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Title: A Popular Handbook to the National Gallery, Volume I, Foreign Schools - Including by Special Permission Notes Collected from the - Works of John Ruskin
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "A Popular Handbook to the National Gallery, Volume I, Foreign Schools - Including by Special Permission Notes Collected from the - Works of John Ruskin" ***


THE NATIONAL GALLERY is open to the Public on week-days throughout the
free_, and the Gallery is open during the following hours:--

  January          From 10 A.M. until 4 P.M.

  February       } From 10 A.M. until dusk.
  March          }

  April          }
  May            }
  June           }
  July           } From 10 A.M. until 6 P.M.
  August         }
  September      }

  October        }
  November       } From 10 A.M. until dusk.
  December       }

On THURSDAYS and FRIDAYS (_Students' Days_) the Gallery is open to the
Public _on payment of Sixpence each person_, from 11 A.M. to 4 P.M. in
winter, and from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. in summer.

On SUNDAYS the Gallery is open, free, from 2 P.M. till dusk, or 6 P.M.
(according to the season).

--> _Persons desirous of becoming Students should address the Secretary
and Keeper, National Gallery, Trafalgar Square, S.W._

The NATIONAL GALLERY OF BRITISH ART ("Tate Gallery") is open under the
same regulations, and during the same hours, as those given above,
except that _Students' Days_ are Tuesdays and Wednesdays.





  E. T. COOK




      A picture which is worth buying is also worth seeing. Every
      noble picture is a manuscript book, of which only one copy
      exists, or ever can exist. A National Gallery is a great
      library, of which the books must be read upon their shelves
      (RUSKIN: _Arrows of the Chace_, i. 71).

    There, the long dim galleries threading,
      May the artist's eye behold
    Breathing from the "deathless canvass"
      Records of the years of old:

    Pallas there, and Jove, and Juno,
      "Take" once more their "walks abroad,"
    Under Titian's fiery woodlands
      And the saffron skies of Claude:

    There the Amazons of Rubens
      Lift the failing arm to strike,
    And the pale light falls in masses
      On the horsemen of Vandyke;

    And in Berghem's pools reflected
      Hang the cattle's graceful shapes,
    And Murillo's soft boy-faces
      Laugh amid the Seville grapes;

    And all purest, loveliest fancies
      That in poet's soul may dwell,
    Started into shape and substance
      At the touch of Raphael.

    Lo! her wan arms folded meekly,
      And the glory of her hair,
    Falling as a robe around her,
      Kneels the Magdalen in prayer;

    And the white-robed Virgin-mother
      Smiles, as centuries back she smiled,
    Half in gladness, half in wonder,
      On the calm face of her Child:--

    And that mighty Judgment-vision
      Tells how men essayed to climb
    Up the ladder of the ages,
      Past the frontier-walls of Time;

    Heard the trumpet-echoes rolling
      Thro' the phantom-peopled sky,
    And the still Voice bid this mortal
      Put on immortality.





  PREFACE BY JOHN RUSKIN                                    vii

  NATIONAL GALLERY                                            x



    THE EARLY FLORENTINE SCHOOL                               1

    THE FLORENTINE SCHOOL                                     8

    THE SIENESE SCHOOL                                       14

    THE LOMBARD SCHOOL                                       16

    THE FERRARESE SCHOOL                                     19

    THE UMBRIAN SCHOOL                                       22

    THE VENETIAN SCHOOL                                      25

    THE PADUAN SCHOOL                                        32

    THE LATER ITALIAN SCHOOLS                                34


    THE DUTCH SCHOOL                                         43

    THE LATER FLEMISH SCHOOL                                 47

    THE SPANISH SCHOOL                                       48

    THE FRENCH SCHOOL                                        51

  NOTES                                                      55

  PICTURES ON LOAN                                          749

  COPIES FROM OLD MASTERS                                   752

  THE ARUNDEL SOCIETY'S COLLECTION                          757

  SCULPTURES AND MARBLES                                    770

  APPENDIX I. INDEX LIST OF PAINTERS (_with the subjects of
  their pictures_)                                          771

  APPENDIX II. INDEX LIST OF PICTURES                       791

  _First Edition printed 1888._
  _Second Edition printed 1889._
  _Third Edition printed 1890._
  _Fourth Edition printed 1893._
  _Fifth Edition printed 1897._
  _Sixth Edition printed 1901._
  _Seventh Edition, Vol. I. printed 1909._
  _Eighth Edition, Vol. I. printed 1912._
  _Seventh Edition, Vol. II. printed 1912._
  _Re-issue 1922._



So far as I know, there has never yet been compiled, for the
illustration of any collection of paintings whatever, a series of notes
at once so copious, carefully chosen, and usefully arranged, as this
which has been prepared, by the industry and good sense of Mr. Edward
T. Cook, to be our companion through the magnificent rooms of our own
National Gallery; without question now the most important collection of
paintings in Europe for the purposes of the general student. Of course
the Florentine School must always be studied in Florence, the Dutch
in Holland, and the Roman in Rome; but to obtain a clear knowledge of
their relations to each other, and compare with the best advantage the
characters in which they severally excel, the thoughtful scholars of
any foreign country ought now to become pilgrims to the Dome--(such as
it is)--of Trafalgar Square.

We have indeed--be it to our humiliation remembered--small reason
to congratulate ourselves on the enlargement of the collection now
belonging to the public, by the sale of the former possessions of our
nobles. But since the parks and castles which were once the pride,
beauty, and political strength of England are doomed by the progress
of democracy to be cut up into lots on building leases, and have
their libraries and pictures sold at Sotheby's and Christie's, we
may at least be thankful that the funds placed by the Government at
the disposal of the Trustees for the National Gallery have permitted
them to save so much from the wreck of English mansions and Italian
monasteries, and enrich the recreations of our metropolis with graceful
interludes by Perugino and Raphael.

It will be at once felt by the readers of the following catalogue that
it tells them, about every picture and its painter, just the things
they wished to know. They may rest satisfied also that it tells them
these things on the best historical authorities, and that they have in
its concise pages an account of the rise and decline of the arts of the
Old Masters, and record of their personal characters and worldly state
and fortunes, leaving nothing of authentic tradition, and essential
interest, untold.

As a collection of critical remarks by esteemed judges, and of clearly
formed opinions by earnest lovers of art, the little book possesses a
metaphysical interest quite as great as its historical one. Of course
the first persons to be consulted on the merit of a picture are those
for whom the artist painted it: with those in after generations who
have sympathy with them; one does not ask a Roundhead or a Republican
his opinion of the Vandyke at Wilton, nor a Presbyterian minister his
impressions of the Sistine Chapel:--but from any one honestly taking
pleasure in any sort of painting, it is always worth while to hear the
grounds of his admiration, if he can himself analyse them. For those
who take no pleasure in painting, or who are offended by its inevitable
faults, any form of criticism is insolent. Opinion is only valuable
when it

                  gilds with various rays
    These painted clouds that beautify our days.

When I last lingered in the Gallery before my old favourites, I
thought them more wonderful than ever before; but as I draw towards
the close of life, I feel that the real world is more wonderful yet:
that Painting has not yet fulfilled half her mission,--she has told us
only of the heroism of men and the happiness of angels: she may perhaps
record in future the beauty of a world whose mortal inhabitants are
happy, and which angels may be glad to visit.


  _April_ 1888.





=Division into Volumes.=--In arrangement and, to some degree, in
contents the Handbook in its present form differs from the earlier
editions. Important changes have been made during the last few years
in the constitution and scope of the National Gallery itself. The
Gallery now consists of two branches controlled by a single Board of
Trustees: (1) the "National Gallery" in Trafalgar Square; and (2) the
"Tate Gallery" or, as it is officially called, the "National Gallery
of British Art" on the Thames Embankment at Millbank.[1] At the former
Gallery are hung all the pictures belonging to Foreign Schools.
Pictures of the British Schools are hung partly in Trafalgar Square
and partly at Millbank, and from time to time pictures are moved from
one Gallery to the other. It has therefore been decided to divide the
Handbook into volumes according to subject rather than according to
position. Volume I. deals with the Foreign Schools (National Gallery);
Volume II., with the British Schools (National Gallery and Tate
Gallery). By this division the convenience of the books for purposes
of reference or use in the Galleries will not be disturbed by future
changes in the allocation of British pictures between Trafalgar Square
and Millbank respectively.

=How to use the Handbook.=--The one fixed point in the arrangement of
the National Gallery is the numbering of the pictures. The numbers
affixed to the frames, and referred to in the Official Reports
and Catalogues, are never changed. This is an excellent rule, the
observance of which, in the case of some foreign galleries, would have
saved no little inconvenience to students and visitors. In the present,
as in the preceding editions of the Handbook, advantage has been taken
of this fixed system of numbering; and in the pages devoted to the
Biographical and Descriptive Catalogue the pictures are enumerated in
their numerical order. The introductory remarks on the chief Schools
of Painting represented in the Gallery are brought together at the
beginning of the book. The visitor who desires to make an historical
study of the Collection may, if he will, glance first at the general
introduction given to the pictures in each School; and then, as he
makes his survey of the rooms devoted to the several Schools, note the
numbers on the frames, and refer to the Numerical Catalogue following
the series of introductions. On the other hand, the visitor who
does not care to use the Handbook in this way has only to skip the
preliminary chapters, and to pass at once, as he finds himself before
this picture or that, to the Numerical Catalogue. For the convenience,
again, of visitors or students desiring to find the works of some
particular painter, the full and detailed Index of Painters, first
introduced in the Third Edition, has here been retained. References to
all the pictures by each painter, and to the page where some account
of his life and work is given, will be found in this Index. Finally,
a concise Numerical Index is given, wherein the reader may find at
once the particulars of acquisition, the _provenance_, and other
circumstances regarding every picture (by a foreign artist) in the
possession of the National Gallery, wherever deposited.

=History of the National Gallery.=--"For the purposes of the general
student, the National Gallery is now," said Mr. Ruskin in 1888,
"without question the most important collection of paintings in
Europe." Forty years before he said of the same Gallery that it was
"an European jest." The growth of the Gallery from jest to glory[2]
may be traced in the final index to this book, where the pictures
are enumerated in the order of their acquisition. Many incidents
connected with the acquisition of particular pictures will also be
found chronicled in the Catalogue[3]; but it may here be interesting
to summarise the history of the institution. The National Gallery of
England dates from the year 1824, when the Angerstein Collection of
thirty-eight pictures was purchased. They were exhibited for some
years in Mr. Angerstein's house in Pall Mall; for it was not till
1832 that the building in which the collection is now deposited was
begun. This building, which was designed expressly for the purpose by
William Wilkins, R.A., was opened to the public in 1838.[4] At that
time, however, the Gallery comprised only six rooms, the remaining
space in the building being devoted to the Royal Academy of Arts--whose
inscription may still be seen above a disused doorway to the right of
the main entrance. In 1860 the first enlargement was made--consisting
of one new room. In 1869 the Royal Academy removed to Burlington House,
and five more rooms were gained for the National Gallery. In 1876 the
so-called "New Wing" was added, erected from a design by E. M. Barry,
R.A. In that year the whole collection was for the first time housed
under a single roof. The English School had, since its increase in
1847 by the Vernon gift, been exhibited first at Marlborough House
(up to 1859), and afterwards at South Kensington. In 1884 a further
addition of five rooms was commenced under the superintendence of Sir
John Taylor, of Her Majesty's Office of Works; these rooms (numbered
I., II., III., V., VI. on the plan), with a new staircase and other
improvements, were opened to the public in 1887; and the Gallery then
consisted of twenty-two rooms, besides ample accommodation for the
offices of the Director and the convenience of the students.[5] A
further extension of the Gallery, on the site of St. George's Barracks,
was completed in 1911; this consisted of six new rooms.[6] At the same
time the older portions of the building were reconstructed, in order to
make it fire-proof. The rearrangement of the Gallery is described below
(p. xxv).

=Growth of the Collection.=--This growth in the Galleries has, however,
barely sufficed to keep pace with the growth of the pictures. In 1838
the total number of national pictures was still only 150. In 1875 the
number was 926. In 1911 the number of pictures, etc. (exclusive of
the Turner water-colours) vested in the Trustees of the Gallery was
nearly 2870. This result has been due to the combination of private
generosity and State aid which is characteristic of our country. The
Vernon gift of English pictures in 1847 added over 150 at a stroke.
Ten years later Turner's bequest added (besides some 19,000 drawings
in various stages of completion) 100 pictures. In 1876 the Wynn Ellis
gift of foreign pictures added nearly another hundred. In 1910 the
bequest of Mr. George Salting added 192 pictures (160 foreign and 32
British). Particulars of other gifts and bequests may be gathered from
the Appendix. Parliamentary grants have of late years been supplemented
by private subscriptions and bequests. In 1890 Messrs. N. M. Rothschild
and Sons, Sir Edward Guinness, Bart. (now Lord Iveagh), and Mr. Charles
Cotes, each contributed £10,000 towards the purchase of three important
pictures (1314-5-6); whilst in 1904, Mr. Astor, Mr. Beit, Lord Burton,
Lord Iveagh, Mr. Pierpont Morgan, and Lady Wantage subscribed £21,000
to supplement a Government grant for the purchase of Titian's "Portrait
of Ariosto" (1944). In 1903 a "National Art-Collections Fund" was
established for organising private benefactions to the Galleries
and Museums of the United Kingdom; it was through this agency that
the famous "Venus" by Velazquez (2057), in 1906, and the still more
famous "Christina, Duchess of Milan," by Holbein (2475), in 1909, were
added to the National Gallery. The same Fund contributed also to the
purchase in 1911, of the Castle Howard Mabuse (2790). Mr. Francis
Clarke bequeathed £23,104, and Mr. T. D. Lewis £10,000, the interest
upon which sums was to be expended in pictures. Mr. R. C. Wheeler
left a sum of £2655, the interest on which was to purchase _English_
pictures. Mr. J. L. Walker left £10,000, not to form a fund, but to
be spent on "a picture or pictures." In 1903 a large bequest was made
to the Gallery by Colonel Temple West. The will was disputed; but
by the settlement ultimately effected (1907, 1908) a sum of £99,909
was received, of which the interest is available for the purchase of
pictures. In 1906 Mr. C. E. G. Mackerell made a bequest, and this
will also was disputed. By the settlement (1908) a sum of £2859 was
received, and a further sum will be forthcoming at the expiration
of certain life-interests, of which sums, again, the interest will
be available for the purchase of pictures. Appendix II. shows the
pictures acquired from these several funds. This growth of the Gallery
by private gift and public expenditure concurrently accords with the
manner of its birth. One of the factors which decided Lord Liverpool in
favour of the purchase of Mr. Angerstein's Collection was the generous
offer of a private citizen--Sir George Beaumont.

=Value of the Pictures.=--Sir George's gift, as we shall see from a
little story attaching to one of his pictures (61), was not of that
which cost him nothing in the giving. The generosity of private donors,
which that little story places in so pleasing and even pathetic a
light, has been accompanied by public expenditure at once liberal
and prudent. The total cost of the collection so far has been about
£900,000[7]; at present prices there is little doubt that the pictures
so acquired could be sold for several times that sum. It will be seen
in the following pages that there have been some bad bargains; but
these mostly belong to the period when responsibility was divided, in
an undefined way, between the Trustees and the Keeper. The present
organisation of the Gallery dates from 1855, when, as the result
of several Commissions and Committees, a Treasury Minute was drawn
up--appointing a Director to preside over the Gallery, and placing an
annual grant of money at his disposal.[8] The curious reader may trace
the use of this discretion made by successive Directors in the table of
prices given in the final index--a table which would afford material
for an instructive history of recent fashions in art. The annual grant
has from time to time been supplemented by special grants, of which
the most notable were those for the Peel Collection, the Blenheim
pictures, the Longford Castle pictures, two new Rembrandts (1674-5),
Titian's "Ariosto" (1944), Holbein's "Duchess of Milan" (2475),
and Mabuse's "Adoration of the Magi" (2790) respectively. The Peel
Collection consisted of seventy-seven pictures. The vote was proposed
in the House of Commons on March 20, 1871, and in supporting it the
late Sir W. H. Gregory (one of the Trustees of the Gallery) alluded to
"the additional interest connected with the collection, for it was the
labour of love of one of our greatest English Statesmen, and it was
gratifying to see that the taste of the amateur was on a par with the
sagacity of the minister, for throughout this large collection there
could hardly be named more than two or three pictures which were not of
the very highest order of merit." The price paid for this collection,
£70,000, was exceedingly moderate.[9] The "princely" price given for
the two Blenheim pictures is more open to exception; but if the price
was unprecedented, so also was the sale of so superb a Raphael in the
present day unprecedented.

