Chapter D: G. ROSSETTI: Early Italian Poets (9)

[105] Up to the time of the Van Eycks the general process of artistic painting for detached pictures was tempera. In this method the colours, after being ground with chalk, were laid on with a medium of water, white of eggs, juice of unripe figs, or some similar substance. Some kind of oil varnish was, however, often laid on afterwards, and a few Italian artists sometimes tried to mix their colours with oil in the first instance; but the results cannot have been satisfactory, for even Crivelli, who died in 1495, was still exclusively a painter in tempera. The objection to tempera, so far at any rate as northern countries were concerned, was that it suffered from the damp. Thus in an old retable in Westminster Abbey, so painted, the painting has flaked off. The objection to the early attempts at using oil as a medium was that it took a long time to dry. This caused Van Eyck incessant annoyance; his knowledge of chemistry led him to make experiments, and at last he obtained a medium which hastened the drying without the necessity of exposure to the sun. This medium was probably a mixture of linseed and nut oils. This method is different from that now called oil-painting. Now the colours are laid on by an oily medium, and when the picture is finished the whole surface is protected by a transparent varnish. Then the varnish was incorporated with the surface colours (see Conway's _Early Flemish Artists_, p. 119; and Wauters's _Flemish School of Painting_, p. 35).

[106] _Arrows of the Chace_, i. 66. "John Bellini is the only artist who appears to me to have united, in equal and magnificent measures, justness of drawing, nobleness of colouring, and perfect manliness of treatment, with the purest religious feeling. He did, as far as it is possible to do it, instinctively and unaffectedly, what the Carracci only pretended to do. Titian colours better, but has not his piety; Leonardo draws better, but has not his colour; Angelico is more heavenly, but has not his manliness, far less his powers of art" (_Stones of Venice_, Venetian Index). Morelli's estimate is the same; see _German Galleries_, p. 361.

[107] This letter of Dürer's gives an interesting glimpse into the art life of the time. "I have many good friends among the Italians, who warn me not to eat and drink with their painters. Many also of them are my enemies; they copy my things for the churches, picking them up whenever they can. Yet they abuse my style, saying that it is not antique art, and that therefore it is not good. But Giambellini has praised me much before many gentlemen; he wishes to have something of mine; he came to me and begged me to do something for him, and is quite willing to pay for it. And every one gives him such a good character that I feel an affection for him. He is very old, and is yet the best in painting; and the thing which pleased me so well eleven years ago has now no attractions for me" (_Catalogue of Standard Series in the Ruskin Drawing School_, P. 7).

[108] See _Report of Select Committee on the National Gallery_, 1853, p. 432, where the whole story will be found very frankly told in Sir C. Eastlake's evidence.

[109] Similarly Raphael Mengs, a later Spanish painter, said of Velazquez that he appeared to have painted with his will only, without the aid of his hand.

[110] I read the other day in an otherwise intelligent memoir of Ruskin that "a generation which admired Velazquez had outlived the art criticism of Ruskin." Not outlived, but absorbed, and so forgotten. It was Ruskin who, half a century before, proclaimed the consummate excellence of Velazquez--the "greatest artist of Spain," and "one of the great artists of the world"; the master to all schools in his "consummate ease"; the man who was "never wrong." In his admiration of Velazquez Ruskin never wavered. The citations above given are from his earlier books. In his later period, a picture by Velazquez was included among the "Four Lesson Photographs" as "an example of the highest reach of technical perfection yet reached in art; all effort and labour seeming to cease in the radiant peace and simplicity of consummated human power" (_Fors Clavigera_, 1876, p. 188).

[111] This was written in 1846. In 1853 some "horrible revelations" were made about the picture before the Select Committee on the National Gallery. Ruskin turned out to be curiously wrong, but also curiously right. He was wrong; for so far from the picture being "in genuine and perfect condition," a considerable portion of the canvas, as we now see it, turned out to be not by Velazquez's hand at all. Lord Cowley, its former owner, had sent it to a Mr. Thane, a picture dealer, to be relined. A too hot iron was used, and a portion of the paint entirely disappeared. Thane was in despair. The picture haunted him at nights. He saw the figure of it in his dreams becoming more and more attenuated until it appeared at length a skeleton. He was near going mad over it, when a good angel came to his rescue in the shape of Lance, the flower and fruit painter, who offered to restore the missing parts out of his head. So far Ruskin was decidedly wrong. But he was also right. The parts which Lance painted in "out of his head" were the groups on the left of the foreground, and some of the middle distance. "I endeavoured," he says, "to fill up the canvas, such as I supposed Velazquez would have done; and I had great facility in doing that, because if there was a man without a horse here, there was a horse without a man there, so I could easily take his execution as nearly as possible, and my own style of painting enabled me to keep pretty near the mark"(!). But the high lights of the sky, he particularly added, were untouched by him. So that there Ruskin was right. The picture, when restored to its owner, gave complete satisfaction, and Lance's share in it was kept a secret. A year or two later he must have felt a proud man. The picture was being exhibited at the British Gallery. In front of it Lance met two _cognoscenti_ of his acquaintance. "It looks to me," he said, testing them, "as if it had been a good deal repainted."--"No! you're wrong there," they said; "it is remarkably free from repaints." It should be added that soon after the Parliamentary inquiry referred to above, a tracing of Goya's copy, procured from Madrid, showed in fact that the restored work differed but slightly from the copy, and Lance's work was probably far less important and extensive than he asserted. An idea of the original condition of the picture may be had from a reduced replica, or first sketch, now in the Wallace Collection.

