_Paolo Veronese_ (Veronese: 1528-1588). _See 260._
This picture--"the most precious Paul Veronese," says Ruskin, "in
the world"--is, according to another critic, "in itself a school of
art, where every quality of the master is seen in perfection--his
stately male figures, his beautiful women, his noble dog, and even his
favourite monkey, his splendid architecture, gem-like colour, tones
of gold and silver, sparkling and crisp touch, marvellous facility of
hand and unrivalled power of composition."[139] The glowing colour is
what strikes one first; and next the dignity, life, and ease of the
principal persons represented. It is a splendid example too of what the
historical pictures of the old masters were. The scene represented is
that of the Macedonian conqueror, Alexander the Great, surrounded by
his generals, receiving the submission of the family of the defeated
Persian King Darius; but in his treatment of the scene, Veronese makes
it a piece of contemporary Venetian life.
"It is a constant law that the greatest men, whether poets or
historians, live entirely in their own age.... Dante paints
Italy in the thirteenth century; Chaucer, England in the
fourteenth; Masaccio, Florence in the fifteenth; Tintoret,
Venice in the sixteenth;--all of them utterly regardless
of anachronism and minor error of every kind, but getting
always vital truth out of the vital present.... Tintoret and
Shakespeare paint, both of them, simply Venetian and English
nature as they saw it in their time, down to the root; and it
does for _all_ time; but as for any care to cast themselves
into the particular ways and tones of thought or custom of past
time in their historical work, you will find it in neither of
them, nor in any other perfectly great man that I know of"
(_Modern Painters_, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. vii. §§ 19, 20).
Thus here Veronese simply paints a group of living Venetians of his
time,[140] dog,[141] monkey and all. Alexander, in red armour, is
pointing to his friend Hephaestion, who stands a little behind on his
left, and whom the captives had at first mistaken for the king. The
queen-mother implores his pardon, but Alexander tells her that she has
not erred, for that Hephaestion is another Alexander. The principal
figures representing these different characters are, however, all
contemporary portraits of the Pisani family,[142] it is said, for whom
the picture was painted, and in choosing this scene of Alexander in
one of his best moments Veronese was expressing his ideal of Venetian
nobility and refinement. "The greatest portrait painters," says
Ruskin,--"Titian, Veronese, Velazquez, and Raphael,--introduce the
most trenchant, clear, and complete backgrounds. Indeed, the first
three so rejoiced in quantity of accessories, that, when engaged on
important portraits, they would paint large historical pictures merely
by way of illustration or introduction. The priceless Veronese, 'The
Triumph of Alexander,' was painted only to introduce portraits of the
Pisani; and chiefly to set off to the best advantage the face of one
fair girl" (_Academy Notes_, 1857, p. 37). So too the dresses to which
the picture owes so much of its splendour, are the Venetian dresses
of the period. It may be interesting to remark that something of the
magnificence in the picture itself attaches also to the circumstances
of its painting. Veronese having been detained by some accident at
the Pisani Villa at Este, painted this work there, and left it behind
him, sending word that he had left wherewithal to defray the expense
of his entertainment. As the Pisani family ultimately sold it to the
National Gallery in 1857 for £13,650, Veronese's words were decidedly
made good. It may be interesting to add that the negotiations for its
purchase extended over nearly four years. Vast sums had been offered
for the picture in former centuries, and within the previous thirty
years sovereigns, public bodies, and individuals had all been competing
for it.
Some of the fame of the picture is due to its splendid preservation.
Rumohr speaks of it as "perhaps the only existing criterion by which
to estimate the original colouring of Paul Veronese." "The lakes, for
instance, in the crimson cuirass and dress of Alexander, which form
such a magnificent feature in the composition, are," says Sir Edward
Poynter, "as fresh as when first painted, as, indeed, is the whole
picture." James Smetham, in one of his eloquent letters, refers to this
work in 1858, in illustration of the enduring qualities of a painter's
"flying touches"--touches "destined to live in hours and moments when
_you_ have fled beyond all moments into the unembarrassed calm of
eternity":--
Paul Veronese, three hundred years ago, painted that bright
Alexander, with his handsome, flushed Venetian face, and that
glowing uniform of the Venetian general which he wears; and
before him, on their knees, he set those golden ladies, who are
pleading in pink and violet; and there he is, and there are
they, in our National Gallery; he, flushed and handsome--they,
golden and suppliant as ever. It takes an oldish man to
remember the comet of 1811. Who remembers Paul Veronese, nine
generations since? But not a tint of his thoughts is unfixed,
they beam along the walls as fresh as ever. Saint Nicholas
stoops to the Angelic Coronation (26), and the solemn fiddling
of the Marriage at Cana is heard along the silent galleries of
the Louvre. ("Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are
sweeter")--yes, and will be so when you and I have cleaned our
last palette, and "in the darkness over us, the four-handed
mole shall scrape."