=Features of the Collection.=--The result of the expenditure with
which successive Parliaments have thus supplemented private gifts
has been to raise the National Gallery to a position second to that
of no single collection in the world. The number of pictures now on
view in Trafalgar Square, exclusive of the water-colours, is about
1600.[10] This number is very much smaller than that of the galleries
at Dresden, Madrid, and Paris--the three largest in the world. On
the other hand no foreign gallery has been so carefully acquired, or
so wisely weeded, as ours. An Act was passed in 1856 authorising the
sale of unsuitable works, whilst another passed in 1883 sanctioned the
thinning of the Gallery in favour of Provincial collections. There
are still many serious gaps. In the Italian School we have no work by
Masaccio--the first of the naturalisers in landscape; only one doubtful
example of Palma Vecchio, the greatest of the Bergamese painters;
no first-rate portrait by Tintoret. The French School is little
represented--an omission which is, however, splendidly supplied in the
Wallace Collection at Hertford House, now the property of the nation.
In the National Gallery itself there is no picture by "the incomparable
Watteau," the "prince of Court painters." The specimens of the Spanish
School are few in number, though Velazquez is now finely represented;
whilst amongst the old masters of our own British School there are
many gaps for some future Vernon or Tate to fill up. But on the other
hand we can set against these deficiencies many painters who, and even
schools which, can nowhere--in one place--be so well studied as in
Trafalgar Square. The works of Crivelli--one of the quaintest and most
charming of the earlier Venetians--which hang together in one room; the
works of the Brescian School, including those of its splendid portrait
painters--Moroni and Il Moretto; the series of Raphaels, showing each
of his successive styles; and in the English School the unrivalled and
incomparable collection of Turners,--are amongst the particular glories
of the National Collection. Historically the collection is remarkably
instructive. This is a point which successive Directors have, on the
recommendation of Royal Commissions, kept steadily in view; and which
has been very clearly shown since the successive re-arrangements of the
Gallery after the extension in 1887.

=Scope of the Handbook.=--It is in order to help visitors to take full
advantage of the opportunities thus afforded for historical study that
I have furnished some general introductions to the various Schools
of Painting represented in the National Gallery. With regard to the
notes in the Numerical Catalogue, my object has been to interest the
daily increasing numbers of the general public who visit the National
Gallery. The full inventories and other details, which are necessary
for the identification of pictures, and which are most admirably given
in the (unabridged) Official Catalogue--would obviously be out of place
in a book designed for popular use. Nor, secondly, would any elaborate
technical criticism have been in keeping--even had it been in my power
to offer it--with a guide intended for unprofessional readers. C. R.
Leslie, the father of the present Academician, tells how he "spoke one
day to Stothard of his touching picture of a sailor taking leave of his
wife or sweetheart. 'I am glad you like it, sir,' said Stothard; 'it
was painted with japanner's gold size.'" I have been mainly concerned
with the sentiment of the pictures, and have for the most part left the
"japanner's gold size" alone.

=Mr. Ruskin's Notes.=--It had often occurred to me, as a student of
Mr. Ruskin's writings, that a collection of his scattered notes upon
painters and pictures now in the National Gallery would be of great
value. I applied to Mr. Ruskin in the matter, and he readily permitted
me to make what use I liked of any, or all, of his writings. The
generosity of this permission, which was supplemented by constant
encouragement and counsel, makes me the more anxious to explain clearly
the limits of his responsibility for the book. He did not attempt to
revise, or correct, either my gleanings from his own books, or the
notes added by myself from other sources. Beyond his general permission
to me to reprint his past writings, Mr. Ruskin had, therefore,
no responsibility for this compilation whatever. I should more
particularly state that the pages upon the Turner Gallery in the Second
Volume were not even glanced at by him. The criticisms from his books
there collected represent, therefore, solely his attitude to Turner at
the time they were severally written. But, subject to this deduction,
the passages from Ruskin arranged throughout the following pages
will, I hope, enable the _Handbook_ to serve a second purpose. Any
student who goes through the Gallery under Ruskin's guidance--even at
second-hand--can hardly fail to obtain some insight into the system of
art-teaching embodied in his works. The full exposition of that system
must still be studied in the original text-books, but here the reader
may find a series of examples and illustrations which will perhaps make
the study more vivid and actual.

=Attribution of Pictures.=--In the matter of _attributions_, the rule,
in the successive editions of this Handbook, has been to follow the
authority of the Official Labels and Catalogues. Criticism has been
very busy of late years with the traditional attribution of pictures
in our Gallery, and successive Directors introduce their several, and
sometimes contradictory, opinions on such points. Thus more than One
Old Master hitherto supposed to be represented in the Gallery has
been banished, and others, whose fame had not previously been bruited
abroad, have been credited with familiar masterpieces. Thus--to
notice some of the changes made by Sir Edward Poynter (Catalogue of
1906)--among the Venetians, Bastiani and Catena have come into favour.
To Bastiani was given the picture of "The Doge Giovanni Mocenigo" (750)
which for forty years has been exhibited as a work by Carpaccio; that
charming painter now disappears from the National Gallery. To Catena
is attributed the "St. Jerome" (694), which for several decades had
been cited as peculiarly characteristic of Bellini. To Catena also is
given the "Warrior in Adoration" (234). In this case Catena's gain is
Giorgione's loss. But elsewhere Giorgione has received compensation for
disturbance. To him has been given the "Adoration of the Magi" (1160),
which some critics attributed to Catena. The beautiful "Ecce Homo"
(1310), which was sold as a Carlo Dolci and bought by Sir Frederick
Burton as a Bellini, was ascribed by Sir Edward Poynter to Cima. One
of the minor Venetians--Basaiti, who enjoyed a high reputation at the
National Gallery--was deprived of the pretty "Madonna of the Meadow"
(599), which went to swell the opulent record of Bellini. Among the
Florentines, a newcomer is Zenobio Macchiavelli, to whom is attributed
an altar-piece (586) formerly catalogued under the name of Fra Filippo
Lippi. Cosimo Rosselli, hitherto credited with a large "St. Jerome in
the Desert" (227), now disappears; it was labelled "Tuscan School,"
and was any one's picture. The attribution of pictures belonging to
the group of the two Lippis and Botticelli is still very uncertain.
A note on these critical diversities will be found under No. 293.
Among alterations in other schools we may note the substitution of
Zurbaran for Velazquez as the painter of "The Nativity," No. 232; the
attribution to Patinir, the Fleming, of a landscape formerly labelled
"Venetian School" (1298); and the discovery of Jacob van Oost as the
painter of a charming "Portrait of a Boy" (1137), which, but for an
impossibility in the dates, might well continue to pass as Isaac van

Such were the principal changes made in the ascriptions of the pictures
during Sir Edward Poynter's directorate. His successor, Sir Charles
Holroyd, has recently made many others, as shown in the following list:

      97 (_P. Veronese_), now described as "after Veronese."

      215, 216 (_School of T. Gaddi_), now assigned to _Lorenzo
      Monaco_ (_see_ 1897).

      227 (_Florentine School_), now assigned to _Francesco
      Botticini_ (a Tuscan painter of the 15th century).

      276 (_School of Giotto_), now assigned to _Spinello Aretino_;
      for whom, _see_ 581.

      296 (_Florentine School_), now assigned to _Verrocchio_; _see_
      below, p. 262.

      568 (_School of Giotto_), now assigned to _Angelo di Taddeo
      Gaddi_, a pupil of Giotto's chief disciple, Taddeo Gaddi (for
      whom, _see_ p. 211).

      579 (_School of Taddeo Gaddi_), now assigned to _Niccolo di
      Pietro Gerini_, a painter of Florence who was inscribed in the
      guild in 1368 and died in 1415. Our picture is dated 1387.

      579A (_School of Taddeo Gaddi_), now assigned to Gaddi's pupil,
      _Giovanni da Milano_.

      581 (_Spinello Aretino_), now assigned to _Orcagna_; for whom,
      _see_ 569.

      585 (_Umbrian School_), now assigned to "School of
      _Pollajuolo_"; for whom, _see_ 292.

      591 (_Benozzo Gozzoli_), now described as "School of Benozzo."

      592 (_Filippino Lippi_), now assigned to _Botticelli_; _see
      below_, p. 294 _n._

      599 (_Giovanni Bellini_), now re-assigned to _Basaiti_; _see
      below_, p. 299.

      636 (_Titian_ or _Palma_). After a period of ascription to
      Titian, this portrait is now re-assigned to _Palma_; _see
      below_, p. 315.

      650 (_Angelo Bronzino_), now assigned to his pupil, _Alessandro
      Allori_ (Florentine: 1535-1607).

      654 (_School of Roger van der Weyden_), now assigned to _School
      of Robert Campin_; for whom, _see_ 2608.

      655 (_Bernard van Orley_), now ascribed to _Ambrosius Benson_;
      born in Lombardy, painted in Bruges, living in 1545.

      658 (_after Schongauer_), now assigned to _School of Campin_.
      The picture ascribed to the "Master of Flémalle," as referred
      to in the text (p. 328), is now No. 2608 (also now assigned to

      659 (_Johann Rottenhammer_), now assigned to _Jan Brueghel, the
      younger_ (1601-1667), a scholar of Brueghel, the elder.

      664 (_Roger van der Weyden_), now assigned to _Dierick Bouts_;
      for whom, _see_ 2595.

      670 (_Angelo Bronzino_), now described as "School of Bronzino."

      696 (_Flemish School_), now assigned to _Petrus Cristus_; for
      whom, _see_ 2593.

      704 (_Bronzino_), now described as "School of Bronzino."

      709 (_Flemish School_), now assigned to _Memlinc_; for whom,
      _see_ 686.

      713 (_Jan Mostaert_), now assigned to _Jan Prevost_ (Flemish:
      1462-1529), a painter of Bruges and a friend of Albert Dürer.

      714 (_Cornelis Engelbertsz_), now assigned to _Bernard van
      Orley_; for whom, _see_ 655.

      715 (_Joachim Patinir_), now assigned to _Quentin Metsys_; for
      whom, _see_ 295.

      750 (_Lazzaro Bastiani_), now described as "School of Gentile
      Bellini"; for whom, _see_ 1213.

      774 (_Flemish School_), now assigned to _Dierick Bouts_; for
      whom, _see_ 2595.

      779, 780 (_Borgognone_), now described as "School of

      781 (_Florentine School_), now attributed to _Botticini_.

      782 (_Botticelli_), now described as "School of Botticelli."

      808 (_Giovanni Bellini_), now assigned to _Gentile Bellini_;
      _see below_, p. 422 _n._

      916 (_School of Botticelli_), now assigned to _Jacopo del
      Sellaio_; for whom, _see_ 2492.

      943 (_Flemish School_), now assigned to _D. Bouts_.

      1017 (_Flemish School_), now assigned to _Josse de Momper_;
      _see below_, p. 489.

      1033 (_Filippino Lippi_), now assigned to _Botticelli_; _see
      below_, p. 494.

      1048 (_Italian_), now assigned to _Scipione Pulzone_; _see
      below_, p. 505.

      1078, 1079 (_Flemish School_), now "attributed to _Gerard
      David_"; for whom, _see_ 1045.

      1080 (_School of the Rhine_), now assigned to _Flemish School_.

      1083 (_Flemish School_), now assigned to _Albrecht Bouts_ (a
      son of D. Bouts), who died in 1549.

      1085 (_School of the Rhine_), now assigned to _Geertgen Tot
      Sint Jans_ (Dutch: 15th century). This painter was a pupil of
      Albert van Ouwater; he established himself at Haarlem in a
      convent belonging to the Knights of St. John (whence his name,
      Gerard of St. John's). His works were seen and admired by Dürer.

      1086 (_Flemish School_), now assigned to the "School of Robert
      Campin"; for whom, _see_ 2608.

      1109A (_Mengs_). To this picture the number 1099 (noted in
      previous editions of this _Handbook_ as having been missed in
      the official numbering) is now given.

      1121 (_Venetian School_), now assigned to _Catena_; for whom,
      _see_ 234.

      1124 (_Filippino Lippi_), now described as "School of

      1126 (_Botticelli_), now assigned to _Botticini_; _see_ on this
      subject p. 536 _n._

      1160 (_School of Giorgione_), now assigned to _Giorgione_

      1199 (_Florentine School_), now assigned to _Pier Francesco
      Fiorentino_; a Tuscan painter of the 15th century.

      1376 (_Velazquez_), now "ascribed to Velazquez."

      1412 (_Filippino Lippi_), now described as "School of

      1419 (_Flemish School_), now assigned to _Early French School_.
      The picture formed part of a diptych; the companion picture was
      in the Dudley Collection (No. 29 in the sale catalogue of 1892,
      where an illustration of it was given). In this the choir of
      St. Denis is shown. There are two portraits by the same hand at

      1433 (_Flemish School_), now assigned to _Roger van der
      Weyden_; for whom, _see_ 664.

      1434 (_Velazquez_), now "ascribed to Velazquez," and it is
      added that the picture has been attributed to Luca Giordano
      (Neapolitan: 1632-1705).

      1440 (_Giovanni Bellini_), now assigned to _Gentile Bellini_;
      for whom, _see_ 1213.

      1468 (_Spinello Aretino_), now assigned to _Jacopo di Cione_,
      the younger brother of Andrea Cione (called Orcagna); he was
      still living in 1394.

      1652 This picture has hitherto been assigned to the _British
      School_ (and therefore included in vol. ii. of the _Handbook_),
      and called a portrait of Katharine Parr. It is now discovered
      to belong to the _Dutch School_ and to be a "portrait of Madame
      van der Goes."

      1699 (_Jan Vermeer_), now "attributed to Vermeer."

      1842 (_Tuscan School_), now "attributed to _Stefano di
      Giovanni_," known as _Sassetta_ (Sienese: 1392-1450).

      1870 "Angels with Keys," by _Sebastiano Conca_ (Neapolitan:
      1679-1764). Lent by the Victoria and Albert Museum.

      1903 (_Jan Fyt_), now assigned to _Pieter Boel_ (Flemish:
      1622-1674), of Antwerp, who became official painter to Louis

It will be observed that critical fashions are unstable, and that in
several cases Sir Edward Poynter's changes have been reversed. The
recent alterations were made just as this edition of the _Handbook_ was
going to press. The ascriptions in the body of my Catalogue remain,
therefore, in conformity with the Official Catalogue of 1906 which
embodied Sir Edward Poynter's views. The lists of painters and pictures
at the end (Appendix I. and II.) have, on the other hand, been revised
in accordance with Sir Charles Holroyd's alterations.

