Peter was sleeping between two soldiers, bound with two
chains; and the keepers before the door kept the prison. And
behold, the angel of the Lord came upon him, and a light
shined in the prison; and he smote Peter on the side, and
raised him up, saying, 'Arise up quickly.' And his chains
fell off from his hands. And the angel said unto him, 'Gird
thyself, and bind on thy sandals.' And so he did. And he
saith unto him, 'Cast thy garment about thee, and follow
me.' And he went out, and followed him, and wist not that it
was true which was done by the angel; but thought he saw a
vision."[6]
[Footnote 6: Acts of the Apostles, chapter xii., verses 4-9.]
There is a succession of scenes in this story, and as the window runs
up into the wall, it gave Raphael an opportunity to distribute the
successive incidents in the three divisions thus formed. Over the
window, accordingly, is the scene of the awakening of Peter. The
angel, surrounded by a blaze of light, comes and smites the sleeping
apostle on the side, but his action also indicates that he raises him
and points to the door. Peter is shown bound by two chains, each
fastening him to one of the soldiers, who are both asleep at their
posts. The bars through which we see the scene are the prison bars.
At the right of the window, the angel is shown leading Peter past the
guards, who are asleep on the steps. The prison is indicated by the
thick wall and solid masonry, by the side of which the two figures are
passing. The soldiers by their attitude show how sound asleep they
are,--one stretched out at half length, trying to look as if he were
awake, the other with his head fallen forward, and his hands clasped
over his shield.
[Illustration: THE LIBERATION OF PETER
_Vatican Palace, Rome_]
In both of these scenes, the apostle is marked by the sign of the
nimbus, which we saw in the first picture, the Madonna of the
Chair. But if you look narrowly, you will see that Raphael has added
that other sign by which Peter is distinguished. He carries a great
key. The reason is to be found in the words of our Lord to him as
recorded in the Gospel of Matthew, the sixteenth chapter and
nineteenth verse. The key is a most fitting symbol here, for it seems
to imply that the apostle is himself opening the gates of his prison
house. The angel holds his hand, as an older person might lead a child
in the dark. Peter is too dazed to know what has really happened.
On the left is depicted the moment when the guards are awakened and
discover that their prisoner has escaped. It is an animated scene
illustrating the simple words of the gospel narrative: "Now as soon as
it was day, there was no small stir among the soldiers, what was
become of Peter." A man with a torch tells by his gesture that
something extraordinary has happened, and the one whom he arouses
shows by his face and his uplifted hand how startled he is; the light
from the torch is too dazzling for another just awakened, and the last
of all appears to be the one whom we saw asleep over his shield.
Even in this very inadequate copy of a great painting, we can see what
is the noblest and most pervading beauty. It is the treatment of
light. The angel appears in the compartment over the window in a blaze
of light, and this light illuminates all the other figures. So it is
in the right-hand division, and Peter especially shows it, for the
side away from the angel is scarcely to be made out in the gloom. In
the left-hand division, the torch, the moon struggling through the
clouds, and the breaking of the dawn diffuse a light over the whole
scene.
It is as if Raphael meant to make it clear that the supernatural light
from the angel was brighter and more intense than the light which
falls from natural means. Thus the Liberation of Peter, like the
Expulsion of Heliodorus, keeps in mind the power of the divine over
the human. Some have thought, besides, that Raphael had in his thought
the recent delivery from captivity of Leo X., the Pope who succeeded
Pope Julius II., for the decoration of the Heliodorus Room was done
successively under these two popes.
VII
THE HOLY FAMILY OF FRANCIS I
There are a great many pictures by the old masters representing what
is known as the Holy Family. This is a group consisting of the mother
and child, with one or more additional figures. The third figure is
sometimes the infant John the Baptist, or it may be Joseph the husband
of Mary; a fourth figure is likely to be St. Elizabeth, the mother of
John the Baptist, and sometimes all five of these are shown in a
group.
That is the case with the painting of The Holy Family by Raphael,
which is now in the Louvre gallery in Paris, and is called The Holy
Family of Francis the First, because Raphael painted the picture for
that king of France. It is not difficult to make out the several
figures, for the painter has followed the natural order.
