No. 2.
THREE CHILDREN, ARCHDUCHESSES OF AUSTRIA.
THREE CHILDREN, ARCHDUCHESSES OF AUSTRIA.
THREE CHILDREN, ARCHDUCHESSES OF AUSTRIA.
White quilted frocks. One child holds a bird. One is in a cradle with a blue coverlet.
By Titian.
By Titian.
By Titian.
No. 3.
ANDREA VANNUCCHI DETTO DEL SARTO.
ANDREA VANNUCCHI DETTO DEL SARTO.
ANDREA VANNUCCHI DETTO DEL SARTO.
Seated writing at a table, with striped cover. Black dress and cap.
BORN 1488, DIED 1530.By Himself.
BORN 1488, DIED 1530.By Himself.
BORN 1488, DIED 1530.
By Himself.
HE was the son of a tailor in Florence; and this trade, which is so often (for one reason or another) spoken of derisively in England, has surely gained to Italian ears a species of glorification, from the sobriquet attached to this illustrious painter. When only seven years old, the little Andrea was taken from the school where he received instruction in reading and writing, and placed with a goldsmith in the city. Even at that tender age his predilection for drawing, and even designing, showed itself, and, in like manner, his aversion to handling the mechanical instruments used in the handicraft. Indeed, the boy’s drawings were so clever as to attract the attention of one Gian Barile, a Florentine painter; so much so, that he did not rest until hehad secured Andrea for his own studio; and as old Vasari quaintly says, ‘No sooner did the boy begin to exercise himself in the art of painting than he acknowledged that Nature had created him for that employment.’ In a very short space of time, Andrea, or Del Sarto, as he was called, produced such excellent pieces of colour as to excite the admiration of his master and all the artists in Florence, more especially Piero Cosimo, whose works were much esteemed in the city, and who proceeded to engage Andrea as his pupil. Nothing could be more diligent than the young man proved himself, studying and copying the cartoons of Michel Angelo, Leonardo da Vinci, etc., which were allotted the scholars as models; and he surpassed all his fellow-workers in the studio and academy, with one of whom, Francia Bigio, he soon formed an intimate friendship. One day, working, as was their custom, side by side, the two young men began to compare notes, with respect to the manner in which they were treated by their respective masters; they had each complaints to make; they were each discontented with their lot. After some little discussion, they resolved to set up house, or rather to take a room, together, which they accordingly did, in the Piazza del Grano. Here they laboured diligently, painting chiefly sacred subjects for galleries, churches, etc., both in oil and in fresco. There was at that time a confraternity, ‘Detto del Scalzo,’ whose meetings were held in the Via Larga. They were formed for the most part of the artificers of the city, but included men of all classes, who met for charitable and religious purposes; although not essentially a religious order, they took the name of The Scalzo, from the fact that when they met in prayer, or to walk in procession, they went barefoot. This company was most desirous that Andrea del Sarto should adorn the walls of their court with paintings from the life of their patron saint, St. John the Baptist. The company was not very wealthy, neitherwas our painter grasping, whatever may have been said of him later on, when subjected to a bad influence. He cheerfully undertook the work for a small remuneration, and reaped his reward, for these frescoes added so considerably to his fame that innumerable orders came in from all sides. He now moved to better quarters (in company with Francia Bigio), from the Piazza del Grano to a house situated in the neighbourhood of the Annunziata, where he made acquaintance with Jacopo Tatti, better known as the celebrated Sansovino, in whose society and conversation Andrea took so much delight that the two young enthusiasts in art became almost inseparable. Del Sarto was now gaining a good income, and might have been happy in the company of his friends, and the pursuit of his beloved art, but for a false step which involved his whole life in ruin and disaster. In the Via San Gallo lived a certain hatter, who had married Lucrezia Bartolommeo de Fede, the daughter of indigent and ill-conditioned parents. She was a young woman of exceeding beauty, violent and arrogant by nature, exercising a tyrannical influence over her many admirers, of whom Andrea was one of the most infatuated. Unfortunately for our painter, the husband died suddenly, and nothing would content Del Sarto but he would immediately espouse his inamorata. From the very beginning of their married life she possessed such a mastery over him that he was her slave in everything, and spent all his time and money on her and her relations, neglecting, in consequence, his own aged parents, whom he had hitherto supported. His friends shunned his society, his servants quitted his service, so ungenial and unamiable was the behaviour of Lucrezia.
