present estimate not more than a dozen--they are altogether greater than
anything else in the realm of painting, and with their marvellous beauty
and subtlety have probably had a wider influence, both on painters and
on lovers of painting, than those of any other master. They seem to be
endowed with a spirit of something beyond painting itself, and in the
presence of _The Last Supper_ or the _Mona Lisa_ the babble of
conflicting opinions on questions of style, technique, and what not is
silenced.
Similarly, in writing of Leonardo's pictures, every one of which is a
masterpiece, it seems superfluous to say even a word about what the
whole world already knows so well. All that can be usefully added is a
little of the tradition, where it is sufficiently authenticated,
relating to the circumstances under which they came into existence, and
such of the circumstances of his life as concern their production.
When still quite a youth Leonardo was apprenticed to Andrea Verrocchio,
and the story goes that it was the marvellous painting of the angel, by
the pupil, in the master's _Baptism_ in the Academy at Florence, that
induced Verrocchio to abandon painting and devote himself entirely to
sculpture. This angel has been attributed to the hand of Leonardo from
the earliest times, but can hardly be taken, at any rate in its present
condition, as a decided proof of the genius that was to be displayed in
manhood. More certain are the _S. Jerome_ in the Vatican, and the
_Adoration of the Kings_ in the Uffizi, though neither is carried beyond
the earlier stages of "under-painting." A few finished portraits are now
assigned with tolerable certainty to his earlier years; but for his
famous masterpieces we must jump to the year 1482, when he left Florence
and went to Milan, where for the next sixteen years he was
intermittently engaged in the execution of the great equestrian statue,
which was destroyed by the French mercenaries before it was actually
completed.
It appears that he was recommended by Lorenzo de'Medici to Lodovico il
Moro, Duke of Milan, probably for the very purpose of executing this
statue. However that may be, it is now certain that in 1483 he was
commissioned by the Franciscan monks to paint a picture of the Virgin
and Child for their church of the Conception, and that between 1491 and
1494 Leonardo and his assistant, Ambrogio di Predis, petitioned the Duke
for an arbitration as to price. This was the famous _Virgin of the
Rocks_, now in the Louvre, and the similar, and though not precisely
identical, composition in our National Gallery is generally supposed to
be a replica, painted by Ambrogio under the supervision of, and possibly
with some assistance from, Leonardo himself.
Between 1495 and 1498 Leonardo was engaged on the painting of _The Last
Supper_. In the Forster Library at the Victoria and Albert Museum is a
notebook which contains his first memoranda for the wonderful design of
this masterpiece. At Windsor are studies for the heads of S. Matthew, S.
Philip, and
[Illustration: PLATE V.--LEONARDO DA VINCI
THE VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS
_National Gallery, London_]
Judas, and for the right arm of S. Peter. That of the head of the Christ
in the Brera at Milan has been so much "restored" that it can hardly be
regarded as Leonardo's work. Vasari's account of the delays in the
completion of the painting is better known, and probably less
trustworthy, than one or two notices of about the same date, quoted by
Mr H. P. Horne, in translating and commenting on Vasari. In June 1497,
when the work had been in progress over two years, Duke Lodovico wrote
to his secretary "to urge Leonardo, the Florentine, to finish the work
of the Refectory which he has begun, ... and that articles subscribed by
his hand shall be executed which shall oblige him to finish the work
within the time that shall be agreed upon." Matteo Bandello, in the
prologue to one of his _Novelle_, describes how he saw him actually at
work--"Leonardo, as I have more than once seen and observed him, used
often to go early in the morning and mount the scaffolding (for _The
Last Supper_ is somewhat raised above the ground), and from morning till
dusk never lay the brush out of his hand, but, oblivious of both eating
and drinking, paint without ceasing. After that, he would remain two,
three, or four days without touching it: yet he always stayed there,
sometimes for one or two hours, and only contemplated, considered, and
criticised, as he examined with himself the figures he had made."
