VENETIAN SCHOOL
“Once did she hold the gorgeous East in fee;
And was the safeguard of the West: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth—
Venice, the eldest child of Liberty.”
Let us now enter the long room of the National Gallery, the largest of
all the rooms. There we shall see the pictures of the Venetian
school—Venice, the Republic, whose merchants were princes, whose people
were free born, and whose doges rank with the highest potentates of the
world, is here. Rich, luxurious, and powerful, she was the bride of the
Adriatic. Every year her doges wooed the sea and wedded it with the
marriage ring that they threw into its waves.
The Venetian school of painting was a school of colour, of light; it
pictures a free, joyous, opulent life. As you stand in this room, you
have a great sense of splendour—splendour of drapery, splendour of
architecture, splendour of physical beauty; it is the happy noon-tide of
art. Lovely women, blonde, red-haired, of massive types, surround us.
They contrast with the slender forms, the more intellectual and
spiritual physiognomies portrayed by Leonardo da Vinci, by Botticelli,
by Raphael. Never has colour been used so boldly and successfully; never
has light and shadow produced more dramatic effects. Religion was the
source of the art of Venice as it has been the source of every art.
In the early half of the fifteenth century the Vivarinis were a family
of painters; natives of the island of Murano, they heralded the
foundation of the Venetian school. Murano is an island of the lagoons on
the north of Venice; it lies so close to the city “Queen of the
Adriatic,” that the gondolas congregate there at holiday time. The
Vivarinis lavishly inlaid their pictures with gold, so that they look
half goldsmith’s work, half that of painters. Antonio Vivarini was a
native of Murano, and he had for partner a German named Johannes; but in
1450 he sundered his partnership and associated himself with his younger
brother Bartolommeo. They had a younger kinsman, the most gifted of the
family, Luigi or Alvise. We have in the National Gallery two panels of
saints by Antonio Vivarini which I want you to look at (768 and 1284).
They are panels embossed with gold; the gold is inlaid with precious
stones. The transparent colour is very beautiful, and the work is
altogether serious and dignified.
The Vivarinis were the only rivals Giovanni Bellini had to encounter
when he came and settled in Venice, about 1460, with his brother
Gentile. Both were pupils of their father Jacobo, who belonged to the
Paduan school, and who was a man of some distinction.
Before looking at Bellini’s pictures I should like you just to glance at
the “Annunciation” by Carlo Crivelli, an artist who was born in Venice
about 1430. He was a link between the old school that was very much
under Byzantine influence and the new school of which Giovanni Bellini
was the leader. Crivelli employed gold and silver as did the Byzantines;
he painted in transparent and brilliant colour, using gold so skilfully
that it seems to be part of his palette. He delighted in lovely and
gorgeous details, in splendid masses of colour, in magnificent stuffs,
in rare ornaments. We have in his pictures a foretaste of the colouring
of Paul Veronese, of the opulent effects attained by the use of flowered
brocades. There are eight pictures from the hand of Crivelli, but we
shall look at one only—“The Annunciation” (739). It is an exquisite
little work, very naïf in sentiment. Through an open door we see the
Virgin kneeling in a sumptuously furnished room. From a window above
hangs a carpet, a rich medley of tints such as the looms of Venice alone
could weave. A peacock of iridescent hues stands on the ledge above. The
angel of the “Annunciation” is kneeling in the street outside the window
at which the Virgin is praying, and by the angel’s side is St. Emilius,
carrying a model of the city of Ascali. A ray of light pierces the roof
of the house, and a dove descends upon the Virgin’s head. Many figures
are in the street; some are aware of the ray of dazzling light, and are
scared and troubled at the phenomenon. A little child from a balcony
opposite is peeping timidly, wondering what is happening in the house
over the way. It is a delightful picture, full of story, most perfect in
all its details, full also of interest in human beings.
And now let us look at some of Giovanni Bellini’s works. He is the real
founder of the Venetian school, the school that revels in the glory of
the world. Let us first look at “Christ’s Agony in the Garden.” (726) It
is a very early picture by Bellini; it was painted nearly fifty years
before he painted the superb portrait of the Doge Leonardo Loreano. The
sun is setting, the sky is suffused with rosy radiance: this is said to
be the first painted sunset in the National Gallery. How beautiful is
the quiet twilight descending on the hills, contrasting with the
splendour of light in the sky. Christ is kneeling somewhat apart from
His disciples, who have been overcome by sleep. In the distance we see
Judas approaching with a crowd of Jews. Our Lord is praying in His
mysterious agony, and lo! the heavens have opened and an angel is
descending bearing a cup. The picture is full of peace. We feel that
Bellini was a true Christian, and that, as he painted, in his heart was
a passionate love for our Saviour.
The portrait of the Doge Leonardo Loreano in his state robes (189) next
claims our attention. What a portrait that is! The power of
differentiating individuals is the secret of portraiture, and the
Venetian school excels in portraiture. We seem to see the Doge as he was
in life, fearless, astute, the representative of a mighty Republic
against whom the great powers of Europe had formed a league—the league
of Cambrai. Look at his wise, challenging eyes, at his resolute jaw, at
the dignity of his carriage, at the courage breathed by his whole
personality. He is secure in his own wit and bravery and in the faith of
his people. Do you not seem to know the Doge wearing that curious peaked
cap, that white and gold brocaded mantle? The picture is painted in oil.
Bellini was one of the first to adopt the discovery of a new medium by
Van Eyck. He had painted in tempera, now he abandoned it and took to the
pellucid and golden oil.
It is believed that he was taught by a Sicilian painter named Antonello
da Messina, who had learnt the secret of oil painting from Jan Van Eyck.
When I come to the Flemish school I will tell you more of Van Eyck’s
discovery. Let us look at the “Madonna and Child,” often called “Madonna
of the Pomegranate” (280), one of the loveliest Madonnas in the National
Gallery, with her shrouded head and eyes full of sorrow. She holds her
Babe, a noble boy with auburn curls and dark eyes like His mother’s
eyes. There is also from Bellini’s palette, “The Blood of the Redeemer”
(1233), a pathetic and appealing picture, full of mystic teaching. Every
detail seems put there to emphasise its meaning that Christ died for
man. “The Death of St. Peter Martyr” (812) is a noble landscape; heavy
intricate masses of foliage glow in the light of afternoon, and in a
glade of the wood takes place the murder of Peter, the general of the
Dominicans. He was a fanatic, and he was hated for his cruelty. On that
day he was going in search of an enemy of the Church, and men waylaid
him, cleft his skull, and left him dead on the spot. Strange it is to
see how undisturbed are the woodcutters, the dogs and all the people
about. “There must be serenity for perfect beauty,” says Mr. Ruskin.
Perhaps it is for this that nothing disturbs the sense of peace and of
labour. There is not a drop of blood upon the robe of Peter or upon the
weapon of the assassin. All is sunshine and quiet about the violent
deed. Splendid as is the painting of this picture, we ask is not reality
too much sacrificed to the claims of art? There are other pictures by
the founder of the Venetian school, among them a portrait of St. Dominic
(1440) wearing the black and white habit of his order, carrying a lily
in his hand. It is a fine and serene portrait.
Bellini died November 24, 1516.