A very cursory examination of the rest of the works on this wall will probably be sufficient. Look them over in an hour. The most celebrated are two by Salvator Rosa: 318,Guido Reni’sEcce Homo, full of tawdry false sentiment; andDomenichino’sSt. Cecilia (often copied), with the angel reduced to the futile decorative winged boy of the period. 324,Guido’sSt. Sebastian, may be well compared with Perugino’s, as marking the decline which art had suffered. It is on works like these that the Spanish School largely based itself.
This completes theItalian collectionof the Louvre, to which the visitor should return again and again, until he feels he has entered somewhat into the spirit and tone of its various ages.
Between the next two archways, we come to a small collection of works of theEarly French School, too few of which unfortunately remain to us.
Left Wall.Two portraits of François Ier, may be well compared with the Titian of the same king, as indicating the gulf which still separated France from the art-world of Italy. The hard, dry, wooden manner of these French works is strongly contrasted with the finished art of the Italian Renaissance. Recollect that these seemingly archaic portraits are painted by contemporaries of Raphael and Titian.
Between them, good miniatures, by Nicolas Froment, of King René and his Queen.
Above, 650. Admirable Dead Christ, with the Madonna, Magdalen, Joseph of Arimathea, etc. In the best style of the French School of the 15th century. Observe the action of the various personages: all are conventional.
Beyond it, several good small pictures of the early French Renaissance which should be carefully examined. Fouquet’s portrait of Charles VII is a capital example of the older method.
Above them, 875, characteristic 15th century Crucifixion, with Last Communion and Martyrdom of St. Denis. The executioner’s face is French all over. (Scenes from the Passion have often in French art such side-scenes from lives of saints. Several at Cluny.) This picture has been employed as a basis for the restoration of the reliefs in the portals at St. Denis.
Beyond again, portraits of the early Renaissance, exhibiting considerable advance in many cases.
On theR wallare some works more distinctly characteristic of theschool of artwhich grew up round Primaticcio and his scholars atFontainebleau. Among them are a Diana hunting (D. de Poitiers again), and a Continence of Scipio. They reflect the style of Giulio Romano. Beneath the first, two good portraits, with patron saints (John and Peter). All the works in this compartment should be examined carefully, as showing the raw material upon which subsequent French art was developed.
Beyond the next archway, we come to the pictures of theFlemish School, which deserve almost equal attention with the Italian, as individual works, but which, as of less interest in the general history of art, I shall treat more briefly. Begin here on theR side, for chronological order.
Among the most noticeable pictures are Adam and Eve, unnumbered, good specimens of the frank, unidealised northern nude.
595. An exquisite early Annunciation, the spirit of which should be compared with the early Italians. Notice the general similarity of accessories, combined with the divergence in spirit, the dwelling on detail, the Flemish love for effects of light and shade on brass-work, fabrics, glasses, etc. Notice that this charming picture gives us the early stage in the evolution of that type of art which culminates in the Gerard Dou in the Salon Carré.
Beside it, an exquisitely tender Dead Christ. Remarkable for the finish in the background.
TheQuentin Matsysis not a worthy representative of the master.
Beside it, a quaint and striking group of Votaries, listening to a sermon. Probably a mere excuse for portrait-painting. The character in the faces is essentially Flemish.
Fine portrait of a young man with a pink, in a red cap.
Triptych, with the Madonna and Child (who may be well compared with those of the Memling in the Salle Duchâtel). On the flaps, the donor and his wife, introduced by their patrons, St. John and St. Christopher.
Now cross over to theL side.
*698.Rogier Van der Weyden.Excellent Deposition, with a touching St. John, and a very emaciated Dead Christ. These scenes of death are extremely common in Flemish and German art, and resulted in a great effort to express poignant emotion, as contrasted with the calmer ecstatic character of Italian art.
**279.Quentin Matsys.Banker and his wife. An admirable and celebrated picture, with marvellous detail, of which there are variants elsewhere. Notice the crystal vase, mirror, leaves of book, and objects on shelves in background. The fur is exquisitely painted.
*288 and 289. Two beautiful littleMemlings.
588. Most characteristic and finished Holy Family.
699.Memling.St. Sebastian, Resurrection, Ascension. Compare the first with Italian examples. Notice the extraordinarily minute work in the armour and accessories, contrasted with the blank and meaningless face of the Risen Saviour. Flemish art, perfect in execution, seldom attains high ideals.
277 and 278.Mabuse.Virgin and donor. Excellent.
**596.Gerard David.Marriage at Cana. A splendid specimen of this great and insufficiently recognised painter. Background of buildings at Bruges. Every face and every portion of the decorative work, including the jars in the foreground, should be closely noticed. The kneeling donor is an admirable portrait. As a whole, what a contrast to the Paolo Veronese! The pretty, innocent face of the bride, with her airof mute wonder, is excellently rendered. I believe the donor in this work is a younger portrait of the Canon who appears in the glorious Gerard David in the National Gallery.
Skied above all these pictures on either side are several works byVan Veen,Jan Matsys,Snydersand others, mostly worthy of notice. Among them, 136,Van Dyck, good Madonna with the Magdalen and other saints.
We now come to the**great series byRubensnarrating theHistory of Marie de Médicis, in the inflated allegorical style of the period. To understand them, the spectator should first read an account of her life in any good French history. These great decorative canvasses were painted hurriedly, with even more than Rubens’s usual dash and freedom, to Marie’s order, after her return from exile, for the decoration of her rooms at the Luxembourg (see Part V) which she had just erected. Though designed by Rubens, they were largely executed by the hands of pupils; and while possessing all the master’s exuberant artistic qualities in composition, they are not favourable specimens of his art, as regards execution and technique. It is to be regretted that most Englishmen and Frenchmen form their impressions of the painter from these vigorous but rapid pictures, rather than from his far nobler works at Antwerp, Munich, and Vienna. I give briefly the meaning of the series.
1. The Three Fates spin Marie’s destiny. A small panel for the side of a door.
2. Birth of Marie at Florence. Lucina, goddess of birth, with her torch, attends the mother. Genii scatter flowers; others hold her future crown. In the foreground, the River God of the Arno, with his stream issuing from an urn, and accompanied by the Florentine lion, as well as by boys holding the Florentine lily. This curious mixture of allegorical personages and realities is continued throughout the series.
3. Her Education, presided over by Minerva, with the aid of Mercury (to indicate her rapidity in learning), and Apollo, as teacher of the arts. Close by are the Graces, admirable nude figures. Among the accessories, bust of Socrates, painting materials, etc.
4. The Genius of France in attendance upon Henri IV, while Love shows him Marie’s portrait. The attitude of theking expresses delight and astonishment. In the clouds, Jupiter and Juno smile compliance. Below, little Loves steal the king’s shield and helmet.
5. Marriage of Marie by proxy. The Grand Duke Ferdinand represents the king. Hymen holds the torch.
6. Marie lands at Marseilles, and is received by France, while Tritons and Nereids give easy passage to her vessel. Above, her Fame. On the vessel, the balls orpalliof the Medici family.