=Additional Notes.=--In the _notes upon the pictures_, a large number
of additional remarks have been introduced since this _Handbook_
first appeared. These, it is hoped, may serve here and there to
deepen the visitor's impression, to suggest fresh points of view, to
open up incidental sources of interest. Attention may be called, by
way of example, under this head, to several notes upon the designs
depicted on the dresses, draperies, and backgrounds of the Italian
pictures. These designs, sometimes invented by the artists themselves
and sometimes copied from actual stuffs, form a series of examples
which illustrate the "art fabrics" of the best period of Italian
decorative art, and which might well give hints for the decoration of
textile fabrics to-day.[11] Another incidental source of interest in
a collection of pictures such as ours, is the historical development
of art as it may be traced in the several representations of the same
subject by different painters, in successive periods, and in different
schools. Such comparisons are instructive to those interested alike
in the evolution of art and in the history of religious ideas. In the
art of mediæval Christendom we find an unwritten theology, a popular
figurative teaching of the sublime story of Christianity blended with
the traditions of many generations. On the walls of the National
Gallery we may see a series of typical scenes from the Annunciation to
the Passion, from the childhood of Christ to His Death, Resurrection,
and Ascension, together with ideal forms of apostles and saints. These
pictures, contemplated in sequence and compared with one another,
afford, as a writer in the _Dublin Review_ (October 1888) has pointed
out, a large and interesting field for thought. Very interesting it
is also to trace the different types which prevail in the different
schools. Thus at Florence, the Madonna is a tender, shrinking, delicate
maiden. At Venice, she is a calm, serene, and pure-spirited mother.
The Florentine "handmaiden of the Lord" often wears a mystic, and
almost always an intellectual air. The Venetian type, seen at its
central perfection in Bellini, has a neck firm as a column; the child
is nude and plays with a flower or fruit; grandeur of mien and a noble
type of motherhood are the ideals the Venetian painters set before
themselves. The Lombard Madonna is less spiritual and severe than the
Florentine. A refined worldly beauty replaces here the poetic idealism
of the Tuscan artists. With the Umbrian painters the model of the
Madonna is usually a softly-rounded and very girlish maiden. A certain
mystic pensiveness informs her features. Her feet tread this earth,
but her soul is absorbed in the contemplation of the infinite.[12] A
study of the successive characteristics of Raphael's Madonnas, passing
from the vaguely divine to the frankly human, would form material
for a volume in itself.[13] In another department of the painter's
art, the comparative method of study is no less suggestive. It is one
of the most curious points of interest in any large collection of
pictures to notice the different impressions that the same elements
of natural scenery make upon different painters. As figure painting
came to be perfected, some adequate suggestion of landscape background
was required. Giotto and Orcagna first attempted to give resemblance
to nature in this respect. Subsequent painters carried the attempt
to greater success, but it was long before landscape for its own
sake obtained attention. When it did, the preferences of individual
painters, now freed from conventionalism, found abundant scope, as we
may see by pausing in succession before the flowery meadows of the
"primitives," the "fiery woodlands of Titian," the savage crags of
Salvator Rosa, the "saffron skies of Claude."[14] These are some of the
incidental points of interest upon which additional notes have been
supplied in recent editions. Many others will be discovered by the
patient reader of the following pages.

=Notices of Painters.=--Lastly, the _biographical and critical notices_
of the painters have been revised and expanded since the first
appearance of the book. Many have been re-written throughout, nearly
all have been re-cast, and a good many references to pictures in other
galleries and countries have been introduced. The important accession
to the National Gallery of the Arundel Society's unique collection
of copies from the old masters affords an opportunity even to the
untraveled visitor to become acquainted, in some sort, with the most
famous wall-paintings of Italy. Mr. Ruskin, by whose death the National
Gallery lost one of its best and oldest friends, once expressed a hope
to me that the notices of the painters given in this Handbook would
be found useful by some readers not only as a companion in Trafalgar
Square, but also for other galleries, at home and abroad. Nobody can
know better than the compiler how far Mr. Ruskin's kindness led him in
the direction of over-indulgence.

I can only hope that the later editions have been made--largely owing
to the suggestions of critics and private correspondents--a little
more deserving of the kind reception which, now for a period of nearly
twenty-five years, has been given by the public to my Handbook.

  E. T. C.

  _May 1912._



[1] The Tate Gallery is ten minutes' drive or twenty minutes' walk
from Trafalgar Square. It is reached in a straight line by Whitehall,
Parliament Street, past the Houses of Parliament, Millbank Street, and
Grosvenor Road.

[2] Mr. Ruskin himself was converted by the acquisition of the great
Perugino (No. 288). In congratulating the Trustees on their acquisition
of this "noble picture," he wrote: "It at once, to my mind, raises our
National Gallery from a second-rate to a first-rate collection. I have
always loved the master, and given much time to the study of his works;
but this is the best I have ever seen" (_Notes on the Turner Gallery_,
p. 89 _n._).

[3] See, for instance, Nos. 10, 61, 193, 195, 479 and 498, 757, 790,
896, 1131, and 1171.

[4] The exterior of the building is not generally considered an
architectural success, and the ugliness of the dome is almost
proverbial. But it should be remembered that the original design
included the erection of suitable pieces of sculpture--such as may
be seen in old engravings of the Gallery, made from the architect's
drawings--on the still vacant pedestals.

[5] The several extensions of the Gallery are shown in the plan on a
later page.

[6] The total number should thus be 28; but in the reconstruction four
smaller rooms were thrown into two larger ones. The plan thus shows 25
numbered rooms and one called the "Dome."

[7] This sum only includes amounts paid out of Parliamentary grants or
other National Gallery funds or special contributions.

[8] In 1894, however, an alteration was made in the Minute, and the
responsibility for purchases was vested in the Director and the
Trustees jointly.

[9] Sir William Gregory relates in his _Autobiography_ the following
story: "In 1884, when the Trustees were endeavouring to secure some of
the pre-eminently fine Rubenses from the Duke of Marlborough, Alfred
Rothschild met me in St. James's Street, and said, 'If you think the
Blenheim Rubenses are more important than your Dutch pictures to the
Gallery, and that you cannot get the money from the Government, I am
prepared to give you £250,000 for the Peel pictures; and I will hold
good to this offer till the day after to-morrow.'"

[10] Of the 1170 pieces thus unaccounted for (the total number
belonging to the Trustees being roughly 2870) the greater number are at
Millbank. Others are on loan to provincial institutions (see App. II.).

[11] With this object in view, several of them have been published with
descriptive letterpress by Mr. Sydney Vacher.

[12] These contrasts were worked out and illustrated by Mr. Grant Allen
in his papers on "The Evolution of Italian Art" in the _Pall Mall
Magazine_ for 1895.

[13] See _Raphael's Madonnas_, by Karl Károly, 1894.

[14] Ruskin's _Modern Painters_ is of course the great book on this
subject. The evolution of "Landscape in Art" has been historically
treated by Mr. Josiah Gilbert in a work thus entitled, which contains
numerous illustrations from the National Gallery.




The pictures in the National Gallery are hung methodically, so far
as the wall-space and other circumstances will admit, in order to
illustrate the different schools of painting, and to facilitate their
historical study. Introductions to the several Foreign Schools of
Painting, thus arranged, will be found in the following pages together
with references to many of the chief painters in each school who are
represented in the Gallery. Introductory remarks on the British School
and British Painters will be found in Volume II.

At the present time (May 1912) the arrangement of the Gallery is in
a transitional state, as some of the Rooms are still in process of
reconstruction or rearrangement. When this work is finished, the
arrangement of the whole Gallery will, it is expected, be as shown


      _Early Tuscan_: North Vestibule.
      _Florentine and Sienese_: Rooms I., II., V.
      _Florentine (later)_: Room III.
      _Milanese_: Room IV.
      _Umbrian_: Room VI.
      _Venetian_: Room VII.
      _Venetian (later)_: Room IX.
      _Paduan_: Room VIII.
      _Venice, etc._: the Dome.
      _Brescian and Bergamese_: Room XV.
      _Bolognese_: Room XXV.
      _Late Italian_: Room XXIII.


      _Early Netherlands_: Room XI.
      _Later Flemish_ (Rubens, etc.): Room X.
      _Dutch_ (landscape: Ruysdael, etc.): Room XII.
      _Dutch_ (Rembrandt): Room XIII.
      _Dutch_: Room XIV.
      _German_: Room XXIV.




      _Hogarth, etc._: Room XXII.
      _Reynolds, Gainsborough, etc._: Room XXI.
      _Romney, Morland, etc._: Room XX.
      _Turner_: Room XIX.

The rooms on the ground floor, hitherto occupied by the Turner
Water-Colours (now for the most part removed to the Tate Gallery: _see_
Vol. II.), will be arranged with pictures of minor importance, with the
Arundel Society's collection and other copies, and with photographs and
other aids to study.

It should, however, be understood that the scheme of arrangement set
out above is provisional, and may be modified. It is also possible that
the numbering of the rooms may be altered. Should this be the case, the
visitor would have no difficulty in marking the changes on the Plan.

[Illustration: PLAN OF THE ROOMS.

  _W. Wilkins 1838_
  _E. M. Barry 1876_
  _Sir J. Taylor 1887_

  VESTIBULE--_Florentine School._
  ROOM   I--_Florentine School._
  "    II--_Sienese School._
  "   III--_Florentine School._
  "    IV--_Schools of Lombardy and Parma._
  "     V--_Ferrarese and Bolognese Schools._
  "    VI--_Umbrian School._
  "   VII--_Venetian & Allied Schools._
  "  VIII--_Paduan School._
  OCTAGON.--_Venetian School._
  ROOM    IX--_Paolo Veronese, etc._
  "     X--_Dutch School._
  "    XI--_Early Flemish School._
  "   XII--_Dutch School._
  "  XIII--_Flemish School._
  "   XIV--_Spanish School._
  "    XV--_German School._
  "   XVI--_French School._
  "  XVII--_French School._
  ROOMS XVIII, XIX, XX, XXI} _School._
  ROOM XXII--_Turner Gallery._
  ROOM A--_Drawings._
  ROOM B--_Pictures by Turner, etc._]



      "The early efforts of Cimabue and Giotto are the burning
      messages of prophecy, delivered by the stammering lips of

(RUSKIN: _Modern Painters_, vol. i. pt. i. sec. i. ch. ii. § 7).

    Give these, I exhort you, their guerdon and glory
      For daring so much, before they well did it.
    The first of the new, in our race's story,
      Beats the last of the old; 'tis no idle quiddit.

  BROWNING: _Old Pictures in Florence_.

On entering the Gallery from Trafalgar Square, and ascending the
main staircase, the visitor reaches the North Vestibule. What, he
may be inclined to ask, is there worth looking at in the quaint and
gaunt pictures around him here? The answer is a very simple one. This
vestibule is the nursery of Italian art. Here is the first stammering
of infant painting. Accustomed as we are at the present day to so much
technical skill even in the commonest works of art, we may be inclined
to think that the art of painting--the art of giving the resemblances
of things by means of colour laid on to wood or canvas--is an easy
one, of which men have everywhere and at all times possessed the
mastery. But this of course is not the case. The skill of to-day is
the acquired result of long centuries of gradual improvement; and the
pictures in this vestibule bear the same relation to the pictures of
our own time as the stone huts of our forefathers to the Gallery in
which we stand. The poorness of the pictures here is the measure of the
richness of others. To feel the full greatness of Raphael's Madonna
(1171), one should first pause awhile before the earliest Italian
picture here (564), the gaunt and forbidding Madonna by

    Margaritone of Arezzo,
      With the grave-clothes garb and swaddling barret
    (Why purse up mouth and beak in a pet so,
      You bald old saturnine poll-clawed parrot?) (_R. Browning_).

But even in the earliest efforts of infancy, there is a certain
amount of inherited gift. First of all, therefore, one should look at
a specimen of such art as Italians had before them when they first
began to paint for themselves. With the fall of the Roman Empire
and the invasion of the Goths, the centre of civilisation shifted
to the capital of the Eastern Church, Byzantium (Constantinople).
The characteristics of Byzantine art may be seen in a Greek picture
(594). The history of early Italian art is the history of the effort
to escape from the swaddling clothes of this rigid Byzantine School.
The effort was of two kinds: first the painters had to see nature
truly, instead of contenting themselves with fixed symbols--art had to
become "natural," instead of "conventional." Secondly, having learned
to see truly, they had to learn how to give a true resemblance of
what they saw; how to exhibit things in relief, in perspective, and
in illumination. In _relief_: that is, they had to learn to show one
thing as standing out from another; in _perspective_: that is, to
show things as they really look, instead of as we infer they are; in
_illumination_: that is, to show things in the colours they assume
under such and such lights. The first distinct advance was made by
Cimabue and Giotto at Florence, but contemporaneous with them was the
similar work of Duccio and his successors at Siena, whose pictures
should be studied in this connection. Various stages in the advance
will be pointed out under the pictures themselves; and the student
of art will perhaps find the same kind of pleasure in tracing the
painter's progress as grown-up people feel in watching the gradual
development of children.

But there is another kind of interest also. Wordsworth says that
children are the best philosophers; and in the case of art at any
rate there is some truth in what he says, for "this is a general
law, that supposing the intellect of the workman the same, the more
imitatively complete his art, the less he will mean by it; and the
ruder the symbol, the deeper is its intention" (Ruskin's _Lectures on
Art_, § 19). The more complete his powers of imitation become, the
more intellectual interest he takes in the expression, and the less
therefore in the thing meant. What then is the meaning of these early
pictures? To answer this question, we must go back to consider what
it was that gave the original impulse to the revival of art in Italy.
To this revival two circumstances contributed. First, no school of
painting can exist until society is comparatively rich, until there
is wealth enough to support a class of men with leisure to produce
beautiful things. Such an increase of wealth took place at Florence in
the thirteenth century: the gay and courteous life of the Florentines
at that time was ready for the adornment of art. The particular
direction which art took was due to the religious revival, headed by
St. Francis and St. Dominic, which occurred at the same time. Churches
were everywhere built, and on the church walls frescoes were wanted,
alike to satisfy the growing sense of beauty and to assist in teaching
Christian doctrine. These early pictures are thus to be considered as
a kind of painted preaching. The story of Cimabue's great picture (see
No. 565) well illustrates the double origin of the revival of art. It
was to its place above the altar in the great Dominican church of Sta.
Maria Novella at Florence that the picture was carried in triumphal
procession; whilst the fact that a whole city should thus have turned
out to rejoice over the completion of a picture, proves "the widespread
sensibility of the Florentines to things of beauty, and shows the
sympathy which, emanating from the people, was destined to inspire and
brace the artist for his work" (Symonds: _Renaissance_, iii. 137).[15]
The history of Giotto is no less significant. It was for the walls of
the church of St. Francis at Assisi that his greatest work was done. It
was there that he at once pondered over the meaning of the Christian
faith (with what result is shown by Ruskin in _Fors Clavigera_ and
elsewhere), and learned the secret of giving the resemblance of the
objects of that faith in painting. Thus, then, we arrive at the second
source of interest in these old pictures of Florence--rude and foolish
as they sometimes seem. "Those were noble days for the painter, when
the whole belief of Christendom, grasped by his own faith, and firmly
rooted in the faith of the people round him, as yet unimpaired by alien
emanations from the world of classic culture, had to be set forth for
the first time in art. His work was then a Bible, a compendium of grave
divinity and human history, a book embracing all things needful for
the spiritual and civil life of man. He spoke to men who could not
read, for whom there were no printed pages, but whose hearts received
his teaching through the eye. Thus painting was not then what it is
now, a decoration of existence, but a potent and efficient agent in
the education of the race" (_ibid._ p. 143). The message which these
painters had to deliver was painted on the walls of churches or civic
buildings; and it is only there--at Assisi, and Padua, and Florence,
and Siena--that they can be properly read. But from such scraps and
fragments as are here preserved, one may learn, as it were, the
alphabet, and catch the necessary point of view.

