Chapter IV: Table of Biographical Data (1)

_Jacopo di Pietro d'Angelo_, of La Quercia Gossa, a castello once near
Siena and since destroyed. Born 1371; died 1438. Variously stated
to have been a scholar of Maestro Goro and of Luca di Giovanni.
Milanese believes that these claims are groundless, and that
Jacopo was a pupil of his own father, who was a goldsmith. Best
known for his marble reliefs ornamenting the portal of S.
Petronio, Bologna.

_Nanni di Banco._ Son of Antonio di Banco, who was at work in the
Florence Cathedral in 1406. He is known to have been considerably
older than Donatello, and Marcel Reymond suggests the date 1374
as the probable year of his birth. Died 1421.

_Donatello._ The familiar name applied to Donato di Niccolo di Betti
Bardi. Born in Florence, 1386; died in Florence, 1466. His visit
to Rome in company with Brunelleschi has been called the most
important of the initial steps in the revival of antiquity in art.
The friendship and patronage of Cosmo de' Medici brought the
artist many commissions.

_Luca di Simone di Marco della Robbia._ Born in Florence, 1399 or
1400; died 1482.

_Andrea della Robbia_, nephew of Luca. Born 1435; died 1525.

_Antonio Rossellino._ One of the five sons of Matteo di Domenico
Gambarelli, all being artists. Born in Settignano in 1427; died
about 1499.

_Mino di Giovanni di Mino_, usually called _Mino da Fiesole_. Born in
1431 in Poppi, in the Casentino, a district between the sources of
the Arno and Tiber, north of Arezzo. Died in 1484. He was a friend
of Desiderio da Settignano, but probably not one of his pupils.

I

MUSICAL ANGELS

BY DONATELLO

In the western part of Italy, lying a little north of the centre, is the district known as Tuscany. Here, in the valley of the Arno, is the city of Florence, glorious with her storied palaces and churches. Around her are clustered Pistoja and Lucca, Pisa and Leghorn, Siena and Arezzo, all notable towns in Italian history. Here, too, is Carrara, with its stores of beautiful marble.

It was from this little district of Tuscany that the sculptors came forth who have helped to make Italy famous as the birthplace of modern art. The development of Tuscan sculpture covered a period of some three centuries, beginning with the Pisan Niccolo, who worked between the years 1220 and 1270, and culminating with the great Florentine Michelangelo, who died in 1564. We shall study in this little collection a few works of the fifteenth century.

It was the time called by historians the Renaissance, which means literally "the new birth." The world was awakening from the long sleep of the Middle Ages, and Italy was the first to be aroused. Certain adventurous spirits began to ponder the possibility of a new continent beyond the sea. There was a great revival of learning, accompanied by a passionate love of the beautiful. Schools of art were established throughout the length of Italy.

In other volumes of this series we have learned how the churches, palaces, and public buildings were filled with paintings.[3] We shall now see that sculpture also contributed much to the adornment of the cities. Statues, busts, and bas-reliefs, in marble, bronze, and terra-cotta, ornamented many buildings both without and within.

Our illustration shows two panels from the series of twelve bronze reliefs on the front of a church altar. Two little boy angels are making music with their pipes. The companion panels are also filled with musical angels, some singing and others playing on various instruments.

The New Testament begins and ends with the music of angels. The birth of Jesus is heralded by a multitude of the heavenly host singing "Glory to God in the highest." The golden city of St. John's vision is filled with "the voice of harpers, harping with their harps," in the new song before the throne of God. Thence has arisen the beautiful custom of artists to represent angels as musicians.

The child angels of our picture have tiny pointed wings as a sign of their heavenly origin. Certainly we cannot imagine such buoyant little creatures treading the earth like mortals. One stands on tip-toe like a bird poised for flight. The other skips through the air with joyous motion. The head of one is encircled by a halo, the emblem of purity. The other wears a fillet of flowers over his curls. Each carries two little pipes, the simplest of musical instruments.

It was long ago in the childhood of the race that some shepherd, plucking a reed from the bank of a stream, first found that the hollow stem had a voice of its own. The pipe thereafter became a favorite instrument among primitive people. We read in the Old Testament Scriptures that the ancient Hebrews used it in the celebration of their festivities. At the Greek festivals also the pipers had a place in the procession of musicians.

Our angel pipers are blowing lustily with puffing cheeks--

"Such sweet
Soft notes as yet musician's cunning
Never gave the enraptured air."

They are genuine musicians, not children playing with the pipes as with toys. They move to the rhythm of their piping, their lifted faces expressing their delight. Their thin garments cling to their figures, and the loose ends flutter about them.

Every line of the modelling is beautiful, the poise of the figures full of rhythmic grace. The angel at the left stands in profile, with face slightly turned away from the spectator. The right hand figure skips directly out of his panel, swinging lithely about towards the left, as he moves. The outlines of both figures describe long fine curves, with which the edges of the drapery run parallel. In the drawing of the right hand angel we may trace delicate patterns of interlacing ovals.

Some portions of the work seem to be modelled in very high relief. The limbs, we are told, are in low relief, supported on a metal back, an inch or so thick, by which they are thrown out to a proper distance from the background.

