[Illustration]
Tapestry is a compound art. It stands at the meeting-point of three
other arts, and so is beset by the problems of all three. In the first
place, it is illustrative, for while there are tapestries that show only
a sprinkling of flowers, a conventionalized landscape, or an armorial
shield, the finest and most typical pieces are those with _personnages_
that represent some episode from history, myth, or romance, or give a
glimpse of the current usages of daily life. In the second place, tapestry
is a mural decoration. It is part of the architectural setting of the
rooms, really one with the wall. And, in the third place, it is a woven
material--a solid fabric of wool or silk in the simplest of all techniques.
Since a tapestry is an illustration, it must be realistic and convincing,
accurate in details and clearly indicative of the story. Because it is
also a wall decoration, it cannot be too realistic, but must be structural
in feeling and design, and the details must fall into broad masses that
carry a strong effect from a distance. And since it is a woven material,
even if it be structural, it must be flexible, and must have a fullness of
ornament that will enrich the whole surface so that none of it will fall
to the level of mere cloth.
But if the tapestry designer have a difficult problem in resolving these
conflicting demands of the different aspects of his art, he has also wider
opportunities to realize within those limitations. As an illustration, if
he handle it with skill, he can make the design convey all the fascination
of romance and narrative. As a mural decoration his design can attain a
dignity and noble reserve denied to smaller illustrations, splendid in
itself, and valuable for counterbalancing the disproportionate literary
interest that the subject sometimes arouses. And the thick material, with
its soft, uneven surface, lends, even to a trivial design, a richness and
mellowness that the painter can achieve only in the greatest moments of
his work.
The designer of tapestry can steer his way among the difficulties of the
three phases of his art, and win the advantages of them all only if he
have a fine and sensitive feeling for the qualities that he must seek. A
realism flattened to the requirement of mural decoration and formalized
to the needs of the technique of weaving, that still retains the
informality and charm of the illustration, can best be won by considering
the design as a pattern of silhouettes; for a silhouette is flat, and so
does not violate the structural flatness of the wall by bulging out in
high modeling. Moreover, it does give a broad, strong effect that can
carry across a large room. And, finally, it permits both of adaptation
in attitude and gesture to the needs of the story and of easy-flowing
lines that can reshape themselves to the changing folds of a textile. So,
to make good silhouettes, the figures in a good tapestry design will be
arranged in the widest, largest planes possible, as they are in a fine
Greek relief, and they will be outlined with clear, decisive, continuous
lines, definitive of character, expressive and vivacious.
The strength and vivacity of the outline is of prime significance in
tapestry design, even though in its final effect it appears not primarily
as a linear art, but rather as a color art. The outlines have to be both
clearly drawn in the cartoon and forcefully presented in the weave; for
they bear the burden both of the illustrative expressiveness and of the
decorative definition. If they are weakened in delineation or submerged
by the glow of the colors, the tapestry becomes confused in import,
weak in emphasis, and blurred in all its relations, while the charm and
interest of detail is quite lost. The too heavy lines of some of the
primitive tapestries are less a defect than the too delicate lines of the
later pieces designed by those who were primarily painters, and which
were too much adapted to the painting technique. The outlines in the
best tapestries are not only indicated with a good deal of force, but
these lines themselves have unflagging energy, unambiguous direction,
diversified movement, and unfaltering control.
In order to complete and establish the silhouette effect, the color in the
best tapestries is laid on in broad flat areas, each containing only a
limited number of tones. A gradual transition of tone through many shades
is undesirable, because such modulations convey an impression of relief
modeling, which is inappropriate and superfluous in an art of silhouette.
Then, again, these gradations at a little distance tend to fuse, and
thus somewhat blur the force and purity of the color; and, finally, a
considerable number of color transitions are ill-adapted to the character
of a textile, as they tend to make it appear too much like painting. Nor
are fluctuating tones and minute value-gradations necessary for a soft
and varied effect. The very quality of tapestry material accomplishes
that--first, because the ribbed surface breaks up the flatness of any
color area and gives it shimmering variations of light and shade, and,
second, because the wide folds natural to the material throw the flat
tones now into dark and now into light, thus by direct light and shade
differentiating values that in the dyes themselves are identical. Color in
tapestry can thus be used in purer, more saturated masses than in any form
of painting, not excepting even the greatest murals.
Flat silhouetted figures cannot of course be set in a three-dimensional
world. They would not fit. So the landscape, too, must be flattened out
into artificially simplified stages. This is also necessary both for
the architectural and the decorative effect of tapestry, for otherwise
the remote vistas tend to give the effect of holes in the wall, and the
distance, dimmed by atmosphere, is too pallid and empty to be interesting
as textile design. Yet the fact of perspective cannot be altogether
denied. Often the designer can avoid or limit the problem by cutting off
the farther views with a close screen of trees and buildings, and this has
also the advantage of giving a strong backdrop against which the figures
stand out firm and clear. But there are occasions in which a wider
field is essential for the purposes of illustration. The problem is how
to show a stretch of country and still keep it flat and full of detail.
