SCULPTURE IN STONE
(_France and Italy_)
Sculpture is not properly speaking the "plastic art," as is often
understood. The real meaning of sculpture is work which is cut
into form, whereas plastic art is work that is moulded or cast
into form. Terra cotta, which is afterwards baked, is plastic;
and yet becomes hard; thus a Tanagra figurine is an example of
plastic art, while a Florentine marble statuette is a product of
sculpture. The two are often confounded. We shall allude to them
under different heads, taking for our consideration now only such
sculpture as is the result of cutting in the stone. The work of
Luca Della Robbia will not be treated as sculpture in this book.
Luca Della Robbia is a worker in plastic art, while Adam Kraft,
hewing directly at the stone, is a sculptor.
We have no occasion to study the art of the sculptor who produces
actual statues; only so far as sculpture is a companion to architecture,
and a decorative art, does it come within the scope of the arts and
crafts. Figure sculpture, then, is only considered when strictly
of a monumental character.
In attacking such a subject as sculpture in the Middle Ages it
is impossible to do more than indicate the general tendencies in
different countries. But there are certain defined characteristics an
observance of which will make clear to any reader various fundamental
principles by which it is easy to determine the approximate age and
style of works.
In the first place, the great general rule of treatment of stone
in the North and in the South is to be mentioned. In the Northern
countries, France, Germany, and England, the stone which was employed
for buildings and their decorations was obtainable in large blocks
and masses; it was what, for our purposes, we will call ordinary
stone, and could be used in the solid; therefore it was possible
for carving in the North to be rendered as deeply and as roundly as
the sculptor desired. In Southern countries, however, and chiefly in
Italy, the stone used for building was not ordinary, but semi-precious
stone. Marble, porphyry, and alabaster were available; and the use
of such material led to a different ideal in architecture and
decoration,--that of incrustation instead of solid piling. These
valuable stones of Italy could not be used, generally speaking,
in vast blocks, into which the chisel was at liberty to plough as
it pleased; when a mass of marble or alabaster was obtained, the
æsthetic soul of the Italian craftsman revolted against shutting
up all that beauty of veining and texture in the confines of a
solid square, of which only the two sides should ever be visible,
and often only one. So he cut his precious block into slices: made
slabs and shallow surfaces of it, and these he laid, as an outward
adornment to his building, upon a substructure of brick or rubble.
It is easy to perceive, then, the difference of the problem of the
sculptors of the North and the South. The plain, solid Northern
building was capable of unlimited enrichment by carving; this carving,
when deeply cut, with forcible projection, acted as a noble
embellishment in which the principal feature was a varied play of
light and shade; the stone having little charm of colour or texture
in itself, depended for its beauty entirely upon its bold relief,
its rounded statuary, and its well shaped chiselled ornament. The
shallow surface, already beautiful, both in colour and texture,
in the Southern building material, called only for enrichment in
low relief: ornament only slightly raised from the level or simply
perforating the thin slab of glowing stone on which it was used
was the more usual choice of the Italian craftsman.
This statement applies, of course, only to general principles of
the art of sculpture; there is some flat bas-relief in the North,
and some rounded sculpture in the South; but as a rule the tendencies
are as they have just been outlined.
Another difference between sculpture in the North and South is
due to the fact that in Italy the work was individual, as a rule,
and in France it was the labour of a Guild or company. In Italy
it is usually known who was the author of any striking piece of
sculpture, while in France it is the exception when a work is signed,
or the names of artisans recorded. In Italy, then, each piece was
made more with a view to its own display, than as a part of a
building, while in France statuary was regarded as an integral part
of the architecture, and rows of figures were used as commonly as
rows of columns in Italy. It is tragic to think of the personal skill
and brilliancy of all these great French craftsmen being absorbed in
one general reputation, while there were undoubtedly among them great
art personalities who would have stood equally with the Pisani if
they had been recognized.
A good deal of flat carving, especially in the interlace and acanthus
of Ravenna, was accomplished by commencing with a series of drilled
holes, which were afterwards channelled into each other and formed
patterns. When the subsequent finish is not particularly delicate,
it is quite easy to detect these symmetrical holes, but the effect,
under the circumstances, is not objectionable.
[Illustration: CARVED CAPITAL FROM RAVENNA]
The process of cutting a bas-relief was generally to outline the
whole with an incision, and then cut away the background, leaving
the simple elevated flat value, the shape of the proposed design.