[112] The view Diderot thus took of Greuze's art suggests the importance of historical perspective in criticism. Pictures, like everything else, should be judged with reference to contemporary circumstances, as well as by the standard of abstract principle. From the former point of view Greuze, as we have seen, is a moralist in painting. From the latter Ruskin suggests the consideration "how far the value of a girl's head by Greuze would be lowered in the market if the dress, which now leaves the bosom bare, were raised to the neck" (_Modern Painters_, vol. iii. pt. iv. chap. v. § 7).

[113] Another instance of this intimate union of art with business may be seen in the number of Dutch artists of the period who themselves held municipal office. See, for instance, Terburg (864) and Delen (1010). Many of the Italian painters also were men of business and of official standing. Thus Titian was a timber merchant; whilst Manni, Perugino, and Pinturicchio were all magistrates.

[114] "The bit of bluish ribbed paper on which he made his design in light and dark strokes, now gone brown, and which he had pricked through for the purpose of tracing the design on the panel, is framed beside it. He left it about, not thinking that in 350 years it would be under glass in the distant city of London, stared at by English roughs, who would say, "Sithee Bill, he's pricked it a' through with a pin, and spilt th' ile on it!" for there are two or three of these amber-coloured blurs which come from a sketch being inadvertently put down on a palette knife" (_Letters of James Smetham_, p. 168).

[115] These pictures, like the other Florentine works here exhibited, except 564 (which is on linen cloth attached to wood) and 276 (which is in fresco), are painted in tempera on wood. _Tempera_ (or distemper) painting is a generic term for the various methods in which some other substance than oil was the medium. Various substances were thus used--such as gum, glue or size, flour-paste, white of egg, milk of figs. Cennino Cennini, who wrote a treatise on painting at the end of the fourteenth century, professes to give the exact method of Giotto. Egg beaten up with water was preferred by him, except where the yellowness of the mixture injured the purity of the colour. The colours thus mixed were laid on to a panel (or on to a cloth stretched over the panel) previously prepared with a smooth white ground of plaster. And finally oil or albumen was used to go over the whole surface. This was the practice in general use for all detached pictures until the middle of the fifteenth century, when what is known as "the Van Eyck method" came into vogue (see under 186).

=Fresco= painting is painting upon walls of wet plaster with earths of different colours diluted with water. It is so called from the colour being applied to the _fresh_ wet surface of lime, but it is of two kinds: (1) _fresco secco_, when the plaster of lime has been allowed to _dry_ on the wall and is then saturated with water before painting; this was the method in use till after Giotto's time; (2) _buon fresco_, when the colours are laid on to the fresh plaster before it is yet dry. (The fullest account of these various technical processes and their history is Sir C. Eastlake's "Materials for a History of Oil Painting," a review of which by Ruskin appeared in the _Quarterly Review_, and is reprinted in _On the Old Road_, vol. i.).

[116] The note in the Official Catalogue says that the picture does not correspond in the scheme of colour to the works of Velazquez's early period. On the other hand, "it shows so decided an affinity with the fine picture by Zurbaran, in the Palace of San Telmo, at Seville, not only in colouring but in every detail of the treatment, that there can be no doubt that the attribution to Velazquez was an error, and that Zurbaran is the true painter of this beautiful work, which may be considered the best picture he ever painted." But "we would fain see proof," says another critic, "that Zurbaran ever painted a head like that of the Divine Child. The rest of the picture recalls the early Seville manner of Velazquez in the style of Ribera" (_Quarterly Review_, April 1899).

[117] This picture, when first purchased for the National Gallery in 1853, was ascribed to Giorgione. For many years it was given to the "School of Bellini." In 1883 it was identified by Messrs. Crowe and Cavalcaselle as a work by Catena. Signor Morelli and other critics of his school supported this view, which in 1898 was adopted by the authorities of the Gallery. No. 694 has also been so attributed to him in the Catalogue. Other pictures which have at one time or another been connected with Catena are 599, 812, and 1160.

[118] "The roguish little terrier pretends not to see what is going on. But what are the partridges doing behind the chair of the Blessed Virgin? Was the Knight a worldling, given to sport, but arrested in the pursuit of pleasure by some inward voice or vision; and so, taking the result of the day's work, he lays it at the feet of the Divine Child and His Mother? Or was worship simply the pious Knight's godly commencement of the day? Why, too, is the dog so sly looking? Is that little mass of curly white wool a sceptic, doubting his master's good resolutions?" (Sophia Beale in _Good Words_, July 1895).

[119] Ruskin, in his classification of artists from this point of view, calls them "sensualists," reserving the traditional title "naturalists" to the greatest men, whose "subject is infinite as nature, their colour equally balanced splendour and sadness, reaching occasionally the highest degrees of both, and their chiaroscuro equally balanced between light and shade." This class represents the proper mean. In excess on one side are the "purists" (Angelico, Perugino, Memlinc, Stothard), who take the good and leave the evil. "The faces of their figures express no evil passions; the skies of their landscapes are without storm; the prevalent character of their colour is brightness, and of their chiaroscuro fulness of light." Then in excess on the other side are the "sensualists" (Salvator Rosa, Caravaggio, Ribera), who "perceive and imitate evil only. They cannot draw the trunk of a tree without blasting and shattering it, nor a sky except covered with stormy clouds; they delight in the beggary and brutality of the human race; their colour is for the most part subdued or lurid, and the greatest spaces of their pictures are occupied by darkness" (_Stones of Venice_, vol. ii. ch. vi.). Elsewhere, Ruskin speaks of Caravaggio and Ribera as "the black slaves of painting" (_Elements of Drawing_, p. 317).

[120] This is the story told by Dominici, the Neapolitan historian. According to Cean Bermudez, following Palomino (the Spanish historian), Ribera died at Naples honoured and rich.

