5 THE SONG OF THE LARK it tie (Bourse *ip aintmg " ^ and iDccorrftiotb IN THEIR HISTORY* 05EVELOPMEHT %> PRINCIPLES EDMUND HDITOIC1H * CHIEF ^ CONSULTING EDITORS J. M .HOPPIM,B.P., Yak University ALFRED V. CHURCHILL ,A.M., CoWkialWrt y Fulfy Illustrated NATIONAL ART SOCIETY Chicago 1 ^ '-j. Copyright, 1907, by W. E. ERNST. INTRODUCTION. BRIEF statement of the aims sought in this work will conduce to its best use. That aim is to furnish such comprehensive, systematic, and illustrated instruction on the fine arts, now in such demand, as will most nearly replace university teaching for those unable to secure it. Instruction worthy of the sub- ject should be comprehensive, and a glance at the table of contents will show how the principles and history of both fine art and decorative design have in turn been treated. Such instruction should also be systematic, and to that end the text has been arranged topically and chronologically into four main divisions treating architecture, sculpture, painting and decoration. Each chapter is sub-divided into as nearly equal portions as possible, each representing a daily lesson as indicated by numbers following the sub-titles. The illustrations have been selected with great care, with the sole idea of supplementing the text, and the entire course will contain a collection of the World's masterpieces, the study of which will prove a constant source of pleasure and profit. The contributors to this series are nearly all instructors in leading Universities and Art Institutes whose standing insures lessons of a university grade. The reader is strongly recommended to study the work entire before attempting extended research in any single period, whether ancient or modern. The part is best seen in the light of the whole. More especially the instruction on the principles and development of art is indispensable to a proper understanding of the historic part found here or elsewhere. This work is published with the belief that it will prove an in- spiration to the student and art lover, and it is hoped will powerfully promote that appreciation of the beautiful which is one of the traits proper and peculiar to man. TABLE OF CONTENTS. EDITOR EDMUND BUCKLEY, A.M., Ph.D., The University of Chicago. ( J. M. HOPPIN, D.D. , Professor of the History of Art, Yale University CONSULTING EDITORS^ ALFRED V CHURCHILL, A.M., Director of the Department of Fine Arts, Teachers' ( College, Columbia University. TECHNIQUE AND PRINCIPLES OF ART: Sculpture n Painting 34 Architecture - 45 Decoration 47 General Principles 60 Russell Sturgis, A.M., Ph.D., Writer and Editor on Fine Arts, New York. REPRESENTATIVE JUDGMENTS ON THE PRINCIPLES OP ART: 79 Alfred V. Churchill, A.M., Director of the Department of Fine Arts, Teachers' College, Columbia University. DEVELOPMENT OF ART: Four Forces in Art 124 Form and Content 129 Historical Development - I 3 l A. L. Frothingham, Jr., Ph.D., Professor of Archaeology and History of Art, Princeton University. PRE-GREEK ART: Egyptian Art Chaldaeo-Assyrian Art - Phoenician Art John Pickard, A.M., Ph.D., Professor of Classical Archaeology and History of Art, University of Missouri. ARCHITECTURE; Greek 155 Roman 163 Byzantine J 75 Romanesque 1 7% Gothic 181 Mohammedan *8g A. M. Brooks, A.M., Professor in History of Fine Art, University of Indiana. ARCHITECTURE: Renaissance 190 Modern 221 H. Langford Warren, Professor of Architecture, Harvard University. SCULPTURE: Greek 235 Roman 273 Edmund von Mach, A.M., Ph.D., Instructor in History of Greek Art, Harvard University, and in History of Sculpture, Wellesley College. SCULPTURE: Medieval 2 7& Renaissance and Decadence 286 William O. Partridge, Sculptor, New York. SCULPTURE: Nineteenth Century in France - 2 99 Northern Europe 3*3 Southern Europe 3 T 7 England 3*9 America Larado Taft, Instructor in Sculpture, Art Institute, Chicago. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAINTING: Greek and Roman - . . 334 Early Christian .- 337 Byzantine - - 338 Romanesque - - 338 Gothic 338 Italian Gothic - - 340 Italian Renaissance - 344 PAINTING: Spanish Renaissance - ' 409 French Renaissance 411 Flemish Renaissance ' - . - 412 Dutch Renaissance - 420 German Renaissance - - 421 Olaf M. Brauner, Assistant Professor of Drawing and Modeling, Cornell University. PAINTING: Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries in Europe , - - 437 Italy - 442 Spain 448 Flanders .. < 455 Holland - - 460 France - 472 England - 481 Germany 497 J. W. Pattison, Instructor, Art Institute, Chicago. PAINTING: Nineteenth Century in France 501 Belgium - 557 Italy 566 Spain 571 Arthur Hoeber, Art Critic, New York. PAINTING: Nineteenth Century in Germany - 579 Holland - 625 Sweden - 628 Norway 63 1 Denmark - 632 Russia, etc. 63 Robert Koehler, Director or the Minneapolis School of Fine Arts. PAINTING: Nineteenth Century in England 643 Scotland - 662 America - 671 Frank F. Frederick, Professor of Art and Design, University of Illinois. DECORATIVE DESIGN: Principles - 699 History 709 H. E. Everett, Assistant Professor of Interior Architecture, University of Pennsylvania. DECORATIVE DESIGN: Application to the Crafts 745 Bessie Bennett, Assistant Librarian, Art Institute, Chicago. ORIENTAL ART: Indian 765 Chinese - - 775 Japanese - 783 Edmund Buckley, A.M., Ph.D., Docent in Hierology, University of Chicago. TABLE OF CONTENTS. EDITOR EDMUND BUCKLEY, A.M., Ph.D., The University of Chicago. {J. M. HOPPIN, D.D. , Professor of the History of Art, Yale University ALFRED V. CHURCHILL, A.M., Director of the Department of Fine Arts, Teachers' College, Columbia University. TECHNIQUE AND PRINCIPLES OF ART: Sculpture - n Painting 34 Architectuie - - 45 Decoration 47 General Principles 60 Russell Sturgis, A.M., Ph.D., Writer and Editor on Fine Arts, New York. REPRESENTATIVE JUDGMENTS ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART: 79 Alfred V. Churchill, A.M., Director of the Department of Fine Arts, Teachers' College, Columbia University. DEVELOPMENT OF ART: Four Forces in Art 124 Form and Content 129 Historical Development - - 131 A. L. Frothingham, Jr., Ph.D., Professor of Archaeology and History of Art, Princeton University. PRE-GREEK ART: Egyptian Art 141 Chaldaeo-Assyrian Art - 147 Phoenician Art 151 John Pickard, A.M., Ph.D., Professor of Classical Archaeology and History of Art, University of Missouri. ARCHITECTURE: Greek 155" Roman 163 Byzantine 175 Romanesque 178 Gothic 181 Mohammedan - 189 A. M. Brooks, A.M., Professor in History of Fine Art, University of Indiana. ARCHITECTURE: Renaissance - 190 Modern - 221 H. Langford Warren, Professor of Architecture, Harvard University. SCULPTURE: Greek - 235 Roman - 273 Edmund yon'Mach, A.M., Ph.D., Instructor in History of Greek Art, Harvard University, and in" History of Sculpture, Wellesley College. SCULPTURE: Medieval 276 Renaissance and Decadence 286 William O. Partridge, Sculptor, New York. SCULPTURE: Nineteenth Century in France - 2 99 Northern Europe 3 T 3 Southern Europe 3 T 7 England 3iQ America 322 Larado Taft, Instructor in Sculpture, Art Institute, Chicago. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAINTING: Greek and Roman - - . . 334 Early Christian - , ' . . 337 Byzantine - . . . . . 33 g Romanesque . .. . . - 338 Gothic Holland France 338 Italian Gothic . . 34O Italian Renaissance .... 344 PAINTING: Spanish Renaissance - .. - 409 French Renaissance . . . . 4II Flemish Renaissance . . . . . . . 4I2 Dutch Renaissance - ., . 42O German Renaissance ... 42 i Olaf M. Brauner, Assistant Professor of Drawing and Modeling, Cornell University. PAINTING: Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries in Europe . . ... . 437 Italy '. 442 Spain , 448 Flanders - - - 455 460 472 England Germany 4Q7 J. W. Pattison, Instructor, Art Institute, Chicago. PAINTING: Nineteenth Century in France - , . . g ol Belgium - ... 557 Italy - . 5 66 Spain 57I Arthur Hoeber, Art Critic, New York. PAINTING: Nineteenth Century in Germany .'. 579 Holland - ... 525 Sweden . . 628 Norway . 631 Denmark - - 632 Russia, etc. - 63 Robert Koehler, Director of the Minneapolis School of Fine Arts. PAINTING: Nineteenth Century in England - 643 Scotland - ... 552 America - - .. ' 671 Frank F. Frederick, Professor of Art and Design, University of Illinois. DECORATIVE DESIGN: Principles - - ~ - - 699 History 7 o 9 H. E. Everett, Assistant Professor of Interior Architecture, University of Pennsylvania. DECORATIVE DESIGN: Application to the Crafts - - 745 Bessie Bennett, Assistant Librarian, Art Institute, Chicago. ORIENTAL ART: Indian - ... 7&5 Chinese - - - - 775 Japanese - - 7 83 Edmund Buckley, A.M., Ph.D., Docent in Hierology, University of Chicago. ART PRACTICE, HISTORY, THEORY. Drawn by Clara L. Poiuers, The Art Institute, Chicago. The Technique and Principles of Visual Art. BY RUSSELL STURGIS, A.M., Ph.D. AUTHOR AND EDITOR IN FINE ART, NEW YORK. THE LANGUAGE OF ART.(i) The language in which ideas are conveyed in prose and poetry is a language familiar to all persons of some education. When, therefore, the thought is more noble and inspiring in char- acter, more imaginative in its origin, than usual and when the character of the ex- pression changes to what we know as poetry (whether this be in verse or in measured and stately prose) the language still remains familiar. Even if, as frequently happens, some changes occur in it such as the use of words not familiar in every -day writing or speech, or an order of words different from that used in conversation ,such changes hardly tend to make this word-language unfamiliar. The loftiest poetry .of Milton contains the same words, with but few exceptions either way, as the most narrow- minded, hard, technical, sectarian contro- versy of his time. He who understands the language of the one will understand the language of the other. If the reader of Mil- ton's poetry be not thoroughly in touch with it, this is not because he does not understand the language, but because he has not famil- iarized himself with the arrangement of thought peculiar to stately poetry. If, however, the music of a great composer be in question, the matter is very different. It is not universally true that modern people of some education understand the language of music. And yet, as it is altogether com- mon for even very ignorant people to sing over their work or to "whistle as they go for want of thought," it is evident that this language of music is commonly understood, up to a certain point. With the language of poetry every person of some education is familiar; he understands the whole of it, nor is there any poem of his own language which the ordinary reader is not competent to put into other words almost at sight. The thought may baffle him but the words 12 THE TECHNIQUE AND will not. With music, however, while the ordinarily well-educated hearer understands some of the phraseology, he is far from understanding it all, and in the instrumenta- tion by a large orchestra of an important musical composition there are utterances which pass over the listener's head as if he had not heard them. It is not merely that the thoughts are somewhat beyond his scope, as they may be: it is also true that the language itself has not been and cannot be entirely seized by such a listener. The most delicate shades of musical thought are lost because the language in which they are FUJIYAMA "THE PEERLESS MOUNTAIN." conveyed is not wholly familiar to the hearer. When the arts of design are under consid- eration, the difficulty of understanding the language is at once more easily perceived and far more general. By the arts of design are meant sculpture in all its varieties, drawing, coloring, engraving, the arrange- ment of ornament and ornamental treat- ment. The language in which thesed arts are embodied is even less generally under- stood than the language of music. The language in which a painter expresses his thoughts is understood by but very few of the persons who stand in front of his picture. This is because, in the first place, most persons abandon the pencil and all other tools by which drawing, modeling and the like are done, immediately afte, their earliest childhood; and, secondly, because the comparatively small number who keep up their practice of drawing, have been so taught that the language of the graphic and plastic arts still remains to them, as it were, a dead language which they understand about as much as school- boys understand Latin. That is to say, they have a general notion that there are ideas behind this half-understood language, and they are accustomed to get at these ideas, after a fashion, by translating them into their own vernacular. The schoolboy cannot be said to read Latin. He has learned what are the English equiva- lents or approximate equiva- lents of certain Latin words and phrases, the lexicon gives him others, and he translates the Latin into English, and then begins to understand the author's thought. So in the matter of painting, (let us take this art as being the one most familiar to the community) the visitor to a gallery hardly un- derstands the language used by the painter, but he has been taught by the conversation of those about him and by what he has read to take certain forms, certain patches of color, certain outlines as signifying things which are far more familiar to him in their verbal dress. A picture of a mountainous landscape he trans- lates into the vernacular as "mountain range, " or " range of mountains, " or " moun- tainous country," or, perhaps, "Bernese Oberland," or, perhaps, "Fujiyama in Ja- pan," and thereupon begins an unconscious translating of the whole scene into the terms of verbal or literary expression. After the first moment it is not the picture which he is study- ing nearly as much as his own recollections. The picture reminds him of impressions and associations of his own ; but he does not read the picture. He is not accustomed to look at mountains as a painter looks at them. He knows little of those things which the PRINCIPLES OF ART. painter sees and enjoys in a mountain land- scape. He knows, however, much ot those historical and sentimental associations which the phrases quoted above bring to the mind of every reader, and his thought in front of the picture is in the direction of this literary, histoiical, patriotic, semi-religious, wholly sentimental impression. And this misunder- standing comes, let it be said once more, mainly from ignorance of the painter's lan- guage. The painter's language is closely fitted to the painter's thought. Centuries of tradition have made and in a sense per- fected that language. Every one of our painters to-day paints differently from what he would have done had not Paul Veronese, had not Rembrandt, had not eailier men than they, lived and worked. But this lan- guage of the early or of the modern painter is so remote from the daily habits of man that it need surprise no one that ignorance of that language is the rule. Most of us, when we draw, do so by way of memoran- dum, with the idea of conveying to another a notion of that which words cannot express, as the shape of a field, the arrangement of the rooms in a house, or an apartment, or the like; but then, most of us do not draw at all; and moreover, such handling of the pencil as is here assumed has nothing what- ever to do with the use of the artistic lan- guage to express the artistic thought. One may draw a good deal in certain ways with- out any suspicion of the fact that an artist's drawing is radically different in character from that to which he is accustomed. Therefore it is that, in order to explain the meaning of fine art, and to set down hints as to the better understanding of it, it is necessary to describe the language of art itself, and to show what, in a general way, are its grammar and its rhetoric. And the first development or shape of fine art which we take up had better be that of pure foim, merely because it is more simple, though in no respect less important or less lofty, than that other manifestation of it which we loosely call painting; and much less complex than any of the arts of which decoration is the sole purpose. Sculpture has to do with the solid; painting and all its modifications have to do with the flat; and the language of fine art expressing itself upon 'the flat surface is much more complex than that of art expressing itself in the solid; while Architecture and all similar arts of adornment have structure also, and often a very elaborate even a scientifically accurate structure, upon which they de- pend. T HE SCULPTOR'S TORY WORK. (2) PREPARA- When a sculptor of our own time wishes to make a memorandum of a finely formed limb, or of an interesting head which he sees; or to fix for future reference an interesting thought which he has had, he takes anything plastic anything which he can mold into shape freely and which will keep its shape for awhile, and makes a model. Let us suppose that he goes among the Indians of the Northwest, or across the Canada line, the chances are that he will bring home from that region a number of heads of redmen and of fron- tiersmen, figures of their wolfish-looking dogs, of wolves and bears in their wild nature, and of mustangs; and that each of these figures and heads will have been modeled in wax at about one-twelfth and one-half respectively of the scale of life. The reader is requested to observe that the phrase half life size would be open to misun- derstanding, for a head which is half as high as life will be also half as deep and half as wide horizontally, and in this way will be only one quarter of the size of the original head. These heads will have been modeled somewhat in this way: A lump of wax is held on the end of a stick a few inches long, and, with another little piece of stick hardly more carefully shaped into the form of a tool than the holder itself, and with his thumbs, the sculptor pushes, pulls, bleaks off and sticks on again, incises deeply, heaps up into projecting masses, and generally manipulates his plastic material, until out of a shapeless mass a head is slowly evolved. The whole form of a man or a quadruped will be modeled in the same way, except that it is set up on a bit of board which serves as THE TECHNIQUE AND its base. In each case the sculptor is mak- ing a sketch from life. The artistic thought involved in this is not more profound than that he sees very quickly the more essential characteristics of the head which attracts him. A person having all his gift and his knowledge of accurate modeling, but not having his artistic insight if we can imag- ine such a person might produce a copy of the living head which to many people would seem more accurately truthful as a piece of portraiture than the model made by a very great sculptor indeed; but there the hasty spectator would be ill advised. Resem- blance is of two kinds which, of course, pass into one another by insensible gradations. There is the resemblance of caricature, in which if a man has a peculiar setting on of the nose to the brows it will be seized and the subject himself may be surprised when he notes that to this clever caricaturist his head appeared of this peculiar form. There is the good, familiar, photograph-like resem- blance; and there is many a poor and feeble artist who has a gift at catching this sort of likeness, and who makes money thereby. But the work of the more profound observer and the more powerful master of expression will betray an insight into the essential charac- teristics of the head which will be altogether a surprise to those persons who are capable of perceiving it. In other words, an artist of great ability can express in a few min- utes' modeling more of the vital character- istics of the head than his inferior could express in a day's work. What are those vital characteristics? That is, of course, a question which will receive a different answer each time. The grada- tions of surface in the human head are so subtle that as a mere subject for plastic art it is the finest thing we know. Moreover, as these gradations express to eveiy one of us, rightly or wrongly, something about the character of the person as we all believe more or less in physiognomy, and fancy that we can read character so the intelligent study of the head goes beyond the mere rendering of exactly the gradations of sur- face which are visible and even in a sense tangible. The sculptor we have imagined as modeling an Indian head may not him- self notice that there are certain character- istics in the Indian head he is studying which indicate, let us say, a strain of white blood; but the highly- trained ethnologist will see that immediately in the head as reproduced by the sculptor, and if such an expert in our eastern States sees the head which was modeled in Manitoba he would say at once to the sculptor: "What chief is that? He is clearly a half-breed." So far we have considered only the study from life ; but the first sentence of this divi- sion of our subject spoke also of the embody- ing of an original thought. That is what happens when a sculptor sees in his mental vision a pose of one figure, a grouping of two figures or more, an expressive gesture, a massing of drapery. anything fine, a thought which he cannot afford to lose. He will put that thought of his into wax or clay, at once, on the spot; he will risk its loss no more than would a writer miss the chance of recombining a thought such as he is accustomed to express in words. If, now, the same sculptor undertakes the task of modeling an ideal statue; a Wisdom, let us say, or a portrait of Julius Caesar, or an angel, he will, so far as the head is con- cerned, study those forms which seem to him expressive of the idea he has of the being whom he must represent. But also he will set that head upon a body which, in his thought, may support it and lead up to it in the most perfect way, may combine with it so that head and body will form one crea- ture. Thus, let us suppose that the sculptor seeks to follow a somewhat original path, and that he selects for a type of his Wisdom a strong man of middle age rather than a long-bearded elder. He will not represent that man as a highly trained athlete. He will give him a massive form, perhaps, and well developed muscles, but he will by no means study the artificially modified body of the professional foot racer or boxer. Even if he were, as no modern man is or can be, surrounded by such athletes as the Greek sculptor saw daily, young men highly trained in all the exercises of the palestra, in the pentathlon and in battle, and as beautiful as vigorous in form, it is still not the body of the prizer or the warrior upon which he PRINCIPLES OF ART. would set the head expressive of matured, patient, and highly wrought intelligence. He sets himself to model a head which he thinks will give the impression of profound thought with kindliness, with patience, with love of mankind ; and he builds up a bodily frame which to him, the artist, may be the ideal male body as of a reflecting and studi- ous man in perfect health: the ideal of such a body, not the copy of any body he has ever seen ; but of this hereafter. What is it, then, that the sculptor does with his Wisdom? He sets up in his studio a frame of iron bars and stout wires which will serve as the main axes of the body and limbs of his proposed figure; and this he mounts on a turn-table, which revolves upon a low pedestal. This, of course, is for the full-size model. But he also works contin- ually at a small model, or at more than one. The small model is not by any means final in its disposition, but it is a most valuable guide. It is not final, because it is a fact well known to all sculptors that nothing can be successfully copied in large from the small, nor successfully copied in small from the large original. A mathematically accu- rate reduction from a colossal statue is a monster; a mathematically accurate enlarge- ment of a statuette is feeble. The reasons for this will be more clear by and by, but the fact must be stated here in order that it may be explained what a sculptor's arduous task really is. He works at his small model contin- uously in order that he may embody in it every succeeding thought as to form and as to light and shade, the effect and the result of that form which his nightly visions and his daily observations bring to his per- ception, but meanwhile he recognizes the fact that these forms which he puts upon the small model are not absolutely those which are to go into the greatly enlarged final work. So, at last, he approaches his main task, and if he has assistants, pupils and the like, they throw around the iron frame or skeleton great masses of wet model- ing clay, "mud," as the studio slang has it, and the pupils go on heaping it up and working this mass into something like the shape given by the small model. Nearer STATUE OF ARISTOTLE. fn the Spada Palace, Rome. and nearer, hour by hour, the great ten-foot statue draws to the semblance of the foot- high model ; and the sculptor comes in and goes out, and throws words of criticism and encouragement to his subordinates, and at last sees that his own turn has come, and that now he must put his own fingers into the clay. Two days' work may complete the first realization of his idea in the large model. Two days' work may complete it, and yet there may be waiting for him two months of anxious watching, of viewing the large model in different lights, of looking at it reflected in a mirror, of studying photo- graphs of it made hastily from this point and from that, of turning it round and round slowly in front of him and watching the changing outlines. Two months of such toil and thought and care may elapse and still the work be unsatisfactory, still the thought remain imperfectly expressed, still the artistic ideal remain as much out i6 THE TECHNIQUE AND of reach of the artistic method of expres- sion as, in the more familiar language of words, your poetical idea may refuse to fit itself into the verses which you have half finished. USE OF THE MODEL. (3) We have been considering, how- ever, only the general progress of the work. As to details there is a great variety of possibilities. Different artists have their different methods of work. Thus the small model of a draped figure, such as a Wisdom will generally be, may have been and probably will have been modeled originally as a draped figure; and all in one piece, all at one effort, as the simple embodiment of a simple thought. The sculptor will have modeled his drapery as the chief subject of his composition after the head. Perhaps, indeed, it might be more generally correct to say that he models head and drapery together in one composition; a figure INTERIOR OF A STUDIO. SHOWING SCULPTOR AT WORK. From the Painting by Geronte. which, with an expressive head and grace- fully or vigorously composed drapery below it, is to be, when complete, at once a highly decorative object and an expressive statue. When, however, the large figure is in hand something more elaborate in detail is needed; thus, anatomical truth is needed, and that this may be gained: that the limbs may hold together, that the legs may seem to carry the figure if it stands, or may lead to the body as the body to the head if the figure is seated, and that the arms may be placed so as to be not merely in a possible position, but also in a position of abstract beauty and in one more or less expressive of the pose, the tranquil action or non-action of the figure that all this may be secured it is essential to model the figure nude and to put drapery upon it afterwards. The true action of the hidden trunk and limbs cannot be produced unless trunk and limbs are modeled nude. Now, there are different ways of using the nude living model in the preparation of a nude statue, or in the prep- aration of the nude figure which is to result in the draped statue. There are sculptors who work with the nude model always before them. There are others who prefer to work without the living model, and then when the large figure is posed, set up, and in a sense complete, to call upon the living model as a check, as a means of correcting faults in the original. Sculptors, as well as painters, differ widely in their practice in this respect. It may, however, be set down as generally correct at all events as a very common way of proceeding that the small model of clay or of wax is made without any more than a cursory glance at the living model, either nude or draped, but that when the general pose or attitude has been deter- mined in this way, then the nude model is kept in presence all the time while the large figure is being set up, refined, developed, its modeling perfected in the nude, and the clothing with drapery of clay added there- unto. Now it is to be observed that no sculptor worthy of the name seeks to give or would for a moment think of giving a por- trait of his model. There is a story afloat of a great painter who was asked where he got the exquisite faces that he gave to his PRINCIPLES OF ART. ous followers copy, thinking that by copying it they become sculptors somewhat equal to the master himself. The few records we have of antiquity in this respect are full of the setting up by this and that great sculptor of a new canon or standard of proportion between the parts of the body. A figure of the school of Phidias was differently propor- tioned from one of the Rhodian school, four hundred years later, and, between the two, there were endless minor divergences; but always in the way of noble and beautiful human form. So in more recent times the modeling of a nude figure, male or female, by Michelangelo is very different indeed from the modeling of a figure by his prede- cessor, D.onatello, and by his successor, Jacopo Sansovino. It does not require a very intimate knowledge or a very good eye to perceive it. So, in the nineteenth cen- THE PRISONER. By Michelangelo, in the Louvre, Paris. madonnas, and who, by way of explaining how hopeless explanation would be, in- structed his grizzled and bearded attendant, who kept his studio in order, to take the pose, and painted from him the beautiful ma- donna which he had in his mind. Call that an exaggeration, if you please; it is an exaggeration in the sense of the truth. The sculptor's work is not in copying his model but in producing in visible form his mental perception of something beautiful, and what he wants of the living model is that hold upon the possibilities of life which he must retain if he expects to make his sculpture powerful in its appeal to mankind. But to consider further this matter of truth to nature, this question of how far the artist copies his model ; let it be remembered that every great sculptor has a manner peculiarly his own and one which his numer- THE FAUN. By Pi'axitclcs, a Greek Sculptor of the Fourth Century fi. C. i8 THE TECHNIQUE AND tury, it is a recognized fact that one man models quite in the lines laid down by Michelangelo, another in the way in which a Greek of the fourth century would have modeled were he now living among us, and a third according to traditions handed down through French workmen from the Middle Ages to the eighteenth century. Not that any one of these will work exactly as his exemplars worked, but that in each instance there will be a visible resemblance between the work of the modern and the work of the ancients whom he may be thought to have studied. It is not long since an important statue of Michelangelo, the noble work of Paul Bartlett, and now in the Congressional Library, was exhibited in New York; and it was felt immediately by sculptors who saw it that it was modeled much as the subject of the statue himself would have modeled such a statue had he been here to do it. So the man whom many of us think the first of modern French sculptors, Paul Dubois, is an Academecian in his art. He is a follower of the classical traditions lately and now taught in the French schools; and so completely a follower of these traditions that there are many who undervalue his work on the express ground that he seems to them to be so contented to live within the ancient boundaries. That his own choice in mature life, led him to study the sixteenth century Italians, and so take the classical traditions from Italian hands, does not make him less academical. He would be more original, more bold, if he were to go delib- erately back to the Greek originals. On the other hand, the celebrated living sculptor, Rodin, who is greatly admired for his extra- ordinary independence and for the novelty THE TORSO BELVEDERE (OF HERCULES) // is ascribed to the First Century R. C., and bears the signature of the Athenian Apollpnius. It now stands in the Vatican, Rome. PRINCIPLES OF ART. of his proceedings, appears an inno- vator in a bad sense, as one substituting an eagerly desired originality for a loftier, a more tranquil, a more perfect standard of beauty or of grandeur in art. And yet each of these powerful and artistic sculptors models truthfully, has the human anatomy of the external forms literally at his fingers' ends, loves and glories in the practice of fine and forceful modeling, and could copy a living model as exactly as he might choose to do it ; only that he will never do that except as a study, to gain more knowledge. It is said of Rodin, and with unquestioned truth, that, in an important statue, he delib- erately added material to the side of the body outside the upper ribs and under the arm, and at the same time added material to the upper arm itself in near proximity to the body as above described; all this to avoid the apparent lankiness or too great slender- ness which the play of light backward and forward between the brilliant surfaces of marble caused in other similar cases, or would cause in his own case. In other words, he, with the boldness of a great sculptor, deliberately deviated from what he knew was the usual, the normal, the truthful anatomy of the subject, and gave an apparent truth more important to him than the actual truth. It is nothing to a great sculptor that his upper arm measures or does not measure exactly that which a well-chosen model's arm would measure; all that is of minor impor- tance; what is important is the effect of beauty, of force, of expression of some kind which is to be gained in many cases only by a deliberate denial of the mere physical facts. Of the same Rodin it is known to be true that he had, four years ago, a draped figure to make, the nude form of which figure he modeled with the minutest and most loving care, giving to parts which were to be wholly concealed by the drapery as much thought and time, to all appearance, as to head or hands. There was nothing for it but to get perfection. Until it was abso- lutely well done, how could he be sure that any part was right? But this right^ ness may have been, in part, a deliberate exaggeration a frank denial, of the facts of nature. T HE ARTISTIC TREATMENT OF THE WHOLE AND OF THE PARTS. (4) The famous torso of the Vatican, the one that occupies a small apartment alone, except for the well-known Sarcopha- gus of Scipio which stands against the wall behind it, is regarded by many persons as the ideally perfect piece of anatomy among all ancient statuary. It is not on this account assumed to be the greatest of all ancient statues. It is so mutilated that its original significance cannot be now under- stood and, therefore, it has, and can have, no claim to rank first or second or in any other exact place among the works of ancient art. All we have of it is the amazing fidel- ity to nature in the form of an admirably perfect male body of mature age. Whether the complete work was great or only able and skillful is a thing which cannot be settled in the absence of so much of the composition as would explain its original significance. One beauty, however, it has, apart from its "science"; it has the beautifully rounded and beautifully hollowed and beautifully flattened surfaces which are the infallible mark of noble sculpture. The perfection of this, which is commonly called "modeling," without other qualification, is almost reason enough to give the torso in question a place in the very front rank of works of sculpture ; but still we ask the pose, the attitude, the whole figure in its power and grace, before we can speak decidedly of the work of art Differences exist, too, in the deliberately chosen ways of work of the men who are living side by side in the same community. Differences even greater may exist between all the members of one school taken together and the members of another school, contem- porary but centered, perhaps, in a different city. Thus, it is not very long since an emi- nent sculptor, asking for the opinion of a brother artist (and this criticism of a brother artist is the only criticism which an artist ever desires or regards) was met by a remark about a certain lack of vigor in the grouping. The critic reminded the author of the group that nude figures engaged in such and such action would not, as a matter of visible fact, 20 THE TECHNIQUE AND comport themselves in such and such ways, that study of those races of men among whom a quasi-nudity is a common thing would show that, plainly enough, the move- ment and pose of one figure would always THE FIRST BURIAL. By L. E. Barrias, a contemporary French sculptor, dated 1883, in the Hotel de 'Ville, Paris. be affected by the movement and pose of each of its neighbors, in a way not marked by the group in question; and that, in short, a group of men acting together or strug- gling together must be conceived more as a unit and less as a set of detached figures. The answer to this made by the sculptor under criticism was to the effect that, in his school just then, they were caring less about those larger and more general truths; that what they were caring the most about was the model- ing of the minor divisions of the body or of its surface. To get a beautifully modu- lated cheek, with temple and eye-socket, and to have this modulation pass beau- tifully into the comparative flat of the forehead, and this into the dome of the cra- nium ; to model the shoulder with truthful and beautiful massing of the articulation at the shoulder joint and the flow of the lines of tne up- per arm ; that such achieve- ment as this rather than the setting of the whole body perfectly upon its feet and putting it with perfect truth- fulness to nature into the appearance, the gesture, which indicates movement: that, as this sculptor con- fessed, was the demand 'made by this school upon each of its members. It is easy to see that there are as many differences of aim and of desire possible in this art as there are in poetry. Shelley is not to be blamed because he has not the same purpose in his art that Wordsworth or Mil- ton had ; and in like manner the sculptor is neither to be blamed nor praised because of the same fact that he is pursuing a certain, perhaps unusual, line of work. It is, however, proper to visit with unfavorable comment the work of the artist who is too limited in his desires and who seeks for a single, probably a minor virtue only, and perhaps to the exclusion of PRINCIPLES OF ART. 21 DISCOBOLUS. An antique copy in the Vatican, Rome of a famous statue by Myron, a Greek Sculptor of the Fifth. Century B. C. It shows the " Discus-thrower" at the moment of highest ten- sion and, at the same time, the moment of rest. others. Thus, admirable as is the aim pro- posed to the sculptor by the school above described that which calls for the most perfect devotion of a lifetime to the model- ing of the smaller surfaces, it will be found impossible to admire heartily works of sculp- ture which may possess this great beauty and which yet are without the vastly impor- tant merit of truthfulness of pose and ges- ture. A standing statue must stand firm on its legs and must seem ready to move in a moment from its standing position, and that without danger of falling. It will never do to defend a tottering and feebly composed statue by calling attention to the beauty of modeling in the wrists and ankles. Fre- quently these two virtues pass one into the other so immediately, so insensibly, that no student can say where general truth is left and the mere grace and perfectness of modeling begins. Thus, if we are noting a statue like the Discobolus, in which the apparent motion of the figure, its expression of vigorous and even violent effort makes necessary the setting of the feet very firmly on the ground, it will be observed that the toes have a singularly prehensile or clinging action, as if they were seizing the ground as the hand seizes and grips the object which it is to hurl. Now, this modeling of the toes to express the strained, powerful action of the muscles and tension of all the sinews is perfectly compatible with a most minute care for the rounding of the surfaces. Indeed, it is the thing which the sculptor enjoys almost beyond everything else, this giving lifelike movement or the appearance of movement, this giving of energy, grip, tension, to forms which must still be ex- quisitely rounded and in themselves beauti- ful. Moreover, the action suggested for the toes cannot exist by itself; it must be fol- lowed and continued by action seen in the muscles of the calf and in the whole position of the lower leg; also, by the modeling of the knee-joint and in certain cases even by the muscles of the thigh, On the other hand, in the well-known Ilissus, the headless statue from the Par- thenon pediment in the British Museum (Cf. page 22), the attitude suggests com- plete abandon and entire repose and thus some muscles are lax, those of the thigh in particular having attracted the attention of generations of students by their perfect expression of soft relaxation, though in so powerful a frame. Nor is the modeling for beauty of such parts as these in any way less attractive than in the case of the tense muscles of the Discobolus. In either case modeling is first for the expression of the attitude, the apparent action of the figure, and secondly for abstract beauty: or, to put the case more truthfully, these are in the sculptor's mind, both at once, and neither one without the other, neither the expression of energy without beauty nor yet a de- liberate chosen beauty of curvature with- out the expression of the body's state, vig- orous or inert. 