The advent of drawings and unpublished miniatures (last third of the 17th century-beginning of the 18th century)

1Ceci’s plates look even more original when compared to other original drawings of mushrooms from the 17th century. During this century, a handful of scholars represented mushrooms, not based on descriptions or drawings sent by some of their correspondents, but based on specimens that they collected and inventoried themselves. Their mycological illustrations thus completed their observations on these organisms that were still considered as plants.

2This was the case with Father Jacques Barrelier who, during his stay in Rome (1649-1672) wrote Historia Fungorum Gallicanorum, which was saved from the fire that destroyed much of the library of the Jacobins convent in Paris, and that was later owned by Antoine de Jussieu. Jussieu executed, at his own expense, the copy of 252 drawings of mushrooms that were traced in the margin of the manuscript which included three parts written in Latin between 1663 and 166645. Barrelier used the classification from Charles de L’Ecluse’s Rariorum plantarum Historia (1601) to describe mushrooms from France and Italy in a very personal style, as indicated by mycologist Jacqueline Perreau (Perreau 1984, pp. 5-6). Indeed, not only did he indicate the size, the shape, the color, the changes in the color shades, the firmness, the taste and the smell of the flesh, but, also, the place and date where they grew, their edibility, as well as the names used by locals, and, finally, some specific physiological characters. In the margin of these long descriptions, Barrelier drew the specimens from nature, using the technique of black and red chalk. He drew good sketches, simple and realistic, with cross section views or views from different angles so as to better emphasize details like the grooves, the scales, and the look of the mushroom. He put a lot of effort into representing the formal particularity of each species, and also showed the shadows. Nevertheless, in spite of this beautiful work of observation, it is still difficult to recognize the mushrooms with precision. It is only possible to recognize the main groups, such as the webcaps, the fibrescaps, the boletes, the helvels, and the clavarias, which demonstrates how necessary color was in the scientific representation of mushrooms.

3Barrelier’s drawings were copied many times, in particular by Jean Joubert, painter to the king, who was the first artist to paint an impressive series of mushrooms plates for the king’s vellum collection. He painted almost 219 vellums that were described in October 1703 by the botanist Danty d’Isnard46, who specified the size of each specimen, the shape of their cup, and their color. Though they were used as groundwork for the scholar’s mycological observations (which remained, admittedly, not very original), Jean Joubert’s vellums represented illustrations of a mediocre scientific quality, and, thus, made species identifications very difficult. It is important to note that the sources and templates that the painter used were drawn with black or red chalk, or were simple engravings, without any color like the ones published in Sterbeeck’s Theatrum Fungorum or in Tournefort’s Elémens de botanique. Yet Jean Joubert’s vellums are still the testimony of the beginning of a new era in mycological illustration. Indeed, in the scientific world of Paris during the years 1690 to 1710, scholars were becoming more and more interested in mushrooms, due, in a large part, to Joseph Pitton de Tournefort’s impetus. Among those who followed him were scholars such as Danty d’Isnard and Sébastien Vaillant, who put together almost two hundred mycological plates in a red leather portfolio dated from 170447. Vaillant created an entire fictitious collection whose only descriptive information was contained in their Latin name (thus accumulating up to a dozen epithets, whose first one was usually the country of origin with the others usually referencing the color of the flesh or the culinary use). However, in spite of an apparent chaos when compared to more modern classifications, mushrooms were already classified according to the same classification system as in 1727 Botanicon Parisiense. The mushrooms, delineated in rather diverse styles, were often simplified in their representation. Yet, Vaillant gathered the artworks of the most famous artists of the time: copies of Italian mushrooms by John Ray, copies of Jean Joubert’s vellums, the original drawings from Elémens de botanique drawn before 1694 by Claude Aubriet, and Charles Plumier’s original drawings from his 1705 Traité des fougères (Colliard 1981, pp. 157-171).

4The various Fungus, Boletus, Fungoides, Agaricus, Coralloides, and Tubera were sketched with black chalk and systematically outlined with pen and black ink. Each species was shown as a whole, in cross section, and complemented with small morphological details. The drawings were only rarely completed: the botanist usually only drew a quarter of his sketch, emphasizing only the characters that were necessary to identify the species: the shape of the cap or of the stem as well as the color. The characters are clearly shown, yet in a far too simplistic way, thus making identification of the species difficult. Plumier’s drawings of mushrooms from the West Indies, published in black and white, are the most unusual and interesting pieces at the scientific level, since they were used as nomenclatural reference for the species that Plumier described. The other illustrations in this collection are therefore of a questionable scientific value, and contrast sharply with the plates done by Claude Aubriet, which Jean-Jacques Paulet praised in his Traité des champignons (1793). Didn’t Paulet state that the mycological representations published in the Botanicon Parisiense (1727) “are very good”? Was it because the scientific world of that time was starting to better understand mushrooms, to better apprehend them?