7. Consummation of the Marriage at Lyons. The town itself is seen in the background. In the foreground, the (personified) city, crowned with a mural coronet, and designated by her lions. Above, the King, as Jupiter, with his eagle, and the Queen, as Juno, with her peacocks.
8. Birth of her son, afterwards Louis XIII, at Fontainebleau. Health receives the infant. Fortune attends the Queen.
9. The King, setting out to his war against Germany, makes Marie Regent—allegorically represented by passing her the ball of empire—and confides to her their son.
Larger pictures: No. 10, the Coronation of the Queen, and No. 11, the Apotheosis of Henri, the painful scene of his death being avoided. He is represented as raised to the sky by Jupiter on one side, and Death with his sickle on the other. Beneath, the assassin, as a serpent, wounded with an arrow. Victory and Bellona mourning. Beyond, the allegorical figure of France presenting the regency to Marie, with the acclamation of the nobility and people.
12. The Queen’s government approved of by Jupiter, Juno, and the heavenly powers. In the foreground Apollo, Mars, and Minerva (the first copied from the antique statue known as the Belvedere), representing courage, art, and literature, dispel calumny and the powers of darkness.
Continue on theopposite side, crossing overdirectly.
13. Civil discord arises. Marie starts for Anjou, attended by Victory. Military preparations in the background.
14. The exchange of Princesses between allegorical figures of France and Austria—each intended to marry the heir of the other empire.
15. The Happiness of the Regency. The Queen bears thescales of justice. Plenty prevails. Literature, science, art, and beauty predominate over evil, slander, and baseness.
16. Louis XIII attains his Majority (at 14) and mans the ship of State in person, still attended by the counsels of his mother. The Virtues row it.
17. Calumny overcomes the Queen. By the advice of her counsellors, she takes refuge at Blois, escorted by Wisdom.
18. Mercury, as messenger, brings an olive branch to Marie, as a token of reconciliation from her son, through the intermediation of Richelieu and the Church party.
19. Marie enters the Temple of Peace, escorted by Mercury and Truth with her torch, while blind Rage and the evil powers stand baffled behind her.
20. Apotheosis of Marie and Louis: their reconciliation and happiness. Final overthrow of the demons of discord.
21. Time brings Truth to light. Louis recognises the good influence of his mother.
The history, as given in these pictures, is of course envisaged from the point of view of a courtier, who desires to flatter and please his patroness.
Beneath this great series of Rubens are a number ofDutch and Flemish Pictures, mostly admirable and well worthy of attention, but, so to speak, self-explanatory. They belong entirely to modern feeling. Dutch and Flemish art, in its later form, is the domestic development of that intense love of minute detail and accessories already conspicuous in Van Eyck, Memling, and Gerard David. Sacred subjects almost disappear; the wealthy burghers ask for portraits of themselves, their wives and families, or landscapes for their households. I would call special notice to the following among many which should be closely examined to show the progress of art:—512,Teniers; 691,Rubens; 518,Teniers; 238 and 239,Van Huysum;*425, a charmingRubens, in his smaller and more delicate style; 147, admirable portrait byVan Dyck; 513, an excellentTeniers;*461, a good portrait byRubens; 125, exquisite, luminousGerard Dou; next it**Van der Helst’sFour Judges of the Guild of Cross-bow-men deciding on the prizes, one of the most perfect specimens of this great portrait painter.Notice the wonderful life-like expressions. Then 123, another exquisite luminousDou; 542,Van de Velde; 41, splendid portrait byBol; 130,Gerard Douby himself;**404,Rembrandt, Raphael leaving the house of Tobias, a master-piece of the artist’s weird and murky luminosity—strangely contrasted with Italian examples; 205, a goodHobbema; 133, fine portrait byDuchâtel; 369, excellent family group byVan Ostade; next it, 126, a delicious littleDou. But, indeed, every one of these Dutch paintings should be examined separately, in order to understand the characteristic Dutch virtues of delicate handling, exquisite detail, and domestic portraiture. They are the artistic outcome of a nation of housewives.
On theopposite sidethe series is continued with admirable flower-pieces, landscapes by Van der Veldt and Karel du Jardin, and several noteworthy portraits, among which notice the famous*Van Dyck(143) of the children of Charles I., most daintily treated. Beyond the Rubenses, again, on this side, 144, two noble portraits byVan Dyck, and several excellent examples of Philippe de Champaigne, a Flemish artist who deeply influenced painting in France, where he settled.**151,Van Dyck’sDuke of Richmond, perhaps his most splendid achievement in portraiture, deserves careful study. I do not further enlarge upon these subjects because the names and dates of the painters, with the descriptions given on the frames, will sufficiently enable the judicious spectator to form his own conceptions. Devote at least a day to Dutch and Flemish art here, and then go back to the Salon Carré, to see how the Rembrandts, Dous, and Metsus, there unfortunately separated from their compeers, fall into the general scheme of Dutch development.
Good view out of either window as you pass the next archway. Look out for these views in all parts of the Louvre. They often give you glimpses of the minor courtyards, to which the general public are not admitted.
Thenext two compartmentscontain further Dutch and Flemish pictures of high merit—portraits, still-life, landscape, and other subjects. The scenes of village life are highly characteristic. Notice in this connection the growing taste forlandscape, at first with a pretence of figures and animals,but gradually asserting its right to be heard on its own account. In Italy, under somewhat similar commercial conditions, we saw this taste arise in the Venetian School, with Cima, Giorgione, and Titian; in Holland, after the Reformation put sacred art at a discount, it became almost supreme. And note at the same time how the Reformation in commercial countries has wholly altered thetypeof northern art, focussing it on trivial domestic incidents.
Among the many beautiful pictures in these compartments the spectator should at least not miss, on theL, the very charming**Portrait byRubens(not quite finished) of his second wife and two children, scarcely inferior to the lovely specimen at Munich. Near it, an admirable Crucifixion with the Madonna, St. John, and Magdalen, more reminiscent than is usual with Rubens of earlier compositions. On theRside, notice a portrait of Elizabeth of France (459), byRubens, in his other, stiffer, and more courtly manner. We may well put down this peculiarity to the wishes of the sitter. His*Kermesse, near it, is an essay in the style afterwards popularized by Teniers, in which the great artist permits his Flemish blood to overcome him, and produces a clever but most unpleasant picture. The numerous admirable fruit and flower pieces, works in still-life, etc., which these compartments contain, must be studied for himself by the attentive visitor. In Rubens’ great canvas of the Triumph of Religion, painted for a Spanish commission, observe his curious external imitation of Spanish tendencies.
After having completed his examination of the Long Gallery, the visitor may next proceed to the five small rooms—IX,X,XI,XII, andXIIIon Baedeker’s map—devoted to
The German, English and Early French Schools.