The fame of Del Sarto’s great talent had reached the ears of FrancisI., King of France, who gave him orders for pictures, and invited him to Paris—a proposition which smiled upon Andrea; but he was detained in Florence to assist in the splendid decorations of the city, in which allthe painters, sculptors, and architects were employed, to celebrate the triumphal entry of Pope LeoX., of the house of Medici; and the beautiful works of Andrea on this occasion inspired his Holiness with unqualified admiration. The unworthy woman to whom he was united interfered with his advancement in every way; although unable to throw off the spell by which she bound him, he began to find her tyranny irksome, and he listened to the advice of a friend, who bade him separate from her for a season, and assert his independence. This was in 1518, when FrancisI., having renewed his invitation to our painter to enter his service, Del Sarto gladly accepted the money which had been sent him for the journey, and proceeded to Paris, where the King received him with every mark of distinction, and gave him a settled salary, together with gifts and garments of most costly description. Caressed and admired by the monarch and his whole Court, Andrea set to work in high spirits, and began, as it were, a new life. Amongst other pictures, he painted one of the King’s infant son, in rich swaddling-clothes, which so delighted Francis that he gave the artist on the spot three hundred dollars. This was a happy period in Andrea’s life; he painted numerous portraits and historical and sacred pictures for the King and his courtiers, and was much esteemed by all. These halcyon days were not destined to be of long duration. He was occupied in finishing a St. Jerome for the Queen-Mother when he received a letter from his evil genius; in this epistle Lucrezia appealed to his affection, his compassion, his duty as a husband, coaxing, menacing, exciting his easily roused feelings, and working on them so strongly as to make him seek the Royal presence and ask leave of absence, promising to return shortly with his wife, and to bring with him some fine works of painting and sculpture. He pledged his solemn word to this effect, and the generous-hearted King furnished him with fresh funds for the journey and the commission.
On his arrival in Florence, once more under the sway of his unworthy wife, Andrea gave in to her every wish, and with the money that he had made, and, it is also to be feared, the sums intrusted to him by the French King, he built a house, and lavished large sums on Lucrezia and her family, still to the detriment of his own parents. When the time of his leave had expired, he made a feeble attempt to return to his duty, but he could not withstand the prayers, tears, and expostulations of his wife, and thus broke his plighted word, and relinquished his hopes of honourable advancement in France. The King, exasperated at such conduct, expressed himself in most indignant terms, and vowed he would never harbour another painter from Florence. Thus was Andrea hurled from a high and honourable estate by the wicked woman he had made his wife,—the model for almost every picture he painted, sacred or secular, and whose lineaments were so vividly impressed on his memory that he often involuntarily reproduced them on canvas.
LeoX.had given a commission for the ornamentation and decoration of the dome of the great hall at Poggi a Cajano, one of the Medicean villas near Florence, to be executed in stucco and frescoes by the best Florentine artists, and Andrea’s contribution on that occasion is described in glowing terms by his admirer Vasari. It represented Cæsar receiving the present of innumerable animals of every description, the delineation of which, in their truth and variety, could not be surpassed. He interspersed the birds and beasts with Oriental natives in picturesque costume, and we quote Vasari’s words, ‘Altre belle fantasie, lavorate in fresco divinissimamente.’ The choice of this subject was supposed to convey an allusion to the menagerie of animals which had been sent to Lorenzo the Magnificent some years before by an Eastern potentate.
The works at Poggi a Cajano were stopped in consequenceof the death of Pope Leo, and Andrea’s fresco was afterwards finished by Bronzino. He began bitterly to repent his ingratitude to the French King, and if he had had the slightest hope of obtaining pardon, he would have risked going to Paris. Several times he resolved to send some of his best pictures to the French capital, with the chance of their meeting the King’s eye, but the idea was relinquished. In 1523 the beautiful city of Florence and its environs were visited by the plague, which caused a terrible mortality; but in that country everything that happens seems to tend to picturesque and poetical results, and all the world knows how Boccaccio glorified that affliction by the production of hisDecameron.
Andrea, with his wife and daughter-in-law, her sister, and a child, desirous of escaping from the infected neighbourhood, and at the same time to continue his labours, gladly accepted an order from the nuns of San Pier de Luco, of the Order of Camaldoli, to paint for them a Pieta in their convent at Mugello. In consequence of these holy women caressing and making much of the painter, his wife, and the whole ‘troop,’ he determined to stay on for some time in that place, and set himself to work with great zeal and delight. Vasari’s descriptions of the beauty and pathos of these paintings are most eloquent in their old-world style of expression; we regret we have no space for extracts. On his return to Florence, Del Sarto resumed his labours, and executed orders without number, chiefly on sacred subjects. He was as skilful in his copying as in his original paintings, and a curious anecdote is given in illustration of this fact.
Frederick, the second Duke of Mantua, in his passage through Florence to do homage to Pope ClementVII., saw the celebrated portrait of Pope LeoX., with two Cardinals, the work of the immortal Raphael d’Urbino, with which he was so much struck, as to excite in him an inordinate desire topossess that splendid picture; and he made so urgent a request to his Holiness that Clement knew not how to refuse him, but sent Ottaviano de Medici, his kinsman, an order to send the painting to Mantua.