The modelling was then added by degrees, until the figure looked
like half of a rounded object. While it is often unpractical to refer
one's readers to examples of work in far and various countries, and
advise them instantly to examine them, it is frequently possible
to call attention to well-produced plates in certain modern
art books which are in nearly every public library. To understand
thoroughly the use of the drill in flat sculpture, I wish my
readers would refer to Fig. 121 in Mr. Russell Sturgis's "Artist's
Way of Working," Vol. II.
In a quaint treatise on Belles Lettres in France nearly two centuries
ago, by Carlencas, the writer says: "It is to no great purpose to
speak of the Gothick sculptures: for everybody knows that they
are the works of a rude art, formed in spite of nature and rules:
sad productions of barbrous and dull spirits, which disfigure our
old churches." Fie on a Frenchman who could so express himself! We
recall the story of how Viollet le Duc made the people of Paris
appreciate the wonderful carvings on Notre Dame. All the rage in
France was for Greek and Roman remains, and the people persisted
in their adoration of the antique, but would not deign to look
nearer home, at their great mediæval works of art. So the architect
had plaster casts made of the principal figures on the cathedral,
and these were treated so as to look like ancient marble statues;
he then opened an exhibition, purporting to show new discoveries
and excavations among antiques. The exhibition was thronged, and
everyone was deeply interested, expressing the greatest admiration
for the marvellously expressive sculptures. Viollet le Duc then
admitted what he had done, and confessing that these treasures
were to be found in their native city, advised them to pay more
attention to the beauties of Gothic art in Paris.
We will not enter into a discussion of the relative merits of Northern
and Southern art; whether the great revival really originated in
France or Italy; but this is certain: Nicolo Pisano lived in the
latter half of the thirteenth century, while the great sculptures
of Notre Dame, Paris, and those of Chartres, were executed half
a century earlier.
But prior to either were the Byzantine and Romanesque sculptures
in Italy and Southern France. Our attention must first be turned
to them. Charles Eliot Norton's definition of this word Romanesque
is as satisfactory as any that could be instanced: "It very nearly
corresponds to the term of Romance as applied to language. It signifies
the derivation of the main elements, both in plan and construction,
from the works of the later Roman Empire. But Romanesque architecture"
(and this applies equally to sculpture) "was not, as it has been
called, a corrupted imitation of the Roman architecture, any more
than the Provençal or the Italian language was a corrupted imitation
of the Latin. It was a new thing, the slowly matured product of
a long period of many influences."
All mediæval carving was subordinate to architecture, therefore
every piece of carving was designed with a view to being suitable to
appear in some special place. The most striking difference between
mediæval and later sculpture is that the latter is designed as
a thing apart, an object to be stood anywhere to be admired for
its intrinsic merit, instead of being a functional component
in a general scheme for beautifying a given building.
The use of the interlace in all primitive arts is very interesting.
It undoubtedly began in an unconscious imitation of local architecture.
For instance, in the British Isles, the building in earliest times
was with wattles: practically walls of basket work. William of
Malmsbury says that Glastonbury was "a mean structure of wattle
work," while of the Monastery of Iona, it is related that in 563,
Columba "sent forth his monks to gather twigs to build his hospice."
British baskets were famous even so far away as Rome. So the first
idea of ornament was to copy the interlacing forms. The same idea
was worked out synchronously in metal work, and in illuminated
books. Carving in stone, wood, and ivory, show the same influence.
Debased Roman sculptural forms were used in Italy during the fourth
and fifth centuries. Then Justinian introduced the Byzantine which
was grafted upon the Roman, producing a characteristic and fascinating
though barbaric combination. This was the Romanesque, or
Romano-Byzantine, in the North of Italy generally being recognized
as the Lombard style. The sculptures of this period, from the fifth
to the thirteenth century, are blunt and heavy, but full of quaint
expression due to the elemental and immature conditions of the
art. Many of the old Byzantine carvings are to be seen in Italy.
The Lombards, when invading Northern Italy,
brought with them a mighty smith, Paul the Deacon, who had much
skill with the hammer. When these rude Norsemen found themselves
among the æsthetic treasures of Byzantium, and saw the fair Italian
marbles, and the stately work of Theodoric and Justinian, they were
inflamed with zeal for artistic expression, and began to hew and
carve rough but spirited forms out of the Pisan and Carrara stones.