In the most skillful periods of tapestry design the difficulty was met
by reducing the perspective to three or four sharply stepped levels of
distance, laid one above the other in informal horizontal strips. Aerial
perspective was disregarded, each strip being filled with details, all
sharply drawn but diminishing in size. The scene was thus kept relatively
flat, was adapted to flat figures, and was also filled with interesting
details.
This fullness of detail is important in tapestries and is the source
of much of their richness and charm. The great periods of weaving made
lavish use of an amazing variety of incidents and effects: the pattern
of a gown, jewels, the chasing or relief on a piece of armor, bits of
decorative architecture, carved furniture, and the numerous household
utensils, quaint in shape or suddenly vivid in color--all these, with
the innumerable flowers, the veritable menagerie of beasts, real and
imaginary, gayly patterned birds, as well as rivers, groves, and
mountains, make up the properties with which the designer fills his spaces
and creates a composition of inexhaustible resource and delight.
So with flat figures, strong outlines, deep, pure, and simple colors, a
flattened setting, and a wealth of details, the artist can make a tapestry
that will be at the same time both a representative and an expressive
illustration, an architectural wall decoration, and a sumptuous piece
of material. But even then he has not solved every difficulty; for
the tapestry cannot be merely beautiful in itself. It has to serve as
a background for a room and for the lives lived in it; so it must be
consonant in color and line quality with the furniture current at the
time it is made, and it must meet the prevailing interests of the people.
Moreover, while it must be rich enough to absorb the loitering attention,
it must also have sufficient repose and reserve and aloofness not to
intrude unbidden into the eye and not to be too wearyingly exciting--and
this last was sometimes no easy problem to solve when the designer was
bidden to illustrate a rapidly moving and dramatic tale. Sometimes, in
truth, he did not solve it, but sometimes he employed with subtle skill
the device of so dispersing his major points of action that until they are
examined carefully they merge into a general mass effect.
While the designers have at different periods met these various problems
in different ways and with varying skill, the technique of the weaving
has never been modified to any extent. For centuries this simple kind of
weaving has been done. In essentials it is the same as that used in the
most primitive kind of cloth manufacture. The warps are stretched on a
frame that may rest horizontally or stand upright. The shuttle full of
thread of the desired color is passed over and under the alternate warps,
the return reversing the order, now under the warps where it was before
over, and over where it was under. A comb is used to push the wefts
thus woven close together so that they entirely cover the warps. In the
finished tapestry the warps run horizontally across the design. A change
of colors in the weft-threads creates the pattern. In the more complex
patterns of later works the weaver follows the design drawn in outline
on his warps, or sometimes, in the horizontal looms, follows the pattern
drawn on a paper laid under his warps so that he looks down through them.
His color cues he takes from the fully painted cartoon suspended somewhere
near in easy view. Occasionally, in later pieces, to enrich the effect,
the simple tapestry weave is supplemented with another technique, such as
brocading (cf. No. 52), but this is rare.
All the earliest examples left to us of this kind of weaving are akin to
tapestry as we usually know it only in technique. They have practically no
bearing on the development of its design. Of the very earliest we have no
evidence left by which to judge. Homer, the Bible, and a number of Latin
authors all mention textiles that probably could be classed as tapestries;
but the references are too general to give us any definite clue as to the
treatment of the design. But from the VIth to the VIIIth century, the
Copts in Egypt produced many pieces, showing, usually in very small scale,
birds and animals and foliage, and even groups of people. Of these we have
many samples left. From various parts of Europe, primarily from Germany,
in the next two centuries we have a few famous examples. But these are
almost wholly without significant relation to the central development of
tapestry design. Tapestry, in our sense of the word, begins, as far as
extant examples are concerned, with the XIVth century.
From the XIVth to the end of the XVth century was the Gothic period.
Then tapestry was at its greatest height. More of the requisites of its
design were met, and met more adequately and more naturally, than by any
subsequent school of designers or any looms. As illustration, the tapestry
of the Gothic period is interesting, vivid, and provocative. The stories
and episodes that it presents were, to be sure, all part of the mental
content of the audience, so that they comprehended them more immediately
than we; but even without the literary background we follow them readily,
so adequate is their delineation. Moreover, they carry successfully almost
every narrative mood--humor, romance, lyricism, excitement, pathos, and
pure adventure--and, except in the traditional religious scenes, they
wisely eschew such tenser dramatic attitudes as a momentous climax,
long-sustained suspense, or profound tragedy. Finally, when they had a
good tale to tell, the Gothic designers rendered their episodes with a
fullness of incident and a vivacity of detail never again equaled.
