N. B.—The pictures here described are pictures belonging to Foreign
Schools only. The numerals refer to the numbers on the frames.
Pictures in the National Gallery to which, because they are deposited
on loan or for other reasons, no numbers are attached, are described at
the end of the Numerical Catalogue.
References to books in the following pages are, except where otherwise
stated, to the works of Ruskin. Wherever possible, the references to
his books are by sections and paragraphs, instead of by pages, so as to
make them applicable to all the different editions. The references to
Vasari are to Bohn's translation, 5 vols., 1855.
Sebastiano del Piombo (Venetian: 1485-1547).
This large picture is generally accounted the masterpiece of
Sebastiano Luciani. He was called del Piombo (lead), from his
holding the office of Keeper of the Leaden Seal (see No. 20).
Sebastiano was originally a painter and musician at Venice, where
he studied successively under John Bellini and Giorgione. But
in 1512 he was invited to Rome by the famous banker Agostino
Chigi. Here he fell under the influence of Michael Angelo, who
employed Sebastiano to execute several of his designs, and saw in
him a means, says Vasari, of outdoing Raphael. The opportunity
occurred when the Cardinal Giulio de' Medici commissioned Raphael
to paint the "Transfiguration" (now in the Vatican), and at the
same time Sebastiano to paint this picture, on the same scale, of
the Raising of Lazarus. The pictures when finished were exhibited
side by side, and there were some who preferred Sebastiano's.
"The picture was painted," says Vasari, "with the utmost care,
under the direction, and in some parts with the design, of Michael
Angelo." There are in the British Museum two original drawings
by Michael Angelo which are evidently preparatory studies for
the figure of Lazarus; but Sebastiano cannot have painted under
his friend's direction, for Michael Angelo was at Florence at
the time, and Sebastiano writes to him, "There has been some
delay with my work. I have endeavoured to keep it back as long as
possible, that Raphael might not see it before it is finished....
But now I do not hesitate any more. I believe I shall not, with my
work, bring discredit upon you." Another masterpiece of Sebastiano
has recently been added to the Gallery (1450), which also contains
two of his portrait pieces (20 and 24), a branch of art in which
he obtained great success; Vasari particularly notices his skill
in painting the head and hands.
This famous picture is especially remarkable for its dramatic unity.
It is crowded with figures, but all combine to concentrate attention
on the central subject. The time chosen by the painter is after the
completion of the miracle: "He that was dead came forth, bound hand and
foot with grave-clothes; and his face was bound about with a napkin."
Jesus in the middle of the picture is uttering the words, "Loose him,
and let him go;" with his right hand Jesus points to heaven, as if he
said, "I have raised thee by the power of him who sent me." The three
men, who have already removed the lid of the sepulchre, are fulfilling
Christ's command. The grave-clothes, by which the face of Lazarus is
thrown into deep shade, express the idea of the night of the grave
which but just before enveloped him; and the eye looking eagerly
from beneath the shade upon Christ shows the new life in its most
intellectual organ. To the left, behind Christ, is St. John, answering
objections raised against the credibility of the miracle. Farther off,
behind this group, is one of the Pharisees, whose unbelief is combated
by the man who points in evidence to the raised Lazarus. Behind Lazarus
is his sister Martha, sickening now at what she most desired; behind
her are other women—holding their noses.[38] At the foot of Jesus is
the other sister, Mary, full of faith and gratitude—
Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,
Nor other thought her mind admits
But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And he that brought him back is there.
Then one deep love doth supersede
All other, when her ardent gaze
Roves from the living brother's face,
And rests upon the Life indeed.
Tennyson: In Memoriam, xxxii.
Claude Lorraine (French: 1600-1682).
Claude Gellée was the son of humble parents, and to the end he
was an unlettered man. He was born in the village of Champagne,
in the Vosges, Duchy of Lorraine, and thence acquired the name
of Le Lorrain. Lineal descendants of Claude's brother still
live in the village, and the house in which he was born is now
preserved as a museum of relics of the painter. He was brought
up, it is said, as a pastry-cook, but he entered the household
of Agostino Tassi, a Perugian landscape painter, at Rome, in
the capacity of general factotum, cooking his master's meals
and grinding his colours. From him Claude received his first
instruction in art. Subsequently he travelled to the Tyrol and to
Venice—the influence of which place may be seen in the "gentle
ripples of waveless seas" in his Seaports. After working for some
time at Nancy, the capital of Lorraine, he returned in October
1627 to Rome, and there settled down for the remainder of his
life. The house which he inhabited may still be seen at the angle
of the streets Sistina and Gregoriana. Of his life at Rome many
interesting particulars are given by his friend Sandrart, a German
painter, who was for some years his companion. "In order," says
Sandrart, "that he might be able to study closely the innermost
secrets of nature, he used to linger in the open air from before
daybreak even to nightfall, so that he might learn to depict with
a scrupulous adherence to nature's model the changing phases
of dawn, the rising and setting sun, as well as the hours of
twilight.... In this most difficult and toilsome mode of study
he spent many years; making excursions into the country every
day, and returning even after a long journey without finding it
irksome. Sometimes I have chanced to meet him amongst the steepest
cliffs at Tivoli, handling the brush before those well-known
waterfalls, and painting the actual scene, not by the aid of
imagination or invention, but according to the very objects which
nature placed before him."[39] (One of these sketches is now
in the British Museum.) On one expedition to Tivoli, Claude was
accompanied, we know, by Poussin, but for the most part he lived
a secluded life; "he did not," says Sandrart, "in everyday life
much affect the civilities of polite society." Such seclusion
must partly have been necessary to enable Claude to cope with the
commissions that crowded in upon him. For the Pope Urban VIII.
he painted the four pictures now in the Louvre, and the three
succeeding popes were all among his patrons. So was Cardinal
Mazarin and the Duke of Bouillon, the Papal Commander-in-Chief,
for whom amongst other pictures he painted two (12 and 14) in this
Gallery. England was a great buyer of his works: nineteen were
ordered from here in 1644 alone; and commissions came also from
Denmark and the Low Countries. One sees the pressure of a busy man
in the number of "stock" subjects which he repeated. He suffered
much too from forgers, and it was partly to check the sale of
fictitious Claudes that he prepared his "Liber Veritatis"—a
collection of drawings of all his pictures, now in the possession
of the Duke of Devonshire. Two hundred and seventy more of his
drawings may be seen in the British Museum. For his figures,
however, he was glad of outside help, and many painters put these
in for him. The soft, pensive, and almost feminine charm which
characterises his landscapes well agree with what we know of his
life. He was passionately fond of music. To a little girl, "living
with me and brought up in my house in charity," he bequeathed much
of his treasures. He had received also a poor, lame lad into his
house, whom he instructed in painting and music, and who rewarded
him by demanding arrears of salary for "assistance." Towards his
poor relations he was uniformly generous, and when Sandrart left
him it was a nephew from the Vosges whom he called to keep house
for him.
With regard to the characteristics of Claude's art, his general
position in the history of landscape painting has been defined
in the chapter on the French School, and some further points of
detail are noticed under his several works. Here, however, it may
be convenient to give Ruskin's summary of the matter. (1) Claude
had a fine feeling for beauty of form, and is seldom ungraceful in
his foliage. His tenderness of conception is especially shown in
delicate aerial effects, such as no one had ever rendered before,
and in some respects, no one has ever done in oil-colour since.
But their character appears to rise rather from a delicacy of
bodily constitution in Claude than from any mental sensibility;
such as they are, they give a kind of feminine charm to his work,
which partly accounts for its wide influence. To whatever their
character may be traced, it renders him incapable of enjoying or
painting anything energetic or terrible. Thus a perfectly genuine
and untouched sky of Claude is beyond praise in all qualities of
air. But he was incapable of rendering great effects of space
and infinity. (2) As with his skies, so too with his seas. They
are the finest pieces of water painting in ancient art. But they
are selections of the particular moment when the sea is most
insipid and characterless. (3) He had sincerity of purpose; but
in common with the other landscape painters of his day, neither
earnestness, humility, nor love, such as would ever cause him to
forget himself. Hence there is in his work no simple or honest
record of any single truth, and his pictures, when examined with
reference to essential truth, are one mass of error from beginning
to end. So far as he felt the truth, he tried to be true; but he
never felt it enough to sacrifice supposed propriety, or habitual
method, to it. Very few of his sketches and none of his pictures
show evidence of interest in other natural phenomena than the
quiet afternoon sunshine which would fall methodically into a
composition.[40] One would suppose he had never seen scarlet
in a morning cloud, nor a storm burst on the Apennines. (4) He
shows a peculiar incapacity of understanding the main point of
a matter, and of men of name is the best instance of a want of
imagination, nearly total, borne out by painful but untaught study
of nature, and much feeling for abstract beauty of form, with none
whatever for harmony of expression. (5) Yet in spite of all his
deficiencies Claude effected a revolution in art. This revolution
consisted in setting the sun in heaven. We will give him the
credit of this with no drawbacks.[41] Till Claude's time no one
had seriously thought of painting the sun but conventionally; that
is so say, as a red or yellow star (often), with a face in it,
under which type it was constantly represented in illumination;
else it was kept out of the picture, or introduced in fragmentary
distances, breaking through clouds with almost definite rays.
Claude first set it in the pictorial heaven (collected from
Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. i. ch. vii. §§ 3, 5, 14,
sec. iii. ch. i. § 9, ch. iii. §§ 13-15, 17; vol. ii. pt. iii.
sec. ii. ch. ii. § 18; vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. xviii. §§ 22, 27,
and Appendix i.; vol. v. pt. ix. ch. v. §§ 10, 11). This summary
should show that it is a mistake to represent Ruskin as blind
to the merits of Claude. He has done full justice to Claude's
amenity and pensive grace; to the beauty of his skies and the
skill and charm of his aerial effects. At the time when Ruskin
began to write Modern Painters, Claude was still accounted the
prince of all landscape painters. The estimate of Claude against
which Ruskin protested may be found in Goethe. "Claude Lorraine,"
he said, "knew the real world thoroughly, even to its smallest
detail, and he made use of it to express the world contained
in his own beautiful soul. He stands to nature in a double
relation,—he is both her slave and her master: her slave, by
the material means which he is obliged to employ to make himself
understood; her master, because he subordinates these material
means to a well reasoned inspiration, to which he makes them serve
as instruments." And elsewhere, Goethe expresses his admiration
for the depth and grasp of Claude's powers. Ruskin, in vindicating
the greater sweep and depth of Turner's genius, fastened with
all the emphasis of an advocate upon the weak points in Claude's
artistic and intellectual armoury. By so doing he cleared the
ground for a truer appreciation of Claude. As a corrective or
supplement to Ruskin's adverse criticisms, the reader may be
referred to Constable's enthusiastic appreciations. "I do not
wonder," wrote Constable to his wife, "at you being jealous of
Claude. If anything could come between our love, it is him.... The
Claudes, the Claudes are all, all, I can think of here" (Leslie's
Life of Constable, 1845, p. 121). Constable was writing from
Sir George Beaumont's house, where several of the Claudes, now
in the National Gallery, were then hanging. Constable, however,
was alive to some of Claude's defects. "Claude's exhilaration and
light," he wrote to Leslie, "departed from him when he was between
fifty and sixty, and he then became a professor of the 'higher
walks of art,' and fell in a great degree into the manner of the
painters around him; so difficult is it to be natural, so easy
to be superior in our own opinion. When we have the pleasure of
being together at the National Gallery I think I shall not find it
difficult to illustrate these remarks, as Carr has sent a large
picture of the latter description" (ibid., p. 221). The picture
in question is No. 6, painted in 1658.
For the story of Cephalus, who is here receiving from Procris the
presents of Diana, the hound Lelaps, and the fatal dart with which
she was killed, see under 698. As for the landscape, Mr. Ruskin cites
this picture as an instance of the "childishness and incompetence" of
Claude's foregrounds.
"I will not," he writes, "say anything of the agreeable composition
of the three banks, rising one behind another from the water, except
only that it amounts to a demonstration that all three were painted
in the artist's study, without any reference to nature whatever. In
fact, there is quite enough intrinsic evidence in each of them to
prove this, seeing that what appears to be meant for vegetation upon
them amounts to nothing more than a green stain on their surfaces,
the more evidently false because the leaves of the trees twenty yards
farther off are all perfectly visible and distinct; and that the sharp
lines with which each cuts against that beyond it are not only such
as crumbling earth could never show or assume, but are maintained
through their whole progress ungraduated, unchanging, and unaffected
by any of the circumstances of varying shade to which every one of
nature's lines is inevitably subjected. In fact the whole arrangement
is the impotent struggle of a tyro to express by successive edges that
approach of earth which he finds himself incapable of expressing by the
drawing of the surface. Claude wished to make you understand that the
edge of his pond came nearer and nearer; he had probably often tried to
do this with an unbroken bank, or a bank only varied by the delicate
and harmonious anatomy of nature: and he had found that owing to his
total ignorance of the laws of perspective such efforts on his part
invariably ended in his reducing his pond to the form of a round O, and
making it look perpendicular. Much comfort and solace of mind in such
unpleasant circumstances may be derived from instantly dividing the
obnoxious bank into a number of successive promontories, and developing
their edges with completeness and intensity" (Modern Painters, vol.
i. pt. ii. sec. iv. ch. iv. §§ 17, 18).
School of Titian (Venetian). See under next picture.
The young man in the red velvet cap plays on the violoncello;
the other on the oboe, of which only the reed is visible. The
other three are vocalists. The master is keeping time, and is
intent on the boy pupil. The young girl, with her hand on her
husband's shoulder, is waiting to chime in, and looks far away
the while to where the music takes her. "In Titian's portraits
you always see the soul,—faces 'which pale passion loves.' Look
at the Music-piece by Titian—it is 'all ear,'—the expression is
evanescent as the sounds—the features are seen in a sort of dim
chiaroscuro, as if the confused impressions of another sense
intervened—and you might easily suppose some of the performers to
have been engaged the night before in
Mask or midnight serenade
Which the starved lover to his mistress sings
Best quitted with disdain."
(Hazlitt: Criticisms on Art, edition 1843, p. 10).
Perhaps it is indeed a travelling party of musicians practising for
a serenade. Certainly one thinks of this picture as one reads of a
supper party at Titian's house. "Before the tables were set out, we
spent the time in looking at the lifelike figures in the excellent
paintings of which the house was full, and in discussing the real
beauty and charm of the garden, which was a pleasure and a wonder to
every one. It is situated in the extreme part of Venice upon the sea,
and from it may be seen the pretty little island of Murano, and other
beautiful places. This part of the sea, as soon as the sun went down,
swarmed with gondolas adorned with beautiful women, and resounded with
varied harmonies—the music of voices and instruments till midnight"
(Priscianese, describing a visit to Titian in 1540: cited in Heath's
Titian, "Great Artists" series, p. 53).
Titian (Venetian: 1477-1576).
Tiziano Vecellio—"il divino Tiziano," as his countrymen called
him—is one of the greatest names in the history of painting:
"There is a strange undercurrent of everlasting murmur about his
name, which means the deep consent of all great men that he is
greater than they" (Two Paths, § 57). Titian's works "are not
art," said one of his contemporaries, "but miracles; they make
upon me the impression of something divine, and as heaven is the
soul's paradise, so God has transfused into Titian's colours
the paradise of our bodies." It is not easy, however, to point
out the special characteristics of Titian, for it is his glory
to offer nothing over-prominent and to keep "in all things the
middle path of perfection." Titian's mind was "wholly realist,
universal, and manly. He saw that sensual passion in man was not
only a fact, but a Divine fact; the human creature, though the
highest of the animals, was, nevertheless, a perfect animal, and
his happiness, health, and nobleness depended on the due power
of every animal passion, as well as the cultivation of every
spiritual tendency" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. iii.
§ 30). As a youth Titian worked under the influence of Giorgione,
of whom (says Vasari), "they who were excellent confessed that
he was born to put the breath of life into painted figures and
to imitate the elasticity and colour of flesh." The so-called
"Sacred and Profane Love" of Titian marks the culmination of his
"Giorgionesque" style, in which sensuous delight and spiritual
yearning are mixed in subtle harmony. The "Bacchus and Ariadne"
of our own Gallery belongs to a somewhat later date, and is a
combination of poetry and painting almost unique in the world
of art. "One object," says Sir Frederick Burton,[42] "Titian
kept steadily before him from the beginning—the rendering of
the lustre of the skin in its warmth, its pearliness, and its
light, such as it is found in the European races, and nowhere
perhaps in such perfection as in the blended northern and southern
blood of Venetia. He presents to us humanity in its noblest and
most beautiful forms, and so profoundly had he studied it that
the ideal personages introduced in his pictures have an intense
individuality. Naturally, therefore, he stands supreme amongst
the great portrait-painters. In the department of landscape he
was, if not the first to perceive, at least the first to render,
nature in her sublimer aspects. When dealing with classical themes
he thoroughly translated the spirit, without idly imitating
the forms, of antiquity." And as the range of his intellectual
sympathy was wide, so was that of his executive skill. He is,
indeed, especially supreme as a colourist; but for the rest,
the very greatness of the master lies in there being no one
quality predominant in him. Raphael's power is properly called
"Raphaelesque," but "Titian's power is simply the power of doing
right. Whatever came before Titian, he did wholly as it ought to
be done" (Two Paths, §§ 57, 58, 69).
This universality of Titian's art is reflected in his life—a
life prolonged far beyond the ordinary human spell, and full to
the end of "superhuman toil." He was sent from his country home
at Cadore to Venice to begin his studies when quite a boy: he was
only nine, it is said, when he entered Gentile Bellini's studio.
He lived to be ninety-nine, and his life was one long education.
He was nearly threescore years and ten when he visited Rome and
saw Michael Angelo, but he "had greatly improved," he said in
later years, "after he had been at Rome." He painted until his
dying hour, and is said to have exclaimed at the last that he
was "only then beginning to understand what painting was." This
continual striving after perfection, this consciousness of falling
short, is in striking contrast to the honour and glory paid to him
by others. He was painter in ordinary to the Venetian State (a
post in which he succeeded Giovanni Bellini). He was an honoured
guest at the court of Alphonso I., Duke of Ferrara, for whom he
painted the "Bacchus and Ariadne" (35). To the Emperor Charles V.
he "stood as Apelles to Alexander the Great, the only man worthy
to paint his royal master," and he was made Count Palatine and
Knight of the Golden Spur, with precedence for his children as
nobles of the Empire. The emperor's son, Philip II. (of Spain),
was an equally generous patron; the Pope Paul III. tried hard
to induce Titian to settle in Rome; and Henry III. of France,
who visited him at his own house, wished the picture on which
the painter was then at work to be placed over his tomb. In his
house at Venice Titian lived in great style, attracting kings and
nobles and men of letters to him. There is all the keenness of
a city of merchants in Titian's business relations, and many of
the extant documents about him are petitions for further favours
and for arrears of pensions. But if he gathered like a beggar,
he spent like a prince. There is a story of two cardinals coming
to dine at his house. He flung his purse to the steward, and
bade him make ready, for "all the world was coming to dine with
him." Certain too it is that if he knocked too much at the doors
of princes, it was for the sake of his children rather than of
himself. At the loss of his wife (when he was fifty-seven) he was
"utterly disconsolate," says the letter of a friend. His sister
Orsa afterwards kept house for him—"sister, daughter, mother,
companion, and steward of his household," so Aretino described
her; and it was his daughter Lavinia whom he oftenest loved to
paint. She was "the person dearest to him in all the world," and
many years after she had died (1560) in childbirth, he described
her to Philip II. as "absolute mistress of his soul." A less
pleasant light is thrown upon the great painter by his friendship
and close association with the infamous Aretino. This curious
product of the Renaissance came to Venice in 1527, and with Titian
and Jacopo del Sansovino formed "the so-called Triumvirate, which
was a kind of Council of Three, having as its raison d'être
the mutual furtherance of material interests, and the pursuit of
art, love, and pleasure." To Titian's association with Aretino
some critics have ascribed the stronger vein of sensuality which
is discernible in some of his later works. To the extreme limit,
however, of his long life his hand never lost its cunning, nor
was the force of imagination abated. He was carried off by the
plague, and received even in that time of panic the honour of
solemn obsequies in the church of the Frari—"the man as highly
favoured," says Vasari, "by fortune as any of his kind had ever
been before him." His house at Venice is still shown. It looks
across the lagoons to the distant mountains of his early home.
One of the pictures which mark the advance made by Titian in the art
of landscape. Look at the background of some earlier Holy Family—at
the "purist" landscape, for instance, of Perugino (288),—and the
change will be seen at once—a change from the conventional or ideal to
the real and the actual. Titian was one of the first to "relieve the
foreground of his landscapes from the grotesque, quaint, and crowded
formalism of the early painters, and give a close approximation to the
forms of nature in all things; retaining, however, this much of the
old system, that the distances were for the most part painted in deep
ultramarine blue, the foregrounds in rich green and brown" (Lectures
on Architecture and Painting, p. 158). In particular he was the
first[43] to "apprehend the subduing pathos that comes with eventide"
(see Gilbert's Cadore or Titian's Country, p. 33). Titian, says
Ruskin (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ii. § 1, ch. vii. § 15), "hardly
ever paints sunshine, but a certain opalescent twilight which has as
much of human emotion as of imitative truth in it:
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality."
Claude Lorraine (French: 1600-1682). See 2.
An instance of false tone (cf. under Cuyp, No. 53). "Many even of the
best pictures of Claude must be looked close into to be felt, and lose
light every foot that we retire. The smallest of the three Seaports in
the National Gallery is valuable and right in tone when we are close to
it, but ten yards off it is all brick-dust, offensively and evidently
false in its whole hue." Contrast "the perfect and unchanging influence
of Turner's picture at any distance. We approach only to follow the
sunshine into every cranny of the leafage, and retire only to feel it
diffused over the scene, the whole picture glowing like a sun or star
at whatever distance we stand, and lighting the air between us and it"
(Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. i. § 20).
Claude Lorraine (French: 1600-1682). See 2.
David, in front of the cave, "longed and said, 'Oh that one would give
me to drink of the water of Bethlehem, which is by the gate!' And the
three mighty men brake through the host of the Philistines (seen in the
valley), and drew water out of the well of Bethlehem, that was by the
gate, and took it, and brought it to David" (2 Samuel xxiii. 15, 16).
With regard to the landscape, the picture is a good instance at once
of Claude's strength and weakness. Thus "the central group of trees is
a very noble piece of painting" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii.
sec. iv. ch. ii. § 8). On the other hand the rocks, both in the left
corner and in the right, are highly absurd. "The Claudesque landscape
is not, as so commonly supposed, an idealised abstract of the nature
about Rome. It is an ultimate condition of the Florentine conventional
landscape, more or less softened by reference to nature" (ibid.,
vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. xviii. § 27). So, too, "the brown foreground and
rocks are as false as colour can be: first, because there never was
such a brown sunlight, for even the sand and cinders (volcanic tufa)
about Naples, granting that he had studied from these ugliest of all
formations, are, where they are fresh fractured, golden and lustrous
in full light, compared to these ideals of crags, and become, like all
other rocks, quiet and gray when weathered; and secondly, because no
rock that ever nature stained is without its countless breaking tints
of varied vegetation" (ibid., vol. i. pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. ii. § 16).
After Correggio. See under 10.
Copies by Annibale Carracci from Correggio's compositions in the church
of S. Giovanni at Parma (Layard's edition of Kugler's Italian School
of Painting, ii. 631). These pictures have had an eventful history,
and been connected with the fortunes of many sovereigns. They came to
the National Gallery from Mr. Angerstein, who bought them from the
Orleans collection. They had formerly been in the possession of Queen
Christina, having been carried off to Sweden as part of the plunder of
Prague when that city was captured by the Swedes in 1648. The pictures
collected there by the Emperor Rudolph II. were removed to Stockholm.
From a design by Michael Angelo. See 790.
The naked figure, typical of the human race, and reclining against a
slippery globe,—with the world, we may say, before him,—is awakening,
at the sound of a trumpet from above from the dream of life to the
lasting realities of eternity. It may be the sound of the "last trump"
or the call to a "new life" that comes before. Behind his seat are
several masks, illustrating the insincerity or duplicity of a world
in which "all is vanity"; and around him are visions of the tempting
and transitory hopes, fears, and vices of humanity. On the right sits
a helmed warrior, moody and discomfited; his arms hang listlessly and
his face is unseen—hidden perhaps from the cruelty of War. Above
him are battling figures—emblematic of Strife and Contention. A
little detached from this group is a son dragging down his parent by
the beard—"bringing his grey hair with sorrow to the grave." On the
other side sits Jealousy, gnawing a heart; and above are the sordid
hands of Avarice clutching a bag of gold. On the left hand Lust and
Sorrow are conspicuous; Intemperance raises a huge bottle to his lips;
and Gluttony turns a spit (see Landseer's Catalogue of the National
Gallery, 1834, p. 41). Thus all around the figure of Human Life there
wait—
The ministers of human fate
And black Misfortune's baleful train!...
These shall the fury Passions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And shame that sculks behind;
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart;
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.
Gray: Ode on a distant prospect of Eton College.
Annibale Carracci (Eclectic-Bologna: 1560-1609).
Annibale, younger brother of Agostino and cousin of Lodovico
Carracci, was one of the three masters of the Eclectic School
at Bologna, the characteristics of which have been discussed in
the chapter on the Later Italian Schools. Annibale, the most
distinguished of the family as a painter, was the son of a tailor
and was intended for his father's business. He went off, however,
to his cousin Lodovico, with whom he devoted himself to art. In
1580 he visited Parma, where he spent three years in studying
the works of Correggio. The copies noticed above (7 and 37) were
perhaps made at this time. Annibale afterwards studied in Venice.
In 1589 the school of the Carracci was started at Bologna. They
called it the Incamminati, or, as we might say, "The Right
Road." In 1600 Annibale was invited to Rome by the Cardinal
Odoardo Farnese to decorate his palace. Here, we are told, "he was
received and treated as a gentleman, and was granted the usual
table allowance of a courtier." He was assisted in the Farnese
frescoes by Lanfranco, by Domenichino (then a young man), and by
his brother Agostino, of whom, however, he was very jealous (see
under 147). He died in 1609, and was buried near Raphael in the
Pantheon. The frescoes of the Carracci in the Farnese palace were
preferred by Poussin to all the works in Rome after those of
Raphael, and they undoubtedly possess many technical merits. The
subject-pictures by Annibale in our Gallery will fail greatly to
please; they are academical and unindividual, and are deficient
in true enthusiasm. Annibale was one of the first to practise
landscape-painting as a separate department of art. In this field
the influence of the Netherlands and of Venice may be seen united
in Carracci's pictures, which in their turn laid the foundation
for Poussin and Claude. In our Gallery Annibale is seen at his
best in the two poetic subjects painted for a harpsichord (93 and
94); these are both graceful and spirited.
The Apostle Peter, according to a Roman tradition, being terrified at
the danger which threatened him in Rome, betook himself to flight.
On the Via Appia our Saviour appeared to him bearing his cross. To
Peter's question: Domine quo vadis? ("Lord, whither goest Thou?")
Christ replied, "To Rome, to suffer again crucifixion." Upon which
the apostle retraced his steps, and received the crown of martyrdom.
So much for the subject. As for its treatment, the note of almost
comic exaggeration in St. Peter's attitude will not fail to strike the
spectator; and "there is this objection to be made to the landscape,
that, though the day is breaking over the distant hills and pediment on
the right hand, there must be another sun somewhere out of the picture
on the left hand, since the cast shadows from St. Peter and the Saviour
fall directly to the right" (Landseer's Catalogue, p. 193).
Correggio (Parmese: 1494-1534).
Antonio Allegri—called Il Correggio from his birthplace, a
small town near Modena—is one of the most distinctive of the
old masters. What is it that constitutes what Carlyle (following
Sterne) calls the "Correggiosity of Correggio"? It is at once a
way peculiar to him amongst artists, of looking at the world, and
an excellence, peculiar to him also, in his methods of painting.
Correggio "looked at the world in a single mood of sensuous joy,"
as a place in which everything is full of happy life and soft
pleasure. The characteristics of his style are "sidelong grace,"
and an all-pervading sweetness. The method, peculiar to him, by
which he realised this way of looking at things on canvas, is the
subtle gradation of colours,—a point, it is interesting to note,
in which of all modern masters Leighton most nearly resembles
him (Art of England, p. 98). "Correggio is," says Ruskin, "the
captain of the painter's art as such. Other men have nobler or
more numerous gifts, but as a painter, master of the art of
laying colour so as to be lovely, Correggio is alone" (Oxford
Lectures on Art, § 177). The circumstances of Correggio's life
go far to explain the individuality of his style. He was the
son of a modest, peaceful burgher, and Correggio and Parma,
where he spent his life, were towns removed from the greater
intellectual excitements and political revolutions of his time.
Ignorant of society, unpatronised by Popes or great Princes, his
mind was touched by no deep passion other than love for his art,
and "like a poet hidden in the light of thought," he worked out
for himself the ideals of grace and movement which live in his
pictures (see Symonds, Renaissance, iii. 248). Of the details
of his life little is known. His earliest works, as Morelli first
demonstrated, reveal the influence of the Ferrarese masters, nor
was he untouched by the creations of Mantegna at Mantua, where he
studied for two or three years. In 1514, in his twentieth year,
he was entrusted with an important commission by the Minorite
Friars of Correggio. The Court of Correggio was then a centre of
refinement and culture, under the rule of Giberto and his wife
Veronica, who was one of the most accomplished women of the day,
and greatly admired "our Antonio," as she called the painter. In
1518 Correggio left his native city for Parma, which was to become
for ever associated with his name. "There is little reason," says
his latest biographer, "to lament that he never visited Rome or
any other great city. Parma, rising in smiling tranquillity upon
her fertile plains, girdled by castles and villages, and looking
out upon the vaporous line of hills from which the streams which
give her water descend into the champaign, offered our painter
not only the serenity that suited his temperament, but a vaster
field of activity than had ever been allotted to any artist.
There were altar-pieces to be painted, rooms to be decorated;
and the joyous fancies of his genius were to be allowed ample
scope in the decoration of two stately cupolas" (Ricci). He
was first employed by the Abbess of the Convent of S. Paolo to
paint her principal chamber. It is characteristic of the time
that the subjects selected were from pagan mythology. Afterwards
Correggio was commissioned to cover with frescoes the cupolas of
the Church of S. Giovanni Evangelista, and of the cathedral. In
these compositions, Correggio "carries the foreshortening of the
figures to a point which, while it displays the daring of the
artist, too often transcends the limits of grace." Seen from
below, little of the figures is sometimes distinguishable except
legs and arms in vehement commotion. When one of the frescoes
in the cathedral was first uncovered, a canon is said to have
remarked that it looked to him like a "fricassee of frogs." But
many of the angels' heads in Correggio's frescoes are exquisitely
beautiful. It is only in Parma that Correggio's power can be fully
appreciated. His charm is to be found rather in his oil-paintings,
and in these the National Gallery possesses some acknowledged
masterpieces. In 1530 Correggio lost his wife, and returned to
his native town. "Although by nature good and well-disposed, he
nevertheless," says Vasari, "grieved more than was reasonable
under the burden of those passions which are common to all men.
He was very melancholic in the exercise of his art, and felt
its fatigues greatly." His life was but little longer than that
of Raphael, for he died in his forty-first year. The stories of
his poverty given in many biographies appear to be ill-founded.
He was in constant employment; he was treated as a person of
consideration, and received good remuneration; and the Governor
of Parma wrote to the Duke of Mantua on the painter's death, "I
hear he has made comfortable provision for his heirs." His fame
was great, and has been enduring; but his influence upon later art
was not fortunate. "His successors, attracted by an intoxicating
loveliness which they could not analyse, threw themselves blindly
into the imitation of Correggio's faults.... Cupolas through the
length and breadth of Italy began to be covered with clouds and
simpering cherubs in the convulsions of artificial ecstasy. The
attenuated elegance of Parmigiano, the attitudinising of Anselmi's
saints and angels, and a general sacrifice of what is solid and
enduring to sentimental gewgaws on the part of all painters who
had submitted to the magic of Correggio, proved how easy it was
to go astray with the great master. Meanwhile, no one could
approach him in that which was truly his own—the delineation of a
transient moment in the life of sensuous beauty, the painting of a
smile on Nature's face, when light and colour tremble in harmony
with the movement of joyous living creatures" (Symonds: Sketches
and Studies in Italy and Greece, ii. 158).
One of the most celebrated works in the Gallery—"the two pictures
which I would last part with out of it," Ruskin once said, "would be
Titian's Bacchus and Correggio's Venus." It is a great picture first
because it is true to nature. "Look at the foot of Venus. Correggio
made it as like a foot as he could, and you won't easily find anything
liker.... Great civilised art is always the representation, to the
utmost of its power, of whatever it has got to show—made to look as
like the thing as possible" (Queen of the Air, § 163). Notice, too,
the roundness of effect produced in the limbs by the gradation of
full colours, the reflected lights, and the transparent shadows. The
"chiaroscuro" is so clever that you can look through the shadows into
the substance.
As for the subject of the picture, Mercury, the messenger of the gods
(dressed therefore in his winged cap and sandals), is endeavouring
to teach Cupid (Love) his letters, of which, according to the Greek
story, Mercury was the inventor. Venus, the Goddess of Beauty and the
Mother of Love, looks out to the spectator with a winning smile of
self-complacent loveliness and points us to the child. She has taken
charge meanwhile of Cupid's bow (from which he shoots his arrows into
lovers' hearts), and is herself represented (as sometimes in classical
gems) with wings, for Beauty has wings to fly away as well as Time and
Love. The picture is sometimes called the Education of Cupid, but Love
learns through the heart and not through the head, and "if you look at
this most perfect picture wisely, you will see that it really ought to
be called 'Mercury trying, and failing, to teach Cupid to read,' for
indeed from the beginning and to the end of time, Love reads without
letters, and counts without arithmetic" (Fors Clavigera, viii. 238).
This famous picture has had a strange, eventful history. It was
painted in 1521 or 1522, and a century later it was still in the Ducal
Gallery at Mantua. In 1625 Charles I. of England despatched his music
master, Nicholas Laniere, to Italy to buy pictures for him. Laniere
communicated with a picture-dealer named Nys, who purchased several
works from the Mantuan gallery. When the transaction became known,
the citizens took it so ill that the Duke would have paid double the
money to be rid of the bargain. But Nys would not relent, and the
picture was included in the artistic freight which the ship Margaret
took to London in 1628. On its arrival, our picture was hung in the
king's private apartments in Whitehall. When he was beheaded, and his
collection sold, the Correggio was bought for £40 by the Duke of Alva,
and taken to Spain. It afterwards passed through several collections,
and ultimately into that of Murat, King of Naples. Upon his fall from
power his wife took it with her when she escaped to Vienna. During
the congress of sovereigns in 1822 her chamberlain communicated with
the ministers of all the Powers, with a view to the sale of this and
another Correggio (15). Russia was negotiating for the purchase of them
when Lord Londonderry, hearing by mere accident of the affair, went to
the chamberlain, paid the larger price against which Russia was holding
out, and despatched his courier post haste to Vienna to convey the
treasures to England. An attempt was made to stop him, but they reached
this country almost before the Russians had heard of the purchase.[45]
The picture has not come unscathed out of these changes and chances.
"Repairs," says Sir Edward Poynter, "are visible in many places.
Injudicious cleaning has done even more injury; and it has undoubtedly
been deprived of much of that final delicate surface-painting which,
in the hands of a great master, does so much to unite a picture into
one harmonious whole. It remains, nevertheless, one of the most
distinguished works in the collection" (The National Gallery, i. 4).
Guido Reni (Eclectic-Bologna: 1575-1642).
Guido was a native of Bologna, the son of a musician, and first
studied under Dionysius Calvaert, a Flemish artist established in
that city. Guido afterwards removed to the school of the Carracci,
and became one of their most celebrated pupils. For twenty years
he worked in Rome, where he obtained great distinction. He left
Rome abruptly, owing to a dispute with one of the Cardinals, and
settled in Bologna, where he lived in splendour and established
a school. "As a child he was very beautiful, with blonde hair,
blue eyes, and a fair complexion. He was specially characterised
by devotion to the Madonna. On every Christmas-eve, for seven
successive years, ghostly knockings were heard upon his chamber
door; and every night, when he awoke from sleep, the darkness
above his bed was illuminated by a mysterious globe of light. In
after life, besides being piously addicted to Madonna-worship, he
had a great dread of women in general and witches in particular.
He was always careful, it is said, to leave his studio door
open while drawing from a woman" (Symonds's Renaissance,
vii. 215). To the temperament thus indicated we may trace the
half-effeminate, half-spiritual character of some of his
works—the "few pale rays of fading sanctity," which Ruskin sees
in him (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. iv. § 4). In later
life his effeminate eccentricity amounted to insanity, and he
gave himself wholly up to the gaming table. To extricate himself
from money troubles he sold his time, says his biographer, at a
stipulated sum per hour, to certain dealers, one of whom tasked
him so rigidly as to stand by him, watch in hand, while he worked.
How different from the honourable terms on which the earlier
masters worked! How easy to understand the number of bad Guidos in
the world! His biographer, Malvasia, relates that Guido's works
were sometimes begun and finished in three hours. His earlier
works were in the robust and forcible style of Caravaggio (see
No. 172). Afterwards he aimed rather at ideal grace. Both styles
are represented in the National Gallery; the "Magdalen" (177),
the "Youthful Christ embracing St. John" (191), and the "Ecce
Homo" (271), have all been much admired for their sentiment or
sentimentality. The head of St. John is a work of undoubted grace.
But Guido's best work is the Aurora of the Rospigliosi Palace at
Rome.
For the story of St. Jerome, see under 227.
Claude (French: 1600-1682). See 2.
This and the Claude on the other side of the door (14) are of peculiar
interest as being the two which Turner selected for "the noble passage
of arms to which he challenged his rival from the grave." He left
two of his own pictures (479 and 498) to the nation on the express
condition that they should always hang side by side—as they are
hanging to-day—with these two by Claude.[47] To discuss fully the
comparative merits of the pictures would be beyond the scope of this
handbook; the whole of the first volume of Modern Painters was
written to establish the superiority of Turner. We can only select a
few leading points.
"The greatest picture is that which conveys the greatest number of the
greatest ideas." Take first what Ruskin calls "ideas of relation," by
which he means "the perception of intellectual relations, including
everything productive of expression, sentiment, character." Now from
this point of view this picture is a particularly clear instance of
Claude's "inability to see the main point in a matter" or to present
any harmonious conception:—
"The foreground is a piece of very lovely and perfect forest
scenery, with a dance of peasants by a brook side; quite enough
subject to form, in the hands of a master, an impressive and
complete picture. On the other side of the brook, however, we
have a piece of pastoral life; a man with some bulls and goats
tumbling headforemost into the water, owing to some sudden
paralytic affection of all their legs. Even this group is one
too many; the shepherd had no business to drive his flock so
near the dancers, and the dancers will certainly frighten the
cattle. But when we look farther into the picture, our feelings
receive a sudden and violent shock, by the unexpected appearance,
amidst things pastoral and musical, of the military; a number of
Roman soldiers riding in on hobby-horses, with a leader on foot,
apparently encouraging them to make an immediate and decisive
charge on the musicians. Beyond the soldiers is a circular temple,
in exceedingly bad repair; and close beside it, built against its
very walls, a neat watermill in full work. By the mills flows
a large river with a weir all across it. The weir has not been
made for the mill (for that receives its water from the hills by
a trough carried over the temple), but it is particularly ugly
and monotonous in its line of fall, and the water below forms a
dead-looking pond, on which some people are fishing in punts.
The banks of this river resemble in contour the later geological
formations around London, constituted chiefly of broken pots and
oyster-shells. At an inconvenient distance from the waterside
stands a city, composed of twenty-five round towers and a pyramid.
Beyond the city is a handsome bridge; beyond the bridge, part of
the Campagna, with fragments of aqueducts; beyond the Campagna the
chain of the Alps; on the left, the cascades of Tivoli. This is,
I believe, a fair example of what is commonly called an 'ideal'
landscape; i.e. a group of the artist's studies from Nature,
individually spoiled, selected with such opposition of character
as may ensure their neutralising each other's effect, and united
with sufficient unnaturalness and violence of association to
ensure their producing a general sensation of the impossible.
Let us analyse the separate subjects a little in this ideal work
of Claude's. Perhaps there is no more impressive scene on earth
than the solitary extent of the Campagna of Rome under evening
light.... A dull purple poisonous haze stretches level along the
desert, veiling its spectral wrecks of massy ruins, on whose
rents the red light rests, like dying fire on defiled altars. The
blue ridge of the Alban Mount lifts itself against a solemn space
of green, clear, quiet sky. Watch-towers of dark clouds stand
steadfastly along the promontories of the Apennines. From the
plain to the mountains the shattered aqueducts, pier beyond pier,
melt into darkness, like shadowy and countless troops of funeral
mourners, passing from a nation's grave. Let us, with Claude,
make a few 'ideal' alterations in this landscape. First, we will
reduce the multitudinous precipices of the Apennines to four
sugar loaves. Secondly, we will remove the Alban Mount, and put a
large dust-heap in its stead. Next we will knock down the greater
part of the aqueducts, and leave only an arch or two, that their
infinity of length may no longer be painful from its monotony. For
the purple mist and declining sun, we will substitute a bright
blue sky, with round white clouds. Finally, we will get rid of the
unpleasant ruins in the foreground; we will plant some handsome
trees therein, we will send for some fiddlers, and get up a dance,
and a picnic party. It will be found, throughout the picture, that
the same species of improvement is made on the materials which
Claude had ready to his hand. The descending slopes of the city
of Rome, towards the pyramid of Caius Cestius, supply not only
lines of the most exquisite variety and beauty, but matter for
contemplation and reflection in every fragment of their buildings.
This passage has been idealised by Claude into a set of similar
round towers, respecting which no idea can be formed but that
they are uninhabitable, and to which no interest can be attached
beyond the difficulty of conjecturing what they could have been
built for. The ruins of the temple are rendered unimpressive
by the juxtaposition of the watermill, and inexplicable by the
introduction of the Roman soldiers. The glide of the muddy
streams of the melancholy Tiber and Anio through the Campagna
is impressive in itself, but altogether ceases to be so when we
disturb their stillness of motion by a weir, adorn their neglected
flow with a handsome bridge, and cover their solitary surface with
punts, nets, and fishermen" (Modern Painters, vol i., preface to
second edition, pp. xxxvi.-xxxix.)
Take next the "ideas of truth" in the picture—the perception, that is
to say, of faithfulness in a statement of facts by the thing produced.
And first (1) for truth of colour. "Can it be seriously supposed
that those murky browns and melancholy greens are representative of
the tints of leaves under full noonday sun? I know that you cannot
help looking upon all these pictures as pieces of dark relief against
a light wholly proceeding from the distances; but they are nothing
of the kind, they are noon and morning effects with full lateral
light. Be so kind as to match the colour of a leaf in the sun (the
darkest you like) as nearly as you can, and bring your matched colour
and set it beside one of these groups of trees, and take a blade of
common grass, and set it beside any part of the fullest light of
their foregrounds, and then talk about the truth of colour of the old
masters!" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. ii. § 5).
(2) Next for truth of chiaroscuro. Claude neglects that distinctness
of shadow which is the chief means of expressing vividness of light.
Thus "the trunks of the trees between the water-wheel and the white
figure of the middle distance, are dark and visible; but their shadows
are scarcely discernible on the ground, and are quite vague and lost in
the building. In nature, every bit of the shadow, both on the ground
and building, would have been defined and conspicuous; while the trunks
themselves would have been faint, confused, and indistinguishable, in
their illumined parts,[48] from the grass or distance" (ibid., ch.
iii. § 4). (3) Thirdly, for truth of space. In nature everything is
indistinct, but nothing vacant. But look at the city on the right bank
of the river:—
"I have seen many cities in my life, and drawn not a few; and
I have seen many fortifications, fancy ones included, which
frequently supply us with very new ideas indeed, especially in
matters of proportion; but I do not remember ever having met with
either a city or a fortress entirely composed of round towers
of various heights and sizes, all facsimiles of each other, and
absolutely agreeing in the number of battlements. I have, indeed,
some faint recollection of having delineated such a one in the
first page of a spelling book when I was four years old; but,
somehow or other, the dignity and perfection of the ideal were not
appreciated, and the volume was not considered to be increased in
value by the frontispiece. Without, however, venturing to doubt
the entire sublimity of the same ideal as it occurs in Claude,
let us consider how nature, if she had been fortunate enough to
originate so perfect a conception, would have managed it in its
details. Claude has permitted us to see every battlement, and the
first impulse we feel upon looking at the picture is to count how
many there are. Nature would have given us a peculiar confused
roughness of the upper lines, a multitude of intersections and
spots, which we should have known from experience was indicative
of battlements, but which we might as well have thought of
creating as of counting. Claude has given you the walls below
in one dead void of uniform gray. There is nothing to be seen
or felt, or guessed at in it; it is gray paint or gray shade,
whichever you may choose to call it, but it is nothing more.
Nature would have let you see, nay, would have compelled you
to see, thousands of spots or lines, not one to be absolutely
understood or accounted for, but yet all characteristic and
different from each other; breaking lights on shattered stones,
vague shadows from waving vegetation, irregular stains of time
and weather, mouldering hollows, sparkling casements: all would
have been there; none indeed seen as such, none comprehensible or
like themselves, but all visible; little shadows and sparkles,
and scratches, making that whole space of colour a transparent,
palpitating, various infinity"[49] (ibid., ch. v. § 7).
(4) Lastly, the picture entirely ignores truth of mountains. And
this in two ways. First, there is a total want of magnitude and aerial
distance:—
"In the distance is something white, which I believe must be
intended for a snowy mountain, because I do not see that it
can well be intended for anything else. Now no mountain of
elevation sufficient to be sheeted with perpetual snow can by
any possibility sink so low on the horizon as this something of
Claude's, unless it be at a distance of from fifty to seventy
miles. At such distances ... the mountains rise from the horizon
like transparent films, only distinguishable from mist by their
excessively keen edges and their brilliant flashes of sudden
light; they are as unsubstantial as the air itself, and impress
their enormous size by means of this aerial-ness, in a far
greater degree at these vast distances, than even when towering
above the spectator's head.[50] Now, I ask of the candid observer
if there be the smallest vestige of an effort to attain, if
there be the most miserable, the most contemptible, shadow of
attainment of such an effect by Claude? Does that white thing on
the horizon look seventy miles off? Is it faint or fading, or to
be looked for by the eye before it can be found out? Does it look
high? Does it look large? Does it look impressive? You cannot
but feel that there is not a vestige of any kind or species of
truth in that horizon; and that however artistical it may be, as
giving brilliancy to the distance (though as far as I have any
feeling in the matter it only gives coldness), it is, in the very
branch of art on which Claude's reputation chiefly rests, aerial
perspective, hurling defiance to nature in her very teeth. But
there are worse failures in this unlucky distance.... No mountain
was ever raised to the level of perpetual snow without an infinite
multiplicity of form. Its foundation is built of a hundred minor
mountains, and from these, great buttresses run in converging
ridges to the central peak.... Consequently, in distant effect,
when chains of such peaks are visible at once, the multiplicity
of form is absolutely oceanic; and though it is possible in
near scenes to find vast and simple masses composed of lines
which run unbroken for a thousand feet or more, it is physically
impossible when these masses are thrown seventy miles back to
have simple outlines, for then these large features become mere
jags and hillocks, and are heaped and huddled together in endless
confusion.... Hence these mountains of Claude having no indication
of the steep vertical summits which are characteristic of the
central ridges, having soft edges instead of decisive ones, simple
forms instead of varied and broken ones, and being painted with a
crude raw white, having no transparency, nor filminess, nor air in
it, instead of rising in the opalescent mystery which invariably
characterises the distant snows, have the forms and the colours of
heaps of chalk in a limekiln, not of Alps" (ibid., sec. iv. ch.
ii. §§ 8, 9).
Murillo (Spanish: 1618-1682).
Bartolomé Estéban Murillo, the most widely popular of the Spanish
painters, was himself sprung from the "people." He was born of
humble parents in Seville, and his earliest attempts at art were
pictures for fairs. He is also believed to have supplied some of
the Madonnas which were shipped off by loads for the convents
in Mexico[51] and Peru. A turning-point in his artistic career
came, however, when a certain Pedro de Moya came into the studio
of Murillo's uncle, Castillo. De Moya had been studying under Van
Dyck in London. Van Dyck's style was a revelation to Murillo,
who determined forthwith to start off on the grand tour. First,
however, he went to Madrid, where Velazquez helped him greatly.
His studies there were so successful, and his popularity became
so great, that the foreign journey was abandoned. He married a
lady of fortune, his house became a centre of taste and fashion,
commissions poured in upon him, and in 1660 he formed the Academy
of Seville. His life was as pious as it was busy. He was often
seen praying for long hours in his parish church, and in his last
illness (which was brought on by his falling, in a fit of absence
of mind, from a scaffold) he was carried every day to pray before
Pedro Campaña's "Descent from the Cross." "I wait here," he said
to the sacristan who asked one day if he were ready to go, "till
the pious servants of our Lord have taken him down."
Murillo was thus one of the last sincerely religious painters—a
class which, "after a few pale rays of fading sanctity from
Guido, and brown gleams of gipsy Madonnahood from Murillo, came
utterly to an end" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. iv.
§ 4). But it was "gipsy Madonnahood": there is an entire want
of elevation in his religious types, and the peasants whom he
painted as beggars or flower-girls he painted also as angels
or Virgins. This mingling of the common with the religious
alike in subject and treatment was no doubt a principal reason
of his great popularity in his own country.[52] His vulgarity
of treatment in his favourite beggar subjects is best seen in
the Dulwich Gallery; of his religious style, the pictures here
are characteristic examples. There is a certain "sweetness"
and sentimentality about them which often makes them immensely
popular. The French in particular are subject to a furore for
Murillo, his "Immaculate Conception," now in the Louvre, having
been bought in 1852 for £23,440—the largest sum ever given up to
that time for a single picture.[53] With children, too, Murillo
is nearly always a great favourite. A maturer taste, however,
finds the sentiment of Murillo overcharged, and the sweetness of
expression an insufficient substitute for elevation of character.
"His drawing," says Ruskin, "is free and not ungraceful, but most
imperfect and slurred to give a melting quality of colour. That
colour is agreeable because it has no force or severity; but it is
morbid, sunless, and untrue. His expression is sweet, but shallow;
his models amiable, but vulgar and mindless; his chiaroscuro
commonplace, opaque, and conventional; and yet all this is so
agreeably combined, and animated by a species of wax-work life,
that it is sure to catch everybody who has not either very high
feeling or strong love of truth, and to keep them from obtaining
either" (Letter to Dean Liddell, given in the Memoir by H. L.
Thompson, p, 224.)[54] "Murillo," says a more appreciative critic,
"who assimilated least of foreign elements, had become the most
international of all Spanish painters; for he possessed the art of
winning the favour of all, the gift of a language intelligible to
all times and peoples, to all classes and even to aliens of his
faith" (Justi: Velazquez and his Times, p. 236). One charm his
pictures have which no criticism is likely to take away: they are
all stamped with the artist's individuality; there is never any
mistaking a Murillo.
This picture—known as the Pedroso Murillo, from the Pedroso family,
in whose possession it remained until 1810—is one of the painter's
last works, painted when he was about sixty. The look of childlike
innocence in the head of the young Christ is very attractive, although
the attitude is undeniably "stagey." The heads of the Virgin and St.
Joseph also are good instances of Murillo's plan of "supplying the
place of intrinsic elevation by a dramatic exhibition of sentiment" (W.
B. Scott). The picture is characteristic of what is known as Murillo's
third, or vaporoso, manner. His first manner is called frio, or
cold; his second warm, or calido, and the third, from its melting
softness, vaporoso. The first style is generally spoken of as lasting
up to 1648, the second up to 1656, but he did not so much paint in
these different manners at different times as adapt them to the
different subjects severally in hand.
Claude (French, 1600-1682). See 2.
This seaport—inscribed in the right corner La Reine de Saba va
trouver Salamon,—is one of Claude's masterpieces. Like its companion,
the picture was painted in 1648 for the Duke of Bouillon. "The
spectator," says Sir Edward Poynter, "may almost imagine that he feels
the freshness of the early morning, and the breeze which sends the
crisp waves rolling in from the open sea, while the limpid purity of
the sunlit atmosphere and the sparkle of the sun on the water, not
only invite sympathy with the more exquisite aspects of nature, which
is, perhaps, the highest achievement of this art, but are expressed
with a simplicity and perfection of execution which surpass all the
works of other painters in which similar effects have been attempted"
(The National Gallery, i. 192). The picture which Turner selected to
vie with this is not one of his best, but Ruskin makes a point out of
Claude's poverty of invention in the details. The queen is starting for
a distant expedition, and was going in great state (she went "with a
very great company, and camels that bare spices, and gold in abundance,
and precious stones"); yet the prominent incident in the picture is the
carrying of one schoolgirl's trunk. She is going by sea, and is setting
out in the early morning (for the sun is represented only a little
above the horizon);[55] yet has no wraps, nor even a head-dress. For
the rest, Ruskin notices the tameness of Claude's waves and a certain
conventionality in his treatment of ships and seaports generally. "A
man accustomed to the broad, wild sea-shore, with its bright breakers,
and free winds, and sounding rocks, and eternal sensation of tameless
power, can scarcely but be angered when Claude bids him stand still on
some paltry chipped and chiselled quay, with porters and wheel-barrows
running against him, to watch a weak, rippling, bound and barriered
water, that has not strength enough in one of its waves to upset the
flower-pots on the wall, or even to fling one jet of spray over the
confining stone"[56] (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. i.
ch. vii. § 5). Claude's ships, too, and his conception of seaports
generally, show a strange want of true imagination:
"His ships, having hulls of a shape something between a cocoanut
and a high-heeled shoe, balanced on their keels on the top of the
water, with some scaffolding and cross-sticks above, and a flag
at the top of every stick, form perhaps the purest exhibition
of human inanity and fatuity which the arts have yet produced.
The harbours also, in which these model navies ride, are worthy
of all observation for the intensity of the false taste which,
endeavouring to unite in them the characters of pleasure-ground
and port, destroys the veracity of both. There are many inlets of
the Italian seas where sweet gardens and regular terraces descend
to the water's edge; but these are not the spots where merchant
vessels anchor, or where bales are disembarked. On the other hand,
there are many busy quays and noisy arsenals upon the shores of
Italy; but queens' palaces are not built upon the quays, nor are
the docks in any wise adorned with conservatories or ruins. It was
reserved for the genius of Claude to combine the luxurious with
the lucrative, and rise to a commercial ideal, in which cables are
fastened to temple pillars, and lighthouses adorned with rows of
bean-pots" (Harbours of England, pp. 17, 18). Notice, lastly,
the "atrocious error in ordinary perspective" in the quay on the
left of which the figure is sitting with his hand at his eyes[57]
(Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. i. sec. i. ch. v. § 5, pt. ii.
sec. vi. ch. ii. § 1).
Correggio (Parmese: 1494-1534). See under 10.
"Then came Jesus forth, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple
robe. And Pilate saith unto them, Behold the Man!"—Ecce Homo!
(John xix. 5). Over the domain of tragedy Correggio—with his pretty
grace and sentimentality—had little sway. In this respect he has been
called "the Rossini of painting. The melodies of the Stabat Mater
are the exact analogues in music of Correggio's voluptuous renderings
of grave or mysterious motives" (Symonds: Renaissance, iii. 248).
Thus here it is rather a not-unpleasant feeling of grief than any
profound sense of sorrow or resignation that the painter expresses;
but within these limits the picture is a very effective one. "The
features of Christ express pain without being in the least disfigured
by it. How striking is the holding out of the fettered hands, as if
to say, 'Behold, these are bound for you!' The Virgin Mary, who, in
order to see her son, has held by the balustrade which separates
him from her, sinks with grief into the arms of Mary Magdalene. Her
lips still seem to tremble, but the corners of the mouth are already
fixed, it is involuntarily open; the arched eyelids are on the point
of covering the closing eyes; the hands with which she has held fast
let go the balustrade" (Waagen: Treasures of Art in Great Britain,
i. 327). To the right is a Roman soldier, robust and rugged, yet with
a touch of pity in his look; whilst to the left, standing just within
the judgment hall, is Pilate, the Roman proconsul, with a mild look of
self-satisfaction on his face—as of the man who "washed his hands" of
the affair and left the populace to do with Christ as they would.
This picture (which is supposed to have been painted in 1521)
was formerly in the possession of the Counts Prati of Parma, and
subsequently in the Colonna Palace at Rome. It was purchased of the
Colonna family by Sir Simon Clarke, who, finding it impossible to
take it out of Italy, sold it to Murat, then King of Naples. It was
purchased, as already related, with No. 10 by Lord Londonderry in 1834.
Tintoretto (Venetian: 1518-1594).
Jacopo Robusti, called Tintoretto (the little dyer), from the
trade of his father, is the last great master of the Venetian
School and "the most imaginative of all painters." His artistic
ambition was expressed in the line which he wrote on the wall
of his studio: "The design of Michelangelo and the colouring of
Titian." He engrafted (says Symonds) on the calm and natural
Venetian manner "something of the Michelangelesque sublimity, and
sought to sway by dramatic movement the romantic motives of the
school." He conquers Michelangelo (says Ruskin) in his own field;
"out-flies him in motion, outnumbers him in multitude, outwits him
in fancy and out-flames him in rage." The imagination of Tintoret
dwelt among the tragic and dramatic scenes in sacred history.
While he conceived of these in the largest and most audacious
spirit, his "imagination penetrative" extended to the minutest
details, and his great works abound in those minor episodes which
lend so much reality to a poet's conceptions. In his classical
pictures, Tintoret combined with the sumptuous colour of Titian
something of the mythopœic faculty which enabled him to inspire
the tales of ancient Greece with an intense vitality of beauty. In
other of his pictures, effects of light and shade are the vehicle
of his imagination. It was Tintoret (says Symonds) "who brought
to its perfection the poetry of chiaroscuro, expressing moods
of passion and emotion by brusque lights, luminous half-shadows,
by semi-opaque darkness, no less unmistakably than Beethoven by
symphonic modulations" (Renaissance, iii. 270). The intense
vitality which characterises Tintoret's subject-pictures is
conspicuous also in his portraits. They "render the man at his
best, full of health and determination, and make us look back with
amazement to a state where the human plant was in such vigour"
(Berenson's Venetian Painters, p. 59). The picture now before
us (16) may give some idea of Tintoret's power of imagination;
and the decorative piece lately added to the Gallery (1313) is
exemplary of another side of his genius. The Galleries at Hampton
Court should also be visited by all admirers of Tintoretto. But it
is only in Venice that this great master can properly be studied,
and only in the works of Ruskin that any full appreciation of
his powers is to be found.[58] One or two points, however, may
profitably be mentioned which visitors who come across pictures
by Tintoret in foreign galleries should bear in mind. First, he
is the most unequal in execution of all painters. The Venetians
used to say he had three pencils—one of gold, one of silver, and
a third of iron. Annibale Carracci said of him that "if he was
sometimes equal to Titian, he was often inferior to Tintoretto."
Secondly, "when no one would pay for his colours (and sometimes
nobody would even give him space of wall to paint on), he used
cheap blue for ultramarine;" and he worked so rapidly, "and on
such large spaces of canvas, that, between damp and dry, his
colours must go, for the most part." Tintoret, from the rapidity
of his execution, received the nickname of il Furioso; and
Sebastiano del Piombo used to say that Tintoret could paint as
much in two days as would occupy him for two years. Thirdly,
Tintoret "is entirely unconcerned respecting the satisfaction of
the public. He neither cares to display his strength to them,
nor convey his ideas to them; when he finishes his work, it is,
because he is in the humour to do so; and the sketch which a
meaner painter would have left incomplete to show how cleverly it
was begun, Tintoret simply leaves because he has done as much of
it as he likes" (Relation between Michael Angelo and Tintoret,
passim).
The well-founded pride which is thus stamped on Tintoret's art is
conspicuous in his life. From the first he stood alone. His father
had sent him as a boy to Titian's studio; but after ten days the
master dismissed him. From this time forward the two men remained
upon distant terms,—Tintoretto being indeed an ardent admirer of
Titian, but never a friend, and Titian and his set turning the
cold shoulder upon Tintoret. The slight passed by Titian upon
the young Tintoret threw him back upon his own resources, and
henceforth he pursued his own ideals, self-taught. He bought casts
from the antique and from the works of Michelangelo; he devoted
the day to painting, and in the night he made drawings from his
casts. His persevering labour won for him in time a high position
among the painters of Venice, and before he was forty he had
become the acknowledged rival of Titian himself. For some years,
however, he worked in poverty, often accepting commissions without
pay, and when he became famous he often worked "for nothing." For
years he painted in the Scuola di San Rocco—"a shrine reared by
Tintoret to his own genius"—at the rate of 100 ducats a year. For
his "Paradise" in the Ducal Palace, "the greatest picture in the
world," he was asked to name his own price, but he left it to the
State, and abated something from what they tendered. While the
commission was still pending, Tintoret used to tell the senators
that he prayed to God for it, so that paradise itself might
perchance be his recompense after death. His exquisite "Three
Graces" in the Ducal Palace was painted for fifty ducats. He lived
aloof from the world, seldom leaving Venice. His house, on the
Fondamenta de' Mori, is still standing, and there are stories
told of the way in which his wife, the daughter of a Venetian
nobleman, tried to guard against his unworldliness. When he left
the house she would wrap up money for him in a handkerchief, and
expected an account of it on his return. Tintoretto, it is said,
had always to confess that he had spent it upon alms. He loved all
the arts, and played the lute and various instruments, some of
them of his own invention. He designed theatrical costumes, and
was well versed in mechanics. He abounded in witty sayings, but
no smile, we are told, ever hovered on his lips. He died at the
age of seventy-six, leaving as the record of a long life, devoted
with rare single-mindedness to his art, the remark that the art of
painting was one which became ever increasingly difficult.
A picture of particular interest in the National Gallery, being a
representation by one of the greatest of artists of the patron saint of
England. The fight of St. George with the dragon is familiar to every
one, being on the reverse of our gold sovereigns, and in the "Jubilee"
coinage on that of our silver crowns. "As a piece of mere die-cutting,
that St. George is one of the best bits of work we have on our money,"
but a reference to its absurdities in design will serve admirably to
bring out some of the imaginative merits of this picture. On our coins
St. George's horse looks abstractedly in the air, instead of where it
would have looked, at the beast between its legs. Here Tintoret has
admirably brought out the chivalry of the horse. Knight and charger
are alike intent upon their foe, and note that St. George wears no
spurs: the noble animal nature is attuned to his rider. But, though
un-spurred, St. George is every inch a knight. His whole strength is
given in the spear-thrust which is to kill the dragon: compare this
with St. George on our coins, "with nothing but his helmet on (being
the last piece of armour he is likely to want), putting his naked
feet, at least his feet showing their toes through the buskins, well
forward, that the dragon may with the greatest convenience get a bite
at them; and about to deliver a mortal blow at him with a sword which
cannot reach him by a couple of yards." To understand the other touches
of true imagination in Tintoret's picture, it is necessary to recall
the meaning of the legend of St. George and the Dragon (identical with
that of Perseus and Andromeda).[59] The dragon represents the evil of
sinful, fleshly passion, the element in our nature which is of the
earth, earthy. Notice with what savage tenacity, therefore, the beast
is made to clutch at the earth. From his mouth he is spitting fire—the
red fire of consuming passion. St. George is the champion of purity;
he rides therefore on a white horse, white being the typical colour of
a blameless life. He wears no helmet—for that might obscure his sight,
and the difficulty in this warfare is not so much to kill your dragon
as to see him. In front of him is the dead body of another man:
He gazes on the silent dead
"They perished in their daring deeds."
This proverb flashes through his head,
"The many fail, the one succeeds."
Behind him is a long castle wall, the towers and battlements perhaps
of some great city. In many pictures of this subject (see e.g. 75)
there are crowds of spectators on the walls, who will cheer the knight
in his struggle and applaud him in his victory. But here the walls
are deserted, and but for the princess in the foreground, there are
no spectators of the struggle: it is one which has to be fought alone
and in secret places. The princess had been given, in the story, as a
sacrifice to the dragon, and St. George, who comes to rescue her, is
thus the type of noble chivalry. "She turns away for flight; and if her
hands are raised to heaven, and her knees fall to earth, it is more
that she stumbles in a woman's weakness, than that she abides in faith
or sweet surrender. Tintoret sees the scene as in the first place a
matter of fact, and paints accordingly, following his judgment of girl
nature." But in another sense the princess of the allegory represents
the soul of man, which has to be freed from subjection to the dragon
of the flesh. And so perhaps Tintoret makes her fly, "from a certain
ascetic feeling, a sense growing with the growing license of Venice,
that the soul must rather escape from this monster by flight than hope
to see it subdued and made serviceable" (St. Mark's Rest, Second
Supplement, pp. 14, 21, 33; Fors Clavigera, 1873, xxv. and xxvi.)
Andrea del Sarto[60] (Florentine: 1486-1531).
See 690.
St. Elizabeth with her son, the infant John the Baptist, visiting the
Madonna and infant Christ. It is "a Holy Family," but except for the
symbolical cross of the Baptist and the faint circlet of golden light
surrounding the Madonna's head, there is no hint of divinity about this
pretty domestic scene.
Bernardino Luini (Lombard: about 1475-1533).
Bernardino, "dear little Bernard," the son of Giovanni Lutero,
called Luini from his birthplace Luino, on the Lago Maggiore, is
perhaps, says Ruskin, "the best central type of the highly-trained
Italian painter," being "alone in uniting consummate art-power
with untainted simplicity of religious imagination." "The two
elements, poised in perfect balance, are so calmed and restrained,
each by the other, that most of us lose the sense of both."
Next to nothing is known of his life beyond journeys to various
places in the lake district—Lugano, Legnano, and Saronno, to
paint frescoes. "We have no anecdotes of him, only hundreds of
noble works. Child of the Alps, and of their divinest lake, he
is taught, without doubt or dismay, a lofty religious creed, and
a sufficient law of life, and of its mechanical arts. Whether
lessoned by Leonardo himself, or merely one of many, disciplined
in the system of the Milanese School, he learns unerringly to
draw, unerringly and enduringly to paint" ... "a mighty colourist,
while Leonardo was only a fine draughtsman in black, staining the
chiaroscuro drawing like a coloured print." Luini's "tasks are set
him without question day by day, by men who are justly satisfied
with his work, and who accept it without any harmful praise or
senseless blame. Place, scale, and subject are determined for
him on the cloister wall or the church dome; as he is required,
and for sufficient daily bread, and little more, he paints what
he has been taught to design wisely and has passion to realise
gloriously: every touch he lays is eternal, every thought he
conceives is beautiful and pure" (Queen of the Air, § 157;
Catalogue of the Educational Series, p. 43; Oxford Lectures on
Art, §§ 73, 92). This picture, formerly ascribed to Leonardo,
belongs to Luini's second period, when he was under the influence
of that master. To his third and independent manner belong the
frescoes at Milan, Saronno, and Lugano, and the three pictures in
Como Cathedral (Morelli's Italian Masters in German Galleries,
1883, pp. 435-438). Luini's female figures (says Sir Frederick
Burton) "are full of sweetness and gracious dignity; and should
we incline to cavil at the monotony of his type, its loveliness
disarms us. But a merit even higher than his sense of beauty
is the pathos which he infused into subjects that required it.
These he imagined from within outwards, following his inspiration
without egotism or mannerism. He appears to most advantage in
fresco; for few have understood so well as he the management
of the limited palette of the fresco painter, and that skilful
juxtaposition of tints by which the value of each is exalted. The
decorated party-wall and adjacent chapels in S. Maurizio at Milan
must once have been as conspicuous for their harmonious colouring
as the former still is for the radiant beauty of the Virgin Saints
in its lower compartment." Copies of several of Luini's frescoes
are included in the Arundel Society's Collection.
Christ is arguing with the Pharisees, but he wears the tender
expression of the man who "did not strive nor cry, neither was his
voice heard in the streets." The disputant on the extreme right, with
the close-shaven face and firm-set features, has his hand on a volume
of the Scriptures, and is taking his stand (as it were) on the letter
of the law. The one on the extreme left, on the other hand, is almost
persuaded. In contrast to him is the older man with the white beard,
who seems to be marvelling at the presumption of youth. The remaining
head is the type of the fanatic; "by our law he ought to die." This
picture, besides its splendid colouring, is a good instance of that law
of order or symmetry which is characteristic of all perfect art. The
central figure faces us; there are two figures on one side, balanced by
two on the other; the face in the left corner looks right, that in the
right corner looks left, whilst to break any too obtrusive symmetry the
head of Christ itself inclines somewhat to the left also. This famous
picture, of which there are several old copies, was formerly in the
Aldobrandini apartments in the Borghese Palace at Rome.
Claude (French: 1600-1682). See 2.
Narcissus, a beautiful youth, was beloved by the nymph Echo, but he
spurned her love, and when she pined away she was changed into a stone
which still retained the power of voice. But Narcissus, seeing his own
image reflected in a fountain, became enamoured of it, and when he
could never reach his phantom love he killed himself for grief, and the
nymphs who came to burn his body found only the "short-lived flower"
that bears his name. Here, half-hidden in the trees, we see the
Naiad hid beneath the bank,
By the willowy river-side,
Where Narcissus gently sank,
Where unmarried Echo died.
Ionica.
This was one of Sir George Beaumont's Claudes which Constable so much
admired when he was staying at Coleorton. "I am now going," wrote
Constable to his wife, "to breakfast before the Narcissus of Claude.
How enchanting and lovely it is; far, very far surpassing any other
landscape I ever beheld" (Leslie's Life of Constable, 1845, p. 120).
Ruskin, on the other hand, finds fault with some of the details, as
showing Claude's ignorance of tree structure. "Take the stem of the
chief tree in Claude's Narcissus. It is a very faithful portrait of a
large boa-constrictor with a handsome tail; the kind of trunk which
young ladies at fashionable boarding schools represent with nosegays at
the top of them by way of forest scenery." Again, "Observe the bough
underneath the first bend of the great stem, ... it sends off four
branches like the ribs of a leaf. The two lowest of these are both
quite as thick as the parent stem, and the stem itself is much thicker
after it has sent off the first one than it was before. The top boughs
of the central tree, in the 'Marriage of Isaac and Rebecca' (12),
ramify in the same scientific way" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii.
sec. vi. ch. i. §§ 7, 9).
Sebastiano del Piombo (Venetian: 1485-1547). See 1.
In 1531 Sebastiano received from the Pope the office of Frate del
Piombo, Monk of the Leaden Signet, which was affixed to the pontifical
diplomas. An entertaining account of Sebastiano's appointment is given
in Benvenuto Cellini's Memoirs (see Symonds's translation, i. 150). The
painter is here dressed in the black robe of his office; on the table
are two parchment-deeds, with Sebastiano's hand on the seal of one of
them, and the picture thus represents, perhaps, the ratification of the
appointment by his friend and patron, the Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici.
The artist's portrait of himself agrees very well with what Vasari says
of his character. He was a painter more of necessity than of choice,
and when once he received his valuable sinecure he forsook his palette
for the lute, and people found it very hard to get any work out of him.
He much preferred talking about pictures, says Vasari, to executing
them. He was "of a very full habit," and young painters who resorted to
him "rarely made any great profit, since from his example they could
learn little beside the art of good living." But he was a thoroughly
good fellow, and a kindly withal. A better or more agreeable companion
never lived; and when he died he commanded that his remains should
be carried to the tomb without any ceremony of priests and friars,
and that the amount which would have been thus expended should be
distributed to the poor, for the love of God: and so was it done. But
in one branch of art, adds Vasari, Sebastiano was always ready to work,
namely, in painting portraits, such as this, from the life. "In this
art he did certainly surpass all others in delicacy and excellence—so
much so that when Cardinal Ippolito fell in love with the lady Giulia
Gonzaga, he sent Sebastiano with four swift horses to her home for
the purpose of taking her portrait, and in about a month the artist
completed the likeness, when, what with the celestial beauties of that
lady, and what with the able hand of so accomplished a master, the
picture proved to be a most divine one." No. 24 was formerly thought to
be the portrait in question.
Cristofano Allori (Florentine: 1577-1621).
An excellent portrait-painter, who painted many of the
distinguished persons of his time. Of his other works, the best
known is the "Judith with the head of Holophernes," in the Pitti.
The Judith "so beautifully and magnificently attired is a portrait
of his mistress; while her mother appears in the character of
Abra, and the head of Holophernes is that of the painter, who
permitted his beard to grow for this purpose." He was very
fastidious in his execution. "From this method, and from vicious
habits that often seduced him from his labours, his pictures
are rare, and he himself is little known" (Lanzi's History of
Painting, i. 217). Cristofano was the son of Alessandro Allori, a
painter of Michelangelo's school.
Notice the richly embroidered head-dress, resembling in form the
Venetian rolled coif or turban which often occurs in pictures of Titian.
Guercino (Eclectic-Bologna: 1591-1666).
Giovanni Francesco Barbieri was called Guercino, the Squintling,
from an accident which distorted his right eye in babyhood. He
attained to much fame and wealth in his day; but was self-taught,
and the son of humble parents, his father being a wood-carrier,
and agreeing to pay for his son's education by a load of grain
and a vat of grapes delivered yearly. As a young man, he settled
in Rome, where he became acquainted with Caravaggio. He returned
to his native town, Cento, in 1623, and there founded an academy
which was much frequented by young painters. In 1642 he removed
to Bologna, where he died in affluent circumstances in 1666. In
art history Guercino is interesting as showing the blending of
the Eclectic style of the Carracci with the Naturalistic style
of Caravaggio. In the work of his latest, or Bolognese, period,
"when he appears to have endeavoured to approximate to the style
of Guido, he forsook the vigorous handling and treatment of his
earlier pictures and fell into an insipid manner" (Burton).
Guercino (says Symonds) "lived the life of an anchorite, absorbed
in studies, reserved, sober, pious, truthful, sincere in his
commerce with the world, unaffectedly virtuous, devoted to his art
and God." In the motives of his picture one sees reflected the
Catholic revival of his day,—"the Christianity of the age was not
naïve, simple, sincere, and popular, but hysterical, dogmatic,
hypocritical, and sacerdotal. It was not Christianity indeed,
but Catholicism galvanised by terror into reactionary movement"
(Renaissance, vii. 232).
A comparison even of this little picture—in its somewhat morbid
sentiment—with such an one as Crivelli's (602)—with its deeper
because simpler feeling—well illustrates the nature of the change.
This is, however, one of Guercino's best works. It was formerly in the
Borghese Gallery, and Rumohr, in his account of that collection (1784),
notices it as one of the productions of the painter's best time. "The
figure of Christ is admirable in drawing and foreshortening, and
painted with a broad decisive touch in really astonishing relief; while
the weeping angels, if not of an elevated type, are marked by a real
naïveté and sincerity of pathos. The wonderful chiaroscuro is here not
only rich, and well concentrated, too, beyond the painter's wont, but
impressive, and duly accounted for by the supernatural luminosity of
the body of Christ" (Portfolio, August 1891).
Correggio (Parmese: 1494-1534). See 10.
A celebrated work of the master, and one of the principal treasures of
the National Gallery—"a little gem of extraordinary tenderness," Mengs
calls it; and Frizzoni, "an incomparable marvel of light, vivacity,
and smiling sweetness." Alike in sentiment and in technique, it is
very characteristic. A comparison of it with Raphael's great Madonna
or any of those of the earlier masters (e.g. Bellini) will show in
a moment wherein the peculiarity of Correggio consists. The mother
has none of the rapt look of the woman who "laid these things in her
heart," and the child has no prophetic sense of future suffering. There
is nothing to mark the picture as representing the Holy Family except
the introduction of Joseph, the carpenter, in the background. It is a
picture painted solely in the "religion of humanity," and full only of
artless grace and melodious tenderness. The child is full of play and
fun; the mother (with the household basket which gives the picture its
name—"La Vierge au panier") is dressing him, and has just succeeded
in putting his right arm through the sleeve of his little coat, and
is endeavouring by gentle stratagem to do the same with the left;
but something has caught his fancy, and she shares in his delight,
smiling with all a young mother's fondness at the waywardness of her
curly-haired boy. "As a painting," says Sir Edward Poynter, "it is one
of those masterpieces of perfect technicality, of brilliant purity of
lighting and colouring, and of completeness of modelling in the flesh
tints, combined with the utmost apparent ease of execution, which may
well be the despair of painters for all time. As a design it is no
less remarkable; for though of studied harmony in the arrangement of
the forms it is so natural that all appearance of effort is lost, and
we cannot conceive of the scene as being rendered in a more artless
manner" (The National Gallery, i. 4).
The date of this picture is uncertain. Some, liking to find in it a
piece of the painter's own home-life, have dated it 1521-22, that is
just after the birth of Correggio's first child. Others put it earlier
in the artist's career, 1518. It is perhaps the picture which Vasari
describes as in the possession of the Cavaliere Baiardi of Parma—"a
marvellous and beautiful work by Correggio, in which Our Lady puts a
little shirt on the Infant Christ." It was afterwards in the royal
collection at Madrid, from which it passed by the gift of Charles IV.
to Don Emanuele Goday, at whose instance it was subjected to a most
rigorous cleaning. During the French invasion of Spain it fell into
various hands, and in 1825 was bought for the National Gallery from Mr.
C. J. Nieuwenhuys for £3800—a sum, it has been calculated, that would
"cover the little panel with sovereigns just twenty-seven times over."
Sebastiano del Piombo (Venetian: 1485-1547). See 1.
The nimbus around the head indicates the saint; the palm branch and
the pincers indicate St. Agatha, who was "bound and beaten with rods,
and her tender bosom was cruelly torn with iron pincers; and as her
blood flowed forth, she said, 'O thou tyrant! shamest thou not to treat
me so—- thou who hast been nourished and fed from the breast of a
mother?' And this was her only plaint." See also under 20.
Annibale Carracci (Eclectic-Bologna: 1560-1609). See 9.
"And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, and was in the deserts
till the day of his shewing unto Israel" (Luke i. 80). In his left hand
is the standard of the Lamb, the symbol of his mission, for which he
is preparing himself in the desert solitude, while with his right he
catches water in a cup from a stream in the rocks, symbolical of the
water by which that mission, the baptism unto repentance, was to be
accomplished.
Paolo Veronese (Veronese: 1528-1588).
Paolo Caliari (called Veronese from his birthplace) stands,
says Ruskin, in the forefront of the great colourists. "Titian,
Veronese, and Tintoret were the only painters who ever sought
entirely to master, and who did entirely master, the truths of
light and shade as associated with colour, in the noblest of
all physical created things, the human form." With Veronese,
"the whole picture is like the rose—glowing with colour in the
shadows, and rising into paler and more delicate hues, or masses
of whiteness, in the lights." Contrasting the aims of Veronese
with those of the great chiaroscurists, Ruskin says: "Veronese
chooses to represent the great relations of visible things to each
other, to the heaven above, and to the earth beneath them. He
holds it more important to show how a figure stands relieved from
delicate air, or marble wall; how as a red, or purple, or white
figure, it separates itself, in clear discernibility, from things
not red, nor purple, nor white; how infinite daylight shines round
it; how innumerable veils of faint shadow invest it; how its
blackness and darkness are, in the excess of their nature, just as
limited and local as its intensity of light; all this, I say, he
feels to be more important than showing merely the exact measure
of the spark of sunshine that gleams on a dagger-hilt, or glows on
a jewel. All this, moreover, he feels to be harmonious,—capable
of being joined in one great system of spacious truth. And with
inevitable watchfulness, inestimable subtlety, he unites all this
in tenderest balance, noting in each hair's-breadth of colour,
not merely what its rightness or wrongness is in itself, but
what its relation is to every other on his canvas." In the tone
of his colouring Paolo retained, as Sir F. Burton points out,
much of the tradition of the Veronese school. "The silvery tone
which differentiates his best works from the golden lustre of
Titian was not gained in Venice, and under the lightsome skies
of the lagoons he was not tempted to alter it." In the tone of
his mind Veronese was thoroughly Venetian. It is a certain "gay
grasp of the outside aspects of the world" that distinguishes
him. "By habitual preference, exquisitely graceful and playful;
religious, without severity, and winningly noble; delighting
in slight, sweet everyday incident, but hiding deep meanings
underneath it; rarely painting a gloomy subject, and never a base
one" (Modern Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. iii. § 16; vol.
iv. pt. v. ch. iii. § 18, ch. xx. § 16; vol. v. pt. ix. ch. iii.
§ 27; Cambridge Inaugural Lecture in O.O.R., vol. i. § 314).
Thus Venetian in character, it is the Venice of his time—with
all its material magnificence and pride of life of a nation of
merchant princes—that Veronese everywhere paints. "Veronese,"
says Symonds, "elevated pageantry to the height of serious art.
His domain is noonday sunlight ablaze on sumptuous dresses and
Palladian architecture. Armour, shot silks and satins, brocaded
canopies, banners, plate, fruit, sceptres, crowns—all things,
in fact, that burn and glitter in the sun—form the habitual
furniture of his pictures." It is characteristic of the spirit
of his time that the pictures by Veronese of banquets and other
scenes of gaiety were mostly painted for monasteries. The frank
introduction of the costumes of the painter's own time, clothing
the fine race to which he belonged, gives to his pictures of this
kind an historical interest. Often he introduces portraits into
his groups. In expression his figures are often deficient. "He
will make the Magdalene wash the feet of Christ with a countenance
as absolutely unmoved as that of any ordinary servant bringing an
ewer to her master." Animal force in men, superb voluptuousness in
women, were his favourite types. "His noblest creatures are men
of about twenty-five, manly, brawny, crisp-haired, full of nerve
and blood. In all this Veronese resembles Rubens. But he does not,
like Rubens, strike us as gross, sensual, fleshly; he remains
proud and powerful, and frigidly urbane. The same love of display
led him to delight in allegory—not allegory of the deep and
mystic kind, but of the pompous and processional, in which Venice
appears enthroned among the deities, or the genii of the arts are
personified as handsome women and blooming boys." He painted with
marvellous facility and revelled, as we have seen, in exuberance.
In this he resembled Rubens, but he combined, as Rubens did not,
moderation with profusion. Amid so much that is distracting,
Veronese never loses command over his subject or his brush,
"restraining, for truth's sake, his exhaustless energy; reining
back, for truth's sake, his fiery strength; veiling, before
truth, the vanity of brightness; penetrating, for truth, the
discouragement of gloom; ruling his restless invention with a rod
of iron; pardoning no error, no thoughtlessness, no forgetfulness;
and subduing all his powers, impulses, and imaginations, to the
arbitrament of a merciless justice, and the obedience of an
incorruptible verity."
Of the life of Paolo Veronese few incidents are related. He was
the son of a stone carver, and having shown a propensity to
painting was apprenticed to his uncle, a mediocre artist. In his
native city the works of Cavazzola and other Veronese masters
were before his eyes. After executing some commissions in Mantua
and Verona, he went in 1555 to Venice, which was henceforward to
be his home and the scene of his triumphs. He soon began to rank
with Tintoretto, who was nearly twenty years his senior, and with
Titian, then in his eightieth year. He entered into a competition
for painting the ceiling of the library of St. Mark, and executed
the commission with so much power that his very rivals voted
him the golden chain which had been tendered as an honorary
distinction. He visited Verona in 1565, where he then married the
daughter of his old master; and in 1560-61 he went to Rome in the
suite of Grimani, the Venetian ambassador. With these exceptions
he remained in Venice, full of work and honour. Upon his death his
two sons and his younger brother, Benedetto, continued the work
of his studio, signing the works which they produced in common as
"heirs of Paolo Caliari Veronese."
This picture, which was formerly in the church of San Niccolo de' Frari
at Venice, represents the consecration of Nicholas (for whom see 1171)
as Bishop of Myra, in Syria (hence the turbans of the attendants). Two
dignitaries of the Church are presenting him to the patriarch, who
holds aloft the symbolical cross of the Redeemer, and with his right
hand gives his blessing. The bishop-elect abases himself meanwhile
that he may be exalted, while the angel descending with the mitre and
crozier signifies that his "call" is from above. Clearly it is the
pageantry of a Church function that fascinates the painter. "His art
is seen at its best," says Sir Edward Poynter, "in the grouping and
light and shade in this picture. The boy kneeling on the right is a
masterpiece of silvery colour, and, with his red stockings, gives
vivacity to the whole composition." We may also observe in this picture
the employment of a "glaze." "The kneeling figure of the Saint is robed
in green, with sleeves of golden orange. This latter colour is carried
through as under-painting over the whole draped portions of the figure,
the green being then floated over and so manipulated that the golden
tint shows through in parts and gives the high lights on the folds"
(Baldwin Brown's Fine Arts, 1891, p. 310).
Raphael (Urbino: 1483-1520). See 1171.
This is one of nine replicas, or contemporary copies, of the
portrait in the Uffizi at Florence. Julius died in 1513; the
portrait belongs, therefore, to the earlier part of Raphael's
Roman period.
The portrait of a Pope of the church militant. "Raphael has caught
the momentary repose of a restless and passionate spirit, and has
shown all the grace and beauty which are to be found in the sense of
power repressed and power at rest. Seated in an arm-chair, with head
bent downward, the Pope is in deep thought. His furrowed brow and his
deep-sunk eyes tell of energy and decision. The down-drawn corners
of his mouth betoken constant dealings with the world" (Creighton's
History of the Papacy). For it was in the temporal, not in the
spiritual world that Julius lived and moved and had his being, and
became, by his combination of military and diplomatic abilities, the
most prominent political figure of his day. But, like other great
princes of the time, Julius was a liberal and enlightened patron of
the arts: it was he who laid the foundation-stone of St. Peter's,
and who called Michael Angelo and Raphael to his court. On the green
hanging which forms the background, the cross-keys of the pontifical
office are indicated, and from the two corners of the back of the
chair rise two shafts, surmounted by gilt ornaments in the form of
acorns—in reference to the armorial bearings of the Pope's family
(della Rovere). "No amount of elaboration in the background could
disturb the attention of any one looking at the portrait of Julius the
Second, by Raphael, also in the Tribune, which I cannot help thinking
is the finished portrait in the world. A portrait is the most truly
historical picture, and this is the most monumental and historical of
portraits. The longer one looks at it the more it demands attention. A
superficial picture is like a superficial character—it may do for an
acquaintance, but not for a friend. One never gets to the end of things
to interest and admire in many old portrait-pictures" (G. F. Watts,
R.A., in the Magazine of Art, January 1889).
Lodovico Carracci (Eclectic-Bologna: 1555-1619).
Lodovico is famous in art history as the founder of the Eclectic
school of Bologna. Disgusted with the weakness of the Mannerists
(of whom Baroccio was the best; see next picture), he determined
to start a rival school, and enlisted the services of his two
cousins, Agostino and Annibale, for that purpose. Their object,
as expressed in a sonnet by Agostino, was to be to "acquire the
design of Rome, Venetian action, and Venetian management of shade,
the dignified colour of Lombardy (Leonardo), the terrible manner
of Michael Angelo, Titian's truth and nature, the sovereign
purity of Correggio's style, and the just symmetry of Raphael."
Lodovico, who was the son of a Bolognese butcher,[62] was a man
of very wide culture and of great industry. In natural talent he
was deficient. When first sent to an art school at Bologna, he
was called by his companions "the ox," and when he visited Venice
the veteran Tintoretto warned him that he had no vocation. But
resolving to win by industry what nature seemed to have denied
him, he studied diligently at Florence, Parma, Mantua, and Venice.
He superintended the school, at first conjointly with his cousins,
afterwards alone, from 1589 to his death.
A less objectionable rendering than most, of the story of Susannah in
the Apocrypha—a story for all time, setting forth as it does the way
in which minions of the law too often prey upon the innocent, and the
righteous condemnation that the people, when there are just judges in
the land, mete out to the offenders. Two judges, "ancients of the
people," approached Susannah and threatened to report her as guilty
unless she consented to do their bidding. She refused, and was reported
accordingly. Judgment had well-nigh gone against her, when Daniel arose
to convict the elders of false-witness, and they were straightway put
to death. It is the moment of Susannah's temptation that the artist
here depicts. "It is," says Hazlitt (p. 5), "as if the young Jewish
beauty had been just surprised in that unguarded spot—crouching down
in one corner of the picture, the face turned back with a mingled
expression of terror, shame, and unconquerable sweetness, and the whole
figure, with the arms crossed, shrinking into itself with bewitching
grace and modesty." But Hazlitt never took notes, and Susannah's arms
are not crossed—nor is her expression quite so naïve as he describes.
Baroccio (Umbrian: 1528-1612).
Federigo Barocci, or Baroccio, is the best of the "Mannerists."
"He feebly continued the style of Correggio," says Symonds, "with
a certain hectic originality, infusing sentimental pietism into
that great master's pagan sensuousness" (Renaissance, viii.
211). His colouring is peculiar: he used too much vermilion and
ultramarine, and too few yellows. He was a native of Urbino,
and the son of a sculptor. In 1548 he went to Rome and remained
there some years, devoting his time to the study of Raphael. He
then returned to Urbino, again visiting Rome in 1560, when he was
employed in the Vatican. While there he was nearly poisoned, by
some rival it is supposed, and for the rest of his long life he
suffered from disease of the stomach, which rendered him unable to
do much work. He died at Urbino at the age of eighty-four.
An admirable example of the decline of Italian art. The old religious
spirit has entirely vanished, and the Holy Family is represented
as worrying a bird with a cat! John the Baptist holds the little
goldfinch; while the Madonna expressly directs the attention of the
infant Christ to the fun. "See, the cat is trying to get at it," she
seems to say. Behind the bird, the painter, in unconscious irony,
has placed the Cross. The visitor who wishes to see how far Italian
art has travelled in a hundred years should compare this picture
with such an one as Bellini's (280), or with one of Raphael's, of
whom Baroccio was a fellow-countryman. The connecting link should
then be seen in Correggio (23). With Bellini or Perugino, the motive
is wholly religious. With Raphael it is intermingled with artistic
display. Correggio brings heaven wholly down to earth, but yet paints
his domestic scene with lovely grace. Baroccio brings, one may almost
say, heaven down to hell,[63] and uses all his skill to show the infant
Saviour's pleasure in teasing a bird. But the artist only embodied the
spirit of his time. Baroccio was one of the most celebrated painters of
his day, and his biographer (Bellori) writes of him that "his pencil
may be said to have been dedicated to religion: so devout, so tender,
and so calculated to awaken feelings of piety, are the sentiments
expressed in his pictures."
Claude (French: 1600-1682). See 2.
The best Claude in the Gallery, for it is a perfect example of his
chief merit—the painting of quiet skies. Constable, in one of his
lectures, refers to it as "probably the finest picture of middle-tint
in the world. The sun is rising through a thin mist, which, like the
effect of a gauze blind in a room, diffuses the light equally. There
are no large dark masses, there is no evasion in any part of this
admirable work, every object is fairly painted in a firm style of
execution, yet in no other picture have I seen the evanescent character
of light so well expressed" (Leslie's Life of Constable, p. 338).
"The effect of the breeze upon the water and upon the trees," says
Ottley, "and the freshness of the morning atmosphere, in this picture,
are expressed with a closeness of imitation bordering on illusion"
(Descriptive Catalogue of the National Gallery, 1826, p. 42).
As for the subject: St. Ursula, a beautiful and gifted Sicilian
princess, was sought in marriage by a prince of Britain; but having
already dedicated herself to Christ, she made a condition that before
her marriage, she, with eleven thousand attendant virgins, should be
permitted for the space of three years to visit the shrines of the
Saints. This being permitted, the maidens started on a miraculous
voyage. Guided by angels they proceeded as far as Rome, where pagans
having plotted their death, on their further journey to Cologne they
were martyred by the barbarians besieging that city. Here in the
picture they are represented as embarking.
Gaspard Poussin (French: 1613-1675).
Among the artists who were most closely associated with Nicolas
Poussin (see 39) were his wife's brothers, Giovanni and Gaspard
Dughet. The former was loved by Poussin as a son; the latter
was also his pupil and adopted his name, though in France he is
familiarly known as "Le Guaspre." Gaspard was Poussin's junior
by nineteen years, and the older man, recognising his abilities,
encouraged him to landscape painting. By the time he was twenty,
Gaspard had established himself as an independent painter in
Rome, and his works were eagerly sought by lovers of art. The
Palazzo Doria and the Palazzo Colonna are especially rich in his
works; the picture now before us, by some considered Gaspard's
masterpiece, was formerly in the latter palace. Gaspard resided
chiefly at Rome, but he also rented houses at Frascati and at
Tivoli. In the noble scenery of those places and elsewhere in
the country around Rome, he found the subjects for many of his
best pictures. He worked so rapidly, we are told, that he would
often "finish a picture in a day." He had a genuine love for
nature, and also a passion for the chase. "A little ass, that he
cared for himself, his only servant, bore his entire apparatus,
provisions, and a tent, under which, protected from the sun and
wind, he made his landscapes." There is (says Ruskin) more serious
feeling in his landscapes, more "perception of the moral truth
of nature," and "grander reachings after sympathy" than in those
either of Nicolas or of Claude. It is impossible to look at many
of his pictures in this Gallery without sharing the sense of
grandeur and infinity in nature which inspired them, and hence
it is that from Gaspard's own time till now they have enjoyed "a
permanent power of address to the human heart." But more than
this has been claimed for Gaspard. Critics thought they found in
his works faithful adherence to the truths of nature in sky and
trees. Ottley, for instance, in his Catalogue of the National
Gallery (1826), speaks of Gaspard's "unrivalled correctness
of imitation." Against these claims Ruskin took up his fiery
parable. Gaspard's pictures are "full," he says, "of the most
degraded mannerism;" first and foremost, in his search of a false
sublimity, he painted every object in his picture, vegetation and
all, of one dull gray and brown; and too many of his landscapes
are now one dry, volcanic darkness. And secondly, he had a total
want of imagination in seizing the true forms of natural objects,
so that some passages of his landscapes are, as we shall see,
perfect epitomes of the falseness to nature in the painters of
that age[64] (collected from Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii.
sec. i. ch. vii. §§ 3, 14; vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. i. ch. v. § 12,
sec ii. ch. ii. § 18; vol. iv. pt. v. ch. xvi. § 24).
These remarks cannot be better illustrated than in the present picture.
Abraham and Isaac—the former with a lighted torch, the latter with
the wood—are ascending the hill on the right to the sacrifice; while
Abraham's two servants await his return below. The whole spirit of the
picture is "solemn and unbroken," in perfect harmony with the subject.
But it is kept from being a really grand picture by the "hopeless want
of imagination" in the forms of the clouds, the colour of the sky, and
the treatment of the distant landscape. These painters, says Ruskin,
looked at clouds, "with utter carelessness and bluntness of feeling;
saw that there were a great many rounded passages in them; found it
much easier to sweep circles than to design beauties, and sat down
in their studies, contented with perpetual repetitions of the same
spherical conceptions, having about the same relation to the clouds
of nature, that a child's carving of a turnip has to the head of the
Apollo.... Take the ropy, tough-looking wreath in the 'Sacrifice
of Isaac,' and find one part of it, if you can, which is not the
repetition of every other part of it, all together being as round and
vapid as the brush could draw them" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii.
sec. iii. ch. iii. § 8). Equally deficient is the colour of the sky:—
"It is here high noon, as is shown by the shadow of the figures;
and what sort of colour is the sky at the top of the picture? Is
it pale and gray with heat, full of sunshine, and unfathomable in
depth? On the contrary, it is of a pitch of darkness which, except
on Mont Blanc or Chimborazo, is as purely impossible as colour
can be. He might as well have painted it coal-black: and it is
laid on with a dead coat of flat paint, having no one quality or
resemblance of sky about it. It cannot have altered, because the
land horizon is as delicate and tender in tone as possible, and is
evidently unchanged; and to complete the absurdity of the whole
thing, this colour holds its own, without gradation or alteration,
to within three or four degrees of the horizon, where it suddenly
becomes bold and unmixed yellow. Now the horizon at noon may be
yellow when the whole sky is covered with dark clouds, and only
one open streak of light left in the distance from which the
whole light proceeds; but with a clear, open sky, and opposite
the sun, at noon, such a yellow horizon as this is physically
impossible.... We have in this sky (and it is a fine picture,
one of the best of Gaspar's that I know) a notable example of
the truth of the old masters—two impossible colours impossibly
united!... Nor is this a solitary instance; it is Gaspar Poussin's
favourite and characteristic effect" (ibid., vol. i. pt. ii.
sec. iii. ch. i. § 10).
Lastly, the same want of truth is shown in the wide expanse stretching
away to the distance:—
"It is luminous, retiring, delicate and perfect in tone, and is
quite complete enough to deceive and delight the careless eye to
which all distances are alike; nay, it is perfect and masterly,
and absolutely right, if we consider it as a sketch,—as a first
plan of a distance, afterwards to be carried out in detail. But
we must remember that all these alternate spaces of gray and gold
are not the landscape itself, but the treatment of it; not its
substance, but its light and shade. They are just what nature
would cast over it, and write upon it with every cloud, but which
she would cast in play, and without carefulness, as matters of the
very smallest possible importance. All her work and her attention
would be given to bring out from underneath this, and through
this, the forms and the material character which this can only be
valuable to illustrate, not to conceal. Every one of those broad
spaces she would linger over in protracted delight, teaching you
fresh lessons in every hair's-breadth of it, until the mind lost
itself in following her; now fringing the dark edge of the shadow
with a tufted line of level forest; now losing it for an instant
in a breath of mist; then breaking it with the white gleaming
angle of a narrow brook; then dwelling upon it again in a gentle,
mounded, melting undulation, over the other side of which she
would carry you down into a dusty space of soft crowded light,
with the hedges and the paths and the sprinkled cottages and
scattered trees mixed up and mingled together in one beautiful,
delicate, impenetrable mystery, sparkling and melting, and passing
away into the sky, without one line of distinctness, or one
instant of vacancy"[65] (ibid., vol. i. pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. v.
§ 8).
School of Titian. See under 4.
Ganymede—so the Greek story ran—was a beautiful Trojan boy beloved
of Jupiter, and was carried off by an eagle to Olympus to be the
cup-bearer of the gods. Which things, say some, are an allegory—for
"those whom the gods love die young," and are snatched off, it may be,
in sudden death, as by an eagle's swoop.
Flushed Ganymede, his rosy thigh
Half-buried in the Eagle's down,
Sole as a flying star shot thro' the sky.
Tennyson: Palace of Art.
This picture was painted, like Tintoret's "Milky Way" (1313) and the
four Veroneses (1318, 1324-6), for a compartment of a ceiling. It
corresponds with a picture described by Ridolfi as painted by a scholar
of Titian, though some connect it rather with Tintoret (see J. B. S.
Holborn's Tintoretto, 1903, pp. 34, 35). It was formerly in the
Colonna Palace: the background is a restoration by Carlo Maratti (see
174).
Parmigiano (Parmese: 1503-1540).
A picture of great interest both for itself and for the
circumstances under which it was painted. Parmigiano was painting
it at Rome in 1527 when the city was sacked by the army of the
Emperor Charles V. under Constable Bourbon. So intent, says
Vasari, was our artist on his work that "when his own dwelling was
filled with certain of these men, who were Germans, he remained
undisturbed by their clamours, and did not move from his place;
arriving in the room therefore, and finding him thus employed,
they stood confounded at the beauty of the paintings they beheld,
and, like good and sensible men as they must have been, they
permitted him to continue his occupation."[66] Parmigiano had
other narrow escapes in his career, which ultimately came to a bad
end, owing, Vasari says, to his forsaking painting for alchemy,
"since he believed that he should make himself rich much more
rapidly by the congelation of mercury than by his art."
Francesco Maria Mazzola was called Parmigiano from Parma, his
birthplace. After Correggio settled there, Parmigiano devoted
himself to the study and imitation of that master. In 1523 he went
to Rome, to study the works of Raphael and Michael Angelo. In
1531 he returned to Parma, and undertook an important commission
to paint in one of its churches. He was paid in advance, and when
after five years he had not begun the work he was imprisoned for
breach of contract. He was released on a promise that he would
proceed with the frescoes, but he fled the city, and shortly
afterwards died, in his thirty-seventh year. The chequered life
of the artist finds a parallel in the varying fortunes of his
reputation as an artist. He was an imitator both of Correggio and
of Michael Angelo—here, for instance, the head of the infant
Christ recalls the former master, the figures of St. Jerome and
St. John recall the latter; and in his own day was held to have
imitated them successfully, whilst Vasari adds that "the spirit
of Raphael was said to have passed into Parmigiano." Of one of
his works Reynolds, two hundred years later, expressed himself
"at a loss which to admire most, the correctness of drawing or
grandeur of conception." But the fashion in art has changed since
Reynolds's day, and modern critics have found Parmigiano's work
"incongruous," "insipid," and "affected." This difference of
opinion is well exemplified in the case of this picture. Vasari
calls it "singularly beautiful," and its subsequent popularity
is attested by the number of copies of it extant (visitors on
Students' Days will still often see copyists at work on it).
But other critics have attributed its fame "more to its defects
than its beauties" (Passavant), and have found it "mannered and
theatrical" (Mrs. Jameson), and "a pernicious adaptation of an
incongruous style" (Dr. Richter).
Leaving the visitor to form his own judgment, we may remind him that
the subject is a supposed dream of St. Jerome when doing penance in the
desert. He is asleep on the ground—doing penance, it might seem from
his distorted position, even in his sleep, with a skull before him and
a crucifix beside him. He is in the same desert where John the Baptist
once preached, and thinking, we may suppose, of him, St. Jerome sees
him in vision—with his camel skin about him—pointing upwards to the
sky. There is the Virgin Mary seated as queen of heaven on a crescent
moon, with a palm branch in her hand—the symbol now, not of martyrdom,
but of victory over sin and death. And on her knee is the Divine Child,
who rests his right hand on a little book on the Madonna's lap. It
is a volume, we may suppose, of the Scriptures which St. Jerome had
translated, and the vision thus foreshadows the time when it should be
said unto him, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant; ... enter
thou into the joy of thy Lord."
Titian (Venetian: 1477-1576). See 4.
Venus is endeavouring to detain Adonis from the chase; but the sun is
up (see his chariot in the sky) and the young huntsman is eager to be
off with his hounds and his spear. The enamoured goddess caresses him,
but it will be in vain. For Cupid, the god of love, is not there: he is
asleep and at a distance, with his bow and quiver hanging on a tree;
and all the blandishments of beauty, unaided by love, are as naught.
Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.
Shakespeare: Venus and Adonis.
This picture (formerly in the Colonna Palace at Rome) is probably a
studio-repetition of an original which is now at Madrid, and which
was painted by Titian for Philip II. of Spain, then King-Consort of
England. It was forwarded to him in London in 1554. The picture is
thus forty years later than the "Bacchus and Ariadne," and critics
find in it not unjustly a lack of the finer poetry which characterises
the earlier classical works of the master. "That the aim of the artist
was not a very high one, or this poesia very near to his heart, is
demonstrated by the curiously material fashion in which he recommends
it to his royal patron. He says that 'if in the Danaë (now at Naples)
the forms were to be seen front-wise, here was occasion to look at
them from a contrary direction—a pleasant variety for the ornament of
a camerino.' Our worldly-wise painter evidently knew that material
allurements as well as supreme art were necessary to captivate Philip"
(Claude Philips: The Later Work of Titian, p. 80).
Titian (Venetian: 1477-1576). See 4.
A picture which is at once a school of poetry and a school of art—"in
its combination of all the qualities which go to make a great work
of art possibly the finest picture in the world" (Poynter). It is
a translation on canvas of the scene described in Catullus, where
Bacchus, the wine-god, returning with his revel rout from a sacrifice,
finds Ariadne on the seashore, after she had been deserted by Theseus,
her lover. Bacchus no sooner sees her than he is enamoured and
determines to make her his bride—
Bounding along is blooming Bacchus seen,
With all his heart aflame with love for thee,
Fair Ariadne! and behind him, see,
Where Satyrs and Sileni whirl along,
With frenzy fired, a fierce tumultuous throng....
There some wave thyrsi wreathed with ivy, here
Some toss the limbs of a dismembered steer....
Others with open palms the timbrel smite,
Or with their brazen rods make tinklings light.
Carmen lxiv.: Sir T. Martin's translation.
Nothing can be finer than the painter's representation of Bacchus and
his rout: there is a "divine inebriety" in the god which is the very
"incarnation of the spirit of revelry." "With this telling of the
story," says Charles Lamb (Essay on Barrenness of the Imaginative
Faculty in the Productions of Modern Art), "an artist, and no ordinary
one, might remain richly proud.... But Titian has recalled past time,
and made it contributory with the present to one simultaneous effect.
With the desert all ringing with the mad cymbals of his followers, made
lucid with the presence and new offers of a god,—as if unconscious
of Bacchus, or but idly casting her eyes as upon some unconcerning
pageant, her soul undistracted from Theseus, Ariadne is still pacing
the solitary shore, in as much heart-silence, and in almost the same
local solitude, with which she awoke at daybreak to catch the forlorn
last glances of the sail that bore away the Athenian." But though
as yet half unconscious, Ariadne is already under her fated star:
for above is the constellation of Ariadne's crown—the crown with
which Bacchus presented his bride. And observe in connection with the
astronomical side of the allegory the figure in Bacchus's train with
the serpent round him: this is the serpent-bearer (Milton's "Orphiucus
huge") translated to the skies with Bacchus and Ariadne. Notice too
another piece of poetry: the marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne took place
in the spring, Ariadne herself being the personification of its return,
and Bacchus of its gladness; hence the flowers in the foreground which
deck his path.
The picture is as full of the painter's art as of the poet's. Note
first the exquisite painting of the vine leaves,[67] and of the
flowers in the foreground, as an instance of the "constant habit of
the great masters to render every detail of their foreground with
the most laborious botanical fidelity": "The foreground is occupied
with the common blue iris, the aquilegia, and the wild rose (more
correctly the Capparis spinosa); every stamen of which latter is
given, while the blossoms and leaves of the columbine (a difficult
flower to draw) have been studied with the most exquisite accuracy."
But this detail is sought not for its own sake, but only so far as is
necessary to mark the typical qualities of beauty in the object. Thus
"while every stamen of the rose is given because this was necessary
to mark the flower, and while the curves and large characters of the
leaves are rendered with exquisite fidelity, there is no vestige of
particular texture, of moss, bloom, moisture, or any other accident,
no dewdrops, nor flies, nor trickeries of any kind; nothing beyond the
simple forms and hues of the flowers, even those hues themselves being
simplified and broadly rendered. The varieties of aquilegia have in
reality a grayish and uncertain tone of colour, and never attain the
purity of blue with which Titian has gifted his flower. But the master
does not aim at the particular colour of individual blossoms; he seizes
the type of all, and gives it with the utmost purity and simplicity
of which colour is capable." A second point to be noticed is the way
in which one kind of truth has often to be sacrificed in order to
gain another. Thus here Titian sacrifices truth of aerial effect to
richness of tone—tone in the sense, that is, of that quality of colour
which makes us feel that the whole picture is in one climate, under
one kind of light, and in one kind of atmosphere. "It is difficult to
imagine anything more magnificently impossible than the blue of the
distant landscape; impossible, not from its vividness, but because it
is not faint and aerial enough to account for its purity of colour; it
is too dark and blue at the same time; and there is indeed so total
a want of atmosphere in it, that, but for the difference of form, it
would be impossible to tell the mountains intended to be ten miles
off, from the robe of Ariadne close to the spectator. Yet make this
blue faint, aerial, and distant; make it in the slightest degree to
resemble the tint of nature's colour; and all the tone of the picture,
all the intensity and splendour, will vanish on the instant" (Modern
Painters, vols. i., xxvii., xxx. (Preface to the Second Edition),
pt. i. sec. ii. ch. i. § 5, pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. i. § 15; vol. iii.
pt. iv. ch. ix. § 18; vol. v. pt. ix. ch. iii. § 31; Arrows of the
Chace, i. 58). We may notice lastly what Sir Joshua Reynolds points
out (Discourse viii.), that the harmony of the picture—that wonderful
bringing together of two times of which Lamb speaks above, is assisted
by the distribution of colours. "To Ariadne is given (say the critics)
a red scarf, to relieve the figure from the sea, which is behind her.
It is not for that reason alone, but for another of much greater
consequence; for the sake of the general harmony and effect of the
picture. The figure of Ariadne is separated from the great group, and
is dressed in blue, which, added to the colour of the sea, makes that
quantity of cold colour which Titian thought necessary for the support
and brilliancy of the great group; which group is composed, with very
little exception, entirely of mellow colours. But as the picture in
this case would be divided into two distinct parts, one half cold and
the other warm, it was necessary to carry some of the mellow colours
of the great group into the cold part of the picture, and a part of
the cold into the great group; accordingly, Titian gave Ariadne a red
scarf, and to one of the Bacchantes a little blue drapery."
This famous picture was a commission from the Duke Alfonso I. of
Ferrara. There were great delays in its delivery, the Duke and his
agents resorting alternately to threats and cajolery in order to
extract the promised canvas from the painter. Among other excuses
Titian said he had no canvas for it. The Duke supplied the canvas, and
sent at the same time a frame. But the picture did not come. Ultimately
Titian took it with him to Ferrara in 1522, and finished it there. He
seems to have been engaged on it, off and on, for some three years. The
picture subsequently passed into the Aldobrandini collection at Rome,
from which it was purchased for an English collector in 1806. Twenty
years later it was acquired by the National Gallery.
Gaspard Poussin (French: 1613-1675). See 31.
The one gleam of light breaking through the clouds falls on the watch
tower of a castle, perched on a rock—"a stately image of stability,"
where all things else are bent beneath the power of the storm. The
spirit of the picture is, however, better than its execution. Take,
for instance, the clouds. They are mere "massive concretions of ink
and indigo, wrung and twisted very hard, apparently in a vain effort
to get some moisture out of them" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt.
ii. sec. iii. ch. iv. § 6). In the tree forms, again, Ruskin sees a
concentration of errors. "Gaspard Poussin, by his bad drawing, does
not make his stem strong, but his tree weak; he does not make his
gust violent, but his boughs of Indian-rubber" (for details of this
criticism see ibid., vol. i. pt. ii. sec. vi. ch. i. §§ 12, 13).
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640).
Peter Paul Rubens, born on the festival of Saints Peter and
Paul (hence his Christian name), is the chief glory of the
Flemish School, and one of the great masters of the world. It
is impossible to walk round any gallery where there are good
specimens of his work and not to be impressed at once with his
power. Here, one feels, is a strong man, who knew what he
wanted to paint, and was able to paint it. Whatever moral or
poetical feelings he had or had not, he was at any rate master
of the painter's language,[68] and this language is itself "so
difficult and so vast, that the mere possession of it argues the
man is great, and that his works are worth reading." "I have
never spoken," says Ruskin elsewhere, "and I never will speak
of Rubens but with the most reverential feeling; and whatever
imperfections in his art may have resulted from his unfortunate
want of seriousness and incapability of true passion, his calibre
of mind was originally such that I believe the world may see
another Titian and another Raphael, before it sees another
Rubens." Rubens affords, in fact, "the Northern parallel to the
power of the Venetians." Like the Venetians, too, he is a great
colourist. The pictures by the later Northern painters which
here hang around his are dark and gloomy; his are all bright
and golden. He is like Paul Veronese, too, in his "gay grasp
of the outside aspects of the world."[69] His pictures in this
Gallery embrace a wide range of subjects—some peaceful, others
tumultuous—some religious, others profane, but over them all is
the same gay glamour, "Alike, to Rubens, came subjects of tumult
or tranquillity, of gaiety or terror; the nether, earthly, and
upper world were to him animated with the same feeling, lighted
by the same sun; he dyed in the same lake of fire the warp of
the wedding-garment or of the winding-sheet; swept into the same
delirium the recklessness of the sensualist and rapture of the
anchorite; saw in tears only their glittering, and in torture only
its flush." A fourth characteristic, which also cannot fail to be
perceived in a general survey of Rubens's pictures in the Gallery,
remains to be noticed. In all his exuberant joyousness is a strain
of coarseness, "a want of feeling for grace and mystery."
"There is an absence everywhere of refinement and delicacy, a
preference everywhere for abundant and excessive types." He would
have agreed, one may think, with the saying of Blake (in the
Marriage of Heaven and Hell), "exuberance is beauty,"—Madonnas,
goddesses, Roman matrons, have all alike a touch of grossness.
Rubens, says Fromentin, "is very earthy, more earthy than any
among the masters whose equal he is, but the painter comes to
the aid of the draughtsman and the thinker, and sets them free."
To like effect Heine speaks of "the colossal good humour of that
Netherlands Titan, the wings of whose spirit were so strong that
they bore him up to the sun, in spite of the hundredweights of
Dutch cheese hanging to his legs."
It is instructive to notice how the art of Rubens was
characteristic of the circumstances of his life and time. In the
first place, though he travelled in many lands, Rubens remained
to the end a Fleming, every inch of him.[70] "A man long trained
to love the monk's visions of Fra Angelico, turns in proud
and ineffable disgust from the first work of Rubens which he
encounters on his return across the Alps. But is he right in his
indignation? He has forgotten that while Angelico prayed and wept
in his olive shade, there was different work doing in the dank
fields of Flanders;—wild seas to be banked out; endless canals to
be dug, and boundless marshes to be drained; hard ploughing and
harrowing of the frosty clay; careful breeding of stout horses
and fat cattle; close setting of brick walls against cold winds
and snow; much hardening of hands and gross stoutening of bodies
in all this; gross jovialities of harvest homes and Christmas
feasts which were to be the reward of it; rough affections, and
sluggish imaginations; fleshy, substantial, iron-shod humanities,
but humanities still; humanities which God had his eye upon, and
which won, perhaps, here and there, as much favour in his sight as
the wasted aspects of the whispering monks of Florence. (Heaven
forbid it should not be so, since the most of us cannot be monks,
but must be ploughmen and reapers still.) And are we to suppose
there is no nobility in Rubens's masculine and universal sympathy
with all this, and with his large human rendering of it, Gentleman
though he was, by birth, and feeling, and education, and place;
and, when he chose, lordly in conception also? He had his faults,
perhaps great and lamentable faults, though more those of his time
and his country than his own; he has neither cloister breeding nor
boudoir breeding, and is very unfit to paint either in missals or
annuals; but he has an open sky and wide-world breeding in him,
that we may not be offended with, fit alike for king's court,
knight's camp, or peasant's cottage." It is thus that Rubens was
a child of Flanders. But he was also a child of the intellectual
time in which he lived. He was born at a time, says Ruskin, when
the Reformation had been arrested—his father, curiously enough,
had fled from Antwerp as a Reformer, but afterwards returned to
Catholicism. "The Evangelicals despised the arts, while the Roman
Catholics were effete or insincere, and could not retain influence
over men of strong reasoning power. The painters could only
associate frankly with men of the world, and themselves became
men of the world. Men, I mean, having no belief in spiritual
existences, no interests or affections beyond the grave. Not but
that they still painted Scriptural subjects. Altarpieces were
wanted occasionally, and pious patrons sometimes commissioned a
cabinet Madonna. But there is just this difference between men
of this modern period and the Florentines or Venetians—that,
whereas the latter never exert themselves fully except on a sacred
subject, the Flemish and Dutch masters are always languid unless
they are profane." Rubens was thus a man of the world. When a boy
he was for some time page in the family of a countess at Brussels.
But his bent towards art was too strong to be gainsaid. When only
twenty-two he was already a master-painter in the Antwerp Guild.
Two years later he went to Italy, and for eight years he was in
the service of the Duke of Mantua. An excellent Latin scholar,
he was also proficient in French, Italian, English, German, and
Dutch. These gifts procured him diplomatic employment. In 1603
"the Fleming," as they called him, was sent on a mission to Spain.
In 1608 news of his mother's illness reached him, and he hastened
home, when he was appointed court-painter to the Archduke Albert,
then Governor of the Netherlands. In 1620 he visited Paris, at the
invitation of Mary de' Medici (a sister of the Duchess of Mantua),
and received the commission for the celebrated series of pictures
now in the Louvre, commemorating the marriage of that princess
with Henry IV. of France. In 1628 Rubens was sent on a mission
to Philip IV. of Spain, and made the acquaintance of Velazquez.
The great decorative master and the great realist (his junior by
twenty-two years) painted together, travelled together, and talked
together for eight or nine months. Rubens, we are told, was never
so well pleased as when he was in the company of Velazquez, and
Velazquez showed no resentment at the commissions given by the
court to the foreign painter. In 1629 Rubens was sent to Charles
I. of England (see under 46), by whom, in the following year,
he was knighted. He was also given an honorary degree by the
University of Cambridge. On this occasion, Rubens was commissioned
to paint the pictures which adorn the ceiling of the Banqueting
Hall of Whitehall (now the United Service Institution). Wherever
he went Rubens continued to paint, and his diplomacy he considered
as mere recreation. "The painter Rubens," he is reported to have
said of himself, "amuses himself with being ambassador." "So said
one with whom, but for his own words, we might have thought that
effort had been absorbed in power, and the labour of his art in
its felicity." How hard he laboured is known by the enormous
number of his works which still survive, by the large fortune he
amassed, and by the great request in which his talents were held.
"Whatever work of his I may require," wrote a celebrated Antwerp
printer, "I have to ask him six months before, so as that he may
think of it at leisure, and do the work on Sundays or holidays; no
week-days of his could I pretend to get under 100 florins." But
of the several thousands of works ascribed to the master, many
were painted from his sketches by pupils and assistants. "To put
it plainly, Rubens established a picture factory at Antwerp. He
was thus enabled to paint portraits, landscapes, hunting scenes,
and pictures of genre, as well as to undertake several series of
gigantic decorations as important as those of Raphael or Michael
Angelo. The master made small, lively sketches of the work to be
done, the pupils laid them in, each doing what suited his talent,
while Rubens reserved to himself the duty of bringing the picture
together; in some cases by using the work beneath as a ground for
almost complete repainting, in most cases by mainly correcting
here and there, or enhancing the effect with a few brilliant and
dexterous touches" (R. A. M. Stevenson's "Portfolio monograph"
on Rubens). Brueghel, Snyders, Teniers, and Van Dyck were
among his assistants. Some of Rubens's letters contain curious
information on his methods. Thus he offers to Sir Dudley Carleton
certain pictures in exchange for a collection of antique marbles.
Among them was to be "'A Last Judgment,' begun by one of my pupils
after an original which I made of much larger size for the Prince
of Neubourg, who paid me for it 3500 florins in ready money.
As the present piece is not quite finished, I will retouch it
altogether by myself, so that it can pass for an original: 1200
florins."
Rubens was unspoilt by success. Like many other great artists,
he is conspicuous for "a quite curious gentleness and serene
courtesy.... His letters are almost ludicrous in their unhurried
politeness. He was an honourable and entirely well-intentioned
man, earnestly industrious, simple and temperate in habits
of life, highbred, learned, and discreet. His affection for
his mother was great, his generosity to contemporary artists
unfailing." He was twice married. In 1626 his first wife, Isabella
Brant, died. Four years later he married Helena Fourment,
a beautiful girl of sixteen, the living incarnation of his
feminine type. "At the time of his second marriage Rubens was
fifty-three years of age. He led a serious, happy, retired life.
His leisure time he devoted to his family, to a few friends, to
his correspondence, his collections, and his rides." "In the
morning," we read, "he rose very early, and while he painted
someone read aloud Livy, Plutarch, Cicero, Virgil or other poets.
Then he would stroll in his gallery to stimulate his taste by the
sight of the works of art he had brought from Italy. On other
occasions he would study science, in which he always retained an
active interest. Although he lived splendidly, he ate and drank
moderately, and the gout from which he suffered in later life was
certainly undeserved. He painted in the afternoon till towards
evening, when he mounted a horse and rode out of the town." His
house at Antwerp still stands; as also does his country-house,
near Mechlin, of which there is a view in our Gallery (No. 66)
(Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. i. ch. vii. § 15, sec.
ii. ch. ii. § 12; vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. i. ch. i. § 2; vol. iv.
pt. v. ch. i. § 17; vol. v. pt. viii. ch. iv. § 21, pt. ix. ch.
vi. §§ 1-9; On the Old Road, i. 185, 186; Stones of Venice,
vol. i. App. 15; Wauters, The Flemish School, p. 214).
"A miracle of agitation. A flush tide of the richest colour, which
positively seems to boil up in swirling eddies of harmonious form.
Its whole surface is swept by lines which rush each other on like the
rapid successive entrances of an excited stretto, till the violent
movement seems to undulate the entire pattern of the picture" (R. A. M.
Stevenson: Velazquez, 1899, p. 51). As for the subject, see for the
story of the Sabine women under 644. But the subject in this case does
not greatly matter. "Rubens in one of his most marvellous pictures, the
Rape of the Sabines, which hangs in the National Gallery, did not even
take the trouble to dress his Sabines in the costumes of their day.
Without any more ado he dressed them in the style of the seventeenth
century. One might rather think it a kidnapping of beautiful Antwerp
women on a Flemish fair-day. But what difference does it make? He
has made white shoulders that shine, sumptuous stuffs, warriors
with glittering arms—all which is instinct with life, and blazes
with the deepest colouring of the greatest of Flemish masters. The
colourists have never considered the subject otherwise than as a means
of representing life under such and such actions, or such and such
aspects, joyful or sad, or simply plastic" (Benjamin Constant in North
American Review, Nov. 1900).
Nicolas Poussin (French: 1593
[71]-1665).
The life of Nicolas Poussin may be summed up in the cry of Æneas,
Italiam petimus—we make for Italy. He was born in Normandy, of
a noble family, and first learnt painting under Quintin Varin at
Les Andelys. When eighteen he went to Paris and became acquainted
with Courtois, the mathematician, whose collection of Italian
prints fired him with a desire to go to Rome. This devotion to
Rome became from that day the leading point alike in his life and
in his art. Among the artist friends of his wandering years was
Philippe de Champaigne (see under 798). After several unsuccessful
efforts to get to Rome, Poussin made the acquaintance at Lyons
of the Italian poet Marino, who invited him to Rome (1624), and
introduced him to Cardinal Barberini. The Cardinal, however, was
called away, and for a time Poussin's life in Rome was one of
severe struggle. He also fell ill, and was nursed by a compatriot,
Dughet, whose daughter he afterwards married. The wife brought her
husband a comfortable dowry, with which a house was bought, and
the painter, now released from the pinch of poverty, was able to
give free play to his talents. In 1640 he returned to Paris, where
he was introduced by Richelieu (for whom amongst other pictures he
painted No. 62 in this Gallery) to Louis XIII. The king appointed
him his painter-in-ordinary, with a salary of £120 and rooms in
the Tuileries, but two years later, disgusted with the intrigues
and jealousies of Paris, and being anxious to rejoin his wife, he
returned to Rome, where he remained—full of work—for the rest
of his life. His house on the Pincian, adjoining the church of
the Trinita, may still be seen, and he is buried in the church
of St. Lorenzo. Poussin, says his biographer, Bellori, led a
regular life, rising early and taking a walk for one or two hours,
sometimes in the city, but more often on Monte Pincio, not far
from his house. From these lovely gardens he could enjoy the view
of Rome on its hills; there he met his friends and discoursed on
curious and learned topics. "In the evening he went out again and
walked on the Piazza di Spagna, at the foot of the hill, in the
midst of the strangers who congregate there. He always had friends
with him, and often they made a kind of retinue. He spoke often of
art, and so clearly, that artists and all cultivated men of talent
came to hear his beautiful and profound thoughts about painting."
"During my sojourn in Rome," says a traveller of that period,
"I often saw Poussin. I admired the extreme love this excellent
painter had for perfection in his art. I met him among the ruins
of Rome, in the Campagna, and on the banks of the Tiber, and I saw
him carry home stones, moss, flowers, and other things, in order
to paint them from nature. One day I asked him how he had attained
such an elevation among the greatest artists of Italy. He answered
modestly, 'I have neglected nothing.'"
It is Rome which gives the leading idea also to Poussin's art. He
has been called the "Raphael of France"; and certain it is that
at a time when the local art of France was purely decorative in
character, he returned, and strenuously adhered, to classical
traditions. Already at Paris he had studied casts and prints after
Raphael; and when he first went to Rome he lived with Du Quesnoy
("Il Fiammingo"), under whom he learnt the art of modelling
bassi-relievi. He also studied anatomy, and attended the academy
of Domenichino, whom he considered the first master in Rome. His
profound classical learning has caused him to be called "the
learned Poussin." "He studied the beautiful," says his biographer,
"in the Greek statues of the Vatican." "He studied the ancients
so much," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, "that he acquired a habit of
thinking in their way, and seemed to know perfectly the actions
and gestures they would use on every occasion." His learning went,
however, farther than this in its influence on his art. His ideal,
says Lanzi, was that of "philosophy in painting"; and in one of
his letters Poussin illustrates the idea from the Greek theory of
"modes" in music. If a subject were serious, it should be painted
in the Doric mode; if vehement, in the Phrygian; if plaintive, in
the Lydian; if joyous, in the Ionic.[72] This classical learning
of Poussin was the source at once of his strength and of his
weakness as an artist. On the one hand, it often made his work
wonderfully harmonious and impressive. Thus in the Ionic mode,
his Bacchanalian pictures in this Gallery and elsewhere are
nearly the best representations in art of the Epicurean ideal of
life, of a world in which enjoyment is the end of existence. "His
best works," says Ruskin, "are his Bacchanalian revels, always
brightly wanton, full of frisk and fire; but they are coarser than
Titian's[73] and infinitely less beautiful. In all minglings of
the human and brutal character he leans on the bestial, yet with
a sternly Greek severity of treatment." Again, in more serious
Doric mode, he is "the great master of the elevated ideal of
landscape." He does not "put much power into his landscape when
it becomes principal; the best pieces of it occur in fragments
behind his figures. Beautiful vegetation, more or less ornamental
in character, occurs in nearly all his mythological subjects, but
his pure landscape is notable only for its dignified reserve; the
great squareness and horizontality of its masses, with lowness of
tone, giving it a deeply meditative character:" see especially 40.
On the other hand, he had the defects of his training. It made
him too restrained and too cold. "His peculiarities are, without
exception, weaknesses, induced in a highly intellectual and
inventive mind by being fed on medals, books, and bassi-relievi
instead of nature, and by the want of any deep sensibility." Thus
he "had noble powers of design, and might have been a thoroughly
great painter had he been trained in Venice;[74] but his Roman
education kept him tame; his trenchant severity was contrary to
the tendencies of his age, and had few imitators, compared to the
dashing of Salvator and the mist of Claude. These few imitators
adopted his manner without possessing either his science or
invention; and the Italian School of landscape soon expired....
This restraint, peculiarly classical, is much too manifest in him;
for, owing to his habit of never letting himself be free, he does
nothing as well as it ought to be done, rarely even as well as he
can himself do it; and his best beauty is poor, incomplete and
characterless, though refined." Finally, his "want of sensibility
permits him to paint frightful subjects without feeling any true
horror; his pictures of the plague are thus ghastly in incident,
sometimes disgusting, but never impressive:" see 165 (collected
from Modern Painters, vol. i. preface, p. xxv., pt. ii. sec. i.
ch. vii. § 14; vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. ii. ch. ii. § 19; vol. iii.
pt. iv. ch. xviii. § 28; vol. v. pt. ix. ch. v. § 17).
The wine-god is represented in infancy, nursed by the nymphs and fauns
of Eubœa, and fed not on milk but on the juice of the grape. "The
picture makes one thirsty to look at it—the colouring even is dry and
adust. The figure of the infant Bacchus seems as if he would drink up a
vintage—he drinks with his mouth, his hands, his belly, and his whole
body. Gargantua was nothing to him" (Hazlitt: Criticisms on Art, p.
33).
Nicolas Poussin (French: 1593-1665). See 39.
"The work of a really great and intellectual mind, one of the finest
landscapes that ancient art has produced"[75] (Modern Painters, vol.
i. pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. i. § 8),—its excellence consisting in the
perfect harmony of the landscape with the subject represented, and
thus marking the painter's sense of the dependence of landscape for
its greatest impressiveness on human interest. In the foreground to
the left is Phocion "the good"—the incorruptible Athenian general and
statesman, contemporary with Philip and Alexander the Great, of whom
it is recorded that he was "never elated in prosperity nor dejected in
adversity," and "never betrayed pusillanimity by a tear nor joy by a
smile." He wears an undyed robe, and is washing his feet at a public
fountain, the dress and action being thus alike emblematic of the
purity and simplicity of his life. In entire keeping with this figure
of noble simplicity is the feeling of the landscape in which "all the
air a solemn stillness holds." In detail, however, Ruskin finds the
picture deficient in truth—false, indeed, both in tone and colour (see
ibid., vol. i. pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. ii. § 5).
Ascribed to Cariani. See under 1203.
For the legend, see under 812—a more pleasing version of the same
subject. The man was afterwards regarded as a martyr and canonised; and
here, too, notice that he is made to see the angels as he dies.
Nicolas Poussin (French: 1593-1665). See 39.
A realisation of the classic legends of mirth and jollity,
precisely in the spirit of Keats's ode On a Grecian Urn—
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loath?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
"This masterpiece, conceived in the manner of Titian and imbued
with the spirit of the antique, full of life, and incomparable
for its qualities of drawing and painting, is perhaps the most
beautiful work which Nicolas Poussin ever painted, and, with
the 'Bacchanalian Dance' (No. 62), is among the most valued
possessions of the National Gallery" (Poynter: The National
Gallery, ii. 104).
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
A sketch for a composition which Rembrandt etched and also drew. The
drawing is in the British Museum. This sketch was formerly in the
possession of Sir Joshua Reynolds, at whose sale it was bought by Sir
George Beaumont.
J. van Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
This little picture, which dates from the earliest days of the National
Gallery, was for many years obscured with dirt and not exhibited to the
public. It has recently been cleaned, and shows one of the painter's
favourite subjects—the bleaching grounds in the neighbourhood of
Haarlem. Before the discovery of chemical means of bleaching linen,
these were a great source of income to the town. Linen was brought here
from all parts of the continent to be bleached, and then went back as
Dutch linen or Holland.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669).
Rembrandt Harmensz—called also Van Rhyn, "of the Rhine," from
having been born on the banks of that river—has a place apart
by himself in the history of painting. He is the greatest genius
of the Dutch School, and one of the six supreme masters of the
world. He is also one of the most distinctive and individual of
them all. In what, let us ask, do the genius and the individuality
of Rembrandt consist? In the first place, his mastery of the
resources of painting, within the sphere and for the ideals he
chose for himself, is surpassed by no other artist. "It will be
remembered," said Millais, "that Rembrandt in his first period
was very careful and minute in detail, and there is evidence of
stippling in his flesh-painting; but when he grew older, and in
the fulness of his power, all appearance of such manipulation
and minuteness vanished in the breadth and facility of his
brush, though the advantage of his early manner remained. The
latter manner is, of course, much the finer and really the more
finished of the two.[76] I have closely examined his pictures
at the National Gallery, and have actually seen, beneath that
grand veil of breadth, the early work that his art conceals
from untrained eyes—the whole science of painting. And herein
lies his superiority to Velazquez, who, with all his mighty
power and magnificent execution, never rose to the perfection
which, above all with painters, consists in ars celare artem"
(Magazine of Art, 1888, p. 291). "Rembrandt," says Sir Frederic
Burton, "would have been unparalleled had he treated nothing but
frivolous subjects"; but, in the second place, "the artist was a
poet and a seer." He was a seer in his penetration into the mind
of man; a poet in his perception of a special kind of beauty.
His portraits have "an inward life that belongs to no others in
a like degree." It is as a painter of character that he shows
himself supreme, bringing out the personality of his sitters in
their gestures and attitudes, and in the peculiarity of bearing
and expression stamped upon them by temperament and habits. From
his dramatic action and mastery of expression, Rembrandt has been
called "the Shakespeare of Holland." In his religious subjects,
the originality of his mind and power of his imagination are
also conspicuous. "He gives," says Ruskin, "pathetic or powerful
fancies, founded on real Scripture reading, and on his interest
in the picturesque character of the Jew." In all subjects alike,
"he moves us by his profound sympathy with his kind, by his tragic
power, by his deep pathos, by his humour, which is thoroughly
human and seldom cynical." What he held up to nature—and herein
is Rembrandt's individuality most marked—was the dark mirror.
"He was," says Leighton, "the supreme painter who revealed to the
world the poetry of twilight and all the magic mystery of gloom."
"He was in the mystery," says Burton, "that underlies the surface
of things." "He accosts with his dark lantern," says Fromentin,
"the world of the marvellous, of conscience, and the ideal; he
has no master in the art of painting, because he has no equal in
the power of showing the invisible." "It was his function," says
another critic, "to introduce mystery as an element of effect in
the imitative arts." "As by a stroke of enchantment Rembrandt
brought down a cloud over the face of nature, and beneath it,
half-revealed, half-hidden, her shapes met the eye in aspects full
of new suggestion."[77] In the technical method by which Rembrandt
worked out his ideal he is the great master of the school of
chiaroscuro—of those, that is, who strive at representing not so
much the colours of objects, as the contrasts of light and shade
upon them. "If it were possible for art to give all the truths
of nature it ought to do it. But this is not possible. Choice
must always be made of some facts which can be represented
from among others which must be passed by in silence, or even,
in some respects, misrepresented.... Rembrandt always chooses
to represent the exact force with which the light on the most
illumined part of an object is opposed to its obscurer portions.
In order to obtain this, in most cases, not very important
truth, he sacrifices the light and colour of five-sixths of
his picture; and the expression of every character of objects
which depends on tenderness of shape or tint. But he obtains
his single truth, and what picturesque and forcible expression
is dependent upon it, with magnificent skill and subtlety."[78]
Rembrandt "sacrifices the light and colour of five-sixths of his
picture." This is inevitable. For both the light and the darkness
of nature are inimitable by art. "The whole question, therefore,
is simply whether you will be false at one end of the scale or at
the other—that is, whether you will lose yourself in light or
in darkness.... What Veronese does is to make his colours true
to nature as far as he can. What Rembrandt does is to make his
contrasts true, never minding his colours—with the result that in
most cases not one colour is absolutely true."[79] An exception,
however, must be made. For he often "chose subjects in which the
real colours were very nearly imitable,—as single heads with dark
backgrounds, in which nature's highest light was little above his
own." He was particularly fond also of dark scenes lighted only by
some small spot of light; as, for instance, in this picture and in
No. 47.
The technical skill and sense of power which distinguish
Rembrandt's work are reflected in his life—a life of hard labour,
sinking towards its close into deep gloom, and a life at all times
of a certain aloofness and of restricted vision. He was born at
Leyden, being the fifth child of a miller, and from a very early
age set himself to etch and sketch the common things about the
mill. "His father's mill was, doubtless, Rembrandt's school;
the strong and solitary light, with its impenetrable obscurity
around, the characteristic feature of many of Rembrandt's best
works, is just such an effect as would be produced by the one ray
admitted into the lofty chamber of a mill from the small window,
its ventilator" (Wornum). He never went to Italy or cultivated
the grand style. He studied the life and manner of his own
time and people. His models were not conspicuous for elegance;
beauty of form was not within the compass of his art. He was
indefatigable in making studies both of himself and of his mother.
Among the things he studied were, it must be admitted, the lowest
functions of humanity and often obscenities of a rollicking kind;
coarseness of manner and conversation was common at that time.
Rembrandt studied for a short period under a well-known painter,
Pieter Lastman, at Amsterdam, where he had for a fellow-pupil a
fellow-townsman, Jan Lievens (see 1095), but returned to Leyden in
1624, determined "to study and practise in his own fashion." He
soon acquired a considerable reputation; a Dutch poet, in a book
published in 1630, refers to him as an instance of precocity, and
in disproof of the doctrine of heredity. Rembrandt, "beardless,
yet already famous," was the son of a miller, "made of other flour
than his father's." As most of his sitters lived in Amsterdam,
then a great centre of wealth and learning, Rembrandt moved to
that city in 1631. The famous "Anatomy Lesson," now in the Museum
at the Hague, was produced in the following year. "He lived very
simply," we are told, "and when at work contented himself with a
herring or a piece of cheese and bread; his only extravagance was
a passion for collecting." In 1634 he married Saskia Uilenburg,
a lady of a good Frisian family, and possessed of some fortune.
Her features may be recognised in a large number of the painter's
pictures; in none more attractively rendered than in the famous
picture of the Dresden Gallery, in which she is sitting on her
husband's knee. During this period of Rembrandt's life all went
well with him. Commissions poured in; his studio was crowded
with scholars, and his etchings spread his fame far beyond his
native land. He lived for his art and his home, mixing little in
society. "When I want to give my wits a rest," he said, "I do not
look for honour, but for liberty." "When he was painting," said
one of his biographers, "he would not have given audience to the
greatest monarch on earth, but would have compelled even such
an one to wait or to come again when he was more at leisure."
He never travelled, even in Holland, and he dwelt apart. He had
few books, but his taste in art was catholic. To his passion
for collecting we have already referred. His house, which still
stands in the Breedstraat, was a museum of curiosities, containing
costly materials, stuffed animals, richly ornamented weapons,
casts, engravings, and pictures (including works by Palma Vecchio
and Giorgione). The pearls, precious stones, rich necklaces,
clasps and bracelets of every kind that Saskia wears in her
portraits were not gems of the painter's imagination, but actual
objects from the jewel-cases which he filled for his wife. "When
Rembrandt was present at a sale," says Baldinucci, "it was his
habit, especially when pictures drawn by great masters were put
up, to make an enormous advance on the first bid, which generally
silenced all competition. To those who expressed their surprise
at such a proceeding, he replied that by this means he hoped to
raise the status of his profession." This lordly buying was the
undoing of Rembrandt's worldly fortunes. In 1642 Saskia died,
and his financial embarrassments, which had already begun, went
from worse to worse. In 1656 he was declared bankrupt; his house
and collections were sold, and at the age of fifty-one he found
himself homeless and penniless. He was stripped, we read, even
of his household linen, though of this, to be sure, he seems to
have had but a meagre store. In his life, as in his art, there
were heavy shadows; but the light shines out in his undaunted
perseverance. He had lived for some years with his servant,
Hendrickje Stoffels, an uneducated peasant, who served him as a
model, and whose homely features appear in many of the pictures
of his middle period (see e.g. No. 54). In 1654 Rembrandt had
been summoned before the elders of the Church on account of the
irregularity of their relationship. But Hendrickje was a good
mother to Rembrandt's legitimate children as well as to her
own, and in 1660 she and the painter's son, Titus, entered into
partnership as art dealers, and supported Rembrandt by the sale
of his etchings. His vogue as a painter had by this time been
eclipsed by the popularity of painters of less sombre genius.
Fallen from his rich estate and frowned upon by the Church, the
master found himself in the last period of his life deserted and
unhonoured. Yet to this period belong many of his noblest works.
"He had never cared," says M. Michel, "for the suffrages of the
crowd. He set his face more steadily than ever towards the goal
he had marked out for himself. Within the walls of his makeshift
studios, seeking solace in work and meditation, he lived for his
art more absolutely than before; and some of his creations of
this period have a poetry and a depth of expression such as he
had never hitherto achieved." But fresh sorrows descended upon
the master as the end drew near. Hendrickje died about 1664, and
this blow was followed in 1668 by the death of Titus. Crushed in
spirit and broken by poverty, the old painter did not long survive
his son. He died in 1669—unknown, unrecorded, and dishonoured.
Gerard de Lairesse, then at the height of his reputation, said of
him only that he was a master "who merely achieved an effect of
rottenness," and was "capable of nothing but vulgar and prosaic
subjects." Now, two centuries and a quarter after his death,
Rembrandt's fame stands higher than even in the heyday of his
success. His work as a painter is represented in the National
Gallery by several masterpieces. Of his drawings and etchings the
British Museum possesses a splendid collection; an exhibition of
these (illustrated by an admirable Catalogue) was arranged in 1899.
A tour de force in the artist's speciality of contrasts of light and
shade. Notice how a succession of these contrasts gradually renders the
subject intelligible. "The eye falls at once upon the woman, who is
dressed in white, passes then to the figure of Christ, which next to
her is the most strongly lighted—and so on to Peter, to the Pharisees,
to the soldiers, till at length it perceives in the mysterious gloom of
the Temple the High Altar, with the worshippers on the steps" (Waagen:
Treasures of Art in Great Britain, i. 353). "Beyond the ordinary
claims of art, this picture commands our attention from the grand
conception of the painter, who here, as in other pictures and etchings,
has invested Christ with a majestic dignity which recalls Leonardo and
no other" (J. F. White).
This picture, which was painted in 1644 for Jan Six, the well-known
patron of Rembrandt, passed eventually into the possession of Mr.
Angerstein. The poet Wordsworth, describing a visit he paid to the
Angerstein collection, wrote to Sir George Beaumont in 1808: "Coleridge
and I availed ourselves of your letters to Lawrence, and saw Mr.
Angerstein's pictures. The day was very unfavourable, not a gleam
of sun, and the clouds were quite in disgrace. The great picture of
Michael Angelo and Sebastian (No. 1) pleased me more than ever. The new
Rembrandt has, I think, much, very much, in it to admire, but still
more to wonder at rather than admire. I have seen many pictures of
Rembrandt which I should prefer to it. The light in the depth of the
temple is far the finest part of it: indeed, it is the only part of
the picture which gives me very high pleasure; but that does highly
please me" (Memorials of Coleorton, ii. 49).
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
This picture was presented in 1630 to King Charles I. by Rubens,
when he came to England as accredited ambassador for the purpose
of negotiating a peace with Spain. After the death of Charles, the
Parliament sold the picture for £100. It passed into the possession
of the Doria family at Genoa, where it was known as "The Family of
Rubens." It was afterwards bought by the Marquis of Stafford for £3000,
and by him presented to the National Gallery.[80]
The circumstances under which the picture was painted gave the clue to
its meaning. Rubens came to urge Charles to conclude peace, and here
on canvas he sets forth its blessings. In the centre of the picture is
the Goddess of Wisdom, with Minerva's helmet on her head, her right
hand resting on her spear, now to be used no more. Before her flies
War, reluctantly, as if he dared not resist Wisdom, yet employing
his shield, in order still to shelter Discord, with her torch now
extinguished. Last of all in the hateful train is Malice, whose
very breath is fire, and who "endeth foul in many a snaky fold"—in
the serpent's folds, which ever attend the hostilities of nations.
Beneath Minerva's protection sits Peace enthroned, and gives the milk
of human kindness for babes to suck. From above, Zephyrus, the soft
warm wind, descends with the olive wreath—the emblem in all ages of
public peace, whilst at her side stands the "all-bounteous Pan," with
Amalthea's storied Horn of Plenty. A band of happy children, led by
Love (whose torch, now that Discord's is gone out, burns aloft),
approach to taste the sweets of Peace, and to minister to abundance.
In the train of Plenty comes Opulence, bringing goblets, wreaths
of pearl, and other treasures; whilst behind is Music, playing on
her tambourine to celebrate the arts of peace. Last of all in the
foreground is a leopard, not hurting or destroying any more, but
playful as a lamb—
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail;
Returning Justice lift aloft her scale;
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-rob'd Innocence from heaven descend....
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes....
The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead,
And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead.
Pope: Messiah.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
A characteristic piece of "Bible by candle-light." There is, however,
something spiritually instructive, as well as technically skilful,
in the way in which such light there is all proceeds from Him who
came to be the light of the world: compared with this divine light
that in the lantern of the shepherds pales and is ineffectual. The
picture is dated 1646. For the most part, however, the picture is a
piece of pure realism, which may be contrasted in an instructive way
with the essentially religious art of earlier schools. Here there is
little, if any, symbolism, and "the decorative qualities with which
a painter like Botticelli appealed to the imagination to heighten
the impressiveness of the story have vanished also. In their stead
we have pure naturalism,—naturalism of a very refined and cultured
order, which appeals to the imagination as powerfully, but in a
totally different way. The charm of the picture is independent of any
exegetical qualities. Rembrandt treats the Nativity as a natural event,
in a scientific spirit. The only connection between this picture and
religious art is that it represents certain conventional attributes
which are common to both. But just so much as we subtract from it as
an exponent of strictly religious thought, just so much must we add to
it as appealing to the intellect in general; its impressiveness, its
sublimity, and its suggestiveness, and it has all these, are evolved
out of the phenomena of natural effects by a poetical process" (J. E.
Hodgson, R.A., in Magazine of Art, 1890, p. 42).
Domenichino (Eclectic-Bologna, 1581-1641).
Domenico Zampieri, called Domenichino for his small stature, was
born at Bologna, the son of a shoemaker. He entered the school of
the Carracci, and afterwards was invited to Rome by Albani, in
whose house he lived. Here he soon acquired a great reputation,
and was taken by Annibale Carracci as assistant in the execution
of the frescoes of the Farnese Palace. The Cardinals Borghese and
Aldobrandini were also among his patrons. In 1617 he revisited
Bologna, where he married. In 1621 he was recalled to Rome by
the Pope Gregory XV., who appointed him principal painter and
architect to the pontifical palace. Some of the villas at
Frascati were designed by him. In 1630 he was invited to Naples
to decorate the Cappella del Tesoro of the Duomo, a commission
which Guido Reni sought in vain. Here Domenichino incurred the
hostility of the Neapolitan painters, and the machinations of the
notorious triumvirate, the "Cabal of Naples," were suspected of
causing his death. At Rome also he had been much persecuted by
rival artists. Accusations of plagiarism were levelled at him, and
his more pushing competitors "decried him to such a degree that
he was long destitute of all commissions." It is interesting to
contrast the conditions of (literally) "cut-throat competition,"
under which the Italian painters of the decadence worked, with the
Guild System of the Flemish and the honourable time and piece-work
of the earlier Italians.
The varying fortunes of Domenichino's fame form a curious chapter
in the history of taste. In his own time and down to the end of
the eighteenth century he was ranked among the greatest masters.
Poussin placed him next to Raphael. Bellori attributed to him "the
same wand which belongs to the poetical enchanters." Sir Joshua
Reynolds speaks of him with high respect, and Lanzi describes him
as the admiration of all professors, and records the enormous
price which his pictures still fetched (1809). Against these
panegyrics we may set Ruskin's invectives. "I once supposed," he
says, "that there was some life in the landscape of Domenichino,
but in this I must have been wrong. The man who painted the
'Madonna del Rosario' and 'Martyrdom of St. Agnes' in the gallery
of Bologna is palpably incapable of doing anything good, great,
or right, in any field, way, or kind whatsoever.... Whatever
appears good in any of the doings of such a painter must be
deceptive, and we may be assured that our taste is corrupted and
false whenever we feel disposed to admire him.... I am prepared
to support this position, however uncharitable it may seem; a man
may be tempted into a gross sin by passion and forgiven, and yet
there are some kinds of sins into which only men of a certain
kind can be tempted, and which cannot be forgiven. It should be
added, however, that the artistical qualities of these pictures
are in every way worthy of the conceptions they realise; I do
not recollect any instance of colour or execution so coarse and
feelingless." Domenichino and the Carraccis were, says Ruskin
elsewhere, mere "art-weeds." "Their landscape, which may in few
words be accurately described as 'scum of Titian,' possesses no
single merit, nor any ground for the forgiveness of demerit."
"The flight of Domenichino's angels is a sprawl paralysed." "They
are peculiarly offensive, studies of bare-legged children howling
and kicking in volumes of smoke" (Modern Painters, vol. i.
pt. ii. sec. i. ch. vii. § 13; vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. ii. ch.
v. § 17; vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. xviii. § 20; Stones of Venice,
travellers' edition, vol. ii. ch. vi.; On the Old Road, vol. i.
§ 91). Ruskin's estimate, "though expressed with such a clangour
of emphasis," yet fairly represents, as Mr. Symonds says, the
feeling of modern students. Perhaps, however, the reaction against
the once worshipped pictures of Domenichino has gone too far.
His celebrated "Diana and her Nymphs" in the Borghese Gallery is
"a charming picture," says Morelli, "worthy of a purer period of
art. Full of cheerful animation and naïve and delightful details,
it cannot fail to please" (Roman Galleries, p. 228). Of the
moral obliquity which Ruskin seems to impute, Domenichino must be
acquitted. He appears to have been a simple, modest, painstaking,
and virtuous person. "He was misled by his dramatic bias, and also
by the prevalent religious temper of his age. That he belonged
to a school which was essentially vulgar in its choice of type,
to a city never distinguished for delicacy of taste, and to a
generation which was rapidly losing the sense of artistic reserve,
suffices to explain the crude brutality of the conceptions which
he formed of tragic episodes" (Symonds, Renaissance, vii.
220). Lanzi says with truth that Domenichino's style of painting
is "almost theatrical." He tears the passion of his figures to
tatters—"exaggerated action destroying," as Ruskin says, "all
appearance of intense feeling." An interesting tale is told of
the way in which the artist worked himself up. He was engaged on
a scene of martyrdom, and "in painting one of the executioners he
actually threw himself into a passion, using threatening words
and actions. Annibale Carracci, surprising him at that moment,
embraced him, exclaiming with joy, 'To-day, my Domenichino, thou
art teaching me.'"
Tobias, directed by the angel, is drawing out of the water the fish
that attacked him. See the Book of Tobit, ch. vi. 4, 5, and the note
on No. 781.
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641).
Sir Anthony Van Dyck, the prince of court portrait-painters and
the most famous of Rubens's pupils, is one of the many great
artists whose gifts showed themselves almost from birth. He
was born at Antwerp, the seventh child of a tradesman in good
circumstances. His mother was a woman of taste, who attained
considerable skill in art-needlework, and from her he doubtless
derived many of the qualities for which his works are conspicuous.
At the age of ten the boy had already begun to paint. His
admission at the age of thirteen to the crowded studio of Rubens
is a proof of his precocious talent. Documents recently discovered
show that Van Dyck when seventeen had already pupils of his own,
and that his independent work was sought after by artists and
amateurs. At nineteen he was admitted to the painters' Guild
of St. Luke. For five years (1620-25) he was for the most part
travelling and painting in Italy, with introductions from Rubens.
Many of his best works are still to be seen in Genoa and Turin.
He also visited Venice, where the spell of Titian's genius
enchanted him. Several sketches in the British Museum testify to
his devout study of the great Venetian. On his return to Antwerp
at the end of 1625, Van Dyck soon became the great court-painter
of his time. Queens visited him in his studio, and the nobility
of three nations considered it an honour to be painted by him.
Religious pictures were also produced by him at this time with
amazing rapidity. In 1632 he came to England. He had already paid
a short visit in 1620-21, when he had painted James I., and was
in receipt of a grant from the Exchequer "for special service
performed for His Majesty." This first visit to England seems to
have been due to the initiative of the celebrated connoisseur,
the Earl of Arundel. At the court of Charles I. Van Dyck came at
once into the highest favour. Sir Kenelm Digby, a gentleman of the
bedchamber, was his bosom friend, and on his first presentation
to Charles I. he obtained permission to paint the king and queen.
He was appointed painter to the court, was knighted, and received
a pension of £200. A town-house was given him at Blackfriars,
and a country-house at Eltham. He "always went magnificently
dressed, had a numerous and gallant equipage, and kept so good
a table in his apartment that few princes were more visited or
better served." In England alone there are said to be twenty-four
portraits of the king by Van Dyck, and twenty-five of Queen
Henrietta Maria. Every one of distinction desired to have his or
her features immortalised by the court-painter, and for seven
years he worked at the portraits of the English aristocracy with
indefatigable industry. Some 300 of these portraits exist in this
country. The painter's health gradually began to fail, from the
constant drain upon his strength caused by the incessant labour
necessary to procure the means of gratifying his luxurious tastes,
and also by his irregular mode of life. Van Dyck, says Mr. Law
in his Catalogue of the Hampton Court Gallery, "loved beauty in
every form, and found the seduction of female charms altogether
irresistible." In 1639 he married Mary Ruthven, grand-daughter of
the unfortunate Lord Ruthven, Earl of Gowrie—a marriage promoted
by the king, who hoped thereby to effect a change in the painter's
habits of life. Margaret Lemon, the celebrated beauty, who lived
with Van Dyck for some time at Blackfriars, resented the marriage
most bitterly, and tried to maim the painter's right hand. In
1640-41 he travelled abroad with his wife, but returned to this
country a dying man. The king offered a special reward to any
doctor who could save the painter's life; but he expired in his
house at Blackfriars on December 9, 1641, at the early age of
forty-two. Two days afterwards he was buried in the old cathedral
of St. Paul's, and the king erected a monument to record the
death of one "who in life had conferred immortality on many." A
magnificent collection of his works was shown at the Royal Academy
in the winter exhibition of 1900.
The characteristics of Van Dyck's art may in large measure be
gathered from the circumstances of his life. He is essentially
the painter of princes. His sacred and other subject pictures are
often remarkable for force and vigour of handling. "Van Dyck,"
says Ruskin, "often gives a graceful dramatic rendering of
received Scriptural legends." But it is not in these subjects that
Van Dyck is seen in his most interesting and most characteristic
manner. "Rubens is only to be seen in the Battle of the Amazons,
and Van Dyck only at court." No more in him than in the other
later Flemish artists is there anything spiritual. The difference
between him and Teniers, for instance, is accidental rather than
essential. "They lived," says Ruskin, "the gentle at court,
the simple in the pot-house; and could indeed paint, according
to their habitation, a nobleman or a boor, but were not only
incapable of conceiving, but wholly unwishful to conceive,
anything, natural or supernatural, beyond the precincts of the
Presence and the tavern." What distinguishes Van Dyck is the
indelible mark of courtly grace and refinement which he gives to
all his sitters. Nowhere clearer than in his portraits does one
see the better side of the "Cavalier" ideal. In this connection
we may note Van Dyck's feeling for the nobility of the horse
(see note on No. 156). One thing "that gives nobleness to
the Van Dyck," says Ruskin in describing one of his "cavalier"
portraits, "is its feminineness; the rich, light silken scarf, the
flowing hair, the delicate, sharp, though sunburnt features, and
the lace collar, do not in the least diminish the manliness, but
add feminineness. One sees that the knight is indeed a soldier,
but not a soldier only; that he is accomplished in all ways,
and tender in all thoughts." The reader who remembers any large
collection of Van Dycks will feel that the spirit of Ruskin's
description is true to a very large number of them. One may forget
the individual sitter; the impression left by the Van Dyck type
is indelible. Charles I. and his Queen, though painted by several
other painters, are known to posterity exclusively through Van
Dyck—not (says M. Hymans) from a greater closeness of resemblance
to the original, but from a particular power of expression and
bearing, which, once seen, it is impossible to forget. The same
may be said of Van Dyck's portraits generally. He endowed all his
sitters alike with the same distinction of feature and elegance in
bearing. He excelled in giving delicacy to the hands, and is said
to have kept special models for this part of his work. He is not
what is called an "intimate" portrait painter. He does not startle
us with penetration in seizing points of individual character;
he charms us with the refinement of his type. "In Titian," says
Ruskin, "it is always the Man whom we see first; in Van Dyck the
Prince or the Sir." With regard to Van Dyck's technique, his
earlier productions (says Sir F. Burton) "are scarcely to be
distinguished from those of Rubens, and there are cases in which
dogmatism as to authorship would be hazardous.[81] Differentiation
is first visible in a greater precision, a slenderer, it might
be said, a more wiry touch, and a cooler colouring, on the part
of the pupil." At its worst, Van Dyck's touch is distinguished
by what Ruskin calls a certain "flightiness and flimsiness"; at
its best, by great refinement: "there is not a touch of Van
Dyck's pencil but he seems to have revelled in—not grossly, but
delicately—tasting the colour in every touch as an epicure would
wine." His output was prodigious; in spite of his early death more
than 1000 works are attributed to him. A considerable portion of
many of these was done by assistants, and his later works are
often hasty and careless. The references to Van Dyck in Ruskin's
books are numerous. (The most interesting are Modern Painters,
vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi. §§ 5, 10, 22; ch. vii. § 23; Elements
of Drawing, appendix ii.; On the Old Road, i. § 154; Art of
England, 1884, pp. 43, 83, 138, 212.)
A portrait of special interest as having been much prized by Sir Joshua
Reynolds, to whom it formerly belonged. When Mr. Angerstein bought
it, the great Burke is said to have congratulated him on possessing
Sir Joshua's "favourite picture." It is commonly called "The Portrait
of Rubens," but the principal figure does not greatly resemble the
well-known face of Rubens; it is more probably a portrait of Luke
Vostermann, a celebrated engraver of the time. He is discoursing, it
would seem, on some point of art, suggested by the little statue which
a man behind is holding.
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641). See under last picture.
A copy, with some variations, of a large picture by Rubens now at
Vienna. The subject is that described by Gibbon (ch. xxvii.). The
Emperor Theodosius, for a massacre of the inhabitants of Thessalonica,
was excommunicated by Ambrose, the Archbishop of Milan.
The emperor was deeply affected by his own reproaches, and by
those of his spiritual father; and, after he had bewailed the
mischievous and irreparable consequences of his own rash fury,
he proceeded, in the accustomed manner, to perform his devotions
in the great church of Milan. He was stayed in the porch by the
Archbishop; who, in the tone and language of an ambassador of
heaven, declared to his sovereign that private contrition was not
sufficient to atone for a public fault, or to appease the justice
of an offended Deity. Theodosius humbly represented that if he had
contracted the guilt of homicide, David, the man after God's own
heart, had been guilty not only of murder, but of adultery. "You
have imitated David in his crime, imitate then his repentance,"
was the reply of the undaunted Ambrose.
Observe as an instance of picturesque ornament properly introduced
in subordination to the figure subject, the robes of St. Ambrose.
"Tintoret, Titian, Veronese, Rubens, and Van Dyck would be very sorry
to part with their figured stuffs and lustrous silks; and sorry,
observe, exactly in the degree of their picturesque feeling. Should
not we also be sorry to have Bishop Ambrose without his vest in that
picture of the National Gallery? But I think Van Dyck would not have
liked, on the other hand, the vest without the bishop. And I much doubt
if Titian or Veronese would have enjoyed going into Waterloo House, and
making studies of dresses upon the counters" (Stones of Venice, vol.
i. ch. xx. § 13).
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
One of the "heads of the people" whom Rembrandt saw around him; for the
street in which he lived at Amsterdam swarmed with Dutch and Portuguese
Jews. "In rendering human character, such as he saw about him,
Rembrandt is nearly equal to Correggio, Titian, Tintoret, Veronese,
or Velazquez; and the real power of him is in his stern and steady
touch on lip and brow,—seen best in his lightest etchings,—or in the
lightest parts of the handling of his portraits, the head of the Jew in
our own Gallery being about as good and thorough work as it is possible
to see of his" (Academy Notes, 1859, p. 52).
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641). See 49.
One of the most celebrated pictures in the Gallery. The title by
which it is commonly known is incorrect; the sitter being not Gaspar
Gevarts or Gevartius, but Cornelius van der Geest, an amateur of the
arts and a friend of Rubens and Van Dyck. It is the grave learning of
a scholar, the gentle refinement of an artist—notice especially "the
liquid, living lustre of the eye"—that Van Dyck here puts before us.
In point of execution this picture ranks as one of the finest portraits
in the world. "From it," says Mr. Watts, R.A., "the modern student
will learn more than from any I am acquainted with. The eyes," he
adds, "are miracles of drawing and painting. They are a little tired
and overworked, and do not so much see anything as indicate the
thoughtful brain behind. How wonderful the flexible mouth! with the
light shining through the sparse moustache. How tremulously yet firmly
painted. The ear: how set on ... so throughout there is no part of
this wonderful portrait that might not be examined and enlarged upon;
but I would ask my fellow-students to do this for themselves. Not a
touch is put in for what is understood by 'effect.' Dexterous in a
superlative degree, there is not in the ordinary sense a dexterous dab
doing duty for honourable serious work: nothing done to look well at
one distance or another, but to be right at every distance" (Magazine
of Art, June 1889). Sir Edward Poynter is equally enthusiastic. "This
wonderful portrait," he says, "is perhaps the most perfect head ever
painted by this consummate painter. Not only for the brilliancy and
purity of its flesh tints, the masterly drawing, and the vitality of
the expression, does it rank as one of the masterpieces of portraiture
existing; but for the brushwork, of which every touch expresses with
supreme dexterity all the varieties of form, substance, and texture,
it is unsurpassed, perhaps unrivalled, in the history of painting"
(National Gallery, i. 152). Another P.R.A., Benjamin West, copied the
"Gevartius," and at this day there is no picture in the Gallery more
often copied by students.[82] Their preference is justified by that
of the painter himself, who "used to consider it his masterpiece, and
before he had gained his great reputation carried it about with him
from court to court, and patron to patron, to show what he could do as
a portrait painter."[83]
Albert Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691).
Cuyp was born at Dort—the son of an artist who was one of the
founders of the Painters' Guild in that town. He was a deacon and
elder of his church, and was a citizen of importance, holding
various municipal and judicial offices. As a painter, however,
he had little reputation in his own country, and, as is the case
with so many of the Dutch masters, it was in England that he was
first appreciated. Even in 1750 one of his pictures sold for
thirty florins; in 1876 one fetched at Christie's £5040. The high
esteem in which his works are thus held is justified alike by
their own merits and by his important position in the history of
landscape art. He is, in the first place, the principal master of
pastoral landscape, "representing peasant life and its daily work,
or such scenery as may naturally be suggestive of it, consisting
usually of simple landscape, in part subjected to agriculture,
with figures, cattle, and domestic buildings." In this respect
Cuyp is an interesting case of the detachment of an artist's life.