The animals which they sculptured were, as Ruskin has said, "all alive:
hungry and fierce, wild, with a life-like spring." The Byzantine
work was quiescent: the designs formal, decent, and monumental. But
the Lombards threw into their work their own restless energy, and
some of their cruelty and relentlessness. Queen Theodolinda, in
her palace at Monza, encouraged the arts; it was because of her
appreciative comprehension of such things that St. Gregory sent
her the famous Iron Crown, of which a description has been given, on
the occasion of the baptism of her son. Under the influence of these
subsequently civilized barbarians many of the greatest specimens of
carving in North Italy came into being. The most delightful little
stumpy saints and sacred emblems may be found on the façade of
St. Michele at Pavia, and also at Lucca, and on the Baptistery
at Parma. The sculptor who produced these works at Parma was a
very interesting craftsman, named Antelami. His Descent from the
Cross is one of the most striking pieces of early sculpture before
the Pisani. He lived in the twelfth century. The figures are of
Byzantine proportions and forms, but have a good deal of grace and
suggestion of movement.
Among the early names known in Italy is that of Magister Orso,
of Verona. Another, in the ninth century, was Magister Pacifico,
and in the twelfth there came Guglielmus, who carved the charming
naïve wild hunting scenes on the portal of St. Zeno of Verona.
These reliefs represent Theodoric on horseback, followed by an
able company of men and horses which, according to legend, were
supplied by the infernal powers. The eyes of these fugitives have
much expression, being rendered with a drill, and standing out
in the design as little black holes--fierce and effective.
There is a fine round window at St. Zeno at Verona, designed and
executed by one Briolottus, which, intended to represent the Wheel
of Fortune, is decorated all over with little clinging figures,
some falling and some climbing, and has the motto: "I elevate some
mortals and depose others: I give good or evil to all: I clothe
the naked and strip the clothed: in me if any one trust he will
be turned to derision."
Perhaps the most wonderful carvings on the church of St. Zeno at
Verona are over the arched entrance to the crypt. These, being
chiefly grotesque animal forms, are signed by Adaminus. Among the
humourous little conceits is a couple of strutting cocks carrying
between them a dead fox slung on a rod. Ruskin has characterized
the carvings at Verona, especially those on the porch, as being
among the best examples of the true function of flat decorative
carving in stone. He says: "The primary condition is that the mass
shall be beautifully rounded, and disposed with due discretion and
order;... sculpture is essentially the production of a pleasant
bossiness or roundness of surface. The pleasantness of that bossy
condition to the eye is irrespective of imitation on one side, and
of structure on the other." The more one considers this statement,
the more he is convinced of its comprehensiveness. If the lights
and shadows fall pleasantly, how little one stops to inquire, "What
is the subject? Do I consider that horse well proportioned, or do
I not? Is that woman in good drawing?" Effectiveness is almost
independent of detail, except as that detail affects the law of
proportion. There are varying degrees of relief: from flat (where
the ornament is hardly more than incised, and the background planed
away) to a practically solid round figure cut almost entirely free
of its ground.
In Venice, until the revival in the thirteenth century, the Greek
Byzantine influence was marked. There is no more complete storehouse
of the art of the East adapted to mediæval conditions than the
Church of St. Mark's. If space permitted, nothing could be more
delightful than to examine in detail these marvellous capitals and
archivolts which Ruskin has so lovingly immortalized for English
readers. Of all decorative sculpture there is none more satisfying
from the ornamental point of view than the Byzantine interlace
and vine forms so usual in Venice. The only place where these
may be seen to even greater advantage is Ravenna. The pierced
marble screens and capitals, with their restful combinations of
interlacing bands and delicate foliate forms, are nowhere surpassed.
The use of the acanthus leaf conventionalized in a strictly primitive
fashion characterizes most of the Byzantine work in Italy. With
these are combined delightful stiff peacocks, and curious bunches
of grapes, rosettes, and animal forms of quaint grotesqueness.
Such work exemplifies specially what has been said regarding the
use of flat thin slabs for sculptural purposes in the South of
Europe. Nearly all these carvings are executed in fine marbles
and alabasters. The chief works of this period in the round are
lions and gryphons supporting columns as at Ancona and Perugia,
and many other Italian cities.
In Rome there were several sculptors of the name of Peter. One
of them, Peter Amabilis, worked about 1197; and another, Peter
le Orfever, went to England and worked on the tomb of Edward the
Confessor at Westminster.
In Bologna is an interesting crucifix probably carved in the eighth
or ninth century. Christ's figure is upon the cross and that of
his mother stands near. The sculptor was Petrus Albericus. On the
cross is an inscription in the form of a dialogue: "My son?" "What,
Mother?" "Are you God?" "I am." "Why do you hang on the cross?"