5For more than half a century, Aubriet would execute drawings and mycological miniatures to illustrate and complement the observations and mycological research work of his sponsors. His plates of mushrooms represent a relatively small part of the artist’ work since he executed almost three thousand miniatures and drawings. Only two hundred of these, which represented 7% of his production, were mycological artworks, yet these drawings are critical in the history of mycological illustration and in the development of the first mycological classifications that occurred in the 17th and 18th centuries.

Claude Aubriet’s contribution to the history of mycological illustration

6As stated earlier, there is a strong relationship between the quality of illustrations and the level of scientific knowledge about the “object” being represented. At the end of the 17th century, when the classifications of mushrooms became more “scientific”, and were no longer based on rough and imprecise morphological criteria or on ideas of mere practical values (the dichotomy between the “good ones” and the “bad ones”) but, rather, on numerous and strict morphological characters, mycological illustrations soon became of much better quality. This decisive turning point occurred during John Ray and Joseph Pitton de Tournefort’s work.

7Ray’s mycological classification in his work Methodus plantarum nova (1682) certainly did not bring anything new. He distinguished three large groups among the “Fungi”, the “Boleti” (mushrooms with a cap), the “Tubera” (truffles) and the “Agaricum” (tree fungus). This classification into three groups is reminiscent of Dioscoride’s partition, who divided mushrooms into “Fungi” (field mushrooms, mostly with a cap), “Tubera” (truffles) and “Agaricum” (bracket shaped tree fungus)48. But in 1703, in a revised version of Methodus plantarum called Methodus emendata, the British naturalist introduced a new concept of fundamental division in the systematic of mushroom: one related to “gills” (lamella, “small leaf”). Gills, then, started to replace the very hazy “stria” concept of the Bauhin brothers and Clusius; even more importantly, Ray proposed, as an essential dichotomy, the distinction between gilled and non-gilled mushrooms. Jean-Jacques Paulet asserts that Ray was the first one to treat mushrooms the modern way. And he adds “we can find all the perfection of his work in the third edition of [Synopsis methodica], published by Dillen” (Paulet 1793, p. 181). In this work, the classification of mushrooms is refined, but, unfortunately, lacks iconographic support. The first two editions of Synopsis methodica (1690, 1696) are void of mushrooms illustrations. In the third, dated 1724, there is only one plate (tab. I) engraved in black and white, of rather poor quality, that illustrates a few species: an earthstar, some bonnets, a nest fungus, and two small productions, one on wood (Radulum quercinum Fr.) and the other one Onygena quercina Fr., which has the particularity of growing on the horns or the hoofs of animals. Though John Ray’s contribution in terms of mycological classification was significant, his contribution to the history of mycological illustration remains rather limited.

8Tournefort’s work on the classification of mushrooms, in a scientific point of view, was of higher quality than Ray’s work. Until Elémens de botanique was published in 1694, the taxonomic hierarchy in natural history was not set in stone because taxonomic ranks were not yet rigorously defined. For progress to happen, both in the classification of plants and of animals, it was necessary to reach a general consensus on a hierarchical taxonomy. During the 16th and 17th centuries—in an Aristotelian tradition-scientists referred as much to “genus” (genera) to designate obvious “species”, as to “species” (species) to designate larger groups, which are our current genus and family classifications of today. Tournefort was the first to formulate a rigorous definition of these classifications. It was urgent, at the end of the 17th century, to define the concept of “genus” and the great French botanist took it upon himself to do it49. He dedicated class XVII of his Elémens de botanique to mushrooms and lichens, and called it “Of plants that usually bear neither flowers nor seeds”; more precisely he defined them in genus II of section I as “Of plants that usually bear neither flowers nor seeds and that grow above ground”. Tournefort belonged to the dominant medieval tradition that considered mushrooms to be plants, which he clearly stated, “the mushroom is a kind of plant…” However, he dropped the former three group classification of mushrooms (Fungi, Agaricum, Tubera) as defined by Dioscoride during Antiquity, a definition that had remained valid until the 17th century. Rather, he adopted a classification into six genera: the “Fungus” (mushrooms with stem and cap), the “Boletus” (including the morel, the red cage and the stinkhorn), the “Agaricus” (species growing on wood), the “Lycoperdon” (puffballs and similar others), the “Coralloides” (mushrooms “whose body is shaped like a branched club”50 which correspond to ramarias and clavarias) and the “Tubera” (truffles). In 1700, in Institutiones rei herbariae, Tournefort added a seventh genus, the “Fungoides”, and grouped mushrooms that were shaped like cups or funnels (“pezizas” lato sensu)51. Furthermore, by representing the genus rather than the species, he brought a new twist to the mycological illustration: drawings of mushrooms became, so to speak, more “clear” and identification became easier. Claude Aubriet executed the original drawings that are engraved in volume 3 of Elémens de botanique (plates 327 to 333), and which were recently discovered in Sébastien Vaillant’s collection. Tournefort not only renewed the mycological systematic, he also conducted observational research on mushroom cultivation that was published in 1707 in his work Mémoires de l'Académie royale des sciences under the title “Observations sur la naissance et la culture des champignons” (Pitton de Tournefort 1707, pp. 58-66). This article is complemented with an engraving based on a drawing by Aubriet that was done before June 1699. Even during a trip to the Levant, the scholar showed a strong interest in mushrooms and asked Aubriet to illustrate a Fungus fatidus [sic] penis imaginem referens CB on a plate that was sent to France on January 14, 1701. This species was sketched with black chalk and completed with the techniques of wash color and pen and black ink52. The Phallus impudicus is well represented, with its rhizomorphs and a ball-shaped egg from which slime overflows, characteristic of an immature specimen, which is very difficult to illustrate with realism. Of course, Aubriet got hold of this mushroom right after it was picked, and therefore he could draw with precision the small airy structures under the cap. This drawing was copied for the king’s vellums collection, which was enriched with a few mycological vellums done by Aubriet. As discussed later in this volume, Aubriet executed copies of some of these vellums for Antoine de Jussieu.

