, red, or yellow and the colors in between. Professor Tizzoni tells me that he has even seen kaolin with a green cast. The color depends on its proximity to coloring minerals.
The terra sigillata/sealed earth, of which the terra di Lemnia was one, were the most prized and the most costly. They were the ones imprinted with symbols meant to insure place of origin. The Lemnian earth came from island of Lemnos in Greece. Dioscorides writes of the Lemnian earth as being mixed with goat kid blood and bearing a seal with a goat. By Mattioli’s day the island was under the part of the Ottoman Empire and sealed earth bore words in Turkish characters. In ancient times it was supposed to have been collected and formed into cakes by an Hephaestia priestess and her helpers. The town of Hephaestia takes its name from Hephaestus, god of fire and the forge, who was believed to have particularly favored Lemnos. The sealed earth cakes bore seals of Artemis or her attributes, including a goat.
A vivid account of the island of Lemnos and the Leminan earth was written by H. Fanshawe Tozer in his Islands of the Aegean, 1890. The book was pointed out to me by Professor Tizzoni. Tozer visited Lemnos, which was then part of Turkey, and prepared himself for the visit by reading ancient authors. He particularly read Galen, who had visited Lemnos and collected 20,000 cakes of the Lemnian earth to bring back to Rome, and a later visitor, the 16th c. naturalist Pierre Belon. He writes of the unusual collection of people he meets, how Mount Athos and its shadow seem to loom, how it’s a place nearly devoid of trees except for fruit trees by the villages, and there are great stretches of medieval Genoese walls. When he arrives at what he believes is the correct site of the Lemnian earth, about a mile outside of Kotchino, it’s a bit disappointing. It’s a pit covered with thistle stalks, and when they dig they find what looks like ordinary clay. He sees none of the dull red earth that previous authors had described. Nevertheless, he hears accounts by locals and writes, “that when the ground is opened, the sacred earth wells up of its own accord–‘leaps up,’ ‘boils up’ were the expressions used…” (p.263) The customs written about by ancient authors and their similarity to the accounts he hears from local people makes Tozer think that he was in the right place. He also writes of Lemnos women who wore beaded necklaces made of clay and how they would grate off pieces of the beads for medicinal purposes. Tozer cites an analysis of the earth which found that it contained: 66% silex, 14.5% alumina, 6% iron oxide, 8.5% water, 3.5% natron, and inappreciable quantities of lime and magnesia, adding that one couldn’t be sure this was the original rubrica. (p.266) In recent years there’s been speculation that the Lemnian earth might have been bentonite or montmorillonite. Professsor Tizzoni in an instant message wrote, “I’m pretty sure T. Lemnia was kaolin. Bentonite and montmorillonite are quite common on other Greek islands such as Mylos and they were not sought after at all in ancient times!”
Mattioli was keenly aware of counterfeiters and he outlines a ruse by which phony terra di Lemnia passed through Constantinople. He goes to some length in discussing fake earths and how to tell them apart, but it must have been difficult. The marks on the sealed earths, like the hallmarks on precious metals, the words Parmigiano Reggiano on Parmesan rinds, and the word Pfizer imprinted on viagra pills, could easily be faked. Within the realm of drawings, there are spurious collectors marks, as for example the Eugène Delacroix estate mark Lugt 838.
The common armenian boles would have come from Italy. The 1574 Ricettario Fiorentino writes of red armenian bole coming from the area of Volterra. The later 1623 edition of the Ricettario, writes of Elba as a source, confirming what Mattioli had written. The entry on Armenian bole reads:
From Elba we’ve had for very many years & happily used with much success the white earth & red & yellow: among which the white is the most excellent, and whose color is very similar to the Armenian Bole of Galen: after which is the yellow, & the red in the last place for internal medicines. But for medicines to apply to the exterior, the red is to be preferred since it is more astringent.
Giovanni Targioni Tozzetti I, an 18th century Florentine doctor and naturalist, wrote that gilders could save themselves buying Elba armenian bole since it was present in Florence’s Cave di Lastre, the quarry for pietra serena in the Boboli Gardens, Nannuccio (?), and the Montici hill (near Pian dei Giullari). He also lists Fiesole and the more distant Golfolina as spots for finding common Armenian bole in his Viaggi fatti in diverse parti della Toscana per osservare le produzioni naturali e gli antichi monumenti di essa (1751:16-17). Professor Tizzoni has related that there’s an abundance of kaolin in Tuscany’s Roccastrada, a town inland and north of Piombino. He said that there was also a great deal of kaolin in the territories of Vicenza, which was exhausted in the 20th century. In any case, there was, and there still is, a great deal of kaolin in Italy.