This command was received with dismay at Florence,—for was not that portrait one of the glories of the city? In this strait Ottaviano sent for Andrea, took counsel with him, and it was arranged between them that Del Sarto should make an exact copy of thiscapo d’ operaof Raphael, which he executed with such skill in every respect,—not only as regarded the excellence of the drawing and colouring, but also the reproduction of certain little marks and after-touches and other details,—so much so that, when completed, Ottaviano himself confessed he could scarcely detect the original. The two conspirators were delighted with the success of their scheme, and the Duke was in like manner delighted with the picture when it was unpacked at Mantua. Giulio Romano, Raphael’s disciple and own familiar friend, who was there at the time, never doubted its authenticity for a moment. But there was a small bird of the air that carried the matter, and this was young Giorgio Vasari, who had been brought up in the household of the Medici, and who, when asked by Giulio Romano if he did not think the portrait in question a splendid work of Raphael, replied that it was indeed splendid, although not the work of Raphael, but of Andrea del Sarto. ‘As if it were likely,’ said Giulio, ‘that I should not recognise the painting! Why, I can see the very touches I myself added to it.’ ‘For all that,’ persisted the youth, ‘this picture is from the hands of Del Sarto, and I saw him working at it with my own eyes; and I will prove it to you. If you will look at the back, you will see a mark which shows that it was executed in Florence.’ Giulio Romano turned the picture, and finding the mark which confirmed Vasari’s words, he could only shrug his shoulders and acknowledge the wonderfultalent of the painter, who had made a perfect facsimile of one of Raphael’s masterpieces.
Yet one more anecdote, to illustrate the admiration which Andrea’s works inspired, and we have done.
At the siege of Florence, in 1529, the infuriated soldiery were sacking the town, especially the sacred buildings. They had already destroyed the church and belfry of San Salvi, and rushing into the convent, undisciplined as they were, their attention was arrested by the fresco of Andrea del Sarto’s Last Supper, by some esteemed the rival of Leonardo’s Cenacolo at Milan. This divine painting had such an effect on the minds of those rude men, excited as they were, that, after gazing on it for a short time in reverence, they left the room in silence, thus sparing that incomparable work for the wonder and reverence of upwards of three centuries. After the siege was over, Andrea still cherished a hope of some day regaining the favour of FrancisI., and kept revolving in his mind how to do so, when he was taken suddenly ill. Some soldiers who had returned to Florence were said to have brought back the plague, and food was supposed to have become infected. Whether or not Andrea’s sickness were of this nature, it is certain he took to his bed, and gave himself up for lost. His worthless wife fled in terror, leaving him to die alone, without help or comfort. The brethren Del Scalzo, for whom he had worked so assiduously, gave him burial, though with great haste and little ceremony, and a monument was raised to him in the Annunziata by one of his pupils, with a Latin epitaph, most eulogistic. Lucrezia del Fede survived Andrea many years, and received payment after his death for the works of that husband whose life she had helped to make miserable. Her death took place in 1570.
No. 4.
PORTRAIT OF AN ITALIAN LADY.By Andrea del Sarto.
PORTRAIT OF AN ITALIAN LADY.By Andrea del Sarto.
PORTRAIT OF AN ITALIAN LADY.
By Andrea del Sarto.
No. 5.
PORTRAIT, SUPPOSED TO BE THAT OF THE FATTORE OF SAN MARCO, AT FLORENCE.By Andrea del Sarto.
PORTRAIT, SUPPOSED TO BE THAT OF THE FATTORE OF SAN MARCO, AT FLORENCE.By Andrea del Sarto.
PORTRAIT, SUPPOSED TO BE THAT OF THE FATTORE OF SAN MARCO, AT FLORENCE.
By Andrea del Sarto.
No. 6.
ANDREA DEL SARTO.Nearly the same dress and attitude as the former Portrait.By Himself.
ANDREA DEL SARTO.Nearly the same dress and attitude as the former Portrait.By Himself.
ANDREA DEL SARTO.
Nearly the same dress and attitude as the former Portrait.
By Himself.
No. 7.
TOMMASO GUIDI, DETTO MASACCIO.Bright scarlet suit. Black cap.BORN 1402, DIED 1443. DATES NOT VERY CERTAIN.
TOMMASO GUIDI, DETTO MASACCIO.Bright scarlet suit. Black cap.BORN 1402, DIED 1443. DATES NOT VERY CERTAIN.
TOMMASO GUIDI, DETTO MASACCIO.
Bright scarlet suit. Black cap.
BORN 1402, DIED 1443. DATES NOT VERY CERTAIN.
SON of Ser Giovanni Simone, da Castello di San Giovanni, in Val d’Arno. From his earliest years he cared for nothing but art. Nature designed him for a painter, and no other amusement or occupation had any charms for Tommaso. He cared not for money, he did not study his appearance as is the way with most youths, and from a certain recklessness and lack of interest in his surroundings, he acquired for himself theepithet of Masaccio,—most assuredly not from any bad quality that could be discovered in him, for he was goodness itself. His masters were Masolino de Panicale in painting, Ghiberti and Donatello in sculpture, and Brunelleschi in perspective. Could the young aspirant have had more illustrious teachers?
