FLORENTINE SCHOOL
“Washed by the morning’s water gold
Florence lay out on the mountain side.”
We push the swing-door open and we enter. Most of the pictures at the
first glance will strike you as religious pictures, for art was the
handmaid of religion. The supreme artist expresses best what are the
spiritual influences of his time, and therefore you will see how
powerful was the influence of the Catholic Church during the Middle
Ages. Men and women were always thinking of the Jewish maiden, so pure,
so pious, so tender, whom God considered worthy to be the Mother of His
Son. You will see the Madonna continually painted—sometimes she is
seated on a throne, sometimes she is lowly adoring her child, sometimes
she is simply the human mother rejoicing in her baby boy, or weeping
broken-hearted at the cross. In Italian and in Spanish pictures you will
continually see the Madonna depicted, because in these two countries the
influence of the Catholic Church was strongest.
But all the pictures here are not religious pictures. There are many of
heathen gods and goddesses, and there are portraits. Near the pictures
of the Madonna, or of the legends of the saints, you will find, for
instance, one of the heathen gods, and that is because there was another
influence at work among painters and lovers of art. The fifteenth
century saw the rebirth of learning—what we call the Renaissance. I
shall not enter into the causes of this rebirth except to ascribe it to
the invasion of Constantinople by the Turks and the dispersion of the
treasure of art and literature hoarded in the city. Plato and Aristotle,
Ovid and Virgil, the great poems of Homer, became the favourite study of
the scholars of the time. They laid aside their canonical books to read
the classics. They put away austere thoughts; a great joy of life seized
the Italian nation. It delighted in lovely things as it had not done
before, for before it had been absorbed in the high truths of religion
only. The period of the Renaissance is the finest period of art the
world has known, and here in this first room we see the struggle of the
new spirit and of the old. Of this conflict Sandro Botticelli was the
exponent.
Let us begin by looking at the picture of the Virgin and Child by Fra
Filippo Lippi (589), who was the master of Botticelli. “Fra Filippo
Lippi’s art,” says Mr. Ruskin, “is the finest out and out art which ever
man did.” He was the son of a butcher, and he was strong and full of
life. He early became an orphan, and he was placed by his aunt in a
Carmelite convent; then, when he was in his early teens, he was
persuaded to take the vows. But he was faithless to them, for when he
went to paint an altarpiece at the convent of Santa Margherita, at
Prato, he fell in love with one of the sisters, rather with a young
novice—the charming Lucretia Buti, who had sat for the Madonna in his
picture. We are told that he ran away with her at a convent festival, in
which she was to bring the girdle to the Madonna. There are other
pictures by him in this room, and in each you will find the same realism
of representation and the same strong religious fervour of idea. There
is something very vital about his art. It is an art more than four
hundred years old, for Fra Lippi was born about 1406 and died 1469. And
yet we seem through it to know the artist; he loved human beings, he
loved life, he was always watching the people around him, he was curious
about them. His patron was Cosmo de’ Medici, whose portrait is here
painted by Angelo Bronzino (704). It is a small portrait, but you will
see that his face expresses all that he was—cruel to his enemies,
intellectual, generous towards those whom he patronised.
Let us first look at Fra Filippo Lippi’s picture, “The Virgin and Child”
(589). It is a strange and beautiful conception, a wonderful symbol; all
the details in it are full of nature. It gives us the key to Fra Lippi’s
genius, which was both ideal and realistic. We see the Virgin sitting
out of doors, and an angel comes and presents to her the infant Christ.
It is not the Virgin who holds the Child, but the angel who brings it,
as a symbol that He is more than a human babe, that He is the Redeemer
of the world.
The other pictures by Fra Filippo Lippi in this gallery are “The Vision
of St. Bernard” (248). The Virgin, surrounded by children, appears to
the saint as he sits writing. It is an open-air scene—the table at which
St. Bernard, wearing a white Carmelite costume, sits is formed by a rock
on which are placed his inkstand and his paper. He is looking up, gazing
at the gracious apparition, surrounded by a procession of angels. The
Virgin is a benignant presence. She might be a tender woman answering
one who calls her, and the little angels about her are human children.
Then there is the “Annunciation” (666), at present in the second room.
In a charmingly furnished interior the Virgin is sitting. Beyond, on the
left, we have a glimpse of a garden full of flowers. Fra Filippo
evidently loved flowers, for he paints them so lovingly; from the
garden, steps an angel, who, with a graceful gesture, proclaims to Mary
her future motherhood. Above the young girl’s head a mysterious hand
appears, from which a dove is loosened and descends in a ray of golden
light. The companion picture (667) is “St. John the Baptist and Saints.”
