RIBERA (LO SPAGNOLETTO)
Though recognised as the leader of the School of Valencia, José or, as
he is sometimes called, Jusepe de Ribera spent most of his life in
Naples, where his Spanish pride, combined with his somewhat diminutive
stature, procured him the sobriquet, _Lo Spagnoletto_. He was born in
1588, eleven years senior to Velasquez, in the province of Valencia, in
the hill-town of Jativa, the cradle of the Borgia family. Hence the
proud title which he often appended to his signature, “Spaniard of
Jativa.” His parents, Luis de Ribera and Margarita Gil, took him to
Valencia that he might study Latin with a view to becoming a man of
letters. But José, even thus early showed his independence by declaring
that he would be an artist, and was accordingly placed under the care of
Francisco Ribalta. The latter, we recall, was the link of transition
from Italian mannerism to the native naturalistic schools of Valencia
and Andalusia; at one time producing thinly painted subjects of
extravagant sentimentality, at another showing himself quite masterful
in naturalistic representation. This blend of naturalism and sentiment,
the latter frequently carried too far, distinguishes also the work of
Ribera and through his influence many artists of the Andalusian School,
Murillo in particular. The naturalistic tendency is Spanish, common to
North and South alike; the sentiment is a bias given to it by the
Southern temperament.
While still a youth Ribera made his way to Rome, where his handsome face
and evident ability attracted the notice of a cardinal, who took him
into his house and would have cared for him that he might pursue his
studies in comfort. But José, nothing if not independent, found the
restraint irksome and went back to his rags and poverty, declaring that
he needed the stimulus of necessity. He made copies of some of the
Raphaels and the Caraccis in the Farnese palace, and even found means to
visit Parma and Modena and study the works of Correggio. But the
pictures which most attracted Ribera were those of Michelangelo
Caravaggio, who worked in Naples. So to Naples he went, although he had
to leave his coat behind in Rome to pay his boardbill. Whether Ribera
actually studied under Caravaggio is uncertain. Anyhow, since the latter
died in 1609, the association could not have lasted more than a short
time. Meanwhile, even if Ribera never saw Caravaggio in the flesh, he
could not escape his spirit. It was a part of the turbulent atmosphere
of the Naples of that day, into which with a violence, equal to
Caravaggio’s, the independent young Spaniard was quick to fling himself.
Fortune favored him, for a rich art dealer gave him some commissions
and, discovering his ability, determined to attach him to his own
interests. He offered him his daughter’s hand in marriage, and Ribera,
having experienced the stimulus of poverty, was now resolved to taste
the encouragement of wealth and ease, and accepted it. Soon after his
marriage he produced a life-sized picture of the _Martyrdom of S.
Bartholomew_, who was flayed alive. The ghastly scene was represented
with such horrible naturalism, that when the picture was exhibited
outside of the art-dealer’s shop, a crowd gathered about it. This
attracted, as no doubt it was intended that it should, the notice of the
Spanish viceroy, the Duke of Ossuna, whose palace window overlooked the
spot. Having learned the cause of the excitement he sent for the picture
and was so impressed with it that he bought it, appointed Ribera his
painter in ordinary, and gave him apartments in the palace. Thus, almost
at a bound, Ribera found himself upon the topmost rung of the ladder. He
was rich and now courted by the richest and most powerful, who presumed
that he had the ear of the viceroy. In artistic circles the young artist
had taken the place of Caravaggio and invested it with still greater
honor. He was the recognised leader of the naturalists in their war of
extinction with the Eclectics.
It is necessary to note the rivalry between these two contemporary
schools, since it throws a light on an extraordinary episode in Ribera’s
career. With the death of Tintoretto in 1592 the last of the giants of
the Renaissance had passed away. They were succeeded by a race of
pigmies, who strutted in the mantles of Raphael and Michelangelo. They
are called “Mannerists,” differing, however, from the Mannerists of
Spain. For while the Spanish imitated the great masters in order to
acquire the secrets of their greatness, at the same time, as we have
seen, infusing the result with something of the raciness of the Spanish
character, the Italian “Mannerists” aped the past in an attempt to
galvanize it into continued living.