The altar to which our panels belong is in the church of S. Antonio, Padua, and was executed by the Florentine sculptor, Donatello, in 1450. The entire scheme of decoration is very elaborate. On the front is a row of musical angels, in which the panels here reproduced occupy opposite ends. Above these are five reliefs of larger size; and still higher are seven life-size statues of saints. The whole is surmounted by a crucifix. Even the back of the altar is ornamented with reliefs, and the work is an example of the spirit of the age, which thought nothing too rich or beautiful for the purposes of worship.

[Footnote 3: See _Raphael_, _Michelangelo_, _Titian_, and _Correggio_.]

II

ST. PHILIP

BY NANNI DI BANCO

St. Philip was one of the first group of disciples whom Jesus called to his service. He was a native of Bethsaida in Galilee, but we do not know what occupation he pursued there. There is a tradition that he was a chariot driver, and in any case he was certainly a laboring man like all of the twelve. Having attached himself to Jesus he began at once to work in his cause. He persuaded Nathanael to come and see the Master, and thereby won a new adherent.[4]

Philip was not spiritually minded, like John, nor impetuous, like Peter, but in his own way he wanted to know the truth. Perhaps he was a little slower than others to grasp religious teaching. It may be that he was franker than many in confessing that he did not understand.

He and Thomas were somewhat alike in this respect, and once, when Jesus was talking of departing to the Heavenly Father, both interrupted him with questions. Philip said, "Lord, show us the Father and it sufficeth us." "Have I been so long time with you and yet hast thou not known me?" replied Jesus. "He that hath seen me hath seen the Father."[5]

Apparently Philip learned his lesson well, for we read in traditional history of his faithful missionary services in later life. He was twenty years in Scythia preaching the gospel. Then he went to Hieropolis in Phrygia, where the people worshipped a serpent. The apostle drove the serpent away, but the pagan priests sought his life in revenge. He was bound to a cross and stoned to death, praying even in his agony for his enemies.[6]

The statue of St. Philip in our illustration shows him as a somewhat commonplace-looking man with heavy features. It accords with the usual account of him that his face should not be particularly intellectual. His attitude is full of dignity, and denotes a well-balanced character. The large well-knit hands are those of an artisan. He is of about middle age, as the artists usually represent him. A plain man of good common sense and sterling worth--this was Philip both in fact and in the statue.

In pictures and statues the apostles nearly always carry the symbols of their identity. St. Philip's emblem is the cross, but it is here dispensed with, and we have only the Latin inscription to show us who he is.

The statue stands in a niche, and is one of a series ornamenting the outside of the church of Or San Michele in Florence. In building this church all the merchants and artisans of the city contributed to support the work. Each trade was at that time represented by a guild or association whose members united to advance their common business interests.[7] These various guilds furnished the statues for the niches, each supplying the figure of its own patron saint. St. Philip was the gift of the Guild of Hosiers, and was executed by the sculptor Nanni di Banco.

Donatello had at first been approached by the guild, but considering his price exorbitant they gave the order to Nanni, who promised to accept any terms they decided upon. When the statue was done, however, the sculptor demanded a sum larger than the price of Donatello. The latter was now called upon to act as referee, and he set a still higher price upon the work. The Hosiers were indignant. "Why," they asked, "had Donatello rated Nanni's work at a higher price than his own, which would have undoubtedly been better?" "Because," replied the great sculptor, laughing, "being less skilful than I, he has worked harder, and therefore deserves more pay." A compromise was effected, and the statue set in place.

That Donatello could indeed have made a better statue we shall presently see when we study his St. George, designed for the same church. St. Philip lacks distinction, and it has not the animation which the greater sculptor knew how to impart to his work. Nevertheless it has certain artistic qualities which make it worthy of Donatello's championship.

The lines of the drapery are well studied. Apparently Nanni had learned something in this respect from the Greek sculpture. Where draperies are simple and hang in long unbroken lines, the effect is impressive and dignified. When they are voluminous and broken, they lose in dignity. Good art is always simple and has no meaningless lines.

We are interested in examining the niche in which the statue is set. It is Gothic in design, and with its pointed top and side pinnacles recalls the cathedral windows in northern Europe. An architectural frame of this sort is often called a tabernacle, being in fact a miniature church in form. In the triangular space at the top is a bas-relief figure in half length which seems to represent Christ. The base is ornamented with an arabesque or scroll design, flanked at each end by the arms of the Hosiers' Guild. The side pillars have rich Corinthian capitals. Just inside are twisted pillars of curious workmanship.

Our illustration also shows a portion of the wall against which the niche is placed. We see that the church is built of stone, set in square blocks. On each side of the niche is a metal ring through which torches were thrust.

[Footnote 4: St. John, chapter i., verses 43-51.]

[Footnote 5: St. John, chapter xiv., verses 1-11.]

[Footnote 6: Mrs. Jameson's _Sacred and Legendary Art_, p. 235.]

[Footnote 7: The Florentine guilds of this period may be compared with those of the seventeenth century in Holland. See the chapter on the "Syndics of the Cloth Guild" in the volume on Rembrandt in the Riverside Art Series.]

III

ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST

BY DONATELLO

In the hill country of Judaea lived the priest Zacharias and his wife, Elisabeth, who were the parents of St. John the Baptist. They were pious people, "walking in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord, blameless." One day, as Zacharias was ministering in his office in the temple, an angel brought him the glad tidings that he was to have a son. "Thou shalt call his name John," said the vision, "and thou shalt have joy and gladness, and many shall rejoice at his birth."

