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Title: The Venetian School of Painting
Author: Evelyn March Phillipps
Release Date: September 26, 2009 [eBook #30098]
Language: English
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THE VENETIAN SCHOOL OF PAINTING
[Illustration: _Giorgione._
MADONNA WITH S. LIBERALE AND S. FRANCIS.
_Castelfranco._
(_Photo, Anderson._)]
THE VENETIAN SCHOOL OF PAINTING
by
EVELYN MARCH PHILLIPPS
With Illustrations
Books for Libraries Press
Freeport, New York
First Published 1912
Reprinted 1972
International Standard Book Number: 0-8369-6745-3
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 70-37907
Printed in the United States of America
By
New World Book Manufacturing Co., Inc.
Hallandale, Florida 33009
PREFACE
Many visits to Venice have brought home the fact that there exists,
in English at least, no work which deals as a whole with the Venetian
School and its masters. Biographical catalogues there are in plenty, but
these, though useful for reference, say little to readers who are not
already acquainted with the painters whose career and works are briefly
recorded. "Lives" of individual masters abound, but however excellent
and essential these may be to an advanced study of the school, the
volumes containing them make too large a library to be easily carried
about, and a great deal of reading and assimilation is required to set
each painter in his place in the long story. Crowe and Cavalcaselle's
_History of Painting in North Italy_ still remains our sheet anchor; but
it is lengthy, over full of detail of minor painters, and lacks the
interesting criticism which of late years has collected round each
master. There seems room for a portable volume, making an attempt to
consider the Venetian painters, in relation to one another, and to help
the visitor not only to trace the evolution of the school from its dawn,
through its full splendour and to its declining rays, but to realise
what the Venetian School was, and what was the philosophy of life which
it represented.
Such a book does not pretend to vie with, much less to supersede, the
masterly treatises on the subject which have from time to time appeared,
or to take the place of exhaustive histories, such as that of Professor
Leonello Venturi on the Italian primitives. It should but serve to pave
the way to deeper and more detailed reading. It does not aspire to give
a complete and comprehensive list of the painters; some of the minor
ones may not even be mentioned. The mere inclusion of names, dates, and
facts would add unduly to the size of the book, and, when without real
bearing on the course of Venetian art, would have little significance.
What the book does aim at is to enable those who care for art, but may
not have mastered its history, to rear a framework on which to found
their own observations and appreciations; to supply that coherent
knowledge which is beneficial even to a passing acquaintance with
beautiful things, and to place the unscientific observer in a position
to take greater advantage of opportunities, and to achieve a wide and
interesting outlook on that cycle of artistic apprehension which the
Venetian School comprises, and which marks it as the outcome and the
symbol of a great historic age.
The works cited have been principally those with which the ordinary
traveller is likely to come into contact in the chief European
galleries, and, above all, in Venice itself. The lists do not propose to
be exhaustive, but merely indicate the principal works of the artists.
Those in private galleries, unless easy of access or of first-rate
importance, are usually eliminated. It has not been thought necessary to
use profuse illustrations, as the book is intended primarily for use
when visiting the original works.
CONTENTS
PART I
CHAPTER I PAGE
VENICE AND HER ART 3
CHAPTER II
PRIMITIVE ART IN VENICE 11
CHAPTER III
INFLUENCES OF UMBRIA AND VERONA 21
CHAPTER IV
THE SCHOOL OF MURANO 29
CHAPTER V
THE PADUAN INFLUENCE 33
CHAPTER VI
JACOPO BELLINI 39
CHAPTER VII
CARLO CRIVELLI 44
CHAPTER VIII
GENTILE BELLINI AND
ANTONELLO DA MESSINA 48
CHAPTER IX
ALVISE VIVARINI 58
CHAPTER X
CARPACCIO 68
CHAPTER XI
GIOVANNI BELLINI 81
CHAPTER XII
GIOVANNI BELLINI (_continued_) 92
CHAPTER XIII
CIMA DA CONEGLIANO AND OTHER
FOLLOWERS OF BELLINI 103
PART II
CHAPTER XIV
GIORGIONE 121
CHAPTER XV
GIORGIONE (_continued_) 132
CHAPTER XVI
THE GIORGIONESQUE 140
CHAPTER XVII
TITIAN 144
CHAPTER XVIII
TITIAN (_continued_) 157
CHAPTER XIX
TITIAN (_continued_) 173
CHAPTER XX
PALMA VECCHIO AND LORENZO LOTTO 184
CHAPTER XXI
SEBASTIAN DEL PIOMBO 198
CHAPTER XXII
BONIFAZIO AND PARIS BORDONE 203
CHAPTER XXIII
PAINTERS OF THE VENETIAN PROVINCES 212
CHAPTER XXIV
PAOLO VERONESE 228
CHAPTER XXV
TINTORETTO 243
CHAPTER XXVI
TINTORETTO (_continued_) 254
CHAPTER XXVII
BASSANO 269
PART III
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE INTERIM 281
CHAPTER XXIX
TIEPOLO 297
CHAPTER XXX
PIETRO LONGHI 309
CHAPTER XXXI
CANALE 314
CHAPTER XXXII
FRANCESCO GUARDI 321
BIBLIOGRAPHY 329
INDEX 333
ILLUSTRATIONS
BY AT
1. Madonna with S. Liberale Giorgione Castelfranco
and S. Francis _Frontispiece_
2. Adoration of the Antonio da Murano Berlin
Magi 31
3. Agony in Garden Jacopo Bellini British Museum 41
4. Procession of the Gentile Bellini Venice
Holy Cross 52
5. Altarpiece of 1480 Alvise Vivarini Venice 60
6. Arrival of the Carpaccio Venice
Ambassadors 75
7. Pietà Giovanni Bellini Brera 87
8. An Allegory Giovanni Bellini Uffizi 94
9. Fête Champêtre Giorgione Louvre 136
10. Portrait of Ariosto Titian National Gallery 156
11. Diana and Actaeon Titian Earl Brownlow 161
12. Holy Family Palma Vecchio Colonna Gallery,
Rome 185
13. Portrait of Laura di Lorenzo Lotto Brera
Pola 194
14. Marriage in Cana Paolo Veronese Louvre 234
15. S. Mary of Egypt Tintoretto Scuola di
San Rocco 258
16. Bacchus and Ariadne Tintoretto Ducal Palace 261
17. Baptism of S. Lucilla Jacopo da Ponte Bassano 274
18. Antony and Cleopatra Tiepolo Palazzo Labia,
Venice 304
19. Visit to the Pietro Longhi National Gallery
Fortune-Teller 310
20. S. Maria della Salute Francesco Guardi National Gallery 324
LIST OF PAINTERS
Paolo da Venezia, _fl._ 1333-1358.
Niccolo di Pietro, _fl._ 1394-1404.
Niccolo Semitocolo, _fl._ 1364.
Stefano di Venezia, _fl._ 1353.
Lorenzo Veneziano, _fl._ 1357-1379.
Chatarinus, _fl._ 1372.
Jacobello del Fiore, _fl._ 1415-1439.
Gentile da Fabriano, 1360-1428.
Vittore Pisano (Pisanello), _circa_ 1385-1455.
Michele Giambono, _fl._ 1470.
Giovanni Alemanus, _fl._ 1440-1447.
Antonio da Murano, _circa_ 1430-1470.
Bartolommeo Vivarini, _fl._ 1420-1499.
Alvise Vivarini, _fl._ 1461-1503.
Antonello da Messina, _circa_ 1444-1493.
Jacopo Bellini, _fl._ 1430-1466.
Jacopo dei Barbari, _circa_ 1450-1516.
Andrea Mantegna, 1431-1506.
Carlo Crivelli, 1430-1493.
Bartolommeo Montagna, 1450-1523.
Francesco Buonsignori, 1453-1519.
Gentile Bellini, _circa_ 1427-1507.
Giovanni Bellini, 1426-1516.
Lazzaro Bastiani, _fl._ 1470-1508.
Vittore Carpaccio, _fl._ 1478-1522.
Girolamo da Santa Croce.
Mansueti, _fl._ 1474-1510.
Giovanni Battista da Conegliano (Cima), 1460-1517.
Vincenzo Catena, _fl._ 1495-1531.
Bissolo, 1464-1528.
Marco Basaiti, _circa_ 1470-1527.
Andrea Previtali, _fl._ 1502-1525.
Bartolommeo Veneto, _fl._ 1505-1555.
N. Rondinelli, _fl._ 1480-1500.
Girolamo Savoldo, 1480-1548.
Giorgio Barbarelli (Giorgione), 1478-1511.
Giovanni Busi (Cariani), _circa_ 1480-1544.
Tiziano Vecellio (Titian), 1477-1576.
Palma Vecchio, 1480-1528.
Lorenzo Lotto, 1480-1556.
Martino da Udine (Pellegrino di San Daniele).
Morto da Feltre, _circa_ 1474-1522.
Romanino, 1485-1566.
Sebastian Luciani (del Piombo), 1485-1547.
Giovanni Antonino Licinio (Pordenone), 1483-1540.
Bernardino Licinio, _fl._ 1520-1544.
Alessandro Bonvicino (Moretto), _circa_ 1498-1554.
Bonifazio de Pitatis (Veronese), _fl._ 1510-1540.
Paris Bordone, 1510-1570.
Jacopo da Ponte (Bassano), 1510-1592.
Jacopo Robusti (Tintoretto), 1518-1592.
Paolo Caliari (Veronese), 1528-1588.
Domenico Robusti, 1562-1637.
Palma Giovine, 1544-1628.
Alessandro Varotari (Il Padovanino), 1590-1650.
Gianbattista Fumiani, 1643-1710.
Sebastiano Ricci, 1662-1734.
Gregorio Lazzarini, 1657-1735.
Rosalba Carriera, 1675-1757.
G. B. Piazetta, 1682-1754.
Gianbattista Tiepolo, 1696-1770.
Antonio Canale (Canaletto), 1697-1768.
Belotto, 1720-1780.
Francesco Guardi, 1712-1793.
PART I
CHAPTER I
VENICE AND HER ART
Venetian painting in its prime differs altogether in character from
that of every other part of Italy. The Venetian is the most marked and
recognisable of all the schools; its singularity is such that a novice
in art can easily, in a miscellaneous collection, sort out the works
belonging to it, and added to this unique character is the position it
occupies in the domain of art. Venice alone of Italian States can boast
an epoch of art comparable in originality and splendour to that of her
great Florentine rival; an epoch which is to be classed among the great
art manifestations of the world, which has exerted, and continues to
exert, incalculable power over painting, and which is the inspiration as
well as the despair of those who try to master its secret.
The other schools of Italy, with all their superficial varieties of
treatment and feeling, depended for their very life upon the extent to
which they were able to imbibe the Florentine influence. Siena rejected
that strength and perished; Venice bided her time and suddenly struck
out on independent lines, achieving a magnificent victory.
Art in Florence made a strictly logical progress. As civilisation awoke
in the old Latin race, it went back in every domain of learning to the
rich subsoil which still underlay the ruin and the alien structures left
by the long barbaric dominion, for the Italian in his darkest hour had
never been a barbarian; and as the mind was once more roused to
conscious life, Florence entered readily upon that great intellectual
movement which she was destined to lead. Her cast of thought was, from
the first, realistic and scientific. Its whole endeavour was to know the
truth, to weigh evidences, to elaborate experiments, to see things as
they really were; and when she reached the point at which art was ready
to speak, we find that the governing motive of her language was this
same predilection for reality, and it was with this meaning that her
typical artists found a voice. No artist ever sought for truth, both
physical and spiritual, more resolutely than Giotto, and none ever spoke
more distinctly the mind of his age and country; and as one generation
follows another, art in Tuscany becomes more and more closely allied to
the intellectual movement. The scientific predilection for _form_, for
the representation of things as they really are, characterises not
Florentine painting alone, but the whole of Florentine art. It is an art
of contributions and discoveries, marked, it is needless to say, at
every step by dominating personalities, positively as well as relatively
great, but with each member consciously absorbed in "going one better"
than his predecessors, in solving problems and in mastering methods.
Florentine art is the outcome of Florentine life and thought. It is part
of the definite clear-cut view of thought and reason, of that exactitude
of apprehension towards which the whole Florentine mind was bent, and
the lesser tributaries, as they flowed towards her, formed themselves on
her pattern and worked upon the same lines, so that they have a certain
general resemblance, and their excellence is in proportion to the
thoroughness with which they have learned their lesson.
The difference which separates Venetian from the rest of Italian
painting is a fundamental one. Venice attains to an equally
distinguished place, but the way in which she does it and the character
of her contribution are both so absolutely distinct that her art seems
to be the outcome of another race, with alien temperament and standards.
Venice had, indeed, a history and a life of her own. Her entire
isolation, from her foundation, gave her an independent government and
customs peculiar to herself, but at the same time her people, even in
their earliest and most precarious struggles, were no barbarians who
had slowly to acquire the arts of civilised life. Among the refugees
were persons of high birth and great traditions, and they brought with
them to the first crazy settlement on the lagoons some political
training and some idea of how to reconstruct their shattered social
fabric. The Venetian Republic rose rapidly to a position of influence
in Europe. Small and circumscribed as its area was, every feature and
sentiment was concentrated and intensified. But one element above all
permeates it and sets it apart from other European States. The Oriental
element in Venice must never be lost sight of if we wish to understand
her philosophy of art.
There are some grounds, seriously accepted by the most recent
historians, for believing that the first Venetian colonists were the
descendants of emigrants who in prehistoric times had established
themselves in Asia and who had returned from thence to Northern Italy.
"These colonists," says Hazlitt, "were called Tyrrhenians, and from
their settlements round the mouth of the Po the Venetian stock was
ultimately derived." If the tradition has any truth, we think with a
deeper interest of that instinct for commerce which seems to have been
in the very blood of the early Venetians. Did it, indeed, come down to
them from the merchants of Tyre and Carthage? From that wonderful
trading race which stretched out its arms all over Europe and
penetrated even to our own island? From the first, Venice cut herself
adrift, as far as possible, from Western ties, but she turned to Eastern
people and to intercourse with the East with a natural affinity which
savours of racial instinct. All her greatness was derived from her
Asiatic trade, and her bazaars, heaped with Eastern riches, must have
assumed a deeply Oriental aspect. Her customs long retained many details
peculiar to the East. The people observed a custom for choosing and
dowering brides, which was of Asia. The national treatment of women was
akin to that of an Oriental State; Venetian women lived in a retirement
which recalled the life of the harem, only appearing on great occasions
to display their brocades and jewels. Girls were closely veiled when
they passed through the streets. The attachment of men to women had no
intellectual bias, scarcely any sentiment, but "went straight to the
mark: the enjoyment of physical beauty." The position of women in Venice
was a great contrast to that attained by the Florentine lady of the
Renaissance, who was highly educated, deeply versed in men and in
affairs, the fine flower of culture, and the queen of a brilliant
society. The love for colour and gorgeous pageantry was of Semitic
intensity and seemed insatiable, and the gratification of the senses
was a deliberate State policy. But passionate as was the spirit of
patriotism, enthusiastic the love and loyalty of the people, the civic
spirit was absent. The masses were contented to live under a despotic
rule and to be little despots in their own houses. In the twelfth
century the people saw power pass into the hands of the aristocracy, and
as long as the despotism was a benevolent one, the event aroused no
opposition. Like Orientals, the Venetians had wild outbursts, and like
them they quieted down and nothing came of them. As Mr. Hazlitt remarks,
"their occasional resistance to tyranny, though marked by deeds of
horrid and dark cruelty, left no deep or enduring traces behind it. It
established no principle. It taught no lesson." Venice was a Republic
only in name. The whole aspect of her government is Eastern. Its system
of espionage, its secret tribunals, its swift and silent blows,--these
are all Oriental traits, and the East entering into her whole life
from without found a natural home awaiting it. We should be mistaken,
however, in thinking that the Venetians in their great days were
enervated and lapped in the sensuality which we are apt to associate
with Eastern ideals. Sensuality did in the end drain the life out of
her. "It is the disease which attacks sensuousness, but it is not the
same thing." The Venetians were by nature men with a deep capacity for
feeling, and it is this deep feeling which has so large a share in
Venetian art.
The painters of Venice were of the people and had no wide intellectual
outlook at its most splendid moment, such as was possessed by those men
who in Florence were drawn into the company of the Medici and their
court of scholars, and who all their lives were in the midst of a
society of large aims and a free public spirit, in which men took their
share of the responsibilities and honours of a citizen's life. The
merchant-patrons of Venice are quite uninterested in the solving of
problems. They pay a price, and they want a good show of colour and
gilding for their money. Presently they buy from outside, and a
half-hearted imitation of foreigners is the best ambition of Venetian
artists. Art, it has been said, does not declare itself with true
spontaneity till it feels behind it the weight and unanimity of the
whole body of the people. That true outburst was long in coming, but its
seeds were fructifying deep in a congenial soil. They were fostered by
the warmth and colour of Oriental intercourse, and at last the racial
instinct speaks with no uncertain accent in the great domain of art, and
speaks in a new and unexpected way; as splendid as, yet utterly unlike,
the grand intellectual declaration of Florence.
Let us bear in mind, then, that Venice in all her history, in all
her character, is Eastern rather than Western. Hers is the kingdom
of feeling rather than that of thought, of emotion as opposed to
intellect. Her whole story tells of a profoundly emotional and sensuous
apprehension of the nature of things; and till the time comes when her
artists are inspired to express that, their creations may be interesting
enough, but they fail to reveal the true workings of her mind. When they
do, they find a new medium and use it in a new way. Venetian colour,
when it comes into its kingdom, speaks for a whole people, sensuous and
of deep feeling, able for the first time to utter itself in art.
We have to divide the history of the Venetian School into three parts.
The first extends from the primitives to the end of Giovanni Bellini's
life. He forms a link between the first and second periods. The second
begins with Giorgione and ends with Tintoretto and Bassano, and is the
Venetian School proper. Thirdly, we have the eighteenth-century revival,
in which Tiepolo is the most conspicuous figure, and which is in an
equal degree the expression of the life of its time.
CHAPTER II
PRIMITIVE ART IN VENICE
The school of Byzantium, so widespread in its influence, was
particularly strong in Venice, where mosaics adorned the cathedral
of Torcello from the ninth century and St. Mark's became a splendid
storehouse of Byzantine art. The earliest mosaic on the façade of St.
Mark's was executed about the year 1250, those in the Baptistery date
during the reign of Andrea Dandolo, who was Doge from 1342 to 1354. Yet
though the life of Giotto lies between these two dates, and his frescoes
at Padua were within a few hours' journey, there is no sign that the
great revolution in painting, which was making itself felt in every
principal centre of Italy, had touched the richest and most peaceful of
all her States.
Yet local art in Venice was no outcome of Byzantinism. It rose as that
of the mosaicists fell, but its rise differs from that of Florence and
Siena in being for long almost imperceptible. Artists were looked upon
merely as artisans in all the cities of Italy, but in Venice before any
other city they had been placed among the craftsmen. The statute of the
Guild of Siena was not formulated till 1355; that of Venice is the
earliest of which we have any record, and bears the date of 1272. There
is scarcely a word to indicate that pictures in the modern sense of the
term existed. Painters were employed on the adornment of arms and of
household furniture. Leather helmets and shields were painted, and such
banners as we see in Paolo Uccello's battlepieces. Painted chests and
_cassoni_ were already in demand, dishes and plates for the table and
the surface of the table itself were treated in a similar way. Special
regulations dealt with all these, and it is only at the end of the list
that anconæ are mentioned. The ancona was a gilded framework, having a
compartment containing a picture of the Madonna and Child, and others
with single figures of the saints, and these were the only pictures
proper produced at this date. The demand for anconæ was, however, large,
and they were very early placed, not only in the churches, but in the
houses of patricians and burghers. Constant disputes arose between the
painters and the gilders. Pictures were habitually painted upon a gold
ground, but the painters were forbidden to gild the backgrounds
themselves. "Gilding is the business of the gilder, painting that of the
painter," says a contemporary record. "Now the gilder contends that if
a frame has to be gilt and then touched with colour, he is entitled to
perform both operations, but the painter disputes this right, and
maintains that the gilder should return it to him when the addition
of painting is desired." It was, however, finally decided by law that
each should exercise both professions, when one or the other played a
subordinate part in the finished work. Though the art of mosaic was
falling into decay as painting began to emerge, yet the commercial
manufactory of Byzantine Madonnas, which had been established as early
as 600, went on, on the Rialto, without any variation of the traditional
forms.
Florence very early discarded the temptation to cling to material
splendour, but as we pass into the Hall of the Primitives in the
Venetian Academy, we see at once that Venetian art, in its earlier
stages, has more to do with the gilder than the painter. The Holy
Personages are merely accessories to the gorgeous framework, the
embossed ornaments, the real jewels, which were in favour with the rich
and magnificent patrons. There is no sign of any feeling for painting
as painting, no craving after the study of form as the outcome of
intellectual activity, no zest of discovery, such as made the painter's
life in Florence an excitement in which the public shared. What little
Venice imbibes of these things is from outside influence, after due
lapse of time. A prosperous, luxurious city of merchants and statesmen,
she was too much bound up in the transactions and sensations of actual
life to develop any abstract and thoughtful ideals.
Perhaps the first painting we can discover which shows any sign of
independent effort is the series which Paolo da Venezia painted on the
back of the Pala d' Oro, over the high altar of St. Mark, when it was
restored in the fourteenth century. This reveals an artist with some
pictorial aptitude and one alive to the subjects that surround him. It
tells the story of St. Mark's corpse transported to Venice. The first
panel contains a group of cardinals of varying types and expressions; in
another the disciple listening to St. Mark's teaching, and crouching
with his elbows on his knees, has a true, natural touch. The dramatic
feeling here and there is considerable. The scene of the guards watching
the imprisoned Saint through the window and seeing the shadow of two
heads, as the Saviour visits him, imparts a distinct emotion; and there
is force as well as feeling for decorative composition in the panel in
which the Saint's body lies at the feet of the sailors, while his vision
appears shining upon the sails.
Except for the exaggerated insistence on the gilded elaborations of the
early ancona, there is not much to differentiate the early art of Venice
from that of other centres; but we notice that it persevered longer in
the material and mechanical art of the craftsman. Tuscan taste made
little impression, and many years elapsed before work akin to that of
Giotto attracted attention and was admired and imitated. A man like
Antonio Veneziano met with the fate of the innovator in Venice. He had
too much of the simplicity of the Tuscan and was compelled to carry his
work to Pisa, where his naïf and humorous narratives still delight us in
the Campo Santo. It was in 1384 that he was employed to finish the
frescoes of the life of S. Ranieri, which had been left uncompleted
at Andrea da Firenze's death, and the fondness for architecture and
surroundings in the Florentine taste, which secured him a welcome, may,
as Vasari says, be derived from Agnolo Gaddi, who had already visited
Padua and Venice.
In the last years of the fourteenth century tributary streams begin to
feed the feeble main current. In 1365 Guariento, a Paduan, was employed
by the State to paint a huge fresco of Paradise in the Hall of the Gran
Consiglio of the Ducal Palace. This, which lay hid for centuries under
the painting by Tintoretto, was uncovered in 1909 and found to be in
fairly good preservation. It can now be seen in a side room. It tells us
that Guariento had to some extent been influenced by Giotto. The thrones
have long Gothic pendatives, the faces have more the Giottesque than the
Byzantine cast and show that the old traditions were crumbling.
When painting in Venice first begins to live a life of its own,
Jacobello del Fiore stands out as the most conspicuous of the indigenous
Venetians. His father had been president of the Painters' Guild. Jacopo
himself was president from 1415 to 1436. He was a rich and popular
member of the State and a man of high character. His works, to judge
by the specimens left, hardly attained the dignity of art, though in
the banner of "Justice," in the Academy, the space is filled in a
monumental fashion and the figure of St. Gabriel with the lily has
something grand and graceful. We trace the same treatment of flying
banners and draperies and rippling hair in the fantastic but picturesque
S. Grisogono in the left transept of San Trovaso. Jacobello's will,
executed in 1439 in favour of his wife Lucia and his son, Ercole, with
provision for a possible posthumous son, shows him to have been a man of
considerable possessions. He owned a slave and had other servants, a
house, money, and books. Among his fellow-workers who are represented in
Venice are Niccolo Semitocolo, Niccolo di Pietro, and Lorenzo Veneziano.
The important altarpiece by the last, in the Academy, has evidently been
reconstructed; two Eternal Fathers hover over the Annunciation, and the
Saints have been restored to the framework in such wise that the backs
of many of them are turned on the momentous central event. In the
"Marriage of St. Catherine," in the same gallery, Lorenzo gets more
natural. The Child, in a light green dress with gold buttons, has a
lively expression, and looks round at His Mother as if playing a game.
The chapel of San Tarasio in San Zaccaria contains an ancona of which
the central panel was only inserted in 1839, and is identical with
Lorenzo's other work. One of the finest and most elaborate of all the
anconæ is in San Giovanni in Bragora, and is also the work of Lorenzo.
In this, as well as in that of San Tarasio, the Mother offers the Child
the apple, signifying the fruit of the Tree of Jesse and symbolical of
the Incarnation. This incident, which is found thus early in art, was
evidently felt to raise the group of the Mother and Child from a
representation of a merely earthly relationship to a spiritual scene
of the deepest meaning and the highest dignity.
Niccolo di Pietro has several early works of the last decade of the
fourteenth century, from which we gather that he began as a Byzantine,
but that he imitated Guariento and was tentatively drawn to the
Giottesque movement, but not, we may remember, before Giotto had been
dead for some sixty years. Niccolo di Pietro has been confounded with
Niccolo Semitocolo, but it is now realised that they were two distinct
masters. The most important work of Michele Giambono which has come
down to us is the signed ancona with five saints, now in the Venetian
Academy. It is unusual to find a saint in the central panel instead of
the Madonna. The saint is on a larger scale than his companions, and has
hitherto passed as the Redeemer, but Professor Venturi has identified
him as St. James the Great. He has the gold scallop-shell and pilgrim's
staff. It is clear from his size and position that the ancona has been
painted for an altar specially dedicated to this Apostle.
The saints on the right are S. Michael and S. Louis of Toulouse. Between
S. John the Evangelist and S. James is a monastic figure which has
evidently changed places with S. John at some moment of restoration. If
the two figures are transposed, their attitudes become intelligible. S.
John is inculcating a message inscribed in his open book, while the monk
is displaying his humble answer on his own page. The use in it of the
term _servus_ suggests that he is a Servite, though the want of the
nimbus precludes the idea that he is one of the founders. It is probable
that he is S. Filipo Benizzi, who, though considered as a saint from the
time of his death, was not canonised for several centuries.
The Mond Collection includes a glowing picture by Giambono; a seated
figure clad in rich vestments and holding an orb, probably representing
a "Throne," one of the angelic orders of the celestial Hierarchy.[1]
[1] These interesting particulars are given by Mr. G. M'N.
Rushforth in the _Burlington Magazine_ for October 1911.
Works are still in existence which may be ascribed to one or other of
these masters, or of which no attribution can be made, but we know
nothing positive of any other artists of the time which preceded the
influence of Gentile da Fabriano. Nothing leads us to suppose that the
Venetian School in its origin had any pretension to be a school of
colour, or that it could claim anything like real excellence at a time
when the Republic first became alive to the movement which was going on
in other parts of Italy, and decided to call in foreign talent.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Paolo da Venezia._
Venice. St. Mark's: The Pala d' Oro.
Vicenza. Death of the Virgin.
_Lorenzo da Venezia._
Venice. Academy: Altarpiece.
Correr Museum: Saviour giving Keys to St. Peter.
S. Giovanni in Bragora: Ancona.
Berlin. Two Saints.
_Nicoletto Semitocolo._
Venice. Academy: Altarpiece.
Padua. Biblioteca Archivescovo: Altarpiece.
_Stefano da Venezia._
Venice. Academy: Coronation of Virgin, with false signature of
Semitocolo.
_Jacobello del Fiore._
Venice. Academy: Justice.
S. Trovaso: S. Grisogono.
_Niccolo di Pietro._
Venice. S. Maria dei Miracoli: Altarpiece.
_Michele Giambono._
Venice. Academy: St. James the Great and other Saints.
London. Mond Collection: A "Throne."
CHAPTER III
INFLUENCES OF UMBRIA AND VERONA
Gentile da Fabriano, the Umbrian master, when he reached Venice in the
early years of the fifteenth century, was already a man of note. He had
received his art education in Florence, and he brought with him fresh
and delicate devices for the enrichment of painting with gold, which,
derived as it was from the Sienese assimilation of Byzantine methods,
was very superior in fancy and refinement to anything that Venice had
to show. He was a man of a gentle, mystic temperament, but he was
accustomed to courts, and a finished master whose technique and artistic
value was far beyond anything that the local painters were capable of.
He spent some years in Venice, adorning the great hall with episodes
from the legend of Barbarossa; one of these, which is specially cited,
was of the battle between the Emperor and the Venetians. Gentile was
working till about 1414, and the walls, finished by Pisanello, were
covered by 1416. After this Gentile remained some time in Bergamo and
Brescia, and settled in Florence about 1422. The year after reaching
Florence, he painted the famous "Adoration of the Magi," now in the
Florentine Academy. Even after leaving Venice his fame survived;
pictures went from his workshop in the Popolo S. Trinità, and he sent
back two portraits after he had returned to his native Fabriano.
We have no positive record of Gentile and Vittore Pisano, commonly
called Pisanello, having met in Venice, but there is every evidence in
their work that they did so, and that one overlapped the other in the
paintings for the Ducal Palace.
The School of Verona already had an honourable record, and its Guild
dates from 1303. The following are its rules, the document of which is
still preserved, while that of Venice has been lost:
RULES OF THE VERONESE GUILD (_abridged_)
1. No one to become a member who had not practised art for
twelve years.
2. Twelve artists to be elected members.
3. The reception of a new member depends on his being a senior.
4. The members are obliged in the winter season to take upon
themselves the instruction of all the pupils in turn.
5. A member is liable to be expelled for theft.
6. Each member is bound to extend to another fraternal
assistance in necessity.
7. To maintain general agreement in any controversies.
8. To extend hospitality to strange artists.
9. To offer to one another reciprocal comfort.
10. To follow the funerals of members with torches.
11. The President is to exercise reference authority.
12. The member who has the longest membership to be President.
There were also by-laws, which provided that no master should accept
a pupil for less than three years, and this acceptance had to be
definitely registered by the public notary, a son, brother, grandson, or
nephew being the only exceptions. No master might receive an apprentice
who should have left another master before his time was out, unless with
that master's free consent. There were penalties for enticing away a
pupil, and others to be enforced against pupils who broke the agreement.
Severe restrictions existed with regard to the sale of pictures, no one
but a member of the Guild being allowed to sell them. No one might bring
a work from any foreign place for purposes of sale. It might not
even be brought to the town without the special permission of the
_Gastaldiones_, or trustees of the Guild, and those trustees were
permitted to search for and destroy forged pictures. Every painter,
therefore, had to subordinate his interests and inclinations to the
local school. It helps us to understand why the individual character of
the different masters is so perceptible, and one of the primary causes
of this must have been the careful training of the pupils in the
master's workshop.
The fresco left by Altichiero, Pisanello's first master, in the Church
of S. Anastasia in Verona, shows how worthily a Veronese painter was at
this early time following in the footsteps of Giotto. Three knights of
the Cavalli family are presented by their patron saints to the Madonna.
The composition has a large simplicity, a breadth of feeling which is
carried into each gesture. The knights with their raised helmets, in the
pattern of horses' heads, are full of reality, the Madonna is sweet and
dignified, and the saints are grand and stately. The picture has a
delightful suavity and ease, and the colouring has evidently been
lovely. The setting is in good proportion and more satisfactory than
that of the Giottesques. From the series of frescoes in S. Antonio,
Verona, we gather that while Venice was still limited to stiff anconæ,
the Veronese masters were managing crowds of figures and rendering
distances successfully. Altichiero puts in homely touches from everyday
life with a freedom which shows he has not yet mastered the principles
of selection or the dignified fitness which guided the great masters;
as, for instance, in the case of the old woman, among the spectators of
the Crucifixion, who shows her grief by blowing her nose. He lets
himself be drawn off by all manner of trivial detail and of gay costume;
but again in such frescoes as S. Lucia, or the "Beheading of St.
George," in the Paduan chapel of the Santo, he proves how well he
understands the force of solid, simply-draped figures, direct in gesture
and expression, while the decorative use he makes of lances against the
background was long afterwards perhaps imitated, but hardly surpassed,
by Tintoretto.
Pisanello, who followed quickly upon Altichiero and his assistant,
Avanzi, exhibits the same chivalresque and courtly inclinations which
commended Gentile da Fabriano to the splendour-loving Venetians. Verona,
under the peaceful but gallant government of the Scaligeri, had long
been the home of all knightly lore, and the artists had been employed to
decorate chapels for the families of the great nobles. Among these,
Pisanello had attained a high place. Though very few of his paintings
remain, they all show these influences, and his subtly modelled medals
establish him as a master of the most finished type. A much destroyed
fresco in S. Anastasia, Verona, portrays the history of St. George and
the Dragon. In the St. George we probably see the portrait of the great
personage in whose honour the fresco was painted. He is mounting his
horse, which, seen from behind, reminds us of the fore-shortened
chargers of Paolo Uccello. The rescued princess, also a portrait, wears
a magnificent dress and an elaborate headgear in the fashion of the day.
Other horses, fiery and spirited, are grouped around, and in the band
of cavaliers, beyond St. George, every head is individualised; one is
beautiful, another brutal, and so on through the seven. A greyhound
and spaniel in the foreground are superbly painted, the background is
excellent, and a realistic touch is given by the corpses which dangle
unheeded from the trees outside the castle-gate. A ruined, but
fortunately not restored, "Annunciation" in S. Fermo, has a simple,
slender figure of the Virgin sitting by her white bed, and the angel,
with great sweeping, rushing wings and bowed, child-like head with fair
hair, is a most sweet and keen figure, thrilling and convincing, in
contrast to all the dead, over-worked frescoes round the church. All
these paintings are too small to be the least effective at the height
at which they are placed, and can only be seen with a good glass.
Pisanello's art is not well adapted to wide, frescoed walls, and he
seems to have enjoyed painting miniature panels, such as the two we
possess. In these he is full of originality, and shows his love for the
knightly life, the life of courts, in the armed _cap-à-pied_ figure of
St. George, whose point-device armour is crowned by a wide Tuscan hat
and feather. The artist's knowledge and love of animals and wild nature
comes out in them, and his interest in beauty and chivalry as opposed to
the outworn conventionalities of ecclesiastic demands.
We shall be able to trace the influence of both the Umbrian and the
Veronese painter on men like Antonio di Murano and Jacopo Bellini, and
it is important to note the likeness of the two to one another. In
Gentile's "Adoration" we have on the one hand the Holy Family and the
gay pageant of the kings, of which we could find the prototype in many
an Umbrian panel. On the other we see those contrasting elements which
were struggling in Pisanello; the delight in flowers and animals, in
gaily apparelled figures, in dogs and horses. The two have no lasting
effect, but though they created no actual school, they gave a stimulus
to Venetian art, and started it on a new tack, enabling it to open its
channels to fresh ideas. During the time they were in Venice, Jacobello
del Fiore shows some signs of adapting the new fashion to his early
style, and the horse of S. Grisogono is very like that of Gentile in the
"Adoration," or like Pisano's horses. Michele Giambono is actually found
in collaboration, in the chapel of the Madonna da Mascoli in St. Mark's,
with such a virile painter as the Florentine, Andrea del Castagno, who
is evidently responsible for God the Father and two of the Apostles; but
Castagno must have been thoroughly antipathetic to the Venetians, and
though he may have taught them the way to draw, he has not left any
traces of a following.
Facio, writing in 1455, speaks of Gentile's work in the Ducal Palace as
already decaying, while Pisanello's was painted out by Alvise Vivarini
and Bellini.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Gentile da Fabriano._
Florence. Academy: Adoration of the Magi.
Milan. Brera: Altarpiece.
_Altichiero._
Padua. Capella S. Felice, S. Antonio: Frescoes.
Capella S. Giorgio, S. Anastasia: The Cavalli Family.
_Pisanello._
Padua. S. Anastasia: St. George and the Dragon.
Verona. S. Fermo: Annunciation.
London. S. George and S. Jerome; S. Eustace and the Stag.
CHAPTER IV
THE SCHOOL OF MURANO
The important little town of Murano, a satellite of Venice, lies upon an
island, some ten minutes' row from the mother State, distinct from which
it preserved separate interests and regulations. Its glass manufacture
was safeguarded by the most stringent decrees, which forbade members of
the Guild to leave the islet under pain of death. Its mosaics, stone
work, and architecture speak of an early artistic existence, and we
recognise the justice of the claim of Muranese painters to be the first
to strike out into a more emancipated type than that of the primitives.
The painter Giovanni of Murano, called Giovanni Alemanus or d' Alemagna,
names between which Venetian jealousy for a time drew an imaginary
distinction, had certainly received his early education in Germany, and
betrays it by his heavier ornamentation and more Gothic style; but he
was a fellow-worker with Antonio of Murano, the founder of the great
Vivarini family, and the Academy contains several large altarpieces in
which they collaborated. "Christ and the Virgin in Glory" was painted
for a church in Venice in 1440, and has an inscription with both names
on a banderol across the foreground. The Eternal Father, with His hands
on the shoulders of the Mother and Son, makes a group of which we find
the origin in Gentile da Fabriano's altarpiece in the Brera, and it is
probable that one if not both masters had been studying with the Umbrian
and absorbing the principles he had brought to Venice. It is easy to
trace the influence of Giovanni d' Alemagna, though not always easy to
pick out which part of a picture belongs to him and which to Antonio
working under his influence. In S. Pantaleone is a "Coronation of the
Virgin," with Gothic ornaments such as are not found in purely Italian
art at this period, but the example in which both masters can be most
closely followed is the great picture in the Academy, the "Madonna
enthroned," where she sits under a baldaquin surrounded by saints. Here
the Gothic surroundings become very florid, and have a gingerbread-cake
effect, which Italian taste would hardly have tolerated. Many features
are characteristic of the German; the huge crown worn by the Mother, the
floriated ornament of the quadrangle, the almost baroque appearance of
the throne. Through it all, heavily repainted as it is, shines the dawn
of the tender expression which came into Venetian art with Gentile.
[Illustration: _Antonio da Murano._
ADORATION OF THE MAGI.
_Berlin._
(_Photo, Hanfstängl._)]
Giovanni d' Alemagna and Antonio da Murano were no doubt widely
employed, and when the former died Antonio founded and carried on a
real school in Venice. In 1446 he was living in the parish of S. Maria
Formosa with his wife, who was the daughter of a fruit merchant, and the
wills of both are still preserved in the parish archives. Gentile da
Fabriano had set the example for gorgeous processions with gay dresses
and strange animals; winding paths in the background and foreshortened
limbs prove that attention had been drawn to Paolo Uccello's studies in
perspective, while many figures and horses recall Pisanello. A striking
proof of the sojourn of Gentile and Pisanello in Venice is found in an
"Adoration of Magi," now ascribed to Antonio da Murano, in which the
central group, the oldest king kissing the Child's foot, is very like
that in Gentile's "Adoration," but the foreshortened horses and the
attendants argue the painter's knowledge of Pisanello's work. A
comparison of the architecture in the background with that in the
"St. George" in S. Anastasia shows the same derivation, and the dainty
cavalier, who holds a flag and is in attendance on the youngest king, is
reminiscent of St. George and St. Eustace in Pisanello's paintings in
the National Gallery, so that in this one picture the influences of the
two artists are combined.
Antonio took his younger brother, Bartolommeo, into partnership, and the
title of da Murano was presently dropped for the more modern designation
of Vivarini. Both brothers are fine and delicate in work, but from the
outset of their collaboration the younger man is more advanced and more
full of the spirit of the innovator. In his altarpiece in the first hall
of the Academy the Nativity has already a new realism; Joseph leans his
head upon his hand, crushing up his cheek. The saints are particularly
vivid in expression, especially the old hermit holding the bell, whose
face is brimming with ardent feeling.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Giovanni d' Alemanus and Antonio da Murano._
Venice. Christ and the Virgin in Glory; Virgin enthroned, with Saints.
_Antonio da Murano._
Berlin. Adoration of Magi.
CHAPTER V
THE PADUAN INFLUENCE
And now into this dawning school, employed chiefly in the service of the
Church, with its tentative and languid essays to understand Florentine
composition, resulting in what is scarcely more than a mindless
imitation, and with its rather more intelligent perception of the
Humanist qualities of Pisanello's work, there enters a new factor; or
rather a new agency makes a slightly more successful attempt than
Gentile and Castagno had done to help the Venetians to realise the
supreme importance of the human figure, its power in relation to other
objects to determine space, its modelling and the significance of its
attitude in conveying movement. Giotto had been able to present all
these qualities in the human form, but he had done so by the light of
genius, and had never formulated any sufficient rules for his followers'
guidance. In Ghiberti's school, at the beginning of the fifteenth
century, the fascination of the antique in art was making itself felt,
but Donatello had escaped from the artificial trammels it threatened to
exercise, and had carried the Florentine school with him in his profound
researches into the human form itself. Donatello had been working in
Padua for ten years before Pisanello's death, and in an indirect way the
Venetians were experiencing some after-results of the systematising and
formulating of the new pictorial elements. Though the intellectual
life had met with little encouragement among the positive, practical
inhabitants of Venice, in Padua, which had been subject to her since
1405, speculative thought and ideal studies were in full swing. There
was no re-birth in Venice, whose tradition was unbroken and where "men
were too genuinely pagan to care about the echo of a paganism in the
remote past." St. Mark was the deity of Venice, and "the other twelve
Apostles" were only obscurely connected with her religious life, which
was strong and orthodox, but untroubled by metaphysical enthusiasms
and inconvenient heresies. Padua, on the other hand, was absorbed in
questions of learning and religion. A university had been established
here for two centuries. The abstract study of the antique was carried on
with fervour, and the memory of Livy threw a lustre over the city which
had never quite died out. It seemed perfectly right and respectable to
the Venetians that the _savants_, lying safely removed from the busy
stream of commercial life, should cultivate inquiries into theology
and the classics, which would only have been a hindrance to their own
practical business; but such, as it was well known, were of absorbing
interest in the circles which gathered round the Medici in Florence. The
school of art, which was now arising in Padua, was fed from such sources
as these. The love of the antique was becoming a fashion and a guiding
principle, and influenced the art of painting more formally than it
could succeed in doing among the independent and original Florentines.
Francesco Squarcione, though, as Vasari says, he may not have been the
best of painters, has left work (now at Berlin) which is accepted as
genuine and which shows that he was more than the mere organiser he is
sometimes called. He had travelled in Greece, and was apparently a
dealer, supplying the demand for classic fragments, which was becoming
widespread. When he founded his school in Padua he evidently was its
leading spirit and a powerful artistic influence. His pupils, even the
greatest, were long in breaking away from his convention, and few of
them threw it off entirely, even in after life. That convention was
carried with undeviating thoroughness into every detail. Draperies are
arranged in statuesque folds, designed to display every turn of the form
beneath; the figures are moulded with all the precision and limitations
of statuary. The very landscape becomes sculpturesque, and rocks of a
volcanic character are constructed with the regularity of masonry. The
colour and technique are equally uncompromising, and the surface becomes
a beautiful enamel, unyielding, definite in its lines, lacquer-like in
its firmness of finish, while the Gothic forms, which had hitherto been
so prevalent, were replaced by more or less pedantic adaptations from
Roman bas-reliefs. This system of design was practised most determinedly
in Padua itself, but it soon spread to Venice. Squarcione himself was
employed there after 1440, and though Antonio da Murano clung to the old
archaic style he saw the Paduan manner invading his kingdom, and his own
brother became strongly Squarcionesque.
The two brothers of Murano come most closely together in an altarpiece
in the gallery of Bologna, where the framework is more simple than
Alemanus's German taste would have permitted, and the Madonna and Child
have some natural ease, and the delicacy of feeling of primitive art.
Bartolommeo, when he breaks away and sets out to paint by himself, is
crude and strong, but full of vital force. In his altarpiece of 1464,
in the Academy, he gives his saints reality by taking them off their
pedestals and making them stand upon the ground, and though they are
still isolated from one another in the partitions of an ancona, their
sparkling eyes, individual features, and curly beards give them a look
of life. The draperies, thin and clinging, with little rucked folds,
which display the forms, and the drawing of the bony structure,
exaggerated in the arms and legs, are Squarcionesque. The rocks and
stones, too, show the Paduan convention. In several of his other
altarpieces, Bartolommeo introduces rich ornaments and swags of fruit,
such as Donatello had first brought to Padua, or which Paduan artists
delighted to copy from classic columns. Antonio's manner to the end is
the local Venetian manner, infused as it was with the soft and charming
influence of Gentile da Fabriano and Pisanello, but Bartolommeo adopts
the new and more ambitious style. Though not a very good painter, and
inclined to be puffy and shapeless in his flesh forms, he was the head
of a crowd of artists, and works of his school, signed _Opus factum_,
went all over Italy, and are found as far south as Bari. Works of his
pupils are numerous; the "St. Mark enthroned" in the Frari is as good if
not better than the master's own work, and the triptych in the Correr
Museum is a free imitation.
Round this early school gathered such painters as Antonio da Negroponte
and Quirizio da Murano, who were both working in 1450. Negroponte has
left an enthroned Madonna in S. Francesco della Vigna, which is one of
the most beautiful examples of colour and of the fanciful charm of the
Renaissance that the early art of Venice has to show. The Mother and
Child are placed in a marble shrine, adorned with antique reliefs, rich
wreaths of fruit swag above her head, a little Gothic loggia is full of
flowers and fruit, and birds are perched on cornucopias. On either
side, four badly drawn little angels, with ugly faces and awkwardly
foreshortened forms, foreshadow the beautiful, music-making angels which
became such a feature of North Italian art. The Divine Mother, adoring
the Child lying across her knees, has an exquisite, pensive face,
conceived with all the delicacy and simplicity of early art. It seems
quite possible, as Professor Leonello Venturi suggests, that we have
here the early master of Crivelli, in whom we find the love of fruit
garlands, of chains of beads and rich brocades carried to its farthest
limits, who takes keen pleasure in introducing the ugly but lively
little angels, and who gives the same pensive and almost mincing
expression to his Madonnas.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Antonio da Murano and Bartolommeo Vivarini._
Bologna. Altarpiece.
_Bartolommeo Vivarini._
Venice. Academy: Altarpiece, 1464; Two Saints.
Frari: Madonna and four Saints.
S. Giovanni in Bragora: Madonna and two Saints.
S. Maria Formosa: Triptych.
London. Madonna and Saints.
Vienna. S. Ambrose and Saints.
_Antonio da Negroponte._
Venice. S. Francesco della Vigna: Altarpiece.
CHAPTER VI
JACOPO BELLINI
While Venice was assimilating the spirit of the school of Squarcione,
which in the next few years was to be rendered famous by Mantegna,
another influence was asserting itself, which was sufficient to
counteract the hard formalism of Paduan methods.
When Gentile da Fabriano left Venice, he carried with him, and presently
established with him in Florence, a young man, Jacopo Bellini, who had
already been working with him and Pisanello, and who was an ardent
disciple of the new naturalistic and humanist movement. Both Gentile and
his apprentice were subjected to annoyance from the time they arrived in
Florence, where the strict regulations which governed the Guilds made it
very difficult for any newcomer to practise his art. The records of a
police case report that on the 11th of June 1423 some young men, among
them, one, Bernabo di San Silvestri, the son of a notary, were observed
throwing stones into the painter's room. His assistant, Jacopo Bellini,
came out and drove the assailants away with blows, but Bernabo, accusing
Jacopo of assault, the latter was committed to prison in default of
payment. After six months' imprisonment, a compromise of the fine and a
penitential declaration set him at liberty. The accounts declare that
Gentile took no steps to be of service to his follower; but Jacopo soon
after married a girl from Pesaro, and his first son was christened after
his old master, which does not look as though they were on unfriendly
terms. Jacopo travelled in the Romagna, and was much esteemed by the
Estes of Ferrara, but he was back in Venice in 1430. He has left us only
three signed works, and one or two more have lately been attributed to
him, but they give very little idea of what an important master he was.
[Illustration: _Jacopo Bellini._
AGONY IN GARDEN--DRAWING.
_British Museum._
(_Photo, Anderson._)]
His Madonna in the Academy has a round, simple type of face, and in the
Louvre Madonna, which is attributed but not signed, it is easy to
recognise the same arched eyebrows and half-shut, curved eyelids. In
this picture, where the Madonna blesses the kneeling Leonello d' Este,
we see how Pisanello acted on Jacopo and, through him, on Venetian art.
The connection between the two masters has been established in a very
interesting way by Professor Antonio Venturi's discovery of a sonnet,
written in 1441, which recounts how they painted rival portraits of
Leonello, and how Bellini made so lively a likeness that he was
adjudged the first place. The landscape in the Louvre picture is
advanced in treatment, and with its gilded mountain-tops, its stag and
its town upon the hill-side, is full of reminiscences of Pisanello,
especially of the "St. George" in S. Anastasia. We come upon such
traces, too, in Jacopo's drawings, and it is by his two sketch-books
that we can best judge of his greatness. One of these is in the British
Museum; the other, in the Louvre, was discovered not many years ago in
the granary of a castle in Guyenne. These drawings reveal Jacopo as one
of the greatest masters of his day. He is larger, simpler, and more
natural than Pisanello, and he apparently cares less for the human
figure than for elaborate backgrounds and surroundings. Many of his
designs we shall refer to again when we come to speak of his two sons.