Among theearly German worksin the 2nd of these rooms, the visitor may particularly notice (*22),Hans Holbein’sportrait of Southwell, full of character. Above it, a quaint Venus byCranach, instinct with the northern conception of the crude nude. Next, two good portraits byHolbein. In the centre of this wall,*a Descent from the Cross, of the School of Cologne, which should be compared with similar pictures of the Italian andFlemish Schools. The somewhat exaggerated expression of grief on all the faces is strongly characteristic of German tendencies. The figure of the Magdalen, to theR, strikes the German keynote; so does Joseph of Arimathea receiving the Crown of Thorns. Study this well, for coincidences with and differences from Italian treatment. Beyond it, two fineHolbeins, of the astronomer Kratzer, and*Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, the latter a marvellous piece of painting. The opposite wall also contains good portraits and sacred pieces, among which an altar-piece by the “Master of the Death of the Virgin,” deserves careful study. (Most early German masters are unknown to us by name, and are thus identified by their most famous pictures.) The Last Supper in this work, below, is largely borrowed from Leonardo. Compare with the copy of Leonardo’s fresco at Milan in the Long Gallery, probably by Marco da Oggionno, which hangs near the Vierge aux Rochers. The Adoration of the Magi (597), should also be compared with the Italian examples; notice in particular the burgher character of the Three Kings, which is essentially German. The other works in this room can be sufficiently studied (for casual observers) by the aid of the labels.
TheEnglish Roomcontains a few examples of English masters of the last and present century, none of them first-rate. The most famous is the frequently reproduced Little Girl with Cherries by the pastellistJohn Russel. It is a pleasing work, but not good in colour.
The next room, with an admirable view from the window, begins theModern French School(in the wide sense), and contains Le Sueur’s History of the Life of St. Bruno, painted for a Carthusian monastery near the Luxembourg—of which order the saint was the founder. They are characteristic examples of the French work of the early 17th century, and they exhibit the beginnings of the national tendencies in art. The legends are partially explained on the frames, and more fully in Mrs. Jameson’s “Monastic Orders.” On a cursory inspection, the observer will notice the marked French tendency in the 9th, 7th, 21st, and 22nd of the series. Cold and lifeless in design and colour, these feeble works have now little more than a historical interest.
Before proceeding to the succeeding rooms of the
French School,
you had better form some conception of the circumstances and conditions under which that school arose. The artists whom François Ierinvited to Fontainebleau had little influence on French art, except in sculpture (where we shall see their spirit abundantly at work when we come to examine the Renaissance sculpture in this collection). Primaticcio and his followers, however, left behind them in France, as regards painting, scarcely more than the sense of a need for improvement. Succeeding French artists took up the Italian Renaissance in the stage represented by the later decadents and the eclectic Caracci. Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665) is the first Frenchman to attain distinction in this line; he throws something of French sentimentality into the affected mythological scenes of contemporary Italy. Claude of Lorraine, again, is almost an Italian by training and style; his artificial landscapes, not copied direct from nature, but built up by arbitrary and often impossible conjunctions, represent the prevailing tendencies of Italian art in the 17th century. On the other hand, the influence of Rubens, many of whose greatest works were painted for French kings, or came early to France, and still more of Philippe de Champaigne, a Brussels master who settled in Paris and painted much for Richelieu and Marie de Médicis, introduced into France a strain of Flemish influence. On these two schools—decadent Italian and later Flemish—then, modern French art at first based itself; the final outcome is a resultant of the two, transmuted and moulded in spirit and form by the innate, though at first unrealised, French tendencies.
Also, before you proceed to examine the subsequent specimens of the development of French art, you had better return to the Salon Carré to inspect the portraits by Philippe de Champaigne, as well as the Jouvenet, the Rigaud, and other French works there, which I purposely passed by on our previous visit, as out of harmony with the Italian masterpieces. On your way back, glance at the later Italian pictures in the First Compartment of the Long Gallery (particularly at Bronzino’s odiously vulgar Christ and Mary Magdalen, and Rossi’sDoubting Thomas, both skied, on yourR) as conspicuous examples of the sort of thing admired at the time when the French School took its first flights and made its earliest experiences. Then observe once more the works of the School of Fontainebleau; and, finally, inspect the pictures in Baedeker’s Room IX; after which, you will be in a position to start fair in Room XIII, with the French School in the 17th century.
This Small Room beyond the St. Brunos contains more favourable specimens ofLe Sueur’sfaculty (such as 559, 556, and 551), in which a distinctive French tendency still more markedly announces itself. The Ganymede, in 563, in particular, faintly foreshadows at a distance the classic painters of the Empire. We see in this room, in a very vague way, an early stage in the evolution of a David.
Passing through the Landing, at the head of the staircase (with interesting terra-cotta Etruscan sarcophagi) we arrive at the Great Gallery ofFrench paintings of the 17th century. These may be examined somewhat in the mass, exhibiting, as they do, rather the courtly tendencies of the age of Louis XIV than any great individual artistic faculty. We must understand them in the spirit which built Versailles and conducted the wars on the north-eastern frontier. They are painted for the most part by the command of His Majesty. Only here and there does a faintly individual work, likeLe Sueur’sChrist and the Magdalen, and Bearing of the Cross, orLebrun’sCrucifixion, arrest for a moment one’s passing attention. The crudeness of the colour, and the insufficiency of the composition, will be the chief points, in a general survey, to strike the spectator. (On a screen in the centre, out of proper place among its contemporaries, hangs at presentPaul Delaroche’sfamous Christian Martyr.)
The student who has courage to attack this mass of uninteresting art in detail, should observe particularly the works ofN. Poussin, as forming the point of departure for the School in general. His Bacchanal and other mythological works set the fashion of those dreary allegorical scenes which cover so many yards of ceilings in the Louvre. Observe the mixture of religious themes, likeLebrun’sMartyrdom of Stephen, andN. Poussin’sHoly Family, with classical pictures like the Rescue of Pyrrhus, and the Alexander and Porus, as well as the close similarity of treatment in both cases. Among the best of the lot areJouvenet’sRaising of Lazarus, andLesueur’sPaul Preaching at Ephesus (partly after Raphael).*Poussin’s“Et in Arcadia ego,” a rustic morality, is also famous, and is regarded as the greatest achievement of this artificial School.Claude’slandscapes, often with a small inserted mythological story by another painter, deserve attention. (Note that landscape has hardly yet vindicated its claim to independent existence.) On the whole, it may be said that this room represents the two prevailing influences in French art of the purely monarchical period of Louis XIV,—either the pictures are quasi-royal and official, or else they are religious, for church or monastery. The mythological scenes, indeed, have often a royal reference—are supposed parallels of contemporary events; and even the religious scenes, wholly destitute of spiritual feeling, are painted in a courtly, grandiose manner. They are saints as conceived by flunkeys. Not till the Revolution swept away the royal patron did the French spirit truly realise itself. This roomreveals the Court, not the nation.
The next room, in the Pavillon Denon, a connecting passage, containsPortraits of Painters, chiefly by themselves, a few of which are worthy of attention. Among them is the famous and touching**portrait byMme. Lebrunof herself and her daughter, which, in spite of some theatrical sentiment here and there obtruded, is a charming realisation of maternal feeling amply reciprocated.
