Chapter VII: Part 7

2. As one of the series of apostles, St. John is always, in Western Art, young, or in the prime of life; with little or no beard; flowing or curling hair, generally of a pale brown or golden hue, to express the delicacy of his nature; and in his countenance an expression of benignity and candour. His drapery is, or ought to be, red, with a blue or green tunic. He bears in his hand the sacramental cup, from which a serpent is seen to issue. St. Isidore relates that, at Rome, an attempt was made to poison St. John in the cup of the sacrament: he drank of the same and administered it to the communicants without injury, the poison having by a miracle issued from the cup in the form of a serpent, while the hired assassin fell down dead at his feet. According to another version of this story, the poisoned cup was administered by order of the Emperor Domitian. According to a third version, Aristodemus, the high-priest of Diana, at Ephesus, defied him to drink of the poisoned chalice, as a test of the truth of his mission; St. John drank unharmed,—the priest fell dead. Others say, and this seems the more probable interpretation, that the cup in the hand of St. John alludes to the reply given by our Saviour, when the mother of James and John requested for her sons the place of honour in heaven,—‘Ye shall drink indeed of my cup.’ As in other instances, the legend was invented to explain the symbol. When the cup has the consecrated wafer instead of the serpent, it signifies the institution of the Eucharist.

Some of the old German representations of St. John are of singular beauty: for example, one by _Hans Hemling_, one by _Isaac von Melem_,[128] standing figures; simple, graceful, majestic; in the prime of youth, with a charming expression of devotion in the heads: both hold the sacramental cup with the serpent; no eagle; therefore St. John is here to be considered as the apostle only: when, with the cup, the eagle is placed by his side, he is represented in the double character of apostle and evangelist (61).

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In the early Siena school, and in some old illuminations, I have seen St. John carrying in his hand a radiant circle, inscribed ‘_In primo est verbum_,’ and within the circle an eagle with outspread wings: but this is uncommon.

3. St. John as the prophet, the writer of the Revelation, is usually an aged man, with a white flowing beard, seated in a rocky desert; the sea in the distance, or flowing round him, to represent the island of Patmos; the eagle at his side. In the old frescoes, and the illuminated MSS. of the Apocalypse, this is the usual representation.

Some examples of the ideal and devotional figures of St. John, as evangelist and prophet, will give an idea of the variety of treatment in this favourite subject:—

1. Ancient Greek. St. John, with the head of an eagle and large wings, the figure fully draped, is soaring upwards. In such representations the inscription is usually ‘_Quasi aquila ascendet et avolabit_’ (‘Behold, he shall come up and fly as the eagle.’ Jer. xlix. 22).

2. Perugino. St. John as an aged man, with long grey beard and flowing hair, attended by a black eagle, looking up at the Madonna in glory.[129]

3. Raphael (?). St. John, young and beautiful, mounted on the back of an eagle, and soaring heavenwards: in one hand he holds a tablet, in the other a pen: sea and land below. This treatment, which recalls the antique Jupiter bestriding his eagle, appears to me at once too theatrical and too commonplace for Raphael.[130]

4. Correggio. St. John seated writing his gospel; the eagle at his feet is pluming his wing: inscribed ‘_Altius cæteris Dei patefecit arcana_.’ One of the series of Evangelists in the Duomo of Parma—wonderfully beautiful.

5. Domenichino. St. John, full length, life size; young and beautiful, in an ecstasy of inspiration, and sustained by two angels; the eagle at his feet: formerly in the Giustiniani Gallery;[131]—finer, I think, than the St. John in Sant’ Andrea. Another, half length, a scroll in his hand, looking upwards as one to whom the glory of the heavens had been opened;—you see it reflected in his eyes,—while love, wonder, devotion, beam from his beautiful face and parted lips: behind him hovers the attendant eagle, holding the pen in his beak; near him is the chalice, with the serpent; so that here he is in his double character of apostle and evangelist.[132] Domenichino excelled in St. Johns, as Guido in Magdalenes; perhaps the most beautiful of all is that in the Brera, at Milan, where St. John bends on one knee at the foot of the throne of the Madonna and Child, his pen in one hand, the other pressed to his bosom, and looking up to them with an air of ecstatic inspiration. Two little angels, or rather _amoretti_, are in attendance: one has his arms round the neck of the eagle, sporting with it; the other holds up the cup and the serpent. Every detail is composed and painted to admiration; but this is the artistic and picturesque, not the religious, version of the subject.

St. John is frequently represented with St. Peter, because, after the ascension, they taught and acted in concert. In such pictures, the contrast between the fiery resolve and sturdy, rugged grandeur which is given to St. Peter, and the refinement, mildness, and personal grace of St. John, produces a fine effect: as in Albert Dürer’s picture,[133] where John is holding open the Gospel, and Peter apparently reading it; two grand and simple figures, filling the mind as we gaze upon them. As this picture was painted _after_ Albert Dürer became a Protestant, I have thought it possible that he might have had some particular meaning in thus making Peter study the Gospel of John. At all events, Albert Dürer was quite capable of such an intention; and, whether intended or not, the picture may be, and has been, thus interpreted. The prophets and the poets often say more than they intended, for their light was for others more than for themselves: so also the great painters—the Raphaels and Albert Dürers—prophets and poets in their way. When I have heard certain critics ridiculed because they found more in the productions of a Shakspeare or a Raphael than the poet or painter himself ever perceived or ‘intended,’ such ridicule has appeared to me in the highest degree presumptuous and absurd. The true artist ‘feels that he is greater than he knows.’ In giving form or utterance to the soul within him, does he account to himself for all the world of thoughts his work will excite in the minds of others? Is its significance to be circumscribed either by the intention and the knowledge of the poet, or the comprehension of the age in which he lived? That is the characteristic of the second-rate, self-conscious poets or painters, whom we read or study because they reflect to us a particular meaning—a particular period,—but not of the Homers and Shakspeares, the Raphaels and Albert Dürers; _they_ speak to all times, to _all_ men, with a suggestive significance, widening, deepening with every successive generation; and to measure their depth of meaning by their own _intention_, or by the comprehension of their own or any one generation, what is it but to measure the star of heaven by its apparent magnitude?—an inch rule will do that!

