[This collection, one of the most important and interesting
among the treasures of the Louvre, occupies a somewhat
unobtrusive suite of rooms on the Ground Floor, and is therefore
too little visited by most passing tourists. It contains three
separate sets of plastic work: first, sculpture of the =Italian
Renaissance=, on which the French was mainly based; second,
sculpture of the =Middle Ages= in France, leading gradually up
to the age of François I^{er}, and improving as it goes, though
uninfluenced as yet by external models; third, and most
important of all, in Paris at least, the exquisite sculpture of
the =French Renaissance=, a revolt from mediævalism, inspired
from above by kings and nobles, based partly on direct study of
the antique (many specimens of which were brought to France by
François I^{er}), but still more largely on Italian models, made
familiar to French students through the work of artists invited
to the Court under the later Valois, as well as through the
Italian wars of Charles VIII, Louis XII and François I^{er} (of
which last more must be said when we visit St. Denis). At least
=one whole day= should be devoted by every one to this
fascinating collection: those who can afford the time should
come here often, and study _au fond_ the exquisite works of
Donatello, Michael Angelo, and (most of all) Jean Goujon,
Germain Pilon, and their great French contemporaries. The
Italians can be seen to greater advantage at Florence and
elsewhere; only here can one form a just idea of the beauty and
importance of the French Renaissance.]
* * * * *
Enter by Door D, in Baedeker’s plan—centre of the South-Eastern wing in
the (old) Cour du Louvre. Pass straight through the vestibule, and Salle
de Jean Goujon; then turn to your R, traversing the Salle de Michel
Ange, and enter that of the =Italian Renaissance= (numbered VI
officially).
The Renaissance in France being entirely based upon that in Italy, we
have first to observe (especially in the case of those who have not
already visited Venice and Florence) what was the character of the
=Italian works= upon which the French sculptors and architects based
themselves. Here you get, as it were, the original: in French sculpture,
the copy. This small hall—the hall of =Donatello=—contains works of
sculpture of the 13th to the 15th centuries in Italy. Contrast it
mentally with the purely mediæval objects which you saw at Cluny,
unrelieved for the most part by classical example, in order to measure
the distance which separates the Italians of this epoch from their
contemporaries north of the Alps. Recollect, too, that the Italian
Renaissance grew of itself from within, while the French was an
artificially cultivated exotic.
R and L of the door, early squat figures of Strength and Prudence,
Italian sculpture of the 13th century, still exhibiting many Gothic
characteristics, but with a nascent striving after higher truth which
began with the school of the Pisani at Pisa. Opposite them, Justice and
Temperance, completing the set of the four cardinal virtues. These may
be looked upon as the point of departure. They show the first germ of
Renaissance feeling. L of doorway, good Madonna from Ravenna; flanked by
two innocent-faced angels, in deacon’s dress, drawing aside a curtain
from a tomb—beautiful work of the Pisan school of the 14th century:
contrasted with the best French reliefs at Cluny (such as the legend of
St. Eustace), these works exhibit the early advance of art in Italy.
Between them (contrasting well with the early French style, as much more
idealised) terra-cotta painted Madonna and Child. Beneath, good Madonna
in wood, and painted gesso Madonnas, later. Near the window,
=**=beautiful bust of a child, by Donatello, exhibiting the exquisite
unconscious naïveté of the early Renaissance. Most of these works are so
fully described on their pedestals that I shall only call attention to a
few characteristics. The emaciated figure of the Magdalen, in a Glory of
Cherubs, below, is the conventional representation of that Saint, when a
penitent in Provence, being daily raised aloft to the beatific vision:
many examples occur at Florence. The beautiful little terra-cotta
Madonna under a canopy close by is admirable in feeling. Opposite it,
characteristic decorative work of the Renaissance. Then, =**=Donatello’s
naïf Young St. John, the Patron Saint of Florence, is another exquisite
example of this beautiful sculptor. The open mouth is typical. A
Lucretia, near it, indicates the general tendency to imitate the
antique, still more marked in the relief of a funeral ceremony, where
the boy to the R is especially pleasing. Do not overlook a single one of
the Madonnas in this delightful room: the one above the funeral relief,
though skied, is particularly pleasing. Even the large painted wooden
Sienese Madonna in the centre, though the merest church furniture, has
the redeeming touch of Italian idealism. The busts of Roman emperors,
imitated after the antique, betray on the other hand the true spring of
Renaissance impulse.
