_SOME OF THE OLD MASTERS_
A CURSORY EXAMINATION
[Illustration: W]E will, in this chapter, take a quick run round the
walls of our great National Exhibition, at least round that portion of
it where the early masters of painting are at present represented.
I am going to give my impressions about those masterpieces which have
been secured by experts for the benefit and pride of the nation; speak
about them without any more reverence than the modern art critic might
talk about a Millais or a Leighton, or any other living master who by
reason of his body being still with us, and being still able to eat and
drink, places his work within reach of the everyday critic; and in this
spirit of independent impartiality I wish my readers to try to follow
me.
I intend to give to these old pictures all the praise that I can bestow
consistently with my own art knowledge, because being one of the owners
of them I do not wish to decry my own property. Indeed, as a painter I
should like to make every allowance for the faults of men who, coming
before the modern masters, had so many more technical difficulties to
overcome than their successors had at the start of their professional
education; but I wish to look at their works as the production of human
beings who lived in their own times as we do in ours; in fact, I want to
look straight at them, without regard for their names, and tell you, as
students, the pictures which are of the greatest value to you as well as
to me, and point out why, in my opinion, they are thus valuable.
Therefore, if you are not prepared to follow me in this spirit, you had
better read no more of this chapter, for I may shock your sensibilities
with my remarks. If you cannot look past the halo which Time has placed
round the head of Raphael, for instance, and view the man in the same
independent spirit in which you would look at the work of a man whom you
might meet any day in the street, do not go on, for I shall only rouse
in you a fury of scorn or indignant pity; and although I do not mind
personally being considered a presumptuous fool and iconoclast, still I
have no desire to lash anyone into fury or make him stain his soul by
hatred. I would rather keep the whole world happy and at peace with me
than rudely disturb the serenity of their pet delusions.
Still, in spite of my own inclination towards comfort, I must tell the
truth for the sake of those who wish to see things as they really are,
and not as they have been taught to believe they are. I will try to be
plain if terse, and while extolling the virtues, point out the smaller
vices, without considering my own private feelings in the matter.
For instance, I have been taught from my earliest years to regard
Raphael as removed beyond criticism, to accept all that came from his
brush as almost divine--himself as the perfect painter of perfect
pictures. Judge, then, and pity my feelings, when, with a temerity
approaching to the suicidal, I begin my critical and analytical remarks
with the picture which, 'by common consent, is considered to be one of
the most perfect pictures in the world,' as 'it is also one of the
noblest embodiments of Christianity.' I refer to the 'Ansidei Madonna,'
No. 1171,[16] purchased for the nation from the Duke of Marlborough for
70,000_l._: the highest-priced old master perhaps in existence.
Let us regard this great picture quietly for a few moments, and try, if
we can, to forget its price and its painter, while we analyse its
composition and other artistic qualities, i.e. bring it down to the
standpoint of a picture painted by a living artist, and exhibited, say,
in last year's Academy; for that is the way I am going to treat them
all, for the benefit of the student who may wish to copy them as well as
of the ordinary owner, who desires to learn why his representatives have
paid so much for his property.
From a decorative point of view I readily admit that this is a fine
work. As the design for an altar window, to be reproduced in stained
glass, it seems to be much more suitable than as it is at present,
inside a frame.
But it is not the finest picture in the world; it is not even the best
example of the same master that we have in the National Gallery; it is
greatly inferior as a painting to 'Pope Julius II.,' No. 27, which is,
in technique, the best work we have of Raphael's. It is not nearly so
good in its design as the Garvagh 'Madonna,' No. 744; nor in expression
can it be compared to the 'St. Catherine of Alexandria,' No. 168.
As a painting it is not a success; in design it is stiff and commonplace
in the extreme. The throne of the Virgin Mother is an ugly dividing blot
in the picture, allegorical although it may be in its accessories and
details; it is a hideous box which breaks the picture into three parts,
and utterly destroys all sense of unity and harmony. The emblems,
although freely enough painted, are forced and badly placed. The Virgin
Mother's face has no expression, unless it be that of inane contentment.
She is certainly not studying the book which she holds on her knee and
fingers so affectedly. The baby Christ is well painted and good as a
baby, but He is held with too careless and limp a hand by his
emotionless and expressionless mother.