His "Supper of Herod" reminds us of Masolino's fresco at Castiglione
d' Olona. He sketches designs for numbers of religious scenes, treated
in an original and interesting manner. A "Crucifixion" has bands of
soldiers ranged on either side, an "Adoration of the Magi" has a string
of camels coming down the hill, the executioners in a "Scourging" wear
Eastern head-dresses. In a sketch for a "Baptism of Christ" tall angels
hold the garments in the early traditional way; on one side two play
the lute and the violin, while the two on the other side have a trumpet
and an organ. He has sketches for the Ascension, Resurrection,
Circumcision, and Entombment, repeated over and over again with
variations, and one of S. Bernardino preaching in Venice (where he was
in 1427). Jacopo delights even more in fanciful and mythological than in
sacred subjects. A tournament with spectators, a Faun riding a lion, a
"Triumph of Bacchus" with panthers, are among such essays. The fauns
pipe, the wine-god bears a vase of fruit. His love of animals is equal
to that of Pisanello, and S. Hubert and the stag with the crucifix
between its horns is directly reminiscent of the Veronese. His horses,
of which there are immense numbers, sometimes look as if copied from
ancient bas-reliefs. His treatment of single nude figures is often
poor and weak enough, and his rocks have the flat-topped, geological
formation of the Paduan School, but no one who so drank in every
description of lively scene about him could have been in any danger of
becoming a mere archeological type, and it was from this pitfall that he
rescued Mantegna. To judge by his drawings, Jacopo did not overlook any
source of art open to him; he delights in the rich research of the
Paduans as much as in the varieties of wild nature and all the incidents
of contemporary life first annexed by Pisanello. He is often very like
Gentile da Fabriano, he makes raids into Uccello's domains of
perspective, he is frankly mundane and draws a revel of satyrs and
centaurs with a real interpretation of the lyrical and pagan spirit of
the Greeks, and he has an idealism of the soul, which found its full
expression in his son, Giovanni. We cannot call Jacopo Bellini the
founder of the Venetian School, for its makings existed already, but it
was his influence on his sons which, above all, was accountable for the
development of early excellence. His long, flowing lines have a sweep
and a fanciful grace which form an absolute antidote to the definite,
geometrical Paduan convention. In Jacopo we see the thorough
assimilation of those foreign elements which were in sympathy with
the Venetian atmosphere, and while up to now Venice had only imbibed
influences, she was soon to create for herself an artistic _milieu_ and
to become the leader of the movement of painting in the north of Italy.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Jacopo Bellini._
Brescia. Annunciation and Predelle.
Verona. Christ on Cross.
Venice. Academy: Madonna.
Museo Correr: Crucifixion.
London. British Museum: Sketch-book.
Paris. Madonna and Leonello d' Este: Sketch-book.
CHAPTER VII
CARLO CRIVELLI
We must turn aside from the main stream when we come to speak of Carlo
Crivelli, who, important master as he was, occupies a place by himself.
A pupil of the Vivarini and perhaps, as we have noted, of Antonio
Negroponte, Crivelli was profoundly influenced by the Paduans, from whom
he learned that metallic, finished quality of paint which he carried to
perfection. Crivelli shows intellect, individuality, even genius, in the
way in which he grapples with his medium and produces his own reading,
and the circumstances of his life were such as to throw him in upon
himself and to preserve his originality. His little early "Madonna and
Child" at Verona is linked with that of Negroponte by the elaborate
festoons, strings of beads, and large-patterned brocades used in the
surroundings, and has those ugly, foreshortened little _putti_, holding
the instruments of the Passion, of the type elaborated by Squarcione and
Marco Zoppo, and which, in their improved state, we are accustomed to
think of as Mantegnesque.
When Crivelli was thirty-eight years old, he was condemned to six
months' imprisonment and to a fine of two hundred lire for an outrage
on a neighbour's wife. Perhaps it was to escape from an unenviable
reputation that he left Venice soon after and set up painting in the
Marches, where he lived from 1468 to 1473. He then went on to Camerino
in Umbria, where his great triptych, now in the Brera, was painted,
and a few years later he was in Ascoli, with a commission for an
Annunciation in the Cathedral. This is the picture now in the National
Gallery, in which the Bishop holds a model of the Duomo. After 1490 he
worked in little towns in the Marches, and is not mentioned after 1493.
He does not seem ever to have come back to Venice.
Shut up in the Marches, where there was little strong local talent, and
where he could not keep up with the progress that was taking place in
Venice, he was obliged himself to supply the artistic movement. He kept
the Squarcionesque traditions to the end, but moulded them by his own
love of rich and exuberant decoration. Moreover, he was of a very
intense religious bias, and this finds a deeply touching and mystical
expression, more especially in his Pietàs. The love of gilded patterns
and fanciful detail was deep-seated in all the Umbrian country. His
altarpieces were intended as sumptuous additions to rich churches, and
were consequently arranged, with many divisions, in the old Muranese
manner. His great ancona, in the National Gallery, is a marvel of
elaborate ornament and enamel-like painting. The Madonna is delicate,
almost affected in her refinement. Her long fingers hold the Child's
garment with the extreme of dainty precision, the croziers and rings of
the saints and bishops are embossed with gold and real jewels. The
flowers in the panel of "The Immaculate Conception," which hangs beside
it, are twisted into heads of mythological beasts and grotesques or
cherubs; but Crivelli has plenty of strength, and his male saints have
vigorous, bony limbs and fierce fanatical eyes. It is, however, in his
colour that he charms us most, and though he does not touch the real
fount, he is of all the earlier school the most remarkable for subtle
tender tones and lovely harmonies of olive-greens and faded rose and
cream embossed with gold.
Crivelli continued executing one great ancona after another, limiting
his progress to perfecting his technique, and his influence was most
deeply felt by such Umbrian painters as Lorenzo di San Severino and
Niccola Alunno. The honours paid him testify to the reputation he
acquired. He was created a knight and presented with a golden laurel
wreath. But though he never, that we can hear of, revisited his native
State, he always adds _Venetus_ to the signature on his paintings, a
fact which tells us that far from Venice and in provincial districts,
her prestige was felt and gave his work an enhanced commercial value.
He had no after-influence upon the Venetian School, and in this respect
is interesting as an example of the tenacity exercised by the
Squarcionesque methods, when, unchecked by any counter-attraction, they
came to act upon a very different temperament; for in his love of grace
and beauty and of rich effects, and especially in his intensity of
mystic feeling, Crivelli is a true Venetian and has no natural affinity
with the classic spirit of the Paduans.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Venice. SS. Jerome and Augustine.
Ascoli. Duomo: Altarpiece and Pietà.
Berlin. Madonna and six Saints.
London. Pietà; The Blessed Ferretti; Madonna and Saints; Annunciation;
Ancona in thirteen compartments; The Immaculate Conception.
Mr. Benson: Madonna.
Sir Francis Cook: Madonna enthroned.
Mond Collection: SS. Peter and Paul.
Lord Northbrook: Madonna; Resurrection; Saints; Crucifixion;
Madonna; Madonna and Saints.
Milan. Brera: SS. James, Bernardino, and Pellegrino; SS. Anthony Abbot,
Jerome, and Andrew.
Poldi-Pezzoli: S. Francis in Adoration.
Rome. Vatican: Pietà.
CHAPTER VIII
GENTILE BELLINI AND ANTONELLO DA MESSINA
What, then, is the position which art has achieved in Venice a decade
after the middle of the fourteenth century, and how does she compare
with the Florentine School? The Florentines, Fra Angelico, Andrea del
Castagno, and Pesellino were lately dead. Antonio Pollaiuolo was in his
prime, Fra Lippo was fifty-four, Paolo Uccello was sixty-three. But
though the progress in the north had been slower, art both in Padua and
Venice was now in vigorous progress. Bartolommeo Vivarini was still
painting and gathering round him a numerous band of followers; Mantegna
was thirty, had just completed the frescoes in the Eremitani Chapel and
the famous altarpiece in S. Zeno; and Gentile and Giovanni Bellini were
two and four years his seniors.
Francesco Negro, writing in the early years of the sixteenth century,
speaks of Gentile as the elder son of Jacopo Bellini. Giovanni is
thought to have been an illegitimate son, as Jacopo's widow only
mentions Gentile and another son, Niccolo, in her will. There is every
reason to believe that, as was natural, the two brothers were the pupils
and assistants of their father. A "Madonna" in the Mond Collection, the
earliest known of Gentile's works, shows him imitating his father's
style; but when his sister, Niccolosia, married Mantegna in 1453, it is
not surprising to find him following Mantegna's methods for a time, and
a fresco of St. Mark in the Scuola di San Marco, an important commission
which he received in 1466, is taken direct from Mantegna's fresco at
Padua.
As the Bellini matured, they abandoned the Squarcionesque tradition and
evolved a style of their own; Gentile as much as his even more famous
brother. Gentile is the first chronicler of the men and manners of his
time. In 1460 he settled in Venice, and was appointed to paint the organ
doors in St. Mark's. These large saints, especially the St. Mark, still
recall the Paduan period. They have festoons of grapes and apples hung
from the architectural ornaments, and the cast of drapery, showing the
form beneath, reminds us of Mantegna's figures. But Gentile soon becomes
an illustrator and portrait painter. Much of his work was done in the
Scuola of St. Mark, where his father had painted, and this was destroyed
by fire in 1485. Early, too, is the fine austere portrait of Lorenzo
Giustiniani, in the Academy. In 1479 an emissary from the Sultan
Mehemet arrived in Venice and requested the Signoria to recommend a good
painter and a man clever at portraits. Gentile was chosen, and departed
in September for Constantinople. He painted many subjects for the
private apartments of the Sultan, as well as the famous portrait now in
the possession of Lady Layard. It would be difficult for a historic
portrait to show more insight into character. The face is cold, weary,
and sensual, with all the over-refined look of an old race and a long
civilisation, and has a melancholy note in its distant and satiated
gaze. The Sultan showed Gentile every mark of favour, loaded him with
presents, and bestowed on him the title of Bey. He returned home in
1493, bringing with him many sketches of Eastern personages and the
picture, now in the Louvre, representing the reception of a Venetian
Embassy by the Grand Vizier. Some five years before Gentile's commission
to Constantinople Antonello da Messina had arrived in Venice, and the
spread and popularisation of oil-painting had hastened the casting off
of outworn ecclesiastical methods and brought the painters nearer to the
truth of life. Antonello did not actually introduce oils to the notice
of Venetian painters, for Bartolommeo Vivarini was already using them in
1473, but he was well known by reputation before he arrived, and having
probably come into contact with Flemish painters in Naples, he had had
better opportunities of seizing upon the new technique, and was able to
establish it both in Milan and in Venice. A large number of Venetians
were at this time resident in Messina: the families of Lombardo,
Gradenigo, Contarini, Bembo, Morosini, and Foscarini were among those
who had members settled there. Many of these were patrons of art, and
probably paved the way to Antonello's reception in Venice. At first all
the traits of Antonello's early work are Flemish: the full mantles,
white linen caps and tuckers, the straight sharp folds and long wings of
the angels have much of Van Eyck, but when he gets to Venice in 1475,
its colour and life fascinate him, and a great change comes over his
work. His portraits show that he grasped a new intensity of life,
and let us into the character of the men he saw around him. His
"Condottiere," in the Louvre, declares the artist's recognition of
that truculent and formidable being, full of aristocratic disdain, the
product of a daring, unscrupulous life. The "Portrait of a Humanist,"
in the Castello in Milan, is classic in its deepest sense; and in the
Trivulzio College at Milan an older man looks at us out of sly,
expressive eyes, with characteristic eyebrows and kindly, half-cynical
mouth. It was not wonderful that these portraits, combined with the new
medium, worked upon Gentile's imagination and determined his bent.
The first examples of great canvases, illustrating and celebrating
their own pageants, must have mightily pleased the Venetians. Scenes
in the style of the reception of the Venetian ambassadors were called
for on all hands, and when the excellence of Gentile's portraits was
recognised, he became the model for all Venice. When his own and his
father's and brother's paintings perished by fire in 1485, he offered
to replace them "quicker than was humanly possible" and at a very low
price. Giovanni, who had been engaged on the external decorations, was
ill at the time, but the Signoria was so pleased with the offer that it
was decided to let no one touch the work till the two brothers were
able to finish it. Gentile still painted religious altarpieces with the
Virgin and Child enthroned with saints, but most of his time was devoted
to the production of his great canvases. Some of these have disappeared,
but the "Procession" and "Miracle of the Cross," commissioned by the
school of S. Giovanni Evangelista, are now in the Academy, and the
third canvas, executed for the same school, "St. Mark preaching at
Alexandria," which was unfinished at the time of his death, and was
completed by his brother, is in the Brera.
[Illustration: _Gentile Bellini._
PROCESSION OF THE HOLY CROSS.
_Venice._
(_Photo, Anderson._)]
These great compositions of crowds bring back for us the Venice of
Gentile's day as no verbal description can do. There is no especial
richness of colour; the light is that of broad day in the Piazza and
among the luminous waterways of the city. We can see the scene any
day now in the wide square, making allowance for the difference of
costume. The groups are set about in the ample space, with the wonderful
cathedral as a background. St. Mark's has been painted hundreds of
times, but no one has ever given such a good idea of it as Gentile--of
its stateliness and beauty, of its wealth of detail; and he does so
without detracting from the general effect, for St. Mark's, though the
keynote of the whole composition, is kept subservient, and is part of
the stage on which the scene is enacted. The procession passes along,
carrying the relics, attended by the waxlights and the banners. Behind
the reliquary kneels the merchant, Jacopo Salò, petitioning for the
recovery of his wounded son. Then come the musicians; the spectators
crowd round, they strain forward to see the chief part of the cortège,
as a crowd naturally does. Some watch with reverence, others smile or
have a negligent air. The faces of the candle-bearers are very like
those we may see to-day in a great Church procession: some absorbed in
their task, or uplifted by inner thoughts; others looking curiously
and sceptically at the crowd. Gentile tries in his crowds to bring
together all the types of life in Venice, all the officials and the
ecclesiastical world, the young and old. With a few strokes he creates
the individual and also the type;--the careless rover; the responsible
magistrate; the shrewd, practical man of business; the young men, full
of their own plans, but pausing to look on at one of the great religious
sights of their city. In the "Finding of the Cross" he produces the
effect of the whole city _en fête_. It was a sight which often met his
eyes. The Doge made no fewer than thirty-six processions annually to
various churches of the city, and on fourteen of these occasions he was
accompanied by the whole of the nobles dressed in their State robes.
Every event of importance was seized on by the Venetian ladies as an
opportunity for arraying themselves in the richest attire, cloth of gold
and velvet, plumes and jewels. Gentile has massed the ladies of Queen
Catherine Cornaro's Court around their Queen upon the left side of the
canal. The light from above streams upon the keeper of the School, who
holds the sacred relic on high. All round are the old, irregular
Venetian houses, and in the crowd he paints the variety of men he saw
around him every day in Venice. Yet even in this animated scene he
retains his old quattrocento calm. The groups are decorously assisting:
only here and there he is drawn off to some small detail of reality,
such as an oarsman dexterously turning his boat, or the maid letting the
negro servant pass out to take a header into the canal. The spectators
look on coolly at one more of the oft-seen, miraculous events. The
committee, kneeling at the side, is a row of unforgettable portraits,
grave, benign, sour, and austere, with bald head or flowing hair. In
this composition he triumphs over all difficulties of perspective; our
eye follows the canals, and the boats pass away under the bridge in
atmospheric light. All the joy of Venice is in that play of light on
broad brick surfaces, light which is cast up from the water and dances
and shimmers on the marble façades.
Gentile made his will in 1502, as well as others in 1505 and 1506. He
left word that he was to be buried in SS. Giovanni e Paolo, and begged
his brother Giovanni to finish the work in the Scuola, in return for
which he is to receive their father's sketch-book. The unfinished piece
is the "St. Mark preaching at Alexandria," and it shows Gentile still
developing his capacity as a painter. It is pale in colour but brilliant
in sunlight. The mass of white given by the head-dresses of the Turkish
women is cleverly subdued so as not to detract from the effect of the
sunlight. The thronged effect of the great square is studied with more
than his usual care, and the faces have all the old individuality. The
foremost figures in the crowd have a colour and richness which we may
attribute to Giovanni's hand.
Gentile was always fully employed, and the detailed paintings of
functions became very popular; but he was a far less modern painter
than his brother, and, in fact, they represent two distinct artistic
generations, though Gentile's work was so much the most elaborate and,
as the quattrocento would have thought, the most ambitious.
Gentile is essentially the historic painter, yet his is a grave, sincere
art, and he has an unerring instinct for the right incidents to include.
He cuts out all unseemly trivialities, his actors are stern, powerful
men, the treatment is historic and contemporary, but not gossipy. We
realise the look of the Venice of his day, in all its tide of human
nature, but we also feel that he never forgot that he was chronicling
the doings of a city of strong men, and that he must paint them, even in
their hours of relaxation and emotion, so as to convey the real dignity
and power which underlay all the events of the Republic.
We gather from his will and that of his wife that they had no children,
which perhaps makes the more natural the affectionate terms upon which
he remained all through his life with his brother. Their artistic
sympathies must have differed widely. Gentile's love for historical
research, for costume and for pageants, found no echo in the deeper
idealism of Giovanni--indeed, his offer of the famous sketch-book, as an
inducement to the latter to finish his last great work, seems to hint
that it was an exercise out of his brother's line; but he knew that
Giovanni was a great painter, and did not trust it, as we might have
expected, to his assistants, Giovanni Mansueti and Girolamo da
Santacroce.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Gentile Bellini._
London. S. Peter Martyr; Portrait.
Milan. Brera: Preaching of St. Mark.
Venice. Doge Lorenzo Giustiniani; Miracle of True Cross; Procession of
True Cross; Healing by True Cross.
Lady Layard. Portrait of Sultan.
_Antonello da Messina._
Antwerp. Crucifixion, 1475.
Berlin. Three Portraits.
London. The Saviour, 1465; Portrait; Crucifixion, 1477.
Messina. Madonna and Saints, 1473.
Paris. Condottiere.
Milan. Portrait of a Humanist.
Venice. Academy: Ecce Homo.
Vicenza. Christ at the Column.
CHAPTER IX
ALVISE VIVARINI
Contemporary with Giovanni Bellini were artists still firmly attached to
the past, who were far from suspecting that he was to outstrip them.
One of Antonio de Murano's sons, Luigi or Alvise Vivarini, grew up to
follow his father's profession, and was enrolled in the school of his
uncle, Bartolommeo. The latter being an enthusiastic follower of
Squarcione, Alvise was at first trained in Paduan principles. Jacopo
Bellini's efforts had done something to counteract the hard, statuesque
Paduan manner, and had rendered Mantegna's art more human and less
stony, but Jacopo could not prevent Squarcionesque painters from
importing into Venice the style which he disliked so much. Bartolommeo
threw in his lot with the Paduans, and his school, especially when
reinforced by Alvise, maintained its reputation as long as it only
had to compete with local talent. The Vivarinis had now been firmly
established in Venice for two generations, and were the best-known and
most popular of her painters. Albert Dürer, on his first visit, admired
them more than the Bellini. When, however, Gentile and his brother set
up in Venice, a hot rivalry arose between them and the old Muranese
School. The Bellini had come with their father from Padua, with all its
new and scientific fashions. They had all the prestige of relationship
with Mantegna, and they shared the patronage of his powerful employers.
The striking historical compositions of Gentile were at once in demand
by the great confraternities. Bartolommeo had never been very successful
in his dealing with oil-painting, though he had dabbled in it for some
years before Antonello da Messina came his way, but the perception with
which the Bellini at once grasped the new technique gave them the
victory. We have only to compare the formless contours of much of
Bartolommeo Vivarini's work, the bladder-like flesh-painting of the
Holy Child, with the clear luminous colour and firm delicate touch of
Gentile, to see that the one man is leagues ahead of the other.
Alvise Vivarini had more natural affinity with his father than with his
uncle. He never becomes so exaggerated in his forms as Bartolommeo. The
expression of his faces is much deeper and more inward, and he has
something of the devotional sweetness of early art. His first known
work is an ancona of 1475 at Montefiorentino, in a lonely Franciscan
monastery on the spurs of the Apennines. In the centre of the five
panels the Madonna sits with her hands pressed palm to palm, in
adoration of the Child asleep across her knees. The painter here follows
the tradition of his father and uncle, especially in the Bologna
altarpiece, in which they collaborated in 1450. Four saints stand on
either side, framed in Gothic panels; it is all in the old way, and
it is only by degrees that we see there is more sweetness in the
expression, better modelling in the figures, and a slenderer, more
graceful outline than the earlier anconæ can show. Only five years after
this ancona at Montefiorentino, with its stiff rows of isolated saints,
we have the altarpiece in the Academy "of 1480," which was painted for a
church in Treviso, and here a great change is immediately apparent. The
antiquated division into panels has disappeared, nothing is left of the
artificial, Squarcionesque decorations, the attitudes are simple, and
the scene is a united one. The Madonna's outstretched hand, the
suggestion of "Ecce Agnus Dei," makes an appeal which draws the
attention of all the saints to one point, and it is made plain that the
one idea pervades the entire assembly. The curtain, which symbolises the
sanctuary, still hangs behind the throne, but the gold background is
abandoned. Alvise has not indeed, as yet, imagined any landscape or
constructed an interior, but he lightens the effect by two arched
windows which let in the sky. The forms are characteristic of his
idea of drawing the human figure; they have the long thighs with the
knees low down, which we are accustomed to find, and he constructs a
very fine and sharply contrasted scheme of light and shade. There is no
trace of the statuesque Paduan draperies. The Virgin's brocaded mantle
is simply draped, and the robes of the saints hang in long straight
folds. No doubt Alvise, though nominally the rival of the Bellini, has
more affinity with them, particularly with Giovanni, than with the
Paduan artists, and as time goes on it is evident that he paints with
many glances at what they were doing. In the altarpiece in Berlin he
constructs an elaborate cupola above the Virgin, such as Bellini was
already using. His saints are full of movement. In the end he begins to
attitudinise and to display those artificial graces which were presently
accentuated by Lotto.
[Illustration: _Alvise Vivarini._
ALTARPIECE OF 1480.
_Venice._
(_Photo, Anderson._)]
In 1488 the two Bellini had for some time been employed in the Sala del
Gran Consiglio by the Council of Ten. Alvise, with his busy school, had
hoped, but hitherto in vain, to be invited to enter into competition
with them. At length he wrote the following letter:--
TO THE MOST SERENE THE PRINCE AND THE MOST EXCELLENT
SIGNORIA--I am Alvise of Murano, a faithful servant of your
Serenity and of this most illustrious State. I have long been
anxious to exercise my skill before your Sublimity and prove
that continued study and labour on my part have not been
useless. Therefore offer, as a humble subject, in honour and
praise of that celebrated city, to devote myself, without
return of payment or reward, to the duty of producing a canvas
in the Sala del Gran Consiio, according to the method at
present in use by the two brothers Bellinii, and I ask no more
for the said canvas than that I should be allowed the expenses
of the cloth and colours as well as the wages of the
journeymen, in the manner that has been granted to the said
Bellinii. When I have done I shall leave to your Serenity of
his goodness to give me in his wisdom the price which shall be
adjudged to be just, honest, and appropriate, in return for the
labour, which I shall be enabled, I trust, to continue to the
universal satisfaction of your Serenity and of all the
excellent Government, to the grace of which I most heartily
commend myself.
The "method at present in use" was presumably the oil-painting
established by Antonello, which was now being made use of to replace
the decorations in fresco and tempera which Guariento, Pisanello, and
Gentile da Fabriano had executed, and which were constantly decaying and
suffering from the sea air and the dampness of the climate. The Council
accepted Alvise's offer with little delay, and he was told to paint a
picture for a space hitherto occupied by one of Pisanello's, and was
given a salary of sixty ducats a year, something less than that drawn by
Giovanni Bellini. Unfortunately his work, scenes from the history of
Barbarossa, perished in the great fire of 1577.
Venice is rich in works which show us what sort of painter was at the
head of the Muranese School at the time when it rivalled that of the
Bellini. Alvise has two reading saints on either side of the altarpiece
of 1480, and of these the Baptist is one of his best figures, "admirably
expressive of tension and of brooding thought." It is large and free in
stroke, and particularly advanced in the treatment of the foliage. Close
by hangs a character-study of St. Clare; type of a strenuous, fanatical
old woman, one which belongs not only to the period, but will be
recognised by every student of human nature. Formidable and even cruel
is her unflinching gaze; she is such a figure as might have stood for
Scott's Prioress, and looks as little likely to show mercy to an erring
member of her order. In contrast, there is the exquisite little "Madonna
and Child" with the two baby angels, still shown as a Bellini in the
sacristy of the Church of the Redentore. It is the most absolutely
simple and direct picture of the kind painted in Venice. The baby life
is more perfect than anything that Gian. Bellini produced, and if much
less intellectual than his Madonnas, there is all the tender charm of
the primitives, combined with a freedom of drapery and a softness of
form which could not be surpassed. The two little angels are more
mundane in spirit than those of the school of Bellini; they have nothing
of the mystical quality, though we are reminded of Bellini, and the
painting is an exercise in his manner. In the sacristy of San Giobbe is
an early Annunciation, which is now definitely assigned to Alvise. It
has the old tender sentiment, and the carnations of its draperies are of
a lovely tint. The priests of S. Giovanni in Bragora were great patrons
of the school of the Vivarini, for here, besides several works by
Bartolommeo and his assistants, is a little Madonna in a side chapel,
which may be compared with the Redentore picture. The Mother sits inside
a room, with the Child lying across her knees in the same pose. The two
arched openings in the background of the 1480 altarpiece have become
windows, through which we look out on a charming landscape of lake and
mountain. In the same church a "Resurrection" is not to be overlooked.
It was executed in 1498, and some of the grace and beauty of the
sixteenth century has crept into it. Against the pink flush of dawn
stands the swaying figure of the risen Christ, and below appear the
heads of the two guards, looking up, surprised and joyful. It is perhaps
the very earliest example of that soft and sensuous feeling, that
rhapsody of sensation which was presently to sweep like a flood over the
art of Venice. "What a time must the dawn of the sixteenth century have
been when a man of seventy, and not the most vigorous and advanced of
his age, had the freshness and youthful courage to greet it; nay,
actually to depict its magic and glamour as Alvise does in the
'Resurrection'! Giorgione is here anticipated in the roundness and
softness of the figures, and in the effect of light. Titian's Assunta is
foreshadowed in the fervour of the guards' expressions." Alvise, if he
never thoroughly mastered the structure of the nude, and if his forms
keep throughout some touch of the archaic, some awkwardness in the
thickness of the figures, with their round heads, long thighs, and
uncertain proportions, is yet extraordinarily refined and tender in
sentiment, his line has a natural flow and beauty, and the heads of his
Madonnas and saints cannot be surpassed in loveliness.
His death came when the noble altarpiece to St. Ambrogio in the Frari
was still unfinished, and it was completed by his assistant, Marco
Basaiti. The execution is heavy and probably of Basaiti, but the
venerable doctor is a grand figure, and the two young soldier saints on
his right and left hand are striking examples of the beauty we claim
for him. The architectural plan is very elaborate, but altogether
successful. The group is set beneath an arched vault supported by
columns and cornices. Overhead, behind a balustrade, is placed a
coronation of the Virgin. The many figures are grouped so as not to
interfere with each other, and the sword of St. George, the crozier of
St. Gregory, and the crook of St. Ambrose break up the composition and
give length and line. The faces of the saints are extremely beautiful,
and the two angels making music below compare well with those of the
Bellinesque School.
The portraits Alvise has left add to his reputation, and remind us of
those of Antonello da Messina, particularly in the vital expression
of the eyes, though they are without Antonello's intense force. The
"Bernardo di Salla" and the "Man feeding a Hawk," though some critics
still ascribe them to Savoldo, have features which make their
attribution to Alvise almost certainly correct. Indeed, the resemblance
of Bernardo to the Madonna in the 1480 altarpiece cannot escape the most
unscientific observer. There is the same inflated nostril, the
peculiarly curved mouth, and vivacious eyes.
Among the followers of Alvise, Marco Basaiti, Bartolommeo Montagna, and
Lorenzo Lotto are the most distinguished. Others less direct are
Giovanni Buonconsiglio and Francesco Bonsignori, while Cima da
Conegliano was for a short time his greatest pupil. We shall return to
these later.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Berlin. Madonna enthroned, with six Saints.
London. Portrait of Youth.
Milan. Bonomi-Cereda Collection: Portrait of a Man.
Naples. Madonna with SS. Francis and Bernardino.
Paris. Portrait of Bernardo di Salla.
Venice. Academy: Seven panels of single Saints; Madonna and six Saints,
1480.
Frari: S. Ambrose enthroned.
S. Giovanni in Bragora: Madonna adoring Child; Resurrection
and Predelle.
Redentore: Sacristy: Madonna and Child, with Angels.
Vienna. Madonna.
Windsor. Man feeding a Hawk.
CHAPTER X
CARPACCIO
Vittore Carpaccio was Gentile Bellini's most faithful pupil. He and his
master stand apart in having, before the arrival of the Venetian School
proper, captured an aspect and a charm inspired by the natural beauty
of the City of the Sea. Gentile, as we have seen, paints her historic
appearance, and Carpaccio gives us something of the delight we feel
to-day in her translucent waters and her ample, sea-washed spaces
flooded with limpid light. While others were absorbed in assimilating
extraneous influences, he goes on his own way, painting, indeed, the
scenes that were asked for, but painting them in his own manner and with
his own enjoyment.
Pageant-pictures had been the demand of the Venetian State from very
early days. The first use of painting had been that made by the Church
to glorify religion, and very soon the State had followed, using it to
enhance the love which Venetians bore to their city, and to bring home
to them the consciousness of its greatness and glory. Pageants and
processions were an integral part of Venetian life. The people looked
on at them, often as they occurred, with more pride and sense of
proprietorship than a Londoner does at a coronation procession or at the
King going in state to open Parliament. The Venetian loved splendour and
beauty and the story of the city's great achievements, and nothing
provided so welcome a subject for the decoration of the great public
halls as portrayals of the events which had made Venice famous. Artists
had been employed to produce these as early as the end of the fourteenth
century, and those of the Bellini and Alvise Vivarini (which perished in
the great fire) were a rendering on modern lines of the same subjects,
satisfying the more advanced feeling for truth and beauty.
Besides the Church and the public Government, we have already seen the
"Schools," as they were called, becoming important employers. These
schools were the great organised confraternities in the cause of charity
and mutual help, which sprang up in Venice in the fifteenth century.
That of St. Mark was naturally the foremost, but others were banded each
under their patron saint. Each attracted numbers of rich patrons, for it
was the fashion to belong to the confraternities. Riches and endowments
rolled in, and halls for meeting and for transacting business were
built, and were adorned with pictures setting forth the legends of
their patron saints. We have already seen Gentile Bellini employed in
the schools of San Marco and San Giovanni, and now the schools of St.
Ursula and St. George gave commissions to Carpaccio, or perhaps it would
be more correct to say that Gentile, having become pre-eminent in this
art, provided employment for his pupil and assistant, and that by
degrees Carpaccio became a _maestro_ on his own account.
A host of second-rate painters were plying side by side, disciples
first of one master, then drawn off to become followers of a second;
assimilating the influence first of one workshop and then of another.
Carpaccio has been lately identified as a pupil of Lazzaro Bastiani, who
had a school in Venice, and the recent attribution to this painter of
the "Doge before the Madonna," in the National Gallery, gives some
countenance to the contention that he was held to be of great excellence
in his time.
Though some historians advance the suggestion that Carpaccio was a
native of Capo d'Istria, there is little proof that he was not, like his
father Pietro, born a Venetian. He seems to have worked in Venice all
his life, his first work being dated 1490 and his last 1520. In 1527 his
wife, Laura, declared herself a widow.
The narrative art needed by the confraternities was supplied in
perfection by Carpaccio, and one of his earliest independent
commissions was the important one of decorating the School of St.
Ursula. Devotion to St. Ursula was a monopoly of the school. No one else
had a right to collect offerings in her name or to put up an image to
her. The legend afforded an opportunity for painting varied and dramatic
scenes, of which Carpaccio takes full advantage, and the cycle is one of
the freshest and most characteristic things that has come down to us
from the quattrocento. Problems are not conspicuous. The mediocre
masters who have educated the painter have made little impression on
him. He is entirely occupied in delight in his subject and in telling
his story. The story of St. Ursula, told briefly, is that she was the
daughter of the King of Brittany. The King of England sends his
ambassadors to beg her hand for his son, Hereo. Ursula discusses the
proposal with her father, and makes the conditions that Hereo, who is a
heathen, shall be baptized, and that the betrothed couple must before
marriage visit the Pope and the sacred shrines. After taking leave of
their parents, the Prince and Princess depart on their expedition, but
Ursula has had a vision in her sleep in which an angel has announced her
martyrdom. She is accompanied on her journey by 11,000 virgins, and they
are received by Pope Cyriacus in Rome. The Pope then makes the return
journey with them as far as Cologne, where, however, they are assaulted
and massacred by the Huns, after which Ursula is accorded a splendid
funeral, and is canonised. The thirteen scenes in which the story is
told are arranged on nine canvases, and the painter has not executed
them in the chronological order, some of the latest events being the
least complete in artistic skill. Professor Leonello Venturi assigns the
following dates to the list:
1. The ambassadors of the King of England meet those of the
King of Brittany to ask for the hand of Ursula. Probably
painted from 1496-98.
2. (On same canvas) Ursula discusses the proposal with her
father. 1496-98.
3. The King of Brittany dismisses the ambassadors. 1496-98.
4. The ambassadors return to the King of England. 1496-98.
5. An angel appears to Ursula in her sleep. 1492.
6, 7, 8. The betrothed couple take leave of their respective
parents, and the Prince meets Ursula. 1495.
9. The betrothed couple and the 11,000 virgins meet the Pope.
1492.
10. They arrive at Cologne. 1490.
11, 12. The massacre by the Huns. The Funeral. 1495.
13. The saint appears in glory, with the palm of martyrdom,
venerated by the 11,000 virgins and received in heaven by the
Eternal Father. 1491.
No. 10 is a small canvas, such as might naturally have been chosen for a
first experiment. The heads are large with coarse features, and the
proportions of the figures are poor. The face of the saint in glory (No.
13), plump and without much expression, is of the type of Bastiani's
saints. It may be assumed that such a great scheme of decoration would
not have been entrusted to any one who was not already well known as an
independent master, but perhaps Carpaccio, who would have been about
thirty when the work was begun, was still principally engrossed with the
conventional, ecclesiastical subject. The heads of the virgins pressing
round the saint appear to be portraits, and were very possibly those of
the wives and daughters of members of the confraternity.
The improvement that takes place is so rapid that we can guess how
congenial the painter found the task and how quickly he adapted his
already trained talent. In No. 5 he takes delight in the opportunity for
painting a little domestic scene,--the bedroom of a young Venetian girl,
perhaps a sister of his own. The comfortable bed, the dainty furniture,
are carefully drawn. The clear morning light streams into the room. The
saint lies peacefully asleep, her hand under her head, her long
eyelashes resting upon her cheek: the whole is an idyll, full of insight
into girlish life. The tiny slippers made, no doubt, one of the details
that caught his eye. The crown lying on the ledge of the bed is an
arbitrary introduction, as naïf as the angel. In the funeral scene the
luminous light is diffused over all, the young saint lies upon her bier
and is followed by priest and deacon, the crowd is composed with truth
to nature, the draperies and garments are brought into harmony with the
sky and background, and in all those that follow we find this quality
of light. The landscape behind the massacre has gained in natural
character, the city is at some distance, houses and churches are half
buried in woods; the setting is much more natural than are the quaint
and elegant pages who occupy it, and who are drawing their crossbows and
attacking the martyrs with leisurely nonchalance. The panel in which the
betrothed couple meet shows a great advance, and this and the succeeding
ones of the ambassadors, which were painted between 1495 and 1498, must
have crowned Carpaccio's reputation. He paints Venice in its most
fascinating aspect; the enamelled beauty of its marbles, its sky and
sea, its palaces and ships, the rich and picturesque dresses men wore
in the streets, the barge glowing with rich velvets. He evinces a
fairy-tale spirit which we may compare with the work of Pintoricchio.
His Prince, kneeling in a white and gold dress, with long fair curls, is
a real fairy prince; Ursula, in her red dress and puffed sleeves, her
rippling, flaxen hair and strings of pearls, is a princess of story.
Carpaccio's art is simple and garrulous in feeling, his conception is
as unpassionate as the fancies of a child, but he has a true love for
these gay crowds; Venice going upon her gallant way--her solid, worthy
citizens, men of substance, shrewd and valuable, taking their pleasure
seriously with a sense of responsibility. They throng the streets and
cross over the bridges, every figure is full of freedom and vitality.
The arrival and dismissal of the ambassadors are the best of all the
scenes. In the middle of the great stage King Maurus of Brittany sits
upon a Venetian terrace. In the colonnade to the left is gathered a
group of Venetian personages, members of the Loredano family, which was
a special patron of St. Ursula's Guild, and gave this panel. The types
are all vividly realised and differentiated: the courtier looking
critically at the arrivals; the frankly curious bourgeoisie; the man
of fashion passing with his nose in the air, disdaining to stare too
closely; the fop with his dogs and their dwarf keeper. Far beyond
stretch the lagoons; the sea and air of Venice clear and fresh. What is
noticeable even now in an Italian crowd, the absence of women, was then
most true to life, for except on special occasions they were not seen in
the streets, but were kept in almost Oriental seclusion. The dismissal
of the ambassadors affords the opportunity for drawing an interior with
the street visible through a doorway. A group at the side, of a man
dictating a letter and the scribe taking down his words, writing
laboriously, with his shoulders hunched and his head on one side, is
excellent in its quiet reality. The same life-like vivacity is displayed
in Ursula's consultation with her father. The old nurse crouched upon
the steps is introduced to break the line and to throw back the main
group. Carpaccio has already used such a figure in the funeral scene,
and Titian himself adopts his suggestion.
[Illustration: _Carpaccio._
ARRIVAL OF THE AMBASSADORS.
_Venice._
(_Photo, Anderson._)]
Carpaccio is not a very great painter, but a charming one. His treatment
of light and water, of distant hills and trees, shows a sense of peace
and poetry, and though he is influenced by Gentile's splendid realistic
heads, the type which appeals to him is gentler and more idealised. His
fancy is caught by Oriental details, to which Gentile would naturally
have directed his attention, and of which there was no lack in Venice at
this time. All his episodes are very clearly illustrated, and his
popular brush was kept busily employed. He took a share with other
assistants in the series which Gentile was painting in S. Giovanni
Evangelista. In 1502 the Dalmatians inhabiting Venice resolved to
decorate their school, which had been founded fifty years earlier, for
the relief of destitute Dalmatian seamen in Venice. The subjects were
to be selected from the lives of the Saviour and the patron saints of
Dalmatia and Albania, St. Jerome, St. George of the Sclavonians, and St.
Tryphonius. The nine panels and an altarpiece which Carpaccio delivered
between 1502 and 1508 still adorn the small but dignified Hall of the
school. His "Jerome in his Study" has nothing ascetic, but shows a
prosperous Venetian ecclesiastic seated in his well-furnished library
among his books and writings. He is less successful in his scenes from
the life of Christ; the Gethsemane is an obvious imitation of Mantegna;
but when he leaves his own style he is weak and poor, and imaginary
scenes are quite beyond him. In the death and interment of St. Jerome he
gives a delightful impression of the peace of the old convent garden,
and in the scene where the lion introduced by the saint scatters the
terrified monks he lets a sense of humour have free play. The monks in
their long garments, escaping in all directions, are really comical, and
in conjunction with the ingratiating smile of the lion, the scene passes
into the region of broad farce. We divine the same sense of the comic in
the scene in St. Ursula's history, where the 11,000 virgins are hurrying
in single file along a winding road which disappears out of the picture.
In the principal scene in the life of St. George, Carpaccio again
achieves a masterpiece. The force and vivacity of the saint in armour
charging the dragon, lingers long in the memory. The long, decorative
lines of lance and war-horse and dragon throw back the whole landscape.
The details show an almost childish delight in the realisation of
ghoulish horrors. He rather injures his "Triumph of St. George" by his
anxiety to bring in the Temple of Solomon at Jerusalem; the flying flags
distract the eye, and the whole scene is one of confusion, broken up
into different parts, while the dragon is reduced to very unterrifying
insignificance. His series for the school of the Albanians dealt with
the life of the Virgin, who was their special patron. Its remains are
at Bergamo, Milan, and in the Academy. The single figures in the
"Presentation," the priest and maiden, are excellent. A child at the
side of the steps, leading a unicorn, emblem of chastity, shows once
more what a hold this use of a figure had taken of him. In the
"Visitation" the figures are too much scattered, and the fantastic
buildings attract more attention than the women. He still produced
altarpieces, and the Presentation of the Infant Christ in the Temple,
which he was called upon to paint for San Giobbe, where one of Bellini's
most famous altarpieces stood, challenged him to put forth all his
strength. He never produced anything more simple and noble or more
worthy of the cinque-cento than this altarpiece (now in the Academy). It
surpasses Bellini's arrangement in the way in which the personages are
raised upon a step, while the dome overhead and the angel musicians
below give them height and dignity. The contrast between the infant and
the youthful woman and the old men is purposely marked. Such a contrast
between youth and age is a very favourite one. Bellini, in the same
church, draws it between SS. Sebastian and Job, and Alvise Vivarini, in
his last painting, balances a very youthful Sebastian with St. Jerome.
This is the most grandiose, the least of a _genre_ picture of all
Carpaccio's creations, although he does make Simeon into a pontiff with
attendant cardinals bearing his train. One of his last works is the S.
Vitale over the high altar of the church of that name, where we forgive
the wooden appearance of the horse which the saint rides for the sake of
the simple dignity of the rider and the airy effect given by the balcony
overhead. Nor must we forget that study of the "Two Courtesans" in the
Museo Civico, full of the sarcasm of a deep realism. It conveys to us
the matter-of-fact monotony of the long, hot days, and the women and the
animals with which they are beguiling their idle hours are painted with
the greatest intelligence. It carries us back to another phase of life
in Carpaccio's Venice, seen through his observant, humorous eyes, and if
there is nothing in his colour distinctive of the impending Venetian
richness, it is still arresting in its brilliant limpidity; it seems
drawn straight from the transparent canals and radiant lagoons.
We apprehend the difference at once in Bastiani and in Mansueti, who
essay the same sort of compositions. They studied grouping carefully,
and it must have seemed easy enough to paint their careful architecture
and to place citizens in costume with appropriate action in a "Miracle
of the Cross," or the "Preaching of St. Mark"; but these pictures are
dry and crowded, they give no illusion of truth, there is none of the
careless realism of Carpaccio's crowds,--of incidents taking place which
are not essential to the story, and, as in life, are only half seen, but
which have their share in producing a full and varied illusion. The
scenes want the air and depth in which Carpaccio's pictures are
enveloped. We are not stimulated and charmed, taken into the outer air
and refreshed by these heavy personages, standing in rows, painted in
hot, dry colour, and carrying no conviction in their glance and action.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Berlin. Madonna and Saints; Consecration of Stephen.
Ferrara. Death of Virgin.
Milan. Presentation of Virgin; Marriage of Virgin; St. Stephen
disputing.
Paris. St. Stephen preaching.
Stuttgart. Martyrdom of St. Stephen.
Venice. Academy: The History of St. Ursula and the 11,000 Virgins;
Presentation in the Temple.
Museo Correr: Visitation; Two Courtesans.
S. Giorgio degli Schiavone: History of SS. George and
Tryphonius; Agony in the Garden; Christ in the House of
the Pharisee; History of St. Jerome.
S. Vitale: Altarpiece to S. Vitale.
Lady Layard. Death of the Virgin; St. Ursula taking leave
of her Father.
Vienna. Christ adored by Angels.
CHAPTER XI
GIOVANNI BELLINI
The difference between Gian. Bellini and his accomplished brother, that
which makes us so conscious that the first was the greater of the two
and which sets him in a later artistic generation than Gentile, is a
difference of mind. Such pageant-pictures as we hear that Giovanni
was engaged upon have all been destroyed. We may suspect that their
composition was not particularly congenial to him, and that the strictly
religious pictures and the small allegorical studies, by which we must
judge him, were more after his heart. It is his poetic and ideal feeling
which adds so strongly to his claim to be a great artist; it was this
which drew all men to him and enabled him so powerfully to influence the
art of his day in Venice.
Jacopo's wife, Anna, in a will of 1429, leaves everything to her two
sons, Gentile and Niccolo. Giovanni was evidently not her son, but
Vasari speaks of him as the elder of the two, so that it is very
possible that he was an illegitimate child, brought up, after the
fashion that so often obtained, in the full privileges of his father's
house. Documents show that Jacopo Bellini was living in Venice in 1437,
first near the Piazza, and afterwards in the parish of San Lio. He was a
member of S. Giovanni Evangelista, and probably one of the leading
artists of the city. His two sons helped him in his great decorative
works, and also went with him to Padua, where he painted the Gattamalata
Chapel. Their relative position is suggested by a document of 1457,
which records that the father received twenty-one ducats for "three
figures, done on cloth, put in the Great Hall of the Patriarch," only
two of which were to go to the son. In 1459 Gian. Bellini's signature
first appears on a document, and at about this time we may suppose that
he and his brother began to execute small commissions on their own
account. On these visits to Padua the intimacy must have sprung up,
which led to Mantegna's marriage in 1453 with Jacopo's daughter. At
Padua, too, Bellini, in company with Mantegna, drank in the inspiration
left there by Donatello, the greatest master that either of them
encountered. It was the humanistic and naturalistic side of Donatello
which touched Giovanni Bellini, more than all his classic lore. It
chimed in, too, with his father's graceful and fanciful quality, and
there is no doubt that the Venetian painters soon exercised a marked
influence on Mantegna. They "fought for him with Squarcione," and even
in the Eremitani frescoes he begins to lose his purely statuesque type
and to become frankly Renaissance. In the later scenes of the series a
pergola with grapes, a Venetian campanile and doorway replace his
classic towers and arches of triumph. In the "Martyrdom of St. James"
the couple walking by and paying no attention whatever to the tragic
event, are very like the people whom Gentile introduces in his
backgrounds.
There are few documents more interesting in the history of art
than the two pictures of the "Agony in the Garden," executed by the
brothers-in-law, about 1455, from a design by Jacopo in the British
Museum sketch-book. Jacopo draws the mound-like hill, Christ kneeling
before the vision of the Chalice, the figures wrapt in slumber, and the
distant town. In few pictures up to this time is the landscape conceived
in such sympathy with the figures. As we look at this sketch and examine
the two finished compositions, which it is so fortunate to find in
juxtaposition in the National Gallery, we surmise that the two artists
agreed to carry out the same idea and each to give his version of
Jacopo's suggestion, and very curious it is to see the rendering each
has produced.
Mantegna has made use of the most formal and Squarcionesque contours in
his surroundings. The rocks are of an unnatural, geological structure.
The towers of Jerusalem are defined in elaborate perspective, and a band
of classic figures fills the middle distance. The sleeping forms of the
disciples are laid about like so many draped statues taken from their
pedestals. The choir of child angels is solid and leaves nothing to the
imagination, and if it were not for the beautifully conceived Christ,
the whole composition would leave us quite unmoved. On the other hand,
we can never look at Bellini's version without a fresh thrill. He, like
Mantegna, has followed Jacopo's scheme of winding roads and the city
"set on a hill," and has drawn the advancing band of soldiers; but,
independent of all details, he gives us the vision of a poet. The still
dawn is breaking over the broadly painted landscape, the rosy shafts of
light are colouring the sky and casting their magic over every common
object, and, lonely and absorbed, the Sacred Figure kneels, wrapt into
the Heavenly Vision, which is hardly more definite than a stronger
beam of light upon the radiance. One of the disciples, at least, is a
successful and natural study of a tired-out man, whose head has fallen
back and whose every limb has relaxed in sleep. Bellini is less assured,
less accomplished than Mantegna, but he is able to touch us with the
pathos of both natural and spiritual feeling.
Even earlier than this picture, critics place the "Crucifixion" and
"Transfiguration" of the Museo Correr and our own "Salvator Mundi." In
1443, when Giovanni was a young man of four or five and twenty, San
Bernardino had held a great revival at Padua, and the whole of Venice
had thronged to hear him. It is very possible, as Mr. Roger Fry suggests
in his _Life of Bellini_, that Giovanni's emotional temperament had been
worked upon by the preacher's eloquence, and the very poignant feelings
of love and pity which his early art expresses were the deliberate
consequence of his sympathy with the deep religious mysteries expounded.
In the two pictures in the Correr, Bellini is still going with the
Paduan current. In both we have the winding roads so characteristic of
his father, but the rocks in the "Transfiguration" have the jointed,
arbitrary character of Mantegna's and the draperies are plastered to the
forms beneath; yet the figures here have a beauty and a dignity which no
reproduction seems able to convey. The feeling is already more imposing
than the execution. Christ and the two prophets tower up against the
belt of clouds, the central figure conveying a sense of pathetic
isolation; while below, St. John's attitude betrays a state of tension,
the feet being drawn up and contorted. This picture prepares us for the
overwhelming emotion we find in the "Redeemer" and the group of Pietàs.
The treatment of the Christ was a development of the early _motif_ of
angels flying forward on either side of the Cross, but here the sacred
blood pouring into the chalice is also sacramental and connected with
the intensified religious fervour which had led to the foundation of
the Franciscan and Dominican orders, illustrations of which are met
with in the miniatures and wood-engravings of fifteenth-century books
of devotion. The accessories, the antique reliefs, the low wall, the
distant buildings, have an allegorical meaning underlying each one, and
common to trecento and, in a less degree, to quattrocento art. Paradise
regained is signified by the paved court with the open door, in
contradistinction to the Hortus Clausus, or enclosed court; the type of
the old covenant. In one of the bas-reliefs Mucius Scaevola thrusts his
hand into the fire, the ancient type of heroic readiness to suffer. The
other represents a pagan sacrifice, foreshadowing the sacrifice upon the
Cross. Figures in the background are leaving a ruined temple and making
their way towards the new Christian city, fortified and crowned with a
church tower, and in the midst of all this symbolism, Christ and the
attendant angel are placed, vibrating with nervous feeling.
During the next few years, Bellini devoted himself to two subjects of
the highest devotional order. These are the Madonna and Child, the great
exercise in every age for painters, and the Pietà, which he has made
peculiarly his own.