A great career was promised for the coming child. He was to be a preacher filled with spiritual power. Like the old prophet Elias, he was to turn the hearts of the people to God, and to prepare the way for the Christ. As a sign that the angel's words were true, Zacharias was stricken dumb until his son was born. Then "his tongue was loosed, and he spake and praised God."

The neighbors marvelled at the mystery of John's birth, and they saw that "the hand of the Lord was with him." "And the child grew and waxed strong in spirit," until he came to manhood.[8] Then was fulfilled the angel's prophecy concerning him. He became a great preacher, and multitudes flocked to hear him.

John's manner of life was like that of a hermit. He dwelt in the wilderness about the river Jordan, wearing a garment of camel's hair bound about his loins with a leathern girdle. His food was locusts and wild honey. He gathered his audiences in the open air and baptised his disciples in the river.

Though stern in his teachings he became for a time very popular. Yet he always spoke of his own work with great humility. "There cometh one mightier than I after me," he said.[9] This was Jesus, who, on presenting himself for baptism, was greeted by John as the "Lamb of God." The prophet's mission was now accomplished. He was soon after thrown into prison and beheaded, at the order of King Herod, whose sins he had openly rebuked.

The story of the Baptist's life brings readily before the imagination the strange figure of the man.[10] It is not so easy to fancy how he might have looked as a boy. The bas-relief of our illustration shows us what form the idea took in the mind of the sculptor Donatello.

The little fellow seems tall and slender for his years, as if he had stretched his limbs by running much in the open air. The face is somewhat serious, but perfectly childish. The lips are parted in a half smile. He has a good forehead, and is an independent thinker. He impresses us as a straightforward character, a boy to like and trust.

It would be too much to say that he shows the making of a great man. It is enough that he is an honest, healthy boy with a mind of his own. He is hardly pretty, but he is very interesting. The hair is his most charming feature, waving in little tendrils over the head. He is not plump enough for his figure to show fine curves. On the contrary, the modelling is on rather severe lines, as if in keeping with the character.

Certain well understood signs show who he is. The circle about his head is the halo, the symbol of a sacred character. The skin garment fastened at the shoulder reminds us of the strange clothing John wore in the desert. The tall cross is the emblem of the prophet, as a forerunner of the crucified one.

Donatello's art covered a wide range of subjects, but in none was he more at home than in representing children. He has been called "the poet of child-life." There are interesting points of comparison between the example before us and the Musical Angels of the altar at Padua. St. John the Baptist is evidently a real little boy, transferred to the stone just as he was. The piping angels, on the other hand, are child ideals, without counterpart

in real life. St. John's large ear, with its irregularly bent rim, and his straight upper lip, are features such as an artist must certainly have copied, not invented. The angel faces, on the other hand, are moulded in the perfect curves which originate in the imagination of the artist. Donatello was, above all things else, a close student of human nature. Sometimes, indeed, he chose very unattractive models, and reproduced them so faithfully that the realism is almost painful. His artistic eye was always open to new impressions. Perhaps, one day as he walked through the streets of Florence, he noticed among the children playing there this little fellow of the long neck and pensive face. "Ecco," said he, to himself, "il Giovannino."[11] The child's face and bearing had a quaint seriousness precisely suited to the character.

It is wonderful how the sculptor's art has made the little boy seem actually alive in the bas-relief. The hair is executed with the skill peculiar to Donatello, and seems to grow from the head. Such studies from real life--_genre_ studies, as they are called--were lessons which prepared the artist for higher works of idealism. The little St. John may have been the original material for some of the angel figures.

[Footnote 8: The circumstances of John's birth are related in the first chapter of St. Luke, from which the quotations are drawn.]

[Footnote 9: St. Mark, chapter i., verse 7.]

[Footnote 10: See the pictures of St. John the Baptist in the volumes on _Titian_ and _Correggio_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

[Footnote 11: "There is the little John."]

IV

THE INFANT JESUS AND ST. JOHN

BY MINO DA FIESOLE

Jesus and St. John the Baptist were of nearly the same age, and there was a peculiar tie between them. Their mothers, Mary and Elizabeth, were cousins, and before the boys were born the two women had confided in each other their hopes for the future of their children. Angelic messengers had predicted a remarkable destiny for both boys. Jesus was to rule over an everlasting kingdom, and John was to be his prophet preparing the way for him. These were secrets which the outside world could not have understood, and Mary paid a visit to her kinswoman that they might talk of them together.

As John's home was in the hill country and Jesus was born in the town of Bethlehem, we do not know how soon the boys met. It might be supposed that Mary and Elizabeth would be eager to bring them together. While the mothers took council on the training of their sons, the children would be at play.

