In Greek Art, whether as apostle or evangelist, St. John is always
an aged man with white hair, and a venerable beard descending to
his breast; and by the earlier Latin painters, where he figures as
evangelist only, not as apostle, this type has been adhered to; but
the later painters set it aside, and St. John the Evangelist, nearly
a century old, has all the attributes of the youthful apostle. He
is beardless, with light curling hair, and eyes gazing upwards in a
rapture of inspiration: he is sometimes seated with his pen and his
book, sometimes standing; the attendant eagle always near him, and
frequently holding the pen or inkhorn in his beak.
In some of the old prints and pictures, which represent St. John
as writing the gospel, his eyes are turned on the Virgin with the
Infant Christ in her arms, who appear as a vision in the skies above;
underneath, or on his book, is inscribed,—‘The Word was made flesh,’ or
some other text of the same import. The eagle at his side has sometimes
the nimbus or a crown of stars,[127] and is then perhaps intended to
figure the Holy Ghost.
I remember an instance in which the devil, intent on intercepting
the message of reconcilement and ‘goodwill towards men,’ which was
destined to destroy his empire on earth, appears behind St. John, and
is oversetting the ink upon the pages; another, in which he is stealing
away the inkhorn.
2. As one of the series of apostles, St. John is always, in Western
Art, young, or in the prime of life; with little or no beard; flowing
or curling hair, generally of a pale brown or golden hue, to express
the delicacy of his nature; and in his countenance an expression of
benignity and candour. His drapery is, or ought to be, red, with a blue
or green tunic. He bears in his hand the sacramental cup, from which a
serpent is seen to issue. St. Isidore relates that, at Rome, an attempt
was made to poison St. John in the cup of the sacrament: he drank
of the same and administered it to the communicants without injury,
the poison having by a miracle issued from the cup in the form of a
serpent, while the hired assassin fell down dead at his feet. According
to another version of this story, the poisoned cup was administered
by order of the Emperor Domitian. According to a third version,
Aristodemus, the high-priest of Diana, at Ephesus, defied him to drink
of the poisoned chalice, as a test of the truth of his mission; St.
John drank unharmed,—the priest fell dead. Others say, and this seems
the more probable interpretation, that the cup in the hand of St. John
alludes to the reply given by our Saviour, when the mother of James and
John requested for her sons the place of honour in heaven,—‘Ye shall
drink indeed of my cup.’ As in other instances, the legend was invented
to explain the symbol. When the cup has the consecrated wafer instead
of the serpent, it signifies the institution of the Eucharist.
[Illustration: 60 St. John (Hans Hemling)]
Some of the old German representations of St. John are of singular
beauty: for example, one by _Hans Hemling_, one by _Isaac von
Melem_,[128] standing figures; simple, graceful, majestic; in the
prime of youth, with a charming expression of devotion in the heads:
both hold the sacramental cup with the serpent; no eagle; therefore
St. John is here to be considered as the apostle only: when, with the
cup, the eagle is placed by his side, he is represented in the double
character of apostle and evangelist (61).
[Illustration: 61 St. John (Raphael)]
* * * * *
In the early Siena school, and in some old illuminations, I have seen
St. John carrying in his hand a radiant circle, inscribed ‘_In primo
est verbum_,’ and within the circle an eagle with outspread wings: but
this is uncommon.
3. St. John as the prophet, the writer of the Revelation, is usually
an aged man, with a white flowing beard, seated in a rocky desert; the
sea in the distance, or flowing round him, to represent the island of
Patmos; the eagle at his side. In the old frescoes, and the illuminated
MSS. of the Apocalypse, this is the usual representation.
Some examples of the ideal and devotional figures of St. John, as
evangelist and prophet, will give an idea of the variety of treatment
in this favourite subject:—
1. Ancient Greek. St. John, with the head of an eagle and large wings,
the figure fully draped, is soaring upwards. In such representations
the inscription is usually ‘_Quasi aquila ascendet et avolabit_’
(‘Behold, he shall come up and fly as the eagle.’ Jer. xlix. 22).
2. Perugino. St. John as an aged man, with long grey beard and
flowing hair, attended by a black eagle, looking up at the Madonna in
glory.[129]
3. Raphael (?). St. John, young and beautiful, mounted on the back
of an eagle, and soaring heavenwards: in one hand he holds a tablet,
in the other a pen: sea and land below. This treatment, which recalls
the antique Jupiter bestriding his eagle, appears to me at once too
theatrical and too commonplace for Raphael.[130]
[Illustration: 62 St. John]
4. Correggio. St. John seated writing his gospel; the eagle at his feet
is pluming his wing: inscribed ‘_Altius cæteris Dei patefecit arcana_.’
One of the series of Evangelists in the Duomo of Parma—wonderfully
beautiful.
5. Domenichino. St. John, full length, life size; young and beautiful,
in an ecstasy of inspiration, and sustained by two angels; the eagle
at his feet: formerly in the Giustiniani Gallery;[131]—finer, I think,
than the St. John in Sant’ Andrea. Another, half length, a scroll in
his hand, looking upwards as one to whom the glory of the heavens had
been opened;—you see it reflected in his eyes,—while love, wonder,
devotion, beam from his beautiful face and parted lips: behind him
hovers the attendant eagle, holding the pen in his beak; near him
is the chalice, with the serpent; so that here he is in his double
character of apostle and evangelist.[132] Domenichino excelled in St.