[Illustration: _Giovanni Bellini._
PIETÀ.
_Brera, Milan._
(_Photo, Brogi._)]
Close by, at Padua, Giotto had left a rendering of the last subject, so
full of passionate sorrow that it is hardly possible that it should not,
if only half consciously, have stimulated the artistic sensibilities
of the most sensitive of painters; but Bellini's pathos shrinks from
all exaggeration. He conceives grief with the tenderest insight. His
interest in the subject was so intense that he never left the execution
to others, and though not a single one bears his signature, yet each is
entirely by his own hand. Besides the Pietà at Milan, which is perhaps
the best known, there is one in the Correr Museum, another in the Doge's
Palace, and yet others at Rimini and at Berlin. The version he adopts,
which places the Body of Christ within the sarcophagus, was a favourite
in North Italy. Donatello uses it in a bas-relief (now in the Victoria
and Albert Museum), but whether he brought or found the suggestion in
Padua nothing exists to show. Jacopo has left sketches in which the
whole group is within the tomb, and this rendering is followed by
Carpaccio, Crivelli, Marco Zoppo, and others. It is never found in
trecento art, and is probably traceable to the Paduan impulse to make
use of classic remains.
Giovanni Bellini's Pietàs fall into two groups. In one, the Christ is
placed between the Virgin and St. John, who are embodiments of the agony
of bereavement. In the other, the dead Redeemer is supported by angels,
who express the amazement and grief of immortal beings who see their
Lord suffering an indignity from which they are immune.
Mary and St. John _inside_ the sarcophagus shows that they are conceived
mystically; Mary as the Church, and St. John as the personification of
Christian Philosophy--a significance frequently attached to these
figures. Such a picture was designed to hang over the altar, at which
the mystical sacrifice of the Mass was perpetually offered.
In his treatment of the Brera example Bellini has shaken off the Paduan
tradition, and is forming his own style and giving free play to his own
feeling. The winding roads and evening sky, barred with clouds, are the
accessories he used in the "Agony in the Garden," but the figures are
treated much more boldly; the drapery falls in broad masses, and
scarcely a trace is left of sculpturesque treatment. Careful as is the
study of the nude, everything is subordinated to the emotion expressed
by the three figures: the helpless, indifferent calm of the dead, the
tender solicitude of the Mother, the wandering, dazed look of the
despairing friend. Here there is nothing of beautiful or pathetic
symbol; the group is intense with the common sorrow of all the world.
Mary presses the corpse to her as if to impart her own life, and gazes
with anguished yearning on the beloved face. Bellini seems to have
passed to a more complex age in his analysis of suffering, yet here is
none of the extravagance which the primitive masters share with the
Caracci: his restraint is as admirable as his intensity.
In the Rimini version the tender concern and questioning surprise of the
attendant angels contrast with the inert weight of the beautiful dead
body they support. Their childish limbs and butterfly wings make a
sinuous pattern against the lacquered black of the ground-work, and Mr.
Roger Fry makes the interesting suggestion that the effect, reminiscent
of Greek vase-painting, and the likeness of the Head of Christ to an old
bronze, may, in a composition painted for Sigismondo Malatesta, be no
mere accident, but a concession to the patron's enthusiasm for classic
art.
In 1470 Bellini received his first commission in the Scuola di San
Marco. Gentile had been employed there since 1466 on the history of the
Israelites in the desert. Bellini agreed to paint "The Deluge and the
Ark of Noah" with all its attendant circumstances, but of these,
except from Vasari's descriptions, we can form no idea. These great
pageant-pictures had become identified with the Bellini and their
following, while the production of altarpieces was peculiarly the
province of the Vivarini. Here Bellini effected a change, for sacred
subjects best suited the restrained and simple perfection of his style,
and afforded the most sympathetic opening for his idealistic spirit. For
the next twenty years or more, however, he was unavoidably absorbed in
public work, for we hear of his being given the direction of that which
Gentile left unfinished in the Ducal Palace when he went to the East in
1479. In 1492, Giovanni being ill, Gentile superintended the work for
him, and in that year he was appointed to paint in the Hall of the Grand
Council, at an annual salary of sixty ducats. Other commissions were
turned out of the _bottega_ he had set up with his brother in 1471, and
between that year and 1480 he went to Pesaro to paint the important
altarpiece that still holds its place there. It is in some ways the
greatest and most powerful thing that Bellini ever accomplished. The
central figures and the attendant saints have a large gravity and
carefully studied individuality. St. Jerome, absorbed in his theological
books, an ascetic recluse, is admirably contrasted with the sympathetic,
cultured St. Paul. The landscape, set in a marble frame, is a gem of
beauty, and proves what an appeal nature was making to the painter. The
predella, illustrating the principal scenes in the lives of the saints
around the altar, is full of Oriental costumes. The horses are small
Eastern horses, very unlike the ponderous Italian war-horse, and the
whole is evidently inspired by the sketches which Gentile brought back
on his return from Constantinople in 1481.
Looking from one to another of the cycle of Madonna pictures which
Bellini produced, and of which so many hang side by side in the Academy,
we are able to note how his conception varied. In one of the earliest
the Child lies across its Mother's knee, in the attitude borrowed from
his father and the Vivarini, from whom, too, he takes the uplifted
hands, placed palm to palm. The earlier pictures are of the gentle and
adoring type, but his later Madonnas are stately Venetian ladies. He
gives us a queenly woman, with full throat and stately poise, in the
Madonna degli Alberi, in which the two little trees are symbols of the
Old and New Testament; or, again, he paints a lovely intellectual face
with chiselled and refined features, and sad dark eyes, and contrasts it
dramatically with the bluff St. George in armour; and there is another
Madonna between St. Francis and St. Catherine, a picture which has a
curious effect of artificial light.
CHAPTER XII
GIOVANNI BELLINI (_continued_)
In 1497 the Maggior Consiglio of the Venetian Republic appointed Bellini
superintendent of the Great Hall, and conferred on him the honourable
title of State Painter. In this capacity he was the overseer of all
public works of painting, and was expected to devote a part of his
time to the decoration of the Hall. Sansovino enumerates nine of
his historical paintings, which had been painted before the State
appointment, all having reference to the visit of Pope Alexander; but
though he must have been much engrossed, he seems to have suspended the
work from time to time, for between 1485 and 1488 he painted the large
altarpiece in the Frari, that at San Pietro in Murano, and the one in
the Academy, which was painted for San Giobbe. Of these three, the last
shows the greatest advance and is fullest of experiment. The Madonna is
a grand ecclesiastical figure. It has been said with truth that it is
a picture which must have afforded great support and dignity to the
Church. The Infant has an expression of omniscience, and the Mother
gazes out of the picture, extending invitation and encouragement to the
advancing worshippers. The religious feeling is less profound; the
artist has been more absorbed in the contrast between the beautiful,
youthful body of St. Sebastian and that of St. Giobbe, older but not
emaciated, and with the exquisite surface that his now complete mastery
of oil-painting enabled him to produce. This technique has evidently
been a great delight, and is here carried to perfection; the skin of
St. Sebastian gleams with a gloss like the coat of a horse in high
condition. Everything that architecture, sculpture, and rich material
can supply is borrowed to enhance the grandeur of the group; but the
line of sight is still close to the bottom of the picture, and if it
were not for the exquisite grace with which the angels are placed, the
Madonna would have a broad, clumsy effect. The Madonna of the Frari is
the most splendid in colour of all his works. As he paints the rich
light of a golden interior and the fused and splendid colours, he seems
to pass out of his own time and gives a foretaste of the glory that is
to follow. The Murano altarpiece is quite a different conception;
instead of the seclusion of the sanctuary, it is a smiling, _plein air_
scene: the Mother benign, the Child soft and playful, the old Doge
Barbarigo and the patron saints kneeling among bright birds, and a
garden and mediæval townlet filling up the background, for which, by the
way, he uses the same sketch as in the Pesaro picture. It says much for
his versatility that he could within a short time produce three such
different versions.
Among Bellini's most fascinating achievements in the last years of the
fifteenth century are his allegorical paintings, known to us by the
"Pélerinage de l'Âme" in the Uffizi and the little series in the
Academy. The meaning of the first has been unravelled by Dr. Ludwig from
a mediæval poem by Guillaume de Guilleville, a Cistercian monk who wrote
about 1335, and it is interesting to see the hold it has taken on
Bellini's mystic spirit. The paved space, set within the marble rail,
signifies, as in the "Salvator Mundi," the Paradise where souls await
the Resurrection. The new-born souls cluster round the Tree of Life and
shake its boughs. The poem says:
There is no pilgrim who is not sometimes sad
Who has not those who wound his heart,
And to whom it is not often necessary
To play and be solaced
And be soothed like a child
With something comforting.
Know that those playing
There in order to allay their sorrow
Have found beneath that tree
An apple that great comfort gives
To those that play with it.[2]
[2] This translation is by Miss Cameron Taylor.
[Illustration: _Giovanni Bellini._
AN ALLEGORY.
_Florence._
(_Photo, Anderson._)]
This may be an allusion to sacramental comfort. St. Peter and St. Paul
guard the door, beside which the Madonna and a saint sit in holy
conversation. A very beautiful figure on the left, wrapped in a black
shawl, requires explanation, and it has been suggested that it is the
donor, a woman who may have lost husband and children, and who, still in
life, is introduced, watching the happiness of the souls in Paradise.
SS. Giobbe and Sebastian, who might have stepped out of the San Giobbe
altarpiece, are obviously the patron saints of the family, and St.
Catherine, at the Virgin's side, may be the donor's own saint. This
picture, with its delicious landscape bathed in atmospheric light,
is a forerunner of those Giorgionesque compositions of "pure and
unquestioning delight in the sensuous charm of rare and beautiful
things" in which the artistic nature is even more engrossed than with
the intellectual conception, and within its small space Bellini seems to
have enshrined all his artistic creed. The allegories in the Academy are
also full of meaning. They are decorative works, and were probably
painted for some small cabinet. They seem too small for a cassone. They
are ruined by over-painting, but still full of grace and fancy. The
figure in the classic chariot, bearing fruit, in the encounter between
Luxury and Industry, is drawn from Jacopo's triumphant Bacchus. Fortune
floats in her barque, holding the globe, and the souls who gather round
her are some full of triumphant success, others clinging to her for
comfort, while several are sinking, overwhelmed in the dark waters.
"Prudence," the only example of a female nude in Bellini's works, holds
a looking-glass. Hypocrisy or Calumny is torn writhing from his refuge.
The Summa Virtus is an ugly representation of all the virtues; a
waddling deformity with eyes bound holds the scales of justice; the
pitcher in its hand means prudence, and the gold upon its feet
symbolises charity. The landscape, both of this and of the "Fortune,"
resembles that which he was painting in his larger works at the end of
the century. Soon after 1501 Bellini entered into relations with Isabela
d'Este, Marchioness of Gonzaga. That distinguished collector and
connoisseur writes through her agent to get the promise of a picture,
"a story or fable of antiquity," to be placed in position with the
allegories which Mantegna had contributed to her "Paradiso." Bellini
agreed to supply this, and received twenty-five ducats on account. He
seems, however, to have felt that he would be at a disadvantage in
competing with Mantegna on his own ground, and asks to be allowed to
choose his subject. Isabela was unwillingly obliged to content herself
with a sacred picture, and a "Nativity" was selected. She is at once
full of suggestions, desiring to add a St. John Baptist, whom Bellini
demurs at introducing except as a child, but in April 1504 the
commission is still unaccomplished, and Isabela angrily demands the
return of her money. This brings a letter of humble apology from
Bellini, and presently the picture is forwarded. Lorenzo of Pavia writes
that it is quite beautiful, and that "though Giovanni has behaved as
badly as possible, yet the bad must be taken with the good." The joy of
its acquisition appeased Isabela, who at once began to lay plans to get
a further work out of Bellini, and in 1505 Bembo wrote to her that he
would take a fresh commission always providing he might fix the subject.
From the catalogue of her Mantovan pictures we gather that the picture
"sul asse" (on panel) represented the "B.V., il Putto, S. Giovanni
Battista, S. Giovanni Evangelista, S. Girolamo, and Santa Caterina."
The great altarpieces which remain strike us less by their research,
their preoccupation with new problems of paint or grouping, than by
their intense delight in beauty. Bellini was now nearly eighty years
old, and in 1504 the young Giorgione had proclaimed a revolution in art
with his Castelfranco Madonna. In composition and detail the Madonna
of San Zaccaria is in some degree a protest against the Arcadian,
innovating fashion of approaching a religious scene, of which the Church
had long since decided on the treatment, yet Bellini cannot escape the
indirect suggestion of the new manner. The same leaven was at work in
him which was transforming the men of a younger generation. In this
altarpiece, in the Baptism at Vicenza, in others, perhaps, which have
perished, and above all in the hermit saint in S. Giovanni Crisostomo he
is linked in feeling and in treatment with the later Venetian School.
The new device, which he adopts quite naturally, of raising the line of
sight, sets the figures in increased depth. For the first time he gives
height and majesty to the young Mother by carrying the draperies down
over the steps. He realises to the full the contrast between the young,
fragile heads of his girl-saints and the dark, venerable countenances of
the old men. The head of S. Lucy, detaching itself like a flower upon
its stem, reminds us of the type which we saw in his Watcher in the
sacred allegory of the Uffizi. The arched, dome-like niche opens on a
distance bathed in golden light. Bellini keeps the traditions of the
old hieratic art, but he has grasped a new perfection of feeling and
atmosphere. Who the saints are matters little; it is the collective
enjoyment of a company of congenial people that pleases us so much. The
"Baptism" in S. Corona, at Vicenza, painted sixteen years later than
Cima's in S. Giovanni in Bragora, is in frank imitation of the younger
man. Christ and the Baptist, traditional figures, are drawn without much
zest, in a weak, conventional way, but the artist's true interest comes
out in the beauty of face and gesture of the group of women holding the
garments, and above all in the sombre gloom of the distance, which
replaces Cima's charming landscape, and which keys the whole picture to
the significance of a portent. In the enthronement of the old hermit, S.
Chrysostom himself, painted in 1513, Bellini keeps his love for the
golden dome, but he lets us look through its arch, at rolling mountain
solitudes, with mists rising between their folds. The geranium robe of
the saint, an exquisite, vivid bit of colouring, is caught by the golden
sunset rays, the fine ascetic head stands out against the evening sky,
and in the faces of the two saints who stand on either side of the aged
visionary Bellini has gone back to all his old intensity of religious
feeling, a feeling which he seemed for a time to have exchanged for a
more pagan tone.
In 1507, at Gentile's death, Giovanni undertook, at his brother's
dying request, to finish the "Preaching of St. Mark," receiving as a
recompense that coveted sketch-book of his father's, from which he had
adopted so many suggestions, and which, though he was the eldest, had
been inherited by the legitimate son.
In the preceding year Albert Dürer had visited Venice for the second
time, and Bellini had received him with great cordiality. Dürer writes,
"Bellini is very old, but is still the best painter in Venice"; and
adds, "The things I admired on my last visit, I now do not value at
all." Implying that he was able now to see how superior Bellini was to
the hitherto more highly esteemed Vivarini.
At the very end of Bellini's life, in 1514, the Duke of Ferrara paid
him eighty-five ducats for a painting of "Bacchanals," now at Alnwick
Castle; which may be looked upon as an open confession by one who had
always considered himself as a painter of distinctively religious works,
that such a gay scene of feasting afforded opportunities which he could
not resist, for beauty of attitude and colour; but the gods, sitting at
their banquet in a sunny glade, are almost fully draped, and there is
little of the _abandon_ which was affected by later painters. The
picture was left unfinished, and was later given to Titian to complete.
In his capacity as State Painter to the Republic, it was Bellini's duty
to execute the official portraits of the Doges. During his long life he
saw eleven reigns, and during four he held the State appointment.
Besides the official, he painted private portraits of the Doges, and
that of Doge Loredano, in the National Gallery, is one of the most
perfect presentments of the quattrocento. This portrait, painted by one
old man of another, shows no weakening in touch or characterisation. It
is as brilliant and vigorous as it is direct and simple. The face is
quiet and unexaggerated; there is no unnatural fire and feeling, but an
air of accustomed dignity and thought, while the technique has all the
perfection of the painter's prime.
In 1516 Giovanni was buried in the Church of SS. Giovanni and Paolo, by
the side of his brother Gentile. To the last he was popular and famous,
overwhelmed with attentions from the most distinguished personages of
the city. Though he had begun life when art showed such a different
aspect, he was by nature so imbued with that temperament, which at the
time of his death was beginning to assert itself in the younger school,
that he was able to assimilate a really astonishing share of the new
manner. He is guided by feeling more than by intellect. All the time he
is working out problems, he is dominated by the emotion of his subject,
but his emotion, his pathos, are invariably tempered and restrained by
the calm moderation of the quattrocento. The golden mean still has
command of Bellini, and never allows his feelings, however poignant,
to degenerate into sentimentality or violence.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Bergamo. Lochis: Madonna (E.).
Morelli: Two Madonnas.
Berlin. Pietà (L.); Dead Christ.
Florence. Uffizi: Allegory; The Souls in Paradise (L.).
London. Portrait of Doge (L.); Madonna (L.); Agony in Garden (E.);
Salvator Mundi (E.).
Milan. Brera: Pietà (E.); Madonna; Madonna, 1510.
Mond Collection. Dead Christ; Madonna (E.).
Murano. S. Pietro: Madonna with Saints and Doge Barbarigo, 1488.
Naples. Sala Grande: Transfiguration.
Pesaro. S. Francesco: Altarpiece.
Rimini. Dead Christ (E.).
Venice. Academy: Three Madonnas; Five small allegorical paintings (L.);
Madonna with SS. Catherine and Magdalene; Madonna with
SS. Paul and George; Madonna with five Saints.
Museo Correr: Crucifixion (E.); Transfiguration (E.); Dead
Christ; Dead Christ with Angels.
Palazzo Ducale, Sala di Tre: Pietà (E.).
Frari: Triptych; Madonna and Saints, 1488.
S. Giovanni Crisostomo: S. Chrysostom with SS. Jerome and
Augustine, 1513.
S. Maria dell' Orto: Madonna (E.).
S. Zaccaria: Madonna and Saints, 1505.
Vicenza. S. Corona: Baptism, 1510.
CHAPTER XIII
CIMA DA CONEGLIANO AND OTHER FOLLOWERS OF BELLINI
The rising tide of feeling, the growing sense of the joy of life and the
apprehension of pure beauty, which was strengthening in the people and
leading up to the great period of Venetian art, flooded round Bellini
and recognised its expression in him. He was more popular and had a
larger following among the artists of his day than either Gentile or
Carpaccio with their frankly mundane talent. Whatever Giovanni's State
works may have been, his religious paintings are the ones which are
copied and adapted and studied by the younger band of artists, and this
because of their beauty and notwithstanding their conventional subjects.
Gentile's pageant-pictures have still something cold and colourless,
with a touch of the archaic, while Giovanni's religious altarpieces
evince a new freedom of handling, a modern conception of beautiful
women, a use of that colour which was soon to reign triumphant. As
far as it went indeed, its triumph was already assured; as Giovanni
advanced towards old age, it was no longer of any use for the young
masters of the day to paint in any way save the one he had made popular,
and one artist after another who had begun in the school of Alvise
Vivarini ended as the disciple of Giovanni Bellini.
It was the habit of Bellini to trust much to his assistants, and as
everything that went out of his workshop was signed by his name, even if
it only represented the use of one of his designs, or a few words of
advice, and was "passed" by the master, it is no wonder that European
collections were flooded with works, among which only lately the names
of Catena, Previtali, Pennacchi, Marco Belli, Bissolo, Basaiti,
Rondinelli, and others begin to be disentangled.
Only one of his followers stands out as a strong and original master,
not quite of the first class, but developing his own individuality while
he draws in much of what both Alvise and Bellini had to give. Cima da
Conegliano, whose real name was Giovanni Battista, always signs himself
_Coneglianensis_: the title of Cima, "the Rock," by which he is now so
widely known, having first been mentioned in the seventeenth century by
Boschini, and perhaps given him by that writer himself. He was a son of
the mountains, who, though he came early to Venice, and lived there most
of his life, never loses something of their wild freshness, and to the
end delights in bringing them into his backgrounds. He lived with his
mother at Conegliano, the beautiful town of the Trevisan marches, until
1484, when he was twenty-five, and then came down to Vicenza, where he
fell under the tuition of Bartolommeo Montagna, a Vicentine painter, who
had been studying both with Alvise and Bellini. Cima's "Madonna with
Saints," painted for the Church of St. Bartolommeo, Vicenza, in 1489,
shows him still using the old method of tempera, in a careful, cold,
painstaking style, yet already showing his own taste. The composition
has something of Alvise, yet that something has been learned through
the agency of Montagna, for the figures have the latter's severity
and austere character and the colour is clearer and more crude than
Alvise's. It is no light resemblance, and he must have been long with
Montagna. In the type of the Christ in Montagna's Pietà at Monte Berico,
in the fondness for airy porticoes, in the architecture and main
features of his "Madonna enthroned" in the Museo Civico at Vicenza, we
see characteristics which Cima followed, though he interpreted them in
his own way. He turns the heavy arches and domes that Alvise loved, into
airy pergolas, decked with vines. He gives increasing importance to high
skies and to atmospheric distances. When he got to Venice in 1492, he
began to paint in oils, and undertook the panel of S. John Baptist with
attendant saints, still in the Church of S. Madonna dell' Orto. The
work of this is rather angular and tentative, but true and fresh, and
he comes to his best soon after, in the "Baptism" in S. Giovanni in
Bragora, which Bellini, sixteen years later, paid him the compliment
of copying. It was quite unusual to choose such a subject for the High
Altar, and could only be justified by devotion to the Baptist, who was
Cima's own name-saint as well as that of the Church. Cima is here at his
very highest; the composition is not derived from any one else, but is
all the conception of an ingenuous soul, full of intuition and insight.
The Christ is particularly fine and simple, unexaggerated in pose and
type; the arm of the Baptist is too long, but the very fault serves to
give him a refined, tentative look, which makes a sympathetic appeal.
The attendant angels look on with an air of sweet interest. The distant
mountains, the undulating country, the little town of Conegliano,
identified by the castle on its great rock, or _Cima_, are Arcadian in
their sunny beauty. The clouds, as a critic has pointed out, are full of
sun, not of rain. The landscape has not the sombre mystery of Titian's,
but is bright with the joyous delight of a lover of outdoor life. As
Cima masters the new medium he becomes larger and simpler, and his forms
lose much of their early angularity. A confraternity of his native town
ordered the grand altarpiece which is still in the Cathedral there, and
in this he shows his connection with Venice; the architecture is partly
taken from St. Mark's, the lovely Madonna head recalls Bellini, and a
group of Bellinesque angels play instruments at the foot of the throne.
Cima is, however, never merged in Bellini. He keeps his own clearly
defined, angular type; his peculiar, twisted curls are not the curls of
Bellini's saints, his treatment of surface is refined, enamel-like,
perfectly finished, but it has nothing of the rich, broken treatment
which Bellini's natural feeling for colour was beginning to dictate.
Cima's pale golden figures have an almost metallic sharpness and
precision, and though they are full of charm and refinement, they may
be thought lacking in spontaneity and passion. To 1501 belongs the
"Incredulity of St. Thomas," now in the Academy, but painted for the
Guild of Masons. It is a picture full of expression and dignity, broad
in treatment if a little cold in its self-restraint. Cima seems to have
not quite enough intellect, and not quite enough strong feeling.
However, the little altarpiece of the Nativity, in the Church of the
Carmine in Venice, has a richer, fuller touch, and this foreshadows the
work he did when he went to Parma, where his transparent shadows grow
broader and stronger, and his figures gain in ease and freedom. He
never loses the delicate radiance of his lights, and his types and his
architecture alike convey something of a peculiarly refined, brilliant
elegance.
Like all these men of great energy and prolific genius, Cima produced an
astonishing number of panels and altarpieces, and no doubt had pupils on
his own account, for a goodly list could be made of pictures in his
style, but not by his own hand, which have been carried by collectors
into widely-scattered places. His exquisite surface and finish and his
marked originality make him a difficult master to imitate with any
success. His latest work is dated 1508, but Ridolfi says he lived till
1517, and it seems probable that he returned to his beloved Conegliano
and there passed his last years.
If Cima possessed originality, Vincenzo of Treviso, called Catena,
gained an immense reputation by his industry and his power of imitating
and adopting the manner of Bellini's School. In those days men did not
trouble themselves much as to whether they were original or not. They
worked away on traditional compositions, frankly introducing figures
from their master's cartoons, modifying a type here, making some little
experiment or arrangement there, and, as a French critic puts it,
leaving their own personality to "hatch out" in due time, if it existed,
and when it was sufficiently ripened by real mastery of their art. It is
here that Catena fails; beginning as a journeyman in the Sala del Gran
Consiglio, at a salary of three ducats a month, he for long failed to
acquire the absolute mastery of drawing which was possessed by the
better disciples of the schools. But he is painstaking, determined to
get on, and eager to satisfy the continually increasing demand for work.
His draperies are confused and unmeaning, his faces round, with small
features, inexpressive button mouths, and weak chins, and his flesh
tints have little of the glow which is later the prerogative of every
second-rate painter. Yet Catena succeeds, like many another careful
mediocre man, in securing patronage, and as the sixteenth century opened
he gained the distinction from Doge Loredano of a commission to paint
the altarpiece for the Pregadi Chapel of the Sala di Tre, in the Ducal
Palace. He adapts his group from that of Bellini in the Cathedral of
Murano, bringing in a profile portrait of the kneeling Doge, of which he
afterwards made numerous copies, one of which was for long assigned to
Gentile and one to Giovanni Bellini.
That Catena is not without charm, we discern in such a composition as
his "Martyrdom of St. Cristina," in S. Maria Mater Domini, in which the
saint, a solid, Bellinesque figure, kneels upon the water, in which she
met her death, and is surrounded by little angels, holding up the
millstone tied round her neck, and laden with other instruments of her
martyrdom. Catena borrows right and left, and tries to follow every new
indication of contemporary taste. For instance, he remarks the growing
admiration for colour, and hopes by painting gay, flat tints, in bright
contrast, to produce the desired effect.
It is evident that he made many friends among the rich connoisseurs of
the time, and that his importance was out of proportion to his real
merit. Marcantonio Michele, writing an account of Raphael's last days to
a friend in Venice, and touching on Michelangelo's illness, begs him to
see that Catena takes care of himself, "as the times are unfavourable to
great painters." Catena had acquired and inherited considerable wealth;
he came of a family of merchants, and resided in his own house in San
Bartolommeo del Rialto. He lived in unmarried relations with Dona Maria
Fustana, the daughter of a furrier, to whom he bequeaths in his will 300
ducats and all his personal effects. As a careful portrait-painter, with
a talent for catching a likeness, he was in constant demand, and in some
of his heads--that of a canon dressed in blue and red, at Vienna, and
especially in one of a member of the Fugger family, now at Dresden--he
attains real distinction. And in his last phase he does at length prove
the power that lies behind long industry and perseverance. Suddenly the
Giorgionesque influence strikes him, and turning to imbibe this new
element, he produces that masterpiece which throws a glamour over all
his mediocre performances; his "Warrior adoring the Infant Christ," in
the National Gallery, is a picture full of charm, rich and romantic in
tone and spirit. The Virgin and the Child upon her knee are of his
dull round-eyed type, the form and colours of her draperies are still
unsatisfactory, but the knight in armour with his Eastern turban, the
romantic young page, holding his horse, are pure Giorgionesque figures.
Beautiful in themselves, set in a beautiful landscape glowing with light
and air, the whole picture exemplifies what surprising excellence could
be suddenly attained by even very inferior artists, who were constantly
associating with greater men, at a moment when the whole air was, as it
were, vibrating with genius.
Catena was very much addicted to making his will, and at least five
testaments or codicils exist, one of them devising a sum of money for
the benefit of the School of Painters in Venice, and another leaving to
his executor, Prior Ignatius, the picture of a "St. Jerome in his Cell,"
which may be the one in our national collection, which remained in
Venice till 1862. It is painted in his gay tones, imitating Basaiti and
Lotto, and brings in the partridge of which he made a sort of sign
manual.
Cardinal Bembo writes in 1525 to Pietro Lippomano, to announce that, at
his request, he is continuing his patronage of Catena:
Though I had done all that lay in my power for Vincenzo Catena
before I received your Lordship's warm recommendation in his
favour, I did not hesitate, on receipt of your letter, to add
something to the first piece I had from him, and I did so
because of my love and reverence for you, and I trust that he
will return appropriate thanks to you for having remembered
that you could command me.
Marco Basaiti was alternately a journeyman in different workshops and a
master on his own account. For long the assistant and follower of Alvise
Vivarini, we may judge that he was also his most trusted confidant, for
to him was left the task of completing the splendid altarpiece to S.
Ambrogio, in the Frari. His heavy hand is apparent in the execution, and
the two saints, Sebastian and Jerome, in the foreground, have probably
been added by him, for they have the air of interlopers, and do not come
up to the rest of the company in form and conception. The Sebastian,
with his hands behind his back and his loin cloth smartly tied, is quite
sufficiently reminiscent of Bellini's figure of 1473 to make us believe
that Basaiti was at once transferring his allegiance to that reigning
master. In his earlier phase he has the round heads and the dry precise
manner of the Muranese. In his large picture in the Academy, the
"Calling of the Sons of Zebedee," he produces a large, important set
piece, cold and lifeless, without one figure which arrests us, or
lingers in the memory. "The Christ on the Mount" is more interesting as
having been painted for San Giobbe, where Bellini's great altarpiece
was already hanging, and coming into competition with Bellini's early
rendering of the same scene. Painted some thirty years later, it is
interesting to see what it has gained in "modernness." The landscape and
trees are well drawn and in good colour, and the saints, standing on
either side of a high portico, have dignity. In the "Dead Christ," in
the Academy, he is following Bellini very closely in the flesh-tints and
the _putti_. The _putti_, looking thoughtfully at the dead, is a _motif_
beloved of Bellini, but Basaiti cannot give them Bellini's pathos and
significance; they are merely childish and seem to be amused.
In 1515 Basaiti has entered upon a new phase. He has felt Giorgione's
influence, and is beginning to try what he can do, while still keeping
close to Bellini, to develop a fuller touch, more animated figures, and
a brilliant effect of landscape. He runs a film of vaporous colour over
his hard outlines and makes his figures bright and misty, and though
underneath they are still empty and monotonous, it is not surprising
that many of his works for a time passed as those of Bellini. Though he
is a clever imitator, "his figures are designed with less mastery, his
drawing is a little less correct, his drapery less adapted to the under
form. Light and shade are not so cleverly balanced, colours have the
brightness, but not the true contrast required. In landscape he proceeds
from a bleak aridity to extreme gaiety; he does not dwell on detail, but
his masses have neither the sober tint nor the mysterious richness
conspicuous in his teacher ... he is a clever instrument." Both
Previtali and Rondinelli were workers with Basaiti in Bellini's studio.
Previtali occasionally signed himself Andrea Cordeliaghi or Cordella,
and has left many unsigned pictures. He copies Catena and Lotto, Palma
and Montagna; but for a time his work went forth from Bellini's workshop
signed with Bellini's name. In 1515, in a great altarpiece in San
Spirito at Bergamo, he first takes the title of Previtali, compiling it
in the cartello with the monogram already used as Cordeliaghi. There are
traces of many other minor artists at this period, all essaying the same
manner, copying one or other of the masters, taking hints from each
other. The Venetian love of splendour was turning to the collection
of works of art, and the work of second-class artists was evidently
much in demand and obtained its meed of admiration. Bissolo was a
fellow-labourer with Catena in the Hall of the Ducal Palace in 1492; he
is soft and nerveless, but he copies Bellini, and has imbibed something
of his tenderness of spirit.
It will be seen from this list how difficult it is to unravel the tale
of the false Bellinis. The master's own works speak for themselves
with no uncertain voice, but away from these it is very difficult to
pronounce as to whether he had given a design, or a few touches, or
advice, and still more difficult to decide whether these were bestowed
on Basaiti in his later manner, or on Previtali or Bissolo, or if the
teaching was handed on by them in a still more diluted form to the
lesser men who clustered round, much of whose work has survived and has
been masquerading for centuries under more distinguished names. It is
sometimes affirmed that the loss of originality in the endeavour to
paint like greater men has been a symptom of decay in every school in
the past. It is interesting to notice, therefore, that in every great
age of painting there has always been an undercurrent of imitation,
which has helped to form a stream of tradition, and which, as far as
we can see, has done no harm to the stronger spirits of the time.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Cima._
Berlin. Madonna with four Saints; Two Madonnas.
Conegliano. Duomo: Madonna and Saints, 1493.
Dresden. The Saviour; Presentation of Virgin.
London. Two Madonnas; Incredulity of S. Thomas; S. Jerome.
Milan. Brera: Six pictures of Saints; Madonna.
Parma. Madonna with Saints; Another; Endymion; Apollo and Marsyas.
Paris. Madonna with Saints.
Venice. Academy: Madonna with SS. John and Paul; Pietà; Madonna
with six Saints; Incredulity of S. Thomas; Tobias and the
Angel.
Carmine: Adoration of the Shepherds.
S. Giovanni in Bragora: Baptism, 1494; SS. Helen and
Constantine; Three Predelle; Finding of True Cross.
SS. Giovanni and Paolo: Coronation of the Virgin.
S. Maria dell' Orto: S. John Baptist and SS. Paul, Jerome,
Mark, and Peter.
Lady Layard. Madonna with SS. Francis and Paul; Madonna with
SS. Nicholas of Bari and John Baptist.
Vicenza. Madonna with SS. Jerome and John, 1489.
_Vincenzo Catena._
Bergamo. Carrara: Christ at Emmaus.
Berlin. Portrait of Fugger; Madonna, Saints, and Donor (E.).
Dresden. Holy Family (L.).
London. Warrior adoring Infant Christ (L.); S. Jerome in his Study (L.);
Adoration of Magi (L.).
Mr. Benson: Holy Family.
Lord Brownlow: Nativity.
Mond Collection: Madonna, Saints, and Donors (E.).
Paris. Venetian Ambassadors at Cairo.
Venice. Ducal Palace: Madonna, Saints, and Doge Loredan (E.).
Giovanelli Palace: Madonna and Saints.
S. Maria Mater Domini: S. Cristina.
S. Trovaso: Madonna.
Vienna. Portrait of a Canon.
_Marco Basaiti._
Bergamo. The Saviour, 1517; Two Portraits.
Berlin. Pietà; Altarpiece; S. Sebastian; Madonna (E.).
London. S. Jerome; Madonna.
Milan. Ambrosiana: Risen Christ.
Munich. Madonna, Saints, and Donor (E.).
Murano. S. Pietro: Assumption.
Padua. Portrait, 1521; Madonna with SS. Liberale and Peter.
Venice. Academy: Saints; Dead Christ; Christ in the Garden, 1510;
Calling of Children of Zebedee, 1510.
Museo Correr: Madonna and Donor; Christ and Angels.
Salute: S. Sebastian.
Vienna. Calling of Children of Zebedee, 1515.
_Andrea Previtali._
Bergamo. Carrara: Pentecost; Marriage of S. Catherine; Altarpiece;
Madonna, 1514; Madonna with Saints and Donors.
Lochis: Madonna and Saint.
Count Moroni: Madonna and Saints; Family Group.
S. Alessandro in Croce: Crucifixion, 1524.
S. Spirito: S. John Baptist and Saints, 1515; Madonna and
four Female Saints, 1525.
Berlin. Madonna and Saints; Marriage of S. Catherine.
Dresden. Madonna and Saints.
London. Madonna and Donor (E.).
Milan. Brera: Christ in Garden, 1512.
Oxford. Christchurch Library: Madonna.
Venice. Ducal Palace: Christ in Limbo; Crossing of the Red Sea.
Redentore: Nativity; Crucifixion.
Verona. Stoning of Stephen; Immaculate Conception.
_N. Rondinelli._
Berlin. Madonna.
Florence. Uffizi: Madonna and Saints.
Milan. Brera: Madonna with four Saints and three Angels.
Paris. Madonna and Saints.
Ravenna. Two Madonnas with Saints.
S. Domenico: Organ Shutters; Madonna and Saints.
Venice. Museo Correr: Madonna; Madonna with Saints and Donors.
Giovanelli Palace: Two Madonnas.
_Bissolo._
London. Mr. Benson: Madonna and Saints.
Mond Collection: Madonna and Saints.
Venice. Academy: Dead Christ; Madonna and Saints; Presentation in Temple.
S. Giovanni in Bragora: Triptych.
Redentore: Madonna and Saints.
S. Maria Mater Domini: Transfiguration.
Lady Layard: Madonna and Saints.
PART II
CHAPTER XIV
GIORGIONE
When we enter a gallery of Florentine paintings, we find our admiration
and criticism expressing themselves naturally in certain terms; we are
struck by grace of line, by strenuous study of form, by the evidence of
knowledge, by the display of thought and intellectual feeling. The
Florentine gestures and attitudes are expressive, nervous, fervent, or,
as in Michelangelo and Signorelli, alive with superhuman energy. But
when looking at pictures of the Venetian School we unconsciously use
quite another sort of language; epithets like "dark" and "rich" come
most freely to our lips; a golden glow, a slumberous velvety depth,
seem to engulf and absorb all details. We are carried into the land
of romance, and are fascinated and soothed, rather than stimulated
and aroused. So it is with portraits; before the "Mona Lisa" our
intelligence is all awake, but the men and women of Venetian canvases
have a grave, indolent serenity, which accords well with the slumber
of thought.
Up to the beginning of the sixteenth century the painters of Venice
had not differed very materially from those of other schools; they
had gradually worked out or learned the technicalities of drawing,
perspective and anatomy. They had been painting in oils for twenty-five
years, and they betrayed a greater fondness for pageant-pictures than
was felt in other States of Italy. Florence appoints Michelangelo and
Leonardo to decorate her public palace, but no great store is set by
their splendid achievements; their work is not even completed. The
students fall upon the cartoons, which are allowed to perish, instead
of being treasured by the nation. Gentile Bellini and Carpaccio and the
band of State painters are appreciated and well rewarded. These men have
reproduced something of the lucent transparency, the natural colour of
Venice, but it is as if unconsciously; they are not fully aiming at any
special effect. Year after year the Venetian masters assimilate more or
less languidly the influences which reach them from the mainland. They
welcome Guariento and Gentile da Fabriano, they set themselves to learn
from Veronese or Florentine, the Paduans contribute their chiselled
drawing, their learned perspective, their archeological curiosity. Yet
even early in the day the Venetians escape from that hard and learned
art which is so alien to their easy, voluptuous temperament. Jacopo
Bellini cannot conform to it, and his greatest son is ready to follow
feeling and emotion, and in his old age is quick to discover the first
flavour of the new wine. If Venetian art had gone on upon the lines
we have been tracing up to now, there would have been nothing very
distinctive about it, for, however interesting and charming Alvise and
Carpaccio, Cima and the Bellini may be, it is not of them we think when
we speak of the Venetian School and when we rank it beside that of
Florence, while Giovanni Bellini alone, in his later works, is not
strong enough to bear the burden.
The change which now comes over painting is not so much a technical one
as a change of temper, a new tendency in human thought, and we link it
with Giorgione because he was the channel through which the deep impulse
first burst into the light. We have tried to trace the growth of the
early Venetian School, but it does not develop logically like that of
Florence; it is not the result of long endeavour, adding one acquisition
and discovery to another. Venetian art was peculiarly the outcome of
personalities, and it did not know its own mind till the sixteenth
century. Then, like a hidden spring, it bubbles irresistibly to the
surface, and the spot where it does so is called by the name of a man.
There are beings in most great creative epochs who, with peculiar
facility, seem to embody the purpose of their age and to yield
themselves as ready instruments to its design. When time is ripe they
appear, and are able, with perfect ease, to carry out and give voice to
the desires and tendencies which have been straining for expression.
These desires may owe their origin to national life and temperament; it
may have taken generations to bring them to fruition, but they become
audible through the agency of an individual genius. A genius is
inevitably moulded by his age. Rome, in the seventeenth century,
drew to her in Bernini a man who could with real power illustrate her
determination to be grandiose and ostentatious, and, at the height of
the Renaissance, Venice draws into her service a man whose sensuous
feeling was instilled, accentuated, and welcomed by every element
around him.
More conclusively than ever, at this time, Venice, the world's great
sea-power, was in her full glory as the centre of the world's commerce
and its art and culture. Vasco da Gama had discovered the sea route to
India in 1498, but the stupendous effect which this was to exert on the
whole current of power did not become apparent all at once. Venice was
still the great emporium of the East, linked to it by a thousand ties,
Oriental in her love of Eastern richness.
It would be exaggerating to say that the Venetians of the sixteenth
century could not draw. As there were Tuscans who understood beautiful
harmonies of colour, so there were Venetians who knew a good deal about
form; but the other Italians looked upon colour as a charming adjunct,
almost, one might say, as an amiable weakness: they never would have
allowed that it might legitimately become the end and aim in painting,
and in the same way form, though respected and considered, was never the
principal object of the Venetians. Up to this time Venice had fed her
emotional instincts by pageants and gold and velvets and brocades, but
with Giorgione she discovered that there was a deeper emotional vehicle
than these superficial glories,--glowing depths of colour enveloped in
the mysterious richness of chiaroscuro which obliterated form, and hid
and suggested more than it revealed.
Giorgione no longer described "in drawing's learned tongue"; he
carried all before him by giving his direct impression in colour. He
conceives in colour. The Florentines cared little if their finely drawn
draperies were blue or red, but Giorgione images purple clouds, their
dark velvet glowing towards a rose and orange horizon. He hardly knows
what attitudes his characters take, but their chestnut hair, their
deep-hued draperies, their amber flesh, make a moving harmony in which
the importance of exact modelling is lost sight of. His scenes are not
composed methodically and according to the old rules, but are the direct
impress of the painter's joy in life. It was a new and audacious style
in painting, and its keynote, and absolutely inevitable consequence,
was to substitute for form and for gay, simple tints laid upon it, the
quality of chiaroscuro. We all know how the shades of evening are able
to transform the most commonplace scene; the dull road becomes a
mysterious avenue, the colourless foliage develops luscious depths,
the drab and arid plain glows with mellow light, purple shadows clothe
and soften every harsh and ugly object, all detail dies, and our
apprehension of it dies also. Our mood changes; instead of observing
and criticising, we become soothed, contemplative, dreamy. It is the
carrying of this profound feeling into a colour-scheme by means of
chiaroscuro, so that it is no longer learned and explanatory, but deeply
sensuous and emotional, that is the gift to art which found full voice
with Giorgione, and which in one moment was recognised and welcomed to
the exclusion of the older manner, because it touched the chord which
vibrated through the whole Venetian temperament.
And the immediate result was the picture of _no subject_. Giorgione
creates for us idle figures with radiant flesh, or robed in rich
costumes, surrounded by lovely country, and we do not ask or care why
they are gathered together. We have all had dreams of Elysian fields,
"where falls not any rain, nor ever wind blows loudly," where all is
rest and freedom, where music blends with the plash of fountains, and
fruits ripen, and lovers dream away the days, and no one asks what went
before or what follows after. The Golden Age, the haunt of fauns and
nymphs: there never has been such a day, or such a land: it is a mood, a
vision: it has danced before the eyes of poets, from David to Keats and
Tennyson: it has rocked the tired hearts of men in all ages: the vision
of a resting-place which makes no demands and where the dwellers are
exempt from the cares and weakness of mortality. Needless to say, it is
an ideal born of the East; it is the Eastern dream of Paradise, and it
speaks to that strain in the temperament which recognises that life
cannot be all thought, but also needs feeling and emotion. And for the
first time in all the world the painter of Castelfranco sets that vague
dream before men's eyes. The world, with its wistful yearnings and
questionings, such as Leonardo or Botticelli embodied, said little to
his audience. Here was their natural atmosphere, though they had never
known it before. These deep, solemn tones, these fused and golden lights
are what Giorgione grasps from the material world, and as he steeps his
senses in them the subject counts but little in the deep enjoyment they
communicate. We, who have seen his manner repeated and developed through
thousands of pictures, find it difficult to realise that there had been
nothing like it before, that it was a unique departure, that when
Bellini and Titian looked at his first creations they must have
experienced a shock of revelation. The old definite style must have
seemed suddenly hard and meagre, and every time they looked on the
glorious world, the deep glow of sunset, the mysterious shades of
falling night, they must have felt they were endowed with a sense to
which they had hitherto been strangers, but which, it was at once
apparent, was their true heritage. They had found themselves, and in
them Venice found her real expression, and with Giorgione and those who
felt his impetus began the true Venetian School, set apart from all
other forms of art by its way of using and diffusing and intensifying
colour.
When Giorgione, the son of a member of the house of Barbarelli and a
peasant girl of Vedelago, came down to Venice, we gather that he had
nothing of the provincial. Vasari, who must often have heard of him
from Titian, describes him as handsome, engaging, of distinguished
appearance, beloved by his friends, a favourite with women, fond of
dress and amusement, an admirable musician, and a welcome guest in the
houses of the great. He was evidently no peasant-bred lad, but probably,
though there is no record of the fact, was brought up, like many
illegitimate children, in the paternal mansion. His home was not far
from the lagoons, in one of the most beautiful places it is possible to
imagine, on a lovely and fertile plain running up to the Asolean hills
and with the Julian Alps lying behind. We guess that he received his
education in the school of Bellini, for when that master sold his
allegory of the "Souls in Paradise" to one of the Medici, to adorn the
summer villa of Poggio Imperiale, there went with it the two small
canvases now in the Uffizi, the "Ordeal of Moses" and the "Judgment
of Solomon," delightful little paintings in Giorgione's rich and
distinctive style, but less accomplished than Bellini's picture, and
with imperfections in the drawing of drapery and figures which suggest
that they are the work of a very young man. The love of the Venetians
for decorating the exterior of their palaces with fresco led to
Giorgione being largely employed on work which was unhappily a grievous
waste of time and talent, as far as posterity is concerned. We have a
record of façades covered with spirited compositions and heraldic
devices, of friezes with Bacchus and Mars, Venus and Mercury. Zanetti,
in his seventeenth-century prints, has preserved a noble figure of
"Fortitude" grasping an axe, but beyond a few fragments nothing has
survived. Before he was thirty Giorgione was entrusted with the
important commission of decorating the Fondaco dei Tedeschi. This
building, which we hear of so often in connection with the artists
of Venice, was the trading-house for German, Hungarian, and Polish
merchants. The Venetian Government surrounded these merchants with the
most jealous restrictions. Every assistant and servant connected with
them was by law a Venetian, and, in fact, a spy of the Republic. All
transactions of buying and selling were carried out by Venetian brokers,
of whom some thirty were appointed. As time went on, some of these
brokerships must have resolved themselves into sinecure offices, for
we find Bellini holding one, and certainly without discharging any of
the original duties, and they seem to have become some sort of State
retainerships. In 1505 the old Fondaco had been burnt to the ground, and
the present building was rising when Giorgione and Titian were boys. A
decree went forth that no marble, carving, or gilding were to be used,
so that painting the outside was the only alternative. The roof was on
in 1507, and from that date Giorgione, Titian, and Morto da Feltre were
employed in the adornment of the façade. Vasari is very much exercised
over Giorgione's share in these decorations. "One does not find one
subject carefully arranged," he complains, "or which follows correctly
the history or actions of ancients or moderns. As for me, I have never
been able to understand the meaning of these compositions, or have met
any one able to explain them to me. Here one sees a man with a lion's
head, beside a woman. Close by one comes upon an angel or a Love: it is
all an inexplicable medley." Yet he is delighted with the brilliancy of
the colour and the splendid execution, and adds, "Colour gives more
pleasure in Venice than anywhere else."
Among other early work was the little "Adoration of the Magi," in the
National Gallery, and the so-called "Philosophers" at Vienna. According
to the latest reading, this last illustrates Virgil's legend that when
the Trojan Æneas arrived in Italy, Evander pointed out the future site
of Rome to the ancient seer and his son. Giorgione, in painting the
scene, is absorbed in the beauty of nature. It is his first great
landscape, and all accessories have been sacrificed to intensity of
effect. He revels in the glory of the setting sun, the broad tranquil
masses of foliage, the long evening shadows, and the effect of dark
forms silhouetted against the radiant light.
CHAPTER XV
GIORGIONE (_continued_)
When Giorgione was twenty-six he went back to Castelfranco, and painted
an altarpiece for the Church of San Liberale. In the sixteenth century
Tuzio Costanza, a well-known captain of Free Companions, who had made
his fortune in the wars, where he had been attached to Catherine
Cornaro, followed the dethroned queen from Cyprus, and when she retired
to Asolo, settled near her at Castelfranco. His son, Matteo, entered the
service of the Venetian Republic, and became a leader of fifty lances;
but Matteo was killed at the battle of Ravenna in 1504, and Costanza had
his son's body embalmed and buried in the family chapel.
Nothing is known of the details of this commission, but we are not
straining the bounds of probability by assuming that in a little town
like Castelfranco, hardly more than a village, the two youths must
have been well known to each other, and that this acquaintance and
the familiarity of the one with the appearance of the other may have
been the determining cause which led the bereaved father to give the
commission to the young painter, while the tragic circumstances were
such as would appeal to an ardent, enthusiastic nature. A treasure of
our National Gallery is a study made by Giorgione for the figure of San
Liberale, who is represented as a young man with bare head and crisp,
golden locks, dressed in silver armour, copied from the suit in which
Matteo Costanza is dressed in the stone effigy which is still preserved
in the cemetery at Castelfranco. At the side of the stone figure lies a
helmet, resembling that on the head of the saint in the altarpiece.
