This post was written by Lena Szalewska and Arianna Dalla Costa, Graduate Library Trainees at The Warburg Institute Library, for History Day 2024.
The Discovery
As Graduate Library Trainees, we get endless opportunities to snoop – and sometimes we end up snooping around the wrong bay. The Warburg Library is famous for the richness of its resources on Art History – this reputation conditions one to expect beauty, serenity and grace. However, one Wednesday morning, we experienced our own ‘Blue Velvet’ moment, when our aesthetic expectations were subverted by an image of sheer gore – a strikingly realistic sculpture of a disembowelled woman, peeking from an open book left on a reading room desk (Fig. 1).
The sculpture was created in the workshop of Clemente Susini in the late 18th century, for the Florentine ‘La Specola’ Museum of Natural History, where it resides until this day. [1] It is a both life-size and life-like wax model of a reclined young woman, with her abdominal organs fully exposed. Her pose and expression are somewhere between life and death, between pain and extasy, not unlike Bernini’s Extasy of St Theresa (1647-1652). She is beautiful and serene, rests on velvet cushions and has her hair intricately braided. And yes, her intestines are also out.
Figure 1. Clemente Susini, Reclining female figure, late 18th century, wax. La Specola Museum of Natural History of the University of Florence (From: Martin Kemp and Marina Wallace, Spectacular Bodies (London: Hayward Gallery, 2000), p. 32. Classmark: FEI 1955 a113L).
The Anatomy of Strangeness
We examine the source of this haunting image – an exhibition catalogue ‘Spectacular Bodies: The Art and Science of the Human Body from Leonardo to Now’ by Martin Kemp and Marina Wallace (classmark FEI 1955.A113L). Two things become apparent. First, our wax lady has been created not merely for aesthetic pleasure, but rather for some didactic purpose. In early modern universities, the supply of real corpses for educational dissections has been a continuous problem – especially those of pregnant women. [2] Craftsmen such as Susini have been constantly employed to produce anatomically accurate models for medical schools. Secondly, although visually unusual both amongst anatomical models and sculptures in general, the haunting wax figure we found in the reading room is not the only beautiful, gutted girl from the 18th century. In fact, there appears to have been a whole genre of extraordinarily dignified Italian obstetrical models completed around that time – a genre that was later dubbed the ‘Anatomical Venus.’ [3]
Maybe it is because Halloween is coming, maybe the whole ‘Beetlejuice Beetlejuice’ campaign got to us, but after the initial high-culture Bernini association, the next thing that came to mind upon seeing the disembowelled 18th-century ladies was Emily from Tim Burton’s 2005 film ‘Corpse Bride’. She was also very beautiful, although very dead and decaying; and in many ways, she remains the exception to a general mode of depicting corpses (obviously, the whole premise of horror and grotesque relies on it). This whole half pop-cultural, half fuelled by morbid curiosity meditation raised some serious historical questions – actually, who, how and when came up with the idea that (some) corpses can be beautiful?
Navigating the Bookish Cornucopia
Good news for frequent library enjoyers (and employees) is that, just as some knowledge and imagery can be bestowed upon you without your consent, you also have all the tools to figure out how to make sense of it all.
Figure 2: Floor plan of the Library of the Warburg Institute
To explore this question, we have the open-shelf resources of the Warburg Institute Library and the Iconographic database of the Photographic Collection at our disposal. The Library spans six floors: the Basement houses the Periodicals and the Photographic Collection, the Ground Floor has the reading room and Reference materials, the first floor focuses on IMAGE (classmarks K and C) and the use of symbols in European art, the second floor covers WORD (classmarks E and N) and motifs in Western literature, the third floor, ORIENTATION (classmarks B, G, F and A), addresses the shift from magical beliefs to religion, philosophy, and science, and the fourth floor, ACTION (classmarks D and H), examines the survival and transformation of ancient social customs.
The book which served as a catalyst for this investigation belongs to the classmark FEI, which holds volumes relating to the history of medicine. However, as our questions are more of an aesthetic nature, we decided to begin our search for answers on a different floor.
The Investigation: Images of the Dead
Figure 3: Display of books on the Danse Macabre from the library of the Warburg Institute.
Inspired by the visceral reaction that the imagery of the Anatomical Venus has caused, we begin our search on the first floor of the library (IMAGE). We thought, to understand how images become strange and subversive, we first need to explore the tradition that created them. We started with the classmark COK 280-: Iconography, Death, where our attention was immediately drawn to the wealth of studies on the danse macabre. In a nutshell, danse macabre is an artistic allegory dating from the end of the fourteenth century that illustrates the universality of death. These representations typically depict death, personified by a skeleton, leading individuals from all walks of life in a dance toward the grave.
