the works of Giotto; for the injury they sustain in being deprived of
their colour is far greater than in the case of later designers. All
works produced in the fourteenth century agree in being more or less
decorative; they were intended in most instances to be subservient to
architectural effect, and were executed in the manner best calculated
to produce a striking impression when they were seen in a mass. The
painted wall and the painted window were part and parcel of one
magnificent whole; and it is as unjust to the work of Giotto, or of
any contemporary artist, to take out a single feature from the series,
and represent it in black and white on a separate page, as it would be
to take out a compartment of a noble coloured window, and engrave it
in the same manner. What is at once refined and effective, if seen at
the intended distance in unison with the rest of the work, becomes
coarse and insipid when seen isolated and near; and the more skilfully
the design is arranged, so as to give full value to the colours which
are introduced in it, the more blank and cold will it become when it
is deprived of them.
In our modern art we have indeed lost sight of one great principle
which regulated that of the middle ages, namely, that chiaroscuro and
colour are incompatible in their highest degrees. Wherever chiaroscuro
enters, colour must lose some of its brilliancy. There is no _shade_
in a rainbow, nor in an opal, nor in a piece of mother-of-pearl, nor
in a well-designed painted window; only various hues of perfect
colour. The best pictures, by subduing their colour and
conventionalising their chiaroscuro, reconcile both in their
diminished degrees; but a perfect light and shade cannot be given
without considerable loss of liveliness in colour. Hence the supposed
inferiority of Tintoret to Titian. Tintoret is, in reality, the
greater colourist of the two; but he could not bear to falsify his
light and shadow enough to set off his colour. Titian nearly strikes
the exact mean between the painted glass of the 13th century and
Rembrandt; while Giotto closely approaches the system of painted
glass, and hence his compositions lose grievously by being translated
into black and white.
But even this chiaroscuro, however subdued, is not without a peculiar
charm; and the accompanying engravings possess a marked superiority
over all that have hitherto been made from the works of this painter,
in rendering this chiaroscuro, as far as possible, together with the
effect of the local colours. The true appreciation of art has been
retarded for many years by the habit of trusting to outlines as a
sufficient expression of the sentiment of compositions; whereas in all
truly great designs, of whatever age, it is never the outline, but the
disposition of the masses, whether of shade or colour, on which the
real power of the work depends. For instance, in Plate III. (The Angel
appears to Anna), the interest of the composition depends entirely
upon the broad shadows which fill the spaces of the chamber, and of
the external passage in which the attendant is sitting. This shade
explains the whole scene in a moment: gives prominence to the curtain
and coverlid of the homely bed, and the rude chest and trestles which
form the poor furniture of the house; and conducts the eye easily and
instantly to the three figures, which, had the scene been expressed in
outline only, we should have had to trace out with some care and
difficulty among the pillars of the loggia and folds of the curtains.
So also the relief of the faces in light against the dark sky is of
peculiar value in the compositions No. X. and No. XII.
The _drawing_ of Giotto is, of course, exceedingly faulty. His
knowledge of the human figure is deficient; and this, the necessary
drawback in all works of the period, occasions an extreme difficulty
in rendering them faithfully in an engraving. For wherever there is
good and legitimate drawing, the ordinary education of a modern
draughtsman enables him to copy it with tolerable accuracy; but when
once the true forms of nature are departed from, it is by no means
easy to express _exactly_ the error, and _no more than_ the error, of
his original. In most cases modern copyists try to modify or hide the
weaknesses of the old art,--by which procedure they very often wholly
lose its spirit, and only half redeem its defects; the results being,
of course, at once false as representations, and intrinsically
valueless. And just as it requires great courage and skill in an
interpreter to speak out honestly all the rough and rude words of the
first speaker, and to translate deliberately and resolutely, in the
face of attentive men, the expressions of his weakness or impatience;
so it requires at once the utmost courage and skill in a copyist to
trace faithfully the failures of an imperfect master, in the front of
modern criticism, and against the inborn instincts of his own hand and
eye. And let him do the best he can, he will still find that the grace
and life of his original are continually flying off like a vapour,
while all the faults he has so diligently copied sit rigidly staring
him in the face,--a terrible _caput mortuum_. It is very necessary
that this should be well understood by the members of the Arundel
Society, when they hear their engravings severely criticised. It is
easy to produce an agreeable engraving by graceful infidelities; but
the entire endeavour of the draughtsmen employed by this society has
been to obtain accurately the character of the original: and he who
never proposes to himself to rise _above_ the work he is copying, must
most assuredly often fall beneath it. Such fall is the inherent and
inevitable penalty on all absolute copyism; and wherever the copy is
made with sincerity, the fall must be endured with patience. It will
never be an utter or a degrading fall; that is reserved for those who,
like vulgar translators, wilfully quit the hand of their master, and
have no strength of their own.