Beyond it we come to theFrench Gallery of the 18th century, reflecting for the most part the spirit of the Regency and the Louis XV period. Much of it is meretricious; much of it breathes the atmosphere of the boudoir. The flavour of Du Barry pervades it almost all. It scents of musk and powder. The reader will pick out for himself such works as he admires in this curious yet not wholly unpleasing mass of affectation and mediocrity. Indeed, as opposed to the purely official work in the preceding French room, the growth of therococospirit, to be traced in this gallery, is by no means without interest. The one set of works sets forth the ideal ofmonarchy as a formal institution; the other displays its actual outcome in royal mistresses and frivolous amusements. Here too the ornate French taste—the Dresden china and Sèvres taste—finds its first faint embodiment.Greuze’sfamous*Cruche Cassée (263), is the chief favourite with visitors to this room. It has about it a certain false simplicity, a pretended virginal innocence, which is perhaps the highest point of art this school could attain.Drouais’schild portraits (187), are more entirely characteristic, in their red-and-white chubbiness, of the ideas of the epoch. The pastoral scenes byWatteauandVanloo, represent nature and country life, as they envisaged themselves to the painted and powdered great ladies of the Trianon.Coypel’sEsther before Ahasuerus is a not unfavourable specimen of the inflated quasi-sacred style of the period. Some good portraits redeem the general high level of mediocrity in this room, but do not equal those of the daintily aristocratic English School of the end of the 18th century. TwoGreuzes(267 and, still more, 266), reveal the essentially artificial methods of this superficially taking painter. Most observers begin by admiring him and end by disliking his ceaseless posing.Boucher’sartificial pink-and-white nudities (as in 24 and 26), have the air of a man who painted, as he did, in a room hung round with rose-coloured satin. He is perhaps the most typical of these rococo artists: he imitates on canvas the coquettish ideals of the contemporary china-painters.Fragonard, again, throws into this school the love of display and bravado of a southern temperament. At the far end of the room we find inGreuze’slater moralising pictures faint indications of the altered and somewhat more earnest feeling which produced the revolutionary epoch, still closely mixed up with the ineradicable affectation and unreality of the painter and his period. Two little stories of a Prodigal Son and his too late return, on either side of the doorway, with their violent theatrical passion and their excessive expression of impossible emotion, illustrate well this nascent tendency. They are attempts to feel where feeling was not really present.David’sParis and Helen introduces us, on the other hand, to the beginnings of the cold classicism which prevailed under the Empire.
In order to continue the chronological examination of theFrench School the visitor must now return to the Salon Carré and traverse the vulgarly ornate Galerie d’Apollon by its side (which contains objects of more or less artistic interest in the precious metals and precious stones, many of which, especially those in the two last cases, deserve careful inspection. A morning should, if possible, be devoted later to this collection).
A short connecting room beyond (with gold Etruscan jewelery) gives access next to theSalle des Sept Cheminées, which contains many stiff but excellent works of the period of theEmpire. The most noticeable of these are byDavid, whose formal classicism (a result of the revolutionary revolt from Christianity, with its reliance upon Greek, and still more Roman, morality and history) is excellently exemplified in his large picture of the*Sabine Women Intervening between their Husbands and their Fathers. This is considered his masterpiece. Its frigid style, not very distantly resembling that of a bas-relief, and its declamatory feeling do not blind us to the excellence of its general technique and its real advance on the art of the 18th century.Davidimitated the antique, but was always sculpturesque rather than pictorial in treatment. Among other fine examples of thisclassic period—the transitional stage between the 18th century and the distinctively modern spirit—attention may be called toGérard’sCupid and Psyché, and to his fine portrait of the Marquis Visconti.*Mme. Lebrun’scharmingly animated portrait of Mme. Molé-Raymond, the comedian, is full of real vigour. Two good portraits byDavid, of himself and Pius VII, deserve close inspection.Gros’sBonaparte at Arcola, is also interesting.Mme. Lebrun’searlier portrait of herself and her daughter is less beautiful than the one we have already examined. Several military portraits, such as Gros’s Fournier-Sarlovèze, reflect the predominant militarism of the epoch.David’shuge canvas of the Coronation of Napoleon I in Notre-Dame is typical of another side of the great artist’s development. Gradually, the frigidity of the early revolutionary period gave way to the growingromanticismof 1830.Géricault’sRaft of the Medusa (sighting a sail after twelve days out), strikes the first keynote of the modern romantic movement. It created a great sensation in its own day, and gave rise toendless discussion and animadversion. It marks the advent of theemotionalin modern art.Gros’sBonaparte Visiting the Plague-stricken at Jaffa, also indicates in another way a marked modernising tendency. The school of blood and wounds, of the morbid and the ghastly, has here its forerunner. All the works in this room (which modernity forbids me to treat at adequate length) should be carefully studied in detail and comparison by those who wish to understand the various steps which led to the evolution of modern French painting.Guérin’sReturn of Marcus Sextus, andGirodet’sBurial of Atala, in particular, mark special phases of transition from the coldly classical to the romantic tendency. This room, in one word, begins with thesevere; it ends with themelodramatic.
The room beyond, known as theSalle Henri II, is so nearly modern in tone that the reader may be safely trusted to inspect it on his own knowledge.Giraud’sSlave-dealer andChassériau’sTepidarium are its most popular pictures. It lies outside the scope of the present handbook.
TheSalle La Caze, however, still beyond, contains a collection kept separately apart by the express desire of the donor, and includes many works both of earlier schools and of the French 17th and 18th century, worthy of the greatest attention. It is especially rich in works of therococopainters, better exemplified here than in the main collection. Beginning on theL, I will merely enumerate a few of the most important works. An excellentHondekoeter, skied. A noble portrait byTintorettoof a Venetian magnate. A most characteristicFragonard, full of the morganatic sentiment of the 18th century. Portraits byNattier, affording more pleasing examples of the early 18th century style than those we have hitherto examined. Above it, a mediocreTintorettoof Susanna at the Bath, not good in colour. Centre of the hall,*Watteau’sGilles, an excellent embodiment of the innocent fool of traditional French comedy.*Frans Hals’ssly figure of a Gipsy Woman is a fine piece of vulgar character-painting. A goodGreuze, etc. Examine more particularly the works byWatteau,Fragonard, and other boudoir painters, whose pictures on this wall give a more pleasing and fuller idea of the temperament of their school than that which we obtained in other parts of the collection. R wallreturning—several goodWatteaus,Bouchers,Greuzes, etc. Excellent small Dutch pictures. Fine portrait byRembrandt. Rembrandt’s Woman at the Bath is a characteristic example of his strikingly original conception of the nude.Ribera’sClub-footed Boy is a Spanish pendant to Frans Hals’s Gipsy. This room, containing as it does very mixed examples of all the schools, should only be visited after the spectator has obtained some idea of each in other parts of the collection. Its Dutch works, in particular, are admirable. I do not enumerate them, as enumeration is useless, but leave it to the reader to pick out for himself several fine examples.