The light falls chiefly on the child Jesus, who is springing up, as
Mary lifts him from his cradle. His happy, joyous face is raised with
a glad smile to the down-glancing mother. She has eyes only for him,
and into her face there has come a look of sweet gravity which helps
one to see that this is more than the play of a mother and child.
Eagerly reaching forward to the golden-haired Jesus is the swarthy
John the Baptist, his hands folded in the gesture of prayer, the cross
which he carries as the herald of Jesus leaning against his breast,
and a look of bright wonder in his face.
Leaning over and holding him is his mother, Elizabeth, whom the great
painters were wont to figure as an old woman, after the description of
her in the gospel as "well stricken in years." She also gazes down at
her child with a like expression of deep feeling, as if she always
carried about in her mind the wonderful scenes which attended his
birth.
Behind the group is Joseph, the husband of Mary, in an attitude which
is very common in the old pictures. He rarely seems to be a part of
the group. He stands a little way off looking on, with a thoughtful
air, as if he were the guardian of this pair. Sometimes he is shown
with a staff or crutch, and it may be that here he rests his elbow on
it, while his head leans upon his half-closed hand.
All these are distinguished by the nimbus which encircles the head of
a sacred person, but the two other figures in the picture have no
nimbus, for they are angels, as may be seen by the outstretched wing
of one of them, and by the pure unearthly expression on their faces.
One of these angels strews flowers over the child; the other, with
hands crossed on the breast, is rapt in adoration.
[Illustration: THE HOLY FAMILY OF FRANCIS I.
_The Louvre, Paris_]
There is an opening which shows the sky, and it almost seems as if the
angels with crossed hands were listening to some divine melody that
came in with the angelic visitors. The whole scene is bathed in
light, and the longer we look the more we see the beauty of the lines
which flow in the picture as if to some heavenly music. All is action
save in the grave, contemplative figure of Joseph; and his serious,
resting attitude by its contrast makes more evident the leaping child,
the mother half stooping to lift him, John the Baptist pressing
forward and Elizabeth gently restraining him, with the two flying,
radiant angels.
The power which a great painting has over us often makes us ask, How
did the painter do this? did he think of everything beforehand? did he
paint the picture bit by bit, or did he rapidly sketch it all as he
meant to have it, and then at leisure fill in the parts, and add this
or that?
We know something of how painters work, and of the labor which they
sometimes put into their pictures, rubbing out and painting over. A
great master like Raphael always gives a sense of ease to his work, as
though it cost him nothing. But we know also that he took the greatest
pains as he took the greatest delight in his work.
It happens that there exist drawings made by Raphael when he was
preparing to paint this very picture, and it is interesting to see how
he went to work. He has a young woman in his studio take just the
attitude which a mother would take who was about to lift her child.
That he may be sure to draw the form correctly, he has her dress not
fall below her knee, and she has bare arms. In this way he will know
just how the arm and the knee will bend, and how the muscles will
show. Then he makes another drawing with the dress falling to the
ground, but with the arm bare. Finally he draws the arm with the
sleeve over it.
It was by such studies that he made sure of drawing correctly. They
are like exercises in grammar. But when he came to paint his picture,
he had not to think much about the correctness of his drawing; his
whole mind was intent upon making his peasant girl look as he imagined
the Virgin Mary to look.
VIII
ST. CATHERINE OF ALEXANDRIA
This is the legend of St. Catherine.
She was the daughter of King Costis and his wife Sabinella, who was
herself the daughter of the king of Egypt. When she came into the
world, a glory of light was seen to play around her head, and when she
was yet a little child, she gave such signs of wisdom that she was a
wonder to all about the court of Egypt. When she was no more than
fourteen years old, she was a marvel of learning. She could have
answered all the hard questions the Queen of Sheba asked Solomon, and
she knew her Plato by heart.
At this time her father died, and so Catherine became queen; but this
did not change her way of living. She read her books and shut herself
up in the palace to study. Now this did not please her nobles, and
they besought her to take a husband who should help her rule the
people, and who should lead them in war. At this the girl asked
them:--
"What manner of man is this that I must marry?" And one of the nobles
made answer:--
"Madam, you are our sovereign lady and queen, and all the world knows
that you have four notable gifts. First, you are come of the most
noble blood in the whole world; second, you have a great inheritance
in your kingdom; third, you surpass all persons living in knowledge;
and fourth, you are most beautiful. So, then, you must needs take a
husband that you may have an heir who shall be the comfort and joy of
your people."