As mural decorations, too, the Gothic tapestries are equally successful.
For the figures are always flat and, even while natural and animated,
are often slightly formalized and structural in drawing (cf. No. 10);
the outlines are clean and active, the colors strong and broad, the
vistas either eliminated as in the millefleurs (cf. No. 11) or completely
simplified (cf. No. 13), while the details are abundant and delightful.
Finally, they are among the most sumptuous textiles ever woven in the
Western World--sumptuous, not because of costly material, for they only
rarely use metal thread, and even silk is unusual, but sumptuous because
of the variety and magnificence of their designs and the splendor and
opulence of their color.
Thus the Gothic designers both appreciated and employed to the full all
of the æsthetic conditions of their art; yet they did not do this from
any theoretical comprehension of the medium. The supremacy of Gothic
tapestry rests on a broad basis. It is the final product of one of the
most vital and creative epochs in the history of art; its designers
were brought up in a great tradition, surrounded everywhere by the most
magnificent architectural monuments, accustomed to the habit of beauty in
small as well as great things, still inspired and nourished by the fertile
spirit that had created and triumphantly solved so many problems in the
field of art. A passion for perfection and an elevated and sophisticated
taste animated all of the crafts, of which tapestry was but one. The
full flowering of tapestry is contemporaneous with that of Limoges
enamel, paralleling it in many ways, even to the employment of the same
designers (cf. No. 7). Great armor was being made at the same time--armor
that exemplified as never before or since its inherent qualities and
possibilities: perfection of form and finish, a sensitive and expressive
surface, and exquisite decoration logically developed out of construction.
Furniture also achieved at that time a combination of strength with
natural and imaginative embellishments that still defies copy, while
the first publishers were producing the most beautiful books that have
ever been printed, unsurpassable in the clear and decorative silhouette
of the type, in the perfection of tone, and in the balanced spacing of
the composition. Other textile arts, such as that of velvet and brocade
weaving, reached the utmost heights of subtlety and magnificence. This
easy achievement of masterpieces in kindred fields, so characteristic of
great epochs, doubtless stimulated tapestry-weaving as it did every other
art.
This great achievement of the Gothic period in so many fields of art
was the natural flowering of the spirit of the time. Life for all was
limited in content, education as we understand it meager and ill-diffused,
opportunities for advancement for the individual about non-existent.
Despite these limitations--partly, indeed, because of them--and despite
the physical disorders of the age, there were, none the less, a simplicity
and unity of mind and an integrity of spirit that provided the basis
for great achievement. The spontaneous and tremendous energy, the
inexhaustible fertility that was an inheritance from their Frankish and
Germanic forbears were now moulded and controlled by common institutions,
by the acceptance of common points of view and the consciousness of
unified and fundamental principles of life, the acceptance of an
authoritative social system that defined and limited each man's ambitions.
All these factors prevented the protracted self-analysis, the aimless
criticism, the uncertainties and confusion of individual aims that consume
our energies, detract from our will, and impoverish our accomplishments.
Theirs was in no sense an ambiguous age; they were conscious of a
universal spirit, continuously pressing for expression in art which could
fortunately forge straight ahead to objective embodiment.
The stimulation of all of the arts had come in part, too, from the inrush
of culture from the Byzantine Empire, where traditions and riches had
been heaping up continuously ever since the Greek civilization had at its
height spilled over into the East. Every flood-tide of culture is created
by various streams of ideas and customs that have for generations taken
separate courses. All competent ethnologists are agreed that, no matter
what the native equipment of a people is, no matter how abundant are their
natural resources, how friendly and encouraging is their environment or
how threatening and stimulating, one stream of culture flowing alone
never rises to great heights. Invention, evolved organization, and
artistic production come only with the meeting and mingling of ideas and
habits. The East had first fertilized European intellectual creativeness
when the numerous Crusades and the sacking of Constantinople by the
Franks brought a wealth of novel and exciting ideas into France and the
neighboring territories in the XIth and XIIth centuries. There followed
the great period of cathedral-building with all the minor accompanying
artistic developments of the sculpture, the glass-painting, the manuscript
illuminating, the enameling, the lyrics of Southern France, and the
romances and fabliaux of Northern. This tide was ebbing slowly when a
second rush from the East incident to the fall of Constantinople in 1453
lifted it again. The art of tapestry was especially sensitive to this
second Byzantine influence. The industry was coming to its height; the
demand was already prodigious, the prices paid enormous, the workers
highly skilled and well organized. Tapestry was ready to assimilate any
relevant contribution. It enthusiastically took unto itself the sumptuous
luxury of the decadent Orient with its splendid fabrics, encrusted
architecture, complex patterns, and heavy glowing colors. The simple
Frankish spirit of the earlier pieces (cf. No. 2) was almost submerged by
the riotously extravagant opulence of the East (cf. Nos. 17, 18). On the
other hand, too, from the jewelry of Scandinavia, a remote descendant of
an ancient Oriental precedent, tapestry adopted examples of heavy richness
of design. And at the same time it took also from the Byzantine some of
the formality, the thickness of elaborate drapery, the conventionalization
of types, and the rigidity of drawing that had paralyzed the art of
Byzantium, but that in tapestry enhanced the architectural character and
so constituted a real addition. The tendency of the late XIVth century to
an absorption in an exact naturalism which might have immediately rushed
French and Flemish taste into the scientific realism of the Florentine
Renaissance was checked and deflected by the example and the memory of the
stiff carven form, the arrested gestures, and the fixed draperies of the
mosaics and manuscript illuminations of the Eastern Empire (cf. No. 8).
