Like most of the other great painters, Giovanni Bellini had many pupils
working under him--boys who helped their master, and learned their
lessons by watching him work. Among these pupils was a boy called
Vittore Carpaccio, a sharp, clever lad, with keen bright eyes which
noticed everything. No one else learned so quickly or copied the
master's work so faithfully, and when in time he became himself a
famous painter, his work showed to the end traces of the master's
influence.
He must have been a curious boy, this Vittore Carpaccio, for although
we know but little of his life, his pictures tell us many a tale about
him.
In the olden days, when Venice was at the height of her glory, splendid
fetes were given in the city, and the gorgeous shows were a wonder to
behold. Early in the morning of these festa days, Carpaccio would steal
away in the dim light from the studio, before the others were astir.
Work was left behind, for who could work indoors on days like these?
There was a holiday feeling in the very air. Songs and laughter and the
echo of merry voices were heard on every side, and the city seemed one
vast playground, where all the grown-up children as well as the babies
were ready to spend a happy holiday.
The little side-streets of Venice, cut up by canals, seem like a
veritable maze to those who do not know the city, but Carpaccio could
quickly thread his way from bridge to bridge, and by many a short cut
arrive at last at the great central water street of Venice, the Grand
Canal. Here it was easy to find a corner from which he could see the
gay pageant, and enjoy as good a view as any of those great people who
would presently come out upon the balconies of their marble palaces.
The bridge of the Rialto, which throws its white span across the centre
of the canal, was Carpaccio's favourite perch, for from here he could
see the markets and the long row of marble palaces on either side. From
every window hung gay-coloured tapestry, Turkey carpets, silken
draperies, and delicate-tinted stuffs covered with Eastern
embroideries. The market was crowded with a throng of holiday-makers, a
garden of bright colours and from the balconies above richly dressed
ladies looked down, themselves a pageant of beauty, with their
wonderful golden hair and gleaming jewels, while green and crimson
parrots, fastened by golden chains to the marble balustrades, screamed
and flapped their wings, and delighted Carpaccio's keen eyes with their
vivid beauty.
Then the procession of boats swept up the great waterway, and the blaze
of colour made the boy hold his breath in sheer delight. The painted
galleys, the rowers in their quaint dresses-half one colour and half
another--with jaunty feathered caps upon their floating curls, the
nobles and rulers in their crimson robes, the silken curtains of every
hue trailing their golden fringes in the cool green water, as the boats
glided past, all made up a picture which the boy never forgot.
Then when it was all over, Carpaccio would climb down and make his way
back to the master's studio, and with the gay scene ever before his
eyes would try, day after day, to paint every detail just as he had
seen it.
There is another thing which we learn about Carpaccio from his
pictures, and that is, that he must have loved to listen to old legends
and stories of the saints, and that he stored them up in his mind, just
as he treasured the remembrance of the gay processions and the flapping
wings of those crimson and green parrots.
So, when he grew to be a man, and his fame began to spread, the first
great pictures he painted were of the story of St. Ursula, told in
loving detail, as only one who loved the story could do it.
But though Carpaccio might paint pictures of these old stories, it was
always through the golden haze of Venice that he saw them. His St.
Ursula is a dainty Venetian lady, and the bedroom in which she dreams
her wonderful dream is just a room in one of the old marble palaces,
with a pot of pinks upon the window-sill, and her little high-heeled
Venetian shoes by the bedside. Whenever it was possible, Carpaccio
would paint in those scenes on which his eyes had rested since his
childhood--the painted galleys with their sails reflected in the clear
water, the dainty dresses of the Venetian ladies, their gay-coloured
parrots, pet dogs, and grinning monkeys.
In an old church of Venice there are some pictures said to have been
painted by Carpaccio when he was a little boy only eight years old.
They are scenes taken from the Bible stories, and very funny scenes
they are too. But they show already what clever little hands and what a
thinking head the boy had, and how Venice was the background in his
mind for every story. For here is the meeting of the Queen of Sheba and
King Solomon, and instead of Jerusalem with all its glory, we see a
little wooden bridge, with King Solomon on one side and the Queen of
Sheba on the other, walking towards each other, as if they were both in
Venice crossing one of the little canals.
There were many foreign sailors in Venice in those old days, who came
in the trading-ships from distant lands. Many of them were poor and
unable to earn money to buy food, and when they were ill there was no
one to look after them or help them. So some of the richer foreigners
founded a Brotherhood, where the poor sailors might be helped in time
of need. This Brotherhood chose St. George as their patron saint, and
when they had built a little chapel they invited Carpaccio to come and
paint the walls with pictures from the life of St. George and other
saints.
Nothing could have suited Carpaccio better, and he began his work with
great delight, for he had still his child's love of stories, and he
would make them as gay and wonderful as possible. There we see St.
George thundering along on his war-horse, with flying hair, clad in
beautiful armour, the most perfect picture of a chivalrous knight. Then
comes the dragon breathing out flames and smoke, the most awesome
dragon that ever was seen; and there too is the picture of St.
Tryphonius taming the terrible basilisk. The little boy-saint has
folded his hands together, and looks upward in prayer, paying little
heed to the evil glare of the basilisk, who prances at his feet. A
crowd of gaily dressed courtiers stand whispering and watching behind
the marble steps, and here again in the background we have the canals
and bridges of Venice, the marble palaces and gay carpets hung from out
the windows. Everything is of the very best of its kind, and painted
with the greatest care, even to the design of the inlaid work on the
marble steps.
As we pass from picture to picture, we wish we had known this
Carpaccio, for he must have been a splendid teller of stories; and how
he would have made us shiver with his dragons and his basilisks, and
laugh over the antics of his little boys and girls, his scarlet parrots
and green lizards.
But although we cannot hear him tell his stories, he still speaks
through those wonderful old pictures which you will some day see when
you visit the fairyland of Italy, and pay your court to Venice, Queen
of the Sea.