Now traverse the Galerie d’Apollon, Salon Carré, and Long Gallery till you arrive at the
Hall of Painters of the 19th Century,
(Room VIII in Baedeker’s plan). This hall contains for the most part the works of artists of the period of Louis Philippe and the early Second Empire—almost our own contemporaries. I will therefore only briefly call attention here to the pictures of theromantic historical school, then so prevalent in France, of whichDelaroche’sDeath of Queen Elizabeth and Princes in the Tower andDelacroix’sCapture of Constantinople by the Crusaders are conspicuous examples.Devéria’spopular Birth of Henri IV belongs to the same category. These “picturesque” treatments of history answer in painting to the malign influence of Walter Scott and Victor Hugo in literature. Contrasted with them are such semi-classical works of the school of David, softened and modernised, asIngres’sApotheosis of Homer—the great poet crowned by Fame, with the Iliad and Odyssey at the base of his pedestal, and surrounded by a concourse of ancient and modern singers. It is cold but dignified.Lethière’sDeath of Virginia, andCouture’sRomans of the Decadence, represent to a certain extent a blending of these two main influences. I will not, however, particularise, as almost every picture in this room deserves some study from the point of view of the evolution of contemporary art. I will merely ask the reader not to overlookFlandrin’sfamous nude figure, the typical landscapes byRousseauandMillet, andDavid’sexquisite portrait of Mme. Récamier—sufficient in itselfto immortalise both artist and sitter. The electric influence of a beautiful and pure-souled woman has here galvanised David for once into full perception and reproduction of truth and nature. Even the severe Empire furniture and background exactly accord with the character of the picture. Ary Scheffer’s religious works, in his peculiar twilight style, on a solid blue background, will strike every observer.Millet’sGleaners andTroyon’sgroup of oxen strike each a new note in art at the period when they were painted. As a whole this Gallery represents all the various strands of feeling which have gone to the production of modern painting. It attains to the threshold of cosmopolitanism in its Arabs, its negroes, and its Algerian women: it is bloodthirsty and sensuous; it is calm and meditative; it dashes with Courbet; it refines with Millet; it oscillates between the world, the flesh, and the devil; it is pious and meretricious; it sums up in itself the endless contradictory and interlacing tendencies of the Nineteenth Century. As regards chronological sequence, one may say pretty fairly that it begins with classicism, passes through romanticism, and ends for the moment in religious reaction.
Come back often to the pictures in the Louvre, especially the Salle des Primitifs, the Salon Carré, and the first two bays of the Long Gallery.
Further Hints on the Paintings in the Louvre.
The reader must not suppose that these brief notes give anything like an adequate idea of the way in which pictures in such a gallery as the Louvre ought to be studied. My object in these Guides being mainly to open a door, that the tourist himself may enter and look about him carefully, I have given first this connected account ofallthe rooms in chronological order, for the use of those whose time is very limited, and who desire to go through the collection seriatim. But for the benefit of others who can afford to paymany successive visits, I will now take one or two particular picturesin detail, suggesting what seem to me the best and most fruitful ways in which to study them. Try for yourself afterwards to fill in a similar scheme, as far as you can, for most of the finest works in this Gallery.
I will begin with No. 251, in the Salle des Primitifs—Mantegna’sbeautiful and glowingMadonna della Vittoria. And I take Mantegna first, because (among other reasons) he is a painter who can be fairly well studied by means of the pictures in this Gallery alone, without any large reference to his remaining works in Italy or elsewhere.
Now, first, who and what wasMantegna, and what place does he fill in thehistory of artin Italy? Well, he was aPaduanpainter, born in 1431, died in 1506—about the time when Raphael was painting the Belle Jardinière, in this collection. He was a contemporary and brother-in-law of Giovanni and Gentile Bellini: and if you compare his work with that of the two Bellinis, even as very inadequately represented here, you will see that their art has much in common—that they stood at about the same level of historical evolution, and painted in the same careful, precise, and accurate manner of the second half of the fifteenth century. Contrast them, on the one hand, with their immediate predecessors, such as Filippo Lippi and Benozzo Gozzoli (juniors by roughly about 20 years), in order to mark the advance they made on the art of those who went just before them; and compare them, on the other hand, with their immediate successors, such as Raphael, and even their more advanced contemporaries, like Leonardo, in order to see what place they fill in the development of painting.
Again, Mantegna was a pupil ofSquarcione of Padua, who practically founded the Paduan school. Now Squarcione had travelled in Greece and formed a collection of antiques, from which his pupils made drawings and studies. AlsoDonatello(the great Florentine sculptor of the early Renaissance, of whose work you can find some beautiful examples in the Renaissance Sculpture rooms of this museum) had executed several bronzes in the church of Sant’ Antonio, the great local saint of Padua; and these likewise Mantegna studied; so that much of his work bears traces of the influence of sculpture and especially of bas-relief. He is particularly fond of introducing reliefs, festoons of fruit or flowers, and classical detail into the accessories of his pictures: and these peculiarities are well marked in the Mars and Venus, the Crucifixion, and the Madonna della Vittoria in this collection. Compare all these closely with one another till you think you have formed a fairidea of Mantegna’s powerful drawing, strong realism, love of the antique, solemnity and dignity, clear-cut style, and perfect mastery of anatomy and technique. Notice his delicate, careful, conscientious workmanship; the precision and perfection of his hands and feet; the joy with which he lingers over classical costume and the painting of armour. Everything is sharp and defined as in the air of Italy, yet never hard, or crude, or angular. Observe, also, the sculpture-like folds of his carefully arranged draperies, and his love for shot colours and melting tints on metal or marble. The St. Michael in this picture, and the Roman soldiers in the Crucifixion, are admirable examples of this tone in his colouring. If you wished to characterise Mantegna in a single phrase, however, you might fairly say he was the mostsculpturesqueof painters.
As to date, theCrucifixion(in the Salon Carré) which formed one piece only of thepredella, or series of small pictures at the base of the great Madonna in the Church of San Zeno at Verona, is the earliest example of Mantegna’s work here. It displays the delicate and exquisite finish of his youthful period: but it is much more mediæval in tone—has far less freedom and conscious artistic power—than the Madonna della Vittoria, which belongs to the latest epoch of the great painter’s development. Observe the early severity of the figures in the Crucifixion, and the firmness of the drawing: each personage stands out with statuesque distinctness. But note, too, that at this early stage, Mantegna’s expression of emotion was still inadequate: in his striving to be powerful, he overdid the passions, sometimes almost to the verge of grotesqueness. On the other hand, do not overlook the dramatic force of the picture, as shewn, for example, in the vivid contrast between the anguish of the Madonna, with her attendant St. John, &c., and the callous carelessness of the soldiers casting lots for the Redeemer’s raiment. The Mars and Venus, once more, of his middle period, represents an intermediate stage between the two styles. What is meant by apredella, again, you can see by looking at Fra Angelico’s Coronation of the Virgin, and other similar pictures in this room—the little figures of St. Dominic and his miracles beneath the main altar-piece being examples of this adjunct. The Crucifixion formed the central picture ofthree such minor episodes: the Agony in the Garden and the Ascension, to right and left of it, are now in the Museum at Tours. Napoleon I had carried off the entire work from Verona: at the Restoration, the Madonna was returned to San Zeno, but the three pieces of the predella were retained in France and thus distributed. If you go to Tours or Verona, recollect the connection of the various fragments.
