was himself a painter in glass, whose first wife, Cornelia Kerseboom,
dying without children, he married again one Maria Cuypers, by whom he
had a large family, Anthony being the seventh, a proverbially magic
number. The Vandycks were strenuous adherents of the Church of Rome, and
two of our painter’s sisters became nuns, while one of his brothers took
Holy Orders. Maria Vandyck was a skilful artist in embroidery, her works
being much admired, and she encouraged her boy’s taste for drawing, in
the rudiments of which he received instruction from his father. When
about ten years of age he was placed under the tuition of Henry van
Balen, a much-esteemed painter, who had studied in Italy. Here young
Vandyck remained some time, but he had fixed his heart on becoming the
pupil of his already famous fellow-citizen, Peter Paul Rubens; and that
desire was fulfilled. His remarkable talent and his untiring industry
made him a favourite both with master and scholars, when an incident
happened which brought the youth into prominent notice. It so chanced
that one afternoon, when Rubens was absent, that the students invaded
the sanctity of the private studio, and in the exuberance of animal
spirits began to indulge in some rough play. An unfinished Holy Family
stood on the easel, the colours not yet dry, and in the course of the
‘bear-fight’ one of his companions pushed Van Diepenbeke so heavily
against the precious canvas that the arm of the Magdalene and the head
of the Virgin were nearly effaced, and the colours all smudged. The
general consternation may be easily conceived; a council of war was
held, and the decision arrived at that the most skilful among the
students should endeavour to repair the mischief as best he could. Jan
van Hoeck proposed Vandyck for the work, and the choice was unanimously
approved, for in such a case there was no room for rivalry. Anthony set
to work in right earnest; there was not a moment to be lost. He had but
a few hours of daylight to complete his task, but he accomplished it
before nightfall. Early next morning the dreaded moment arrived. Rubens
entered his studio in order to examine the work of the preceding
evening, when he pronounced the memorable words, which seemed to bestow
a diploma on his young disciple,—‘Why, this looks better than it did
yesterday!’ Then, approaching nearer, he detected the traces of a
strange hand. Investigation and explanation followed, and Vandyck came
in for great praise from the lips of his loved master.
Idle tales have been told of the jealousy subsisting between these two
great painters, while, on the contrary, every recorded instance seems to
prove how close was their friendship. Rubens was most desirous that his
talented pupil should proceed to Italy to study the works of the great
masters, and extend his connection with the world, but in the meantime
Vandyck received an invitation to England. The first visit he paid to
our country was short and unsatisfactory; and there are so many
discrepancies in the accounts given of the work done at that period, and
his reasons for leaving somewhat abruptly, that we refrain from entering
on the subject. From England he proceeded to the Hague, where he painted
portraits of every class and denomination of person, commencing with the
whole family and Court of the Stadtholder, Henry Frederic, including
every member of the illustrious house of Nassau. Nobles, warriors,
statesmen, burghers, all vied for the honour of sitting to him.
In 1622 the news of his father’s illness recalled him to Antwerp. He
arrived just in time to receive that father’s last farewell, and listen
to his last injunctions. Franz Vandyck made his son promise to paint an
altar-piece for the chapel of the Dominican Sisters, who had nursed him
tenderly during his illness,—a pledge nobly redeemed by Anthony, though
the execution was postponed for a time. He then took leave of his
master, to whom he presented, at parting, three pictures, one of which
was the likeness of Rubens’s first wife.
Our painter now set his face towards Italy, but he did not get far on
his road without a hindrance. The story of the little episode we are
about to relate is so differently given, that we only pretend to offer
the most likely version.
At Brussels, where Vandyck tarried, the Infanta Isabella gave him a
commission to paint the mistress of her Highness’s favourite hounds, a
beautiful girl, by the name of Anna von Orphen. We are not told why a
maiden of lowly origin was chosen for a place, though not very exalted,
about Court, unless it were on account of her loveliness. But the
portrait was executed, and Anna appeared, surrounded by her pack, each
dog having its name duly inscribed on the canvas.