[121] The tradition that he was a natural son of the Barbarella family, and in consequence called Barbarelli, appears to be unfounded.

[122] "Two figures of Giorgione's are still traceable, one of them (wrote Ruskin in 1846), singularly uninjured, is seen from far above and below the Rialto, flaming like the reflection of a sunset" (_Modern Painters_ vol. i. ed. 3 pt. ii. sec. i. ch. vii. § 30). This beautiful figure was engraved by Ruskin for his fifth volume; he called her from her glowing colour "the Hesperid Aeglé."

[123] Ruskin's seven are Giorgione, Titian, Veronese, Tintoret, Correggio, Reynolds, and Turner (_Modern Painters_, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. xi, § 8, _n_).

[124] A reaction in this respect is observable in the latest writer on Giorgione (Mr. Herbert Cook in the "Great Masters" Series), who shows good cause for restoring many pictures to the master. The National Gallery, he says (p. 95), affords unrivalled opportunity for studying the various phases of Giorgione at different stages of his career. Nos. 1160 and 1173 represent his earliest style; No. 1123, his later; Nos. 269 and 636 are intermediate.

[125] A contemporary document, recently discovered, proves that the artist died of the plague. (See appendix to Mr. Herbert Cook's _Giorgione_, 1900).

[126] Lecture at Oxford 1884 (reported in Cook's _Studies in Ruskin_, p. 251). See also the "Traveller's edition" of the _Stones of Venice_, vol. ii. ch. vi., where the picture is described as "one which unites every artistic quality for which the painting of Venice has become renowned with a depth of symbolism and nobleness of manner exemplary of all that in any age of art has characterised its highest masters." A copy of this masterpiece is in the collection of the Arundel Society, now to be seen in the National Gallery.

[127] In an interesting discussion with Sir J. E. Millais, R.A., Mr. Watts, R.A., refers to the colours in this picture. Sir J. Millais had said that time and age are the greatest old masters, and that old Venetian colours were crude. Mr. Watts replied: "The colour of the best-preserved pictures by Titian shows a marked distinction between light flesh tones and white drapery. This is most distinctly seen in the small 'Noli me Tangere' in our National Gallery, in the so-called 'Venus' of the Tribune, and in the 'Flora' of the Uffizi, both in Florence, and in Bronzino's 'All is Vanity,' also in the National Gallery (651). In the last-named picture, for example, the colour is as crude and the surface as bare of mystery as if it had been painted yesterday. As a matter of fact, white unquestionably tones down, but never becomes colour; indeed, under favourable conditions, and having due regard to what is underneath, it changes very little. In the 'Noli me Tangere,' to which I have referred, the white sleeve of the Magdalen is still a beautiful white, quite different from the white of the fairest of Titian's flesh--proving that Titian never painted his flesh white" (_Magazine of Art_, January 1889).

[128] Or possibly at Vicenza. See _Layard_, i. 283 n. The words in the document relied upon to establish his birth at Vicenza are ambiguous, and may refer to his father.

[129] Its ascription to Botticelli's own hand is, however, questioned by many critics. Thus Dr. Richter says, "I know of no authentic picture by Botticelli in which the drawing of the hands and feet is so poor and coarse as are here, for instance, those of the Infant Saviour; the type of the child is positively repulsive, whereas in Botticelli's own works it is pre-eminently in the representation of the Infant Christ that his great merits are strikingly apparent" (_Lectures on the National Gallery_, p. 62). The child, whether painted by Botticelli or by another hand, is undeniably ugly; but the expression of the Madonna, and the figures of the Baptist and the Angel seem to me to show certainly the work of the master himself. Moreover, the critics who dispute the authenticity of this picture admit that of No. 915. Yet, as "D. S. M." says, "the mother here is the same person as the Venus, looking out of the picture with the same effect of gentle detachment, circumscribed with the same draughtsman's lines; the infant, whose type Dr. Richter finds 'positively repulsive,' is the same infant as the Satyrs of the other picture, and so all through" (_Saturday Review_, Feb. 18, 1899). On the back of the panel is written in the style of the 16th century the name of Giuliano da San Gallo, the celebrated architect, who was also a painter. There are drawings from his hand in the British Museum, which show that he came from Botticelli's school. His name on the back of this picture proves, it is argued, that it is by him. It may, however, very probably only signify that the picture formerly belonged to him.

[130] Mr. Pater, in a well-known passage, gives a different explanation of the peculiar sentiment in Botticelli's Madonnas. "Perhaps you have sometimes wondered why they attract you more and more, and often come--although conformed to no obvious type of beauty--back to you when the Madonnas of Raphael and the Virgins of Fra Angelico are forgotten. At first, contrasting them with those, you may have thought that there was something even mean or abject in them, for the lines of the face have little nobleness, and the colour is wan. For with Botticelli she too, though she holds in her hands the 'Desire of all Nations,' is one of those who are neither for God nor for his enemies (see under III. 1126), and her choice is on her face. She shrinks from the presence of the Divine Child, and pleads in unmistakable undertones for a warmer, lower humanity" (W. H. Pater: _Studies of the Renaissance_).

You promise heavens free from strife,
Pure truth and perfect change of will;
But sweet, sweet is this human life,
So sweet I fain would breathe it still.
Your chilly stars I can forgo:
This warm, kind world is all I know.

IONICA: _Mimnermus in Church_.

[131]

The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle
That's curdied by the frost from purest snow
And hangs on Dian's temple.

[132] The doors of the temple of "two-headed Janus" at Rome were always thrown open when the State was at war, and only closed in time of peace.