This is the loveliest picture of all, I think. I want you to observe the
details, the greenery of the garden, the marble bench, the light and
peace over all. It is a serene summer day, full of the glow of delicate
sunshine. St. Francis is there with the stigmata, St. Lawrence and St.
Cosmas sitting on the right of St. John the Baptist; St. Anthony and St.
Peter the martyr on his left; all are listening to the saint’s words. We
breathe the warmth of the summer day, we hear the thousand sounds of
nature—the singing of the birds, the hum of the insects; we smell the
fragrance of the exquisite flowers. The joy and peace that the artist
felt so many hundred years ago, fill our hearts to-day—the joy of
earthly beauty and the peace of the spirit.
In Fra Filippo’s pictures you must always look for the beauty of
material surroundings; he is very much the painter of light idealising
what it touches. The picture of St. John and saints is all suffused with
light. In “The Annunciation” the light falls upon the sweet maiden about
to become the Mother of God. It is caught up by the angel and repeated
by a thousand touches in the room and in the garden.
Fra Filippo died suddenly, some say by poison.
Sandro Botticelli was the pupil of Fra Filippo. In childhood he longed
to be allowed to devote himself to art as a career. He was then
apprenticed to a goldsmith, and he learned how to handle gold, but he
was unhappy until his father placed him with Fra Filippo to learn
painting. Sandro won the affection of his master. He was gay; his
pictures, full of the delight of life, were full of vigour. Before we
begin to look at them I must tell you something of a preacher named
Savonarola, who had a tremendous influence over his time. He was a monk,
stern, severe, inspired; his voice was harsh, his aspect was austere.
When he first began to preach no one listened to what he said, then he
went into retreat in order to study and pray. As I have told you, the
nobles, the people, and the clergy of Italy had become devoted to the
new learning. They cared no longer for the Christian virtues of
self-sacrifice and detachment from the world’s joys; they thought only
of the beauty of life. Before he heard Savonarola Botticelli painted
nothing but heathen gods and goddesses. “Mars and Venus” (915) is a good
example of his earlier work. Venus is clothed in delicate white and gold
tissue; she lies among flowers, and no one ever painted roses as
Botticelli painted them. Near Venus is Mars asleep, satyrs and loves
play about; they have got hold of the god’s weapons—one of them is
shouting in his ear, but he does not heed. What mischievous little imps
they look! How full of life they are! A swarm of hornets buzzes round
the head of Mars. It is a picture of the ruin brought by lazy pleasure.
There are other pictures by Botticelli, painted during his first period;
in them Venus is a beautiful woman surrounded by roses and by loves.
Then comes a great difference in Botticelli’s art. He had heard
Savonarola preach; and the monk was thundering against the pagan
influences of the time. He was telling of the visions he had seen of the
fair city of God—purity was its light, and obedience to divine law the
habit of every life. He spoke of the day of judgment, and the citizens
of Florence listened and were afraid. They went about like ghosts
wringing pale hands in dread. Savonarola stirred the conscience of his
hearers; they lit a great fire at the door of the cathedral, and women
threw their jewels into the flames; learned men and youths threw their
books of poetry, their classics, the works of art that celebrated the
pagan gods and goddesses. This was called the great sacrifice.
Savonarola founded a company of mourners of “Grumblers,” and Botticelli
entered that order. He turned away from the subjects that had been the
theme of his art till now—he vowed that he would belong to Christ alone,
and his pictures from henceforth were inspired by religion. You will see
in this room the picture of “The Nativity”; it expresses all
Botticelli’s creed. It is Christmas morning and there
... “the heaven born child
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.”
Heaven and earth are rejoicing together. See the very animals in the
manger are lifting up their voices and joining in the Hosannah. The
Virgin is kneeling worshipping her Babe, the shepherds, the kings, are
hurrying towards Him, and radiant winged angels are rushing to greet
them. They embrace pointing to where the heavenly Child is lying. They
seem to be saying “this is the Saviour of mankind,” and the crowd is
pressing onwards as if nothing could keep it back; and look, the devils,
all in amaze, are hiding away in rocks. Above the manger is a glow of
dazzling light:—
“The helmed Cherubim
And sworded Seraphim
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed,
Harping, in loud and solemn quire,
With inexpressive notes, to Heaven’s new born Heir.”
