The dramatic life of a controversial masterpiece
Leonardo’s portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci
by Philip McCouat
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The story of Leonardo da Vinci’s portrait of the Florentine aristocrat Ginevra de’ Benci has all the hallmarks of a classic crime thriller ~ a loveless marriage; a platonic romance; an unexplained disappearance; coded messages; a false identity; a tell-tale fingerprint; a pair of severed hands; a hiding place in a cellar; a mysterious suitcase; and a clandestine journey. Add in the fact that the portrait was sold for the highest price ever recorded in the world at the time and, clearly, this is no ordinary painting.
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In this article we’ll be examining this little masterpiece and aiming to make sense of its extraordinarily chequered history.
Fig 1: Leonardo da Vinci, Portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci (c 1474), 38 cm x 37cm (15 x 15 in), oil and tempera on poplar wood, National Gallery of Art, Washington
Part 1: What’s in the painting
Ginevra and the Juniper
Ginevra de’ Benci was born in 1457. Her father Amerigo was a prominent Florentine banker with close ties to the powerful Medici family. The Benci family’s wealth and class meant that Ginevra received a good education and moved in influential circles. She was said to be a great beauty, a talented writer and poet, though the only line of hers that survives is enigmatic -- “I ask your forgiveness and I am a mountain tiger” [1].
Leonardo’s painting is of a teenage Ginevra. She has partly turned her head and shoulders to face the viewer. Her face is round, framed by tight golden curls, her complexion pale, her clothing plain. Her heavy-lidded eyes are cool and appraising, and her slightly downturned mouth seems to convey a suggestion of sadness, or maybe resignation? independence? resentment? It’s hard to tell, as she seems determined not to give anything away – clearly, the Mona Lisa is not the only Leonardo portrait with an enigmatic gaze.
Behind Ginevra, framing her head and shoulders, is a large juniper bush. This is actually a play on Ginevra’s name, as the local word for juniper was “Ginepro”. The spikiness of the juniper, whose original green colour has browned over the centuries, provides a dramatic contrast to the smooth, glowing, almost alabaster, face of Ginevra. The gold sparkles still detectable in the bushes pick up Ginevra’s gold curls. You may even see some similarities between those curls and Leonardo’s well-known studies of eddies in flowing water (Fig 2, 3).
Leonardo’s painting is of a teenage Ginevra. She has partly turned her head and shoulders to face the viewer. Her face is round, framed by tight golden curls, her complexion pale, her clothing plain. Her heavy-lidded eyes are cool and appraising, and her slightly downturned mouth seems to convey a suggestion of sadness, or maybe resignation? independence? resentment? It’s hard to tell, as she seems determined not to give anything away – clearly, the Mona Lisa is not the only Leonardo portrait with an enigmatic gaze.
Behind Ginevra, framing her head and shoulders, is a large juniper bush. This is actually a play on Ginevra’s name, as the local word for juniper was “Ginepro”. The spikiness of the juniper, whose original green colour has browned over the centuries, provides a dramatic contrast to the smooth, glowing, almost alabaster, face of Ginevra. The gold sparkles still detectable in the bushes pick up Ginevra’s gold curls. You may even see some similarities between those curls and Leonardo’s well-known studies of eddies in flowing water (Fig 2, 3).
Fig 2: Detail of drawing by Leonardo da Vinci, Deluge
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Fig 3: Detail of curly hair in the portrait of Ginevra
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On the right side of the painting, in the distance, there is a lake or river, with some hazy blue foliage on a hillside and hints of a few structures, including a mill and a church steeple.
Fig 4: Detail of background in portrait of Ginevra
This blue haze is an early form of aerial perspective which Leonardo used to create depth. Over the years, he would later fully refine and develop this into the “sfumato” effect that characterises works such as the Mona Lisa. He described that as the technique of blending colours, without the use of lines or borders “in the manner of smoke”. You can see the difference that this makes by comparing the Ginevra portrait and the Mona Lisa, painted some 30 years later.
Fig 5: Comparison of treatment of face in the portraits of Ginevra and Mona Lisa (image reversed)
A ground-breaking portrait
Ginevra was Leonardo’s first portrait, and his first non-religious painting. He painted it when he was in his twenties -- not much older than Ginevra herself -- and shortly after he had been made a full member of the Florence painters’ guild. He is likely to have known Ginevra, as he was apparently a friend of her brother Giovanni.