The “Mannerists” soon become obscured by the “Eclectics,” whose
headquarters were in Bologna, the home of the Caracci. For the school
grew out of the influence of the five brothers Caracci, especially the
three, Annibale, Ludovico and Agostino, who led the way in what was to
be a “revival” of art. Its principle was a catholic eclecticism, which
should combine the drawing and power of Michelangelo, with the color of
Titian, the grace and sentiment of Raphael and the soft dreamy
chiaroscuro of Correggio. The movement spread throughout Italy, being
variously represented by the Caracci, already mentioned, Domenichino,
Guido Reni, Guercino, Sassoferrato, Carlo Dolci and others of more or
less merit. Whatever may be thought of these painters individually, it
is scarcely to be denied that the principle underlying their art had in
it nothing of original growth. It was dishing up the past, instead of
providing meat for the present.
Meanwhile, outside of the “Eclectics,” the spirit of the present was
asserting itself in a reaction from Classicalism to Naturalism--to use a
hackneyed term, in a return to nature. That the stronghold of the
Naturalists became Naples, which was under Spanish rule is a significant
fact. It was an instance, by no means single, of the Spanish influence
reacting upon Italy. The movement however was started by the Italian
Caravaggio, a man of impetuous temperament and possibly coarse tastes,
who by way of bringing the Bible story into touch with every day life,
peopled his sacred scenes with personages drawn from the slums of
Naples. How great a painter he could be upon occasions is shown in that
handsome canvas in the Dresden Gallery, _The Card Players_. However, the
style usually associated with his work and that of his followers is one
of violent types and exaggerated dramatic energy. The “Naturalists” were
also addicted to the use of dark shadows, which gained for them the
nickname of “Darklings.” Between them and the “Eclectics” there was
perpetual rivalry, waged with that intensity which only Latin peoples
can put into an artistic controversy. On the part of the Neapolitan
naturalists it was war literally to the knife, for they did not scruple
to employ the bravo and his stiletto in their efforts to hold Naples
against the enemy. It was to the leadership in a fight of this sort that
the young Ribera succeeded, and he went into it with an unscrupulous
ferocity that has left on his memory the blot of a very discreditable
episode.
The Chapel of St. Januarius in the Cathedral of Naples was to be
decorated. A cabal was formed between Ribera, a native Neapolitan,
Giambattista Caracciolo, and a painter of Greek birth, Belisario
Correnzio. The last named had already made so bitter an attack on
Annibale Caracci that the latter had been driven out of Naples. The
three now determined to secure for themselves the decorating of the
chapel. The commissioners at first assigned the work to one, Cavaliero
d’Arpino, who had been Correnzio’s teacher. He was assailed with
persecution, and forced to take refuge in the Benedictine monastery of
Monte Cassino. Then
[Illustration:
HERMIT SAINT RIBERA
THE PRADO]
Guido was selected. Two hired bravos set upon his servant, thrashed him,
and ordered him to tell his master that a similar fate was in store for
himself should he begin the decoration of S. Januarius. Guido fled the
city; and his pupil, Gessi, was chosen as a substitute. He arrived in
Naples with two assistants, who were inveigled on board a boat in the
bay and never seen again. The commissioners now yielded and gave the
commission to the triumvirate. But a little later they revoked the order
and offered Domenichino a handsome remuneration, with a promise of
protection, if he would undertake the work. He consented and became
immediately the target of an insidious persecution. Threatening letters
were sent to him; his character was slandered and his ability as a
painter impugned; the plasterers were bribed to mix ashes with the
mortar on which his frescoes were to be painted; and finally Ribera
prevailed on the viceroy to order some pictures of Domenichino. These
were carried from his studio before they were finished, or retouched and
ruined before reaching the viceroy. At length, in despair, Domenichino
fled to Rome; but was induced to return and shortly afterwards died
under suspicion of having been poisoned. The cabal, however, failed of
its purpose. The Neapolitan died the same year as Domenichino; the Greek
two years later and Ribera painted only one altarpiece for the chapel,
_The Martyrdom of S. Januarius_. The decorations were executed by one,
Lanfranco.