I have no fault to find with the figure of the good Bishop Nicholas of
Bari; it is realistic and natural, and stands as a Bishop might stand if
reading aloud from his prayer-book to his congregation. But St. John the
Baptist is not nearly so satisfactory a piece of work; the position is
strained even for ecstatic contemplation; the advanced leg does not seem
to be connected enough with the body, and in its pose appears to be
pointed with the exaggerated attempt at grace of a dancing master;
therefore, although the general colouring is _pleasing_, and the
manipulation of detail easily managed, without too much minuteness and
labour, this picture is not a work which I would advise students to
copy, if they wish to cultivate good composition, perfect drawing, and
general unity.
As to its intrinsic value, I should price it at 8,000_l._ instead of
70,000_l._, because I do not think the best picture in the world is
intrinsically worth more than 10,000_l._, no matter how rare it may be
as a picture pure and simple. In consideration of its merits, which
certainly counterbalance its demerits, I would fix its price as it now
stands at 500_l._; but because it was painted by Raphael Santi, and
therefore has its value over and above its merits as a work of art, I
put it at the figure I have named--500_l._ for the picture and frame,
and 7,500_l._ for the name of the painter _and the antiquity of the
article_.
I limit the price of this work of art because, while the great bulk of
the nation, to whom this Raphael belongs, are writhing under the awful
ills of the direst poverty and affliction, it becomes us as units to
consider whether we have a right to spend so much money upon a single
picture with the starving owners of it all round us; to weigh it in the
balance and think whether the spiritual or artistic pleasure which the
contemplation of that work gives or may give to the educated masses is a
just and fair equivalent for the starving or slaughtered thousands which
the money that purchased it might have kept in comfort and life. If the
work of the ever-living Raphael is not sufficient equivalent for a
starved thousand or two, if it does not yield complete satisfaction to
all, in their every phase of contemplation, then I hold that the dead
and gone Raphael has cost the nation 62,000_l._ too much, which might
have been expended better in other art directions.
Personally, in spite of all that I have read in praise of it, this
picture does not give me complete satisfaction as an artist, and none
whatever as a devotionalist. Perhaps it may affect the general masses
differently, however.
Returning to my favourite, or, as I consider it, the best National
Gallery example of Raphael, 'Pope Julius II.,' this is a work of art
which may be examined by both artist and amateur with unqualified
pleasure and instruction. It ranks with such realistic masterpieces as
Rembrandt produced, and it is almost as unaffected as the 'Portrait of a
Tailor,' by Moroni, No. 697.
It is painted in a rich colour scheme of red; warm, ruddy complexion,
scarlet cap, and cape lined with white fur, and a soft, creamy under
robe of some woolly material, with red and gold tassels on the chair
behind. The hands and finger rings are splendidly painted, the
expression is masterly in its combination of power and repose. Anyone
can tell at a glance that this is a true likeness of the Pope, taken
when he had an hour of leisure, and faithfully reproduced without any
attempt to idealise. It is said not to be so well authenticated as some
of the other works by this painter, but for the purpose with which I now
write it is better than any of the others, and of most value as a study
for the copyist.
The Garvagh Raphael, 744, 'The Madonna, Infant Christ and St. John,' is
a picture not too dear at the price it was bought for, viz. 9,000_l._,
for it is well worth 2,000_l._ more than the 'Ansidei Madonna,' in
consideration of its superior composition, chiaroscuro, drawing, and
colour. It is all beautiful and human. The comely mother with two lovely
children beside her gives us the true divinity of holy maternity; the
landscape behind is deliciously and tenderly painted, and the only
blemish in the composition is that discordant and mannered pillar behind
the Madonna, placed there for the too obvious reason of throwing her
face, with that of Christ, into better relief, as in the Ansidei
picture, and, like it, spoiling the concord with its heaviness and the
stiff, stage-wing-like uniformity of the two windows behind.
168, 'St. Catherine of Alexandria,' is a sentimental study of a robust
and soft-handed young woman, with a sketchy background in umbery tones.
It looks like an experiment of Raphael's, and in pose is almost
grotesque in its lackadaisical rapture, yet it is finely painted as to
flesh tones and other details. So also is No. 269, 'The Vision of a
Knight,' which is, as an example of this painter at the age of
seventeen, positively marvellous; yet for all that, although the design
is good, and the composition freer than the general laws at the time
laid down, as a study for the young painter it is not good; it will make
him too easily satisfied with himself and with his drawing. Still, it
has its special interest to the painter, as revealing what Raphael could
do in his early student days.