Leonardo would have started the portrait with a full-scale drawing, which he transferred to a poplar wood panel by pricking holes along the lines of the drawing, then placing it over the panel, then rubbing black chalk through the holes onto the wood [2].
The portrait is innovative in many ways. First, instead of depicting the sitter in profile, as was normal, it shows her turning to look out toward us in a “three-quarter” pose. This was a novel level of engagement. It meant that instead of the sitter being objectified as the only one being observed, the viewer now has the impression that they too are being observed back by a real person [3].
The second innovation relates to the setting. Leonardo disregards the convention of showing a female sitter in an enclosed domestic space, the space traditionally associated with “women’s role”. Instead, Ginevra is depicted in the outdoors, surrounded by trees, water and distant hills.
Third, the use of oil paint, recently popularised by Van Eyck, enabled Leonardo to manipulate the paint after it had been applied. Unlike the traditional egg tempera, oil paint dries slowly and in thin layers, enabling Leonardo to create subtle but realistic effects, such as the shadowing on Ginevra’s cheeks and under her chin, and the haze on the countryside in the background. Leonardo could even blend the paint with his fingers -- if you look closely at the bush behind Ginevra’s left shoulder, you can even see his fingerprint where he dabbed at the paint.
Leonardo would have started the portrait with a full-scale drawing, which he transferred to a poplar wood panel by pricking holes along the lines of the drawing, then placing it over the panel, then rubbing black chalk through the holes onto the wood [2].
The portrait is innovative in many ways. First, instead of depicting the sitter in profile, as was normal, it shows her turning to look out toward us in a “three-quarter” pose. This was a novel level of engagement. It meant that instead of the sitter being objectified as the only one being observed, the viewer now has the impression that they too are being observed back by a real person [3].
The second innovation relates to the setting. Leonardo disregards the convention of showing a female sitter in an enclosed domestic space, the space traditionally associated with “women’s role”. Instead, Ginevra is depicted in the outdoors, surrounded by trees, water and distant hills.
Third, the use of oil paint, recently popularised by Van Eyck, enabled Leonardo to manipulate the paint after it had been applied. Unlike the traditional egg tempera, oil paint dries slowly and in thin layers, enabling Leonardo to create subtle but realistic effects, such as the shadowing on Ginevra’s cheeks and under her chin, and the haze on the countryside in the background. Leonardo could even blend the paint with his fingers -- if you look closely at the bush behind Ginevra’s left shoulder, you can even see his fingerprint where he dabbed at the paint.
Fig 6: Fingerprint of Leonardo in painting of juniper bush
A celebration of marriage?
It’s been a common belief (or assumption) that the painting commemorates and celebrates Ginevra’s engagement or marriage to the wealthy merchant Luigi di Bernardo Niccolini. This was a marriage arranged by the parents. Luigi was a widower, much older than Ginevra, and it appears that she did not like him, let alone love him.
In that era, a marriage or engagement was one of the very limited occasions on which women would be treated as important enough to be the subject of a portrait. But if this were the reason that the portrait was commissioned, one would expect that, in accordance with common practice, there would be companion portraits for both husband and wife [4]. There is, however, no evidence for the existence of a companion portrait of Luigi. This is unusual.
It is also unusual for a prospective bride to be so plainly dressed as Ginevra appears here. Wedding and betrothal portraits were normally intended to record the wealth of the natal and conjugal families, and gifts were exchanged in the form of clothes and jewels to embellish the bride” [5]. These would normally be evident from the bride’s clothing. Yet there is no sign of such ostentation in Ginevra’s appearance, no jewels, no luxurious fabrics, no elaborate dress [6]. Similarly, the heraldic elements on the back of the painting – discussed further below – all relate to Ginevra’s personal attributes, without any reference at all to her husband’s family. This again would be unusual for a marital portrait [7].
Furthermore, however one describes Ginevra’s expression, it seems clear that, at least from her point of view, there is very little celebration involved. Although a wide disparity in age was fairly common for the upper classes at the time, this could nevertheless go some way towards explaining why she looks less than thrilled. For such a young woman, it must have been challenging to face a new life in which she was required to have a totally subordinate and intimately submissive role with someone she was not familiar with. This may have been particularly jarring for a person who was so well-educated and accomplished as Ginevra.
In the light of these apparent anomalies, it is certainly possible that, contrary to the common assumption, the painting was not intended to be a celebration of Ginevra’s union with Luigi. But if so -- why, and by whom, was it commissioned?