Vasari's story of the Prior's head serving for that of Judas is related
with less colour, but probably more truth, in the Discourses of G. B.
Giraldi, who says that when Leonardo had finished the painting with the
exception of the head of Judas, the friars complained to the Duke that
he had left it in this state for more than a year. Leonardo replied that
for more than a year he had gone every morning and evening into the
Borghetto, where all the worst sort of people lived, yet he could never
find a head sufficiently evil to serve for the likeness of Judas: but he
added, "If perchance I shall not find one, I will put there the head of
this Father Prior who is now so troublesome to me, which will become him
mightily."
In 1500 Leonardo was back again in Florence, and his next important work
was the designing, though probably not the actual painting, of the
beautiful picture in the Louvre, _The Virgin and Child with S. Anne_,
the commission for which had been given to Filippino Lippi, but resigned
by him on Leonardo's return. In 1501 Isabella d'Este wrote to know
whether Leonardo was still in Florence, and what he was doing, as she
wished him to paint a picture for her in the palace at Mantua, and in
the reply of the Vicar-General of the Carmelites we have a valuable
account of the artist and his work. "As far as I can gather," he writes,
"the life of Leonardo is extremely variable and undetermined. Since his
arrival here he has only made a sketch in a cartoon. It represents a
Christ as a little child of about a year old, reaching forward out of
his mother's arms towards a lamb. The mother, half rising from the lap
of S. Anne, catches at the child as though to take it away from the
lamb, the animal of sacrifice signifying the Passion. S. Anne, also
rising a little from her seat, seems to wish to restrain her daughter
from separating the child from the lamb; which perhaps is intended to
signify the Church, that would not wish that the Passion of Christ
should be hindered. These figures are as large as life, but they are all
contained in a small cartoon, since all of them sit or are bent; the
figure of the Virgin is somewhat in front of the other, turned towards
the left. This sketch is not yet finished. He has not executed any
other work, except that his two assistants paint portraits and he, at
times, lends a hand to one or another of them. He gives profound study
to geometry, and grows most impatient of painting."
The history of this cartoon--as indeed of the Louvre picture--is
somewhat obscure, but it is certain that the beautiful cartoon of the
same subject in the possession of the Royal Academy is not the one above
described.
Lastly, there is the famous--or, may we say, now more famous than
ever--portrait of _Mona Lisa_. "Whoever wishes to know how far art can
imitate nature," Vasari writes, "may do so in this head, wherein every
detail that could be depicted by the brush has been faithfully
reproduced. The eyes have the lustrous brightness and watery sheen that
is seen in life, and around them are all those rosy and pearly tints
which, like the eyelashes too, can only be rendered by means of the
deepest subtlety; the eyebrows also are painted with the closest
exactitude, where fuller and where more thinly set, in a manner that
could not be more natural. The nose, with its beautiful and delicately
roseate nostrils, seems to be alive. The mouth, wonderful in its
outline, shows the lips perfectly uniting the rose tints of their colour
with that of the face, and the carnation of the cheek appears rather to
be flesh and blood than only painted. Looking at the pit of the throat
one can hardly believe that one cannot see the beating of the pulse, and
in truth it may be said that the whole work is painted in a manner well
calculated to make the boldest master tremble.
"Mona Lisa was exceedingly beautiful, and while Leonardo was painting
her portrait he kept someone constantly near her to sing or play, to
jest or otherwise amuse her, so that she might continue cheerful, and
keep away the melancholy that painters are apt to give to their
portraits. In this picture there is a smile so pleasing that the sight
of it is a thing that appears more divine than human, and it has ever
been considered a marvel that it is not actually alive."
