A Morning in the Vatican.
_Oh! their Rafael of the dear Madonnas._
--BROWNING.
[Illustration: LOGGIA OF RAPHAEL, VATICAN, ROME.]
It was, of course, somewhat difficult for Barbara to adjust herself to
the new conditions. After the first, however, she said nothing to any
one save Bettina about the money Howard had left her, only, as in her
ignorance of business methods, she had need to consult Mrs. Douglas.
But she and Bettina had many things to talk over and much consultation
to hold regarding the future. One evening, after they had been thus
busy, Bettina said, nestling closer to her sister, as they sat together
on the couch, brave in its Roman draperies:--
"You must not always say '_our_ money,' Bab, dear."
"Why not?" with a startled look.
"Because it is _your_ money,--your very own;--the money Howard gave you
to spend for him, and yourself enjoy."
"But, Betty, we have shared everything all our lives. I do not know how
to have or use anything that is not yours as well as mine. If Howard had
known my heart, he would have had it just as I would. I shall give you
half, Betty. Do not, oh! do not refuse it. I shall not be happy with it
unless you are willing. Then you and I will work with it and enjoy it
together. It is the only way. Say yes, dear," and Barbara looked at her
sister with an almost piteous entreaty.
Bettina could say nothing for a time. Then, as if impelled by the force
of Barbara's desire, said:--
"Wait until we get home. Then, if you wish it as you do now, I will do
as papa and mamma think best; for, darling," in a somewhat quavering
voice, "I know if the money were all mine, I should feel just as you
do." And a loving kiss sealed the compact.
Meanwhile the days in Rome were passing,--lovely in nature as only
spring days in Italy can be; days filled to overflowing with delightful
and unique interest. For cities, as well as people, possess their own
characteristic individualities, and Rome is distinctively an individual
city.
From her foundation by the shepherd-kings far beyond the outermost
threshold of history, down through the six or seven centuries during
which she was engaged in conquering the nations; through the five
hundred years of her undisputed reign as proud mistress of the world; in
her sad decay and fall; and to-day in her resurrection, she is only
herself--unlike all other cities.
The fragmentary ruins of her great heathen temples arise close beside
her Christian churches,--some are even foundations for them,--while the
trappings of many have furnished the rich adornments of Christian
altars. Her mediæval castles and palaces, crowded to overflowing with
heart-breaking traditions, look out over smiling gardens in the midst of
which stand the quiet, orderly, innocent homes of the present race of
commonplace men and women. Her vast Colosseum is only an immense quarry.
Her proud mausoleum of the Julian Cæsars is an unimportant circus.
We drive or walk on the Corso, along which the Cæsars triumphantly led
processions of captives; through which, centuries later, numberless
papal pageants made proud entries of the city; where the maddest
jollities of carnival seasons have raged: and we see nothing more
important than modern carriages filled with gayly dressed women, and
shops brilliant with modern jewellery and pretty colored fabrics; and we
purchase gloves, handkerchiefs, and photographs close to some spot over
which, perchance, Queen Zenobia passed laden with the golden chains that
fettered her as she graced the triumph of Emperor Aurelian; or
Cleopatra, when she came conqueror of the proud heart of Julius Cæsar.
We linger on the Pincio, listening to the sweet music of the Roman band,
while our eyes wander out over the myriad roofs and domes to where great
St. Peter's meets the western horizon; and we forget utterly those dark
centuries during which this lovely hill was given over to Nero's fearful
ghost, until a Pope, with his own hands, cut down the grand trees that
crowned its summit, thus exorcising the demon birds which the people
believed to linger in them and still to work the wicked emperor's will.
We take afternoon tea at the English Mrs. Watson's, beside the foot of
the _Scala di Spagna_, close to whose top tradition tells us that
shameless Messalina, Claudius's empress, was mercilessly slain.
And so it is throughout the city. Tradition, legend, and romance have
peopled every place we visit. Wars, massacres, and horrible suffering
have left a stain at every step. Love and faith and glorious
self-sacrifice have consecrated the ways over which we pass. And though
we do not give definite thought to these things always, yet all the
time the city is weaving her spell about our minds and hearts, and we
suddenly arouse to find that, traditional or historic, civilized or
barbarous, conqueror or conquered, ancient or modern, she has become
_Cara Roma_ to us, and so will be forevermore.
Thus it had been with Mrs. Douglas and Mr. Sumner, and so it now was
with the young people of their household who had come hither for the
first time.
The days flew fast. It was almost difficult to find time when all could
get together for their art study. Mr. Sumner had told them at first that
here they would study under totally different conditions from those in
Florence, so separated are the works of any particular artist save
Michael Angelo.
They had already visited individually, as they chose, those historic
palaces in which are most important family picture-galleries, such as
the Colonna, Farnese, Doria, Corsini, Villa Borghese, etc., but they
wished to go all together to the Vatican to hear Mr. Sumner talk of
Raphael's works, and right glad were they when finally a convenient time
came.