In that era, a marriage or engagement was one of the very limited occasions on which women would be treated as important enough to be the subject of a portrait. But if this were the reason that the portrait was commissioned, one would expect that, in accordance with common practice, there would be companion portraits for both husband and wife [4]. There is, however, no evidence for the existence of a companion portrait of Luigi. This is unusual.
It is also unusual for a prospective bride to be so plainly dressed as Ginevra appears here. Wedding and betrothal portraits were normally intended to record the wealth of the natal and conjugal families, and gifts were exchanged in the form of clothes and jewels to embellish the bride” [5]. These would normally be evident from the bride’s clothing. Yet there is no sign of such ostentation in Ginevra’s appearance, no jewels, no luxurious fabrics, no elaborate dress [6]. Similarly, the heraldic elements on the back of the painting – discussed further below – all relate to Ginevra’s personal attributes, without any reference at all to her husband’s family. This again would be unusual for a marital portrait [7].
Furthermore, however one describes Ginevra’s expression, it seems clear that, at least from her point of view, there is very little celebration involved. Although a wide disparity in age was fairly common for the upper classes at the time, this could nevertheless go some way towards explaining why she looks less than thrilled. For such a young woman, it must have been challenging to face a new life in which she was required to have a totally subordinate and intimately submissive role with someone she was not familiar with. This may have been particularly jarring for a person who was so well-educated and accomplished as Ginevra.
In the light of these apparent anomalies, it is certainly possible that, contrary to the common assumption, the painting was not intended to be a celebration of Ginevra’s union with Luigi. But if so -- why, and by whom, was it commissioned?
Passionate but platonic -- exploring Ginevra’s back
The Ginevra is actually a two-sided work. While the front is a depiction of Ginevra’s physical appearance, the back (or “verso”) is painted with a number of emblems associated with her (Fig 7). The central sprig of juniper, which we know is a pun on Ginevra’s name, clearly represents her. The wreath of laurel on the left symbolises her intellectual virtue, and the palm frond on the right symbolises her moral virtue. The curling scroll contains the Latin phrase “virtutem forma decorat”, which translates as “beauty adorns virtue”. Taken as a whole, the work signifies that Ginevra’s outward beauty is a reflection of her inner intellectual and moral virtues.
Fig 7 : Leonardo da Vinci, verso of Portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci (c 1474). National Gallery of Art, Washington
As it happens, the laurel and palm frond are also the personal emblems of Bernardo Bembo, Venetian ambassador to Florence, and acquaintance of the Benci family, who had formed a deep and lasting relationship with Ginevra. Their apparently platonic but intense and longstanding friendship was, it seems, “typical of the era and consistent with Ginevra's elite status as the daughter of a wealthy banker” [8]. So at the same time that Bembo had Ginevra as his “platonic beloved”, he was also married and is said to have had a mistress.
Bembo’s association with the painting goes further than the emblems of laurel and palm frond. Modern infrared examination has revealed that the verso originally bore a different motto, "Virtue and Honor". It has been argued that this was Bembo’s own personal motto. which was later overpainted with Ginevra’s motto, the one we see today. This leads to the suggestion that it was Bembo who commissioned the original emblematic painting on the verso of the portrait [9], and even that he might also have commissioned the whole painting, as a gesture of his chivalric regard and admiration of the sitter [10]. However, this analysis has since been disputed, on the ground that the “Virtue and Honor” motto was not in fact closely associated with Bembo at this time [11].
Yet another possibility, which seems quite plausible, is that the portrait was not commissioned as a marital portrait, or by her platonic lover Bembo, but by Ginevra’s own family [12]. Portraits of young Florentine women were sometimes ordered by their families to preserve their memory after they were married and left the household, or in the event that they might die young. And, as we have already discussed, the heraldic elements on the back of the painting all relate to the Benci family.
Bembo’s association with the painting goes further than the emblems of laurel and palm frond. Modern infrared examination has revealed that the verso originally bore a different motto, "Virtue and Honor". It has been argued that this was Bembo’s own personal motto. which was later overpainted with Ginevra’s motto, the one we see today. This leads to the suggestion that it was Bembo who commissioned the original emblematic painting on the verso of the portrait [9], and even that he might also have commissioned the whole painting, as a gesture of his chivalric regard and admiration of the sitter [10]. However, this analysis has since been disputed, on the ground that the “Virtue and Honor” motto was not in fact closely associated with Bembo at this time [11].
