Paolo Schiavo, The Realms of Love

Possibly Prince Cosimo Maurizio Conti (died 1855), Florence;¹ James Jackson Jarves (1818–1888), Florence, by 1859

The panel support, of a horizontal wood grain, was thinned to a depth of 13 millimeters and cradled in 1929–30. The cradle was removed in 1998 by Gianni Marussich, who filled the splits and four dovetail batten channels (not original) in the back of the panel with sectional wood inserts, following the horizontal grain of the support. Three splits, all running diagonally downward—one beginning at the right edge, 16 centimeters from the bottom, and two at the left edge, 25 centimeters and 19 centimeters from the bottom—have provoked losses in the paint surface. A strip of old wood approximately 1.8 centimeters wide is attached to the top of the panel; it is not clear if this is original to its construction or an old repair. The bottom edge of the composition is marked by an engraved line with polished gesso extending perhaps 4 millimeters beyond the picture surface, suggesting the likelihood that the panel did not originally have engaged moldings but was inserted into an independent frame. There is no indication of “closure” at the left or right of the composition, and it must be concluded that it has been reduced by some indeterminate, if probably minimal, amount in length.

The paint surface is abraded overall but remarkably well preserved relative to other cassone panels. Percussion damages and scratches are more densely concentrated in the left half of the composition than in the center or at the right. Gilding has been abraded, revealing spots of bolus preparation, and silver-leaf decoration is almost entirely lost. The flesh tones and reds are very well preserved, the greens are unexpectedly well preserved, and most other colors have suffered chiefly in darker passages, which were vigorously abraded in a cleaning by Andrew Petryn in 1966–67.² This cleaning also removed all old retouching along the splits and removed the white clouds that were scattered across the sky.³ Losses from the splits and from scratches were inpainted by Andrea Rothe during a treatment in 1998, as were numerous flaking losses throughout the blue pigments.

The subject of this panel, originally the front of a cassone, or wedding chest, has baffled scholars since its first appearance on the art market in the nineteenth century. The complex narrative, centering around two lovers, unfolds in a luscious meadow, the Garden of Love, surrounded by trees with a range of gray hills in the background. The story begins on the left with a flying Cupid shooting an arrow into the hearts of two victims below him: a young woman seated between two female companions on a podium beneath a lavender-colored tent; and a young man dressed in bright red attire, who kneels with arms crossed in a gesture of adoration before her. His beloved wears an elegant silver robe—now worn to its dark orange bolus—and is flanked on her right by a blonde-haired maiden surrounded by brilliant gold rays and on her left by a lady clad in resplendent cloth of gold. At the left edge of the composition, possibly the same two lovers hold hands. The man looks down toward a small crouching dog, a symbol of marital fidelity. Before them, other elegantly dressed couples and maidens engage in lively dance to the tune of two shawm-playing musicians seated above them in a tree. Dividing the composition in half is a narrow stone arch. Escorted by the blonde maiden with golden rays, the two lovers are led through the archway by the gold-clad lady, who now wears a laurel crown. They seem to have entered another part of the same garden, dominated by a Fountain of Love, which is presided over by Cupid, with bow and arrows in hand and now seated in the sky on a throne of black eagles and gold lions. Gathered around the fountain is a diverse group of characters. On the left, wearing laurel crowns and holding books, are the fourteenth-century poets Petrarch and Boccaccio, shown in recognizable profile and wearing bright red, and Dante, dressed in blue, who turns to face them while resting his hand on the fountain’s edge.⁴ Next to Dante is a woman wearing red who dips her hand in the water. On the other side of the fountain is a group of six figures, including a queen with her back turned to the viewer, an emperor in armor and ermine-lined cloak who also places his hand in the water, a soldier wearing the victor’s wreath, and a woman singing and playing a psaltery. Symbolizing the universality of love, they all look up toward the fountain’s ruler. Arranged on different planes in the hills behind them are two mythical episodes of frustrated passion derived from Homer and from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. In the first, closest to the arch, the god Apollo, clad in gold and surrounded by rays, chases the nymph Daphne, who escapes by transforming into a laurel bush; directly above, the adulterous lovers Venus and Mars are caught in the net cast by her spurned husband, Vulcan. Unfolding on the other side of the hills, beyond Cupid’s realm, is the conclusion of the story that began on the left side of the composition. At bottom right, the young woman, still accompanied by her female companions, extracts Cupid’s arrow from her breast before her adoring suitor. At top right, she is shown leaving in a chariot driven by the blonde maiden surrounded by golden rays, as her abandoned lover reaches toward her. As if having come to terms with his fate, the rejected lover is subsequently seen lounging in a barren landscape at the edge of the composition, in a meditative pose recalling the full-length figures that sometimes decorated the inner lids of marriage chests.