Lastly. It is especially to be noticed that these works of Giotto, in
common with all others of the period, are independent of all the
inferior sources of pictorial interest. They never show the slightest
attempt at imitative realisation: they are simple suggestions of
ideas, claiming no regard except for the inherent value of the
thoughts. There is no filling of the landscape with variety of
scenery, architecture, or incident, as in the works of Benozzo Gozzoli
or Perugino; no wealth of jewellery and gold spent on the dresses of
the figures, as in the delicate labours of Angelico or Gentile da
Fabriano. The background is never more than a few gloomy masses of
rock, with a tree or two, and perhaps a fountain; the architecture is
merely what is necessary to explain the scene; the dresses are painted
sternly on the "heroic" principle of Sir Joshua Reynolds--that drapery
is to be "drapery, and nothing more,"--there is no silk, nor velvet,
nor distinguishable material of any kind: the whole power of the
picture is rested on the three simple essentials of painting--pure
Colour, noble Form, noble Thought.
We moderns, educated in reality far more under the influence of the
Dutch masters than the Italian, and taught to look for realisation in
all things, have been in the habit of casting scorn on these early
Italian works, as if their simplicity were the result of ignorance
merely. When we know a little more of art in general, we shall begin
to suspect that a man of Giotto's power of mind did not altogether
suppose his clusters of formal trees, or diminutive masses of
architecture, to be perfect representations of the woods of Judea, or
of the streets of Jerusalem: we shall begin to understand that there
is a symbolical art which addresses the imagination, as well as a
realist art which supersedes it; and that the powers of contemplation
and conception which could be satisfied or excited by these simple
types of natural things, were infinitely more majestic than those
which are so dependent on the completeness of what is presented to
them as to be paralysed by an error in perspective, or stifled by the
absence of atmosphere.
Nor is the healthy simplicity of the period less marked in the
selection than in the treatment of subjects. It has in these days
become necessary for the painter who desires popularity to accumulate
on his canvas whatever is startling in aspect or emotion, and to
drain, even to exhaustion, the vulgar sources of the pathetic. Modern
sentiment, at once feverish and feeble, remains unawakened except by
the violences of gaiety or gloom; and the eye refuses to pause, except
when it is tempted by the luxury of beauty, or fascinated by the
excitement of terror. It ought not, therefore, to be without a
respectful admiration that we find the masters of the fourteenth
century dwelling on moments of the most subdued and tender feeling,
and leaving the spectator to trace the under-currents of thought which
link them with future events of mightier interest, and fill with a
prophetic power and mystery scenes in themselves so simple as the
meeting of a master with his herdsmen among the hills, or the return
of a betrothed virgin to her house.
[Illustration]
It is, however, to be remembered that this quietness in character of
subject was much more possible to an early painter, owing to the
connection in which his works were to be seen. A modern picture,
isolated and portable, must rest all its claims to attention on its
own actual subject: but the pictures of the early masters were nearly
always parts of a consecutive and stable series, in which many were
subdued, like the connecting passages of a prolonged poem, in order to
enhance the value or meaning of others. The arrangement of the
subjects in the Arena Chapel is in this respect peculiarly skilful;
and to that arrangement we must now direct our attention.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE ARENA CHAPEL, PADUA, LOOKING EASTWARD.]
It was before noticed that the chapel was built between 1300 and 1306.