But why, it may be asked, did painting come to its new birth first at
Florence, rather than elsewhere in Italy? The first answer is that
painting thus arose at Florence because it was there that a new style
of building at this time arose. The painters were wanted, as we have
seen, to decorate the churches, and in those days there was no sharp
distinction between the arts. Not only were architects sculptors, but
they were often painters and goldsmiths as well. Giotto and Orcagna
are instances of this union of the arts. But why did the new style of
building arise specially in Florence? The answer to this is twofold:
first, the Florentines inherited the artistic gifts and faculties of
the Etruscan (Tuscan) race. Even in late Florentine pictures, pure
Etruscan design will often be found surviving (see 586). Secondly, in
the middle of the thirteenth century new art impulse came from the
North in the shape of a northern builder, who, after building Assisi,
visited Florence and instructed Arnolfo in Gothic, as opposed to Greek
architecture. Thus there met the two principles of art--the Norman (or
Lombard), vigorous and savage; the Greek (or Byzantine), contemplative
but sterile. The new spirit in Florence "adopts what is best in each,
and gives to what it adopts a new energy of its own, ... collects and
animates the Norman and Byzantine tradition, and forms out of the
perfected worship and work of both, the honest Christian faith and
vital craftsmanship of the world.... Central stood Etruscan Florence:
agricultural in occupation, religious in thought, she directed the
industry of the Northman into the arts of peace; kindled the dreams
of the Byzantine with the fire of charity. Child of her peace, and
exponent of her passion, her Cimabue became the interpreter to mankind
of the meaning of the Birth of Christ" (_Ariadne Florentina_, ch. ii.;
_Mornings in Florence_, ii. 44, 45).

      --> _In the left-hand corner of the Vestibule will be found a
      very remarkable series of archaic Greek portraits dating from
      the second or third century A.D. (Nos. 1260-1270)._

       *       *       *       *       *

The architecture of the Entrance Hall and Vestibule is worth some
attention, for here is the finest collection of marbles in London.
Many distant parts of the world have contributed to it. The Alps, from
a steep face of mountain 2000 feet high on the Simplon Pass, send the
two massive square pillars of light green "cipollino" which form the
approach to the Vestibule from the Square. Their carved capitals are of
alabaster from Derbyshire, whilst the bases on which they stand are of
Corrennie granite from near Aberdeen. The square blocks of bluish gray
beneath the upper columns come from New Zealand. Ascending the stone
steps, the visitor should notice the side walls, built up of squares
of "giallo antico," which was brought from the quarry at Simittu, in
the territory of Tunis. It had long been known that Rome was full of
the beautiful "giallo antico," sometimes yellow, sometimes rosy in
colour, but always of exquisite texture and even to work. It had come
from the province of Africa; and the quarry was rediscovered by a
Belgian engineer working on the railway then being made from Tunis to
the Algerian frontier. He observed at Simittu a half-consumed mountain
with gaps clearly marked, from which the last monoliths had been cut,
and the work of the Romans was presently resumed by a Belgian Company.
No more beautiful specimen of the "giallo antico" similar to that used
in Augustan Rome could be desired than slabs in the entrance to the
National Gallery. The cornice above the "giallo antico" walls is of
"pavonazzetto" from the Apennines, near Pisa, and the same marble forms
the base of the red columns. These splendid columns come from quarries
near Chenouah, just west of Algiers, which were first opened by the
French some years ago. Red Etruscan is the unmeaning trade name of this
jasper-like stone, which is also used for door frames in many of the
new rooms with very sumptuous effect.



[15] My references to this book are to the new edition of 1897.


      "This is the way people look when they feel this or that--when
      they have this or that other mental character: are they
      devotional, thoughtful, affectionate, indignant, or inspired?
      are they prophets, saints, priests, or kings? then--whatsoever
      is truly thoughtful, affectionate, prophetic, priestly,
      kingly--_that_ the Florentine School lived to discern and show;
      _that_ they have discerned and shown; and all their greatness
      is first fastened in their aim at this central truth--the open
      expression of the living human soul" (RUSKIN: _Two Paths_, §

    Each face obedient to its passion's law,
      Each passion clear proclaimed without a tongue.

  ROBERT BROWNING: _Pictor Ignotus_.

"Great nations write their autobiographies in three manuscripts;--the
book of their deeds, the book of their words, and the book of their
art. Not one of these books can be understood unless we read the two
others; but of the three, the only quite trustworthy one is the last."
The reason for this faithfulness in the record of art is twofold. The
art of any nation can only be great "by the general gifts and common
sympathies of the race;" and secondly, "art is always instinctive, and
the honesty or pretence of it therefore open to the day" (_St. Mark's
Rest_, Preface). It has been seen from the remarks already made how
Florentine art in its infancy was thus in a certain sense a record
of the times out of which it sprang. In the later pictures, we may
trace some of the developments which characterised the inner history
of Florence in succeeding stages. The first thing that will strike
any one who takes a general look at the early Florentine pictures and
then at the later, is the fact that easel pictures have now superseded
fragments of fresco and altar-pieces. Here at once we see reflected
two features of the time of the Renaissance. Pictures were no longer
wanted merely for church decoration and Scripture teaching; there
was a growing taste for beautiful things as household possessions.
And then also the influence of the church itself was declining; the
exclusive place hitherto occupied by religion as a motive for art was
being superseded by the revival of classical learning. Benozzo Gozzoli
paints the Rape of Helen, Botticelli paints Mars and Venus, Piero di
Cosimo paints the Death of Procris, and Pollajuolo the story of Apollo
and Daphne. The Renaissance was, however, "a new birth" in another way
than this; it opened men's eyes not only to the learning of the ancient
world, but to the beauties of the world in which they themselves lived.
In previous times the burden of serious and thoughtful minds had been,
"The world is very evil, the times are waxing late;" the burden of the
new song is, "The world is very beautiful." Thus we see the painters
no longer confined to a fixed cycle of subjects represented with the
traditional surroundings, but ranging at will over everything that they
found beautiful or interesting around them. And above all they took
to representing the noblest embodiment of life--the human form. Some
attempts at portraiture may be perceived in the saints of the earliest
pictures; but here we find professed portraits on every wall. This
indeed was one of the chief glories of the Florentine School--"the open
expression of the living human soul." This widening and secularising of
art did not pass in Florence, as we know, without a protest; and here,
too, history is painted on the walls. Some of the protest was silent,
as Angelico's, who painted on through a later generation in the old
spirit; some of it was vocal, in the fiery eloquence of Savonarola,
whose influence may be seen in Botticelli's work (1034).

But the development went on, all protests notwithstanding; for as
the life of every nation runs its appointed course, so does its art;
and the second point of interest in studying a school of painting
is to watch its successive periods of birth, growth, maturity, and
decay. In no school is this development so completely marked as in
the Florentine, which for this reason, as well as for its priority in
time, and therefore influence on succeeding schools, takes precedence
of all others. The _first_ period--covering roughly the fourteenth
century, called the Giottesque, from its principal master--is that in
which the thing told is of more importance than the manner of telling
it, and in which the religious sentiment dominated the plastic faculty.
In the _second_ period, covering roughly the fifteenth century, and
called by the Italians the period of the _quattro-centisti_,[16] the
artist, beginning as we have seen to look freely at the world around
him, begins also to study deeply with a view to represent nature more
exactly. One may see the new passion for the scientific study of the
art in Paolo Uccello (583), who devoted himself to perspective; and
in Pollajuolo (292), who first studied anatomy from the dead body. It
is customary to group the Florentine artists of this scientific and
realistic period under three heads, according to the main tendencies
which they severally exhibit. The first group aimed especially at
"action, movement, and the expression of intense passions." The artist
who stands at the head of this group, Masaccio, is, unhappily, not
represented in the National Gallery, but the descent from him is
represented by Fra Filippo Lippi, Pesellino, Botticelli, Filippino
Lippi. The second group aimed rather at "realistic probability, and
correctness in hitting off the characteristics of individual things,"
and is represented by Cosimo Rosselli, Piero di Cosimo, Ghirlandajo,
Andrea del Sarto, Francia Bigio. Thirdly, some of the Florentine
School were directly influenced by the work of contemporary sculptors.
Chief amongst this group are Pollajuolo, Verocchio, himself a sculptor,
and Lorenzo di Credi. We come now to the _third_ stage in the
Florentine, as in every other vital school of painting. This period
witnesses the perfection of the technical processes of the art, and
the attempt of the painter to "raise forms, imitated by the artists of
the preceding period from nature, to ideal beauty, and to give to the
representations of the sentiments and affections the utmost grace and
energy." The great Florentine masters of this culminating period are
Leonardo da Vinci and Michael Angelo. The former is especially typical
of this stage of development. "When a nation's culture has reached its
culminating point, we see everywhere," says Morelli,[17] "in daily life
as well as in literature and art, that _grace_[18] comes to be valued
more than _character_. So it was in Italy during the closing decades
of the fifteenth century and the opening ones of the sixteenth. To no
artist was it given to express this feeling so fully as to the great
Leonardo da Vinci, perhaps the most richly gifted man that mother
Nature ever made. He was the first who tried to express the smile of
inward happiness, the sweetness of the soul." But this culminating
period of art already contained within it the germs of decay. The very
perfection of the technical processes of painting caused in all, except
painters of the highest mental gifts, a certain deadness and coldness,
such as Browning makes Andrea del Sarto (1487-1531) be conscious of in
his own works; the "faultless painter" as compared with others less
technically perfect but more full of soul (see under 690). Moreover the
very fascination of the great men, the pleasure in imitating their
technical skill, led to decay. Grace soon passed into insipidity, and
the dramatic energy of Michael Angelo into exaggerated violence. One
mannerism led to another until the school of the "Eclectics" sought to
unite the mannerisms of all, and Italian art, having run its course,
became extinct.[19]

The growth and decay of painting described above is connected by Ruskin
with a corresponding growth and decay in religion. He divides the
course of mediæval art into two stages: the first stage (covering the
first two periods above) "is that of the formation of conscience by the
discovery of the true laws of social order and personal virtue, coupled
with sincere effort to live by such laws as they are discovered. All
the Arts advance steadily during this stage of national growth, and
are lovely, even in their deficiencies, as the buds of flowers are
lovely by their vital force, swift change, and continent beauty. The
next stage is that in which the conscience is entirely formed, and
the nation, finding it painful to live in obedience to the precepts
it has discovered, looks about to discover, also, a compromise for
obedience to them. In this condition of mind its first endeavour is
nearly always to make its religion pompous, and please the gods by
giving them gifts and entertainments, in which it may piously and
pleasurably share itself; so that a magnificent display of the powers
of art it has gained by sincerity, takes place for a few years, and
is then followed by their extinction, rapid and complete exactly in
the degree in which the nation resigns itself to hypocrisy. The works
of Raphael, Michael Angelo, and Tintoret, belong to this period of
compromise in the career of the greatest nation of the world; and are
the most splendid efforts yet made by human creatures to maintain the
dignity of states with beautiful colours, and defend the doctrines
of theology with anatomical designs." It is easy to see how the
progress in realism led to a decline in religion. "The greater the
(painter's) powers became, the more (his) mind was absorbed in their
attainment, and complacent in their display. The early arts of laying
on bright colours smoothly, of burnishing golden ornaments, or tracing,
leaf by leaf, the outlines of flowers, were not so difficult as that
they should materially occupy the thoughts of the artist, or furnish
foundation for his conceit; he learned these rudiments of his work
without pain, and employed them without pride, his spirit being left
free to express, so far as it was capable of them, the reaches of
higher thought. But when accurate shade, and subtle colour, and perfect
anatomy, and complicated perspective, became necessary to the work, the
artist's whole energy was employed in learning the laws of these, and
his whole pleasure consisted in exhibiting them. His life was devoted,
not to the objects of art, but to the cunning of it; and the sciences
of composition and light and shade were pursued as if there were
abstract good in them;--as if, like astronomy or mathematics, they were
ends in themselves, irrespective of anything to be effected by them.
And without perception, on the part of any one, of the abyss to which
all were hastening, a fatal change of aim took place throughout the
whole world of art. In early times _art was employed for the display of
religious facts_; now, _religious facts were employed for the display
of art_. The transition, though imperceptible, was consummate; it
involved the entire destiny of painting. It was passing from the paths
of life to the paths of death" (_Relation between Michael Angelo and
Tintoret_, pp. 8, 9, and _Modern Painters_, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. iv.
§ 11. See also under No. 744).



[16] It should be noted that the Italian terms _quattro-cento_ and
_cinque-cento_ correspond with our _fifteenth_ (1400-1500) and
_sixteenth_ (1500-1600) centuries respectively.

[17] _Italian Masters in German Galleries_, p. 124. My references to
this work are to Mrs. Richter's translation, 1883; in the case of
Morelli's _Borghese and Doria-Pamfili Galleries in Rome_, they are to
Miss Ffoulkes's translation, 1892.

[18] _Well said: but it remains to be asked, whether the "grace" sought
is modest, or wanton: affectionate, or licentious_ (J. R.).

[19] _Not by its own natural course or decay; but by the political and
moral ruin of the cities by whose virtue it had been taught, and in
whose glory it had flourished. The analysis of the decline of religious
faith quoted below does not enough regard the social and material
mischief which accompanied that decline_ (J. R.)


      "Since we are teachers to unlearned men, who know not how to
      read, of the marvels done by the power and strength of holy
      religion, ... and since no undertaking, however small, can
      have a beginning or an end without these three things,--that
      is, without the power to do, without knowledge, and without
      true love of the work; and since in God every perfection is
      eminently united; now, to the end that in this our calling,
      however unworthy it may be, we may have a good beginning and
      a good ending in all our works and deeds, we will earnestly
      ask the aid of the Divine grace, and commence by a dedication
      to the honour of the Name, and in the Name of the most Holy
      Trinity" (_Extract from the Statutes of the Painters' Guild of
      Siena_, 1355).

The school of Siena, though in the main closely resembling that of
Florence, has yet an independent origin and a distinct character. There
is a "Madonna" at Siena, painted in 1281, which is decidedly superior
to such work as Margaritone's (564). But the start which Siena obtained
at first was soon lost; and at a time when Florentine art was finding
new directions, that at Siena was running still in the old grooves.
This was owing to the markedly religious character of its painting,
shown in the tone of the statutes above quoted. Such religious fervour
seems at first sight inconsistent with the character of a people who
were famed for factious quarrels and delicate living.[20] But "the
contradiction is more apparent than real. The people of Siena were
highly impressible and emotional, quick to obey the promptings of their
passion, whether it took the form of hatred or of love, of spiritual
fervour or of carnal violence. The religious feeling was a passion
with them, on a par with all the other movements of their quick and
mobile temperament."[21] Sienese art reflects this spirit; it is like
the religion of their St. Catherine, rapt and ecstatic. The early
Florentine pictures are not very dissimilar; but in Siena the same kind
of art lasted much longer. In the work, for instance, of Matteo di
Giovanni (see 1155), there is still the same expression of religious
ecstasy, and the same prodigal use of gold in the background, as marked
the works of the preceding century; yet he was contemporary with the
Florentine Botticelli, who introduced many new motives into art. Matteo
was the best Sienese painter of the fifteenth century, and with him the
independent school of Siena comes to an end. Girolamo del Pacchia (246)
betrays the influence of Florence; whilst Il Sodoma (1144), who settled
at Siena and had many pupils, was not a native, and shows in his style
no affinity with the true Sienese School. Peruzzi (218), on the other
hand, was a native of Siena, but belongs in his artistic development to
the Roman School.



[20] See Dante, _Inferno_ xxix. 121. There was, moreover, in Siena
a "Prodigal Club," and a poet of the day wrote a series of sonnets
(translated by D. G. Rossetti) "Unto the blithe and lordly fellowship."

[21] _History of the Renaissance in Italy_, iii. 161.


      Painters of "the loveliest district of North Italy, where
      hills, and streams, and air, meet in softest harmonies"
      (RUSKIN: _Queen of the Air_, § 157).