He was born and lived in troublous times; but in looking at his
works one would imagine (it has been said) "that he passed his
whole life in Arcadia, untroubled by any more anxious thought than
whether the sun would give the effect which he required for his
paintings, or the cows stay long enough for him to depict them
in their natural attitudes." Dwelling on the banks of the placid
Maas, he delighted also to reproduce the warm skies of summer or
autumn reflected in an expanse of water overspread with marine
craft. Secondly, Cuyp has been called the "Dutch Claude," for
he was the first amongst the Dutch to "set the sun in the sky."
"For expression of effects of yellow sunlight, parts might be
chosen out of the good pictures of Cuyp, which have never been
equalled in art." It is sunshine, observe, that Cuyp paints, not
sun colour. "Observe this accurately. Those easily understood
effects of afternoon light, gracious and sweet so far as they
reach, are produced by the softly warm or yellow rays of the sun
falling through mist. They are low in tone, even in nature, and
disguise the colours of objects. They are imitable even by persons
who have little or no gift of colour, if the tones of the picture
are kept low and in true harmony, and the reflected lights warm.
But they never could be painted by great colourists. The fact of
blue and crimson being effaced by yellow and grey puts such effect
at once out of the notice or thought of a colourist." The task
of painting the sun colour was reserved for Turner; yet Cuyp's
pictures had a great influence over him." He went steadily through
the subdued golden chord, and painted Cuyp's favourite effect,
'sun rising through vapour,' for many a weary year. But this was
not enough for him. He must paint the sun in his strength, the
sun rising not through vapour. If you turn to the Apollo in the
'Ulysses and Polyphemus' (508), his horses are rising beyond the
horizon—you see he is not 'rising through vapour,' but above
it;—gaining somewhat of a victory over vapour, it appears. The
old Dutch brewer,[84] with his yellow mist, was a great man and
a good guide, but he was not Apollo. He and his dray-horses led
the way through the flats cheerily, for a little time; we have
other horses now flaming out 'beyond the mighty sea'" (Modern
Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. i. § 19; vol. v. pt. ix.
ch. xi. §§ 3, 4). Admirers of Cuyp should make a point of visiting
the Dulwich Gallery, which is peculiarly rich in works by this
master. In the British Museum are several of his drawings and
studies.
An interesting study in what is called "truth of tone" may be made with
this picture—by which is meant the "exact relation and fitness of
shadow and light, and of the hues of all objects under them; and more
especially that precious quality of each colour laid on which makes it
appear a quiet colour illuminated, not a bright colour in shade." Now
with regard to this Ruskin says, "I much doubt if there be a single
bright Cuyp in the world, which, taken as a whole, does not present
many glaring solecisms in tone. I have not seen many fine pictures
of his which were not utterly spoiled by the vermilion dress of some
principal figure—a vermilion totally unaffected and unwarmed by the
golden hue of the rest of the picture; and, what is worse, with little
distinction between its own illumined and shaded parts, so that it
appears altogether out of sunshine—the colour of a bright vermilion
in dead, cold daylight.... And these failing parts, though they often
escape the eye when we are near the picture and able to dwell upon what
is beautiful in it, yet so injure its whole effect that I question if
there be many Cuyps in which vivid colours occur, which will not lose
their effect and become cold and flat at a distance of ten or twelve
paces, retaining their influence only when the eye is close enough
to rest on the right parts without including the whole. Take, for
instance, the large one in our National Gallery. (Seen at a distance)
the black cow appears a great deal nearer than the dogs, and the golden
tones of the distance look like a sepia drawing rather than like
sunshine, owing chiefly to the utter want of aerial greys indicated
through them" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. i. §§
11, 19).
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
"Those who have been in Holland," says Mrs. Jameson, "must often
have seen the peasant girls washing their linen and trampling on it,
precisely in the manner here depicted. Rembrandt may have seen one
of them from his window, and snatching up his pencil and palette, he
threw the figure on the canvas and fixed it there as by a spell."
More probably, however, this is one of Rembrandt's many pictures of
his servant and model, Hendrickje Stoffels. "The finest of the whole
series," says M. Michel, "is the study of Hendrickje in the National
Gallery, the so-called 'Woman Bathing.' It bears the date 1654, and
is undoubtedly a masterpiece among Rembrandt's less important works.
The young woman, whose only garment is a chemise, stands facing the
spectator, in a deep pool. Her attitude suggests a sensation of
pleasure and refreshment tempered by the involuntary shrinking of the
body at the first contact of the cold water. The light from above
glances on her breast and forehead, and on the luxuriant disorder
of her bright hair; the lower part of her face and her legs are in
deep transparent shadow. The brown tones of the soil, the landscape
background and the water, the purple and gold of the draperies, make up
a marvellous setting alike for the brilliantly illuminated contour and
the more subdued carnations of the model. The truth of the impression,
the breadth of the careful but masterly execution, the variety of
the handling, proclaim the matured power of the artist, and combine
to glorify the hardy grace and youthful radiance of his creation"
(Rembrandt: his Life, his Work, and his Time, ii. 70).
Claude (French: 1600-1682). See 2.
"A most pathetic picture," says Constable (who made a copy of it
when it was in Sir George Beaumont's possession). "The expression of
Cephalus is very touching; and, indeed, nothing can be finer than the
way in which Claude has told that affecting story throughout. Procris
has come from her concealment to die at the feet of her husband.
Above her is a withered tree clasped by ivy, an emblem of love in
death,—while a stag seen on the outline of a hill, over which the
rising sun spreads his rays, explains the cause of a fatal mistake....
It is the fashion to find fault with his figures indiscriminately,
yet in his best time they are so far from being objectionable that we
cannot easily imagine anything else according so well with his scenes;
as objects of colour they seem indispensable. Wilson said to a friend
who was talking of them in the usual manner, 'Do not fall into the
common mistake of objecting to Claude's figures'" (Leslie's Life of
Constable, 1845, p. 339).
Annibale Carracci (Eclectic-Bologna: 1560-1609). See 9.
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
Bavon, a noble of Brabant, in the seventeenth century having determined
to renounce the pomps and vanities of the world (his retinue is to be
seen on the right), is met on the steps of the convent church by the
bishop who is to receive him into his new life. To the left his goods
are being given away to the poor, and above there is a group of ladies
returning thanks for the noble penitent's conversion.
Claude (French: 1600-1682). See 2.
This picture, when in Sir George Beaumont's collection at Coleorton,
was copied by Constable and called by him "The Little Grove." In 1823
Constable wrote to a friend, "I have likewise begun 'The Little Grove'
by Claude; a noonday scene 'which warms and cheers, but which does
not inflame or irritate.' Through the depths of the trees are seen a
waterfall and a ruined temple, and a solitary shepherd is piping to
some goats and sheep:—
'In closing shades and where the current strays,
Pipes the lone shepherd to his feeding flocks.'"
(Leslie's Life of Constable, 1845, p. 119.)
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
"It is interesting to observe the difference in the treatment of
this subject by the three great masters, Michael Angelo, Rubens,
and Tintoret.... Rubens and Michael Angelo made the fiery serpents
huge boa-constrictors, and knotted the sufferers together with them.
Tintoret makes ... the serpents little flying and fluttering monsters,
like lampreys with wings; and the children of Israel, instead of being
thrown into convulsed and writhing groups, are scattered, fainting in
the fields, far away in the distance. As usual, Tintoret's conception,
while thoroughly characteristic of himself, is also truer to the words
of Scripture. We are told that 'the Lord sent fiery serpents among the
people, and they bit the people'; we are not told that they crushed
the people to death. And, while thus the truest, it is also the most
terrific conception.... Our instinct tells us that boa-constrictors do
not come in armies; and we look upon the picture with as little emotion
as upon the handle of a vase, or any other form worked out of serpents,
when there is no probability of serpents actually occurring" (Stones
of Venice: Venetian Index, "Rocco, Scuola di San," No. 24).
Claude (French: 1600-1682). See 2.
The history of this picture is curiously interesting. It belonged to
Sir George Beaumont, who valued it so highly that it was, we are told,
his travelling companion. He presented it to the National Gallery in
1826, but unable to bear its loss begged it back for the rest of his
life. He took it with him into the country, and on his death, two years
later, his widow restored it to the nation. Sir George Beaumont was not
the only artist who thought highly of this little picture. Constable,
we are told, "looked back on the first sight of this exquisite work as
an important epoch in his life.... It is called The Annunciation; but
the spring by which the female is seated, and the action of the angel
who points to the buildings in the distance, leave little doubt that
Claude's intention was to represent the first flight of Hagar from the
presence of her mistress" (Leslie's Life of Constable, 1845, p. 6).
Nicolas Poussin (French: 1593-1665). See 39.
This picture, one of Poussin's masterpieces, is probably one of four
Bacchanals painted for Cardinal Richelieu:—
Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs! whence came ye,
So many, and so many, and such glee?
Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left
Your nuts in oak-tree cleft?—
"For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree;
For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms,
And cold mushrooms;
For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth;
Great god of breathless cups and chirping mirth!
Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
To our mad minstrelsy!"
Keats: Endymion.
Annibale Carracci (Eclectic-Bologna: 1560-1609). See 9.
This picture was originally in the Giustiniani Palace at Rome; hence
the figures are supposed to represent (as stated on the frame) Prince
Giustiniani and his attendants returning from the chase.
Sebastien Bourdon (French: 1616-1671).
This picture was a great favourite with Sir Joshua Reynolds, to whom it
once belonged. He cited it, together with a picture by Salvator Rosa,
to the students of the Academy (Discourse xiv.) as an instance of the
"poetical style of landscape," calling particular attention to the
"visionary" character of "the whole and every part of the scene." The
subject is the return of the ark by the Philistines to the valley of
Bath-shemesh, as described in I Samuel vi. 10-14. The painter was one
of the original twelve anciens of the old French Academy of painting,
of which he died rector; he had formerly been painter to Queen
Christina of Sweden, to whose country he had fled as a Protestant.
Nicolas Poussin (French: 1593-1669). See under 39.
None of the "learned" Poussin's pictures in the Gallery shows so well
as this how steeped he was alike in the knowledge and in the feeling of
Greek mythology. Cephalus was a Thessalian prince whose love of hunting
carried him away at early dawn from the arms of his wife Procris (see
under 698). Hence the allegorical fable of the loves of Cephalus and
Aurora, the goddess of the dawn, and her attempt to rival Procris in
his affections. Cephalus here half yields to Aurora's blandishments,
but a little Cupid holds up before him the portrait of his wife and
recalls her love to his mind. Behind is Aurora's car, in which she is
drawn by the white-winged Pegasus across the sky. But Pegasus, with
that intermingling of many ideas which is characteristic of all Greek
myths, is also "the Angel of the Wild Fountains: that is to say, the
fastest flying or lower rain-cloud, winged, but racing as upon the
earth."[85] Hence beside him sleeps a river-god, his head resting on
his urn. But the mountain top is tipped with dawn; and behind, one sees
a Naiad waking. Farther still beyond, in a brightening horizon, the
form of Apollo, the sun-god whose advent follows on the dawn, is just
apparent, his horses and his car melting into the shapes of morning
clouds.[86]
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
Rubens "perhaps furnishes us with the first instances of complete,
unconventional, unaffected landscape. His treatment is healthy, manly,
and rational, not very affectionate, yet often condescending to minute
and multitudinous detail; always, as far as it goes, pure, forcible,
and refreshing, consummate in composition, and marvellous in colour"
(Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. i. ch. vii. § 15). Notice
especially the sky. "The whole field of ancient landscape art affords,
as far as we remember, but one instance of any effort whatever to
represent the character of the upper cloud region. That one instance
is the landscape of Rubens in our own Gallery, in which the mottled or
fleecy sky is given with perfect truth and exquisite beauty" (ibid.,
vol. i. pt. ii. sec. iii. ch. ii. § 9). Rubens's skill in landscape was
partly due to fondness for the scenery he depicted. This picture was
painted when he was at Genoa, but it is a purely Flemish scene—a broad
stretch of his own lowlands, with the castle of Stein, it is said,
which was afterwards his residence, near Mechlin, in the background,
with Flemish waggon and horses fording a brook, and with a sportsman in
the immediate foreground, carrying an old-fashioned firelock, intent on
a covey of partridges.[87] "The Dutch painters are perfectly contented
with their flat fields and pollards; Rubens, though he had seen the
Alps, usually composes his landscapes of a hayfield or two, plenty of
pollards and willows, a distant spire, a Dutch house with a moat about
it, a windmill, and a ditch" (ibid., vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. xiii. §
20). The Dutch painters agreed, in fact, with the Lincolnshire farmer
in Kingsley's Alton Locke, whom Ruskin goes on to quote: "None o'
this here darned ups and downs o' hills, to shake a body's victuals out
of his inwards," but "all so vlat as a barn's vloor, for vorty mile on
end—there's the country to live in!"
This picture is one of four "seasons." (Spring is in the Wallace
collection at Hertford House, Summer and Winter are in the Royal
collection at Windsor.) It was presented to the nation by Sir George
Beaumont. The painter Haydon, describing a visit to Sir George at
Coleorton, writes:
"We dined with the Claude and Rembrandt before us, breakfasted with the
Rubens landscape, and did nothing morning, noon, or night but think
of painting, dream of painting, and wake to paint again." The picture
is referred to also by Wordsworth in a very interesting passage.
"I heard the other day," he writes to Sir George Beaumont, "of two
artists, who thus expressed themselves upon the subject of a scene
among our lakes: 'Plague upon those vile enclosures!' said one; 'they
spoil everything.' 'Oh,' said the other, 'I never see them.' Glover
was the name of this last. Now, for my part, I should not wish to be
either of these gentlemen, but to have in my own mind the power of
turning to advantage, wherever it is possible, every object of Art and
Nature as they appear before me. What a noble instance, as you have
pointed out to me, has Rubens given of this in that picture in your
possession, where he has brought, as it were, a whole country into
one landscape, and made the most formal partitions of cultivation,
hedgerows of pollard willows, conduct the eye into the depths and
distances of his picture: and thus, more than by any other means, has
given it that appearance of immensity which is so striking" (Memorials
of Coleorton, ii. 135).
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
On the left are the usual incidents of a "Riposo," or Repose in
Egypt. St. Joseph is asleep, and the mule browses on the bank of the
stream, while John the Baptist and attendant angels play with the
Lamb. The Holy Child is on its mother's knee, and to them St. George
is presenting his proselyte, the heathen princess whom he had saved
from the dragon (see under 16). The dragon, now bridled with her
girdle, follows her meekly, and St. George, as he introduces her to the
mysteries of Christianity, plants the banner of the Faith. With the
holy mother is St. Mary Magdalen—a penitent sinner herself, like the
heathen princess, whom she now ushers into the Holy Presence.
Such appears to be the subject. As for the manner in which it is
treated, it is interesting to know that the figures are portraits of
the painter himself and his family. Rubens "is religious, too, after
his manner; hears mass every morning, and perpetually uses the phrase
'by the grace of God,' or some other such, in writing of any business
he takes in hand; but the tone of his religion may be determined
by one fact. We saw how Veronese painted himself and his family as
worshipping the Madonna. Rubens has also painted himself in an equally
elaborate piece.[88] But they are not worshipping the Madonna. They
are performing the Madonna, and her saintly entourage" (Modern
Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi. § 9).
Gaspard Poussin (French: 1613-1675). See 31.
The scene is the beautiful avenue of oaks, called the "Galleria di
Sopra," which skirts the upper margin of the Lake of Albano. Ruskin
refers to this picture in illustration of his thesis that Turner's
"truth of vegetation," in his representation of the exceeding intricacy
of nature, is not to be paralleled among the old painters, and least of
all in Gaspard Poussin with his regular "tree-patterns." The picture
before us is "a woody landscape," which in nature would be a mass of
intricate foliage—
"a mere confusion of points and lines between you and the sky....
This, as it comes down into the body of the tree, gets closer,
but never opaque; it is always transparent, with crumbling lights
in it letting you through to the sky; then, out of this, come,
heavier and heavier, the masses of illumined foliage, all dazzling
and inextricable, save here and there a single leaf on the
extremities: then, under these, you get deep passages of broken
irregular gloom, passing into transparent, green-lighted, misty
hollows ... all penetrable and transparent, and, in proportion,
inextricable and incomprehensible, except where across the
labyrinth and mystery of the dazzling light and dream-like shadow,
falls, close to us, some solitary spray, some wreath of two or
three motionless large leaves, the type and embodying of all that
in the rest we feel and imagine, but can never see.
"Now, with thus much of nature in your mind, go to Gaspard
Poussin's 'View near Albano.' It is the very subject to unite all
these effects, a sloping bank shaded with intertwined forest. And
what has Gaspard given us? A mass of smooth, opaque, varnished
brown, without one interstice, one change of hue, or any vestige
of leafy structure, in its interior, or in those parts of it, I
should say, which are intended to represent interior; but out of
it, over it rather, at regular intervals, we have circular groups
of greenish touches, always the same in size, shape, and distance
from each other, containing so exactly the same number of touches
each, that you cannot tell one from another. There are eight or
nine and thirty of them, laid over each other like fish-scales;
the shade being most carefully made darker and darker as it
recedes from each until it comes to the edge of the next, against
which it cuts in the same sharp circular line, and then begins
to decline again, until the canvas is covered with about as much
intelligence or feeling of art as a house-painter has in marbling
a wainscot, or a weaver in repeating an ornamental pattern. What
is there in this, which the most determined prejudice in favour of
the old masters can for a moment suppose to resemble trees? It is
exactly what the most ignorant beginner, trying to make a complete
drawing, would lay down; exactly the conception of trees which we
have in the works of our worst drawing-masters, where the shade
is laid on with the black lead and stump, and every human power
exerted to make it look like a kitchen grate well polished"[89]
(Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. vi. ch. i. §§ 16-19).
A further "untruth of vegetation" is the perpetration of the bough at
the left-hand upper corner. This is—
"a representation of an ornamental group of elephants' tusks, with
feathers tied to the end of them. Not the wildest imagination
could ever conjure up in it the remotest resemblance to the bough
of a tree. It might be the claws of a witch, the talons of an
eagle, the horns of a fiend; but it is a full assemblage of every
conceivable falsehood which can be told respecting foliage, a
piece of work so barbarous in every way, that one glance at it
ought to prove the complete charlatanism and trickery of the whole
system of the old landscape painters" (ibid., § 7).
Pietro Francesco Mola (Eclectic-Bologna: 1612-1668).
Mola, a native of Milan, and the son of an architect, studied
first at Rome and Venice, but afterwards at Bologna—returning
ultimately to Rome, where he held the office of President of
the Academy of St. Luke. "There is," says Sir Frederic Burton,
"a certain idyllic character in Mola's works which renders them
extremely attractive and of more artistic value than the majority
of works produced in his day."
The wild figure of the Baptist is well contrasted with the turbaned
Pharisee and the rest of his audience:—
The last, and greatest, herald of Heav'n's King,
Girt with rough skins, hies to the desert wild:
There burst he forth—"All ye whose hopes rely
On God! with me amidst these deserts mourn;
Repent! repent! and from old errors turn."
Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry?
Only the echoes, which he made relent,
Rung from their flinty caves—Repent!—repent!
Drummond of Hawthornden: Flowers of Zion.
The preacher places his right hand on his heart as if to attest his
own sincerity, while with his left he points to the Saviour, who is
seen approaching in the distance: "This is he of whom I said, After me
cometh a man which is preferred before me, for he was before me."
Padovanino (Venetian: 1590-1650).
Alessandro Varotari was born at Padua, from which town he derived
the name by which he is generally known. He was the son of a
Veronese painter, but went early to Venice, where he became a
student and imitator of the works of Titian and Paolo Veronese.
His masterpiece is the "Marriage at Cana" in the Academy at
Venice. He painted children well, and often introduced them into
his pictures.
Cornelia, a noble Roman lady, daughter of the elder Scipio Africanus,
and mother of the Gracchi, was visited by a friend, who ostentatiously
exhibited her jewels. Cornelia being asked to show hers in turn,
pointed to her two sons, just then returning from school, and said,
"These are my jewels."
Jan Both (Dutch: 1610-1662).
Jan Both, born at Utrecht, was one of the first "Italianisers"
in landscape. He was the son of a glass painter, who gave him
his first lessons in drawing; he afterwards became the pupil of
Abraham Bloemaert. As soon as he was old enough to travel, he
set out with his brother Andries for Italy. Unlike Rubens, who
even at Genoa painted only the Netherlands, Both adopted Italian
scenery as his subject. At Rome he formed his style on that of
Claude. The two brothers travelled, studied, and worked in Italy
together. Jan excelled in landscape; the figures and cattle in
his pictures were generally sketched by Andries. After some years
at Rome, the brothers worked for a time at Venice; here Andries,
having dined one evening not wisely but too well, fell from his
gondola into the water and was drowned. This was a terrible blow
to Jan, who returned to Utrecht in despair, where he survived his
brother for some years, during which Poelenburgh took the place
of Andries (see No. 209). In the year 1649 Jan was one of the
chiefs of the Painters' Guild at Utrecht, and the inscription
on an engraved portrait of him published in 1662 speaks of him
as a "good and well-respected landscape painter." Both loved to
paint abruptly-rising rocks, with mountain paths fringed with
trees, and cascades or lakes in the foreground. His best works
are distinguished by the soft golden tones of the declining day.
Several good examples of this master are to be seen at the Dulwich
Gallery.
A reminiscence, doubtless, of one of Both's journeys in the Italian
lake district. One may recall the reminiscence of Italy by another
northern traveller—
Know'st thou the mountain bridge that hangs on cloud?
The mules in mist grope o'er the torrent loud,
In caves lie coil'd the dragon's ancient brood,
The crag leaps down and over it the flood:
Know'st thou it, then?
'Tis there! 'tis there
Our way runs; O my father, wilt thou go?
Mignon's song in Wilhelm Meister: Carlyle's translation.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
Ascribed to Ercole di Giulio Grandi (Ferrarese: died 1531).
The confused character of this picture is sufficiently shown by the
fact that whilst the official designation is as above, other critics
have called it the "Destruction of Sennacherib." For a masterpiece
by Ercole, see 1119. The ascription to him of this inferior work is
decidedly doubtful.
Murillo (Spanish: 1618-1682). See 13.
Look at this and the other little boy near it (176), and you will see
at once the secret of Murillo's popularity. "In a country like Spain
he became easily the favourite of the crowd. He was one of themselves,
and had all the gifts they valued. Not like Velazquez, reproducing by
choice only the noble and dignified side of the national character,
Murillo could paint to perfection either the precocious sentiment of
the Good Shepherd with the lamb by his side, or the rags and happiness
of the gipsy beggar boy" (W. B. Scott's Murillo, p. 76)—
Poor and content is rich and rich enough.
Domenichino (Eclectic-Bologna: 1581-1641). See 48.
Compare this conventional representation of the subject with the
imaginative one by Tintoretto (16). Amongst points of comparison notice
the absence of anything terrible in the dragon, the crowd of spectators
(on the walls in the distance), St. George's helmet; and where is his
spear?
After Correggio. See under 10.
This is an old copy, or perhaps a replica, of the original picture
in the possession of the Duke of Wellington at Apsley House. The
treatment of the subject is remarkable, and characteristic of
Correggio. "The angel hovers in mid-air with marvellous ease and
lightness, and though he bears the healing message of approaching
bliss, he cannot restrain his sense of pity. His face is at once
radiant and sorrowful, expressing the mingled feelings with which he
points on the one hand to heaven, on the other to the cross and crown
of thorns. Christ, effulgent in his long straight robe and shining
aureole, gazes upward with mournful resignation, the spasm of agony
dying out of his face. The twilight landscape is calm and melancholy.
The supernatural radiance sheds but a faint light on the grass and
bushes, scarcely touching the figures of the sleeping disciples, and
dying out completely in the dense foliage beyond. But in the distance
a band of soldiers, scarcely visible by the faint glimmer of their
torches, draws near, led by Judas, and over the mountains the sky
whitens with the first pale streak of dawn" (Ricci: Correggio: his
Life, his Friends, and his Time, p. 231). The effect of light,
Mengs points out, is peculiar: "the radiance of the Saviour's face
lights up the picture. But this radiance comes from above, as if from
Heaven, while the angel is illuminated by the light reflected from
the Saviour." It is interesting to compare Correggio's version of the
agony with the earlier one by Bellini (726) and Mantegna (1417). The
earlier pictures impress us, but the manner of impression is quite
different. There is no attempt either in the Bellini or in the Mantegna
to win our sympathy by the beauty of the human type. This, on the other
hand, is of the essence of Correggio's art. "The figure of Christ and
the Angel represent the dignity of perfect humanity; and Correggio
makes the pathos of the expiatory sacrifice of Calvary turn upon this
consideration. This is the strictly Renaissance point of view" (J. E.
Hodgson, R.A., in Magazine of Art, 1886, p. 215).
The original picture has a legend attached to it. "Correggio," says
Lomazzo, "was accustomed always to value his works at a very low price,
and having on one occasion to pay a bill of four or five scudi to an
apothecary in his native city, he painted him 'Christ Praying in the
Garden,' which he executed with all possible care." The picture was
sold shortly afterwards for 500 scudi. It was subsequently in the
royal collection at Madrid, and after the battle of Vittoria it was
found in Joseph Bonaparte's carriage by one of Wellington's colonels.
Wellington hastened to restore it to Ferdinand VII., who, not to be
outdone in courtesy, presented it to the duke. The picture in our
Gallery was part of the Angerstein collection.
Domenichino (Eclectic-Bologna: 1581-1641). See 48.
Nicolas Berchem (Dutch: 1620-1683).
Nicolas Pietersz, son of Pieter Claesz, a painter, called himself
Berchem, by which name he is entered in the town records of
Haarlem, and by which he signed his pictures. He married the
daughter of his master, Jan Wils (No. 1007). In 1642 he became
a member of the Guild of St. Luke at Haarlem. No authentic
information exists about his visiting Italy, but that he had
travelled in that country is clear from the views represented in
his pictures, and from the character of his landscapes generally.
His style resembles that of another Dutch "Italianiser," Jan Both
(No. 71), and there seems to have been some rivalry between the
two men. It is related that a burgomaster of Dordrecht, Van der
Hulk by name, commissioned a picture from each painter, promising
an additional premium to the one whose work should be thought the
better. On the completion Of the pictures, the patron declared
that the admirable works had deprived him of the capability of
preference, and that both were entitled to the premium. The
picture painted on this occasion by Berchem is the "Halt of
Huntsmen," now in the Hermitage at St. Petersburg. Berchem's
landscapes are taken, says Dr. Richter, "from the mountainous
countries of Italy, and the types and costumes of the figures
therein represented are also entirely Italian, though not copied
direct from nature. He probably painted most of his Italian
landscapes in Holland. What characterises him principally is a
brilliant and easy touch, with which he renders nature with more
art than exactitude. He is more ingenious in his conceptions
than profound or true." The mannerism and monotony of his works
accord with what is told of his life. In 1665, when at the height
of his reputation, he sold his labour to a dealer, from early in
the morning to four in the afternoon, for ten florins a day. His
wife, it appears, kept the purse, and is said to have doled out
very scanty supplies—a precaution which was perhaps necessary,
as Berchem had a weakness for Italian drawings, his collection of
which sold at his death for 12,800 florins.
Garofalo (Ferrarese: 1481-1559).
Benvenuto Tisio, called Garofalo[91] from the village of that name
on the Po to which his family belonged, was (like Sodoma) the
son of a shoemaker, and having shown a strong taste for art, was
apprenticed as a lad to the Ferrarese painter, Domenico Panetti.
Seven years later he went to Cremona and attached himself to
Boccaccino (806). He left Cremona suddenly, as described in a
letter, still extant, from Boccaccino to Garofalo's father: "Had
your son," he writes, "learnt good manners as thoroughly as he has
learnt painting, he would scarcely have played me such a shabby
trick. He has taken himself off, I know not whither, and without
a word. But this may be a clue to his whereabouts, that he said,
if he is to be believed, that he would see Rome." From Rome he
returned to Ferrara, where he formed a warm friendship with the
brothers Dossi. In 1509 he was again in Rome, where he saw and
admired Michael Angelo's frescoes in the Sixtine Chapel in all the
splendour of their freshness. He also greatly admired the work of
Raphael; "and displayed," says Vasari, "so much diffidence as well
as courtesy that he became the friend of Raphael, who, kind and
obliging as he was, assisted and favoured Benvenuto much, teaching
him many things." In 1511 Benvenuto was at Mantua, but in the
following year he returned to Ferrara, which remained his home for
the rest of his life. There, says Vasari, who was entertained by
him, he lived a particularly happy and busy life, being "cheerful
of disposition, mild in his converse, warmly attached to his
friends, beyond measure affectionate and devoted, and always
supporting the trials of his life with patient resignation." These
trials were very heavy, for soon after he was forty he lost the
sight of one eye; "nor was he without fear and much danger of
losing the other. He then recommended himself to God, and made a
vow to wear grey clothing ever after, as, in fact, he did, when by
the grace of God the sight of the left eye was preserved to him so
perfectly that the works executed by Garofalo in his sixty-fifth
year are so well done, so delicately finished, and evince so much
care, that they are truly wonderful." For the last nine years of
his life he was totally blind, in which affliction he solaced
himself by cultivating music. Garofalo's works are very numerous;
many of them are in France and in Rome, and in our own Gallery he
is well represented. "He was conscientious and truthful within his
scope, and the ease and delicacy with which he carried out his
smaller works could hardly be exceeded." He was an eclectic rather
than an original painter, though he remained Ferrarese throughout
in his system of colouring. "His fellow-countrymen have called him
the 'Ferrarese Raphael,' in the same way that the Milanese have
called Luini the 'Lombard Raphael,' and, if properly understood,
both appellations have their meaning; for these painters occupy
much the same position in their respective schools as did Raphael
in the Umbrian, Andrea del Sarto in the Florentine, etc., though
the individual gifts of each were of course very different."
(Morelli's Borghese and Doria-Pamfili Galleries, pp. 200-214,
contains a detailed account of Garofalo. His theory that the works
attributed to Ortolano are in reality early works of Garofalo is
very doubtful. See on this point under 699, and cf. Venturi's
criticism in the Catalogue of the Ferrarese Exhibition at the
Burlington Fine Arts Club).
A well-known incident in the life of St. Augustine, Bishop of Hippo in
Africa (A.D. 354-430), one of the "doctors" of the Christian
Church whose writings have had a greater effect than those probably
of any one man on the beliefs and lives of succeeding Christian ages.
Whilst busied, he tells us, in writing his discourse on the Trinity,
he one day beheld a child, who, having dug a hole in the sand, was
bringing water, as children at the seaside do, to empty the sea into
his hole. Augustine told him it was impossible. "Not more impossible,"
replied the child, "than for thee, O Augustine! to explain the mystery
on which thou art now meditating" ("Canst thou by searching find out
God? canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection? It is as high as
heaven; what canst thou do? deeper than hell; what canst thou know? The
measure thereof is longer than the earth, and broader than the sea,"
Job xi. 7-9). The painter shows the visionary nature of the scene by
placing beside St Augustine the figure of St. Catherine, the patron
saint of theologians and scholars, and in the background, on a little
jutting cape, St. Stephen, whose life and actions are set forth in St.
Augustine's writings. The saint himself receives the child's lesson
with the contemptuous impatience of a scholar's ambition; but all the
time the heavens whose mysteries he would fain explore are open behind
him, and the angel choirs are singing that he who would enter in must
first become as a little child, "for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven."
Mazzolino (Ferrarese: 1480-1528). See 169.
For better examples of this painter, see Nos. 169 and 641.
Salvator Rosa (Neapolitan: 1615-1673).
"What is most to be admired in the works of Salvator Rosa,"
says Sir Joshua Reynolds, "is the perfect correspondence which
he observed between the subjects which he chose and his manner
of treating them. Everything is of a piece: his rocks, trees,
sky, even to his handling, have the same wild and rude character
which animates his figures." There is perhaps no painter whose
life is more accurately reflected in his work than Salvator.
Conspicuous in this picture are a withered tree on the right and
a withered tree on the left: they are typical of the painter's
blasted life, and "indignant, desolate, and degraded art." He was
born near Naples, the son of an architect and land-surveyor. In
early youth he forsook his father's business and began secretly
to learn painting. At seventeen his father died, and Salvator,
being one of a large and poor family, was thrown on his own
resources. He "cast himself carelessly on the current of life. No
rectitude of ledger-lines stood in his way; no tender precision
of household customs; no calm successions of rural labour. But
past his half-starved lips rolled profusion of pitiless wealth;
before him glared and swept the troops of shameless pleasure.
Above him muttered Vesuvius; beneath his feet shook the Solfatara.
In heart disdainful, in temper adventurous; conscious of power,
impatient of labour, and yet more of the pride of the patrons of
his youth, he fled to the Calabrian hills, seeking, not knowledge,
but freedom. If he was to be surrounded by cruelty and deceit,
let them at least be those of brave men or savage beasts, not of
the timorous and the contemptible. Better the wrath of the robber
than enmity of the priest; and the cunning of the wolf than of
the hypocrite." It was in this frame of mind that he sought the
solitudes of the hills: "How I hate the sight of every spot that
is inhabited," he says in one of his letters. It was thus that
he formed the taste for the wild nature which distinguishes his
landscapes. It is said indeed that he once herded for a time
with a band of brigands in the Abruzzi. "Yet even among such
scenes as these Salvator might have been calmed and exalted had
he been, indeed, capable of exaltation. But he was not of high
temper enough to perceive beauty. He had not the sacred sense—the
sense of colour; all the loveliest hues of the Calabrian air
were invisible to him; the sorrowful desolation of the Calabrian
villages unfelt. He saw only what was gross and terrible,—the
jagged peak, the splintered tree, the flowerless bank of grass,
and wandering weed, prickly and pale. His temper confirmed itself
in evil, and became more and more fierce and morose; though not,
I believe, cruel, ungenerous, or lascivious. I should not suspect
Salvator of wantonly inflicting pain. His constantly painting it
does not prove he delighted in it; he felt the horror of it, and
in that horror, fascination. Also, he desired fame, and saw that
here was an untried field rich enough in morbid excitement to
catch the humour of his indolent patrons. But the gloom gained
upon him, and grasped him. He could jest, indeed, as men jest in
prison-yards (he became afterwards a renowned mimic in Florence);
his satires are full of good mocking, but his own doom to sadness
is never repealed." It is characteristic of the man that the
picture on the reputation of which he went up from Naples to Rome
was "Tityus torn by the Vulture." At Rome, besides his fame as a
painter, he made his mark as a musician, poet, and improvisatore.
He cut a brave figure in the Carnival, and his satires were bold
and biting. Partly on this account he afterwards found it well to
leave Rome for Florence, where he formed one of the company of "I
Percossi" (the stricken)—of jovial wits and artists—who enjoyed
the hospitalities of Cardinal Carlo Giovanni de' Medici. But in
spite of his merry-making he knew (as he says in a cantata) "no
truce from care, no pause from woe." He ultimately died of the
dropsy, having shortly before his death married the Florentine
Lucrezia, who had borne him two sons. "Of all men whose work I
have ever studied," says Mr. Ruskin, in summing up his career as
typical of the lives which cannot conquer evil but remain at war
with, or in captivity to it, "he gives me most distinctly the idea
of a lost spirit. Michelet calls him, 'Ce damné Salvator,' perhaps
in a sense merely harsh and violent; the epithet to me seems
true in a more literal, more merciful sense,—'That condemned
Salvator.' I see in him, notwithstanding all his baseness, the
last traces of spiritual life in the art of Europe.... All
succeeding men ... were men of the world; they are never in
earnest and they are never appalled. But Salvator was capable of
pensiveness, of faith, and of fear. The misery of the earth is a
marvel to him; he cannot leave off gazing at it. The religion of
the earth is a horror to him. He gnashes his teeth at it, rages
at it, mocks and gibes at it. He would have acknowledged religion
had he seen any that was true.... Helpless Salvator! A little
early sympathy, a word of true guidance, perhaps, had saved him.
What says he of himself? 'Despiser of wealth and of death.' Two
grand scorns: but, oh, condemned Salvator! the question is not for
man what he can scorn, but what he can love." At the "opposite
poles of art are Fra Angelico and Salvator Rosa; of whom the
one was a man who smiled seldom, wept often, prayed constantly,
and never harboured an impure thought. His pictures are simply
so many pieces of jewellery, the colour of the draperies being
perfectly pure, as various as those of a painted window, chastened
only by paleness, and relieved upon a gold ground. Salvator was
a dissipated jester and satirist, a man who spent his life in
masquing and revelry. But his pictures are full of horror, and
their colour is for the most part gloomy grey. Truly it would seem
as if art had so much eternity in it that it must take its dye
from the close rather than the course of life; 'in such laughter
the heart of man is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth is
heaviness'" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. iv. See also
vol. i. pt. i. sec. ii. ch. ii. § 9; vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. xviii.
§ 21; vol. v. pt. ix. ch. viii. § 14. Stones of Venice, vol.
ii. ch. v. § 31. For a full record of fact and romance about this
painter, see Lady Morgan's interesting Life and Times of Salvator
Rosa; London, 1855).
An illustration of Æsop's fable of the dishonest woodman who, hearing
of the reward which an honest fellow-labourer had obtained from Mercury
for not claiming either the gold or silver axe which the god first
offered, threw his axe also into the water, hoping for like good
fortune. Mercury—here seen standing in the stream—showed him a golden
axe. He claimed it, and the god having rebuked him for his impudence,
left him to lose his axe and repent of his folly. The painting of the
picture is conspicuous for that want of sense for colour, noted above
as fatally characteristic of Salvator:—
There is on the left-hand side something without doubt intended
for a rocky mountain, in the middle distance, near enough for
all its fissures and crags to be distinctly visible, or, rather,
for a great many awkward scratches of the brush over it to be
visible, which, though not particularly representative either of
one thing or another, are without doubt intended to be symbolical
of rocks. Now no mountain in full light, and near enough for
its details of crags to be seen, is without great variety of
delicate colour. Salvator has painted it throughout without one
instant of variation; but this, I suppose, is simplicity and
generalisation;—let it pass: but what is the colour? Pure sky
blue, without one grain of grey, or any modifying hue whatsoever;
the same brush which had just given the bluest parts of the sky
has been more loaded at the same part of the pallet, and the whole
mountain thrown in with unmitigated ultramarine. Now, mountains
can only become pure blue when there is so much air between them
that they become mere flat dark shades, every detail being totally
lost: they become blue when they become air, and not till then.
Consequently this part of Salvator's painting, being of hills
perfectly clear and near, with all their details visible, is, as
far as colour is concerned, broad, bold falsehood, the direct
assertion of direct impossibility.
In connection with Salvator's want of sense for colour one should
take his insensitiveness to other beauty. For instance, his choice
of withered trees, which are here on both sides of us, "is precisely
the sign of his preferring ugliness to beauty, decrepitude and
disorganisation to life and youth" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii.
sec. ii. ch. ii. § 4; vol. v. pt. vi. ch. viii. § 7).
Domenichino (Eclectic-Bologna: 1581-1641). See 48.
For St. Jerome, see under 227. The apparition of the angel implies the
special call of St. Jerome to the work of translating the Scriptures.
Annibale Carracci (Eclectic-Bologna: 1560-1609). See 9.
A scene from the "Jerusalem Delivered" by Carracci's contemporary,
Tasso. Erminia from the beleaguered city of Jerusalem had beheld
the Christian knight, Tancred, whom she loved, wounded in conflict.
Disguised in the armour of her friend Clorinda, wearing a dark blue
cuirass with a white mantle over it, she stole forth at night to tend
him. The sentinels espy her and give her chase. But she outstrips them
all, and after a three days' flight finds herself amongst a shepherd
family, who entertain her kindly. The old shepherd is busily making
card-baskets, and listening to the music of his children. Their fear
gives place to delight as the strange warrior, having dismounted from
her horse and thrown off her helmet and shield, unbinds her tresses and
discloses herself a woman—
An old man, on a rising ground,
In the fresh shade, his white flocks feeding near,
Twig baskets wove; and listen'd to the sound
Trill'd by three blooming boys, who sat disporting round.
These, at the shining of her silver arms,
Were seized at once with wonder and despair;
But sweet Erminia sooth'd their vain alarms,
Discovering her dove's eyes and golden hair.
"Follow," she said, "dear innocents, the care
Of heaven, your fanciful employ;
For the so formidable arms I bear,
No cruel warfare bring, nor harsh annoy
To your engaging tasks, to your sweet songs of joy."
From Landseer's Catalogue, p. 214.
This picture has sometimes been ascribed to Domenichino; as the latter
was occasionally employed by Annibale to execute his designs, both
masters may have had a share in the work.
Nicolas Poussin (French: 1593-1665). See 39.
Annibale Carracci (Eclectic-Bologna: 1560-1609). See 9.
Silenus in a leopard skin, the nurse and preceptor of Bacchus, the
wine-god, is being hoisted by two attendant fauns, so that with his
own hands he may pick the grapes. This and the companion picture, 94,
originally decorated a harpsichord.
Annibale Carracci (Eclectic-Bologna: 1560-1609). See 9.
A clever picture of contrasts. The old preceptor is leering and
pampered, yet with something of a schoolmaster's gravity, "half
inclining to the brute, half conscious of the god." The young
pupil—like the shepherd boy in Sidney's Arcadia, "piping as though
he should never be old"—is "full of simple careless grace, laughing in
youth and beauty; he holds the Pan's pipe in both hands, and looks up
with timid wonder, with an expression of mingled delight and surprise
at the sounds he produces" (Hazlitt: Criticisms upon Art, p. 6).
These two pictures—together with the "Lot" and "Susannah" of Guido
(193 and 196)—used to hang in the Lancellotti Palace in Rome. Lanzi
describes our picture, No. 94, as one of the principal treasures of
that collection. It is exquisitely finished, he says; the figures are
"at once designed, coloured, and disposed with the hand of a great
master" (Bohn's translation, iii. 79).
Gaspard Poussin (French: 1613-1675). See 31.
Dido, Queen of Carthage, enamoured of the Trojan Æneas, the destined
founder of Rome, sought to detain him by strategy within her dominions.
The goddess Juno, who had espoused Dido's cause, contrived that a storm
should befall when the Queen and her guests were on a hunting party
(Æneid, iv. 119). In front of the cave a Cupid holds the horse of
Æneas, and two others are fluttering above. High in the clouds is Juno,
accompanied by Venus, who had contrived all this for Dido's undoing.
As for the execution of the picture, "the stormy wind blows loudly
through its leaves, but the total want of invention in the cloud-forms
bears it down beyond redemption. Look at the wreaths of cloud (?),
with their unpleasant edges cut as hard and solid and opaque and smooth
as thick black paint can make them, rolled up over one another like a
dirty sail badly reefed"[93] (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec.
iii. ch. iv. § 23; vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. ii. ch. ii. § 18).
Paolo Veronese (Veronese: 1528-1588). See 26 & p. xix.
(A study for a larger picture now at Vienna.) Jupiter, enamoured of
Europa, a Phoenician princess, transformed himself into a white bull,
and mingled with her father's herds whilst she was gathering flowers
with her attendants. Europa, struck by the beauty and gentle nature
of the beast, caressed him, and even mounted on his back. Two of her
attendants are here assisting her, while a third remonstrates with her
on her foolhardiness. Europa is replying that she has no fears. The
amorous bull meanwhile is licking her foot. He is garlanded with a
wreath of flowers, which is held by his master Cupid, forming thus the
leading-string of Love. With the other hand Cupid has "taken the bull
by the horn"; whilst above, two little winged loves are gathering fruit
and scattering roses. In the middle distance Europa and the bull appear
again, about to enter the sea; whilst farther on, the bull is swimming
with her toward the land. For the story goes that as soon as Europa
had seated herself on his back Jupiter crossed the sea and carried her
safely to the island of Crete, and from this rape of Europa comes the
name of the continent to which she was carried.
Gaspard Poussin (French: 1613-1675). See 31.
This picture and the scene of it—the ancient town of Aricia, about
fifteen miles from Rome, famous in Roman legend, and Horace's first
stopping-place on his journey to Brindisi—are described by Ruskin in a
celebrated passage of Modern Painters:—
"Whether it can be supposed to resemble the ancient Aricia, now
La Riccia, close to Albano, I will not take upon me to determine,
seeing that most of the towns of those old masters are quite as
much like one place as another; but, at any rate, it is a town
on a hill, wooded with two-and-thirty bushes, of very uniform
size, and possessing about the same number of leaves each. These
bushes are all painted in with one dull opaque brown, becoming
very slightly greenish towards the lights, and discover in one
place a bit of rock, which of course would in nature have been
cool and grey beside the lustrous hues of foliage, and which,
therefore, being moreover completely in shade, is consistently and
scientifically painted of a very clear, pretty, and positive brick
red, the only thing like colour in the picture. The foreground
is a piece of road which, in order to make allowance for its
greater nearness, for its being completely in light, and, it may
be presumed, for the quantity of vegetation usually present on
carriage-roads, is given in a very cool green grey; and the truth
of the picture is completed by a number of dots in the sky on the
right, with a stalk to them, of a sober and similar brown.[94]
"Not long ago, I was slowly descending this very bit of carriage
road.... The noonday sun came slanting down the rocky slopes of
La Riccia, and their masses of entangled and tall foliage, whose
autumnal tints were mixed with the wet verdure of a thousand
evergreens, were penetrated with it as with rain. I cannot call
it colour: it was conflagration. Purple and crimson and scarlet,
like the curtains of God's tabernacle, the rejoicing trees sank
into the valley in showers of light, every separate leaf quivering
with buoyant and burning life; each, as it turned to reflect or
to transmit the sunbeam, first a torch and then an emerald. Far
up into the recesses of the valley, the green vistas arched like
the hollows of mighty waves of some crystalline sea, with the
arbutus flowers dashed along their flanks for foam, and silver
flakes of orange spray tossed into the air around them, breaking
over the grey walls of rock into a thousand separate stars, fading
and kindling alternately as the weak wind lifted and let them
fall. Every glade of grass burned like the golden floor of heaven,
opening in sudden gleams as the foliage broke and closed above
it, as sheet-lightning opens in a cloud at sunset; the motionless
masses of dark rock—dark though flushed with scarlet lichen,
casting their quiet shadows across its restless radiance, the
fountain underneath them filling its marble hollow with blue mist
and fitful sound; and over all, the multitudinous bars of amber
and rose, the sacred clouds that have no darkness, and only exist
to illumine, were seen in fathomless intervals between the solemn
and orbed repose of the stone pines, passing to lose themselves in
the last, white, blinding lustre of the measureless line where the
Campagna melted into the sea. Tell me who is likest this, Poussin
or Turner?" (vol. i. pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. ii. §§ 1-3).
Ruskin further instances the picture as an example of "untruth of
trees." It is an elementary law of tree structure that stems only taper
when sending off foliage and sprays:—
"Therefore we see at once that the stem of Gaspard Poussin's tall
tree, on the right of the 'La Riccia,' is the painting of a carrot
or a parsnip, not of the trunk of a tree" (see further, ibid.,
vol. i. pt. ii. sec. vi. ch. i. § 6; and cf. vol. ii. pt. iii.
sec. ii. ch. ii. § 18).
Nicolas Lancret (French: 1690-1743).
Lancret, a painter of the "fêtes galantes" school, was an imitator
of Watteau, but his productions lack the airy grace and touch of
poetry which elevate even the most frivolous pictures of that
"prince of court painters" into works of fine art. Examples of
Watteau are now included among the National treasures in the
Wallace collection at Hertford House. Lancret was the son of
humble parents, and received his early training as an engraver.
Entering subsequently the studio of Claude Gillot he came under
the influence of Watteau, but his friendship with that painter was
short-lived. A rivalry appears to have sprung up between them,
and they remained estranged until the closing year of Watteau's
life. "Lancret was a thorough bourgeois, and passed his time
chiefly in Paris. He was a regular frequenter of the opera and
the 'Comique,' and was a friend of the dancers La Camargo and
La Sallé, whom he frequently represented in his works" (Bryan's
Dictionary of Painters). In 1719 he was admitted into the
Academy, and in 1735 was elected Councillor. In 1840 he married a
grand-daughter of the comic poet Boursault.
These pictures, which are among the principal works of Lancret, are
interesting historical records as showing the ideal of life at the
French Court in the time of the regent Orleans and Louis XV. In
"Infancy" (101) children, in the gayest clothes and garlanded with
flowers, are at play under a stately portico—life being not so much
a stage as a game, and all the men and women (in that sense) "merely
players." To what should children, thus educated, grow up but to the
pomps and vanity of life, as shown in "Youth" (102)? The adornment of
the person is the chief occupation, it would seem, of the dwellers in
"the Armida Palace, where the inmates live enchanted lives, lapped in
soft music of adulation, waited on by the splendours of the world."
And "Manhood" (103) is like unto youth. The business of life is
pleasure on the greensward, with shooting at the popinjay! "Old Age"
(104) has no place in such a philosophy of life. One old man is indeed
attempting a last amour. The other caresses a dog, while the old women
sleep or spin. But in "Old Age" the painter changes his scene from the
court to common life; the thought of old age is banished, it seems,
from the high life of princes. "In short," wrote an English observer at
the time when this picture was painted, "all the symptoms which I have
ever met with in History, previous to all Changes and Revolutions in
government, now exist and daily increase in France" (Lord Chesterfield:
see Carlyle's French Revolution, bk. i. ch. ii.).
Jacob Huysman (Dutch: 1656-1696).
Huysman was one of the many foreign artists who settled in England
under the Stuarts. He obtained considerable employment as a
portrait painter, in spite of Sir Peter Lely's rivalry; one of the
portraits among the "Windsor Beauties," now at Hampton Court, was
painted by him.
A portrait of the retired city hosier who became famous as the author
of the Complete Angler. It was painted for his family (with whom
it remained till it was presented to the National Gallery in 1838),
and was engraved in one of the later editions of the book (1836).
Izaak Walton—"that quaint, old, cruel coxcomb" (as Byron, who was no
fisherman, called him)—lived to be ninety: his fishing did something,
one may expect, to keep him in the vigorous health which is here
stamped on his face. "The features of the countenance often enable us,"
says Zouch in the Memoirs of Izaak Walton (cited in M. E. Wotton's
Word Portraits of Famous Writers, p. 323), "to form a judgment, not
very fallible, of the disposition of the mind. In few portraits can
this discovery be more successfully pursued than in that of Izaak
Walton. Lavater, the acute master of physiognomy, would, I think,
instantly acknowledge in it the decisive traits of the original,—mild
complacency, forbearance, mature consideration, calm activity, peace,
sound understanding, power of thought, discerning attention, and
secretly active friendship. Happy in his unblemished integrity, happy
in the approbation and esteem of others, he enwraps himself in his own
virtue. The exaltation of a good conscience eminently shines forth in
this venerable person."
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768).
Antonio Canale, commonly called Canaletto,[95] was born in Venice,
lived in Venice, and painted Venice. His pictures (of which the
one before us is among the best) are in some respects very like
the place, but most of those who love it best soon find much
that is wanting in Canaletto's representations. "The effect of
a fine Canaletto," says Ruskin, "is, in its first impression,
dioramic. We fancy we are in our beloved Venice again, with one
foot, by mistake, in the clear, invisible film of water lapping
over the marble steps of the foreground. Every house has its
proper relief against the sky; every brick and stone its proper
hue of sunlight and shade; and every degree of distance its
proper tone of relieving air. Presently, however, we begin to
feel that it is hard and gloomy, and that the painter, compelled
by the lowness of the utmost light at his disposal to deepen
the shadows, in order to get the right relation, has lost the
flashing, dazzling, exulting light which was one of our chief
sources of Venetian happiness. But we pardon this, knowing it
to be unavoidable, and begin to look for something of that in
which Venice differs from Rotterdam, or any other city built
beside canals. We know that house, certainly; we never passed it
without stopping our gondola, for its arabesques were as rich as
a bank of flowers in spring, and as beautiful as a dream. What
has Canaletto given us for them? Four black dots. Well; take the
next house. We remember that too; it was mouldering inch by inch
into the canal, and the bricks had fallen away from its shattered
marble shafts, and left them white, skeleton-like; yet, with their
fretwork of cold flowers wreathed about them still, untouched by
time, and through the rents of the wall behind them there used
to come long sunbeams, greened by the weeds through which they
pierced, which flitted and fell, one by one, round those grey and
quiet shafts, catching here a leaf and there a leaf, and gliding
over the illumined edges and delicate fissures, until they sank
into the deep dark hollow between the marble blocks of the sunk
foundation, lighting every other moment one isolated emerald lamp
on the crest of the intermittent waves, when the wild sea-weeds
and crimson lichens drifted and crawled with their thousand
colours and free branches over its decay, and the black, clogging,
accumulated limpets hung in ropy clusters from the dripping
and tinkling stone. What has Canaletto given us for this? One
square red mass, composed of—let me count—five-and-fifty, no;
six-and-fifty, no; I was right at first, five-and-fifty bricks,
of precisely the same size, shape, and colour, one great black
line for the shadow of the roof at the top, and six similar
ripples in a row at the bottom! And this is what people call
'painting nature'! It is, indeed, painting nature, as she appears
to the most unfeeling and untaught of mankind. The bargeman and
the bricklayer probably see no more in Venice than Canaletto
gives—heaps of earth and mortar, with water between—and are
just as capable of appreciating the facts of sunlight and shadow,
by which he deceives us, as the most educated of us all. But
what more there is in Venice than brick and stone—what there
is of mystery and death, and memory and beauty—what there is
to be learned or lamented, to be loved or wept—we look for to
Canaletto in vain" (Modern Painters, vol. i. sec. ii. pt. i. ch.
vii. § 7, first edition). Canaletto's pictures of Venice in this
room should be compared with Turner's. It is impossible to get
a more instructive instance of the different impression made on
different minds by the same scenes. Canaletto drew, says one of
his admirers (Lanzi, ii. 317), exactly as he saw. Well, what he
did see we have shown us here. What others have seen, those who
have not been to Venice can discover from Turner's pictures, from
Shelley's and Byron's verse, or Ruskin's prose. "Let the reader
restore Venice in his imagination to some resemblance of what she
must have been before her fall. Let him, looking from Lido or
Fusina, replace, in the forest of towers, those of the hundred and
sixty-six churches which the French threw down; let him sheet her
walls with purple and scarlet, overlay her minarets with gold,
... and fill her canals with gilded barges and bannered ships;
finally, let him withdraw from this scene, already so brilliant,
such sadness and stain as had been set upon it by the declining
energies of more than half a century, and he will see Venice as
it was seen by Canaletto (as it might have been seen by him,
Ruskin means); whose miserable, virtueless, heartless mechanism,
accepted as the representation of such various glory, is, both in
its existence and acceptance, among the most striking signs of
the lost sensation and deadened intellect of the nation at that
time.... The mannerism of Canaletto is the most degraded that I
know in the whole range of art. Professing the most servile and
mindless imitation, it imitates nothing but the blackness of the
shadows; it gives no single architectural ornament, however near,
so much form, as might enable us even to guess at its actual one;
... it gives the buildings neither their architectural beauty
nor their ancestral dignity, for there is no texture of stone
nor character of age in Canaletto's touch; which is invariably
a violent, black, sharp, ruled penmanlike line, as far removed
from the grace of nature as from her faintness and transparency:
and for his truth of colour let the single fact of his having
omitted all record whatsoever of the frescoes, whose wrecks are
still to be found at least on one half of the unrestored palaces,
and, with still less excusableness, all record of the magnificent
coloured marbles" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt ii. sec. i. ch.
vii. § 30). Stated in the fewest words, the difference between
Canaletto and the others is this: To Canaletto Venice was a city
of murky shadows, to them it is a city of enchanted colour. But
his pictures satisfied the taste of his time, as the great number
of them still extant testifies. Moreover his fame extended beyond
his own country. There was an English resident at Venice who
engaged Canaletto (who started in life at his father's profession,
that of scene painter) to work for him at low prices, and then
used to retail the pictures at an enormous profit to English
travellers. At last Canaletto came to England himself, and was
given many commissions; but after two years he returned to Venice,
as it was still Venetian pictures that his patrons wanted. How
completely the public taste has now changed is shown by the fact
that the Venice of all the most popular painters to-day, of
whatever nation, is the Venice of Ruskin and Turner. Canaletto's
pictures, however, will always possess one element of interest,
apart from any fluctuations in taste. Within his limits they are
historical records of the appearance of Venice in his time; and as
more and more of the old Venice is destroyed, Canaletto's pictures
will increase in interest. For though he is mechanical, yet his
mechanism is very good. He was, by the way, the first to apply
the camera obscura to linear perspective, and he painted in a
workmanlike manner, so that his pictures endure.[96]
An interesting piece of "old Venice." Beyond the canal is what is
now the National Gallery of Venice—the Academy of Arts—but was
in Canaletto's time still the Scuola della Carità, the conventual
buildings of the Brotherhood of our Lady of Charity. Notice the green
grass in the little square: the Campo, as it is called (the field), is
now covered with flagstones (there is a sketch of this spot among the
Turner drawings given by Ruskin to the University Galleries at Oxford:
see Guide to the Venetian Academy, p. 34).
Cornelius Gerritz Decker (Dutch: died 1678).
"Amongst the artists who followed the footsteps of Ruysdael and
Hobbema, the one who most nearly resembled these masters was
Cornelius Decker, whose works may be classed among the best Dutch
landscapes" (Havard's Dutch School, p. 209). He painted at
Haarlem, and studied under Salomon Ruysdael (see 1344).
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768). See 127.
The artist, "disgusted with his first profession (of scene painter),
removed," we are told, "while still young to Rome, where he wholly
devoted himself to drawing views from nature, and in particular from
ancient ruins" (Lanzi, ii. 317).
Jan van Goyen (Dutch: 1596-1656).
Jan van Goyen, one of the first masters in the native Dutch art
of landscape as opposed to the exotic work of the Italianisers,
was born at Leyden in 1596. He studied with the elder Swanenburch,
the father of Rembrandt's first master, and subsequently went
to Haarlem to work under Esaias van de Velde. His position in
the world of art was considerable. In 1640 he was President of
the Guild of St. Luke at the Hague; his portrait was painted
by Vandyck and Frans Hals; and Jan Steen was his son-in-law.
His earlier extant pictures date from 1621, his latest go down
to the year of his death. His production during this period of
thirty-five years was immense; "a single London expert claims to
have had at least three or four hundred genuine pictures by the
master passing through his hands during the last thirty years."
Like so many of the Dutch masters whose works are now prized, he
received in his lifetime very small sums for his pictures—often
not more than fifteen or twenty florins apiece. He tried to help
his income by speculating in houses, and even, after the fashion
of the time, in tulips. But he died insolvent. His work, however,
and influence remained. His extant pictures are very numerous; and
among the successors whose skill was largely formed by him are
Cuyp, Jan van de Cappelle, and Salomon Ruysdael. "The subjects
which he preferred were of two kinds: flat landscapes with a
little broken ground in the front, a cottage, the figures of a few
peasants, and a clump of trees; or, on the other hand,—and these
are his best and most characteristic productions—broad views of
the river scenery of Holland, a wide expanse of water under a wide
sky." He was one of the first to discover a poetry in the unbroken
horizons of his native land. "Where he is at his best is in the
painting of the infinitely varied sky that overhangs a great Dutch
river or estuary, the clouds taking at every movement new shapes
or new effects of light and shade, and the water below reflecting
them" (see an article on "The Landscape Painters of Holland"
in The Quarterly Review, October 1891). In order to give his
favourite effects, he generally placed the skyline very low in the
picture, sometimes not more than a quarter of the canvas being
given to the landscape. Van Goyen aimed rather at tone than at
colour. "His silvery river-views, with all their delicate shades
of grey, are almost studies in monochrome." In his landscapes the
foliage and the herbage partake more or less of brown or gray. "No
heavy, dark, no bright colour disturbs," says Sir F. Burton, "the
dreamy monotone."
This work was formerly ascribed to J. Ruysdael.
Giovanni Antonio Panini (Roman: 1695-1768).
Panini, who obtained celebrity as a painter of architectural
subjects, was born at Piacenza, and studied in Rome. His settled
place of abode was that city, but for some time he lived in Paris,
and in 1732 he was elected a member of the French Academy.
Roman ruins with the pyramid of Caius Cestius.
Bartholomeus van der Helst (Dutch: 1611-1670).
Of the life of Van der Helst, one of the most distinguished of
the Dutch portrait painters, little is known, except that he
resided constantly at Amsterdam, and was in good practice there
as a portrait painter. He had a part in founding the Painters'
Guild there, whilst his likeness of Paul Potter at the Hague
(1654), and his partnership with Bakhuizen, who laid in the
backgrounds of some of his pictures in 1668, indicate a constant
companionship with the best artists of the time. His masterpiece
is in the Museum at Amsterdam. It contains thirty-five portraits,
whole length, and represents a banquet given by a company of
the civil-guard of Amsterdam, in commemoration of the Peace of
Münster, in 1648. Sir Joshua Reynolds, in his Journey to Flanders
and Holland, says of that work that it "is, perhaps, the first
picture of portraits in the world, comprehending more of those
qualities which make a perfect portrait than any other I have
ever seen." Whilst delighted with Van der Helst, Sir Joshua was
disappointed by Rembrandt; and certainly "Van der Helst attracts
by qualities entirely differing from those of Rembrandt and Frans
Hals: nothing can be more striking than the contrast between the
strong concentrated light and the deep gloom of Rembrandt, and the
contempt of chiaroscuro peculiar to his rival, except the contrast
between the rapid sketchy touch of Hals and the careful finish of
Van der Helst."
This picture is dated 1647.
Abraham Storck (Dutch: 1630-1710).
About the life of this marine painter nothing is known. His
pictures usually represent views near Amsterdam, "with a variety
of shipping and boats, and a number of small figures, correctly
drawn, and handled with spirit. His ships are well drawn, his
colouring clear and transparent, and his skies and water light and
floating" (Bryan).
Rotterdam is seen in the distance.
Agostino Carracci (Eclectic-Bologna: 1557-1602).
Agostino was the elder brother of Annibale Carracci (see under
9) and cousin of Lodovico (see under 28). It was he who composed
the well-known sonnet in which the aims of the Eclectic School
are set forth. He was the most learned of the Carracci, being
painter, engraver, poet, and musician, and well versed in the
arts and sciences generally. His pictures are rare. The best is
the "Communion of St. Jerome" in the Academy at Bologna. His
prints are numerous; his engraving of Tintoretto's "Crucifixion,"
executed at Venice in 1589, was highly praised by that artist.
In the same year Agostino returned to Bologna, and became the
principal teacher in the school of the Carracci. He afterwards
went to Rome to assist Annibale in the frescoes for the Farnese
Palace. He executed the "Cephalus and Aurora" and "Galatea" in
that series; his success excited the jealousy of Annibale, and
caused a feud between the two brothers. Agostino thereupon left
Rome for Parma, where he died shortly afterwards.
These are the cartoons made by Agostino for the frescoes referred
to above. They formed part of Sir Thomas Lawrence's collection of
drawings. In 147, Cephalus, while on a hunting expedition on Mount
Hymettus, is forcibly carried off by Aurora. The aged Tithonus, her
husband, is sleeping in the foreground. In 148, the sea-nymph Galatea
is borne on the ocean by Glaucus, preceded by Triton blowing his horn,
and surrounded by Nereids and Cupids on Dolphins.
Willem van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707).
William Van de Velde, the younger, was the son of an artist
of the same name, and the two together were the most famous
sea-painters of their time. The father was specially commissioned
by the East India Company to paint several of their ships. The
son was for a time engaged in painting the chief naval battles
of the Dutch. In 1675 they were both established in England,
living at Greenwich, as painters to King Charles II., who granted
each of them a pension of £100 a year; the father "for taking
and making draughts of sea-fights"; and the son "for putting the
said draughts into colours." The Vandeveldes, thus employed,
"produced," says Macaulay, "for the king and his nobles some of
the finest sea-pieces in the world." "The palm," says Walpole, "is
not less disputed with Raphael for history than with Vandevelde
for sea-pieces." But in no branch of art has the English School of
this century made more conspicuous advance than in sea-painting,
and those who are fresh from reminiscences of Turner or Lee, or,
amongst later artists, of Hook and Moore and Brett, will hardly be
inclined to agree at this day with such high praise of Vandevelde.
"It is not easily understood," says Ruskin, "considering how many
there are who love the sea, and look at it, that Vandevelde and
such others should be tolerated. Foam appears to me to curdle and
cream on the wave sides, and to fly flashing from their crests,
and not to be set astride upon them like a peruke; and waves
appear to me to fall, and plunge, and toss, and nod, and crash
over, and not to curl up like shavings; and water appears to me,
when it is grey, to have the grey of stormy air mixed with its own
deep, heavy, thunderous, threatening blue, and not the grey of the
first coat of cheap paint on a deal floor."
"It is not easy to understand," perhaps, but two helps towards
understanding may be mentioned in Ruskin's own words. First,
previous painters—including even the Venetians, sea-folk though
they were—had all treated the sea conventionally. Vandevelde and
his fellows, at any rate, endeavoured to study it from nature.
Bakhuizen, as we shall see, like Turner after him, used to go
to sea in all weathers, the better to obtain "impressions."
Hence the Dutch sea-painting did mark an advance, and how great
was its influence on later artists and sea-lovers we know from
the case of Turner, who "painted many pictures in the manner of
Vandevelde, and always painted the sea too grey, and too opaque,
in consequence of his early study of him." And this grey and
opaque rendering of the sea by the Dutch was to some extent due
to natural causes. "Although in artistical qualities lower than
is easily by language expressible, the Italian marine painting
usually conveys an idea of three facts about the sea,—that it is
green, that it is deep, and that the sun shines on it. The dark
plain which stands for far-away Adriatic with the Venetians, and
the glinting swells of tamed wave which lap about the quays of
Claude, agree in giving the general impression that the ocean
consists of pure water, and is open to the pure sky. But the Dutch
painters, while they attained considerably greater dexterity than
the Italian in mere delineation of nautical incident, were by
nature precluded from ever becoming aware of these common facts;
and having, in reality, never in all their lives seen the sea,
but only a shallow mixture of sea-water and sand; and also never
in all their lives seen the sky, but only a lower element between
them and it, composed of marsh exhalation and fog-bank,—they are
not to be with too great severity reproached for the dulness of
their records of the nautical enterprise of Holland. We only
are to be reproached, who, familiar with the Atlantic, are yet
ready to accept with faith, as types of sea, the small waves en
papillote and peruke-like puffs of farinaceous foam, which were
the delight of Bakhuizen and his compeers"[97] (Modern Painters,
vol. i. pt. ii. sec. v. ch. i. § 20; vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. xviii.
§ 30; On the Old Road, i. 283; Harbours of England, p. 18).
The storms of Van der Velde are certainly unattractive, but the
silvery daylight of his "calms at sea" gives to many of his works
an enduring charm. This painter is well represented both in the
Dulwich Gallery and in the Wallace collection.
Willem van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
Jan van Goyen (Dutch: 1596-1656). See 137.
Signed with the artist's name, and dated 1645.
Aart van der Neer (Dutch: 1603-1677).
This painter was a native of Amsterdam, and lived and worked
there. His pictures are now much appreciated; but he died
destitute, and the pictures he left behind him were valued at only
three florins apiece.
Aart (Arthur) van der Neer is the Dutch painter of "the hues and
harmonies of evening." Before the door of the country house are a lady
and gentleman, who have come out as if to gaze on one of such effects.
This is one of the largest of his pictures—which is the more valuable
as the figures are by Cuyp, whose name is inscribed on the pail; but
239 is perhaps more attractive.
Nicolas Maes (Dutch: 1632-1693).
Maes (or, in more modern form, Maas), was a pupil of Rembrandt,
and ranks high among Dutch masters, being distinguished from many
of the genre painters by his richer colouring. "He assimilated
the principles of his master," says Sir. F. Burton, "without
adopting his subjects. In the class of pictures by which he is
best known, namely, indoor scenes taken from ordinary life, he
unites subtlety of chiaroscuro, vigorous colour, and great mastery
in handling, with that true finish which never becomes trivial.
The figures are finely drawn, and their action is perfect.
Harmonies of red and black prevail in these works—sometimes
pervading the picture in subdued tones; sometimes brought out
in full contrasting force against white. The smaller pictures
by Maes in this Gallery are among the finest examples of the
former mode of treatment." Maes entered Rembrandt's studio in
1650 and remained there four years. He then returned to Dort,
his native town, where he lived till 1678. In that year he moved
to Amsterdam, where he remained to the end of his life, and was
employed by most of the distinguished persons of his time. In
these latter years he was mostly engaged in portraits. His earlier
portraits (of which No. 1277 is a good specimen) are worthy of
a pupil of Rembrandt. The later portraits are so different in
style and inferior in quality that some critics ascribe them to
the painter's son or some other artist of the same name. "Maes's
favourite colour," says Havard, "was red. No artist uses this
colour with more boldness or more success than he does in his
earlier works [note, e.g. the crimson curtain which forms the
background in 1277]. For this reason doubts have been raised if
he ever painted the series of large bewigged portraits which
have been attributed to him, sombre and morose faces, uniformly
set against a dark background. It is difficult to imagine the
brilliant painter of 'The Cradle' forgetting his skill in light
and shade and his love of nature, to give himself up, as in these
commonplace productions, to mannerism and affectation" (The Dutch
School, p. 100).
David Teniers, the younger (Flemish: 1610-1694).
Teniers, though a Fleming by birth, belongs rather to the Dutch
School in style—being one of the principal genre painters, of
whom most of the other leading masters are Dutch. His art stands,
however, in direct relation to that of the Flemish painters
preceding him, through the want of spiritual motive common to
him and to them. But Teniers and the genre painters carry this
banishment of spiritual motive a step further. "Rubens often
gives instructive and magnificent allegory. Rembrandt, pathetic
or powerful fancies, founded on real Scripture-reading, and on
his interest in the picturesque character of the Jew. And Van
Dyck, a graceful rendering of received Scriptural legends. But
(with Teniers) ... we lose, not only all faith in religion, but
all remembrance of it. Absolutely now at last we find ourselves
without sight of God in all the world.... Farthest savages had,
and still have, their Great Spirit, or, in extremity, their
feather-idols, large-eyed; but here in Holland we have at last
got utterly done with it all. Our only idol glitters dimly, in
tangible shape of a pint pot, and all the incense offered thereto
comes out of a small censer or bowl at the end of a pipe." The
place of Teniers in art history is, therefore, so far as the
ideals of art go, that he is, par excellence, "the painter
of the pleasures of the ale-house and card-table" (Modern
Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi. §§ 10, 11; ch. viii. § 11).
He did, indeed, occasionally venture on the ground of religious
painting; but his essays in this sort are absurd. His devotion
to genre entirely hit the taste of his time, and his fame was
rapid and enduring. He was taught the rudiments of art by his
father, David Teniers, the elder, a mediocre painter of small
rustic subjects (see 949); but his real masters were Rubens and
Brouwer, though he did not actually study with them. In 1633, at
the age of twenty-three, he received the dignity of master. Four
years later he married the daughter of Velvet Breughel, the former
ward of Rubens, who acted as witness at the marriage ceremony. His
talents were in universal request. The Archduke Leopold-William,
Governor of the Spanish Netherlands, appointed him his private
painter, and gave him an office in his household. Queen Christina
of Sweden and King Philip IV. of Spain were amongst his patrons.
He gave Don Juan of Austria lessons in painting, and this prince
painted the portrait of Teniers's son, and presented it to the
master as a token of his regard. In 1644 he was chosen to preside
over the Antwerp Guild of Painters. In 1647 he took up his abode
in Brussels. His country-seat at Perck (see 817) was a constant
resort of the Spanish and Flemish nobility. Shortly after the
death of his first wife in 1656 he married Isabella de Fren,
daughter of the Secretary of the Council of Brabant, and he strove
his utmost to prove his right to armorial bearings. The king
declared his readiness to grant the request, but only on condition
that Teniers should give up selling his pictures. Teniers did not
accept the condition, and transferred his energies to procuring a
charter for an Academy of Fine Arts in Antwerp to which artists
should alone be admitted, whereas the former Guild of St. Luke
made no distinction between art and handicraft.
The aristocratic leanings of Teniers may be detected in his
pictures. He is indeed, as we have seen, "the painter of the
ale-house." "He depicted the manners of the Flemish rustic,
told of the intimacy of his domestic life and his happy, coarse
laughter. His folk go to market, clean out the stable, milk the
cows, raise the nets, sharpen knives, shoot off arrows, play at
nine-pins or cards, bind up wounds, pull out teeth, cure bacon,
make sausages, smoke, sing, dance, caress the girls, and, above
all things, drink, like the live Flemings they are." Yet as
compared with some other masters of genre, Teniers seems to
treat his rustics somewhat from the outside. Their expressions
are often exaggerated, and their gestures pass into grimace.
"Brouwer knew more of taverns; Ostade was more thoroughly at home
in cottages.... Teniers seems anxious to have it known that,
far from indulging in the coarse amusements of the boors he is
fond of painting, he himself lives in good style and looks like
a gentleman. He never seems tired of showing the turrets of his
château of Perck, and in the midst of rustic merry-makings we
often see his family and himself received cap in hand by the
joyous peasants" (e.g. in 817). So too, though many of his
interiors are very good, Teniers is on the whole at his best in
open-air scenes. In his skies he has given (says Ruskin) "some
very wonderful passages" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii.
sec. iii. ch. i. § 20; H. Hymans in Encyclopædia Britannica;
Wauters's Flemish School, p. 294). Good examples of Teniers
continue to be greatly appreciated. The Belgian Government,
for instance, gave £5000 in 1867 for the "Village Pastoral,"
now in Brussels Museum. The taste of Teniers may justly be
condemned; his technique will always be admired. "Take," says
Ruskin, "a picture by Teniers, of sots quarrelling over their
dice; it is an entirely clever picture—so clever that nothing
in its kind has ever been done equal to it; but it is also an
entirely base and evil picture. It is an expression of delight
in the prolonged contemplation of a vile thing, and delight in
that is an 'unmannered' or 'immoral' quality" (Crown of Wild
Olive, § 56). His bright palette, his freshness of handling, his
straightforwardness in means and intent, give to the best works
of Teniers a permanent interest. He "touched with a workmanly
hand, such as we cannot see rivalled now"; and he seems "never
to have painted indolently, but gave the purchaser his thorough
money's worth of mechanism." Hence it is that Sir Joshua Reynolds,
though condemning Teniers's vulgarity of subject, yet held up his
pictures as models to students who wished to excel in execution.
It should, however, be noted that his works vary very much in this
respect. Many of his later pictures are painted so thinly that
the ground is in places barely covered. They have been called
"afternoons," not from their subject, but from the time the
painter took in producing them.
This and the companion picture, 158, are characteristic specimens of
the painter. The human specimens are ugly and vulgar; the pottery is
pretty, and beautifully painted.
Teniers (Flemish: 1610-1694). See under last picture.
A man and his wife—usurers, we may suppose—counting their money.
There is all the miser's misery in the withered careworn faces, all
the miser's greed in the thin, tremulous hands. The man alone seems
not quite to like some transaction which they are discussing; the
woman—Portia's prerogative of mercy being reversed—seems to be
thinking, "Come, man, don't be a fool: a bond is a bond."
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641). See 49.
An interesting sketch as illustrating Van Dyck's affection for the
horse. "In painting, I find that no real interest is taken in the
horse until Van Dyck's time, he and Rubens doing more for it than
all previous painters put together. Rubens was a good rider, and
rode nearly every day, as, I doubt not, Van Dyck also. The horse has
never, I think, been painted worthily again, since he died" (Modern
Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi. § 22).
The particular choice of subject in this sketch shows further in its
literary connection a lover of the horse. The subject, as we know
from the words equi Achillis on a scroll in the left corner of the
picture, is the horses of Achilles, said for their swiftness to be the
sons of the wind Zephyrus: in the upper part of the picture is a sketch
of a zephyr's head. "The gentleness of chivalry, properly so called,
depends on the recognition of the order and awe of lower and loftier
animal-life, ... taught most perfectly by Homer in the fable of the
horses of Achilles. There is, perhaps, in all the Iliad nothing more
deep in significance—there is nothing in all literature more perfect
in human tenderness, and honour for the mystery of inferior life,
than the verses that describe the sorrow of the divine horses at the
death of Patroclus, and the comfort given them by the greatest of the
gods"[98] (Fors Clavigera, 1871, ix. 13).
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
For Rubens's landscapes see under 66. "It is to be noted, however,
that the licenses taken by Rubens in particular instances are as bold
as his general statements are sincere.... In the Sunset of our own
Gallery many of the shadows fall at right angles to the light" (Modern
Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. i. ch. vii. § 15).
Teniers (Flemish: 1610-1694). See 154.
Nicolas Maes (Dutch: 1632-1693). See 153.
"There are few pictures in the National Gallery," says C. R. Leslie
(Handbook for Young Painters, p. 243), "before which I find myself
more often standing than at this." Its great attraction, he adds, is
"the delight of seeing a trait of childhood we have often observed and
been amused with in nature, for the first time so felicitously given by
art." The Dutch housewife sits intently engaged in scraping a parsnip,
whilst the child stands by her side "watching the process, as children
will stand and watch the most ordinary operations, with an intensity
of interest, as if the very existence of the whole world depended on
the exact manner in which that parsnip was scraped." Note the Flemish
kruik, or beer-jug, so often introduced into the pictures of Maes.
Signed and dated 1655.
Mola (Eclectic-Bologna: 1612-1668). See 69.
The Italians gave this title to the subject of the Holy Family resting
on the way in their flight to Egypt,—"the angel of the Lord appeareth
to Joseph in a dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his
mother, and flee into Egypt."
Gaspard Poussin (French: 1613-1675). See 31.
Gaspard travelled largely in Italy in search of the picturesque, and
this striking landscape may be a recollection of the mountain scenery
in the North—possibly near Bergamo. The spray of foliage prominent on
the left is characteristic of Gaspard's method:—
"One of the most remarkable characters of natural leafage is the
constancy with which, while the leaves are arranged on the spray
with exquisite regularity, that regularity is modified in their
actual effect. For as in every group of leaves some are seen
sideways, forming merely long lines, some foreshortened, some
crossing each other, every one differently turned and placed from
all the others, the forms of the leaves, though in themselves
similar, give rise to a thousand strange and differing forms
in the group.... Now go to Gaspard Poussin and take one of his
sprays, where they come against the sky; you may count it all
round: one, two, three, four, one bunch; five, six, seven, eight,
two bunches; nine, ten, eleven, twelve, three bunches; with four
leaves each; and such leaves! every one precisely the same as its
neighbour, blunt and round at the end (where every forest leaf is
sharp, except that of the fig-tree), tied together by the stalks,
and so fastened on to the demoniacal claws above described (see
under 68), one bunch to each claw" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt.
ii. sec. vi. ch. i. §§ 16, 17).
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768). See 127.
The Church, that of S. Simeone Piccolo, was built in Canaletto's time.
"One of the ugliest churches in Venice or elsewhere. Its black dome,
like an unusual species of gasometer, is the admiration of modern
Italian architects" (Stones of Venice, vol. iii. Venetian Index, s.
v. Simeone).
Nicolas Poussin (French: 1593-1665). See 39.
The Philistines having overcome the Israelites removed the ark of the
Lord to Ashdod, and placed it in the temple of their god Dagon. "And
when they of Ashdod arose early on the morrow, behold, Dagon was fallen
upon his face to the earth before the ark ..." (seen here in the temple
to the right). "But the hand of the Lord was heavy upon them of Ashdod,
and he smote them with a loathsome plague" (1 Samuel v. 4, 6).
The picture—a ghastly subject ghastlily treated—is yet a good
instance of Poussin's learned treatment. Everywhere the intention to
express alarm is obvious, and in the foreground are figures fleeing the
infection, with nose and mouth muffled. Others are engaged removing the
dead and dying, while in the centre are the dead bodies of a mother and
child; another child approaches the mother's breast, but the father
stoops down to avert it. A similar group to this occurs in a design
by Raphael, "Il Morbetto," and was also in the celebrated picture by
Aristides which Alexander the Great, at the sack of Thebes, claimed for
himself and sent to his palace at Pella (Wornum: Epochs of Painting,
p. 47, ed. 1864). This picture is a replica of one, now in the Louvre,
which was painted in Rome in 1630—Poussin receiving only 60 scudi
(about 12 guineas) for it.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
Michel ascribes this portrait to the year of Rembrandt's tribulations.
"At this period, when his emotions were so deeply stirred by the
vision of a compassionate Saviour, he felt a kindred attraction for
those mystic souls who sought in solitude and prayer a closer communion
with the Christ to whom he felt himself drawn by his own sorrows. The
'Capuchin' in the National Gallery has suffered from time, but the
devout gravity of the face is finely expressed" (Rembrandt: his Life,
his Work, and his Time, ii. 126).
Peruzzi (Sienese: 1481-1537). See 218.
This drawing—of the same composition as we see in the picture
No. 218—was made at Bologna in 1521 for Count Giovanni Battista
Bentivogli. The drawing was presented to the National Gallery by Lord
Vernon, together with a print from the plate engraved from it by
Agostino Carracci.
Raphael (Urbino: 1483-1520). See 1171.
This is a picture of Raphael's second period—"painted about the
year 1507, to judge from its close resemblance in style to the
celebrated picture of the Entombment in the Borghese (Rome), which
is known to have been executed at that time." There are several
studies for the picture in the University Galleries at Oxford,
and another in the Chatsworth collection. The finished cartoon
in black and white chalk, pricked for transfer to the panel, is
exhibited in the Louvre.
A perfect picture of saintly resignation. St. Catherine (for whose
story see 693) leans on the wheel, the instrument of her martyrdom,
and "looks up to heaven in the dawn of the eternal day, with her lips
parted in the resting from her pain." Her right hand is pressed on her
bosom, as if she replied to the call from above, "I am here, O Lord!
ready to do Thy will." From above, a bright ray is seen streaming
down upon her, emblematic of the divine inspiration which enabled
her to confound her heathen adversaries. The studies existing show
the pains Raphael took with the exquisite expression; but the result
defies analysis. "It is impossible to explain in language the exact
qualities of the lines on which depend the whole truth and beauty of
expression about the half-opened lips of Raphael's St. Catherine." But
these lines should be noticed as exemplifying the principle of "vital
beauty"—of beauty, that is to say, as consisting in the appearance
in living things of felicitous fulfilment of function. Thus eyes and
mouths become more beautiful precisely as they become more perfect
means of moral expression. The mouth of a negro is ugly because it is
only a means of eating; the mouth of St. Catherine is beautiful for the
feeling it expresses (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. i. ch.
vii. § 47; vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. i. ch. xii. § 10, sec. ii. ch. v. §
21). It may be noticed, lastly, how much the pathetic feeling of the
picture is heightened by the herbage in the foreground, and especially
perhaps by the carefully-painted dandelion "clock": "so soon passeth it
away, and we are gone."
Ludovico Mazzolino (Ferrarese: 1480-1528).
Ludovico Mazzolino, "whose brilliant colours play through all
shades," has been called "the glowworm of the Ferrarese School;"
creamy-toned backgrounds of architectural subjects also enrich
his compositions. "He was principally a genre painter, though
in his early period he is said to have worked much in fresco. His
brilliant colouring made him a favourite with art-loving prelates
of succeeding generations; hence his small pictures abound in
Roman collections" (Italian Painters, Borghese Gallery, p.
219). Morelli elsewhere adds the conjecture that Mazzolino
studied at Ferrara under Domenico Pannetti. In another of his
characteristics—the minuteness, namely, of his work—he resembles
rather the Flemish School. Of his life little or nothing is known;
but his interest in decorative craftsmanship is proved by his
pictures.
The background and accessories here, as well as in 641, are
particularly interesting as a record of the decorative art of the
time. A few years before the date of these pictures the Pope Leo X.
had unearthed the buried treasures of the Baths of Titus, and Giovanni
da Udine rediscovered the mode by which their stucco decorations were
produced. This method of modelling in wet plaster on walls and ceilings
was extensively used in house decoration from that time down to the
middle of the last century, but has since then been supplanted by the
cheaper process of casting. No sooner was Giovanni da Udine's invention
known than it must have been adopted by Ferrarese artists, for here we
find Mazzolino portraying it in the background of his picture. As in
Tura's pilaster (see 772), the winged sphere plays a principal part in
the design, for it was a favourite badge of the ducal house of Ferrara.
Nor is it only in the plaster modelling that Mazzolino's interest in
decorative art shows itself. The back of the bench on which the Madonna
sits is crowned by the most delicate carving, whilst up aloft, peeping
over the wall on which the plaster work occurs, there is a choir of
angels playing on a portable organ, which is full of suggestions for
decorative design (G. T. Robinson in Art Journal, May 1886, pp. 151,
152).
Garofalo (Ferrarese; 1481-1559). See 81.
Notice the rich cap in which the little St. John is dressed; it is not
unlike those which French and Flemish children are still made to wear
as a protection from tumbles. There is a grace in the figures of the
Virgin and St. Elizabeth which recalls Raphael. A less happy effect of
his influence may be seen in the vision of the heavenly host above,
full of that exaggerated action which marks the decadence of Italian
art. God the Father is represented gesticulating wildly, almost like an
actor in melodrama. And so with the playing angels. In pictures of the
great time they are shown "with uninterrupted and effortless gesture
... singing as calmly as the Fates weave" (Relation between Michael
Angelo and Tintoret, p. 15), but here they are all scrambling through
their songs, their hair floating in the breeze and their faces full of
excited gesture.
Caravaggio (Naturalist: 1569-1609).
Michael Angelo Amerighi, the son of a mason, is usually called
Caravaggio from his birthplace, a town of that name near
Milan.[99] He was the leader of the so-called "Naturalist" School
(see introduction to "The Later Italian Schools"), which numbered
among its disciples Spagnoletto (235) and the Dutch Gerard von
Honthorst (1444). The characteristics of his art, as described
below, were not out of keeping with the sombre character of the
man.[100] He had established himself as a painter at Rome, when he
had to fly for homicide. He was playing at tennis and became so
violent in a dispute that he killed his companion. After a short
stay at Naples he went to Malta, where he gained the favour of
the grand-master, and was made a Knight of the Cross of Malta.
His ungovernable temper, however, again led him into trouble, and
quarrelling with one of the knights, he was cast into prison. He
escaped to Sicily and thence returned to Naples. Having procured
the Pope's pardon for his original offence, he hired a felucca and
set sail for Rome. The coast-guard arrested him in mistake for
another person; the crew of the felucca plundered him of all his
belongings; and after wandering disconsolately along the coast, he
was seized with fever, and died at the early age of forty.
One notices first in this picture the least important things—the
supper before the company, the roast chicken before Christ. Next one
sees how coarse and almost ruffianly are the disciples, represented
as supping with their risen Lord at Emmaus (Luke xxiv. 30, 31). Both
points are characteristic of the painter, who was driven by the
insipidities of the preceding mannerists into a crude "realism," which
made him resolve to describe sacred and historical events just as
though they were being enacted in a slum by butchers and fishwives.
"He was led away," says Lanzi (i. 452), "by his sombre genius, and
represented objects with very little light. He ridiculed all artists
who attempted a noble expression of countenance or graceful folding of
drapery." His first altar-piece was removed by the priests for whom it
was painted, as being too vulgar for such a subject. "Many interesting
studies from the taverns of Italy remain to prove Caravaggio's
mastery over scenes of common life. For the historian of manners in
seventeenth-century Italy, those pictures have a truly precious value,
as they are executed with such passion as to raise them above the more
careful but more lymphatic transcripts from beer-cellars in Dutch
painting. But when he applied his principles to higher subjects, then
vulgarity became apparent. It seems difficult for realism, either
in literature or art, not to fasten upon ugliness, vice, pain, and
disease, as though these imperfections of our nature were more real
than beauty, goodness, pleasure, and health. Therefore Caravaggio, the
leader of a school which the Italians christened Naturalists, may be
compared to Zola" (Symonds, vii. 221).
Bassano (Venetian: 1510-1592).
Jacopo da Ponte is commonly called Il Bassano or Jacopo da
Bassano from his native town, near Venice. His father, Francesco,
who was a painter in the school of the Bellini, was his first
master; he afterwards studied under Bonifazio at Venice. After
a short stay in that city, Jacopo returned to his native town,
where he remained for the rest of a long life. "His best works
are almost worthy," says Sir F. Burton, "of Titian. They are
conspicuous among other qualities for Venetian excellence of
colouring—especially in his green, where he exhibits a peculiar
brilliancy. Most of his pictures seem at first sight as dazzling,
then as cooling and soothing, as the best kind of stained glass;
while the colouring of details, particularly of those under
high lights, is jewel-like, as clear and deep and satisfying as
rubies and emeralds." No. 228 in this Collection has passages
which illustrate this point. Jacopo was nearly contemporary with
the great Tintoretto, but while the latter was the last of the
Venetian painters in the grand style, Bassano after a time devoted
himself to simple scenes of country life. His distinguishing place
in the history of art is that he was the first Italian painter
of genre—a painter, that is, du genre bas, painter of a low
class of subjects, of familiar objects such as do not belong to
any other recognised class of paintings (as history, portrait,
etc.): see, for instance, No. 228, in which the religious
subject merely gives the painter an opportunity for a scene of
market life. "His pictures were for the inhabitants of the small
market-town from which he takes his name, where, besides the
gates, you still see men and women in rustic garb crouching over
their many-coloured wares; and where, just outside the walls, you
may see all the ordinary occupations connected with farming and
grazing. Inspired, although unawares, by the new idea of giving
perfectly modern versions of Biblical stories, Bassano introduced
into nearly every picture he painted episodes from the life in
the streets of Bassano and in the country just outside the gates.
Another thing Bassano could not fail to do, working as he did
in the country and for country people, was to paint landscape.
He loved to paint the real country. He was, in fact, the first
modern landscape painter" (Berenson: Venetian Painters of the
Renaissance, § xxi). "Giovanni Bellini places his figure in the
crystal air of an Italian morning; Titian and Tintoretto give us
daylight, mighty while subdued; but Bassano throws a lurid grey
over his landscape and carries the eye to the solemn twilight
spread along the distant horizon. This peculiarity of feature is
partly accounted for by the position of the town of Bassano,
which is wrapped in an early twilight by the high mountains above
it on the west" (Layard's edition of Kugler, ii. 624).
A fine portrait—somewhat recalling Rembrandt in style—of a very
refined face. In the vase beside him is a sprig of myrtle. This painter
is fond of introducing such vases: see one in 277. In the principal
street of Bassano, where the artist was born and, after studying at
Venice, continued to live, such vessels may still be seen placed out
for sale.
Carlo Maratti (Roman: 1625-1713).
Carlo Maratti (called also Carlo delle Madonne, from the large
number of Madonna pictures that he painted) was an imitator of
Raphael, and for nearly half a century the most eminent painter
in Rome. The portrait of a cardinal should have come kindly to
him, for he was in the service of several popes, and was appointed
superintendent of the Vatican Chambers by Innocent XI.
Murillo (Spanish: 1618-1682). See 13.
An interesting illustration of the substitution of the palpable image
for the figurative phrase. The mission of St. John the Baptist was to
prepare the way for Christ, to proclaim to the people "Behold the Lamb
of God!" Murillo makes the standard of the Lamb, with those words upon
it, lie upon the ground below; but he further represents the young St.
John as embracing an actual lamb.
Guido (Eclectic-Bologna: 1575-1642). See 11.
Just such a picture as might have suggested the lines in Pope's epistle
on "The Characters of Women"—
Let then the fair one beautifully cry,
In Magdalen's loose hair and lifted eye;
Or dress'd in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine,
With simpering angels, palms, and harps divine;
Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it,
If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.
Just such a picture, too, as Guido turned out in numbers. "He was
specially fond," says one of his biographers, "of depicting faces with
upraised looks, and he used to say that he had a hundred different
modes" of thus supplying sentimentality to order.
Francia (Ferrarese-Bolognese: 1450-1517).
Of Francesco Raibolini's life the two most interesting things are
these: first, that great artist though he came to be, he never
painted a picture, so far as we know, till he was forty; and
secondly, the intimate connection, exemplified in him, between
the artist and the craftsman. He was the son of a carpenter, and,
like so many of the greatest old masters, was brought up to the
goldsmith's trade. The name of Francia was that of his master in
goldsmith's work, and was adopted by him in gratitude.[101] He
attained great skill in his trade, especially as a die-engraver
and a worker in "niello" (inlaying a black composition into steel
or silver). He was appointed steward of the Goldsmiths' Guild in
1483, and afterwards became master of the Mint—a post which he
held till his death. In some of his earlier pictures the hand of a
goldsmith is seen—in the clear outline, the metallic and polished
surface, and the minuteness of detail; and even on some of his
later and more important works, such as 179, he signed himself
"Francia aurifex (goldsmith) Bononiensis." It was with Costa,
the Ferrarese artist (see 629), who migrated to Bologna, and with
whom he entered into partnership, that Francia learnt the art of
painting, and thus, though a Bolognese, he is properly included
in the Ferrarese School. His work marks the culminating point of
that school, just as Raphael's[102] marks that of the Umbrian,
and in these pictures (originally one altar-piece, painted for
the Buonvisi chapel in S. Frediano at Lucca, where, says Vasari,
it was held to be of great value) we have some of his best work.
Many of his pictures are still at Bologna, including the one which
some consider his chef d'œuvre, the Bentivoglio altar-piece
in S. Giacomo Maggiore. Francia is the most pathetic of painters.
Raphael is said to have remarked that Francia's Madonnas were the
most devoutly beautiful he knew,[103] and there is considerable
affinity between Francia and Perugino. But the Umbrian master
was more ideal; in Francia there are touches of realism. "It
will be observed in No. 180 that the Virgin is represented as a
middle-aged woman, and that the lids of the angels' eyes are red
with weeping. In spirit also they are different. Francia makes
his angels appeal to the spectator as if to enlist his sympathy
in the pathos of the tragedy, holding up the beautiful tresses
of Christ's hair to aid in the appeal. This Perugino would never
have done; his angels, and his saints also, are always wrapt in a
spiritual ecstasy to which Francia could not attain" (Monkhouse:
In the National Gallery, p. 173).
(179) On the throne are the Virgin and her mother, St. Anne, who offers
the infant Christ a peach, symbolical, as the fruit thus offered in
these pictures originally was, of "the fruits of the spirit—joy,
peace, and love." At the foot of the throne stands the little St. John
(the Baptist), "one of the purest creations of Christian art," holding
in his arms the cross of reeds and the scroll inscribed "Ecce Agnus
Dei" ("Behold the Lamb of God"). The discovery of Benedetto Buonvisi's
will has shown why the various saints were selected—St. Anne, because
the Buonvisi chapel was dedicated to her; St. Lawrence as the patron of
the founder's father; St. Paul as the patron of the founder's brother
and heir; St. Sebastian as the saint invoked in plagues (from which
calamity Lucca suffered in 1510); and St. Benedict as the patron of the
founder (G. C. Williamson's Francia, p. 111).
(180) This picture, which was the "lunette," or arch, forming the top
of the altar-piece, is a "pietà," i.e. the Virgin and two angels
weeping over the dead body of Christ. The artist has filled his picture
with that solemn reverential pity, harmonised by love, which befits
his subject. The body of Christ—utterly dead, yet not distorted nor
defaced by death—is that of a tired man whose great soul would not
let him rest while there was still His father's work to do on earth.
In the face of the angel at His head there is a look of quiet joy, as
of one who knows that "death is but a covered way that leads into the
light"; in the attitude and expression of the angel at the feet there
is prayerful sympathy for the sorrowing mother. The face of the mother
herself, which before was pure and calm, is now tear-stained and sad,
because her son has met so cruel a death—
What else in life seems piteous any more
After such pity?
Yet it bears a look of content because the world has known him. She
rests His body tenderly on her knee as she did when he was a little
child—thus are "the hues of the morning and the solemnity of eve,
the gladness in accomplished promise, and sorrow of the sword-pierced
heart, gathered into one human Lamp of ineffable love" (Modern
Painters, vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. ii. ch. v. § 21).
Perugino (Umbrian: 1446-1523). See 288.
If really by Perugino,[104] this must be one of his early works. It is
painted in tempera. The Flemish process of oil-painting found its
way to Venice, where Perugino is known to have been in 1494, and where
he probably learnt it. The superiority of the new method may be seen
in a moment by comparing the cracked surface and faded colours of this
picture with 288, which was painted when Perugino had obtained complete
mastery over the new medium, and which is still as bright and fresh as
when it was painted. The style of this picture is, however, thoroughly
Peruginesque. It is interesting to compare the Umbrian type of the
Madonna—innocent and girl-like, with an air of far-off reverie—with
the types of other schools. The Umbrian Madonna is less mature, more
etherealised than the Venetian. She is a girl, rather than a mother.
Therein she resembles the Florentine type; but an air of dreamy reverie
in the Umbrian takes the place of the intellectual mysticism of
the Florentine. In Perugino "the Umbrian type finds its fullest and
highest representative. Dainty small features, all too babyish for
the figures that bear them; a mouth like a cupid's bow; a tiny and
delicate chin; eyes set well apart, with curiously heavy and drooping
lids; faint pencilled eyebrows; a broad smooth forehead,—these are the
main elements in Perugino's Madonnas" (Grant Allen in the Pall Mall
Magazine, 1895, p. 620).
Nicolas Lucidel (German: 1527-1590).
Lucidel (a name which is supposed to be a corruption of
Neufchatel) studied painting at Antwerp, and afterwards settled
at Nuremberg. This picture, dated 1561, was formally ascribed to
Sir Antonio More and supposed to represent Jeanne d'Archel; but it
reveals (says the latest edition of the Official Catalogue) "in
its style and its Upper German costume, the handiwork of Lucidel."
"The picture is much obscured," says Sir Edward Poynter, "by a coarse
brown varnish. A beautiful example of this master, in the collection of
Lord Spencer, is remarkable for the purity of its colour, and doubtless
this portrait had originally the same qualities" (The National
Gallery, i. 294).
Jan van Eyck (Early Flemish: about 1390-1440).
The Van Eycks—Hubert, the elder brother, and Jan—were natives of
Maesyck (Eyck-sur-Meuse), and are famous as being the artists to
whose ingenuity the first invention of the art of painting in oils
was for a long time ascribed. The probability is that although the
practice of mixing oil with colours was employed for decorative
purposes in Germany and elsewhere long before their time, they
were the first to so improve it as to make it fully serviceable
for figure-painting.[105] The art of oil painting reached higher
perfection in many ways after their time; but there is no picture
in the Gallery which shows better than this, one great capacity
of oil painting—its combination, namely, of "imperishable
firmness with exquisite delicacy" (On the Old Road, i. 141).
The place of the Van Eycks in the development of early Flemish
art has been described in the introduction to that School, but
the suddenness and completeness of their mastery remains among
the wonders of painting. "The first Italian Renaissance," says
Fromentin, "has nothing comparable to this. And in the particular
order of sentiments they expressed and of the subjects they chose,
one must admit that neither any Lombard School, nor Tuscan, nor
Venetian, produced anything that resembles the first outburst of
the School of Bruges." The two brothers were granted the freedom
of the profession by the Corporation of Painters of Ghent in 1421.
In that year Jan left Hubert and took an appointment as painter
to Count John of Bavaria at the Hague. In 1424 he returned to
Bruges as painter to Philip, Duke of Burgundy, in whose service he
remained to the end of his life. Like Rubens, the painter Jan van
Eyck "amused himself with being ambassador." "He was frequently
employed on missions of trust; and following the fortunes of a
chief who was always in the saddle, he appears for a time to have
been in ceaseless motion, receiving extra pay for secret services
at Leyden, drawing his salary at Bruges, yet settled in a fixed
abode at Lille. In 1428 he joined the embassy sent by Philip
the Good to Lisbon to beg the hand of Isabella of Portugal. His
portrait of the bride fixed the Duke's choice. After his return
he settled finally at Bruges, where he married, and his wife bore
him a daughter, known in after years as a nun in the convent of
Maesyck. At the christening of this child the Duke was sponsor;
and this was but one of the many distinctions by which Philip the
Good rewarded his painter's merits" (Crowe). But never was there
an artist less puffed up. "Jan van Eyck was here." "As I can, not
as I would." Such signatures are the sign-marks of modesty. In
1426 his brother Hubert died, leaving the great altar-piece—the
Adoration of the Lamb—for Jan to finish. This masterpiece of the
Van Eycks was in 1432 set up in the Chapel of St. Bavon at Ghent,
where the central portions still remain—the other original
panels being now at Brussels and Berlin. The portraits by Jan in
our Gallery belong to the next three years. There are no finer
specimens of his marvellous precision and delicacy in this branch
of the art.
This wonderful picture of a Flemish interior—dated 1434—is as spruce
and clean now (for the small twig broom did its work so well that the
goodman and his wife were not afraid to walk on the polished floor
without their shoes), as it was when first painted five hundred years
ago. This is the more interesting from the eventful history the picture
has had. At one time we hear of a barber-surgeon at Bruges presenting
it to the Queen-regent of the Netherlands, who valued it so highly
that she pensioned him in return for the gift. At another it must have
passed again into humbler hands, for General Hay found it in the room
to which he was taken in 1815 at Brussels to recover from wounds at
the battle of Waterloo. He purchased the picture after his recovery,
and sold it to the British Government in 1842. "It is," says Sir
Edward Poynter, "one of the most precious possessions in the national
collection, and, in respect of its marvellous finish, combined with
the most astounding truth of imitation and effect, perhaps the most
remarkable picture in the world."
For the delicacy of workmanship note especially the mirror, in which
are reflected not only the objects in the room, but others beyond what
appears in the picture, for a door and two additional figures may be
distinguished. In the frame of the mirror, too, are ten diminutive
pictures of the ten "moments" in the Passion of Christ "as material
for the lady's meditation while doing her hair." Notice also the
brass-work of the chandelier. "There are many little objects about,
such as an orange on the window-sill, placed there to catch the light.
Through the window you can see a cherry-tree, with sunshine on the
ripe fruit. In the treatment of these and similar details Jan van
Eyck shows a liking for dots and spots of light" (Conway). Above the
chandelier, elaborately wrought, is the painter's signature. This
signature (in Latin), "Jan van Eyck was here," exactly expresses the
modesty and veracity which were the keynote of his art. The artist only
professed to come, to see, and to record what he saw. Arnolfini was the
representative at Bruges of a Lucca firm of merchants, and Van Eyck
gives us a picture of the quiet, dry, business folk exactly as he found
them.
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
A sketch of a picture in the possession of the Earl of Jersey. This
sketch was formerly in the possession of Sir David Wilkie, R.A.
Giovanni Bellini (Venetian: 1426-1516).
Giovanni Bellini (often shortened into Giambellini)—the greatest
of the fifteenth-century artists—"the mighty Venetian master who
alone of all the painters of Italy united purity of religious
aim with perfection of artistical power"[106]—belonged, it is
interesting to note, to a thoroughly artistic family. His father,
Jacopo, drawings by whom may be seen in the British Museum, was
an artist of repute; his elder brother Gentile (see 1213) was
another. The two brothers studied together in their father's
school at Padua, and there they formed a friendship with Mantegna,
who afterwards married their sister. Two pictures in our Gallery
(Bellini's, 726; and Mantegna's, 1417) recall the days of their
early association. By blood every inch an artist, so was Giovanni
also in character. His life was one long devotion to his art. He
lived to be ninety, and showed to the end increasing knowledge
and power. Albert Dürer wrote in 1506, when the grand old man was
eighty, that "though very old he was still the best painter in
Venice."[107]
This famous portrait must have been painted about the same time,
for Leonardo Loredano only became Doge in 1501. About 1460,
Bellini had settled in Venice, where he soon rivalled and eclipsed
the established school of the Vivarini. In 1479, when his elder
brother Gentile departed to Constantinople, Giovanni was appointed
in his place to carry on the series of pictures for the Hall of
the Great Council in the Ducal Palace. These works were destroyed
by fire in 1577. The documents referring to them show the terms
on which he worked. He was engaged at a fixed rate of salary to
work "constantly and daily, so that said pictures may be completed
as expeditiously as possible, with three assistants, also paid
by the State, to render speedy and diligent assistance." One of
these assistants was Carpaccio (see 750). Three years later he was
appointed State painter to the Republic. His fame is sounded by
Ariosto, who in "Orlando Furioso" ranks him with Leonardo. It may
be gathered also from the number of great painters who attended
his studio, including Giorgione and Titian. He was overwhelmed
with work, and doubtless employed assistants to complete
commissions from his design. Hence the confusion that exists in
the matter of attribution among pictures of this school (see under
599). With Titian he was on terms of warm friendship, and his last
work (a companion piece to Titian's "Bacchus and Ariadne," now
in the Duke of Northumberland's Gallery at Alnwick) was left for
Titian to finish. Bellini was buried in the Church of SS. Giovanni
e Paolo, in the same tomb where Gentile had lain since 1507.
Giovanni Bellini's long life covers the end of one period and
the beginning of another in the history of Italian art. In point
of technique this is so: his earliest works are in tempera, his
later ones in oil—the use of which medium he learnt perhaps from
Antonello da Messina. It is so also in motive. "The iridescence
of dying statesmanship in Italy, her magnificence of hollow
piety, were represented in the arts of Venice and Florence by
two mighty men on either side—Titian and Tintoret, Michael
Angelo and Raphael. Of the calm and brave statesmanship, the
modest and faithful religion, which had been her strength, I am
content to name one chief representative artist at Venice, John
Bellini." The years of change were 1480-1520 (roughly speaking
those of Raphael's life). "John Bellini precedes the change,
meets and resists it victoriously till his death. Nothing of
flaw or failure is ever to be discerned in him" (Relation
between Michael Angelo and Tintoret, pp. 11-13). His position
is thus unique: he was the meeting-point of two ways: as great
in artistic power as the masters who came after, as pure in
religious aim as those who went before. An interesting episode
is recorded which marks the transition and Bellini's meeting of
it. Isabella Gonzaga, the Duchess of Mantua, wrote in 1501 to her
agent in Venice to get Bellini to do for her a picture of which
the subject was to be profane, to suit Mantegna's allegories.
Bellini suggests that he cannot do such a subject in a way to
compare with Mantegna; with such a subject "he cannot do anything
to look well." Isabella thereupon is content to put up with a
religious subject, but Bellini on his side agrees to add "a
distant landscape and other fantasies" (qualche luntani et altra
fantaxia). Bellini, however, was by no means stagnant in his
art, or in his outlook. At the end of his life, he undertook, as
we have seen, a Bacchanal, and in his middle period he painted
the beautiful little allegories now in the Academy at Venice.
"Bellini," says Morelli, "was ever making progress. He knew how
to adapt himself to his subject, and was, as occasion required,
grand and serious, graceful and attractive, naïve and simple." It
is in Venice that Bellini can be best studied; but our National
Gallery is fortunate in having more of his works than can be seen
in any other collection north of the Alps. And how varied are his
powers! The same hand has given us subjects of intense religious
conviction, like "The Agony in the Garden" (726) and "The Blood
of the Redeemer" (1233); "sunny pictures of devotional sentiment"
(280 and 599); the noble portrait here before us; and delicate
landscape work, like the "Peter Martyr" (812). In his earliest
pictures he devoted himself to the profoundest sentiments of
Christianity—perhaps, as has been suggested, under the influence
of S. Bernardino, then preaching at Padua (Roger Fry's Giovanni
Bellini, p. 22). Afterwards the "note" in Bellini's work is
rather "genial serenity." The expression of his Madonnas is often
tender and solemn, but he never lets it pass into the region of
the ecstatic. All is bright and peaceful and sunny. He belongs
to what Ruskin calls "the age of the masters," in which the main
object is "pictorial perfectness and deliciousness."
A magnificent portrait of one of the greatest men of the Venetian
Republic. Leonardo, the 67th Doge, held office from 1501 to 1521. He
belonged to one of the most ancient and noble families in the State,
and Venice, under his rule, was one of the Great Powers of Europe—as
the league of Cambrai formed against him sufficiently shows. There
is all the quiet dignity of a born ruler in his face—"fearless,
faithful, patient, impenetrable, implacable—every word a fate"
(Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. ix. § 1). In his capacity of
State painter to the Republic it was Bellini's duty to execute the
official portraits of the Doges. During his long life he saw no fewer
than eleven Doges, and was State painter during the reigns of four.
This, however, is the only portrait of a Doge by Bellini which has been
preserved (Richter's Lectures on the National Gallery, p. 42). It is
remarkable alike for strong characterisation, simplicity of conception,
and brilliancy of colouring.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45, and also under 51.
Guido (Eclectic-Bologna: 1575-1642). See 11.
St. John is charming in the beauty of boyhood. In the youthful Christ
the painter has striven after something more "ideal," and has produced
a somewhat namby-pamby face.
Gerard Dou (Dutch: 1613-1675).
Dou, who stands at the head of the Leyden School, is remarkable
for the patient industry which he devoted to his work, and which
was rewarded by his attainment of wonderful mastery in delicate
execution. "Mr. Slap-dash whips out his pocket-book, scribbles for
five minutes on one page, and from that memorandum paints with the
aid of the depths of his consciousness the whole of his picture.
Not so the true follower of Gerard Dou. To him the silent surface
with the white ground is a sacred place that is to tell on after
ages, and bring pleasure or power or knowledge to hundreds of
thousands as silently. No eyes, emperor's or clown's, telling the
other that they have been there. It is worth this man's while to
spend a whole sketch-book, if need be, over one twelve-inch panel"
(Letters of James Smetham, p. 173). With Gerard Dou "a picture
was a thing of orderly progression, even as the flowers of spring
gradually unfold their leaves and buds and blossoms to the sun. He
hurried his work for no man, but moved with a princely ease, as
much as to say to the world, 'Other men may hurry as they please,
from necessity or excitement; but Gerard Dou at least chooses to
think, and to perfect his works until he has satisfied himself.'"
At first he worked at portrait-painting, but his manner was too
slow to please his sitters. "The wife of a wealthy burgomaster
paid the penalty of possessing a fair white hand by having to sit
five long days while the painter transferred it to canvas. Had his
patrons come into the world for no other purpose than to serve
Gerard Dou, he could not have dissipated their time with greater
indifference. The cheek of his fair model would grow pale with
hunger and fatigue while he was rounding a pearl on her neck"
(968). Afterwards Dou devoted himself to scenes of indoor genre,
and herein "he spent as much time in imitating an indentation
on a copper stewpan as he devoted to a dimple in the refulgent
cheek of beauty. Each object he transcribes is sharp or dull,
transparent or opaque, rounded or squared, as it ought to be. The
texture is always given with exactness, even to the minute threads
in a costly robe. He paints goblets of wine which would tempt an
ascetic. His gentlemen smoke such delicately moulded clay pipes
with so much serenity that smoking in his pictures is invested
with all the grace of an accomplishment. He carried his neatness
and love of order into his studio. Other painters were content to
sit at an easel of plain deal—Gerard Dou must have one of ebony,
inlaid with mother-of-pearl. He locked up his colours in a costly
cabinet as if they had been rubies, emeralds, and brilliants of
the first water. On arriving in front of his easel, he is said
to have paused for a few moments to allow the dust to settle
before he uncovered the picture" (Merritt's Art Criticism and
Romance, i. 170). The German painter Sandrart relates that he
once visited Dou's studio and admired the great care bestowed by
the artist on the painting of a broomstick. Dou remarked that he
would still have to work at it for three days more. The history
of his pictures is a remarkable instance of industry rewarded. In
his lifetime an amateur of the name of Spiering used to pay him
one thousand florins a year—in itself a good income—for the mere
privilege of having the first offer of his pictures; and since
his death their value has steadily increased. Of his life, beyond
what has been stated above, little is known. He was the son of a
glazier at Leyden, and was apprenticed successively to an engraver
and a glass-painter. At the age of fifteen he entered the studio
of Rembrandt, with whom he remained three years. He lived nearly
all his life in his native town. Among his pupils were Schalcken
(199), Mieris (840), and Metsu (838).
This fine portrait is painted (says Sir Edward Poynter) in a style
unusually large and free for the master.
Guido (Eclectic-Bologna: 1575-1642). See 11.
This and the companion picture (196) are interesting as being two of
the nation's conspicuously bad bargains. The purchase of them at very
high prices, £1680 and £1260, was indeed one of the grievances that
led to the Select Committee of the House of Commons, 1853, and to the
subsequent reconstitution of the Gallery. "Expert" witnesses declared
before the Committee that these two pictures ought not to have been
bought at any price or even accepted as a gift. Ruskin had some time
previously written to the Times about them as follows:—
"Sir, if the canvases of Guido, lately introduced into the
Gallery, had been good works of even that bad master, which they
are not,—if they had been genuine and untouched works, even
though feeble, which they are not,—if, though false and retouched
remnants of a feeble and fallen school, they had been endurably
decent or elementarily instructive,—some conceivable excuse
might perhaps have been by ingenuity forged, and by impudence
uttered, for their introduction into a gallery where we previously
possessed two good Guidos (11 and 177) ... but now, sir, what
vestige of an apology remains for the cumbering our walls with
pictures that have no single virtue, no colour, no drawing, no
character, no history, no thought?" (Arrows of the Chace, i. 64,
65).
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
At the wedding of Thetis and Peleus an apple was thrown amongst the
guests by the Goddess of Discord, to be given to the most beautiful.
Paris, the Trojan shepherd, was ordered by Jupiter to decide the
contest. He is here seated with Mercury, the messenger of the gods,
at his side, about to award the apple to Venus. On the right of Venus
is Juno with her peacock at her feet; on the left, Minerva, with her
owl perched behind her. Paris thus chose Pleasure, instead of Power or
Wisdom; and from his choice came, the story adds, all the troubling
of domestic peace involved in the Trojan War. The Goddess of Discord,
already assured of her victory and its consequences, hovers in the
clouds above, spreading fire and pestilence.
This picture—one of Rubens's masterpieces and "evidently entirely
the work of his own hand"—belongs to his latest period; "never did
he show his intense appreciation of the beauty of flesh and the
delights of colour more conspicuously than in the pictures of his old
age." Characteristic also is the painter's treatment of the subject.
The goddesses are as substantial as any figures of flesh and blood;
the picture is realistic, not symbolic. An exactly opposite method
of treatment was exemplified in Mr. Watt's "Judgment of Paris,"
exhibited at the Grosvenor Gallery in 1887. Paris was left out, for
does not every lover have the same choice to make for himself? and the
goddesses were soft visionary forms of purely ideal beauty (cf. Modern
Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. viii. § 7).
Unknown (German School).
The interest of this picture lies in the history of its purchase. It
was bought by the trustees in 1845, on the advice of the then Keeper,
as a Holbein. "The veriest tyro might well have been ashamed of such
a purchase" (Arrows of the Chace, i. 65); and very much ashamed
the trustees were, when immediately after the purchase the hoax was
discovered. There and then they subscribed £100 between them, which
they offered to M. Rochard, the dealer, "to induce him to annul the
bargain, but he declined, and there was an end of it."[108]
Guido Reni (Eclectic-Bologna: 1575-1642). See 11.
"A work devoid alike of art and decency" (Modern Painters, vol.
ii. pt. iii. sec. i. ch. xiv. § 24). For the circumstances of its
acquisition see above under 193.
Velazquez (Spanish: 1599-1660).
Don Diego Rodriguez de Silva y Velazquez was born at Seville of
well-to-do parents—his father's name being Silva, his mother's
Velazquez. His talent for drawing quickly showed itself, and when
only twenty he married Juana, the daughter of his second master,
Pacheco (his first being another painter of Seville, Herrera).
Pacheco's house, says one of the Spanish historians, was "the
golden prison of painting," and it was here that Velazquez met
Cervantes, and obtained his first introduction to the brilliant
circle in which he was himself to shine. In Pacheco's company he
went in 1622 to Madrid, where he had influential friends, and
next year he was invited to return by Olivares, the king's great
minister. Olivares persuaded the king to sit to Velazquez for his
portrait. The portrait was a complete success, and the painter
stepped at once into fame and favour. This immediate success is
characteristic of his extraordinary facility. "Just think," says
Ruskin, "what is implied when a man of the enormous power and
facility that Reynolds had, says he was 'trying to do with great
labour' what Velazquez 'did at once.'" Velazquez shows indeed
"the highest reach of technical perfection yet attained in art;
all effort and labour seeming to cease in the radiant peace and
simplicity of consummate human power"[109] (Two Paths, § 68;
Fors Clavigera, 1876, p. 188). From the time of this first
portrait of Philip IV. onwards, the life of Velazquez was one
long triumph. He was not only the favourite but the friend of the
king. He was made in succession painter to the king, keeper of
the wardrobe, usher of the royal chamber, and chamberlain, and
offices were also found for his friends and relations. He lived
in the king's palace on terms of close intimacy, painting the
king and his family in innumerable attitudes, and accompanying
him on his royal progresses. When our Charles I., then Prince of
Wales, visited Madrid in 1623, Velazquez painted his portrait,
and figured in all the royal fêtes held in the English prince's
honour. The Duke of Buckingham, it would seem, was also his
friend, and Velazquez saw much too of Rubens, when the latter came
on his diplomatic mission to Madrid. Rubens advised Velazquez
to visit Italy, and in 1630 the king gave his consent. He
travelled with recommendations from the king, and wherever he
went—Venice, Ferrara, Rome, Naples—he was received with all
the honours accorded to princes. His second visit to Italy was
in 1648, when the king sent him to buy pictures with the view of
forming a Spanish Academy. At Rome he painted the portrait of
the Pope (Innocent X.), which made so great a mark that it was
carried in triumphal procession, like Cimabue's picture of old.
His royal master, however, became impatient for his return, and
he hurried back to Madrid, after giving commissions to all the
leading artists then at Rome. On his return he was given fresh
honours and offices—especially that of Marshal of the Court,
whose duty it was to superintend the personal lodgment of the king
during excursions. It was the duties of this office which were
the immediate cause of his death. He accompanied the king to the
conference at Irun—on the "Island of the Pheasants"—which led to
the marriage of Louis XIV. with the Infanta Maria Teresa. There
is a picture of him at Versailles by the French artist Lebrun,
which was painted on this occasion. The portrait, sombre and
cadaverous-looking, was no doubt true to life; and when Velazquez
returned to Madrid, it was found that his exertions in arranging
the royal journey had sown the seeds of a fever, from which after
a week's illness he died. Seven days later his wife died of grief,
and was buried at his side.
Though Velazquez spent all his life, as we have seen, amongst
the great ones of the earth, no trace of vanity or meanness is
discernible in his character. Ruskin (The Two Paths, §§ 62,
65) connects his sweetness of disposition with the truthfulness
which was characteristic of his art. "The art which is especially
dedicated to natural fact always indicates a peculiar gentleness
and tenderness of mind, and all great and successful work of that
kind will assuredly be the production of thoughtful, sensitive,
earnest, kind men, large in their views of life, and full of
various intellectual power ... (One instance is Reynolds). The
other painter whom I would give you as an instance of this
gentleness is a man of another nation, on the whole I suppose one
of the most cruel civilised nations in the world,—the Spaniards.
They produced but one great painter, only one; but he among the
very greatest of painters, Velazquez. You would not suppose,
from looking at Velazquez's portraits generally, that he was an
especially kind or good man; you perceive a peculiar sternness
about them; for they were as true as steel, and the persons whom
he had to paint being not generally kind or good people, they
were stern in expression, and Velazquez gave the sternness; but
he had precisely the same intense perception of truth, the same
marvellous instinct for the rendering of all natural soul and
all natural form that our Reynolds had. Let me, then, read you
his character as it is given by Mr. Stirling (afterwards Sir W.
Stirling-Maxwell): 'Certain charges, of what nature we are not
informed, brought against him after his death, made it necessary
for his executor to refute them at a private audience granted to
him by the king for that purpose. After listening to the defence
of his friend, Philip immediately made answer, "I can believe all
you say of the excellent disposition of Diego Velazquez." Having
lived for half his life in courts, he was yet capable both of
gratitude and generosity.... No mean jealousy ever influenced
his conduct to his brother artists; he could afford not only to
acknowledge the merits, but to forgive the malice of his rivals.
His character was of that rare and happy kind, in which high
intellectual power is combined with indomitable strength of will,
and a winning sweetness of temper.'" Nothing shows his character
better than his treatment of Murillo, who came to Madrid, an
unfriended youth, in 1640. Velazquez received him to his house,
gave directions for his admission to all the galleries and for
permission to copy, presented him to the king, procured him
commissions, and offered him facilities for making the journey to
Rome.
The chief characteristics of Velazquez's art have been already
incidentally alluded to. "Rejecting all influences," says Sir
Frederick Burton, "alike native and foreign, and following
nature alone, he succeeded in imitating the true appearances of
things as seen through the atmosphere that surrounds them, with
a fidelity that has never been matched. Whatever he undertook
to paint, whether the human face and figure, other animals, or
landscape scenery, the result in his hands was a presentment
intensely individualised, and yet, at the same time, suggestive
of the type." Some modern writers claim the work of Velazquez
as "impressionism"—a much abused and a very ill-defined term.
Certainly Velazquez, like every other great artist, painted his
impressions. But his sheet-anchor was fidelity to fact; and as
for his technique, it was only by constant observation and
practice that he attained that lightness of hand, that felicity of
touch, by which his later work is characterised. For a painting
of the master's earliest period, see 1375. The truthfulness of
Velazquez had its reward, says Ruskin, in making him distinguished
also amongst all Spanish painters by the sparkling purity of his
colour. "Colour is, more than all elements of art, the reward
of veracity of purpose.... In giving an account of anything
for its own sake, the most important points are those of form.
Nevertheless, the form of the object is its own attribute;
special, not shared with other things. An error in giving an
account of it does not necessarily involve wider error. But
its colour is partly its own, partly shared with other things
round it. The hue and power of all broad sunlight is involved in
the colour it has cast upon this single thing; to falsify that
colour, is to misrepresent and break the harmony of the day:
also, by what colour it bears, this single object is altering
hues all round it; reflecting its own into them, displaying them
by opposition, softening them by repetition; one falsehood in
colour in one place, implies a thousand in the neighbourhood....
Hence the apparent anomaly that the only schools of colour are
the schools of Realism.... Velazquez, the greatest colourist, is
the most accurate portrait painter of Spain" (Modern Painters,
vol. v. pt. ix. ch. xi. § 8 n.).[110] It is curious that
the influence of Velazquez was in his own time and country
comparatively circumscribed. He exercised no such overpowering
attraction as that of Leonardo, or Raphael, or Michael Angelo.
The real followers of Velazquez are painters of our own day, and
more especially the French painters of the last quarter of the
nineteenth century, and their imitators in the other schools of
Europe and America.
A very interesting picture, both for the sparkling brilliancy of its
execution and for the truth with which it reproduces the court life
of the time. Philip IV. was as fond of the chase as he was of the
arts; and here we see some state hunting-party in a royal enclosure
(such as was arranged, no doubt, for the pleasure of our Charles I.
when he visited Madrid), with an array of huntsmen and guards, and
magnificent carriages for the ladies of the court. "The king has just
thrown his horquilla [a kind of pitchfork] into the flank of a boar
tearing furiously by.... Here the heroes of the day are very slightly
sketched, but we at once recognise Philip IV. from the few touches
suggesting his face; he keeps to the right, owing to the proximity
of the ladies, and by him stands Olivares as equerry-in-chief.... In
the second carriage is Queen Isabella. Occasionally the boars made
tremendous leaps; hence the ladies are also provided with pitchforks
to turn them aside. Moreover, two huntsmen with spears keep watch by
the Queen's coach. The groups of spectators deserve minute study.
They contain studies of costume and character enough for a scrap-book
of "Castilian Types of the Seventeenth Century." Thus, notice under
the tree on the right a peasant resting with elbows and chest on
the patient back of his beloved ass—verily, another Sancho Panza!
And those two rogues on the grass, one holding the water-jug to his
mouth, look like a sketch by Murillo. The mendicant, again, in the
brown cloak, both hands resting on his stick, is surely a privileged
speculator, who solemnly invites the rich folk to increase their stock
in the next world by entrusting their investments to him. Elsewhere is
a rider slashing at the hard flanks of his obstinate mule, while his
escudero shoves from behind; two cavaliers paying each other formal
compliments; a group of experts in "dog-flesh" near the master of the
hounds, thronging round the fine boar-hound, who has been ripped up by
the quarry. Notice, too, the isolated group of cavaliers in grey and
scarlet cloaks, with the clergyman, perhaps the "chaplain to the hunt."
They stand apart from the scene, having more weighty matters on hand."
"The figures do not seem very numerous, as they are scattered about
without a trace of conventional grouping. Yet, even without the heads
that are merely suggested, there are over a hundred figures, some sixty
outside and fifty inside the central enclosure. Sir Edwin Landseer
declared that he had never seen so much large art on so small a scale"
(Justi's Velazquez and his Times, pp. 212-14). Notice especially the
two splendid dogs near the left-hand corner. Velazquez is very great in
painting dogs; he "has made some of them nearly as grand as his surly
kings" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi. § 13).
With regard to the execution of the picture (which was bought in 1846
and was alleged to have been damaged in cleaning), Ruskin wrote:
"I have seldom met with an example of the master which gave me
more delight, or which I believed to be in more genuine or perfect
condition.... (The critic's) complaint of loss of substance in the
figures of the foreground is, I have no doubt, altogether groundless.
He has seen little southern scenery if he supposes that the brilliancy
and apparent nearness of the silver clouds is in the slightest degree
overcharged; and shows little appreciation of Velazquez in supposing
him to have sacrificed the solemnity and might of such a distance
to the inferior interest of the figures in the foreground.... The
position of the horizon suggests, and the lateral extent of the
foreground proves, such a distance between the spectator and even
its nearest figures as may well justify the slightness of their
execution. Even granting that some of the upper glazings of the figures
had been removed, the tone of the whole picture is so light, grey,
and glittering, and the dependence on the power of its whites so
absolute, that I think the process hardly to be regretted which has
left these in lustre so precious, and restored to a brilliancy which a
comparison with any modern work of similar aim would render apparently
supernatural, the sparkling motion of its figures and the serene snow
of its sky"[111] (Arrows of the Chace, i. 58-60).
Annibale Carracci (Eclectic-Bologna: 1560-1609). See 9.
The legend of the temptation of St. Anthony, here realistically set
forth, is the story of the temptations that beset the ascetic. In
the wilderness, brooding over sin, he is tempted; it is only when he
returns to the world and goes about doing good that the temptations
cease to trouble him. St. Anthony lived, like Faust, the life of
a recluse and a visionary, and like him was tempted of the devil.
"Seeing that wicked suggestions availed not, Satan raised up in his
sight (again like Mephistopheles in Faust) the sensible images of
forbidden things. He clothed his demons in human forms; they hovered
round him in the shape of beautiful women, who, with the softest
blandishments, allured him to sin." The saint in his distress resolved
to flee yet farther from the world; but it is not so that evil can
be conquered, and still "spirits in hideous forms pressed round him
in crowds, scourged him and tore him with their talons—all shapes
of horror, 'worse than fancy ever feigned or fear conceived,' came
roaring, howling, hissing, shrieking in his ears." In the midst of all
this terror a vision of help from on high shone upon him; the evil
phantoms vanished, and he arose unhurt and strong to endure. But it is
characteristic of the love of horror in the Bolognese School that in
Carracci's picture the celestial vision does not dissolve the terrors.
Godfried Schalcken (Dutch: 1643-1706).
Schalcken was probably a pupil of Gerard Dou (see 192), whose
delicate finish he sought to rival. "But the smooth, polished
surface of his works is unpleasant, and the labour bestowed upon
them is too obvious" (Burton). He spent the greater part of his
life at Dort, but he was employed for some time in England by
King William III. In addition to his genre pieces, Schalcken
painted numerous portraits, and also attempted sacred subjects. He
especially excelled in pictures of candle-light.
A picture in illustration of a Latin poem, as befits a painter whose
father was headmaster of a Latin school (at Dort). Lesbia is weighing
jewels against her sparrow, which she loved better even than her own
eyes—
Mourn, every Venus, every Love!
Gallants gay, mourn every one!
My darling had a favourite dove,
That she did prize
As her own eyes—
Her dove is dead and gone.
G. R., from Catullus, iii.
Sassoferrato (Eclectic: 1605-1685).
Giovanni Battista Salvi, called Sassoferrato from his birthplace,
not far from Urbino, is generally described as a follower of
the Carracci, but he seems to have been chiefly a copyist of
Raphael, Perugino, and other early masters. Compare Sassoferrato's
Madonnas with the earlier models, and the distinction between
sentimentality and sentiment becomes plain. His works are,
however, marked by real feeling, and he maintained a certain
elevation of style.
Melchior de Hondecoeter (Dutch: 1636-1695).
This painter, a member of a noble family of Brabant, devoted
himself to the poultry-yard, and became famous for his pictures of
fowl and other birds. His compositions show a constant study of
the subjects he treats. He studied first under his father, Gysbert
de Hondecoeter, and afterwards under his uncle, Jan Baptist Weenix
(1096).
"A beautiful brood of young chickens in the foreground. The cock was
Hondecoeter's favourite bird, which he is said to have taught to stand
to him in a fixed position as a model." (Official Catalogue).
William van Herp (Flemish: 1614-1677).
Works by W. Van Herp, a member of the Painters' Guild at Antwerp,
are not numerous. They show the influence of Rubens and also of
Jordaens, the two leaders of the Flemish School at his time.
Franciscan friars are distributing food to the poor at the gate of a
convent.
Bakhuizen (Dutch: 1631-1708).
Ludolf Bakhuizen comes second in the succession of Dutch sea
painters to W. van de Velde, and the reader is referred to
the remarks on that painter (see under 149) for the general
characteristics of them both. Whereas, however, Van de Velde
preferred calms, Bakhuizen preferred storms, and even "voluntarily
exposed his life several times," says a compatriot, "for the
sake of seizing, in all its horrible reality, the effects of
rough weather" (Havard: The Dutch School, p. 255). It cannot
be said, however, that the result was very successful. There is,
adds the same critic, a hardness about his forms and a want of
transparency in his colours "which cannot be counterbalanced by
the fury of upheaved waves or the furious driving of the heavy
clouds across the sky." Bakhuizen, before he took to painting, was
successively a book-keeper (his father was town-clerk of Emden)
and a writing-master. Perhaps it is to his experience in the
latter capacity that the hardness and "peruke-like" regularity of
his waves are due. In his own day, however, his sea-pieces were
very greatly esteemed. The King of Prussia was among his patrons,
and the Tzar, Peter the Great, frequently visited his studios,
and even himself took lessons of him. He made many constructive
drawings of ships for that monarch. He was also an etcher, and the
British Museum possesses a fragment of a sketch-book of his.
J. W. E. Dietrich (German: 1712-1774).
Johann Wilhelm Ernst Dietrich was born at Weimar, where his father
was court-painter. So precocious was his talent that when only
in his eighteenth year he was himself appointed court-painter
to Augustus II., King of Poland and Elector of Saxony. In 1743
he went to Italy, and after this visit he turned his name into
Italian by signing it Dietrici (as in the picture dated 1745).
He was afterwards appointed keeper of the celebrated Gallery at
Dresden, a Professor of the Academy there, and Director of the
school of painting attached to the porcelain manufactory. His
pictures and etchings are numerous. In his original work his
style remained German. But he had also a remarkable facility
in imitating the works of other painters. "He did more," says
Merritt, the picture-restorer, "to confound collectors than all
other imitators put together. Hundreds of his imitations of
the various masters have been sold to second-rate amateurs for
original productions" (Art Criticism and Romance, i. 164).
Jean Baptiste Greuze (French: 1725-1805).
To understand the great reputation which Greuze enjoyed in his
day one should remember, besides the prettiness of his pictures
in themselves, the contrast which they afforded in their
subject-matter to the art around them. Look, for instance, at
1090 and 101-104. Those pictures are nearly contemporary with
Greuze's, and are typical, the first of the mythology, the latter
of the courtliness, and all of the sensuality, of the current art
of the time. The return to nature, the return to simpler life
and sounder morals, which inspired Rousseau, found expression in
Greuze's domestic scenes and sweet girl faces. "Courage, my good
Greuze," said Diderot of one of Greuze's pictures of domestic
drama; "introduce morality into painting. What, has not the
pencil been long enough and too long consecrated to debauchery
and vice? Ought we not to be delighted at seeing it at last unite
with dramatic poetry in instructing us, correcting us, inviting
us to virtue?"[112] Greuze's art, in comparison with what was
around it, was thus simple, natural, moral. Yet one sees now that
something of the artificiality, against which his pictures were
a protest, nevertheless affected them. For instance there is
an obvious posing in this picture, just as there is a touch of
affectation in 1154. Decidedly, too, Greuze "invests his lessons
of bourgeois morality with sensuous attractions." There is neither
the innocence nor the unconsciousness in the girls of Greuze that
there is in those of Reynolds or Millais.
The life of Greuze is interesting for the curious instance it
affords of the inability, which so many eminent men have shown, to
know in what direction their best powers lay. Greuze's reputation
rested on his genre painting—on his rendering of domestic
scenes or faces; but his ambition was to figure as an historical
painter. His one picture in this style—"Severus and Caracalla"
(in the Louvre)—was painted in 1769 as his diploma work for the
French Academy. They praised him for "his former productions,
which were excellent," and not for "this one, which was unworthy
alike of them and of him," and admitted him as a painter in the
class of genre only. Greuze, who was vain and overbearing in
the days of his vogue, was greatly incensed and ceased to exhibit
at the Academy until after the Revolution. But his power had then
begun to fail; the classic school reigned supreme; and Greuze,
who had been unhappily married, and whose large earnings were
squandered by extravagance and bad management, died in great
poverty. He was born in Burgundy, of humble middle-class parents,
in the little town of Tournus, where his modest birthplace may
still be seen. His happiest productions were taken from the daily
life of the middle-classes, and his sweet girl faces are unique in
French art (Lady Dilke's article in the Encyclopædia Britannica,
and Morley's Diderot, vol. ii. chap. iii.).
Campbell's "Lines on a picture of a girl by Greuze" may be quoted of
this picture:—
What wert thou, maid?—thy life—thy name
Oblivion hides in mystery;
Though from thy face my heart could frame
A long romantic history.
Transported to thy time I seem,
Though dust thy coffin covers—
And hear the songs, in fancy's dream,
Of thy devoted lovers.
How witching must have been thy breath—
How sweet the living charmer—
Whose every semblance after death
Can make the heart grow warmer!
Nicolas Maes (Dutch: 1632-1693). See 153.
In the background is the family at dinner. The waiting-maid comes to
the kitchen to serve the next course—the duckling, perhaps, which
a cat is stealing—and finds the cook of Sancho Panza's philosophy:
"Blessings on him who invented sleep, ... the food that appeases
hunger, the drink that quenches thirst, ... the balance that equals the
simple with the wise." Signed and dated 1655.
Bartholomew Breenbergh (Dutch: 1599-1659).
Breenbergh, after visiting Italy, established himself in France,
where, after the example of Poussin and Claude, he painted
"classical landscapes," into which he introduced small figures,
supposed to represent scenes from Holy Writ, etc. His work was in
great request in France, and several of his pictures are now in
the Louvre.
Both and Poelenburgh (Dutch). See under 71 and 955.
The landscape by Both, the figures by Poelenburgh. For the subject of
the judgment of Paris, see under 194.
Francesco Guardi (Venetian: 1712-1793).
Francesco Guardi was a scholar and imitator of Canaletto. "Less
prized during the heyday of his master's fame, he has been
steadily acquiring reputation on account of certain qualities
peculiar to himself. His draughtsmanship displays an agreeable
stateliness; his colouring a graceful gemmy brightness and a
glow of sunny gold. But what has mainly served to win for Guardi
popularity, is the attention he paid to contemporary costume
and manners. Canaletto filled large canvases with mathematical
perspectives of city and water. At the same time he omitted life
and incident. There is little to remind us that the Venice he so
laboriously depicted was the Venice of perukes and bagwigs, of
masks and hoops and carnival disguises. Guardi had an eye for
local colour and for fashionable humours" (J. A. Symonds, "Pietro
Longhi," in the Century Guild Hobby Horse, April 1889).
Notice the effect of light on the Church of St. Mark at the end of the
square: "Beyond those troops of ordered arches there rises a vision out
of the earth, and all the great square seems to have opened from it in
a kind of awe, that we may see it far away;—a multitude of pillars
and white domes, clustered into a long low pyramid of coloured light"
(Stones of Venice, vol. ii. ch. iv. § 14).
Johan van Huchtenburgh (Dutch: 1646-1733).
Huchtenburgh was in great request as a battle-painter, and in 1708
was commissioned by Prince Eugene to paint the victories won by
that prince and the Duke of Marlborough over the French.
Thomas de Keyser (Dutch: 1596-1667).
This painter—the son of an eminent sculptor and architect—was
born at Amsterdam, and was one of the chief forerunners of
Rembrandt in the art of portrait painting. "If," says Burton, "in
some of his work remains of the formality and stiffness of the
sixteenth century may be traced, the greater number show a freedom
and a sense of life unusual among those of his predecessors."
This picture—which is signed (on the mantelpiece) and dated 1627—is
interesting as showing us, in a particular instance, the condition of
social and political life out of which the Dutch art of the seventeenth
century arose. The merchant has his globes before him: he was one of
those who had built up the riches of his country by foreign trade. But
he is a man of taste as well as of business, and the two things are
closely united.[113] His office is itself hung with rich tapestry, and
amongst the implements of his trade, his plans and books and maps, is
a guitar. "The United Provinces, grouped together by the Convention
of Utrecht (1579), ... concentrated the public functions in the hands
of an aristocratic middle class (such as we see them in Terburg's
historical picture, 896), educated and powerful, eager for science and
riches, bold enough to undertake everything, and persevering enough
to carry their enterprises to a successful conclusion. The brilliant
heroism, implacable will, and indefatigable perseverance which had
aided the people to recover their liberty and autonomy were now
directed to other objects.... Their shipbuilders covered the seas with
vessels, a legion of adventurous sailors went forth in all directions
to discover distant shores or to conquer unknown continents.... Gold
was now to be found in plenty in the country which hitherto had been
poor, and with the influx of riches, taste, luxury, appreciation of the
beautiful and love of Art were developed" (Havard: The Dutch School,
p. 62).
Raphael (Urbino: 1483-1520). See 1171.
This picture—with the original pen-and-ink drawing from which it
was traced[114]—is the earliest known work of Raphael, painted
when he was not more than seventeen and was "pluming his wings
and meditating a flight." His first (or as it is commonly called,
"Perugian") period may be divided into two: (1) Down to about
1500, before he went to Perugia, and whilst he was still studying
at Urbino under Timoteo Viti; (2) From 1500-1504, at Perugia.
This picture probably belongs to the former of these periods. It
is unlike Perugino in several respects—in the landscape, for
instance, and in the broad hand of the sleeping knight, whereas
Perugino's hands are narrower and longer. In connection, too, with
Raphael's early pupilage under a Ferrarese master, note that the
figure of Duty is like Francia's saint in No. 638 (see further on
this subject Morelli's Italian Pictures in German Galleries, pp.
285-340). The picture, which was at one time in the possession of
Sir Thomas Lawrence, came to England from the Borghese Gallery
at Rome. It was originally in the Ducal Palace at Urbino. "The
subject breathes the very essence of that courtly and romantic
atmosphere which haunted the palace of Urbino and may well have
been inspired by the Duchess Elizabeth herself. This accomplished
lady was the first to honour the son of her old friend Giovanni
Santi with her patronage, and Raphael may have painted this little
allegory for the decoration of her chamber, just as Costa and
Mantegna painted their picture of Parnassus and the Muses for
Isabella d'Este's grotto at Mantua" (Julia Cartwright: Early Work
of Raphael, p. 12).
A young knight sleeps under a laurel—the tree whose leaves were in all
ages the reward of honour; and in a dream of his future career he sees
two figures approach him, between whom he has to make his choice. The
one on the left speaks with the voice of Duty; she is purple-robed and
offers him a book and a sword—emblematic of the active life of study
and conflict. The other is of fair countenance and is gaily decked
with ribbons and strings of coral. Hers is the voice of Pleasure, and
the flower she offers is a sprig of myrtle in bloom—"myrtle dear to
Venus." Raphael was thinking, perhaps, of the Greek story which told
of the choice of Hercules. For Hercules, when he came to man's estate,
laid him down to rest and pondered which road in life to take; and
lo! there stood by him two women. And one of them took up her parable
and said: "O Hercules, if thou wouldst choose the smoothest and the
pleasantest path, then shouldst thou follow me." And Hercules said:
"O lady, I pray thee tell me thy name." And she answered: "Those who
love me call me Pleasure, and those who hate me call me Evil." Then the
other woman came forward and said: "O Hercules, there is no road to
happiness except through toil and trouble; such is the gods' decree,
and if thou wouldst be happy in thy life and honoured in thy death,
then up and follow me." And her name was Duty. And Hercules chose the
better part, and went about the world redressing human wrong, and was
reverenced by men and honoured by the gods—
Choose well; your choice is
Brief, and yet endless.
Here eyes do regard you
In Eternity's stillness;
Here is all fulness,
Ye brave, to reward you.
Work, and despair not!
Goethe, tr. by Carlyle (Past and Present).
Guido (Eclectic-Bologna: 1575-1642). See 11.
In pictures of this subject two distinct conceptions may be noticed.
In some the coronation of the Virgin is, as it were, dramatic; the
subject is represented, that is to say, as the closing act in the life
of the Virgin, and saints and disciples appear in the foreground as
witnesses on earth of her coronation in heaven. No. 1155 is a good
instance of that treatment. This picture, on the other hand, shows the
mystical treatment of the subject—the coronation of the Virgin being
the accepted type of the Church triumphant. The scene is laid entirely
in heaven, and the only actors are the angels of the heavenly host.
Notice the carefully symmetrical arrangement of the whole composition,
as well as the charming faces of many of the angel chorus.
School of Taddeo Gaddi (Florentine: 1300-1366).
See also (p. xix)
Taddeo Gaddi was the godson and pupil of Giotto, with whom he
lived twenty-four years, and whose tradition he faithfully carried
on: art had "gone back," he used to say, "since his master's
death." His most extensive works were the frescoes in the Spanish
Chapel in Santa Maria Novella (described in ch. iv. of Ruskin's
Mornings in Florence). Taddeo was also distinguished as an
architect. "He built the Ponte Vecchio, and the old stones of it
were so laid by him that they are unshaken to this day."
There is an air of settled peace, of abstract quietude, about this
company of saints which is very impressive—something fixed in the
attitude and features recalling the conventual life as described by St.
Bernard and paraphrased by Wordsworth in his Ecclesiastical Sonnets—
Here Man more purely lives, less oft doth fall,
More promptly rises, walks with stricter heed,
More safely rests, dies happier, is freed
Earlier from cleansing fires, and gains withal
A brighter crown.
Ascribed to Peruzzi (Sienese: 1481-1536).
Baldassare Peruzzi, an excellent draughtsman and fair painter,
was most distinguished as an architect. His life, says Sir Edward
Poynter, was one which any artist might envy. "Brought up at his
own wish as a painter at Siena, he soon gave evidence of such
talent that he was entrusted with important commissions at Rome,
making acquaintance by this means with one of the great Roman
patrons of art, Agostino Chigi, the same for whom Raphael painted
a chapel in Santa Maria del Popolo. Baldassare found leisure to
devote himself to the study of architecture; from this time he
seems to have had almost the happiest lot that one can imagine
falling to an artist, that of building palaces and decorating them
with his own hand" (Lectures on Art, ch. viii.). Among these
were the Farnesina Palace for Agostino Chigi, and the Palazzo
Massimi, which is "justly considered one of the most beautiful
and ingeniously constructed in Rome." It is characteristic of
the taste of the time that what Vasari most admired in Peruzzi's
buildings was "the decoration of the Loggia at the Villa
Farnesina, painted in perspective to imitate stucco work." "This
is done so perfectly," he says, "with the colours, that even
experienced artists have taken them to be works in relief. I
remember that Titian, a most excellent and renowned painter, whom
I conducted to see these works, could by no means be persuaded
that they were painted, and remained in astonishment when, on
changing his point of view, he perceived that they were so."
Baldassare also designed the fortifications of Siena, and on the
death of Raphael was appointed architect of St. Peter's at Rome.
His life was not free from adventures. At the sack of Rome in 1527
he was plundered of all he possessed by the Imperial soldiers,
and was forced to paint a picture of their general, the Constable
Bourbon, who had been killed in the assault of the city. He died
at Rome, not without suspicion of having been poisoned, and was
buried in the Pantheon, near the tomb of Raphael.
There is a drawing by Peruzzi of this subject in possession of the
National Gallery, No. 167. Girolamo da Treviso (623) made a copy of
it, which is perhaps this work. The figures of the three magi are
interesting as having been portraits of Titian, Raphael, and Michael
Angelo.
Unknown (Lombard School, 16th century).
Perhaps to be ascribed to Bazzi (see under 1144).
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
Compare No. 672. That was painted when he was about thirty; this,
some thirty years later. We see here the same features, though worn
by age; the same self-reliant expression, though broken down by
care. "In manner," says Sir Walter Armstrong, "it is amazingly free,
irresponsible, and what in any one but a stupendous master we should
call careless. It looks as though he had taken up the first dirty
palette on which he could lay his hands, and set himself to the making
of a picture with no further thought. To those who put signs of mastery
above all other qualities, it is one of the most attractive pictures in
the whole Gallery" (Portfolio, September 1891).
Jan van Eyck (Early Flemish: about 1390-1440). See 186.
See also (p. xxi)
One of Van Eyck's obviously truthful portraits, so highly finished that
the single hairs on the shaven chin are given. On the upper part of the
frame is the inscription, "Als ich kan"—as I can, the first words of
an old Flemish proverb, "As I can, but not as I will,"—an inscription
beautifully illustrative of a great man's modesty; accurately true
also as a piece of criticism. No pictures are more finished than Van
Eyck's, yet they are only "as he can," not as he would. "Let all the
ingenuity and all the art of the human race he brought to bear upon the
attainment of the utmost possible finish, and they could not do what
is done in the foot of a fly, or the film of a bubble. God alone can
finish; and the more intelligent the human mind becomes, the more the
infiniteness of interval is felt between human and divine work in this
respect" (Modern Painters, vol. iii. pt iv. ch. ix. § 5).
Bakhuizen (Dutch: 1631-1708). See 204.
School of Titian. See under 4.
The Pharisee, hoping to entrap Jesus into sedition, asks him whether
it is lawful to give tribute unto Cæsar. "Show me the tribute money"
is the answer. "Whose is this image and superscription?... Render unto
Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's, and unto God the things that are
God's." Titian's great picture of this subject (painted about 1514) is
at Dresden.
Giulio Romano (Roman: 1498-1546). See 624.
A semicircular fresco (formerly in the church of the Trinita de' Monti,
Rome), showing the Magdalen borne upwards by angels to witness the joys
of the blessed.
School of Botticelli (1447-1510). See 1034.
This is a copy of a picture by Botticelli in the Rospigliosi Palace at
Rome. In the background is a hedge of roses, Botticelli's favourite
flower. "No man has ever yet drawn, and none is likely to draw for
many a day, roses as well as Sandro has drawn them" (Fors Clavigera,
1872, xii. 2). And he painted them, just as he painted his Madonnas,
from life, and from everyday life—for even as late as forty years ago,
Florence was "yet encircled by a wilderness of wild rose." It should be
noticed, further, that there was a constant Biblical reference in the
flowers which the painters consecrated to their Madonnas—especially
the rose, the emblem of love and beauty. The background in Madonna
pictures is frequently, as here, a piece of garden trellis: "a garden
enclosed is my sister, my spouse" (Song of Solomon, iv. 12).
Florentine School (15th century).
See also (p. xix)
Kneeling below are Girolamo Rucellai and his son. The arms of
the Rucellai family are at each end of the predella. The
picture was originally an altar-piece in the Rucellai Chapel in
the church of the Eremiti di San Girolamo at Fiesole. Formerly
ascribed to Cosimo Rosselli, the picture is now conjecturally
attributed to Botticini (for whom see under 1126).
St. Jerome (A.D. 342-420) who first made the great Eastern
book, the Bible, legible in the West, by translating the Hebrew into
Latin, was one of the chief saints of the Latin or Western Church, and
was a favourite subject in Christian art; there are a dozen pictures of
him in the National Gallery alone. One of the chief events in his life
is told in the left-hand compartment at the bottom of this picture.
Jerome is tending a sick lion, and in all the pictures of him a lion
appears as his constant companion. The story is that one evening a lion
entered the monastery, limping as in pain, and all the brethren fled in
terror, as we see one of them doing here, whilst the others are looking
on safely behind a door; but Jerome went forward to meet the lion,
as though he had been a guest. And the lion lifted up his paw, and
Jerome, finding it was wounded by a thorn, tended the wild creature,
which henceforward became his constant companion and friend. What did
the Christian painters mean by their fond insistence on the constancy
of the lion-friend? They meant to foretell a day "when the Fear of Man
shall be laid in benediction, not enmity, on inferior beings,—when
they shall not hurt or destroy in all the holy Mountain, and the Peace
of the Earth shall be as far removed from its present sorrow, as the
present gloriously animate universe from the nascent desert, whose
deeps were the place of dragons, and its mountains, domes of fire. Of
that day knoweth no man; but the Kingdom of God is already come to
those who have tamed in their own hearts what was rampant of the lower
nature, and have learned to cherish what is lovely and human, in the
wandering children of the clouds and fields" (Bible of Amiens, ch.
iii. § 54). The other compartments depict incidents in the lives of St.
Damasus, St. Eusebius, St. Paula, and St. Eustache—saints associated
with St. Jerome. The picture itself shows an earlier period of his
life, when, before he settled in a monastery, but after a life of
pleasure in Rome, he left (as he himself tells us) not only parents and
kindred, but the accustomed luxuries of delicate life, and lived for
ten years in the desert in the effort to obtain some closer knowledge
of the Being and Will of God. The saints who are made by the painter to
keep St. Jerome company below are in sorrow; the angels above, in joy.
The other kneeling figures are portraits of the patron for whom the the
picture was painted.
Bassano (Venetian: 1510-1592). See 173.
Christ is driving out from the House of Prayer all those who had made
it a den of thieves—money-changers, dealers in cattle, sheep, goats,
birds, etc. A subject which lent itself conveniently to Bassano's
characteristic genre style.
Francisco Zurbaran (Spanish: 1598-1662).
Zurbaran—the contemporary of Velazquez—unites in a
typical manner the two main characteristics of the Spanish
School—asceticism in subject, realism in presentment. He is,
says Stirling-Maxwell, the peculiar painter of monks, as Raphael
is of Madonnas, and Ribera of martyrdoms; he studied the Spanish
friar, and painted him with as high a relish as Titian painted
the Venetian noble, and Vandyck the gentleman of England. In
the Museum of Seville are several pictures which he painted
for the Carthusians of that city. "The venerable friars seem
portraits; each differs in feature from the other, yet all bear
the impress of long years of solitary and silent penance; their
white draperies chill the eye, as their cold hopeless faces chill
the heart; and the whole scene is brought before us with a vivid
fidelity, which shows that Zurbaran studied the Carthusian in his
native cloisters with the like close and faithful attention that
Velazquez bestowed on the courtier, strutting it in the corridors
of the Alcazar or the alleys of Aranjuez" (Annals of the Artists
of Spain, ch. xi.). Zurbaran was the son of a peasant, but having
shown an early talent for drawing was released from the plough
and sent to the studio of the painter-priest Juan de Roelas, at
Seville. His abilities and his close study of nature soon gained
him a high reputation; his forcible naturalistic style acquired
for him the name of "the Caravaggio of Spain." He was employed in
the cathedral of Seville, which remained his abode for the greater
part of his life. In his picture of "St. Thomas Aquinas" in the
museum there, the dark wild face, immediately behind the Imperial
adorer, is traditionally held to be the portrait of Zurbaran
himself. His habits were those of the recluse, but in 1650 he was,
through the influence of Velazquez, called to Madrid. There he was
set to a task little suited to his tastes—the production of a
series of pictures (now in the Prado) to illustrate the labours of
Hercules. Philip IV. used, we are told, to visit the artist whilst
engaged on these pictures, and on one occasion expressed his
admiration of his powers by laying his hand on his shoulder, and
calling him "painter of the King, and king of the painters." "His
best characteristic," says Burton, "is his power of imparting the
sense of life to the heads of his figures. He was in fact a great,
though not a professed, portrait painter."
It is a transcript from the religious life around him that Zurbaran
here sets before us. Seville was the most orthodox city in the most
Catholic country—at every corner of the streets there were Franciscan
monks, with prayers or charms to sell in exchange for food or money.
"For centuries in Spain country people bought up the monks' old garbs,
to use them in dressing the dead, so that St. Peter might pass them
into heaven thinking they were Franciscans." It was in the streets and
convents of Seville therefore that Zurbaran found his models. This
picture was bought for the National Gallery from the Louis Philippe
sale in 1853. When the gallery of Spanish pictures to which it formerly
belonged was inaugurated in the Louvre, "what remained most strongly
in the Parisian mind, so impressionable and so blasé, was not the
suavity of Murillo, nor the astonishing pencil of Velazquez, making
the canvas speak and palpitate with life; it was a certain 'Monk in
prayer' of Zurbaran, which it was impossible to forget, even if one had
seen it only once" (C. Blanc, cited in W. B. Scott's Murillo, p. 55).
"Of his gloomy monastic studies," says Stirling-Maxwell, "the kneeling
Franciscan holding a skull is one of the ablest; the face, dimly seen
beneath the brown hood, is turned to heaven; no trace of earthly
expression is left on its pale features, but the wild eyes seem fixed
on some dismal vision; and a single glance at the canvas imprints the
figure on the memory for ever."
Francisco Zurbaran (Spanish: 1598-1662). See 230.
A characteristic and fine example of the naturalistic treatment of
such subjects by the Spanish School; formerly supposed to be an
early work of Velazquez, now attributed by the authorities of the
Gallery, following M. de Beruete, to Zurbaran.[116] The affinity of
the Spanish School in this respect to the Italian naturalists may be
seen by a glance at No. 172 in the late Italian Room. In the distance
is the guiding angel as the star of the Epiphany. It is a pretty
piece of observation of child nature that makes the painter show the
boy offering his animals to the infant Christ. One remembers George
Eliot's "young Daniel" (in Scenes of Clerical Life), who says to Mr.
Gilfil, by way of making friends, "We've got two pups, shall I show
'em yer? One's got white spots." Zurbaran was noted for his successful
delineation of animals. Palomino mentions with approbation his picture
of an enraged dog from which chance observers used to run away, and of
a yearling lamb, deemed by the possessor of more value than a hecatomb
of full-grown sheep.
Catena (Venetian: died 1531).
Of Vincenzo di Biagio, commonly called Catena (possibly from a
partiality for jewellery), little is known, and until recently
little was heard. Modern critics have, however, decided that
he was one of the ablest of the School of Bellini, and have
attributed to him many beautiful works, which have hitherto borne
famous names.[117] He was born at Treviso; his first master was
probably the elder Girolamo da Treviso, but he must have finished
his artistic education in the School of Bellini. Signed pictures
from his hand are to be found in several of the Venetian churches
and elsewhere. He was fond of introducing a partridge (as here and
in 694) and a white poodle dog (as here) into his pictures, by
which they may often be recognised. An altar-piece, representing
S. Cristina in the church of S. Maria Mater Domini, and another of
S. Giustina in S. Simpliciana are referred to as offering marked
analogies with the work now before us. A letter is extant, dated
April 11, 1520, when Raphael was just deceased and Michelangelo
infirm, in which Catena is recommended to be on his guard, "since
danger seems to be impending over all very excellent painters."
He was famous for his portraits; the portrait of Count Raimund
Fugger, specially praised by Vasari, is now at Berlin. He died in
1531, in which year he made a will leaving legacies to a number
of poor painters, and the greater part of his substance to the
Guild of his art. In his later works the influence of Giorgione is
strongly marked—as here in the rich full colour of the Kneeling
Knight, and in other respects. "Giorgione," says Mr. Berenson,
"created a demand which other painters were forced to supply. One
of them, turning toward the new in a way that is full of singular
charm, gave his later works all the beauty and softness of the
first spring days in Italy. Upon hearing the title of one of
Catena's works in the National Gallery, A Warrior Adoring the
Infant Christ, who could imagine what a treat the picture itself
had in store for him? It is a fragrant summer landscape enjoyed
by a few quiet people, one of whom, in armour, with the glamour
of the Orient about him, kneels at the Virgin's feet, while a
romantic young page holds his horse's bridle. A good instance of
the Giorgionesque way of treating a subject; not for the story,
nor for the display of skill, nor for the obvious feeling, but for
the lovely landscape, for the effects of light and colour, and for
the sweetness of human relations" (The Venetian Painters of the
Renaissance, p. 31).
Observe, for the technical merits of this picture, the horse-bridle:
"An example of true painter's work in minor detail; unsurpassable,
but not, by patience and modesty, inimitable" (Academy Notes, 1875,
p. 48). As for the subject, the warrior portrayed is nameless. This
is suggestive; it is not a peculiar picture, it is a type of what was
the common method of Venetian portraiture. "An English gentleman,
desiring his portrait, gives probably to the painter a choice of
several actions, in any of which he is willing to be represented.
As for instance, riding his best horse, shooting with his favourite
pointer, manifesting himself in his robes of state on some great
public occasion, meditating in his study, playing with his children,
or visiting his tenants; in any of these or other such circumstances,
he will give the artist free leave to paint him. But in one important
action he would shrink even from the suggestion of being drawn. He will
assuredly not let himself be painted praying. Strangely, this is the
action which, of all others, a Venetian desires to be painted in. If
they want a noble and complete portrait, they nearly all choose to be
painted on their knees" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. iii.
§ 15). Notice also the little dog in the corner—"one of the little
curly, short-nosed, fringy-pawed things which all Venetian ladies
petted." "The dog is thus constantly introduced by the Venetians (in
Madonna pictures) in order to give the fullest contrast to the highest
tones of human thought and feeling.... But they saw the noble qualities
of the dog too—all his patience, love, and faithfulness ...," and
introduced him into their sacred pictures partly therefore in order
to show that "all the lower creatures, who can love, have passed,
through their love, into the guardianship and guidance of angels"
(Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. iii. § 21, ch. vi. § 14; Fors
Clavigera, 1877, p. 31).[118]
Giuseppe Ribera, called Spagnoletto (Spanish: 1598-1648).
Ribera is a leading artist amongst what are called the
Naturalisti or Tenebrosi (an alternative title, curiously
significant of the warped and degraded principle of the school, as
if "nature" were indeed only another name for "darkness").[119]
His works show remarkable force and facility; his subjects were
painful. As Byron says—
Spagnoletto tainted
His brush with all the blood of all the sainted.
"It is a curious example of the perversity of the human mind,"
says Stirling-Maxwell, "that subjects like these should have
been the chosen recreations of an eye that opened in infancy on
the palms and the fair women of Valencia, and rested for half a
lifetime on the splendour of the Bay of Naples." His life was
like his art, being "one long contrast between splendour and
misery, black shadow and shining light" (Scott). He made his way
when quite a youth to Rome, where one day, as he was sketching in
the streets, dressed in rags and eating crusts, he was picked up
by a cardinal and taken into his household. They called him in
Italy, owing to his small stature, by the name Lo Spagnoletto,
the little Spaniard. But Ribera could not brook the cardinal's
livery, and stole away into poverty and independence again. He
especially studied the works of Caravaggio, and went afterwards
to Parma to study Correggio. Then he moved to Naples, where a
picture-dealer discovered his talent and gave him his daughter in
marriage. A large picture of the martyrdom of St. Bartholomew,
which he painted about this time, was exhibited by the dealer
on the balcony of his house, and created such a furore that
the Spanish Viceroy, delighted at finding the painter to be a
Spaniard, loaded him with appointments and commissions. This was
the making of Ribera's fortune. He soon became very wealthy—never
going out but in his carriage, and with an equerry to accompany
him, and so hard had he to work to keep pace with his orders
that his servants were instructed at last to interrupt him when
working hours were fairly over. He kept open house—entertaining
Velazquez, for instance, when the latter visited Naples in 1630;
but though lavish he was yet mean. Ribera, Corenzio (a Greek),
and Caracciolo (a Neapolitan), formed a memorable cabal, with the
object of establishing a local monopoly in the artistic profession
for themselves. In this object, by means of force and fraud, they
succeeded for many years. Domenichino, Annibale Carracci, and
Guido Reni were all more or less victims of the cabal. The story
of the conspiracy of Ribera and his allies to get the commission
for painting the chapel of St. Januarius, forms one of the most
curious and disgraceful chapters in the history of art, and may
be read in Lanzi's History of Painting (vol. ii. in Bohn's
translation). Ribera's life ended like his pictures, in darkness.
His daughter was carried off by one of his great friends, Don Juan
of Austria, and Ribera was so overwhelmed with grief that he left
Naples and was never more heard of.[120]
The Virgin, accompanied here by St. John and Mary Magdalen, is weeping
over the dead Christ—the subject termed by the Italians a Pietà. It
is instructive to compare this Spanish treatment of it with an Italian
Pietà, such as Francia's No. 180. How much more ghastly is the dead
Christ here! How much less tender are the ministering mourners!
Claude Joseph Vernet (French: 1714-1789).
Vernet, one of the most celebrated of French landscape and marine
painters, received his inspiration and lived a large part of his
life in Italy. He was born at Avignon, and in 1732 went to Italy
with a view of improving himself in historical painting, but
the beautiful scenery of Genoa and Naples induced him to devote
himself to marine landscape. One of his Mediterranean pictures
is No. 1393 in this Gallery. It is said that on his first voyage
he was so impressed with the effect of a stormy sea as to have
himself tied to the mast in order to be able more accurately to
observe it. For some time Vernet lived in poverty. He had to
paint carriages, and a picture, afterwards sold for 5000 francs,
procured him only a single suit of clothes. His subjects were now
the rivers, landscapes, and costumes of Rome (as in this picture).