It is worth observing that while these rapturous expressions of wonder
at the life-like qualities of the portrait may seem somewhat tame and
childish in comparison with the appreciation accorded to Leonardo's work
in these times--notably that of Walter Pater in this case--they are in
reality at the root of all criticism. If Vasari, as I have already
pointed out, pitches upon this quality of life-likeness and direct
imitation of nature for his particular admiration, it is only because
the first and foremost object of the earlier painters was in fact to
represent the life; and though in the rarefied atmosphere of modern talk
about art these naive criticisms may seem out of date, it is significant
that between Vasari and ourselves there is little, if any, difference of
opinion as to which masters were the great ones, and which were not.
"Truly divine" is a phrase in which he sums up the impressions created
in his mind by the less material qualities of some of the greatest, but
before even the greatest could create such an impression they must have
learnt the rudiments of the art in the school of nature.
VI
MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI
IN the opening years of the sixteenth century the art of painting had
attained such a pitch of excellence that unless carried onward by a
supreme genius it could hardly hope to escape from the common lot of
all things in nature, and begin to decline. After Botticelli and
Leonardo, the works of Andrea del Sarto, "the perfect painter" as he has
been called, fall rather flat; and no less a prodigy than Michelangelo
was capable of excelling his marvellous predecessors, or than Raphael of
rivalling them.
Vasari prefaces his life to ANDREA DEL SARTO (1486-1531) with something
more definite than his usual rhetorical flourishes. "At length we have
come," he says, "after having written the lives of many artists
distinguished for colour, for design, or for invention, to that of the
truly excellent Andrea del Sarto, in whom art and nature combined to
show all that may be done in painting when design, colouring, and
invention unite in one and the same person. Had he possessed a somewhat
bolder and more elevated mind, had he been distinguished for higher
qualifications as he was for genius and depth of judgment in the art he
practised, he would beyond all doubt have been without an equal. But
there was in his nature a certain timidity of mind, a sort of diffidence
and want of strength, which prevented those evidences of ardour and
animation which are proper to the highest characters from ever appearing
in him which, could they have been added to his natural advantages,
would have made him truly a divine painter, so that his works are
wanting in that grandeur, richness, and force which are so conspicuous
in those of many other masters.
"His figures are well drawn, and entirely free from errors, and perfect
in all their proportions, and for the most part are simple and chaste.
His airs of heads are natural and graceful in women and children, while
both in youth and old men they are full of life and animation. His
draperies are marvellously beautiful. His nudes are admirably executed,
simple in drawing, exquisite in colouring--nay, they are truly divine."
And yet? Well, let us turn to Michelangelo.
"While the best and most industrious artists," says Vasari, "were
labouring by the light of Giotto and his followers to give the world
examples of such power as the benignity of their stars and the varied
character of their fantasies enabled them to command, and while desirous
of imitating the perfection of Nature by the excellence of Art, they
were struggling to attain that high comprehension which many call
intelligence, and were universally toiling, but for the most part in
vain, the Ruler of Heaven was pleased to turn the eyes of his clemency
towards earth, and perceiving the fruitlessness of so many labours, the
ardent studies pursued without any result, and the presumptuous
self-sufficiency of men which is farther from truth than is darkness
from light, he resolved, by way of delivering us from such great errors,
to send to the world a spirit endowed with universality of power in each
art, and in every profession, one capable of showing by himself alone
what is the perfection of art in the sketch, the outline, the shadows,
or the lights; one who could give relief to painting and with an upright
judgment could operate as perfectly in sculpture; nay, who was so highly
accomplished in architecture also, that he was able to render our
habitations secure and commodious, healthy and cheerful,
well-proportioned, and enriched with the varied ornaments of art."
A more prosaic passage follows presently, occasioned by the innuendoes
of Condivi as to Vasari's intimacy with Michelangelo and his knowledge
of the facts of his life at first hand. Vasari meets this accusation by
quoting the following document relating to the apprenticeship of
Michelangelo to Domenico Ghirlandaio when fourteen years old. "1488. I
acknowledge and record this first day of April that I, Lodovico di
Buonarroti, have engaged Michelangelo my son to Domenico and David di
Tommaso di Currado for the three years next to come, under the following
conditions: That the said Michelangelo shall remain with the above named
all the said time, to the end that they may teach him to paint and to
exercise their vocation, and that the above named shall have full
command over him paying him in the course of these three years
twenty-four florins as wages...."