[133] The whole, or part, of this picture was at one time freely ascribed to Raphael; but Morelli has effectually disposed of the superstition by showing, amongst other arguments, that the drawings for Tobias and the Angel (in the Oxford University Gallery and in the British Museum) are undoubtedly by Perugino (_Italian Art in the German Galleries_, 1883, p. 289). The Oxford drawing is described and discussed, on the assumption that it is by Raphael, in Sir J. C. Robinson's _Drawings by Michael Angelo and Raffaello_, p. 129.

[134] For a record of his movements the reader may refer to Morelli's _Italian Masters in German Galleries_, 1883, pp. 285-291.

[135] Vasari's bias against the Umbrian master is too marked for any of his attacks to be accepted without corroboration.

[136] In a critique of F. Walker's "Fishmongers' Stalls," Ruskin says: "If the reader will waste five minutes of his season in London in the National Gallery, he may see in the hand of Perugino's Tobias a fish worth all these on the boards together" (_Arrows of the Chace_, i. 177).

[137] With regard to the "purist ideal" it should be noticed that "these fantasies of the earlier painters, though they darkened faith, never hardened _feeling_; on the contrary, the frankness of their unlikelihood proceeded mainly from the endeavour on the part of the painter to express, not the actual fact, but the enthusiastic state of his own feelings about the fact; he covers the Virgin's dress with gold, not with any idea of representing the Virgin as she ever was, or ever will be seen, but with a burning desire to show what his love and reverence would think fittest for her. He erects for the stable a Lombardic portico, not because he supposes the Lombardi to have built stables in Palestine in the days of Tiberius, but to show that the manger in which Christ was laid is, in his eyes, nobler than the grandest architecture in the world. He fills his landscape with church spires and silver streams, not because he supposes that either were in sight at Bethlehem, but to remind the beholder of the peaceful course and succeeding power of Christianity" (_Modern Painters_, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. iv. § 10). For a different kind of feeling in "naturalistic" art, see under 744.

[138] Visitors who are interested in such points of connoisseurship may be glad of this summary with regard to the works ascribed in the Official Catalogue to the associated painters, Fra Filippo Lippi, Filippino Lippi, and Botticelli. The _undisputed_ pictures of Fra Filippo are 248, 666, and 667; of Filippino, 293 and 927. The pictures 592 and 1033 have marked resemblances both to Fra Filippo, Filippino, and to Botticelli, and are ascribed by different critics to one or other of those masters or pupils. 598 and 1124 are often ascribed to a pupil of Filippino; the pictures 586 and 589 to a pupil of Fra Filippo. The _undisputed_ pictures of Botticelli are 1034 and 1126. The pictures 226, 275, 782, 915, and 916, are all ascribed by some critics to a pupil of his only, whilst to Botticelli himself has now been ascribed the portrait 626, formerly classed as "Unknown." To a supposed painter, christened by the critics "Amico di Sandro," 1124 and 1412 are attributed.

[139] _Layard_, ii. 621. Similarly Ruskin says: "The possession of the Pisani Veronese will happily enable the English public and the English artist to convince themselves how sincerity and simplicity in statements of fact, power of draughtsmanship, and joy in colour, were associated in a perfect balance in the great workmen in Venice" (_Catalogue of the Turner Sketches and Drawings_, 1858, p. 10). As an instance of Veronese's "economical work"--a sure sign of a great painter--Ruskin refers to "the painting of the pearls on the breast of the nearer princess, in our best Paul Veronese. The lowest is about the size of a small hazel nut, and falls on her rose-red dress. Any other but a Venetian would have put a complete piece of white paint over the dress, for the whole pearl, and painted that into the colours of the stone. But Veronese knows beforehand that all the dark side of the pearl will reflect the red of the dress. He will not put white over the red, only to put red over the white again. He leaves the actual dress for the dark side of the pearl, and with two small separate touches, one white, another brown, places its high light and shadow. This he does with perfect care and calm: but in two decisive seconds. There is no dash nor display, nor hurry, nor error. The exactly right thing is done in the exactly right place, and not one atom of colour, nor moment of time spent vainly. Look close at the two touches,--you wonder what they mean. Retire six feet from the picture--the pearl is there!" (_Modern Painters_, vol. v. pt. viii. ch. iv. § 18). "One of the chief delights which any one who really enjoys painting finds in that art as distinct from sculpture, is in the exquisite inlaying or joiner's work of it, the fitting of edge to edge with a manual skill, precisely correspondent to the close application of crowded notes without the least slur, in fine harp or piano-playing. In many of the finest works of colour on a large scale, there is even some admission of the quality given to a painted window by the dark lead bars between the pieces of glass. Both Tintoret and Veronese, when they paint on dark grounds, continually stop short with their tints just before they touch others, leaving the dark ground showing between in a narrow bar. In the Paul Veronese in the National Gallery, you will find every here and there pieces of outline which you would suppose were drawn with a brown pencil. But no! look close, and you will find that they are the dark ground _left_ between two tints, brought close to each other without touching" (_Lectures on Landscape_, § 68). Elsewhere, Ruskin calls special attention to the painting of "the drooped left hand of the princess, holding her crown" (_Academy Notes_, 1858, p. 46).

[140] An even more striking instance is to be found in Veronese's picture of the Last Supper, now in the Academy of Venice. Here too he introduced his favourite dog, as well as dwarfs and armed retainers. He was summoned before the Inquisition for such irreverent anachronisms; and the account of his cross-examination is most amusing and instructive reading. A translation will be found in the appendix to Ruskin's _Guide to the Academy at Venice_.

[141] Some readers may like to be referred to the passages in which Ruskin discusses the place of the dog in art, with special reference to Veronese. They are, _Modern Painters_, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi., and _The Eagle's Nest_, i. ch. viii.

