The history of fine art is peppered with drama, intrigue, and even sexual innuendo — sometimes at the hands of artists, sometimes at the hands of larger-than-life collectors and sometimes at the hands of thieves and scoundrels. The world of miniature portraits is no exception; and we feature today two rare miniatures that have emerged from a world of drama and intrigue that easily inspires a captivating novel or movie script.
Imagine an opening scene in Rome, for example, where a refined Italian man, a wealthy art collector, is studying a miniature portrait under a magnifying glass while bombs go off overhead or German troops march in the streets below. Imagine this same man then in Germany, meeting with Adolph Hitler and, later that same evening, upon returning to his posh Berlin hotel suite, being met at his door by an attractive young man, a German art dealer who has arrived to present his wealthy client with a rare specimen for his collection. Imagine, then, the scandalous turn of events that unfolds as our Italian collector, hours later, wakes up in his bed beside this same German art dealer, apparently having found not just one, but two rare specimens that evening. Imagine learning, too, that our Italian protagonist is not just a wealthy art collector, but a crown prince — a crown prince who would eventually become a European king, only to immediately find himself struggling to defend the monarchy in the midst of post World War II political chaos. A closing scene ensues, back in Rome, in which this same king, ultimately displaced as his country abolishes the monarchy, quietly sits alone in his study, carefully packaging his collection of miniature portraits in preparation for fleeing his beloved homeland.
This is, of course, a fictional narrative; but it is based on some very real facts, which I will outline below.
Today’s featured portraits: Two rare miniatures once held in the personal collection of King Umberto II of Italy.
Left: Portrait of Joseph II, Holy Roman Emperor (circa 1775)
Right: Portrait of Carlo Alberto, King of Piedmont-Sardinia (circa 1833)
Movie script drama aside, our featured portraits are rare in their own right. They are rare first in that they are original depictions of royals and not later day copies of earlier works. They are doubly rare in that they were once part of a personal collection of miniature portraits owned by a European monarch himself: King Umberto II of Italy (1904-1983), a distinguished member of the House of Savoy (Europe’s longest-ruling dynastic family) and Italy’s last reigning king. It is the dramatic life of this King Umberto, how he acquired his collection of miniature portraits and how his family ultimately came to dispose of the collection that adds even more interest to these beautiful portraits.
A photo of King Umberto II, as he appeared in July 1964, at the age of 60, on a visit to Paris, France. This photo was taken by an unnamed photographer of the International Magazine Service, Stockholm, Sweden. The original photo and its copyright are now in my possession, having been purchased to add to my Umberto collection.
Umberto’s Dramatic Life: Setting the Stage
Born in 1904 as Umberto Nicola Tommaso Giovanni Maria di Savoi, Umberto II was the only son of Italian King Vittorio Emanuele III (often anglicized as Victor Emanuel III) and his queen consort, Princess Elena Petrović-Njegoš of Montenegro. Umberto was born crown prince, future heir to the Italian throne, and was given the title Prince of Piedmont. One might have assumed that, with such a distinguished pedigree, the prince was destined to a life of greatness; and indeed his early life was one of great privilege. The second half of Umberto’s life, however, was marked by controversy, sadness, rumors of sexual scandal, political treachery and even rejection by his own people.
Some, given to superstition, have suggested that Umberto was born under a “bad star”. Others suggest that it was simply a bad omen that he was named after his grandfather, King Umberto I, who had been assassinated in 1900, four years before the young prince was born. (The king’s assailant was seeking revenge for the death of his sister who had been killed a year earlier when Umberto I’s soldiers used excessive force to put down an unarmed band of rioting peasants.)
Superstition aside, to some degree, Umberto’s troubles seem to reflect the old adage that “you reap what you sow”. History records, for example, that in his youth, despite being heir-apparent to the Italian throne, Umberto lived the life of an unrestrained socialite and playboy more than that of a conservative-minded future king. Later in life, at a time when he desperately needed the support of his people, Umberto would come to learn that the excesses of his youth — which allegedly included salacious sexual affairs with both women and men — had irreparably harmed his public image.
Of course, were Umberto alive today, he might also suggest that his life story was just as much one of “reaping what your father sows”. That is to say, history records that it was the missteps and flawed decisions of Umberto’s father, King Vittorio Emanuele III, that ultimately cemented anti-monarchist sentiment in Italy. It was the king, for example, who appointed Benito Mussolini Prime Minister of Italy in 1922; and it was the king who silently chose not to object to Mussolini’s ensuing abuses of power, all the while watching Italian politics devolve to the point of Mussolini declaring a defacto fascist dictatorship in 1926.