Yet another possibility, which seems quite plausible, is that the portrait was not commissioned as a marital portrait, or by her platonic lover Bembo, but by Ginevra’s own family [12]. Portraits of young Florentine women were sometimes ordered by their families to preserve their memory after they were married and left the household, or in the event that they might die young. And, as we have already discussed, the heraldic elements on the back of the painting all relate to the Benci family.
The case of the severed hands
Leonardo’s portraits are generally quite small. For example, Leonardo’s Mona Lisa is only 77 x 53 cm (or 30 x 21 inches), and Lady with an Ermine is just 55 x 40 cm (or 21 x 16 inches). And Ginevra is even smaller, measuring only 38 x 37cm (15 x 15 inches). This often surprises and even disappoints some first-time viewers of these paintings, who – understandably but illogically – have tended to equate value and fame with an impressive size.
The art appraiser Mario Modestini describes just such a reaction when he first unveiled the Ginevra to the National Gallery in Washington:
“By this time, it was nearly midnight. A table had been prepared in the climate-controlled room. In front of the assembled staff, I opened the suitcase and removed the famous portrait. The painting is rather small and, when I took it out, it seemed to me that there was less excitement than there might have been about the arrival of this much-desired object. Perhaps, after all, everyone was slightly disappointed to see this small panel of a modest young girl” [13].
In Ginevra’s case, a factor significantly affecting its size is that, at some time in its history, the lower part of the painting, which presumably would have shown Ginevra’s hands, was cut by about 18 cm (7 inches), and is lost. This could have amounted to up to a third of the original painting. The reason for this deletion is not known, though some have guessed that it may have suffered damage in some way. The loss is particularly poignant, as Leonardo felt that people are best portrayed with their hands, because they provide an insight into the person’s personality.
There has been much speculation about exactly how the hands would have appeared in the missing part of the painting. Would they have been demurely folded in her lap? Might she have been holding a small flower? And so on. It is sometimes suggested that a drawing by Leonardo in Windsor Castle (Fig 8), may have been a preparatory study for the missing hands [14]. However, this is not likely, as it appears, on balance, that this drawing postdates the painting.
The art appraiser Mario Modestini describes just such a reaction when he first unveiled the Ginevra to the National Gallery in Washington:
“By this time, it was nearly midnight. A table had been prepared in the climate-controlled room. In front of the assembled staff, I opened the suitcase and removed the famous portrait. The painting is rather small and, when I took it out, it seemed to me that there was less excitement than there might have been about the arrival of this much-desired object. Perhaps, after all, everyone was slightly disappointed to see this small panel of a modest young girl” [13].
In Ginevra’s case, a factor significantly affecting its size is that, at some time in its history, the lower part of the painting, which presumably would have shown Ginevra’s hands, was cut by about 18 cm (7 inches), and is lost. This could have amounted to up to a third of the original painting. The reason for this deletion is not known, though some have guessed that it may have suffered damage in some way. The loss is particularly poignant, as Leonardo felt that people are best portrayed with their hands, because they provide an insight into the person’s personality.
There has been much speculation about exactly how the hands would have appeared in the missing part of the painting. Would they have been demurely folded in her lap? Might she have been holding a small flower? And so on. It is sometimes suggested that a drawing by Leonardo in Windsor Castle (Fig 8), may have been a preparatory study for the missing hands [14]. However, this is not likely, as it appears, on balance, that this drawing postdates the painting.
Fig 8: Leonardo da Vinci, study of hands, Royal Collection Trust
Some guidance may instead possibly be provided by subsequent works that were significantly influenced by Ginevra. One example is provided by Lorenzo de Credi’s Portrait of a Woman (Fig 9). Di Credi worked in the studio of Andrea del Verrocchio at the same time as the young Leonardo, whose talent he admired. Di Credi’s portrait was painted a few years after Ginevra, and is generally accepted as inspired by the earlier work, sharing the sitter’s cool eyes, plain dress, three-quarter turn (though it is to the left, not the right), the framing juniper bush, together with a similar background of water, trees and mist. Crucially, di Credi’s portrait includes the hands, so it may possibly be that these too were similar to Ginevra, which would still have been intact at the time.
Fig 9: Lorenzo de Credi, Portrait of a Woman (c 1490-1500), Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Yet another possible clue to the arrangement of the missing hands is provided by this sculpture by Verocchio. This depicts a hairstyle and dress similar to that of Ginevra.