But to return from this digression. In devotional pictures we often see St. John the Evangelist and St. John the Baptist standing together; or on each side of Christ, or of the Madonna and Child. There is a peculiar propriety and significance in this companionship: both are, then, to be considered as prophets; they were, besides, kinsmen, and bore the same name; and St. John the Evangelist was the disciple of John the Baptist before he was called by Christ. Here, again, the contrast between the dark, emaciated, hairy prophet of the wilderness, and the graceful dignity of the youthful apostle, has a striking effect. An example at hand is the bronze bas-relief on the tomb of Henry VII.[134] Madonna pictures, in which the two St. Johns stand before her throne, occur frequently. I remember, also, a marble group of the Virgin and Child, in which the two St. Johns, as infants, are playing at her feet, one with his eagle, the other with his reed cross.[135]

As one who bore the most direct testimony to the Incarnation, St. John is often introduced into Madonna pictures, and pictures of the Nativity; but in the later schools only. In these instances he points significantly to the Child, and the sacramental cup and wafer is either in his hand or at his feet, or borne by an angel.

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The historical and dramatic subjects in which St. John figures as a principal personage are very numerous. As the scriptural scenes belong properly to the life of Christ, I shall confine myself here to some observations on the manner in which St. John is introduced and treated in such pictures. In general he is to be distinguished from the other apostles by his youth and beauty, and flowing hair; and by being placed nearest to Christ as the most beloved of his disciples.

‘The mother of James and John imploring from our Saviour the highest place in heaven for her two sons.’ (Matt. xx. 21): a picture by Bonifazio, in the Borghese Gallery, beautiful both in sentiment and colour. There is another example by Paul Veronese; and another, by Tintoretto, was in the Coesvelt Gallery. I must observe that, except in Venetian pictures, I have not met with this incident as a separate subject.

In the last supper, Peter is generally on the right of Christ, and St. John on the left: he leans his head down on the bosom of Christ (this is always the attitude in the oldest pictures); or he leans towards Christ, who places his hand upon his shoulder, drawing him towards him with an expression of tenderness: this is the action in the fresco by Raphael lately discovered at Florence. But I must reserve the full consideration of this subject for another place.

Where, instead of the last supper, our Saviour is represented as administering the Eucharist, St. John is seen on his right hand, bearing the cup.

In the crucifixion, when treated as a religious rather than an historical subject, St. John stands on the left of the Cross, and the Virgin on the right; both in attitudes of the profoundest grief and adoration mingled. In general the _motif_ of this sacred subject does not vary; but I remember examples, in which St. John is seen trampling a Jew under his feet; on the other side the Virgin tramples on a veiled woman, signifying the old law, the synagogue, as opposed to the Christian Church, of which the Virgin was the received symbol.

When the crucifixion is a _scene_ or action, not a _mystery_, then St. John is beheld afar off, with the women who followed their divine Master to Calvary.

St. John and the Virgin Mary returning from the crucifixion: he appears to be sustaining her slow and fainting steps. I have only once met with this beautiful subject, in a picture by Zurbaran, in the Munich Gallery.

In the descent from the Cross, St. John is a chief actor; he generally sustains the head of the Saviour, and is distinguished by an expression of extreme sorrow and tenderness. In the entombment he is sometimes one of the bearers, sometimes he follows lamenting. In a print of the entombment after Andrea Mantegna, he is not only weeping and wringing his hands as usual, but absolutely crying aloud with the most exaggerated expression of anguish. In pictures of the descent of the Holy Ghost, St. John is usually a conspicuous figure, and in the foreground. In the assumption of the Virgin, he is also conspicuous, generally in front, as the pendant to St. Peter, and gazing upwards with ecstatic faith and devotion.

Of course there is great variety in these representations: the later painters thought less of individual character and significant propriety of arrangement than of artistic grouping; therefore the above remarks have reference to the early painters only.

In the scenes taken from the Acts, St. John is always in companionship with St. Peter, and becomes the secondary figure.

St. John writing his Revelation in the island of Patmos is a subject which frequently occurs in MSS. of the Apocalypse, and in the chapels dedicated to St. John. The _motif_ is generally the same in all; we have a desert island, with the sea in the distance, or flowing round it; St. John, seated on a rock or under a tree, is in the act of writing; or he is looking up to heaven, where the ‘Woman crowned with stars,’ or ‘the Woman fleeing from the dragon,’ appears as in his vision.[136] (Rev. xii.) Or he beholds St. Michael, armed, cast down the dragon in human form; he has the eagle and book, and looks up at the Virgin, as in a picture by Ambrogio Figino.[137] The eagle is always in attendance as the symbol of inspiration in a general sense; when represented with a diadem, or glory, as in some very early examples, it is a symbol of the Holy Ghost, which, among the Jews, was figured by the eagle.