"That Mankind may not perish."
The Masters of Stone and Wood were among the early Guilds and
Corporations of Florence. Charlemagne patronized this industry and
helped to develop it. Of craftsmen in these two branches exclusive
of master builders, and recognized artists, there were, in 1299,
about a hundred and forty-six members of the Guild.
Italy was backward for a good while in the progress of art, for
while great activities were going on in the North, the Doge of
Venice in 976 was obliged to import artists from Constantinople
to decorate St. Mark's church.
The tombs of this early period in Italy, as elsewhere, are significant
and beautiful. Recumbent figures, with their hands devoutly pressed
together, are usually seen, lying sometimes on couches and sometimes
under architectural canopies.
The first great original Italian sculptor of the Renaissance was
Nicola Pisano. He lived through almost the whole of the thirteenth
century, being born about 1204, and dying in 1278. What were the
early influences of Nicola Pisano, that helped to make him so much
more more modern, more truly classic, than any of his age? In the
first place, he was born at the moment when interest in ancient
art was beginning to awaken; the early thirteenth century. In the
Campo Santo of Pisa may be seen two of the most potent factors in
his æsthetic education, the Greek sarcophagus on which was carved the
Hunting of Meleager, and the Greek urn with Bacchic figures wreathing
it in classic symmetry. With his mind tuned to the beautiful, the
boy Nioola gazed at the work of genuine pagan Greek artists,
who knew the sinuousness of the human form and the joy of living
with no thought of the morrow. These joyous pagan elements, grafted
on solemn religious surroundings and influences, combined to produce
his peculiar genius. Basing his early endeavours on these specimens
of genuine classical Greek art, there resulted his wonderful pulpits
at Pisa and Siena, and his matchlessly graceful little Madonnas
denote the Hellenistic sentiment for beauty. His work was a marked
departure from the Byzantine and Romanesque work which constituted
Italian sculpture up to that period. An examination of his designs
and methods proves his immense originality. By profession he was
an architect. Of his pulpit in Siena Charles Eliot Norton speaks
with much appreciation. Alluding to the lions used as bases to its
columns, he says: "These are the first realistic representations
of living animals which the mediæval revival of art has produced;
and in vivacity and energy of rendering, and in the thoroughly
artistic treatment of leonine spirit and form, they have never
been surpassed." It is usually claimed that one may learn much of
the rise of Gothic sculpture by studying the models in the South
Kensington Museum. In a foot-note to such a statement in a book
edited by Ruskin, the indignant editor has observed, "You cannot
do anything of the kind. Pisan sculpture can only be studied in
the original marble: half its virtue is in the chiselling!" Nicola
was assisted in the work on his shrine of St. Dominic at Bologna
by one Fra Guglielmo Agnelli, a monk of a very pious turn, who,
nevertheless, committed a curious theft, which was never discovered
until his own death-bed confession. He absconded with a bone of
St. Dominic, which he kept for private devotions all his subsequent
life! An old chronicler says, naïvely: "If piety can absolve from
theft, Fra Guglielmo is to be praised, though never to be imitated."
[Illustration: PULPIT OF NICOLA PISANO, PISA]
Andrea Pisano was Nicola's greatest scholar, though not his son.
He took the name of his master after the mediæval custom. His work
was largely in bronze, and the earlier gates of the Baptistery in
Florence are by him. We have already alluded to the later gates
by Ghiberti, when speaking of bronze. Andrea had the honour to
teach the celebrated Orcagna,--more painter than sculptor,--whose
most noted work in this line was the Tabernacle at Or San Michele.
Among the loveliest of the figures sculptured by the Pisani are
the angels standing in a group, blowing trumpets, on the pulpit at
Pistoja, the work of Giovanni. Among Nicola's pupils were his son
Giovanni, Donatello, Arnolfo di Cambio, and Lorenzo Maitani, who
executed the delightful sculptures on the façade of the Cathedral
of Orvieto,--perhaps the most interesting set of bas-reliefs in
detail of the Early Renaissance, although in general symmetrical
"bossiness" of effect, so much approved by Ruskin, they are very
uneven. In this respect they come rather under the head of realistic
than of decorative art.