They walked quickly through many pictured rooms and corridors until they
reached the third room of the famous picture-gallery, where they took
seats, and Mr. Sumner said, in a low voice:--
"I did not wish to come here immediately after we had studied Michael
Angelo's frescoes. It was better to wait for a time, so utterly unlike
are these two great masters of painting. I confess that I never like to
compare them, one with the other, although their lives were so closely
related that it is always natural to do so. Their characters were
opposite; so, also, their work. One sways us by his all-compelling
strength; the other draws us by his alluring charm. Michael Angelo is in
painting what Dante and Shakespeare are in poetry, and Beethoven in
music; Raphael is like the gentle Spenser and the tender Mozart. Michael
Angelo is thoroughly original; Raphael possessed a peculiarly receptive
nature, that caught something from all with whom he came into close
contact. Michael Angelo strove continually to grow; Raphael struggled
for nothing. Michael Angelo's life was sternly lonely and sorrowful;
Raphael's bright, happy, and placid. Michael Angelo lived long; Raphael
died in early manhood.
"Still," he continued, after a moment, as he noted the sympathetic faces
about him, "although I have mentioned them, I beg of you not to allow
any of these personal characteristics or distinctions to influence you
in your judgment of the work of these two. Forget the one to-day as we
study the other.
"You have read much of Raphael's life, so I will not talk about that.
You remember that, when young, he studied in Perugia, in Perugino's
studio, and perhaps you will recollect that, when we were there, I told
you that his early work was exceedingly like that of this master.
"Now, look! Here right before us is Raphael's _Coronation of the
Virgin_,--his first important painting. See how like Perugino's are the
figures. Notice the exquisite angels on either side of the Virgin, which
are so often reproduced! See their pure, childlike faces and the queer
little stiffness that is almost a grace! See the sweet solemnity of
Christ and the Madonna, the staid grouping of the figures below,--the
winged cherubim,--the soft color!
"I have here two photographs," and he unfolded and passed one to
Margery, who was close beside him, "which I wish you to look at
carefully. They are of works painted very soon after the _Coronation_;
one, the _Marriage of the Virgin_, or _Lo Sposalizio_, is in the Brera
Gallery at Milan. It is as like Perugino's work as is the _Coronation_."
After a time spent in looking at and talking about the picture, during
which Bettina told the story of the blossomed rod which Joseph bears
over his shoulder, and the rod without blossoms which the disappointed
suitor is breaking over his knee, Mr. Sumner gave them the other
photograph.
"This," he resumed, "you will readily recognize, as you have so often
looked at the picture in the Pitti Gallery in Florence--the _Madonna del
Gran Duca_. This is the only Madonna that belongs to this period of
Raphael's painting, and the last important picture in the style. It was
painted during the early part of his visit to Florence."
"I never see this, uncle," said Margery, as she passed the photograph on
to the others, "without thinking how the Grand Duke carried it about in
its rich casket wherever he went, and said his prayers before it night
and morning. I am glad the people named it after him. Don't you think it
very beautiful, uncle?"
"Yes; and it is one of the purest Madonnas ever painted--so impersonal
is the face," replied Mr. Sumner.
"I wish," he continued, "I could go on like this through a list of
Raphael's works with you, but it is utterly impossible, so many are
there. When he went to Florence, where you know he spent some years, he
fell under the influence of the Florentine artists, and his work
gradually lost its resemblance to Perugino's. It gained more freedom,
action, grace, and strength of color. Some examples of this second
style of his painting are the _Madonna del Cardellino_, or Madonna of
the Goldfinch, which you will remember in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence,
and _La Belle Jardinière_ in the Louvre, Paris. But I have brought
photographs of these pictures so that you may see the striking
difference between them and those previously painted."
Murmured exclamations attested the interest with which the comparison
was made. After all seemed satisfied, Mr. Sumner continued:--
"After Raphael came to Rome, summoned by the same Pope Julius II. who
sent for Michael Angelo, and was thus brought under the influence of
that great painter, his method again changed. It grew firmer and
stronger. Then he painted his best pictures,--and so many of them! So,
you can see, it is somewhat difficult to characterize Raphael's work as
a whole, for into it came so many influences. One thing, however, is
true. From all those whom he followed, he gathered only the best
qualities. His work deservedly holds its prominent place in the world's
estimation;--so high and sweet and pure are its _motifs_, while their
rendering is in the very best manner of the High Renaissance. No other
artist ever painted so many noble pictures in so few years of time."
"Did not his pupils assist him in many works, uncle?" asked Malcom, as
his uncle paused for a moment.
