Chapter 18

[70]

As a deviation from the usual form of this subject, I must mention an old bas-relief, full of character, and significantly appropriate to its locality the church of San Pietro-in-Vincoli, at Rome. St. Peter, enthroned, holds in one hand the keys and the Gospel; with the other he presents his chains to a kneeling angel: this unusual treatment is very poetical and suggestive.

There are standing figures of St. Peter wearing the papal tiara, and brandishing his keys, as in a picture by Cola dell’ Amatrice (70). And I should think Milton had some such picture in his remembrance when he paintedhisSt. Peter:—

Last came and last did goThe pilot of the Galilean Lake;Two massy keys he bore of metals twain,(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,)He shook hismitredlocks, and stern bespake.

Last came and last did go

The pilot of the Galilean Lake;

Two massy keys he bore of metals twain,

(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,)

He shook hismitredlocks, and stern bespake.

When, in devotional pictures, St. Peter is accompanied by another apostle with no distinctive attributes, we may suppose it to be St. Mark, who was his interpreter, companion, and amanuensis at Rome. According to an early tradition, the Gospelof St. Mark was written down from the dictation of St. Peter.[166]In a miniature frontispiece to St. Mark’s Gospel, the evangelist is seated writing, and St. Peter stands opposite, as if dictating. In a picture by Angelico,[167]Peter is preaching from a pulpit to a crowd of people: Mark, seated on one side, is diligently taking down his words. In a very fine picture by Bonvicino[168]they stand together; St. Peter is reading from a book; St. Mark holds a scroll and inkhorn; he is submitting to St. Peter the Gospel he has just penned, and which was afterwards confirmed by the apostle.

Lastly, a magnificent Venetian picture[169]represents St. Peter throned as bishop, with an earnest and rather stern countenance; he holds a book in his hand; two angels with musical instruments are seated on the steps of his throne: on his right hand stand John the Baptist, and St. Jerome as cardinal; on his left St. Ambrose; while St. Mark bends over a book, as if reading to this majestic auditory.

Those scenes and incidents related in the Gospels in which St. Peter is a principal or conspicuous figure, I shall enlarge upon when treating of the life of Christ, and will only indicate a few of them here, as illustrating the manner in which St. Peter is introduced and treated in such subjects.

We have, first, the Calling of Peter and Andrew in a picture by Basaiti,[170]where the two brothers are kneeling at the feet of the Saviour; the fishing-boats and the Lake of Gennesareth in the background: and in the beautiful fresco by Ghirlandajo in the Sistine Chapel, where a number of contemporary personages are introduced as spectators. St. Andrew presenting St. Peter to our Saviour (as in a picture by Cavalucci, in the Vatican), is another version of the same subject; or St. Andrew is seen at the feet of Christ, while St. Peter is sitting on the edge of the boat, or descending from it in haste.

‘Christ walking on the Sea’ is a familiar and picturesque subject, not to be mistaken. The most ancient and most celebrated representation is Giotto’s mosaic (A.D.1298), now placed in the portico of St. Peter’s, over the arch opposite to the principal door. The sentiment in the composition of this subject is, generally, ‘Lord, help me; or I perish:’ St. Peter is sinking, and Christ is stretching out his hand to save him. It is considered as a type of the Church in danger, assailed by enemies, and saved by the miraculous interposition of the Redeemer; and in this sense must the frequent representations in churches be understood.

In the ‘Miraculous Draught of Fishes,’ St. Peter is usually on his knees looking up with awe and gratitude:—‘Depart from me, O Lord! for I am a sinful man.’ The composition of Raphael (the cartoon at Hampton Court) is just what we should seek for in Raphael, a masterpiece of dramatic expression,—the significant, the poetical, the miraculous predominating. The composition of Rubens, at Malines, which deserves the next place, should be looked at in contrast, as an instance of the picturesque and vigorous treatment equally characteristic of the painter;—all life and reality, even to the glittering fish which tumble in the net. ‘St. Peter finding the tribute money’ is a subject I have seldom met with: themotifis simple, and not to be mistaken.

In all the scenes of the life of our Saviour in which the apostles are assembled,—in the Transfiguration, in the Last Supper, in the ‘Washing the Feet of the Disciples,’ in the scene of the agony and the betrayal of Christ,—St. Peter is introduced as a more or less prominent figure, but always to be distinguished from the other apostles. In the third of these subjects, the washing of the feet, St. Peter generally looks up at Christ with an expression of humble expostulation, his hand on his head: the sentiment is—‘Not my feet only, but my hands and my head.’

In the scene of the betrayal of Christ, St. Peter cutting off the ear of Malthus is sometimes atooprominent group; and I remember an old German print in which St. Peter having cut off the ear, our Lord bends down to replace it.[171]

‘St. Peter denying the Saviour’ is always one of the subjects inthe series of the Passion of Christ. It occurs frequently on the ancient sarcophagi as the symbol of repentance, and is treated with classical and sculptural simplicity, the cock being always introduced, as in the illustration (71): it is here to be understood as a general emblem of human weakness and repentance. As an action separately, or as one of the series of the life and actions of Peter, it has not been often painted; it seems to have been avoided in general by the early Italian painters as derogatory to the character and dignity of the apostle. The only examples I can recollect are in the later Italian and Flemish schools. Teniers has adopted it as a vehicle for a guard-room scene; soldiers playing at cards, bright armour, &c. Rembrandt has taken it as a vehicle for a fine artificial light; and, for the same reason, the Caravaggio school delighted in it. The maiden, whose name in the old traditions is Balilla, is always introduced with a look and gesture of reproach, and the cock is often perched in the background.

71 Repentance of Peter (Sarcophagus, third century)

‘Christ turned and looked upon Peter:’ of this beautiful subject, worthy of Raphael himself, I can remember no instance.

The ‘Repentance of Peter’ is a subject seldom treated in the earlierschools of Italy, but frequently by the later painters, and particularly by the Bologna school; in some instances most beautifully. It was a subject peculiarly suited to the genius of Guercino, who excelled in the expression of profound rather than elevated feeling.

There is a manner of representing the repentance of Peter which seems peculiar to Spanish Art, and is more ideal than is usual with that school. Christ is bound to a column and crowned with thorns; St. Peter kneels before him in an attitude of the deepest anguish and humiliation, and appears to be supplicating forgiveness. Except in the Spanish school, I have never met with this treatment. The little picture by Murillo[172]is an exquisite example; and in the Spanish Gallery are two others, by Pedro de Cordova and Juan Juanes:—in the former, St. Peter holds a pocket-handkerchief with which he has been wiping his eyes, and the cock is perched on the column to which our Saviour is bound.

Another ideal treatment we find in a picture by Guercino; St. Peter is weeping bitterly, and opposite to him the Virgin is seated in motionless grief.