It has been said that Umberto’s father, Vittorio Emanuele III, was a shy and somewhat withdrawn individual. It is also widely known that he hated the day-to-day stresses of Italian politics; so it is not a surprise that, in the absence of strong leadership on his part, a ruthless dictator like Mussolini might rise to power. To his defense, the king in his own memoirs claimed that it was fear of civil war that motivated his own actions and inactions vis-à-vis Mussolini. Some historians suggest, however, that Vittorio Emanuele III was instead more fearful of a bloody revolution (and the threat of such revolution to his personal crown, if not his head) as had been seen in Russia a decade earlier. Regardless of what his reasons and motivations were, it was the king’s fateful decisions and missteps that allowed fascism to gain a stronghold in Italy and to, in turn, draw Italy into World War II on the side of fascist Germany.
Photo of Italian Crown Prince Umberto (right) with German Chancellor Adolph Hitler (center) at the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin, Germany. Umberto appeared with Hitler and other German officials on several occasions, all at the behest of his father, King Vittorio Emanuele III, who was eager to maintain amicable relations with the increasingly powerful fascist Germany. Hitler himself was, of course, happy for such photo opportunities; and he used images of appearances with foreign dignitaries as propaganda tools to strengthen his own domestic popularity. When Umberto himself became king a decade later, however, such photos of him with Hitler, Mussolini and other unsavory characters were resurrected and used against him, in an attempt to tarnish his image and diminish his power. (Copy-written photo obtained from a private source with license for publication.)
Umberto’s Dramatic Life: The End of World War II and Umberto’s Short Reign as King
Casual students of history often forget that Italy, once an ally of nazi Germany, was eventually invaded and occupied by Germany. Many Italian servicemen were mercilessly killed by their former comrades; many Italian “resisters” were carted off to German labor camps; and many Italian Jews were rooted out of their homes and neighborhoods and sent to German death camps. Sadly, these events came to be as a result of a well-intentioned change of heart by Italian King Vittorio Emanuele III who, by 1943, had grown weary of war and had grown weary of his country’s association with fascism. In July of that year, the king removed Mussolini from power and had him imprisoned, 22 years after having ushered Mussolini into power in the first place. He also chose to break with Germany and to side with Anglo-American Allies, drawing anger and retribution from Adolph Hitler who then sought to punish Italy.
King Vittorio Emanuele had hoped his actions would bring World War II (or at least Italy’s participation in the war) to a faster close, but German resolve only dragged the war on; and as the war progressed, the Italian people became increasingly dissatisfied with the state of affairs in their country. Their cities were now occupied by German troops; their economy was in a shambles; and the people themselves were tired and hungry. Not surprisingly, disgruntled Italians came to blame their king for their plight; and in light of their frustration and distrust, it became apparent that Vittorio Emanuele was too tainted by his previous support of fascism to lead the country out of war and into recovery.
Himself not blind to the frustration of his people, Vittorio Emanuele decided in 1944 to insert a fresh face into his government. Although he did not formally abdicate his throne, in April of that year, at the age of 74, the king stepped away from the daily duties of leadership and initiated a regency style government, transferring most of his powers to his son, Umberto, who became de facto head of state as Lieutenant General of the Realm. Umberto served in this capacity for the two years that ensued, until his father eventually did abdicate in May 1946, at which point the 42-year old Umberto himself officially became king.
As fate would have it, however, there could not have been worse time for Umberto to have ascended the throne, as, simultaneously, there was a growing wave of anti-monarchist sentiment swelling within Italy. Umberto was a handsome, intelligent and very likable man, and he earned much respect for his leadership while regent; but a growing part of the Italian populace was eager to move the country in a new direction — a direction that happened to not include a king.
In June, a mere month after Umberto had ascended the throne, a referendum was held in which the Italian people were pressed to decide whether Italy would remain a constitutional monarchy or become a constitutional republic. Sadly for the House of Savoy, the majority voted in favor of republicanism. Umberto’s reign as king, thus, officially ended on June 12, 1946, all of 34 days after it began. His family may have had the distinction of being Europe’s longest-ruling dynastic family, but Umberto himself became one of the shortest reigning kings in European history.