Fig 10: Andrea del Verrocchio, Lady with Flowers, marble sculpture, c. 1475
Of course, there is no guarantee that the missing piece actually depicted Ginevra’s hands in any event. It has been suggested that it might instead have simply shown the sitter with her arms by her side, maybe with a painted parapet at the base, as in the painting at Fig 11 [15]. Such a depiction would be consistent with Ginevra’s serious expression, simplicity of dress and three-quarters pose.
Fig 11: Agnolo di Domenico del Mazziere (attrib), Portrait of a Lady,
c. 1490, Staatliche Museen, Berlin
PART 2: From Liechtenstein to Washington
Where has the painting been for the last 500 years?
Although the painting and the main characters were Florentine, we know surprisingly little about where it was for more than 200 years after it was painted [16]. Eventually, however, we know that it came into the ownership of the royal family of the tiny European principality of Liechtenstein, sometime before 1712. That circular red seal at the top right of the back of the painting (see Fig 7) identifies it as part of the royal family’s collection.
There it remained until World War II, when it was hidden in a monastery to prevent it being damaged or from being seized by the Nazis. Later, with Soviet troops approaching, it was transferred by the head of the family, Prince Franz Josef II, to his castle in Vaduz [17].
There it remained until World War II, when it was hidden in a monastery to prevent it being damaged or from being seized by the Nazis. Later, with Soviet troops approaching, it was transferred by the head of the family, Prince Franz Josef II, to his castle in Vaduz [17].
Fig 12: Vaduz Castle of Prince Franz Josef II
The royal family’s collection was huge, with more than a thousand artworks, built up from extensive buying since the 16th century. However, major property losses in World War II and various other factors later prompted the Prince to begin a program of selling off some individual paintings from the collection. These sales, to institutions such as the National Galleries in Ottawa and London, were conducted in conditions of utmost secrecy – the collection was regarded as a national treasure by the public, and none of the sales were officially disclosed at the time [18].
These sales, however, constituted only a small fraction of the collection. It continued to hold multiple paintings by Rubens, Van Dyck, Rembrandt, Hals, the Brueghels, a Raphael, and many other Dutch and Flemish masters and masterpieces by Titian, Tiepolo and early German, Italian and French artists [19]. And of course, the Ginevra,
These sales, however, constituted only a small fraction of the collection. It continued to hold multiple paintings by Rubens, Van Dyck, Rembrandt, Hals, the Brueghels, a Raphael, and many other Dutch and Flemish masters and masterpieces by Titian, Tiepolo and early German, Italian and French artists [19]. And of course, the Ginevra,
The battle to buy Ginevra
After World War II, the Ginevra portrait was the only Leonardo painting that could conceivably still be available for sale.Many of the world’s museums and art collectors had been trying to buy it for years, among them the industrialist Norton Simon, shipping magnate Stavros Niarchos, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art [20]. The National Gallery in Washington was also keenly interested. This Gallery had only been in operation since 1937 and its collection, though substantial, was relatively modest compared with those of its more illustrious rivals. It had been buoyed by the blockbuster success of its temporary loan of the Mona Lisa in 1963 [21], and was keen to gain international prestige by adding another work by Leonardo to its permanent collection. The obvious candidate was the Ginevra portrait.
The gallery’s director John Walker travelled to Liechtenstein several times to encourage the Prince to sell, but the Prince was playing hard to get – perhaps to drive up the price -- and rebuffed him. But in 1966-67 intensive and protracted negotiations finally led to a deal, with the Gallery offering to pay what was then regarded as the unbelievably high price of US $5 million, largely funded by a private donation. It was the highest price ever paid for a painting, beating the record of $2.3 million paid by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1961 for Rembrandt’s Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer. It’s interesting how low these amounts seem today!
The gallery’s director John Walker travelled to Liechtenstein several times to encourage the Prince to sell, but the Prince was playing hard to get – perhaps to drive up the price -- and rebuffed him. But in 1966-67 intensive and protracted negotiations finally led to a deal, with the Gallery offering to pay what was then regarded as the unbelievably high price of US $5 million, largely funded by a private donation. It was the highest price ever paid for a painting, beating the record of $2.3 million paid by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1961 for Rembrandt’s Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer. It’s interesting how low these amounts seem today!
The clandestine journey of Mrs Modestini
The potential deal was kept quiet. Initially, two envoys, including art conservator Mario Modestini, were sent to Liechtenstein to confirm the painting’s genuineness and condition. To preserve secrecy, Modestini and Walker agreed that in their messages to each other, they would never refer to the painting by name, instead using a code name (“the bird”) [22]. On arrival at the Vaduz Castle, Modestini had the chance to examine the painting at close range for the first time. He quickly becoming convinced that it was a Leonardo, and messaged Walker accordingly (“the bird is 100% okay”).