22 THE TECHNIQUE AND T HE PLASTER, THE BRONZE AND THE MARBLE. (5) So far we have considered only what the sculptor does in modeling his figure. He has still to put it into such shape that he himself can keep it permanently before him and that the public or a selected public may see it. This is usually done by making a cast in plaster of Paris, from the clay model. If the work of art is a statue, as we have assumed, so far, a series of casts are taken from its different parts, which casts embodied in the clay. In the white mass which now replaces the brownish gray orig- inal, there may, indeed, be so much of a different aspect given to this part and to that part as light plays upon them, that the sculptor willingly accepts some accident of the casting or some suggestions which the new material offers him ; but, at all events, his business is the reproduction in the plas- ter of his thought as perfect as it was in the clay model, or, perhaps, in his present mood, more perfect still, as having been modified in accordance with his latest conceptions. THE RIVER-GOD ILISSUS. From the Parthenon, Athens, of the Fifth Century. B. C. should be, when put together, an exact reproduction of the statue. Of course, there is here much opportunity for slight errors, and such errors are, of course, destructive of the sculptor's conception as embodied in his own modeling. What the sculptor has to do, then, is, while rubbing down the seams which project where the molds come together and where the plaster has run into the grooves between them, to watch all parts of the plaster, keeping in mind the continuous curved and modulated surface of his work, seeking in the completed cast complete reproduction of his idea as it was This plaster thus carefully prepared goes to the exhibition: in Paris, to the great Salon, where hundreds of pieces of sculp- ture, large and small, are exhibited year by year. This plaster is the sculptor's finished work. It is this which the juries pass upon, this which gains for its author renown, and, in countries where a wise public spirit allows of public recompense and public employ- ment to the able artist, which gains him medals, decorations as of the Legion of Honor, and employment by the State. The only object to be gained by putting the statue into more permanent form of durable PRINCIPLES OF ART. 2 3 material is in the durability itself. Considered alone, as a work of art, one would prefer the plaster to the marble or the bronze; but as the plaster cannot, under ordinary circumstances, be kept in perfect condition very long-, it is a traditional process to copy this plaster in marble or to reproduce it in bronze. Those words, "to copy" and "to reproduce," are used with deliberate pur- pose. The reproduction in bronze is made by another casting, the difference be- ing merely in the prepara- tion of a mold which will bear the heat of the melted metal, and the allowing of this melted metal to run into this mold and then to harden; after which it has to be finished, not alone by the sculptor's hand, but, as the material is hard, and files and specially hardened tools are the only ones which will attack it easily, by the hands of workmen specially trained to the work. It is, however, in all cases, the sculptor himself who must be re- sponsible for the final touches to the metal. The bronze may be set up in its original bright color, as of a new coin, to change color gradually by exposure to the air, and in some cases to smoke, dust, or other impuri- ties floating in the air, or it may be at once stained such color as the sculptor may pre- fer, or, as is sometimes the case with statues to be set up in doors, it may be gilded. As for the marble copy, it is a copy in the strict sense of the word, for the surfaces are reproduced by mechanical processes in a block of marble whose parts are cut away carefully, until the surface of each part of the plaster statue exists again in the harder material. A curious instrument, which cannot be described here, as it is very com- DIANA. A bronze statue, by J A. ffoudon, 1741-1828 in the Louvre, Paris. plicated, enables the workman to proceed with absolute certainty, so far as mere mechanical accuracy of measurement is concerned. The exact amount of pro- jection of a rounded convex part, the exact receding of a hollow, can be given by this instrument, and the points so taken may be so numerous that the modulation of the surface may be almost perfectly reproduced. For the final modeling, the sculptor has to interfere, for although this precaution is often omitted, although the marble often goes straight from the work- shop to its permanent place without care- ful revision by the sculptor, this is felt by all artists who care for their work to be a serious risk and to be, in short, an artistic mistake. THE TECHNIQUE AND COLOR IN SCULPTURE. (6) Still considering works "in the round," that is to say, statues and groups, it is proper to allude to what was once universal in art; viz., the in- vesting with color of all sculpture, whether in marble, alabaster or wood, of the Egyptians, of the Assyrians, and of the Greeks, from the earliest times until the complete disappearance of their art in the later Greco-Roman school, and of the art of the Roman Empire before and at the climax of its power and splendor. Bronze sculpture commonly had eyes of another material inserted in the bronze sockets, and this material was chosen with some reference to the luster and even the sparkle of the human eye : moreover, bronze statues would be gilded in parts, as the hair, and jewels set in the ear or laid about the neck and in the thongs of the sandals, the borders of the upper garment, and the like. The only exception to the dictum that stone statues w^ie painted is in the case of those stones which have themselves great beauty of color and luster. Thus, the earliest Egyptian work, of diorite, of basalt, of red granite, might or might not be partly col- ored; the beauty of the material, its rarity, and the pride the workman felt in having subdued such hard and resistant material to his purposes removing the otherwise natural desire to paint it. So, among the Romans of a later time, the fancy for portrait busts in which the draped shoulders and torso were worked in some precious Oriental stone, and the head alone in white marble the head being set into the receptacle left for it in the carved mass of the draped shoulders seems to have replaced the earlier disposition to use the paint brush. At what period white statues weie turned out by the sculptor and left unpainted has not been ascertained, for, while statues as late as the reign of Tiberius are known to have been painted in all their parts, it is suspected that others, even of the same reign, were left unpainted ; the taste for the unaided model- ing, the unassisted sculptor-work, seeming to begin almost with the consolidation of the Empire. No one should suppose, however, that this painting was done with any idea of imitating life. The painting was done with the view of adding to the vigor, the expressiveness, of the statue. The cus- tom of painting grew up with the custom of using sculpture in close connection with a building, which building itself was painted in all its parts. So, in the Egyptian gate- way-towers, covered with historical and devotional reliefs, and in the frieze of the Parthenon, the painting of the relief sculp- ture was carried out on the same lines as the painting of the rest of the building. The dark corners were in this way lighted up ; to sculpture in places above the eye or otherwise too nearly inaccessible, was given an added vigor, and the whole work, once perfectly well rendered, so far as form goes, was then helped to produce the desired ulti- mate effect by the afterthought, so to speak, of the painter acting in harmony with the sculptor himself. From this to the statues of the pediment and the statues of the inte- rior the extension of the practice of painting was not only easy but was inevitable. The statues of the interior, half hidden in the dusk and gloom of the sanctuary were painted in order to make them more easily comprehensible ; their parts were not hidden nor their modeling concealed nor their con- ception as to form overlaid by this added grace, but all the painting was done with the deliberate purpose, usually successful, as we must believe when we are dealing with a race so faultless in tact and taste as the Greeks of calling attention to the sculptor's work and of making it more im- pressive. The stories we have about the chrys- elephantine statues, such as that of Zeus in the Temple at Olympia and that of Athena in the Parthenon at Athens, we can only understand by carefiil reading of the brief texts which describe them, and by com- parison of these texts with the painted statues which remain to us. The inference drawn by all archaeologists with regard to those famous works is that upon a skeleton of metal and a thin hollow shell also, proba- bly, of metal, a sculptured surface was applied; this surface being of ivory for the PRINCIPLES OF ART. nude parts and of enameled metal (partly, at least, of gold) for the drapery and orna- ments. In the case of the Olympian Zeus the pedestal seems also to have been a marvel of polychromatic adornment, with elaborate figure-sculptures in relief. But smaller statues, whose decoration was applied by the paint brush, are not at all unfamiliar to modern students. In the excavations made on the top of the Acrop- olis rock at Athens several painted statues were found in 1883, and a much larger num- ber in 1886, and while these have greatly enlarged our knowledge and increased our understanding of those early processes of art, they have done no more than confirm what previous discoveries had made clear. The Acropolis statues must have been thrown down during the Persian invasion of Greece, in 480 B. C. ; they were then heaped together to aid in the filling up of a hollow on the rock, the Athenians engaged in rebuilding after the Persians had departed having evi- dently but little care for these earlier and once sacred works of art, now that they had been polluted by the enemy, thrown down and shattered, or at least marred by violence. The most elaborately finished of these statues have the waved or rippled hair lying on the back painted in a color which suggests the former application of gold: they have the wrinkled and crape-like undergarment, where it shows, painted blue or green, the outer garment painted with the most elaborate patterns, having, perhaps, a border five inches wide, made up of three or four members and a sowing or sprinkle of figures not unlike those of much more recent woven draperies. It is evident that in all this the actual dress of a period the period in which they were made or a just-preceding one was somewhat closely followed, and that even the patterns of the stuff are reproduced in color. So far there is realism, there is, one might say, imitation of nature, but the application of all this to the somewhat archaic figure is so obviously for effect's sake that no one viewing these treasures of antiquity would suspect them of being of less ideal importance than even the great gold - and - ivory statues themselves. In fact, each and every one of these was a votive statue, whether it stood out of doors with a temporary canopy over it, or whether it was placed for better safe-keeping under the roof of some colonnade, some portico attached to the shrine, or whether it stood at one side of the sacred interior. Modern applications of painting to sculp- ture have been so few and so tentative that they need hardly concern us at present. The student of sculpture should remember, however, that the art of form in antiquity was not conceived by those who made it and by those for whom it was made as an uncol- ored and, in that sense, abstract form. The lesson to be learned from this truth is the valuable one that fine art, as we know it, has grown up out of the desire for decora- tive effect far more than from any desire to imitate or even to represent the actions of living men. Both of these natural instincts of man were present and active when art was first begun, but the decorative instinct soon carried it over the longing to represent or to reproduce, and the artist of ancient times, like the artist of to-day, was prima- rily in all his thoughts and in all his labors, an artist : that is to say, a producer of works of character, of dignity or gentleness, of vigor or beauty, aiming at artistic results and caring little what the public think of his meaning which, as he feels, he can hardly hope to explain to them. It is the normal frame of mind of the artist at work to think only of the artistic task before him, Patriotism or piety or a desire to please the whim of an employer or to catch the public eye may have determined the choice of his subject, but once at work, the modeling tools and the practiced hand obey the one impulse, the impulse to realize in visible form the great and as yet only half-seen conception of the creative brain. Now the conception of the Greek sculptor's brain was a colored one: to him, as Mr. La Farge points out, the work to be done was in form invested with color. The thought of the modern artist is in form alone; and there are grave questions connected with that divergence of aim. It is to be noted, however, that as statues left the sacred place, the temple and its neighborhood, to be placed, as the Romans 26 THE TECHNIQUE AND placed them, in the public square and the private hall of reception, the disposition to paint the statue began to disappear. If, however, this disappearance of polychromy be traceable to the use of sculpture for the decoration of the city or of the villa, it seems probable that this influence was not direct but secondary in a sense: it seems that the less brilliantly colored sur- roundings bade the artist leave his statue less vigorously colored in itself. Those of us who have noticed a modern white marble if the statue were to be painted judiciously, it would be a prodigious help to the flat panels and canvases around. It is, then, our modern custom of picking up works of art one by one, trundling them off into private houses here or elsewhere, and set- ting them up casually in court rooms or halls of legislation which has caused the separation between the arts, and which has bade the colorist keep to his flat surfaces, while the sculptor gets no aid from him in the completion of his work of form. S CULPTURE LIEF. (7) IN RE- THE LOGGIA DEI LANZI, FLORENCE, ITALY. This is a portico opening on to a great square^ and containing many famous statues. statue in a gallery filled with pictures hav- ing some beauty of color, as in this or that room of our museums, will have observed how badly it fits its surroundings. None but a very refined piece of modeling will bear, without the most serious injury given and received, the neighborhood of works of vigorous color. The more highly refined is the modeling of any white statue, the less it is injured and the less it injures its sur- roundings, and this evidently because of the subtlety of the delicate grays with which nature stands ready to invest the smoothly- modulated surfaces of the marble or plaster. But it is safer to keep the white statue out of the picture gallery. On the other hand, Hitherto we have con- sidered rather the statue or group of statues than that sculpture which is raised or re- lieved from a continuous sur- face ; but this latter is still the most important, on the whole. The museums of Athens are the richest in Europe in spec- imens of Greek sculpture of supreme excellence; and yet there are but few statues in them: the Roman conquerors took care of that! Egyptian, Assyrian, Persian, Greek, Gre- co-Roman, Romanesque and Gothic architecture, the build- ings of India and Japan and Central America, the structures of the classical Renaissance of the fifteenth century and of its resulting styles in all parts of Europe all of these are what they are largely because of their sculptured friezes, panels, pilasters and larger wall surfaces. And all of this vast mass of sculpture is in relief. There is a solid background to it, from which the sculptor's modeling grows out. It is not stuck on; it is not a thing apart, either in conception or in make ; it is the solid substance gathered up, here and there, into forms which are more refined and significant than those of moldings, or those of balls, billets and diamond-points. There are, indeed, the exceptional in- stances of such work as, being composed of PRINCIPLES OF ART. 29 PANEL FROM DOOR OF THE FLORENCE BAPTISTERY. Out of the ten panels this one represents Abraham 's entertainment of the angels, and the attempted sacrifice of Isaac. diverse materials, is actually carved or embossed in separate pieces and applied to its background. Such was the frieze of the Erechtheum at Athens: marble figures applied to a darker marble ground. Such is that wonderful ceiling by La Farge in a New York dwelling house, where wood, marble and ivory carvings, metal emboss- ings of half a dozen colors, mother-of-pearl, cast blue glass and red coral were all used in one great composition. But even in these cases the design, the artist's thought, the original modeling, have been such as would come naturally to the artist with a flat surface of soft material before him, which he proposes to dig into, here, and to pile up, there, until the flatness is much modified, shaped and wrought into some- thing very interesting indeed. In the most elaborate work there may remain no flatness anywhere visible. Thus, in the famous Ghiberti doors of the Florence Baptistery (those of the Eastern doorway) there is here and there a really flat surface which stands for the sky; but, everywhere else, near fig- ures are relieved upon more distant figures, those upon mountain forms or groves of trees or the tents of the army; or else some elaborate piece of architecture fills nearly the whole panel above and around the prin- cipal human subject. On the other hand, Luca della Robbia's noble doors, those with eight panels which open to let you into the Sacristy in the Cathedral of Florence, have the figures relieved upon a flat table of bronze; and their formality is extreme: always a central figure seated, and two smaller ones erect, and only small accesso- ries beyond these. Donatello's doors in San Lorenzo of Florence are still more simple: two figures to each, and the backgrounds of these are flat again, as flat as the level . sur- THE TECHNIQUE AND A METOPE FROM THE PARTHENON, ATHENS Combat between Greek and Centaur. face of a medal, but, like the medal, back- ground and figures form parts of one design. The same great sculptor's pulpit at Prato has the panels so filled with singing and music-making child-angels that there is no background at all. Here and there only, in the groups, could your finger find place between the heads and wings, or the feet and floating robes, and touch some marble beyond, which was not carved into a sem- blance of life. In Greek sculpture the same differences are found: and, in the Parthenon itself, the metopes and the frieze of the naos, though probably of the same epoch and produced under the same influences, show radical differences, very similar to those named above in the case of the Italian examples. The metopes are nearly square blocks of marble, from which emerge the bodies of centauis and men in relief so high that the heads and arms are sometimes disengaged wholly from the block. The long slabs of the naos-frieze are occupied with mounted men, chariots and horses, figures on foot of old men, young men and maidens; and here the relief seems high for a man's head and low for the body of a horse. For, as the whole slab is forty inches high, a man's head may be five inches in greatest dimen- sion; and its relief of an inch and a quarter for a profile, or two inches for a full-faced head which seems to bow forward and out of the plane, is indeed high relief; while giving the four legs of a prancing horse and details of his body within a space three feet square and with a relief of an inch and a quarter has involved in it all the serious problems of very flat relief. In fact, the difficulties overcome have been prodigious; nor does the student see, at first, through the mask of divine serenity and consummate ordering, the variety, the play, the master- ful grasp of the subject, and the astonishing technical skill which has gone to those five hundred feet of crowded composition. And to think that this marvelously perfect mod- eling had still to be made up with arms, trappings, and wreaths of bronze, with SECTION FROM THE FRIEZE OF THE PARTHENON, ATHENS. Part of the procession at the Panathenaea. PRINCIPLES OF ART. painting, and even with details executed wholly by the paintbrush ! With the Roman work we cannot linger; and yet the general neglect of that noble relief -sculpture of Trajan's time and Hadri- an's makes the regret for this prohibition the greater. The arch of Trajan at Bene- vento is for some of us the finest piece of architectural sculpture between the XVIII Dynasty of Egypt and Rheims Cathedral. The unmatched sculpturesque sense of the Greeks has impressed our archaeologists so much that they have hardly settled down to work upon the Roman monuments as yet, monuments less rich in the highest qualities of pure sculpture, but not to be surpassed in the combination which goes to make up that rare achievement of man, a great building beautifully adorned. D IVERSE AND EVEN CONTRARY WAYS OF WORKING AMONG SCULPTORS. (8) There are still to be noted those radically different ways of work which the student finds to interest and to puzzle him: differ- ent ways leading to different re- sults, the many aspects of art, the many forms of multiform truth. The books are full of stories of Michelangelo attacking the marble himself with chisel and mallet. It appears to be true that even in this great man's time it was not very strange to see an artist of fame, and sur- rounded by those who, for pay or for educa- tion, would have done his heavy work for him, still cutting away the outside of a block until, as he himself expressed it, he came to the form concealed within it, and of which he was in search. In the middle of the six- teenth century it was already noted as unusual that such a sculptor should work the marble so habitually himself. But it was rather for the boldness and unhesitating di- rectness of his work than for the novelty of the proceeding that it appears to have excited remark. It has been well said that Buonar- roti's practice seems to have been to make a small model with great care and minute- ness and then, with this model before him, to go at the marble block with his tools, trusting to his eye and to the trained hand, which is almost like a seeing organ in itself, to keep him from the accidents natural to his headlong and straightforward work. This practice, which was, perhaps, growing rare in the sixteenth century this practice of the artist himself working the stone with- out even a full-size model was undoubtedly an inheritance from the European Middle Ages. The sculptors of the astonishing portal statues of Rheims, of Chartres, of Paris and of Bourges, must be thought to have worked in the same manner. That is a clever modern painting which shows a SPHINX FROM THE SERAPEUM, MEMPHIS. (Cf. page 32) monk carving the horizontally placed statue which we call a gargoyle that is to say, a water-spout for the rain gutters of a church in imitation of his brother monk, who is posed in an attitude similar to that desired by the sculptor. The one monk is copying the other, in short, working with mallet and chisel directly upon the stone block. It is, however, improbable that the work pro- ceeded just in that way, though one such incident may have occurred during the long stretch of magnificent work which we call Gothic architecture. Commonly the Gothic buildings were not erected, nor were they adorned, by monks. Commonly the artist was too much of an artist (as his work most plainly shows) to seek to copy any living figure without serious change ; and although THE TECHNIQUE AND such changes are possible as one works with the living model before him, they would be more likely to prove successful if carried out under other conditions. There is no evidence, but it is in every LION IN BRONZE. way probable, that the medieval artist made his small model in wax or in plastic earth of some kind, making this from the life if you please ; and that then the sandstone or the limestone was cut more at leisure by the man who had no comrade in an uneasy posi- tion begging that the work might be hurried and he released. It is easy to see how great would be the divergence between the work of the medie- val artist, a member of a small, poor, un- learned community, with but the bishop and canons of the cathedral, and, perhaps, a sagacious burgher or two for all his audi- ence and the heir of the ages, Buonarroti. Even when their way of working was so similar, their results would differ, not in merit, but in the kind of merit. Now con- sider the difference between either of these artists and the workingmen who cut the granite sphinxes and lions which form long avenues from the sacred Nile to the pylon of this temple and that in mighty Thebes. The beast is seven feet long and weighs four tons, perhaps, but he is cut as a Japan- ese carver cuts a netzuke out of crystal : that is to say, there is an abstraction of the idea "lion," a choosing of a very few simple curves and a few very much undivided sur- faces, which curves and surfaces are all that the poor slave who plies the tool can give, but which are all that is needed. The lion lives in them, in other sort than as the same spirit appears in the hairy creatures of the Nelson monument. How, in detail, was it done? Did the skilled priest model the creature, full-size, in Nile mud, and then try his workmen on the copy, once and again, till a model simple enough and men skillful enough were finally brought together? At all events neither the cin- quecento Italian nor the thir- teenth century French- man (so far as we know) could have done so much with so little de- tail. This power and this habit of abstraction are as noticeable in the Egyptian figure sculp- ture of the highest class as in the wholly decorative beasts and birds of the great avenues and pylons. No man knows what is archaic Egyptian art; that has never THE SHEIKH-EL-BELED OR VILLAGE MAGISTRATE. PRINCIPLES OF ART. 33 been identified. The earliest statuary, that of the Fourth Dynasty, is as realistic as that of the Japanese a hundred years ago; and yet, through all the realism the care- ful study of human pose, human gesture and human facial expression, there is a singular severity of outline evidently coming from the recognized processes of the sculptor's art. The magnificent sphinx in pink gran- ite, which seems to fill, by itself one of the ground-floor rooms of the Louvre, includes a study of the head and the expression of eyes and mouth with which every student of that most interesting subject, the human face and its renderings, must reckon if he would not be found ignorant. The lime- stone statue of the Burden Bearer in the Boulak Museum, the Cross Legged Scribe of the Louvre, and the incredible wooden statue also in the Louvre and known by the generally - accepted name, The Sheikh-el- Beled, are all of them studies of life and not of hieratic ceremonial. Even the gray granite figure, of a much later time, which, with its knees out, its chin, and its arms crossed and resting upon the knees, is indi- cated rather than carved in the polished block of granite even that strange, almost cubical mass contains more of the pose of the living creature than the statues of our time generally secure. With its almost globular head crowning its almost cubical mass it is certainly the oddest as it is one of the most powerful pieces of sculpture on earth. It is only three feet high and the flat front of it between the knees bears a hieroglyphic inscription in three lines, but it is realistic sculpture still. On the other hand, the statues of the fifteenth century, even those of the French school of that time, which was the only school then alive in Europe, are realistic in appearance only, while they are perfunctory and mannered in their essence. No sculp- ture of that time is visible in this country, and in Europe it is less studied as yet than it deserves. There are great things in it. Pigalle's "Mercury" is a marvelous achieve- ment; and there are nowhere portrait busts more interesting than those of 1750, and thereabout. But when the notions of dra- pery of that epoch are compared with what the Greeks meant by drapery the Greeks and their more immediate followers and students, ancient and modern it appears at once that the sculptor of a hundred and fifty years ago thought, in abstract composi- tion such as that of folds of stuff, in a way so different from that which we have learned from the Greeks to believe dignified that the artist and we can no longer understand each other. The powerful monument of Marshall Saxe in the Church of Saint Thomas in Strasburg has the banners of the Empire thrown down and the banners of France raised aloft, the drapery of the figure of Death, of the cerecloth, and of the weep- ing Genius of France, all much in evidence and forming together the most important masses of the design. And yet all these representations of textile fabrics are not draped but tumbled, they are creased, they are tossed about, they are crushed ; there is no word for them quite so appropriate as the old New York word "mussed. " The same character of drapery is to be seen in the engraved book illustrations of the time, in those extraordinary prints from the engrav- ings of Moreau and Eisen which illustrate our livres a vignettes. It is also to be seen in the later things, in the bust of the dram- atist Rotrou by Caffieri, in the marvelous Moliere of Houdon, both in the Theatre Fran^ais, at least up to the time of the recent conflagration ; and it is seen equally in the statue of Louis XIV by Gilles Gue"rin, at the beginning of the epoch we are con- sidering, and in the famous portrait statue of the Due de Richelieu. In this there is realism in the way of excess, in the way of exaggeration of curve, of rounded masses, of projections and hollows, of light and shade. There is realism of intended adher- ence to natural form ; but for that which a more serious school would have thought the higher truths (natural truths or artistic, it is one and the same in the present sense of the word) there is negation. For instance, the famous statue of Milo with his fingers caught in the oak and attacked by the beasts, gives us a pose absolutely inconceivable a vast and powerful frame expressing by no one of its characteristics, by no gesture, by the play of no one muscle, by nothing in all 34 THE TECHNIQUE AND that language of the body which the student of sculpture comes to know so well, nothing of the horror and anguish of the defeated and despairing giant. P AINTING AND ITS KINDRED ARTS. (9) The art of painting is the art of giving on a flat surface the colored look of external things. This art is not simple, like sculpture, it -is almost infinitely varied. It affects sculpture as we have seen, though not very far; and sculpture may modify painting, though not very much. Painting in itself is, first, of many and varied kinds; second, it has close alliances with other arts; third, it is made up of processes and expedients, successively used to produce a result. Sculpture is modeling, and need be nothing else, even in very high reaches indeed. Painting is much more complex. First, it is of many kinds: Oil Painting is the putting on of pigments mixed with oil and with something else which helps the mass to dry rather promptly, as oil alone would not do: Distemper, or Tempera, is putting on colors with something sticky, as glue or white of egg or juice of fruits, or gum, or a mixture. Water Color, or Aqua- relle, is laying liquid color, the water being nearly pure, but usually having a little gum dissolved in it. Fresco Painting is water color modified by having lime dissolved in the water, and by being put upon a surface of wet plaster. Fresco Secco, or Calcimine, or Kalsomine, is again water color with more lime in it and laid on dry plaster. Water-Glass, or Soluble Glass painting is also water color on dry plaster, secured after its completion either by spraying or light brushing with a solution of silex really a liquid glass. Encaustic Painting is done with wax dissolved in alcohol and is fixed or fastened by melting the wax as it hardens, the heat being brought near the surface by hot irons. Pastel Painting is done with dry powdered color, rubbed into paper by mere friction. Lacquer Painting is done with different resinous substances, chief of which is the sap of R/nis Vernicefera, used in Japan ; Tapestry Painting is the application of liquid stains to the surface of a woven fabric, usually, though not of necessity, done in direct imitation of tapestry. Second, kindred arts are Enameling, in which the color is in the form of glass which is ground fine, then put on with some glu- tinous liquid, then heated so hot as to melt and afterward harden again. Keramic Painting, which is done with pigments which change in color and are also fixed by being heated strongly Inlaying, which is the letting into one surface of other materi- als, wood, metal, ivory, stone, or glass. Mosaic, which is the building up of a sur- face with small pieces of different colors. What is called "Stained Glass," or the mak- ing of windows by means of a translucent mosaic. Incrustation, which is a modifica- tion of Inlaying, where things already made, as disks of mosaic or enamel, or bits of sculpture, are let into a surface. Tapestry, in which little bunches of colored thread are slowly put into place on a set of stout twines, and the whole shaved down on the surface afterward. The gilding and color- ing of Leather, which is almost painting, and the combining of differently colored metals, which is a complex mechanical art, as the surface of any one piece of metal may be altered in color, while the number of alloys alone is indefinitely great. Third, preparatory or subsidiary arts are Drawing with the line and with tints, and this is done with lead-pencil, charcoal, black chalk, sauce, or crayon contt, which are forms of carbon, with sanguine or red chalk, with a hard point producing slightly incised lines, with the sharp tool, engraving or incising deeper lines in a hard surface, with a less sharp tool driven by light blows, as in chasing, with any liquid pigment (india ink, sepia or bistre most often) as in water- color painting, with the hot iron which burns its way into wood, and with white chalk on a dark surface, the lights being put on, not the darks. And besides all this there are the results of drawing, the Litho- graph, printed off from a drawing in greasy crayon; the Print from an Engraving, in one of its many forms (etching, dry-point, PRINCIPLES OF ART. 35 line-engraving, stipple, wood - engraving, mezzotint, aquatint) ; and the special kinds of drawing necessary for the modern repro- ductions by photography and kindred proc- esses. Yes, painting and its allied arts are enough to occupy the student! It is to be noted, however, that all these arts are near akin. The painter of skill can learn rather easily how to practice any one of the arts named above. He might prac- tice all, but for the shortness of the day's working hours and the need of working with an untired brain and hand. Many artists stored and active mind and an alert in- telligence are aided by working in more directions than one and under differing con- ditions. " He who blows thro' bronze may breathe thro' silver." as Browning says in the touching address to his wife at the close of the original edition of "Men and Women": "He who works in fresco, steals a hair-brush, Curbs the liberal hand, subservient proudly, Cramps his spirit, crowds its all in little, Makes a strange art of an art familiar, Fills his lady's missal-marge with flowerets." A LION. Example of a line drawing by Rembrandl. (Front a Carbon Print by Braun.) work at oil painting, water color and pastels interchangeably; others make ornamental windows (this being that decorative art which flourishes most vigorously in our time) while still painting much or most of their working time; others have specialties of portrait work in black, or white and red chalk; others make black and white draw- ings for the illustration of books and period- icals. The old rule obtains, that steady and uninterrupted practice gives dexterity; but there is something besides dexterity in the painter's art, and manysidedness, a well- Such wanderings into near and not un- familiar lands of art may be rare once in a way or never to be repeated or they may be a lifelong habit. Again, such work out- side of one's main employment may be a mere avocation and rather an amusement or a rest for the spirit than a steady pursuit; or, again, the artist in fresco or in oils may work at water color, at etching, or at draw- ing in pen and ink for half of his working time. Rembrandt is the instance that occurs to every one. Consummate in his methods as a painter in oil color, so much THE TECHNIQUE AND MILLBANK. An etching by J. M, Whistler, being one of the Thames Series, 1861. so that the modern world of painters stands in rapt admiration before the works left us by that prodigious genius; and also the first of all artists with the etching needle and the acid bath; first, and in pure line work so very much the first that there is no second but Whistler. Titian is another, and as great on the grandiose and stately side as Rembrandt is in the familiar and men-of- the-people fashion. The chalk heads in the Louvre and Albertina collections and the wood -cuts by Boldrini and others after Titian's drawings are as stately as the mas- ter's own paintings. Rubens is another instance, and much in the same direction, his drawings and his wood-cuts also com- paring well with his finished work in color. Moreover, all artists who are concerned with painting or any of its associate or kin- dred arts, use drawing in some simple form as a means of making studies. Even as we find the sculptor modeling small heads and figures in wax by way of study, either direct from nature or by way of embodying and retaining an artistic thought, so the artist who works upon the flat surface is always drawing. He fills sketch books with lead- pencil work; sheets of paper on his table with pen and ink stud- ies ; larger sheets with preparations for future work in light and shade on a great scale, which preparations may be in sauce and stump, or indifferently with the brush dipped in any oil color or water color which hap- pens to be mixed and ready; and finally, he makes color studies also, precisely in the same way of constant off-hand note-taking. Indeed, it seems as if the art of pastel paint- ing mentioned above was specially invented to enable artists to make rapid color stud- ies, for the paper does not blister and buckle under the rubbing in of the dry pastel, and you do not have to wait for anything to dry before completing your work. The evanescent gradations of a sunset can only be set down, even partially and tentatively, by some such means as this. Artists in other lines, who have not beside their easels the whole paraphernalia of col- ored crayon which we call the palette of the pastel painter are still given to making notes with those pencils in colored chalks which one buys at the stationers in four or five different hues. T HE PAINTER'S METHODS.