had instructed during the sojourn of the latter in the Eternal City;
Gentile da Fabriano, who drew his inspiration from Fra Angelico; and
Pietro della Francesca, who has been regarded as the originator of
perspective. We next meet with Pietro Vannucci, called Perugino, who was
born in 1446; it was owing to nothing but the force of his genius and
his character that he became one of the most celebrated masters of his
time. At the close of his career, Perugino had the honour of initiating
into the practice of his art Raphael Sanzio of Urbino, who was in his
own day, as he still is, the prince of painting.
At Venice a body of pioneers, still more numerous and compact, prepared
the way for the new era, destined to be made illustrious by Titian,
Tintoretto, and Paul Veronese. We will mention also Gentile and Jacopo
Bellini; the former was incessantly absorbed in investigating the
theories of an art which he nevertheless exercised with all the
_abandon_ of an inspired genius; the latter constantly devoted himself
to the combination of power and grace; and, at the age of seventy-five
years, seemed to regain a second youth in following with happy boldness
the example of his pupil Giorgione.[35] This painter, who was born in
1477, and died in 1511, introduced all kinds of innovations in respect
to design and colouring, and was the master of Giovanni da Udine,
Sebastian del Piombo, Jacques Palma, and Pordenone, fellow-pupils and
sometimes rivals of the three great artists by whose works the Venetian
school was to mark its individuality.
At Parma a local school was represented by Antonio Allegri, called
Correggio, born in 1494; and by Francesco Mazzuoli, called Parmigianino,
born in 1503.
In other places, too, talents of a vigorous or of a graceful character
were developed, but we can only cast a comprehensive glance on this
memorable artistic epoch, and are unable to offer a detailed review of
the artists and their works. And what further luminaries of art could we
wish to embrace in our summary after having displayed in it, shining, so
to speak, at one and the same epoch, Leonardo da Vinci (Fig. 249),
Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese, Correggio, and
Parmigianino?
[Illustration: Fig. 249.--Portrait of Leonardo da Vinci, from a Venetian
Engraving of the Sixteenth Century.]
Four principal schools compete with one another--the Florentine school,
the characteristics of which are truth of design, energy of colouring,
and grandeur of conception; the Roman school, which seeks its ideal in
the skilful and sober judgment of its lines, the dignity of its
compositions, propriety of expression and beauty of form; the Venetian
school, which occasionally neglected correctness of drawing, and devoted
itself more to the brilliancy and magical effect of colour; lastly, the
school of Parma, which is distinguished especially by its softness of
touch and by its knowledge of light and shade. All such estimations of
the different qualities of these various groups must not, however, be
looked upon as in any way absolute.
As chiefs of the first school we have two men, each of whom presents to
us one of the richest organisations and the most widely extending genius
which human nature has, perhaps, ever produced; these were Leonardo da
Vinci and Michael Angelo, both of whom were sculptors as well as
painters; and also architects, musicians, and poets. We will first speak
of Leonardo da Vinci, whose style presents two very distinct epochs; the
first tending to vigour in the shadows, to a mistiness in reflected
lights, to a general effect produced by a certain oddness, or rather by
a strange representation of truth; a combination of qualities which, as
M. Michiels says, makes Leonardo the “most northerly of the Italian
painters” (Fig. 250). His second style, “clear, serene, and precise,”
transports us into a “completely southern sphere.” But some secret
influence drew the artist so forcibly towards his earlier manner, that
he returned to it at an advanced age in painting the famous portrait of
Mona Lisa, which adorns the gallery of the Louvre. We must not forget
the fact that we have to attribute to Pope Leo X. the great revival of
the arts, and especially of painting, in Italy at the commencement of
the sixteenth century.
“In Michael Angelo,” still to quote the words of M. Michiels, “science,
power, grandeur, and all the more severe qualities are combined. No
vulgar artifice and no affectation. The painter was imbued with a
sublime ideal of majestic types from which nothing was able to divert
him. He felt as if there were existing in himself a whole population of
heroes, whom, by the aid of painting and sculpture, he endeavoured to
withdraw from their mental concealment, and to embody in incarnate
forms. His personages scarcely seem to belong to our race; they appear
to be creatures worthy of some more spacious world, to the proportions
of which their physical vigour and their moral energy would well
respond. The very women do not possess the grace of their sex; we might
fancy them valiant Amazons well capable of mastering a horse or of
crushing an enemy. This great man’s object was neither to charm nor to
please; his delight rather was to astonish and to strike with admiration
or terror; but it is this very excess of power which enabled him to win
the approbation of all.”