9Thus, with his classification in seven genera as it appeared in 1700 in Institutiones rei herbariae, Tournefort made it possible for modern mycology to develop. Approximately a century after Elémens de botanique was published, Pierre Bulliard mentioned that he was still basing his work mostly on Tournefort’s method. Though his classification can still be considered rough, it is important to remember that the first significant developments in systematic mycology only appeared with the works of C. H. Persoon and E. M. Fries. Carl von Linné (1707-1778), who was the authority on botany during a large part of the 18th century, did not contribute much to the improvement of the classification of mushrooms, which he did not consider as graceful; furthermore, this lack of grace and harmony that he found in mushrooms was against his ode to the divine creation. He wrote in Philosophia botanica (§ 310), that the “Order of MUSHROOMS is still a shameful chaos to the art. Botanists are not able to distinguish the different species from the Varieties” (Linné 1751 [1788], p. 185). In fact, Linné seems to have contributed to this confusion, as he did not take into consideration some important observations that Micheli made.

10Even though the classification proposed by Vaillant in his Botanicon Parisiense was not as good as Tournefort’s classification, it has to be recognized for its valuable concept of creating large groups that would be defined according to morphological characters easy to distinguish and all distinct from each others. Vaillant classified mushrooms into six families: 1. The mushrooms with single caps; 2. The puffball mushrooms; 3. Those with long spines similar to a hedgehog; 4. The cylindrical, club-shaped mushrooms; 5. Those with branched veins; 6. Those with gills (Vaillant 1727, p. 58).

11The mushrooms are divided into nine plates. The engravings are of an outstanding subtlety. The black trumpet (tab. XIII, fig. 2-3) is particularly realistic. Quite a large number of specimens are difficult, if not impossible, to identify, because of the use of black and white. The quality of Claude Aubriet’s mycological illustrations benefited from his strong collaboration with Tournefort and later with Vaillant. The plates published in Elemens de botanique are certainly of a higher quality than those engraved in 1753 in Gleditsch Methodus fungorum, and are absolutely comparable to those by Micheli (1729). But the engravings that we can admire in Vaillant’s Botanicon Parisiense (1727) are even more delicate and far more realistic, in spite of a few “awkward elements” —maybe inherited from the former traditions of his master Jean Joubert —, such as the inkcap illustrated on plate XII (fig. 9-11) whose shapes are too “geometrically designed”. In 1737, in Ratio operis of the Genera plantarum, Linné (though he campaigned against the concept of illustration in natural history) did compliment the “painter” (Aubriet is not specifically named) in Elémens de botanique for his precision which, he believed, was lacking in Tournefort’s text: “This painter’s illustrations emphasize more parts, more elements, more flowers illustrations, than what the description does” (§ 12; see Hoquet 2005, p. 236). The plates in Botanicon Parisiense were praised by Herman Boerhaave (1668-1738), who wrote: “Finally the illustrations which adorn this work are beyond anything I have seen so far”. In 1764, in the table of contents of his work Familles des plantes (vol. 1), Michel Adanson (1727-1806) described Aubriet as “the most talented and accurate painter that botany has ever had” (Adanson 1764, p. 168; see also p. CCXLII). At the end of the 18th century, in his Traité des champignons, Jean-Jacques Paulet was filled with enthusiasm about this work: “this work is enhanced with more than three hundred illustrations drawn by the famous Aubriet, painter to the King’s cabinet. Everything is represented with infinite care and we can say that we had not seen anything of this kind so perfect until then; mushrooms in particular are represented in superior quality” (op. cit. p. 227). It should be noted that the sadly famous death cap (Amanita phalloides) appeared for the first time in Botanicon parisiense (tab. XIV, fig. 5) with this short description: “Fungus phalloides, annulatus, sordide virescens, & patulus…” which fortunately complements the very explicit plate designed by Aubriet.