We can easily see the contrast between the late medieval approach to dead bodies, and the one represented by the Anatomical Venus. The latter appears removed from the social fabric of their contemporary reality – morbid sleeping beauties locked away in their glass cages. The danse macabre programmes, such as the La Grande Danse Macabre de Troyes (c. 1480s; the Warburg copy is an 1862 reprint), on the other hand, welcome the viewer with a multitude of corpses, laughing, dancing, even flirting with still alive humans (Fig. 4). [4] Death is presented as tangible (it quite literally leads people by their hands) and omnipresent (you can find skeletons on every page, even in the titular decorative initials). The physical and philosophical distance between life and death appears concerningly short. Yet, this morbid iconography maintains a degree of humour, illustrating how complex the attitudes towards mortality have always been.
Figure 4: ‘A very flirtatious corpse’, La Grande Danse Macabre Des Hommes et Des Femmes (Paris, 1862, p. 41, Classmark: COK 281.G61)
However, no matter how we look at it, these corpses are not pretty, nor they attempt to be. As we dove into the depths of the Photographic Collection, looking specifically into fragments of manuscripts and early prints, we found endless examples of maggot-ridden decaying corpses, jesting and tormenting unsuspecting mortals. Even as we moved beyond the danse macabre, through many different themes – ars moriendi, memento mori, and vanitas, personifications of death are universally unpleasant-looking. They might be ridiculous, they might be terrifying, they might strike a sombre, sentimental cord, but they never aspire to aesthetic beauty.
Furthermore, we discovered an interesting theme, which somewhat broke away from that pattern – Death and the Maiden. Increasingly popular during the German Renaissance, this iconographic model has put a young, often nude or elaborately dressed woman into a violent embrace of a rotting corpse (Fig. 5). Essentially, this visual contrast built up on the logic of danse macabre – emphasising that death does come for everyone – however, it also put an explicitly sexual twist on this imagery through death’s predatory gestures. This uncomfortable iconography drew our attention to a crucial aspect of our investigation. Namely, that the body of a woman is not just any body – it bears an immense weight of social and cultural symbolism.
Figure 5: Hans Baldung Grien, Death and the Maiden, 1517 (Source: The Warburg Institute Iconographic Database)
Figure 6: Hans Baldung Grien, Eve, the Serpent, and Death, 1524-25 (From the book Hans Baldung Grien: heilig, unheilig (Berlin : Deutscher Kunstverlag, 2019), p. 348. Classmark: CEA 6335)
The Investigation continued: Passive Bodies
We then decided to move to the third floor of the Library (ORIENTATION) to explore the classmark FEI 1920 – 1955: History of Medicine, Medical Illustration. Our investigation continued in the realm of iconography and cultural production. However, inspired by our recent gendered discoveries, we wished to try out a different lens – history of the body.
This time too, we decided to move chronologically. While browsing ‘Medieval Medicine in Illuminated Manuscripts’ by P. M. Jones (classmark FEI 1920 J55) we found an image curiously similar to the Anatomical Venus – a beautiful, young-looking woman with flowing, blonde hair, immobilised on a table, as two surgeons temper with her insides (Fig. 7). This image illustrates a half-rumoured classical story about the Roman Emperor Nero ordering the murder and subsequent dissection of his mother, Agrippina, to see the womb he came from. Violence permeates through this image – ruthless faces of Nero and the surgeons clash uncomfortably with Agrippina’s painful expression. Here, she is also physically tied down to the table, suggesting that the disembowelment might have taken place while she was still alive. Yet, in this gruesome scene, visually and metaphorically centred around the female reproductive system, the illuminators made a choice to depict Agrippina’s hair as flowing and golden, and her body as smooth and youthful, despite all misfortunes.
Figure 7. The dissection of Agrippina, BL, Harley MS 4425, f. 59 (from P. Murray Jones ‘Medieval Medicine in Illuminated Manuscripts’, British Library, 1988, p. 42. Classmark: FEI 1920 J55).
From stories to images, the female body is a powerful vessel of symbolism. This allure, at least in part, stemmed from an aura of mystique and lack of understanding about the process of human reproduction. Through menstruation to pregnancy, the workings of a woman’s body have been regarded as a form of hidden knowledge, both shameful and erratic, as Galenic medicine relied on the assumption that women were less perfect versions of men. As medical inquiry progressed in the 18th century, artistic production supplied new, fascinating depictions that immortalised changing ideas about the female anatomy. Still, despite increasing medical accuracy, stylistic choices reveal how female bodies could not escape sexualisation, even in more scientific settings. In the 1745 illustration by Jacques-Fabien Gautier d’Agoty (Fig. 8), a woman’s skin opens like an undone corset, as she sits half-turned, in a pose reminiscent of Rubens’ Venus in front of a Mirror (c.1613-1614). The ribs are numbered, and the muscle structure appears realistic, and yet, there is something explicitly elegant, perhaps even erotic about the way a woman is dissected. The woman’s body, her flesh, bones and all the fluids in between, were a territory to be explored and conquered, with little to no regard for the subject herself.