Half-length figures of St. Peter looking up with an expression of repentant sorrow, and wringing his hands, are of frequent occurrence, more especially in the later followers of the Bologna and Neapolitan schools of the seventeenth century: Ribera, Lanfranco, Caravaggio, and Valentin. In most of these instances, the total absence of ideal or elevated sentiment is striking;—any old bearded beggar out of the streets, who could cast up his eyes and look pathetic, served as a model.

I recollect no picture of the Crucifixion in which St. Peter is present.

‘The delivery of the keys to Peter’ and ‘the Charge to Peter,’ (Feed my sheep,) either in separate pictures or combined into one subject, have been of course favourite themes in a Church which founds its authority on these particular circumstances. The bas-relief over the principal door of St. Peter’s at Rome represents the two themes in one: Christ delivers the keys to Peter, and the sheep are standing by.In the panels of the bronze doors beneath (A.D.1431), we have the chain of thought and incident continued; Peter delivers the emblematical keys to Pope Eugenius IV.

It is curious that, while the repentance of Peter is a frequent subject on the sarcophagi of the fourth century, the delivery of the keys to Peter occurs but once. Christ, as a beardless youth, presents to Peter two keys laid crosswise one over the other. Peter, in whose head the traditional type is most distinctly marked, has thrown his pallium over his outstretched hands, for, according to the antique ceremonial, of which the early sculpture and mosaics afford us so many examples, things consecrated could only be touched with covered hands. This singular example is engraved in Bottari.[173]An example of beautiful and solemn treatment in painting is Perugino’s fresco in the Sistine Chapel. It contains twenty-one figures; the conception is quite ideal, the composition regular even to formality, yet striking and dramatic. In the centre, Peter, kneeling on one knee, receives the keys from the hand of the Saviour; the apostles and disciples are arranged on each side behind Christ and St. Peter; in the background is the rebuilding of the Temple;—a double allegory: ‘Destroy this temple, I will build it up in three days:’ and also, perhaps, alluding to the building of the chapel by Sixtus IV.

In Raphael’s cartoon[174]the scene is an open plain: Christ stands on the right; in front, St. Peter kneels, with the keys in his hand; Christ extends one hand to Peter, and with the other points to a flock of sheep in the background. The introduction of the sheep into this subject has been criticised as at once too literal and too allegorical,—a too literal transcript of the words, a too allegorical version of the meaning; but I do not see how the words of our Saviour could have been otherwise rendered in painting, which must speak to us through sensible objects. The other apostles standing behind Peter show in each countenance the different manner in which they are affected by the words of the Saviour.

By Gian Bellini: a beautiful picture:[175]St. Peter kneeling, half-length, receives the keys from Jesus Christ, seated on a throne. Behind St. Peter stand the three Christian Graces, Faith, Hope, and Charity. Poussin has taken this subject in his series of the Seven Sacraments[176],to represent the sacrament of Ordination. In this instance again, the two themes are united; and we must also remember, that the allegorical representation of the disciples and followers of Christ as sheep looking up to be fed, is consecrated by the practice of the earliest schools of Christian Art. Rubens has rendered the subject very simply, in a picture containing only the two figures, Christ and St. Peter;[177]and again with five figures, less good.[178]Numerous other examples might be given; but the subject is one that, however treated, cannot be easily mistaken.

A very ideal version of this subject is where St. Peter kneels at the feet of the Madonna, and the Infant Christ, bending from her lap, presents the keys to him; as in a singularly fine and large composition by Crivelli,[179]and in another by Andrea Salaino. Another, very beautiful and curious, is in the possession of Mr. Bromley of Wootten.[180]

After the ascension of our Saviour, the personal history of St. Peter is mingled first with that of St. John, and afterwards with that of St. Paul.

‘Peter and John healing the lame man at the gate called Beautiful’ is the subject of one of the finest of the cartoons at Hampton Court. Perin del Vaga, Niccolò Poussin, and others less renowned, have also treated it; it is susceptible of much contrast and dramatic effect.

‘The sick are brought out and placed in the shadow of Peter and John that they may be healed,’ by Masaccio.[181]

‘Peter preaching to the early converts:’ the two most beautiful compositions I have seen, are the simple group of Masaccio; and another by Le Sueur, full of variety and sentiment.

‘Peter and John communicate the Holy Ghost by laying their hands on the disciples,’ by Vasari.[182]I do not well remember this picture.

The Vision of Peter: three angels sustain the curtain or sheet whichcontains the various forbidden animals, as pigs, rabbits, &c. (as in a print after Guercino).

‘Peter baptizes the Centurion’ (very appropriately placed in the baptistery of the Vatican). St. Peter meets the Centurion; he blesses the family of the Centurion. All commonplace versions of very interesting and picturesque subjects.

‘The Death of Ananias.’ Raphael’s cartoon of this awful scene is a masterpiece of dramatic and scenic power; never was a story more admirably and completely told in painting. Those who had to deal with the same subject, as if to avoid a too close comparison with his unapproachable excellence, have chosen the death of Sapphira as themotif: as, for example, Niccolò Poussin.[183]

‘Dorcas or Tabitha restored to life.’ One of the finest and most effective of Guercino’s pictures, now in the Palazzo Pitti: the simple dignity of the apostle, and the look of sick amazement in the face of the woman restored to consciousness, show how strong Guercino could be when he had to deal with natural emotions of no elevated kind. The same subject, by Costanzi, is among the great mosaics in St. Peter’s. ‘The Death of Dorcas,’ by Le Sueur, is a beautiful composition. She lies extended on a couch; St. Peter and two other apostles approach the foot of it: the poor widows, weeping, show to St. Peter the garments which Dorcas had made for them (Acts ix. 39).

The imprisonment of Peter, and his deliverance by the Angel, were incidents so important, and offer such obvious points of dramatic effect, that they have been treated in every possible variety of style and sentiment, from the simple formality of the early mosaics, where the two figures—Peter sitting on a stool, leaning his head on his hand, and the Angel at his side—express the story like a vision,[184]down to the scenic and architectural compositions of Steenwick, where, amid a vast perspective of gloomy vaults and pillars, a diminutive St. Peter, with an Angel or a sentinel placed somewhere in the foreground, just serves to give the picture a name.[185]

Some examples of this subject are of great celebrity.

Masaccio, in the frescoes of the Brancacci Chapel, has represented Peter in prison, looking through his grated window, and Paul outside communing with him. (The noble figure of St. Paul in this fresco was imitated by Raphael in the ‘St. Paul preaching at Athens.’) In the next compartment of the series, Masaccio has given us the Angel leading forth Peter, while the guard sleeps at the door: he sleeps as one oppressed with an unnatural sleep. Raphael’s fresco in the Vatican is not one of his best, but he has seized on the obvious point of effect, both as to light and grouping; and we have three separate moments of the same incident, which yet combine most happily into one grand scene. Thus in the centre, over the window, we see through a grating the interior of the prison, where St. Peter is sleeping between two guards, who, leaning on their weapons, are sunk in a deep charmed slumber;[186]an angel, whose celestial radiance fills the dungeon with a flood of light, is in the act of waking the apostle: on the right of the spectator, the angel leads the apostle out of the prison; two guards are sleeping on the steps: on the left, the soldiers are roused from sleep, and one with a lighted torch appears to be giving the alarm; the crescent moon faintly illumines the background.