In Giorgione's group the Mother and Child are enthroned on high, with
St. Francis and St. Liberale on either hand. The Child's glance is
turned upon the soldier-saint, a gallant figure with his lance at rest,
his dagger on his hip, his gloves in his hand, young, high-bred, with
features of almost feminine beauty. The picture is conceived in a new
spirit of simplicity of design, and shows a new feeling for restraint in
matters of detail. It is the work of a man who has observed that early
morning, like late evening, has a marvellous power of eliminating all
unessential accessories and of enveloping every object in a delicious
scheme of light. Repainted, cleaned, restored as the canvas is, it is
still full of an atmosphere of calm serenity. It is not the ecstatic,
devotional reverie of Perugino's saints. The painter of Castelfranco
has not steeped his whole soul in religious imagination, like the
painter of Umbria; he is an exemplar of the lyric feeling; his work is a
poem in praise of youth and beauty, and dreams in air and sunshine. He
uses atmosphere to enhance the mood, but Giorgione carries his unison of
landscape with human feeling much further than Perugino; he observes the
delicate effects of light, and limpid air circulates in his distance.
The sun rising over the sea throws a glamour and purity of early morning
over a scene meant to glorify the memory of a young life. The painter
shows his connection with his master by using the figure of the St.
Francis in Bellini's San Giobbe altarpiece. What Bellini owed to
Giorgione is still a matter for speculation. The San Zaccaria
altarpiece was, as we have seen, painted in the year following that of
Castelfranco. Something has incited the old painter to fresh efforts;
out of his own evolution, or stimulated by his pupil's splendid
experiments, he is drawn into the golden atmosphere of the Venetian
cinque-cento.
The Venetian painters were distinguished by their love for the kindred
art of music. Giorgione himself was an admirable musician, and linked
with all that is akin to music in his work, is his love for painting
groups of people knit together by this bond. He uses it as a pastime to
bring them into company, and the rich chords of colour seem permeated
with the chords of sound. Not always, however, does he need even this
excuse; his "conversation-pieces" are often merely composed of persons
placed with indescribable grace in exquisite surroundings, governed by a
mood which communicates itself to the beholder.
With the Florentines, the cartoon was carefully drawn upon the wall and
flat tints were superimposed. They knew beforehand what the effect was
to be; but the Venetians from this time gradually worked up the picture,
imbedding tints, intensifying effects, one touch suggesting another,
till the whole rich harmony was gradually evoked. With the Florentines,
too, the figures supply the main interest; the background is an
arbitrary addition, placed behind them at the painter's leisure, but
Giorgione's and Titian's _fêtes champêtres_ and concerts could not _be_
at all in any other environment. The amber flesh-tints and the glowing
garments are so blended with the deep tones of the landscape, that one
would not instil the mood the artist desires without the other. Piero di
Cosimo and Pintoricchio can place delightful nymphs and fairy princesses
in idyllic scenes, and they stir no emotion in us beyond an observant
pleasure, a detached amusement; but Giorgione's gloomy blues, his
figures shining through the warm dusk of a summer evening, waken we
hardly know what of vague yearning and brooding memory.
In the "Fête Champêtre" of the Louvre he acquires a frankly sensuous
charm. He becomes riper, richer in feeling, and displays great
exuberance of style. The woman filling her pitcher at the fountain is
exquisite in line and curve and amber colour. She seems to listen lazily
to the liquid fall of the water mingling with the half-heard music of
the pipes. The beautiful idyll in the Giovanelli Palace is full of art
of composition. It is built up with uprights; pillars are formed by the
groups of trees and figures, cut boldly across by the horizontal line of
the bridge, but the figures themselves are put in without any attention
to subject, though an unconscious humorist has discovered in them the
domestic circle of the painter. The man in Venetian dress is there to
assist the left-hand columnar group, placed at the edge of the picture
after the manner of Leonardo. The woman and child lighten the mass of
foliage on the right and make a beautiful pattern. The white town of
Castelfranco sings against the threatening sky, the winds bluster
through the space, the trees shiver with the coming storm. Here and
there leafy boughs are struck in with a slight, crisp touch, in which
we can follow readily the painter's quick impression.
The "Knight of Malta" is a grand magisterial figure, majestic, yet full
of ardent warmth lying behind the grave, indifferent nobility. The face
is bisected with shadow, in the way which Michelangelo and Andrea del
Sarto affected, and the cone-shaped head with parted hair is of the type
which seems particularly to have pleased the painter. To Giorgione, too,
belongs the honour of having created a Venus as pure as the Aphrodite of
Cnidos and as beautiful as a courtesan of Titian.
[Illustration: _Giorgione._
FÊTE CHAMPÊTRE.
_Louvre._
(_Photo, Alinari._)]
The death of Giorgione from plague in 1511 is registered by all the
oldest authorities. His body was conveyed to Castelfranco by members of
the Barbarelli family and buried in the Church of San Liberale. In 1638
an epitaph was placed over his tomb by Matteo and Ercole Barbarelli.
Allowing that he was hardly more than twenty when his new manner began
to gain a following, he had only some twelve years in which to establish
his deep and lasting influence. We divine that he was a man of strong
personality, such a one as warms and stimulates his companions. Even his
nickname tells us something,--Great George, the Chief, the George of
Georges,--it seems to express him as a leader. And we have no lack of
proof that he was admired and looked up to. His style became the only
one that found favour in Venice, and the painters of the day did their
best to conform to it. Few authentic examples are left from his own
hand, but out of his conscious and devoted and more or less successful
imitators, there grew up a school, "out of all those fascinating works,
rightly or wrongly attributed to him; out of many copies from, or
variations on him, by unknown or uncertain workmen, whose drawings and
designs were, for various reasons, prized as his; out of the immediate
impression he made upon his contemporaries and with which he continued
in men's minds; out of many traditions of subject and treatment which
really descend from him to our own time, and by retracing which we fill
out the original image."
Summing up all these influences, he has left us the Giorgionesque;
the art of choosing a moment in which the subject and the elements of
colour and design are so perfectly fused and blended that we have no
need to ask for any more articulate story; a moment into which all the
significance, the fulness of existence has condensed itself, so that
we are conscious of the very essence of life. Those idylls of beings
wrapped into an ideal dreamland by music and the sound of water and the
beauty of wood and mountain and velvet sward, need all our conscious
apprehension of life if we are to drink in their full fascination. The
dream of the Lotos-eaters can only come with force to those who can
contrast it adequately with the experience, the complication, and the
thousand distractions of an over-civilised world. Rest and relaxation,
the power of the deeply tinted eventide, or of the fresh morning light,
and the calm that drinks in the sensations they are able to afford, are
among the precious things of life. The instinct upon which Giorgione's
work rests is the satisfying of the feeling as well as the thinking
faculty, the life of the heart, as compared to the life of the
intellect, the solution of life's problems by love instead of by
thought. It was the Eastern ideal, and its positive expression is
conveyed by means of colour, deep, restful, satisfying, fused and
controlled by chiaroscuro rather than by form.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Berlin. Portrait of a Man.
Buda-Pesth. Portrait of a Man.
Castelfranco. Duomo: Madonna with SS. Francis and Liberale.
Dresden. Sleeping Venus.
Florence. Uffizi: Trial of Moses (E.); Judgment of Solomon (E.); Knight
of Malta.
Hampton Court. A Shepherd.
Madrid. Madonna with SS. Roch and Anthony of Padua.
Paris. Fête Champêtre.
Rome. Villa Borghese: Portrait of a Lady.
Venice. Seminario: Apollo and Daphne.
Palazzo Giovanelli: Gipsy and Soldier.
San Rocco: Christ bearing Cross.
Boston. Mrs. Gardner: Christ bearing Cross.
London. Sketch of a Knight; Adoration of Shepherds.
Viscount Allendale: Adoration of Shepherds.
Vienna. Evander showing Æneas the Future Site of Rome.
CHAPTER XVI
THE GIORGIONESQUE
Giorgione had given the impulse, and all the painters round him felt his
power. The Venetian painters that is, for it is remarkable, at a time
when the men of one city observed and studied and took hints from those
of every other, how faint are the signs that this particular manner
attracted any great attention in other art centres. Leonardo da Vinci
was a master of chiaroscuro, but he used it only to express his forms,
and never sacrifices to it the delicacy and fineness of his design. It
is the one quality Raphael never assimilates, except for a brief instant
at the period when Sebastian del Piombo had arrived in Rome from
Venice. It takes hold most strongly upon Andrea del Sarto, who seems,
significantly enough, to have had no very pronounced intellectual
capacity, but in Venice itself it now became the only way. The old
Bellini finds in it his last and fullest ideal; Catena, Basaiti, Cariani
do their best to acquire it, and so successfully was it acquired, so
congenial was it to Venetian art, that even second- and third-rate
Venetian painters have usually something attractive which triumphs over
superficial and doubtful drawing and grouping. It is easy to see how
much to their taste was this fused and golden manner, this disregard of
defined form, and this new play of chiaroscuro. The Venetian room in the
National Gallery is full of such examples: the Nymphs and _Amoretti_ of
No. 1695, charming figures against melting vines and olives; "Venus and
Adonis," in which a bewitching Cupid chases a butterfly; Lovers in a
landscape, roaming in the summer twilight; scenes in which neither
person nor scenery is a pretext for the other, but each has its full
share in arousing the desired emotion. Such pictures are ascribed to, or
taken from Giorgione by succeeding critics, but have all laid hold of
his charm, and have some share in his inspiration.
One of the ablest of his followers, a man whose work is still confounded
with the master's, is Cariani, the Bergamasque, who at different times
in his life also successfully imitated Palma and Lotto. In his
Giorgionesque manner Cariani often creates charming figures and strong
portraits, though he pushes his colour to a coarse, excessive tone. His
family group in the Roncalli Collection at Bergamo is very close to
Giorgione. Seven persons, three women and four men, are grouped together
upon a terrace, and behind them stretches a calm landscape, half
concealed by a brocaded hanging. The effect of the whole is restful,
though it lacks Giorgione's concentration of sensation. Then, again,
Cariani flies off to the gayer, more animated style of Lotto. Later on,
when he tries to reproduce Giorgione's pastoral reveries, his shepherds
and nymphs become mere peasants, herdsmen, and country wenches, who have
nothing of the idyllic distinction which Giorgione never failed to
infuse. "The Adulteress before Christ" at Glasgow still bears the
greater name, but its short, vulgar figures and faulty composition
disclaim his authorship, while Cariani is fully capable of such
failings, and the exaggerated, red-brown tone is quite characteristic
of him.
These painters are more than merely imitative; they are also typical.
Giorgione's new manner had appealed to some quality inherent and
hereditary in their nature, and the essential traits they single out and
dwell upon are the traits which appeal equally to the instincts of both.
It is this which makes their efforts more sympathetic than those of
other second-rate painters. Colour, or rather the peculiar way in which
Giorgione used colour, made a natural appeal to them, and it is a medium
which does make an immediate appeal and covers a multitude of
shortcomings.
But Giorgione was not to leave his message to the mercy of mere
disciples and imitators, however apt. Growing up around him were men to
whom that message was an inspiration and a trumpet-call, men who were to
develop and deepen it, endowing it with their own strength, recognising
that the way which the young pioneer of Castelfranco had pointed out
was the one into which they could unhesitatingly pour their whole
inclination. The instinct for colour was in their very blood. They
turned to it with the heart-whole delight with which a bird seeks the
air or a fish the water, and foremost among them, to create and to
consolidate, was the mighty Titian.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Cariani._
Bergamo. Carrara: Madonna and Saints.
Lochis: Woman and Shepherd; Portraits; Saints.
Morelli: Madonna (L.).
Roncalli Collection: Family Group.
Hampton Court. Adoration of Shepherds (L.); Venus (L.).
London. Death of S. Peter Martyr (L.); Madonna and Saints (L.).
Milan. Brera: Madonna and Saints (L.); Madonna (L.).
Ambrosiana: Way to Golgotha.
Paris. Madonna, Saints, and Donor (E.); Holy Family and Saints.
Rome. Villa Borghese: Sleeping Venus; Madonna and S. Peter.
Venice. Holy Family; Portraits.
Vienna. Christ bearing Cross; The "Bravo."
_School of Giorgione._
London. Unknown subject; Adoration of Shepherds; Venus and Adonis;
Landscape, with Nymphs and Cupids; The Garden of Love.
Mr. Benson. Lovers and Pilgrim.
CHAPTER XVII
TITIAN
The mountains of Cadore are not always visible from Venice, but there
they lie, behind the mists, and in the clear shining after rain, in the
golden eventide of autumn, and on steel-cold winter days they stand out,
lapis-lazuli blue or deep purple, or, like Shelley's enchanted peaks, in
sharp-cut, beautiful shapes rising above billowy slopes. Cadore is a
land of rich chestnut woods, of leaping streams, of gleams and glooms,
sudden storms and bursts of sunshine. It is an order of scenery which
enters deep into the affections of its sons, and we can form some idea
of the hold its mingling of wild poetry and sensuous softness obtained
over the mind of Titian from the fact that in after years, while he
never exerts himself to paint the city in which he lived and in which
all his greatest triumphs were gained, he is uniformly constant to his
mountain home, enters into its spirit and interprets its charm with warm
and penetrating insight.
The district formed part of the dependencies of the great republic, and
relied upon Venice for its safety, its distinction, and in great measure
for its employment. The small craftsmen and artists from all the country
round looked forward to going down to seek their fortune at her hands.
They tacked the name of their native town to their own name, and were
drawn into the magnificent life of the city of the sea, and came back
from time to time with stories of her art, her power, and beauty.
The Vecelli had for generations held honourable posts in Cadore. The
father and grandfather of the young Tiziano were influential men, and
with his brother and sisters he must have been brought up in comfort.
There are even traditions of noble birth, and it is evident that Titian
was always a gentleman, though this did not prevent his being educated
as a craftsman, and when he was only ten years old he was sent down to
Venice to be apprenticed to a mosaicist.
It was a changing Venice to which Titian came as a boy; changing in its
life, its social and political conditions, and its art was faithfully
registering its aspirations and tastes. More than at any previous time,
it was calculated to impress a youth to whom it had been held up as the
embodiment of splendid sovereignty, and the difference between the
little hill-town set in the midst of its wild solitudes and the
brilliant city of the sea must have been dazzling and bewildering. A
new sense of intellectual luxury had awakened in the great commercial
centre. The Venetian love of splendour was displaying itself by the
encouragement and collection of objects of art, and both ancient and
modern works were in increasing request. On Gentile Bellini's and
Carpaccio's canvases we see the sort of people the Venetians were,
shrewd, quiet, splendour-loving, but business-like, the young men
fashionably dressed, fastidious connoisseurs, splendid patrons of art
and of religion. Buyers were beginning to find out what a delightful
decoration the small picture made, and that it was as much in place in
their own halls as over the altar of a chapel. The portrait, too, was
gaining in importance, and the idea of making it a pleasure-giving
picture, even more than a faithful transcript, was gathering ground. The
"Procession of the Relic" was still in Gentile's studio, but the Frari
"Madonna and Child" was just installed in its place. Carpaccio was
beginning his long series of St. Ursula, and the Bellini and Vivarini
were in keen rivalship.
Titian is said to have passed from the _bottega_ of Gentile to that of
Giovanni Bellini, but nothing in his style reminds us of the former, and
even his early work has very little that is really Bellinesque, whereas
from the very first he reflects the new spirit which emanated from
Giorgione. Titian was a year the elder, and we can divine the sympathy
that arose between the two when they came together in Bellini's School.
As soon as their apprenticeship was at an end they became partners. Fond
of pleasure and gaiety, loving splendour, dress, and amusement, they
were naturally congenial companions, and were drawn yet more closely
together by their love for their art and by the aptitude with which
Titian grasped Giorgione's principles.
And if we ask ourselves why we take for granted that of two young men so
closely allied in age and circumstance we accept Giorgione as the leader
and the creator of the new style, we may answer that Titian was a more
complex character. He was intellectual, and carried his intellect into
his art, but this was no new feature. The intellect had had and was
having a large share in art. But in that part which was new, and which
was launching art upon an untried course, Giorgione is more intense,
more one-idea'd than Titian. What he does he does with a fervour and a
spontaneity that marks him as one who pours out the language of the
heart.
The partnership between the two was probably arranged a few years before
the end of the century, for we have seen that young painters usually
started on their own account at about nineteen or twenty. For some years
Titian, like Giorgione, was engrossed by the decorations of the Fondaco
dei Tedeschi. The groups of figures described by Zanetti in 1771 show us
that while Giorgione made some attempt at following classic figures,
Titian broke entirely with Greek art and only thought of picturesque
nature and contemporary costume.
Vasari complains that he never knew what Titian's "Judith" was meant to
represent, "unless it was Germania," but Zanetti, who had the benefit of
Sebastiano Ricci's taste, declares that from what he saw, both Giorgione
and Titian gave proofs of remarkable skill. "While Giorgione showed a
fervid and original spirit and opened up a new path, over which he shed
a light that was to guide posterity, Titian was of a grander and more
equable genius, leaning at first, indeed, upon Giorgione's example, but
expanding with such force and rapidity as to place him in advance of
his companion, on an eminence to which no later craftsman was able to
climb.... He moderated the fire of Giorgione, whose strength lay in
fanciful movement and a mysterious artifice in disposing shadows,
contrasted darkly with warm lights, blended, strengthened, blurred, so
as to produce the semblance of exuberant life." Certain works remain to
link the two painters; even now critics are divided as to which of
the two to attribute the "Concert" in the Pitti. The figures are
Giorgionesque, but the technique establishes it as an early Titian, and
it is doubtful whether Giorgione would be capable of the intellectual
effort which produced the dreamy, passionate expression of the young
monk, borne far out of himself by his own melody, and half recalled to
life by the touch on his shoulder. Titian, like Giorgione, was a
musician, and the fascination of music is felt by many masters of the
Italian schools. In one picture the player feels vaguely after the
melody, in another we are asked to anticipate the song that is just
about to begin, or the last chords of that just finished vibrate upon
the ear, but nowhere else in all art has any one so seized the melody of
an instant and kept its fulness and its passion sounding in our ears as
this musician does.
Though we cannot say that Titian was the pupil of any one master, the
fifteen years, more or less, that he spent with Giorgione left an
indelible impression upon him. We have only to look at such a picture
as the "Madonna and Child with SS. John Baptist and Antony Abate,"
in the Uffizi, an early work, to recollect that in 1503 Giorgione at
Castelfranco had taken the Madonna from her niche in the sanctuary
and had enthroned her on high in a bright and sunny landscape with
S. Liberale standing sentinel at her feet, like a knight guarding
his liege lady.
Titian in this early group casts every convention aside; a beautiful
woman and lovely children are placed in surroundings whose charm is
devoid of hieratic and religious significance. The same easy unfettered
treatment appears in the "Madonna with the Cherries" at Vienna, and the
"Madonna with St. Bridget and S. Ulfus" at Madrid, and while it has been
surmised that the example of the precise Albert Dürer, who paid his
first visit to Venice in 1506, was not without its effect in preserving
Titian from falling into laxity of treatment and in inciting him to fine
finish, it is interesting to find that Titian was, in fact, discarding
the use of the carefully traced and transferred cartoon, and was
sketching his design freely on panel or canvas with a brush dipped in
brown pigment, and altering and modifying it as he went on.
The last years of Titian's first period in Venice must have been anxious
ones. The Emperor Maximilian was attacking the Venetian possessions on
the mainland, in anger at a refusal to grant his troops a free passage
on their way to uphold German supremacy in Central Italy. Cadore was
the first point of his invasion, and from 1507 Titian's uncle and
great-uncle were in the Councils of the State, his father held an
important command, and his brother Francesco, who had already made some
progress as an artist, threw down his brush and became a soldier. Titian
was not one of those who took up arms, but his thoughts must have been
full of the attack and defence in his mountain fastnesses, and he must
have anxiously awaited news of his father's troops and of the squadrons
of Maso of Ferrara, under whose colours Francesco was riding. Francesco
made a reputation as a distinguished soldier, and was severely wounded,
and when peace was made, Titian, "who loved him tenderly," persuaded him
to return to the pursuit of art.
The ratification of the League of Cambray, in which Julius II.,
Maximilian, and Ferdinand of Naples combined against the power of
Venice, was disastrous for a time to the city and to the artists who
depended upon her prosperity. Craftsmen of all kinds first fled to her
for shelter, then, as profits and orders fell off, they left to look
elsewhere for commissions. An outbreak of plague, in which Giorgione
perished, went further to make Venice an undesirable home, and at this
time Sebastian del Piombo left for Rome, Lotto for the Romagna, and
Titian for Padua.
We may believe that Titian never felt perfectly satisfied with
fresco-painting as a craft, for when he was given a commission to fresco
the halls of the Santo, the confraternity of St. Anthony, patron-saint
of Padua, he threw off beautifully composed and spirited drawings, but
he left the execution of them chiefly to assistants, among whom the
feeble Domenico Campagnola, a painter whom he probably picked up at
Padua, is conspicuous. Even where the landscape is best, as in "S.
Anthony restoring a Youth," the drawing and composition only make us
feel how enchanting the scene would have been in oils on one of Titian's
melting canvases. In those frescoes which he executed himself while his
interest was still fresh, the "Miracle which grants Speech to an Infant"
is the most Giorgionesque. Up to this time he had preserved the
straight-cut corsage and the actual dress of his contemporaries, after
the practice of Giorgione; he keeps, too, to his companion's plan of
design, placing the most important figures upon one plane, close to the
frame and behind a low wall or ledge which forms a sort of inner frame
and with a distant horizon. In the Paduan frescoes he makes use of this
plan, and the straight clouds, the spindly trees, and the youths in gay
doublets are all reminiscent of his early comrade, but the group of
women to the left in the "Miracle of the Child" shows that Titian is
beginning more decidedly to enunciate his own type. The introduction of
portraits proves that he was tending to rely largely upon nature, in
contradistinction to Giorgione's lyrically improvised figures. He fuses
the influence of Giorgione and the influence of Antonello da Messina and
the Bellini in a deeper knowledge of life and nature, and he is passing
beyond Giorgione in grasp and completeness. When he was able to return
to Venice, which he did in 1512, a temporary peace having been concluded
with Maximilian, he abandoned the uncongenial medium of fresco for good,
and devoted himself to that which admitted of the afterthoughts, the
enrichments, the gradual attainment of an exquisite surface, and at
this time his works are remarkable for their brilliant gloss and finish.
During the next twelve years we may group a number of paintings which,
taken in conjunction with those of Giorgione, show the true Venetian
School at its most intense, idyllic moment. They are the works of a man
in the pride of youth and strength, sane and healthy, an example of the
confident, sanguine, joyous temper of his age, capable of embodying
its dominant tendencies, of expressing its enjoyment of life, its
worldly-mindedness, its love of pleasure, as well as its noble feeling
and its grave and magnificent purpose.
For absolute delight in colour let us turn to a picture like the "Noli
me tangere" of the National Gallery. The golden light, the blues and
olives of the landscape, the crimson of the Magdalen's raiment, combine
in a feast of emotional beauty, emphasising the feeling of the woman,
whose soul is breathed out in the word "Master." The colour unites with
the light and shadow, is embedded in it; and we can see Titian's delight
in the ductile medium which had such power to give material sensation.
In these liquid crimsons, these deep greens and shoaling blues, the
velvety fulness and plenitudes of the brush become visible; we can look
into their depths and see something quite unlike the smooth, opaque
washes of the Florentines.
In such a masterpiece as "Sacred and Profane Love," painted during
these years for the Borghese, there are summed up all those artistic
aims towards which the Venetian painters had been tending. The picture
is still Giorgionesque in mood. It may represent, as Dr. Wickhoff
suggests, Venus exhorting Medea to listen to the love-suit of Jason; but
the subject is not forced upon us, and we are more occupied with the
contrast between the two beautiful personalities, so harmoniously
related to each other, yet so opposed in type. The gracious,
self-absorbed lady, with her softly dressed hair, her loose glove, her
silvery satin dress, is a contrast in look and spirit to the goddess
whose free, simple attitude and outward gaze embody the nobler ideal.
The sinuous and enchanting line of Venus's figure against the crimson
cloak has, I think, been the outcome of admiration for Giorgione's
"Sleeping Venus," and has the same soft, unhurried curves. Titian's two
figures are perfectly spaced in a setting which breathes the very aroma
of the early Renaissance. A bas-relief on the marble fountain represents
nymphs whipping a sleeping Love to life, while a cupid teases the chaste
unicorn. A delicious baby Love splashes in the water, fallen rose-leaves
strew the mellow marble rim, around and away stretches a sunny country
scene, in which people are placidly pursuing a life of ease and
pleasure. What a revelation to Venice these pictures were which began
with Giorgione's conversaziones! How little occupied the women are with
the story. Venus does not argue, or check off reasons on her fingers,
like S. Ursula. Medea is listening to her own thoughts, but the whole
scene is bathed in the suggestion of the joy and happiness of love. The
little censer burning away in the blue and breathless air might be a
philtre diffusing sensuous dreams, and when the rays of the evening sun
strike the picture, where it now hangs, and bring out each touch of its
glowing radiance, it seems to palpitate with the joy of life and to
thrill with the magic of summer in the days when the world was young.
With the influence still lingering of Giorgione's "Knight of Malta,"
Titian produced some of his finest portraits in the decade that led to
the middle of his life. The "Dr. Parma" at Vienna, the noble "Man in
Black" and "Man with a Glove" of the Louvre, the "Young Englishman" of
the Pitti, with his keen blue eyes, the portrait at Temple Newsam,
which, with some critics, still passes as a Giorgione, are all examples
in which he keeps the half-length, invented by Bellini and followed by
Giorgione.
After the visit to Padua he shows less preference for costume, and his
women are generally clothed in a loose white chemise, rather than the
square-cut bodice.
We do not wonder that all the leading personages of Italy wished to be
painted by Titian. His are the portraits of a man of intellect. They
show the subject at his best; grave, cultivated, stately, as he appeared
and wished to appear; not taken off his guard in any way. What can be
more sympathetic as a personality than the Ariosto of the National
Gallery? We can enter into his mind and make a friend of him, and yet
all the time he has himself in hand; he allows us to divine as much as
he chooses, and draws a thin veil over all that he does not intend us to
discover. The painter himself is impersonal and not over-sensitive; he
does not paint in his own fancies about his sitter--probably he had
none; he saw what he was meant to see. There was what Mr. Berenson calls
"a certain happy insensibility" about him, which prevented him from
taking fantastic flights, or from looking too deep below the surface.
[Illustration: _Titian._
ARIOSTO.
_London._
(_Photo, Mansell and Co._)]
CHAPTER XVIII
TITIAN (_continued_)
With the "Assumption," finished in 1518 for the Church of the Frari,
Titian rose to the very highest among Renaissance painters. The
"Glorious S. Mary" was his theme, and he concentrated all his efforts on
the realisation of that one idea. The central figure is, as it were, a
collective rather than an individual type. Well proportioned and elastic
as it is, it has the abundance of motherhood. Harmonious and serene, it
combines dramatic force and profound feeling. Exultant Humanity, in its
hour of triumph, rises with her, borne up lightly by that throbbing
company of child angels and followed by full recognition and awestruck
satisfaction in the adoring gaze of the throng below, yet Titian has
contrived to keep some touch of the loving woman hurrying to meet her
son. The flood of colour, the golden vault above, the garment of glowing
blues and crimsons, have a more than common share in that spirit of
confident joy and poured-out life which envelops the whole canvas. In
the worthy representation of a great event, the visible assumption of
Humanity to the Throne of God, Titian puts forth all his powers and
steeps us in that temper of sanguine emotion, of belief in life and
confidence in the capacity of man, which was so characteristic of the
ripe Renaissance. In looking at this splendid canvas, we must call to
mind the position for which Titian painted it. Hung in the dusky
recesses of the apse, it was tempered by and merged in its stately
surroundings. The band of Apostles almost formed a part of the
whispering crowd below, and the glorious Mother was beheld soaring
upwards to the golden light and the mysterious vistas of the vaulted
arches above.
The patronage of courts had by this time altered the tenor of Titian's
life. In 1516 Duke Alfonso d'Este had invited him to Ferrara, where he
had finished Bellini's "Bacchanals." It bears the marks of Titian's
hand, and he has introduced a well-known point of view at Cadore into
the background. In 1518 Alfonso writes to propose another painting, and
Titian's acceptance is contained in a very courtier-like letter, in
which we divine a touch of irony. "The more I thought of it," he ends,
"the more I became convinced that the greatness of art among the
ancients was due to the assistance they received from great princes, who
were content to leave to the painter the credit and renown derived from
their own ingenuity in bespeaking pictures." Alfonso's requirements for
his new castle were frankly pagan. Mythological scenes were already
popular. Mantegna had adorned Isabela d'Este's "Paradiso" with revels
of the gods, Botticelli had given his conception of classic myth in the
Medici villa, already Bellini had essayed a Bacchanal, and Titian was to
make designs for similar scenes to complete the decorations of the halls
of Este. The same exuberant feeling he shows in the "Assumption" finds
utterance in the "Garden of Loves" and the "Bacchanals," both painted
for Alfonso of Ferrara. The children in the former may be compared with
the angels in the "Assumption." Their blue wings match the heavenly blue
sky, and they are painted with the most delicate finish.
We can imagine the beauty of the great hall at Ferrara when hung with
this brilliant series, which was completed in 1523 by the "Bacchus and
Ariadne" of the National Gallery. The whole company of bacchanals is
given up to wanton merrymaking. Above them broods the deep blue sky and
great white clouds of a summer day. The deep greens of the foliage throw
the creamy-white and burning colour of the draperies and the fair forms
of the nymphs into glowing relief, while by a convention the satyrs
are of a deep, tawny complexion. On a roll of music is stamped the
rollicking device, "_Chi boit et ne reboit, ne sçeais que boir soit_."
The purple fruit hangs ripened from the vines, its crimson juice shines
like a jewel in crystal goblets and drips in streams over rosy limbs.
The influence of such pictures as these was absorbed by Rubens, but
though they hardly surpass him in colour, they are more idyllic and
less coarse. The perfect taste of the Renaissance is never shown more
victoriously than here, where indulgence ceases to be repulsive, and the
actors are real flesh and blood, yet more Arcadian than revolting. In
the "Bacchus and Ariadne," Titian gives triumphant expression to a mood
of wild rejoicing, so gay, so good-tempered, so simple, that we must
smile in sympathy. The conqueror flinging himself from his golden
chariot drawn by panthers, his deep red mantle fluttering on high, is so
full of reckless life that our spirit bounds with him. His rioting band,
marching with song and laughter, seems to people that golden country-side
with fit inhabitants. The careless satyrs and little merry, goat-legged
fauns shock us no more than a herd of forest ponies, tossing their manes
and dashing along for love of life and movement.[3] Yet almost before
this series was put in place Titian was showing the diversity of his
genius by the "Deposition," now in the Louvre, which was painted at the
instance of the Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua and nephew of Alfonso d'Este.
Here he makes a great step in the use of chiaroscuro. While it is
satisfying in balance and sweeping rhythm, and by the way in which every
line follows and intensifies the helpless, slackened lines of the dead
Body, it escapes Raphael's academic treatment of the same subject. Its
splendid colours are not noisy; they merge into a scene of solemn pathos
and tragedy. The scene has a simplicity and unity in its passion, and
what above all gives it its intense power is the way in which the
flaming hues are absorbed into the twilight shadows. The dark heads
stand out against the dying sunset, the pallor of the dead is half
veiled by the falling night. It is a picture which has the emotional
beauty of a scene in nature, and makes a profound impression by its
depth and mystery. This same solemnity and gravity temper the brilliant
colouring of the great altarpiece painted for the Pesaro family in the
Frari. Columns rise like great tree-trunks, light and air play through
the clouds seen between them. The grouping is a new experiment, but the
way in which the Mother and Child, though placed quite at one side of
the picture, are focussed as the centre of interest, by the converging
lines, diagonal on the one hand and straight on the other, crowns it
with success. The scheme of colour brings the two figures into high
relief, while St. Francis and the family of the donor are subordinated
to rich, deep tints. Titian has abandoned, more completely than ever
before, any attempt to invest the Child with supernatural majesty. He is
a delightful, spoiled baby, fully aware of his sovereignty over his
mother, pretending to take no notice of the kneeling suppliants, but
occupying himself in making a tent over his head out of her veil. The
"Madonna in Glory with six Saints" of the Vatican is another example of
the rich and "smouldering" colour in which Titian was now creating his
great altarpieces, kneading his pigments into a quality, a solidity,
which gives reality without heaviness, and finishing with that
fine-grained texture which makes his flesh look like marble endowed
with life.
[3] It is this quality of unarrested movement, so conspicuous
above all in the figure of Bacchus, which attracts us irresistibly in
the Huntress, in Lord Brownlow's "Diana and Actaeon." The construction
of the form of the goddess in this beautiful but little-known picture is
admirable. Worn as the colour is, appearing almost as a monochrome, the
landscape is full of atmospheric suggestion. It is in Titian's latest
manner, and its ample lines and free unimpeded motion can be due to no
inferior brush.
[Illustration: _Titian._
DIANA AND ACTAEON.
_Earl Brownlow._
(_The Medici Society, Ltd._)]
Venuses, altarpieces, and portraits all tell us how boldly his own style
was established. His sacred persons are not different from his pagans
and goddesses. Yet though he has gone far, he still reminds us of
Giorgione. He has been constant to the earliest influences which
surrounded him, and to that temperament which made him accept those
influences so instantaneously--and this constancy and unity give him the
untroubled ascendancy over art which is such a feature of his position.
With Leonardo and with Titian, painters had sprung to a recognised
status in the great world of the Renaissance. They were no longer the
patronised craftsmen. They had become the courted guests, the social
equals. Titian, passing from the courts of Ferrara to those of Mantua
and Urbino, attended by a band of assistants, was a magnificent
personage, whose presence was looked upon as a favour, and who undertook
a commission as one who conferred a coveted boon. Among those who
clustered closest round the popular favourite, no one did more to
enhance his position than Aretino, the brilliant unscrupulous debauchee,
wit, bully, blackmailer, but a man who, with all his faults, had
evidently his own power of fascination, and, the friend of princes,
must have been himself the prince of good company. Aretino, as far
as he could be said to be attached to any one, was consistent in his
attachment to Titian from the time they first met at the court of the
Gonzaga. He played the part of a chorus, calling attention to the great
painter's merits, jogging the memory of his employers as to payments,
and never ceasing to flatter, amuse, and please him. Titian, for his
part, shows himself equally devoted to Aretino's interests, and has left
various characteristic portraits of him, handsome and showy in his
prime, sensual and depraved as age overtook him.
In the spring of 1528 the confraternity of St. Peter Martyr invited
artists to send in sketches for an altarpiece to their patron-saint, in
SS. Giovanni and Paolo, to replace an old one by Jacobello del Fiore.
Palma Vecchio and Pordenone also competed, but Titian carried off the
prize. The picture was delivered in 1530, and during the autumn of 1529
Sebastian del Piombo had returned to Venice from Rome, and Michelangelo
had sought refuge there from Florence and had stayed for some months. A
quarrel with the monks over the price had delayed the picture, so that
it may quite probably have only been begun after intercourse with the
Roman visitors had given a fresh turn to Titian's ideas; for though he
never ceases to be himself, it certainly seems as if the genius of
Michelangelo had had some effect. From what we know of the altarpiece,
which perished by fire in 1867, but of which a good copy by Cigoli
remains, Titian embarked suddenly upon forms of Herculean strength
in violent action, but there his likeness to the Florentine ended;
the figures were, indeed, drawn with a deep, though not altogether
successful, attention to anatomy and foreshortening, but the picture
obtained its effect and derived its impressiveness from the setting in
which the figures were placed--the great trees, bending and straining,
the hurrying clouds, as if nature were in portentous harmony with the
sinister deed, and overhead the enchanting gleam of light which shot
downward and irradiated the face of the martyr and the two lovely
winged boys, bathed in a flood of blue æther, who held aloft the palm of
victory. Many copies of it remain, and we only regret that one which
Rubens executed is not preserved among them.
When we look at the delicious "Madonna del Coniglio" in the Louvre and
our own "Marriage of S. Catherine," the first of which certainly, and
the second probably, was painted about this time, we cannot doubt that
the charm of the idea of motherhood had particularly arrested the
painter. About 1525 his first son, Pomponio, was born, and was followed
by another son and a daughter. In the S. Catherine he paints that
passion of mother-love with an intensity and reality that can only be
drawn from life, and on the wheel at her feet he has inscribed his name,
Ticianus, F. His feeling for landscape is increasing, and the landscape
in these pictures equals the figures in importance and has engrossed the
painter quite as much. Every year Titian paid a visit to Cadore, and in
the rich woodlands, the distant villages, the great white villa on the
hill-side, and, above all, in the far-off blue mountains and the glooms
and gleams of storm and sunshine, the sudden dart of rays through the
summer clouds, which he has painted here, we see how constant was his
study of his native country, and how profoundly he felt its poetry and
its charm. He had married Cecilia, the daughter of a barber belonging
to Perarolo, a little town near Cadore. In 1530 she died, and he
mourned her deeply. He went on working and planning for his children's
future, and his sister came from Cadore to take charge of the motherless
household; but his friends' letters speak of his being ill from
melancholy, and he could not go on living in the old house at San
Samuele, which had been his home for sixteen years. He took a new house
on the north side of the city, in the parish of San Canciano. The Casa
Grande, as it was called, was a building of importance, which the
painter first hired and finally bought, letting off such apartments as
he did not need. The first floor had a terrace, and was entered by a
flight of steps from the garden, which overlooked the lagoons, and had a
view of the Cadore mountains. It has been swept away by the building of
the Fondamenta Nuove, but the documents of the leases are preserved, and
the exact site is well established. Here his children grew up, and he
worked for them unceasingly. Pomponio, his eldest son, was idle and
extravagant, a constant source of trouble, and Aretino writes him
reproachful letters, which he treats with much impertinence. Orazio took
to his father's profession, and was his constant companion, and often
drew his cartoons; and his beautiful daughter, Lavinia, was his greatest
joy and pride. In this house Titian showed constant hospitality, and
there are records of the princely fashion in which he entertained his
friends and distinguished foreign visitors. Priscianese, a well-known
Humanist and _savant_ of the day, describes a Bacchanalian feast on
the 1st of August, in a pleasant garden belonging to Messer Tiziano
Vecellio. Aretino, Sansovino, and Jacopo Nardi were present. Till the
sun set they stayed indoors, admiring the artist's pictures. "As soon as
it went down, the tables were spread, looking on the lagoons, which soon
swarmed with gondolas full of beautiful women, and resounded with music
of voices and instruments, which till midnight, accompanied our
delightful supper. Titian gave the most delicate viands and precious
wines, and the supper ended gaily."
In the year 1532 Titian for the first time sought other than Italian
patronage. Charles V., who was then at the height of his power, with all
Italy at his feet, passed through Mantua, and among all the treasures
that he saw was most struck by Titian's portrait of Federigo Gonzaga.
After much writing to and fro, it was arranged that Titian should meet
the Emperor at Bologna, where he had just been crowned. He made his
first sketch of him, from which he afterwards produced a finished full
length. It was the first of many portraits, and Vasari declares that
from that time forth Charles would never sit to any other master. He
received a knighthood, and many commissions from members of the
Emperor's court. It was for one of his nobles, da Valos, Marquis of
Vasto, that he painted the allegorical piece in the Louvre, in which
Mary of Arragon, the lovely wife of da Valos, is parting with her
husband, who is bound on one of the desperate expeditions against the
terrible Turks. Da Valos is dressed in armour, and the couple are
encircled by Hymen, Victory, and the God of Love. The composition was
repeated more than once, but never with quite the same success. We again
suspect the influence of Michelangelo in the altarpiece painted before
Titian next left Venice, of St. John the Almsgiver, for the Church of
that name, of which the Doge was patron. The figures are life-size, the
types stern and rugged, daringly foreshortened, and the colours, though
gorgeous, are softened and broken by broad effects of light and shade.
It is painted in a solemn mood, a contrast to that in which about this
time he produced a series of beautiful female portraits, nude or
semi-nude, chiefly, it would appear, at the instance of the Duke of
Urbino. The Duke at this time was the General-in-Chief of the Venetian
forces, a position which took him often to Venice, and Titian's
relations with him lasted till the painter's death. At least twenty-five
of his works must have adorned the castles of Urbino and Pesaro. Among
these were the Venus of the Uffizi, "La Bella di Tiziano," in her
gorgeous scheme of blue and amethyst, the "Girl in a Fur Cloak," besides
portraits of the Duke and Duchess. It would be impossible to enumerate
here the numbers of portraits which Titian was now supplying. The
reputation he had acquired, not only in Italy, but in Spain, France, and
Germany, was greater than had ever been attained by any painter, while
his social position was established among the highest in every court.
"He had rivals in Venice," says Vasari, "but none that he did not
crush by his excellence and knowledge of the world in converse with
gentlemen." There is not a writer of the day who does not acclaim his
genius. Titian was undoubtedly very fond of money, and had amassed a
good fortune. He was constantly asking for favours, and had pensions and
allowances from royal patrons. Lavinia, when she married, brought her
husband a dowry of 1400 ducats. He had painted the portraits of the
Doges with tolerable regularity, but all through his life complaints
were heard of his neglect of the work of the Hall of Grand Council.
Occupied as he was with the work of his foreign patrons, he had
systematically neglected the conditions enjoined by his possession of a
Broker's patent, and the Signoria suddenly called on him to refund the
salary amounting to over 100 ducats a year, for the twenty years during
which he had drawn it without performing his promise, while they
prepared to instal Pordenone, who had lately appeared as his bitter
rival, in his stead. Though Titian must have been making large sums of
money at this time, his expenses were heavy, and he could not calmly
face the obligation to repay such a sum as 2000 ducats at the same time
that he lost the annual salary, nor was it pleasant to be ousted by a
second-rate rival. His easy remedy was, however, in his own hands; he
set to work and soon completed a great canvas of the "Battle of Cadore,"
which, though it is only known to us from a contemporary print and a
drawing by Rubens, evidently deserved Vasari's verdict of being the
finest battlepiece ever placed in the hall. The movement and stir he
contrives to give with a small number of figures is astonishing. The
fortress burns upon the hill-side, a regiment advancing with lances and
pennons produces the illusion that it is the vanguard of a great army,
the desperate conflict by the narrow bridge realises all the terrors of
war. It was an atonement for his long period of neglect, but it was not
till 1439 [TN: Pordenone died in 1539] that, Pordenone having suddenly
died, the Signoria relented and reinstated Titian in his Broker's
patent. One of his later paintings for the State still keeps its place,
"The Triumph of Faith," in which Doge Grimani, a splendid, steel-clad
form with flowing mantle, kneels before the angelic apparition of Faith,
who holds a cross, which angels and cherubs help her to support.
Beneath the clouds are seen the Venetian fleet, the Ducal Palace, and
the Campanile. It is an allegory of Grimani's life; his defeat and
captivity are symbolised by the cross and chalice, and the magnificent
figure of St. Mark with the lion is introduced to show that the Doge
believes himself to owe his freedom to the saint's intercession. The
prophet and standard-bearer at the sides were added by Marco Vecellio.
Though the battlepiece perished in the fire of 1577, another masterpiece
of this time marks a climax in Titian's brilliantly coloured and highly
finished style. The "Presentation of the Virgin" was painted for the
refectory of the Confraternity of the Carità, which was housed in the
building now used as the Academy, so that the picture remains in the
place for which it was executed. It is one of the most vivid and
life-like of all his works. The composition is the traditional one;
the fifteen steps of the "Gospel of Mary," the High Priest of the old
dispensation welcoming the childish representative of the new. Below is
a great crowd, but it is this little figure which first attracts the
eye. The contrast between the mass of architecture and the free and
glowing country beyond is not without meaning, and a broken Roman torso,
lying neglected on the ground, symbolises the downfall of the Pagan
Empire. The flight of steps, with the figure sitting below them, is
an idea borrowed from Carpaccio, and perhaps taken by him from the
sketch-book of Jacopo Bellini. The men on the left are portraits of
members and patrons of the confraternity. Most Titianesque are the
beautiful women in rich dresses at the foot of the steps. In this
stately composition we see what is often noticeable in Titian's scenes;
he brings in the bystanders after the manner of a Greek chorus. They
all, with one accord, express the same sentiment. There is a certain
acceptation of the obvious in Titian, a vein of simplicity flows through
his nature. He has not the sensitive and subtle search after the motives
of humanity which we find in Tintoretto or Lotto. He has great
intellectual power, but not great imagination. It is a temper which
helps to keep the unity, the monumental quality of his scenes
undisturbed and adds to their effect. In the "Ecce Homo" Christ is shown
to the populace by Pilate, who with dubious compliment is a portrait of
Aretino, and the contrast of the lonely, broken-down man with the crowd
which, with all its lower instincts let loose, thunders back the cry of
"Crucify Him," is the more dramatic because of the unanimous spirit
which possesses the raging multitude. Other artists would have given
more incidental byplay, and drawn off our attention from the main
issue.
CHAPTER XIX
Titian (_continued_)
While Titian was executing portraits of the Doges, of Aretino and of
Isabella of Portugal, and of himself and his daughter Lavinia, he was
also striking out a new line in the ceiling pictures for the Church of
San Spirito, which have since been transferred to the Salute. Though
painted before his journey to Rome, it may be suspected that he had
Michelangelo's work in the Sixtine Chapel in mind, and that he was
setting himself the task of bold foreshortening and technical problems.
The daring of the conception is great, yet we feel sure that this is not
Titian's element; his figures in violent movement give a vivid idea of
strength and muscular force, but fail both in grace and drawing, and
though the colour and light and shade distract our attention from
defects of form, he does not possess that mastery over the flowing
silhouette which Tintoretto attained.
It was in 1543 that his relations with the Farnese, whose young cardinal
he had been painting, drew him at last to Rome. Leo X. had tried to
attract him there without success, but now at sixty-eight he found
himself as far on the road as Urbino. His son Orazio was with him, and
Duke Guidobaldo was himself his escort, and sent him on with a band of
men-at-arms from Pesaro. He was received in Rome by Cardinal Bembo; Paul
III. gave him a cordial welcome and Vasari was appointed his cicerone.
It is interesting to inquire what impression Rome, with its treasures of
antique statuary and contemporary painting, made upon Titian. "He is
filled with wonder and glad that he came," writes Bembo. In a letter to
Aretino he regrets that he had not come before. He stayed eight months
in Rome, and was made a Roman citizen. He visits the Stanze of Raphael
in company with Sebastian del Piombo, and Michelangelo comes to see him
at his lodgings, and he receives a long letter from Aretino advising him
to compare Michelangelo with Raphael, and Sansovino and Bramante with
the sculptors and architects of antiquity. Titian was well established
in his own style, and was received as the creator of acknowledged
masterpieces, and he never painted a more magnificent portrait-piece
than that of Paul III., the peevish old Pope, ailing and humorous,
suspicious of the two nephews who are painted with him, and who he
guessed to be conspiring against him. The characteristic attitude of the
old man of eighty, bent down in his chair, his quick, irritable glance,
the steady, determined gaze of the cardinal, the obsequious attitude and
weak, wily face of Ottavio Farnese are all immortalised in a broader,
more careless technique than Titian has hitherto used. Though he does
not seem to have been directly influenced by all he saw in Rome, we
undoubtedly find a change coming over his work between 1540 and 1550,
which may be in part ascribed to a widening of his artistic horizon and
a consciousness of what others were doing, both around him and abroad.
In its whole handling and character his late is different from his early
manner. It begins at this time to take on a blurred, soft, impressionist
character. His delight in rich colouring seems to wane, and he aims at
intensifying the power of light. He reaches that point in the Venetian
School of painting which we may regard as its climax, when there is
little strong local colour, but the canvas seems illumined from within.
There are no clear-cut lines, but the shapes are suggested by sombre
enveloping shades in which the radiant brightness is embedded. His
landscapes alter too; they are no longer blue and smiling, filled with
loving detail, but grander, more mysterious. In the "St. Jerome" in
Paris the old Saint kneels in wild and lonely surroundings, and the
moon, slowly rising behind the dark trees, sends a sharp, silver ray
across the crucifix. The "Supper at Emmaus" has the grandiose effect
that is given by avoidance of detail and simplification of method.
Titian painted several portraits of himself, and we know what sort of
stately figure was presented by the old man of seventy who, at Christmas
in 1547, set forth to ride across the Alps in the depths of winter to
obey Charles V.'s call to Augsburg. The excitement of the public was
great at his departure, and Aretino describes how his house was besieged
for the sketches and designs he left behind him. For nearly forty years
Titian was employed by the House of Hapsburg. He had been working for
Charles since 1530, and when the Emperor abdicated, his employment by
Philip II. lasted till his death. The palace inventory of 1686 contained
seventy-six Titians, and though probably not all were genuine, yet an
immense number were really by him, and the gallery, even now, is richer
in his works than any other.
The great hall of the Pardo must have been a wonderful sight, with
Titian's finest portrait of himself in the midst, and the magnificent
portraits and sacred and allegorical pieces which he continued from this
time forward to contribute to it. In this year, which was the last
before Charles's abdication, and during this visit to South Germany, he
painted the great equestrian portrait of the Emperor on the field of
Mühlberg, and two years later came the first of his many portraits of
Philip II. The face, in the first sketch, is laid in with a sort of
fury of impressionism, and in the parade portrait the sitter is
realised as a man of great distinction. Ugly and sensual as he is,
we never tire of looking at Titian's conception--a full length of
distinguished mien rendered attractive by magnificent colour. Everything
in it lives, and the slender, aristocratic hands are, as Morelli says, a
whole biography in themselves.
The splendid series of allegorical subjects which Titian contributed to
the Pardo, while he was still supplying sacred pictures and altarpieces
to Venice and the neighbouring mainland, are among his most mature and
important works. Never has his gamut of tones been fuller and stronger
than in the "Jupiter and Antiope," or the "Venus of the Pardo" as it is
sometimes called. The Venus herself has the attitude of Giorgione's
dreaming goddess, with her arm flung up above her head. It is, perhaps,
the only time that Titian succeeds in giving anything ideal to one of
his Venuses. The famous nudes of the Uffizi and the Louvre are splendid
courtesans, far removed from Giorgione's idyllic vision; but Antiope,
slumbering on her couch of skins, and her woodland lover, gazing with
adoring eyes on her beautiful face, have a whole world of sweet and
joyful fancy. The whole scene is full of a _joie de vivre_, which
carries us back to the Bacchanals painted so many years before, and in
these Titian gives King Philip his most perfect work, every touch of
which is his own. This picture, now in the Louvre, was given to Charles
I. by the King of Spain, and bought for Cardinal Mazarin in 1650.
"Danaë," "Venus and Adonis," "Europa and the Bull," and a "Last Supper"
followed in quick succession, but Titian was now employing many
assistants, and great parts of the canvases issuing from his workshop
show weak, imitative hands, while replicas were made of other works.