He worked assiduously, and received many commissions, chiefly for the decoration of churches, both in Florence and Pisa, the excellence of which gained him the friendship and patronage of Cosimo de Medici, who was always ready to encourage merit in any branch, more especially in the fine arts. When dark days fell on Florence, and Cosimo was exiled, Masaccio determined to go to Rome and study the antique. The Pope gave him many orders, and his paintings in Santa Maria Maggiore gained him lasting fame, and called forth enthusiastic expressions of admiration from Michel Angelo many years later. Masaccio was very fond of introducing portraits into his pictures and frescoes, and in this church he painted Pope Martin and the Emperor SigismundII.He was busied over the façade of San Giovanni, when, hearing his friend Cosimo had been recalled to Florence, he lost no time in joining him. Cosimo gave him orders innumerable, and the facility with which Masaccio executed them was only equalled by their excellence. The notice which was taken of him in high places, and the superiority of his talents, caused great jealousy among his fellow-artists, but he worked on. In the church of the Carmine he painted a procession of citizens repairing to the consecration of the sacred building, introducing therein innumerable portraits, amongst others his masters, Masolino, Brunelleschi, Donatello, etc.,—all marvellous, says Vasari, in their truth and beauty. Later on, in a painting of St. Peter paying tribute, he depicted his own likeness, taken from the reflection in a looking-glass, which is described as to the very life.
He was attacked by sudden illness in the midst of his successful career, under which he soon succumbed, and was buried in the church of the Carmine without an epitaph on the stone, but Annibal Caro wrote the following in later years:—
‘Pinsi, e la mia Pittura, al ver, fu pari;L’ atteggiai, l’ avvivai, le diedi il motoLe diedi affetto. Insegni il BonarrotoA tutti gli altri, e da me solo impari.’
‘Pinsi, e la mia Pittura, al ver, fu pari;L’ atteggiai, l’ avvivai, le diedi il motoLe diedi affetto. Insegni il BonarrotoA tutti gli altri, e da me solo impari.’
‘Pinsi, e la mia Pittura, al ver, fu pari;L’ atteggiai, l’ avvivai, le diedi il motoLe diedi affetto. Insegni il BonarrotoA tutti gli altri, e da me solo impari.’
‘Pinsi, e la mia Pittura, al ver, fu pari;
L’ atteggiai, l’ avvivai, le diedi il moto
Le diedi affetto. Insegni il Bonarroto
A tutti gli altri, e da me solo impari.’
No. 8.
ALGERNON PERCY, EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.Black dress. White collar. Blue ribbon.BORN 1602, DIED 1668.By Vandyck.
ALGERNON PERCY, EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.Black dress. White collar. Blue ribbon.BORN 1602, DIED 1668.By Vandyck.
ALGERNON PERCY, EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
Black dress. White collar. Blue ribbon.
BORN 1602, DIED 1668.
By Vandyck.
THE third son of Henry Percy, ninth Earl of Northumberland, by Dorothy, daughter of Walter Devereux, Earl of Sussex. Educated at Christ Church, Oxford, under Robert Hughes, the celebrated mathematician, and in 1616 was one of the youthful Knights of the Bath at the creation of Charles, Prince of Wales.
On the accession of that Prince to the Throne, he was called by writ to the House of Peers (his father being then alive) as Baron Percy.
He afterwards, as Privy Councillor, attended the King to Scotland for his coronation, having by that time succeeded to his father’s titles and estates.
In 1636 he had the command of a noble fleet,—the largest, says Lodge, since the death of Queen Elizabeth.
Lord Northumberland was much commended for his services in the expedition against the Dutch fishery, making advantageous terms for the King of England, after which he turned his time and thoughts to reforming many abuses then prevalent in the Navy.
In 1637 he was named Lord High Admiral, and in 1639 commander of the troops marching against the Scots, but was prevented—so he pleaded—from joining the army by illness, when the real command devolved on the Earl of Stafford. Clarendon says, ‘Lord Northumberland was chosen for ornament.’ It appears by a letter to his brother-in-law (Lord Leicester) that he had most gloomy forebodings as to the result of the enterprise, which ‘it grieves my soul to be involved in.’ An incident occurred shortly afterwards, which does not redound to the credit of the Earl of Northumberland.
We will give an abridged account of Lord Clarendon’s version. Henry Percy, a zealous Royalist, brother to the Earl of Northumberland, was on his way to France, on the King’s service, just at the time that the Commons had petitioned Charles to prohibit any of his servants leaving England. Striving to embark, he was attacked and wounded by the people of the Sussex coast, and narrowly escaped with his life to a place of concealment, whence he wrote to his brother in a private and confidential manner. Northumberland carried the letter to the House of Commons (which had already voted an impeachment of high treason against Henry Percy), and laid the document upon the table. Clarendon makes but a lame defence for his conduct on the part of the elder brother, who was, he said, ‘in great trouble how to send Henry in safety beyond seas, when his wound was cured, he having taken shelter at Northumberland House.’
But the end of the matter was, that Henry did escape fromEngland, and there was enmity between the brethren from that day forth. This was the first time in which Northumberland ‘showed his defection from the King’s cause, and Charles had been a good friend to him, and laden him with bounties.’
He acted in direct opposition to the King’s commands, when he obeyed those of the Parliament, to equip the Royal Navy, and to appoint the Earl of Warwick Admiral of the Fleet.
In 1642 he resigned his commission of Lord High Admiral, and openly abandoned his allegiance, siding with the Parliamentarians; and though their faith was rather shaken in him on one occasion, he was too valuable an ally to quarrel with.