Johns, as Guido in Magdalenes; perhaps the most beautiful of all is
that in the Brera, at Milan, where St. John bends on one knee at the
foot of the throne of the Madonna and Child, his pen in one hand, the
other pressed to his bosom, and looking up to them with an air of
ecstatic inspiration. Two little angels, or rather _amoretti_, are in
attendance: one has his arms round the neck of the eagle, sporting
with it; the other holds up the cup and the serpent. Every detail
is composed and painted to admiration; but this is the artistic and
picturesque, not the religious, version of the subject.
St. John is frequently represented with St. Peter, because, after the
ascension, they taught and acted in concert. In such pictures, the
contrast between the fiery resolve and sturdy, rugged grandeur which is
given to St. Peter, and the refinement, mildness, and personal grace of
St. John, produces a fine effect: as in Albert Dürer’s picture,[133]
where John is holding open the Gospel, and Peter apparently reading it;
two grand and simple figures, filling the mind as we gaze upon them.
As this picture was painted _after_ Albert Dürer became a Protestant,
I have thought it possible that he might have had some particular
meaning in thus making Peter study the Gospel of John. At all events,
Albert Dürer was quite capable of such an intention; and, whether
intended or not, the picture may be, and has been, thus interpreted.
The prophets and the poets often say more than they intended, for
their light was for others more than for themselves: so also the great
painters—the Raphaels and Albert Dürers—prophets and poets in their
way. When I have heard certain critics ridiculed because they found
more in the productions of a Shakspeare or a Raphael than the poet
or painter himself ever perceived or ‘intended,’ such ridicule has
appeared to me in the highest degree presumptuous and absurd. The true
artist ‘feels that he is greater than he knows.’ In giving form or
utterance to the soul within him, does he account to himself for all
the world of thoughts his work will excite in the minds of others? Is
its significance to be circumscribed either by the intention and the
knowledge of the poet, or the comprehension of the age in which he
lived? That is the characteristic of the second-rate, self-conscious
poets or painters, whom we read or study because they reflect to us
a particular meaning—a particular period,—but not of the Homers and
Shakspeares, the Raphaels and Albert Dürers; _they_ speak to all times,
to _all_ men, with a suggestive significance, widening, deepening with
every successive generation; and to measure their depth of meaning by
their own _intention_, or by the comprehension of their own or any
one generation, what is it but to measure the star of heaven by its
apparent magnitude?—an inch rule will do that!
But to return from this digression. In devotional pictures we often
see St. John the Evangelist and St. John the Baptist standing together;
or on each side of Christ, or of the Madonna and Child. There is a
peculiar propriety and significance in this companionship: both are,
then, to be considered as prophets; they were, besides, kinsmen, and
bore the same name; and St. John the Evangelist was the disciple of
John the Baptist before he was called by Christ. Here, again, the
contrast between the dark, emaciated, hairy prophet of the wilderness,
and the graceful dignity of the youthful apostle, has a striking
effect. An example at hand is the bronze bas-relief on the tomb of
Henry VII.[134] Madonna pictures, in which the two St. Johns stand
before her throne, occur frequently. I remember, also, a marble group
of the Virgin and Child, in which the two St. Johns, as infants, are
playing at her feet, one with his eagle, the other with his reed
cross.[135]
As one who bore the most direct testimony to the Incarnation, St.
John is often introduced into Madonna pictures, and pictures of the
Nativity; but in the later schools only. In these instances he points
significantly to the Child, and the sacramental cup and wafer is either
in his hand or at his feet, or borne by an angel.
* * * * *
The historical and dramatic subjects in which St. John figures as a
principal personage are very numerous. As the scriptural scenes belong
properly to the life of Christ, I shall confine myself here to some
observations on the manner in which St. John is introduced and treated
in such pictures. In general he is to be distinguished from the other
apostles by his youth and beauty, and flowing hair; and by being placed
nearest to Christ as the most beloved of his disciples.
‘The mother of James and John imploring from our Saviour the highest
place in heaven for her two sons.’ (Matt. xx. 21): a picture by
Bonifazio, in the Borghese Gallery, beautiful both in sentiment and
colour. There is another example by Paul Veronese; and another, by
Tintoretto, was in the Coesvelt Gallery. I must observe that, except
in Venetian pictures, I have not met with this incident as a separate
subject.
In the last supper, Peter is generally on the right of Christ, and St.
John on the left: he leans his head down on the bosom of Christ (this
is always the attitude in the oldest pictures); or he leans towards
Christ, who places his hand upon his shoulder, drawing him towards him
with an expression of tenderness: this is the action in the fresco by
Raphael lately discovered at Florence. But I must reserve the full
consideration of this subject for another place.
Where, instead of the last supper, our Saviour is represented as
administering the Eucharist, St. John is seen on his right hand,
bearing the cup.
In the crucifixion, when treated as a religious rather than an
historical subject, St. John stands on the left of the Cross, and the
Virgin on the right; both in attitudes of the profoundest grief and
adoration mingled. In general the _motif_ of this sacred subject does
not vary; but I remember examples, in which St. John is seen trampling
a Jew under his feet; on the other side the Virgin tramples on a
veiled woman, signifying the old law, the synagogue, as opposed to the
Christian Church, of which the Virgin was the received symbol.