(io) When a painter sets up his canvas or his stretched sheet of heavy drawing paper, always with the idea of putting upon it a picture which will be of permanent value arid which may per- haps sell, he will generally sketch in his whole subject with a point. He will draw it with a soft lead-pencil, if it is on paper, or with charcoal (which is specially made for the purpose, the carbonized wood of the ordinary willow being the most commonly PRINCIPLES OF ART. 37 used, whence the term fusairi) ; but there is nothing to prevent his making his prelimi- nary drawing with a camel's hair or sable brush, if it is water color, or the bristle brush, if it is oil pafnting which he has in hand nothing except occasionally lack of certain skill. Drawing maybe done with anything; moreover, as the only true definition of draw- ing is the putting of everything into its right place, so it is quite indifferent whether our man is fond of "delineation," or whether he prefers soft broad masses even in his preparatory work. Nor does it follow that a very great artist will use but a few light touches whereas a less competent man will draw his whole subject in outline. Nothing of the kind can be asserted. There are, in the basement of the National Gallery in London thousands of drawings by the most mighty of all landscapists, J. M. W. Turner, and of these, very many, even of his middle time, are astonishing achievements in the way of outline drawing in pencil the whole of the large sheet of paper being covered with a minute setting down of all the details of an extended landscape. On the other hand, there is many a landscape artist of immeasureably less power who finds it ines- sential in his work to make such elaborate preparation in the way of outline drawing. To him it is more natural, perhaps, to make each finished drawing a study of one thought rather than a complex symphony like Tur- ner's Swiss landscapes, and this one thought he can carry in his head sufficiently well ; so that the rounded tops of half a dozen trees and the curved line indicating the perspec- tive of the shore as he sits by a lake or river with, perhaps, the additional hint of a rock or a cow in the foregound, is all that he will need. Upon the white or creamy-white ground thus made ready and partitioned off by his outlines into the main patches or divisions of his subject, the artist goes to work at once with color. If a water colorist, he is very apt to put a wash of some rather neutral tint or perhaps of yellow or buff over his whole composition, partly with the idea of fixing the outlines more firmly if he wishes to retain them, partly that he may prepare the paper the better for work to be added later. If it is oil painting on canvas, the question is more complex, for it would seem that no two painters approach their work in the same way. It is quite well known that there are two main processes, the one the work by a mosaic of little patches of color which are fitted close to one another and cover the whole surface with their resulting pattern ; while the other sys- tem is rather that of covering large surfaces at once, which surfaces are again covered in parts with differing colors, the bottom color showing through the other and modifying its effect. Now it is obvious that neither one of these expedients serves by itself. The different practice of different painters is unlike in this only that the one uses the mosaic system more and the other less. To illustrate the meaning more exactly, sup- pose that the artist wishes to paint a rock over which there falls a piece of deep green drapery. It may suit him to paint rock and drapery at the same time with the same brushful of color, and to "model" both in light and shade in this color, which may, perhaps, be a deep orange. So far the work is in monochrome, only the artist has chosen a bright colored monochrome instead of a gray one. As the piece of drapery is to be green, he now paints rapidly over so much of the modeling as represents that drapery, using this time a sufficiently transparent blue. As the rock is to be of many tints of warm brown touched with golden lichens and shaded with dusky hollows, this piece of work is more elaborate ; and upon the orange backgound the surface indications are put in smaller patches, in lighter touches, in little brush strokes constantly varying in color and which give an infinite series of delicate gradations. In other words, the rock is a complex, the piece of stuff a simple piece of painting, in this instance. It may well be, however, that the piece of drapery itself requires much more elaboration than we have supposed above ; for if the stuff have a silken surface with some luster this luster has very peculiar colors of its own, and the expression of the curious high lights upon such a silky surface are most delicate and interesting to paint. If we suppose the piece of stuff to have an elaborate pattern PRINCIPLES OF ART. 37 used, whence the term fusairi) , but there is nothing to prevent his making his prelimi- nary drawing with a camel's hair or sable brush, if it is water color, or the bristle brush, if it is oil painting which he has in hand nothing except occasionally lack of certain skill. Drawing maybe done with anything; moreover, as the only tme definition of draw- ing is the putting of everything into its right place, so it is quite indifferent whether our man is fond of "delineation," or whether he prefers soft broad masses even in his preparatory work. Nor does it follow that a very great artist will use but a few light touches whereas a less competent man will draw his whole subject in outline. Nothing of the kind can be asserted. There are, in the basement of the National Gallery in London thousands of drawings by the most mighty of all landscapists, J. M. W. Turner, and of these, very many, even of his middle time, are astonishing achievements in the way of outline drawing in pencil the whole of the large sheet of paper being covered with a minute setting down of all the details of an extended landscape. On the other hand, there is many a landscape artist of immeasureably less power who finds it ines- sential in his work to make such elaborate preparation in the way of outline drawing. To him it is more natural, perhaps, to make each finished drawing a study of one thought rather than a complex symphony like Tur- ner's Swiss landscapes, and this one thought he can carry in his head sufficiently well; so that the rounded tops of half a dozen trees and the curved line indicating the perspec- tive of the shore as he sits by a lake or river with, perhaps, the additional hint of a rock or a cow in the foregound, is all that he will need. Upon the white or creamy-white ground thus made ready and partitioned off by his outlines into the main patches or divisions of his subject, the artist goes to work at once with color. If a water colorist, he is very apt to put a wash of some rather neutral tint or perhaps of yellow or buff over his whole composition, partly with the idea of fixing the outlines more firmly if he wishes to retain them, partly that he may prepare the paper the better for work to be added later. If it is oil painting on canvas, the question is more complex, for it would seem that no two painters approach their work in the same way. It is quite well known that there are two main processes, the one the work by a mosaic of little patches of color which are fitted close to one another and cover the whole surface with their resulting pattern; while the other sys- tem is rather that of covering large surfaces at once, which surfaces are again covered in parts with differing colors, the bottom color showing through the other and modifying its effect. Now it is obvious that neither one of these expedients serves by itself. The different practice of different painters is unlike in this only that the one uses the mosaic system more and the other less. To illustrate the meaning more exactly, sup- pose that the artist wishes to paint a rock over which there falls a piece of deep green drapery. It may suit him to paint rock and drapery at the same time with the same brushful of color, and to "model" both in light and shade in this color, which may, perhaps, be a deep orange. So far the work is in monochrome, only the artist has chosen a bright colored monochrome instead of a gray one. As the piece of drapery is to be green, he now paints rapidly over so much of the modeling as represents that drapery, using this time a sufficiently transparent blue. As the rock is to be of many tints of warm brown touched with golden lichens and shaded with dusky hollows, this piece of work is more elaborate ; and upon the orange backgound the surface indications are put in smaller patches, in lighter touches, in little brush strokes constantly varying in color and which give an infinite series of delicate gradations. In other words, the rock is a complex, the piece of stuff a simple piece of painting, in this instance. It may well be, however, that the piece of drapery itself requires much more elaboration than we have supposed above; for if the stuff have a silken surface with some luster this luster has very peculiar colors of its own, and the expression of the curious high lights upon such a silky surface are most delicate and interesting to paint. If we suppose the piece of stuff to have an elaborate pattern THE TECHNIQUE AND and to be at the same time a piece of bro- caded silk, then, indeed, we have a task worthy of any artist's full strength, and the great Venetians, Paul Veronese especially, liked nothing better than to follow the con- volutions of a splendid flowered design through the folds and gatherings of a bro- cade. It is to be noted, however, that the process described above is only one, taken quite arbitrarily. Oil painting is queen of all the painters' art in this, that it allows so many ways of work. You can put light over dark (a process not possible in other ways of work) as easily as dark over light. You can even do first one and then the other, work- ing from a dark ground up to higher lights and then putting in dark touches at pleas- ure, though this savors of uncertainty as to your meaning and doubt about your powers. And then you can use your pigment very dry, and get powdery effects, or very wet and shiny, and so get smears, and each of these is a perfectly legitimate and valuable way of working. V ARIETIES IN THE PAINTER'S METHODS, (n) It is obvious that these methods are capable of infinite variety. Oil painting is the most susceptible to vari- ations of treatment of all processes of fine art, and this because the opacity of the medium allows the artist to proceed almost as he will in the superimposition of color upon color, pigment upon pigment, from the canvas to the final result. Some artists have used a complete drawing in light and shade as their groundwork, the whole sur- face of canvas or panel being covered with the work, except where it was necessary to reserve a perfectly white spot for the high- est light. The painting upon this drawing is then a tentative process, the making of colored lights and shades to conceal and replace the uncolored or monochromatic lights and shades of the original ground- work. For the student must never forget the definition of painting given above, namely, the reproducing the colored aspect of things ; nor the fact that such reproduc- tion of things seen involves about as much recognition of what we call light and shade as recognition of what we call color. In fact the two are one: sunlighted grass is not green but a kind of yellow; shadows on snow in sunny weather are not gray but an exquisite blue ; a uniformly colored billiard ball, equally dark red in all its parts, is not red in look, either in the high light or in the deep shadow, and the painter who knows what he is about paints it accordingly with only a very small curved edge of the actual red which the unprofessional observer thinks is its investing color. The above-named method is one of the primitive ways; in other systems of work the high lights are the most heavily painted of all parts of the picture. There, where another artist would have left white paper or canvas as the highest light in his compo- sition, the painter of this second school loads heavily the brilliant high pigments, grading up into white; while he keeps the darker parts of his picture very thinly painted indeed, so that the threads of his canvas can be seen through the scheme of semi-trans- lucent pigment. It is observable that paint- ers who follow this line of work are apt to be careful of their gradations, and in this way the process we are now speaking of is an admirable one. If there is the simplest possible patch of very light color, as in the bellying sail of a boat, nearly white in what we call its "local color," the representation of that sail in the picture will contain but a single little spot of pure white, every other part of the limited surface which stands for the sail being delicately graded through immeasurable numbers of grays, yellowish, brownish, reddish, purplish, according to the color composition and the management of the light. The painter himself could not endure the loading of his heavy white pig- ment in broad masses; and so this way of painting leads towards refinement of han- dling. Then, there is that extraordinary sys- tem which is commonly associated with the work of Titian, althoiigh one approaches that subject with extreme reserve, knowing well that the actual secrets hidden beneath THE FAIRY WITH THE PEARLS, BY DIAZ. PRINCIPLES OF ART. 39 PRESENTATION OF THE VIRGIN IN THE TEMPLE. A Painting by Titian in the Academy^ Venice. the glazed surface of a Titian painting are not seizable by even the minutest examina- tion of those paintings which, known to be his, are so far injured that their substructure can be examined. It will be seen that the conditions themselves are almost impossible to realize ; for who can say that he has had an undoubted Titian in hand with the privi- lege of tearing even a small part of it to pieces? Still the consensus of painters is to this effect that the whole canvas is covered over with a painting in which grave colors, mosaicwise in their arrangement, but in large patches rather than minute inlays, and that over the whole picture, the brush works now here, now there, constantly adding warmer, richer and more brilliant color; bringing up this forehead or marble pedestal or flank of white horse from dull brown through gradations of warmer and richer brown to the delicate tint of full light and the still higher and paler touch of brilliancy where the reflection comes; loading that shadow under an archway or under an eye- brow with deeper and graver colors, warm and rich but somber; until the whole picture has become a glowing and intense harmony, taking, indeed, the form of what prelates ordered and the public chooses to call a religious picture, a "Presentation in the Temple," or else a "Bacchus and Ariadne," ordered by some great noble for his state apartments, but primarily a composition of magnificent color arranged in a stately sys- tem of delicately chosen forms. The marvelous artist whom we call Paul Veronese, though he worked at Venice all his life, is thought to have painted in colors neither very dark nor very light, and to have covered his whole canvas at once with what must have been a very monotonous composition; the darks and lights and the local colors equally being very quiet and little contrasted one with another. Upon THE TECHNIQUE AND this, however, the final work was done with an ease, a dexterity and a perfect adaptation of means to ends which is unique in the his- tory of painting. Ruskin has pointed out somewhere how a pearl is put upon the red silk gown of a lady by a nearly semicircular touch of deeper red, the one side of a, as yet, non-existent circle, another curved touch of higher light on the opposite side of the same imaginary little circle, and the pearl is there. This, as that keen ob- server and feeble reasoner points out, means that Veronese knew that the effect of the lustrous pearl upon the red silk was to reflect high light in pure pearl color on one side and to reflect the red of the silk on the other. He would not waste his time in painting a silvery white disk to stand for the pearl and load red upon that disk again ; but he would leave the pre-existing red upon the surface for the body of his pearl, put- ting in little touches only of deeper red and the highest luster of pearl white. In the same way the glitter of metal may be, and is, painted by artists of this way of work with so few and so slight touches that the solidity and hardness of the thing is a mar- vel when considered in connection with the methods used to produce it. A glittering steel blade as a spear head or a bayonet, if relieved upon a dark surface, as the folds of a banner, the dusky foliage of a tree, or the cloth of a doublet, may be rendered with two or three long narrow lines of white, passing as the brush rolls over into bluish gray or a warmer tint as the reflections of the surrounding material may be supposed to affect the apparent color of the steel. There is no mystery about this work except in the astonishing skill and the perfect knowledge held far in advance by the artist's mind of all that his future picture is to con- tain. It is evident that for a man to paint in this way he must see his whole picture in perfect completed harmony before him, and must know with absolute certainty what steps he may safely take toward that re- sult. Then, whether he paints his whole canvas, five by nine feet, all over at once, or whether he works as Turner often did, finishing elaborately one little piece in the middle of his otherwise almost untouched surface this and all other considerations are indifferent once the artist feels that he can trust eye, mem- ory, and hand. M URAL PAINTING.(i2j Fresco painting is immeasurably more simple, than oil painting, but unfortunately fresco painting is so little used in modern times that it is almost a lost art in spite of its simplicity. The charm of work in fresco is almost the opposite of the attraction so familiar to us all in oil painting. Whereas the modern process is in its effects deep, glowing, profound, massive, the result of fresco, painting is pale, subdued, without luster or brilliancy. It is, therefore, of all methods of flat decoration the most perfectly adapted to the walls of buildings, and the great men of the Italian Renaissance thought so, and some of them said so in the plainest Italian, as their words have been set down for us by the chronicler Vasari. The diffi- culty with fresco is that it cannot be cleaned, repaired, touched in any way without injury. It is fixed to the wall ; brushing and slight rubbing will not affect it; but there is no such thing as mending a crack in the plas- ter, or a blistering of the plastered surface; and, if the roof leaks, the picture is on the high road to absolute destruction. The modern neglect of fresco is partly traceable to this defect, but the admiration for the glow and strength of oil painting which was felt by the artists of the sixteenth century and which caused them little by little to abandon fresco for the newer method and which admiration still exists this is proba- bly the major and conclusive reason for the use of oil painting by nearly all artists who have to choose between one or the other. In order to overcome the natural difficulty of painting in oil color upon any wall sur- face, any as yet invented or imaginary face- material of a wall or vault, the device is common of fixing a sheet of canvas fast to the wall and painting upon that. The painting may even be done in the artist's studio and in another city from that in which it is to remain permanently, and then PRINCIPLES OF ART. may be rolled up and sent, and glued to the wall when it ar- rives. It is in this way that, un- fortunately, the greater num- ber of mural paintings are exe- cuted in our time. The artist would generally prefer the method absolutely inevitable in the case of the fresco painter, of painting in the room itself and on the very wall and under the very light which were to form the permanent conditions of his work. He, more than any one, knows how much he would be helped in his labors by having the light shining upon his wall exactly as it would always shine, and by standing day by day on the floor from which the public would see his work for a cen- tury to come. Modern require- ments of haste prevent this even in cases where the artist is a native of the city where his work is to be put up. The building is being hurried to completion that its money-mak- ing or other economical value may be enjoyed at the earliest moment, and the artist's six months' work upon his canvas must be carried on while the building is still far from being a safe place for his work. It is, of course, quite feasible for final touches and even rather extensive supplementary work to be applied to the canvas, however per- fectly finished it may have seemed before it left the studio. At the same time the tend- ency to paint pictures in one light which are to be hung permanently in another is a most unfortunate result of the modern habit of considering a work of art as altogether movable and migratory, to be shown in Paris to-day and in San Francisco to-morrow, and in a darkened and crowded drawing-room or in the pure high-lighted corridor of a public building no one in advance can say which, or whether not alternately in one and in the other. It is not in this way that the tri- PASTORAL LIFE OF ST. GENEVIEVE. Py Ptivis de Chavannes, in the Pantheon, Paris. umphs of the great schools have been built up. The last of the great mural painters the last man who had something of the tra- ditional way of working and who had the secret of producing fine art on a large scale without lack of simplicity and without lapse of power Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, had to submit to this when, in his old age, he painted large pictures for the Boston Public Library; but it cannot be doubted that he enjoyed more and felt more personal pride in those which he could put up himself on the unwindowed walls of the Pantheon of Paris and watch day by day during the years following their final completion. The practice of painting mural pictures as THE TECHNIQUE AND if they were easel pictures in the artist's studio must of necessity lead to a treatment of the details, of the surfaces, of the texture, of the arrangement of figures as if for an easel picture. And this is more of a defect, more of an injury to mural painting taken altogether than one at first perceives. The easel picture can never be very large, and it is by the very nature of the case expected to be painted as if to be viewed from one point, usually a point opposite the middle of the horizon line. A mural painting, on the other hand, must frequently be of such size MICHELANGELO. Painter and Sculptor (1475-1564). in proportion to the size of the room in which it is placed that there must be more points of view than one. The extreme instance of this, or, at least, the instance most easy to cite and to make understood, is that of the famous vault of the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo's masterpiece, the greatest work in surface adornment which the world of Europe has seen. In this there are five different points of view. The room, 140 feet long and one-third or hardly one- third as wide, allows the student of the vault painting to walk slowly along the floor from below and look up at one section after another of the great composition above The artist has forseen this and has given his work the character of five separate lines of vision. Now, it will not often happen that so very remarkable a division of the painted composition will be necessary But some- thing of the kind is of frequent occurrence, nor is the painter of a large picture safe if he is driven by lack of practice or by lack of opportunity to estimate his work in situ, to treat that as a portable picture which is in reality the adornment of a long stretch of permanent wall. There is another way in which the paint- ing of the mural picture elsewhere than in its permanent place is injurious. The artist is apt to overrate the necessity of flatness of the subduing of the whole to a moderate and restrained perspective, the keeping down of the effects of distance and of suc- cessive and repeating planes of the design. There has so much been said of the necessity of keeping the work flat and of avoiding "making holes in the wall" that even this perfectly true and very necessary adage has led to the contrary abuse. It is far more common nowadays to see mural paintings which suffer from a lack of interesting detail, than it is to find those which, from excess of detail, and that in different planes, seem more like pieces of nature and less than they should like the carrying out of the decorative scheme of the interior. And when "details" are spoken of in the last sentence it does not mean details of costume, of feature, or of foliage so much as details of the mere painted work itself. The most important thing after dignity, large- ness and noble composition of the geneial scheme is unquestionably the interesting painting of the parts. Every bare arm, every shoulder, every floating robe, every skirt of the coat or leather belt should bo the medium of interesting combinations of tint and gradation of apparent surface. There is no reason why, because the picture is on a flat wall that the flesh, or the silken or woolen stuff should, in the artist s hands, be otherwise than a most attractive medium for delicate and elaborately refined color; nor can a worse condemnation be passed NOAH'S DRUNKENNESS. THE DELUGE. ANIMAL SACRIFICE FALL OK MAN CREATION OK EVE. CREATION OF ADAM. CREATION OK ANIMALS. CREATION OK THE SUN AND MOON. PARTING OK LIGHT FROM DARKNESS. PRINCIPLES OF ART. 45 upon a large wall painting than the finding it dull in its parts. Something of this has been said above in the analysis we under- took of the painter's manipulation of his surface. If the student finds that in a fin- ished canvas any large surface is without attraction for him, he may suspect that something is wrong with the picture. No important mural painting should have any- where a patch as big as the palm of one's hand which is devoid of attractive and inter- esting gradation of color and of effect in color, of dark and light, and therefore, of rounded and flowing surfaces. THE ARCHITECT AT WORK. (13) The fine art practiced by the architect is treated, in general writing and discussion, as a third fine art correlative with painting and sculp- ture. Reasons will be given in future les- sons for pronouncing this a false view of the conditions of the art of architecture. So far from being a pure fine art of form, or of light and shade, or of color, or of all of these united, architecture is a complex art consist- ing largely of utilitarian theory and practice, and of fine art applied to the utilitarian ground work sometimes in a subordinate, sometimes in a superior or controlling way. Architecture is, therefore, a decorative art in the sense in which that term is used throughout these lessons. In order that some uniformity may be maintained in the treatment given to this art with that to the others already passed in review, we have to state here what are the architect's methods of work. In the first place the architect, being largely a profes- sional adviser as well as an artist or builder, is called on very often for advice ; and that in advance of the transaction of any business in the way of producing new work. Thus, an owner, if he is wise, will consult his architect as to the choice of the lot ; or, the lot being chosen, will consult his architect as to the best place for the building upon the reserved ground. In an important instance recently occurring, the employer possessed in the immediate neighborhood of one of our smaller cities a magnificent plot of five acres with a hillock crowned by noble oak trees; and projecting from this, like an L, a piece of ground eighty feet wide by a hundred and forty feet deep which reached to and fronted upon an important avenue. It was the owner's intention to put his dwelling house among the trees on the hillock and to use the eighty foot lot as an entrance only; but the suggestion made by the architect and immediately adopted was to put the house upon the eighty foot lot, which was wide enough to leave a driveway passing under a carriage porch on the flank of the house, and in this way to have the five acre lot with its broken surface and its fine trees as the first object in the eyes of the inhabitants of the house. This peculi- arity of position made it necessary to plan the house with especial reference. to the rear windows and the rear verandas. They were now to be the most attractive part of the dwelling. It was the business of the archi- tect to make the house so convenient and so agreeable on these new lines, and so suc- cessful artistically, that the owner would never be tempted to regret the change from his original scheme. The architect threw away a great chance for excellent effects in landscape architecture united with house architecture ; but this he did as a conscien- tious adviser, bound to tell his employer what plan would be most satisfactory. In the case of a public building the archi- tect's duty is less clear, because the needs of the occupants are almost never ascer- tained or fixed in advance. Architects often complain of the close tying up of their efforts at design by the owner of a dwelling or his wife and daughters, but it is on the whole better to know in advance what is wanted than to have the later and often too late suggestions and demands of different officials and different, perhaps newly organ- ized, committees. Still, under all the diffi- culties inherent in the business it is the duty of the modern architect to provide, first, an entirely convenient building in which business can be done or daily life can be led ; second, to provide this at the lowest reasonable cost and at a cost not higher than his original promises or the acceptance 4 6 THE TECHNIQUE AND by him of the owner's statements; third, to give to this building artistic character within and without. This last requirement may be limited sometimes, as in the case of a small frame house, or a business building upon which but little money is to be spent and which must be cairied up rapidly to save rent, to the securing of a generally agree- able mass, or, in the case of a city building, an agreeable fenestration, that is to say, the arrangement of windows and doors so as to pleasantly diversify the walls and contrast agreeably the darkness of the openings with the brilliancy of the sunlighted surfaces of masonry. On the other hand, in certain cases, much too rare in our modern commu- nities, the opportunity is given to diver- sify the building by means of advancing pavilions and retreating curtain-walls, by means of different heights of cornice and different forms and slopes of the roofs rising above them, by different arrangements of chimneys, dormer windows and the like in connection with these roofs, and, finally, by the addition of sculpture and sometimes of color. As for the interior, it is still more seldom in modern times that this receives proper architectural treatment. The tend- ency to utilize mural painting and rich glass in this direction, and the natural influ- ence of those great arts upon our people, have not as yet gone far in the way of pro- ducing purely architectural work of value. It is, however, the architect's business to do the best that circumstances allow to give a certain coherency and completeness to his interior. Thus, it is rightly considered as a great defect in the generally admirable work of one of the best-known and most admired American architects, that his architectural interior work consisted almost exclusively of splendid mantel-pieces, stairs with their accessories, dadoes or other internal decora- tions of this or that large room ; while the building generally was mere carpenter work like that of the most cheaply built and unpre- tentious school or country hotel in the land. In other words there was no architectural treatment at all given to the interior: it was hard pine floors and white plaster walls and nothing else; but a separate design was made for a mantel-piece, and one for the newel-post and the balustrades of the great staircase, as if these had been ordered for exportation to a building of no matter what character or situation. The outside and