Northumberland was appointed head of the Commissioners employed to negotiate with the King, in the several treaties of Oxford, Uxbridge, etc., and was intrusted with the custody of the Royal children, which he retained until the King’s death. It would appear that he had at least the grace to facilitate their interviews with their unhappy and loving father, and that he cared for the wellbeing of his Royal wards. They were subsequently committed to the guardianship of his sister, the Countess of Leicester, and were removed to her Lord’s house of Penshurst in Kent.
Words, in truth, Lord Northumberland used to prevent the execution of the King, but his deeds had hastened the catastrophe. We are told he ‘detested the murder.’ Immediately after Charles’s death Northumberland repaired to his seat at Petworth, in Sussex, where he remained until 1660, when he joined Monck in his exertions to bring about the Restoration. He held no public office under CharlesII., excepting the Lord-Lieutenancies of Sussex and Northumberland. Clarendon, in a long character of him, says: ‘His temper and reservedness in discourse got him the reputation of a wise man. In his own family no one was ever more absolutelyobeyed, or had fewer idle words to answer for;’ and, alluding to his defection from the Royal cause, ‘After he was first prevailed upon not to do that which in honour and gratitude he was obliged to, he was with the more facility led to concur in what in duty and fidelity he ought not to have done, and so he concurred in all the counsels which produced the Rebellion, and stayed with them to support it.’
He took great delight in his gardens and plantations at Petworth, where he resided in the summer, but in the winter he was much in town, attending to his Parliamentary duties. He had two wives: the first was Lady Anne Cecil, daughter to Thomas, second Earl of Salisbury. On her death we hear Lord Northumberland ‘is a very sad man, and his sister (Lady Leicester) has gone to comfort him.’ By Lady Anne he had five daughters. His second wife was the second daughter of Theophilus Howard, second Earl of Suffolk, who brought him in Northumberland House in London, originally called Northampton House. Sion House had been granted by the Crown to the ninth Earl. Evelyn went to see it, and thought it ‘pretty, but the garden more celebrated than it deserved.’
By Lady Elizabeth Howard, who long survived her husband, he had an only son and heir, and a daughter, who died unmarried. Algernon, Earl of Northumberland, was buried at Petworth, in Sussex.
No. 9.
SIR ANTHONY VANDYCK.Black dress. White collar.BORN 1599, DIED 1641.A Head by Himself.
SIR ANTHONY VANDYCK.Black dress. White collar.BORN 1599, DIED 1641.A Head by Himself.
SIR ANTHONY VANDYCK.
Black dress. White collar.
BORN 1599, DIED 1641.
A Head by Himself.
A NATIVE of Antwerp, his father, a merchant in silk and woollen stuffs, was himself a painter in glass, whose first wife, Cornelia Kerseboom, dying without children, he married again one Maria Cuypers, by whom he had a large family, Anthony being the seventh, a proverbially magic number. The Vandycks were strenuous adherents of the Church of Rome, and two of our painter’s sisters became nuns, while one of his brothers took Holy Orders. Maria Vandyck was a skilful artist in embroidery, her works being much admired, and she encouraged her boy’s taste for drawing, in the rudiments of which he received instruction from his father. When about ten years of age he was placed under the tuition of Henry van Balen, a much-esteemed painter, who had studied in Italy. Here young Vandyck remained some time, but he had fixed his heart on becoming the pupil of his already famous fellow-citizen, Peter Paul Rubens; and that desire was fulfilled. His remarkable talent and his untiring industry made him a favourite both with master and scholars, when an incident happened which brought the youth into prominent notice. It so chanced that one afternoon, when Rubens was absent, that the students invaded the sanctity of the private studio, and in the exuberance of animal spirits began to indulge in some rough play. An unfinished Holy Family stood on the easel, the colours not yet dry, and in the course of the ‘bear-fight’ one of hiscompanions pushed Van Diepenbeke so heavily against the precious canvas that the arm of the Magdalene and the head of the Virgin were nearly effaced, and the colours all smudged. The general consternation may be easily conceived; a council of war was held, and the decision arrived at that the most skilful among the students should endeavour to repair the mischief as best he could. Jan van Hoeck proposed Vandyck for the work, and the choice was unanimously approved, for in such a case there was no room for rivalry. Anthony set to work in right earnest; there was not a moment to be lost. He had but a few hours of daylight to complete his task, but he accomplished it before nightfall. Early next morning the dreaded moment arrived. Rubens entered his studio in order to examine the work of the preceding evening, when he pronounced the memorable words, which seemed to bestow a diploma on his young disciple,—‘Why, this looks better than it did yesterday!’ Then, approaching nearer, he detected the traces of a strange hand. Investigation and explanation followed, and Vandyck came in for great praise from the lips of his loved master.
Idle tales have been told of the jealousy subsisting between these two great painters, while, on the contrary, every recorded instance seems to prove how close was their friendship. Rubens was most desirous that his talented pupil should proceed to Italy to study the works of the great masters, and extend his connection with the world, but in the meantime Vandyck received an invitation to England. The first visit he paid to our country was short and unsatisfactory; and there are so many discrepancies in the accounts given of the work done at that period, and his reasons for leaving somewhat abruptly, that we refrain from entering on the subject. From England he proceeded to the Hague, where he painted portraits of every class and denomination of person, commencing with the whole family and Court of the Stadtholder,Henry Frederic, including every member of the illustrious house of Nassau. Nobles, warriors, statesmen, burghers, all vied for the honour of sitting to him.