The room beyond—to the R—No. VII—is filled for the most part with
fine coloured terra-cottas or =majolicas= of the =School of Della
Robbia=. Centre of L wall, at the end (as you enter), Madonna and Child,
with St. Roch showing his plague spot, and St. Francis pointing to the
stigma in his side—a votive offering. Fine nude figure, L of it, of
Friendship, by Olivieri. Exquisite little cherubs and angels. Bronze
busts, instinct with Renaissance feeling. Window wall—centre—a Della
Robbia of the Agony in the Garden: the arrangement is conventional, and
occurs in many other works in this Gallery. It is flanked by two good
Apostles of the Pisan school (the first to imitate the antique) from the
Cathedral of Florence. Far L, a voluptuous figure of Nature by Tribolo,
from Fontainebleau, characteristic of the works collected by François
I^{er}. R wall, several Madonnas, all of which should be closely
studied. In the centre, terra-cotta of the School of Donatello. R and L
of it, fine busts of the Italian Renaissance, with most typical faces.
Near the door, portrait-statue of Louis XII, by Lorenzo da Mugiano: this
king was the precursor of the French Renaissance: note the fine
decorative work on his greaves and knee-caps. In the centre, a fine St.
Christopher, his face distorted by the weight of the (non-existent)
Christ Child. I note these in particular, but _all_ the works in these
two rooms should be closely followed, both as exhibiting the development
from traditional forms, and as illustrating the style of art on which
the French Renaissance was grafted. Notice for instance (as survival,
modified) the quaint little St. Catherine, in the corner by the window,
bearing her wheel, and laying her hand with a caressing gesture on the
donor—a special votary, evidently. Observe, again, the three little
scenes from the life of St. Anne, in gilt wood, under the large Della
Robbia of the Ascension, on the wall opposite the windows. They
represent respectively the Rejection of Joachim’s Offering (he is
expelled from the Temple by the High Priest, because he is childless:
notice his servant carrying the lamb for sacrifice); the Birth of the
Virgin (with the usual details of St. Anne in bed washing her hands, the
bath for the infant, and the attendant bringing in a roast chicken to
the mother); and the Meeting of Joachim and Anne at the Golden Gate—a
scene which you may often recognise elsewhere (it comes immediately
after the first, the Birth being interposed as principal subject: the
servant here bears the rejected lamb less ceremonially). Beneath them,
once more, a characteristically dainty St. George and the Dragon—with
the beautiful Princess most heartlessly fleeing (as always) in the
distance—should be carefully noted for comparison later with Michel
Colombe and Raphael (St. George’s lance is accidentally broken: you can
still see the stump of it). To the L, again, is a beautiful Tabernacle
of the Della Robbia school—angels guarding relics. To the R, a
terra-cotta angel, most graceful and beautiful. Further L, charming
Madonna: I need hardly call attention to the frames of fruit, which were
a Della Robbia speciality. Further R, Baptism of Clovis, gilt, and very
spirited, though over-crowded. Do not overlook the skied St. Sebastian.
(The little room beyond again contains a small but interesting
collection of =Early Christian works= which must be visited and studied
on some other occasion. These very ancient Christian sculptures, antique
in conception, antedate the rise of the conventional representations.)
Now return through Room VI to the =Salle de Michel Ange= (Room V),
containing for the most part still more developed works of the Italian
Renaissance, which therefore stand more directly in connection with
French sculpture of that and the succeeding period. The =*doorway= by
which we enter is a splendid specimen of a decorated Italian Renaissance
portal, removed from the Palazzo Stanga at Cremona; it was executed by
the brothers Rodari at the end of the 15th century, and is decorated
with medallions of Roman Emperors, a figure of Hercules (the mythical
founder of Cremona), and of Perseus, together with reliefs from the
myths of those heroes and others. Identify these. Above the name of
Perseus, for example (to the R), is a relief representing the three
Gorgons and the head of Pegasus. Above that of Hercules (L) are the
heads of the Hydra which he slew (as also represented in a bronze on the
end wall not far from it). This gateway you should mentally compare,
when you visit the École des Beaux-Arts, with that of Diane de Poitiers’
Château d’Anet now erected in the courtyard and with the _façade_ of the
Château de Gaillon at the same place. The beautiful Italian Renaissance
fountain in the centre of the room comes itself from the same Château de
Gaillon: it was given to Cardinal d’Amboise (who built the Château) by
the Republic of Venice.
The most beautiful works in this room, however, are the two so-called
=*Fettered Slaves=, by Michael Angelo—in reality figures of the
Virtues, designed for the monument of Julius II. It was Michael Angelo’s
fate seldom to finish anything he began. This splendid monument,
interrupted by the too early death of the Pope who commissioned it, was
to have embraced (among other features) figures of the Virtues, doomed
to extinction by the death of the pontiff. These are two of them: the
one to the right, unfinished, is of less interest: =**=that to the left,
completed, is of the exquisite beauty which this sculptor often gave to
nude youthful male figures. They represent the culminating point of the
Italian Renaissance, and should be compared with the equally lovely
sculptures of the Medici tombs in San Lorenzo at Florence. Observe them
well as typical examples of Michael Angelo’s gigantic power and mastery
over marble.