    'Twere pleasant could Correggio's fleeting glow
    Hang full in face of one where'er one roams,
    Since he more than the others brings with him
    Italy's self,--the marvellous Modenese!

  BROWNING: _Bishop Blougram's Apology_.

The loose use of the term "school" has caused much confusion in the
history and criticism of art. Sometimes the term is used with reference
only to the place where such and such painters principally worked.
Thus Raphael and Michael Angelo, together with their followers, are
sometimes called the "Roman School." But Rome produced no great
native painters; she was merely a centre to which painters were drawn
from elsewhere. So too when the phrase "Milanese School" occurs, it
generally means Leonardo da Vinci and his immediate pupils, because,
though a Florentine, he taught at Milan. Sometimes, again, the term
"school" is used as mere geographical expression. Thus under "Lombard
School" are often included the painters of Parma, simply because Parma
is contiguous to Lombardy. A third use of the term school, however, is
that in which it means "a definite quality, native to the district,
shared through many generations by all its painters, and culminating
in a few men of commanding genius." Such a definite quality is
generally marked by "a special collection of traditions, and processes,
a particular method, a peculiar style in design, and an equally
peculiar taste in colouring--all contributing to the representation
of a national ideal existing in the minds of the artists of the same
country at the same time." This is the use of the term which is
suggested by the main arrangement of the National Gallery, and which is
at once the most instructive and the most interesting.

Following this principle in the case of the present chapter, we
must first dispose of the "pseudo-Lombards"--the Cremonese, namely,
and Correggio. The pictures belonging to artists of Cremona are, as
will be seen below, practically Venetian. Correggio and his imitator
Parmigiano are more difficult to deal with. The truth is that Correggio
stands very much apart (see under 10); but if he must be labelled,
it seems best to follow Morelli and class him, on the score of his
early training, with the Ferrarese. Coming now to the genuine Lombard
School, one sees by looking round the room that it is by no means
identical with Leonardo da Vinci. He himself was a Florentine, who
settled at Milan, and whose powerful individuality exercised a strong
influence on succeeding painters there. But before his coming, there
was a native Lombard School--with artists scattered about in the towns
and villages around Milan, and with a distinct style of its own. Long
before Leonardo came to settle at Milan, the Lombard Madonnas--with
their long oval faces and somewhat simpering smile--have already what
we now describe as a "Leonardesque character." Among technical points
we may notice as characteristic of the Lombard School, in its earlier
phases, a partiality for sombre tints and high finish in the rendering
of detail. In spirit the School is characterised by great simplicity of
feeling. It will be noticed that among the Milanese pictures there are
few with any allegorical or mythological subject. Even after Leonardo
came to Milan, bringing with him new motives and a wide curiosity, the
native Lombard masters, such as Luini and Gaudenzio Ferrari, adhered
in the main to sacred subjects. The Lombard School, it should be
observed, was late in arising. The building of Milan Cathedral and the
Certosa of Pavia in the first part of the fifteenth century directed
the art-impulse of the time rather to sculpture, and it was not till
about 1450 that Vincenzo Foppa came from Brescia and established the
principal school of painting at Milan. Other schools started with
spiritual aims, which wore off, as it were, under the new pleasure of
sharpening their means of execution; but the Lombards first took up
the art when it had already been reduced to a science. And then most
of the painters were natives, not of some large capital, but of small
towns or country villages. Thus Luini was born on the Lago Maggiore,
and the traditions of his life all murmur about the lake district. But
he learned technique at Milan; and thus came to "stand alone," adds
Ruskin, "in uniting consummate art power with untainted simplicity of
religious imagination" (see references under 18).

With regard to the historical development of the school, it was
founded, as we have seen, by Vincenzo Foppa, "the Mantegna of the
Lombard School." Borgognone, his pupil, was its Perugino. Then came
Leonardo from Florence, and the school divides into two sets--those
who were immediately and directly his imitators, and those who,
whilst feeling his influence, yet preserved the independent Lombard
traditions. The visitor will have no difficulty in recognising the
pictures of Beltraffio, Oggionno, and Martino Piazza as belonging to
the former class. Solario, Luini, and Lanini are more independent.
Lastly Sodoma, a pupil of Leonardo, went off to Siena and established
a second Sienese School there, which is represented at the National
Gallery by Peruzzi (218).



      "One may almost apply to the School of Ferrara the proud boast
      of its ducal House of Este--

    Whoe'er in Italy is known to fame,
    This lordly house as frequent guest can claim."


The Schools of Ferrara and Bologna, which, as will be seen, are
substantially one and the same, are interesting both for themselves
and for their influence on others. Two of the greatest of all Italian
painters--Correggio and Raphael--may be claimed as "guests," as it
were, of "this lordly" school. Correggio's master was Francesco
Bianchi of Ferrara, a scholar of Cosimo Tura, and may possibly have
afterwards studied under Francia at Bologna;[22] whilst as for Raphael,
his master, Timoteo Viti, was also a pupil of Francia. The important
influence of this school is natural enough, for the Ferrarese appear
to have had much innate genius for art, and there is a note of
unmistakable originality in their work.

"The Art of the Emilia, the region that lies between the river Po and
the Apennines, has been unduly neglected. Here there once dwelt a
vigorous and gifted race, as original in their way as the Umbrians,
Tuscans or Venetians, who found means of self-expression in form and
colour under the political security of the Court of Este, and whose
art forms an organic whole with stages of development and decay,
characteristically differing, like their dialect, from that of other
parts of Italy.... The traveller visiting the now deserted city of
Ferrara, who meditates on its records of the past, may still in fancy
see erected again the triumphal arches which welcomed emperors, popes
and princes in the 'quattro-cento'; the gilded barges ascending the
river to the city; the platforms draped with the arras, on which were
woven in gold and silk stories of cavaliers in tilt and tourney; the
duke in his robes, stiff with brocade of gold and covered with gems,
bearing a jewelled sceptre in his hand; the magnificently caparisoned
steeds; the princesses who came in their chariots of triumph, to be
brides of the house of Este.... To trace the various processes, alike
of thought, feeling and technique, which have gone to the making of a
masterpiece of Correggio, L'Ortolano or Dosso is a fascinating pursuit.
Only through knowledge of the tentative efforts of their predecessors
at the splendid jovial court of the Este, is it possible to get a
total impression. Born, as elsewhere, in bondage to rigid types and
forms of composition, Ferrarese genius began by being profoundly
dramatic and realistic. The masters of 1450 to 1475, well grounded
in geometry, perspective and anatomy, painted rather what they saw
than what they felt. Their aim was to conventionalise Nature rather
than to transfigure her, and truth was more to them than beauty. The
next generation, 1475 to 1500, developed technique so as to express
movement and emotion, tempered by the eternal charm of antique ideals,
till upon this sure foundation there arose men of high imagination and
sentiment, who grasped and solved the mysteries of tone and colour, as
distinguished from a brilliant palette" (R. H. Benson and A. Venturi
in Burlington Fine Arts Club's Catalogue, 1894). Of the first or
Giottesque period of the school no pictures survive, and the founder
of the school, so far as we can now study it, is Cosimo Tura, who
occupies the same place in the art of Ferrara as Piero della Francesca
occupied in that of Umbria, or Mantegna in that of Padua. Look at his
picture (772): one sees at once that here is something different from
other pictures, one feels that one would certainly be able to recognise
that "rugged, gnarled, and angular" but vigorous style again. Doubtless
there was some Flemish influence upon the school (see the notes on
Tura, No. 772); and doubtless also the Ferrarese were influenced by
the neighbouring school of Squarcione at Padua. But the pictures of
Tura are enough to show how large an original element of native genius
there was. The later developments of this genius are well illustrated
in this room, with the important exception that Dosso Dossi, the
greatest colourist amongst the Ferrarese masters, is very incompletely
represented. His best works are to be seen at Ferrara, Dresden,
Florence, and the Borghese Palace. He has been called "the Titian
of the Ferrarese School," just as Lorenzo Costa has been called its
Perugino and Garofalo its Raphael. Such phrases are useful as helping
the student to compare corresponding pictures in different schools, and
thus to appreciate their characteristics.

The early Bolognese School does not really exist except as an offshoot
of the Ferrarese. Marco Zoppo (590) was "no better," says Morelli,
"than a caricature of his master, Squarcione, and besides, he spent the
greater part of his life at Venice;" whilst Lippo Dalmasii (752) was
very inferior to contemporary artists elsewhere. The so-called earlier
Bolognese School was really founded by the Ferrarese Francesco Cossa
and Lorenzo Costa, who moved to Bologna about 1480, and the latter of
whom "set up shop" with Francia in that town (see under 629). Remarks
on the later "Eclectic" School of Bologna, formed by the Carracci, may
more conveniently be deferred (see p. 35)



[22] See for Correggio's connection with the Ferrarese-Bolognese
School, Morelli's _German Galleries_, pp. 120-124.


      "More allied to the Tuscan than to the Venetian spirit, the
      Umbrian masters produced a style of genuine originality. The
      cities of the Central Apennines owed their specific quality
      of religious fervour to the influences emanating from Assisi,
      the headquarters of the _cultus_ of St. Francis. This pietism,
      nowhere else so paramount, except for a short period in Siena,
      constitutes the individuality of Umbria" (J. A. SYMONDS:
      _Renaissance in Italy_, iii. 133).

    Yonder's a work now, of that famous youth
    The Urbinate...
    Well, I can fancy how he did it all,
    Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see,
    Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him,
    Above and through his art....

  BROWNING: _Andrea del Sarto_.

The Umbrian School, unlike the Florentine, was distinctively
provincial; painting was not centralised in any great capital, but
flourished in small towns and retired valleys--in Perugia, Foligno,
Borgo S. Sepolcro, S. Severino, Rimini (see 2118), etc. Hence the
older traditions of Italian art held their ground, and the religious
feeling of the Middle Ages survived long after it had elsewhere been
superseded. This tendency was confirmed by the spirit of the district.
The little townships of Umbria begirdle the Hill of Assisi, the
hallowed abode of St. Francis, and were the peculiar seats of religious
enthusiasm. Art followed the current of life, just as it did in
Florence or Venice or Padua; and Umbria--"the Galilee," as it has been
called, "of Italy"--thus produced a distinct type in painting, marked
by a quality of sentimental pietism. The influence of Siena, whose
artists worked at Perugia, must have made in the same direction, and it
is interesting to notice in this room one picture of St. Catherine of
Siena (249), and two of her namesake of Alexandria (693, 168). It is
interesting, further, to notice how the "purist" style of landscape,
identified with this pietistic art (see under 288), is characteristic
of the district itself. "Whoever visits the hill-town of Perugia will
be struck," says Morelli, "with two things: the fine, lovely voices
of the women, and the view that opens before the enraptured eye, over
the whole valley, from the spot where the old castle stood of yore. On
your left, perched on a projecting hill that leans against the bare
sunburnt down, lies Assisi, the birthplace of S. Francis, where first
his fiery soul was kindled to enthusiasm, where his sister Clara led
a pious life, and finally found her grave. Lower down, the eye can
still reach Spello and its neighbouring Foligno, while the range of
hills, on whose ridge Montefalco looks out from the midst of its gray
olives, closes the charming picture. This is the gracious nook of
earth, the smiling landscape, in which Pietro Perugino loves to place
his chaste, God-fraught Madonnas, and which in his pictures, like soft
music, heightens the mood awakened in us by his martyrs pining after
Paradise" (_German Galleries_, p. 252). "All is wrought," says another
writer, "into a quietude and harmony that seem eternal. This is one
of the mysterious charms in the Holy Families of Raffaelle and of the
early painters before him: the faces of the Madonnas are beyond the
discomposure of passion, and their very draperies betoken an Elysian
atmosphere which wind never blew" (_Letters of Edward FitzGerald_, i.
45). Such were the local circumstances of the art which, beginning with
the almost grotesque pietism of Niccolò da Foligno (1107), led up to
the "purist ideal" of Perugino and to the first manner of Raphael.

The scattered character of Umbrian art above referred to makes it
impossible for us to trace its course historically. From that point of
view each of the local schools would have to be treated separately. Of
the local schools which were the earliest to develop--Gubbio, Fabriano,
and S. Severine--the first two are not represented here at all, and the
third has only one picture (249). The taste for art amongst the people
of Perugia was much later in developing itself. Even up to 1440 they
had to rely on Sienese artists; and later still they sent for Piero
della Francesca, of Borgo S. Sepolcro, who had studied at Florence and
had greatly advanced the science of perspective. Many of the Umbrian
masters--Melozzo, Palmezzano, Fra Carnovale, Giovanni Santi, and even
perhaps Perugino, were pupils of his. The earliest native artist of
Perugia in the gallery is Fiorenzo di Lorenzo (1103), who, however,
owed much to the Florentine Benozzo Gozzoli. This Fiorenzo was probably
the master of Pinturicchio. The latter worked for some time under
Perugino, who had studied under Piero della Francesca and afterwards
himself went to study in Florence. Perugino in his turn was the
master, after Timoteo Viti, of Raphael. The development of Raphael's
art, leading in its later periods to directions far removed from the
Umbrian ideal, is traced under the biographical notice of that master
(1171). We have thus completed the circle of the principal Umbrian
masters. They are allied, as it will have been seen, by teaching, to
the Florentines, but they retained a distinctive character throughout.
The one exception in this respect is Luca Signorelli, who, though he
was apprenticed to Piero della Francesca, was born nearer to Florence,
and whose affinities are far more with the Florentine than with the
Umbrian School.



      "The Venetian School proposed to itself the representation
      of the effect of colour and shade on all things; chiefly on
      the human form. Here you have the most perfect representation
      possible of colour, and light, and shade, as they affect
      the external aspect of the human form, and its immediate
      accessories, architecture, furniture, and dress. This external
      aspect of noblest nature was the first aim of the Venetians,
      and all their greatness depended on their patience in achieving
      it" (RUSKIN: _Two Paths_, §§ 20, 22).

    Diego answered thus: "I saw in Venice
        The true test of the good and beautiful;
        First, in my judgment, ever stands that school,
    And Titian first of all Italian men is."

  VELAZQUEZ, reported by Boschini, in curious Italian
      verse thus translated by Dr. Donaldson.