In 1622 the news of his father’s illness recalled him to Antwerp. He arrived just in time to receive that father’s last farewell, and listen to his last injunctions. Franz Vandyck made his son promise to paint an altar-piece for the chapel of the Dominican Sisters, who had nursed him tenderly during his illness,—a pledge nobly redeemed by Anthony, though the execution was postponed for a time. He then took leave of his master, to whom he presented, at parting, three pictures, one of which was the likeness of Rubens’s first wife.
Our painter now set his face towards Italy, but he did not get far on his road without a hindrance. The story of the little episode we are about to relate is so differently given, that we only pretend to offer the most likely version.
At Brussels, where Vandyck tarried, the Infanta Isabella gave him a commission to paint the mistress of her Highness’s favourite hounds, a beautiful girl, by the name of Anna von Orphen. We are not told why a maiden of lowly origin was chosen for a place, though not very exalted, about Court, unless it were on account of her loveliness. But the portrait was executed, and Anna appeared, surrounded by her pack, each dog having its name duly inscribed on the canvas.
The picture is mentioned as being at the castle of Tervueren, near Brussels, in 1763. Vandyck speedily fell a victim to the charms of the lovely villager of Saventheim, and at her cottage he whiled away some months, to the great indignation of Rubens, who continued to write and expostulate with his former pupil, pointing out to him the value and importance of the time he was losing. Vandyck, however, was not wholly idle while at Saventheim; he painted (it is said at the instigation of his mistress) two pictures: one a Holy Family, in which he introduced likenesses of Anna and herfamily, and the other a St. Martin, being his own portrait, riding a horse which Rubens had given him. The last-mentioned painting was held in such high estimation by the inhabitants of Saventheim, that on three separate occasions, at the interval of many years, the peasantry roseen masseto prevent the treasure from being carried away, either by fraud or purchase.
At length Rubens hit on an expedient to extricate his friend from the spells of his rustic Armida. He sent the Chevalier Nanni, who wasen routefor Italy, to urge on Vandyck the expediency of accompanying him thither. The arguments chosen were successful; the lovers parted with mutual regret. Poor Anna was left disconsolate, and Vandyck set forth on a journey which was destined to be a triumphal progress. We have no space to detail his residence at Venice, where he studied Titian and Veronese, or his still longer sojourn at Genoa, where he became the favourite guest of the proudest nobles of the proud city, in which almost every palace is enriched by the works of the great Fleming, chiefly consisting of portraits, with a sprinkling of sacred subjects. This was the period when, as Vandyck afterwards confessed, he painted for fame, and not alone for money. At Rome, where he remained several years, the first order he undertook was the world-renowned portrait of Cardinal Bentivoglio, which, when once seen, attracted crowds of sitters to the studio, as at Genoa, including not only the nobility of the city, but most of the visitors sojourning there at the time. A most curious portrait of that period may now be seen at Petworth, representing Sir Robert Shirley, who had come from the East on a mission to his Holiness, representing him and his Persian wife both in Oriental costume. In the Duke of Buccleuch’s invaluable collection of miniatures there is a most eccentric effigy of this same lady, in the dress—or shall we say undress?—of her country.
On leaving Rome, many writers say driven thence by the jealousy of fellow-artists, especially among his own countrymen, Vandyck proceededviaFlorence to visit the more northern cities of Italy, and after paying a second visit to his favourite Genoa, he sailed with his friend, the Chevalier Nanni, for Sicily, whither he had been invited by Prince Philibert of Savoy, who sat to him, as did also the famous painter Sofonisba Angusciola, celebrated alike for her talents and her romantic adventures. This remarkable woman was in her ninety-second year, and quite blind, but her mind was clear, and her love of art as keen as ever; and Vandyck said he had learned more from the conversation of this blind old lady than from all his former studies.
There is a charming portrait of her by her own hand, when young and handsome, in the collection of Earl Spencer at Althorp. Vandyck was driven from Sicily by the breaking out of the plague, and he once more set out for Antwerp, which he reached about the end of 1626. In his native city he at first shared the proverbial fate of the prophet in his own country; he found few patrons, and many cavilled at the prices, which were less than had been gladly paid him in Italy. Rubens came to his rescue by buying every completed picture in his studio, and, departing from Antwerp on diplomatic missions (from the Archduchess Isabella) to Portugal and England, left his friend Vandyck the undisputed master of the field.
His hands were now full. Orders from numerous religious fraternities in the city and neighbourhood, anxious to enrich their several churches and chapels, poured in on all sides, and the candidates for the honour of sitting to the great painter were incalculable. Yet Vandyck’s cup was mingled with gall, through the envy and jealousy of his fellow-artists, who attacked and traduced him on all occasions. He paid another short visit to England, where the Earl of Northumberland was hischief patron and employer, and afterwards to Paris; but it was not till 1632 that he listened to the persuasions of the Earl of Arundel (who many years before had admired the early promise of Vandyck’s talent), and once more went over to England. In consequence of the death of Buckingham, who literally ‘brooked no rival near the throne,’ Lord Arundel was in high favour with his Royal master, and King and subject were alike enthusiastic worshippers of art.