The picture is mentioned as being at the castle of Tervueren, near
Brussels, in 1763. Vandyck speedily fell a victim to the charms of the
lovely villager of Saventheim, and at her cottage he whiled away some
months, to the great indignation of Rubens, who continued to write and
expostulate with his former pupil, pointing out to him the value and
importance of the time he was losing. Vandyck, however, was not wholly
idle while at Saventheim; he painted (it is said at the instigation of
his mistress) two pictures: one a Holy Family, in which he introduced
likenesses of Anna and her family, and the other a St. Martin, being his
own portrait, riding a horse which Rubens had given him. The
last-mentioned painting was held in such high estimation by the
inhabitants of Saventheim, that on three separate occasions, at the
interval of many years, the peasantry rose _en masse_ to prevent the
treasure from being carried away, either by fraud or purchase.
At length Rubens hit on an expedient to extricate his friend from the
spells of his rustic Armida. He sent the Chevalier Nanni, who was _en
route_ for Italy, to urge on Vandyck the expediency of accompanying him
thither. The arguments chosen were successful; the lovers parted with
mutual regret. Poor Anna was left disconsolate, and Vandyck set forth on
a journey which was destined to be a triumphal progress. We have no
space to detail his residence at Venice, where he studied Titian and
Veronese, or his still longer sojourn at Genoa, where he became the
favourite guest of the proudest nobles of the proud city, in which
almost every palace is enriched by the works of the great Fleming,
chiefly consisting of portraits, with a sprinkling of sacred subjects.
This was the period when, as Vandyck afterwards confessed, he painted
for fame, and not alone for money. At Rome, where he remained several
years, the first order he undertook was the world-renowned portrait of
Cardinal Bentivoglio, which, when once seen, attracted crowds of sitters
to the studio, as at Genoa, including not only the nobility of the city,
but most of the visitors sojourning there at the time. A most curious
portrait of that period may now be seen at Petworth, representing Sir
Robert Shirley, who had come from the East on a mission to his Holiness,
representing him and his Persian wife both in Oriental costume. In the
Duke of Buccleuch’s invaluable collection of miniatures there is a most
eccentric effigy of this same lady, in the dress—or shall we say
undress?—of her country.
On leaving Rome, many writers say driven thence by the jealousy of
fellow-artists, especially among his own countrymen, Vandyck proceeded
_via_ Florence to visit the more northern cities of Italy, and after
paying a second visit to his favourite Genoa, he sailed with his friend,
the Chevalier Nanni, for Sicily, whither he had been invited by Prince
Philibert of Savoy, who sat to him, as did also the famous painter
Sofonisba Angusciola, celebrated alike for her talents and her romantic
adventures. This remarkable woman was in her ninety-second year, and
quite blind, but her mind was clear, and her love of art as keen as
ever; and Vandyck said he had learned more from the conversation of this
blind old lady than from all his former studies.
There is a charming portrait of her by her own hand, when young and
handsome, in the collection of Earl Spencer at Althorp. Vandyck was
driven from Sicily by the breaking out of the plague, and he once more
set out for Antwerp, which he reached about the end of 1626. In his
native city he at first shared the proverbial fate of the prophet in his
own country; he found few patrons, and many cavilled at the prices,
which were less than had been gladly paid him in Italy. Rubens came to
his rescue by buying every completed picture in his studio, and,
departing from Antwerp on diplomatic missions (from the Archduchess
Isabella) to Portugal and England, left his friend Vandyck the
undisputed master of the field.
His hands were now full. Orders from numerous religious fraternities in
the city and neighbourhood, anxious to enrich their several churches and
chapels, poured in on all sides, and the candidates for the honour of
sitting to the great painter were incalculable. Yet Vandyck’s cup was
mingled with gall, through the envy and jealousy of his fellow-artists,
who attacked and traduced him on all occasions. He paid another short
visit to England, where the Earl of Northumberland was his chief patron
and employer, and afterwards to Paris; but it was not till 1632 that he
listened to the persuasions of the Earl of Arundel (who many years
before had admired the early promise of Vandyck’s talent), and once more
went over to England. In consequence of the death of Buckingham, who
literally ‘brooked no rival near the throne,’ Lord Arundel was in high
favour with his Royal master, and King and subject were alike
enthusiastic worshippers of art.