the inside of the building were not one, nor was the inside anything at all, considered as an architectural unit. These brief suggestions may show what the architect has to do. As to the way in which he does it, it is unfortunately far too much a matter of the drawing-board and of "plans, elevations and sections," and not enough a matter of work done in and upon the building itself. This comes partly of the very unfortunate practice of contracting for the whole building in advance. This, of course, is agreeable to persons Avho wish to limit their expenditure and to know exactly what, as they think, they have to expect. It is also in accordance with our modern idea of business-like accuracy and of simplic- ity of proceeding. It is, however, almost the most serious obstacle to the growth of a living architecture in modern times. Detail that is worthy of the name has never been designed in advance and drawn out on paper; and although this necessity is partly gotten over by a fiction to which the architect and the contractor lend themselves, they two agreeing that a certain amount of money shall be allowed in the contract for certain sculptures, mosaic floors, or the like, yet the difficulty visible in this case is equally great though not equally evident in other parts of the work. Buildings built entirely by day's work with the designing architect frequently "upon the beams" or inside the rising struc- ture are immeasurably more likely to be well designed than those which are put under contract in advance. There is, of course, no difficulty whatever in combining this advantage with the pre- liminary preparation of the most complete plans showing the exact arrangement of the rooms, their height, disposition, the place of the openings, etc. The essential value of the day's work process in some of its forms is that it gives an opportunity for those changes of mind those new ideas springing out of new suggestions without which a building can hardly hope to be as good as the circum- PRINCIPLES OF ART, 47 stances may admit. For better or for worse, however, the present system is almost wholly a matter of elaborate drawing made in the architect's office, multiplied by photo- graphic processes so that copies may be furnished to the different contractors, and of a specification, which is a written expla- nation of the drawings with regulations and restrictions concerning the materials to be employed and the methods of work desired. These drawings and specifications form the greater part of the contract, for these alone properly agreed to before witnesses and, as is sometimes done, signed by the contracting parties are binding upon owner and builder. The architect is in every case assumed to be a superintendent whose duty it is to see fair play. He is employed and paid by the owner, but his duty seems to be recognized as equally toward the builder, to see that he receives his money duly at the times agreed upon, the architect's certificate of work done amounting to a draught upon thq owner which the latter can hardly afford to disre- gard. Of course, it frequently happens that the building may be far away from the place of the architect's business office and resi- dence, and that in consequence a local superintendent has to be employed. This latter may or may not be in touch with the architect and the architect may or may not make occasional visits to the work. It appears, then, that the modern architect is very largely a financial agent. Being this, he can hardly be much of a designer; for a designer must have an easy mind and quiet hours of work. A sculptor defends the door of his studio: from nine to twelve and from one to four, he allows "no admittance," not even to a close friend. The painter's friends know that he cannot be seen while "the model is posing. " But what architect dares to refuse himself to employer or contractor, or. will have the firmness even to get an hour's quiet over his design in the course of each busy day? The conditions of modern practice are then, very much opposed to any great advance in the artistic side of archi- tecture. The general feeling among modern architects is that something very serious is wrong with their practice, and papers are read and discussions carried on in the meet- ings of all our numerous architectural socie- ties based upon the general feeling of the necessity of a change. The possibility of such a change is, however, less visible than its necessity. The fine art of architecture is less truly alive than, for instance, the fine art of sculpture. A sculptor of to-day may feel himself one of the same noble brother- hood with Scopas, Donatello and Buonar- rotti; but no architect of the nineteenth century has been able, without undue and thoughtless presumption, to consider himself professionally allied to the nameless men in whose hands the Doric or the Ionic style took shape, or the vaulting system of the thirteenth century was matured; nor yet with those men whose names we have, those early workers of the Renaissance in Italy or its later beginnings in France. D ECORATIVE ART IN GEN- ERAL. (14) The arts of design are both repre- sentative and decorative. Some particular kinds of such art are not repre- sentative at all, but all are decorative. It is necessary to explain in a few words what signification is given here to the word deco- rative, and to the corresponding words deco- ration and the verb to decorate. The object of the writer is to use one word which will convey the idea of fine art used for the pur- pose of making that attractive to the eye which would otherwise be merely an object of utility. Thus, a square wooden box is uninteresting to look at; and the words "a packing box" are used as a synonym for something plain and ugly in its plainness ; but it is easy to see a dozen ways of decora- ting a packing box so as to make it very interesting indeed. Some of these methods of decorating would be the mere laying on of painting, inlaying or other adornment in color, or by patterns or the like on the flat wooden surfaces ; but there are other meth- ods which consist in adorning the actiial construction of the box. Thus, if the nail heads are forged in wrought iron and struck with dies so that each is a pretty thing in itself, and if they are so used that the series THE TECHNIQUE AND THE BOURSE, BRUSSELS. A fine example o_f architectural disposition. of nails along the edge, naturally and sensi- bly spaced, shall be still more a pleasing thing by its combination of beautiful units; and if in addition to this the edges of the boards are notched, one long and not very deep notch being put between each two nails, or, in a more elaborate pattern two or three notches of different shapes being so interposed, that box is certainly made into a decorative object. Moreover, this has been done without the addition of anything to its necessary conditions, except that the nailheads are a little larger than essential and that the notches may perhaps be consid- ered as labor lost if the utility of the box alone is considered. There is decoration of a very sensible sort ; and in this there is no representation at all. That is decorative art but not representative art. If now we add to that box the necessary address to its consignee incised with those grooves of curved section which are made by an instru- ment especially intended for such inefface- able inscriptions, and if the man who does the lettering be a man of taste with a sense for the possible beauty of the forms of letters, the decoration is carried one step further, still without the addition of any representative art at all. Again if the artist be so moved by the enjoyment of his design that he puts the heads and tails of dragons to some of his letters and carves floral sprays at the beginning and the end of each line, he is, in doing so, introducing representative art to help his decoration. He would not do this for a box to be sent by express some- where, but he might easily be supposed to do it for a chest which is to contain some of his family treasures. In fact, as we know very well, the decoration of lettering has been a large part of the fine art of many important epochs. Chests have come down to us from Italy in the fourteenth century in which the corners and edges are left as plain as the make of the dove-tailed box would allow; while every large surface is PRINCIPLES OF ART. 49 engraved all over with a delicate pattern in lines evidently made by some tool not now in our workshops. These lines may have been intended to be filled with mastic of different color, and some specimens still retain that filling; others, however, seem to have been left willingly with merely the slight play of light and shade in the deep and narrow grooves. This is engraving as absolutely as the work of the burin on plates of copper or in the silver tea-kettle is en- graving. It is carried very far in the way of representative art, for the patterns include figures of men and women and animals with floral scrolls, and the only parts which are decorative and not representative are nar- row borders in which zig-zags and circles play their part of making up enclosing bands. So, in the paddle made by some South Sea Islander, the blade and the handle will be covered thick with notches and in- cised circles and little conical pits, and these are arranged with extraordinary decorative power in patterns which occupy every part of the surface and which have no represent- ative significance whatever; while around the head of the paddle a ring of nearly tri- angular or generally shield-shaped projec- tions seem at first as non-significant as the notches of the blade, but are found on examination to be far away reminiscences of the human head and face. The most important and remarkable instance of deco- rative art which has no representative pur- pose is that of architectural disposition, as when a building is made attractive by the mere arrangement of its windows and doors, its pilasters or buttresses, its columns and what they support, and the dark spaces be- tween them, its proportion of walls to roof and of tall chimneys and dormer windows to both, or its general grouping of broader and smaller, higher and less high pavilions, tow- ers, body and wings. This is in one sense the most important decorative art we know, because the money spent and the time and labor given are so very noteworthy, and the amount of human intelligence which can go into the perfecting of such a design is so great. There is no word in the language which renders perfectly the idea of fine art used in this sense. The words we have cited above, decoration and its cogeners, and the words ornament, ornamentation and to orna- ment have each this defect, that their use con- veys to the minds of most persons the idea of putting on something decorative after the thing is made. The present writer used the following sentence not many years ago in a chapter which was to him of considera- ble importance: "Architecture is what is known as a decorative art; that is, it con- sists in applying fine art to certain objects of utility in this case to buildings." The sentence was composed thoughtfully and the phrase "applying fine art" was weighed, because the writer feared that that would happen which did happen, namely, that some readers would think that this meant that fine art was brought afterwards and put upon the finished object of utility. That misunderstanding did take place to an ex- tent which was not anticipated, however, and an excellent critic, a professional archi- tect and a careful and thoughtful student of the art, objected to the statement, because, as he said truly, to the real lover of archi- tecture the fine art consists in using the essential parts of the structure and not in any subsequent additions to it. This illus- trates the difficulty of using the words now recognized in any general sense. The language needs a term which will express the idea of fine art used for the beautifica- tion of useful things. For the present there is no term so good as the word decoration and the words con- nected with it. Let us consider a building which every one knows, the fagade.of Notre Dame and its famous chevet its East End as seen from the other side of the river, that is, from the southeast. The fagade is a piece of careful disposition of parts, although the designer, of course, intended it to be completed by two lofty tapering spires. Without these it deserves somewhat less praise than it has received, and yet it is a fine composition. This beauty is, however, enhanced and that quite beyond what we can understand except by long continued comparison of many buildings enhanced by the abundant use of sculpture. This is given in the form of statues of colossal size, THE TECHNIQUE AND statues of about life-size, statues so much smaller than life-size that they would be called statuettes if they were considered separately and apart from the archways which they adorn, wall sculpture, both in high relief and in relief very flat indeed, and floral carving interspersed with animal NOTRK DAMK DE PARIS, PARIS. forms in great abundance and suggesting much movement and abounding life. This sculpture is, some of it, a modifying of the surface of the structure itself as when, to take the simplest instance, the jamb of the window is molded and the moldings filled with little sharp-edged leaves, or, to take the most elaborate instance, where a water- spout is carved into the grotesque resem- blance of a living creature. Other parts of the sculpture are absolutely independent of the building and form a part of it merely in the sense of being put exactly where it is wanted and of improving the artistic charac- ter of the building quite beyond our computa- tion. The application of all this sculpture of both kinds and the pro- portioning of the parts of the building so that while it remains useful and exactly what was needed under the cir- cumstances, it becomes also lovely to look upon all this is decorative art: and decorative art used in this way is what we mean by Architec- ture when that term is used absolutely and without any qualifying adjective. If instead of the fa- gade, we consider the East End, there is so little sculpture that it hardly tells upon the general effect, which effect is produced by the amazing complica- tion of the structure and its treatment with perfect success and ap- parent ease for beauty as well as for use. Every one of those fly- ing buttresses is taking up its part of the thrust of the high vault within, which, but for those buttresses would thrust out the walls and let down the whole building in ruin. Each one of those upright masses of masonry which we call buttress piers, and which are crowned, and steadied, by steeple- like pinnacles, is resisting the push of one or more of those flying buttresses. Each slop- PRINCIPLES OF ART. ing surface is cut into a gutter, and the rain from the roof runs down it and away through the gargoyles. Except that the actual stone roof of the building is concealed by a lofty ridged roof built up upon the vaulting by means of a forest of timber and covered with lead, the structure of the building is plainly shown, and that structure is made decorative. The inside of a Gothic church is, indeed, its most important part; it is for the inside that the outside is created, and the flying buttress system is there merely that the interior may be finished at top with a stone vault; but these conditions once accepted, the exterior is made as attractive as the building which the worshipers see within. The different kinds of decorative art par- take more or less of this same characteristic of having the real structure of the thing dis- played and made artistically effective. The differences are very great; thus, a piece of furniture or a carved box may be and per- haps should be as constructional as a piece of architecture, but a dish or a pot receives nothing from its first maker except a gener- ally agreeable form, and the richer part of its adornment is applied afterwards and may contradict utterly the original conception. And then decorative art must be considered as including those objects which have no very obvious utility, such as vases; and others which have no constructional nature at all, such as carvings in wood, ivory and cystal or jade, which are made for artistic enjoyment alone, as absolutely as a statue or a painting. It is perhaps a forcing of the meaning of the term to speak of these as objects of decorative art, but that is the accepted term. T HE MINOR DECORATIVE ARTS. (15) The minor decorative arts are, as has been said above, called by that seemingly disparaging name merely because of their minor importance to the active outside world. To the world of con- templation which is the only one known to the student of fine art there is no minor and no major art, except as the one contains more thought or better applied thought. A small ivory carving may contain more intelligent artistic handling, which is another way of saying that it may contain more artistic thought of the right kind, than a cathedral; and in fact our cabinets are full of just such diminutive works of art, valu- able and interesting, but commanding respect from but few persons, while the streets of all modern cities are lined by buildings devoid of artistic thought of any significance at all, which, however, command respect because of their cost and their size. It is, however, true that a large work of art has a chance to be more important than a small one. A cathedral may be a finer thing than an ivory carving can possibly be A marble monument, such as one of the wall tombs in Santa Croce or the Frari Church, or the Cathedral of Fiesole, is often a finer thing than a small bronze figure even of the same epoch can possibly pretend to be. Speaking of a very great living artist, an American painter of first rate standing and of excellent judgment and authority said to the writer not long ago that it was easy to overrate the achievements of a man who, after all, painted only studies and sketches. "What is to be said of the productions of the giants?" said Elihu Ved- der. "What have you left to say for the works of Correggio, if you use such adjec- tives as are now fashionable for the living man of whom we are speaking, who in his life never produced a great composition? Studies and sketches of no matter what ex- cellence are inferior to elaborate paintings of similar relative excellence." That is absolutely true, and in the same way it is absolutely true that the colored carving of the Nikko Mausoleum is a finer thing than the best of the ivory and wood carvings and moldings in porcelain clay, which are con- temporaneous with the Nikko Temples, or are later studies from the same general scheme. In European art a great mural painting may easily be a better thing than an easel picture four feet long can be, and that picture in its turn is in the way of being finer than a water color study, and so on down the scale and up the scale. Let no THE TECHNIQUE AND GROUP OF DEDHAM POTTERY. one suppose that the students of pure art are indifferent to bigness! but bigness is in itself only a small virtue, and indirectly it is but a moderate addition to the opportuni- ties given the artist. If then we note, as every one must have noted, that the modern dilettante seldom has an eye for the work of decorative art in the usual sense of that word, and thinks almost exclusively of the paintings hanging on the walls, it will be found also that the same dilettante cares nothing for architecture in its truly artistic character. He likes a Gothic cathedral because of its "high embowed roof With antique pillars massy proof" and he has associations with this building and that, or with this or that class of buildings. His mind has quotations in it: "O'er England's abbeys bends the sky As o'er its friends, with kindly eye." And so of Greek art of which he knows and can know noth- ing of himself, for Greek art has to be revived from the dead each time that we seek to judge it the poet has written : "Earth proudly wears the Parthenon As the best gem up- on her zone" and association does the tiick. Also he may think well of ar- chitecture be cause it is such an important civic art, so big and significant of royalty, or eccle- siastical pomp, or municipal pride. It may be noted that modern architecture retains those qualities. Of other decorative art than this it may be said that the enjoyment of it is limited to the collectors and to the very few hard- working students familiar with museums who are like collectors in knowing the individual pieces of decoration and in estimating them at their worth. The field is so very large JAPANESE LACQUER. This is the side of a lunch box. The upper horizontal line shows the section for the lid, the lower one that for the superimposed box. PRINCIPLES OF ART. 53 that it is only by long continued comparison of piece with piece, of motive with motive, of inspiring idea with idea that any adequate critical sense of the value of pieces of dec- oration is generally attainable. Thus it happens, to return to a statement made a few lines above, that, when a visitor reaches a house full of works of art of many kinds, he has eyes for the water colors and still more for the oil paintings in frames upon the walls eyes of a very different kind from those which he turns upon the carvings, the inlays, the porcelains, the lacquers, the richly-adorned utensils and weapons which are the collector's spoil of the ages. This state of things is not to be remedied except by a study of fine art considered as fine art, and without reference to the stories told by it; and, as the promotion of such study is the very object of this set of lessons, there seems excuse for dwelling here upon the conditions precedent. The next lesson, then, must needs be devoted to some enumeration of the varie- ties of minor decorative art, exactly as above, in the first lesson devoted to painting, the different branches of painting and the different arts subsidiary to and dependent upon painting were enumerated. o THER MINOR DECORATIVE ARTS. (16) The varieties of decorative art differ from one another im- mensely. Thus, to take at once what seem to be extreme cases, the ballet, or in Other words, artistic and carefully prepared danc- ing, has an important ornamental side to it, and no ballet-master is worthy of his posi- tion who does not understand how to make his stage very beautiful, not only by the dress and the pose of his dancers, the color and play of light, etc., but also by the har- monious succession of movements, in which many persons acting together may produce, and as is well known do often produce, a charm not obtainable in any other art which appeals to the eye. In like manner the arrangement and display of fireworks is a decorative art of importance ignored too much because identified with childish anni- versaries and celebrations of no intellectual worth, but capable of being so administered as to appeal to a somewhat refined sense of what is good in art. As an extreme opposite to this, consider the treatment of carving studied from those aspects of nature which are certainly not generally susceptible of representation in sculpture, such as the waves of the open ocean or the breakers on the beach a mountain-side or the pine tiees clustering upon it. All these things have, however, been treated in sculpture, and that not merely in the more pictorial panels of bronze doors, as described above, but in carvings upon oriental ivory boxes and in stumps and joints of bamboo. This has been done with an intelligence which has sufficed to make the suggestion of these forms, which are never to be imitated in the art of form, as valuable almost as the sug- gestion given of the body of man. A piece of wood two feet long is carved into a canoe, into an effigy of one of those gigantic canoe- shaped vessels of the Eastern Sea, and the edge of this canoe is set thick with little figures of men in their dress as sailors. Examination shows that this piece of wood is the outside, husk, shell, what you please, the solid part, in short, of an enormous piece of bamboo, one which when complete, must have measured ten inches in diameter. The inside of the canoe is the natural inside of the shell. The exterior retains its silicious polish over the greater part of its surface ; and we are forced to observe that the length of bamboo in question that which we call erroneously the joint, mean- ing thereby the length between two joints has been curved lengthwise, probably by artificial means, before the carving was begun. A piece of metal forming the grip of a sword has been carved into the sem- blance of a draped headless figure, the head of which is supplied by the pomel of the hilt, which, put on separately and screwed up tight upon the tang of the blade, holds the grip firmly in place and completes at once the lethal weapon and the work of decorative art. In all such cases the standard of ad- miration, or more properly, the standard of 54 THE TECHNIQUE AND judgment, keeps varying 1 according to the appliances, the technical skill involved, the nature of the materials, and the consequent work needed upon the materials. A carving in jade cannot be judged as a work of design alone; the student, no matter how single- minded a student of art he may be, is com- pelled to think of the marvelous technical skill shown in that which all jade collectors estimate so highly, the completeness of the polish. A cup with a sprig of leaves in the bottom, all cut o\\t of the same piece of jade, may be a common-place thing enough, and be worth in China four hundred taels; or it may be worth, if the polish is of extra- ordinary perfection and is carried through under the stems and leaves, as if they had not been there when the polishing was done, twenty thousand taels. Such differences as those really exist, and they have nothing surprising for the trained students of such matters. There is, moreover, in such refinements of decorative art, a very considerable amount of what seems, for the moment, imitation. Thus, in the stone inlays which we call Flor- entine mosaic, the breastpins and tops of paper weights which used to be in fashion were but feeble and scrappy examples of what is turned out by the Florentine ateliers. If one examines the famous specimens of the art the panels in the Greater Sacristy of San Lorenzo, or the table tops in the Pitti Palace, he will see strange vagaries. He will see designs of flower and fruit in which background, stem, leaf, blossom, insect are all most successfully imitated, so far as their colors and shading go, by selected pieces of natural stone, all flat, all smooth and polished on a continuous sur- face; but he will see also that the little fruits, cherries and apricots, are in high relief, each cherry standing up by what seems half its diameter above the surface around it. Is this very important or very interesting? Probably not to most students: to the student of the loftier arts this is baby- ish enough ; and so, in the very beautiful carvings of the Japanese which are almost imitation, the fish sculptured in mother-of- pearl with eyes of beryl, the lotus leaves carved in ivory and stained with careful and skillful gradations of green, the work, how- ever delicate and subtle, seems childish; innocent enough, even acceptable as a part of a great world of decorative art which contains everything, the large and the im- pressive as well as the small and dainty, but still childish, a thing which no one ought to care very much about. CDSCAPE ARCHITECTURE. (17) Consider now the artistic treatment of landscape. This, of course, is of all kinds, from that of almost indefi- nitely great scope, where hundreds of acres are treated with regard to the resulting effects, or where palaces costing large sums are so grouped with natural forms or seem- ing-natural forms that a single great compo- sition results, down to the door-yard of the suburban resident with, as Mr. Olmstead has put it, a single Chinese porcelain seat under a tree for the point of sight, and the paths so arranged around tree and seat that all these features of the garden, each and all, seem inevitable, seem to have always been there, seem to be part of the ordi- nance of nature. Landscape gardening is divisible in practice into the laying out of parks for their own sakes and the laying out of grounds around buildings. This division is generally capable of being established. Even where both kinds of landscape garden- ing come together within the same area they are generally divisible, the terraces of the great manor house and the formal flower gardens with straight paths and flights of stone steps generally ending abruptly, and the park proper, with its natural or seem- ingly natural hillsides and hollows and irreg- ular clumps of trees duly succeeding. The park and the garden; those are the two departments of the art. One of the most perfect parks in Europe is the English Garden in Munich, where Count Rumford in the last century disposed a great tract of ground so that it now con- sists of large irregular rounded lawns com- pletely sxirrounded by dense growths of immense trees: and, as the roads and wider paths are within the tree - grown area, PRINCIPLES OF ART. 55 PARK OF SANS SOUCi, POTSDAM. A striking example of the artistic treatment of landscape. nothing else is visible as you look across the lawn except the canalized arms of the Iser where the water runs with headlong speed. The finest gardens are those of a few palaces and certain Italian villas; and here there is room for individual choice, between the great displays made by the steep hillsides of the Alban mountains where the papal villas are and all the ring of summits above Genoa where the seventeenth century nobles cai- ried up their ladder-like walks to height above height as if in search of the clouds and the absolute flatness of Versailles, and the slope of the Sans Souci Park at Pots- dam. And in the smaller undertakings of men or municipalities of smaller means the same distinction is visible. Architects who are successful with their country houses, large and small, will tell you that they care greatly about their tree planting, and that the power of setting a tall and pointed ever- green exactly where it should be, on the flank of a long stretch of frame house, is almost as important to them as the privilege of putting their chimney-stack where they want it with a view to the exterior design of the whole. It is urged that this is unfair that the architect should not handicap the owner in this way that the house should be independent of extraneous conditions; but, on the other hand, it is surely reasonable that the architect should say : I can do some- thing with the house alone, but I can do more with the house plus the trees. So, in the case of the city park; a small one con- taining from 8,000 to 20,000 square feet, there are disagreements among the thought- ful, and a decided difference of opinion, as to whether this park should refer in its design to the straight lines of buildings which hem it in, or whether it should not rather contra- dict them, whether its trees should not plant them out and conceal them; so that the citizen, once escaped from the unmitigated burden of the streets, may escape as com- pletely as possible into the conditions of greenery and rural surroundings. These differences of opinion are worth citing here because they illustrate what we must con- sider carefully before this series of essays finishes, the view which the student is to THE TECHNIQUE AND PROCESSIONAL ARCH. Designed by C J. Mulligan and erected for the Deiuey celebra- tion in Chicago. take of differing and even contradictory criticism when it comes from sources which he cannot wholly disregard. A kindred art is the arrangement and adorning of processions, fetes, celebrations, and this again is divisible into two main branches. There is the adornment of the streets and avenues by structures which are or might be permanent, triumphal arches and masts which, if, indeed, they are not to remain might easily be permanent, and which are designed on the same lines, whether permanent, or temporary; and secondly, the arrangement of the moving display itself, a thing which is of necessity momentary. Does any one remember now the picture, famous enough twenty years ago, of the entry of Charles V. into Ant- werp? The picture here meant was by Makart, the Austrian ; but there have been one or two similar paintings of later times. As paintings they amount to little. They are bits of archaeological display, attempts to fill canvases with gorgeous reminiscences of the past; the painting is little, but the cer- emony which it represents must have been an important thing. So, in very modern times there have been antiquarian revivals in the flesh, in the living actuality, and not in pictures. It is not infrequent in parts of Europe to have a deliberate revival of the past in some ceremonial procession or even, as Mr. Hamerton has pointed out, a hunting party; the whole thing copied as closely as archaeological knowledge allows from the more artistic times gone by. And, finally, to have done, as we are compelled to have done, with the outlying decorative arts of this genus, there is stage decoration in the way of scenery and in the way of stage set- ting. Of this, indeed, something has been said above in connection with the dance, but there is no theatrical performance which can afford to dispense with decorative disposi- tions on and about the stage, and we mod- erns have this peculiar reason for admiring and encouraging this art, namely, that it is an art of our modern time. The actors of Shakespeare's time and those of Garrick's time knew nothing of it. What it was to the Greeks we can only guess, dreaming of its probably exceeding beauty. What it is to some Orientals, as to the Japanese, we can partly judge. It is, has been and may be as important a decorative art as any. The stage is almost the only refuge of the deco- rative artist who wishes to use his intelligence for such compositions as involve the placing and the movements of living men and women. That it is commonly ruined by maquillage and make-up, that the most important parts of the picture are destroyed by the ill-wearing of splendid garments and the ill-conceived adornment of the face, all made worse, in many cases, by the unnatural and falsely imagined lighting from below up- ward, is nothing against the importance of the art in itself, which has shown itself on certain occasions one of the most efficient of all our modern systems of decorative design. WORKMAN AND ARTIST. (18) Recurring now to the pecul- iarities of architectural fine art it is to be observed that an important distinction exists in this and in the smaller decorative arts which employ painting, carving, modeling and the- like be- tween those classes of work which are done, PRINCIPLES OF ART. 57 preferably, by the workman who uses such wits and such good taste as nature and the masters of his apprentice-life have given him and those which are of necessity brought into shape by the very highly trained artist, the studio-made man, the academician, or his like. The arts of different epochs differ in the amount of decorative work done by the artisan. It is a commonplace of our school- books that this work was so done to a nota- ble degree in the Middle Ages. There were then no artists, in the modern sense, no men forming a class apart and devoting them- What we do know beyond any prob- ability of going very wrong is the gen- eral truth that the artist of the time was one who traveled from place to place and did such stone-cutting and such paint- ing on stone walls as the Fates allowed and as the bishops and barons were ready to order; or else a stay-at-home master of a shop, painting shields of arms and ornamen- tal caskets or gilding and stamping boiled leather fur crests and quivers, or carving the more delicate parts of massive oak fur- niture. He was a workman like other work- ENTRY OF CHARLES V. INTO ANTWERP. By Hans Makart, Austrian Painter, 1840-84. The nude figures are not historic, but due to the painter' 1 s fancy. selves to artistical design alone, but rather a great community of very highly trained stone-dressers and wood-workers, of whom some were singularly able, and that not in mechanism alone. We know too little about the actual daily life of the people in the thirteenth century to be sure of the relations between the very able men who wrought the statues of the porches and the inferior workmen who were employed upon simple molded work, piers, parapets, and tracery: fine work enough, but not involving the artist's final touch. men and his pay was not so very much higher than other workmen's pay; until such time as the important undertaking required the well-known man, and then some offers which might well be thought tempting in so simple an age were found necessary to lure him from his native town to the cathedral city or the semi-royal strong castle in the country. We are compelled to omit, from sheer inability to follow it, all consideration of the artist's position in antiquity, but as for the Middle Ages and the times that suc- ceeded them there is no doubt that the THE TECHNIQUE AND tendency to let the workman do his own designing, strong in the thirteenth and four- teenth centuries throughout Europe, disap- pearing in Italy in the fifteenth century, though still strong in the north, became weaker in the time of the classical Renais- sance, and, between Bramante and Van- vitelli, disappeared almost wholly from the world. Not altogether so, however. Wher- ever there is traditional art there is a class of artistic workmen. Even to-day in a small French town you will find wood carv- ers who, working on a large scale in oak or with minute delicacy in boxwood, will give you carving in the style of Louis XIV. and in the style of Louis XVI. which you will not be able to tell from the originals. There are some who are masters even of the French Renaissance and who can carve in the style of Francois I., or even in the two styles of Francois I. and Henri II., and distinguish- ing or fancying that they distinguish be- tween the two ways of handling. In a sense this is traditional work; and when one has bought a presumably genuine eighteenth- century panel he will not do so badly if he employs carvers of the provincial town in which his find has been made to complete the cabinet with friezes and minor parts elaborately carved in the style set by the large panel itself. Still, in spite of the lingering of certain traditions in the more artistic parts of Europe, there is a new era in decorative art, and especially in the great master art of architecture, in which era we are still living, and the end of which is not yet visible. The new era began apparently with the close of the French Revolution and the re-settlement of Europe. From that time on it has been free to every one to build in the style he might select, and the result is the negation of all principles and the absence of all valuable architecture. It is also true that all the decorative arts have suffered as architecture has, but there must be recorded this peculiarity, the decorative arts which are not architectural have almost of necessity a great deal of representative sculpture and painting in them. You must almost of necessity go to the highly trained sculptor or painter if you want anything very fine in the way of carving, bronze work, dec- orative painting, or the like. It is hardly to be imagined that in the European world any long continued practice of decoration can go on without the employment of the sculptor and the painter and that of high rank and of artistic training. But as we have seen, the sculptor and the painter in their arts get fresh life every time they have suffered from decadence, a fresh life from the renewed study of nature ; and decorative art shares in this improved condition of things every time that it can be said to take form. But that which is the salvation of architecture, that which alone can revivify this art which has no study of nature behind it, is the renewed study of structure. Every great architectural epoch has had a new system of building at the heart of it. One reason why the world was ready to abandon its exclusive devotion to neoclassic at the time of the re-settlement of Europe in 1815, was the long previous continuation of building with- out any novel or any very intelligent system of construction within it. During the nine- teenth century there has not been any new system of building developed, and conse- quently there has been no revival however much that revival may have been longed for and worked for no revival of architec- ture: and the time has been so long, the bad ciistoms have been so strong, the prevalence of the false system so universal, that the European world has got out of the way of thinking that it is even possible to build intelligently or to decorate at all. Now, with the closing years of the nine- teenth century, a new system of building has, indeed, taken form. It appears to be developing itself into an almost universal system of building; but unfortunately it is not in the hands of artists. The men who control it, who understand it, who are lead- ing it forward step by step toward a greatness which we do not yet fully under- stand, have received no artistic training whatever; they recognize no artistic tradi- tions. Even the architects, when they touch upon this system of steel posts, bars, and rods, lose their hold on so much of ancient practice as has remained to them, and, PRINCIPLES OF ART. 59 allowing the engineers to build what they like, pretend to make architecture of it by enclosing it in something which is derived from a radically different way of building. It is very hard for us to judge of our own time but it does seem that the reason why there is no architecture to-day and why there has been none of any consequence since 1815 is the willingness of the designers to build in any style which may be fashion- able for the moment, or which their em- ployer may call for, or which the individual architect himself has taken a fancy to. So far as we know there will never be any improvement in artistic architecture so long as these conditions obtain. Whether there is any hope for the future we are unable to say. The increase in learning and in the ambition of our architects seems to count for nothing because this increase, evident as it is, and great as we may hope to find it, does not tend in any way to unanimous action on the part of these men, learned and enthusiastic as they may be. It is on this account that the student of modern archi- tecture-is necessarily a student only of slight and unimportant buildings, buildings with- out significance, illustrative of nothing more than momentary flashes of opinion or of taste, deduced from nothing, traceable and leading to nothing obvious. On the other hand, decoration of minor objects, the decorative treatment of utensils and pro- duction of works of art which are not on a grand scale has improved marvelously within a few years. The most forlorn time for the fine arts of which we have any recol- lection is that epoch which, beginning with 1820 came to an end during the excitement of the Gothic Revival in England, the religious movement in France, the Purist or Pietist reform in Germany; that is to say, WROUGHT IRON GATE. Ky Ernst Melaun. 