This picture was painted in 1500, two years after Savonarola had been
put to death. The Friar had been executed for seditious preaching; but
Botticelli lived to paint the vision that had haunted the monk—the
reconciliation of heaven and earth. On the top of the picture there is
an inscription in Greek telling that it was painted in “the second woe
of the Apocalypse,” that the devil was loosened, that afterwards he
would be chained, and that we should see him trodden down as we see in
this picture.
What a difference between the two Botticellis—between the pagan
Botticelli, and the Christian painter who saw all heaven and earth with
anointed eyes.
There is another picture by Botticelli (275), a circular picture of the
Virgin holding her baby boy on her lap, and of St. John and an angel
behind. This picture was painted at a time when Botticelli, while much
impressed by Savonarola’s preaching, was not yet quite converted to
Christianity. The Virgin is very beautiful, but she seems somewhat
frightened at being the Mother of the Christ. The Child, a chubby baby,
is lying on her knee in all the joyous life of infancy. St. John is
watching adoringly behind, and the angel is bowing low to the little
one. I want you to notice the delicacy of the painting in all
Botticelli’s works, how beautifully he uses gold. He was apprenticed to
a goldsmith in early life. Notice the way in which it is laid upon the
Virgin’s veil, upon the bodice of her dress. I would have you note also
the energy of Botticelli’s temperament, expressed by the vehement
gesture of the Child in this picture. We see the same force and feeling
in the laughing triumph of the children in Mars asleep, in the joy of
the angels and the shepherds in the Nativity.
There is a picture of the school of Botticelli (2083), lately added to
the National collection by the “Cohen” bequest. It shows the profile of
a lovely Florentine woman, painted with the marvellous care with which
Botticelli worked. Her auburn hair, her lilac dress and pearl ornaments
are models of exquisite workmanship. Behind, at the back of the picture,
is an angel carrying a celestial globe, standing, with sandalled feet,
tiptoe on our globe, announcing the glad tidings to all mankind that the
Redeemer is born.
There is a great picture by Botticelli, “The Assumption of the Virgin”
(1126). It is in Room II. among the pictures by Sienese painters.
Critics are not agreed whether Botticelli painted it or not, but they
are certain, if not by him, that it was painted by one of his disciples.
It is a splendid bit of colour. Christ is on high blessing His mother,
who kneels before Him, and on His knee is an open book showing the
mystic letters, “Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.” He stands
amongst cherubim and seraphim, saints, apostles, and martyrs, amongst
the glorious company of heaven, lauding and magnifying His name. When we
sing the “Te Deum Laudamus” on a Sunday we sing what this picture
teaches in zones of colour and light. Below is the empty tomb of the
Virgin, in which blossom pure white lilies, and, by the side, following
the custom of the time, are the portraits of the giver of the picture,
Palmeira and his wife, kneeling on either side of the sepulchre. Behind
stretches the valley of the Arno and the lovely city of Florence.
Another Florentine picture is Fra Angelico’s “Resurrection” (663). There
we see the spirit of prayer and the spirit of art mingling as they have
never mingled before or since. Fra Angelico entered a Dominican convent
in Florence when he was quite young, but the spirit of art was in him.
He illuminated the breviaries of the brethren, and you will see through
his art how illumination influenced him. You will see it in the golden
halos round the heads of the blessed, in the shadowless and flame-like
colouring of their raiment. Angelico’s visions were of the glory of
heaven. Before setting to work he always knelt and prayed, asking God
and His saints to inspire him. He could never think of the Passion of
our Lord without weeping bitter tears. Thus he painted the sweet faces
of angels, the glorified countenances of martyrs and saints, dressing
his angels in robes that glitter like flame. The Christ stands above. He
is somewhat weakly drawn; about Him floats the white banner bearing the
red cross of the Resurrection. What can be more beautiful than the
choirs of cherubim and seraphim that crowd about the Lord, sounding
their trumpets, playing their viols, their lutes, and beating their
drums. Above, on the right of the Saviour, is the Virgin followed by the
Apostles; on the left are Abraham with his sword, Noah with the ark,
Moses with the tables of the law, Aaron with his name inscribed on his
mitre. About are numberless patriarchs and saints. The martyrs carry
palms in their hands. Some wear wreaths of roses, others crowns of
thorns. At the extreme end, on either side of the picture, are portraits
of the brothers Dominican, wearing their black robes, who have joined
the company of the blessed. Other pictures by Florentine artists are
hung, but these are the finest in the Sienese room.