His later feeling for the religious in art is expressed in the now
bedimmed paintings in San Salvatore in Venice. Vasari describes
these in 1566. Painted when Titian was nearly ninety years old, the
"Transfiguration" is remarkable for forcible, majestic movement, while
in the "Annunciation" he invents quite a new treatment. Mary turns round
and raises her veil, while she grasps the book as if she depended on it
for stay and support. The four angels are full of life and gaiety, and
the whole has much grace and colour, though it is dashed in, in the
painter's later style, in broad and sweeping planes without patience
of detail. The old man has signed it "Titianus, fecit, fecit," a
contemptuous reply to some critics who complained of its want of finish.
He knew well what it was in composition and execution, and that all that
he had ever known or done lay within the careless strength of his last
manner.
A letter written to the King of Spain's secretary in 1574 gives
a list "in part" of fourteen pictures sent to Madrid during the last
twenty-five years, "with many others which I do not remember." On every
hand we hear of lost pictures from the master's brush, and the number
produced even during the last ten years of his life must have been
enormous, for till the end he was full of great undertakings and
achievements. Very late in life he painted a "Shepherd and Nymph"
(Vienna), which in its idyllic feeling, its slumberous delight, its
mingling of clothed and nude figures, recalls the early days with
Giorgione, yet the blurred and smouldering richness, the absolute
negation of all sharp lines and lights is in his very latest style, and
he has gone past Giorgione on his own ground. Then in strange contrast
is the "Christ Crowned with Thorns," at Vienna, a tragic figure
stupefied with suffering. His last great work was the "Pietà" in
the Academy, which, though unfinished, is nobly designed and very
impressive. He places the Virgin supporting the Body in a great
dome-shaped niche, which gives elevation. It is flanked by two calm,
antique, stone figures, whose impassive air contrasts with the wild pain
and grief below. The Magdalen steps out towards the spectator with the
wailing cry of a Greek tragedy. It perhaps hardly moves us like the
concentrated feeling of Bellini's Madonna, or the hurried, trembling
grief of Tintoretto's Magdalen, but it is monumental in the sweeping
grace of its line, and full of nobility of feeling. It is sadly rubbed
and darkened and has lost much of Titian's colour, but is still
beautiful in its deep greys mingled with a sombre golden glow, as
of half-extinguished fires. These late paintings are of the true
impressionist order; looked at closely they present a mass of scumbled
touches, of incoherent dashes, but if we step farther away, to the
right focus, light and dark arrange themselves, order shines through the
whole, and we see what the great master meant us to see. "Titian's later
creations," says Vasari, "are struck off rapidly, so that when close you
cannot see them, but afar they look perfect, and this is the style which
so many tried to imitate, to show that they were practised hands, but
only produced absurdities." Titian was preparing the picture for the
Frari, in payment for the grant of a tomb for himself, when in August
1576 the plague broke out in Venice, and on the 27th the great painter
died of it in his own house. The stringent regulations concerning
infection were relaxed to do honour to one of the greatest sons of
Venice, and he was laid to rest in the Frari, borne there in solemn
procession, through a city stricken by terror and panic, and buried
in the Chapel of the Crucified Saviour, for which his last work was
ordered. The "Assumption" of his prime looked down upon him, and close
at hand was the "Madonna of Casa Pesaro." His son Orazio caught the
plague and died immediately after, and the painter's house was sacked
by thieves and many precious things stolen.
The great personality of Titian stands out as that which of all others
established and consolidated the school of Venice. He is its central
figure. The century of life, of which eighty years were passed in
ceaseless industry of production, left its deep impression on the art of
every civilised country of Europe. Every great man of the day who was a
lover of art and culture fell under Titian's spell. His influence on his
contemporaries was enormous, and he had everything: genius, industry,
personal distinction, character, social charm. He is, perhaps, of too
intellectual a cast of mind to be quite typical of the Venetian spirit,
in the way that Tintoretto is; it is conceivable that in another
environment Titian might have developed on rather different lines,
but this temper gave him greater domination. He was free from the
eccentricities which beset genius. He possessed the saving salt of
practical common sense, so that the golden mean of sanity and healthful
joy in his works commended them to all men, and they are not difficult
to understand. Yet while all can see the beauty of his poetic instinct
for colour, his interesting and original technique, his grasp and
scope, his mastery and certainty have gained for him the title of "the
painter's painter." There is no one from whom men feel that they can so
safely learn so much, and the grand breadth and power of elimination of
his later years is justified by the way in which in his earlier work he
has carried exquisite finish and rich impasto to perfection.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Ancona. Crucifixion (L.).
S. Domenico: Madonna with Saints and Donor, 1520.
Antwerp. Pope Alexander VI. presenting Jacopo Pesaro.
Berlin. Infant Daughter of Strozzi, 1542; Portrait of Himself (L.);
Lavinia bearing Charges.
Brescia. SS. Nazaro e Celso: Altarpiece, 1522.
Dresden. Madonna with Saints (E.); Tribute Money (E.); Lavinia as Bride,
1555; Lavinia as Matron (L.); Portrait, 1561; Lady with
Vase (L.); Lady in Red Dress.
Florence. Pitti: La Bella; Aretino, 1545; Magdalen; The Young Englishman;
The Concert (E.); Philip II.; Ippolito de Medici, 1533;
Tomaso Mosti.
Uffizi: Eleanora Gonzaga, Duchess of Urbino, 1537; Francesco
della Rovere, Duke of Urbino, 1537; Flora; Venus, the head
a portrait of Lavinia; Venus, the head a portrait of Eleanora
Gonzaga; Madonna with S. Anthony Abbot.
London. Holy Family and Shepherd; Bacchus and Ariadne (E.); Noli me
tangere (E.); Madonna with SS. John and Catherine.
Bridgewater House: Holy Family (E.); Venus of the Shell; Three
Ages of Man; Diana and Actaeon, 1559; Callisto, 1559.
Earl Brownlow: Diana and Actaeon (L.).
Sir F. Cook: Portrait of Laura de Dianti.
Madrid. Madonna with SS. Ulfus and Bridget (E.); Bacchanal; The Garden
of Loves; Danaë, 1554; Venus and Youth playing Organ (L.);
Salome (portrait of Lavinia); Trinity, 1554; Entombment,
1559; Prometheus; Religion succoured by Spain (L.);
Sisyphus (L.); Alfonso of Ferrara; Charles V. at the Battle
of Mühlberg, 1548; Charles V. and his Dog, 1533; Philip II.,
1550; Philip II.; The Infant; Don Fernando and Victory;
Portrait; Portrait of Himself; Duke of Alva; Venus and
Adonis; Fall of Man; Empress Isabella.
Medole (near Brescia). Christ appearing to His Mother.
Munich. Vanitas; Portrait of Charles V., 1548; Madonna and Saints; Man
with Baton.
Naples. Paul III. and Cardinals, 1545; Danaë.
Padua. Scuola del Santo: Frescoes; S. Anthony granting Speech to an
Infant; The Youth who cut off his Leg; The Jealous Husband,
1511.
Paris. Madonna with Saints (E.); La Vierge au Lapin; Madonna with
S. Agnes; Christ at Emmaus (L.); Crowning with Thorns (L.);
Entombment; S. Jerome (L.); Jupiter and Antiope (L.);
Francis I.; Allegory; Marquis da Valos and Mary of Arragon;
Alfonso of Ferrara and Laura Dianti; L'Homme au Gant (E.);
Portraits.
Rome. Villa Borghese: Sacred and Profane Love (E.); St. Dominio (L.);
Education of Cupid (L.).
Capitol: Baptism (E.).
Doria: Daughter of Herodias.
Vatican: Madonna in Glory and six Saints, 1523.
Treviso. Duomo: Annunciation.
Urbino. Resurrection (L.); Last Supper (L.).
Venice. Academy: Presentation of Virgin, 1540; S. John in the Desert;
Assumption, 1518; Pietà, 1573.
Palazzo Ducale Staircase: S. Christopher, 1523.
Sala di Quattro Porte: Doge Giovanni before Faith, 1555.
Frari: Pesaro Madonna, 1526.
S. Giovanni Elemosinario: S. John the Almsgiver, 1523.
Scuola di San Rocco: Annunciation (E.).
Salute Sacristy: Descent of the Holy Spirit; St. Mark enthroned
with Saints; David and Goliath; Sacrifice of Isaac; Cain
and Abel.
S. Salvatore: Annunciation (L.); Transfiguration (L.).
Verona. Duomo: Assumption.
Vienna. Gipsy Madonna (E.); Madonna of the Cherries (E.); Ecce Homo,
1543; Isabela d'Este, 1534; The Tambourine Player; Girl in
Fur Cloak; Dr. Parma (E.); Shepherd and Nymph (L.);
Portraits; Doge Andrea Gritti; Jacopo Strada; Diana and
Callisto; Madonna and Saints.
Wallace Collection. Perseus and Andromeda. (In collaboration
with his nephew, Francesco Vecellio.)
Louvre. Madonna and Saints. (The same by Francesco alone.)
Glasgow. Madonna and Saints.
CHAPTER XX
PALMA VECCHIO AND LORENZO LOTTO
Among the many who clustered round Titian's long career, Palma attained
to a place beside him and Giorgione which his talent, which was not of
the highest order, scarcely warranted. But he was classed with the
greatest, and influenced contemporary art because his work chimed in
so well with the Venetian spirit. A Bergamasque by birth, he came of
Venetian parentage, and learnt the first elements of his art in Venice.
He never really mastered the inner niceties of anatomy in its finest
sense, and the broad generalisation of his forms may be meant to conceal
uncertain drawing, but his large-bosomed, matronly women and plump
children, his round, soft contours, his clean brilliancy, and the clear
golden polish in which his pictures are steeped, made a great appeal to
the public. His invention is the large Santa Conversazione, as compared
with those in half-length of the earlier masters. The Virgin and saints
and kneeling or bending donors are placed under the spreading trees
of a rich and picturesque landscape. It is Palma's version of the
Giorgionesque ideal, which he had his share in establishing and
developing. The heavy tree-trunk and dark foliage, silhouetted almost
black against the background, are characteristic of his compositions. As
his life goes on, though he still clings to his full, ripe figures and
to the same smooth fleshiness in his women, the features become delicate
and chiselled, and the more refined type and subtler feeling of his
middle stage may be due to his companionship with Lotto, with whom he
was in Bergamo when they were both about twenty-five. He touches his
highest, and at the same time keeps very near Giorgione, in the
splendid St. Barbara, painted for the company of the _Bombadieri_ or
artillerists. Their cannon guard the pedestal on which she stands; it
was at her altar that they came to commend themselves on going forth to
war, and where they knelt to offer thanksgiving for a safe return; and
she is a truly noble figure, regal in conception and fine and firm in
execution, attired in sumptuous robes of golden brown and green, with
splendid saints on either hand. Palma was often approached by his
patrons who wanted mythological scenes, gods, and goddesses; but though
he produced a Venus, a handsome, full-blown model, he never excels in
the nude, and his tendency is to seize upon the homely. His scenes have
a domestic, familiar flavour. With all his golden and ivory beauty he
lacks fire, and his personages have a sluggish, plethoric note. In his
latest stage he hides all sharpness in a sort of scumble or haze. It
would, however, be unfair to say he is not fine, and his portraits
especially come very near the best. Vienna is rich in examples in
half-lengths of one beautiful woman after another robed in the ample and
gorgeous garments in which he is always interested. Among them is his
handsome daughter, Violante, with a violet in her bosom, and wearing the
large sleeves he admires. The "Tasso" of the National Gallery has been
taken from him and given first to Giorgione and then to Titian, but
there now seems some inclination to return it to its first author. It
has a more dreamy, intellectual countenance than we are accustomed to
associate with Palma; but he uses elsewhere the decorative background
of olive branches, and the waxen complexion, tawny colouring, and the
pronounced golden haze are Palmesque in the highest degree. The
colouring is in strong contrast to the pale ivory glow of the Ariosto
of Titian, which hangs near it.
[Illustration: _Palma Vecchio._
HOLY FAMILY.
_Colonna Gallery, Rome._
(_Photo, Anderson._)]
No one could be more unlike Palma than his contemporary, Lorenzo Lotto,
who has for long been classed with the Bergamasques, but who is proved
by recently discovered documents to have been born in Venice. It was
for long an accepted fact that Lotto was a pupil of Bellini, and his
earliest altarpiece, to S. Cristina at Treviso, bears traces of
Bellini's manner. A Pietà above has child angels examining the wounds
with the grief and concern which Bellini made so peculiarly his own, and
the St. Jerome and the branch of fig-leaves silhouetted against the
light remind us of the altarpiece in S. Crisostomo. Lotto seems to have
clung to quattrocento fashions. The ancona had long been rejected by
most of his contemporaries, but he painted one of the last for a church
in Recanati, in carved and gilt compartments, and he painted predellas
long after they had become generally obsolete. We ask ourselves how it
was that Lotto, who had so susceptible and easily swayed a nature,
escaped the influence of Giorgione, the most powerful of any in the
Venice of his youth--an influence which acted on Bellini in his old age,
which Titian practically never shook off, and which dominated Palma to
the exclusion of any earlier master.
It would take too long to survey the train of argument by which
Mr. Berenson has established Alvise Vivarini as the master of Lotto.
Notwithstanding that Bellini's great superiority was becoming clear to
the more cultured Venetians, Alvise, when Lotto was a youth, was still
the painter _par excellence_ for the mass of the public. In the S.
Cristina altarpiece the Child standing on its Mother's knee is in the
same attitude as the Child in Alvise's altarpiece of 1480, and the
Mother's hand holds it in the same way. Other details which supply
internal evidence are the shape of hands and feet, the round heads and
the way the Child is often represented lying across the Mother's knees.
Lotto carries into old age the use of fruit and flowers and beads as
decoration, a Squarcionesque feature beloved of the Vivarini, but which
was never adopted by Bellini.
About 1512 Lotto comes into contact with Palma, and for a short time the
two were in close touch. A "Santa Conversazione," of which a good copy
exists in Villa Borghese, Rome, and one at Dresden, with the Holy Family
grouped under spreading trees, is saturated with Palma's spirit, but it
soon passes away, and except for an occasional touch, disappears
entirely from Lotto's work.
Lotto may have had relations in Bergamo, for when in 1515 a competition
between artists was set on foot by Alessandro Martino, a descendant of
General Colleone, for an altarpiece for S. Stefano, he competed and
carried off the prize. This was the first of the series of the great
works for Bergamo, which enrich the little city, where at this period
he can best be studied. The great altarpiece (now removed to San
Bartolommeo) is a most interesting human document, a revelation of the
painter's personality. He does not break away from hieratic conventions,
like the rival school; his Madonna is still placed in the apse of the
church with saints grouped round her, a form from which the Vivarini
never departed, but the whole is full of intense movement, of a lyric
grace and ecstasy, a desire to express fervent and rapturous devotion.
The architectural background is not in happy proportion in relation to
the figures, but the effect of vista and space is more remarkable than
in any North Italian master. The vivid treatment of light and shade, and
the gaiety and delicacy of the flying angels, who hold the canopy, and
of the putti, who spread the carpet below, the shapes of throne and
canopy and the decorations have led to the idea that Lotto drew his
inspiration from Correggio, whom he certainly resembles in some ways;
but at this time Correggio was only twenty, and had not given any
examples of the style we are accustomed to call Correggiesque. We must
look back to a common origin for those decorative details, which are so
conspicuous in Crivelli and Bartolommeo Vivarini, which came to Lotto
through the Vivarini and to Correggio through Ferrarese painters, and
of which the fountain-head for both was the school of Squarcione. For
the much more striking resemblances of composition and spirit, the
explanation seems to be that Lotto on one side of his nature was akin
to Correggio; he had the same lyrical feeling, the same inclination to
exuberance and buoyancy. To both, painting was a vehicle for the
expression of feeling, but Lotto had also common sense and a goodly
share of that humour that is allied to pathos.
Till the year 1526 Lotto was much in Bergamo, where the first altarpiece
gained him orders for others. The reputation of a member of the school
of Venice was a sure passport to employment. We trace Alvise's tradition
very plainly in the altarpiece in San Bernardino, where the gesture of
the Madonna's hand as she expounds to the listening saints recalls
Alvise's of 1480. The little gathered roses, which Lotto makes use
of to the end of his life, lie scattered on the step; angels, daringly
foreshortened, sweep aside the curtain of the sanctuary. The colour is
in Lotto's scarlet, light blues, and violet. He soon shows himself fond
of genre incidents, and in "Christ taking leave of His Mother" gives a
view into a bedroom and a cat running across the floor. The donor kneels
with her hair fashionably dressed and wearing a pearl necklace. In the
"Marriage of S. Catherine" at Bergamo the saint is evidently a portrait,
with hair pearl-wreathed. She kneels very simply and naturally before
the Child, and the exquisitely lovely and elaborately gowned young woman
who represents the Madonna, looks out towards the spectator with a
mundane and curiously modern air. It was probably the recognition
of Lotto's success with portraits that led to their being so often
introduced into his sacred pieces. In the one we have just noticed, the
donor, Niccolas Bonghi, is brought in, and is on rather a larger scale
than the rest, but Lotto has evidently not found him interesting. The
portraits of the brothers della Torre, and that of the Prothonotary
Giuliano in the National Gallery, inaugurate that wonderful series
of characterisations which are his greatest distinction. A series of
frescoes in village churches round Bergamo must also be noticed. They
are remarkable for spontaneous and original decoration, and may compare
with the ceremonial groups of Gentile Bellini and Carpaccio. Lotto's
personages, as they chatter in the market-places, are full of natural
animation and gaiety, and we realise what a step had been made in the
painting of actual life.
Owing to the unsettled state of the rest of Italy, the years
from 1530 to 1540, which Lotto spent in Venice, found that city the
gathering-ground of many of the most distinguished scholars and deepest
thinkers of the day. Men of all shades of religious thought were engaged
in learned discussion, and Lotto's ardent and inquiring temperament must
have been stimulated by such an environment. During these years, too, he
became intimate with Titian, and experimented in Titian's style, with
the result that his painting gets thicker and richer, more fused and
solid, and his figures are better put together. He imitates Titian's
colour, too, but it makes him paint in deeper, fiercer tints, and he
soon finds it does not suit him, and returns to his own scheme. His
colour is still rather too dazzling, but the distances are translucent
and atmospheric. He continues to introduce portraits. In his altarpiece
in SS. Giovanni and Paolo the deacons giving alms and receiving
petitions curiously resemble in type and expression the ecclesiastics
we see to-day.
Lotto was now an accepted member of Titian's set, and Aretino, in a
letter dated 1548, writes that Titian values his taste and judgment as
that of no other; but Aretino, with his usual mixture of connoisseurship
and clever spite, goes on to insinuate accidentally, as it were, what he
himself knew perfectly well, that Lotto was not considered on a par with
the masters of the first rank. "Envy is not in your breast," he says,
"rather do you delight to see in other artists certain qualities which
you do not find in your own brush, ... holding the second place in the
art of painting is nothing compared to holding the first place in the
duties of religion."
An interesting codex or commentary tells us that Lotto never received
high prices for his work, and we hear of him hawking pictures about in
artistic circles, putting them up in raffles, and leaving a number with
Jacopo Sansovino in the hope that he might hear of buyers. His work
ended as it had begun, in the Marches. He undertook commissions at
Recanati, Ancona, and Loreto, and in September 1554 he concluded a
contract with the Holy House at Loreto, by which, in return for rooms
and food, he made over himself and all his belongings to the care of the
fraternity, "being tired of wandering, and wishing to end his days in
that holy place." He spent the last four years of his life at Loreto
as a votary of the Virgin, painting a series of pictures which are
distinguished by the same sort of apparent looseness and carelessness
which we noticed in Titian's late style; a technique which, as in
Titian's case, conceals a profound knowledge of plastic modelling.
Though Lotto executed an immense number of important and very beautiful
sacred works, his portraits stand apart, and are so interesting to the
modern mind that one is tempted to linger over them. Other painters give
us finer pictures; in none do we feel so anxious to know who the sitters
were and what was their story. Lotto has nothing of the Pagan quality
which marks Giorgione and Titian; he is a born psychologist, and as such
he witnesses to an attitude of mind in the Italy of his day which is of
peculiar interest to our own. Lotto's bystanders, even in his sacred
scenes, have nothing in common with Titian's "chorus"; they have the
characterisation of distinct individuals, and when he is concerned with
actual portraits he is intensely receptive and sensitive to the spirit
of his sitters. He may be said to "give them away," and to take an
almost unfair advantage of his perception. The sick man in the Doria
Gallery looks like one stricken with a death sentence. He knows at least
that it is touch and go, and the painter has symbolised the situation in
the little winged genius balancing himself in a pair of scales. In the
Borghese Gallery is the portrait of a young, magnificently dressed man,
with a countenance marked by mental agitation, who presses one hand to
his heart, while the other rests on a pile of rose-petals in which a
tiny skull is half-hidden. The "Old Man" in the Brera has the hard,
narrow, but intensely sad face of one whose natural disposition has
been embittered by the circumstances of his life, just as that of our
Prothonotary speaks of a large and gentle nature, mellowed by natural
affections and happy pursuits. We smile, as Lotto does, with kindly
mischief at "Marsilio and his Bride;" the broad, placid countenance of
the man is so significantly contrasted with the clever mouth and eyes of
the bride that it does not need the malicious glance of the cupid, who
is fitting on the yoke, to "dot the i's and cross the t's" of their
future. Again, the portrait of Laura di Pola, in the Brera, introduces
us to one of those women who are charming in every age, not actually
beautiful, but harmonious, thoughtful, perfectly dressed, sensible, and
self-possessed, and the "Family Group" in our own gallery holds a
history of a couple of antagonistic temperaments united by life in
common and the clasping hands of children. Lotto does not keep the
personal expression out of even such a canvas as his "Triumph of
Chastity" in the Rospigliosi Gallery. His delightful Venus, one of the
loveliest nudes in painting, flies from the attacking termagant, whose
virtue is proclaimed by the ermine on her breast, and sweeps her little
cupid with her with a well-bred, surprised air, suggestive of the
manners of mundane society.
[Illustration: _Lorenzo Lotto._
PORTRAIT OF LAURA DI POLA.
_Brera._
(_Photo, Anderson._)]
The painter who was thus able to unveil personality had evidently a mind
that was aware of itself, that looked forward to a wider civilisation
and a more earnest and intimate religion. His life seems to have been
one of some sadness, and crowned with only moderate success. He speaks
of himself as "advanced in years, without loving care of any kind, and
of a troubled mind." His will shows that his worldly possessions were
few and poor, and that he had no heir closer than a nephew; but he
leaves some of his cartoons as a dowry to "two girls of quiet nature,
healthy in mind and body, and likely to make thrifty housekeepers," on
their marriage to "two well-recommended young men," about to become
painters. His sensitive and introspective temperament led him to prefer
the retirement and the quiet beauty of Loreto to the brilliant society
of which he was made free in Venice. "His spirit," says Mr. Berenson,
"is more like our own than is perhaps that of any other Italian
painter, and it has all the appeal and fascination of a kindred soul
in another age."
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Palma Vecchio._
Bergamo. Lochis: Madonna and Saints (L.).
Cambridge. Fitzwilliam Museum: Venus (L.).
Dresden. Madonna; SS. John, Catherine; Three Sisters; Holy Family;
Meeting of Jacob and Rachel (L.).
London. Hampton Court: Santa Conversazione; Portrait of a Poet.
Milan. Brera: SS. Helen, Constantine, Roch, and Sebastian;
Adoration of Magi (L.), finished by Cariani.
Naples. Santa Conversazione with Donors.
Paris. Adoration of Shepherds.
Rome. Villa Borghese: Lucrece (L.); Madonna with Saints and Donor.
Capitol: Christ and Woman taken in Adultery.
Palazzo Colonna: Madonna, S. Peter, and Donor.
Venice. Academy: St. Peter enthroned and six Saints; Assumption.
Giovanelli: Sposalizio (L.).
S. Maria Formosa: Altarpiece.
Vienna. Santa Conversazione; Violante (L.); Five Portraits of Women.
_Lorenzo Lotto._
Ancona. Assumption, 1550; Madonna with Saints (L.).
Asolo. Madonna in Glory, 1506.
Bergamo. Carrara: Marriage of S. Catherine; Predelle.
Lochis: Holy Family and S. Catherine; Predelle; Portrait.
S. Bartolommeo: Altarpiece, 1516.
S. Alessandro in Colonna: Pietà.
S. Bernardino: Altarpiece.
S. Spirito: Altarpiece.
Berlin. Christ taking leave of His Mother; Portraits.
Brescia. Nativity.
Cingoli. S. Domenico: Madonna and Saints and fifteen Small Scenes.
Florence. Uffizi: Holy Family.
London. Hampton Court: Portrait of Andrea Odoni, 1527; Portrait (E.);
Portraits of Agostino and Niccolo della Torre, 1515;
Family Group; Portrait of Prothonotary Giuliano.
Bridgewater House: Madonna and Saints (E.).
Loreto. Palazzo Apostolico: Saints; Nativity; S. Michael and Lucifer
(L.); Presentation (L.); Baptism (L.); Adoration of Magi (L.).
Recanati. Municipio: Altarpiece, 1508; Transfiguration (E.).
S. Maria Sopra Mercanti: Annunciation.
Rome. Villa Borghese: Madonna with S. Onofrio and a Bishop, 1508.
Rospigliosi: Love and Chastity.
Venice. Carmine: S. Nicholas in Glory, 1529.
S. Giacomo dall' Orio: Madonna with Saints, 1546.
SS. Giovanni e Paolo: S. Antonino bestowing Alms, 1542.
Vienna. Santa Conversazione, etc.
CHAPTER XXI
SEBASTIAN DEL PIOMBO
It was very natural that Rome should wish for works of the masters of
the new Venetian School, but the first-rate men were fully employed at
home. All the efforts made to secure Titian failed till nearly the end
of his career. On the other hand, Venice was full of less famous masters
following in Giorgione's steps. When Sebastian Luciani was a young man,
Giorgione was paramount there, and no one could have foretold that his
life would be of such short duration. It was to be expected, therefore,
that a painter who consulted his own interests should leave the city
where he was overshadowed by a great genius and go farther afield. The
influence of the Guilds was withdrawn in the sixteenth century, so that
it was a simpler matter for painters to transfer their talents, and
painting was beginning to appeal strongly to the _dilettanti_, who
rivalled one another in their offers.
Only one work of Sebastian's is known belonging to this earlier time in
Venice. It is the "S. Chrysostom enthroned," in S. Giovanni Crisostomo,
and its majesty and rich colouring, and more especially the splendid
group of women on the left, so proud and soft in their Venetian beauty,
make us wonder if Sebastian might not have risen to greater heights if
he had remained in his natural environment. He responded to the call to
Rome of Agostino Chigi, the great painter, [TN: Chigi was a banker] art
collector, and patron, the friend of Leo X. Chigi had just completed
the Farnesina Villa, and Sebastian was employed till 1512 on its
decoration, and at once came under the influence of Michelangelo. The
"Pietà" at Viterbo shows that influence very strongly; in fact, Vasari
says that Michelangelo himself drew the cartoon for the figure of
Christ, which would account for its extraordinary beauty. Sebastian
embarked on a close intimacy with the Florentine painter, and,
according to Vasari, the great canvas of the "Raising of Lazarus," in
the National Gallery, was executed under the orders and in part from
the designs of Michelangelo. This colossal work was looked on as one
of the most important creations of the sixteenth century, but there is
little to make us wish to change it for the altarpiece of S. Crisostomo.
The desire for scientific drawing and the search after composition have
produced a laboured effect; the female figures are cast in a masculine
mould, and it lacks both the severe beauty of the Tuscan School and
the emotional charm of Sebastian's native style. We cannot, however,
avoid conjecturing if in the figure of Lazarus himself we have not a
conception of the great Florentine. It is so easy in pose, so splendid
in its, perhaps excessive, length of limb, that our thoughts turn
involuntarily to the _Ignudi_ in the Sixtine Chapel. The picture has
been dulled and injured by repainting, but the distance still has the
sombre depth of the Venetians. All through Sebastian's career he seeks
for form and composition, but, great painter as he undoubtedly is, he
is great because he possesses that inborn feeling for harmony of colour.
This is what we value in him, and he excels in so far as he follows his
Venetian instincts.
The death of Raphael improved Sebastian's position in Rome, and
though Leo X. never liked or employed him, he did not lack commissions.
The "Fornarina" in the Uffizi, with the laurel-wreathed head and
leopard-skin mantle, still reveals him as the Venetian, and it is
curious that any critic should ever have assigned its rich, voluptuous
tone and its coarse type to Raphael. Sebastian obtained commissions for
decorating S. Maria del Popolo in oils and S. Pietro in Montorio in
fresco, but in the latter medium, though he is ambitious of acquiring
the force of Michelangelo, he lacks the Tuscan ease of hand. Colour,
for which he possessed so true an aptitude, the deep, fused colour of
Giorgione, is set aside by him; his tints become strong and crude, his
surfaces grow hard and polished, and he thinks, above all, of bold
action, of drawing and modelling. The Venetian genius for portraiture
remains, and he has left such fine examples as the "Andrea Doria" of the
Vatican, or the "Portrait of a Man in the Pitti," a masterly picture
both in drawing and execution, with grand draperies, a fur pelisse, and
damask doublet with crimson sleeves. In the National Gallery we possess
his own portrait by himself, in company with Cardinal de Medici. The
faces are well contrasted, and we judge from Sebastian's that his
biographer describes him justly, as fat, indolent, and given to
self-indulgence, but genial and fond of good company.
After an absence of twenty years he returned to Venice. There he came
in contact with Titian and Pordenone, and struck up a friendship with
Aretino, who became his great ally and admirer. The sack of Rome had
driven him forth, but in 1529, when the city was beginning partially
to recover from that time of horror, he returned, and was cordially
welcomed by Clement VII., and admitted into the innermost ecclesiastical
circles. The Piombo, a well-paid, sinecure office of the Papal court,
was bestowed on him, and his remaining years were spent in Rome. He
was very anxious to collaborate with Michelangelo, and the great
painter seems to have been quite inclined to the arrangement. The "Last
Judgment," in the Sixtine Chapel, was suggested, and Sebastian had the
melancholy task of taking down Perugino's masterpieces; but he wished to
reset the walls for oils, and Michelangelo stipulated for fresco, saying
that oils were only fit for women, so that no agreement was arrived at.
Sebastian's mode of work was slow, and he employed no assistants. He
seems to have been inordinately lazy, fond of leisure and good living,
and his character shows in his work, which, with a few exceptions, has
something heavy and common about it, a want of keenness and fire, an
absence of refinement and selection.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Florence. Uffizi: Fornarina, 1512; Death of Adonis.
Pitti: Martyrdom of S. Agatha, 1520; Portrait (L.).
London. Resurrection of Lazarus, 1519; Portraits.
Naples. Holy Family; Portraits.
Paris. Visitation, 1521.
Rome. Portrait of Andrea Doria (L.).
Farnesina: Frescoes, 1511.
S. Pietro in Montorio. Frescoes.
Treviso. S. Niccolo: Incredulity of S. Thomas (E.).
Venice. Academy: Visitation (E.).
S. Giovanni Chrisostomo: S. Chrysostom enthroned (E.).
Viterbo. Pietà (L.).
CHAPTER XXII
BONIFAZIO AND PARIS BORDONE
Some uncertainty has existed as to the identity of the different members
of the family of Bonifazio. All the early historians agree in giving the
name to one master only. Boschini, however, in 1777 discovered the
register of the death of a second, and a third bearing the name was
working twenty years later. Upon this Dr. Morelli came to the conclusion
that we must recognise three, if not four, masters bearing the name of
Bonifazio, but documents recently discovered by Professor Ludwig have
in great measure destroyed Morelli's conjectures. There may have been
obscure painters bearing the name, but they were mere imitators, and it
is doubtful if any were related to the family of de Pitatis.
Bonifazio Veronese is really the only one who counts. As Ridolfi says,
he was born in Verona in the most beautiful moment of painting. He came
to Venice at the age of eighteen, and became a pupil of Palma Vecchio,
with whom his work has sometimes been confused. After Palma's death
Bonifazio continued in friendly relations with his old master's family,
and his niece married Palma's nephew. Bonifazio himself married the
daughter of a basket-maker, and appears to have had no children, for
he and his wife by their wills bestowed their whole fortune on their
nephews. Antonio Palma, who married Bonifazio's niece, was a painter
whose pictures have sometimes been attributed to the legendary third
Bonifazio. Bonifazio's life was passed peacefully in Venice. He received
many important commissions from the Republic, and decorated the Palace
of the Treasurers. His character and standing were high, and he was
appointed, in company with Titian and Lotto, to administer a legacy
which Vincenzo Catena had left to provide a yearly dower for five
maidens. After a long life spent in steady work, Bonifazio withdrew
to a little farm amidst orchards--fifteen acres of land in all--at San
Zenone, near Asolo; but he still kept his house in San Marcuola, where
he died. He was buried in S. Alvise in Venice.
A son of the plains and of Venetian stock, his work is always graceful
and attractive, though inclined to be hot in colour. It has a very
pronounced aristocratic character, and bears no trace of the rough,
provincial strain of such men as Cariani or Pordenone. It is very fine
and glowing in colour, but lacks vigour and energy in design. Nowhere do
we get more worldly magnificence or such frank worship of wealth as on
Bonifazio's joyous canvases. He represents Christian saints and Eastern
kings alike, as gentlemen of princely rank. There is a note of purely
secular art about his Adorations and Holy Families. In the "Adoration of
the Magi," in the Academy, the Madonna is a handsome, prosperous lady of
Bonifazio's acquaintance. The Child, so far from raising His hand in
benediction, holds it out for the proffered cup. He does not, as usual,
distinguish the eldest king, but singles out the cup held by the second,
who, in a puffed velvet dress, is an evident portrait, probably that of
the donor of the picture, who is in this way paid a courtier-like
compliment. The third king is such a Moor as Bonifazio must often have
seen embarking from his Eastern galley on the Riva dei Schiavoni. A
servant in a peaked hood peers round the column to catch sight of what
is going on. The groups of animals in the background are well rendered.
In the "Rich Man's Feast," where Lazarus lies upon the step, we have
another scene of wealthy and sumptuous Venetian society, an orgy of
colour. And, again, in the "Finding of Moses" (Brera) he paints nobles
playing the lute, making love and feasting, and lovely fair-haired women
listening complacently. We are reminded of the way in which they lived:
their one preoccupation the toilet, the delight of appearing in public
in the latest and most magnificent fashions. And in these paintings
Bonifazio depicts the elaborate striped and brocaded gowns in which the
beautiful Venetians arrayed themselves, made in the very fashions of the
year, and their thick, fair hair is twisted and coiled in the precise
mode of the moment. The deep-red velvet he introduces into nearly all
his pictures is of a hue peculiar to himself. As Catena often brings in
a little white lap-dog, so Bonifazio constantly has as an accessory a
liver-and-white spaniel.
Vasari speaks of Paris Bordone as the artist who most successfully
imitated Titian. He was the son of well-to-do tradespeople in Treviso,
and received a good education in music and letters, before being sent
off to Venice and placed in Titian's studio. Bordone does not seem to
have been on very friendly terms with Titian. He was dissatisfied with
his teaching, and Titian played him an ill turn in wresting from him a
commission to paint an altarpiece which had been entrusted to him when
he was only eighteen. He was, above all, in love with the manner of
the dead Giorgione, and it was upon this master that he aspired to
form his style. His masterpiece, in the Academy, was painted for the
Confraternity of St. Mark, and made his reputation. The legend it
represents may be given in a few words:
In the days of Doge Gradenigo, one February, there arose a fearful
storm in Venice. During the height of the tempest, three men accosted a
poor old fisherman, who was lying in his decayed old boat by the Piazza,
and begged that he would row them to S. Niccolo del Lido, where they had
urgent business. After some demur they persuaded him to take the oars,
and in spite of the hurricane, the voyage was accomplished. On reaching
the shore they pointed out to him a great ship, the crew of which he
perceived to consist of a band of demons, who were stirring up the waves
and making a great hubbub. The three passengers laid their commands on
them to desist, when immediately they sailed away and there was a calm.
The passengers then made the oarsman row them, one to S. Niccolo, one to
S. Giorgio, and the third was rowed back to the Piazza. The fisherman
timidly asked for his fare, and the third passenger desired him to go to
the Doge and ask for payment, telling him that by that night's work a
great disaster had been averted from the city. The fisherman replied
that he should not be believed, but would be imprisoned as a liar. Then
the passenger drew a ring from his finger. "Show him this for a sign,"
he said, "and know that one of those you have this night rowed is S.
Niccolas, the other is S. George, and I am S. Mark the Evangelist,
Protector of the Venetian Republic." He then disappeared. The next day
the fisherman presented the ring, and was assigned a provision for life
from the Senate.
There has, perhaps, never been a richer and more beautiful
subject-picture painted than this glowing canvas, or one which brings
more vividly before us the magnificence of the pageants which made
such a part of Venetian life in the golden age of painting. It is all
strength and splendour, and escapes the hectic colour and weaker type
which appear in Bordone's "Last Supper" and some of his other works. In
1538 he went to France and entered the service of Francis II., painting
for him many portraits of ladies, besides works for the Cardinals of
Guise and of Lorraine. The King of Poland sent to him for a "Jupiter and
Antiope." At Augsburg he was paid 3000 crowns for work done for the
great Fugger family.
No one gives us so closely as Bordone the type of woman who at this time
was most admired in Venice. The Venetian ideal was golden haired, with
full lips, fair, rosy cheeks, large limbed and ample, with "abundant
flanks and snow-white breast." A type glowing with health and instinct
with life, but, to say the truth, rather dull, without deep passions,
and with no look that reveals profound emotions or the struggle of a
soul. From what we see of Bordone's female portraits and from some of
the mythological compositions he has left, he might have been among the
most sensually minded of men. His beautiful courtesan, in the National
Gallery, is an almost over-realistic presentment of a woman who has
just parted from her lover. His women, with their carnation cheeks and
expressionless faces, are like beautiful animals; but, as a matter
of fact, their painter was sober and temperate in his life, very
industrious, and devoted to his widowed mother. About 1536 he married
the daughter of a Venetian citizen, and had a son, who became one of the
many insignificant painters of the end of the sixteenth century. Most
of his days were divided between his little Villa of Lovadina in the
district of Belluno, and his modest home in the Corte dell' Cavallo near
the Misericordia. "He lives comfortably in his quiet house," writes
Vasari, who certainly knew Bordone in Venice, "working only at the
request of princes, or his friends, avoiding all rivalry and those vain
ambitions which do but disturb the repose of man, and seeking to avert
any ruffling of the serene tranquillity of his life, which he is
accustomed to preserve simple and upright."
Many of his pictures show an intense love of country solitudes. His
poetic backgrounds, lonely mountains, leafy woods, and sparkling water
are in curious contrast to the sumptuous groups in the foreground.
His "Three Heads," in the Brera, is a superb piece of painting and
an interesting characterisation. The woman is ripe, sensual, and
calculating, feeling with her fingers for the gold chain, a mere
golden-fleshed, rose-flushed hireling, solid and prosaic. The
go-between is dimly seen in the background, but the face of the suitor
is a strange, ironic study: past youth, worn, joyless, and bitter,
taking his pleasure mechanically and with cynical detachment. The "Storm
calmed by S. Mark" (Academy) was, in Mr. Berenson's opinion, begun by
Giorgione.
Rich, brilliant, and essentially Venetian as is the work of these
two painters, it does not reach the highest level. It falls short of
grandeur, and has that worldly tone that borders on vulgarity. As we
study it we feel that it marks the point to which Venetian art might
have attained, the flood-mark it might have touched, if it had lacked
the advent of the three or four great spirits, who, appearing about
the same time, bore it up to sublimer heights and developed a more
distinguished range of qualities. Bonifazio and Bordone lack the
grandeur and sweetness of Titian, the brilliant touch and imaginative
genius of Tintoretto, the matchless feeling for colour, design, and
decoration of Veronese, but they continue Venetian painting on logical
lines, and they form a superb foundation for the highest.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Bonifazio Veronese._
Dresden. Finding of Moses.
Florence. Pitti: Madonna; S. Elizabeth and Donor (E.); Rest in Flight
into Egypt; Finding of Moses.
Hampton Court. Santa Conversazione.
London. Santa Conversazione (E.).
Milan. Brera: Finding of Moses.
Paris. Santa Conversazione.
Rome. Villa Borghese: Mother of Zebedee's Children; Return of the
Prodigal Son.
Colonna: Holy Family with Saints.
Venice. Academy: Rich Man's Feast; Massacre of Innocents; Judgment of
Solomon, 1533; Adoration of Kings.
Giovanelli: Santa Conversazione.
Vienna. Santa Conversazione; Triumph of Love; Triumph of Chastity;
Salome.
_Paris Bordone._
Bergamo. Lochis: Vintage Scenes.
Berlin. Portrait of Man in Black; Chess Players; Madonna and four
Saints.
Dresden. Apollo and Marsyas; Diana; Holy Family.
Florence. Pitti: Portrait of Woman.
Genoa. Brignole Sale: Portraits of Men; Santa Conversazione.
Hampton Court. Madonna and Donors.
London. Daphnis and Chloe; Portrait of Lady.
Bridgewater House: Holy Family.
Milan. Brera: Descent of Holy Spirit; Baptism; S. Dominio presented
to the Saviour by Virgin; Madonna and Saints; Venal Love.
S. Maria pr. Celso: Madonna and S. Jerome.
Munich. Portrait; Man counting Jewels.
Paris. Portraits.
Rome. Colonna: Holy Family and Saints.
Treviso. Madonna and Saints.
Duomo: Adoration of Shepherds; Madonna and Saints.
Venice. Academy: Fisherman and Doge; Paradise; Storm calmed by S. Mark.
Palazzo Ducale Chapel: Dead Christ.
Giovanelli: Madonna and Saints.
S. Giovanni in Bragora; Last Supper.
Vienna. Allegorical Pictures; Lady at Toilet; Young Woman.
CHAPTER XXIII
PAINTERS OF THE VENETIAN PROVINCES
It has become usual to include in the Venetian School those artists from
the subject provinces on the mainland, who came down to try their luck
at the fountain-head and to receive its hallmark on their talent. The
Friulan cities, Udine, Serravalle, and small neighbouring towns, had
their own primitive schools and their scores of humble craftsmen. Their
art wavered for some time in its expression between the German taste,
which came so close to their gates, and the Italian, which was more
truly their element.
Up to 1499 Friuli was invaded seven times in thirty years by the
Turks. They poured in large numbers over the Bosnian borders, crossed
the Isonzo and the Tagliamenta, and massacred and carried off the
inhabitants. These terrible periods are marked by the cessation of work
in the provinces, but hope always revived again. The break caused by
such a visitation can be distinctly traced in the Church of S. Antonino,
at the little town of San Daniele. Martino da Udine obtained the
epithet of Pellegrino da San Daniele in 1494 when he returned from an
early visit to Venice, where he had been apprenticed to Cima. He was
appointed to decorate S. Antonino. His early work there is hard and
coarse, ill-drawn, the figures unwieldy and shapeless, and the colour
dusky and uniform; but owing to the Turkish raid, he had to take flight,
and it was many a year before the monks gained sufficient courage and
saved enough money to continue the embellishment of their church. In the
meantime, Pellegrino's years had been spent partly in Venice and partly,
perhaps, in Ferrara, for the reason Raphael gave for refusing to paint a
"Bacchus" for the Duke, was that the subject had already been painted
by Pellegrino da San Daniele. When Pellegrino resumed his work, it
demonstrated that he had studied the modern Venetians and had come under
a finer, deeper influence. A St. George in armour suggests Giorgione's
S. Liberale at Castelfranco; he specially shows an affinity with
Pordenone, who was his pupil and who was to become a better painter than
his old master. As Pellegrino goes on he improves consistently, and
adopts the method, so peculiarly Venetian, of sacrificing form to a
scheme of chiaroscuro. He even, to some extent, succeeds in his
difficult task of applying to wall painting the system which the
Venetians used almost exclusively for easel pictures. He was an
ambitious, daring painter, and some of his church standards were for
long attributed to Giorgione. The church of San Antonino remains his
chief monument; but for all his travels Pellegrino remains provincial in
type, is unlucky in his selection, cares little for precision of form,
and trusts to colour for effect.
The same transition in art was taking place in other provinces. Morto da
Feltre, Pennacchi, and Girolamo da Treviso have all left work of a
Giorgionesque type, and some painters who went far onward, began their
career under such minor masters. Giovanni Antonio Licinio, who takes his
name from his native town of Pordenone, in Friuli, was one of these. All
the early part of his life was spent in painting frescoes in the small
towns of the Friulan provinces. At first they bear signs of the tuition
of Pellegrino, but it soon becomes evident that Pordenone has learned to
imitate Giorgione and Palma. Quite early, however, one of his chief
failings appears, and one which is all his own, the disparity in size
between his various figures. The secondary personages, the Magi in a
Nativity, the Saints standing round an altar, are larger and more
athletic in build and often more animated in action than the principal
actors in the scene. What pleased Pordenone's contemporaries was his
daring perspective and his instinctive feeling for movement. He carried
out great schemes in the hill-towns, till at length his reputation,
which had long been ripe in his native province, reached Venice. In
1519 he was invited to Treviso to fresco the façade of a house for one
of the Raviguino family. The painter, as payment, asked fifty scudi, and
Titian was called in to adjudicate, but he admired the work so much that
he hinted to Raviguino that he would be wise not to press him for a
valuation. As a direct consequence of this piece of business, Pordenone
was employed on the chapel at Treviso, in conjunction with Titian. At
this time the Assumption and the Madonna of Casa Pesaro were just
finished, and it is probable that Pordenone paid his first visit to
Venice, hard by, and saw his great contemporary's work. With his
characteristic distaste for fresco, Titian undertook the altarpiece and
painted the beautiful Annunciation which still holds its place, and
Pordenone covered the dome with a foreshortened figure of the Eternal
Father, surrounded by angels. Among the remaining frescoes in the
Chapel, an Adoration of the Magi and a S. Liberale are from his brush.
Fired by his success at Treviso, Pordenone offered his services to
Mantua and Cremona, but the Mantovans, accustomed to the stately and
restrained grace of Mantegna, would have nothing to say to what Crowe
and Cavalcaselle call his "large and colossal fable-painting." He
pursued his way to Cremona, and that he studied Mantegna as he passed
through Mantua is evident from the first figures he painted in the
cathedral. In Cremona every one admired him, and all the artists set to
work to imitate his energetic foreshortening, vehement movement and huge
proportions.
Pordenone, with his love for fresco, was all his life an itinerant
painter. In 1521 he was back at Udine and wandered from place to
place, painting a vast distemper for the organ doors at S. Maria at
Spilimbergo, the façade of the Church of Valeriano, an imposing series
at Travesio, and in 1525, the "Story of the True Cross" at Casara. At
the last place he threw aside much of his exaggeration, and, ruined and
restored as the frescoes are, they remain among his most dignified
achievements. He may be studied best of all at Piacenza, in the Church
of the Madonna di Campagna, where he divides his subjects between sacred
and pagan, so that we turn from a "Flight into Egypt" or a "Marriage
of S. Catherine," to the "Rape of Europa" or "Venus and Adonis." At
Piacenza he shows himself the great painter he undoubtedly is, having
achieved some mastery over form, while his colour has the true Venetian
quality and almost equals oils in its luscious tones and vivid hues,
which he lowers and enriches by such enveloping shadows as only one
whose spirit was in touch with the art of Giorgione would have
understood how to use. Very complete records remain of Pordenone's life,
full details of a quarrel with his brother over property left by his
father in 1533, and accounts of the painter's negotiations to obtain a
knighthood, which he fancied would place him more on a par with Titian
when he went to live in Venice. The coveted honour was secured, but from
this time he seems to have been very jealous of Titian and to have aimed
continually at rivalling him. Pordenone was a punctual and rapid
decorator, and on being given the ceiling of the Sala di San Finio to
decorate in the summer of 1536, he finished the whole by March 1538. We
have seen how Titian annoyed the Signoria by his delays, how anxious
they were to transfer his commission to Pordenone, and what a narrow
escape the Venetian had of losing his Broker's patent. Pordenone was
engaged by the nuns of Murano to paint an Annunciation, after they had
rejected one by Titian on account of its price, and though it seems
hardly possible that any one could have compared the two men, yet no
doubt the pleasure of getting an altarpiece quickly and punctually and
for a moderate sum, often outweighed the honour of the possible painting
by the great Titian.
No one has left so few easel-paintings as Pordenone; fresco was so much
better suited to his particular style. The canvas of the "Madonna of
Mercy" in the Venice Academy, was painted about 1525 for a member of the
house of Ottobono, and introduces seven members of the family. It is
very free from his colossal, exaggerated manner; the attendant saints
are studied from nature, and in his journals the painter mentions that
the St. Roch is a portrait of himself. The "S. Lorenzo enthroned," in
the same gallery, shows both his virtues and failings. The saints have
his enormous proportions. The Baptist is twisting round, to display the
foreshortening which Pordenone particularly affects. The gestures are
empty and inexpressive, but the colour is broad and fluid; there is a
large sense of decoration in the composition, and something simple and
austere about the figure of S. Lorenzo. As is so often the case with
Pordenone, the principal actor of the scene is smaller and more
sincerely imagined than the attendant personages, who are crowded into
the foreground, where they are used to display the master's skill.
Pordenone died suddenly at Ferrara, where he had been summoned by its
Duke to undertake one of his great schemes of decoration. He was said
to have been poisoned, but though he had jealous rivals there seems no
proof of the truth of the assertion, which was one very commonly made in
those days. He is interesting as being the only distinguished member of
the Venetian School whose frescoes have come down to us in any number,
and as being the only one of the later masters with whom it was the
chosen medium.