For his share in this disgraceful intrigue, and because of his being a
foreigner, Ribera incurred the hatred of a large number of Neapolitans.
To this, probably is to be attributed the story which passed into a
tradition, that Don Juan of Austria, while on a visit to Naples, induced
Ribera’s daughter to elope with him; and, soon growing tired of his
victim, placed her in a convent. In consequence of shame and grief,
Ribera, so the story goes, sank into a profound melancholy, until one
day he left his home and was never again heard of. This is now believed
to be a mere fabrication of Neapolitan hatred; the true facts being that
Ribera settled down to a life of honor and prosperity and finally died
in Naples in 1656.
* * * * *
In the popular imagination Ribera is associated with pictures of martyrs
and ascetics, with scenes of cruelty and suffering and the portrayal of
old and wasted bodies. The impression is justified, for the taste of his
time demanded these revolting subjects, and Ribera’s own temperament
made him more than acquiesce. He represented them with a zest that
proves he revelled in his opportunities. But this is only one aspect of
Ribera, and even in itself not complete, for it is prone to take no
account of the superb artistry with which he invested the unpleasantness
of these themes.
Thus, in the example, selected for reproduction here, because it is
characteristic of Ribera’s best known subjects, the original has a
beauty which in the reproduction may possibly escape observation. The
head of this _Hermit Saint_ is of extreme nobility both of technique and
expression. In the suggestion of the powerful skull, the boldly modeled
flesh and the clustering masses of grizzled hair and beard, there is an
unusual feeling for and realisation of the dignity of human form. It is
not merely that the artist has selected a model with a fine head, and
rendered its benign and grave distinction, but he has heightened the
expression by the expressiveness of the technique. The artist’s
sympathetic imagination and extraordinary reverence, not for the
saint-idea in his theme but for humanity in its relation to art, have
informed the technique with a noble sympathy, grand imagination and a
sovereign reverence. For the point, difficult to put into words, is that
technique such as this, while it is magnificent as mere representation,
achieves the higher quality of expression, and the measure of the latter
is the quality of the artist’s conception not only of his subject but
even more of his art, as one of the noble mediums of expression. So, in
the presence of a work like this, the spectator forgets his dislike of
the subject and finds his imagination kindled and his capacity of
abstract appreciation heightened. Even the Saint’s back though you may
not believe it from the photograph, which has reduced the transparent
shadows to opacity and robbed the flesh of its glorious luminosity, adds
its quota to the stimulus of the intellectual-esthetic sense. For, in
this capacity, not only to delight the sense perception but to stimulate
also the intellectual conception of beauty in the abstract, Ribera
belongs in the company of Velasquez. He occupies a lower rank because
his art, like himself, was less self-centered and controlled; more
dependent upon subject and at the mercy of his own impetuous
temperament. In the art of both naturalism was lifted mountain-high;
but, while Velasquez was the summit, aloof, unapproachable, Ribera is
the torrent, racing, often madly, to the valley. Yet in its career there
are level pools of quiet pause, and it is these that the general
estimation of Ribera has overlooked.
I am not thinking of his portrayals of the _Immaculate Conception_ or
his _Assumption of the Magdalen_ in the Academy of San Fernando. These
are rather examples of the concessions that Ribera was obliged and
perhaps willing to make in the direction of obvious beauty. They
satisfied the Spanish taste in female loveliness, but have little
abstraction of expression; and are inclined to be sentimentally pretty.