When the crucifixion is a _scene_ or action, not a _mystery_, then
St. John is beheld afar off, with the women who followed their divine
Master to Calvary.
St. John and the Virgin Mary returning from the crucifixion: he appears
to be sustaining her slow and fainting steps. I have only once met with
this beautiful subject, in a picture by Zurbaran, in the Munich Gallery.
In the descent from the Cross, St. John is a chief actor; he generally
sustains the head of the Saviour, and is distinguished by an expression
of extreme sorrow and tenderness. In the entombment he is sometimes
one of the bearers, sometimes he follows lamenting. In a print of
the entombment after Andrea Mantegna, he is not only weeping and
wringing his hands as usual, but absolutely crying aloud with the
most exaggerated expression of anguish. In pictures of the descent of
the Holy Ghost, St. John is usually a conspicuous figure, and in the
foreground. In the assumption of the Virgin, he is also conspicuous,
generally in front, as the pendant to St. Peter, and gazing upwards
with ecstatic faith and devotion.
Of course there is great variety in these representations: the later
painters thought less of individual character and significant propriety
of arrangement than of artistic grouping; therefore the above remarks
have reference to the early painters only.
In the scenes taken from the Acts, St. John is always in companionship
with St. Peter, and becomes the secondary figure.
[Illustration: 63 St. John (Lucas v. Leyden)]
St. John writing his Revelation in the island of Patmos is a subject
which frequently occurs in MSS. of the Apocalypse, and in the chapels
dedicated to St. John. The _motif_ is generally the same in all;
we have a desert island, with the sea in the distance, or flowing
round it; St. John, seated on a rock or under a tree, is in the act
of writing; or he is looking up to heaven, where the ‘Woman crowned
with stars,’ or ‘the Woman fleeing from the dragon,’ appears as in
his vision.[136] (Rev. xii.) Or he beholds St. Michael, armed, cast
down the dragon in human form; he has the eagle and book, and looks
up at the Virgin, as in a picture by Ambrogio Figino.[137] The eagle
is always in attendance as the symbol of inspiration in a general
sense; when represented with a diadem, or glory, as in some very early
examples, it is a symbol of the Holy Ghost, which, among the Jews, was
figured by the eagle.
The subjects from the legendary life of St. John are exceedingly
interesting, but they are not easily recognised, and require particular
attention; some are of frequent occurrence, others rarely met with.
1. Israel v. Meckenen. St. John instructing his disciples at Ephesus.
(Acts iv. 37.) The scene is the interior of a Gothic church, the
windows painted with heraldic emblazonments: St. John is seated
expounding the Scriptures, and five disciples sit opposite to him with
coarse ugly faces, but most intent, expressive countenances; in the
background, a large chest full of money.
2. Vatican, Chr. Mus. St. John drinking from the poisoned chalice;
a man falls down dead at his feet, several figures look on with awe
and astonishment: this is a frequent subject in the elder schools of
art, and in the illuminated MSS. of the Gospel and Apocalypse: but I
have never met with a representation later than the beginning of the
fourteenth century.[138]
3. It is related by Clement of Alexandria, that when St. John was at
Ephesus, and before he was exiled to Patmos, he had taken to his care
a young man of promising qualities of person and mind. During his
absence he left him under the spiritual guidance of a certain bishop;
but, after a while, the youth took to evil courses, and, proceeding
from one excess to another, he at length became the leader of a band of
robbers and assassins who struck terror into the whole country. When
St. John returned to Ephesus, he went to the bishop and demanded ‘the
precious deposit he had left in his hands.’ At first the priest did not
understand him; but when St. John explained the allusion to his adopted
son, he cast down his eyes with sorrow and shame, and told of what
had befallen. Then St. John rent his garments, and wept with a loud
voice, and cried out, ‘Alas! alas! to what a guardian have I trusted
our brother!’ And he called for a horse and rode towards the forest in
which the robbers sojourned; and when the captain of the robbers beheld
his old master and instructor, he turned and would have fled from his
presence; but St. John, by the most fervent entreaties, prevailed on
him to stop and listen to his words. After some conference, the robber,
utterly subdued, burst into tears of penitence, imploring forgiveness;
and while he spoke, he hid beneath his robe his right hand, which had
been sullied with so many crimes; but St. John, falling on his knees
before him, seized that blood-polluted hand, and kissed it, and bathed
it with his tears; and he remained with his re-converted brother till
he had, by prayers and encouraging words and affectionate exhortations,
reconciled him with Heaven and with himself.
This beautiful legend is the subject of some old engravings, in which
St. John is represented embracing the robber, who is weeping on his
neck, having flung away his weapons. It has been, however, too rarely
treated; I have never met with a picture of the subject; and yet it
abounds in picturesque capabilities: the forest background—the contrast
of youth and age—bright armour, flowing drapery, and the most striking
and affecting moral, are here all combined.