The subjects from the legendary life of St. John are exceedingly interesting, but they are not easily recognised, and require particular attention; some are of frequent occurrence, others rarely met with.

1. Israel v. Meckenen. St. John instructing his disciples at Ephesus. (Acts iv. 37.) The scene is the interior of a Gothic church, the windows painted with heraldic emblazonments: St. John is seated expounding the Scriptures, and five disciples sit opposite to him with coarse ugly faces, but most intent, expressive countenances; in the background, a large chest full of money.

2. Vatican, Chr. Mus. St. John drinking from the poisoned chalice; a man falls down dead at his feet, several figures look on with awe and astonishment: this is a frequent subject in the elder schools of art, and in the illuminated MSS. of the Gospel and Apocalypse: but I have never met with a representation later than the beginning of the fourteenth century.[138]

3. It is related by Clement of Alexandria, that when St. John was at Ephesus, and before he was exiled to Patmos, he had taken to his care a young man of promising qualities of person and mind. During his absence he left him under the spiritual guidance of a certain bishop; but, after a while, the youth took to evil courses, and, proceeding from one excess to another, he at length became the leader of a band of robbers and assassins who struck terror into the whole country. When St. John returned to Ephesus, he went to the bishop and demanded ‘the precious deposit he had left in his hands.’ At first the priest did not understand him; but when St. John explained the allusion to his adopted son, he cast down his eyes with sorrow and shame, and told of what had befallen. Then St. John rent his garments, and wept with a loud voice, and cried out, ‘Alas! alas! to what a guardian have I trusted our brother!’ And he called for a horse and rode towards the forest in which the robbers sojourned; and when the captain of the robbers beheld his old master and instructor, he turned and would have fled from his presence; but St. John, by the most fervent entreaties, prevailed on him to stop and listen to his words. After some conference, the robber, utterly subdued, burst into tears of penitence, imploring forgiveness; and while he spoke, he hid beneath his robe his right hand, which had been sullied with so many crimes; but St. John, falling on his knees before him, seized that blood-polluted hand, and kissed it, and bathed it with his tears; and he remained with his re-converted brother till he had, by prayers and encouraging words and affectionate exhortations, reconciled him with Heaven and with himself.

This beautiful legend is the subject of some old engravings, in which St. John is represented embracing the robber, who is weeping on his neck, having flung away his weapons. It has been, however, too rarely treated; I have never met with a picture of the subject; and yet it abounds in picturesque capabilities: the forest background—the contrast of youth and age—bright armour, flowing drapery, and the most striking and affecting moral, are here all combined.

4. Another very pretty apologue relating to St. John is sometimes included in a series of subjects from his life. Two young men, who had sold all their possessions to follow him, afterwards repented. He, perceiving their thoughts, sent them to gather pebbles and faggots, and, on their return, changed these into money and ingots of gold, saying to them, ‘Take back your riches and enjoy them on earth, as you regret having exchanged them for heaven!’ This story is represented on one of the windows of the Cathedral at Bourges. The two young men stand before St. John, with a heap of gold on one side, and a heap of stones and faggots on the other.

5. When St. John had sojourned in the island of Patmos a year and a day, he returned to his church at Ephesus; and as he approached the city, being received with great joy by the inhabitants, lo! a funeral procession came forth from the gates; and of those who followed weeping he inquired ‘who was dead?’ They said, ‘Drusiana.’ Now when he heard that name he was sad, for Drusiana had excelled in all good works, and he had formerly dwelt in her house; and he ordered them to set down the bier, and having prayed earnestly, God was pleased to restore Drusiana to life; she arose up, and the apostle went home with her and dwelt in her house.

This incident is the subject of a fine fresco, painted by Filippo Lippi, on the left-hand wall of the Strozzi Chapel at Florence. It has the forcible expression and dramatic spirit of the painter, with that characteristic want of elevated feeling in the countenances and in the general treatment which is apparent in all his works: the group in one corner, of a child starting from a dog, is admired for its truth; but, by disturbing the solemnity of the marvellous scene, it repels like a falsehood.

6. There is another beautiful and picturesque legend relating to St. John, of which I have never seen any representation; but it may, possibly, have occasioned the frequent introduction of a partridge into the pictures of sacred subjects, particularly in the Venetian School. St. John had a tame partridge, which he cherished much; and he amused himself with feeding and tending it. ‘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.”’

7. The subject entitled the Martyrdom of St. John represents his immersion in a cauldron of boiling oil, by order of the Emperor Domitian. According to the received tradition, this event took place outside the Latin gate at Rome; and on the spot stands the chapel of San Giovanni _in Olio_, commemorating his miraculous deliverance, which is painted in fresco on the walls. The subject forms, of course, one of a series of the life of St. John, and is occasionally met with in old prints and pictures; but it is uncommon. The treatment affords little variety; in Albert Dürer’s famous woodcut, St. John is sitting in a pot of boiling oil; one executioner is blowing the fire, another is pouring oil from a ladle on the saint’s head; a judge, probably intended for Domitian, is seated on a throne to the left, and there are numerous spectators. Padovanino painted this subject for the San Pietro at Venice; Rubens, with horrible truth of detail, for the altar-piece of St. John at Malines.

