III

THE REST IN EGYPT Pitti Gallery, FlorenceTHE REST IN EGYPTPitti Gallery, Florence

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This is the legend illustrated in our picture. Under the spreading branches of a great tree, Mary has found a comfortable seat on a grassy bank, and Joseph rests behind her. The little child stands on his mother's knee, clinging to her dress for support, while her arms hold him firm. A band of infant angels play on the flower-strewn grass in the open space in front. With joined hands they circle about as in the figure of a dance or game. The music for their sport is furnished by a heavenly choir, hovering in the upper air and singing the score from an open book.

The leader of the dance is evidently the beautiful angel who pauses opposite the Christ-child. Resting on the right foot he draws back the left, poising on his toe, in an attitude of exquisite grace. With his left hand he waves a salute to the infant Christ. His right hand clasps that of a companion angel to form an arch beneath which troop the whole jocund company. It is good sport, and the players scamper gleefully along. A single angel stops to gaze ardently towards the Christ-child.

The mother looks on at the game with queenly dignity. A smile hovers on her lips, as if the eagerness of the little leader pleased her. As for Joseph, his glance is directed towards the tree-tops. Perhaps his senses are not fine enough to discern the spirit company, but he is well content with the happiness of mother and child.

From the safe pedestal of his mother's knee the child Jesus watches every motion of the angels withbreathless interest. The angel leader seems to beckon him to join them, and he is almost ready to go. Yet the firm hands hold him back, and he is glad to cling to his mother's dress. A circle of light about his head is the halo, or symbol of his divine origin.

The picture is an important record of our painter's travels in Italy. It was here he imbibed from the old Italian masters the tender and devotional spirit which animated their sacred works. Titian was the special object of his admiration, and he painted a number of Madonna pictures which show the influence the Venetian painter had upon his art. The circle of dancing angels recalls the cherub throng of Titian's Assumption.[2]

[2]See Chapter XII. in volume on Titian in the Riverside Art Series.

A gentleman has brought his little boy to our painter's studio for a portrait sitting. Father and son are close friends and understand each other well. On the way they have talked of the picture that is to be made, and the boy has asked many questions about it. It is rather a tedious prospect to an active child to have to sit still a long time. But his father's companionship is his greatest delight, and it is a rare treat to both to have a whole morning together. Besides, they have a book with them, a new publication from the Plantin printing press, and the father has promised to read something to him.

The two are richly dressed for the event, the father in black with a fur mantle, and the boy in white satin embroidered with gold. The man wears the stiff quilled ruff of the period, the boy a round collar of soft lace. It is not every day in the year that a little boy is allowed to wear his best satin doublet, and the child feels the gravity of the occasion. We may suppose that these are people of distinction, and that on certain great occasions the boy accompanies his father to court. Perhaps, too, as the eldest son of the house, he is sometimes given aseat at a great banquet, or is brought into the tapestried hall to meet an honored guest. It is at such times that he would be dressed as in the picture. In our own day a child's finery brings to mind dancing classes and parties, but in these far away times it is associated only with stately ceremonies.

The painter has led his guests to a place near a window, where, looking over their shoulders, one sees a bit of pleasant country. The man draws the boy towards him and lays one hand on the child's shoulder. At the painter's bidding, the little fellow puts his right arm akimbo, imitating the attitude in some of the portraits of the studio. The pose suits perfectly the quaint dignity of the little figure.

It is a proud moment for the boy. It makes him almost a man to be treated as an equal by his father. Not for worlds would he do anything to spoil the picture; he feels the responsibility of carrying out his part well. He regards the painter with solemn eyes, watching intently every motion of the pencil.

There is a gleam of humor in the father's eyes as he too looks in the same direction. He is a man of large affairs, we are sure. His high forehead shows rare mental powers, and he has the judicial expression of one whose counsel would be worth following. Yet there is that in his face which shows the quiet tastes of the scholar. With his boy beside him and a book in his hand, he is content to let the great world go its way. Nevertheless he is something of a courtier, as his station in life requires, a distinguished figure in any great company. The face isone of striking nobility of character. He is a man in whom we could place great confidence.

THE SO-CALLED PORTRAIT OF RICHARDOT AND HIS SON The Louvre, ParisTHE SO-CALLED PORTRAIT OF RICHARDOT AND HIS SONThe Louvre, Paris

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Two qualities of the portrait give it artistic value, life-likeness, and character. The figures almost seem to speak to us from the canvas, and we feel a sense of intimacy with them, as if we had actually known them in real life. Indeed there is very little in the picture to make it seem foreign to our own surroundings. The stiff ruff is the most distinctly old-fashioned feature. The man's closely cut pointed beard is such as has long been called the "Van Dyck beard." The painter wore his own trimmed in the same way, which seems at one time to have been equally the fashion in England and on the continent.