4. Another very pretty apologue relating to St. John is sometimes
included in a series of subjects from his life. Two young men, who had
sold all their possessions to follow him, afterwards repented. He,
perceiving their thoughts, sent them to gather pebbles and faggots,
and, on their return, changed these into money and ingots of gold,
saying to them, ‘Take back your riches and enjoy them on earth, as you
regret having exchanged them for heaven!’ This story is represented on
one of the windows of the Cathedral at Bourges. The two young men stand
before St. John, with a heap of gold on one side, and a heap of stones
and faggots on the other.
5. When St. John had sojourned in the island of Patmos a year and a
day, he returned to his church at Ephesus; and as he approached the
city, being received with great joy by the inhabitants, lo! a funeral
procession came forth from the gates; and of those who followed weeping
he inquired ‘who was dead?’ They said, ‘Drusiana.’ Now when he heard
that name he was sad, for Drusiana had excelled in all good works, and
he had formerly dwelt in her house; and he ordered them to set down the
bier, and having prayed earnestly, God was pleased to restore Drusiana
to life; she arose up, and the apostle went home with her and dwelt in
her house.
This incident is the subject of a fine fresco, painted by Filippo
Lippi, on the left-hand wall of the Strozzi Chapel at Florence. It has
the forcible expression and dramatic spirit of the painter, with that
characteristic want of elevated feeling in the countenances and in the
general treatment which is apparent in all his works: the group in one
corner, of a child starting from a dog, is admired for its truth; but,
by disturbing the solemnity of the marvellous scene, it repels like a
falsehood.
6. There is another beautiful and picturesque legend relating to St.
John, of which I have never seen any representation; but it may,
possibly, have occasioned the frequent introduction of a partridge into
the pictures of sacred subjects, particularly in the Venetian School.
St. John had a tame partridge, which he cherished much; and he amused
himself with feeding and tending it. ‘A certain huntsman, passing by
with his bow and arrows, was astonished to see the great apostle, so
venerable for his age and sanctity, engaged in such an amusement. The
apostle asked him if he always kept his bow bent? He answered, that
would be the way to render it useless. “If,” replied St. John, “you
unbend your bow to prevent its being useless, so do I thus unbend my
mind for the same reason.”’
7. The subject entitled the Martyrdom of St. John represents his
immersion in a cauldron of boiling oil, by order of the Emperor
Domitian. According to the received tradition, this event took place
outside the Latin gate at Rome; and on the spot stands the chapel of
San Giovanni _in Olio_, commemorating his miraculous deliverance, which
is painted in fresco on the walls. The subject forms, of course, one of
a series of the life of St. John, and is occasionally met with in old
prints and pictures; but it is uncommon. The treatment affords little
variety; in Albert Dürer’s famous woodcut, St. John is sitting in a pot
of boiling oil; one executioner is blowing the fire, another is pouring
oil from a ladle on the saint’s head; a judge, probably intended for
Domitian, is seated on a throne to the left, and there are numerous
spectators. Padovanino painted this subject for the San Pietro at
Venice; Rubens, with horrible truth of detail, for the altar-piece of
St. John at Malines.
It is the martyrdom in the boiling oil which gives St. John the right
to bear the palm, with which he is occasionally seen.
8. St. John, habited in priest’s garments, descends the steps of an
altar into an open grave, in which he lays himself down, not in death,
but in sleep, until the coming of Christ; ‘being reserved alive with
Enoch and Elijah (who also knew not death), to preach against the
Antichrist in the last days.’ This fanciful legend is founded on the
following text: ‘Peter, seeing the disciple whom Jesus loved following,
saith unto Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do? Jesus saith unto
him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Then
went this saying abroad among the brethren that that disciple should
not die.’ (John xxi. 21, 22.)
The legend which supposes St. John reserved alive has not been
generally received in the Church, and as a subject of painting it is
very uncommon. It occurs in the Menologium Græcum,[139] where the grave
into which St. John descends is, according to the legend, ‘_fossa in
crucis figuram_’ (in the form of a cross). In a series of the deaths
of the Apostles,[140] St. John is ascending from the grave; for,
according to the Greek legend, St. John died without pain or change,
and immediately rose again in bodily form, and ascended into heaven to
rejoin Christ and the Virgin.
In a small and very curious picture which I saw at Rome,[141] forming
part of a Predella, there is a tomb something like the Xanthian tombs
in form: one end is open; St. John, with a long grey beard, is seen
issuing from it, and, as he ascends, he is met by Christ, the Virgin,
St. Peter, and St. Paul, who are descending from above; while figures
below look up with astonishment. On the ancient doors of San Paolo he
is lying in an open grave or sarcophagus.
* * * * *
Of the miracles performed by John after his death, two are singularly
interesting in the history of Art; both have been treated in sculpture.
9. When the Empress Galla Placidia was returning from Constantinople to
Ravenna with her two children (A.D. 425), she encountered a terrible
storm. In her fear and anguish she vowed a vow to St. John the
Evangelist, and, being landed in safety, she dedicated to his honour a
magnificent church. When the edifice was finished, she was extremely
desirous of procuring some relics of the evangelist, wherewith to
consecrate his sanctuary; but as it was not the manner of those days
to exhume, and buy and sell, still less to steal, the bodies of holy
men and martyrs, the desire of the pious empress remained unsatisfied.