His kinsman, Bernardino Licinio, is represented in the National Gallery
by a half-length of a young man in black, and at Hampton Court by a
large family group and by another of three persons gathered round a
spinet. His masterpiece is a Madonna and Saints in the Frari, which
shows the influence of Palma. His flesh tints, striving to be rich, have
a hot, red look, but his works have been constantly confounded with
those of Giorgione and Paris Bordone.
A long list might be given of minor artists who were industriously
turning out work on similar lines to one or other of these masters:
Calderari, who imitates Paris Bordone as well as Pordenone; Pomponio
Amalteo, Pordenone's son-in-law, a spirited painter in fresco;
Florigerio, who practised at Udine and Padua, and of whom an altarpiece
remains in the Academy; Giovanni Battista Grassi, who helped Vasari to
compile his notices of Friulan art, and many others only known by name.
At the close of the fifteenth century the revulsion against Paduan art
extended as far as Brescia, and Girolamo Romanino was one of the first
to acquire the trick of Venetian painting. He probably studied for a
time under Friulan painters. Pellegrino is thought to have been at
Brescia or Bergamo during the Friulan disturbances of 1506-12, and
about 1510 Romanino emerges, a skilled artist in Pellegrino's Palmesque
manner. His works at this time are dark and glowing, full of warm light
and deep shadow; the scene is often laid under arches, after the manner
of the Vivarini and Cima; a gorgeous scheme of accessory is framed in
noble architecture.
Brescia was an opulent city, second only to Milan among the towns of
northern Italy, and Romanino obtained plenty of patronage; but in 1511
the city fell a prey to the horrors of war, was taken and lost by
Venice, and in 1512 was sacked by the French. Romanino fled to Padua,
where he found a home among the Benedictines of S. Giustina. Here he was
soon well employed on an altarpiece with life-size figures for the high
altar, and a "Last Supper" for the refectory. It is also surmised that
he helped in the series for the Scuola del Santo, for several of which
Titian in 1511 had signed a receipt, and the "Death of St. Anthony" is
pointed out as showing the Brescian characteristics of fine colour, but
poor drawing.
Romanino returned to Brescia when the Venetians recovered it in 1516,
but before doing so he went to Cremona and painted four subjects, which
are among his most effective, in the choir of the Duomo.
He is not so daring a painter as Pordenone, from whom he sometimes
borrows ideas, but he is quite a convert to the modern style of the day,
setting his groups in large spaces and using the slashed doublets, the
long hose, and plumed headgear which Giorgione had found so picturesque.
Romanino is often very poor and empty, and fails most in selection and
expression at the moments when he most needs to be great, but he is
successful in the golden style he adopted after his closer contact
with the Venetians, and his draperies and flesh tints are extremely
brilliant. He is, indeed, inclined to be gaudy and careless in
execution, and even the fine "Nativity" in the National Gallery gives
the impression that size is more regarded than thought and feeling.
Moretto is perhaps the only painter from the mainland who, coming within
the charmed circle of Venetian art and betraying the study of Palma and
Titian and the influence of Pordenone, still keeps his own gamut of
colour, and as he goes on, gets consistently cooler and more silvery
in his tones. He can only be fully studied in Brescia itself, where
literally dozens of altarpieces and wall-paintings show him in every
phase. His first connection was probably with Romanino, but he reminds
us at one time of Titian by his serious realism, and finished, careful
painting, at another of Raphael, by the grace and sentiment of his
heads, and as time goes on he foreshadows the style of Veronese. In the
"Feast in the House of Simon" in the organ-loft of the Church of the
Pietà in Venice, the very name prepares us for the airy, colonnaded
building, with vistas of blue sky and landscape, and the costly raiment
and plenishing which might have been seen at any Venetian or Brescian
banquet. In his portraits Moretto sometimes rivals Lotto. His personages
are always dignified and expressive, with pale, high-bred faces, and
exceedingly picturesque in dress and general arrangement. He loved to
paint a great gentleman, like the Sciarra Martinengo in the National
Gallery, and to endow him with an air of romantic interest.
One of those who entered so closely into the spirit of the Venetian
School that he may almost be included within it, is Savoldo. His
pictures are rare, and no gallery can show more than one or two
examples. The Louvre has a portrait by him of Gaston de Foix, long
thought to be by Giorgione. His native town can only show one
altarpiece, an "Adoration of Shepherds," low in tone but intense in
dusky shadow with fringes of light. He is grey and slaty in his shadows,
and often rough and startling in effect, but at his best he produces
very beautiful, rich, evening harmonies; and a letter from Aretino bears
witness to the estimation in which he was held.
It is not easy to say if Brescia or Vicenza has most claim to
Bartolommeo Montagna, the early master of Cima. Born of Brescian
parents, he settled early in Vicenza, and he is by far the most
distinguished of those Vicentine painters who drank at the Venetian
fount. He must have gone early to Venice and worked with the Vivarini,
for in his altarpiece in the Brera he has the vaulted porticoes in
which Bartolommeo and Alvise Vivarini delighted. His "Madonna enthroned"
in the gallery at Vicenza has many points of contact with that of Alvise
at Berlin. Among these are the four saints, the cupola, and the raised
throne, and he is specially attracted by the groups of music-making
angels; but Montagna has more moral greatness than Alvise, and his lines
are stronger and more sinewy. He keeps faithful to the Alvisian feeling
for calm and sweetness, but his personages have greater weight and
gravity. He essays, too, a "Pietà" with saints, at Monte Berico, and
shows both pathos and vehemence. He has evidently seen Bellini's
rendering, and attempts, if only with partial success, to contrast in
the same way the indifference of death with the contemplation and
anguish of the bereaved. Hard and angular as Montagna's saints often
are, they show power and austerity. His colour is brilliant and
enamel-like; he does not arrive at the Venetian depth, yet his
altarpieces are very grand, and once more we are struck by the greatness
of even the secondary painters who drew their inspiration from Padua and
Venice.
Among the other Vicentines, Giovanni Speranza and Giovanni Buonconsiglio
were imbued with characteristics of Mantegna. Speranza, in one of his
few remaining works, almost reproduces the beautiful "Assumption" by
Pizzolo, Mantegna's young fellow-student, in the Chapel of the
Eremitani. He employs Buonconsiglio as an assistant, and they imitate
Montagna to such an extent that it is difficult to distinguish between
their works. Buonconsiglio's "Pietà" in the Vicenza gallery, is
reminiscent of Montagna's at Monte Berico. The types are lean and bony,
the features are almost as rugged as Dürer's, the flesh earthy and
greenish. About 1497 Buonconsiglio was studying oils with Antonello da
Messina; he begins to reside in Venice, and a change comes over his
manner. His colours show a brilliancy and depth acquired by studying
Titian; and then, again, his bright tints remind us of Lotto. His name
was on the register of the Venetian Guild as late as 1530.
After Pisanello's achievement and his marked effect on early Venetian
art, Veronese painting fell for a time to a very low ebb; but Mantegna's
influence was strongly felt here, and art revived in Liberale da Verona,
Falconetto, Casoto, the Morone and Girolamo dai Libri, painters
delightful in themselves, but having little connection with the
school of Venice. Francesco Bonsignori, however, shook himself free
from the narrow circle of Veronese art, where he had for a time
followed Liberale, and grows more like the Vicentines, Montagna and
Buonconsiglio. He is careful about his drawing, but his figures, like
those of many of these provincial painters, are short, bony and vulgar,
very unlike the slender, distinguished type of the great Paduan. Under
the name of Francesco da Verona, Bonsignori works in the new palace of
the Gonzagas, and several pictures painted for Mantua are now scattered
in different collections. At Verona he has left four fine altarpieces.
He went early to Venice, where he became the pupil of the Vivarini. His
faces grow soft and oval, and the very careful outlines suggest the
influence of Bellini.
Girolamo Mocetto was journeyman to Giovanni Bellini; in fact, Vasari
says that a "Dead Christ" in S. Francesco della Vigna, signed with
Bellini's name, is from Mocetto's hand. His short, broad figures have
something of Bartolommeo Vivarini's character.
Francesco Torbido went to Venice to study with Giorgione, and we can
trace his master's manner of turning half tones into deep shades; but he
does not really understand the Giorgionesque treatment, in which shade
was always rich and deep, but never dark, dirty and impenetrable, nor in
the lights can he produce the clear glow of Giorgione. Another Veronese,
Cavazzola, has left a masterpiece upon which any painter might be happy
to rest his reputation; the "Gattemalata with an Esquire" in the Uffizi,
a picture noble in feeling and in execution, and one which owes a great
deal to Venetian portrait-painters.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
_Pordenone._
Casara. Old Church: Frescoes, 1525.
Colatto. S. Salvatore: Frescoes (E.).
Cremona. Duomo: Frescoes; Christ before Pilate; Way to Golgotha;
Nailing to Cross; Crucifixion, 1521; Madonna enthroned
with Saints and Donor, 1522.
Murano. S. Maria d. Angeli: Annunciation (L.).
Piacenza. Madonna in Campagna: Frescoes and Altarpiece, 1529-31.
Pordenone. Duomo: Madonna of Mercy, 1515; S. Mark enthroned with Saints,
1535.
Municipio: SS. Gothard, Roch, and Sebastian, 1525.
Spilimbergo. Duomo: Assumption; Conversion of S. Paul.
Sensigana. Madonna and Saints.
Torre. Madonna and Saints.
Treviso. Duomo: Adoration of Magi; Frescoes, 1520.
Venice. Academy: Portraits; Madonna, Saints, and the Ottobono Family;
Saints.
S. Giovanni Elemosinario: Saints.
S. Rocco: Saints, 1528.
_Pellegrino._
San Daniele. Frescoes in S. Antonio.
Cividale. S. Maria: Madonna with six Saints.
Venice. Academy: Annunciation.
_Romanino._
Bergamo. S. Alessandro in Colonna: Assumption.
Berlin. Madonna and Saints; Pietà.
Brescia. Galleria Martinengo: Portrait; Christ bearing Cross; Nativity;
Coronation.
Duomo: Sacristy: Birth of Virgin; Visitation.
S. Francesco: Madonna and Saints; Sposalizio.
Cremona. Duomo: Frescoes.
London. Polyptych; Portrait.
Padua. Last Supper; Madonna and Saints.
Sato, Lago di Garda. Duomo: Saints and Donor.
Trent. Castello: Frescoes.
Verona. St. Jerome. S. Giorgio in Braida: Organ shutters.
_Moretto._
Bergamo. Lochis: Holy Family; Christ bearing Cross; Donor.
Brescia. Galleria Martinengo: Nativity and Saints; Madonna
appearing to S. Francis; Saints; Madonna in Glory
with Saints; Christ at Emmaus; Annunciation.
S. Clemente: High Altar and four other Altarpieces.
S. Francesco: Altarpiece.
S. Giovanni Evangelista: High Altar; Third Altar.
S. Maria in Calchera: Dead Christ and Saints;
Magdalen washing Feet of Christ.
S. Maria delle Grazie: High Altar.
SS. Nazaro and Celso: Two Altarpieces; Sacristy:
Nativity.
Seminario di S. Angelo: High Altar.
London. Portrait of Count Sciarra Martinengo; Portrait;
Madonna and Saints; Two Angels.
Milan. Brera: Madonna and Saints; Assumption.
Castello: Triptych; Saints.
Rome. Vatican: Madonna enthroned with Saints.
Venice. S. Maria della Pietà: Christ in the House of Levi.
Verona. S. Giorgio in Braida: Madonna and Saints.
_Bartolommeo Montagna._
Bergamo. Lochis: Madonna and Saint, 1487.
Berlin. Madonna, Saints, and Donors, 1500.
Milan. Brera: Madonna, Saints, and Angels.
Padua. Scuola del Santo: Fresco; Opening of S. Antony's Tomb.
Pavia. Certosa: Madonna, Saints, and Angels.
Venice. Academy: Madonna and Saints; Christ with Saints.
Verona. SS. Nazaro e Celso: Saints; Pietà; Frescoes, 1491-93.
Vicenza. Holy Family; Madonna enthroned; Two Madonnas with Saints;
Three Madonnas.
Duomo: Altarpiece; Frescoes.
S. Corona: Madonna and Saints.
Monte Berico: Pietà, 1500; Fresco.
CHAPTER XXIV
PAOLO VERONESE
Paolo Veronese, though perhaps he is not to be placed on the very
highest pinnacle of the Venetian School, must be classed among
those few great painters who rose far above the level of most of his
contemporaries and who brought in a special note and flavour of his own.
His art is an independent art, and he borrows little from predecessors
or contemporaries. His free and joyous temperament gave relief at a
moment when the Venetian scheme of colour threatened to become too
sombre, and when Sebastian del Piombo, Pordenone, Titian himself, and
above all Tintoretto, were pushing chiaroscuro to extremes. Veronese
discards the deepest bronzes and mulberries and crimsons and oranges,
and finds his range among cream and rose and grey-greens. Titian
concentrated his colours and intensified his lights, Tintoretto
sacrifices colour to vivid play of light and dark, but Veronese avoids
the dark; the generous light plays all through his scenes. He has no
wish to secure strong effects but delights in soft, faded tints; old
rose and _turquoise morte_. In his colour and his subjects he is a
personification of the robust, proud, joy-loving Republic, in which, as
M. Yriarte says, a man produced his works as a tree produces its fruit.
We get very near him in those vast palaces and churches and villas,
where his heroic figures expand in the azure air, against the white
clouds, and yet he is one of the artists of the Renaissance about whom
we know least. Here and there, in contemporary biography, we come across
a mention of him and learn that he was sociable and lively, quick at
taking offence, fond of his family and anxious to do his best by them.
He was, too, very generous with his work--a great contrast in this
respect to Titian--and contracts with convents and confraternities show
that he often only stipulated for payment for bare time. Yet he was fond
of personal luxury, loved rich stuffs, horses and hounds, and, says
Ridolfi, "always wore velvet breeches."
His first masters, according to Mr. Berenson, were Badile and
Brusasorci, masters of Verona, but before he was twenty, he was away
working on his own account. His first patron was Cardinal Gonzaga, who
brought several painters from Verona to Mantua; but Mantua was no longer
what it had been in the days of Isabela d'Este, and Paolo Caliari soon
returned to his own town. Before he was twenty-three he had decorated
Villa Porti, near Vicenza, in collaboration with Zelotti, a Veronese,
portraying feasting gods and goddesses, framed in light architectural
designs in monochrome. The two painters went on to other villas, mixing
mortal and mythical figures in a happy, light-hearted medley.
Zelotti having received a commission at Vicenza, Paolo decided to seek
his fortune in Venice. The Prior of the Convent of San Sebastiano, on
the Zattere, was a Veronese, and Caliari wrote to him before arriving in
Venice in 1555. Thanks to the good Prior, who played a considerable part
in his destiny, he obtained a commission for a "Coronation of the Virgin
and four other Saints." He first painted the sacristy, but his success
was instantaneous, and many orders followed. The ceiling of the church
was devoted to the history of Esther. The whole of these paintings
are marvellously well preserved, and, inset in the carved and gilt
framework, make a _coup d'oeil_ of surprising beauty. They had an
immense effect. Every one was able to appreciate these joyous pictures
of Venice, the loveliness of her skies, the pomp of her ceremonies, the
rich Eastern stuffs and the glorious architecture of her palaces. It
was an auspicious moment for a painter of Veronese's temper; the
so-called Republic, now, more than ever, an oligarchy, was at the
height of its fortunes, redecorating was going forward everywhere, the
merchant-nobility was rich and spending magnificently, the Eastern trade
was flourishing, Venice was in all her glory. The patrons Caliari came
to work for, preferred the ceremonial to the imaginative treatment of
sacred themes, and he does not choose the tragedies of the Bible for
illustration. He paints the history of Esther, with its royal audiences,
banquets, and marriage-feasts. His Christs and Maries and Martyrs are
composed, courtly personages, who maintain a dignified calm under
misfortune, and have very little violent feeling to show.
At the time of his arrival in Venice, Palma Vecchio was just dead,
Tintoretto was absorbed by the Scuola di San Rocco, Paris Bordone was
with Francis I. As rivals, Caliari had Salviati, Bonifazio, Schiavone,
and Zelotti, all rendering homage to Titian who was eighty years old,
but still in full vigour. Titian's opinions in matters of art were
dictates, his judgment was a law. He immediately recognised Veronese's
genius, which was of a kind to appeal to him, and together with
Sansovino, who at this time was Director of Buildings to the Signoria,
he received the young painter with an approval which ensured him a good
start. Five years after Veronese's arrival he was retained to decorate
the Villa Barbaro at Maser, which is a type of those patrician
country-houses to which the Venetians were becoming more attached every
year. Daniele Barbaro, Patriarch of Aquileia, whose magnificent portrait
by Veronese is in the Pitti, was himself an artist and designed the
ceiling of the Hall of the Council of Ten. Palladio, Alessandro
Vittoria, and Veronese were associated to build him a dwelling worthy of
a Prince of the Church. In style the villa is a total contrast to the
gorgeous Venetian palaces; it is sober and simple, and well adapted to
leisure and retirement. Its white stucco walls and decorations are
devoid of gilding and colour, and the rooms adorned by Veronese's brush
show him in quite a new light. His visit to Rome did not take place till
four years later, but he has been influenced here by the feeling for the
antique, and he thinks much of line and style. He leaves on one side the
gorgeous brocades and gleaming satins, in which he usually delights, and
his nymphs are only clothed in their own beauty. And here Veronese shows
his admirable taste and discretion; his patrons, the Barbaro family, are
his friends, men and women of the world, who put no restraint on his
fancy, and are not prone to censure, and Veronese, with the bridle on
his neck, so to speak, uses his opportunities fully, yet never exceeds
the limits of good taste. He is not gross and sensual like Rubens, but
proud, grave and sweet, seductive, but never suggestive or vulgar. After
having placed single figures wherever he can find a nook, he assembles
all the gods of Olympia at a supper in the cupola. Immortality is a
beautiful young woman seated on a cloud. Mercury gazes at her, caduceus
in hand; Diana caresses her great hound; Saturn, an old man, rests his
head on his hand; Mars, Apollo, Venus, and a little cupid are scattered
in the Empyrean, and Jupiter presides over the party. Below, a balcony
rail runs round the cupola, and looking over it, an old lady, dressed in
the latest fashion, points out the company to a beautiful young one and
to a young man in a doublet who holds a hound in a leash. They are
evidently family portraits, taken from those who looked on at the
artist, and on the other side he has introduced members of his own
family who were helping him. These decorations have a gaiety, an
absence of pedantry, a sound and sane sympathy with the spirit of the
Renaissance which tell of a happy moment when art was at its height and
in touch with its environment. From about 1563 we may begin to date his
great supper pictures. The Marriage of Cana (Louvre), one of his most
famous works, was painted for the refectory in Sammichele, the old part
of S. Giorgio Maggiore. The treaty for it is still in existence, dated
June 1562. The artist asks for a year; the Prior is to furnish canvas
and colours, the painter's board, and a cask of wine. The further
payment of 972 ducats illustrates the prices received by the greatest
artists at the height of the Renaissance: £280 for work which occupied
quite eight months.
Veronese must have delighted in painting this work. Needless to say, it
is not in the least religious. He has united in it all the most varied
personages who struck his imagination. So we see a Spanish grandee,
Francis I., Suleiman the Sultan, Charles V., Vittoria Colonna, and
Eleanor of Austria. In the foreground, grouped round a table, are
Veronese himself, playing the viol, Tintoretto accompanying him, Jacopo
da Ponte seated by them, and Paolo's brother, the architect, with his
hand on his hip, tossing off a full glass; and in the governor of the
feast, opulent and gorgeously attired, we recognise Aretino. Under
the marble columns of a Grimani or a Pesaro, he brings in all the
illustrious actors of his own time and leaves us an odd and informing
document. We can but accept the scene and admire the originality of its
design and the freedom of its execution, its boldness and fancy, the way
in which the varied incidents are brought into harmony, and the grace of
the colonnade, peopled with spectators, standing out against the depth
of distant sky.
The celebrated suppers, of which this is the first example, are
dispersed in different galleries and some have disappeared, but from
this time Veronese loved to paint these great displays, repeating some
of them, but always introducing variety.
[Illustration: _Paolo Veronese._
MARRIAGE IN CANA.
_Louvre._
(_Photo, Mansell and Co._)]
In 1564 he accompanied Girolamo Grimani, procurator of St. Mark's, who
was appointed ambassador to the Holy See, and for the first time saw the
works of Raphael and Michelangelo and the treasures of antiquity. For
a time, the sight of the antique had some effect upon his work; in his
famous ceiling in the Louvre, "Jupiter destroying the Vices," the
influence of Michelangelo is apparent and its large gestures are
inspired by sculpture. Ridolfi says that Veronese brought home casts
from Rome, and statues of Amazons and the Laocoon seem to have inspired
the Jupiter. He did not go on long in this path; he does not really care
for the nude--it is too simple for him. He prefers that his saints and
divinities should appear in the gorgeous costumes of the day, and that
his Venus and Diana and the nymphs should trail in rich brocades. But
few documents are left concerning his work for the Ducal Palace up to
1576; much of it was destroyed in the great fire, but the Signoria then
gave him a number of fresh commissions. The most important was the
immense oval of the "Triumph of Venice," or, as it is sometimes called,
the "Thanksgiving for Lepanto"; the Republic crowned by victory and
surrounded by allegorical figures, Glory, Peace, Happiness, Ceres, Juno
and the rest. The composition shows the utmost freedom: the fair Queen
leans back, surrounded by laughing patricians, who look up from their
balconies, as if they were attending a regatta on the Grand Canal. The
horses of the Free Companions, the soldiers who go afar to carry out the
will of the Republic, prance in a crowd of personages, each of whom
represents a town or colony of her domain. Like all Veronese's
creations, this will always be pre-eminently a picture of the sixteenth
century, dated by a thousand details of costume, architecture, and
armour. Venice, the Venice of Lepanto and the Venier, of Titian,
Aretino, and Veronese himself, makes a deep impression upon us, and
the artist reflects his age with sympathetic spontaneity.
Hardly a hall of the Ducal Palace but can show a canvas of Veronese or
the assistants by whom he was now surrounded. From time to time he
resumed the decorations of S. Sebastiano, and his incessant production
betrays no trace of fatigue or languor. The martyrdom of the saint is a
triumph of the beauty of the silhouette against a radiant sky. He goes
back to Verona and paints the "Martyrdom of St. George." He pours light
into it. The saints open a shining path, down which a flower-crowned
Love flutters with the diadem and palm of victory. The whole air and
expression of St. George is full of strength and that look of goodness
and serenity which is the painter's nearest approach to religious
feeling. Veronese was created a Chevalier of St. Mark; every one was
asking for his services, but he was a stay-at-home by nature and fond of
living with his family. Philip II. longed to get him to cover his great
walls in the Escurial, but he very civilly declined all his invitations
and sent Federigo Zucchero in his stead.
It was on account of the "Feast in the House of Levi" that in 1573 he
was hauled before the tribunal of the Inquisition, and the document
concerning this was only discovered a few years ago. The Signoria had
never allowed any tribunal to chastise works of literature; on the
contrary, Venice, though comparatively poor herself in geniuses of the
mind, was the refuge of freedom of thought, and, in fact, had made a
sort of compact with Niccolas V., which allowed her to set aside or
suspend the decisions of the Holy Office, from which she could not quite
emancipate herself. Veronese, however, was denounced by some "aggrieved
person," to whom his way of treating sacred subjects seemed an outrage
on religion. The members of the tribunal demanded "who the boy was with
the bleeding nose?" and "why were halberdiers admitted?" Veronese
replied that they were the sort of servants a rich and magnificent host
would have about him. He was then asked why he had introduced the
buffoon with a parrot on his hand. He replied that he really thought
only Christ and His Apostles were present, but that when he had a little
space over, he adorned it with imaginary figures. This defence of the
vast and crowded canvas did not commend itself, and he was asked if he
really thought that at the Last Supper of our Saviour it was fitting to
bring in dwarfs, buffoons, drunken Germans, and other absurdities. Did
he not know that in Germany and other places infested with heresy, they
were in the habit of turning the things of Holy Church into ridicule,
with intent to teach false doctrine to the ignorant? Paolo for his
defence cited the Last Judgment, where Michelangelo had painted every
figure in the nude, but the Inquisitor replied crushingly, that these
were disembodied spirits, who could not be expected to wear clothing.
Could Veronese uphold his picture as decent? The painter was probably
not very much alarmed. He was a person of great importance in Venice,
and the proceedings of the Inquisition were always jealously watched
by members of the Senate, who would not have permitted any unfair
interference with the liberties of those under the protection of the
State. The real offence was the introduction of the German soldiers, who
were peculiarly obnoxious to the Venetians; but Veronese did not care
what the subject was as long as it gave him an excuse for a great
_spectacle_. Brought to bay, he gave the true answer: "My Lords, I have
not considered all this. I was far from wishing to picture anything
disorderly. I painted the picture as it seemed best to me and as my
intellect could conceive of it." It meant that Veronese painted in the
way that he considered most artistic, without even remembering questions
of religion, and in this he summed up his whole æsthetic creed. He was
set at liberty on condition that he took out one or two of the most
offending figures. The "Feast in the House of Levi" (as he named it
after the trial) is the finest of all his great scenic effects. The air
circulates freely through the white architecture, we breathe more deeply
as we look out into the wide blue sky, and such is the sensation of
expansion, that it is hardly possible to believe we are gazing at a flat
wall. Titian's backgrounds are a blue horizon, a burning twilight.
Veronese builds marble palaces, with rosy shadows, or columns blanched
in the liquid light. His personages show little violent action. He
places them in noble poses in which they can best show off their
magnificent clothes, and he endows his patricians, his goddesses, his
sacred persons, with a uniform air of majestic indolence.
After his "trial," Veronese proceeded more triumphantly than ever. Every
prince wished to have something from his brush; the Emperor Rudolph, at
Prague, showed with pride the canvases taken later by Gustavus Adolphus.
The Duke of Modena, carrying on the traditions of Ferrara, added
Veronese's works to the treasures of the house of Este. The last ten
years of his life were given up to visiting churches on the mainland and
on the little islands round Venice, all covetous to possess something by
the brilliant Veronese, whose name was in every mouth. Torcello, Murano,
Treviso, Castelfranco, every convent and monastery loaded him with
commissions, and it is significant of the spirit of the time, that in
spite of the disapproval of the Holy See, his most ardent patrons, those
who delighted most in his robust, uncompromising worldliness, were to be
found in the religious houses. Then, when he went to rest in the summer
heats in some villa on the Brenta, he left delightful souvenirs here and
there. It was on such an occasion, for the Pisani, that he painted the
"Family of Darius," which was sold to England by a member of the house
in 1857. The royal captives, who are throwing themselves at the feet of
the conqueror, are, with Paolo's usual frank naïveté and disregard of
anachronisms, dressed in full Venetian costume--all the chief personages
are portraits of the Pisani family. The freedom and rapidity of
execution, the completeness and finish, the charm of colour, the
beauty of the figures (especially the princely ones of Alexander and
Hephaestion), and its extraordinary energy, make this one of the finest
of all his works. The critic, Charles Blanc, says of it, "It is absurd
and dazzling."
In the "Rape of Europa," he recurred again to one of those legends of
fabled beings who have outlasted dynasties and are still fresh and
living. Veronese was surrounded by men like Aretino and Bembo, well
versed in mythology, and with his usual zest he makes the tale an excuse
for painting lovely, blooming women, rich toilets, and a delightful
landscape. The wild flowers spring, and the little Loves fly to and fro
against a cloud-flecked sky of the wonderful Veronese turquoise. It is
the work of a man who is a true poet of colour and for whom colour
represents all the emotions of joy and pleasure.
Veronese died comparatively young, of chill and fever, and all his
family survived him. He lies buried in San Sebastiano. From contemporary
memoirs we know that he lived and dressed splendidly. He kept immense
stores of gorgeous stuffs to paint from in his studio, and drew
everything from life,--the negroes covered with jewels, the bright-eyed
pages, the models who, robed in velvets, brocades and satins, became
queens or courtesans or saints. The pearls which bedecked them were from
his own caskets. Though we know little of his private life, his work is
so alive that he seems personified in it. He is saved from what might
have been a prosaic or a sordid style by the delicious, ever-changing
colour in which he revels; his silks and satins are less modelled by
shadows than tinted by broken reflections, his embroidered and striped
and arabesqued tissues are so harmoniously combined that the eye rests,
wherever it falls, on something exquisite and subtle in tint. This is
where his genius lies, "the decoration does not add to the interest of
the drama; it replaces it"; in short, it _is_ the drama itself, for his
types show little selection, and his ideal of female beauty is not a
very sympathetic one. His personages are cold and devoid of expression,
their gestures are rather meaningless, but by means of light and air and
exquisite colour he gives the poetical touch which all great art
demands.
On account of their size few examples of Veronese's work are to be found
in private collections, but the galleries of the different European
capitals are rich in them. Numbers of paintings, too, which are by his
assistants are dignified by his name, and directly after his death
spurious works were freely manufactured and sold as genuine.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Dresden. Madonna with Cuccina Family; Adoration of Magi;
Marriage of Cana.
Florence. Pitti: Portrait of Daniele Barbaro.
Uffizi: Martyrdom of S. Giustina; Holy Family (E.).
London. Consecration of S. Niccolas; The Family of Darius before
Alexander; Adoration of the Magi.
Maser. Villa Barbaro: Frescoes.
Padua. S. Giustina: Martyrdom of S. Giustina.
Paris. Christ at Emmaus; Marriage of Cana.
Venice. Academy: Battle of Lepanto; Feast in the House of Levi; Madonna
with Saints.
Ducal Palace: Triumph of Venice; Rape of Europa; Venice
enthroned.
S. Barnabà: Holy Family.
S. Francesco della Vigna: Holy Family.
S. Sebastiano: Madonna and Saints; Crucifixion; Madonna in
Glory with S. Sebastian and other Saints; others in part;
Frescoes; Saints and Figure of Faith; Sibyls.
Verona. Portrait of Pasio Guadienti, 1556.
S. Giorgio: Martyrdom of S. George.
Vicenza. Monte Berico: Feast of St. Gregory, 1572.
Vienna. Christ at the House of Jairus.
CHAPTER XXV
TINTORETTO
It does not seem likely that many new discoveries will be made about
Tintoretto's life. It was an open and above-board one, and there is
practically no time during its span that we are not able to account for,
and to say where he was living and how he was occupied. The son of a
dyer, a member of one of the powerful guilds of Venice, the "little
dyer," _il tentoretto_, appears as an enthusiastic boy, keen to learn
his chosen art. He was apprenticed to Titian and, immediately after,
summarily ejected from that master's workshop, on account, it seems
probable, of the independence and innovation of his style, which was
of the very kind most likely to shock and puzzle Titian's courtly,
settled genius. After this he painted when and where he could, pursuing
his artistic studies with the headlong ardour which through life
characterised his attitude towards art. Mr. Berenson thinks he may have
worked in Bonifazio's studio. He formed a close friendship with Andrea
Schiavone,[4] he imported casts of Michelangelo's statues, he studied
the works of Titian and Palma. Over his door was written "the colour of
Titian and the form of Michelangelo." All his energies were for long
devoted to the effort to master that form. Colour came to him naturally,
but good drawing meant more to him than it had ever done to any
Venetian. Long afterwards, to repeated inquiries as to how excellence
could be best ensured, he would give no other advice than the
reiterated, "study drawing." He practised till the human form in every
attitude held no difficulties for him. He suspended little models by
strings, and drew every limb and torso he could get hold of over and
over again. He was found in every place where painting was wanted,
getting the builders to let him experiment upon the house-fronts. To
master light and shade he constructed little cardboard houses, in which,
by means of sliding shutters, lamplight and skylight effects could be
arranged. It is particularly interesting to hear of this part of his
education, as in the end the love of shine and shadow was the most
victorious of all his inspirations.
[4] Andrea Meldola, the Sclavonian, a native of Dalmatia,
landing in Venice, had a great struggle for existence. He drew from
Parmegianino, and studied Giorgione and Titian. He was probably an
assistant of Titian, and helped him, as in the "Venus and Adonis" of the
National Gallery, which owes much to his hand. He fails conspicuously in
form, his shadows are black, and his figures often vulgar, but he has a
fine sense of colour, and a free, crisp touch. He was one of the young
masters who flooded Venice with light, sketchy wares.
The chief events in Tintoretto's life are art-events. For some years he
frescoed the outside of houses at a nominal price, or merely for his
expenses. He decorated household furniture and everything he could
lay hands on. Then came a few small commissions, an altarpiece here,
organ-doors there, for unimportant churches. No one in Venice talked
of any one save Palma, Bonifazio, and, above all, Titian, and it was
difficult enough for an outsider, who was not one of their clique, to
get employment. But by the time Tintoretto was twenty-six his talent was
becoming recognised; he had painted the two altarpieces for SS. Ermagora
and Fortunato, and the offer he made to decorate the vast church of his
parish brought him conspicuously into notice. In the first ardour of
youth he completed the "Last Judgment" for the choir. From time to time,
during fourteen years, he redeemed his early promises and executed the
"Golden Calf" and the "Presentation of the Virgin." Within two years of
his offer to the Prior, came his first great opportunity of achieving
distinction. This was a commission from the Confraternity of St. Mark,
and with the "Miracle of the Slave" he sprang at once to the highest
place.
The picture was universally admired, and was followed by three more
dealing with the patron saint. At forty he married happily a beautiful
young girl, Faustina dei Vescovi, or Episcopi, as it is indifferently
given, the daughter of a noble family of the mainland. Tradition has
always pointed to the girl in blue in the "Golden Calf" as her portrait,
while it is easy to recognise Tintoretto himself in the black-bearded
giant, who helps to carry the idol. His house at this time was somewhere
in the Parrocchia dell' Orto, and there, during the next fourteen years,
eight children were born, of whom the two eldest, Domenico and Marietta,
attained distinction in their father's profession. Another great
event, which profoundly influenced his life, was the beginning of his
connection in 1560 with the Scuola di San Rocco, the great confraternity
which was devoted to combating the ravages of the plague and to
succouring the families of its victims. His work for this lasted to the
end of his life and is his most distinguished memorial.
The palace to which the Robusti family moved in 1574, and which was
inhabited by his descendants so late as 1830, can still be identified in
the Calle della Sensa. It is broken up into two parts, but it is evident
that it was a dwelling of some importance, a good specimen of Venetian
Gothic. It still bears marks of considerable decoration; the walls are
sheathed in marble plaques, and the first floor has rows of Gothic
windows in delicately carved frames and little balconies of fretted
marble. Zanetti, in 1771, gives an etching of a magnificent bronze
frieze cast from the master's design, which ran round the Grand Sala.
The family must have occupied the _piano nobile_ and let off the floors
they did not require.
Descriptions of the life led by the painter and his family are given
by Vasari, who knew him personally, and by Ridolfi, whose book was
published in 1646, and who must have known his children, several of whom
were still alive and proud of their father's fame. We hear of pleasant
evenings spent in the little palace, of the enthusiastic love of music,
Tintoretto himself and his daughter being highly gifted. Among the
_habitués_ were Zarlino, for twenty-five years chapel-master of St.
Mark's, one of the fathers of modern music; Bassano; and Veronese, who,
in spite of his love for magnificent entertainments, was often to be
found in Tintoretto's pleasant home. Poor Andrea Schiavone was always
welcome, and as time went on the house became the haunt of all the
cultured gentlemen and _litterati_ of Venice.
It is not difficult from the materials available to form a sufficiently
lively idea of this Venetian citizen of the sixteenth century, as father
and husband, host and painter. Ridolfi has collected a number of
anecdotes, which space forbids me to use, but which are all very
characteristic. We gather that he was a man of strong character,
generous, sincere and simple, decided in his ways, caring little for
the great world, but open-handed and hospitable under his own roof,
observant of men and manners, and sometimes rather brusque in dealing
with bores and offensive persons. Full of dry quiet humour and of
good-natured banter of his wife's little weaknesses. A man, too, of
upright conduct and free, as far as it can be ascertained, from any of
those laxities and infidelities, so freely quoted of celebrated men and
so easily condoned by his age. Art was Tintoretto's main preoccupation;
but he seems to have been a man of strong religious bias, making a close
study of the Bible, and turning naturally in his last days to those
truths with which his art had made him familiar, truths which he had
represented with that touch of mystic feeling which was the deepest part
of his nature.
His relations with the State commenced in 1574, when his offer to
present a superb painting of the Victory of Lepanto was made to and
accepted by the Council of Ten. Tintoretto was rewarded by a Broker's
patent, and between this and the "Paradiso," the work of his old age, he
executed a number of pictures for the Signoria. The only record of any
travels are confined to two journeys paid to Mantua, where he went in
the 'sixties and again in 1579 to see to the hanging of paintings done
for the Gonzaga, and of which the documents have been kept, though the
pictures have vanished. Tintoretto's last years were saddened by the
death of his beloved daughter, who had always been his constant
companion. He died in 1579 after a fortnight's illness and left a will,
which, together with that of his son, throws a good deal of light upon
the family history.
It is not easy to select from the vast quantity of work left by
Tintoretto. He is one of those painters whose whole life was passed in
his native city and who can only be adequately studied in that city.
Perhaps the first place in which to seek him, is the great church which
was the monument of his early prime. The "Last Judgment" was probably
inspired by that of Michelangelo, of which descriptions and sketches
must have reached the younger master, over whom the Florentine had
exercised so strong a fascination. Tintoretto's version impresses one as
that of a mind boiling with thoughts and visions which he pours out upon
the huge space. It depicts a terrible catastrophe, a scene of rushing
destruction, of forms swept into oblivion, of others struggling to the
light, of many beautiful figures and of a flood of air and light behind
the rushing water,--water which makes us almost giddy as we watch it.
The "Golden Calf" is a maturer production and includes some of the
loveliest women Tintoretto ever painted. We see too plainly the
planning, the device of concentrating interest on the idol by turning
figures and pointing fingers, but nothing can be imagined more supple
and queenly than the woman in blue, and the way the light falls on her
head and perfectly foreshortened arm shows to what excellence Tintoretto
had attained. The "Presentation" is a riper work. The drawing of the
flight of steps and of the groups upon them could not be bettered. The
little figure of the Virgin, prototype of the new dispensation, as she
advances to meet the representative of the old, thrills with mystic
feeling, yet the painter has contrived to retain the sturdy simplicity
of a child. The "St. Agnes," with its contrast of light and shade, of
strength made perfect in weakness, is of later date and was the
commission of Cardinal Contarini.
It is interesting to realise how Tintoretto, especially in the
"Presentation," has contrived, while using the traditional episodes, to
infuse so strong an imaginative sense. The contrast of age and youth,
the joy of the Gentiles, the starlike figure of the child surrounded by
shadows, convey an emotional feeling, in harmony with the nature of the
scene.
Next let us group together the miracles in the history of St. Mark. One
of the qualities which strikes us most in the "Miracle of the Slave" is
its strong local colour. It tells of Titian and Bonifazio and is unlike
Tintoretto's later style. The colours are glowing and gem-like;
carnations, orange-yellows, deep scarlet, and turquoise-blue. The
crimson velvet of the judge's dress is finely relieved against a
blue-green sky, and Tintoretto has kept that instinctive fire and dash
which culminates at once and without effort in perfect action, "as a
bird flies, or a horse gallops." It startled the quiet members of the
Guild, and at the first moment they hesitated to accept it. The "Rescue
of the Saracen" and the "Transportation of the Body" are more in the
golden-brown manner to which he was moving, but it is in the "Finding
of the Body" (Brera) that he rises to the highest emotional pitch. The
colossal form of the saint, expanding with life and power as he towers
in the spirit above his own lifeless clay, draws all eyes to him and
seems to fill the barrel-roofed hall with ease and energy. Every part of
the vault is flooded by his life-giving energy, and here Tintoretto
deals with light and shade with full mastery.
As we follow Tintoretto's career, it is borne in upon us how little
positive colour it takes to make a great colourist. The whole Venetian
School, indeed, does not deal with what we understand as bright colour.
Vivid tints are much more characteristic of the Flemish and the
Florentine, or, let us say, of the painters of to-day. Strong, crude
colours are to be seen on all sides in the Salon or the Royal Academy,
but they are absent from the scheme of sombre splendour which has
given the Venetians their title to fame. This is especially true of
Tintoretto, and it becomes more so as he advances. His gamut becomes
more golden-brown and mellow; the greys and browns and ivories combine
in a lustrous symphony more impressive than gay tints, flooded with
enveloping shadow and illumined by flashes of iridescent light. Another
noticeable feature is the way in which he puts on his oil-colour, so
that it bears the direct impression of the painter's hand. The
Florentines had used flat tints, opaque and with every brush-mark
smoothed away; but as the later Venetians covered large spaces with
oil-colour, they no longer sought to dissimulate the traces of the
brush, and light, distance, movement, were all conveyed by the turns and
twists and swirls with which the thin oil-colour was laid on. Look at
the power of touch in such a picture as the "Death of Abel"; we see this
spontaneity of execution actually forming part of the emotion with which
the picture is charged. The concentrated hate of the one figure, the
desperate appeal of the other, the lurid note of the landscape, gain
their emotion as much from the impetuous brush-work as from the more
studied design. We come closest to the painter's mind in the Scuola
di San Rocco. He had already been employed in the church, and there
remains, darkened and ruined by damp, the series illustrative of the
career of S. Roch, patron saint of sufferers from the plague. When the
great Halls of Assembly were to be decorated in 1560, the confraternity
asked a conclave of painters, among whom were Veronese and Andrea
Schiavone, to prepare sketches for competition. When they assembled to
display their designs, Tintoretto swept aside a cartoon from the ceiling
of the refectory and discovered a finished picture, the "S. Roch in
Glory," which still holds its place there. Neither the other artists nor
the brethren seem to have approved of this unconventional proceeding,
but he "hoped they would not be offended; it was the only way he knew."
Partly from the displeased withdrawal of some of the rest, but partly
also from the excellence of the work, the commission fell to Tintoretto,
and after two years' work he was received into the order, and was
assigned an annual provision of 100 ducats (£50) a year for life, being
bound every year to furnish three pictures.
CHAPTER XXVI
TINTORETTO (_continued_)
The first portion of the vast building that was finished was the
Refectory, but in examining the scheme, it is perhaps more convenient to
leave it to its proper place, which is the climax. Before beginning,
Tintoretto must have had the whole thing planned, and we cannot doubt
that he was influenced by the Sixtine Chapel and recalled its plan and
significance; the old dispensation typifying the new, the Old Testament
history vivified by the acts of Christ. The main feature of the harmony
which it is only reasonable to suppose governs the whole building, is
its dedication to S. Roch, the special patron of mercy. The principal
paintings of the Upper Hall are therefore concerned with acts of divine
mercy and deliverance, and even the monochromes bear upon the central
idea. On the roof are the three most important miracles of mercy
performed on behalf of the Chosen People. The paintings on roof and
walls are linked together. The "Fall of Man" at one end of the Hall,
the disobedient eating, corresponds with the obedient eating of the
Passover at the other, and is interdependent with the Manna in the
Wilderness, the Last Supper, and the Miracle of the Loaves. The Miracles
of satisfied thirst are represented by "Moses striking the Rock," Samson
drinking from the jawbone and the waters of Meribah. The Baptism and
other signs of the Advent of Christ and the Divine preparation, balance
events in the early life of Moses. In the Refectory which opens from the
Great Hall, we come to the "Crucifixion," the crowning act of mercy,
surrounded by the events which immediately succeeded it, and typified
immediately above in the Central Hall, by the lifting up of the Brazen
Serpent. The miracles include six of refreshment and succour, two of
miraculous restoration to health, and two of deliverance from danger.
The whole scheme has been worked out in detail in my book on
"Tintoretto."
In the working out of his great scheme, Tintoretto is impatient of
hackneyed and traditional forms; he must have a reading of his own, and
one which appeals to his imagination. We see that passion for movement
which distinguishes his early work. "Moses striking the Rock" is a
figure instinct with purpose and energy. The water bounds forth, living,
life-giving, the people strain wildly to reach it. His figures are
sometimes found fault with, as extravagant in gesture, but the attitudes
were intended to be seen and to arrest attention from far below, and we
must not forget that the painter's models were drawn from a Southern
race, to whom emphasis of action is natural. Tintoretto, it may be
conceded, is on certain occasions, generally when dealing with accessory
figures, inclined to excess of gesture; it is the defect of his
temperament, but when he has a subject that carries him away he is
sincere and never violent in spirit. Titian is cold compared to him; his
colour, however effective, is calculated, whereas Tintoretto's seems to
permeate every object and to soak the whole composition. To quote a
recent critic: "He chose to begin, if possible, with a subject charged
with emotion. He then proceeded to treat it according to its nature,
that is to say, he toned down and obscured the outlines of form and
mapped out the subject instead in pale or sombre masses of light and
shade. Under the control of this powerful scheme of chiaroscuro, the
colouring of the composition was placed, but its own character, its
degree of richness and sobriety, was determined by the kind of emotion
belonging to the subject. To use colour in this way, not only with
emotional force, but with emotional truth, is to use it to perform one
of the greatest functions of art."[5]
[5] "Venice and the Renaissance," _Edinburgh Review_, 1909.
So in the Crucifixion it is not so much the aspect of the groups, the
pathos of the faces or gestures, that tells, but it is the mystery and
gloom in which the whole scene is muffled, the atmosphere into which we
are absorbed, the sense of livid terror conveyed by the brooding light
and shadow, that makes us feel how different the rendering is from any
other. In the "Christ before Pilate" the head and figure of Christ are
not particularly impressive in themselves, but the brilliant light
falling on the white robes and coursing down the steps supplies dignity
and poetry; the slender white figure stands out like a shaft of light
against the lurid and troubled background. Again, in the "Way to
Golgotha" the falling evening gleam, the wild sky, the deep shadow of
the ravine, throw into relief the quiet form, detached in look and
feeling, as of one upborne by the spirit far above the brutal throng.
Nowhere does that spiritual emotion find deeper expression than in the
"Visitation." The passion of thanksgiving, the poignancy of mother-love,
throb through the two women, who have been travelling towards one
another, with a great secret between them, and who at length reach the
haven of each other's love and knowledge. Here, too, the dying light,
the waving tree, the obliteration of form, and the feeling of mystery
make a deep appeal to the sensuous apprehension. We find it again and
again; the great trees sway and whisper in the gathering darkness as the
Virgin rides through the falling evening shadows, clasping her Babe, and
in that most moving of all Tintoretto's creations, the "S. Mary of
Egypt," the emotional mood of Nature's self is brought home to us. The
trees that dominate the landscape are painted with a few "strokes like
sabre cuts"; the landscape, given with apparent carelessness, yet
conveying an indescribable sense of space and solemnity, unfolds itself
under the dying day; and in solitary meditation, thrilling with ecstasy,
sits that little figure, whose heart has travelled far away to commune
with the Spirit, "whose dwelling is the light of setting suns."
It is not possible in a short space to touch, even in passing, on all
the many scenes in these halls: the "Annunciation," with its marvellous
flight of cherubs, reminding us of the flight of pigeons in the Piazza,
and how often the old painter must have watched them; the "Temptation,"
contrasting the throbbing evil, the flesh that _must_ be fed, with the
calm of absolute purity; the "Massacre of the Innocents," for which the
horrors of sacked towns could have supplied many a parallel,--we have
not time to dwell on these, but we may notice how the artist has
overcome the difficulty of seeing clearly in the dark halls, by choosing
strong and varied effects of light for the most shadowed spaces, and we
can picture what the halls must have been like when they first glowed
from his hand, adorned with gilded fretwork and moulding, and hung with
opulent draperies, with the rose-red and purple of bishops' and
cardinals' robes reflected in the gleaming pavement.
[Illustration: _Tintoretto._ _Scuola di San Rocco._
S. MARY OF EGYPT.
(_Photo, Anderson._)]
Leonardo, by one supreme example, Tintoretto, by many renderings, have
made the "Last Supper" peculiarly their own in the domain of art. It
shows how strongly the mystic strain entered into the man's character,
that often as Tintoretto treated the subject, it never lost its interest
for him, and he never failed to find a fresh point of view. In that
in S. Polo, Christ offers the sacred food with a gesture of vehement
generosity. Placed as the picture is, to appeal to all comers to the
Mass, to afford them a welcome as they pass to the High Altar, it tells
of the Bread of Life given to all mankind. Tintoretto himself, painted
in the character of S. Paul, stands at one side, absorbed in meditation.
We need not insist again on the emotional value of the deep colours, the
rich creams and crimsons and the chiaroscuro. In his latest rendering,
in S. Giorgio Maggiore, he touches his highest point in symbolical
treatment. Some people are only able to see a theatrical, artificial
spirit in this picture, but at least, when we consider what deep
meditation Tintoretto had bestowed on his subjects, we may believe that
he himself was sincere and that he let himself go over what commended
itself as an entirely new rendering. "The Light shined in the Darkness,
and the Darkness comprehended it not." The supernatural is entering on
every side, but the feast goes on; the serving men and maids busy
themselves with the dishes; the disciples are inquiring, but not
agitated; none see that throng of heavenly visitants, pouring in through
the blue moonlight, called to their Master's side by the supreme
significance of His words. The painter has taken full advantage of the
opportunity of combining the light of the cresset lamp, pouring out
smoky clouds, with the struggling moonlight and the unearthly radiance,
in divers, yet mingling streams which fight against the surrounding
gloom. In the scene in the Scuola di S. Rocco the betrayal is the
dominating incident, and in San Stefano all is peace, and the Saviour
is alone with the faithful disciples.
[Illustration: _Tintoretto._
BACCHUS AND ARIADNE.
_Ducal Palace, Venice._
(_Photo, Anderson._)]
Though several of the large compositions ascribed to Tintoretto in
the Ducal Palace are only partly by him, or entirely by followers and
imitators, its halls are still a storehouse of his genius. There is much
that is fine about the great state pieces. In the "Marriage of St.
