and does not in the least recall the virgins of Perugino nor those of
Raphael: the upper part of the head is spherical, the forehead well
developed; the oval of the cheeks sweeps down to a delicately curved
chin; the eyes with lowered lids are circled with shadow; the nose,
although fine, is not in a straight line with the forehead, like those
of the Greek statues; the nostrils seem to quiver as if palpitating with
respiration. The mouth, rather large, has that vague, enigmatical and
delicious smile which da Vinci gives to all the faces of his women;
faint malice mingles there with the expression of purity and kindness.
The hair, long, fine, and silky, falls in waving locks upon cheeks
bathed in shadows and half-tints, framing them with incomparable grace.
It is Lombard beauty idealized with an admirable execution whose only
fault is perhaps too absolute a perfection.
And what hands! especially the one stretched out with the fingers
foreshortened. M. Ingres alone has succeeded in repeating this _tour de
force_ in his figure of _La Musique couronnant Cherubini_. The
arrangement of the draperies is of that exquisite and precious taste
that characterizes da Vinci. An agrafe in the form of a medallion
fastens on the breast the ends of a mantle lifted up by the arms which
thus produce folds full of nobility and elegance.
The angel who is pointing out the Infant Jesus to the little Saint John
has the sweetest, the finest, and the proudest head that brush ever
fixed upon canvas. He belongs, if we may so express it, to the highest
celestial aristocracy. One might say he was a page of high birth
accustomed to place his foot on the steps of a throne.
Hair in waves and ringlets abounds upon his head, so pure and delicate
in design that it surpasses feminine beauty and gives the idea of a type
superior to all that man can dream of; his eyes are not turned towards
the group that he is pointing at, for he has no need to look in order to
see, and even if he did not have wings on his shoulders, we should not
be deceived regarding his nature. A divine indifference is depicted upon
his charming face, and almost a smile lurks in the corners of his lips.
He accomplishes the commission given him by the Eternal with an
impassible serenity.
Assuredly no virgin, no woman, ever had a more beautiful face; but the
most manly spirit and the most dominating intelligence shine in those
dark eyes, fixed vaguely upon the spectator who seeks to penetrate their
mystery.
We know how difficult it is to paint children. The scarcely settled
forms of the earliest age lend themselves awkwardly to art expression.
In the little Saint John of the _Madonna of the Rocks_, Leonardo da
Vinci has solved this problem with his accustomed superiority. The
drawn-up position of the child, who presents several portions of his
body foreshortened, is full of grace, a grace sought-for and rare, like
everything else that the sublime artist ever did, but natural,
nevertheless. It is impossible to find anything more finely modelled
than this head with its chubby dimpled cheeks, than those plump little
round arms, than the body crossed with rolls of fat, and those legs half
folded in the sod. The shadow advances towards the light by gradations
of infinite delicacy and gives an extraordinary relief to the figure.
Half enveloped in transparent gauze, the divine _Bambino_ kneels,
joining his hands as if he were already conscious of his mission and
understood the gesture which the little Saint John repeats after the
angel.
With regard to the colour, if in becoming smoked it has lost its proper
value, it has retained a harmony preferred by delicate minds for the
freshness and brilliancy of its shadows. The tones have deadened in such
perfect sympathy that the result is a kind of neutral, abstract, ideal,
and mysterious tint which clothes the forms like a celestial veil and
sets them apart from terrestrial realities.
_Guide de l'Amateur au Musée du Louvre_ (Paris, 1882).
FOOTNOTES:
[26] The National Gallery and the Louvre each claims that it possesses
the original of this celebrated picture and that its rival is a replica.
The former was purchased in Milan, in 1796 by Gavin Hamilton, who sold
it to Lord Suffolk, in whose collection at Charlton Park it was long an
ornament. It was purchased from him in 1880 for £9,000. The Louvre
picture is first mentioned as belonging to Francis I. Designs for it are
in Turin and Windsor, and in these the outstretched hand of the angel
appears. This does not occur in the London _Madonna of the Rocks_, which
differs in several details; for example, there are halos above the heads
of the figures and John the Baptist carries a cross.--E.S.