But aside from these general considerations, which were vital for the
creation of great tapestries, there was at work a specific principle
perhaps even more important. The manner of treatment which the tapestry
medium itself calls for was one which was native to the mind of the time
and which declared itself in a great variety of forms.
[Illustration:
Map Showing the
Principle centers of Production
of Gothic and early Renaissance
TAPESTRIES
drawn by
Arthur Upham Pope
For the San Francisco Museum of Art
Retrospective Loan Exhibition of Tapestries
Copyright 1922
]
In the first place, the Middle Ages were in spirit narrative. The bulk of
their literature was narrative--long historical or romantic poems with
endless sequences of continued episodes that never came to any dominating
climax. Their drama, too, was narrative, a story recounted through a
number of scenes that could be cut short at almost any point or could be
carried on indefinitely without destroying the structure, because there
was no inclusive unity in them, no returning of the theme on itself such
as distinguishes Greek drama or Shakespeare and which we demand in modern
times. Their religion and their ethics also were narrative, dependent,
for the common man, upon the life history of sacred individuals that both
explained the fundamental truths of the universe and set models for moral
behavior. And they were supplemented, too, by profane histories with
moralizing symbolism contrived to point the way to the good life, such as
we find in the _Roman de la Rose_ (cf. No. 4). Even their lesser ethics,
their etiquette, was narrative, derived from the fabric of chivalric
romance. And, again, their greatest art, their architecture, was adorned
with narrative, ornamented with multiple histories, so that even the
capital of a column told a tale. The whole world about them was narrative,
so that the painters and designers must needs think in narrative terms,
and hence as illustrators. The narrative features of the other arts also
lent them valuable examples for their tapestries. Most of their renderings
of religious stories were taken direct from the Mystery Plays (cf. No.
14), and some of their scenes were already familiar to them in stained
glass and church sculptures.
Moreover, narrative decorations were interesting and important to the
people of the XVth century because they had only very limited resources
for intellectual entertainment. Books were scarce, but even if plentiful
would have been of little use, for very few could read. The theatre for
the mass of the people was limited to occasional productions on church
holidays of Mystery and Miracle plays, and even for the great dukes these
were only meagerly supplemented by court entertainers. There was no
illustrated daily news, no moving pictures, no circuses, no menageries, no
easy travel to offer ready recreation. In our distractedly crowded life
today we are apt to forget how limited were the lives of our ancestors and
what pleasure, as a result, they could get from a woven story on their
walls.
In the second place, the Gothic designers, when they came to draw
their decorative illustrations, because of their inherited traditions,
naturally fell into a technique adapted to the architectual forms of
mural decoration. For all the art of the Middle Ages was the derivative
of architecture, and at its inception was controlled by it. The original
conception of the graphic arts in this period was the delineation on
a flat surface of sculpture--sculpture, moreover, that was basically
structural, because made as part of a building. So the painted figures
were heavily outlined silhouettes in a few broad planes with the poise
and the restraint essential to sculpture. These early statuesque figures,
familiar in the primitive manuscript illumination and stained-glass
windows, had, by the time the tapestries reached their apogee, been
modified by a fast-wakening naturalism. But the underlying idea of the
silhouette and of the poised body was not yet lost, and so it was natural
for tapestry designers to meet these requirements. The naturalism, on
the other hand, was just becoming strong enough to make the lines more
gracefully flowing and the details more varied and more delicate and exact
in drawing, so that the very transitional form of the art of the time made
it especially well adapted to a woven rendition.