You will note in the windows close by several exquisite =bronze
reliefs=; eight of them, by Riccio, are from the monument of the famous
anatomist, Della Torre, representing his life and death in very
classical detail. (L window) Della Torre lecturing at Verona;
dangerously ill; sacrifice to the gods for his recovery; his death and
mourning: (R window) his obsequies; passage of the soul (as a naked
child with a book) in Charon’s boat (pursued by Furies); apotheosis
(crowned by Fame); and celebrity of the deceased on earth; all designed
in a thoroughly antique manner. (Souls of the recently dead are
frequently represented leaving the body like new-born children.) This
work shows the Renaissance not only as secular and humanist but even as
pagan: early ages would have considered such treatment impious. All the
other reliefs in this very important room should be carefully noted. By
this (R) window, the Annunciation (from Cremona); Judgment of Solomon
(now wholly conceived in the classical spirit); Adoration of the Magi,
in bronze; figures of Galba and Faustina, entirely antique in tone; Paul
shaking off the snake, etc. A portrait medallion of Ludovico il Moro of
Milan (also by this window) may be instructively compared with those in
contemporary Italian paintings upstairs. The next (L) window (with a
rosso antico and marble imitation of the Wolf of the Capitol) contains
the beginning of the reliefs from the tomb of Della Torre, in the same
classical style, together with two exquisite Madonnas by =Mino da
Fiesole=, and other charming works of the same period. The infantile
simplicity of Mino has an unspeakable attraction. Between the windows, a
Pietà from Vicenza, with St. Jerome, beating his breast as always with a
stone, and St. Augustine (I think) writing. On the far wall, note a fine
wooden Annunciation in two figures, from Pisa, of the Florentine 14th
cent. The angel Gabriel and the Madonna are frequently thus separated.
Between them, admirable equestrian figure of Robert Malatesta, of
Rimini, where the action of the horse is particularly spirited. Fine
bust of Filippo Strozzi by Benedetto da Majano on a pedestal close by.
(You will find many works by this artist for this patron at Florence.)
The various Virgins on the R wall should also be carefully studied, as
well as the fine wooden Circumcision—a good rendering of the
traditional scene, where the artist triumphs over his intractable
material—and the exquisitely dainty bust of the Florentine =**=Baptist,
instinct with the tender simplicity of Mino da Fiesole, whose decorative
fragments above must not be overlooked. Do not leave this room without
having carefully examined everything it contains, as every object is
deserving of study. [For instance, I have omitted to mention works so
fine as the self-explanatory High Renaissance Jason, the relief of
Julius Cæsar, the splendid bust of Beatrice d’Este (see for this family
the Perugino, etc., upstairs), and the spirited bronze of Michael
Angelo, lined with the lines of a thinker who has struggled and
suffered.] Finally, sit long on the bench between the windows, and look
well at the =Nymph of Fontainebleau=, with stag and wild boar, by
Benvenuto Cellini, the great Florentine metal-worker whom François
I^{er} commissioned to produce this work for Fontainebleau. (But Henri
II gave it instead to Diane de Poitiers, for her Château d’Anet.)
Cellini’s work gave an immense impetus to French sculpture, and it is
largely on his style that Jean Goujon and the great French sculptors we
have shortly to examine formed their conceptions. Voluptuous and
overlithe, this fine relief is a splendid example of its able,
unscrupulous, deft-handed artist—seldom powerful or deep, yet always
exquisite in tone and perfect in handicraft.
Now, in order to form a just conception of the rise of the =French
school of sculpture=, traverse the Salle de Jean Goujon and the other
rooms which succeed it, till you come to the last room of the
suite—officially No. I—the =Salle d’André Beauneveu=. This vault-like
hall contains works of the =Early French School= of the 13th, 14th, and
15th cent., still for the most part purely Gothic, and uninfluenced in
any way by Italian models. Among them we notice, at the far end of the
room, near the door which leads into the Egyptian Museum, several
statuettes of Our Lady and Child, of a character with which Cluny has
already made us acquainted. Invariably crowned and noble, they represent
the Madonna as the Queen of Heaven, not the peasant of Bethlehem. This
regal conception and, still more, the faint simper, are intensely
French, and mark them off at once from most Italian Madonnas. Further
on, by the end window, the figures of angels, of St. John Baptist, and
of a nameless king, are also thoroughly French in character; while the
dainty little Burgundian choir of angels, holding, as they sing, a
scroll with a Gloria, is in type half German. Note also the numerous
=recumbent effigies from tombs=, among the best of which are those of
Catherine d’Alençon and of Anne of Burgundy, Duchess of Bedford. The
tombs at this end have still the stiff formality of the early Gothic
period. The strange recumbent figure in the centre, supported by most
funereal mourners (placed too low to be seen properly), is the tomb of
Philippe Pot, Grand Seneschal of Burgundy under John the Good, from the
Abbey of Citeaux. Such mourners are characteristic of the monumental art
of Burgundy. One more occurs under a canopy near the middle window: you
will recollect to have seen others (from the tomb of Philippe le Hardi)
at Cluny. Further on in the room we get more Madonnas whose marked
French type you will now be able to recognise. Good recumbent figures of
a bishop, and of Philip VI, sufficiently described by the labels, and
other excellent statues, one of the best of which is the child in the
centre. The king and queen by the doorway are also fine examples of the
art of the 15th cent. Notice the dates of all these figures, as given by
the labels, and convince yourself from them (as you can do still more
fully in the next room) that French art itself made a =domestic advance=
from the 11th cent., onward, wholly independent of Italian influence.