[Illustration: Fig. 250.--The Holy Family, by Leonardo da Vinci, from
the Picture in the Museum at St. Petersburg.]
Next we have Raphael, _il divino Sanzio_, as he was called by his
numerous admirers, whose genius was constantly attaining to grandeur by
means of simplicity, and to power by means of reserve. Michael Angelo
always seems as if he were only able to represent a limited portion of
his gigantic conceptions on the wall he covered with his designs; but it
was sufficient for Raphael to place some tranquil figure on a narrow
square of canvas, and we have before us the bright image of the most
perfect and delicious inspiration. He created for himself a heaven which
he peopled with the purest and most venerated types of the human race;
and a light, as from on high, beams with regal splendour on these
graceful visions. In Raphael, even more than in Leonardo da Vinci, it
seemed as if two artists of equal sublimity succeeded one another. At
first we have the charming dreamer who, in the fresh enthusiasm of his
early youth, creates Madonnas, artless daughters of the earth in whose
look and countenance a sacred light shines in all its ineffable purity;
next he is the master full of the deepest science, for whom the real
beauties of creation have no concealment; who, in representing nature,
succeeded in transforming to her the magnificent ideal of which his own
soul appears to have received the impression from association with the
divine regions.
“The principal characteristic of Raphael,” still following the very just
remarks of M. Michiels, “is the universality of his fame. It becomes
almost painful to hear the vulgar crowd constantly repeating a magic
name, the true signification of which they do not understand.” As the
spoiled child of fortune, the creator of Virgins and “The
Transfiguration,” he is almost without detractors from his fame; and it
is impossible to reckon the number of his admirers. “One circumstance in
his life affords us an emblem of his destiny. Having sent to Palermo the
famous canvas of the ‘Spasimo,’[36] a tempest overwhelmed the ship which
carried it; but the waves seemed to respect the _chef-d’œuvre_. After
having drifted more than fifty leagues through the sea, the box which
enclosed the precious production floated gently on shore at the port of
Genoa. The picture was in no way injured. The Sicilian monks, for whom
it was intended, did not fail to claim it; and since that time, thanks
to the mercy of the waves, it attracts to the foot of Etna numerous
pilgrims to the shrine of genius.”
At Venice, we first have Titian, the painter of Charles V. and Francis
I. “The genius of Titian,” says Alexander Lenoir, “is always great and
noble. No painter has ever produced flesh-colours so beautiful and
life-like. In Titian there is no apparent tone; the colouring of his
flesh is so well blended, that it seems as difficult to imitate as the
model itself. Add to his pictures their truth and expression of action,
and the elegance and richness of the drapery, and we shall have some
idea of the great works which he left behind him.”
Next Jacques Robusti presents himself, who, from the profession of his
father was surnamed Tintoretto (the Dyer). He was at first a pupil of
Titian, who, it is said, from motives of jealousy, dismissed him from
his studio; but the fervour of uninterrupted labour was all that
Tintoretto required in order to mature the most productive talent. “The
drawing of Michael Angelo, and the colouring of Titian”--such was the
ambitious motto he wrote over the door of his humble _atelier_, and we
are almost justified in stating that he was enabled, by force of study
and labour, to fulfil his aspirations, if we look only at some of his
pieces executed before a certain fever of exuberant production had
seized upon and necessarily weakened his vigorous talents. To form some
estimate of the extent to which Tintoretto was impelled by this impulse
of creation, we may recollect that even Paul Veronese reproached him
with being unable to restrain himself--Veronese, the most indefatigable
of producers!