The deliverance of St. Peter has always been considered as figurative of the deliverance of the Church; and the two other frescoes of this room, the Heliodorus and the Attila, bear the same interpretation. It is worth while to compare this dramatic composition of Raphael with others wherein the story is merely a vehicle for artificial effects of light, as in a picture by Gerard Honthorst; or treated like a supernatural vision, as by that poet, Rembrandt.

Those historical subjects in which St. Peter and St. Paul figure together will be noticed in the life of St. Paul.

I come now to the legendary stories connected with St. Peter; an inexhaustible source of popular and pictorial interest.

Peter was at Jerusalem as late asA.D.52; then at Antioch; also in Babylon: according to the most ancient testimonies he was at Rome aboutA.D.63; but the tradition, that he resided as bishop in the city of Rome for twenty-five years, first related by Jerome, seems questionable.[187]Among the legendary incidents which marked his sojourn in Rome, the first and the most important is the story of Simon Magus.

Simon, a famous magician among the Jews, had astonished the whole city of Jerusalem by his wonderful feats; but his inventions and sorceries were overcome by the real miracles of Peter, as the Egyptian magi had been conquered by Aaron. He offered the apostles money to buy the secret of their power, which Peter rejected with indignation. St. Augustine tells us, as a characteristic trait of the fiery-spirited apostle, that ‘if he had fallen on the traitor Simon, he would certainly have torn him to pieces with his teeth.’ The magician, vanquished by a superior power, flung his books into the Dead Sea, broke his wand, and fled to Rome, where he became a great favourite of the Emperor Claudius, and afterwards of Nero. Peter, bent on counteracting the wicked sorceries of Simon, followed him to Rome. About two years after his arrival he was joined there by the Apostle Paul. Simon Magus having asserted that he was himself a god, and could raise the dead, Peter and Paul rebuked his impiety, and challenged him to a trial of skill in presence of the emperor. The arts of the magician failed; Peter and Paul restored the youth to life: and on many other occasions Simon was vanquished and put to shame by the miraculous power of the apostles. At length he undertook to fly up to heaven in sight of the emperor and the people; and, crowned with laurel, and supported by demons, he flung himself from a tower, and appeared for a while to float thus in the air: but St. Peter, falling on his knees, commanded the demons to let go their hold, and Simon, precipitated to the ground, was dashed to pieces.

This romantic legend, so popular in the middle ages, is founded on some antique traditions not wholly unsupported by historical testimony.

There can be no doubt that there existed in the first century a Simon, a Samaritan, a pretender to divine authority and supernatural powers; who, for a time, had many followers; who stood in a certain relation to Christianity; and who may have held some opinions more or less similar to those entertained by the most famous heretics of the early ages, the Gnostics. Irenæus calls this Simon the father of all heretics. ‘All those,’ he says, ‘who in any way corrupt the truth, or mar the preaching of the Church, are disciples and successors of Simon, the Samaritan magician.’ Simon gave himself forth as a god, and carried about with him a beautiful woman named Helena, whom he represented as the first conception of his—that is, of the divine—mind, the symbol or manifestation of that portion of spirituality which had become entangled in matter.[188]

The incidents of the story of Simon Magus have been often and variously treated.

1. By Quintin Matsys: Peter refuses the offer of Simon Magus—‘Thy money perish with thee!’ Here Peter wears the mitre of a bishop: the picture is full of coarse but natural expression.

2. ‘Peter and Paul accused before Nero:’ the fresco in the Brancacci Chapel, attributed by Kugler to Filippino Lippi, is certainly one of the most perfect pieces of art, as a dramatic composition, which we have before the time of Raphael. To the right the emperor is seated on his throne, on each side his ministers and attendants. The countenances are finely varied; some of them animated by attention and curiosity, others sunk in deep thought. The two apostles, and their accuser Simon Magus, are in front. Simon, a magnificent figure, who might serve for a Prospero, lays his hand on the vest of Peter, as if to drag him forward; Paul stands aside with quiet dignity; Peter, with a countenance full of energetic expression, points contemptuously to the broken idol at his feet. For the felicity and animation with which the story is told, and for propriety, grace, and grandeur, Raphael has not often exceeded this picture.

3. Another of the series of the life of Peter in the Brancacci Chapel is the resuscitation of the youth, who in the legend is called the nephew of the emperor; a composition of numerous figures. In the centre stands St. Peter, and before him kneels the youth; a skull and a few bones are near him—a naïve method of expressing his return from death to life. The variety of expression in the countenances of the assembled spectators is very fine. According to the custom of the Florentine school at that time, many are portraits of distinguished persons; and, considering that the fresco was painted at a period most interesting in the Florentine history (A.D.1440), we have much reason to regret that these can no longer be discriminated.

4. ‘The Fall of Simon Magus’ is a favourite and picturesque subject, often repeated. A most ancient and most curious version is that on the walls of the Cathedral at Assisi, older than the time of Giotto, and attributed to Giunta Pisano. (A.D.1232.) On one side is a pyramidical tower formed of wooden bars; Peter and Paul are kneeling in front; the figure of the magician is seen floating in the air and sustained by hideous demons;—very dreamy, poetical, and fanciful. In Mr. Ottley’s collection I saw a small ancient picture of the same subject, very curious, attributed to Benozzo Gozzoli. Raphael’s composition in the Vatican has the simplicity of a classical bas-relief,—a style which does not appear suited to this romantic legend. The picture by L. Caracci at Naples I have not seen. Over one of the altars of St. Peter, we now see the great mosaic, after Vanni’s picture of this subject; a clever commonplace treatment: the scene is an amphitheatre, the emperor above in his balcony; Peter and Paul in front, invoking the name of Christ, and Simon Magus tumbling headlong, forsaken by his demons; in the background sit the vestals. Battoni’s great picture in the S. Maria degli Angeli at Rome is considered his best production; it is full of well-studied academic drawing, but scenic and mannered.

The next subject in the order of events is styled the ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ After the burning of Rome, Nero threw upon the Christians the accusation of having fired the city. This was the origin of the first persecution, in which many perished by terrible and hitherto unheard-of deaths. The Christian converts besought Peter not to expose hislife, which was dear and necessary to the well-being of all; and at length he consented to depart from Rome. But as he fled along the Appian Way, about two miles from the gates, he was met by a vision of our Saviour travelling towards the city. Struck with amazement, he exclaimed, ‘Lord! whither goest thou?’ to which the Saviour, looking upon him with a mild sadness, replied, ‘I go to Rome to be crucified a second time,’ and vanished. Peter, taking this for a sign that he was to submit himself to the sufferings prepared for him, immediately turned back, and re-entered the city. Michael Angelo’s famous statue, now in the church of S. Maria-sopra-Minerva at Rome, is supposed to represent Christ as he appeared to Peter on this occasion; and a cast or copy of it is in the little church of ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ erected on the spot sanctified by this mysterious meeting.