Umberto’s Dramatic Life: Questions about His Sexuality
As Italian citizens voted in their referendum of June 2, 1946, they overwhelmingly voted in favor of creating a new form of government in Italy. For all practical purposes, however, the referendum was equally as much a vote of no confidence cast against Umberto and the royal House of Savoy. For the majority of Italians, despite his general likability, Umberto had done too little too late to improve their depressed lot in the war-ravaged world. Not quick to forgive, they saw him and his family as having foolishly supported fascism and irreparably harming the country through a series of missteps and poor alliances. Sadly, some Italians also had a bias against Umberto for very personal reasons and saw him as unfit to lead on the basis of his perceived sexual orientation.
For decades, Umberto had been dogged with rumors about his sexuality — specifically, rumors that he preferred relations with men rather than women. It had been whispered that, prior to his marriage in 1930, he had relationships with, several attractive young men. Perhaps more damning, it was rumored, too, that such relationships also occurred after Umberto’s marriage to Marie José of Belgium.
Throughout his life, Umberto himself never discussed his personal life publicly and he certainly never validated salacious rumors. Historians, nonetheless, confidently acknowledge Umberto’s various relationships with men, based on a number of corroborating facts and disclosures by individuals who were close to him. (Some of his alleged male lovers, in fact, detailed facts of their affairs in their own memoirs; and women with whom he was alleged to have had affairs with in his youth claimed years later that their relationships were merely plutonic and simply intended to offer cover for Umberto’s “real” interests.)
The reality was, Umberto’s marriage to Marie José was an arranged one. Umberto knew, of course, that he would eventually need an heir to carry on his family’s legacy; but he and Marie José never did develop a close or loving relationship. Their lack of closeness is perhaps best summed up by historians Robert Aldrich and Garry Wotherspoon Routledge, who state, “…Umberto and his wife lived apart, except for a minimum of contact necessary for the sake of appearances; they kept separate apartments, separate beds and separate friends.” (*1) Rumors abounded, likewise, that the royal couple’s children were conceived by artificial insemination.
Had Umberto been born in a later era, such details of his personal life might not have mattered at all, save for suspicions that he was disloyal to his wife. In conservative, Catholic-minded twentieth century Italy, however, Umberto’s gay leanings made him a pariah to some of his people. This was seen as having a meaningful impact on the results of the June 1946 referendum in which Umberto was effectively disowned by his country.
Umberto’s Dramatic Life: a King in Exile
In the days immediately following Italy’s fateful vote to form a republic, there were many who urged King Umberto to challenge the results. There were, after all a number of documented voting irregularities that cast into doubt the accuracy of the referendum’s outcome; and a good portion of the military still remained loyal to the crown. Having already seen his country wounded by one war, however, Umberto was not eager to risk a civil war on his behalf. He chose instead to honor the results of the referendum, however flawed they may have been, and to allow Italy the opportunity to heal from its deep wounds. He also chose to create some space between himself and a newly emerging government in Rome by leaving the country with his family. Accordingly, on June 13, 1946, Umberto left Rome by plane (his wife and children had already left days earlier), en route to Portugal, where the Savoys had maintained close connections for centuries. He set up residence in Cascais, a rich coastal town and cosmopolitan suburb of the Portuguese capital, Lisbon, where the royal family of Portugal had also retained estates in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
No doubt, when Umberto left Italy, he believed he would return, in due course, to his homeland. Indeed, throughout the remaining 37 years of his life, he held hope that the Italian monarchy might be restored, even if in just a ceremonial capacity. Sadly for Umberto and his family, however, the framers of Italy’s new constitution, enacted in 1947, saw the potential presence of former royals as a threat to their new government and, thus, included a provision in the constitution that forbade King Umberto or any of his male descendants from ever returning to Italian soil. They also stripped the family of properties in Italy and seized any other assets that Umberto had not already secured. Despite Umberto’s hopes of returning home, the Italian royal family, the House of Savoy, was forced into permanent exile from their homeland.
A photo of King Umberto II, circa 1960, in his private study at his home of exile (which he named “Villa Italia”), located in the coastal town of Cascais, Portugal, near the Atlantic Ocean. Original photo by Leo de Raemy. Photo and copyright now in my possession, having been purchased to add to my Umberto collection.
The Quiet Amongst the Noise: Umberto’s Personal Collection of Miniature Portraits
His personal and political troubles aside, one thing that remained constant in Umberto’s life was his love of art and, in particular, his love of miniature portraits. He began collecting miniatures at an early age, in fact; and over the course of his life he assembled a large and meaningful collection, portions of which were ultimately sold at auction by his family after his death.