In the third place, the cartoons, even if they were not quite right in
feeling when they came from the painter's hand, would be modified in the
translation into the weave by the workmen themselves; for the weavers at
that time were respected craftsmen with sufficient command of design to
make their own patterns for the less important orders, and were therefore
perfectly able to modify and enrich the details of the cartoon of even a
great painter. And no designer in the one medium of paint can ever fit his
theme to the other medium of wool quite as aptly as the man who is doing
the weaving himself.
Thus because the Gothic period happened to be a time when it was natural
for the artists to make vivacious and decorative illustrations in clear,
flat silhouettes with rich details, most of the Gothic tapestries have
some measure of artistic greatness, sufficient to put them above all
but the very greatest pieces of later times. Even when we discount the
additions that time and our changed attitude make, the beauty of softened
and blended colors, the charm of the unaccustomed and the quaint, the
interest of the unfamiliar costumes, the literary flavor of old romantic
times--even discounting these, they are still inherently superior. To be
sure, they are rarely pretty and are sometimes frankly ugly, but with
a tonic ugliness which possesses the deepest of all æsthetic merits,
stimulating vitality. They have verve, energy, a pungent vividness that
sharply reminds the beholder that he is alive. Their angular emphatic
silhouettes and pure, highly saturated, abruptly contrasted colors catch
and hold the attention and quicken all the vital responses that are
essential to clear perception and full appreciation. They are a standing
refutation of the many mistaken theories that would make the essence
of beauty consist merely in the balanced form and symmetry, or smooth
perfection of rendition, or photographic accuracy of representation. They
are a forceful and convincing demonstration that in the last analysis
beauty is the quality that arouses the fullest realization of life.
Within the common Gothic character there are clearly recorded local
differences: the division between the French and the Flemish, not
marked until the middle of the XVth century, because up to that time
the Franco-Flemish school was really one and continuous. It amalgamated
influences from both regions and absorbed a rather strong contribution
from Italy. The center of activity was at first Paris and then at the
courts of the Burgundian dukes. But after the middle of the century the
divergence is rapid and clear. The French is characterized by greater
simplicity, clarity, elegance, and delicacy. Even the strong uprush of
realism was held in check in France by decorative sensitiveness. The
most characteristic designs of the time are the millefleurs, the finer
being made in Touraine (cf. No. 8), the coarser in La Marche. The Flemish
decoration, on the other hand, is sumptuous, overflowing, sometimes
confused, always energetic, and strongly varied in detail. Nothing checks
the relentless realism that sometimes runs even to caricature and often
is fantastic (cf. the punishment scenes in No. 4). Typical of Flemish
abundance are the cartoons with multiple religious scenes, heavy with rich
draperies and gorgeous with infinite detail, yet not subordinating to
theme the human interest of many well-delineated types of character (cf.
No. 18). Brussels was the great center for the production of work of this
kind, but beautiful pieces were being produced in almost every city of the
Lowlands--Bruges, Tournai, Arras, and many more.
The German Gothic tapestry is quite different from both of these. It was
developed almost entirely independently, under quite other conditions.
While the French and Flemish shops grew up under the patronage of
the great and wealthy nobles, and worked primarily for these lavish
art-patrons, in Germany the nobles were impoverished and almost outcast;
there was scarcely a real court, and all the wealth lay in the hand of
the burghers, solid, practical folk who did not see much sense in art. So
while in France and in the Lowlands the workshops were highly organized
under great _entrepreneurs_, and the profits were liberal, in Germany
the workshops were very small, and many of the pieces were not made
professionally at all, but were the work of nuns in the convents or of
ladies in their many idle hours. Thus the industry that in France and
Flanders was definitely centered in the great cities such as Paris and
Brussels, in Germany was scattered through many towns, primarily, however,
those of south Germany and Switzerland. And, too, while the designs
for the French and Flemish pieces were specially made by manuscript
illuminators, painters, or professional cartoon designers, some of whom,
like Maître Philippe (cf. Nos. 17-19), conducted great studios, for the
German pieces the weavers themselves adapted the figures from one of the
woodcuts that were the popular art of the German people or from some book
illustration. So while the French and Flemish tapestries reached great
heights of skill and luxury, and really were a great art, the German
tapestry remained naïve and simple and most of its artistic value is the
product of that very naïveté.
Toward the close of the XVth century a change begins to appear in the
character of tapestry design. More and more often paintings are exactly
reproduced down to the last detail. At first sporadic products, the
reproductions of the work of such masters as Roger Van der Weyden and
Bernard Van Orley become more and more frequent until by the end of the
first quarter of the XVIth century they are a commonplace. Yet even though
tapestry is no longer entirely true to itself, these tapestry paintings
are nevertheless beautiful and fit. A woven painting has not yet become
an anomaly because painting in Northern Europe is still narrative and
decorative. There are still poise and restraint and clear flat silhouette
and rich detail.