My present task, however, is not to waste time going over the
indifferent works in the Gallery, but rather to point out, as they occur
to me, those masterpieces, the studying of which may educate the mind of
the outsider to whom Art is a mystic term, and advance the student in
his education as a painter.
I therefore turn from the formal and affected Ansidei to a picture which
at the present time is placed near at hand in the same room, as I think
it will make your minds rebound with real relief; at any rate, I know
that it will go far to educate you in the knowledge of what a good piece
of masterly work is. I refer to No. 1315, 'Admiral Adrian Pulido
Pareja,' by Velasquez.
For a full and sympathetic account of this great painter's work, the
student cannot do better than read 'Annals of the Artists of Spain,' by
Sir William Stirling-Maxwell, published by John C. Nimmo, in four vols.
This portrait comes upon us like a revelation of ease and masterly
handling. There is nothing like it in this respect in the whole Gallery;
indeed, it was considered so life-like when it was first painted that
King Philip mistook it for the man himself, and gave it a royal chiding
for wasting his time at Madrid. Sir Joshua Reynolds says of this master:
'What we are all attempting to do with great labour, Velasquez does at
once.'
I fix upon this portrait because the copyist will learn more from a
single figure than from a crowded composition, and the drawing out and
copying of this work will do more to make a master of him than any other
study.
It is like painting direct from nature, with a teacher of great
experience at your elbow to prompt you as to the right brushes and
colours to use. It is all fire, dash, and vigour, bold and free as the
best work of our own contemporary, James McNeill Whistler. The drawing
is perfect and the colours are nearly as brilliant as when they were
first put on. Here, as in the works of Shakespeare, we have the 'mirror
held up to nature.'
Opposite to this work in the present arrangement of the pictures we have
a companion as to size and quality, although not quite so simply
treated, No. 1316, 'An Italian Nobleman,' by Moroni--the painter of the
most perfectly natural portrait in the National Gallery, No. 697,
'Portrait of a Tailor.'
In the 'Italian Nobleman' the quality is so good and unforced, the art
so covered up, unobtrusive, and natural, that the student is apt to
begin copying without considering the difficulties before him; therefore
I would advise him or her to turn first to the Tailor's portrait before
he tackles this less perfect, yet more difficult, 'Nobleman.'
This, the Tailor portrait, looks at you to-day as quietly and modestly
as if still waiting for your instructions, with his shears in his hand,
as the original must have done more than three hundred years ago; it is
so highly finished in all its details, so perfect in its expression and
pose, and, as I have said, so undemonstrative on the part of the master,
that one is apt not to wonder he had no honour in his own country. It
takes a painter of some experience to appreciate Moroni properly, as
Titian did, although ordinary spectators will hardly pass it over
without saying 'How natural!'
The other pictures of this rarely gifted master all bear the same
stamp-mark of matchless workmanship and power of depicting character:
No. 1023, 'Portrait of an Italian Lady,' in red satin dress; 742,
'Portrait of a Lawyer,' in black velvet; 1024, 'Portrait of an Italian
Ecclesiastic;' and 1022, 'Portrait of an Italian Nobleman.' While the
student may satisfy his cravings with that likeness of 'Pope Julius
II.,' No. 27, and perhaps one of Raphael's infants, he cannot do better
for himself than take the whole of the Moroni works, and follow up with
what he can get of Velasquez.
While giving these hints to students about single subjects, I will run
over those heads or portraits which have mostly impressed me as being
more or less useful to take in this course of study for their special
qualities, after which I shall take up some of the larger compositions,
and finish up with the old landscape and seascape painters.
No. 852, the 'Chapeau de Poil,' by Rubens. For ease and strong
colouring, as well as expression, this is one of the best for a young
artist who _has experience enough_ with his brush to paint it quickly.
You may labour with improvement upon the portraits of Moroni, but you
must work quickly and decidedly when you attempt to reproduce Velasquez
or Rubens.
There are two portraits which I have always been fascinated with for
their delicacy of execution. One is 585, 'Portrait of Isotta da Rimini,'
by Piero della Francisca, and the other 'The Doge Leonardo Loredano,'
No. 189, by Giovanni Bellini.
Both have been painted about the same period, at least within the same
century, the fifteenth, and are distinguished by their high and minute
finish and tenderness of outline; they are both well worth copying.