Lorenzo Maitani was a genuine leader of his guild of craftsmen,
and superintended the large body of architects who worked at
Orvieto, stone masons, mosaicists, bronze founders, painters,
and minor workmen. He lived until 1330, and practically devoted
his life to Orvieto. It is uncertain whether any of the Pisani
were employed in any capacity, although for a time it was
popularly supposed that the four piers on the façade were their
work. An iconographic description of these sculptures would occupy
too much time here, but one or two features of special interest
should be noted: the little portrait relief of the master Maitani
himself occurs on the fourth pier, among the Elect in heaven, wearing
his workman's cap and carrying his architect's square. Only his
head and shoulders can be seen at the extreme left of the second
tier of sculptures. In accordance with an early tradition, that
Virgil was in some wise a prophet, and that he had foretold the
coming of Christ, he is here introduced, on the second pier, near
the base, crowned with laurel. The incident of the cutting off of
the servant's ear, by Peter, is positively entertaining. Peter
is sawing away industriously at the offending member; a fisherman
ought to understand a more deft use of the knife! In the scenes
of the Creation, depicted on the first pier, Maitani has proved
himself a real nature lover in the tender way he has demonstrated
the joy of the birds at finding the use of their wings.
The earliest sculptures in France were very rude,--it was rather
a process than an art to decorate a building with carvings as the
Gauls did! But the latent race talent was there; as soon as the
Romanesque and Byzantine influences were felt, a definite school
of sculpture was formed in France; almost at once they seized on
the best elements of the craft and abandoned the worthless, and
the great note of a national art was struck in the figures at
Chartres, Paris, Rheims, and other cathedrals of the Ile de France.
Prior to this flowering of art in Northern France, the churches
of the South of France developed a charming Romanesque of their
own, a little different from that in Italy. A monk named Tutilon,
of the monastery of St. Gall, was among the most famous sculptors
of the Romanesque period. Another name is that of Hughes, Abbot of
Montier-en-Der. At the end of the tenth century one Morard, under
the patronage of King Robert, built and ornamented the Church of St.
Germain des Près, Paris, while Guillaume, an Abbot at Dijon, was
at the head of the works of forty monasteries. Guillaume probably
had almost as wide an influence upon French art as St. Bernward
had on the German, or Nicola Pisano on that of Italy. In Metz were
two noted architects, Adelard and Gontran, who superintended the
building of fourteen churches, and an early chronicler says that
the expense was so great that "the imperial treasury would scarce
have sufficed for it."
At Arles are two of the most famous monuments of Romanesque art,
the porches of St. Trophime, and of St. Gilles. The latter exhibits
almost classical feeling and influence; the former is much blunter
and more Byzantine; both are highly interesting for purposes
of study, being elaborately ornamented with figure sculptures and
other decorative motives.
Abbot Suger, the art-craftsman par excellence of the Ile de France,
was the sculptor in chief of St. Denis from 1137 to 1180. This
magnificent façade is harmonious in its treatment, betokening plainly
that one brain conceived and carried out the plan. We have not the
names of the minor architects and sculptors who were employed,
but doubtless they were the scholars and followers of Suger, and
rendered work in a similar manner.
There are some names which have been handed down from early times
in Normandy: one Otho, another Garnier, and a third, Anquetil,
while a crucifix carved by Auquilinus of Moissac was popularly
believed to have been created by divine means. If one will compare
the statues of St. Trophime of Arles with those at St. Denis, it
will be found that the latter are better rounded, those at St.
Trophime being coarsely blocked out; although at first glance one
would say that there was little to choose between them.
The old font at Amiens is very ancient, older than the church. It
is seven feet long, and stands on short square piers: it resembles
a stone coffin, and was apparently so made that a grown person
might be baptized by immersion, by lying at full length. Angels
holding scrolls are carved at its four corners, otherwise it is
very plain. There is an ancient Byzantine crucifix at Amiens, on
which the figure of Our Lord is fully draped, and on his head is
a royal crown instead of thorns. The figure, too, is erect, as if
to invite homage by its outstretched arms, instead of suggesting
that the arms had to bear the weight of the body. Indeed, it is a
Christ triumphant and regnant though crucified--a very unusual
treatment of the subject in the Middle Ages. It was brought from the
East, in all probability, by a returning warrior from the Crusades.
The foundation of Chartres was very early: the first Bishop St.