It is surprising that this most beautiful, picturesque, and, to my fancy, sublime legend has been so seldom treated; and never, as it appears to me, in a manner worthy of its capabilities and its high significance. It is seldom that a whole story can be told by two figures, and these two figures placed in such grand and dramatic contrast;—Christ in his serene majesty and radiant with all the glory of beatitude, yet with an expression of gentle reproach; the apostle at his feet, arrested in his flight, amazed, and yet filled with a trembling joy; and for the background the wide Campagna or the towering walls of imperial Rome;—these are grand materials; but the pictures I have met with are all ineffective in conception. The best fall short of the sublime ideal; most of them are theatrical and commonplace.

Raphael has interpreted it in a style rather too classical for the spirit of the legend; with great simplicity and dignity, but as afact, rather than a vision conjured up by the stricken conscience and tenderness of the affectionate apostle. The small picture by Annibale Caracci in our National Gallery is a carefully finished academical study and nothing more, but may be referred to as a fair example of the usual mode of treatment.

Peter returned to Rome, persisted in his appointed work, preaching and baptizing; was seized with St. Paul and thrown into the Mamertine dungeons under the Capitol. The two centurions who guarded them, Processus and Martinian, and many of the criminals confined inthe same prison, were converted by the preaching of the apostle; and there being no water to baptize them, at the prayer of St. Peter a fountain sprang up from the stone floor; which may be seen at this day.

‘The Baptism of St. Processus and St. Martinian in the Dungeon,’ by Trevisani, is in the baptistery of St. Peter’s at Rome; they afterwards suffered for the faith, and were canonised. In the same church is the scene of their martyrdom by Valentino; they are seen bound and stretched on a hurdle, the head of one to the feet of the other, and thus beaten to death. The former picture—the Baptism—is commonplace; the latter, terrible for dark and effective expression; it is just one of those subjects in which the Caravaggio school delighted.

A few days after their incarceration, St. Peter and St. Paul were condemned to death. According to one tradition, St. Peter suffered martyrdom in the Circus of Caligula at the foot of the Vatican, and was crucified between two metæ, i.e. the goals or terminæ in the Circus, round which the chariots turned in the race; but, according to another tradition, he was put to death in the court-yard of a barrack or military station on the summit of Mons Janicula, where the church of San Pietro in Montorio now stands; that is, on an eminence above the site of the Circus of Caligula. At his own request, and that his death might be even more painful and ignominious than that of his Divine Master, he was crucified with his head downwards.

72 Crucifixion of St. Peter (Giotto)

In the earliest representations I have met with,[189]St. Peter is raised on the cross with his head downwards, and wears a long shirt which is fastened round his ankles. In the picture of Giotto,[190]the local circumstances, according to the first tradition, are carefully attended to: we have the cross erected between the two metæ, and about twenty soldiers and attendants; among them a woman who embraces the foot of the cross, as the Magdalene embraces the cross of the Saviour. Above are seen angels, who bear the soul of the martyred saint in a glory to heaven. Masaccio’s composition[191]is very simple; the scene isthe court-yard of a military station (according to the second tradition). Peter is already nailed upon a cross; three executioners are in the act of raising it with cords and a pulley to suspend it against a great beam of wood; there are several soldiers, but no women, present. In Guido’s composition[192]there are only three figures, the apostle and two executioners; it is celebrated as a work of art, but it appeared to me most ineffective. On the other hand, Rubens has gone into the opposite extreme; there are only three persons, the principal figure filling nearly the whole of the canvas: it is full of vigour, truth, and nature; but the brutality of the two executioners, and the agony of the aged saint, too coarsely and painfully literal. These simple representations of the mere act or fact should be compared with the fresco of Michael Angelo,[193]in which the event is evolved into a grand drama. Here the scene is evidently the summit of the Mons Janiculum: in the midst of a crowd of soldiers and spectators, St. Peter lies nailed to the cross,which a number of men are exerting their utmost strength to raise from the ground.

The legend which makes St. Peter the keeper of the gate of Paradise, with power to grant or refuse admission, is founded on the delivery of the keys to Peter. In most of the pictures which represent the entrance of the blessed into Paradise or the New Jerusalem, Peter stands with his keys near the gate. There is a beautiful example in the great fresco of Simone Memmi in the chapelde’ Spagnuoliat Florence: St. Peter stands at the open portal with his great key, and two angels crown with garlands the souls of the just as they enter joyously hand in hand.

73 From the fresco of Simone Memmi, Florence (S. Maria Novella)

The legend of St. Petronilla, the daughter of St. Peter (in French, Sainte Pernelle), has never been popular as a subject of Art, and I can remember no series of incidents from the life of St. Peter in which she is introduced, except those in the Carmine at Florence. It is apparently a Roman legend, and either unknown to the earliest artists, or neglected by them. It is thus related:—

‘The apostle Peter had a daughter born in lawful wedlock, who accompanied him in his journey from the East. Being at Rome with him, she fell sick of a grievous infirmity which deprived her of the use of her limbs. And it happened that as the disciples were at meat with him in his house, one said to him, ‘Master, how is it that thou, who healest the infirmities of others, dost not heal thy daughter Petronilla?’ And St. Peter answered, ‘It is good for her to remain sick:’ but, that they might see the power that was in the word of God, he commanded her to get up and serve them at table, which she did; and having done so, she lay down again helpless as before; but many years afterwards, being perfected by her long suffering, and praying fervently, she was healed. Petronilla was wonderfully fair; and Valerius Flaccus, a young and noble Roman, who was a heathen, became enamoured of her beauty, and sought her for his wife; and he being very powerful, she feared to refuse him; she therefore desired him to return in three days, and promised that he should then carry her home. But she prayed earnestly to be delivered from this peril; and when Flaccus returned in three days with great pomp to celebrate the marriage, he found her dead. The company of nobles who attended him carried her to the grave, in which they laid her, crowned with roses; and Flaccus lamented greatly.’[194]The legend places her death in the year 98, that is, 34 years after the death of St. Peter; but it would be in vain to attempt to reconcile the dates and improbabilities of this story.

The legend places her death in the year 98, that is, 34 years after the death of St. Peter; but it would be in vain to attempt to reconcile the dates and improbabilities of this story.