The 'Ecce Homo,' No. 271, of Guido Reni, is a good study of pain, and
also good for the copyist because of its free and sketchy execution; it
ought to be copied, as it was painted, in one working. Thus, the student
who desires to be successful in his work ought to study the original
well, and determine, _if he possibly can_, how many workings the master
took to complete his work. In this case, Guido Reni began and finished
his sketch at one sitting, meaning it only as a rough study for some
larger work. Rubens did a number of his in the same method; indeed, if
the artist is decided enough about his effects and intentions, he will
endeavour to finish his work as far as possible in the one working, for
oil-painting, like fresco-painting, is apt to look hard, artificial, and
waxy, if worked over too much; in water-colour the artist need not
place any limit to his different workings.
The best and richest colourists, with perhaps the exception of
Rembrandt, finished as they went along, particularly in the flesh
portions. The drapery and accessories may be retouched without so much
damage, but excepting those masters who cultivated and depended upon the
art of glazing,[17] most of the best men finished their backgrounds and
draperies before they touched the figures, i.e. their pupils did all
that was in those days considered subordinate parts, and left the flesh
for the masters to do at the last: a great mistake on the part of the
masters.
The other pictures of Guido Reni are not worth much consideration. His
'The Magdalen,' 177, is a fascinating study for young people, as it is
intensely sentimental, with lavish masses of fair hair floating about,
while the face expresses a sweet abandonment of _large-eyed_ sorrow. I
am afraid that I must echo John Ruskin's sweeping verdict on his
'Susannah and the Elders,' and say also that it is 'a work devoid alike
of art and decency.'
The 'Portrait of Himself,' 690, by Andrea del Sarto, is a piece of rich,
quiet colouring and fine drawing; so also is his other example. No. 17,
'The Holy Family.' He was counted one of the faultlessly correct
painters of his age, and his pictures command high prices. They are
excellent alike in tone and the other academical qualities which are
useful to young painters who aim rather at mastering the technical
difficulties of their art than the imitating of style; therefore, I
recommend this portrait particularly as an early subject before
grappling with such overpowering masters as Rembrandt, Velasquez,
Murillo, or Moroni.
For a young artist wishing to form a good manner on the old masters
before he takes to the new, I would recommend him to take as a course
the following masters in the order in which I place them. Begin with Fra
Filippo Lippi. I do not mean the whole of his compositions, but a few of
the solitary figures. Take next that spiritual and melancholy picture,
No. 275, 'The Virgin and Child,' &c., by Sandro Filipepi Botticelli, and
copy it all through carefully, particularly the _soft, yet artificial,
outlines_ which he gives.
Take next the Venus in that splendid masterpiece by Angelo Bronzino, No.
651, 'All is Vanity.' I do not know anywhere in the whole National
Gallery a picture where the flesh tones on a nude figure are more
perfectly painted. There is hardly any shadow at all about this figure,
and hardly any positive colour, yet the flesh stands out voluptuously
and softly, and the drawing is exquisite.
Next take Moroni, whom I have already described, and after working at
him conscientiously, release yourselves by taking up Murillo and
Correggio--his 'Mercury instructing Cupid in the presence of Venus,' No.
10. Rubens, copy just a little. Velasquez, copy the whole of his
examples, and lastly try Rembrandt. You may then study one or two of the
living masters, if you think fit, _and have the time_. If you have
worked conscientiously with the earlier masters and in the spirit of the
later ones, I can trust your own judgment to choose which modern man you
are inclined to follow for a little while; but if you have got the gift
of the true painter in you at all, after the course which I have
prescribed, I expect you will dash along and try for academical honours,
without any further delay, by aiming at originality; for amongst the
mighty circle whom I have mentioned you will have discovered a style all
your own, and I predict that it will be a good style.
Hans Holbein, the younger, is a fine man to copy if you wish to get a
firm grip of your subject: there is little or no sentiment about him,
but what he saw he painted with fidelity and care. No. 1314, 'The Two
Ambassadors,' is a picture which is not only interesting as a painting,
but also for the uncouth historical object which occupies the centre of
the foreground, a kind of _ex libris_ puzzle, meaning the painter's
name, which does not improve the painting as a work of art, even
although Shakespeare does mention it, or puzzles of the like
description. It appears to me unworthy of any painter to spoil his
picture with such a childish mystery as this elongated or distorted
projection of a human skull, hollow-bone, or _hohl bein_ represents.