"Is it indeed so?" said the young queen. "Then, if God has given me
such gifts, I am the more bound to love him and please him, and set
small store by my wisdom and beauty and riches and birth. He that
shall be my husband must also possess four notable gifts. He must be
of so noble blood, that all men shall worship him, and so great that I
shall never think I have made him king; so rich, that he will surpass
all others in riches; so full of beauty, that the angels of God will
desire to behold him; and so benign, that he will gladly forgive all
wrong done unto him. Find me such an one, and I will make him lord of
my heart."
Now there was a certain hermit who dwelt in the desert about two days'
journey from Alexandria, and the Virgin Mary appeared to him and bade
him go and tell Catherine to fear not, for she should have a heavenly
bridegroom, even her Son, who was greater than any monarch of the
world, being himself the King of Glory, and the Lord of all power.
[Illustration: ST. CATHERINE OF ALEXANDRIA
_National Gallery, London_]
Until now the young queen had been a heathen, but when the hermit
showed her a picture of the Lord Christ, she was so filled with wonder
and devotion that she forgot her books and her learning and could
think only of him. And thus it came about that she had a strange
dream, in which she dreamt that she was brought to the Lord, and he
said, "She is not fair or beautiful enough for me."
She woke in tears and sent for the hermit, who came and taught her the
Christian faith. She was baptized and her mother Sabinella with her.
Again she had a dream, and this time the Lord smiled on her, and put a
ring on her finger.
So now Catherine despised still more earthly pomp and riches, and
being thus plighted to a heavenly bridegroom, she refused more
steadfastly all the attempts of her nobles to persuade her to be
married. The good Sabinella sustained her in this, but at last died,
and Catherine was now left alone.
Then came the great emperor Maximin, who persecuted the Christians.
And he came to Alexandria and called the Christians together, and
commanded them, on pain of torment, to worship the heathen gods. When
Queen Catherine heard the uproar, she came forth of the palace and
stood before Maximin. She so used her learning, that she silenced the
emperor, and he could make no reply.
Thereupon he ordered fifty of his most famous wise men to dispute with
her. But she answered them so convincingly that they themselves became
Christians, and Maximin was in such a rage that he burned them to
death, yet they did not flinch.
Then did the emperor drag Catherine from her palace and cast her into
a dungeon. But the faithful queen prayed, and angels came and
ministered to her. At the end of twelve days the empress came to
visit her, and found the dungeon filled with light and fragrant with
sweet odors. So she and two hundred of her attendants fell down at the
feet of Catherine and declared themselves Christians.
When Maximin found what had taken place he was filled with fury, and
put to death the empress and all the converts. But he was so overcome
with the beauty of Catherine that he offered to make her empress if
she would forsake Christ.
When Catherine exclaimed: "Shall I forsake my glorious heavenly
bridegroom to unite myself with thee, who art base-born, wicked, and
deformed?" Then Maximin bade his men make four wheels, armed with
sharp points and blades, two turning in one direction, two in another,
so that the tender body of the beautiful queen should be torn asunder.
So they bound her between the wheels, and at the same moment fire came
down from heaven, and the destroying angel broke the wheels in pieces,
which flew off and killed the executioner.
Then Maximin, with his heart of stone, commanded that Catherine be
carried outside the city, and scourged and then beheaded. So it was
done; but when she was dead, angels bore her body over the desert and
over the Red Sea, and laid it away on the top of Mt. Sinai. As for the
tyrant, he was slain in battle, and the vultures devoured him.
In our picture of St. Catherine, and in others like it, she is shown
standing by a wheel. She leans upon it as if ready for martyrdom, and
looks upward as if she saw the fire coming down from heaven.
IX
ST. CECILIA
The legend of St. Cecilia is not so tragic as that of St. Catherine.
According to the story, Cecilia was a beautiful young girl who
belonged to a noble Roman family of the third century.