St. Peter raising Petronilla from her sick bed is one of the subjects by Masaccio in the Brancacci Chapel. The scene of her entombment is the subject of a once celebrated and colossal picture by Guercino:the copy in mosaic is over the altar dedicated to her in St. Peter’s: in front, and in the lower part of the picture, she is just seen as they are letting her down into the grave, crowned with roses; behind stands Flaccus with a handkerchief in his hand, and a crowd of spectators: in the upper part of the picture Petronilla is already in Paradise, kneeling, in a rich dress, before the feet of Christ, having exchanged an earthly for a heavenly bridegroom. This great picture exhibits, in a surpassing degree, the merits and defects of Guercino; it is effective, dramatic, deeply and forcibly coloured, and arrests attention: on the other hand, it is coarse, crowded, vulgar in sentiment, and repugnant to our better taste. There is a standing figure of Petronilla in the Duomo at Lucca, by Daniel di Volterra, very fine.[195]

The life of St. Peter, when represented as a series, generally comprises the following subjects, commencing with the first important incident after the Ascension of Christ.

1. Peter and John heal the lame man at the Beautiful Gate. 2. Peter heals the paralytic Eneas. 3. Peter raises Tabitha. 4. The angel takes off the chains of Peter. 5. He follows the angel out of the prison. 6. St. Peter and St. Paul meet at Rome. 7. Peter and Paul before Nero are accused by Simon Magus. 8. The fall of Simon Magus. 9. The crucifixion of St. Peter. This example is taken from the series of mosaics in the Cathedral of Monreale, at Palermo.

The fine series of frescoes in the Brancacci Chapel at Florence is differently arranged; thus:—1. The tribute money found in the fish by St. Peter. 2. Peter preaching to the converts. 3. Peter baptizes the converts. In this fresco, the youth, who has thrown off his garments and is preparing for baptism, is famous as the first really graceful and well-drawn undraped figure which had been produced since the revival of Art. 4. Peter and John heal the cripple at the Beautiful Gate, and Petronilla is raised from her bed. 5. Peter in his prison is visited by Paul. 6. Peter delivered by the angel. 7. The resuscitation of the dead youth. 8. The sick are laid in the way of Peter and John, ‘that at the least the shadow of Peter passing by might overshadow some of them.’ 9. Peter and John distribute alms; a dead figure lies at the feet of the apostles, perhaps Ananias. The situation of the fresco is very dark, so that it is difficult to distinguish the action and expression of the figures. 10. Peter and Paul accused before Nero. 11. The crucifixion of Peter.

In St. Peter’s at Rome, we have of course every scene from the life of the apostle which could well be expressed by Art; but none of these are of great merit or interest: most of them are from the schools of the seventeenth century.

St. Paul, though called to the apostleship after the ascension of the Saviour, takes rank next to St. Peter as one of the chief witnesses of the Christian faith. Of all the apostles he is the most interesting; the one of whose personal character and history we know most, and through the most direct and irrefragable testimony. The events of his life, as conveyed in the Acts and the Epistles, are so well known, that I need not here particularise them. The legends connected with him are very few.

The earliest single figure of St. Paul to which I can refer was found painted on the walls of the cemetery of Priscilla, near Rome.[196]He stands, with outstretched arms, in the act of prayer; (in the early ages of Christianity the act of supplication was expressed in the classical manner, that is, not with folded hands, but with the arms extended;) hehas the nimbus; his dress is that of a traveller, the tunic and pallium being short, and his feet sandalled, perhaps to indicate his many and celebrated travels; perhaps, also, it represents Paul praying for his flock before he departed from Macedon to return to Jerusalem (Acts xx.): over this ancient figure, which, though ill drawn, is quite classical in sentiment and costume, is inscribedPAULUS. PASTOR. APOSTOLOS; on his right hand stands the Good Shepherd, in reference to the title of PASTOR, inscribed over his effigy. Another figure of St. Paul, which appears to be of later date, but anterior to the fifth century, was found in the catacombs at Naples: in this effigy he wears the dress of a Greek philosopher; the style in which the drapery is worn recalls the time of Hadrian: he has no nimbus, nor is the head bald; he has sandals on his feet: over his head is inscribed his name,Paulus; near him is a smaller figure similarly draped, who offers him fruit and flowers in a vase; probably the personage who was entombed on the spot.

At what period the sword was given to St. Paul as his distinctive attribute, is with antiquaries a disputed point; certainly, much later than the keys were given to Peter.[197]If we could be sure that the mosaic on the tomb of Otho II., and another mosaic already described, had not been altered in successive restorations, these would be evidence that the sword was given to St. Paul as his attribute as early as the 6th century; but there are no monuments which can be absolutely trusted as regards the introduction of the sword before the end of the 11th century; since the end of the 14th century, it has been so generally adopted, that in the devotional effigies I can remember no instance in which it is omitted. When St. Paul is leaning on the sword, it expresses his martyrdom; when he holds it aloft, it expresses also his warfare in the cause of Christ: when two swords are given to him, one is the attribute, the other the emblem; but this double allusion does not occur in any of the older representations. In Italy I never met with St. Paul bearing two swords, and the only instance I can call to mind is the bronze statue by Peter Vischer, on the shrine of St. Sebald, at Nuremberg.

Although devotional representations of St. Paul separate from St. Peter and the other apostles occur very rarely, pictures from his life and actions are commonly met with; the principal events are so familiar, that they are easily recognised and discriminated even by the most unlearned in biblical illustration: considered and treated as a series, they form a most interesting and dramatic succession of scenes, often introduced into the old churches; but the incidents chosen are not always the same.

Paul, before his conversion, was present at the stoning of Stephen, and he is generally introduced holding on his knees the garments of the executioners. In some ancient pictures, he has, even while looking on and ‘consenting to the death’ of the victim, the glory round his head, as one who, while ‘breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord,’ was already a chosen vessel to bear His name before the Gentiles.’ But in a set of pictures which relate expressly to St. Paul the martyrdom of Stephen is, with proper feeling, omitted, and the series generally begins with theConversion of Paul,—in his character of apostle, the first great event in his life. An incident so important, so celebrated, and in all its accessories so picturesque and dramatic, has of course been a frequent subject of artistic treatment, even as a separate composition. In some of the old mosaics, the story is very simply, and at the same time vividly, rendered. In the earliest examples, St. Paul has the nimbus or glory while yet unconverted; he is prostrate on the ground, grovelling on his hands and knees; rays of light fall upon him out of heaven, where the figure of Christ, half-length, is seen emerging from glory; sometimes it is a hand only, which is the emblem of the Almighty Power; two or four attendants at most are flying in terror. It is not said in Scripture that St. Paul journeyed on horseback from Jerusalem to Damascus; but the tradition is at least as old as the time of Pope Dalmasius (A.D.384), as it is then referred to. St. Augustine says he journeyed on foot, because the Pharisees made a point of religion to go on foot, and it is so represented in the old Greek mosaics. The expression, ‘It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks,’ has been oddly enough assigned as a reason for placing Paul on horseback;[198]at all events, as he bore amilitary command, it has been thought proper in later times so to represent him, and also as surrounded by a numerous cortége of attendants. This treatment admits, of course, of endless variety, in the disposition and number of the figures, in the attitudes and expression; but the moment chosen is generally the same.