However, as it is related, St. John himself took pity upon her; for
one night, as she prayed earnestly, he appeared to her in a vision;
and when she threw herself at his feet to embrace and kiss them, he
disappeared, leaving one of his slippers or sandals in her hand, which
sandal was long preserved.
The antique church of Galla Placidia still exists at Ravenna, to
keep alive, after the lapse of fourteen centuries, the memory of
her dream, and of the condescension of the blessed apostle. Not
much of the original building is left; the superb mosaics have all
disappeared, except a few fragments, in which may be traced the
storm at sea, and Galla Placidia making her vow. Over the principal
porch, which is of white marble, in the Lombard style, and richly
and elegantly ornamented, the miracle of the slipper is represented
in two bas-reliefs, one above the other. The lower compartment, or
lunette, represents a tabernacle, and within it an altar: St. John the
Evangelist is seen offering incense; on the other side is Barbation,
the confessor of the empress; she, prostrate at the feet of the
apostle, seems to take off his sandal: on each side are six hovering
angels bearing the implements of the mass. In the upper compartment,
Galla Placidia is seen kneeling at the feet of Christ, and offering
to him the sacred sandal, while the evangelist stands on one side,
and Barbation on the other. These bas-reliefs are not older than the
twelfth century, and are in excellent preservation: I should suppose,
from the style of the grouping, that they were copied, or imitated,
from the older mosaics, once in the interior of the church.
10. The other miracle has the rare interest of being English in its
origin and in its representation. ‘King Edward the Confessor had, after
Christ and the Virgin Mary, a special veneration for St. John the
Evangelist. One day, returning from his church at Westminster, where
he had been hearing mass in honour of the evangelist, he was accosted
by a pilgrim, who asked of him an alms for the love of God and St.
John. The king, who was ever merciful to the poor, immediately drew
from his finger a ring, and, unknown to any one, delivered it to the
beggar. When the king had reigned twenty-four years, it came to pass
that two Englishmen, pilgrims, returning from the Holy Land to their
own country, were met by one in the habit of a pilgrim, who asked of
them concerning their country; and being told they were of England,
he said to them, “When ye shall have arrived in your own country, go
to King Edward, and salute him in my name: say to him, that I thank
him for the alms which he bestowed on me in a certain street in
Westminster; for there, on a certain day, as I begged of him an alms,
he bestowed on me this ring, which till now I have preserved, and ye
shall carry it back to him, saying that in six months from this time
he shall quit the world, and come and remain with me for ever.” And
the pilgrims, being astounded, said, “Who art thou, and where is thy
dwelling-place?” And he answered, saying, “I am John the Evangelist.
Edward, your king, is my friend, and for the sanctity of his life I
hold him dear. Go now, therefore, deliver to him this message and this
ring, and I will pray to God that ye may arrive safely in your own
country.” When St. John had spoken thus, he delivered to them the ring,
and vanished out of their sight. The pilgrims, praising and thanking
the Lord for this glorious vision, went on their journey; and being
arrived in England, they repaired to King Edward, and saluted him, and
delivered the ring and the message, relating all truly. And the king
received the news joyfully, and feasted the messengers royally. Then he
set himself to prepare for his departure from this world. On the eve of
the Nativity, in the year of our Lord 1066, he fell sick, and on the
eve of the Epiphany following he died. The ring he gave to the Abbot of
Westminster, to be for ever preserved among the relics there.’[142]
According to one account,[143] the pilgrims met the king near his
palace at Waltham, at a place since called _Havering_. The writer
adds,—‘In allusion to this story, King Edward II. offered at his
coronation a pound of gold made in the figure of a king holding a ring,
and a mark of gold (8 oz.) made like to a pilgrim putting forth his
hand to receive the ring.’ These must have been two little statuettes
of gold.
The legend of King Edward and St. John the Evangelist is represented,
with other legends of the same monarch, along the top of the screen of
Edward the Confessor’s chapel. It is in three compartments. The first
represents King Edward bestowing the ring on St. John in the disguise
of a pilgrim; Westminster Abbey is seen behind. The second shows us
the meeting of the pilgrims and St. John in Palestine; he holds what
seems a palm. In the third the pilgrims deliver the ring to King
Edward, who is seated at table. The sculpture is very rude; the figures
disproportioned and ungraceful. They are supposed to be of the time of
Henry VI.
The same legend was painted on one of the windows of Romford church, in
Essex, but whether it still exists there I know not.[144]
* * * * *
Before I quit the subject of the Evangelists, it is worth while to
observe that, in Greek Art, not only the Four Evangelists, but the six
writers of the Acts and Epistles, are considered as a sacred series. In
an ancient and beautiful MS. of the _Epistole Canoniche_, presented by
the Queen of Cyprus to Pope Innocent VIII., they are thus represented,
two and two together:—
St. Luke, with a very thoughtful, earnest countenance, holds a scroll,
on which is written in Greek the commencement of the Acts, ‘The former
treatise have I made, O Theophilus; &c.; and St. James, with a long,
very earnest, and refined face, holds a single roll.
St. Peter, with a broad, coarse, powerful physiognomy, strongly
characterised, holds two rolls; and St. John, with a long and very
refined face, grey hair and beard, holds three rolls.
St. Jude, with a long white beard and very aquiline nose, holds one
roll. St. Paul, bald in front, with long brown hair and beard, and a
refined face, bears many rolls tied up together.
