The landscape from which the picture takes its title is remarkable.
Leonardo, a pioneer in so many other things, was a pioneer also in
Alpine exploration, and has even been credited with a first ascent
in the Monte Rosa range. However this may be, it is clear from his
pictures and drawings that his mineralogical and geological studies
attracted him to the curious rocks and peaks which he had observed
among the mountains of North Italy.[213] "In him," says Mr. Pater,
"first appears the taste for what is _bizarre_ or _recherché_ in
landscape; hollow places full of the green shadow of bituminous rocks,
ridged reefs of trap-rock which cut the water into quaint sheets of
light; all solemn effects of moving water; you may follow it springing
from its distant source among the rocks on the heath of the 'Madonna
of the Balances,' passing as a little fall into the treacherous calm
of the 'Madonna of the Lake,' next, as a goodly river below the cliffs
of the 'Madonna of the Rocks,' stealing out in a network of divided
streams in 'La Gioconda' to the sea-shore of the 'St. Anne.' It is the
landscape not of dreams or of fancy, but of places far withdrawn."
Notice also the flowers of the foreground. "Leonardo paints flowers
with such curious felicity that different writers have attributed to
him a fondness for particular flowers, as Clement the cyclamen, and Rio
the jasmine; while at Venice there is a stray leaf from his portfolio
dotted all over with studies of violets and the white rose." "This
work," says Ford Madox Brown, "seems to have been laid in entirely
with ivory black, which, as its wont is, has come through the upper
painting to the extent of leaving only to look at a picture in black,
heightened, in the lights, with a little faint yellow. So much is true,
and also that the rocks, from which the picture takes its name, are of
the most singular formations, such as no modern geologist would care to
lecture on, the herbage being much the same as to its botanical value.
But in spite of these and other objections, such is the intrinsic
power of the work in style of drawing and beauty of expression, that
nothing known, not by the greatest masters, can do more than hold their
own against it. Just stand a little way off, study the heads, and see
what they tell you--most supreme master of the human face divine"
(_Magazine of Art_, 1890, p. 135).
There is, as everyone knows, a very similar picture to this
in the Louvre; and during the last few years an Anglo-French
dispute has raged furiously in artistic circles with regard
to the authenticity, priority, and relative merits of the two
pictures. The pedigree of our picture is singularly complete,
and there can be no doubt that it is a veritable work by the
hand of Leonardo. It agrees minutely with the description given
by Lomazzo (in 1584) of a painting by Leonardo, which in his
time was in the chapel of the Conception in the church of S.
Francesco at Milan. The picture in the Louvre differs from
Lomazzo's description in the one essential difference between
the two pictures. In the Louvre picture the angel looks towards
us and points to St. John, thus connecting the spectator with
what is taking place. In our picture, on the other hand, there
is no such connecting link. The action is complete within
itself. The spectator is not invited to participate in what is
to him a divine vision. It is clear therefore that our picture
is the one which, in 1584, was in S. Francesco at Milan, and
which passed for a work by Leonardo. External evidence has come
to light during the last few years proving what had hitherto
only been taken for granted, namely, that Leonardo did execute
the central composition of the altar-piece for that church.
This is a memorial from Ambrogio di Predis and Leonardo da
Vinci to the Duke of Milan, praying him to intervene in a
dispute which had arisen between the petitioners and the
brotherhood "della Concezione" with regard to the price to
be paid for certain works of art furnished by them for the
chapel of the brotherhood in S. Francesco. The brotherhood had
priced the oil-painting of Our Lady executed by Leonardo at
only 25 ducats, whereas it was worth 100 ducats, as shown by
the account and proved by the fact that certain persons were
found willing to purchase it at that price. No evidence is
forthcoming as to the settlement of the dispute. We have then
these facts: that Leonardo painted a picture of Our Lady for S.
Francesco, that such a picture was in the church in 1584, and
that our picture precisely agrees with Lomazzo's description of
it. The picture remained in the chapel until some time between
1751 and 1787. In the latter year Bianconi, in a guide-book to
Milan, states that the two side panels (1661, 1662) were still
there, but that the picture "by the hand of Leonardo" had been
removed. In 1777 our picture was brought to England by Gavin
Hamilton, and sold by him to the Marquis of Lansdowne, from
whom it afterwards passed by exchange into the collection of
the Earl of Suffolk at Charlton Park. From Lord Suffolk it was
bought in 1880 for the National Gallery, the price being £9000.