The architecture of Italy in the beginning of the fourteenth century
is always pure, and often severe; but this chapel is remarkable, even
among the severest forms, for the absence of decoration. Its plan,
seen in the marginal figure on p. 26, is a pure oblong, with a narrow
advanced tribune, terminating in a trilateral apse. Selvatico quotes
from the German writer Stieglitz some curious observations on the
apparent derivation of its proportions, in common with those of other
buildings of the time, from the number of sides of its apse. Without
entering into these particulars, it may be noted that the apse is just
one-half the width of the body of the chapel, and that the length from
the extremity of the tribune to the west end is just seven times the
width of the apse. The whole of the body of the chapel was painted by
Giotto; the walls and roof being entirely covered either with his
figure-designs, or with various subordinate decorations connecting and
enclosing them.
The woodcut on p. 27 represents the arrangement of the frescoes on the
sides, extremities, and roof of the chapel. The spectator is supposed
to be looking from the western entrance towards the tribune, having on
his right the south side, which is pierced by six tall windows, and on
which the frescoes are therefore reduced in number. The north side is
pierced by no windows, and on it therefore the frescoes are
continuous, lighted from the south windows. The several spaces
numbered 1 to 38 are occupied by a continuous series of subjects,
representing the life of the Virgin and of Christ; the narrow panels
below, marked _a_, _b_, _c_, &c., are filled by figures of the
cardinal virtues and their opponent vices: on the lunette above the
tribune is painted a Christ in glory, and at the western extremity the
Last Judgment. Thus the walls of the chapel are covered with a
continuous meditative poem on the mystery of the Incarnation, the acts
of Redemption, the vices and virtues of mankind as proceeding from
their scorn or acceptance of that Redemption, and their final
judgment.
The first twelve pictures of the series are exclusively devoted to the
apocryphal history of the birth and life of the Virgin. This the
Protestant spectator will observe, perhaps, with little favour, more
especially as only two compartments are given to the ministry of
Christ, between his Baptism and Entry into Jerusalem. Due weight is,
however, to be allowed to Lord Lindsay's remark, that the legendary
history of the Virgin was of peculiar importance in this chapel, as
especially dedicated to her service; and I think also that Giotto
desired to unite the series of compositions in one continuous action,
feeling that to have enlarged on the separate miracles of Christ's
ministry would have interrupted the onward course of thought. As it
is, the mind is led from the first humiliation of Joachim to the
Ascension of Christ in one unbroken and progressive chain of scenes;
the ministry of Christ being completely typified by his first and last
conspicuous miracle: while the very unimportance of some of the
subjects, as for instance that of the Watching the Rods, is useful in
directing the spectator rather to pursue the course of the narrative,
than to pause in satisfied meditation upon any single incident. And it
can hardly be doubted that Giotto had also a peculiar pleasure in
dwelling on the circumstances of the shepherd life of the father of
the Virgin, owing to its resemblance to that of his own early years.
The incidents represented in these first twelve paintings are recorded
in the two apocryphal gospels known as the "Protevangelion" and
"Gospel of St. Mary."[13] But on comparing the statements in these
writings (which, by the by, are in nowise consistent with each other)
with the paintings in the Arena Chapel, it appeared to me that Giotto
must occasionally have followed some more detailed traditions than are
furnished by either of them; seeing that of one or two subjects the
apocryphal gospels gave no distinct or sufficient explanation.
Fortunately, however, in the course of some other researches, I met
with a manuscript in the British Museum (Harl. 3571,) containing a
complete "History of the most Holy Family," written in Northern
Italian of about the middle of the 14th century; and appearing to be
one of the forms of the legend which Giotto has occasionally followed
in preference to the statements of the Protevangelion. I have
therefore, in illustration of the paintings, given, when it seemed
useful, some portions of this manuscript; and these, with one or two
verses of the commonly received accounts, will be found generally
enough to interpret sufficiently the meaning of the painter.
[Footnote 13: It has always appeared strange to me, that
ecclesiastical history should possess no more authentic records of the
life of the Virgin, before the period at which the narrative of St.
Luke commences, than these apocryphal gospels, which are as wretched
in style as untrustworthy in matter; and are evidently nothing more
than a collection, in rude imitation of the style of the Evangelists,
of such floating traditions as became current among the weak
Christians of the earlier ages, when their inquiries respecting the
history of Mary were met by the obscurity under which the Divine will
had veiled her humble person and character. There must always be
something painful, to those who are familiar with the Scriptures, in
reading these feeble and foolish mockeries of the manner of the
inspired writers; but it will be proper, nevertheless, to give the
exact words in which the scenes represented by Giotto were recorded to
_him_.]