No precedents for the pattern of scenes or sequence of events depicted in this cassone are known. The panel was the point of departure and focus of Paul Watson’s foundational 1979 volume on the theme of the Garden of Love in early Renaissance Tuscan art, which remains the most coherent analysis of its subject matter.⁵ Characterized by Watson as “the most complex amatory allegory to survive from the early Quattrocento in Tuscany,”⁶ the Yale panel combines ancient and contemporary literary sources in an elaborate visual commentary on the nature of love and female virtue. Watson tentatively titled the image The Realms of Love, in recognition of the importance accorded the god of love, Cupid, who presides over all the events unfolding below him.⁷ Key to the understanding of the work, Watson observed, is its relationship to another cassone front, in the Springfield Museum of Fine Arts (now the Michele and Donald D’Amour Museum of Fine Arts), Massachusetts (fig. 1), first identified as a pendant to the Yale chest by Ruth Kennedy.⁸ The Springfield panel, which shares many of the same compositional features and landscape elements with the Yale painting and is identical in size and palette, illustrates the story of Diana and Callisto as told in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Remarkable for its adherence to the original text, it depicts the salient episodes of the myth, centered on the punishment of Diana’s favorite nymph, Callisto, after she has been seduced and impregnated by Jupiter. Cast out by the goddess, Callisto is transformed into a bear by a jealous Juno and almost killed by her son, Arcas, until Jupiter intervenes and transforms both of them into constellations. The exact correspondences between the figure of Diana in the Springfield chest and that of the radiant maiden who accompanies the lovers in the Yale panel confirm that they are one and the same person. Clothed in an identical silver dress and distinguished by the same mane of blonde hair and divine rays, the goddess of chastity is here presented as defender of female virtue. After following the lovers into the Garden of Love, Diana stands witness to the removal of love’s arrow by the beloved, who will be carried away in the same chariot driven by the goddess in the forests of the Springfield chest—covered in red cloth and pulled by two white stags, symbols of her virginity and purity. As noted by Watson, the final episodes of the Realms of Love establish Diana’s ultimate victory over Cupid, the supremacy of chaste love over fiery passion.⁹ As in the Springfield chest, where the predatory god Jupiter is entirely clad in red and gold, the red outfit of the rejected lover embodies the flame of desire, ultimately extinguished in favor of a more virtuous form of love, represented by Diana.

Although no single literary source accounts for the multiplicity of references in the Realms of Love, its themes, Watson pointed out, are reflected in a lengthy allegory on the nature of love written in Florence between 1390 and 1397 by the Sienese exile Jacopo del Pecora da Montepulciano and titled Fimerodia (Famous Song of Love).¹⁰ Dedicated to the author’s young friend Luigi di Manetto Davanzati, the poem is inspired by Luigi’s infatuation with a certain virtuous Florentine lady named Alessandra dei Bardi and is intended as a cautionary tale on the supremacy of spiritual over sensual love. The text, replete with borrowings from Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio—who head the list of Florentine notables celebrated by the author in a description of the Chariot of Fame—concludes with Alessandra’s call to Diana for aid in resisting Cupid’s onslaught. When there ensues a dispute between Venus and Diana for possession of Alexandra, Jupiter intervenes to resolve the issue and decides in favor of Diana: “This Alessandra,” the god decrees, “must be of Diana’s band, to follow her; nor will Venus have dominion over her.”¹¹