That Umberto became such an avid collector in general is perhaps not a surprise, considering that his father, Vittorio Emanuele III, was a life-long collector of rare coins. He was considered one of the greatest numismatists of his time, in fact, having amassed an extensive collection of Italian coins dating from the Middle Ages up to 1900. Umberto himself was more than just a well-monied collector, however. He was a highly cultured man, a well-trained and accomplished historian and was highly respected amongst curators and art dealers alike for his knowledge of fine art and antiquities.
While he may have been highly regarded in the art world and was seen to have made many valuable contributions to fine art, especially with regard to large, full sized portraiture, Umberto’s joy of collecting miniature portraits was more of a solitary and intimate pursuit for the displaced king. Yes, it is said that he enjoyed “the hunt” and took enormous pleasure in finding and securing a choice rarity (especially if it was a portrait of an individual connected to his family’s past); but he was known, too, to enjoy alone time at his desk, studying his miniatures, researching their history and importance and enjoying the intimate nature of the small, hand held art form that miniature portraits are. Indeed, as is the case with many collectors of miniature portraits, Umberto’s miniatures were the “quiet” in a life otherwise filled with unpleasant noise.
The End of an Era and the Dispersal of a King’s Collection
After having lived abroad in exile for nearly four decades, Umberto died in Geneva, Switzerland on March 18, 1983, six months shy of his 79th birthday.
One year after Umberto’s death, his family auctioned off a number of his collectibles, including two large portions of the King’s miniature portrait collection, which were sold in Geneva through Sotheby’s International. One portion was a unique assembly of Asian miniature portraits, sold along with a number of fine Asian manuscripts, which Umberto had also been fond of collecting. The other portion was a grouping of 176 miniature portraits of Italian and other European royals, all of whom were related to King Umberto and the House of Savoy in some way.
Our two featured portraits were amongst this second portion of 176 miniatures that were sold in 1984. One of the two was a portrait of Umberto’s 2nd great grandfather, Carlo Alberto (often anglicized as Charles Albert), King of Piedmont-Sardinia. The other was a portrait of Umberto’s 4th great uncle, Joseph II, Holy Roman Emperor for the period of 1765-1790.
Photo of an original 48-page Sotheby’s catalogue, printed in 1984 to document for interested buyers all of the miniature portraits that were offered at auction from the estate of King Umberto II. I purchased this catalogue from an antique books dealer in an effort to enhance my understanding of both the history and provenance of the two Umberto miniatures I purchased. Details about our featured portraits are found on pages 21 and 27 of the catalogue. [“A Collection of Portrait Miniatures from the Estate of King Umberto II of Italy”, Geneva, Switzerland, November 12, 1984, Sotheby’s International.]
Portrait of Joseph II, Holy Roman Emperor (born 1741, died 1790; 4th great uncle of Umberto II)
Artist: painted in the style of Johann Georg Weikert
Date/age: circa 1775 (239 years ago, as of this writing)
Size: 1 3/4″ tall x 1 5/16″ wide (framed)
Medium: watercolor and gouache on thin ivory wafer
Frame: gold gilded copper-brass alloy
Historical Context: Joseph II was Holy Roman Emperor for the period 1765-1790, Apostolic King of Hungary, King of Bohemia and Archduke of Austria. He was the eldest son of the powerful Austrian ruler and Holy Roman Empress Maria Theresa and her husband Francis I and was a brother of Marie Antoinette, Queen consort of French King Louis XVI. While he met with great opposition amongst some elitists for his reforms and modernization measures, Joseph II was a big proponent of “enlightened absolutism”, allowing religious toleration, freedom of speech and property rights while simultaneously fostering the arts, sciences, and education. Having died in 1790 with no sons, Joseph II was succeeded by his younger brother, Leopold II, who was the 4th great grandfather of Umberto II (the subject of this article).