6o THE TECHNIQUE AND the years from 1820 to 1850 were about as dull and as inartistic as could be, and the years following were but slowly seen to be any better in this respect. The London Exhibition of 1851, the Paris Exhibitions of 1855 and 1867, the Viennese Exhibition of 1873, all of these marked small forward steps in the way of the understanding of the conditions, of art and the power of the artist over its different forms. Since 1873 there has been much noble decorative work in painted tiles, in ornamental windows, in bronze and silver, in wrought iron work. And so the century closes with this curious condition of things an immense advance in the refinement and the originality, vivacity and significance of work in the small bronzes, in furniture, in keramics, in interior deco- ration of various forms, and in many of the kindred minor arts, while there is at the same time a visible absence of good taste about dress, even the dress of women having become more and more insignificant and trivial as time has gone by, and the great art of architecture is, so far as we can judge, at a standstill. It is at a standstill because that which we mistake now and then for an evidence of advance is nothing more than skillfully applied archaeology. T HE NATURE OF ARTISTIC THOUGHT. (19) The full discussion of the different forms of art which has been given in Lessons (i) to (19) has seemed necessary because there is no understanding the in- ward significance of art without understand- ing its external form. The reader is reminded of what was said at the com- mencement of this inquiry, namely that in the arts of design the language was of peculiar importance and its comprehension of peculiar necessity. The language of art, as employed by a Chinaman carving in jade and that employed by a Frenchman model- ing a colossal group for the front of a public building are practically the same, even as the language employed by the writer of verses for an advertisement and that em- ployed by Wordsworth in writing his Eccle- siastical Sonnets is the same; but the part played by language in the work of plastic art is more important than that played by the language of words in the rhyming verses. An examination of the nature of artistic thought is next in order. It has been sug- gested above that one purpose of the sketch or the study made in clay or wax by the sculptor, made in lead pencil, in pen and ink, or in water color by the painter or sculptor or architect or decorative designer, might be and would generally be the preser- vation of such a thought. Even as a novel writer notes down an incident which has occurred to him (and it is on record that the elder Dumas stopped in Paris streets and said to himself, thinking of the plot of "An- thony," that here, indeed, was a dramatic thought) : even as the writer of verses bethinks himself of a turn to be given to a stanza which has troubled him much, so the designer in the arts which appeal to the eye is eager to lose no part of his perfect recol- lection of the bright thought which the sleepless hours of the night or the casual incidents of the day may have brought into his mind. What, then, is this artistic thought? It is generally a thought in pure form, in pure color, in pure light and shade ; or, at most, a thought of how a certain form once secured will give a certain system of light and shade, or of how a certain note of color once fas- tened on the canvas will serve for a combi- nation of light and shade. In other words, the artistic thought is not often more complex than this that a certain arrangement of patches and gradations of color, or a certain arrangement of gradations alone in one and the same color or negation of color, such as gray passing into black, or, finally, a certain modulation of the exterior surface of a solid mass, will produce a certain effect upon the intelligent observer. The artist's thought which he desires to fix and hold is generally as simple as this: but it is not always so simple. Thus, the sculptor, while he imagines a beautiful combination of rounded surfaces, sees also as it flashes across his mind an opportunity long sought of express- ing something about the facts of anatomy K. ^H S^ . time not a circle. On the other f \ hand the ellipse unites some ofl I the most important aesthetic I I qualities of form. It is Clear, \^__^X because its bounding line changes its di- x"~^v rection accord- ing to a law of its / \ own quite dis- tinct from the law I j governing the sweep of the cir- \ j cle; it has Va- riety, and at the \*^,S same time the symmetry of the design x "^ keeps it studiously uniform. ( \ One fur- ther step in the direction I / of em- phasizing the element of \ 1 Variety is taken when the ellipti- \^/ c a 1 fig- ure is turned to that of an egg, another when it becomes pear- shaped. These forms differ in that the ellipse is so far sym met- rical that it can be cut by the two diameters into four equal sections, the egg falls into two equal sections on each side of the long axis, while in the pear-shape there is no exact repetition of the parts. In itself the egg-form may be pronounced on the whole to be the best, and it will be observed that this is the generating form of most of the beautiful Greek vases. "Similarly in the case of rectilinear fig- ures. The rectangle in all its modifications has the advantage in Regularity over all rhomboidal and even polygonal forms, and is so largely the predominant fig- ure in architec- tural composi- tions that it is all we need take account of here. Among rectangular figures the square holds the same relative position as the circle among curved is too Regular for the high- est beauty, while a parallelogram that is nearly but not quite a square offends against the canon of Clearness. "It may be remarked on this, that in a matter of this kind there can be no absolute best, because the aesthetic judgment can rarely or ever be sufficiently disinterested to decide on grounds of purely formal satisfac- tion. Other considerations are bound to make themselves felt as a disturbing influ- ence. A rectangle or a curved figure in architecture or sculpture or paint- ing is not a mere form, but it has some special use or function, or represents some- thing in nature. These external relations are continually molding the forms used by the artist, and make them other than they would be if created to supply mere physiological pleasure to the organs of vision. Thus it may be perfectly true that a rectangle of about 5 to 8 is a pleas- ing form and will for that reason make its appearance in architectural compositions, as defining the whole mass, or its main divisions, or detailed portions such as win- THREE RECTANGULAR FIG- URES. ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. 99 dow-openings. Yet we must remem- ber that there are many considerations besides abstract beauty that go to de- termine architectural forms. A form may be extended in one direction be- yond the limits of pure beauty in order to increase its significance, as in the case of the upward elongation of the proportions in Gothic. The square form for an elevation would be rejected on purely aesthetic grounds, but Mr. Rus- kin especially praises the 'mighty square* of the Palazzo Vecchio at Flor- ence for its look of concentrated power. Agairi in all construction, though the Curved form may be more beautiful in itself than the straight, yet when the idea of support has to be conveyed, the rigidity of the latter makes it far pref- erable. In the human figure the strength of the male is expressed by lines approaching nearer to the straight than those which bound the softer and more swelling forms of the woman. The sculptor will continually sacrifice pure beauty in these respects to expression, though when judging simply by the eye he will recognize a differ- ence of abstract beauty in simple curved figures." G. B. Brown, ''''The Fine Arts," 123, 124.. s OME ARCHITECTURAL PRIN- CIPLES. (7) The Logic of Structure. In any- thing which is meant to serve a useful purpose the function of the object will dictate its form to a remarkable extent. A milk pitcher must have room to hold the fluid, firm base, handle hung where it will be near the center of gravity when one is pouring, lip so that milk will not run down the outside, opening wide enough so that it can be easily cleansed, small enough so that it can be carried without spilling. It is good practice to analyze various objects from this point of view. How perfectly a row-boat, a bath-tub, a building, etc., fulfills its pur- pose. This in fact is the fundamental art quality of any useful thing from a rocking chair to a palace, and without this no "dec- PALAZZO VECCHIO IN FLORENCE. On the left is the statue of Savonarola who was burned on that spot ; on the right is the Loggia del Lanzi. oration" can ever disguise its futility or make it beautiful. The Artistic Emphasis of Structure. This principle is closely allied to the logic of structure. It is the accentuation of structure for the purpose of making the function more quickly, easily, and clearly evident. This is nowhere more apparent than in the doorway of the Gothic Cathedral, where the lines of the door are reduplicated over and over again, and the height is emphasized until the idea of the door is one of the thoughts of the whole architectural effect. It is an invita- tion to entrance. The obedience to the law is almost instinctive. No door so humble but it has a line or two around to mark it; even a pasteboard box has its edges indi- cated. The cornice of a building is a sort of guide to the observer, that stays there for the purpose of saying, "You see, we have got to the top of the wall now. This is the place where the roof begins. " Such a pur- pose is served by the eyebrow above the eye. Such emphases also seem to be intimations of respect for the thing decorated, the funda- mental principle of all decorative design. Definition of Architecture. "Architec- ture, then, from the point of view from which I am asking the reader to regard it and the only point of view in which it is worth the serious regard of thoughtful peo- 100 REPRESENTATIVE JUDGMENTS pie is the art of erecting expressive and beautiful buildings. I say expressive and beautiful, and I put expressive first, because it is the characteristic which we can at least realize even when we cannot realize what can fairly be called beauty, and it is the characteristic which comes first in the order of things. A building may be expressive GOTHIC CATHEDRAL AT NANTES. and thereby have interest, without rising into beauty; but it can never be, architec- turally speaking, beautiful, unless it has expression. And what do we mean by expression in a building? That brings us to the very pith of the matter. "We know pretty well what we mean when we say that a painted or sculptured figure is expressive. We mean that, while correctly representing the structure of the human figure, it also conveys to our minds a dis- tinct idea of a special emotion or sentiment, such as human beings are capable of feeling and expressing by looks and actions. Expression in this sense a building cannot be said to have. It is incapable of emotion, and it has no mobility of surface or feature. Yet I think we shall see that it is capable of ex- pression in more senses than one. It may, in the first place, reflect more or less the emotion of those who designed it, or it may express the facts of its own internal structure and arrange- ment. The former, how- ever, can only, I think, be said to be realized in the case of architec- ture of the highest class, and when taken collec- tively as a typical style. For instance, we can all pretty well agree that the mediaeval cathedral indicates an emotion of aspiration on the part of its builders. The age that built the cathedrals longed to soar in some way, and this was the way then open to it, and it sent up its soul in spreading vaults, and in pinnacles and spires. So also we can never look at Greek architec- ture without seeing in it the reflection of a nature refined, precise, and critical ; loving grace and finish, but content to live with the graces and the muses without any aspirations that spurned this earth. We can hardly go further than this in attrib- uting emotional expression to architecture. But in a more restricted sense of the word 'expression,' a building may express very ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. 101 definitely its main constructive facts, its plan and arrangement, to a certain extent even its purpose, so far at least that we may be able to identify the class of structure to which it belongs. It not only may, but it ought to do this, unless the architecture is to be a mere ornamental screen for conceal- ing the prosaic facts of the structure. There is a good deal of architecture in the world which is in fact of this kind an ornamental screen unconnected with the constructional arrangement of the building; nor is such architecture to be entirely scouted; it may be a very charming piece of scenery in itself, and you may even make a very good theo- retical defense for it, from a certain point of view ; but on the whole, architecture on that principle becomes uninteresting; you very soon tire of it; it is a mask rather than a countenance, and the indulgence in it tends to the production of a dull uniformity of conventional design. "For we must remember that architec- ture, although a form of artistic 'expression, is not, like painting and sculpture, unfet- tered by practical considerations; it is an art inextricably bound up with structural conditions and practical requirements. A building is erected first for convenience and shelter, secondly only for appearance,- except in the case of such works as monu- ments, triumphal arches, etc., which repre- sent architectural effect pure and simple, uncontrolled by practical requirements. With such exceptions, therefore, a building ought to express in its external design its internal planning and arrangement; in other words, the architectural design should arise out of the plan and disposition of the inte- rior, or be carried on concurrently with it, not designed as a separate problem. Then a design is dependent on structural condi- tions also, and if these are not observed the building will not stand; and hence it is obvi- ous that the architectural design must ex- press these structural conditions; it must not appear to stand, or be constructed, in a way in which it could not stand (like the modern shop-fronts which are supposed to rest on sheets of plate -glass) ; and its whole exterior appearance ought to be in accord- ance with, and convey the idea of, the man- ner and principle on which it is con- structed. "Architecture is, like music, a metaphys- ical art; it deals with the abstract qualities of proportion, balance of form, and direction of line, but without any imitation of the con- crete facts of nature. The comparison between architecture and music is an exer- cise of the fancy which may indeed be pushed too far, but there is really a definite similarity between them which it is useful to notice. For instance, the regular rhythm, or succession of accentuated points in equal times, which plays so important a part in musical form, is discernible in architecture as a rhythm in space. This may be illus- trated to the eye by spacing out music type so that there is an equal space between the notes which occur at equal times, as at B; erecting a piece of architectural design over it, the main accentuated portions of the design in A, the columns, correspond with the main accentuated points of the music; the repetition of the triglyph blocks at a forms a subordinate rhythm, which corre- sponds with that of the four crochets in the music. The row of dentils at b forms a rhythm of much smaller intervals ; so small, that like a long shake in music, its pulsa- tions may remain independent of the larger divisions of the rhythm. We may treat a cottage type of design, no doubt, with a playful irregularity, especially if this fol- lows and is suggested by an irregularity of plan ; but in architecture on a grand scale, whether it be in a Greek colonnade or a Gothic arcade, we cannot tolerate irregular- ity of spacing except where some construc- tive necessity affords an obvious and higher reason for it. Then, again, we find the unwritten law running throughout all archi- tecture that a progress of line in one direc- tion requires to be stopped in a marked and distinct manner when it has run its course, and we find a similarly felt necessity in regard to musical form. The repetition, so common at the close of a piece of music, of the same chord several times in succes- sion, is exactly analogous to the repetition of cross lines at the necking of a Doric column to stop the vertical lines of the fluting, or to the strongly marked horizontal lines of a IO2 REPRESENTATIVE JUDGMENTS cornice which form the termination of the height or upward progress of an architec- tural design. " H. H. Statliam, "Architec- ture for General Readers," pp. j-jr, 6-8. n n n ANALOGY BETWEEN. ARCHITECTURE AND MUSIC. Mass and Stability. "The reader who remembers similar experiences will agree that such an impression is primarily one of greatness, of mass. The eye is filled with an imposing presence ; what we perceive is a structure vast beyond the measure of its surroundings, vast beyond the scale of the works of men, and akin rather to the colos- sal forms of the material universe. The particular shape and contour of the mass, its inner divisions, the relation of its parts, the light and shade and color that chequer or play about its surface these all escape us, and for the moment such inquiry into detail seems even trivial in face of the awe-inspir- ing height and breadth of the whole. This is then the first essential of architectural effect that which the late Mr. Sedding pic- turesquely describes as the 'sheer weight and vigor of masses . . . employed as an attribute of expression, the undivided weight of solid stone, colossal scale, broad sunshine, and unrelieved gloom.' " 'The first and most obvious element of architectural grandeur,' writes James Fer- gusson, 'is size a large edifice being always more imposing than a small one,' and he adds soon afterwards, 'next to size the most important element is stability.' Magnitude and stability may be included together under the single term 'mass,' which we may ac- cordingly take as the primary element of artistic effect in architecture. "Stability the writer last quoted ex- plains as 'that excess of strength over mere mechanical requirement which is necessary thoroughly to satisfy the mind, and to give to the building a monumental character, with an appear- ance that it could resist the shocks of time or the violence of man for ages yet to come,' and there is no doubt that the impression of immovable, rock-like strength mingles very readily with our apprehension of the greatness of an architectural monument, and combines with it to convey the assthetic idea of Sublimity an idea, it will be observed, that certainly does not come under the head of mere 'pleasure of the eye.' ' G. B. Brown, " Tlie Fine Arts" 101, 102. ACTION AND REPOSE. (8) In two famous examples of the Discobolus, that by Naucydes and that by Myron (the former is rep- resented on page 103, the latter on page 21), we notice that the sculptors have chosen two different parts of the same action. The game of throwing the discus must have offered many parallels to our ball throwing. In the statue of Naucydes the player is depicted in the final concentration of all his energies, his thought upon the mark or goal. Myron's youth, on the other hand, is in the midst of the action. But both have been taken during an instant of repose. Were it not so the action would be unintelligible. Try to stop your- self in the midst of a movement, and you will see why. "Any tendency of the forms to appear too broken and separate is counteracted by the creation of certain dominant lines, which secure Clearness by guiding the eye through the composition, and embrace in a single ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. 103 sweep the boundaries of many of the masses in combination. The well-known Discobo- lus of Myron (the head is wrongly adjusted) is a capital example of such a use of line. The eye follows the contours in a single sweep, from the hand with the discus along the right arm across the shoulders and down the left arm, whence it passes along the left leg to the foot. Here is one large line dominating the whole composition and giv- ing the repose and unity required by art, while there is the needful opposition sup- plied by the strong zigzag of the bowed torso and the bent right leg, which brings the whole again into full vitality and vigor." G. B. Brown, "The Fine Arts," 126. It is hardly fanciful to note that the long line which Mr. Brown calls our attention to is of much the same curve as that taken by a stone hurled forward and upward into the air. A splendid, vigorous line ! I hope that these thoughts will lead the reader to notice with ever-increasing pleas- ure the pageant action in the world about him. Notice the draught horses in the street, the way they place their hoofs, the straining muscles, the position of the head. A few nights ago I saw a noble example. A mounted lamplighter darted up, reined his horse suddenly, and with a single perfectly-controlled movement lit the lamp high above his head. It was simply mag- nificent! Du Maurier has given us an insight into the thought of the artist with regard to fine lines: "And in truth they were astonish- ingly beautiful feet, such as one only sees in pictures and statues a true inspiration of shape and color, all made up of delicate lengths and subtly modulated curves and noble straightnesses and happy little dimpled arrangements in innocent young pink and white. . . . The shape of these lovely, slender feet (that were neither large nor small), facsimiled in dusty pale plaster of Paris, survives on the shelves and walls of many a studio throughout the world, and many a sculptor yet unborn has yet to marvel at their strange perfection, in studious despair." George du Maurier, '"'Trilby," in Harper's Magazine, vol. 88. Repose is a difficult quality to explain. DISCOBOLUS OF NAUCYDES. In the Vatican, Rome. We feel it, even when we cannot define it. It is not difficult to see what we mean when we say that such and such a lady has a "reposeful manner." (It certainly does not mean that she looks as if she were going to sleep. It may be coupled with great ani- mation.) It is more difficult to see what is meant when we ascribe this quality to a statue like Myron's, where a violent action is portrayed. Consider the action of a great driving- wheel in the city water works. There is tremendous action with repose. Think of Christ driving out the mob from the temple. There was flaming indignation and a stinging whip, but we do not suppose any loss of dignity, any misapplication of energy. This is what I think we mean by repose in action. The faculties all under perfect con- trol. No loss of power. The action consist- ently, consummately carried out. IO4 REPRESENTA TIVE JUDGMENTS "Of Repose, or the Type of Divine Perma- nence. There is probably no necessity more imperatively felt by the artist, no test more unfailing of the greatness of artificial treatment, than that of the appearance of repose; yet there is no quality whose sem- blance in matter is more difficult to define or illustrate. Nevertheless, I believe that our instinctive love of it, as well as the cause to which I attribute that love (although here also, as in the former cases, I contend not for the interpretation, but for the fact), will be readily allowed by the reader. As opposed to passion, change, fullness, or laborious exertion, Repose is the especial and separating characteristic of the eternal mind and power. It is the 'I am' of the Creator opposed to the 'I become' of all crea- tures; it is the sign, alike of the supreme knowledge which is incapable of surprise, the supreme volition which is incapable of change ; it is the stillness of the beams of the eternal chambers laid upon the variable waters of ministering creatures. "Repose, as it is expressed in material things, is either a simple appearance of per- manence and quietness, as in the massy forms of a mountain or rock accompanied by the lulling effect of all mighty sight and sound, which all feel and none define (it would be less sacred if more explicable) or else it is repose proper, the rest of things in which there is vitality or capability of motion actual or imagined ; and with respect to these the expression of repose is greater in proportion to the amount and sublimity of the action which is not taking place, as well as to the intensity of the negation of it. Thus we do not speak of repose in a pebble, because the motion of a pebble has nothing in it of energy or vitality, neither its repose or stability. But having once seen a great rock come down a mountain side, we have a noble sensation of its rest, now imbedded immovably among the fern; because the power and fearfulness of its motion were great, and its stability and negation of motion are now great in proportion. Hence the imagination, which delights in nothing more than in the embracing of the charac- ters of repose, effects this usually by either attributing to things visibly energetic an ideal stability, or to things visibly stable an ideal activity or vitality. Thus Words- worth speaks of the cloud, which in itself has too much of changefulness for his pur- pose, as one "That heareth not the loud winds when they call, And moveth altogether, if it move at all." And again the children, which, that it may remove from them the child-restlessness, the imagination conceives as rooted flowers, "Beneath the old gray oak, as violets, lie." On the other hand, the scattered rocks, which have not, as such, vitality enough for rest, are gifted with it by the living image: they "Lie couched around us like a flock of sheep." Jo/in Ruskin, "Modern Painters," Part j, Cliap. 7, / and 2. "Repose and equanimity, in their highest degree, are incompatible with action. The most elevated idea of beauty, therefore, can neither be aimed at, nor preserved, even in figures of the deities, who must of necessity be represented imder a human shape. But the expression was made commensurate, as it were, with the beauty, and legulated by it. With the ancient artists, therefore, beauty was the chief object of expression, just as the cymbal guides all the other instruments in a band, although they seem- ingly overpower it. A figure may, how- ever, be called beautiful even though expression should preponderate over beauty, just as we give the name of wine to a liquor of which the larger portion is water. Here we also see an indication of the celebrated doctrine of Empedocles relative to discord and harmony, by whose opposing actions the things of this world are arranged in their present situation. Beauty without expres- sion might properly be termed insignificant, and expression without beauty, unpleasing; but from the action of one upon the other, and the union of the two opposing qualities, beauty derives additional power to affect, to persuade, and to convince." J. Winckel- mann, "History of Ancient Art," Vol. II. p. 113. ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. 105 COLOR. (9) The purpose of our readings in color is mainly to cultivate the perception of color in nature. We need to look at things more intelligently. The ideal way to study is to get some paints and paint from nature under a good teacher, not for the sake of the picture, but for the sake of learning *to see. Half a dozen les- sons with a limited pallette would do much for the learner. But if we cannot do this, we can make certain beginnings without it. Undertake the problems in observation proposed by Ruskin. Look at nature and keep on looking, but look for something definite. Take, for instance, the sky. Keep a little book and note its gradations under various circumstances. At evening in the west notice how it runs from a bluish above down through greenish to yellowish to orange to red to violet. This is the order of the spectrum colors. Analyze a sun-ray with a glass prism, and notice the order of the spectrum-colors thus obtained. Com- mit it to memory. You will find it in many other places in nature. It is her favorite color rhythm. Now study the sky in the east at sunset. Watch the light on the buildings. You will be astonished and delighted to note that the east is often more beautiful than the west at sunset. If our eyes had not been so dull, we should have remarked its more subtle beauty. Trace the gradations of the sky on a "gray day." Do the same at night. Make notes and com- pare them. The best principle to proceed on is this: There are three colors in nature red, yel- low, and blue. Every other color is made up of combinations of these. The question then to ask of yourself in every case is this: Does that object which I am looking at seem more yellowish, more reddish, or more bluish than the objects next to it? If you continue at this with some perseverance, you will begin to see things that will sur- prise you. "Every traveler, not color-blind, who in the month of October drives along the broad road that runs past the Clos de Vougeot through Nuits to Beaune, sees on his right hand such a perpetual blaze of golden color over the vast expanse of sloping vineyards, that the least observant cannot help talking about it and wondering at it. But I doubt whether anybody who has not tried to paint knows of how many elements that color is composed: what subtle, delicate grays there are in it, what strange purples, what lender, exquisite greens, what spots of sanguine crimson, what grave and sober sorts of rus- set, what paleness of fading yellow, nearer the color of primroses than of gold. The impression given by the union of all these colors is invariably that of deep, reddish, very rich gold; but pray how can a painter paint so composite a color without first decompos- ing it? On finding himself in front of such a burning expanse of vine leaves, of whose countless millions not two are colored pre- cisely alike, a painter's first thought is to sift out and analyze the elements of his own impression in order that he may himself afterwards, by the re-union of the same ele- ments, reproduce the impression on the minds of others. For the public mind is, on this question, more critical than its habitual simplicity of language would lead us to sup- pose. A gentleman who has been driving through the wine district in autumn uses such simple, emphatic words to describe his impressions that you would imagine a little pure cadmium yellow might satisfy him, and that the grays and purples were superfluous. Not so. He would at once feel that the cadmium was crude (though no cruder than his own word 'golden'), and to satisfy him you would have to paint the grays and pur- ples, to accomplish which you must first analyze them "Has the reader every actually looked at a cloud, or a tree, or a running brook, or a calm lake? Perhaps not, for the majority never look at these things; they like pleasant landscape, they benefit by its exquisite influ- ences, sunshine, lovely colors, sweet sounds, and pure, refreshing air: all these they truly appreciate and value in their way, but they no more study them than an amorous boy studies the anatomy of the fair face he delights in. External nature is, to the mass of mankind, a source of sensuous refreshment, not a matter of laborious io6 REPRESENTATIVE JUDGMENTS HARBOR AT SUNRISE. By Claude Lorraine, in the Pinakothek, Munich, observation; it is passive pleasure and per- petual benefit. Happier than critic or painter, the rest of mankind need only enjoy what these have to investigate and remem- ber. " P. G. Hamerton, "Thoughts about Art,'" pp. 777, 211. A^IUAL PERSPECTIVE. (10) "Why the Atmosphere Must Be Represented as Paler towards the Lower Portion. Because the atmosphere is dense near the earth, and the higher it is the rarer it becomes. When the sun is in the east if you look towards the west and a little way to the south and north, you will see that this dense atmosphere receives more light from the sun than the rarer; because the rays meet with greater resistance. And if the sky, as you see it, ends on a low plain, that lowest portion of the sky will be seen through a denser and whiter atmosphere, which will weaken its true color as seen through that medium, and there the sky will look whiter than it is above you, where the line of sight travels through a smaller space of air charged with heavy vapor. And if you turn to the east, the atmosphere will appear darker as you look lower down, because the luminous rays pass less freely through the lower atmos- phere." J. P. RicJiter, "The Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci, " I, p. 160. "Of the Mode of Treating Remote Objects in Painting. It is easy to perceive that the atmosphere which lies closest to the level ground is denser than the rest, and that where it is higher up it is rarer and more transparent. The lower portions of large and lofty objects which are at a distance are not much seen, because you see them along a line which passes through a denser and thicker section of the atmosphere. The summits of such heights are seen along a line which, though it starts from your eye ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. 