Kaolin and Fogg Conservation Study
Mattioli relating that common armenian bole, or kaolin, was used to fabricate the chalk is significant since conservators who have studied the composition of old master and 19th century red chalk drawings, have found kaolin in red chalk. I’m referring to an interesting conservation study carried out at the Fogg Art Museum in the mid-1980s. Debora D. Mayer and Pamela B. Vandiver published their paper “Red Chalk: Historical and Technical Perspectives/Part 2 Technical Study” in Drawings Defined (Abaris, 1987:171-179). The paper was delivered first at a 1985 symposium on drawings, sponsored by Ian Woodner. The study is particularly interesting for its discussion of the platelet particles common to both hematite and kaolin. Mayer and Vandiver sought to determine the differences between natural, fabricated, and synthesized red chalk. They also wanted to establish when synthesized chalks made from synthesized iron oxide began to be manufactured. For their study they took minuscule amounts of chalk from drawings and also examined actual pieces of red chalk, one of which was from Lascaux. They studied at least two Italian drawings, one by Pietro Faccini (1562-1602) and another by Giambattista Tiepolo (1696-1770), but I can’t say how many of the total of 17 drawings were Italian. I also can’t tell if they had a piece of Italian chalk. The chalks showed, in Vandiver and Mayer’s words:
Of the samples studied, the proportions of hematite to clay varied from 50-80% hematite and 20-50% clay. Most often hematite and clay were present in equal proportions. Clay alters the color of the chalk to a lighter tint, but more importantly, it eases the spread or flow of the chalk onto the paper, often referred to as softness. Kaolin is the clay most often used. It is a family of fine white clays with a platey particle shape and particle size of about one to ten microns (a micron is a thousandth of a millimeter).
Drawings Defined 1987:173
The chalks such as Leonardo’s “lapis amatita macinata” or ground hematite chalk would have had a greater proportion of hematite to clay. See prior post, where the Kremer Pigments composition for natural hematite lists 80% iron oxide and the remainder amounts to clay. The chalks, such as the Mattioli’s counterfeit bolo Aremeno commune and misturaggini (red ochre) would have had a greater proportion of kaolin than the hematite chalk. Common red armenian bole would bring some iron oxide and the red ochre would bring more, but still less than a straight hematite chalk.
Unfortunately, binders were not something they looked at because they wrote that it wasn’t possible with the analytic methods they used (p.174). On the same page they relate that clay and water have enough binding power to bring together a piece of chalk. Since the Fogg study was undertaken, I believe there have been advances in identifying binders, especially protein based binders, but plant ones as well. It would truly be excellent to be able to identify, for example, the 32 binders listed as common in the 1498 Ricettario Fiorentino.
Mayer and Vandiver found that the difference between natural and fabricated chalk is that fabricated chalks show evidence of being milled. Now, the common armenian bole which Mattioli writes about would have needed minimal milling since it was fine by nature. It would have had to be cleaned. In industries, such as the paper industry, they use the word slurrying to denote soaking kaolin. Kaolin is used in paper to give body and also gloss to the surface.
Antoine Lomet’s indications for making chalk (see Making Hematite Chalk post) gives the followers of his recipes the choice of grinding, or soaking the sanguine or iron oxide red pigment in water until it is impalpable. Impalpable is a lovely word, more a word of another era. I recently made some hematite chalk following Lomet’s instructions. Sludge is the less nice word that came to mind for the ground hematite that I left to soak in water for 24 hours. After soaking in the water, it’s completely smooth and there is no graininess at all. It is impalpable. How much evidence of milling is apparent after soaking hematite, hematite-rich red ochre, or kaolin is something to think about.
Mattioli uses the word impalpabile in his entry on hematite, although he does not speak of wetting it. Leonardo uses the word impalpable several times in his notebooks. In Madrid II, fol. 141r he writes of soaking coarse sandy earth to make a mixture suitable for casting. He calls the resulting mixture quasi impalpabile/almost impalpable. As one of the possible colorants to the earth he lists iron rust. Giovanni Battista Armenini’s chalk was made with rust—for a truly junk chalk. I believe this is rubrica fabrili/ironsmiths chalk and will work on a post about Armenini. Ruscelli writes of impalpable earths in terms of making casts, and for other purposes which he doesn’t specify. His instructions call for numerous grindings, but also involve soakings and water changes. He says his directions make for earths that are, “sottile come l’aria” or “as fine/thin as air.” (Secreti 1555:208.)
There may have been fillers in the chalk. Something that would have cost even less than common armenian bole. Gesso, or gypsum, might have been used. The common armenian boles have a nice red-brown color, but not the color of blood-red hematite–what pharmacies were duping. To make the chalks redder they added hematite-rich coloring earths, that is red ochres. Italy is full of red earths. The Tuscans says the iron in the soil which makes it red, also accounts for their good wine. In Campania, Liguria, and the Veneto you can see that they have red ochres because of the colors their buildings are painted. Even if the traditional paints may now be artificial and come in plastic tubs from worlds away, in the past the colors were used because they were nearby and easily had. Here are some red ochres attached to places: terra di siena, rosso pozzuoli, rosso ercolana, terra di verona, and rosso di venezia. Harvard’s Forbes Pigment Database, hosted by Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts site, lists others from Italy and elsewhere. Lombardy and Emilia, where many red chalk drawings were made, are not known for red ochres, but since they’re more or less sandwiched between Liguria and the Veneto, red ochres were close by. Emilia Romagna also borders Tuscany. Rome, another place where many artists used red chalk, has Tuscany to the north, and Campania directly to the south.