Portrait of Carlo Alberto (sometimes anglicized as Charles Albert), King of Piedmont-Sardinia (born 1798, died 1849; 2nd great grandfather of Umberto II)
Artist: signed Giacinto Serono di Torino
Date/age: circa 1833 (181 years ago, as of this writing)
Size: 3 1/8 diameter (framed)
Medium: watercolor and gouache on thin ivory wafer
Frame: gold gilded copper-brass alloy
Historical Context: Carlo Alberto was King of Piedmont-Sardinia for the period 1731-1749, having succeeded his distant cousin, Carlo Felice di Savoia (Charles Felix). Piedmont-Sardinia was a European state, located in what is today Northwestern Italy (bordered by France, Switzerland and Austria) and is regarded as the predecessor state of of today’s Italy. Carlo Alberto was instrumental in a number of reforms and pushed to establish a new constitution for Piedmont-Sardinia, still referred to today as the “Statuto Albertino”, which became the basis of the constitution of the newly unified kingdom of Italy that would then emerge. It was Carlo Alberto’s son, Victor Emmanuel II, who in fact became the first king of unified Italy.
It is remarkable, really, to think that part of a collection of fine art once owned by a king would have been auctioned off after his death — especially considering that a large number of the pieces sold were portraits of the king’s family members from generations past. It is sad, too, to think that such an important collection was divided into so many small portions. I suppose that I should be grateful, however, as it is this very fact that has allowed someone like me to own such a meaningful piece of history.
It cannot be overlooked, of course, that, being no longer eligible for state funding, circumstances have necessitated the Savoy Family finding creative ways to support their various households and business interests. Many families, great and small, have turned to selling valuable assets when necessary, so why would the Savoys have been any different? It is also worth noting that some of Umberto’s adult children have endured a number of controversies and hardships in their own lives that have surely required financial resources to tide them over. (The life story of Umberto’s estranged son, for example, Vittorio Emanuele, Prince of Naples, could certainly fill a large book — the prince having been involved in 1978 in a bizarre set of circumstances in which he shot and killed an innocent bystander and having been arrested and briefly imprisoned in 2006 on corruption charges and for allegedly running a high end prostitution ring for European elites.) One must assume, too, that, despite selling so many of Umberto’s miniatures, his family retained his finest and most important specimens. No records have been published, however, to document what portions of their father’s original collection Umberto’s children did retain.
Being that our featured portraits are only two of the 176 Savoy related portraits sold in 1984, I can’t help but wonder what the fate was of the other 174. Are they owned in small pieces by private collectors like me? Were some purchased for museum collections? If you happen to own an Umberto miniature or know of someone who does, I invite you to reach out to me or to post a comment to this article!
As for the two Umberto miniatures I now own, I owe my good fortune in acquiring them to Ted Pollard of Wayne, Pennsylvania. Mr. Pollard, a Wharton School alum, successful businessman and accomplished historian, acquired in 1984 seven of the 176 Umberto portraits auctioned by Sotheby’s. Now, three decades later, he has kindly made them available to a new generation of collectors. I feel quite fortunate to have become acquainted with Mr. Pollard and am grateful for the opportunity to have acquired from him two fine Umberto specimens.
More About the Art
The 176 European miniature portraits from King Umberto’s collection spanned four centuries — the oldest having dated back to 1680. From amongst these, our two featured portraits are estimated to date back to 1775 and 1833 (making them 239 and 181 years old, respectively, as of this writing).
While the two are paired together in my collection, due to their common connection to King Umberto II, they really are of very different styles (and the entire Umberto collection, of course, contained an even wider variety of painting styles). The portrait of Joseph II, for example, the smaller and older of the two portraits, was painted with a plain green-gray background, somewhat reminiscent of French miniature portraits of the same period (leading one to suspect that its painter might have been trained in Paris). The portrait of Carlo Alberto, on the other hand, was painted in a beautiful, outdoor setting — much more typical of Italian sensibility in portraiture. Additionally, while both portraits are exemplary miniatures, if one compares the two side by side, there are some distinct differences in their execution. The portrait of Joseph II, for example, is painted in a soft, delicate style, very representative of eighteenth century Viennese court painters. This softness is especially apparent when examining the face of Joseph II and, in particular, his eyes. The portrait of Carlo Alberto, on the other hand is painted with sharper edges; and on close examination one can see signs of paint on paint, indicating that the artist might have been more accustomed to working in oils than watercolors. (As is typical of most antique miniature portraits, our two featured portraits were both painted on thin ivory wafers with watercolor paint. Some artists preferred to paint with watercolor paint of a lower viscosity [i.e., more watered down], as is apparent was the case with our portrait of Joseph II. Other painters, however, preferred thicker, higher viscosity watercolors that could be worked with in a manner more similar to oil paint; and this technique can clearly be seen in our portrait of Carlo Alberto. Natural gums were typically added to watercolors as a thickening agent when an artist preferred this stiffer feel. Putting this in a modern context, readers familiar with painting mediums will note that this sounds similar to a type of watercolor paint we refer to today as “gouache”.)