Aventin occupied his see as early as 200 A. D. The early Gothic type
in figure sculpture is always characterized by a few features in
common, though different districts produced varying forms and facial
expressions. The figures are always narrow, and much elongated, from
a monumental sentiment which governed the design of the period. The
influence of the Caryatid may have remained in the consciousness of
later artists, leading them to make their figures conform so far as
expedient to the proportions of the columns which stood behind them
and supported them. In any case, it was considered an indispensable
condition that these proportions should be maintained, and has come
to be regarded as an architectural necessity. As soon as sculptors
began to consider their figures as realistic representations of
human beings instead of ornamental motives in their buildings,
the art declined, and poor results followed.
The west porch of Chartres dates from the twelfth century. The church
was injured by fire in 1194. In 1226 certain restorations were made,
and an old chronicle says that at that time it was quite fire-proof,
remarking: "It has nothing to fear from any earthly fire from this
time to the day of Judgment, and will save from fires eternal the
many Christians who by their alms have helped in its rebuilding."
The whole edifice was consecrated by St. Louis on Oct. 17, 1260.
The King gave the north porch, and several of the windows, and the
whole royal family was present at this impressive function.
About the time of William the Conqueror it became customary to
carve effigies on tombstones, at first simple figures in low relief
lying on flat slabs: this idea being soon elaborated, however,
into canopied tombs, which grew year by year more ornate, until
Gothic structures enriched with finials and crockets began to be
erected in churches to such an extent that the interior of the
edifice was quite filled with these dignified little buildings.
In many instances it is quite impossible to obtain any view of
the sanctuary except looking directly down the central aisle; the
whole ambulatory is often one continuous succession of exquisite
sepulchral monuments.
[Illustration: TOMB OF THE SON OF ST. LOUIS, ST. DENIS]
Perhaps the most satisfying monument of French Gothic style is
the tomb of the elder son of St. Louis at St. Denis. The majesty
of the recumbent figure is striking, but the little procession of
mourners about the main body of the tomb is absolutely unrivalled
in art of this character. The device of little weeping figures
surrounding the lower part of a tomb is also carried out in an exquisite
way on the tomb of Aymer de Valence in Westminster.
Some interesting saints are carved on the north portal of Amiens,
among others, St. Ulpha, a virgin who is chiefly renowned for having
lived in a chalk cave near Amiens, where she was greatly annoyed
by frogs. Undaunted, she prayed so lustily and industriously, that
she finally succeeded in silencing them!
The thirteenth century revival in France was really a new birth;
almost more than a Renaissance. It is a question among archæologists
if France was not really more original and more brilliant than Italy
in this respect. A glance at such figures as the Virgin from the
Gilded Portal at Amiens, and another Virgin from the same cathedral,
will show the change which came over the spirit of art in that one
city during the thirteenth century. The figure on the right door
of the western façade is a work of the early part of the century.
She is grave and dignified in bearing, her hand extended in favour,
while the Child gives the blessing in calm majesty. This figure has
the spirit of a goddess receiving homage, and bestowing grace: it
is conventional and monumental. The Virgin from the Gilded Portal
is of a later generation. Her attention is given to the Child,
and her aspect is human and spirited,--almost merry. It may be
said to be less religious than the other statue, but it is filled
with more modern grace and charm, and glorifies the idea of happy
maternity: every angle and fold of the drapery is full of life
and action without being over realistic. There is much in common
between this pleasing statue and the Virgins of the Pisani in Italy.
Professor Moore considers the statue of the Virgin on the Portal
of the Virgin at the west end of Notre Dame in Paris as about the
best example of Gothic figure sculpture in France. He says further
that the finest statues in portals of any age are those of the
north porch at Paris. The Virgin here is marvellously fine also.
It combines the dignity and monumental qualities of the first of
the Virgins at Amiens, with the living buoyancy of the Virgin on
the Gilded Portal. It is the clear result of a study of nature
grafted on Byzantine traditions. It dates from 1250.
While sculpture was practised chiefly by monastic artists, it retained
the archaic and traditional elements. When trained carvers from
secular life began to take the chisel, the spirit of the world
entered in. For a time this was a marked improvement: later the
pendulum swung too far, and decadence set in.
A favourite device on carved tympana above portals was the Last
Judgment. Michael with the scales, engaged in weighing souls, was
the tall central figure, and the two depressed saucers of the scales
help considerably in filling the triangular space usually left
over a Gothic doorway. At Chartres, there is an example of this
subject, in which Mortal Sin, typified by a devil and two toads, are
being weighed against the soul of a departed hero. As is customary
in such compositions, a little devil is seen pulling on the side
of the scale in which he is most interested!