1. The oldest example I can cite, next to the Greek mosaics, is an old Italian print mentioned by Zani. Paul, habited as a Roman warrior, kneels with his arms crossed on his breast, and holding a scroll, on which is inscribed in Latin, ‘Lord, what shall I do?’ Christ stands opposite to him, also holding a scroll, on which is written, ‘Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?’ There are no attendants. Zani does not give the date of this quaint and simple version of the story.

2. Raphael. Paul, habited as a Roman soldier, is lying on the ground, as thrown from his horse; he looks upward to Christ, who appears in the clouds, attended by three child-angels: his attendants on foot and on horseback are represented as rushing to his assistance, unconscious of the vision, but panic struck by its effect onhim: one attendant in the background seizes by the bridle the terrified horse. The original cartoon of this fine composition (one of the tapestries in the Vatican) is lost.

3. Michael Angelo. Paul, a noble figure, though prostrate, appears to be struck motionless and senseless: Christ seems to berushingdown from heaven surrounded by a host of angels; those of the attendants who are near to Paul are flying in all directions, while a long train of soldiers is seen ascending from the background. This grand dramatic composition forms the pendant to the Crucifixion of Peter in the Cappella Paolina. It is so darkened by age and the smoke of tapers, and so ill lighted, that it is not easily made out; but there is a fine engraving, which may be consulted.

4. Another very celebrated composition of this subject is that of Rubens.[199]Paul, lying in the foreground, expresses in his attitude the most helpless and grovelling prostration. The attendants appear very literally frightened out of their senses; and the grey horse snorting and rearing behind is the finest part of the picture: as is usual with Rubens, the effects of physical fear and amazement are given with theutmost spirit and truth; but the scriptural dignity, the supernatural terrors, of the subject are ill expressed, and the apostle himself is degraded. To go a step lower, Cuyp has given us a Conversion of St. Paul apparently for the sole purpose of introducing horses in different attitudes: the favourite dapple-grey charger is seen bounding off in terror; no one looks at St. Paul, still less to Christ above—but thehorsesare admirable.

5. In Albert Dürer’s print, a shower ofstonesis falling from heaven on St. Paul and his company.

6. There is a very curious and unusual version of this subject in a rare print by Lucas van Leyden. It is a composition of numerous figures. St. Paul is seen, blind and bewildered, led between two men; another man leads his frightened charger; several warriors and horsemen follow, and the whole procession seems to be proceeding slowly to the right. In the far distance is represented the previous moment—Paul struck down and blinded by the celestial vision.

‘Paul, after his conversion, restored to sight by Ananias,’ as a separate subject, seldom occurs; but it has been treated in the later schools by Vasari, by Cavallucci, and by P. Cortona.

‘The Jews flagellate Paul and Silas.’ I know but one picture of this subject, that of Niccolò Poussin: the angry Jews are seen driving them forth with scourges; the Elders, who have condemned them, are seated in council behind: as we might expect from the character of Poussin, the dignity of the apostles is maintained,—but it is not one of his best pictures.

‘Paul, after his conversion, escapes from Damascus;’ he is let down in a basket (Acts ix. 25): the incident forms, of course, one of the scenes in his life when exhibited in a series, but I remember no separate picture of this subject, and the situation is so ludicrous and so derogatory that we can understand how it came to be avoided.

‘The ecstatic vision of St. Paul, in which he was caught up to the third heaven.’ (2 Cor. xii. 2.) Paul, who so frequently and familiarly speaks of angels, in describing this event makes no mention of them,but in pictures he is represented as borne upwards by angels. I find no early composition of this subject. The small picture of Domenichino is coldly conceived. Poussin has painted the ‘Ravissement de St. Paul’ twice; in the first, the apostle is borne upon the arms of four angels, and in the second he is sustained by three angels. In rendering this ecstatic vision, the angels, always allowable as machinery, have here a particular propriety; Paul is elevated only a few feet above the roof of his house, where lie his sword and book. Here the sword serves to distinguish the personage; and the roof of the house shows us that it is a vision, and not an apotheosis. Both pictures are in the Louvre.

‘Paul preaching to the converts at Ephesus.’ In a beautiful Raffaelesque composition by Le Sueur, the incident of the magicians bringing their books of sorcery and burning them at the feet of the apostle is well introduced. It was long the custom to exhibit this picture solemnly in Notre Dame every year on the 1st of May. It is now in the Louvre.

‘Paul before Felix,’ and ‘Paul before Agrippa.’ Neither of these subjects has ever been adequately treated. It is to me inconceivable that the old masters so completely overlooked the opportunity for grand characteristic delineation afforded by both these scenes, the latter especially. Perhaps, in estimating its capabilities, we are misled by the effect produced on the imagination by the splendid eloquence of the apostle; yet, were another Raphael to arise, I would suggest the subject as a pendant to the St. Paul at Athens.

‘Paul performs miracles before the Emperor Nero;’ a blind man, a sick child, and a possessed woman are brought to him to be healed. This, though a legendary rather than a scriptural subject, has been treated by Le Sueur with scriptural dignity and simplicity.

‘The martyrdom of St. Paul’ is sometimes a separate subject, but generally it is the pendant to the martyrdom of St. Peter. According to the received tradition, the two apostles suffered at the same time, but in different places; for St. Paul, being by birth a Roman citizen, escaped the ignominy of the public exposure in the Circus, as well asthe prolonged torture of the cross. He was beheaded by the sword outside the Ostian gate, about two miles from Rome, at a place called the Aqua Salvias, now the ‘Tre Fontane.’ The legend of the death of St. Paul relates that a certain Roman matron named Plautilla, one of the converts of St. Peter, placed herself on the road by which St. Paul passed to his martyrdom, in order to behold him for the last time; and when she saw him, she wept greatly, and besought his blessing. The apostle then, seeing her faith, turned to her and begged that she would give him her veil to bind his eyes when he should be beheaded, promising to return it to her after his death. The attendants mocked at such a promise, but Plautilla, with a woman’s faith and charity, taking off her veil, presented it to him. After his martyrdom, St. Paul appeared to her, and restored the veil stained with his blood. It is also related, that when he was decapitated the severed head made three bounds upon the earth, and wherever it touched the ground a fountain sprang forth.

In the most ancient representations of the martyrdom of St. Paul, the legend of Plautilla is seldom omitted. In the picture of Giotto preserved in the sacristy of St. Peter’s, Plautilla is seen on an eminence in the background, receiving the veil from the hand of Paul, who appears in the clouds above; the same representation, but little varied, is executed in bas-relief on the bronze doors of St. Peter’s. The three fountains gushing up beneath the severed head are also frequently represented as a literal fact, though a manifest and beautiful allegory, figurative of the fountains of Christian faith which should spring forth from his martyrdom.