Vandyck was received at Court with every mark of distinction. Charles I.
provided apartments for him, and in all respects treated him as a
personal friend, taking the greatest delight in his society. It was
supposed that his Majesty had even entertained the idea of building a
house expressly for his guest, since among the State papers, in the
handwriting of one of the officials, there is an entry, ‘Things to be
done: to speak with Inigo Jones concerning a house for Vandike.’
The painter was however well lodged at Blackfriars, and a pleasant
summer residence at Eltham was also allotted him. Indeed, wherever he
went, Anthony Vandyck was the centre of attraction, the cynosure of all
eyes. Pre-eminently handsome, brilliant in conversation, a good
linguist, an enlightened traveller, even without the crowning quality of
his splendid talent, the painter must assuredly have proved a shining
light in the refined and aristocratic circles of the English capital.
Courted in society, foremost in art, crowds resorted to his studio. The
King himself was not only his constant sitter, but often dropped down
the river in his royal barge as far as Blackfriars, to pass a pleasant
hour, and gossip of art and artists with his newly-created knight, Sir
Anthony Vandyck, to whom he had presented a valuable miniature of
himself, splendidly set with diamonds. Neither of their Majesties ever
appeared wearied of sitting for their portraits to their ‘Painter in
Ordinary,’ and few records of a sad life can be more touching than the
three heads (at Windsor Castle) of Henrietta Maria, in which Vandyck so
truthfully delineated the mental and physical changes wrought by grief
and misfortune.
Amongst Vandyck’s closest and most intimate friends may be reckoned the
Earl of Strafford, whose noble and characteristic countenance gazes
intently at us from the walls of so many dwelling-houses, and who was
said to have sat oftener to his artist friend than any one in England,
with the exception of Charles I. and his Queen. Sir Kenelm Digby was
another of Sir Anthony’s chosen companions, and the portraits of the
learned knight and his beautiful wife, Venetia Stanley, have become
familiar to us by the magic touches of Vandyck’s brush. On the sudden
and mysterious death of the ‘divine Venetia,’ her widower summoned the
great painter to portray, for the last time, that lovely countenance in
‘a calm unbroken sleep, that hath no awakening,’—a beautiful and
touching picture, which forms one of the gems of Lord Spencer’s
collection. Notwithstanding the number of his sitters, and the large
sums (by comparison) paid for his paintings, Sir Anthony was invariably
in pecuniary difficulties. Luxurious in his manner of living, splendid
even to ostentation in his dress and equipages, his hospitality was
boundless, his generosity to struggling members of his own profession
proverbial. Added to all his other expenses, there was invariably a
Margaret Lemon, or one of her class, ever ready to drain his purse. On
the subject of his monetary troubles, the noble knight was candid and
outspoken. One day the King and Lord Arundel were sitting in intimate
conversation with the painter in his studio at Blackfriars, when Charles
began a sorrowful dissertation on his own lack of money. Turning to Sir
Anthony, he said with a smile, ‘And you, Sir Knight, has it ever
happened to you to be at a loss where to turn for one or two thousand
pounds?’ ‘Sire,’ was the reply, ‘when a painter keeps an open house for
his friends, and an open purse for his mistresses, he is not unlikely to
have empty coffers.’ It was doubtless on account of these pecuniary
difficulties that Vandyck in his latter days painted in so hurried and
slovenly a manner, as might well have gained him the name of ‘Fa
Presto.’ He got into the habit of intrusting many of the details of his
paintings to the numerous scholars in his studio, and the similarity of
the shape and character of the hands in his portraits, which has so
often been remarked and marvelled at, may surely be accounted for by the
fact that he usually painted the hands from those of models of both
sexes retained by him for that purpose. Yet there were exceptions to
this rule, for Vandyck, who had beautifully formed hands of his own, was
a great admirer of that particular personal charm; and an amusing
anecdote is told of him, when he had a no less noble sitter than
Margaret de Bourbon, daughter to Henry IV. of France. The Royal lady,
after watching Vandyck for some time, ventured the question, why he gave
so much more attention to the painting of her hands than of her head, or
indeed any other detail of the picture. ‘It is, Madam,’ replied Sir
Anthony, with a sly smile, ‘that I anticipate a rich compensation from
those beautiful white hands.’