We remark in the picture the excellent characterization of the hands. In later days when the painter was busier, he often assigned this part of the work to assistants. They did not try to reproduce the hand of the portrait sitter, but painted this feature from a model. Now this man's hand is plainly his own; it is of a character with the face, strong and sensitive.

The landscape view is an important element in the picture. If we compare our illustration with others which have no such setting, we shall better understand its value. An enclosed space sets a more or less definite limit to the imagination. A glimpse of the country, on the other hand, suggests wide spaces for the fancy to explore. It will also be noticed that this light spot in the upper right cornerbalances well the white costume of the boy in the lower left corner.

The portrait group of our illustration has long borne the title of Jean Grusset Richardot and his Son. This Richardot was a celebrated Flemish diplomat of the sixteenth century, and president of the Privy Council of the Low Countries. As he died in Van Dyck's boyhood, his portrait could not have been made by our painter directly from life. Nor can we believe with some that years after the diplomat's death Van Dyck copied from some old picture the likeness seen here. A portrait painted in this way would not have the vitality of our illustration. We are therefore obliged to consider the picture nameless; but our enjoyment of its good qualities is by no means less keen.

St. Anthony of Padua was a Franciscan friar of the thirteenth century, celebrated for his piety and eloquence. He was a Portuguese by birth, and early in life determined to be a Christian missionary. His first labors were in Africa, but being seized by a lingering illness, he returned to Europe and landed in Italy. Here he came under the influence of St. Francis of Assisi, who was just establishing a new religious order. The rules were to be very strict: the members could possess nothing of their own, but were to beg their food and raiment of fellow Christians. They were to mingle with the people as brothers, hencefriars,[3]ministering to their bodily needs, and advising, comforting, and admonishing in higher concerns. What sort of a habit they wore we may see in our picture. There was a long dark brown tunic made with loose sleeves, and having a sort of hood attached. The garment was fastened about the waist with a knotted rope. By this strange girdle the wearer was continually reminded that the body is a beast to be subdued by a halter.

[3]From the French frère.

On account of his learning, St. Anthony became a teacher of theology. He was connected successively with the universities of Bologna, Toulouse, Paris, and Padua, and with this last city his name has ever since been associated. At length, however, he forsook all other employments and devoted himself wholly to preaching among the people.

These were troublous times in Italy, when the poor were cruelly oppressed by the rich. St. Anthony espoused the cause of those who were wronged, and denounced all forms of tyranny. His influence was a great power among the people, and many stories are told of his preaching. It is related that one day, as he was explaining to his hearers the mystery of the Incarnation, the Christ-child appeared to him as in a vision.

It is this story which the painter had in mind in our picture: St. Anthony kneels before the mother and babe in an ecstasy of devotion. An open book lies on the ground beside him, as if he had been conning its pages when the vision broke upon him. The landscape surroundings are especially appropriate, for St. Anthony was fond of out-of-door life. His sermons were often given in the open air, and it is said that he sometimes preached to the fishes. He delighted to point out to his hearers the beauties of nature, the whiteness of the swan, the mutual charity of the storks, and the purity and fragrance of the lilies.

THE VISION OF ST. ANTHONY Brera Gallery, MilanTHE VISION OF ST. ANTHONYBrera Gallery, Milan

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The poetic refinement of his nature is indicated in his face. He is young and handsome, with the gentle expression which used to win the hearts ofhis hearers. There is little here to show the more forcible elements of his character. The tonsured head is the common mark of membership in religious orders.

The Christ-child bends forward to caress the saint's face with his tiny hand. He is a loving little fellow, not particularly pretty, except in his infantine plumpness, yet the face is full of innocent sweetness. A mysterious light shines above his head, the emblem of divinity. The good friar does not presume to touch the holy child, but folds his hands reverently across his breast. His eyes are lifted with the rapt look of the visionary.

St. Anthony's biographers tell us how he loved to recite the old Latin hymn by St. Fortunatus, beginning,—

O Gloriosa DominaExcelsa super sydera.[O most glorious LadyExalted above the stars.]