This advance was due in the main to national development, and to the
slow recovery of trade and handicraft from the barbarian irruption. What
was peculiar to Italy was the large survival of antique works, which the
School of Pisa, and others after them, strove to imitate. In France,
till François I^{er}, no such classical influence intervenes: the
development is all home-made and organic. But if you contrast the busts
by the W doorway, or the tombstone of Pierre de Fayet, near them, with
the ruder work by the first window in the next room, the reality of this
advance will become at once apparent to you. The artists, though still
hampered by tradition, are striving to attain higher perfection and
greater truth to nature. Do not miss in this connection the excellent
wooden Flagellation by the middle window: nor the Madonna opposite it;
nor the donor and donatrix close by; nor the fine mutilated Annunciation
(with lily between the figures) by the W window; nor the well-carved
Nativity (clearly Flemish, however) near the seat by the doorway. In
this last, observe the quaint head-dress of the donatrix in the
background (an unusual position) as well as the conventional ox and ass,
and the Three Kings approaching in the upper right-hand corner, balanced
by the shepherds listening to the angels. St. Joseph’s candle is,
however, a novelty. I merely note these points to show how much there
may often be in seemingly unimportant objects. This is officially called
an Adoration of the Shepherds, but if you look into it, you will see,
erroneously. The person entering from behind is a mere modern spectator.
Study well the works in this room and the next, regarded as a
=starting-point=.
In the =passage= leading into the next room are a truncated statue of
St. Denis, from his Basilica (to be visited later), and, beyond it, a
group of Hell from the same church. Notice the usual realistic jaws of
death, vomiting flame and swallowing the wicked. Observe also that souls
are always represented as nude. Opposite this, a mutilated fragment of
St. Denis bearing his head, and accompanied by his two deacons, St.
Rusticus and St. Eleutherius. I have not hitherto called attention to
these two attendant deacons, but you will find them present in almost
all representations of St. Denis. (Look for them among the paintings.)
Try to build up your knowledge in this way, by adding point to point as
you proceed, and afterwards returning to works earlier visited, which
will gain fresh light by comparison with those seen during your more
recent investigations.
Enter Room II: =Salle du Moyen Age=. Notice, first, the fragments by the
window; those numbered 19 to 22 are good typical examples of the rude
work of the Romanesque period (10th to 12th cents.). 23, beside them,
shows the improvement which came in with the Gothic epoch, as well as
the distinctive Gothic tone in execution,—softer, and rounder, with
just a touch of foolish infantile simplicity or inanity. Observe all the
other heads here, and compare their dates, as shown on the labels. Two
beautiful angels, from the tomb of the brother of St. Louis, will
indicate this gradual advance in execution, wholly anterior to any
Renaissance influence. On the R side of the window, notice particularly
an admirable head of the Virgin, 76, and another near it, from the
cathedral of Sées. On the pillar, St. Denis bearing his head. Every one
of these capitals and heads should be closely noted, with reference to
the dates shown on the label. In the little Madonna on the L hand
window, observe a nascent attempt to introduce an element of playfulness
which is characteristically French. This increases later. It develops
into the grace—the somewhat meretricious grace—of more recent French
sculpture.
Now turn to the body of the room. R wall, 53, an excellent angel. Beyond
it, the Preaching of St. Denis; observe that he is here attended by his
two faithful deacons; the gateway indicates that he preaches at Paris.
Such little side-indications are common in early art: look out for them.
Above it, Christ in Hades, redeeming Adam and Eve, as the first fruits
of the souls, from Limbo; the devil bound in chains on the ground
beneath them; you saw several similar works at Cluny. Further on,
another Madonna and Child, with the same attempt at playfulness; notice
here Our Lady’s slight simper, a very French feature; the Child carries
a goldfinch, which you will frequently find, if you look for it, in
other representations, both French and Italian. The coloured relief of
Pilate recalls those in the ambulatory at Notre-Dame. (Read in every
case the date and place whence brought here.) Beneath it are the
Flagellation, Bearing of the Cross, Crucifixion, and Entombment, which
may be profitably compared with other examples.