It would not have been difficult, by all accounts, for Vandyck to have
selected a bride from the noblest and most wealthy in the land, so
generally admired was he by the fair sex; but his friends, the King and
the Duke of Buckingham, had already arranged a suitable match, desirable
in every way, excepting that the lady was poor, a fact which seemed an
oversight in the circumstances, or rather in Vandyck’s circumstances.
Mary Ruthven was the granddaughter of the unfortunate Earl of Gowrie.
Her father, suspected of complicity in the so-called conspiracy, had in
consequence not only been imprisoned, but his property confiscated;
therefore the winsome lady’s dower consisted of goodness, beauty, and
gentle birth, but tocher the lassie had none, excepting a small portion
given her as Lady of the Queen’s Household. She was much esteemed at
Court. During his residence in England Vandyck had paid flying visits to
his native country, and we hear of him, in 1634, serving as Dean of the
Guild of St. Luke’s at Antwerp, which, be it remarked, is the date of
the magnificent portrait, in this same gallery of Panshanger, of John of
Nassau Siegen, and his family.
After his marriage he proceeded once more with his bride to his native
city, where they were received with every possible demonstration of
respect and affection. Sir Anthony, then, hearing that Louis XIII.
intended to have the walls of the Louvre adorned with paintings, after
the fashion of those by Rubens in the Luxembourg, went to Paris in hopes
of obtaining the order, but in this design he was frustrated, and,
disappointed and depressed, he returned to England. It was a dreary
time. His Royal and private friends were all involved in trouble and
perplexity, through the gathering of heavy clouds on the political
horizon. His friend Lord Strafford had perished on the scaffold; the
King was absent from London; the Queen had sought safety in France.
Vandyck’s spirits sank, and he gave himself up to a fatal and visionary
consolation.
In the pursuit of the philosopher’s stone, he became a professed
alchemist, and, as it was well said, ‘the gold he had gained by his
labours fast melted away in the crucible.’
He would stand for hours over a hot fire, which conduced not a little to
undermine his failing health; he grew haggard and wrinkled while still
in the prime of life. The King, on his return to England, hearing of his
friend’s illness, sent his own physician to minister to the patient,
holding out, it was said, a large sum of money in the event of a cure.
But human aid was unavailing; a severe attack of gout, combined with
other maladies, proved fatal, and on the 9th December 1641, the man who
by many has been esteemed the chief of the world’s portrait-painters
breathed his last. Followed by a large retinue of friends, he was buried
in St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was but eight days before he died that a
daughter was born to him, and on the very date of his death there was an
entry in the register of St. Anne’s, Blackfriars, ‘Justiniana, daughter
of Sir Anthony Vandyck and his lady, baptized 9th December 1641.’
Whatever ignorance or mismanagement of money matters the great painter
had shown during his life, his last will was most praiseworthy and
considerate in all points, and he had waited until the birth of his
child to complete the same. There was not much to leave, but no one he
loved or esteemed was forgotten; wife, child, sisters, servants, were
all remembered; even the poor in the two parishes—that of his residence
and that of his burial—had a small sum dealt out to them. Sir Anthony
Vandyck’s widow married a Welsh baronet, Sir Robert Pryse, as his second
wife, but they had no children. Justiniana married Sir John Stepney of
Prendergast, Pembroke (their grandson was George Stepney, the poet), and
her second husband was Martin de Carbonell. She received a pension from
King Charles II.
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_No. 10._
FRANÇOIS DUQUESNOY, DETTO IL FIAMMINGO, SCULPTOR.