It is the martyrdom in the boiling oil which gives St. John the right to bear the palm, with which he is occasionally seen.

8. St. John, habited in priest’s garments, descends the steps of an altar into an open grave, in which he lays himself down, not in death, but in sleep, until the coming of Christ; ‘being reserved alive with Enoch and Elijah (who also knew not death), to preach against the Antichrist in the last days.’ This fanciful legend is founded on the following text: ‘Peter, seeing the disciple whom Jesus loved following, saith unto Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do? Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Then went this saying abroad among the brethren that that disciple should not die.’ (John xxi. 21, 22.)

The legend which supposes St. John reserved alive has not been generally received in the Church, and as a subject of painting it is very uncommon. It occurs in the Menologium Græcum,[139] where the grave into which St. John descends is, according to the legend, ‘_fossa in crucis figuram_’ (in the form of a cross). In a series of the deaths of the Apostles,[140] St. John is ascending from the grave; 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 a small and very curious picture which I saw at Rome,[141] forming part of a Predella, there is a tomb something like the Xanthian tombs in form: one end is open; St. John, with a long grey beard, is seen issuing from it, and, as he ascends, he is met by Christ, the Virgin, St. Peter, and St. Paul, who are descending from above; while figures below look up with astonishment. On the ancient doors of San Paolo he is lying in an open grave or sarcophagus.

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Of the miracles performed by John after his death, two are singularly interesting in the history of Art; both have been treated in sculpture.

9. When the Empress Galla Placidia was returning from Constantinople to Ravenna with her two children (A.D. 425), she encountered a terrible storm. In her fear and anguish she vowed a vow to St. John the Evangelist, and, being landed in safety, she dedicated to his honour a magnificent church. When the edifice was finished, she was extremely desirous of procuring some relics of the evangelist, wherewith to consecrate his sanctuary; but as it was not the manner of those days to exhume, and buy and sell, still less to steal, the bodies of holy men and martyrs, the desire of the pious empress remained unsatisfied. However, as it is related, St. John himself took pity upon her; for one night, as she prayed earnestly, he appeared to her in a vision; and when she threw herself at his feet to embrace and kiss them, he disappeared, leaving one of his slippers or sandals in her hand, which sandal was long preserved.

The antique church of Galla Placidia still exists at Ravenna, to keep alive, after the lapse of fourteen centuries, the memory of her dream, and of the condescension of the blessed apostle. Not much of the original building is left; the superb mosaics have all disappeared, except a few fragments, in which may be traced the storm at sea, and Galla Placidia making her vow. Over the principal porch, which is of white marble, in the Lombard style, and richly and elegantly ornamented, the miracle of the slipper is represented in two bas-reliefs, one above the other. The lower compartment, or lunette, represents a tabernacle, and within it an altar: St. John the Evangelist is seen offering incense; on the other side is Barbation, the confessor of the empress; she, prostrate at the feet of the apostle, seems to take off his sandal: on each side are six hovering angels bearing the implements of the mass. In the upper compartment, Galla Placidia is seen kneeling at the feet of Christ, and offering to him the sacred sandal, while the evangelist stands on one side, and Barbation on the other. These bas-reliefs are not older than the twelfth century, and are in excellent preservation: I should suppose, from the style of the grouping, that they were copied, or imitated, from the older mosaics, once in the interior of the church.

10. The other miracle has the rare interest of being English in its origin and in its representation. ‘King Edward the Confessor had, after Christ and the Virgin Mary, a special veneration for St. John the Evangelist. One day, returning from his church at Westminster, where he had been hearing mass in honour of the evangelist, he was accosted by a pilgrim, who asked of him an alms for the love of God and St. John. The king, who was ever merciful to the poor, immediately drew from his finger a ring, and, unknown to any one, delivered it to the beggar. When the king had reigned twenty-four years, it came to pass that two Englishmen, pilgrims, returning from the Holy Land to their own country, were met by one in the habit of a pilgrim, who asked of them concerning their country; and being told they were of England, he said to them, “When ye shall have arrived in your own country, go to King Edward, and salute him in my name: say to him, that I thank him for the alms which he bestowed on me in a certain street in Westminster; for there, on a certain day, as I begged of him an alms, he bestowed on me this ring, which till now I have preserved, and ye shall carry it back to him, saying that in six months from this time he shall quit the world, and come and remain with me for ever.” And the pilgrims, being astounded, said, “Who art thou, and where is thy dwelling-place?” And he answered, saying, “I am John the Evangelist. Edward, your king, is my friend, and for the sanctity of his life I hold him dear. Go now, therefore, deliver to him this message and this ring, and I will pray to God that ye may arrive safely in your own country.” When St. John had spoken thus, he delivered to them the ring, and vanished out of their sight. The pilgrims, praising and thanking the Lord for this glorious vision, went on their journey; and being arrived in England, they repaired to King Edward, and saluted him, and delivered the ring and the message, relating all truly. And the king received the news joyfully, and feasted the messengers royally. Then he set himself to prepare for his departure from this world. On the eve of the Nativity, in the year of our Lord 1066, he fell sick, and on the eve of the Epiphany following he died. The ring he gave to the Abbot of Westminster, to be for ever preserved among the relics there.’[142]

According to one account,[143] the pilgrims met the king near his palace at Waltham, at a place since called _Havering_. The writer adds,—‘In allusion to this story, King Edward II. offered at his coronation a pound of gold made in the figure of a king holding a ring, and a mark of gold (8 oz.) made like to a pilgrim putting forth his hand to receive the ring.’ These must have been two little statuettes of gold.

