vision, rapturous and ecstatic." A multitude of radiant figures sweep
and whirl through the heavenly spaces. "They are upon every side,
bending, tossing, floating, and diving through the clouds, hovering
above the abysmal void that is between the dome and the earth below
it."[27] Wonderful indeed is the triumph of the painter's art in this
place. "Reverse the cupola and fill it with gold, and even that will
not represent its worth," said Titian.
[Footnote 27: E. H. Blashfield in _Italian Cities._]
Our illustration shows a portion of the octagonal cornice. The design
is a simulated balcony ornamented with tall candelabra. In front stand
the apostles grouped in twos at the corners. On the top of the
balustrade, in the spaces between the candelabra, sport a band of
genii, or heavenly spirits.
The four apostles are men of giant frames with broad shoulders and
stalwart limbs. They are of middle age, heavily bearded, and all look
much alike. It would be impossible to call one Peter, and another
Paul, or to identify any particular persons. Evidently it was not the
intention of the artist to distinguish individuals. All the figures
are turned with lifted faces towards the vision in the dome. Each
expresses, by a gesture, the wonder, joy, rapture, or admiration
aroused by the spectacle. Their attitudes are somewhat extravagant and
self-conscious. The drapery, too, is rather fantastic, flung about
their figures, leaving arms and legs bare. Were the picture taken out
of its surroundings it would scarcely suggest a Christian subject.
These colossal beings are like Titans moving through the figures of a
sacred dance, and murmuring the mystic incantations of some heathen
rite.
[Illustration: APOSTLES AND GENII
_Cathedral, Parma_]
But we must not press our interpretation too far. The panel should be
studied for its decorative quality as a part of a larger scheme.
Viewed from below, this procession of figures must be exceedingly
effective. The emphasis of lines is diagonal, flowing in the direction
of the focal point of the whole decoration.
The genii of the balustrade are beings of Correggio's own creation.
His imagination called forth a world of spirits without a counterpart
in the work of any other painter. Lacking the wings usually given in
art to angels, they also lack the proper air of sanctity for heavenly
habitants. Yet they are far too ethereal for mortals. Neither angel
nor human, they are rather sprites of elf-land. With their tossing
hair and agile motions they remind us of woodland creatures, and they
look shyly out of their eyes like the furtive folk of the forest.
They are sportive, but not mischievous, in the human sense. They
frolic in the pure delight of motion. By mortal standards of age they
are between childhood and youth, when limbs are long and bodies
supple. Their only draperies are narrow scarfs which they twist about
them in every conceivable way.
Of the seven figures seen in our illustration, two only have any
ostensible purpose to serve. One seems to be lighting a candelabrum
with a flambeau; another carries a bowl which may be used for incense.
The others are idlers. If they have any duties as acolytes, these are
for the moment forgotten. Several are attracted by the ceremonies in
the cathedral and look down from their high perch upon the worshipping
congregation.
The sprite at the extreme right is seated, and peeps over his shoulder
with a rather dreamy expression. Next come two who are playing
together, one throwing up his left arm as if to balance himself.
Beyond the candelabrum is one whose parted hair and coquettish pose of
the head give a feminine look to the figure. The sprite in the centre
of the balustrade is the most winsome of the company. His bright eyes
have spied out some one in the congregation, and stooping, he points
directly at the person. His expression is very roguish. The little
fellow with the flambeau is at the left, and last is one whose face is
turned away towards the imaginary space behind the balcony.
Our illustration gives us a general idea of Correggio's decorative
method. The human body was his material; his patterns were woven of
nude figures, posed in every possible attitude. Every figure is in
motion, and the whole multitude palpitates with the joy of living.
XII
ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST
In one of the pendentives of the cupola in the Parma Cathedral is the
figure of St. John the Baptist reproduced in our illustration. The
background is made to resemble somewhat the interior of a shell. On
billows of clouds sits the prophet, with a lamb in his arms, and a
circle of angels playing about him.
St. John the Baptist was a cousin of Jesus, and the first to recognize
the true character of the carpenter's son. While Jesus was still
living in obscurity in Nazareth, John went forth to preach in the
wilderness about the river Jordan. His manner of life was very
singular. He "had his raiment of camel's hair and a leathern girdle
about his loins; and his meat was locusts and wild honey."[28]
[Footnote 28: St. Matthew, chapter iii., verse 4.]