"Yes," replied Mr. Sumner, rising, "especially in the frescoes that we
shall see by and by. It would have been utterly impossible for him to
have executed all these with his own hand. Let us now go out into
this next gallery through which we entered, and look at the
_Transfiguration_."
So they went into the small room which is dedicated wholly to three
large pictures:--the _Transfiguration_ and _Madonna di Foligno_ by
Raphael, and the _Communion of St. Jerome_ by Domenichino.
"Raphael's last picture, which he left unfinished!" murmured Bettina,
and she took an almost reverential attitude before it.
"How very, very different from the _Coronation_!" exclaimed Barbara,
after some moments of earnest study. "That is so utterly simple, so
quiet! This is more than dramatic!"
"Raphael's whole lifetime of painting lies between the two," replied Mr.
Sumner, who had been intently watching her face as he stood beside her.
"Do you like this, Mr. Sumner? I do not think I do, really," said Miss
Sherman, as she dropped into a chair, her eyes denoting a veiled
displeasure, which was also apparent in the tones of her voice.
"It is a difficult picture to judge," replied Mr. Sumner, slowly. "I
wish you all could have studied many others before studying this one.
But, indeed, you are so familiar with Raphael's pictures that you need
only to recall them to mind. This was painted under peculiar
circumstances,--in competition, you remember, with Sebastian del
Piombo's _Resurrection of Lazarus_; and Sebastian was a pupil of Michael
Angelo. Some writers have affirmed that that master aided his pupil in
the drawing of the chief figures in his picture. Raphael tried harder
than he ever had done before to put some of the dramatic vigor and
action of Michael Angelo into the figures here in the lower part of the
_Transfiguration_. The result is that he overdid it. It is not
Raphaelesque; it is an unfortunate composite. The composition is fine;
the quiet glory of heaven in the upper part,--the turbulence of earth in
the lower, are well expressed; but the perfection of artistic effect is
wanting. It is full of beauties, yet it is not beautiful. It has many
defects, yet only a great master could have designed and painted it."
By and by they turned their attention to the _Madonna di Foligno_, and
were especially interested in it as being a votive picture. Margery, who
was very fond of this Madonna, with the exquisite background of angels'
heads, had a photograph of it in her own room at home, and knew the
whole story of the origin of the picture. So she told it at Malcom's
request, her delicate fingers clasping and unclasping each other,
according to her habit, as she talked.
"How true it is that one ought to know the reason why a picture is
painted, all about its painter, and a thousand other things, in order to
appreciate it properly," said Malcom, as they turned to leave the room.
"That is so," replied his uncle. "I really feel," with an apologetic
smile, "that I can do nothing with Raphael. There is so much of him
scattered about everywhere. We will regard this morning's study as only
preliminary, and you must study his pictures by yourselves, wherever you
find them. By the way," and he turned to look back through the doorway,
"you must not forget to come here again to see Domenichino's great
picture. How striking it is! But we must not mix his work with
Raphael's."
They passed through the first room of the gallery, stopping but a moment
to see two or three comparatively unimportant pictures painted by
Raphael, and went out into the Loggia.
"I brought you through this without a word, when we first came," said
Mr. Sumner. "But now I wish you to look up at the roof-paintings. They
were designed by Raphael, but painted by his pupils. You see they all
have Bible subjects. For this reason this Loggia is sometimes called
'Raphael's Bible.' The composition of every picture is simple, and in
the master's happiest style."
As they left the Loggia and entered "Raphael's Stanze," a series of
rooms whose walls are covered with his frescoes, Mr. Sumner said:--
"We will to-day only give a glance at the paintings in this first room.
They are, as you see, illustrative of great events in the history of
Rome. They were executed wholly by Raphael's pupils, after his designs."
"I shall come here again," said Malcom, in a positive tone. "This is
more in my line than Madonnas," and he made a bit of a wry face.
"And better still is to come for you," returned his uncle with a smile,
as they passed on. "Here in this next room are scenes in the religious
history of the city, and here," as they entered the third room, "is the
famous Camera della Segnatura."
"Room of the Signatures! Why so called?" asked Barbara.
"Because the Papal indulgences used to be signed here; and here,"
continued Mr. Sumner, turning for a moment toward Malcom, "are the
greatest of all Raphael's frescoes. We will now stop here for a few
minutes, and you must come again for real study. The subjects are the
representations of the most lofty occupations that engage the minds of
men--Philosophy, Justice, Theology, and Poetry. This is the first
painting done by Raphael in the Vatican, and it is all his own work,
both design and execution.