Besides this teaching in his earliest youth, it is considered probable
that in 1494, when he visited Bologna, he came under influences which
resulted in the execution at about that time of the unfinished
_Entombment_ and the _Holy Family_, which are two of our greatest
treasures in the National Gallery. As he took to sculpture, however,
before he was out of Ghirlandaio's hands, there are few traces of any
activity in painting until 1506, when he was engaged on the designs for
the great battle-piece for the Council Hall at Florence. The one easel
picture of which Vasari makes any mention, the _tondo_ in the Uffizi, is
the only one besides those already noted which is known to exist. "The
Florentine citizen, Angelo Doni," Vasari says, "desired to have some
work from his hand as he was his friend; wherefore Michelangelo began a
circular painting of Our Lady for him. She is kneeling, and presents the
Divine Child to Joseph. Here the artist has finely expressed the delight
with which the Mother regards the beauty of her Son, as is clearly
manifest in the turn of her head and fixedness of her gaze; equally
evident is her wish that this contentment shall be shared by that pious
old man who receives the babe with infinite tenderness and reverence.
Nor was this enough for Michelangelo, since the better to display his
art he has grouped several undraped figures in the background, some
upright, some half recumbent, and others seated. The whole work is
executed with so much care and finish that of all his pictures, which
indeed are but few, this is considered the best."
After relating the story of the artist's quarrel with his friend over
the price of this masterpiece (for which he at first only asked sixty
ducats), Vasari goes on to describe the now lost cartoons for the great
fresco in the Council Hall at Florence, in substance as follows:--
"When Leonardo was painting in the great hall of the Council, Piero
Soderini, who was then Gonfaloniere, moved by the extraordinary ability
which he perceived in Michelangelo [he calls him in a letter a young man
who stands above all his calling in Italy; nay, in all the world],
caused him to be entrusted with a portion of the work, and our artist
began a very large cartoon representing the Battle of Pisa. It
represented a vast number of nude figures bathing in the Arno, as men do
on hot days, when suddenly the enemy is heard to be attacking the camp.
The soldiers spring forth in haste to arm themselves. One is an elderly
man, who to shelter himself from the heat has wreathed a garland of ivy
round his head, and, seated on the ground, is labouring to draw on his
hose, hindered by his limbs being wet. Hearing the sound of the drums
and the cries of the soldiers he struggles violently to get on one of
his stockings; the action of the muscles and distortion of the mouth
evince the zeal of his efforts. Drummers and others hasten to the camp
with their clothes in their arms, all in the most singular attitudes;
some standing, others kneeling or stooping; some falling, others
springing high into the air and exhibiting the most difficult
foreshortenings.... The artists were amazed as they realised that the
master had in this cartoon laid open to them the very highest resources
of art; nay, there are some who still declare that they have never seen
anything to equal it, either from his hand or any other, and they do not
believe that genius will ever more attain to such perfection. Nor is
this an exaggeration, for all who have designed from it and copied
it--as it was the habit for both natives and strangers to do--have
become excellent in art, amongst whom were Raphael, Andrea del Sarto,
Franciabigio, Pontormo, and Piero del Vaga."
In 1508 Michelangelo began to prepare the cartoons for the ceiling of
the Sistine Chapel. Space forbids me to attempt any description of
these, but the story of their completion as related by Vasari can hardly
be omitted. "When half of them were nearly finished," he says, "Pope
Julius, who had gone more than once to see the work--mounting the
ladders with the artist's help--insisted on having them opened to public
view without waiting till the last touches were given, and the chapel
was no sooner open than all Rome hastened thither, the Pope being first,
even before the dust caused by removing the scaffold had subsided. Then
it was that Raphael, who was very prompt in imitation, changed his
manner, and to give proof of his ability immediately executed the
frescoes with the Prophets and Sibyls in the church of the Pace.
