This great painter was born at Antwerp, in 1460, and followed the trade
of a blacksmith and farrier, till he approached manhood. His health at
that time was feeble, and rendered him unfit for so laborious a pursuit;
he therefore undertook to execute lighter work. He constructed an iron
railing around a well near the great church of Antwerp, which was
greatly admired for its delicacy and the devices with which it was
ornamented. He also executed an iron balustrade for the college of
Louvain, which displayed extraordinary taste and skill.
His father had died, when he was young, leaving him and his mother
entirely destitute. Notwithstanding his feeble constitution, he was
obliged to support both himself and her. While necessity thus urged him,
his taste guided his efforts toward works of art. At Louvain there was
an annual procession of lepers, who were accustomed to distribute little
images of saints upon that occasion. Matsys devoted himself to the
making of these, in which he was very successful.
[Illustration: MATSYS' WELL, AT ANTWERP.]
He had now reached the age of twenty, when it appears that he fell in
love with the daughter of a painter, of some cleverness, in Antwerp. His
affection was returned, but when he applied to the father to obtain his
consent to their union, he was answered by a flat refusal, and the
declaration, that no man but a painter, as good as himself, should wed
his daughter. Matsys endeavored in vain to overcome this resolution, and
finally, despairing of other means to accomplish the object which now
engrossed his whole soul, he determined to become a painter. The
difficulties in his way vanished before that confidence which genius
inspires, and taking advantage of his leisure hours, he began to
instruct himself secretly in the art of painting. His progress was
rapid, and the time of his triumph speedily approached.
He was one day on a visit to his mistress, where he found a picture on
the easel of her father, and nearly finished. The old man was absent,
and Quentin, seizing the pencil, painted a bee upon a flower in the
foreground of the painting, and departed. The artist soon returned, and
in sitting down to his picture, immediately discovered the insect, which
had so strangely intruded itself upon his canvass. It was so life-like
as to make it seem a real insect, that had been deceived by the mimic
flower, and had just alighted upon it. The artist was in raptures, for
it appears that he had a heart to appreciate excellence, even if it was
not his own. He inquired of his daughter who had painted the bee. Though
the details of the interview which followed are not handed down to us,
we may be permitted to fill up the scene.
_Father._ Tell me, child, who painted the insect?
_Daughter._ Who painted the insect? Really, how should I know?
_F._ You ought to know,--you must know. It was not one of my pupils. It
is beyond them all.
_D._ Is it as good as you could have done yourself, father?
_F._ Yes; I never painted anything better in my life. It is like
nature's own work, it is so light, so true; on my soul, I was deceived
at first, and was about to brush the insect away with my handkerchief.
_D._ And so, father, you think it is as well as you could have done
yourself?
_F._ Yes.
_D._ Well, I will send for Quentin Matsys; perhaps he can tell you who
did it.
_F._ Aye, girl, is that it? Did Quentin do it? Then he is a clever
fellow, and shall marry you.
Whether such a dialogue as this actually took place, we cannot say; but
it appears that Quentin's acknowledged excellence as an artist soon won
the painter's consent, and he married the daughter. From this time he
devoted his life to the art which love alone had at first induced him to
pursue. He soon rose to the highest rank in his profession, and has left
behind him an enduring fame. Though he was destitute of early education,
and never had the advantage of studying the great masters of the Italian
school, he rivalled, in some respects, even their best productions. His
designs were correct and true to nature, and his coloring was forcible.
His pictures are now scarce and command great prices. One of them,
called the Two Misers, is in the Royal Gallery of Windsor, England, and
is greatly admired. Matsys died at Antwerp, in 1529.
[Illustration]