All the figures are on a gold ground, about six inches in height, very
finely conceived, though, as is usual in Byzantine Art, formal and
mechanical in execution. They look like small copies of very grand
originals. The draperies are all classical; a pale violet or brown
tunic and a white mantle, as in the old mosaics; the rolls in their
hands corresponding with the number of their writings.
The Twelve Apostles.
Next to those who recorded the word of God, were those called by Christ
to the task of diffusing his doctrine, and sent to preach the kingdom
of heaven ‘through all nations.’
[Illustration: 64]
The earliest representations of the Twelve Apostles appear to have
been, like those of the Four Evangelists, purely emblematical: they
were figured as twelve sheep, with Christ in the midst, as the Good
Shepherd, bearing a lamb in his arms; or, much more frequently, Christ
is himself the Lamb of God, raised on an eminence and crowned with a
cruciform nimbus, and the apostles were ranged on each side as sheep.
Instances are to be met with in the old Christian bas-reliefs. In
the old Roman churches[145] we find this representation but little
varied, and the situation is always the same. In the centre is the lamb
standing on an eminence, from which flow the four rivers of Paradise;
on one side six sheep issuing from the city of Jerusalem, on the other
six sheep issuing from the city of Bethlehem, the whole disposed in a
line forming a sort of frieze, just below the decoration of the vault
of the apsis. The church of S. M. Maggiore exhibits the only exception
I have met with; there we find a group of sheep, entering, not issuing
from, the gates of Jerusalem and Bethlehem: in this case, however, the
sheep may represent believers, or disciples in general, not the Twelve
Apostles. Upon the great crucifix in the apsis of San Clemente, at
Rome, are twelve doves, which appear to signify the Twelve Apostles.
The next step was to represent the Apostles as twelve men all alike,
each with a sheep, and Christ in the middle, also with a sheep,
sometimes larger than the others. We find this on some of the
sarcophagi.[146] Again, a little later, we have them represented as
twelve venerable men, bearing tablets or scrolls in their hands, no
emblems to distinguish one from another, but their names inscribed over
or beside each. They are thus represented in relief on several ancient
sarcophagi now in the Christian Museum in the Vatican, and in several
of the most ancient churches at Rome and Ravenna, ranged on each side
of the Saviour in the vault of the apsis, or standing in a line beneath.
* * * * *
But while in the ancient Greek types, and the old mosaics, the
attributes are omitted, they adhere almost invariably to a certain
characteristic individual representation, which in the later ages
of painting was wholly lost, or at least neglected. In these eldest
types, St. Peter has a broad face, white hair, and short white beard:
St. Paul, a long face, high bold forehead, dark hair and beard: St.
Andrew is aged, with flowing white hair and beard: St. John, St.
Thomas, St. Philip, young and beardless: St. James Major and St. James
Minor, in the prime of life, short brown hair and beard; both should
bear a resemblance more or less to the Saviour, but St. James Minor
particularly: St. Matthew, St. Jude, St. Simon, St. Matthias, aged,
with white hair. The tablets or scrolls which they carry in their
hands bear, or are supposed to bear, the articles of the Creed. It is
a tradition, that, before the apostles dispersed to preach the Gospel
in all lands, they assembled to compose the declaration of faith since
called the Apostles’ Creed, and that each of them furnished one of
the twelve propositions contained in it, in the following order:—St.
Peter: _Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, creatorem cœli et terræ_.
St. Andrew: _Et in Jesum Christum Filium ejus unicum, Dominum nostrum_.
St. James Major: _Qui conceptus est de Spiritu Sancto, natus ex Maria
Virgine_. St. John: _Passus sub Pontio Pilato, crucifixus, mortuus et
sepultus_. St. Philip: _Descendit ad inferos, tertia die resurrexit à
mortuis_. St. James Minor: _Ascendit ad cœlos, sedet ad dexteram Dei
Patris omnipotentis_. St. Thomas: _Inde venturus est judicare vivos et
mortuos_. St. Bartholomew: _Credo in Spiritum Sanctum_. St. Matthew:
_Sanctam Ecclesiam Catholicam; sanctorum communionem_. St. Simon:
_Remissionem peccatorum_. St. Matthias: _Carnis resurrectionem_. St.
Thaddeus: _Et vitam æternam_.
The statues of the apostles on the shrine of the Virgin in the San
Michele at Florence exhibit a fine example of this arrangement. I give
the figure of St. Philip holding his appropriate sentence of the Creed
on a scroll (65).
[Illustration: 65 Orcagna]
* * * * *
In later times, the Apostles, instead of being disposed in a line, are
grouped round the Saviour in glory, or they form a circle of heads in
medallions: as statues, they ornament the screen in front of the altar,
or they are placed in a line on each side of the nave, standing against
the pillars which support it. From the sixth century it became usual to
distinguish each of them by a particular emblem or attribute borrowed
from some circumstance of his life or death. Thus, taking them in
order, according to the canon of the mass,—
St. Peter bears the keys or a fish.
St. Paul, the sword: sometimes two swords.
St. Andrew, the transverse cross.
St. James Major, the pilgrim’s staff.
St. John, the chalice with the serpent; sometimes the eagle also: but
the eagle, as I have observed, belongs to him properly only in his
character of Evangelist.