Bramante (the architect) also laboured to convince the Pope that he
would do well to entrust the second half to Raphael.... But Julius, who
justly valued the ability of Michelangelo, commanded that he should
continue the work, judging from what he saw of the first half that he
would be able to improve the second. Michelangelo accordingly finished
the whole in twenty months, without help. It is true that he often
complained that he was prevented from giving it the finish he would have
liked owing to the Pope's impatience, and his constant inquiries as to
when it would be finished, and on one occasion he answered, "It will be
finished when I shall have done all that I believe necessary to satisfy
art." "And we command," replied Julius, "that you satisfy our wish to
have it done quickly," adding finally that if it were not at once
completed he would have Michelangelo thrown headlong from the
scaffolding. Hearing this, the artist, without taking time to add what
was wanting, took down the remainder of the scaffolding, to the great
satisfaction of the whole city, on All Saints' Day, when the Pope went
into his chapel to sing Mass."
Michelangelo had much wished to retouch some portions of the work _a
secco_, as had been done by the older masters who had painted the walls;
and to add a little ultramarine to some of the draperies, and gild other
parts, so as to give a richer and more striking effect. The Pope, too,
would now have liked these additions to be made, but as Michelangelo
thought it would take too long to re-erect the scaffolding, the pictures
remained as they were. The Pope would sometimes say to him, "Let the
chapel be enriched with gold and bright colours; it looks poor." To
which Michelangelo would reply, "Holy Father, the men of those days did
not adorn themselves with gold; those who are painted here less than
any; for they were none too rich. Besides, they were holy men, and must
have despised riches and ornaments."
VII
RAFFAELLO DI SANTI
The character and the influence of RAPHAEL are well expressed in the
following sentences with which Vasari concludes his biography:--"O happy
and blessed spirit! every one speaks with interest of thee; celebrates
thy deeds; admires thee in thy works! Well might Painting die when this
noble artist ceased to live; for when his eyes were closed she remained
in darkness. For us who survive him it remains to imitate the excellent
method which he has left for our guidance; and as his great qualities
deserve, and our duty bids us, to cherish his memory in our hearts, and
keep it alive in our discourse by speaking of him with the high respect
which is his due. For through him we have the art in all its extent
carried to a perfection which could hardly have been looked for; and in
this universality let no human being ever hope to surpass him. And,
beside this benefit which he conferred on Art as her true friend, he
neglected not to show us how every man should conduct himself in all the
relations of life. Among his rare gifts there is one which especially
excites my wonder; I mean, that Heaven should have granted him to infuse
a spirit among those who lived around him so contrary to that which is
prevalent among professional men. The painters--I do not allude to the
humble-minded only, but to those of an ambitious turn, and many of this
sort there are--the painters who worked in company with Raphael lived in
perfect harmony, as if all bad feelings were extinguished in his
presence, and every base, unworthy thought had passed from their minds.
This was because the artists were at once subdued by his obliging
manners and by his surpassing merit, but more than all by the spell of
his natural character, which was so full of affectionate kindness, that
not only men, but even the very brutes, respected him. He always had a
great number of artists employed for him, helping them and teaching them
with the kindness of a father to his children, rather than as a master
directing his scholars. For which reason it was observed he never went
to court without being accompanied from his very door by perhaps fifty
painters who took pleasure in thus attending him to do him honour. In
short, he lived more as a sovereign than as a painter. And thus, O Art
of Painting! thou too, then, could account thyself most happy, since an
artist was thine, who, by his skill and by his moral excellence exalted
thee to the highest heaven!"
Raphael was the son of Giovanni Sanzio, or di Santi, of Urbino. He
received his first education as an artist from his father, whom,
however, he lost in his eleventh year. As early as 1495 probably, he
entered the school of Pietro Perugino, at Perugia, where he remained
till about his twentieth year.