(If, after observing the French type of Madonna in these rooms, and the
few Burgundian works they contain, you have time to revisit the Mediæval
Sculpture at Cluny—Room VI, ground floor—as I strongly advise you to
do, you will find that =Burgundian art= in the Middle Ages was quite
distinct from French, and had types of its own, approximating to the
Flemish, and still more to the German. This is well seen in the
Burgundian Madonna and St. Catherine at Cluny. For study of the style,
it is a good plan to stop at =Dijon= on your way to or from
Switzerland.)
The end of the room is occupied by a Gothic doorway from a house in
Valencia (Spain), which may be contrasted with the scarcely later
Renaissance example from the Palazzo Stanga. On its top is an
Annunciation, representations of which are frequent in similar
situations; we saw one on the façade of St. Étienne du Mont; in such
cases, the Madonna is almost always separated by some form of wall,
door, or ornament from the angel Gabriel; here, the finial represents
the usual pot of lilies. Below it, a very characteristic French Madonna,
again slightly smirking, and with the Child bearing the goldfinch. Note
once more the royal air, the affected ladylike manner, given to the
Madonna in early French sculpture and painting. To its L, a similar
regal painted Madonna. To the R, gorgeous coloured statue of King
Childebert, of the 13th cent.: this once stood at the entrance to the
beautiful refectory of the Abbey of St. Germain-des-Prés (see later)
which Childebert founded, and where the king was buried. L wall,
fragment of a coloured stone relief, Judas receiving payment: of the
same type as those in Notre-Dame. Further on, a similar Kiss of Judas.
(Compare this with several specimens at Cluny.) The mutilated state of
many of these fragments is in several instances due to the Revolution.
All the other statues and fragments in this compartment should be
carefully examined, including the strange scene from a Hell, and the
stiff wooden Madonna, on pedestals in the centre. By the doorway,
painted Virgin and Child,—the Madonna under a little canopy, and very
typical of French conceptions.
Room III, =Salle de Michel Colombe=, represents the =advance= made =in
French plastic art= during the last half of the 15th cent., and the
beginning of the 16th cent., in some cases independently of the Italian
Renaissance. The bust of François I^{er}, in bronze, on a pedestal near
the door, may be compared, both for spirit and likeness, with the (very
wooden) contemporary portraits of the same king in the French School
upstairs. It has all the stiffness and archaic fidelity of early
portraiture, with the usual lack of artistic finish. Note such little
points as that the king wears the collar of his order, with the St.
Michael of France as a pendant. Near the window, fragments of work
displaying Renaissance influence. One, a relief of the Return of the
Master, from the Château de Gaillon (built by Cardinal d’Amboise,
minister of Louis XII, and one of the great patrons of the Renaissance
in France), exhibits the beginning of a taste for secular, domestic, and
rustic subjects, which later became general. (Early work is all
sacred—then comes mythical—lastly, human and contemporary.) Note on
the opposite side, the fine bronze of Henri Blondel de Rocquencourt,
under Henri II. The Apollo and Marsyas is strongly Renaissance—a mythic
subject (see the Perugino upstairs). The Massacre of the Innocents
exhibits Renaissance treatment of a scriptural scene. The =centre of the
room= is occupied by fine =bronzes= of the school of Giovanni da
Bologna, a Frenchman who worked in Italy and forms a link between the
art of the two countries. Observe the decorative French slenderness and
coquetry of form, combined with the influence of the Italian
Renaissance. The Mercury—light and airy—is a replica of Giovanni da
Bologna’s own famous statue in the Bargello at Florence. The Mercury and
Psyché beside it is a splendid example of Giovanni da Bologna’s school,
by Adrian de Vries. Notice the French tinge in the voluptuous treatment
of the nude, and the slenderness and grace of the limbs. The bronze
statue of Fame, from the tomb of the Duc d’Epernon, exhibits in a less
degree the same characteristics. It is obviously suggested by Giovanni’s
Mercury.
Along the wall to the L, the most noticeable work is the splendid
=**=marble relief of St. George, by the great French sculptor Michel
Colombe, produced for the chapel of the Château de Gaillon; recollect
all these Gaillon objects, and their connection with one another: the
château was erected under Louis XII, at the dawn of the French
Renaissance, and much of its work, like this fine relief, shows a
considerable surviving Gothic feeling. You will see the façade of the
château later at the École des Beaux-Arts. It is interesting to compare
this splendid piece of sculpture with the little Della Robbia in the
Italian rooms, and the painting by Raphael upstairs: the dragon here is
a fearsome and very mediæval monster; but the St. George and his horse
are full of life and spirit; and the fleeing Princess in the background
is delicately French in attitude and conception. The dragon is biting
the saint’s lance, which accounts for its broken condition in the
Raphael and the Mantegna. Comparison of the various St. Georges in this
collection, indeed, will give you an admirable idea of the way in which
a single conventional theme, embracing always the very same elements, is
modified by national character and by the individuality of the artist.