We may fancy that in the ecstasy of this vision these lines now rise to his lips. The last stanza expresses the sum of his adoration:—

Gloria tibi DomineQui natus es de VirgineCum Patre et sancto SpirituIn sempiterna saecula.[Glory to thee, O Lord,Who wast born of a Virgin,With the Father and Holy SpiritFor eternal ages.]

It is easy to see from a comparison of this picture with the Rest in Egypt that it was painted at aboutthe same time. We at once recognize the mother and child of the other illustration, and note the similarity in pose. We may imagine the Madonna bending forward and holding the babe a little lower on her lap, and we should have the grouping as it is here.

In their pictures of the Madonna, the old painters tried to express their highest ideals of womanhood. The mother Mary represented to them all that is strongest and sweetest in a woman's character. So this Madonna by Van Dyck is a gracious and queenly figure modelled upon the stately Virgin of Titian.

The linear composition of the picture is carefully planned; the basis is the pyramidal form. From the top of the Virgin's head diverge the two oblique lines which enclose the diagram. The mantle fluttering behind the mother's shoulder balances the part of St. Anthony's tunic which lies on the ground.

We may well believe that the painter took especial pleasure in working on this picture, because he himself bore the name of the good St. Anthony.

In the time of Van Dyck there was living in Antwerp a family of ancient lineage who bore the name of Colyns de Nole. For three centuries there had been sculptors among the men of this name. The talent had been handed down from father to son through the several generations, and sometimes there were two or three of the family working together in the art. The old churches of Antwerp contained some fine specimens of their work.[4]

[4]A full account of the several members of this family is given in theBiographie Nationale, published by the Royal Belgian Academy of Science, Literature and Fine Arts, Brussels, 1899.

Andreas Colyns de Nole was of nearly the same age as Van Dyck, and a worthy representative of his famous family. He was the sculptor of the beautiful monument of Henry van Balen in the Church of St. Jacques, and of a Pietà in the Church of Notre Dame. The sculptor and the painter became good friends, and it was a natural consequence that the latter should paint the portrait of his friend and of his family. He made two companion pictures, one of the sculptor, and the other of his wife and the little daughter.

The lady is seated in an arm-chair, letting her placid glance stray across the room. There is a little touch of weariness in her manner, as if she were glad to sit down for a few moments' rest. She is a busy housewife and mother, with many domestic duties on her mind. In her strong, capable way she has long borne the family burdens. The face is full of motherly sweetness; the expression is patient and serene, as of one well schooled in the lessons of life. This is indeed the "virtuous woman" whose price the wise man of old set "far above rubies."

"She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her."[5]

[5]Proverbs, chapter xxx., verses 26-28.

The child is as like the mother as possible in features. Her round face is quaintly framed in a close lace-trimmed cap. She is a shy little creature, and is rather afraid of the strange painter. So she keeps as far as possible in the shelter of her mother's big sleeve. The hour drags wearily by. The studio is a dull place, and the sunshine without very inviting. The child pulls impatiently at her mother's arm, and, as the painter speaks, she looks timidly around, wondering what he will think of such a rude little girl.

MADAME ANDREAS COLYNS DE NOLE AND HER DAUGHTER Munich GalleryMADAME ANDREAS COLYNS DE NOLE AND HER DAUGHTERMunich Gallery

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The artist is secretly much amused by the smallyoung lady's behavior. He has a shrewd insight into children's thoughts, and sympathizes with their moods. He does not try to persuade her to sit for him, but he catches her pose just as she stands here. The mother, too, is wise enough to let the child alone, and the picture is made as we see it.

As we compare it with the former illustration of the man with his little boy, it is amusing to see the contrast between the two children. The boy has such a grave sense of responsibility, while the girl cares nothing for the portrait. She would doubtless think the boy very tiresome.

We are apt to think of the children of past centuries as altogether different beings from those of our own day. With few toys and books and pictures such as we have now, they must have been, we fancy, very sedate little creatures. A child portrait like this in our illustration dispels these false ideas. This little daughter of a seventeenth-century sculptor is as full of life and spirits as any child of to-day. Barring her quaint dress and foreign tongue she would be at home with children of her own age in any period or country.

The lady's dress is in a style similar to that which we have already studied in the portrait of our first illustration. The stiff bodice, with the long pointed front and square neck, the broad lace-trimmed collar, the large sleeves, and the wide cuffs turned back from the wrist, are details common to the two pictures. This costume, however, is somewhat less elegant than that of the English lady and more suggestive ofevery-day wear in the home. The collar is less elaborate, and not stiff; the neck is entirely covered with soft white material, fastened at the throat with a small brooch. A seal ring adorns each hand, worn on the index finger.