It will thus be seen that the external evidence in favour of
this picture being a veritable work by Leonardo is unusually
strong. Internal evidence is more difficult to bring to the
test, resting as it does on æsthetic considerations, the
force of which depends on the authority of the witness and
the competence of the court to which he appeals. Several
critics, it may be explained, had convinced themselves long
ago that the Louvre picture was the original and ours a copy.
The discovery of the new document above referred to seemed at
first to strengthen the authenticity of our picture. But the
point was ingeniously turned by the following gratuitous and
entirely unsupported theory. Leonardo, says Dr. Richter, _must
have_ sold the original to the French king, and let the church
have a copy at the low price agreed upon. Supporting this
theory in turn by internal evidence, the enemies of our picture
declare it to be "an entirely wretched performance" (Richter);
"superficial," "insipid," "heavy," "woolly," "lacking in
elevation," "feeble," in short, "a work in which we do not
feel the real presence of the master" (Müntz). Those who thus
disparage our picture suppose it to be a copy by Ambrogio di
Predis. To this theory, an effective retort has been given by
the purchase for the Gallery of the two wings that used to
flank the central picture. It is impossible to suppose that
the painter of No. 1662 was capable of producing our picture,
of which the skilful delineation and mysterious beauty delight
all spectators who have no preconceived theory in the matter.
It should be stated that some of the faults found with our
picture are admitted by the authorities of the Gallery. "The
ill-drawn gilt _nimbi_ over the heads of the three principal
figures, as well as the clumsy reed cross which rests on St.
John's shoulder, are additions of a comparatively late period,
probably of the 17th century." Again, "the hand of the Virgin
resting on St. John's shoulder is obviously the mere daub of a
picture restorer."
Those who support the authenticity of our picture do not feel
called upon to carry the war into the enemy's camp, though both
Sir Frederick Burton and Sir Edward Poynter notice various
defects and repaintings in the Louvre picture, and the former
points out that its pedigree does not extend back beyond 1642.
The fact seems to be that neither picture can properly be
called a copy of the other. The most striking difference--that
in the attitude of the angel--is fundamental, and not such
as a copyist would venture to make. There are many other
differences; indeed no single part of the groups is really
alike; and those differences (as Sir Edward Poynter shows) are
such as an artist would make in working from different studies.
Studies for portions of both pictures exist. A further question
in dispute is which of the two versions is the earlier. To
Sir Edward Poynter "it seems that our picture shows traces of
Leonardo's training in the school of Verrocchio, and that it is
the Louvre picture which has more of the idealised refinement
of type on which Luini formed his style." To Mr. Claude
Phillips, on the other hand, the angel of the Louvre looking
straight out of the picture seems to be essentially Florentine,
and to belong specifically to the school of Verrocchio (see 296
in our Gallery). The variation in the angel's attitude, as
given in our version, is in conception a distinct improvement:
it makes the picture more self-contained. "One can imagine,"
says Mr. MacColl, "Leonardo, on second thoughts, judging that
the Louvre angel drew too much attention to himself by his
pointing hand, and was better within the picture with downcast
eyes than when inviting the attention of the spectator by his
regard." (The very interesting discussion summarised above is
contained in the following English publications: Dr. Richter,
in the _Art Journal_ for June 1894; replied to by Sir Edward
Poynter in the same magazine for August, and by Sir F. Burton
in the _Nineteenth Century_ for July 1894. See also Eugene
Müntz's _Leonardo da Vinci_, vol. i. ch. vi.; the _Catalogue of
Milanese Pictures_ at the Burlington Fine Arts Club, 1898, pp.
li.-lvi.; Mr. Claude Phillips in the _National Review_, Dec.
1894; and "D. S. M." in the _Saturday Review_, May 28, 1898,
and Feb. 18, 1899. The English articles contain references to
the articles on Dr. Richter's side by Motta, Frizzoni, and
others.)