The little ones were, we believe, brought up quite simply, with no sense that they were different from other children. Jesus was a natural leader. We remember how he surprised his mother at the age of twelve by asserting his own judgment.[12] Among his playfellows he must have shown much earlier that he was the one to take the first place. John was doubtless taught by his mother to defer to his little cousin. He was not lacking in spirit himself, but he could sometimes be very humble. In his manhood he spoke of Jesus as one whose shoe's latchet he was not worthy to unloose.[13]

It is pleasant to picture the two children together in our fancy, and we do not wonder that artists have liked the subject.[14] Our illustration shows us the theme wrought in marble. The child Jesus sits on the steps, and the little St. John approaching kneels in adoration. We see at once the religious meaning of the artist: the relation between the two in after life is foreshadowed in this imaginary incident. Each child carries the symbol of his character. A halo behind the head of Jesus signifies his divine origin. He holds on his knee a globe surmounted by a cross, in token that he who was crucified shall be the ruler of the world. In the symbol of the globe the old artists anticipated the later discoveries of science as to the form of the earth. Some of the ancient philosophers had taught that the earth is a sphere, and through the writings of Aristotle the belief was spread among the scholars of the Middle Ages.[15] That the idea made its way into art is perhaps because the sphere is the most perfect and beautiful form, and hence the fitting symbol of God's created work.[16]

St. John carries the cross, which is his usual emblem as a prophet of Christ. It is tall and slender because it was supposed to be made of reeds. The reference is to Jesus's words concerning John when asking the people if they had sought the prophet merely as "a reed shaken by the wind."

The infant Jesus is a vigorous child, straight and perfectly formed. The little St. John is an older and taller boy, wearing a tunic. The younger child is delighted to have a playfellow. There is an eager smile on his face, and he puts out his right hand as if he longed to take the curious plaything St. John carries. Both children are plump, with well-shaped heads, but there is nothing precocious-looking about either. They are indeed uncommonly pretty, but for the rest are like other children, eying each other somewhat shyly in the early stages of acquaintance. It will not be long before they are the best of friends.

The figures in our illustration form a part of a marble altar-piece by Mino da Fiesole. The whole composition consists of three niches approached by steps. In the central compartment kneels the mother Mary, adoring with folded hands the child, who sits below her. We see in our picture only the lower part of her dress behind the Christ child. In the side niches are figures of saints, the little St. John kneeling in front of the one on the Madonna's right.

Mino da Fiesole has been called "The Raphael of sculpture," and his work in this altar-piece illustrates the fitness of comparing him with the great painter. Especially do the figures of the two children here remind us of the child ideals of Raphael. At the time when this work was executed (1462) painters and sculptors had just begun to represent the Christ child undraped. The earlier artists had always shown the little figure clad in a tunic. We shall presently see how this old custom was still followed in bas-reliefs of the Madonna and Child by Luca della Robbia and Rossellino. The more progressive artists were unwilling to conceal the beauty of the child's figure by any sort of dress. By the beginning of the sixteenth century the old way had entirely given place to the new.[17]

In our picture we see that a Latin inscription on the base of the lowest step contains the name of Leonardo Salutati, bishop of Fiesole. [18] It was by the order of this bishop that the altar was executed, as was also the tomb opposite it in the cathedral of Fiesole.

[Footnote 12: St. Luke, chapter ii., verse 49.]

[Footnote 13: St. Luke, chapter iii., verse 16.]

[Footnote 14: See Chapter IX., on the "Children of the Shell," in the volume on _Murillo_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

[Footnote 15: This is on the authority of a French writer, A. Jourdain, quoted by William H. Tillinghast in an essay on the "Geographical Knowledge of the Ancients," in the _Narrative and Critical History of America_. In the same essay an anonymous poem of the thirteenth century is quoted to show the prevalent belief in the sphericity of the earth.]

[Footnote 16: In Didron's _Christian Iconography_, several interesting illustrations from old miniatures, etc., show the globe in the hand of the Creator. It is curious that this supposedly exhaustive authority on church symbolism gives no account of the origin and history of this emblem.]

[Footnote 17: See Madonna pictures by Raphael, Titian, Correggio, and Michelangelo in other volumes of the Riverside Art Series.]

[Footnote 18: _Eps_, with the curious mark above, stands for _episcopus_.]

V

BOYS WITH CYMBALS

BY LUCA DELLA ROBBIA

The bas-relief of our illustration is one of a series of marble panels designed to ornament the singing-gallery of a church. The children moving forward with song and cymbal remind us of the bands of singers and musicians who took part in religious processions of ancient times. We read of such processions among both the Greeks[19] and the Hebrews. [20]

The custom of singing was adopted by the Christian church from its foundation,[21] and gradually the musical part of the service was developed into a fine art. There was a famous system of choral chanting under Pope Gregory I.,[22] and in the eleventh century part singing was introduced. At length the organ came into use, and by the fifteenth century it had become an important part of the church furnishings.

It was early in this century when the wardens of the cathedral at Florence had an organ constructed on what the old writer Vasari called "a very grand scale." In connection with this an organ loft, such as the Italians call a _cantoria_, was needed to accommodate the singers. The Florentine sculptor, Luca della Robbia, received the order for this work, and was occupied with it some nine years (1431-1440).

The cantoria is entirely of marble, built like a balcony, with the upper part or balustrade supported on five consoles or brackets. Four square bas-reliefs, separated by pilasters, ornament the front of the balustrade, and four more fill the corresponding spaces below, separated by the consoles. The artist took as the motive of his decorative scheme the one hundred and fiftieth psalm. This hymn of praise furnished his imagination with a series of pictures illustrating many kinds of music. The entire psalm is quoted in the Latin version on the gallery, the inscriptions running in narrow bands across the top and bottom and between the two rows of panels. These are the verses in the familiar English version of King James, grouped in the three sections into which they are divided:--

"Praise God in his sanctuary:
praise him in the firmament of his power.
Praise him for his mighty acts:
praise him according to his excellent greatness.