We recognize the pillar in the background as a common setting in Van Dyck's portraits. The taste of this time was rather artificial in such matters, and inclined to stateliness. There is here no vista beyond the pillar, no glimpse into another apartment, but the space is, as it were, completely walled in.

In the distant past which we call the age of fable lived the cunning craftsman Dædalus of Athens. One of his most curious inventions was a labyrinth which he constructed for Minos, the king of Crete. Having at length displeased this king he resolved to flee from the island with his son Icarus. It was impossible to escape by way of the sea without detection, but Dædalus was not discouraged.

"Land and wave,He cried, deny me way! But Heaven aboveLies open! Heaven shall bear me home!"[6]

So saying he began to fashion some wings with which he might fly away. Feathers of different lengths were bound together with thread and wax, and shaped into arched pinions like those of a bird. As he worked, the boy Icarus stood by watching his father, and sometimes handling the feathers with his meddlesome fingers.

[6]All the quotations are from Ovid'sMetamorphoses, Book viii., translated by Henry King.

At last the final touch was given, and Dædalus, fastening the wings to his body with wax, made a short trial flight. The invention was a success; the artist rose triumphant in the air. Then he taughthis boy the use of the wings, warning him of every possible mishap:—

"'Midway keep thy course, he said,My Icarus, I warn thee! if too low,The damps will clog thy pinions; if too high,The heats relax them. Midway hold thy flight.

By mineThy course direct.' And many a precept moreHe gave, and careful as he bound the wingsUpon the shoulders of the boy, his cheeksWere wet with tears, and in the task his handsPaternal trembled."

Our picture illustrates this point in the story. Dædalus has just fastened the wings upon his son and is giving the final directions. The old man's face is full of anxiety, as he implores the lad not to fly too high. Icarus listens to the advice with a shade of impatience, pouting a little, like a wilful child who chafes under restraint. He points forward, as if to show that he understands his orders. Already the slender figure is poised for flight; he is eager to be off. In another moment he will rise into the air, dropping his garment as he ascends. A light breeze flutters the soft plumes of the wings and blows the loose curls about the boy's head. His youthful beauty, almost feminine in type, contrasts finely with the strong furrowed countenance of the father.

DÆDALUS AND ICARUS Collection of the Earl of Spencer, AlthorpDÆDALUS AND ICARUSCollection of the Earl of Spencer, Althorp

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The story goes on to tell how the two started off together, the father leading the way.

"And, as the mother birdWhen first her offspring from the nest essaysThe air, he hovered anxious, cheering onThe boy to follow, and with fatal artEnjoining thus or thus his wings to plyAs he example gave."

For a while all went well, and they had covered a long distance, when Icarus,—

"ElateWith that new power, more daring grew, and leftHis guide, and higher, with ambitious flightSoared, aiming at the skies!"

This was the very danger against which Dædalus had warned his son.

"Upon his wingsThe rays of noon struck scorching, and dissolvedThe waxen compact of their plumes:—and downHe toppled, beating wild with naked armsThe unsustaining air, and with vain cryShrieking for succour from his sire!The sea that bears his name received him as he fell."

Dædalus, having buried his son on the island of Icaria, proceeded on his way and came at last to Sicily, where he lived to finish some important works of architecture.

Our illustration shows some phases of Van Dyck's art with which we are least familiar. He rarely interested himself in mythological stories, though such subjects were common among his contemporaries. The painter has caught in this case the essential spirit of the myth. There are few of his pictures also in which he expressed so well the sense of motion. The inclination of the body of Icarus, thepoise of the wings, and the gesture of the right hand all contribute admirably to this end.

Here, too, we see how carefully he studied the nude figure, and how well he understood the principles of modelling. The foreshortening of the right arm and hand of Icarus is a clever piece of technical workmanship. The composition is well planned to fill the canvas.

(By Sir Peter Lely, after Van Dyck)

Charles I of England was the second king of the Stuart dynasty, whose despotic tendencies made the seventeenth century a memorable period in history. He ascended the throne at the age of twenty-five, and began at once to assert his belief in the divine right of kings. Indignant at the restraints which Parliament set upon his power, he dissolved this body and ruled alone.

For more than ten years he governed England in his own way, and during this time his court was conducted with great magnificence. The palace at Whitehall was the scene of many brilliant entertainments and lavish hospitalities.