In 1752 he was invited to Paris by Louis XV. In the following
year he was elected a member of the French Academy of Arts,
and was commissioned by the Government to paint his celebrated
pictures, now in the Louvre, of the seaports of France. This task
occupied him the greater part of the year. He died in the Louvre,
where he had been given apartments by the king. His last years
were embittered by the madness of his wife, a daughter of the
Pope's naval commandant, whom he had married in 1745. He was the
grandfather of the celebrated historical painter, Horace Vernet
(see 1285).
Past and present in the eternal city, as it was in Vernet's day. Behind
is the castle which the Emperor Hadrian had built for his family tomb,
in which were buried several of the Emperors after him, and the history
of which in the Middle Ages was almost the history of Rome itself. In
front is a fête on the Tiber, with a fashionable crowd in crinolines
watching the boats tilting on the river.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
Of interest as being one of his last works: dated 1666.
Jan Weenix (Dutch: 1640-1719).
Jan Weenix, the younger, was born at Amsterdam—the son of Jan
Baptista Weenix (see 1096)—and is usually considered the best of
all Dutch artists in this style. For some years he was employed at
the Court of John William, Elector of the Palatinate.
A stag, a couple of hares (a speciality with this artist), a heron, and
a fowling-piece.
Aart van der Neer (Dutch: 1603-1677). See 152.
A good example of "the penetrating melancholy of moonlight"—an effect
in which this painter excelled.
Nicolas Berchem (Dutch: 1620-1683). See 78.
Teniers (Flemish: 1610-1694). See 154.
"An example," says Mr. J. T. Nettleship in a comparison between Morland
and some of the Dutch masters, "not only of the works that Morland
loved, but of the life (alas!) he best loved too. In one respect it
at once takes rank above the English painter, for every man must be a
portrait; the two playing might indeed be English as well as Dutch, the
man looking on is a degraded boor. In the chimney-place are several men
farther off—one with his back to you is seated on a bench with his
head against the chimney-jamb, a 'poor drinker,' he seems. The standing
man, standing with his back to the fire, smoking a long clay, looks
half-pitying, half-scornful at the feebler sinner" (George Morland,
p. 23).
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
A noble picture of the dignity of old age (dated 1659).
Spagnoletto (Spanish: 1598-1648). See 235.
Hans Baldung (German-Swabian: 1476-1545).
This portrait is dated 1514, and signed with the monogram of
Albert Dürer, to whom it was formerly ascribed. But the monogram
is now said to be a forgery, and the picture is identified as the
work of Dürer's friend Baldung. On the death of Dürer (in 1528)
Baldung received a lock of his hair (now preserved in the Library
of the Academy of Arts at Vienna), and Dürer, in his Journal
in the Low Countries, records having sold several of Baldung's
engravings. Baldung, painter, engraver, and designer, was a native
of Gmünd in Swabia, and his earliest works show the influence of
Martin Schongauer (see 658). He lived at Freiburg-in-the-Breisgau
(in the monastery at which place is his greatest work, a
"Coronation of the Virgin"), and also at Strassburg, of which
latter city he became a senator shortly before his death.
Baldung's portraits, says the Official Catalogue, "are highly
individual and full of character. When unsigned they have
sometimes passed for the work of Dürer, but they want his
searching modelling." Baldung acquired and adopted the name of
Green or Grün, either from his habit of dressing in that colour or
from his fondness for a peculiarly brilliant tint of green often
found in his pictures.
The influence of Dürer was strong on Hans Baldung, and a similar spirit
is discernible in the works of both painters. This old man, strong and
yet melancholy, is precisely true to Dürer's favourite type of human
strength founded on labour and sorrow. And the choice of this type is
characteristic of his mind. With the Reformation came, says Mr. Ruskin,
"the Resurrection of Death. Never, since man first saw him face to
face, had his terror been so great." Nothing shows the character of men
of that time so clearly as the way in which they severally meet the
King of Terror. "It haunted Dürer long; and the answer he gave to the
question of the grave was that of patient hope; and twofold, consisting
of one design in praise of Fortitude, and another in praise of
Labour.... The plate of 'Melancholia' is the history of the sorrowful
toil of the earth, as the 'Knight and Death' is of its sorrowful
patience under temptation" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. iv.).
Girolamo del Pacchia (Sienese: 1477-1535).
Pacchia, who is often confused with his fellow-countryman
Pacchiarotto, was born at Siena, being the son of a
cannon-founder from Croatia who had settled in that city.
He first studied in his native town, but afterwards went to
Florence. His works recall the style of the Florentine masters
of the time. In 1500 he went to Rome, returning to Siena with an
established reputation in 1508. Many of his works are to be seen
in the churches and picture-gallery in that city, famous alike
for its religious revivals, its artistic activity, and its civic
turbulence. Pacchia, in company with Pacchiarotti, joined the
revolutionary club of the Bardotti, and on its suppression in
1535 the two artists fled the city. After that date no record of
Pacchia has been found.
This graceful picture resembles the style of Andrea del Sarto.
Matteo di Giovanni (Sienese: 1435-1495). See 1155.
"Then came Jesus forth, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple
robe. And Pilate saith unto them, Behold the man!" (Ecco Homo) (St.
John xix. 5). In the "glory" around the head are the Latin letters
signifying "Jesus Christ of Nazareth"; on the outer edge of the
background, "at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in
heaven, and things on earth, and things under the earth" (Philippians
ii. 10).
Fra Filippo Lippi (Florentine: about 1406-1469). See 666.
"St. Bernard was remarkable for his devotion to the blessed Virgin; one
of his most celebrated works, the Missus est, was composed in her
honour as mother of the Redeemer; and in eighty sermons from the Song
of Solomon he set forth her divine perfection. His health was extremely
feeble; and once, when he was employed in writing his homilies, and was
so ill that he could scarcely hold the pen, she graciously appeared
to him, and comforted and restored him by her divine presence" (Mrs.
Jameson: Legends of the Monastic Orders, p. 152). Notice the peculiar
shape of the picture, the upper corners of the square being cut away.
The picture was painted in 1447 (the artist receiving 40 lire, equal
now perhaps to £60, for it and another work) to fit a space over
the door of the Palazzo della Signoria at Florence. "Have you ever
considered, in the early history of painting, how important is the
history of the frame-maker? It is a matter, I assure you, needing your
very best consideration, for the frame was made before the picture. The
painted window is much, but the aperture it fills was thought of before
it. The fresco by Giotto is much, but the vault it adorns was planned
first ... and in pointing out to you this fact, I may once for all
prove to, you the essential unity of the arts" (Ariadne Florentina,
§§ 59, 60).
Lorenzo di San Severino (Umbrian: painted 1483-1496).
This picture is signed by the artist "Laurentius the second of
Severino"—to distinguish himself from the earlier Lorenzo, who
was born in 1374, and who painted some frescoes at Urbino in 1416.
The date of this picture is approximately fixed by the fact that
Catherine is described on her nimbus as "saint," and she was not
canonised till 1461; and perhaps also by the influence on Lorenzo
of Crivelli (painted 1468-1493), which has been traced in the
execution of the details: see for instance the cucumber and apple
on the step of the throne (cf. 724, etc).
St. Catherine of Siena (1347-1380) is one of the most remarkable
figures of the Middle Ages. She was the daughter of a dyer, brought
up in the humblest of surroundings, and wholly uneducated. When only
thirteen she entered the monastic life as a nun of the Dominican
order (St. Dominic is here present on the right), and at once became
famous in the city for her good works. She tended the sick and
plague-stricken, and was a minister of mercy to the worst and meanest
of her fellow-creatures. On one occasion a hardened murderer, whom
priests had visited in vain, was so subdued by her tenderness that he
confessed his sins, begged her to wait for him by the scaffold, and
died with the names of Jesus and Catherine on his lips. In addition to
her piety and zeal she succeeded as a mediator between Florence and
her native city, and between Florence and the Pope; she travelled to
Avignon, and there induced Gregory XI. to return to Rome; she narrowly
escaped political martyrdom during one of her embassies from Gregory to
the Florentine republic; she preached a crusade against the Turks, and
she aided, by her dying words, to keep Pope Urban on the throne. But
"when she died she left behind her a memory of love more than of power,
the fragrance of an unselfish and gentle life. Her place is in the
heart of the humble. Her prayer is still whispered by poor children on
their mother's knee, and her relics are kissed daily by the simple and
devout."
The mystical marriage which forms the subject of this picture, where
the infant Christ is placing the ring on her finger, suggests the
secret of her power. Once when she was fasting and praying, Christ
himself appeared to her, she said, and gave her his heart. For love
was the keynote of her religion, and the mainspring of her life.
In no merely figurative sense did she regard herself as the spouse
of Christ; she dwelt upon the bliss, beyond all mortal happiness,
which she enjoyed in supersensual communion with her Lord. The world
has not lost its ladies of the race of St. Catherine, beautiful and
pure and holy, who live lives of saintly mercy in the power of human
and heavenly love. (See further, for St. Catherine of Siena, J. A.
Symonds, Sketches in Italy (Siena), from which the above account is
principally taken.)
The Meister von Werden (German: 15th Century).
The Meister von Werden, or the painter of this picture and of Nos.
251 and 253, which were found in the old Abbey of Werden, near
Düsseldorf, is otherwise unknown. These three pictures probably
formed folding wings of an altar-piece. A fourth panel, belonging
to the same series, is in the National Gallery of Scotland.
The saints in this picture are Jerome (with his lion), Benedict (in the
habit of his order), Giles (with his doe), and Romuald (founder of the
eremite order of the Camaldoli).
The Meister von Werden. See under 250.
The saints in this picture are Augustine (with the heart transfixed
with an arrow), Ludger (Bishop of Münster, Apostle of Saxony), Hubert
(patron saint of the chase, see No. 783) and Maurice.
The Meister von Werden. See under 250.
The Meister von Werden. See under 250.
For St. Hubert, see under 783. Here the saint, in his canonicals, is
represented bending before the altar; while an angel from heaven is,
according to the legend, descending with the stole.
The Meister von Liesborn (German: about 1465).
The principal work of this master, whose name has not come
down to us, was a high altar-piece for a convent church of the
Benedictines at Liesborn, near Münster in Westphalia. This
work was cut in pieces and sold in 1807, when the convent was
suspended, and Napoleon established the modern kingdom of
Westphalia. Some of the pieces were afterwards lost, some were
obtained by different collectors, while others, which were
acquired by Herr Krüger of Minden, were purchased in 1854 by the
British Government. The sweet but feeble faces, with the gold
background, recall the earliest Lower Rhine School, of which the
Westphalian was an offshoot.
In 259—a Head of Christ on the Cross—we have a fragment of the centre
compartment of the altar-piece.
In 260 and 261 we have the saints who stood by the side of the Cross
(hence their melancholy expression). In 260 the saints are St. John,
St. Benedict, and St. Scholastica (the first Benedictine nun and the
sister of St. Benedict himself). In 261 the saints are Sts. Cosmas and
Damian (see under 594), and the Virgin.
In 254 and 255 we have other saints: in 254, St. Ambrose (see under
50), St. Exuperius (a Bishop of Toulouse), and St. Jerome (saying, as
it were, "Down, down" to his lion); in 255, St. Gregory, St. Hilary,
and St. Augustine.
On either side of the central groups in the altar-piece were
represented various sacred subjects. No. 256, represents the
Annunciation; No. 257, the Purification of the Virgin and the
Presentation of Christ in the Temple; No. 258, The Adoration of the
Magi.
School of the Meister von Liesborn. See under last pictures.
In the form of a predella or decoration of the base of the altar-piece.
In the centre is Christ on the Cross; on either side are four Saints;
on the left St. Scholastica, Mary Magdalen, St. Anne with the Virgin in
her arms, who holds the Infant Christ; and the Virgin. On the right St.
John the Evangelist, St. Andrew, St. Benedict, and St. Agnes with the
Lamb. In the background is a representation of Jerusalem; here depicted
as a little Westphalian town.
Unknown (Early Flemish).
The count and the confessor. The count, attired as a monk, is praying.
Behind him is his patron saint (St. Ambrose), holding a cross in
one hand, a scourge in the other. More important, however, than the
penitence of the count is the splendour of the robes. The picture is a
good illustration of the love of jewellery characteristic of the time.
"That this love of jewels was shared by the painters is sufficiently
shown by the amount and beauty of the jewelled ornaments introduced by
them into their pictures. Not only are brooches and clasps, sceptres
and crowns, studded with precious stones, but the hems of garments
are continually sewn with them, whilst gloves and shoes of state are
likewise so adorned" (Conway, p. 121). This picture is by some ascribed
to Gerard van der Meire (see under 1078).
Unknown (Flemish School: Early 16th Century).
Lambert Lombard (Flemish: 1505-1566).
Lambert Lombard of Liège was, says Vasari, "a distinguished man of
letters, a most judicious painter, and an admirable architect."
His pictures, which are scarce, are generally remarkable for
correctness of drawing, but his colouring was thin and cold.
Lombard, who was a pupil of Mabuse (see 656), travelled as a
young man in Germany and France, and visited Italy in the suite
of Cardinal Pole, when he became acquainted with Vasari. On his
return he opened a school at Liège.
Paolo Veronese (Veronese: 1528-1588). See under 26.
A striking example of the old symbolical conception, according to which
the adoration of the Magi—the tribute of the wise men from the East
to the dawning star of Christianity—was represented as taking place
in the ruins of an antique temple, signifying that Christianity was
founded upon the ruins of Paganism. This picture was painted in 1573
for the church of San Silvestro in Venice, where it remained until
1835. It is mentioned in most of the guidebooks and descriptions of
Venice. One of these published in 1792 says, in describing the church
of San Silvestro: "Many are the pictures by Tintoretto, by scholars of
Titian, by Palma Vecchio, etc.; but among them all the famous Adoration
of the Magi by Paolo Veronese deserves especial attention." The picture
has recently been covered with glass, an operation which is noteworthy
on account of the great size of the pane required, 11 ft. 7 in. by 10
ft. 7 in. The pane had to be obtained in France.
Giorgione (Venetian: 1477-1510).
Giorgio[121] of Castelfranco, called Giorgione, George the
Great,—a name given him, according to Vasari, "because of the
gifts of his person and the greatness of his mind,"—is one of
the most renowned of the old masters, and exercised a deeper
influence upon the artists of his time than any other painter.
He was the fellow-pupil with Titian of Bellini at Venice, and
after executing works at his native place was employed in Venice.
Here by way of exhibiting a specimen of his ability, he decorated
the front of his house with frescoes. He was afterwards employed
in conjunction with Titian there to decorate the façade of the
Fondaco de' Tedeschi. These paintings have been destroyed by
the sea-winds.[122] But what was more original in Giorgione's
work was his small subject pictures. He was, says Pater, "the
inventor of genre, of those easily movable pictures which serve
for uses neither of devotion, nor of allegorical or historical
teaching—little groups of real men and women, amid congruous
furniture or landscape—morsels of actual life, conversation or
music or play, refined upon or idealised, till they come to seem
like glimpses of life from afar." Some of Bellini's late works
are already of this kind; but they were a little too austere
and sober in colour for the taste of the time. Carpaccio was
full of brilliancy, fancy, and gaiety, but he painted few easel
pictures. Giorgione brought to the new style all the resources of
a poetical imagination, of a happy temper, and of supreme gifts
as a colourist. He was, says Ruskin, one of "the seven supreme
colourists."[123] The chief colour on his palette, it has been
said, was sunlight. In the glowing colour with which he invested
the human form "the sense of nudity is utterly lost, and there is
no need nor desire of concealment any more, but his naked figures
move among the trees like fiery pillars, and lie on the grass like
flakes of sunshine" (Modern Painters, vol. ii. pt. iii. sec.
i. ch. xiv. § 20). Giorgione, says Mr. Colvin, came to enrich
Venetian painting further, with "a stronger sense of life and
of the glory of the real world as distinguished from the solemn
dreamland of the religious imagination. He had a power hitherto
unknown of interpreting both the charm of merely human grace and
distinction, and the natural joy of life in the golden sunlight
among woods and meadows." Giorgione, by his originality and his
exact correspondence with the spirit of the time, created a
demand which other painters were forced to supply. His influence,
says Morelli, is not only to be traced in the early work of
Titian; it stands out broadly in the paintings of nearly all his
Venetian contemporaries—Lotto, Palma, Pordenone, Bonifacio,
Cariani, and many others, not to speak of his scholar, Sebastiano
del Piombo. The surviving pictures which are undoubtedly by
Giorgione's own hand are very few. This category hardly includes
more than four,—the altar-piece at Castelfranco (see below), the
so-called "Famiglia di Giorgione" (now identified as "Adrastus
and Hypsipyle," in the Palazzo Giovanelli at Venice), the "Three
Philosophers" (in the Belvedere at Vienna), and the lovely
"Sleeping Venus," identified by Morelli, in the Dresden Gallery.
Among pictures in a second and less certain category, may be
mentioned the "Concert" in the Louvre (the "Venetian Pastoral"
of Rossetti's sonnet), another "Concert" in the Pitti, the "Head
of a Shepherd" at Hampton Court, and (more doubtfully) No. 1160
in this Gallery. The number of reputed Giorgiones is very large.
His fame has been constant from his own day to ours, and as
every gallery desired to have a Giorgione, the wish was freely
gratified by dealers and cataloguers. Modern criticism has
played havoc among most of these so-called Giorgiones;[124] but
the Giorgionesque spirit remains—unmistakable and distinct—in
many works. Such in this Gallery are Nos. 930, 1123, and 1173,
ascribed by the director to "the School of Giorgione." It is a
school, as we have seen, of genre. It "employs itself mainly
with painted idylls, but, in the production of this pictorial
poetry, exercises a wonderful tact in the selecting of such matter
as lends itself most readily and entirely to pictorial form,
to complete expression by drawing and colour. For although its
productions are painted poems, they belong to a sort of poetry
which tells itself without an articulated story." Vasari remarked
that it was difficult to give Giorgione's representations an
explanatory name. As Morelli has well pointed out, the genius
of Titian was wholly dramatic; Giorgione was a lyric poet, who
gives us at most dramatic lyrics. A picture by Giorgione or in
his style "presents us with a kind of profoundly significant and
animated instant, a mere gesture, a look, a smile perhaps—some
brief and wholly concrete moment—into which, however, all the
motives, all the interests and effects of a long history, have
condensed themselves, and which seem to absorb past and future
in an intense consciousness of the present. Such ideal instants
the school of Giorgione selects, with its admirable tact, from
that feverish, tumultuously coloured life of the old citizens
of Venice—exquisite pauses in Time, in which, arrested thus,
we seem to be spectators of all the fulness of existence, and
which are like some consummate extract or quintessence of life."
Pictures in the Giorgionesque spirit are, as it were, "musical
intervals in human existence—filled with people with intent faces
listening to music, to the sound of water, to time as it flies"
(Pater: "The School of Giorgione," Fortnightly Review, October
1877, reprinted in the third edition of The Renaissance). The
landscapes of Giorgione have the same quality of quickened life.
"Most painted landscapes leave little power to call up the actual
physical sensations of the scenes themselves, but Giorgione's
never fail to produce this effect; they speak directly to the
sensations, making the beholder feel refreshed and soothed, as
if actually reclining on the grass in the shade of the trees,
with his mind free to muse on what delights it most. In so far
as poetry may be compared to painting, Giorgione's feeling for
landscape suggests Keats" (Mary Logan: Guide to the Italian
Pictures at Hampton Court, p. 13).
Giorgione's pictures may be described as showing us golden
moments of a golden age. His life, as told by Vasari and Ridolfi,
corresponds with this ideal, which also was in exact accordance
with the spirit of the times. Many readers will remember that it
is with a mention of Giorgione that Ruskin prefaces his noble
description of Venice in the days of the early Renaissance: "Born
half-way between the mountains and the sea—that young George of
Castelfranco—of the Brave Castle; stout George they called him,
George of Georges, so goodly a boy he was—Giorgione. Have you
ever thought what a world his eyes opened on—fair, searching eyes
of youth? What a world of mighty life, from those mountain roots
to the shore; of loveliest life, when he went down, yet so young,
to the marble city, and became himself as a fiery heart to it?"
(Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. ix. § 1). He spent his
childhood at Castelfranco, "where the last crags of the Venetian
Alps break down romantically with something of a park-like grace
to the plain." "Giorgione's ideal of luxuriant pastoral scenery,
the country of pleasant copses, glades and brooks, amid which
his personages love to wander or recline with lute and pipe,
was derived, no doubt, from these natural surroundings of his
childhood." Close by his birthplace is Asolo, whence the word
asolare, "to disport in the open air; to amuse oneself at
random" (see Browning's Asolando). Giorgione "found his way
early into a circle of notable persons—people of courtesy, and
became initiated into those differences of personal type, manner,
and even of dress, which are best understood there. Not far from
his home lived Catherine of Cornaro, formerly Queen of Cyprus, and
up in the towers which still remain, Tuzio Costanzo, the famous
condottiére—a picturesque remnant of mediæval manners, in a
civilisation rapidly changing" (Pater). In Venice Giorgione's
gracious bearing and varied accomplishments introduced him into
congenial company. "He took no small delight," says Vasari, "in
love-passages and in the sound of the lute, to which he was so
cordially devoted, and which he practised so constantly, that he
played and sang with the most exquisite perfection, insomuch that
he was for this cause frequently invited to musical assemblies and
festivals by the most distinguished personages." "It happened,
about his thirty-fourth year, that in one of those parties at
which he entertained his friends with music, he met a certain lady
of whom he became greatly enamoured, and 'they rejoiced greatly,'
says Vasari, 'the one and the other in their love.' And two quite
different legends concerning it agree in this, that it was through
this lady he came by his death; Ridolfi relating that, being
robbed of her by one of his pupils, he died of grief at the double
treason; Vasari, that she being secretly stricken of the plague,
and he making his visits to her as usual, he took the sickness
from her mortally, along with her kisses, and so briefly departed"
(Pater).[125]
This little panel is a study for the figure of San Liberale, the
warrior-saint, in the altar-piece by Giorgione at Castelfranco—one of
his acknowledged masterpieces, and according to Ruskin one of the two
best pictures in the world.[126] Notice "the bronzed, burning flesh"
of the knight—"the right Giorgione colour on his brow" characteristic
of a race of seamen (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. v. ch.
i. § 19). This "original little study in oil, with the delicately
gleaming silver-grey armour is," says Mr. Pater, "one of the greatest
treasures of the National Gallery, and in it, as in some other knightly
personages attributed to Giorgione, people have supposed the likeness
of his own presumably gracious presence." From a MS. memorandum on the
back of the Castelfranco picture, it appears, however, that the warrior
was said to represent Gaston de Foix. The only difference between this
study and the picture is that in the altar-piece the warrior wears his
helmet, while in the picture he is bareheaded. On this ground, and
owing to the high finish of our picture, some have argued that it is
not an original study for the picture, but a later copy from it (see
e.g. Richter's Italian Art in the National Gallery, p. 86). The
argument does not seem conclusive. Do artists never make elaborate
studies? and is not an artist as likely to vary his design as a copyist
his model? Our picture, which was formerly in the collection of
Benjamin West, P.R.A., was bequeathed to the National Gallery by Samuel
Rogers.
Titian (Venetian: 1477-1576). See 4.
A picture of the evensong of nature and of the evening of a life's
tragedy. "The hues and harmonies of evening" are upon the distant hills
and plain; and whilst the shadows fall upon the middle slopes, there
falls too "the awful shadow of some unseen Power" upon the repentant
woman who has been keeping her vigil in the peaceful solitude; at the
sound of her name she has turned from her weeping and fallen forward
on her knees towards him whom she now knows to be her master. "The
impetuosity with which she has thrown herself on her knees in shown
by the fluttering drapery of her sleeve,[127] which is still buoyed
up by the air; thus with a true painter's art telling the action of
the previous moment" (Quarterly Review, October 1888). She stretches
out her hand to touch him, but is checked by his words; as Christ, who
is represented with a hoe in his hand because she had first supposed
him to be the gardener, bids her forbear: "Touch me not," "noli me
tangere," "for I am not yet ascended to my Father:" it is not on this
side of the hills that the troubled soul can enter into the peace of
forgiveness.
This beautiful picture was bequeathed to the National Gallery by Samuel
Rogers. It is usually ascribed to Titian's earlier or "Giorgionesque"
period. "The Magdalen is, appropriately enough, of the same type as
the exquisite golden-blond courtesans—or, if you will, models—who
constantly appear and re-appear in this period of Venetian art" (C.
Phillips: The Earlier Work of Titian, p. 52).
Guido (Eclectic-Bologna: 1575-1642). See 11.
For the subject, see under 15, by Correggio. It was from Correggio that
the Eclectics borrowed the type of face for this subject—which was
a favourite one with them; but notice how much more they dwell on the
physical pain and horror, how much less on the spiritual beauty, than
Correggio did.
Unknown (Italian: 16th century).
From a church near Venice. Formerly ascribed to Pordenone.
Andrea Mantegna (Paduan: 1431-1506).
Andrea Mantegna, the greatest master of the Paduan School, has
a commanding name in art history, so much so that many writers
describe the epoch of painting (from 1450 to 1500 and a little
onwards), of which he was one of the chief representatives, as the
Mantegnesque period. "No painter more remarkable for originality
than Mantegna ever lived. Whoever has learned to relish this
great master will never overlook a scrap by him; for while his
works sometimes show a certain austerity and harshness, they have
always a force and will which belong to no one else" (Layard).
"Intensity may be said to be the characteristic of Mantegna as an
artist. Deeply in earnest, he swerved from his purpose neither
to the right nor to the left. In expressing tragic emotion, he
sometimes touched a realism beyond the limits prescribed by poetic
art. So, too, he never arrived at an ideal of female beauty. But
he could be as tender as he was stern; and we forget the homely
plainness of his Madonnas in the devoted and boding mother or
the benign protectress. His children are always childlike and
without self-consciousness. His drawing was remarkably correct. An
occasional lengthiness in his figures adds to their dignity, and
never oversteps possible nature. Drapery he treated as a means of
displaying the figure. This peculiarity he derived from an almost
too exclusive study of ancient sculpture. Yet so thoroughly does
it accord with his whole style, that none would willingly miss a
single fold which the master thought worthy of almost infinite
care" (Burton). He was a tempera painter, and "excelled in
harmoniously broken tones, but with little attempt at those rich
and deep effects which by the practice of art his later Venetian
contemporaries initiated." "He loved allegory and symbolism; but
with him they clothed a living spirit." The beauty of classical
bas-relief entered deep into his soul and ruled his imagination.
His classical pictures are "statuesque and stately, but glow
with the spirit of revived antiquity" (Symonds). He was equally
distinguished as an engraver and a painter, and his plates spread
his fame and influence widely abroad.
Mantegna was born at Padua,[128] and according to Vasari, was
originally, like Giotto, a shepherd boy. Like Giotto, too, he
early displayed great aptitude for drawing, so much that when
only ten years old he was adopted by Squarcione as son and pupil.
Squarcione was an indifferent painter, but must have been an able
teacher, and it was from him that Mantegna imbibed his love of
the antique. It was Squarcione's intention to make him his heir,
but Mantegna married a daughter of Jacopo Bellini, Squarcione's
rival; "and when this was told to Squarcione he was so much
displeased with Andrea that they were ever afterwards enemies."
Of Mantegna's association with his brother-in-law, Giovanni
Bellini, the pictures numbered 726 and 1417 in this gallery are
an interesting record. Mantegna soon obtained recognition. Among
the most important of his early works are the frescoes of the
chapel of St. James and St. Christopher in the church of the
Eremitani at Padua. Copies of some of these may be seen in the
Arundel Society's collection. Of about the same date is "The
Agony in the Garden," No. 1417. To his early period belong also
the "St. George" in the Venice Academy, and the triptych in the
Uffizi. The picture now before us, the beautiful "Madonna della
Vittoria," and the "Parnassus" of the Louvre belong to a maturer
time. In 1466 Mantegna went, at the invitation of the Marquis
Ludovico Gonzaga, to the court of Mantua, and there he remained
till his death, as painter-in-ordinary at a salary of £30 a
year—with the exception of two years spent in painting for Pope
Innocent VIII. at Rome. Many of Mantegna's frescoes at Mantua are
now obliterated; but some are preserved in the Camera degli Sposi
in the Ducal Palace, and in spite of restorations, exhibit some
of the master's characteristics in perfection. For the palace of
St. Sebastiano at Mantua, he painted in tempera on canvas the
"Triumph of Cæsar," now at Hampton Court. Although much defaced,
this large composition still proclaims the genius of the master
who "loved to resuscitate the ancient world, and render it to the
living eye in all its detail, and with all its human interest."
The sketch by Rubens in our Gallery, No. 278, was made from a
portion of Mantegna's cartoons. In a similar style is the master's
"Triumph of Scipio," No. 902, completed shortly before his death.
At Rome (1488-1490) he decorated the chapel of the Belvedere, now
demolished.
Though in the service of princes, Mantegna knew his worth, and
was wont to say that "Ludovico might be proud of having in him
something that no other prince in Italy could boast of." He
liked, too, to live in the grand style of his age. It appears
that he spent habitually more money than he could afford, and
after his death his sons had to sell the pictures in his studio
for the payment of his creditors. Still more was he a child of
his age—the age of the revival of classical learning—in his
love for the antique. He spent much of his money in forming a
collection of Greek and Roman antiquities, and the forced sale of
its chief ornament, a bust of Faustina, is said to have broken
his heart. "He was the friend of students, eagerly absorbing the
knowledge brought to light by antiquarian research; and thus
independently of his high value as a painter, he embodies for
us in art that sincere passion for the ancient world which was
the dominating intellectual impulse of his age." With Mantegna,
classical antiques were not merely the foibles of a collector, but
the models of his art. He was "always of opinion," says Vasari,
"that good antique statues were more perfect, and displayed more
beauty in the different parts, than is exhibited by nature." Of
some of his works what Vasari adds is no doubt true—that they
recall the idea of stone rather than of living flesh. But Mantegna
studied nature closely too; for, as Goethe said of his pictures,
"the study of the antique gives form, and nature adds appropriate
movement and the health of life." Mantegna died at Mantua and was
buried in a chapel of the Church of Sant' Andrea. The expenses
incurred by him in founding and decorating this family chapel had
added seriously to his embarrassments. "Over his grave was placed
a bronze bust, most noble in modelling and perfect in execution.
The broad forehead, with its deeply cloven furrows, the stern and
piercing eyes, the large lips compressed with nervous energy,
the massive nose, the strength of jaw and chin, and the superb
clusters of the hair escaping from a laurel-wreath upon the royal
head, are such as realise for us our notion of a Roman in the
days of the republic. Mantegna's own genius has inspired this
masterpiece, which tradition assigns to the medallist Sperando
Maglioli. Whoever wrought it must have felt the incubation of the
mighty painter's spirit, and have striven to express in bronze the
character of his uncompromising art" (Symonds: The Renaissance in
Italy, iii. 203). A plaster cast from this bust hangs on one of
the staircases in our Gallery. Mantegna's second son, Francesco,
who in his father's later years had assisted in his studio,
afterwards practised independently. See Nos. 639, 1106, 1381.
"One of the choicest pictures in the National Gallery," exquisite
alike in sentiment, in drawing, and in purity of colour. "Being in an
admirable state of preservation, it enables us to become acquainted
with all the characteristics of Mantegna's style, and above all to
enjoy the refinement in his rendering of the human forms, the accuracy
in his drawing, the conscientiousness in the rendering of the smallest
details" (Richter). For the latter point notice especially the
herbage in the foreground. Mantegna, says Mr. Ruskin, is "the greatest
leaf-painter of Lombardy," and the "exquisite outlines" here show
"the symmetry and precision of his design" (Catalogue of Educational
Series, p. 52). The draperies also are "of extraordinary beauty
in design and colour. The rose-coloured dress of the Virgin is most
delicately heightened with gold, and the draperies of the two saints
are of materials shot with changing colours of exquisite harmonies"
(Poynter). Very sweet is the expression of mingled humility and
tenderness in the mother of the Divine Child. On her right stands St.
John the Baptist, the great preacher of repentance; on her left Mary
Magdalen, the woman who repented. The Baptist bears a cross and on the
scroll attached to it are written the words (in Latin), "Behold the
Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the world." The Magdalen
carries the vase of ointment—the symbol at once of her conversion
and her love ("She brought an alabaster box of ointment, and began
to wash his feet with tears.... And he said unto her, Thy sins are
forgiven"). "Mantegna combines with the most inexhaustible imagination
and invention and power, which include the whole range of art, from the
most playful fantasy to the profoundest and most passionate tragedy, a
skill of workmanship so minutely and marvellously delicate as to defy
imitation. Look at the refinement with which the drapery is drawn, the
wonderful delicacy of handling with which the gold-lights are laid on,
the beautiful and loving spirit which has presided over the execution
of the foliage in the background, and indeed of every detail in the
picture, and you will begin to have an understanding of what I mean by
workmanship as such, and how an artist proceeds whose hand has been
thoroughly trained, and who is truly in love with his art" (Poynter's
Lectures on Art, p. 127).
Sandro Botticelli (Florentine: 1447-1510). See 1034.
A beautiful and characteristic work.[129] "At first glance you may
think the picture a mere piece of affectation. Well—yes, Botticelli
is affected in the way that all men of his century necessarily were.
Much euphuism, much studied grace of manner, much formal assertion
of scholarship, mingling with his force of imagination. And he likes
twisting the fingers of hands about"—just as he likes also dancing
motion and waved drapery (see 1034) (Mornings in Florence, iii. 59).
The picture is characteristic also of two faculties which Botticelli
acquired from his early training as a goldsmith: first, his use of gold
as a means of enriching the light (as here in the Madonna's hair);
and, secondly, the "incomparable invention and delicacy" with which he
treated all accessory details and ornaments (as here in the scarves and
dresses). But chiefly is the picture characteristic of his "sentiment
of ineffable melancholy, of which it is hard to penetrate the sense,
and impossible to escape the spell." It may help one in understanding
the spirit of such pictures to remember that in Botticelli there met
in perfect poise the tenderness of Christian feeling with the grace
of the classical Renaissance. He was "a Greek reanimate. The first
Greeks were distinguished from the barbarians by their simple humanity;
the second Greeks—these Florentine Greeks reanimate—are human more
strongly, more deeply, leaping from the Byzantine death at the call of
Christ, 'Loose him, and let him go.' And there is upon them at once
the joy of resurrection and the solemnity of the grave"[130] (Ariadne
Florentina, § 161; and Fors Clavigera, 1872, xxii.).
School of Giotto. See under 568.
See also (p. xix)
Here's Giotto with his Saints a-praising God,
That set us praising.
Browning.
These solemn heads seem to breathe the very spirit of the master; but
the history of the painting forbids the supposition that we have here
the handiwork, or even the direct influence of Giotto. It is a fragment
from one of the wall-paintings in the chapel of St. John the Baptist in
the church of S. Maria del Carmine at Florence. The frescoes were not
executed till 1350, some years after the death of Giotto. The subject
of the composition to which our fragment belongs was the burial of
the Baptist. The history of these frescoes is typical of that of many
a vicissitude, and recalls the idea suggested in one of Browning's
Dramatic Lyrics, in which the soul of the painter watches the gradual
decay and dispersal of his life's work:—
Wherever a fresco peals and drops,
Wherever an outline weakens and wanes
Till the latest life in the painting stops,
Stands One whom each fainter pulse-tick pains:
One, wishful each scrap should clutch the brick,
Each tinge, not wholly escape the plaster,
—A lion who dies of an ass's kick,
The wronged great soul of an ancient Master.
This and two portions from other paintings of the series, now in the
institution at Liverpool, were saved from the fire which destroyed
this chapel in 1771, and became the property of Mr. Thomas Patch, the
engraver. They were brought to England by Mr. Townley. This fragment
was subsequently in the collection of the Right Hon. C. Greville, from
whom it passed into the possession of Mr. Rogers, and at the sale of
his pictures in 1856 was purchased for the National Gallery. Some other
fragments are preserved in the Cappella dell' Ammannati, in the Campo
Santo at Pisa, and one is in the town gallery at Pavia.
Bassano (Venetian: 1510-1592). See 173.
The wounded Jew, who had fallen among thieves, is beneath the shadow of
a great rock. The Levite is behind, engaged in sanctimonious prayer.
The good Samaritan is busy in good works. He has brought out his
flask and is raising the Jew to place him on his mule. The picture
is of additional interest as having been a favourite with Sir Joshua
Reynolds, to whom it once belonged, and who is said to have kept it
always in his studio. It was afterwards in the collection of Samuel
Rogers.
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
One of the fruits of Rubens's visit to Italy. This picture was in
Rubens's possession at his death, and is described in the inventory as
"Three cloathes pasted upon bord, beinge the Triumph of Julius Cæsar,
after Andrew Mantegna, not full made." Mantegna's procession (somewhat
similar to the Triumph of Scipio, No. 902) was painted for the Duke of
Mantua, and is now at Hampton Court.
Any one who cares to see by a single illustration what "classic
purity of style" means, should compare Mantegna's original with this
transcript by Rubens. "The Flemish painter strives to add richness to
the scene by Bacchanalian riot and the sensuality of imperial Rome.
His elephants twist their trunks, and trumpet to the din of cymbals;
negroes feed the flaming candelabra with scattered frankincense; the
white oxen of Clitumnus are loaded with gaudy flowers, and the dancing
maidens are dishevelled Mænads. But the rhythmic procession of
Mantegna, modulated to the sound of flutes and soft recorders, carries
our imagination back to the best days and strength of Rome. His priests
and generals, captives and choric women, are as little Greek as they
are modern. In them awakes to a new life the spirit-quelling energy
of the Republic. The painter's severe taste keeps out of sight the
insolence and orgies of the Empire; he conceives Rome as Shakespeare
did in Coriolanus"[131] (Symonds's Renaissance, iii. 200).
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
"Mars, leaving the temple of Janus[132] open, is held back by Venus,
while Europe bewails the inevitable miseries of war; but he is drawn on
by the Fury Alecto, who is preceded by Plague and Famine; the figure
on the ground with the broken lute represents Concord overthrown. Mars
and the two female figures behind him are said to be the portraits of
Rubens and his two wives" (Official Catalogue).
This is a sketch of the large picture painted by Rubens in 1637 for
his friend Sustermans, and now in the Pitti palace at Genoa. This
sketch, with the preceding one, was in the collection of Mr. Rogers,
where Ruskin saw it, as recorded in the following extract from his
autobiography, in which he describes "a lesson given to me by George
Richmond at one of Mr. Rogers's breakfasts (the old man used to ask
me, finding me always reverent to him, joyful in his pictures, and
sometimes amusing, as an object of curiosity to his guests), date
uncertain, but probably in 1842":—
Until that year, Rubens had remained the type of colour power to
me, and Titian's flesh tints of little worth! But that morning,
as I was getting talkative over the wild Rubens's sketch (War or
Discord, or Victory or the Furies, I forget what), Richmond said,
pointing to the Veronese beneath it, "Why are you not looking at
this—so much greater in manner?" "Greater—how?" I asked, in
surprise; "it seems to me quite tame beside the Rubens." "That
may be," said Richmond, "but the Veronese is true, the other
wildly conventional." "In what way true?" I asked, still not
understanding. "Well," said Richmond, "compare the pure shadows on
the flesh in Veronese, and its clear edge, with Rubens's ochre and
vermilion, and outline of asphalt" (Praeterita, ii. 181).
Giovanni Bellini (Venetian: 1426-1516). See 189.
A prophetic sense of the Saviour's sufferings is signified by the
symbol of the pomegranate—
Pomegranate, which, if cut deep down the middle,
Shows a heart within blood-tinctured, of a veined humanity.
Mrs. Browning: Lady Geraldine's Courtship.
Years pass and change; mother and child remain.
Mother so proudly sad, so sadly wise,
With perfect face and wonderful calm eyes,
Full of a mute expectancy of pain:
Child of whose love the mother seems so fain,
Looking far off, as if in other skies
He saw the hill of crucifixion rise,
And knew the horror, and would not refrain.
Love in Idleness (1883).
This picture, which is signed by the painter, probably dates from
1485-88.
Marco Basaiti (Venetian: painted 1500-1521).
Basaiti—born in Friuli; according to some writers, of Greek
parents—was assistant to Alvise Vivarini. He was one of the early
Venetian painters in oils. His works when well preserved are (says
Sir F. Burton) brilliant in colour, and display great ability
in the general management of the accessories, especially in the
landscape backgrounds, which, according to Zanetti, he contrived
to unite with his figures more skilfully than his contemporaries.
The scenery, says Gilbert (Cadore, p. 42), is that of Serravalle
in Titian's country—Serravalle, "the true gate of the hills," with
walls and towers rising steeply on the hill-side. The way in which
the old masters thus consigned their saints and anchorites to the
hill-country is very typical of the mediæval view of landscape. "The
idea of retirement from the world for the sake of self-mortification
... gave to all mountain solitude at once a sanctity and a terror, in
the mediæval mind, which were altogether different from anything that
it had possessed in the un-Christian periods.... Just in so much as it
appeared necessary for the noblest men to retire to the hill-recesses
before their missions could be accomplished, or their spirit perfected,
in so far did the daily world seem by comparison to be pronounced
profane and dangerous; and to those who loved that world and its
work, the mountains were thus voiceful with perpetual rebuke.... And
thousands of hearts, which might otherwise have felt that there was
loveliness in the wild landscape, shrank from it in dread, because
they knew that the monk retired to it for penance, and the hermit for
contemplation" (Modern Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. xiv. § 10).
Bertucci (Umbrian: 16th Century).
Formerly ascribed in the Official Catalogue to Lo Spagna (for
whom see under 1032); by other critics attributed to Giovanni
Battista of Faenza, called Bertucci (the monkey), an artist who
borrowed both from the Umbrian School and from Lorenzo Costa. The
similarity between this picture and No. 629, by the latter artist,
especially in the playing angels at the foot of the throne, is
remarkable (see Richter's Italian Art in the National Gallery,
p. 52). Works by Bertucci are to be seen in the picture gallery of
Faenza.
The little angels are very pretty. Notice the three peering out from
under the Virgin's robe. On the marble platform below one angel plays
a white-headed pipe; the other, a six-stringed rebec, which is very
accurately represented.
Benozzo Gozzoli (Florentine: 1420-1498).
Benozzo Gozzoli was the favourite pupil of the "angelical
painter," Fra Angelico. From him Benozzo borrowed the devotion in
his pictures, the bent of his own mind being altogether different.
It must be remembered that "in nearly all the great periods of art
the choice of subject has not been left to the painter; ... and
his own personal feelings are ascertainable only by watching, in
the themes assigned to him, what are the points in which he seems
to take most pleasure. Thus in the prolonged ranges of varied
subjects with which Benozzo Gozzoli decorated the cloisters of
Pisa, it is easy to see that love of simple domestic incident,
sweet landscape, and glittering ornament, prevails slightly over
the solemn elements of religious feeling, which, nevertheless, the
spirit of the age instilled into him in such measure as to form a
very lovely and noble mind, though still one of the second order"
(Modern Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. iii. § 8). The earlier
works of Benozzo are entirely in Fra Angelico's manner. His later
style (of which an example may be seen in No. 591) presents the
greatest contrast to that master; for Benozzo is "the first of all
the Florentine painters who seem to have been smitten with the
beauty of the natural world and its various appearances. His later
pictures overflow with the delighted sense of this beauty. He
was the first to create rich landscape backgrounds, with cities,
villas, and trees, rivers, and richly-cultivated valleys, bold
rocks and hills. He displays the richest fancy for architectural
forms,—open porticoes, elegant arcades, and balconies. In the
representation of the human figure, we find gaiety and whim,
feeling and dignity, in the happiest combination" (Layard). Like
other painters of the time Benozzo began his career as a worker in
metal, and his name is found amongst the artificers who assisted
Ghiberti in making the celebrated gates for the Baptistery at
Florence. He next entered the school of Fra Angelico, accompanying
his master to Rome and Orvieto. In 1459 he was employed to
decorate the walls of the small chapel in the Medici, now
Riccardi Palace, and here he first gave rein to his own fancies.
Copies from these frescoes are included in the Arundel Society's
collection, as well as from those in the church of S. Agostino at
S. Gimignano, where Benozzo was next employed. The chief work of
his life was, however, the painting of the Campo Santo at Pisa.
This occupied him from 1469-1485. Twenty-one of the frescoes were
by his own hand. They are much injured; for "when any dignitary of
Pisa was to be buried, they peeled off some Benozzo Gozzoli and
put up a nice new tablet to the new defunct" (Praeterita, vol.
ii. ch. vi., where Ruskin gives a charming account of happy days
spent in copying Benozzo's work). These frescoes are remarkable
for their wealth of fancy and picturesque detail. The Pisans
themselves were so well pleased that they presented the painter
in 1478 with a tomb, that his body might repose amidst the great
works of his life. He died at Pisa twenty years later.
This was a picture painted very much to order. The figure of the Virgin
was specially directed—so it appears from the original contract,
dated 1461, still in existence—to be made similar in mode, form, and
ornaments to one by Fra Angelico, now in the Florentine Academy, and
it was also stipulated that "the said Benozzo shall at his own cost
diligently gild the said panel throughout, both as regards figures and
ornaments." The prices paid for such commissions in those days may be
judged from the fact that in the case of his great frescoes at Pisa,
Benozzo contracted to paint three a year for 10 ducats each (= say
£100). As for Benozzo's own personal feelings, it is easy to see with
what pleasure he put in the pretty flowers in the foreground for St.
Francis, and the sweet-faced angels behind the throne, and with what
gusto he shot the gold in their draperies. The figure on our extreme
left is St. Zenobius. His embroidered cope is very rich. The details of
needlework in the picture will well repay careful study. Compared with
all this, the kneeling St. Jerome and St. Francis and the other saints
appear somewhat perfunctory. Notice, too, the bright goldfinches on the
alabaster steps, introduced, we may suppose, in honour of
Sweet St. Francis of Assisi, would that he were here again!
He that in his Catholic wholeness used to call the very flowers
Sisters, brothers—and the beasts—whose pains are hardly less than ours!
Bartolommeo Vivarini (Venetian: painted 1450-1499).
Bartolommeo Vivarini of Murano was the younger brother of Antonio
(see 768), with whom he began to work in partnership in 1450—as
is shown by the inscription on the great altar-piece by the two
brothers, now in the Pinacoteca of Bologna. Bartolommeo appears to
have studied at Padua, and the influence of Squarcione is manifest
in the painter's striving after correctness of form. "The ornate
character of his altar-pieces, with gold heightening, garlands of
fruit and flowers and fluttering fillets, is also borrowed from
the Paduans, and lends festal pomp and solemnity to the whole."
Of Bartolommeo Vivarini it is recorded that he painted (in 1473) the
first oil picture that was exhibited in Venice. This one, however, is
in tempera. "The figures in Bartolommeo's pictures are still hard in
outline,—thin (except the Madonna's throat, which always in Venice, is
strong as a pillar), and much marked in sinew and bone (studied from
life, mind you, not by dissection); exquisitely delicate and careful
in pure colour;—in character portraits of holy men and women, such
as then were. There is no idealism here whatever. Monks and nuns had
indeed faces and mien like these saints, when they desired to have the
saints painted for them" (Guide to the Venetian Academy, p. 6).
Francesco Morone (Veronese: 1473-1529).
Francesco is one of the best masters in the earlier style of
the Veronese School. He was the son of Domenico Morone (1211),
the friend and fellow-worker of Girolamo dai Libri (748) and
the master of Morando (735). His works are rarely to be seen
out of Verona, but the present picture is characteristic. At
Verona, his best work in fresco is to be seen in the decoration
of the sacristry of S. Maria in Organo, described by Vasari.
Among his altar-pieces, one in the same church and another in
S. Bernardino are specially noteworthy. "There is," says Sir F.
Burton, "something peculiarly winning in the type chosen for the
Madonna by this painter. The small, round, delicately-featured
head, slightly thrown back, so that the eyes are cast down towards
the worshipper, conveys a mingled impression of sweetness and
dignity. The finish of his easel pictures is remarkable; the eye
is delighted by the intricate variegation of costly stuffs, where
numerous tints broken together resemble what nature has wrought on
the wings of some moths and butterflies. Such broken surfaces give
additional value to the masses of whole colour where these more
sparingly appear." "That the artist himself was of a harmless,
lovable nature is evident from his will which we still possess,
and Vasari's judgment is to the same effect when he calls him 'so
good a man, so religious and so orderly that no word which was
not a praiseworthy one was ever known to proceed from his mouth'"
(Richter). Vasari adds that he was "buried in the church of San
Domenico beside his father, and was borne to his grave clothed as
he had desired to be, in the vestments of a monk of San Francesco."
"A youthful production, in which glowing colour, delicately balanced,
is combined with fine drawing and powerful modelling. Characteristic
are the regular oval of the Madonna's head and the look of simplicity
and charm which breathes in the features" (Dr. Richter in Art
Journal, Feb. 1895).
Francesco Tacconi (Cremonese: painted 1464-1490).
The only signed picture by this painter still in existence. He was
a native of Cremona and worked there: he and his brother pleased
the Cremonese so much by painting in the Town Hall that the
artists were given an exemption from taxes. But he may be classed
as a Venetian, for he was an imitator of Giovanni Bellini. This
picture at once recalls Bellini's No. 280, and is in fact a copy
of a Madonna by that painter in the Chiesa degli Scalzi at Venice.
Bartolommeo Veneziano (painted 1505-1530).
The Martinengo family seems to have patronised this painter, as
the Senator Count Martinengo, of Venice, possesses as an heirloom
a small picture by the master which is signed "Bartolommeo mezzo
Veneziano e mezzo Cremonese." The present picture (dated 1530) is
signed "Bartolom. Venetus," so that he was perhaps a Cremonese
by birth and a Venetian by artistic training, being probably a
pupil of Giovanni Bellini (see Morelli's Italian Works in German
Galleries, p. 138).
A portrait of a young man, at the age of twenty-six (as the inscription
tells us), in the costume of the Campagnia della Calza (the guild of
the stocking).
Pietro Perugino[133] (Umbrian: 1446-1523).
Pietro Vannucci, a native of Castello della Pieve, was called
Perugino, from the town of which he afterwards became a citizen.
His earliest master was probably Fiorenzo di Lorenzo, and he
is known to have also worked under Piero della Francesca.
Afterwards he went to Florence, where, it is said, he studied
with Leonardo da Vinci under the sculptor Verrocchio. There
is, however, no trace of any such discipleship in his works,
which, on the contrary, show an untouched development of native
Umbrian art, so that Perugino becomes the typical representative
of what Ruskin calls the "purist ideal." It is probable that
his first visit to Florence was not paid till he was already
established in independent practice. "He there remained," says
Vasari, "for many months without even a bed to lie on, and
miserably took his sleep upon a chest; but, turning night into
day, and labouring without intermission, he devoted himself
most fervently to the study of his profession." And in time he
became himself a famous master, with Raphael for his pupil, and
"he attained to such a height of reputation that his works were
dispersed, not only through Florence and all over Italy, but
in France, Spain, and other countries." He was himself too of
a roving disposition, and he multiplied his engagements beyond
his power of fulfilling them. In 1475 he received his first
public commission at Perugia, but the frescoes then painted for
the Palazzo Communale have perished. In 1480 he was employed by
the Pope Sixtus IV., together with Signorelli and Botticelli,
to cover the walls of the Sixtine Chapel with frescoes. Of the
four allotted to Perugino (which occupied him in part for six
years) three were afterwards destroyed to make room for Michael
Angelo's "Last Judgment"; the fourth, the "Delivery of the Keys
to St. Peter," remains. Perugino's subsequent movements are not
easy to follow,[134] and we can only here allude to some of his
most famous works. In 1494 he was at Venice, and in the same year
painted his very beautiful altar-piece in S. Agostino at Cremona.
In 1495 he contracted to paint for the monks of Cassino the noble
Assumption now at Lyons. In 1496 he painted for the Cathedral of
Perugia, the famous "Sposalizio," now at Caen. To the same period
in his career belongs the picture now before us, painted for the
Certosa of Pavia. Down to about 1493, Perugino's easel pictures
were executed in tempera (see 181); he then adopted the new
oil medium, which he used to such splendid effect in richness of
colour. In 1499 he was at Perugia, engaged upon the beautiful
frescoes in the Hall of the Bankers (Collegio del Cambio). He was
afterwards in Florence, but in 1505 returned to Perugia, where in
1507 he painted the altar-piece, No. 1075 in our gallery. In his
later years he erected a large studio in which several scholars
were employed to execute commissions from his designs, and the
works of this period show considerable inequality of execution, as
well as repetition of design, and some falling off in richness of
colouring. According to Vasari's gossip Perugino was very careful
of his money—as one who had seen such hard times might well be;
would only paint for cash down, and on all his wanderings carried
his money box with him. "When it is fair weather," he used to say,
"a man must build his house, that he may be under shelter when he
most needs it." It was not, however, till middle life that he did
literally build himself a house. At the same time he married a
very beautiful girl, and is said to have had so much pleasure in
seeing her wear becoming head-dresses that he would spend hours
together in arranging that part of her toilet with his own hands.
There is a tradition that she was the model for the angel who
accompanies Tobias in our picture. The master was still painting
in his 77th year, and was engaged on a fresco at Frontignano (now
in this gallery, No. 1441), when he was carried off by the plague.
The most famous of his pupils was Raphael; among the rest, the
most accomplished were Giovanni lo Spagna (1032), and Giannicola
Manni (1194).
Perugino's work is well represented in the National Gallery, and
its several characteristics are pointed out under the pictures
themselves (cf. especially 181 and 1075). He was, as we
have said, the typical representative of the purist ideal. His
technical supremacy set the seal of perfection upon pietistic
art, and the masterpiece before us is unique for its combination
of warmth of colour, with the expression of religious fervour.
"What this artist seems to have aimed at, was to create for the
soul, amid the pomps and passions of this world, a resting-place
of contemplation tenanted by saintly and seraphic beings." Of
his life as reflected in his work, Ruskin gives this summary: "A
sound craftsman and workman to the very heart's core. A noble,
gracious, and quiet labourer from youth to death,—never weary,
never impatient, never untender, never untrue. Not Tintoret in
power, not Raphael in flexibility, not Holbein in veracity, not
Luini in love,—their gathered gifts he has, in balanced and
fruitful measure, fit to be the guide, and impulse, and father of
all" (Ariadne Florentina, § 72). But Perugino, like the times in
which he lived, presents a study in contradictions. This idealist
painted his portrait in the Sala del Cambio; it is an unsurpassed
piece of realism, and the hard, unsympathetic features do not
belie, but rather win credence for Vasari's tales about his sordid
soul. He never deviated in his art from the pietistic path he had
chosen; but according to Vasari[135] (whose statements on this
point are supported by some other evidence), he was himself an
unbeliever, and on his death-bed rejected the last sacraments. In
his art he is essentially a quietist. He is not successful when he
represents action or movement. His ideal is of quiet rapture, and
sacred peace. But the criminal records of Florence prove that he
was not over-scrupulous to keep his hands from violence, and in
the civil courts he pursued Michael Angelo with equal indiscretion
and ill-success for defamation of character. His pictures reflect
the landscape, but not the fortunes, of his native country: that
the quietism of Perugino "should have been fashionable in Perugia,
while the Baglioni were tearing each other to pieces, and the
troops of the Vitelli and the Borgia were trampling upon Umbria,
is one of the most striking paradoxes of an age rich in dramatic
contradictions" (Symonds's Renaissance, iii. 218).
One of the most valuable pictures in the Gallery alike for its own
beauty and for its interest in the history of art. For Perugino
is the final representative of the old superstitious art, just as
Michael Angelo and Raphael (in his later manners) were the first
representatives of the modern scientific and anatomical art; the
epithet bestowed on Perugino by Michael Angelo, goffo nell' arte
(dunce, or blockhead, in art), shows how trenchant the separation
is between these two forms of artists. One may notice, then, in
this picture as a perfect example of the earlier art: First, that
everything in it is dainty and delightful, and all that it attempts
is accomplished. Michael Angelo, dashing off his impetuous thoughts,
left much of his work half done (see 790); Perugino worked steadily in
the old ways and indeed repeated ideas with so little reflection that,
according to Vasari, he was blamed for doing the same thing over and
over again. But everything is finished, even to the gilding of single
hairs. Notice also the beautiful painting of the fish.[136] Secondly,
it is a work in the school of colour, as distinguished from the school
of light and shade. "Clear, calm, placid, perpetual vision, far and
near; endless perspicuity of space, unfatigued veracity of eternal
light, perfectly accurate delineation of every leaf on the trees and
every flower in the fields" (notice especially in the foreground the
"blue flower fit for paradise" of the central compartment). "There
is no darkness, no wrong. Every colour is lovely, and every space is
light. The world, the universe, is divine; all sadness is a part of
harmony; and all gloom a part of peace." In connection with the lovely
blue in the picture (which was painted in 1494-98 for the Certosa of
Pavia), one may remember the story told of an earlier picture, how
the prior of the convent for which Perugino was painting doled out to
him the costly colour of ultramarine, and how Perugino, by constantly
washing his brushes, obtained a surreptitious hoard of the colour,
which he ultimately restored to shame the prior for his suspicions.
Thirdly, in its rendering of landscape, the picture is characteristic
of the "purism" of older art as compared with the later "naturalism."
"The religious painters impress on their landscape perfect symmetry
and order, such as may seem, consistent with the spiritual nature
they would represent. The trees grow straight, equally branched on
each side, and of slight and feathery frame. The mountains stand
up unscathed; the waters are always waveless, the skies always
calm."[137] Notice also that the sentiment of the whole picture is
like its landscape; there is no striving, nor crying, no convulsive
action; it is all one "pure passage of intense feeling and heavenly
light, holy and undefiled, glorious with the changeless passion of
eternity—sanctified with shadeless peace." Notice lastly, how in this,
as in many sacred compositions, "a living symmetry, the balance of
harmonious opposites, is one of the profoundest sources of their power.
The Madonna of Perugino in the National Gallery, with the angel Michael
on one side and Raphael on the other, is as beautiful an example as
you can have" (Elements of Drawing, p. 258). The subject of the
right-hand compartment is Raphael and Tobias (for which see 781); that
of the left-hand one is "the orderer of Christian warfare, Michael the
Archangel; not Milton's 'with hostile brow and visage all inflamed';
not even Milton's in kingly treading of the hills of Paradise; not
Raphael's with expanded wings and brandished spear; but Perugino's
with his triple crest of traceless plume unshaken in heaven, his hand
fallen on his crossleted sword, the truth-girdle binding his undinted
armour; God has put his power upon him, resistless radiance is on his
limbs; no lines are there of earthly strength, no trace on the divine
features of earthly anger; trustful and thoughtful, fearless, but full
of love, incapable except of the repose of eternal conquest, vessel and
instrument of Omnipotence, filled like a cloud with the victor light,
the dust of principalities and powers beneath his feet, the murmur of
hell against him heard by his spiritual ear like the winding of a shell
on the far-off sea-shore." He is thus armed as the orderer of Christian
warfare against evil; in his other character, as lord of souls, he has
the scales which hang on a tree by his side (Ariadne Florentina, pp.
40, 265, 266; On the Old Road, i. § 529; Modern Painters, vol. ii.
pt. iii. sec. i. ch. x. § 4; sec. ii. ch. v. § 20.)
Gerrit Lundens (Dutch: 1622-1677).
This is a copy, on a greatly reduced scale, of the famous picture by
Rembrandt (painted in 1642), now in the State-Museum at Amsterdam. It
is of interest as showing the pristine condition of its great original,
which in the earlier part of the eighteenth century was maltreated on
all four sides, and thereby shorn of some of its figures in order to
suit the dimensions of a room to which it was at that time removed. The
picture had so darkened by time or neglect, that it came to be called
"The Night Watch." The real subject is the march out of a company of
the Amsterdam Musketeers from their Headquarters' Hall, under the
command of their captain, Frans Banning Cocq, who is seen advancing
in the centre and giving orders to his lieutenant. The principal
figures are all portraits, and the names were written on the back of
the picture. Our copy was painted for Cocq himself, and after many
vicissitudes reached England at the beginning of the nineteenth century.
Jan van Eyck (Early Flemish: about 1390-1440). See 186.
A portrait of a friend of the artist, for it is inscribed "Leal
Souvenir"—and a true recollection it obviously is, and was the more
acceptable, one likes to think, for being so. "It is not the untrue
imaginary Picture of a man and his work that I want, ... but the actual
natural Likeness, true as the face itself, nay, truer in a sense,
Which the Artist, if there is one, might help to give, and the Botcher
never can" (Carlyle, Friedrich).
Lucas Cranach (German: 1472-1553).
Lucas Sunder (or possibly Müller), called Cranach from his native
place, was one of the chief of the German painters,—after Dürer,
the most famous artist of his day. He was the close friend of
Martin Luther, whose features he several times represented. He
may indeed be called the painter of the German Reformation, and
in his later works the reformed doctrines receive symbolical
illustration. The influences of the Renaissance were also at work
in his art, as may be seen in his classical subjects. He was fond
also of drawing birds and animals, and he often depicted hunting
scenes. These he rendered with a realism of effect which won
the admiration of his princely employers. It was, however, as a
portrait-painter that he was chiefly employed. His engravings
were also very numerous. In the lower left-hand corner of the
picture before us, a crowned serpent will be noticed. This was
the arms granted to him in 1508 by the Elector of Saxony, and
it superseded his initials on all his pictures after that date.
Of Cranach's earlier years, little is known. In 1504 he was
established at Wittenburg as court-painter to Frederick the Wise,
a post which he occupied under the next two Electors as well. He
was a man of importance at Wittenburg, for he was twice mayor
of the town, and carried on there, besides large art workshops,
a book-printing business and an apothecary's shop. He was also
employed in diplomatic missions, and when the Elector Frederick
the Magnanimous was in captivity at Augsburg, Cranach was
instrumental in procuring his release from the Emperor Charles V.,
whose portrait had in earlier years been taken by our painter.
"His female portraits have a sort of naïve grace that renders them
very pleasing. There is one in the National Gallery, of a young girl
in elaborate costume, which is entirely characteristic" (Bryan's
Dictionary of Painters).
Antonio Pollajuolo (Florentine: 1429-1498).
This picture is expressly ascribed by Vasari to Antonio alone. On
the other hand, Albertini, an earlier authority (1510), ascribes
it to Piero, the younger brother of Antonio. It is known that
many pictures were the joint production of both brothers—Antonio
furnishing the design, and Piero putting it into colour. "In the
'St. Sebastian,'" says Sir F. Burton, "we probably have a work so
produced; the severe and strenuous drawing of the elder brother,
the sculptor and toreuta by profession, is visible throughout;
whether he shared in the painting, and if he did, to what extent,
may remain an open question."
Antonio Pollajuolo (the "poulterer,"—so called from his
grandfather's trade) is an interesting man from two points of
view: first, as an instance of the union of the arts in old
times; for he was a working goldsmith and engraver as well as
a sculptor and painter. He took to painting comparatively late
in life, desiring, says Vasari, "for his labour a more enduring
memory" than belongs to works of the goldsmith's art; "and his
brother Piero being a painter, he joined himself to him for the
purpose of learning the modes of proceeding in painting. He
acquired a knowledge in the course of a few months and became an
excellent master." He became, indeed, an excellent draughtsman,
but "neither harmony of colours nor grace was the strong point of
this master" (Morelli's Italian Masters in German Galleries,
p. 351). In 1484 Antonio was invited to Rome by Pope Innocent
VIII., and executed some important monumental works in St.
Peter's. His brother died in 1496; Antonio, two years later. The
two brothers were buried in S. Pietro in Vincoli, where busts of
them may be seen. Antonio is interesting, in the second place,
for the developments he introduced into Italian painting. He was
one of the first of the Florentines to adopt an oil medium, and
the first (says Vasari) who had recourse to the dissection of
the dead subject. To him, therefore, Ruskin attributes a baleful
influence. "The virtual beginner of artistic anatomy in Italy was
a man called 'the poulterer'—Pollajuolo, a man of immense power,
but on whom the curse of the Italian mind in this age was set at
its deepest. See the horrible picture of St. Sebastian by him in
our National Gallery." He was the beginner of those anatomical
studies, continues Ruskin, which, pursued and established by
later masters, "polluted their work with the science of the
sepulchre, and degraded it with presumptuous and paltry technical
skill. Foreshorten your Christ, and paint Him, if you can,
half-putrefied—that is the scientific art of the Renaissance"
(Ariadne Florentina, Appendix IV.).
How popular this "scientific art" was in its day may be seen from the
following enthusiastic account which Vasari gives of this picture:—
A remarkable and admirably executed work, with numerous horses,
many undraped figures, and singularly beautiful foreshortenings.
This picture likewise contains the portrait of St. Sebastian
himself, taken from the life—from the face of Gino di Ludovico
Capponi, that is. The painting has been more extolled than any
other ever executed by Antonio. He has evidently copied nature
in this work to the utmost of his power, as we perceive more
particularly in one of the archers, who, bending towards the
earth, and resting his weapon against his breast, is employing
all the force of a strong arm to prepare it for action; the veins
are swelling, the muscles strained, and the man holds his breath
as he applies all his strength to the effort. Nor is this the
only figure executed with care; all the others are likewise well
done, and in the diversity of their attitudes give clear proof
of the artist's ability and of the labour bestowed by him on his
work; all which was fully acknowledged by Antonio Pucci, who gave
him three hundred scudi for the picture, declaring at the same
time that he was barely paying him for the colours. This work was
completed in the year 1475.
The dominant motive in the picture is, it will be seen, interest in
the mechanism of the human body; notice especially the muscles of the
executioners' legs and their efforts in stretching their bows. There
are, however, other points worthy of notice. "The work is not less
remarkable for the extent and variety of the landscape, and for the
sense of aerial, as distinct from mere linear, perspective. Instead
of standing up like a wall behind the figures it appears to recede to
the horizon, as in nature. The study of the remains of classical art
also is betrayed by the introduction of one of the Roman monumental
arches in the background. The groups of soldiers and horses introduced
at different distances further attest the variety of the designers'
interests" (Monkhouse: In the National Gallery, 1894, p. 77).
Filippino Lippi (Florentine: 1457-1504).
Filippo Lippi, the younger (called "Filippino" to distinguish him
from his father), was the son of Fra Filippo Lippi (see 666), and
the nun, Lucrezia Buti. In his will, Filippino left an annual
provision of corn, wine, oil, and other necessaries to his beloved
mother Lucrezia, daughter of Francesco Buti. There is perhaps no
other case in art-history of father and son attaining such nearly
equal excellence as did the two Lippis. Owing to his father's
death when Filippino was still a boy, the latter became the pupil
of Botticelli, and so good a pupil was he that the critics are
often in doubt, as explained in the footnote, to which master
to ascribe pictures.[138] The genius of Filippino seems to have
been the more gentle, that of Botticelli the more impetuous. The
grace and charm of Filippino are nowhere better shown than in the
"Vision of St. Bernard," in the church of the Badia at Florence—a
work executed when he was about 23. A copy of it is in the
Arundel Society's collection. The pictures in our Gallery which
are indubitably by Filippino (namely, this picture and 927), show
the same quiet beauty. Filippino was also employed upon important
frescoes—in the Branacci Chapel, in Sta Maria Novella, and (at
Rome) in Sta Maria Sopra Minerva; in these works he shows great
skill in composition, appropriate action, and refined feeling.
Filippino lived a busy and a blameless life; and the peace and
beauty of his pictures were a reflection of his character.
"Having been ever courteous, obliging, and friendly, Filippino
was lamented," says Vasari, "by all who had known him, but more
particularly by the youth of Florence, his native city; and when
his funeral procession was passing through the streets, the shops
were closed, as is done for the most part at the funerals of
princes only."
This picture is identified by the arms of the Rucellai family below, as
the one described by Vasari as "executed in the church of San Pancrazio
for the chapel of the Rucellai family." After the suppression of the
church, it was removed to the Palazzo Rucellai until it was purchased
for the National Gallery.
Paolo Veronese (Veronese: 1528-1588). See 260.
This picture—"the most precious Paul Veronese," says Ruskin, "in
the world"—is, according to another critic, "in itself a school of
art, where every quality of the master is seen in perfection—his
stately male figures, his beautiful women, his noble dog, and even his
favourite monkey, his splendid architecture, gem-like colour, tones
of gold and silver, sparkling and crisp touch, marvellous facility of
hand and unrivalled power of composition."[139] The glowing colour is
what strikes one first; and next the dignity, life, and ease of the
principal persons represented. It is a splendid example too of what the
historical pictures of the old masters were. The scene represented is
that of the Macedonian conqueror, Alexander the Great, surrounded by
his generals, receiving the submission of the family of the defeated
Persian King Darius; but in his treatment of the scene, Veronese makes
it a piece of contemporary Venetian life.
"It is a constant law that the greatest men, whether poets or
historians, live entirely in their own age.... Dante paints Italy
in the thirteenth century; Chaucer, England in the fourteenth;
Masaccio, Florence in the fifteenth; Tintoret, Venice in the
sixteenth;—all of them utterly regardless of anachronism and
minor error of every kind, but getting always vital truth out of
the vital present.... Tintoret and Shakespeare paint, both of
them, simply Venetian and English nature as they saw it in their
time, down to the root; and it does for all time; but as for
any care to cast themselves into the particular ways and tones of
thought or custom of past time in their historical work, you will
find it in neither of them, nor in any other perfectly great man
that I know of" (Modern Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. vii. §§
19, 20).
Thus here Veronese simply paints a group of living Venetians of his
time,[140] dog,[141] monkey and all. Alexander, in red armour, is
pointing to his friend Hephaestion, who stands a little behind on his
left, and whom the captives had at first mistaken for the king. The
queen-mother implores his pardon, but Alexander tells her that she has
not erred, for that Hephaestion is another Alexander. The principal
figures representing these different characters are, however, all
contemporary portraits of the Pisani family,[142] it is said, for whom
the picture was painted, and in choosing this scene of Alexander in
one of his best moments Veronese was expressing his ideal of Venetian
nobility and refinement. "The greatest portrait painters," says
Ruskin,—"Titian, Veronese, Velazquez, and Raphael,—introduce the
most trenchant, clear, and complete backgrounds. Indeed, the first
three so rejoiced in quantity of accessories, that, when engaged on
important portraits, they would paint large historical pictures merely
by way of illustration or introduction. The priceless Veronese, 'The
Triumph of Alexander,' was painted only to introduce portraits of the
Pisani; and chiefly to set off to the best advantage the face of one
fair girl" (Academy Notes, 1857, p. 37). So too the dresses to which
the picture owes so much of its splendour, are the Venetian dresses
of the period. It may be interesting to remark that something of the
magnificence in the picture itself attaches also to the circumstances
of its painting. Veronese having been detained by some accident at
the Pisani Villa at Este, painted this work there, and left it behind
him, sending word that he had left wherewithal to defray the expense
of his entertainment. As the Pisani family ultimately sold it to the
National Gallery in 1857 for £13,650, Veronese's words were decidedly
made good. It may be interesting to add that the negotiations for its
purchase extended over nearly four years. Vast sums had been offered
for the picture in former centuries, and within the previous thirty
years sovereigns, public bodies, and individuals had all been competing
for it.
Some of the fame of the picture is due to its splendid preservation.
Rumohr speaks of it as "perhaps the only existing criterion by which
to estimate the original colouring of Paul Veronese." "The lakes, for
instance, in the crimson cuirass and dress of Alexander, which form
such a magnificent feature in the composition, are," says Sir Edward
Poynter, "as fresh as when first painted, as, indeed, is the whole
picture." James Smetham, in one of his eloquent letters, refers to this
work in 1858, in illustration of the enduring qualities of a painter's
"flying touches"—touches "destined to live in hours and moments when
you have fled beyond all moments into the unembarrassed calm of
eternity":—
Paul Veronese, three hundred years ago, painted that bright
Alexander, with his handsome, flushed Venetian face, and that
glowing uniform of the Venetian general which he wears; and before
him, on their knees, he set those golden ladies, who are pleading
in pink and violet; and there he is, and there are they, in our
National Gallery; he, flushed and handsome—they, golden and
suppliant as ever. It takes an oldish man to remember the comet
of 1811. Who remembers Paul Veronese, nine generations since? But
not a tint of his thoughts is unfixed, they beam along the walls
as fresh as ever. Saint Nicholas stoops to the Angelic Coronation
(26), and the solemn fiddling of the Marriage at Cana is heard
along the silent galleries of the Louvre. ("Heard melodies are
sweet, but those unheard are sweeter")—yes, and will be so when
you and I have cleaned our last palette, and "in the darkness over
us, the four-handed mole shall scrape."
Quentin Metsys (Flemish: 1460-1530).
Metsys—whose name appears also in the forms Matsys, Massys,
and Messys—was the first of the great Antwerp painters and
the last who remained faithful to the traditions of the early
Flemish school. The gold background here recalls the earliest
Flemish pictures in the Gallery. "He retained," says Sir F.
Burton, "the technical method introduced by the Van Eycks, but
with a softer and broader handling, and with a wonderfully subtle
modelling which gave perfect relief and rounding without dark
shadows." Among the most important monuments of his skill are
the large altar-pieces in the public galleries of Brussels and
Antwerp respectively. There are in other galleries pictures
similar to the two figures here before us. Metsys was also fond
of depicting merchants or money-changers counting their gains—a
subject imitated by Marinus van Romerswael (see 944). Metsys was
a native of Antwerp, and a person of consequence in his native
town. A romantic legend was formerly associated with his name.
He was, it is said, a locksmith, but became a painter to obtain
the consent of his wife's father to his marriage. Hence the
inscription—connubalis amor de mulcibre fecit Apellem. But this
story, it now appears, belongs to another Metsys, of Louvain. Our
painter was twice married. Portraits of himself and his second
wife are in the Uffizi at Florence.
These figures are remarkable for their serenity and dignity.
Characteristic also is the care lavished on the jewellery and edgings.
The figure of our Saviour somewhat resembles the "Salvator Mundi" of
Antonella da Messina (673)—the Italian painter who introduced the
Flemish influence to his country.
Florentine School (15th Century).
See also (p. xix)
The authorship of this picture and of No. 781, which must be by
the same hand, is one of the unsolved problems of art criticism.
It has at different times been ascribed to Domenico Ghirlandajo,
to Antonio Pollajuolo, to the school of Piero Pollajuolo, to
Verrocchio, and to an unknown master in the school of the
last-mentioned painter. Sir F. Burton said, "If not by Verrocchio,
it must be the work of one of his most distinguished pupils." Sir
Edward Poynter says, "This picture has all the characteristics
of Andrea del Verrocchio's best work, and is probably by that
painter; but the small number of works that can with certainty
be ascribed to him renders the attribution uncertain." Andrea
del Verrocchio (1435-1488) was the sculptor of the celebrated
equestrian statue of Bartolommeo Colleoni at Venice, than which,
says Ruskin, "I do not believe that there is a more glorious work
of sculpture existing in the world" (Stones of Venice, vol. iii.
ch. I, § 22). As a painter Verrocchio was for a time the
master of Leonardo da Vinci, who painted the figure of an angel
in Verrocchio's "Baptism of Christ" (in the Florentine Academy).
"This figure," says Vasari (ii. 255), "was so much superior to
the other parts of the picture that, perceiving this, Verrocchio
resolved never again to take pencil in hand." Whether this be
so or not, Verrocchio left an enduring mark on the art of his
time. "He delighted to paint the putto—the infant boy who is
just beginning to rejoice in the use of his limbs—and with such
a charm did he invest his creations of this kind, whether in
sculpture or in painting, that," says Dr. Meyer, "it is not too
much to say that he was the creator of that child-type which is so
universal in the Italian art of the Cinque-cento." "Verrocchio,"
says E. Müntz, "is the plastic artist, deeply enamoured of form,
delighting in hollowing it out, in fining it down; he has none
of the literary temperament of a Donatello, a Mantegna, masters
who in order to give expression to the passions that stir them,
to realise their ideal, need a vast theatre, numerous actors,
dramatic subjects. There is no mise-en-scène, no searching
after recondite ideas, with Verrocchio. Most suggestive in
spirit, he sowed more than he reaped, and produced more pupils
than masterpieces. All there is of feminine, one might almost say
effeminate, in Leonardo's art, the delicacy, the morbidezza,
the suavity, appear, though often merely in embryo, in the
work of Verrocchio" (Leonardo da Vinci, i. 23, 25). The one
undoubted picture by Verrocchio is "The Baptism" above referred
to. In the St. George's Museum at Sheffield there is a "Madonna
Adoring" which has a marked affinity (especially in the Virgin's
expression and attitude, and in her peculiar head-dress) to our
picture. Ruskin, who purchased it in Venice from the Manfrini
collection, ascribed it unhesitatingly to Verrocchio, and called
it "a picture of extreme value, which teaches all I want my pupils
to learn of art." For an excellent reproduction of it, and for a
full discussion both of it and of our picture, the reader should
consult Mr. W. White's Principles of Art as illustrated in the
Ruskin Museum (pp. 62-83). The angel on the left of this picture
resembles the angel in the "Baptism," and the drawing of a head
in the Uffizi at Florence by Verrocchio is a study for an angel.
Dr. Richter, however, thinks the picture must be ascribed to a
pupil of Verrocchio only, for "the artist of the Colleoni monument
could not have been guilty of the abnormal extension given to the
lower part of the Virgin's body. What should we have to say of the
proportions of this figure if she were to rise from her seat?"
(Italian Art in the National Gallery, p. 33). Morelli, on the
other hand, on the strength of various technical details, ascribes
the picture to Pollajuolo (Italian Masters in German Galleries,
pp. 353-355).
This picture, whatever may be its authorship, is certainly one of
the most beautiful examples of Florentine art in the second half of
the fifteenth century. Of a very individual and fascinating type are
the faces of the two angels; their sweet and childlike loveliness
will haunt the memory of any visitor who has once studied them. Mr.
Monkhouse suggests that they may represent some member of the Medici
family: "It is at all events evident that the originals of these
beautiful children, however elevated by the refinement of the artist,
belonged to no common stock. Nor can there be any doubt that this
extremely elegant type, dainty to a degree unknown before, has a close
affinity to the ideal of Leonardo da Vinci." The angels' hands in our
picture are also very beautiful, though there is a touch of awkward
affectation in the disjointed bend of the little finger in the angel on
the left. The spectator will notice further the beautiful embroidery,
and the jewelled brooches worn both by this angel and by the Madonna.
The child holds a raspberry in one hand, some seeds of which he puts
to his lips. The expression of the mother is very beautiful in its
serene happiness of worship. Her head-dress is peculiar. "The light
golden hair is entirely off the forehead, with but little showing, and
is formed into a kind of pad, enclosed in an ornamental veil of thin
material, which being tied round upon the top of the head, lightly
forms a triangular curved peak upon the forehead, and hangs down
gracefully on either shoulder." The entire picture is, as Kugler says,
"a work of the most attractive character, from its careful finish, its
rich and transparent colour, and its great beauty of expression."
Il Romanino (Brescian: about 1485-1566).
Girolamo Romani was a native of Brescia and the son of a painter;
his family belonged originally to the small town of Romano, in
the province of Bergamo: hence his name, "Romanino." Like Moretto
(whose rival he was), he was little known outside the district of
Brescia; but he studied at Venice, where he took Giorgione for
his pattern. His best works are remarkable for a brilliant golden
colouring, which is unfortunately not conspicuous in this picture.
It pervades the fine altar-piece of the "Madonna Enthroned" in S.
Francesco at Brescia. Another splendid altar-piece is to be seen
in the museum at Padua. Among Romanino's frescoes may be mentioned
the lively scenes he executed for the Castle of Malpaga. Copies of
these are in the Arundel Society's collection.
Of this altar-piece—painted in 1525 for the church of St. Alessandro
at Brescia—Mr. Pater gives the following description: "Alessandro,
patron of the church, one of the many youthful patrician converts
Italy reveres from the ranks of the Roman army, stands on one side,
with ample crimson banner superbly furled about his lustrous black
armour; and on the other—St. Jerome, Romanino's own namesake—neither
more nor less than the familiar, self-tormenting anchorite.... But
the loveliest subjects are in the corners above—Gaudioso, Bishop of
Brescia, above St. Jerome; above Alessandro, St. Filippo Benizzi,
meek founder of the order of Servites to which that church at Brescia
belonged, with his lily, and in the right hand a book, and what a
book!... If you wish to see what can be made of the leaves, the vellum
covers of a book, observe that in St. Philip's hands. The metre? the
contents? you ask: What may they be? and whence did it come?—Out of
embalmed sacristy, or antique coffin of some early Brescian martyr,
or, through that bright space of blue Italian sky, from the hands of
an angel, like his Annunciation lily, or the book received in the
Apocalypse by John the Divine? It is one of those old saints, Gaudioso
(at home in every church of Brescia), who looks out with full face
from the opposite corner of the altar-piece, from a background which,
though it might be the new heaven over a new earth, is in truth only
the proper, breathable air of Italy. As we see him here, Saint Gaudioso
is one of the more exquisite treasures of our National Gallery. It
was thus that, at the magic touch of Romanino's art, the dim, early,
hunted-down Brescian church of the primitive centuries, crushed into
the dust, it might seem, was 'brought to her king,' out of those old
dark crypts, 'in raiment of needlework'—the delicate, richly-folded,
pontifical white vestments, the mitre and staff and gloves, and rich
jewelled cope, blue or green.[143] The face, of remarkable beauty,
after a type which all feel, though it is actually rare in art, is
probably a portrait of some distinguished churchman of Romanino's own
day: a second Gaudioso, perhaps, setting that later Brescian church to
rights after the terrible French occupation in the painter's own time,
as his saintly predecessor, the Gaudioso of the earlier century here
commemorated, had done after the invasion of the Goths. The eloquent
eyes are open upon some glorious vision. 'He hath made us kings and
priests!' they seem to say for him, as the clean, sensitive lips might
do so eloquently. Beauty and holiness had 'kissed each other,' as in
Borgognone's imperial deacons at the Certosa. At the Renaissance the
world might seem to have parted them again. But here certainly, once
more, Catholicism and the Renaissance, religion and culture, holiness
and beauty, might seem reconciled, by one who had conceived neither
after any feeble way, in a gifted person. Here at least, by the skill
of Romanino's hand, the obscure martyr of the crypts shines as a saint
of the later Renaissance, with a sanctity of which the elegant world
itself would hardly escape the fascination, and which reminds one how
the great Apostle St. Paul has made courtesy part of the content of the
Divine charity itself. A Rubens in Italy!—so Romanino has been called.
In this gracious presence we might think that, like Rubens also, he had
been a courtier" ("Art Notes in North Italy" in New Review, November
1890).
Ambrogio Borgognone (Lombard: about 1455-1523).
Ambrogio Borgognone, called also Ambrogio da Fossano, the latter
being the name of a town in Piedmont, was born at Milan. "It may
have been Ambrogio's grandfather or great-grandfather who left the
little Piedmontese town to settle at Milan; one of his ancestors
had probably lived some time in Flanders (then called Borgogna by
the Italians) and had thus received the surname of Borgognone.
Ambrogio, who holds the same central place in the Milanese School
of painting as Perugino in that of Perugia, and Francia in that
of Bologna, was, according to my view, a pupil of Vincenzo Foppa
the elder, and the real master of Bernardino Luini, the Raphael
of the Milanese school. He remains in all his works a thorough
Lombard" (Morelli's German Galleries, p. 419). The tenderness of
feeling in this "Perugino of the Lombard School" is very marked.
"The presentment of divine or holy personages, in calm serenity
or in resigned suffering, accorded best," says Burton, "with
his temperament. Even his colouring partakes of the pervading
sentiment; the grey pallor of his heads is only modified, now
and then, by the reddened eyelids of sorrow. In the Accademia at
Pavia is a small picture, representing Christ bearing his cross,
and followed by some Carthusian Brothers, which in simple pathos
and deep religious meaning is perhaps without its equal in art."
Ambrogio was distinguished as an architect no less than as a
painter, and was employed on the façade of the Certosa of Pavia—a
view of which building figures in the background of a picture by
Ambrogio in our gallery (1410).
For St. Catherine of Alexandria, see under 693; for St. Catherine of
Siena, under 249. Each of them was proclaimed the spouse of Christ for
the love they bore him. And Borgognone here places them on either side
of the Madonna's throne. "Their names are inscribed on the haloes which
surround their heads. The Madonna—an exquisite example of the earlier
and purer Lombard type—sits enthroned on a raised seat, which may be
compared with that of the Blenheim Madonna and of many other Virgins in
our collection. The Child, erect on her knees and short-coated after
the earlier wont, is in the very act of placing the ring of His mystic
wedding on the timorous hand of St. Catherine of Alexandria. The Saint
herself, as the earlier and more famous of the two, stands at the right
hand of Our Lady. In her left she grasps the palm of martyrdom. As
Princess of Egypt the meek and beautiful lady wears a regal crown. Her
long wavy hair, of the type which we usually regard as Leonardesque,
but which Leonardo really acquired in Lombardy, is characteristic of
this saint, even in pictures of other schools (cf. the Umbrian,
No. 646). At her feet lies the wheel, with its conventional hooked
spikes, which was the instrument of her torture. On the Madonna's left
stands St. Catherine of Siena in her Dominican robes. Her face is pure
saintliness—a marvel of beauty; her left hand holds the ascetic white
lily of the Dominican order; her right the Madonna takes with a gentle,
and one might almost say consolatory gesture. Our Lady seems to comfort
her for her less favoured position; and if you look close you will see
that the infant Saviour holds in His left hand a second ring, which He
extends with childish grace towards the Nun of Siena" (Grant Allen in
Pall Mall Magazine, June-December 1895, p. 66).
Moretto (Brescian: 1498-1555).
In examples of the Brescian, as of the Veronese School, the
National Gallery is very rich. "The dialect of the Brescians is
very like that of their neighbours of Bergamo, but not so harsh
and rugged (see 1203): the character of the people, too, is more
lively and frank, more given to show and swagger (Bresciani
spacca-cantoni). The Brescians, wedged in between the Veronese and
Bergamese, unite, to some extent, the manly energy of the latter
with the greater vivacity and pliancy of the former" (Morelli).
The foundation of the Brescian School was laid by Vincenzo Foppa
(see 729), whose pupil Il Moretto was. It is characteristic of
the wide dispersion of the art gift in Italy that this Alessandro
Bonvicino, nicknamed "Il Moretto,"—one of the greatest of
portrait painters,—should have belonged entirely to a provincial
city. He was born and educated at Brescia, where his father was
a merchant; and with the exception of a very few pictures, he
painted only for his native town and the province of Brescia, and
it is there that nearly the whole work of his life is still to
be found. Indeed he was little known beyond the frontiers of the
Brescian district, and it is only during the last half century
or so that his reputation has arisen. Moretto never studied in
Venice; his development and genius are native, and he rivalled
Titian himself in the stateliness and dignity of his figures. His
altar-pieces are distinguished further by much gravity of feeling
and sincerity of unostentatious religious feeling. The picture in
our own gallery (625) is a good example. Others are to be found
in the churches of his native town and in some foreign galleries.
Among the best are the "Coronation of the Virgin" in SS. Nazzaro
e Celso, Brescia; "St. Margaret" in S. Francesco, Brescia; "The
Feast of the Pharisee," S. Maria della Pietà, Venice; "Madonna and
Child," Städel Institute, Frankfort; and "S. Giustina," Belvedere,
Vienna. His nickname of "the Blackamoor" is particularly
inappropriate to his style, which is distinguished for its silvery
tones, "a cool, tender, and harmonious scale of colour which has a
peculiar charm, and is entirely his own" (Layard, ii. 577). This
harmony of colour, which became characteristic of the Brescian
School, may be observed also in his rival, Romanino. Moretto is
distinguished not more for his religious subjects than for his
portraits, of which we possess two very beautiful specimens in
the picture now before us, and in No. 1025. He was the master of
another great portrait-painter, Moroni of Bergamo (see 697), and
works of the two are often confused. In addition to the charm of
his harmonious colouring, Moretto's portraits are remarkable for
the dignity he imparts to his subjects. "Moretto," says Morelli,
"shows himself the higher artist of the two; his conception of a
subject and his drawing are nobler and more elegant than those
of his matter-of-fact scholar; but these intellectual qualities,
which are not perceptible to every eye, do not always suffice to
distinguish his weaker works from Moroni's best. In such cases
the only means we have of determining the authorship is an exact
and minute examination. The shape and expression of the hand,
for instance, are very different in Moroni from what they are in
Moretto. The hands of the latter, with pointed fingers, suggestive
of the academy, are never so true to nature as those which
Moroni can make when he chooses in drawing from life. Moretto's
flesh-colours, too, have a delicate silver tone, while Moroni's,
with their earth-like tints, are more realistic" (German
Galleries, pp. 47-50, 169-171, 396-403).[144]
This painter is conspicuous, says Lanzi (History of Painting in
Italy, Bohn's edition 1847, ii. 181), for his "skill in imitating
every kind of velvet, satin, or other cloth, either of gold or silver."
His portraits are remarkable, as is noticed under 1025, for their
poetic insight. He is not content with producing an obvious likeness
in the flesh; he strives at portraying or suggesting some spiritual
idea in all his sitters. These characteristics are conspicuous in
the present picture. Thus notice, first, the splendid brocades. Then
secondly, how the painter tells you not only that this was what the
sitter looked like, but what was his character. It is clearly the
portrait of some one who combined with an important position the tastes
of a dilettante, and who had an aspiring soul. On his cap is a label
inscribed ιου λιαν ποθω, which being literally interpreted
means "Alas, I desire too much!"—an inscription which accords with
the yearning upward gaze and the pose selected by the painter. But the
motto has also a punning reference. Reading the two first words as
one, it becomes ιουλιαν ποθω, "I desire Julia," or with a
further pun on the last word, "Julia Potho." We thus obtain a clue to
the identity of the sitter. The Potho or Pozzo family was well known
at the time in Brescia. Francesco dal Pozzo, 3rd Marquis of Ponderano
(born 1494), had as his first-born a daughter Julia. She became the
wife of Giacomo Gromo, Signor di Ternengo, who was a man of official
status in Biella in 1539, having to do with the fiscal arrangements of
the district. This may be indicated in our picture by the two coins of
bronze and gold, and the die or seal. The sandalled foot on the table
(an antique lamp?) may indicate his love of antiquities. "It is to
be hoped, if our picture be a portrait of Monsignor Giacomo Gromo di
Ternengo, that he had not long to wait before he became the devoted
husband of Julia Potho, for whom he so yearned, and whose favour he
wore in his hat." (W. Fred Dickes in Athenæum, June 3 and Aug. 26,
1893).[145]
Cima da Conegliano (Venetian: 1460-1518).
Some miles north of Venice, in the Friuli, rises the town of
Conegliano, which, from its isolated and castled hill, overlooks
the plain of Treviso. Cima, whose real name was Giovanni Battista,
takes his title in art-history from the "cima," or castled
"height," of his native place—a picturesque feature which he
introduced, wherever it was at all possible, into his pictures.
We see these towers of Conegliano in the present picture; and
a window is opened in the large composition, No. 816, in order
to give us a glimpse of a similar height. In his love of his
native landscape is one of the principal charms of Cima's work.
"Morning is his favourite time—morning among the hills; and then
and there the painter enjoyed more happiness than any twilight
gondola could give him. In our National Gallery are two examples
of the Conegliano scenery, but the brilliant daylight that so
distinguishes Cima is strangely absent" (Gilbert's Landscape
in Art, p. 329). One of his best works is the "St. John the
Baptist" in the church of S. Maria dell' Orto, Venice. "He is here
painting," says Ruskin, "his name-saint; the whole picture full
of peace and intense faith and hope, and deep joy in light of sky
and fruit and flower and weed of earth. The picture was painted
for the church of Our Lady of the Garden, and it is full of simple
flowers, and has the wild strawberry of Cima's native mountains
gleaming through the grass.... He has given us the oak, the fig,
the beautiful 'Erba della Madonna' on the wall, precisely such a
bunch of it as may be seen growing at this day on the marble steps
of that very church; ivy, and other creepers, and a strawberry
plant in the foreground, with a blossom, and a berry just set,
and one half-ripe, and one ripe, all patiently and innocently
painted from the real thing, and therefore most divine.... His
own Alps are in the distance, and he shall teach us how to paint
wild flowers, and how to think of them" (Modern Painters, vol.
i. pt. ii. sec. i. ch. vii. § 9; vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. x. § 5;
Oxford Lectures on Art, § 150; Catalogue of the Educational
Series, p. 27). The charming landscape and fine colour of Cima
are accompanied by earnestness of religious feeling, and a sense
of peace and quiet, unmixed with any ascetism. "The painter,"
says Ruskin, of another of his pictures, "does not desire the
excitement of rapid movement, nor even the passion of beautiful
light. But he hates darkness as he does death. He paints noble
human creatures simply in clear daylight; not in rapture, nor yet
in agony. The unexciting colour will not at first delight you; but
its charm will never fail, and you will find that you never return
to it but with a sense of relief and of peace.... Cima is not
supreme in any artistic quality, but good and praiseworthy in all"
(Lectures on Landscape, § 60; Guide to the Academy at Venice,
p. 14). Cima is usually reckoned among the disciples of Giovanni
Bellini, and is believed at one time to have superintended the
workshop of that master.
In the background, on the right, are the towers of Conegliano; on the
left, the neighbouring castle of Colalto. There is something very
pretty in the way in which the earlier Venetian masters placed their
Holy Families in their own fields and amongst their own mountains
(compare e.g. the Madonna in the Meadow, No. 599), thus imagining
the Madonna and her child not as a far-away sanctity in the sky, but
as an actual presence nigh unto them, at their very doors.[146] "There
has probably not been an innocent cottage-home throughout the length
and breadth of Europe during the whole period of vital Christianity,
in which the imagined presence of the Madonna has not given sanctity
to the humblest duties, and comfort to the sorest trials of the lives
of women; and every brightest and loftiest achievement of the arts and
strength of manhood has been the fulfilment of the assured prophecy of
the poor Israelite maiden, 'He that is mighty hath magnified me, and
holy is his name'" (Fors Clavigera, 1874, p. 105).
J. M. W. Turner, R.A. (British: 1775-1851).
For the circumstances under which this picture by Turner and the "Dido
Building Carthage" (498) hang not in the Turner Gallery but beside the
Claudes, see under 12.
This picture was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1807, and belongs
therefore to Turner's first period, which was distinguished by
"subdued colour and perpetual reference to precedent in composition."
This effect of sunrise in a mist was a favourite one with Dutch
painters, and Turner, when he went to the sea-shore, painted it in
the Dutch manner. A time was to come when he would paint the sun
rising no longer in a mist. Yet from the first, the bent of his own
mind was visible in his work. He paints no such ideal futilities as
are pointed out above in Claude's picture, but fishermen engaged in
their daily toil. One of his father's best friends was a fishmonger,
whom he often visited: "which gives us a friendly turn of mind towards
herring-fishing, whaling, Calais poissardes, and many other of our
choicest subjects in afterlife." He was the painter not of "pastoral
indolence or classic pride, but of the labour of men, by sea and land"
(Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. ix.).
J. M. W. Turner, R.A. (British: 1775-1851).
From the technical point of view this is not one of Turner's best
pictures. It was exhibited in 1815, and belongs therefore to his first
period, when he had still not completely exorcised "the brown demon."
The picture, says Ruskin, "is quite unworthy of Turner as a colourist,"
"his eye for colour unaccountably fails him,"[147] and "the foreground
is heavy and evidently paint, if we compare it with genuine passages of
Claude's sunshine" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. i. ch. vii.
§ 45, sec. ii. ch. i. § 13, ch. ii. § 18).
But there is a noble idea in the picture. Dido, Queen of Carthage,
surrounded by her people, and with plans and papers about her, is
superintending the building of the city which was to become the great
maritime power of the ancient world. "The principal object in the
foreground (on the left) is a group of children sailing toy boats.
The exquisite choice of this incident, as expressive of the ruling
passion which was to be the source of future greatness, in preference
to the tumult of busy stone-masons or arming soldiers, is quite as
appreciable when it is told as when it is seen,—it has nothing to do
with the technicalities of painting; a scratch of the pen would have
conveyed the idea and spoken to the intellect as much as the elaborate
realisations of colour. Such a thought as this is something far above
all art; it is epic poetry of the highest order" (Modern Painters,
vol. i. pt. i. sec. i. ch. vii. § 2).
Margaritone (Tuscan: 1216-1293).
Margaritone, famous in his time (like so many of his successors)
for painting, sculpture, and architecture alike, was a native
of Arezzo, and was "the last of the Italian artists who painted
entirely after the Greek (or Byzantine) manner," from which
Cimabue and Giotto were the first to depart.[148] He died at the
age of seventy-seven, "afflicted and disgusted (says Vasari)
that he had lived to see the changes by which all honours were
transferred to new artists." This picture being, according to
the critics, the most important and characteristic picture of
the artist still remaining, should, therefore, be carefully
studied by those who are interested in tracing the history of
art. Of the Greek manner, in which art was for so many centuries
encased, one may notice, first, that there was no attempt to
depict things like life. Art, as the phrase goes, was "symbolic,"
not "representative." Certain definite symbols, certain definite
attitudes, were understood to mean certain things. Just as in
earlier Greek painting white flesh, for instance, was taken to
denote a woman, black or red flesh a man, so here such and such
attitudes were accepted as meaning that the figure in question
was the Virgin, and such and such other attitudes that it was the
Christ. Secondly, these symbols were all expressive of various
dogmas of the Church—of creeds and formulas peculiar to one sect
rather than of spiritual truths common to all Christianity.
Both characteristics may be traced in almost every line of this
picture. For instance, the humanity of Christ is not yet even hinted
at, his divinity alone being insisted upon. Thus the young God is here
represented in the form of a man-child; erect, with the assumed dignity
of an adult, as he raises his hand to bless the faithful. With his left
hand he holds the roll in which are written the names of the faithful
saved: it is as a judge that he comes into the world. The Virgin again
is here shown as elect of God to be the mother of God: not as the
mother of Jesus, the mother of man's highest humanity. She wears on
her head the fleur-de-lys coronet, symbol of purity; and the glory, or
aureole, around her represents the acrostic symbol of the fish, the
Greek word for fish containing the initials of the several Greek words
meaning "Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour." Outside this "Vesica" (or
"fish glory"), in the four corners, are four Jewish symbols (Ezekiel
i. 10), adopted as emblems of the four Evangelists—the Angel (St.
Matthew), the Ox (St. Luke), the Lion (St. Mark), and the Eagle (St.
John). So again, in the scenes on either side of the central piece
we see the same gloomy theology, in which the world is thought of
solely as a place made hideous with evils, where saints are boiled
by pagans, women slain by seducers, children devoured by dragons. By
help of such pictured deeds of hell, men were taught by the early
Church to "loathe this base world and think of heaven's bliss." The
first subject (on the spectator's left) represents the birth of Christ
in a cattle-shed; the second St. John the Evangelist, calm midst the
cauldron of seething oil, the martyr's uplifted hand expressing the
precept, "Pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you."
The third subject depicts in a rude symbolic way incidents in the
life of St. Catherine—her beheading, her soul's reception by angels,
and the burial of her body by two angels on Mount Sinai. The fourth
subject shows St. Nicolas appearing suddenly to some sailors, whom he
exhorts to throw overboard a vase given by the devil. In the fifth is
St. John resuscitating the body of Drusiana, a matron who had lived
in his house previous to his departure, and whose bier he had chanced
to meet on his return to Ephesus. In the next subject St. Benedict,
founder of the Benedictine Order, is shown in the act of throwing
himself into a thicket of briars and nettles, as he rushes from his
cave to rid himself of the recollection of a beautiful woman he had
once met in Rome, and whose image now tempts him to leave his chosen
solitude. In the seventh, St. Nicolas liberates three innocent men;
and in the eighth is represented St. Margaret, patron saint of women
in childbirth, whom the devil in the form of a dragon confronts to
terrify into abnegation of her Christian faith. Unable to persuade her,
he devours her, but bursts in the midst, and by power of the Cross she
emerges unhurt. It is interesting to observe that the two consecutive
acts are here shown as co-existent: a thing frequently done, as we have
seen, in early art. Finally, another characteristic feature is the
introduction of the "grotesque" in the animals that support the throne
as a relief from the strained seriousness of the rest of the picture
(A. H. Macmurdo in Century Guild Hobby Horse, i. 21-28).
The picture, signed by the painter, was an altar-front in the church of
Santa Margherita at Arezzo. It is painted in tempera on linen cloth
attached to wood, and even in Vasari's day its preservation was deemed
remarkable. "It comprises," he says, "many small figures, of better
manner than those of larger size, designed with more grace and finished
with greater delicacy; and this work deserves consideration, not
only because the little figures are so carefully done that they look
like miniatures, but also for the extraordinary fact that a picture
on canvas should have continued in such good preservation during 300
years" (i. 89).
Cimabue (Florentine: 1240-1302).
Giovanni Cenni, called Cimabue, has been called the "Father of
Modern Painting." He imitated the Byzantine style, says Vasari,
but "improved the art and relieved it greatly from its uncouth
manner." He did not entirely free himself from the dismal
formalism of his predecessors, but he infused new life into
the old traditional types. A contemporary of his was Niccola
Pisano, whose work in the allied art of sculpture shows a more
marked advance, and who perhaps really gave the new impulse
which art received at this period—an impulse carried on in the
field of painting by Cimabue's pupil, Giotto. Niccola Pisano,
says Ruskin, "is the Master of Naturalism in Italy,—therefore
elsewhere: of Naturalism and all that follows" (Val d'Arno, §
16). Well-authenticated pictures by Cimabue are the Madonna panel
with angels in the Academy at Florence (formerly in the church
of SS. Trinita), and the colossal Madonna still in the Rucellai
chapel in S. Maria Novella. The latter is the picture of which
the well-known story, referred to below, is told. Our picture,
which is also mentioned by Vasari, was originally attached to a
pilaster in the choir of S. Croce.[149] Cimabue also executed some
of the frescoes in the Upper Church at Assisi: and at the time of
his death was occupied on the mosaics in the tribune of the Duomo
at Pisa. Copies of Cimabue's frescoes may be seen in the Arundel
Society's Collection.
The changes which Cimabue introduced into the art of painting were
twofold. In the first place, his pictures show an increase of
pictorial skill. This picture has suffered much from time. Thus in the
Madonna's face, which was originally laid in green and painted over
thinly, time and restorations have removed this over-painting, and left
the green exposed (see also Duccio's 566). The green and purple of her
dress also have changed into a dusky tone; but even so, the advance
in pictorial skill may be seen in the shading of the colours, and the
attempt to represent the light and dark masses of the drapery, whereas
in earlier pictures the painters had been content with flat tints. But
the advance made by Cimabue was even more in spirit than in technical
skill. He combined the contemplation of the South with the action of
the North. He gave the populace of his day something to look at—and
something to love. "Is she not beautiful," asks a critic before this
picture, "in simplicity and solemn majesty? Is she not a real mother
with a half sad and foreboding wistful look that goes straight to the
heart?" Cimabue's Madonna is still a Mater Dolorosa—"our Lady of
Pain," but there is an attempt alike in her and in the child, and in
the attendant angels, to substitute for the conventional image of an
ideal personage the representation of real humanity. It was this
change that explains the story told of one of Cimabue's works, that
it was carried in glad procession, with the sound of trumpets, from
his house to the church, and that the place was ever afterwards called
"Borgo Allegro" (the joyful quarter)—a name which it bears to this
day. "This delight was not merely in the revelation of an art they
had not known how to practise; it was delight in the revelation of a
Madonna whom they had not known how to love" (Mornings in Florence,
ii. 48). In telling this story, Vasari adds that "they had not seen
anything better"; the rudeness and quaintness which are all that at
first sight are now discernible would then, it must be remembered, have
been unseen. We may recall the poet's protest against those who,
Because of some stiff draperies and loose joints,
Gaze scorn down from the heights of Raffaelhood
On Cimabue's picture.
Mrs. Browning: Casa Guidi Windows.
Duccio (Sienese: about 1260-1340).
Duccio, the son of Buoninsegna, did much the same for the
Sienese School as Cimabue and Giotto did for the Florentine.
He was the first, that is to say, who, forsaking partly the
conventional manner of the Byzantine School, endeavoured to
give some resemblance to nature, and in religious subjects to
bring down heaven to earth. "He retained the ancient formulas,
destroying, however, their formalism by the inspiration of new
life." The development of Sienese art under his influence was
parallel to, yet distinct from, that in Florence. "His feeling
is quite distinct; his pure, sweet, transparent colouring is
his own; his type of beauty more graceful and more classical,
and he loved more gentle curves, more oval faces and longer
limbs. In these things he followed his own temperament, and by
so doing determined the characteristics of the Sienese School"
(Monkhouse: In the National Gallery, p. 17). In 1285 Duccio was
commissioned to paint a large Madonna for the church of S. Maria
Novella at Florence. In 1308 he began the execution of his Maestà
for the cathedral of Siena, of which some portions are now in
the transept and others in the Opera del Duomo. The revelation
that Duccio made of the new power of art was received, as was
Cimabue's, with rapturous applause, and a portion of the famous
picture just referred to was in 1310 carried in procession on
a beautiful day in June to the Cathedral amidst the ringing of
bells and the sounding of trumpets; the magistrates, clergy, and
religious orders escorting it, followed by a multitude of citizens
with their wives and families, praying as they went: the shops
were closed and alms distributed to the poor. For that masterpiece
Duccio received 16 soldi (8d.) the working day, paid to him in
monthly instalments. The city, however, found him his materials,
which, owing to the quantity of gold used (see 1139), raised the
whole cost to 3000 gold florins. Works by Duccio are a speciality
of the National Gallery, which has four of them to show, 566,
1139, 1140, and 1330. The present picture is the most important,
and best illustrates the new departure made by Duccio.
The young Christ, for instance, instead of being depicted in the act
of priestly benediction (as in 564), is shown as a true babe, drawing
aside the veil that hides his Mother's face. In this little incident
one may thus see the tendency which was to lead to the representation
of the Mother and Child as a Holy Family (the spectator must have
"charity of imagination" to ignore the green hue of the Madonna's
face, for reasons stated under 565). "A conception like this of the
Infant Saviour is not met with, so far as I know, in the whole range
of Byzantine art from the fifth century onwards. The relation of the
Child to his mother, as here represented, the gesture of childlike
love, contrasting with the expression of melancholy in her face,
which, perhaps, constitutes the principal charm of the picture—is
an innovation. This motive does not occur in the work of Niccola
Pisano, the great sculptor who had executed a famous work in the
cathedral of Siena some twenty years previously. We find it, however,
in contemporary Gothic sculpture of France; a very characteristic
example is in the South Kensington Museum, a charming little ivory of
the Madonna standing with the Child in her arms" (Richter's Lectures
on the National Gallery, p. 18). Above are seen the prophets, headed
by David their king, while on either side St. Catherine[150] and St
Dominic adore the vision of the mother of God. The Byzantine influence,
on the other hand, may be seen in the Greek type of feature and long,
slender fingers.
Segna di Buonaventura (Sienese: painted 1305-1326).
A ghastly and conventional work by one of the early Sienese painters—a
pupil of Duccio.
School of Giotto (Giotto: 1266-1336).
See also (p. xix)
Giotto di Bondone—great alike as a painter, a sculptor, and an
architect—was the son of a shepherd in the country near Florence.
One day when he was drawing a ram of his father's flock with a
stone upon a smooth piece of rock, Cimabue (see 565) happened to
be passing by, and, seeing the lad's natural bent, carried him
off to be a painter. Cimabue taught him all he knew, and in time
the pupil eclipsed his master. Dante mentions this as an instance
of the vanity of Fame: "Cimabue thought to hold the field in
painting, but now Giotto has the cry." But another poet holds
That Cimabue smiled upon the lad
At the first stroke which passed what he could do,
Or else his Virgin's smile had never had
Such sweetness in't. All great men who foreknew
Their heirs in art, for art's sake have been glad.
Mrs. Browning: Casa Guidi Windows.
The earliest examples of his work extant are the frescoes forming
the lower range in the Upper Church at Assisi. His frescoes of
the virtues in the Lower Church are believed to belong to a later
period. So great was his fame that in 1298 he was sent for to
do some work for the Pope. It was for him that Giotto sent as
his testimonial the famous circle drawn with a brush, without
compasses. "You may judge my masterhood of craft," Giotto tells
us, "by seeing that I can draw a circle unerringly." (Hence the
saying, "rounder than the O of Giotto.") After a short time in
Rome, Giotto returned to Florence and painted the chapel of
the Podestà, or Bargello, of Florence, which was rescued from
destruction in 1841. Some of Giotto's work in it was restored.
Here is his famous portrait of Dante (traced previous to
restoration and published by the Arundel Society). To a later
period belong his frescoes in the church of Santa Croce. In 1303
Giotto was called to decorate the walls of the chapel of the
Annunziata dell' Arena at Padua. This he did with a series of
compositions which are the greatest monument of his genius. It
was during the execution of this work that Dante visited Padua,
being entertained by his friend the painter. "Thus went Giotto, a
serene labourer, throughout the length and breadth of Italy. He
engaged himself in other tasks at Ferrara, Verona, and Ravenna,
and at last at Avignon, where he became acquainted with Petrarch.
Then passed rapidly through Florence and Orvieto on his way to
Naples, where he received the kindest welcome from the good King
Robert. The King, ever partial to men of mind and genius, took
especial delight in Giotto's society; and Giotto (says Vasari),
who had ever his repartee ready, held him fascinated at once with
the magic of his pencil and pleasantry of his tongue. Returning to
Florence, Giotto was appointed chief master of the works of the
Duomo then in progress. He designed the Campanile, modelled the
bas-relief for the base of the building, and sculptured two of
them with his own hand. He died full of honour and at the zenith
of his strength. He was buried in the cathedral, at the angle
nearest his campanile; and thus the tower, which is the chief
grace of his native city, may be regarded as his own sepulchral
monument." Only those who have seen Giotto's wall paintings at
Assisi, Padua, and Florence can form any true conception of his
greatness. It is pointed out below in what respects his work was
remarkable and important for his time. It has also an abiding
value in itself. "In nine cases out of ten," says Ruskin, "the
first expression of an idea is the most valuable: the idea may
afterwards be polished and softened, and made more attractive to
the general eye; but the first expression of it has a freshness
and brightness, like the flash of a native crystal compared to
the lustre of glass that has been melted and cut. Giotto was not,
indeed, one of the most accomplished painters, but he was one of
the greatest men who ever lived. He was the first master of his
time, in architecture as well as in painting; he was the friend of
Dante, and the undisputed interpreter of religious truth, by means
of painting, over the whole of Italy. The works of such a man may
not be the best to set before children in order to teach them
drawing; but they assuredly should be studied with the greatest
care by all who are interested in the history of the human mind"
(Giotto and his Works in Padua). Copies of many of his works are
in the Arundel Society's Collection.
It was Cimabue who first attempted to represent action as well as
contemplation. Giotto went farther, and represented the action of
daily life. "Cimabue magnified the Maid; and Florence rejoiced in
her Queen. But it was left for Giotto to make the queenship better
beloved, in its sweet humiliation." This picture is not by the master
himself, but it is characteristic—in its greater naturalness and
resemblance to human life—of Giotto's work. Cimabue's picture (565)
is felt in a moment to be archaic beside it. Giotto is thus the first
painter of domestic life—the "reconciler of the domestic with the
monastic ideal, of household wisdom, labour of love, toil upon earth
according to the law of Heaven, with revelation in cave or island,
with the endurance of desolate and loveless days, with the repose of
folded hands that wait Heaven's time." The corresponding development in
the direction of greater naturalness which Giotto—himself a country
lad brought up amongst the hills and fields—introduced in the art of
landscape painting cannot, unfortunately, be illustrated from the
National Gallery (see on this point Edinburgh Lectures on Architecture
and Painting, ch. iii.). But a third development—the introduction,
namely, of portraiture—is well seen in the Heads of St. John and St.
Paul (276), a work in which Giotto's influence is very marked. There
is no longer a mere adoption of conventional types: these apostles
are individual portraits. "Before Cimabue, no beautiful rendering of
human form was possible; and the rude or formal types of the Lombard
and Byzantine, though they would serve in the tumult of the chase,
or as the recognised symbols of creed, could not represent personal
and domestic character. Faces with goggling eyes and rigid lips might
be endured, with ready help of imagination, for gods, angels, saints,
or hunters—or for anybody else in scenes of recognised legend; but
would not serve for pleasant portraiture of one's own self, or of the
incidents of gentle, actual life. And even Cimabue did not venture
to leave the sphere of conventionally reverenced dignity. He still
painted—though beautifully—only the Madonna, and the St. Joseph,
and the Christ. These he made living—Florence asked no more: and
'Credette Cimabue nella pintura tener lo campo.' But Giotto came from
the field; and saw with his simple eyes a lowlier worth. And he painted
the Madonna, and St. Joseph, and the Christ,—yes, by all means, if you
choose to call them so, but essentially,—Mamma, Papa, and the Baby.
And all Italy threw up its cap—'ora ha Giotto il grido' (now Giotto
has the cry)." A fourth development which the art of painting owes to
Giotto may be well seen in this picture. Notice the pretty passages of
colour, as, for instance, in the dresses of the angels. "The Greeks
had painted anything anyhow,—gods black, horses red, lips and cheeks
white; and when the Etruscan vase expanded into a Cimabue picture, or a
Tafi mosaic, still—except that the Madonna was to have a blue dress,
and everything else as much gold on it as could be managed—there was
very little advance in notions of colour. Suddenly Giotto threw aside
all the glitter, and all the conventionalism; and declared that he
saw the sky blue, the tablecloth white, and angels, when he dreamed
of them, rosy. And he simply founded the schools of colour in Italy"
(Mornings in Florence, pt. ii.).
Orcagna (Florentine: about 1308-1386).
"From the time of Giotto to the end of the 14th century Orcagna
stands quite pre-eminent even among the many excellent artists
of that time. In sculpture he was a pupil of Andrea Pisano; in
painting, though indirectly, a disciple of Giotto. Few artists
have practised with such success so many branches of the arts.
Orcagna was not only a painter and a sculptor, but also a
worker in mosaic, an architect and a poet. His importance in
the history of Italian art rests not merely on his numerous and
beautiful productions, but also on his widespread influence,
transmitted to his successors through a large and carefully
trained school of pupils. In style as a painter Orcagna comes
midway between Giotto and Fra Angelico; he combined the dramatic
force and realistic vigour of the earlier painting with the pure
brilliant colour and refined unearthly beauty of Fra Angelico.
His large fresco paintings are works of extreme decorative
beauty and splendour, composed with careful reference to their
architectural surroundings" (Middleton). His real name was Andrea
di Cione, but he was called by his contemporaries Orcagna, a
corruption of Arcagnuolo, the Archangel. "An intense solemnity
and energy in the sublimest groups of his figures, fading away
as he touches inferior subjects, indicates that his home was
among the archangels, and his rank among the first of the sons
of men" (Modern Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. iii. § 8).
Orcagna's father was a goldsmith, and the result of his early
training in the use of the precious metals may be traced in the
extreme delicacy and refined detail of his principal works in
sculpture. He used to note his union of the arts by signing his
pictures "the work of ... sculptor," and his sculptures "the
work of ... painter." As a sculptor and architect, the principal
work of Orcagna is the church of Or San Michele at Florence.
The great marble tabernacle is "one of the most important and
beautiful works of art which even Italy possesses." Vasari also
attributes to his design the Loggia dei Lanzi in the Piazza della
Signoria, but this attribution cannot be upheld. As a painter,
the chief works of Orcagna are the frescoes in the Strozzi chapel
in S. Maria Novella. The "Paradise" is the finest of these
compositions—a work full both of grace and of majesty. These
frescoes were executed in 1350. In 1357 Orcagna painted the
altar-piece in the same chapel, and of about the same date is the
altar-piece now before us. The grand frescoes in the Campo Santo
at Pisa ascribed by Vasari to Orcagna are now attributed to other
hands.
"In San Piero Maggiore," says Vasari in his life of Orcagna, "he
executed a rather large picture, the 'Coronation of the Virgin.'" This
is the picture now before us. The principal portion is numbered 569.
The other nine pictures (570-578) were originally portions of the
same magnificent piece of decoration. A model of the church for which
it was painted is held by St. Peter (among the saints adoring on the
spectator's left). This altar-piece, though a handsome piece of church
furniture, is not so favourable a specimen of the master's power as
are the works referred to above. Nevertheless these panels are full of
varied interest.
A certain quaint uncouthness should not blind us to Orcagna's wealth
of expressive detail. Thus, "in the sensitive cast of the Mother's
countenance, and in the refined pose of her figure, there is a rare
degree of eloquence, such as silently bespeaks a modesty which would
shun, a humility which would disallow, any sort of self-adornment.
Her Lord, to whose will she submits herself, is no less monumental in
dignity of combined power and tenderness. And in the celestial band
below, in the maidens that play and sing at the Mother's feet, despite
their quaint little almond eyes, there is a naïveté of expression, a
simplicity and animation unequalled at so early a date. In particular
she who, singing behind the harpist, generously spends her soul in
impassioned songs, while others, agreeable to nature's truth, are
singing regardless of their song, interested only in what is around.
Again, in that dual company of holy men and women sitting about the
throne, reverence stills every feature, and a saintly singleness of
purpose keeps each eye as they look in loving adoration on Him whose
dying bought their soul's salvation, or as they lean towards Her
whose human heart petitioned them to Paradise" (A. H. Macmurdo in
Century Guild Hobby Horse, ii. 34). In the Hobby Horse (a different
publication, No. 1, 1893), a musical expert calls attention to the
instruments shown by Orcagna. Thus "in the central compartment note the
portative organ, at that time in familiar use, with its gimlet-shaped
keys all of one light colour, and apparently, even in that early date,
chromatic in disposition. Five large drone pipes may be recognised,
from their being out of scale with the melody pipes. The second
instrument in the angelic band is the mediæval harp, the comb holding
the wrest, or tuning, pins being held here in an animal's mouth. A
third angel is furnished with a cither, also a favourite mediæval
instrument. It is ornamented in ebony and ivory, and has a plectrum
guard inserted in the belly, as in a modern mandoline. The fourth angel
has a viol of a clumsy form; it took another 200 years to arrive at the
graceful outline of the violin. The fifth has a psaltery. One angel has
a bagpipe; the chaunter or melody pipe has eight holes, the same number
the highland bagpipe has now." Variations of these instruments may be
noted in the subordinate pictures (A. J. Hipkins). An expert in another
art calls attention to the beauty of the patterns on the dresses of the
central figures, on the ground upon which the angels kneel and stand,
and also on the stuff hung at the back of the throne (Sydney Vacher:
Italian Ornaments from brocades and stuffs found in pictures in the
National Gallery).
Orcagna (part of the altar-piece, 569).
One may notice here one of Orcagna's limitations. "He was unable to
draw the nude. On this inability followed a coldness to the value of
flowing lines, and to the power of unity in composition; neither could
he indicate motion or buoyancy in flying or floating figures" (On the
Old Road, i. § 78). Compare especially the flying angels in the two
little pictures 571 and 572, with such figures as those by Botticelli
(1034), and it will be seen at once how inferior Orcagna's knowledge
was.
Orcagna (part of the altar-piece, 569).
These panels are very rude and "conventional": nothing can be more
absurd, for instance, than the sleeping sheep and shepherds at the
top of the Nativity; but they are interesting, if only by comparison
with later pictures of the same subjects. Such a comparison shows
how constant the traditional ways of representing these events were,
and how individual choice was shown in beautifying the traditions.
From this point of view the Nativity is specially interesting. "This
beautiful little picture," says Mr. Hodgson, R.A., "is a good example
of the simplest and most perfectly symbolical treatment of the subject.
In design and composition the painter has thought only how to convey
the story with the utmost clearness and simplicity. It is what it was
intended to be, a Scripture story made visible to those who could not
read. Naturalism, i.e. the actual representation of the aspect of
nature, is not thought of, no more at least than was necessary to make
the meaning of the painted symbol equivalent to that of the word: rock
for rock, ox for ox, and ass for ass. The degree of naturalism aimed
at in such scenes can be tested pretty accurately by the treatment of
the nimbus. A flat circular expanse of gold inserted into a picture
must necessarily be destructive of all illusion—it is treated as
a symbol, a thing non-existent, but as a necessary traditional
observance. When naturalism was aimed at, the nimbus was looked upon
as an actual existing corona of golden light which the saint carried
about with him, and it was drawn in perspective, according to the
turn of his head" (Magazine of Art, 1890, p. 39). Turn next to the
Nativity by Piero della Francesca (908)—a picture painted 100 years
later. The symbolism is already mixed up with some conscious striving
after objects beautiful in themselves. To a generation later still
belongs Botticelli's "Nativity" (1034). It is full, as we shall see,
of doctrinal symbolism, but it strikes the imagination also by the
pomp and pageantry of the angelic host, and appeals to the senses by
its flowing lines and gorgeous colourings. Yet in all these pictures
of the Nativity there are certain fixed elements. One feature never
absent is the introduction of the ox and the ass, suggested by a text
from Habakkuk, iii. 4, "He shall lie down between the ox and the ass."
A second point is that Joseph "sits apart, apparently weary or in
meditation. Great care seems to have been taken to suggest that he in
a certain sense held aloof, and was no participator in the interest
of the scene; it was feared, perhaps, that were he to exhibit joy and
surprise, it might convey the idea of paternity; he is always a mere
impassive spectator." The scene of the Nativity is in the earliest
pictures always represented as a cavern; a grotto at Bethlehem is to
this day revered as the actual spot. In Margaritone's picture (564)
we have a bare cave in the rock. In Orcagna's the cave remains, but a
wooden portico or shed is added to shelter the Virgin and her Child.
Next the cave disappears altogether, but the shed remains (e.g. 908,
1034).
The Adoration of the Magi (574) was a favourite subject with the
Italian painters, for the three kings and their attendants gave them an
excuse for the most elaborate and picturesque detail. In the picture
before us Orcagna was restricted by the size and shape of the panel;
but even making the necessary allowances on this score, we see that we
have here a relatively simple treatment of the theme. Orcagna finds
room, however, for "a perfect menagerie. There are the sheep, with a
howling dog above; and below, an evil, badger-like dog, evidently much
ashamed of himself and his deeds, is sneaking along into a hole in the
rock. As for the amiable ox sitting upon his haunches, with his tail
turned round like a cat's, and the shy ass, showing the whites of his
eye: are they not delightful beauties?" (The Beasts of the National
Gallery, by Sophia Beale, in Good Words, July 1895). For the rest,
Orcagna's "Adoration" is limited to the necessary characters. By way
of contrast, look at Filippino Lippi's (1033), in which some seventy
figures are introduced, and the whole picture is alive with gay
colours and picturesque incident. Other representations of the same
subject in our Gallery are by Fra Angelico (582), Foppa (729), Dossi
(640), Peruzzi (167), and Veronese (268). A study of similarities and
differences in these various examples will disclose an immense number
of coincidences. The type survives, but each feature is the subject of
elaborate variations.
Orcagna (part of the altar-piece, 569).
Mary Magdalen, Mary the mother of James, and Salome stand beside the
vacant tomb (Mark xvi. 1); on the opposite side are two angels: "he
is risen, he is not here, behold the place where they laid him." This
subject, common with the earliest painters, is afterwards seldom met
with.
Orcagna (part of the altar-piece, 569).
This was a subject in which Giotto made a new departure. None of the
Byzantine or earliest Italian painters ventured to introduce the entire
figure of Christ in this scene. They showed the feet only, concealing
the body; according to the text, "a cloud received Him out of their
sight." This form of representation may be seen in some manuscripts in
the British Museum. In the Arena at Padua, Giotto broke away from this
tradition and introduced the entire figure of Christ; succeeding also
in conveying the idea of ascending motion very skilfully. Orcagna's
picture is modelled on the new type fixed by Giotto.
Orcagna (part of the altar-piece, 569).
The descent of the Holy Spirit is represented above; and below, the
multitude confounded, every man hearing his own language.
School of Taddeo Gaddi (Florentine: 1300-1366). See 215.
See also (p. xix)
In the centre is John the Baptist, baptizing Christ; on the left St.
Peter, on the right St. Paul. In the pictures for the predella
(the step on the top of the altar, thus forming the base of the
altar-piece) is a saint at either end; and then, on the left, (1) the
angel announcing the Baptist's birth, (2) his birth, (3) his death,
(4) Herod's feast, and (5) Herodias with John the Baptist's head in a
charger. The picture must have been the work of an inferior scholar;
but it is interesting to notice that this attempt to tell a consecutive
story in his picture, as in an epic poem, instead of a fastening on
some one turning-point in it, as in a drama, is characteristic of
early art (see under 1188). Notice further in the central picture "how
designedly the fish in the water are arranged: not in groups, as chance
might rule in the actual stream, but in ordered procession. All great
artists ... have shown this especial delight in ordering the relations
of self-set details" (A. H. Macmurdo in Century Guild Hobby Horse, i.
71).
School of Taddeo Gaddi (Florentine: 1300-1366). See 215.
See also (p. xix)
These three panels formed the cuspidi of the Baptism of Christ (579).
In the centre is the Almighty, on the left the Virgin, on the right
Isaiah, holding a scroll with the words (in Latin), "Behold a virgin
shall conceive."
Jacopo Landini (Florentine: about 1310-1390).
Jacopo Landini was born at Prato Vecchio, in the Casentino; whence
his common designation, Jacopo da Casentino. This picture was
formerly in the Church of St. John at the painter's native place.
He was a pupil of Taddeo Gaddi, and the master of Spinello Aretino.
Another of the altar-pieces (cf. 579, above), which aimed at giving
the whole story of some subject, and thus recall the time when sacred
pictures were (as it has been put) a kind of "Scripture Graphic."
In the predella pictures (580b) are, on the left, (1) St. John
distributing alms and baptizing, (2) his vision of Revelation in the
island of Patmos, (3) his escape from the cauldron of boiling oil;
and then, as the subject of the principal picture, his ascension to
heaven, for, "according to the Greek legend, St. John died without
pain or change, and immediately rose again in bodily form and ascended
into heaven to rejoin Christ and the Virgin." In the central picture,
Mr. Gilbert finds "a glimpse of true landscape feeling in the brown
platform of rock, carefully gradated in aerial perspective, in the
colouring, coarse though it be, and especially in the long dark
sea-line beyond" (Landscape in Art, p. 184). In the other small
pictures and in the pilasters are various saints, and immediately over
the central picture are (1) the gates of hell cast down, (2) Christ
risen from the dead, (3) the donor of the picture and his family, being
presented by the two St. Johns. Of the cuspidi, or upper pictures
(580a), the centre piece is a symbolic representation of the Trinity
(seen best on a large scale in 727); at the sides are the Virgin and
the Angel of the Annunciation, divided as explained under 1139.
Spinello Aretino (Tuscan: about 1333-1410).
See also (p. xix)
Spinello di Luca Spinelli is commonly called Spinello Aretino,
from Arezzo, his native town. As is the case with most of the
early Tuscan painters, he is seen to greater advantage in his
frescoes than in his panel pictures. Some fragments of frescoes
by him are in our Gallery (1216). Important frescoes may be seen
in the sacristy of S. Miniato above Florence (the life of St.
Benedict); in the Campo Santo at Pisa (the histories of SS. Efeso
and Potito); and in the Palazzo Pubblico at Siena (scenes in the
life of Pope Alexander III.). Spinello "represents the spirit of
Giotto at the close of the fourteenth century better than any
other painter of the time." He belonged to a family of goldsmiths.
It is interesting to note on an altar-piece executed by him for
Monte Oliveto (now in the Gallery of Siena), that the names of the
carver and gilder of the frame are inscribed as conspicuously as
that of Spinello the painter of the picture. He was the pupil of
Jacopo di Casentino.
Certainly not an adequate, and perhaps not an authentic, specimen
of the master. The saints are St. John the Baptist, St. John the
Evangelist, and St. James the Greater.
Fra Angelico (Florentine: 1387-1455). See 663.
For the subject see notes on No. 574. Angelico's picture is remarkable
for the picturesque and sparkling costumes. "The art of Angelico,"
says Ruskin, "both as a colourist and a draughtsman, is consummate; so
perfect and beautiful, that his work may be recognised at any distance
by the rainbow play and brilliancy of it. However closely it may be
surrounded by other works of the same school, glowing with enamel and
gold, Angelico's may be told from them at a glance, like so many pieces
of opal lying among common marbles" (Stones of Venice, vol. i. app.
15).
Paolo Uccello (Florentine: 1397-1475).
This painter was originally brought up as a goldsmith, and was
one of the assistants of Lorenzo Ghiberti in preparing the first
pair of the celebrated gates of the Baptistery. It is doubtful
with whom he learnt to paint. He introduced new enthusiasms and
interests into the art, as explained below in the notes on this
picture. The majority of his works have perished. He was employed
principally in Florence, where frescoes by him may be seen in one
of the cloisters of S. Maria Novella. At Padua he also executed
some works which are said by Vasari to have been greatly admired
by Andrea Mantegna. Other works by him are referred to below. The
present picture is, however, the most attractive of his extant
productions. He seems to have been a man of original character,
and Vasari's life of him is very good reading. The biographer's
statement about his poverty seems to be exaggerated, for documents
exist showing that he lived in a house which he had purchased.
A picture of great interest in itself, both from a technical and from
a moral point of view, and also deserving of note in the history of
painting. (1) It shows the beginning of scientific "perspective"
(i.e. the science of representing the form and dimensions of things
as they really look, instead of as we conceive them by touch or
measurement to be); the painter is pleased with the new discovery,
and sets himself, as it were, the hardest problem in perspective
he can find. Note the "foreshortening" of the figure on the ground
(objects are said to be "foreshortened" when viewed so that we see
their breadth, and not their length—for example, the leg of Titian's
Ganymede in No. 32). So devoted was Paolo to his science that he became
(says Vasari) more needy than famous. His wife used to complain to her
friends that he sat up all night studying, and that the only answer she
ever got to her remonstrances was, "What a delightful thing is this
perspective!" The sculptor Donatello is also said to have remonstrated
with our painter: "Ah, Paolo, with this perspective of thine, thou
art leaving the substance for the shadow." Paolo was fond, too, of
geometry, which he read with Manetti. He had another and a softer
passion: he was so fond of birds that he was called Paul of the Birds
("Uccelli"—his family name being Paolo di Dono), and he had numbers
of painted birds, cats, and dogs in his house, being too poor to keep
the living creatures. (2) This picture is remarkable, secondly, as the
earliest Italian work in the Gallery containing portraits, and the
first which endeavours to represent a contemporary event.
Our picture has hitherto been supposed to represent the battle of
Sant' Egidio (1417) in which Carlo Malatesta and his nephew Galeazzo
were taken prisoners by Braccio di Montone, lord of Perugia. Other
battle-pieces belonging to the same series are in the Uffizi and the
Louvre respectively; and it has been shown by Mr. Herbert P. Horne
(Monthly Review, October, 1901) that these are the three pictures
of the "Rout of San Romano," painted by Uccello for the palace of
Cosimo de' Medici, as described in an inventory of 1492. The principal
figure is Niccolo Maurucci da Tolentino, the leader of the Florentine
forces, directing the attack against the Sienese at San Romano in 1432.
"He is represented on horseback fully armed, except for his helmet,
with the baton of command in his right hand. He wears on his head a
rich cappuccio, or head-dress, of gold and purple damask; while his
bascinet, covered with purple velvet, is carried by his helmet-bearer,
who rides by his side [the 'young Malatesta' of previous descriptions].
Above the figure of Tolentino waves his standard powdered with his
impress, the 'groppo di Salomone,' a knot of curious and intricate
form, in a white field." The impress may be seen again, as Mr. Horne
points out, in the memorial portrait of Tolentino by Andrea del
Castagno in the Cathedral of Florence.
From the moral point of view, we may see in this picture, says Ruskin,
what a gentleman's view of war is, as distinguished from a boor's,
with mean passion and low fury on every face. "Look at the young
Malatesta,[151] riding into the battle of Sant' Egidio. His uncle
Carlo, the leader of the army, a grave man of about sixty, has just
given orders for the knights to close: two have pushed forward with
lowered lances, and the mêlée has begun only a few yards in front;
but the young knight, riding at his uncle's side, has not put his
helmet on, nor intends doing so yet. Erect he sits, and quiet, waiting
for his captain's order to charge; calm as if he were at a hawking
party, only more grave; his golden hair wreathed about his proud white
brow, as about a statue's" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch.
viii. § 9). Another point to notice is the type this picture affords
of "the neglect of the perfectness of the earth's beauty, by reason of
the passions of men. The armies meet on a country road beside a hedge
of wild roses; the tender red flowers tossing above their helmets, and
glowing between the lowered lances." In like manner, adds Ruskin, in
the Middle Ages, when men lived for safety in walled cities, "the whole
of Nature only shone for man between the tossing of helmet-crests; and
sometimes I cannot but think of the trees of the earth as capable of a
kind of sorrow, in that imperfect life of theirs, as they opened their
innocent leaves in the warm spring-time, in vain for men; and all along
the dells of England her beeches cast their dappled shade only where
the outlaw drew his bow, and the king rode his careless chase" (Modern
Painters, vol. v. pt. vi. ch. i. § 6).
Umbrian School (15th century).
See also (p. xix)
This picture has been dethroned by Sir Edward Poynter from the high
estate which it occupied in the catalogues of former directors, wherein
it figured as a portrait by Piero della Francesca (see 665) of Isotta
di Rimini, the wife of Sigismondo Malatesta. Our portrait "bears little
resemblance," says the official catalogue, "to the well-known medallion
portraits of that lady by Matteo de' Pasti." It is, says Dr. Richter,
"an indifferent production, inferior to the master in outline, as well
as in the execution of the ornamental parts. It may have been done
by any forgotten painter of the time" (Italian Art in the National
Gallery, p. 17). "The curious stippled execution has little or nothing
in common with the subtle technique of Piero" (Claude Phillips in the
Academy, September 28, 1889). It is, however, interesting for its
study of fashions of the time. Notice the high forehead and the sleeves
and ornaments of the lady's gown.
Zenobio Macchiavelli (Florentine: 1418-1479).
This picture was formerly ascribed to Fra Filippo Lippi. It is now
given to Macchiavelli, who was a pupil of Benozzo Gozzoli, and
perhaps also of Lippi. A signed altar-piece by this painter is in
the Museo Civico at Pisa; another is in the Louvre; and a third
is in the National Gallery of Ireland. The latter is "a picture
of singular interest," says the catalogue, "proving this master
to have been one of the first of his time; full of delicacy and
refinement of feeling, and the heads beautifully drawn."
Madonna and her babe,
Ringed by a bowery, flowery angel-brood
Lilies and vestments and white faces.
Browning: Fra Lippo Lippi.
A characteristic production of a school which, "orderly and obedient
itself, understood the law of order in all things, which is the
chief distinction between art and rudeness. And the first aim of
every great painter is to express clearly his obedience to the law
of Kosmos, Order, or Symmetry" (Fors Clavigera, 1876, p. 292).
The four angel-faces on one side of the Madonna are matched by four
on the other; the bishop and black monk on one side-compartment, by
the saint and black nun on the other. Similarly at the foot of the
throne the two angels are arranged symmetrically, one facing one way,
the other the other. "You will at first be pained by the decision of
line, and, in the children at least, uncomeliness of feature, which
are characteristic, the first, of purely descended Etruscan work; the
second, of the Florentine School headed afterwards by Donatello. But
it is absolutely necessary, for right progress in knowledge, that you
begin by observing and tracing decisive lines; and that you consider
dignity and simplicity of expression more than beauty of feature"
(Fors Clavigera, 1875, p. 308).
Fra Filippo Lippi (Florentine: about 1406-1469). See 666.
Combined with Lippi's realism of representation, "there is also an
unusually mystic spiritualism of conception. Nearly all the Madonnas,
even of the most strictly devotional schools, themselves support the
child, either on their knees or in their arms. But here the Christ is
miraculously borne by an angel" (Fors Clavigera, 1875, p. 308).
Marco Zoppo (Bolognese; painted 1471-1498).
This unattractive painter was born in Bologna, and became a pupil
in the school of Squarcione at Padua. His work shows also the
influence of Cosimo Tura at Florence.
It is interesting to compare the various representations of the Dead
Christ, or Pietà, which may be seen in the National Gallery. The
subject, it may first be noted, was treated in very different ways.
"Convention did not early harden down into fixity of composition or
crystallise into rigid forms. A certain plasticity of imagination was
permitted from the beginning; a certain indefiniteness of nomenclature
and scope remained habitual to the end" (Grant Allen: see also Mrs.
Jameson's History of our Lord, ii. 226). Sometimes the subject of
the "Pietà" is the Mater Dolorosa, weeping over the body of the dead
Saviour, and attended by saints (266, 1427) or angels (180). At other
times the dead Saviour is supported by angels only (22, 219, 602), or,
as in this picture, by saints. Sometimes the dead figure is represented
lying at full length (22, 180); at other times it is a half-figure
showing above a tomb or ledge (219, 266, 602, 590, 1427). Still more
interesting is a comparison between these pictures for the illustration
it gives of the different sentiment of different painters or schools.
The picture before us is hard and dry; that of Crivelli (602) is full
of tenderness. With some painters it is the physical horror, the bodily
distortion that appeals to them in this subject. With others it is the
pity and the sorrow (as, pre-eminently, in Francia's, 180).
Benozzo Gozzoli (Florentine: 1420-1498). See 283.
See also (p. xix)
The earliest picture in the Gallery which was painted for domestic
pleasure, not religious service. One of the earliest also in which a
classical subject is attempted. It probably formed the end of a coffer
or cassone,[152] such as were often given for wedding presents, and
was no doubt a commission to the artist for that purpose. Hence the
choice of subject (which has been variously given as the Rape of Helen
and the Rape of the Venetian Brides), and the (surely intentional)
comic extravagance of the drawing: the bridegroom takes giant's strides
in lover's eagerness, and the ships scud along with love to speed them.
The ludicrous unreality of the rocks and trees, contrasted with the
beautifully painted flowers of the foreground, is very characteristic
of the art of the time (cf. 283 and 582). Rocks, trees, and water are
all purely "conventional" still; and "the most satisfactory work of the
period is that which most resembles missal painting, that is to say,
which is fullest of beautiful flowers and animals scattered among the
landscape, in the old independent way, like the birds upon a screen.
The landscape of Benozzo Gozzoli is exquisitely rich in incident of
this kind" (Edinburgh Lectures on Architecture and Painting, ch.
iii.).
Filippino Lippi[153] (Florentine: 1457-1504).
See 293.
See also (p. xix)
This picture, with its immense retinue of followers, is "full of life
and swarms with incident and expression, from the dignified gravity of
St. Joseph to the fantastic humour of the dwarf. No two figures are
alike, except perhaps the two shepherds who are approaching from the
right, and they are different from all the rest" (Monkhouse).
Lorenzo di Credi (Florentine: 1459-1537).
Lorenzo di Andrea Credi has been called by Morelli the Carlo Dolci
of the fifteenth century. His pictures are sweet and gentle, but
lack force or inspiration. His colouring tends towards crudeness;
his careful execution and finish are remarkable. "He was a very
careful and laborious workman, distilling his own oils and
grinding his own colours; and when he was working he would suffer
no movement to be made," says Vasari, "that would cause dust to
settle on his pictures." What Vasari adds about him may be partly
seen in this and the companion picture (648), with their bright
colouring and pretty distances: "His works were finished with so
much delicacy that every other painting looks but just sketched
and left incomplete as compared with those from his hand."
Lorenzo was the son and grandson of goldsmiths, and was placed
when quite a child under the tuition of Verocchio (296), and was
still working under him at the age of twenty-one, content with the
modest salary of one florin (about £2) a month. Like his master,
he was a sculptor as well as a painter, and Verocchio in his will
requested that Lorenzo might finish his famous statue (at Venice)
of Bartolommeo Colleoni. (The Venetians, however, gave it to
Alessandro Leopardo to finish.) Lorenzo was one of the few men who
lived through the Renaissance without swerving from the religious
traditions of earlier art, and even without being much influenced
by his fellow-pupils—though in his grave and sweet Madonnas
there is yet a suspicion of the sidelong look, half sweet, half
sinister, and of the long, oval face, which distinguish Leonardo.
He was a disciple of Savonarola, and burnt his share of pictures
in the famous bonfire. "His will bears witness to his contrition.
After having assured the future of his old woman-servant, to whom
he left his bedding and an annuity in kind; after having made
certain donations to his niece and to the daughter of a friend,
a goldsmith; he directed that the rest of his fortune should go
to the brotherhood of the indigent poor, and that his obsequies
should be as simple as possible" (Müntz: Leonardo da Vinci, i.
29). Lorenzo is not represented so well in the National Gallery as
in the Louvre and at Florence. His "Nativity" in the Florentine
Academy is perhaps his best work. Lorenzo's range was limited,
and "Holy Conversations" or "Madonnas" were his most frequent
subjects. A peculiarity of them is the large head and somewhat
puffy and clumsy forms he gives to the Infant Christ.
Emmanuel (Byzantine: about 1660).
This picture is the earliest in the Gallery (with the exception of
the Greek portraits, see 1260)—not in order of time, but in order of
artistic development. It is a genuine Byzantine picture, an example,
therefore, of the art which prevailed in Italy from the sixth century
down to about 1250, and the influence of which survived even when the
Italian painters had developed an art of their own. The Byzantine style
of painting is distinguished by its conventionality and its constancy.
It was the recognised thing that such and such a subject should be
treated in such and such a way and no other. There is a Byzantine
Manual of Painting in a manuscript of the eleventh century in which
instructions are given not only as to the subjects to be represented,
but as to the costume, age, and lineaments of the characters. An art
of this kind was naturally unchanging. This picture is probably only
200 years old, but if it had been painted 800 years ago, or if it had
been ordered only the other day from the monks of Mount Athos, little
difference of style would be perceptible. It is signed in Greek "The
hand of Emmanouel, the priest, son of John," a painter living in Venice
about the year 1660.
The picture is conventional in its choice of subject—the saints Cosmas
and Damian being one of the subjects recognised in Byzantine art.
They were martyrs of the fourth century—patron saints of medicine,
which they practised without fees—hence their title, the "holy
money-despisers." They are here receiving the Divine blessing. The
picture is conventional also in its treatment. Thus the attitude of
the hand is the recognised symbol whereby to express that a figure is
speaking. So, too, the background is formed by a golden plain, which
is meant to represent the air or the sky. The dark blue semicircle
surrounding the bust of our Saviour, above the two heads of the saints,
has more or less the form of the horizon, and is meant to represent the
heaven in which Christ dwells (Richter's Italian Art, etc., pp. 5-7).
Unknown (Venetian School: 15th-16th century).
One of the many pictures in the Gallery from which the so-called
"æsthetic" or "high art" gowns of the present day have been copied.
Formerly ascribed to Battista Zelotti, a disciple of Paul Veronese.
Marco Palmezzano (Umbrian: 1456-1537).
This painter was a fellow-countryman and pupil of Melozzo of
Forli, who studied under Piero della Francesca, and to that extent
Marco is a member of the Umbrian School. Like his master, Marco
studied geometry and perspective. He was skilful in perspective,
"but he scarcely ever ridded himself of a certain dryness and
hardness, and his draperies are in general angular in the folds,
cutting up instead of indicating the forms beneath" (Burton). His
pictures abound in Forli.
This picture, originally of a semicircular shape, was the lunette of
an altar-piece, painted in 1506 for the Cathedral of Forli, and now in
the Gallery of that town. To the spectator's right is San Mercuriale,
first bishop of Forli, holding the Guelphic banner of the church; on
the left, San Valeriano with the standard of Forli.
Francesco del Cossa (Ferrarese: about 1435-1485).
Cossa was a contemporary of Cosimo Tura (772), with whom he
exhibits close affinities of style. "But while Tura was fantastic,
and inclined to the lavish use of decoration, Cossa, with
severer views of his art, sought to give dignity and grandeur to
his figures, and kept ornamentation within its proper bounds"
(Official Catalogue). "It may be added that Cossa, though
'severer' in one sense, viz. that he saw more clearly and kept
more strictly within the true limits of fine art, had more amenity
than Tura; his decorative instinct was more refined, his sense
of grace less crude. He was also a sweeter, finer, colourist"
(Monkhouse). Cossa worked at Ferrara with other artists for Duke
Borso, and among other works he executed some of the frescoes
for the Schifanoia Palace. These have been copied by the Arundel
Society. In 1470 Cossa removed to Bologna, where his best works
are to be seen. The finest of them is the "Virgin and Child with
St. Petronius" in the Pinacoteca—"a work of singular grandeur."
"Our beautiful panel is, for its size, as characteristic and fine a
specimen of the master as exists. The painting throughout is of fine
quality, the modelling and expression of the head admirable, the colour
strong and fine, but soft withal, and the abundant detail executed
with great skill and patience, but kept in due subordination. The
strange background, with its fantastic erections, half architecture
half rock, is of less beauty, but equally characteristic of the
artist" (Monkhouse: In the National Gallery, p. 167). The picture,
once ascribed to Marco Zoppo, has been now recognised as the central
panel of an altar-piece by Cossa, of which the wings are in the Brera
at Milan, and the predella is in the Picture Gallery of the Vatican.
The Dominican represented has at various times been supposed to be
St. Dominic himself, St. Vincentius Ferrer, and St. Hyacinth. The
predella pictures are of scenes in the life of St. Hyacinth, who
therefore is probably the subject of our panel also. He was a member
of the Dominican Order (whose habit he wears), a Pole by birth, and a
missionary in Russia. St. Vincentius Ferrer was a Spaniard of Valencia,
who in 1374, at the age of 17, entered the Dominican Order, died in
1419, and was canonised in 1455.
Filippino Lippi (Florentine: 1457-1504). See 293.
St. Francis, the founder of the Franciscan Order of monks (the
Black Friars), was the great apostle of Works, whilst St. Dominic,
the founder of the Dominican Order (White Friars), was the great
apostle of Faith. It was the teaching of these two orders that
gave the impetus to the church building, from which grew the
art revival at Florence in the thirteenth century. "The gospel
of works, according to St. Francis, lay in three things. You
must work without money, and be poor. You must work without
pleasure, and be chaste. You must work according to orders, and be
obedient." And so truly did he in his own works exemplify the life
of Christ, that, according to the legend of the time, he received
also in his own person the wounds (or "stigmata") of the Crucified
One—here visible on his hands. ("Take my yoke upon you"; or "Take
up the cross and follow me.") "His reception of the 'stigmata' is,
perhaps, a marvellous instance of the power of imagination over
physical conditions; perhaps an equally marvellous instance of the
swift change of metaphor into tradition; but assuredly, and beyond
dispute, one of the most influential, significant, and instructive
traditions possessed by the Church of Christ."
The saint is here represented in glory; choirs of singing angels
encompass him; for now "the wounds of his Master are his inheritance,
the cross—sign not of triumph, but of trial, is his reward" (Mornings
in Florence, i. 8, 13; iii. 64). Inscribed on the picture below are
some lines from a Latin hymn to St. Francis, exhorting others to follow
him, and to advance as he did the standards of their king ("Let those
who depart out of Egypt follow him, and be united to him, in whom the
standards of the King come forth for us in clear light").
The floating angels recall those by Botticelli, but the pupil's work
is not here so good: these angels seem after all to be standing,
Botticelli's to be indeed floating in thin air. Lippi, too, learnt
no doubt from him the goldsmith's work, seen here in the indented
background to the picture.
Giovanni Bellini (Venetian: 1426-1516). See 189.
See also (p. xix)
A very charming little picture, marred only by a certain insipidity
in the expression of the Madonna—which contrasts markedly alike with
the pathetic type of Bellini's early Madonnas (e.g. No. 288), and
with the more stately type which he afterwards adopted (as in the
altar-piece in the Academy at Venice). "The landscape is altogether
interesting, and will well repay a long examination. The incident of
the bird and the serpent should not be missed, and the Eastern sheep
with the long ears and its stately attendant in the white burnous
should be noted as an attempt to give some Oriental character to the
scene" (Monkhouse: In the National Gallery, p. 220). "The exquisite
opaline purity of its daylight, the delicacy and finish of every
detail, the walls and towers of the little town serene in the rays of
morning, and the mountain ranges, pure and lovely in definition—all
these graces make the picture one of the joys of art" (Gilbert's
Landscape in Art, p. 330).
This picture has at different times been given several different
attributions, of which the most cautious was "School of Bellini." In
earlier editions of the Official Catalogue it was ascribed to Basaiti
(see 281); but now (1898) to Bellini. Sir Edward Poynter refers in
support of this alteration to the close resemblance of the present
picture to a signed work by Bellini in the Giovanelli Palace at
Venice, and, as regards the background, to No. 812 in our gallery.
Sir Walter Armstrong (Notes on the National Gallery, p. 24) draws
attention to the similarity in the baby's hands here and in 224, and
would ascribe both pictures to Catena. The correct settlement of
disputed points of attribution like this is highly important for the
history of painting, but meanwhile the very fact of such disputes has
a useful significance, as showing what is meant by the old "schools"
of painting. Individual peculiarities are only discovered by minutest
examinations; but beneath such differences there are in each school
similarities of treatment and conception which come from common
traditions and common teaching, and which cause critics of equal
intelligence to attribute the same pictures to different masters of the
school.
J. L. Dyckmans (Flemish: 1811-1888).
Josef Laurens Dyckmans, a pupil of Wappers, was for some time
Professor of the Academy of Painting at Antwerp.
"A blind old man is standing in the sunshine by a church door: before
him is a young girl, who is holding out her hand for alms to the
passers-by; an old lady coming from the church is feeling in her pocket
for a sou; some other figures are seen in the porch at their devotions
before a crucifix. Painted at Antwerp, signed J. Dyckmans, 1853"
(Official Catalogue). "The picture is painted in a tone of colour
exceedingly low, but the whole is worked to an extreme finish; the
heads in fact are elaborated with a care such as Denner's pictures
show. In these days of light and glowing harmonies the eye is at once
struck with the abstinence from colour which the artist has made a
cardinal principle in the execution of his work" (Art Journal, July
1864). This picture was presented by Miss Jane Clark, who paid 900
guineas for it.
Carlo Crivelli (Venetian: painted 1468-1493).
Crivelli is one of the most individual of painters, and no
collection is so rich in his works as the National Gallery. He
was a native of Venice, and his work shows marked affinities
with the school of Padua. Of his life, little is known except
that in, or shortly before, the year 1468 he settled at Ascoli
in the Marches of Ancona. In that neighbourhood he seems to have
spent the rest of his life, in the employment mainly of various
religious fraternities. He thus lived somewhat outside the
artistic world of his time, a fact which serves to explain the
rather conservative character of his art. Thus he adhered to the
tempera medium. He adhered also to the Byzantine traditions
of the old Venetian School with its fondness for the "ancona,"
or altar-piece consisting of many single figures each in its
separate compartment, and for gilt and silvered ornaments in high
relief. There is, too, a vein of affectation in his pictures which
contrasts strongly with the naturalistic tendency in contemporary
Venetian art. Owing to a little touch of vanity in the painter we
are able to date many of his pictures. For it is known that he was
knighted in 1490, and so proud was "Sir Charles" of his new honour
that he signed all subsequent pictures "Carlo Crivelli, Knight."
No. 724 is probably the first he finished after the reception
of the coveted honour. His love of accessories, and especially
of fruit, will strike every visitor; and so also will the
brilliance of his colouring and the unerring, if somewhat harsh,
exactness of his outlines. For tender pathos the present picture
is remarkable. His range was, as we shall see, somewhat limited.
He seldom attempted compositions on any large scale, and his
subject pictures are few: No. 739 is one of the best of them. He
excelled rather in single figures, and in these we find expressed,
"in quaint combination, morose asceticism, passionate and
demonstrative grief, verging on caricature, occasional grandeur of
conception and presentment, knightly dignity, feminine sweetness
and tenderness mingled with demure and far-fetched grace" (Sir
F. Burton). Up to the end of the eighteenth century Crivelli's
works were still to be found in their original places, in the
churches and convents of Eastern Italy, where they attracted
little attention. The suppression of the convents after the age of
the Revolution brought them into notice, and English collectors
purchased them in large numbers. In recent years this appreciation
has steadily increased. The large altar-piece, 788, was bought in
1868 for £3360. At the Dudley sale in 1892, the altar-piece, now
in the Berlin Museum, fetched £7350.
This little picture is part of an altar-piece formerly in a church at
Monte Fiore, near Fermo: other portions are at Brussels. The picture is
signed, but not dated; the piece of red watered silk which hangs over
the edge of the tomb is characteristic of Crivelli's earlier period.
Its prettily pathetic sentiment and brilliant tone make it one of the
painter's most attractive works. For some remarks on the subject, see
under 590.
Rosa Bonheur (French: 1822-1899).
Mdlle. Rosalie Bonheur, usually called Rosa Bonheur, the most
vigorous and spirited of French animal painters, was born at
Bordeaux. Her parents had a sharp struggle for existence. Her
mother taught music; her father—Raymond Bonheur—drawing. He
was a painter of some ability, and all the children inherited an
artistic bent. When the family removed to Paris, Rosa's precocious
talents rapidly developed. They lived next door to a tavern
which was a house of call for diligences and market-waggons,
and there she found inexhaustible material for animal studies.
Her brother, Auguste, became an animal and landscape painter of
repute; another brother, Isidore, an animal sculptor; her sister,
Juliette, who married M. Peyrol, was also a well-known painter.
In the Salon of 1848 the whole family exhibited. From the common
purse, when they were children, a goat was bought for a model,
which they used to carry up to their humble studio. Another place
of study with Rosa Bonheur was the Abattoir du Roule, "where, with
characteristic fortitude, she not only controlled her natural
repugnance to scenes of slaughter, but overcame all the disgust
which attended the 'brutalité grossière' of the people employed
there. Even at this early period she studied not only the outward
aspects and anatomical construction of the creatures she painted,
but their passions and tempers. Among the friends to whom she
always referred with grateful pleasure as helpful in these days
was Paul Delaroche, who called at the humble family quarters
on a sixth floor, and was not sparing in his admiration." Rosa
had first been apprenticed to a dressmaker, but her love of art
impelled her to give up this occupation, and she succeeded in
contributing to the family exchequer by the sale of copies made
in the Louvre. In 1841, when only 19, she exhibited two pictures
in the Salon. Her mother died in 1833, and in 1845 her father
married again; from that time forward she lived an independent
life. Her famous "Labourage Nivernais," now in the Luxembourg,
was painted in 1848. This greatly increased her reputation, and
she was able to secure for her father the post of director of the
Women's Painting School, established by the Government in Paris.
His death in the following year affected her greatly, and she did
not exhibit again until 1853, when "The Horse Fair," Le Marché
aux Chevaux, appeared. Through engravings and photographs this
work made the name of Rosa Bonheur famous throughout the world.
She visited Spain and Scotland, and painted pictures of both
those countries. Her permanent residence was an estate at By in
the forest of Fontainebleau, which she purchased in 1855. There
ten years later she was personally invested by the Emperor of the
French with the Cross of the Legion of Honour, an honour confirmed
in later years by President Carnot. A still higher compliment was
paid her in 1870-1871, when her studio and residence were spared
from any intrusion, by the special order of Prince Frederick
Charles. For many years she regularly attended horse fairs both in
France—such as she has here depicted—and abroad, adopting as a
rule men's costume in order to carry out her studies and purchases
without attracting attention. Mr. Frith relates how when he and
Sir John Millais went to lunch with her in 1858, they were met at
the station by a carriage, the coachman appearing to be a French
Abbé. "The driver wore a black broad-brimmed hat and black cloak,
long white hair with a cheery rosy face. It was Rosa Bonheur, who
lives at her château with a lady companion, and others in the
form of boars, lions, and deer, who serve as models." Gambart,
who was of the party, "repeated to her some words of praise given
by Landseer to a picture of hers, then exhibiting in London. Her
eyes filled with tears as she listened." "When one sees this
young artist," wrote a journalist in 1852, "small of stature and
of delicate appearance, standing by a huge canvas, he would be
tempted to think that her powers had not attained the full height
of their ambition; but when he comes to make note of the straight,
resolute lines of the artist's features, her full square forehead,
her thick hair, cut as short as that of a man, and her dark,
quick flashing eyes, he ceases to fear. He then realises that it
is not reckless audacity which impels her forward in her work,
but a greatness of soul and a consciousness of her strength."
"Few artistic careers," says her brother-in-law, "have been more
active, more brilliant, or more characterised by simple and quiet
dignity, or perhaps, on the whole, more happy. Having known during
her youngest days the terrible inconvenience of poverty, Rosa
Bonheur raised herself, by her talent alone, to a position of
independence and fortune. She was privileged to enjoy at the same
time the charms of fame and the sweets of obscurity." She never
abandoned the retired habits of life she loved, and she was able
to continue her studies to the end.
"The magnificent stallions with their powerful forms pass before us
at a trot, kicking up the dust under their feet. Full of life and
movement, and thoroughly imbued with realism, but of a beautiful and
noble realism. The composition is admirable, and brings out finely the
energy and spirit of the horse. The scene represents the horses as
having just reached the market, and as being in the act of falling back
to re-form for their proper places. The fine trees in the background
of the picture, under which, upon a rising ground, the dealers and
buyers take up their position, are obscured on the left by the haze,
and by the clouds of dust raised by the trotting horses; in the
background, too, at the extreme left, is seen the small dome of the
Salpêtrière. The Marché aux Chevaux of Paris was at that time situate
in the Boulevard l'Hôpital, not far from the Orleans railway; but in
consequence of changes, the market has lost the picturesque aspect it
wore in 1853. One looks in vain now for the large trees which then
shadowed it, and the bold earth, covered in places by short dusty
grass and broken up by the trampling of the horses.... A mingling of
art and truth is very obvious in 'The Horse Fair.' The irregular order
of the horses, their different movements bringing into play all their
muscles; the different spots of their coats, so disposed as to set off
one another, and furnishing at the same time a charming variety to the
eye; the powerful dappled Perche horses, which pass in the foreground
and constitute the centre of the picture, with the groups of black[154]
and white horses which rear themselves up on their hind feet—all this
shows a profoundly skilful arrangement, and results in a grand and
harmonious ensemble. Yet the first impression which this picture
gives is that of a scene taken from the life, and of intense realism.
The freedom and breadth of the execution are equal to the beauty of
the composition. The vigorous touch, and the powerful drawing also
help to give this picture a spirited character and masculine vigour in
perfect harmony with the subject it represents" (René Peyrol in the
Art Annual on Rosa Bonheur). Ruskin, while bearing his testimony to
the artist's power, calls attention to "one stern fact concerning art"
which here detracts from her full success. "No painter of animals ever
yet was entirely great, who shrank from painting the human face; and
Mdlle. Bonheur does shrink from it.... In the 'Horse Fair,' the human
faces are nearly all dexterously, but disagreeably, hidden, and the one
clearly shown has not the slightest character. Mdlle. Bonheur may rely
upon this, that if she cannot paint a man's face, she can neither paint
a horse's, a dog's, nor a bull's. There is in every animal's eye a dim
image and gleam of humanity, a flash of strange light through which
their life looks out and up to our great mystery of command over them,
and claims the fellowship of the creature, if not of the soul.[155]
I assure Mdlle. Bonheur, strange as the words may sound to her, after
what she has been told by huntsmen and racers, she has never painted a
horse yet. She has only painted trotting bodies of horses" (Academy
Notes, etc. 1858, p. 32).
The original of this famous composition—probably the best-known and
most popular animal picture of our epoch—was exhibited in the Salon
in 1853. The painter had been engaged on it for a long time, and had
made innumerable studies for it. She used to call it "her Parthenon
Frieze." It was sold to Mr. Gambart, the picture-dealer, who brought it
to England. It made a great sensation in London, and afterwards went
on a provincial tour. It then travelled to America where it was sold,
and is now in the New York Museum. Rosa Bonheur painted for Gambart two
repetitions of it on a smaller scale. One of these, the picture before
us, was bought by Mr. Jacob Bell, who bequeathed it to the nation in
1859. It was the first work by a living foreign painter to be admitted
to the Gallery.
Girolamo da Treviso (Venetian: 1497-1544).
Girolamo, the son and pupil of Piermaria Pennachi, was born at
Treviso. He painted at Venice, Genoa, Trent, Faenza, and Bologna,
at which latter place several of his frescoes and paintings
remain. Between the years 1535 and 1538 he returned to Venice and
became intimate with Titian, Sansovino, and Aretino. "In 1542,"
says Vasari, "he repaired to England, where he was so favoured by
certain of his friends, who recommended him to the king (Henry
VIII.), that he was at once appointed to the service of that
monarch. Presenting himself to the English sovereign accordingly,
Girolamo was employed, not as painter, but as engineer, and
having given proofs of his ability in various edifices, copied
from such as he had seen in Tuscany and other parts of Italy, the
king admired them greatly. Nay, furthermore, his majesty rewarded
the master with large gifts, and ordained him a stipend of four
hundred crowns a year, giving him at the same time opportunity and
permission to erect an honourable abode for himself, the cost
of which was borne by the king." Girolamo had, however, to erect
also some bastions at Boulogne, and there "he was struck by a
cannon-ball, which came with such violence that it cut him in two
as he sat on his horse. And so were his life and all the honours
of this world extinguished together, all his greatness departing
in a moment." His works are now scarce. No. 218 in this gallery
may be the copy made by Girolamo from Peruzzi's drawing, No. 167.
This picture, formerly the altar-piece of the Boccaferri chapel in
S. Domenico at Bologna, is signed by the painter and is mentioned by
Vasari (iii. 287) as "the best of his works: it represents the Madonna
with numerous saints (Joseph, James, and Paul), and contains the
portrait of the person by whom the painter was commissioned to execute
the work." Girolamo, who, as we have seen, was a man of travel, "did
not remain faithful to the tradition of art as professed at Venice
and Treviso, and might be called rather a forerunner of the eclectic
schools.... The head of St. Paul is apparently copied from Raphael's
picture of St. Cecilia in Bologna. In the types of other figures, in
the colouring and in the landscape, we perceive the influence of Dosso
Dossi and of Garofalo" (Richter's Italian Art, etc. p. 87).