A photo of the hand painted portrait of Joseph II, as it appears when examined outside its gold frame and without the glare of its glass lens. One immediately notices some signs of wear and paint loss around the edges of the portrait (not at all unexpected, given the age of the painting). When in its frame, of course, these flaws are not noticeable; but they exist, nonetheless, and they underscore the importance of protecting such old and important art from continued age-related damage.
Considering its tiny size (1 3/4″ tall x 1 5/16″ wide), the detail incorporated into this portrait is quite remarkable. From the fine brush strokes used to paint the emperor’s hair and eyebrows to the rich color and fine detail of his clothing, the artist has displayed both a steady hand and discerning eye in the execution of his work.
The emperor is depicted wearing a green Chevau-Légers uniform with a scarlet collar (a uniform he is known to have been quite fond of), decorated with a sash and breast star of the Austrian Military Order of Maria Theresa. He wears, too, a white waist coat adorned with gold trim — the detailed trim easily discernible, despite its very small size. The artist has even enhanced realism and dimension by including detail as simple as shadows around the buttons of the emperor’s coat.
This portrait is unsigned (typical of such portraits where the focus was supposed to be on the important subject of the painting and not on the artist who painted it). There, likewise, were no identifying notes to the rear of the portrait that would help in identifying the artist with certainty. The portrait does, nonetheless, closely resemble in style and composition the work of Austrian painter Johann Georg Weikert (c. 1743 – 1799). A full-sized portrait of Emperor Joseph II by Weikert (with a very similar appearance to our featured miniature portrait) remains in a permanent collection of the Heeresgeschichtliches Museum in Vienna, Austria.
It is believed that our miniature portrait of Joseph II was once incorporated into a tableau, a grouping of related portraits (surely portraits of immediate family members) set into a larger frame.
A closeup view of the unframed portrait of Joseph II, focused on the head and shoulders of the subject. Note the artist’s soft brush strokes, especially apparent in the subject’s face and eyes. The detail in the subject’s eyes, in particular, is especially remarkable when one considers that the eyes are a mere 1/16″ wide in the tiny portrait. Note, too, the variety of brush strokes the artist utilized: circular motion in the brush strokes on the subject’s face, linear strokes in his clothing and stippling in the background.
A photo of the hand painted portrait of Carlo Alberto, as it appears when examined outside its gold frame and without the glare of its glass lens. The portrait is in superb condition, having suffered only ever so slight paint loss at some of its edges.
Carlo Alberto is depicted in a navy blue uniform with a red collar and silver epaulettes. He wears, too, a number of medals, including the breast star and badge of the Order of the Most Sacred Annunciation, and is depicted in an out-of-doors setting, with a background of trees and a lavender and blue sky.
As noted earlier, this portrait is painted in a very different style than the smaller portrait of Joseph II. Most notably, the artist has used a thicker form of watercolor paint; and his technique more resembles that of an oil painter. The portrait is, nonetheless, painted in watercolor, and one can see evidence of this when viewing the portrait under magnification. (Note, for example, the awkward stroke of paint along the edge of the subject’s head, where his hair meets the leaves of the trees behind him. This is really only noticeable when viewing the portrait under magnification; but it does reflect a slight naïveté on the part of the artist, whom one can easily speculate was self trained.
A closeup view of the unframed portrait of Carlo Alberto, focused on the head and shoulders of the subject. Viewing the portrait in this close manner, one can easily see how the artist’s style differs considerably from the style seen in the portrait of Joseph II. Note that, at its actual size, the subject’s left eye (the larger of the two considering the angled perspective of the portrait) is a mere 1/8 of an inch wide. His forehead, likewise, is only 1/2 inch across.
Analysts for Sotheby’s, in 1984, identified the artist of Carlo Alberto’s portrait as “Serono”. Upon removing the portrait from its frame and viewing it under high magnification, however, I noticed that the artist clearly signed his name as “Gto. Serono”. With quite a bit of research, I was able to determine that the artist’s full name was Giacinto Serono di Torino. Making matters somewhat confusing, he is identified in some resources as Serono, and in others he is identified alternatively as di Torino (indexed under “d”) or Torino (indexed under “t”). In proper form, of course, his name should, be indexed under “s”; and the artist himself, as evidenced by his signature, identified himself as simply Giacinto Serono.