In all the melancholy vicinity of Rome, there is not a more melancholy spot than the ‘Tre Fontane.’ A splendid monastery, rich with the offerings of all Christendom, once existed there: the ravages of that mysterious scourge of the Campagna, the malaria, have rendered it a desert; three ancient churches and some ruins still exist, and a few pale monks wander about the swampy dismal confines of the hollow in which they stand. In winter you approach them through a quagmire; in summer, you dare not breathe in their pestilential vicinity; and yet there is a sort of dead beauty about the place, something hallowed aswell as sad, which seizes on the fancy. In the church properly called ‘San Paolo delle Tre Fontane,’ and which is so old that the date of the foundation is unknown, are three chapels with altars raised over as many wells or fountains; the altars are modern, and have each the head of St. Paul carved in relief. The water, which appeared to me exactly the same in all the three fountains, has a soft insipid taste, neither refreshing nor agreeable. The ancient frescoes have perished, and the modern ones are perishing. It is a melancholy spot.

To return, however, to that event which has rendered it for ages consecrated and memorable. Among the many representations of the decollation of St. Paul which exist in sculpture and in painting, I have not met with one which could take a high place as a work of art, or which has done justice to the tragic capabilities of the subject.

After his martyrdom the body of St. Paul was interred on a spot between the Ostian gate and the Aqua Salvias, and there arose the magnificent church known as San Paolo-fuori-le-mura. I saw this church a few months before it was consumed by fire in 1823; I saw it again in 1847, when the restoration was far advanced. Its cold magnificence, compared with the impressions left by the former structure, rich with inestimable remains of ancient art, and venerable from a thousand associations, saddened and chilled me.

The mosaics in the old church, which represented the life and actions of St. Paul, were executed by the Greek mosaic masters of the eleventh century. They appear to have comprised the same subjects which still exist as a series in the church of Monreale near Palermo, and which I shall now describe.

1. Saul is sent by the high-priest to Damascus. Two priests are seated on a raised throne in front of the Temple; Saul stands before them.

2. The Conversion of Saul, as already described (p. 214).

3. Saul, being blind, is led by his attendants to the gate of Damascus.

4. Saul seated. Ananias enters and addresses him.

5. Paul is baptized: he is standing, or rather sitting, in a font, which is a large vase, and not much larger in proportion than a punch-bowl.

6. St. Paul disputes with the Jews. His attitude is vehement and expressive: three Jewish doctors stand before him as if confounded and put to silence by his eloquent reasoning.

7. St. Paul escapes from Damascus; the basket, in which he is lowered down from a parapet, is about the size of a hand-basket.

8. St. Paul delivers a scroll to Timothy and Silas; he consigns to their direction the deacons that were ordained by the apostles and elders. (Acts xvi. 4.)

9. St. Paul and St. Peter meet at Rome, and embrace with brotherly affection. I believe this subject to represent the reconciliation of the two apostles after the dispute at Antioch. The inscription is,Hic Paulus venit Romam et pacem fecit cum Petro. (In the Christian Museum in the Vatican there is a most beautiful small Greek picture in which Peter and Paul are embracing; it may represent the reconciliation or the parting: the heads, though minute, are extremely characteristic.)

10. The decollation of St. Paul at the Aqua Salvias; one fountain only is introduced.

This is the earliest instance I can quote of the dramatic treatment of the life and actions of St. Paul in a series of subjects. The Greek type of the head of St. Paul is retained throughout, strongly individualised, and he appears as a man of about thirty-five or forty. In the later schools of art, which afford some celebrated examples of the life of St. Paul treated as a series, the Greek type has been abandoned.

The series by Raphael, executed for the tapestries of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican, consists of five large and seven small compositions.

1. The conversion of Saul, already described: the cartoon is lost. 2. Elymas the sorcerer struck blind: wonderful for dramatic power. 3. St. Paul and Barnabas at Lystra. 4. Paul preaches at Athens. Of these three magnificent compositions we have the cartoons at Hampton Court. 5. St. Paul in prison at Philippi. The earthquake through which he was liberated is here represented allegorically as a Titan in the lower corner of the picture, with shoulders and arms heaving up the earth. This, which strikes us as rather pagan in conception, has, however, a parallel in the earliest Christian Art, where, in the baptismof Christ, the Jordan is sometimes represented by a classical river-god, sedge-crowned, and leaning on his urn.

The seven small subjects, which in the set of tapestries run underneath as borders to the large compositions, are thus arranged:—

1. ‘As for Saul, he made havoc of the church, entering into every house, and haling men and women committed them to prison.’ (Acts viii. 3.) At one end of a long narrow composition Saul is seated in the dress of a Roman warrior, and attended by a lictor; they bring before him a Christian youth; farther on are seen soldiers ‘haling men and women’ by the hair; others flee in terror. This was erroneously supposed to represent the massacre at Prato, in 1512, by the adherents of the Medici, and is so inscribed in the set of engravings by Bartoli and Landon.

2. John and Mark taking leave of the brethren at Perga in Pamphylia. (Acts xiii. 3.)

3. Paul, teaching in the synagogue at Antioch, confounds the Jews. (Acts xviii. 3.)

4. Paul at Corinth engaged in tent-making with his host. This is an uncommon subject, but I remember another instance in a curious old German print, where, in the lower part of the composition, the apostle is teaching or preaching; and above there is a kind of gallery or balcony, in which he is seen working at a loom: ‘You yourselves know that these hands have ministered to my necessities, labouring night and day, because we would not be chargeable unto you.’ (Acts xviii. 6.)

5. Being at Corinth, he is mocked by the Jews. (Acts viii. 12.)

6. He lays his hand on the Christian converts.

7. He is brought before the judgment-seat of Gallio.[200]

‘Paul, in the island of Melita, shaking the viper from his hand,’ is not a common subject, and yet it is capable of the finest picturesque and dramatic effects: the storm and shipwreck in the background, the angry heavens above, the red firelight, the group of astonished mariners, and, pre-eminent among them, the calm intellectual figure of the apostleshaking the venomous beast from his hand,—these are surely beautiful and available materials for a scenic picture. Even if treated as an allegory in a devotional sense, a single majestic figure, throwing the evil thing innocuous from him, which I have not yet seen, it would be an excellent and a significant subject. The little picture by Elzheimer is the best example I can cite of the picturesque treatment. That of Le Sueur has much dignity; those of Perino del Vaga, Thornhill, West, are all commonplace.

Thornhill, as everybody knows, painted the eight principal scenes of the life of the apostle in the cupola of St. Paul’s.[201]Few people, I should think, have strained their necks to examine them; the eight original studies, small sketchesen grisaille, are preserved in the vestry, and display that heartless, mindless, mannered mediocrity, which makes all criticism foolishness; I shall, however, give a list of the subjects.

1. Paul and Barnabas at Lystra. 2. Paul preaching at Athens. 3. Elymas struck blind. 4. The converts burn their magical books. 5. Paul before Festus. 6. A woman seated at his feet; I presume the Conversion of Lydia of Thyatira. 7. Paul let down in a basket. 8. He shakes the viper from his hand.