St. Thomas, a builder’s rule: also, but more seldom, a spear.
St. James Minor, a club.
St. Philip, the staff or crosier, surmounted by a cross; or a small
cross in his hand.
St. Bartholomew, a large knife.
St. Matthew, a purse.
St. Simon, a saw.
St. Thaddeus (or Jude), a halberd or lance.
St. Matthias, a lance.
The origin and meaning of these attributes will be explained presently:
meantime it must be borne in mind, that although in sacred Art the
Apostles are always twelve in number, they are not always the same
personages. St. Jude is frequently omitted to make room for St. Paul.
Sometimes, in the most ancient churches (as in the Cathedral of
Palermo), St. Simon and St. Matthias are omitted, and the evangelists
St. Mark and St. Luke figure in their places. The Byzantine manual
published by Didron omits James Minor, Jude, and Matthias; and inserts
Paul, Luke, and Mark. This was the arrangement on the bronze doors of
San Paolo-fuori-le-Mura at Rome, executed by Byzantine artists in the
tenth century, and now destroyed.
On an ancient pulpit, of beautiful workmanship, in the Cathedral of
Troyes, the arrangement is according to the Greek formula.[147] Thus—
───────────── ───────────── ───────────── ─────────────
S. John B. J. Christ. The Virgin.
───────────── ───────────── ───────────── An Angel.
S. Matthew. S. Peter. S. Simon.
S. Philip. S. Luke. S. Bartholomew. ─────────────
S. Mark. S. Andrew. S. James.
S. Paul. S. Thomas. S. John.
───────────── ───────────── ─────────────
Here, John the Baptist figures in his character of angel or messenger;
and St. Paul, St. Mark, and St. Luke take the place of St. James Minor,
St. Jude, and St. Matthias.
The earliest instance of the Apostles entering into a scheme of
ecclesiastical decoration, as the consecrated and delegated teachers
of a revealed religion, occurs in the church of San Giovanni in Fonte
at Ravenna.[148] In the centre of the dome is the Baptism of Christ,
represented quite in the classical style; the figure of the Saviour
being entirely undraped, and the Jordan, signified by an antique river
god, sedge-crowned, and bearing a linen napkin as though he were an
attendant at a bath. Around, in a circle, in the manner of radii, are
the Twelve Apostles. The order is,—Peter, Andrew, James, John, Philip,
Bartholomew, Simon, Jude, James Minor, Matthew, Thomas, Paul; so that
Peter and Paul stand face to face at one extremity of the circle, and
Simon and Bartholomew back to back at the other. All wear pointed caps,
and carry the oblation in their hands. Peter has a yellow vest and
white mantle; Paul, a white vest and a yellow mantle, and so all round
alternately. The name of each is inscribed over his head, and without
the title _Sanctus_, which, though admitted into the Calendar in 449,
was not adopted in works of art till some years later, about 472.
In the next instance, the attributes had not yet been admitted, except
in the figures of St. Peter and St. Paul.
MOSAIC (A.D. 816). Christ, in the centre, stands on an eminence; in
one hand he holds an open book, on which is inscribed _Pax vobis_. St.
Peter, with the keys and a cross, stands on the right; and Christ, with
his right hand, points to the cross. St. Paul is on the left, with his
sword; beyond, there are five Apostles on one side, and four on the
other: in all, eleven (Judas being properly omitted). Each holds a
book, and all are robed in white; underneath the whole is inscribed,
in Latin, the words of our Saviour, ‘Go ye, and teach all nations.’
On the arch to the right, Christ is seated on a throne, and presents
the keys to St. Peter, who kneels on one side, and the standard to
Constantine, who kneels on the other (alluding, of course, to the
famous standard). On the arch to the left, St. Peter is throned, and
presents the stole to Pope Leo III., and the standard to Charlemagne.
This singular monument, a kind of _résumé_ of the power of the Church,
is a restoration of the old mosaic, executed by order of Leo III. in
the Triclinium of the old palace of the Lateran, and now on one side of
the Scala Santa, the side facing the Porta San Giovanni.
MOSAIC, in the old basilica of St. Paul (A.D. 1206). In the centre
an altar veiled, on which are the Gospels (or perhaps, rather, the
_Book of Life_, the seven-sealed book in the Revelations), and the
instruments of the Passion. Behind it rises a large Greek cross,
adorned with gold and jewels. Underneath, at the foot of the altar,
five small figures standing and bearing palms, representing those
who suffered for the cause of Christ; and on each side, kneeling,
the monk Aginulph, and Giovanni Gaetano Orsini, afterwards Nicholas
III. On each side of the altar, a majestic angel: one bears a scroll,
inscribed GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO; the other, ET IN TERRA PAX HOMINIBUS
BONÆ VOLUNTATIS. Beyond these the Apostles, six on each side, bearing
scrolls with the articles of the Creed. They are much alike, all in
white robes, and alternately with each stands a palm-tree, the symbol
of victory and resurrection. This composition, of a colossal size,
formed a kind of frieze (taking the place of the emblematical lamb and
twelve sheep) round the apsis of the Basilica.