With regard to the latter, his works are characterised not only by the
number of figures in them, but also by the striking brilliancy of the
_mise en scène_. Although he multiplies his actors, they are grouped in
perfect order; although he paints a multitude, he knows how to avoid a
crowd. Notice how a feeling of life profusely pervades the whole of his
vast pictures of important events; an idea of space is everywhere given;
everywhere light plays a powerful part, and imagination has full scope.
He is the painter _par excellence_ of feasts and ceremonies: at once
pompous and natural, his copiousness is only equalled by his dazzling
facility; and we are compelled to forgive the errors with which he
mingles on the same canvas the religious ideas of sacred subjects and
the profane splendour of modern times.
What shall we say about Correggio? There is no methodical scale by which
to measure grace; and there is no formula laid down of delicious
softness. But if, at the Louvre, we examine his “Antiope asleep,” we
shall not soon forget the fascinating power of the old Allegri
(Correggio).
From Correggio to Parmigianino the distance is of the kind that
admiration can easily fill up. It was said of the latter that he had
more the appearance of an angel than of a man; and the Romans of his
own day used to add that the spirit of Raphael had passed into his body.
In more than one instance his genius was kindled by the sun of
Correggio, and ripened in the studios of Michael Angelo and Raphael; but
in addition to this, his flexible and varied talent enabled him to find
a place by himself between these two masters. “St. Francis receiving the
Stigmata,” and “The Marriage of St. Catherine,” which he painted before
he had attained his eighteenth year, are still regarded as equal to the
_chefs-d’œuvre_ signed by Allegri. It is well known that a “St.
Margaret,” executed by Parmigianino fifteen years later for a church at
Bologna, was placed by Guido in the same rank as the “St. Cecilia” of
Raphael.
By the side of, or after, these famous men, in whom the glory of Italian
painting seems to have brilliantly culminated, how many noble names
still remain to be cited; how many remarkable names are there still to
mention, even among those who, in following the glorious path opened out
for them by the great masters, began to show glimpses of the earliest
symptoms of decay, exhaustion, and lassitude! It does not form a part of
our plan to dwell upon the various phases of this decadence; but before
we glance at the last sparks of light which were shed forth, we must not
forget the fact that the Italian pleiades were not exclusively
privileged to illumine the artistic horizon.
It is certainly the case that all over Europe the Byzantine tradition
had been the sole possessor of the throne of art since the earliest
centuries of the Middle Ages. In Germany as in Italy, in France as in
the countries bounding it on the north, we find nothing but the same
school displaying the dead level of its inflexibility. At various
epochs, however, certain feeble attempts at independence were here and
there manifested; but these aspirations were at first generally
isolated, and therefore transient in their character. Finally, however,
as if the hour of revival had been simultaneously agreed upon at all
points of the intellectual world, these desires for emancipation
manifested themselves in a corresponding effort to reject the former too
absolute form, and to substitute the element of life for the principle
of conventionality.
In Spain a strange combat was waging on the soil itself, for the
possession of which two hostile races, two irreconcilable faiths, were
in fierce contention. The Mahometan built the Alhambra, the halls of
which were destined to be subsequently adorned by a Christian pencil. In
the paintings that enliven the arches of this marvellous edifice an art
is manifested which is both simple and grand in its character; but in
this one undertaking it appears to have exhausted the share of vitality
time had awarded to it; for immediately afterwards it seems to have died
away. If, however, any fresh masters of the art of painting appeared on
the Iberian soil, they had sought in Italy the flame of inspiration, or
some mighty art-pilgrim visited their country. We must come down to a
later epoch, from the consideration of which we are now precluded, in
order to meet with an Herrera, a Ribera, a Velasquez, or a Murillo, the
glory of whom, although comparatively late, may perhaps hold its own by
the side of the great Italian schools, but cannot pretend to eclipse
them. Among the predecessors of these real and distinct individualities,
we will, however, mention the following:--Alonzo Berruguete, born in
1480, at once painter, architect, and sculptor; he was a pupil of
Michael Angelo, in whose works he often took a share; Pedro Campagna,
born in 1503, who studied under the same master--his _chef-d’œuvre_ is
still admired in the Cathedral of Seville; Luis de Vargas, born in 1502,
who was able in many points to appropriate the secrets of Sanzio, from
whom he appeared to have received lessons; Morales, whose paintings are
still admired for the harmony of their lines and the delicacy of their
touch; Vicente Juanes, whose purity of design and sober vigour of
colouring obtained for him the title (certainly by some exaggeration of
praise) of the “Raphael of Valencia;” lastly, Fernandez Navarette, born
in 1526, who, perhaps less hyperbolically, was surnamed the “Spanish
Titian;” and Sanchez Coello, born about 1500, who, excelling in
portraits, has handed down the likenesses of some celebrated personages
of his time.