BEATRICE CENCI
(_GUIDO RENI_)
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
On my arrival at Rome I found that the story of the Cenci was a subject
not to be mentioned in Italian society without awakening a deep and
breathless interest: and that the feelings of the company never failed
to incline to a romantic pity for the wrongs, and a passionate
exculpation of the horrible deed to which they urged her who has been
mingled two centuries with the common dust. All ranks of people knew the
outlines of this history, and participated in the overwhelming interest
which it seems to have the magic of exciting in the human heart. I had a
copy of Guido's picture of Beatrice, which is preserved in the Colonna
Palace, and my servant instantly recognized it as the portrait of _La
Cenci_....
The portrait of Beatrice at the Colonna Palace is most admirable as a
work of art: it was taken by Guido during her confinement in prison. But
it is most interesting as a just representation of one of the loveliest
specimens of the workmanship of Nature. There is a fixed and pale
composure upon the features; she seems sad and stricken-down in spirit,
yet the despair thus expressed is lightened by the patience of
gentleness. Her head is bound with folds of white drapery, from which
the yellow strings of her golden hair escape, and fall about her neck.
The moulding of her face is exquisitely delicate; the eyebrows are
distinct and arched; the lips have that permanent meaning of imagination
and sensibility which suffering has not repressed, and which it seems as
if death scarcely could extinguish. Her forehead is large and clear; her
eyes, which we are told were remarkable for their vivacity, are swollen
with weeping, and lustreless, but beautifully tender and serene. In the
whole mien there is a simplicity and dignity which, united with her
exquisite loveliness and deep sorrow, are inexpressibly pathetic.
Beatrice Cenci appears to have been one of those rare persons in whom
energy and gentleness dwell together without destroying one another: her
nature was simple and profound. The crimes and miseries in which she was
an actor and a sufferer are as the mask and mantle in which
circumstances clothed her for her impersonation on the scene of the
world.
The Cenci Palace is of great extent; and, though in part modernized,
there yet remains a vast and gloomy pile of feudal architecture in the
same state as during the dreadful scenes which are the subject of this
tragedy. The palace is situated in an obscure corner of Rome, near the
quarter of the Jews; and from the upper windows you see the immense
ruins of Mount Palatine, half hidden under their profuse overgrowth of
trees. There is a court in one part of the palace (perhaps that in which
Cenci built the chapel to St. Thomas) supported by granite columns, and
adorned with antique friezes of fine workmanship, and built up,
according to the ancient Italian fashion, with balcony over balcony
of open work. One of the gateways of the palace, formed of immense
stones, and leading through a passage dark and lofty, and opening into
gloomy subterranean chambers, struck me particularly....
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF BEATRICE CENCI.
_Guido Reni._]
The most wicked life which the Roman nobleman, Francesco Cenci, led in
this world not only occasioned his own ruin and death, but also that of
many others and brought down the destruction of his house. Concerning
his religion, it is sufficient to state that he never frequented any
church; and, although he caused a small chapel, dedicated to the Apostle
St. Thomas, to be built in the court of his palace, his intention in so
doing was to bury there all his children, whom he cruelly hated. He
cursed [his sons] and often also struck and ill-treated his daughters.
The eldest of these, being unable any longer to support the cruelty of
her father, exposed her miserable condition to the Pope and supplicated
him either to marry her according to his choice, or shut her up in a
monastery, that by any means she might be liberated from the cruel
oppression of her parent. Her prayer was heard, and the Pope, in pity to
her unhappiness, bestowed her in marriage to Signore Carlo Gabrielli,
one of the first gentlemen of the city of Gubbio, and obliged Francesco
to give her a fitting dowry of some thousand crowns.
Francesco, fearing that his youngest daughter would, when she grew up,
follow the example of her sister, bethought himself how to hinder this
design, and for that purpose shut her up alone in an apartment of the
palace, where he himself brought her food, so that no one might approach
her; and imprisoned her in this manner for several months, often
inflicting on her blows with a stick.
In the meantime ensued the death of his two sons, Rocco and
Cristoforo--one being assassinated by a surgeon, and the other by Paolo
Corso, while he was attending mass. The inhuman father showed every sign
of joy on hearing this news; saying that nothing would exceed his
pleasure if all his children died, and that, when the grave should
receive the last, he would, as a demonstration of joy, make a bonfire of
all that he possessed. And on the present occasion, as a further sign of
his hatred, he refused to pay the slightest sum towards the funeral
expenses of his murdered sons....