[142] Richter (_Italian Art in the National Gallery_, p. 74) disputes this. The kneeling girls are, he believes, the artist's daughters, whom he has also introduced into a picture in the Louvre, and the courtier presenting them is Veronese himself.

[143] The pattern of the Madonna's robe in this picture is worth notice--"a good specimen of the treatment, probably taken from Persian examples, of a ground sprinkled with conventional sprays of flowers spaced regularly" (Vacher).

[144] The three portraits, 1022, 1023, and 1025, formerly in the Casa Fenaroli at Brescia, were there all attributed to Moretto. Signor Morelli was the first to recognise in the two former the hand and mind of Moroni, under whose name they were sold to the National Gallery.

[145] Mr. Dickes's ingenious and interesting explanation is now accepted by the authorities, and there can be little doubt of its correctness. The motto had previously been misread as του λιαν ποθω which was interpreted "by the desire of the extreme." The picture was for many years in the possession of the Martinengo Cesaresco family, and passed for a portrait of their ancestor Count Sciarra. The motto was interpreted as referring to the Count's desire to avenge the death of his father, who had been assassinated. The desire of the extreme, the activity of a restless spirit, was with the Count to the end, and he died fighting in France in the campaign which ended in a defeat of the Huguenots at the battle of Moncontour, October 3, 1569. But the Count Sciarra was a soldier-adventurer, showing no characteristics accordant with the nobleman before us other than that, according to a Brescian historian, "his eyes gleamed with an unconquerable desire." But the inscription is undoubtedly as given in the text, the accents being all clearly marked. The portrait is clearly not of a restless man of action, so much as of a dilettante. The dates of the Count Sciarra's career are also inconsistent with his being painted in this picture of Moretto's best period. The statements on behalf of the traditional identification made by the Contessa Evelyn Martinengo Cesaresco (_Athenæum_, Aug. 12, 1893) do not touch the points.

[146] The feeling which one may thus find in these paintings of four centuries ago still lingers amongst the Italian peasantry, as readers of Miss Alexander's _Roadside Songs_ and _Christ's Folk in the Apennine_ (both edited by Mr. Ruskin) will know.

[147] It may be worth noting that, according to the son of Turner's friend, Trimmer, this picture "had an entire new sky painted at the desire of Lawrence and other brother artists, who, when he had altered it, said the picture was ruined" (Thornbury's _Life of Turner_, i. 175).

[148] Dr. Richter, in laying down the law to the contrary, gives too narrow an interpretation to Vasari's words. The Margaritone is certainly inferior to the best Byzantine work, but it adheres to the characteristics noticed above. Dr. Richter says: "This curious, if uninteresting painter, in all probability would never have emerged from his modest sphere of awkward provincialism into the full light of history but for the special praise bestowed upon him by his obliging countryman, Vasari. The latter states definitely, among other things, that Margaritone painted in the _maniera greca_; nevertheless, a single glance at the picture in the National Gallery is sufficient to convince the beholder that in reality this is not the case. Margaritone's pictures appear to me to be drawn in the wild and grotesque style prevalent in Italy during the early middle ages" (_Lectures on the National Gallery_, p. 11).

[149] Dr. Richter ascribes all these pictures to the School of Duccio (see _Lectures on the National Gallery_, pp. 4-10.).

[150] So described in the Official Catalogue. But "is the female saint on the right wing of the triptych really St. Catherine of Alexandria? Only the beginning of the inscription on either side of the figure containing the name can here still be deciphered. It runs thus: SCA (Saint) AL. The reading 'Catherine' thus apparently becomes inadmissible. Besides, the emblems of this female saint are decidedly not those of Catherine of Alexandria, who is always represented with a wheel as the emblem of her martyrdom, while the saint in the picture before us holds in her right hand a palm branch (?) and in her left a small cross, the emblem of confessors" (Richter's _Italian Art in the National Gallery_, p. 9).

[151] This head is said to bear a marked resemblance to Mr. Swinburne as a young man (see W. B. Scott's _Autobiographical Notes_, ii. 18).

[152] It was a practice at Italian weddings that the bride should be presented, as part of her dowry, with a coffer, which was intended to hold her trousseau and wedding presents. Some very fine specimens of these _cassoni_ may be seen in the South Kensington Museum. They belong principally to the 14th, 15th, and 16th centuries. The typical _cassone_ measured about six feet in length by two in height and two in breadth. The front and ends were decorated with paintings or carvings. The subjects depicted are either marriage scenes or stories borrowed from the Scriptures, from the classics, or from Petrarch. Many of the panel pictures in the National Gallery once adorned these _cassoni_. See, for instance, Nos. 1218 and 1219. A favourite subject was the allegory entitled "The Triumph of Love, Chastity, and Death," of which an excellent example is at South Kensington. The panel in this Gallery, No. 1196, has a similar subject.

[153] This picture and the _tondo_ of the same subject (1033) are by many critics ascribed to Botticelli. "In my opinion," says Morelli, "the two excellent but somewhat defaced pictures in the National Gallery, 592 and 1033, are works not of Filippino, but of Botticelli, whose dramatic powers are well displayed here" (_Italian Masters in German Galleries_, p. 236). For a full discussion leading to the same conclusion, see Monkhouse's _In the National Gallery_, p. 73.

[154] Miss Betham-Edwards, on a visit to the painter at By, was shown some sketches for "The Horse Fair." "'There you have a Boulonnais,' I observed, as we contemplated the study of a fine black cart-horse. This remark gratified her. 'I am glad to find a stranger so much interested in our cart-horses'" (_Anglo-French Reminiscences_, ch. xxv.). Rosa Bonheur's knowledge of the animal world of France was very wide and precise.