Vandyck was received at Court with every mark of distinction. CharlesI.provided apartments for him, and in all respects treated him as a personal friend, taking the greatest delight in his society. It was supposed that his Majesty had even entertained the idea of building a house expressly for his guest, since among the State papers, in the handwriting of one of the officials, there is an entry, ‘Things to be done: to speak with Inigo Jones concerning a house for Vandike.’
The painter was however well lodged at Blackfriars, and a pleasant summer residence at Eltham was also allotted him. Indeed, wherever he went, Anthony Vandyck was the centre of attraction, the cynosure of all eyes. Pre-eminently handsome, brilliant in conversation, a good linguist, an enlightened traveller, even without the crowning quality of his splendid talent, the painter must assuredly have proved a shining light in the refined and aristocratic circles of the English capital. Courted in society, foremost in art, crowds resorted to his studio. The King himself was not only his constant sitter, but often dropped down the river in his royal barge as far as Blackfriars, to pass a pleasant hour, and gossip of art and artists with his newly-created knight, Sir Anthony Vandyck, to whom he had presented a valuable miniature of himself, splendidly set with diamonds. Neither of their Majesties ever appeared wearied of sitting for their portraits to their ‘Painter in Ordinary,’ and few records of a sad life can be more touching than the three heads (at Windsor Castle) of Henrietta Maria,in which Vandyck so truthfully delineated the mental and physical changes wrought by grief and misfortune.
Amongst Vandyck’s closest and most intimate friends may be reckoned the Earl of Strafford, whose noble and characteristic countenance gazes intently at us from the walls of so many dwelling-houses, and who was said to have sat oftener to his artist friend than any one in England, with the exception of CharlesI.and his Queen. Sir Kenelm Digby was another of Sir Anthony’s chosen companions, and the portraits of the learned knight and his beautiful wife, Venetia Stanley, have become familiar to us by the magic touches of Vandyck’s brush. On the sudden and mysterious death of the ‘divine Venetia,’ her widower summoned the great painter to portray, for the last time, that lovely countenance in ‘a calm unbroken sleep, that hath no awakening,’—a beautiful and touching picture, which forms one of the gems of Lord Spencer’s collection. Notwithstanding the number of his sitters, and the large sums (by comparison) paid for his paintings, Sir Anthony was invariably in pecuniary difficulties. Luxurious in his manner of living, splendid even to ostentation in his dress and equipages, his hospitality was boundless, his generosity to struggling members of his own profession proverbial. Added to all his other expenses, there was invariably a Margaret Lemon, or one of her class, ever ready to drain his purse. On the subject of his monetary troubles, the noble knight was candid and outspoken. One day the King and Lord Arundel were sitting in intimate conversation with the painter in his studio at Blackfriars, when Charles began a sorrowful dissertation on his own lack of money. Turning to Sir Anthony, he said with a smile, ‘And you, Sir Knight, has it ever happened to you to be at a loss where to turn for one or two thousand pounds?’ ‘Sire,’ was the reply, ‘when a painter keeps an open house for his friends, and an open purse for his mistresses, he is not unlikely to have empty coffers.’ It was doubtless on accountof these pecuniary difficulties that Vandyck in his latter days painted in so hurried and slovenly a manner, as might well have gained him the name of ‘Fa Presto.’ He got into the habit of intrusting many of the details of his paintings to the numerous scholars in his studio, and the similarity of the shape and character of the hands in his portraits, which has so often been remarked and marvelled at, may surely be accounted for by the fact that he usually painted the hands from those of models of both sexes retained by him for that purpose. Yet there were exceptions to this rule, for Vandyck, who had beautifully formed hands of his own, was a great admirer of that particular personal charm; and an amusing anecdote is told of him, when he had a no less noble sitter than Margaret de Bourbon, daughter to HenryIV.of France. The Royal lady, after watching Vandyck for some time, ventured the question, why he gave so much more attention to the painting of her hands than of her head, or indeed any other detail of the picture. ‘It is, Madam,’ replied Sir Anthony, with a sly smile, ‘that I anticipate a rich compensation from those beautiful white hands.’
It would not have been difficult, by all accounts, for Vandyck to have selected a bride from the noblest and most wealthy in the land, so generally admired was he by the fair sex; but his friends, the King and the Duke of Buckingham, had already arranged a suitable match, desirable in every way, excepting that the lady was poor, a fact which seemed an oversight in the circumstances, or rather in Vandyck’s circumstances.
Mary Ruthven was the granddaughter of the unfortunate Earl of Gowrie. Her father, suspected of complicity in the so-called conspiracy, had in consequence not only been imprisoned, but his property confiscated; therefore the winsome lady’s dower consisted of goodness, beauty, and gentle birth, but tocher the lassie had none, excepting a small portiongiven her as Lady of the Queen’s Household. She was much esteemed at Court. During his residence in England Vandyck had paid flying visits to his native country, and we hear of him, in 1634, serving as Dean of the Guild of St. Luke’s at Antwerp, which, be it remarked, is the date of the magnificent portrait, in this same gallery of Panshanger, of John of Nassau Siegen, and his family.