Figure 8: Jacques-Fabien Gautier d’Agoty, Anatomical Angel, 1745 (from M. Schmidt, L’illustration anatomique de la Renaissance au siecle des Lumieres (Neuchatel, 1998), p. 80. Classmark: FEI 1955 A113n).
Women and Anatomy
Figure 9: Anna Morandi, Self-portrait, Bologna, Istituto di Anatomia. (from: Le cere anatomiche bolognesi del Settecento, 1981, p. 35. Classmark: FEI 1955)
In our exploration, we have delved into various genres that depict the female body – specifically the female corpse – through a sexualised lens. Consider the wax models of the anatomical Venus, characterised by their luxurious hair, relaxed postures, and exposed organs, alongside Gautier d’Agoty’s Anatomical Angel, who poses seductively with visible ribs. These representations go beyond their medical and academic purposes, highlighting a troubling link between beauty and the female body, whether living or deceased. Within this framework, the female body often assumes a passive role in the study and practice of anatomy, primarily serving a male audience.
A notable figure in this context is Anna Morandi Manzolini (1716-1776). As we sift through the Warburg library’s section FEI1955: History of Medicine, Medical Illustration, we encounter a remarkable woman who gained significant fame and respect for her expertise in human dissection and the crafting of wax anatomical models, amidst numerous works by male wax artists from the 18th century, like Clemente Susini and Ercole Lelli. Born into a low-income family in Bologna, Anna honed her skills in drawing and sculpture through various workshops. After marrying artist Giovanni Manzolini, she immersed herself in the study of anatomy and became so proficient that, following her husband’s death, she took over his work, ultimately surpassing him in both artistic and academic achievement.
During her lifetime, Anna received numerous accolades, including affiliation with the prestigious “Istituto delle Scienze di Bologna.” She turned down several offers to work abroad, including one from Catherine the Great. According to her own accounts, she dissected over 1,000 bodies throughout her career. Her wax models were crucial educational tools for both artists and medical students at the University of Bologna. As a woman artist and scientist, Anna Morandi embodied the ideals of modern culture. In contrast to the concept of aristocratic feminism, Anna represented a new ideal of woman that significantly contributes to the public life of her city through her knowledge and skills, earning recognition and compensation for her work.[5]
Wax anatomical models continued to thrive in popularity throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, reflecting the romantic fascination with death and decay. Medical and Anatomical Museums flourished in Victorian England, with some venues welcoming women, while others, like Madame Caplin’s Physiological Gallery, were exclusively for female visitors.[6]
Final Considerations:
Our investigation could go on further. Navigating the different floors of the library, more and more classmarks speak to our research topic. For example, on the third floor of the library the classmark BFF 350: Comparative Religion, Death and Afterlife contains books on the history of the corpse, while on the fourth floor the classmark DCA 200: Birth, Marriage, Funerals offers studies dedicated to the performances that human civilisations have elaborated to deal with death.
The Warburg Library is a unique and dangerous place. The classmark structure makes it almost impossible to conduct a limited in scope, straightforward research. Either you will lean into your curiosity, and follow visual cues, themes, and associations, or you will find yourself utterly baffled by the arrangement. However, this is precisely why we enjoy working here so much. In a fast-paced, target-obsessed world, the Warburg aims to stand for something increasingly rare – visual sensitivity, attention and in-depth research. Our collections invite people to take time to notice, to wonder, and inevitably, to question. As Gertrude Bing, assistant of Aby Warburg and later Director of the institute described it:
“The manner of shelving the books is meant to impart certain suggestions to the reader who, looking on the shelves for one book, is attracted by the kindred ones next to it, glances at the sections above and below, and finds himself involved in a new trend of thought which may lend additional interest to the one he was pursuing.”
As we recover from this wild ride through morbid imagery and (not-so-subtle) revelations of patriarchal attitudes to the depiction and dissection of the female body, we eagerly anticipate future tangents that the Warburg collections will send us into. Ultimately, like the decay of the body and the melting of wax, these library explorations cannot be avoided.
Figure 10: A. F. Vandevorst, Dreaming, wax and metal, 2011-2015 (Source: Dauwens & Beernaert gallery).
Footnotes
[1] Kemp, M., Wallace, M., Spectacular Bodies: The Art and Science of the Human Body from Leonardo to Now (London, 2000), p. 32.
[2] A. Maerker, Model Experts: Wax Anatomies and Enlightenment in Florence and Vienna, 1775-1815 (Manchester, 2011), p. 89.
[3] A. Maerker, Model Experts, pp. 1, 34, 50.
[4] La Grande Danse Macabre Des Hommes et Des Femmes (Paris, 1862).
[5] See Anna Morandi Manzolini. Una donna fra arte e scienza, ed. by Miriam Focaccia (Florence, 2008).
[6] See Gothic Remains: corpses, terror and anatomical culture, 1764-1897 (Cardiff, 2019), p. 139; and A.W. Bates, “Indecent and Demoralising Representations”: Public Anatomy Museums in mid-Victorian England”, Med Hist. 2008 Jan 1; 52(1): 1–22.