[155] This was Rosa Bonheur's own faith. "I believe," she once said, "in a just God, and a Paradise of the just. But religion (_i.e._ the religion of Rome) does not altogether satisfy me. I hold it monstrous that animals are supposed to be without souls. My poor lioness loved me. Thus she had more soul than certain human beings who do not know what it is to love anything."

[156] "Giulio Romano did a little of everything for the Dukes of Mantua,--from painting the most delicate and improper little fresco for a bedchamber, to restraining the Po and Mincio with immense dykes, restoring ancient edifices and building new ones, draining swamps and demolishing and reconstructing whole streets, painting palaces and churches, and designing the city slaughter-house" (W. D. Howells's _Italian Journeys_, "Ducal Mantua"). Giulio's departure from Rome to Mantua was due to the scandal caused by the publication of some obscene designs of his (see _Symonds_, v. 341).

[157] "The piece of St. Catherine's dress over her shoulders is painted on the under dress, after that was dry. All its value would have been lost, had the slightest tint or trace of it been given previously. This picture, I think, and certainly many of Tintoret's, are painted on dark grounds; but this is to save time, and with some loss to the future brightness of the colour" (_Modern Painters_, vol. v. pt. viii. ch. iv. § 17 _n._).

[158] Robert Browning, however, notes "the _bonne bourgeoisie_ of his pictures; the dear common folk of his crowds, divinely pure they all are, but fresh from the streets and market-place" (_Letters of Robert and E. B. Browning_, i. 197). Mr. Langton Douglas in an illustrated monograph on _Fra Angelico_ (1900) lays stress on the painter's "strength and freedom" as shown in the "Adoration of the Magi" at San Marco, or the "San Lorenzo giving alms" in the studio of Pope Nicholas; illustrates the influence of contemporary architecture and sculpture on his work; and characterises him not as "a saint with a happy knack of illustration," but as "an artist who happened to be a saint."

[159] "This," says Mr. Hipkins of the present picture, "is the grandest and most extended mediæval band on record, worthy of the heavenly Host, to declare the praises of the Blessed Trinity." Mr. Hipkins gives an interesting identification and description of the instruments employed. To the left of the centre compartment we may find a viol, a rebec, a clarion, trumpets, harp, cither, double flute, and psaltery--also a tambourine, beaten with the hand, a tabor, and a portable organ. In the centre, under Christ, are two organs. The player on the pipe and tabor, left of the Redeemer, blows what seems to be a short French whistle. "Next to this musician is a cymbal player. The time beater is apparently no less required where time exists no more than he is in our terrestrial world; such discipline of rhythm is hereby sanctified." "In the upper rows, on the left hand of the Redeemer, we see one of those large guitar-viols which were used by the troubadours" (see further _The Hobby Horse_, No. 1, 1893, pp. 14-16).

[160] "The many small figures which are seen here surrounded by a celestial glory are so beautiful," says Vasari of this picture, "that they appear to be truly beings of paradise; nor can he who approaches them be ever weary of regarding their beauty."

[161] Now ascribed by many critics to Bouts (see 783).

[162] Or more correctly, Piero dei' Franceschi, after the family name of his mother. Her Christian name was Romana, and Piero's father, it has now been ascertained, continued living during many years of his son's career. The year of Piero's birth is unknown.

[163] This is a more charitable judgment than contemporary documents would suggest. In 1450 Fra Filippo was thrown into prison for a debt which he denied, and under torture confessed that he had forged the receipt. He was deprived of his rectory, and appealed to the Pope, who, however, confirmed the sentence, in a brief in which the painter is accused of "numerous and abominable wickednesses."

[164] It is interesting to note the cartellino, or little card at the foot of the picture, on which Antonello inscribes his name and the date. This cartellino was taken as a model by Giovanni Bellini and subsequent Venetian artists (see _e.g._ 189 and 280).

[165] Comparing him with Italian painters, his period of activity is seen to be coincident with the earlier work of Carpaccio and Perugino; he died while Raphael was still a boy. Crowe and Cavalcaselle have shown that Memlinc's work was well known and appreciated among Italian connoisseurs of the time.

[166] I venture to retain this title, though the Official Catalogue assures us that it is but "a pleasing illusion," as "the features and the general form of head have little or no resemblance to the quite authentic portraits of Andrea" at Florence, "or to that engraved by Vasari, who was personally acquainted with the painter. If (adds the catalogue) the object in the hands represents, as it well may, a piece of modelling-clay, the subject of the portrait was probably a Florentine sculptor." In that case we may perhaps save our "pleasing illusion" by supposing that Andrea interpreted the expression of a fellow-artist by his own experience. But the case is by no means clear. The earlier portrait in the Uffizi is not very unlike ours. In the later some resemblance remains, though the face has coarsened. But this is a matter on which every one must see resemblances or otherwise for himself. (Reproductions will be found in the monograph on the painter in the "Great Masters" series. The author, H. Guinness, considers the authenticity of our portrait to be "beyond question," p. 23).

[167] Lucrezia's character has, however, been whitewashed of late years: see _Gazette des Beaux Arts_, December 1876 and three following months.

[168] This delightful picture, which has hitherto been ascribed to Bellini himself, is now (1898) attributed in the official catalogue to Catena (see 234).

[169] "The pet portrait of the lecturer was Moroni's 'Tailor.' Luckily the original painting was in the National Gallery, and all interested could judge for themselves whether, for simplicity, expression, drawing, colour, and above all, soul, the portrait had a rival" (Report of a lecture on "Portraiture" by Mr. Harry Furniss).