The Fimerodia sheds much light on the final climactic episodes of the Realms of Love, where the pursued lady chooses to follow Diana, while her lover remains behind “to contemplate the implications of her act.”¹² At the same time, as noted by Watson, other elements of the composition appear derived directly from a more famous text, the Amorosa visione (Amorous Vision) of Boccaccio, which was reportedly singled out as a source for the Yale chest by Frank Mather, Jr.¹³ Included in Boccaccio’s poem, a marvelous dream journey recounted by a lover/narrator, is a beautiful woman crowned with laurel and referred to as “donna gentile” (noble lady), who first appears standing next to Cupid and acts as a guide for the protagonist. As convincingly argued by Watson, she could be the gold-clad lady who, along with Diana, witnesses Cupid striking the two lovers in the first section of the Realms of Love and then leads them through the archway into Cupid’s realm, raising her left hand over her eyes as if to protect them from the brilliant vision before her. Watson does not dwell on the precise meaning of this figure, whose role in Boccaccio’s poem has long been debated by scholars. According to some authors, however, she represents the voice of both virtue and reason who throughout the text tries to steer the errant lover in the right course.¹⁴ At the end of the poem, she pushes the reluctant lover/narrator to choose between one of two doors, urging him to join his beloved by passing through the narrow door of virtue, which he had previously avoided—a threshold perhaps alluded to by the stone gateway in the Yale chest. An even more specific allusion to the Amorosa visione lies in the representation of Cupid, which conforms in every detail to Boccaccio’s description: “I saw a great lord of wonderful aspect seated on two eagles . . . he kept his feet on two lion cubs, who made the green meadow their lair. . . . Without comparison his beauty was and he had two great wings of gold upon his shoulder, rising to their full height. In one hand he held an arrow of gold and another of lead . . . holding in his left hand a bow whose power many have felt, and for the worse.”¹⁵

As in most marriage chests, an integral component of the imagery chosen for the Yale and Springfield panels is their morally edifying message. Presumably addressed primarily to the groom, Watson concluded, the Realms of Love would have reminded the young lover of the difference between lasting marital love and wanton passion, whereas the fate of Callisto in the Springfield cassone warned the bride of the consequences attached to unchaste behavior. Linking both images is the virtuous figure of Diana, role model for both parties.¹⁶ The ambitious nature of this iconographic program and the unique quality of the Yale composition suggest that the elaboration of these themes involved the direct participation of an erudite advisor or patron fully conversant with a range of ancient and contemporary sources beyond those usually depicted on other surviving chests. Perhaps not coincidentally, aside from the work’s didactic intent, it is poetry itself that is celebrated by the artist in the remarkable grouping around the Fountain of Love. On the left is one of the earliest surviving representations of the Florentine literary triad of Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, the so-called three crowns of the Italian language.¹⁷ On the right, identified by the instrument in her hands, is the ancient Greek poetess Sappho, included by Petrarch in his Triumph of Love and celebrated by Boccaccio as the inventor of lyric poetry: “This girl did not hesitate to strike the strings of the cithara and bring forth melody.”¹⁸ Despite the absence of the coats of arms that normally would have decorated the two chests, it seems fair to surmise that they were commissioned by a person of some renown in Florentine humanist circles or someone closely affiliated with them.

The Yale cassone was acquired by James Jackson Jarves as an early work of Gentile da Fabriano. The attribution was categorically rejected by William Rankin, who emphasized the painting’s “feeble execution” and distinctly Florentine character and classified it as an “atelier work of Masaccio’s school.”¹⁹ The exquisite quality and decorative refinement of the image were better appreciated by Osvald Sirén, who referred to the work as “a masterpiece of its kind, full of poetical sentiment” and assigned it to “an intimate follower of Gentile,” influenced by Florentine painting but active in the Marches between about 1420–40.²⁰ Sirén identified the same hand in four predella fragments with the Visitation, the Nativity, the Adoration of the Magi, and the Flight into Egypt in the Philadelphia Museum of Art (figs. 2–5), which had been previously catalogued by Bernard Berenson as the product of a Marchigian painter working in Florence, most likely Arcangelo di Cola da Camerino.²¹ Richard Offner²² acknowledged the relationship between the Yale cassone and the Philadelphia predella fragments but regarded both works as quintessentially Florentine. Citing a variety of influences on the Yale panel but focusing on that of Masolino in particular, Offner tentatively inserted the work in his reconstruction of the personality of Paolo di Stefano Badaloni, known as Paolo Schiavo—a then still relatively unknown figure, mentioned by Giorgio Vasari as a follower and imitator of Masolino. Offner qualified his opinion by noting that the “superior inspirations . . . the absorbing illusion, the charm [of the Yale panel] might give us pause, endangering the security, such as it is, of the suggested attribution, not so far, however, as to nullify it.”²³ Any lingering doubts as to Schiavo’s authorship were immediately dispelled by Roberto Longhi, however, who had independently come to the same conclusion and also recognized Schiavo’s hand in the Springfield chest, then in the De Burlet collection in Berlin, observing that both were among the finest efforts of the artist’s maturity.²⁴ Most subsequent scholars embraced Offner’s and Longhi’s attribution, even if pausing to note the qualitative differences between the Yale and Springfield panels and the rest of the artist’s production. For Charles Seymour, Jr., who regarded the Yale chest as one of the masterpieces of early fifteenth-century secular painting in Florence, the visually engaging composition and subtleties of modeling appeared incompatible with Shiavo’s own hand, leading him to provisionally advance the possibility that the commission might have been executed by a more talented follower in the artist’s workshop.²⁵ Likewise, those elements that had prompted Offner to refer hyperbolically to a “super-Paolo” in reference to the Yale chest led Ellen Callmann to completely revise the traditional attribution to Schiavo or a follower in favor of Masolino²⁶—a proposition that was dismissed by subsequent authors, who reiterated the attribution to Schiavo.