The following complete list of the subjects will at once enable the
reader to refer any of them to its place in the series, and on the
walls of the building; and I have only now to remind him in
conclusion, that within those walls the greatest painter and greatest
poet of mediæval Italy held happy companionship during the time when
the frescoes were executed. "It is not difficult," says the writer
already so often quoted, Lord Lindsay, "gazing on these silent but
eloquent walls, to repeople them with the group once, as we know, five
hundred years ago, assembled within them: Giotto intent upon his work,
his wife Ciuta admiring his progress; and Dante, with abstracted eye,
alternately conversing with his friend, and watching the gambols of
the children playing on the grass before the door."
* * * * *
SERIES OF SUBJECTS.
1. The Rejection of Joachim's Offering.
2. Joachim retires to the Sheepfold.
3. The Angel appears to Anna.
4. The Sacrifice of Joachim.
5. The Vision of Joachim.
6. The Meeting at the Golden Gate.
7. The Birth of the Virgin.
8. The Presentation of the Virgin.
9. The Rods are brought to the High Priest.
10. The Watching of the Rods.
11. The Betrothal of the Virgin.
12. The Virgin returns to her House.
13. The Angel Gabriel.
14. The Virgin Annunciate.
15. The Salutation.
16. The Angel Appearing to the Shepherds.
17. The Wise Men's Offering.
18. The Presentation in the Temple.
19. The Flight into Egypt.
20. The Massacre of the Innocents.
21. The Young Christ in the Temple.
22. The Baptism of Christ.
23. The Marriage in Cana.
24. The Raising of Lazarus.
25. The Entry into Jerusalem.
26. The Expulsion from the Temple.
27. The Hiring of Judas.
28. The Last Supper.
29. The Washing of the Feet.
30. The Kiss of Judas.
31. Christ before Caiaphas.
32. The Scourging of Christ.
33. Christ bearing his Cross.
34. The Crucifixion.
35. The Entombment.
36. The Resurrection.
37. The Ascension.
38. The Descent of the Holy Spirit.
* * * * *
I.
THE REJECTION OF JOACHIM'S OFFERING.
"At that time, there was a man of perfect holiness, named Joachim, of
the tribe of Juda, and of the city of Jerusalem. And this Joachim had
in contempt the riches and honours of the world; and for greater
despite to them, he kept his flocks, with his shepherds.
"... And he, being so holy and just, divided the fruits which he
received from his flocks into three parts: a third part--wool, and
lambs, and such like--he gave to God, that is to say, to those who
served God, and who ministered in the temple of God; another third
part he gave to widows, orphans, and pilgrims; the remaining third he
kept for himself and his family. And he persevering in this, God so
multiplied and increased his goods that there was no man like him in
the land of Israel.... And having come to the age of twenty years, he
took to wife Anna, the daughter of Ysaya, of his own tribe, and of the
lineage of David.
"This precious St. Anna had always persevered in the service of God
with great wisdom and sincerity; ... and having received Joachim for
her husband, was subject to him, and gave him honour and reverence,
living in the fear of God. And Joachim having lived with his wife Anna
for twenty years, yet having no child, and there being a great
solemnity in Jerusalem, all the men of the city went to offer in the
temple of God, which Solomon had built; and Joachim entering the
temple with (incense?) and other gifts to offer on the altar, and
Joachim having made his offering, the minister of the temple, whose
name was Issachar, threw Joachim's offering from off the altar, and
drove Joachim out of the temple, saying, 'Thou, Joachim, art not
worthy to enter into the temple, seeing that God has not added his
blessing to you, as in your life you have had no seed.' Thus Joachim
received a great insult in the sight of all the people; and he being
all ashamed, returned to his house, weeping and lamenting most
bitterly." (MS. Harl.)
The Gospel of St. Mary differs from this MS. in its statement of the
respective cities of Joachim and Anna, saying that the family of the
Virgin's father "was of Galilee and of the city of Nazareth, the
family of her mother was of Bethlehem." It is less interesting in
details; but gives a better, or at least more graceful, account of
Joachim's repulse, saying that Issachar "despised Joachim and his
offerings, and asked him why he, who had no children, would presume
to appear among those who had: adding, that his offerings could never
be acceptable to God, since he had been judged by Him unworthy to have
children; the Scripture having said, Cursed is every one who shall not
beget a male in Israel."