To understand this is to have grasped art-history. (Note that the legend
of St. George itself is in one aspect a Christianisation of the myth of
Perseus and Andromeda.)
Beneath the St. George stands a fine Dead Christ, also exhibiting
characteristic French treatment. The somewhat insipid but otherwise
excellent Madonna and Child, on a pedestal close by, is admirable as
exemplifying the transformation of the smirking Madonnas of the Middle
Ages into the type of the Renaissance. The Death of the Virgin, near it,
from St. Jacques-de-la-Boucherie (of which only the tower now remains),
suggests to one’s mind the riches which must once have belonged to the
demolished churches of Paris,—mostly, alas! destroyed at the great
Revolution. Observe in this work the figures of the attendant apostles,
the Renaissance architecture of the background, and the soul of the
Madonna ascending above, escorted by angels, to heaven. More naïve, and
somewhat in the earlier style, is the Nativity above it, flanked by the
two St. Johns, the Baptist and the Evangelist. The tomb of Philippe de
Commynes also illustrates the older feeling, as yet little influenced by
the Italian irruption. Note that the works which betray the greatest
Italian influence are chiefly connected with the =royal= châteaux and
palaces of François I^{er} and his Italianate successors, or their wives
and mistresses; the =nation= as yet is little touched by the new models.
The bronze tomb of Alberto Pio of Savoy, by Ponzio, on the other hand,
exhibits strongly the Italian tendency, and should be compared with the
earlier recumbent tombs, behind in Room I, as showing the survival of
the mediæval type, transmuted and completely revivified. The same may be
said of the tomb of Philippe de Chabot, which, however, is more
distinctively French and much less markedly Italian. See how the early
prostrate effigies become here recumbent: the figure, as it were, is
trying to raise itself. In comparing the various works in this room,
endeavour to note these interlacing points of resemblance and
difference. The beautiful Genii above are parts of the same tomb, and
are exquisite examples of the minor work of the French Renaissance.
Passing the Italian Tacca’s admirable bust of Giovanni da Bologna, we
come to an excellent Entombment, of the French School, from St.
Eustache, which should be compared with earlier specimens in the
adjacent rooms. Beneath it, a fine fragment by Jean Cousin. Still lower,
a Passage of the Red Sea, beginning to display that confused composition
and lack of unity or simplicity which spoiled the art of the later 16th
and 17th centuries. The fine Madonna and Child close by should be
compared with the very similar example opposite, as well as with its
predecessors in other centuries. (Comparison of varying versions of the
_same_ theme is always more instructive than that of different
subjects.) The tomb of Abbot Jean de Cromois, with its Renaissance
framework, shows a survival of earlier tendencies; as does also that of
Roberte Legendre, though the figures of Faith and Hope (Charity is
missing) are distinctly more recent in type than the recumbent effigy.
Those who have time to notice and hunt up the =coats of arms= on the
various tombs will often find they shed interesting light on their
subjects. Observe also the =churches= from which these various monuments
have been removed, a point which will fit in with your previous or
subsequent knowledge of the buildings in many cases.
The =last window= contains a few works of the =German School=, which it
is interesting to compare with their French contemporaries. Thus, the
shrewd, pragmatical, diplomatic head of Frederick the Pacific, a coarse,
cunning self-seeker, is excellently contrasted with the French
portrait-busts. The little scene of the Holy Family, after Dürer, which
should be closely studied, is essentially German in the domestic
character of its carpenter’s shop, in the broad peasant faces of its
Madonna and attendant angels, in the playful touches of the irreverent
cherubs, and in the figure of the Almighty appearing in clouds at the
summit of the composition. The Kiss of Judas, opposite it, is also
characteristically German; notice the brutal soldiers, whose like we
have seen in woodwork at Cluny: the bluff St. Peter with the sword is
equally noteworthy; in the background are separate episodes, such as the
Agony in the Garden; though officially ascribed to the French School,
this is surely the work of a deft but unideal German artist. Do not
neglect the many beautiful =decorative fragments= collected in this
room, nor the fine busts, mostly of a somewhat later period.
Now enter Room VIII, the =Salle de Jean Goujon=. The magnificent
collection of works contained in this room embraces the =finest
specimens of French Renaissance work= of the school of the great artist
whose name it bears, and of his equally gifted contemporary, Germain
Pilon. They represent the plastic side of the School of Fontainebleau.
