The Tabernacle of the Sacrament in the Oratory of S. Carlino, Ravenna (Fig.1), has encountered more than just neglect. Moved and readapted to diverse functions, it is missing several elements and has suffered from rough handling in its edges and its surface. For years the oratory in which it is now immured was closed and the monuments inside, therefore, inaccessible. A recent work on renaissance sculpture in Ravenna allots to it a single sentence,' while guidebooks to Ravenna often fail to mention it or the oratory at all. Attempts to attribute it have been few and feeble; indeed, neither its composition nor its style has been seen to merit scholarly attention. Yet not only is it a highly original solution to the problem of the conservation of the host, but it proves to be a very early work by the Venetian sculptor, Giambattista Bregno.

While fifteenth-century Florentine portrait busts have long been the focus of art-historical study, their sixteenth-century successors have been much less closely examined.' The particular aspect of the subject broached in the present article is the use of portrait busts in Florentine tombs and monuments, a phenomenon which has not hitherto been considered as a whole. One reason for this neglect is that some of the most important objects have been lost or moved from their original locations, resulting in a corresponding loss of prominence.

Vsari's account of Danese Cattaneo, included in the bio- graphy ofJacopo Sansovino in the 1568 edition of the Vite, mentions a portrait the sculptor had made of the well-known jurist and legal scholar Girolamo Giganti, stating that it was to be found in S. Giovanni di Verdara, Padua.' The existence of this portrait has long been doubted,2 and it has often been suggested that Vasari had made a confusion with the bust of Lazzaro Bonamico that is documented from other sources as being in that location. However, the discovery in the Venetian archives of Giganti's will, in which he specifically requests burial in S. Giovanni di Verdara (see the Appendix below), suggests that Vasari's statement should be taken seriously, and prompts reconsideration of an existing bust which has at least some claim to be the one he was describing.

In an article published in 1955 Pico Cellini suggested that the statue of Charles I of Anjou, king of Sicily, attributed to Arnolfo di Cambio, and preserved in the Musei Capitolini, Rome (Fig.38), originally formed part of the monumental entrance way to a tribunal in the church of S. Maria in Aracoeli, where Charles, then senator of Rome, administered justice.' As the location of the tri- bunal he proposed the last three chapels of the right aisle of the church (see Fig.39), the present S. Diego chapel, the modern side- entrance of the church, and the chapel now dedicated to S. Pasquale Baylon (henceforth referred to as R7, R8 and R9 respectively).2 Cellini identified these structures with the tribunal mentioned in a document quoted earlier by Colasanti, which apparently referred to the Roman senator adjudicating 'sedente pro tribunali in quodam sedile marmoreo sito in ecclesia S. Mariae de Aracoeli iuxta ostium respiciens palatium Capitolii'.'

There is no eighteenth-century German sculptor about whose training we are better informed than Ignaz Gunther (1725-75).' The son of a carpenter, he received his first instruction from his father in rural Altmannstein; in 1743, aged seventeen or eighteen, he came to Munich, where he entered the workshop of the sculptor Johann Baptist Straub. Straub had returned to the Bavarian capital about ten years earlier after having spent a number of years studying in Vienna; appointed court sculptor in 1735, he had succeeded in only a few years in establishing his workshop as the most significant in the region.

In recent years Bertoldo di Giovanni's importance in the history of art has emerged with greater sharpness than before. This reassessment has been due largely to the re-evaluation of the Medici sculpture garden, where, as Vasari relates, Bertoldo oversaw the early efforts of Michelangelo and other young sculptors.' Bertoldo's relationship to Michelangelo has recently been the subject of searching analysis in the context of debates over the attribution of the marble fanciullo in the courtyard of the building housing the Services Culturels of the French Embassy in Manhattan.2 But the importance of Bertoldo's r81e in the history of Renaissance sculpture contrasts starkly with the paucity of concrete information we possess about his life and career.3 There has been considerable speculation about Bertoldo's origins, since even the name of his grandfather has not yet been established with complete certainty.