Giotto seems to have followed this latter account, as the figure of
the high priest is far from being either ignoble or ungentle.
The temple is represented by the two most important portions of a
Byzantine church; namely, the ciborium which covered the altar, and
the pulpit or reading desk; with the low screen in front of the altar
enclosing the part of the church called the "cancellum." Lord Lindsay
speaks of the priest within this enclosure as "confessing a young man
who kneels at his feet." It seems to me, rather, that he is meant to
be accepting the offering of another worshipper, so as to mark the
rejection of Joachim more distinctly.
* * * * *
II.
JOACHIM RETIRES TO THE SHEEPFOLD.
"Then Joachim, in the following night, resolved to separate himself
from companionship; to go to the desert places among the mountains,
with his flocks; and to inhabit those mountains, in order not to hear
such insults. And immediately Joachim rose from his bed, and called
about him all his servants and shepherds, and caused to be gathered
together all his flocks, and goats, and horses, and oxen, and what
other beasts he had, and went with them and with the shepherds into
the hills; and Anna his wife remained at home disconsolate, and
mourning for her husband, who had departed from her in such sorrow."
(MS. Harl.)
"But upon inquiry, he found that all the righteous had raised up seed
in Israel. Then he called to mind the patriarch Abraham,--how that God
in the end of his life had given him his son Isaac: upon which he was
exceedingly distressed, and would not be seen by his wife; but
retired into the wilderness and fixed his tent there, and fasted forty
days and forty nights, saying to himself, 'I will not go down to eat
or drink till the Lord my God shall look down upon me; but prayer
shall be my meat and drink.'" (Protevangelion, chap. i.)
Giotto seems here also to have followed the ordinary tradition, as he
has represented Joachim retiring unattended,--but met by two of his
shepherds, who are speaking to each other, uncertain what to do or how
to receive their master. The dog hastens to meet him with joy. The
figure of Joachim is singularly beautiful in its pensiveness and slow
motion; and the ignobleness of the herdsmen's figures is curiously
marked in opposition to the dignity of their master.
* * * * *
III.
THE ANGEL APPEARS TO ANNA.
"Afterwards the angel appeared to Anna his wife, saying, 'Fear not,
neither think that which you see is a spirit. For I am that angel who
hath offered up your prayers and alms before God, and am now sent to
tell you that a daughter will be born unto you.... Arise, therefore,
and go up to Jerusalem; and when you shall come to that which is
called the Golden Gate (because it is gilt with gold), as a sign of
what I have told you, you shall meet your husband, for whose safety
you have been so much concerned.'" (Gospel of St. Mary, chap. iii.
1-7.)
The accounts in the Protevangelion and in the Harleian MS. are much
expanded: relating how Anna feared her husband was dead, he having
been absent from her five months; and how Judith, her maid, taunted
her with her childlessness; and how, going then into her garden, she
saw a sparrow's nest, full of young, upon a laurel-tree, and mourning
within herself, said, "I am not comparable to the very beasts of the
earth, for even they are fruitful before thee, O Lord.... I am not
comparable to the very earth, for the earth produces its fruits to
praise thee. Then the angel of the Lord stood by her," &c.
Both the Protevangelion and Harleian MS. agree in placing the vision
in the garden; the latter adding, that she fled "into her chamber in
great fear, and fell upon her bed, and lay as in a trance all that day
and all that night, but did not tell the vision to her maid, because
of her bitter answering." Giotto has deviated from both accounts in
making the vision appear to Anna in her chamber, while the maid,
evidently being considered an important personage, is at work in the
passage. Apart from all reference to the legends, there is something
peculiarly beautiful in the simplicity of Giotto's conception, and in
the way in which he has shown the angel entering at the window,
without the least endeavour to impress our imagination by darkness, or
light, or clouds, or any other accessory; as though believing that
angels might appear any where, and any day, and to all men, as a
matter of course, if we would ask them, or were fit company for them.
* * * * *
IV.
THE SACRIFICE OF JOACHIM.