In the centre is Jean Goujon’s =**=Huntress Diana, with her dogs and
stag; it was probably executed for Diane de Poitiers, and comes from her
Château d’Anet, presented to her by her royal lover. (Note all the works
from the Château d’Anet, which is a destroyed museum of the art of the
Renaissance.) Observe on the base the monogram of H. and D., which
recurs on contemporary portions of the Louvre. The decorative lobsters
and cray-fish on the pedestal should also be noted. Diana herself
strikes the keynote of all succeeding French sculpture. Beautiful,
coquettish, lithe of limb, and with the distinctive French elegance of
pose, this figure nevertheless contains in it the germs of rapid
decadence. It suggests the genesis of the 18th century, and of the
common ormolu clock of commerce. Step into the next room and compare it
with the Nymph of Fontainebleau, by Benvenuto Cellini. You will there
see how far the Florentine artist approached the French, and how much
the Frenchman borrowed from the Florentine. Walk round and observe on
either side this the most triumphant work of the French Renaissance.
Observe also its relations to the Diana of Versailles, in the Classical
Gallery—brought to France by François I^{er},—and its general debt to
the antique, as well as to contemporary Italy.
Perhaps still more beautiful is the exquisite =**=group of the Three
Graces, supporting an urn, by Germain Pilon, intended to contain the
heart of Henry II, and commissioned by Catherine de Médicis. It once
stood in the Church of the Celestines. Here again one sees the delicacy
and refinement of the French Renaissance, with fewer marks of its
inherent defects than in Jean Goujon’s statue. Sit long and study this
exquisite trio—which the Celestines piously described as the
Theological Virtues. Walk round it and observe the admirably natural way
in which the figures are united by their hands in so seemingly
artificial a position. The charming triangular pedestal is by the
Florentine sculptor, Domenico del Barbiere.
The third object in the centre of the room is the exquisite group of the
=**=Four Theological Virtues, in wood, also by Germain Pilon, which,
till the Revolution, supported the reliquary containing the remains of
Ste. Geneviève, in St. Étienne-du-Mont, and earlier still in the old
church now replaced by the Panthéon. These are probably the finest
figures ever executed in this difficult material. The faces and
attitudes deserve from every side the closest study. If you have entered
into the spirit of these three great groups in the centre of this room,
you have succeeded in understanding the French Renaissance.
Now, begin at the further wall, in the body of the Salle, and observe,
first, the exquisite reliefs of =*=Tritons and Nereids, with =**=Nymphs
of the Seine, by Jean Goujon. Read the labels. We shall visit hereafter
the Fountain of which these graceful and delicate reliefs once formed a
portion. The Nymph to the L is one of the loveliest works ever produced
by its sculptor, and is absolutely redolent of Renaissance spirit. It
indicates the change which had come over French handicraft, under the
influence of its Italian models, at the same time allowing the national
spirit to shine through in a way which it never succeeded in doing in
contemporary painting. Beneath it are two noble figures in bronze, from
the tomb of Christopher de Thou, attributed to an almost equally great
artist, Barthélemy Prieur. Frémin Roussel’s Genius of History still more
markedly anticipates more recent French tendencies. It is intensely
modern. Germain Pilon’s monumental bronze of René Birague prepares us
for the faults of the French works of this style in the Louis XIV
period. Mere grandiosity and ostentation are here foreshadowed. The
centre of the next wall is occupied by Germain Pilon’s fine
chimney-piece, with Jean Goujon’s bust of Henri II as its central
object. The decorative Renaissance work on this mantel should be closely
studied, as well as that—so vastly inferior—on the adjacent later
columns of the age of Louis XIV. Barthélemy Prieur’s exquisite bronzes
from the tomb of the Constable Anne de Montmorency also breathe a
profoundly French spirit. The figures represent Justice, Courage, and
Abundance. Germain Pilon’s too tearful Mater Dolorosa (painted
terra-cotta) close by, from the Sainte Chapelle, indicates the
beginnings of modern French taste in church furniture. His recumbent
tomb of Valentine Balbiani, on the other hand, is admirable as
portraiture; but the genius of the artist is only fully displayed in the
repulsive figure of the same body seen emaciated in death and
decomposition beneath it. Barthélemy Prieur’s recumbent figure of Anne
de Montmorency shows survival of the older type, doubtless due to the
prejudices of patrons.
Above it is an admirable piece of Renaissance sculpture, by Jean Goujon,
for the decoration of the rood-loft (now removed) in St. Germain
l’Auxerrois. The rare beauty of the existing one at St. Étienne-du-Mont
(by a far inferior artist) enables us to estimate the loss we have
sustained by its disappearance. The Deposition, in the centre, marked by
the highly classical style and secular or almost sensuous beauty of its
Maries, and the anatomical knowledge displayed in its Dead Christ,
should be contrasted with earlier specimens in adjacent rooms. In the
accompanying figures of the four Evangelists, notice how earlier
conceptions of the writers and their attendant symbols have been
altogether modified by a Raphaelesque spirit. You would scarcely notice
the eagle, angel, bull, and lion (compare Sacchi upstairs), unless you
were told to look for them. Germain Pilon’s Agony in the Garden displays
an exactly similar transformation of a traditional subject.