[170] In a red-figured vase in the British Museum (E 477 in the Third Vase Room) there is a picture of this same subject. "The drawing," says Miss Harrison, "is somewhat coarse, and the painter seems to be struggling with a subject that is expressively too much for him. Procris sinks in death in an odd, ill-drawn attitude; her soul escapes in the form of a bird, Kephalos smites his head in despair, the dog Lailaps watches concerned. Erechtheus, the old king-father, is at hand to sympathise; the curt archaic symbolism of attitude, the utterance of mere gesture, is at fault here. The story was pregnant with modern suggestion. It had to wait, so to speak, for the delicate imagination of the Renaissance painter, Piero di Cosimo, to make us feel the contrast between the dead woman, over-sentient, passion-slain, and the shaggy faun, kindly perplexed, and the dumb, faithful dog; between the soft slack peace of the woodland and the terrible tension of humanity" (_Magazine of Art_, 1894, p. 61).

[171] Formerly ascribed to Margaret van Eyck.

[172] Formerly ascribed to Van der Goes.

[173]

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.

WORDSWORTH.

[174] The existence of this supposed younger Foppa, and the date 1492 (rather than 1502) must be considered doubtful in view of the researches published by C. J. Ffoulkes in the _Athenæum_, February 15, 1902.

[175] "Velazquez has left a great number of striking pictures, each containing a single figure. The Count de Pourtalès, in the collection at Paris (from which this picture was bought in 1865), has an excellent specimen of one of these studies, called 'The Dead Orlando'" (Stirling's _Annals of the Artists of Spain_, 1848, p. 680). Other authorities ascribe the picture to Valdes Leal (see 1291).

[176] Among other points we may notice the beautiful landscape; "Nothing can be more perfect in pictorial effect than the old wall, the distant roofs, the gleams of light on water, and the exquisite tones of gray" (Gilbert's _Landscape in Art_, p. 263).

[177] It may be interesting to note what Raphael's method actually was. He writes to Count Baldassare Castiglione, in a complimentary way: "To paint a beautiful woman, I must see several, with this condition, that your lordship be near me to select the loveliest. But there being a dearth both of good judges and of beautiful women, I make use of a certain idea that comes into my mind. Whether with benefit to art, I know not; but I strive to form such an ideal in my mind."

[178] Readers of Ruskin will remember the high praise accorded to Richter's illustrations of the Lord's Prayer and other engravings in _The Elements of Drawing_.

[179] See their _Vittore Carpaccio et la Confrérie de Sainte Ursule_, pp. 9-10, and _Vittore Carpaccio, Le Vite e le Opere_.

[180] Raphael was born in 1483. In 1491 his mother died.

[181] "Pisano's dragon is a pleasant-looking animal, wild-boar faced, and smilingly showing his fangs, as he crouches by the eminently gentlemanly St. George in the silver-plated and gilt armour; and a word in passing must be said for the lovely hog, with a broad grin overspreading his countenance, who accompanies the placid St. Anthony. Is not St. George, in the broad Tuscan hat, the personification of John Inglesant as _il Cavaliere di San Giorgio_?" (S. Beale in _Good Words_, July 1895).

[182] "A splendid example of the naïve humour of the painter. There is the father, somewhat sly, and the eldest son resembling him but less 'cute. The next head is that of a jolly, sandy-haired fellow. Then comes the reprobate, with a sensual upper lip, the only one in the family; all the others have thin, long slit mouths, as well as long straight noses. Behind, are the poor relations. We see the good, hard-working cousin, who has found life too much for him; the self-approving fellow, who thanks God he is not as other men are; and above him the man who, if he has been saved from committing some terrible crime, certainly owes his exemption to God's mercy, not, we may be sure, to his own strength of will. On the other side are the ladies of the family. The severe mamma, with flat brow, a veritable Mrs. Grundy. The daughter, evidently a worldling by the jewelled band round her forehead, is praying, because it is the business of the moment. The easy-going maiden above her has taken to religious life because it affords her a certain amount of distinction, with a little soul-saving. Behind, is the old great-aunt, a really pious soul, who has adopted conventual life from a devout conviction that she could live better and do more good as a member of a community than dwelling in the world. Above, are two fat-faced children, both more or less bored; and behind them is another, fascinated by the jewels of her kinswomen" (S. Beale in _Good Words_, July 1895).

[183] See Richter's _Italian Art in the National Gallery_, p. 44, where a résumé of recent criticism and a facsimile of the Albertina drawing will be found. Signor Frizzoni, cited with approval by Richter, says: "Although the composition seems to me not in the least attractive, nor even successful (and for this very reason the picture might have been left unfinished), yet I cannot but consider it to be an original, and, moreover, a specially interesting one, and worthy of being looked at closely by those who wish to study the master in the numerous characteristic features of his style. In my opinion it is an early work by him; and this becomes evident especially from the purity and delicacy in the features of one of the Maries, standing on the right side, in which, if I am not mistaken, the pure types of his first master, Domenico Ghirlandaio, are much more perceptible than Buonarroti's own grand style. In other parts, however, the sculpturesque manner of modelling peculiar to him is not less noticeable--in the muscles, sturdy as usual, and in the prominent rendering of the corpse." Symonds, on the other hand, has no hesitation in rejecting the picture. "It is," he says, "painful to believe that at any period of his life Michelangelo could have produced a composition so discordant, so unsatisfactory in some anatomical details, so feelingless and ugly. It bears indubitable traces of his influence; that is apparent in the figure of the dead Christ. But this colossal nude, with the massive chest and attenuated legs, reminds us of his manner in old age; whereas the rest of the picture shows no trace of that manner. I am inclined to think that the Entombment was the production of a second-rate craftsman, working upon some design made by Michelangelo at the advanced period when the Passion of our Lord occupied his thoughts in Rome. Even so, the spirit of the drawing must have been imperfectly assimilated; and, what is more puzzling, the composition does not recall the style of Michelangelo's old age. The colouring, so far as we can understand it, rather suggests Pontormo" (_The Life of Michelangelo_, 1893, i. 68). Sir Edward Poynter, on the other hand, will hear of no doubt: "There is," he says, "no doubt whatever that this picture is the work of the great master. The originality of the composition, the magnificent dignity of the poses, the perfection of the modelling, combined with the profound knowledge and subtle play of the anatomical forms where the work is complete, and the exquisite beauty of the drapery, all stamp it as a work which, if completed, would have been one of the masterpieces of the world, and possible to no one but the great master of design. It is thought desirable to insist on the grand qualities of this picture, because it has been ascribed to Bandinelli, a bombastic sculptor, quite incapable either of the refinement or of the subtle feeling for nature which is evident in all the finished portions of this work" (_The National Gallery_, i. 72).