The preacher was stern in denouncing sin and in warning evil-doers of
the wrath to come. The burden of all his sermons was, "Repent, for the
kingdom of heaven is at hand." When the people asked him what they
ought to do, his answers were full of common sense. "He that hath two
coats, let him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat,
let him do likewise." To the tax-collectors, he said, "Exact no more
than that which is appointed you;" to the soldiers, "Do violence to no
man, neither accuse any falsely."[29]
[Footnote 29: St. Luke, chapter iii.]
The authorities sent from Jerusalem to question the claims of the
strange preacher; but his reply was in the words of the old Hebrew
prophet, "I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness."[30]
[Footnote 30: St. John, chapter i., verse 23.]
It was the custom of John to baptize his converts in the river Jordan.
One day Jesus presented himself for baptism, and John saw in him one
whose shoe's latchet he was not worthy to unloose. At once he
proclaimed him to the people as the "Lamb of God who taketh away the
sins of the world."[31]
[Footnote 31: _Ib._, verse 29.]
With the entrance of Jesus upon his ministry, John's work was
fulfilled. "He must increase, but I must decrease," said the prophet
humbly.[32] He was soon after cast into prison by King Herod, whose
vices he had openly rebuked. Thence he was taken out only to be
executed.
[Footnote 32: St. John, chapter iii., verse 30.]
It must be confessed that Correggio cared very little about making a
true character study of St. John. There is not much in the figure of
our pendentive to suggest the stern and fearless prophet of the
wilderness. The humility of the countenance is perhaps the feature
most appropriate to the character. The shy, haunting expression in the
eyes is, too, such as belongs to one who, like St. John, lived much
alone in the woods. The tunic is short and sleeveless, showing the
strong limbs of the hermit.
[Illustration: ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST
_Cathedral, Parma_]
For the rest, the Baptist's face has the same gentle amiability we
have already seen in St. Matthew and Joseph. The type is a common one
with Correggio. A certain resemblance runs through nearly all his male
figures, whether of smooth-faced youth, bearded manhood, or hoary old
age.
The tenderness of St. John for his little lamb is the chief motive of
the picture. He carries it on his left arm, supporting the weight on
his knee, and the innocent creature puts its nose close to the
prophet's face. The lamb is the accepted symbol of St. John the
Baptist, in allusion to the words with which he addressed Jesus at the
Jordan, "Behold the lamb of God." The same figure is used in the book
of Revelation, where the Lamb is described "in the midst of the
throne." Standing for the person of Christ himself, St. John holds the
sacred emblem with reverence. To understand why his face is lifted in
this direction we must remember that his glance is directed toward the
vision in the dome just above.
The angel figures of this pendentive are among the most beautiful and
characteristic of the myriad throng of the cupola. The impression made
by this great spirit company upon one standing beneath the dome has
been described in some lines by Aubrey de Vere:--
"Creatures all eyes and brows and tresses streaming,
By speed divine blown back; within all fire
Of wondering zeal, and storm of bright desire.
Round the broad dome the immortal throngs are beaming,
With elemental powers the vault is teeming;
We gaze, and gazing join the fervid choir,
In spirit launched on wings that ne'er can tire."
While the spirits in the upper part of the cupola are massed so
closely together that we do not see the full beauty of each one, these
in our picture may be studied separately. There are six in all, and
their purpose is to call the attention of the worshippers to the
prophet. The two in the rear, whose bodies are hidden in the clouds,
gaze upon him adoringly. One on each side points with outstretched
finger to the lamb, as if repeating the Baptist's words, "Behold the
lamb of God." The angel astride the cloud in front was interrupted in
the same task by a little fellow suddenly shooting out from the clouds
beneath him. He peers into the opening at one side, but still lifts
his left hand towards the prophet above him.
The six figures are arranged in a semicircle, and their slender limbs
and lithe bodies trace rhythmic lines of grace. The most charming of
the company is perhaps he at the right, whose eyes meet ours with a
bewitching smile.