Although Longhi²⁷ had placed their execution in the 1430s, most modern scholars, following Offner²⁸ and Miklòs Boskovits,²⁹ have dated the Yale and Springfield chests around 1440 or slightly later. An earlier chronology was advanced by Carl Strehlke,³⁰ however, who identified the fragments in Philadelphia that had been related to the Yale chest by Sirén and Offner as the predella of a triptych with the Annunciation in the Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin (fig. 6), and suggested that all these paintings predated the artist’s earliest signed work, a fresco of the Virgin and Child with Saints in San Miniato al Monte, Florence, purportedly executed in 1436.³¹ Longhi had already dated the Philadelphia panels in the 1420s based on their iconographic debt to the predella of Gentile da Fabriano’s Strozzi altarpiece, executed in 1423,³² whereas Boskovits situated the four fragments between 1430 and 1435, but he considered the Berlin Annunciation an earlier work, from 1425–30.³³ Federico Zeri, who endorsed the altarpiece’s reconstruction, proposed a broader time frame between 1425 and 1435.³⁴ The delineation of Schiavo’s activity in this decade, from around the first appearance of his name in the 1427 Florentine tax records to his work in the collegiata of Castiglione Olona, unanimously dated in the mid-1430s, is still unresolved. Aside from the Philadelphia/Berlin altarpiece, the only other painting by Schiavo that seems plausibly datable to the same moment as the Yale and Springfiled chests is the recently restored fresco of the Madonna of Humility in the church of San Martino a Vespignano, in Vicchio di Mugello, which was dated by Longhi in the 1430s³⁵ but identified by Boskovits as among the artist’s most precocious efforts from between 1425 and 1430, contemporary to the Berlin Annunciation.³⁶

As was first pointed out by Sirén and Offner, and later reiterated by Watson, the Philadelphia predella scenes show significant points of contact with the Yale and Springfield chests. The four scenes—three of which are organized against a similar hilly backdrop—share the same blonde figure types and an identical approach to landscape and architectural elements. The Visitation (see fig. 2), in particular, includes a young maiden in contemporary dress and flowing hair who cannot but bring to mind the image of Diana in the two chests, while the profile of the Virgin is comparable to that of several of the other female figures in the Yale panel. Even more persuasive comparisons may be drawn between the Yale chest and the Berlin Annunciation (see fig. 6), which contains identical figure types and reflects a similar concern with descriptive and decorative details. While the relative chronology of these works remains fluid, their unifying characteristics point to a definitive terminus ante quem for their execution in the mid-1430s. By the time of the 1436 San Miniato fresco, the sensitive handling of individual features and graceful elegance that distinguishes these images has already been replaced by the stiffer, less nuanced approach that will become more typical of the artist. These earlier efforts, as argued by past scholars, clearly reflect Schiavo’s debt to Masolino, although they never approach the spatial and formal sophistication of the older master. Notwithstanding the difference in scale, a comparison between the simplified, childlike rendering of landscape elements in the Yale and Springfield panels and the ambitious mountainous backdrops painted by Masolino in Castiglione Olona should alone suffice to dispel any confusion between the two personalities. These qualifications aside, the inventiveness of the composition, narrative ingenuity, and preciously decorated surfaces of the Yale painting reveal the artist at the height of his technical abilities, and possibly already at the head of an active workshop—a circumstance that could account for some of the modest but telling differences in quality of execution that have sometimes been discerned between the present chest and its companion in Springfield. —PP