The legend of King Edward and St. John the Evangelist is represented, with other legends of the same monarch, along the top of the screen of Edward the Confessor’s chapel. It is in three compartments. The first represents King Edward bestowing the ring on St. John in the disguise of a pilgrim; Westminster Abbey is seen behind. The second shows us the meeting of the pilgrims and St. John in Palestine; he holds what seems a palm. In the third the pilgrims deliver the ring to King Edward, who is seated at table. The sculpture is very rude; the figures disproportioned and ungraceful. They are supposed to be of the time of Henry VI.

The same legend was painted on one of the windows of Romford church, in Essex, but whether it still exists there I know not.[144]

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Before I quit the subject of the Evangelists, it is worth while to observe that, in Greek Art, not only the Four Evangelists, but the six writers of the Acts and Epistles, are considered as a sacred series. In an ancient and beautiful MS. of the _Epistole Canoniche_, presented by the Queen of Cyprus to Pope Innocent VIII., they are thus represented, two and two together:—

St. Luke, with a very thoughtful, earnest countenance, holds a scroll, on which is written in Greek the commencement of the Acts, ‘The former treatise have I made, O Theophilus; &c.; and St. James, with a long, very earnest, and refined face, holds a single roll.

St. Peter, with a broad, coarse, powerful physiognomy, strongly characterised, holds two rolls; and St. John, with a long and very refined face, grey hair and beard, holds three rolls.

St. Jude, with a long white beard and very aquiline nose, holds one roll. St. Paul, bald in front, with long brown hair and beard, and a refined face, bears many rolls tied up together.

All the figures are on a gold ground, about six inches in height, very finely conceived, though, as is usual in Byzantine Art, formal and mechanical in execution. They look like small copies of very grand originals. The draperies are all classical; a pale violet or brown tunic and a white mantle, as in the old mosaics; the rolls in their hands corresponding with the number of their writings.

The Twelve Apostles.

Next to those who recorded the word of God, were those called by Christ to the task of diffusing his doctrine, and sent to preach the kingdom of heaven ‘through all nations.’

The earliest representations of the Twelve Apostles appear to have been, like those of the Four Evangelists, purely emblematical: they were figured as twelve sheep, with Christ in the midst, as the Good Shepherd, bearing a lamb in his arms; or, much more frequently, Christ is himself the Lamb of God, raised on an eminence and crowned with a cruciform nimbus, and the apostles were ranged on each side as sheep. Instances are to be met with in the old Christian bas-reliefs. In the old Roman churches[145] we find this representation but little varied, and the situation is always the same. In the centre is the lamb standing on an eminence, from which flow the four rivers of Paradise; on one side six sheep issuing from the city of Jerusalem, on the other six sheep issuing from the city of Bethlehem, the whole disposed in a line forming a sort of frieze, just below the decoration of the vault of the apsis. The church of S. M. Maggiore exhibits the only exception I have met with; there we find a group of sheep, entering, not issuing from, the gates of Jerusalem and Bethlehem: in this case, however, the sheep may represent believers, or disciples in general, not the Twelve Apostles. Upon the great crucifix in the apsis of San Clemente, at Rome, are twelve doves, which appear to signify the Twelve Apostles.

The next step was to represent the Apostles as twelve men all alike, each with a sheep, and Christ in the middle, also with a sheep, sometimes larger than the others. We find this on some of the sarcophagi.[146] Again, a little later, we have them represented as twelve venerable men, bearing tablets or scrolls in their hands, no emblems to distinguish one from another, but their names inscribed over or beside each. They are thus represented in relief on several ancient sarcophagi now in the Christian Museum in the Vatican, and in several of the most ancient churches at Rome and Ravenna, ranged on each side of the Saviour in the vault of the apsis, or standing in a line beneath.

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But while in the ancient Greek types, and the old mosaics, the attributes are omitted, they adhere almost invariably to a certain characteristic individual representation, which in the later ages of painting was wholly lost, or at least neglected. In these eldest types, St. Peter has a broad face, white hair, and short white beard: St. Paul, a long face, high bold forehead, dark hair and beard: St. Andrew is aged, with flowing white hair and beard: St. John, St. Thomas, St. Philip, young and beardless: St. James Major and St. James Minor, in the prime of life, short brown hair and beard; both should bear a resemblance more or less to the Saviour, but St. James Minor particularly: St. Matthew, St. Jude, St. Simon, St. Matthias, aged, with white hair. The tablets or scrolls which they carry in their hands bear, or are supposed to bear, the articles of the Creed. It is a tradition, that, before the apostles dispersed to preach the Gospel in all lands, they assembled to compose the declaration of faith since called the Apostles’ Creed, and that each of them furnished one of the twelve propositions contained in it, in the following order:—St. Peter: _Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, creatorem cœli et terræ_. St. Andrew: _Et in Jesum Christum Filium ejus unicum, Dominum nostrum_. St. James Major: _Qui conceptus est de Spiritu Sancto, natus ex Maria Virgine_. St. John: _Passus sub Pontio Pilato, crucifixus, mortuus et sepultus_. St. Philip: _Descendit ad inferos, tertia die resurrexit à mortuis_. St. James Minor: _Ascendit ad cœlos, sedet ad dexteram Dei Patris omnipotentis_. St. Thomas: _Inde venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos_. St. Bartholomew: _Credo in Spiritum Sanctum_. St. Matthew: _Sanctam Ecclesiam Catholicam; sanctorum communionem_. St. Simon: _Remissionem peccatorum_. St. Matthias: _Carnis resurrectionem_. St. Thaddeus: _Et vitam æternam_.