It was not until tapestry plunged full into the tide of the Italian
Renaissance that it entirely lost its Gothic merits. But when, beginning
in 1515 with the arrival of Raphael's cartoons for the Pope's _Apostle_
series, the weavers of the North began to depend more and more for their
designs on the painters of the South and on painters trained in the
South, the character of tapestry completely changed. True, tapestry in
the old style was still made for two decades, but in diminishing numbers.
The Renaissance had the field. In place of endlessly varied detail, the
designers sought for instantly impressive effects, and these are of
necessity obvious. Every-thing grew larger, coarser, more insistent
on attention. Figures were monumental, floreation bold and strong,
architecture massive. Even the verdures developed a new manner; great
scrolling acanthus-leaves and exotic birds (cf. No. 33) took the place of
the delicate field flowers and pigeons and songsters. Drama took the place
of narrative. On many pieces metal thread was lavished in abundance. The
whole flagrant richness of the newly modern world was called into play.
For the first time also with Renaissance tapestry, it becomes relevant to
ask, Do they look like the scenes they depict?--for realism was in the
full tide of its power. A hundred and fifty years before the Renaissance
realism had begun to develop, inspired by the naturalism of Aristotle,
whose influence had gradually filtered down from the schools to the
people, and throughout the XIVth and early XVth century it had been slowly
growing. The hunting tapestries of the first part of the XVth century are
early examples of it. But the Gothic realism was an attempt to convey
the impression of the familiar incidents of life, to get expressive
gestures, to record characteristic bits of portraiture, whether of
people or things or episodes, so that a Gothic tapestry can be adjudged
naturalistically successful if it carries strongly the spirit and effect
of a situation regardless of whether the drawing is quite true or not (cf.
No. 2). Renaissance realism, on the other hand, is not satisfied with the
impression, but strives for the fact. It wishes to depict not only the
world as one sees it, but as one knows it to be--knows it, moreover, after
long and careful study. So in all Renaissance graphic art correct anatomy
becomes of importance, solid modeling is essential, and all details must
be specific.
Yet, though tapestry in the Renaissance was no longer illustrative in
the old sense, it still was decoratively fine; for the painting of Italy
was founded on a mural art, and the decorative traditions still held
true. Outlines are still clear and expressive. There was respect for
architectural structure, and details, if less complex and sensitive, are
still rich and full. Color, too, is still strong and pure, though the key
is heightened somewhat and the number of tones increased. Moreover, the
Renaissance introduced two important new resources, the wide border and
the grotesque. Hitherto the border had been a narrow floral garland, a
minor adjunct easily omitted. Now it became of major importance, always
essential to the beauty of the piece, often the most beautiful part of
it, designed with great resource and frequently interwoven with gold and
silver. The grotesque, from being originally a border decoration, soon
spread itself over the whole field (cf. No. 36), mingling with amusing
incongruity but with decorative consistency goats and fair ladies,
trellis, flowers, and heraldic devices. What the Renaissance lacked in
subtlety it made up in abundance.
During the Renaissance the tapestry industry was dominated by the Flemish
cities, with Brussels at the head. She had the greatest looms, great both
for the exceeding skill of the workers and for the enormous quantity of
the production. Some workshops, of which the most famous was that of
the Pannemaker family, specialized in exquisitely fine work rendered in
the richest materials. Of this class, the most typical examples are the
miniature religious tapestries in silk and metal thread, in which all
the perfection of a painting was united with the sumptuousness of a most
extravagant textile (cf. No. 35). But sometimes full-sized wall-hangings
too were done with the same perfection and elaboration (cf. Nos. 23-25).
Other shops sacrificed the perfection of workmanship to a large output,
but even in the most commercially organized houses the weavers of Flanders
in the XVIth century were able and conscientious craftsmen.
These same Flemish workmen were called to different countries in Europe
to establish local looms. So Italy had several small temporary ateliers
at this period, as did England also (cf. No. 32). But though these shops
were in Italy and England, they were still predominantly Flemish. The
character of local decoration and local demand influenced the design
somewhat, but fundamentally the products both in cartoon and in weave
were still those of the mother country. In France, however, the Flemish
workmen were made the tools of the beginning of a new national revival
of the art. A group of weavers was called to Fontainebleau, where, under
the extravagant patronage of Francis I, the French Renaissance was taking
form. These Flemings, weaving designs made by Italians, nevertheless
created decorative textiles that are typically French in spirit (cf. No.
37). France alone had a strong enough artistic character to refashion the
conventions of Italy and the technique of Flanders to a national idiom.