Her parents were Christians in secret, and they brought her up in the
faith. She was a most devout scholar. Night and day she carried about
with her a roll containing the Gospel, hidden within her robe. She
excelled in music, and turned her good gift to the glory of God; for
she composed hymns which she sang with such sweetness, that it was
said the very angels descended from heaven to join their voices with
hers.
Not only did she sing, but she played also on all instruments; but she
could find none which satisfied her desire to breathe forth the
harmony which dwelt within her, and so she invented a new one, the
forerunner of the organ, and she consecrated it to the service of God.
St. Cecilia like St. Catherine was a martyr, but the executioner who
was to put her to death was so affected by her innocence that his hand
trembled, and the wounds he made did not immediately cause her death.
She lived for three days, and as the story says:--
"She spent (these days) in prayers and exhortations to the
converts, distributing to the poor all she possessed; and she
called to her St. Urban, and desired that her house, in which she
then lay dying, should be converted into a place of worship for
the Christians. Thus, full of faith and charity, and singing with
her sweet voice praises and hymns to the last moment, she died at
the end of three days."
Very naturally, St. Cecilia was taken as the patron saint of
musicians, and is sometimes represented as seated at a modern organ.
In this picture she is shown holding in her hands an instrument of
reeds, which may be taken as the beginning of the organ of later days.
Her eyes are raised, and her head is upturned as she listens to the
choir of angels shown above in the clouds, their lips parted as they
sing from open books. She holds the instrument, but she is so intent
on the music she hears that it seems almost slipping from her hands.
Indeed, some of the tubes are already dropping out of their place; and
as the eye follows them, it rests upon a number of other musical
instruments lying on the ground,--the pipe, the violin, the
tambourine, castanets, and others. It is as if we were shown the
various instruments which she had set aside as not satisfying to her,
and at last were shown her organ itself falling to pieces and dropping
from her hands. So faint and imperfect, the painter seems to say, are
all these forms of earthly music when compared with the heavenly.
[Illustration: ST. CECILIA
_Bologna Gallery_]
St. Cecilia is here in a company of other saints, not indeed of her
day and generation, but chosen by Raphael to give expression to
various ideas and sentiments. St. Paul, the great apostle to the
Gentiles, stands in a thoughtful attitude, one hand carrying a scroll
and resting on the hilt of a sword; for in one of his epistles, he
speaks of "the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." He is
listening, and at the same time looks down upon the instruments as if
he were thinking how his earthly words, too, were dull beside the
voice of the Spirit.
On the opposite side of the picture is Mary Magdalene. She holds the
pot of ointment with which she anointed the feet of Christ, and by the
movement of her feet she seems just to have come into the scene, and
looks out of the picture as if she were bidding us and all other
spectators look on the saint and listen to the angels. Perhaps the
artist, in choosing her for one of his figures, was mindful of the
words of the Lord, who praised her for bringing a precious gift,
without thinking of its worth, simply because she loved him, and
wished to show her devotion. So St. Cecilia poured out her music, the
richest gift she had, not thinking how she could turn it into money
and give it to the poor.
Next to St. Paul, behind him and St. Cecilia, stands the evangelist
St. John. Painters and scholars alike have always seen in this figure
the beloved disciple, the one who leaned on the Lord's breast at the
last supper, and they delight to show him as a young man of refined
and beautiful countenance. His hand, with the parted fingers, seems
to make a gesture bidding one listen, and his face has a look of
rapture. It was natural indeed that Raphael should thus have placed in
the company one whose gospel is full of feeling, the life of Christ
set to music as it were.
Finally, we have St. Augustine, one of the Fathers of the church,
standing in his priestly robe and holding a bishop's crook. He is
apparently exchanging glances with St. John. Perhaps he is designed to
show that the church makes much of music in its service.
If we could see the painting itself with its beautiful color, we
should see even more distinctly not only how Raphael thought out his
design, making his figures all have a harmonious relation to one
another, but how perfectly the composition, in its lines, its light
and color, expresses this musical harmony of heaven and earth.
X
THE TRANSFIGURATION
The Transfiguration is a picture divided into two parts. The lower
part is filled with more figures than the upper and contains more
action. On one side are nine of the disciples of Jesus; on the other
is a crowd of people in company with a father who brings his son to be
healed. He gives an account of his boy's sickness in these words:--
"He is mine only child. And lo! a spirit taketh him, and he
suddenly crieth out; and it teareth him that he foameth
again; and, bruising him, hardly departeth from him."[7]
[Footnote 7: Luke, chapter ix., verses 38, 39.]