"Here on this side," pointing at a large fresco which covered the entire
wall, "is _La Disputa_, or _Theology_. Above, on the ceiling, you see a
symbolic figure representing Religion, with the Bible in one hand and
pointing down at the great picture with the other. Opposite is the
_School of Athens_. Above this is a figure emblematic of Philosophy,
wearing a diadem and holding two books. On the two end walls, broken, as
you see, by the windows, are _Parnassus_, peopled with Apollo and the
Muses, together with figures of celebrated poets,--above which is the
crowned figure with a lyre which represents Poetry,--and," turning, "the
_Administration of Law_, with ceiling-figure with crown, sword, and
balance, symbolizing Justice. In this room the painter had much to
contend against. These opposite windows at the ends, which fill the
space with cross-lights, and around which he must place two of his
pictures, must have been discouraging. But the compositions are
consummately fine, and the whole is so admirably managed that one does
not even think of that which, if the work were less magnificent, would
be harassing.
"I advise you to come here early some morning and bring with you some
full description of the pictures, which tells whom the figures are
intended to represent. Study first each painting as a whole; see the
fine distribution of masses; the general arrangement; the symmetry of
groups which balance each other; the harmony of line and color. Then
study individual figures for form, attitude, and expression. I think you
will wish to give several mornings to this one room.
"What do you think of this, Malcom? Do you not wish to get acquainted
with Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, and Virgil?" added Mr. Sumner, putting
his hand suddenly on the young man's shoulder, and looking into his face
to surprise his thought.
"I think it is fine, Uncle Rob. It's all right;" and Malcom's steady
blue eyes emphasized his satisfaction.
"What do you call Raphael's greatest picture?" asked Barbara, as they
turned from the frescoed walls.
"These are his most important frescoes," replied Mr. Sumner; "and all
critics agree that his most famous easel picture is the _Madonna di San
Sisto_ in the Dresden Gallery. This is so very familiar to you that it
needs no explanation. It was, you know, his last Madonna, and it
contains a hint of Divinity in both mother and child never attained by
any painter before or since."
"When shall we see Raphael's tapestries?" asked Margery, as they finally
passed on through halls and corridors.
"I hardly think I will go with you to see those, Madge dear," answered
her uncle. "There is no further need that I explain any of Raphael's
work to you. Your books and your own critical tastes, which are pretty
well formed by this time, will be quite sufficient. Indeed," looking
around until he caught Barbara's eyes, "I really think you can study all
the remaining paintings in Rome by yourselves," and he was made happy by
seeing the swift regret which clouded them.
"When we return to Florence," he added, "you will be more interested
than when we were there before in looking at Raphael's Madonnas and
portraits in those galleries; and on our way from Florence to Venice, we
will stop at Bologna to see his _St. Cecilia_".
"How perfectly delightful!" cried Bettina. "I have been wishing to see
that ever since we went to the church of St. Cecilia the other day. I
was greatly interested to know that it had once been her own home, and
in everything there connected with her. She was so brave, and true, and
good! It seems as if Raphael could have painted a worthy picture of
her!"
As Bettina suddenly checked her pretty enthusiasm, her face flushed
painfully, and Barbara, seeking the cause, caught the supercilious smile
with which Miss Sherman was regarding her sister. She at once divined
that poor Bettina feared that, in some way, she had made herself
ridiculous to the older lady.
Going swiftly to her sister she threw her arm closely about her waist,
and with a charming air of defiance,--with erect head and flashing eyes,
said:--
"Mr. Sumner, St. Cecilia is a real, historical character, is she not? As
much so as St. Francis, Nero, or Marcus Aurelius?" The slight emphasis
on the last name recalled to all the party the effusive eulogiums Miss
Sherman had lavished upon that famous imperial philosopher a few days
before, while they were looking at his bust in the museum of Palazzo
Laterano; when, unfortunately, she had imputed to him certain utterances
that rightfully belong to another literary man who lived in quite a
different age and country.
Mr. Sumner could not avoid a merry twinkle of his eyes as he strove to
answer with becoming gravity, and Malcom hastily pushed on far in
advance.
Once at home, Malcom and Margery gave their version of the affair to
their mother.
"It isn't the first time she has looked like that at both Barbara and
Betty," averred Malcom, emphatically, "and they have known and felt it,
too."
"I am very sorry," said Mrs. Douglas, with a troubled look.
"Oh! you need not fear anything further, mother _mia_" said Malcom,
sympathizingly. "Barbara will never show any more feeling. She would not
have done it for herself, only for Betty. Under the circumstances she
just had to fire her independence-gun, that is all. Now there will be
perfect peace on her side. You know her.
"And," he added in an aside to Margery, as his mother was leaving the
room, "Miss Sherman will not dare to be cross openly for fear of mother
and Uncle Rob. I didn't dare to look at her. But wasn't it rich?" And he
went off into a peal of laughter.
"It was only what she deserved, anyway," said Margery, who was usually
most gentle in all her judgments.
It was quite a commentary on Mrs. Douglas's judgment of Lucile Sherman's
character at this time, that she now deemed it best to tell her of
Howard's bequest to Barbara, about which she had heretofore held
silence.