Next, what was theoccasionfor painting this Madonna della Vittoria? You will remember that in 1494, Charles VIII of France, invited by Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan, invaded North Italy, and conquered a large part of it, including Florence, Pisa, and Rome itself. Marching then on Naples, the boy king achieved a further success, which turned his own head and that of his army. (Read up all this episode in any good French history.) But Venice, trembling for her supremacy, formed a league against him; and soon after, all Italy, alarmed at his success, coalesced to repel the invader. The little Republics united their forces under Giovanni Francesco Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua, and met Charles, on the 6th of July, 1495, at the pass of Fornova, onthe Taro. The French king, it is true, forced his way through the hostile army, and made good his retreat: but the allies, though baffled, claimed the victory, and, as a matter of fact, Charles immediately concluded a treaty of peace and returned to Lyons. In commemoration of this event, the Marquis Gonzaga in gratitude erected a church at Mantua as a votive offering to the Madonna, and dedicated it under the name ofSanta Maria della Vittoria.
At that time and for some years previously Mantegna had been in the service of theGonzagafamily atMantua, where he lived for the greater part of his artistic life. In the Castello of that town, he executed several frescoes, illustrating domestic events in the history of the Gonzagas, which are still among the most interesting objects to be visited in Mantua. It was natural, therefore, that he should be invited by Giovanni Francesco Gonzaga to paint the altar-piece for the high altar of the church to commemorate this victory. The picture must have been finished about the year 1498 or 1500. It stood in the building for which it was painted till Napoleon I brought it from Italy to Paris, where it has ever since remained.
These circumstances sufficiently explain thecollection of saintswho figure in the picture. In the centre is theMadonna of Victoryherself, to whom Gonzaga vowed the church in case he should be successful. She is enthroned, as usual. The garlands of flowers and fruit, and the coral over her head, are favourite accessories with Mantegna: they occur again in the (much earlier) Madonna at San Zeno, Verona, of which the Crucifixion here formed part of the predella. The figures of Adam and Eve, in imitation of relief, on the pedestal, are thoroughly characteristic of Mantegna’s style, and recall the Paduan school of Squarcione, and the master’s dependence on the work of Donatello. The overloading of the picture with flowers, festoons and architectural decoration is also a Paduan feature of the same school: it comes out equally in the works of Carlo Crivelli—not well seen in this collection. On his knees in the foreground isGonzagahimself, with his villainous Italian Renaissance face, as of a man who would try to bribe Our Lady with presents. And indeed Our Lady stretches out her friendly hand towards him, as if to assure him of favour and victory. Notice that the Marquis wears his armour: he is giving thanks, as it were, on the field of battle.
As often with Mantegna, the minor characters and saints are fuller of life than the two central divine personages: his Madonnas have frequently a tendency to be insipid. On the left of the picture, flanking the Virgin, standsSt. Michael the Archangel, the “warrior of God,” as representing the idea that the Lord of Hosts fought on the side of the Italian confederacy. This beautiful figure, clad in refulgent heavenly armour, is one of the noblest and loveliest that Mantegna ever painted. Compare it with the two St. Michaels by Raphael, the early one in the Long Gallery: the later in the Salon Carré: note the general similarity of type, with the divergence in treatment. A little behind, again, half seen, standsSt. Andrew, who was both Andrea Mantegna’s own namesake, and also one of the patrons of Mantua. He has an important church dedicated in his honour in that town—a Renaissance church, by Leon Battista Alberti: and in this church of his patron, Mantegna himself is buried. For the altar-piece of this same church, which he had doubtless selected beforehand for his own lastresting-place, the great artist also painted a representation of the risen Saviour, with St. Andrew holding the cross of his martyrdom on one side, and St. Longinus (of whom more shortly) with his spear on the other. Thus there was every reason both why St. Andrew should be represented in a picture painted for the Marquis of Mantua, and why he should more particularly appear in a work by Andrea Mantegna. As one of the patron saints of town and painter, he naturally had his share in the thanksgiving for the victory. His features in this picture and in the one at Mantua are closely similar. Mantegna, indeed, imitated an older type, which he made his own, and reproduced like a portrait. Note that St. Andrew bears a cross as his symbol.
On the other side of the Madonna,St. Elizabethkneels in the foreground, representing, I think, the patron saint of the Marchesa, Gonzaga’s wife, who was Isabella d’Este, sister of Duke Alfonso of Ferrara. (Isabella and Elisabeth are always regarded as variants of the same name.) Now in the chapel of St. Longinus in the church of St. Andrea at Mantua, aforesaid, where Mantegna is buried, he also painted a Madonna, with this same St. Elizabeth, holding the infant St. John Baptist, while the child Christ blesses him: no doubt a votive offering from Isabella. Here again we have a type of St. Elizabeth repeated in this picture. Behind St. Elizabeth stands the exquisitely wistfulSt. George, the patron saint of the Venetian territory, representing the part borne by Venice and her dependencies in the war of expulsion: the patron receives the thanks of his faithful votaries. (Mrs. Jameson thinks this figure is St. Maurice, another military saint, and patron of Mantua: comparison with various St. Georges and St. Maurices elsewhere makes me disagree with her. Besides, St. George’s lance is often broken, as here: you can note it so in the Raphael of the Long Gallery.) In the background standsSt. Longinus, a Roman soldier, distinguishable by his lance and antique helmet. According to tradition, Longinus was the centurion who pierced the side of Christ: you see him so in the famous Rubens (called the Coup de Lance) at Antwerp, and in almost every mediæval Crucifixion or Calvary. (Look out for him in future.) When he saw the wonders which accompanied the Passion, weare told in scripture that he exclaimed, “Truly this man was the Son of God.” Later legend made him be converted, after being afflicted with sudden blindness, and undergo a singular voluntary martyrdom. His relics were brought to Mantua in the 11th century, and he has ever since been the chief patron saint of that city. Mantegna painted him often, and sometimes made a type of him. In the picture already described in the chapel of St. Longinus, he answers, as here, to St. Andrew, and wears a classical costume, on which the painter has lavished his usual care and minute accuracy of drawing. Notice him also in the foreground of Mantegna’s Crucifixion in the Salon Carré, bearing his spear—where, however, the type is not followed as usual. Thus not one of the characters grouped around the Madonna in this exquisite picture is without its full relevancy and meaning.
Do not overlook in this military votive offering the preponderance of soldier saints, and their appearance under arms, to commemorate the victory.
Observe also the way in which St. George and St. Michael hold theMadonna’s mantle, so as to enclose or embrace Gonzaga and his wife’s patroness, St. Elizabeth. This is a symbol of the Madonna’s protection: in what is called a Madonna della Misericordia Our Lady’s robe thus shelters numerous votaries. So, at Cluny, you will find a sculptured St. Ursula (in Room VI) sheltering under her mantle as many of the 11,000 Virgins as the sculptor could manage—as she also does in the Memling at Bruges.