Giulio Romano (Roman: 1492-1546).
Giulio Pippi, called "the Roman," was born at Rome, and was
Raphael's favourite pupil; to him Raphael bequeathed his
implements and works of art. But the master could not also
bequeath his spirit, and in Giulio's works (such as 643 and 644,
which, however, are now attributed to a pupil), though "the
archæology is admirable, the movements of the actors are affected
and forced, and the whole result is a grievous example of the
mannerism already beginning to prevail" (Woltmann and Woermann:
History of Painting, ii. 562). "Raphael worked out the mine of
his own thought so thoroughly, so completely exhausted the motives
of his invention, and carried his style to such perfection, that
he left nothing unused for his followers.... In the Roman manner
the dramatic element was conspicuous; and to carry dramatic
painting beyond the limits of good style in art is unfortunately
easy.... For all the higher purposes of genuine art, inspiration
passed from his pupils as colour fades from Eastern clouds at
sunset, suddenly" (Symonds's Renaissance, iii. 359).... "Giulio
Romano alone, by dint of robust energy and lurid fire of fancy
flickering amid the smoke of his coarser nature, achieved a
triumph. His Palazzo del Te at Mantua may be cited as the most
perfect production of the epoch, combining, as it does, all
forms of antique decoration and construction with the vivid
individuality of genius" (Symonds, ii. 319; iii. 360). It was
in 1523 that Giulio entered the service of Federigo Gonzaga, Duke
of Mantua, and besides executing a very large number of works in
oil and fresco, he was distinguished as an architect and rebuilt
nearly the whole town.[156] Vasari made his acquaintance there,
and admired his works so much that Giulio deserved, he said, to
see a statue of himself erected at every corner of the city.
During his earlier period at Rome, Giulio was entrusted with
the completion of the frescoes of the Sala di Costantino in the
Vatican. Among his best oil-pictures are the "Martyrdom of St.
Stephen" in the church of that saint at Genoa, and a "Holy Family"
in the Dresden Gallery.
An illustration of the classic myth of the infancy of Jupiter, who was
born in Crete and hidden by his mother, Rhea, in order to save him
from his father Saturn ("all-devouring Time"), who used to devour his
sons as soon as they were born, from fear of the prophecy that one of
them would dethrone him. In the background are the Curetes "who, as
the story is, erst drowned in Crete that infant cry of Jove, when the
young band about the babe in rapid dance, arms in hand to measured
tread, beat brass on brass, that Saturn might not get him to consign to
his devouring jaws" (Lucretius, Munro's translation, ii. 629). This
picture has been much admired by artists. Samuel Palmer, the friend of
William Blake, wrote of it: "By the bye, if you want to see a picture
bound by a splendid imagination upon the fine, firm, old philosophy, do
go and look at the Julio Romano (Nursing of Jupiter) in the National
Gallery. That is precisely the picture Blake would have revelled in. I
think I hear him say, 'As fine as possible, Sir! It is not permitted
to man to do better!'" (Memoir of Anne Gilchrist, p. 59). Elsewhere
Palmer proposed to a friend as a compact test of taste the question:
"Do I love the Julio Romano in the National Gallery?" (Life and
Letters of Samuel Palmer, p. 250). Another distinguished artist, John
Linnell, was also a great admirer of the picture. He strongly urged
its purchase for the National Gallery, declaring it to be "full of
beauty and without any alloy" (Story's Life of Linnell, ii. 123).
Il Moretto (Brescian: 1498-1555). See 299.
The principal figure is St. Bernardino of Siena (1380-1444). He was
one of the most celebrated preachers of his time: hence the words on
the open book which he is represented as holding in his left hand,
"Father, I have manifested thy name to men." The Gospel which he
preached was "Salvation through Jesus Christ": hence the circle in
his right hand with the Latin monogram "I.H.S." (Jesus the Saviour of
mankind). He came of a noble family, but the secret of his power was
his determination to live amongst the poor ones of the earth: hence
at his feet are mitres inscribed with the names of the three cities
of which he refused the bishoprics. The attendant saints are Sts.
Jerome, Joseph, Francis (to whose order Bernardino belonged), and
Nicholas of Bari. Above is a vision of the only crown to which St.
Bernardino aspired—the company of the saints, the Virgin and Child,
St. Catherine, and St. Clara. Into the pervading expression of simple
and humble piety the artist has put, perhaps, something of his own
character; for he was a man of great personal piety, and he is said to
have always prepared himself (like Fra Angelico before him) by prayer
and fasting for any important work of sacred art. Something, too, of
this ascetic ideal may be seen in the attenuated figures of his saints.
"In those who already know Moretto, this altar-piece will," says Mr.
Pater, "awake many a reminiscence of his art at its best. The three
white mitres, for instance, grandly painted towards the centre of
the picture, at the feet of St. Bernardino, may remind one of the
great white mitre which, in the genial picture of St. Nicholas, in
the Miracoli at Brescia, one of the children, who as delightfully
unconventional acolytes accompany their beloved patron into the
presence of the Madonna, carries along so willingly, laughing almost,
with pleasure and pride, at his part in so great a function. In the
altar-piece at the National Gallery those white mitres form the keynote
from which the pale, cloistral splendours of the whole picture radiate.
You see what a wealth of enjoyable colour Moretto, for one, can bring
out of monkish habits in themselves sad enough, and receive a new
lesson in the artistic value of reserve" ("Art Notes in North Italy,"
in New Review, November 1890).
Botticelli (Florentine: 1447-1510). See 1034.
This portrait was formerly ascribed in the Official Catalogue to
Masaccio. The wish was perhaps father to the thought, for Masaccio is
a very important person in the development of art (being the leader of
the scientific movement in Florentine painting, and also "the first
man," says Ruskin, "who entirely broke through the conventionality of
his time and painted pure landscape"), and is not otherwise represented
in the National Gallery. Mr. Wornum (the late Keeper) ascribed the
portrait to Filippino Lippi; it is now ascribed to Botticelli, who was
also distinguished in portrait-painting, which in his time was becoming
increasingly fashionable. "The waving lines in the falling hair, and
the drawing of the mouth, seem to leave no doubt that Botticelli
alone is the author of this impressive, yet simple and unpretentious,
likeness of an unknown Florentine" (Richter: Italian Art in the
National Gallery, p. 24).
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682).
Jacob van Ruysdael is usually accounted the greatest of the Dutch
landscape painters. He often painted wild scenery, but it is
perhaps in the quiet, and as it were uneventful pictures from
the neighbourhood of Haarlem, that he charms us most. "At each
moment in the country around Haarlem," says M. Michel, "the name
of Ruysdael occurs to one with a recollection of some picture of
his. One can follow his course and even find the very place where
he must have sat." "Of all the Dutch painters," says Fromentin,
"Ruysdael is the one who has the noblest resemblance to his
country. He has its spaciousness, its sadness, its somewhat gloomy
placidity, its monotonous and tranquil charm." But though in
this way a product of the soil, Ruysdael's genius is essentially
human and individual. His means of expression were the simplest.
His touch is crisp and spirited, his workmanship thorough and
conscientious; but he had no adventitious aids to attraction.
There is, however, continues Fromentin, something in his works
which compels respect. "It is the conviction created by them
that they are the outcome of a great man who has something to
say. The cause of his superiority to others is to be found in
this, that there is behind the painter a man who thinks, behind
each of his pictures an idea. In studying a picture by Ruysdael
we become interested also in the personality of the painter. We
find ourselves asking questions. Had he joys, as he certainly
had bitterness? Did destiny give him occasion to love other
things than clouds, and from what did he suffer most, if he did
suffer, from the torment of painting well or of living? All these
questions remain without answer, and yet posterity is interested
in them. Would it occur to you to ask as much about Berchem,
Karel Dujardin, Wouwerman, Goyen, Terburg, Metsu, Peter de Hoogh
himself? All these brilliant or charming painters painted, and
that seems to suffice. Ruysdael painted, but he also lived, and
that is why it matters so much to know how he lived. I know only
three or four men in the Dutch school whose personality is thus
interesting—Rembrandt, Ruysdael, Paul Potter, and possibly
Cuyp, which is already more than is enough to classify them"
(Les Maitres d'Autrefois, Hollande, ch. vii. See also M. Emile
Michel's article in the Revue des deux Mondes for 1888). What
we find pre-eminently in Ruysdael is a mind in harmony with
nature in her simplest and most sombre moods. "The grey vapour
that overspreads his skies seldom admits a fleeting gleam of
sunshine to pass through" (Burton). Ruysdael is remarkable also
for a certain solemn love of solitude, and this love of nature in
itself, undisturbed by the incidents of daily life, distinguishes
him from most of his contemporaries, and accounts, perhaps, for
his popularity in more modern times. Goethe, who admired Ruysdael
greatly, calls special attention to the painter's success in
"representing the Past in the Present," and in suggesting to the
spectator that "the works of nature live and last longer than the
works of men"("Ruysdael als Dichter").
The sense of isolation perceptible in his pictures is in keeping
also with what we know of his life. He was born at Haarlem, the
son of a picture-dealer and frame-maker, but became a citizen of
Amsterdam. His father intended him for the medical profession,
but he probably received instruction in painting from his uncle,
Salomon van Ruysdael (1439). He remained unmarried in order, it
is said, to promote the comfort of his aged father. He belonged
to the sect of the Mennonites, who enjoined on their disciples
strict separation from the world. In Ruysdael's case the world
also separated itself from him. His talents were ignored by the
great public of his day; and in 1681 he was admitted into the
town's almshouse at Haarlem, where he died in the following year.
His landscapes are now eagerly sought after and command high
prices. His views are mostly taken from the northern provinces
of the Netherlands; the Norwegian scenery which he introduced in
many of his later works being studied probably from sketches by
Van Everdingen. But it is probable, though (as a writer in the
Quarterly Review observes) no direct evidence in confirmation
has yet been found, "that Ruysdael went to Norway either with or
without Everdingen, and for a time steeped himself in the spirit
of the wild landscape. The large number of works of the waterfall
class that we possess show that he was deeply impressed by the
artistic and ethical qualities of the landscape. Severe, remote,
and melancholy, these Norwegian solitudes appealed to the mind of
this most solitary of artists, in whose art, as Goethe said, the
poetry of loneliness has found an eternal expression."
Waterfalls are a speciality with the painter (the name Ruysdael
appropriately signifies foaming water). "Ordinary running or falling
water may be sufficiently rendered, by observing careful curves of
projection with a dark ground, and breaking a little white over it, as
we see done with judgment and taste by Ruysdael" (Modern Painters,
vol. i. pt. ii. sec. v. ch. i. § 2). "Ruysdael's painting of falling
water," adds Ruskin (ibid. §21), "is generally agreeable; more than
agreeable it can hardly be considered. There appears no exertion of
mind in any of his works; nor are they calculated to produce either
harm or good by their feeble influence. They are good furniture
pictures, unworthy of praise, and undeserving of blame." It is
interesting to compare this damningly faint praise from Ruskin with
the words of another critic. "Where is the traveller," asks M. Charles
Blanc, "familiar with the impressive beauties of mountainous countries,
who cannot find them in the pictures of Ruysdael? At the foot of those
steep rocks how the water falls, foams, and writhes round the ruins
it has brought down! It dashes forward from the right, from the left,
and from the background of the picture towards the gulf which draws
it in; it rushes down, I was going to say, with a hollow noise, for
in fact one imagines one can almost hear it. We see it gliding down
the slippery rocks, dashing against the rough bark of the trees, and
gushing down the rugged bottom of the ravine. We fancy we feel the
cold and humid spray falling on our faces.... But such is the power
of genius, that after having seen in all its magnificent reality the
spectacle which the artist has reproduced on a piece of canvas some few
inches in magnitude, nature seems to us less grand and less startling
than the work of Ruysdael."
Lorenzo Costa (Ferrarese: 1460-1535).
Lorenzo Costa was a pupil of Cosimo Tura, at Ferrara, but was
soon drawn away to Bologna, where he worked with Francia. The
friendship of these two men is a good instance of the unity
between the different arts in the Middle Ages. Thus the workshop
of Francia at Bologna consisted of two stories. In the upper
story, pictures were painted under the supervision of Costa;
whilst in the lower, gold and silver works were executed, and
coins stamped, under the direction of Francia. Costa remained for
twenty-three years at Bologna, where many of his principal works
still exist. The altar-piece in the church of S. Giovanni in Monte
is the most remarkable. In 1509, invited by the Marquis Francesco
Gonzaga, whose wife was Isabella d'Este, Costa fixed his abode in
Mantua, where he remained till his death. He depicted their court
in an allegorical composition, now in the Louvre. "Costa's style,"
says Sir F. Burton, "varied during his long career. His earlier
works bear signs of his filiation to Tura and Cossa. In later
productions we may trace more of the amenity of Umbrian art, and
finally the influence of his own pupil Francia. His best merits
are a gentle gravity and a sense of colour. Want of force mars
what is meant for grace."
This picture (which is signed, and dated 1505) should be compared
with the Perugino in the next room (288), for Lorenzo Costa has
been called "the Perugino of Ferrara," and works of his are in many
galleries wrongly attributed to Perugino. Every one will feel that
there is a grace and a sweetness here which recalls Perugino. Lorenzo,
too, has Perugino's fondness for a "purist" landscape (see 288); and
note the curious device, peculiar to the Ferrarese School, by which
he introduces it. The Madonna's throne is constructed in two parts,
so that between the base and the upper part a vacant space is left,
through which we look into the open air ("Thus saith the Lord, the
heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool"). One of Costa's
weaknesses may be observed in the figures of the standing saints.
"His figures are seldom planted firmly on the ground—a fault which
he shared with Francia. The ill-understood folds of their garments
obscure the form, and trail upon the ground in meaningless tags. This
insensibility on the part of Costa to one of the noblest means of
expression in art is remarkable, inasmuch as the works of Francesco
Cossa might have set him an example of draperies carefully studied,
true to fact, and often grandly disposed" (Burton).
Gregorio Schiavone (Paduan: painted about 1470).
A picture of historical interest, as being the earliest in the
Gallery of the Paduan School. Gregorio, the Sclavonian (i.e.
Dalmatian), though not, one must think, a very good artist, was proud
of his master, and this picture is signed (on the little card below
the throne) "the work of Schiavone, the pupil of Squarcione." That
master's style was distinguished by its sculpturesque quality; and
in the works of a somewhat clumsy pupil like Gregorio ("this Dalmatian
clodhopper," Morelli calls him) one sees this tendency carried to
excess; the outline of the Madonna's face here, and still more in
904, is quite grotesquely sharp. Another characteristic of the school
is exemplified in both Gregorio's pictures—the choice, namely, of
antique embellishments, of bas-reliefs, and festoons of fruit, in the
accessories. Thus note here the bas-relief behind the Madonna's chair,
and in 904 the festoons of fruit upon the arch.
Ascribed to Francesco Bissolo (Venetian: painted 1500-1528).
By one of Bellini's pupils and imitators. Observe the rich dress of a
Byzantine stuff embroidered with strange animals, such as one sees in
the old mosaics at Venice. The lady wears too a long gold chain, as the
Venetian women do to this day.
Girolamo da Santa Croce (Venetian: painted 1520-1550).
Girolamo—a relation probably of Francesco Rizo, also of Santa
Croce (a village near Bergamo)—was one of the weaker followers of
Giovanni Bellini. Morelli mentions, as a sign by which Girolamo's
pictures, which are frequently met with in North Italian
galleries, may often be recognised, that "he introduced a parrot
whenever the subject he was treating would allow it, just as Paolo
Farinato used to put a snail into his paintings as a sort of mark."
These two panels were formerly the doors of an altar-piece.
Cima da Conegliano (Venetian: 1460-1518). See 300.
The Madonna here wears a graver expression than is common with Cima.
There is the usual hilly background, with the ruins of a Roman temple
introduced on the left.
Titian (Venetian: 1477-1576). See 4.
The subject of this radiantly beautiful picture is the familiar
"Repose" of the Holy Family during their flight into Egypt;
"perfect serenity and repose" are the keynote of the composition.
The introduction of St. John the Baptist, and St. Catherine[157]
embracing the Holy Child, and in the distance the angel appearing to
the shepherds, serve as the sign-manuals to mark the sacred subject.
For the rest it is a simple domestic scene, laid amongst the hills of
Titian's country, near Ceneda, on the way to Cadore:—
To this Ceneda scenery I would assign those charming mixtures of
woodland and plain,—those sweeping intermingling lines of hill,
here broken by a jutting rock, sinking there into the sudden depth
of bosky shades,—which are another characteristic of Titian's
landscape. The play of light and shade over such a country,
throwing out now this, now that, of the billowy ranges as they
alternately smiled in sunshine, or frowned in shadow; now printing
off a tower or a crag, dark against a far-off flitting gleam,
now touching into brightness a cottage or a castle; he specially
delighted to record.... It must have been from the village of
Caverzano, and within an easy walk from Belluno, that he took the
mountain forms, and noted the sublime effect upon them of evening
light, introduced in the "Madonna and St. Catherine." The lines of
hill and mountain are identical with a record in my sketch-book,
and the sharp-pointed hill, almost lost in the rays, is one of the
most familiar features in the neighbourhood of Belluno (Gilbert:
Cadore, pp. 36, 59).
Mr. Gilbert makes another interesting remark, which may be verified in
this picture with its flocks of sheep, as well as in 270, with its farm
buildings:
Another characteristic of Titian's landscape, and new in his time,
is his perception of its domestic charm—the sweetness of a home
landscape. A cottage, a farm, a mill, take the place with him of
the temples, towers, and lordly palaces of town-bred painters....
Honest travellers on a country track, or sleeping in the shade;
the peasant going forth to labour, or returning with his tools;
the high-roofed, quaintly gabled farm, with its nondescript
surroundings, and all set snugly on the bosky knoll ... these are
his favourite subjects. But they never would have been so to a
thorough Venetian. They show us the man of the hills—the breezy,
happy hills: the man of many pleasant memories, upon the sward,
beside the brook, under the bending boughs: the man who carried no
city apprehensions, or city squeamishness to country places, but
was at home anywhere under the broad heaven (ibid. p. 60).
The colour-scheme of this masterpiece is worth noting. It is in keeping
with the effect of coolness and repose aimed at in the composition.
"The dominant chord is composed by the cerulean blues of the heaven and
of the Virgin's dress, the deep luscious greens of the landscape and
the peculiar pale citron hue, relieved with a crimson girdle, of the
robe worn by St. Catherine. With this exception there is not a trace
of red in the picture. Contrary to almost universal usage, it might
almost be said to orthodoxy, the entire draperies of the Virgin are of
one intense blue. Her veil-like headgear is of a brownish-gray, while
the St. Catherine wears a golden-brown scarf, continuing the glories of
her elaborately dressed hair. The audacity of the colour-scheme is only
equalled by its success; no calculated effort at anything unusual being
apparent" (Claude Phillips: The Later Work of Titian, p. 10).
This picture, which is signed TICIAN, was formerly in the Sacristy of
the Escurial; it has the Escurial mark on the back. A "Madonna with
St. Catherine" by Titian is mentioned in a letter of 1530 written by
Giacomo Malatesta to Federigo Gonzaga at Mantua. The reference is
supposed by Crowe and Cavalcaselle to be to the "Vierge au Lupin" of
the Louvre; but it may be to our picture (see Phillips: The Earlier
Work of Titian, p. 82 n.).
Titian; or Palma Vecchio (Bergamese: 1480-1528).
See also (p. xix)
This picture was long ascribed to Titian; then for many years to Palma
(of whom, therefore, some notice is here retained); now it has been
restored by the officials to Titian. Others believe it to be the work
of Giorgione (see below).
Jacopo Palma, the elder (II Vecchio), is one of the most
illustrious of the "post-Bellinian School" of painters at Venice.
But he was born near Bergamo and "could never entirely lay
aside his mountain nature in his works" (see Morelli's German
Galleries, pp. 13-18, 24-31, for the best account of Palma's
place in art history). He was especially great in the Holy
Families, called by the Italians "Sante Conversazioni," in which
the figures of sacred story are grouped together in restful
attitudes and enframed with blue mountain landscapes. He painted
so many of these compositions that Ruskin says—somewhat too
sweepingly—that he painted "no profane subject of importance"
(Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. iii. § 17). He was also
a magnificent painter of female and fancy portraits—a branch of
art in which he rivals even Titian. Palma's works are sometimes
divided into three manners—the Bellinesque, the Giorgionesque,
and the blonde. Among the most famous of his productions are
the "Adoration of the Shepherds," in the Louvre; the "Jacob
and Rachel," at Dresden; and the altar-piece in St. Sebastiano
at Vicenza—"his finest and most perfect work," according to
Morelli. His "St. Barbara," in S. Maria Formosa at Venice, is
also celebrated. The so-called "Bella da Tiziano," at Rome, and
the "Three Sisters," at Dresden, are among the best-known of his
portraits.
This fine portrait was formerly supposed to represent Ariosto
(1474-1533), who was acquainted with Titian and commemorates him as one
"who honours Cadore not less than Sebastiano del Piombo and Raphael
honour Venice and Urbino." But the portrait bears little resemblance to
the poet as he is known to us by authenticated likenesses. The title
"Portrait of a Poet" is based partly on the character of the face,
partly on the bush of laurel in the background. The evidence for the
ascription to Palma is by no means conclusive (see Notes and Queries,
Dec. 28, 1889). Mr. W. Fred Dickes has suggested—ingeniously, if not
convincingly—that the portrait is of the famous "Liberator of Italy,"
Prospero Colonna (1464-1523), painted in 1500, when he was living in
temporary retirement as a lay brother in a Benedictine monastery.
Prospero is described as "tall in person, ruddy in countenance; his
eyes were black, his beard reddish, and the locks of his hair of a
chestnut character." The laurel would be appropriate to a victorious
captain, no less than to a poet. Mr. Dickes ascribes the portrait
to Giorgione (see Magazine of Art, March and April 1893). This
ascription is accepted by Mr. Herbert Cook. "The conception is
characteristic of Giorgione—the pensive charm, the feeling of reserve,
the touch of fanciful imagination in the decorative accessories, but,
above all, the extreme refinement.... Where can the like be found
in Palma, or even Titian? Titian is more virile in his conception,
less lyrical, less fanciful; Palma, infinitely less subtle in
characterisation" (Giorgione, p. 84).
Paris Bordone (Venetian: 1500-1570).
Paris Bordone, one of the most splendid colourists of the Venetian
School, was born of a noble family of Treviso. "He was taken,"
says Vasari, "at the age of eight to certain of his mother's
kindred in Venice, where, having studied grammar and become an
excellent musician, he was sent to Titian." With him he remained
for a few years, and afterwards "set himself to imitate the manner
of Giorgione to the utmost of his power." "Though Venetian in his
education, he took a path peculiar to himself, and it is only
a very inexperienced eye that can mistake him for Giorgione or
Titian. He is remarkable for a delicate rosy colour in his flesh,
and for the purple, crimson, and shot tints of his draperies,
which are usually in small and crumpled folds" (Kugler). His
most famous work—the large picture in the Venetian Academy of
"The Fisherman presenting the Ring of St. Mark to the Doge"—is
a masterpiece of gorgeous colouring. "The moment you come before
the picture you say, 'What a piece of colour!' To Paris the
Duke, the Senate, and the miracle are all merely vehicles for
flashes of scarlet and gold on marble and silk" (Ruskin's Guide
to the Venetian Academy, p. 17). He painted sacred subjects,
mythology, and portraits. In all alike he found occasion for the
same brilliant display of flesh-tints and stuffs. Visitors to the
Italian lakes will find a Holy Family by Bordone at Lovere, in the
Accademia Tadini, which is another of his masterpieces. There are
some fine portraits by him at Hampton Court, and No. 674 in our
Gallery is a very characteristic example. Chloe in the picture
before us belongs to the same type. "The ideal of beauty for
women in Italy during the sixteenth century was—perhaps because
so difficult of attainment!—extreme blondness. Palma seems to
have had no other aim than to fill his canvases with expanses of
fair flesh and yellow hair. Paris Bordone succeeded Palma as the
fashionable beauty-painter, and continued the tradition" (Mary
Logan: Guide to the Italian Pictures at Hampton Court, p. 28).
The fame of Bordone led to his being invited to France by Francis
II. in 1558-1559 to paint the ladies of the Court. He was knighted
by the king. He also visited Augsburg to execute commissions for
the merchant princes of that city. "He lives quietly in his own
house," says Vasari, "working only at the request of princes,
or others of his friends, avoiding all rivalry and those vain
ambitions which do but disturb the repose of man."
Daphnis and Chloe, a shepherd and shepherdess, whose life and love were
a favourite Greek story, are about to be crowned by Cupid with a wreath
of myrtle.
Francia (Ferrarese-Bolognese: 1450-1517).
For more important pictures by this master, see 179 and 180. The saint
with the palm-branch here will be recognised in one of the angels in
180.
Francesco Mantegna (Paduan: about 1470-1517).
Francesco was the pupil and assistant of his father Andrea, whose
style is very obvious in this and the two companion pictures
(1106, 1381). Francesco completed some work which Andrea had left
unfinished.
(For the subject see 270.) The three little pictures by Francesco (639,
1106, 1381) are all noticeable for their dainty detail, often selected
for symbolic meaning. Thus, notice here the vine with purple grapes
supported on a dead tree which hangs over the figure of Christ—an
emblem of life and death. The vine is the most ancient of all symbols
of Christ and his Church, being founded on His own words: "I am the
vine, ye are the branches." On the other side a bird is seen defending
its nest against a snake which has crept up the tree; on the left is a
beehive.
Dosso Dossi (Ferrarese: 1479-1542).
Giovanni di Lutero, who adopted the name of Dosso Dossi, was the
greatest colourist of the Ferrarese School. "His masterpiece is
the great altar picture formerly in the Church of S. Andrea at
Ferrara, but now in the public gallery of that city, and one
of the principal art treasures of Italy. This sumptuous work,
notwithstanding the irreparable injuries it had sustained from
injudicious restorations and repaints, is still a perfect blaze
of colour" (Kugler). The little picture before us gives an
inadequate impression of the painter's powers. No. 1234 is more
characteristic. For Dossi's real bent lay towards portraiture
and romantic subjects. Portraits by him of the Dukes of Ferrara
and of other personages are in the public gallery at Modena.
Of his subject-pictures the "Circe" of the Borghese Gallery at
Rome is the most sumptuous. The records of Dossi's career are
scanty; but his works "point strongly to two widely different
currents of influence, the one Venetian, the other Ferrarese."
He is supposed to have been for some years at Venice, but to
have studied first under the Ferrarese Lorenzo Costa at Bologna.
"His education in art, the main characteristics of his style,
and his long residence at Ferrara, where he was attached to the
court, and where he chiefly worked, entitle him to a place in the
Ferrarese School.... His colouring is much admired, and justly,
for its force, brilliancy, and novel harmonies: but it would be a
mistake to class it with that of the great Venetian masters who
had a profounder knowledge and a purer ideal of colour" (Burton).
Dossi's romantic genius was no doubt fostered by his friendship
with Ariosto, who celebrated Dosso and his brother Battista in
somewhat exaggerated terms, naming them in the same breath with
Leonardo, Mantegna, Bellini, Michael Angelo, Raphael, and Titian.
"The name of Dosso," says Vasari ill-naturedly, "had then obtained
greater fame from the pen of Messer Ludovico than from all the
pencils and colours consumed by himself in the whole course of
his life." Dosso was highly favoured, he adds, by Duke Alphonso,
of Ferrara, "first because of his abilities in art, and next on
account of his excellent qualities as a man and the pleasantness
of his manners, which were advantages always highly acceptable to
the Duke" (iii. 256). There are many pictures by Dosso in private
collections in England. The exhibition of the Ferrarese School
at the Burlington Fine Arts Club in 1894 included thirteen of
them. He is well represented at Hampton Court. "His works," says
Mary Logan in an interesting appreciation of the painter, "are
distinguished from all Venetian paintings by effects of light in
dreamland rather than in the everyday world (and have in them)
... a fascinating touch of the bizarre" (Kyrle Society's Guide
to the Italian Pictures at Hampton Court). Many pictures passing
under other names have been restored to Dosso by Morelli (see his
Borghese and Doria-Pamfili Galleries, pp. 214-219).
Ludovico Mazzolino (Ferrarese: 1480-1528). See 169.
A picture chiefly remarkable, like 169, for its accessories. Notice the
ornamental sculpture, the paintings in imitation of bronze relievo, and
the modelled plaster work on the walls.
Garofalo (Ferrarese: 1481-1559). See 81.
It is interesting to compare this with other versions of the subject
in the Gallery—e.g. 76, 726, 1417. What we may call the necessary
component parts of the picture are all present—the angel with cup
and cross, the sleeping apostles, a crowd with torches approaching.
But Garofalo's picture seems cold and unimaginative as compared with
Correggio's, Bellini's, or Mantegna's.
Ascribed to Rinaldo Mantovano (Roman: early 16th century).
This and the companion picture, 644, formerly ascribed to Giulio
Romano, are now ascribed to Rinaldo of Mantua, one of the scholars
whom Giulio formed when at work in that city. Rinaldo is mentioned
by Vasari as the ablest painter that Mantua ever produced, and as
having been "prematurely removed from the world by death."
In the upper compartment is represented the capture of New Carthage
by the Roman general, Publius Cornelius Scipio, B.C. 210. He
distinguished himself on that occasion by the generosity with which
he treated the Spanish hostages kept there by the Carthaginians.
This is the subject of the lower compartment. Among the hostages was
a girl—hardly represented here as in the story, "so beautiful that
all eyes turned upon her"—whom Scipio protected from indignity and
formally betrothed to her own lover, who is here advancing to touch the
great man's hand, and when they brought thank-offerings to Scipio, he
ordered them, as we see here, to be removed again: "accept them from
me," he said, "as the girl's dowry" (Livy, xxvi. ch. 50).
Ascribed to Rinaldo Mantovano (Roman: early 16th century).
Romulus, the founder of Rome—so the story goes—had collected a
motley crew of men about him, and demanded women from the neighbouring
states wherewith to people his kingdom. And when they refused, he
determined to take them by stratagem. He appointed a day for a splendid
sacrifice, with public games and shows, and the neighbouring Sabines
flocked with their wives and daughters to see the sight. He himself
presided, sitting among his nobles, clothed in purple. As a signal for
the assault, he was to rise, gather up his robe, and fold it about
him. Many of the people wore swords that day, and kept their eyes upon
him, watching for the signal, which was no sooner given than they
drew them, and, rushing on with a shout, seized the daughters of the
Sabines, but quietly suffered the men to escape. This is the subject
of the upper compartment of this picture. But afterwards the Sabines
fought the Romans in order to recover their daughters. The battle was
long and fierce, until the Sabine women threw themselves between the
combatants and induced them to ratify the accomplished union with
terms of friendship and alliance. This is the subject of the lower
compartment—the intervention of the Sabine women in the right-hand
part, the reconciliation in the left.
Albertinelli (Florentine: 1474-1515).
Mariotto Albertinelli, a pupil of Cosimo Rosselli, was the friend
and assistant of the painter-monk, Fra Bartolommeo (see 1694). He
himself, being of an impatient character, "was so offended with
certain criticisms of his work," says Vasari, "that he gave up
painting and turned publican."
This picture is often now attributed to a later painter—Sogliani,
1492-1544.
Unknown (Umbrian School: 15th century).
This, and the companion picture (647), formerly deposited in the South
Kensington Museum, were at the time of their purchase (in 1860) from
the Beauconsin Collection "ascribed to Ridolfo Ghirlandajo."
Unknown (Umbrian School: 15th century).
The emblem of her martyrdom, an arrow, is in her right hand.
Lorenzo di Credi (Florentine: 1459-1537). See 593.
A pretty landscape background, with a ruin, and the angel appearing
to the shepherds in the distance—the whole charmingly harmonious in
its blue-grays. "A pure and simple-minded man, Lorenzo delighted in
pure, bright, and simple landscapes, in which one reads something of
the gentle Angelico's feeling. Nature with Credi, as with the saint
of Fiesole, must show no stain, no trouble, no severity, no sign of
the transient. Far be it from him to introduce the jagged ranges that
Leonardo reared upon his far, mysterious horizons. No, he must have all
that is green and blue, and cheerful" (Gilbert's Landscape in Art, p.
225). With regard to the landscape backgrounds of the Italian painters,
Mr. Mackail, in a letter to F. T. Palgrave (Journals and Memories,
p. 256), raises the question "whether landscape painting has not lost
as well as gained by being elevated from the background into the
substance of a picture; whether, that is, the moral or human interest
that is essential to all great art can exist in pure landscape painting
without putting a greater strain on it than it will bear. Take, for
instance, the landscape backgrounds of Lorenzo di Credi's pictures in
the National Gallery, or of the great Perugino triptych. Have they
not a moral or spiritual quality, as they stand in their place in the
picture, that they can only have through this elusive (if one may say
so) treatment?"
Angelo Bronzino (Florentine: 1502-1572).
Angelo di Cosimo, called Il Bronzino, was born in a suburb of
Florence, of poor parents; he became a popular artist, "nor have
we any one in our day," says Vasari, "who is more ingenious,
varied, fanciful, and spirited in the jesting kind of verse."
He was also good at a more serious kind of verse; amongst other
things he wrote sonnets on Benvenuto Cellini's "Perseus," of which
Cellini says, "they spoke so generously of my performance, in that
fine style of his which is most exquisite, that this alone repaid
me somewhat for the pain of my long troubles." Vasari was a great
friend of his, and speaks in the warmest terms of his generosity
and kindness. He was the favourite pupil of Pontormo, some of
whose works, left unfinished, he completed. His portraits, if
sometimes hard and cold, are often excellent, and form a gallery
of great interest to the historian of Florence. In his frescoes
and allegories, he belongs to the period of decline. His "Descent
of Christ into Hell," in the Uffizi, is among the most celebrated
of his works. "Want of thought and feeling, combined with the
presumptuous treatment of colossal and imaginative subjects,
renders his compositions inexpressibly chilling" (Symonds, iii.
365). Ruskin cites him as an instance of the "base grotesque of
men who, having no true imagination, are apt, more than others, to
try by startling realism to enforce the monstrosity that has no
terror in itself" (Modern Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. viii.
§ 8).
This charming portrait was formerly attributed to Pontormo. Sir Edward
Poynter, following Frizzoni, has transferred it to Bronzino. (See Arte
Italiana del Rinascimento, p. 267.)
Angelo Bronzino (Florentine: 1502-1572). See 649.
See also (p. xix)
"In the rich costume of the sixteenth century," says the Official
Catalogue,—and the picture therein resembles most portraits of the
time. For it is a remarkable thing how much great art depends on
gay and dainty gowns. Note first, in going round these rooms, how
fondly all the best painters enjoy dress patterns. "It doesn't matter
what school they belong to—Fra Angelico, Perugino, John Bellini,
Giorgione, Titian, Tintoret, Veronese, Leonardo da Vinci—no matter
how they differ in other respects, all of them like dress patterns;
and what is more, the nobler the painter is, the surer he is to do
his patterns well." Then note, as following from this fact, how much
of the splendour of the pictures that we most admire depends on
splendour of dress. "True nobleness of dress is a necessity to any
nation which wishes to possess living art, concerned with portraiture
of human nature. No good historical painting ever yet existed, or
ever can exist, where the dresses of the people of the time are not
beautiful; and had it not been for the lovely and fantastic dressing
of the thirteenth to the sixteenth centuries, neither French nor
Florentine nor Venetian art could have risen to anything like the rank
it reached" (see, e.g., under 294). And with regard to this nobleness
of dress, it may be observed lastly how "the best dressing was never
the costliest; and its effect depended much more on its beautiful and,
in early times, modest arrangement, and on the simple and lovely manner
of its colour, than on gorgeousness of clasp or embroidery" (Cambridge
Inaugural Address, p. 11; A joy for ever, § 54).
Angelo Bronzino (Florentine: 1502-1572). See 649.
Venus, crowned as Queen of Life, yet with the apple of discord in
her hand, turns her head to kiss Cupid, whose wings are coloured in
Delight, but behind whom is the gaunt figure of Jealousy, tearing her
hair. Folly, with one foot in manacles, and the other treading on a
thorn, is preparing to throw a handful of roses—
Sweet is Love and sweet is the Rose,
Each has a flower and each has a thorn.
A Harpy, the personification of vain desire and fitful passion, with a
human face, but with claws to her feet and with a serpent's body, is
offering in one hand a piece of honey-comb, whilst she holds her sting
behind her in the other. In one corner, beneath the God of Love, doves
are billing and cooing; but over against them, beneath Folly, there are
masks showing the hideous emptiness of human passion. And behind them
all is Time, with wings to speed his course and the hour-glass on his
shoulders to mark his seasons, preparing to let down the veil which
Pleasure, with grapes twined in her hair, and with the scowl of angry
disappointment on her face, seeks in vain to lift—
"Redeem mine hours—the space is brief—
While in my glass the sand-grains shiver,
And measureless thy joy or grief,
When Time and thou shalt part for ever!"
Scott: The Antiquary.
This picture—in some ways harsh and vulgar—was originally painted for
Francis I. of France. For a note on its crude colouring, see 270.
Francesco Salviati (Florentine: 1510-1563).
Francesco Rossi, called "de' Salviati" from his patron, the
Cardinal of that name, studied under Andrea del Sarto, and was
an imitator of Michael Angelo. He was a great friend of Vasari,
whose life of Salviati gives a most interesting account of their
intimacy, especially of their early student days, when they "met
together and went on festival days or at other times to copy
a design from the best works wherever these were to be found
dispersed about the city of Florence." In 1548 Salviati settled in
Rome, where he was much employed.
The usual pictorial representation of Charity, as a woman surrounded
by children and giving suck, is the same as Spenser's description of
"Charissa"—
She was a woman in her freshest age,
Of wondrous beauty, and of bounty rare....
Her necke and brests were ever open bare,
That aye thereof her babes might sucke their fill....
A multitude of babes about her hong,
Playing their sportes, that joy'd her to behold;
Whom still she fed whiles they were weake and young,
But thrust them forth still as they wexed old.
The Faërie Queene, i. 10. xxx. xxxi.
Unknown (Early Flemish: 15th century).
This picture, formerly ascribed to Roger van der Weyden, and called
"The Painter and his Wife," is delightfully typical of the Flemish
ideal both in man and woman—"the man shrewd and determined, the woman
sweet and motherly." "They are not fine of figure nor graceful of
limb, but, with hardly an exception, their faces tell us that they
are men of tried capacity and learnt experience. Through the eyes of
many of them glances a happy, childlike soul enough, but the mind is
almost invariably a slow-moving, solid power ... and such as they, were
the artists who painted them; they possessed the same industry, they
admired the same qualities. The virtue of honest strength, which made
the men of Flanders the merchant princes of Europe, was the virtue
whose traces the artists of Flanders loved to observe.... They care
little for mystery, little for pity, little for enthusiasm.... They
love a man whose visage tells the strength of his character, who has
weathered the buffetings of many a storm, and bears on his visage the
marks of the struggle" (Conway's Early Flemish Artists, p. 104).
Later School of Roger van der Weyden (Early Flemish:
1400-about 1464). See 664.
See also (p. xix)
Known for the Magdalen by the small vase at her feet—emblem, in all
the religious painters, of the alabaster box of ointment—"the symbol
at once of her conversion and her love." In these "reading Magdalens"
she is represented as now reconciled to heaven, and magnificently
attired—in reference to her former state of worldly prosperity.
"It is difficult for us, in these days, to conceive the passionate
admiration and devotion with which the Magdalen was regarded by her
votaries in the Middle Ages. The imputed sinfulness of her life only
brought her nearer to them. Those who did not dare to lift up their
eyes to the more saintly models of purity and holiness,—the martyrs
who had suffered in the cause of chastity,—took courage to invoke
her intercession" (Mrs. Jameson: Sacred and Legendary Art, p. 205).
Hence the numerous Magdalens to be met with in nearly every picture
gallery; in art decidedly there has been "more joy over one sinner that
repenteth than over ninety-and-nine that need no repentance."
"This picture is undoubtedly by the unknown master who painted two
remarkable panels formerly in the Abbey of Flémalle in Belgium, but now
in the Städel Museum at Frankfort-on-Maine. They present respectively
the standing figure of the Virgin with the Infant at her breast, and
the figure of St. Veronica, as an elderly woman, holding before her
the sacred napkin on which is the impression of our Lord's visage.
These, and a third panel in the same museum, representing the Trinity,
but, unlike the others, painted in monochrome, must have belonged to a
large altar-piece in many compartments, of which it is quite possible
the small picture above described may have formed one" (Official
Catalogue). Mr. Claude Phillips, on the other hand, while admiring
the delicate and exquisite colour of our picture and the enamel-like
quality of its surface, sees in it no resemblance to the works
described above (see Academy, Sept. 28, 1889).
Bernard van Orley (Flemish: about 1490-1542).
See also (p. xix)
This painter, who studied in Raphael's school, was a designer for
tapestry (the staple industry of Brussels in his time) and stained
glass, as well as what is now exclusively called an artist, and
had all a designer's care for little things. He superintended the
manufacture of the tapestries of the Vatican made from Raphael's
cartoons, and there are some tapestries by him in the great hall
at Hampton Court.
Notice the prettily designed cup in ivory and gold—symbolical of the
box of precious ointment offered by the Magdalen to her Lord. For the
subject see under last picture.
Mabuse (Flemish: about 1470-1541).
Jan Gossart, called Mabuse from the town in Hainault (now in
France) where he was born, is interesting in the history of art as
the man who began the emigration of Flemish painters to Italy. He
set out in 1508 in the suite of Philip of Burgundy, and remained
about ten years in Italy where he copied the works of Leonardo
and Michael Angelo. He was one of the illuminators of the famous
Grimani Breviary in the Library at Venice. The finest example of
the first, or Flemish period of Mabuse is the "Adoration of the
Magi" at Castle Howard. To his second period, in which Italian
influence is discernible, belongs the altar-piece in the Cathedral
of Prague. There is a good portrait group by him at Hampton Court
representing the children of King Christian II. of Denmark. A very
fine work, attributed to Mabuse, has recently been added to the
Gallery, No. 1689.
The sitter here is of the Flemish national type, but the Italian
influence may be seen in the Renaissance architecture of the background.
Jacob Cornelissen (Dutch: about 1475-1555).
This painter was the master of Jan Schorel (720), and is mentioned
by Van Mander as a great artist. Most of his altar-pieces for
the churches of Holland perished during the Reformation. He was
also an engraver, and his woodcuts were as much admired as the
copperplates of his contemporary, Lucas van Leyden. He had a son,
Dirk, who was also a good painter, especially of portraits.
Presumably a husband and wife—the donors, we may suppose, of an
altar-piece. Their patron saints attend them. St. Peter lays his hand
approvingly on the man's shoulder. The woman, as "the weaker vessel,"
seems to be supported by St. Paul. It should be noticed that in sacred
and legendary art these two saints are almost always introduced
together—St. Peter, with the keys, representing the church of the
converted Jews, St. Paul that of the Gentiles: his common attributes
are a book (denoting his Epistles), and a sword, signifying the manner
of his martyrdom, and being emblematic also of "the good fight" fought
by the faithful Christian with "the sword of the Spirit, which is the
word of God."
After Schongauer. (German-Swabian: 1450-about 1488).
See also (p. xix)
A picture, painted perhaps by Hugo van der Goes, on the lines of
a print by Martin Schongauer, who was known to his contemporaries
as "the glory of painters" and "Martin the Beautiful." He was
born at Colmar, but probably studied under Roger van der Weyden.
By some the picture is ascribed to the anonymous "Master of
Flémalle," a contemporary of Roger van der Weyden: for whom see a
little picture in Room XVI., now (1908) lent to the Gallery by Mr.
Salting.
The "absolute joy in ugliness," which Ruskin finds most strongly
exemplified in some of Schongauer's prints (Modern Painters, vol.
iv. pt. v. ch. xix. § 18), is not altogether absent from this picture.
A more unpleasant bedchamber, with its unseemly crowd of fat bustling
apostles (notice the old fellow puffing away at a censer on the left),
it would be hard to conceive. One is glad to escape through the open
window to the pretty little view of the square.
Johann Rottenhammer (German: 1564-1623).
See also (p. xix)
This painter was born at Munich. Early in life he went to Rome,
where he obtained some reputation. He next went to Venice, where
he executed some pictures in imitation of Tintoretto, who was then
still living. On his return to his native country he settled at
Augsburg, and was much patronised by the Emperor Rudolph II.
The nymph Syrinx, beloved by Pan and flying from his pursuit, takes
refuge among some bulrushes. The god, thinking to grasp her, finds only
reeds in his hand—
And while he sighs his ill-success to find,
The tender canes were shaken by the wind,
And breathed a mournful air, unheard before,
That, much surprising Pan, yet pleased him more.
Dryden, from Ovid's Metamorphoses.
He formed the reeds into a pipe, hence the name of Syrinx given to the
"Pan's pipe," see 94. The background of this picture (which is executed
on copper) is said to be by Jan Brueghel (for whom see 1287).
Ascribed to François Clouet (French: about 1510-1572).
François Clouet, like his father Jeannet before him, was court
painter to the King of France. Jeannet was, however, probably a
Netherlander; and François remained faithful to the old northern
style of painting. This and the other portrait ascribed to him
might well be taken for works of the Flemish school.
In the costume of the 16th century: dated 1543.
After Raphael. (See under 1171.)
A tracing from the original picture by Raphael at Dresden, by Jakob
Schlesinger (1793-1855)—a Professor of Painting at Berlin.
Fra Angelico (Florentine: 1387-1455).
Artists may be divided according to the subjects of their choice
into Purists, Naturalists, and Sensualists. The first take the
good in the world or in human nature around them and leave
the evil; the second render all that they see, sympathising
with all the good, and yet confessing the evil also; the third
perceive and imitate evil only (Stones of Venice, vol. ii.
ch. vi. § 51). Of the first class Fra Giovanni da Fiesole is
the leading type. His life was largely spent in the endeavour
to imagine the beings of another world.[158] His baptismal name
was Guido, but he changed it early in life to Giovanni, when he
entered a Dominican convent in Florence. He was once offered the
archbishopric of his city, but he refused it: "He who practises
the art of painting," he said, "has need of quiet, and should
live without cares and anxieties; he who would do the work of
Christ must dwell continually with Him." He was given the name
of "Angelico," and after his death the style and distinction of
"Beato" (the Blessed), for his purity and heavenly-mindedness,
and it is said of him that "he was never known to be angry,
or to reprove, save in gentleness and love. Nor did he ever
take pencil in hand without prayer, and he could not paint the
Passion of Christ without tears of sorrow." By this "purity of
life, habitual elevation of thought, and natural sweetness of
disposition, he was enabled to express the sacred affections upon
the human countenance as no one ever did before or since. In order
to effect clearer distinction between heavenly beings and those
of this world, he represents the former as clothed in draperies
of the purest colour, crowned with glories of burnished gold,
and entirely shadowless. With exquisite choice of gesture, and
disposition of folds of drapery, this mode of treatment gives,
perhaps, the best idea of spiritual beings which the human mind
is capable of forming. It is, therefore, a true ideal; but the
mode in which it is arrived at (being so far mechanical and
contradictory of the appearances of nature) necessarily precludes
those who practise it from being complete masters of their art. It
is always childish, but beautiful in its childishness" (Modern
Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. vi. § 4). Angelico, it may be
added, looking on his work as an inspiration from God, never
altered or improved his designs when once completed, saying
that "such was the will of God." Angelico's work, says Ruskin
in a later passage, in which he discusses the weakness of the
monastic ideal, will always retain its power, "as the gentle
words of a child will." Yet "the peculiar phenomenon in his art
is, to me, not its loveliness, but its weakness.... Of all men
deserving to be called great, Fra Angelico permits to himself the
least pardonable faults and the most palpable follies. There is
evidently within him a sense of grace and power of invention as
great as Ghiberti's; ... [but] comparing him with contemporary
great artists of equal grace and invention, one peculiar character
remains noticeable in him—which, logically, we ought therefore
to attribute to the religious fervour;—and that distinctive
character is, the contented indulgence of his own weaknesses,
and perseverance in his own ignorances." Passing to consider
the sources of the peculiar charm which we nevertheless feel
in Angelico's work, Ruskin mentions "for one minor thing, an
exquisite variety and brightness of ornamental work"; while "much
of the impression of sanctity" is "dependent on a singular repose
and grace of gesture, consummating itself in the floating, flying,
and, above all, in the dancing groups" (Ethics of the Dust, pp.
150-152). Fra Angelico is said to have begun his artistic career
as an illuminator of manuscripts—a tradition which is entirely
in accordance with the style of his later works. In 1409 he left
Fiesole for Foligno and Cortona. In the churches of the latter
place fine altar-pieces by him are still preserved. From 1418 to
1436 he was again at Fiesole. In the latter year he was invited
to Florence to decorate the new Convent of St. Mark. His frescoes
here occupied him nine years. "This convent, now converted into a
national monument, is a very museum of Fra Angelico—cloisters,
refectory, chapter-house, guest-room, corridor, stairs, and not
less than nineteen or twenty cells, bear witness to a skill and
leisure alike obsolete." Copies of several of the frescoes may be
seen in the Arundel Society's collection. In 1445 Fra Angelico
was called to Rome, where he painted the chapel of Nicolas V. in
the Vatican (also copied and engraved for the Arundel Society).
At Orvieto in 1447 he commenced some paintings in the chapel
of the Madonna di San Brixio, which were afterwards completed
by Signorelli. The last years of the painter's life were spent
at Rome. He was buried in the Church of the Minerva, where his
recumbent effigy (an emaciated figure in the Dominican habit) may
still be seen. "Some works are for Earth," says a line in his
Latin epitaph, "others for Heaven."
The weakness and the strength of the painter are alike well seen in
this picture of Christ, with the banner of the resurrection surrounded
by the Blessed. The representation of Christ Himself is weak and devoid
of dignity; but what can be more beautiful than the surrounding angel
choirs, "with the flames on their white foreheads waving brighter as
they move, and the sparkles streaming from their purple wings like
the glitter of many suns upon a sounding sea, listening in the pauses
of alternate song for the prolonging of the trumpet blast, and the
answering of psaltery and cymbal, throughout the endless deep, and
from all the star shores of heaven" (Modern Painters, vol. ii. pt.
iii. sec. ii. ch. v. § 21).[159] No two of the 266 figures are alike
in face or form, though each is perfect in grace and beauty.[160] In
the central compartment the seraphim (red) are on Christ's right, the
cherubim (blue) on His left. In the compartment to Christ's left are,
amongst other patriarchs and saints, Abraham with the sword, Noah
with the ark, Moses with the tables of law, Aaron with his name on his
mitre, and below them St. Agnes with the Lamb, and St. Catherine with
her wheel. The martyrs bear palms in their hands; some wear wreaths
of roses, others the crown of thorns. In the compartment to Christ's
left are the Virgin, St. Peter with the keys, and the Evangelists. On
the extreme ends on either side are those of the painter's brother
Dominicans, in their black robes, who have joined the company of the
"Blessed."
Multitudes—multitudes—stood up in bliss,
Made equal to the angels, glorious, fair;
With harps, palms, wedding-garments, kiss of peace,
And crowned and haloed hair.
Each face looked one way like a moon new-lit,
Each face looked one way toward its Sun of Love;
Drank love, and bathed in love, and mirrored it,
And knew no end thereof.
Glory touched glory, on each blessèd head,
Hands locked dear hands never to sunder more:
These were the new-begotten from the dead
Whom the great birthday bore.
Christina Rossetti: From House to Home.
This picture was formerly the predella of an altar-piece in San
Domenico at Fiesole. It was sold by the monks in 1826 to the Prussian
Consul in Rome, from whose nephew it was purchased for our Gallery.
"The price paid was £3500. The additional and incidental expenses, in
consequence of the demands of the Roman Government before allowing the
exportation, were unusually great. Those demands, ostensibly founded
on the excellence and celebrity of the picture, were admitted to be
partly also suggested by the state of the Papal finances." The British
Consul finally paid £700 for the permission of exportation (Director's
Report, 1861). The altar-piece to which our picture belonged remains
sadly damaged in situ.
Roger van der Weyden[161] (Early Flemish: 1400-1464).
See also (p. xix)
This painter was born at Tournai, where he was known as Rogelet
de la Pasture. He afterwards went to Brussels, where he assumed
his Flemish name, and where in 1436 he was appointed town
painter. For the Hall of Justice there he painted four pictures,
which are now lost, but of which the designs are preserved in a
set of tapestries in Berne Cathedral. He was the chief master
(as a teacher, that is) of the early Flemish school. It was he
who carried Flemish art into Italy (see 772), where he was in
1449-1450. "Contemporary Italian writers laud the pathos, the
brilliant colouring, and the exhaustive finish of his works." He
on his side gained something from the study of Italian masters.
The composition of many of his great works—e.g. "The Last
Judgment" at Beaune, the "Nativity" at Berlin, and "The Adoration
of the Magi" at Munich—bears evidence of Italian influence.
Nearer home, the school of the Lower Rhine in its later time
was an offshoot of his school: and farther up the river, Martin
Schongauer, at Colmar, was an immediate pupil of his. He set the
fashions in several subjects—such as descents from the cross,
and hundreds of followers imitated his designs. What gave his
art this wide currency was the way in which it united the older
religious feeling, from which Van Eyck had cut himself adrift,
with the new naturalism and improved technique which Van Eyck
had introduced. His French blood, too, gave his art an element
of vivid emotion, which was lacking in the staid control of Van
Eyck. He is especially praised for his "representations of human
desires and dispositions, whether grief, pain, or joy." He thus
painted for the religious needs of the people at large; and though
an inferior artist, enjoyed a far wider influence than Van Eyck.
"Less intensely realistic than Van Eyck, less gifted with the
desire and the power to reproduce the phenomena of nature for
their own sake, and in their completeness, he thought more," says
Sir F. Burton, "of expressing the feelings common to him and the
pious worshippers for whose edification he wrought. His figures
exhibit deep, if sometimes rather overstrained, pathos. He strove
with naïf earnestness to bring home to the senses the reality of
the incidents connected with the last sufferings and death of the
Saviour. Still he was naturalistic too, in the sense in which
that term applies to all painters of the early Flemish school, in
that he imitated with minuteness every object which he thought
necessary to his compositions; but of the broad principles of
chiaroscuro and subordination which Van Eyck had so wonderfully
grasped, he had small perception. His scenes seem filled with the
light of early morning. His colour, pale in the flesh-tints with
greyish modelling, is varied and delicately rich in the clothing
and other stuffs introduced. His landscape abounds in freshness
and greenth. Thus he transferred to his oil pictures the light and
brilliance of missal painting, an art which perhaps he had himself
practised." "He occasionally practised a very different technical
method from that usually employed in Flanders—that is to say, he
painted in pure tempera colours on unprimed linen, the flesh tints
especially being laid on extremely thin, so that the texture of
the linen remains unhidden. Other colours, such as a smalto blue
used for draperies, are applied in greater body, and the whole
is left uncovered by any varnish" (Middleton). Of this method the
present picture is a fine example.
This picture—"one of the most exquisite in feeling of the early
Flemish school" (Poynter)—is full of sincere emotion. "Roger van der
Weyden is especially known by his touching conception of some of the
scenes of the Passion. He excelled in the lull of suppressed feeling.
The picture of the Entombment by him in the National Gallery is as
much more sad to the heart than the passionate Italian conception,
as a deep sigh sometimes than a flood of tears. We could almost
wish those mourners, with their compressed lips, red eyelids, and
slowly trickling tears, would weep more—it would grieve us less. But
evidently the violence of the first paroxysm of grief is over, and
this is the exhaustion after it. The tide is ebbing as with all new
sorrow, too soon to flow again. No finer conception of manly sorrow,
sternly repressed, exists than in the heads of Nicodemus and Joseph of
Arimathea, who devote themselves the more strenuously to their task in
order to conceal their grief. Strange that a painter of such exquisite
refinement of feeling should adhere to so hideous a type of Christ as
that which appears here" (Mrs. Jameson's History of our Lord, ii.
246). It is interesting to contrast the figure of Christ with that in
Francia's picture (180). In painting such subjects the Italians of the
best time endured the physical painfulness, the Northern temperament
rejoiced in it. The painters in so doing were only meeting the wishes
of their patrons. There is a contract, for instance, still in existence
in which it is expressly stipulated that the form of our Lord in a
picture ordered at Bruges shall be painted "in all respects like a dead
man."
Piero della Francesca (Umbrian: about 1416-1492).
This great Umbrian master was a native of Borgo San Sepolcro in
Umbria, but studied in Florence, where it is probable that he
was a pupil of Paolo Uccello (see 583). A combination of the
characteristics of the two schools is to be seen in the work of
Piero, who had at the same time a marked individuality of his own.
"He has the imaginative impulse, the Umbrian sense of an inner,
an almost mystic beauty, of a certain aloofness from earth and
uplifting of the soaring spirit; and yet on the other side of his
character he is strongly scientific; he studies perspective, the
projection of shadows, the scheme of values; he fills his work
with light and atmosphere, and improves on the oil methods of the
earlier Florentines" (Brinton's Renaissance in Italian Art,
iii. 85). "By dignity of portraiture, by loftiness of style, and
by a certain poetical solemnity of imagination he raised himself
above the level of the mass of his contemporaries. Those who have
once seen his fresco of the 'Resurrection' at Borgo San Sepolcro
[in the Pinacoteca] will never forget the deep impression of
solitude and aloofness from all earthly things produced by it"
(Symonds, iii. 170). A copy of this fresco may be seen in the
Arundel Society's collection. The picture now before us also well
illustrates the skill in dealing with technical difficulties and
the solemn grandeur of conception which characterise the painter.
Piero della Francesca was so called after his mother,[162]
"Francesca's Peter," for, says Vasari, "he had been brought up
solely by herself, who furthermore assisted him in the attainment
of that learning to which his good fortune had destined him."
He received at first a scientific education, and possessed,
adds Vasari, "a considerable knowledge of Euclid, inasmuch that
he understood all the most important properties of rectilinear
bodies better than any other geometrician." In a treatise on
perspective, written in the vulgar tongue, he reduced the science
to "rules which have hardly admitted of subsequent improvement."
These studies influenced Piero's tendencies in art. "The laws of
aerial perspective, of the harmony of colours, the proportions
of light and shade, and the position of objects in space were
equally developed by one whose feeling for precise calculation
went pari passu with that of pictorial representation. In this
combination of science and art he was strictly the precursor of
Leonardo da Vinci. Fra Luca Paccioli, a celebrated mathematician,
and an intimate friend of Piero, was in later years in constant
communication with Leonardo" (Layard, i. 215). Piero probably
acquired the new method of oil painting from Domenico Veneziano
(see 766), whom he assisted in some wall paintings in S. Maria
Nuova in Florence in 1439, and with whom he afterwards worked at
Loreto. Some of his best works are to be seen in his native city,
and at Arezzo he painted a remarkable series of frescoes for the
church of S. Francesco. Piero was also employed at Urbino, where
he appears to have been the guest of Raphael's father, Giovanni
Santi. He worked also in Rimini and Ferrara, and was called to
Rome to paint two frescoes in the Vatican, which were afterwards
destroyed to make room for the works of Raphael. His later, like
his earlier years, were devoted to mathematical studies, and
in his old age "the ban Of blindness struck both palette from
his thumb And pencil from his finger." Among his pupils Vasari
mentions Perugino and Signorelli.
A picture of great interest from a technical point of view, as showing
an advancing skill, especially in perspective. The feet of Christ
are finely "foreshortened"; the tops of the mountains are correctly
reflected on the surface of the river in the foreground; in the
middle distance there is a foreshortened view of a street leading to
a fortified town, and the anatomy of the figure stripping himself for
baptism is very carefully rendered. This very realistic figure of a
convert strikes a curious note; Piero's paintings are "the working
out of problems before our very eyes." In these technical respects
Piero resembles Paolo Uccello, while there is also a striking affinity
of style between the landscapes of the two painters. "The peculiar
construction of these landscapes, with steep mountains of an uncommon
type, is the more remarkable because they are the starting-point
of all the later achievements in realistic landscape painting"
(Richter's Italian Art in the National Gallery, p. 16). "The study
of natural phenomena," says Mr. Monkhouse, "is everywhere apparent.
The pomegranate trees are the earliest attempt in the National Gallery
to give what may be called the portrait of a particular tree—the
habit of its growth, the special character of its leafage. The hedge
in Uccello's 'Battle of St. Egidio' is the nearest approach to it. He
has striven to imagine the scene as it actually might have happened.
Sundry worthies, in strange rich costumes, look on from a further
bank. Nothing is 'newer' in the picture than the carefully studied
reflections of their garments in the water. The effect, so beautifully
rendered by Burne-Jones in his picture of 'Venus's Looking-Glass,'
Piero was the first to paint, if not to observe" (In the National
Gallery, p. 106).
The subject is the baptism in Jordan. Christ, under the shade of a
pomegranate tree, is being "baptized of John in Jordan; and straightway
coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens opened, and the Spirit
like a dove descending upon him" (Mark i. 9, 10). The spiritual feeling
of the scene is enhanced by the sweet presence of the attendant
angels,—crowned with wreaths of flowers, instead of the nimbus. It is
an old belief that angels watch over men's birth, and so too they are
represented as presiding over the new birth, which is typified by the
rite of baptism. "What solemnity in the bearing of Christ as He permits
John to pour over Him the water of Jordan which is flowing in a shallow
stream at his feet! How modest the deportment of the assistant angels
at His side! How the trees, whose every leaf in the dense foliage is
distinctly outlined, seem even to hush their whispers that nothing may
disturb the nearness of God, who looking down from heaven as out of the
far distance, makes his presence felt" (Grimm's Life of Raphael, p.
46). This picture, which seems never to have been finished and shows
the under-painting, was formerly the principal altar-piece of the
Priory of St. John the Baptist at Borgo San Sepolcro.
Fra Filippo Lippi (Florentine: about 1406-1469).
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave!...
Yes, I'm the painter, since you style me so....
For me, I think I speak as I was taught;
I always see the garden and God there
A-making man's wife: and, my lesson learned,
The value and significance of flesh,
I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards....
Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn,
Left foot and right foot, go a double step,
Make his flesh liker and his soul more like,
Both in their order?
Browning: Fra Lippo Lippi.
This and the companion picture by the same artist (667) were
painted for Cosmo de' Medici (this one is marked with Cosmo's
crest—three feathers tied together in a ring), and are identified
with a story told by Vasari, which Browning worked up in his poem
on the artist. Cosmo, knowing the artist's ways, kept him under
lock and key that his work might be the quicker done, but Lippi
one night contrived a way of escape, and "from that time forward,"
adds Vasari, "Cosmo gave the artist more liberty, and was by this
means more promptly and effectually served by the painter, and
was wont to say that men of genius were not beasts of burden, but
forms of light." Filippo was the son of a butcher, and, being
left an orphan, was committed to the charge of the monks of the
Carmelite convent close to which his parents had lived. At the
age of fourteen or fifteen he was induced to take the vows of
the order. At this time he must have seen Masaccio painting in
the famous Branacci chapel of the conventual church, S. M. del
Carmine. Lippi himself executed some works (now destroyed) in
the church, and having by this time found his true vocation, he
was in 1431 permitted to leave the convent in order to be free
to practise his art. Vasari relates that during an excursion on
the Adriatic, Lippi was taken captive by some Moorish pirates.
But after a while he found opportunity to draw a whole-length
portrait of his master with charcoal on a white wall, which the
pirates deemed so marvellous that they set him at liberty. This
tale, however, is inconsistent with the facts of Lippi's life as
now known from documentary evidence. Lippi enjoyed the patronage
of the Medici, and he received sinecure offices also from the
Pope. During the years 1431-53 many of his best panel pictures
were painted. Among these may be mentioned the "Coronation of the
Virgin" (Academy, Florence), in which is introduced a portrait
of himself with the tonsure, and bearing a scroll inscribed Is
perfecit opus, and the "Virgin adoring the Infant, borne by two
Angels" (Uffizi), which was selected by Ruskin for one of his four
"Lesson Photographs," and is fully described by him in Fors,
1875, p. 307. At the end of the period in question Lippi undertook
the principal work of his life, which occupied him for several
years, the series of frescoes in the choir of the Duomo at Prato.
"These magnificent paintings," says Morelli, "were executed at
about the same time as those equally celebrated by Mantegna in
the Cappella degli Eremitani at Padua. Whoever would learn to
know the aspirations and artistic power of that period in the
highest utterances, has only to study those two wall-paintings.
If we are carried away by Fra Filippo's grandeur of conception
and his pure dramatic vividness, we are enthralled, on the other
hand, by Mantegna's greater fulness of expression and his perfect
execution" (German Galleries, p. 71). While engaged on these
frescoes, the friar-painter was appointed chaplain to the convent
of Santa Margherita. Here he became enamoured of one of the nuns,
Lucrezia Buti, and having persuaded the abbess to let Lucrezia
sit to him for a study of the Madonna, he carried her off to his
house. She remained with him for two years, and bore him a son,
the renowned painter, Filippino Lippi (293). Her portrait is to
be seen in the Virgin of the "Assumption," now in the Communal
Gallery at Prato. She was induced to return to the convent, and
took fresh vows, but again escaped to seek the friar's protection.
The scandal now became serious, and Filippo was threatened with
punishment. But Cosmo de' Medici intervened, and the Pope issued
a bull releasing the erring pair from their vows and sanctioning
their marriage. Lippi's last work was a series of frescoes in
the choir of the Duomo at Spoleto. Here he died, from an illness
ascribed by some to poison, leaving the work to be finished by his
assistant, Fra Diamante. He was buried in the Duomo. Over his tomb
Lorenzo de' Medici caused a monument to be erected, and Poliziano
wrote Latin couplets to commemorate the fame of the friar-painter.
"His art," says Ruskin, "is the finest, out and out, that ever
monk did, which I attribute myself to what is usually considered
faultful in him, his having run away with a pretty novice out of a
convent.... The real gist of the matter is that Lippi did, openly
and bravely, what the highest prelates in the Church did basely
and in secret; also he loved, where they only lusted; and he has
been proclaimed therefore by them—and too foolishly believed by
us—to have been a shameful person"[163] (Fors Clavigera, 1872,
xxii. 4; Ariadne Florentina, vi. § 5 n.). In other words,
Lippi, while true to his religion, did not shut himself out from
the world—to use the theological language, he "sanctified,"
not "crucified," the flesh. His pictures are "nobly religious
work,—examples of the most perfect unison of religious myth with
faithful realism of human nature yet produced in this world"
(Fors Clavigera, 1876, p. 187). "The human element, with him so
naïve and spontaneous, gives," says Burton, "a singular charm to
his works. His colour is golden and broad, and his drapery finely
cast and of fascinatingly broken tones." Among his pupils (besides
his son) were Pesellino and Botticelli.
Here the traditional legend of the Annunciation is faithfully adhered
to, and there is much "unusually mystic spiritualism of conception" in
the dove, the Spirit of God, proceeding in rays of golden light from
the hand of an unseen Presence; but the painter delights to elaborate
also every element of human interest and worldly beauty. Note, for
instance, the prettiness of the angel's face, the gracefulness of
his figure, the sheen of his wings, and the dainty splendour of the
Virgin's chamber.
Fra Filippo Lippi (Florentine: 1406-1469). See 666.
Lippi's general characteristics, noticed above under the companion
picture (666), may again be seen here. The "other saints" are Sts.
Francis (on the spectator's right, with the stigmata), Lawrence, and
Cosmas; on the left Sts. Damianus, Anthony, and Peter Martyr—this
last a particularly "human" saint. Lippi was a monk himself, and drew
his saints in the human resemblance of good "brothers" that he knew.
"I will tell you what Lippi must have taught any boy whom he loved.
First, humility, and to live in joy and peace, injuring no man—if
such innocence might be. Nothing is so manifest in every face by him
as its gentleness and rest." It is characteristic of Lippi, too,
that the saints should be represented sitting in so pretty a garden.
Secondly,—"a little thing it seems, but was a great one,—love of
flowers. No one draws such lilies or such daisies as Lippi. Botticelli
beat him afterwards in roses, but never in lilies" (Ariadne
Florentina, vi. § 9).
Carlo Crivelli (Venetian: painted 1468-1493). See 602.
Gabriele Ferretti (to whose family Pope Pius IX. belonged) was Superior
of the Franciscans in the March of Ancona, and died in 1456. Thirty
years later his body was found incorrupt, and was deposited in a
sarcophagus in the church of S. Francesco ad Alto at Ancona. It is
conjectured that the present picture was painted for that church in
commemoration of the discovery of the body. The artist shows us the
holy man in enjoyment of the vision of the beatified. "The Beato (in
Franciscan habit) has been reading or praying, at the entrance of a
cave near a church, in a quiet country spot from which a road leads to
a town in the distance. Suddenly in the sky the Virgin and Child appear
(surrounded by the Vesica glory, see No. 564). He has laid down his
book, put off his sandals, and kneels in prayer and adoration.... The
masterly treatment of the drapery, the perfection of the forms, the
architecture, the sense of spaciousness in the landscape, all point
to the maturity of Crivelli's art.... The landscape, for general
effect, is one of his best, though the treatment of the rocks and of
the foreground is still conventional. The most striking objects in
it are the leafless tree-stems, the counterpart, as it were, of the
hard and bony human figures of which he was so fond, and therefore
an illustration of his love for anatomical forms. His seeking after
realism again appears in the two ducks painted with minute precision.
In contrast to them we get the festoon of fruit at the top of the
picture, illustrating the conventional and decorative aspect of his
art. No picture of his suggests more completely both the range and the
limitations of Crivelli" (G. M. Rushforth: Carlo Crivelli, pp. 65,
87).
L'Ortolano (Ferrarese: died about 1525).
Giambattista Benvenuti, called L'Ortolano (the gardener) from his
father's occupation, is still a problem in art history, details
of his life being so uncertain that even the existence of him
is disputed by some critics. There is, however, documentary
evidence which proves his existence. This noble picture was,
until 1844, the altar-piece of the parochial church of Bondeno,
near Ferrara, where it was generally considered the painter's
masterpiece. His life and works are generally confounded with
those of Garofalo, to which painter Morelli ascribes the present
work. "Garofalo's characteristics are apparent in the form of
hand, the brown flesh-tints, the drapery, the landscape, and
the small stones in the foreground" (Italian Painters: The
Borghese and Doria-Pamfili Galleries in Rome, p. 208). On the
other hand, Venturi has drawn up a list of works, showing common
characteristics and common differences from Garofalo, which he
therefore attributes to Ortolano. To this list should be added
Lord Wimborne's "St. Joseph presenting the Infant Christ." Among
the characteristics noticeable in our picture are houses planted
on posts; long, straight streaks in the background turning to
white; trees with large, sparse, yellowing leaves. "Garofalo never
achieved the rapt expression of St. Demetrius" (see the argument
of Venturi quoted in Burlington Fine Arts Club's Catalogue, 1894).
In the centre is St. Sebastian, tied to a tree, and pierced with
arrows; whilst in the foreground is a cross-bow, lying uselessly. For
the story is that Sebastian was a noble youth who was promoted to the
command of a company in the Prætorian Guards by the Emperor Diocletian:
"At this time he was secretly a Christian, but his faith only
rendered him more loyal to his masters; more faithful in all
his engagements; more mild, more charitable; while his favour
with his prince, and his popularity with the troops, enabled him
to protect those who were persecuted for Christ's sake, and to
convert many to the truth. Among his friends were two young men of
noble family, soldiers like himself; their names were Marcus and
Marcellinus." And when they were tortured for being Christians,
Sebastian, "neglecting his own safety, rushed forward, and, by his
exhortations, encouraged them rather to die than to renounce their
Redeemer. Then Diocletian ordered that Sebastian also should be
bound to a stake and shot to death with arrows. The archers left
him for dead; but in the middle of the night, Irene, the widow of
one of his martyred friends, came with her attendants to take his
body away, that she might bury it honourably; and it was found
that none of the arrows had pierced him in a vital part, and that
he yet breathed. So they carried him to her house, and his wounds
were dressed; and the pious widow tended him night and day, until
he had wholly recovered" (Mrs. Jameson: Sacred and Legendary
Art, 1850, pp. 343, 344).
This legend was one of the special favourites with the mediæval
painters: "the display of beautiful form, permitted and even
consecrated by devotion, is so rare in Christian representations, that
we cannot wonder at the avidity with which this subject was seized"
(ibid. p. 346). It is instructive to compare the noble use of the
subject made in this picture, in which the great technical skill
of the painter is subordinate to the beautiful display of a sacred
legend, with the "St. Sebastian" of Pollajuolo (292), in which, as we
have seen, the subject is used solely—and painfully—for the display
of such skill. With St. Sebastian is here represented, on his left,
his contemporary, St. Demetrius. He is clad in armour, for he also
served under Diocletian, being Proconsul of Greece, and like St.
Sebastian used his high office to preach Christ. On the other side is
St. Roch (for whose legend see 735). He is a much later saint (about
A.D. 1300), and is associated with St. Sebastian as another
patron of the plague-stricken. Arrows have been from all antiquity
the emblem of pestilence; and from the association of arrows with his
legend, St. Sebastian succeeded in Christian times to the honours
enjoyed by Apollo, in Greek mythology, as the protector against
pestilence.
Angelo Bronzino (Florentine: 1502-1572). See 649.
See also (p. xx)
He wears the robes of his order (with a red cross bordered with
yellow), an order established by Cosimo, Duke of Tuscany, and charged
with the defence of the coasts against pirates. The knight is a good
specimen of the courtier aristocracy with which Cosimo surrounded
himself. The knights of St. Stephen afterwards won much honour by their
prowess, but they were men of culture also: notice that this one holds
a book in his hand, which rests on a table richly carved in the taste
of the time. This portrait was presented to the nation by Mr. Watts,
R.A.
Garofalo (Ferrarese: 1481-1559). See 81.
This fine picture was originally the principal altar-piece of
the church of San Guglielmo (St. William) at Ferrara. Hence the
introduction of that saint (on our left)—a beautiful face, into which
the artist has put, one may think, all his local piety. The saint
is in armour, for William—the institutor of the hermit order of
Guglielmites—was originally a soldier, and was "given," says one of
his biographers, "unto a licentious manner of living, too common among
persons of that profession." It was to escape from such temptations
that he became a holy penitent, and fought thenceforward in mountain
solitudes, as a soldier of Christ against the flesh and the devil.
Beside him stands St. Clara, "the very ideal of a gray sister, sedate
and sweet, sober, steadfast, and demure." She gazes on a crucifix, for
she too had renounced the pomps and vanities of the world. Her wealth
of golden hair was cut off, it is said, by St. Francis; her fortune she
gave to hospitals, and herself became the foundress of the Order of
"Poor Clares." St. Francis stands on the other side of the throne, and
besides him is "good St. Anthony" (see under 776).
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
"This portrait, dated 1640, describes the man well—strong and robust,
with powerful head, firm and compressed lips and determined chin, with
heavy eyebrows, separated by a deep vertical furrow, and with eyes of
keen penetrating glance,—altogether a self-reliant man, who would
carry out his own ideas, careless whether his popularity waxed or
waned" (J. F. White in Encyclopædia Britannica).
Antonello da Messina (Venetian: 1444-1493)
A picture of special interest as being the earliest known work
(it is dated 1465) of Antonello, of Messina in Sicily, who
is famous as the man by whom the art of painting in oils, as
perfected by the Van Eycks (see 186), was introduced into Venice.
Vasari's story is that Antonello saw, on a visit to Naples,
a picture by John Van Eyck, in which the brilliancy and fine
fusion of the tints so struck him that he forthwith set out for
Flanders, ingratiated himself with Van Eyck, and learnt from him
the secret of his method. But the dates do not agree with this
story. For Van Eyck died in 1440, and Antonello must therefore
have been born early in the century, whereas, on the contrary,
Vasari expressly states that he died in 1493, aged forty-nine.
More probably Antonello learnt the Flemish technique from the
painters of that school who are known to have been at Naples in
the middle of the fifteenth century. In his native town, in the
church of S. Gregorio, is a triptych by him, dated 1473. In the
same year he was at Venice, where he remained until his death.
"His practical mastery of the new method, still unknown in the
city of the Lagoons, of glazing in oil colours a ground laid in
tempera, must have given Antonello a higher status at Venice than
his intrinsic merits as an artist would have warranted. We see
that he is at once honoured with a commission from the wardens of
S. Cassiano. Unhappily the altar-piece there, so highly praised
by Matteo Collaccio and Sabellico, and signed with the year
1473, has long since disappeared. And not only did the church
dignitaries of Venice patronise him, but the patricians were eager
to have their likenesses taken on the new principle practised by
Antonello; and, to judge by the number of portraits he turned out
in those years, he must for a time have been the most popular
portrait painter in Venice" (Morelli). Of his portraits there is
a good example in our Gallery (1141). The splendid portrait in
the Louvre is dated 1475; that in the Berlin Gallery, 1478. The
"Crucifixion" in our Gallery is dated 1477. "It is evident to
me," says Morelli, "that Antonello gradually formed himself by
studying the works and seeking the society of the great Venetian
masters, till he reached that degree of perfection which we miss
in his early Ecce Homos and admire in his portraits of 1475-78.
His Italian nature gradually works its way through the Flemish
shell in which his first master had encased his hand as well as
mind. In this transformation of Antonello as an artist Giovanni
Bellini had obviously the greatest share. Whoever visits the
churches of Messina, and of the towns and villages along that
eastern coast of Sicily as far as Syracuse, will still find in
many of them Madonnas, whether in colour or in marble, that remind
him of Antonello and Giambellino. And not only did Antonello act
powerfully on his own Sicilian countrymen; we also discern his
influence in several portraits by painters of Upper Italy—for
instance, those of Solario." No. 923, for example, the portrait
of a Venetian Senator, by that master, is strongly reminiscent of
Antonello's style. In fact, as Sir F. Burton says, "to Antonello
and his Flemish education is due that type of portraiture which
we find among the Venetian and North Italian painters of his
time, and which, under a southern sun, and in the hands of a
Titian, expanded itself in the noblest form." (The above account
of Antonello follows Morelli: see his Italian Masters in German
Galleries, pp. 376-390).
Christ as the "Saviour of the World," stands with his finger on the
edge of a parapet, giving the blessing and gazing into eternity. The
picture, being dated 1465,[164] must have been painted by Antonello in
his twenty-first year. Both in conception and in the ruddy complexion
peculiar to the school of Van Eyck (see 222 and 290) it suggests a
Flemish influence. Notice also the pentimenti (or corrections):
the right hand and border of the tunic were originally higher, and
their forms, obliterated by the painter, have now in course of time
disappeared. This again shows the hand of an experienced artist.
Paris Bordone (Venetian: 1500-1570). See 637.
A splendid specimen of this painter's portraits, and a type of the
face which meets one in nearly every Gallery of Europe; for Bordone,
who had (as we have seen) a great vogue as a lady's portrait painter,
had yet a way, says Ridolfi, of making such works appear more like
fancy portraits than individual portraits. This one is of a girl of
the Brignole family, aged eighteen, according to the inscription. In
the Brignole Palace at Genoa (now the property of the town) are two
magnificent portraits by Bordone. The type here is that of a cruel and
somewhat sensual beauty—the eyes, especially, being, "like Mars, to
threaten or command"—
Cold eyelids that hide like a jewel
Hard eyes that grow soft for an hour;
The heavy white limbs, and the cruel
Red mouth like a venomous flower.
Swinburne: Dolores.
Since the above note was written, Mr. H. Schütz Wilson has suggested,
with some plausibility, that the portrait is of Bianca Cappello
(1542-1587), "as pre-eminent in sumptuous voluptuous loveliness, as
she was in the crime of her day in Italy." "In the deadly calm of the
almost inscrutable lineaments of this remarkable portrait, in which
charm and grace are shown behind so much that is terrible, so much
that is earthly, sensual, devilish, in those awful eyes, and in that
cruel 'red mouth, like a venomous flower,' we see, as I fancy," says
Mr. Wilson, "not an obscure girl of a noble family of Genoa, but the
counterfeit presentment of the romantically wicked Renaissance heroine,
the fair and evil Grand Duchess of Tuscany" (Pall Mall Gazette,
November 22, 1888).
Ferdinand Bol (Dutch: 1616-1680).
Bol was the most distinguished of Rembrandt's pupils in
portraiture. He was born at Dordrecht, and settled at Amsterdam,
where he acquired burgess rights in 1652. One of Bol's portraits
in the Louvre has attained the honour of being hung in the Salon
Carré. His "Four Regents of the Leprosy Hospital" at Amsterdam
is the painter's masterpiece, and one of the finest works of the
Dutch School. Bol's pictures are remarkable for a prevailing
yellow tone. Up to about the year 1660 he seems to have remained
the pupil of Rembrandt. "Unfortunately he did not remain faithful
to his early teaching. He made sacrifices to the taste of his
time, and abandoned the sober and grave figures, the severe and
sustained method of painting, the powerful light and shade of
his school, to seek a fresh source of success in overwhelming
allegory and in the imitation of Rubens. This was his ruin. His
later works, painted in full light, are very inferior to those of
an earlier date; their colouring is hard, glaring, and discordant,
and in composition they are frequently bombastic and pretentious"
(Havard: The Dutch School of Painting, p. 93).
The sitter is conjectured to be an astronomer, from the globes on the
table before him and from the look on his face as of a man dwelling
among the clouds. The picture is signed, and dated 1652.
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641). See 49.
Painted by Van Dyck from the large picture by Rubens at Mechlin, for
an engraver to work from. "One of the too numerous brown sketches in
the manner of the Flemish School, which seem to me rather done for
the sake of wiping the brush clean than of painting anything. There
is no colour in it, and no light and shade;—but a certain quantity
of bitumen is rubbed about so as to slip more or less greasily into
the shape of figures; and one of St. John's (or St. James's) legs
is suddenly terminated by a wriggle of white across it, to signify
that he is standing in the sea" (Art of England, p. 44). Ruskin
notices the picture as an example of the art which was assailed by the
Pre-Raphaelites. A word-picture of the same scene in the Pre-Raphaelite
manner, with its literal and close realisation, will be found in
Modern Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. iv. § 16.
Meindert Hobbema (Dutch: 1638-1709).
Hobbema, who disputes with Ruysdael the place of best Dutch
landscape painter, was a friend of the latter, and perhaps his
pupil: certainly works of the two are sometimes remarkably
alike. Thus it has been pointed out that Hobbema's No. 996 shows
the influence of Ruysdael, whilst Ruysdael's No. 986 recalls
Hobbema's. Often, too, they painted the same country; compare
e.g. No. 986 with Hobbema's No. 832. Like Ruysdael, too, Hobbema
was a painter without honour in his own country, and nine-tenths
of his known works are in England, where he was first appreciated,
and where he was the means of influencing many of our landscape
painters, notably Nasmyth. His pictures were often ascribed to
other painters, now considered greatly his inferiors, in order to
obtain better prices. It has been remarked as a curious fact that
until the middle of the eighteenth century no engraver thought it
worth while to reproduce any of Hobbema's pictures; and Sir Joshua
Reynolds in his Tour in Holland (1781) makes no reference to
Hobbema, though he must have seen some of his pictures. Even a
hundred years ago they were not much sought after; now they are
more valued than those of any landscape painter and fetch very
large prices at auctions. Recently one of them sold for as much as
£8820. This appreciation is due in part to the fact that Hobbemas
are very rare; the known works by him number hardly more than a
hundred. Of Hobbema's life very little is recorded. His name (like
that of Alma Tadema) betokens Frisian origin. His birthplace is
unknown, but he appears to have been born at Amsterdam, and to
have been the scholar of Jacob Ruysdael in landscape painting.
Ruysdael was the witness at his marriage. This was in 1668. In
the same year he was appointed one of the sworn gaugers for the
excise of the town. "Thus, a century before Burns, fortune played
upon one of the greatest of landscape painters the same trick
that she played in his case upon the most spontaneous of poets."
Hobbema was not the only painter of his time who had to eke out a
bare subsistence by employment more lucrative than the production
of masterpieces. Salomon van Ruysdael was also a frame-maker; Van
Goyen speculated in houses, picture-dealing, and tulips; and Jan
Steen was an innkeeper. The coincidence of Hobbema's marriage and
his appointment as gauger of wines and oil was not by chance. The
archives throw a curious light upon the public morals of Amsterdam
at the time of its greatest prosperity. By a deed executed in the
month of his marriage, Hobbema admits that he owes his appointment
to the influence of a companion of his wife, like her a servant in
the employment of the burgomaster, and in consideration of this he
agrees to pay her, so long as he holds the place, an annual sum
of 250 florins. Posterity owes this servant of the burgomaster a
grudge, for after taking up the appointment, Hobbema scarcely
painted any more. The post cannot, however, have been lucrative,
for he died in evil circumstances—in a house directly opposite to
that in which Rembrandt had died forty years before. The painter
of works, any one of which is now worth a small fortune to its
possessor, was buried in a pauper's grave.
In spite of the resemblance to Ruysdael above noted, Hobbema's
best and most characteristic works are quite distinct. Ruysdael is
the painter of the solitude of nature, of rocks and waterfalls;
Hobbema of the Dutch "fields with dwellings sprinkled o'er." The
pervading tone of Ruysdael is dark and sombre; that of Hobbema
is drowsy and still. A second characteristic of Hobbema is his
fondness for oak foliage, and a certain "nigglingness" in his
execution of it. See e.g. 832, 833. "They (Hobbema and Both)
can paint oak leafage faithfully, but do not know where to stop,
and by doing too much, lose the truth of all, lose the very truth
of detail at which they aim, for all their minute work only gives
two leaves to nature's twenty. They are evidently incapable of
even thinking of a tree, much more of drawing it, except leaf
by leaf; they have no notion nor sense of simplicity, mass, or
obscurity, and when they come to distance, where it is totally
impossible that leaves should be separately seen, being incapable
of conceiving or rendering the grand and quiet forms of truth,
they are reduced to paint their bushes with dots and touches
expressive of leaves three feet broad each." "No word," Ruskin
elsewhere adds, "has been more harmfully misused than that ugly
one of 'niggling.' I should be glad if it were entirely banished
from service and record. The only essential question about drawing
is whether it be right or wrong; that it be small or large, swift
or slow, is a matter of convenience only. But so far as the word
may be legitimately used at all, it belongs especially to such
execution as this of Hobbema's—execution which substitutes,
on whatever scale, a mechanical trick or habit of hand for
true drawing of known or intended forms." A second objection
to Hobbema's method may be mentioned besides its "trickiness."
His "niggling" touch is extended from the foreground to objects
farther off, and thus "a middle distance of Hobbema involves a
contradiction in terms; it states a distance by perspective, which
it contradicts by distinctness of detail" (Modern Painters, vol.
i. pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. v. § 17, sec. vi. ch. i. § 22; vol. v. pt.
vi. ch. v. § 6). In spite, however, of such defects, the works of
Hobbema have an enduring charm for their incisiveness of touch,
and warmth of light. He had not Ruysdael's variety nor his depth
of poetic feeling. The forest glade and the watermill are almost
all he paints. But these he paints so firmly and decisively that
they live for ever, and upon them he casts a warm and golden tone
which never fails to please.
Hans Memlinc (Early Flemish: 1430-1494).
It is only in the Hospital of St. John at Bruges that the art of
this exquisite painter can be properly studied. There, as among
the Fra Angelicos at San Marco in Florence and the Giottos at the
Arena in Padua, one may see the great works of a mediæval painter
in the very surroundings which first produced them. (Copies of
some of Memlinc's works at Bruges and elsewhere are included in
the Arundel Society's collection.) The Hospital is, as it were,
a shrine of Memlinc. Around this fact legends grew. In one of
the pictures, it was said, a portrait of the artist might be
discovered; on the sculptured ornaments of a porch enframing
one of its subjects, an incident of the master's life might be
traced,—his danger as he lay senseless in the street, his rescue
as charitable people carried his body to the hospital. It came
to be told how the great artist began life as a soldier who went
to the wars under Charles the Bold, and came back riddled with
wounds from the field of Nancy. Wandering homeward in a disabled
state in 1477, he fainted in the streets of Bruges, and was cured
by the Hospitallers. Unknown to them and a stranger to Bruges, he
gave tangible proofs of his skill to the brethren of St. John,
and showed his gratitude by refusing payment for a picture he
had painted. Unfortunately all this is a myth. Of his real life
little is known, but it is enough to refute the legends that for
so long passed current. In 1477 he was under contract to furnish
an altar-piece for the guild chapel of the booksellers of Bruges;
this picture, preserved under the name of the "Seven Griefs of
Mary," is now one of the principal treasures of the Gallery of
Turin. His many pictures for the Hospitallers were painted in 1479
and 1480. He was born at Mayence on the Rhine. His name (which
should not be spelt Memling) was probably derived from the town of
Memmelinck (now Medenblik) in the north-east of Holland, to which
place his family presumably belonged. He is known from the town
records to have been settled in Bruges in his own house in 1479.
He must have been a citizen of some wealth, for in the next year
he was one of those who contributed to a loan raised by Maximilian
of Austria to push hostilities against France. In 1487 he lost his
wife. In 1494 he died, his children being still minors, and was
buried in the Church of St. Giles (see a document cited in the
Athenæum of 2nd February 1889).
This is all that documentary evidence has disclosed about
Memlinc's life. If the evidence of his pictures may be taken, his
life must have been gentle and peaceful. For Memlinc's place in
the history of art is among the leaders of the "Purist" School
(see under 663). He was, we may say, the Fra Angelico of Flanders.
In technique he used the methods perfected by the Van Eycks.
"In drawing a comparison between Memlinc and his predecessors
and contemporaries,[165] he is found inferior to John Van Eyck
in power of colour and chiaroscuro, as well as in searching
portraiture; to Van der Weyden in dramatic force; to Dierick Bouts
and Gheeraert David in beauty and finish of landscape" (Weale's
monograph on Memlinc, published by the Arundel Society). But
Memlinc had a sentiment and an ideal of his own to which none
of his Flemish contemporaries attained. "Van Eyck saw with his
eye, Memlinc begins to see with his spirit. The one copied and
imitated; the other copies, imitates,—and transfigures. Van Eyck,
without any thought of an ideal, reproduced the virile types which
passed before his eyes. Memlinc dreams as he looks, chooses what
is most lovable and delicate in human forms, and creates above all
as his feminine type a choice being who was unknown before his
time, and has disappeared since. They are women, but women seen
according to the tender predilections of a spirit in love with
grace, nobility, beauty." Memlinc's men, on the other hand, do not
compare advantageously with Van Eyck's. There is more vigour in
the latter, more framework, more muscle, more blood. "Memlinc's
art is very human, but there is in it no trace of the villainies
and atrocities of his time. His ideal is his own. It foreshadowed
perhaps the Bellinis, the Botticellis, the Peruginos, but not
Leonardo, nor the Tuscans, nor the Romans of the Renaissance.
Imagine in the midst of the horror of the century a privileged
spot, a sort of angelic retreat where the passions are silenced
and troubles cease, where men pray and worship, where physical
and moral deformities are transfigured, where new sentiments come
into being and sweet usages grow up like the lilies: imagine this
and you will have an idea of the unique soul of Memlinc and of the
miracle which he works in his pictures" (Fromentin: Les Maitres
d'Autrefois).
In front is a portrait of the donor of the picture. On the Virgin's
left is St. George with the dragon—not a very dreadful dragon,
either—"they do not hurt or destroy" in the peaceful gardens that
Memlinc fancied. Notice how the peaceful idea is continued in the man
returning to his pleasant home in the background to the left. The
Virgin herself is typical of the feminine idea in early Flemish art.
"It must be borne in mind that the people of the fifteenth century
still lived in an age when the language of symbols was rich and widely
understood.... The high forehead of the Virgin and wide arching brows
tell of her intellectual power, her rich long hair figures forth
the fulness of her life, her slim figure and tiny mouth symbolise
her purity, her mild eyes with their drooping eyelids discover her
devoutness, her bent head speaks of humility. The supreme and evident
virtue which reigns in all these Madonnas is an absolute purity of
heart" (Conway's Early Flemish Painters, pp. 109, 110).
Meister Wilhelm of Cologne (Early German: living in 1380).
A work of interest as being by the first artist who emerges in the
North as an individual painter—painting before his time being a
mere appendage of other arts and the work solely of guilds. This
"Master William," who is mentioned in an old chronicle as having
"painted a man as though he were alive," was a native of Herle,
near Cologne, and attained a prominent position in the latter town.
The subject of this picture is the compassionate woman whose door
Christ passed when bearing his cross to Calvary. Seeing the drops of
agony on his brow she wiped his face with her napkin, and the true
image (Vera Icon: hence her name) of Christ remained miraculously
impressed upon it—the Christ-like deed thus imprinting itself and
abiding ever with her. The subject of the picture gives it a further
historical interest as being suggestive of the mystics, the "Friends of
God," as they called themselves, who were preaching in the Rhine Valley
at this time, and under whose influence this early school of painting
arose. "The mystic is one who claims to be able to see God with the
inner vision of the soul. He studies to be quiet that his still soul
may reflect the face of God"—even as did the cloth of St. Veronica
(Beard's Hibbert Lectures).
Andrea del Sarto (Florentine: 1486-1531).
The cabinet pictures of Andrea del Sarto, "the faultless painter,"
are well known to all visitors in the great galleries of Europe.
There is a certain mannerism in them which makes them very easy
of recognition. His type of Madonna is constant, for it was taken
from the beautiful wife whom he loved so well, and who requited
his love so ill. In his angels there is a delicate, misty beauty;
and over all his works there is "that peculiar softness, harmony,
and delicacy of colouring which the Italians call morbidezza,
and which is to be seen in its perfection in the 'Madonna di San
Francesco' in the Uffizi." That Holy Family (painted in 1517) is
generally considered his masterpiece, and may be taken as the
supreme type of similar pictures in all the galleries. Another
typical work is the "Charity" of the Louvre (painted 1518).
But it is only in Florence among his frescoes—now unhappily
fading, but preserved in part by copies in the Arundel Society's
collection—the frescoes of the Santissima Annunziata, the convent
of S. Salvi, and, above all, the cloister of the Scalzo, that a
full conception of Andrea's power can be obtained. "There only,"
says Mr. Swinburne, "can one trace and tell how great a painter
and how various he was. There only, but surely there, can the
influence and pressure of the things of time on his immortal
spirit be understood.... In the little cloister of the Scalzo
there is such exultation and exuberance of young power, of fresh
passion and imagination, that only by the innate grace can one
recognise the hand of the master whom hitherto we knew by the
works of his after life, when the gift of grace had survived the
gift of invention. This and all other gifts it did survive; all
pleasure of life and power of mind. All these his charm of touch,
his sweetness of execution, his 'Elysian beauty, melancholy grace'
outlived and blossomed in their dust" (Mr. Swinburne's eloquent
piece on this painter's works is in the first series of Essays
and Studies, where also are some notes on the master's drawings
in the Uffizi collection).
The painter's life is told in great detail and with much vivacity
by Vasari, to whose pages every reader should turn. He was the
pupil of Piero di Cosimo, and the friend and fellow-worker of
Franciabigio. All their spare, time, we are told, was spent in
drawing from the cartoons of Michelangelo and Leonardo. "After
the exhibition of Michelangelo's celebrated 'Cartoon of Pisa,'
in 1506, he became a decided imitator of that painter in design:
in colour and light and shade Fra Bartolommeo appears to have
been his model." His celebrated frescoes in the convent of the
Annunziata (not completed till 1514) were among his earliest
works. Those in the Scalzo were done in 1514. In 1517 he married,
and in 1518 he went to Paris, returning to Florence in the
following year. The story that he embezzled sums of money given
him by the king for the purchase of pictures is open to suspicion,
since the accounts of the king have been discovered. No trace
of such moneys occurs, nor did the king ever make any effort to
obtain restitution. Andrea died of the plague at the early age of
forty-five.
Browning's poem, in which he sets forth the pathos of the artist's
life, is the best commentary on this beautiful portrait—so masterly
in workmanship, so rich in suggestion of character. The real name of
Andrea del Sarto—"Andrew of the Tailor," so called from his father's
trade—was Andrea d'Agnolo: his monogram, formed of two inverted A's,
may here be seen on the background to the left. The Italians called him
"the faultless painter": faultless, they meant, in all the technical
requirements of painting—
All is silver-grey,
Placid and perfect with my art.
But men may be "faultily faultless"; and what he lacked was just the
one thing needful—the consecration and the poet's dream, which lift
many works by less skilful hands than his into the higher region of
imaginative art—
Their works drop groundward, but themselves, I know,
Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me,...
My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here.
And the self-reproach was not less bitter for the knowledge of "what
might have been." There is a story that Michael Angelo visited his
studio, and said afterwards to Raphael—
"Friend, there's a certain little sorry scrub
"Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how,
"Who, were he set to plan and execute
"As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings,
"Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!"
Yet Andrea himself too was once pricked on by kings. Two pictures of
his had been sent to Francis I., who thereupon invited the painter to
his court. And there for a time he worked and was honoured; but in the
midst of it all he sat reading the letters which Lucrezia, his wife,
sent him to Paris. "You called me and I came home to your heart." It
is her face which we see everywhere in Andrea's Madonnas, and if at
any time he took his model from any other face, there was always a
resemblance to hers in the painting—
You smile? why, there's my picture ready made!
But Lucrezia served as his model, not his ideal. She had been married
before to a hatter, but was remarkable, says Vasari, who worked in
Andrea's studio and had a grudge against her, "as much for pride and
haughtiness, as for beauty and fascination."[167] And
Had the mouth there urged
"God and the glory! never care for gain....
"Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo!
"Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three!"
I might have done it for you. So it seems.
It is in some such mood of communing with himself that we seem here to
see the painter; yet there is a certain undercurrent of contentment
below the look of melancholy. "The force of a beautiful face carries me
to heaven": so sang Michael Angelo. Lucrezia dragged her husband down;
his rivals overcame him—
Because there's still Lucrezia,—as I choose.
Ascribed to Lo Spagna (Umbrian: painted 1503-1530).
See 1032.
Lodovico of Parma (Parmese: early 16th century).
Said to have been a scholar of Francia.
The crozier shows him to be a bishop, and it is inscribed S. VGO. This
is St. Hugo (died 1132), who was Bishop of Grenoble when St. Bruno
founded the Chartreuse, and who often resided amongst the Carthusians.
Doubtless he was not an unwelcome visitor, for he had the power, it
is said, of converting fowls into fish, which it was lawful to eat.
For forty years, it is further told of him, he had haunting doubts on
the old, old question of the origin of evil. The good bishop referred
them at last to Pope Gregory VII., who greatly comforted St. Hugo by
assuring him that such doubts were only sent to try his virtue and
faith in the providence of God in permitting evil in the world.
Pinturicchio (Umbrian: 1454-1513).
Bernardino di Betto, or the son of Benedetto, was commonly called
Pinturicchio, "the little painter." He is not strongly represented
in our Gallery. His principal works are the decorated ceiling
and frescoes in the Library of Siena, which represent the life
of the Pope Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini (Pius II.). A drawing of
this Library and copies of some of the frescoes are in the Arundel
Society's Collection. Pinturicchio, says Symonds, is "a kind of
Umbrian Gozzoli, who brings us here and there in close relation
to the men of his own time. His wall-paintings in the library of
the Cathedral of Siena are so well preserved that we need not seek
elsewhere for better specimens of the decorative art most highly
prized in the first years of the 16th century. These frescoes have
a richness of effect and a vivacity of natural action which, in
spite of their superficiality, render them highly charming. The
life of Pius II. is treated like a legend. Both Pope and Emperor
are romantically conceived, and each portion of the tale is told
as though it were a part in some popular ballad. So much remains
of Perugian affectation as gives a kind of childlike grace to
the studied attitudes and many-coloured groups of elegant young
men" (Renaissance, iii. 220). In the foreground of one of the
frescoes is a charming figure, supposed to be a portrait of the
young Raphael. Vasari states and subsequent writers have repeated
that Pinturicchio was assisted in these frescoes by Raphael. This
supposition rests on three drawings attributed to Raphael, but
now proved to be by Pinturicchio, who bound himself to execute
the whole work with his own hand. Morelli's attribution to
Pinturicchio of the so-called "Raphael's sketch-book" at Venice
is one of the most important of that critic's discoveries. "If
(says Morelli) in representing serious religious subjects, he
does not come up to Perugino as regards proportion, finish, and
the filling of space; if his forms are not so noble, and the
expression of religious sentiment not so deep as in Pietro; yet,
on the other hand, Pinturicchio is, to my mind, less conscious,
more fresh and racy than Perugino, and does not so often fatigue
us by monotony and that conventional sweetness which, especially
in the productions of his last twenty years, makes Pietro
positively wearisome. And, as an imaginative landscape-painter,
Pinturicchio surpasses almost all of his contemporaries" (German
Galleries, p. 285). Pinturicchio's frescoes at Siena occupied
him from 1502 to 1509. He probably studied first under Fiorenzo
di Lorenzo (No. 1103); afterwards he entered into partnership
with Pietro Perugino. He went to Rome in 1479 and was honoured by
commissions from cardinals and popes. Among his works in Rome are
frescoes representing the stories of the Virgin and St. Jerome in
S. Maria del Popolo; frescoes in the Appartamenti Borgia in the
Vatican, and frescoes of S. Bernardino of Siena in the Bufalini
Chapel, S. Maria Aracoeli. Morelli attributes to him also two of
the frescoes in the Sixtine Chapel (the Baptism of Christ and the
History of Moses). In 1500 he commenced the beautiful series of
frescoes, now much disfigured, in the collegiate church at Spello
(see Arundel Society's copies). That he was held in high esteem by
his fellow-citizens is shown by his having been elected in 1501
Decemvir of Perugia in place of Pietro Perugino. Unlike Perugino,
he never mastered the use of oil, but painted in tempera. Vasari,
who did not like Pinturicchio, describes him as somewhat of a
hack, and still more of a lover of money. "Among other qualities
he possessed that of giving considerable satisfaction to princes
and nobles because he quickly brought the works commanded by them
to an end." As for his love of money, he died of vexation, Vasari
assures us, "because a certain trunk which he had insisted on
being removed from his painting-room in Siena was afterwards found
to be full of gold pieces." According, however, to a contemporary
writer, his wife left him alone in his house when ill, and he was
starved to death.
St. Catherine of Alexandria was of all the female saints next to
Mary Magdalene the most popular: she meets us in nearly every room
in the National Gallery, and even in London, churches and districts
once placed under her protection still retain her name. Her general
attributes are a book, a sword, and a wheel. The meaning of these
will be seen from the legend of her which crusaders brought from the
East. She was the daughter of a queen, and of marvellous wisdom and
understanding. And when the time came that she should govern her
people, she, shunning responsibility and preferring wisdom before
sovereignty, shut herself up in her palace and gave her mind to
the study of philosophy. For this wilful seclusiveness her people
wished her to marry a husband who should at once fulfil the duties of
government and lead them forth to battle. But she, to prevent this
repugnant union, made one more spiritual by her mystical marriage with
Christ. And for this and other unworldly persistencies, the heathen
tyrant Maximin would have broken her on a wheel, but that "fire came
down from heaven, sent by the destroying angel of God, and broke the
wheel in pieces." Yet for all this the tyrant repented not, and after
scourging St. Catherine with rods beheaded her with the sword, and so
having won the martyr's palm, she entered into the joy of her Lord.
School of Giovanni Bellini.[168] See under 189.
Besides translating the Bible, St. Jerome (see 227) is famous as one of
the founders of the monastic system, "of the ordered cell and tended
garden where before was but the desert and the wild wood," and he
died in the monastery he had founded at Bethlehem. This picture shows
us the inside of monastic life. St. Jerome, with the scholar's look
of quiet satisfaction, is deep in study; his room has no luxury, but
is beautiful in its grace and order; the lion, who seems here to be
sharing his master's meditation, and the partridge peering into the
saint's slippers, speak of the love of the old monks for the lower
animals; and the beautiful landscape seen through the open window
recalls the sweet nooks which they everywhere chose and tended for
their dwelling. The effect of the whole picture is to suggest the
peaceful simplicity of the old religious life in contrast to the
"getting and spending" with which we now "lay waste our powers."
The picture belongs to what Ruskin has called the "Time of the
Masters," who desire only to make everything dainty and delightful.
"Everything in it is exquisite, complete, and pure; there is not a
particle of dust in the cupboards, nor a cloud in the air; the wooden
shutters are dainty, the candlestick is dainty, the saint's blue hat
is dainty, and its violet tassel, and its ribbon, and his blue cloak,
and his spare pair of shoes, and his little brown partridge—it is all
a perfect quintessence of innocent luxury—absolute delight, without
one drawback in it, nor taint of the Devil anywhere" (Verona and other
Lectures, § 26). For another specimen of this "pictorial perfectness
and deliciousness," see 288 (especially the compartment with Raphael
and Tobit).
As for the partridge, this is frequently introduced into sacred
pictures, especially those of the Venetian School. There is a pretty
legend of St. John which perhaps accounts for it, and which makes
its introduction very appropriate in the picture of a recluse. St.
John had, it is said, a tame partridge, which he cherished much, and
amused himself with feeding and tending. A certain huntsman, passing
by with his bow and arrows, was astonished to see the great apostle,
so venerable for his age and sanctity, engaged in such an amusement.
The apostle asked him if he always kept his bow bent. He answered that
would be the way to render it useless. "If," replied St. John, "you
unbend your bow to prevent its being useless, so do I thus unbend my
mind for the same reason" (Mrs. Jameson: Sacred and Legendary Art, p.
100).
Andrea Previtali (Bergamese: about 1480-1528).
This painter (whose personality is in some art-histories merged
in that of Cordelle Agii, see 1409) was one of Bellini's numerous
pupils—a provincial from Bergamo, "a dry, honest, monotonous"
painter (see Morelli's German Galleries, pp. 178-181, and under
1203). "As regards technique, Previtali is certainly very eminent;
in brilliance of colouring he is not behind any of Bellini's
pupils, and the landscapes in the background of his pictures are
for the most part neatly and faultlessly executed. But he lacks
the main attributes of a great artist—invention and the power of
original representation." Whilst painting in Venice, he signed his
pictures Andreas Bergomensis; on his return to Bergamo, Andreas
Previtalus. His pictures at Bergamo are numerous; the best is the
altar-piece in S. Spirito.
A characteristic example of the painter. The figure of the monk in
adoration is somewhat hard. The landscape background is pleasant.
Unknown (Flemish: 15th century).
See also (p. xx)
He was Venetian Consul in London in 1449, and holds in his hand a
letter addressed to him there. He was subsequently elected Doge, but
died (in 1486), after holding the office for six months. It is recorded
of him as Doge that he was a specially mild-tempered and good man—a
character which is not belied in this portrait of him in his earlier
days. This portrait was formerly ascribed to Gerard van der Meire (see
under 1078). It is now by some attributed to Petrus Cristus.
Moroni (Bergamese: 1525-1578).
Giambattista Moroni is one of the greatest of the Italian
portrait-painters, and this picture is perhaps his best-known and
most popular production.[169] The works of Moroni appeal alike to
the general public and to the painter. He gave to his figures a
vitality and ease, and impressed upon them a verisimilitude which
appeal to every spectator. His works (adds Sir F. Burton) "will
always be highly estimated by the painter, as they exhibit rare
technical merits, perfect knowledge and command of means, facility
of execution without display of dexterity, truth of colour, and
the finest perception of the value of tones." "No portrait-painter
ever placed the epidermis of the human face upon canvas with more
fidelity, and with greater truth than Moroni: his portraits have
all a more or less prosaic look, but they must all have had that
startling likeness to the original which so enchants the great
public, who exclaim 'The very man! just how he looks!' And it was
with the eyes of the great public that Moroni did look at his
subjects; he was not a poet in the true sense of the word, but a
consummate painter. Yet, now and then, he manages to go beyond
himself, and to pierce the surface till he reaches the soul of the
sitter. In such cases his portraits may rank with those of Titian"
(Morelli's German Galleries, p. 48). His colouring varied at
different periods of his life. For examples of his manner before
he came under Il Moretto's influence see 1023 and 1316—the
reddish hue of his flesh-tints being characteristic. In his second
period he adopted the "silvery" manner of Il Moretto: seen here
and in 1022; whilst for his third, or naturalistic manner see 742.
Moroni is a distinguished ornament of the school of Bergamo—a
provincial school characterised, says Morelli, by "manly energy,"
but also by "a certain prosaic want of refinement." See, for other
Bergamese painters, Previtali (695) and Cariani (1203). Palma
Vecchio, the greatest of them, is represented by the "Portrait of
Ariosto," 636. Giambattista Moroni was a painter without honour in
his own country, and when people from Bergamo came to Titian to be
painted, he used to refer them to their own countryman—no better
face painter, he would tell them, existed. Moroni is believed
to have entered the studio of Moretto at Brescia when fifteen
years of age. His religious pictures are inferior reflections of
his master's. Upon one of them, still preserved in the church of
Gorlago (between Bergamo and Brescia) he was engaged at the time
of his death. No admirer of Moroni should omit to visit Bergamo:
a splendid series of his portraits is to be seen in the Carrara
gallery of that town. There too, as also in the gallery at Verona,
is a pretty portrait by him of a little girl.
A "speaking portrait." "The tailor's picture is so well done," says an
old Italian critic, "that it speaks better than an advocate could." A
portrait that enables one, moreover, to realise what was once meant
by a "worshipful company of merchant tailors." Tagliapanni—for such
is his name—is no Alton Locke—- no discontented "tailor and poet";
neither is he like some fashionable West-End tailor, with ambitions of
rising above his work. He is well-to-do—notice his handsome ring; but
he has the shears in his hands. He does the work himself, and he likes
the work. He is something of an artist, it would seem, in clothes: his
jacket and handsome breeches were a piece of his work, one may suppose;
and the artist has caught and immortalised him, as he is standing back
for a minute to calculate the effect of his next cut.
Piero di Cosimo (Florentine: 1462-1521).
A very characteristic work, and the most interesting of those
extant, by Piero, called di Cosimo, after his godfather and
master, Cosimo Rosselli. Piero's peculiarities are well known
to all readers of George Eliot's Romola, where everything
told us about him by Vasari in one of his most amusing chapters
is carefully worked up. The first impression left by this
picture—its quaintness—is precisely typical of the man. He
shut himself off from the world and stopped his ears; lived in
the untidiest of rooms, and would not have his garden tended,
"preferring to see all things wild and savage about him." He took
his meals at times and in ways that no other man did, and Romola
used to coax him with sweets and hard-boiled eggs. His fondness
for quaint landscape ("he would sometimes stand beside a wall,"
says Vasari, "and image forth the most extraordinary landscapes
that ever were") may be seen in this picture; so also may his
love of animals, in which, says Vasari, he took "indescribable
pleasure." Piero accompanied his master, Cosimo Rosselli, to Rome
in 1480, and painted the landscape to that master's "Sermon on the
Mount" in the Sixtine Chapel. He painted several altar-pieces,
but his true bent was towards mythological subjects and quaintly
decorative treatment. Vasari describes in detail a Carnival
triumph devised by Piero. This and the adornment of dwelling-rooms
and marriage-chests were the forms in which his fantastic
originality found the most congenial expression. He was also a
good portrait-painter: No. 895 in this gallery has recently been
recognised as his work.
The subjects of Piero's pictures were generally mythological. In
Romola he paints Tito and Romola as Bacchus and Ariadne; here he
shows the death of Procris, the story in which the ancients embodied
the folly of jealousy. For Procris being told that Cephalus was
unfaithful, straightway believed the report and secretly followed him
to the woods, for he was a great hunter. And Cephalus called upon
"aura," the Latin for breeze, for Cephalus was hot after the chase:
"Sweet air, O come," and echo answered, "Come, sweet air." But Procris,
thinking that he was calling after his mistress, turned to see, and as
she moved she made a rustling in the leaves, which Cephalus mistook for
the motion of some beast of the forest, and let fly his unerring dart,
which Procris once had given him.
But Procris lay among the white wind-flowers,
Shot in the throat. From out the little wound
The slow blood drained, as drops in autumn showers
Drip from the leaves upon the sodden ground.
None saw her die but Lelaps, the swift hound,
That watched her dumbly with a wistful fear,
Till at the dawn, the hornèd wood-men found
And bore her gently on a sylvan bier,
To lie beside the sea,—with many an uncouth tear.
Piero's treatment of the theme is, it should be noted, romantic, rather
than classical; in which respect his picture is characteristic of
the earlier Renaissance. "In creating his Satyr the painter has not
had recourse to any antique bas-relief, but has imagined for himself
a being half human, half bestial, and yet wholly real; nor has he
portrayed in Procris a nymph of Greek form, but a girl of Florence.
The strange animals and gaudy flowers introduced into the landscape
background further remove the subject from the sphere of classic
treatment. Florentine realism and quaint fancy being thus curiously
blended, the artistic result may be profitably studied for the light it
throws upon the so-called Paganism of the earlier Renaissance. Fancy at
that moment was more free than when superior knowledge of antiquity
had created a demand for reproductive art, and when the painters
thought less of the meaning of the fable for themselves than of its
capability of being used as a machine for the display of erudition"
(Symonds's Renaissance, iii. 187). Piero seems to have taken his
background from Lake Thrasymene.
Piero's poetic fancy in this picture has aroused a responsive echo in
the poets of our own day. The lines quoted above are from "The Death of
Procris; a version suggested by the so-named picture of Piero di Cosimo
in the National Gallery," in Mr. Austin Dobson's Old World Idylls.
Another version of the picture may be found in Michael Field's Sight
and Song:—
And there she lies half-veiled, half-bare,
Deep in the midst of nature that abides
Inapprehensive she is lying there,
So wan;
The flowers, the silver estuary afar—
These daisies, plantains, all the white and red
Field-blossoms through the leaves and grasses spread;
The water with its pelican,
Its flight of sails and its blue countrysides—
Unto themselves they are;
The dogs sport on the sand,
The herons curve about the reeds
Or one by one descend the air,
While lifelessly she bleeds
From throat and dabbled hand.
Mr. Ruskin also has written a piece around our picture, which he reads
with a different eye from "Michael Field,"[170] seeing in it not so
much the inapprehensiveness of nature as the pathetic fallacy whereby
the moods of nature are made to sympathise with human joy or sorrow:—
"The next best landscape (to Bellini's 'Peter Martyr') in the
National Gallery is a Florentine one on the edge of transition to
the Greek feeling; and in that the distance is still beautiful,
but misty, not clear; the flowers are still beautiful, but,
intentionally, of the colour of blood; and in the foreground lies
the dead body of Procris, which disturbs the poor painter greatly;
and he has expressed his disturbed mind about it in the figure
of a poor little brown (nearly black) Faun, or perhaps the god
Faunus himself, who is much puzzled by the death of Procris, and
stoops over her, thinking it a woful thing to find her pretty body
lying there breathless, and all spotted with blood on the breast"
(Lectures on Landscape, § 94).
Lorenzo Lotto (Venetian: 1480-1555).
To this great painter full justice has scarcely been done by
writers on art—an omission which in recent years Morelli and
still more Mr. Berenson, in his elaborate monograph, have sought
to repair. Lotto led a wandering life, which took him much away
from Venice; hence his pictures are comparatively little known.
Again, as Sir F. Burton points out, "great versatility and
remarkable impressibility are among the chief characteristics of
Lotto, who certainly was possessed of genius but whose development
was oscillating and affected by many influences. Only by extremely
careful study and comparison can his hand be traced throughout
in works, which at first sight exhibit little or nothing in
common. Were none of Lotto's works signed or otherwise attested
they would certainly bear very various attributions, as indeed
many of his unsigned pictures have done, and as it is likely
some do still." The portrait, for instance, of Andrea Odoni at
Hampton Court was for several centuries attributed to Correggio,
but recent cleaning has uncovered Lotto's signature and the date
1527. Of his power as a portrait-painter visitors to the National
Gallery can form a good idea. His works in this sort will bear
comparison with the best of his contemporaries. They have, says
Morelli, "all that refined, inward elegance of feeling which marks
the culminating point in the last stage of progressive art in
Italy, and which is principally represented by Leonardo da Vinci,
Lotto, Andrea del Sarto, and Correggio; whereas the elegance of
Bronzino in Tuscany, and of Parmigiano in North Italy, is an
outward affected one, which has nothing to do with the inner life
of the person represented, and therefore characterises the first
stage of declining art." His sympathetic nature enabled him to
seize the finer traits of his sitters, and they in turn "look
out from his canvasses as if begging for the sympathy" of the
spectator. No. 1047 in our Gallery is especially characteristic.
Lotto's altar-pieces, which were numerous, must be studied at
Treviso, Recanati, Jesi, Bergamo, and Trescorre (frescoes), near
the latter place. His pictures at different periods (they are
for the most part dated) show strong resemblances to different
painters—to Bellini and the Vivarini, to Palma, to Titian, to
Giorgione, and to Correggio. He was born at Venice, and, according
to Vasari, was a disciple of John Bellini. Mr. Berenson, on the
contrary, maintains on internal evidence that Lotto must have
belonged to the rival school of Alvise Vivarini. Of Palma, he
was, according to Vasari, the friend and companion. With Titian
he was on friendly terms, though if we may judge from a letter
by Pietro Aretino, the attitude of the worldly Titian coterie to
the gentle Lotto, was not unmixed with some contempt. "O Lotto,"
he writes, "as goodness good, and as talent talented, Titian from
Augsburg, in the midst of the high favour everybody is eager to
show him, greets and embraces you by the token of the letter
which I received from him two days ago. He says that it would
double the pleasure that he takes in the emperor's satisfaction
with the picture he is now painting, if he had your eye and
your judgment to approve him. And indeed, the painter is not
mistaken, for your judgment has been formed by age, by nature,
and by art, with the prompting of that straightforward kindliness
which pronounces upon the works of others exactly as if they were
your own. Envy is not in your breast. Rather do you delight to
see in other artists certain qualities which you do not find in
your own brush, although it performs those miracles which do not
come easy to many who yet feel very happy over their technical
skill. But holding the second place in the art of painting is
nothing compared to holding the first place in the duties of
religion, for Heaven will recompense you with a glory that passes
the praise of this world.—Venice, April 1548." The resemblance
between Lotto and Correggio was founded on no personal intercourse
or artistic "influence," but on similarity of temperament. It
is most conspicuous in the works of Lotto's "Bergamask period"
(1518-1526). But whereas Correggio's sensitiveness is to
impressions of outward joy and beauty, Lotto's is attuned rather
to states of the human soul. Titian's sitters, it has been well
said, are as if on parade, and his religious pictures tell of the
pomp or rapture of public services. Lotto's sitters commune rather
with their own souls, and in his devotional pieces he aims at a
personal interpretation of religious motives. "As a colourist,"
says Burton, "Lotto remained throughout a Venetian. His flesh
tints are true, and various as the age, sex, and temperament of
the persons depicted." All that we know of his life suggests a
reserved, sensitive, and unworldly nature. Unlike so many of his
contemporaries, he never sued the favour of the mighty. In his
account book recently discovered at Loreto he speaks again and
again of having done excellent work for people who remunerated him
with pence where if a contract had been made they would have had
to pay him in pounds. He lodged sometimes with friends, sometimes
with monks. His life was that of a lonely wanderer, very
industrious, but laying up no store. In 1554 he made over himself
and all his belongings to the Holy House at Loreto, "being tired
of wandering and wishing to end his days in that holy place."
During the last years of his life he had almost entirely lost
his voice. In one of his wills is a reference which shows us the
temperament of the man. Among his scanty possessions were a number
of antique gems. These he speaks of lovingly, because they were
engraved with mystic symbols for the spirit to brood upon (see
Lorenzo Lotto: an Essay in Constructive Criticism, by Bernhard
Berenson, 1895; and Morelli's German Galleries, pp. 31-40;
Roman Galleries, p. 301).
Agostino was Professor of Medicine in the University of Padua; he
holds a copy of "Galen," the most celebrated of the ancient medical
writers, in his hand. It was for Niccolo, however, according to the
inscription, that the picture was painted in 1515; and Signor Morelli
(its former owner) thinks that Agostino's portrait must have been
inserted at a later time, for "it is placed very awkwardly in the
background" (German Galleries, p. 37 n.). "No one with a feeling
for composition can doubt for an instant that Agostino was originally
intended to be alone on the canvas, as he occupies all of it that a
single bust ought to occupy. Morelli's inference seems thus to be well
founded that Lotto, on his return from Venice to Bergamo, stopped at
Padua and painted the portrait of Agostino, which he brought to Niccolo
at Bergamo, who thereupon had his own portrait added.... Lotto's
sitters were in no way remarkable. Nevertheless, he gives them a look
of refinement and innate sweetness of nature which brings us very close
to them" (Berenson, pp. 138, 321).
Bernardino Lanini (Lombard: about 1508-1578).
Lanini was a native of Vercelli, and a scholar of Gaudenzio
Ferrari. Subsequently he approached more to the manner of
Leonardo, as in this picture dated 1543. His works are frequent at
Turin and Vercelli. There is an altar-piece by him at Borgo Sesia,
near Varallo; his principal works are frescoes in the Cathedral at
Novara.
Mr. Pater bids us notice in this picture the "pensive, tarnished silver
sidelights, like mere reflections of natural sunshine" ("Art Notes in
North Italy," New Review, Nov. 1890).
Justus of Padua (died 1400).
A picture of interest as being the oldest by any North Italian
painter in the Gallery—the date inscribed on the plinth below is
1367. Justus (Giusto di Giovanni) was a native of Florence, who
in 1375 settled in Padua and founded his style upon the works of
Giotto in that town. The frescoes at Padua formerly ascribed to
him are now said to be the works of his scholars, Giovanni and
Antonio da Padova.
None of the pictures in our Gallery by followers of Giotto is so
satisfactory as this; "exquisite both in design and colour, though on
a very small scale, it has," says Sir E. Poynter, "all the largeness
of style which characterises the great Florentine fourteenth-century
frescoes" (The National Gallery, i. 258). "The Virgin is of a fresh
type, pretty and noble also. Amongst the saints in the centre picture
that of St. Paul (on the extreme right) is distinguished by its natural
bearing. There is, however, vigour and a sense of beauty and proportion
throughout this charming little work." In the panel to the left, with
the Nativity, "may be noticed the spirit of alertness in the attendant
waiting to wash the child, and the statuesque design of St. Joseph";
in that to the right, with the crucifixion, "the figure of St. John,
at the foot of the Cross, with its fine expression of grief, and
beautifully-designed drapery" (Monkhouse, Italian Pre-Raphaelites,
p. 23). Above is the Annunciation, with regard to which see notes on
No. 1139. On the reverse side of the wings are other incidents from the
life of the Virgin.
This and the pictures following (701-722) were presented by Queen
Victoria to the National Gallery "in fulfilment of the wishes of
H.R.H. the Prince Consort." They formerly belonged to the collection
of H.I.H. Prince Louis of Oettingen-Wallerstein, and afterwards
became the property of Prince Albert. It was his intention from
the first to present them to the nation, but the gift was delayed
owing to the uncertainty with regard to the site of the proposed new
National Gallery. The Prince's purpose remained unaccomplished, but
not forgotten, at his death, and in 1863 the best pictures from the
collection were presented by Queen Victoria to the nation.
Unknown (Umbrian: 15th-16th century).
Formerly ascribed to L'Ingegno. See 1220.
Pinturicchio (Umbrian: 1454-1513). See 693.
Angelo Bronzino (Florentine: 1502-1572). See 649.
See also (p. xx)
A contemporary portrait of the great Medici, the first "Grand Duke"
of Tuscany (ruled 1537-1564), who was regarded in his day as the very
incarnation of Machiavelli's Prince, "inasmuch as he joined daring
to talent and prudence," and though "he could practise mercy in due
season," was yet "capable of great cruelty." No one, who notices here
that large protruding under lip of his, will doubt this last element in
his character.
Ascribed to Stephan Lochner (Early German: died 1451).
"Meister Stephan" was a native of Constance, who settled in
Cologne, and whose work has the stamp of the early Cologne School
(see 687). His chief work is the so-called Dombild, now in Cologne
Cathedral: "Item. I gave two white pennies," says Albert Dürer
in his diary, "to see the picture that Master Staffan of Cologne
painted." This famous altar-piece has been published by the
Arundel Society. "Italian Art," says Sir F. Burton, "has seldom
produced a group so beautiful as that of the crowned Madonna in
its central panel." Another exquisite little picture ascribed to
Meister Stephan is in the Cologne Museum.
Three figures full of innocent fervour and graceful sentimentality.
St. Matthew as an evangelist holds a book and a pen, and is attended
by the symbolic angel. St. John is attended by the eagle, which is the
constant symbol of this evangelist, because he soared upwards to the
contemplation of the divine nature of the Saviour.
The Master of the Lyversberg Passion (German:
died about 1490).
A picture by the unknown painter of a series of Passion pictures,
formerly belonging to Herr Lyversberg of Cologne, but now in the
Museum of the city. He painted also a series of eight subjects
from the Life of Mary. Of these six are in the Pinacothek at
Munich, a seventh is in the German Museum at Nuremberg, and our
picture is the eighth.
Characteristic of the German School after the Flemish influence. The
sky background is gilt as in the old German pictures, but the types of
the figures are Flemish. Notice the quaint pointed shoes, and the touch
of realism in making the foot of Simeon, as he advances to receive the
child from its mother, come half out of his slipper.
Master of the Cologne Crucifixion (Early German School: early 16th century).
Part of an altar-piece, the rest of which is in the Munich Gallery, by
an artist whose name is unknown, and who is therefore called after his
principal works (now in the Cologne Museum). It has been well said of
him that "he succeeded in giving an intense expression of transient
emotion to the faces; but by endeavouring to lend a sympathetic action
to the whole figure, he has exaggerated the action into distortion"
(History of Painting, from the German of Woltmann and Woermann,
ii. 224). This is conspicuously the case here. Look, for instance,
at the comic contrast between St. Peter's big foot and St. Dorothy's
pointed little shoe—between what is almost a leer on his face and the
"mincing" affectation on hers. St. Peter is distinguished of course
by the keys; St. Dorothy by the basket of flowers—the flowers which
she sent to Theophilus in token of the truth of the faith in which she
died: "Carry these to Theophilus, say that Dorothea has sent them,
and that I go before him to the garden whence they came and await him
there" (see Mrs. Jameson; Sacred and Legendary Art, p. 336, ed.
1850).
Unknown[171] (Early Flemish: 15th century).
The Madonna offers Christ an apple—symbol of the forbidden fruit, and
thus of the sin in the world which he came to remove.
Unknown (Flemish School; 15th-16th century).
See also (p. xx)
"In Flemish pictures the varnish was incorporated with the surface
colours, and cannot be removed without destroying at the same time
the very fabric of the work. For this reason all attempts to, what is
called, restore, or clean pictures of the Flemish School, result only
in the destruction of the work, and by this means many fine pictures
have, for all practical purposes, perished.... (This picture) is a
lamentable example" (Conway's Early Flemish Artists, p. 119).
Unknown[172] (Early Flemish: 15th century).
Roger van der Weyden (Flemish: 1400-1464). See 664.
"It was a common custom with Roger's followers to copy single heads
out of their master's large groups. Such single heads always have gold
backgrounds, usually dotted over with little black dashes" (Conway's
Early Flemish Artists, p. 275). These companion panels are perhaps
instances, and the heads selected for reproduction are typical of the
overstrained pathos of this school. Notice how prominently the tears in
the sorrowing mother, and the blood and tears in the "Ecco Homo" are
made to stand out.
Jan Mostaert (Early Dutch: 1474-1555).
See also (p. xx)
Mostaert, a native of Haarlem, was for eighteen years painter to
Margaret of Austria, Regent of the Netherlands. A picture ascribed
to him is preserved in the church of Notre Dame at Bruges, but no
known pictures bear his signature. A large number of his works
perished in the great fire at Haarlem in 1571.
One of the few specimens in the Gallery of the first period of Dutch
art, when it was still following the traditions of the Early Flemish
School.
Cornelis Engelbertsz (Dutch: 1468-1533).
See also (p. xx)
Engelbertsz was one of the earliest oil painters at Leyden, and
is said to have been the master of Lucas of Leyden. Most of his
important religious works were destroyed by the Dutch iconoclasts
of the sixteenth century.
Joachim Patinir (Early Flemish: died 1524).
See also (p. xx)
Patinir (born at Dinant, but settled in Antwerp) was styled by
Albert Dürer, who stayed with him when in Antwerp, drew his
portrait and attended his wedding, "Joachim the good landscape
painter." What distinguishes his landscape is its greater expanse,
as compared with earlier works. The Flemish painters preceding
him were mostly content with the narrow domestic scenery of
their own Maas country. But Patinir's pictures "embrace miles of
country, and open on every side.... Some far-away cottage by the
river-side, some hamlet nestling against a remote hill-slope, some
castle on a craggy peak, blue against the transparent sky—such
objects were a joy to him.... Moreover, with Patinir the fantastic
element was of much importance. He wished his landscapes to be
romantic.... He would have precipitous rocks.... His river must
pass through gorges or under natural archways; his skies must be
full of moving clouds; his wide districts of country must present
contrasts of rocky mountain, water, and fertile plains.... He saw
also the grandeur of wild scenery, and strove, though not with
perfect success, to bring that into his pictures, showing thereby
the possession of a foretaste of that delight in nature for her
own sake, the full enjoyment of which has been reserved for the
people of our own century" (Conway's Early Flemish Artists, pp.
299, 300). "His figures," says Sir F. Burton, "while retaining
old Netherlandish characteristics, are good, expressive, and even
noble in conception." Most of the Galleries contain pictures by
Patinir. Madrid is particularly rich in them.
"A high authority on early Flemish art, M. Henri Hymans, has stated
that the figures in the 'Crucifixion' given to Joachim Patinir, and of
which the landscape is undoubtedly his, are by the painter's friend,
Quentin Matsys. Unquestionably these figures differ much in colour and
execution from those contained in such other examples of Patinir in the
National Gallery as the 'Nun' (945), or 'The Visit of the Virgin to St.
Elizabeth' (1082)" (Claude Phillips in the Academy, September 28,
1889).
Joachim Patinir (Early Flemish: died 1524). See 715.
One of the earliest attempts in painting to tell the beautiful legend
of Christopher (the Christ bearer), the hermit ferryman, who, "having
sustained others in their chief earthly trials, afterwards had Christ
for companion of his own." The best account of the legend of St.
Christopher is to be found in Miss Alexander's Roadside Songs of
Tuscany, edited by Ruskin, illustrated with "the most beautiful and
true designs that have ever yet been made out of all the multitude by
which alike the best spiritual and worldly power of Art have commended
to Christendom its noblest monastic legend."
Joachim Patinir (Early Flemish: died 1524). See 715.
The evangelist on the island of Patmos, writing the revelations out
of an ink-horn held by an eagle, which an imp is attempting to steal.
In the sky above are the revelations themselves: "And there appeared
a great wonder in heaven; a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon
under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars.... And there
appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon,
having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads"
(Revelation xii. 1, 3).
Ascribed to Hendrik Bles (Flemish: about 1480-1550).
Bles, called by the Italians "Civetta" (the owl), on account of
the owl which he often adopted as his monogram, was an imitator
of Patinir (see 715). Van Mander says that his nickname was Met
de Bles (with the forelock), but as he signs himself Henricus
Blessius, it is probable that Bles was his real name.
Ascribed to Hendrik Bles (See last picture).
For the subject see No. 654.
Jan van Schorel (Dutch: 1495-1562).
Schorel, so called from his birthplace, belongs to the second
period of Dutch art, and was one of the most successful of the
"Italianisers"; but neither of these pictures is a good or
indeed a certain specimen. He was a poet and musician as well
as a painter, and studied under Albert Dürer at Nuremberg. He
afterwards visited Venice, whence he went to Jerusalem, returning
by Rhodes to Rome. In 1522 he was made by his countryman, Pope
Adrian VI., Keeper of the Art Collection of the Vatican. He
afterwards returned to Utrecht, where he died a Canon of St.
Mary's. He was the master of Anthony Mor.
Unknown (German: 15th-16th century).
Formerly ascribed to Sigmund Holbein (1465-1540). A German
housewife—with a characteristic mixture about her of sentimentality
(for she holds a forget-me-not in her hand) and of austerity (for there
is something forbidding, surely, in these terribly angular fingers of
hers).
Carlo Crivelli (Venetian: painted 1468-1493). See 602.
Full of the dainty detail which characterises the Venetian pictures
of this time. Notice the fruit placed everywhere about the Virgin's
throne; and above, the vases of flowers and the swallow—hence the name
of the picture, "Madonna della Rondine." Notice also the beautiful
dress patterns and the rich hanging brocades. The Virgin's dress is
a lovely silk brocade, of a design which might well be copied for
muslins and curtains. In this picture, however, "Crivelli's gift
of characterisation has been overpowered by his interest in the
accessories. St. Jerome, indeed, is a noble and dignified figure, but
who could believe in the St. Sebastian? As a study of costume the
figure is interesting, reproducing every detail with minute fidelity,
and bringing before us the model of a well-dressed young man of
Crivelli's time. But the features are of an ignoble type, and the
attitude is suggestive only of self-conscious vanity. Instead of a
devout attendant at the throne, we seem to get a dandy posing for the
admiration of the spectator." The scenes of the predella, on the other
hand, are full of animation, of feeling, and of force (Rushforth's
Crivelli, p. 72). The picture is signed by Carolus Crivellus Miles,
so that it is one of his later works. In the centre of the step is the
escutcheon of the Odoni family, for whose chapel in the church of the
Franciscans at Matelica the picture was painted.
Giovanni Bellini (Venetian: 1426-1516). See 189.
An early work of the master, painted probably about 1459 (nearly half
a century earlier than the Doge's portrait, 189), but interesting as
showing the advance made by him in landscape. "We see for the first
time an attempt to render a particular effect of light, the first
twilight picture with clouds rosy with the lingering gleams of sunset,
and light shining from the sky on hill and town—the first in which
a head is seen in shadow against a brilliant sky" (Monkhouse: The
Italian Pre-Raphaelites, p. 73). "In the figures of the Apostles,
especially in the one on the left, the repose of sleep is expressed in
so admirable and convincing a manner, that it would be difficult to
name a second painter of the quattro-cento who could compare with
Bellini in this respect" (Richter). Nor is the advance one in the
technique of art only. The picture is one of the earliest in which art
made use of what Ruskin calls "the pathetic fallacy"—in which, that
is, art represents nature as sympathising with human emotion. Bellini
"called in nature," says Mr. Hodgson, R.A. (Magazine of Art, 1886,
p 215), "to sympathise with human sorrows, or rather he was the first
to point out that nature takes her colouring and her aspects from
the conditions of our passions and sentiments.[173] That sombre sky,
with its gleam along the horizon, that long dark hill, the wild plain
over which the traitor and his accomplices are stealing, have exactly
the aspect which they would present to one who stood there knowing
that a horrible treason was going to be perpetrated." Compare, for
this "pathetic fallacy" in painting, Titian's "Noli me tangere" (No.
270). Bellini's picture should be compared with Mantegna's of the same
subject in an adjoining room (1417). Mantegna seizes only the sublimity
of the idea of the Agony, Bellini's penetrating sympathy renders its
infinite pathos. Mantegna's picture is in some technical respects the
more accomplished; "but in all that concerns the imaginative conception
of the subject, in the harmonising of all the accessories to produce a
single profound impression on the emotions, above all in the large and
reposeful spaciousness of the composition, Bellini is surely the more
to be admired" (Roger Fry: Giovanni Bellini, p. 22). Both pictures
may be profitably compared with Correggio's of the same subject, in
which we are introduced to a new order of ideas (See notes on No. 76).
Francesco Pesellino (Florentine: 1422-1457).
This accomplished master was called Pesellino to distinguish
him from his grandfather Pesello, by whom he was brought up. He
is "entitled to one of the highest places in the ranks of the
Florentine School of the fifteenth century. His compositions
are distinguished by their lively grace, and the beautiful and
truthful expressions of the persons portrayed" (Kugler). In
beauty of colour and dignity of design the work before us is his
masterpiece. He was a pupil of Fra Filippo Lippi, and subsequently
opened a workshop in Florence in partnership with a certain Piero
di Lorenzo. He died at the early age of thirty-five, leaving a
widow and several children in penury. His works are very rare.
Two compartments of a predella by him are in the Accademia at
Florence, a fourth being in the Louvre. The collection of Morelli
(now in the Public Gallery of Bergamo) contains three charming
little pictures by him, which strongly recall the style of Fra
Filippo (Morelli's account of the painter is in his Roman
Galleries, pp. 253-58). "In the Torrigiani Palace at Florence are
two remarkable panels from cassoni, there ascribed to Gozzoli,
but by modern criticism more justly to Pesellino; they bear out
Vasari's remark as to this painter's skill in delineating animals"
(Burton).
This picture is perhaps the finest version extant of the conventional
Italian representation of the mystery of the Trinity. The Son on a
crucifix is supported by the Father, whilst the Holy Spirit in the
form of a dove hovers over the head of the Son. The head of the First
Person of the Trinity is a very majestic conception. "In this face,
so full of beauty and power, of intensity and calm, as well as the
careful modelling of the pathetic figure of Christ upon the cross,
Pesellino touches heights which Lippi could not reach; but in the
charming cherubim and seraphim with which the severity of the subject
is softened and decorated, and in the beauty of the colour (though
that has suffered much) we may recognise the influence of his master.
We have only to compare this picture with the representations of
the same subject by Landini (580a) and Orcagna (570) to show how
the power to render the most august subjects had been increased by
progress in technical accomplishment and the liberation of the artist's
imagination, even when the elements and arrangements of the composition
remained virtually unchanged from the traditional type" (Monkhouse, In
the National Gallery, p. 62). The picture is referred to by Vasari:
"At Pistoja is a work by Pesello, representing the Trinity, with
figures of San Zeno and San Jacopo" (ii. 115). On the suppression of
the religious congregation to whom the church of the Holy Trinity at
Pistoja belonged, the picture was sold, and passed into the collection
of Mr. Young Ottley. The side panels referred to by Vasari are still in
private collections.
Beltraffio (Lombard: 1467-1516).
Giovanni Antonio Beltraffio came of a noble family in Milan (his
epitaph is in the Brera) and filled public offices in his native
town. He fell under the influence of Leonardo, and when that
master settled at Milan, Beltraffio lodged in his house, and
became his ardent disciple. "His most ambitious creation, where
he lamentably fails, is the Louvre altar-piece, the redeeming
features of which are the fine portraits of the Casio family, his
friends and patrons. When he confined himself to portraiture he
was often strikingly successful, and the older Milanese families
still possess a number of ancestral portraits by him, some of
which are of great charm. He seems to have become the pet artist
of the society of his day, often painting the portraits of his
friends in the guise of a St. Sebastian, or as Sta. Barbara.
He accompanied Leonardo to Rome in 1514. Although not a great
artist, and entirely lacking in imagination and dramatic power,
he exhibits singular refinement. His cultured intellect enabled
him to appreciate, and in a measure reflect, the fastidious spirit
of his master. His works charm by their high finish, and by the
absence of all vulgarity or display. His portraits do not reveal
much penetration, and he never caught the subtleties of character
or the intellectual qualities of his sitters" (Catalogue of the
Burlington Fine Arts Club Exhibition, 1898, p. lviii.). His
pictures are for the most part on a small scale. Good specimens
are to be seen in the Morelli collection at Bergamo, and the
Poldi-Pezzoli collection at Milan. To delineate the human figure
on a large scale, or human passions, was not his forte; he
succeeded better in expressing naïve innocence in children, and
gentle grace in the Mother of God, or devoted women (Morelli's
German Galleries, pp. 425-48; Roman Galleries, p. 163).
Of Beltraffio's powers in the respect last mentioned this charming
picture is perhaps the best specimen extant. The child with its quaint
belly-band, and still more the noble but slightly languishing grace of
the mother, at once recall Leonardo.
Vincenzo Foppa (Lombard: about 1425-1492).
Foppa—Il Vecchio as he is called, to distinguish him from a
younger Foppa of the Brescian School[174]—is an important person
in the history of art. Born at Brescia, but removing in early
manhood to Milan, he "holds both in the School of Brescia, and
especially in that of Milan, the same place that the mighty
Mantegna does at Padua, and Cosimo Tura at Ferrara," representing
that early period of development when force of character is
more insisted on than beauty of expression. In relation to the
Milanese, Foppa was the founder of the school which prevailed
before and up to the time of Leonardo da Vinci. He was already an
artist of repute in 1456, when he was employed to decorate the
Medici Palace at Milan with frescoes. These works, and many others
executed by him in Milan and the neighbourhood, have perished.
His best remaining frescoes are those of the Four Fathers of the
Church in S. Eustorgio at Milan. Foppa was also employed in Genoa
and Savona. Late in life he returned to Brescia, where he received
a renewed grant of citizenship, and a pension, and where also he
died. Of his extant works, the earliest is a Crucifixion in the
Bergamo gallery. This is dated 1456, and supports the statement
of old writers that Foppa had studied under Squarcione at Padua.
His latest work is the altar-piece, now in S. Maria di Castello at
Savona. This belongs to the year 1490, and agrees in style with
our National Gallery picture. Foppa is said to have written on
perspective, and many painters of the Lombard School studied under
him.
Traces of the older style of work, from which Foppa freed his school,
may here be seen in the embossed ornaments in gilt stucco. Notice
the daintiness of the picture throughout: the pretty flowers in the
foreground, the splendid brocades of the kneeling king, the birds
and weeds in the ruined stable. In the background are the star and
city of Bethlehem. "The general effect is dark and heavy, relieved
by an abundant use of red; the flesh tones, as usual, are of ashen
hue. The Madonna is of Foppa's characteristic type, of solid build.
It is interesting to find that there is little or no direct trace of
Leonardesque influence, a fact which shows that Foppa was too advanced
in years to modify perceptibly his style on the advent of the mighty
Florentine in 1481" (Catalogue of the Burlington Fine Arts Club
Exhibition, 1898, p. xxviii.).
Aart van der Neer (Dutch: 1603-1677). See 152.
The figures in the picture are supposed to be by Lingelbach (see No.
837).
Andrea Solario (Lombard: about 1460-1520).
Andrea belonged to an artist family, the Solari (of Solaro, a
village near Saronna); one of his brothers, Christopher (nicknamed
"Il Gobbo," the hunchback), was an architect and sculptor, and
from him perhaps Andrea learnt his superb modelling of the
head—a point which is conspicuous in this picture, and in which
he surpassed all his contemporaries. His repute in his own
time is attested by the journey he made to France in 1507. The
Cardinal George of Amboise desired to entrust the decoration
of a chapel to Leonardo; but Leonardo was too much taken up
with hydraulic works at Milan to accept the commission, and
the Cardinal's representative sent Andrea in the great man's
place. It is not known with whom Solario studied painting, but
his subject-pictures prove conclusively that he came within
Leonardo's sphere of influence. "Although by birth and training
a Lombard artist, Solario was so much in Venice that his native
style was largely modified. There is no historical evidence that
he ever met Antonello da Messina, but his works bear such close
resemblance to that master's productions that it cannot be doubted
they were acquainted. The portrait No. 923 is obviously Venetian
in character; indeed, it passed not long since under Bellini's
name. It seems unnecessary to suppose [with Morelli] that he paid
a visit to Flanders. The Flemish traits so conspicuous in his
work could well be derived from contact with Antonello. To the
end of his life he painted with the utmost finish and delicacy.
The brilliance and warmth of his colour compensate for the
somewhat cold ivory pallor of his flesh tones. His landscapes
are remarkably picturesque and full of incident. That behind
the figure of Longono in the National Gallery portrait is of
the greatest delicacy and charm" (Catalogue of the Burlington
Fine Arts Club Exhibition, 1898, p. lxi. See also Morelli's
German Galleries, pp. 63-68; Roman Galleries, pp. 170-176).
Subject-pictures by Solario may be seen in the Brera and the
Poldi-Pezzoli Gallery at Milan, and in the Louvre. His last
work was a large "Assumption of the Virgin" for the Certosa of
Pavia (now in the Sacristy), which his death prevented him from
finishing.
A portrait (dated 1505) of the artist's friend, a Milanese lawyer,
whose name, John Christopher Longono, is written on a letter in his
right hand. He wears the gown and cap (not unlike that still worn
by French "advocates") of his profession. Observe the landscape
background—here quaintly peopled with prancing dogs and horses on
the left, and servants in red pushing off boats on the right—with
which the old painters, like some of our modern photographers, were
fond of flattering their subjects. But in this case the subject is
well entitled to his "setting," for he is a nobleman as well as a
lawyer, and the background is perhaps studied from his country seat.
On the bottom of the panel is a Latin inscription which, literally
interpreted, runs, "Not knowing what you have been or what you may be,
may it for long be your study to be able to see what you are," i.e.
by looking at this picture of yourself—a neatly-turned compliment at
once to the painter and his subject: the picture is to last for many
a long year, and the lawyer for many a long year is to grow no older.
Or is the inscription also meant to describe the lawyer's character in
words, as the portrait does in colours—a man not troubled overmuch
with what has been or what may be hereafter, but one who is keenly
alive to what he is, and who pours all his powers into the tasks and
interests of the present?
Paolo Morando (Veronese: 1486-1522).
Paolo Morando, otherwise known as Cavazzola (his father was Taddeo
Cavazzola di Jacobi di Morando), was a pupil of Morone (see
285). He "infused a higher life, and a fine system of colouring
into the Veronese School, making thus a great advance upon his
contemporaries, and preparing the way for Paul Veronese.... He
shows, as Dr. Burckhardt has justly observed, 'a marvellous
transition from the realism of the fifteenth century to the noble
free character of the sixteenth, not to an empty idealism'"
(Layard, i. 270). His masterpieces are still in his native
Verona, and nowhere else, except in the National Gallery, can he
be studied.
St. Roch is the patron of the sick and plague-stricken. The legend
says that he left great riches to travel as a pilgrim to Rome, where
he tended those sick of the plague, and by his intercession effected
miraculous cures. Through many cities he laboured thus, until at last
in Piacenza he became himself plague-stricken, and with a horrible
ulcer in his thigh he was turned out into a lonely wood. He has here
laid aside his pilgrim staff and hung his hat upon it, and prepared
himself to die, when an angel appears to him and drops a fresh rose on
his path. There is no rose without a thorn, and no thorn in a saint's
crown without a rose. He bares his thigh to show his wound to the
angel, who (says the legend) dressed it for him, whilst his little dog
miraculously brought him every morning a loaf of bread.
Francesco Bonsignori (Veronese: 1455-1519).
Called incorrectly, by Vasari, Monsignori. He was born at Verona,
where, in the churches of S. Fermo, S. Bernardino, S. Paolo, and
in the Pinacoteca, works by him may be seen. In the grand but not
always attractive productions of his earlier style, Bonsignori
followed the traditions and manner of the Veronese School. Later
in life he went to Mantua, where he settled and was influenced by
Mantegna (see Morelli's German Galleries, p. 103, note).
A portrait—remarkable for vigorous execution, and strong
individuality—of a senator, from the life, "in his habit as he
stood,"—a branch of art in which this painter excelled. He has been
called indeed "the modern Zeuxis," after the famous Greek painter whose
painted grapes deceived the birds. For so lifelike were Bonsignori's
pictures—says Vasari in his entertaining account of this painter—that
on one occasion a dog rushed at a painted dog on the artist's canvas,
whilst on another a bird flew forward to perch itself on the extended
arm of a painted child. The portrait before us is executed in tempera.
The study in chalk, for it is in the Albertina collection at Vienna.
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
Carlo Crivelli (Venetian: painted 1468-1493). See 602.
Mary is kneeling in her chamber; while a golden ray from a glory above,
piercing the house wall, has struck her head, over which is hovering a
dove, the symbol of the Holy Spirit. The angel of the Annunciation is
outside in the court, but she cannot see him, for a wall stands between
them—"a treatment of the subject which may be intended to suggest
that the angel appeared to her in a dream." It also gives the painter
an opportunity for introducing an additional display of incident and
ornament. Beside the angel is St. Emidius, the patron saint of Ascoli,
with a model of the city in his hand. "There could not be better
examples of what we may call Crivelli's 'exquisite' style, which is
only just saved by its refinement from mere prettiness and affectation.
This angel is a poseur if ever there was one." The picture is very
characteristic, in two features, of mediæval art. First, it was never
antiquarian: it did not attempt to give a correct historical setting
(cf. under 294). No mediæval painter made the Virgin a Jewess; they
nationalised her, as it were, and painted her in the likeness of their
own maidens. So too their scenery was the likeness of their own homes
and their own country. Here, for instance, is a picture of an Italian
city in gala attire, somewhat idealised, no doubt, in splendour, but
otherwise a "perfectly true representation of what the architecture of
Italy was in her glorious time; trim, dainty,—red and white like the
blossom of a carnation,—touched with gold like a peacock's plumes,
and frescoed, even to its chimney-pots, with fairest arabesques,—its
inhabitants, and it together, one harmony of work and life" (Guide
to the Venetian Academy, p. 21). And secondly, the picture shows
the pleasure the painters took in their accessories, and the frank
humour—free at once from irreverence and from gloom—with which the
Venetians especially approached what was to them a religion of daily
life. Notice especially the little girl at the top of the steps on the
left, looking round the corner. The whole of this side of the picture
shows a naturalistic treatment which forms "a curious accompaniment
and contrast to Crivelli's ordinary conventional manner. The group
talking with a friar at the house door, the citizen who passes along
bent on business, the dandy who shades his eyes from the sun and looks
up at the house, the figures on the arch, and the people walking in
the open space by the town walls beyond, make up a picture of real
life unequalled among Crivelli's works" (Rushworth's Crivelli, p.
63). As a representation of the "Annunciation," the picture should be
compared and contrasted with Lippi's (666). The Madonna and the Angel,
"though essential to the work from the point of view of the patrons,
who commissioned it, were merely its occasion from the point of view
of that extraordinarily painstaking and detail-loving creature, its
painter. There is endless profusion of decorative work; elaborate
arabesques on the pilasters of the Madonna's lordly house, elaborate
capitals, elaborate loggias, an elaborate cornice. The grain of the
wood on her reading-desk is carefully painted; so are the planks in
the wall of her bedchamber.... Besides the endless interest of its
decorative work, this picture is useful as marking the difference
between the spiritual and ideal motives which dominated Florence, and
the worldly motives of richness and splendour which dominated Venice.
Compare its purely adventitious detail with the poetical background of
Filippo Lippi. In the Florentine, the detail is there for the sake
of the picture; in the Venetian, the picture is there for the sake of
the detail" (Grant Allen, in the Pall Mall Magazine, July 1895). See
under 1139 for further notes on the subject.
The picture is signed and dated, 1486, at the bottom of the
pilasters of the Virgin's chamber. On the face of the step below
is an inscription between three coats of arms (the Bishop's, the
Pope's, and the town's)—Libertas Ecclesiastica, which is of some
historical interest. In the year 1482 the city of Ascoli came to an
agreement with the Pope, whereby, in return for an annual tribute
and the acknowledgment of his suzerainty, the Pope issued a Bull in
favour of its citizens, conferring on them municipal Home Rule. A new
phrase—Libertas Ecclesiastica, Independence under the Church—was
invented to describe the new settlement. The arrival of the Charter
on March 25, the Feast of the Annunciation, was celebrated henceforth
by ceremonies on that day, in which a procession to the church of the
Annunziata was a prominent feature. Our picture was painted for that
church, where it remained until 1790.
Sassoferrato (Eclectic: 1605-1685). See 200.
Ascribed to Velazquez.
[175] See under 197.
The closing scene, according to one of the many legends, in the
history of that "peerless paladin," Orlando, or Roland, who was slain
at the battle of Roncesvalles, when returning from Charlemagne's
expedition against the Saracens in Spain. Invulnerable to the sword,
he was squeezed to death by Bernardo del Carpio. He lies, therefore,
prostrate, but fully dressed and armed, his right hand resting on his
chest, his left on the hilt of his famous sword. Over the dead man's
feet there hangs from a branch a small brass lamp, the flame of which,
like the hero's life, has just expired. On either side are the skulls
and bones of other "paladins and peers who on Roncesvalles died."
Moroni (Bergamese: 1525-1578). See 697.
An excellent example of the painter's third or naturalistic manner.
There is an ease of attitude and an absence of constraint which makes
the portrait transparently natural.
Raphael (Umbrian: 1483-1520). See 1171.
This picture—known as the "Garvagh Madonna," from its former owner,
Lord Garvagh, or the "Aldobrandini Madonna," from having originally
belonged to the Aldobrandini apartments of the Borghese Palace at
Rome—belongs to Raphael's third or Roman period, and a comparison
with the "Ansidei" shows the changes in feeling between the painter's
earlier and later manners. The devotional character of the Umbrian
School is less marked. In the "Ansidei Madonna" the divinity of the
Virgin is insisted on; and above her throne is the inscription "Hail,
Mother of Christ." But here the divinity is only dimly indicated by a
halo. And as the Madonna is here a merely human mother, so is the child
a purely human child. The saints in contemplation of the "Ansidei" are
replaced by a little St. John, and the two children play with a pink.
The expressions of the children, as indeed the whole picture, are full
of sweetness and beauty.[176] Very beautiful too is the pyramidal
composition of the group. Of the ultimate significance of the change
marked by Raphael's third manner, Ruskin says that it—
"Was all the more fatal because at first veiled by an appearance
of greater dignity and sincerity than were possessed by the older
art. One of the earliest results of the new knowledge was the
putting away the greater part of the unlikelihoods and fineries
of the ancient pictures, and an apparently closer following of
nature and probability. The appearances of nature were more
closely followed in everything; and the crowned Queen-Virgin of
Perugino sank into a simple Italian mother in Raphael's 'Madonna
of the Chair.' ... But the glittering childishness of the old art
was rejected, not because it was false, but because it was easy;
and, still more, because the painter had no longer any religious
passion to express. He could think of the Madonna now very calmly,
with no desire to pour out the treasures of earth at her feet, or
cover her brows with the golden shafts of heaven. He could think
of her as an available subject for the display of transparent
shadows, skilful tints, and scientific foreshortenings,—as a fair
woman, forming, if well painted, a pleasant piece of furniture for
the corner of a boudoir, and best imagined by combination of the
beauties of the prettiest contadinas"[177] (Modern Painters,
vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. iv. §§ 12, 13).
It should, however, be remembered that the "Madonna di San Sisto,"
perhaps the most spiritual of all Raphael's conceptions, was the latest
of the series.
Velazquez (Spanish: 1599-1660). See 197.
Few kings have left so many enduring monuments of themselves as
Philip IV., whose face figures twice on these walls and meets one
in nearly every European gallery. But nowhere, perhaps, has it been
more supremely rendered than on this canvas, where the king seems to
live and move before us. The picture is "perhaps the finest example
of oil-painting accessible to the British student. Though one of the
later works of the master, it is constructed out of a carefully wrought
and smooth impasto, without any 'bravura' strokes. The lights are
nowhere loaded. The hair is painted, not modelled; the jewels on the
dress are easily touched in without relief-effect or juggling. The
wonder of the thing is the infinite variety over a surface so simply
treated. The face is in such broad, even light that one has to adopt
some device which brings it freshly into the field of vision—as by
turning the head down or looking at it through the hand—in order
to see how firm is the modelling. The flesh-tints are simple enough.
Yet take almost any square inch of surface on the face—say the upper
lip with its moustache—and note the effect of each one of the free
brush-strokes which draw the pale, umber hair over the warm rubbing
on the flesh; or in the cold, lack-lustre, blue eye, measure the
apparent ease of the touches against their firm, incisive clearness.
Everything is there—form, expression—in a word, the life; but it has
all grown into perfection on the canvas so quietly, so smoothly, as
if Velazquez had indeed painted with the will only and not with the
hand" (Baldwin Brown: The Fine Arts, p. 319). "Velazquez fuses his
colours in a way that baffles painters. They melt into each other by
imperceptible gradations, as he deals with plane after plane in his
subtly-modelled faces. Observe the action of light on the pallid face
of the worn-out king, giving to the skin the breath of life in its
delicate transparency" (Quarterly Review, April 1899).
The face is one which, once seen, is not soon forgotten. Velazquez,
as we have said, caught its expression at once, and by comparing the
face in its youth (1129) with its middle age here, one can almost
trace the king's career. In youth we see him cold and phlegmatic,
but slender in figure graceful and dignified in bearing, and with a
fine open forehead. But the young king was bent on ease and pleasure,
and his minister Olivares did nothing to persuade him into more
active kingship. The less pleasing traits in his character have, in
consequence, come to be deeper impressed at the time of this later
portrait. He was devoted to sport, and the cruelty of the Spaniard
is conspicuous in the lip—more underhung now than before. In the
growth of the double chin and yet greater impassiveness of expression,
one may see the traces of that "talent for dead silence and marble
immobility" which, says the historian, "he so highly improved that
he could sit out a comedy without stirring hand or foot, and conduct
an audience without movement of a muscle, except those in his lips
and tongue." It is not the face of a great ruler; but it is one which
rightly lives on a painter's canvas, for no king was ever at once so
liberal and so enlightened a patron of the arts as he. Himself too he
was something of an artist; and the best-known piece of his painting
tells a pretty story, which it is pleasant to remember in front of
Velazquez's portraits of him. Velazquez painted once his own portrait
in the background of the king's family (the "Maids of Honour"—Las
Meninas—now at Madrid). "Is there anything wrong with it?" Velazquez
asked. "Yes," said the king, taking the palette in his hand, "just
this"—and he sketched in on the painter's portrait the coveted red
cross of the order of Santiago. "In all his portraits Philip wears the
golilla, a stiff linen collar projecting at right angles from the
neck. It was invented by the king, who was very proud of it. In regard
to the wonderful structure of Philip's moustaches, it is said that, to
preserve their form, they were encased during the night in perfumed
leather covers called bigoteras" (J. F. White, in Encyclopædia
Britannica).
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
This picture is signed and dated 1673.
Ascribed to Hans Memlinc. See 686.
St. Lawrence may nearly always be distinguished by his gridiron—the
emblem of his martyrdom. He was a pious deacon of the Christian Church,
who was put to death by the Romans. A new kind of torture was, says the
legend, prepared for him. He was stretched on a sort of bed, formed of
iron bars in the manner of a gridiron, and was roasted alive. "But so
great was his constancy that in the middle of his torments he said,
'Seest thou not, O thou foolish man, that I am already roasted on one
side, and that, if thou wouldst have me well cooked, it is time to turn
me on the other?' Then St. Lawrence lifted up his eyes, and his pure
and invincible spirit fled to heaven."
Girolamo dai Libri (Veronese: 1474-1556).
Girolamo inherited his surname ("of the books") from the
occupation of his father, who was an illuminator of manuscripts.
Girolamo himself excelled in this branch of art, but he also
became famous as a painter of altar-pieces. He had "a playful
fancy, and loved to introduce into his pictures festoons of
flowers and fruit, trees of rich green foliage bearing lemons and
oranges, and angels singing and playing on musical instruments.
He was a true Veronese in his feeling for colour, which in his
works is always rich and gay. In his backgrounds are frequently
seen distant views of his native city, with her castellated hills
and blue mountains" (Layard, i. 269). Girolamo, whose friendship
with Francesco Morone (285) is on record, was born in Verona, and
it is there that many of his principal works are preserved. In
the Pinacoteca are several charming pictures, and there also is
a collection of Girolamo's missals. In S. Giorgio Maggiore is a
"Madonna Enthroned," dated 1526, which is by many considered the
painter's masterpiece. The German artist Ludwig Richter,[178]
thus records (in his Lebenserinnerungen) the impression it made
upon him:—"I thought that I had scarcely ever seen anything so
beautiful and touching. The picture was by Girolamo dai Libri,
an old master of whom until then I had never heard, nor, indeed,
have I seen any other picture by him since. Here it was that there
first arose in me a suspicion of what a depth of spiritual life,
and of the heavenly beauty that is born of it, lay in the masters
of the pre-Raphaelite period. The master's way of seeing and
feeling, his style—and the style is the man—impressed me deeply
and permanently, touched me sympathetically. In fact this dear old
painter became veritably my patron saint, for he it was who first
opened to me the gates of the inner sanctuary of Art" (quoted by
Dr. Richter, in the Art Journal, February, 1895).
A picture "with a pedigree," being mentioned by Vasari. "In the church
of the Scala (at Verona)," he says, in his life of the painter, "the
picture of the Madonna with St. Anna is by his hand, and is placed
between the San Sebastiano of Il Moro and the San Rocco of Cavazzola
(Morando)." The latter picture (735) and Girolamo's now hang on the
same wall of our Gallery. In the composition of this picture one may
trace, perhaps, the influence of the dainty work Girolamo was first
accustomed to. Thus the trefoil, or cloverleaf pattern, is followed
both in the arrangement of the Virgin, St. Anne, and the Child, and in
that of the little playing angels below. Notice the pretty trellis-work
of roses on either side, and the slain dragon at the Virgin's feet,
emblematic (the latter) of Christ's victory over the powers of evil,
and (the former) of the "ways of pleasantness" and "paths of peace"
that he came to prepare.
Niccolo Giolfino (Veronese: painted 1486-1518).
Little is known of this painter except that he was a friend of
Mantegna. The façade of his house at Verona was painted with frescoes,
the upper part by Mantegna, the lower by Giolfino himself. He was
probably a scholar of Liberale, to whose altar-piece in the cathedral
at Verona he added the wings. One of his best works is a large
altar-piece in S. Anastasia in that city.