The statues of the apostles on the shrine of the Virgin in the San Michele at Florence exhibit a fine example of this arrangement. I give the figure of St. Philip holding his appropriate sentence of the Creed on a scroll (65).

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In later times, the Apostles, instead of being disposed in a line, are grouped round the Saviour in glory, or they form a circle of heads in medallions: as statues, they ornament the screen in front of the altar, or they are placed in a line on each side of the nave, standing against the pillars which support it. From the sixth century it became usual to distinguish each of them by a particular emblem or attribute borrowed from some circumstance of his life or death. Thus, taking them in order, according to the canon of the mass,—

St. Peter bears the keys or a fish.

St. Paul, the sword: sometimes two swords.

St. Andrew, the transverse cross.

St. James Major, the pilgrim’s staff.

St. John, the chalice with the serpent; sometimes the eagle also: but the eagle, as I have observed, belongs to him properly only in his character of Evangelist.

St. Thomas, a builder’s rule: also, but more seldom, a spear.

St. James Minor, a club.

St. Philip, the staff or crosier, surmounted by a cross; or a small cross in his hand.

St. Bartholomew, a large knife.

St. Matthew, a purse.

St. Simon, a saw.

St. Thaddeus (or Jude), a halberd or lance.

St. Matthias, a lance.

The origin and meaning of these attributes will be explained presently: meantime it must be borne in mind, that although in sacred Art the Apostles are always twelve in number, they are not always the same personages. St. Jude is frequently omitted to make room for St. Paul. Sometimes, in the most ancient churches (as in the Cathedral of Palermo), St. Simon and St. Matthias are omitted, and the evangelists St. Mark and St. Luke figure in their places. The Byzantine manual published by Didron omits James Minor, Jude, and Matthias; and inserts Paul, Luke, and Mark. This was the arrangement on the bronze doors of San Paolo-fuori-le-Mura at Rome, executed by Byzantine artists in the tenth century, and now destroyed.

On an ancient pulpit, of beautiful workmanship, in the Cathedral of Troyes, the arrangement is according to the Greek formula.[147] Thus—

───────────── ───────────── ───────────── ─────────────
S. John B. J. Christ. The Virgin.
───────────── ───────────── ───────────── An Angel.
S. Matthew. S. Peter. S. Simon.
S. Philip. S. Luke. S. Bartholomew. ─────────────
S. Mark. S. Andrew. S. James.
S. Paul. S. Thomas. S. John.
───────────── ───────────── ─────────────

Here, John the Baptist figures in his character of angel or messenger; and St. Paul, St. Mark, and St. Luke take the place of St. James Minor, St. Jude, and St. Matthias.

The earliest instance of the Apostles entering into a scheme of ecclesiastical decoration, as the consecrated and delegated teachers of a revealed religion, occurs in the church of San Giovanni in Fonte at Ravenna.[148] In the centre of the dome is the Baptism of Christ, represented quite in the classical style; the figure of the Saviour being entirely undraped, and the Jordan, signified by an antique river god, sedge-crowned, and bearing a linen napkin as though he were an attendant at a bath. Around, in a circle, in the manner of radii, are the Twelve Apostles. The order is,—Peter, Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Simon, Jude, James Minor, Matthew, Thomas, Paul; so that Peter and Paul stand face to face at one extremity of the circle, and Simon and Bartholomew back to back at the other. All wear pointed caps, and carry the oblation in their hands. Peter has a yellow vest and white mantle; Paul, a white vest and a yellow mantle, and so all round alternately. The name of each is inscribed over his head, and without the title _Sanctus_, which, though admitted into the Calendar in 449, was not adopted in works of art till some years later, about 472.

In the next instance, the attributes had not yet been admitted, except in the figures of St. Peter and St. Paul.

MOSAIC (A.D. 816). Christ, in the centre, stands on an eminence; in one hand he holds an open book, on which is inscribed _Pax vobis_. St. Peter, with the keys and a cross, stands on the right; and Christ, with his right hand, points to the cross. St. Paul is on the left, with his sword; beyond, there are five Apostles on one side, and four on the other: in all, eleven (Judas being properly omitted). Each holds a book, and all are robed in white; underneath the whole is inscribed, in Latin, the words of our Saviour, ‘Go ye, and teach all nations.’ On the arch to the right, Christ is seated on a throne, and presents the keys to St. Peter, who kneels on one side, and the standard to Constantine, who kneels on the other (alluding, of course, to the famous standard). On the arch to the left, St. Peter is throned, and presents the stole to Pope Leo III., and the standard to Charlemagne. This singular monument, a kind of _résumé_ of the power of the Church, is a restoration of the old mosaic, executed by order of Leo III. in the Triclinium of the old palace of the Lateran, and now on one side of the Scala Santa, the side facing the Porta San Giovanni.