On theæsthetic side, note once more the marked distinction which Mantegna draws between the historical portrait of the kneeling Gonzaga—a most ruthless ruffian—and the ideal figures of saints by whom he is surrounded. Remark, again, the angelic sweetness of the round-faced St. Michael, contrasted with the purely human look of longing and strife, and the guarded purity in the countenance of the St. George—who almost foreshadows Burne-Jones and Rossetti. Observe, too, how this romantic saint serves as a foil to the practical Roman Longinus, with his honest and sober face, and his soldierly sense of duty. Study the melting tones of colour throughout, and contrast the simple devotional calm of this religious workwith the rapidity and movement of the mundane Mars and Venus beside it. Do not overlook a single detail; every hand and foot, every surface of metal, every fruit and flower is worthy of attention.
As always, I have only tried here toexplainthis picture, not to make youadmireit. But the longer you look at it the more you will be charmed by its wonderful colour, its poetic grace, and the exquisite beauty of its drawing and composition.
Now, still in the same connection, go on into the Long Gallery, and look, near Andrea del Sarto’s Holy Family, at a mannered and theatrical picture of theNativitybyGiulio Romano. This is not a Nativity simple, but one with selected saints looking on: it was painted for the altar-piece of the altar of the Chapel of St. Longinus in Sant’ Andrea at Mantua—the same in which Mantegna had earlier painted the Longinus pictures noted above. The central portion of this altar-piece consists of a tolerably conventional Nativity, with the adoring shepherds, Raphaelized by Giulio Romano (who was Raphael’s favourite pupil) in accordance with the ideas of the early 16th cent. (It is interesting to note, by the way, the nature of these modifications.) In the background is the herald angel appearing to the shepherds: this scene, prior in time to the other, was often so represented in the same picture or carving: look out for it elsewhere, and also for such non-contemporaneous episodes in general. But the attendant saints, to right and left, looking on at the sacred scene, are St. John the Evangelist (known by his chalice and serpent) andSt. Longinus. The last-named holds in his hands a crystal vase—a pyx or reliquary, containing the sacred blood of Christ, which Longinus caught as it fell, and which was brought with the rest of the relics toMantua, and preserved in the very chapel for which this picture was intended. Compare this dull Longinus with the two by Mantegna in this collection: and when you visit Mantua, remember that these pictures came from these two churches. By thus interweaving your facts, you will get a far clearer conception in the end ofthe connection of artthan you can possibly do if you regard the various works in pure isolation.
But what wasGiulio Romanodoing at Mantua? After Raphael’s death, his pupils were dispersed; and this his favouritefollower settled down in the service of Duke Federigo Gonzaga (the first Duke—the earlier lords were Marquises), for whom he decorated the Palazzo del Tè, with its grotesque Titans.PrimaticcioandNiccolo dell’ Abbate, pupils again of Giulio’s, were educated at Mantua, and afterwards summoned by François Ierto France, where they became the founders of theSchool of Fontainebleau. They thus passed on the Raphaelesque traditions into the French capital. It is partly for this reason that I have selected for my first examples this particular Mantuan group of paintings, in order that you may realise the close interaction of French and Italian politics, and the continuity of the Italian with the French Renaissance.
It is worth while, too, to enquirehowthe different picturescame into this collection. The Madonna della Vittoria, we saw, was brought as a trophy of war from Italy by Napoleon. The Giulio Romano, after hanging for some time in the chapel at Mantua, for which it was painted, was shortly annexed by the Duke of Mantua, who sold it to Charles I of England. That king formed a noble collection of Italian and Flemish works, which, after his execution, was sold by the Commonwealth for a very small price to a dealer named Jabach, who in his turn disposed of most of the pictures to Louis XIV; they formed the nucleus of the Louvre collection. Look out for these works of which Puritan England thus deprived herself, and see how considerable a portion they form of the earlier treasures of this Gallery.
Lastly, return once more to the Mantegnas in the Salle des Primitifs, and notice that the so-called Parnassus—that is to say, the Mars and Venus discovered by Vulcan—as well as the Vices conquered by Wisdom, and the companion pieces by Perugino and Costa, were all painted forIsabella d’Este-Gonzaga, to decorate her boudoir at Mantua. Of these works, I think Mantegna’s are the oldest, and struck the keynote for figures and treatment. For after Mantegna’s death, the Ferrarese painter, Costa, was invited from Isabella’s home to become court-painter at Mantua: and the Perugino is one in that master’s latest manner, most tinged with the Renaissance. Giulio Romano, again, succeeded Costa. If you will now compare Mantegna’s two works in this series with his others in this Gallery, you will be able to form a clearer conception of his admirable fancy, hisunvarying grace, and his perfect mastery of execution: while if you contrast them with those by the two contemporary artists—the Umbrian Perugino and the Ferrarese Costa—you will be enabled to observe what was the common note of these early Renaissance masters, and what their distinctive individual characteristics. In particular, you may notice in these works, when looked at side by side with those of earlier painters, the enormous advance Mantegna had made in anatomy and in perspective. He is thescientific painterof Upper Italy, as Leonardo is the scientific painter of Florence.
These four pictures again made their way to the Louvre by a different route. They were captured at the sack of Mantua in 1630, and originally came to France to decorate thechâteauof Cardinal Richelieu.
Once more,Duke Alfonso d’Este, Isabella’s brother, is the person whom you see in the portrait by Titian in the Salon Carré, together with his mistress Laura Dianti, painted about 1520. Familiarity with such facts alone can give you any adequate idea of the extraordinary rapidity in the development of art and the modernization of Italy in the 16th century.
For my next example I will take a quite obscure and unnoticed picture, also in the Salle des Primitifs,Giovanni Massone’s altar-piecein three compartments, number 261.
Savona is an unimportant little town between Nice and Genoa, chiefly noteworthy at the present day as the junction for a branch line to Turin. But in the 15th and 16th centuries it was a flourishing place, which gave employment to many distinguished Piedmontese and Lombard artists, the most famous of whom were Foppa and Brea. It also gave birth to two famous popes, Sixtus IV and Julius II, the latter of whom is familiar to most of us from the magnificent portrait by Raphael, three replicas of which exist, in the Uffizi and the Pitti Palace in Florence, and in the National Gallery in London. Sixtus IV erected for himself a superb sepulchral chapel in his native town of Savona: go and see it, if you pass by there, as well as the modern statue of the pope erected by his fellow-citizens. From that chapel this picture, by an otherwise unknown artist, has been abstracted and brought here. We know its author merely by the signaturehe has placed on acartellinoor strip of paper in the picture itself: Joh[ann]es Mazonus de Alex[andri]a pinxit—shewing that he was born in the Piedmontese town of Alessandria. For the rest, he is a mere name to us.