Two groups of family portraits, chiefly interesting for studies in
costume, originally in one picture, which formed the predella of an
altar-piece: hence the upward look of some of the faces.
Lazzaro Bastiani (Venetian: about 1425-1512).
See also (p. xx)
This picture was, until recently, ascribed to Carpaccio, of whom,
therefore, some account is here retained. It was once inscribed with
Carpaccio's name and the date 1479, but these, having been shown to be
false, were removed. The work is now attributed, in accordance with the
conclusions reached by Signor Molmenti and Dr. Ludwig[179] to Bastiani.
Lazzaro Bastiani was for many years the victim of one of Vasari's
confusions. Carpaccio, we are told by that authority, "taught his
art to two of his brothers, both of whom imitated him closely;
one of these was called Lazzaro, the other Sebastiano." No such
painters existed; but the name of Lazzaro Bastiani is on record
as that of a painter already at work in 1449. The presumption
is, therefore, that he was not taught by, but the master of,
Carpaccio, by which latter painter there is no dated work before
1490. Numerous records of later works by Bastiani from 1449
onwards have been discovered; and there is a public document of
December 11, 1508, in which Bastiani and Carpaccio were appointed
to value the frescoes executed by Giorgione on the Fondaco dei
Tedeschi. Our picture, hitherto supposed to be an early work of
Carpaccio, should be compared with the signed and dated (1484)
work of Bastiani in the Duomo of Murano, representing a Canon
kneeling before the Virgin. Other pictures by him are in the
Academies of Vienna and Venice respectively.
Various technical similarities between the work of Bastiani and
Carpaccio are pointed out by Sig. Molmenti and Dr. Ludwig, but
Bastiani's pictures lack the charm and gaiety of Carpaccio and his
chief claim to fame is that which the critics now award him of
having been the master of that great painter.
The works of Vittore Carpaccio (about 1450-1522) have of recent
years attracted great attention owing to the prominence given
to them by Ruskin in all his writings since 1870. Of "The
Presentation" in the Venetian Academy (dated 1510) he says: "You
may measure yourself, outside and in,—your religion, your taste,
your knowledge of art, your knowledge of men and things,—by the
quantity of admiration which honestly, after due time given,
you can feel for this picture. You are not required to think
the Madonna pretty, or to receive the same religious delight
from the conception of the scene which you would rightly receive
from Angelico, Filippo Lippi, or Perugino. This is essentially
Venetian,—prosaic, matter of fact,—retaining its supreme
common-sense through all enthusiasm. Nor are you required to
think this a first-rate work in Venetian colour. This is the
best picture in the Academy, precisely because it is not
the best piece of colour there;—because the great master has
subdued his own main passion, and restrained his colour-faculty,
though the best in Venice, that you might not say the moment
you came before the picture, as you do of the Paris Bordone,
'What a piece of colour!' Carpaccio does not want you to
think of his colour, but of your Christ.... If you begin
really to feel the picture, observe that its supreme merit is
in the exactly just balance of all virtue;—detail perfect, yet
inconspicuous; composition intricate and severe, but concealed
under apparent simplicity; and painter's faculty of the supremest,
used nevertheless with entire subjection of it to intellectual
purpose." Other powers of Carpaccio are better seen in the St.
Ursula Series, also in the Venetian Academy, and since Ruskin's
day honourably hung. "They are," says Layard, "masterly works,
rich in all that gives value and grandeur to historical art. The
rather monotonous history which forms the groundwork of many of
them is throughout varied and elevated by a free style of grouping
and by happy moral allusions. The colours, notwithstanding
injudicious cleanings and restorations, still shine with the
purest light. The variety of expression, always lifelike, in the
many figures, their beautiful and simple action, and the admirable
dramatic representation of the different incidents connected with
the story, give these pictures an inexpressible charm. The subject
of the dream of the young St. Ursula, in bed in her chamber, with
her table and an open book upon it and her vase of flowers, has
a purity and simplicity quite unique" (i. 320). These pictures
were painted 1490-5. Of later date (1502-1511) is the series in
the little church of S. Giorgio degli Schiavoni. They are full of
the charm of picturesque reality, the wealth of rich and quaint
accessories, the playful fancy and penetrative imagination, which
characterise Carpaccio. Occasional works by him are to be seen
in various continental galleries (e.g. Milan and Ferrara); but
it is only in Venice that any adequate conception of him can be
formed. Of his life little is known. He was born either in one of
the Venetian islands, or in Istria. He generally signed himself
"Victor Carpathius." Vasari calls him Scarpaccia; in old Venetian
documents, he is Scarpaza. "He was associated with Gentile Bellini
in executing the historical paintings for the Hall of the Great
Council in the Ducal Palace, and it has been thought possible
that he accompanied Gentile to Constantinople as an assistant. The
minute knowledge of Oriental customs and costumes which his works
display suggests that he had visited the East, and even those
parts of it which were then still under the sway of the Sultans
of Egypt" (Burton). Ruskin's criticisms, and descriptions of his
principal pictures, will be found in his Guide to the Academy
at Venice, St. Mark's Rest (Supplements), and Fors Clavigera,
1872, xx.; 1873, xxvi.; 1876, pp. 329, 340, 357, 381; 1877, p. 26;
1878, p. 182. An earlier reference is in the Oxford Lectures on
Art, § 73. Copies from some of Carpaccio's "Schiavoni" pictures
are in the Arundel Society's Collection. Copies of the "Ursula"
series and other pictures made for Ruskin are in the St. George's
Museum at Sheffield.
This is a votive picture commissioned by Giovanni Mocenigo (who
reigned over Venice 1477-1485), to be presented by him, according
to the custom with reigning doges, to the Ducal Palace. The scene
selected represents the doge kneeling before the Virgin and begging
her protection on the occasion of the plague of 1478. The gold vase on
the altar before the throne contains medicaments, for which, according
to the inscription below, a blessing is invoked: "Celestial Virgin,
preserve the City and Republic of Venice and the Venetian State, and
extend your protection to me if I deserve it." Behind the doge is his
patron saint St. John, on the opposite side is St. Christopher. The
setting thus chosen for the doge's picture is characteristic. "The
first step towards the ennobling of any face is the ridding it of its
vanity; to which aim there cannot be anything more contrary than that
principle of portraiture which prevails with us in these days, whose
end seems to be the expression of vanity throughout, in face and in
all circumstances of accompaniment; tending constantly to insolence
of attitude, and levity and haughtiness of expression, and worked out
further in mean accompaniments of worldly splendour and possession;
together with hints or proclamations of what the person has done or
supposes himself to have done, which, if known, it is gratuitous in the
portrait to exhibit, and, if unknown, it is insolent to proclaim.... To
which practices are to be opposed ... the mighty and simple modesty of
... Venice, where we find the ... doges not set forth with thrones and
curtains of state, but kneeling, always crownless, and returning thanks
to God for his help; or as priests, interceding for the nation in its
affliction" (Modern Painters, vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. i. ch. xiv. §
19). The picture was bought in 1865 from the Doge's descendant, Aloise
Count Mocenigo di Sant' Eustachio.
Giovanni Santi (Umbrian: about 1440-1494).
This picture is of peculiar interest because it is by Raphael's
father. It does not, however, give a full idea of the extent
to which Raphael's talent was hereditary, for Giovanni's easel
pictures, such as this, are inferior to his wall pictures.
The young Raphael had all the advantages of an atmosphere of
artistic culture. Giovanni, like his father before him, was a
well-to-do burgher, and kept originally a general retail shop,
but he afterwards—under the teaching, it is thought, of Melozzo
da Forli—took to painting, and his house, if one may judge from
Piero della Francesca's visit in 1467, was a resort of painters.
At the brilliant court of Duke Federigo of Urbino, Giovanni
moreover acquired a taste for literature, and there is a long
rhyming chronicle by him extant in which he describes the Duke's
visit to Mantua, and amongst other things praises greatly the
works of Mantegna, Melozzo, and Piero della Francesca. But to
see how much of Raphael's genius was original, one has only to
compare this picture by the father with one (say 744) by the son.
Giovanni's female heads are not without a mild dignity of their
own; but his works lack the soft grace and winning charm that
distinguish his son's.
"Worth study, in spite of what critics say of its crudity. Concede its
immaturity, at least, though an immaturity visibly susceptible of a
delicate grace, it wins you nevertheless to return again and again,
and ponder, by a sincere expression of sorrow, profound, yet resigned,
be the cause what it may, among all the causes of sorrow inherent in
the ideal of maternity, human or divine. But if you keep in mind,
when looking at it, the facts of Raphael's childhood,[180] you will
recognise in his father's picture, not the anticipated sorrow of the
Mater Dolorosa over the dead son, but the grief of a simple household
over the mother herself taken early from it. This may have been the
first picture the eyes of the world's great painter of Madonnas rested
on; and if he stood diligently before it to copy, and so copying,
quite unconsciously, and with no disloyalty to his original, refined,
improved, substituted,—substituted himself, in fact, his finer
self—he had already struck the persistent note of his career" (Pater:
Miscellaneous Studies, p. 32).
Lippo Dalmasii (Bolognese: painted 1376-1410).
See also (p. xx)
A picture by a Bolognese artist, of the Giottesque period, Lippo,
son of Dalmasius, called also "Lippo of the Madonna," from the many
pictures like this he painted: no Bolognese gentleman's family, we are
told, was considered complete without one.
Altobello Melone (Cremonese: painted about 1500).
There was no native and independent school of Cremona. Melone was
a pupil of Romanino at Brescia. He painted some of the frescoes in
the nave of Cremona Cathedral.
Two of Christ's disciples are walking after his death and burial to
Emmaus. The risen Christ "drew near, and went with them. But their
eyes were holden, that they should not know him" (Luke xxiv. 16). The
painter makes excuses for the disciples not recognising their Master by
naïvely dressing Him as a tourist with an alpenstock.
Melozzo da Forli (Umbrian: 1438-1494).
Melozzo, born at Forli in the Romagna, near Ravenna, is classed
with the Umbrian School, both because he studied (it is believed)
under Piero della Francesca, and because he worked at Urbino.
Giovanni Santi, who was his friend, especially praises Melozzo,
"to me so dear," for his skill in perspective; and, like many
other artists of these times, he was an architect as well as
a painter. In 1472 he was in Rome; he was one of the original
members of the Roman Academy of St. Luke, founded by Sixtus IV.,
and in the book of the Academy he signs his name as "Painter
to the Pope." Some of his Roman frescoes are preserved. In the
Vatican gallery is a fresco transferred to canvas, commemorating
the restoration of the Vatican Library and containing many
portraits. This work has been published by the Arundel Society,
but Melozzo is more widely known by the figures of angels playing
on musical instruments, now in the sacristy of St. Peter's, which
have been published by the same Society. These grand figures of
youths with abundant flowing hair are "among the most beautiful
and masterful creations of the Renaissance spirit, caught up, it
would seem, into a certain ecstasy and rapture of divine things."
Portions of a fresco, painted for SS. Apostoli, representing the
Ascension of our Lord, are now on the staircase of the Quirinal
Palace. The work was "one of the most grand and daring feats of
foreshadowing that art has bequeathed, and may be considered
as the first illustration of that science which Mantegna and
Correggio further developed" (Kugler). In this connection we may
notice in our pictures that "the steps and the figures thereon
are drawn in perspective, as if they were real objects seen from
below; they present the earliest example the Gallery possesses of
this kind of perspective illusion, which was practised with great
success by Mantegna, and carried out on the grandest scale by
Michael Angelo in the ceiling of the Sistine chapel" (Monkhouse,
In the National Gallery, p. 115). About the year 1480 Melozzo
went to Urbino, where he executed the work described below. In
Forli itself a few frescoes by Melozzo survive. In the British
Museum there are some drawings by this rare master.
These pictures are two of a series of seven, which were painted for
the good Duke Frederick to decorate the library of the Ducal Palace
at Urbino. The words on the frieze above our pictures are portions
of a running inscription describing the Duke's style and titles. He
was created "Gonfaloniere of the Church" (756) in 1465 and "Duke
of Urbino" (755) in 1474. The series represented symbolically the
seven arts—grammar, rhetoric, logic, arithmetic, music, geometry,
and astronomy—which, until the close of the Middle Ages, formed
the curriculum of a liberal education. Notice in both pictures that
the figures of the learners are kneeling—an attitude symbolical of
the spirit of reverence and humility which distinguishes the true
scholar ("I prayed, and the spirit of wisdom came upon me"); whilst
the figures representing the sciences to be learned are seated on
thrones—symbolical of the true kingship that consists in knowledge
("And I set her before kingdoms and thrones"), and are clothed about
with pearls and other precious stones ("She is more precious than
rubies").
In the picture of Rhetoric (755) the youth is being taught not to
speak, but to read—"You must not speak," the Queen of Rhetoric seems
to tell him, "until you have something to say." Notice, too, that
Rhetoric is robed in cold gray. "You think Rhetoric should be glowing,
fervid, impetuous? No. Above all things,—cool."
But Music (756) is robed in bright red, the colour of delight. The book
now is closed. "After learning to reason, you will learn to sing; for
you will want to. There is so much reason for singing in this sweet
world, when one thinks rightly of it." Music points her scholar to a
small organ—"not that you are never to sing anything but hymns, but
that whatever is rightly called music, or work of the Muses, is divine
in help and healing" (Mornings in Florence, v. 128, 134). Hanging
from the wall on the left, almost above the scholar's head, is a sprig
of bay, the Muses' crown. Other pictures of this same series are in the
gallery at Berlin and in the Royal Collection at Windsor. The latter
is of peculiar interest in the history of the Renaissance. It shows
the Duke, his son and the Court, and a black-robed humanist, seated in
a sort of pulpit—"the unique representation of a scene of frequent
occurrence in the Courts of Italy, where listening to lectures formed a
part of every day's occupation" (see the description in Symonds, ii.
p. 221).
Unknown (Dutch: School of Rembrandt).
This is one of the nation's conspicuously bad bargains. It was bought
in 1866 as a Rembrandt and at a Rembrandt price (£7000), but was soon
recognised as being only a work by some pupil. It is easy to be wise
after the event, but it certainly seems strange that the connoisseurs
of the time, even if technical differences had escaped them, should
not have seen a lack of Rembrandt's power about this work. A writer in
the Times (June 24, 1888) has no hesitation in ascribing the picture
to Nicolas Maes. He says: "If it was painted by Maes it would probably
have been after the series of small works, mostly dating about 1656.
Maes was a pupil of Rembrandt in 1650, at the time when the master's
treatment of sacred subjects was more direct than in his earlier years.
In this picture fanciful costume is discarded, and the figures are
painted straight from the life. The figure of Christ is, indeed, weak
and conventional, but it is not to be expected that a young man would
here be successful in a figure so foreign to his general practice;
and, if we admit the supposition that the composition followed the
small panels, the relaxation of style pervading the entire work tallies
with the known facts of the career of Maes, who between 1660 and 1670
appears to have devoted himself almost entirely to portrait painting;
these representations of Dutch and Antwerp burghers, though solid and
respectable, possess none of the charm and interest of the earlier
works owing their inspiration to the direct influence of Rembrandt."
(See, for instance, No. 1277.) Some ascribe the picture with equal
assurance to Lievens (see 1095); see an article by Ford Madox Brown
in the Magazine of Art, Feb. 1890; others to Eeckhout (see The
Athenæum, Jan. 19, 1907).
Piero della Francesca (Umbrian: 1416-1492). See 665.
Ascribed by Morelli to Paolo Uccello. "The treatment of the hair
recalls that of one of the portraits in Paolo's battle-piece
(583), while Piero used to represent curls in a thin and
thread-like shape. The ornament on the left sleeve of the lady
also reminds one of the decoration on the standard" (Richter's
Italian Art in the National Gallery, p. 17). "Of purely
Florentine origin, and with its hardness of outline and modelling,
and its severity of aspect, resembles a Pesellino writ large"
(Claude Phillips in the Academy, Sept. 28, 1889).
This and the other profile head once ascribed to Piero (585) "are
probably the earliest specimens we have in the National Gallery of pure
portraits, i.e. pictures devoted simply to record the likeness of an
individual, first introduced as donors into votive pictures, and next
as actors in scenes from sacred history and legend. Portraits have
at length made good their claim to a separate existence in pictorial
art" (Monkhouse: The Italian Pre-Raphaelites, p. 41). To Piero
della Francesca also we owe "most precious portraits (at Rimini and
in the Uffizi) of two Italian princes, Sigismondo Pandolfo Malatesta
and Federigo of Urbino, masterpieces of fidelity to nature and sound
workmanship" (Symonds).
Domenico Veneziano (died 1461).
Though Domenico describes himself as Venetian (as on the signature
to 1215), he worked at Perugia and Florence, and his works belie
any connection with Venetian art. Between 1439 and 1445 he was
engaged in the church of S. Maria Nuova, in which work he was
assisted by his pupil Piero della Francesca. These pictures have
perished. The works by his hand we possess give no evidence of his
being an oil painter, but he is known to have used oil, and indeed
was celebrated as one of the earliest Italian painters in that
medium. Vasari's story about Andrea del Castagno's jealousy, and
his murder of Domenico in consequence, is disproved by documentary
evidence showing that Domenico survived his alleged murderer
by five years. Domenico's only known works, now extant, are an
altar-piece in the Uffizi and the work described below.
These heads are from the niche or tabernacle which contained the
Madonna and Child, No. 1215. The work was executed for the Canto
(street corner) de' Carnesecchi in Florence. It is thus referred to by
Vasari:—
Being invited to Florence, the first thing Domenico did was to
paint a tabernacle in fresco, at the corner of the Carnesecchi, in
the angle of the two roads, leading, the one to the new, the other
to the old Piazza of Santa Maria Novella. The subject of this work
is a Virgin surrounded by various saints, and as it pleased the
Florentines greatly and was much commended by the artists of the
time, as well as by the citizens, this picture awakened bitter
rage and envy against poor Domenico in the ill-regulated mind of
Andrea (ii. 99—here follows Vasari's rattling and reckless story
of Domenico's murder by the jealous Andrea del Castagno).
For centuries Domenico's work was exposed to wind and weather. The
heads, Nos. 766, 767, passed into the possession of Sir Charles
Eastlake, from whose collection they were purchased for the National
Gallery in 1867. The central fresco (No. 1215) was in 1851 detached
from the wall and badly restored. It was subsequently acquired by Lord
Lindsay, the author of Sketches of the History of Christian Art,
whose son, James, Earl of Crawford and Balcarres, presented it to the
nation in 1886.
Antonio Vivarini (Venetian: died 1470).
Antonio da Murano, called also Antonio Vivarini, was the eldest
of a family of painters, who played a part in the development
of the Venetian School corresponding to that of Giotto and his
circle in the Florentine School. The Venetian is, it will be
seen, a century later than the Florentine (cf. Introduction).
It was at the adjacent island of Murano (where most of the
Venetian glass is now made, and which was once the resort of
the wealthier Venetian citizens) that an independent school
first developed itself, Antonio and his brother Bartolommeo (see
284) being natives of that place. The work of the Vivarini was
to impart a distinctively artistic impulse to the conventional
craftsmanship which previously prevailed in Venice in accordance
with Byzantine traditions. Recently published documents (dated
1272) give a curious insight into the position and work of the
earliest Venetian painters (see Richter's Lectures on the
National Gallery, pp. 23-29). They were treated merely as
artisans. They were engaged for the most part in work which
would now be classed as industrial craftsmanship in painting
arms and furniture. Paintings, in our sense of the word, were an
unimportant and occasional branch of their work. The division of
labour which in our own day is a frequent cause of industrial
disputes (as, for instance, between builders and plasterers) was
then in dispute between painters and gilders. A recorded case was
settled as follows: "We judge it just to permit the gilder to
use colour, and the painter to use gilding, when the one or the
other plays a subordinate part in the finished work. A decision
in the opposite sense would seem to us hard; for it would be
inconvenient to decree that a work which can be done by one,
must be done by two. Thus, though each litigant loses, each is
compensated for his loss. The profession of the gilder is gilding,
but painting is permitted as an accessory. In like manner painting
is the profession of the painter, but gilding is permitted as an
accessory." In this picture, St. Peter's key is, it will be seen,
embossed in goldsmiths' fashion, and Bartolommeo's picture has a
gold background. Antonio Vivarini first worked in partnership with
a certain Zuan (Giovanni), who appears to have been a German by
birth, and the visitor will notice between the work of the early
Venetian School a certain affinity with the contemporary German
work of the Cologne School. After 1450 the name of Johannes the
German disappears from the inscriptions on Vivarini altar-pieces,
and that of Bartolommeo takes its place.
(Umbrian: 1416-1492). See 665.
Formerly ascribed to Fra Carnovale (Bartolommeo Corradini); but
between Piero della Francesca's angels in 908 and the figure of
St. Michael here there is a close resemblance, which seems to
identify the picture as his.
St. Michael, the angel of war against the dragon of sin, stands
triumphant over his foe—emblem of the final triumph of the spiritual
over the animal and earthly part of our nature. It is the most
universal of all symbols. The victor is different in different ages,
but the enemy is always the same crawling reptile. Christian art, from
its earliest times, has thus interpreted the text, "The dragon shalt
thou trample under feet" (Psalm xci. 13); and in illustrations of
Hindoo mythology Vishnu suffering is folded in the coils of a serpent,
whilst Vishnu triumphant stands like St. Michael, with his foot upon
the defeated monster.
Giovanni Oriolo (Ferrarese: painted about 1450).
Of Oriolo nothing is known. He was probably by birth a Ferrarese,
and was evidently a pupil of Pisano (see 776).
Leonello (of whom also there is a medallion portrait in the frame of
the picture just referred to), of the house of Este, was Marquis of
Ferrara, 1441-1450. His mild and kindly face agrees well with what is
known of his life. The one important action of his reign was that of a
peacemaker, when he mediated between Venice and the King of Anjou. "He
had not his equal," says Muratori, "in piety towards God, in equity and
kindness towards his subjects. He was the protector of men of letters
and was himself a good Latin scholar."
Bono (Ferrarese: painted about 1450).
In the signature of this picture, "Bono of Ferrara" announces
himself "a pupil of Pisano's," and the figure of St. Jerome here
much resembles Pisano's "St. Anthony" (776). Bono's other known
work is a fresco of St. Christopher in the Eremitani Chapel at
Padua. "A clumsy and inferior master," says Morelli (German
Galleries, p. 11 n.); "an excellent painter," says Sir F.
Burton. His style is, at any rate, precise and effective.
St. Jerome (for whom see 773 and 227) is in the desert, deep in
thought; his lion couched at his feet keeps his master's thoughts
company as faithfully as a scholar's dog. The desert is here shown as
the saint's study; notice, especially, the little table that the rock
makes behind him for his books. Ruskin says of a similar modification
of accessories to express supernatural character, in Bellini's "St.
Jerome" at Venice: "The Saint sits upon a rock, his grand form defined
against clear green open sky; he is reading; a noble tree springs out
of a cleft in the rock, bends itself suddenly back to form a rest
for the volume, then shoots up into the sky. There is something very
beautiful in this obedient ministry of the lower creature; but be it
observed that the sweet feeling of the whole depends upon the service
being such as is consistent with its nature. It is not animated,
it does not listen to the saint, not bend itself towards him as
if in affection; this would have been mere fancy, illegitimate and
effectless. But the simple bend of the trunk to receive the book is
miraculous subjection of the true nature of the tree; it is therefore
imaginative, and very touching" (Modern Painters, vol. ii. pt. iii.
sec. ii. ch. v. § 8).
Cosimo Tura (Ferrarese: 1420-1495).
Cosimo Tura (pronounced Cosmè in Ferrarese) is the first Ferrarese
painter of eminence and of native talent whose works have come
down to us. He was a well-to-do citizen, and, like Titian after
him, dealt in timber. As an artist he was in the service of Duke
Borso of Ferrara (whose portrait is introduced in the background
of No. 773), and other members of the princely house of Este.
The court of Ferrara was then one of the most learned of Italy.
A curious instance occurs in this picture, where, on either side
of the Virgin's throne, are inscribed the Commandments, in Hebrew
characters. Such inscriptions are common in Ferrarese pictures,
and point to the presence of some Hebrew scholar or scholars.
It was at this court that Cosimo came under the influence of
Flemish art as described below, for the house of Este (which was
of Lombard origin, and thus had a natural affinity perhaps for
northern art) had invited Roger van der Weyden to Ferrara. Tura
was "first employed by the Duke of Ferrara in 1451. Between 1452
and 1456 his whereabouts are uncertain. Possibly he was then in
Padua among the followers of Squarcione, or else in Venice, to
the poor of which city he left by will part of the fruits of his
long and industrious life. In 1458 he rose to a fixed appointment
in the Ducal service. He made a fortune, risked it in trade, and
died a wealthy man" (Catalogue of the Burlington Fine Arts Club's
Exhibition, 1894, p. xv.). Some of his works are to be seen at
Ferrara, others are in the Berlin Gallery, at Bergamo, and the
Correr Museum at Venice. He is one of the most unmistakable and
least fascinating, yet most interesting of painters. Of beauty
or grace in the human figure he had no perception. His colour
schemes are peculiar, and harmonious rather than beautiful. But
he had sincerity of purpose and vigour of manipulation. Where his
subjects lend themselves to strength, he is impressive, as in
the "St. Jerome" (773), but his Madonnas (772 and 905) are both
affected and ugly. His patience in the execution of detail, and
quaint if superabundant ornament, are always interesting. The
picture now before us is thoroughly characteristic of a master who
alternately repels and attracts.
The decorative detail here deserves close attention. Compare, for
instance, the ornament of the pilasters here with that of the pilasters
in Crivelli's "Annunciation" (739), which was painted about the same
time. "Crivelli follows the traditional lines common to all such
features from later Roman times downwards, while Tura's accessories
are full of inventiveness and are evidently designed for this especial
picture. Thus the cup, balls, and wing-like appendages in the pilaster
are quite original. The general scheme of colour in the picture, also,
with its contrasts of red and green, is quite apart from anything
existing in contemporary Italian art, and recalls rather a Flemish
stained-glass window of the fifteenth century" (G. T. Robinson in Art
Journal, May 1886, pp. 149, 150). The musical instruments are also
worth notice. "One of the angels, on the left, holds an ornamental
viol, having five strings, with a carved man's head; another angel, on
the right, holds a similar viol, with a carved woman's head. In the
centre is placed a positive organ—that is, a small organ not intended
for removal. The player is on the left, in front of the organ; the
blower is on the right, behind it. Only natural keys are visible, but
there are three stops to be drawn out from the side, in the primitive
way, by means of cords attached to them, to control the pipes, of which
thirty are visible and three are drones. These pipes are grouped in
columnar disposition, like an hour-glass, and not in the order of ranks
usual with small organs. It is noticeable that the player uses both
hands, held nearly in the modern position" (A. J. Hipkins in The Hobby
Horse, No. i. p. 19).
Cosimo Tura (Ferrarese: 1420-1495). See 772.
Jerome knocking at his poor old breast
With his great round stone to subdue the flesh—
and schooling himself into renunciation of the world, the flesh, and
the devil. In contrast to the wildness of the surroundings, the painter
introduces quite a company of birds and beasts—an owl sits in sedate
wisdom above the saint, his familiar lion is walking to the stream for
water, and in the crannies and ledges are other animals to keep him
company. For it was his union of gentleness and refinement with noble
continence, his love and imagination winning even savage beasts into
domestic friends, that distinguished St. Jerome and formed the true
monastic ideal (see 227).
Unknown (Flemish School: 15th century).
See also (p. xx)
On the Madonna's right is St. Peter; on her left St. Paul, an
arrangement common in early art, St. Peter and St. Paul being the two
chief apostles on whom the Church of Christ is built. St. Paul offers
a pink to the infant Christ. Flowers were consecrated to the Virgin,
and the early painters chose those they liked best to be emblems of
love and beauty. Notice the design on the stuff fixed at the back of
the Madonna's throne; it is a beautiful example of the ornamental work
of the time in northern Europe. The picture was formerly ascribed to
Van der Goes—an artist whose only certainly known picture is the
altar-piece in the hospital of S. Maria Nuova in Florence,—and is by
some ascribed to Bouts (see under 783).
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
An old lady, eighty-three years of age (as the inscription shows). This
splendid portrait is dated 1634, and was made therefore when Rembrandt
was twenty-eight. His mother was from the first a favourite sitter of
his, and hence, perhaps, the affectionate fidelity with which he always
painted the wrinkled faces of old age. In the British Museum there is
an Indian-ink copy of this portrait, from which it appears that the
lady's name was Françoise van Wasserhoven. Rembrandt, says M. Michel,
"is most individual and moving in those portraits of old women, in
which by the accidents of form and feature he so admirably suggests the
moral life."
Vittore Pisano (Veronese: 1380-1452).
The earliest picture of the Veronese School in the Gallery.
"No school of painting in Italy except the Florentine shows,"
says Morelli, "so regular and uninterrupted a development,
from the thirteenth to the seventeenth century, as the graceful
school of Verona. If we look, for example, at some of the oldest
frescoes at St. Zeno, at the frescoes of the great Pisanello in
S. Anastasia of the first half of the fifteenth century, at the
pictures of Liberale (1134 and 1336) and Domenico Morone (1211),
and of their pupils Francesco Morone (285), Girolamo dai Libri
(748), Michele da Verona (1214), Giolfino (749), and Morando (735
and 769), and then to Paolo Veronese and his followers, we find
everywhere the same cheerful and graceful character looking out
of each of these works of the Veronese School. The Veronese do
not penetrate so deep into the essence of art as the Venetians,
but they are, with few exceptions, more gracious and serene. And
to this day the population of this beautifully situated town is
reckoned the cheeriest and gayest in all Italy: Veronesi, mezzo
natti" (German Galleries, p. 395). In the National Gallery the
development of the Veronese School may, as will be seen from the
references inserted above, be well studied. The importance and
independence of the Veronese painters are shown by the career
of Vittore Pisano, commonly called by the endearing diminutive
Pisanello. He was born at St. Vigilio, near the Lake of Garda,
and was probably a pupil of Altichiero, an older master of the
Veronese School, and was famous as the inventor of a method of
casting medals; but though better known now as a medallist, in
his own day he was equally famous as a painter. In the frame of
this picture are inserted casts from two of his medals, and it
will be noticed that the lower one—a profile of himself—is
inscribed Pisanus Pictor; Pisano the Painter. The medal above is
that of Leonello d'Este, his patron, for whom this picture was
probably painted, and whose portrait by a pupil of Pisano is in
our Gallery (770). At Bergamo is a portrait of Leonello by Pisano
himself (reproduced in the Illustrated Catalogue of the Morelli
Gallery by Signor Frizzoni). Another evidence of Pisano's practice
as a medallist will be noticed in the gilt embossed work of St.
George's sword and spurs. Leonello wrote of Pisano as "the most
illustrious of all the painters of this age," and contemporary
writers similarly extol his fame. In 1421 he was summoned to
Venice. "When, in the beginning of the fifteenth century, great
monumental works in painting were to be carried out at Venice,
the local school was still so insignificant that no native artist
could be entrusted with the commission. They were obliged to
summon Vittore Pisano, notwithstanding that he had once been on
the list of the politically obnoxious, and as such was liable to
penal consequences" (Richter). Pisano was accompanied by Gentile
da Fabriano. "The presence of those two eminent artists in the
city of the Lagoons gave," says Morelli, "a new impulse to its
school of painting. Jacopo Bellini became a scholar of Gentile,
and when his master had finished his work at Venice he accompanied
him to Florence. During the few years of their stay at Venice,
Gentile and Pisanello must not only have instructed Bellini in
their art, but their influence on Antonio Vivarini of Murano also
seems to me undeniable.... Taking him all in all, I consider
that Giovanni Bellini was the greatest painter in North Italy
in the fifteenth century, though undoubtedly Pisano was in the
first half of the century as great a painter as was Bellini in
the second half" (German Galleries, p. 357; Roman Galleries,
p. 267). Of Pisano's wall-paintings in the Doge's Palace, in that
of the Pope, and in the castles of the foremost princes of the
century, no traces remain. His fresco of "St. George mounting
for the fight" may be seen in the church of St. Anastasia at
Verona. Among his very rare easel-pictures the one now before us
is signed and very original in conception; No. 1436 is the most
important, and is especially interesting as illustrating Pisano's
love of representing animals, and the high reputation he enjoyed
for his skill in doing so. "Vittore lived," says Sir F. Burton,
"at a time when the traditions and forms of chivalry had not yet
died out; and all his works, including his delicate and spirited
pen-drawings in the Louvre, have a certain stamp of knightly grace
which is singularly attractive: in this respect they resemble the
creations of Gentile da Fabriano."
The subject of the picture—a meeting between St. George and St.
Anthony, with a vision of the Virgin and Child above—is not to be
found in the legends of the saints, and Pisano's conception is quite
original. St. George appears to have been a favourite subject with the
artist—probably because of the way in which his armour lent itself to
medallion-like treatment. There is a good instance of frank anachronism
in the large Tuscan hat of Pisano's own day which he quaintly makes St.
George wear, "according to the everyday custom of the Italian noblemen
at their country-seats in the summer."[181] Perhaps too the painter
chose St. George partly because he involved a horse and a dragon, and
Pisano, says Vasari, "took especial pleasure in the delineation of
animals." This may have given him a weakness for the boar of good St.
Anthony—the hermit saint whose temptations have passed into a proverb.
The saint carries a bell, for "it is said that the wicked spirits that
be in the region of the air fear much when they hear the bells ringen,"
and a staff, another means of exorcising the devil; whilst the boar,
now tamed into service, is symbolical of the demon of sensuality which
St. Anthony vanquished. And here perhaps we find the clue to the idea
in the picture. For the dragon whom St. George slew represents the
same sensual enemy. St. George conquered by fighting, St. Anthony by
fasting. The two saints now meet when "each on his course alone" has
"worked out each a way." The old man, whose life has been spent in
struggle, greets the triumphant youth with curious surprise; and St.
George too, with the thoughtful look on his face, will have much to
say and learn. But over them both, as to all who overcome, the heavens
open in beatific vision; for though there be diversity of gifts, it
is the same spirit. The signature of the painter (Pisanus pinxit) is
fantastically traced by herbage in the foreground.
Paolo Morando (Veronese: 1486-1522). See 735.
A picture of great beauty, which goes far to justify the title of
"the Raphael of the Veronese School" by which Morando has been
distinguished. Every visitor will be struck by the unpretentious
simplicity of conception, the rich colours and the sweet faces—with
just a dash of Raphaelesque affectation. It is interesting to note that
Morando was almost exactly contemporary with Raphael, while his art
exhibits a maturity developed under totally different circumstances.
For Morando never left Verona, and was thus, says Sir F. Burton, "a
pure growth of the native Veronese School. His colouring, though often
brilliant, is rather cold; the pale flesh-tints, glossy in surface, are
shadowed with grey, and even the lake reds introduced in garments tend
towards that purplish hue which the best colourists avoid."
Martino da Udine (Venetian: 1470-1547).
Martino of Udine was called also Pellegrino of San Daniele (a
village near the former place). According to Vasari, he was a
pupil of Giovanni Bellini, who, astonished at the marvellous
progress of his pupil, gave him the name of Pellegrino—that
is, rare, extraordinary. More probably, however, it should be
interpreted merely as a stranger or foreigner at Udine, Martino
being of Dalmatian origin (see for a full account and discussion
of this painter Morelli's German Galleries, pp. 18-23). He was,
says Sir F. Burton, "one of those men who, with little native
genius, have yet the capacity of absorbing material from others,
and of working it into new forms with success. Thus Pellegrino
turned out some works which, while they carry the foreign stamp
of Giorgione, Titian, Pordenone, or other great contemporaries,
nevertheless show considerable freshness of conception and
treatment." His altar-piece, of 1494, in the church of Osopo,
shows the influence of Cima da Conegliano. From 1504 to 1512
he was frequently at Ferrara working for the Duke Alfonso. In
1519-1521 he painted a part of the choir of S. Antonio at S.
Daniele (the earlier part was painted in 1497); in this, his
best work, he appears as an imitator not only of Pordenone but
of Romanino. In 1526 he went, apparently for the first time, to
Venice, there to buy colours for a large picture which he had
engaged to paint for the church of Cividale: that picture shows
his study of Palma. Pellegrino combined with painting the business
of a timber merchant. "That so mediocre a painter as Pellegrino
should have attained high honour in Friuli need," says Morelli,
"surprise no one who knows the other painters of that little
country. The value of anything in the world is comparative. The
Friulan race never manifested the same talent for art as, for
instance, their neighbours of Treviso."
On the right of the throne is St. James, with his hand on the shoulder
of the donor of the picture; on the left St. George, with the dead
dragon at his horse's feet.
Borgognone (Lombard: about 1455-1523). See 298.
See also (p. xx)
On the left (779) a group of nine men, above them a hand, probably
of some patron saint; on the right (780) a group of thirteen women,
kneeling (apparently) by the side of a tomb—studies of character
drawing. These pictures are painted on silk (now attached to wood),
and were originally part of a standard. Mr. Pater says of Borgognone
that "a northern temper is a marked element of his genius—something of
the patience, especially, of the masters of Dijon or Bruges, nowhere
more clearly [seen] than in the two groups of male and female heads
in the National Gallery, family groups, painted in the attitude of
worship, with a lowly religious sincerity which may remind us of the
contemporary work of M. Legros. Like those northern masters, he accepts
piously, but can refine, what 'has no comeliness'" ("Art Notes in North
Italy," in the New Review, November 1890).
Florentine School (15th century).
See also (p. xx)
The Hebrew legend of Tobit and his son Tobias (told in the Book of
Tobit in the Apocrypha) was a favourite one with the Mediæval Church,
and became therefore a traditional subject for painting; see e.g.
in the National Gallery, 288, 72, and 48. Tobit, a Jewish exile,
having fallen also into poverty, and afterwards becoming blind, prays
for death rather than life in noble despair. "To him the angel of
all beautiful life (Raphael) is sent, hidden in simplicity of human
duty, taking a servant's place for hire, to lead his son in all right
and happy ways of life" (Fors Clavigera, 1877, p. 31). Here we see
Raphael leading the young Tobias into Media, where he was to marry
Sara, his rich kinswoman, the daughter of Raguel. But she was haunted
by an evil spirit, who had slain her seven husbands, each on their
wedding-day, and the angel bade Tobias take the gall of a certain fish,
wherewith afterwards to heal his father's blindness, and its heart and
liver wherewith to drive away the evil spirit from his bride. Tobias is
carrying the fish, Raphael has a small box for the gall. The "rising
step" and the "springy motion in his gait" are characteristic of him
who was the messenger of heaven, the kindly companion of humanity—
Raphael, the sociable spirit, that deigned
To travel with Tobias, and secured
His marriage with the seven times wedded maid.
Milton: Paradise Lost, v. 221.
For the authorship of this picture, see under 296. "This picture," says
a critic who gives both to Verrocchio, "may possibly be not entirely
from his hand, but there is no doubt that it is essentially his,
and that to his fancy for painting boyhood and opening youth we owe
that curious misreading of the story of Tobias, representing him as
a young lad instead of a grown man, which is to be found through all
the numerous Florentine picture of him by the school of Botticelli, by
Piero di Cosimo and the rest" (Times, October 26, 1888).
Botticelli (Florentine: 1447-1510). See under 1034.
See also (p. xx)
Probably only a "school picture." Most of the old masters kept schools,
or shops, in which several pupils served as apprentices and worked at
pictures under the master's directions. The sale of such pictures under
the master's name was (and is) a very common occurrence, and even in
those days forged signatures were not unusual.
Unknown (Early Flemish: 15th century).
This beautiful work was formerly in the collection of Mr. Beckford
at Fonthill, where it was described as the Burial of a Bishop by
Jan Van Eyck. It has also been ascribed to Gerard Van der Meire
(see 1078) and to Thierri Bouts (about 1420-1475). This latter
painter—called by early authors Thierry, or Dierik of Haarlem,
from the name of his native town, and by modern writers Thierri
Stuerbout,—was town's painter of Louvain, and a pupil probably of
Roger van der Weyden. His principal works are now in the Brussels
Museum. Other pictures in the Gallery attributed to him by some
critics are 664, 774, and 943. Van der Meire, Justus of Ghent,
and Albert Van Ouwater have also been suggested as the painters
of this picture; it closely resembles the "Raising of Lazarus"
ascribed to the last-named painter in the Berlin Gallery.
St. Hubert was originally a nobleman of Aquitaine, much addicted to
all worldly pleasures, and especially to that of the chase. But one
day in Holy Week, when all good Christians were at their devotions, as
he was hunting in the forest of Ardennes, he encountered a milk-white
stag bearing the crucifix between his horns. Filled with awe and
astonishment, he renounced the pomps and vanities of the world, turned
hermit in that very forest of Ardennes, was ordained, and became
Bishop of Liège. So the legend runs, embalming, we may suppose, the
conversion of some reckless lover of the chase, like the wild huntsman
of the German legend. And at Liège he was buried, but thirteen years
afterwards his body was disinterred, and lo! it was found entire; even
the episcopal robes in which he had been interred were without spot or
stain. A century later the body was removed from Liège and reinterred
in the abbey church of the Benedictine monks of Ardennes. The Emperor
Louis le Débonnaire assisted at the translation of the relics, and
the day was long kept as a festival throughout this part of Flanders.
This is the subject of the present picture, of which the scene is laid
in the choir of a beautiful Gothic church. On the altar behind the
principal group stands a shrine, on which is a little figure of St.
Hubert with his hunting-horn. The royal personage assisting represents
Louis le Débonnaire. The picture is of wonderful beauty, finished in
every part (abridged from Mrs. Jameson: Sacred and Legendary Art,
pp. 431, 432). Though it is thus an historical picture, the artist
takes the figures from his own time, and the heads, like miniatures
in character and delicacy of expression, are doubtless portraits—the
whole scene being a picture of a Flemish Cathedral on some festival
day. Notice, as a particularly interesting little piece of life, the
man flattening his nose against the screen on the left, with a jeering
expression, as if he "didn't half believe it all." It is a piece of
living grotesque, exactly such as meets one in the sculptured stones
of a mediæval cathedral itself—"peeping round the corner at you and
lurking in secret places, like a monk's joke whispered in church"
(Conway's Early Flemish Artists, p. 17).
Carlo Crivelli (Venetian: painted 1468-1493). See 602.
This important picture is one of Crivelli's masterpieces and is very
characteristic of his genius and its limitations. The work, it will be
seen, is not so much a picture as a collection of panel pictures built
up into a gorgeous piece of decoration. The panels in the two lower
tiers were painted for the old church of San Domenico, at Ascoli; the
central panel of the Madonna and Child is inscribed with the painter's
name and the date 1476. The church was rebuilt in 1776, and some years
afterwards the picture came into the possession of Cardinal Zelada at
Rome, who added the four upper pictures by the same painter. In 1852
the picture passed to Prince Anatole de Demidoff, at Florence, where it
was put into its present magnificent frame. Crivelli's artistic aim, it
has been said, was the development and perfection of isolated figures
for elaborate altar-pieces of this kind, and those before us are among
the best he ever did: "in them calm dignity, strength of character,
gentleness, and grace, can all be treated by him with perfect success
apart from the disturbing elements of emotion and action." The type of
the Virgin here is very characteristic, with her high-arched eyebrows,
small mouth, and hair tightly drawn back from the forehead. So too
are the hands, with very long fingers, in which affectation borders
on dislocation. Very natural, on the contrary, is the figure of the
infant Christ, "fast asleep with one hand under his head while with the
other he grasps his mother's middle finger—a picture drawn from the
life." The decorative details are characteristic. Note the dolphins
on the base of the throne. The festoons are meant to represent real
offerings of fruit, tied with string and fastened with nails. On one
side of the Virgin is St. Peter, an impressive figure: his costume
shows the use of raised ornaments and imitation gems, which is common
in Crivelli's earlier works, but which he gradually dropped. Beyond St.
Peter is St. John the Baptist in the wilderness: the hard and severe
style of the figure is remarkable. "The landscape in which he stands
should not be passed over, with the stream flowing at his feet and the
tree-stems broken off so as not to interfere with the gold background
which sets off the upper half of the figure." On the other side of the
Virgin is St. Catherine of Alexandria, and beyond her St. Dominic—a
figure "admirable in its expression of piety and humility and in the
personality with which Crivelli has invested it." The half-length
figures in the second tier are St. Francis, with the stigmata; St.
Andrew, with cross and book—a very grand head; St. Stephen, with the
stones of his martyrdom; and St. Thomas Aquinas, with book and the
model of a church. In the top tier are St. Jerome, also carrying the
model of a church; the Archangel Michael, trampling on the dragon and
weighing in a pair of scales a man and a woman who are of light weight;
St. Peter Martyr, with the sword of his martyrdom, and St. Lucy,
carrying a plate with eyes upon it. The reference is to the legend
which relates that in order to discourage the suit of a youth who loved
her for the beauty of her eyes, she plucked them out with her own hands
and sent them to him in a dish. The youth, struck with remorse, became
a Christian, and Lucy's sight was miraculously restored to her.
Michael Angelo (Florentine: 1475-1564).
Michelangelo (commonly anglicised as above) Buonarroti (which
surname, however, is commonly dropped) is the Titan of Italian
art. He was the rival of Raphael; and amongst the artists who
were present at the unveiling of his great statue of David were
Perugino, Botticelli, Lorenzo di Credi, Leonardo da Vinci,
and Filippino Lippi. He lived through the fall of Rome and
Florence, and survived into the decadence of Italian art. In the
many-sidedness of his genius he may be compared to Leonardo da
Vinci. He was at once painter, sculptor, architect, and man of
action. The greatness of his work was reflected in that of his
character. He passed most of his life at Rome, amidst the petty
intrigues of a debased Court; but he never placed his self-respect
in jeopardy. Filial duty, too, was one of the mainsprings of
his life. He lived most sparingly, and sent all the money he
could save to support his father's family at Florence. "Whence
they must pray God," he says in one of his letters, "that all
his works may have good success." He was proud, and would brook
no insult; and when Pope Julius left him with unpaid marbles
and workmen on his hands, he mounted his horse and rode off to
Florence. There are many stories, too, of the quiet sarcasm with
which he would "reproach men for sin." "What does the raised hand
denote?" Julius asked of a statue of himself. "You are advising
the people of Bologna to be wise," was Michelangelo's reply. With
all this, however, he was for the most part above the jealousy
of other artists. When commissioned to paint the Sixtine Chapel,
he urged that Raphael would be a more fit person to execute so
great a work; and when he was appointed architect of St. Peter's
he refused to permit any material alteration of Bramante's
design, though Bramante had perpetually intrigued against him.
Michelangelo was a poet also (his sonnets have been translated
by J. A. Symonds), his poetry being partly inspired by Vittoria
Colonna, widow of the Marquis of Pescara, to whom late in life he
became attached, and whose friendship, until her death in 1547,
was the solace of his lonely labours.
It is only in Florence and in Rome that the work of Michelangelo
can be studied. Our Gallery is fortunate, however, in having
two easel pictures, which, whether entirely from his own hand
or not, are eminently characteristic of his style. The South
Kensington Museum and the Royal Academy each possess one example
of his sculpture. His drawings are to be seen in several English
collections, especially in that of the University of Oxford. A
concise chronological summary may here be useful to recall to
the reader's recollection the chief works of the master. At the
age of thirteen he was apprenticed for three years to Domenico
Ghirlandaio to whom our picture, No. 809, was formerly ascribed.
He made rapid advance in the art of painting, and showed also
aptitude for sculpture; so that in 1489, before his apprenticeship
was out, Domenico recommended him to Lorenzo de' Medici, who had
founded a school of sculpture in the garden of his villa. Here,
in the society and service of Lorenzo, Michelangelo remained for
four years. Lorenzo's unworthy successor Piero employed the young
artist only on unworthy commissions, setting him on one occasion,
it is said, to make a statue of snow; a tradition which inspires a
noble passage in Ruskin's Political Economy of Art, as also in
Mrs. Browning's Casa Guidi Windows. In 1493 Michelangelo removed
to Bologna, returning in the next year to Florence, where he
produced a "Sleeping Cupid," which was sold in Rome as a veritable
antique. This induced him, in 1496, to try his fortune in the
Papal capital. To this period belong his statue of "Cupid," now
at South Kensington, the "Bacchus" in the Bargello at Florence,
and the noble "Pietà" in St. Peter's at Rome. By these works he
attained the position of the greatest sculptor in Italy, and on
his return to Florence in 1501 he executed the colossal statue of
"David," now in the Accademia. Works of about the same time are
the round marble relief in the possession of the Royal Academy,
and our picture No. 809. The circular "Madonna and Child," now
in the Uffizi, belongs to 1504. In the same year he received a
commission to paint one wall of the Palazzo Vecchio. The painting
was never executed; but Michelangelo's cartoon for it,—known as
the "Cartoon of Pisa"—excited great admiration for its treatment
of the human figure. In 1505 began Michelangelo's stormy relations
with the imperious Pope, Julius II. For two years he was employed
on a great bronze statue of the Pontiff, which was afterwards
cast as a cannon and used against the Pope by the Bolognese. In
1508, being then thirty-three, Michelangelo was commissioned by
Julius to paint the ceiling of the Sixtine Chapel. In this great
work, which was finished on November 1, 1512, the artist set
forth, in the vehicle of the human form, his conception of the
creation, and the early history of the world, with reference to
man's final redemption and salvation. The frescoes have in our
time been admirably photographed, and the figures of the Prophets
and Sibyls, who sit enthroned in niches round the vault, are
very widely known. The paintings caused Michelangelo to suspend
his labour on the mausoleum of Julius—a work which gave him an
infinity of labour and vexation, and which was never finished.
The great figure of "Moses," now in S. Pietro in Vincoli, and the
"Captives," in the Louvre, were designed for this monument. During
the nine years' pontificate of Leo X. (1513-22), Michelangelo
was mostly employed in the unworthy occupation of procuring
marble from the quarries of Pietra Santa for the façade of the
church of San Lorenzo at Florence. The short reign of Adrian VI.
succeeded, and Michelangelo went on working for a time at the
monument to Julius. He was also employed on the works of the
Medici Chapel at Florence. In 1523 when Clement VII. succeeded,
the artist was put to various architectural works. Stormy years
followed, and Michelangelo quitted the Medici statues to defend
his native city. He was appointed director of fortifications,
and was entrusted also with diplomatic missions. When in 1530
Florence was treacherously yielded to the Medici, Michelangelo
lay for some time in concealment. Clement, however, gave him
his pardon, and ordered him to resume work on the Medici chapel
in San Lorenzo. He worked, as he says, with "morbid haste" but
saddened heart, and thus were completed his most impressive
productions in sculpture—the four great recumbent figures for the
tombs of Lorenzo and Giuliano de' Medici. In 1534 Clement died.
Michelangelo flung down his mallet, and set foot in Florence no
more. But "a new Eurystheus arose for our Hercules." The artist
hoped to complete the mausoleum of Julius. But the new Pope,
Paul III., set him to work upon the fresco of the Last Judgment,
on the altar wall of the Sixtine Chapel. In this mighty work,
containing 314 figures, which occupied him from 1534 to 1542,
the painter "devoted his terrible genius to a subject worthy of
the times in which he lived." Since he had first listened, while
a youth, to the prophecies of Savonarola, the woes announced in
that apocalypse had all come true. To Michelangelo, Christ came
as an avenger, vindictive and implacable, and the lost souls fall
before his wrath in every contortion of nudity. After the painting
of the "Last Judgment," one more great labour was reserved for
Michelangelo. He was called upon to succeed Antonio da San Gallo
as architect of St. Peter's, a post which he continued to hold
under succeeding Popes until his death. "The dome of St. Peter's,
as seen from Tivoli or the Alban hills, like a cloud upon the
Campagna, is his; but he has no share in the façade which screens
it from the Piazza." His last poem declared the vanity of the art
which was his glory, and his dying words to his household were
these; "In your passage through this life remember the sufferings
of Jesus Christ." His body was taken, as he had desired, to
Florence, and he lies in Santa Croce.
To the artistic genius of Michelangelo, a few out of innumerable
tributes may here be mentioned. Raphael "thanked God that he
was born in the days of Michelangelo," and Sir Joshua Reynolds
says, in his Discourses, that "to kiss the hem of his garment,
to catch the slightest of his perfections, would be glory and
distinction enough for an ambitious man." His knowledge of the
human body and his power of representing it were supreme. "If a
combination of the most exquisite finish in drawing and modelling
which allows the work to bear the closest inspection in its
details, with the utmost simplicity, breadth, and clearness
of effect in a distant view, constitute, as I believe they do,
the elements of perfect work, I must assert positively," says
Sir Edward Poynter, "that Michelangelo is the most perfect of
workmen." This workmanship was employed with consummate dramatic
effect. "He considered figures the highest means of telling a
story; he concentrated his powers on the single important point
of expression, so that he had no need of accessories to help
him out with his story" (Lectures on Art). But above all the
work of Michelangelo was the expression of "a vast imaginative
gift, the stormy poetry of his mind." His works, says Ruskin,
"have borne and in themselves retain and exercise the same
inexplicable power—inexplicable because proceeding from an
imaginative perception almost superhuman, which goes whither we
cannot follow, and is where we cannot come; throwing naked the
final, deepest root of the being of man, whereby he grows out of
the invisible, and holds on his God home" (Modern Painters,
vol. ii. "Of Imagination Penetrative"). "About the qualities of
his genius," says Symonds, "opinions may and will, and ought to
differ. It is so pronounced, so peculiar, so repulsive to one
man, so attractive to another, that, like his own dread statue of
Lorenzo de' Medici, 'it fascinates and is intolerable.' There are
few, I take it, who can feel at home with him in all the length
and breadth and dark depths of the regions that he traversed.
The world of thought and forms in which he lived habitually is
too arid, like an extinct planet, tenanted by mighty elemental
beings with little human left to them, but visionary Titan-shapes,
too vast and void for common minds to dwell in pleasurably. The
sweetness that emerges from his strength, the beauty which blooms
rarely, strangely, in unhomely wise, upon the awful crowd of his
conceptions, are only to be apprehended by some innate sympathy
or by long incubation of the brooding intellect. It is probable,
therefore, that the deathless artist through long centuries of
glory will abide as solitary as the simple old man did in his
poor house at Rome" (Life of Michelangelo, ii. 373). On his
successors the influence of Michelangelo was not happy. They could
imitate his mannerisms, but not his manner. They had not his
imagination, but they could copy the violent attitudes in which he
clothed his Titanic thoughts. The anatomical studies which with
him were the groundwork for his imagination to build upon became
in their hands the final object of their art. (Among those who
have been alternately fascinated and repelled by Michelangelo was
Ruskin. His case against Michelangelo is contained in the pamphlet
entitled The Relation between Michael Angelo and Tintoret. But
some of Ruskin's critics forget that the pamphlet was meant to
be read in conjunction with his own earlier praise in Modern
Painters, and with Mr. Tyrwhitt's appreciation in Christian Art
and Symbolism. "These lectures," said Ruskin, in his preface to
that book, "show throughout the most beautiful and just reverence
for Michael Angelo, and are of especial value in their account of
him; while the last lecture on sculpture, which I gave at Oxford,
is entirely devoted to examining the modes in which his genius
itself failed, and perverted that of other men. But Michael Angelo
is great enough to make praise and blame alike necessary, and
alike inadequate").
One of the many unfinished works, which, as Vasari tells us,
Michelangelo left behind him in painting as in sculpture. Its history
is interesting. It was formerly in the gallery of Cardinal Fesch,
which was sold and dispersed after his death. From its unfinished
state and neglected condition it attracted little attention, and was
bought literally "dirt cheap" by Mr. Macpherson, an English gentleman
established as a photographer in Rome. After the dirt upon its face had
been removed, it was submitted to competent judges, who unhesitatingly
pronounced it to be the work of Michelangelo. The discovery caused
a great sensation. A law-suit was instituted against Mr. Macpherson
for the recovery of the picture, which was sequestrated pending the
decision of the Roman courts. After some years he obtained a judgment
in his favour, removed the picture to England, and sold it to the
National Gallery for £2000. Peter von Cornelius, the eminent German
painter, in evidence in the law-suit declared it to be "una cosa
preziosa—un vero originale di Michelangelo."[183]
However this may be, the picture is entirely characteristic of the
school of Michelangelo. What we notice in it most is not the features
of the Maries, but the rendering of the corpse, in all its flaccid
limbs and muscles:—
"Take the heads from a painting of Angelico,—very little but
drapery will be left;—drapery made redundant in quantity and
rigid in fold, that it may conceal the forms, and give a proud
or ascetic reserve to the actions of the bodily frame. Bellini
and his school, indeed, rejected at once the false theory and the
easy mannerism of such religious design, and painted the body
without fear or reserve, as, in its subordination, honourable and
lovely. But the inner heart and fire of it are by them always
first thought of, and no action is given to it merely to show
its beauty. Whereas the great culminating masters, and chiefly
of these, Tintoret, Correggio, and Michael Angelo, delight in
the body for its own sake, and cast it into every conceivable
attitude, often in violation of all natural probability, that
they may exhibit the action of its skeleton and the contours of
its flesh. Correggio and Tintoret learn the body from the living
body, and delight in its breath, colour, and motion. Michael
Angelo learned it essentially from the corpse, and had great pride
in showing that he knew all its mechanism. The simplicity of the
old religious art was rejected not because it was false, but
because it was easy; and the dead Christ was thought of only as an
available subject for the display of anatomy" (Modern Painters,
vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. iv.; Relation between Michael Angelo and
Tintoret, passim).
The ideal of the painter has in fact changed. The picture is in its
essence not a devotional work: it is a study in the dead nude.
Pieter de Hooch (Dutch: 1630-about 1677).
Hooch (or Hooghe)—"the indoor Cuyp," as he has been called,
and "one of the glories of the Dutch School—is also one of
the glories of England," for it was here that his great merits
were first discovered, and that three-fourths of his pictures
are now preserved. "There are," says Ruskin (Modern Painters,
vol. v. pt. ix. ch. viii. § 11), whilst tracing the general
insensitiveness of the Dutch School, "deeper elements in De
Hooghe, sometimes expressed with superb quiet painting." He chose
the simplest subjects and used apparently the simplest means.
But his figures are always placed with the utmost skill, and the
details, so carefully wrought, are all made contributory to the
general idea of the picture. In producing an effect of serenity,
Hooch is unsurpassed. Of his life nothing is known except that he
was at Delft 1653-56, and that afterwards he resided at Amsterdam.
In his own country, a fine picture by him so late as 1765 brought
only 450 florins. In 1817 it fetched 4000 florins, whilst in 1876
the Berlin Gallery paid £6000 for one of his pictures. At the
Secrétan Sale in 1889 an "interior" by De Hooch fetched £11,040.
The present picture was bought in Paris in 1869 for £1722. No. 834
fetched in 1804, £220; No. 835, in 1810, £187.
The whole picture, in its cheerful colour and dainty neatness, seems
to reflect the light of a peaceful and happy home, in which everything
is done decently and in order. They are no rolling stones, these Dutch
burghers, but stay-at-home folk, whose pride is in the trimness of
their surroundings. Every day, one thinks, the good housewife will thus
look to see that the dinner is duly prepared; every day the husband
will thus walk along the garden, sure of her happy greeting. The
picture is signed, and dated 1665.
Jan van Huysum (Dutch: 1682-1749).
Jan was the son and pupil of Justus van Huysum, a painter
of Amsterdam. By close study Jan attained great fame as a
flower-painter. The principal florists of Holland supplied him
with their choicest productions as subjects, and his reputation
soon spread throughout Europe. "Whilst still young he became
rich and honoured, and reached the summit of fortune. The prices
noted in the sale catalogues of the eighteenth century, which
are altogether out of proportion to those realised by other
works, reveal to us with what infatuation this finished master,
so delicate, erudite, and careful, was regarded" (Havard: The
Dutch School, p. 264). He usually arranged his flowers in elegant
vases, of which he finished the ornaments in the most careful
manner. He was fond also of introducing a bird's nest with eggs.
Both of these characteristics may be seen in the picture before
us. The care with which he rendered every detail is remarkable.
"As to you, dear old Jan Van Huysum," writes an artist of our own
day, "you have edified me beyond expression. You teach me that a
man can't be too careful as to his work, be it what it may. Your
pearly dewdrops on the fresh gathered green things of the earth
refresh me. Your tiny ants on the petals of the pink teach me
in their minute contemplation to be like the star, Ohne Hast,
Ohne Rast. How cool, and calm, and cheerful, and confident you
are, Jan!" (Letters of James Smetham, p. 173). "The world is so
old," says Ruskin, "that there is no dearth of things first-rate;
and life so short that there is no excuse for looking at things
second-rate. Let us then go to Rubens for blending, and to Titian
for quality, of colour; to Veronese for daylight, and Rembrandt
for lamplight; to Buonarroti for awfulness, and to Van Huysum for
precision. Any man is worthy of respect, in his own rank, who has
pursued any truth or attainment with all his heart and strength"
(Letter to Liddell in the Memoir of the Dean, by H. L. Thompson,
p. 224). Other pictures by Jan Van Huysum may be seen in the
Wallace Collection and the Dulwich Gallery.
Signed, and dated 1736-1737. Notice the bird's nest, with the
greenfinch's eggs.
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
This excellent portrait serves to remind us that, unlike most of his
fellow landscape painters, Cuyp could paint his own figures. Indeed
we have seen that he sometimes painted them in other landscapes, see
No. 152. The picture is signed "Aetatis suae 56, 1649. A. Cuyp fecit."
Cuyp is one of the most various of all the Dutch masters. "What
universality in the hand that could paint skies more glowing than
those of Both, clouds as vaporous as those of Van de Cappelle, water
more luminous than Van de Velde's, cattle as true to nature as Paul
Potter's, horses better than Wouverman's, horsemen more distinguished
than Vandyck's! Sometimes, too—and there is a noble example in our
National Gallery—we find Aelbert Cuyp painting portraits, not in the
stiff precise way that the father painted them, but with a freedom of
touch and a brilliancy of colour that place him between Van der Helst
and Rembrandt" (Quarterly Review, October 1891, and Fromentin's' Les
Maitres d'autrefois, "Hollande," ch. viii.).
Philippe de Champaigne (French: 1602-1674).
A painter of historical subjects and portraits, he was born at
Brussels, but went to Paris at the age of 19. He was employed by
Du Chesne, the painter royal, to work at the Luxembourg in concert
with Nicolas Poussin. Du Chesne was of mediocre talent and jealous
disposition, and Champaigne and Poussin soon left him. The two men
were mutually attached, and in after years Champaigne discoursed
at a session of the Academy on the merits of his friend Poussin.
Champaigne returned to Brussels, but was recalled in 1627 to
succeed Du Chesne. He executed many works for the churches and
royal residences and also for Cardinal Richelieu's palace. He
became an original member of the French Academy in 1648, of which
he was also Professor and Rector. Towards the end of his life,
his fame began to pale before that of Le Brun. His religious and
historical works, of which there are several in the Louvre, are
apt to leave the modern spectator cold; but his portraits are
excellent.
This picture was painted for the Roman sculptor Mocchi to make a bust
from, hence the two profiles as well as the full face. Over the profile
on the right are the words (in French), "of the two profiles this is
the better." In this profile the compressed lips, the merciless eyes,
the iron-gray hair and prominent nose, bespeak the great Cardinal
Minister of Louis XIII., and the maker of France, who summed up his
policy and his character in the words, "I venture on nothing without
first thinking it out; but once decided, I go straight to my point,
overthrow or cut down whatever stands in my way, and finally cover it
all up with my cardinal's red robes." In the full face one sees rather
the man who was also a princely patron of the arts and artists (of
De Champaigne amongst their number), and the founder of the French
Academy.[184] The central head here was clearly used as a study for the
full-length portrait, No. 1449.
Bartolommeo Montagna (Venetian: about 1450-1523).
Montagna was born near Brescia, and worked at Vicenza, but must
have studied at Venice.[185] "He is entitled," says Kugler,
"to a much higher place among the painters of the last part of
the fifteenth century than that hitherto accorded to him. His
art is distinct in character, with a firm outline and a bold,
sure hand; his colour is low but rich, bright, and gem-like. He
gives a grand, dignified expression and pose to his figures; his
draperies are generally arranged in broad folds, and his landscape
backgrounds, although minute, frequently denote an original and
poetical fancy." His best work is the great altar-piece now in
the Brera at Milan, a picture worthy to rank with those of the
same kind by Bellini and Carpaccio. Other important works by
Montagna are in the Public Gallery of Bergamo, in the Museo Civico
at Vicenza, and in the Pilgrimage Church on Monte Berico, near
Vicenza.
This picture is ascribed by some critics to Giovanni Speranza, a
painter of Vicenza contemporary with Montagna.
Marco Marziale (Venetian: painted 1499-1507).
Marco was one of the assistants engaged to work under Giovanni
Bellini in the decoration of the Ducal Palace. Whilst Bellini
received sixty ducats a year, Marco received only twenty-four.
Nothing else is known about his career. Of his works, which are
very rare, the best are in our Gallery.
An example which shows what wealth of interest there is in the National
Collection. It is only by a second-rate painter of the Venetian school;
but no picture in the Gallery is richer than this in decorative design.
Note first the varied and beautifully-designed patterns in the mosaics
of the church—recalling one of the domes of St. Mark's. Then the
lectern, covered with a cloth, and the delicately-embroidered border,
wrought in sampler stitch, deserve close examination. The cushion
above this, and the tassels, formed of three pendent tufts of silk
hung on to a gold embroidered ball, offer good decorative suggestions
to the trimming manufacturer. Attached to the front of the lectern
is a label or "cartellino," setting forth that "Marco Marziale the
Venetian, by command of that magnificent knight and jurisconsult,
the learned Thomaseo R., made this picture in the year 1500." As it
is probable that this was the first important commission Marco ever
obtained on his own account, there is little wonder that he wrought
the record so elaborately. This "Thomaseo R." was Raimondi, a knight
of the order of Jerusalem—a man of considerable note in Cremona as a
lawyer and poet. His portrait occupies the forefront of the right-hand
corner of the picture, his set features recalling the lawyer rather
than the poet. It is his mantle, however, which best repays notice—a
sumptuous robe of raised red velvet, such a fabric as Venice was then
winning industrial renown by weaving. The very pretty pattern is of
the so-called "pomegranate form," and occurs also on the mantle of the
donor's wife, who occupies a corresponding position on the left-hand
side of the picture. In the South Kensington Museum there is a remnant
of Italian silk brocade of this pattern (in the Bock collection). The
robe of the High Priest is also evidently taken by the painter from
a silk robe, and is very rich. The design, in which the wild pink is
largely introduced, is unique. Ruskin had a wall-paper made for him in
1872 copied from this robe: it has ever since been used for the walls
of the drawing-room and study at Brantwood. "It will thus be seen that
this one picture brings before us a great number of suggestions in
design for various technic arts; at least half a dozen patterns exist
in the ornaments of the mosaic work of the vaults; five or six patterns
of embroidered or woven borders will be found in it, as many designs
for diapered or other surface decoration, examples of beaten metal-work
and of bookbinding, besides the carved wood lectern." For notice of
other points, see further the interesting article by G. T. Robinson in
the Art Journal, June 1886, and cp. Vacher's Italian Ornament, No.
24.
Marco Marziale (Venetian: painted 1499-1507). See 803.
This picture was painted seven years later (1507) than 803, which it
resembles in the bright mosaics of the vault and the interesting
design on the robe of the bishop on the left. Notice the little angel
playing the mandoline on the steps of the throne, characteristic of the
earlier Venetian painters.
Teniers (Flemish: 1600-1694). See 154.
Boccaccio Boccaccino (Cremonese: about 1460-1525).
Boccaccino was a native of Cremona, where many of his works are
still preserved. "All that is best in his art," says Morelli,
"he derived from the school of the Bellini." In the Venetian
Academy is a beautiful "mystic marriage of St. Catherine" which
is signed by him. He is a painter, says Kugler, "of very distinct
individuality, and may be easily recognised by the peculiar type
and expression of his figures, and especially by his women, who
generally have much grace and beauty. One of his characteristics
is a light-grey eye with a dark rim." This picture is "not
characteristic of Boccaccino's manner, and is probably by another
hand" (ii. 389).
For some remarks on the subject of this picture see under 1143.
Carlo Crivelli (Venetian: painted 1468-1493). See 602.
This picture (like 724) is signed by "Sir Charles": it is dated
1491. It bears the painter's sign-manual also in the fruits and the
vase of flowers. The giver of the picture (which was dedicated to the
Virgin, and which, as recorded in a Latin inscription below, cost no
inconsiderable sum) is kneeling, in the habit of a Dominican nun, at
the foot of the throne. On the Madonna's left is St. Sebastian, pierced
with arrows and tied to a pillar, but with the happy look of "sorrow
ended" on his face. On her right is St. Francis. Near his feet are
some flowers and a snail—typical of the kindness and humbleness of
the saint, of whom it is recorded that "he spoke never to bird nor to
cicala, nor even to wolf and beast of prey, but as his brother," and
who thus taught the lesson "Never to blend our pleasure, or our pride,
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels" (Wordsworth).
Giovanni Bellini[186] (Venetian: 1426-1516).
See 189.
See also (p. xx)
A fancy portrait of a jolly comfortable-looking Dominican monk—a
faithful portrait doubtless. His face is painted as it really was,
"wart and all," but it has pleased him to be represented in the
character of Peter, a famous member of his order (see under 812).
Michael Angelo (Florentine: 1475-1564). See 790.
The Virgin mother is seen withholding from the child Saviour the
prophetic writings in which His sufferings are foretold. Angelic
figures beside them examine a scroll—
Turn not the prophet's page, O Son! He knew
All that Thou hast to suffer and hath writ.
Not yet Thine hour of knowledge. Infinite
The sorrows that thy manhood's lot must rue
And dire acquaintance of Thy grief. That clue
The spirits of Thy mournful ministerings,
Seek through yon scroll in silence. For these things
The angels have desired to look into.
Still before Eden waves the fiery sword,—
Her Tree of Life unransomed: whose sad tree
Of Knowledge yet to growth of Calvary
Must yield its Tempter,—Hell the earliest dead
Of Earth resign,—and yet, O Son and Lord,
The Seed o' the woman bruise the serpent's head.
D. G. Rossetti: Sonnets and Ballads.
[187]
This picture was at one time attributed to Domenico Ghirlandajo; and
Signor Frizzoni now attributes it to Granacci. But, says Sir Edward
Poynter, "the beauty of the figures, the nobility of the heads, and
the fine qualities of drawing and modelling stamp it as the work of
the great master himself." "In my judgment," says Symonds (Life of
Michelangelo Buonarroti, i. 65), "this is the most beautiful of the
easel pictures attributed to Michelangelo.... Florentine painters had
been wont to place attendant angels at both sides of their enthroned
Madonnas. But their angels were winged and clothed like acolytes;
the Madonna was seated on a rich throne or under a canopy, with
altar-candles, wreaths of roses, flowering lilies. It is characteristic
of Michelangelo to adopt a conventional motive, and to treat it with
brusque originality. In this picture there are no accessories to the
figures, and the attendant angels are Tuscan lads half draped in
succinct tunics. The types have not been chosen with regard to ideal
loveliness or dignity, but accurately studied from living models. This
is very obvious in the heads of Christ and St. John. The two adolescent
genii on the right hand possess a high degree of natural grace. Yet
even here what strikes one most is the charm of their attitude, the
lovely interlacing of their arms and breasts, the lithe alertness of
the one lad contrasted with the thoughtful leaning languor of his
comrade. Only perhaps in some drawings of combined male figures made
by Ingres, for his picture of the 'Golden Age,' have lines of equal
dignity and simple beauty been developed."
Charles Poussin (French: born 1819).
M. Pierre Charles Poussin, a pupil of L. Cogniet, was an exhibitor
at the French Salon from 1842 to 1882. Many of his pictures
were, like this one, of scenes in Brittany.
The scene is that of a fête held in honour of Notre Dame de Bon
Secours of Guingamp in Brittany, on the 2nd of July in every year.
Pope Paul V. in 1619 granted a plenary indulgence to all persons "who
truly confessed and communicated, who shall visit the said church of
Notre Dame de Guingamp on the day and fête of the Visitation of the
Blessed Virgin Mary, which it is the custom every year to celebrate on
the 2nd day of July; who shall devotionally pray for the preservation
of concord and peace among all Christian princes; who shall render
hospitality to the poor pilgrims; who shall make peace with their
enemies, and shall promote it amongst others—shall, in short, sweetly
bring into the way of salvation some unfortunate and erring soul." An
English visitor published a long account of the fête in the Standard
of July 5 and following days in 1870, describing "the frank but sedate
festivity and merry-making under the trees." That was twenty years
after this picture was painted.
Salvator Rosa (Neapolitan: 1615-1673). See under 84.
For the subject of Tobias, who is in the water holding the fish,
see 781. The wild rocky landscape conveys a general sense of savage
power. Salvator, says Ruskin, is "a good instance of vicious
execution, dependent on too great fondness for sensations of power,
vicious because intrusive and attractive in itself, instead of being
subordinate to the results and forgotten in them" (Modern Painters,
vol. i. pt. i. sec. ii. ch. ii. § 9).
Giovanni Bellini[188] (Venetian: 1426-1516).
See 189.
"Peter Martyr was general of the Dominicans in 1252, a most
powerful person in the Holy Inquisition, and a violent persecutor
for what he deemed the true faith, which made him many inveterate
enemies. There was one family in particular which he had treated
with excessive cruelty, and their relations, who were in the army,
were so enraged by Peter's barbarity that they resolved to revenge
themselves.... Having been informed that he was to make a visit to
a distant province in pursuit of some wretched heretics, who had
been denounced to the inquisition, they lay in wait for him in a
wood, through which they knew he must pass, in company with one
person, a friar of his convent; here they attacked him, cleft his
skull with a sabre, and left him dead on the spot" (Mrs. Jameson;
Handbook to the Public Galleries, 1842, i. 70).
This picture, one of the painter's latest works, is interesting, first,
for its skill in landscape. It is a true piece of local scenery that
Bellini paints,—"all Italian in masses of intricate wood and foliage,
in plain, mountain, and buildings, and glowing, not under direct
sunshine, but with the soft suffusion of southern light" (Layard,
i. 312). It is, says Ruskin, one of the six most beautiful landscapes
in the earlier mediæval art, of the "purist" school, "being wholly
felicitous and enjoyable." Every leaf is painted with loving care, and
Bellini treats the incident in the foreground as "entirely cheerful
and pleasing; it does not disturb or even surprise him, much less
displease in the slightest degree." "You see in a moment the main
characteristic of the school,—that it mattered not in the least to
John, and that he doesn't expect it to matter to you, whether people
are martyred or not, so long as one can make a pretty grey of their
gown, and a nice white of their sleeves, and infinite decoration
of forest leaves behind, and a divine picture at last out of all.
Everything in the world was done and made only that it might be rightly
painted—that is the true master's creed" (Verona and its Rivers, §
27, and Lectures on Landscape, pp. 22, 65, 73).[189] Notice, further,
Bellini's compliance, as far as the subject admitted, with one of the
conditions of the greatest art, "serenity in state or action." "You
are to be interested in the living creatures; not in what is happening
to them.... It is not possible, of course, always literally to observe
this condition, that there shall be quiet action or none; but Bellini's
treatment of violence in action you may see exemplified in a notable
way in his "St. Peter Martyr." The soldier is indeed striking the sword
down into his breast; but in the face of the Saint is only resignation
and faintness of death, not pain—that of the executioner is impassive;
and while a painter of the later schools would have covered breast and
sword with blood, Bellini allows no stain of it; but pleases himself
with most elaborate and exquisite painting of a soft crimson feather
in the executioner's helmet" (Relation between Michael Angelo and
Tintoret, p. 16).
P. J. Clays (Belgian: 1818-1900).
Paul Jean Clays was a native of Bruges. He studied art in Paris
under Gudin, and afterwards settled at Brussels, where in 1851
he received a gold medal. He frequently exhibited at the French
Salon, and was a chevalier of the Legion of Honour as well as
of the Order of Leopold. For a long time, says a French critic,
"the sea, or rather the water, has had no interpreter more exact
than Clays: he knows its clearness, and he knows how to render the
little noisy waves, all bathed in light." "He does not paint the
sea," says another, "but the Scheldt where it widens, and those
gray and light waters that bear you on a steamer from Moerdyk to
Rotterdam. With a profound feeling for these things he expresses
the humidity of the skies of Western Flanders, the sleep of the
calmed waters, or the caressing, and sometimes menacing, of the
breeze which makes the little uneasy waves stride around the
barges loaded to the brim." Some of his pictures have fetched very
large prices—one having sold in New York for £3550 (Miss Clement
and Laurence Hutton: Artists of the Nineteenth Century).
P. J. Clays (Belgian: 1818-1900). See 814.
Cima da Conegliano (Venetian: 1460-1518). See 300.
A picture interesting among other things for its history. It is signed
and dated (1504), and was painted as a commission for a religious
fraternity, for the altar of their patron saint, St. Thomas, in the
church of St. Francesco at Portogruario (near Conegliano). The price
paid for it was equal to about £17 sterling, at that time representing
a considerable sum. The account of its cost and of a law-suit
instituted by the painter against the fraternity is still preserved.
For 328 years it remained in its original place; it was then removed
by the local authorities, and in 1870 was sold to our Government.
When bought it "was greatly disfigured by various repaints, and was
otherwise in bad condition. Judicious cleaning and restoration (by Mr.
Wm. Dyer) have brought out its fine qualities. The heads are highly
expressive, and some of the figures ... of great dignity" (Layard, i.
325).
Teniers (Flemish: 1600-1694). See 154.
"A perfect type of the Unromantic Art which was assailed by the gentle
enthusiasm of the English School of Landscape. It represents a few
ordinary Dutch houses, an ordinary Dutch steeple or two, some still
more ordinary Dutch trees, and most ordinary Dutch clouds, assembled in
contemplation of an ordinary Dutch duck-pond; or, perhaps, in respect
of size, we may more courteously call it a goose-pond. All these
objects are painted either gray or brown, and the atmosphere is of
the kind which looks not merely as if the sun had disappeared for the
day, but as if he had gone out altogether, and left a stable lantern
instead. The total effect having appeared, even to the painter's own
mind, at last little exhilatory, he has enlivened it by three figures
on the brink of the goose-pond—two gentlemen and a lady,—standing all
three perfectly upright, side by side, in court dress, the gentlemen
with expansive boots, and all with conical hats and high features.
In order to invest those characters with dramatic interest, a rustic
fisherman presents to them, as a tribute,—or, perhaps, exhibits as a
natural curiosity,—a large fish, just elicited from the goose-pond by
his adventurous companions, who have waded into the middle of it, every
one of them, with singular exactitude, up to the calf of his leg" (Art
of England, pp. 209, 211). The group on the left comprise the painter
and his wife, another lady, and his son.
Bakhuizen (Dutch: 1631-1708). See 204.
Bakhuizen (Dutch: 1631-1708). See 204.
On representations of rough weather by this painter and Vandevelde,
Ruskin writes as follows: "If one could but arrest the connoisseurs in
the fact of looking at them with belief, and, magically introducing the
image of a true sea-wave, let it roll up through the room,—one massive
fathom's height and rood's breadth of brine, passing them by but
once,—dividing, Red-Sea like, on right hand and left,—but at least
setting close before their eyes, for once in inevitable truth, what
a sea-wave really is; its green mountainous giddiness of wrath, its
overwhelming crest—heavy as iron, fitful as flame, clashing against
the sky in long cloven edge,—its furrowed flanks all ghastly clear,
deep in transparent death, but all laced across with lurid nets of
spume, and tearing open into meshed interstices their churned veil of
silver fury, showing still the calm gray abyss below; that has no fury
and no voice, but is as a grave always open, which the green sighing
mounds do but hide for an instant as they pass. Would they, shuddering
back from this wave of the true, implacable sea, turn forthwith to the
papillotes? It might be so. It is what we are all doing, more or less,
continually" (Harbours of England, p. 19). In default of the actual
sea-wave, the visitor may be recommended to look next at Turner's
rough seas (472 and 476). Such a comparison will show how much of the
roughness in the Dutch pictures is due to mere blackness, how little to
any terror in the forms of the waves, such as Turner depicts.
Berchem (Dutch: 1620-1683). See 78.
Gonzales Coques (Flemish: 1618-1684).
In spite of his Spanish-sounding name, this artist was a pure
Fleming. He was born at Antwerp and appears never to have left his
native town. His father, whose surname was Cocx, gave the child
the name of Gonzalvus: these names the painter afterwards changed
to Gonzales Coques. His first master was Peter Breughel (the
third painter of that name). He afterwards studied under David
Ryckhaert the Elder, whose daughter he married. His first subjects
were conversation-pieces and assemblies; but the extraordinary
reputation acquired by Van Dyck for his portraits inspired Coques
with the ambition to distinguish himself in like manner, although
on a smaller scale. There is in the little works of Coques the
same air of elegance and refinement which distinguishes Van
Dyck. Hence he has been called "the Little Van Dyck." His works,
says Bürger, are "Van Dycks seen through the wrong side of the
glass"; or as another critic puts it, "Van Dycks in 18mo." They
were greatly admired during his lifetime, and he was patronised
by Charles I., the Archduke Leopold, and the Prince of Orange.
His works, however, are very rare; about half of them are in this
country. He was admitted as a master in the Guild of Painters in
1640-41, and twice served as its Dean, in 1665-66 and 1680-81.
Notice the youngest child in the go-cart, which is being pushed by
another of the children, whilst the eldest sister, as befits her
years, is playing the guitar. And the little dogs, as befits them,
are sporting in front. It is pretty of the painter or his sitters to
include them in the family group.
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
An excellent example of the hazy, drowsy effect in which Cuyp excelled.
"A brewer by trade,[190] he feels the quiet of a summer afternoon, and
his work will make you marvellously drowsy. It is good for nothing
else that I know of; strong, but unhelpful and unthoughtful. Nothing
happens in his pictures, except some indifferent persons asking the way
of somebody else, who, by the cast of countenance, seems not likely to
know it. For further entertainment, perhaps, a red cow and a white one;
or puppies at play, not playfully; the man's heart not going even with
the puppies. Essentially he sees nothing but the shine on the flaps of
their ears" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. chap. vi. § 12).
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
Notice the reflections. Cuyp "is a man of large natural gift, and sees
broadly, nay, even seriously; finds out—a wonderful thing for men to
find out in those days—that there are reflections in the water, and
that boats require often to be painted upside down" (Modern Painters,
vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi. § 12).
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
The castle may be the same as that seen in No. 1289. Some lines from
Beattie's "Scotland" have been applied to it:—
Behold our lakes ...
Each girdled with its mountain belt
Of rock and tower and forest trees,
And gemmed with island sanctuaries
Like floating palaces, they seem
The elysium of a poet's dream.
This picture was originally bought at Horn, in the Netherlands, of an
old clothesman, for 1s. 3d. Sir Robert Peel paid 350 guineas for it.
Gerard Dou (Dutch: 1613-1675). See 192.
This picture, as an acknowledged chef d'œuvre of the master, has
long been celebrated. It was purchased by Sir Robert Peel from the
Fonthill Collection in 1823 for £1270. Mrs. Jameson, on seeing the
picture at Sir R. Peel's, wrote: "All executed with such a nicety of
touch—such an inconceivable truth and minuteness of imitation—as to
render the picture a very miracle of art. A higher merit consists in
the admirable painting of the heads, especially that of the old woman,
which is full of life." "A wicker market-basket is a common homely
thing, but look at its presentment here—every polished, well-used
twig of it following the true undulations of form and colour, light
and shade, through the marvellous patience and skill of the vanished
Dutchman—and see if it does not produce an exquisite poetic tremor
by the thoughts it evolves. There is a dead image of the barnyard
cock which Mr. Darwin may compare with the barndoor fowl of to-day as
accurately as if it were photographed. His once fiery eye is glazed
and sightless as a dim pearl, his neck feathers ruffled but no longer
in anger or pride; his pale, amber-coloured legs helplessly and
ingloriously reversed, their impatient and masterful scratching among
his dames in the stubble over for ever; the glossy purples, greens,
and blacks of his tail-feathers rising sharp and delicate out of the
speckled hazes of colour which it required days and days to lay side
by side among the crushed and crowding plumes. The cock, the horologe
of Thorpe's light, crows no more to the answering hill-farms. He is
destined for the spit of the housewife who holds up the hare. But his
fate was glorious, for by what tens of thousands since the year 1650
or thereabouts have his perfections been admired and praised. It was
worth living for, and, to chanticleer, worth dying for, to become the
occasion of such a miracle of art" (Smetham's Literary Works, p. 240).
Karel du Jardin (Dutch: 1622-1678).
This painter was the ablest of the followers of Nicolas Berchem,
and like that master often painted Italian scenery. He stayed
for some years in Rome, where his pictures were greatly admired,
and where, in the jovial artist circles of the day, he was given
the nickname of "Barbe de Bouc" (goat's-beard). On his return
from Italy he is said to have stayed some time at Lyons, where
he married a widow with whom he afterwards settled in Holland.
He resided at the Hague from 1656 to 1659, and there was much
influenced by the example of Paul Potter. He next moved to
Amsterdam, which he made his home for some years. He returned in
the end to the Italian haunts of his early years, and died at
Venice. In his best pastoral works, the truth and finish of his
execution, the brilliancy of their atmosphere, and the harmonious
colouring, are attractive. He also painted portraits and large
groups, and executed some good etchings.
It has been said of Du Jardin that his works are "excellent when they
are not detestable," a remark which is well exemplified in these
pictures. No. 827 is at once vulgar in incident and unpleasant in
colour. No. 826, on the other hand, one of the pastoral idyls for which
Du Jardin is famous, is a chef d'œuvre of the painter (Sir Robert
Peel paid 930 guineas for it). No. 828 has a true Italian air, and
there is a touch of almost pathetic humour in the contrast between the
cow and the woman. It is the beast that has its eyes on the sunset and
enjoys the benediction of the evening hour. The woman is cumbered with
much serving, and spins with her back to the light.
Jan Hackaert (Dutch: 1629-1696).
Hackaert was a native of Amsterdam, but between the years 1653
and 1658 he travelled much in Switzerland, Germany, and Italy. At
this time he chose his subjects from the mountains. In painting
the landscape of his own country he especially affected woodland
views, with effects of light shining through the trees.
The figures in this picture are attributed to N. Berchem.
Hobbema (Dutch: 1638-1709). See 685.
Perhaps the best rendering of a Dutch village in the Gallery—beautiful
alike in its general effect and in the faithful way in which every
characteristic of the country is brought out. Note the long avenue,
a High Street, as it were, of lopped trees, to lead the traveller to
the village; the bright red roofs, suggestive already in the distance
of the cheerful cleanliness he will find; the broad ditch on either
side of the road—the land reclaimed from the water, and the water
now embanked to fertilise the land; the neat plantations, allotments
it may be, each as trim and well kept as a lawn; and lastly, the
nursery-garden on the left, in which the gardener, smoking, like
the true Hollander, as he works, is pruning some grafted trees.
Middelharnis is one of several places that dispute the honour of being
Hobbema's birthplace.
This picture—which is signed, and dated 16-9 (third figure
illegible)—is generally recognised as the painter's masterpiece. The
subject is unusual, showing a more open landscape and a wider expanse
of sky than Hobbema ordinarily represented. The power and freshness
with which he has treated the theme are remarkable. "Such daylight,"
says Waagen, "I have never seen in any picture." It is to be noted
further that the artist makes no effort to attain the picturesque,
and that the picture offends in some respects against the laws of
composition. Thus "M. Michel complains of the road coming straight,
at once cutting the picture awkwardly in two, of the slender trees
with which it is symmetrically bordered, and which have on their tops
only small plumes of foliage, of the parallel ditches which hold in
the road on either side, and of the cross-road which cuts the picture
horizontally, and lastly, the rose-trees and shrubs planted regularly
in straight lines. All this, he says, does not make a very picturesque
picture. For our own part, it is the fearless and truthful manner in
which Hobbema has treated what must at first sight have appeared an
unpromising subject, that is one of its greatest charms" (Cundall:
The Landscape Painters of Holland, p. 53). Like Hobbema's pictures
generally, this masterpiece was held in little honour in its own
country. It was sold at Dort in 1815 for £90. Sir Robert Peel bought
it in 1829 for £800. It is said to have been restored and retouched
by Reinagle (see Mrs. Jameson's Handbook to the Private Galleries of
London, p. 354 n.).
Hobbema (Dutch: 1638-1709). See 685.
This fine picture also is somewhat unusual in subject for Hobbema, who
was ordinarily content with humble village scenes. It affords a good
instance of his literal truth to nature. M. Michel, in his monograph
on the painter, gives side by side a reproduction of it and a sketch
from his own pen of the ruins as they exist to-day, which, with the
exception of the addition of a modern barbaric bell-turret and some
battlements, preserve almost the identical appearance which Hobbema
portrayed upwards of two centuries ago. "The ivy continues to entwine
its garlands round the disjointed bricks, and, as formerly, the ducks
sport in the stagnant waters of the moat, or take a luxurious siesta
amidst the tufts of grass on its banks, while the rooks and crows,
installed as masters in the recesses of the ancient walls, fill the
air with their incessant cries" (quoted in Cundall's Landscape and
Pastoral Painters of Holland, 1891, p. 52). The ducks[191] are
ascribed to Wyntrank; the figures to Lingelbach. The picture is
signed, and dated 1667. It was, however, at one time re-christened as
a Wijnants, in order to procure a better price at auctions. In 1825 it
sold for £880.
Hobbema (Dutch: 1638-1709). See 685.
This is one of Hobbema's most usual subjects—a cottage, a mill, a few
trees. The effect is that of a summer sky, with light fleecy clouds,
and gleams of sunshine seem to pass over the scene. Sir Robert Peel
paid £525 for the picture. It should be compared with Ruysdael's of a
similar scene (986).
Hobbema (Dutch: 1638-1709). See 685.
Pieter de Hooch (Dutch: 1630-about 1677). See 794.
This picture is interesting as enabling us to discern the painter's
technical process. "The more luminous parts of it, such as the costumes
of the two men at the table, are painted in semi-opaque colour over a
brilliant orange ground. Here and there the orange may be seen peeping
out, and its presence elsewhere gives a peculiar pearliness to the
tints laid upon it. De Hooch painted very thinly. In this picture the
maid with the brazier is an afterthought. She is painted over the
tiles and other details of the background, which now show through her
skirts. Before she was put in, this space to the right was occupied by
an old gentleman with a white beard and moustache, and a wide-brimmed
hat, all of which can be descried under the brown of the mantelpiece"
(Armstrong: Notes on the National Gallery, pp. 36, 37).
Pieter de Hooch (Dutch: 1630-about 1677). See 794.
A courtyard at Delft: superbly painted, and a good picture of Dutch
home life—of its neatness, its cleanliness, its quiet, and its
content. Notice over the entrance a commemorative inscription, partly
covered already by vine leaves, dated 1614. The day's work is done,
and the wife stands in the porch, waiting for her husband's return;
a servant brings down the child too into the courtyard to greet its
father. "It is natural to think your own house and garden the nicest
house and garden that ever were.... They are a treasure to you which
no money could buy,—the leaving them is always pain,—the return to
them a new thrill and wakening to life. They are a home and a place of
root to you, as if you were founded on the ground like its walls, or
grew into it like its flowers" (Fors Clavigera, 1876, p. 51). Such a
home (says Mr. Pater in his Imaginary Portraits) "was, in its minute
and busy wellbeing, like an epitome of Holland itself, with all the
good-fortune of its thriving genius reflected, quite spontaneously, in
the national taste. The nation had learned to content itself with a
religion which told little, or not at all, on the outsides of things.
But we may fancy that something of the religious spirit had gone,
according to the law of the transmutation of force, into the scrupulous
care for cleanliness, into the grave, old-world, conservative beauty
of Dutch houses, which meant that the life people maintained in them
was normally affectionate and pure." This picture was much admired by
Constable. "The least mannered," he said, "and consequently the best
pictures I have seen, are some of the works of De Hooge, particularly
one of an outdoor subject, at Sir R. Peel's. His indoors are as
good, but less difficult, as being less lustrous" (Leslie's Life of
Constable, p. 299). The picture is signed, and dated 1658.
Philip de Koninck (Dutch: 1619-1688).
Koninck, or Koning, was born at Amsterdam and became a pupil of
Rembrandt. He painted historical subjects and portraits, but it
is for his landscapes that he is now most admired. These are
generally expansive views in which aerial perspective is well
given: "The distances of the painters of the older schools had
been full of objects and figures as minutely rendered as those on
the foremost places, only ever so much smaller. Compare with these
distances the simply treated expanse of country offered to view in
P. de Koninck's landscapes. Here we do not have merely a series of
objects getting smaller as they recede, but a far more generalised
representation of the whole face of nature bathed in an atmosphere
in which objects are lost to view" (Baldwin Brown's Fine Arts,
p. 301).
There is a repetition of this picture in the Royal Museum at the Hague.
One may presume that Koninck's pictures had aristocratic purchasers;
for, unlike the painters of "pastoral landscape," he is fond of
introducing persons of distinction—here it is a hawking party; in 974
a carriage-and-six with outriders.
Jan Lingelbach (Dutch: 1623-1674).
Though a German by birth, Lingelbach is included amongst the Dutch
painters; for he lived chiefly in Amsterdam, and was largely
employed in inserting the figures in the landscapes of Wynants and
others. He also passed some years in Italy, and frequently painted
Italian scenes and incidents.
Gabriel Metsu (Dutch: 1630-1667).
Metsu is one of the genre painters who are now appraised most
highly—sums of £2580 and £3200 severally were given at the
Secrétan Sale for pictures of his. In the Hertford House Gallery
are some good specimens which the late Sir Richard Wallace
acquired at great cost. Though, like most of his brother-artists,
he was fond of painting tavern-scenes (e.g. No. 970), he was
also a painter of high life and the drawing-room, like Terburg
and Netscher. "In each of these spheres he combined humour with
expression, a keen appreciation of nature with feeling, and
breadth with delicacy of touch, in a manner unsurpassed by any of
his contemporaries" (Crowe). "When his pictures have escaped the
ordeal of ruthless cleaning they are pervaded by the finest tone,
and the whites in them have that delicate glow which distance and
atmosphere lend to snowy peaks. It is obvious that he caressed
this least manageable of colours with unceasing love. Altogether
his works have a quality of distinction rare in those of any
school" (Burton). Metsu's father was a painter, whose third wife
(the mother of Gabriel) was a painter's widow. The boy was taught
by Gerard Dou, and already at the age of fourteen was admitted
a member of the Leyden Guild of Painters. In 1650 he removed to
Amsterdam, where he fell under the influence of Rembrandt. The
large picture in the Louvre of "The Woman taken in Adultery,"
signed by Metsu and dated 1653, shows this fact. Metsu did not,
however, adhere to religious subjects, but applied the lessons he
learnt from the great master to subjects more congenial to his
talent.
Gabriel Metsu (Dutch: 1630-1667).
A picture that might serve as an illustration of "the gamut of
Hortensio" (see Taming of the Shrew, Act. iii. sc. 1).
Frans van Mieris (Dutch: 1635-1681).
This painter, the son of a goldsmith (one of twenty-three
children) and the pupil of Gerard Dou, is known as "Old Frans,"
to distinguish him from his grandson of that name, who, like his
son William (see 841), was also a painter. The works of Frans are
very much superior to those of his successors. "Unlike William
Mieris, he rarely cared to carry the eye from the beautiful
painting of the figures by working up or covering the base of the
casement with highly finished bas-reliefs. That kind of thing may
be looked for in William Mieris's curiously finished pictures,
but certainly is not wanted in the works of Francis. His female
figures, independently of being always well painted, are often
graceful and pretty; he could paint a lady at her toilet with the
delicacy and feeling of Metsu and Terburg, and was besides happy
in varying the expressions and faces of his female beauties; he
was fond of painting them in richly coloured jackets trimmed with
fur. He was also a capital hand at painting birds" (Seguier). The
elegance and high technical qualities of his productions brought
him numerous and distinguished patrons. The Grand Duke of Tuscany
visited him at Leyden, and the Archduke Leopold William desired to
attract him to Vienna. Mieris, however, would not leave Leyden;
nor did his large and lucrative practice induce any carelessness
or neglect in his work.
Willem van Mieris (Dutch: 1662-1747).
The son of Frans (see above, 840). He succeeded to his father's
practice, but was an indifferent imitator. A comparison between
him and the leading "Little Masters of Holland" will show the
difference between true finish and laborious trifling.
Decidedly an "artistic" shop: notice the elaborate bas-relief (as also
in 825), with marine subjects suitable to a fishmonger's, below the
shop-window, and the handsome curtain ready to serve as shutters. The
picture is sometimes called "The Cat," from the cat eyeing the duck
whose head hangs from the window-sill.
Frédéric de Moucheron (Dutch: 1633-1686).
This painter came of an Antwerp family, but he studied and
afterwards settled at Amsterdam. He also studied and worked for
some years in Paris. He confined himself to landscape; Lingelbach,
A. van de Velde and others were employed to paint in his figures.
The figures here are ascribed to Adrian van de Velde.
Gaspard Netscher (Dutch: 1639-1684).
Netscher, one of the chief painters of Dutch "high life," had
a somewhat eventful career. He was born at Heidelberg, which
was then being besieged. His mother, after seeing her two elder
children die of hunger before her eyes, escaped with Gaspard
through the investing lines to Arnheim. The boy was intended for
a doctor, but took to painting and studied under Terburg. In 1659
he started on a tour to Italy, but at Bordeaux he fell in love
with a girl from Liège, whom he married. He settled at Bordeaux,
but his pictures, such as this, which are now so much valued, then
brought him but slight remuneration; and after returning to the
Hague, he turned his attention to portrait-painting. Several of
his portraits are of English sitters, and it is supposed that he
visited this country, but this is uncertain. Netscher's portraits
are generally on a small scale, and very highly finished. He was
patronised by William III., and was rapidly acquiring fame, when
he died at the age of forty-five. His genre pieces resemble
those of F. Mieris.
Netscher (Dutch: 1639-1684). See 843.
Notice in the background, over a cupboard, hanging in a black frame, a
small copy of Rubens' "Brazen Serpent," now in this collection (59).
Netscher (Dutch: 1639-1684). See 843.
Adrian van Ostade (Dutch: 1610-1685).
Adrian, the elder of the two Ostades, was a pupil of Frans Hals.
Later in life, he felt the influence of Rembrandt, and he painted
some religious subjects. But he is best known for his scenes
from peasant life. These are now greatly esteemed, and pictures
which the painter himself probably sold for a few shillings now
fetch hundreds and even thousands of pounds. Adrian Ostade is the
contemporary of Teniers, and it is interesting to compare their
respective delineations of rustic life. "The contrast lies in the
different condition of the agricultural classes of Brabant and
Holland. Brabant has more sun, more comfort, and a higher type
of humanity; Teniers, in consequence, is silvery and sparkling;
the people he paints are fair specimens of a well-built race.
Holland, in the vicinity of Haarlem, seems to have suffered much
in war; the air is moist and hazy, and the people, as depicted
by Ostade, are short, ill-favoured, and marked with the stamp of
adversity on their features and dress. The greatness of Ostade
lies in the fact that he often caught the poetic side of the life
of the peasant class, in spite of its ugliness and stunted form
and mis-shapen features. He did so by giving their vulgar sports,
their quarrels, even their quieter moods of enjoyment, the magic
light of the sun-gleam, and by clothing the wreck of cottages
with gay vegetation" (Crowe). Ostade was especially fond of the
foliage of the vine. He is often coarse, but sometimes shows a
genuine sense of humour. He had, says Sir F. Burton, "artistic
qualities of a high order—consummate skill in composition and
taste in arrangement; subtlety of chiaroscuro and refined delicacy
of colour; appropriate, and never overstrained action in the
figures, and precision, combined with breadth, of handling. His
earlier pictures are the coolest in tone; those of his middle
period more golden, showing gradually the influence of Rembrandt.
His drawings and etchings are extremely fine." His father, Jan
Hendrik, was a weaver; the children adopted the name of Ostade
from a small hamlet, near Eindhoven, which their parents left to
settle at Haarlem. There Adrian lived and worked, being enrolled
as a member of the Civic Guard in 1636, and becoming Dean of the
Painters' Guild in 1662. He was twice married; the second time, to
a daughter of Jan van Goyen.
Under the three-legged stool is a paper on which is written a warning
of the vanity of the alchymist's labour—oleum et operam perdis:
"you are wasting your cost and pains"—a warning not unjustified in a
painter's mouth, for more than one old master devoted the end of his
life to the fruitless task of making gold (e.g. Parmigiano, see 33).
The English painter, Romney, too, dabbled in alchemy when he was a
young man, and in his declining years sketched a melodrama representing
the progress of an alchymist in quest of the philosopher's stone.
The picture is signed (on a shovel hanging against the wall), and
dated 1661. It is, says Mr. J. T. Nettleship in a comparison between
Ostade and George Morland, "a marvellous example of the atmosphère de
tableau. Everything takes its place, but is also a wonder of finish.
The whole picture gives you a large feeling of space and tone. And
there is no bogeydom, no straining after weirdness; the whole is a
common workshop, the scene of the man's daily life; he feeds well, one
is sure—if he has dreams his face does not betray them, it is just
the face of a born craftsman. It is impossible to look at this picture
without acknowledging the influence such work must have had on Morland.
But Morland never achieved such delicacy united to breadth, such finish
combined with harmony of effect, though before he took the wrong turn
he came near achieving it" (George Morland, p. 23).
Isaac van Ostade (Dutch: 1621-1649).
Isaac, born at Haarlem, was the younger brother of Adrian van
Ostade, with whom he remained as pupil till 1641, when he set up
in business on his own account. There is a record of a transaction
of his in that year which throws an interesting light on the
picture-dealing world of the day. In 1643 a dealer summoned him
for breach of a contract made in 1641 to deliver six pictures
and seven "rounds" for twenty-seven florins. Part of Isaac's
defence was that his pictures had since risen in value. The case
was referred to the Painters' Guild, which decided that he must
perform his contract, but that the number of the "rounds" should
be reduced to five and the price of the whole be increased to
fifty florins. It may be conjectured that the low value thus set
upon the cottage scenes in his brother's manner induced Isaac to
cultivate a different style of his own. This consisted largely of
village inns (of which the present picture is a capital example),
and winter scenes (among which No. 963 in our Gallery is a
masterpiece). He combined a genuine appreciation of nature with
great skill in the treatment of figures. He was fond, as will be
seen, of introducing a white horse to serve as the principal light
in his compositions.
This picture was bought by Sir Robert Peel for 400 guineas, and was
esteemed, says Mrs. Jameson in her catalogue of his collection, "the
masterpiece of the painter. The transparent, sparkling beauty of the
execution was never surpassed. The figures, the foliage, the animals,
the atmospheric effect, are all perfect."
Isaac van Ostade (Dutch: 1621-1649). See 847.
Paul Potter (Dutch: 1625-1654).
Paul Potter, the best of the Dutch cattle painters, was the son
of an artist (see 1008), and a remarkable instance of precocious
talent, having been a clever painter and etcher at the age of
fourteen. The environs of Enkhuizen, where he was born, did not
offer scenes of surpassing beauty; but the rich brown and gold
tints of the cattle contrasted pleasantly with the verdure of the
flat fields. These Potter set himself to study and to paint; and
so accurately did he master the anatomy of cattle that a writer on
the natural history of Holland, in 1769-79, did not hesitate to
utilise, in order to illustrate his work, paintings and sketches
by Potter, including geometrical drawings which he had made to
demonstrate the proper proportions of cattle. His skill brought
him much patronage at the Hague; and in 1650 he married the
daughter of a distinguished architect in that city, who made some
objections, it is said, to his daughter marrying a mere "painter
of animals." But the painter of animals prospered better than
many of his contemporary painters of men, and both at the Hague
and at Amsterdam his works continued to be in great request. But
a too close application to his art told on a weak constitution,
and he died of consumption at the age of twenty-nine (Cundall's
Landscape and Pastoral Painters of Holland, pp. 113 sq.). For
a century after his death his works realised very small sums,
but latterly they have been sought after at extravagant prices.
Technically they are very accomplished; but Ruskin calls attention
to a certain defect of feeling in his treatment. He "does not
care even for sheep, but only for wool; regards not cows, but
cow-hides. He attains great dexterity in drawing tufts and locks,
lingers in the little parallel ravines and furrows of fleece that
open across sheep's backs as they turn; is unsurpassed in twisting
a horn or pointing a nose; but he cannot paint eyes, nor perceive
any condition of an animal's mind except its desire of grazing"
(Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi. § 12). In estimating
his work, it should however be remembered that he died very
young, and died learning. The famous "Young Bull" of the Hague,
painted in 1647 when he was twenty-two, is usually considered his
masterpiece. Rather, says Fromentin, is it only a tour de force,
a wonderful study. The portrait of the painter as he appeared in
his last days, done by his friend Van der Helst, is in the Hague
Museum.
Signed, and dated 1651, and therefore among the painter's later works.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
Dated 1635. The sitter wears the typical "Rembrandt collar."
Sebastiano Ricci (Venetian: 1659-1734).
An unimportant work by a painter who worked for several years in
this country, and covered many walls and ceilings with his facile
compositions. Examples of his religious and mythological pictures
may be seen at the Dulwich Gallery. Ricci, says Dr. Richter in
his catalogue of that collection, "is one of the most attractive
painters of the Italian decadence. His compositions are lively
and ingenious, without, however, being profound." There are also
several of his works at Hampton Court. He was born at Belluno in
the Venetian State, and before coming to England was employed by
the Duke of Parma and at the Viennese court in decorating the
palace of Schoenbrunn. He left England in disgust on finding
that the work of decorating the cupola of St. Paul's was to be
entrusted to a native artist, Sir James Thornhill. "Ricci had
great facility in imitating the style of other masters. His
picture of the 'Apostles adoring the Sacrament' in the church of
S. Giustina at Padua is painted in imitation of the cupola of S.
Giovanni at Parma by Correggio; and his 'S. Gregorio' at Bergamo
recalls the works of Guercino. But his most successful imitations
were those of Paul Veronese, many of which he is said to have sold
as by that master. He deceived the French painter La Fosse, who
avenged himself by the sarcastic remark, 'For the future, take my
advice and paint no more Ricci's'" (Bryan).
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
One of the best known and most be-copied pictures in the Gallery. Its
fame among artists "depends to no slight extent on its being a tour
de force. The head is painted in reflected light, so as to come as
near as may be to Queen Elizabeth's shadowless ideal" (Armstrong:
Notes on the National Gallery, p. 31). "No one who has not beheld
this masterpiece of painting can form any conception," says Dr. Waagen,
"of the transparency and brilliancy with which the local colours in the
features and complexion, though under the shadow of a broad-brimmed
hat, are brought out and made to tell, while the different parts are
rounded and relieved, with the finest knowledge and use of reflected
lights." The expression of the subject is as much a tour de force as
the technical treatment—
I know a maiden fair to see,
Take care!...
She gives a side-glance and looks down,
Beware! beware!...
She has a bosom as white as snow,
Take care!
She knows how much it is best to show,
Beware! beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
Longfellow: from the German.
The picture is a portrait of Susanne Fourment, an elder sister of
Rubens's second wife, Helène Fourment. Susanne often sat to Rubens;
other paintings and drawings of her by his hand exist. She afterwards
married Arnold Lunden. The picture remained in the possession of the
painter until his death, when it passed into that of Nicholas Lunden,
who had married Isabella, a daughter of Rubens by his second wife,
Helène Fourment. The picture remained in the Lunden family until 1822,
when it was sold by auction for 36,000 florins and brought to England.
After being offered in vain to George IV., it was bought by Sir Robert
Peel for 3500 guineas. Why and when this picture of a lady in a beaver
hat acquired the inappropriate title of "Chapeau de Paille" ("The Straw
Hat"), by which it has hitherto been called, is unknown. Perhaps the
title is a corruption of "Chapeau d'Espagne." An entirely different
story about the picture was current in the Lunden family. According
to this not very probable tradition, Miss Susanne had refused to sit
to Rubens, so he painted her unawares whilst she was in her garden,
wearing a large straw hat. When the picture was done, she pardoned the
flattering indiscretion and accepted it as a gift. Rubens afterwards
begged leave to take back the portrait, promising in return a work
in which he would put all his talent. This was a replica of the
same portrait, but instead of a straw hat (chapeau de paille) he
introduced in the second version the beaver hat (chapeau de poil)
that we see. The Lunden family had christened the original "Chapeau
de Paille," and the present picture has ever since retained the same
title. (See letter in the Times, August 6, 1886, from M. Jules Nollée
de Noduwez, himself a connection of the Lunden family).
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
For the subject see under 93. "Rubens painted these subjects with
a gusto in which there is something fearful, so wonderful is the
skill, the felicity of execution, the life, the energy, the fancy
displayed—so gross and so repulsive the sentiment. In Niccolo
Poussin's Bacchanalian scenes we have the licence and the revels of
gods and nymphs, and of the golden age. Rubens gives us, with perhaps a
truer moral feeling but more depraved taste, mere animal sensuality,
with all its most brutal attributes" (Mrs. Jameson's Handbook to the
Private Galleries of London, p. 362). This picture was in the artist's
possession at the time of his death, and was then bought for Cardinal
Richelieu. It was afterwards in the collection of Sir Robert Peel, who
gave £1100 for it.
These sixteen drawings by Rubens formed part of the rich collection of
Sir Thomas Lawrence, P.R.A., after whose death they were acquired for
Sir Robert Peel. They were purchased for the nation in 1871 with the
Peel Collection of pictures. The subjects are as follows:—
853 a, b, c, and d. Four studies
for the famous picture at Munich, representing the "Fall of the
Damned." In black chalk, tinted slightly. "Inconceivably fine,"
says Mrs. Jameson.
853 e. THE MARTYRDOM OF A SAINT.—He kneels, and a woman is
about to bind his eyes. Fifteen figures with angels.
853 f. THE DESCENT OF THE HOLY GHOST.—Study for the
picture at Munich.
853 g. THE CRUCIFIXION.—Drawing from the great picture at
Antwerp, done for the engraver to work from.
853 h. PORTRAIT OF A GIRL; with a cap and feather. Study
from one of his own children.
853 i. PORTRAIT OF A LADY, with flowers in her hair.
Probably a study from his first wife. "Extremely fine," says Mrs.
Jameson, "and full of life."
853 j. HEAD OF A LADY, in chalk and sepia, wonderfully
spirited.
853 k. SKETCH FOR MONUMENTAL SCULPTURE, or design for a
frontispiece—with a figure of "Fame."
853 l. THE SAME, with figures of Moses and Aaron.
853 m. THE SAME, with satyrs.
853 n. THE SAME, representing the siege of Breda: Minerva
and Hercules, prisoners, implements of war, etc.
853 o. STUDY OF A LIONESS, introduced into his picture of
"Daniel in the Lion's Den."
853 p. SKETCH OF A LION HUNT.—Study for the great picture
at Dresden.
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
Of this picture, when it was in Sir Robert Peel's collection, Mrs.
Jameson tells a pretty tale. "'I cannot express to you,' said the
statesman, 'the feeling of tranquillity, of restoration, with which,
in an interval of harassing official business, I look around me here.'
And while he spoke, in the slow, quiet tone of a weary man, he turned
his eyes on a forest scene of Ruysdael, and gazed on it for a minute
or two in silence, as if its cool, dewy verdure, its deep seclusion,
its transparent waters stealing through the glade, had sent refreshment
into his very soul" (Handbook to the Private Galleries of London, p.
xix.).
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
Jan Steen (Dutch: 1626-1679).
It is in the collections of Holland, and especially in the Museum
of Amsterdam, that the best works of this remarkable painter are
to be seen—a painter whose talent and occasional grace made
Reynolds name him in the same breath with Raphael, and who has by
other critics been called the Molière of painting. This latter
comparison happily expresses the dramatic and intellectual quality
of Steen's best works. He drew not merely Dutch life, but human
nature. He depicts the comedy of human life, for the most part,
in a spirit of genial toleration, but sometimes with touches of
almost Hogarthian satire. With regard to technical qualities, his
best works are admirable for their skilful composition, brilliant
touch, and harmonious colouring. "Steen when it pleased him was
an artist of great ability. Unfortunately it did not always
please him to be so, and then his colour became blurred, his
execution trivial, and the general aspect of his figures heavy
and monotonous; but whenever he exerts himself he becomes once
more and remains a great master. It is the more astonishing to
find these defects, as they are peculiar neither to the beginning
nor to the end of his career, and therefore cannot be attributed
to a hard apprenticeship or premature decay. They are to be
explained by the irregular life which the painter led" (Havard).
The number of his works, however,—of which more than 500 have
been catalogued—seem to negative the stories in which some
biographers accept of Steen's drunken and dissolute life. He was
the son of a brewer and was born at Leyden. He first studied under
a German painter, Knüpfer, at Utrecht; afterwards with Adrian van
Ostade, and Jan van Goyen whose daughter he married in 1649. In
the previous year he had joined the Painters' Guild of Haarlem.
That he was improvident is proved by records of executions for
debt which have been discovered in the archives of that town. His
pictures must have fetched small prices, for he contracted to pay
the year's rent of his house for 1666-67 with three portraits
"painted as well as he was able," the rent being 29 florins. In
1669 his wife and his father died, and Steen, who is supposed
to have resided for some years at the Hague, returned to Leyden
and opened a tavern, and for the rest of his life combined the
businesses of painter and publican.
A work of some humour. The music-master is sadly bored with the
exercises of his pupil at the harpsichord, but his disgust is fully
shared by the young brother whose turn is to come next, and who is
bringing a lute into the room. The picture is signed on the harpsichord.
Teniers (Flemish: 1610-1694). See 154.
Very interesting little pictures, as characteristic of the entire
want of poetry in Teniers' art. Compare Mantegna's version of
Summer and Autumn (1125), or recall Botticelli's lovely vision of
Spring at Florence, and one sees in a moment the difference in art
between poetical imagination and vulgarity. To Teniers, Spring—"the
sweet spring, the year's pleasant king"—is only a man carrying a
flower-pot. Summer—"all the sweet season of summertide"—suggests
nothing but a man holding a wheat-sheaf. Autumn—"season of mists
and mellow fruitfulness"—brings him only a first glass of wine;
and Winter—"white winter, rough nurse, that rocks the dead cold
year"—only a second. These pictures (which are painted on copper),
were once in the possession of Prince Talleyrand, and Sir Robert Peel
bought them in 1823 for £189.
Teniers (Flemish: 1610-1694). See 154.
The man with the barrow is a portrait of Teniers' gardener.
Teniers (Flemish: 1610-1694). See 154.
Hardly an instance in which "vice itself loses half its evil by losing
all its grossness." It is a very vulgar intrigue. The husband courts
without passion; the maid-servant "stoops to folly" without grace; the
wife surprises the lovers without dignity.
Teniers (Flemish: 1610-1694). See 154.
The sequel to the story of Dives and Lazarus. "And it came to pass,
that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham's
bosom: the rich man also died, and was buried. And in hell he lift
up his eyes, being in torments" (Luke xvi. 22, 23). A favourite
subject with Teniers, giving him an opportunity for painting comic
monstrosities.
Gerard Terburg (Dutch: 1617-1681).
Terburg is the most refined of all the Dutch painters of
"conversation pieces." He depicts with admirable truth, both in
his portraits and genre pictures, the life of the wealthy and
cultured classes of his time. His figures are well drawn and
expressive, and the accessories are duly subordinated. He renders
the texture of draperies with great skill, and his colouring is at
once rich and quiet. He was the son of a wealthy man, a traveller
and a connoisseur who himself imparted the rudiments of art to
his son. Gerard afterwards studied in Amsterdam and Haarlem. In
1635 he visited England, and thence made the grand tour of the
Continent, studying the works of Titian and others. On his return
to Holland he remained some time at Amsterdam, learning much
from the works of Rembrandt. In 1646 he was at Münster, where he
painted the famous picture, No. 896 in our Gallery. This excited
such admiration on account of the excellence of its portraits and
general truth to nature, that the Spanish ambassador took Terburg
with him to Madrid, where he was knighted by Philip IV. and had
the opportunity of adding a study of Velazquez to his artistic
advantages. Terburg settled eventually at Deventer, where he
married and became burgomaster: a full-length portrait of him in
that capacity is in the Museum at the Hague.
This is a characteristic example of the painter's conversation pieces.
Sir Robert Peel bought it in 1826 for 920 guineas.
Jan van de Cappelle (Dutch: painted about 1650-1680).
Of this painter, whose works have of recent years become popular
with collectors, the Dutch writers have left no record. Nor has
anything been discovered about him beyond the fact that, on the
occasion of his marriage in 1653, he received the freedom of the
city of Amsterdam. One may connect with this fact the state barge,
introduced in some of his pictures,—or the corporation barge,
it may be,—much resembling the barges belonging to the City and
the City Companies which not long ago might still be seen on the
Thames at London, and some of which survive, transformed into
College barges at Oxford. Cappelle's works are comparatively rare;
they show that he loved a calm sea, lit up with warm rays.
Jan van der Heyden (Dutch: 1637-1712).
Van der Heyden (or Heyde), who has been called, from the
minute neatness of his workmanship, "the Dou of architectural
painters,"[192] was one of the first Dutch artists to devote
himself to that class of subject. It was a result no doubt of
the Italianising tendency of the time. "It would seem that they
required to be initiated in this style by the views of foreign
market-places and squares with which the Italianising painters had
decorated the saloons of Amsterdam, and that in the presence of
this invasion of forums and piazzas they exclaimed, 'Have we not
streets, squares, and monuments to paint?'" (Havard: The Dutch
School, p. 238). Of course they had; and no works of the time
are more interesting than these minute historical records. "A
striking feature in Van der Heyden is the pencilling or dividing
of the brickwork of the houses and walls by delicate white lines;
so finely are these drawn that if it were not for the trouble,
one might count the bricks in his buildings" (Seguier). But he
had the art of combining this microscopic detail with breadth of
effect. The division of labour in art work was in his time very
fully applied; and Van der Heyden's range was very limited. He
seldom turned his hand to anything but brick houses and churches
in streets or squares, or rows along canals, or the moated granges
common in his native country. He could draw neither man nor beast,
and relied on Adrian van der Velde to enliven his street scenes
with spirited figures. Van der Heyden was born at Gorcum, and was
apprenticed to a glass-painter. He then moved to Amsterdam and
studied architectural drawing. He visited England, Belgium, and
the Rhenish Provinces. In the later part of his life he varied
the practice of art with the pursuit of mechanics, for which
he had a strong turn. He invented various improvements in the
fire-engine, introduced the use of street-lamps, and at the time
of his death was superintendent of the lighting and director of
the firemen's company at Amsterdam.
In the background is seen the then unfinished tower of Cologne
Cathedral surmounted by the old vane. This was a favourite subject of
the painter; there is another version of it in the Wallace Collection.
The figures are attributed to A. van de Velde.
Adrian van de Velde (Dutch: 1636-1672).
Adrian, the son of William van de Velde the elder, the marine
painter, first studied under his father, and next under Wynants,
the landscape painter. He showed his talent very early. "Wynants,"
said that painter's wife, when the young Adrian entered his
studio, "you have found your master." He afterwards studied the
figure under Wouwerman. His talent was versatile, for he painted
figures, animals, and landscapes with equal truth and refinement.
His large canvases (e.g. No. 80 in the Wallace Collection) are
hard, and leave the spectator cold; but his cabinet pictures are
refined in outline and delicate in tone. He was fond of village
scenery with cattle introduced, in which kind are several good
examples in our Gallery. He was also successful in winter scenes.
Of his sandy coast scenes there is a choice example in the Six
Collection at Amsterdam. The value and interest of many pictures
by Ruysdael, Van der Heyden, Hobbema, and other painters of the
time, were enhanced by figures inserted by Adrian. He must have
had wonderful facility and industry, for in addition to these
insertions, and in spite of his short life, the catalogue of his
own pictures includes nearly 200 items.
This picture is signed, and dated 1658. The effect is that of a fine
warm summer afternoon.
Adrian van de Velde (Dutch: 1636-1672). See 867.
"The figures and faces," says Mrs. Jameson in her catalogue of the Peel
Collection, "are finished with inexpressible delicacy; the animals
are painted with characteristic truth; the foliage of the trees seems
stirred by the breeze;—in short, it is a most rare piece of work in
every part, and full of pastoral sentiment, though there is certainly
nothing Arcadian in the personages introduced." Sir Robert Peel bought
the picture in 1840 for 760 gs.
Adrian van de Velde (Dutch: 1636-1672). See 867.
This picture—known as "Les Amusements d'Hiver"—is signed, and dated
1668. The men are playing hockey. Other figures are occupied with a
sledge. On the left is a refreshment booth.
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
A dogger, with hanging sail, in the foreground; behind it a
frigate—"and a variety of vessels, at every different gradation of
distance, carry the eye back to the horizon. The air and ocean are
still as sleep. Signed, and dated 1657, when the painter was only 24."
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
Incidentally a good study in the "philosophy of clothes." The
painter hits off with much humour the essential difference between
those who regard man as "by nature a naked animal"—seen in the
naked bathers—and those who regard him as emphatically "a clothed
animal"—seen in the prim old gentleman who gets himself carried on a
man's back. Intermediate between these two classes are those who use
clothes as a convenience, but are not entirely subject to them—such,
for instance, is the comfortable old fellow smoking his pipe and wading
home, not without obvious contempt for the old gentleman riding, as
aforesaid, in ignominious slavery to his "Sunday best." Dated 1661;
bought by Sir Robert Peel from the collection of the Duc de Berri.
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
"A scene well known to those who have visited the Hague, and frequently
represented by Van de Velde. There are the high sand-hills to the
left, and above them are seen a few fishermen's huts and the little
church of Scheveningen. Along the beach are numerous figures, variously
grouped and employed; the most conspicuous are several persons near a
post-waggon. The sea is quietly rolling in to the shore, impelled by a
light breeze. The figures are painted with exquisite finish and spirit
by Adrian van de Velde" (Mrs. Jameson). Sir Robert Peel bought this
picture from the Pourtalès Collection for £800. It is a characteristic
specimen of the master, showing how his version of the sea was coloured
by that "mixture of sand and sea-water" which belongs to his native
coasts. "I have come," writes Fromentin, "to Scheveningen. Before me is
the calm, gray, fleecy North Sea. Who has not seen it? One thinks of
Ruysdael, of Van Goyen, of Van de Velde. One easily finds their point
of view. I could tell you the exact place where they sat, as if the
trace of them had remained imprinted for two centuries: the sea is on
the left; the ridged sand-hills stand out on the right, stretch away,
diminish and are lost insensibly in the dim horizon; the grass is poor;
the sand-hills are pale; the sea-shore is colourless; the sea is like
milk; the sky has silky clouds and is wonderfully aerial."
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
A Dutch frigate and a small English cutter becalmed. "There is a repose
in the air, a clearness in the still, smooth sea, quite indescribable"
(Mrs. Jameson).
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
Two doggers in the foreground; behind one of them, a Dutch frigate.
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641). See 49.
That Van Dyck was at a very early age a portrait-painter of rare merit
may be seen, from this likeness of himself while still quite young and
beardless. In the Wallace Collection there is another early portrait of
himself, in the character of Paris. Our picture is the portrait of an
artist and a man of refinement. Notice especially the long, tapering
fingers—delicate almost to the point of feminineness. They are very
characteristic of Van Dyck's work, who, indeed, drew all his hands
from one model: the same delicate fingers may be seen in the so-called
"portrait of Rubens" (49). In giving this delicacy to all sitters Van
Dyck fell no doubt into mannerism; in giving it to great artists such
as himself he was entirely right. Palmistry assigns fine, tapering
fingers to "artistic temperament," and rightly, for fine fingers are
necessary for fine work. "The art of painting, properly so called,
consists in laying on the least possible colour that will produce the
required result; and this measurement, in all the ultimate—that is to
say the principal—operations of colouring, is so delicate that not
one human hand in a million has the required lightness" (Two Paths,
Appendix iv., where much interesting matter on this subject will be
found).
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641). See 49.
These drawings were bought with the Peel Collection. The former is the
study for an altar-piece of the church of St. Michael at Ghent—"a most
superb drawing," says Mrs. Jameson. The latter is a drawing prepared
for the engraver, Peter de Jode, from the large picture of the subject
in the Louvre. It was the sight of that picture that determined King
Charles I. to secure the services of Van Dyck.
Philips Wouwerman (Dutch: 1619-1668).
Wouwerman—whose pictures may nearly always be told by a white
horse, which is almost his sign-manual—is selected by Ruskin
as the central instance of the "hybrid school of landscape." To
understand this term we must recall his division of all landscape,
in its relation to human beings, into the following heads: (1)
Heroic, representing an imaginary world inhabited by noble
men and spiritual powers—Titian; (2) Classical, representing
an imaginary world inhabited by perfectly civilised men and
inferior spiritual powers—Poussin; (3) Pastoral, representing
peasant life in its daily work—Cuyp; (4) Contemplative,
directed to observation of the powers of nature and record of
historical associations connected with landscape, contrasted
with existing states of human life—Turner. The hybrid school
of which Berchem and Wouwerman are the chief representatives is
that which endeavours to unite the irreconcilable sentiment of
two or more of the above-mentioned classes. Thus here we have
Wouwerman's conception of the heroic in the officers and in
the rocky landscape; of the pastoral in the pretty milkmaid,
to whom an officer is speaking, and who gives her name to the
picture. So again the painter's desire to assemble all kinds
of pleasurable elements may be seen in the crowded composition
of an adjoining picture (879). Wouwerman is further selected
by Ruskin as the chief type of vulgarity in art—meaning by
vulgarity, insensibility. He introduces into his pictures—see,
for instance, 879—every element that he thinks pleasurable, yet
has not imagination enough to enter heartily into any of them.
His pleasure is "without a gleam of higher things," and in his
war-pieces there is "no heroism, awe or mercy, hope or faith."
With regard, finally, to the execution, it is "careful and
conscientious," the tone of his pictures generally dark and gray,
the figures being thrown out in spots of light (Modern Painters,
vol. v. pt. ix. ch. viii.). "There is no good painting," Ruskin
says of a Wouwerman at Turin, "properly so called, anywhere, but
of clever, dotty, sparkling, telling execution, as much as the
canvas will hold" (ibid. § 8). Wouwerman was born at Haarlem;
his father was a painter. From him Philips learnt the practice of
art, afterwards studying landscape under Wynants. He worked for
some time at Hamburg, in the studio of Everard Decker. In 1640 he
returned to Haarlem, where he remained for the rest of his life.
He had two brothers who were also painters. His productivity was
enormous. He lived forty-nine years, and it has been calculated
that even if we deny his authorship of one half the pictures
ascribed to him, we leave him with at least 500, or about one for
every three weeks during his productive years (Bryan's Dictionary
of Painters). Few galleries are without several pictures by
Wouwerman. In the Wallace Collection he is represented by six, in
the Dulwich Gallery by ten.
The picture is known after the milkmaid whom the officer is chucking
under the chin, whilst the trumpeter takes a sarcastic pleasure, we may
suppose, in sounding all the louder the call "to arms."
Wouwerman (Dutch: 1619-1668). See 878.
The profusion of pleasurable incident in this picture has already been
noticed (see under 878) in connection with Wouwerman's bent of mind;
but notice also how the crowded composition spoils the effect of a
picture as a picture. Clearly also will it spoil the stable-keeper's
business. He eyes the coin which one of his customers is giving him
with all the discontent of a London cabman, and has no eye to spare
for the smart lady with her cavalier, who are just entering the
stable. This is a good instance of what has been called "Wouwerman's
nonsense-pictures, a mere assemblage of things to be imitated, items
without a meaning" (W. B. Scott: Half-hour Lectures on Art, p. 299).
Wouwerman (Dutch: 1619-1668). See 878.
This picture was formerly in the collection of Queen Elizabeth of
Spain, whose arms are stamped on the back. Sir Robert Peel bought it in
1823 for 450 guineas.
Wouwerman (Dutch: 1619-1668). See 878.
Jan Wynants (Dutch: about 1615-1679).
Wynants—spelt also Wijnants—the painter of the sandy wayside,
was one of the founders of the Dutch school of landscape, and was
an artist of much originality. Out of a few docks and thistles, it
has been said, a tree, and a sandbank, he could make a picture.
"In the choice of his subjects Wijnants shows a preference,"
says Sir F. Burton, "for open scenery, where, under a sky of
summer blue broken by illuminated cloud-masses, the undulating
soil reveals its nature through beaten tracks and rugged roads
with their shelving sides of gold-coloured sand, while trees are
scattered thinly on the slopes. Or he loves the borders of the
forest, where mighty tree-trunks, smitten by past storms, still
extend some gnarled branches across the sky, or a fallen stem lies
half imbedded amongst tall grasses and large-leaved plants. In
such scenes Wynants is particularly attractive. They give us the
poetry of form and light, as Ruisdael's deep pine-forests give
us that of gloom and solitude." Of his life little is known. He
was probably born about the year 1615, as his earliest pictures
bear the dates 1641 and 1642. He was still living in 1679, as one
of his paintings in the Hermitage of St. Petersburg bears that
date. In October 1642 the registers of St. Luke's Guild at Haarlem
mention a Jan Wijnants as dealer in works of art; this probably
refers to the painter. He resided at Haarlem, and afterwards at
Amsterdam. Wouwerman and A. van de Velde were among his scholars,
the latter artist and others inserted figures in his pictures,
for Wynants painted only landscape. The visitor will find good
examples of him at Dulwich and Hertford House.
The picture is signed (on the trunk of the felled tree) and dated 1659.
The figures in this and the next picture are ascribed to A. van de
Velde.
Jan Wynants (Dutch: about 1615-1679). See 883.
It is not uninteresting to notice—as strangely in keeping with the
poor and hard country here depicted—that in nearly every picture by
Wynants (see 883, 971, 972) there is a dead tree. That Dutch painters
were alive to the beauties of vegetation, the oaks of Ruysdael are
enough to show; but to Wynants at least nature seems to have been
visible only as a destroying power, as a rugged and conflicting force,
against which the sturdy Hollander had to battle for existence as best
he might.
Piero di Cosimo (Florentine: 1462-1521). See 698.
Francesco Ferruccio, of whom this is said to be a portrait, was the
Florentine general whose skill and patriotism shed a lustre on the
final struggle of Florence against the combined forces of the Pope and
the Emperor. He was then in command of the outlying possessions of
Florence, and had there been a second Ferruccio within the city itself
the fortune of war might have been different. Francesco was killed in
a battle near Pistoia on August 3, 1530. In the background of this
portrait there is a view of the Piazza della Signoria at Florence; and
at the entrance door Michael Angelo's statue of David, which was placed
there in 1504. The picture was formerly ascribed to Lorenzo Costa;
the recognition of its true authorship is due to Dr. Richter and Dr.
G. Frizzoni. The identification of the warrior with the celebrated
general is considered doubtful by them (see Richter's Italian Art
in the National Gallery, p. 36; and Frizzoni's Arte Italiana del
Rinascimento, p. 252).
Terburg (Dutch: 1617-1681). See 864.
One of the "gems" of the National Collection—"priceless" because
not only of its great artistic merit, but of its unique historical
interest. It is an exact representation by a contemporary Dutch painter
of one of the turning-points in Dutch history—the ratification,
namely, by the delegates of the Dutch United Provinces, on 15th May
1684, of the Treaty of Münster, with which the eighty years' war
between Spain and the United Provinces was concluded, altogether to
the advantage of the latter. The clerk (in a scarlet cloak) is reading
the document. The plenipotentiaries are standing nearest to the table.
Six of them, holding up the right hand, are the delegates of the
United Provinces; two, with their right hands resting on an open copy
of the Gospels, are the representatives of Spain. One of the Dutch
delegates and one of the Spanish hold copies of the document, which
they follow as it is being read by the clerk. The brass chandelier, it
is interesting to note, still hangs in the hall at Münster. The painter
has introduced his own portrait among the figures on the left, in
three-quarter face, behind the officer who stands with one arm resting
on the chair of the third Dutch delegate (counting from the left).
During his lifetime Terburg did not part with the picture. It passed
at one time into the possession of Prince Talleyrand, and by a curious
coincidence was hanging in the room of his hotel, under the view of the
Allied Sovereigns, at the signing of the treaty of 1814. After several
more changes of hands it was bought in 1868 by the late Marquis of
Hertford for £8800—equivalent, the curious in such things may like
to know, to nearly £24 per square inch of canvas; at his death it
came into the possession of Sir Richard Wallace, who presented it to
the nation in 1871. A curious story is told in this connection. At
the De Morny sale in 1865 the picture had been sold for £1805. At the
San Donato (or Demidoff) sale, three years later, Sir William Boxall,
Director of the National Gallery, bid up to £6000 for it; but his
mandate went no further, and his mortification was great when he found
himself far outbid by the Marquis of Hertford. Three years later,
an unknown gentleman, not too smartly dressed, was announced at the
National Gallery, and began to open a small picture-case. Sir William
was busy, and "could not go into the matter now." "But you had better
just have a glance—I ask no more," said the stranger. Sir William
refused. The stranger insisted. Boxall, struck dumb at the sight of
the picture it had been his dream to add to the National Collection,
raised his eyes to those of the visitor. "My name is Wallace," said
the stranger quietly, "Sir Richard Wallace; and I came to offer this
picture to the National Gallery." "I nearly fainted," said Boxall in
recounting the story; "I had nearly refused 'The Peace of Münster,'
one of the wonders of the world" (M. H. Spielmann: The Wallace
Collection, p. 107).
Jan Looten (Dutch: about 1618-1681).
Looten is said to have visited England in the reign of Charles
II., in order (as a countryman of his explains) "to initiate
the English into the beauties of Dutch landscape." The process
was successful, for many large pictures by Looten are (or were)
in English country-seats. The figures in his landscapes were
sometimes painted by Berchem.
Andrea Mantegna (Paduan: 1431-1506). See 274.
One of the grisailles, or pictures in gray and brown, of which
Mantegna in his later years painted very many, and to multiply which
he took to engraving. In its subject the picture is a piece of ancient
Rome. No other works of the time, it has been said, are so full of
antique feeling as Mantegna's. Botticelli played with the art of the
ancients and modernised it; Mantegna actually lived and moved in it
(Woltmann and Woermann: History of Painting, translated by Clara
Bell, ii. 378). Mantegna's classical scholarship, too, is abundantly
shown in the details of this picture, which is full of allusions to
Latin authors and history. The Triumph of Scipio, it may be briefly
explained, consisted in his being selected by the Senate as "the
worthiest man in Rome," by whom alone—so the oracle decreed—must
Cybele, the Phrygian mother of the gods, be received. It was "an
honour," says Livy, with the fine patriotism of Rome, "more to be
coveted than any other which the Senate or people could bestow." On
the left, the image of the goddess is being borne on a litter, and
with it the sacred stone alleged to have fallen from heaven. It was an
unusual fall of meteoric stones that had caused the Romans to consult
the oracle in B.C. 204, during Hannibal's occupation of Italy,
and the oracle had answered that the Phrygian mother must be brought
to Rome. This goddess, worshipped under different forms in many parts
of the world, was a personification of the passive generative power
in nature, and from this time forward she was included among the
recognised divinities of the Roman State. In the centre of the picture
Scipio and his retinue are receiving her; whilst Claudia, a Roman lady,
has thrown herself before the image. Some slur had attached to her
reputation, but she had proved her innocence by invoking the goddess
and then drawing off from a shoal in the harbour of Ostia, with the aid
of only a slight rope, the vessel which bore the sacred image.
"The picture," says Sir F. Burton, "has a history of its own. It was
undertaken towards the close of Mantegna's long and laborious career;
and when that career terminated in the sadness and gloom which have
too often awaited those whose imaginative powers had placed them
above their fellow-men, it remained in his studio, probably not fully
finished. It may have been the last, it was certainly one of the last,
pictures which his pencil touched." An advance payment of 25 ducats had
been made to Mantegna in 1504. His son Francesco made an unsuccessful
claim to it as an inheritance from his father, offering to repay the
amount received in advance. The picture, representing an event glorious
in the history of the Scipios, was commissioned by a Venetian nobleman,
Francesco Cornaro, in order to throw lustre upon the genealogy of his
family, which claimed to belong to the Roman gens Cornelia.
Hyacinthe Rigaud (French: 1659-1743).
Rigaud was a native of Perpignan, and the son and grandson of a
painter. In 1681 he went up to Paris, and following the advice
of Le Brun devoted himself to portraiture. He studied diligently
the works of Van Dyck, whose disciple he always professed to
be. He rapidly obtained fame as a portrait-painter, but it was
not till 1700—on the completion of his "St. Andrew" now in the
Louvre—that he was admitted as an historical painter into the
Academy. He held various offices in that body, and painted all the
great men of his day. His own portrait by himself is in the Uffizi.
A portrait of the famous tutor, and afterwards prime minister, of Louis
XV. It is eminently the "pacific Fleury," who strove to keep France
out of war and starved her army and navy when she was forced into it,
that we see in this amiable old gentleman—the scholar and member
of the Academy, who completed what is now the National Library of
France—rather than the statesman. A similar picture is in the Wallace
Collection (No. 130).
Gregorio Schiavone (Paduan: painted about 1470). See 630.
Cosimo Tura (Ferrarese: 1420-1495). See 772.
Tura's type of the Madonna is perhaps the least pleasing in the whole
range of Italian art.
Carlo Crivelli (Venetian: painted 1468-1493). See 602.
The latest of Crivelli's dated pictures in the Gallery (1492), and
remarkable for the deep colours which mark the artist's highest powers.
Notice the usual hanging fruit and the pot of roses and carnations.
The Virgin looks up to the Almighty and the dove, while two angels,
with a scroll, support a crown over her head. On the scroll are
inscribed (in Latin) the words, "As I was conceived in the mind of God
from the beginning, so was I also made."
The masterpiece known as "The Virgin in Ecstasy," rather
presents (as the text shows) the idea which is the foundation
of the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, combined with the
"Coronation" of the glorified mother. It is intended, in fact, to
bring before us not the historical mother of Christ so much as
that mediæval conception of the mystical being of Ecclesiasticus
and the Book of Wisdom, existing from all time in the mind of
God as the instrument of the Incarnation, and returning to share
the glory of her divine Son. Crivelli has expressed with rare
distinction that combination of humility and awe with a sense
of personal dignity which befits this ideal of the Virgin. In
herself she is an imposing figure, but she is absorbed in the
divine influences which mould her destiny. Never did Crivelli come
nearer to the grand style than in this magnificent conception
(Rushforth's Crivelli, p. 75).
Carlo Crivelli (Venetian: painted 1468-1493). See 602.
The figure of St. Mary Magdalene, with the vase of precious ointment,
is characteristic of the painter's more affected style; notice
especially the fingers elongated to the point of grotesqueness.
Piero della Francesca (Umbrian: 1416-1492). See 665.
"This painting is said to be unfinished. But even minute details,
such as the pearls on the robes of the angels and on the
head-dress of the Virgin, have been worked out with an accuracy
which excites astonishment. One of the two shepherds, standing on
the right side and seen in front, appears to have no pupils to
his eyes, and this strange fact might account for the theory of
the unfinished state of the picture. On the other hand it seems
to me to have suffered very much from repainting in all the flesh
parts.... The restorer has, I believe, forgotten to paint in the
pupils of the shepherd's eyes after having destroyed them by the
cleaning of the original painting" (Richter's Italian Art in the
National Gallery, pp. 16, 17). The beauty of the picture is in
the choir of angels with their mouths in different attitudes of
singing, making such music sweet
As never was by mortal finger strook—
Divinely-warbled voice
Answering the stringèd noise,
As all their souls in blissful rapture took.
Milton: Hymn on Christ's Nativity.
"The picture is a masterpiece" says Mr. Hipkins, "in musical
delineation. It is the perfectly expressed singing of these
characteristic angels that arrests attention first; but the
archæologist in musical instruments values the two large lutes held by
the outside angels of the group, who are accompanying the singers. The
splendid lines and fine dimensions of these instruments suggest their
sonorous tone. When this picture came from the Barker Collection, each
lute had eleven strings, and the number of pegs in one of them seems
to have this number; but in cleaning the picture the strings have
disappeared. As the picture was not finished by the painter, it is
supposed that the strings were a later addition. However, the number
was right, according to the practice with large lutes at that time, to
give six open notes; the highest, or melody, string being open"[194]
(The Hobby Horse, No. 1, 1893). "The figures of the Virgin and Child
are of the gentlest and fairest type, and show undoubted signs of the
Flemish influence, which made itself felt in Florence and throughout
Central Italy after Hugo van der Goes set up his great altar-piece
in the Ospedale of Santa Maria Novella" (W. G. Waters: Piero della
Francesca p. 64).
This picture was formerly in the possession of the Marini-Franceschi
family, of Borgo San Sepolcro, descendants of the painter. The wings
and the predella once belonging to it are in the cathedral of that city.
Benvenuto da Siena (Sienese: 1436-1518).
The earliest known work by this painter is an Annunciation,
painted in 1466, in the church of S. Girolamo at Volterra. He
executed some of the illuminations of the choir-books, and
designed portions of the pavement, in the cathedral of Siena. He
was the son of a mason.
A charming combination of older and newer "motives." There is the gold
background, true to the old Sienese traditions, but there are also the
little fiddling angels, so common in Venetian and other pictures of the
time of Benvenuto's later years. In the compartments on either side are
St. Peter, and St. Nicholas of Bari (with various adornments referring
to his story: see under 1171).
Luca Signorelli (Cortona: 1441-1523). See under 1128.
In the foreground Cupid on his knees is bound by maidens; in the
distance there are other two groups, in one of which the god of love is
being captured, in the other he is led away in triumph with his arms
pinioned behind him. This painting is a fresco which was transferred
to canvas from the wall of a palace at Siena. It was injured in the
process, and has been badly restored. It is signed LUCAS CORITIUS, and
according to the official catalogue, "the hand of the master is visible
enough in the less damaged parts." According to other authorities, the
inscription is forged, and the picture "a weak production by Genga,"
Signorelli's assistant at Orvieto (Richter's Italian Art in the
National Gallery, p. 49).
Pinturicchio (Umbrian: 1454-1513). See 693.
Penelope was wife of Ulysses, King of Ithaca, whose wanderings after
the Trojan war are told in Homer's "Odyssey," and shown in summary
in the distance of this picture. Through the open window is seen the
ship of Ulysses, with the hero bound to the mast; the sirens, whose
coasts he passed unhurt, are sporting in the sea; and on an island
near is the palace of Circe, who changed his companions into swine.
In his absence Penelope was beset by many suitors, such as are here
seen clad in joyous raiment, and was in sore straits to resist their
importunity. But "some god put it into my heart to set up a great web
in the halls, and thereat to weave a robe fine of woof and very wide;
and-anon I spake among them, saying: 'Ye princely youths, my wooers,
now that goodly Odysseus is dead, do ye abide patiently, how eager
soever to speed on this marriage of mine, till I finish the robe ...
even this shroud for the hero Laertes, father of Odysseus, against the
day when the deadly doom shall bring him low, of death that lays men at
their length.' ... So spake I, and their high hearts consented thereto.
So then in the daytime I would weave the mighty web, and in the night
unravel the same" (xix. 138-150: Butcher and Lang's translation). And
for the space of three years Penelope's web was still unwoven, and the
suitors were deceived; but afterwards, when they chid her loudly, she
finished the web, and could neither escape marriage nor devise any
further counsel, for that her son too chafed while the suitors devoured
his livelihood. But Ulysses then returned; he is now in the doorway
just entering; and presently Penelope will take down her husband's
bow—now hanging with a quiver of arrows above her head—which the
suitors could not bend, but was bent by Ulysses.
The painter makes no attempt at archæological reconstruction; he gives
us a picture of the costumes of his own day. This vivacious picture is
a fresco transferred to canvas. It was painted in the Pandolfo Petrucci
Palace at Siena, which also Signorelli's "Triumph of Chastity" once
decorated (now 910 in our Gallery).
Umbrian School: 15th-16th century.
On these three panels (formerly ascribed to Pinturicchio),[195] which
were probably destined to serve as decorations to a chest, the story
of Griselda is told with much naïve awkwardness of drawing, but also
with much naïve playfulness of incident. The story, told in Boccaccio's
Decameron, and by Petrarch, is also to be found in Chaucer's Clerkes
Tale.
In the first picture (912) we see (1) on the extreme left the Marquis
of Saluzzo, who is out hunting with a great retinue. He meets Griselda,
a peasant girl, who is drawing water at the well, and falls in love
with her. Next (2) on the extreme right is her humble barn-like
dwelling, with the marquis serenading his love from below. (3) He
carries her off with him; and note how Griselda, who is to be modest
and humble to the end, hangs her head in "maiden shamefacedness." (4)
Then the marquis has her attired in gold and fine linen, fit for a
prince's bride. Her pattens and perhaps her garters are lying discarded
beside her. And so (5), in the centre of the picture, all is ready for
the wedding:
This markis hath hir spoused with a ring
Brought for the same cause, and then hir sette
Upon an hors, snow-whyt and wel ambling.
Before the second act (913) a few years are supposed to have elapsed.
(1) On the left Griselda's two children—a boy and a girl—(in the
likeness of two very wooden dolls) are being carried off, as if by a
villain in a transpontine tragedy. They are supposed to have since
died miserably. (2) The marquis tires of his love for Griselda, and
is divorced: in the centre of the picture we see her giving back the
wedding ring. (3) Then she is stripped of her fine clothes, and (4)
sent away to her father's house, but
"The smok," quod he, "that thou hast on thy bak,
Lat it be stille, and ber it forth with thee."
Two young gallants, in absurd attitudes, look on in half-pitying
amusement, while nearer to us two serving-men are disgusted at the
cruel shame. (5) On the extreme right she is at home again, tending, as
before, her father's sheep.
In the last act (914), a grand banquet is prepared for the marquis's
second wedding, and Griselda is sent for to the castle to do menial
work. On the left we see her sweeping; on the right she is waiting at
table. Then, on the left again, it is discovered that the marquis's new
bride is none other than Griselda's long-lost daughter, accompanied by
her brother. They had all the while been tended in a distant city with
the utmost care. Griselda is thereupon affectionately embraced by her
husband, publicly reinstated in her proper position, and presented to
all the court as a model of wifely obedience and patience—
No wedded man so hardy be tassaille
His wyues pacience, in hope to fynde
Grisildes, for in certein he shal faille!
O noble wyues, ful of heigh prudènce,
Lat non humilitee your tongë naille.
Botticelli (Florentine: 1447-1510). See 1034.
So the picture is usually called—Mars, the God of War, asleep, and
the young satyrs playing with his discarded armour, while one of
them attempts to rouse him by blowing a shell. The subject is almost
identical with that which Spenser draws in the Faërie Queene, where
Sir Guyon, the Knight of Purity, overthrows the Bower of Bliss in which
Acrasia (or Pleasure) dwells—the last and worst of Sir Guyon's trials,
for "it is harder to fight against pleasure than against pain." Note
especially the expression of the sleeping youth: he is overcome with
brutish paralysis, and they cannot awaken him. Note also the swarm of
hornets issuing from the tree-trunk by his head—significant of the
power that sensual indulgence has of venomously wounding. Visitors who
have been in Venice may remember similar details in Carpaccio's picture
of St. George and the Dragon (J. R. Anderson in St. Mark's Rest,
Second Supplement, p. 20).
Upon a bed of Roses she was layd,
As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin;
And was arrayd, or rather disarrayd,
All in a vele of silke and silver thin,
That hid no whit her alabaster skin ...
The young man, sleeping by her, seemd to be
Some goodly swayne of honorable place,
That certes it great pitty was to see
Him his nobility so fowle deface ...
His warlike armes, the ydle instruments
Of sleeping praise, were hong upon a tree ...
Ne for them ne for honour cared hee,
Ne ought that did to his advauncement tend;
But in lewd loves, and wastfull luxuree,
His dayes, his goods, his bodie, he did spend:
O horrible enchantment, that him so did blend!
Faërie Queene, bk. ii. 12, §§ lxxvii.-lxxx.
It has been suggested by Dr. Richter that the subject of the picture
is not mythological, but an illustration of Angelo Poliziano's poem,
"Stanze per la Giostra," "The Song of the Tournament," written in 1476
in glorification of Giuliano de' Medici, who had entered the lists in
the preceding year, at the tournament given in honour of Simonetta
Cattaneo. In this poem, Giuliano appears as a youth enamoured of the
chase, and contemptuous of women. Cupid determines that he shall fall
a prey to a pair of lovely eyes, and leads him to the presence of
Simonetta. But night falls and Simonetta vanishes, whereupon Venus
sends Giuliano a dream in which he is exhorted to enter the lists in
honour of his lady-love. He foreknows that victory will crown his
arms, and that love will reward his valour, but these joyful tidings
are black with the shadow of death, for early in 1476 Simonetta died.
According to Dr. Richter's interpretation, Giuliano in the picture
before us lies sunk in deepest sleep. The little satyrs are whispering
dreams into his ears, dreams from the realms of Venus. In his dreams,
Giuliano is overcome with fear, because his lady is clad in the armour
of Pallas: he cannot brook the gleam of her helmet and her lance. But
Cupid whispers: "Lift thine eyes, Giuliano, to that flame which with
its radiance blinds thee like a sun; for she it is who quickens noble
minds, and from the breast all evil thoughts expels." He dreams again;
a goddess comes to his aid leading him to battle and to victory. She
divests his lady of the armour of Pallas, and leaves her robed in white
(Lectures on the National Gallery, p. 51). The poem[196] may thus be
made to fit the picture. It may, however, be questioned whether the
action of the little Cupids is not more appropriate to the accepted
theory which sees in the armour the discarded weapons of a Mars or a
knight, and Count Plunkett (Sandro Botticelli, pp. 44-5) refers to
a passage in Lucian, with whose dialogues Botticelli was familiar.
In describing a picture by Aëtion of the "Nuptials of Alexander and
Roxana," Lucian describes how "on one side of it little Cupids play
among Alexander's armour; two are carrying his spear, as porters do a
heavy beam; two more grasp the handles of a shield, tugging it along
with another reclining on it ... and then another has got into the
breastplate.... All this is not idle fancy, on which the painter has
been lavishing needless pains; he is hinting that Alexander has also
another love, in War."
School of Botticelli (Florentine: 1447-1510). See 1034.
See also (p. xx)
The expression of melancholy characteristic of Botticelli's Madonnas
is not absent from his heathen goddesses either. Notice also the
roses—the painter's favourite flower (see 226). This picture is
probably only a work of his school; the figure of the goddess is a
not very successful repetition of the one in 915. The subject of the
picture recalls the description of Simonetta in Poliziano's poem:—
White is the maid, and white the robe around her,
With buds and roses and thin grasses pied;
Enwreathèd folds of golden tresses crowned her,
Shadowing her forehead fair with modest pride;
The wild wood smiled; the thicket, where he found her,
To ease his anguish, bloomed on every side:
Serene she sits, with gesture queenly mild,
And with her brow tempers the tempests wild.
Symonds's Translation.
Roelandt Savery (Dutch: 1576-1639).
Savery, a painter of Courtrai, was instructed by his brother
at Amsterdam. His works show the influence of Jan Breughel. He
visited France in the reign of Henry IV., by whom he was employed
in the royal palaces. He was subsequently invited to Prague by the
Emperor Rudolph II., in whose service he spent several years.
A not very poetical rendering of the poetical legend of the power of
music:—
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze
By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;
Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
Merchant of Venice, Act v. Sc. 1.
Andrea Solario (Lombard: about 1460-1520). See 734.
This picture "was ascribed to Giovanni Bellini before it entered the
National Gallery, and dilettanti might well mistake it for a work of
Antonello da Messina. There seems to be little doubt that the picture
was painted by Solario at Venice, where he went in 1490 in company of
his brother.... The firmly drawn portrait of the senator, with its
minutely executed landscape in the background, reveals plainly that he
there became an ardent follower of Antonello" (Richter's Italian Art
in the National Gallery, p. 99).
Pieter Neeffs (Flemish: 1577-about 1661).
This eminent architectural painter belonged to a family of Antwerp
artists. He was a pupil of Hendrick Steenwyck the elder. "He did
for the Roman Catholic churches of Antwerp that which, thirty
years later, and with greater talent, a more flowing brush, and
a better understanding of chiaro-oscuro, Emmanuel de Witte (see
1053) was destined to do for the Protestant churches of Delft.
Neeffs took special delight in the representation of night scenes,
torchlight funeral services, and the like. Teniers and Velvet
Breughel themselves often assisted him in these small canvases,
thus bearing testimony to the high esteem in which Neeffs was held
by his colleagues" (Wauters, The Flemish School, p. 342.)
A group of figures is inspecting a conspicuous Renaissance tomb. Notice
the dogs among the visitors.
Filippino Lippi (Florentine: 1457-1504). See 293.
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.
Cardinal Newman.
This exquisite fragment once belonged to Sir Augustus Callcott, R.A.
Ascribed to Pollajuolo (Florentine: 1429-1498). See 292.
The Greeks, seeing the perpetual verdure of the laurel, personified
it in the story of Apollo and Daphne (= laurel), which told how the
sun-god was enamoured of her. But she, praying to be delivered from
his pursuit, was changed by the gods into a laurel—her two arms are
here sprouting, just as the god has caught her in his embrace; and he,
crowning his head with the leaves, ordained that the tree should for
ever bloom and be sacred to his divinity (see further for the story of
Apollo and Daphne under 520). The fact that Phœbus Apollo was also
the god of song has suggested a pretty adaptation of the legend to the
case of poets who sing for love and earn the laurel wreath—
Yet, what he sung in his immortal strain,
Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain:
All, but the Nymph that should redress his wrong,
Attend his passion and approve his song.
Like Phœbus thus, acquiring unsought praise,
He catched at love, and filled his arms with bays.
Waller.
Copy after Raphael. See under 1171.
This is an ancient copy, probably by a Flemish painter, of the
original, which is in the possession of the Earl of Ellesmere at
Bridgewater House. It belongs to Raphael's second or Florentine period,
and its exquisite grace has caused it to be known by some writers as
"La Plus Belle des Vierges."
School of Giorgione (Venetian: 16th century). See 269.
Certainly not by Giorgione,[197] but a characteristic example
of a class of composition of which, as we have seen, he was the
inventor—one of those Venetian pastorals in which young men and women
"disport in the open air, amuse themselves at random" (Asolando).
Paolo Veronese (Veronese: 1528-1588). See 26.
The Magdalen—she who had sinned much, but who was forgiven because
she loved much—is represented at the Saviour's feet, laying aside her
jewels, and thus renouncing the vanities of the world.
Unknown (Italian: 16th century).
Formerly ascribed to Sebastiano del Piombo.
Padovanino (Venetian: 1590-1650). See 70.
Contrast with this child caressing a dove Baroccio's Christ teasing
a bird. Padovanino lived much at Venice, and shared perhaps the
Venetian's fondness for pigeons—the sacred birds of St. Mark's, which
are kept and fed in the great square to this day at the public charge.
Carlo Dolci (Florentine: 1616-1686).
Carlo Dolci, the son of a Florentine tailor, is, like his
contemporary Sassoferrato, a good instance of the affected
religious school described in our introduction to the Later
Italian Schools. He was of a very retiring and pious disposition,
much given, we are told, to melancholy. Every one who looks
first at the pictures of similar subjects by earlier Italian
artists will be struck by something sentimental and effeminate
in Dolci's conceptions. Similarly in his execution there is an
over-smoothness and softness, corresponding to "polished" language
in literature (see Modern Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. ix. §
7). In the Dulwich Gallery is a St. Catherine of Siena which is
one of Dolci's chefs d'œuvre.
Salvator Rosa (Neapolitan: 1615-1673). See 84.
Ferdinando Bibiena (Bolognese: 1657-1743).
Ferdinando Galli, called Bibiena, was one of a family of artists
who came from a place of that name in the Bolognese State. He
was a celebrated architect and scenic artist. He was engaged at
many of the European courts in the arrangement of state pageants.
He executed several works for Ranuccio Farnese, Duke of Parma.
His architectural and perspective views are to be seen in the
principal galleries in Italy. In these the figures are usually
painted by his brother Francesco. Ferdinando, who published
several works on architecture, became blind in his old age.
A scene in the theatre with Othello being played. The pit is
unseated; it is a kind of "promenade play."
Canaletto[198] (Venetian: 1697-1768).
See 127.
The principal building is the Scuola of the religious fraternity of St.
Roch—"an interesting building of the early Renaissance (1517), passing
into Roman Renaissance," and, "as regards the pictures it contains (by
Tintoret), one of the three most precious buildings in Italy" (Stones
of Venice, Venetian Index). From the adjoining Church of St. Roch, the
Holy Thursday procession of the Doges and Officers of State, together
with the members of the Fraternity, is advancing under an awning on
its way to St. Mark's. Notice the carpets hung out of the windows—a
standing feature, this, in Venetian gala decorations from very early
times (see, for instance, No. 739).[199] Notice, also, the pictures
displayed in the open air—a feature which well illustrates the
difference between the later "easel pictures" and the earlier pictures
intended to serve as architectural decorations. "A glance at this
picture is sufficient to show how utterly the ordinary oil painting
fails when employed as an architectural embellishment. Pictures which
were to adorn and form part of a building had to consist of figures,
separated one from another, all standing in simple and restful
attitudes, and all plainly relieved against a light ground" (Conway:
Early Flemish Artists, p. 270). Apart from one of the conditions of
early art thus suggested, the picture is interesting as showing how in
the eighteenth century in Italy, as in the thirteenth, art was part and
parcel of the life of the people. Cimabue's pictures were carried in
procession; and here in Canaletto's we see Venetian "old masters" hung
out to assist in the popular rejoicing.
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768). See 127.
A state regatta—a pastime which owes its origin to Venice—in honour
of the visit to the city of the King of Denmark in 1709. In the centre
of the canal are the gondoliers, racing; to the sides are moored the
spectators, the gala barges of the nobles conspicuous amongst them.
The variegated building on the left is a temporary pavilion for the
distribution of prizes. These regattas at Venice took the place of our
royal processions here. "Wherever the eye turned, it beheld a vast
multitude at doorways, on the quays, and even on the roofs. Some of the
spectators occupied scaffoldings erected at favourable points along the
sides of the canal; and the patrician ladies did not disdain to leave
their palaces, and, entering their gondolas, lose themselves among the
infinite number of the boats" (Feste Veneziane: quoted in Howells's
Venetian Life, ii. 69). Another custom in which we have begun to
imitate the Venetians, and which may be seen in this picture, is that
of hanging out carpets and stuffs by way of decorations. "The windows
and balconies," says the same account, "were decked with damasks,
stuffs of the Levant, tapestries, and velvets;" a very old Venetian
custom: see under 937.
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768). See 127.
Canaletto's representation of the central spot of Venice. In 939 is
the Piazzetta, the little Piazza or square, in front the church of
St. Mark, with its bell towers; on the left are the mint and library;
on the right is the ducal palace. This appears again in 940, with the
famous column of St. Mark, patron saint of Venice, while beyond it is
the Ponte della Paglia, the prisons, and the Riva degli Schiavoni.
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768). See 127.
This palace, situated on the Grand Canal and used until lately as the
post-office, was built in the sixteenth century by San Micheli, and is
"the principal type at Venice, and one of the best in Europe, of the
central architecture of the Renaissance schools—that carefully studied
and perfectly executed architecture to which those schools owe their
principal claim to our respect, and which became the model of most of
the important works subsequently produced by civilised nations.... It
is composed of three stories of the Corinthian order (i.e. in which
the ornament is concave, distinguished from Doric, in which it is
convex), at once simple, delicate, and sublime; but on so colossal a
scale that the three-storied palaces on its right and left only reach
to the cornice which marks the level of its first floor" (Stones of
Venice, vol. iii. ch. ii. §§ 1, 2). Buildings in the same style in
London are St. Paul's and Whitehall.
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768). See under 127.
Painted during the artist's first English visit, 1746-1748, perhaps in
the same year (1747) that Gray published his well-known ode—
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade.
Unknown (Early Flemish: 15th century).
See also (p. xx)
This portrait, which is dated 1462, was formerly supposed to be
Memlinc's portrait of himself, in the costume of the Hospital of St.
John at Bruges, but is now called by others Bouts's own portrait. "It
is," says Sir W. Armstrong (Notes on the National Gallery, p. 28),
"pretty surely the work of Dirck Bouts. Compare it with the Madonna
numbered 774, and ascribed to Van der Goes. In conception, in chord
of colour, in technical manner, the similarity is so complete between
them as to leave room, in my mind, for very little doubt as to the
identity of their authors. And this Madonna is by Dirck Bouts, as no
one who has examined his 'Last Supper' in the Church of St. Pierre at
Louvain can doubt.... Sir Martin Conway, who was the first, I fancy, to
recognise Bouts in all three of these pictures, drew my attention to a
curious peculiarity of his: he goes out of his way to paint hands. In
his 'Last Supper' many hands are displayed that might quite naturally
have been hidden, and we find the same thing in this portrait." Whether
of Memlinc or of Bouts, the face bespeaks a gentle, humble, pious,
laborious soul. The painting of the hair is especially remarkable.
It is touched with the utmost minuteness, and yet the silky, flowing
texture is conveyed with the utmost freedom. This picture was formerly
in the possession of Samuel Rogers.
Marinus van Romerswael (Flemish: about 1497-1573).
Marinus of Romerswael (his birthplace), also called "de Zeeuw"
(the Zeelander), was fond of this subject, the composition of
which he seems to have borrowed from Quentin Metsys, by whom
also similar pictures are common. In early life Marinus was
apprenticed to a glass-painter at Antwerp. Nothing is known of
his later life till towards its close, when he was residing at
Middelburg. "There, in 1566, in an iconoclastic outburst of the
populace, the churches of the town were wrecked; and Marinus was
accused before the tribunals of taking part in the spoliation of
the Westmonsterkerk. Being held guilty, he was condemned on the
25th of June 1567 to perform an ignominious public penance and to
be banished from Middelburg for the space of six years. An aged
man then, he can scarcely have survived his term of exile" (see
authorities cited in the Official Catalogue).