Some interesting works are placed =near the windows=. In the =first= is
a fragment from the pulpit of the Church of the Grands Augustins in
Paris, by Germain Pilon, representing Paul Preaching at Athens. The bald
head and long beard of the Apostle of the Gentiles are traditional; the
figure is modelled on Italian precedents; here again the female auditors
are introduced entirely in the classical spirit, and treated with
Renaissance love for exuberant femininity. Nominally sacred, such works
as this are really nothing more than sensuous and decorative in their
tendencies. The Church accepted them because they were supposed to be
artistic. Other fragments opposite exemplify the same baneful tendency,
pregnant with decadence. Christ and the Woman of Samaria (with her
classical urn) is a subject we have already met with elsewhere: here, it
is much permeated by Renaissance feeling. The Preaching of St. John
Baptist gives the artist an opportunity for introducing two attractive
female listeners. In the =second window=, the contrast between the
comparatively archaic St. Eloi from Dijon, and the Nymphs of the school
of Jean Goujon, is sufficiently abrupt to point its own moral. Germain
Pilon’s Entombment may be instructively compared with Jean Goujon’s and
others; the Magdalen here is an admirable figure. Glance across from one
to the other and note the resemblance. Even at this late date, how close
is the similarity in the attitudes of the chief actors! They almost
correspond figure for figure:—Joseph of Arimathæa, and then Nicodemus,
supporting the dead Christ; next, the fainting Madonna, in the arms of
one of the Maries; then, the Magdalen at the foot, with her box of
ointment, and the mourning women; all stand in the same relations in the
two reliefs. If you will compare both paintings and sculptures in this
manner, you will learn how much the artist borrowed in each case from
predecessors, and exactly how much is his own invention. Opposite the
Entombment are other Nymphs of the school of Jean Goujon, and a
characteristic transitional figure of a Donor and his Family, showing a
distinct attempt to treat an old motive by the new methods; L the Donor,
kneeling, introduced by his patron, St. John Baptist; R, two ladies of
his family, introduced by a sainted bishop and an abbot; near them,
their children, kneeling, but with some genial allowance for the sense
of tedium in infancy; in the background, Renaissance architecture, with
quaint bas-reliefs of Samson carrying off the gates of Gaza; the
Resurrection and Appearance to the Apostles; the Supper at Emmaus; and
Jonah emerging from the mouth of the whale. Works like these, often
artistically of less importance, nevertheless not infrequently throw
useful light on the nature of the conditions under which the sculptor
worked—the trammels of tradition, the struggle to wriggle out of the
commands of a patron, who desires to see reproduced the types of his
childhood. The =third window= contains some charming but mutilated
fragments from the tomb of the Duc de Guise: more figures by Germain
Pilon; and a thoroughly Renaissance Awakening of the Nymphs, attributed
(with little doubt) to Frémin Roussell. Germain Pilon’s good bust of
Charles IX strikes the keynote of the king’s vain and heartless
character. The baby Christ, by Richier, though evidently suffering from
water on the brain, is otherwise a charming early French conception of
soft innocence and infantile grace. Notice, above this, a somewhat
transitional Pietà, placed as a votive offering (like so many other
things) in the (old) church of Ste. Geneviève, with the kneeling donor
represented as looking on, after the earlier fashion. The Judgment of
Daniel, attributed to Richier, though splendid in execution, forms an
example of the more crowded and almost confused composition which was
beginning to destroy the unity and simplicity of plastic art. As a
whole, the works in this room should be attentively and closely studied,
illustrating as they do the one exquisite moment of perfect fruition,
when the French Renaissance burst suddenly into full flower, to be
succeeded almost at once by painful degeneracy and long slow decadence.
I would specially recommend you to compare closely the more classical
works of this room with those in the adjoining Salle de Michel Ange in
order to recognise the distinctively French tone as compared with the
Italian. The importance of these various rooms, of both nationalities,
to a comprehension of Paris and French art in general, cannot be
over-estimated. By their light alone can you fully understand the fabric
of the Louvre itself, the Luxembourg, the Renaissance churches, the
tombs at St. Denis, and above all, Fontainebleau, St. Germain,
Versailles itself, and the entire development of architecture and
sculpture from François I^{er} to the Revolutionary epoch. Especially
should you always bear in mind the importance of works from the Château
de Gaillon (early) and Château d’Anet (full French Renaissance).
In the =vestibule=, as you pass out, notice a copy in bronze, probably
by Barthélemy Prieur, of the antique Huntress Diana, the original of
which we have already noticed in the Classical Gallery. It helps to
accentuate the direct dependence of French Renaissance sculpture upon
the classical model as well as upon that of the contemporary Italians.
Observe that while each of these arts is based upon the antique, it
necessarily follows the antique models _then and there_ known to it—not
the “Venus of Milo” discovered in 1820, or the figures from Olympia of
quite recent discovery.