The picture itself, by no means a masterpiece, has in its centre the Nativity, designed in the usual conventional fashion, and in a somewhat antiquated Lombard style. The Madonna and St. Joseph have very solid haloes: the action takes place in a ruined temple, as often, symbolising the triumph of Christianity over heathendom. In the background are a landscape, and some pleasing accessories. But the lateral subjects give it greater interest. In the compartment to theLstands St. Francis of Assisi, in his usual brown Franciscan robe, as protector of Sixtus IV, who kneels beside him. Notice this way of marking the name of a donor, for the pope was Cardinal Francesco della Rovere. Observe too the stigmata, as far as visible, and compare this much later figure of St. Francis with those in the picture by Giotto and its two imitators. On theRstands a second Franciscan saint, also in the coarse brown garb of his order—the same in whose church Andrea Mantegna studied Donatello, and whom we have seen more than once during our Parisian excursions holding in his arms the infant Christ—St. Antony of Padua. He lays his hand on the shoulder of a second votary—the Cardinal della Rovere, afterwards the stern and formidable pope, Julius II. If you know the National Gallery and the Vatican, see whether you can recognise an earlier stage of the same features which occur in the famous portrait, and also in the figure of the pope, borne on the shoulders of his stalwart attendants into the temple at Jerusalem, in a corner of the famous fresco of the Expulsion of Heliodorus.
Recollect, again, that it was for the tomb of this same Pope Julius II that Michael Angelo produced the two so-called Fettered Slaves, which you have seen or will see in the Renaissance Sculpture Room of this collection. Weave your knowledge together in this way, till it forms a connected whole, which enables you far better to understand and appreciate.
I call your special attention to this picture, among other things, for its historical rather than its artistic value. But Iwant you also to realise that the man who was painted in this rude and antiquated style in his middle age was painted again in his declining years by Raphael at the summit of his powers, and was a patron of the mighty Michael Angelo at the zenith of his development. This will help to impress upon you better than anything else the necessity for carefullynoting chronology, and will also supply a needed caution that you must not regard any work as necessarily early on no better ground than because it is comparatively archaic in style and treatment.
Next inspect the two little companion pictures ofSt. George and St. MichaelbyRaphael, on theRwall of the First Compartment in the Long Gallery. These two small works are rare examples of Raphael’s very earliest pre-Peruginesque manner. Morelli has shewn that the great painter was first of all a pupil of Timoteo Viti at Urbino, his native town. If you have not visited Bologna and Milan, however, this will tell you little; for nowhere else can you see Timoteo to any great advantage; and I may observe here that the best time to visit the Louvre isafteryou have been in Italy, where you ought to have formed a clear conception of the various masters and their relations to one another. But you can see at least, on the face of them, that these two simple and graceful little works are quite different in style and manner even from theBelle Jardinière, and certainly very unlike the much later St. Margaret which hangs close by them. They are still comparatively mediæval in tone: they have a definiteness and clearness of outline which contrasts strongly with the softer melting tones of Raphael’s later work: they show as yet no tinge of the affected prettinesses which he learned from Perugino—still less of his later Florentine and Roman manners. They are painted on the back of a chess or draught board, and were produced for Duke Guidobaldo of Urbino about the year 1500.
Look first at theSt. George. The subject here is the Combat with the Dragon; and Raphael, in representing it, has strictly followed the conventional arrangement of earlier painters. No earlier picture for comparison with his treatment exists in this Gallery, though there are plenty elsewhere: but if you will look downstairs at the majolica relief of the samesubject in the Della Robbia Room of the Renaissance Sculpture Gallery, you will see how closely Raphael’s work corresponds with earlier representations of the same pretty myth. As you will now have learned, there is always a regular way to envisage every stock subject: whoever produced a Combat of St. George with the Dragon was compelled by custom and the expectations of his patron to include these various elements—a St. George in armour, on horseback, the horse usually white, as here: a wounded dragon, most often to the right: the Princess running away in terror in the distance, or at least crouching abjectly. There is a Tintoretto of this subject, indeed, in the National Gallery, where some critics have blamed the great Venetian painter for making the Princess look away in terror, instead of turning with gratitude to thank her brave preserver. But the conventional representationdemandedthat the Princess should flee or cower: people were accustomed to that treatment of the theme, and expected always to see it repeated. It was their notion of a St. George. We must set down a great deal in early art to this sense of expectation on the part of patrons. Tintoretto, who came much later than Raphael, after the mighty Renaissance painters had accustomed the world to put up with, or even to look for, novelty of composition, often ventured very largely to depart from traditional motives. In his picture, therefore, the Princess occupies the foreground—a most revolutionary proceeding—while the action itself is relegated somewhat to the middle distance. But if you compare the three representations of this scene to be found in the Louvre—this picture and the two reliefs by Della Robbia and Michel Colombe respectively—you will see that the Princess in earlier times is always represented quite small in the distance, and is usually running away, or at best kneeling with clasped hands in abject terror.
In the Raphael, the dragon is already wounded: but he has broken the saint’s lance, with part of which he is transfixed, while the remainder lies in fragments on the ground behind him. St. George on his prancing steed is drawing his sword to finish off the monster. In the Michel Colombe, on the other hand (downstairs in the French Renaissance Sculpture), the dragon is biting at the lance, which explains why it is brokenhere, and also why the St. George in Mantegna’s Madonna holds a broken shaft as his emblem or symbol. Observe, however, that while the French sculptor, with questionable taste, makes the dragon occupy the larger part of the field, so as somewhat to dwarf St. George and his steed, the Italian sculptor, and still more the Italian painter, have shewn greater tact in treating the dragon as a comparative accessory, and concentrating attention upon the militant saint, combating with spiritual arms the evil demon. In this picture, as Mrs. Jameson well observes, the conception is on the whole serenely allegorical and religious in spirit. But Raphael himself painted a second St. George, at a later date, for the Duke of Urbino to present to Henry VII of England. In this other picture, which is now in the Hermitage at St. Petersburg, St. George is treated rather as the patron saint of England than as the Champion of Right—to mark which fact he wears the Order of the Garter round his knee, with its familiar motto. As Champion of England, he is rushing on the monster with fiery energy: the picture is in this case more military than spiritual. The moment chosen is the one where he is just transfixing the dragon with his lance: the rescued Princess is here again in the background.
Note once more that these various works are pictures of thecombatof St. George with the Dragon. Indevotional picturesof the Madonna, St. George frequently stands by Our Lady’s side, in accordance with the wishes of the particular donor, as patron saint of that person himself, or of his town or family. In Venetian pictures, as we have seen, he is very frequent, being one of the patron saints of Venice, and more particularly of the Venetian army and the conquered territory. You will find it interesting, after you have finished the examination of the two Raphaels, to go round the devotional Italian pictures in the Salle des Primitifs, the Long Gallery, and the Salon Carré, in order to note his various appearances. He is usually marked by his lance and his armour: the absence of wings (a point not always noticed by beginners) will enable you at once to discriminate him from St. Michael—as man from angel. The more you learn to look out for such recurrences of saints, and to account for thereasons for their appearance, the more will you understand and enjoy picture galleries, and the more will you throw yourself into the devotional mediæval atmosphere which produced such pictures.