One inserts items in a ledger; the other puzzles over the particulars
of some business transaction. It is a powerful realisation of what
Ruskin calls the New Beatitude, "Blessed are the merciless, for they
shall obtain money." "The picture is remarkable," says Sir Edward
Poynter, "not only for its marvellous finish, and the energy of the
expressions, but for its luminous quality and the purity of the colour."
Joachim Patinir (Early Flemish: died 1524). See 715.
St. Agnes, the young martyr virgin,—attired as a
Pensive nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure,—
kneels before the infant Christ, "for knowest thou not that Agnes has
been a Christian from her infancy upwards, and the husband to whom she
is betrothed is no other than Jesus Christ?" The infant Christ holds a
coral rosary in his hand, for he would crown her with jewels compared
with which all earthly gifts are as dross. "It chanced that the son of
the prefect of Rome beheld her one day as he rode through the city,
and became violently enamoured, and desired to have her for his wife.
He asked her in marriage of her parents, but the maiden repelled all
his advances. Then he brought rich presents, bracelets of gold and
gems, and rare jewels and precious ornaments, and promised her all the
delights of the world if she would consent to be his wife. But she
rejected him and his gifts, saying, Away from me, tempter! for I am
already betrothed to a lover who is greater and fairer than any earthly
suitor. To him I have pledged my faith, and he will crown me with
jewels, compared to which thy gifts are dross" (Mrs. Jameson:
Sacred and Legendary Art, p. 356.)
Mabuse (Flemish: about 1470-1541). See 656.
On the back of this picture is the brand of Charles I., a crown with C.
R.
Unknown (Flemish School).
Formerly hung with the French pictures. Now ascribed to the Flemish
School of the 15th or early 16th century.
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
David Teniers, the elder (Flemish: 1582-1649).
This artist is less memorable for his own works, which are
mediocre, than as the founder of a family of painters (see
Wauters: The Flemish School, p. 299), and the father of the
celebrated David Teniers (the younger). He was a member of the
Antwerp Guild of Painters, but spent ten years at Rome, where he
came under the influence of Adam Elsheimer. The elder Teniers was
the master of his son, who carried on his style, so that it is not
always easy to distinguish their several pictures. In their own
time father and son were equally appreciated. There is a large
number of works by the elder Teniers in the Dulwich Gallery. On
the whole they are browner in tone than those of the younger
painter.
David Teniers (Flemish: 1610-1694). See 154.
So the picture is usually called, but the subject seems rather to be
a pilgrimage to some holy shrine or miraculous well. A cross is seen
on the right; the priest in charge of the pilgrimage stands somewhat
lower down; on the left is a man selling little memorial flags with
crosses on them. The hungry travellers are waiting for the meal which
is being prepared for them in several huge cauldrons. The town of
Antwerp is seen in the distance. This picture, dated 1643, is among the
best works of Teniers, and includes 150 figures. "Truth in physiognomy,
distribution of groups, the beautiful effect of light and shade,
command," says Hymans, "our warmest admiration." In the foreground are
Teniers and his party, with his little boy leading a greyhound, and the
girl of this party is almost the only pleasant face in the picture.
The painter, one begins to suspect, had not much real sympathy with
his "village scenes" after all; and perhaps the demand for such scenes
on the part of his aristocratic patrons was only a kind of vicarious
"slumming"—an anticipation of the fashionable craze of a later age.
David Teniers (Flemish: 1610-1694). See 154.
This picture is signed with a T. within a D., which is the signature of
the elder Teniers.
But, lo, a Teniers woos, and not in vain,
Your eyes to revel in a livelier sight:
His bell-mouth'd goblet makes one feel quite Danish,
Or Dutch, with thirst—what, ho! a flask of Rhenish.—Byron.
Cornelis Huysmans (Flemish: 1648-1727).
This painter, whose pictures have for the most part become very
dark, was born at Antwerp, the son of an architect. He studied the
art of landscape under Jacques d'Arthois at Brussels, by which
master we are told he was kept so closely to drawing that he could
only practise painting by night. He took up his abode at Mechlin;
but in 1702 removed to Antwerp, returning, however, to Mechlin
fourteen years later. Favourable examples of his work may be seen
at the Louvre.
Cornelis van Poelenburgh (Dutch: 1586-1667).
This painter was a native of Utrecht, where he studied under A.
Bloemaert. He afterwards visited Italy and Rome, where he was in
1617, and where he studied the works of Elsheimer. He generally
painted Italian landscapes, which he peopled with nude figures,
goddesses, nymphs bathing, or antique shepherdesses. These works
hit the taste of Royal and Grand Ducal patrons throughout Europe.
On quitting Rome for Florence, he was employed by the Grand Duke.
In 1627 he returned to Utrecht, whither his fame had preceded
him. Rubens is said to have visited him, and Van Dyck painted his
portrait. He was invited also to London, and was employed both by
Charles I. and James II. He was on three occasions appointed Dean
of the Painters' Guild at Utrecht, where he died. He frequently
helped his fellow landscape painters by inserting figures for
them. Those in Both's "Judgment of Paris" (No. 209) are by him.
Jan Both (Dutch: 1610-1662). See 71.
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
Groups of Cuyp's favourite cows in the foreground. In the distance the
Groote Kerk of Dordrecht, with its handsome tower.
Isaac van Ostade (Dutch: 1621-1649). See 847.
A scene such as Isaac van Ostade specially loved. (See Pater's
Imaginary Portraits, cited under 1137.)
Jan van de Cappelle (Dutch: painted 1650-1680). See 865.
Gerard Dou (Dutch: 1613-1675). See 192.
Aart van der Neer (Dutch: 1603-1677) See 152.
Gabriel Metsu (Dutch: 1630-1667). See 838.
Jan Wynants (Dutch: about 1615-1679). See 883.
Wouwerman (Dutch: 1619-1668). See 878.
Formerly ascribed to Jan Wynants.
Philip de Koninck (Dutch: 1619-1688). See 836.
A view of the Scheldt and Antwerp Cathedral in the distance.
Wouwerman (Dutch: 1619-1668). See 878.
In Wouwerman's battle-pieces, says Ruskin, there is "nothing but animal
rage and cowardice"—with which he contrasts the noble battle-piece by
Paolo Uccello (583). "It is very singular," he adds, "that unmitigated
expressions of cowardice in battle should be given by the painters of
so brave a nation as the Dutch. Not but that it is possible enough
for a coward to be stubborn, and a brave man weak; the one may win his
battle by blind persistence, and the other lose it by a thoughtful
vacillation. Nevertheless, the want of all expression of resoluteness
in Dutch battle-pieces remains, for the present, a mystery to me. In
those of Wouwerman, it is only a natural development of his perfect
vulgarity in all respects" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch.
viii. §§ 8-10).
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
A state barge in the centre; trumpeters sounding a salute on either
side in other vessels.
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
"The best example we have of the painter—a delightful picture. The sky
is so delicate and unobtrusive that it does not expose his weakness
in cloud drawing" (J. Brett, A.R.A., on "Landscape at the National
Gallery," in Fortnightly Review, April 1895).
W. van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
See also under 819. This picture is signed (on a floating spar) and
dated London 1673.
A. van de Velde (Dutch: 1636-1672). See 867.
Karel du Jardin (Dutch: 1622-1678). See 826.
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
See note to No. 44.
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
"This picture with its large shadows sweeping over the landscape and
its faint gleams of sunlight, suggesting an imminent rain-storm, is one
of Ruysdael's most poetical works" (Poynter: The National Gallery,
ii. 174).
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
Jan van der Heyden (Dutch: 1637-1712). See 866.
Classic v. Gothic. An interesting picture of the architectural
tendency of the time—the classical Palladian architecture of stone
rising over the ruins of the red brick Gothic of earlier times. The
same mixture of the old and the new—in juxtaposition not altogether
unlike what is here represented—may be seen in the town of Abingdon
(Berks), where Inigo Jones's market-hall, built about the time of this
picture, towers above the red bricks of the humbler and earlier styles.
Jan van der Heyden (Dutch: 1637-1712). See 866.
Hobbema (Dutch: 1638-1709). See 685.
Hobbema (Dutch: 1638-1709). See 685.
Signed, and dated 1667.
Godfried Schalcken (Dutch: 1643-1706). See 199.
In pictures of this kind by Dou and his followers you fancy, it has
been said, that "you see and hear the very grit as it cuts into the
yellow metal."
Godfried Schalcken (Dutch: 1643-1706). See 199.
A lover holds a guitar, his mistress some music; on the table is a
rose—
If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather....
If love were what the rose is
And I were like the leaf.
Swinburne: A Match.
Godfried Schalcken (Dutch: 1643-1706). See 199.
"To give the most natural effect to his candle-light pieces, Schalcken
is said to have adopted the following system:—He placed the object he
intended to paint in a dark room, with a candle, and looking through
a small hole, painted by day what he saw by candle-light" (Bryan's
Dictionary).
Bakhuizen (Dutch: 1631-1708). See 204.
Jan van Huysum (Dutch: 1682-1749). See 796.
Notice the snail crawling along in front.
Jacob Walscappelle (Dutch: painted about 1675).
A painter of fruit and flowers in the style of de Heem. His
flowers are generally arranged in water-bottles, and are
besprinkled with butterflies and other insects. He painted at
Amsterdam from about 1667 to 1718.
Jan Fyt (Flemish: 1611-1661).
Fyt—painter and etcher of animals—was a pupil of Snyders, whom
in some respects he excelled. The sale catalogues of the greater
part of the nineteenth century show that his works were little
appreciated, but recent criticism has given him a very high place
among the animal and still-life painters of his country. "Fyt's
work," says Sir F. Burton, "is perfect in its kind, exhibiting
the finest observation of nature, and an execution which unites
the greatest mastery with the utmost delicacy. His composition
is unconstrained, and the colouring and tone of his pictures are
most pleasing." He was born at Antwerp, where, after some years'
residence in Italy, he became Dean of the Painters' Guild.
Nicolas Berchem (Dutch: 1620-1683). See 78.
Nicolas Berchem (Dutch: 1620-1683). See 78.
"There is in this small picture," says Sir Edward Poynter, "a genuine
feeling for nature, which is generally somewhat wanting in the works
of Berchem, whose manner, founded on the study of Italian landscape
art, gives frequently an artificial effect to his composition"
(National Gallery, i. 44).
Nicolas Berchem (Dutch: 1620-1683). See 78.
Berchem, as we have seen, was an "Italianiser," and here introduces us
to one of the exports of that country—
Far from England, in the sunny
South, where Anio leaps in foam,
Thou wast reared, till lack of money
Drew thee from thy vine-clad home.
Calverley: Fly Leaves.
Jan Wils (Dutch: about 1600-1670).
Wils, whose pictures are seldom met with, "would appear, from the
style of most of his works, to have studied under Jan Both at
Utrecht.... He was the father-in-law and one of the teachers of
Nicolas Berchem, between whose works and some of those of Wils
(as, for instance, the present picture) a great resemblance may be
traced" (Official Catalogue).
The figures in this picture are supposed to have been put in by
Wouwerman.
Pieter Potter (Dutch: 1597-1652).
Pieter Potter, the father of Paul Potter, was a native of
Enkhuizen, and originally painted on glass. In one of his early
signatures (1628) he describes himself as "glass annealer, also
painter." Later on, he settled at Amsterdam and was director of
a manufactory of gilt leather there. He formed his style, we are
told, under the influence of Frans Hals, and painted various
subjects, such as scenes in the guard-house, still-life, and
landscape.
Paul Potter (Dutch: 1625-1654). See 849.
Dirk van Delen (Dutch: 1607-1673).
This painter was born at Heusden. He lived at Arnemuiden in
Zealand, of which town he was burgomaster. He worked also at
Haarlem, Delft, and Antwerp.
A picture by a rare master—interesting to students of the history
of architectural taste. In 992 we are shown the struggle between the
old Gothic style and the new Renaissance architecture; here we see
the full victory of the latter. Dirk van Delen loved to depict the
costly and variegated marbles on splendid palaces in the style of the
late Renaissance. He will not be defrauded, even by considerations of
distance, of any of his details, and every statue and ornament is shown
us as minutely as if it were on the level of the eye. The classical
style has pervaded too the fountain; note the gilt bronze group of
Hercules and the Hydra.
Coques (Flemish: 1618-1684). See 821.
A faithful imitation on a reduced scale of Van Dyck's ideal of
feminine "elegance." There is a certain artificial simplicity very
characteristic of the time, in the combination of the lady, with her
sumptuous white satin and the elaborate architecture behind her, and
her pet lamb.
Matthew Merian, the younger (Swiss: 1621-1687).
This painter was the son of Matthew Merian, the elder, an eminent
Swiss draughtsman and engraver. The father had established
himself at Frankfort as a book and print seller, and on his
death in 1650, the son assumed management of the business, and
continued the publication of the "Theatrum Europæum," for which
he arranged several plates. But the younger Merian was best known
as a painter. He was born at Bâle, and at the age of 14 came to
Frankfort, where he learnt to paint under Joachim van Sandrart,
whom he accompanied to Amsterdam in 1637 and to England in 1640.
In this country he came into friendly relations with Van Dyck,
whom he took as his model in the art of portraiture. Merian also
travelled in France and Italy. As a portrait-painter he was much
patronised by the German princes and also by the Emperor Leopold
I. He also painted religious and historical pictures, such as
the "Martyrdom of St. Lawrence," for the high altar of Bamberg
Cathedral, and the "Resurrection," in the Library of Bâle.
This picture was formerly ascribed to Van Dyck. The man's dress is of
black velvet, of the fashion of about 1665-70.
Melchior de Hondecoeter (Dutch: 1636-1695). See 202.
Adam Elsheimer (German: 1578-1620).
Elsheimer was the son of a tailor at Frankfort-on-Maine. He
himself settled in Rome. "He inherited with his northern blood
an intense love of nature and her varied aspects. Upon this
he engrafted a careful study of the human form, and in Italy
he profited by the example of the great masters of preceding
generations. Thus, aided by a certain homely imagination, he
formed a style of his own, combining landscape and figure in such
a manner that each was the necessary complement of the other, and
that subject and situation were in perfect harmony. The lonely,
and at that time, wooded, depressions of the Roman Campagna,
and the hills of Albano and Tivoli, were his favourite haunts,
and in their scenery his imagination placed events in biblical
or mythological story. He loved especially to paint the strange
effects produced by diverse sources of illumination. The novelty
of his aims, the beauty of his execution, and the geniality of
his disposition, gained him admirers and friends" (Official
Catalogue). His contemporaries Sandrart and Cornelius de Bie
describe him as an extraordinary artist who had "a peculiar manner
of his own. He was, indeed, the first who invented a style of
small sceneries, landscapes, and other curiosities." He possessed,
we are told, so extraordinary a memory, that it was sufficient
for him to have looked at an object or scene once to draw it with
the utmost precision. The extreme patience and labour with which
he finished his pictures were such that the prices he received
never sufficiently repaid him. Had he been paid but a fourth part
of what his works have since produced, he might have lived in
affluence instead of indigence and distress. Elsheimer usually
painted on copper (as is the case with this picture). His etchings
and drawings are well known; in the Städel Institute of his native
town there is a large collection of them. There are also some in
the British Museum. Elsheimer's works had a considerable influence
on many succeeding Dutch painters. "Elsheimer," says Mr. Colvin in
his Guide to the British Museum Drawings, "fills a very important
part in art as the forerunner on the one hand of Claude and his
group, by his delight in the composition and massing of the forms
of hill, plain, and grove in the country round Rome, and on the
other hand of Rembrandt and his group, by his predilection for
strong artificial contrasts of light, and for the dramatic and
speaking action of his figures."
St. Lawrence (for whose legend see 747) is being prepared for
martyrdom. Beside him there is an image of Cæsar, unto whom will be
rendered Cæsar's due—the saint's life; but over his head is an angel
from heaven, for unto God will go the saint's soul. The emperor is
crowned on earth; the angel brings the saint a palm branch, an earnest
of the martyr's crown in heaven.
Jan van Os (Dutch: 1744-1808).
Born at Middelharnis, a most distinguished flower-painter in the
manner of Van Huysum. He also painted marine pieces and wrote
poetry. His wife drew portraits in chalk, and his two sons were
painters.
Prominent amongst the flowers is the red cockscomb. A picture by the
most distinguished flower-painter of his time, and characteristic, in
an interesting particular, of Dutch pictures of this kind generally.
"If the reader has any familiarity with the galleries of painting
in the great cities of Europe, he cannot but retain a clear, though
somewhat monotonously calm, impression of the character of those
polished flower-pieces, or still-life pieces, which occupy subordinate
corners, and invite to moments of repose, or frivolity, the attention
and imagination which have been wearied in admiring the attitudes of
heroism, and sympathising with the sentiments of piety. Recalling to
his memory the brightest examples of these ... he will find that all
the older ones agree—if flower-pieces—in a certain courtliness and
formality of arrangement, implying that the highest honours which
flowers can attain are in being wreathed into grace of garlands, or
assembled in variegation of bouquets, for the decoration of beauty, or
flattery of noblesse. If fruit or still-life pieces, they agree no
less distinctly in directness of reference to the supreme hour when the
destiny of dignified fruit is to be accomplished in a royal dessert;
and the furred and feathered life of hill and forest may bear witness
to the Wisdom of Providence by its extinction for the kitchen dresser.
Irrespectively of these ornamental virtues, and culinary utilities, the
painter never seems to perceive any conditions of beauty in the things
themselves, which would make them worth regard for their own sake:
nor, even in these appointed functions, are they ever supposed to be
worth painting, unless the pleasures they procure be distinguished as
those of the most exalted society" (Notes on Prout and Hunt, pp. 10,
11, where Ruskin goes on to contrast with this Dutch ideal the simple
pleasure in the flowers and fruits for their own sake which marks W.
Hunt's still-life drawings).
Observe, as further characteristic of Dutch fruit-pieces, the
butterfly, the fly, and the earwig: "There was a further tour de
force demanded of the Dutch workman, without which all his happiest
preceding achievements would have been unacknowledged. Not only a
dew-drop, but, in some depth of bell or cranny of leaf, a bee, or a
fly, was necessary for the complete satisfaction of the connoisseur. In
the articulation of the fly's legs, or neurology of the bee's wings,
the genius of painting was supposed to signify her accepted disciples;
and their work went forth to the European world, thenceforward, without
question, as worthy of its age and country. But, without recognising
in myself, or desiring to encourage in my scholars, any unreasonable
dislike or dread of the lower orders of living creatures, I trust
that the reader will feel with me that none of Mr. Hunt's peaches or
plums would be made daintier by the detection on them of even the most
cunningly latent wasp, or cautiously rampant caterpillar; and will
accept, without so much opposition as it met with forty years ago, my
then first promulgated, but steadily since repeated assertion, that the
'modern painter' had in these matters less vanity than the ancient one,
and better taste" (ib. pp. 14, 15).
Sir Peter Lely (Dutch: 1617-1680).
Lely, the court painter of the reign of Charles II., by whom he
was knighted, was a native of Holland; his father's name was
Van der Vaes, but the son took the nickname of Le Lys or Lely
(from the lily with which the front of his father's house was
ornamented) as a surname. He was born in Westphalia, but settled
in England in 1641, the year of Van Dyck's death, on whom he
modelled his style. It was Lely who is said to have painted
Cromwell, "warts and all," but he easily accommodated himself to
the softer manners of the Restoration. The rich curls, the full
lips, and the languishing eyes of the frail beauties of Charles
II. may be seen at Hampton Court. Lely was "a mighty proud
man," says Pepys, "and full of state." The painting of great
ladies was a lucrative business, and his collection of drawings
and pictures sold at his death for £26,000, a sum which bore a
greater proportion to the fortunes of the rich men of that day
than £100,000 would bear to the fortunes of the rich men of our
time. He was struck with apoplexy while painting the Duchess of
Somerset, and was buried at St. Paul's, Covent Garden.
The courtly affectation which distinguishes Lely's portraits is not
absent from this little girl. She is feeding the parrot, but obviously
takes no interest in it—not even troubling indeed to look at it. Her
concern seems to be only to hold up her flowing frock (or "simar")
prettily and to point her fingers gracefully.
Unknown (Flemish: dated 1622).
See also (p. xx)
The landscape is probably by Josse Mompers, an Antwerp artist who lived
1564-1635.
Claude Lorraine (French: 1600-1682). See 2.
A characteristic example of Claude's "classical compositions" as
described in our chapter on the French School. It is one of his late
works, being dated 1673; the names of Anchises and Æneas occur.
Greuze (French: 1725-1805). See 206.
I will paint her as I see her....
With a forehead fair and saintly,
Which two blue eyes under-shine,
Like meek prayers before a shrine.
Face and figure of a child,—
Though too calm, you think, and tender,
For the childhood you would lend her.
Mrs. Browning: A Portrait.
Greuze (French: 1725-1805). See 206.
A cloud of yellow hair
Is round about her ear.
She hath a mouth of grace,
And forehead sweet and fair.
Austin Dobson: A Song of Angiola.
Frans Hals (Dutch: 1580-1666).
Among the Dutch portrait-painters, Hals stands second only to
Rembrandt, while for mastery of the brush he is second only
to Velazquez. Though born in Antwerp and a pupil of Karel van
Mander (the Flemish painter and biographer), Hals is claimed as
a member of the Dutch School, inasmuch as his father was settled
at Haarlem in Holland, and he himself lived and worked there. In
style, "though his vigorous drawing recalls by its boldness the
masterly method of Rubens, his manner of giving to his work a
sustained light, his style of composition, and the choice of his
subject, place him unmistakably in the Dutch School.... No one,
either before or after him, ever attained the marvellous exactness
with which he places flesh tints in juxtaposition, without their
mixing together, just as they come from the palette.... No artist
ever manipulated his brush with such firmness, freedom, and life.
In consequence of his extraordinary ability, Frans Hals has been
called 'the personification of painting'" (Havard: The Dutch
School, p. 110). "We prize in Rembrandt," says another critic,
"the golden glow of effect based upon artificial contrast of low
light in immeasurable gloom. Hals was fond of daylight of silvery
sheen. Both men were painters of touch, but of touch on different
keys. Rembrandt was the bass, Hals the treble." Rembrandt's
portraits are the more profound, and there is in them an intensity
of pathetic realism which was beyond the reach of Hals; but Hals
seizes the brighter moments of lusty life with a force and truth
which have never been excelled. Hals is best seen in the Haarlem
Museum in a series of portrait groups. Of his single portraits,
No. 1251 in our Gallery is a characteristic example, and at
Hertford House is a famous and charming picture, "The Laughing
Cavalier," which is full of what Fromentin well calls "the
irresistible verve" of Frans Hals.
The life of Hals was irregular and improvident, but full also
of work and energy. At a time when the Dutch nation fought for
independence and won it, Hals appears in the ranks of its military
guilds. He was also a member of the Chamber of Rhetoric, and
president of the Painters' Corporation at Haarlem. In 1610 he
married, and five years later was summoned before the magistrates
for ill-treating his wife, and on that occasion was severely
reprimanded for his violent and drunken habits. His first wife
died prematurely, and he saved the character of his second by
marrying her in 1617. With her he seems to have lived happily for
nearly fifty years, and they brought up a large family. Financial
troubles, however, befell the painter. In 1654 a forced sale of
his pictures and furniture at the suit of his baker brought him to
penury. A few years later we hear of the municipality paying his
rent and firing for him, and granting him a small annuity. His
widow had to seek outdoor relief from the guardians of the poor.
His four sons were all painters, and attained some distinction.
Several of the best Dutch painters—Van der Helst, A. van Ostade,
Metsu, Terburg, Steen, and others—were directly or indirectly
his scholars. In the Haarlem Museum there is a picture by Job
Berck-Heyde, dated 1652, of the studio in which Frans Hals is
surrounded by his sons and pupils.
Moroni (Bergamese: 1525-1578). See 697.
His left foot appears to have been wounded, for it is attached by
a kind of stirrup and black cord to a band above the knee. It is
interesting to compare this portrait with the closely corresponding one
by Moretto which hangs near it (1025). Both are excellent examples of
the several masters. Both were, no doubt, good likenesses; but there is
a suggestion of poetry in Moretto's which one misses in Moroni's. Both
are believed to be portraits of members of the Fernaroli family.
Moroni (Bergamese: 1525-1578). See 697.
Said to be the wife of the subject of the preceding portrait. Not so
happy a production; Moroni's strength lay in portraits of the other sex.
Moroni (Bergamese: 1525-1578). See 697.
The letter in his hand is addressed to himself, and tells us that he
is Ludovico di Terzi, Canon of Bergamo, and an Apostolic Prothonotary.
These latter functionaries, of whom there are still twelve in the Roman
Church, are the chiefs of what may be called the Record Office of the
Church. It is their business to draw up the reports of all important
Church functions, such as the enthronements of new popes and public
consistories. It is an office of much dignity—as this holder of it
seems to be fully conscious, and the prothonotaries rank with bishops
in the Church.
Il Moretto (Brescian: 1498-1555). See 299.
This picture, dated 1526, is one of Moretto's most elegant portraits.
It is a true character portrait, a picture of a soul as well as of
a face. It shows us an Italian nobleman with all the poetry and
aspiration of chivalry. On his scarlet cap he bears his proud device—a
medallion in gold and enamel of St. Christopher bearing the infant
Saviour—the ideal of Christian chivalry: "Inasmuch as ye have done it
unto the least of one of these, ye have done it unto me." The picture
is no doubt a portrait of one of the Fernaroli family, from whose
palace in Brescia it came.
Giovanni Girolamo Savoldo (Brescian: about 1480-1548).
Savoldo, "an excellent amateur, who was apparently first a pupil
of Romanino, then of Giovanni Bellini, and later of Titian"[200]
(Morelli: Borghese Gallery, p. 246). "He visited Florence in
1508, and we find him enrolled as master in the Painters' Guild
there; his stay cannot, however, have been of long duration, as
none of his works known to us betray the slightest Florentine
influence" (id. German Galleries, p. 408). "His works," says
Sir F. Burton, "display a distinct individuality, the result of
tendencies inherent in his nature. The romantic element, already
developed in Venetian art, shows itself strongly in his passion
for scenes of early dawn and late sunset and effects of night
illuminated by fire. His human types are pleasing with a certain
grave dignity. His colouring is on the whole colder than that of
his contemporaries of the Veneto-Brescian School, and his flesh
tints are adust and sombre, especially in his male figures; nor
are his draperies generally brilliant in colour, although he
delighted in the sheen of silken stuffs, contrasting it with
the kind of twilight which pervades many of his pictures." "His
landscapes in sacred subjects make a profound impression of silent
wonder and devotion. They seem to palpitate in sympathy with the
deeds they witness, instead of being mere scenic backgrounds.
In the Berlin Deposition, for instance, the sky is lurid and
blood-stained; in the Adoration at Turin the shepherds seem
to be stealing noiselessly along, afraid of causing the least
disturbance in the hush and awe of the morning" (Mary Logan's
Guide to Hampton Court, in which collection there is a picture
by Savoldo of a Madonna and Child, dated 1527). Savoldo's
pictures are rare, and often pass under other names. He was, says
Vasari (iv. 535), "a fanciful and ingenious person, what he has
accomplished well meriting to be highly commended." An important
altar-piece, bearing his signature, is in the Brera at Milan, and
a beautiful "Adoration of the Shepherds" is in the Church of St.
Giobbe at Venice.
"A vein of realism, combined with the mystery of Savoldo's deep colours
and half-lights, is seen in the picture of a woman shrouded in a mantle
in the National Gallery" (Layard, ii. 585). The picture agrees with
the description given by Ridolfi of a "Magdalene," "a celebrated
work of which there are many copies." A very similar picture, signed
with Savoldo's name, is in the Berlin Gallery. The Magdalen is here
approaching the sepulchre, before which is a vase of ointment on a
square stone—for she had "bought sweet spices, that they might come
and anoint him. And very early in the morning ... they came unto the
sepulchre at the rising of the sun" (Mark xvi. 1, 2). Notice the daring
anachronism in the Venetian background, which "gives with exquisite
truth a very early dawn upon the Giudecca."
Lo Spagna (Umbrian: painted 1503-1530).
Giovanni di Pietro, called Lo Spagna (the Spaniard), presumably
from his nationality, was a pupil of Pietro Perugino—the best,
perhaps, of all his pupils who remained untouched by other
influences. Observe for the influence of Perugino's teaching the
lovely flowers in the foreground and the attitude of the leader of
the Roman soldiers on the left (like that of Perugino's Michael
in 288). In 1516 Lo Spagna was made a citizen of Spoleto, and in
the following year president of the Society of Artists there.
The Madonna Enthroned, now in the Lower Church of Assisi, is
considered his masterpiece.
An angel bearing a chalice flies towards Christ from above ("O my
Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy
will be done"). On the right is Judas with a band of Roman soldiers.
On the foreground are the three disciples sleeping ("What! could ye
not watch with me one hour? Watch, and pray, that ye enter not into
temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak").
This picture was at one time ascribed to the young Raphael,[201] being
identified with the work which he executed for Duke Guidobaldo of
Urbino, and which is thus described by Vasari (iii. 8): "For the same
noble, the master executed another small picture, representing Christ
praying in the Garden, with three of the apostles, who are sleeping
at some distance, and which is so beautifully painted that it could
scarcely be either better or otherwise were it even in miniature."
Vasari traces the history of the picture down to his time, when it
was in the Hermitage of Camaldoli. Our picture was formerly in the
possession of Prince Gabrielli at Rome. The greater portion of the
original drawing for it is in the Uffizi, catalogued under Perugino.
Filippino Lippi (Florentine: 1457-1504). See 293.
See also (p. xx)
This picture[202] (like 592, q.v.) is often ascribed to Botticelli,
from whom Filippino learnt his fondness for the circular form. Every
one will recognise too the resemblance to Botticelli in the daintiness
of the dresses, the trappings of the horses (especially in the middle
of the foreground), and the other accessories (such as the head-dresses
of the Magi on the right). Vasari, indeed, says of Filippino that "the
ornaments he added were so new, so fanciful, and so richly varied, that
he must be considered the first who taught the moderns the new method
of giving variety to the habiliments, and who first embellished his
figures by adorning them with vestments after the antique." Filippino
and later painters give these embellishments to angels as well as
to men; and Vasari, it will be seen, considered it altogether an
improvement. Some remarks on the other side will be found in Modern
Painters, vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. ii. ch. v. § 14 ("Of the Superhuman
Ideal"). "The ornaments used by Angelico, Giotto, and Perugino (see,
e.g. 288) are always of a generic and abstract character. They
are not diamonds, nor brocades, nor velvets, nor gold embroideries;
they are mere spots of gold or of colour, simple patterns upon
textureless draperies; the angel wings burn with transparent crimson
and purple and amber, but they are not set forth with peacocks' plumes;
the golden circlets gleam with changeful light, but they are not beaded
with pearls nor set with sapphires. In the works of Filippino Lippi,
Mantegna, and many other painters following, interesting examples may
be found of the opposite treatment; and as in Lippi the heads are
usually very sweet, and the composition severe, the degrading effect of
the realised decorations and imitated dress may be seen in him simply,
and without any addition of painfulness from other deficiencies of
feeling." In addition to the minor ornamentation, one may notice in
this picture the crowded groups of spectators which Filippino was fond
of introducing. But so harmoniously are they grouped in six principal
groups that the spectator will at first probably be surprised to hear
that there are as many as seventy figures in the picture.
Sandro Botticelli (Florentine: 1447-1510).
The family surname of Sandro (Alessandro, or Alexander) was
Filipepi. "He was apprenticed when a lad to a goldsmith, called
Botticello (for he obstinately refused to learn either to read,
write, or sum); of which master we know only that he so formed
this boy that thenceforward the boy thought it right to be called
Botticello's Sandro, and nobody else's (in Italian Sandro di
Botticello, abbreviated into Sandro Botticelli).[203] Having
learned prosperously how to manage gold, he took a fancy to
know how to manage colour, and was put under the best master in
Florence, the Monk Lippi" (see 666). Some characteristics of
Lippi's art—its union of a buoyant spirit of life and enjoyment
with simplicity and tenderness of religious feeling—are seen in
the pupil. But he added in his turn marked characteristics of
his own, which are noticed in detail under his several pictures
here. "Where Fra Filippo was all repose, Sandro was all movement."
Moreover, Botticelli's range of subject was very wide—embracing
Venus crowned with roses and the Virgin crowned by Christ, the
birth of Love (at Florence), and the birth of the Saviour.
Botticelli, says Ruskin, is "the only painter of Italy who
understood the thoughts of Heathens and Christians equally, and
could in a measure paint both Aphrodite and the Madonna. So that
he is, on the whole, the most universal of painters; and, take him
all in all, the greatest Florentine workman" (Fors Clavigera,
1872, xxii. 2). He was, we are told, persona sofistica, and
lived on terms of intimacy with members of the Florentine Platonic
Academy. The speculations which he shared with the poet Matteo
Palmieri are enshrined in his "Assumption" (No. 1126), painted
about 1475. In 1481 he executed a series of designs for Landino's
edition of Dante: these wonderful drawings, formerly in the
Hamilton Collection, are now at Berlin. "By this time," says
Ruskin, "he was accounted so good a divine, as well as painter,
that Pope Sixtus IV. sent for him to be master of the works in his
new (Sistine) chapel—where the first thing my young gentleman
does, mind you, is to paint the devil, in a monk's dress, tempting
Christ! The sauciest thing, out and out, done in the history of
the Reformation, it seems to me; yet so wisely done, and with
such true respect otherwise shown for what was sacred in the
Church, that the Pope didn't mind; and all went on as merrily as
marriage bells." The history of Moses—the subject of his other
fresco in the Sistine Chapel—"teems with his exuberant power and
displays great grandeur of landscape." In the same chapel are also
28 portraits of Popes by Botticelli. "And having thus obtained
great honour and reputation, and considerable sums of money,
he squandered all the last away. And at this time, Savonarola
beginning to make himself heard, and founding in Florence the
company of the Piagnoni (Mourners or Grumblers, as opposed to the
men of pleasure), Sandro made a Grumbler of himself, being then
some forty years old; fell sadder, wiser, and poorer day by day;
until he became a poor bedesman of Lorenzo de' Medici; and having
gone some time on crutches, being unable to stand upright, died
peacefully" (Ariadne Florentina, Lecture VI.; Fors Clavigera,
1872, xxii. 2-6).
Few things are more curious in the history of taste than the
vicissitudes of Botticelli's fame. In his own day he had been
much esteemed, but his reputation was soon eclipsed. In 1602 a
decree was issued by the Grand Duke of Tuscany prohibiting the
inhabitants of Florence from removing important works of art, for
"neither the city nor the land itself is to be despoiled of the
masterpieces of eminent painters." The schedule of eccellenti
pittori contains nineteen names, among which that of Filippino
Lippi, Botticelli's pupil, is included, but not Botticelli
himself.[204] The rediscovery of Botticelli has fallen to our
country and generation. The influence of Rossetti, the example
of Burne-Jones, the famous essay of Pater, and the enthusiasm of
Ruskin, have established a cult of Botticelli which in earlier
generations would have passed for a mild lunacy.[205] Goldsmith,
had he witnessed it, might have substituted the name of Botticelli
for that of Perugino in his satire on fashionable æstheticism.
The poetical imagination of Botticelli, his inventive design, the
strong sense of life which glows through all his pictures, are
truly admirable. But what lends additional force to his vogue is
the seal of intimité which is set upon his work. Botticelli
treats his themes, says Burton "with a verve, a naïveté, and
pathos peculiar to himself." Besides the very greatest men, there
is (says Pater) "a certain number of artists who have a distinct
faculty of their own by which they convey to us a peculiar quality
of pleasure which we cannot get elsewhere, and these, too, have
their place in general culture. Of this select number Botticelli
is one; he has the freshness, the uncertain and diffident promise
which belongs to the earlier Renaissance itself, and makes it
perhaps the most interesting period in the history of the mind; in
studying his work one begins to understand to how great a place in
human culture the art of Italy had been called."
The other pictures by Botticelli in the National Gallery (see 275,
1126, and 915) adequately represent his earlier phases; this one
completes the story of his life—painted as it was under Savonarola's
influence—
Wrought in the troublous times of Italy
By Sandro Botticelli, when for fear
Of that last judgment, and last day drawn near
To end all labour and all revelry,
He worked and prayed in silence.
Andrew Lang: Ballads and Lyrics, etc.
This beautiful and curious picture is very characteristic of
Botticelli's genius. It is full of highly wrought emotion—note "the
fervour of the still Madonna as she kneels before the Child, the
extraordinary nervous tension which the artist has managed to suggest
in the seated figure of Joseph, the rapture and ecstasy of the angels";
the picture is full also, as we shall see, of mystic symbolism, but
all is crowned and harmonised by a sense of pictorial daintiness and
beauty. The centre of the picture is occupied by the familiar subject
of the Nativity, and the accessories suggest in symbolic fashion the
effects of Christ's Advent upon the good and the evil respectively. The
theological symbolism may be seen in the gesture of the divine Child
pointing to his mouth—typifying that he was the Word of God. So at the
bottom of the picture there are devils running, at Christ's coming,
into chinks of the rocks (those who are Christ's must put away "the
works of darkness"); whilst the shepherds and angels embracing signify
the reconciliation such as Savonarola wished to effect between heaven
and earth. On either side of the central group angels are telling
the glad tidings "of peace on earth, goodwill towards men." Note the
symmetry in this part of the picture; the three Magi on the left, the
three shepherds in adoration on the right; and in colour, the red frock
of the angel on the right, the red wings on the left. Meanwhile in the
sky above is a lovely choir of Botticelli's floating angels, dancing
between earth and heaven, on a golden background suffused with light.
The picture is, says Ruskin, "a quite perfect example of what the
masters of the pure Greek school did in Florence.... The entire purpose
of the picture is a mystic symbolism by motion and chiaroscuro. By
motion, first. There is a dome of burning clouds in the upper heaven.
Twelve angels half float, half dance, in a circle, round the lower
vault of it. All their drapery is drifted so as to make you feel the
whirlwind of their motion. They are seen by gleams of silvery or fiery
light, relieved against an equally lighted blue of inimitable depth
and loveliness. It is impossible for you ever to see a more noble
work of passionate Greek chiaroscuro—rejoicing in light" (Lectures
on Landscape, § 58). The introduction in the same picture of the
solemn teaching below, with these beautiful angel forms above, suggests
precisely what Ruskin has defined to be Botticelli's position among
pictorial reformers. "He was what Luther wished to be, but could not
be—a reformer still believing in the Church; his mind is at peace,
and his art therefore can pursue the delight of beauty and yet remain
prophetic." "He was not a preacher of new doctrines, but a witness
against the betrayal of old ones."
The first and more obvious intention of Botticelli's painted sermon
was, as we have seen, to show the effects of the Advent upon the good
and the evil. But he has also a particular application, an esoteric
meaning. The clue to this is afforded by the Greek inscription at the
top, which, being interpreted, is—
"This picture I, Alexander, painted at the end of the year 1500,
in the troubles of Italy, in the half-time after the time during
the fulfilment of the eleventh of St. John, in the Second Woe of
the Apocalypse, in the loosing of the devil for three years and
a half. Afterwards he shall be confined, and we shall see him
trodden down, as in this picture."
"In the troubles of Italy, at the end of the year 1500." Now, on
May 12, 1497, exactly three years and a half before the date of
Botticelli's inscription, Savonarola was burnt alive (as depicted
on the little panel, No. 1301); and his death, says the historian,
"meant for Florence the triumph of all that was most corrupt; vice
was everywhere rampant, and virtuous living was utterly despised."
But in the faith of Botticelli, the reverent disciple of Savonarola,
this tyranny of the Evil One was doomed to pass away. He saw "in
the troubles of Italy" a fulfilment of the awful words to which his
inscription refers us in the eleventh chapter of the Revelation of St.
John the Divine:—
The holy city shall they tread under foot forty and two months.
And I will give power unto my two witnesses, and they shall
prophesy. These are the two olive trees. And when they shall have
finished their testimony, the beast that ascendeth out of the
bottomless pit shall make war against them, and shall overcome
them, and kill them. And they that dwell upon the earth shall
rejoice over them, and make merry, and shall send gifts one to
another; because these two prophets tormented them that dwelt on
the earth. And after three days and an half the Spirit of life
from God entered into them, and they stood upon their feet; and
great fear fell upon them which saw them. And they heard a great
voice from heaven saying unto them, Come up hither. And they
ascended up to heaven in a cloud; and their enemies beheld them.
The second woe is past. And there were great voices in heaven,
saying, The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our
Lord, and of his Christ; and he shall reign for ever and ever.
To the elect, then, Botticelli meant his picture to show the fulfilment
of the prophecy by the Second Advent of Christ, and the final triumph
of Savonarola. The men embraced by angels are in this reading of the
picture the "witnesses" to whom the spirit of life was returned; they
are welcomed back to earth by angels, ere they are rapt heavenward.
They bear olive boughs, because in the Apocalypse olive trees are
symbolical of the Lord's anointed ones. "There is but one point
which seems at variance with the Biblical text: in it two witnesses
are spoken of, here there are three. This deviation was doubtless
intentional. When Savonarola died, two others shared his palm of
martyrdom, Fra Domenico Buonvicini and Fra Silvestre Marussi. The three
figures crowned with myrtle represent the three risen and glorified
martyrs" (Richter's Lectures on the National Gallery, p. 61. See also
Mr. Sidney Colvin's article in the Portfolio, Feb. 1879).
Francia Bigio (Florentine: 1482-1525).
Francesco di Cristoforo Bigi (this picture is signed FRA CP =
Franciscus Cristophori pinxit), commonly called Francia Bigio,
was the son of a weaver at Milan, and "devoted himself to the art
of painting, not so much (Vasari tells us) because he was desirous
of fame, as that he might thus be enabled to render assistance to
his indigent relations." He was at first the pupil of Albertinelli
(645), and afterwards formed a close friendship with Andrea del
Sarto, in conjunction with whom he produced his first important
work in 1513, in the small cloister of the Servi. It was here
that occurred the famous scene, described by Vasari, with the
Friars, who, having uncovered Bigio's fresco of the Sposalizio
before the painter considered it finished, so enraged him that
he defaced some of the finest heads in it with a mason's hammer,
and would have destroyed the whole but for forcible intervention.
Neither he nor any other painter could be induced to repair the
injuries, which remain to this day. Bigio was, as we may see from
this picture, an admirable portrait-painter—an excellence which
he owed, says Vasari, to his patient and modest industry. He was
"a great lover of peace, and for that reason (adds Vasari drily)
would never marry."
The young man wears on his breast the cross of the Knights of Malta.
The letter in his hand bears the date 1514. On the parapet is an
inscription: tar: vblia: chi: bien: eima (slowly forgets he who loves
well)—
Dear as remember'd kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
Tennyson: The Princess.
Unknown (Flemish: 15th-16th century).
A picture, it might be, of Hamlet with the skulls: "That skull had a
tongue in it, and could sing once." In his left hand he holds a flower:
"there's pansies, that's for thoughts."
Paolo Veronese (Veronese: 1528-1588). See 26.
St. Helena, the mother of Constantine, made a pilgrimage to
Jerusalem, when a victory was gained by the emperor, to recover
the very cross of which she had seen a mysterious symbol.
Having reached the sacred city, she caused the soil of Calvary
to be excavated, because the Jews were accustomed to bury the
instruments of execution upon the spot where they had been used.
And there she found three crosses, and that one which was the holy
cross was distinguished from the others by the healing of a lady
of quality who was sick. The empress divided the true cross into
three parts, giving one of them to the Bishop of Jerusalem, and
another to the church at Constantinople. The third she brought to
Rome, where she built for it the great basilica of S. Croce.
Here we see the saint in devout reverie, while through the open window
two cherubim bear a cross through the air. This beautiful picture, in
which Veronese gives us an ideal and mystic composition, treated with a
simplicity unusual to him, seems to have been derived from a plate by
Marc Antonio, the founder of Italian engraving (1480-1534), supposed
to be after a drawing by Raphael. The design is identical, though an
exquisitely airy angel with a slender cross in Marc Antonio's engraving
is replaced in Veronese's picture by chubby cherubs with a more solid
cross. (The engraving is reproduced in the Art Journal, 1891, p.
376, with some critical remarks. "This wonderful picture," says the
writer, "is at once a delight and a puzzle. If Veronese was capable of
efforts like the 'Vision of St. Helena,' why have we not more such,
seeing how many treasures of his art have survived to us? The engraving
offers an explanation, curiously exact, of this difficulty. Whatever
in the 'Vision' is Veronese's own—the drapery and the colour—is not
more remarkable than in many other pictures of his; on the other hand,
whatever is not distinctively of Veronese is Marc Antonio's.... What
more natural than that Veronese should essay to clothe in the glory of
his own colouring[206] some creation of the great Italian who learnt
from Dürer how to interpret the art of Raphael to Italy?") Veronese's
picture once formed the altar-piece of a chapel dedicated to St. Helena
at Venice, and was afterwards in the collection of the great Duke of
Marlborough.
Catharina van Hemessen (Flemish: painted about 1550).
Catharina was the daughter of a painter named Jan Sanders, called
Jan van Hemessen from his native village. She married a musician
of repute in the Low Countries, and with him went to Madrid,
where she acquired celebrity and favour through her ability in
portraiture.
Gerard David (Early Flemish: 1460-1523).
This remarkable painter, who has been rediscovered in recent
years by the researches of Mr. Weale, was born in Oudewater, a
small town in the south of Holland. He settled in Bruges in 1483,
passing through the various grades of the Painters' Guild in that
town, until he became its Dean in 1501. He was also connected with
the Guild of Illuminators of Bruges, and with that of painters at
Antwerp. In 1496 he married the daughter of a Bruges goldsmith. In
1509 he painted and presented to the Carmelites of Sion at Bruges
a beautiful altar-piece, in which he introduced his own portrait
in the background to the right, and that of his wife to the left.
This altar-piece was sold by the Carmelites in 1785, and is now
in the Museum of Rouen. Other important works by the painter are
now in the Academy at Bruges, and in the church of St. Basil in
that town there is a triptych by him. The present picture and No.
1432 were also painted for a church in the same place. David's
works have often been confounded with those of Memlinc, and it is
impossible to give them higher praise. He was a fine colourist.
His faces show that he was an adequate interpreter of character.
The details he executed with the utmost minuteness and skill; and
he is remarkable also for his careful and truthful landscapes. In
1508 David entered a religious brotherhood; he was buried in Notre
Dame at Bruges, where he was laid beneath the tower.
The canon kneels in adoration, with his patron saints around him—St.
Bernardino of Siena behind, St. Donatian in advance of him, and St.
Martin to the left. It was St. Martin who shared his cloak with the
beggar, and here in the distance to the left—in compliment to the
canon's generosity—is a beggar limping towards the group, asking
alms. Notice the wood through which he walks. The subdued light
beneath the thick foliage of the trees is admirably rendered. David
"was the first painter to think of the shadow-giving nature of trees.
Trees had for many years formed a favourite subject for backgrounds,
but even by Memlinc they were rather conventionally rendered, one by
one, not grouped into woods, and seldom brought into the foreground.
Here we have a wood brought near us, with its domed canopy of foliage
above, and its labyrinth of trunks buried in sylvan twilight below"
(Conway's Early Flemish Artists, p. 298). Notice also the beautiful
and elaborate work on the robes of St. Martin and St. Donatian. They
are fully described in Mr. Weale's monograph referred to below. This
will repay the most minute examination. The crimson-velvet cope of St.
Martin is a masterpiece. The portrait of the donor is admirable.
The history of this beautiful picture, and of the changes and chances
it went through before finding a permanent home in the National
Gallery, is very curious. In 1501 a colleague of Richard van der
Capelle (see 1432) and one of the executors of his will, namely, Canon
Bernardin Salviati (illegitimate son of a rich Florentine merchant who
traded or resided in Flanders), was secretary of the chapter of S.
Donatian at Bruges. Having obtained leave to restore and embellish the
altar of SS. John Baptist and Mary Magdalene, he commissioned Gerard
David to paint the shutters of the reredos. These shutters, together
with those of several other altar reredoses in the nave of the church,
were, at the request of the sacristan, who complained that they were
always breaking the wax candles, sold in a lot by order of the chapter
in 1787 for an insignificant sum of money. What became of the others is
not known, but the one before us was, as we learn from the letters of
Horace Walpole, bought in 1792, by Mr. Thomas Barrett, of Lee Priory,
Kent, and it figures in the catalogue of that collection as "a group
of saints by John Gossart of Maubeuge." At the sale of the Lee Priory
Collection in May 1859, it was knocked down to the late Mr. William
Benoni White for 525 guineas. Sir J. C. Robinson drew Mr. Weale's
attention to the picture, which he at once recognised as being the
right-hand shutter of the reredos of Salviati's chantry altar. "I tried
hard," says Mr. Weale, "but in vain, to persuade the late Sir Charles
Eastlake to purchase it for the National Gallery, but Mr. White would
not part with it for less than £1000. Oddly enough the latter, who bore
the character of being a most penurious and miserly man, by his last
will and testament proved a generous benefactor to the nation, and left
this panel in July 1878 to the National Gallery" (W. H. James Weale:
Portfolio monograph on Gerard David, 1895, p. 18).
Lorenzo Lotto (Venetian: 1480-1555). See 699.
"Supposed," says the official catalogue, "to represent the painter,
his wife, and two children." This cannot be the case, for Lotto seems
to have had no close domestic ties. The picture is, however, full of
interest for its own sake. "The man and the woman are, it is true,
both looking out of the picture, but nevertheless the feeling we have
is that the group before us is not, as is usual in Italian family
pictures, a mere collection of portraits, but that it is composed of
people who are intimately related to each other, constantly acting
and reacting one upon the other, and that it is presented in a way
which, while giving the individuality of each, makes it hard to
think of them except as conditioned, and even determined, by each
other's presence." We may in fact find in this domestic group an
anticipation of the spirit of the modern psychological novel. "Far
from being painted as such groups usually were in Italy—a mere
collection of faces looking one like the other, but with no bond of
sympathy or interest uniting them—it is in itself a family story, as
modern almost as Tolstoi's Katia. Lotto makes it evident that the
sensitiveness of the man's nature has brought him to understand and
condone his wife's limitations, and that she, in her turn, has been
refined and softened into sympathy with him; so that the impression
the picture leaves is one of great kindliness, covering a multitude of
small disappointments and incompatibilities" (B. Berenson: Lorenzo
Lotto, pp. 194, 227, 322). Mr. Berenson calls attention further to
the historical significance of this page from contemporary life and
manners. The artist "opens our eyes to the existence in a time and in
a country supposed to be wholly devoted to carnality and carnage, of
gentle, sensitive people, who must have had many of our own social
and ethical ideas." He "helps us to a truer and saner view of the
sixteenth century in Italy than has been given by popular writers from
Stendhal downwards, who too exclusively have devoted themselves to its
lurid side. Lotto's charity helps us to restore that human balance
without which the Italy of the sixteenth century would be a veritable
pandemonium." The Venetian costumes, etc. may also be noticed. The
little girl is dressed in as "grown-up" a way as her mother. On the
table is a Turkey carpet, reminding us of Venetian commerce with the
East. A Turkey carpet figures also in No. 1105.
Italian School (16th century).
See also (p. xx)
Painted on copper, a material which seems first to have been used for
painting in the School of Antwerp. M. Auguste Cartan, of Besançon, in
a paper by him in the Courrier de l'Art (June 25, 1886), points out
the resemblance between this portrait and one, also on copper, in the
museum at Besançon, ascribed to Scipione Pulzone, surnamed Gaetano
(1550-1558), a painter who has been called "the Van Dyck of the Roman
School." A contemporary biographer speaks of Gaetano's portraits as
being so conscientious that every hair is painted, and of his skill in
rendering various stuffs; both these characteristics may be observed
in the present picture. In the same paper M. Cartan identifies the
Cardinal as Cardinal Sirleto, Librarian of the Vatican 1570-1585, and
tutor of S. Carlo Borromeo. There is a bust of Cardinal Sirleto in the
church of San Lorenzo at Rome, and M. Cartan declares the resemblance
between the bust and this portrait to be unmistakable. There is also
in the Corsini Palace at Rome a bust portrait of the same personage by
Scipione Gaetano.
Unknown (German-Westphalian: 15th century).
A good example of the strength and weakness of this German art. What is
good are the clothes, which are very quaint and various. The figures
show a ghastly enjoyment of horror and ugliness: notice especially the
crucified thief on the left.
Bakhuizen (Dutch: 1631-1708). See 204.
Bertucci (Umbrian: 16th century). See 282.
Our Lord extends his hand and foot to the doubting St. Thomas: "Reach
hither thy finger, and behold my hands; ... and be not faithless,
but believing." To the right, resting his hands on the shoulder of
the donor of the picture, is St. Anthony of Padua, another saint who
doubted "till"—as the legend (painted by Murillo) describes—"in his
arms," so it is told, "The saint did his dear Lord enfold, And there
appeared a light like gold From out the skies of Padua." This picture
appears to be by the same painter as No. 282, and both are now ascribed
to Bertucci.
Lombard School (15th or early 16th century).
Emanuel de Witte (Dutch: 1607-1692). Room X.
Witte was a native of Alkmaar, but settled at Delft, where he
probably met another architectural painter, Dirk van Delen. "An
exact knowledge of perspective, a perfect conception of light
and shade, and a delicacy of execution which reveals every
detail without degenerating into dryness, figures well drawn and
sufficiently picturesque ... are the qualities which distinguish
his works" (Havard: The Dutch School, p. 245). The picture
before us is not a very favourable specimen of the painter's
skill. In the gallery at Hertford House one of his masterpieces
may be seen. His style, says Mr. Phillips in his catalogue of that
collection, "is absolutely opposed to that of the somewhat earlier
painters of the Flemish School, Steenwyck the Younger and Pieter
Neeffs the Elder, who obtained their chief effects by accuracy
of linear perspective, while De Witte realised his by broad and
masterly chiaroscuro. In his treatment of light and colour he
shows some affinity to Pieter de Hooch." The date of his birth is
uncertain; it should perhaps be 1617.
Notice the anti-Pauline practice of the worshippers ("Every man
praying, having his head covered, dishonoureth his head. But every
woman that prayeth with her head uncovered, dishonoureth her head"—1
Corinthians xi. 4, 5). Here it is the women who are "uncovered," the
men who are "covered."
Francesco Guardi (Venetian: 1712-1793). See 210.
Hendrick Sorgh (Dutch: 1611-1670).
Hendrick Rokes, a painter of Rotterdam, was the son of Martin
Rokes, the master of the passage-boat from Rotterdam to Dordrecht.
On account of his care and attention to passengers, Martin
acquired the appellation of Sorgh, or Careful; the name descended
to and was adopted by the son. Having shown an early talent for
art, Hendrick was sent to Antwerp, where he was placed under the
tuition of the younger Teniers. His style, however, rather recalls
that of Adrian Brouwer. He painted Biblical subjects in a familiar
manner, indoor scenes of humble life, village fairs, and, later,
river and sea views. Some of his best works are in the Dresden
Gallery.
The game rests with the woman, who is not going to play, it would seem,
till the score is settled.
Hendrick Sorgh (Dutch: 1611-1670).
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
And I'll not look for wine.
Ben Jonson: To Celia.
Claude Joseph Vernet (French: 1714-1789). See 236.
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768). See 127.
One of the principal waterways, after the Grand Canal, in Venice. The
picture is a good instance of this painter's method of representing
water. He "covers the whole space of it with one monotonous ripple,
composed of a coat of well-chosen, but perfectly opaque and smooth
sea-green, covered with a certain number—I cannot state the exact
average, but it varies from three hundred and fifty to four hundred
and upwards, according to the extent of canvas to be covered, of white
concave touches, which are very properly symbolical of ripple[207]....
If it be but remembered that every one of the surfaces of those
multitudinous ripples is in nature a mirror which catches, according
to its position, either the image of the sky, or of the silver beaks
of the gondolas, or of their black bodies and scarlet draperies, or of
the white marble, or the green sea-weed on the low stones, it cannot
but be felt that those waves would have something more of colour upon
them than that opaque dead green.... Venice is sad and silent now to
what she was in his time; but even yet, could I but place the reader
at early morning on the quay below the Rialto, when the market-boats,
full-laden, float into groups of golden colour, and let him watch the
dashing of the water about their glittering steely heads, and under
the shadows of the vine leaves; and show him the purple of the grapes
and the figs, and the glowing of the scarlet gourds, carried away in
long streams upon the waves; and among them, the crimson fish-baskets,
plashing and sparkling and flaming as the morning sun falls on their
wet tawny sides; and above, the painted sails of the fishing-boats,
orange and white, scarlet and blue,—he would not be merciful to
Canaletto any more" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. v. ch. i.
§§ 18, 19).
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768). See 127.
A humble church, typical of the humble origin of Venice, a city founded
on the sands by fugitives. The church stands on one of the outermost
islets, where, in the seventh century, it is said that St. Peter
appeared in person to the Bishop of Heraclea, and commanded him to
found, in his honour, a church in that spot. "The title of Bishop of
Castello was first taken in 1091; St. Mark's was not made the cathedral
church till 1807.... The present church is among the least interesting
in Venice; a wooden bridge, something like that of Battersea on a
small scale, connects its island, now almost deserted, with a wretched
suburb of the city behind the arsenal; and a blank level of lifeless
grass, rotted away in places rather than trodden, is extended before
its mildewed façade and solitary tower" (Stones of Venice, vol. i.
Appendix iv.)
Wouwerman (Dutch: 1619-1668). See 878.
Egbert van der Poel (Dutch: 1621-1664).
Born at Delft; in 1650 entered as a member of the painter's guild
there; afterwards moved to Rotterdam, where he died. "Although
his name recalls fires especially—never did painter burn so many
houses and farm cottages as Van der Poel—he painted also small
scenes in the style of Ostade, as we see in his 'Rustic House' in
the Louvre, and the 'Interior' in the Museum of Amsterdam. There
are also a few pictures by him representing still life" (Havard:
The Dutch School, p. 156).
One of the many views painted by this artist of the explosion of a
powder mill at Delft, October 12, 1654. One might think the mill
exploded specially to be painted, so neatly and in order is everything
represented. In this explosion, a well-known painter, Carel Fabrizius,
lost his life.
Ferrarese School (early 16th century).
Flemish School (15th-16th century).
Dirk Hals (Dutch; 1589-1656).
"Dirk was the younger brother of Frans Hals (see 1021), and was
born at Malines in 1589. He followed his elder brother to Haarlem,
where he died in 1656—that is, ten years before Frans. Dirk was
a clever artist, at least so far as may be judged by his works,
which are extremely rare. His figures are amusing, graceful in
manner, and especially interesting from their costumes, which
belong to his own time, and now appear somewhat strange and
extravagant" (Havard: The Dutch School, p. 121). Dirk confined
himself chiefly, says Burton, "to the representation of convivial
parties, where cavaliers and ladies are seen enjoying themselves
without much reserve at table, in the dance, or with music. His
light pencil, his brilliant colour, laid on thinly over a greyish
ground, and sharply accentuated, suited the themes and the small
scale of his pictures."
The picture is signed (on the architrave above the open door), and
dated 1626.
Perugino (Umbrian: 1446-1523). See 288.
A very "Peruginesque" example—full, that is, of the peculiar sentiment
and apparent affectation which caused Goldsmith to make the admiration
of him the test of absurd connoisseurship.[208] But "what is commonly
thought affected in his design," says Ruskin, "is indeed the true
remains of the great architectural symmetry which was soon to be lost,
and which makes him the true follower of Arnolfo and Brunelleschi,"
the great Florentine builders (Ariadne Florentina, § 72). The picture
displays also in perfection "that quality of tone in which Perugino
stands unsurpassed; and the rich and liquid, but subdued colour is
steeped in a transparent atmosphere of pale golden glow" (Burton).
The history of this picture affords a good instance of that enrichment
of the National Gallery with "graceful interludes by Perugino," saved
from "the wreck of Italian monasteries," of which Mr. Ruskin speaks
in his preface to this work. It was painted by Perugino in 1507, to
be placed over an altar in memory of a master-carpenter at Perugia.
It afterwards passed into the possession of the monks who owned the
church. They sold it, with the chapel in which it was placed, to the
Cecconi family, from whom it passed by inheritance to the family Della
Penna. In 1822 the head of this family removed it to his palace,
leaving a copy of it in its place in the church, and in 1879 the
picture itself was bought from the Baron della Penna for the Nation.
Borgognone (Lombard: about 1455-1523). See 298.
A picture of the "man of sorrows." On either side of the infant Christ
are shown the scenes of his suffering[209]—
In stature grows the Heavenly Child,
With death before his eyes;
A Lamb unblemished, meek and mild,
Prepared for sacrifice.
For sacrifice—but also for redemption, and so above the throne are
the angels of God, playing the glad music of death swallowed up in
victory. In the right-hand compartment is Christ bearing his cross; in
the left his agony in the garden. The three disciples are here crouched
asleep lower down, and behind a wall are the Roman soldiers, whilst
from above an angel brings a cup with a cross, two spears, and a crown
of thorns in it: "Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me:
nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done. And there appeared an
angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him" (Luke xxii. 42, 43).
Unknown (Early Flemish: 15th century).
See also (p. xx)
These two pictures closely resemble in style and colouring the
large altar-piece in the church of St. Bavon at Ghent, which is
attributed to Gerard van der Meire.[210] That painter flourished
at Ghent about the middle of the fifteenth century; entering the
Guild of St. Luke in 1452, and becoming sub-dean in 1474. He is
described in a chronicle of the time as a pupil of Hubert van
Eyck, but the historian Van Mander says he began to paint after
the death of Jan van Eyck, a statement which is confirmed by the
date of his enrolment in the Guild. Nothing is yet really known
about him except the bare fact of his existence, for no picture
has been certainly identified as his.
(1079.) It is interesting to compare this representation of the scene,
almost childlike in its simplicity, alike with the treatment by later
painters (see, for instance, Rembrandt's, No. 47), and with the more
decorative and symbolic treatment of the early Italians (e.g.
Botticelli, No. 1034). The picture before us "shows no particular
felicity of rendering, no depth or insight; it carries little
conviction of reality, but it has a homely charm. The painter was
thoroughly convinced of the actual truth of what he represented, and
thought only of bringing the same home to everyday experience. In the
background he has placed a village, in which men are discussing what is
going on" (J. E. Hodgson, R.A., in the Magazine of Art, 1890, p. 42).
Unknown (School of the Lower Rhine: 15th century).
See also (p. xx)
The introduction of children's faces—in the character of mourning
angels—to so ghastly a subject is very characteristic of the love of
horror common to the Flemish and German Schools.
Unknown (Early Flemish: 15th century).
Probably a portrait of the donor of an altar-piece, of which this
picture formed one compartment.
Joachim Patinir (Early Flemish: died 1524). See 715.
Unknown (Early Flemish: 15th century).
See also (p. xx)
Joachim Patinir (Early Flemish: died 1524). See 715.
Unknown (School of the Lower Rhine: 15th century).
See also (p. xx)
A picture of the same school as 706, but the Flemish influence is here
more discernible. In the background is a church lighted from within.
The heads are very ugly (notice the saint in the left compartment), but
the execution, especially of the accessories, is very delicate.
Unknown (Early Flemish: 15th century).
See also (p. xx)
Notice the empty tomb, visible through the half-opened door in the
background—with the Roman soldier asleep beside, and an angel above
it.
Unknown (Early German: 15th century).
Sir Martin Conway says of the Lyversberg Passion what is equally
applicable to this picture, and indeed to most of the German art of
the same period (cf. e.g. 1049). "The Passion, as conceived by this
painter, was a scene for the display of brutality rather than the
exhibition of heroism. The enduring Christ is not the subject of the
pictures, but the torturing villains that surround him. The figure
of Christ does not dominate the rest; the vile element seems always
victorious" (Early Flemish Artists, p. 202).
Unknown (German School: 16th century).
An altar-piece in three compartments. On the side panels are two
figures, probably the donor and his wife, kneeling.
Unknown (Early Flemish: 15th century).
François Boucher (French: 1704-1770).
Boucher, "the Anacreon of Painting," was the typical
painter-decorator of the Louis-quinze period. He painted (as Mr.
Dobson sings in Old World Idylls)—
Rose-water Raphael,—en couleur de rose,
The crowned Caprice, whose sceptre, nowise sainted,
Swayed the light realm of ballets and bon-mots;
Ruled the dim boudoir's demi-jour, or drove
Pink-ribboned flocks through some pink-flowered grove.
Made of his work a kind of languid Maying,
Filled with false gods and muses misbegot;—
A Versailles Eden of cosmetic youth,
Wherein most things went naked, save the Truth.
Boucher is represented by no less than 21 canvases at Hertford
House, some of them of considerable historical interest. For
Boucher owed much to the favour of Madame de Pompadour, who
purchased in 1753 the two fine pictures of "Sunrise" and "Sunset"
now at Hertford House. In the same collection are the idyllic and
erotic subjects with which Boucher decorated the boudoir at the
Hôtel de l'Arsenal in which the Pompadour was wont to receive her
royal lover. He also painted several portraits of the all-powerful
favourite, whom he instructed in the art of etching; one of
these portraits is also at Hertford House. Boucher was the son
of a designer for embroideries. He spent some years in Rome, but
returned to Paris untouched by the great works he had seen. He
suited his art to the taste of the time, and had his reward in
reaping considerable wealth by his productions, which, including
drawings for the engravers, he poured forth in thousands. In 1755
he became inspector of the Gobelins, an appointment which he
resigned in 1765 on becoming first painter to the king. Sir Joshua
Reynolds describes a visit to Boucher, whom he found "at work on
a very large picture without drawings or models of any kind." Sir
Joshua allows, however, to some of his earlier works, "grace and
beauty and good skill in composition." His easy execution and
often dainty colour are also admired. He was the idol of his day,
but his meretricious art was the subject of very pungent criticism
from the not very austere Diderot.[211]
For another version of the same subject, see 659.
Zaganelli (Ferrarese: about 1500).
The only known work by a master who signs himself Bernardino (of)
Cotignola (in the Duchy of Ferrara). He was a brother of Francesco
Zaganelli, and is believed to have worked towards the end of the
fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth century.
This picture formed the chief panel of an altar-piece formerly in the
church of the Carmine at Pavia, and thus described by Bartoli:
In the twelfth chapel (is) an ancient picture divided into six
compartments, of which the three larger exhibit, in the centre
St. Sebastian, and at the sides St. Nicholas and St. Catherine
of Alexandria, while the three smaller which are above represent
the body of the Redeemer supported by two angels in the centre,
and at the sides the Virgin Mary and the Announcing Angel. This
(altar-piece) is the work of Bernardino da Cotignola, who has
affixed to it his name on a feigned label.
For the story of St. Sebastian, see under 669.
Leonardo da Vinci (Florentine: 1452-1519).
There is no more fascinating and illustrious name in the annals
of art than Leonardo, of Vinci, a town in the Val d'Arno below
Florence. He has been well called, from the many-sidedness of his
efforts, the Faust of the Renaissance. The great public which
knows him best by his few pictures and many drawings does not
always remember that he was also musician, critic, poet, sculptor,
architect, mechanist, mathematician, philosopher, and explorer. In
a letter addressed to Ludovico il Moro, Prince of Milan, in whose
service he lived for sixteen years (1483-1499), he enumerates
as his chief qualification his skill in military engineering,
and throws in his art as an incidental accomplishment. "I will
also undertake any work in sculpture, in marble, in bronze, or
in terra-cotta; likewise in painting I can do what may be done
as well as any man, be he who he may." The range and amount
alike of his theoretical discoveries and practical ingenuities
were extraordinary. He divined the circulation of the blood.
He anticipated Copernicus in propounding the theory of the
earth's movement. He declared that "motion was the cause of all
life." He forestalled Lamarck's classification of vertebrate and
invertebrate. He takes his place, in virtue of his researches
into rocks and fossils, with the masters of modern science who
have proclaimed the continuity of geological causes. He was the
first inventor of screw propulsion. He made paddle-wheels. He
attacked the problem of aerial navigation. He invented swimming
belts. He anticipated by many years the invention of the camera
obscura. He was great alike as a civil and a military engineer. He
watered the Lombard plain by the invention of sluices; he was one
of the first to recommend the use of mines for the destruction of
forts, and he anticipated the inventions of our time in suggesting
breech-loading guns and mitrailleuses. He shrank neither from
the highest speculations nor from the humblest contrivances. For
centuries after his death the burghers of Milan minced meat for
their sausages with machines invented by the painter of "Monna
Lisa."
This marvellous curiosity in science and invention could not
but profoundly influence Leonardo's work as an artist. One
result is as obvious as it was unfortunate. He paid the penalty
of versatility in undertaking more than he could fulfil. His
dilatoriness is well known. He went once to Rome, but the Pope,
Leo X., offended him by exclaiming, "Ah! this man will never do
anything; he thinks of the end before the beginning of his work"
(He had made elaborate preparations for varnishing his picture
before he began it.) Many of his works were thus unfinished,
and others, owing to premature experiments in material, are
ruined—especially his famous Last Supper at Milan, of which
there is an original drawing at the Royal Academy. "Leonardo's
oil painting," says Ruskin,—not, however, without a touch of
exaggeration—"is all gone black or to nothing." "Because Leonardo
made models of machines, dug canals, built fortifications, and
dissipated half his art-power in capricious ingenuities, we have
many anecdotes of him;—but no picture of importance on canvas,
and only a few withered stains of one upon a wall" (Queen of
the Air, § 157). But Leonardo's curiosity, his wide outlook,
his sense of the immensities, added something to his art which
otherwise it might not have contained, and which is intensely
characteristic of it. Who, for instance, has ever penetrated
the secret of Leonardo's smile?—of the ineffable, mysterious,
plaintive, and haunting smile that has fascinated and perplexed
the world century after century in the portrait of La Gioconda?
That unfathomable smile, with so much of mystery and with
something of weirdness in it, was the reflection of Leonardo's
mind, which had explored the depths and heights, and ever came
back from the pursuit with the sense of the inscrutable Mystery
beyond. "What is that," he asks, "which does not give itself to
human comprehension, and which, if it did, would not exist? It is
the infinite, which, if it could so give itself, would be done and
ended." In the "Last Supper," says M. Müntz, "he had realised his
ideal." Leonardo himself would not have said so. His was one of
those lofty minds before which an unattainable ideal ever hovers.
"It is of a truth impossible," said a friend of the master to him,
"to conceive of faces more lovely and gentle than those of St.
James the Great and St. James the Less. Accept thy misfortune,
therefore, and leave thy Christ imperfect as He is, for otherwise,
when compared with the Apostles, He would not be their Saviour and
Master." Leonardo took the advice, and never finished the head of
Christ. But he fixed the outward type of Christ for succeeding
generations. Apart from the credit due to Leonardo as an ennobler
of style in art, he stands out further in the history of painting
as the first who investigated the laws of light and shade. There
are "three methods of art, producing respectively linear designs,
effects of light, and effects of colour. In preparing to draw any
object, you will find that practically you have to ask yourself,
Shall I aim at the colour of it, the light of it, or the lines of
it? The best art comes so near nature as in a measure to unite
all. But the best art is not, and cannot be, as good as nature;
and the mode of its deficiency is that it must lose some of the
colour, some of the light, or some of the delineation. And in
consequence, there is one great school which says, 'We will have
delineation, and as much colour and shade as are consistent with
it.' Another, which says, 'We will have shade, and as much colour
and delineation as are consistent with it.' The third, 'We
will have the colour, and as much light and delineation as are
consistent with it.' The second class, the Chiaroscurists, are
essentially draughtsmen with chalk, charcoal, or single tints.
Many of them paint, but always with some effort and pain. Leonardo
is the type of them" (compressed from Ariadne Florentina, §§
18-21).
To his artistic genius and intellectual alertness, Leonardo added
great personal beauty ("the radiance of his countenance, which
was splendidly beautiful, brought cheerfulness," says Vasari, "to
the heart of the most melancholy") and great physical strength.
He could bend a door-knocker, we are told, or a horse-shoe as if
it were lead. He was left-handed and wrote from right to left.
Besides his physical strength, Vasari mentions his kindness and
gentleness, and tells us how he would frequently buy caged birds
from the dealers, in order to give them back their liberty.
Scandalous accusations were at one time brought against him, but
researches made in the archives during the last few years have
effectually disposed of the charge. One curious trait in the
character of Leonardo remains to be noticed. In his art he created
a feminine type of extraordinary and haunting beauty. "And yet,"
says his latest biographer, "Leonardo, like Donatello, was one of
those exceptionally great artists in whose life the love of woman
seems to have played no part.... The delights of the mind sufficed
him. He himself proclaimed it in plain terms. Cosa bella mortal
passa e non arte.' Fair humanity passes, but art endures.'" This
extraordinary man was the son of a peasant-mother, Caterina, and
was born out of wedlock, his father being a Florentine notary;
and amongst Leonardo's manuscripts is a record of a visit to
Caterina in the hospital, who soon after his father's death had
married in her own station, and of expenses paid for her funeral.
His life has three divisions—thirty years at Florence, nearly
twenty years at Milan, then nineteen years of wandering, till he
sinks to rest under the protection of the King of France. (1)
Leonardo was the pupil of Verrocchio (see 296), "a master well
chosen, for in his earnest and discursive mind were many points
of contact with that of his illustrious pupil." Leonardo seems
to have retained his connection with Verrocchio until 1477,
but the records of his Florentine period are very scanty. His
earliest undoubted work is the unfinished "Adoration" in the
Uffizi. To this period also belongs the head of the "Medusa" in
that collection, celebrated in Shelley's verses—a work, says
Mr. Pater, in which "the fascination of corruption penetrates
in every touch its exquisitely finished beauty." (2) In 1483
Leonardo removed to Milan to take service with Ludovico Sforza.
He served his patron in those multifarious ways for which his
talents fitted him,—as musician and improvisatore, as director
of court pageants, as sculptor, painter, and civil and military
engineer. To this Milanese period belong two of the master's
most celebrated productions—the present picture and the "Last
Supper," executed in oil colours on an end wall of the refectory
in the Dominican Convent of S. Maria della Grazia. At Milan,
Leonardo founded the famous Vincian Academy of Arts over which he
presided, which attracted so many pupils, and which may be said
to have established a new Milanese School. For his Academy he
made the elaborate notes for a Treatise on Painting which were
posthumously published.(3) In 1500, consequent upon the flight
of the Duke before the French army, Leonardo left Milan and
returned to Florence. His stay, however, was not long, for he took
service for a time with Cæsar Borgia as architect and military
engineer. He was again in Florence in 1503, and was commissioned
with Michelangelo to paint the Hall of Council in the Palace of
the Signory. His subject was the Battle of Anghiari. The painting
was begun but never completed. The cartoon, now lost, remained
and excited the greatest admiration, "The man who had presented
the solemn moment of the Last Supper with a dignity and pathos
never equalled, who could portray feminine loveliness with a
sweetness and grace peculiar to his pencil, was no less successful
in bringing before the eye the turmoil of battle and the fierce
passions inspired by the struggle for victory." One great work of
his of this period (1504) happily survives—the famous portrait of
Monna Lisa, known as La Gioconda, in the Louvre. For the next ten
years (1506-1516), Leonardo alternated between Milan, Florence,
and Rome. Other works of this period are the "St. Anne" and "St.
John," also in the Louvre. In 1516 he accompanied the French King,
Francis I., to France, who lodged him and his faithful friend
Melzi in the Château de Cloux, near Amboise. Three years later he
died, having made his will (the text of which has recently been
discovered) a week before the end—"considering the certainty of
death and the uncertainty of the hour, of its approach." He was
buried, by his own instructions, in the church of St. Florentin
at Amboise. Of Leonardo as a young man, no authentic portraits
exist. In the Royal Collection at Windsor and at Turin there
are portraits of himself in red chalk; and on the Sacro Monte
at Varallo, one of Gaudenzio Ferrari's sculptured figures is
a portrait of the great master. Leonardo's drawings are very
beautiful and numerous—the Windsor Collection being the richest;
they show us with what infinite searching the master drew near to
his ideals. The picture before us makes upon the spectator the
impression of rapid and spontaneous creation; but the drawings
for it show that it was in fact one of the most laborious of
Leonardo's works (see on this subject Müntz's Leonardo da Vinci,
i. 162 in the English translation. This is the best life of
the master. The most penetrative study of Leonardo remains Mr.
Pater's, in his Renaissance).
This beautiful picture is very characteristic of Leonardo in its
effects of light and shade, in grace and refinement of delineation, in
felicity of gesture, and in the curious beauty of the types. Leonardo
makes out of his subject a charming idyll, into which the spectator
may read his own meanings. "In St. John the Baptist," says Lomazzo,
writing in 1584, "we may see the motive of obedience and child like
veneration, as he kneels with joined hands and bends towards Christ; in
the Virgin, the feeling of happy meditation as she beholds this act;
in the angel, the idea of angelic gladness, as he ponders the joy that
shall come to the world from this mystery; and in the Infant Christ we
behold divinity and wisdom. And therefore the Virgin kneels, holding
St. John with her right hand and extending her left, and the angel
likewise supports Christ, who, seated, regards St. John and blesses
him." A modern poet, adding to the picture a beautiful thought of
his own, has suggested that in the valley of the shadow of death the
Virgin brings the soul of a dead child for her son's blessing (see an
interesting discussion of "The Louvre Sonnets of Rossetti," by W. M.
Hardinge, in Temple Bar, March 1891):—
Mother, is this the darkness of the end,
The Shadow of Death? and is that outer sea
Infinite imminent Eternity?[212]
And does the death-pang by man's seed sustain'd
In Time's each instant cause thy face to bend
Its silent prayer upon the Son, while He
Blesses the dead with His hand silently
To His long day which hours no more offend?
Mother of grace, the pass is difficult,
Keen as these rocks, and the bewildered souls
Throng it like echoes, blindly shuddering through.
Thy name, O Lord, each spirit's voice extols,
Whose peace abides in the dark avenue
Amid the bitterness of things occult.
D. G. Rossetti: Sonnets and Ballads.
The landscape from which the picture takes its title is remarkable.
Leonardo, a pioneer in so many other things, was a pioneer also in
Alpine exploration, and has even been credited with a first ascent
in the Monte Rosa range. However this may be, it is clear from his
pictures and drawings that his mineralogical and geological studies
attracted him to the curious rocks and peaks which he had observed
among the mountains of North Italy.[213] "In him," says Mr. Pater,
"first appears the taste for what is bizarre or recherché in
landscape; hollow places full of the green shadow of bituminous rocks,
ridged reefs of trap-rock which cut the water into quaint sheets of
light; all solemn effects of moving water; you may follow it springing
from its distant source among the rocks on the heath of the 'Madonna
of the Balances,' passing as a little fall into the treacherous calm
of the 'Madonna of the Lake,' next, as a goodly river below the cliffs
of the 'Madonna of the Rocks,' stealing out in a network of divided
streams in 'La Gioconda' to the sea-shore of the 'St. Anne.' It is the
landscape not of dreams or of fancy, but of places far withdrawn."
Notice also the flowers of the foreground. "Leonardo paints flowers
with such curious felicity that different writers have attributed to
him a fondness for particular flowers, as Clement the cyclamen, and Rio
the jasmine; while at Venice there is a stray leaf from his portfolio
dotted all over with studies of violets and the white rose." "This
work," says Ford Madox Brown, "seems to have been laid in entirely
with ivory black, which, as its wont is, has come through the upper
painting to the extent of leaving only to look at a picture in black,
heightened, in the lights, with a little faint yellow. So much is true,
and also that the rocks, from which the picture takes its name, are of
the most singular formations, such as no modern geologist would care to
lecture on, the herbage being much the same as to its botanical value.
But in spite of these and other objections, such is the intrinsic
power of the work in style of drawing and beauty of expression, that
nothing known, not by the greatest masters, can do more than hold their
own against it. Just stand a little way off, study the heads, and see
what they tell you—most supreme master of the human face divine"
(Magazine of Art, 1890, p. 135).
There is, as everyone knows, a very similar picture to this in
the Louvre; and during the last few years an Anglo-French dispute
has raged furiously in artistic circles with regard to the
authenticity, priority, and relative merits of the two pictures.
The pedigree of our picture is singularly complete, and there can
be no doubt that it is a veritable work by the hand of Leonardo.
It agrees minutely with the description given by Lomazzo (in
1584) of a painting by Leonardo, which in his time was in the
chapel of the Conception in the church of S. Francesco at Milan.
The picture in the Louvre differs from Lomazzo's description
in the one essential difference between the two pictures. In
the Louvre picture the angel looks towards us and points to St.
John, thus connecting the spectator with what is taking place.
In our picture, on the other hand, there is no such connecting
link. The action is complete within itself. The spectator is not
invited to participate in what is to him a divine vision. It
is clear therefore that our picture is the one which, in 1584,
was in S. Francesco at Milan, and which passed for a work by
Leonardo. External evidence has come to light during the last
few years proving what had hitherto only been taken for granted,
namely, that Leonardo did execute the central composition of the
altar-piece for that church. This is a memorial from Ambrogio di
Predis and Leonardo da Vinci to the Duke of Milan, praying him to
intervene in a dispute which had arisen between the petitioners
and the brotherhood "della Concezione" with regard to the price to
be paid for certain works of art furnished by them for the chapel
of the brotherhood in S. Francesco. The brotherhood had priced
the oil-painting of Our Lady executed by Leonardo at only 25
ducats, whereas it was worth 100 ducats, as shown by the account
and proved by the fact that certain persons were found willing to
purchase it at that price. No evidence is forthcoming as to the
settlement of the dispute. We have then these facts: that Leonardo
painted a picture of Our Lady for S. Francesco, that such a
picture was in the church in 1584, and that our picture precisely
agrees with Lomazzo's description of it. The picture remained in
the chapel until some time between 1751 and 1787. In the latter
year Bianconi, in a guide-book to Milan, states that the two
side panels (1661, 1662) were still there, but that the picture
"by the hand of Leonardo" had been removed. In 1777 our picture
was brought to England by Gavin Hamilton, and sold by him to the
Marquis of Lansdowne, from whom it afterwards passed by exchange
into the collection of the Earl of Suffolk at Charlton Park. From
Lord Suffolk it was bought in 1880 for the National Gallery, the
price being £9000.
It will thus be seen that the external evidence in favour of this
picture being a veritable work by Leonardo is unusually strong.
Internal evidence is more difficult to bring to the test, resting
as it does on æsthetic considerations, the force of which depends
on the authority of the witness and the competence of the court
to which he appeals. Several critics, it may be explained, had
convinced themselves long ago that the Louvre picture was the
original and ours a copy. The discovery of the new document above
referred to seemed at first to strengthen the authenticity of our
picture. But the point was ingeniously turned by the following
gratuitous and entirely unsupported theory. Leonardo, says Dr.
Richter, must have sold the original to the French king, and let
the church have a copy at the low price agreed upon. Supporting
this theory in turn by internal evidence, the enemies of our
picture declare it to be "an entirely wretched performance"
(Richter); "superficial," "insipid," "heavy," "woolly," "lacking
in elevation," "feeble," in short, "a work in which we do not
feel the real presence of the master" (Müntz). Those who thus
disparage our picture suppose it to be a copy by Ambrogio di
Predis. To this theory, an effective retort has been given by the
purchase for the Gallery of the two wings that used to flank the
central picture. It is impossible to suppose that the painter
of No. 1662 was capable of producing our picture, of which the
skilful delineation and mysterious beauty delight all spectators
who have no preconceived theory in the matter. It should be stated
that some of the faults found with our picture are admitted by
the authorities of the Gallery. "The ill-drawn gilt nimbi over
the heads of the three principal figures, as well as the clumsy
reed cross which rests on St. John's shoulder, are additions
of a comparatively late period, probably of the 17th century."
Again, "the hand of the Virgin resting on St. John's shoulder is
obviously the mere daub of a picture restorer."
Those who support the authenticity of our picture do not feel
called upon to carry the war into the enemy's camp, though both
Sir Frederick Burton and Sir Edward Poynter notice various defects
and repaintings in the Louvre picture, and the former points out
that its pedigree does not extend back beyond 1642. The fact seems
to be that neither picture can properly be called a copy of the
other. The most striking difference—that in the attitude of the
angel—is fundamental, and not such as a copyist would venture to
make. There are many other differences; indeed no single part of
the groups is really alike; and those differences (as Sir Edward
Poynter shows) are such as an artist would make in working from
different studies. Studies for portions of both pictures exist. A
further question in dispute is which of the two versions is the
earlier. To Sir Edward Poynter "it seems that our picture shows
traces of Leonardo's training in the school of Verrocchio, and
that it is the Louvre picture which has more of the idealised
refinement of type on which Luini formed his style." To Mr. Claude
Phillips, on the other hand, the angel of the Louvre looking
straight out of the picture seems to be essentially Florentine,
and to belong specifically to the school of Verrocchio (see 296 in
our Gallery). The variation in the angel's attitude, as given in
our version, is in conception a distinct improvement: it makes the
picture more self-contained. "One can imagine," says Mr. MacColl,
"Leonardo, on second thoughts, judging that the Louvre angel drew
too much attention to himself by his pointing hand, and was better
within the picture with downcast eyes than when inviting the
attention of the spectator by his regard." (The very interesting
discussion summarised above is contained in the following English
publications: Dr. Richter, in the Art Journal for June 1894;
replied to by Sir Edward Poynter in the same magazine for August,
and by Sir F. Burton in the Nineteenth Century for July 1894.
See also Eugene Müntz's Leonardo da Vinci, vol. i. ch. vi.; the
Catalogue of Milanese Pictures at the Burlington Fine Arts Club,
1898, pp. li.-lvi.; Mr. Claude Phillips in the National Review,
Dec. 1894; and "D. S. M." in the Saturday Review, May 28, 1898,
and Feb. 18, 1899. The English articles contain references to the
articles on Dr. Richter's side by Motta, Frizzoni, and others.)
Ascribed to Sir Antonio More (Flemish: 1512-1578).
Antonij Mor (commonly known in this country as Sir Antonio
More, though when and by whom he was knighted does not appear)
succeeded Holbein as the principal portrait-painter settled in
England. "Mor's style," it has been said, "so much resembles
that of Holbein as to frequently create a doubt to which of
them a portrait is to be attributed; but he is not so clear and
delicate in his colouring, perhaps from having painted so much in
Spain, as that master." He was born at Antwerp and studied under
Schorel (see 720). An example of his earlier manner, dated 1544,
is in the Berlin Museum. Mor afterwards travelled in Italy, and
quickly emancipated himself from the dry manner of Schorel, as his
portrait of Cardinal Granvelle at Vienna, done in 1549, shows.
His portraits from this time forward are remarkable for their
"unpretentious dignity." Cardinal Granvelle introduced him to the
service of Charles V., by whom he was sent to Portugal to paint
some of the royal family. He was in the service of Queen Mary
from 1554 to 1558. She presented him with a hundred pounds and a
gold chain, and allowed him a hundred pounds a quarter. He was
also largely employed by the Howards and the Russells and others,
grandees of the court. One of his portraits of the Queen is in the
Duke of Wellington's Collection at Apsley House. When Philip went
to Spain to take possession of the throne, Mor accompanied him,
and for some time basked in the full sunshine of royal favour.
Suddenly he withdrew to Brussels, for some cause which has never
been satisfactorily explained. According to one story, the king,
visiting Mor's studio, laid his hand upon his shoulder as he stood
at the easel—a familiarity which the artist returned by rudely
rapping the royal knuckles with his maulstick, or daubing them
with carmine. The officers of the Inquisition took advantage of
this incident, it is said, to vent their jealous wrath against the
painter. He finally established himself at Antwerp, his declining
years being spent in ease and opulence—the fruits of successful
industry at the courts of England, Portugal, and Spain. He is
described to us as "very much the courtier, and a gentleman of
grave and majestic manners"—a description borne out by the fine
portrait of himself at Althorp.
Jan Lievens (Dutch: 1607-1674).
Lievens, painter and engraver, "was a comrade of Rembrandt, but
conceived a strong admiration for Van Dyck, traces of which are
to be found in his portraits" (Havard: The Dutch School, p.
115). From 1631 to 1635 he was in England, where he painted the
portraits of Charles I. and his Queen, and of several of the
nobility. He afterwards worked at Antwerp, Leyden, and Amsterdam.
This lady (born at Cologne in 1607) was one of the most remarkable
personages of her time. So great was the renown of her learning that
Queen Christina of Sweden went to visit her. She was familiar with
German, Dutch, French, Italian, and English; and was a good scholar in
Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, and Ethiopic. She corresponded
with some of the most erudite men of the day, and excelled in many
of the fine arts. Late in life she fell under the influence of the
noted Pietist leader, Jean de la Badie, whose cause she persuaded the
Princess Palatine Elizabeth to espouse. After his death (in 1674) she
collected his disciples at Wierwerd, where she herself died four years
later in complete destitution.
Jan Baptist Weenix (Dutch: 1621-1660).
Weenix, born at Amsterdam, was the son of an architect. His master
in painting was Abraham Bloemaert. Early in life he married the
daughter of Gilles de Hondecoeter; his nephew Melchior Hondecoeter
(No. 202) was afterwards his pupil. In 1642 his desire to see
Italy caused him to leave his young wife and to carry his palette
and brushes beyond the Alps. He promised to be absent only four
months. He remained in Italy four years. While there he studied
the coast-scenes, the people, and the architecture; "the result
of his observations being the stately scenes, half real, half
conventional, of which good examples are to be found in the
Wallace Collection." On his return to Holland, Weenix was largely
employed, first at Amsterdam, and afterwards at Utrecht. In this
country his name is chiefly associated with pictures of dead
game, but subjects of this class—in which his son (238) also
excelled—were only the predilection of his later years.
Montagna (Venetian: about 1450-1523). See 802.
The Child lies asleep on a window-sill. The Mother stands in an
attitude of devotion. A picture of fine feeling, and characteristic of
the artist's "exalted naturalism."
Pietro Longhi (Venetian: 1702-1762).
Pietro Longhi, who studied in Bologna, but afterwards settled in
his native Venice, was one of the four masters who made a partial
revival of Venetian painting in the eighteenth century—the other
three being Tiepolo (1692-1769, see 1192), Canaletto (1697-1768,
see 127), and Guardi (1712-1793, see 210). Longhi represented
the Vanity Fair of Venice at his epoch with fidelity and kindly
feeling. He has been called "the Italian Hogarth," but he is
greatly inferior in every respect to that painter. Moreover he
was not a satirist like Hogarth, and there is more truth in the
description of him as "the Goldoni of painters"—Goldoni, the
popular playwright, with whom Longhi was nearly contemporary, and
who, like him, just reflects "the shade and shine of common life,
nor renders as it rolls grandeur and gloom." "Longhi used to tell
Goldoni that they were brethren in art. Longhi surveyed human
life with the same kindly glance and the same absence of gravity
or depth of intuition as Goldoni. They both studied nature, but
nature only in her genial moods. They both sincerely aimed at
truth, but avoided truths which were sinister or painful" (J. A.
Symonds, in the Century Guild Hobby Horse, April 1889). Longhi
was the son of a goldsmith, and as a lad showed unusual skill in
designs for ornamental plate: hence the affectionate partiality
in his pictures for the minutest details of decorative furniture,
dress, and articles of luxury.
The engraved portrait on the wall is inscribed "Gerardo Sagredo di
Morei," and perhaps the picture is a group of the Sagredo family, for
whose palace in Venice Longhi painted some frescoes in 1734. The family
preferred, perhaps, to be taken in the characters of a scene in a play
of Goldoni's or some other popular writer—just as in the "Vicar of
Wakefield" they resolved to be drawn together, in one large historical
piece. "This would be cheaper, since one frame would serve for all, and
it would be infinitely more genteel; for all families of any taste were
now drawn in the same manner."
Pietro Longhi (Venetian: 1702-1762). See 1100.
A characteristic glimpse of Venetian life a hundred years ago. "At that
time," it has been said, "perhaps people did not amuse themselves more
at Venice than elsewhere, but they amused themselves differently. It
is this seizing on peculiarities, on local and characteristic details,
that makes Longhi's little canvases so curious." Here he shows us two
ladies in dominoes, escorted by a cavalier, at a menagerie. The trainer
exhibits a rhinoceros to them.
Pietro Longhi (Venetian: 1702-1762). See 1100.
The portrait of "a procurator of St. Mark's," a dignity in the Venetian
State second only to that of Doge. The procurators were charged with
the legal administration of all the affairs of St. Mark's, and their
official palaces (the Procuratie) adjoined the church. They were
further charged with the care of orphans, and with the administration
of others who cared to put themselves "in chancery." The office was
thus not unlike that of an English Lord Chancellor, and there is a
"grandmotherliness" about this procurator that makes one think he must
have discharged some of his duties well. The broad golden stole over
his shoulder shows him to have been also a knight of the order of the
Stola d'Oro, as the Procurator's stole was of crimson velvet. The
picture is in its original frame, surmounted by the armorial bearings
of the Tron family.
Fiorenzo di Lorenzo (Umbrian: 1472-1521).
These are the dates not of his birth and death (which are
unknown), but of the earliest and latest events recorded of him.
In 1472 he was commissioned to paint an altar-piece, the principal
parts of which may now be seen in the Pinacoteca of Perugia, and
he was elected a member of the Town Council of Perugia. In 1521
he was commissioned to value some works by another painter. The
resemblance of his style to that of Benozzo Gozzoli may be seen by
comparing No. 283. Fiorenzo's work is best seen in Perugia, where
he reveals himself as an artist of great feeling and ability.
Especially remarkable is the series of scenes from the life of
Bernardino (some reproduced by the Arundel Society). (See for
notices of this painter Morelli's German Galleries, p. 263, and
S. Brinton's Renaissance in Italian Art, pt. iii. pp. 108, 141).
The accompanying figures are—in front of the throne, St. Francis (on
the right of the Child), St Bernardino, a saint of Siena (on the left),
and in smaller size the donor of the altar-piece. This is one of the
earliest examples in the Gallery of the introduction of portraits in
this way. In the left-hand compartment St. John the Baptist; and in
the right-hand one St. Bartholomew, carrying his familiar attribute—a
blood-stained knife, the instrument of his martyrdom. The compartments
containing the figures of St. John the Baptist and St. Bartholomew
were originally at one side of the central panel, but have been placed
on each side for symmetry, the corresponding twin panels being lost.
Notice the beautiful pattern engraved on the gold background.
Giannicola Manni (Umbrian: 1475-1544).
Born at Città della Pieve, the native town of Perugino, whose
pupil and assistant he became. Several of his works may be seen in
the Pinacoteca at Perugia, of which town he was a magistrate. He
also executed the frescoes in the chapel attached to the Sala del
Cambio.
Notice the quaint "arabesques" on the Virgin's prie-dieu, or
praying-stool; they are characteristic of this painter.
Lorenzo Lotto (Venetian: 1480-1555). See 699.
See for the subject under 1024. "A smooth-shaven old man with a face
that one would not be in the least surprised to see to-day anywhere,
and least of all in England. As a portrait, it is the quietest of all
those by Lotto known to me, and—if I may be allowed the word—the most
'gentlemanly'" (Berenson: Lorenzo Lotto, p. 189).
Francesco Mantegna (Paduan: about 1470-1517). See 639.
Notice the classical sarcophagus of marble. The resurrection banner is
affixed to a tall rod surmounted by a cross composed of golden balls.
Niccolò da Foligno (Umbrian: 1430-1492).
The pietism, characteristic of the Umbrian School generally,
is conspicuous in Niccolò, of whom Vasari remarks that "the
expression of grief in his angels, and the tears they shed, are
so natural that I do not believe any artist, however excellent
he might be, could have done it much better." But he often
overstrained this expression into grimace. He shows, says Morelli,
the "tendency to exaggeration which marks the inhabitant of a
small provincial town." He was capable, however, of giving grace
and beauty to his female heads and heads of angels. Examples may
be seen in the Brera at Milan, and in the Vatican Gallery. It is
probable that Niccolò owed a good deal to Benozzo Gozzoli, who
from 1452 to 1457 was working not far from Foligno (see Morelli's
German Galleries, p. 258). Niccolò is often called Niccolò
Alunno. The origin of this mistake, made first by Vasari,
is that on one of his pictures he is described as "Nicholaus
alumnus Flogging" (Niccolò, a native, or alumnus, of Foligno).
In this picture the artist seems to revel in the depiction of emotion,
and (as it were) in "piling up the agony." There is the same pleasure
here in the use of a new gift—that of expressing emotion—as in 583,
in that of expressing perspective. The central scene of the Crucifixion
is surrounded by the Agony in the Garden, Christ bearing his Cross, the
Descent from the Cross, and the Resurrection. Note as characteristic of
the genius loci in the Umbrian School that St. Francis of Assisi is
kneeling at the foot of the cross.
The acquisition of this picture by the National Gallery (in 1881) had
a curious history. It was formerly in the convent of Santa Chiara at
Aquila, and on the suppression of the convent became the property of
the State. But by the Archbishop's orders it was successfully secreted.
On his death, some years later, it was conveyed to the house of one of
the canons of the cathedral, by whom it was sold to a dealer in Rome.
The dealer made a good thing out of it; he bought it for £260, and
sold it (with another small picture) to our National Gallery for £1200.
The Italian Government instituted a prosecution for theft, which,
however, was subsequently dropped for civil proceedings for damages
against all the persons concerned, "except the Englishman who, it is
believed, bought the picture in good faith."
Unknown (Sienese School: late 15th century).
Niccolò di Buonaccorso (Sienese: died 1388).
Of this painter, who worked and held several offices at Siena,
none of the works is traceable except this signed picture and some
fragments (also signed, and dated 1387) in a little village church
near Siena.
"Remarkable, amongst other things, for the wonderful elaboration of
the gold ornaments on the dresses, and the attempt to give an Oriental
character to the scene by the introduction of the palm-tree, the
carpet, and the dark-faced player on the kettledrums. It is interesting
also for its notes from real life in the figure of the child, the
faces of some of the spectators in the background, the window-openings
with their poles, the figures on the right under the blind, and
the flower-pot on the sill on the left" (Monkhouse: The Italian
Pre-Raphaelites, p. 17). For some remarks on the subject, see under
1317.
A. R. Mengs (German: 1728-1779).
See also (p. xx)
Anton Raphael Mengs, the son of a court painter at Dresden—a
post to which the boy afterwards succeeded—was taken when a
boy to Rome and set to study the works of the great masters. He
became the most celebrated representative of the Eclectic School
of painting in the eighteenth century, and played a great part
in the early days of the classic revival of that period. In his
writings, in Spanish, Italian, and German, he elaborated his
eclectic theory—the attainment of perfection by the combination
of diverse excellences, Greek designs with the expression of
Raphael, the chiaroscuro of Correggio, and the colour of Titian.
He was an intimate friend of Winckelmann, who constantly wrote at
his dictation. His work was eagerly sought after, both at Rome and
at the courts of Dresden and Madrid, and his books enjoyed a very
wide circulation.
A cartoon, executed in black chalk.
Pietro Lorenzetti (Sienese: died 1348).
This painter was the elder brother of Ambrogio Lorenzetti (1147),
and first appears as an artist in 1305. Many of his works,
or fragments of them, may still be seen in and around Siena.
Among the best is a triptych in the sacristy of the Cathedral
representing the birth of the Virgin. "A long series of frescoes,
representing different incidents in the Passion, have recently
been rescued from whitewash in the church of S. Francesco. They
are remarkable for their vigour and harmony, and show Pietro
to have possessed great talents both as a colourist and as a
draughtsman" (Bryan's Dictionary).
Probably illustrative of some incident in the life of a saint—of
Bishop Sansovino, perhaps, the patron saint of Siena—in which the
forces of the Christian and pagan religions were opposed. On one side
is a pagan priest bearing a statue, supposed, from the apple in its
hand, to be that of Venus. On the other is a Christian bishop engaged
in some ecclesiastical function.
Coques (Flemish: 1618-1684). See 821.
Coques pays a pretty compliment to one of his fellow-artists Robert
van Hoecke (who, like a greater man, Leonardo, was an authority
on fortifications as well as a painter), in painting his portrait
as typical of "Sight." The figures in the rest of the series, if
portraits, have not been identified.
Ercole di Giulio Grandi (Ferrarese: died 1531).
Of this painter, one of the best of the Ferrarese school, very
little is known, beyond the fact that he was in the service of the
ducal house at Este. The identification of his works is also very
uncertain, for Vasari, unaware that two painters of the Grandi
family had borne the name of Ercole (see 1127), classed the works
of both under the same head. The present picture is not signed,
and was first identified as the younger Ercole's by Morelli. This
Ercole, son of Giulio Cesare de' Grandi, studied under Francia and
Lorenzo Costa, to the latter of whom, indeed, this picture was
attributed in the foundling hospital of Ferrara, from which it
comes. Like Francia, Ercole combined the practice of other arts
with that of painting—being a gold-beater and modeller, as well
as a painter—a conjunction which is seen in this picture, with
its wealth of decorative accessories. He disputes with Garofalo
the title of "the Raphael of Ferrara," a description which this
splendid picture goes some way to justify.
A picture notable alike for its central idea and for its wealth of
decorative detail. In the group of the infant Saviour (a very finely
drawn figure) standing on the Virgin's knees in the act of benediction,
with St. William on the right of the throne and on the left St. John
the Baptist, is an imaginative representation of Christianity—the
soldier of Christ, with his armour on him, but bareheaded, and with his
hand on the sword, on one side; the saint, with the Cross and the Book,
on the other. The accessories are full of decorative inventiveness,
but every detail is full of thought; they are an epitome, as it were,
of all the decorative arts of the time. Note first, in the walnut
wood pedestal of the throne, that the frieze at the top is a graceful
arrangement of dolphins, emblems of love and affection, and the base,
of stags and swans ("As pants the hart for cooling streams, so pants
my soul for thee, O God"). In its central panel is an alto-relievo in
ivory, with Adam and Eve on either side of the Tree of Knowledge. On
each of the receding panels is a white marble medallion of the turbaned
head of a prophet. On the predella below there are, (1) beginning
on the spectator's right, the Nativity, (2) the Presentation in the
Temple, (3) the Massacre of the Innocents, (4) the Flight into Egypt,
and (5) Christ disputing with the Doctors. The ornamental details of
the marble baldacchino (or canopy), like those of the throne, are all
symbolic; thus the archivolt is composed of choiring cherubim separated
by pots of lilies, and the spandrils of the arch are occupied by
medallions of the angel Gabriel and the Virgin (G. T. Robinson in Art
Journal, May 1886, p. 150).
Cima da Conegliano (Venetian: 1460-1518). See 300.
Another of the numerous St. Jerome pictures: see under 694 and 227.
The saint has his usual company of animals. His lion is frowning,
somewhat with the same expression as in 227—as if to deprecate the
penance which his master is about to inflict on himself. On the branch
of the tree above is a hawk, looking on with the expression of a
superior person—one quite too sagacious to countenance such madness.
Notice also the serpent which crawls from beneath the rock on which
the Cross is placed. The picture, says Mr. Gilbert, "is rich, even
brilliant, in colouring, and if there is a touch of oddity in the house
perched upon a crag, there is loveliness in the mountain range, and in
the amber and lemon tints that streak the evening sky" (Landscape in
Art, p. 340).
Unknown (Venetian: time of Bellini).
See also (p. xx)
This portrait, when it hung in Hamilton Palace, used to be called a
Leonardo. Sir W. Armstrong (Notes on the National Gallery, p. 24)
gives it unhesitatingly to Basaiti (see 599).
Domenico Theotocopuli (Spanish: 1548-1625).
This artist, called "Il Greco," was of Greek descent and is
supposed to have studied in Venice. He was said to have been a
pupil of Titian, but his impetuous style seems rather to have
been modelled on that of Tintoretto. He settled at Toledo in
1575, and there acquired a great reputation. His picture of "The
Parting of Our Lord's Raiment," which still adorns the sacristy
of the cathedral at Toledo, is, says Stirling-Maxwell, "truly
admirable in drawing and composition; and the colouring is on the
whole rich and effective, although it is here and there laid on
in that spotted, streaky manner which afterwards became the great
and prominent defect of El Greco's style." The picture in our
Gallery No. 1457 in its energetic action but faulty drawing is
characteristic of him. The exaggerated elongation of his figures
is one of his common weaknesses. The "St. Maurice with his Theban
Legion," which he painted for Philip II. in the Escorial is
"little less extravagant and atrocious than the massacre which
it recorded"; this was painted in 1580. A year or two later he
executed the "Burial of the Count of Orgaz" in the church of St.
Tomé at Toledo. This is usually esteemed his masterpiece. "The
artist or lover of art who has once beheld it will never, as
he rambles among the winding streets of the ancient city, pass
the pretty brick belfry of that church without turning aside
to gaze upon its superb picture once more." Theotocopuli has
been described as "an artist who alternated between reason and
delirium, and displayed his great genius only at lucid intervals."
His portraits, of which there are several in the Royal Gallery at
Madrid, are often mannered; but occasionally very fine. Into the
portrait of his daughter (now at Keir) he put all his skill; her
face, with markedly Greek features, is "one of the most beautiful
that death ever dimmed and that the pencil ever rescued from the
grave." Il Greco was much employed both as sculptor and architect.
He was a man of wit and learning, and is said to have written
on the three arts which he professed (Annals of the Artists of
Spain, ch. v.).
This picture passed when in the Hamilton Collection for the work of
Titian. The inscription on the book, "Cornaro aet suae 100-1566,"
is interpolated. The picture appears to be one of those realistic
representations of St. Jerome of which there are other examples by
Theotocopuli.
School of Giorgione (Venetian: 16th century). See 269.
A picture of the golden age, entirely in the Giorgionesque spirit, and
often attributed to Giorgione himself[214]—a vision of a land bathed
in perpetual light and sparkling with golden sunshine. The legendary
subject which forms the theme of this characteristic pastoral is the
story of Myrrha, which may be read in Dryden's translations from Ovid's
Metamorphoses. The principal group is Venus and her favourite Adonis
(see under 34). He was the son of Myrrha, whose legend is the subject
of several small groups. On the right is a woman fleeing from a man
who pursues her, sword in hand; these represent Myrrha and her father
Cinyras. Farther on the woman is on her knees; here Myrrha is praying
to the gods to transform her—
... Since my life the living will profane
And since my death the happy dead will stain,
Some other form to wretched Myrrha give,
Nor let her wholly die, nor wholly live.
A third group shows the answer to her prayer: she is transferred into
the myrrh tree, whose "precious drops her name retain," while the
wood-nymphs receive her new-born babe, Adonis. In the background on the
left is represented the death of Adonis; Venus is lamenting over his
body and changing his blood into the anemone. The group in the clouds
may represent Cupid accidentally wounding his mother.
Filippino Lippi (Florentine: 1457-1504). See 293.
See also (p. xx)
By some ascribed to Botticelli.[215] "There is an unmistakable
drawing for it in the Uffizi Collection (No. 210), which is
there ascribed to Botticelli, and which I, for one, am not at
all inclined to take away from him. My own opinion is that there
was no painter of the time who could have given so poetically
conceived a background as we have in No. 1124; the drawing of some
of the figures also speaks of itself" (Mr. Maurice Hewlett in the
Academy, January 9, 1892).
For two other more highly-finished pictures of the same subject also
ascribed to this master see 592 and 1033. This picture, with others
from the Hamilton Collection, was in the "Old Masters" Exhibition
of 1873. "The 'Adoration of the Magi,'" wrote Ruskin to Mr. Fairfax
Murray, "had prettiness in it, but was poor stuff."
Andrea Mantegna[216] (Paduan: 1431-1506).
See 274.
Summer holds a sieve for sifting the corn which she ripens. Autumn
raises a goblet of wine to her lips.
Botticelli (Florentine: 1447-1510). See 1034.
See also (p. xx)
A picture with an interesting history. It was painted by
Botticelli[217] when he was a young man, for Matteo Palmieri (a
prominent Florentine citizen). This Matteo and his wife are here
represented on either side of the tomb in the foreground. The patron
assisted Botticelli in working out the design; and between them
they made some modifications in theology, which brought them into
trouble—so early did Sandro's reforming work begin. The story is thus
told, and the picture described, by Vasari:—
"In the church of San Pietro (Florence) the master painted a
picture for Matteo Palmieri with a very large number of figures.
The subject of this work, which is near the side-door, is the
Assumption of Our Lady, and the zones or circles of heaven are
there painted in their order. The Patriarchs, the Prophets, the
Apostles, the Evangelists, the Martyrs, the Confessors, the
Doctors, the Virgins, and the Hierarchies; all which was executed
by Sandro according to the design furnished to him by Matteo, who
was a very learned and able man. The whole work was conducted and
finished with the most admirable skill and care; at the foot of it
was the portrait of Matteo kneeling, with that of his wife. But
although the picture is exceedingly beautiful and ought to have
put envy to shame, yet there were found certain malevolent and
censorious persons who, not being able to affix any other blame
to the work, declared that Matteo and Sandro had erred gravely in
that matter, and had fallen into grievous heresy. Now, whether
this be true or not, let none expect the judgment of that question
from me; it shall suffice me to note that the figures executed by
Sandro in that work are entirely worthy of praise, and that the
pains he took in depicting those circles of the heavens must have
been very great, to say nothing of the angels mingled with the
other figures, or of the various foreshortenings, all which are
designed in a very good manner" (ii. 233).
Matteo Palmieri was the author of a poem called "The City of
Life,"[218] in which he adopted Origen's thesis that the human race
was an incarnation of those angels who in the revolt of Lucifer were
neither for God nor for his enemies, and explained how the soul of
man could work its way back through the spheres to the very seat
of deity. This "heresy" interprets (says Mr. Pater) much of the
peculiar sentiment with which Botticelli infuses his profane and
sacred persons,—neither all human, nor all divine (see above under
275). It was ingeniously suggested, as we shall see, in this picture,
and was entirely in accord with those "Neo-Platonic" ideas in which
Botticelli, as a member of the Medici circle, was well versed. Matteo
seems to have been afraid that his poem might bring him into trouble
owing to its heretical views on the nature of angels, for he presented
his MS. to the Art of the Notaries in Florence, sealed and under the
express condition that it should not be opened, "so long as he lived
imprisoned in this body." He died in 1478, and his poem fell under the
expected censure. Botticelli's picture, as Vasari says, shared this
fate. The painting bears evidence of intentional injury, the faces
of the donor and his wife having been scored through; nor did some
of the apostles escape the wrath of these iconoclasts. Attempts at
restoration were made at some subsequent period. As the portrait of a
heretic might not be exhibited in a Roman Catholic church, the picture
was covered up, and the chapel in which it stood was closed to public
worship. Ultimately the book was declared innocuous, and the chapel was
re-opened. The picture, however, had already been, or was afterwards,
removed from the family chapel of the Palmieri to their villa. On
the death of the last heir, it passed into the hands of a Florentine
dealer who sold it to the 11th Duke of Hamilton. At the disposal of the
Hamilton Collection in 1882 it was bought for the National Gallery.
The picture was doubtless designed as an illustration of the closing
canto of "The City of Life," in which Matteo supposes himself
conducted by the Cumæan Sibyl through the Elysian Fields to Heaven.
The ostensible subject is the Assumption into Heaven of the Virgin.
On earth the apostles are represented gathered around the Virgin's
tomb, from which "annunciation lilies" are growing; while she is in
heaven kneeling in adoration before the Saviour, who has an open book
inscribed with the mystic letters Α and Ω: "I am
Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end." Around the Virgin and
Christ are all the hierarchies of heaven, arranged, according to the
scheme of the theologians, in three separate tiers. Nearest to Christ
are the seraphs (red), cherubs (blue), and thrones (gold); these are
conceived as absorbed in perpetual love and adoration round the throne
of God, and are represented therefore as with heads only (the attribute
of spirit) and wings ("swift as thought"). In relation with mankind
come the remaining orders—the dominations, virtues, powers (these
last with sceptres in their hands), and in the lowest of the three,
tiers, archangels, princedoms, and angels (with their wands). "The
black vases with golden borders in the hands of some of the angels
are probably meant for the 'golden vials full of the wrath of God'
(Revelations xv. 7). Near them there are other angels, who in the
attitude of expectation point upward with their sticks; while those in
the lowest circle point down, and at the same time seem to invite those
who hold vials to pour them out upon the city of Florence" (Richter's
Italian Art in the National Gallery, p. 28). Everywhere amongst the
angelic host are the blessed dead, and it is here that the views of
Matteo's poem found expression. We have seen in Botticelli's "Nativity"
(1034) the same intercourse of men and angels, with reference there
to the reconciling power of the "Logos." Among the cherubs, we may
decipher St. James with the pilgrim staff, St. Andrew with his cross,
St. Peter with the key, and St. Mary Magdalen with the casket. It is
interesting to note Botticelli's estimate of degrees in the scale
of spiritual excellence. For instance, St. Catherine of Siena is in
the lowest ring among the Angels, but St. Bernard is in the third
with Principalities; Moses is among Powers, so are St. Lawrence, St.
Stephen, and St. Catherine of Alexandria; Virtues hold St. Bonaventura,
St. Dominic, and St. Paul; St. Francis with the Evangelists is higher,
in Dominations; in the highest Triplicitie, as Spenser puts it, there
are men—including the Baptist—mingled with the Cherubim. The angels
are represented throughout as ministering spirits; and nothing in the
picture is prettier than the way in which the angels are calling upon
the saints to "enter into the joy of their Lord"; note, for instance,
the white angel on the right in the lowest tier, and the saint in black
and red. She will teach to him
The songs I sing here; which his voice
Shall pause in, hushed and slow,
And find some knowledge at each pause,
Or some new thing to know.
D. G. Rossetti: The Blessed Damozel.
There are many charming single figures; note, for instance, two angels
in the lower tier in the centre; and all are characteristic of the
new type of angels which Botticelli introduced—forsaking entirely
the conventional idealism of earlier religious art, and substituting
the waving garments and flowing hair (suggestive of atmosphere and
swiftness of motion) which we see in Perugino and Raphael.
Finally, the picture is of topographical interest for the beautiful
view of Florence and the Val d' Arno in the background—
The valley beneath where, white and wide
And washed by the morning water-gold,
Florence lay out on the mountain-side.
Browning: Old Pictures in Florence.
The precise point of view has been identified by Miss Margaret Stokes
in her Six Months in the Apennines, pp. 261-264. Turning off the high
road, on the descent from the hill of Fiesole—
"I got among the lanes on Monte Rinaldi near La Lastra, on the
Via Bolognese, and soon found myself among the ruined terraces
of an ancient garden, where cactus and aloe grew side by side
with brambles, periwinkles, and ivy. Having reached an open in
the thicket into which I had strayed, I was startled to see the
very scene represented by Botticelli about the year 1455 lying
at my feet—the wide horizon reaching from San Domenico, and
the Apennines beyond Monte Moro, Scala, and Monte Maggio, round
the whole Val d' Arno, to San Lorenzo and the northern boundary
of Florence. Seated on the same mountain side, where the great
painter must have sat four hundred and thirty years ago, and
holding my little copy of his landscape in my hand, it was
intensely interesting to trace the objects still remaining on
which his eye had rested, and which his conscientious pencil had
outlined, and to note the changes wrought by time in the aspect of
the scene."
Miss Stokes prints side by side with her copy of Botticelli's
background a topographical plan of the present scene. The house on the
hill above the Mugnone beyond the bridge is the Villa Palmieri, where
Queen Victoria stayed in 1888. Boccaccio selected it for one of the
homes of his fair storytellers in the Decameron. Matteo Palmieri
bought it in 1450. There, no doubt, Botticelli was often a guest, and
there the two friends may have planned this great altar-piece. "It is
perfectly in keeping with the poetic instincts of sacred painters of
the time that this great vision of Heaven should be represented as
bursting on the poet in his own very home. Gazing upwards from his
cypress groves into the unfathomable blue above, it is as if the sky
had slowly opened, and the interior of a vast dome were revealed,
rising above three iridescent bands of light, peopled with nine
successive zones of sacred forms, all gazing in absorbed ecstasy on the
figure of the Divine Mother, lowliest of women, kneeling at the feet of
the Redeemer" (pp. 261-264).
Ercole Roberti de' Grandi (Ferrarese: 1450-1496).
This Ercole is not to be confused with the younger painter of the
same family (see 1119). Ercole Roberti was the son of Antonio
Grandi, also a painter. A drawing attributed to him in the Louvre,
representing the Massacre of the Innocents, in which he nearly
approaches the grandeur of conception and masterly execution of
Mantegna, seems to show that he had either studied under that
great painter, or had experienced his influence. Mantua, where
Mantegna lived after 1468, is at no great distance from Ferrara.
Ercole was employed at the latter place by the dukes, from whom
he received a regular salary. Pictures by him are rare, and
none is authenticated by his genuine signature. In the Dresden
Gallery are two compartments of a predella by him, another being
in the Royal Institution at Liverpool. In these and a few other
works, including those in our Gallery, Ercole reveals himself
as a thorough Ferrarese, in his energetic rendering of life and
character, and in his careful study of details (Layard's edition
of "Kugler," ii. 351, and Morelli's German Galleries, pp.
109-113).
A very dainty little work. Notice especially the painting of the
bas-reliefs and of the decanters. The attitudes of the disciples
betoken respect or veneration, except that of the nearest figure,
Judas, who turns away his head.
Luca Signorelli (Cortona: 1441-1523).
Signorelli was born at Cortona, on the boundary of Umbria and
Tuscany. By early teaching he is an Umbrian, but in style a
Florentine. Indeed, his position in the history of art is that
of forerunner of Michael Angelo. He was a pupil of Piero della
Francesca, with whom, no doubt, he acquired a knowledge of the
figure from anatomical study of the nude. His chief works, the
frescoes in the cathedral of Orvieto,[219]—executed by the
artist after his sixtieth year,—were ten years earlier than
the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel by Michael Angelo, who was
largely influenced by Signorelli's example. Like Michael Angelo,
Signorelli is intensely dramatic, and in pictures which do not
allow of the violent action to be found in his frescoes, his
figures seem to be instinct with suppressed action. "To no other
contemporary painter," says Morelli, "was it given to endow the
human frame with the like degree of passion, vehemence, and
strength" (Roman Galleries, p. 92). "To this we may add,"
says another critic, "that no other painter has ever conceived
humanity with the same stately grandeur and in the same broad
spirit. The confident strength of youth, the stern austerity of
middle life, the resolute solemnity of old age—these are his
themes. Signorelli is, before all, the painter of the dignity of
human life" (Maud Cruttwell, Luca Signorelli, p. 31.) He is a
representative also of the literary and classical Renaissance.
He is fond of architectural adornments in the style of his
time—as in the present picture, where the ceremony takes place
in a hall or porch enriched with bas-reliefs in circular panels
and paved with square slabs of coloured marbles. He painted the
usual religious pictures, but did not adhere to the traditional
modes, and often introduced a classical element (see 1133). It
is interesting to note that in his picture of some nude Greek
gods (at Berlin) the composition is the same as in his regulation
church pictures of the Madonna and Saints. Of Signorelli's
personal life there is a pleasant account in Vasari, whose kinsman
he was. He was a person of consequence in his native city, going
hither and thither to paint commissions, and then returning to
the discharge of his civic duties. "He lived splendidly, in the
manner," says Vasari, "rather of a noble and a gentleman than in
that of a painter." Not that he despised his profession, for he
expressly advised that his little kinsman should "by all means
learn to draw, that he may not degenerate, for even though he
should hereafter devote himself to learning, yet the knowledge
of design, if not profitable, cannot fail to be honourable and
advantageous." Of Signorelli's own devotion to his art Vasari
tells another story, which has thus been versified—
Vasari tells that Luca Signorelli,
The morning star of Michael Angelo,
Had but one son, a youth of seventeen summers,
Who died....
Still Luca spoke and groaned not; but he raised
The wonderful dead youth, and smoothed his hair,
Washed his red wounds, and laid him on a bed....
Naked and beautiful....
Then Luca seized his palette: hour by hour
Silence was in the room; none durst approach:
Morn wore to noon, and noon to eve, when shyly
A little maid peeped in and saw the painter
Painting his dead son with unerring hand-stroke,
Firm and dry-eyed before the lordly canvas.
Symonds, Renaissance, iii. 281.
Our picture is thus described by Vasari,—for the fact that he calls
it a fresco is no argument against the identification, since he often
makes such mistakes: "In the church of San Francesco, in Volterra,
this master painted a fresco, representing the Circumcision of Christ.
This also is considered a wonderfully beautiful picture, but the Child
having been injured by the damp, was repaired by Sodoma, whereby the
beauty was much diminished. And, of a truth, it would often be much
better to retain the works of excellent masters, though half-spoiled,
than suffer them to be retouched by less capable artists." Vasari,
however, seems to have been "anxious to place Sodoma in a bad light
whenever he could. Damp was in all probability not the cause of the
restoration of the infant Christ. It was very likely repainted because
the public of Volterra disliked the realism with which Signorelli
seems to have treated the subject" (Richter, p. 48). Signorelli's
children are curiously ugly: it seems as if he had no sympathy except
in the painting of figures of powerful maturity. Of the fact of the
repainting recorded by Vasari there is no doubt; for the position of
the legs has been altered, their original action being distinctly
shown by the incised outline still visible through the deep blue
colour of the Virgin's robe. The painting of the other figures is
"bold and resolute, the draperies sweep in broad folds round them.
The attitude of the standing woman to the right is grand, and the
earnest concentration of the faces on the ceremony, and the absence
of any connecting link between them and us, give dramatic reality to
the scene" (Cruttwell, p. 40). It is interesting to note that the
figure of the operator is like the portrait of himself which Signorelli
introduced into his frescoes of the Preaching of Anti-Christ at
Orvieto: the figure is, moreover, clothed in the dress of the period
and of the rich materials in which, Vasari says, the artist took much
pleasure in dressing himself. Behind the central group is the aged
Simeon, who blessed God and said, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant
depart in peace, according to thy word."
Velazquez (Spanish: 1599-1660). See 197.
The king is younger here than in 745; hanging from his chain is the
order of the Golden Fleece. Notice also that the head is not so
minutely painted here as in 745; that being a bust portrait would be
seen near, this being a full-length would naturally be placed above the
level of the eye. The smaller picture might be called, in the art-slang
of to-day, "a harmony in black and gold"; this, from the shimmer on
its lace and the flashing on the rapier hilt, "a harmony in black and
silver."
"Strange lot," exclaims a biographer of Velazquez, with reference
to the painter's portraits of the king, "to be the Apelles of this
inactive Alexander. For thirty-seven long years always painting the
same effigy! For throughout all these years Philip's features preserved
a marvellous, a startling uniformity. In the black silk court dress,
in the hunting suit, in the military uniform, in the white satin
robe of state, in the gilded steel armour, in the festive religious
attire—kneeling, standing, mounted—the same stereotyped head is
still there with its everlasting steadfast gaze. It may change from
lean to full, from the fresh smooth features of youth and those of
manhood, marked by the lines of passion, to the leaden, swollen, and
rigid lineaments of age; but even at a distance it is still instantly
recognised. Who can mistake the long oval, with its pale whitish
complexion, and cold phlegmatic glance of the great blue eyes under
the high forehead, and light stiffly-curled hair, strong flat lips
and massive chin, the whole overcast with an expression of pride that
repels all advances and suppresses all outward show of feeling? He is
said to have laughed but thrice in his life; and although the statement
might be questioned, it was still good enough to point a sally in one
of Calderon's plays" (Justi's Velazquez and his Times, pp. 107, 108).
Tintoretto (Venetian: 1518-1584). See 16.
Some remarks made by Ruskin on another version by Tintoret of the
same subject are not inappropriate to this dark and probably faded
picture.[220] "One circumstance is noticeable as in a considerable
degree detracting from the interest of most of Tintoret's
representations of our Saviour with his disciples. He never loses sight
of the fact that all were poor, and the latter ignorant; and while he
never paints a senator or a saint, once thoroughly canonised, except as
a gentleman, he is very careful to paint the Apostles in their living
intercourse with the Saviour in such a manner that the spectator may
see in an instant, as the Pharisee did of old, that they were unlearned
and ignorant men; and, whenever we find them in a room, it is always
such a one as would be inhabited by the lower classes.... We are
quickly reminded that the guests' chamber or upper room ready prepared
was not likely to have been in a palace, by the humble furniture upon
the floor" (Stones of Venice, Venetian Index, under "Moisé, Church
of St.") In front is St. Peter, placing his foot in a brazen basin and
bending forward with a deprecating action—in contrast to which is the
look of cheerful and almost amused alacrity on the part of Him who came
not to be ministered unto, but to minister. Behind are other disciples
pressing forward with reverent curiosity. Another, in the right-hand
corner of the foreground, has raised his foot on a bench and is drying
it with a cloth. To the left a female attendant holds a taper, whilst
in the background are other figures, one of whom reclines before a fire.
Jacopo Carucci da Pontormo (Florentine: 1494-1557).
Jacopo Carucci, commonly called Pontormo, from his birthplace
of that name (a town on the road from Pisa to Florence), was a
scholar of Andrea del Sarto, and was employed with his master in
decorating the outer court of the SS. Annunziata at Florence.
His fresco there of the "Visitation" is, for the grandeur of the
figures and beauty of the colouring, worthy of Andrea himself.
Pontormo was one of the most original "characters" among those
described by Vasari. His pictures were much sought after, but "he
would never work but at such moments as he pleased, and for such
persons as chanced to be agreeable to him, insomuch that he was
frequently sought by gentlemen who desired to possess some work
from his hand, but for whom he would do nothing; yet at that very
time he would probably be employing himself zealously for some
inferior and plebeian person. One of the Medici had been greatly
pleased with a picture by Pontormo, and said that in reward for it
he might ask whatever he pleased and should have his wish granted.
But such was, I know not whether to say the timidity, or the too
great respect and modesty of this man, that he asked nothing
better than just so much money as would enable him to redeem a
cloak which he had hastily pledged." Many other interesting tales
of Pontormo will be found in Vasari—of his love of secrecy, his
curious manner of life, and the dead bodies he kept in troughs of
water, so to paint more realistically the victims of the Deluge.
This last tale is characteristic of Pontormo's place in the
history of art, which for the most part was that of an exaggerated
mannerist after Michael Angelo. In the National Gallery we see
him at his best. His portraits are uniformly excellent, and his
"Joseph in Egypt" is mentioned by Vasari as his most successful
work—"whether as regards the power of invention displayed, the
grouping of the figures, the animation of the heads, or the
variety and beauty of the attitudes."
This crowded and fantastic composition contains a drama in five acts
describing incidents in the life of Joseph in Egypt (see Genesis xlvii.
1-6, 13-26; xlviii. 1-14). (1) On the left Pharaoh, in a white turban,
and surrounded by attendants, is met by Joseph and his brethren, who
stand before him in attitudes of supplication. The youth sitting on
the steps with a basket in his hand is a portrait (Vasari tells us)
of the painter's pupil, Bronzino. (2) On the right of the foreground
Joseph, seated on a triumphal car drawn by naked children, stoops
forward towards a man who kneels and presents a petition. (3) In the
middle distance there is an animated group of men ("Wherefore shall
we die before thine eyes, both we and our land?"). (4) On the steps
leading up to the circular building on the right, Joseph is leading
one of his sons to see the dying Jacob; he is followed by the "steward
of the house," a conspicuous figure in a long crimson robe. The other
boy appears at the top of the steps and is embraced by his mother.
(5) Inside the room Jacob is represented as giving his blessing to
the two boys, Ephraim and Manasseh, who are presented to him by their
father. The antique statues which adorn the building were often given
by mediæval artists as characteristic of Egypt, from which the art of
Greece was believed to have been derived (see Richter's Italian Art in
the National Gallery, pp. 36-40).
The removal of this picture has been blasted by a woman's curse. It
was painted for a Florentine noble, named Borgherini; and when he was
exiled, the civic authorities sent to his house to buy up all its works
of art, which were to be sent as a present to the King of France. But
Borgherini's wife received the official with "reproaches of intolerable
bitterness," says Vasari, "such as had never before been hurled at
living man: 'How then! Dost thou, vile broker of frippery, miserable
huckster of twopences, dost thou presume to come hither with intent
to lay thy fingers on the ornaments which belong to the chambers of
gentlemen? despoiling, as thou hast long done, and as thou art for ever
doing, this our city of her fairest ornaments to embellish strange
lands therewith? Depart from this house, thou and thy myrmidons.'" The
lady's anger preserved the picture—only to be afterwards seduced away,
by English gold, into the Duke of Hamilton's Collection, from which it
was bought for the National Gallery in 1882. Borgherini's commission
for the works in question is thus described by Vasari:—
"It chanced that Pier Francesco Borgherini had at that time caused
rich carvings in wood to be executed by Baccio d' Agnolo for
the decoration of coffers, backs of chairs, seats of different
forms, with a bedstead in walnut wood, all of great beauty, and
intended for the furnishing forth of an apartment. He therefore
desired that the paintings thereof should be equal to the rest
of the ornaments. To that end he commissioned Andrea del Sarto
to paint the history of Joseph in figures of no great size,
and these our artist was to execute in competition with other
artists,"—Ubertino and Pontormo among the number (Vasari, iii.
201, iv. 353).
Ubertino's paintings for this sumptuous bedroom as well as that of
Pontormo have now found their way into our Gallery (see 1218, 1219).
Hendrick Steenwyck, the younger (Flemish: 1580-1649).
The elder painter of this name was one of the first to give us
those architectural interiors, which later became a specialty
among various painters (see Havard's Dutch School, p. 53). His
son, the younger Steenwyck, adopted the same line of art. He
came to London before 1629, and was much employed in supplying
architectural backgrounds to the royal portraits by Van Dyck and
to other pictures. He died in London after 1649.
A picture for architects to look at. It is the interior of a vestibule
giving access to a library, and is full of inventiveness. Notice, too,
how beautifully the accessories—the tablecloth, the vase of flowers,
etc., are painted.
Luca Signorelli (Cortona: 1441-1523). See 1128.
A dramatic representation in one canvas of the Gospel story told in
Luke ii. 1-17. Scene 1. "And it came to pass in those days, that
there went out a decree from Cæsar Augustus, that all the world
should be enrolled." This is represented by the Roman portico behind
the central group, under which, at a long table, is seated a row of
scribes, who are entering the names of the people. Scene 2. "And
Joseph went up ... to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife ... and she
brought forth her first-born son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes,
and laid him in the manger." This is the subject of the central scene.
But the artist, no longer bound by conventional rules, treats his text
freely. There is no manger, but the stable is suggested by the heads
of the ox and the ass at the side; and instead of the Babe being found
"wrapped in swaddling clothes," it is naked. Joseph, in orange and
crimson robes, is full of benevolence. The shepherds on the left are
in deep reverence. The Virgin is robed in deep blue and green, typical
of the depth and mystery of her divine love. In the interstices of
the central group are three angels with golden hair and rainbow-hued
wings—"calm shining sons of morn." Scene 3. On the left is a group
of shepherds: "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding
in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night." The angel of
the Lord is appearing unto them from heaven, and they are sore afraid,
shielding their eyes from the heavenly light. Scene 4. On the right
of the spectator, and seen through an arch of natural rock, is a
shepherd playing on the pipe. This figure suggests the antique; he is
crowned with ivy leaves and might almost be Orpheus. Thus, instead
of representing the "Glory to God in the highest" being sung by "a
multitude of the heavenly host," Signorelli gives us a Greek singer—a
variation thoroughly characteristic of the classical revival of his
time.
The landscape is also thoroughly characteristic of the mediæval mind,
which loved the fields but dreaded the mountains. See here, for
instance, how lovingly the flowers in the foreground are painted, and
note the trailing ivy in the centre of the picture, as well as the
flowers and ferns; whereas the rocks upon which these latter grow are
altogether impossible in form and position (see Modern Painters, vol.
iii. pt. iv. chs. xiv. and xv., where the landscape of Dante, of whom
Signorelli was a close student, is analysed). The artist's signature is
inscribed on the frieze of the portico. Some, however, have questioned
its authenticity and declare the picture to be a weak imitation of the
master.
Liberale da Verona (Veronese: 1451-1535).
Liberale di Giacomo, of Verona, was brought up as a miniaturist,
and his works in that sort, executed before he was out of his
teens, are much admired for their fancy and sumptuous colour.
The choral books which he executed for Monte Oliveto are now in
the cathedral of Chiusi. Returning to Verona, Liberale took to
painting on a large scale, and became one of the most esteemed
artists of the Veronese School. "One of his best works is
the Martyrdom of St. Sebastian in the Brera, in which he has
introduced an interesting architectural background with Venetian
palaces on a canal, designed with much spirit and minuteness.
In consequence of his bold and vigorous style his works are
occasionally attributed to Mantegna" (Kugler). Many of his
pictures are still at Verona.
One of "the small spiritless Madonna pictures which he produced
carelessly and hastily in his old age, and supplied for niggardly
pay to the citizens of Verona. They served as wedding presents, and
Liberale has only himself to thank if this degenerate practice should
have spoilt his reputation" (Dr. Richter in the Art Journal, Feb.
1895).
Unknown (Veronese School: 15th century).
These two panels, which clearly formed two sides of an ornamental box,
represent a favourite subject with Italian painters of the period. The
story is that an ancient widow of Rome stopped the Emperor Trajan as he
was about to proceed on one of his foreign expeditions, and asked for
justice against the murderers of her son, who is here seen lying dead
on the roadway. Trajan suggested that she should wait till his return.
She replied that the emperor might be killed in battle. "Then," said
Trajan, "my successor will attend to the business." "But why," she
urged, "not decide the case at once?" The emperor on second thoughts
did so, and the second panel shows him on the judgment seat. He called
the culprits before him, spared their lives, but made them pay heavy
damages to the widow. This incident was engraved, together with the
record of his victories, on Trajan's column.
Jacob van Oost the Elder (Flemish: 1600-1671).
This painter was born at Bruges, and his pictures are very
numerous in his native town. He painted principally religious
subjects in the style of the Carracci, whose works he had
studied in Italy. Of his portraits, this work—signed with his
monogram,[221] and dated 1650—is the best.
A boy of eleven—so the inscription on the right-hand corner
states—Mr. Pater's Sebastian van Storck, it might be.
"It was a winter scene, by Adrian van de Velde, or by Isaac van
Ostade.... Sebastian van Storck, confessedly the most graceful
performer in all the skating multitude moving in endless maze over
the vast surface of the frozen water-meadow, liked best this season
of the year for its expression of a perfect impassivity, or at least
of a perfect repose. The earth was, or seemed to be, at rest, with
a breathlessness of slumber which suited the young man's peculiar
temper.... Yet with all his appreciation of the national winter,
Sebastian was not altogether a Hollander. His mother, of Spanish
descent and Catholic, had given a richness of tone and form to the
healthy freshness of the Dutch physiognomy, apt to preserve its
youthfulness of aspect far beyond the period of life usual with other
peoples. This mixed expression charmed the eyes of Isaac van Ostade,
who had painted his portrait at one of those skating parties, with his
plume and squirrel's tail and fur muff, in all the modest pleasantness
of boyhood" (Imaginary Portraits, p. 92).
Andrea del Castagno (Florentine: 1390-1457).
There is a rough vigour in this picture which agrees well with
what we know of the painter. His father was a labouring man. Left
an orphan in his boyhood, Andrea herded the cattle of an uncle at
the hamlet of Castagno (whence the painter's name). He was first
stimulated to study art by chancing to come across an itinerant
painter at work on a rustic tabernacle. He began to draw upon
the walls with charcoal or his knife, and showed therein so much
ability that he attracted the notice of Benedetto de' Medici, who
took the youth to Florence and placed him under proper tuition.
Such is Vasari's story. But Benedetto's patronage did not save
Andrea from a hard struggle with adversity. At the age of forty he
is found declaring that he had neither bed, board, nor lodging in
Florence, and was so poor that in illness he had to take shelter
in a public hospital. These declarations were made, however, in a
taxing return. Subsequently Andrea received various commissions in
the palaces and churches of Florence, and from the Government. For
the latter he painted on the wall of the palace of the Podestà the
gibbeted bodies of those who were declared rebels on the recall
from banishment of Cosimo de' Medici. Most of Andrea's works have
perished; the few that remain in Florence display "a rude and
coarse energy and an independent and original spirit, but are
seldom attractive, either in form or colour" (Kugler). He is said
to have painted in oil, but no work by him in that medium exists.
Vasari's story in this connection, that he assassinated Domenico
Veneziano, is demonstrably false (see under 766).
This picture is impressive in its solemn gloom. The impenitent thief
writhes in agony, the suffering Christ casts his last glance at his
mother, who, with St. John the beloved disciple, stands below in
speechless grief. "The most beautiful in colour of all early works"
(Ford Madox Brown in Magazine of Art, 1890, p. 134). Andrea's
treatment of the subject, as also Antonello's (1166), is remarkable
for simplicity and realism. In most representations of the Crucifixion
the central tragedy is partially lost in the large groups of
bystanders (e.g. 718, 1048, 1088), and various symbolical figures
are introduced—as, for instance, flying angels around the cross. Even
in Giotto's fresco at Padua this feature is introduced. Indeed "in all
the pictures of the Crucifixion by the great masters, with the single
exception perhaps of that by Tintoret in the church of San Cassiano
at Venice, there is a tendency to treat the painting as a symmetrical
image, or collective symbol of sacred mysteries, rather than as a
dramatic representation" (Ruskin's Giotto, p. 149). For an example of
a symbolic representation, in contrast to the severe simplicity of the
picture before us, see No. 1478.
Duccio (Sienese: about 1260-1340). See 566.
This picture shows us the side of Duccio on which the early School of
Siena still adhered to the traditions of Byzantine art. For instance,
the Greek method of symbolising light on drapery is seen in the gold
lines of Mary's dress, a decorative method which Duccio was the last to
use. So, too, in the gold background, which was universal in Byzantine
mosaics. This survival may be seen in all the early Sienese pictures
in the Gallery. In 1188, for instance, all the landscape background is
gold; so in 1140 are all the spaces between the houses; whilst 1113
resembles a brilliant mosaic with gold for its groundwork.
We have here the earliest representation in our Gallery of one of
the most frequent subjects in mediæval art, and a few remarks on its
development may be interesting. The subjects which artists had at their
disposal in those days were prescribed to them by religious uses and
religious conventions. Not in novelty of subject, but in individuality
of treatment, was scope for the artist's ingenuity to be found. Hence
a comparison of pictures of the same subject by different artists and
different schools affords a suggestive study in the evolution of art.
One may trace by such comparisons something of the same process of
"descent with modification" that Darwin has exhibited in the case of
fish and insect, fern and flower.[222] Thus we may compare the present
picture—the earliest and simplest "Annunciation" in our Gallery—with
Crivelli's (739), which is the most ornate, and which was painted
200 years later. Two pictures of the same subject could hardly be
more unlike. Duccio's is severe and simple; Crivelli's, florid and
picturesque. The one is rigidly confined to the main matter in hand;
the other is crowded from corner to corner with dainty detail and
lively incident. Halfway, as it were, between the two stands Lippi's
"Annunciation" (666); there also there is much lovely detail, but we
see in a moment that "in the Florentine, the detail is there for the
sake of the picture; in the Venetian, the picture is there for the
sake of the detail." Crivelli's picture shows us the furthest point
of departure from the original type. Yet observe how much of the
original survives. First, and this point is absolutely fixed in all
mediæval representations of the subject, the angel Gabriel occupies
the left-hand side, and the Blessed Virgin the right-hand side of the
picture. Often (as in Giotto's frescoes in the Arena at Padua) the
subject is divided into two halves by the intervention of the choir
arch. In Italy, the Annunciation was always the subject employed for
the decoration of the main entrance of church. For this purpose, the
convenient architectural arrangement was to place a relief of the angel
on one side, a relief of the Madonna on the other, and the doorway
between them.[223] Similarly inside, the Annunciation was constantly
employed to decorate the blank space beside an archway, and hence
arose the custom of dividing the treatment. We may see examples in our
Gallery in the wings (interior side) of the "Coronation" by Justus
of Padua (701), and in the terminal panels of Landini's altar-piece
(580A). To this peculiarity is perhaps due the wall, barrier, or column
which so often marks off the figure of the Virgin from that of the
angel. We find it here in the Duccio; also in Fra Angelico's picture
(1406), and again in Crivelli's. Sometimes, however, there is no
such division. See, for instance, Lippi's picture (666), and Manni's
(1104). There is a reason for this difference. Lippi's, no doubt, was
painted to fill the space over a doorway; Manni's was the apex of an
altar-piece. The decorative function of the pictures governed their
composition. Returning to the Duccio, we may notice as a third and
nearly constant element, the angel's lilies—Annunciation lilies, as
the Italians call them. Sometimes they are in a vase as here; sometimes
(as in the Crivelli), the angel bears a lily in his hand. Next, it
is noticeable that the action almost invariably takes place in a
loggia—an arcade or cloister. The lectern or prie-dieu, which in
Crivelli's picture and in very many others of the subject stands beside
the Madonna, is a refinement on the earliest type as seen in Duccio and
Fra Angelico. But whether with lectern or without, the Virgin is always
represented with a book engaged in her devotions. Visitors who desire
to trace the evolution of this subject should conclude their studies at
the Tate Gallery, where, in Rossetti's "Ecce Ancilla Domini" and Mr.
Hacker's "Annunciation," modern versions of the old subject are given.
Rossetti's is one of the most imaginative in the whole range of art
(see Ruskin's analysis cited in vol. ii. of this handbook, No. 1210).
Duccio (Sienese: about 1260-1340). See 566.
The departure from conventional forms, which was characteristic of
Duccio, is conspicuous in this picture. Each of the disciples has an
individual character, the entire group representing not conventional
forms but living types of men. There is a piece of symbolism in the
blind man who has already been healed which should not escape notice.
Duccio is not content to represent the bare act of healing, but insists
further upon the efficacy of the touch of Him who was the Light of
the World, by making the blind man drop the staff of which he has no
longer need. There is another piece of symbolism in the gradated
scale by which he draws attention to the respective dignities of his
characters—Christ being the tallest in the picture, the blind man the
shortest (A. H. Macmurdo in Century Guild Hobby Horse, 1886, p. 119).
Antonello da Messina (Venetian: 1444-1493). See 673.
A portrait in Antonello's second or Venetian manner. The portrait is
the more interesting from the probability that it is of the painter
himself. The inscription which so stated is said to have been sawn off
by a former owner to fit the picture into a frame.[224] "It is the
likeness of a man who is entirely self-possessed, nowise an idealist,
yet one who would never be prompted to impetuous action. He has plenty
of intelligence; nothing would escape those clear gray eyes;—scarcely,
however, do they seem as if they would penetrate below the outward show
of things. Considered from a technical point of view, the same subdued
feeling is apparent. In the Louvre masterpiece (which this picture at
once recalls), Antonello evidently braced himself for a supreme effort;
in the National Gallery portrait we have an excellent example of his
powers at his best period" (Times, May 31, 1883).
Ridolfo Ghirlandajo (Florentine: 1483-1561).
Ridolfo Bigordi, called Ghirlandajo, was the son of Domenico
Ghirlandajo (see 1230), who gave him his first instruction in
art. On the death of Domenico, Ridolfo was taken charge of by
his uncle David, and perhaps received instruction also from
Domenico's favourite pupil, Granacci. In 1503 Leonardo da Vinci
came to Florence, and seems to have exercised a strong influence
on the young Ridolfo. To this Leonardine period of our artist,
the present picture, executed in 1505, belongs: some of the heads
(which are of great force and beauty) seem to have been copied
or imitated from Leonardo. To the same period and influence
Morelli ascribes the "Annunciation," No. 1288 in the Uffizi,
there attributed to Leonardo himself, and the "Portrait of a
Goldsmith," similarly attributed in the Pitti. In Ridolfo's works
after 1506 the influence of Raphael is discernible. Raphael was
his fellow-student and contemporary, and between the two congenial
youths an ardent friendship, Vasari tells us, sprang up. Raphael
employed Ridolfo to fill in part of the blue drapery of the
"Belle Jardinière", and invited him to Rome; but Ridolfo, "who
had never, as the saying is, 'lost sight of the cupola' (of the
Duomo), and could in no wise resolve on living out of Florence,
would accept no proposal which might compel him to abandon his
abode in his native place." At Florence Ridolfo found ample and
congenial employment, not only in the production of pictures, but
in artistic catering for the pageants of the Republic, and in
the service of the Medici. He did not disdain, says Vasari, "to
paint banners, standards, and matters of similar kind. He was an
exceedingly prompt and rapid painter in many kinds of work, more
particularly in the preparations for festivals; when the Emperor
Charles V. arrived in Florence, he constructed a triumphal arch
in ten days, and another arch at the gate of Prato was erected
by this artist in a very short space of time, this work being
constructed for the marriage of the most Illustrious Lady the
Duchess Leonora." Among his pictures, the "St. Zenobio restoring
a boy to life" and the burial of the same saint, in the Uffizi,
are considered Ridolfo's masterpieces; they are remarkable for
force of colour, and fine modelling in the heads. Ridolfo employed
a number of young painters, and from this workshop issued many
pictures which were sold to England, Germany, and Spain. He lived
to be nearly eighty years old; and "though heavily afflicted with
the gout, he still bore much love," says Vasari, "to all connected
with art, and liked to hear of, and when he could to see, whatever
was most commended in the way of buildings, pictures, and other
works." He was buried with his forefathers in S. Maria Novella.
One of the pictures in the Gallery which are additionally interesting
from being mentioned and praised by Vasari—who, by the way, was
himself a friend of Ridolfo:
"In the Church of S. Gallo he depicted our Saviour Christ, bearing
his Cross and accompanied by a large body of soldiers; the
Madonna and the other Maries, weeping in bitter grief, are also
represented, with San Giovanni and Santa Veronica, who presents
the handkerchief to our Saviour; all these figures are delineated
with infinite force and animation.[225] This work, in which there
are many beautiful portraits from the life, and which is executed
with much love and care, caused Ridolfo to acquire a great name;
the portrait of his father is among the heads, as are those of
certain among his disciples, and of some of his friends—Poggino,
Scheggia, and Nunziata, for example, the head of the latter being
one of extraordinary beauty" (v. 5).
It is interesting in this connection to notice that the procession
to Calvary was one of the regulation subjects with mediæval painters
(see for a picture of it, some two hundred years earlier, 1189), and
familiarity bred contempt for the pathos of the scene; it became a
mere opportunity for variegated compositions, and curiously enough two
of the brightest pictures in the Gallery (this and 806) are of this
subject. For the story of St. Veronica see 687.
Bazzi, called Il Sodoma (Lombard: 1477-1549).
The confusion in the use of the word "school" is illustrated in
the case of Giovanni Antonio Bazzi (sometimes wrongly given as
Razzi), called also Il Sodoma. He spent most of his life at Siena,
and is often grouped therefore with the Sienese School. But he was
born at Vercelli, in Piedmont—being the son of a shoemaker—and
"ripened into an artist during the two years he spent at Milan
with Leonardo da Vinci" (1498-1500). Sodoma is therefore, says
Morelli (German Galleries, p. 428), to be reckoned as one of
the Milanese-Lombard School. "Nay, I believe I should not be far
wrong were I to maintain that the majority of the better works
ascribed to Leonardo in private collections are by him.... Young
Bazzi while at Milan seems to have taken Leonardo for his model,
not only in art, but even in personal appearance and fancies.
All his life he loved to play the cavalier, and, like Leonardo,
always kept saddle-horses in his stable, and all kinds of queer
animals in his house."[226] Vasari gives an amusing, though
probably apocryphal, account of his excesses, and represents him
as a lewd fellow of the baser sort, with whom no respectable
person would have anything to do. But Raphael so respected Bazzi
and his work that he introduced his portrait (erroneously called
Perugino's) by the side of his own in his celebrated fresco of the
"School of Athens." But at any rate Sodoma was a careless, jovial
fellow—dividing his time between the studio and the stable;
and when cash ran short or a horse ran wrong, he would meet his
liabilities with a hastily dashed-off picture. This very Madonna
may perhaps have paid off a racing debt.
"Sodoma," says a distinguished German critic, "had a poetic soul,
full of glowing and deep feeling, a richly endowed creative
mind, but no inclination for severe earnest work" (Jansen). His
execution is unequal, but at his best he is one of the most
attractive of all the Italian painters. No one will deny this who
recalls the fresco, in the upper floor of the Farnesina Palace,
of "The Marriage of Alexander and Roxana"—"one of the most
enchanting pictures of the whole Renaissance," or who has studied
the painter's work in the churches, the Gallery, and the Palazzo
Publico of Siena. The figure of "St. Ansano" in the latter place
may be taken as an example of the dignity which Sodoma was capable
of imparting to his types. The "Christ bound to the Column" in
the Siena gallery is a fine example of his power as a colourist
and his command of pathetic expression; while in the figure of
Eve in the "Limbo" in the same gallery, and in more than one
Holy Family, we may see his innate sense of feminine beauty and
grace. It is supposed that Sodoma went as a young man to Milan
and there imbibed the influence of Leonardo da Vinci, but this
theory (maintained by Morelli) of a close connection between
Leonardo and Sodoma is not accepted by all critics. In 1501 he
went to Siena, where, in the stagnation of the local school, he
found ample openings for his abilities. To this period belong the
series of frescoes representing the history of St. Benedict in the
Convent of Monte Oliveto. In 1507 Sodoma was taken by the Sienese
merchant, Agostino Chigi, to Rome. He began to decorate the
Camera della Segnatura in the Vatican, but the Pope transferred
the commission to Raphael. Sodoma was again in Rome in 1514, when
he painted for Chigi the frescoes already referred to. In the
interval he had returned to Siena, where he married the daughter
of an innkeeper. From 1515 onwards he made Siena his headquarters.
Copies of some of the works mentioned above may be seen in the
Arundel Society's Collection.
This picture, which is hardly a satisfactory example of the painter,
is one of those supposed by some critics to have been painted in the
years 1518-20, during which he is believed to have revisited Milan.
Others place it later in the artist's career. "Probably one of his late
'pot-boilers.' It was originally in the Rossini Collection at Pisa,
and may have been painted there during the last years of the artist's
life, while he was working at the choir decorations in the cathedral"
(Sodoma, by the Contessa Priuli Bon, 1900, p. 92).
Andrea Mantegna (Paduan: 1431-1506). See 274.
Samson, whose giant's strength lay in his hair, fell into the toils
of Delilah (Judges xvi.), who delivered him to his enemies by cutting
off his hair as he lay asleep. On the trunk of the olive tree behind,
Mantegna has carved the moral he drew from the tale: "Foemina diabolo
tribus assibus est mala peior" (woman is a worse evil than the devil
by the three pennies which bind you to her).[227] But though Mantegna
has taken his subject from the Bible, his treatment of it is in the
classical spirit. "Apart from the fact that her attention is directed
to the mechanical operation, Delilah's expression is one of absolute
and entire unconcern. Look of cunning, or of deceit, or of triumph
there is none. Mantegna was not the man to shirk expression when he
deemed the subject required it; probably, therefore, he left the
features impassive in obedience to the formula of a certain school of
antique sculpture, that all violent emotion should be avoided" (see
Times, June 18, 1883).
Ambrogio Lorenzetti (Sienese: died about 1348).
Ambrogio, the younger brother of Pietro Lorenzetti (see 1113),
was the greatest of the early Sienese painters. His series of
frescoes in the Sala della Pace in the Palazzo Publico of Siena,
typifying good and bad government, are known to every traveller.
They are full both of artistic beauty and historical interest (see
the description by Symonds in his Sketches and Studies, iii.
43). The heads of many of Ambrogio's allegorical figures are of
great beauty and grandeur—especially that of Peace, which is of
classical dignity and may possibly have been modelled on the lines
of some antique sculpture.
The work before us is a mere shattered fragment of fresco (from a
church in Siena), but it is enough to show the artist's feeling for the
true portraiture that identifies character with likeness. The nuns'
faces are typical of the strong yet tender qualities developed in a
life of seclusion and self-sacrifice.
Velazquez (Spanish; 1599-1660). See 197.
An intensely dramatic rendering of the central lesson of Christianity.
The scene depicted is an episode from the Passion between the scourging
and the crowning with thorns—a scene not given in the Gospels, and
invented to produce a more vivid effect than representations of
familiar scenes. The absence of all decorative accessories concentrates
the attention at once on the figure of the Divine sufferer—bound by
the wrists to the column. His hands are swollen and blackened by the
cords; the blood has trickled down the shoulder—so terrible was the
punishment—and the scourges and rod have been flung contemptuously
at his feet. Yet abnegation of self and Divine compassion are stamped
indelibly on his countenance, as he turns his head to the child who
is kneeling in adoration. The guardian angel behind bids the child
approach the Redeemer in prayer (hence the alternative title that has
been given to the picture, "The Institution of Prayer"). From the
wise and prudent the lessons of Christianity are often hidden, but
Christ himself here reveals them unto babes. "He was wounded for our
transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement
of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed." A
thin white line, a ray, reaches from the position of the heart to the
Saviour's ear—
To see sad sights moves more than hear them told,
For then the heart interprets to the ear
The heavy motion that it doth behold.
The angel is a portrait (a preparatory study from a model is included
amongst the collection of drawings made by Cean Bermudez). The
downcast eye, the slightly pouting lips, as if about to weep, betray
the harrowing expression of the moment. This expression shows fine
invention, for it might have been more natural for the eye to follow
the hand directing the child's attention to the figure. But the angel
fears himself to look, lest he be overcome with grief. The tone of
the picture is in keeping with its theme. There probably exists no
other painting executed in such a decidedly gray, blackish-gray tone,
although it is by no means colourless, as seen in the orange-brown and
dull crimson of the angel's costume, which are peculiar to Velazquez.
It is as if, after the terrible event that has here taken place,
mourning Nature had strewn the scene with a fine shower of ashes, as
after some tremendous volcanic outburst (Justi's Velazquez and his
Times, pp. 241-248).
Marco d'Oggionno (Lombard: about 1470-1530).
Marco, called Oggionno from the village near Milan in which he
was born, was one of the pupils and imitators of Leonardo. He
made several copies of the master's "Last Supper," one of which
is in the collection of the Royal Academy. His best original
work on a large scale is the "Triumph of the Three Archangels
over Satan," in the Brera. Among his smaller works, the "Infant
Christ caressing St. John," at Hampton Court, is more successful
than most. His works, says M. Müntz, "are wanting in vivacity of
feeling and purity of drawing, and intensity of colour does duty
for intensity of sentiment."
This is a characteristic example of the painter's work. He succeeded
in catching a little of Leonardo's smile, "chilled as it were on the
way" (Logan). The study in chalk for the Virgin's head is in the Dyce
Collection in the South Kensington Museum.
Ascribed to Pontormo (Florentine: 1494-1557). See 1131.
Unknown (German: 15th Century).
A copy, in colour, of an engraving by Martin Schongauer (see 658).
Martino Piazza (Lombard: early 16th Century).
Martino and his brother Albertino were painters at Lodi, where
they worked both together and separately; there are many
altar-pieces in the churches of that place by them. This picture
is a signed work of Martino alone. The brothers belonged to the
school which was established in Milan and its neighbourhood before
the arrival of Leonardo; but in many of Martino's work the new
influence is discernible. "The curly hair, his high finish and
chiaroscuro, derived from a study of Leonardo, are distinctive
traits" (Catalogue of the Burlington Fine Arts Club's Exhibition,
1898, p. lxxvi.).
Compare the type of countenance and form of the rocks with those in
Leonardo's picture, 1093. For the subject of this picture see under 25.
Greuze (French: 1725-1805). See 206.
An unfinished study—characteristic of the touch of affectation often
visible in Greuze's pictures of simplicity. Children fondling pet lambs
are a favourite motive in art, but its treatment is seldom free from
affectation. See, for instance, Murillo's St. John, 176.
Matteo di Giovanni (Sienese: 1435-1495).
Matteo, the son of Giovanni di Bartolo (a mercer),—called also
Matteo di Siena—was the best Sienese painter of his time, and
in this picture, which is perhaps his masterpiece, we have an
epitome of all the most characteristic qualities of the earlier
Sienese school—"its warm, delicate, and transparent colouring,
its graceful outline, its religious sentiment, and its somewhat
miniature-like execution. Matteo was the last of the series
of painters who developed the art of Duccio, adhering to the
traditions of the school of which that great master was the
founder" (Layard). In the expression of passion and dramatic
action that school was never successful, struggling to disguise
weakness by overstraining expression. This weakness is conspicuous
in Matteo's pictures of the "Massacre of the Innocents" (in S.
Agostino and S. Maria de' Servi in Siena), and is not absent from
his "Ecce Homo" and "St. Stephen" in this Gallery (247 and 1461).
His best pictures at Siena are the "Madonna della Neve" in the
chapel of that name, and the "Coronation of S. Barbara" in S.
Domenico. He also designed one of the Sibyls (the Samian) on the
marble pavement of the Duomo.
A picture in which the artist concentrates all he could command of
gaiety and joyousness in colour, expression, action, and sentiment; and
thus typical of the personal feeling, approximating to that of a lover
to his mistress, which entered into Madonna worship. These pictures
of coronations and assumptions of the Virgin are not merely tributes
of devotion to the mother of God, but are poetic renderings of the
recognition of women's queenship, of her rule not by force of law but
by tenderness and sacrifice—
For lo! thy law is pass'd
That this my love should manifestly be
To serve and honour thee:
And so I do: and my delight is full,
Accepted for the servant of thy rule.
One may read the same spirit, perhaps, in the legend of St. Thomas
and the Madonna, introduced in this picture—of St. Thomas, who ever
doubted, but whose faith was confirmed by a woman's girdle. For the
story is that the Virgin, taking pity on his unbelief, threw down to
him her girdle, which he is here raising his hands to catch, as it
falls from her throne, in order that this tangible proof remaining with
him might remove all doubts for ever from his mind—
Lady, since I conceived
Thy pleasurable aspect in my heart,
My life has been apart
In shining brightness and the place of truth;
Which till that time, good sooth,
Groped among shadows in a darken'd place.
D. G. Rossetti: Early Italian Poets.
Bernardo Cavallino (Neapolitan: 1622-1654).
This painter was a pupil of Massimo Stanzioni (a rival of
Spagnoletto), and showed such ability that "at first he created
a jealous feeling in Massimo himself. Finding afterwards that
his talent lay more in small figures than in large, he pursued
that department and became very celebrated in his school. In the
galleries of the Neapolitan nobility are to be seen by him, on
canvas and copper, subjects both sacred and profane. Life was
alone wanting to him, which he unfortunately shortened by his
irregularities" (Lanzi, ii. 41).
A characteristic work in the "naturalistic" manner.
Gaspard Poussin (French: 1613-1675). See 31.
A very impressive picture in spite of the somewhat grotesque angel who
accosts Abraham and points him to the Almighty seated in the clouds
above (Genesis xii.). And indeed it is in his skies that Gaspard
points us to the Infinite—in the open sky, stretching far away into
that yellow horizon. To what does this strange distant space owe its
attractive power?
"There is one thing that it has, or suggests, which no
other object of sight suggests in equal degree, and that
is—Infinity.... For the sky of night, though we may know it
boundless, is dark; it is a studded vault, a roof that seems to
shut us in and down; but the bright distance has no limit—we
feel its infinity, as we rejoice in its purity of light.... Of
the value of this mode of treatment (i.e. the rendering of
open sky) there is a farther and more convincing proof than
its adoption either by the innocence of the Florentine or the
ardour of the Venetian, namely, that when retained or imitated
from them by the landscape painters of the seventeenth century,
when appearing in isolation from all other good, among the
weaknesses and paltrinesses of Claude, the mannerisms of Gaspar,
and the caricatures and brutalities of Salvator, it yet redeems
and upholds all three, conquers all foulness by its purity,
vindicates all folly by its dignity, and puts an uncomprehended
power of permanent address to the human heart upon the lips of the
senseless and the profane"[228] (Modern Painters, vol. ii. pt.
iii. sec. i. ch. v. §§ 5, 12).
School of Giorgione (Venetian: early 16th century). See 269.
See also (p. xx)
This picture—ascribed by Morelli and others to Catena (see 234)—is by
some connected with the name of Giorgione. It displays, says Sir Edward
Poynter, "the qualities which we should expect to find in a picture by
Giorgione, and does not seem so far removed from the only absolutely
authenticated work by him—the altar-piece at Castelfranco—as to make
it impossible to attribute it to his hand. In qualities of drawing and
composition it is superior to what we know of the work of Catena" (The
National Gallery, i. 23). "The figures are Bellinesque, yet with that
added touch of delicacy and refinement which Giorgione always knows how
to impart. The richness of colouring, the depth of tone, the glamour of
the whole, is far superior to anything we can point to with certainty
as Catena's work; and no finer example of his 'Giorgionesque' phase
is to be found than the sumptuous 'Warrior adoring the Infant Christ'
(234) which hangs close by. Catena's work seems cold and studied beside
the warmth and spontaneity of Giorgione's little panel" (Herbert Cook's
Giorgione, p. 54). "Whoever painted it, it is worth many much larger
canvases. The simple, flowing cast of the drapery, the general scheme
of colour, and the quality of individual tints, such as the mellow
yellow shaded with red, and the greenish-blue of the Virgin's mantle,
are not like what I know of Catena. The lively, well-drawn child, with
its supple limbs; the faces of the women, with full faces, short noses,
and square jaws; the straight-necked horses, and many other things in
this charming picture,—seem to me to proclaim a distinct, if unknown,
master. Above all things distinct, perhaps, is the particular tone of
reverence—naïve, quiet, but deep—that pervades the picture, a feeling
which can scarcely have been imitated, but must have proceeded from the
very character of the painter himself" (Monkhouse, In the National
Gallery, p. 224).