A month later the deal had been confirmed. Modestini and the Gallery’s treasurer returned to Vaduz to supervise its transfer to Washington. An air ticket was purchased for the painting’s own window seat – in first class, of course -- in the name of “Mrs Modestini”. For protection from humidity and changes in temperature, it was carefully encased in layers of plastic and Styrofoam [23], and placed in a standard grey Samson Tourister suitcase. On boarding the plane to accompany the painting, Mario Modestini sent the crucial message “The bird flies”.
Modestini takes up the story:
“The curiosity of the other passengers was indescribable. A whole first-class seat for a Samsonite suitcase! What could possibly be inside? Whenever [the Gallery’s treasurer] or I had to get up to use the bathroom, the other would take the seat next to the Samsonite case. It was snowing when we arrived in New York and the flight was delayed. No sooner had the plane landed and come to a stop than the doors opened and two FBI agents entered asking for Mr. Modestini. They identified themselves, grabbed the suitcase, and said, “Follow us.” [A] private plane was waiting on the tarmac nearby to whisk us off to National Airport, where a private car took us directly to the gallery. By this time, it was nearly midnight. A table had been prepared in the climate-controlled room. In front of the assembled staff, I opened the suitcase and removed the famous portrait…”[24].
A month later the deal had been confirmed. Modestini and the Gallery’s treasurer returned to Vaduz to supervise its transfer to Washington. An air ticket was purchased for the painting’s own window seat – in first class, of course -- in the name of “Mrs Modestini”. For protection from humidity and changes in temperature, it was carefully encased in layers of plastic and Styrofoam [23], and placed in a standard grey Samson Tourister suitcase. On boarding the plane to accompany the painting, Mario Modestini sent the crucial message “The bird flies”.
Modestini takes up the story:
“The curiosity of the other passengers was indescribable. A whole first-class seat for a Samsonite suitcase! What could possibly be inside? Whenever [the Gallery’s treasurer] or I had to get up to use the bathroom, the other would take the seat next to the Samsonite case. It was snowing when we arrived in New York and the flight was delayed. No sooner had the plane landed and come to a stop than the doors opened and two FBI agents entered asking for Mr. Modestini. They identified themselves, grabbed the suitcase, and said, “Follow us.” [A] private plane was waiting on the tarmac nearby to whisk us off to National Airport, where a private car took us directly to the gallery. By this time, it was nearly midnight. A table had been prepared in the climate-controlled room. In front of the assembled staff, I opened the suitcase and removed the famous portrait…”[24].
Fig 13: Advertisement for the brand of suitcase used on the flight
The jewel of the collection
With news of the sale having leaked out through reports in The New York Times, the painting made its official debut at the National Gallery. Walker, the gallery’s director, explained to a packed press conference the five reasons why he felt it was “one of the most precious paintings in the world” [25]. First, because it was painted by Leonardo, who ranked among the “greatest of human geniuses”. Second, because it was one of the few Leonardo paintings left. Third, because it showed the artist’s “unequalled ability to model three-dimensional form”. Fourth, because it was remarkably well preserved, and fifth, because of the "miracle of psychological insight" by which Leonardo expressed "the sombre side of personality”.
Walker coyly refused to confirm the price, though the $5 million figure was an open secret. However, fears of an overly hostile reaction to the price (even though it was privately-funded) turned out to be largely unfounded. The purchase was front page news, and it seems that most Washingtonians were quite pleased that their city had scored such a coup. Over 4,000 visitors were attracted on the first day of public viewing, and they kept coming [26]. The Ginevra, as the only Leonardo in America, became the focal point of the Gallery, instantly raising the Museum’s international profile, and it has remained a popular attraction to the present day.
Currently, the painting is installed on a freestanding podium in a special room, visible across several galleries despite its diminutive size, and viewers are encouraged to walk round and view both the front and the back (Fig 12). And, of course, with every day that passes, that $5 million price tag starts looking increasingly like a bargain.
Walker coyly refused to confirm the price, though the $5 million figure was an open secret. However, fears of an overly hostile reaction to the price (even though it was privately-funded) turned out to be largely unfounded. The purchase was front page news, and it seems that most Washingtonians were quite pleased that their city had scored such a coup. Over 4,000 visitors were attracted on the first day of public viewing, and they kept coming [26]. The Ginevra, as the only Leonardo in America, became the focal point of the Gallery, instantly raising the Museum’s international profile, and it has remained a popular attraction to the present day.