* * * * *
In sculpture, the Apostles, as a series, entered into all decorative
ecclesiastical architecture: sometimes on the exterior of the edifice,
always in the interior. In our English cathedrals they are seldom found
unmutilated, except when out of the reach of the spoiler; such was the
indiscriminate rage which confounded the venerable effigies of these
delegated teachers of the truth with the images which were supposed to
belong exclusively to the repudiated religion!
Where the scheme of decoration is purely theological, the proper place
of the Apostles is after the Angels, Prophets, and Evangelists; but
when the _motif_, or leading idea, implies a special signification,
such as the Last Judgment, Paradise, the Coronation of the Madonna, or
the apotheosis of a saint, then the order is changed, and the Apostles
appear immediately after the Divine Personages and before the angels,
as forming a part of the council or court of heaven;—‘When the Son
of man shall come in his glory, ye also shall sit on twelve thrones,
judging the twelve tribes of Israel.’[149] Such is the arrangement in
the Campo Santo, in Angelico’s ‘Paradiso’ in the Florence Gallery,
in Raphael’s ‘Disputa,’ and many other instances: and I may add the
architectural treatment on the façade of Wells Cathedral, where,
immediately under the Saviour sitting in judgment, _stand_ the Twelve
Apostles, and beneath them the hierarchy of angels, each of the nine
choirs being here expressed by a single angel.[150] Therefore to
determine the proper place of the Apostles, it is necessary to observe
well and to understand what has been the design of the artist, and the
leading idea of the whole composition, whether strictly _theological_
or partly _scenic_. In all monuments which have a solemn or a sacred
purpose,—altars, pulpits, tombs,—the Apostles find an appropriate
place, either in connection with other sacred personages, or as a
company apart, the band of teachers. The range of statues along the top
of the screen in front of the choir of St. Mark’s at Venice will be
remembered by all who have seen them: in the centre stand the Virgin
and St. Mark, and then the Apostles, six on each side, grand solemn
figures, standing there as if to guard the sanctuary. These are by
Jacobelli, in the simple religious style of the fifteenth century,
but quite Italian. In contrast with them, as the finest example of
German sculptural treatment, we have the Twelve Apostles on the tomb
of St. Sebald, in his church at Nuremberg, cast in bronze by Peter
Vischer (about 1500). These have become well known by the casts which
have lately been brought to England; they are about two feet high, all
remarkable for the characteristic expression of the heads, and the
grand simplicity of the attitudes and draperies.
There are instances of the Apostles introduced into a scheme of
ecclesiastical decoration as devotional figures, but assuming,
from the style of treatment and from being placed in relation with
other personages, a touch of the dramatic and picturesque. Such are
Correggio’s Apostles in the cupola of the duomo at Parma (1532), which
may be considered as the most striking instance that could be produced
of studied contrast to the solemnity and simplicity of the ancient
treatment: here the _motif_ is essentially _dramatic_. They stand round
the dome as spectators would stand in a gallery or balcony, all in
picturesque attitudes, studiously varied (some, it must be confessed,
rather extravagant), and all looking up with amazement, or hope, or
joy, or adoration, to the figure of the glorified Virgin ascending into
heaven.
Another series of Apostles in the San Giovanni at Parma, which
Correggio had painted earlier (1522), are conceived, I think, in a
finer spirit as to character, but, perhaps, not more appropriate to
the scene. Here the Twelve Apostles are seated on clouds round the
glorified Saviour, as they are supposed to be in heaven: they are but
partially draped. In the heads but little attention has been paid to
the ancient types, except in those of St. Peter and St. Paul; but they
are sublime as well as picturesque in the conception of character and
expression.
The Apostles in Michael Angelo’s Last Judgment (A.D. 1540) exhibit a
still further deviation from the antique style of treatment. They stand
on each side of the Saviour, who is not, here, Saviour and Redeemer,
but inexorable Judge. They are grandly and artificially grouped, all
without any drapery whatever, and with forms and attitudes which recall
an assemblage of Titans holding a council of war, rather than the
glorified companions of Christ. In early pictures of Christ in glory,
the Apostles, his companions in heaven as on earth, form, with the
Patriarchs and Prophets, the celestial court or council: they sit upon
thrones to the right and to the left.[151] Raphael’s ‘Disputa’ in the
Vatican is a grand example of this arrangement.
Sets of the Apostles, in devotional pictures and prints are so common,
that I shall particularise only a few among the most interesting and
celebrated. Engravings of these can easily be referred to.
1. A set by Raphael, engraved by Marc Antonio: grand, graceful figures,
and each with his appropriate attribute. Though admirably distinguished
in form and bearing, very little attention has been paid to the ancient
types, except perhaps in St. Peter and St. John. Here St. James Minor
is omitted to make room for St. Paul.
2. A set by Lucas van Leyden, smaller than Raphael’s, but magnificent
in feeling: here also the ancient types are for the most part
neglected. These two sets should be compared as perfect examples of the
best Italian and the most characteristic German manner. Some of the
German sets are very curious and grotesque.
3. By H. S. Beham, a most curious set, in what may be called the ultra
German style: they stand two and two together, like a procession of old
beggars; the workmanship exquisite. Another set by Beham, in which the
figures stand singly, and which includes the Four Evangelists, dressed
like old burgomasters, with the emblematical wings, has been already
mentioned.