In the next century this revival of the art which survived at
Fontainebleau barely fifty years was carried on in several ateliers at
Paris. The workmen were still predominantly Flemish, but again their work
was unmistakably French (cf. No. 38). In Trinity Hospital looms had been
maintained since the middle of the XVIth century. In the gallery of the
Louvre looms were set up about 1607. And the third and most important
shop was established by Marc de Comans and François de la Planche at
the invitation of the king. This was most important, because it later
was moved to the Bièvre River, where the Gobelins family had its old
dye-works, and it eventually became the great state manufactory.
Thereafter for the next two centuries the looms of Flanders and France
worked in competition. Now one, now the other took precedence, but France
had a slowly increasing superiority that by the middle of the XVIIIth
century put her two royal looms, the Gobelin and Beauvais, definitely in
the forefront of the industry.
For cartoons the looms of the two countries called on the great painters
of the time, often requisitioning the work of the same painters, and
sometimes even using the very same designs. Thus Van der Meulen worked
both for Brussels manufacturers (cf. Nos. 53-56) and for the French state
looms (cf. No. 52), and the Gobelin adapted to its uses the old Lucas
_Months_ that had originated in Flanders (cf. Nos. 57, 58.)
But though they did thus parallel each other in cartoons, the finished
tapestries nevertheless retained their national differences. As in the
Gothic period, the Flemish tapestries in all respects showed a tendency
to somewhat overdo. Their figures were larger, their borders crushed
fuller of flowers and fruit, their verdures heavier, their grotesques more
heterogeneous, their metal threads solider. Their abundance was rich and
decorative, but lacking in refinement and grace. The French, on the other
hand, kept always a certain detachment and restraint that made for clarity
and often delicacy. When the Baroque taste demanded huge active figures,
the French still kept theirs well within the frame. Their borders were
always spaced and usually more abstract. The verdures of Aubusson can be
distinguished from those of Audenarde by the fewer leaves, the lighter
massing, the more dispersed lights and shades. The grotesques of France,
especially in the XVIIIth century, often controlled the random fancy
popularized among the Flemish weavers by introducing a central idea, a
goddess above whom they could group the proper attributes (cf. No. 36), or
a court fête (cf. No. 59). And when the French used metal thread it was to
enrich a limited space rather than to weight a whole tapestry. In a way
the opulence of the Flemish was better adapted to the medium. Certainly it
produced some very beautiful tapestries. But the refinement of the French
is a little more sympathetic to an overcivilized age.
With the accession of Louis XV, tapestry joined the other textile arts and
painting in following furniture styles. Thereafter, until the advent of
machinery put an end to tapestry as a significant art, the cabinetmaker
led all the other decorators. Small pieces with small designs, light
colors, delicate floral ornaments, and the reigning temporary fad--now the
Chinese taste (cf. No. 71), now the pastoral (cf. No. 68)--occupied the
attention of the cartoonmakers, so that the chief occupations of the court
beauties of each successive decade can be read in the tapestries.
During this time France was dictating the fashions of all the Western
World, so other countries were eager not only to have her tapestries, but
to have her workmen weave for them in their own capitals. Accordingly, the
royal family of Russia, always foreign in its tastes, sent for a group of
weavers to set up a royal Russian tapestry works. Similarly, Spain sent
for a Frenchman to direct her principal looms, those at Santa Barbara and
Madrid, which for a decade or so had been running under a Fleming.
And meanwhile tapestry was steadily becoming more and more another form
of painting. Until the middle of the XVIIIth century it remains primarily
illustrative. The Renaissance designers continued to tell historical and
biblical stories and to fashion the designs in the service of the tale
they had to tell. With the influence of Rubens and his school (cf. No.
44), the story becomes chiefly the excuse for the composition; but the
story is nevertheless still there and adequately presented. The artists of
Louis XIV, when called upon to celebrate their king in tapestry, respected
this quality of the art by depicting his history and his military exploits
(cf. No. 52). But illustration already begins to run thin in the series
of the royal residences done by the Gobelins during his reign, and with
the style of his successor it runs out almost altogether. If Boucher
paints the series of the _Loves of the Gods_ it is not for the sake of the
mythology, but for the rosy flesh and floating drapes, and Fragonard does
not even bother to think of an excuse, but makes his languid nudes simply
bathers (cf. No. 69). So when Louis XV is to be celebrated by his weavers
the designers make one effort to invent a story by depicting his hunts,
and then abandon episode and substitute portraiture (cf. No. 64).
Throughout most of the Renaissance, tapestry remained decorative as
a mural painting is decorative, but in the XVIIth century, with the
degeneration of all architectual feeling, tapestry lost entirely its
architectual character. It was still decorative--it was decorative as the
painting of the time was. The tapestries of the XVIIth century are giant
easel paintings, and of the XVIIIth century woven panel paintings.