107 in a dense atmosphere, still, as it ends at the top of those lofty objects, ceases in a much rarer atmosphere than exists at their base ; for this reason the farther this line extends from your eye, from point to point, the atmosphere becomes more and more rare. Hence, O Painter! when you represent mountains, see that from hill to hill the bases are paler than the summits, and in proportion as they recede beyond each other make the bases paler than the summits; while, the higher they are the more you must show of their true form and color. ' ' Ibid.-, p. 1 60. "Of the Color of the Atmosphere. Expe- rience shows us that the air must have dark- ness beyond it and yet it appears blue. If you produce a small quantity of smoke from dry wood and the rays of the sun fall on this smoke, and if you then place behind the smoke a piece of black velvet on which the sun does not shine, you will see that all the smoke which is between the eye and the black stuff will appear of a beautiful blue color. And if instead of the velvet you place a white cloth, smoke, that is, too thick smoke, hinders, and too thin smoke does not produce, the perfection of this blue color. Hence a moderate amount of smoke produces the finest blue. Water violently ejected in a fine spray and in a dark chamber where the sunbeams are admitted produces these blue rays, and the more vividly if it is dis- tilled water, and thin smoke looks blue. This I mention in order to show that the blueness of the atmosphere is caused by the darkness beyond it, and these instances are given for those who cannot confirm [on] my experience on Monboso. "The atmosphere, when full of mist, is quite devoid of blueness, and only appears of the color of clouds, which shine white when the weather is fine. And the more you turn to the west the darker it will be, and the brighter as you look to the east. And the verdure of the fields is bluish in a thin mist, but grows gray in a dense one. "The buildings in the west will only show their illuminated side, where the sun shines, and the mist hides the rest. When the sun rises and chases away the haze, the hills on the side where it lifts begin to grow clearer, and look blue, and seem to smoke with the vanishing mists; and the buildings reveal their lights and shadows; through the thin- ner vapor they show only their lights, and through the thicker air nothing at all. Ibid., p. i6j, 164. After reading these things, go back to nature again. It has perhaps never occurred to you to notice that snow is blue and not white. Also that where the light strikes it is of a different color than in the shadows. Study it, looking at both places at' once. You can see nothing as long as you look at objects separately. You cannot read, if you see words separately. "Atmosphere must be looked upon as something in the nature of a mist, a haze, or a light smoke. The air about us is filled with countless particles of matter, which reflect, break, and transmit waves of light in such a way that when in quantity we see them as a blue or a gray haze. Hence the azure of the sky overhead and the blue-gray appearance that hangs about the mountains, or in the far-away depths of their valleys. This haze, though too subtile of itself to be seen at, say, one hundred yards, has a very decided effect upon objects at that distance which may be readily observed. This effect is, first, that while the objects recede in size they also begin to blur and waver in out- line. An indistinctness gathers about them, similar, though not so strong, to the dim- ness which enshrouds objects at evening when the light begins to fade. "Aside from colors showing as patches of light or dark on the landscape, the interven- ing atmosphere produces some changes in their hues which may be generally summar- ized by saying that as they recede in the dis- tance the light colors become warmer and the dark colors lighter and sometimes colder. Thus at fifty yards a forest is filled with great patches of green, red, and warm brown; but two miles away its foliage appears as a mass of purples, cold blues, and grays. The weather-beaten sail of a fishing-smack near at hand may be gray in color bat out half a mile at sea or farther, especially at sunrise or sunset, it changes to a pale-orange tone not easily detected except by the trained eye of the painter. io8 REPRESENTATIVE JUDGMENTS At two hundred yards' distance purplish-red turns to orange-red, yellow becomes a warmer yellow bordering upon orange, ultramarine first turns to a purple and then quickly dissipates, and many of the lighter and more delicate hues are simply grayed down by the atmosphere into neutral tints. "I am not able to give you any scientific reason for these changes, nor state any pos- itive law that will apply to all colors alike ; but the general rule of light colors becoming warmer, and dark colors lighter, and some- times cooler, will answer our purposes, especially as we shall find its recognition among painters, so far as painters recognize any rules whatever." J. C. Van Dyke, "Art for Art's Sake" pp. 124, 132, ijj. LIGHT, (n) It is not necessary to study this work on Turnerian light in detail, but it is well to get the idea of the short scale of the painter contrasted with that of nature. It is in consequence of this fact that we find it necessary to look at a picture a good many seconds before it begins to give us the intention of the painter as regards light and color. The iris closes itself as much as possible out-of- doors. But in looking at a painting in the house it opens gradually and gathers in all the light it can. Make a practice of looking at paintings and prints through your hand, or a roll of paper, framing out all the light except that which comes from the picture. "Of Truth of Tone Now the finely-toned pictures of the old masters are in this respect some of the notes of nature played two or three octaves below her key; the dark objects in the middle distance having precisely the same relation to the light of the sky which they have in nature, but the light being necessarily infinitely lowered, and the mass of the shadow deepened in the same degree. I have often been struck, when looking at the image in a camera-obscura on a dark day, with the exact resemblance it bore to one of the finest pictures of the old masters; all the foliage coming dark against the sky, and nothing being seen in its mass but here and there the isolated light of a silvery stem or an unusually illumined cluster of leafage. "Now if this could be done consistently, and all the notes of nature given in this way an octave or two down, it would be right and necessary so to do ; but be it observed, not only does nature surpass us in power of obtaining light as much as the sun surpasses white paper, but she also infinitely sur- passes us in her power of shade. Her deep- est shades are void spaces from which no light whatever is reflected to the eye; ours are black surfaces from which, paint as black as we may, a great deal of light is still reflected, and which placed against one of nature's bits of gloom would tell as distinct light. Here we are, then, with white paper for our high- est light and visible illumined surface for our deepest shadow, set to run the gantlet against nature, with the sun for her light, and vacuity for her gloom. It is evident that she can well afford to throw her mate- rial objects dark against the brilliant aerial tone of her sky, and yet give in those objects themselves a thousand intermediate distances and tones before she comes to black, or to anything like it all the illum- ined surfaces of her objects being as dis- tinctly and vividly brighter than her nearest and darkest shadows, as the sky is brighter than those illumined surfaces. But if we, against our poor dull obscurity of yellow paint, instead of sky, insist on having the same relation of shade in material objects, we go down to the bottom of our scale at once; and what in the world are we to do then? "Observe, I am not at present speaking of the beauty or desirableness of the system of the old masters; it may be sublime, and affecting, and ideal, and intellectual, and a great deal more; but all I am concerned with at present is, that it is not true; while Turner's is the closest and most studied approach to truth of which the materials of art admit" John Rnskin, "Modern Paint- ers," Part II, Sec. 2, Chap, i, 4., 5, 8, 10. "Of Turnerian Light. Let us next ascer- tain what are the colors of the earth itself. "As, however, we pass to nearer objects, true representation gradually becomes pos- sible; to what degree is always of course ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. 109 ascertainable accurately by the same mode of experiment. Bring the edge of the paper against the thing to be drawn, and on that edge as precisely as a lady would match the colors of two pieces of a dress match the color of the landscape (with a little opaque white mixed in the 1 tints you use, so as to render it easy to lighten or darken them). Take care not to imitate the tint as you believe it to be, but accurately as it is; so that the colored edge of the paper shall not you have painted it in the colors of Turner, in those very colors which perhaps you have been laughing at all your life, the fact being that he, and he alone, of all men, ever painted Nature in her own colors. " 'Well, but,' you will answer, impatiently, 'how is it, if they are the true colors, that they look so unnatural?' "Because they are not shown in true con- trast to the sky, and to other high lights. Nature paints her shadows in pale purple, THE APPROACH TO VENICE. By J. M. IV. Turner. A masterpiece of high-keyed light. be discernible from the color of the land- scape. You will then find (if before inex- perienced) that shadows of trees, which you thought were dark green or black, are pale violets and purples ; that lights, which you thought were green, are intensely yellow, brown, or golden, and most of them far too bright to be matched at all. When you have got all the imitable hues truly matched, sketch the masses of the landscape out com- pletely in those true and ascertained colors ; and you will find, to your amazement, that and then raises her lights of heaven and sunshine to such heights that the pale pur- ple becomes, by comparison, a vigorous dark. But poor Turner has no sun at his command to oppose his pale colors. He fol- lows Nature submissively as far as he can ; puts pale purple where she does, bright gold where she does ; and then when, on the summit of the slope of light, she opens her wings and quits the earth altogether, burn- ing into ineffable sunshine, what can he do but sit helpless, stretching his hands towards 110 REPRESENTATIVE JUDGMENTS LANDSCAPE AND WATER. By Claude Monet, a contemporary French luminist of the Turner type. her in calm consent, as she leaves him and mocks at him ! " 'Well, but,' ) T ou will further ask, 'is this right or wise? ought not the contrast between the masses to be given, rather than the actual hues of a few parts of them, when the others are inimitable?' "Yes, if this were possible, it ought to be done; but the true contrast can never be given. The whole question is simply whether you will be false at one side of the scale or at the other, that is, whether you will lose yourself in light or in darkness. This necessity is easily expressible in num- bers. Suppose the utmost light you wish to imitate is that of serene, feebly lighted clouds in ordinary sky (not sun or stars, which it is, of course, impossible deceptively to imitate in painting by any artifice). Then, suppose the degrees of shadow between those clouds and Nature's utmost darkness accurately measured, and divided into a hundred degrees (darkness being zero). Next we measure our own scale, calling our utmost possible black, zero; and we shall be able to keep parallel with Nature, perhaps up to as far as her 40 degrees; all above that being whiter than our white paper. Well, with our power of contrast between zero and 40, we have to imitate her contrasts between zero and 100. Now, if we want true contrasts, we can first set our 40 to represent her 100, our 20 for her 80, and our zero for her 60; everything below her 60 being lost in blackness. This is, with certain modifications, Rembrandt's system. Or, secondly, we can put zero for her zero, 20 for her 20, and 40 for her 40; everything above 40 being lost in whiteness. This is, with certain modifications, Paul Veronese's system. Or, finally, we can put our zero for her zero, and our 40 for her 100; ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. in our 20 for her 50; our 30 for her 75, and our 10 fcr her 25, proportioning the intermediate contrasts accordingly. This is, with certain modifications^ Turner's sys- tem. "The main difference is, that with Leo- nardo, Rembrandt and Raphael, vast masses of the picture are lost in comparatively color- less (dark gray or brown) shadow; these painters beginning with the lights, and going down to blackness; but with Veronese, Titian, and Turner, the whole picture is like the rose, glowing with color in the shad- ows, and rising into paler and more delicate hues, or masses of whiteness, in the lights; they having begun with the shadows, and gone up to whiteness." John Ruskin, "Modern Painters" Part V, Chap. Ill, 8-u. "Manet's great distinction is to have dis- covered that the sense of reality is achieved with a thousand-fold greater intensity by getting as near as possible to the actual, rather than resting content with the relative, value of every detail. Every one who has painted since Manet has either followed him in this effort or has appeared jejune. "And it is impossible to exaggerate the way in which the sense of reality has been intensified by Manet's insistence upon get- ting as near as possible to the individual values of objects as they are seen in nature in spite of his abandonment of the practice of painting on a parallel scale. Things now drop into their true place, look as they really do, and count as they count in nature, because the painter is no longer content with giving us change for nature, but tries his best to give us nature itself. "Applying Manet's method, his invention, his discovery, to the painting of out-of-doors, the plein air school immediately began to produce landscapes of astonishing reality by confining their effort to those values which it is in the power of pigments to imi- tate. The possible scale of mere corre- spondence being of course from one to one hundred, they secured greater truth by painting between twenty and eighty, we may say." IV. C. Broivnell, "-French Art,"' pp. 120, 122, 123. V ALUES AND REFLECTIONS. (12) Any one who has understood the foregoing passages will also under- stand what the painter means by values. The eye is able to perceive about twenty steps only between blackest ink and whitest paper (not one hundred, as Ruskin and Hamerton suggest). Thus we have twenty notes or "values" to use in representing nature's almost infinite range. It is one of the greatest difficulties in painting to "get the values"; to manage so that the lightest thing seen in nature will be the lightest on the canvas, the darkest thing the darkest, etc. , all in perfect relation. This is the elemen- tary basis of values. To comprehend what color-values are is more difficult, and had best not be attempted at the present stage. Everybody loves reflections in water. But as our powers of vision become stronger we find other reflections. Everything we see is a mirror. Each thing in its own degree is trying to reflect the light that falls on it. Look at the grass in sunlight. Each sep- arate stem of grass reflects the sun as best it can (especially on the curve of the stem), and it does pretty well too. Now look at grass in the shade. It cannot reflect sun- light, but it chooses the next strongest light. If you look for some time, patiently, you will begin- to see bright flecks of sky-bluish quality on the turn of each spear. In a whole field of grass in shadow this would be felt (rather than seen) as a distinct bluish bloom. Learn to see the sky in the ground! A good painter will suggest this finely. Wherever possible you must supplement your nature-study with looking at similar effects in painting. Thus the painter will help you, "lending his mind out." Notice reflections everywhere. A white house in sunlight on a green lawn will be full of reflected green lights. You may see them clear up under the eaves. Notice also the difference in the color of grass in light and grass in shadow. One is distinctly yel- lowish; the other bluish in comparison. In looking for these effects be careful not to look at one thing at a time. Look at sev- eral parts of the "picture" together. This 112 REPRESENTA TIVE JUDGMENTS is the great difference between the painter's way of looking and the layman's. The painter sees colors in relation. "Phenomena of Distant Color. It is per- haps one of the most difficult lessons to learn in art, that the warm colors of dis- tance, even the most glowing, are subdued by the air so as in no wise to resemble the same color seen on a foreground object; so that the rose of sunset on clouds or moun- I'ATERNAL ADVICE. By C. lerburg in the Berlin Museum. Like Rembrandt, one of his masters, Terburg loses the lower values in masses of shadow. termixtuie and undercurrent of warm color . . . ; and so of every bright dis- tant color; while in foregrounds where colors may be, and ought to be, pure, yet that any of them are expressive of light is only to be felt where there is the accurate fitting of them to their rel- ative shadows." Jo/in Ruskin, "Mo- dern Painters," Part //, Sec. /, Chap. 7, 21. TONE." (13) Tone is anoth- er quality which is easier to feel than define. Tone results from a perfect harmony of the parts of the picture, perfect light and shade relations, perfect har- mony of color. But tone seems to carry a further thought. It is the unity of the pre- vailing color mood of the picture. You may look out of your win- dow and you will find a certain kind of day. It is a gray or blue, or perhaps a salmon-col- ored day (or hour of the day). You feel this quality in everything. Each object emerges from it but partially. tains has a gray in it which distinguishes it from the rose color of the leaf of a flower; and the mingling of this gray of distance without in the slightest degree taking away the expression of the intense and perfect purity of the color in and by itself, is perhaps the last attainment of the great landscape colorist. In the same way the blue of distance, however intense, is not the blue of a bright blue flower, and it is not distinguished from it by different texture merely, but by a certain in- But to see this you must view things stead- ily and view them whole. The individuality of the colors of objects is not lost but modified and unified. When this is perfectly accom- plished in painting we have the quality of tone. Rembrandt is a great master of tone. And so, at their best, are Cazin and Claude Monet. Cazin is very delicate and subtle. Monet is brilliant and subtle. Both possess this high unity of color and value. "Of Truth of Tone. I understand two things by the word Tone; first, the exact relief and relation of objects against and to ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. each other in substance and darkness, as they are nearer or more distant, and the per- fect relation of the shades of all of them to the chief light of the picture, whether that be sky, water, or anything else ; secondly, the exact relation of the colors of the shad- ows to the colors of the lights, so that they may be at once felt to be merely different degrees of the same light; and the accurate relation among the illuminated parts them- selves, with respect to the degree in which they are influenced by the color of the light itself, whether warm or cold; so that the whole of the picture (or, where several tones are united, those parts of it which are under each) may be felt to be in one climate, under one kind of light, and in one kind of atmosphere; this being chiefly dependent on that peculiar and inexplicable quality of each color laid on, which makes the eye feel both what is the actual color of the object represented, and that it is raised to its apparent pitch by illumination. A very bright brown, for instance, out of sunshine may be precisely of the same shade as a very dead or cold brown in sunshine, but it will be totally different in quality; and that quality by which the illuminated dead color would be felt in nature different from the unilluminated bright one, is what artists are perpetually aiming at, and connoisseurs talking nonsense about, under the name of 'tone.' The want of tone in pictures is caused by objects looking bright in their own positive hue, and not by illumination, and by the consequent want of sensation of the raising of their hues by light." Jo/in Ruskin, "Modern Painters," Part 2, Sec. 2, Chap. /, i. "Dark and Light Composition. It has already been stated that beauty in painting is manifested in three ways, namely, by Line, Dark-and-Light, Color. We have now to consider the second of these elements, Dark-and-Light. There is no one word in English comprehensive enough to express what is here meant by this hyphened phrase, but as the Japanese have brought so much of this kind of beauty to our art we may well use their word for it, notan. Besides, the adoption of a single word, and a new one, serves to emphasize our characterization of MODERN JAPANESE KAKEMONO (SCROLL PICTURE). The original also is in various notan. The subjects are lotus and stork. it as a great aesthetic element. Thus the notan of a pattern or a picture is the arrange- ment of the dark and light masses. Artists often employ the word 'spotting' in this sense, and sometimes the more indefinite n6 REPRESENTA TIVE JUDGMENTS woid 'effect,' while 'wash-out' designates in studio slang the lack of this element, "The Orientals, who have never consid- ered the representation of shadows as of seri- ous importance, have recognized notan as a special and vital part of the art of painting, to be studied for its own sake, a field for creative activity entirely distinct from Line PALAZZO CA DORO IN VENICE. An example of elaborate notan in architecture. and Color. Some of their schools discarded color, and for ages painted in ink, so master- ing notan as to attract the admiration, and profoundly influence the art of the western world. "Yet so firmly is our art embedded in the traditions of the nature-imitators, that Dark- and-Light is not considered in school curric- ula, except in its limited application to the representation of things. The study of 'light and shade' has for its aim, not the creation of a beautiful idea in terms of con- trasting masses of light and dark, but merely the accurate rendering of certain facts of nature, hence is a scientific rather than an artistic exercise. The pupil who begins in this way will be embarrassed in advanced work by lack of experience in arranging and differentiating tones. Worse than that, it tends to cut him off from the appreciation of one whole class of great works of art. As in the case of Line, so again in this is manifest the narrowness and weakness of the scheme of nature-imitating as a foundation for art education. The Realistic standard has tended, and ever will tend, to the decay of art. "To attain an appreciation of notan, and power to create with it, the following fun- damental fact must be understood, namely, that a placing together of masses of dark and light, syn- thetically related, conveys to the eye an impression of beauty entirely independent of mean- ing. For example, squares of dark porphyry against squares of light marble, checks in printed cloth, and blotty ink sketches by the Venetians, the Dutch, and the Japanese. "When this occurs accident- ally in nature, as in the case of a grove of dark trees against a light hillside, or a pile of dark buildings against a twi- light sky, we at once perceive its beauty, and say that the scene is 'picturesque.' This quality, which makes the nat- ural scene a good subject for a picture, is analogous to music. Truthful drawing and 'conscientiousness' would have nothing to do with an artist's JAPANESE EXAMPLE OF NOTAN. From Daw's "Composition,'" by courtesy of Baker & Taylor Co. rendering of this. This is the kind of 'visual music' which the Japanese so love in the rough ink painting of their old mas- ters, where there is but a mere hint of facts. ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. 117 "Claude Lorraine and Corot, in the West, Kakei and Sesshu in the East, owe the light of their skies and the mystery of their groves to an appreciation of the refinements of notan. The etchers, the illustrators, and the practical designers are equally depend- ent upon it." A. W. Dow, "Composition," PP- 36, 37- M YSTERY OR INFINITY. (14) "Of Infinity, or the Type of Divine Incomprehensibility. For there was never yet a child of any promise (so far as the Theoretic facul- ties are concerned) but awaked to the sense of beauty with the first gleam of reason; and I suppose there are few among those who love Nature otherwise than by profes- sion and at second-hand, who look not back to their youngest and least learned days as those of the most intense, superstitious, insatiable, and beatific perception of her splendors "It is not, then, by the nobler form, it is not by positiveness of hue, it is not by intensity of light (for the sun itself at noon- day is effectless upon the feelings), that this strange distant space possesses its attractive power. But there is one thing that it has, or suggests, which no other object of sight suggests in equal degree, and that is Infin- ity. It is of all visible things the least material, the least finite, the farthest with- drawn from the earth prison-house, the most typical of the nature of God ; the most sug- gestive of the glory of His dwelling-place. For the sky of night, though we may know it boundless, is dark ; it is a studded vault, a roof that seems to shut us in and down : but the bright distance has no limit, we feel its infinity, as we rejoice in its purity of light. "The absolute necessity, for such I indeed consider it, is of no more than such a mere luminous distant point as may give to the feelings a species of escape from all the finite objects about them. There is a spec- tral etching of Rembrandt, a Presentation of Christ in the Temple, where the figure of a robed priest stands glaring by its gems out of the gloom, holding a crosier. Behind it there is a subdued window-light, seen in the opening between two columns, without which the impressiveness of the whole sub- ject would, I think, be incalculably brought down. .1 cannot tell whether I am at present allowing too much weight to my fancies and predilections, but without so much escape into the outer air and open heaven as this, I can take permanent pleasure in no pic- ture. " Jo Jin Ruskin, "Modern Painters," Part III, Sec. I, Chap. 5, 2-7. "Of Turnerian Mystery. We never see anything clearly. I stated this fact partly in the chapter on Truth of Space, in the first volume, but not with sufficient illustration, so that the reader might by that chapter have been led to infer that the mystery spoken of belonged to some special distance of the landscape, whereas the fact is, that everything we look at, be it large or small, near or distant, has an equal quantity of mystery in it; and the only question is, not how much mystery there is, but at what part of the object mystification begins. We sup- pose we see the ground under oar feet clearly, but if we try to number its grains of dust, we shall find that it is as full of con- fusion and doubtful form as anything else ; so that there is literally no point of clear sight, and there never can be. What we call seeing a thing clearly, is only seeing enough of it to make out what it is. "Take the commonest, closest, most famil- iar thing, and strive to draw it verily as you see it. Be sure of this last fact, for other- wise you will find yourself continually draw- ing, not what you see, but what you know. The best practice to begin with is, sitting about three yards from a bookcase (not your own, so that you may know none of the titles of the books), to try to draw the books accurately, with the titles on the backs, and patterns on the bindings, as you see them. You are not to stir from your place to look what they are, but draw them simply as they appear, giving the perfect look of neat lettering; which, nevertheless, must be (as you find it on most of the books) absolutely illegible. "Keeping to that question, why is it that a photograph always looks clear and sharp, not at all like a Turner? n8 REPRESENTATIVE JUDGMENTS "Photographs never look entirely clear and sharp ; but because clearness is supposed a merit in them, they are usually taken from very clearly-marked and un-Turnerian sub- jects; and such results as are misty and faint, though often precisely those which contain the most subtle renderings of nature, are thrown away, and the clear ones only are preserved. Those clear ones depend for much of their force on the faults of the proc- ess. Photography either exaggerates shad- ows, or loses detail in the lights, and, in many ways which I do not here pause to explain, misses certain of the utmost sub- tleties of natural effect (which are often the things that Turner has chiefly aimed at), while it renders subtleties of form which no human hand could achieve. But a deli- cately taken photograph of a truly Turnerian subject, is far more like Turner in the draw- ing than it is to the work of any other artist; though, in the system of chiaroscuro, being entirely and necessarily Rembrandtesque, the subtle mystery of the touch (Turnerism carried to an infinitely wrought refinement) is not usually perceived. "Not only, however, does this take place in a picture very notably, so that a group of touches will tell as a compact and intelligi- ble mass, a little way off, though confused when seen near, but also a dark touch gains at a distance in apparent darkness, a light touch in apparent light, and a colored touch in apparent color, to a degree inconceivable by an unpracticed person; so that literally, a good painter is obliged, working near his picture, to do everything only about half of what he wants, the rest being done by the distance. And if the effect, at such a dis- tance, is to be of confusion, then sometimes, seen near, the work must be a confusion worse confounded, almost utterly unintel- ligible: hence the amazement and blank wonder of the public at some of the finest passages of Turner, which look like a mere meaningless and disorderly work of chance : THE FIGHTING TEMERAIRE. By J. M. W. Turner, in the National Gallery, London. ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. 119 but, rightly understood, are preparations for a given result, like the most subtle moves of a game of chess, of which no bystander can for a long time see the inten- tion, but which are, in dim, underhand, wonderful way, bringing out their foreseen and inevitable result. "And, be it observed, no other means would have brought out that result. Every distance and size of picture has its own proper method of work; the artist will necessarily vary that method somewhat according to circumstances and expecta- tions : to please his patron or catch the pub- lic eye ; and sometimes be tempted into such finish by his zeal, or betrayed into it by forgetfulness, as I think Tintoret has been, slightly, in his Paradise, above mentioned. But there never yet was a picture thoroughly effective at a distance, which did not look more or less unintelligible near. Things which in distant effect are folds of dress seen near are only two or three grains of golden color set there apparently by chance ; what far off is a solid limb, near, is a gray shade with a misty outline, so broken that it is not easy to find its boundary; and what far off may perhaps be a man's face, near is only a piece of thin brown color, enclosed by a single flowing wave of a brush loaded with white, while three brown touches across one edge of it, ten feet away, become a mouth and eyes. The more subtle the power of the artist the more curious the difference will be between the apparent means and the effect produced : and one of the most sublime feel- ings connected with art consists in the per- ception of this very strangeness, and in a sympathy with the foreseeing and fore- ordaining power of the artist. In Turner, Tintoret, and Paul Veronese, the intense- ness of perception, first, as to what is to be done, and then, of the means of doing it, is so colossal, that I always feel in the pres- ence of their pictures just as other people would in that of a supernatural being. Common talkers use the word 'magic' of a great painter's power without knowing what they mean by it. They mean a great truth. That power is magical; so magical, that, well understood, no enchanter's work could be more miraculous or more appalling; and though I am not often kept from saying things from timidity, I should be afraid of offending the reader, if I were to define to him accurately the kind and degree of awe, with which I have stood before Tintoret's Adoration of the Magi, at Venice, and Veronese's Marriage in Cana, in the Louvre." JoJm Ruskin, "Modern Painters," Part F, Chap. 4, 4, 7, //, 13-15. 1 1FFECT AND BREADTH. (15) ^ "Every scene in the world has its * ^ favorable or unfavorable effects the effects that are specially suita- ble or unsuitable to that particular scene. Under the most favorable it seems like a revelation, but when the effect is not so well adapted to the particular scene (however perfectly it might have suited others), then the power of the landscape over our minds is reduced to its lowest degree. "This depends upon a union of the forms of the earth with cloud forms, and on the display of both under the light that gives them the most perfect unity, and brings the finest features of the landscape into the most distinct relief, whilst reducing all thai is commonplace to a subordinate position. It is evident that such perfectly favorable effects are likely to be rare, but they do occur, and the business of the imaginative artist is either to seize upon them when they occur, or imagine them in their absence. "The reader is well aware that effect is the supreme power in landscape painting, that it arouses or soothes the feelings like music, that it ennobles the humblest materi- als, and adds grandeur and dignity to the grandest and most noble. Without effect the finest landscapes in nature have but little power on the mind; aided by beautiful or impressive effects the poorest subjects become pictures. This being so it is not surprising that all the most imaginative landscape painters have looked to effect as the secret of their power over their fellow- men, and that their imaginations have been exercised far more in the creation or selec- I2O REPRESENTATIVE JUDGMENTS tion of effects than in the portrayal of tangi- ble and measurable things. "Look at Wilson, for example, what infinite calm there is in his quiet Italian afternoon or evening scenes! There are no landscapes more tranquilizing if we enjoy them in the right spirit; that is, if we quietly accept their influence without setting up tiresome critical objections." -P. G. Hamerton, "Imagination in Landscape Paint- ing," pp. 216, 222, 224. "Breadth. The artistic term 'breadth, so commonly used in the criticism of the arts of form, may claim a word of comment of the figures on foot are kept on much the same level, the dress and accoutrements of the figures admit of only enough variety to avoid monotony or emptiness, the relief is low and the surface offers but slight con- trasts of light-and-shade. Claude of Lor- raine's landscapes are pre-eminently 'broad, ' for the objects he depicts are in themselves uninteresting, and appear time after time on his canvases without much variation, while on the other hand his apprehension of the charm of vast open spaces of earth and sky, bathed in atmosphere, is singularly intense and poetical." G. B. Brown, "The Fine Arts," 7/7. (A reproduction of part of this Elgin Frieze, orig- inally on the Parthenon, Athens, may be found on p. 30. The repro- duction on this page is from another part of the same frieze.) s ENTIMENT. (16) POSEIDON, APOI.LO, AND ATHENE OR ARTEMIS. From the frieze of the Parthenon, Athens, now in the Acropolis Museum, Athens. here. It is said of a facade, a sculptured frieze, a picture, that it is 'broadly treated' or has 'breadth' when the parts are in such due subordination that the single harmoni- ous effect is predominant. Thus the East- ern or entrance fagade of the University at Edinburgh, a masterpiece by Robert Adam, has 'breadth' in virtue of its massive sim- plicity, the largeness of the parts which make it up, and the severe restraint of the ornamentation. The same quality belongs to the Elgin Frieze because the constituent elements in the procession are few and sim- ple, the lines of the heads of the riders and We have inti- mated that beauty was a sufficient achievement in art. We would not complain of an artist who is great enough to produce that. But many of our little painters seem to be afraid that they may manage to express a sentiment or an idea. There are notable painters who have said that the province of art is the expression of form and color ideas, just as music is the expression of order in sounds. But there are great masters also who have used form and color as a language expressing other thoughts. "The Language of Art. The painter who can accomplish this has learned to use the 'language of Art.' 