XIII
CHRIST APPEARING TO MARY MAGDALENE IN THE GARDEN
(Noli me tangere)
It was Sunday, the third day after the crucifixion of Jesus. Early in
the morning, while it was yet dark, a young woman made her way to the
rock-hewn tomb in the garden of Joseph of Arimathea. It was Mary
Magdalene, whom Jesus had rescued from a life of sin. Much had been
forgiven her, therefore she loved much. In her sorrow she came to
visit the spot where the body of her crucified Master had been laid.
Great was her surprise to find that the stone placed at the entrance
of the tomb had been rolled away. In her perplexity, she ran to tell
the disciples Peter and John. They all hurried back together to the
garden, and the two men, entering the tomb, found it empty. Unable to
explain the mystery, they presently returned home, leaving Mary still
standing without the sepulchre weeping.
"And as she wept, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre, and
seeth two angels in white sitting, the one at the head, and the other
at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain. And they say unto her,
Woman, why weepest thou? She saith unto them, Because they have taken
away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him.
"And when she had thus said, she turned herself back, and saw Jesus
standing, and knew not that it was Jesus. Jesus saith unto her, Woman,
why weepest thou? whom seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the
gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me
where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away. Jesus saith unto
her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is
to say, Master.
"Jesus saith unto her, Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my
Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my
Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God."[33]
[Footnote 33: Chapter xx. of the Gospel according to St. John, verses
11-17.]
Our picture illustrates the story of that first Easter morning. Jesus
has greeted Mary by name, and she has instantly recognized the Master.
Sinking on her knees, she would have impulsively stretched out her
hands to him, but he repels her with a gesture. Awe-struck, she gazes
into his face, while he explains the message she is to carry to the
disciples.
[Illustration: CHRIST APPEARING TO MARY MAGDALENE IN THE GARDEN (NOLI
ME TANGERE)
_Prado Gallery, Madrid_]
The risen Lord is clad in but one garment, a heavy mantle, knotted at
the waist. The upper part is slipping from his shoulders, leaving the
torso bare. The beauty of the form reminds us of a Greek statue. On
the ground beside him are some garden tools, a hoe and a spade, and
beyond these lies a straw hat. These things explain why Mary, blinded
and confused with weeping, supposed that it was the gardener who spoke
to her.
The Master's attitude and gesture emphasize the meaning of his words.
The body sways slightly to one side, as if shrinking from Mary's
touch. He still holds his right hand outstretched, as when he said
"Touch me not." And now he raises his left arm, and pointing
heavenward declares that he is about to ascend to his Father. He seems
to speak gently as to a child, and looks down into Mary's face with a
smile.
The young woman is richly arrayed in a brocade dress, cut so as to
show her beautiful neck and arms. A mass of wavy golden hair falls
over her shoulders and upon her bosom. Her tapering wrists and
delicate hands indicate gentle blood, but her features are somewhat
heavy, and the face would not attract us by its beauty. The rapt
expression of devotion is what makes it interesting. The whole
attitude expresses complete self-forgetfulness.
The lithe and youthful figure of Christ recalls the boy we saw in a
former picture journeying from Egypt. We can see that this is the man
into whom that child is grown. We note again the high full forehead
over which the parted hair is brushed in curves. Again, too, we see
the small mouth with the gentle smile. The figure in general features
resembles the Christ type which is illustrated in the picture of Ecce
Homo.
In painting the figure of the risen Christ, the old masters were
accustomed to give prominence to the nail prints in hands and feet,
and the wound in his side. Correggio has not done this. Such signs of
suffering were inconsistent with the joyous nature of his art. The
subject of the picture is entirely a happy one, and he has kept out of
it all evidences of the crucifixion, emphasizing rather the idea of
the ascension.
In some artistic points our picture resembles the Madonna della
Scodella. The pose of Christ is similar to that of Joseph, with one
arm lifted up, and the other reaching down. Thus is formed the
diagonal line which is at the basis of the composition. The right arm
of Mary carries the line on to the lower corner of the picture.
The landscape setting makes a spacious background, and a large tree
behind Christ throws his figure into relief.