It is rather when you visit the gallery in the Prado devoted to Ribera’s
works, that you experience a new impression of this artist. With the
exception of a powerful but ghastly _Martyrdom of S. Bartholomew_, the
general suggestion of the gallery is the reverse of the violent and
sensational. A sense of grave dignity prevails, which one begins to
discover is largely the result of a fine reserve and frequent subtlety
in the color schemes. For example, there is a canvas of life-size
figures, representing the Holy Trinity. On the Father’s knees lies the
limp form of the Christ. It is grievously disfigured with grossly
naturalistic blood stains; but one gradually loses the insistence of
this in admiration of the elevated beauty of the picture as a whole. The
Father’s head, benign and tranquil, is seen against a sky in which are
faintly discernible the flocking heads of cherubs. From his shoulders
floats a silvery plum-colored drapery, while a mantle of pale rose,
lined with violet, lies over the shadowed lapis-lazuli of the under
robe. It is a color scheme of choice splendour, full of subtle stimulus
to the intellectual-esthetic imagination.
A very interesting canvas is the _S. John the Baptist in the Desert_ for
the feeling of it is pagan, a trait rarely met with in the art of Spain,
which had so rigorously opposed the Humanistic movement. The figure,
nude nearly to the waist, is that of a shepherd youth, with large
smiling mouth and eyes glancing to one side. The face sets one to
thinking of the so-called _S. John the Baptist_ of the Louvre,
attributed to Da Vinci. The Ribera has something of the faun-like
suggestion; only it is less subtle, piqueing less to mystery; the
suggestion being rather of wild, young animal life, a creature of
silent, vacant places, not afraid yet watchful. The figure is at the
foot of a big tree-trunk, a red drapery covering the upper part of the
legs and the stone on which it is seated. The arms are extended; one
aloft, holding a staff, the other lowered to feed a lamb; both forming
pliant loops which increase the suppleness of the whole design. In its
blend of classical and naturalistic composition and feeling, and the
character of the thought which prompted it, the canvas is probably
unique in the Spanish School as an example of the direct influence of
Humanism.
One turns to a _Penitent Magdalen_ (Prado, 980), not to endorse her very
lady-like sentiment, but to admire the way in which the beautiful brown
hair is rendered and the exquisite color and texture of the old-rose
drapery. A similarly choice treatment of this delicate color, shot with
silver light and dove-grey shadows, appears in _Isaac Blessing Jacob_.
Then for another fine example of color one may note a half length, _S.
Simon_. Here again is a head of magnificent character; black hair and
beard, ruddy features, massive brow, a characterization, generously
masculine and vigorous. A warm brown drapery hangs over the slightly
yellow-tinted brown of the robe, which shows below it the collar and
cuff of a grey shirt; all this placed against a dark olive background.
The tonality, organised with extreme delicacy, is in its ensemble
superb. Another choice passage of color occurs in _S. Bartholomew_,
where the saint is shown, life size, seated beneath a cliff. He holds
across his body a white drapery; or such is your first impression of the
hue. But study reveals a more subtle tissue of smoked ivory and grey,
woven into the pallor of the white.
However, the finest example of Ribera’s subtle vein of color-expression
in this gallery is in the _Jacob’s Ladder_. The sleeping figure reclines
horizontally across the foreground, a hand supporting the head, while in
the sky are faint suggestions of ascending and descending angels. The
foreground consists of slabs of rock out of which, at the back of the
figure, rises a tree-trunk, with a broken limb. The figure is clothed in
an olive-greyish-brown habit, resembling a monk’s; the hair and beard
are black in strong contrast to the pallor of the face, which is
slightly flushed with warmth and puffed with sleep. The suggestion of
sleep is, indeed, rendered with extraordinary truth; it seems no idle
fancy that one hears the breathing and watches the stir of the drapery
over the rise and fall of the chest. But the dignity of this canvas
depends upon the color scheme, cold, severe, constrained; so opposite
to the sensuous, impassioned or splendid; yet withal so stimulating to
the imagination. This picture is a grand example of the
intellectual-esthetic quality in Ribera’s finest work; placing this
artist far above the estimate popularly formed of him. It is not
difficult to discover the influence of this large, grave feeling in the
earlier work of Murillo and in almost all the work of Zurburán.