'Art is a language,' exclaimed Jean Francois Millet, 'and lan- guage is made to express thought. ' Now the artist can 'think' without a process of ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. 121 reasoning, and become eloquent without using any form of words. This is true of painting as of the other arts. Alfred Stev- ens says in one place : 'In the art of painting one must before everything be a painter: the thinker only comes in afterwards, ' but in another: 'A true painter is a thinker all the time.' He protests that 'sparkle of light thrown on an accessory by a Dutch or Flemish painter, is more than a skillful stroke of the brush, it is a touch of mind.' Again, Eugene Fromentin whose book upon the painting of the Low Countries is a classic expression of the best modern con- clusions about the Art while of course totally opposed to the popular heresy of looking at pictures for the literary interest of their subjects, yet insists on painting as a language for the expression of artistic thought. In a certain class 6f productions, he says, 'every work in which the hand reveals itself with joyousness and brilliancy is by that very fact a work that belongs to the brain and is drawn from it. ' Again he speaks 'of the dramatic value of a flourish and an effect,' and 'the moral beauty of a picturesque composition.' In all such cases the 'thought' of the work is not merely a literary idea taking for the moment an artis- tic shape, but is on the other hand an idea formed and expressed from first to last in an artistic medium. It is something so inti- mately bound up with the expression that the two are really one, so that the artistic language may not only express thought, but actually be that thought. We should be able to say of it, Such thought could never be expressed in other than artistic form. Though possessing an intellectual and a moral element, as created in the imagination of a thinking and feeling being, it does not appeal to the reflective reason nor does it attempt to edify. It is only in and through art that we can meet and apprehend it; if, or in so far as, we may be able to disengage the thought from the expression, it is not artistic thought, and is not the proper con- tent for the language of art. "The 'language of Art' has many utter- ances. It will speak to us ' In solemn tenor and deep organ tone ' from the Sublime of architecture; with the note of law and reason out of the well-knit ordered structure; in accents pregnant with associations that gather round country and shrine and tomb and with all the interest of history, from the national and religious monument. Through the significant types of sculpture and of ideal painting, it will bring before us the thoughts and aspirations about the Human and the Divine of some of the Master-minds of the ages. In portraiture the language of Art will confide to us the secret of the hidden springs of character, and point out the marks which the soul has written on the face for only the discerning eye to read. In the human creature, and in all the organized beings and objects of nature, it will make clear to us not the outward working only but the heart from which all work proceeds, displaying struc- ture and function and habit, till it becomes at once a record of what has been and a prophecy of the future. And finally from inanimate Nature art will learn the spell through the poetry of infinite spaces in Claude, through the mystery of light of Tur- ner, and Rembrandt's mystery of darkness, through the solemnity of Ruysdael and the tranquil pensiveness of Corot, her language will come home to our hearts with an under- tone of ' The still, sad music of humanity ' heard through the larger harmony of the voices of the sky and field and mountain." G. B. Brown, "The Fine Arts" nj. "The work of Millet so aptly illustrates this poetic art, this nature stamped by the impress of man, that I must call your atten- tion to his fine picture of 'The Sower.' I have spoken of this picture before, but simply for the sake of variety, I will not now discard it for a newer and poorer illustra- tion. The peasant of Millet, considered historically or ethnographically, is not essentially different from the peasant of any one of Millet's hundred imitators; but after being brooded over and thought over in the painter's mind, he became an entirely differ- ent person. He became endowed with poetry and art, because looked at from a poetic and artistic point of view. The dusk of evening, with its warm shadows, falls about the Sower ; the heavy air, which the REPRESENTA TIVE JUDGMENTS earth seems to exhale at sunset, enshrouds him; luminous color-qualities form his back- ground; a rhythm of line, a swinging motion give him strength and vitality. It was thus the artistic eye of Millet saw him. In the twilight sky, in the deep-shadowed fore- ground, we see that the Sower works late ; in the sweat and dust upon his face and the hat crowded over his brow we see that he is weary with toil; in the serious eyes looking out from their deep sockets we see the severity of his fate; yet the strong foot does not flinch, the swinging arm does not falter, the parched lips do not murmur. LEARNING TO WALK. By J. F. Millet, French painter , famous for sympathetic treatment of peasant life. His life is but a struggle for bare existence, a battling against odds, but how noble the struggle! how strong the battle! A type of thousands in the humble walks of life bear- ing patiently the burdens laid upon him, though the world has long neglected him and fame has never honored him, yet he is no less a man, a brave man, a hero. It was thus the poetic mind of Millet conceived him. "Here in this picture of the Sower we have a good instance of that something 'between a thought and a thing' which Coleridge took to be the aim of art. Here we have the idea in art, but it will be observed that it is quite different from the narrative ideas of litera- ture. It is not a statement of fact, but a suggestive impression; not a realization of absolute nature, but a hint at those deep meanings which will not bear realization those meanings which a sensitive soul may know and feel, and yet be able to express only in part. For the idea in art is at the best not like a clear-cut intellectual thought, but rather like a sympathetic sensation or an emotional feeling. Yet call it what we choose emotion, feeling, thought, or idea it is about the only mental conception that painting is capable of conveying or reveal- ing. Without it one may produce art ad- mirable by virtue of novelty, color, form, skill of hand the verve of the artist; with it one may produce a higher art, speak a no- bler language, serve a loftier purpose. For what one simply sees in nature and portrays as it is seen may be good art, but what one thinks or feels about what one sees produces much better art." J. C. Van Dyke, "Art for Art's Sake," pp. 32-34. Habit of Observa- tion. And now at the end of my task, which has been a pleasure even while it offered irksome difficulties which I could not foresee, let me say in parting, that this work will be of service to the student precisely in proportion as it succeeds in implanting a permanent habit of observing form and color. What we need after all is not books and readings, but to give ourselves lei- sure and the joy of looking at things ! Let us absorb into the spirit through the eyes, a little of this infinite beauty of life and movement and color, this end- lessly vanishing succession of enchant- ments, to produce which, as R. L. Steven- son writes, ON THE PRINCIPLES OF ART. 123 "God's strange and intricate device Of days and seasons doth suffice." I had a friend whose kindness led him to activity among the city working-women. But instead of teaching them science or bookkeeping he tried to enrich their meager lives with the thought of beauty. He took them to the parks in the twilight, and they forgot to eat their luncheons in watching the marvelous gradations of the evening glow. He gave to them the thoughts of mas- ters of poetry on the glory of evening and the restfulness of night. He showed them prints, and in the museum of that city the original works of men who had interpreted these things in color. For one of those women it was the begin- ning of new life. The thought of beauty became the solace of her toil. By her own testimony she had never raised her head to look at the sunset before. The cares of life had weighed her down. The divine spark was all but quenched. Could we but once gain that habit of the soul "which taketh note of beauty" even unconsciously, while the outward thought is on other affairs, and which when the soul is free causes her to return instinctively and claim her own, we should be sustained by the strength of those who have poured their life blood into their art. And the weariness and sordidness of life would measurably dis- appear. At times it will disappear utterly, and we shall dwell on shining heights; for in the moments when we feel the inspiration of the master to the full, the line that separates us is but slight. We are, for that moment at least, great like him great like a god. LAZY SPAIN. By J. Domingo, a Spanish painter. Dated 1878. Original in the Art Institute, Chicago. Not a narrative of fact: but what a "suggestive impression" 1 of our late foe! CHURCH OF THE CISTERCIAN MONASTERY NEAR VITERBO. From the American Journal of Archeology, Vol. 6. See close of Lesson 18. The Development of Art. DY BY A. L. FROTHINGHAM, Jr., Ph.D. PROFESSOR OF ARCHEOLOGY, PRINCETON UNIVERSITY. FOUR FORCES IN ART.(i7) Among historic problems that of the development of art has received almost the least satisfactory treat- ment at the hands of modern writers. Their good will has been more con- spicuous than their insight. The major- ity of well-educated people have a distinct curiosity about art even when their knowl- edge of it is limited, and being confused by the great mass of material are ready to sit gratefully at the feet of any one who will clearly point out the good and the bad in the art of the past and present, explain the reasons for our artistic likes and dislikes, and after holding up the mirror to ourselves will provide us with principles to guide us in our judgments, so that passing out of the narrow field of our individual proclivities we may have glimpses, at least, of the wide horizon of general art-appreciation. This involves passing beyond the idiosyncrasies, not only of our individual selves, but of our race and of our time, and projecting ourselves into the spirit of other races and periods so thor- DEVELOPMENl^ OF ART. oughly that we can see their art with their eyes and not with our own, sympathetically not critically. It is difficult enough for the mass of us Anglo-Saxons to view from the inside even the contemporary art of the Lat- in races, when anything beyond pure tech- nique is in question the different racial points of view erecting a formidable barrier. But the difficulty is increased if we are called upon to judge the art of some other period when human nature was so different in its character and activity, when art had a different mission and artists different standards, when the theme was sometimes thought more important than the form, and when art was often a creation rather of the thinker than the technician. We are so apt to judge a thing as a failure or a success according as it does or does not approach our own standards, that the first thing we need to learn is that other ages had other standards according to which and not according to ours their works should be judged. The need of some theory of the develop- ment of art, of some standard of art criti- cism, has been strongly felt ever since the birth of the modern historico-critical school at the close of the last century, ever since the time of Hegel, of Lessing, and of Winck- elmann. The various theories and schools of art criticism that have since nourished may be divided into three classes: the philo- sophic, the aesthetic, and the historical. Each has had the defects of its qualities. The explanations of the philosophic school vary according to the theory of the universe that underlies each system. Art is correctly taken to be an integral part of civilization. But the principal and radical defect of the theories of this school arises from its igno- rance of the actual facts of art history, and its usual lack of aesthetic insight. No theory yet propoxinded seems to give an adequate explanation of all the data, or to give a cor- rect estimate of the nature of art. The aesthetic school goes to the opposite extreme. It hates theories and denies the intimate connection between art and other branches of civilization. It emphasizes the form to the detriment of the thought, the technique as against the content, and adopts often as its watchword the expression "Art for Art's sake." It is in sympathy with much of modern art, but with very little of the art of the past, and deprecates the con- nection of religious, moral and historic influ- ences or, in fact, of thought in any form with art. A work of art according to this school should be judged merely by the standard of its outward qualities of color, form, line and composition; not by its theme or its treatment of the theme, not by the emotions it excites or the story it conveys. Artists and art critics, so personal and of their age, and often least imbued with phil- osophic or historic sympathies, are apt to belong to this school. From its partisan character it fails altogether to explain the actual facts of the development of art, which never evolved by its principles in the past. The writers of the historic group make the least claim to a theory of development. In fact, they busy themselves more especially with the marshaling of the facts of art his- tory in chronological order. They have, however, in some cases come under the influence of a philosophic theory, very com- mon at present, that of evolution, which % however valuable it may be in explaining purely material forms, fails to explain the super-material side of the ^vorld history. The very evident fact of the influence of the art of one civilization on that of another has been magnified so as to give an undue importance to merely external resemblances and to continuity of development. In gen- eral these historians are apt to fail in tracing the close connection between art and other branches of civilization, being so wrapped up in the study of their own specialty. Usu- ally, in fact, the causes of art movements and changes are not even touched upon, and so the sins of this school are more of omission than commission. For a successful analysis of the develop- ment of art the methods of the three schools must be combined: all are necessary. Let us now see what are the forces that govern the field of art, the forces that help to shape its products, that underlie the things we look at and make them what they are. When we have done this we can study 126 DE VEL OPMENT the historic development of art chronolog- ically. The first consideration is the material, that which the artist had at hand to use in the expression of his art. In almost every country there are certain products that pre- ROUEN CATHEDRAL. From a charcoal drawing by L. A. Lhcrmitte. Courtesy of the Art Institu'e, Chicago. dominate; others that are scarce or entirely lacking. When a national art is in process of formation this fact is of the utmost importance. The earliest style of architec- ture the Babylonian was confined to brick, and henceforth in this region the forms of architecture were those that could be developed by its use,; the dome, vault and arch. It was long before the Egyptians, with their abundant stone quarries, threw off this yoke sufficiently to develop freely the style of column and architrave, with extensive interiors. It is evident to any one studying, for example, the various mediaeval schools of architecture in Italy and France that the harmonious marriage of decorative and figured sculpture with architecture so common where stone was employed, was im- possible where bricks and terra cotta were used. It was the same with sculpture and painting. In the early Greek sculptures of rough, porous stone the surface was covered with stucco and colored ; only gradually, after the introduction of the finer grained marbles that needed no arti- ficial surface, was the type of uncolored sculp- ture reached. When, in painting, the discov- ery of oils was general- ized, in the fifteenth century, the artists were influenced to lay more and more stress upon color and less upon drawing. The next factor is that of method and technique, and its in- fluence on artistic form. This stands in the closest relation to the preceding. The fact that the Moorish architects of the middle ages centered their horseshoe arches on reeds bent and held fast at the spring of the arch, is what gives the sweep of life to their arches in contrast to the lifeless, geometrically accurate imitations in our OF ART. 127 modern apartment houses. As a general fact a special technique was necessarily developed to suit each material in each branch of art. The process was a long one, retarded or hastened by the degree of gen- eral culture prevalent. It was a process that was sometimes a permanent gain, handed down by tradition from one century to another, from one people to another. Some- times, however, there was a lapse: a link in the chain was broken. In that case either the process had to be gone through labori- ously once more, as in the early middle ages, after the barbarian invasions, or else the thread was brilliantly picked up again, as at the Renaissance. Full mastery over the tools of one's art being a gradual acquisition, it often happens that perfection in this lower part of artistic performance was not attained until a decay of the higher elements of inspiration had set in. We shall see later how the march of technical evolution was usually in inverse order to the march of the inner artistic ele- ments. When the body was perfected it had become the fetish and the soul was debased or had fled. A third force is tradition. This is of different kinds. There is the tradition of material, the tradition of technique and form; the tradition of thought and belief. All of them are important, and it is not always easy to separate them, so closely are they intertwined. The wooden origin of the members of the Greek temple was forever perpetuated in the triglyphs and metopes, in the mutules and gultae, though stone and marble so soon replaced wood. It illustrates how differently two races may develop from the same beginning when we compare the quick abandonment of wood by the Greeks with its long use by the Etruscans, who, having borrowed the type of the wooden temple from the Greeks in the Seventh Cen- tury B. C., did not give it up even after the use of stone had become general throughout Italy. The Etruscans were by nature much more tenacious of tradition and more unin- ventive than the Greeks. Or, for a later period, take the example of the cubic capital a form so common in mediaeval architec- ture, especially in Germany and Normandy. It passed into stone architecture from the wooden structures of Northern Europe, where the wooden block above a column had its lower corners chamfered. Very often a religious significance, once attached to a material through use, was the means of perpetuating it by tradition. The flint knives used in Roman sacrifices were sur- vivals from early days when metals were unknown; so were the libation bowls of black ware of archaic shape used by the priesthood for centuries after they had dis- appeared from ordinary use, replaced by painted or metal ware. The shapeless acro- lithic figures that the early Greeks worshiped as images of the gods were imitated for cen- turies and held to be of divine origin; to have something sacred in both material and shape. In Christian art the types of Christ, the Virgin and the Apostles, established at an early date, were handed down religiously until the artists of the Renaissance used what they regarded as their individual lib- erty in discarding them to follow their own fancies or contemporary models. Traditions were fostered in many ways, but especially by religious influence and by the continuity of artistic schools. The most conspicuous example of this is the school of modern Byzantine painters whose facile hands block out wall-paintings in Greek churches while their eyes are glued to a manual of painting written some six cen- turies ago, to the injunctions of which they rigidly adhere, not only in the selection of subjects but in the placing and grouping of them, in the number and attitude of each figure and even in the color of each drapery and the type of each head. It is also possible to observe the interac- tion of one art on another in history. It is not merely that one day architecture is supreme; another day painting: it is the way in which the character of each art is affected by some other art This is most obvious in the case of the influence of architecture upon sculpture. Of course a great deal of monumental sculp- ture is intended to be purely decorative, but even where it is independent its architec- tural frame work often determined not only the composition but the attitude and lines of 128 DE VEL OPMENT SOUTH ENTRANCE TO AMIENS CATHEDRAL. the figures. In the study of Greek sculp- ture, for example, the figures that were grouped in the pediment of the fagade of the temple were at first most awkwardly sub- servient to its triangular shape as in the primitive works found among the archaic sculptures on the Athenian Acropolis. This awkwardness is less prominent in such works of developed archaic sculptures as the ped- iments of ^Egina, and when the transitional stage of the superb Olympia pediments is passed and we reach the masterpieces of Pheidias in the Parthenon, the harmony of the internal composition of the pedimental sculptures makes us quite forget that there is anything obligatory in the triangular shape of the composition. A similar case is that of French art in the twelfth and thir- teenth centuries. In the churches built before the wave of Gothic swept the country the type of sculptural decoration was settled that was to be merely developed in the great cathedrals. Portals and walls framed innumerable reliefs and statues. In the recesses stood lines of figures that took the place of columns and moldings ; they were given most elongated proportions, and were swathed in tight-fitting garments with fine parallel vertical lines of drapery, so as to give much the same effect as the architec- tural members they replaced. Of course this subserviency was to the detriment of their value as separate works of art, how- ever perfect they might be as architectural decoration, and with the growth of the aesthetic sense in early Gothic times, there was a softening and broadening of outline, a correcting of proportions, a preoccupation to give an individual aesthetic value without interfering with the general effect. And so we start from the portals of St. Trophime, of Le Mans and Old Chartres, and end at Notre Dame, New Chartres, Rheims and Amiens. One of the reasons for the close connection between the arts in the past was the fact that almost every artist of any talent was then proficient in more arts than one. We are all familiar with certain famous exam- ples. We know that Michelangelo was architect, sculptor and painter, and showed his genius almost equally in each, while remaining in all essentially plastic. But we are apt to forget that in this respect Michel angelo was but the heir of centuries; that most mediaeval cathedral builders had been sculptors and decorators as well as archi- tects. One of the most crying needs of the present, as a prerequisite to any real devel- opment of art, is a return to this intimate fellowship of the several arts, so that they can interact and help each other. How often a sculptor whose especial talent lay in casting allowed the technical qualities of metal work to appear in his marble sculp- tures! Such was the early school of Argos in Greece; such were several sculptors of the early Renaissance in Tuscany. How often architects who were principally dec- orators like the Lombardi of Venice made their buildings but skeletons to cloak with ornament! How often painting, with its picturesqueness and its love of details and realistic settings, invaded the domain of sculpture, as in the reliefs of the late Greek school of Alexandria, or in the wonderful gates of Ghiberti in the Florentine baptis- tery: (See page 29.) The sobriety and OF ART 129 reticence of true sculpture were lost, no matter what was gained. This happened not by chance, but on account of the suprem- acy of painting at both of these periods. F ORM AND CONTENT OF ART. (18) We have now considered the mate- rials, methods, traditions and inter- action of the arts in so far as they influence the form of art works. There are now to be considered certain aesthetic qualities that enter into this form, such as line, color, form, composition. These qualities appeal to our senses: their presence serves to distinguish a work of art from a work of industry. In fact the critic of the materialistic school would eliminate altogether from the sphere of art those works that did not attain to a certain stand- ard in these respects. Logically speaking this would put out of court nearly all the art of the world down to the time of the gener- ation before Pheidias, and all Christian art before the Renaissance. But while this view is, of course, unten- able, it is also true that no work of art can be satisfactory if it transgress certain canons of material aesthetics. It is also true that the aesthetic qualities of the content of a work of art have more often been consid- ered of paramount importance than the aesthetic qualities of its form. Very seldom are both these qualities present in equal perfection in any one work, style, or period. It is a fact that when the qualities of line, color and composition are alone considered, such theories can be seriously propounded as that a litter of pigs is as noble a subject for the artist as any other. This is simply a sign that art has become wholly material, which is quite as reprehensible a state as that which despises material perfection. In fact it- is simply a question of balancing in one's judgment which is the higher art, one that makes religious, moral and social appeal, or one that appeals entirely to the senses. It is all art, and the critic should avoid becoming a partisan of either the ideal or the realistic school, but assign to each its place. A lover of the ideal can very well take immense satisfaction in beauty of form and color, and so vice-versa. But we must remember that this impartiality, which is possible for us who are calmly critical and rather unproductive of any style of our own, would have been impossible in other ages, when art was not, as with us, a cosmopolitan composite, but a very part of the life. As for us, we can imitate the Parthenon and the Pantheon, A miens Cathedral and the Strozzi Palace, Michelangelo and the pre-Raphael- ites. It would be a pity, with all the world of art ready to hand in the originals or in thou- sands of casts and photographs, with our endowed art schools and academies and our thousands of wealthy patrons, if we could not attain to some degree of material per- fection, nor is it surprising that we are tempted to make a fetish of this part of art. But of this we should not be proud. It will become quite clear, in our histor- ical survey of the monuments, what periods, styles or artists especially excelled in these various aesthetic qualities, and to this survey I will refer for details. The material and formal elements in a work of art that have just been described are completed by a third element, that of its purpose or content. This is really the con- trolling element in nearly all historic art. It is also the most elusive element; the most difficult to analyze because it pertains to the spirit and not to the body of art. It is in this field that has been waged the combat between Idealism and Realism. It is through this element of its nature that art is one of the world-forces, is the embodiment of religious, civic and moral ideas, the illus- tration of public and private life, the expres- sion of one of the most powerful aspects of human genius. Historically speaking art did not develop in order to attain a certain per- fection in mere effects of form and color; but as one means of expressing and serving- other phases of civilization in a way exactly corresponding to literature. Each supple- mented the other, and each said things that the other could not so well express; each could in its sphere be more definite, more expressive. The true test of the success of any work was whether it filled this office 130 DEVELOPMENT well or not. If we wish to see the Greek gods and heroes with Greek eyes we must turn to their art as well as to their literature. How many forms of Christian belief were represented in art before the church decided to erect them into dogmas and give them definite literary form! Without religion and the state there would have been no art, because to attain to any dignity art must have aims and a cause. This general fact being stated it is interesting to see on how many sides of art this influence was felt. In architecture, for a first instance, the con- ditions and character of ritual determined the form of religious structures, and these religious structures have been at every pe- riod those that have made architectural his- tory. If in the Greek temple the stress was laid on the exterior it was because the religious ceremonies were held in the open and the buildings were mainly treasuries, storehouses and halls for cult statues. If, on the contrary, the Christian church for many centuries had the plainest exterior, whose shape even was determined by that of the interior, it was because Christian worship was within doors, and a large interior, so ordered as to accommodate the various classes of communicants, was neces- sary. And the late form of the single-naved and hall church, so favored by the preaching orders Domini- cans, Franciscans, Jesuits was in- vented so that the preacher could be better heard through out the whole interior. a rr rr GROUND PLAN OF AMIENS CATHEDRAL. Note the large choir. CHRISTIAN BASILICA OF SAN PAOLO FUORL DELLEMURA AT ROME. Note the small apse. Then again, if we wonder at the sudden development of the choir in mediaeval compared with the simple small apses of earlier structures, our wonder ceases when we understand that these choirs, whose rich- ness changed the entire aesthetic effect of the churches, were first used in monastic edifices where it was necessary to provide a place for the great mass of monks that lived in the monastery often as many as four or five hundred and that this had to be done, not in the body of the church where the lay- men were placed, but in the upper part, which was always occupied by the clergy Another kind of conscious ideal is that held by any body of men inspired by one motive force. Such, for instance, was the Cistercian order of monks. They were the greatest building organization of the Mid- dle Ages, and led a reaction against rich- ness of architectural form and decoration. They were the Quakers among architects. Here was plain natural stone, without sculp- tured or pictorial decoration, no flaunting of high towers or rich portals, no leading the mind astray from rigid contemplation by vain display of painted-glass windows or elaborate figured capitals. The churches scattered over the whole of Europe testify to this unity of purpose. (See illustration, p. 124.) There were other modes of religious in- fluence more conscious and more ideal. The symbolism of mediaeval architecture, as ex- pressed in the famous book of Bishop Du- rand, with its sacred numbers, which often influenced the number of windows and piers ; the symbolism of the "bestiaries" with their real and fabulous animals, all with some deep significance all have a distinct place in art. In contradistinction to other civilizations there is one in whose architecture religion was no more prominent than in our own that of Rome. Yet two things law and architecture were most representative of the Roman spirit. Even more than with the Assyrians in earlier times, their monuments reflected the splendor of the state, the maj- esty of Rome throughout the conquered world, or else ministered to the increasing love of luxury, comfort and amusement, and so kept the people content. In both cases there was a common purpose. The OF ART THE CIRCUS OF CALIGULA AND NERO AS IT STOOD IN ANCIENT ROME. forums, basilicas and colonnades, triumphal arches and columns, were equaled by the baths, theaters and amphitheaters. No other architects ever planned such complex and immense structures. It is difficult to say how much was pure art in all this, and how much due to political and social motives. In all these and many other ways did other and more internal branches of civilization mold the development of the fine arts. HISTORIC DEVELOPMENT. (19) The earliest civilization and con- sequently the earliest art orig- inated in Western Asia, in the valley of the Tigris and Euphrates. Our own American excavations at Nippur are at this very moment enabling us to say that the art of Babylonia is almost surely several thousand years older than 4000 B. C. , which had until now been thought, even by the more sanguine, its earliest date. But we are still unacquainted with the first stages through which the Babylonians passed in creating the arts. In judging them we must remember that they had no models nor traditions to help them. They had no stone quarries, no forests for timber; and were therefore handicapped for both architecture and sculp- ture. Even their tools had to be created as instinct and ingenuity taught them. In forming a style of architecture, the only material at hand clay for bricks led to the creation of the arch, vault and dome as the only possible means of obtaining spaces in the masses of brick. The flatness of the landscape made it natural to create an imposing style of architecture that should count in the scenery. With brick it was not possible to have much variety of architec- tural memberment or sculptural decoration; consequently color was the main reliance. Certainly the Orient is the home of color. The Babylonians and after them the Assyri- ans and Persians, the Syrians and Arabs, have entranced the world with color. Whether they blend the most delicate shades or make the most daring combinations their color sense is so fine that they make no blunders at least none that can shock our blunter sensibilities; and who can wonder at it that has once seen the wonderful color effects in nature during the springtime in the Euphrates Valley! From the beginning until now, for some eight or more thousand years, this exquisite reproduction of colors 132 DEVELOPMENT in Oriental art has gone on. It has at times overflowed upon us. The glorious Sicilian mosaics at Monreale, Cefalu and Palermo, and the splendid coloring of the Venetian school of painting are of the Orient. Prob- ably it was the constant importation of Oriental stuffs that fanned the sacred fire in Greece and helped painting to a rebirth in the middle ages. In one other thing the Assy ro- Babylonians excelled, sculpture in relief. In many of their long friezes in very low relief depicting the life, sports and warlike exploits of the Assyrian kings there is a mastery of the high simplicity of sculptural composition; an exquisite finish of detail kept subject to the general effect; a reproduction of life espe- cially animal life that is most faithful with- out becoming pictorially realistic. There is little doubt that the Greeks gained inspira- tion from these works, for the same qualities appear, transformed, in Hellenic sculptures of the sixth and fifth centuries. Meanwhile the other center of early art had been Egypt. It is quite possible that its art, which seems fairly developed in certain branches at the very beginning of Egyptian history, was not autochthonous but imported by a "Hamitic" branch of the Babylonians, who broke away from the main stem. They thus freed themselves from the Semitic influence and the differences that appear between their art, and that of the Hamitic left-overs in Babylonia may have been due partly to this separation and partly to the influences of the new country. The Egyp- tian pyramids were the only important archi- tectural structures of the land for centuries: columnar temple architecture was a compar- atively late development. Now, the great structure in Babylonia had also been pyra- midal in shape a stepped pyramid serving as temple and observatory. To build such a solid mass of sun-dried bricks faced with kiln-dried bricks or tiles, as was the case in Babylonia, was natural, but to put to this use the superb stone from Egyptian quarries was unnatural. Consequently the form may have been in Egypt an imported one. After the Egyptians discovered that instead of turning stone into great featureless masses they could cut it up into architraves, piers and columns, and so obtain spacious interiors and artistic play of light and shade, and that they could carve beautiful details, adapted from nature, on the stone, they abandoned the pyramidal style and developed the col- umnar temple and tomb. If, therefore, we seek for the one art-form that the world owes to Egypt, it is that of columnar archi- tecture. The series of halls and courts that formed the Egyptian temple are the proto- types of everything in this class that follows, whether in the Orient or in Greece and Rome. But the Egyptian type has a mas- siveness, a somberness, a titanic quality that makes it stand for a distinct ideal that of the material sublime. This material quality of the Egyptian character is evident in other branches of their art. The Babylonians and Assyrians had never attained to any degree of realism in sculpture in the round ; but in Egypt the artist, spurred on by the religious belief that made it necessary for the soul's salvation that an exact and lasting image of the deceased should be placed in the tomb for the spirit to return to, became