Catherine," the saint, in silken gown and long transparent veil, is an
exquisite figure. Tintoretto bathes all his pageantry in golden light
and air, and yet we feel that these huge official subjects, with the
prosaic old Doges introduced in incongruous company, neither stimulated
his imagination nor satisfied his taste. It is on the smaller canvases
that he finds inspiration. He never painted anything more lovely, more
perfect in design, or more gay and tender in idea, than the cycle in
the Ante-Collegio. The glowing light and exquisitely graded shadows upon
ivory limbs have a sensuous perfection and a refined, unselfconscious
joy such as is felt in hardly any other work, except the painter's own
"Milky Way" in the National Gallery. In all these four pictures the
feeling for design, a branch of art in which Tintoretto was past master,
is fully displayed. In the Bacchus and Ariadne all the principal lines,
the eyes and gestures, converge upon the tiny ring which is the symbol
of union between the goddess and her lover, between the queenly city and
the Adriatic sea. Or take "Pallas driving away Mars": see how the mass
into which the figures are gathered on the left adds strength to the
thrust of the goddess's arm, and what steadiness is given by that short
straight lance of hers, coming in among all the yielding curves. The
whole four are linked together in meaning: the call to Venice to reign
over the seas, her triumphant peace, with Wisdom guiding her council,
and her warriors forging arms in case of need. In conjunction with these
pictures are two small ones in the chapel, hardly less beautiful--St.
George with St. Margaret, and SS. Andrew and Jerome. It is difficult to
say whether the exultant St. George, the dignified young bishop, or the
two older saints are the more sympathetic creations, or the more
admirable, both in drawing and colour. The sense of space in both
settings is an added charm, and every scrap of detail, the leafy
boughs, the cross and crozier, is important to the composition.
There are many other striking examples, ranging all through Tintoretto's
life, of his untiring imagination. In the Salute is that "Marriage of
Cana," in which all the actors seem to swim in golden light. The sharp
silhouettes bring out an effect of radiant sunshine with which the hall
is flooded, and all the architectural lines lead our eyes towards the
central figure, placed at a distance. On that long canvas in the
Academy, kneel the three treasurers, pouring out their gold and bending
in homage before the Madonna and Child, who sit enthroned upon a broad
piazza, through the marble pillars of which a blue and distant landscape
shines. Grave senators in mulberry velvet and ermine kneel before the
Child, or hold counsel on Paduan affairs under the patronage of S.
Giustina. The "Crucifixion" (in S. Cassiano) is another triumph of the
painter's imaginative conception. The bold lines of the crosses, the
ladder, and the figures detach against a glorious sky, and the presence
of the moving, murmuring throng, of which, by the placing of the line of
sight, the spectator is made to form a part, is conveyed by the swaying
and crossing of the lances borne by the armed men who keep the ground.
There is a series, too, which deals with the Magdalen. She mourns her
dead in that solemn, restrained "Entombment," where the enfolding
shadows frame the cross against the sad dawn, which adorns the mortuary
chapel of S. Giorgio Maggiore; and the Pietà in the Brera, the long
lines of which add to the impression of tender repose, has its peace
broken by the passionate cry of the woman who loved much. Tintoretto's
ideas are exhaustless; he can paint the same scene in a dozen different
ways, and, in fact, the book of sketches lately acquired by the British
Museum shows as many as thirty trials dashed off for one subject, and
after all he uses one composed for something quite different. It is this
habit of throwing off red-hot essays, fresh from his brain, that has led
to the common but superficial judgment that Tintoretto was merely a
great improvisatore, whose successes came more or less by good luck. He
could, indeed, paint pictures at a pace at which many great masters
could only sketch, but he had already designed and considered and
rejected, doing with oil, ink, and paper what many of his contemporaries
did mentally. Such achievements as the Ante-Collegio cycle, the "House
of Martha and Mary," the "Marriage of Cana," the "Temptation of S.
Anthony," to name only a few, show a finish and perfection and a balance
of design which preclude the idea of their being lightly painted
pictures. When he was actually engaged, Tintoretto let himself go with
impetuous ardour, but we may feel assured he left nothing to chance,
though he had his own way of making sure of the result.
It is strange to hear people, as one does now and then, talking of the
"Paradiso" as "a splendid failure." It may be granted that the subject
is an impossible one for human art to realise, yet when all allowance
has been made for a lamentable amount of drying and blackening, it is
difficult to agree that Ruskin was all wrong in his admiration of that
thronging multitude, ordered and disciplined by the tides of light and
shadow, which roll in and out of the masses, resolving them into groups
and single figures of almost matchless beauty and melting away into a
sea of radiant æther, which tells us of the boundless space which
surrounds the serried ranks of the Blessed.
Tintoretto was seventy-eight when it was allotted to him, and it was the
last great effort of his mind and hand. Studies for it are preserved
both at the Louvre and at Madrid, and it is evident that the painter
has framed it upon the thought of Dante's mystic rose. The circles and
many of the figures can be traced in the poem, and the idea of the
Eternal Light streaming through the leaves of the rose dominates the
composition. It is appropriate that it should have been his last great
work, as it was also the greatest attempt at composition ever made by a
master of the Venetian School.
There is no room here to study Tintoretto as a painter of battlepieces,
though from the time he painted the "Battle of Lepanto," for the Council
of Ten, he often returned to such subjects. His two series for the
Gonzaga included several, and the Ducal Palace still possesses examples.
The impetuosity of his style stood him in good stead, and he never fails
to bring in graceful and striking figures.
His portraits are hardly equal to Titian's intellectual grasp or
fine-grained colour, but they are extraordinarily characteristic. He
prefers to paint men rather than women, and he painted hundreds--all the
great persons of his time who lived in and visited Venice. The Venetian
portrait by this time was expected to be more than a likeness and more
than a problem. It was to please the taste as a picture, to interest and
to satisfy criticism. Tintoretto, like Lotto, gets behind the scenes,
and we see some mood, some aspect of the sitter that he hardly expected
to show. His penetration is not equal to Lotto's, but he deals with his
sitters with an observation which pierces below the surface.
In criticising Tintoretto, men seem often unable to discriminate between
the turgid and melodramatic, and the spontaneous and temperamental. The
first all must abhor, but the last is sincere and deserves to be
respected. It is by his best that we must judge a man, and taking his
best and undoubtedly authentic work, no one has left a larger amount
which will stand the test of criticism. As an exponent of lofty and
elevated central ideas, which unify all parts of his composition,
Tintoretto stands with the greatest imaginative minds. The intellectual
side of life was exemplified in Florentine art, but the Renaissance
would have been a one-sided development if there had not arisen a body
of men to whom emotion and the gift of sensuous apprehension seemed of
supreme value, and at the very last there arose with him one who, to
their philosophy of feeling and the mastery of their chosen medium,
added the crowning glory of the imaginative idea.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Augsburg. Christ in the House of Martha and Mary.
Berlin. Portraits; Madonna and Saints; Luna and the Hours; Procurator
before S. Mark.
Dresden. Lady in Black; The Rescue; Portraits.
Florence. Pitti: Portraits of Men; Luigi Cornaro; Vincenzo Zeno.
Uffizi: Portrait of Himself; Admiral Venier; Portrait of Old
Man; Jacopo Sansovino; Portrait.
Hampton Court. Esther before Ahasuerus; Nine Muses; Portrait of
Dominican; Knight of Malta.
London. S. George and the Dragon; Christ washing Feet of Disciples;
Origin of Milky Way.
Bridgewater House: Entombment; Portrait.
Madrid. Battle on Land and Sea; Solomon and the Queen of Sheba;
Susanna and the Elders; Finding of Moses; Esther before
Ahasuerus; Judith and Holofernes.
Milan. Brera: S. Helena, Saints and Donors; Finding of the Body of S.
Mark (E.).
Paris. Susanna and the Elders; Sketch for Paradise; Portrait of
Himself.
Rome. Capitol: Baptism; Ecce Homo; The Flagellation.
Colonna: Adoration of the Holy Spirit; Old Man playing Spinet;
Portraits.
Turin. The Trinity.
Venice. Academy: S. Giustina and Three Senators; Madonna with Saints
and Treasurers, 1566; Portraits of Senators; Deposition;
Jacopo Soranzo, 1564 (still attributed to Titian); Andrea
Capello (E.); Death of Abel; Miracle of S. Mark, 1548; Adam
and Eve; Resurrected Christ blessing Three Senators; Madonna
and Portraits; Crucifixion; Resurrection; Presentation in
Temple.
Palazzo Ducale: Doge Mocenigo commended to Christ by S. Mark;
Doge da Ponte before the Virgin; Marriage of S. Catherine;
Doge Gritti before the Virgin.
Ante-Collegio: Mercury and Three Graces; Vulcan's Forge;
Bacchus and Ariadne; Pallas resisting Mars, abt. 1578.
Ante-room of Chapel: SS. George, Margaret, and Louis;
SS. Andrew and Jerome.
Senato: S. Mark presenting Doge Loredano to the Virgin.
Sala Quattro Porte: Ceiling. Ante-room: Portraits; Ceiling,
Doge Priuli with Justice. Passage to Council of Ten:
Portraits; Nobles illumined by Holy Spirit.
Sala del Gran Consiglio: Paradise, 1590.
Sala dello Scrutino: Battle of Zara.
Palazzo Reale: Transportation of Body of S. Mark; S. Mark
rescues a Shipwrecked Saracen; Philosophers.
Giovanelli Palace: Battlepiece; Portraits.
S. Cassiano: Crucifixion; Christ in Limbo; Resurrection.
S. Giorgio Maggiore: Last Supper; Gathering of Manna;
Entombment (in Mortuary Chapel).
S. Maria Mater Domini: Finding of True Cross.
S. Maria dell' Orto: Last Judgment (E.); Golden Calf (E.);
Presentation of Virgin (E.); Martyrdom of S. Agnes.
S. Polo: Last Supper; Assumption of Virgin.
S. Rocco: Annunciation; Pool of Bethesda; S. Roch and the
Beasts; S. Roch healing the Sick; S. Roch in Campo d' Armata;
S. Roch consoled by an Angel.
Scuola di S. Rocco: Lower Hall, all the paintings on wall.
Staircase: Visitation. Upper Hall: all the paintings on walls
and ceiling. Refectory: Crucifixion, 1565; Christ before
Pilate; Ecce Homo; Way to Golgotha; Ceiling, 1560.
Salute: Marriage of Cana, 1561; Martyrdom of S. Stephen.
S. Silvestro: Baptism.
S. Stefano: Last Supper; Washing of Feet; Agony in Garden.
S. Trovaso: Temptation of S. Anthony.
Vienna. Susanna and the Elders; Sebastian Venier; Portraits of
Procurators, Senators, and Men (fifteen in all); Old Man and
Boy; Portrait of Lady.
CHAPTER XXVII
BASSANO
We wonder how many of those sightseers who pass through the
Ante-Collegio in the Ducal Palace, and stare for a few moments at
Tintoretto's famous quartet and at Veronese's "Rape of Europa," turn to
give even such fleeting attention to the long, dark canvas which hangs
beside them, "Jacob's Journey into Canaan," by Jacopo da Ponte, called
Bassano.
Yet from the position in which it is placed the visitor might guess that
it is considered to be a gem, and it gains something in interest when we
learn from Zanetti that it was ordered by Jacopo Contarini at the same
time as the "Rape of Europa," as if the great connoisseur enjoyed
contrasting Veronese's light, gay style with the vigorous brush of
da Ponte.
If attention is arrested by the beauty of the painting, and the visitor
should be inspired to seek the painter in his native city, he will be
well repaid. Bassano once held an important position on the main road
between Italy and Germany, but since the railroad was made across the
Brenner Pass, few people ever see the little town which lies cradled on
the spurs of the Italian Alps, where the gorge of Valsugana opens. It is
surrounded by chestnut woods, which sweep up to the blue mountains, the
wide Brenta flows through the town, and the houses cluster high on
either side, and have gardens and balconies overhanging the water. The
façades of many of the houses are covered with fading frescoes, relics
of da Ponte's school of fresco-painters, which, though they are fast
perishing, still give a wonderful effect of warmth and colour.
Jacopo da Ponte was the son and pupil of his father, Francesco, who
in his day had been a pupil of the Vicentine, Bartolommeo Montagna.
Francesco da Ponte's best work is to be found at Bassano, in the
cathedral and the church of San Giovanni, and has many of the
characteristics, such as the raised pedestal and vaulted cupola, which
we have noticed that Montagna owed to the Vivarini. Francesco's son
went when very young to Venice, and was there thrown at once among the
artists of the lagoons, and attached himself in particular to Bonifazio.
In Jacopo's earliest work, now in the Museum at Bassano, a "Flight into
Egypt," Bonifazio's tuition is markedly discernible in the build of the
figures and, above all, in the form of the heads. A comparison of the
very peculiarly shaped head of the Virgin in this picture with that of
the Venetian lady in Bonifazio's "Rich Man's Feast," in the Venetian
Academy, leaves us in no doubt on this score. Jacopo's "Adulteress
before Christ" and the "Three in the Fiery Furnace" have Bonifazio's
manner in the architecture and the staging of the figures. Only five
examples are known of this early work of da Ponte, and it is all in
Bonifazio's lighter style, not unlike his "Holy Family" in the National
Gallery.
The house in which the painter lived when he returned to his native
town, still stands in the little Piazza Monte Vecchio, and its whole
façade retains the frescoes, mouldy and decaying, with which he
decorated it. The design is in four horizontal bands. First comes a
frieze of children in every attitude of fun and frolic. Then follows a
long range of animals--horses, oxen, and deer. Musical instruments and
flowers make a border, with allegorical representations of the arts and
crafts filling the spaces between the windows. The principal band is
decorated with Scriptural subjects, most of which are now hardly
discernible, but which represent "Samson slaying the Philistines,"
"The Drunkenness of Noah," "Cain and Abel," "Lot and his Daughters,"
and "Judith with the Head of Holofernes." Between the two last there
formerly appeared a drawing of a dead child, with the motto, "Mors omnia
aequat," which was removed to the Museum in 1883, in comparatively good
preservation.
Jacopo da Ponte lived a busy life at Bassano, where, with the help of
his four sons, who were all painters, he poured out an inexhaustible
stream of works, which, it is said, were put up to auction at the
neighbouring fairs, if no other market was forthcoming. From time to
time he and his sons went down to Venice, and with the help of the
eldest, Francesco, Bassano (as he is generally known) painted the "Siege
of Padua" and five other works in the Ducal Palace. His mature style was
founded mainly upon that of Titian, and it is to this second manner that
he owes his fame. He makes use of fewer colours, and enhances his lights
by deepening and consolidating his shadows, so that they come into
strong contrast, and his technique gains a richer impasto. He has a
marvellous faculty for keeping his colour pure, and his greens shine
like a beetle's wing. A nature-lover in the highest degree, his painting
of animals and plants evinces a mind which is steeped in the magic of
outdoor life. A subject of which he was particularly fond, and which he
seems to have undertaken for half the collectors of Europe, was the
"Four Seasons." Here was found united everything that Bassano most loved
to paint: beasts of the farmyard and countryside, agriculturists with
their implements, scenes of harvest-time and vintage, rough peasants
leading the plough, cutting the grass, harvesting the grain, young girls
making hay, driving home the cattle, taking dinner to the reapers. When
he was obliged to paint for churches he chose such subjects as the
Adoration of the Shepherds, the Sacrifice of Noah, the Expulsion from
the Temple, into which he could introduce animals, painting them with
such vigour and such forcible colour that Titian himself is said to
have had a copy hanging in his studio. He loved to paint his daughters
engaged in household tasks, and perhaps placed his figures with rather
too obvious a reference to light and shade, and to the sun striking
full on sunburnt cheeks and buxom shoulders. A friend, not a rival, of
Veronese and Tintoretto, Gianbattista Volpado, records that when he was
one day discussing contemporary painters with the latter, Tintoretto
exclaimed, "Ah, Jacopo, if you had my drawing and I had your colour I
would defy the devil himself to enable Titian, Raphael, and the rest to
make any show beside us."
Bassano was invited to take up his residence at the Court of the Emperor
Rudolph, but he refused to leave his mountain city, where he died in
1592. His funeral was attended by a crowd of the poorest inhabitants,
for whom his charity had been boundless.
The "Journey of Jacob," to which we have already alluded, is among his
most beautiful works. The brilliant array of figures is subordinated to
the charm of the landscape. The evening dusk draws all objects into its
embrace. The long, low, deep-blue distance stands out against a gleam
of sunset sky. The tree-trunks and light play of leafy branches, which
break up the composition, are from da Ponte's own country round Bassano.
The pony upon which the boy scrambles, the cows, the dog among the quiet
sheep, are given with all the loving truth of the born animal-painter.
It is no wonder that Teniers borrowed ideas from him, and has more than
once imitated his whole design.
The "Baptism of St. Lucilla" (in the Museum at Bassano) is one of his
most Titianesque creations. The personages in it are grouped upon a
flight of steps, in front of a long Renaissance palace with cypresses
against a sky of evening-red barred with purple clouds. The drawing
and modelling of the figures are almost faultless, and the colour is
dazzling. The bending figure of S. Lucilla, with the light falling on
her silvery satin dress, as she kneels before the young bishop, St.
Valentine, is one of the most graceful things in art, and Titian himself
need not have disowned the little angels, bearing palm branches and
frolicking in the stream of radiance overhead.
Bassano has a "Concert," which is interesting as a family piece. It was
painted in the year in which his son Leandro's marriage took place, and
is probably a bridal painting to celebrate the event. The "Magistrates
in Adoration" (Vicenza) again gives a brilliant effect of light, and
its stately ceremonial is founded on Tintoretto's numerous pictures of
kneeling doges and procurators in fur-trimmed velvet robes.
[Illustration: _Jacopo da Ponte._
BAPTISM OF S. LUCILLA.
_Bassano._
(_Photo, Alinari._)]
Madonnas and saints are usually built into close-packed pyramids, but
in the "Repose in Egypt," now in the Ambrosiana, Milan, his arrangement
comes very close to Palma and Lotto. The beautiful Mother and Child,
the attendants, above all the St. Joseph, resting, head on hand, at the
Virgin's feet and gazing in rapt adoration on the Child, are examples of
the true Venetian manner, while the exquisite landscape behind them, and
the vigorously drawn tree under which they recline, show Bassano true to
his passion for nature.
Hampton Court is rich in his pictures. "The Adoration of the Shepherds,"
in which the pillars rise behind the sacred group, is an exercise in
the manner of Titian's Frari altarpiece. His portraits are fine and
sympathetic, but hardly any of them are signed or can be dated. His
own is in the Uffizi, and there is a splendid "Old Man" at Buda-Pesth.
Ariosto and Tasso, Sebastian Venier, and many other distinguished
men were among his sitters; most of them are in half-length with
three-quarter heads. The National Gallery possesses a singularly
attractive one of a young man with a sensitive, acute countenance,
robed in dignified, picturesque black, relieved by an embroidered linen
collar. He stands by the sort of square window, opening on a distant
landscape, of which Tintoretto and Lotto so often made use, in front of
which a golden vase, holding a branch of olive, catches the rays of
light.
Bassano has no great power of design, and his knowledge of the nude
seems to have been small, but his brushwork is facile, and his colour
leaps out with a vivid beauty which obliterates other shortcomings.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Augsburg. Madonna and Saints.
Bassano. Susanna and Elders (E.); Christ and Adulteress (E.); The Three
Holy Children (E.); Madonna, Saints, and Donor (E.); Flight
into Egypt (E.); Paradise; Baptism of S. Lucilla; Adoration
of Shepherds; St. Martin and the Beggar; St. Roch recommending
Donor to Virgin; St. John the Evangelist adored by a Warrior;
Descent of Holy Spirit; Madonna in Glory, with Saints (L.).
Duomo: S. Lucia in Glory; Martyrdom of S. Stephen (L.);
Nativity.
S. Giovanni: Madonna and Saints.
Bergamo. Carrara: Portrait.
Lochis: Portraits.
Cittadella. Duomo: Christ at Emmaus.
Dresden. Israelites in Desert; Moses striking Rock; Conversion of
S. Paul.
Hampton Court. Portraits; Jacob's Journey; Boaz and Ruth; Shepherds (E.);
Christ in House of Pharisee; Assumption of Virgin; Men
fighting Bears; Tribute Money.
London. Portrait of Man; Christ and the Money-Changers; Good Samaritan.
Milan. Ambrosiana: Adoration of Shepherds (E.); Annunciation to
Shepherds (L.).
Munich. Portraits; S. Jerome; Deposition.
Padua. S. Maria in Vanzo: Entombment.
Paris. Christ bearing Cross; Vintage (L.).
Rome. Villa Borghese: Last Supper; The Trinity.
Venice. Academy: Christ in Garden; A Venetian Noble; S. Elenterino
blessing the Faithful.
Ducal Palace, Ante-Collegio: Jacob's Journey.
S. Giacomo dell' Orio: Madonna and Saints.
Vicenza. Madonna and Saints; Madonna; St. Mark and Senators.
Vienna. The Good Samaritan; Thomas led to the Stake; Adoration of Magi;
Rich Man and Lazarus; The Lord shows Abraham the Promised
Land; The Sower; A Hunt; Way to Golgotha; Noah entering the
Ark; Christ and the Money-Changers; After the Flood; Saints;
Adoration of Magi; Portraits; Christ bearing Cross.
Academy: Deposition; Portrait.
PART III
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE INTERIM
Many of the churches and palaces of Venice and the adjoining mainland,
and almost every public and private gallery throughout Europe, contain
pictures purporting to be painted by Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese, and
others of that famous company. Hardly a great English house but boasts
of a round dozen at least of such specimens, acquired in the days when
rich Englishmen made the "grand tour" and substantiated a reputation for
taste and culture by collecting works of art. These pictures resemble
the genuine article in a specious yet half-hearted way. Their owners
themselves are not very tenacious as to their authenticity, and the
visit of an expert, or the ordeal of a public exhibition tears their
pretensions to tatters. In the Academia itself the Bonifazio and
Tintoretto rooms are crowded with imitations. The Ducal Palace has
ceilings and panels on which are reproduced the kind of compositions
initiated by the great artists, which make an effort to capture their
gamut of colour and to master their scheme of chiaroscuro, copying them,
in short, in everything except in their inimitable touch and fire and
spirit. It would have been impossible for any men, however industrious
and prolific, to have carried out all the work which passes under their
names, to say nothing of that which has perished; but our surprise and
curiosity diminish when we come to inquire systematically into the
methods of that host of copyists which, even before the masters' death,
had begun to ply its lucrative trade.
We must bear in mind that every great man was surrounded by busy and
attentive satellites, helping him to finish and, indeed, often painting
a large part of important commissions, witnesses of the high prices
received, and alive to all the gossip as to the relative popularity of
the painters and the requests and orders which reached them from all
quarters. The painters' own sons were in many instances those who first
traded upon their fathers' fame. From Ridolfi, Zanetti, or Boschini we
learn of the many paintings executed by Carlotto Caliari and the vast
numbers painted by Domenico Robusti in the style of their respective
fathers. Domenico seems to have particularly affected the subject of
"St. George and the Dragon," and the picture at Dresden, which passes
under Tintoretto's name, is perhaps by his hand. Of Bassano's four sons,
Francesco "imitated his father perfectly," conserving his warmth of
tint, his relief and breadth. Zanetti enumerates a surprising number of
Francesco's works, seven of them being painted for the Ducal Palace.
Leandro followed more particularly his father's first manner, was a good
portrait-painter, and possessed lightness and fancy. Girolamo copied and
recopied the old Bassano till he even deceived connoisseurs, "how much
more," says Zanetti, writing in 1771, "those of the present day, who
behold them harmonised and accredited by time." No school in Venice was
so beloved, or lent itself so well to the efforts of the imitators, as
that of Paolo Veronese. Even at an early date it was impossible not to
confound the master with the disciples; the weaker of the originals were
held to be of imitators, the best imitations were assigned to the master
himself. "Oh how easy it is," exclaims Zanetti again, "to make mistakes
about Veronese's pictures, but I can point out sundry infallible
characteristics to those who wish for light upon this doubtful path; the
fineness and lightness of the brushwork, the sublime intelligence and
grace, shown particularly in the form of the heads, which is never found
in any of his imitators."
Few Venetians, however, followed the style of only one man; the output
was probably determined and varied by the demand. Too many attractive
manners existed to dazzle them, and when once they began to imitate,
they were tempted on all hands. It must also be remembered that every
master left behind him stacks of cartoons, sketches and suggestions, and
half-finished pictures, which were eagerly seized upon, bought or
stolen, and utilised to produce masterpieces masquerading under his
name.
As the seventeenth century advanced the character of art and manners
underwent a change. Men sought the beautiful in the novel and bizarre,
and the complex was preferred to the simple. Venetian art, in all its
branches, had passed from the stately and restrained to the pompous and
artificial. Yet the barocco style was used by Venice in a way of its
own; whimsical, contorted, and overloaded with ornament as it is, it yet
compels admiration by its vigorous life and movement. The art of the
sei-cento in Venice was extravagant, but it was alive. It escaped the
most deadly of all faults, a cold and academic mannerism--and this at a
time when the rest of Italy was given over to the inflated followers of
Michelangelo and the calculated elaborations of the eclectics.
Many of the things we most love in Venice, such as the Salute, the
Clock-Tower, the Dogana, the Bridge of Sighs, the Rezzonico and
Pesaro Palaces, are additions of the seventeenth century. The barocco
intemperance in sculpture was carried on by disciples of Bernini; and
as the immediate influence of the great masters declined, painting
acquired the same sort of character. The carelessness and rapidity of
Tintoretto, which, in his case, proceeded from the lightning speed of
his imagination and the unerring sureness of his brush, became a
mechanical trick in the hands of superficial students. True art had
migrated elsewhere--to the homes of Velasquez, Rubens, and Rembrandt. As
art grew more pompous it became less emotional. Painters like Palma
Giovine spoilt their ready, lively fancy by the vice of hurry. The
nickname of "Fa Presto" was deserved by others besides Luca Giordano,
and Venice was overrun by a swarm of painters whose prime standard of
excellence was the ability to make haste. Grandeur of conception was
forgotten; a grave, ample manner was no longer understood; superficial
sentiment and bombastic size carried the day. Yet a few painters, though
their forms had become redundant and exaggerated, retained something of
what had been the Venetian glory--the deep and moist colour of old. It
still glowed with traces of its old lustre on the canvases of Giovanni
Contarini, or Tiberio Tinelli, or Pietro Liberi; and though there was a
perfect fury of production, without order and without law, there can
still be perceived the survival of that sense of the decorative which
kept the thread of art. We discover it in the ceiling of the Church of
San Pantaleone, where Gianbattista Fumiani paints the glorification of
the martyred patron, and which, fantastic and extravagant as it is,
with its stupendous, architectural setting, and its acutely, almost
absurdly foreshortened throng, is not without a certain grandiose
geniality, ample and picturesque, like the buildings of that date. In
Alessandro Varotari (il Padovanino), whose "Nozze di Cana" in the
Academia is a finely spaced scene, in which a charming use is made of
cypresses, we seem to recognise the last ray of the Titianesque. The
painting of the seventeenth century passed on towards the eighteenth,
and, from ceilings and panels, rosy nymphs and Venuses smile at
us, attitudinising and contorted upon their cloudy backgrounds.
Lackadaisical Magdalens drop sentimental tears, and the Angel of the
Annunciation capers above the head of an affected Virgin, while violent
colours, intensified chiaroscuro, and black greasy impasto betray
the neighbourhood of the _tenebrosi_. When, towards the end of the
seventeenth century, Gregorio Lazzarini set himself to shake off these
influences, he went to the opposite extreme. Although a beautiful
designer, he becomes cold and flat in colour, with a coldness and
insipidity, indeed, that take us by surprise, appearing in a country
where the taste for luminous and brilliant tints was so strongly rooted.
The student of Venetian painting, who wishes to fill up the hiatus which
lies between the Golden Age and the revival of the eighteenth century,
cannot do better than compare Fumiani's vault in San Pantaleone with
Lazzarini's sober and earnest fresco, "The Charity of San Lorenzo
Giustiniani," in San Pietro in Castello, and with Pietro Liberi's
"Battle of the Dardanelles" in the Ducal Palace. In all three we have
examples of the varied and accomplished yet soulless art of this period.
Not many of the scenes painted for the palaces of patricians in the
seventeenth century have survived. They are to be found here and
there by the curious who wander into old churches and palaces with a
second-hand copy of Boschini in their hands; but in the reaction from
the florid which took place in the Empire period, many of them gave
place to whitewash and stucco. In the Ducal Palace, side by side with
the masterpieces of the Renaissance, are to be found the overcrowded
canvases of Vicentino, Giovanni Contarini, Pietro Liberi, Celesti, and
others like them. Some of the poor and meretricious mosaics in St.
Mark's are from designs by Palma Giovine and Fumiani. Carlo Ridolfi, who
was a painter himself, as well as the painter's chronicler, has an
"Adoration of the Magi" in S. Giovanni Elemosinario, poor enough in
invention and execution. Two pictures by obscure artists disfigure a
corner of the Scuola di San Rocco. The Museo Civico has a large canvas
by Vicentino, a "Coronation of a Dogaressa," which once adorned Palazzo
Grimani. We hear of a school opened by Antonio Balestra, who was the
master of Rosalba Carriera and Pietro Longhi, and the names of others
have come down to us in numbers too numerous to be quoted. Towards the
end of the seventeenth century more light and novelty sparkles in the
painting of the Bellunese, Battista Ricci, and assures us that he was no
mere copyist; and, as the eighteenth century opens, we become aware of
the strong and daring brush of Gianbattista Piazetta. Piazetta studied
the works of the Carracci for some time in Bologna, and especially those
of Guercino, whose style, with its bold contrasts of light and shade,
has served above all as his model. He paints very darkly, and his
figures often blend with and disappear into the profound tones of his
backgrounds. Charles Blanc calls him "a Venetian Caravaggio"; and he has
something of the strength and even the brutality of the Bolognese. A
fine decorative and imaginative example of his work is the "Madonna
appearing to S. Philip Neri" in the Church of S. Fava. The erect form of
the Madonna is relieved in striking chiaroscuro against the mantle,
upheld by _putti_. Radiant clouds light up the background and illumine
the form of the old saint, a refined and spirited figure, gazing at
the vision in an ecstasy of devotion. Piazetta is a bold realist, and
many of his small pictures are strong and forcible. Sebastiano Ricci,
Battista's son, is described as "a fine intelligence," and attracts
our notice as having forged special links with England. Hampton Court
possesses a long array of his paintings. In the chapel of Chelsea
Hospital the plaster semi-dome is painted by him, in oils, with very
good effect. He is said to have worked in Thornhill's studio, and his
influence may be suspected in the Blenheim frescoes, and even in touches
in Hogarth's work.
By the eighteenth century Venice had parted with her old nobility of
soul, and enjoyment had become the only aim of life. Yet Venice, among
the States of Italy, alone retained her freedom. The Doge reigned
supreme as in the past. Beneath the ceiling of Veronese the dreaded
Three still sat in secret council. Venice was still the city of subtle
poisons and dangerous mysteries, but the days were gone when she
had held the balance in European affairs, and she had become, in a
superlative degree, the city of pleasure. Nowhere was life more
varied and entertaining, more full of grace and enchantment.
A long period of peace had rocked the Venetian people into calm
security. There was, indeed, a little spasmodic fighting in Corfù,
Dalmatia, and Algiers, but no real share was retained in the
struggles of Europe. The whole policy of the city's life was one of
self-indulgence. Holiday-makers filled her streets; the whole population
lived "in piazza," laughing, gossiping, seeing and being seen. The
very churches had become a rendezvous for fashionable intrigues; the
convents boasted their _salons_, where nuns in low dresses, with pearls
in their hair, received the advances of nobles and gallant abbés.
People came to Venice to waste time; trivialities, the last scandal,
sensational stories, were the only subjects worth discussing. In an age
of parodies and practical jokes, the more absurd any one could be, the
more silly or witty stories he could tell, the more assured was his
success in the joyous, frivolous circle, full of fun and laughter. The
Carnival lasted for six months of the year, and was the occasion for
masques and licence of every description. In the hot weather, the gay
descendants of the Contarini, the Loredan, the Pisani, and other grand
old houses, migrated to villas along the Brenta, where by day and night
the same reckless, irresponsible life went gaily on. The power of such
courtesans as Titian and Paris Bordone had painted was waning. Their
place was adequately supplied by the easy dames of society, no longer
secluded, proud and tranquil, but "stirred by the wild blood of youth
and stooping to the frolic." "They are but faces and smiles, teasing
and trumpery," says one of their critics, yet they are declared to be
wideawake, natural and charming, making the most of their smattering of
letters. Love was the great game; every woman had lovers, every married
woman openly flaunted her _cicisbeo_ or _cavaliere servente_.
The older portion of the middle class was still moderate and temperate,
contented to live in the old fashion, eschewing all interest in
politics, with which it was dangerous for the ordinary individual to
meddle; but the new leaven was creeping through every level of society.
The sons and daughters of the _bourgeoisie_ tried to rise in the social
scale by aping the pleasant vices of the aristocracy. They deserted the
shop and the counting-house to play cards and strut upon the piazza.
They mimicked the fine gentleman and the gentildonna, and made
fashionable love and carried on intrigues. The spirit of the whole
people had lost its elevation; there were no more proud patricians, full
of noble ambitions and devoted zeal of public service; it was hardly
possible to get a sufficient number of persons to carry on public
business. It is a contemptible indictment enough; yet among all this
degenerate life, we come upon something more real as we turn to the
artists. They were very much alive. In music, in literature, and in
painting, new and graceful forms of art were emerging. Painting was not
the grand art of other days; it might be small and trivial, but there
grew up a real little Renaissance of the eighteenth century, full of
originality and fire, and showing a reaction from the pompous and banale
style of the imitators.
The influence of the "lady" was becoming increasingly felt by society.
Confidential little boudoirs, small and cosy apartments were the mode,
and needed decorating as well as vast salas. The dainty luxury of gilt
furniture, designed by Andrea Brustolon and upholstered in delicate
silks, was matched by small, attractive works of art. Venice had lost
her Eastern trade, and as the East faded out of her scheme of life, the
West, to which she now turned, was bringing her a different form of
art. The great reception rooms were still suited by the grandiose
compositions of Ricci, Piazetta, and Pittoni, but another genre of
charming creations smiled from the brocaded alcoves and more intimate
suites of rooms.
It is impossible to name more than a fraction of these artists of the
eighteenth century. There is Amigoni, admirable as a portrait-painter;
Pittoni, one of the ablest figure-painters of the day; Luca Carlevaris,
the forerunner of Canale; Pellegrini, whose decorations in this country
are mentioned by Horace Walpole and of which the most important are
preserved in the cupola and spandrils of the Grand Hall at Castle
Howard. Their work is still to be found in many a Venetian church or
North Italian gallery. Some of it is almost fine, though too often
vitiated by the affected, exaggerated spirit of their day. When
originality asserts itself more decidedly, Rosalba Carriera stands out
as an artist who acquired great popularity. In 1700, when she was a
young woman of twenty-four, she was already a great favourite with the
public. She began life as a lace-maker, but when trade was bad, Jean
Stève, a Frenchman, taught her to paint miniatures. She imparted a
wonderfully delicate feeling to her art, and, passing on to pastel, she
brought to this branch of portraiture a brilliancy and freshness which
it had not known before. Rosalba has perhaps preserved for us better
than any one else, those women of Venice who floated so lightly on the
dancing waves of that sparkling stream. There they are: La Cornaro; La
Maria Labia, who was surrounded by French lovers, "very courteous and
very beautiful"; La Zenobio and La Pisani; La Foscari, with her black
plumes; La Mocenigo, "the lady with the pearls." She has pinned them all
to the canvas; lovely, frail, light-hearted butterflies, with velvet
neck-ribbons round their snowy throats and coquettish patches on their
delicate skin and bouquets of flowers in their high-dressed hair and
sheeny bodices. They look at us with arch eyes and smile with melting
mouths, more frivolous than depraved; sweet, ephemeral, irresponsible in
every relation of life. Older men and women there are, too, when those
artificial years have produced a succession of rather dull, sodden
personages, kindly, inoffensive, but stupid, and still trifling heavily
with the world.
Of Rosalba we have another picture to compare with those of her sitters.
She and the other artists of her circle lived the merry, busy life of
the worker, and found in their art the antidote to the evil living and
the dissipation of the gay world which provided sitters and patrons.
Rosalba's _milieu_ is a type of others of its class. She lives with her
mother and sisters, an honest, cheerful, industrious existence. They are
fond of old friends and old books, and indulge in music and simple
pleasures. Her sisters help Rosalba by preparing the groundwork of
her paintings. She pays visits, and writes rhymes, and plays on the
harpsichord. She receives great men without much ceremony, and the
Elector Palatine, the Duke of Mecklenburg, Frederick, King of Norway,
and Maximilian, King of Bavaria, come to her to order miniatures of
their reigning beauties. Then she goes off to Paris where she has plenty
of commissions, and the frequently occurring names of English patrons in
her fragmentary diaries, tell how much her work was admired by English
travellers. She did more than anybody else to promote the fashion for
pastels, and her delightful art may be seen at its best in the pastel
room of the Dresden Gallery.
Henrietta, Countess of Pomfret, has left us a charming description of a
party of English travellers, which included Horace Walpole, arriving in
Venice in 1741, strolling about in mask and _bauta_, and visiting the
famous pastellist in her studio. It is in such guise that Rosalba has
painted Walpole, and has left one of the most interesting examples of
her art.
SOME EXAMPLES
_Francesco da Ponte._
Venice. Ducal Palace: Sala del Maggior Consiglio. Four pictures on
ceiling (second from the four corners of the sala). On left
as you face the Paradiso: 1. Pope Alexander III. giving the
Stocco, or Sword, to the Doge as he enters a Galley to
command the Army against Ferrara; 2. Victory against the
Milanese; 3. Victory against Imperial Troops at Cadore;
4. Victory under Carmagnola, over Visconti. These four are
all very rich in colour.
Chiesetta: Circumcision; Way to Calvary.
Sala dell' Scrutino: Padua taken by Night from the Carraresi.
_Leandro da Ponte._
Venice. Sala del Maggior Consiglio: The Patriarch giving a
Blessed Candle to the Doge.
Sala of Council of Ten: Meeting of Alexander III. and Doge
Ziani. A fine decorative picture, running the whole of one
side of the sala.
Sala of Archeological Museum: Virgin in Glory, with the
Avogadori Family.
_Palma Giovine._
Dresden. Presentation of the Virgin.
Florence. Uffizi: S. Margaret.
Munich. Deposition; Nativity; Ecce Homo; Flagellation.
Venice. Academy: Scenes from the Apocalypse; S. Francis.
Ducal Palace: The Last Judgment.
Vienna. Cain and Abel; Daughter of Herodias; Pietà;
Immaculate Conception.
_Il Padovanino._
Florence. Uffizi: Lucretia.
London. Cornelia and her Children.
Paris. Venus and Cupid.
Rome. Villa Borghese: Toilet of Minerva.
Venice. Academy: The Marriage of Cana; Madonna in Glory; Vanity,
Orpheus, and Eurydice; Rape of Proserpine; Virgin in Glory.
Verona. Man and Woman playing Chess; Triumph of Bacchus.
Vienna. Woman taken in Adultery; Holy Family.
_Pietro Liberi._
Venice. Ducal Palace: Battle of the Dardanelles.
_Andrea Vicentino._
Venice. Museo Civico: The Marriage of a Dogaressa.
_G. A. Fumiani._
Venice. San Pantaleone: Ceiling.
Church of the Carità: Christ disputing with the Doctors.
_A. Balestra._
Verona. S. Tomaso: Annunciation.
_G. Lazzarini._
Venice. S. Pietro in Castello.
The Charity of S. Lorenzo Giustiniani.
_Sebastiano Ricci._
Venice. S. Rocco: The Glorification of the Cross.
Gesuati: Pope Pius V. and Saints.
London. Royal Hospital, Chelsea: Half-dome.
_G. B. Pittoni._
Vicenza. The Bath of Diana.
_G. B. Piazetta._
Venice. Chiesa della Fava: Madonna and S. Philip Neri.
Academy: Crucifixion; The Fortune-Teller.
_Rosalba Carriera._
Venice. Academy: pastels.
Dresden. Pastels.
CHAPTER XXIX
TIEPOLO
We have already noted that to establish the significance of any period
in art, it is necessary that the tendencies should unite and combine in
some culminating spirits who rise triumphant over their contemporaries
and soar above the age in which they live. Such a genius stands out
above the eighteenth century crowd, and is not only of his century, but
of every time. For two hundred years Tiepolo has been stigmatised as
extravagant, mannered, as just equal to painting cupids, nymphs, and
parroquets. In the last century he experienced the effect of the
profound discredit into which the whole of eighteenth-century art had
fallen. In France, David had obliterated Watteau; and the reputation
of Pompeo Battoni, a sort of Italian David, effaced Tiepolo and his
contemporaries. When the delegates of the French Republic inspected
Italian churches and palaces, and decided what works of art should be
sent to the Louvre, they singled out the Bolognese, the Guercinos and
Guidos, the Carracci, even Pompeo Battoni and other such forgotten
masters, a Gatti, a Nevelone, a Badalocchio; but to the lasting regret
of their descendants, they disdained to annex a single one of the great
paintings of the Venetian, Gianbattista Tiepolo.
Eastlake only vouchsafes him one line as "an artist of fantastic
imagination." Most of the nineteenth-century critics do not even mention
him. Burckhardt dismisses him with a grudging line of praise, Blanc is
equally disparaging, and for Taine he is a mere mannerist, yet his
influence has been felt far beyond his lifetime; only now is he coming
into his own, and it is recognised that the _plein-air_ artist, the
luminarist, the impressionist, owe no small share of their knowledge to
his inspiration.
The name of Tiepolo brings before us a whole string of illustrious
personages--doges and senators, magnificent procurators and great
captains--but we have nothing to prove that the artist belonged to a
decayed branch of the famous patrician house. Born in Castello, the
people's quarter of Venice, he studied in early youth with that good
draughtsman, Lazzarini. At twenty-three he married the sister of
Francesco Guardi; Guardi, who comes between Longhi and Canale and who is
a better painter than either. Tiepolo appeared at a fortunate moment.
The demand for a facile, joyous genius was at its height. The life of
the aristocracy on the lagoons was every year growing more gay, more
abandoned to capricious inclination, to light loves and absurd
amusements. And the art which reflected this life was called upon to
give gaiety rather than thought, costume rather than character. Yet if
the Venetian art had lost all connection with the grave magnificence of
the past, it had kept aloof from the academic coldness which was in
fashion beyond the lagoons, so that though theatrical, it was with a
certain natural absurdity. The age had become romantic; the Arcadian
convention was in full force, Nature herself was pressed into the
service of idle, sentimental men and women. The country was pictured as
a place of delight, where the sun always shone and the peasants passed
their time singing madrigals and indulging in rural pleasures. The
public, however, had begun to look for beauty; the traditions which had
formed round the decorative schools were giving way to the appreciation
of original work. Tiepolo, sincere and spontaneous even when he is
sacrificing truth to caprice, struck the taste of the Venetians, and
without emancipating himself from the tendencies of the time, contrives
to introduce a fresh accent. All round him was a weak and self-indulgent
world, but within himself he possessed a fund of buoyant and
inexhaustible energy. He evokes a throng of personages on the ceilings
of the churches and palaces confided to his fancy. His creations range
from mythology to religion, from the sublime to the grotesque. All
Olympia appears upon his ample and luminous spaces. It is not to the
cold, austere Lazzarini, or to the clashing chiaroscuro of Piazetta, or
the imaginative spirit of Battista Ricci, though he was touched by each
of them, that we must turn for Tiepolo's derivation. Long before his
time, the kind of decoration of ceilings which we are apt to call
Tiepolesque; the foreshortened architecture, the columns and cornices,
the figures peopling the edifices, or reclining upon clouds, had been
used by an increasing throng of painters. The style arose, indeed, in
the quattrocento; Mantegna, the Umbrians, and even Michelangelo had used
it, though in a far more sober way than later generations. Correggio
and the Venetians had perfected the idea, which the artists of the
seventeenth century seized upon and carried to the most intemperate
excess. But Tiepolo rose above them all; he abandoned the heavy,
exaggerated, contorted designs, which by this time defied all laws of
equilibrium, and we must go back further than his immediate predecessors
for his origins. His claim to stand with Tintoretto or Veronese may be
contested, but he is nearest to these, and no doubt Veronese is the
artist he studied with the greatest fervour. Without copying, he seems
to have a natural affinity of spirit with Veronese and assimilates the
ample arrangement of his groups, the grace of his architecture, and his
decorative feeling for colour. Zanetti, who was one of Tiepolo's dearest
friends, writes: "No painter of our time could so well recall the bright
and happy creations of Veronese." The difference between them is more
one of period than of temperament. Paolo Veronese represented the
opulence of a rich, strong society, full of noble life, while Tiepolo's
lot was cast among effeminate men and frivolous women, and full of the
modern spirit himself, he adapts his genius to his time and devotes
himself to satisfy the theatrical, sentimental vein of the Venice of the
decadence. Full of enthusiasm for his work, he was ready to respond to
any call. He went to and fro between Venice and the villas along the
mainland and to the neighbouring towns. Then coveting wider fields, he
travelled to Milan and Genoa, where his frescoes still gleam in the
palaces of the Dugnani, the Archinto, and the Clerici. At Würzburg in
Bavaria he achieved a magnificent series of decorations for the palace
of the Prince-Archbishop. Then coming back to Italy, he painted
altarpieces, portraits, pictures for his friends, and a fresh multitude
of allegorical and mythological frescoes in palaces and villas. His
charming villa at Zianigo is frescoed from top to bottom by himself and
his sons, and has amusing examples of contemporary dress and manners.
When the Academy was instituted in 1755, Tiepolo was appointed its
first director, but the sort of employment it provided was not suited to
his impetuous spirit, and in 1762 he threw up the post and went off to
Spain with his two sons. There he received a splendid welcome and was
loaded with commissions, the only dissentient voice being that of
Raphael Mengs, who, obsessed by the taste for the classic and the
antique, was fiercely opposed to the Venetian's art. Tiepolo died
suddenly in Madrid in 1770, pencil in hand. Though he was past seventy,
the frescoes he has left there show that his hand was as firm and his
eye as sure as ever.
His frescoes have, as we have said, that frankly theatrical flavour
which corresponds exactly to the taste of the time. Such works as the
"Transportation of the Holy House of Loretto" in the Church of the
Scalzi in Venice, or the "Triumph of Faith" in that of the Pietà, the
"Triumph of Hercules" in Palazzo Canossa in Verona, or the decorations
in the magnificent villa of the Pisani at Strà, are extravagant and
fantastic, yet have the impressive quality of genius. These last, which
have for subject the glorification of the Pisani, are full of portraits.
The patrician sons and daughters appear, surrounded by Abundance, War,
and Wisdom. A woman holding a sceptre symbolises Europe. All round are
grouped flags and dragons, "nations grappling in the airy blue," bands
of Red Indians in their war-paint and happy couples making love. The
idea of the history, the wealth, the supreme dignity of the House is
paramount, and over all appears Fame, bearing the noble name into
immortality. In Palazzo Clerici at Milan a rich and prodigal committee
gave the painter a free hand, and on the ceiling of a vast hall the Sun
in a chariot, with four horses harnessed abreast, rises to the meridian,
flooding the world with light. Venus and Saturn attend him, and his
advent is heralded by Mercury. A symbolical figure of the earth joys at
his coming, and a concourse of naiads, nymphs, and dolphins wait upon
his footsteps. In the school of the Carmine in Venice Tiepolo has left
one of his grandest displays. The haughty Queen of Heaven, who is his
ideal of the Virgin, bears the Child lightly on her arm, and, standing
enthroned upon the rolling clouds, hardly deigns to acknowledge the
homage of the prostrate saint, on whom an attendant angel is bestowing
her scapulary. The most charming _amoretti_ are disporting in all
directions, flinging themselves from on high in delicious _abandon_,
alternating with lovely groups of the cardinal virtues. At Villa
Valmarana near Vicenza, after revelling among the gods, he comes to
earth and delights in painting lovely ladies with almond eyes and
carnation cheeks, attended by their cavaliers, seated in balconies,
looking on at a play, or dancing minuets, and carnival scenes with
masques and dominoes and _fêtes champêtres_, which give us a picture of
the fashions and manners of the day. He brings in groups of Chinese in
oriental dress, and then he condescends to paint country girls and their
rustic swains, in the style of Phyllis and Corydon.
Sometimes he becomes graver and more solid. He abandons the airy fancies
scattered in cloud-land. The story of Esther in Palazzo Dugnano affords
an opportunity for introducing magnificent architecture, warriors in
armour, and stately dames in satin and brocades. He touches his highest
in the decorations of Palazzo Labia, where Antony and Cleopatra, seated
at their banquet, surrounded by pomp and revelry, regard one another
silently, with looks of sombre passion. Four exquisite panels have
lately been acquired by the Brera Gallery, representing the loves of
Rinaldo and Armida, and are a feast of gay, delicate colour, with
fascinating backgrounds of Italian gardens. The throne-room of the
palace at Madrid has the same order of compositions--Æneas conducted
by Venus from Time to Immortality, and other deifications of Spanish
royalty.
[Illustration: _Tiepolo._
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
_Palazzo Labia, Venice._]
Now and then Tiepolo is possessed by a tragic mood. In the Church of
San Alvise he has left a "Way to Calvary," a "Flagellation," and a
"Crowning of Thorns," which are intensely dramatic, and which show strong
feeling. Particularly striking is the contrast between the refined and
sensitive type of his Christ and the realistic and even brutal study of
the two despairing malefactors--one a common ruffian, the other an aged
offender of a higher class. His altarpiece at Este, representing S.
Tecla staying the plague, is painted with a real insight into disaster
and agony, and S. Tecla is a pathetic and beautiful figure. Sometimes
in his easel-pictures he paints a Head of Christ, a S. Anthony, or a
Crucifixion, but he always returns before long to the ample spaces and
fantastic subjects which his soul loved.