12It is important to go back to the question of “discrepancy” and “familiarity”. A scientific classification of natural objects, if strong and accompanied with a rigorous terminological corpus, can only benefit the illustration of these objects. But science does not do it all. Objectivity and classification are necessary for the artist or painter to know what he is doing, yet they don’t help the artist attain the strong relationship of familiarity between him and his model. The notion of familiarity, this direct and inexpressible link with nature, involves subjective biases of an almost intimate level. Nobody will ever be able to paint a mushroom with accuracy if he has never had the purely empirical and personal experience of the range of smells, flavors, consistencies, and colored nuances which create the whole of the fungal universe. We can then better understand the extraordinary quality of the watercolors in “Cesi’s codex” when we read the annotations next to the plates. They are all about colors, smells, and flavors. The “shape” (which, through the notion of “habitus” or bearing is probably the height of a naturalist’s intuition) is sometimes mentioned as well as the “weight” for very large mushrooms. Let’s not forget either that for this compendium the mushrooms were painted after nature to the real scale (x 1). The familiarity in this case is complete and it is obvious that Aubriet also felt this connection between himself and his plant subjects. We can be convinced of it by looking, for example, at the drawings that he made of the endemic species of the Levant while on the Trip53. But for the mushrooms such as the ones from the Jussieu collection that we are going to present in this volume, we often feel a lack of familiarity with the represented element. In this respect, there are some details in these representations that cannot be misleading and confirm this lack of familiarity: the addition of roots, of surrealistic clods of earth, the awkward representation of the notches of the lamella, the use of very approximate colors (when we know the species that are represented), and the representation of specimens that were too young or too old. The lack of familiarity with the mushrooms can also be found in the captions that the artist himself added: he lacked precision in the terminology that would usually give some indications on the color or the scale that was used. For these plates of mushrooms, the figures are sparingly annotated whereas Aubriet could be very prolific when talking about plants.

13However, the whole work is of an amazing quality for the time. A few plates can even be considered as little masterpieces, such as the wood blewit (pl. 19), or the morel (pl. 81). The “discrepancy” between the illustration of plants and the illustration of mushrooms is far less significant with Aubriet than with Weinman, who painted more than a decade later. Lastly, this “discrepancy” is absolutely not systematic. The teratological red cage that Reaumur asked Aubriet to draw in 1713 in Mémoires de l'Académie royale des sciences, is, in terms of expressivity and accuracy, comparable to the artist’s illustrations of plants. Réaumur recalled: “I asked M. Aubriet to draw a large one [a “latticed-body morel”, in fact an unnatural red cage] whose lattices were already starting to fall” (Ferchault de Réaumur 1713, pp. 75-76). Unfortunately, this drawing was not preserved; however, it was published in the mentioned article (Roger 1996, pp. 67-74). If indeed it was a red cage, the specimen did not appear at all in its ordinary shape; the hollow ball or paper lantern shape which fascinated botanists from very early on (Charles de l’Ecluse had it already engraved in 1601) is no longer visible, the “arms” of the cage being broken and scattered like a repulsive octopus. That being said, the egg was developed in a wall excavation, which explains first, the extravagant shape of the mushroom, and second, Reaumur’s confusion, since he did not even recognize the famous clathrus and believed that it was a “new plant” (op. cit. p. 69)…

14Whether the artist was “familiar” or not with the mushrooms, Aubriet took part in the mycological research work of the botanists from the Botanical Garden; he was instrumental in the first observations that would bring mushrooms to become the full-fledged subjects of scientific study as well as in the first in-depth studies that helped mycological science to develop until it really “took off” at the end of the 18th century and the beginning of the 19th century. Claude Aubriet was one of the few artists from the scientific world of Paris during the first part of the 18th century to show a dedicated interest in mushrooms. If we browse the catalogue of artworks by Helene Dumoustier de Marsilly, whose art is entirely devoted to Réaumur’s observations and experiences, we notice the unique interest of this artist for insects, though the artist also conducted some research on birds, marine animals, and batrachians. We can observe a similar focus when we study the artwork of Philippe Simonneau (1685-?), the official engraver of the Académie royale des sciences, who left nevertheless with the botanist Antoine de Jussieu for a herborizing trip to Spain and Portugal in 1716-1717.