In Germany and the Low Countries we find similar traces of the feeling
of regeneration actuating the minds of artists at a much earlier period.
The first name which presents itself to us beyond the Rhine is that
mentioned in the Chronicle of Limburg, of the date of 1380. “There was
then at Cologne,” says the chronicler, “a painter named Wilhelm.
According to the masters, he was the best in all the countries of
Germany; he has painted men of every description as if they were alive.”
We have nothing left of the works of this artist except some panels
without signature, which, in consideration of the date they bear, are
attributed to him; an examination shows that, considering the epoch at
which he lived, Wilhelm might justly be looked upon as a creative
genius. He was succeeded by his most talented pupil, _Maître_ Stephan. A
triptych of his work may be seen at the Cathedral of Cologne,
representing “The Adoration of the Magi,” “St. Gereon,” “St. Ursula,”
and “The Annunciation.” This work, which exhibits charming finish as
well as harmonious simplicity, is sufficient evidence that its author
was possessed of much natural ability as well as a certain extent of
knowledge; and if we make it our study to seek out the relics of the
artistic movement of the period, we can in no way feel surprise at
seeing that the influence of this early master made itself felt in a
very extended radius.
But at this epoch, that is, at the commencement of the fifteenth
century, in a city of Flanders, a new luminary made its appearance,
which was destined to eclipse the brilliancy of the somewhat weak German
innovation. Two brothers, Hubert and John van Eyck, together with their
sister Margaret, established themselves in the “triumphant city of
Bruges,” as it is called by an historian; and very soon all the Flemish
and Rhenish regions resounded with the name of Van Eyck, their works
being the only representations which were admired and followed; and even
in those early days it was a title of glory to form a part of their
brilliant school.
John, the younger of the two brothers, was the one to whom renown more
particularly attached (Fig. 251). He is reputed to have been the
inventor of oil-painting; but all he did was to improve the methods
employed. Nevertheless, tradition tells us that an Italian master,
Antonello of Messina, made a journey to Flanders, with the object of
finding out the secret of John Bruges (by which name Van Eyck is often
called); and that he subsequently circulated it throughout the Italian
schools. Be this as it may, John of Bruges, apart from any similarity in
manner (for it was by the force of his colouring, as much as by his new
theories of composition, that he succeeded in revolutionising the old
school of painting), may be considered as the Giotto of the North; but
we must add that the effects of his attempts were much more rapidly
decisive. At one leap, so to speak, the somewhat cold painting of the
Gothic school decked itself with a splendour which left but little for
the future Venetian school to achieve beyond it; with one flight of
genius, stiff and methodical conceptions became imbued with suppleness
and vital action. Finally, we have the first notable sign of the true
feeling of an art combining science and grace--a knowledge of anatomy
is shown in the life-like flesh and under the brilliant draperies. There
is, however, a considerable distance, which cannot fail to be remarked,
separating the two reformers of art whose names we have just brought
together. One, Giotto, desired to grasp the real in order to make it
conduce to the triumph of the ideal; while Van Eyck only accepted the
ideal because he had as yet been unable to apprehend the deepest secrets
of the real. All the other masters are but as the fruit yielded by the
school of the great Florentine, and by those which the descendants of
the Flemish masters were destined to produce. At Ghent, we still have as
an object of admiration, an altar-piece, a _chef-d’œuvre_ of Van Eyck;
it is an immense composition, some portions of which have been removed;
but at first it did not contain less than three hundred figures,
representing the “Adoration of the Paschal Lamb by the Virgins of the
Apocalypse.”
[Illustration: Fig. 251.--“The Holy Virgin, St. George, and St. Donat.”
By John van Eyck. (Museum at Antwerp.)]