Praise him with the sound of the trumpet:
praise him with the psaltery and harp.
Praise him with the timbrel

and dance:
praise him with stringed instruments and organs.
Praise him upon the loud cymbals:
praise him upon the high sounding cymbals.
Let everything that hath breath
praise the Lord."

The eight illustrations of the gallery omit nothing mentioned by the psalmist. Here are the trumpets, the harp, the psaltery, and the timbrel. Here is the choric dance, followed by players on organs and stringed instruments; after these come the loud cymbals or tambourines, and finally the "high sounding cymbals" of our illustration.

The players are a half dozen children, some dressed in tunics, and others wearing scarf-like garments which leave their limbs free. Two are crowned with flowers in the Greek fashion, and others have a fillet or band bound about the hair. The leader walks with his head thrown back, his mouth wide open, singing with all his might, oblivious of everything but his music. He holds the cymbals high, striking them together in the rhythm of his song. His companion is a jolly little fellow, not at all concerned in the music, but laughing at something which attracts his attention in the distance.

There is another rogue just behind the leader. Without losing step he throws his weight forward on bending knee, putting his ear to the upper cymbal. He is evidently amusing himself with the lingering vibrations of the metal. The flower-crowned boy bringing up the rear smiles at us cheerily, as he steps along, clashing his cymbals with right good-will. The children in the background seem to take their task more seriously, as if sharing the spirit of the leader.

It is clear that our artist found the models for his figures in the streets of Florence. These round-faced children with their large mouths are not pretty enough for imaginary types. They are perfectly natural, and that is why we like them.

The grouping is skilfully planned to give unity to the composition without any stiffness. There are no awkward gaps between the figures, but the lines flow from one to another, binding them together. The half kneeling posture of the child in the middle makes diagonal lines to unite the leader with the boy in the rear. We notice in the drawing the same sweep of line which we have admired in Donatello's bronze reliefs of angels. The three figures in front are modelled in high relief, and in beautiful curves; the children in the rear are in low relief.

The work of Luca della Robbia was not confined to marble. Soon after completing the organ gallery he made a bronze door for the interior of the cathedral. He is best known for his work in enamelled terra-cotta, of which we shall hear more in later chapters.

[Footnote 19: See Chapter III. in the volume on _Greek Sculpture_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

[Footnote 20: Psalm lxviii., verse 25, and 1 Chronicles, chapter xiii., verse 8.]

[Footnote 21: St. Matthew, chapter xxvi., verse 30.]

[Footnote 22: The pontificate of Gregory I. was from 590 to 604.]

VI

TOMB OF ILARIA DEL CARRETTO (_Detail_)

BY JACOPO DELLA QUERCIA

A certain marquis of Carretto, living in Lucca at the close of the fourteenth century, had a daughter named Ilaria. Ilaria was like Helen of Troy, "a daughter of the gods, divinely tall and most divinely fair."[23] Her face was delicately cut in a patrician mould, and she carried her head with the air of a princess. The marquis must have been proud of his beautiful daughter, and as she grew into womanhood he looked about for a suitable match for her. There was little romance about marriages in those days, and when a rich widower sought Ilaria's hand, she was doubtless thought by all a very fortunate maiden.

Her husband, Paolo Guinigi, was the signor or lord of the city of Lucca, and though somewhat despotic in temper was at least without vices. He was besides the richest man in Italy. In his treasury, says the historian, "diamonds and rubies, emeralds and pearls, were counted by hundreds." The palace awaiting the bride was magnificently furnished. There was linen from Paris and other French cities, exquisite in quality and in stores so abundant as to delight the heart of a housewife. The walls were hung with tapestries of many colors woven in Arras. Priceless vessels of gold and silver adorned the table. Nor were signs of learning lacking. There was a library, well stocked with the works of classical authors, written in manuscript in the manner of the times.

So far as surroundings make for happiness Ilaria may well have been a happy woman. We like to fancy her queenly figure moving through the stately apartments of the palace or on the green terraces of the garden. But she did not long enjoy the splendors of her surroundings, for two years after her marriage she died. Her husband then ordered of the sculptor Jacopo della Quercia a marble tomb to be placed in the cathedral. On the sarcophagus lay the portrait figure of the lady herself; the sides were richly carved with cherubs holding festoons of flowers, and above was a canopy.

Ilaria lies with hands crossed just where they would naturally fall in her sleep.[24] Her feet rest against a little dog, which, according to the old writer, Vasari, was an emblem of conjugal fidelity. It is surely no harm to fancy that the little creature was the lady's pet. The gown is girdled high, and falling in long, straight folds, is wrapped about the feet. Over this is worn a mantle made with large, loose sleeves, and a high flaring collar, which comes well up under the chin.[25]

Our illustration shows only the head and shoulders of the figure. The head rests on a pillow in a hollow shaped to receive it, and the shoulders are supported by a second and larger cushion underneath. Ilaria's waving hair is parted over the high brow, and brought down on each side the face, completely concealing the ears. A few short tendrils have escaped, and curl daintily over the forehead. She wears a large flower-wound wreath or crown, set aslant over the shapely head. It may be that this is a sort of head-dress worn in her time. No one can look at the face without thinking of a flower, and most of all of the lily. The mouth is moulded in exquisite curves; Ilaria was, indeed, a bewitching woman.