Some red chalk drawings are raspberry-red in color. Those chalks were probably made with a paler kaolin. I have a feeling that it would be difficult to arrive at those clear reds with the muddier brown-red kaolin. One would have to experiment to see.
Professor Tizzoni suggested that they might have added beeswax or animal fat to the chalk to have it better adhere to paper, or wood. If they did use animal fat, the 1498 Nuovo Ricettario (pages 58 & 59) has very many of those. Here’s the list of the twenty Grassi Usuali/Common Fats, first in Italian, and then English: Sugna di porcho, Grasso di chavallo, Grasso di gatta, Grasso di tasso, Grasso di avoltoio, Grasso di chane, Grasso di volpe, Grasso di chapra, Grasso di nibbio, Grasso d’anitra, Grasso di gallina, Grasso d’asino, Grasso di lione, Grasso di beccho, Grasso d’ocha, Grasso d’orso, Grasso d’anitroccholo, Grasso di serpe, Grasso di talpa, Grasso di ramarro. (Pork, horse, cat, badger, buzzard, dog, fox, goat, kite, duck, chicken, donkey, lion, skimmer, goose, bear, duckling, snake, mole, lizard.) I’ve pondered having the choice of taking hematite or counterfeit hematite chalk, and decided that the counterfeit drug might be better. The variable of animal fat adds a new dimension to the problem, and makes it much tougher to figure out. The good news is that the same pharmacies carried delicious sounding fruit syrups, with which one could chase down either choice. For the eye solutions, one would want someone else to administer it, so as to avoid looking in a mirror and seeing red liquid dripping from your eyes. The pharmacies also sold delicious sounding candied fruits.
Soft Clay-Like Chalk in Open Mountain Areas
In later editions Mattioli says that soft clay-like chalk comes from open areas in the mountains. Were it to be used as a medicine and for making marks, it would have to have been cleaned and washed of its grit, seeds, lichens—the sorts of things that blow about in the mountains. I asked Professor Tizzoni what to make of Mattioli’s revision about chalk coming from the mountains. He said, “It means he was out walking in the mountains and saw something that reminded him of the chalk in the pharmacies and he revised what he’d written.” There it is. He was walking in the mountains and saw something that looked like the chalk in pharmacies.
Ulisse Aldrovandi (1522-1605), the Bolognese naturalist, collector of natural specimens, and professor carried on a correspondence with Pietro Andrea Mattioli. In his Musaeum metallicum in libros IIII, published posthumously, he does not report Mattioli’s mountain origin. Instead, he writes:
Painters & certain woodworkers (probably cabinetmakers) use Hematite for drawing, and they call it lapis/chalk. Mattioli denies that this is real Hematite, instead he asserts that it is an imitation made with common Armenian bole and other fake stuff.
The open mountain origin explanation cannot account for the very many types of red chalk in Italy’s pharmacies that Mattioli saw or the very many types of Italian red chalks we see in drawings in public and private collections. Instead, imitation hematite chalk, true hematite chalk, rubrica fabrili, and chalk from outside of Italy can explain the varieties of red chalk we see in Italian old master drawings.
Cibo – Notes on Mattioli
Mattioli was a friend and correspondent of Gherardo Cibo (1512 – 1600), the draftsman and botanist. Cibo also carried on a correspondences with Ulisse Adrovandi. In 1580 Francesco Maria II della Rovere asked Cibo to color and embellish the woodcuts in his edition of Mattioli’s Discorsi sulle piante e sugli animali. Della Rovere’s edition is now in the Biblioteca Alessandrina in Rome. Arnold Nesselrath and Katia Lysy published a book on the edition in 1991.
Mattioli died of the plague in the early months of 1578. Kaolin was a prime medicine for plague. No amount of the finest, costliest terra sigillata would have helped him. It could have aided some of the symptoms, but not the disease. If it were viral, he didn’t have the antibodies to fight it and vaccines were only coming into use in the 19th century. If it were a bacterial plague, he, again didn’t have the necessary antibodies, and only 20th century antibiotics would have helped.
Because of reading about Mattioli, which I would not have done except for red chalk, I found out that the genus of flowers called Matthiola, was named after Mattioli. The genus of the Brassicaceae family includes stock. I could recognise the name Matthiola from my dead of winter habit of reading/dreaming over seed catalogues, but never looked into the why of the genus name. I was happy to have found out Mattioli’s connection because these flowers have always been some of my favorites. When I was a student I’d buy stock, Matthiola incana, to get me through nightmare exam weeks. Their colors, perfume and gray-green leaves are very close to heavenly. Materia medicinale per eccellenza.
Many thanks to Professor Tizzoni for reading and translating passages from Aldrovandi’s book and so much else.