At the time that Thornhill was covering the cupola at ‘the rate of 2l.the square yard,’ Hogarth, his son-in-law, would also try his hand. He painted ‘St. Paul pleading before Felix’ for Lincoln’s. Inn Hall; where the subject, at least, is appropriate. The picture itself is curiously characteristic, not of the scene or of the chief personage, but of the painter. St. Paul loaded with chains, and his accuser Tertullus, stand in front; and Felix, with his wife Drusilla, are seated on a raised tribunal in the background; near Felix is the high-priest Ananias. The composition is good. The heads are full of vivid expression—wrath, terror, doubt, fixed attention; but the conception of character most ignoble and commonplace. Hogarth was more at home when he took the same subject as a vehicle for a witty caricature of the Dutch manner of treating sacred subjects—their ludicrous anachronisms and mean incidents. St. Paul, in allusion to his low stature, is mounted ona stool; an angel is sawing through one leg of it; Tertullus is a barrister, in wig, band, and gown; the judge is like an old doting justice of peace, and his attendants like old beggars.

In the Florentine Gallery there is a very curious series of the lives of St. Peter and St. Paul in eight pictures, in the genuine old German style; fanciful, animated, full of natural and dramatic expression, and exquisitely finished,—but dry, hard, grotesque, and abounding in anachronisms.[202]

Among the few separate historical subjects in which St. Peter and St. Paul are represented together, the most important is the dispute at Antioch,—a subject avoided by the earliest painters. St. Paul says, ‘When Peter was come to Antioch, I withstood him to the face, because he was to be blamed.’ Guido’s picture in theBreraatMilanis celebrated: Peter is seated, looking thoughtful, with downcast eyes, an open book on his knees; Paul, in an attitude of rebuke, stands over against him. There is another example by Rosso: here both are standing; Peter is looking down; Paul, with long hair and beard floating back, and a keen reproving expression, ‘rebukes him to his face.’ I presume the same subject to be represented by Lucas van Leyden in a rare and beautiful little print, in which St. Peter and St. Paul are seated together in earnest conversation. St. Peter holds akeyin his right hand, and points with the other to a book which lies on his knees. St. Paul is about to turn the leaf, and his right hand appears to rebuke St. Peter; his left foot is on theswordwhich lies at his feet.

‘The Parting of St. Peter and St. Paul before they are led to death.’ The scene is without the gates of Rome; and as the soldiers drag Peter away, he turns back to Paul with a pathetic expression. This picture, now in the Louvre, is one of Lanfranco’s best compositions.[203]

When the crucifixion of St. Peter and the decollation of St. Paul are represented together in the same picture, such a picture must be considered as religious and devotional, not historical; it does not express the action as it really occurred, but, like many pictures of the crucifixion of our Saviour, it is placed before us as an excitement to piety, self-sacrifice, and repentance. We have this kind of treatment in a picture by Niccolò dell’ Abate:[204]St. Paul kneels before a block, and the headsman stands with sword uplifted in act to strike; in the background, two other executioners grasp St. Peter, who is kneeling on his cross and praying fervently: above, in a glory, is seen the Virgin; in her arms the Infant Christ, who delivers to two angels palm-branches for the martyred saints. The genius of Niccolò was not precisely fitted for this class of subjects. But the composition is full of poetical feeling. The introduction of the Madonna and Child stamps the character of the picture as devotional, not historical—it would otherwise be repulsive, and out of keeping with the subject.

There is a Martyrdom of St. Peter and St. Paul engraved after Parmigiano,[205]which I shall notice on account of its careless and erroneous treatment. They are put to death together; an executioner prepares to decapitate St. Peter, and another drags St. Paul by the beard: the incidents are historically false, and, moreover, in a degraded and secular taste. These are the mistakes that make us turn disgusted from the technical facility, elegance, and power of the sixteenth century, to the simplicity and reverential truth of the fourteenth.

There are various traditions concerning the relics of St. Peter and St. Paul. According to some, the bodies of the two apostles were, in the reign of Heliogabalus, deposited by the Christian converts in the catacombs of Rome, and were laid in the same sepulchre. After the lapse of about two hundred years, the Greek or Oriental Christians attempted to carry them off; but were opposed by the Roman Christians. The Romans conquered; and the two bodies were transported to the church of the Vatican, where they reposed together in a magnificent shrine, beneath the church. Among the engravings in the work of Ciampini and Bosio are two rude old pictures commemorating thisevent. The first represents the combat of the Orientals and the Romans for the bodies of the Saints; in the other, the bodies are deposited in the Vatican. In these two ancient representations, which were placed in the portico of the old basilica of St. Peter, the traditional types may be recognised—the broad full features, short curled beard, and bald head of St. Peter, and the oval face and long beard of St. Paul.

Here I must conclude this summary of the lives and characters of the two greatest apostles, as they have been exhibited in Christian Art; to do justice to the theme would have required a separate volume. One observation, however, suggests itself, and cannot be passed over. The usual type of the head of St. Peter, though often ill rendered and degraded by coarseness, can in general be recognised as characteristic; but is there among the thousand representations of the apostle Paul,oneon which the imagination can rest completely satisfied? I know not one. No doubt the sublimest ideal of embodied eloquence that ever was expressed in Art is Raphael’s St. Paul preaching at Athens. He stands there the delegated voice of the true God, the antagonist and conqueror of the whole heathen world:—‘Whom ye ignorantly worship,Himdeclare I unto you’—is not this what he says? Every feature, nay, every fold in his drapery, speaks; as in the other St. Paul leaning on his sword (in the famous St. Cecilia), every feature and every fold of drapery meditates. The latter is as fine in its tranquil melancholy grandeur, as the former in its authoritative energy: in the one the orator, in the other the philosopher, were never more finely rendered: but is it, in either, the Paul of Tarsus whom we know? It were certainly both unnecessary and pedantic to adhere so closely to historic fact as to make St. Paul of diminutive stature, and St. Peter weak-eyed: but has Raphael done well in wholly rejecting the traditional portrait which reflected to us the Paul of Scripture, the man of many toils and many sorrows, wasted with vigils, worn down with travel, whose high bald forehead, thin flowing hair, and long pointed beard, spoke so plainly the fervent and indomitable, yet meditative and delicate, organisation,—and in substituting this Jupiter Ammon head, with the dark redundant hair, almost hiding the brow, and the full bushy beard? This is one of the instances in which Raphael, inyielding to the fashion of his time, has erred, as it seems to me,—though I say it with all reverence! The St. Paul rending his garments at Lystra, and rejecting the sacrifice of the misguided people, is more particularly false as to the character of the man, though otherwise so grandly expressive, that we are obliged to admire what our better sense—ourconscience—cannot wholly approve.

I shall now consider the rest of the apostles in their proper order.

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