XIV
THE MADONNA OF ST. JEROME
(Il Giorno)
It is a bright clear day, and a baby boy is having a rare frolic out
of doors, on his mother's knee. It is the little Christ-child, and his
visitors are St. Jerome and Mary Magdalene. Overhead a red cloth
drapery has been stretched from tree to tree, making a sort of canopy
to protect the company from the direct rays of the sun. St. Jerome has
brought as an offering the books which represent the scholarly toil of
many years. Mary Magdalene has her jar of ointment for the anointing
of the Saviour's feet.
The mother sits on a slight elevation in the centre, her bare foot
resting on the ground. St. Jerome stands in front, a little at one
side, where he can hold a book directly before the child's face. Mary
Magdalene, half kneeling on the other side, stoops to caress a little
foot. The sturdy old father seems to have come directly from his
monastery in Bethlehem, and his lion follows him like a faithful dog.
The old legend relates that as he sat one evening at his monastery
gate, a lion approached, holding up a paw which was pierced with a
thorn. The good father removed the thorn and dressed the wound, and
the grateful beast became thenceforth the constant companion of his
benefactor.
The scroll in St. Jerome's right hand may be any one of his many
treatises or translations. The large open volume is undoubtedly his
Latin version of the Bible. One side of the book is supported on his
left hand, while the other is held by an attendant angel, who turns
the pages for the Christ-child. There is something very interesting on
the page now open, and the angel points a slender finger to a
particular passage. The child is wrought up to the highest pitch of
excitement. He stretches out his legs and arms, his whole body
stiffening in a tremor of joy. He fairly pants with eagerness for the
treasure just beyond his grasp. Though not a pretty boy, he is so full
of life that we find him very captivating.
Old St. Jerome looks immensely pleased with the child's delight. The
angel playfellow is delighted with his success in amusing the baby,
and laughs sympathetically with him. The mother smiles with gentle
indulgence, and holds him firmly lest he spring from her arms. Mary
Magdalene appears almost unconscious of what is going on. Her whole
being is absorbed in loving devotion. She has caught one little foot
lightly by the heel, and, drawing it towards her, lays her cheek
against the soft knee. Her hair is unbound, and falls in long tresses
over her neck. In throwing out his arms, the child's left hand has
fallen on the golden head, and here it rests as if he returned the
caress. In the mean time a mischievous urchin, who may be the boy
Baptist, holds the Magdalene's jar of ointment. He stands behind her
like a small lackey, and sniffs curiously at the contents of the pot.
[Illustration: THE MADONNA OF ST. JEROME
_Parma Gallery_]
If it seems strange that St. Jerome and Mary Magdalene should be here
together, we must remember that the painters of Correggio's time did
not try to represent sacred scenes with historical accuracy. It was
customary to bring together in a picture persons who lived in
altogether different periods and countries. The meaning of such
pictures was symbolic. The Christians of all ages constitute a
communion of the saints who meet at the Christ-child's feet.
The two saints here make a fine artistic contrast,--the rugged and
grizzled old man, and the lovely golden-haired maiden. The splendid
muscular strength of the one is offset against the radiant beauty of
the other. In a devotional sense also the contrast is most
appropriate. St. Jerome has served the Christ with great powers of
intellect; Mary Magdalene brings only a woman's loving heart. The one
has written great books; the other could do nothing but anoint the
Saviour's feet. Yet the two kinds of service are equally important.
St. Jerome's translations have carried the gospel over the world, and
it is written that "Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the
whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told
for a memorial of her."[34]
[Footnote 34: St. Matthew, chapter xxvi., verse 13.]
The composition of the picture is on a diagonal plan similar to that
which we have already noticed in his pictures.[35] The structural line
may be traced from the top of St. Jerome's head across the shoulders
and back of Mary Magdalene. The edge of the canopy overhead emphasizes
this line by following the same general direction. The child's figure
behind the Magdalene balances the figure of the lion in the left
corner.
[Footnote 35: See chapters IX. and XIII.]
The landscape which lies beyond the canopy is an important and
beautiful part of the picture. Without this spacious distance in the
background the large figures filling the foreground would crowd the
composition unpleasantly. It is a relief to the eye to traverse this
stretch of sunny country.