Charles was an ardent lover of music, literature, and painting, and in his gallery was a collection of pictures remarkable for his time. He was particularly proud of the ceiling decorations of his Banqueting Hall, furnished by Rubens. He interested himself also in the manufacture of tapestries, and secured for England Raphael's cartoons for the Vatican tapestries, hoping thereby to raise the artistic standard of the home production.[7]

[7]See Chapter III. of volume onRaphaelin the Riverside Art Series.

It was a crowning proof of his good taste that early in his reign he appointed Van Dyck the court painter. The Flemish painter was thereupon made Sir Anthony Van Dyck, and remained in the royal service until his death in 1641. It was the king's intention to have the walls of the Banqueting Hall decorated by Van Dyck, but this plan was never carried out. As it was, however, the court painter is said to have made, during his nine years' residence in England, no less than thirty-six portraits of the king, and twenty-five of the queen, Henrietta Maria, besides many pictures of their children, singly or in groups. His studio was a favorite resort of the royal pair, who used to come in their barge, by the way of the Thames, to his house at Blackfriars. The painter would receive them with the manners of a prince. Musicians played for their entertainment, and the conversation turned on questions of art.

In this constant intercourse, Van Dyck came to know well the face of his royal patron. It was not really a handsome face, as we see when we analyze the features in our illustration. The forehead is high but not broad, the nose large and not classically modelled, and the thick lips and weak curves of the mouth are not hidden by the upturned mustache. The shape of the face is long and narrow beyond good proportion, but this defect is relieved by the chestnut hair, which falls in long waving locks over the shoulders, and makes a broad frame for the face.

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES I. Dresden GalleryPORTRAIT OF CHARLES I.Dresden Gallery

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All these details, however, escape our attention when we look at the portrait for the first time. We are chiefly impressed by the kingly presence of the man. There is an indefinable suggestion of nobility in his bearing, an expression of grave dignity in his countenance. The eyes are almost melancholy, the glance is averted and remote. The consciousness of his royal birthright gives an air of aloofness to the figure.

The king stands beside a table, resting one hand on the broad rim of the hat which lies there, and holding his gloves in the other. He wears the mantle of the Order of the Garter, ornamented on the left side with the six-pointed silver star, in the centre of which is the red cross of St. George. From a broad blue ribbon about the neck is suspended a gold medallion. This is the "George," the image of the warrior saint, represented on horse-back in his encounter with the dragon.

The attempt of Charles to govern England without a Parliament proved a sad failure. He set his own authority above all laws, and persistently disregarded the rights of the people. At last he became involved in so many difficulties that he was obliged to reassemble the two houses. Then followed the long struggle between the king and the Parliament, which resulted in the Civil War. The supporters of the Crown represented chiefly the upper classes, and were called Cavaliers. The Parliamentarians were for the most part Puritans, and were men of fervent piety.

There were six years of fighting, beginning with the battle of Edgehill, and culminating in the Parliamentary victory at Naseby. Charles was tried and condemned as a "tyrant, traitor, murderer, and public enemy." On the 30th of January, 1649, he was executed in front of Whitehall Palace, walking to the scaffold with the same kingly dignity which he had shown throughout his life. "I go," said he, "from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no disturbance can take place." His body was laid among others of England's royal dead at Windsor.

The picture reproduced in our illustration is not thought to be the original work of Van Dyck's hand, for that precious painting was destroyed by a fire in the Palace of Whitehall. It was a fortunate circumstance that while it was still in existence, Sir Peter Lely, court painter to Charles II., made a fine copy of it, which is now in the Dresden Gallery. A competent critic (Lionel Cust) tells us that the Dresden picture is so excellent that "it is difficult to believe it to be other than an original by Van Dyck."

Authorities.—Green:A Short History of the English People; D'Israeli: Commentaries on the Life and Reign of Charles I.

On the summit of Monte Pellegrino, in the island of Sicily, stands a colossal statue of St. Rosalia. Like the old Greek statue of Victory on the island of Samothrace,[8]or to use a modern instance, like the statue of Liberty on Bedloe's Island in New York harbor, St. Rosalia serves as a beacon to mariners. The Sicilians hold the saint in great reverence, and celebrate her memory in two annual festivals. From the eleventh to the fifteenth of July are horse-races, regattas, illuminations, and all sorts of gayeties in her honor. In September there is a solemn procession to her chapel.

[8]See Chapter XV. in the volume onGreek Sculpturein the Riverside Art Series.