I do not pretend that this is a great picture--none of Holbein's are.
Henry the Eighth was a man of strong material tendencies, who liked
things tangible, and who was without a particle of imagination,
tenderness, or ideality in his composition, and therefore this German
materialist exactly suited him. Hans painted men and women as he saw
them, without attempting much in the way of grouping or posing; he
painted them hard and fast in their extravagant costumes, with all their
family jewelry upon them, and as many accessories round them as he could
possibly cram in, because he loved to work and did not think to spare
himself a week or two longer of patient energy, care, and labour; but
he painted well what he did paint; therefore I recommend him to the
young student who is disposed to become ambitious, Frenchy, dashy, and
careless before he has learnt how much, or rather how little, his
brushes can do to bring his ideal to fruition.
In 'The Two Ambassadors' the student will find all sorts of articles
crammed in for the purpose of giving the painter something more to do.
He had no higher aspiration than his august master had, therefore he
exactly suited him, but he possessed the talent of infinite patience;
and so I offer you Hans Holbein as the best mechanical workman of his
country. He is a typical German in the hardy sense, as much as his
countryman, Albert Dürer, was in another and a loftier sense; for they
are, like the Scotch, either sure or hard-headed materialists or else
seers and dreamers: often both combined.
We turn from hard Holbein to Murillo with a sigh of relief. We have done
our dry-as-dust task; now let us take our fill of solid pleasure, of
which there is no let in the works which this painter has given us: 'A
Spanish Peasant Boy,' 74; 'St. John and the Lamb,' 176; 'The Birth of
the Virgin,' 1257; and 'Boys Drinking,' 1287. I like all his pictures,
but I like his boy best of all; in fact, if you want good solid
practical painting--stuff which will help you on in life, and give you
real comfort as a painter or as a looker-on--go either to the Dutchmen
or the Spaniards.
Look at that kneeling figure, 'A Franciscan Monk,' 230, by Francisco
Zurbaran, for chiaroscuro and bluff power; 'The Dead Christ,' 235, by
Spagnoletto, for vigour and strength of touch; 'The Dead Warrior,' 741,
by Velasquez. Could any man want to paint better?
For the Dutch and Flemish, turn to Gallery XII., and be satisfied that
you have got real men to deal with and to copy, instead of flimsy
Italian sentimentalists, like the Church-bred early masters.
Take Teniers, with his delicious silvery tones and crisp touch, the man
who paid his dinner with a picture, and painted his picture first while
the dinner was cooking: compare David Wilkie with him, and see how David
Wilkie shrivels up with heat before the cool tones of David Teniers the
younger. Consider Cuyp, with his precise touch; Van Eyck, the father of
oils, with his quaint mediævalism and patient symbolism; Weyden, as in
653, with his rigid adherence to facts; Quintin Matsys, with his hard
high finish; Rubens, the lavish and exuberant; Vandyke, the refined;
Gerard Dow, with his exquisite delicacy; Frans Hals, with his vigorous
handling and open colouring; and lastly, the greatest master of all, the
immortal Rembrandt, whom, for his portraits, chiaroscuro, colour, and
vigour, I cannot find words to praise enough.
No one has a right to speak as an art critic about pictures unless he
can paint a picture himself, or at least is able to copy faithfully the
picture which he criticises.
I trust that I may say, by way of apology for my present free criticism,
without being carped at as a vain boaster, that I have painted original
pictures in landscape, seascape, and composition. I can also say that I
have copied some of the masters whom I recommend, and can copy any
picture ever painted, provided I have the leisure; and also I can tell
you, after I have copied a picture carefully, exactly how the master
painted his picture, the number of times he worked over it, and
sometimes also not only the time he took to do it, but also his moments
of hesitation and inspiration, depression and artistic exultation. But
before I can tell you all these secrets about the mystic dead, I must
first study his work by copying it; it would be only guesswork were I to
content myself with looking at his canvas or panel; and what I am unable
to do with my long and extensive training as a painter, I defy any
non-painting art-critical dilettante to be able to do. John Ruskin
qualified himself as an art critic by learning to draw and paint, and
when bigotry or bilious bad temper does not interfere with his critical
vision, he stands, and must for ever stand, pre-eminent amongst art
critics. No human being, however gifted he may be, is able to see
colours or any other merit in either a picture or a book when he has a
fit of indigestion or dyspepsia. The blue appears green, the clouds
heavy, the firm lines shaky, the composition vile, the chiaroscuro
gloomy, and the general colours dirty and unsatisfactory. A proper pill
taken in time by the critic has often saved the reputation of the
painter, poet, or novelist. As one patent medicine advertisement has
announced, with a wisdom which should go far with sensible thinkers to
recommend the drug: 'Dyspepsia leads more often to the divorce court
than vice.'