John van Eyck resided for some time at the court of Portugal, whither he
had been sent by Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, to delineate
[Illustration: “ST. CATHERINE AND ST. AGNES.”
A PICTURE ATTRIBUTED TO MARGARET VAN EYCK.
On the left of the picture is seen St. Catherine of Alexandria holding
in her hands the instruments of her punishment--the _wheel_, which is
broken into fragments, and the _sword_ which decapitated her; below her
is the head of the Emperor Maxmilian II., who ordered her martyrdom.
On the right is St. Agnes, and a _lamb_, the emblem of her innocence and
gentleness.
The _ring_ St. Agnes is presenting to St. Catherine denotes the bond
which unites the two virgin-martyrs, and attests that both are worthy to
be spouses of Jesus Christ.]
[Illustration: ST. CATHERINE AND ST. AGNES.
Painting attributed to Margaret Van Eyck. (M. Quedeville’s
Collection.)]
the features of his _fiancée_, the Princess Elizabeth (1428). The
influence exercised by his labours is thought to have brought about that
tendency to brilliancy and realism which, after its first manifestation
in the earliest Spanish manner, gave way before the encroachments of
Italian genius, only to reappear in all its power in the great national
school.
Among the best pupils that Van Eyck left behind him at Bruges, we must
not omit the name of Hugo van der Goes, whose works are rare.
Roger van der Weyden, of whose paintings but few are now extant, was the
favourite pupil of John of Bruges, and the master of Hemling, whose
reputation was destined to equal, if not to surpass, that of the chief
of his school. “Hemling,” says M. Michiels, so eminent a judge on this
subject, “whose most ancient picture bears the date 1450, possesses more
sweetness and grace than the Van Eycks. His figures charm by an ideal
elegance; his expression never exceeds the limits of tranquil feeling
and agreeable emotion. Quite contrary to John van Eyck, he prefers the
slender and rich character of the Gothic (Fig. 252) to the heaviness and
scanty detail of Roman architecture. His colouring, although less
vigorous, is softer; the water, the woods, the sites, the grass, and the
distances of his pictures cause a dream-like feeling.”
A kind of instinctive reaction was manifested in the pupil, but the
master was not altogether forgotten. We shall, however, find elsewhere
the effects of his direct influence; but in order not to have to return
to the school of Bruges, we will first mention Jerome Bosch, who,
contrary to his countryman Hemling, sought after opposition of effects
and singularities of invention; and next Erasmus, the great thinker and
writer, who was also a painter in his day;[37] lastly, Cornelius
Engelbrechtsen, the master of Lucas van Leyden, born in 1494. The latter
was as famous with the pencil as with the graving tool, and introduced
into all his works a powerful and sometimes strange originality which
caused him to be looked upon as the first painter of “_genre_.” Lucas
van Leyden must close our list of the artists who opened out the paths
which were destined to be followed, though with many a diversity of
method and of style, by Breughel, Teniers, Van Ostade, Porbus, and
Schellincks. At the head of these masters was subsequently to rise the
magnificent Rubens, and the energetic Rembrandt, the king of the
palette, the great chief of the school, who
[Illustration: Fig 252.--“St. Ursula.” By Hemling.]
towers loftily over all his pupils, Gerard Dow, Ferdinand Bol, Van
Eckhout, Govaert Flinck, &c., as well as over his imitators and
contemporaries--Abraham Bloemaert, Gerard Honthorst, Adrian Brauwer,
Seghers, &c.
When the Van Eycks made their appearance, German art--which, under the
impulse of Stephan of Cologne, had appeared as if destined to direct the
movement--allowed itself to be led away and influenced by the Flemish
school, without, however, entirely divesting itself of the individual
characteristics which are, to some extent, inherent in the region
wherein it flourished. In Alsatia, we see the style peculiar to the
school of Bruges showing itself in Martin Schön (1460); in Suabia, it
had as its interpreter Frederick Herlen (1467); at Augsburg, it was old
Holbein; at Nuremberg, it was first Michael Wohlgemuth, and after him
Albert Dürer (1471), whose vigorous individuality did not fail to
reflect the temperament of the Van Eycks.