One of the most cheerful and delightful figures at Chartres is
that of the very tall angel holding a sun dial, on the corner of
the South tower. A certain optimistic inconsequence is his chief
characteristic, as if he really believed that the hours bore more
of happiness than of sorrow to the world.
There is no limit to the originality and the symbolic messages
of the Gothic grotesques. Two whole books might be written upon
this subject alone to do it justice; but a few notable instances
of these charming little adornments to the stern structures of
the Middle Ages must be noticed here. The little medallions at
Amiens deserve some attention. They represent the Virtues and Vices,
the Follies, and other ethical qualities. Some of them deal with
Scriptural scenes. "Churlishness" is figured by a woman kicking
over her cup-bearer. Apropos of her attitude, Ruskin observes that
the final forms of French churlishness are to be discovered in
the feminine gestures in the can-can. He adds: "See the favourite
print shops in Paris." Times have certainly changed little!
One of these Amiens reliefs, signifying "Rebellion," is that of a
man snapping his fingers at his bishop! Another known as "Atheism"
is variously interpreted. A man is seen stepping out of his shoes at
the church porch. Ruskin explains this as meaning that the infidel
is shown in contradistinction to the faithful who is supposed
to have "his feet shod with the preparation of the Gospel of Peace;"
but Abbé Roze thinks it more likely that this figure represents
an unfrocked monk abandoning the church.
One of these displays the beasts in Nineveh, and a little squat
monkey, developing into a devil, is wittily characterized by Ruskin
as reversing the Darwinian theory.
The statues above these little quatrefoils are over seven feet
in height, differing slightly, and evidently portrait sculptures
inspired by living models, adapted to their more austere use in
this situation.
A quiet and inconspicuous example of exquisite refinement in Gothic
bas-relief is to be seen in the medallioned "Portail aux Libraires"
at the Cathedral in Rouen. This doorway was built in 1278 by Jean
Davi, who must have been one of the first sculptors of his time.
The medallions are a series of little grotesques, some of them
ineffably entertaining, and others expressive of real depth of
knowledge and thought. Ruskin has eulogized some of these little
figures: one as having in its eye "the expression which is never
seen but in the eye of a dog gnawing something in jest, and preparing
to start away with it." Again, he detects a wonderful piece of
realism and appreciative work in the face of a man who leans with
his head on his hand in thought: the wrinkles pushed up under his
eye are especially commended.
In the south transept at Amiens is a piece of elaborate
sculpture in four compartments, which are the figures of many saints.
There is a legend in connection with those figures: when the millers
were about to select a patron saint, they agreed to choose the saint
on whose head a dove, released for the purpose, should alight;
but as the bird elected to settle on the head of a demon, they
abandoned their plan! The figures in these carvings are almost
free of the ground; they appear to be a collection of separate
statuettes, the scenes being laid in three or four planes. It is
not restrained bas-relief; but the effect is extremely rich. The
sculptures in high relief, but in more conventional proportion
than these, which occur on the dividing wall between the choir and
the north aisle, are thoroughly satisfactory. They are coloured;
they were executed in 1531, and they represent scenes in the life
of the Baptist. In the panel where Salomé is portrayed as dancing,
a grave little monkey is seen watching her from under the table.
The similar screen surrounding the sanctuary at Paris was the work
of the chief cathedral architect, Jean Renoy, with whom worked
his nephew, Jehan le Bouteiller. These stone carved screens are
quite usual in the Ile de France. The finest are at Chartres, where
they go straight around the ambulatory, the whole choir being fenced
in, as it were, about the apse, by this exquisite work. This screen
is more effective, too, for being left in the natural colour of
the stone: where these sculptures are painted, as they usually
are, they suggest wood carvings, and have not as much dignity as
when the stone is fully recognized.
The Door of St. Marcel has the oldest carving on Notre Dame in
Paris. The plate representing the iron work, in Chapter IV., shows
the carving on this portal, which is the same that has Biscornette's
famous hinges. The central figure of St. Marcel himself presents
the saint in the act of reproving a naughty dragon which had had
the indiscretion to devour the body of a rich but wicked lady. The
dragon is seen issuing from the dismantled tomb of this unfortunate
person. The dragon repented his act, when the saint had finished
admonishing him, and showed his attachment and gratitude for thus
being led in paths of rectitude, by following the saint for four
miles, apparently walking much as a seal would walk, beseeching
the saint to forgive him. But Marcel was firm, and punished the
serpent, saying to him: "Go forth and inhabit the deserts or plunge
thyself into the sea;" and, as St. Patrick rid the Celtic land of
snakes, so St. Marcel seems to have banished dragons from fair
France.