Works by Serono are rarely encountered. He is known to have been active in the early 1830s (being mostly known for his portraits of military figures), but few of his works seem to have survived, leading one to speculate that his career was somehow cut short. It is entirely possible that Serono himself was in the military (as several other painters of military portraits have themselves been military figures) and was possibly injured or killed in the line of duty; but this is entirely speculation.
A work by Sorono that is similar to our featured portrait is known to have changed hands in 2009. It was a portrait of an unnamed military officer, dressed in a uniform similar to the navy blue uniform worn by Carlo Alberto in our featured portrait. The piece was auctioned in London by Sotheby’s on March 18, 2009 for £3,750 (equivalent to $6,300 at current exchange rates). (*2)
A closeup of Giacinto Serono’s signature, as appears on a very small portion of our featured portrait. The artist abbreviated his given name as “Gto.”, in much the same way William might be abbreviated as “Wm.” or Charles as “Chas.” The signature is inscribed so close to the edge of the portrait that most of it not visible when viewing the portrait while in its gilded frame.
Umberto’s Legacy
King Umberto’s dramatic life was lived on a very public stage. Were it not for that fact, one might say that his life in many ways resembled mine and yours. (I myself will at least claim to have had plenty of drama in my life.) Some negative things happen in our lives as a result of our own actions; and some negative things simply happen.
Umberto proved that the best measure of how well a life is lived is how one rises up from adversity and perseveres. While he wasn’t able to erase the blemishes of his past, in his 37 years of exile, Umberto made a conscious effort to make a positive impact on the people around him. His contributions to art and history are, likewise, significant (enough to merit a lengthy article on just that subject). Readers will perhaps be surprised to learn, for example, that it was Umberto who had the largest impact on our modern understanding of the Shroud of Turin, one of the most meaningful icons of Christianity. It was he who, in 1978, commissioned a team of international experts to conduct the first in-depth scientific examination of the artifact, which had been in the possession of the Savoy family since 1452. Umberto financed the most comprehensive research to ever be conducted on the shroud; and, on his death, he secured the shroud for posterity by leaving it in his will to Pope John Paul II and his successors.
Whatever one might think of Umberto II and his decisions and actions in life, his honorable and patriotic character can perhaps be best summed up by his own words, as said during his farewell address on June 13, 1946 (a portion of which appears below, translated into English), just before the doors of his plane closed and he left Italy for the last time.
While the Country, barely emerged from a tragic war,
sees her frontiers menaced, and her own unity in peril,
I believe my duty is to do all that I still can in order that
further sorrow and further tears may be spared the
people who have already suffered so much……With a spirit full of sorrow, but with the serene
consciousness of having made every effort to carry out
my duties, I leave my country. Let those who have taken
the oath and kept faith through the hardest trials, consider
themselves released from their oath of allegiance to the
King, but not from their oath of allegiance to the Country.
I think of all those who have fallen in the name of Italy,
and I salute all Italians. Whatever destiny awaits our
Country, she will always be able to count on me, as on the
most devoted of her sons. Long live Italy!
An Associated Press photo of King Umberto, having made his farewell address to the Italian people, waving to his supporters just before the door to his plane is closed on June 13, 1946. A copy of this photo appeared on the front page of the “New York Times” on June14, 1946.
As an enhancement to my newly acquired Umberto miniatures, I also sought out and purchased this original signature of King Umberto II, which appears on an official “thank you” card, dated January 1, 1963 and bearing Umberto’s official crest, embossed at the top of the card. Translated into English, the card reads, “With deep gratitude for your kind wishes, I send heartfelt greetings.”
It seems appropriate to close this article with the above photo of Umberto, departing Italy in 1946, and with his signature.
Viva ritratti in miniatura di Umberto!
Footnotes
(*1) Robert Aldrich and Garry Wotherspoon Routledge (2001). Who’s Who in Gay and Lesbian History Vol.1: From Antiquity to the Mid-Twentieth Century, Routledge/Taylor & Francis Group, London, page 453.
(*2) As published by The Artist’s Bluebook — Worldwide Edition, accessed online as of August 29, 2014, at http://www.askart.com/AskART/artists/search/auction_lot.aspx?x=838405&y=11168121.
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Copyright © 2014 Michael Tormey. All rights reserved. All images contained herein are the property of Michael Tormey unless specifically noted otherwise.
