1. Monica brings her son to school; the master receives him; the
scholars are sitting in a row conning their hornbooks. The names of
Monica and Augustine are inscribed in the glories round their heads.
This is a very curious little oval picture of the early part of the
fourteenth century.[279]
Benozzo Gozzoli has painted the same subject in a large fresco in
the church of San Geminiano at Volterra (A.D. 1460). Monica presents
her son to the schoolmaster, who caresses him; in the background a
little boy is being whipped, precisely in the same attitude in which
correction is administered to this day in some of our schools.
2. St. Augustine under the fig-tree meditating, with the inscription,
‘Dolores animæ salutem parturientes;’ and the same subject varied,
with the inscription, _Tolle, lege_. He tells us in his Confessions,
that while still unconverted and in deep communion with his friend
Alypius on the subject of the Scriptures, the contest within his mind
was such that he rushed from the presence of his friend and threw
himself down beneath a fig-tree, pouring forth torrents of repentant
tears; and he heard a voice, as it were the voice of a child, repeating
several times, ‘_Tolle, lege_,’ ‘Take and read;’ and returning to the
place where he had left his friend, and taking up the sacred volume,
he opened it at the verse of St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, ‘Not
in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in
strife and envying; but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not
provision for the flesh.’ Considering that this was the voice of God,
he took up the religious profession, to the great joy of his mother and
his friend.
3. C. Procaccino. The Baptism of St. Augustine in the presence of St.
Monica. This is a common subject in chapels dedicated to St. Augustine
or St. Monica.[280]
4. As the supposed founder of one of the four great religious
communities, St. Augustine is sometimes represented as giving the rules
to his Order: or in the act of writing them, while his monks stand
around, as in a picture by Carletto Cagliari:[281] both are common
subjects in the houses of the Augustine friars. The habit is black.[282]
5. St. Augustine dispensing alms, generally in a black habit, and with
a bishop’s mitre on his head.
6. St. Augustine, washing the feet of the pilgrims, sees Christ descend
from above to have his feet washed with the rest; a large picture in
the Bologna Academy by Desubleo, a painter whose works, with this one
exception, are unknown to me. The saint wears the black habit of an
Augustine friar, and is attended by a monk with a napkin in his hand.
I found the same subject in the Louvre, in a Spanish picture of the
seventeenth century; above is seen a church (like the Pantheon) in
a glory, and Christ is supposed to utter the words, ‘_Tibi commendo
Ecclesiam meam_.’[283]
7. St. Augustine, borne aloft by angels in an ecstatic vision, beholds
Christ in the opening heavens above, St. Monica kneeling below. This
fine picture, by Vandyck, is or was in the gallery of Lord Methuen
at Corsham: and at Madrid there is another example, by Murillo: St.
Augustine kneeling in an ecstasy sees a celestial vision; on one hand
the Saviour crucified, on the other the Virgin and angels.
* * * * *
[Illustration: 89 The Vision of St. Augustine (Murillo)]
This, however, is not the famous subject called, in general, 8.
‘The Vision of St. Augustine,’ which represents a dream or vision
related by himself. He tells us that while busied in writing his
Discourse on the Trinity, he wandered along the sea-shore lost in
meditation. Suddenly he beheld a child, who, having dug a hole in
the sand, appeared to be bringing water from the sea to fill it.
Augustine inquired what was the object of his task? He replied, that he
intended to empty into this cavity all the waters of the great deep.
‘Impossible!’ exclaimed Augustine. ‘Not more impossible,’ replied the
child, ‘than for thee, O Augustine! to explain the mystery on which
thou art now meditating.’
No subject from the history of St. Augustine has been so often treated,
yet I do not remember any very early example. It was adopted as a
favourite theme when Art became rather theological than religious, and
more intent on illustrating the dogmas of churchmen than the teaching
of Christ. During the 16th and 17th centuries we find it everywhere,
and treated in every variety of style; but the _motif_ does not vary,
and the same fault prevails too generally, of giving us a material
fact, rather than a spiritual vision or revelation. Augustine, arrayed
in his black habit or his episcopal robes, stands on the sea-shore,
gazing with an astonished air on the Infant Christ, who pauses, and
looks up from his task, holding a bowl, a cup, a ladle, or a shell
in his hand. Thus we have it in Murillo’s picture—the most beautiful
example I have seen: the child is heavenly, but not visionary,
‘palpable to feeling as to sense.’
In Garofalo’s picture of this subject, now in our National Gallery,
Augustine is seated on a rock by the margin of the sea, habited in
his episcopal robes, and with his books and writing implements near
him; and while he gazes on the mysterious child, the Virgin appears
amid a choir of angels above: behind Augustine stands St. Catherine,
the patron saint of theologians and scholars: the little red figure
in the background represents St. Stephen, whose life and actions are
eloquently set forth in the homilies of St. Augustine: the introduction
of St. Catherine, St. Stephen, and the whole court of heaven, gives
the picture a visionary character. Rubens has painted this subject
with all his powerful reality: here Augustine wears the black habit
of his Order. Vandyck in his large grand picture has introduced St.
Monica kneeling, thus giving at once the devotional or visionary
character.[284] Albert Dürer has designed and engraved the same
subject. The most singular treatment is the classical composition of
Raphael, in one of the small chiaro-scuro pictures placed significantly
under the ‘Dispute of the Sacrament.’ St. Augustine is in a Roman
dress, bare-beaded, and on horseback; his horse starts and rears at the
sight of the miraculous child.
There is something at once picturesque and mystical in this subject,
which has rendered it a favourite with artists and theologians; yet
there is always, at least in every instance I can recollect, something
prosaic and literal in the treatment which spoils the poetry of the
conception.
9. ‘St. Augustine and St. Stephen bury ‘Count Orgaz’—the masterpiece
of Domenico el Greco, once in the Cathedral of Toledo, now in the
Madrid Gallery. This Conde de Orgaz, as Mr. Ford tells us in his
Handbook, lived in 1312, and had repaired a church in his lifetime,
and _therefore_ St. Stephen and St. Augustine came down from heaven to
lay him in his tomb, in presence of Christ, the Virgin, and all the
court of heaven. ‘The black and gold armour of the dead Count is equal
to Titian; the red brocades and copes of the saints are admirable;
less good are the Virgin and celestial groups. I have before mentioned
the reason why St. Augustine and St. Stephen are often represented in
companionship.
St. Monica is often introduced into pictures of her son, where she has,
of course, the secondary place; her dress is usually a black robe, and
a veil or coif, white or grey, resembling that of a nun or a widow.
I have met with but one picture where she is supreme; it is in the
Carmine at Florence. St. Monica is seated on a throne and attended by
twelve holy women or female saints, six on each side. The very dark
situation of this picture prevented me from distinguishing individually
the saints around her, but Monica herself as well as the other figures
have that _grandiose_ air which belongs to the painter—Filippo Lippi.
I saw in the atelier of the painter Ary Scheffer, in 1845, an admirable
picture of St. Augustine and his mother Monica. The two figures, not
quite full length, are seated; she holds his hand in both hers, looking
up to heaven with an expression of enthusiastic undoubting faith;—
‘the son of so many tears cannot be cast away!’ He also is looking up
with an ardent, eager, but anxious, doubtful expression, which seems
to say, ‘Help thou my unbelief!’ For profound and truthful feeling and
significance, I know few things in the compass of modern Art that can
be compared to this picture.[285]