Had the fair marchioness lived to middle age her fortunes would have been sadly altered. In 1430 there was a political upheaval in Lucca, and Guinigi was driven from the city.[26] His palace was pillaged, and the mob even laid desecrating hands upon Ilaria's tomb. An attempt to remove it seems to have been frustrated, and it was dropped on the floor of the transept, where it now stands. It lost, however, the canopy and one ornamented side of the base.

As a work of art, Ilaria's tomb has been greatly admired by critics. Even in our little picture we can, with no great training, see how well the sculptor has rendered the texture of the hair and the softness of the plump chin. Even the tassels on the cushion are carved with clever imitative skill. We must be careful to look at the face just as the sculptor intended it to be seen, not upright, but lying horizontally. It is only thus that we get the significance of the beautiful continuous line across forehead and nose. The line of the head-dress exactly follows that of the hair, and is drawn at the same angle as the edge of the collar, which it meets. In the triangular space thus formed is fitted the lovely profile of the face. Ruskin has written with much enthusiasm of the merits of Ilaria's tomb. From it, he declared, one may receive "unerring canon of what is evermore lovely and right in the dealing of the art of man with his fate and his passions." Still more helpful is his interpretation of the feeling which the sculptor has conveyed. After first explaining that "every work of the great Christian schools expresses primarily conquest over death," he shows that this particular tomb has "all the peace of the Christian eternity." We may see, he says, "that the damsel is not dead but sleepeth; yet as visibly a sleep that shall know no ending until the last day break and the last shadows flee away."[27]

[Footnote 23: Tennyson's "A Dream of Fair Women."]

[Footnote 24: Not "folded below her bosom," nor "laid on her breast," as in two familiar descriptions.]

[Footnote 25: That this mantle was a prevailing style of the period among the aristocracy, we judge from an old Spanish painting, in which King Ferdinand of Aragon and his queen both wear it. The picture is reproduced in Carderara's _Iconografia Espanola_, and copied in Planche's _Cyclopedia of Costumes_.]

[Footnote 26: The exact date is here given because of the vagueness of some writers who refer to the event as "not many years" and "within twenty years" after Ilaria's death in 1405.]

[Footnote 27: Quoted by Sydney Colvin in an article on Jacopo della Quercia, in the _Portfolio_, 1883. See also _Modern Painters_, Part III.]

VII

MADONNA AND CHILD (_Detail of lunette_)

BY LUCA DELLA ROBBIA

In reading the gospel narrative of the life of Jesus we are glad to learn something of his mother Mary. Her life had some peculiar hardships to test the strength of her character. It was a strange lot for a mother to have to tend her babe in the manger of an inn, but such was Mary's experience. At the time of Jesus's birth she and Joseph were in Bethlehem, whither they had come to pay their taxes. There were many other people there on the same errand, and the inn was so crowded that the young mother had to find quarters in the stable.

While the child was still very young a terrible danger threatened his life. An order went forth from King Herod to slay all the young children of Bethlehem. Still the mother's courage did not fail. She arose by night, and, taking her babe, fled with her husband into Egypt. Returning at length to their home in Nazareth, she watched her boy's growth, and kept all his sayings in her heart.

When Jesus entered upon his ministry Mary was the first to show perfect confidence in her son.[28] She seems to have followed him whenever she could.[29] Her courage sustained her even in the hour of his agony, and we read how she stood with his disciples at the foot of the cross.[30]

It is this woman of quiet fortitude whom we see in Luca della Robbia's bas-relief of the Madonna and Child. We are impressed at once with a sense of her strength and poise of character. It is precisely such as fits the story of her life. Steadying her little boy with both hands, she turns her face in the direction in which he is looking. The Child seems to stand on a sort of balustrade in front of his mother. With feet wide apart he holds himself erect in a firm posture. His right hand is raised in a gesture of benediction. With his left he grasps firmly a long scroll bearing the Latin inscription, "Ego sum Lux Mundi" (I am the Light of the World).

Both mother and child seem to belong to the happy, every-day working world. Mary has the straight figure, full throat, and square shoulders of a Tuscan peasant girl. Her only aristocratic feature is the shapely hand. She holds her chin level, like a country maiden used to carrying burdens on the head. It may be that the artist had seen her like in some market-place in Florence. The boy too has the square shoulders and sturdy frame of a child of the people.

Some artists have tried to give a supernatural and ethereal beauty to the mother and child. Others have represented them enthroned in splendor like a queen and prince receiving their court. Luca della Robbia went to no such extremes. There is nothing morbid or sentimental in his art: nor does he care for any worldly pomp and ceremonial. His religious ideals were very simple, suited to the needs of common life. The Christ child here is a dear little human baby, and the Madonna is the poet's ideal of "a creature not too bright or good for human nature's daily food."[31]

The bas-relief is one of the famous works in enamelled terra-cotta, known as "Della Robbia ware." The idea of overlaying clay with a glazing was not original with Luca della Robbia, but he seems to have been the first to apply it to sculpture. In his own day he was looked upon as a great inventor, and his works were very popular. The material was inexpensive, and lent itself readily to all sorts of decorative purposes. Its beauty, moreover, was of a lasting quality. While paintings fade, the Della Robbia ware, "gem like, shall as very gems endure."[32] The only injury to which it is liable is the breaking off of some projecting portions. In our picture we see that a fragment is broken out of the child's wrist. Fortunately, however, there are no defects in the important parts of the work.