As to the textile quality, during the XVIIth century the very scale of the
pieces kept them somewhat true to it. The large figures, heavy foliage,
and big floral ornaments can fall successfully into wide, soft folds. But
most of the tapestry of the XVIIIth century must be stretched and set in
panels or frames. That they are woven is incidental, a fact to call forth
wonder for the skill of the workmen, both of the dyers who perfected the
numberless slight gradations of delicate tones and kept them constant,
and of the almost unbelievably deft weavers who could ply the shuttle
so finely and exactly and grade these delicate tones to reproduce soft
modeled flesh, fluttering draperies, billowing clouds, spraying fountains,
and the sheen and folds of different materials. But that they are woven
is scarcely a fact to be considered in the artistic estimate. The only
advantage of the woven decorations over the painted panel is that they
present a softer surface to relieve the cold glitter of rooms. Otherwise
as paintings they stand or fall. Even the border has usually been reduced
to a simulated wood or stucco frame.
During this gradual change through five hundred years in the artistic
qualities of tapestry the technical tricks of the weavers underwent
corresponding modification. In the Gothic period the drawing depended
primarily upon a strong dark outline, black or brown, that was unbroken,
and that was especially important whether the design was affiliated
rather with panel painting (cf. No. 1) or with the more graphic miniature
illustration (cf. No. 5). Even the lesser accessories were all drawn
in clear outline. Within a given color area, transitions from tone to
tone were made by hatchings, little bars of irregular length of one of
the shades that fitted into alternate bars of the other shade, like the
teeth of two combs interlocked. And for shadows and emphasis of certain
outlines, some of the Gothic weavers had a very clever trick of dropping
stitches (cf. No. 1), so that a series of small holes in the fabric takes
the place of a dark line. During the Renaissance the outline becomes much
narrower, and is used only for the major figures, a device that sometimes
makes the figures look as if they had been cut out and applied to the
design. Hatching, if used at all, is much finer than in the earlier usage,
consisting now of only single lines of one color shading into the next.
In the work of Fontainbleau (cf. Nos. 36, 37), the dotted series of holes
between colors is still used to give a subordinate outline. During the
XVIIth century hatching is scarcely used at all, and the outline has
practically disappeared. During the XVIIIth century the French weavers
perfected a trick which obviated any break in the weave where the color
changes, thus enabling tapestry to approximate even closer to painting
effects.
To the weavers who adjusted these tricks to the varying demands of the
cartoons, and so translated painted patterns in a woven fabric, is due
quite as much credit for the finished work of art as to the painters who
first made the design. Famous painters did prepare tapestry designs. Aside
from the masters of the Middle Ages to whom tapestries are attributed, we
have positive evidence that, among others, Jacques Daret, Roger Van der
Weyden, Raphael, Giulio Romano (cf. Nos. 23-25), Le Brun, Rubens, Coypel
(cf. Nos. 62, 63), Boucher (cf. Nos. 67, 68), Watteau, Fragonard (cf. No.
69), and Vernet (cf. No. 70), all worked on tapestry designs. The master
weavers who could transpose their designs deserve to rank with them in
honor.
Yet we know relatively little of these master weavers. Many names of
tapicers appear in tax-lists and other documents, but not until the
XVIIIth century do the names often represent to us definite personalities,
and until then we can only occasionally credit a man with his surviving
work. From the long lists of names and the great numbers of remaining
tapestries a few only can be connected. Among the greatest of these is
Nicolas Bataille, of Paris, who wove the famous set of the _Apocalypse_
now in the Cathedral of Angers; Pasquier Grenier, of Tournai, to whom the
_Wars of Troy_ and related sets can be accredited (cf. No. 7), but who
apparently was an _entrepreneur_ rather than a weaver; Pieter Van Aelst,
who was so renowned that the cartoons of Raphael were first entrusted
to him; William Pannemaker, another Brussels man, who had supreme taste
and skill, and his relative Pierre, almost as skilful; Marc Comans and
François de la Planche, the Flemings who set up the looms in Paris that
developed into the Gobelins (cf. No. 38); Jean Lefébvre, who worked first
in the gallery of the Louvre and then had his studio in the Gobelins
(cf. Nos. 39, 40); the Van der Beurchts, of Brussels (cf. Nos. 42, 56),
and Leyniers (cf. Nos. 26, 27), and Cozette, most famous weaver of the
Gobelins. Such men as these, and many more whose names are lost or are
neglected because we do not know their work, were in their medium as
important artists as the painters whose designs they followed.
With the passing of such master craftsmen the art of tapestry died. When
men must compete with machines their work is no more respected, and so
tapestry is no longer the natural medium of expression for the culture
of the times. Tapestries are still being made, but there is no genuine
vitality in the art and little merit in its product. It exists today only
as an exhausted and irrelevant persistence from the past, and, as a fine
art, doomed to failure and ultimate extinction.