To return, however, from these reflections to Rembrandt, the master whom
I am at present examining. We have fourteen examples of this
art-Shakespeare in our Gallery at present, and I only wish that we had
an apartment devoted entirely to him, as we have to Turner. I should
have been well content, and should never have uttered a word about the
indigent poor, had the 70,000_l._ been spent on Rembrandts, and the
'Ansidei Madonna' still remained in the Marlborough or some other
private gallery, because I think that the British public would then have
had better value for its money.
I will grant at once that his drawing is abominable in his larger
compositions and his figures taken _individually_ are undignified and
often even ludicrous, or rather they would be all this in any other
painter who had not his scheme of chiaroscuro and colour-intentions, but
with him I would not have them altered. As they are, they all go to
complete the harmony; indeed, I believe that he gave them this grotesque
appearance intentionally, because his portraits prove that no man could
draw more perfectly, as no other man could use the brushes as he could.
No. 51, 'Portrait of a Jew Merchant,' three-quarter length; 166, 'A
Capuchin Friar;' 190, 'A Jewish Rabbi;' 221, 'His own Portrait;' 237, 'A
Woman's Portrait;' 243, 'An Old Man;' 672, 'His own Portrait' (1640);
775, 'An Old Woman' (1634); 850, 'A Man's Portrait:' all these portraits
are so splendid in their qualities, and appeal at once so strongly to
the sympathies of artists and ordinary sightseers, that I must leave
them to speak for themselves. You look into the frames as through a
window into a shady room, and see the living characters sitting before
you; the texture of their clothing is reality rather than realism; there
is no attempt on the part of the painter to assert himself; he has
buried himself in his subject.
As for the skill involved in all this unaffected simplicity, begin to
copy one of these portraits, and you will find out a portion of it, and
as you finish off with your glazings then you will look vainly into your
colour-box for browns and siennas and lakes to get at that translucent
depth, and at your colour lists with dissatisfaction. This master will
be too much for you to penetrate through all his films, yet rest content
if you are able to dive a little way below the surface without stirring
up the mud. James McNeill Whistler alone has been able to approach
Rembrandt in his etching qualities; no one _yet_ has been able to come
near him in his wonderful shadows, except George Paul Chalmers.
Yet we must not forget that Time has to be taken into consideration with
much of the depth and richness of the old masters. With paint we may,
after a measure, imitate a painter as he left his picture when finished;
but Time, the constant worker, has put on subtle gradations of glazings
which no madder or brown can imitate, and this must be your consolation.
Before leaving the portraits I must call your attention to Vandyke's
masterpiece in this walk--52, 'Portrait of a Gentleman,' a head only,
therefore we are not aggravated by the display of any of those
unnaturally refined hands which disfigure so many of his full-lengths;
this portrait may take its place with any other likeness in the world.
We have nothing of Michael Angelo Buonarroti in the form of painting
worth looking twice at in the Gallery; he did not like oils and he did
not succeed with that vehicle.
Leonardo da Vinci is represented by one specimen, 1093, 'Our Lady of the
Rocks.' It is a heavy but fine piece of work, and well composed--all
excepting the rocks, which are not good.
698, 'The Death of Procris,' is a masterly study of a satyr; the other
portions of this picture are also fine, particularly the landscape
behind.
There are two specimens of Tiepolo, Nos. 1192 and 1193, sketches for
altar-pieces, than which no works in the Gallery are more useful to the
young painter. His scheme of colour is low-toned and restrained, yet
delightfully good and pure, while his handling is masterly and free.
Tintoretto and Titian come next; the latter is the most lavishly
represented, and the former not seen at his best, even in the three
specimens we have, yet they are worth looking at. Titian of course is
always masterly, both in his landscape and in his figures. Tintoretto
unfortunately was forced by necessity to paint too many pot-boilers, and
his fame suffers accordingly.