After his marriage he proceeded once more with his bride to his native city, where they were received with every possible demonstration of respect and affection. Sir Anthony, then, hearing that LouisXIII.intended to have the walls of the Louvre adorned with paintings, after the fashion of those by Rubens in the Luxembourg, went to Paris in hopes of obtaining the order, but in this design he was frustrated, and, disappointed and depressed, he returned to England. It was a dreary time. His Royal and private friends were all involved in trouble and perplexity, through the gathering of heavy clouds on the political horizon. His friend Lord Strafford had perished on the scaffold; the King was absent from London; the Queen had sought safety in France. Vandyck’s spirits sank, and he gave himself up to a fatal and visionary consolation.
In the pursuit of the philosopher’s stone, he became a professed alchemist, and, as it was well said, ‘the gold he had gained by his labours fast melted away in the crucible.’
He would stand for hours over a hot fire, which conduced not a little to undermine his failing health; he grew haggard and wrinkled while still in the prime of life. The King, on his return to England, hearing of his friend’s illness, sent his own physician to minister to the patient, holding out, it was said, a large sum of money in the event of a cure. But human aid was unavailing; a severe attack of gout, combined with other maladies, proved fatal, and on the 9th December 1641, the man who by many has been esteemed the chief ofthe world’s portrait-painters breathed his last. Followed by a large retinue of friends, he was buried in St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was but eight days before he died that a daughter was born to him, and on the very date of his death there was an entry in the register of St. Anne’s, Blackfriars, ‘Justiniana, daughter of Sir Anthony Vandyck and his lady, baptized 9th December 1641.’
Whatever ignorance or mismanagement of money matters the great painter had shown during his life, his last will was most praiseworthy and considerate in all points, and he had waited until the birth of his child to complete the same. There was not much to leave, but no one he loved or esteemed was forgotten; wife, child, sisters, servants, were all remembered; even the poor in the two parishes—that of his residence and that of his burial—had a small sum dealt out to them. Sir Anthony Vandyck’s widow married a Welsh baronet, Sir Robert Pryse, as his second wife, but they had no children. Justiniana married Sir John Stepney of Prendergast, Pembroke (their grandson was George Stepney, the poet), and her second husband was Martin de Carbonell. She received a pension from King CharlesII.
No. 10.
FRANÇOIS DUQUESNOY, DETTO IL FIAMMINGO, SCULPTOR.Green, red, and white slashed dress. Black cloak. White collar and cuffs. He is sitting.BORN 1594, DIED 1646.By Nicholas Poussin.
FRANÇOIS DUQUESNOY, DETTO IL FIAMMINGO, SCULPTOR.Green, red, and white slashed dress. Black cloak. White collar and cuffs. He is sitting.BORN 1594, DIED 1646.By Nicholas Poussin.
FRANÇOIS DUQUESNOY, DETTO IL FIAMMINGO, SCULPTOR.
Green, red, and white slashed dress. Black cloak. White collar and cuffs. He is sitting.
BORN 1594, DIED 1646.
By Nicholas Poussin.
A NATIVE of Brussels, his father was his first master, and while quite young he found a generous patron in the Archduke Albert of Austria. This Prince gave the youth a pension to enable him to go to Rome, and study the art of sculpture, for which he evinced a considerable talent. But the Duke dying when Fiammingo (as he was called at Rome) was only twenty-five, the young artist found himself in great poverty, and obliged to work very hard to keep the wolf from the door. In the same straits was at that moment the afterwards celebrated painter Nicholas Poussin, and the two students became friends and companions, sharing a scanty but common purse. The painter and the sculptor sympathised in their love of art, but differed in their taste of subjects. Poussin’s tendency was for the severe, Fiammingo’s for the tender; his admiration for the works of Albano led him to the execution of childish forms in every imaginable attitude of grace and beauty; these were seldom of large dimension, but he modelled the ‘Putti’ for the high altar in St. Peter’s, the Santa Susanna in the Church of Our Lady of Loretto, near the Trajan Column, and a colossal St. Andrew, also in St. Peter’s. Bernini, who was evidently jealous of Fiammingo’s talent and popularity, said he was incapable of executing anything more than a giganticboy, but the admirers of pure art gave the palm to Fiammingo far and away before the mannerist Bernini. Added to his ability, the Flemish sculptor was a conscientious and indefatigable workman. He not only produced statues, but made careful studies in detail of the human figure, the hands and feet in particular; but in spite of his industry he never extricated himself from poverty. In 1646 he meditated going to France, where doubtless his faithful friend, Nicholas Poussin, would have befriended him, but a cruel death awaited him in Rome. He was poisoned by his own brother, Jerome Duquesnoy, himself a sculptor, who was jealous of Fiammingo’s increasing fame. But the murderer did not escape vengeance; found guilty of many crimes, he was (according to the barbarous practice of the age) burned alive at Ghent. Of a gentle, amiable disposition and winning manners, Fiammingo was much esteemed and respected. Poussin and Albano were among his closest friends.
No. 11.