The general characteristics of the Venetian School, as defined by Mr.
Ruskin in the passage above quoted, may be traced both to historical
circumstances and to physical surroundings. Thus the first broad fact
to be noticed about the Venetian School of painting is that it is
later than the Florentine by some hundred years or more. From the point
of view of art, Venice, from her intimate connection as a trading
power with the East, was almost a Byzantine colony. St. Mark's is a
Byzantine church, her earliest palaces are Byzantine palaces. And so,
too, for painting she relied exclusively on a Byzantine supply. It was
not till the latter end of the fourteenth century that the influence
of Giotto's works in the neighbouring town of Padua began to rouse
Venice to do and think for herself in art, instead of letting her
Greek subjects do all for her.[24] But by the time Venetian painters
had acquired any real mastery over their art, Venice was already in a
state of great magnificence; her palaces, with their fronts of white
marble, porphyry, and serpentine, were the admiration of every visitor.
Painters paint what they see around them, and hence at the outset we
find in the Venetian School the rendering of material magnificence
and the brilliant colours that distinguish it throughout. Look, for
instance, at the pictures by a comparatively early Venetian, like
Crivelli (see 602); no other painter of a corresponding age showed such
fondness for fruits and stuffs and canopies and jewels and brilliant
architecture. And then, in the second place, there is the colour of
Venice itself, caused by her position on the lagoons. The Venetians
had no gardens; "but what are the purples and scarlets and blues of
iris, anemone, or columbine, dispersed among deep meadow-grasses
or trained in quiet cloister garden-beds, when compared with that
melodrama of flame and gold and rose and orange and azure, which the
skies and lagoons of Venice yield almost daily to the eye?" (Symonds's
_Renaissance_, iii. 255). But, thirdly, the sea had a further influence
on Venetian painting--it caused at once their love of bodily beauty
and the kind of such beauty that they loved. Compare, for instance, a
typical Venetian "beauty," such as Paris Bordone's (674), with one of
Botticelli's (915): how great is the difference between them! Well,
the sea "tends to induce in us great respect for the whole human body;
for its limbs, as much as for its tongue or its wit.... To put the
helm up at the right moment is the beginning of all cunning, and for
that we need arm and eye;--not tongue. And with this respect for the
body as such, comes also the sailor's preference of massive beauty in
bodily form. The landsmen, among their roses and orange-blossoms, and
chequered shadows of twisted vine, may well please themselves with pale
faces, and finely drawn eyebrows and fantastic braiding of hair. But
from the sweeping glory of the sea we learn to love another kind of
beauty; broad-breasted; level-browed, like the horizon;--thighed and
shouldered like the billows;--footed like their stealing foam;--bathed
in clouds of golden hair like their sunsets." Then further, "this
ocean-work is wholly adverse to any morbid conditions of sentiment.
Reverie, above all things, is forbidden by Scylla and Charybdis. By
the dogs and the depths, no dreaming! The first thing required of us
is presence of mind. Neither love, nor poetry, nor piety, must ever
so take up our thoughts as to make us slow or unready." Herein will
be found the source of a notable distinction between the treatment
of sacred subjects by Venetian painters and all others. The first
Venetian artists began with asceticism, just as the Florentines did;
"always, however, delighting in more massive and deep colour than
other religious painters. They are especially fond of saints who have
been cardinals, because of their red hats, and they sunburn all their
hermits into splendid russet brown" (see 768). Then again, through all
enthusiasm they retain a supreme common sense. Look back, for instance,
from the religious pictures in this room, from Titian's "Holy Family"
(635), or Cima's "Madonna" (634), to those of the Umbrians, which we
have just left. The Umbrian religion is something apart from the world,
the Venetian is of it. The religion of the Venetian painters is as real
as that of Fra Angelico. But it was the faith not of humble men or of
mystics, not of profound thinkers or ecstatic visionaries, so much
as of courtiers and statesmen, of senators and merchants, for whom
religion was not a thing by itself but a part and parcel of ordinary
life. "Throughout the rest of Italy, piety had become abstract, and
opposed theoretically to worldly life; hence the Florentine and Umbrian
painters generally separated their saints from living men. They
delighted in imagining scenes of spiritual perfectness;--Paradises,
and companies of the redeemed at the judgment;--glorified meetings
of martyrs;--madonnas surrounded by circles of angels. If, which was
rare, definite portraitures of living men were introduced, these real
characters formed a kind of chorus or attendant company, taking no part
in the action. At Venice all this was reversed, and so boldly as at
first to shock, with its seeming irreverence, a spectator accustomed to
the formalities and abstractions of the so-called sacred schools. The
madonnas are no more seated apart on their thrones, the saints no more
breathe celestial air. They are on our own plain ground--nay, here in
our houses with us." Cima places the Madonna in his own country-side,
whilst at Venice itself Tintoret paints Paradise as the decoration
for the hall of the Greater Council of the State. The religion of the
Venetian School was not less sincere than that of others, but it was
less formal, less didactic; for Venice was constantly at feud with the
popes, and here we come to the last circumstance which need be noticed
as determining the characteristics of the school. "Among Italian cities
Venice was unique. She alone was tranquil in her empire, unimpeded in
her constitutional development, independent of Church interference,
undisturbed by the cross purposes and intrigues of the despots,
inhabited by merchants who were princes, and by a freeborn people
who had never seen war at their gates. The serenity of undisturbed
security, the luxury of wealth amassed abroad and liberally spent at
home, gave a physiognomy of ease and proud self-confidence to all
her edifices.... The conditions of Florence stimulated mental energy
and turned the face of the soul inwards. Those of Venice inclined
the individual to accept life as he found it" (_Symonds_, iii. 259).
Hence the ideal of Venetian painting was "stateliness and power; high
intercourse with kingly and beautiful humanity, proud thoughts, or
splendid pleasures; throned sensualities; and ennobled appetites."

A speciality of the Venetian School arising from the characteristics
we have described is its portraiture. "If there be any one sign by
which the Venetian countenance, as it is recorded for us, to the very
life, by a school of portraiture which has never been equalled (chiefly
because no portraiture ever had subjects so noble),--I say, if there
be one thing more notable than another in the Venetian features, it is
their deep pensiveness and solemnity. In other districts of Italy, the
dignity of the heads which occur in the most celebrated compositions is
clearly owing to the feeling of the painter. He has visibly realised or
idealised his models, and appears always to be veiling the faults or
failings of the human nature around him, so that the best of his work
is that which has most perfectly taken the colour of his own mind; and
the least impressive, if not the least valuable, that which appears to
have been unaffected and unmodified portraiture. But at Venice, all is
exactly the reverse of this. The tone of mind in the painter appears
often in some degree frivolous or sensual; delighting in costume, in
domestic and grotesque incident, and in studies of the naked form. But
the moment he gives himself definitely to portraiture, all is noble
and grave; the more literally true his work, the more majestic; and
the same artist who will produce little beyond what is commonplace
in painting a Madonna or an Apostle, will rise into unapproachable
sublimity when his subject is a Member of the Forty, or a Master of the
Mint" (_Stones of Venice_, vol. iii. ch. iii. § lxxv.).

In its historical development the Venetian School may be divided, like
other schools, into three main periods. First we have the _Giottesque_
or heroic period, or, as it should in the case of Venice be called,
"the Vivarini epoch, bright, innocent, more or less elementary,
entirely religious art, reaching from 1400-1480." Next comes the
Bellini epoch, sometimes classic and mythic as well as religious,
1480-1520. In this period Venetian art is "entirely characteristic of
her calm and brave statesmanship, her modest and faithful religion."
"Bright costumes, distinct and sunny landscapes, broad backgrounds of
architecture, large skies, polished armour, gilded cornices, young
faces of fisher-boys and country girls, grave faces of old men brown
with sea-wind and sunlight, withered faces of women hearty in a hale
old age, the strong manhood of Venetian senators, the dignity of
patrician ladies, the gracefulness of children, the rosy whiteness
and amber-coloured tresses of the daughters of the Adriatic and the
lagoons--these are the source of inspiration to the Venetians of the
second period.... Among the loveliest motives in the altar-pieces of
this period are the boy-angels playing flutes and mandolines beneath
the Madonna on the steps of her throne. They are more earthly than Fra
Angelico's melodists, and yet they are not precisely of human lineage.
It is not, perhaps, too much to say that they strike the keynote of
Venetian devotion, at once real and devoid of pietistic rapture"
(_Symonds_, iii. 266.) Thirdly comes the epoch of "supremely powerful
art corrupted by taint of death," 1520-1600.

This final transition may perhaps best be seen by tracing the similar
progress in the technical feature which distinguishes the Venetian
painters. They are the school of colour. Their speciality consists
in seeing that "shadow is not an absence of colour, but is, on the
contrary, necessary to the full presence of colour; every colour in
painting must be a shadow to some brighter colour, and a light to some
darker one--all the while being a positive colour itself. And the great
splendour of the Venetian School arises from their having seen and held
from the beginning this great fact--that shadow is as much colour as
light, often much more. In Titian's fullest red the lights are pale
rose-colour, passing into white--the shadows warm deep crimson. In
Veronese's most splendid orange the lights are pale, the shadows crocus
colour.... Observe that this is no matter of taste, but fact. It is
an absolute fact that shadows are as much colours as lights are; and
whoever represents them by merely the subdued or darkened tint of the
light, represents them falsely." But in the two earlier periods above
specified, the Venetians are further "separated from other schools by
their contentment with tranquil cheerfulness of light; by their never
wanting to be dazzled. None of their lights are flashing or blinding;
they are soft, winning, precious; lights of pearl, not of lime: only,
you know, on this condition they cannot have sunshine: their day is
the day of Paradise; they need no candles, neither light of the sun,
in their cities; and everything is seen clear, as through crystal, far
or near. This holds to the end of the fifteenth century. Then they
begin to see that this, beautiful as it may be, is still a make-believe
light; that we do not live in the inside of a pearl; but in an
atmosphere through which a burning sun shines thwartedly, and over
which a sorrowful night must far prevail. And then the chiaroscurists
succeed in persuading them of the fact that there is mystery in the
day as in the night, and show them how constantly to see truly, is to
see dimly. And also they teach them the brilliancy of light, and the
degree in which it is raised from the darkness; and instead of their
sweet and pearly peace, tempt them to look for the strength of flame
and coruscation of lightning." Three pictures may be noted in which
the whole process may be traced. First in Bellini's "St. Jerome"[25]
(694) is the serene light of the Master of Peace. In another Bellini
(726) is a first twilight effect--such as Titian afterwards developed
into more solemn hues; whilst in No. 1130 is an example of the light
far withdrawn and the coils of shade of Tintoret. (For Ruskin's general
remarks on the Venetian School see _Modern Painters_, vol. v. pt. ix.
ch. iii.; _Guide to Venetian Academy_; Oxford _Lectures on Art_, §§
134, 173-177.)



[23] With the pictures of Venice, those of many neighbouring
towns--Brescia, Bergamo, Treviso, and Verona--are associated. All these
local schools have certain peculiarities of their own, and some of them
are well represented here. Nowhere, for instance, out of Brescia itself
can the Brescian School be so well studied as in the National Gallery.
But above these local peculiarities there are common characteristics in
the work of all these schools which they share with that of Venice. It
is only these common characteristics that can here be noticed. (Some
interesting remarks by Dr. Richter, on the independence of the Veronese
School, will be found in _The Art Journal_, February 1895.)

[24] It should, however, be remembered that "before the Venetian
School of painting had got much beyond a lisp, Venetian artists were
already expressing themselves strikingly and beautifully in _stone_, in
architectural and sculptural works" (see Morelli's _German Galleries_,
p. 5).

[25] Now ascribed, however, to Catena.


      "Padovani gran dottori" (the Paduans are great scholars)

  _Italian Proverb._

Padua, more than any other Italian city, was the home of the classical
Renaissance in painting. It was at Padua, that is to say, that the
principles which governed classical art were first and most distinctly
applied to painting. The founder of this learned Paduan school[26]
was Squarcione (1394-1474). He had travelled in Italy and Greece, and
the school which he set up in Padua on his return--filled with models
and casts from the antique--enjoyed in its day such a reputation
that travelling princes and great lords used to honour it with their
visits. It was the influence of ancient sculpture that gave the Paduan
School its characteristics. Squarcione was pre-eminently a teacher of
the learned science of linear perspective; and the study of antique
sculpture led his pupils to define all their forms severely and
sharply. "In truth," says Layard, "the peculiarity of this school
consists in a style of conception and treatment more plastic than
pictorial." This characteristic of the school is pointed out below
under some of Mantegna's pictures, but is seen best of all in Gregorio
Schiavone (see especially 630). A second mark of the classical learning
of the school may be observed in the choice of antique embellishments,
of bas-reliefs and festoons of fruits in the accessories. For a third
and crowning characteristic of the school--the repose and self-control
of classical art--the reader is referred to the remarks under
Mantegna's pictures. With Mantegna the school of Padua reached its
consummation. Crivelli's pictures are hung with those of the Paduan
school, for he too is believed to have been a pupil of Squarcione.
But after Mantegna the learning of Padua must be traced not in native
painters, but in its influence on other schools.



[26] The earlier Paduan School, represented in the National Gallery by
No 701, was only an offshoot from the Florentine.


      "The eclectic school endeavoured to unite opposite partialities
      and weaknesses. They trained themselves under masters of
      exaggeration, and tried to unite opposite exaggerations.
      That was impossible. They did not see that the only possible
      eclecticism had been already accomplished;--the eclecticism
      of temperance, which, by the restraint of force, gains higher
      force; and by the self-denial of delight, gains higher delight"
      (RUSKIN: _Two Paths_, § 59).

The typical painters, with whom this chapter is concerned, are those
of the "Eclectic School" of Bologna--the Carracci, Domenichino, Guido
Reni; and Salvator Rosa, the Neapolitan painter of about the same

It may be noticed, in the first place, that the lower repute in which
these Italian painters of the seventeenth century are now held is of
comparatively recent date. Poussin, for instance, ranked Domenichino
next to Raphael, and preferred the works of the Carracci to all others
in Rome, except only Raphael's, and Sir Joshua Reynolds cited them as
models of perfection. Why, then, is it that modern criticism stamps
the later Italian Schools as schools of the decadence? To examine
the pictures themselves and to compare them with earlier works is
the best way of finding out; but a few general remarks may be found
of assistance. The painting of the schools now under consideration
was "not spontaneous art. It was art mechanically revived during
a period of critical hesitancy and declining enthusiasms." It was
largely produced at Bologna by men not eminently gifted for the
arts. When Ludovico Carracci, for instance, went to Venice, the
veteran Tintoretto warned him that he had no vocation. Moreover "the
painting which emerged there at the close of the sixteenth century
embodied religion and culture, both of a base alloy.... Therefore,
though the painters went on painting the old subjects, they painted
all alike with frigid superficiality. Nothing new or vital, fanciful
or imaginative, has been breathed into antique mythology. What has
been added to religious expression is repellent, ... extravagantly
ideal in ecstatic Magdalens and Maries, extravagantly realistic in
martyrdoms and torments, extravagantly harsh in dogmatic mysteries,
extravagantly soft in sentimental tenderness and tearful piety.... If
we turn from the ideas of the late Italian painters to their execution,
we shall find similar reasons for its failure to delight" (Symonds's
_Renaissance_, vii. 232). For "all these old eclectic theories were
based not upon an endeavour to unite the various characters of nature
(which it is possible to do), but the various narrownesses of taste,
which it is impossible to do.... All these specialities have their
own charm in their own way; and there are times when the particular
humour of each man is refreshing to us from its very distinctness;
but the effort to add any other qualities to this refreshing one
instantly takes away the distinctiveness" (_Two Paths_, § 58). It was
not an attempt to unite the various characters of _nature_. On the
contrary, "these painters, in selecting, omitted just those features
which had given grace and character to their models. The substitution
of generic types for portraiture, the avoidance of individuality, the
contempt for what is simple and natural in details, deprived their work
of attractiveness and suggestion. It is noticeable that they never
painted flowers. While studying Titian's landscapes, they omitted the
iris and the caper-blossom and the columbine, which star the grass
beneath Ariadne's feet.... They began the false system of depicting
ideal foliage and ideal precipices--that is to say, trees which are not
trees, and cliffs which cannot be distinguished from cork or stucco.
In like manner, the cloths wherewith they clad their personages were
not of brocade, or satin, or broadcloth, but of that empty lie called
drapery ... one monstrous nondescript stuff, differently dyed in dull
or glaring colours, but always shoddy. Characteristic costumes have
disappeared.... After the same fashion furniture, utensils, houses,
animals, birds, weapons, are idealised--stripped, that is to say, of
what in these things is specific and vital"[27] (Symonds, _ibid._ p.