The figures are in the centre of a lunette or semi-circular composition, with an adoring angel on each side holding a jar of lilies. The piece is set up over a doorway on the outside of a building in a narrow street in Florence. The location explains the attitude of the mother and child. If they looked directly out of the picture as in an altar-piece, there would be but one place, on the opposite side of the street, where the passer-by could meet their eyes. As it is, they turn their faces toward the vista of the street as if to welcome the approaching wayfarer. While still a long way off one feels the cheerful influence of their gaze. Even when coming from the opposite direction it is pleasant, after passing the door, to know that the friendly eyes follow us on our way.

The workmanship of Luca is seen in the artistic qualities of the sculpture. There was a severe simplicity in his drawing of the outline and draperies which contrasted with the more elaborate work of his followers. Luca was also a close student of nature, and drew his materials from the world about him.

[Footnote 28: At the Marriage of Cana, St. John, chapter ii., verses 3-5.]

[Footnote 29: St. John ii., verse 12, and St. Matthew, chapter xii., verse 46.]

[Footnote 30: St. John, chapter xix., verse 25.]

[Footnote 31: Wordsworth's "She was a Phantom of Delight."]

[Footnote 32: From some verses by Edith M. Thomas, "A Della Robbia Garland," printed in _The Critic_, December, 1901.]

VIII

THE MEETING OF ST. FRANCIS AND ST. DOMINICK

BY ANDREA DELLA ROBBIA

In the beginning of the thirteenth century two men living in different countries of Europe were struck simultaneously with the same idea. They were St. Dominick, the Spaniard, and St. Francis, the Italian, and each determined to found a new religious order.[33] Hitherto the members of religious orders had shut themselves up in the solitude of monasteries and convents. In the new plan they were to mingle freely with the people, calling themselves brothers, or friars.

The first object of the Dominicans was to be preachers, and they were called Frati Predicatori. The Franciscans took the humbler name of the Frati Minori, or lesser brothers. The members of both orders were bound by a vow of poverty to possess nothing of their own. Like the disciples whom Jesus sent out, they were to carry neither purse nor scrip, but beg their food and raiment on their way. It is for this that they are called mendicant orders.

The affairs of their orders brought both St. Dominick and St. Francis to Rome at the same time. The two men met and embraced, each seeing in the other a kindred spirit. It was proposed to unite the two bodies in one, and St. Dominick favored this plan. He had won but a few followers, and St. Francis already had many. The Brother Minor however was sure that such union would be impossible. The two men were indeed of widely contrasting characters. St. Dominick was a scholar, a man of fiery and energetic temperament. St. Francis was unlettered, but his mind was poetic and imaginative, his nature gentle and humble. St. Dominick was known as the "Hammer of the Heretics," St. Francis as the "Father of the Poor."

A bas-relief by Andrea della Robbia represents the meeting of St. Dominick with St. Francis.[34] It is apparently the artist's intention to emphasize the kinship rather than the contrast between the two men. Both have the thin faces and sharp features of the ascetic. Their shaven faces and tonsured heads heighten the resemblance between them. Both have the same type of hand, with the long fingers which are characteristic of a sensitive nature.[35] A disc over the head of each symbolizes his saintliness.

Naturally the characters of the founders were impressed upon their respective orders. The Dominicans were more aggressive in their methods and zealous in persecuting all forms of heresy. The Franciscans, on the other hand, strove for the higher life of sanctity. The members of each order wore a distinctive dress, such as we see in our picture. The Franciscan habit was at first gray, and afterwards dark brown; it is gray in the bas-relief. It consisted of a plain tunic with long loose sleeves and a scanty cape to which a hood was attached. A knotted cord fastened the garment around the waist, to remind the wearer that the body is a beast which should be subdued by a halter. The Dominican habit was a white woollen gown fastened about the waist with a girdle. A white scapular was worn over this, and over all, a black cloak with a hood.

We see at once in our picture that St. Dominick is the elder of the two men. There was really a difference of twenty years in their ages, but the artist has made it less. It is as if each, upon seeing the other approach, had hastened forward with outstretched hands. They stand now face to face with interlocked arms in mutual contemplation. It is a moment of perfect understanding. With widely different ideas of ways and means, they have at heart a single common aim. Both are called to the same great work, and each feels strengthened by the contact.

The profile of St. Francis shows the sensitive lines of his face. Tradition tells us that he was a man of more than average height, with black eyes, and soft sonorous voice. His expression here is serene, as one would expect of the gentle friar who called all the beasts his brethren, and talked with the birds as familiar companions. St. Dominick has a more strenuous countenance, and is perhaps more deeply moved than the other. He leans forward and peers into St. Francis's face with an expression of great tenderness. One is reminded of a beautiful verse in one of the Hebrew psalms (the eighty-fifth), "Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other."