Beatrice, finding it impossible to continue to live in so miserable a
manner, followed the example of her sister; she sent a well-written
supplication to the Pope, imploring him to exercise his authority in
withdrawing her from the violence and cruelty of her father. But this
petition, which might, if listened to, have saved the unfortunate girl
from an early death, produced not the least effect.
Francesco, having discovered this attempt on the part of his daughter,
became more enraged, and redoubled his tyranny; confining with vigour
not only Beatrice, but also his wife. At length, these unhappy women,
finding themselves without hope of relief, driven to desperation,
resolved to plan his death.... Beatrice communicated the design to her
eldest brother, Giacomo, without whose concurrence it was impossible
that they should succeed. This latter was easily drawn into consent,
since he was utterly disgusted with his father, who ill-treated him, and
refused to allow him a sufficient support for his wife and children....
Giacomo, with the understanding of his sister and mother-in-law, held
various consultations and finally resolved to commit the murder of
Francesco to two of his vassals, who had become his inveterate enemies;
one called Marzio, and the other Olimpio: the latter, by means of
Francesco, had been deprived of his post as castellan of the Rock of
Petrella.... He [Francesco] received an honourable burial; and his
family returned to Rome to enjoy the fruits of their crime. They passed
some time there in tranquillity. But Divine Justice, which would not
allow so atrocious a wickedness to remain hid and unpunished, so ordered
it that the Court of Naples, to which the account of the death of Cenci
was forwarded, began to entertain doubts concerning the mode by which he
came by it, and sent a commissary to examine the body and to take
informations....
The Pope, after having seen all the examinations and the entire
confessions, ordered that the delinquents should be drawn through the
streets at the tails of horses and afterward decapitated.
Many cardinals and priests interested themselves, and entreated that at
least they might be allowed to draw up their defence. The Pope at first
refused to comply, replying with severity, and asking these intercessors
what defence had been allowed to Francesco when he had been so
barbarously murdered in his sleep....
The sentence was executed the morning of Saturday the 11th of May. The
messengers charged with the communication of the sentence, and the
Brothers of the Consorteria, were sent to the several prisons at five
the preceding night; and at six the sentence of death was communicated
to the unhappy brothers while they were placidly sleeping. Beatrice, on
hearing it broke into a piercing lamentation, and into passionate
gesture, exclaiming, "How is it possible, O my God, that I must so
suddenly die?" Lucretia, as prepared and already resigned to her fate,
listened without terror to the reading of this terrible sentence, and
with gentle exhortations induced her daughter-in-law to enter the chapel
with her; and the latter, whatever excess she might have indulged in on
the first intimation of a speedy death, so much the more now
courageously supported herself, and gave every one certain proofs of a
humble resignation. Having requested that a notary might be allowed to
come to her, and her request being granted, she made her will, in which
she left 15,000 crowns to the Fraternity of the Sacre Stimmate, and
willed that all her dowry should be employed in portioning for marriage
fifty maidens; and Lucretia, imitating the example of her
daughter-in-law, ordered that she should be buried in the church of S.
Gregorio at Monte Celio, with 32,000 crowns for charitable uses, and
made other legacies; after which they passed some time in the
Consorteria, reciting psalms and litanies and other prayers with so much
fervour that it well appeared that they were assisted by the peculiar
grace of God. At eight o'clock they confessed, heard mass, and received
the holy communion. Beatrice, considering that it was not decorous to
appear before the judges and on the scaffold with their splendid
dresses, ordered two dresses, one for herself and the other for her
mother-in-law, made in the manner of the nuns--gathered up, and with
long sleeves of black cotton for Lucretia, and of common silk for
herself, with a large cord girdle. When these dresses came, Beatrice
rose, and, turning to Lucretia--"Mother," said she, "the hour of our
departure is drawing near; let us dress therefore in these clothes, and
let us mutually aid one another in this last office." Lucretia readily
complied with this invitation, and they dressed, each helping the other,
showing the same indifference and pleasure as if they were dressing for
a feast....
The funereal procession passed through the Via dell' Orso, by the
Apollinara, thence through the Piazza Navona; from the church of S.