1. According to James Jackson Jarves, the panel came from “the gallery of the Prince Conti”; see Jarves 1860, 7. This is undoubtedly the same “Prince Conti” referred to by the English painter and dealer William Blundell Spence (1814–1900) as the former owner of two panels by Justus of Ghent, formerly in the ducal palace at Gubbio and now in the National Gallery, London, inv. nos. NG 755–56. Spence, who was in possession of the panels by 1857, sold them to the National Gallery in 1866, at which time he stated in a letter to the museum’s director, William Boxall, that he had bought them from “the heirs of the Principe Conti in Florence.” The prince, Spence stated, had purportedly acquired the paintings in Urbino “soon after the French left Italy.” See Fleming 1979, 576n65. The prince in question was most likely Cosimo Maurizio Conti, who was awarded the title of Principe of Trevignano by Pope Gregory XVI in 1835. The Conti family, originally from Livorno, was admitted into the ranks of Tuscan nobility in the eighteenth century. Cosimo, who died childless, named as his universal heir his sister’s son, Gino Ginori (1836–1907), who took on the title of Prince of Trevignano after his uncle’s death in 1855 and added the Conti family name to his own. See Buonafalce 1995, 99–100n6 (where Cosimo’s death is reported incorrectly as 1835, most likely through an editorial oversight). The Yale panel, like the National Gallery paintings, could have been acquired from the same Florentine heirs of Cosimo, presumably the Ginori-Conti. ↩︎

2. The photographs published by Charles Seymour, Jr., (in Seymour 1970, 142) record the state to which the work was reduced by Petryn. ↩︎

3. Andrea Rothe (in a report in the conservation files, Yale University Art Gallery) suggested that these were removed with an ammonia-based solvent and recorded an undocumented supposition that Petryn stripped lead white from most fourteenth- and fifteenth-century panels at the Gallery, as he did not believe it was used in the period. ↩︎

4. That the group represents the three Florentine poets was already recognized by nineteenth-century sources (see Jarves 1860, 50), but Frank Mather, Jr., (in Mather 1912, 121) was the first author to suggest that the artist had intended to distinguish them by their individual features, derived from illustrations in manuscripts. ↩︎

5. Watson 1979. On the theme, see also Giovanni dal Ponte, The Garden of Love. ↩︎

6. Watson 1979, 103. ↩︎

7. Watson 1979, 18. ↩︎

8. The Springfield panel first appeared on the art market in the nineteenth century, when it was listed in the 1847 Ottley sale at Foster and Son, London, lot 32; see Foster and Son 1847, 30. It was subsequently included in the 1857 Manchester exhibition, where it was listed in the possession of John P. Boileau and attributed to Filippo Lippi; Catalogue of the Art Treasures 1857, 17, no. 62. In 1885 it was in the collection of Francis G. M. Boileau, in Wydenham, Norfolk, England; Royal Academy of Arts 1885, 45, no. 212, also catalogued as Filippo Lippi. By 1928 it had been acquired by Charles A. De Burlet in Berlin and was attributed by Roberto Longhi to Paolo Schiavo; Longhi 1928b, 36. In 1934 the panel belonged to N. Beets in Amsterdam and was included in an exhibition of Italian paintings at the Stedelijk Museum; see Italiaansche kunst in nederlandsch bezit 1934, 110, no. 352. In a postcard sent to the Yale University Art Gallery on January 4, 1935, Kennedy alerted the then director, Theodore Sizer, to the Amsterdam show and noted that the Story of Callisto was “clearly a companion piece to your Garden of Love” (curatorial files, Department of European Art, Yale University Art Gallery). In the following months, the painting, which in the meantime had been acquired by the dealer A. S. Drey in New York, was offered for sale to the Gallery, which eventually decided not to go through with the purchase. The work was acquired by the Springfield Museum of Fine Arts in 1962. Ellen Callmann (Callmann 1995, 47–48) is the only author to have questioned whether the Yale and Springfield panels originally constituted a set, but her doubts are unfounded. ↩︎