With regard to the historical development of the declining art whose
general characteristics we have been discussing, it is usual to group
the painters under three heads--the Mannerists, the Eclectics, and
the Naturalists. By the first of these are meant the painters in the
several schools who succeeded the culminating masters and imitated
their peculiarities. We have already noticed, under the Florentine
School, how this "mannerism" set in, and all the other schools show a
like process. Thus Giulio Romano shows the dramatic energy of Raphael
and Michael Angelo passed into mannerism. Tiepolo is a "mannerised"
Paolo Veronese, Baroccio a "mannerised" Correggio. Later on, however,
and largely under the influence of the "counter-Reformation"--the
renewed activity, that is, of the Roman church consequent on the
Reformation,[28]--a reaction against the Mannerists set in. This
reaction took two forms. The first was that of the Eclectic School
founded by the Carraccis at Bologna in about the year 1580. This
school--so called from its principle of "selecting" the qualities of
different schools--includes, besides the Carraccis themselves, Guido
Reni, Domenichino, Sassoferrato, and Guercino. The last-mentioned,
however, combined in some measure the aims both of the Eclectics and of
the other school which was formed in protest against the Mannerists.
This was the school of the so-called Naturalists, of whom Caravaggio
(1569-1609) was the first representative, and whose influence may be
traced in the Spanish Ribera (see page 220) and the Neapolitan Salvator
Rosa. They called themselves "Naturalists," as being opposed to the
"ideal" aims alike of the Mannerists and the Eclectics; but they made
the fatal mistake--a mistake which seems to have a permanent hold on a
certain order of minds, for it is at the root of much of the art-effort
of our own day--that there is something more "real" and "natural"
in the vulgarities of human life than in its nobleness, and in the
ugliness of nature than in its beauty (see below under 172, and under
Salvator Rosa _passim_).

The later Venetian pictures make a most interesting group. In the
eighteenth century Venetian art experienced a partial revival, and the
painters of this revival--Tiepolo, Longhi, Canaletto, and Guardi may
here be well studied.



[27] It was this false striving after "the ideal," as Mr. Symonds
points out, that caused Reynolds, with his obsolete doctrine about
the nature of "the grand style," to admire the Bolognese masters. For
Reynolds's statement of his doctrine see his _Discourses_, ii. and
iii., and his papers in the _Idler_ (Nos. 79 and 82); for Ruskin's
destructive criticism of it, see _Modern Painters_, vol. iii. pt. iv.
ch. i.-iii.

[28] The realism and the morbid taint in the religious pictures of
the Italian decadence were in some measure the direct outcome of
ecclesiastical teaching. "Depict well the flaying of St. Bartholomew,"
said a Jesuit father, "it may win hearts to piety." The comment of
Shelley on the Bolognese Schools was this: "Why write books against
religion when we may hang up such pictures?"


      "Why is it, probably, that Pictures exist in the world, and
      to what end was the divine art of Painting bestowed, by the
      earnest gods, upon poor mankind? I could advise once, for a
      little! To make this poor authentic earth a little memorable
      for us. Flaying of St. Bartholomew, Rape of Europa, Rape of the
      Sabines, Piping and Amours of goat-footed Pan, Romulus suckled
      by the Wolf: all this and much else of fabulous, distant,
      unimportant, not to say impossible, ugly and unworthy shall
      pass. But I say, Herewithal is something not phantasmal; of
      indisputable certainty, home-grown" (CARLYLE: _Friedrich_, bk.
      iv. ch. vi., slightly altered).

The Early Flemish and German schools are by no means so completely
represented as the nearly contemporary schools of Italy; but there
are enough pictures to bring out the characteristics of the northern
art. Nothing can be more instructive, and convincing of the value of
art as a means of national autobiography, than to compare the early
pictures in these rooms _en bloc_ with those in any of the Italian
rooms (_e.g._ the Umbrian). No one can fail to be struck at once by
the contrast between what Mr. Ruskin has called "the angular and bony
sanctities of the North," and "the drooping graces and pensive pieties
of the South." This is the first distinguishing character of the early
northern art: there is little feeling, or care, for beauty as such.
Look round the rooms, and see whether there is a single face which
will haunt you for its beauty. Look at the pictures which interest
you most, choose out the brightest and the most exquisitely finished:
and see if it is not an almost defiant absence of beautiful feature
that characterises them. Coupled with their absence of feeling for the
beautiful there is in the work of these artists a strange fondness for
death--for agonies, crucifixions, depositions, exhumations. "It is not
that the person needs excitement or has any such strong perceptions as
would cause excitement, but he is dead to the horror, and a strange
evil influence guides his feebleness of mind rather to fearful images
than to beautiful ones,--as our disturbed dreams are sometimes filled
with ghastlinesses which seem not to arise out of any conceivable
association of our waking ideas, but to be a vapour out of the very
chambers of the tomb, to which the mind, in its palsy, has approached"
(_Modern Painters_, vol. iv. pt. v. ch. xix. § 16). Thus, in painting
scenes from the Passion or stories from the book of martyrs, the
Italians of the earlier time endured the painfulness, the northern
artists rejoiced in it.

What, then, is it that gives these pictures their worth and has
caused their painters to be included amongst the great masters of
the world? Look at some of the best, and the more you look the more
you will see that their goodness consists in an absolute fidelity to
nature--in dress, in ornaments, and especially in portraiture. Here
are unmistakably the men and women of the time, set down precisely
in their habit as they lived. In this grim, unrelenting truthfulness
these pictures correspond exactly to the ideal which Carlyle--himself
a typical northerner--lays down, in the passage above quoted, for the
art of painting.

Look at these pictures and at the Italian again, and another obvious
difference is apparent. The Flemish pictures are on the whole much
smaller. This is a fact full of significance. In the sunny South the
artists spent their best energies in covering large spaces of wall with
frescoes; in the damp climate of the North they were obliged to paint
chiefly upon panels. The conditions of their climate were no doubt what
led to the discovery of the Van Eyck method (described under 186),
the point of which was a way of drying pictures rapidly without the
necessity of exposure to the sun. It was a method only applicable to
work on a small scale, but it permitted such work to be brought to the
highest finish. This precisely suited the painstaking, patient men of
the Low Countries. Hence the minuteness and finish which characterise
their work. Moreover, "every charm that can be bestowed upon so small
a surface is requisite to intensify its attractive power; and hence
Flemish painters developed a jewel-like quality of colouring which
remained peculiar to themselves." ... Further, the Van Eyck method,
requiring absolute forethought and forbidding any alterations, tended
to a set of stock subjects treated more or less in the same way. "Thus
the chief qualities of the Flemish School may be called Veracity
of Imitation, Jewel-like richness of Colour, perfection of Finish,
emphasis of Character, and Conservatism in design. These indeed are
virtues enough to make a school of art great in the annals of time,
even though they may never be able to win for it the clatter of popular
applause. The paintings of Flanders were not, and were not intended to
be, popular. Flemish artists did not, like the Italians, paint for the
folk, but for the delight of a small cultured clique."[29]

Such are the general characteristics of the Early Flemish School.
Passing now to its historical development and to its relations with the
schools of Germany, we may distinguish three successive periods. (1)
The birthplace of painting as a separate art in the North was on the
Lower Rhine, at Maastricht and Cologne. Of this school of the Lower
Rhine a characteristic specimen is No. 687. It is properly grouped with
the Early Flemish School, because in the fourteenth century most of the
Flemish artists were Germans from the valley of the Rhine. (2) Later
on, however, the great development in the prosperity and wealth of the
Low Countries--the land of the Woolsack and the Golden Fleece, led to
the growth of a native art. This was closely connected with the schools
of illuminators patronised by the Courts of France and Burgundy,
and many works of the _Primitifs_ cannot be distinguished, with any
complete certainty, as French or Flemish. Just as at Venice the people,
busy with their trade, preferred for a long time to buy rather than
produce their works of art, but afterwards settled down and made works
for themselves, so in Flanders the German art came to be superseded by
a native Flemish art. The Early Flemish School, covering roughly the
period 1400-1500, was the result, the most important masters being Van
Eyck, Van der Weyden, Bouts, David, and Memlinc. (3.) It was now the
turn of this school to influence that of Germany. The Flemish masters
were great travellers, and the German masters were no doubt attracted
to Flanders by the great technical skill there in vogue. Hence we
now come to a second period in German painting--marked by Flemish
influence. There is less of the mysticism and more realism; but with
the realism there is an element of brutality and ugliness. Nos. 707 and
1049 are typical German pictures of this period.

Finally, it will be noticed, as the visitor goes round the rooms, that
many of the pictures are either altogether "unknown" or are attributed
to artists whose names are not given, and who are merely described as
the "master" of such and such other pictures. This is an interesting
and characteristic point. Of individual painters of the Early German
School, and for the most part of those of the Early Flemish, very
little is known. They seldom signed their names,[30] and the works
of the fifteenth century were in the next two centuries treated with
neglect. Hence both the attribution of these pictures, and the lives of
the painters to whom they are attributed, are still very uncertain. A
second reason for this uncertainty is to be found in the Guild system,
which was very strict amongst the northern artists. Painting, to the
mediæval mind, was a craft like any other, and was subject to the same
rules. The Guild educated the artist and bought his materials, and
even when he emerged into mastership, stood in many ways between him
and his patron. Hence pictures were often regarded as the work not
of this or that individual, but of this or that Guild. Hence too the
quiet industry and the uncompetitive patience of these Early Flemish
painters. "It was not merely the result of chance that the brothers
Van Eyck invented their peculiar method of painting by which they were
enabled to produce pictures of almost unlimited durability and of
unsurpassable finish, provided sufficient care were bestowed upon the
work. The spirit of the day and the method of the day were reflections
one of another.... Take any picture of this old Flemish School, and
regard it carefully, you will find that only so do its beauties strike
you at all.... The old Flemish artists did always the thing that was
within their powers, striving indeed by daily industry to increase the
strength of those powers, but never hoping either by luck or momentary
insanity to attain anything unattainable by patient thought and
long-continued labour. 'Patient continuance in well-doing' was the open
secret of their success" (_Conway_, ch. ii.)

Of the later German School, specially distinguished in portraiture,
the Gallery has now some fine examples, and here again there is
similarity between the German and the early Flemish painters. "If,"
says Ruskin, "the reader were to make the circuit of this collection
for the purpose of determining which picture united in its modes of
execution the highest reach of achievement with the strongest assurance
of durability, we believe that he would finally pause before a small
picture or panel, representing two quaintly dressed figures in a dimly
lighted room." Turn from the portraits by Jan van Eyck to the portraits
by Cranach and Albert Dürer, and much of the same minute fidelity and
careful workmanship will be found. For Holbein's portraits, the reader
is referred to the notes (pp. 613-4).



[29] Sir W. M. Conway: _Early Flemish Artists and their Predecessors on
the Lower Rhine_, 1887.

[30] The letters often found on pictures, which for a long time excited
the curiosity and imagination of critics, are now fully explained as
the initials not of the painters but of the patrons (see Wauters: _The
Flemish School_, p. 61).


    ... Artists should descry abundant worth
    In trivial commonplace, nor groan at dearth
    If fortune bade the painter's craft be plied
    In vulgar town and country!

  ROBERT BROWNING: _Gerard de Lairesse_.

The Dutch and Flemish schools were formerly hung together at the
National Gallery. They are now separated, and with the _early_ Flemish
school we have already dealt. We take up the story here at the point
where it leaves off there, and proceed to discuss the Dutch school;
passing afterwards to the later Flemish school. The confusion between
Dutch and Flemish art is, it may first be remarked, historical. Just as
Flanders derived its earliest artistic impulse from German painters, so
did the Dutch derive theirs from the Flemings. In the two first periods
of Flemish art, Dutch art runs precisely parallel with it. During the
sixteenth century a new development began in both schools. This is the
period of Italian influence, of the "Romanists" or "Italianisers," as
they are called, represented typically by Bernard van Orley and Mabuse.

At the end of the sixteenth century, however, a national movement
began in both schools--corresponding closely to political changes. In
1579 the "Union of Utrecht" was effected, whereby the Dutch "United
Provinces" (= roughly what is now Holland) were separated alike from
the Spanish Netherlands and from the Empire, and Dutch independence
thus began. Within the next fifty years nearly all the great Dutch
painters were born--Berchem, Bol, Cuyp, Frans Hals, Van der Helst,
De Keyser, Rembrandt, Ruysdael. In characteristics, as well as in
chronology, Dutch art was the direct outcome of Dutch history. This
art has come to be identified in common parlance, owing to its chief
and distinguishing characteristic, with what is known as "_genre_
painting,"--the painting, that is, which takes its subject from small
incidents of everyday life. Three historical conditions combined to
bring this kind of painting into vogue. First, the Reformation. The
Dutch, when they asserted their independence, were no longer Catholics;
but Protestantism despised the arts, and hence the arts became entirely
dissociated from religion. There were no more churches to ornament,
and hence no more religious pictures were painted[31] whilst religious
rapture is superseded by what one of their own critics describes as
"the boisterous outbursts which betoken approaching drunkenness"
(Havard: _The Dutch School_, p. 12).[32] Secondly, the Dutch were
Republicans. There was no reigning family. There were no palaces to
decorate, and hence no more historical or mythological pictures were
in demand. This point of distinction may best be remembered by the
supreme contempt which the great King Louis XIV. of France entertained
for the _genre_ style. _Eloignez de mot ces magots_, he said, "take
away the absurd things," when some one showed him some works by
Teniers. But the "plain, simple citizens" of the United Provinces
did not want their faces idealised--hence the prosaic excellence of
Dutch portraiture,--nor had they any ambition to see on their walls
anything but an imitation of their actual lives--of their dykes,
their courtyards, their kitchens, and their sculleries. Thirdly,
the Dutch were a very self-centred people. "With the Dutch," says
Sir Joshua Reynolds (Discourse iv.), "a history piece is properly a
portrait of themselves; whether they describe the inside or outside
of their houses, we have their own people engaged in their own
peculiar occupations; working or drinking, playing or fighting. The
circumstances that enter into a picture of this kind, are so far from
giving a general view of human life, that they exhibit all the minute
particularities of a nation differing in several respects from the rest
of mankind." "Those innumerable _genre_ pieces--conversation, music,
play--were in truth," says Mr. Pater, "the equivalent of novel-reading
for that day; its own actual life, in its own proper circumstances,
reflected in various degrees of idealisation, with no diminution of the
sense of reality (that is to say), but with more and more purged and
perfected delightfulness of interest. Themselves illustrating, as every
student of their history knows, the good-fellowship of family life, it
was the ideal of that life which these artists depicted; the ideal of
home in a country where the preponderant interest of life, after all,
could not well be out of doors. Of the earth earthy,[33] it was an
ideal very different from that which the sacred Italian painters had
evoked from the life of Italy; yet, in its best types, was not without
a kind of natural religiousness. And in the achievement of a type of
beauty so national and vernacular, the votaries of purely Italian art
might well feel that the Italianisers, like Berghem, Bol, and Jan
Weenix, went so far afield in vain" (_Imaginary Portraits_, p. 99).

The same awakening of a national taste made itself felt in the native
school of Dutch landscape--a landscape excellent in many ways, but
cabin'd, cribbed, and confined, like their own dykes. "Of deities or
virtues, angels, principalities, or powers, in the name of our ditches,
no more. Let us have cattle, and market vegetables" (_Modern Painters_,
vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi. § 11). But the Dutch School of landscape
had the qualities of its defects. "The Dutch began to see what a
picture their country was--its canals, and _boompjis_, and endless
broadly-lighted meadows, and thousands of miles of quaint water-side;
and their painters were the first true masters of landscape for its own
sake" (Pater, _ib._ p. 98).



[31] This statement, like all others in so short and general a summary
as alone can be here attempted, is of course only broadly true.

[32] It is interesting to note that this spirit of anti-religious
revolt is what fascinated Heine in Dutch pictures. "In the house I
lodged at in Leyden there once lived," he says, "the great Jan Steen,
whom I hold to be as great as Raphael. Even as a sacred painter Jan was
as great, and that will be clearly seen when the religion of sorrow
has passed away.... How often, during my stay, did I think myself back
for whole hours into the household scenes in which the excellent Jan
must have lived and suffered. Many a time I thought I saw him bodily,
sitting at his easel, now and then grasping the great jug, 'reflecting
and therewith drinking, and then again drinking without reflecting.' It
was no gloomy Catholic spectre that I saw, but a modern bright spirit
of joy, who after death still visited his old workroom to paint many
pictures and to drink" (Heine's _Prose Writings_, Camelot Series, p.