Pantalio to the Piazza Pollarolla, through the Campo di Fiori, S. Carlo
a Catinari, to the Arco de' Conti Cenci; proceeding, it stopped under
the Palace Cenci, and then finally rested at the Corte Savilla, to take
the two ladies. When these arrived, Lucretia remained last, dressed in
black, as has been described, with a veil of the same colour, which
covered her as far as her girdle. Beatrice was beside her, also covered
with a veil. They wore velvet slippers, with silk roses and gold
fastenings; and, instead of manacles, their wrists were bound by a silk
cord, which was fastened to their girdles in such a manner as to give
them almost the free use of their hands. Each had in her left hand the
holy sign of benediction, and in the right hand a handkerchief, with
which Lucretia wiped her tears, and Beatrice the perspiration from her
forehead. Being arrived at the place of punishment, Bernardo was left on
the scaffold, and the others were conducted to the chapel. During this
dreadful separation, this unfortunate youth, reflecting that he was
soon going to behold the decapitation of his nearest relatives, fell
down in a dreadful swoon, from which, however, he was at last recovered,
and seated opposite the block....
While the scaffold was being arranged for Beatrice, and whilst the
Brotherhood returned to the chapel for her, the balcony of a shop filled
with spectators fell, and five of those underneath were wounded, so that
two died a few days after. Beatrice, hearing the noise, asked the
executioner if her mother had died well, and, being replied that she
had, she knelt before the crucifix, and spoke thus: "Be thou
everlastingly thanked, O my most gracious Saviour, since, by the good
death of my mother, thou hast given me assurance of thy mercy towards
me." Then, rising, she courageously and devoutly walked towards the
scaffold, repeating by the way several prayers with so much fervour of
spirit that all who heard her shed tears of compassion. Ascending the
scaffold, while she arranged herself, she also turned her eyes to
Heaven, and thus prayed: "Most beloved Jesus, who, relinquishing thy
divinity, becamest a man, and didst through love purge my sinful soul
also of its original sin with thy precious blood; deign, I beseech thee,
to accept that which I am about to shed, at thy most merciful tribunal,
as a penalty which may cancel my many crimes, and spare me a part of
that punishment justly due to me." Then she placed her head under the
axe, which, at one blow, was divided from her body as she was repeating
the second verse of the psalm _De profundis_, at the words _fiant aures
tuæ_. The blow gave a violent motion to her body, and discomposed her
dress. The executioner raised the head to the view of the people; and
in placing it in the coffin placed underneath, the cord by which it was
suspended slipped from its hold, and the head fell to the ground,
shedding a great deal of blood, which was wiped up with water and
sponges.... The bodies of Lucretia and Beatrice were left at the end of
the bridge until the evening, illuminated by two torches, and surrounded
by so great a concourse of people that it was impossible to cross the
bridge. An hour after dark, the body of Beatrice was placed in a coffin,
covered by a black velvet pall richly adorned with gold: garlands of
flowers were placed, one at her head, and another at her feet; and the
body was strewed with flowers. It was accompanied to the church of S.
Peter in Montorio by the Brotherhood of the Order of Mercy, and followed
by many Franciscan monks, with great pomp and innumerable torches. She
was there buried before the high altar, after the customary ceremony had
been performed. By reason of the distance of the church from the bridge,
it was four hours after dark before the ceremony was finished.
Afterwards, the body of Lucretia, accompanied in the same manner, was
carried to the church of S. Gregorio upon the Celian hill; where, after
the ceremony, it was honourably buried.
Beatrice was rather tall, of a fair complexion, and she had a dimple on
each cheek, which, especially when she smiled, added a grace to her
lovely countenance that transported every one who beheld her. Her hair
appeared like threads of gold; and, because they were extremely long,
she used to tie it up, and when afterwards she loosened it, the
splendid ringlets dazzled the eyes of the spectator. Her eyes were of a
deep blue, pleasing, and full of fire. To all these beauties she added,
both in words and action, a spirit and a majestic vivacity that
captivated every one. She was twenty years of age when she died.
_The Cenci: Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley_, edited by
William M. Rossetti (London 1878).