The picture makes it possible for us to understand why Correggio has
been called a painter of "light and space and motion." All three
characteristics are admirably illustrated here. In color, too, the
original painting is very fine. The Virgin wears the usual red robe
and blue mantle, the colors denoting love and constancy. St. Jerome
has a blue drapery about the hips and a crimson mantle, while the
angel's tunic and Mary Magdalene's mantle are yellow.
It is the clear golden atmosphere flooding the scene which gives it
the Italian name of "Il Giorno," The Day.
XV
CUPID SHARPENING HIS ARROWS
(Detail of Danae)
In the imagination of the ancient Greeks all human love was inspired
by the goddess Aphrodite, Venus, aided by her son, the little archer
Cupid. It was Cupid's office to shoot the arrows of affection. Being a
mischievous fellow, he took delight in aiming his shafts at the
unsuspecting. Often his victims were so oddly chosen that it seemed as
if the marksman had shot at random. Some believed that he did his work
blindfolded.
The poets describe Cupid as a beautiful winged boy carrying a bow and
a quiver of arrows, and sometimes a torch. He flew at will through the
wide universe, but he loved best the island of Cyprus, which was his
mother's first home. "His head has goodly curls," wrote Moschus,[36]
"but impudent is the face he wears; his little hands are tiny, 'tis
true, yet they shoot far.... Small is his arrow, yet it carries even
to the sky.... He is naked indeed, so far as his body is concerned,
but his mind is shrouded. And being winged as a bird he flies upon now
one party of men and women and now another, and settles on their
inmost hearts."
[Footnote 36: In the first idyl, translated by J. Bank.]
The mingled pain and delight caused by a wound of love is explained by
the fact that Cupid's arrows were tipped with gall and honey. The way
in which they were fashioned is variously described by the poets.
Anacreon has it that they were made at the forge of Vulcan, the
husband of Venus, and the blacksmith of the gods. One of this poet's
odes relates how--
"In the Lemnian caves of fire
The mate of her who nursed Desire
Moulded the glowing steel to form
Arrows for Cupid thrilling warm;
While Venus every barb imbues
With droppings of her honeyed dews;
And Love (alas the victim heart)
Tinges with gall the burning dart."[37]
[Footnote 37: In Moore's translation.]
A slightly different explanation is given by the Latin poet
Claudian:--
"In Cyprus' isle two rippling fountains fall
And one with honey flows, and one with gall;
In these, if we may take the tale from fame,
The son of Venus dips his darts of flame."
However the story may run, there is but one ending. The victim of the
love-god's arrow confesses that "loving is a painful thrill," but "not
to love, more painful still."
[Illustration: CUPID SHARPENING HIS ARROWS (DETAIL OF DANAE)
_Borghese Gallery, Rome_]
So bold was the little archer that the mightiest could not withstand
his arts. The war-god Mars, bringing his spear one day to Vulcan's
forge, smiled contemptuously at the light shafts of Cupid. "Try it,"
said little Love, handing him one. Whereupon the foolish fellow cried
out in an agony of pain, and begged Cupid to take the arrow back.
Apollo, the archer of the sun, was equally imprudent, and was richly
punished for his sneers. An arrow from the fatal quiver made him mad
with unrequited love for the nymph Daphne. A being who could give so
much pain and pleasure was at once to be loved and feared. Hence all
paid homage--
"To Love, for heaven and earth adore him
And gods and mortals bow before him."
In our picture, Cupid looks just as the poets have described him, a
beautiful baby boy with wings and "goodly curls." Only the milk and
honey of Cyprus could have made the little body so plump. A deep
crease marks the line of his wrist, a soft fold of flesh the neck. The
full quiver lies on the table beside him, and he is sharpening one of
the darts.[38] A little companion helps him hold the whetstone steady
while he presses the arrow tip upon its surface. Some lines of Horace
come to mind describing--
"Cupid sharpening all his fiery darts
Upon a whetstone stained with blood of hearts."
[Footnote 38: Vasari says that Cupid is trying the arrow on a stone.]
Cupid's companion is as like him as a twin, save that he has no wings.
He may be a human playfellow of the little god, or one of the brood of
loves with which the poets have peopled Cyprus. While the original
myth told of only one Cupid, imagination has multiplied his kind. We
read of the "playful rout of Cupids" attendant upon the love-god, who
rules as sovereign among them.