_Green, red, and white slashed dress. Black cloak. White collar and
cuffs. He is sitting._
BORN 1594, DIED 1646.
BY NICHOLAS POUSSIN.
A NATIVE of Brussels, his father was his first master, and while quite
young he found a generous patron in the Archduke Albert of Austria. This
Prince gave the youth a pension to enable him to go to Rome, and study
the art of sculpture, for which he evinced a considerable talent. But
the Duke dying when Fiammingo (as he was called at Rome) was only
twenty-five, the young artist found himself in great poverty, and
obliged to work very hard to keep the wolf from the door. In the same
straits was at that moment the afterwards celebrated painter Nicholas
Poussin, and the two students became friends and companions, sharing a
scanty but common purse. The painter and the sculptor sympathised in
their love of art, but differed in their taste of subjects. Poussin’s
tendency was for the severe, Fiammingo’s for the tender; his admiration
for the works of Albano led him to the execution of childish forms in
every imaginable attitude of grace and beauty; these were seldom of
large dimension, but he modelled the ‘Putti’ for the high altar in St.
Peter’s, the Santa Susanna in the Church of Our Lady of Loretto, near
the Trajan Column, and a colossal St. Andrew, also in St. Peter’s.
Bernini, who was evidently jealous of Fiammingo’s talent and popularity,
said he was incapable of executing anything more than a gigantic boy,
but the admirers of pure art gave the palm to Fiammingo far and away
before the mannerist Bernini. Added to his ability, the Flemish sculptor
was a conscientious and indefatigable workman. He not only produced
statues, but made careful studies in detail of the human figure, the
hands and feet in particular; but in spite of his industry he never
extricated himself from poverty. In 1646 he meditated going to France,
where doubtless his faithful friend, Nicholas Poussin, would have
befriended him, but a cruel death awaited him in Rome. He was poisoned
by his own brother, Jerome Duquesnoy, himself a sculptor, who was
jealous of Fiammingo’s increasing fame. But the murderer did not escape
vengeance; found guilty of many crimes, he was (according to the
barbarous practice of the age) burned alive at Ghent. Of a gentle,
amiable disposition and winning manners, Fiammingo was much esteemed and
respected. Poussin and Albano were among his closest friends.
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_No. 11._
THE WIFE OF CARLO DOLCE.
_Red dress. Brown cap. Holds a scroll and an olive branch._
BY CARLO DOLCE.
THIS painter was born in 1616, and died 1686. His heads of Madonnas,
female saints, and Herodias, are, for the most part, portraits of his
wife or daughter. Of the latter there is a head in a Florentine palace,
crowned with bay leaves, representing Poetry, which has more depth of
colouring and expression than is generally observable in the works of
this master.
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_No. 12._
ELEANORA D’ESTE.
_Blue and pink cap. White dress. Red drapery. Pearl necklace. Chain and
pendant._
BORN 1537, DIED 1581.
BY PIERIN DEL VAGA.
SHE was the sister of Alfonso d’Este, the second Duke of Ferrara, but is
immortalised in history and fiction, prose and verse, as the object of
Torquato Tasso’s unfortunate passion. The story of his residence at her
a brother’s Court, and at that of Urbino, where her elder sister,
Lucrezia, was Duchess, has so often been told, and the details of his
relations with the two Princesses so ill authenticated and so variously
narrated, that we do no more than allude to the fact of the affection
which subsisted between them, although by many writers it is questioned
which of the two Princesses reigned supreme in the heart of the
Laureate, who was never wearied of singing the praises of both these
noble ladies.
This picture was bought in Italy by Emily, wife of the fifth Earl
Cowper, and given by her to her husband at the time he was occupied in
building the new picture gallery at Panshanger.
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[Illustration]
LIBRARY.
[Illustration]
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LIBRARY.
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_No. 1._
EDMUND BURKE.
_Brown Coat. White Cravat. Powder._
BORN 1729 N.S., DIED 1797.
BY JACKSON _after_ REYNOLDS.