The Louvre: Fifty Plates in Colour

In Short

This book functions as a systematic, school-by-school analysis of the painting collection housed within the Musée du Louvre. Rather than providing a dry inventory, it critiques official museum labels, challenges long-held attributions, and traces the provenance of major acquisitions—from Napoleonic plunder to private bequests. By applying the scientific methods of modern connoisseurship, the text strips away sentimental assumptions, favoring hard historical evidence and stylistic analysis. It remains a foundational document for understanding how the Western canon was curated, categorized, and occasionally misidentified during the early twentieth century.

The Story

The narrative begins with the premise that the Louvre is not a static repository but a collection defined by historical currents—war, royal patronage, and shifts in taste. The authors establish a clear methodology: paintings are organized by country, school, and period, moving from the Italian primitives through the Renaissance to the later schools of Spain, the Netherlands, and France.

The story of the collection is one of constant flux. The text documents how the museum’s holdings swelled through the spoils of the Napoleonic campaigns, noting how pieces like Murillo’s Immaculate Conception arrived via the "Plunder-master-General." It further chronicles the nineteenth-century evolution of the galleries, detailing the impact of the Campana collection and the generous, albeit complex, influence of private donors like the Rothschilds.

As the authors move through the galleries, they frequently disrupt the reader’s expectations. They argue that many famous paintings—including works officially attributed to Raphael or Leonardo da Vinci—are, in fact, the products of lesser-known assistants, pupils, or imitators. For instance, they recount how the Apollo and Marsyas, once hung in the Salon Carré as a definitive Raphael, is now more accurately understood as a work of Perugino. The text methodically dismantles the "official" narrative of the museum’s catalog, pointing out where dates are wrong and where names have been conflated.

The arc of the book reaches into the decadence of the French eighteenth century and the academic rigidity of the nineteenth. The authors maintain a skeptical eye toward painters who sought only to flatter the court, such as Jean Marc Nattier, or those who traded in "mawkish sentimentality," like Jean-Baptiste Greuze. They contrast these with the "purist" landscapes and the emerging romantics. The closing sections reflect on the museum's role in the broader landscape of art history, acknowledging that while the Louvre holds immense treasures, the institution is as prone to errors, political pressures, and lapses in judgment as any human endeavor. By the end, the reader is left with a clear understanding that the museum is a site of ongoing, often contentious, academic debate rather than a fixed monument to perfection.

How It Unfolds

The mandate for systematic study The authors define their scope, insisting that a true understanding of art requires looking past official museum labels toward the historical context of each artist’s school. They announce a policy of using modern critical names for artists, prioritizing accuracy over the dated designations found in older catalogs.

The provenance of power The text traces how the Louvre accumulated its vast wealth through the "plunder" of war and the strategic bequests of the nineteenth century. It highlights the role of the Société des Amis du Louvre in stabilizing the collection's growth and filling gaps left by early administrative oversight.

The anatomy of the Italian schools The authors pivot to the Italian Renaissance, offering sharp critiques of Raphael, Perugino, and the school of Leonardo. They dissect the influence of the "goldsmith painters," arguing that an obsession with ornamental detail often compromised the pictorial integrity of early compositions.

The Dutch and Flemish counterpoint The focus shifts to the precision of the Northern masters, contrasting the technical mastery of Gerard Dou with the broader, more spiritual work of Memlinc. The authors critique the "petty tragedies" of the Dutch genre painters, questioning whether technical skill alone constitutes greatness.

The decline of academic grandeur The narrative concludes by examining the French school under the influence of Le Brun, and later, the academic painters of the nineteenth century. The authors dismiss much of this output as "theatrical" and "uninspired," setting the stage for the arrival of more authentic movements in landscape and portraiture.

The People

The central figures are not merely the painters themselves, but the critics and connoisseurs whose methods drive the book's argument. The authors hold Giovanni Morelli and Mr. Berenson in high regard, crediting them with revolutionizing the scientific study of art. These figures stand as the gatekeepers of truth, tasked with correcting the mistakes of the "official" museum authorities.

Among the artists, Leonardo da Vinci looms as an almost overwhelming force; his arrival in Milan is treated as a cultural earthquake that "enslaved" lesser painters to his style. Figures like Ghirlandaio are presented as talented craftsmen whose love for jewelry and gold-work sometimes distracted from their artistic depth. Gerard Dou emerges as a figure of controversy—a painter who achieved massive financial success through "niggling" detail, which the authors find tiresome.

Meanwhile, Greuze is singled out as a master of "mawkish sentimentality," whose popularity with the public was fueled by his ability to flatter and manipulate emotions. The "official" catalogers of the Louvre occupy the role of the antagonist—those who persist in outdated attributions, such as keeping the Apollo and Marsyas under the label of Raphael long after its true origins were identified. Through these figures, the book maps the conflict between the pursuit of objective truth and the comfort of established, yet inaccurate, institutional tradition.

In Its Own Voice

"We do not hesitate to refer to painters, especially those of the Italian schools, under the names by which they are generally known to modern critics, as opposed to those under which they are officially catalogued by the Louvre authorities."

The authors establish their critical independence in the preface, setting the tone for the rest of the book’s corrections.

"The influence of Alessio Baldovinetti is reflected in the pictures of Cosimo Rosselli (1437-1507)."

This demonstrates the authors' focus on tracking the lineage and stylistic inheritance between masters and their successors.

"One is apt to tire of his irritating parade of cleverness in the manipulation of light and shade effects, and over-scrupulous and niggling treatment of detail."

The authors express their blunt, personal assessment of the painter Gerard Dou, favoring authentic expression over technical artifice.

What It's Really About

At its heart, this book is an argument for the supremacy of connoisseurship over institutional dogma. The authors are deeply concerned with the "pedigree" of art—how, where, and why a painting is labeled as it is. It investigates the uncomfortable reality that museums, even those as grand as the Louvre, are products of their time and politics, often clinging to prestige-driven attributions that do not hold up to modern scientific scrutiny. The book asks a fundamental question for any art lover: do we look at the painting itself, or at the name on the frame? It suggests that the beauty of a work is often obscured by the layers of myth, commercial history, and misinformed scholarship that we allow to settle upon it over the centuries.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy detective work and the history of ideas will find this volume deeply rewarding. It strips away the reverence typically accorded to museum guides, offering a sharp, bracing, and occasionally impatient look at the Louvre’s holdings. It is not a casual browse; it is a serious, scholarly effort that feels like a conversation with an opinionated, well-traveled expert who refuses to be impressed by reputation alone.

The experience of reading it is like walking through a museum with someone who is constantly pointing out the flaws in the signage. While the reader may occasionally find the authors’ tone elitist or their dismissal of certain "academic" painters overly harsh, that friction is part of the book’s character. It remains relevant for those who want to understand the transition from the era of "gentleman connoisseurship" to the more rigorous, modern analysis of art. Be aware that the text relies on the attitudes of its period, reflecting the Eurocentric focus of early 20th-century art history, and its detailed focus on specific catalog numbers can be dense. However, for those who value the truth behind the canvas, it serves as an excellent reminder that even our most "permanent" institutions are constantly in the process of being re-read and re-evaluated.