Il Moretto (Brescian: 1498-1555). See 299.
Two saints who were not divided in the manner of their martyrdom,
and who are united therefore on the painter's canvas. Each holds the
martyr's palm. St. Catherine places her left hand on the hilt of a
sword—the instrument by which she was ultimately beheaded, whilst her
foot rests upon the wheel on which she was to have been torn to death,
had not an angel from heaven broken it. St. Hippolytus's death was not
unlike that which had been devised for St. Catherine. He is clad in
armour, for he was the soldier stationed as guard over St. Lawrence
(see 747), but he is represented as bareheaded, and with his face
upturned in reverence, for that "he was so moved by that illustrious
martyr's invincible courage and affectionate exhortations that he
became a Christian with all his family." Wherefore he was tied to the
tails of wild horses and torn to death. On the fragment of stone in
the foreground is an inscription in Latin, telling by what death the
two saints glorified God—"Membris dissolvi voluerunt ne vinculis
divellerentur aeternis:" they chose to be torn limb by limb rather than
by renouncing their faith to be thus torn hereafter by eternal chains.
The members of the body are the chains of the soul, and the martyrs
freed themselves from temporary fetters rather than submit to the
fetters of everlasting punishment.
Antonello da Messina (Venetian: 1444-1493). See 673.
Signed, and dated 1477, two years later than the very similar picture
at Antwerp. Notice the harmonious colouring, and the expression of
abandon and lassitude, following more poignant grief, in the Virgin's
attitude, with her arms falling down on each knee. "The subject was
never more truly felt, and the little figure of the Virgin at the foot
of the cross contains in it an expression of concentrated grief I never
saw equalled. The eyes are shut, the hands simply rest on the knees,
but this very simplicity gives it a truth which far surpasses the
extravagant attitudes of the later painters" (from a letter by Louisa,
Lady Waterford, from whom the picture was purchased in 1884; see Hare's
The Story of Two Noble Lives, iii. 77). This picture shows, says Mr.
Gilbert, "the dawning loveliness of Venetian colour, as distinguished
from the vivid beauty of the early Flemish. Instead of the minute
definition of every object characteristic of the Van Eyck School, we
find, spread over a scene of the utmost simplicity, a delicious silvery
haze, melting into the warm tones of a shadowless foreground. In this
small picture we may see already what Venice owed to Flanders—how
Venice would enrich the gift" (Landscape in Art, p. 311).
Willem van der Vliet (Dutch: 1584-1642).
Works by this artist are rare and very little known. He belonged
to Delft—a town as active in painting as in pottery. This picture
is signed and dated 1631.
An admirable portrait. The Jesuit father, here depicted with so much
quiet truth and skill, is a good representative of the great order
which had at that time saved the Papacy. He is a student, but the
crucifix is ever on his books. "The Jesuits appear," says Macaulay, "to
have discovered the precise point to which intellectual culture can
be carried without risk of intellectual emancipation." But he turns
round from his book and looks with a smile of tender sadness on the
spectator—he is ready to read your heart and to give you sympathy in
return for confidences.
Ary Scheffer (French-Dutch: 1795-1858).
An artist who once enjoyed a great vogue (a version of this
picture was bought in 1845 by the ex-Queen of the French for
£1000), and whose pictures are historically interesting for
their extraordinary absence of the colour-sense. Ary Scheffer's
pictures, says Ruskin (Academy Notes, 1858, p. 40), are designed
"on the assumption that the noblest ideal of colour is to be
found in dust," and what he said in 1846 of the German School
is equally true of Ary Scheffer:[229] "Brightness of colour is
altogether inadmissible without purity and harmony; and the sacred
painters must not be followed in their frankness of unshadowed
colour, unless we can also follow them in its clearness. As
far as I am acquainted with the modern schools of Germany,
they seem to be entirely ignorant of the value of colour as an
assistant of feeling, and to think that hardness, dryness, and
opacity are its virtues as employed in religious art; whereas I
hesitate not to affirm that in such art, more than in any other,
clearness, luminousness, and intensity of hue are essential to
right impression" (Modern Painters, vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. ii.
ch. v. § 15). Ary Scheffer, whose father was court painter at
Amsterdam, was born at Dordrecht. On the death of his father in
1809 his mother removed to Paris, and he became a pupil of Pierre
Guérin. In 1826 he became drawing master in the Orleans family,
and for the rest of his life he was attached to them. In 1830, in
company with Thiers, he brought Louis Philippe, Duke of Orleans,
to Paris; in 1848 he helped the king to fly, and went with him to
Brussels. The events of the next few years shocked him so much
that for a time he "could neither paint, eat, nor sleep," and he
ceased altogether to exhibit. His best known works are "Paolo and
Francesca" (1822), and "Dante and Beatrice" (1839). The former
of these sold in 1842 for over £2000; but at the posthumous
exhibition of his works, held shortly after his death, his
reputation suffered greatly, and at subsequent sales the prices
paid for his pictures went down with a rush. Their sentimentality
made them popular for a while, but it could not save them from the
condemnation due to their commonness of thought and poverty of
colour.
A portrait of the lady—an English resident in Paris, and a friend of
Ary Scheffer—who sat to him for St. Monica. The two pictures were
bequeathed to the Gallery by her husband.
Ary Scheffer (French-Dutch: 1795-1858).
To illustrate the popularity which Ary Scheffer enjoyed forty years
ago, it may be interesting to cite what Mrs. Jameson said of this
picture: "I saw in the atelier of the painter, Ary Scheffer, in 1845,
an admirable picture of St. Augustine and his mother Monica. The two
figures, not quite full-length, are seated; she holds his hand in
both hers, looking up to heaven with an expression of enthusiastic
undoubting faith;—'the son of so many tears cannot be cast away!'
He also is looking up with an ardent, eager, but anxious, doubtful
expression, which seems to say, 'Help thou my unbelief.' For profound
and truthful feeling and significance, I know few things in the compass
of modern art that can be compared to this picture" (Sacred and
Legendary Art, 1850, p. 186).
Raphael (Urbino: 1483-1520).
The genius of Raphael Santi (or Raffaello Sanzio, as the modern
Italians write his name) is an example of the force alike of
hereditary transmission of gifts and of surrounding circumstances.
He was the second son (born April 6) of Giovanni Santi (see 751),
a painter and poet of Urbino. The son inherited the father's
aptitude for painting; but as Giovanni died when Raphael was only
eleven, the boy's actual teacher was Timoteo Viti, of whom there
is a portrait in chalks by Raphael in the British Museum. The
young Raphael's hereditary gifts were nurtured by the artistic
atmosphere in which he lived. Urbino, the Athens of Umbria, was at
this time one of the chief centres of artistic and intellectual
life in Italy; the ducal palace contained a fine collection of
pictures both by Italian and Flemish painters. Amongst the latter
were some by Van Eyck, and it is perhaps to this influence that
we may attribute the miniature-like care of Raphael's earliest
work, which is conspicuous in the "Vision of a Knight," and may
be seen again in the jewel painting here. An intense power of
assimilation—of learning all things from all men—characterised
Raphael throughout his life, and is one of the main causes of
the width of range and catholicity of taste to which he owes his
universal popularity. Thus when he went (probably not before 1500)
to study under Perugino, he so quickly assimilated the style of
that master that he has been credited with some of the design and
even of the work in Perugino's masterpiece, just as some of his
pictures were, says Vasari, mistaken for Perugino's. In 1504 he
went to Florence, which was his headquarters for the next four
years. He at once took a leading part in the artistic fraternity
there, and put one great artist after another under contribution
for some special power of drawing, beauty of colour, or grace of
composition. Thus from Signorelli and Michelangelo he learnt
to study the human form; it was at Florence, says Vasari, that
Raphael began to study the nude and to make anatomical drawings
from dissected corpses. From Leonardo da Vinci (sketches from
whom by Raphael may be seen at Oxford) he learnt soft beauty of
expression, and it is to this master's influence perhaps that the
smile of his Madonnas may be traced. In 1508 Raphael was invited
by the Pope Julius II. to Rome, and there he spent the greater
part of his life—painting, besides innumerable altar-pieces and
cabinet pictures, his famous cartoons and frescoes. And yet he was
only thirty-seven when he died. His time was partly occupied too
with portraiture, in which he excelled. In 1514 he accepted the
responsible office of architect of St. Peter's, left vacant by the
death of his friend Bramante. A year later he was installed as
director of the excavations then in progress among the ruins of
ancient Rome, and flung himself into the work with devoted ardour.
In the heavy and multifarious work thus crowded upon him, Raphael
employed many assistants, among whom were Giulio Romano, Giovanni
da Udine, and Perino del Vaga, and in some of the pictures of his
Roman period the master's own hand executed little more than the
finishing touches. All that we know of Raphael's private life and
character reflects that innate love of beauty which fused all
he borrowed into something of his own. "All were surpassed by
him," says Vasari, "in friendly courtesy as well as in art; all
confessed the influence of his sweet and gracious disposition,
which was so replete with excellence and so perfect in all the
charities, that not only was he honoured by men but even by the
very animals, who would constantly follow his steps and always
loved him." In morals he was pure, and might indeed be called
almost immaculate, judged by the lax standard of his age. The
Cardinal Bibiena designed his niece for Raphael, but—
Rafael made a century of sonnets,
Made and wrote them in a certain volume
Dinted with the silver-pointed pencil
Else he only used to draw Madonnas:
These, the world might view—but one, the volume.
Who that one, you ask? Your heart instructs you.
He lived a painter among princes—"a model," says Vasari, "of
how we should comport ourselves towards great men," but also a
prince among painters—jealous of none, kindly to all. "Whenever
any other painter, whether known to him or not, requested any
assistance, he would invariably leave his work to do him service;
and his school—consisting of some fifty painters, all men of
ability and distinction—continued in such unity and concord
that all harsh feelings and evil dispositions became subdued and
disappeared at the sight of him." And so when he died—having
impaired his constitution by a life of ceaseless toil—Rome
went into a paroxysm of grief, and flocked, as he lay in state,
to catch a last sight of the "divine painter." He died on his
birthday, April 6, and was buried in the Pantheon with great
solemnities.
With regard to Raphael's position in the history of art, it is
important to distinguish between his different "periods," which
correspond, as will be seen, with the divisions of his life. The
National Gallery is fortunate in having specimens of all the
periods, and the importance of the pictures from this point of
view is noted under the several numbers, but it may be convenient
to summarise the matter briefly here. (1) First, or Perugian
period, down to 1504—which again may perhaps be subdivided as
explained under 213. During this period his works closely resemble
Perugino's—the most typical of them are the "Sposalizio," at
Milan, copied from Perugino's painting of the same subject, now
at Caen; and the "Crucifixion," in Mr. L. Mond's Collection, of
which Vasari says: "If it were not for the name of Raphael written
upon it, it would be supposed by every one to be a work of Pietro
Perugino." (2) Second, or Florentine period: 1504-1508. To this
period belong the "Madonna del Granduca" at Florence, "La Belle
Jardinière" at the Louvre, and in this country the Madonna at Lord
Cowper's (Panshanger), the Bridgewater Madonna (929), the St.
Catherine (168), and this "Ansidei Madonna." The importance of
this picture in the history of art is that it shows the transition
from the first to the second period, being dated (on the border
of the Virgin's robe below her left arm) MDVI, 1506. A glance at
the Perugino No. 288 will show how much of that master's influence
remains. "To his earlier Perugian manner we ascribe," says Waagen
(Treasures of Art in Great Britain, iii. 128), "the head of
the Virgin, which, however, is the most beautiful and noble
development of this whole style, the rather too round body of the
otherwise very lovely child, the expression of ardent yearning in
St. John, as well as the position of his feet, resembling that of
St. Joseph in the 'Sposalizio,' the cast of the draperies of the
Virgin and St. Nicholas, the use of several colours which have
turned very dark, such as the blue in the robe of the Virgin, the
green in the canopy, in the upper garment of St. Nicholas, and in
the landscape, and the use of gold in the hems, in the glories,
in the two Greek borders, and in the inscription SALVE MATER
CHRISTI on the wooden throne." Another point of special value in
this picture is that, like the Sistine Madonna, it is entirely by
Raphael's own hand, no pupil or assistant having touched it. (3)
Third, or Roman period, 1508-1520. The chief works of this period
are the frescoes in the Vatican. But in this country there are the
famous cartoons (at South Kensington), and in the National Gallery
the portrait of Julius II. (27), and the Garvagh Madonna (744).
The characteristics of this period are, besides the perfection
of executive power, the substitution of classical for religious
motive, and the straining after dramatic effect.
From the technical point of view, this division into three (or
four) periods is instructive, but from the point of view of motive
a better division is that between his earlier and his later work,
the turning-point being his arrival in Rome. "In his twenty-fifth
year," says Ruskin (Edinburgh Lectures on Architecture and
Painting, p. 213), "one half-year only past the precise centre
of his available life, he was sent for to Rome, to decorate the
Vatican for Pope Julius II., and having until that time worked
exclusively in the ancient and stern mediæval manner, he, in the
first chamber which he decorated in that palace, wrote upon its
walls the Mene, Tekel, Upharsin of the arts of Christianity.
And he wrote it thus: On one wall of that chamber he placed a
picture of the World or Kingdom of Theology, presided over by
Christ. And on the side wall of that same chamber he placed
the World or Kingdom of Poetry, presided over by Apollo. And
from that spot, and from that hour, the intellect and the art
of Italy date their degradation.... And it was brought about in
great part by the very excellences of the man who had thus marked
the commencement of decline. The perfection of execution and the
beauty of feature which were attained in his works, and in those
of his greatest contemporaries, rendered finish of execution and
beauty of form the chief objects of all artists; and thenceforward
execution was looked for rather than thought, and beauty rather
than veracity.... The mediæval principles led up to Raphael,
and the modern principles lead down from him." The position of
Raphael in the history of art is thus closely parallel to that
of his great contemporary Michael Angelo (see 790). In Michael
Angelo the art of Florence reached its culmination and fell
rapidly to Giulio Romano and Venusti. In Raphael the art of Umbria
was perfected and led down to the conventional sentimentalities
against which the "Pre-Raphaelites" have in modern times revolted.
The "Ansidei Madonna," so called from having been painted for the
Ansidei family at Perugia,[230] was bought from the Duke of Marlborough
by the nation for £70,000—more than three times the highest price ever
before paid for a picture, and equal to more than £14 per square inch.
The importance of the picture to the student has been partly described
above; but to this must be added its unusual size and excellent state
of preservation, and the fact that whilst on the one hand the National
Gallery had before no chef d'œuvre of Raphael, the number of such
works not already placed in foreign galleries was very small.[231]
On its own merits the "Ansidei Madonna" is by common consent one of
the most perfect pictures in the world. It has all the essentials of
the greatest art. First it is "wrought in entirely consistent and
permanent materials. The gold is represented by painting, not laid
on with real gold, and the painting is so secure that nearly four
hundred years have produced in it no harmful change." "The exquisite
purity of the colour and the silvery and luminous quality of its
tones"[232] are as remarkable to-day as they must have been when the
panel left the painter's easel. Secondly, "the figures are in perfect
peace. Those are the two first attributes of the best art. Faultless
workmanship and perfect serenity; a continuous, not momentary,
action, or entire inaction; you are to be interested, in the living
creatures, not in what is happening to them. Then the third attribute
of the best art is that it compels you to think of the spirit of the
creature, and therefore of its face, more than of its body. And the
fourth is that in the face you shall be led to see only beauty or
joy—never vileness, vice, or pain" (Relation between Michael Angelo
and Tintoret, pp. 14, 15). In fulfilling these essentials of the
highest art, the picture becomes also one of the noblest embodiments
of Christianity. Raphael is above all the painter of motherhood and
childhood—of the self-forgetting love of the one, and the fearless
faith of the other—the human relationship which of all others is the
most divine. On either side are two saints—types both of them of
the peace of Christianity. In the figure of St. John the Baptist on
the left—with his rough camel skin upon him, and an expression of
ecstatic contemplation on his face—the joy that comes from a life of
self-sacrifice is made manifest; in that of the good Bishop Nicholas
of Bari, the peace that comes from knowledge. The three balls at his
feet are a favourite emblem of the saint; typical partly of the mystery
of the Trinity, but referring also to the three purses of gold which
he is said to have thrown into a poor man's window that his daughters
might not be portionless. Further we may notice how the same impression
of infinite peace is conveyed by the landscape, and especially by the
open sky visible on either side of the throne. This open sky "is of
all visible things the least material, the least finite, the farthest
withdrawn from the earth prison-house, the most typical of the nature
of God, the most suggestive of the glory of His dwelling-place. For
the sky of night, though we may know it boundless, is dark; it is a
studded vault, a roof that seems to shut us in and down; but the bright
distance has no limit: we feel its infinity, as we rejoice in its
purity of light" (Modern Painters, vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. i. ch. v. §
5).[233]
It has been said above that the Ansidei Madonna is "by common consent
one of the most perfect pictures in the world." Criticisms which
have been published since its acquisition by the National Gallery
require that statement to be modified. Thus, Mr. G. A. Storey, R.A.,
in the course of a public lecture, has remarked that "as compared
with Raphael's other works, the Ansidei Madonna lacked the touch of
nature, the play and harmony that were characteristic of the master.
All the heads were looking in the same direction, and the figure of the
Virgin was scarcely graceful. Nor was there the unity necessary to a
complete composition, for each figure seemed unconnected with the rest,
and, indeed, they seemed to be almost unconscious of each other's
existence." Mr. Ford Madox Brown (Magazine of Art, Feb. 1890) is more
severe still. "The Bishop saint of Bari," he says, "is certainly a fine
figure, worthy of the master it is attributed to. The Virgin and Child,
however, are for sentiment just like two wax doll lay figures, making
it hard to conceive how the same mighty hand can have produced anything
so tame; while the figure of the Baptist, with ill-drawn legs, is
positively repulsive both for pose and for expression of countenance.
Surely Raphael could have had no hand in it." Mr. Pater, on the other
hand, commends the Ansidei Madonna to students of Raphael as more
worthy of admiration than any other work of the master: "I find there,
at first sight, with something of the pleasure one has in a proposition
of Euclid, a sense of the power of the understanding, in the economy
with which he has reduced his material to the simplest terms. He is
painting in Florence, but for Perugia, and sends it a specimen of its
own old art—Mary and the babe enthroned, with St. Nicholas and the
Baptist in attendance on either side. The kind of thing people there
had already seen so many times, but done better, in a sense not to
be measured by degrees, with a wholly original freedom and life and
grace, though he perhaps is unaware, done better as a whole, because
better in every minute particular, than ever before. The scrupulous
scholar, aged twenty-three, is now indeed a master, but still goes
carefully. Note, therefore, how much mere exclusion counts for in the
positive effect of his work. There is a saying that the true artist is
known best by what he omits. Yes, because the whole question of good
taste is involved precisely in such jealous omission. Note this, for
instance, in the familiar Apennine background, with its blue hills
and brown towns, faultless, for once—for once only—and observe, in
the Umbrian pictures around, how often such background is marred by
grotesque natural, or architectural detail, by incongruous or childish
incident. In this cool, pearl-gray, quiet place, where colour tells for
double,—the jewelled cope, the painted book in the hand of Mary, the
chaplet of red coral,—one is reminded that among all classical writers
Raphael's preference was for the faultless Virgil. How orderly, how
divinely clean and sweet the flesh, the vesture, the floor, the earth
and sky! Ah, say rather the hand, the method of the painter! There is
an unmistakable pledge of strength, of movement and animation in the
cast of the Baptist's countenance, but reserved, repressed. Strange,
Raphael has given him a staff of transparent crystal. Keep, then, to
that picture as the embodied formula of Raphael's genius. Amid all he
has here already achieved, full, we may think, of the quiet assurance
of what is to come, his attitude is still that of the scholar; he
seems still to be saying, before all things, from first to last, 'I am
utterly purposed that I will not offend'" (Miscellaneous Studies, p.
53).
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641). See 49.
This famous picture was one of many equestrian portraits of Charles
I. which Van Dyck painted at his court. It is, however, unique among
them. In all the others,—the Windsor picture, the replica at Hampton
Court, and the pictures in the Earl of Warwick's and the Marquis of
Lothian's Collections, the king faces the spectator, and rides, as it
were, straight out of the picture, the horse being white. The size,
proportions, and composition of this picture are different. The horse
is dun-coloured, and the king is seen in profile. A small picture at
Buckingham Palace was probably the original design or sketch of it. It
was sold after Charles's death for £150 by the Parliament, and in 1885
was bought by another Parliament—from the Duke of Marlborough—for the
great price of £17,500 (see under 1171).
It is a courtier's portrait of the idol of the cavaliers—a portrait of
the good side of a bad king. Notice first the prominence given to the
noble horse (cf. under 156), almost to the point of clumsiness. Then
in Charles himself, note the stately bearing, the personal dignity, the
almost feminine refinement. It is a portrait of personal courage—with
no suspicion of any fatal want of presence of mind; of dignity—with
the obstinacy, which was its reverse side, left out. In such a portrait
"of a Cavalier by a Cavalier" Van Dyck's work is invested with an
enduring pathos for all Englishmen. One remembers only, in looking upon
this picture of him, Charles's graces, not his faults. One thinks of
him as the man who "nothing common did, nor mean, upon that memorable
scene." And so considered, how eloquent becomes the isolation in which
the painter has here left him. With him, indeed, is Sir Thomas Morton,
his equerry, but the king does not see him. Bareheaded he sits, gazing
into futurity.
School of Giorgione (Venetian: 16th Century). See 269.
Another picture of the golden age (cf. 1123) such as Giorgione,
we are told, loved to paint,—"men and women enjoying the golden
tranquillity; here is seen the haughty lion, there the humble lamb;
in another part we behold the swift flying hart, with many other
terrestrial animals." The picture before us precisely agrees with this
general description, but the particular subject of it is unknown.[234]
A child, it would seem, is being initiated into some order of the
golden age—he is being dedicated, perhaps, to a life of song, for the
stately personage on the throne wears the poet's crown of wild olive,
whilst the young man on the steps below him lightly touches a lute,
and has books by his side. The page bears a rich dish of fruits and
herbs, for the golden age is vegetarian; whilst fawns and a leopard,
with a peacock and other birds, attend the court of the king of song.
When in the Bohn Collection, this picture was ascribed to Giorgione.
For some interesting remarks on its possible authorship and subject,
see the Times, December 22, 1885, where resemblances in this picture
to pictures of Carpaccio and Pordenone, as well as of Giorgione,
are pointed out. Sir Edward Poynter says that the picture "has
considerable affinity with the two pictures attributed to Giorgione
in the Uffizzi Gallery at Florence, but is weaker in execution and
effect, especially in the landscape" (The National Gallery, i. 26).
"True," says Mr. Herbert Cook, "the landscape has been renovated;
true, the Giorgionesque depth and richness is gone, the mellow glow
of the 'Epiphany' (1160) is sadly wanting; but who can deny the charm
of the picturesque scenery, which vividly recalls the landscape
background elsewhere in the master's own work? who can fail to admire
the natural and unstudied grouping of the figures, the artlessness of
the whole, the loving simplicity with which the painter has done his
work? Sincerity and naïveté are too apparent for this to be the work
of any but a quite young artist, and one whose style is so thoroughly
'Giorgionesque' as to be none other than the young Giorgione himself.
In my opinion, this is one of his earliest essays into the region of
romance, painted probably before his twenty-first year" (Giorgione,
p. 92).
Ugolino (Sienese: died 1339).
Ugolino was one of the founders of the Sienese School. So
great was his reputation that he was unanimously chosen by the
Florentines, in preference to their own artists, to paint the
altar-pieces of their two great churches; whilst another picture
that he painted for them was credited with miraculous powers.
These little pictures are portions of the one painted by him for
the high altar of Sta. Croce. "He always adhered," says Vasari
(i. 138), "in great part to the Greek manner, as one who, having
grown old in that method, was induced by a sort of obstinacy to
follow the manner of Cimabue, rather than that of Giotto." The
points which have been already noticed as characteristic of his
contemporary, Duccio (see 566), may be traced equally in Ugolino.
Notice in 1188 that the disciples are not mere conventional types,
but that an attempt is made to give them each an individuality, and
to express their characters on their faces. The same expressions may
be noticed again in 1189. It is interesting, too, to observe how the
first attempts of painting (as of poetry) to express action were epic,
rather than dramatic. The painter tries to tell the whole story at
once; here is Judas giving the traitor's kiss, there is Peter cutting
off the ear of the high priest's servant, and beside them are all the
other characters of the story (cf. under 579). As art advances,
it becomes on the other hand dramatic; the painter seizes on the
essential point and makes his picture out of that. The difference may
be seen by contrasting Ugolino's picture with one of the same subject
at Florence by Giotto, which Ruskin thus describes: "See what choice
Giotto made of his moments. Plenty of choice for him—in pain. The
Flagellation—the Mocking—the Bearing the Cross; all habitually given
by the Margheritones, and their school, as extremes of pain. 'No,'
thinks Giotto. 'There was worse than all that. Many a good man has been
mocked, spitefully entreated, spitted on, slain. But who was ever so
betrayed?' ... He paints the laying hands on him in the garden, but
with only two principal figures—Judas and Peter, of course: Judas and
Peter were always principal in the old Byzantine composition,—Judas
giving the kiss, Peter cutting off the servant's ear. But the two
are here not merely principal, but almost alone in sight, all the
other figures thrown back; and Peter is not at all concerned about
the servant, or his struggle with him. He has got him down, but looks
back suddenly at Judas giving the kiss. 'What!—you are the traitor,
then—you!' 'Yes,' says Giotto; 'and you, also, in an hour more'"
(Mornings in Florence, ii. 41).
Ascribed to Clouet (French: about 1510-1572). See 660.
This picture was presented to the Gallery by Mr. G. F. Watts, R.A., and
it is interesting to note the sage-green background which Mr. Watts has
himself sometimes employed.
Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (Venetian: 1692-1769).
Tiepolo, one of the leaders in the revival of Venetian art (see
under 1100), was the Paul Veronese of the eighteenth century.
"Living," says Sir F. Burton, "in the era of periwig in art as a
dress, he was at a sore disadvantage as compared with his great
prototype of the sixteenth century; but he steered a pretty clear
course between vapid classicality and buckram fashion. Gifted
with a brilliant fancy, and master of all the resources of his
art, Tiepolo formed a style which, whatever its shortcomings, is
splendidly decorative. In his easel pictures, he is at his very
best. Here he was not tempted by vast surfaces into that looseness
of composition and hastiness of execution that often lessen the
value of his frescoes; here, therefore, he could indulge his
feeling for compact architectonic arrangement, display force of
harmonious colour, and exercise a brilliant method of handling
akin to that of Paul Veronese." Tiepolo worked for most of his
life at Venice; but went also to execute commissions at Milan,
Wurzburg (where his paintings in the Archbishop's Palace may
still be seen), and Madrid, in which latter city he died. Of his
frescoes at Venice the finest are those of "Antony and Cleopatra"
in the Palazzo Labia. Copies of these are in the Arundel Society's
Collection.
"Touched in with all the brilliant, flashing, dexterous bravura of
the last of the rear-guard of the Venetians. The pictorial art of
Venice finished with Tiepolo, and it seemed as if he was resolved that
it should not die ignominiously, for in spirit and gaiety he was little
inferior to Veronese himself. He had not the stronger qualities of his
model; Veronese's grasp of character, his air of nobility, his profound
and imaginative harmonies of colour, are wanting in the eighteenth
century painter" (Times, December 22, 1885).
Marcello Venusti (Florentine: 1515-1579).
Venusti, a native of Como, was a pupil of Perino del Vaga, but
best known as assistant to Michelangelo, of whose works he
supplied copies with variations to suit different patrons. In the
oil copy of "The Last Judgment," now at Naples, he introduced in
the left-hand corner a portrait of the master himself. He was also
employed to put into colour designs made by Michelangelo.
There are drawings by Michelangelo in the British Museum for the
figures in this composition. Notice how everything is sacrificed to
violent action and contorted position—the money-changers whom Christ
is driving out of the Temple are composed as it were for a ballet of
limbs. Notice also the "debased" architectural background—the absurdly
distorted pillars with their puerile capitals.
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
A finished study for a salver which was executed in silver for Charles
I.
"The central oval shows a goddess borne along and attended on
the surface of the waves by nymphs and tritons; sea gods and
goddesses, riding on aquatic monsters, disport themselves in
the broad flat border surrounding the central panel. Rubens may
be said to have here surpassed himself in those qualities of
movement and brilliant execution in which he was unrivalled. His
form, often florid in contour, although always supple, has here
a grace and beauty entirely in harmony with the classic theme,
and the personages are inspired with that immortal gaiety which
has so rarely found expression, save in the work of the master's
contemporary, our national poet, since it vanished at the final
decay of Greek art and literature. Of a piece with the delightful
imaginative qualities so prodigally lavished on the present panel
is the truly marvellous execution. The hand has played over the
surface with a lightness and delicacy surprising even to those
familiar with the touch of the master in his first sketches for
important compositions. The method employed is simple and direct;
the figures have been outlined in pen and ink, then a general
glaze has been spread over the entire surface, on which the forms
were modelled in white and gray, the ultimate result being a warm
silvery tone" (Times, December 22, 1885).
This design, which was sold at the Hamilton sale (1882) for £1680, was
bought for the nation three years later at the Beckett Denison sale for
£672.
Unknown (Florentine School; 15th Century).
Probably by some unknown disciple of Botticelli. Formerly ascribed
to Botticelli himself—an ascription which, owing to the absence
of that master's predominating facial type, as well as to the
accuracy of landscape such as he never attempted, has now been
abandoned. But the exquisite workmanship—visible only in a good
light—of the shield and the quiver indicates the hand of one of
the goldsmith painters, whilst the allegorical invention and the
atmosphere of imaginative poetry have "the true Botticellian ring"
(see Times, December 22, 1885; see also Morelli's Borghese
Gallery, p. 87 n.). The picture is one of a series which were
probably painted for furniture-panels. The one giving the sequel
to our story, and representing Chastity on a triumphal car, with
Love sitting bound in front, is in the Turin Gallery.
Chastity clothed only in white innocence is assailed by Love. She
receives his arrows on a shield of polished steel; the points of the
arrows break and burst forth into tiny golden flames—each temptation
only causing the sacred fire of Chastity to burn more brightly. The
scene is laid in a romantic landscape where everything is pure and
beautiful. The field is enamelled with flowers—
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine;
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine.
Beyond, in the bend of a river, two swans float on its tranquil
surface: a tall oak sapling rises straight and firm, and over all rests
a clear blue sky. The picture recalls the scene in Milton's Comus—
My sister is not so defenceless left
As you may imagine; she has a hidden strength,
Which you remember not.
Second Brother. What hidden strength,
Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that?
First Brother. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength
Which, if Heaven gave it, may be term'd her own.
'Tis Chastity, my brother, Chastity;
She that has that, is clad in complete steel.
Unknown (Florentine: 15th Century).
See also (p. xxi)
On the right is St. John; on the left an angel crowned with a chaplet
of roses and bearing the annunciation lily. Notice that the frame
ornamented with modelled stucco forms part of the picture, and is
indeed part of the same panel.
Macrino d'Alba (Lombard: about 1470-1528).
Macrino was born at Alba in Piedmont. "There is no foundation for
the belief that his name was Giangiacomo Fava. His early Lombard
training was considerably modified by a visit to Rome, and a study
of the Florentine masters and Ghirlandajo's influence is to be
seen in his work. His pictures are easily recognisable from the
frequent recurrence of similar types and attitudes" (Catalogue of
the Burlington Fine Arts Club's Exhibition, 1898, p. lxxvii.). The
dates on his works range from 1496 to 1508. They are to be found
in the Certosa of Pavia, at Alba, and in the Turin Gallery. He
belongs to the pre-Leonardo school of Lombardy, and was perhaps a
pupil of Vincenzo Foppa (729).
In the first group (1200) are St. Peter Martyr (for whom see 812),
with the knife and plenty of blood on his head, and a bishop in full
robes. In the second (1201), St. Thomas Aquinas looking with an almost
comic squint at a crucifix, and John the Baptist. On the pages of St.
Thomas's book are the words in Latin, "I have kept the commandments of
my father"; on those of St John the Baptist, "Behold the Lamb of God,
that taketh away the sin of the world."
Bonifazio, the elder (Veronese: about 1490-1540).
Morelli disentangles from the confusions of art-historians and
critics three different painters of this name, whom he calls
respectively Bonifazio Veronese I., Bonifazio Veronese II., and
Bonifazio Veneziano (see German Galleries, pp. 184-194). The
elder Bonifazio Veronese, the painter of this picture, was a
pupil of Palma Vecchio, and one of the most brilliant of the
later Venetian painters. "His bright conception," says Morelli,
"and the light gracefulness of his figures seem to me never to
belie his native home, Verona; yet, as a technician, he is an
out-and-out Venetian. While the chords of his colouring are
neither so delicate and startling as in Giorgione, nor so profound
and powerful as in Palma and Titian, nor so ingenious as in Lotto,
yet they wield a peculiar charm over the eye of the spectator
by their bright, cheerful, and harmonious lustre." Bonifazio's
earlier works have been frequently ascribed to Palma. Such was
the case with the present picture, a work of gorgeous colour and
in admirable preservation. In his later works the influence of
Giorgione makes itself felt. A much-damaged picture by Bonifazio
at Hampton Court, "Diana and Actæon," was long ascribed to
Giorgione. Venice possesses many works of this "God-made painter,"
as Ruskin calls him. None is finer than the "Dives and Lazarus"
in the Accademia, a picture of sumptuous colour and exquisitely
poetical sentiment. In the Brera at Milan is another splendid
work by Bonifazio, long attributed to Giorgione—the "Finding
of Moses," a subject of which he was fond, and into which he
introduced numerous figures in the gorgeous Venetian costumes of
his day.
A composition belonging to a class which Palma Vecchio brought into
favour, and which the Italians call Sante Conversazioni—groups,
in restful attitudes, framed in sunny landscapes, with blue mountain
distances. Bonifazio's landscape backgrounds are very fine, and he was
fond, like Titian, of introducing into them the scenery of the Dolomite
mountains. On the right is St. Catherine holding a fragment of her
wheel, while the youthful St. John the Baptist, standing on another
fragment, stoops to kiss the infant Christ's foot—an action symbolical
of the kingship of the Saviour ("Thou hast put all things under him").
On the left is St. James—with his staff, borne always by him as the
first of the apostles who departed to fulfil the Gospel mission, and
dressed as a pilgrim—Campostella, where his body was reputed to be,
being in the middle ages a favourite place of pilgrimage. Behind St.
James is St. Jerome. Notice the significance of the incident in the
middle distance—a shepherd asleep, while a wolf is devouring a sheep
("But the Good Shepherd giveth his life for the sheep").
Cariani (Bergamese: about 1480-1541).
Of Giovanni Busi, called Cariani, no personal details are known.
He was born near Bergamo, and many works by this fine colourist
are in the galleries of that town. Others may be seen at the
Brera in Milan. Cariani, who seems to have resided at Venice, is
supposed to have been a pupil of his fellow-countryman, Palma
Vecchio. Morelli thus distinguishes Cariani's style from that of
Bonifazio Veronese (see 1202), who was also a pupil of Palma:
"The type of the Madonna in Cariani is rustic, but more energetic
and serious, less worldly than in Bonifazio, whose holy virgins
and female martyrs, with their soft, sweet expression and gentle
grace, often border on the sentimental. These masters also differ
in the harmony of their colours: the Bergamese is pithy and
powerful, but often heavy and dull; the Veronese, clear, lovely,
and brilliant; Bonifazio's landscapes are the lightest among
those of the Venetians, those in Cariani's pictures are brownish,
and the lines far from beautiful" (Italian Masters in German
Galleries, 1883, p. 193).
Notice the rustic type of the Madonna; she is a daughter of the
mountains—the mountains above Bergamo, from which the painter came,
and which figure in the background. The picture is a characteristic
piece of provincial art; the expression of "a simple, sturdy, energetic
mountain-folk who do not always know how to unite refinement and grace
with their inbred strength and vigour" (Morelli, ibid. p. 4). The
picture is "interesting mainly," says Mr. Monkhouse, "for its costumes,
its light-heartedness and florid colour, and as another of those Sante
Conversazioni of which his master, Palma, was the inventor, and
which took the place of the more holy 'Holy Families' of an earlier
art,—pictures in which the Virgin became a simple woman of a wholly
mundane beauty, and the saints but her friends in rich costumes,
enjoying themselves somewhat sadly in the open air" (In the National
Gallery, p. 248).
Salvator Rosa (Neapolitan: 1615-1673). See 84.
A good example of Salvator's scenic effects in landscape. The sense of
power in the painting, the "vigorous imagination, the dexterous and
clever composition" of Salvator are well shown; but "all are rendered
valueless by coarseness of feeling, and habitual non-reference to
nature." (See for further examination of Salvator's deficiencies in
this respect Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. i. ch. vii. § 5,
sec. iii. ch. iii. § 7, sec. vi. ch. i. § 11; vol. ii. pt. iii. sec.
ii. ch. ii. § 19.)
Domenico Morone (Veronese: 1442-1508?)
Domenico Morone was in 1493 called upon by the Veronese
authorities in conjunction with Liberale (1134) to adjudicate upon
an artistic dispute. It seems, therefore, that he was recognised
as a leading painter of the day. This also is Vasari's estimate:
Domenico, he says, was in higher repute than any other painter of
Verona, Liberale alone excepted. Little, however, is known to us
about Domenico. Only two pictures are known to bear his signature;
one of these, a "Madonna and Child," is in the Berlin Gallery. He
was the father of the better known Francesco Morone (285).
Possibly scenes from the fêtes at the marriage of Isabella d'Este
and Francesco Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua.[235] Domenico Morone,
called Pellacane, the dog-skinner, from his father's occupation, may
have been present at the marriage ceremony, which took place in 1490;
but at any rate these little pictures are of historical interest as
contemporary illustrations. The scene in both is a tilt court, with its
seat of honour in the middle. In the first the knights are tilting, the
marquis being on his throne and the seats filled with ladies. In the
second the tilting is over, courtiers and ladies are dancing in the
side compartments; whilst in the centre a knight in full armour, but
bareheaded, awaits his award of victory from Isabella and her husband,
who are standing on the dais. There is much artistic merit in the
sprightly way in which such momentary actions as that of the page going
to spring over the partition in 1212 are rendered (see Times, July
24, 1886).
Gentile Bellini (Venetian: 1427-1507).
Gentile was the elder brother of Giovanni (189), and was named
after Gentile da Fabriano under whom his father had studied. In
1464, after severe training in his father's school, he moved
from Padua to Venice, and was employed by the State. His high
reputation is shown by the fact that, when in 1479 the Sultan
Mahomet II. applied to the Venetians to send him a good painter,
he was deputed by them to go to Constantinople. His visit there
was marked by a well-known incident. He showed the Sultan a
picture of Herodias's daughter with the head of John the Baptist.
The Sultan objected to the bleeding head as untrue to nature, and
to prove his point ordered a slave to be beheaded in Bellini's
presence. The painter fled from the scene of such experiments,
but the influence of his visit is to be seen in the oriental
costumes which he was fond of introducing into his pictures (as
in the studies in the British Museum and the library of Windsor
Castle). The portrait of the great Ottoman conqueror acquired by
the late Sir Henry Layard is an autograph replica of the work
painted by Gentile at Constantinople. On his return to Venice he
was taken into the permanent employment of the State, and executed
many works in the Ducal Palace and elsewhere; some were destroyed
in the fire of 1577, others remain. In 1486 Titian, then a boy
of nine, entered Gentile's studio. Easel pictures by him are
very scarce. His principal works are at Venice, and are the most
valuable record extant of the city as it was in his time. They
are described and highly praised by Ruskin in his Guide to the
Academy at Venice. In the same style is the "St. Mark preaching
at Alexandria," now in the Brera at Milan. This work, left
unfinished when Gentile died, was completed, as his will enjoined,
by Giovanni.
Supposed to be a portrait of Girolamo Malatini, Professor of
Mathematics in Venice (notice his brass compasses), who is said to
have taught Gentile and his brother Giovanni the rules of perspective.
"The portrait fully justifies the fame that Gentile had acquired as a
painter of portraits, and shows him the forerunner of Titian" (Layard's
edition of "Kugler," i. 306). The prominence given in this picture to
the sitter's hands should be noticed. The older tradition strictly
limited portraiture to the representation of the head only, or at most
to the bust. Afterwards the expressiveness of the human hand per se
came to be recognised (see Mr. Herbert Cook's Giorgione, p. 19, and
compare the portraits Nos. 808 and 1440).
Michele da Verona (Veronese: 1470-1523?)
Michele, a pupil of Domenico Morone (1211), was a contemporary
and sometimes an assistant of Cavazzola (735). The works of the
two are easily distinguishable. Michele, says Morelli, "is more
pointed in the foldings of his draperies, as well as in the
fingers of his hands, which are always rather stumpy in Cavazzola.
In conception, however, Cavazzola is far above Michele, and also
more elegant and noble in his drawing" (German Galleries,
p. 54). Many of Michele's works are to be seen at Verona. His
landscape backgrounds, as in the present picture, are interesting.
Coriolanus, a noble Roman, so called from Corioli, a city of the
Volscians he had taken, bore himself haughtily, and was banished.
Nursing his revenge, he threw himself into the arms of the Volscians,
determined henceforth to bear himself "As if a man were author of
himself, And knew no other kin," and advanced at their head upon Rome.
The Romans, in terror, endeavoured in vain to appease him, and at last
sent out his wife, Volumnia, with her child, here kneeling before him,
and his mother, Veturia (Volumnia in Shakespeare's play), to intercede.
In their presence "the strong man gave way; he throws himself on his
knee, and is restored once more to human love"—
Like a dull actor now,
I have forgot my part ... O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss
I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er since. Ye gods! I prate,
And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth.
Shakespeare: Coriolanus, Act v. Sc. 3.
Domenico Veneziano (died 1461). See 766.
For the history of this picture (now withdrawn from exhibition) see
under 766. The restorations of 1851 there referred to were in great
part removed after the acquisition of the picture by the National
Gallery. But "it was found, late in 1904, that its state threatened
its immediate destruction, and it was hoped that the mischief might
be arrested by re-lining. The pigment was, however, found to be
falling from the plaster ground in such a way that re-lining, which
would affect only the adherence of the ground to the canvas backing,
was useless, and very reluctant recourse was had to the process of
transferring the picture itself to canvas. This transfer resulted in
such a loss to the picture that it has been withdrawn from public
exhibition, and, for the present, it is thought better to leave it as a
genuine picture, of interest to connoisseurs, rather than subject it to
the extensive repainting without which it would hardly be intelligible
to the ordinary visitor" (Director's Report, 1905). A small copy of
the picture is exhibited among the Arundel Society's Collection.
Spinello Aretino (Tuscan: about 1333-1410). See 581.
These fragments of a fresco, now transferred to canvas, are of
particular interest from the following mention of it by Vasari. He
relates how Spinello Aretino, after executing important works in
various cities of Italy, returned to his native city, Arezzo, and very
shortly settled down to decorate the church of S. Maria degli Angeli.
The subject chosen was certain stories from the life of St. Michael.
"At the high altar," says Vasari, "he represented Lucifer fixing his
seat in the North, with the fall of the angels, who are changed into
devils as they descend to the earth. In the air appears St. Michael
in combat with the old serpent of seven heads and ten horns, while
beneath and in the centre of the picture is Lucifer, already changed
into a most hideous beast. And so anxious was the artist to make him
frightful and horrible that it is said—such is sometimes the power
of imagination—that the figure he had painted appeared to him in his
sleep, demanding to know where the painter had seen him looking so ugly
as that, and wherefore he permitted his pencils to offer him, the said
Lucifer, so mortifying an affront." Vasari attributes a fatal result to
this vision. "The artist awoke," he says, "in such extremity of terror
that he was unable to cry out, but shook and trembled so violently that
his wife, awakening, hastened to his assistance. But the shock was so
great that he was on the point of expiring suddenly from this accident,
and did not in fact survive it beyond a very short time, during which
he remained in a dispirited condition, with eyes from which all
intelligence had departed" (i. 269). In fact, however, Spinello lived
many years and executed several important works after the date in
question. Some years ago the church of the Angeli was dismantled, and
the greater portion of the frescoes perished. Sir A. H. Layard, who
was passing Arezzo at the time, was fortunately able to secure a large
piece of the principal fresco. The fragment is from the centre of the
composition, and contains a portion of the figure of Michael and six of
the angels following him. The archangel, with raised sword, is striking
at the dragon; his attendants, armed with spears and swords, thrust
down the demons. Besides these figures, Sir A. H. Layard was able to
save a portion of the decorated border of the fresco (1216 A &
B). These he presented to the nation in 1886.
Ercole Roberti de' Grandi (Ferrarese: 1450-1496).
See 1127.
"The lithe and sinewy form in the nude figure of the young man, the
accurate draughtsmanship, the firm modelling, the care and study
bestowed even on the tiny figures in the background, the dramatic
intention and impression of vitality, indicate a familiarity with the
works of Mantegna" (Times, July 24, 1886). The artist exhibits, adds
Sir F. Burton, "no less appreciation of natural grace in the female
figures than of dignity in the principal male personages."
Francesco Ubertini (Florentine: 1494-1557).
Francesco, the son of Ubertino, a goldsmith, called Il Bacchiacca,
studied first under Perugino, and afterwards with Franciabigio
and Andrea del Sarto. He was also at one time in Rome, where
he lived on terms of intimacy with Giulio Romano and Benvenuto
Cellini; he is mentioned in Cellini's Autobiography. He was "more
particularly successful," says Vasari, "in the execution of
small figures, which he executed to perfection and with infinite
patience. Ultimately Bacchiacca was received into the service of
the Duke Cosimo, seeing that he was excellent in the delineation
of all kinds of animals, and was therefore employed to decorate
a study for his Excellency, which he did with great ability,
covering the same with birds of various kinds, together with rare
plants and foliage. At a later period he painted in fresco the
grotto of a fountain which is in the garden of the Pitti Palace,
and also prepared the designs for hangings of a bed to be richly
embroidered all over with stories in small figures, this being
considered the most gorgeous decoration of the kind that has
ever been executed in similar work, seeing that the designs of
Francesco have been worked in embroidery, thickly mingled with
pearls and other costly material, by Antonio, the brother of
Francesco, who is an excellent master in embroidery" (iv. 492).
It would appear from Vasari's account that Francesco's works
consisted of predelle for altar-pieces, and pictorial adornments
for wedding chests, and other pieces of "art furniture."[236]
Morelli, however, in an interesting chapter on Bacchiacca (Roman
Galleries, pp. 103-113), claims for him a much more important
position, ascribing to him among other works the charming and
celebrated "Portrait of a Boy" in the Louvre, commonly attributed
to Raphael.
The present panels decorated the room in the house at Florence, from
which Pontormo's picture of Joseph also comes (see under 1131); they
were doubtless painted for "cassoni," or large chests which were used
by the Italians of the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries
as wardrobes. "In those palmy days art was welcomed everywhere in
Italy, and had a share in all the concerns of men, and in all the
events and festivities of daily life. The nobles took a delight in
enriching their palaces, their country houses, and the chapels in
their churches, with paintings and sculpture, and even required that
their household furniture should, whilst useful, be graceful and
beautiful." Our panels were purchased many years ago from the heirs of
the Borgherini.
Several incidents occur in each of the two pictures, but the main
figures constantly recur, and we recognise them by their dress and
look. (1218). On the left, in this picture, are Joseph's brethren
travelling in search of corn towards the land of Egypt, quaint figures
in fantastic dresses, with little Benjamin, a child in a blue frock,
and Reuben weeping, and another brother trying in vain to console him.
"And the famine was sore in the land.... And the men took ... Benjamin;
and rose up, and went down to Egypt" (Genesis xliii. 1, 15). On the
right in the same picture is Joseph welcoming his brothers in the
portico of the palace, Pharaoh's armed guard outside looking rather
grimly and inhospitably on the intruders. The landscape is green and
picturesque. It is noticeable that blue (the colour of hope) is here
made sacred to Joseph and Benjamin, the children of promise, who are in
every instance dressed alike.
(1219). In the companion panel the further history of Joseph and his
brethren is depicted in three scenes or compartments, divided by
pillars. On the left are the brothers unloading the donkey of the
empty meal-jars, now to be filled through Joseph's kindness. In the
centre is Joseph making himself known to his eleven brethren. He is
gazing tenderly on little Benjamin, who advances towards him in the
foreground. "And Joseph said unto his brethren, I am Joseph: doth my
father yet live?" (Genesis xlv. 3). On the right are seen the brethren
departing homeward, and the mule laden with Benjamin and the filled
meal-bags is being driven off.
L' Ingegno (Umbrian: painted 1484-1511).
This is the only picture, says the Official Catalogue, which
can be authenticated "with something like certainty" as the
work of Andrea di Luigi, of Assisi. His name occurs in receipts
and registers from 1505 to 1511, in the capacity of procurator,
arbitrator, auditor to the magistracy, and finally of papal
cashier at Assisi. It was perhaps this "talent" for affairs that
won him the name of "L' Ingegno." Vasari says he was the most
promising disciple of Perugino, and the resemblance to that artist
in this picture is strong. Compare for instance even so small a
thing as the dress patterns here with those in 288, as also the
close resemblance to the "purist" landscape there described.
Abraham de Pape (Dutch: died 1666).
This painter, a friend and pupil of Gerard Dou, was a well-to-do
citizen of Leyden. He was twice Dean of the Painters' Guild in
that place. This picture (formerly in the Blenheim Collection)
is considered one of the best of his works. The painter's name
is inscribed on the wooden cupboard on the wall above the
spinning-wheel.
Melchior de Hondecoeter (Dutch: 1636-1695). See 202.
Formerly ascribed to Otto Marseus; but the defaced part of the
signature has recently been deciphered as being that of Hondecoeter,
dated 1668.
Marcello Venusti (Florentine: 1515-1579). See 1194.
Also St. Joseph and St. John the Baptist, with the skin of a wild beast
quaintly treated as a head-dress. A picture from a composition by
Michael Angelo, known as "Il Silenzio."
Luis de Morales (Spanish: 1509-1586).
Luis de Morales was born at Badajos, and is one of the most
native of Spanish artists. He did not resort to Italy, such
foreign influence as is discernible in him being rather that of
the Flemings; and the religious sanctity of his work won him the
surname of "the Divine." "His subjects, always devotional, were,"
we are told, "mostly of the saddest, as the Saviour in his hour of
suffering, or dead in his mother's arms, or the weeping Madonna.
His object was to excite devotion through images of pain, and
to this end the forms are attenuated and the faces disfigured
by the marks of past or present anguish." He was very largely
commissioned by churches and convents, and his fame spread over
Spain. He was called to the court of Philip II. in 1563, but was
dismissed as soon as he had painted one picture, and thereafter
he fell into great poverty. He had appeared at court, it is said,
"in the style of a grand seigneur" which seemed to the king and
his courtiers absurd in a mere painter, and was the cause of their
disfavour. Some years later, however, the king, learning of his
poverty, granted him a pension. In his earlier period, Morales
painted crowded compositions with numerous figures; in his later,
smaller pictures, such as the one before us.
Domenico Ghirlandajo (Florentine: 1449-1494).
The name of Ghirlandajo is one of the great landmarks in the
history of Florentine art. He was the first to introduce portraits
into "historical" pictures for their own sake, and his series of
frescoes in S. Maria Novella is particularly interesting for the
numerous portraits of his friends and patrons, dressed in the
costume of the period and introduced into scenes of Florentine
life and architecture. "There is a bishop," says Vasari, "in his
episcopal vestments and with spectacles on his nose"—Ghirlandajo
was the first master who ventured to paint a figure wearing
spectacles—"he is chanting the prayers for the dead; and the
fact that we do not hear him alone demonstrates to us that he is
not alive, but merely painted." These groups of men and women in
Ghirlandajo's sacred compositions stand by in the costume of their
day as spectators of the incidents represented. He introduced
also the architecture of Florence in the richest display and in
complete perspective; and thus in his subjects taken from sacred
story he has left us "an exalted picture of life as it presented
itself to him in that day." "In the technical management of fresco
Ghirlandajo exhibits an unsurpassed finish, and worked in it with
extraordinary facility. He is said to have expressed a wish that
he might be allowed to paint in fresco the whole of the walls
which enclosed the city of Florence." He was carried off by the
plague in his forty-fifth year, but he had already completed a
very large body of work. He was the son of a silk-broker named
Bigordi. He and his brother David, who was also a painter, were
apprenticed to a goldsmith. Their master probably manufactured the
garlands of gold and silver which were so much in favour with the
women of Florence, and the young men coming from his shop thus
acquired the name of del Ghirlandajo. Domenico early showed his
bent by the striking likenesses he drew of the people who passed
by the goldsmith's shop. He remained to the end of his life, says
Ruskin, "a goldsmith with a gift of portraiture." As early as 1475
his reputation was established, for in that year he was called to
Rome to paint in the Sistine Chapel, where his "Calling of Peter
and Andrew" is still well preserved. Among the frescoes executed
after his return to Florence may be mentioned the "St. Jerome"
in the church of the Ognissanti, the history of "St. Francis"
in the Trinita, and the famous series in the choir of S. Maria
Novella. Copies from several of these works may be seen in the
Arundel Society's Collection. They are described by Ruskin in
his Mornings in Florence (see also Praeterita, vol. ii., and
numerous incidental references in Modern Painters). Ghirlandajo
had not, perhaps, Giotto's dramatic instinct for the heart of his
subjects, but his frescoes are remarkable, not only for their
brilliantly decorative effect, but for their noble and dignified
realism. In the Uffizi at Florence are his best easel pictures.
There is also a fine "Visitation" in the Louvre. Ghirlandajo
was celebrated further as a worker in mosaic (e.g. the mosaic
over the north door of the Cathedral at Florence). He was twice
married. The painter Ridolfo (1143) was a son by his first wife.
Amongst his other pupils were Granacci and Michael Angelo.
The girl is of the same type—with the same hair, "yellow as ripe
corn," and the same dainty primness—as the lady in Mr. Willett's
picture (for some years on loan in the National Gallery, and now in
the collection of M. Rodolphe Kann at Paris), but she was perhaps of
humbler station—a simple flower in her hair and a coral necklace being
her only ornaments.
Sir Antonio More (Flemish: 1512-1578). See 1094.
"A man in the prime of life, attributed to Sir Antonio Moro; the
signature is perhaps apocryphal. There is little doubt, however, that
the attribution is correct; the manipulation shows all the prodigious
power of Moro. His capacity for seizing character and the fine tone of
his flesh colour are all here. The execution suggests the brilliant
study of Hubert Goltzius, by Moro, in the Brussels Gallery. That
masterpiece was stated to have been painted in an hour; the present
head bears every indication of almost equally rapid brush work"
(Times, September 19, 1887).
Heinrich Aldegrever (Westphalian: about 1502-1555).
"Aldegrever is a son of the Renaissance, but he has not altogether
escaped the old Franconian stiffness and provincialism.... His
real strength is in engraving.... He worked also as a goldsmith,
and his ornamental designs are numerous. We also know of a small
number of woodcuts by him" (Woltmann, ii. 234). His pictures
are very rare. The flower and ring which figure in the best known
portrait by him at Vienna are again met with here, but this
picture is less stiff and formal than that.
Giovanni Bellini (Venetian: 1426-1516). See 189.
A devotional picture recalling such reminiscences of mediæval mysticism
as are found in many of our hymns—
Come let us stand beneath his Cross:
So may the blood from out his side
Fall gently on us drop by drop.
Jesus our Lord is crucified.
"A cold sky with underlit clouds suggests the still and solemn hour
of early dawn, a fitting time for the advent of this weird and
livid apparition. Gaunt, bloodless, and with attenuated limbs, the
Redeemer, we recognise, has passed through the Valley of 'the Shadow
of Death'—not victoriously; there is no light of triumph in the
lustreless eyes; no palm nor crown awaits this victim of relentless
hate, the type of infinite despair and eternal sacrifice" (Times,
September 19, 1887)—
Sunrise is close: the upper sky is blue
That has been darkness; and the day is new,
Bleaching yon little town: where the white hue,
Spread blank on the horizon, skirts
The night-mass there is strife and wavy rush
Of beams in flush....
The dawn is blue among the hills and white
Above their tops; a gladness creeps in sight
Across the silver-russet slopes, but night
Obscures the mortal ebb and flow
Flushing Thy veins; Thy lips in strife for breath
Are full of death.
("Michael Field" in Sight and Song.)
The looks and gestures of the Saviour seem to demonstrate that
the blood which pours from His riven side is freely given for the
redemption of the world. In the details of the picture, which careless
observers might mistake for mere chance accessories, there is an
allegorical meaning. The paved terrace with the open doorway symbolises
the Paradise regained by the Blood of the Sacrificed, the ideal
Church, the Church of the New Covenant, in contradistinction to the
Hortus Inclusus, the garden enclosed, without a door, which was the
type of the Old Covenant. The antique reliefs are pagan prototypes of
the Christian sacrifice. On the right is Mucius Scaevola, before Lars
Porsena, thrusting his hand into the fire,—the ancient type of heroism
and readiness to suffer; on the opposite side is a pagan sacrifice,
with Pan playing the pipes, signifying the propitiatory sacrifices of
the ancients, and thus foreshadowing the Sacrifice on the Cross. The
landscape background carries out the same ideas. On the right is a
barren hill with leafless trees, and at its base some ancient ruins
and a crumbling fountain. In contrast to this on the opposite side is
a prosperous and well-fortified city, lying amid meadows; a church
tower; the sky above is rosy with the light of early dawn. Figures are
seen turning from the ancient ruins and making their way along the path
which leads to a new and better home, the Christian city (Richter's
Lectures on the National Gallery, p. 37).
This little picture is among the earliest of Bellini's works. The
abnormal length of the figure of Christ and the exaggerated length and
straightness of the forearms are points which should be noticed in
this connection, resembling as they do characteristics of other early
works by the painter, and also the drawings of his father, Jacopo. But
"already, in spite of the archaism of form, he shows a feeling for
atmospheric tonality; the ruin to the right and the two figures near it
are, as painters say, in their place; that is to say, the treatment as
regards relations of tone is such as the linear perspective would lead
us to expect. Still more surprising is the way in which the eye is led
down the valley to free spaces of luminous air" (Roger Fry: Giovanni
Bellini, p. 18). The subject is a rare one in Italian art. Mr. Fry
gives a reproduction of a similar figure in a picture by Crivelli in
the Poldi Pezzoli Collection at Milan; and Dr. Richter, one from a
woodcut in Savonarola's treatise on "Humility," first printed in 1492.
Dosso Dossi (Ferrarese: 1479-1542). See 640.
Called a "court poet" because, one may suppose, of his sleek and
uninspired appearance; but poets do not always look their parts, and
'tis the function of the Muse "to mould the secret gold." But perhaps
the artist had some gently sarcastic intention, for it is but a small
sprig that the Muse has spared to the poet from her garland. The head
of the poet is clearly a portrait. That of the Muse "is as fine in
technique and condition as anything in the whole range of Dossi's work"
(Benson).
Girolamo Mocetto (Venetian: worked 1484-1514).
Mocetto was a native of Verona, but a pupil of Giovanni Bellini
at Venice. He was "one of the earliest," says Lanzi (ii. 167),
"and least polished among Bellini's disciples." And it is
interesting to contrast the accomplished and beautiful work of the
master (1233) with the almost ludicrous imperfections of these two
pictures by the pupil. Notice especially the absurd attitude of
the attendant to the left, in 1239; and in 1240, the expression of
grief in the mother. Mocetto's claim to distinction rests rather
on his rare engravings, executed from the designs of Giovanni
Bellini and Mantegna. He "was also the painter of the great window
in the church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo (Venice), which, although
badly restored, still remains a magnificent work" (Layard, i. 332).
These works probably formed the wings of a triptych. In the former
scene Herod directs the massacre which has already begun; in the
second, the massacre is at its height.
Pedro Campaña (Flemish-Italian: 1503-1580).
The painter of this picture forms an interesting link in the
history of art. "In Spain the influence exercised over the
national school by the northern Gothic masters was weakened at an
early stage by the Italian Renaissance. Strange to say, a Fleming,
who had learned his art in the school of Michael Angelo, was the
chief instrument by which Italy asserted her power. Peter de
Kampencer, to whom the Spaniards gave the name of Pedro Campaña,
was born in Brussels. He left Italy, where he had enjoyed the
protection of Cardinal Grimani, for Seville (1548), where he
founded an academy." Luis de Morales (see 1229) is said to have
been among his disciples. One of his masterpieces, a "Descent
from the Cross," in Santa Cruz, was the picture which Murillo was
never tired of admiring (see the story told under 13). Besides
such large altar-pieces, "he was accustomed," says Lanzi (i. 402,
Bohn's edition), "to paint small pictures, which were eagerly
sought after by the English, and transferred to their country,
where they were highly prized." In 1560 Campaña returned to his
native city, and became official painter to the tapestry works
there.
The subject of this "celebrated picture" (as Lanzi calls it) is "The
Magdalen led by St. Martha to the Temple, to hear the preaching of
Christ." Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus, is identified in
legend with the Magdalen, and her conversion is said to have begun with
the incident here depicted. The kneeling figure of the Magdalen is
conspicuous amongst the women listeners; she is encouraged by Martha,
who points to the preacher (see Mrs. Jameson's Sacred and Legendary
Art, p. 219, ed. 1850, for other representations of this subject).
C. W. Heimbach (German: 1613-1678).
Dated 1662. Notice the characteristic "steeple-crowned" hat.
Nicolas Maes (Dutch: 1632-1693). See 153.
This picture, purchased in 1888 at the sale of the Gatton Park
(Lord Oxenbridge's) Collection, was stated by the auctioneer to be
by Rembrandt, but there is little doubt that it is really by his
disciple, Maes; though, as it is larger than most of the known works
by that master, other critics have ascribed it to another pupil of
Rembrandt, Carl Faber, or Fabricius. "In any case it is unmistakably
of the Rembrandt school, and owes its inspiration to the method of
presentation peculiar to the master. From every technical point of
view it is first-rate. It is infused with the largeness of style, the
just appreciation of character, and the glowing colour, to be found
in Rembrandt's matured works. It is the turn of the girl to play. She
regards her hand in evident perplexity, doubtful which card to throw
down. The man is apparently sure of his game" (Times, June 4, 1888).
Bartholomeus van der Helst (Dutch: 1611-1670). See 140.
The sitter belonged to the Braganza family. So prematurely demure
is this plain little girl that, in spite of the fact that her hair
is "down" and that she wears a round nursery cap, she is dignified
with the title of "A Lady." She is certainly every inch a grown-up
lady in her rich brocade dress, pearl necklace, and costly feathers.
Van der Helst gave special attention, says Sir F. Burton, to "the
discrimination of stuffs, and his skill in reproducing the lustre
and shimmer of jewellery or gold embroidery and the delicacy of the
lace-worker's art has never been equalled." The picture is signed, and
dated 1645.
Frans Hals (Dutch: 1580-1666). See 1021.
It is only at Haarlem that the full power of Hals can be seen; but this
picture shows something of his dash and facility. There is, indeed,
upon it a stamp of power and individuality, alike in conception and
treatment, which makes it one of the most interesting portraits in the
Gallery. It is signed with the painter's monogram, and dated 1633.
Possibly it is a portrait of the painter himself; and certainly it
shows the type of a man to which Hals belonged—Hals, the dashing
volunteer who fought in the military guilds, the good-for-nothing,
daredevil fellow who loved his glass and was none too faithful in his
domestic relations, whose excesses brought him finally to penury,
but whose high spirit and unfailing dash enabled him to remain true,
through it all, to the calling of his art.
Frans Snyders (Flemish: 1579-1657).
Snyders was one of the principal Flemish painters of animals and
still life, and his talents were so much admired by Rubens that
the latter often employed him to paint fruit, game, and other
accessories in his pictures. Rubens in exchange sometimes drew
the figures in pictures by Snyders, whom, as a last proof of
affection, he appointed by will to manage the sale of his works
of art. Snyders received many commissions, too, from the Archduke
Albert and from Philip III. of Spain. His earlier pictures were
confined to representations—such as this one of fruit and
vegetables, or of dead game and fish. In the establishment of his
parents, who were proprietors of a large eating-house, he had
ample opportunity of studying such models. "Snyders is not to be
surpassed," says Sir F. Burton, "in the painting of fruit. With
his fine appreciation of colour, and his large method of handling,
he reproduced with few but masterly touches the characteristic
surface of each luscious product of the garden, with greater truth
to nature than was generally attained by those painters who sought
it by means of minute and laborious imitation." Afterwards Snyders
enlarged his scope, and produced those scenes of the chase for
which he became celebrated. The vigour which Snyders threw into
these productions is extraordinary, but pictures of animals in
savage chase or butchered agony do not appeal to all tastes. "I
know no pictures," says Ruskin, "more shameful to humanity than
the boar and lion hunts of Rubens and Snyders, signs of disgrace
all the deeper because the powers desecrated are so great. The
painter of the village ale-house sign may, not dishonourably,
paint the fox-hunt for the village squire; but the occupation
of magnificent art power in giving semblance of perpetuity to
those bodily pangs which Nature has mercifully ordained to be
transient, and in forcing us, by the fascination of its stormy
skill, to dwell on that from which eyes of merciful men should
instinctively turn away, and eyes of high-minded men scornfully,
is dishonourable alike in the power which it degrades, and the joy
to which it betrays" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi. §
19).
Jan Jans van de Velde (Dutch: born 1622).
This rare painter, perhaps the son of Jan van de Velde, the
engraver, was settled at Amsterdam in 1642. Besides being a
painter he was in business as a broker, and was described in the
marriage register as a silver-wire drawer. This picture is dated
1656.
Herman Steenwyck (Dutch: 17th Century).
This Steenwyck is not to be confused with the painter of
architectural interiors (see 1132). Herman, and a brother, Pieter,
were painters of still-life subjects at Leyden.
Murillo (Spanish: 1618-1682). See 13.
A sketch for the large picture now in the Louvre (No. 540). "Like so
many of the sketches of Murillo, it is so light in touch," says one
of the critics, "so exquisite in colour, as to be, from an artistic
point of view, preferable to the finished picture." This, however, is
not the only advantage which Murillo gains from smallness of scale.
There is a prettiness, and even a sentimentality, permissible on a
small scale which offends the dignity of a large canvas. Thus, the
"affectation" of the attendant angels is far less "absurd" here than in
the large picture. "One of the cherubs shrinks back," adds Mr. Eastlake
in his Louvre catalogue, "frightened at a dog, which seems a strangely
human act of weakness; another holds up a piece of baby-linen, with a
provokingly fantastic air." But herein we have the very characteristics
which make the religious sentiment of Murillo's pictures interesting.
In the early Italian pictures the Virgin is a great lady, living in a
fine house or spacious cloister. But in Spain the symbols of devotion
passed into realities; and a combination of mysticism in conception
with realism in treatment is the distinguishing "note" of the Spanish
religious school. One could not wish for a prettier presentment of this
mingled note than is afforded by this little sketch, with its angels
half in ecstatic adoration over the "Lily of Eden," and half in human
playfulness—a sketch which seems to combine with the frank realities
of a humble nursery the religious sentiment of Keble's Christian
Year:—
Ave Maria! blessed maid!
Lily of Eden's fragrant shade,
Who can express the love
That nurtured thee so pure and sweet,
Making thy heart a shelter meet
For Jesus' Holy Dove!
J. B. S. Chardin (French: 1699-1779).
Jean Baptiste Siméon Chardin was the contemporary of Boucher
(1090), and his pictures may serve to remind us that there was
a bourgeoisie in France as well as a noblesse when Louis
XV. was king. The simple subject of this picture—a loaf of
brown bread, with a bottle of wine, spread out on a piece of
old newspaper—takes us far away from the luxurious trifling of
the Court painters. Chardin followed the path of frank realism,
treating, however, all his subjects with refinement. To Dutch
precision he added Gallic grace. He painted either still life
(as here) or scenes from the domestic life of the people (as in
1664, and in a picture in the Dulwich Gallery). His treatment was
devoid of affectation, and his colouring fresh and agreeable. "He
is the best colourist in the Salon," said Diderot of him in his
lifetime. Chardin, in the exercise of his honest industry, knew
how difficult it was to excel, and said on one occasion to Diderot
and the other critics, "Gently, good sirs, gently! Out of all the
pictures that are here seek the very worst; and know that two
thousand unhappy wretches have bitten their brushes in two with
their teeth, in despair of ever doing even so badly." Chardin's
fellow-workers appreciated his merits, and he was elected a member
of the Academy in 1728, becoming Treasurer of that body in 1755.
There is a large collection of his works in the Louvre. They
fell into disrepute during the succeeding reign of David and the
"classical" school, but they have again won a high position in the
estimation of those who know. This picture (which is signed, and
dated 1754) was presented to the Gallery; for No. 1664, purchased
in 1898, the sum of £721 was paid.
Chardin's pictures show that instinctive "power of reticence" which is
one of the secrets of fine art. "It is what gives value to such humble
efforts as the study of still-life subjects, and raises them—as in
the works of the French painters, Chardin especially, and of some of
the Dutch painters—above the level of mere mechanical imitations,
and transforms them into works capable of giving us real pleasure"
(Poynter's Lectures on Art, p. 195).
These eleven portraits are part of the find by Mr. Flinders Petrie, in
his excavations at Hawara, in the Fayoum (Middle Egypt), and are of
great interest as supplying a fresh link in the historical development
of art as exhibited in the National Gallery. Here is portraiture in
its infancy. But even these portraits, done probably by Græco-Egyptian
artists in the second or third century A.D., are later
developments from an earlier stage. They were affixed to the outside
covering of mummies in a position corresponding to the head of the
corpse:[237] the exact arrangement can be seen in two mummies from the
same "find," now in the British Museum. "They are derived," says Miss
Amelia B. Edwards, "by a clearly traced process of evolution from the
portrait-heads first modelled in stucco upon Egyptian mummy cases, and
then painted. From coloured portraiture in high relief to coloured
portraiture on flexible canvas, where a certain amount of relief was
obtained by the prominence of the bandaged face beneath, was one step;
and from the flexible canvas to the panel upon which the semblance of
relief was given by light and shadow and foreshortening was another
and far more important step. It marked the transition from the Eastern
to the Western school of painting." The portraits are painted with
pigments of rich colour on thin panels of cedar wood, wax being the
medium employed. "The rather lumpy surface or impasto which comes
from the use of a wax medium is very obvious. The melted wax rapidly
hardened when the brush touched the cold surface of the panel, and so
prevented the pigment from being laid in a smooth, even manner. The
wood was not, like stucco, sufficiently absorbent for the subsequent
application of heat to get rid of the lumpy surface by driving the
superfluous wax below the surface" (Middleton's Remains of Ancient
Rome, i. 100). The persons buried with these panel portraits were
mostly of Greek origin; but some—as, for instance, the man (No. 1265,
presented by Mr. Haworth)—seemed rather to be of the Roman type.
The faces exhibit all variations, from living grace to the emptiest
vacuity. It has been suggested that "the better portraits were painted
from the life, whilst in other cases the painter was perhaps only
sent for after death, and this may account for the vague and lifeless
looks of many of the portraits, inanimate in spite of the wide,
open, and vacuous smile." It will be noticed that "the style of the
portraits is usually conventional precisely in those details which
make the difference between one living face and another. The eyes,
which more than any other feature should impart the living expression
in all these cases, are executed in a perfunctory and formal manner.
And they are, moreover, in many cases too large for the face. This
is not merely due to the inability of the artists, for many of these
portraits show a real grasp of character and a distinct technical
skill in the modelling, notably in that, perhaps, most difficult
of tasks, the indication of the play of muscles around the mouth.
Under these circumstances I think no one will deny that the measure
of success achieved in some of the best of these portraits is very
remarkable. The old man in particular (1265) shows a breadth of style
and a quiet humour which reminds us of some of the Dutch masters of
the Teniers school. Of course there are good and bad among them;
the quality probably depended to some extent upon the price which
the relative could afford to pay. One wonders what the price may
have been, especially when we read of the enormous sums which great
pictures fetched in the palmy days of Greek painting. Most of these
people seem to have been well to do, as the gold wreaths of the men
and the jewellery of the women prove" (Cecil Smith, ch. vi. of W. M.
F. Petrie's Hawara, Biahmu, and Arsinoe: 1889). No. 1261 retains the
greater part of a gilt gesso border, stamped or modelled with a wavy
tendril and bud pattern.
Nicolas Maes (Dutch: 1632-1693). See 153.
Signed, and dated 1666. A singularly lifelike portrait of a singularly
unattractive face.
Hendrik Gerritsz Pot (Dutch: about 1600-1656).
The picture is signed HP (on the side of the projecting chimney).
Several pictures—chiefly conversation-pieces and portraits
(including one of Charles I. in the Louvre)—bear these initials.
They are supposed to belong to the above-named artist, of whom it
is recorded that he visited England and made portraits of the king.
An ordinary scene of the kind, but there is a pleasant touch in the
little dog who furtively licks the hand of its half-tipsy master.
Unknown (Early Flemish: 15th Century).
The Virgin Mary sits on the edge of an old-fashioned bedstead. Christ,
with the marks of the wounds in breast and feet, faces her, and behind
him is a great company of saints, kneeling. Highly finished throughout.
Jacopo Chimenti da Empoli (Florentine: 1554-1640).
Chimenti, of Empoli, near Florence, was "an imitator of Andrea del
Sarto, and distinguished for his Madonnas; he was distinguished
also for his love of good eating, and acquired from his
contemporaries the nickname of L' Empilo, instead of L' Empoli,
which is as much as to say stewpan" (Wornum, Epochs of Painting,
p. 356). He was largely employed in the churches of Florence and
the neighbourhood. His best production is his "St. Ives" in the
Uffizi: "in noble conception and truth and glow of colour it
reminds us of the best of the old Florentine masters."
St. Zenobio (died A.D. 417) was a Bishop of Florence, famous
in his time for his eloquence and good works, and a favourite saint
with the Florentines in after ages. The following is the legend painted
in this picture:—"A French lady of noble lineage, who was performing
a pilgrimage to Rome, stopped at Florence on the way, in order to see
the good bishop Zenobio, of whom she had heard so much, and having
received his blessing she proceeded to Rome, leaving in his care her
little son. The day before her return to Florence, the child died. She
was overwhelmed with grief, and took the child and laid him down at
the feet of St. Zenobio, who, by the efficacy of his prayers, restored
the child to life, and gave him back to the arms of his mother" (Mrs.
Jameson, Sacred and Legendary Art, p. 415).
Antonio Vivarini (Venetian: died 1470). See 768.
A companion panel to the one already in the Gallery; see 768. The
design of the pedestal is, it will be seen, the same in both.
Horace Vernet (French: 1789-1863).
Emile John Horace Vernet, soldier and artist, was the grandson of
Claude Joseph Vernet (236). He was decorated in 1814 by Napoleon
for his gallant conduct before the enemy at the Barrière de
Clichy, on which occasion he served in a regiment of hussars. In
the Louvre there is a picture by him representing the defence of
Paris on that occasion. On the fall of the Empire he left France
for a time, but he gradually won the favour of the court. In 1833
he joined the French army at Algiers, and there gathered material
for the huge battle-pieces which he painted for Louis Philippe.
The Crimean War furnished him with another congenial set of
subjects. His work had a great vogue in its day, but owed more to
its patriotic and stirring subject-matter than to abiding artistic
qualities.
Less ideal than the beautiful sketch which David made of Napoleon
as First Consul, or the later conventional pictures painted for
a generation which had not seen the original. There is no dreamy
intensity in the eyes, and no engaging smile. The famous lock in the
centre of the forehead is there, and the face is still handsome,
imposing, and resolute; but there is already something of the heaviness
which presaged his fall.
Murillo (Spanish: 1618-1682). See 13.
"The boy is resting his left arm on a table and holding a square
bottle, like one of those used for schiedam. The head is finely
modelled, with a firm, broad touch; the bright eyes are deep set under
the brow, and they betray eager delight in the draught he is taking.
The flesh tones are unusually pure and bright for Murillo. The picture
seems to be that which, named 'A Spanish Youth Drinking,' was sold in
1836 with Lord Charles Townshend's collection for £414. With the Earl
of Clare's pictures was sold, in 1864, 'A Peasant holding a Bottle and
drinking from a Glass,' which had belonged to Prince Talleyrand and
Lord C. Townshend,' for £1365" (Athenæum).
Dutch School (17th Century).
Of interest alike for its technical skill and for its historical
information. No less than forty-two pictures hang upon the walls
of the "Art Gallery," and the collection is very interesting as
showing the taste of an amateur of the period. In addition to these,
there are globes, gems, maps, engravings, nautical instruments,
pieces of sculpture, and other "objects of vertu"—all painted with
miniature-like delicacy. Especially charming is an elaborately inlaid
cabinet with china and other "curios" upon it. Notice also the fine
Persian carpet. The art treasures are being eagerly scanned by several
groups of connoisseurs, whilst—with a touch, perhaps, of satiric
intent—a monkey is perched on the window-sill, criticising the
critics. It is interesting to note that with only three exceptions all
the paintings depicted in the Art Gallery are in black frames. This
was the common practice with the Low Country painters. Several of the
latest additions to the Dutch pictures in the Gallery are in their
original black frames. The famous Teniers at Vienna of "The Archduke's
Gallery" is an equally apt illustration of the taste of Dutch and
Flemish painters (Athenæum, 2nd January 1892).
Aart van der Neer (Dutch: 1619-1692). See 152.
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
A characteristic little work. In the distance is a ruined castle-keep
in the water, which may be the same building as that depicted in No.
824.
Juan de Valdes Leal (Spanish: 1630-1691).
Valdes Leal, who was born at Cordova, settled afterwards at
Seville, where he became the first President of the Academy in
that city. It is to him that some critics have assigned the "Dead
Orlando" in this room (741). His most famous picture—"one of the
most repulsive, but also most impressive ever painted," says Mr.
W. B. Scott—is "The Two Dead Men," in the Hospital of Charity at
Seville, representing a charnel house with the partially-decayed
corpses of a bishop and a noble. So dreadful is the realism that
Murillo said he never could approach the picture without fancying
he smelt the horror. "Ah, my compeer," replied the flattered
realist, "it is not my fault; you have taken all the sweet fruit
out of the basket and left only the rotten."
In the present picture Valdes Leal has picked sweet fruit too;
indeed it is over sweet. The donatrix of the picture and her son
are shown in either corner, while in the midst the Virgin ascends
to Heaven, surrounded by bands of angels. The picture is thoroughly
characteristic, in its florid type of sentiment, of the Spanish school.
Jan van Bylert (Dutch: 1603-1671).
A painter of Utrecht; entered the Guild of Painters there in 1630,
and repeatedly filled the office of its Dean. Studied at Utrecht
under A. Bloemaert, and afterwards visited Italy and France. His
works are numerous in the galleries of Amsterdam and Utrecht.
They are plain old people, truth to tell, this group of two Dutch
housewives and a Dutch burgher, and they are somewhat too obviously
sitting for their portraits. How prim and neat all the surroundings
are! how pretty is the trailing rose on the balustrade! and with what
quiet, unobtrusive fidelity the whole picture is painted!
Jan Miense Molenaer (Dutch: died 1668).
This painter, the best of three artists of the same name,
"excelled in representing peasant interiors and scenes of rustic
life in a quiet style and in skilfully graduated tints. His
colouring is warm and clear; his drawing spirited, and his touch
full of life. Besides this, he possessed a certain refinement,
and his humour never overstepped the bounds of decency. While his
works retain characteristics peculiar to him, they manifest also
something of the styles of Steen, Brauwer, and Ostade" (Havard:
The Dutch School, p. 159). He was a native of Haarlem, and
afterwards settled in Amsterdam. His earlier works (such as the
present picture) suggest the tutelage of Frans Hals; the later
works show the influence of Rembrandt.
This picture (which is signed on the side of the foot-warmer) is a
capital example of the artist. "The fair faces of the singers are very
spontaneously expressive of their gaiety, and have something of the
animation of Jan Steen without his vulgar types and occasional grimace."
William van de Poorter (Dutch: painted 1630-1645).
This painter was a native of Haarlem, where he belonged to the
Guild of Painters, and was a pupil of Rembrandt. In this picture
the light, coming from the top on our left, falls on the globe and
figure with Rembrandtesque effect.
The subject is perhaps a "Vigil of Arms," and may depict a knight or
king passing the night before his investiture in the seclusion of
a private chapel. On the altar before which he stands are a globe,
two crowns, and several documents. His left hand is turned slightly
forward, as if to call attention to the action, while in his right hand
he holds a sceptre with its point resting on the globe. On the floor in
front of the altar lie his arms and armour; behind, hangs his banner.
On his head is a laurel wreath; and over a bright breastplate he wears
the richly embroidered robe of his order.
Girolamo Giovenone (Lombard: early 16th Century).
Giovenone was a native of Vercelli, in which city several fine
pictures by him are preserved. Other painters who worked, or were
born, at Vercelli are Macrino d' Alba (1200), Lanini (700), and
Gaudenzio Ferrari (1465). By some critics our picture is assigned
to another painter of the same school, Defendente Ferrari (see
Catalogue of the Burlington Fine Arts Club's Exhibition, 1898,
p. lxxix.). Examples of both painters may be seen in the Turin
Gallery.
The Virgin and Child are flanked by the kneeling figures of two men,
perhaps brothers, who were doubtless the donors of the picture. Behind
each of them stands his patron saint, patting the devotee approvingly
on the back. The Virgin's face is charming; so also are two little
angels, who are quaintly perched up aloft, one on either side sitting
on ledges of the canopied throne. The picture is a good example of
symmetry—almost exaggerated, one may think—in composition.
Giuseppe Zais (Venetian: died 1784).
Zais, a Venetian, was a pupil of the Florentine landscape and
decorative painter Zuccarelli (1702-1788) who settled for many
years at Venice. Zuccarelli in 1752 came to this country, where
in 1768 he became an original member of the Royal Academy. The
works of Zais also for a time attracted the attention of English
amateurs, but he died a pauper in the hospital of Treviso.
Amusing examples of the so-called "pastoral landscape," which found
favour in the last century—the landscape painted "in praise of
the country by men who lived in coffee-houses." Zais was nearly
contemporary with Longhi, and shows us the same Venetians in
villeggiatura whom Longhi shows us in town (see 1100 and 1101). In
1286 we see some "picturesque" farm-buildings on one side of a stream,
with a "picturesque" cow-herd asleep; whilst on the other side is a
party of gay ladies—dressed in crinolines and bows, and devoid of
hats, shawls, or wraps—flirting with beaux. The companion picture
(1297) is conceived in the same style; but the ladies are here fishing,
though, to judge from the amateurishness of their proceeding, they are
not likely to catch fish.
Joachim Patinir (Early Flemish: died 1524). See 715.
This picture, acquired in Florence in 1889 together with two by Zais
(1296, 1297), was for some years attributed to the Venetian school.
It is now recognised as a work of Patinir. The heavy blue tone of
that painter's distances here gives way to a lighter colour; but the
fantastic landscape has strong resemblances to No. 716. If by Patinir,
the work is unique in being one of pure landscape, with no scriptural
incident. "The earliest independent landscape that we possess by an old
master, the first admission that inanimate nature pure and simple is
worth making a picture of. In the left corner is the artist sketching,
which is a sort of guarantee that he worked in the open air, and that
he had been struck with the beauty of some such prospect.... He has
been so used to regard landscape as an accessory that he does not dare
to paint it except from a distance, or on any but a minute scale,
and he enlivens it with signs of human industry in the raft and the
limekiln. It is as though a landscape had stepped out of the background
of some old picture, and asserted its independence with fear and
trembling" (Monkhouse: In the National Gallery, p. 202).
Domenico Ghirlandajo (Florentine: 1449-1494). See 1230.
It is interesting to compare this portrait with Botticelli's of
a somewhat similar subject (No. 626). Both were probably "good
likenesses"; but Ghirlandajo's is less forcible and impressive than
Botticelli's.
Unknown (Milanese School: 15th-16th Century).
Apparently by a follower of Leonardo.
Unknown (Florentine: 15th Century).
A portrait of the great patriot-priest of Florence (1452-1498), whose
strange career is familiar to all readers of George Eliot's Romola.
Ultimately he was condemned to death, with his two disciples; and on
the back of the portrait is a representation of their execution. They
were hung on a cross, and burnt.
Simon Marmion (French: 1425-1489).
These two panels are the uppermost portions of an altar-screen
painted for the Abbey Church of St. Bertin at St. Omer. The remaining
portions are now in the King's Palace at the Hague. These shutters,
and a diptych belonging to the Duc d'Aumale, are the only works that
have come down to us of Marmion, a painter of Valenciennes, worthy
(according to the chroniclers of his time) of great admiration. The two
panels before us had been reposing for thirty years in a lumber-room at
the South Kensington Museum.
Unknown (Umbrian School: 16th Century).
So described in the Official Catalogue. By Signor Frizzoni the
picture is considered to be of the Florentine school, and is
ascribed to Francesco Ubertini, for whom see No. 1218 (Archivio
Storico dell' Arte, 1895, p. 104).
The subject is supposed to be that of the Roman youth who sacrificed
himself by leaping into a chasm which (said the oracle) would never
close until Rome threw into it the most precious thing she had. What
did Rome possess more precious than her arms and courage, said Curtius
as he prepared to leap, in full armour, into the gulf. If this be
the subject here represented, the picture shows in an interesting
way the frank anachronism of the early painters, for the local
colour is certainly not that of the Roman Forum, where Curtius took
his self-sacrificing leap. The picture bears strong resemblance to
Raphael's earlier manner, as any visitor will see who compares it with
the "Vision of a Knight" (213). "Michael Field" has put the sentiment
of the picture into verse in Sight and Song:—
He comes from yonder castle on the steep,
No Roman, but a lovely Christian knight,
With azure vest and florid mantle bright,
Blown, golden hair and youthful face flushed deep
For glory in the triumph of the leap.
Though his mild, amber horse rears back at sight
Of the red flames, though poised for thrust his right
Hand grasps a knife, his countenance doth keep
Soft as Saint Michael's with the devil at bay.
So sweet it is to cast one's life away
In the fresh pride and perfume of its breath!
He smiles to think how soon the cleft will close:
And see, a sun-brimmed cloud above him throws
Its white effulgence, as he fares to death.
G. Donck (Dutch: 17th Century).
There are other signed pictures by this little known painter in
private collections in Vienna. They bear the dates 1627 and 1635.
Portraits of Jan van Hensbeeck and his wife, Maria Koeck, with their
infant child between them.
J. B. Martinez del Mazo (Spanish: 1610-1687).
Juan Bautista Martinez del Mazo, the favourite pupil and the
son-in-law of Velazquez, whom he succeeded in 1661 as painter to
the Spanish Court. In portraiture Mazo was an imitator of the
great master; he also painted hunting pieces and landscapes. His
view of Zaragoza, now in the Madrid Gallery, is celebrated.
A very short thick-set figure; possibly a portrait of one of Philip
IV.'s court dwarfs.
Bernardino Licinio (Venetian: painted 1524-1541).
The above are the earliest and latest dates on his pictures. He
was a native of Pordenone, in Friuli; a pupil and relative of the
better known painter who is called after that place. There are two
pictures by Bernardino at Hampton Court—"A Lady playing on the
virginals," of rich though muddy colouring; and "A Family Group"
(dated 1524)—monotonous in composition, but brilliant in colour
(see Mary Logan's Guide, p. 25). He also painted altar-pieces,
among which one in the Frari at Venice is the best.
A young man with feminine features. His black gown, lined with gray
fur, is left open at the chest and discloses a gold chain and pendant.
On the stone plinth whereon he leans is an inscription, "Stephanus
Nani. abavro XVII. MDXXVIII·Lycinivs. P."
Cima da Conegliano (Venetian: 1460-1518). See 300.
This picture was sold as a Carlo Dolci; but the attribution was an
obvious absurdity. There is no resemblance whatever between the
affected sentimentality of Dolci and the sincere pathos of this
picture. Its deep and rich colouring also is very different from
Dolci's. Sir Frederick Burton labelled his trouvaille "Giovanni
Bellini." But its attribution to Cima is now accepted. "This type of
Christ," says Mr. Claude Phillips, "of a perfect, manly beauty, of a
divine meekness tempering majesty, dates back not to Gian Bellino but
to Cima. The preferred type of the elder master is more passionate,
more human. Our own Incredulity of St. Thomas, by Cima, shows in a
much more perfunctory fashion a Christ similarly conceived" (The
Earlier Work of Titian, p. 31 n.). To the same effect a writer in
the Academy (July 26, 1890) says: "The modelling—not precise or
searching enough for Giambellino—resembles that of his gifted pupil,
the parted lips being one of his especial characteristics, as may be
noted in his great 'Incredulity of St Thomas' (816). The treatment
of the heavy wig-like masses of the hair, with its fine lines, is
very similar to that of the Saviour's parted locks in the larger
work, while a certain want of flexibility in the muscles of the face
is also a distinguishing mark of the master. More striking still is
the coincidence that from the head of Christ issue in both instances
single rays, disposed in three distinct and separate fasciculi—an
arrangement not found, as far as we are aware, in the works of Giovanni
Bellini, and never common in Italian art. The peculiarly brilliant
blue of the drapery is paralleled by that of the little 'St. Jerome'
from the Hamilton Palace Collection, and approached by that of the
'Virgin and Child'—both these panels being sufficiently representative
examples of Cima. Comparison has in these remarks been restricted to
works in the National Gallery, as being most readily available for
purposes of verification. The influence of Antonello—from whom Bellini
himself borrowed so much—is, in the new acquisition, undeniable,
and may account for a virility and an intensity of pathos not often
reached even in the better productions of the sympathetic Bellinesque
painter to whom we would attribute it."
Jan Beerestraaten (Dutch: 1622-1687).
This painter was the son of a cooper of Amsterdam. He travelled
much in Holland, staying in all the towns he visited, and
copying their monuments, squares, and thoroughfares, and leaving
everywhere on his route a great number of sketches and pictures.
He painted Italian views also, but these pictures may have been
founded on local sketches by other Dutch artists. "His manner of
painting was vigorous; delicate finish and precision of touch
were less his aim than freedom of handling combined with broad
contrasts of tone, where the colour, of a subdued richness, shows
brilliancy and often loses itself in harmonies of gray" (Official
Catalogue, and Havard's Dutch School, p. 239).
The castle is that of Muiden, between Amsterdam and Naarden. The
fortified village is in the distance. On the left is the Zuyder Zee.
Signed in the foreground, and dated 1658.
Jan Victoors (Dutch: 1620-1672).
Victoors, a native of Amsterdam, was a pupil of Rembrandt, and
attempted biblical subjects in the style of his master; a picture
by him in this kind may be seen in the Dulwich Gallery. But he is
seen at his best in portraits and domestic subjects, such as that
treated in the present picture.
Tintoretto (Venetian: 1518-1594). See 16.
This work, acquired from the Earl of Darnley, is a particularly welcome
addition to the National Gallery; for the two works by Tintoret
previously in the collection,—the "St. George and the Dragon" and
"Christ Washing the Disciples' Feet,"—though fairly representative of
his more sombre mood, give no idea whatever of such radiant forms and
sweeping harmonies as those with which he decorated the Ducal Palace
at Venice. This picture immediately recalls these last-mentioned
works, for it was doubtless designed as the centre-piece for some
painted ceiling. The picture is a very beautiful representation of a
classic myth of the Milky Way. Hermes, it is told, carried the infant
Hercules to Olympus, and put him to the breast of Juno while she lay
asleep; but, as she awoke, she pushed the child from her, and the milk
thus spilled produced the Milky Way. In this picture, however, we see
Jupiter himself descending through the air and bearing the child in
his arms. Juno is rising undraped from her couch, surrounded by little
loves, and attended by peacocks—emblems of her royal state as Queen
of Heaven; while in the deep-blue firmament is the eagle carrying the
thunderbolt of Jupiter. From her bosom issue long lacteal jets that
seem, as it were, to crystallise into stars. Sumptuous draperies float
around the ground, and in most poetical composition Tintoret has thus
"mingled with their gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies."
There is a study for the picture in the Accademia at Venice.
Hans Holbein, the Younger (German: 1497-1543).
Hans Holbein—"the greatest master," says Ruskin, "of the German,
or any northern school"—is closely identified with England, and
at least seventy important works by him are, it is calculated,
in this country. He is called "the younger," to distinguish him
from his father of the same name, who was also a celebrated
painter.[238] The son was born at Augsburg, but migrated early in
life to Basle—then a centre of literary and artistic activity.
There he formed a friendship with Erasmus, a portrait of whom
from his hand is now one of the treasures of the Basle Museum.
Both at Basle and at Lucerne Holbein was engaged in portraiture,
house-decorating, and designs for goldsmiths' work. Ruskin traces
to Holbein's surroundings at Basle the serious temper which
characterises much of his art. "A grave man, knowing what steps
of men keep truest time to the chanting of Death. Having grave
friends also;—the same singing heard far off, it seems to me,
or, perhaps even low in the room, by that family of Sir Thomas
More; or mingling with the hum of bees in the meadows outside
the towered wall of Basle; or making the words of the book more
tuneable, which meditative Erasmus looks upon. Nay, that same
soft death-music is on the lips even of Holbein's Madonna." The
reference here is to the famous "Darmstadt Madonna," which was
painted about 1526. In that year, leaving his wife and child
behind him, Holbein set out for England, with letters from Erasmus
to Sir Thomas More, who received him with honour. From 1528 to
1532 he was again in Basle. In the latter year he returned to
England to find More in disgrace, and no longer able to assist
him. Holbein, however, met with a warm reception from the German
merchants of the Steelyard, and painted portraits of many of them.
To this same period also the present picture belongs. Gradually he
became known at court, and from 1536 onwards he was in the service
of Henry VIII., whose high opinion of Holbein is recorded in the
King's rebuke to one of his courtiers for insulting the painter:
"You have not to do with Holbein, but with me; and I tell you that
of seven peasants I can make seven lords, but not one Holbein."
The portrait of Christina of Denmark, lent by the Duke of Norfolk,
was one of those painted for the King. He paid during these years
several visits to the Continent, but died in this country—being
carried off by the plague—in 1543.
It is as a portrait-painter that Holbein is best known. His work
in this kind is, says Ruskin, "true and thorough; accomplished in
the highest as the most literary sense, with a calm entireness of
unaffected resolution, which sacrifices nothing, forgets nothing,
and fears nothing." Of his fidelity in portraiture and his fine
perfection in accessories, we have a magnificent example in the
picture before us, to which what Ruskin says of Holbein's "George
Gyzen" (at Berlin) equally applies. "In some qualities of force
and grace it is inferior. But it is inexhaustible. Every detail
of it wins, retains, rewards the attention with a continually
increasing sense of wonderfulness. So far as it reaches, it
contains the absolute facts of colour, form, and character
rendered with an inaccessible faithfulness. There is no question
respecting things which it is best worth while to know, or things
which it is unnecessary to state, or which might be overlooked
with advantage. What were visible to Holbein, are visible to us;
we may despise if we will; deny or doubt, we shall not; if we
care to know anything concerning them, great or small, so much
as may by the eye be known is for ever knowable, reliable, and
indisputable." But Holbein, as we have seen, was much more than
a portrait-painter. Few artists, indeed, have excelled him in
"majestic range of capacity." His "Madonna" at Darmstadt, referred
to above (the better known copy of which is at Dresden), is one
of the great religious pictures of the world. (A copy of it is in
the Arundel Society's Collection.) He was also a fresco-painter,
a designer for glass painting, and a draughtsman for woodcuts;
his designs for the "Dance of Death" being the typical expression
in Northern art of the spirit of the Reformation. (For Ruskin's
estimate of Holbein, see further Sir Joshua & Holbein, reprinted
in On the Old Road, vol. i., and Ariadne Florentina, passim.)
This celebrated picture is, says Mr. Sidney Colvin, the most important
among Holbein's works—after the Darmstadt Madonna—that are extant in
good preservation, important alike as to scale, and as to richness
and multiplicity of accessories and costumes. It is also one of those
most characteristic of the master, both in his excellences and in
his faults. "There are more completely satisfying works among his
single-figure portraits, in some of which we find a greater artistic
unity—as, for instance, in the portrait of 'Christina, Duchess of
Milan.' Among the faults in the present work may be noticed the
short proportions of the figures in relation to the heads—an effect
exaggerated in the case of the personage on our left by the fashion
of the broad surcoat with its great puffed sleeves. It must further
be admitted that Holbein, who in decorative and ornamental design was
one of the most inventive, adroit, and powerful composers that ever
lived, has in this instance seemed to let his composition take care of
itself.[239] The figures are placed at either end of the desk, with a
certain naïf stiffness almost recalling the pose of a photographic
group. Moreover, masterly and energetic as are the heads in modelling,
in expression they are somewhat rigid, harsh, and staring. Yet, all
deductions made, with what an effective and potent grasp does the
picture hold us! The colouring is richer and more varied than in
any other painting of the master." The accessories are painted with
"such strong minuteness of reality and diligent, though never paltry,
emphasis of detail, that their due subordination to the whole and to
the personages would seem impossible. But the subordination is there
all the same, and how it comes is Holbein's secret. The total effect is
one of singularly rich, if somewhat rigid grandeur;[240] the persons
dominating as they should; the faces and hands remaining the master
features of the picture. The heads, with their hard gaze, lay hold
on the spectator masterfully, so that he cannot forget them after he
has passed away" (Art Journal, January 1890). The brilliance of the
picture, now that the discoloured varnish which formerly concealed many
of its beauties has been removed, is very remarkable.[241] Every colour
appears to have stood; and after 370 years the picture remains in its
pristine freshness.
The identity of the personages portrayed in the picture had long
been a subject for critical conjecture among the ingenious. The
picture was traditionally known as "The Ambassadors," and the name
of almost every ambassador of the period had at one time or another
been suggested; while other critics, maintaining that the traditional
title rested on no good authority, went further afield and sought
to identify the personages with various poets and men of letters,
to whom the accessories in the picture seemed appropriate.[242] The
matter has now, however, been finally set at rest by the discovery
of a seventeenth-century manuscript, which gives a description of
the picture and records its history during the first 120 years of
its existence.[243] This manuscript, presented by Miss Mary Hervey
(who discovered it), is now hung in another part of the Gallery (in
the small room marked A on our plan). The traditional title of the
picture is confirmed, for the portraits are of Jean de Dinteville (on
the left), French Ambassador in England, and George de Selve (on the
right), Bishop of Lavaur, and subsequently Ambassador at Venice. The
two men, we learn from the MS., were friends; and in 1533, the year
in which the picture was painted, George de Selve came to England,
by permission of the French king, on a visit to Jean de Dinteville:
"and the two, having there met with an excellent painter of Holland,
employed him to make this picture, which has been carefully preserved
in the same place at Polizy up to the year 1653."
The document itself is convincing, and its identification of the
personages agrees with what may be learnt from an examination of the
picture. There are three inscriptions on it. One is on the sheath
of the dagger which hangs from the girdle of the personage on the
spectator's left. This inscription is: "ÆT. SVÆ 29." On
the edges of a clasped book, upon which the second personage leans,
is another inscription: "ÆTATIS SVÆ 25." Thirdly, in the
shadow cast on the floor by the chief personage is the inscription:
"Iohannes Holbein Pingebat, 1533." Jean de Dinteville,
Seigneur of Polizy, Bailly of Troyes, Chevalier de l'Ordre du Roi,—the
order of St. Michael, which he wears in the picture,—was born
September 21, 1504, and was, therefore, in his 29th year, or just
the age required by the picture, at the time of his first Embassy to
England in 1533. He remained in this country from February to November
of that year, returning again as Ambassador in 1536. At a later period
of his life he became paralysed and retired to his estate at Polizy,
where he occupied the enforced leisure of his ill-health in building
and embellishing the château, of which a vaulted undercroft and a few
other striking fragments, including an inscription and some dates, yet
remain as a monument to his tastes. He died in 1555. On the globe,
which stands on the lower shelf of the what-not, the names are all
of continents, countries, or great cities,—Paris, Lyons, Bayonne,
Genoa, Rome, Nuremberg,—with the single exception that, in the east of
France, we find the name of what is little more than a village. This
name is Polizy.
George de Selve, Bishop of Lavaur, was one of six brothers, nearly all
of whom attained distinction as Ambassadors. In 1526, at the early
age of 18, he was appointed to the See of Lavaur, but he was not
consecrated until 1534, when he was 26. It follows from these dates
that in 1533, the year in which he sat to Holbein, he was 25 years old,
or precisely of the age recorded in the picture. His non-episcopal
dress is explained by the fact that he was only consecrated in the
following year, the same in which he was appointed Ambassador at
Venice. In 1536 he was transferred to Rome, where he remained two
years, and in 1540 we find him intrusted with an important mission
to Charles V. Having voluntarily returned to his diocese when at the
zenith of his career, in order to devote himself completely to his
episcopal duties, he died in 1542 (N.S.) at the early age of 34. His
profound learning, his piety, his keen interest in all intellectual
pursuits, make him one of the remarkable figures of his day.
Some further description of the details may assist the spectator in his
examination of the picture. The background is hung with green damask,
which in the upper left-hand corner reveals a silver crucifix. Jean de
Dinteville, the figure on the left, habited in the rich costume of the
period of Henry VIII. and Francis I., wears a heavy gold chain with the
badge (as already explained) of the French Order of St. Michael. In his
right hand he holds a richly-chased gold dagger, "the design of which
is manifestly Holbein's own; and beside it hangs a large green and gold
silk tassel, in itself a miracle of painting." In his black bonnet is
a jewel formed of a silver skull set in gold. The other personage is
more soberly attired. He wears a loose, long-sleeved gown of mulberry
and black brocade, lined with sable, and the four-cornered black cap,
"which was in that age the common headgear of scholars, university
doctors, and ecclesiastics in undress." "The contrast between the
swordsman on one side and the gownsman on the other is characteristic
of the era and profession of the two ambassadors." The upper shelf
of the stand, or what-not, between the two figures is covered with
a Turkish rug, very beautifully painted, and on this are several
mathematical and astronomical instruments, and, close to the principal
personage, a celestial globe. Conspicuous on the lower shelf is a lute,
of which one of the strings was broken and curled up over the unbroken
one. On the lower shelf also are a case of flutes; an open music-book,
containing part of the score and words of the Lutheran hymn, "Komm,
heiliger Geist";[245] a smaller book on arithmetic, kept partly open by
a small square, a pair of compasses, and a terrestrial hand-globe (in
direct line below the other globe). On this globe the famous line drawn
by Pope Alexander VI. in 1493 between the spheres of influence of Spain
and Portugal is marked. Underneath the what-not is the lute-case; and
a fine mosaic adorns the floor. The design of this is (as Miss Hervey
points out) an accurate copy of the well-known mosaic pavement in the
Sanctuary of Westminster Abbey, for the construction of which marbles
and workmen were brought from Italy by Abbot Richard Ware in the reign
of Henry III. "Nothing brings the English sojourn of the great painter
more closely home to us than to fancy him wandering through the aisles
of the venerable Abbey—venerable even then—to sketch the outlines of
the historic pavement trodden by so many generations before and since
that time."
On the floor is a mysterious-looking object, which puzzled the
connoisseurs for centuries. Even the late Mr. Wornum could make
nothing of it; and in his book on Holbein (1867) dismissed it as "a
singular object which looks like the bones of some fish." The puzzle
was first solved by Dr. Woodward in 1873, when the picture was hung in
the "Old Masters" Exhibition. The curious fish-like object is simply
the anamorphosis—the distorted projection—of a human skull. It was
probably drawn from the reflection in a cylindrical mirror; and it
is seen to be an accurate representation when viewed from the proper
point. If the spectator cannot discover this for himself, the attendant
will readily assist him. One must stand at a little distance off and
look in the direction of the length of the object from the right hand
in order to "find the skull." Pictorial puzzles such as the skull were
at the time not uncommon. Allusions to such things are to be found in
old inventories of pictures; and Shakespeare in Richard II. says:
Like pérspectives, which, rightly gazed upon,
Show nothing but confusion: eyed awry
Distinguish form.—Act II. Sc. 2.
Similarly, Canon Ainger has pointed out that in Twelfth Night, when
the Duke first becomes aware that Viola and Sebastian, who had up to
that time from their exact likeness been thought the same person, are
really two, he cries out that here is a puzzle in nature corresponding
to those in art, where an object varies according to the point of view
from which it is regarded:
A natural perspective—that is and is not!
As to the interpretation and significance of the puzzle, authorities
differ. Some see in the skull only a punning signature of the painter's
name (hohl bein, hollow bone, holbein). Others discover in it a
recondite allusion to Cranmer (crâne-mère). Others again, when the
identity of the personages was still in dispute, sought to connect
the skull with the death of one or other of them; most ingenious and
far-fetched theories were elaborated by Sir F. Burton and others with
this object. Probably, however, the distorted skull is only a variant
on the memento mori, which occurs very frequently in portraits of the
time (see, for instance, No. 1036). It may be (as Miss Hervey suggests)
that Dinteville had adopted the death's-head as his personal badge or
devise. He suffered from ill-health, and in a letter to his brother
describes himself as "the most melancholy ambassador that ever was
seen."
There is still a field open to conjecture with regard to the elaborate
accessories described above. Mr. Sidney Colvin thinks, indeed, that
the globes, quadrant, music-book, etc., are probably simply introduced
by the painter to show his skill of hand for the satisfaction of his
patrons, the choice of objects having been made partly in compliment
to them as persons interested in music and the sciences, partly because
they were the properties readiest to hand in the society of such men
as Kratzer, the astronomer, and the German merchant goldsmiths of the
Steelyard, among whom Holbein lived (Times, Dec. 10, 1895). Miss
Hervey sees in the accessories "a record, probably unique in the domain
of art, of the thoughts and studies, the hopes and fears, which swayed
the country and generation of Jean de Dinteville. The objects selected
for illustration precisely represent the pursuits and occupations most
in vogue at the time in France. Geometry and Mechanics, the foundations
of the builder's art, just then attaining classical expression in the
lovely creations of the French Renaissance; Music, especially that of
the lute, which was so fashionable that every Frenchman of exalted
position carried a lutist in his train; the ingeniously contrived and
artistically rendered devise; these, as the literature of the period
abundantly testifies, were among the favourite studies and pastimes
of the Court of France." Dinteville "must have devoted many an hour
to thinking out with the painter the elaborate details." A different
contention has been argued with much ability by Mr. Alfred Marks:—
The scheme of the picture is very unusual. At either end of a
table of two stages stands a figure in a ceremonious attitude.
Between these figures, the two stages of the table, occupying the
middle and most prominent portion of the picture, are loaded with
numerous accessories. The method of their display forbids us to
suppose that, as suggested by Mr. Colvin, they are here merely to
show the painter's skill of hand. Indeed, the whole scheme of the
picture—pose of figures and arrangement of accessories—tells
of some occasion which the picture is designed to commemorate,
or, let us say, perhaps, some occasion of which advantage has
been taken to place the personages in a situation of more than
ordinary interest. What this occasion was the picture, as we shall
find, declares with sufficient plainness. Holbein's symbolism
was simple and direct. Does he desire to convey that his sitter
is a merchant? The figure is represented as holding a bond;
other bonds lie on a table, together with a seal and a pen. Or,
if he is portraying an astronomer, he introduces a quadrant,
dials, compasses, and other instruments of the craft. In the
"Two Ambassadors" the symbolism is, from the nature of the case,
not personal to each of the two figures, but applicable to the
occasion. The lute, instrument of harmony, was already, as has
been shown by Mr. Dickes [see Magazine of Art, December 1891
and June 1892], the accepted symbol of a treaty; the suggestion
is strengthened by the introduction of a case of flutes. The
occasion commemorated is, therefore, a treaty. Nor are we left
in doubt as to the nature of this treaty; the globes celestial
and terrestrial, the compasses, dials, quadrants, merchants'
calculating book, clearly indicate that the treaty was one
relating to commerce or navigation.
Mr. Marks discovers in support of his theory that in 1533 (the date of
the picture) some agreement was arrived at between King Henry VIII.
and the French Ambassador with regard to certain grievances of French
merchants. George de Selve, as we have seen, came over to England with
the French King's permission and assisted Dinteville, it is suggested,
in the arrangement, the conclusion of which is celebrated by Holbein's
picture (Times, Dec. 7, 12, 23, 1895).
With regard to the provenance of the picture, in the year 1653 it
was still, as we have seen, at the château of Polizy. The next known
notices of it occur in a Rouen catalogue of 1787, and in the Galerie
des Peintres (1792) of J. R. P. Lebrun (husband of the artist
Vigée-Lebrun), who had the picture in his possession, and states that
he had sold it, and that it was then in England. It seems probable that
it came into the hands of the dealer Vandergutsch, and that from him it
was purchased by the second Earl of Radnor about 1808 or 1809, in whose
family it became an heirloom. In 1891 it was purchased from the present
earl for the nation.[246]
Velazquez (Spanish: 1599-1660). See 197.
One of the master's most famous works. "In the year 1639," says
Palomino, "he made the picture of Don Adrian Pulido Pareja, a native
of Madrid, Knight of the Order of Santiago, Admiral of the Fleet of
New Spain, who about that time was here transacting various official
matters with His Majesty. This portrait is life size, and is among the
most famous painted by Velazquez, on which account he put his name to
it, which he otherwise seldom did: Didacus Velazquez fecit; Philip IV.
à cubiculo eiusque Pictor, anno 1639." The painter's signature was not
the only thing which served at the time to stamp the picture as one of
special excellence. The King one day was paying his customary visit
to the painter; Philip mistook the picture for the admiral himself,
and rebuked him for tarrying in Madrid when he had been ordered away.
Perceiving his mistake, he addressed Velazquez with the words: 'I
assure you I was deceived.' "This, of course," says Mr. Colvin, "is one
of the common legends which abound in the art history of all countries,
from Greece to Japan; but it is almost possible to believe the tale
when we look at the picture. Something of the rugged flashing power and
fierce eagerness of the sitter seems to have passed into the painter's
hand, and the method of execution he has chosen emphasises and
harmonises with the character of the subject. The rude soldier-sailor
in his handsome suit stands in bodily and spiritual presence before us,
and seems snorting with impatience to be off to the fight once more."
Pulido, the subject of the picture, was a captain who distinguished
himself greatly during the siege of Fontarabia, in the war with France.
"The browned face with gleams of white light belongs," says Professor
Justi, in describing the picture, "to a not uncommon Castilian type,
of which this is an exceptionally stout, sturdy, grim specimen. The
thick black shady eyebrows, very bushy and nearly meeting above the
nose, the perpendicular wrinkle right in the middle of the forehead,
the up-twirled mustachio,—the whole enframed in an abundant mass
of black hair parted on one side and profusely crowning the defiant
head,—bespeak the dauntless soldier as he stood on the ramparts of
Fontarabia, as he will yet stand on the quarter-deck of the Admiral's
ship in the hottest of the fight. There is nothing of the courtier in
the attitude, for he stands bolt upright, like a soldier before his
commanding officer. We see at once that he is not the man to hesitate
about risking his own life or that of others in the deadly jaws of a
breach. Both hands wear the yellow leather gloves, the right holding
the Admiral's staff, the left a very broad-brimmed felt hat. On his
breast is the red, gold-hemmed scarf and the red enamelled decoration
of the Order of Santiago"—which the King had bestowed upon him for his
gallantry in the siege.
With regard to the technique of the picture, Palomino tells us that
Velazquez painted it with brushes of unusual length, in order to work
with greater force and effect standing at a distance. "It appears in
fact (says Professor Justi) to have been very broadly treated, with
more fiery vigour than delicacy. The light yellow-gray ground—dark
above, and without any relation to the limits of wall and floor—has
been specially prepared with reference to the black velvet costume.
Don Adrian stands a little to the left, his glance directed towards
the observer, legs[247] brought close together, feet almost at a right
angle. The colour is applied more freely than usual, the otherwise
rarely employed dazzling white patches on the deep lace collar,
flowered satin sleeves, plumes, bows on the knees, and accoutrements,
helping the illusion."
Moroni (Bergamese: 1525-1578). See 697.
Inferior in charm and interest to some of the other Moronis previously
in the National Gallery, and to many of the master's marvellous
pictures in the Carrara Collection at Bergamo. "Only," says a recent
critic, "in the expressive look in the dreamy eyes, and in the drawing
and painting of the left arm, clothed in chain-armour, do we find
interest." Another, and more favourable, critic (Mr. Sidney Colvin)
says: "Dignity and directness of presentment, richness of quality
and mellowness of tone, with a colour-sense never more powerfully
shown than when the scheme is one of flesh-colour with simple black
and white on gray—these are the universal qualities of Venetian
portrait-painting.... This is a thoroughly characteristic example in
an excellent state. We already possess a portrait by the same hand,
composed of much the same elements (1022): a man in a close-fitting
black suit, showing chain-armour on the sleeves, a broken column, a
wall, and a glimpse of sky. The two will make admirable pendants."
Unknown (Sienese School: 14th or early 15th Century).
This is one of the stock subjects in which the evolution of Italian
art may be most clearly traced. Everybody knows the beautiful and
celebrated "Sposalizio" of Raphael at Milan, which in its turn was
copied, with some characteristic modifications, from Perugino's
picture, now at Caen. Comparing those versions of the subject with an
early one such as this, every one will be struck by the difference in
general effect, but not less remarkable are the resemblances. The type,
so far as the component parts are concerned, remains constant. The
basis of the tale which Italian painters told for century after century
is found in two of the apocryphal gospels. In them we read how the
"Virgin of the Lord" was brought up, like Samuel, within the precincts
of the temple, and how the High Priest summoned the suitors to an
ordeal. Every man of them was to take a rod, and he whose rod should
miraculously put forth leaves and blossom was to be chosen as husband.
The common features of all "Sposalizio" pictures adhere closely to this
legend. Thus the action always takes place within or just outside the
temple. In the centre stands the High Priest with a long gray beard and
(almost always) a high-peaked mitre, the Italian painters' idea of a
Jewish ephod. He joins the hands of the pair in betrothal. The rod of
Joseph blossoms, and above its foliage hovers the Holy Spirit in the
form of a dove. One of the suitors is about to strike Joseph in his
passion; another is engaged in breaking his rod in vexation. Raphael
makes the mien of the suitors much more gentle. He leaves out "the
passionate suitor" altogether, but gives to the "disappointed suitor"
a prominent place as an opportunity for a graceful attitude. In this
picture he is very much in the background (in the extreme left-hand
corner).
Paolo Veronese (Veronese: 1528-1588). See 26.
One of a series: see under 1324-26.
Claude (French: 1600-1682). See 2.
On the right of the composition are an ancient Ionic portico (seen from
the side) and a statue of Apollo, surrounded by trees. On the left is a
wooded slope, beyond which, in the middle distance, is seen the church
of Sta. Trinita de' Monti with other buildings.
Cornelis Janssens (Dutch: 1594-1664).
This painter—Cornelis Janssens van Ceulen—is believed to have
been born in London. He was taken into the service of James I.,
whose portrait he painted several times. In the National Portrait
Gallery are portraits by him of Sir Edward Coke and Lord Coventry.
His reputation waned somewhat after the arrival of Van Dyck,
whose portrait he painted and whose influence may be noticed
in the pictures now before us. In the Dulwich Gallery are two
pictures formerly ascribed to Van Dyck, but now to Janssens. In
1648 "Cornelius Johnson, picture-drawer" was permitted by the
Speaker's warrant to pass beyond seas with such goods and chattels
as belonged to himself. On his return to Holland, he seems to
have worked at Middelburg, at the Hague, and at Amsterdam.
Pictures by him may be seen in all those places. His portraits are
sometimes stiff in conception, but are remarkable for the "lively
tranquillity of the countenances." None of the artists excelled
him in painting the lace collars and cuffs which were the reigning
fashion of the time.
The man is Aglonius Voon; the woman (presumably his wife), Cornelia
Remoens: the names are inscribed above their heads.
Angelo Bronzino (Florentine: 1502-1572). See 649.
A portrait of Piero, son of Cosimo the elder—surnamed "Il Gottoso,"
The Gouty—who died in 1469. Bronzino was employed to paint the
portraits of many members of the Medici family. No. 704 is a
contemporary portrait of one of the later Dukes.
Paolo Veronese (Veronese: 1528-1588). See 26.
The four Veroneses (1325, 1324, 1318, and 1326), acquired from
Cobham Hall, "obviously formed a series, or portions of a series,
of enrichments for a ceiling, and must be looked at accordingly.
They exhibit the decorative power of Veronese at a very high
pitch in respect to colour, composition, and action, while his
characteristically large and bold style of design and draughtsmanship
are most fortunately employed upon them. One may readily conceive
the magnificence of the saloon for which they were executed, and of
which they must have been the chief ornaments. Sumptuous as they are
now, their superb qualities would be enhanced if they could be seen
with all their original accompaniments of gilding, carved frames, and
magnificent furniture" (Athenæum, August 16, 1890).
The subjects of the pictures are moral allegories, and they go in
pairs. Thus we have first "Respect" (1325) and "Scorn" (1324). In the
former picture, a nude female figure—whose beautiful face recalls
that of the "St. Helena" (see No. 1041)—is seen recumbent on a couch,
asleep or lost in dreams. Cupid is leading a warrior, clad in sumptuous
costume, but he turns aside, held back by an older man, in chivalrous
respect. He is contrasted in the companion picture with another male
figure, who lies prostrate while a Cupid tramples in scorn upon him.
On the left two females (contrasting with the two men in the former
pictures) are hurrying away. The elder carries an ermine, the emblem of
purity, and guides the younger and more beautiful woman whom she has
rescued from peril.
In the other two pictures the faithfulness and unfaithfulness of woman
are similarly contrasted. In "Unfaithfulness" (1318) a nude female
figure, seated on a bank with her back turned to the spectator, extends
her arm towards a man who grasps her right hand, while she with her
left is employed in furtively delivering a letter to a more youthful
lover on the other side. He is of the same type as the figure of
Alexander in the Family of Darius (294). Finally, in "Happy Union"
(1326) the painter shows us the reward of faithfulness. Here a Cupid
is introducing a warrior to a queenly figure—whom we may take to
personify Fame or Fortune—seated on a globe at the entrance to some
palace. She is placing a wreath upon the man's brow; he is led by a
beautiful woman who carries a palm which she is about to present to
him. She in her turn is guided by a little Love who has hold of a
golden chain around her waist. A dog is also in attendance. It is a
pretty trait of the Venetian schools, the frequency with which a pet
dog is introduced into scenes of domestic felicity.
The prices paid for these pictures are interesting. They belonged at
one time to Queen Christina of Sweden, and afterwards passed into
the Orleans Collection. At the sale of that collection, the Tintoret
fetched £50, and the four Veroneses £198. Lord Darnley made a handsome
"unearned increment" out of them. For the Tintoret and one of the
Veroneses (1318) the nation paid £2500. For two more of the Veroneses
the same price was paid. The fourth Veronese (1325) was presented by
Lord Darnley.
Jan van Goyen (Dutch: 1596-1656). See 137.
The scene is an arm of the Maes, near Dordrecht; the ice being covered
with skaters, hockey-players, and others. The figures are treated with
considerable humour. In the distance rises the tall ruin, which is
shown in so many of Cuyp's pictures. Van Goyen's signature and the date
1642 are conspicuous on a sleigh in the foreground.
Quiryn Brekelenham (Dutch: 1625-1668).
A native of Zwammerdam near Leyden, in which town he joined the
Guild of St. Luke in 1648. He was a pupil of Gerard Dou, but did
not adopt the high finish of that master; his style may be called
an admixture of that of Dou with that of Rembrandt. He was a
painter of quiet interiors, industrious households, and kitchen
scenes. "Inspired by Rembrandt's teaching, he placed his figures
in a beautiful amber light. They are neither too graceful nor too
striking, but singularly lifelike and truthful. The scenes in
which he delights are always quiet, modest, and sober in movement
and expression. His touch is free, supple, and soft" (Havard:
The Dutch School, p. 182). Some of his best works are in the
Ryks Museum at Amsterdam. Our picture is signed, and dated 1653.
Duccio (Sienese: about 1260-1340). See 566.
"Clinging more closely to Byzantine traditions than any other of the
works of Duccio in the Gallery, is the panel of 'The Transfiguration,'
with the folds of the drapery indicated by gold lines. The elements of
this ancient design, like those of nearly all the Byzantine conceptions
of scenes of sacred history, were never wholly departed from; they
remain still quite recognisable in 'The Transfiguration' of Raphael"
(Monkhouse: In the National Gallery, p. 16).
Bernardino Fungai (Sienese: about 1460-1516).
"In flatness, absence of chiaroscuro, and use of gilding, he
partakes of the Sienese School," resembling, for instance, Matteo
di Giovanni (1155). "But he is rather pleasing in his children
and angels, where he is influenced by Perugino; also in his
landscapes, which, though peculiar in their faint blue distance,
recall Pinturicchio. A characteristic of the master is the
heaviness of his hands at the fingers' ends" (Layard's edition of
"Kugler," i. 205). Fungai may best be studied in the Accademia of
Siena.
The style of this painter is dismissed by Lanzi as "dry," and by
another authority as "dry and stiff." There is a certain stiffness,
undoubtedly—due probably in part to religious symbolism—in the hands
of the Virgin and in the upraised finger of the Child, and in those of
the otherwise human and chubby cherubim. But there is nothing dry or
stiff in the pretty faces of these children, or in the gracious and
beautiful face of the mother. She is clad in a white-and-gold brocade
of very beautiful pattern. "One of the finest of the kind known to us,
it appears," says the Athenæum, "to be of Venetian origin, and is a
pure and perfect diaper, instinct with the choicest Gothic grace and
harmony of line, and betraying but the slightest touch of Orientalism.
This circumstance attests that the brocade did not come from a Sicilian
loom, while other elements prohibit us from ascribing it to an
ultramontane craftsman." The landscape background, which has sadly
darkened, has many quaint figures—on one side Mary, Joseph, and a cow;
on the other, the Three Kings and their attendants.
G. Netscher (Dutch: 1639-1784). See 843.
The first Earl of Berkeley—a man of considerable note in his day, and
the author of a religious work to which some complimentary couplets
by Waller have given a kind of immortality—was born in 1628 and died
in 1698. He was one of the Commissioners nominated in 1660 to proceed
to the Hague to invite Charles to return to the kingdom, and shortly
afterwards he received various important appointments. In 1688, after
the flight of the King, he was one of the lords assembled at the
Guildhall to draw up the celebrated declaration constituting themselves
a provisional government until such time as the Prince of Orange should
arrive.
Tiepolo (Venetian: 1692-1769). See 1192.
Pietro Longhi (Venetian: 1702-1762). See 1100.
A girl, in the hooped dress and three-cornered hat of the 18th century,
is having her hand read by a fortune-teller, while a cloaked cavalier,
standing near in a white domino, watches the result.
Unknown (French School: 15th Century).
The face is most delicately executed; the white head-cloth and gown
are covered by a blue mantle, which is jewelled and embroidered at the
edge. The originally gold background is now brown; the nimbus of the
Virgin is punctured in a beautiful foliated design.
Ascribed to Liberale da Verona (Veronese: 1451-1535).
See 1134.
Painted probably to adorn the front of a cassone or marriage-chest.
"The buildings of the forum in which the pyre stands are copied from
well-known monuments at Verona. In the background on the left are seen
two spectators in the everyday costume of the artist's contemporaries.
The one on the left-hand side seems from his dress to be a German.
Dürer has portrayed himself in an exactly similar way. The identity
of the person thus represented will always remain hypothetical;
nevertheless, the soldier leaning on his lance, on the extreme right,
points directly to Dürer, for the figure is taken from a well-known
engraving by him" (Dr. Richter in the Art Journal, February 1895).
Bazzi (Lombard: 1477-1549). See 1144.
Probably part of a picture of Christ bearing His Cross. The face wears
a gentle, grave, and dignified expression on features of a noble type.
Bernhard Fabritius (Dutch: painted 1650-1672).
Of this painter very little is known. He was a member of the
Painters' Guild at Leyden, and it is clear from his works that he
was a disciple of Rembrandt.
(1338). The subject is treated with Dutch directness. It is a Dutch
interior with Dutch peasants. An opening in the roof discloses a peep
of landscape in the light of early dawn.
(1339). Somewhat more academic in treatment. The infant saint lies in a
wicker cradle, at the foot of which lies St. Elizabeth, who offers an
apple to another child standing by the side of its nurse or mother. To
the right of the picture St. Zacharias writes on a tablet the record of
the birth.
Roeland Roghman (Dutch: 1597-1686).
Roghman is a landscape-painter widely known by his drawings and
etchings. He was a friend of Rembrandt. His pictures usually
represent views in Holland and on the borders of Germany, but he
travelled also in the Tyrol. His works "exhibit a close attention
to nature in the forms, but his colour is dark and disagreeable"
(Bryan).
Cornelius Decker (Dutch: died 1678). See 134.
J. de Wet (Dutch: 17th Century).
This is the only landscape subject known to bear the signature of
J. de Wet; other works so signed are of biblical subjects. A Jan
de Wet, a native of Hamburg, was a pupil of Rembrandt,—a tutelage
not inconsistent with the style of this picture.
Unknown (Dutch School: about 1650).
Formerly attributed to Govert Flinck (1615-1660), who was a pupil of
Rembrandt, and was commissioned to paint many considerable works for
the Town Hall of Amsterdam. Observe the group of officers on the left;
one bears a standard embroidered with the arms of that city.
Salomon Ruysdael (Dutch: 1600-1670).
A good example of one of the founders of the Haarlem School of
Landscape, uncle of the more famous Jacob Ruysdael. Like his
nephew, he was a member of the sect of Mennonites. He appears to
have had some talent for business; he was a prominent officer to
the Haarlem Guild of St. Luke, and there is a story of his having
invented a sort of imitation marble, by the sale of which he was
able to live in easier circumstances than the majority of his
artistic brethren. Salomon's work resembles much that of Van Goyen
(see 137), and it is difficult to distinguish early works by the
two painters. Afterwards they diverged. "Van Goyen prefers the
round forms of the clouds that on a fine summer day overhang the
Maas; his brush always plays with the delicacy of their shadows,
and loves to turn a landscape into what the moderns would call 'a
harmony of gray and silver.' Salomon Ruysdael is by no means so
reticent in the matter of colour. His skies in his later period
are frankly blue" (Quarterly Review, October 1891).
There is in this picture "a peculiarly sharp, clear, and firm touch,
very like that of Stark of Norwich. The warm, deep-toned evening sky is
admirable" (Athenæum). The picture is signed, and dated 1659.
Jan Wouwerman (Dutch: 1629-1666).
Jan was a younger brother and pupil of the more famous Philips
(see 878). Some works by another brother, Pieter, may be seen in
the Dulwich Gallery.
Hendrik van Avercamp (Dutch: 1585-1663).
A characteristically animated work by the Mute of Kampen, as this
painter was called. He was the son of a schoolmaster. He was born
dumb, and documents have been discovered in which his mother
speaks of her "dumb and pitiable son." Having shown an early
talent for drawing, he was placed with a painter at Amsterdam,
and there and at the Hague he practised until 1625. He afterwards
joined his widowed mother at Kampen. In her will of 1633 she made
provision for him "in order that he may not be a burden on his
brothers and sister." He loved especially to depict lively scenes
of winter sport. He defines his figures sharply against the ice
and snow. "The refined modulations of tint and the delicacies of
aerial perspective, aimed at by painters of such scenes in the
middle of the 17th century, are seldom found in Avercamp's works"
(Official Catalogue).
Isaak van Ostade (Dutch: 1621-1649). See 847.
The crisp touch and golden light in this Cuyp-like picture will please
all lovers of Dutch art.
Adrian van de Velde (Dutch: 1635-1672). See 867.
A pleasant twilight effect.
F. de Moucheron (Dutch: 1633-1686). See 842.
The signature of the artist is on the cornice of one of the buildings.
Possibly Lingelbach (see 837), who often worked with Moucheron, painted
the figures.
Martin Ryckhaert (Flemish: 1587-1631).
Martin Ryckhaert was a son of the elder, and brother of the
younger, David Ryckhaert. He studied, and for some years
practised his art, in Italy. He is entered in the register of the
Painters' Guild at Antwerp as "a painter with one arm," and is so
represented in the portrait by Van Dyck in the Dresden Gallery.
Velazquez (Spanish: 1590-1660). See 197.
A picture of the earliest, or Seville period of the painter. Though
professedly a religious subject, it is in reality one of the
bodegones, or tavern-pieces, which had come into favour at Seville
during the end of the sixteenth century—naturalistic studies of
the tavern and the kitchen. "They are certainly to be valued," says
Pacheco, "when painted as Velazquez paints them, for in this branch
he has attained such an eminence that he has left room for no rival.
They deserve high esteem; for with these elements and with portraiture
he discovered the true imitation of Nature." In the background, shown
through a window or square opening in the wall, is seen an inner
chamber with Christ addressing Martha, who stands, and Mary, who kneels
before Him.
Velazquez (Spanish: 1599-1660). See 197.
Note that some of the figures in the foreground closely resemble the
group in "The Boar Hunt" (No. 197).
Venetian School (16th Century).
Formerly ascribed to Savoldo (see 1031). "In its deep and striking
chiaroscuro it reminds one of a greater and later artist, Bassano,
and even of the earlier works of Velazquez. It is a very interesting
picture, full of imagination, especially in its landscape, and
generally in fine condition. For light and effective painting, look at
the pigeons in the basket on the right" (Monkhouse: In the National
Gallery, p. 261). This picture was bequeathed by the late Sir William
Gregory, one of the Trustees of the Gallery, who secured it for the
paltry sum of £12: 10s., and was (as we know from his "Autobiography")
justly proud of his bargain.[248]
Jan Steen (Dutch: 1626-1679). See 856.
Another of Sir William's bequests, and, like the preceding, "a
bargain." "A French dealer," he wrote, "offered me £250 the day after I
had bought it for £2: 3s." An itinerant musician enters the kitchen in
a village inn or country farmhouse, and salutes the buxom lady of the
house with a fantastic gesture of courtesy. A flute sticks out of his
pocket.
Jan van Os (Dutch: 1744-1808). See 1015.
Francesco Mantegna (Paduan: about 1470-1517.)
See 639.
For the subject, see 576. Notice the pool in the foreground on which
are two water-fowl, while a tortoise crawls towards it. This picture is
the same size as 639 and 1106, and the three beautiful little panels
doubtless formed a series—now at last brought together again, having
been long separated in three different collections.
Jan Vermeer of Delft (Dutch: 1632-1675).
This picture formerly belonged to the celebrated French critic
Thoré (who wrote under the name of "W. Bürger"), to whom belongs
the credit of having rescued Vermeer from oblivion. He was famous
in his own day, being one of the chiefs of the Delft Guild
of Artists. But after his death his works were dispersed or
destroyed or ascribed to Pieter de Hooch, and his very existence
was forgotten till "Bürger's" researches rehabilitated him (see
Gazette des Beaux Arts, 1866, pp. 297, 458, 542). He was born
in Delft, and was for a short time a pupil of Carel Fabritius,
a painter who was deeply imbued with the spirit and manner of
Rembrandt. Vermeer obtained good prices for his pictures, but his
circumstances cannot have been flourishing, for his widow had to
apply to the court of insolvency to be placed under a curator.
His works are now rare and costly: for the present picture £2400
was paid. The artist with whom Vermeer has the closest affinity
is De Hooch. At an auction in Amsterdam in the middle of the 17th
century a De Hooch is praised as being "nearly equal to the famous
Van der Meer of Delft," and there is often some confusion between
the works of the two painters. Substitute red for blue, it has
been said, and a Vermeer becomes a De Hooch. Both painters are
remarkable for the quality of light displayed in their interiors,
and Vermeer has never been surpassed in the cool general effect
which he produced. "Though in perfection of execution," says M.
Havard, "the one rivals the other, they differ singularly in their
use of the brush. Whilst Hooch has a vigorous and supple touch,
Vermeer on the other hand, proceeding by short steps, paints
in small patches, and then connects the whole by glazing in a
manner peculiar to himself, which produces a vibrating effect, a
characteristic of this original painter which we cannot forget"
(The Dutch School, p. 186). Beauty of tone and perfect harmony
are conspicuous in all his works, which in some other respects
exhibit marked differences, for "the Sphinx of Delft" (as Bürger
calls him) had several manners. It is supposed that he worked for
a time under Rembrandt. The picture of four life-sized figures
in the Dresden Gallery called "Les Courtisanes," and dated 1656,
suggests the influence of that master. During the last ten or
twelve years of his life he adopted a second manner, of greater
delicacy and subtlety. In all his works there is a singular
completeness and charm. He is a master in rendering momentary
expression, and his pictures attract by the successful delineation
of character, as well as by the skill with which he makes his
figures move in light and air. He has also a complete mastery of
perspective, and in his effects of light upon flat surfaces he is
unsurpassed.
This picture is a good example of the qualities described above.[249]
"The head, however, has unfortunately suffered from over-cleaning,
showing the gray under-painting which gives the picture a colder
aspect than it would otherwise have" (Official Catalogue). The picture
has a very good "pedigree," Bürger, to whom it once belonged, having
traced it back, through the Solly and Danser-Nyman Collections, to an
anonymous sale catalogue of 1714.
W. C. Duyster (Dutch: 1599-1635).
These pictures are by one of the rarest of the Dutch masters—William
Cornells Duyster, a painter of Amsterdam. They were acquired from a
family in whose possession they have been ever since they were brought
over to this country by an officer in the army of William III. The fine
execution and brilliant condition of the pictures make them decidedly
attractive. They are both signed; 1386, on a box in the foreground;
1387, on the border of the beautifully-painted tablecloth.
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
An excellent example of Ruysdael's sea-pieces, in which he was not
surpassed by any painter of the time. The view represented is the shore
at Scheveningen. This picture, for which the sum of £3045 was paid by
the nation, changed hands in 1872 for £68 as one of a pair!
Claude Joseph Vernet (French: 1714-1789). See 236.
The frigate is flying the Dutch tricolor flag. At the foot of the
fortified wall is a party of Turkish or Albanian merchants.
Unknown (Dutch School: 17th Century).
On the wall behind is an engraved portrait of a gentleman, with an
inscription in which the name, Jan van Aach, and the date 1655 occur.
The name is possibly that of the unknown painter.
Gerard Terburg (Dutch: 1617-1681). See 864.
This and the following picture were in the collection of the late
Sir Charles Eastlake. By the provisions of his will, they were to be
offered to the National Gallery at the prices he paid for them, viz.
£25 and £75.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
This sketch is the original study for the etching of the same subject
done in 1636. It is signed with the artist's name underneath the clock
which is above the arched entrance on the right.
Pieter Snyers (Flemish: 1681-1752).
A painter of fruit and flower pieces, landscapes, portraits, and
figure subjects of low life; was Director of the Royal Academy of
Antwerp.
Fowls, cray-fish, artichokes, lobsters, peaches, plums, strawberries,
asparagus, radishes, and peonies—"all represented of natural size
and distributed in picturesque confusion." The artist's signature is
included, as if embroidered on the corner of the tablecloth.
School of Fra Angelico (Florentine: 1387-1455). See 663.
"Through an arched opening behind the Virgin we see a sort of cloister
garth. There are daisies on the sward, and in a pot stands a tall lily.
A similar opening behind the Archangel reveals another part of the
garth, enclosed on all sides by a rose trellis. Beyond the trellis are
visible a hill and a convent resembling that of San Miniato, rows of
cypresses, and more distinct peaks in fuller light. The embroideries,
the angel's plumage, and both the nimbi, are represented in real
gold, while the last are incised in radial lines, so that, like the
wings, their brilliance is distinct, and they shimmer in the light. On
the capitals of two of the columns of the cloister the red annulets
upon a silver shield of the Albizzi family are seen" (Athenæum).
The composition of this not very attractive picture recalls the
Annunciations by Fra Angelico, at Cortona and in the Madrid Gallery
respectively.
Andrea Cordelle Agii (Venetian: School of Bellini).
This picture is a repetition of one by Andrea Previtali in the
sacristy of the Church of San Giobbe at Venice, and the painter
has been supposed to be the same as Previtali. This, however,
is probably not the case. The present picture is signed (on a
cartellino) "1504: Andreas Cordelli Agy dissipulus Jovannis
Bellini pinxit." He similarly describes himself as a pupil of
John Bellini on a picture in the Poldi Pezzoli Gallery at Milan.
Judging from his name, "twists and needles," he or his father was
probably a pedlar (Layard's edition of "Kugler," i. 334).
"The conjecture that Andrea Previtali is identical with Andrea Cordelle
Agii seems to me," says Morelli, "untenable. Both were fellow-scholars
in the workshop of Giovanni Bellini, and it is undeniable that in
some of their works they closely resemble each other; but this may be
explained by the fact that the one probably copied the cartoons or even
the pictures of the other. The few signed works which I have met with
by Cordelle Agii appear to me, however, to be more refined and lifelike
in expression, and his landscapes are warmer and less vividly green in
tone, than those of Previtali" (Roman Galleries, p. 237 n.). As
a picture by Previtali hangs close by (No. 695), the reader is in a
position to consider the justness of the critic's remarks for himself.
Borgognone (Lombard: about 1455-1523). See 298.
The nimbus which surrounds the Virgin's head is inscribed in gold with
the words AVE. MARIA. GRATIA. PLENA. DOM. The background is
interesting. On the right is no doubt a faithful view of part of the
old façade of the Certosa of Pavia before it was completed. On the
left are other buildings which appear to be part of a convent, with
Carthusian friars walking in front. This picture is earlier in date
than Borgognone's "Two St. Catherines" (298); it is "more rigid in
style and a capital example of the painter's less ambitious work"
(Catalogue of the Burlington Fine Arts Club's Exhibition, 1898, p.
xxxvii.).
Ercole Roberti de' Grandi (Ferrarese: 1450-1496). See 1127.
On the left the Adoration of the Shepherds. There is much natural charm
in the figure of the Virgin bending over the manger. On the right the
dead figure of Christ, with St. Jerome and St. Francis in the middle
distance receiving the stigmata. Very delicately finished.
Filippino Lippi (Florentine: 1457-1504). See 293.
See also (p. xxi)
Formerly ascribed to Botticelli.[250] Notice the beautifully painted
white eglantine and jasmine blossoms in the vase on the balcony. The
youthful St. John is an attractive figure, very characteristic of this
group of painters.
Gerard Dou (Dutch; 1613-1675). See 192.
"An old inscription on the back of the panel states that this picture
is a portrait of Anna Maria van Schurmann; but it will be observed
that the portrait by Jan Lievens (1095), supposed to represent the
same lady, differs in the colour of the hair, and has other points of
variation, which preclude the possibility of both having been painted
from the same person" (Official Catalogue).
Filippo Mazzola (Parmese: died 1505).
The Mazzola family affords one of the many instances in the
history of painting of artistic heredity. Filippo's two brothers
were also painters, and his son was the more famous Parmigiano
(see under 33). The Mazzoli were much employed in Parma, but their
work seldom rose above mediocrity. By Filippo—called delle
erbette from the plants which he was fond of introducing into
his pictures—there are religious-subject pictures to be seen
at Parma. But he is best known for his portraits, in which the
influence of Antonello da Messina is to be traced (see Morelli's
German Galleries, p. 418). An excellent one in the Brera bears
his signature.
This picture is in its original frame, of early cinque-cento pattern,
richly carved, gilt, and painted. A somewhat similar frame has recently
been given to the "Vision of St. Eustace" (1436).
Andrea Mantegna (Paduan: 1431-1506). See 274.
A celebrated picture (painted in 1459 for Giacomo Marcello,
Podestà of Padua), and a specially interesting acquisition to our
Gallery—first, as belonging to an earlier period of the master than
his other important works here; and secondly, for its strong family
likeness to the picture of the same subject by his brother-in-law,
Giovanni Bellini, which, hangs in an adjoining room (No. 726). At
the time when these pictures were painted Giovanni and Andrea were
working at Padua under the influence of Giovanni's father, Jacopo
Bellini (Vasari has some family gossip on this subject, ii. 265);
and the original suggestion for the treatment of the subject in both
pictures appears in Jacopo's sketch-book, now in the British Museum.
A prominent object in the distance (an Italian version of Jerusalem)
is a little gilt equestrian statue, which was evidently suggested by
Donatello's equestrian statue of Gattamelata, still to be seen at
Padua. The foreshortening of the apostles suggests the work of Uccello
(see 583), who is known to have painted in that city. The picture
has been described as "a marvellous combination of the fantastic and
the realistic"; note for curious details the rabbits and storks, and
the cormorant on the withered tree. This picture is more quaint than
Bellini's; but Bellini's is the more original. "Mantegna's," says
Mr. Monkhouse, "exhibits only a strong personal treatment of old
conventions: Bellini's proclaims the dawn of a new world of art. What
was old in the pictures—the Christ kneeling on a little hill, with
the sleepy apostles in foreshortened attitudes in the foreground,
the angelic vision on a cloud, and the suggestion of a neighbouring
city—are common to both pictures. What was new—the fresh observation
of nature for its own sake—is found only in Bellini's. We see this
in the smouldering clouds of sunset, the light thrown on the distant
buildings, the half-shade on the cliffs, the bringing-out of the
figures into something like the real open, sun-illumined air, the
attempt at solution of the problem of the tone of a face and figure
relieved right against the sky" (In the National Gallery, 1895, p.
192).
The letter D: enclosed within it is painted "The Agony in the Garden,"
copied from the preceding picture by Mantegna. The picture and this
letter were both in the collection of Lord Northbrook.
Antonello da Messina (Venetian: 1444-1493).
A celebrated little picture, with a long critical history, for as early
as 1529 the writer known as the "anonimo of Morelli" mentions it as
being variously attributed to Van Eyck, to Memlinc, and to Antonello,
while he himself ascribed it tentatively to "Jacometto" (Jacopo de'
Barbari). The influence of the Flemish School is obvious, says Sir
Edward Poynter, "in the Gothic character of the architecture, the
general arrangement of the picture, and the finish of the details. But
the head of the saint has an energy of character highly characteristic
of Antonello, and the buildings in the glimpse of landscape seen
through the window on the left are distinctly Italian in character"
(The National Gallery, i. 14). It is interesting to compare this
picture with the version of the same subject commonly ascribed to
Bellini (694). Observe, here, "the lion walking along the cloister,
holding up a suffering paw, and the puss curled up on a platform at
the saint's feet. Evidently this St. Jerome was a lover of animals,
and, like Canon Liddon, more especially of cats" ("The Beasts of the
National Gallery," by Sophia Beale, in Good Words, July 1895).
Unknown (Flemish School: 15th Century).
See also (p. xxi)
"St. Giles, patron saint of Edinburgh, and of woods, cripples,
lepers, and beggars, was an Athenian prince, revered for his
miraculous gifts. Having healed a sick man whom he found in a
church by laying his cloak over him, and fearing danger to his
soul from the fame which this event obtained him, he withdrew to
a solitary cave, where he lived as a hermit, nourished only by
wild herbs and the milk of a doe which had followed him. One day
the King of France, hunting near this retreat, shot the doe, and,
pursuing it, came upon the aged hermit holding in his arms the
doe, which was pierced by the arrow through his hand. The King,
seeing he was a man of God, begged forgiveness, and wished to
persuade St. Giles to return with him; but he refused to quit his
solitude, and remained in the cave till his death" (Saints and
their Symbols, by E. A. G., 1881, p. 95).
Here we see the saint, clad in hermit's robes, protecting the doe,
which has fled from the hunting party towards him; his right hand is
transfixed by an arrow, intended for the animal. The King kneels to
implore forgiveness. He is attended by a companion, who is supposed
to represent the painter of the picture. Notice the irises in the
foreground, and to the right a plant of mullein, finished with great
delicacy. "Remarkable as an example of extraordinary finish and
enamel-like splendour of colour. Remarkable also for the flood of
even, gay daylight diffused over it, such as makes us think of the
more moderate among recent plein air transcripts from nature. But
the painter shows more of that intense humanity, of that command over
delicate shades of character and facial expression which are the
highest characteristic of the great Netherlandish masters of his time"
(Claude Phillips, in National Review, Dec. 1894).
Gerrit Berck-Heyde (Dutch: 1638-1698).
Gerrit, and his elder brother, Job, were the sons of a butcher
at Haarlem. Gerrit was very skilful in lineal perspective,
and reproduced with remarkable fidelity the most complicated
architectural views. The brothers worked together a great deal,
and Job often painted the figures in Gerrit's pictures. "The
pictures of both brothers are remarkable for a broad style of
painting, for brilliant sunlight, and careful, but not over
elaborate, drawing of details, and the figures are invariably well
grouped" (Official Catalogue).
A view of the painter's favourite subject, the market-place of Haarlem.
The picture is signed, and dated 1674.
Jan Steen (Dutch: 1626-1679). See 856.
Eustache Le Sueur (French: 1616-1655)
Le Sueur, sometimes styled "the French Raphael," was the son of a
wood-carver at Paris, and became one of the original members of
the French Academy. His works, in spite of the early age at which
he died, are very numerous. He was assisted in the production of
them by three brothers and his brothers-in-law. Several of his
most important pictures are to be seen at the Louvre.
This little picture is a good example of the painter's
characteristics—with its somewhat crude colour, but considerable
gracefulness, especially in the figure of the Virgin.
Jan A. Ravesteijn (Dutch: 1572-1657).
This artist was born at the Hague, where his most important works
are to be found. He was admitted into the Painters' Guild there
in 1598. He was a pupil of Frans Hals, and was much employed in
painting the large groups of portraits—of archers, magistrates,
etc.—which were in vogue at the time. Ravesteijn's groups are
somewhat more formal than those of Rembrandt, Hals, and Van der
Helst, but are full of life and character. He knew how to give
dignity to his sitters, and his pictures are inferior only to
those of the great masters just mentioned.
Adam Elsheimer (German: 1578-1620). See 1014.
A favourite subject with this painter. It was etched in 1613 by Count
Gondt, who was the painter's chief benefactor; he purchased some
of Elsheimer's choicest pictures, and engraved seven of them. The
copper-plate of this subject fell into the hands of Rembrandt, and was
partly erased and altered by him into another subject.
Le Nain (French: 1588-1648).
There were three brothers of this name, the sons of a sergeant
at Laon, who all worked together as painters in Paris, and
became members of the Academy in 1648, in which year two of them
died. Mathieu painted historical subjects; he lived till 1677.
The very interesting and pleasing pictures, such as the present
one, most generally known as the works of Le Nain, were probably
painted by the other brothers—Louis and Antoine—conjointly.
Antoine was born in 1588; Louis in 1593. Their works consist of
familiar objects and incidents, such as the "Peasants" and the
"Blacksmith's Forge" in the Louvre; they have a direct air of
truth and realism, which is very remarkable in contrast to the
artificial taste by which other French painters of the same period
were inspired. Another work by the brothers may be seen at Dulwich.
Hans Baldung (German-Swabian: 1476-1545). See 245.
Signed and dated "Hans Baldung, 1512." The Virgin's attitude is
expressive of intense sorrow. "Her mouth is drawn convulsively down in
the manner usual in the pictures of Burgkmair and the school and epoch
to which he and Baldung belonged. On our right is St. John. Behind the
group is Joseph of Arimathea. Behind, God the Father appears, robed
in blue under a red mantle, and holding across His knees the drooping
corpse of the Redeemer. Clouds form the background, and among them the
Holy Ghost is hovering. The heads of all the figures bear plain nimbi
of metallic gold. The draperies, except the loin-cloth of Christ, are
somewhat tortured in the manner of the German painters of the fifteenth
century. On the front of the balcony in which they are placed are
depicted the donor and his family; in one corner is their escutcheon,
bearing three money bags and a broad bar" (Athenæum, Jan. 11, 1895).
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768). See 127.
The interior of the Rotunda in Ranelagh Gardens (at Chelsea), which
were opened as a rival to Vauxhall in 1742, and at once became the
rage. "Ranelagh has totally beat Vauxhall," wrote Walpole in 1744;
"nobody goes anywhere else." "When I first entered Ranelagh," said Dr.
Johnson, "it gave me an expansion and gay sensation in my mind such as
I never experienced anywhere else." Smollett describes it in his novels
as an "enchanted palace." "Ranelagh," said Rogers ("Table-Talk"), "was
a very pleasant place of amusement. There persons of inferior rank
mingled with the highest nobility of Britain. All was so orderly and
still that you could hear the whisking sound of the ladies' trains as
the immense assembly walked round and round the room. If you chose, you
might have tea, which was served up in the neatest equipage possible."
The dining boxes under the arcade on the ground level are shown in the
picture, as well as the orchestra, the musicians, and the numerous
gaily-dressed promenaders. On the back of the original canvas was an
inscription by the artist, recording that the picture was painted in
London in 1754.
Domenico Beccafumi (Sienese: 1486-1551).
Of this painter there is a very interesting account in Vasari. His
surname was adopted from his patron, on whose estate Domenico's
father was a labourer. Like Giotto, Domenico was observed one day
drawing on the ground, while minding his father's sheep, and his
master sent him to school and made an artist of him. His style
was first formed on that of Perugino, whose pictures in Siena he
copied. In 1510 he went to Rome to study the works of Michael
Angelo and Raphael; but returning to Siena in 1512, he became a
close imitator of Bazzi (1144), who had recently settled in the
city. Unlike Bazzi, Domenico was (adds Vasari) "most orderly
and well conducted, lived as it beseemed a Christian to do, and
passed the greater part of his time alone." "It will nevertheless
sometimes happen," adds Vasari, "that such as are called good
fellows and merry companions are more sought after than are the
virtuous and upright." In the matter of artistic commissions,
however, Beccafumi was well employed, in painting both
altar-pieces for churches and frescoes of classical subjects for
the houses of wealthy citizens. Some of the latter still remain
in situ, while the Accademia contains Beccafumi's best works in
the other sort. It was he who executed the mosaics of light and
dark marbles which form the pavement of the choir of the Duomo.
He also practised sculpture and did eight angels in bronze for
the Duomo. He hastened his death, says Vasari, "by labouring day
and night at his castings of metal which he would also finish and
polish himself, working entirely alone, and refusing to accept any
assistance whatever." He occupied his leisure time in cultivating
a small property outside the city gates. He could not work, he
told Vasari, removed from the air of Siena.
A picture corresponding in general character to several described by
Vasari. It is probably intended as a fantastic treatment of the visit
of the Queen of Sheba to King Solomon, or of Esther before Ahasuerus.
Ascribed to Perugino (Umbrian: 1446-1523). See 288.
Around this little picture of the Umbrian School, bought by Sir Edward
Poynter at Rome in 1894, a fierce battle of the critics has raged. Sir
Edward's own description may first be cited:—"A perfectly genuine
work by a scholar of Perugino, probably done in his studio, and, in my
opinion, possibly by the young Raphael. The most characteristic point,
besides the beautiful painting of the figure of the Saviour, is the
drawing of the hands, which is precisely Raphael's. On the other hand,
the heads are not specially Raphaelesque, nor is the colour as pure
and transparent as is usual even in his early work; at the same time,
such characteristics as do not agree with what we know of his work
might possibly be due to its being a youthful performance. The painting
of the trees is quite peculiar, and different from the treatment to
be found in the works of Perugino, or, indeed, of any work of the
school that I had seen. Some two or three years afterwards I saw the
predella painting of 'St. John Preaching' by Raphael, belonging to the
Marquis of Lansdowne, and was very interested to find in it the same
treatment of the leaves of the trees—that is to say, that, instead
of the minute and delicate sprays of foliage, so characteristic of
Perugino's own work and of, so far as I know, most of his followers,
the trees have only a few sprays of large and freely painted leaves."
According to many of Sir Edward's critics, the picture is a "detestable
little production"; while one of them ascribes it, as a work of the
nineteenth century, to Micheli, "a maker of old masters." (See a
copious correspondence in the Athenæum and the Times, during March
and April, 1907).
Gerard David (Early Flemish: 1460-1523). See 1045.
This picture (formerly ascribed to Hugo van der Goes) was, like No.
1045, painted for the Collegiate Church of St. Donatian at Bruges.
Until the end of the last century it adorned the altar of St.
Catherine in that church. The details of the picture are carried out
with marvellous care and finish, and the whole displays the utmost
perfection of execution. The expression of the figures, is, however,
hardly so animated or idealised as in No. 1045. But "the Canon's
intelligent head is admirably modelled and painted, and the figure
of St. Catherine is executed with rare perfection. The jewellery,
stuff, and draperies are all rendered with David's usual skill; while
the background, with its rich vegetation, vigorously coloured trees,
and picturesque buildings, is hardly surpassed by that of any of his
other pictures." The scene of the mystical marriage (for the subject,
see under 249) is laid in the emblematic walled garden ("a garden
inclosed is my sister, my spouse"), surrounded by a vineyard (in
which is an angel gathering grapes). On the right of the picture are
seated St. Barbara, holding an open book, and St. Mary Magdalene with
the vase of precious ointment in her lap. In front of St. Catherine
kneels the donor of the picture, Richard de Visch van der Capelle,
Canon and Cantor of the Church; he is accompanied by his greyhound, on
whose collar is a shield bearing the Canon's arms. Before him, on the
floor, lie a breviary of blue velvet and his precentor's staff. The
workmanship of this staff is a good instance of the painter's minute
precision. The staff is surmounted by a group representing the Holy
Trinity adored by a monk and a cardinal. It was painted from a staff
presented to the church in 1338, and the picture precisely corresponds
to a description of the staff, to be found in an old inventory of the
church property (see authorities cited in the Official Catalogue from
Mr. Weale's description in the Academy, xiv. p. 391).
The picture was exhibited at Paris in 1881 under the name of Hugo van
der Goes, and was sold for 54,100 francs. It ultimately passed into the
possession of Mr. Lyne Stephens, by whom in 1895 it was bequeathed to
the National Gallery.
Unknown (Flemish School: 15th Century).
Notice the transparent starched muslin head-dress which, coming down as
low as the eyebrows and covering the ears, yet allows the forehead and
ears, and a high cap of gold and white brocade, to be seen through its
thin texture.
Velazquez (Spanish: 1599-1660). See 197.
See also (p. xxi)
An unfinished picture once in the possession of Sir Edwin Landseer,
and presented to the Gallery by Lord Savile, who has given a very
interesting surmise of the subject: "It is evidently the representation
of a betrothal in a private family, probably that of Velazquez himself.
If this surmise be correct, the principal male figure would be
Velazquez as a Knight of the Order of Santiago, the red cross of which,
though half concealed, is seen on his cloak; the mother presenting
her child would be his daughter, the wife of the artist Del Mazo, his
pupil and son-in-law, and the girl, their daughter, the grandchild of
Velazquez. The foreground is occupied on the right by a half-length
figure of the poet Quevedo, with a huge pair of horn spectacles, as he
is represented in his portrait by Velazquez at Apsley House, though
here he is a much older man. He was a great friend of Velazquez, and
in this picture may represent the witness to the betrothal of the
artist's grandchild. On the right is a negro, probably Juan Pareja,
the favourite slave of Velazquez, who is conveying a basket of fruit
to his young mistress. Velazquez himself is waiting, pen in hand, for
the 'promesso sposo,' who, though not shown in the picture, may be
entering the room by the portière which an attendant is raising; but
he is seen by the little bride elect, who waves a salute to him with
the flower in her hand. [Contrast, as a pretty little incident, the dog
who is running towards the door and barking at the stranger.] It is
not surprising that a painting of this unusual character should give
rise to doubt as to the correctness of its attribution, and it has been
suggested that it is the work of Del Mazo, the pupil of Velazquez; but
if that artist had been commissioned to paint the portrait of a knight
of Santiago, his sitter would scarcely have been satisfied with the
scanty indication of that celebrated order shown in this picture. If,
however, as I believe, the knight of Santiago represents Velazquez
himself, the half-hidden cross of that order assumes an aspect that
may have an important bearing on the questions of the authorship
of the picture, the date of the work, and the cause of its being
unfinished. Stirling-Maxwell, in his admirable and exhaustive Annals
of the Artists of Spain, relates that Philip IV. in 1658 conferred on
Velazquez the habit of the Order of Santiago; but it was not for many
months later that the artist was invested with its insignia, owing
to the formalities required by the Order to prove his pedigree. The
King, impatient at this delay, sent for the President of the Order
and the documents connected with the case, and having looked at them
his Majesty said to the President, 'Place on record that the evidence
satisfies me.' The half-concealed red cross of Santiago in the picture
was sufficient for Velazquez to show that he was entitled to the Order,
but, with the modesty and conscientiousness that distinguished him, he
did not design the insignia on his breast, where it is worn, apparently
not feeling justified in so doing until after his investiture. This,
however, did not occur till November 1659. It is evident, therefore,
that the picture must have been painted in 1658, after he had received
the habit, but not the insignia, of the Order. That the picture was
left unfinished was doubtless due to the onerous duties with which
Velazquez was charged by the King in preparing the meeting on the
Bidassoa, in 1660, of the French and Spanish Courts, to celebrate the
nuptials of Louis XIV. and the Infanta Maria Teresa. These duties
doubled the official fatigues and shortened the life of Velazquez, who
died shortly after his return to Madrid in August of the same year.
There is, therefore, good reason to believe that the picture in the
National Gallery is the last ever painted by Velazquez" (letter to the
Times, May 11, 1895).
Vittore Pisano (Veronese: 1380-1452). See 776.
"The minute but unobtrusive finish of the picture is," says the
Official Catalogue, "astonishing. Of the coats of the horse, dogs,
stag, and other wild animals introduced every hair is drawn; and of the
wild birds, every feather; nor are they less remarkable for the beauty
of the drawing and the admirable character displayed, in which it may
be truly said this painter has never been excelled. Numerous studies
of animals of the highest beauty are to be found in collections of
drawings throughout Europe, some of them evidently done in preparation
for this picture." St. Eustace, whose name before his conversion was
Placidus, was a Roman soldier, a captain of the guards in the reign of
the Emperor Trajan. He was a great lover of the chase, and "one day,
while hunting in the forest, he saw before him a stag of marvellous
beauty. He pursued it eagerly, and the stag fled before him, and
ascended a high rock. Then Placidus, looking up, beheld, between the
horns of the stag, a cross of radiant light, and on it the image of the
crucified Redeemer; and being astonished and dazzled by this vision, he
fell on his knees, and a voice, which seemed to come from the crucifix,
cried to him, and said, 'Placidus! why dost thou pursue me? I am
Christ, whom thou hast hitherto served without knowing me. Dost thou
now believe?' And Placidus fell with his face to the earth, and said,
'Lord, I believe!' And when he looked up again the wondrous vision had
departed. And he returned to his house and was baptized with his wife
and children" (Mrs. Jameson: Sacred and Legendary Art, 1850, p. 466).
For a representation of the very similar legend of St. Hubert, see No.
783. This beautiful picture (from Lord Ashburnham's Collection) has
been placed in a very elaborate frame in the Italian style: compare No.
1416.
Barnaba da Modena (painted about 1365).
A specimen, very well preserved, of the Giottesque period of Italian
art. The painter, a native of Modena, appears to have worked chiefly in
Piedmont and Pisa. Examples of his work may be seen in the Galleries of
Pisa, Turin, Frankfort, and Berlin. It is pointed out as noticeable,
in the Official Catalogue, that the drapery of the Virgin Mary is
treated in the hieratic or Byzantine manner, while that of the Apostles
is in the naturalistic manner of Giotto. For a similar instance of
transitional treatment, see Duccio's "Transfiguration," No. 1330.
Unknown (Lombard School: 16th Century).
A head of great beauty and much pathos of expression. An inscription on
the background gives the date of the picture, 1511.
Salomon Ruysdael (Dutch: 1600-1670). See 1344.
An early work. Signed, and dated 1631. "The sky is partly covered with
soft, gray clouds, and the whole scene gives the impression of a still
and peaceful summer's day."
Giovanni Bellini (Venetian: 1427-1516). See 189.
See also (p. xxi)
The portrait of a monk (on the parapet is an inscription recording
that it is a likeness of Brother Theodore of Urbino) in the character
of St. Dominic. He wears the Dominican robe, and the name of the saint
is inscribed on the label of the book which he holds, and carries the
usual attributes of the saint, the lily and a book (on the label of
which are the words "Sanctus Dominicus"). The inscription is dated
1515, so that if genuine this must be one of the painter's last works.
No. 808 is another portrait of a monk ascribed to the same painter—in
character as one of the saints (St. Peter Martyr). Signor Frizzoni
attributes both of them to Gentile Bellini.
Perugino (Umbrian: 1446-1523). See 288.
This fresco from the church at Fontignano, near Castello della Pieve,
was left unfinished when the painter died there in 1523, in his 77th
year; it is believed to be his last work (see Vasari, ii. 323). The
fresco was transferred to canvas and removed in 1843. It was purchased
in 1862 from Mr. Spence of Florence, by the South Kensington Museum.
"The hand had not lost its cunning, and there is much of the early
sweetness in this huge fresco. There is the charm of its faded blues
and purples, the haze of its shimmering sunshine, and the tender
reverence of the kneeling figures" (G. C. Williamson: Perugino, o, p.
110).
Bakhuizen (Dutch: 1631-1708). See 204.
H. Steenwyck (Flemish: 1580-1649). See 1132.
A funeral service is being celebrated in the nave, while in the
foreground is a christening procession.
Gerard von Honthorst (Dutch: 1590-1656).
This artist went early in life to Rome, where he acquired the
style of Caravaggio (see 172). "His rude contrasts of opaque shade
and brilliant light, his luminous effects produced by the light
of a torch or flambeau, and the naturalism of his works, caused
him to be much sought after in Italy, where this style was in
fashion," and acquired for him the name of "Gherardo della Notte."