[33] "The Dutch painters were not poets, nor the sons of poets, but
their fathers rescued a Republic from the slime and covered it with
such fair farms that I declare to this day I like Dutch cheese as
well as any, because it sends one in imagination to the many-uddered
meadows which Cuyp has embossed in gold and silver. What savoury
hares and rabbits they had in the low blunt sand-hills, and how the
Teniers boor snared them, and how the big-breech'd Gunn-Mann (I haven't
any knowledge of Dutch, but I am sure that must be the Dutch for
'sportsman') banged off his piece at them, and then how the shining
Vrow saw them in the Schopp and bargained for them. The Schopp had
often a window with a green curtain in it, and a basso-relievo of
Cupids and goats beneath, with a crack across the bas-relief, and iron
stains on the marble, and a bright brass bulging bottle on the sill,
and such pickling cabbage as makes the mouth water" (_Letters of James
Smetham_, p. 172).


The early history of the Flemish school has been already traced (pp.
38-41). The birth of its later period is almost exactly contemporaneous
with that which has been described in the case of the Dutch school.
In 1598 the Archduke Albert and his consort Isabel established what
was almost an independent State in the Spanish Netherlands (= roughly
Flanders, or the modern Belgium). The "Spanish Fury" was at an end, the
Inquisition was relaxed. Albert and Isabel eagerly welcomed artists
and men of letters, and the exuberant art of Rubens responded to the
call. This is the third and great period in the Flemish school--the
succession being carried on by Rubens's pupils, Van Dyck and Teniers.
Rubens, the greatest master of the Flemish School, was born in 1577
in Germany, but brought up at Antwerp, then the depository of western
commerce, and he coloured every subject that he touched with the same
hues of gay magnificence. It is by his pictures, and those of Van
Dyck, that this room is dominated, and it is unnecessary to anticipate
here the accounts of those masters given below (pp. 111, 130). They
were painters of the Courts. The works of Teniers complete the picture
of Flemish life and manners by taking us among the common people in
country fairs and village taverns.



      "For the learned and the lettered," says a Spanish author in
      the reign of Philip IV., "written knowledge may suffice; but
      for the ignorant, what master is like Painting? They may read
      their duty in a picture, although they cannot search for it in

      "What we are all attempting," said Sir Joshua Reynolds, "to do
      with great labour, Velazquez does at once."

None of the great schools of painting is so scantily represented in the
National Gallery as the Spanish, although the works in this room by its
greatest master, Velazquez, are of exceptional excellence in quality
and of exceptional interest as illustrating the progress of his art.
The deficiency in Spanish pictures is not peculiar to London. "Spain,"
said Sir David Wilkie, "is the Timbuctoo of artists." The Spanish
School of painters and their history are still only half explored, and
can only be fully studied in Spain itself. "He who Seville (and Madrid)
has not seen, has not seen the marvels great" of Spanish painting.[34]

There are, however, enough examples of the school here to make some few
general remarks desirable. The first point to be noticed is this, that
all the painters represented in the room (with two or three exceptions)
are nearly contemporary. The period 1588-1682 covers all their lives.

They are four of the chief painters of Spain, and they all reach
a high level of technical skill. This fact suggests at once the
first characteristic point in the history of the Spanish School. It
has no infancy.[35] It sprang full-grown into birth. The reason of
this was its Italian origin. The art of painting, except as purely
decorative, was forbidden to the Moors; and it was only in 1492,
when the banner of Castile first hung on the towers of the Alhambra,
that the age of painting, as of other greatness, began for Spain.
But the very greatness of Spain led to Italian influence in art.
The early Spanish painters nearly all found means of going to Italy
(Theotocopuli,--1122--was born there in 1548), and the great Italian
painters were constantly attracted to the Spanish court.

But though Spanish art sprang thus rapidly to perfection under foreign
influence, it was yet stamped throughout with a thoroughly distinctive
character. In the first place the proverbial gravity of the Spaniard
is reflected also in his art. Look round this room, and see if the
prevailing impression is not of something grave, dark, lurid. There
is here nothing of the sweet fancifulness of the early Florentines,
nothing of the gay voluptuousness of the later Venetians. The shadow of
the Spaniard's dark cloak seems to be over every canvas. Then secondly,
Spanish painting is intensely "naturalist." Velazquez exhibits this
tendency at its best: there is an irresistible reality about his
portraits which makes the men alive to all who look at them; Murillo
exhibits it in its excess: his best religious pictures are spoiled by
their too close adherence to ordinary and even vulgar types.

Both these characteristics are partly accounted for by a third.
Painting in Spain was not so much the handmaid, as the bondslave, of
the Church. As the Church was in Spain, so had art to be--monastic,
severe, immutable. "To have changed an attitude or an attribute would
have been a change of Deity." Pacheco, the master of Velazquez, was
charged by the Inquisition to see that no pictures were painted likely
to disturb the true faith. Angels were on no account, he prescribed,
to be drawn without wings. The feet of the Blessed Virgin were on no
account to be exhibited, and she was to be dressed in blue and white,
for that she was so dressed when she appeared to Beatrix de Silva,
a Portuguese nun, who founded the order called after her. One sees
at once how an art, working under such conditions as these, would be
likely to lose free play of fancy. And then, lastly, one may note
how the Spanish church tended also to make Spanish art intensely
naturalistic. Pictures were expected to teach religious dogmas and to
enforce mystical ideas. But, in the inevitable course of superstition,
the symbol passed into a reality. This was more particularly the case
with statues. Everything was done to get images accepted as realities.
To this day they are not only painted but dressed: they have, like
queens, their mistress of the robes. This idea of art--as something
which was not to appeal to the imagination, but was to pass itself off
as a reality--inevitably extended also to Spanish painting. How far it
did so is best shown in a story gravely related by Pacheco. A painter
on a high scaffold had just half finished the figure of the Blessed
Virgin when he felt the whole woodwork on which he stood giving way.
He called out in his horror, "Holy Virgin, hold me," and straightway
the painted arm of the Virgin was thrust out from the wall, supporting
the painter in mid-air! When a ladder was brought and the painter got
his feet on it, the Virgin's arm relapsed and became again only a
painting on the wall. One need not go farther than this story to see
the origin of the realistic character of Spanish art, or to understand
how Murillo, although often the most mystic of all painters in his
conceptions of religious subjects, was also the most naturalistic in
his treatment of them (see W. B. Scott: _Murillo and the Spanish School
of Painting_).

      --> _We now pass into Rooms XVI. and XVII., where pictures of
      the French School are hung._



[34] On the ground floor small copies of many of the famous pictures at
Madrid may be seen.

[35] This statement, though broadly true, requires, of course, much
modification: see the early Spanish picture (of the 15th century) on
loan in this room from the Victoria and Albert Museum.



    Whate'er Lorraine _light-touch'd_ with _softening_ hue,
    Or _savage_ Rosa _dash'd_, or _learned_ Poussin _drew_.


Of the pictures in this room nearly all the more important are the
works of three masters--Claude and the two Poussins. It is of them,
therefore, that a few general remarks will here be made. It should be
noticed in the first place how very different this French School of
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries is from the French School of
to-day. The latter school is distinguished for its technical skill,
which makes Paris the chief centre of art teaching in the world, but,
also, and still more markedly, for its "excessive realism and gross
sensuality." "A few years ago," adds Professor Middleton, "a gold
medal was won at the Paris _Salon_ by a 'naturalist' picture--a real
masterpiece of technical skill. It represented Job as an emaciated old
man covered with ulcers, carefully studied in the Paris hospitals for
skin diseases." There could not be a greater contrast than between such
art as that and the "ideal" landscapes of Claude, the Bacchanalian
scenes of Poussin, or the soft girl-faces of Greuze.

Confining ourselves now to Claude and the Poussins--with whom, however,
the contemporary works of Salvator Rosa (in Room XIII.) should be
studied, we note that in spite of considerable differences between
them they agree in marking a great advance in the art of landscape
painting. The old conventionalism has now altogether disappeared; there
is an attempt to paint nature as she really is. There are effects of
nature, too,--not shown in any earlier pictures, and here painted for
the first time,--graceful effects of foliage, smooth surface of water,
diffusion of yellow sunlight. In some of these effects Claude has
never been surpassed; but when his pictures are more closely examined,
they are often found to be untrue to the forms of nature. Trees are
not branched, nor rocks formed, nor mountains grouped as Claude and
Poussin represent. Their conception of landscape, and especially of
its relation to human life, is governed by the "classical ideal,"
to which as far as possible they made their pictures approach. This
"classical" landscape is "the representation of (1) perfectly trained
and civilised human life; (2) associated with perfect natural scenery,
and (3) with decorative spiritual powers. (1) There are no signs in
it of humiliating labour or abasing misfortune. Classical persons
must be trained in all the polite arts, and, because their health is
to be perfect, chiefly in the open air. Hence the architecture around
them must be of the most finished kind, the rough country and ground
being subdued by frequent and happy humanity. (2) Such personages
and buildings must be associated with natural scenery, uninjured by
storms or inclemency of climate (such injury implying interruption
of the open air life); and it must be scenery conducing to pleasure,
not to material service; all cornfields, orchards, olive-yards, and
such-like being under the management of slaves, and the superior
beings having nothing to do with them; but passing their lives under
avenues of scented and otherwise delightful trees--under picturesque
rocks and by clear fountains. It is curious, as marking the classical
spirit, that a sailing vessel is hardly admissible, but a galley
with oars is admissible, because the rowers may be conceived as
absolute slaves. (3) The spiritual powers in classical scenery must
be decorative; ornamental gods, not governing gods; otherwise they
could not be subjected to the principles of taste, but would demand
reverence. In order, therefore, as far as possible, without taking
away their supernatural power, to destroy their dignity ... those only
are introduced who are the lords of lascivious pleasures. For the
appearance of any great god would at once destroy the whole theory of
classical life; therefore Pan, Bacchus, and the Satyrs, with Venus
and the Nymphs, are the principal spiritual powers of the classical
landscape" (abridged from _Modern Painters_, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. v. §§

It may be interesting to point out how entirely this ideal accords with
the prevailing taste and literature of their time. The painting of
Claude and Salvator precisely corresponds to what is called "_pastoral_
poetry, that is to say, poetry written in praise of the country, by
men who lived in coffee-houses and on the Mall[36]-- ... the class
of poetry in which a farmer's girl is spoken of as a 'nymph,' and a
farmer's boy as a 'swain,' and in which, throughout, a ridiculous
and unnatural refinement is supposed to exist in rural life, merely
because the poet himself has neither had the courage to endure its
hardships, nor the wit to conceive its realities.... Examine the
novels of Smollett, Fielding, and Sterne, the comedies of Molière,
and the writings of Johnson and Addison, and I do not think you will
find a single expression of true delight in sublime nature in any one
of them. Perhaps Sterne's _Sentimental Journey_, in its total absence
of sentiment on any subject but humanity ... is the most striking
instance; ... and if you compare with this negation of feeling on one
side, the interludes of Molière, in which shepherds and shepherdesses
are introduced in court dress, you will have a very accurate conception
of the general spirit of the age.[37] It was in such a state of
society that the landscape of Claude, Gaspar Poussin, and Salvator Rosa
attained its reputation. It is the complete expression on canvas of the
spirit of the time" (Edinburgh _Lectures on Architecture and Painting_,
pp. 163-167). The reputation thus gained survived unimpaired almost
into the present century, until Wordsworth in poetry and Turner in
painting led the return to nature, and the modern school of landscape

It is, however, the art of Constable to which direct influence
must be attributed in the foundation of the modern school of
landscape--_paysage intime_--in France (see Vol. II., pp. 93-4). Of
this school, wholly unrepresented until lately in our National Gallery,
a few examples--characteristic, if not very important--may now be seen
in Room XVII. (see Nos. 2058, 2135, etc.).

--> _We have now concluded our survey of the Foreign Schools. The
western doors in Room XVII. lead down a side staircase into the
entrance Hall, and thus form an exit from the Gallery. On the
staircases leading to the Hall and thence down to the basement, some
foreign pictures are now placed. The visitor who wishes to see the
British School should return into Room XVI. and thence proceed into
the East Vestibule, where a few portraits by British masters are hung.
Descending the steps and ascending those opposite, the visitor will
come into the West Vestibule, which leads to the rooms of the British
School--XVIII., XIX., XX., and XXI. Finally, at the east end of the
Gallery, we reach Room XXII., devoted to the Turner Collection. For
remarks on the British School see Volume II. From the Entrance Hall,
the visitor reaches the West Basement, and by corresponding stairs on
the other side the East Basement. In the Basement Rooms are collections
of copies from Old Masters and the Turner Water Colours. For notes on
the former, see end of this volume; for the Turners, see Volume II._



[36] Elsewhere Mr. Ruskin speaks of "Twickenham classicism" (with
a side allusion, of course, to Pope) "consisting principally in
conceptions of ancient or of rural life such as have influenced the
erection of most of our suburban villas" (_Pre-Raphaelitism_, reprinted
in _On the Old Road_, i. 283).

[37] In a later lecture on landscape (delivered at Oxford and reported
in Cook's _Studies in Ruskin_, p. 290) Ruskin cited Evelyn (who was
nearly contemporary with Claude) as another case in point: "We passed
through a forest (of Fontainebleau)," says Evelyn, "so prodigiously
encompass'd with hideous rocks of white hard stone, heaped one on
another in mountainous height, that I think the like is nowhere to be
found more horrid and solitary." It is interesting to note how long
this ignorance of mountains lasted, even amongst painters. James Barry,
the R. A., was "amazed at finding the realities of the Alps grander
than the imaginations of Salvator," and writes to Edmund Burke from
Turin in 1766 to say that he saw the moon from the Mont Cenis five
times as big as usual, "from being so much nearer to it"!


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

    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

      "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

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
      mythopoeic 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

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.


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


  _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_


  _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).

37. _See under_ 7.


  _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.

"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 Euboea, 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.


  _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 sun_shine_,
      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).

55. THE DEATH OF PROCRIS (_see under_ 698).

  _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


  _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!


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


  _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).

101, 102, 103, 104. THE FOUR AGES OF MAN.

  _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.).

125. IZAAK WALTON (1593-1683).

  _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.

160. A "RIPOSO."

  _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,


  _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

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.


180. A PIETÀ.

  _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'oeuvre_, 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


  _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

      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

    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


  _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

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.

215, 216. VARIOUS SAINTS.[115]

  _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

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


  _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).

222. A MAN'S PORTRAIT (dated 1433).

  _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
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

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).

243. AN OLD MAN.

  _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.

247. "ECCO HOMO!"

  _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,

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


  _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


  _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

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).

271. "ECCE HOMO!"

  _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

      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.


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


  _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


  _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.

290. A MAN'S PORTRAIT (dated 1432).

  _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

      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

      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


  _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,

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

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

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

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


_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,

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


  _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.


  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 (580_b_) 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.


  _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

                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).

590. A PIETÀ.

  _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.


  _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


  _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


  _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.

602. A "PIETÀ."

  _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).

627, 628. WATERFALLS.

  _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.

632, 633. TWO SAINTS.

  _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.

635. THE "REPOSE."

  _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

      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


  _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


  _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.


  _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,


  _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."

647. ST. URSULA.

  _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

      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

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

    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


  _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,


  _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,


  _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_).

690. "HIS OWN PORTRAIT."[166]

  _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

      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

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_.

691. "ECCE HOMO!"

  _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

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.


  _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

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

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

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.


  _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).


712. "ECCE HOMO!"

  _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

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


  _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,


  _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.

720. A "REPOSE" (see No. 160).


  _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


  _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 (580_a_) 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.


  _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

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


  _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

      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.

  755. RHETORIC.}
  756. MUSIC.   }

  _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

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).

766, 767. HEADS OF SAINTS.

  _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

      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.

779, 780. FAMILY PORTRAITS.[182]

  _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