Currently, the painting is installed on a freestanding podium in a special room, visible across several galleries despite its diminutive size, and viewers are encouraged to walk round and view both the front and the back (Fig 12). And, of course, with every day that passes, that $5 million price tag starts looking increasingly like a bargain.
Fig 12: Installation of the painting in the NGA, Washington
A fame that lives on
And what about the real-life Ginevra herself? You may not be surprised to hear that her marriage was not happy. It was also childless, a situation that one correspondent attributed to her “excessive haughtiness” [27]. She had a longstanding illness (could this have contributed to her pale appearance?) and she ultimately withdrew from Florentine society, retiring to the countryside, probably at Le Murate convent. This convent had long been substantially supported by the Bencis, and was the place where she had boarded as a young girl. It has been suggested that the black scarf draped round her shoulders in the portrait is possibly a “scapular”, part of the monastic dress of many religious orders, and her wearing of it may have coincided with her departure from the convent to marry [28].
The convent was certainly no sleepy retreat. It was quite famous, amounting to what Garrard refers to a “Renaissance equivalent of progressive women’s college”, providing “creative or intellectual stimulation in a space free from male domination”, and specialising in organ music, singing, book illustration and gold and silver embroidery [29].
Ginevra finally died aged 63, never dreaming that that her face would still be famous – and controversial – more than 500 years later ■
© Philip McCouat, 2026.
First published February 2026. We welcome your comments on this article.
This article may be cited as Philip McCouat, “The Dramatic Life of a Controversial Masterpiece: Leonardo’s Portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci”, Journal of Art in Society 2026, https://www.artinsociety.com/the-dramatic-life-of-a-controversial-masterpiece-leonardorsquos-portrait-of-ginevra-dersquo-benci.html
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The convent was certainly no sleepy retreat. It was quite famous, amounting to what Garrard refers to a “Renaissance equivalent of progressive women’s college”, providing “creative or intellectual stimulation in a space free from male domination”, and specialising in organ music, singing, book illustration and gold and silver embroidery [29].
Ginevra finally died aged 63, never dreaming that that her face would still be famous – and controversial – more than 500 years later ■
© Philip McCouat, 2026.
First published February 2026. We welcome your comments on this article.
This article may be cited as Philip McCouat, “The Dramatic Life of a Controversial Masterpiece: Leonardo’s Portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci”, Journal of Art in Society 2026, https://www.artinsociety.com/the-dramatic-life-of-a-controversial-masterpiece-leonardorsquos-portrait-of-ginevra-dersquo-benci.html
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end Notes
[1] As we don’t know the full context of this line, the concept of a mountain tiger asking for forgiveness remains elusive. For a recent biographical novel identifying Ginevra with a tiger, see Da Vinci’s Tiger by LM Elliott
[2] Google Arts and Culture, Infrared Reflectography Image Detail of “Ginevra de’ Benci” (c. 1474/1478) by Leonardo da Vinci, https://artsandculture.google.com
[3] Mary D. Garrard, “Who Was Ginevra de' Benci? Leonardo's Portrait and Its Sitter Recontextualized”, Artibus et Historiae, Vol. 27, No. 53 (2006), 23 at 25. In the painting, Leonardo has also played with perspective in depicting Ginevra’s eyes – her left eye looks directly at the viewer, but her right eye appears to be directed off towards the right.