He returned to Utrecht, his birthplace, in 1623, and in 1628 was
commissioned by Charles I. to decorate the palace of Whitehall.
While in England he also painted the portraits of the Court and
many of the nobility. Several of his portraits are to be seen in
the National Portrait Gallery.
Rachel Ruysch (Dutch: 1664-1750).
One of the few female painters represented in the Gallery.
Rachel Ruysch was the daughter of a professor of anatomy, and
began to study art at an early age. She married Julian Pool,
a portrait-painter, and had a large family. She continued the
practice of her art until she reached an advanced age, always
signing her pictures with her maiden name. Notwithstanding her
industry, the number of her pictures is somewhat small, and it was
jokingly said in her time that "she produced more children than
pictures." The labour she devoted to her work was astonishing;
two pictures alone are said to have occupied her for seven years;
and these she bestowed on one of her daughters as a marriage
portion. She was admirable in her manner of grouping as well as
in pencilling; each flower is relieved by its neighbour, and all
are kept in perfect harmony. She was fond of introducing among
her flowers the insects peculiar to them (notice the butterfly in
1446); and these she depicted with microscopic accuracy. "Had her
colouring been less cold, she would certainly have equalled her
illustrious rival, Van Huysum" (Bryan's Dictionary of Painters,
and Havard's Dutch School, p. 268).
Adam Frans van der Meulen (Flemish: 1632-1694).
This painter, a native of Brussels, had a great facility in
battlepieces. Some of these found their way to France, and
attracted the notice of the painter Le Brun. On his recommendation
Van der Meulen was invited to the French Court, and was at first
employed on designs for the Gobelins tapestries. Afterwards he
accompanied Louis XIV. on his campaigns, and, brush in hand, was
present at all the principal sieges and battles of that monarch.
These he afterwards painted for the King; he also depicted many
hunting scenes and cavalcades. His works are to be seen at the
Louvre and Versailles.
The present picture (signed, and dated 1662) shows us some such scene
in the life of the Court. The suite is bareheaded, and it is clearly
some personage of importance—possibly Louis XIV. himself—who is
seated at the window of the carriage. The background of open country
with blue distance is very pleasantly rendered.
François S. Bonvin (French: 1817-1888).
A painter of still life and interiors as well as of landscape; for
thirty years a constant exhibitor at the Salon; given the Order of
the Legion of Honour in 1870.
Signed, and dated 1869, at Verberie—a pleasantly-situated spot in the
department of the Oise, eleven miles north-east of Senlis.
Philippe de Champaigne (French: 1602-1674). See 798.
"The central head in No. 798 was evidently used as a study for this
portrait. The Cardinal, in the crimson silk robes of his office, with
the cross of the Order of St. Louis hung by a blue ribbon round his
neck, stands as if just risen from the chair of state behind him."
Sebastiano del Piombo (Venetian: 1485-1547). See 1.
"In the mixture of the Venetian element," it has been said, "with
the severe forms and masses of the Michelangelesque feeling consists
the charm of Sebastiano's best works" (Layard, ii. 562). The "superb
composition" before us, says Sir Edward Poynter, "shows the influence
of Michelangelo in every line." It was formerly in the collection
of the late Mr. Thomas Baring, and was purchased from the Earl of
Northbrook in 1895. It was Mr. Baring's favourite picture in his
collection.
Gerrit Berck-Heyde (Dutch: 1638-1698). See 1420.
The nave of a Gothic church in Holland, during sermon-time (the
preacher is in the pulpit against one of the columns on the right).
The women sit on chairs; the men in seats raised in tiers. Some stand
listening to the sermon, and an elderly man on the left is warning
two children to be quiet. In the centre a boy is playing with a dog,
to which a woman directs the attention of the child with her. On the
pavement is the artist's signature, dated 1673.
Francesco Guardi (Venetian: 1712-1793). See 210.
Giovanni Bellini (Venetian: 1426-1516). See 189.
A picture of Bellini's earlier period, the original of numerous
versions and copies in private and public galleries, presented to the
National Gallery by one of the trustees, the Earl of Carlisle. The
Virgin is "one of those magnificent Venetian women whose morbidezza
profoundly moved the painters of their country, marked by a grave,
suave, and restful expression, instinct with unconscious dignity; this
is the countenance of a Venetian woman to the life, not over refined,
but full of repose, the repose of vigour and conscious strength,
not the languor of debility" (Athenæum). The diaper of the High
Priest's robe contains figures of antelopes, a curious instance of the
straightforward mode of the artist, who, no doubt, employed as a model
a veritable robe, and one of Oriental or Sicilian origin. Embroideries
of this category were frequently used in Venice of old. The same
Oriental embroidery is to be seen in pictures by other Venetian artists
in which the High Priest is introduced.
Unknown (Italian School: 15th Century).
Below is a portion of the original frame with three small quatrefoil
medallions in which are half-length figures of the Saviour, the Virgin,
and St. John. The picture, which was presented to the Gallery by one of
the trustees, Mr. J.P. Heseltine, is ascribed to the school of Gentile
da Fabriano (about 1360-1440), "the Umbrian Fra Angelico," whose
delight in splendour and gold ornaments is so naïve.
Domenico Theotocopuli (Spanish: 1548-1625). See 1122.
Gerhard van den Eeckhout (Dutch: 1621-1674).
This painter, the son of a goldsmith at Amsterdam, was one
of the first to enter Rembrandt's school. He was a favourite
pupil, and lived in close intimacy with the master. His biblical
subjects—examples of which are at the Louvre, the Hague, and
Amsterdam—were painted in close imitation of Rembrandt. He owed
to his master not only his subjects, but their figures, costumes,
and attitudes; he could not, however, borrow Rembrandt's warmth
and intensity. His portraits are more successful.
A group of the four chiefs of the Wine Guild of Amsterdam seated in
conversation over some deeds. The picture is signed, and dated 1657.
Matteo di Giovanni (Sienese: 1435-1495). See 1155.
This and No. 247 by the same artist are, says Sir Edward Poynter,
"excellent examples of tempera painting of the fifteenth century,
in good preservation and unvarnished." The panel is surrounded by the
original gilt mouldings.
Hendrik Dubbels (Dutch: 1620-1676).
This painter, "the master of Bakhuizen (see under 204), was one
of the first, after the success of his pupil was confirmed, to
adopt his subjects and to copy his manner" (Havard: The Dutch
School, p. 256). His works, however, bear little resemblance
to Bakhuizen's: they are more like Van de Cappelle. Many of his
pictures are to be found in private collections. The present
picture, with its luminous atmospheric effects, is an excellent
example. Observe on the leeboard of one of the barges the
signature, I. H. D., possibly Jan Hendrik Dubbels. There were
three painters of the name, Hendrik, Dirk, and Jan.
Gaudenzio Ferrari (Lombard: 1481-1549).
A welcome addition to the Gallery, as being the work (though not
a specially important work) of a great and most indefatigable
painter not previously represented. Gaudenzio was a native of
Valduggia (in the Val Sesia); his father was a painter; his
mother's surname was Vinzio, and in his early work he often signed
his pictures after her, "Gaudentius Vincius." He passed his life
exclusively in Piedmont and Lombardy, where nearly all his works
are still to be found—at Vercelli, Novara, Saronno, and Milan.
The most important of them are at Varallo, on the Sacro Monte
and in the church at its foot. In some of the chapels on the
Sacro Monte he not only painted the frescoes in the background
but also executed the terra-cotta figures, thus carrying out the
scheme of uniting painting and sculpture in a single design. His
"Crucifixion Chapel," the most important of his works in this
kind, has on this account been described as "the most daring among
Italian works of art." Gaudenzio, who was nearly contemporary
with Luini, first studied at Milan in the school of Stefano
Scotto (whose portrait he is believed to have introduced more
than once in his work at Varallo). The story that he visited
Rome and made the acquaintance of Raphael rests on no authority,
and probably arose from a certain similarity in his works to
the charm of Raphael. But this is a similarity, not of what is
called "influence," but of age and temperament. "The influence
of Perugino or of Raphael," says Morelli, "is not more and not
less perceptible in Ferrari's paintings than in those of nearly
all the great masters of that happy period, generally called the
golden age of Italian art, during which Gaudenzio and Luini held
much the same place in their own school as Raphael does in the
Umbrian, Cavazzola (Morando) and Carotto in the Veronese, Garofalo
and Dosso in the Ferrarese, and Fra Bartolommeo and Andrea del
Sarto in the Florentine. Gaudenzio, it is true, has not the grace
of Luini, neither are his works so perfect in execution as those
of his rival; but take him for all in all, as regards inventive
genius, dramatic life, and picturesqueness, he stands far above
Luini. In his hot haste Ferrari often loses his balance, and
becomes quaint and affected; many of his larger compositions, too,
are overcrowded with figures; but in his best works he is inferior
to very few of his contemporaries, and occasionally, as in some
of those groups of men and women in the great 'Crucifixion' at
Varallo, he might challenge a comparison with Raphael himself"
(German Galleries, p. 441). The best and fullest account of
Gaudenzio, in English, is to be found in Mr. Samuel Butler's
interesting work on Varallo, entitled Ex Voto (Trübner, 1888).
Christ, holding the resurrection banner in His hand, rises from a
marble tomb. The painter, who was a child of the mountains, gives us a
background of blue hills. The picture was the centre compartment of an
altar-piece in a church at Magianico, near Lecco, on the Lake of Como.
This composition was copied with variations by Gaudenzio's follower
Giuseppe Giovenone in a picture now at Turin.
Lelio Orsi (Parmese: 1511-1586).
This painter, highly esteemed in his own day and of considerable
talent, has remained less known than many others of inferior
merit—a fact which is due, as Lanzi observes (ii. 357), to
his having divided his time between Reggio and Novellara,
comparatively obscure towns in the Emilia. He was born at Reggio,
and was much employed there by the Gonzagi. He is supposed to have
been a pupil of Correggio, whose works he is known to have copied,
and of whom he was a personal friend. In 1546 he was banished for
some unknown offence, and was not permitted to return to Reggio
till 1552. During these years he settled at Novellara, where
again he was employed by the Gonzagas. He must also have visited
Rome, and studied the works of Michael Angelo. Most of Orsi's
frescoes have perished. Some of his pictures are in the Gallery at
Modena. He was celebrated in his day no less as an architect than
as a painter.
There is an element of picturesqueness and almost modern romanticism in
this picture. Christ and the disciples wear broad-brimmed hats and the
dress of Italian peasants (cf. No. 753).
Spinello Aretino (Tuscan: about 1333-1410). See 581.
See also (p. xxi)
A picture, some 500 years old, in excellent preservation, retaining
its bright colours and the varied expressions of the faces. It is in
its original frame, surmounted by a Gothic canopy. Two upright panels
on each side contain figures of St. John the Baptist and St. Paul
(left), St. James the Greater and St. Bartholomew (right). In circular
medallions below are the Virgin and Child, with saints.
W. K. Heda (Dutch: 1594-1678)
One of the painters "of the kitchen and dining-room—painters who
devoted themselves to painting copper and silver vessels, pottery,
and porcelain, modest saucepans, crystal cups, glass bowls, and
goblets of chased silver. The first to cultivate this new style
of still life was Willem Klaasz Heda. He was born at Haarlem. He
was a clever and careful painter, and must have left behind him
a considerable number of works; but, nevertheless, his pictures
are excessively rare. They generally consist of a carved silver
cup, a plate, and a cut lemon—three subjects which the painter
rendered with marvellous truthfulness, the whole surrounded by a
few accessories rising out of a brown background" (Havard: The
Dutch School, p. 272).
J. Weier (German: 17th Century).
This picture is signed I. Weier, and dated 1645. It may be either
by Jacob Weier, of Hamburg, who died in 1670; or by Johann
Matthias Weier, of the same town, who was a pupil of Wouwerman,
and died, a very old man, in 1690.
Francisco Goya (Spanish: 1746-1828).
This painter—of greater genius and of a more national spirit,
says Sir William Stirling-Maxwell, than any his century
produced—was the son of humble parents. Until the age of 16 he
lived without any knowledge of art, when his passion for painting
was awakened by a monk of Santa Fé, near Saragossa, after which he
was admitted into the studio of José Luxan Martinez, who had been
educated in Italy. He distinguished himself at this time, not so
much in the studio as in the streets, in the quarrels of painters
and confraternities, sometimes ending in bloodshed. At Madrid,
to which city he afterwards escaped, his mode of life appears to
have been anything but that of an orderly citizen. Being a good
musician, and gifted with a voice, he sallied forth nightly,
serenading the caged beauties of the capital, with whom he seems
to have been a general favourite, and whose portraits he painted.
In consequence of a street brawl in Madrid he fled to Italy, in
company with a party of bull-fighters, and resided at Rome, where
he fraternised with Louis David. In 1774 he returned to Spain,
married, and settled down to his profession. He soon attracted
the notice of Mengs, the King's painter, by some designs which
he executed for the royal manufactory of tapestry, and became a
popular artist of that capital, and a prime favourite with its
fashionable society. In 1789 he was appointed painter-in-ordinary
to Charles IV., a post which he continued to hold under Ferdinand
VII. He was so largely employed that he was able to maintain a
fine villa near Madrid, where he entertained in the grand style.
Among distinguished persons who sat to him was the Duke of
Wellington, but on his making a remark which raised the artist's
choler, Goya seized a plaster cast and hurled it at the Duke's
head. The artist's declining years were spent in retirement at
Bordeaux, where he died at the age of 82.
"Goya's earlier life indicated," says W. B. Scott, "the character
of his painting—bizarre and wild, with a gleam of infernal
splendour in his choice of beauty. He was an inventor, and gives
us the most vivid and novel sensations, although he serves
us with vinegar as well as wine." "Much that was bizarre and
tumultuous, the strangeness of charm, a certain curious and sombre
side of beauty, the sense of the strength of a personality, the
reflection of extravagant gaiety, or excessive horror, Goya was
able to render in a manner that had never been seen before"
(Goya, by W. Rothenstein: 1900). He was in no way the slave to
the technicalities of the studio or academical rules. In sacred
subjects, which he painted by no means con amore, he affects the
hard style of David and his French followers. But it was otherwise
in those more congenial works in which his hand spoke as his
fancy prompted, and in which he poured forth the gaiety of his
art or the gall of his sarcasm. There the daubing boldness of the
execution rivals the coarseness of the idea or the rudeness of the
jest. His colours were laid on as often with sticks, sponges, or
dish-clouts as with the brush. "Smearing his canvas with paint,"
says Gautier of him, "as a mason plasters a wall, he would add
the delicate touches of sentiment with a dash of his thumb." So
dexterous was he in turning all materials to artistic account that
during morning visits to his friends he would take the sandbox
from the inkstand, and, strewing the contents on the table,
amuse them with caricatures traced in an instant by his ready
finger. His versatility is proverbial; in addition to numerous
oil paintings he executed many crayon sketches, engravings, and
etchings. It is by the latter that he is perhaps best known. "The
Caprices" are the most surprising, showing humanity in all the
stages of brutality and ugliness, with a mélange of beauty and
demonology quite unexampled. (W.B. Scott, The Spanish School;
Bryan's Dictionary of Painters; and Stirling-Maxwell, Annals
of the Artists of Spain.) The three following pictures are
representative of Goya's several styles—scenes of country life,
demoniacal fancies, and portraiture.
From the collection of the Duke of Ossuna at Madrid. Théophile Gautier
described Goya—in the language of hyperbole—as "a combination of
Watteau and Rembrandt," and in this picture we have a Watteau-like
subject, treated, however, in a more grotesque fashion than that of the
charming French painter of rural fêtes.
Francisco Goya (Spanish: 1746-1828). See 1471.
A scene from a play ("El hechizado por fuerza"), showing a player on
the stage, dressed as a padre in complete black, and in the act of
pouring oil into a lamp which is held by an obsequious demon, while a
team of ghostly and affrighted mules are rearing in the background.
Goya, who has been called the Hogarth of Spain, specially delighted in
satirising the clergy, whose enchantments and incantations he parodied,
and whom he was fond of portraying in the form of asses or apes.
Francisco Goya (Spanish: 1746-1828). See 1471.
"The lady was evidently a plump and rosy voluptuous woman, having
large and liquid eyes with much dilated pupils, as well as coarse
and full lips, and wearing her loose brown tresses about her eyes
and ears, while a black mantilla fell from a lofty comb upon her
shoulders. It is obvious—and this accounts for the lady's flushed
carnations and glittering pupils, not frequent elements in Goya's
work—that she prepared herself for sitting, not only by blacking her
eyelids with kohl, but using belladonna to dilate her eyes, and rouge
for her cheeks" (Athenæum, July 4, 1896). This portrait, says Sir
Edward Poynter, "is perhaps as good an example as could be found of
the brilliancy of execution and vivid portrayal of character which
characterise Goya at his best."
Andrea Schiavone (Venetian: 1522-1582).
Andrea Meldolla, called Il Schiavone (from his birthplace in
Dalmatia, the country of the Slaves), was born of poor parents,
and died, we are told, "after a life of much suffering as well
as labour"—his works, by which the dealers enriched themselves,
barely supplying him with the means of existence. He was employed
at very small remuneration to paint the outside of houses and
panels for furniture. It is said that he was rescued from
obscurity by Titian. He was a good colourist, and had considerable
imagination. "The colouring of Schiavone," says Zanetti, "was much
admired by Tintoret, who kept a painting by that artist in his
studio and advised others to do the same." Among the illustrious
painters who followed Tintoret's advice was our own Lord Leighton,
from whose collection the present picture was bought.
The picture illustrates the myth which told how Jupiter came to Semele,
whom he loved, attended by clouds, lightning, and thunderbolts. This
panel was doubtless painted, as described above, for some piece of
furniture.
Giovanni Mansueti (Venetian: born about 1450).
Of the life of this painter little is known. The registers of
San Giovanni, Venice, tell us that he was lame; and by his own
authority we learn that he was a pupil of Giovanni Bellini, and a
believer in the miracle of the Cross, which took place in 1474,
and forms the subject of a picture by him, now in the Academy
of Venice. His pictures in that collection are interesting as
illustrating Venetian costume and architecture, and Ruskin finds
"much that is delightful in them." Mansueti's figures, says
Kugler (i. 332), are short and stumpy, and he lacks the variety of
expression and action of Gentile Bellini, and the brilliancy of
colour and fancy of Carpaccio.
This picture—which is not a very ambitious or characteristic
illustration of the painter—gives a symbolic representation of the
Crucifixion. "In front of an architectural screen—on the right and
left of which is an open tabernacle in sculptured stone, enclosing,
instead of the usual statue of the Virgin or a saint, an angel singing,
and holding an instrument of the Passion of our Saviour—lie the spear,
and the sponge upon the reed. Between these is a Majesty of the usual
type, the flesh of the Redeemer being, doubtless owing to the partial
fading of the carnations or the fact of the under-paint coming through,
more greenish and opaque than the Venetian artists, especially the
school of Bellini, affected. At the foot of the group the Magdalen
kneels in the act of kissing the Saviour's feet. On her left stands the
Virgin, and on the same side are two men, representing, of course, the
Magi and the shepherds who attended the nativity of our Lord. On our
right stand SS. John the Baptist and Peter, in front of whom kneels a
man who holds the pincers as an implement of the Passion. The picture,
as becomes its origin, is bright in colour as well as in its effect and
local tints, very carefully and almost laboriously as well as timidly
drawn; the architecture would not discredit Peter Neeffs" (Athenæum,
24th October 1896). The picture is signed, and dated 1492.
Hendrik van Avercamp (Dutch: 1586-1663). See 1346.
A winter scene such as Mr. Pater describes in his Imaginary Portraits
(p. 91), with "all the delicate poetry together with all the delicate
comfort of the frosty season," in "the leafless branches, the furred
dresses of the skaters, the warmth of the red-brick house fronts, and
the gleam of pale sunlight."
Cornelis Pietersz Bega (Dutch: 1620-1664).
This painter, who lived and died at Haarlem, was the son of a
sculptor and a pupil of Adrian van Ostade. "Though," says Havard
(p. 148), "a more finished draughtsman, with more regard for grace
of form and for the beauty of his figures, in all other respects
he was very inferior to Ostade. When we notice his dry and heavy
execution, his ruddy flesh-colouring, and his opaque shadows, we
are surprised that he should have so far neglected the examples
placed before him."
This picture, executed throughout with extreme care and finish, is
signed, and dated 1663.
(Venetian School: 16th Century.)
Transferred from the South Kensington Museum, where the portraits were
attributed to Tintoret.
G. Costa (Italian: born 1826).
Giovanni Costa, Professor in the Florentine Academy of Fine Arts,
is distinguished alike as a painter and a patriot. He fought in
the Venetian campaign of 1848, was a follower of Mazzini, in 1853
joined the Piedmontese regiment of lancers known as the Aosta
Cavalleggieri, served on Garibaldi's staff at Mentana, and in 1870
fought his way through the streets of Rome at the head of the
Italian army, and was the first to enter the Capitol. This ended
his military career; but he afterwards served on the Municipal
Council of Rome and interested himself specially in the prevention
of inundations of the Tiber. It was in 1852 that Costa first
began the study of landscape painting, in which he was destined
to become the greatest ornament of the modern Italian School.
His home was in the Alban Hills, near Rome, and afterwards at
Florence, where in 1859 he inaugurated the "open-air school" in
Italy. In 1864 he returned to Rome, and in 1870 was appointed
to his professorship at Florence. In the earlier portion of his
artistic career, Costa exhibited at Paris (with Corot, Troyon, and
others); afterwards he found in England his chief patrons, and
many of his pupils. In 1853, at Rome, he made the acquaintance of
Leighton, whose intimate friend he remained until the President's
death. Another celebrated English artist with whom Costa was
intimate was Mason; there is considerable affinity in some
respects between the work of the two men. The Italian painter has
depicted almost every part of his beautiful country. He has been
called "the Italian Millet," for the feeling of sublimity which he
knows so well how to impart to the simplicities of peasant life;
while in works of pure landscape he especially excels in giving
to blue mountains, reedy banks, and olive-grown shores a poetical
charm. (See an interesting account of Professor Costa, largely
autobiographical, in the Magazine of Art, vol. vi. His personal
reminiscences of Mason and Leighton have been published in the
Cornhill Magazine, March 1897.)
The scenery of the Carrara Mountains is a favourite subject of the
painter. In his pictures of these mountains, "seen across a broad
expanse of plain through a misty atmosphere, he invests forms
undeniably grand in themselves with a more solemn splendour and a
deepened poetry."
Ludovico Mazzolino (Ferrarese: 1480-1528). See 169.
This brilliant and characteristic little picture, containing
twenty-eight delicately and elaborately finished figures, is enriched
with one of Mazzolino's usual backgrounds of marble bas-reliefs. The
lower of them represents Moses showing the Tables of the Law to the
Israelites. The upper, the battle between the Israelites and the
Philistines, with David beheading Goliath.
Madame Vigée Le Brun (French: 1755-1842).
All visitors to Paris know this charming artist. Her two portraits
of herself with her little girl in her arms are in the Louvre,
and engravings or photographs of them are in every printseller's
window. They are characteristic of her refined drawing, her limpid
and transparent colour, her graceful sentiment. She excelled in
rendering the candour of innocence, the charm of childhood, and
maternal tenderness. She aimed rather at a certain ideal of soft
and smiling beauty than at realism of portraiture. Some of her
personages, even those in the highest ranks of life, seem, it
has been well said, to have traversed the sentimental scenes of
the tender Greuze, and she was fond of enveloping her sitters in
semi-allegorical surroundings. If she cannot be reckoned among
the great portrait-painters, she yet shows a power which is rare
among artists of her sex, and a charming style of her own which
will always make her works attractive. Madame le Brun was herself
one of the most beautiful and accomplished women of her time.
Elizabeth Louise Vigée was born in Paris, and her early years were
spent in the studio of her father, who was a painter, and among
other artistic surroundings. Her own talents rapidly developed;
by the time she was 15 she had many commissions, and at 20 she
was already celebrated. Her beauty and social charm soon gained
for her the friendship of the greatest men and women of the day,
including La Harpe, D'Alembert, and Marie Antoinette. With the
Queen she was a great favourite. She painted her portrait in 1779,
and afterwards no less than thirty times. She was made a member
of the Royal Academy of Painting in 1780, but when the Revolution
broke out she left Paris in haste. She went from capital to
capital; in each in turn the charm of her person and manner made
her many friends, and she was always full of commissions. In 1795
she settled for some years at St. Petersburg, where she enjoyed
the favour of the Imperial Court. In 1802 she came for three years
to England, where she painted portraits of the Prince of Wales and
Lord Byron, among others. She was a favourite wherever she went,
but in spite of all the adulation she received she remained simple
and natural to the end. When she returned to Paris, her salon
became the rendezvous of the most distinguished writers, painters,
and politicians of that brilliant period, and her Souvenirs,
published in 1837, are crowded with interesting sketches of her
friends. In this frank and engaging autobiography she gives us
particulars of the worthless husband—M. Le Brun, a picture-dealer
whom she had married when she was 20. He squandered her fortune,
but she found unfailing consolation in the daughter whom she
presses to her in those portraits in the Louvre. She outlived both
her daughter and her husband by many years and died at the age of
87.
This portrait was painted by the artist in her 27th year. Its
acquisition for the National Gallery is specially interesting, for
it was painted in emulation of the celebrated "Chapeau de Paille" of
Rubens (No. 852). She had seen and admired that work at Antwerp in
1782, and determined to represent herself in a similar effect of shadow
and reflected light. The portrait had so great a success that it gained
her admission to the Académie, where she was received in the following
year, 1783.
Adrian van der Werff (Dutch: 1659-1722).
"The painter who by his astounding success did most after Gerard
de Lairesse to lead the art of painting into a perverse path was
Adrian van der Werff. He was born at Kralinger-Ambacht, near
Rotterdam, and received lessons in drawing from Cornelis Picollet,
and then entered the studio of Eglon van der Neer, where he made
rapid progress. At first he seemed inclined to follow the bent of
his master, but he deserted the study of nature for the pursuit
of the ideal, and in doing so he fell into cold sentimentality
and tasteless affectation. His groups became pretentious, his
heads monotonous, his bodies have no life, and his flesh-colouring
assumes the polish and the tint of ivory. These defects, however,
did not prevent his misleading a certain number of people who
believed themselves to be connoisseurs. The Duke of Wolfenbüttel
and other high personages of his time contended for the possession
of his pictures at enormous prices, and praised the merits of
their favourite artist to the skies. No one more assisted him
in his career, and in the making of his reputation, than the
Elector-Palatine John William, who, not satisfied with giving him
very considerable commissions, also conferred upon him the title
of Chevalier, and ennobled his family. (The artist signs himself
on occasion 'Chevalier van Werff'). The compositions which he
painted for his patron are now to be seen at Munich" (Havard:
The Dutch School, p. 280). There is in the Dulwich Gallery a
"Judgment of Paris" by Van der Werff—a celebrated work painted
in 1718 for the Duke of Orleans and much admired by Sir Joshua
Reynolds. The heads are wanting in expression and the flesh is
bloodless, but the painting is of the greatest finish. There
are also pictures by him in the Wallace Collection. "The cold
porcelain-like colour," says Mr. Phillips in his catalogue, "and
mechanical finish of this artist in the treatment of the nude are
much less appreciated by modern connoisseurs than they were by his
contemporaries. Still his general accomplishment and the certainty
of his execution, in a vicious and wholly conventional style, are
not to be denied."
In our picture "the courtly painter of polished, lascivious nudities
faces the spectator in a wig of the period of Louis Quatorze, looking
as dignified and impersonal as the painters of that particular age
did manage to look in their portraits." The statue of Fame, holding a
wreath, is characteristic. The portrait is signed, and dated 1685.
Ambrogio de Predis (Milanese: about 1450-1515).
This long-forgotten painter was rediscovered by Morelli in 1880,
who claimed for him a considerable place in the Milanese school.
This claim has since been historically confirmed by the document,
referred to in the notes to No. 1093, showing that Ambrogio de
Predis was at work in Milan with Leonardo da Vinci, employed as
his assistant to paint the wings of the altar-piece of which the
central portion was the "Vierge aux Rochers." By a fortunate
purchase these wings by Ambrogio now hang in our Gallery, on
either side of Leonardo's picture. Ambrogio's best work was in
portraiture, of which an example (one of the two signed and
dated by the artist) is also in our Gallery (No. 1665). Ambrogio
and his brother Bernardino were sons of a certain Lorenzo Preda
of Milan. There is also a Cristoforo de Predis, a miniaturist,
one of whose miniatures (representing Galeazzo Maria Sforza)
is in the Wallace Collection, and it is probable that from him
Ambrogio received his first education in art. In 1482 he was
established as Court Painter to Ludovico il Moro. In 1493 he
accompanied Bianca Maria Sforza on the occasion of her marriage
to the Emperor Maximilian, but was back again at Milan in 1494.
In 1502 we find him at Innsbruck, where he seems to have settled.
In 1506 he designed some tapestries for the Emperor, after which
year nothing more is known of him. In the Vienna Gallery is a
signed portrait by him of the Emperor, dated 1502, and to him
Morelli ascribes the celebrated profile portrait of Bianca Maria
in the Ambrosiana at Milan (there erroneously called Beatrice
Sforza), hitherto assigned to Leonardo. Among other portraits now
ascribed to Ambrogio are the "Page" in the Morelli Collection
at Bergamo, and "Fr. Brivio" in the Poldi Pezzoli Collection at
Milan. De Predis is "a conscientious and careful painter, though
his drawing and modelling are often defective, particularly in the
representation of the hand." He "seems to have been an artist of
some individuality, even after coming under Leonardo's influence.
He was by nature too much of a miniaturist to concern himself
with the larger problems of painting, and was very limited in his
range—even his portraits are uniformly treated. He seems, judging
by his drawings, to have sought to improve himself by a careful
and conscientious study of Leonardo's work, and when he had the
advantage of the master's guiding hand he could produce works
(like these angels) one of which, though lacking the qualities of
profound art, has a certain charm and even dignity of its own"
(Catalogue of Milanese Pictures at the Burlington Fine Arts
Club, 1898, p. li.; Morelli's German Galleries, pp. 413-415;
Roman Galleries, pp. 180-189).
The angel in 1661 may, as suggested above, have been designed, or
begun, by Leonardo himself; that in 1662 must be entirely the work of
Ambrogio. These paintings remained in their place, as we have seen
under 1093, up to 1787. They were purchased in 1878 from Duke Jean
Melzi d'Erie at Milan for £2160.
J. B. S. Chardin (French: 1699-1779). See 1258.
The woman is drawing water from a copper "fontaine" into a black jug.
Ambrogio de Predis (Milanese: about 1450-1515). See 1661.
In his right hand he holds a scroll which bears the painter's signature
AM. PR., the date 1494, and the words AN. 20. Formerly in the
possession of the Archinti family, and supposed to represent Francesco
di Bartolommeo Archinto (1474-1551), who was Governor of Chiavenna. A
very refined portrait; but Morelli points out that the hand is "coarse
and wanting in life."
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
"The costume and rapid execution of this magnificent picture point
rather," says Sir Edward Poynter, "to its being a study than a portrait
painted on commission." Probably also the title by which the picture
has long been known is a mistake: a Burgomaster would not be painted
in such dingy and fantastic garb. The old man was no doubt a model
dressed up by Rembrandt in studio "properties." The knotted stick which
he holds in his hands may be recognised in the painter's portrait
of himself in Lord Ilchester's possession (No. 61 in the Academy
Exhibition of 1899). That portrait is dated 1658, and this picture
probably belongs to the same period. The picturesque but nondescript
headgear worn by the "burgomaster" may have belonged to the master
himself in those latter days when all relics of the former splendours
had vanished. Whoever he may have been, the "Burgomaster," as he lives
for ever on Rembrandt's canvas, is a striking personage; the refined,
intellectual face recalls to some spectators one of the late ornaments
of the Episcopal Bench in our own day. The portrait is a masterpiece
alike of character-reading and of modelling.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 45.
A noble portrait. Rembrandt was a painter who reverenced old age, and
gave its dignity and beauty to faces the least promising. We may notice
especially the pathetic eyes,—with an expression at once so living
and so sorrowful, and the character in the hands which Rembrandt never
failed to give his sitters. The old lady wears a large white ruff,
"evidently clinging to the costume of her earlier years, for ruffs had
long been out of fashion at the time when the picture was painted." The
picture has been known as the Burgomaster's Wife, but this description
is without authority or probability. There is another portrait of
the same old lady in Lord Wantage's possession (No. 15 in the Academy
Exhibition, 1899). Lord Wantage's picture is dated 1661.
The two magnificent pictures just described, which hold their own
triumphantly even on a wall of masterpieces,[251] were formerly in
possession of Sir William Middleton, Bart., great-uncle to Lady de
Saumarez, and were exhibited at the British Institution in 1858. Since
that date they had been lost to sight until they were purchased for
the National Gallery in 1899.[252] They are believed to have been in
possession of the Lee family, Lady de Saumarez's ancestors, from the
time that they were painted, but they may have come into the family
with a certain John van Enkoren, a Dutch gentleman, who married a
second cousin of Sir William Middleton.
Francesco de Herrera, the elder (Spanish: 1576-1656).
Francesco de Herrera, the elder—so called to distinguish him from
a son of the same name who was also a painter—was the first to
throw off the timid conventional style hitherto in vogue, and to
adopt the bold and vigorous manner which became characteristic
of the school of Seville. He drew, we are told, with charred
reeds, and painted with a housepainter's brush. It is said that
on occasions he would employ a servant to smear the paints on
his canvas with a coarse brush, and then himself shape the rough
masses into figures and draperies. In the Louvre there is an
important picture by Herrera, "St. Basil dictating his Doctrine,"
of which Théophile Gautier said that it was "dashed off with an
unimaginable fury of the brush, and blazed with the flashing of
some auto-da-fè." In the Earl of Clarendon's Collection are three
powerful pictures (shown at the New Gallery, 1895-96) representing
scenes in the life of St. Bonaventura. But most of Herrera's
extant works, in oil and fresco, remain at Seville. The vigour of
his style was equalled by the impetuosity of his temper. Pupils
flocked round him, but the violence of his outbursts drove them
away. Among this number was Velazquez. He perverted his talent as
an engraver of medals to the work of coining, and when suspected
of this offence fled for sanctuary to the Jesuits' College. There
he painted a picture which was shown to Philip IV. "What need,"
said the King, "has a man gifted with abilities like yours of
silver and gold? Go, you are free; and take care that you do not
get into this scrape again." He could not, however, change his
violent habits, and his children, we are told, robbed him and
fled from his house. In 1650 Herrera removed to Madrid, where he
had the pleasure, or mortification, of seeing his former pupil,
Velazquez, at the height of his fame.
A work in the painter's less impetuous style, but marked by the vigour
characteristic of the Spanish and Italian "naturalists."
Dutch School (17th Century).
An admirable portrait of a young man with long golden hair, looking
out at the spectator. The picture is signed J. Karel du Jardin. It has
sometimes been attributed to the well-known painter of that name (see
826), and been said to be a portrait of the artist by himself. But the
initial J. does not confirm this theory.
Francesco di Giorgio (Sienese: 1439-1502).
Francesco di Giorgio Martini was one of the most distinguished
architects and engineers of his time. He wrote a treatise on
"Civil and Military Architecture," and was a great authority,
says Vasari, on "all instruments required for the purposes of
war." There are two altar-pieces by him in the Siena Academy, and
he also occasionally produced works in sculpture: "this he could
do very conveniently, being a man of fair possessions as well as
of remarkable ability, wherefore he did not work for the sake of
gain, but for his own pleasure, and when he felt inclined, to the
end that he might leave honourable memorials of his existence
behind him."
"This quaint little picture represents the Virgin in the attitude of
walking, leading the Infant Saviour by the hand. She wears a white
dress, shaded blue, with a small gold pattern delicately painted upon
it, and a rose-coloured mantle lined with dark green, and holds in her
right hand a branch of roses. The drapery falls with much grace, and
she looks down with a sweet expression to the Child" (National Gallery
Report, 1899).
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
The glossy texture of the horse is well rendered.
Henri Fantin-Latour (French: 1836-1904).
Ignace Henri Jean Théodore Fantin-Latour was born at Grenoble,
the son of a famous pastellist. He first exhibited at the Salon
in 1861. In 1864 his "Hommage à Delacroix" created a sensation.
In this country, where he was a constant exhibitor at the Royal
Academy, he is best known for his exquisite studies of roses and
other flowers. But he was also a painter of portraits (see No.
1952) and of romantic subjects inspired by his musical tastes. In
portraiture, a thorough, though a sympathetic, realist (witness
his "Monet's studio at the Batignolles" in the Luxembourg),—he
becomes fanciful when he enters the domain of romance. A favourite
medium was lithography, in which he excelled; the British Museum
has a fine set of proofs. His subjects are taken from the motives
used in the musical dramas of Wagner and Berlioz.
Late summer flowers, chiefly roses, in a vase on a wooden table. The
background, as usual with this painter, is of a flat tone of warm gray.
Mabuse (Flemish: about 1470-1541). See 656.
Portraits, uncompromising in thoroughness, of a severe and
uncompromising couple. "This masterpiece," says Sir Edward Poynter,
"combines with a high perfection of finish and modelling, every detail
being finished with the utmost care, even to the stubble of the man's
beard, great breadth of effect and a beautiful quality of light and
shade" (National Gallery Report, 1900). The portraits, formerly
in the collection of Captain A. F. Dawson, used to be attributed
to Quentin Matsys. Some authorities ascribe them to his brother,
Jan. Others believe that the work belongs to the German school. The
attribution to Mabuse is made in the Director's Report for 1900.
Fra Bartolommeo (Florentine: 1475-1517).
Bartolommeo di Pagholo del Fattorino, one of the greatest of the
Florentine masters, is commonly known as Baccio della Porta,
or Fra Bartolommeo. He was born at the village of Savignano,
near Prato, and was sent while still a lad to the studio of
Cosimo Rosselli at Florence, where he lived with some kinsfolk
in a house near the gate of San Piero Gattolini (now the Porta
Romana). The neighbours, seeing him come and go to his work, and
ignoring surnames with the custom of the time, distinguished him
from all the other Bartholemews as Baccio della Porta. "He was
loved in Florence," says Vasari, "for his virtue, for he was
very diligent at his work, quiet and good-natured, fearing God,
living a tranquil life, flying all vicious practices, and taking
great pleasure in preaching, and the society of worthy and sober
persons." In the studio of Rosselli he made the acquaintance of
Mariotto Albertinelli, as erratic, gay, and idle as his companion
was pure, gentle, and austere. Between the two young men a
warm friendship sprang up, which continued unbroken till the
death of Albertinelli in 1515. When Fra Bartolommeo temporarily
relinquished the practice of art in 1500, Albertinelli took up
his abandoned canvases, and from 1509 onwards the two men worked
in formal partnership. The religious spirit of Bartolommeo had
been profoundly impressed by Savonarola's preaching. To the famous
bonfire, into which the people cast their pomps and vanities, our
painter brought all the studies and drawings which he had made
from the nude. He was among the band of faithful followers who
shut themselves up with Savonarola in San Marco. "Having very
little courage," says Vasari, "being indeed of a timid and even
cowardly disposition, he lost heart on hearing the clamours of an
attack, which was made upon the convent shortly after, and seeing
some wounded and others killed, he began to have grievous doubts
respecting his position. Thereupon he made a vow, that if he might
be permitted to escape from the rage of that strife, he would
instantly assume the religious habit of the Dominicans." This he
did in the year 1500, and for some time afterwards his brush was
idle. When he resumed work, it was on condition that the convent
received all the produce of his labours. In 1506, when Raphael
visited Florence, he formed a friendship with Fra Bartolommeo,
in whose work he doubtless found something to assimilate. Some
years afterwards, Fra Bartolommeo went to Rome, where he painted
a figure of St. Paul, and part of one of St. Peter (now in the
Quirinal), leaving Raphael to finish the work. Fra Bartolommeo
suffered from ill-health, and died at the early age of 42.
The contributions made by Fra Bartolommeo to Italian art were
fourfold. He exhibited a scientific scheme of composition based
on principles of strict symmetry, and in this respect he was the
precursor of Raphael. In colouring he was equal to the best of
his contemporaries; in his better works brilliance is combined
with harmony of tone in a very charming manner. In some of his
works, however, the attempt to adopt the chiaroscuro of Leonardo
led to an over-darkening of the shadows. Vasari noticed even in
his day that the use of printer's-black and ivory-black had caused
some of Fra Bartolommeo's shadows to become unduly heavy. In his
landscape backgrounds, Fra Bartolommeo showed a considerable
advance on his predecessors. "Everything is true and harmonious,
up to its intention, which is to be simple, calm, consistent, and
real,—real, and yet breathing an idyllic beauty." Lastly, he
was the inventor of the "lay figure." "He always considered it
advisable," says Vasari, "to have the living object before him
when he worked; and the better to execute his draperies, arms,
and things of similar kind, he caused a figure, the site of life,
to be made in wood, with the limbs moveable at the joints, and on
this he then arranged the real draperies."
Fra Bartolommeo's range was limited. He is seen at his best not
in works (such as the fresco of the "Last Judgment," now in the
picture gallery of the hospital of Santa Maria Nuova) which call
for the exercise of powerful imagination, but in Madonna pieces.
"Nature made Fra Bartolommeo," says Symonds, "the painter of
adoration." He excels in the poetry of simple religious feeling.
His works are rare outside Italy. Copies from some of his frescoes
at Florence are in the Arundel Society's Collection; but the
treasure city of Fra Bartolommeo at his best is Lucca. Few figures
in Italian art have been more often copied and photographed than
his charming little angel who sings at the foot of the Madonna's
throne in the Cathedral of Lucca.
Fra Bartolommeo's pictures "sum up," says Ruskin, "the principles of
great Italian religious art in its finest period,—serenely luminous
sky,—full light on the faces; local colour the dominant power over
a chiaroscuro more perfect because subordinate; absolute serenity of
emotion and gesture; and rigid symmetry in composition." And elsewhere
he speaks of "the precious and pure passages of intense feeling and
heavenly light, holy and undefined, and glorious with the changeless
passion of eternity, which sanctify with their shadeless peace the deep
and noble conceptions of the early school of Italy—of Fra Bartolommeo,
Perugino, and the early mind of Raffaelle" (Modern Painters, vol. i.
pt. ii. sec. ii. ch. i. § 22, and epilogue of 1883 to vol. ii.). Some
trace of these characteristics may be found in the present picture. It
is bright in colour, balanced in composition, simple in feeling, and
shows a charming Tuscan landscape. Thoroughly Tuscan also is the type
of peasant Madonna, with her brown hair tied up in a blue handkerchief.
The infant Christ is almost grotesque, but the little St. John may
take his place among Fra Bartolommeo's collection of sweet child-faces.
Our picture[253] is ascribed to the years 1507-9. In the Corsini
Gallery at Rome is a repetition of it done at a later period, with the
figures, life-sized, reversed, and with St. Joseph added to complete
the pyramidal composition.
Venetian School (early 16th Century).
From the South Kensington Museum: very characteristic of the Venetian
school is the beautiful blue distance.
Giovanni Bellini (Venetian: 1426-1516). See 189.
A fragment of a fresco, painted in 1481 and originally brought from the
church of Magre, near Schio, in the neighbourhood of Vicenza. The work,
if by Bellini, is somewhat earlier than the "Madonna and Child" (280)
of our Gallery.[254] "We have," says Mr. Roger Fry, "no example of
Bellini's fresco work by which to judge it. It may therefore be argued
that the weak construction of the Virgin's figure and the poor drawing
of the child are the result of Bellini's want of familiarity with the
medium, nor can it be denied that the weaknesses are exaggerations of
certain peculiarities of Bellini's own design. This is particularly
noticeable in the drawing of the child, which approaches very nearly
in type and expression the child of the 'Madonna between the Magdalen
and St. Catherine' of the Academy at Venice. But in no undoubted work
by Bellini is the drawing so clumsy as this. Much, however, may be
attributed to restoration, particularly in the Infant Christ, and it is
impossible to deny the great beauty of the colour—a peculiar golden
glow which is very unusual in fresco, and is indeed a translation
into that medium of the golden richness of Bellini's tempera and
oil pieces. The Madonna's expression has a certain tenderness and
charm which is characteristic of Bellini, but it lacks the definite
realisation of a mood which he almost invariably compassed" (The
Pilot, Jan. 5, 1901). On the other hand, according to a well-known
critic, writing in the Daily Telegraph, "the wistfulness of the
Virgin is not the wistfulness of Giambellino, but rather that of
Bartolommeo Montagna or some kindred painter of the school of Vicenza.
Again, the type of the Virgin and the adjustment of her headgear recall
the severe yet passionate master of Vicenza just named, under the
influence, not so much of Giovanni Bellini as of the elder school of
Venice—that of the Vivarini."
Jan Vermeer of Delft (Dutch: 1632-1675). See 1383.
See also (p. xxi)
A "symphony in black and white"; cool in effect, almost to the point
of austerity and chilliness. The faces are full of expression. The
master turns in expectation to the pupil, as much as to say "Come,
don't you know?" The pupil is ready with his answer, and seems to
appeal for encouragement: "That is right, is it not?" There is a
severe absence of details; everything in the picture is made to
contribute to the colour scheme. "The play of cool light on the faces
and hands, on the man's black dress, and the gray tablecloth with its
patches of blue shadow; the design of the man's large hat against the
dark background, the almost pathetic charm of the fair-haired boy's
expression, the regular black and white of the tiled floor,—all seem
chosen for their pictorial value alone and skilfully composed into this
grave, almost austere harmony. The largeness of design and rejection
of all superfluous detail in this picture connect it with Vermeer's
more daring compositions" (M. H. Witt, in the Nineteenth Century,
October 1900). Only one life-size group by the master is certainly
authenticated—the signed "Courtesans" at Dresden. The attribution of
our picture to the master is uncertain.
Unknown (Dutch School: 17th Century).
A strong face, finely painted. The iron-gray of the man's hair combines
harmoniously with the lawn collar and cuffs; a harmony in black and
gray.
Allart van Everdingen (Dutch: 1612-1675).
This painter, an elder contemporary and precursor of Ruysdael, was
born at Alkmaar. He studied successively under Roelandt Savery at
Utrecht and Pieter Molyn at Haarlem. In a voyage which he made
to the Baltic he was shipwrecked on the coast of Norway, and he
remained for some time in that country. On returning to his native
land he reproduced the scenes among which he had dwelt—torrents
edged around by huge firs springing out from sombre masses of
rock, and throwing their spray into large stretches of transparent
water. A large number of studies from nature remain from his hand,
and these he composed into pictures. His works had some vogue in
Holland, where they provided a counter-attraction to the views of
the softer and more smiling country which the "Italianisers" were
offering to the public. If Ruysdael did not himself go to Norway,
it must have been Everdingen's Norwegian scenes that inspired him.
Everdingen's "colouring is simple and pure, his touch broad and
facile, and it is evident that every object in his pictures was
studied from nature." He was also an accomplished etcher. He died
at Amsterdam.
Signorelli (Cortona: 1441-1523). See 1128.
A predella picture; characteristic of the master, and in good
preservation. Formerly in the possession of Count Colonna Ferretti (a
nephew of Pius IX.) at Cortona.
Alexandre Calame (Swiss: 1810-1864).
This painter is of some interest in the history of painting as
one of the pioneers who discovered for artistic purposes the
picturesqueness of Switzerland. He was born at Vevay, and was
the son—not (as sometimes stated) of a simple mason, but—of
a clever stone-cutter. He was very delicate as a child, and an
accident at school deprived him of the sight of his right eye.
As a youth, Calame obtained employment in a bank at Geneva. He
further aided the narrow resources of his home by making little
Swiss views in colour, which the shopkeepers took up. Foreigners
were glad to bring them away as travelling memorials, in place of
photographs, which did not then exist. His employer, M. Diodati,
noticing young Calame's talent for art, generously enabled him to
obtain instruction. He made rapid progress, and became headmaster
of a drawing-school in Geneva. In 1837 he began contributing to
foreign exhibitions views of Switzerland, and these won for him a
considerable reputation. He visited England in 1850, and here, as
in other countries, his works found many purchasers. In the South
Kensington Museum there is a large collection of his Swiss views
in water-colour. He was a lithographer and engraver, as well as a
painter, and his plates of Swiss landscapes were at one time well
known. He received commissions from many European sovereigns, and
was visited by all the great personages who passed through Geneva.
In France, indeed, art-circles were cool towards him. "Un
Calame, deux Calames, trois Calames—que de calamités" ran the
phrase every year in the Paris Salon. But in Germany he found
warm admirers and formed several imitators. His lithographed
studies of trees, and his landscapes for copying remained in use
for some decades as a medium of instruction in drawing. He was
a conscientious workman, who finished the whole of his canvas
or paper with equal industry, and his drawing was correct. But
his colouring is insipid, and his atmosphere somewhat heavy. "By
painting he understood the illumination of drawings, and his
drawing was that of an engraver. Sentiment is replaced by correct
manipulation, and in the deep blue mirror of his Alpine lakes,
as in the luminous red of his Alpine summits, there is always to
be seen the illuminator who has first drawn the contours with
a neat pencil and pedantic correctness" (Muther's History of
Modern Painting, ii. 322). Calame's fertility was very great. His
note-books contain the record of 450 finished pictures in oil, 500
studies, and 1200 water-colours (E. Rambert: Alexandre Calame. Sa
vie et son œuvre, Paris, 1884).
The mountain in our picture is the Blumlis Alp: an afternoon effect.
François Duchatel (Flemish: 1616-1694).
This painter, whose works are very rare, is said to have been
a pupil of David Teniers, the younger. In some of his pictures
representing village festivals he followed the style of that
master; in others, of family groups, his work rather resembles
that of Gonzales Coques. His most important picture is in the
Museum at Ghent. It represents the "Inauguration of Charles II.,
King of Spain, as Count of Flanders," and comprises about a
thousand small figures. Duchatel was born at Brussels. He worked
for some time in Paris in conjunction with his fellow-countryman
Van der Meulen (see 1447). The picture before us, with its
vigorous touch and warm colour, shows that Duchatel was an
accomplished portrait-painter.
Ascribed to Lo Spagna. (See 1032).
"The figure of the Saviour and the angel are identical with those in
the picture by Lo Spagna in the National Gallery numbered 1032, but
the execution of the work points to possibly a different hand. It was
ascribed by Passavant to Raphael. On the back of the panel are incised
the initials G. D. H. in a monogram surmounted by a crown, and an
inscription on paper of probably the 18th century; 'All' Illmo et
Eccmo Giovanni Hiccolini (sic) Imbascatore (sic) di Toscana in
Roma.' It was exhibited in the Art Treasures Exhibition at Manchester
in 1857 (No. 146) under the name of Raphael, when it belonged to Mr.
Henry Farrer, who had it from Russia" (National Gallery Report, 1900).
Tuscan School (15th century).
See also (p. xxi)
A characteristic fragment of fresco.
Benedetto Bonfigli (Umbrian: 1420-1496).
A characteristic, if unimportant, example of one of the early
masters of the Umbrian School. Bonfigli (or Buonfiglio) was a
native of Perugia, and his principal work, a series of frescoes,
full of quaint costume and fantastic detail, representing the
lives of St. Louis of Toulouse and St. Herculanus, is in the
Palazzo del Consiglio there.
There is much naïvete in the surprised expression of the seated Sir
Joseph, and much dainty charm in the youths with their vessels of gold.
Paris Bordone (Venetian: 1503-1570). See 637.
The Saviour holds in his hand a scroll inscribed "Ecce sum lux mundi,"
but the expression is vapid.
Luca Signorelli (Umbrian: 1441-1523). See 1128.
This important picture, in a splendid frame of the period, is of
special interest from the record of authenticity which it bears.
On the cartellino at the foot, is an inscription informing us that
"the noble picture before us was an offering of devotion by Master
Aloiusius, a French physician, and Thomasina his wife," that "Luca
Signorelli, the illustrious painter of Cortona" was the artist, and
that the date was 1515. In the archives of the little town of Montone,
near Umbertide, a deed, dated September 10, 1515, has been discovered,
which informs us further that the picture was painted for Master
Aloiusius, living at Montone, for the chapel of St. Christina at that
place, by Luca Signorelli "on account of their mutual and cordial
friendship, and in consideration of the free services which he had
received, and in future hopes to receive, from the said Aloiusius."
The physician on his part undertakes in the same deed to give free
medical attendance henceforth to the said Luca, and to any member of
his household. The place for which the picture was painted accounts
for the figure of St. Christina, on the right of the Virgin. Among her
adventures was being tied to a millstone and cast into the Lake of
Bolsena, but angels upheld the millstone, and she floated back to land.
The legend explains also the charming view of a lake seen beneath the
feet of the Virgin. The altar-piece was discovered by Signor Mancini in
a cellar at Montone, much obscured by neglect, and was for some time in
his collection at Città di Castello. It has now been cleaned, and is
apparently in fine condition.
The date of the picture shows that it was painted towards the end of
the artist's life, when he was 74 years of age, and some critics have
found in the work signs that the master's hand was losing its cunning.
Certainly the composition of the principal lines—with the upper figure
at each side in line with the lower—is somewhat awkward, and the St.
Christina is a heavy figure with a meaningless expression. That of St.
Sebastian, however, is vigorous; the central group of the Madonna and
Child borne by cherubims is impressive; the angels above are very fine,
and St. Jerome and St. Nicholas of Bari are good. The details of St.
Nicholas's robe and mitre deserve study. It is amusing to note that two
of the critics who scarify the picture single out the landscape—the
one, as the worst part of it, the other, as its redeeming feature.
Abraham Raguineau (Dutch: 1623-1681).
This painter, born in London, settled at the Hague, where he seems
to have met with little prosperity. At a later time, he was living
at Leyden, and was writing-master to the Prince of Orange.
The picture is signed, and dated (1657), at the top of the oval on the
left, and is the only known signed work of the painter in existence.
It shows us a pleasant-looking, if somewhat characterless youth, aged
18 (as the description states), whose coat, shirt, and collar make a
delicate study in cool grey tones.
Jacopo Pacchiarotto (Sienese: 1474-1540).
The story of this painter and revolutionist—who, joining
the Bardotti and taking part in popular risings in Siena,
was concealed by the monks in a tomb, beside a newly-buried
corpse—is familiar from Browning's humorous telling of it in his
Pacchiarotto and how he worked in Distemper. He was originally
a pupil of Bernardino Fungai (see 1331); but his later work shows
the influence of Fra Bartolommeo and Raphael.
"He appears to have studied Raphael," says Lanzi, "with the greatest
care; and there are heads and whole figures so lively, and with such
grace in the features, that to some connoisseurs they seem to possess
the ideal." Certainly there is a liveliness and an appropriateness
of expression about the figures in this picture which distinguish it
from the stiff mannerism of earlier Sienese pictures. Kneeling in
adoration are St. John the Baptist and St. Jerome (with the stone, in
his character as penitent). St. Stephen, behind St. John, carries on
his head the stone, as symbol of his martyrdom. Behind St. Jerome is
St. Nicholas of Bari, a finely rendered portrait of venerable age. Of
the figures in the niche-shaped panels in the frame, that, at the top
on the left, of the Angel of the Annunciation is particularly graceful.
The panels of the predella show the Agony in the Garden, the Betrayal,
the Crucifixion, the Deposition, and the Resurrection.
Andries Vermeulen (Dutch: 1763-1814). See 1447.
Dutch School (17th century).
Ascribed to Sir Antonio More (Flemish: 1572-1578).
Alvise Vivarini (Venetian, painted 1461-1503).
All visitors to Venice are familiar with a picture, in the church
of the Redentore, of the Madonna and Sleeping Child, with two
playing angels; there is a bird on the curtain above, and some
fruit on the parapet below. It is one of the most charming little
pictures in Venice, and is usually shown as a work of Giovanni
Bellini. Modern criticism assigns it, however, to Alvise Vivarini,
to whom an important place in the history of Venetian painting
is now accorded as an artist developing on lines independent of
the Bellinis, and as the Master of Lorenzo Lotto.[255] That he
was largely employed in the Ducal Palace we know from Vasari, who
describes his works there, commending more particularly their
fine perspective and "portraits from the life so well depicted as
to prove that this master copied nature very faithfully." These
works, begun in 1489 and stopped by the artist's death in 1503,
were destroyed in the fire of 1577. Of his extant works, the
earliest one, which is dated (1475), is at Montefiorentino. The
altar-piece in the Venice Academy is dated 1480, and that in the
Berlin Gallery is probably of the same period. To a later date are
assigned the Madonnas of the Redentore and S. Giovanni in Bragora
at Venice, and the present picture. His latest work, finished
after his death by Marco Basaiti, is the large altar-piece of St.
Ambrose in the Frari.
This picture (which is signed on a cartellino on the parapet) is, says
Mr. Berenson, "delightful as a composition. The Madonna is seen down
to the waist, holding the Child on a parapet, while behind her, to the
left, a window opens out on a charming landscape. The Madonna's face
has a tinge of almost Botticellian melancholy, as in Lotto's Recanati
altarpiece. The Child is almost the putto on the right in the
Redentore picture, but somewhat more bony. The draperies already have
the freedom of Alvise's latest works." The picture, formerly in the
Manfrini Gallery, was presented by Mr. Charles Loeser in 1898.
Jacob Jordaens (Flemish: 1593-1678).
Jordaens, who stands next to Rubens and Van Dyck among the great
Flemish painters, was a fellow-pupil with the former under Adam
Van Noort, whose daughter he married in 1616. In the same year
he became a member of the Painter's Guild of St. Luke, being
described as a "water-colourist"; his first works were in fact
paintings in distemper and cartoons for the tapestry workers. By
1620 his fame as a painter of pictures was established. His works,
which are very numerous, are of all kinds of subjects, but he is
little represented in British Galleries. Examples may be seen,
however, in the Wallace Collection and the Dulwich Gallery.
The name of the sitter is on the frame; his coat of arms and crest,
with the inscription "Aetatis suae 63, 1626," are on the upper corner
of the picture. It is a fine portrait, characteristic of the exuberance
and vigour which mark the work of Jordaens.
Pieter Saenredam (Dutch: 1597-1665).
Saenredam, who lived at Haarlem, is one of the leading Dutch
painters of architecture. His interiors in particular are
remarkable for their luminous effect. Another example of them may
be seen at Dulwich.
The church is the Domkerk at Utrecht. Notice the boy making a
caricature on the wall; underneath this is the artist's signature.
Lorenzo Monaco (Florentine: 1370-1425).
Don Lorenzo was born at Siena, but became a Camaldose monk of
the Convent of the Angeli at Florence, his early practice being
that of a miniaturist. In the principal of his known works—an
altar-piece of 1413 now in the Uffizi at Florence, Mr. Roger Fry
bids us note the cunning with which the painter "weaves together
his flowing curves," the "rare charm in his ætherial, unstructural
draperies," and "a kind of visible music" in his design (Monthly
Review, June 1901).
Something of these qualities may be seen in the long and slender
figures of our picture. The decorativeness of its patterns, and the
architectural details, should also be noticed. The picture, formerly
in a church at Certaldo, is in its original Gothic frame. Crowe and
Cavalcaselle (vol. i. p. 554) suppose the picture to have formed part
of a larger altar-piece of which the two wings are in our gallery,
ascribed to the school of Taddeo Gaddi (Nos. 215, 216). But the
different scale of the figures in them negatives this supposition.
Jan Fyt (Dutch: 1609-1661). See 1003.
See also (p. xxi)
Paul Delaroche (French: 1797-1856).
Hippolyte, or (as he called himself) Paul, Delaroche, was the
popular French painter of his time, and this is one of his
best known pictures. He turned to historical illustration as
affording scope for an art which should reconcile the "classical"
with the "romantic." He was the embodiment in the art of
painting, as someone has put it, of Louis Philippe's maxim of
the juste-milieu. To the same class with the present picture
belong his "Death of Queen Elizabeth" (Louvre), "The Princes in
the Tower" (familiar from engravings), and several works in the
Wallace Collection. Ruskin, while not enamoured of his pictures
(see Fors Clavigera, Letter 35), allows that his "honest effort
to grasp the reality of conceived scenes" compares favourably
with "the deathful formalism and fallacy of what was once
called 'Historical Art,'" and that his kindly-meant talent has
"contributed greatly to the instruction of innumerable households"
(Works, vol. xix. pp. 50, 205). Théophile Gautier, more
contemptuously, described Delaroche's art as that of "historical
illustration for the family use of the bourgeoisie," and the
vogue which it enjoyed all over Europe set the fashion for what
became a prevailing style of "stage-dramatic representation"
in painting. In 1833 (the date on our picture) Delaroche was
appointed a professor at the École des Beaux-Arts, and from
1837-1841 he was engaged upon the principal work of his life,
the decoration of the amphitheatre of that school—the idea of
his design being an assemblage of the chiefs of the arts in past
ages to witness the triumphs of the labourers in his own age. He
was assisted in this colossal work by many pupils; among them
was Edward Armitage, R. A. (see vol. ii. No. 759), who has given
an interesting account of the manner of their co-operation (see
Report of the Commissioners on the Royal Academy, 1863, p. 64).
The "Hemicycle" was much damaged by fire in 1853, and was restored
after the death of Delaroche by Robert Henry.
The scene is in the Tower, February 12, 1554. Lady Jane Grey, condemned
for treason, has been blindfolded, and is being led to the block by the
Lieutenant of the Tower.
Jan van der Heyden (Dutch: 1637-1712). See 866.
The château in the former picture is "The House in the Wood" (Huis ten
Bosch), built in 1647, in which the first Peace Conference was held at
The Hague.
Jan Both (Dutch: 1610-1662). See 71.
A fine example of the "soft golden tones" noted in our account of Both
as characteristic of his best works.
Paul Constantin La Fargue (Dutch: died 1782).
The work of an artist (best known by his drawings and etchings)
who painted many small pictures of his native city, The Hague.
A scene in the Groén Market; the tower of the Groote Kerk in the
background.
Lucas Cranach (German: 1472-1553). See 291.
Upon the shield to the left is the painter's crest, as in No. 291; with
the date 1524. The head is fine and full of character; the hands are
less successful.
Francisco Zurbaran (Spanish: 1598-1662). See 230.
Zurbaran, it has been said, was "a great though not a professed,
portrait painter." The lady is St. Margaret only in virtue of the
dragon, the emblem of the saint; otherwise this is a portrait of a
young lady in a fanciful country costume.
Bartholomeus van der Helst (Dutch: 1611-1670). See 140.
This picture, said to be a portrait of a lady of the house of Braganza,
was formerly in the collection of Mr. Beckford at Fonthill. It is
signed, and dated 1645. The "careful finish," which Sir Joshua Reynolds
commended in the work of Van der Helst, may be well studied here in the
rich and beautiful costume and jewellery.
Albrecht Dürer (German: 1471-1528).
The acquisition of this picture adds to the Gallery a fine example
of the great artist, who in all the characteristics of his art is
the central representative of the German spirit,—"its combination
of the wild and rugged with the homely and the tender, its
meditative depth, its enigmatic gloom, its sincerity and energy,
its iron diligence and discipline." The range of his powers is
shown not only in his works that survive, but in the estimation in
which he was held by his contemporaries. When he went to Venice
they "praised his beautiful colouring," Bellini honoured him with
his friendship, "and he was everywhere treated," so he wrote, "as
a gentleman." Raphael sent him some drawings, on one of which this
note in Dürer's handwriting may still be seen: "Raphael of Urbino,
who has been so highly esteemed by the Pope, drew these naked
figures, and sent them to Albrecht Dürer in Nuremberg to show him
his hand." He was a writer as well as an artist. "Painting," said
Melanchthon, "was the least of his accomplishments"; whilst of his
personal qualities Luther bore testimony when he wrote: "As for
Dürer, assuredly affection bids us mourn for one who was the best
of men.... May he rest in peace with his fathers: Amen!"
He was born at Nuremberg—the son of a goldsmith and the third
of eighteen children—and Albert of Nuremberg he remained to the
end—the painter of a city distinguished for its "self-restrained,
contented, quaint domesticity." His first training was from
his father in the goldsmith's trade; next, when fifteen, he
was apprenticed for three and a half years to Wohlgemuth, the
chief painter of the town; and lastly came his Wanderjahre,
a long course of travel and study in foreign lands. In 1494 he
settled down at Nuremberg, and there, with the exception of
a visit to Venice in 1505-1506 (see p. 190 n.), and to the
Netherlands in 1520-1521, he passed the remainder of his life in
the busy and honoured exercise of the various branches of his
art. He had married, at the age of twenty-three, a well-to-do
merchant's daughter. The stories which have long passed current
with regard to her being imperious, avaricious, and fretful, have
been entirely discredited on closer knowledge of the facts. The
marriage was childless, but husband and wife lived throughout
on terms both of affection and companionship. As for examples
of Dürer's work, the widely-spread prints of the "Knight and
Death" and the "Melancholia" give the best idea of his powers
of imagination; while in actual specimens of his handiwork in
drawing, the British Museum is the second richest collection in
the world.
The best commentary on this picture is the description of his father
which Dürer wrote in a history of his family:—
"My dear father became a goldsmith, a pure and skilful man. He
passed his life in great toil and stern, hard labour, having
nothing for his support save what he earned with his hand for
himself, his wife, and his children; so that he had little
enough. He underwent, moreover, manifold afflictions, trials,
and adversities. But he won just praise from all who knew him,
for he lived an honourable, Christian life; was a man patient of
spirit, mild and peaceable to all, and very thankful towards God.
For himself he had little need of company and worldly pleasures:
he was also of few words, and was a God-fearing man. This my dear
father was very careful with his children to bring them up in the
fear of God; for it was his highest wish to train them well that
they might be pleasing in the sight both of God and man. Wherefore
his daily speech to us was that we should love God and deal truly
with our neighbours."
It is just such a man that the painter here sets before us. "The face
is pathetic with the deep furrows ploughed in by seventy years of
labour and sorrow. Yet as he stands there, so quietly, for his son
to paint him, there is just a trace of pleasure and pride lurking in
the kind old face" (Conway's Literary Remains of Dürer, p. 35). An
inscription on the top of the panel records that it was painted in
1497, when the father was seventy and the son twenty-six. There are
three other versions of the picture—at Munich, Frankfort, and Syon
House respectively, and the question which is the original has been
much disputed. The present picture (exhibited at the Old Masters, 1903)
was bought, with No. 1937, for £10,000 from the Marquis of Northampton.
French School (15th century).
A little picture almost as delicately wrought as an illuminated page in
a missal. The donor is kneeling in the door of the Gothic chapel. The
Virgin and Child are in "a garden enclosed," where columbines spring
up at her feet; at the top of the picture are two small figures of St
Michael driving out Satan.
Titian (Venetian: 1477-1576). See 4.
This superb portrait, though traditionally called "Ariosto," bears no
resemblance to the poet. It is the picture of an Italian aristocrat of
the Renaissance that the painter sets before us; of a man refined and
luxurious, unimpassioned, and somewhat cynical. Immortalised by art,
he looks out upon us with a somewhat scornful glance; the handsome
head is one of those thoroughly individualised representations which,
once studied, fix themselves indelibly in the memory. Sober and yet
sumptuous in colour, the picture is enveloped in a luminous haze; and
the costume, with the quilted sleeve of steely grey, is a masterpiece
of technique.
The picture, which is signed on the parapet Titianus V. (with another
V. at the further end of the parapet), belongs to Titian's earlier
period, when he was under the influence of Giorgione, to which master
indeed it is sometimes attributed.[256] There are several versions
of the picture, including one in Lord Rosebery's collection at
Mentmore.[257] The present picture (Old Masters, 1895) was bought by
Sir George Donaldson from Cobham Hall (Lord Darnley) for £30,000, and
sold by him for the same price to the nation; a portion of the sum
(£9000) being contributed by Mr. W. W. Astor, Mr. Alfred Beit, Lord
Burton, Lord Iveagh, Mr. Pierpont Morgan, and Lady Wantage.
Francisco Goya (Spanish: 1746-1828). See 1471.
"Perhaps as good an example as could be found of the brilliancy and
execution and vivid portrayal of character which characterise this
artist at his best" (Official Catalogue).
Henri Fantin-Latour (French: 1836-1904). See 1686.
A fine example of this artist's portraiture, representing old friends
of the French painter, with whom he stayed when in this country. Mr.
Edwards, landscape painter in water-colours and etcher (1823-1879), is
examining a print with an expert's eye. His wife, perhaps less happily
posed (because seemingly disconnected with the other figure), looks
out at the spectator with her arms folded. Mrs. Edwards who presented
this picture to the nation in 1904 died in 1907. "Nearly every one of
Fantin-Latour's pictures in this country passed through her hands, and
have her private marks, by which she was able to identify them after a
lapse of many years."
Lazzaro Bastiani (Venetian: about 1425-1512). See 750.
In the background is the festoon of fruit, familiar to us in Crivelli's
pictures.
Henriette Browne (French: 1829-1901).
Velazquez (Spanish: 1599-1660). See 197.
This celebrated picture—commonly called "Venus and Cupid," but known
in Spain as the "Venus del Espejo"—is one of the master's rare studies
of the nude, and it is characteristic of his genius. The subject is
professedly mythological, but Velazquez seeks no adventitious interest
from legendary association or idealistic grace. Here, as everywhere,
his standpoint is frankly realistic, whilst the work is saved from
commonness by purity of colour and sincerity of artistic purpose. It
has been truly said that the flesh-painting here makes many another
picture in the Gallery look lifeless and unreal. The face of "Venus" in
the mirror—with broad features enframed in plainly dressed hair—does
not realise the promise of the pretty outline of the head with the
brown hair tied in a knot; and it has been suggested (by Dr. Justi)
that "perhaps the damsel did not wish to be recognised." However
this may be, the very plainness of the face emphasises the artist's
intention. The picturesqueness of the outline and modulations of the
back in a youthful female figure was the artistic effect which he set
himself to render.
The history of the picture is well authenticated.[258] It was painted
about 1650, and passed into the possession of the Duke of Alba on his
marriage in 1688 with Doña Catalina de Haro of Guzmom, Condessa-Duquesa
de Olivares, the picture forming part of her dowry. It is mentioned in
an inventory of the paintings belonging to her family as "a Venus of
life size reclining nude with a child who holds up for her a mirror
into which she gazes. This picture is an original work by Don Diego
Velazquez." In an account of the Duke of Alba's palace in 1776 it is
described as "the very celebrated Venus depicted from the back, in the
reclining posture, with her face reflected in a mirror towards which
she directs her gaze." Subsequently the picture became the property of
the Spanish statesmen, Godoy. In 1808 it was sold and brought to this
country; and purchased through Mr. Buchanan for the sum of £500, by Mr.
Morritt, the friend of Sir Walter Scott. It became an heirloom in Mr.
Morritt's family at Rokeby Hall, Teesdale. "Twice," says Dr. Justi in
his life of Velazquez, "in 1879 and 1885 I had the privilege of seeing
it there and convincing myself of its faultless preservation and the
original brilliancy and freshness of its colour." It was exhibited
in 1857 among the "Art Treasures" at Manchester and in 1890 at the
"Old Masters." It was ultimately sold under an order of the Court of
Chancery, the price obtained being £30,500. It passed into the hands
of Messrs. Agnew, and its sale out of this country was believed to be
imminent when the National Art Collections Fund came to the rescue and
raised by subscription the amount now necessary for its purchase.
The sum paid was £45,000,[259] and the picture was presented by the
Fund to the nation.
Diaz (French: 1809-1876).
Narciso Virgilio Diaz de la Peña, one of the members of "the
Barbizon School" (see p. 698), was born, of Spanish extraction,
at Bordeaux. Left an orphan at the age of ten, he was adopted
by a Protestant clergyman, living at Bellevue, near Sèvres. He
was of a truant disposition, and sleeping once upon the grass in
the woods he was bitten by a viper; the accident cost him his
left leg, and he had to go through life with a wooden one, which
he called his pilon. In after years, when his pictures were
rejected at the Salon, he would make a hole in the canvas with his
wooden leg, saying with a laugh "what's the use of being rich? I
can't have my pilon set in diamonds." His early years were of
uncertain fortune, spent in earning a precarious living, sometimes
as a painter on china at Sèvres, sometimes as an errand-boy in
the streets. But he had confidence in his talent, and gradually
found a market for his pictures. These were at first of figures,
flowers, or other genre. A meeting in 1830 with Théodore
Rousseau sent him to Fontainebleau and nature. For Rousseau, he
entertained the most profound admiration, the story of "the toast
of Diaz," is well known. Diaz had been preferred to Rousseau in
admission to the Legion of Honour. In attending a dinner given in
1851 to the new officiers, Diaz rose and invited the company to
drink "À Rousseau, notre maître oublié!" Of his figure-subjects,
one of the best "La Fée aux Perles" is in the Louvre, but it is on
his landscapes that his fame chiefly rests. "Go into the forest,"
it has been said, "lose yourself among its trees, and you can
only say 'À Diaz'." To him, however, the forest was not, as to
some others of the school, or as to Ruysdael, sombre or serious.
It was a keyboard on which to play colour-fantasies. "You paint
stinging-nettles," he said to Millet, "I prefer roses." "Pearls,"
said Théophile Gautier of his pictures, "brilliant as precious
stones, prismatic gems and rainbow jewels." His pictures have been
called not so much landscapes, as "tree-scapes." "Have you seen my
last stem?" he used to say himself to his visitors. But it was the
play of sunlight on the stems that he chiefly loved. Diaz is the
colourist of the Barbizon School.
The acquisition of this sparkling little picture of a glade in the
forest of Fontainebleau, lit by the afternoon sun, marked somewhat
of an era in the history of the National Gallery. It was the first
illustration on its walls of the modern French school of landscape.
Herman Saftleven (Dutch: 1609-1685).
This painter, whose landscapes were praised by connoisseurs of
the time as "distinguished by great care and accuracy," was born
at Rotterdam, was a pupil of Jan van Goyen, and worked chiefly
at Rotterdam and Utrecht. He painted many views on the Rhine and
Maas; and one of the former, in the Dulwich Gallery, dated 1656,
is among his best works.
The scene is the Lake of Gennesaret; the people are assembled on the
shore to hear the words of Christ who is seated in St. Peter's ship
(Luke v. 1-3).
Raphael (Urbino: 1483-1520). See 1171.
This picture is attributed to the earlier portion of Raphael's "Roman
period" (see p. 569); to about the same time, that is, as that of the
"Garvagh Madonna" (No. 744). It takes its commonly accepted name from
the small tower which may be seen in the distance of the landscape
background; it is sometimes referred to as "The Madonna with the
Standing Child," or "The Virgin with the Downcast Eyes," or "The
Rogers Madonna." It is painted on canvas, and has suffered much from
accident and repainting; but the feeling of the picture is thoroughly
Raphaelesque in purity of colour and charm of expression. The mother's
face is full of affection, sweet and yet serious; while the Child looks
out of the canvas, "as if unconscious of all but the joy of the moment."
The picture was formerly in the Orleans collection, whence it was
purchased by Mr. Willett in 1792 for £150. It next passed into the
collection of Mr. Henry Hope, at whose sale in 1816 it was bought
for 59 guineas by Samuel Rogers, the poet. "In the atmosphere of
St. James's Place," says a chronicler of the works from the Orleans
Collection which passed into the possession of Rogers, "they may
safely be said to have been worshipped with a purer incense than they
ever received before. We may be pardoned for recalling a few of them.
Foremost was a Raphael, one of the master's sweetest compositions, the
Child standing with one foot on his mother's hand. It had been reduced
by ruthless rubbings to a mere shadow, but the beauty was ineffaceable:
hanging—how well remembered!—in the best light on the left-hand wall
in the drawing-room. Then two glorious Titians—one of them, Christ
appearing to the Magdalene" (Quarterly Review, Oct. 1888). The
picture last mentioned is also now in the National Gallery (No. 270)
which possesses further from his collection, Nos. 269, 271, 276, 279.
At his sale in 1856 the Raphael was bought for 480 guineas by Mr. R. J.
Mackintosh, son of the historian, who exhibited it at Manchester in the
Art Treasures Exhibition of 1857; it was also shown at the Old Masters
in 1902. From him it passed to Miss Eva Mackintosh who has now (1906)
presented it to the nation. In the British Museum there is a cartoon of
the picture.
Louis Eugène Boudin (French: 1825-1898).
A view from within the harbour looking out to the open sea "between
the piers." Signed and dated "E. Boudin, '88," with the title on the
back in the artist's handwriting, "Entre les jetées, Trouville."
This picture by a fine sea-painter was presented by the National Art
Collections Fund.
Hyacinthe Rigaud (French, 1659-1743). See 903.
Jean Baptiste de Lulli (or Lully) was the celebrated composer
(1633-1687) for whose music Louis XIV. had a great predilection. For
him the King created a new company of musicians called Les Petits
Violons or La Bande des Seize. Lulli composed also the incidental
music for Molière's plays. The portraits of Lulli, says a contemporary,
are fairly like him, but he was smaller and stouter than they show.
School of Botticelli (Florentine: 1447-1510). See 1034.
The portrait is supposed to represent the unknown artist's wife; the
angel holds an armillary sphere.
Lorenzo Costa (Ferrarese: 1460-1535). See 629.
The portrait, "warts and all," of a theologian, physician, and poet
of Mantua. So he is described under the engraving of this picture,
which is the frontispiece to a book published at Padua in 1649 and
entitled Baptistae Fierae Mantuani Medici sua aetate clarissimi Coena
notis illustrata a Carolo Avantio Rhodigino. The portrait, a chef
d'œuvre of a painter whose portraits are rare, was shown at the
Burlington Fine Arts Club in 1894.
Florentine School.
"This picture has been attributed to Piero Pollajuolo and to the
painter known as 'Amico di Sandro'" (National Gallery Report, 1906).
School of Bronzino (Florentine: 1502-1572). See 649.
Francesco Zuccarelli (Florentine: 1702-1788).
This painter of decorative landscape was much employed in England,
and during a sojourn here from 1752 to 1773 he became one of the
foundation members of our Royal Academy.
Bernardino Luini (Lombard: about 1475-1533). See 18.
The face, attitude, and design are the same as in the Christ of No. 18;
but the beautiful expression is absent.
Lombard School: 16th century.
Fresco on plaster; not unlike the work of Beltraffio.
Moretto (Brescian: 1498-1555). See 299.
Companion figures, with wreaths of roses, inscribed (on the first) Ave
Regina, (on the second) Coelorum.
Moretto (Brescian: 1498-1555). See 299.
Moroni (Bergamese: 1525-1578). See 697.
Alvise Vivarini (Venetian: painted 1461-1503). See 1872.
A fine portrait, hitherto attributed to Antonello da Messina, but now
assigned to Vivarini, on the analogy of similar busts attributed by Mr.
Berenson to that painter.
Romanino (Brescian: about 1485-1566). See 297.
Paris Bordone (Venetian: 1500-1570). See 637.
Francesco Guardi (Venetian: 1712-1793). See 210.
Excellent examples of the best manner of this painter.
Tiepolo (Venetian: 1692-1769). See 1192, 1193.
It is mentioned in the account of Tiepolo (under Nos. 1192, 1193)
that he executed wall-decorations in the Royal Palace, formerly the
episcopal residence, at Wurzburg. The present picture is almost the
same in composition as one of those. The subject—the marriage of
Frederick Barbarossa in 1156, to Beatrix, daughter of the Count of
Burgundy—lends itself well to Tiepolo's "feeling for splendour," and
swift mastery of decorative effect. The Imperial banner, emblazoned
with the black eagle, is borne by a warrior. The bishops of Wurzburg
were princes of the Empire.
Sebastiano Ricci (Venetian: 1659-1734). See 857.
An illustration of the Book of Esther (xv. 7-16); "Then lifting up his
countenance that shone with majesty, he looked very fiercely upon her,
and the queen fell down and was pale and fainted," etc.
Jacopo Marieschi (Venetian: 1711-1794).
By this painter, an imitator of Canaletto, two views of Venice
were bought by the National Gallery from the Beauconsin
Collection, but they were consigned to the National Gallery of
Dublin.
Enrico Fiammingo.
This painter of whom little is known, was a follower of
Spagnoletto and Guido.
Annibale Carracci (Bolognese: 1560-1609). See 9.
Benedetto Gennari (Bolognese: 1633-1715).
The artist was the nephew and scholar of Guercino. He came to
England in 1674, and was for some time in the service of Charles
II. and James II. "I once saw," says Lanzi, "a Bathsheba of
Guercino, along with a copy by one of the Gennari. The former
appeared as if newly painted at the time, and the latter as if
many years previously, such was its inferiority in strength
of hand.... Benedetto subsequently formed for himself a style
in England, more polished and careful, and exemplified it more
particularly in his portraits."
Salvator Rosa (Neapolitan: 1615-1673). See 84.
Giovanni Francesco da Rimini (Umbrian: dated 1406).
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641). See 49.
It has been said in our notice of Van Dyck that many of his best works
are to be seen in Genoa. Two of the portraits made during his "Genoese
period" are now in our Gallery; having found their way to Paris and
thence to England from the palace of the Marchese Cattaneo in Genoa,
and having been bought by the Trustees from Messrs. Colnaghi. The
price paid for the picture before us was £13,500. The portrait has
not the pathetic charm of the "Gevartius" (52), to which it now forms
a pendant; but in strength and vitality it is one of the painter's
masterpieces. The Marchese lives before us, instinct with nervous
energy; seeming, as has been well said, "at once to interrogate the
spectator, and haughtily to repel interrogation."
Gabriel Jacques de Saint Aubin (French: 1724-1780).
A pupil of Boucher; painter, first of heroic and then of domestic
subjects; also an etcher.
Spectators watching a turn with the foils by two mountebanks.
Jan Siberechts (Flemish: 1627-1703).
It is very fitting that this painter, whose works in Continental
galleries are rare, should be represented in ours; for it was
the Duke of Buckingham, who brought him into vogue. Passing
through Antwerp, the Duke was attracted by his work, and took
him in his train to England, where, according to Walpole, he was
much employed by the aristocracy. "Among the landscapes of the
Flemish school," says an enthusiastic critic (A. J. Wauters),
"there is not one of whom we think more highly. If his colouring
lacks the brilliancy and the soft transparency of the tones of
Rubens, it offers others both rare and unexpected at a time when
the Flemish landscape was yet enslaved by conventional laws.
Sieberechts boldly met the difficulties offered by open-air scenes
and foreshadowed the daring colouring attempted by modern realism.
His landscapes are true pastorals. He understood the art of giving
his farm-girls and hinds real attitudes, taken from life; and how
to make the various hues of vermilion and silver, blue and yellow
of their costumes harmonise boldly together, which makes his works
so charming, and gives them such a free and entirely personal
character."
Henri Fantin-Latour (French: 1836-1904). See 1686.
J. B. C. Corot (French: 1796-1875).
Corot is one of those original painters who bring new aspects
of nature and modes of beauty into ken. He is usually classed
with the Barbizon School (see p. 691), but he stands alone with
a peculiarly subtle and individual note of his own. "Rousseau,"
he once said, "is an eagle; I am only a lark." His mood, though
often tinged with melancholy, is tender, and delicate; what he
loved was not the grandiose in form or colour, but rather all
that was glimmering, uncertain, evanescent—such as the "shade
by the light quivering aspen made," or delicate effects, at
early dawn, or in moonlight. To read his letter on "the day of
a landscapist"[260] is the best introduction to his art. "One
rises early, at three o'clock in the morning before the sun is
up, one goes and sits down at the foot of a tree, one looks and
waits; he does not see much at first. Nature resembles a white
tablecloth, where he can hardly distinguish the profiles of some
of the masses. Everything is scented, everything trembles with
the fresh breeze of the dawn." And then, again, when the sun has
set: "Bien! bien! twilight commences. There is now in the sky only
that soft vaporous colour of pale citron. One is losing sight of
everything, but one still feels that everything is there. The
birds, those voices of the flowers, say their evening prayer, the
dew scatters pearls upon the grass, the nymphs fly ... everything
is again darkened; the pond alone glitters. Good, there is my
picture completed." It was only gradually that Corot reached the
style upon which his fame rests. He was born in Paris of humble
parents, and served for some years in a draper's shop. He was
twenty-two before he was able to follow his artistic bent. He
made the usual classical tour to Italy, and it was not till 1843
that he began to reveal the characteristic charm which he had
found in French landscape. He painted what few eyes are wont to
see and had to create the taste by which he was to be admired.
But affluence came to him, and he gave as readily as he received.
Many stories are told of his benevolence, and the love which he
inspired is recorded in the title, "le père Corot," by which he
was called. As a mark of their esteem his fellow-artists presented
him with a gold medal shortly before his death. His last words
were characteristic of his art and his life. It was his practice
to sketch early and late in the open air, dreaming his pictures as
he studied, and to "paint his dreams" in the studio. "Last night,"
he said as he lay on his death-bed, "I saw in a dream a landscape
with a rosy sky; it will be marvellous to paint." He was seen
to draw in the air with his fingers. "Mon Dieu" he said, "how
beautiful that is; the most beautiful landscape I have ever seen."
His old housekeeper offered to bring him his breakfast. He smiled
and said, "To-day Père Corot will breakfast above."
This little picture is characteristic of one of Corot's tastes. "He
loved," we are told, "water in indetermined clearness and in the
shining glance of light, leaving it here in shadow and touching it
there with brightness. He loved morning before sunrise, when the white
mists hover over pools like a light veil of gauze; he had a passion for
evening which was almost greater; he loved the softer vapours which
gather in the gloom." (Muther.) The picture was painted in 1871, and
was purchased by Fantin-Latour at the posthumous sale of Corot's works.
Jacob Ochtervelt (Dutch: died before 1710).
Jacob Ochtervelt (sometimes called wrongly Jan, and Achtervelt
or Uchtervelt) was born probably at Rotterdam. He formed his
style on the model of Terburg, to whom his pictures are sometimes
attributed (see, for instance, an example in the Venice Academy
formerly given to Terburg).
A beautiful example of a painter, by whom pictures in good condition
are rare—a harmony in pink and grey and brown. There is poetical
feeling, too, in the lady's attitude and the man who looks up intently
at her; as also some humour in the dog turning his attention to an
intruder.
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641). See 49.
A companion picture to No. 2127.
Joseph Ducreux (French: 1735-1802).
The artist is dressed as a French Abbé, with powdered hair.
Mabuse (Flemish: 1470-1541). See 656.
Hendrick Steenwyck (Flemish: 1580-1649). See 1132.
Dated 1615. The nave of a Gothic church; in the distance a funeral
procession is entering the choir; beggars and dogs in the foreground.
Pieter Neeffs (Flemish: 1577-1661). See 924.
A night scene in a church of Renaissance architecture. On a tomb on the
floor is an inscription—"632 Hier legt begraven Henri Steenwick."
Pieter Neeffs.
The chapel in No. 2207 is the same as that on the left in No. 2206.
Cornelissen (Dutch: about 1475-1555). See 657.
The title is written on the back of the oak panel. The Duke's sword is
inscribed—"Victor est qui nomen Domini pugnavit." Among other versions
of this portrait is one in the Oldenburg Gallery, attributed to Lucas
van Leyden. Another (in the Duke of Rutland's collection) has Dürer's
monogram.
Mabuse (Flemish: about 1470-1541). See 656.
The beautiful costume and jewellery should be noticed; the girl holds
an orrery. This picture was shown in the Golden Fleece Exhibition at
Bruges in 1907.
Jean François de Troy (French: 1679-1752).
This painter (pupil of his father, François de Troy) was employed
by Louis XIV. to execute designs for tapestry in the grand style,
and he carved out much decorative work. Sets of some of the
tapestries from his designs are in the State Apartments in Windsor
Castle. Subsequently, he adopted the style of Watteau, and painted
"conversations galantes," such as in the example before us. Other
specimens of his work may be seen in the Victoria and Albert
Museum, and in the Wallace collection.
J. L. David (French: 1748-1825).
Jacques Louis David, the founder of the "classical school" in
France and for many years the Dictator of French art, was a
nephew of Boucher, from whom he received his first instruction.
His celebrated "Oath of the Horatii" (1784) and "Brutus" (1789),
and other works of the kind, are in the Louvre. They were not
without influence on the politics of the time, and David was
elected a representative of Paris in the Convention in 1792. He
became a follower of Robespierre, and naturally escaped execution.
Abandoning politics, he became acquainted with Napoleon, who made
him his First Painter. On the restoration of the Bourbons, he
sought refuge in Brussels, where he died. Many of his Napoleonic
pictures are at Versailles.
A vigorous portrait-sketch of Elisa, sister of Napoleon, whom he made
Duchess of Tuscany, with the titles of Duchess of Lucca and Princess
of Piombino. She was born in 1777 and died in 1820. We see her here in
white empire costume.
J. A. D. Ingres (French: 1780-1867).
A study of the famous singer; attributed to Jean Auguste Dominique
Ingres, a pupil of David, who imparted a grace of his own to the
Classical School.
Ambrogio de Predis (Milanese: about 1450-1515). See 1661.
This striking full-length figure of a lady, richly attired and wearing
jewels, was No. 7 in the exhibition of pictures by Milanese masters
at the Burlington Fine Arts Club in 1894. It was then described as a
portrait of Beatrice d'Este.
Henri Harpignies (French: born 1819).
These two pictures, recently presented to the Gallery, are slight
examples of the work, in oil and water-colour, of an artist
who travelled with Corot and continued that master's method of
interpreting nature.
Georges Michel (French: 1763-1843).
A good example of an artist who has been called "the Ruysdael of
Montmartre."
Lorenzo Lotto (Venetian: 1480-1556). See 699.
The Virgin, a pretty woman prettily dressed, is seated between St.
Jerome and St. Anthony of Padua, who holds in his hand a "Madonna
lily." This bright and dainty picture belongs to the year 1522 (see
Berenson's Lorenzo Lotto, 1895, p. 187).
Philips Wouwerman (Dutch: 1619-1668). See 878.
Aart van der Neer (Dutch: 1603-1677). See 152.
Frans Hals (Dutch: 1580-1666). See 1021.
An important accession to the Gallery, as an example of the large
portrait-groups in which Hals excelled. The composition whereby the ten
figures are all brought into a group is ingenious—the part played by
the direction of the elder boy's attention to the other being in this
respect important—though in colour the harmony is somewhat disturbed
by the emphatic lights of the lace and linen worn by each member of
the group. There is individual character in all the portraits; among
the figures which most compel admiration are those of the mother, full
of quiet dignity, of the eldest daughter, standing on the right with a
work-basket in her hand (both beautifully painted), and of the little
girl seated in front. The picture unknown to the connoisseurs before
its acquisition for the National Gallery—was purchased in 1908 from
Lord Talbot de Malahide for £25,000.
Jacques Antoine Vallin (French: 1770-1838).
Dr. J. N. B. Forlenze (1769-1833) was a physician and man of fashion
in Naples. He had visited England and studied under John Hunter; and
practised as an oculist in Paris. This portrait was exhibited at the
Salon in 1808.
F. V. E. Delacroix (French: 1798-1863).
Ferdinand Victor Eugène Delacroix was the chief of the "Romantic"
school in painting, which in literature was represented by
de Musset, George Sand, and Victor Hugo. The Romanticists
revolted against the art of the Classicists as cold, formal, and
colourless. Delacroix, whose admiration was for Byron in poetry
and for Rubens in painting, sought before all things passion,
emotion, and colour. He had, says Silvestre, "the sun in his
head and a thunderstorm in his heart, and his grandiose and
awe-inspiring brush sounded the entire gamut of human emotion."
He loved strong colour, and he was one of many French artists who
were influenced by the sight of Constable's pictures in the Salon.
His pictures were as fiercely assailed, as they were furiously
painted. "It is the massacre of painting," said Baron Gros of
Delacroix's "Massacre of Chios." "I became the abomination of
painting," said the artist, "I was refused water and salt;" but,
he added, "I was enchanted with myself," and he won his way into
favour. He was born at Charenton St. Maurice, near Paris. His
father, who held high office under the First Empire, had been
a partisan of the violent faction during the Revolution, and,
like some other revolutionaries, was more consumed with public
ardour than concerned with private affairs. The boy was exposed
to accidents and neglect in his childhood which make one wonder
that he survived. He had poor health throughout life, and there
was in him a hectic strain which was reflected in his art. In
1817 he entered the studio of Guérin, where he had Ary Scheffer
(see 1169) for a fellow-pupil and antagonist, and afterwards he
worked under Baron Gros. He was deeply stirred by the War of Greek
Independence; and a visit which he paid to Morocco and Algiers in
1831 had the effect of enriching his sense of colour. He had a
strong supporter in Thiers, through whose influence he received
many important commissions for public works—in the decoration
of the Louvre, the Luxembourg, and the Chamber of Deputies. Our
picture was a design for the latter. These and other large works
occupied him till 1855; and at last in 1857 he was admitted into
the French Academy.
In this characteristic design the spirit of Ruthless Conquest is
personified in the figure of Attila, the leader of the Huns, called
"The Scourge of God." He drives before him, beneath a blood-red sky and
amid the ghosts of the slain, figures emblematic of Beauty, Art, and
Pleasure.
Armand Charnay (French: born 1844).
Jean Marie Armand Charnay, born at Charlieu (Loire); in 1864
entered the École des Beaux-Arts; genre and landscape painter.
This picture of autumn in the walks of a French château was presented
by the artist.
Philippe de Champaigne (French: 1602-1674). See 798.
A portrait, in Cardinal's cape and skull-cap, of Jean François Paul
de Gondi (1614-1679), Archbishop of Paris, and afterwards Cardinal de
Retz. As Archbishop, he aided the rising of the Fronde against Mazarin.
In 1652 he was arrested and imprisoned; he escaped, and for some years
wandered abroad. In 1662 he was received into favour by Louis XIV.,
and in his later years was often employed as an envoy to Rome. He is
described as having been in his youth short, near-sighted, ugly, and
exceedingly awkward.
Michiel Jansz van Mirevelt (Dutch: 1567-1641).
Mirevelt (or Miereveld) was the son of an engraver on precious
metals at Delft, and was trained as an engraver. He afterwards
entered the studio of Blocklandt at Utrecht, and devoted himself
to historical painting, still-life, and other subjects. Presently
he painted the portraits of some of the princes of the House
of Nassau, and these were so much admired that he came into
continuous request in that branch of art. Sandrart relates
that Mirevelt claimed to have painted nearly 10,000 portraits;
doubtless an exaggeration, but "it may be said that it was he who
made the custom of having portraits painted general in the United
Provinces. His painting, thin, clean finished, and rather cold,
was intended to please his elegant clients" (Havard).
This lady's stomacher embroidered with rows of pearls and pleated lace
ruff are finely painted.
Ascribed to Luca Penni (Roman: born about 1500).
One of the scholars and assistants of Raphael; after whose death
Penni is said to have attached himself to Perino del Vaga.
Subsequently he became an engraver.
Passignano (Florentine: 1558-1638).
Domenico Cresti, called Il Passignano from his native place, a
village near Florence, was a pupil of Zuccaro. Moving to Venice,
he studied for a while under Paolo Veronese, whose works he
greatly admired and whose manner he followed. His facility and
rapidity caused a play upon his surname, and he was called "Passa
ognuno."
The great astronomer (1564-1642) is represented with astrolabe, books,
diagram, and compasses.
Frans Pourbus, the younger (Flemish: 1569-1622).
Pourbus, son of Frans Pourbus the elder, was born at Antwerp, and
by 1591 was a master in the Guild of St. Luke. He was employed
by the Archduke Albert at Antwerp, at whose court he attracted
the notice of the Duke of Mantua. The Duke took him into his
service (1600-1609), and he shared with Rubens the title of
Painter to the Ducal Court. At Mantua he worked at "a collection
of the most beautiful women in the world, whether princesses or
private ladies." Like Rubens, Pourbus was occasionally employed as
Ambassador, and a mission to Paris caused him to forsake Italy for
France. Eleanor of Mantua was a sister of Marie de' Medici, and
Pourbus finally settled in Paris as Painter to the Queen. There is
a portrait of the queen by him at Hampton Court.
J. L. A. T. Géricault (French: 1791-1824).
Jean Louis André Théodore Géricault, animal and historical
painter, was a precursor of the revolt of the Romanticists against
the Classicists, which was carried further by Delacroix (see
2289). His most famous picture, "The Raft of the Medusa" (Louvre),
was exhibited at the Salon in 1819 and excited much controversy.
He was the son of a prosperous advocate; and as a young man became
a member of the Jockey Club, and lived the life of the jeunesse
dorée. He had some instruction in art from Charles Vernet and
Guérin, but his real master was Rubens in the Louvre. In 1816 he
went to Italy. After 1819 he visited England, where he practised
the then new art of lithography. His picture of "The Derby at
Epsom" (1821) is in the Louvre.
P. E. Théodore Rousseau (French: 1812-1867).
Rousseau, one of the founders of the modern school of landscape
in France, had to fight his way to fame through many difficulties
and much neglect. The toast of Diaz, "à notre maître oublié," has
been already recorded (p. 691). For thirteen years (1835-1848)
his pictures were rejected from the Salon; and official honours
came to him tardily. He had his revenge in the Exhibition of 1855,
when his rejected pictures "came back as victorious exiles,"
and again in that of 1867, when he was chosen president of the
jury. But he was of a sensitive and jealous disposition; he was
estranged from his best friend, Dupré, and chagrin at being passed
over for promotion in the Legion of Honour in 1867 is said to
have hastened his death. A pleasanter episode in his life is his
generous and timely help to Millet. The heads of the two artists
are carved together on his tombstone in the cemetery of Chailly,
near Barbizon. He was born in Paris, the son of a merchant-tailor.
He studied painting under Rémond and Guillon Lethière, and first
exhibited at the Salon in 1831. His pictures in successive years
were loudly trumpeted by Thoré as those of an innovator, and for
that reason perhaps excited the more hostility among the old
school. His favourite ground was the forest of Fontainebleau, and
he made his home at Barbizon, studying every aspect of nature with
intense application. "It is a good composition," he wrote, "when
the objects represented are not there solely as they are, but
when they contain under a natural appearance the sentiments which
they have stirred in our souls. If we contest that the trees have
power of thought, at any rate we may allow that they can make us
think; and in return for all the modesty of which they make use
to elevate our thoughts, we owe them, as recompense, not arrogant
freedom or pedantic and classic style, but the sincerity of a
grateful attention in the reproduction of their being." There is a
good example of his forest-pictures in the Wallace Collection.
Rousseau was the most various of the landscape painters of his time.
In the present picture we see him in a peaceful mood; another picture
(2635) is of a stormy sky.
Hans Holbein (German: 1497-1543). See 1314.
Amongst Holbein's duties as painter to Henry VIII. was that of taking
portraits of the ladies whom he proposed in turn to wed. After the
death of Jane Seymour, the first favourite was the lady before us, "the
demure half-smile not yet faded from her eyes"—Christina, daughter
of Christian II. of Denmark, niece of the Emperor Charles V., and
widow of the Duke of Milan. Reasons of state suggested her marriage
to Henry VIII., and Holbein was sent to Brussels, where the Duchess
was residing. Our portrait was painted a few years later than "The
Ambassadors," from a sketch made at Brussels on March 12, 1538. The
circumstances are entertainingly told in the letters of the English
envoy, John Hutton, to Thomas Cromwell. On the 10th August Hutton
had sent off a portrait by another artist to Henry VIII., that he
might judge of the appearance of the young Duchess before making her
a proposal of marriage. The next evening "Mr. Haunce" (i.e. Hans
Holbein) arrived in company of a servant of the king, whereupon Hutton
sent off an express-courier to fetch back the picture he had already
despatched, "for that in my opinion," he said, "it was not so perfect
as the case required, neither as the said Mr. Haunce could make it."
"The next day following at one of the clock in the afternoon, the
said Lord Benedick came for Mr. Haunce, who, having but three hours'
space, both showed himself to be master of that science, for it is very
perfect; the other is but slobbered in comparison to it, as, by the
sight of both, your Lordships shall well perceive."
The original—the study, sketch, or miniature, the result of
three hours' hard work—has disappeared; but the picture which
the master made from it after he came home is now before us. The
portrait, it would seem, did not make the king less anxious for the
match—which, however, was broken off, it will be remembered, after
long negotiations, by the hostility of the emperor. The duchess, in
spite of her tender years, seems—and the picture does not belie the
supposition—to have had a character of her own. The story of her
reply, "that she had but one head, but that if she had two, one should
be at the service of his majesty," is, indeed, now discredited; but
her actual answer, "You know I am the Emperor's poor servant and
must follow his pleasure," was, in the light of subsequent events,
equally to the point. The English envoy specially reported "her honest
countenance and the few words she wisely spoke."
The beautiful portrait before us was retained by Henry VIII., and
through the Lumley, Pembroke, and Arundel Collections it passed
into that of the Dukes of Norfolk. "Whether as a pictorial record
of an interesting chapter of our history, or as an example of the
presentment of a fresh and winning young personality by the most
masterful and at the same time most reserved and refined methods of the
painter's craft, the picture counts among the very noblest of the art
treasures still left in England. That it is so left is mainly due to
the splendid generosity of a small group of private donors, the chief
of whom elude our public thanks by choosing firmly to remain anonymous.
At the eleventh hour, when the picture was on the very point of leaving
our shores to enrich a private gallery in America, these benefactors
came forward and enabled the Committee of the National Art-Collections'
Fund to present the masterpiece to the nation." The price paid was
£72,000. (Report of the National Art-Collections' Fund, 1909;
Froude's History of England, ch. xv.) The picture had for many years
been lent to the National Gallery by the Duke of Norfolk.[261]
Philippe Rousseau (French: 1816-1887).
Born in Paris; first exhibited at the Salon in 1834, "A View in
Normandy"; afterwards made his reputation, and attained great
popularity as a painter of still-life.
Benvenuto da Siena (Sienese: 1436-1518).
This painter is better seen in the larger picture, No. 909.
Fiorenzo di Lorenzo (Umbrian: 1440-1521).
L'Ingegno (Umbrian: painted 1484-1511). See 1220.
The donor and his wife kneel in adoration before the Virgin and Child
enthroned between St. Dominic and St. Catherine of Siena. The picture
was formerly in Lord Dudley's collection.
Cesare da Sesto (Lombard: 1477-1523).
Leonardo da Vinci was "very successfully installed," says Vasari,
"by Cesare da Sesto, who was also a Milanese." Cesare was born at
Sesto Calende on the Lago Maggiore, and is supposed to have worked
under Leonardo in Milan, 1507-1512. At Rome he was, according to
Lomazzo, an intimate friend of Raphael.
The daughter of Herodias, with a face of haunting beauty, points to a
vase, over which the executioner holds the head of John the Baptist.
The table on which it rests has sphinxes for supports. This picture is
a replica with variations of the one by Cesare in the Vienna Gallery,
and is said to have come from the Barberini Palace in 1799.
Ercole Roberti de' Grandi (Ferrarese: 1450-1496). See 1127.
This picture was No. 14 at the Burlington Fine Arts Club, 1894, where
it was ascribed to Lorenzo Costa. "In type, the woman resembles one
of the daughters of Bentivoglio II., and it may be that this group
of musicians contains family portraits of the reigning house of the
Bentivogli at Bologna."
Francia (Bolognese: 1450-1517). See 180.
This picture, an early work by Francia, is an admirable example of
the artist as a portrait-painter. It is "a marvel of fine condition,
and betrays the technique of the goldsmith seeking for the quality of
enamel. Bianchini was a Bolognese senator, collector, poet, and friend
of Francia." Upon a "Holy Family" in the Berlin Museum is inscribed—
Bartholomei sumptu Bianchini maxima matrum
Hic vivit manibus, Francia, picta tuis.
Our portrait, from the collection of the Princesse de Sagan, was No. 23
at the Burlington Fine Arts Club, 1894.
Luca Signorelli (Cortona: 1441-1523). See 1128.
Domenico Ghirlandajo (Florentine: 1449-1494). See 1230.
The portrait of the man in his red-coloured robe and black skull-cap
is set against a landscape background. Many other examples of a like
treatment will have been noticed by the visitor; as, for instance, in
the fine portrait by Ridolfo Ghirlandajo (2491). And it is interesting
to observe how long this convention survived, though with variations.
The advantage of introducing an object of locally dark colour behind
the head was perceived, and a background of curtain or other drapery
was used; but a piece of it was drawn back, so as still to display
landscape. See, e.g., Basaiti's portrait (2498). Or, again, a window
was opened with the same purpose. See, e.g., Piombo's portrait of
a Venetian lady as Salome (2493) and Cariani's of a Venetian magnate
(2494). A corresponding development may be traced in Madonna pictures.
Often the Virgin and Child are placed in an open landscape, as in the
beautiful "Madonna of the Meadow" (599). When they are brought indoors
a curtain is drawn back (2503), or a window opened—e.g. 2496, 2609,
and (Flemish School) 2595.
Lorenzo di Credi (Florentine: 1459-1537). See 593.
The inscription records that the lady was the wife of Francis, Duke of
Gaeta. This portrait was formerly ascribed to D. Ghirlandajo.
Ridolfo Ghirlandajo (Florentine: 1483-1561). See 1143.
This fine portrait is of "a very learned man," and an intimate friend
of Lorenzo di Credi, who also, as Vasari relates, painted him. The
background is studied from that in Leonardo's "Mona Lisa."
Jacopo del Sellaio (Florentine: 1442-1493).
This painter is mentioned by Vasari as among the pupils of Fra
Filippo Lippi. He worked in the manner of Botticelli, and No. 916
in our gallery is now ascribed to him.
Sebastiano del Piombo (Venetian: 1485-1547). See 1.
Cariani (Bergamese: about 1480-1541). See 1203.
A vigorously-painted portrait of a personage of some importance or
self-importance; perhaps, as the official catalogue suggests, "the
principal citizen of some provincial town." His robe is of gold
brocade, and he handles his gold chain. It may be a view of his town
that is shown through the open window.
Cariani (Bergamese: about 1480-1541). See 1203.
This fine picture, known as La Vierge aux Lauriers from its
background of a laurel-bush (and roses), was formerly in the
Leuchtenberg Collection at St. Petersburg, where it was ascribed to
Giorgione.
Beltraffio (Lombard: 1467-1516). See 728.
School of Botticelli (Florentine: 1447-1510). See 1034.
Marco Basaiti (Venetian: painted 1500-1521). See 281.
Signed on the parapet. The young Venetians, it will be noticed, wore
their hair long, and carried great weights of it at the sides of their
faces: compare, e.g., No. 1121 (Catena), 2509 (Vivarini).
Marco Basaiti (Venetian: painted 1500-1521).
This picture, if No. 599 be indeed by the same hand, must be an early
work; the face and figure, both of mother and of child, are ugly and
ungainly. The picture is signed in the left corner.
Andrea Previtali (Bergamese: about 1480-1528). See 695.
Previtali (Bergamese: about 1480-1528). See 695.
Inscribed on the parapet "Andreas Privitalus, p." and dated 1518.
Bastiano Mainardi (Tuscan: died 1513).
This painter was the pupil, favourite assistant, and
brother-in-law of Domenico Ghirlandajo (see 1230). He was born at
San Gimignano, in the churches of which place pictures by him are
to be seen.
The beautiful painting of jewellery, and the fine patterns, should not
escape notice.
Antonio da Solario (Venetian: 15th-16th century).
This beautiful picture is signed on a cartellino "Antonius da Solario
V"(enetus).
Cesare da Sesto (Milanese: 1477-1523). See 2485.
Cima da Conegliano (Venetian: 1460-1518). See 300.
This little picture, of David (carrying the head of Goliath) walking
with Jonathan, was formerly in the Modici collection at Naples.
Cima (Venetian: 1460-1518).
Formerly in the Patrizi collection at Rome.
Bartolommeo Veneziano (painted 1505-1530). See 287.
From the Castellani collection.
Unknown (Florentine School: 15th century).
Two charming angels, of whom one is garlanded with roses, hold the
child before the Virgin. The scene is laid within the walls of the
mystical garden ("a garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse"), behind
which rise "Noah's ark" trees.
Alvise Vivarini (Venetian: painted 1461-1503). See 1872.
"The portrait of a boy of fifteen or sixteen, a little defiant or shy,
yet frank in look, with a blond zazzera (head of hair) cropped short
over the eyebrows, wearing a coat of pale turquoise blue. Formerly
in the Duchatel collection at Paris, where it was seen by Messrs.
Crowe and Cavalcaselle." By them ascribed to Andrea da Solario (see
734); formerly, to Antonello (see 673); now, on the authority of Mr.
Berenson, to Alvise: see Berenson's Lorenzo Lotto, pp. 110-1.
Unknown (Umbrian School: 15th century).
Possibly a portrait of the young Raphael.
Giulio Campi (Cremona: 1502-1572).
A master at the School of Cremona, who worked in the great church
there with Boccaccino (see 806). There are also works by him at
Mantua, where he is said to have studied under Giulio Romano.
Correggio (Parmese: 1494-1534). See 10.
"The art of Correggio with its deep sense of beauty and its tender
sensibility was peculiarly fitted," says Signor Ricci, "to give life
and grace to the figure of the Magdalen. He introduced it in many of
his large compositions, and made it the subject of several separate
studies, but not one of the latter has survived." If this be an
authentic work, the statement requires correction; but the head of the
Magdalen is not convincingly Correggiesque.
Tiepolo (Venetian: 1692-1769). See 1192.
Canaletto (Venetian: 1697-1768). See 127.
No. 2514 shows the Grand Canal, with the church of the Scalzi; No.
2515, the square of St. Mark's, seen through an archway; No. 2516,
the Colonnade of the Procuratie Nuove. The white spots with which
the figures are picked out are not a happy instance of Canaletto's
workmanship.
Guardi (Venetian: 1712-1793). See 210.
No. 2517, "Buildings and Figures"; 2518, "Gothic Archway and Figures";
2519, "Venetian Courtyard"; 2520, "Quay-side with Warehouses"; 2521,
"Ruins"; 2522, "Treasure-Seekers"; 2523, "View through an Archway."
Guardi (Venetian: 1712-1793). See 210.
It was at Mestre that travellers in old days took gondola for Venice,
and the tower was a familiar landmark. Ruskin mentions it in his
description of the approach to Venice (Stones, vol. i. last chapter).
Guardi (Venetian: 1712-1793).
A good example of the deep, rich colour which Guardi gives to his
Venetian subjects: see under 210.
Unknown (Spanish: 17th century).
This unfinished picture (once in the collection of the Earl
of Clare) has been ascribed to Pedro Nuñez de Villavicencio
(1630-1700). He was a Knight of the Order of St. John of
Jerusalem, a distinguished amateur-painter and a favourite pupil
of Murillo, who died in his arms.
Juan Giacchinetti Gonzalez (Spanish: 1630-1696).
A portrait-painter, who was a great admirer of Titian and a
diligent copyist of his works. He was the son of a Burgundian
jeweller settled at Madrid, and he was born in that city.
He removed to Italy, where he was called, from his skill in
portraiture, Il Borgognone dalle teste (the Burgundian of the
heads). He practised his art in Brescia and Bergamo, and died in
the latter city.
Frans Hals (Dutch: 1580-1666). See 1021.
An excellent example of the "irresistible verve" which Hals brings to
his portraits, especially to those of men: see under 1021. To what is
there said, it may be interesting to add the opinion of Sir Joshua
Reynolds. "In the work of Frank Hals, the portrait-painter may observe
the composition of a face, the features well put together, as the
painters express it; from whence proceeds that strong-marked character
of individual nature, which is so remarkable in his portraits, and is
not found in an equal degree in any other painter. If he had joined
to this most difficult part of the art, a patience in finishing what
he had so correctly planned, he might justly have claimed the place
which Vandyck, all things considered, so justly holds as the first of
portrait-painters" (Sixth Discourse).
Frans Hals (Dutch: 1580-1666). See 1021.
Cornelis Janssens (Dutch: 1594-1664). See 1320.
Sir Joshua Reynolds has some interesting remarks on the technique of
Janssens. "There is a kind of finishing," he says, "which may safely be
condemned, as it seems to counteract its own purpose; that is, when the
artist, to avoid that hardness which proceeds from the outline cutting
against the ground, softens and blends the colours to excess: this is
what the ignorant call high finishing, but which tends to destroy the
brilliancy of colour, and the true effect of representation; which
consists very much in preserving the same proportion of sharpness and
bluntness that is found in natural objects. This extreme softening,
instead of producing the effect of softness, gives the appearance of
ivory, or some other hard substance, highly polished. The portraits of
Cornelius Janssen appear to have this defect, and consequently want
that suppleness which is the characteristic of flesh; whereas, in the
works of Vandyck, we find that true mixture of softness and hardness
perfectly observed" (Eleventh Discourse).
Pieter Saenredam (Dutch: 1597-1665). See 1896.
In No. 1451 (by Berck-Heyde) we see the interior of the same church;
in the present picture, no public service is going on. In each case a
dog is a church-goer; here in front of the pew on the left, where a man
kneels down in prayer, a dog kneels up.
Jan Wynants (Dutch: about 1615-1679). See 883.
Aart van der Neer (Dutch: 1603-1677). See 152.
Eglon Hendrik van der Neer (Dutch: 1635-1703).
Eglon was the pupil of his father, the landscape-painter, Aart
van der Neer; but the son's taste took the direction rather of
interiors and portraits. He also painted some Biblical subjects.
A costume piece: note the richly embroidered white satin dress of
Judith.
Aart van der Neer (Dutch: 1603-1677). See 152.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 43.
A characteristically "Rembrandtesque" effect, the light concentrated on
the principal figure.
Rembrandt (Dutch: 1606-1669). See 43.
This fine portrait-study was formerly in the collection of the Duke of
Sutherland.
Adrian van Ostade (Dutch: 1610-1685). See 846.
Peasants listening to a man playing the hurdy-gurdy. Signed in the left
foreground "A. V. Ostade, 1653." Formerly in the collection of Lord
Dudley (at whose sale in 1892 it fetched £1470).
Adrian van Ostade (Dutch: 1610-1685). See 846.
Isaac van Ostade (Dutch: 1621-1649). See 847.
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
Shown at the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition in 1857.
Cuyp (Dutch: 1620-1691). See 53.
Quiryn Brekelenham (Dutch: 1625-1668). See 1329.
Pieter van den Bosch (Dutch: 1613-1660).
A painter of Amsterdam. The year of his death is not known; 1660
is the date of the last mention of him in extant documents. A deed
of 1645 records that the painter bound himself, at a yearly fee
of 1200 gulden, to work exclusively for a certain picture-dealer,
from 7 a.m. till dusk, daily, Sundays and Festivals alone excepted.
Pieter de Hooch (Dutch: 1630-about 1677). See 794.
Formerly in the collections of Pierre de Grand Pré (Paris) and the Earl
of Shaftesbury.
Jacob Ochtervelt (Dutch: died before 1710). See 2143.
Wouwerman (Dutch: 1619-1668). See 878.
Jan Steen (Dutch: 1626-1679). See 856.
Jan Steen (Dutch: 1626-1679). See 856.
Steen, though he loved scenes of rollicking conviviality and was fond
of sly humour, by no means confined himself to such moods. His brush
traced every episode of family life, and this little piece is as pretty
as one of the "Graces for Children" in Herrick's Noble Numbers:—
What God gives, and what we take,
'Tis a gift for Christ his sake;
Be the meal of Beans and Pease,
God be thanked for those and these.
This picture was formerly in the Leuchtenberg Collection at St.
Petersburg.
Jan Steen (Dutch: 1626-1679). See 856.
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
A beautiful example of the master, who has signed it in full in the
centre of the foreground. It will be noticed that the point of view is
much the same, and that the effect of sunlight in the middle distance
is the same, as in the large picture, No. 990. One may ask the question
which Fromentin puts of a like instance: "The two landscapes are,
the one on a large scale, the other on a small, a repetition of the
same subject. Is the little canvas the study which served as text for
the large? Did Ruysdael design, or did he paint from nature? Was he
inspired, or did he copy directly? That is his secret. In any case the
two works are charming."
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
This is one of the best known of Ruysdael's small pictures, much prized
for its luminous quality: its pedigree has been traced through famous
collections for over 100 years. In the Bredel sale (1875) it fetched
£2310; in the Dudley sale (1892), £1470. It is No. 786 in vol. iv.
(1912) of Smith's Catalogue Raisonné.
Ruysdael (Dutch: 1628-1682). See 627.
Jan Vermeer (Dutch: 1632-1675). See 1383.
No. 15 at the Burlington Fine Arts Club, 1900, where it was thus
described: "A lady seated on the right facing to left; she wears a
yellow skirt with blue overdress, the sleeves trimmed with lace, and
turns her face to the spectator as she plays. Her clavichord stands
upon a marble table and is open, showing a landscape painted inside the
cover; a viol da gamba and bow are in the left-hand bottom corner, and
a blue and yellow curtain above; a picture with three figures hangs on
the wall behind. Signed to the right of the lady's head, J V Meer."
Adrian Brouwer (Dutch-Flemish: 1605-1638).
Brouwer, Flemish by birth, Dutch by adoption, rivalled his
contemporary, the younger Teniers, as a genre painter. His realism
is as humorous as it is vigorous. His pictures, says M. Havard,
"are marvels of arrangement and colouring. They are sober in
conception, and exhibit exquisite modelling, remarkable softness,
and light and shade full of transparency and truthfulness;
qualities which, during his lifetime, obtained for Brouwer the
admiration of his brother-artists and the enthusiasm of Rubens,"
who, as is known from extant documents, possessed several of his
pictures. His portrait was painted by Van Dyck to be placed in a
collection of the most celebrated portrait-painters.
Brouwer led an exciting life, and has been the subject of several
biographies, which have alternately covered him with scandal and
whitewashed him. Documents unearthed during recent years support
the earlier accounts, which represent this painter of topers
as a jovial, reckless, dissipated Bohemian; though his epitaph
may yet have partly told truth in describing him as "a man of
great mind, who rejected every splendour of the world, and who
despised gain and riches." The documents are set out by Wurzbach
(Niederländisches Künstler-Lexicon, 1906). Taking all the
evidence together, we may picture Brouwer as a genial fellow, fond
of adventure, slow in setting to work, quick in spending, inclined
to libertinism and drink, constantly running into debt, a sworn
foe of shams and parade, fond of his joke, a lover of poetry, and
popular among all who knew him. One of the stories told of him
well illustrates his mocking contempt of fashionable vanities. At
Amsterdam he had bought himself some coarse linen, which he had
made up into a fashionable suit and then painted with a flowered
pattern. Brouwer's costume became the talk of the town, and shops
were ransacked to furnish copies of it; till one night at the
theatre, the artist jumped on to the stage, wiped off his pattern
with a wet cloth, and laughed at his audience. He was born at
Oudenarde, ran away from home, had exciting adventures on the way,
and turned up in Amsterdam and Haarlem. He is said to have entered
the studio of Frans Hals, and to have been very badly treated
there. He is known to have been an artist of repute, moving also
in literary circles, in Amsterdam and Haarlem, 1625-27. He is
next heard of at Antwerp, where in 1631-32 he was admitted into
the Painters' Guild. Three years later he became a member of the
section of the Guild for exercising rhetoric. He was cast into the
state prison, probably on suspicion of espionage; and during the
seven months of his incarceration, succeeded in running up new
debts to the extent of £400—a feat which may be explained by the
fact that the prison amenities included an excellent wine-tavern.
He died—of his dissipations, according to some, but quite as
probably of the plague—and was buried in the cemetery, and
afterwards in the Convent Church of the Carmelites. His pictures
are rare. The Wallace Collection, the Victoria and Albert Museum
(Ionides Collection), and the Dulwich Gallery have each one good
example. It has been suggested that the Landscape, No. 72 in our
Gallery, hitherto attributed to Rembrandt, is by Brouwer.
Hobbema (Dutch: 1638-1709). See 685.
Adrian van de Velde (Dutch: 1636-1672). See 867.
No. 57 in the Exhibition of Dutch Masters at the Burlington Fine Arts
Club, 1900, when it was thus described: "In the centre, among sparse
trees in leaf, stands a small farm; to left a man accompanied by a
woman on horseback, driving a flock of sheep to pasture; in the left
foreground a pool of water, with a cow drinking; in the centre, two
herdsmen, with cows, sheep, and goats lying down and feeding. Cool
daylight with light clouds spreading over blue sky." Signed in the
centre "A. v. Velde 1663."
Willem van de Velde (Dutch: 1633-1707). See 149.
Anthonie Palamedes (Dutch: 1601-1673).
Palamedes was the son of a gem-engraver at Delft. He became
Dean of the Painters' Guild. He painted portraits and small
"conversation pieces," and sometimes supplied figures for the
architectural pictures of his friend Dirk van Delen (see 1010).
"The light and spirited pose of his figures, his bold touch, and
the skill with which he makes the outline of his little groups
stand out, please the eye" (Havard).
Pieter Codde (Dutch: 1599-1678).
A painter of Amsterdam much influenced by Frans Hals.
Jan van Goyen (Dutch: 1596-1656). See 137.
Nicolas Maes (Dutch: 1632-1693). See 153.
A portrait of the eminent Dutch savant (1632-1723) who has been
called "the father of scientific microscopy." He was elected a Fellow
of the Royal Society in 1680.
David de Heem (Dutch: 1570-1632).
David de Heem, the elder, born at Utrecht, was the father of the
more celebrated still-life painter of the same name. He and his
son were the founders of the "still-life" school in their country.
Except for the snail, this brightly-coloured arrangement of oysters, a
lemon, a plum, cherries and nuts, with a glass of wine, is not unlike
the kind of arrangement of actual eatables and drinkables which one
may see to-day in the shop-windows of Italian restaurants in London.
Nor, in all probability, was the motive of the picture different. "The
painting of still-life in Holland," says M. Havard, "was originally
sign-painting. Inn-keepers and game-dealers had real pictures as signs,
painted upon their shop-fronts, and we know of several of these simple
masterpieces which have found their way into important collections"
(The Dutch School, p. 260).
Paul Potter (Dutch: 1625-1654). See 849.
Signed, and dated 1647; formerly in the collection of Mr. Hope, of
Deepdene.
Pieter Codde (Dutch: 1579-1678). See 2576.
Adrian Ysenbrandt (Flemish: died 1551).
Ysenbrandt was an assistant of Gerard David (see 1045). He came
to Bruges, and was admitted into the Painters' Guild in 1510; he
worked there till his death. He acquired a reputation for skill
in painting the nude and the human countenance; his carefulness
of execution and the sweetness of expression which he gave to his
faces were much admired. Many of his pictures were sent to Spain
(see W. H. Weale in the Burlington Magazine, vol. ii.).
This picture of the Magdalen, before whom an angel holds a crucifix,
was in the Exhibition of the Primitives at Bruges in 1902. The artist's
careful execution may be noted in the beautifully illuminated MS.
Jan van de Cappelle (Dutch: painted 1650-1680). See 865.
Frans van Mieris (Dutch: 1635-1681). See 840.
Gabriel Metsu (Dutch: 1630-1667). See 838.
W. K. Heda (Dutch: 1594-1678). See 1469.
Petrus Cristus (Flemish: about 1410-1472).
Cristus was born at Baerle, near Ghent. He purchased the right of
citizenship at Bruges in 1444—that is, four years after the death
of Jan van Eyck. He cannot therefore have been a pupil of that
master, as has often been surmised; but he belongs to the school
of the Van Eycks "by his realistic style, by the extreme care he
bestowed on details, by his bold and powerful colouring, and by
the tasteful arrangement of his draperies and interiors. But his
works can never be mistaken for those of Van Eyck; his outline
is often harsh, his types are wanting in character; his figures,
designed and executed with very inferior skill, are not painted
in the same impressive manner as those of the great master"
(Wauters). The portrait of a Venetian consul (No. 696) is ascribed
to him.
Acquired by Mr. Salting from the Earl of Northbrook's collection;
No. 10 at the Burlington Fine Arts Club, 1892—remarkable for the
preciseness and microscopic minuteness of hand displayed in it. The
portrait of a devout and studious young man. He holds an open book;
and on the wall of his chamber there is hung a board on which an
illuminated sheet of vellum, edged with a narrow red riband, has been
nailed. The miniature at the top of it represents the Vernacle (our
Lord's head with cruciform nimbus and rays); and below is a rhymed
prayer, headed Incipit oratio ad sanctam Veronicam, and continuing
"Salve sancta facies Nostri redemptoris," etc.
Hans Memlinc (Early Flemish: 1430-1494). See 686.
Dierick Bouts (Early Flemish: about 1410-1475).
Dirk Bouts, Thieiri Bouts, Dierick of Haarlem, or Thieiri
Stuerbout (by all of which names he has been called) was Dutch by
birth, being born at Haarlem. At some unknown date he migrated
to Flanders, and established himself at Louvain, where he was
appointed Painter to the Town. In 1468 he delivered to the
Council two beautiful pictures (now in the Museum of Brussels)
representing "The Judgment of the Emperor Otho." His colouring,
says M. Havard, "is clear and brilliant. Red and green assume
under his brush the brilliancy of the ruby and the emerald. His
draperies are of unusual softness, and have none of that stiffness
of fold which is peculiar to Jan van Eyck and some of his pupils.
His flesh tints are of a warm and vivid tone, and his shadows are
remarkably transparent. But his merit is manifested especially in
his picturesque and original manner of arranging his compositions.
He is besides remarkable for the care and distinctness with which
he treats the landscapes in the background of his pictures."
Little is known of his life, and the ascription of various works
to him is conjectural. To him, in the latest revision of labels in
our Gallery, are now attributed Nos. 664, 774, and 943.
Gerard David (Early Flemish: 1460-1523). See 1045.
Johannes Stephen Calcar (Venetian: 1499-1546).
"In the year 1545 I became known to," says Vasari, "and contracted
much friendship with Giovanni Calcar, a Flemish painter of great
merit, who so successfully practised the Italian manner that
his works were not always perceived to be those of a Fleming;
but he died at Naples while still young, and when the fairest
hopes had been conceived respecting his future progress." He
worked first at Dordrecht; but in 1536 went to Venice, where he
entered Titian's studio. He became a good master, says Vasari
elsewhere, "whether for large or small figures, and in portraits
was most admirable. By his hand—and they must do him honour to
all time—were the designs for anatomical studies which the most
admirable Andrea Vessalio caused to be engraved on copper and
published with his works" (vol. v. p. 403).
Rubens (Flemish: 1577-1640). See 38.
A sketch painted about 1636.
David Teniers (Flemish: 1610-1694). See 154.
Unknown (Flemish: 16th Century).
Unknown (School of Cologne: early 16th Century).
By the master of the "Death of the Virgin" (a picture in the Munich
Gallery), a painter of Cologne, the teacher, it is said, of Bruyn. The
donor of the picture, with spectacles and a large straw hat, stands
at a desk, reading. (The curious in such matters may consult Notes
and Queries, 1890, for other early instances of spectacles in art.)
The picture was No. 48 (Plate 23) in the Burlington Fine Art Club's
Exhibition of Early Netherlandish Pictures, 1892.
Christopher Amberger (German: 1490-1563).
This painter, who worked at Augsburg, probably studied under Hans
Burgkmair, and the painting of Hans Holbein the younger had an
evident effect on his style, so much so that his works have been
sometimes mistaken for those of Holbein. In 1532 he painted the
portrait of Charles V.; and Sandrart tells us that this portrait
was considered by the Emperor equal to any of the pictures painted
of him by Titian. He certainly honoured the artist by giving him
a gold chain and medal on the occasion (Bryan's Dictionary of
Painters).
Bartolomaus Bruyn (School of Cologne: died 1556).
This artist painted both religious subjects and portraits. His
earlier works in the former kind recall the style of "The Master
of the 'Death of the Virgin'" (see above, 2603). Bruyn was the
last really eminent painter of the Cologne School. He was a
municipal councillor of that town in 1550 and 1553.
A portrait of the celebrated German physician, Leonhard Fuchs
(1501-1566), one of the fathers of scientific botany. He has obtained,
says Hallam, a verdant immortality in the familiar flower which bears
his name, the fuchsia. He espoused the doctrines of the Reformation; in
our portrait he holds a paper inscribed (in German) "The word of the
Lord endureth for ever."
Unknown (Flemish: 16th Century).
In the centre of the triptych, the Virgin sits on a throne of Flemish
renaissance design. On the right, St. Ambrose; on the left, St. Louis
of Toulouse. The royal rank of the latter Saint (nephew of St. Louis,
King of France, and son of Charles of Anjou, King of Naples), who
renounced his succession and became Bishop of Toulouse, is commonly
indicated as here, by fleur-de-lys upon a blue ground.
Unknown (Flemish: 15-16th Century).
Robert Campin (Early Flemish: died 1444).
Campin, a native of Hainault, settled at Tournai in about the year
1406, and quickly made a reputation, becoming painter-in-ordinary
to the town. Between 1423 and 1428 there are records showing
that he filled several offices in the Painters' Guild and amassed
a considerable fortune. He had several apprentices; among them,
Roger Van der Weyden (see 711), who was with him from 1426 to
1432. He made many designs for tapestry and seems to have been
charged with the designing of all municipal art work in whatever
kind (W. H. Weale, in the Burlington Magazine, vol. xi.).
Campin (Early Flemish: died 1444).
The Virgin is of the same unlovely type as in the picture ascribed to
Bouts, No. 2595. Behind her head is a screen of plaited straw.
Corneille de Lyons (French: 16th Century).
Two painters are catalogued under this name, father and son, who
are sometimes distinguished as "Corneille le Grand" and "Corneille
le Petit." The elder was a Flemish painter, who became naturalised
in France in 1547. In 1540 he was appointed Painter to the
Dauphin; in 1551, Painter to the King. He is mentioned in a poem
of 1544, and in a deed of 1564. Several portraits in the Museum
of Versailles and at Chantilly are ascribed to him. (See Henri
Bouchot's Les Clouet et Corneille de Lyon.)
Corneille de Lyons (French: 16th Century).
Unknown (French: 15th Century).
These pictures are of the early Burgundian School.
Unknown (French School: 15th Century).
Notice the pearl embroidery.
Unknown (French School: 15th Century).
Formerly supposed to represent Mary Tudor, sister of Henry VIII., born
in 1498.
Unknown (French School: 15th Century).
Unknown (French School: 15th Century).
Possibly by an artist of the Catalonian school.
Nicolas Poussin (French: 1593-1665). See 39.
Jean Honoré Fragonard (French: 1732-1806).
The only poets who seized the spirit of the France of the
eighteenth century were, said the brothers Goncourt, two painters:
Watteau and Fragonard. It was Fragonard, says Sir Claude Phillips,
"whose frank passion, whose irresistible élan lighted up the
decline of the century much as the imaginativeness of Watteau, his
reticence and wistful charm even in the midst of voluptuousness,
lighted up its first years. He is the Ovid of French painting." He
was born at Grasse near Cannes; and the pupil, in Paris, first of
Chardin and then of Boucher (see 1258, 1090). Having won the Prix
de Rome in 1752, he travelled in Italy, drawing all the sights and
monuments, and studying the old masters. The works of Tiepolo (see
1192) especially attracted him, and something of their brilliant,
flashing bravura was to be characteristic of Fragonard himself.
Soon after his return to Paris, a picture of "Coresus and
Callirhoë" made a sensation in the Salon, and inspired what Lord
Morley calls "an elaborate but not very felicitous criticism" by
Diderot. Fragonard did not return, however, to compositions in the
classical style; he found his métier, and a highly lucrative
practice, in pictures of sentimental genre, audaciously amorous
in subject, and of masterly grace and lightness in execution.
Some of his most famous works in this sort are to be seen in the
Wallace Collection. The beautifully decorative canvases, the
"Roman d'Amour de la Jeunesse," which were exhibited in London
in 1898 and are now in Mr. Pierpont Morgan's collection, were a
commission from Madame du Barry, who, however, for reasons which
have not been clearly explained, declined them. From Mademoiselle
Guimard, the dancer, and queen of the monde galant, Fragonard
had received a like commission; and the story is well known of
the revenge taken by the painter when he threw up the task,
and transformed his portrait of the lady as Terpsichore into
Tisiphone. In 1794 Fragonard retired for security from the Terror
to Grasse, and on his return to Paris he found his vogue gone. The
Revolution had killed the taste for his amorous trifles. The reign
of the Classical School of David had begun; and Fragonard died in
comparative oblivion and poverty.
In 1769 Fragonard had married Marie Anne Gérard, the miniature painter;
and to the succeeding years belong, says his biographer (the Baron de
Portalis), many pictures of which the theme is the cradle. Our picture
is of that kind.
Charles François Daubigny (French: 1817-1878).
Daubigny was the youngest member of the "Barbizon" group; and,
though he has artistic affinity with them, and regarded Corot as
his master, he painted not in their chosen district, but on the
banks of the Oise. His landscapes have not the poetry of Corot's,
nor the force of Rousseau's; but they are more comfortable, as it
were, and human. Corot's world might be inhabited by dryads; in
Rousseau's landscapes man is subordinate or overpowered; Daubigny
paints nature as the pleasant abode of human beings fond of the
country—commons not too remote from a garden wall, the banks of
pleasant streams where men may boat or fish. The country with him
is full of fresh air. "There is a story told of a poor young man,
afflicted with consumption, who coming suddenly before a work of
Daubigny, exclaimed, 'Ah, I can breathe better now'" (Thomson's
Barbizon School, p. 283).
Daubigny's life is in accord with what have been suggested above
as characteristic notes of his art. He had no privations, storms,
or struggles. He was born at Paris, in an artistic family; and as
a youth assisted his father in painting boxes, clock-cases and
the like. He was a delicate child, and had lived much with his
nurse Bazot at Valmondois on the Oise, where too he afterwards
spent many holidays and where in later years he made his home.
At the age of 18 he went to Italy, where the pictures of Claude
especially attracted him. On his return he was engaged for a time
as a picture-restorer. He studied with Paul Delaroche, but struck
out a line for himself in landscape pictures and etchings, and
his works gradually found favour. He had a boat made for voyaging
on the Oise and Seine, and this served as a floating studio. He
built himself a house at Auvers on the Oise, which was decorated
with paintings by Corot and other artist-friends. In 1866 he was
invited by Leighton and others to visit England, and he exhibited
at the Academy. In 1859 he had been made a Chevalier of the Legion
of Honour, and in 1874 he was promoted to the grade of Officer. On
his death-bed he said to those about him "Adieu; I am going to see
above if friend Corot has found me any motifs for landscapes."
Sunset effect on a lake; with brilliant colours piercing through the
trees to the water. Signed, and dated 1874.
Daubigny (French: 1817-1878). See 2621.
An earlier picture (signed, and dated 1859). The small house-boat or
barge in the foreground may be the painter's floating studio, mentioned
above.
Daubigny (French: 1817-1878). See 2621.
J. B. C. Corot (French: 1796-1875). See 2135.
This beautiful picture was formerly in the collection of the late Mr.
Alexander Young, one of the earliest purchasers of Corots in England,
and was generally considered the gem of his collection of works by
that master. The writer of an account of the Young Collection calls
attention, in describing this picture, to "the wonderful gradation of
tones in the trees and foreground, the subtle beauty of the distant
view, the massing and treatment of the trees against the luminous sky,
the dignified restraint of the colour scheme" (Studio, vol. 39).
Corot (French: 1796-1875). See 2135.
Also from the Young Collection.
Corot (French: 1796-1875). See 2135.
Formerly in the collection of Lord Leighton. That Corot liked the
effect of trees stretching out a graceful arm across the water may be
seen by comparing this picture with No. 2625.
Corot (French: 1796-1875). See 2135.
Corot (French: 1796-1875). See 2135.
How simple are the ingredients out of which Corot makes a picture! A
marsh, two cows with a herdsman, and four willows; but all are suffused
in a beautiful haze, and wrought into an exquisite harmony of tone and
colour. Like all Corot's pictures, this should be seen from some little
distance; the more it is observed, the more will its charm be felt.
Corot (French: 1796-1875). See 2135.
An exquisite harmony in tender green and pink.
Diaz (French: 1809-1876). See 2058.
Jules Dupré (French: 1812-1889).
Dupré, the last of the romantic school of French landscape, the
friend and the survivor by many years of Millet and Rousseau, was
born at Nantes. He began by painting on china, in the studio at
Sèvres of his uncle, Arsène Gillet, to whom also Diaz was at one
time apprenticed. At the age of 22 he was already exhibiting at
the Salon; and unlike other members of the group, he was well
treated by the artistic powers of the day. During a visit to
England he became acquainted with Constable. He lived at Isle-Adam
near Paris.
Théodore Rousseau (French: 1812-1867). See 2439.
Jean François Millet (French: 1814-1875).
Millet, the peasant painter of France, occupies an important
place in the history of modern art. He heard, as he said, le
cri de la terre; and it is this to which he gave expression in
painting. Gambetta well described the characteristics of Millet
and his great contemporary. Rousseau (see 2439) "revealed the
forest; Millet was the painter of the seasons, the fields, and
the peasants." Rousseau and others of the school were painters
of the country, of work-a-day nature; Millet painted the
country-labourers. He did not idealise them, but he showed, with
deep poetry, the dignity of their labour. This is the spirit of
the great pictures—"The Sower," "The Gleaners," "The Angelus," by
which through engravings and other reproductions he is most widely
known. The depth of impression which those works are found to make
was the result of intense feeling and infinite pains on the part
of the artist. "The Angelus" hung on the point of finish for many
months. "I mean," he said, "I mean the bells to be heard sounding,
and only natural truth of expression can produce the effect." When
a visitor wanted to buy "The Sheepfold," Millet would not let it
go. "It is not complete," he said; "you cannot hear the dog bark
in there yet." The life and character of Millet were in accord
with his work. He was born of peasant ancestry, and the boy grew
up, as Mr. Henley says, "in an environment of toil, sincerity,
and devoutness. He was fostered upon the Bible and the great book
of nature." "Wake up, my little François," was his grandmother's
morning salutation, "the birds have long been singing the glory
of God." He learned Latin from the parish priest, and he soon
became a student of Virgil. He followed his father out into the
fields, and thenceforward, as became the eldest boy in a large
family, worked hard at grafting and ploughing, sowing and reaping,
scything and sheaving and planting, and all the many duties of
husbandmen. The life he painted was the life he knew and had led.
The spirit in which he painted it was that of his own reverent,
and somewhat melancholy, temperament. In 1849 he moved from Paris
to Barbizon, on the borders of the Forest of Fontainebleau, which
henceforward was his home. "If you could but see," he wrote, "how
beautiful the forest is! It is so calm, with such a terrible
grandeur, that I feel myself really afraid in it." "The most
joyful thing I know," he wrote in a letter of 1851, "is the
peace, the silence that one enjoys in the woods or in the tilled
lands. One sees a poor, heavily laden creature with a bundle of
faggots advancing from a narrow path in the fields. The manner
in which this figure comes suddenly before one is a momentary
reminder of the fundamental condition of human life and toil. On
the tilled land around, one watches figures hoeing and digging.
One sees how this or that one rises and wipes away the sweat with
the back of his hand. 'In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat
bread.' Is that merry, enlivening work, as some people would like
to persuade us? And yet it is here that I find the true humanity,
the great poetry."
Like most innovators, Millet had to create the taste by which
he was to be admired; and, though the tale of his struggles and
poverty is sometimes exaggerated, he had many discouragements and
times of difficulty. He was neither "classical" nor "romantic,"
and both of those schools of art looked askance at him. He was
born at Gruchy, near Cherbourg; and till the age of 18 lived the
life of a peasant. As there were then other sons to help on the
farm, his father, who had long noticed the lad's artistic talent,
took him to Cherbourg, where he received some instruction under
Mouchel and Langlois successively, and where the Town Council
gave him assistance in pursuing his studies. The death of his
father recalled him for a while to the farm; but in 1837, at the
age of 23, he went to Paris and entered the studio of Delaroche
(see 1909). His studio-nickname was "The Man of the Woods." He
tried to sell works in his own style, but found no market for
them, and had to take instead to painting pastorals, etc., in the
manner of Boucher and Watteau. He married in 1841; his wife died
in 1844, and in 1845 he married again. For a time, he attained a
certain vogue as a painter of the nude, and a classical picture
of [OE]dipus in the Salon of 1847 attracted some attention. In
1849, as already said, he settled at Barbizon, and it is from
1850 onwards that his great works date. They did not sell, or
they commanded very small prices. One was bought by his devoted
friend, Rousseau; for "The Angelus" he received £100. Within 20
years of his death, it fetched £22,120 at public auction. But the
reputation of Millet grew gradually in his lifetime, and in 1868
he was made a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour. He is buried
beside Rousseau at Chailly, near Barbizon.
This little "pastoral," in which a girl reclines on a rock, while a
naked child whispers in her ear, belongs to the painter's earlier
period.
Le Mâitre de Jean Perréal (French: 15th century).
Attributed to the master of Jean Perréal (called Jean de Paris,
who lived about 1463-1529); painter to Louis XII.
St. Clement, in cope and mitre (as Bishop of Rome), rests his right
hand on the shoulder of the Donor; and in his left hand carries an
anchor (the emblem referring to the legend of the Saint having been
cast into the sea bound to an anchor). Londoners are familiar with the
emblem, as it surmounts the steeple of St. Clement Danes in the Strand.
Unknown (Flemish: 16th century).
Francia (Bolognese: 1450-1517). See 179.
Alvise Vivarini (Venetian: painted 1461-1503). See 1872.
This striking and powerful portrait is signed by the artist on the
parapet. It was formerly in the Bonomi-Cereda Collection at Milan (see
Berenson's Lorenzo Lotto, p. 107).
Beltraffio (Lombard: 1467-1516). See 728.
This pretty little picture was shown at the Old Masters' Exhibition of
1870, where Ruskin noted it as an example of the phase in Italian art
in which "pictorial perfectness and deliciousness" were sought before
everything else (Works, xix. 444-5). "The same model reappears in the
profile portrait of a youth (also in the character of Narcissus) in the
Uffizi Gallery; again in a profile of San Sebastian in the Frizzoni
Collection at Bergamo; and again in a profile drawing in the Louvre"
(No. 47a at the Burlington Fine Arts Club, 1898).
Jacob Maris (Dutch: 1837-1899).
Two small pictures by one of the principal masters of the modern
Dutch School. Jacob Maris was born at The Hague. He studied in
Paris under Hebert, and exhibited at the Salon from 1862 to 1872,
when he returned to The Hague. His figure-studies show, says R. A.
M. S., "a perception of the rich but quiet tissue of colour which
wraps all Nature if you look at it broadly enough." In landscape
he and his brother Matthew are the chief of modern Dutch painters.
Anton Mauve (Dutch: 1838-1888).
Mauve, one of the favourite landscape-painters of the modern Dutch
School, was born at Zaandam, the son of a Baptist minister. He
studied art at Amsterdam; his pensive and peaceful landscapes,
often combined with horses and other animals, rapidly became
popular. "His colour," wrote W. E. Henley, "is quite his own.
To a right sense of nature and a mastery of certain atmospheric
effects, he unites a genuine strain of poetry. His treatment of
animals is at once judicious and affectionate. He is careful to
render them in relation to their aerial surroundings; but he has
recognised that they too are creatures of character and sentiment,
and he loves to paint them in their relations to each other and to
man. The sentiment is never forced, the characterisation is never
strained, the drama is never exorbitant; the proportions in which
they are introduced are so nicely adjusted that the pictorial, the
purely artistic qualities of the work are undiminished" (Edinburgh
Exhibition Catalogue, 1886).
This picture is a good example of the luminous skies in which Mauve
excelled. The sky shines, it has been said, even on a dull day (see an
appreciation of Mauve by Frank Rutter in the Studio, vol. 42).
Johannes Bosboom (Dutch: 1817-1891).
A characteristic piece by a painter of architecture who "rendered
very delicately the play of sunbeams in the interior of
picturesque churches, and warm effects of light in large halls and
dusky corners" (Muther).
Joseph Israels (Dutch: 1824-1911).
Joseph Israels, the head of the modern Dutch School and a painter
of world-wide reputation, has been called "The Dutch Millet,"
and "a modern Rembrandt"; and the phrases serve to indicate his
characteristics, and his place in the development of modern
art. He essayed to do what Rembrandt had done triumphantly two
centuries before: to paint "not accidents, but life itself." He
made in Dutch art the same departure that Millet made in French:
he turned from conventional themes and motives to the life
around him. Like Millet, Israels made a false start in art. He
went to Paris in 1845, entered the École des Beaux-Arts, showing
"Achilles and Patroclus" as his probationary drawing, and on his
return to Amsterdam in 1848 began to paint, as Delaroche had
taught him, "historical" scenes, Calabrian brigands, and other
subjects in "the grand style." His health broke down, and he was
ordered change of scene. At Zandvoort, a small fishing village
near Haarlem, he found his Barbizon. "He lodged with a ship's
carpenter, took part in all the usages of his house-mates, and
began to perceive amid these new surroundings that the events of
the present are capable of being painted, that the sorrows of the
poor are as deep as the tragical fate of ancient heroes, that
everyday life is as poetic as any historical subject, and that
nothing suggests richer moods of feeling than the interior of a
fishing-hut, bathed in tender light and harmonious in colour. This
residence of several months in a distant little village led him to
discover his calling, and determined his future career" (Muther).
He was a devoted Jew, with a deep interest in the life and
character of those of his race who abound in Holland. Among them,
and among the Dutch toilers of the sea, he found his vocation,
in painting the tragedy, the pathos, or the simple domestic joys
of humble working folk. He did this with a technical mastery and
with rare insight. His power of pathetic expression is remarkable;
and over his work a spirit of soft tenderness is suffused. Many,
perhaps most, of his pictures are sombre, but he had an eye for
youth and hope, as well as age and sorrow, and few artists have
painted children with so much sympathy. His method is broad and
simple; his pictures having unity of effect, and telling their own
story with great directness.
Joseph Israels was born at Gröningen, in the north of Holland,
and for a time was occupied in his father's business as a
money-changer, but he was encouraged to draw. In 1844 he went
to Amsterdam, and entered the studio of Jan Kruseman. Then, as
already related, came his student-years in Paris, and his false
start as an historical painter. In 1855 he was represented at
the Paris Exhibition by an historical picture of the Prince of
Orange. In 1857 he showed at the Salon "Children by the Sea" and
"Evening on the Beach." This change of subject marks the true
start in an artistic career which was continuously successful, and
which was prolonged into extreme old age. In 1862 his picture of
"The Shipwrecked Mariner" (see below, 2732) created a sensation
at the International Exhibition in London. In 1863 he married and
settled down in a house midway between The Hague and Scheveningen,
facing the canal. "Here the boats with their loads of herrings
pass slowly along, so that the painter has only to look out of
the front windows of his house in order to see the very men and
women, the boats and towing-ropes, that figure in his canvases.
His work is done in a studio in his garden; here he has a glass
house, in which he paints his open-air figures, and has likewise
fitted up a corner of an old Dutch cottage, so that open-air
scenes and interiors may be as lifelike as it is possible for an
artist to render them. As you enter this studio, you perceive a
little old gentleman at work, dressed in a brown velvet coat. His
hair is silvery white, and his somewhat pale face is lit up with
the kindliest of smiles. He speaks five or six languages in the
pleasantest voice imaginable, and English is one of them."
Personally, Israels was one of the most breezy of men, full of
life and vigour, genial and accessible: "as fresh in mind as a
youngster in his teens, as versatile as he is amiable, able and
always ready to talk on every conceivable subject of interest,
ever contributing some caustic and pointed comment, yet never
assuming the dictatorial and self-opinionated manner which genius
often considers itself privileged to adopt. His modesty, his
unfailing amiability to all, young and old, distinguished and
insignificant, have served to endear Joseph Israels to all who
come in contact with him. He does not care to talk much about
his own achievements, but he is less reticent about those of his
son Isaac, who, he declares, is a greater artist than himself."
These personalia are quoted from notices which appeared in
connection with the artist's 75th birthday (in the Daily News
and in Israel). He had still twelve years of life; and "his was
the rare satisfaction of the man who, beginning in advance of
his time, creates his own public, and sees it growing stronger,
larger, and more devoted as he passes from youth to middle life
and thence to extreme old age. He was not consciously the founder
of a school, but he had many close followers, and the modern Dutch
painters, who are now so fashionable, owe their fundamental ideas
to him" (Times, Aug. 15, 1911).
There are passages in Browning's Grammarian's Funeral which will
suggest themselves to many readers as they study this picture of an
old student writing by the light of a single candle. The picture
may be compared with an earlier Dutch one of a like subject—"The
Philosopher," by Bega (1481).
Isabey (French: 1804-1886).
Eugène Gabriel Isabey (by whom there are several pictures in the
Wallace Collection) was born in Paris, the son of the celebrated
miniature-painter, Jean-Baptiste Isabey. He first appeared as a
genre painter; and "amid the group of Classicists of his time, he
had (says Dr. Muther) the effect of a beautiful patch of colour."
He afterwards took to sea painting, having in 1830 accompanied the
French expedition to Algiers as marine draughtsman.
A characteristic example of the elegant facility with which the painter
rendered scenes involving gay attire.
Isabey (French: 1804-1886).
Ascribed to G. Poussin (French: 1613-1675). See 31.
These landscapes, only recently included in the official numbering of
the collection, were presented by Mr. P. Pusey in 1849.
Benedetto Diana (Venetian: died 1525).
"If Benedetto be the painter of the fine picture of 'Christ at
Emmaus,' in the church of St. Salvatore, Venice, still attributed
in the guidebooks to Giovanni Bellini, he must have been an artist
of no ordinary merit, and one who gradually, from an unpromising
commencement of his artistic career, attained a high place among
the followers of the master. A half-length figure, larger than
life, of the Saviour in the act of blessing, signed with the
painter's name, in private possession at Venice, although in a
very damaged condition, has a grand and impressive character not
unworthy of Bellini, to whom, as to other Venetian masters of
note, many works by Diana in sundry collections are ascribed.
He was employed with the two Bellini and Alvise Vivarini in
decorating the hall of the Ducal Palace" (Layard's ed. of Kugler,
1887, p. 333).
Stanislas Lapine (French: 1836-1892).
Born at Caen; studied under Corot; exhibited at the Salon from
1859.
The Church of Notre Dame in the middle distance.
W. Buitenweg (Dutch: 1590-1630).
William Buitenweg, or Buytewech, best known for his landscape
drawings, was born at Rotterdam; married at Haarlem in 1613, and
in 1625 returned to Rotterdam.
Joseph Israels (Dutch: 1824-1911). See 2713.
This celebrated picture—one by which the master often said he would
like to be judged—created a great sensation at the International
Exhibition of 1862. It was, said one critic, the most moving picture in
the exhibition; before it, said another, crowds daily linger. The storm
has passed, the waves have subsided, the greyish-black thunderclouds
have vanished, and greenish, pallid sky smiles upon the earth once
more. But upon the waves a shattered boat still rocks, and men and
women and children have come down to see what victim may have been
cast up by the tide—"For men must work, and women must weep, Though
storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbour bar be moaning."
Two fishermen reverently bear home the body of their dead comrade. His
disconsolate wife and two awestruck children walk in front, and his
old mother beside him. A man with a boat-hook, a woman pointing to the
wreck on the reef, and others follow the procession, in the rear of
which is the pathetic figure of a dog.
James Callot (French: 1593-1635).
"A curious and fantastic composition (in Indian ink), by a
celebrated engraver and draughtsman, in which it would seem that
the artist intended to satirise the ecclesiastic factions rife
in France during the minority of Louis XIII. Under the vault
of a huge cave, round the upper part of which evil spirits and
harpies are sporting, several figures are grouped. In the centre
of the foreground two Jesuits are derided by demons. On the right,
Cerberus, chained to a rock, guards the entrance to Hell, while
an armed warrior (Louis XIII.) stands near with his back to the
spectator. On the left is Death, surrounded by his victims and
the Vices. In the middle distance Charon is crossing the Styx
with his boat full of passengers, whom a crowd on the shore
vainly endeavour to join. Beyond are represented the tortures of
the condemned, among whom Ixion, Tityus, the Danaides, and other
mythological personages are conspicuous. The armorial bearings
introduced on the lower edge of the drawing are supposed to be
those of M. de Boyer of Baudot, who is said to have suggested the
design" (Director's Report, 1884). The artist's independence of
character is recorded in a familiar anecdote. He was witness to
the siege and capitulation of his native town, Nancy, in 1633,
and the French king called on him to engrave a plate commemorative
of the occurrence. When he declined, some of the courtiers are
said to have remarked to the artist that there were means to make
him comply. He replied that he would sooner cut off his right hand
than employ it in such a work; a speech which, being reported to
the king, led him to say that the Dukes of Lorraine were fortunate
in the possession of such subjects.
Louis Eugène Boudin (French: 1825-1898). See 2078.
George Michel (French: 1763-1843). See 2258.
Ascribed to Jan Vermeer (Dutch: 1632-1675).
This picture once formed part of No. 1699; the right arm of the seated
child and the tablecloth here are continued there.
Gustave Courbet (French: 1819-1877).
Courbet is famous in the history of modern French painting as the
first of the "realists"; he is the Caravaggio of France, full
of force and vigour, but often somewhat coarse and brutal. His
landscapes and seapieces will probably be esteemed more highly
by posterity than his realistic works. He was, says Dr. Muther,
"the first French painter of sea-pieces, who had a feeling for
the sombre majesty of the sea. His very quietude is expressive of
majesty; his peace is imposing, his smile grave; and his caress is
not without a menace." Courbet was a revolutionary in politics, as
in art. In September 1870 he was appointed Director of the Fine
Arts by the Provisional Government, and he afterwards joined the
Commune. He was instrumental in saving many works of art, but he
ordered the destruction of the Column in the Place Vendôme. For
this he was brought before a court-martial and sentenced to six
months' imprisonment. Afterwards, in a civil action, he was cast
in heavy damages; his furniture and pictures were sold; and he
retired to Switzerland. He died at La Tour, Vevay, a ruined man.
Mabuse (Flemish: about 1470-1541). See 656.
This famous picture was acquired for the National Gallery from
Rosalind, Countess of Carlisle, in 1911, for £42,776.[262] The picture
was painted in about the year 1500 for the Abbey of Grammont in East
Flanders. In 1600 it was bought for 2000 florins by the Archduke
Albert to decorate the high altar of the Court Chapel in Brussels. A
story which is recorded of it in those days is a tribute to its bright
attractiveness. During Lent it used to be concealed by the hanging in
front of it of a picture of the Crucifixion as less likely to interfere
with the penitential thoughts proper to the season. In the 18th century
the picture passed into the collection of Prince Charles of Lorraine,
Governor-General of the Netherlands, and thence into that of the
fifth Earl of Carlisle. For more than a century it remained at Castle
Howard, and many connoisseurs who saw it there wrote of it as one of
the chief art-treasures of Great Britain. "I do not think," wrote W.
Bürger (Thoré), "that there is anywhere else a picture by Mabuse so
brilliant, so well preserved, so capital as the Adoration of the
Kings, belonging to the Earl of Carlisle." "For variety of character,
glow of colour, and finished execution, quite unsurpassed," said Mrs.
Jameson of it.
The pride of the artist himself in his work is shown by the fact that
he has signed his name upon it in two places—i.e. on the head-dress
of Balthasar, the black king, and on the metal collar of his attendant.
The signature Jennin Gossart (diminutive, Little John), was that under
which Mabuse was inscribed as a member of the Guild of St. Luke at
Antwerp. In the history of Flemish art the picture is of interest as
one of the last works painted before the "Italianising" influence
became marked. It is one of the finest specimens of Mabuse's first
period (see under 656); but it will be noticed that the architecture of
the ruin is no longer Gothic, but already shows the influence of the
Renaissance. The picture is after 400 years in perfect preservation.
It has an artistic unity, for the parts are subordinated to the
whole; but it is full of incident, which adds not a little to its
attractiveness and curious interest.
The Adoration of the Magi affords a remarkable instance of the way
in which the Bible text, first expounded by Church legends, was then
embroidered by the painters; and this example of "evolution in art"
may be studied very fully in the National Gallery, which contains
pictures of the subject painted in various schools and at various
periods. The starting-point of the whole development is the second
chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel where it is related that "wise men came
from the East to Jerusalem"; that a star guided them to Bethlehem; and
that "when they were come into the house, they saw the young child
with Mary his mother, and fell down and worshipped him; and when they
had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts—gold, and
frankincense, and myrrh." Legend set itself to work on this narrative.
The Wise Men, it was decided, were three in number; and the Psalmist's
prediction—"the Kings of Tarshish and of the Isles shall bring
presents, the Kings of Sheba and Saba shall offer gifts"—showed that
the Magi were kings. Later writers identified their realms as Tarsus,
Saba, and Nubia; whence one of the kings is commonly represented as a
Moor or Nubian. Their names also became known—Gaspar, Melchior, and
Balthasar. Further developments of the legend—how their remains were
discovered by the Empress Helena at Constantinople, and taken by Milan
to Cologne—do not here concern us; it will be seen that by the time
art was ready to take up the story, the painters had much material
around which to let their fancy play.
The earlier painters in each school treated the story simply. Then as
technical resources increased, and artistic effect rather than mere
religious instruction became the motive, the theme was ever more and
more expanded, until it became the most gorgeously rendered of all
the Gospel scenes. Many readers will remember the severe and simple
treatment of the subject by Giotto in the Arena Chapel at Padua;
with which may be compared in our gallery Orcagna's small picture
(574). If the visitor after looking at that will turn to the splendid
pageant (1033), with its seventy figures, by Botticelli (or Filippino
Lippi), he will see at a glance how the theme became embroidered and
enlarged. The picture by Fra Angelico (582) represents an intermediate
stage. A similar contrast may be noted in the Flemish room. The
picture attributed to David (1079) is simple, earnest, and homely;
far less gorgeous and various than the Mabuse. The fact is that, in
the more elaborate pictures of the subject, it was taken as an excuse
or occasion for displaying whatever elements of pomp or circumstance
appealed to the individual artist. Thus Peruzzi (167 and 218)
elaborates the architecture and the horses, and introduces portraits.
The Tuscans made out of the subject a Florentine pageant. Mabuse's
picture is interesting, amongst other reasons, as a kind of epitome
of the arts and crafts of his time. Note, for instance, the cups and
chalices in which the kings bring their presents; their jewelled robes
and head-dresses; and, for a minor detail, the pretty bag worn by the
Black King's page: it might well be copied for a lady's reticule to-day.
No less remarkable than the variety of treatment in pictures of the
Magi is the large measure of uniformity of type which may be found
in them all. A few remarks on these common elements, which were for
the most part symbolic, will serve the double purpose of directing
attention to further details in Mabuse's picture and of connecting it
with other examples in the Gallery. The scene of the drama is in
the earliest pictures a stable or a shed; in the later, it is almost
invariably the ruins of a temple or other ancient building—a symbol of
the triumph of Christianity over paganism. The ox and the ass will be
noticed among the ruins here, and the shepherds are seen approaching.
The idea is to mark the event as a manifestation alike to the Jews
(the shepherds) and to the Gentiles (the Magi). Angels hover above,
singing the "Gloria in Excelsis," and the composition is crowned by
the Star with the Dove. The background almost invariably includes a
mountainous landscape, through which the retinue of the kings may be
discerned winding its way—a reminder that they journeyed from a far
country. This is a feature, indicated sufficiently by Mabuse, which
may be seen more emphasised in the picture by Foppa (729). The Kings
are nearly always shown as old, middle-aged, and young respectively,
and one of them is black: when the Gentiles were called to salvation,
all ages, continents, and races were included. In Mabuse's picture the
equality of the races is emphasised in a further way; the Black King,
conspicuous on the left, has his train borne by a white page. The
eldest of the kings offers a vase of gold, out of which Christ has
taken a piece, which He holds in His hand. The king uncovers his head.
"To most mediæval painters the Adoration envisages itself essentially
as an act of feudal homage." Conspicuous in the foreground are two
dogs. "The one on the right," says the Official Catalogue, "is
similar to a dog by Albert Dürer in his engraving of St. Eustace, that
on the left is reversed from a print by Martin Schongauer." The dog is
often thus included in the "Adoration"; as, for instance, in one of
the earliest (Orcagna, 574) and in one of the latest (Peruzzi, 218) of
our versions; and everybody will have noticed how frequently in other
religious pictures also the dog is introduced. "This custom of putting
either the dog, or some inferior animal, to be either in contrast, or
modest companionship, with the nobleness of human form and thought,
is," says Ruskin, "a piece of what may be called mental comparative
anatomy, which has its beginning very far back in art" (Eagle's
Nest, ch. 8; see also Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. chs. 3, 6).
The place of Joseph in the scene differs a good deal in different
pictures, for the early legends varied. Orcagna (574) shows him
receiving one of the presents from the hands of the Child: he plays, as
it were, the part of royal treasurer or chamberlain. Dosso Dossi (640)
shows him kneeling in the background. In the present picture he stands,
in a red dress, under an archway, listening devoutly to the heavenly
harmony. All the figures in Mabuse's picture (there are some thirty)
will repay examination. The Virgin's expression is well given; and, as
a study in contrasts, the reverent figures behind the kneeling king may
be compared with the man on the extreme left who, catching hold of a
pillar, is leaning out in curiosity to see the sights. There is much
other detail which might be described—the plants, for instance, in the
foreground and on the ruins; but enough has been said to indicate the
wealth and variety of interest which is to be found in this picture.
Pieter Quast (Dutch: 1606-1647).
Quast was a painter and engraver of The Hague; his pictures are in
the style of Brouwer and Isaac van Ostade.
Lorenzo Monaco (Florentine: 1370-1425). See 1897.
This picture represents St. John Gualberto, the Florentine (died 1073),
establishing the Order of the Vallombrosans, whose proper habit is of a
pale ash colour. He was Abbot of San Miniato, from which he retired to
Vallombrosa, establishing there the Order called after the place of its
original home.
School of Benozzo Gozzoli (Florentine: 1420-1497). See 283.