[184] According to one of the dramatic critics in the daily press, Sir Henry Irving in playing _Richelieu_ was made up to resemble closely this picture; and (added the critic) the actor brought out the three sides of Richelieu's character here depicted. "At times we see him as the pitiless, unscrupulous man who forced himself from obscurity to a power greater than his monarch's; at others we see the fine courteous gentleman who patronised literature, founded the French Academy, and collaborated in half a dozen bad plays; and there is also not a little of the paltry, small-minded tyrant of whom Corneille said--

Il m'a trop fait de bien pour en dire du mal.
Il m'a trop fait de mal pour en dire du bien."

[185] See Morelli's _German Galleries_, p. 393. He dismisses the idea of an original Vicentine School as one which "cannot be entertained at all."

[186] "By Gentile Bellini, and not by Giovanni, as stated in the Catalogue. The latter artist drew the ear of a different shape than did his brother Gentile" (Morelli: _German Galleries_, p. 10 _n._). If by Gentile, the signature is forged or altered.

[187] "I subjoin," writes the poet to his mother (December 23, 1880), "a sonnet I have done on the Michelangelo in the National Gallery. In this picture the Virgin is withdrawing from the child the book which contains the prophecy of his sufferings--I suppose that of Isaiah. The idea is a most beautiful one; and behind the group are angels perusing a scroll. Shields was helpful to me in the interpretation of this" (_Letters and Memoir_, ii. 365).

[188] Signed Joannes Bellini, but by some critics ascribed to Gentile Bellini. See Frizzoni's _Arte Italiana del Rinascimento_, p. 314.

[189] To the same effect, Sir Edward Poynter: "The painting of the green forest is the most perfectly beautiful piece of workmanship that ever was put into a picture" (_Lectures on Art_, p. 128).

[190] But see note on No. 53.

[191] "Unfortunately, Hobbema has allowed some one, apparently Wyntrank, to put a few ducks into the foreground. They are not wanted, and the manipulation required to fit them in has caused the lower part of the picture to darken disagreeably" (Armstrong: _Notes on the National Gallery_, p. 38).

[192] Ruskin speaks of him as an artist "first-rate in an inferior line" (_On the Old Road_, i. 558).

[193] Some of Mr. Gladstone's purchases for the National Gallery are noticed in the introduction to Appendix II. The "Ansidei Madonna" was also purchased by a special vote when he was in power. The Gallery owes the present picture to Mr. Disraeli's taste. "I happened," says Sir William Fraser in his _Disraeli and his Day_, "to be at the saleroom in King Street: the crowd was considerable. A picture was on the easel for sale; I did not know the name of the painter: the subject, 'The Nativity,' of the pre-Raphaelite school. I was so charmed with it that I bid up to two thousand pounds. I then felt that I could not trust my judgment further: that I might be mistaken: and that the picture might be 'run up' for trade purposes. It was bought for £2415. A few days afterwards I met Mr. C. Having noticed him in the crowd, I said, 'Do you happen to know who bought that "Francesca"?' 'I did. Disraeli told me to buy it for the National Gallery.'"

[194] The fondness of the Old Masters for the brute creation is illustrated in this picture, as in so many others. The ox is evidently fascinated by the music; the ass is disturbed and brays fiercely. Note also the goldfinch upon the roof.

[195] "The painter must, for the present, remain as an unknown Umbrian, almost equally influenced by Pinturicchio and Signorelli, and with peculiar qualities of simple grace and romance, which give his work an extremely individual character" (Cruttwell's _Signorelli_, p. 117).

[196] English readers will find some account, with occasional translations, of Poliziano's poem in Symonds's _Sketches and Studies in Italy and Greece_, ii. 334, and _Renaissance_, iv. 350. Symonds, had already remarked that much of the poem is like a picture of Botticelli. The same painter's "Birth of Venus" may have been suggested by stanza 99 of Poliziano, though the peculiar sentiment of that famous picture is the painter's own. See also under 916.

[197] "We venture to ask," says Dr. Richter, "is this really an Italian picture?" (_Italian Art in the National Gallery_, p. 87).

[198] The figures are by Tiepolo (see under 1192).

[199] Visitors who have been to Venice will remember that "Carpaccio trusts for the chief splendour of any _festa_ in cities to the patterns of the draperies hung out of windows" (_Bible of Amiens_, p. 3).

[200] Or, according to Mr. Berenson, of Alvise Vivarini and Lotto (see his _Lorenzo Lotto_, pp. 113, 304).

[201] It was exhibited at the "Old Masters" exhibition in 1873 as a Raphael. Mr. Ruskin, who had noticed it there, wrote to Mr. Fairfax Murray, "Please look at the Raphael, and tell me how far the colour may have changed on St. John's shoulder and in Judas' dress, and how far the fantastic shot silks of this last are absolutely as they were."

[202] It is a repetition with but slight variations of the Medici picture in the Uffizi.