MOSAIC, in the old basilica of St. Paul (A.D. 1206). In the centre an altar veiled, on which are the Gospels (or perhaps, rather, the _Book of Life_, the seven-sealed book in the Revelations), and the instruments of the Passion. Behind it rises a large Greek cross, adorned with gold and jewels. Underneath, at the foot of the altar, five small figures standing and bearing palms, representing those who suffered for the cause of Christ; and on each side, kneeling, the monk Aginulph, and Giovanni Gaetano Orsini, afterwards Nicholas III. On each side of the altar, a majestic angel: one bears a scroll, inscribed GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO; the other, ET IN TERRA PAX HOMINIBUS BONÆ VOLUNTATIS. Beyond these the Apostles, six on each side, bearing scrolls with the articles of the Creed. They are much alike, all in white robes, and alternately with each stands a palm-tree, the symbol of victory and resurrection. This composition, of a colossal size, formed a kind of frieze (taking the place of the emblematical lamb and twelve sheep) round the apsis of the Basilica.

* * * * *

In sculpture, the Apostles, as a series, entered into all decorative ecclesiastical architecture: sometimes on the exterior of the edifice, always in the interior. In our English cathedrals they are seldom found unmutilated, except when out of the reach of the spoiler; such was the indiscriminate rage which confounded the venerable effigies of these delegated teachers of the truth with the images which were supposed to belong exclusively to the repudiated religion!

Where the scheme of decoration is purely theological, the proper place of the Apostles is after the Angels, Prophets, and Evangelists; but when the _motif_, or leading idea, implies a special signification, such as the Last Judgment, Paradise, the Coronation of the Madonna, or the apotheosis of a saint, then the order is changed, and the Apostles appear immediately after the Divine Personages and before the angels, as forming a part of the council or court of heaven;—‘When the Son of man shall come in his glory, ye also shall sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.’[149] Such is the arrangement in the Campo Santo, in Angelico’s ‘Paradiso’ in the Florence Gallery, in Raphael’s ‘Disputa,’ and many other instances: and I may add the architectural treatment on the façade of Wells Cathedral, where, immediately under the Saviour sitting in judgment, _stand_ the Twelve Apostles, and beneath them the hierarchy of angels, each of the nine choirs being here expressed by a single angel.[150] Therefore to determine the proper place of the Apostles, it is necessary to observe well and to understand what has been the design of the artist, and the leading idea of the whole composition, whether strictly _theological_ or partly _scenic_. In all monuments which have a solemn or a sacred purpose,—altars, pulpits, tombs,—the Apostles find an appropriate place, either in connection with other sacred personages, or as a company apart, the band of teachers. The range of statues along the top of the screen in front of the choir of St. Mark’s at Venice will be remembered by all who have seen them: in the centre stand the Virgin and St. Mark, and then the Apostles, six on each side, grand solemn figures, standing there as if to guard the sanctuary. These are by Jacobelli, in the simple religious style of the fifteenth century, but quite Italian. In contrast with them, as the finest example of German sculptural treatment, we have the Twelve Apostles on the tomb of St. Sebald, in his church at Nuremberg, cast in bronze by Peter Vischer (about 1500). These have become well known by the casts which have lately been brought to England; they are about two feet high, all remarkable for the characteristic expression of the heads, and the grand simplicity of the attitudes and draperies.

There are instances of the Apostles introduced into a scheme of ecclesiastical decoration as devotional figures, but assuming, from the style of treatment and from being placed in relation with other personages, a touch of the dramatic and picturesque. Such are Correggio’s Apostles in the cupola of the duomo at Parma (1532), which may be considered as the most striking instance that could be produced of studied contrast to the solemnity and simplicity of the ancient treatment: here the _motif_ is essentially _dramatic_. They stand round the dome as spectators would stand in a gallery or balcony, all in picturesque attitudes, studiously varied (some, it must be confessed, rather extravagant), and all looking up with amazement, or hope, or joy, or adoration, to the figure of the glorified Virgin ascending into heaven.

Another series of Apostles in the San Giovanni at Parma, which Correggio had painted earlier (1522), are conceived, I think, in a finer spirit as to character, but, perhaps, not more appropriate to the scene. Here the Twelve Apostles are seated on clouds round the glorified Saviour, as they are supposed to be in heaven: they are but partially draped. In the heads but little attention has been paid to the ancient types, except in those of St. Peter and St. Paul; but they are sublime as well as picturesque in the conception of character and expression.

The Apostles in Michael Angelo’s Last Judgment (A.D. 1540) exhibit a still further deviation from the antique style of treatment. They stand on each side of the Saviour, who is not, here, Saviour and Redeemer, but inexorable Judge. They are grandly and artificially grouped, all without any drapery whatever, and with forms and attitudes which recall an assemblage of Titans holding a council of war, rather than the glorified companions of Christ. In early pictures of Christ in glory, the Apostles, his companions in heaven as on earth, form, with the Patriarchs and Prophets, the celestial court or council: they sit upon thrones to the right and to the left.[151] Raphael’s ‘Disputa’ in the Vatican is a grand example of this arrangement.

Sets of the Apostles, in devotional pictures and prints are so common, that I shall particularise only a few among the most interesting and celebrated. Engravings of these can easily be referred to.