St. Rosalia was a Sicilian maiden of noble family, the niece of William II., called the Good. Being both rich and beautiful, she had many suitors for her hand, but she rejected them all. At the age of fifteen she renounced the pomps and vanities of the world, and devoted herself to a life of meditation. She retired secretly to a cavern on Mt. Heirkte, and here she passed her solitary life. It was not until five hundred years after her disappearance that her hiding-place was discovered. There they found her lying in her grotto, as if she had just fallen asleep,and on her head was a wreath of roses with which the angels had crowned her. The body was carried in triumph to Palermo, and she became the patron saint of her native city.

This was in the early part of the seventeenth century,[9]and the story of the new saint's life immediately became the subject of art. Van Dyck painted for a church in Antwerp a series of pictures of St. Rosalia, from which our illustration is taken. The maiden saint kneels on the steps of a throne to receive a wreath of roses from the Christ-child. An angel attendant behind her holds a basket of roses. St. Peter and St. Paul add dignity to the scene.

[9]The date of her disappearance is given as 1159.

As we see at once, this is not an actual incident from the life of St. Rosalia. The aim of the picture is devotional. It is as if we were given a glimpse into the court of heaven, where the saints of all ages gather about the Christ-child's throne.

St. Peter is seen at the Madonna's left, gazing at some little cherubs who hover in mid air with sprays of flowers. We know him by the mammoth key he carries in his left hand, a symbol of his authority in spiritual concerns. The reference is to the words of Jesus when Peter declared him to be the Christ: "I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven."[10]He seems here a very old man, and one who has suffered many persecutions in the master's cause.

[10]St. Matthew, chapter xvi., verse 19.

THE MADONNA OF ST. ROSALIA Imperial Gallery, ViennaTHE MADONNA OF ST. ROSALIAImperial Gallery, Vienna

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St. Paul stands at the right of the throne, leaning on his sword in an attitude of meditation. The sword has been chosen as this apostle's emblem because of his allusion in the Epistle to the Ephesians to the "sword of the spirit."[11]The books lying on the pavement at his feet are his various writings.

[11]Ephesians, chapter vi., verse 17.

According to tradition the Apostle Paul was a man of mean stature and insignificant appearance. Regardless of this fact, however, the old artists always tried to make him as grand and noble as possible, that his outward appearance might correspond to the grandeur of his character. There was a certain old Italian painter named Masaccio, who set the fashion, as it were, for the ideal portrait of St. Paul.[12]A hundred years later Raphael imitated this figure, and again a century later, Van Dyck repeated it in the picture before us. If we compare our illustration with a print of Raphael's picture of St. Cecilia we shall see the resemblance.[13]Even the pose is the same in the two cases. The grand head with the full beard reminds us of the Greeks' conception of their god Zeus.[14]

[12]In the fresco of the Carmine Church, Florence.

[13]See Chapter IX. of the volume onRaphaelin the Riverside Art Series.

[14]See Chapter I. of the volume onGreek Sculpturein the Riverside Art Series.

St. Rosalia is a beautiful young woman, richly dressed in a brocaded mantle, and with wavy hair falling over her shoulders. Her attitude is very humble, and she lifts her face to the Christ-child's with sweet adoration. The little fellow seems delighted with his task, and leans forward eagerly, to offer the saint the crown of roses. Is it for me? she seems to ask, as she lays one hand upon her breast and timidly holds out the other.

On the step beside her is a human skull, across which lies a stalk of lilies. The flowers are an Easter emblem, and symbolize the Resurrection. The skull is the token of death. Thus are we taught the victory over death through the purity of the spiritual life.

The grotto of St. Rosalia has become a church which is the object of many a pious pilgrimage. It is for this that the name of the mountain was changed from Heirkte to Monte Pellegrino, which means the Pilgrim Mountain.

We have already seen (Chapters II. and IV.) how much Van Dyck owed to Titian in the rendering of sacred subjects. Here the Madonna's high throne beside the marble pillars, and the cherubs in mid air are striking reminiscences of Titian's Pesaro Madonna.[15]

[15]See Chapter XIV. in the volume onTitianin the Riverside Art Series.

(Detail of Children of Charles I.)

The Prince Charles of our picture was the son of Charles I. and Henrietta Maria, and bore the title of the Prince of Wales. He was born on the morning of May 29, 1630, and there was great rejoicing in the royal household that he was a fine strong baby. The king at once rode in state to St. Paul's Cathedral to give thanks for the birth of an heir. While the procession was on its way a bright star appeared in the noonday sky. This was hailed as a good omen, and an epigram was composed on the occasion:—

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