Amongst the many masterpieces in the Gallery, for majestic composition
or fine colouring, I place Fra Filippo Lippi's 'Vision of St. Bernard,'
248; 'The Circumcision of Christ,' 1128, by Luca Signorelli; 'Venus and
Adonis,' 34, by Titian; 'The Crucifixion,' 1107, by Niccolo of Fuligno;
'The Marriage of St. Catherine,' by Lorenzo da San Severino; 'The Virgin
and Child, with Saints and Angels,' 1103, by Fiorenzo di Lorenzo (I name
this early painting for its exquisite decorative qualities and its
harmonious combination of carving, gold and paint, as well as for the
general design); 'Bacchus and Ariadne,' No. 35, by Titian; 'Mercury,
Venus, and Cupid,' No. 10, by Correggio, for its fine drawing and
colour; 'San Arnolfina and his Wife,' No. 186, by Jan van Eyck, for its
minute detail and realism; 'The Virgin and Child,' 274, by Mantegna;
'Madonna and Child, with Saints,' 1119, by Ercole de Giulio Grandi,
another rich and decorative combination of gold leaf, colour, and
carving; 'Christ at the Column,' 1148, by Velasquez; 'The Nursing of
Hercules,' 1313, by Tintoretto; and 'The Raising of Lazarus,' by
Sebastiano del Piombo and Michael Angelo, No. 1. This last picture is
one of the most vigorous in design and execution in the whole Gallery.
About the landscape-work of the old masters there is not very much to be
said, as they are mostly conventional, and were painted in the studio
from studies; therefore, nature was always falsified and improved (?)
upon.
Hobbema ranks first amongst the old landscape painters for fresh, pure
colour, and close adherence to nature. 'The Avenue, Middelharnis,' 830,
is as fine a piece of work as any modern work; it is true and rigid to
facts, with a fine command of drawing, perspective and colour--one of
the few landscapes really worth copying in the Gallery.
Salvator Rosa is perhaps one of the most spontaneous amongst these early
landscapists, and the most reckless. He painted a picture at the one
working, and composed a poem afterwards by way of relaxation, and
although almost as exaggerated and theatrical in his effects as Gustave
Doré, yet his works have an appearance of nature about them, even if it
is nature convulsed, which is often lacking about the manufactured
efforts of his contemporaries, Claude Lorraine and Gaspard Poussin.
'Mercury and the Woodman,' 84; 'Tobias and the Angel,' 811; and 'A River
Scene,' 935, are fair examples of this vigorous artist and versifier.
That of 'Mercury and the Woodman' I like the best. Gaspard Poussin ranks
between Salvator Rosa and Claude, not because he was not so good a
workman, but because he was not so original in his style as either. His
two best examples in the Gallery are 'The Sacrifice of Isaac,' 31, and
'A Land Storm,' 36. 'Dido and Æneas taking shelter from the Storm,' 95,
is also a fine work.
Everyone who admires Turner must certainly honour Claude Lorraine; and
as I am one of those admirers, I look upon the earlier painter of
sunsets, classical temples, and artistically arranged trees with much
interest. He does not, of course, paint atmosphere; only one master did
this properly, and that was Turner, but he presents to us a placid and
smiling world which promotes comforting thoughts of rest and joy, and so
I give him all due honour as a pretty landscape painter and also an
original master. What he did came from his own invention, and if Turner
painted better, that was only because he commenced where Claude, his
first master, had left off.
The 'Landscape with Figures,' 12, and 'Seaport with the Embarkation of
the Queen of Sheba,' 14, are two of Claude's best examples. Turner was a
daring man to risk the test of Time with the four pictures; at present
his two look the best, but in another hundred years, while Claude's will
still appear almost as fresh, Turner's will have vanished, as all his
pictures must, and leave only a few stains and cracks behind. So much
for the modern masters when they try to compete with their manufactured
tube colours against the wise men of old, who ground their own paints,
studied the chemistry of colours, and knew how to prepare their own
canvases. A century after this, readers of old books will wonder what
John Ruskin meant by praising Turner so extravagantly, when they go down
to the vaults where the Trustees are vainly trying to keep the remains
of those fugitive masterpieces, by secluding them from the light, while
Claude Lorraine will still hang on in his old places, calm, fresh, sunny
and metallic. So much for atmosphere against artifice.
[Illustration: HARMONY]