Tiepolo is a singular contradiction. His art suggests a strong being,
held captive by butterflies. Sometimes he is joyous and limpid,
sometimes turbulent and strong, but he has always sincerity, force, and
life. A great space serves to exhilarate him, and he asks nothing better
than to cover it with angels and goddesses, white limbs among the
clouds, sea-horses ridden by Tritons, patrician warriors in Roman
armour, balustrades and columns and _amoretti_. He does not even need to
pounce his design, but puts in all sorts of improvised modifications
with a sure hand. The vastness of his frescoes, the daring poses of his
countless figures, and the freedom of his line speak eloquently of the
mastery to which his hand had attained. He revels, above all, in effects
of light--"all the light of the sky, and all the light of the sea; all
the light of Venice ... in which he swims as in a bath. He paints not
ideas, scarcely even forms, but light. His ceilings are radiant, like
the sky of birds; his poems seem to be written in the clouds. Light is
fairer than all things, and Tiepolo knows all the tricks and triumphs of
light."[6]
[6] Philippe Monnier, _Venice in the Eighteenth Century_.
Nearly all his compositions have a serene and limpid horizon, with
the figures approaching it painted in clear, silvery hues, airy and
diaphanous, while the forms below are more muscular, the flesh tints are
deeper, and the whole of the foreground is often enveloped in shadow.
Veronese had lit up the shadows, which, under his contemporaries, were
growing gloomy. Tiepolo carries his art further on the same lines. He
makes his figures more graceful, his draperies more vaporous, and
illumines his clouds with radiance. His faded blue and rose, his
golden-greys, and pearly whites and pastel tints are not so much solid
colours as caprices of light. We have remarked already that with
Veronese the accessories of gleaming satins and rich brocades serve to
obscure the persons. In many of Tiepolo's scenes the figures are lost
in a flutter of drapery, subject and action melt away, and we are only
conscious of soft harmonies of delicious colour, as ethereal as the
hues of spring flowers in woodland ways and joyous meadows. With these
delicious, audacious fancies, put on with a nervous hand, we forget the
age of profound and ardent passion, we escape from that of pompous
solemnity and studied grace, and we breathe an atmosphere of
irresponsible and capricious pleasure. In this last word of her great
masters Venice keeps what her temperament loved--sensuous colour and
emotional chiaroscuro, used to accentuate an art adapted to a city of
pleasure.
The excellence of the old masters' drawings is a perpetual revelation.
Even second-class men are almost invariably fine draughtsmen, proving
that drawing was looked upon as something over which it was necessary
for even the meanest to have entire mastery. Tiepolo's drawings,
preserved in Venice and in various museums, are as beautiful as can be
wished; perfect in execution and vivid in feeling. In Venice are twenty
or thirty sheets in red carbon, of flights of angels, and of draperies
studied in every variety of fold.
Poor work of his school is often ascribed to his sons, but the superb
"Stations of the Cross," in the Frari, which were etched by Domenico,
and published as his own in his lifetime, are almost equal to the
father's work. Tiepolo had many immediate followers and imitators. The
colossal roof-painting of Fabio Canal in the Church of SS. Apostoli,
Venice, may be pointed out as an example of one of these. But he is full
of the tendencies of modern art. Mr. Berenson, writing of him, says he
sometimes seems more the first than the last of a line, and notices how
he influenced many French artists of recent times, though none seem
quite to have caught the secret of his light intensity and his exquisite
caprice.
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Aranjuez. Royal Palace: Frescoes; Altarpiece.
Orangery: Frescoes.
Bergamo. Cappella Colleoni: Scenes from the Life of the Baptist.
Berlin. Martyrdom of S. Agatha; S. Dominia and the Rosary.
London. Sketches; Deposition.
Madrid. Escurial; Ceilings.
Milan. Palazzi Clerici, Archinto, and Dugnano: Frescoes.
Brera: Loves of Rinaldo and Armida.
Paris. Christ at Emmaus.
Strà. Villa Pisani: Ceiling.
Venice. Academy: S. Joseph, the Child, and Saints; S. Helena finding
the Cross.
Palazzo Ducale: Sala di Quattro Porte: Neptune and Venice.
Palazzo Labia: Frescoes; Antony and Cleopatra.
Palazzo Rezzonico: Two Ceilings.
S. Alvise: Flagellation; Way to Golgotha.
SS. Apostoli: Communion of S. Lucy.
S. Fava: The Virgin and her Parents.
Gesuati: Ceiling; Altarpiece.
S. Maria della Pietà: Triumph of Faith.
S. Paolo: Stations of the Cross.
Scalzi: Transportation of the Holy House of Loretto.
Scuola del Carmine: Ceiling.
Verona. Palazzo Canossa: Triumph of Hercules.
Vicenza. Museo Entrance Hall: Immaculate Conception.
Villa Valmarana: Frescoes; Subjects from Homer, Virgil,
Ariosto, and Tasso; Masks and Oriental Scenes.
Würzburg. Palace of the Archbishop: Ceilings; Fêtes Galantes; Assumption;
Fall of Rebel Angels.
CHAPTER XXX
PIETRO LONGHI
We have here a master who is peculiarly the Venetian of the eighteenth
century, a genre-painter whose charm it is not easy to surpass, yet
one who did not at the outset find his true vocation. Longhi's first
undertakings, specimens of which exist in certain palaces in Venice,
were elaborate frescoes, showing the baneful influence of the Bolognese
School, in which he studied for a time under Giuseppe Crispi. He
attempts to place the deities of Olympus on his ceilings in emulation of
Tiepolo, but his Juno is heavy and common, and the Titans at her feet
appear as a swarm of sprawling, ill-drawn nudities. He shows no faculty
for this kind of work, but he was thirty-two before he began to paint
those small easel-pictures which in his own dainty style illustrate the
"Vanity Fair" of his period, and in which the eighteenth century lives
for us again.
His earliest training was in the goldsmith's art, and he has left many
drawings of plate, exquisite in their sense of graceful curve and their
unerring precision of line. It was a moment when such things acquired a
flawless purity of outline, and Longhi recognised their beauty with all
the sensitive perception of the artist and the practised workman. His
studies of draperies, gestures, and hands are also extraordinarily
careful, and he seems besides to have an intimate acquaintance with all
the elegant dissipation and languid excesses of a dying order. We feel
that he has himself been at home in the masquerade, has accompanied the
lady to the fortune-teller, and, leaning over her graceful shoulder, has
listened to the soothsayer's murmurs. He has attended balls and routs,
danced minuets, and gossiped over tiny cups of China tea. He is the last
chronicler of the Venetian feasts, and with him ends that long series
that began with Giorgione's concert and which developed and passed
through suppers at Cana and banquets at the houses of Levi and the
Pharisee. We are no longer confronted with the sumptuosity of Bonifazio
and Veronese; the immense tables covered with gold and silver plate, the
long lines of guests robed in splendid brocades, the stream of servants
bearing huge salvers, or the bands of musicians, nor are there any more
alfresco concerts, with nymphs and bacchantes. Instead there are
masques, the life of the Ridotto or gaming-house, routs and intrigues in
dainty boudoirs, and surreptitious love-making in that city of eternal
carnival where the _bauta_ was almost a national costume. Longhi
holds that post which in French art is filled by Watteau, Fragonard,
and Lancret, the painters of _fêtes galantes_, and though he cannot be
placed on an equal footing with those masters, he is representative and
significant enough. On his canvases are preserved for us the mysteries
of the toilet, over which ladies and young men of fashion dawdled
through the morning, the drinking of chocolate in _négligé_, the
momentous instants spent in choosing headgear and fixing patches, the
towers of hair built by the modish coiffeur--children trooping in, in
hoops and uniforms, to kiss their mother's hand, the fine gentleman
choosing a waistcoat and ogling the pretty embroideress, the pert young
maidservant slipping a billet-doux into a beauty's hand under her
husband's nose, the old beau toying with a fan, or the discreet abbé
taking snuff over the morning gazette. The grand ladies of Longhi's day
pay visits in hoop and farthingale, the beaux make "a leg," and the
lacqueys hand chocolate. The beautiful Venetians and their gallants
swim through the gavotte or gamble in the Ridotto, or they hasten to
assignations, disguised in wide _bauti_ and carrying preposterous muffs.
The Correr Museum contains a number of his paintings and also his book
of original sketches. One of the most entertaining of his canvases
represents a visit of patricians to a nuns' parlour. The nuns and their
pupils lend an attentive ear to the whispers of the world. Their
dresses are trimmed with _point de Venise_, and a little theatre is
visible in the background. This and the "Sala del Ridotto" which hangs
near, are marked by a free, bold handling, a richness of colouring, and
more animation than is usual in his genre-pictures. He has not preserved
the lovely, indeterminate colour or the impressionist touch which was
the natural inheritance of Watteau or Tiepolo. His backgrounds are dark
and heavy, and he makes too free a use of body colour; but his attitude
is one of close observation--he enjoys depicting the life around him,
and we suspect that he sees in it the most perfect form of social
intercourse imaginable. Longhi is sometimes called the Goldoni of
painting, and he certainly more nearly resembles the genial, humorous
playwright than he does Hogarth, to whom he has also been compared. Yet
his execution and technique are a little like Hogarth's, and it is
possible that he was influenced by the elder and stronger master, who
entered on his triumphant career as a satirical painter of society
about 1734. This was just the time when Longhi abandoned his unlucky
decorative style, and it is quite possible that he may have met with
engravings of the "Marriage à la mode," and was stimulated by them to
the study of eighteenth-century manners, though his own temperament is
far removed from Hogarth's moral force and grim satire. His serene,
painstaking observation is never distracted by grossness and violence.
The Venetians of his day may have been--undoubtedly were--effeminate,
licentious, and decadent, but they were kind and gracious, of refined
manners, well-bred, genial and intelligent, and so Longhi has
transcribed them. In the time which followed, ceilings were covered by
Boucher, pastels by Latour were in demand, the scholars of David painted
classical scenes, and Pietro Longhi was forgotten. Antonio Francesco
Correr bought five hundred of his drawings from his son, Alessandro, but
his works were ignored and dispersed. The classic and romantic fashions
passed, but it was only in 1850 that the brothers de Goncourt, writing
on art, revived consideration for the painter of a bygone generation.
Many of his works are in private collections, especially in England, but
few are in public galleries. The National Gallery is fortunate in
possessing several excellent examples.
[Illustration: _Pietro Longhi._
VISIT TO THE FORTUNE-TELLER.
_London._
(_Photo, Hanfstängl._)]
PRINCIPAL WORKS
Bergamo. Lochis: At the Gaming Table; Taking Coffee.
Baglioni: The Festival of the Padrona.
Dresden. Portrait of a Lady.
Hampton Court. Three genre-pictures.
London. Visit to a Circus; Visit to a Fortune-Teller; Portrait.
Mond Collection: Card party; Portrait.
Venice. Academy: Six genre-paintings.
Correr Museum: Eleven paintings of Venetian life; Portrait of
Goldoni.
Palazzo Grassi: Frescoes; Scenes of fashionable life.
Quirini-Stampalia: Eight paintings; Portraits.
CHAPTER XXXI
CANALE
While Piazetta and Tiepolo were proving themselves the inheritors of the
great school of decorators, Venice herself was finding her chroniclers,
and a school of landscape arose, of which Canale was the foremost
member. Giovanni Antonio Canale was born in Venice in 1697, the same
year as Tiepolo. His father earned his living at the profession,
lucrative enough just then, of scene-painting, and Antonio learned to
handle his brush, working at his side. In 1719 he went off to seek his
fortune in Rome, and though he was obliged to help out his resources by
his early trade, he was most concerned in the study of architecture,
ancient and modern. Rome spoke to him through the eye, by the
picturesque masses of stonework, the warm harmonious tones of classic
remains and the effects of light upon them. He painted almost entirely
out-of-doors, and has left many examples drawn from the ruins. His
success in Rome was not remarkable, and he was still a very young man
when he retraced his steps. On regaining his native town, he realised
for the first time the beauty of its canals and palaces, and he never
again wavered in his allegiance.
Two rivals were already in the field, Luca Carlevaris, whose works were
freely bought by the rich Venetians, and Marco Ricci, the figures in
whose views of Venice were often touched in by his uncle, Sebastiano;
but Canale's growing fame soon dethroned them, "i cacciati del nido," as
he said, using Dante's expression. In a generation full of caprice,
delighting in sensational developments, Canale was methodical to a
fault, and worked steadily, calmly producing every detail of Venetian
landscape with untiring application and almost monotonous tranquillity.
He lived in the midst of a band of painters who adored travel.
Sebastiano Ricci was always on the move; Tiepolo spent much of his time
in other cities and countries, and passed the last years of his life in
Spain; Pietro Rotari was attached to the Court of St. Petersburg;
Belotto, Canale's nephew, settled in Bohemia; but Canale remained at
home, and, except for two short visits paid to England, contented
himself with trips to Padua and Verona.
Early in life Canale entered into relations with Joseph Smith, the
British Consul in Venice, a connoisseur who had not only formed a fine
collection of pictures, but had a gallery from which he was very ready
to sell to travellers. He bought of the young Venetian at a very low
price, and contrived, unfairly enough, to acquire the right to all his
work for a certain period of time, with the object of sending it, at a
good profit, to London. For a time Canale's luminous views were bought
by the English under these auspices, but the artist, presently
discovering that he was making a bad bargain, came over to England,
where he met with an encouraging reception, especially at Windsor Castle
and from the Duke of Richmond. Canale spent two years in England and
painted on the Thames and at Cambridge, but he could not stand the
English climate and fled from the damp and fogs to his own lagoons.
To describe his paintings is to describe Venice at every hour of the day
and night--Venice with its long array of noble palaces, with its Grand
Canal and its narrow, picturesque waterways. He reproduces the Venice we
know, and we see how little it has changed. The gondolas cluster round
the landing-stages of the Piazzetta, the crowds hurry in and out of the
arcades of the Ducal Palace, or he paints the festivals that still
retained their splendour: the Great Bucentaur leaving the Riva dei
Schiavoni on the Feast of the Ascension, or San Geremia and the entrance
to the Cannaregio decked in flags for a feast-day. From one end to
another of the Grand Canal, that "most beautiful street in the world,"
as des Commines called it in 1495, we can trace every aspect of
Canale's time, when the city had as yet lost nothing of its splendour
or its animation. At the entrance stands S. Maria della Salute, that
sanctuary dear to Venetian hearts, built as a votive offering after the
visitation of the plague in 1631. Its flamboyant dome, with its volutes,
its population of stone saints, its green bronze door catching the
light, pleased Canale, as it pleased Sargent in our own day, and he
painted it over and over again. The annual fête of the Confraternity of
the Carità takes place at the Scuola di San Rocco, and Canale paints the
old Renaissance building which shelters so much of Tintoretto's finest
work, decorated with ropes of greenery and gay with flags,[7] while
Tiepolo has put in the red-robed, periwigged councillors and the gazing
populace. Near it in the National Gallery hangs a "Regatta" with its
array of boats, its shouting gondoliers, and its shadows lying across
the range of palaces, and telling the exact hour of the day that it was
sketched in; or, again, the painter has taken peculiar pleasure in
expressing quiet days, with calm green waters and wide empty piazzas,
divided by sun and shadow, with a few citizens plodding about their
business in the hot midday, or a quiet little abbé crossing the piazza
on his way to Mass. Canale has made a special study of the light on wall
and façade, and of the transparent waters of the canals and the azure
skies in which float great snowy fleeces.
[7] It is thought that it may have been painted from his studio.
His second visit to England was paid in 1751. He was received with open
arms by the great world, and invited to the houses of the nobility in
town and country. The English were delighted with his taste and with the
mastery with which he painted architectural scenes, and in spite of
advancing years he produced a number of compositions, which commanded
high prices. The Garden of Vauxhall, the Rotunda at Ranelagh, Whitehall,
Northumberland House, Eton College, were some of the subjects which
attracted him, and the treatment of which was signalised by his calm and
perfect balance. He made use of the camera ottica, which is in principal
identical with the camera oscura. Lanzi says he amended its defects and
taught its proper use, but it must be confessed that in the careful
perspective of some of his scenes, its traces seem to haunt us and to
convey a certain cold regularity. Canale was a marvellous engraver.
Mantegna, Bellini, and Titian had placed engraving on a very high level
in the Venetian School, and though at a later date it became too
elaborate, Tiepolo and his son brought it back to simplicity. Canale
aided them, and his _eaux-fortes_, of which he has left about thirty,
are filled with light and breadth of treatment, and he is particularly
happy in his brilliant, transparent water.
The high prices Canale obtained for his pictures in his lifetime led to
the usual imitations. He was surrounded by painters whose whole ambition
was limited to copying him. Among these were Marieschi, Visentini,
Colombini, besides others now forgotten. More than fifty of his finest
works were bought by Smith for George III. and fill a room at Windsor.
He was made a member of the Academy at Dresden, and Bruhl, the Prime
Minister of the Elector, obtained from him twenty-one works which now
adorn the gallery there. Canale died in Venice, where he had lived
nearly all his life, and where his gondola-studio was a familiar object
in the Piazzetta, at the Lido, or anchored in the long canals.
His nephew, Bernardo Belotto, is often also called Canaletto, and it
seems that both uncle and nephew were equally known by the diminutive.
Belotto, too, went to Rome early in his career, where he attached
himself to Panini, a painter of classic ruins, peopled with warriors and
shepherds. He was, by all accounts, full of vanity and self-importance,
and on a visit to Germany managed to acquire the title of Count, which
he adhered to with great complacency. He travelled all over Italy
looking for patronage, and was very eager to find the road to success
and fortune. About the same time as his uncle, he paid a visit to London
and was patronised by Horace Walpole, but in the full tide of success
he was summoned to Dresden, where the Elector, disappointed at not
having secured the services of the uncle, was fain to console himself
with those of the nephew. The extravagant and profligate Augustus II.,
whose one idea was to extract money by every possible means from his
subjects, in order to adorn his palaces, was consistently devoted to
Belotto, who was in his element as a Court painter. He paints all his
uncle's subjects, and it is not always easy to distinguish between the
two; but his paintings are dull and stiff as compared with those of
Canale, though he is sometimes fine in colour, and many of his views are
admirably drawn.
SOME WORKS OF CANALE
It is impossible to draw up any exhaustive list, so many being in
private collections.
Dresden. The Grand Canal; Campo S. Giacomo; Piazza S. Marco;
Church and Piazza of SS. Giovanni and Paolo.
Florence. The Piazzetta.
Hampton Court. The Colosseum.
London. Scuola di San Rocco; Interior of the Rotunda at Ranelagh;
S. Pietro in Castello, Venice.
Paris. Louvre: Church of S. Maria della Salute.
Venice. Heading; Courtyard of a Palace.
Vienna. Liechtenstein Gallery: Church and Piazza of S. Mark, Venice;
Canal of the Giudecca, Venice; View on Grand Canal;
The Piazzetta.
Windsor. About fifty paintings.
Wallace Collection. The Giudecca; Piazza San Marco; Church of San
Simione; S. Maria della Salute; A Fête on the Grand Canal;
Ducal Palace; Dogana from the Molo; Palazzo Corner;
A Water-fête; The Rialto; S. Maria della Salute; A Canal
in Venice.
CHAPTER XXXII
FRANCESCO GUARDI
An entry in Gradenigo's diary of 1764, preserved in the Museo Correr,
speaks of "Francesco Guardi, painter of the quarter of SS. Apostoli,
along the Fondamenta Nuove, a good pupil of the famous Canaletto, having
by the aid of the camera ottica, most successfully painted two canvases
(not small) by the order of a stranger (an Englishman), with views of
the Piazza San Marco, towards the Church and the Clock Tower, and of the
Bridge of the Rialto and buildings towards the Cannaregio, and have
to-day examined them under the colonnades of the Procurazie and met with
universal applause."
Francesco Guardi was a son of the Austrian Tyrol, and his mountain
ancestry may account, as in the case of Titian, for the freshness and
vigour of his art. Both his father, who settled in Venice, and his
brother were painters. His son became one in due time, and the
profession being followed by four members of the family accounts
for the indifferent works often attributed to Guardi.
His indebtedness to Canale is universally acknowledged, and perhaps it
is true that he never attains to the monumental quality, the traditional
dignity which marks Canale out as a great master, but he differs from
Canale in temperament, style, and technique. Canale is a much more exact
and serious student of architectural detail; Guardi, with greater
visible vigour, obliterates detail, and has no hesitation in drawing in
buildings which do not really appear. In his oval painting of the Ducal
Palace (Wallace Collection) he makes it much loftier and more spacious
than it really is. In his "Piazzetta" he puts in a corner of the Loggia
where it would not actually be seen. In the "Fair in Piazza S. Marco"
the arch from under which the Fair appears is gigantic, and he
foreshortens the wing of the royal palace. He curtails the length of the
columns in the piazza and so avoids monotony of effect, and he often
alters the height of the campaniles he uses, making them tall and
slender or short and broad, as his picture requires. At one time he
produced some colossal pictures, in several of which Mr. Simonson, who
has written an admirable life of the painter, believes that the hand of
Canale is perceptible in collaboration; but it was not his natural
element, and he often became heavy in colour and handling. In 1782 he
undertook a commission from Pietro Edwards, who was a noted connoisseur
and inspector of State pictures, and had been appointed superintendent
in 1778 of an official studio for the restoration of old masters.
Edwards had important dealings with Guardi, who was directed to paint
four leading incidents in the rejoicings in honour of the visit of Pius
IV. to Venice. The Venetians themselves had become indifferent patrons
of art, but Venice attracted great numbers of foreign visitors, and
before the second half of the eighteenth century the export of old
masters had already become an established trade. There is no sign,
however, that Joseph Smith, who retained his consulship till 1760,
extended any patronage to Guardi, though he enriched George III.'s
collection with works of the chief contemporary artists of Venice. It is
probable that Guardi had been warned against him by Canale and profited
by the latter's experience.
We can divide his work into three categories. 1. Views of Venice. 2.
Public ceremonies. 3. Landscapes. Gradenigo mentions casually that he
used the camera ottica, but though we may consider it probable, we
cannot trace the use of it in his works. He is not only a painter of
architecture, but pays great attention to light and atmosphere, and aims
at subtle effects; a transparent haze floats over the lagoons, or the
sun pierces though the morning mists. His four large pendants in the
Wallace Collection show his happiest efforts; light glances off the
water and is reflected on the shadowed walls. His views round the Salute
bring vividly before us those delicious morning hours in Venice when the
green tide has just raced up the Grand Canal, when a fresh wind is
lifting and curling all the loose sails and fluttering pennons, and when
the gondoliers are straining at the oars, as their light craft is caught
and blown from side to side upon the rippling water. The sky occupies
much of his space, he makes searching studies of it, and his favourite
effect is a flash of light shooting across a piled-up mass of clouds.
The line of the horizon is low, and he exhibits great mastery in
painting the wide lagoons, but he also paints rough seas, and is one
of the few masters of his day--perhaps the only one--who succeeds in
representing a storm at sea.
Often as he paints the same subjects he never becomes mechanical or
photographic. We may sometimes tire of the monotony of Canale's unerring
perspective and accurate buildings, but Guardi always finds some new
rendering, some fresh point of interest. Sometimes he gives us a summer
day, when Venice stands out in light, her white palaces reflected in the
sun-illumined water; sometimes he is arrested by old churches bathed in
shadow and fusing into the rich, dark tones of twilight. His boats and
figures are introduced with great spirit and _brio_, and are alive
with that handling which a French critic has described as his _griffe
endiablée_.
[Illustration: _Francesco Guardi._
S. MARIA DELLA SALUTE.
_London._
(_Photo, Mansell and Co._)]
His masterly and spirited painting of crowds enables him to reproduce
for us all those public ceremonies which Venice retained as long as the
Republic lasted: yearly pilgrimages of the Doge to Venetian churches, to
the Salute to commemorate the cessation of the plague, to San Zaccaria
on Easter Day, the solemn procession on Corpus Christi Day, receptions
of ambassadors, and, most gorgeous of all, the Feast of the Wedding of
the Adriatic. He has faithfully preserved the ancient ceremonial which
accompanied State festivities. In the "Fête du Jeudi Gras" (Louvre) he
illustrates the acrobatic feats which were performed before Doge
Mocenigo. A huge Temple of Victory is erected on the Piazzetta, and
gondoliers are seen climbing on each other's shoulders and dancing upon
ropes. His motley crowds show that the whole population, patricians as
well as people, took part in the feasts. He has also left many striking
interiors: among others, that of the Sala del Gran Consiglio, where
sometimes as many as a thousand persons were assembled, the "Reception
of the Doge and Senate by Pius IV." (which formed one of the series
ordered by Pietro Edwards), or the fine "Interior of a Theatre,"
exhibited at the Burlington Fine Arts in 1911, belonging to a series
of which another is at Munich.
In his landscapes Guardi does not pay very faithful attention to nature.
The landscape painters of the eighteenth century, as Mr. Simonson points
out, were not animated by any very genuine impulse to study nature
minutely. It was the picturesque element which appealed to them, and
they were chiefly concerned to reproduce romantic features, grouped
according to fancy. Guardi composes half fantastic scenes, introducing
classic remains, triumphal arches, airy Palladian monuments. His
_capricci_ include compositions in which Roman ruins, overgrown with
foliage, occupy the foreground of a painting of Venetian palaces, but in
which the combination is carried out with so much sparkle and nervous
life and such charm of style, that it is attractive and piquant rather
than grotesque.
England is richest in Guardis, of any country, but France in one respect
is better off, in possessing no less than eleven fine paintings of
public ceremonials. Guardi may be considered the originator of small
sketches, and perhaps the precursor of those glib little views which are
handed about the Piazza at the present day. His drawings are fairly
numerous, and are remarkably delicate and incisive in touch. A large
collection which he left to his son is now in the Museo Correr. In his
later years he was reduced to poverty and used to exhibit sketches in
the Piazza, parting with them for a few ducats, and in this way flooding
Venice with small landscapes. The exact spot occupied by his _bottega_
is said to be at the corner of the Palazzo Reale, opposite the Clock
Tower. The house in which he died still exists in the Campiello della
Madonna, No. 5433, Parrocchia S. Canziano, and has a shrine dedicated to
the Madonna attached to it. When quite an old man, Guardi paid a visit
to the home of his ancestors, at Mastellano in the Austrian Tyrol, and
made a drawing of Castello Corvello on the route. To this day his name
is remembered with pride in his Tyrolean valley.
SOME WORKS OF GUARDI
Bergamo. Lochis: Landscapes.
Berlin. Grand Canal; Lagoon; Cemetery Island.
London. Views in Venice.
Milan. Museo Civico: Landscapes.
Poldi-Pezzoli: Piazzetta; Dogana; Landscapes.
Oxford. Taylorian Museum: Views in Venice.
Padua. Views in Venice.
Paris. Procession of the Doge to S. Zaccaria; Embarkment in
Bucentaur; Festival at Salute; "Jeudi Gras" in Venice;
Corpus Christi; Sala di Collegio; Coronation of Doge.
Turin. Cottage; Staircase; Bridge over Canal.
Venice. Museo Correr: The Ridotto; Parlour of Convent.
Verona. Landscapes.
Wallace Collection. The Rialto; San Giorgio Maggiore (two);
S. Maria della Salute; Archway in Venice; Vaulted Arcades;
The Dogana.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
It is an advantage to the student of Italian art to be able to read
French, German, and Italian, for though translations appear of the most
important works, there are many interesting articles and monographs of
minor artists which are otherwise inaccessible.
Vasari, not always trustworthy, either in dates, facts, or opinions, yet
delightfully human in his histories, is indispensable, and new editions
and translations are constantly issued. Sansoni's edition (Florence),
with Milanesi's notes, is the most authoritative; and for translations,
those of Mrs. Foster (Messrs. Blashfield and Hopkins), and a new edition
in the Temple classics (Dent, 8 vols., 2s. each vol.).
Ridolfi, the principal contemporary authority on Venetian artists, who
published his _Maraviglie dell' arte_ nine years after Domenico
Tintoretto's death, is only to be read in Italian, though the anecdotes
with which his work abounds are made use of by every writer.
Crowe and Cavalcaselle's _Painting in North Italy_ (Murray) is a
storehouse of painstaking, minute, and, on the whole, marvellously
correct information and sound opinion. It supplies a foundation, fills
gaps, and supplements individual biographies as no other book does. For
the early painters, down to the time of the Bellini, _I Origini dei
pittori veneziani_, by Professor Leonello Venturi, Venice, 1907, is a
large book, written with mastery and insight, and well illustrated; _La
Storia della pittura veneziana_ is another careful work, which deals
very minutely with the early school of mosaics.
In studying the Bellini, the late Mr. S. A. Strong has _The Brothers
Bellini_ (Bell's Great Masters), and the reader should not fail to read
Mr. Roger Fry's _Bellini_ (Artist's Library), a scholarly monograph,
short but reliable, and full of suggestion and appreciation, though
written in a cool, critical spirit. Dr. Hills has dealt ably with
_Pisanello_ (Duckworth).
Molmenti and Ludwig in their monumental work _Vittore Carpaccio_,
translated by Mr. R. H. Cust (Murray, 1907), and Paul Kristeller in the
equally important _Mantegna_, translated by Mr. S. A. Strong (Longmans,
1901), seem to have exhausted all that there is to be said for the
moment concerning these two painters.
It is almost superfluous to mention Mr. Berenson's two well-known
volumes, _The Venetian Painters of the Renaissance_, and the _North
Italian Painters of the Renaissance_ (Putnam). They are brilliant essays
which supplement every other work, overflowing with suggestive and
critical matter, supplying original thoughts, and summing up in a few
pregnant words the main features and the tendencies of the succeeding
stages.
In studying Giorgione, we cannot dispense with Pater's essay, included
in _The Renaissance_. The author is not always well informed as to
facts--he wrote in the early days of criticism--but he is rich in idea
and feeling. Mr. Herbert Cook's _Life of Giorgione_ (Bell's Great
Masters) is full and interesting. Some authorities question his
attributions as being too numerous, but whether we regard them as
authentic works of the master or as belonging to his school, the
illustrations he gives add materially to our knowledge of the
Giorgionesque.
When we come to Titian we are well off. Crowe and Cavalcaselle's _Life
of Titian_ (Murray, out of print), in two large volumes, is well written
and full of good material, from which subsequent writers have borrowed.
An excellent Life, full of penetrating criticism, by Mr. C. Ricketts,
was lately brought out by Methuen (Classics of Art), complete with
illustrations, and including a minute analysis of Titian's technique.
Sir Claude Phillips's Monograph on Titian will appeal to every thoughtful
lover of the painter's genius, and Dr. Gronau has written a good and
scholarly Life (Duckworth).
Mr. Berenson's _Lorenzo Lotto_ must be read for its interest and
learning, given with all the author's charm and lucidity. It includes an
essay on Alvise Vivarini.
My own _Tintoretto_ (Methuen, Classics of Art) gives a full account of
the man and his work, and especially deals exhaustively with the scheme
and details of the Scuola di San Rocco. Professor Thode has written a
detailed and profusely illustrated Life of Tintoretto in the Knackfuss
Series, and the Paradiso has been treated at length and illustrated
in great detail in a very scholarly _édition de luxe_ by Mr. F. O.
Osmaston. It is the fashion to discard Ruskin, but though we may allow
that his judgments are exaggerated, that he reads more into a picture
than the artist intended, and that he is too fond of preaching sermons,
there are few critics who have so many ideas to give us, or who are so
informed with a deep love of art, and both _Modern Painters_ and the
_Stones of Venice_ should be read.
M. Charles Yriarte has written a Life of Paolo Veronese, which is full
of charm and knowledge. It is interesting to take a copy of Boschini's
_Della pittura veneziana_, 1797, when visiting the galleries, the
palaces, and the churches of Venice. His lists of the pictures, as they
were known in his day, often open our eyes to doubtful attributions.
Second-hand copies of Boschini are not difficult to pick up. When the
later-century artists are reached, a good sketch of the Venice of their
period is supplied by Philippe Monnier's delightful _Venice in the
Eighteenth Century_ (Chatto and Windus), which also has a good chapter
on the lesser Venetian masters. The best Life of Tiepolo is in Italian,
by Professor Pompeo Molmenti. The smaller masters have to be hunted for
in many scattered essays; a knowledge of Goldoni adds point to Longhi's
pictures. Canaletto and his nephew, Belotto, have been treated by M.
Uzanne, _Les Deux Canaletto_; and Mr. Simonson has written an important
and charming volume on Francesco Guardi (Methuen, 1904), with beautiful
reproductions of his works. Among other books which give special
information are Morelli's two volumes, _Italian Painters in Borghese and
Doria Pamphili_, and _In Dresden and Munich Galleries_, translated by
Miss Jocelyn ffoulkes (Murray); and Dr. J. P. Richter's magnificent
catalogue of the Mond Collection--which, though published at fifteen
guineas, can be seen in the great art libraries--has some valuable
chapters on the Venetian masters.
INDEX
Academy, Florence, 28
Venice, 13, 16, 19, 32, 36, 38, 40, 43, 47, 52,
57, 67, 80, 102, 116, 117, 171, 183, 196, 202,
205, 206, 210, 211, 217, 219, 226, 227, 242,
262, 267, 271, 277, 281, 286, 295, 296, 308,
313, 320
Adoration of Magi, 28, 31, 116, 131, 197, 205, 287
Adoration of Shepherds, 116, 196, 222,
273, 275
Agnolo Gaddi, 15
Alemagna, Giovanni, 29-32, 36, 37, 58
Altichiero, 24, 25
Alvise Vivarini, 58-63, 65, 66, 69, 79,
104, 105, 112, 187, 190, 223, 330
Amalteo, Pomponio, 219
Amigoni, 292
Anconæ, 12, 17, 18, 24, 36, 45, 59, 60, 187
Angelico, Fra, 48
Annunciation, 16, 26, 45, 178, 183, 258, 286
Antonello da Messina, 50, 51, 59, 62, 66
Antonio da Murano, 29, 31, 32, 36, 37, 58
Antonio Negroponte, 37, 44
Antonio Veneziano, 15
Aretino, 163, 166, 167, 172-174, 182, 192,
201, 234, 236, 240
Ascension, 41
Augsburg, 176, 266, 276
Badile, 229
Balestra, 287
Baptism of Christ, 41, 98, 255
Bartolommeo Vivarini, 32, 36, 37, 38, 48, 58, 59,
64, 189, 223, 225
Basaiti, Marco, 104, 111-116
Bassano, 10, 247, 269-276, 282
Bastiani, Lazzaro, 70, 73, 79
Battoni, Pompeo, 297, 298
Bellini, Gentile, 48-57, 68, 70, 81, 83, 89, 90,
99, 101, 103, 146
Bellini, Giovanni, 10, 43, 48, 55, 61, 62, 63, 69,
78, 81, 82, 84-89, 90, 92, 94-101, 103, 104,
107, 109, 112-114, 122, 123, 127, 129, 130,
134, 140, 146, 147, 152, 155, 158, 159, 179,
186, 187, 223, 225, 318, 329, 330
Bellini, Jacopo, 27, 28, 39-43, 58, 81-84, 86
Belotto, 315, 319-331
Bembo, Cardinal, 97, 111, 174, 240
Benson, Mr., 47, 80, 116, 117, 143
Berenson, Mr., 156, 187, 195, 210, 221, 229, 243,
307, 330
Bergamo, 101, 114, 116, 117, 141, 143, 185, 188,
190, 196, 211, 219, 226, 227, 276, 308, 313, 328
Berlin, 19, 32, 35, 47, 57, 66, 80, 101, 115-117,
139, 182, 196, 211, 223, 226, 227, 266, 308, 328
Bissolo, 104, 114, 115, 117
Blanc, M. Charles, 240, 288, 298
Bologna, 36, 38, 60, 167, 288, 309
Bonifazio, 203-206, 210, 243, 245, 250, 270, 281, 310
Bonsignori, 224, 275
Bordone, Paris, 203, 206, 208-211, 219, 231, 290
Borghese, Villa, 154, 188, 194, 197, 331
Boschini, 104, 282, 287, 331
Boston, 139
Botticelli, 127, 159
Brera, 47, 57, 101, 115, 117, 143, 194, 205, 209,
211, 251, 304
Brescia, 182, 196, 219, 220, 222, 226, 227
Bridgewater House, 182, 211
British Museum, 41, 263
Broker's patent, 130, 169, 248
Brusasorci, 229
Buonconsiglio, 223, 224
Burckhardt, 298
_Burlington Magazine_, 18
Byzantine art, 11, 13, 21
Calderari, 219
Carlevaris, Luca, 292, 315
Caliari, Carlotto, 282
Caliari, Paolo. _See_ Veronese
Campagnola, Domenico, 151
Canal, Fabio, 307
Canale, Gian Antonio, 292, 298, 314-320, 322, 331
Canaletto. _See_ Canale
Caravaggio, 288
Cariani, 141-143, 204
Carpaccio, 68, 70, 71, 73, 74, 76, 79, 80, 103,
122, 123, 146, 191
Carracci, 88, 288, 298
Carriera. _See_ Rosalba Carriera
Castagno, Andrea del, 27, 48
Castello, Milan, 51
Catena, Vincenzo, 104, 108-111, 114, 202, 206
Cathedrals, Ascoli, 47
Bassano, 270, 276
Conegliano, 115
Cremona, 215, 220, 226
Murano, 109
Spilimbergo, 226
Treviso, 183, 211, 215, 226
Verona, 183, 227
Celesti, 287
Chelsea Hospital, 289
Churches--
Bergamo.
S. Alessandro, 117, 196
S. Bartolommeo, 188
S. Bernardino, 190
S. Spirito, 114, 117, 196
Brescia.
S. Clemente, 227
SS. Nazaro e Celso, 182
Castelfranco.
S. Liberale, 132
S. Daniele.
S. Antonino, 212, 214, 226
Padua.
Eremitani, 48, 83, 224
Il Santo, 25, 227
S. Giustina, 220, 242
S. Maria in Vanzo, 276
S. Zeno, 48
Pesaro.
S. Francesco, 102
Piacenza.
Madonna di Campagna, 216
Ravenna.
S. Domenico, 117
Rome.
S. Maria del Popolo, 200
S. Pietro in Montorio, 200, 202
Venice.
S. Alvise, 304
SS. Apostoli, 307, 308
S. Barnabà, 242
Carmine, 107, 116, 197
S. Cassiano, 267
SS. Ermagora and Fortunato, 245
S. Fava, 288, 308
S. Francesco della Vigna, 37, 38, 242
Gesuati, 296
S. Giacomo dell' Orio, 197, 277
S. Giobbe, 67, 78, 92, 95, 113
S. Giorgio Maggiore, 259, 263, 267
S. Giovanni in Bragora, 17, 38, 64, 67, 98,
106, 116, 211
S. Giovanni Crisostomo, 98, 102
S. Giovanni Elemosinario, 168, 287
SS. Giovanni and Paolo, 53, 101, 116
S. Maria Formosa, 31, 38, 196
S. Maria dei Frari, 38, 65, 67, 92, 93, 102,
112, 157, 161, 180, 183, 219, 275, 307
S. Maria Mater Domini, 109, 116, 267
S. Maria dei Miracoli, 20
S. Maria dell' Orto, 102, 106, 116, 249, 267
S. Maria della Salute, 173, 262, 267, 317, 324, 325
S. Mark's, 14, 19, 27, 49, 53, 247, 287
S. Pantaleone, 30, 285, 287
Pietà, 221, 227, 308
S. Pietro in Castello, 287, 296
S. Pietro in Murano, 92, 93
S. Polo, 259, 267
Redentore, 63, 64, 67, 117
S. Rocco, 267, 296
S. Salvatore, 178, 183
Scalzi, 308
S. Sebastiano, 230, 236, 241, 242
S. Spirito, 173
S. Stefano, 260, 267
S. Trovaso, 16, 116, 267
S. Vitale, 79, 80
S. Zaccaria, 17, 97, 112, 134, 325
Verona.
S. Anastasia, 24, 25, 28, 31, 41
S. Antonio, 24, 28
S. Fermo, 26, 28
S. Tomaso, 296
Vicenza.
S. Corona, 98, 102, 227
Monte Berico, 105, 223, 224, 227, 242
Cima da Conegliano, 66, 98, 99, 103-108, 123, 322
Colombini, 319
Confraternity, Carità, 171
S. Mark, 69, 206, 245
Contarini, Giovanni, 287
Cook, Sir F., 183
Cook, Mr. Herbert, 330
Correggio, 189, 300
Correr Museum (Museo Civico), 19, 79, 84, 87, 102,
117, 287, 311, 313, 326
Crivelli, Carlo, 38, 44-47, 189
Crowe and Cavalcaselle, 215, 329, 330
Crucifixion, 25, 41, 84, 255, 256, 262
Dante, 264
David, 297, 313
Doges--
Barbarigo, 93
Dandolo, 11
Giustiniani, 49
Gradenigo, 206
Grimani, 170
Loredano, 100, 109
Mocenigo, 325
Donatello, 34, 82, 87
Doria Gallery, 194, 331
Dresden, 139, 182, 196, 210, 211, 242, 266, 276,
294, 296, 320
Dürer, Albert, 59, 99, 150
Edwards, Pietro, 323, 325
Este, 305
Este, Isabela d', 96, 97, 159, 229
Fabriano, Gentile da, 19, 21, 25, 27, 28, 30, 31,
33, 39, 42, 62
Florence, 4, 9, 21, 22, 28, 101, 117, 122, 123,
139, 182, 197, 202, 211, 242, 266
Florentine, 3, 5, 7, 35, 121, 122, 125, 135, 153,
199, 200, 251
Florigerio, 217
Fondaco dei Tedeschi, 129, 130, 147
Fragonard, 33
Fry, Mr. Roger, 85, 89, 330
Fumiani, Gianbattista, 285, 286
Gaston de Foix, 222
Giambono, Michele, 17, 18, 27
Giordano, Luca, 285
Giorgione, 10, 65, 97, 113, 125, 126-135, 137,
139-142, 147-149, 152-155, 166, 177, 179,
184-187, 193, 206, 210, 213, 214, 216, 219,
222, 310, 330
Giotto, 4, 11, 15, 24, 33, 86
Goldoni, Carlo, 312, 331
Goncourt, de, 313
Guardi, Francesco, 298, 321-324, 326, 328, 331
Guariento, 15, 17, 62, 122
Guercino, 297
Guido, 297
Guilds, 12, 16, 22, 23, 29, 39, 75, 198, 251
Guillaume de Guilleville, 94
Hampton Court, 143, 210, 211, 219, 266, 289, 320
Hazlitt, 6, 8
Hogarth, 289, 312
Jacobello del Fiore, 16, 19, 27, 164
Jacopo Bellini. _See_ Bellini
Kristeller, M. Paul, 330
Lancret, 311
Last Judgment, 238
Last Supper, 237, 208, 259
Layard, Lady, 50, 57, 80, 116
Lazzarini, Gregorio, 286, 287, 296, 300
Leonardo, 122, 127, 136, 140, 159, 162
Liberi, Pietro, 285, 287, 295
Licinio, Bernardino, 218
Licinio, G. A. _See_ Pordenone
Lippo, Fra, 48
London (National Gallery), 47, 57, 66, 100, 101,
115-117, 133, 141, 143, 156, 159, 182, 197,
201, 202, 208, 211, 218, 221, 222, 226, 227,
242, 261, 266, 276, 308, 313, 320, 328
Longhi, Pietro, 288, 298, 309-313
Lorenzo di San Severino, 46
Lorenzo Veneziano, 16, 17, 19
Loreto, 193, 197
Lotto, Lorenzo, 172, 186, 187-196, 204, 222, 224,
275, 330
Louvre, 40, 41, 43, 50, 57, 66, 115-117, 143, 161,
165, 177, 178, 182, 196, 202, 211, 233, 235,
242, 266, 277, 297, 308, 320, 328
Luciani. _See_ Sebastian del Piombo
Ludwig, Professor, 94, 203, 330
Madrid, 139, 150, 182, 264, 266, 302, 304
Mansueti, Giovanni, 56, 79
Mantegna, 39, 42, 49, 58, 59, 77, 84, 96, 159, 215,
223, 224, 300, 318, 330
Marieschi, 319
Martino da Udine. _See_ Pellegrino
Maser, Villa, 231, 242
Masolino, 41
Mengs, Raphael, 302
Michelangelo, 110, 121, 122, 137, 164, 174, 199,
200-202, 244, 249, 300
Milan, Ambrosiana, 66, 116, 275, 276
Brera. _See_ Brera
Mocetto, Girolamo, 225
Molmenti, Professor, 330, 331
Mond Collection, 18, 20, 47, 49, 101
Monnier, Philippe, 306, 331
Montagna, Bartolommeo, 105, 114, 222-224, 270
Morelli, 177, 203, 331
Moretto, 221, 222
Morto da Feltre, 130, 214
Munich, 116, 183
Murano, 29, 102, 116, 217, 226
Museo Civico. _See_ Correr
Naples, 50, 57, 66, 102, 183
National Gallery. _See_ London
Niccolo di Pietro, 16, 17, 20
Niccolo Semitocolo, 16, 17, 19
Osmaston, Mr. F. O., 331
Padovanino, Il, 286, 196
Padua, 19, 28, 34-37, 49, 59, 82, 86, 87, 116, 151,
155, 183, 223, 226, 227, 242, 272, 276
Palaces--
Milan.
Archinto, 301, 308
Clerici, 301
Dugnani, 301, 304
Rome.
Colonna, 196
Strà.
Pisani, 302
Venice.
Ducal, 15, 87, 90, 102, 109, 114-117, 170, 183,
211, 235, 236, 242, 260, 265, 267, 269, 272,
277, 281, 295, 308, 316
Giovanelli, 136
Labia, 304, 308
Rezzonico, 308
Verona.
Canossa, 302
Würzburg, 301, 308
Palma Giovine, 285, 287, 295
Palma Vecchio, 141, 184-188, 196, 203, 204, 214,
219, 231, 244
Paolo da Venezia, 14
Paris. _See_ Louvre
Parma, 115
Pellegrino, 213, 214, 219, 226
Pennacchi, 104, 214
Perugino, 133, 134, 202
Pesaro, 90, 94, 102
Pesellino, 48
Piacenza, 216, 226
Piero di Cosimo, 135
Pietà, 86, 87, 179, 199, 223, 224
Pintoricchio, 74, 135
Pisanello (Pisano), 21, 22, 24-28, 31, 33, 34, 37,
39-42, 62, 224, 330
Pordenone, 169, 170, 202, 204, 214-221, 226
Previtali, 104, 114, 115
Quirizio da Murano, 37
Raphael, 140, 161, 174, 200, 213, 221, 234
Ravenna, 117, 132
Rembrandt, 285
Ricci, Battista, 288, 300
Ricci, Marco, 315
Ricci, Sebastiano, 148, 288, 292, 296, 315
Richter, Dr. J. P., 331
Ricketts, Mr. C., 330
Ridolfi, 108, 229, 234, 247, 282, 287, 329
Rimini, 87, 89, 102
Robusti, Domenico, 246, 282
Robusti, Jacopo. _See_ Tintoretto
Robusti, Marietta, 246
Romanino, 219-221
Rome, 143, 183, 188, 196, 197, 202, 211, 227, 267,
277, 314, 319
Rondinelli, 104, 114, 117
Rosalba Carriera, 288, 292-294, 296
Rubens, 160, 165, 170, 285
Ruskin, 264, 331
Sansovino, 92, 167, 174, 192
Santa Croce, Girolamo da, 56
Sarto, Andrea del, 137, 140
Savoldo, 66, 222
Sebastian del Piombo, 140, 198, 199-202, 228
Siena, 4, 11, 12
Signorelli, 121
Simonson, Mr., 322, 326, 331
Smith, Joseph, 315, 323
Speranza, 223
Spilimbergo, 216, 226
Strong, Mr. S. A., 329, 330
Taylor, Miss Cameron, 94
Tiepolo, Domenico, 307
Tiepolo, G. B., 10, 297-307, 309, 312, 314, 315,
317, 318, 331
Tintoretto, 10, 15, 25, 173, 179, 181, 210, 231,
234, 243, 245-251, 253-256, 258-267, 269, 273,
276, 281, 282, 285, 300, 317, 330, 331
Titian, 65, 106, 130, 135, 137, 143, 144-160,
162-178, 180, 181, 183, 184, 186, 187, 191-193,
201, 204, 205, 210, 215, 217, 220, 221, 224,
231, 236, 239, 243-245, 250, 256, 265, 273-275,
281, 290, 318, 321, 330
Torbido, Francesco, 225
Treviso, 108, 183, 186, 202, 211, 215, 226, 239
Uccello, Paolo, 26, 42, 48
Urbino, 163, 168, 174
Uzanne, M. O., 331
Valmarana, Villa, 303
Varotari. _See_ Padovanino
Vasari, 15, 89, 130, 148, 169, 170, 174, 178, 199,
209, 219, 225, 247, 329
Vecellio. _See_ Titian
Vecellio, Marco, 171
Vecellio, Orazio, 164, 174
Vecellio, Pomponio, 166
Velasquez, 285
Venice. _See_ Academy
Venturi, Professor Antonio, 40
Venturi, Professor Leonello, vi, 38, 329
Verona, 22, 24, 25, 28, 183, 227, 229, 242, 302,
315, 328
Veronese, Paolo, 221, 228, 230-242, 247, 253, 269,
281, 283, 310, 331
Vicentino, 287
Vicenza, 57, 102, 185, 227, 242-277, 296, 303, 307
Vienna, 67, 80, 110, 116, 117, 131, 143, 149, 183,
196, 197, 211, 242, 268, 277, 320
Visentini, 319
Viterbo, 202
Vivarini. _See_ Alvise
Vivarini. _See_ Bartolommeo
Wallace Collection, 183, 320, 328
Walpole, Horace, 292, 294, 319
Watteau, 297, 311, 312
Wickhoff, Dr., 154
Windsor, 47, 320
Yriarte, M. Charles, 229, 331
Zanetti, 129, 148, 246, 269, 282, 283, 301
Zelotti, 230
Zoppo, Marco, 44
Zucchero, Federigo, 236
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