The father calls upon the disciples, in the absence of Jesus, to heal
his son. In the company with him, we can make out two women kneeling
by the boy. We think it is the mother who supports him, and looks at
the disciples as she points to her son. How quiet and self-possessed
she is, in contrast to the poor fellow's violence as shown in his
position, and his distorted hands.
She is wholly devoted to him, and the mother shows in her face and
bearing. But the other kneeling woman, who may be his sister, carries
a different expression as she points to the boy. She looks toward the
disciples with a severe and scornful air, as if saying: "What! you
profess to heal the sick, and you can do nothing for this poor
sufferer!"
The figures in the background are crying aloud and stretching out
their arms for aid. One can count the persons, but it looks as if
there were a crowd behind that we do not see, all pressing forward.
On the other side of the picture are the disciples, all eager, with
heads bent forward, and each gesturing to express his meaning. One,
younger than the others, with his hand against his breast, looks at
the father with a pitying but helpless expression, as if he would
gladly help him if he only could. Another has an open book as though
he were trying to find some word of comfort. One is pointing out the
boy to his neighbor, and two in the background seem to be lost in
perplexity.
But, after all, though most of the disciples are thus intent, the eye
quickly notes the action of a figure near the centre, full of fire and
energy, who is pointing upward, away from the group, and calling upon
the father and the women to look that way. And the line of his arm
thrust out is continued by that of another disciple behind him, who
also points upward.
For these two have seen the Lord, and they are bidding the troubled
parents look the same way for help. There, above all this turmoil and
confusion, is a scene of dazzling light, of which they alone seem to
be aware.
[Illustration: THE TRANSFIGURATION
_Vatican Gallery, Rome_]
The upper part of the picture discloses the transfiguration of the
Saviour. As the evangelist tells us, he had taken Peter and James and
John with him, and had gone up into a mountain to pray.
"And as he prayed, the fashion of his countenance was
altered, and his raiment was white and glistering. And,
behold, there talked with him two men, which were Moses and
Elias, who appeared in glory, and spake of his decease which
he should accomplish at Jerusalem. But Peter and they that
were with him were heavy with sleep; and when they were
awake, they saw his glory, and the two men that stood with
him."[8]
[Footnote 8: Luke, chapter ix., verses 29-32.]
The scene shown is at the moment of the awaking of the three
disciples, one not daring to look up again, but bowing his head and
folding his hands in prayer. They are dazzled with the glory. This
glory is a cloud of brightness which envelops the three figures of
Christ, Moses, and Elijah, or as the Greeks called him, Elias. The
Saviour looks heavenward with rapture in his gaze.
On one side are seen two kneeling figures. They are said to stand for
the father and uncle of the Cardinal who ordered the picture from
Raphael. It was the fashion of the day thus to introduce a patron into
a painting, and Raphael has made them as obscure as he well could.
We must not look at this great picture as if it were a panorama, where
a succession of scenes is witnessed, or find fault with it because the
Bible says that the transfiguration took place on one day and the
scene below took place the next day, when Jesus and his disciples had
come down from the mountain. Nor is anything said in the Bible which
would lead us to suppose that Jesus and the prophets were raised above
the ground.
No; what Raphael intended was to draw a contrast between an earthly
scene of suffering and a heavenly scene of peace and serenity; and he
took two scenes which lie next each other in the scripture narrative.
That was his thought, and see how wonderfully he has expressed this
contrast throughout!
There is the dark confusion and helplessness and grief below; above is
a scene of light which is like a vision, and this vision two of the
disciples see; and as we have pointed out, a contrast is made evident
in various parts of the picture. Indeed, the painting is made up of
contrasts; and not the least noticeable is that of the solid mass
below, square shaped, and the light, pyramid-shaped composition above.
The Transfiguration was the last painting to which Raphael set his
brush, and it was still unfinished when he was suddenly stricken with
fever and died. As his body lay in state, in the hall where he had
been working, this great picture was hung at the head, and the people
who came in fell to weeping when they saw it.
XI
PARNASSUS