A GREAT TRIO
“There are dreams that cannot die.”
Contrasting with the art of Memling is that of Rubens. Rubens is
pre-eminently the naturalist painter (1577–1640). There is little trace
of the ideal inspiring his work, yet his genius was so stupendous that
it cast a radiance over the whole Flemish school. He was born at Siegen
in Westphalia, where his father had been exiled for political offences
and for his adherence to Protestantism. The boy got a splendid
education, and his talents enabled him to assimilate all he learned. He
lost his father when he was ten years of age, passed his childhood at
Cologne, then returned with his mother to Antwerp. He was very handsome,
very cultivated, very charming. His love of work was so great and his
imagination so fertile that the number of his pictures is astonishing.
His first teacher in art was Adam van Noort, illustrious as a colourist.
Before four years had elapsed the pupil had excelled his master. He then
studied under Otho Venius, a painter of no great attainment, but one who
loved science, who was a mathematician, a historian, and a poet. He
could not do much to train the genius of his pupil, but he helped to
cultivate his mind. There was a gaiety about Rubens that early displayed
itself in the _brio_ of his brush work and the glow of his colour.
When he was twenty-one he was admitted into the Guild of Painters at
Antwerp. Two years later he left Holland and went straight to Venice,
and there his charm, his handsomeness, his cultivated manners won
friends for him. He received recognition almost from the first from the
princes of Italy. He was a man who found delight in this world, in its
beauty, its form and colour. All life came easily to him. Later, when he
went to England, he enjoyed the friendship of Charles I. Raphael himself
was not more honoured than was Rubens. He was the confidant of
sovereigns; sometimes he dabbled in politics. He was charged with a
secret mission from Philip IV. of Spain to our Charles I. in 1629.
During his visit to the King of England he was one day copying a Venus
by Titian. One of the courtiers, who only knew him as an envoy of the
King of Spain, discovered him at his easel.
“Does the ambassador of his Catholic Majesty sometimes amuse himself
with painting?” he asked.
“I amuse myself sometimes with being ambassador,” retorted Rubens.
He was a man of power, holding his life lightly as becomes a master.
His exuberant vitality made him prefer painting big pictures to little
ones, for no undertaking, however difficult, surpassed his courage, yet
he has painted small pictures that are lovely in the care with which
they are finished. We should have to travel over Europe visiting the
galleries before we could have an idea of all that Rubens has done. Let
us look at some of the pictures in our National Gallery.
“The Abduction of the Sabine Women” (38). You know the story of how
Romulus, the founder of Rome, wanted wives for his soldiers and resolved
to get them by stratagem. So he appointed a day for a splendid
sacrifice. Thither came the neighbouring Sabines with their wives and
daughters, and, at a given signal by Romulus, the Romans with a shout
rushed on the daughters of the Sabines and carried them off. The moment
chosen is when the signal is given and the throng of men and women are
fighting and struggling together. Rubens’ women are not Roman, but
Flemish women dressed in the costume of the seventeenth century. It is a
rough scene, instinct with vitality, the occasion for superb colour, for
wonderful drawing. It is a gay and brilliant rendering of a barbaric
episode. Then if we turn to “The Judgment of Paris” (194) we see a
landscape flooded with afternoon sunlight. Three women are standing,
three goddesses—Venus, Minerva, and Juno. They are contending for the
apple that Discord has offered to the most beautiful. Paris, the son of
Priam, who is feeding his flocks, is to be the judge. By his side is
Mercury. Paris is about to hold out the apple to Venus, a fair-haired
opulently formed woman. Under a tree stands Minerva, an owl seated on a
branch above. To the right of Venus is the stately Juno with the peacock
at her feet. The subject is a legend of Greek mythology, but Rubens has
treated it most realistically. The women are three Flemish women and are
no goddesses of Greece. The landscape is very beautiful, full of
sunshine, and fresh with an open-air feeling. It is Venetian in its
golden hue, in its unclouded brightness.
I wish I could show you some children painted by Rubens—mischievous,
animated little creatures, instinct with life from the tips of their
toes to the crown of their curly heads, but I have time only to cast a
rapid glance at a portrait, “Le Chapeau de Paille” (852). This portrait
is a wonder of painting. It is that of Rubens’ sister-in-law, Susanne
Fourment. Her hands are crossed; she looks out of the canvas with an
alluring expression. A transparent shadow is cast by her hat over the
upper part of her face. Rubens had been twice married. He was happy in
each union, but he was most happy in the second. His wife, the beautiful
Helena, was his ideal type of beauty. He was constantly painting her,
and her portrait is to be found in many galleries. This incomparable
painter died aged sixty-four, possessed of immense wealth.