1. A set by Raphael, engraved by Marc Antonio: grand, graceful figures, and each with his appropriate attribute. Though admirably distinguished in form and bearing, very little attention has been paid to the ancient types, except perhaps in St. Peter and St. John. Here St. James Minor is omitted to make room for St. Paul.

2. A set by Lucas van Leyden, smaller than Raphael’s, but magnificent in feeling: here also the ancient types are for the most part neglected. These two sets should be compared as perfect examples of the best Italian and the most characteristic German manner. Some of the German sets are very curious and grotesque.

3. By H. S. Beham, a most curious set, in what may be called the ultra German style: they stand two and two together, like a procession of old beggars; the workmanship exquisite. Another set by Beham, in which the figures stand singly, and which includes the Four Evangelists, dressed like old burgomasters, with the emblematical wings, has been already mentioned.

4. A set by Parmigiano, graceful and mannered, as is usual with him.

5. By Agostino Caracci. This set, famous as works of art, must, when compared with those of Raphael and Lucas van Leyden, be pronounced absolutely vulgar. Here St. John is drinking out of his cup, —an idea which might strike some people as picturesque; but it is in vile taste. Thaddeus has a saw as well as Simon; Peter has the papal tiara at his feet; St. James Minor, instead of Thomas, carries the builder’s rule; and St. Bartholomew has his skin thrown over his shoulders. This set is an example of the confusion which prevailed with respect to the old religious types and attributes, after the first half of the sixteenth century.

6. ‘The Five Disciples,’ by Albert Dürer, seem intended to form part of a complete set. We have St. Paul, St. Bartholomew, St. Thomas, St. Philip, and St. Simon. The two last are the finest, and are most grandly conceived.

These are examples of the simplest devotional treatment.

* * * * *

When the Apostles are grouped together in various historical scenes,—some scriptural, some legendary—they are more interesting as individual personages; and the treatment should be more characteristic. Some of these subjects belong properly to the life of Christ: as the Delivery of the Keys to Peter; the Transfiguration; the Entry into Jerusalem; the Last Supper; the Ascension. Others, as the Death and Assumption of the Virgin, will be considered in the legends of the Madonna. But there are others, again, which refer more particularly to the personal history of the Apostles, as related in the Acts and in the Legends.

The Descent of the Holy Ghost was the first and most important event after the Ascension of Christ. It is thus described: ‘When the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place. And suddenly there came a sound from heaven, as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting. And there appeared unto them cloven tongues, like as of fire, and sat upon each of them, and they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance. And there were dwelling at Jerusalem Jews, devout men, out of every nation under heaven. Now when this was noised abroad the multitude came together, and were confounded, because that every man heard them speak in his own language.... But this is that which was spoken by the prophet Joel.’ (Acts ii. 1-12, 16.)

According to the usual interpretation, the word _they_, in the first verse, does not signify the Apostles merely, but, with them, ‘the women, and Mary the mother of Jesus, and his brethren:’ hence in so many representations of this subject the Virgin is not only present, but a principal person: Mary Magdalene and others are also frequently introduced.

1. The most striking example I have yet met with is the grand mosaic in the principal dome of St. Mark’s at Venice. In the apex of the dome is seen the Celestial Dove in a glory of light; rays proceed from the centre on every side, and fall on the heads of the Virgin and the Twelve Apostles, seated in a circle. Lower down is a series of twelve figures standing all round the dome: ‘Parthians, Medes, and Elamites, the dwellers in Mesopotamia, Judea, Cappadocia, Pontus, Asia, Phrygia, Pamphylia, Cretes and Arabians,’—each nation represented by one person, and all in strange dresses, and looking up with amazement.

2. The Twelve Apostles and the Virgin are seen above seated in an enclosure; tongues of fire descend from heaven; beneath is a closed door, at which several persons in strange foreign dresses, with turbans, &c., are listening with amazement. One of these is in the Chinese costume,—a curious circumstance, considering the age of the picture, and which could have occurred at that date nowhere but at Venice.[152]

3. In the interior of a temple, sustained by slender pillars, the Twelve Apostles are seated in a circle, and in the midst the Virgin, tongues of fire on each head. Here the Virgin is the principal person.[153]

4. An interior, the Twelve Apostles seated in a circle; above them, the Celestial Dove in a glory, and from his beak proceed twelve tongues of flame; underneath, in a small arch, is the prophet Joel, as an old man crowned with a kingly crown and holding twelve rolls or scrolls, indicating the Gospel in so many different languages. The allusion is to the words of Joel, ii. 28: ‘And I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh.’[154] This is the Greek formula, and it is curious that it should have been closely followed by Pinturicchio;—thus:

5. In a rich landscape, with cypresses, palm-trees, and birds, the Virgin is seen kneeling; St. Peter on the right, and James Minor on the left, also kneeling; five other Apostles on each side. The Celestial Dove, with outspread wings, descends in a glory surrounded by fifteen cherubim: there are no tongues of fire. The prophet Joel is seen above, with the inscription, ‘_Effundam de Spiritu meo super omnem carnem_.’[155]

6. The Virgin and the Apostles seated; flames of fire stand on their heads; the Holy Ghost appears above in a glory of light, from which rays are poured on every side. Mary Magdalene, and another Mary, are present behind; astonishment is the prevailing expression in every face, except in the Virgin and St. Peter. The composition is attributed to Raphael.[156]

* * * * *