[Illustration: CARVINGS AROUND CHOIR AMBULATORY, CHARTRES]
At Chartres there are eighteen hundred statues, and almost as many
at Amiens and at Rheims and Paris. One reason for the superiority
of French figure sculpture in the thirteenth century, over that
existing in other countries, is that the French used models. There
has been preserved the sketch book of a mediæval French architect,
Vilard de Honcourt, which is filled with studies from life: and why
should we suppose him to be the only one who worked in this way?
Rheims Cathedral is the Mecca of the student of mediæval sculpture.
The array of statues on the exterior is amazing, and a walk around
the great structure reveals unexpected riches in corbels, gargoyles,
and other grotesques, hidden at all heights, each a veritable work
of art, repaying the closest study, and inviting the enthusiast
to undue extravagance at a shop in the vicinity, which advertises
naïvely, that it is an "Artistical Photograph Laboratory."
On the door of St. Germain l'Auxerrois in Paris, there is a portrait
statue of St. Geneviève, holding a lighted candle, while "the devil
in little" sits on her shoulder, exerting himself to blow it out!
It is quite a droll conceit of the thirteenth century.
Of the leaf forms in Gothic sculpture, three styles are enough to
generalize about. The early work usually represented springlike
leaves, clinging, half-developed, and buds. Later, a more luxuriant
foliage was attempted: the leaves and stalks were twisted, and
the style was more like that actually seen in nature. Then came
an overblown period, when the leaves were positively detached,
and the style was lost. The foliage was no longer integral, but
was applied.
There is little of the personal element to be exploited in dealing
with the sculptors in the Middle Ages. Until the days of the Renaissance
individual artists were scarcely recognized; master masons employed
"Imagers" as casually as we would employ brick-layers or plasterers;
and no matter how brilliant the work, it was all included in the general
term "building."
The first piece of signed sculpture in France is a tympanum in the
south transept at Paris, representing the Stoning of Stephen. It
is by Jean de Chelles, in 1257. St. Louis of France was a patron of
arts, and took much interest in his sculptors. There were two Jean
de Montereau, who carved sacred subjects in quite an extraordinary
way. Jean de Soignoles, in 1359, was designated as "Macon et Ymageur."
One of the chief "imageurs," as they were called, was Jacques Haag,
who flourished in the latter half of the fifteenth century, in
Amiens. This artist was imprisoned for sweating coin, but in 1481
the king pardoned him. He executed large statues for the city gates,
of St. Michael and St. Firmin, in 1464 and 1489. There was a sculptor
in Paris in the fourteenth century, one Hennequin de Liege, who
made several tombs in black and white marble, among them that of
Blanche de France, and the effigy of Queen Philippa at Westminster.
It was customary both in France and England to use colour on Gothic
architecture. It is curious to realize that the façade of Notre
Dame in Paris was originally a great colour scheme. A literary
relic, the "Voyage of an Armenian Bishop," named Martyr, in the
year 1490, alludes to the beauty of this cathedral of Paris, as
being ablaze with gold and colour.
An old record of the screen of the chapel of St. Andrew
at Westminster mentions that it was "adorned with curious carvings
and engravings, and other imagery work of birds, flowers, cherubims,
devices, mottoes, and coats of arms of many of the chief nobility
painted thereon. All done at the cost of Edmond Kirton, Abbot, who
lies buried on the south side of the chapel under a plain gray
marble slab." H. Keepe, who wrote of Westminster Abbey in 1683,
mentioned the virgin over the Chapter House door as being "all
richly enamelled and set forth with blue, some vestigia of all
which are still remaining, whereby to judge of the former splendour
and beauty thereof." Accounts make frequent mention of painters
employed, one being "Peter of Spain," and another William of
Westminster, who was called the "king's beloved painter."
King René of Anjou was an amateur of much versatility; he painted
and made many illuminations: among other volumes, copies of his own
works in prose and verse. Aside from his personal claim to renown
in the arts, he founded a school in which artists and sculptors
were included. One of the chief sculptors was Jean Poncet, who
was followed in the king's favour by his son Pons Poncet. Poor
Pons was something of a back-slider, being rather dissipated; but
King René was fond of him, and gave him work to do when he was
reduced to poverty. The monument to his nurse, Tiphanie, at Saumur,
was entrusted to Pons Poncet. After the death of Pons, the chief
sculptor of the court was Jacques Moreau.