he creation of elaborate, ephemeral sculpture for display on the festive table was, by the early seventeenth century, an entrenched practice at most European courts, both secular and ecclesiastical. In his treatise called Lo Scalco (The Steward), Mattia Giegher instructs that one should place some figures “made of wax, sugar paste, or folded napkins” (cera, o di pasta, o di tovagliuoli), both to ornament the table and mark the importance of the banquet, but also to articulate the spacing of the plates. These sculptural forms were not generally edible even if they were made of foodstuffs like sugar paste, a medium that dried hard and white, resembling porcelain. Although no table sculptures made of ephemeral materials survive, they can be glimpsed through different kinds of documentation, including verbal testimony, receipts, table plans, prints or drawings, paintings, and other visual materials. From a second edition of Vincenzo Cervio’s Il Trinciante, the image below shows “how to make a very beautiful apparatus for a women’s table . . . at a wedding, with a very beautiful garden, fishpond, fountains, and statues at very little expense.” For sugar paste sculpture, there are wooden molds dating back to the early modern period that have been used by contemporary historians such as Ivan Day to reconstruct historical tablescapes.

A dozen well-dressed people are in the midst of a festive meal. A woman occupies the head of the table, wearing a large lace collar and an elaborate coiffure. In her right hand, she holds a two-tined fork. To her right stands a carver holding more carving tools, a cloth draped over his left arm. He looks expectantly at the woman holding the fork, as if he is politely requesting that she return the fork so that he can proceed with the task at hand. Just behind him stands a page, who holds a stack of plates awaiting their charge. The table is set with a linen tablecloth that bears crisp folds, signaling the back-of-house attention to the care of fine linens—a mark of status. The image bears a remarkable similarity to Abraham Bosse’s print, clearly its inspiration, shown above. The crucifixion over the mantel in the Bosse print is replaced here by a more generic scene, not surprising for a Protestant audience, and the pets and children appropriate to a gathering of women have been banished.

Diners are seated at a table in the garden of an Italianate villa before a credenza laden with gold and silver vessels. The stepped structure is framed by an arbor festooned with flowers and greenery, atop which musicians play. A steward or carver stands in front of the table with his back to the viewer, a white cloth draped over his shoulder. He is pulling back the tablecloth to reveal the board beneath, perhaps signaling that this is the final course. To the right, large flasks stand cooling in a basin very similar to that in the frontispiece from Andreas Klett’s book, shown below. Musicians serenade the feast, while a servant at the fishpond supervises the catch.

Under the heading “A reminder of how to decorate the table with various figures,” Giegher lists forms that might be made of sugar paste or wax: pyramids, castles, eagles, lions, stags, dragons, a Satyr, a Mars, a Hercules, a Europa on the bull with her hands on its horns, a clothed Trojan Helen with golden hair, and various nudes: Venus, Pallas, and Juno. Folded napkins and sculptural forms are represented on the central table. The credenza, to the right, features a ewer and basin, and plates.

As this table plan indicates, each course of a meal, or “piatto,” consisted of several dishes set out at the same time. The combination and choice of placement fell to the steward. Diners would probably partake of the dishes closest to them, though they may also have asked to taste dishes that were out of reach. One piatto would serve four to six people, so the size of the table would be adjusted according to the number of diners. For eight people, a piatto doppio was required, etc. Proper placement of the saltcellars is indicated by the letter S for saliera in two locations on the table, while the Q and L stand for qua and la, here and there, for other dishes based on personal choice.

Elaborate efforts were enacted to prevent contact between the cardinals, who were sequestered while they elected the next pope, and the outside world. Baskets with drawstring covers emblazoned with coats-of-arms, locked hampers, and bottle carriers are transported by a battalion of servants. Other items with locks reinforce the aura of secrecy and security that pervaded the conclave, with assayers poised to examine each and every morsel of food and drink before it passed through the revolving compartments to the hungry cardinals. In the detailed description that accompanies the image, Scappi, one of the personal chefs of the pope, reports that closed pies or whole chickens were not allowed because they would be inspected—and presumably ruined—by the tasters. One of the longest on record, the conclave lasted for seventy-two days and was, according to one papal historian, “unusual for the blatant disregard of the rules.”

This rare proof of a print, published in an illustrated book commemorating the marriage of Johann Wilhelm, Duke of Jülich-Cleves-Berg, and Jacoba, Margravine of Baden, which took place in Düsseldorf on June 16, 1585, depicts a table laden with a menagerie of sugar sculpture. Wedding guests, dwarfed by the fantastic beasts and elaborate structures that fill the surface of the enormous draped table, can almost be heard exclaiming at the wondrous display. The front row includes a double-headed eagle, supported by two recumbent lions, and the Pelican of Piety. Potted plants, horses, fish, rabbits, turtles, a bear, a peacock, and even an elephant populate the table. Verses below explain that the display was prepared of sugarwork with skill, expense, labor, and care.