[4] Traditionally, the woman would be depicted as looking to the right (on engagement) and looking to the left (on marriage)
[5] Carolyn Springer, Review of David Alan Brown, Virtue and Beauty: Leonardo's "Ginevra de' Benci" and Renaissance Portraits of Women,
Renaissance Quarterly, Vol. 56, No. 2 (Summer, 2003), 475 at 476
[6] The imposition of tighter sumptuary rules may also have played a part in this
[7] Garrard, op cit at 30; Lilian H Zirpolo, Review of David Alan Brown, Virtue and Beauty: Leonardo's "Ginevra de' Benci" and Renaissance Portraits of Women,
I, Vol 24, No 1 (Spring-- Summer 2003)
[8] National Gallery of Art, Washington, website entry for Portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci
[9] Jennifer Fletcher, “Bernardo Bembo and Leonardo’s Portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci”, Burlington Magazine 131 (1989) 811
[10] Garrard, op cit at 30
[11] Garrard, op cit at 37
[12] Garrard, op cit at 30
[13] Mario Modestini, Tales and Techniques of a Great Restorer, Introduction by Dianne Dwyer Modestini at 22ff
[14] Incidentally, the catalogue entry for the drawing states that “this is not a study of two hands held one above the other, but two separate studies of crossed hands, each study concentrating on one hand only, with the other as a mere outline” Royal Collection Trust, “A Study of a Woman’s Hands” https://www.rct.uk/collection/912558/a-study-of-a-womans-hands
[15] Garrard, op cit at 35ff
[16] For some time there were doubts about the authenticity of the work, based partly on this lack of provenance for so many years. Those doubts have largely dissipated
[17] Brodt, op cit
[18] Milton Esterow, “Leonardo Oil Brings $5 Million; National Gallery to Buy Work From Liechtenstein, The New York Times, 19 February 1967
[19] Esterow, op cit
[20] Esterow, op cit
[21] In a major diplomatic coup engineered by Jackie Kennedy
[22] Modestini, op cit
[23] Brodt, op cit
[24] Modestini. op cit
[25] John Canaday, “Debut of Leonardo’s Ginevra”, The New York Times, March 17, 1967
[26] Brodt, op cit
[27] Garrard, op cit at 42. Maybe this just meant that she was determined
[28] Garrard, op cit at 43
[29] Garrard, op cit at 43
© Philip McCouat, 2026.
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[2] Google Arts and Culture, Infrared Reflectography Image Detail of “Ginevra de’ Benci” (c. 1474/1478) by Leonardo da Vinci, https://artsandculture.google.com
[3] Mary D. Garrard, “Who Was Ginevra de' Benci? Leonardo's Portrait and Its Sitter Recontextualized”, Artibus et Historiae, Vol. 27, No. 53 (2006), 23 at 25. In the painting, Leonardo has also played with perspective in depicting Ginevra’s eyes – her left eye looks directly at the viewer, but her right eye appears to be directed off towards the right.
[4] Traditionally, the woman would be depicted as looking to the right (on engagement) and looking to the left (on marriage)
[5] Carolyn Springer, Review of David Alan Brown, Virtue and Beauty: Leonardo's "Ginevra de' Benci" and Renaissance Portraits of Women,
Renaissance Quarterly, Vol. 56, No. 2 (Summer, 2003), 475 at 476
[6] The imposition of tighter sumptuary rules may also have played a part in this
[7] Garrard, op cit at 30; Lilian H Zirpolo, Review of David Alan Brown, Virtue and Beauty: Leonardo's "Ginevra de' Benci" and Renaissance Portraits of Women,
I, Vol 24, No 1 (Spring-- Summer 2003)
[8] National Gallery of Art, Washington, website entry for Portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci
[9] Jennifer Fletcher, “Bernardo Bembo and Leonardo’s Portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci”, Burlington Magazine 131 (1989) 811
[10] Garrard, op cit at 30
[11] Garrard, op cit at 37
[12] Garrard, op cit at 30
[13] Mario Modestini, Tales and Techniques of a Great Restorer, Introduction by Dianne Dwyer Modestini at 22ff
[14] Incidentally, the catalogue entry for the drawing states that “this is not a study of two hands held one above the other, but two separate studies of crossed hands, each study concentrating on one hand only, with the other as a mere outline” Royal Collection Trust, “A Study of a Woman’s Hands” https://www.rct.uk/collection/912558/a-study-of-a-womans-hands
[15] Garrard, op cit at 35ff
[16] For some time there were doubts about the authenticity of the work, based partly on this lack of provenance for so many years. Those doubts have largely dissipated
[17] Brodt, op cit
[18] Milton Esterow, “Leonardo Oil Brings $5 Million; National Gallery to Buy Work From Liechtenstein, The New York Times, 19 February 1967
[19] Esterow, op cit
[20] Esterow, op cit
[21] In a major diplomatic coup engineered by Jackie Kennedy
[22] Modestini, op cit
[23] Brodt, op cit
[24] Modestini. op cit
[25] John Canaday, “Debut of Leonardo’s Ginevra”, The New York Times, March 17, 1967
[26] Brodt, op cit
[27] Garrard, op cit at 42. Maybe this just meant that she was determined
[28] Garrard, op cit at 43
[29] Garrard, op cit at 43
© Philip McCouat, 2026.
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