THE TRANSFIGURATION
(_RAPHAEL_)
MRS. JAMESON
The Transfiguration is an early subject in Christian Art, and has gone
through different phases. It is given in the mosaics of S. Apollinare in
Classe, at Ravenna (Sixth Century), in that reticence of form and
emblematical character significant of classic Art. By the uninitiated
the subject would not be readily deciphered. In the centre of the domed
apse is a large jewelled cross, in the middle of which is the head of
Christ. This represents the Lord. On each side are bust-lengths of Moses
and Elijah, while below are three sheep, emblems of the three disciples.
Another form is seen in early miniatures--for instance, in a magnificent
Evangelium preserved in the Cathedral at Aix-la-Chapelle. Here Christ is
seen with three rays above Him; at His side are the full-length figures
of Moses and Elijah; below are the three disciples--two crouching low in
terror, while Peter raises himself, saying "Lord, it is good for us to
be here," etc.
The next form is that given by early Byzantine artists, of a very formal
and conventional character. Christ is in the mandorla, from which five
rays of glory proceed. These five rays touch the prophets at His side,
and the disciples, all three crouching low at His feet. We see Giotto
scarcely emerging from this convention in his series in the Accademia.
Fra Angelico has a more fanciful representation. The Christ has his arms
extended, as a type of the death He was to suffer on the Cross. The
disciples retain the traditional Byzantine positions. At the sides are
the mere heads of the prophets, while the painter's adoration of the
Virgin, and his homage toward St. Domenic, the founder of his order, are
shown by their attendant figures.
It must be allowed that there could be no more daring or more difficult
undertaking in Art than to represent by any human medium this
transcendent manifestation of the superhuman character of the Redeemer.
It has been attempted but seldom, and of course, however reverent and
poetical the spirit in which the attempt has been made, it has proved,
in regard to the height of the theme, only a miserable failure. I should
observe, however, that the early artists hardly seem to have aimed at
anything beyond a mere _indication_ of an incident too important to be
wholly omitted. In all these examples the representation of a visible
fact has been predominant, the aim in the mind of the artist being to
comply with some established conventional or theological rule.
Only in one instance has the vision of heavenly beatitude been used to
convey the sublimest lesson to humanity, and thus the inevitable failure
has been redeemed nobly, or, we might rather say, converted into a
glorious success.
When Raphael, in the last year of his life, was commissioned by the
Cardinal de' Medici to paint an altar-piece for the Cathedral of
Narbonne, he selected for his subject the Transfiguration of our Lord.
[Illustration: THE TRANSFIGURATION.
_Raphael._]
Every one knows that this picture has a world-wide fame; it has, indeed,
been styled the "greatest picture in the world;" it has also been
criticised as if Raphael, the greatest artist who ever lived, had been
here unmindful of the rules of Art. But it is clear that of those who
have enthusiastically praised or daringly censured, few have interpreted
its real significance. Some have erred in ignorantly applying the rules
of Art where they were in no respect applicable. Others, not claiming to
know anything, or care anything about rules of Art, insisting on their
right to judge what is or is not intelligible to _them_, have given what
I must needs call very absurd opinions about what they do not
understand. It has been objected by one set of critics that there is a
want of unity, that the picture is divided in two, and that these two
parts not only do not harmonize, but "mutually hurt each other." Others
say that the spiritual beatitude above, and the contortions of the
afflicted boy below, present a shocking contrast. Others sneer at the
little hillock or platform which they suppose is to stand for Mount
Tabor, think the group above profane, and the group below horrible. Such
as these, with a courage quite superior to all artistic criticism, and
undazzled by the accumulated fame of five centuries, venture on a fiat
which reminds one of nothing so much as Voltaire's ridicule of Hamlet,
and his denunciation of that _barbare_, that _imbécile de Shakespeare_,
who would not write so as to be appreciated by a French critic.
Now, in looking at the Transfiguration (and I hope the reader, if the
original be far off, will at least have a good print before him while
going over these following remarks), we must bear in mind that it is not
an historical but a devotional picture--that the intention of the
painter was not to represent a scene, but to excite religious feelings
by expressing, so far as painting might do it, a very sublime idea,
which it belongs to us to interpret.
I can best accomplish this, perhaps, by putting down naturally my own
impressions, when I last had the opportunity of studying this divine
picture.