The artistic qualities of this relief place it among the best works by Andrea della Robbia. Only a skilful artist could have rendered the draperies with such grace and simplicity. They have been compared with the draperies of the painters Raphael and Bartolommeo. It is said that the faces were left unglazed in order that all the lines of the modelling might be preserved.

[Footnote 33: The lives of both saints are related in _The Golden Legend_. In Caxton's translation (Temple Classics) see volume iv., p. 172, for St. Dominick, and volume v., p. 215, for St. Francis. Mrs. Jameson's _Legends of the Monastic Orders_ contains an admirable account of the character and work of the two men. _The Little Flowers of St. Francis_ is a series of legends collected about two hundred years after his death. There is an English translation by Abby Langdon Alger. Sabatier's _Life of St. Francis_ is an exhaustive biography.]

[Footnote 34: A tradition that St. Francis and St. Dominick met in Florence, on the site of the present Loggia of S. Paolo, accounts for the placing of this bas-relief there. See the Misses Horner's _Walks in Florence_, vol. i., p. 448.]

[Footnote 35: The reader who is familiar with the typical figure of St. Francis in sacred art may miss the sign of the wound print (the stigmata) in his hand. Here Andrea is historically accurate, as the vision of St. Francis occurred four years after the confirmation of the Order.]

IX

ST. GEORGE

BY DONATELLO

In the third century of the present era lived the Christian knight George of Cappadocia. Going forth after the usual knightly fashion in search of adventures, he came to the province of Libya. The country was at that time ravaged by a dragon whose lair was a great pond near the royal city of Silene. When the monster came forth the air was filled with the poisonous vapor of his breath. To insure the safety of the city two sheep were daily given to feed him.

At length the supply failed, and now the people had to give their own children. The victims were chosen by lot, and after many had perished the lot fell upon the beautiful princess Cleodolinda. The king besought the people to spare his daughter, offering gold and silver for her ransom. They would have none of it, but declared that the princess must meet her fate. Arrayed as for her bridal, she was led out to the place where the dragon was wont to come for his prey.

While she stood here weeping, St. George chanced to ride by and inquired the cause of her distress. Hearing her pitiable story he assured her she had nothing to fear. Just then the dragon came in sight, and the knight, charging full upon him, wounded him with his sword. Then taking the girdle of theprincess, he tied it about the neck of the beast and led him into the city. The people all came out to see the wonder, and in the presence of a great company St. George smote off the dragon's head.

The further adventures of the knight were in behalf of the Christians, who were persecuted by the Emperor Diocletian. Selling all that he had, he gave it to the poor and boldly denounced the pagans. All sorts of tortures were devised to force him to renounce his faith, but in every persecution he was miraculously preserved from harm. At length the provost caused him to be beheaded, and offering his last prayers St. George went to his death.

In our statue St. George is represented as a warrior standing at rest while he surveys the enemy. His young figure is as straight as an arrow. The litheness of his body is apparent even through his armor. He holds his head erect in conscious power, yet with no arrogance. Evidently he measures the difficulty carefully, for he seems to knit his brows as he looks abroad. He has a gentle face, but it is thoroughly masculine.

The hands are beautiful, and full of character, large and flexible. The left one rests on a shield which bears the sign of the cross. The armor, we see, has a more than literal significance. This is the "shield of faith" wherewith the Christian shall be able "to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked." St. George is the impersonation of the soldier who wars "not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places."[36]

The figure naturally suggests comparison with antique sculpture. We are reminded of Apollo or Hermes as the Greeks loved to represent them.[37] The beautiful head with its curling hair is indeed that of a god. In the graceful attitude also, the sculptor, Donatello, has perfectly expressed the sense of repose which was characteristic of Greek sculpture. We note, however, that while a Greek statue would have been nude St. George is clad in armor. The expression of the countenance is, moreover, quite foreign to the Greek temper. Those knitted brows show a strenuousness of character incompatible with the serenity of the gods.

The statue of St. George, like that of St. Philip, was originally made to fill one of the niches on the outside of Or San Michele. Below it was a bas-relief representing the slaying of the dragon. The work was the gift of the Guild of Sword Makers and Armorers, whose patron saint was the Knight of Cappadocia. In an exposed position on the church the precious marble was injured by the weather. Accordingly it was removed to a museum, and a bronze copy was set up in its place.

The popularity of St. George is by no means confined to Italy. In England too his memory is held in great respect. "For England and St. George" was an old battle-cry which linked the name of the patron saint with that of the native land. His character is our ideal of the Christian hero, chivalrous towards the weak, courageous in danger, and devoted above all things to the service of God.

Donatello's statue embodies this ideal, and is his highest imaginative work. Being chiefly interested in the study of expression, he often seemed to care very little whether his subjects were beautiful or not. Here beauty and expressiveness are united.

There is an old tradition that Michelangelo, passing one day the church of Or San Michele, paused before the St. George and exclaimed "Cammina!" that is, "Forward, march!" The story is doubtless purely fictitious, but it shows how lifelike the statue appears. As an old writer (Vasari) put it, "Life seems to move within that stone."

[Footnote 36: Ephesians, chapter vi., verses 16 and 12.]

[Footnote 37: See chapters VI. and XI. in the volume on _Greek Sculpture_, in the Riverside Art Series.]

X

BAMBINO

BY ANDREA DELLA ROBBIA