Van Dyck (1599–1641) was born at Antwerp; he was the son of a simple
tradesman. When he was little more than ten years of age he became the
pupil of Hendrik van Balen. His real teacher, however, was Rubens, with
whom he lived four years. By this master’s advice he visited Italy in
1623, staying at Venice and Rome; his longest sojourn was at Genoa. He
then returned to Antwerp, and his fame spread as a portraitist. The
wealthy and titled flocked to be painted by him.
He twice visited England, in 1620 and 1627, and finally he settled there
in 1632 in the service of Charles I. The English king delighted to do
honour to Van Dyck’s genius. He gave him a pension of £200 a year,
knighted him, and appointed him court painter. The lords and ladies
followed the royal example, and Van Dyck painted the whole society of
the time. Himself, a cavalier in sympathy, he was the painter of
cavaliers. We know these gallant men with their long ringlets, their
heavy plumed hats, their wonderful silken coats. We know the sweet and
remote court ladies with their slender white hands and their air of
unconscious god-like superiority.
Van Dyck was devoted to the King. Let us look at the equestrian portrait
of Charles I. (1172), one of the finest equestrian portraits ever
painted. The artist is a courtier and his king is his ideal. Charles I.
is riding past on a dun-coloured horse, carrying a marshal’s baton,
dressed in armour; his refined melancholy countenance is very abstracted
in expression. The nobility of his carriage, the elegance of his figure,
the sadness and beauty of his face make us understand the spell he has
cast over the nation. He is gazing in front of him, seeing nothing
around him. We know that he is riding to his death. We forget his
faults; we only remember his kingly grace and his unhappy fate.
[Illustration:
“HEAD OF CHARLES I” (FROM 1172)
BY SIR ANTHONY VAN DYCK
page 134
]
A portrait of less alluring charm but of splendid quality is that of
Gevartius, now called the portrait of Cornelius van der Geest (52). It
is the magnificent rendering of a grave and noble countenance. Van Dyck
considered it one of his finest works; he would carry it about with him
as a specimen of what he could do. Our Gallery does not possess any
portrait of the fair women and distinguished children in which he used
to excel.
Van Dyck lived in great style. He was always magnificently dressed. He
was the adored portrait painter of an age whose romance he has
preserved, whose men and women he has endowed with immortal youth, round
the head of whose ill-fated king he has placed a halo. The misfortunes
gathering round the sovereign and the royal family weighed upon the
painter. He spent two years travelling with his young wife, the
granddaughter of Lord Ruthven, but the depression gained upon him.
Illness overtook him and he died at the age of forty-two.
One more great painter of the Flemish school remains to be noticed—David
Teniers. He flourished between 1610 and 1690, and he was the first genre
painter of Belgium. He was very prolific. “To contain all my works,” he
would say in his pleasant voice, “would take a gallery two leagues
long.” He painted every detail. A famous French painter used to say,
“Show me a pipe and I will tell you if the smoker is by Teniers or not.”
He became rich and celebrated, and entertained the most select society
of the Netherlands in his castle of Trois Tours at Perck, between
Antwerp and Malines. His wife was Velvet Brughel, the ward of Rubens. He
loved to represent feasts, village dances, the interior of country inns,
laboratories, shops, and kitchens, and he represented all with spirit
and gaiety. “A Music Party” (154) shows us his charming genius. He also
painted with heart-breaking sadness the horrors of war. We find his
pictures everywhere—in Russia, in Spain, in his native country, in
Italy, in France, and here in England.
“A Game of Backgammon” (242) is very characteristic of Teniers. Look at
the eager attitude of the old man bending forward to watch the throw of
the dice as the others look on. There is a pot of beer beautifully
painted by the side of the bench, and, in the background, we see mine
host warming his back at the fire and talking. He has turned to look at
one of the rustics, who evidently has drunk too much and is falling
asleep. Every detail is painted with Teniers’ brilliant touch. Its ease,
its force, its gaiety is quite unparalleled. These pictures represent
the joy of life. There is no religion in Teniers’ inspiration, there may
be no idealism. They show the jollity of existence without care, with no
thought for the morrow.
Mr. Ruskin has called Teniers the painter of the pot-house; this seems
too severe a definition of the man who had such rare artistic qualities.
He arranged his groups so picturesquely, he had such exquisite harmony
of colouring, so much sparkle in his touch. The charm and value of his
pictures lie in their sincerity. We feel as we look at them that he saw
what he painted. His boors, his soldiers, his plain folk are all alive.
He did not strive much for the ideal. His people as a rule are not very
pleasant to look at, but the beauty of his execution cannot be
overlooked. “The Village Fête” (952) is remarkable for its colouring,
its arrangement, for the spirit and gaiety of the painting. There are
several pictures by Teniers in the National Gallery. You must look at
them all and look at his landscapes, for they are silvery in tone and
full of a delicate feeling for nature.