9. Watson 1979, 117–18. ↩︎

10. Watson 1979, 118–19. On Jacopo da Montepulciano and for a fuller discussion of his poem, see the introduction to the 1992 Italian edition by Mauro Cursietti: Jacopo da Montepulciano 1992, 7–28. ↩︎

11. Watson 1979, 119. ↩︎

12. Watson 1979, 119. ↩︎

13. His opinion is cited in Rankin 1907b, 341. ↩︎

14. See Gil-Osle 2010, 99. ↩︎

15. Watson 1979, 110. ↩︎

16. On the double nature of Diana in Boccaccio’s poetry, where she is the virginal huntress who also helps the lover learn to love chastely, see Saiber 2013, 112. As noted by the author, the goddess was also worshipped by women who sought to become pregnant or wanted protection in childbirth. Diana’s attributes of fertility and midwifery are noted by Boccaccio in his Genealogia deorum gentilium. ↩︎

17. Kirkham 2015. ↩︎

18. Boccaccio, De claris mulieribus, as cited by Watson 1979, 114. ↩︎

19. Rankin 1895, 147; and Rankin 1907b, 341. ↩︎

20. Sirén 1916a, 173. ↩︎

21. Berenson 1913, 72–75. ↩︎

22. Offner 1927a, 24–25. ↩︎

23. Offner 1927a, 27. ↩︎

24. Longhi 1928b, 36. ↩︎

25. Seymour 1970, 144–45. ↩︎

26. Callmann 1999b, 42–49. ↩︎

27. Longhi 1940b, 188n25 ↩︎

28. Offner 1927a, 27. ↩︎

29. Boskovits 1995, 335–36. ↩︎

30. Strehlke 2004, 383. The connection between the Philadelphia panels and the Berlin triptych was first noted by Keith Christiansen, verbal communication to Carl Strehlke, May 17, 1984, cited in Strehlke 2004, 387. The Berlin Annunciation was recognized as a work of Paolo Schiavo by Offner (in Offner 1927a, 25). ↩︎

31. The fresco is signed “PAUL[U]S DEISTEPHFANI MEPINSIT” (Paolo di Stefano painted me). According to nineteenth-century sources, it was signed and dated “1426,” but by the time Georg Pudelko was writing (Pudelko 1936, 47), the date was only partially legible and was transcribed by him as “MC . . . XXVI,” which he tentatively interpreted as 1436. The fragmentary inscription is no longer visible, but most modern authors have taken the date 1436 to be consonant with the style of the fresco; see Boskovits 1995, 334, 340n21. ↩︎

32. Longhi 1940b, 188n25. For the Strozzi altarpiece, see Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence, inv. no. 1890 n. 8364, https://www.uffizi.it/en/artworks/adoration-of-the-magi. ↩︎

33. Boskovits 1995, 333–34. ↩︎

34. Fototeca Zeri, Federico Zeri Foundation, Bologna, nos. 11817, 11821–24. ↩︎

35. Longhi 1940b, 188n25. Published by Ugo Procacci (in Procacci 1932, 350–51) as a work by the best of Masolino’s followers during his activity in Castiglione Olona, the fresco was first attributed to Schiavo by Pudelko (Pudelko 1936, 47). ↩︎

36. Boskovits 1995, 336. A Virgin and Child formerly in the Galletti collection, Florence (now Fondazione CR Firenze), may also have been executed in the same period as the Yale chest and the works here gathered around it, but judging from photographs, its condition precludes a definitive assessment. The panel was published as a work of Schiavo by Longhi (in Longhi 1940b, pl. 70b), who compared it specifically to the Springfield chest, with a date in the 1430s. Boskovits (Boskovits 1995, 336) placed it around 1430–35, contemporary to the Philadelphia predella fragments. The Madonna of Humility in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (inv. no. 557), assigned to the same early period as the Yale chest by Strehlke (in Strehlke 2004, 383), was dated by Boskovits as late as 1450–55 (Boskovits 1995, 333). A more probable date in the 1440s is supported by circumstantial as well as stylistic evidence; see Chen 2017, 693–96. ↩︎