able to reproduce with wonderful exactness the per- sonal traits of each individual. To them, therefore, do we owe the first portraits, which were unequaled for life-like qualities until, after a lapse of over two thousand years, we reach the age of Alexander. It is curious to note how hieratic stiffness and traditional sameness were all the time waging a deadly war in Egypt with this realism, and finally overcame it, so that, beginning with the New Empire the power to grasp personal traits had vanished almost entirely. Aside from the mystic grandeur of its architecture Egypt never showed any artistic imagination or poetry, and only seldom does a touch of humor illuminate the sameness. The minor peoples of the Orient that bowed down alternately to these two great forces of the valleys of the Euphrates and the Nile, contributed but little, and bor- rowed nearly all. But now the Hellenic world is born, in the fusions and migrations of peoples before and after the time of the Trojan war. Certainly the path was made comparatively smooth for the development of Greek art by the whole world of Oriental art whose splendid products were known to OF ART. the Greeks by importation and travel. The massive, rich and rather barbaric semi- Oriental art of the time of the Homeric heroes, the art of the Pelasgians and Achae- ans, was, however, hardly connected intrin- sically with Greek art as we understand it, the art that grew up during the two cen- turies before the wars with Persia. What the Greeks of the historic age added to the general domain of art as a permanent acquisition was not so much a special form of structure, a method of workman- ship, or a new branch of art though they did all these things. It was rather the infusion of a new spirit. Until then archi- tecture had been more impressive than refined ; sculpture and painting didactic and descriptive, but not inspiring. Greek art in the fifth century B. C. added the element of inner life, not in all its forms, it is true, for no one civilization could do that, but in the form of the worship of beauty; not the more spiritual "beauty of holiness" of the Hebrews; not the intellectual, self-conscious, and complex beauty of the Renaissance ; but a poetic beauty, fed by imagination, seeking expression in the form of simple types, in myths, in all forms of symbolic and analog- ical plastic thought. When the Greeks hon- ored a victor in the athletic games by erecting a statue to commemorate his tri- umph, this statue was not a portrait of the victor, as would have been the case with the Romans, the Renaissance and ourselves: it was the representation of the ideal athlete, the most perfect rendering of the type, of the harmony of human forces, the possession of which had enabled this particular athlete to triumph. Type, analogy, symbolism in the conception; poetry, symmetry, simplicity in the form ; and plastic beauty over all. The form of this art is primarily plastic in every branch. The same beauty of line, the same rhythm, the same harmony that make Greek sculpture so perfect, are the very qualities that we admire in the Greek tem- ple ; its architecture also is plastic, not con- structive or picturesque. For this reason it does not fill so completely the whole range of architectural possibilities, though perfect as far as it goes. Greece gave, then, to the world, ideal types and plastic form. This is in harmony with Greek philosophy, litera- ture and poetry. Plato's world of ideas, of types, the more perfect counterparts of human specimens, is a world of plastic ideals. The world of the Greek dramatists is peopled with figures that stand out on their pages with statuesque simplicity and clearness. The value and development of the individual was recognized, but always tempered by his relation and subordination to the type of good citizen as outlined by the laws of Solon or Lycurgus or in the republic JULIUS CVESAR. In the Vatican Museum, Rome. of Plato. The distinction between good and evil, so blurred since the Renaissance, was held to be vital by the Greeks, and their public art allows itself no license. Greek art furthermore exemplifies certain laws of precedence. The archaic age of the sixth century was followed by the epic age of the fifth century, the lyric age of the fourth century, and the dramatic age of the Alex- andrian period. Each of these phases devel- oped according to laws that operated in every period. During the middle ages, for 134 DEVELOPMENT example, the Romanesque age (11-12 cens.), has corresponding characteristics to Greek archaicism, such as stiffness of form, love of portraiture with inability to carry it out, fanatical copying- of detail. The Gothic age that followed corresponds exactly to the epic age of Pheidias in its harmonious marriage An antique group in the Vatican, Rome, showing a Trojan priest of Apollo and his two sons attacked by serpents. of architecture and sculpture, its abandon- ment of detail for broad effects, its creation of general types, and its idealism. The Renaissance sculpture of the fifteenth cen- tury furthermore carried out the same changes as did the lyric Greek sculpture of Praxiteles and his compeers in the fourth century B. C. : the abandonment of ideal types, the cult of the beautiful verging sometimes on the effeminate and the finical ; the search for grace and delicacy of line, the study of the nude with increasing sensuous- ness. Finally the barocco style of Italy, beginning with Michelangelo, is the exact counterpart of the Alexandrian age in its dramatic intensity, its pathos, its luxuriance of form, its love of extremes in muscular development and mo- tion, and its prepon- derance of details. Such correspondences are not coincidences, but the result of the working of the laws that govern the devel- opment of each civili- zation that has an in- dependent life. The fusion of forces in the time of Alexan- der by which Hellen- ism in its later form spread over the world and was merged first with the Orient and then with Rome, brought certain new or transformed forces into the domain of the history of art. The Orient contributed ideas of the material sublime that were taken up by the Greeks and shown in such works as the Mauso- leum of Halicarnassus, the Colossus of Rhodes, and the Pergamene Altar. The new spirit of extremes in everything in realism, sophistical skepticism, comedy and satire found expression in a hundred forms, in superb sculptured portraits such as those of Alexander and his successors, or dramatic groups like the Laocoon, picturesque or obscene works such as the reliefs of the Alexandrian school or genre scenes such as OF ART. 35 the Pompeiian and Herculanean paint- ings. Art is no longer typical, no longer serene and well-balanced, no longer unconscious, but appeals to and represents all the passions, meretri- cious instincts and foibles of man, seek- ing to inflame rather than elevate. This art flourished also under Rome, but with an added matter-of-fact qual- ity, a love of contemporary history, a more decided attempt to magnify the individual for with the Romans per- sonality was everything. Their one ideal, the personality of the state, found expression in the architectural mon- uments that proclaimed its world- power. For the Romans were nothing if not practical, and turned the arts into gigantic advertising mediums. Richness, impressiveness, strong col- ors, size, were far more important to them than the exquisite products of the pure antique Greek beauty which they could not appreciate. The sense of it had, in fact, almost disappeared from among the degenerate Greeks themselves. In so far as the ancient world could be pictorial at all the Roman stage represents painting, in the same way as the Greeks were the champions of sculpture and the Oriental nations of architecture. A Roman building in the height of its splendor whether temple, palace, bath, basilica or any other of their great civil structures, was a mass of color. The concrete and brick walls were covered without and within by incrustations of rich marbles, by mosaics or by paintings. Not an inch of space from the mosaic floor to the ceiling but was flashing with color. The reason for this double pre-eminence of the Roman age, in civil architecture and in color is easy to see as soon as we under- stand that the whole ancient world was an age of architecture, in which most of the architectural forms that were afterwards used and developed were originated: and that within this age the successive periods of the Orient, Greece and Rome represent the relative preponderance respectively of the WALL DECORATION IN THE HOUSE OF LUCRETIUS AT POMPEII. purely architectural, purely plastic, and purely pictorial elements; but always the plastic and pictorial elements are subordi- nated to architecture. A moment's reflec- tion will show, for example, that from beginning to end Greek sculpture held its connect i on with architecture, from the time of the earliest temple sculptures of Athens to the time of the Per- gamene frieze. And we have just seen how subor- dinated to archi- tecture was the pictorial develop- A LioN , g HAD poUND ment of Rome. THE LAKE OF NEMI. 136 DEVELOPMENT H ISTORIC DEVELOPMENT. Continued. (20) The old world was worn out at last. Technical perfection had gradually disappeared under the Roman emperors on the heels of the departed genius of beauty. The idol of beauty of form, already practically cast down from its pedestal by natural disintegration, was finally shattered by the setting up of an entirely new ideal by Christianity. But this ideal, as was natural, did not for some time take shape in art, for it needed to manifest itself first in religious and social reconstruc- tion. To any one studying the works of early Christian art in the Catacombs at Rome the decay of technical skill in paint- ing and sculpture will be more evident than any originality or power. The simple sym- bolism in them does not show .any self-con- scious artistic birth ; they are transcripts of the faith and hope of the mass of Christians, but neither in form nor content are they worthy to be placed by the side of the reli- gious and social manifestations of Chris- tianity during the same period. When the artistic awakening did come it came from the eastern and Greek elements in the Christian church, the same elements that had originated every other new Chris- tian form except that of church government, which was more perfectly developed by the Latin element. An art arose during the fourth and fifth centuries that was no more than an artistic creed, a crystallizing for the eye of the same thoughts that rang out in church pulpits from the lips of a Chrysos- tom or a Gregory. The church seized upon art as a means of instructing the peo- ple. Pope Sixtus dedicated (circum 420) "to the people of God" the mosaics decorating the basilica of S. Maria Maggiore in Rome. This dependence of art lasted for about a thousand years. Gregory of Tours (seventh century) gives us the picture of a French bishop seated with the open Bible before him, instructing the artist at his work, and church councils even defined artists as merely mouthpieces. The most complete expression of this form of art is that of the Christian Orient which is usually termed Byzantine art. In it the creative Greek spirit, transformed and ideal- ized by Christianity, rushed to the opposite extreme from its last manifestation in the Alexandrian school: in penance for its pagan fleshiness it espoused excessive asceticism; and in place of material beauty it set up the worship of spiritual beauty, even shining through material ugliness at times, in order to emphasize the renunciation. The theocratic organization of the Byzan- tine state, the intense religious feeling per- vading the daily life of all classes and carried to excess in the monasteries, combined to produce an art that was more stereotyped than any before or since. It became easy for the clergy to turn art into a weapon finely forged for offense or defense. The artist-monks, being but links in a chain, atoms in a system, were undesirous of personal renown; the series of art sub- jects and the mode of representing them being once established, there was no incen- tive to depart from these standards. While this art was ruling the Christian East the political disintegration of Europe between the sixth and eleventh centuries had been matched by artistic disintegration. When the revival came during the eleventh century Byzantism was heavily drawn upon not only in the selection and treatment of subjects in sculpture and painting but in the technical processes of many branches of art. Still, it affected the content more than the form. In architecture Byzantism had but little effect, for the Romanesque style, founded on elements in classic Roman and early Christian architecture, was essentially an original development of the West, a product of the amalgamation of the tribes of the North with the remnants of antique culture. At no other time was architecture more absolutely the master-art, leading all others as servants in its train. This was necessary and salutary; in no other way would it have been possible to reconstruct art in unity. The organic development of the two Romanesque centuries (11-12 cens.), with a continual tending toward unity of effort, made the Gothic "unity in diversity" possi- ble. Sculpture and painting, after a period OF ART. 137 of training and strict supervision, reached their efflorescence; that of sculpture commencing in France early in the thirteenth century and that of painting in Italy at the close of the same century. This was, in fact, a stage when in architecture and sculp- ture that rare union took place, as in Greece during the fifth century, of a perfect content and a perfect technique. The Gothic cathedral in France, with its every constructive detail carried out in harmony with certain fixed laws to which the artist submitted himself; with an organic sculptural decoration on a large scale that was a real plastic encyclopaedia corresponding to the Theological Summa of Thomas Aqui- nas, this cathedral was a grandly con- ceived whole. Every detail, from the stained glass windows to the gargoyles and finials, is in its right place and could be right nowhere else. Things that would seem imperfect if detached, because rough in treatment, perhaps, or foreshortened or colored to suit their position, yet fill their purpose perfectly, and better than if perfect in themselves Gothic art in France was a world in 'itself, in which nothing was forgotten or neglected, but everything done with unity of purpose and of style. The day has passed when the Gothic style could be regarded as an irre- sponsible sort of poetic creation that could not be reasoned about. It is, on the con- trary, the most scientifically developed in its architecture, the most closely organized and comprehensive in its use of every branch of art in perfect unity of style. The aims of this art were noble: it was religious, it was moral: it inspired and taught: it reached many more of the masses than could be reached by literature, and was one of the great agencies of civilization, giving new thoughts and higher impulses. There are peculiarities in the style of its figures that act as obstacles to our appreciation. We are so constituted, just at this time, that we think the length of the nose or the leg things of paramount importance, and we "cannot away" with anything that sins in this partic- ular. Intentional poetic licenses we allow: AMIENS CATHEDRAL. similar artistic licenses we taboo. Some- time we shall know better and lay hold of the essentials. The Renaissance was essentially a pic- torial age. Architecture lost its supremacy: there were no longer great systematic cycles of sculptures as in the Gothic cathedrals. Religious and moral forces, themselves sadly weakened, lost their hold on art. General laws -were replaced by individual prefer- ences, so that unity was resolved into a mul- titude of disconnected units. There were no longer truly national styles: even local schools lost much of their special character: each man stood for himself. The expression of individuality, the multiplication of detail, the desire for naturalism, the study of human nature in every external phase, which were the keynotes of the Renaissance, could not be represented in the general lines of archi tecture or in the unrealistic forms of sculp- ture. It was a time lacking in ideals and full of a cynicism largely justified by preva- lent selfishness, immorality and irreligious- ness. Certain traditional themes and forms especially religious forms held good DE VEL OPMENT because they were convenient pegs. Com- pared to mediaeval styles the religious archi- tecture of the Renaissance is a woeful failure: only in civil architecture was its success at all brilliant. The prevalent individualism made any unity of style impossible: each prominent architect inno- vated. The divorce from sculpture made whatever plastic ornament was used seem artificially applied instead of an integral growth. When the detailed work of middle Renaissance is examined, its exquisite fine- INTERIOR OF RHEIMS CATHEDRAL. ness of detail is found to surpass that of much Gothic work, but this very fineness is an error which the Gothic sculptor con- sciously avoided, so as not to weaken the effectiveness of the whole. In Italy, the lack of organic union between the general and the decorative forms is more conspicu- ous than in France, where the composition was finer. Neither was sculpture the characteristic expression of the Renaissance. At the very start the attempt was made to apply the norms of painting to it: Ghiberti tried pic- turesque details in his Baptistery Gates, and Donatello attempted realism in his earlier statues. Gradually better principles pre- vailed, but Renaissance sculpture always possessed certain realistic pictorial traits such as the use and copying of death-masks, the coloring of reliefs, the attempt to repre- sent motion in action. There is much charm in the Florentine work of the fifteenth cen- tury, a charm of presentation, of design, of detail, and often of poetry: but there is a lack of force. The force comes only with Michelangelo, whose works were like thunder and lightning from a blue sky. Painting very soon overshadowed the other arts in Italy, through its harmony with the spirit of the age. It was here that whatever of poetry and idealism the age possessed, as well as its prevalent realism and humanism, found best expression. For a time religion, in a sentimental form, ruled in Siena and the Umbrian hills those Fran- ciscan strongholds. But the main body of the Florentines, hard-headed intellectualists^ who were really to determine the march of art, strove to solve problems of perspective, to harmonize realism of detail with the laws of grand composition, and to make painting a portrayer of human traits and emotions which had never before been given repre- sentation in art. The late Greeks and Romans had made sculpture a well-nigh perfect medium for portraiture. But to the Renaissance color seemed an indispensable element. So, for the first time a distinct attempt at the illusion of reality was made in mere color. With each new cycle art was coming to a more material and imitative plane. After the extravagancies of the barocco there is no art movement worth chronicling except that of Dutch realism and sundry stars of great magnitude that emerged from the waste places of painting such as Velas- quez and Murillo in Spain, Van Dyck and other men in the Netherlands. Painting continued to be the only art in which any- thing worth chronicling is produced. The condition of Architecture and sculpture during the seventeenth and eighteenth cen- turies was usually beneath contempt. HAGAR AND ISHMAKL. By Jean-Charles Cazin, in the Luxemburg, Parts. An example of tone.-See lesson /j. THE HOUNDS OF ASSOURBANIPAL. Relief in the British Museum. Seep. 150. Pre-Greek Art. BY JOHN PICKARD, A.M., Ph.D. PROFESSOR OF CLASSICAL ARCHEOLOGY AND HISTORY OF ART, UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI. EGYPTIAN ART. (21) In the brief space allotted in this history to the great field of Pre- Greek art it seems wise to limit the discussion to the art of those nations whose artistic influence on later times appears to have been greatest. Therefore we shall consider: i. Egyptian art, 2. Chaldaeo- As- syrian, and 3. Phoenician art. Egyptian architecture and sculpture had two great creative periods, that of the Mem- phite Kings of the "Ancient Empire," dynasties iii-v, from 4449 B. C. to 3703 B. C. (Mariette's chronology is followed), and that of dynasties xviii-xx, 1703 B. C. to mo B. C. , the time of the glory of the second The- ban Kingdom, in the period of the "New Empire.'" Throughout the rest of her his- tory the art of Egypt was content for the most part to refine upon, to alter, to conven- tionalize the forms then created. For though the country was repeatedly conquered and held in bondage sometimes for centuries by strangers, the art of Egypt conquered her conquerors, and from the days of Cheops to the age of the Mohammedans in Egypt the art of the country was essentially national. Painting never arose to the dignity of an independent art in Egypt. But Egyptian 142 PRE- GREEK ART. reliefs were always, and Egyptian statuary was usually, covered with paint laid on in unmixed flat tints, conventional in color and altogether lacking in light and shade, per- spective, and modeling. Painting on a flat surface was equally conventional and unnat- ural. The human figure, animals, buildings, and landscapes are represented with a total lack of what we call pictorial effect. Yet from these brilliantly - colored reliefs and paintings vivid pictures of the every-day life of ancient Egypt may be obtained. The sculptor's art also covered the walls of the early tombs with illustrations of the daily life of the people. In the sepulchres of the "New Empire" the scenes of the "Book of the Dead" became common, and the gods appear in judgment or to render aid to just souls. On the other hand temple walls, pillar^, columns, capitals the entire structure within and without was filled with representations of the life of the king, his con- quests, his hunting, his acts of devotion, his communion with the gods, his fathers. The tombs were filled with statues of Pharaohs, scribes, public functionaries, all being por- trait statues. Colossal figures were erected before the great temple pylons, or sculp- tured in the fagades of rock-cut temples. Statues of the gods were placed within the sanctuaries, and with those of kings and the great of the land were used as votive offer- ings. The temple and the tomb were responsible for the great mass of Egyptian sculptures. The sculptor worked in wood, in lime- stone, sandstone, alabaster, granite, basalt, porphyry, diorite, in ivory, ebony, iron, gold, silver, and bronze. These materials, the soft alabaster or the hard basalt, were handled with equal care and skill, and the superb workmanship of some of these most obdurate materials may be reckoned among the technical marvels of the ages. The Ancient Empire. For the ancient Egyptian this life and all that pertains thereto were but the things of a day in com- parison with that life eternal which was so soon to commence. As soon as he arrived at man's estate he began work on his tomb, that which was to be his "eternal home." For his ka, that mysterious spiritual double of his mortal self, could be kept from utter dissolution only by the preservation of his mortal body or of some sculptured image of that body. The mastaba, the private tomb of the ancient empire, consisted in its complete state, above ground, of a quandrangular mass of masonry, with sides sloping in like a truncated obelisk, whose ground plan va- ried in area from 170x86 feet to 26x20 feet, and whose height varied from 30 feet to 13 feet. A pit pierced the solid mass of the structure perpendicularly from above, ex- tending from 40 to 80 feet into the earth and led to the real mortuary chamber where the mummified body was placed in a sar- cophagus. After the body was thus laid away the pit was filled up and the entrance was concealed. The massive structure above ground contained two chambers, the one, the chamber of offerings, open to all who chose to come, the other, the serdab, either hermetically sealed in the mass of masonry or connected by a slight crevice with the chamber of offerings. Within the serdab were placed the portrait statues of the de- ceased. Probably nine-tenths of the statues from the Ancient Empire which we possess came from these serdabs. Their theory, then, is simple. That the ka might live, the body was embalmed. But an enemy might destroy it. So it was concealed in the mor- tuary chamber. Embalming in those early days was imperfect, and the body still might decay. Therefore the serdab was filled with portrait statues, for to these the ka might cling and live. To the chamber of offerings friends could come, there to place food and drink whose sweet savor would penetrate through the crevice of the serdab and give shadowy life and vigor to the shade of the departed. This, then, was the tomb of the noble. The pyramid was the tomb of the king, but when compared with the mastaba, not the whole tomb. The side of the square base of the great pyramid of Cheops measured 755 feet 8 inches ; the height was 48 1 feet 4 inches, and its base covers more than 13 acres. Yet this corresponds only to the pit and the mor- tuary chamber of the mastaba. The body of the king was laid away in the chamber in the PRE-GREEK ART. 143 heart of the pyramid. The inclined passage leading to this was but an adaptation of the pit of the more humble tomb. The king's chamber of offerings was the temple placed opposite the east side of the pyramid, and there perchance were placed the funereal statues of the royal owner of this great "eternal home." These wonderful stone mountains at Gizeh (p. 78) are but three out of more than a hundred pyramids known to exist in Egypt. They vary from 481 to 50 feet in height, for the size of the pyramid is the index of the length of the reign of the king. The passageway leading to the mor- tuary chamber of the great pyramid is lined with polished granite, so perfectly fitted that the joints almost defy detection The roof of the chamber itself is in- geniously contrived to support the enormous superincumbent weight. The exterior of the pyramid was originally cov- ered from apex to base with a smoothly - slop ing surface of polished stone, perchance a huge mosaic in variegated colors. No temples of the Ancient Empire are sufficiently preserved to make their discussion here of interest. Contemporary with the great pyramids is the wooden statue of Ra-em-ka, the Sheikh-el-Beled (see p. 32), as he was called by the Arab work- men who saw his resemblance to the chief of their own village. Originally the wood was covered with linen, painted, undoubt- edly of a reddish brown tint, the usual color for the flesh of men, while that of women was tinted yellow. "The eyeballs are of opaq ue white quartz set in a bronze sheath which forms the eyelids. In the center of each is a bit of rock crystal, and behind this a shining nail." To dynasty v or vi belongs the famous Scribe now in the Louvre, made of limestone and still preserv- ing its reddish brown color. The eyes, made like those of the Sheikh-el-Beled, the exactness of the posture, still common in the East, the accurate characterization of form, of muscles, and of flesh, make this a marvel of realism. Other similar figures are found in this period, but examples of such excellence are rare indeed, and never later did Egyptian art copy nature so faith- fully. As early as the iv dynasty (4235 B. C.) belongs the great Sphinx (see p. 78), a figure of the Sun God, 150 feet long, 70 feet high, with the body of a lion and the head of a man. The beard has been destroyed, the lower portion of the headdress is gone, the face has been mutilated, the body been reduced to an almost shapeless mass ; yet it stands to-day an embodiment of the greatness, the power, the mystery of Egypt, perhaps the face of loftiest ideality that art ever produced by the banks of the Nile. These, then, are some of the finest works of the Ancient Empire. They represent ^ not the beginning but cen " SECTION OF THE PYRAMID OF CHEOPS. turies of develop- ment, cen- turies of which we know practi- cally nothing. For the veil that shuts us off from the dawn of Egyptian civiliza- tion has not yet been drawn aside. We do not even know whether that far off beginning was made in Egypt or elsewhere. EGYPTIAN ART Continued. (22} The duration of the Middle Empire, Dynasties xi xvm was from B.C. 3064 to B.C. 1703. The renaissance of art, begun under the early dynasties of this period, was interrupted by the invasion of the Hyksos. The only monuments that need detain us are the rock-cut tombs of Beni-Hassan. These are interesting be- cause precursors of the great rock-cut tombs of the New Empire, and because their fa- gades are decorated with the so-called proto- 144 PRE- GREEK ART. Doric columns cut in the living rock, supposed by some scholars to be the original model of the oldest Grecian order of archi- tecture. The New Empire, dynasties xviii-xxxi, extended from B. C. 1703 to B. C. 332. The glorious conquering age of Egypt was that of dynasties xviii-xx (1703 B. C. to mo B. HYPOSTYLE HALL IN THE TEMPLE OF AMON AT KARNAK. C.), the age of Seti and of Rameses, the time of the Second Theban Kingdom, the era of the great temple builders, and of the vast tombs excavated in the flanks of the Libyan mountains to the west of Thebes. Cut from the solid rock, the tombs hardly yield to the greatest of the pyramids in the magnitude of the labor required. The longest extends 865 feet into the heart of the mountain. That of Rameses III. is 420 feet long. But the elegance and minuteness of their ornamentation is even more surprising. In the tombs of Seti and of Rameses III., for example, there is no portion of the surface of pillars, walls, or ceil- ings, which is not cov- ered with figures or designs in painting or relief marvelously exe- cuted. The private tombs of this class had their chambers for offerings, their place for funereal statues, their pits and mortuary chambers like the mas- tabas of old. But the vast rock-cut corridors and chambers of the royal tombs with all their wealth of orna- ment were destined to be closed and hidden from human eyes so soon as the royal mum- my should be placed therein. The chamber of offerings, the repos- itory of statues for the king, were such tem- ples as the Ramesseum and the Amenopheum on the left bank of the Nile at Thebes. The later period of the New Empire, when Sais in the Delta became the capital of the kingdom, has little that is new or interesting to offer in funereal architecture. For in the Delta there were no mountains, and the age of pyramid building had long since passed away. So kings were buried in the sacred enclosures of the temples. The mummies of their subjects were placed in sarcophagi on the tops of artificial hills elevated suffi- ciently to escape the waters of the inunda- PRE-GREEK ART. 145 tions of the river. The sarcophagi of the later burial were placed above those of the earlier, so that the elevation grew in height with the passing of generations. The greatest of Egyptian temples is that of Karnak, "perhaps the noblest effort of architectural magnificence ever produced by the hand of man." It is 1,200 feet long by about 360 feet in breadth. Passing through the double file of sphinxes that as usual lined both sides of the approaches to an Egyptian temple, the visitor entered at the gigantic pylon, a gateway with flanking towers 145 feet high. From the open court thus reached he passed into the great Hypostyle, the marvel of Karnak. This is a hall 170 feet deep by 360 feet broad. The twelve columns that support the clerestory are nearly seventy feet high, "undoubtedly the largest columns ever employed in the inte- rior of an edifice." A hundred and twenty- two, a veritable forest of immense columns, supported the remainder of the roof. "The total effect of this colossal piece of archi- tecture, even in its ruin, is one of over- STATUE OF RAMESES II. In the Turin Museum. Granite. whelming majesty. No other work of human hands strikes the beholder with such a sense of awe." From this chamber the traveler passes on to the innermost portions of the sanctuary, where were situated the holy of holies, and many other chambers the pur- pose of which is no longer clear. We may judge of the appearance of such a temple by examination of a Chipiez resto- ration of the great temple of Luxor. The massive sloping towers of the three great pylons or gateways, the four seated colossi of Rameses II. under whom the temple was completed the two obelisks overtopping the front pylon, the avenue of sphinxes, and the diminishing height of the various members of the structure from front to rear, are all characteristic of the Egyptian temple, not merely in the xix dynasty, but throughout the successive domination of Persian, Macedonian, Greek, and Roman. Nothing like the Greek symmetry pre- vailed in the Egyptian column. It tapered variously, and the relation of diameter to height was variant. Capitals were of two varieties: the campaniform, an inverted bell shape, probably derived from the lotus flower, and the lotiform, derived from the lotus bud. At the same time that Rameses was build- ing the great pylon before the temple at Luxor there were being constructed the famous rock-cut temples of Ipsamboul, in Nubia. These and similar structures in Upper Egypt copied in their rock-cut cham- bers the essential features of ordinary tem- ples. The front of the Ipsamboul temple is adorned with the largest seated colossi in Egypt, 70 feet in height, being portraits of Rameses the Great. With the second Theban Kingdom came the second great period of sculpture also. The great pylons and the rock-cut tombs required their seated colossi; the walls of the tombs, the walls both within and without of the temples demanded a multitude of sculptors to cover them with reliefs and of painters to color them. Funereal statues, votive statues, statues of divinities in countless numbers must be provided. The conquests of Seti and of Rameses must be commemorated. These same conquests brought wealth and luxury. Throughout the length and breadth 1 4 6 PRE- GREEK ART. In Egypt architecture held ever the prin- cipal place. Painting and sculpture were subordinate arts. Apparently they never carved a figure or made a painting simply for the sake of beauty. Yet Egyptian buildings are in general simply agglomera- tions. To their temples any king could add a hall or a pylon. There was no unity of plan, no law of measure or of proportion. Egyptian sculpture is remarkable for its realism, but still more for its generalizations and its conventions. It has hardly been excelled in the power of seizing salient char- acteristics, whether ethnical or individual, and of representing them in connection with the most rigid conventions. In Egyptian statues there is little variety of pose or of expression. There is little indeed of the poetic, of the lofty idealistic. Their gods were individualized, not by the intellectual and spiritual qualities of an Apollo or an Athena, but by. the brutish attributes of a Sekhet or a Horus. SETI I. A bas-relief in the temple at Abydos. of the land the lust for building raged. We no longer find the vigorous naturalism of the time of the Ancient Empire. The figures become more slender, the adornment more rich, crowns more elaborate, and richly ornamented garments are not uncommon. That art could still be very expressive may be seen from the head of Queen Taia. That tinusnal refinement and grace were united with curious conventionality in form and in face we learn from the beautiful relief of Seti I. Yet the vast walls of the great tem- ples made such demands on the sculptors that even in the time of the great Rameses we find evidences of poverty of invention and carelessness of execution, and the begin- ning of the decline may be dated from his reign. In the changes of government dur- ing the Libyan and Ethiopian dynasties art was at a low ebb. The Saite kings of the seventh and sixth centuries B. C. brought about a revival which sometimes was con- tent with the simple copying of the work of previous ages; sometimes, however, pro- duced works of rare power. THE QUEEN TAIA. In the Boulak Afitsfum, Cairo. Yet their buildings speak to us of eternity, and their sphinx and the colossal figures of their kings are filled with inscrutable, in- comprehensible, godlike serenity. PRE-GREEK ART. c HALDAEO- ASSYRIAN ART. It is still doubtful whether Egypt or Chaldaea, the banks of the Nile or the fertile plains at the mouth of the Tigris and the Euphrates gave birth to the earliest civilization; but in these two countries we find the first traces indicative of the emergence of our race from barbar- ism. From these countries went forth the vitalizing influences that first penetrated all sections of Western Asia and then were transmitted through the classic lands for the upbuilding of mediaeval and modern times. In Egypt there was more of calm, of refine- ment, of grace ; in Assyria greater energy, motion, force. Egypt was the more artistic; Chaldaea the more learned. So far as we know they were independent sources unin- fluenced by other nations or by each other. In spite of the labors of Botta at Khor- sabad (1843), of Layard at Nineveh and at Nimroud (1845-1851), of Place at Khorsabad (1851-1855), of De Sarzac, of Rassam, of Loftus, of Smith, and last, but by no means least, of Peters, Haynes and others, under the auspices of the University of Pennsyl- vania, at Nippur and elsewhere (1890 ) to mention only some of the more impor- tant excavators and excavations we are much less well informed of the art of Meso- potamia than we are of that of Egypt. This is due in part to the different mate- rials used in the two countries. Egypt pos- sessed and used stone in abundance and in variety. In Chaldaea stone of any kind was lacking. So, while we do find ancient Chaldean statuary of imported diorite and basalt, the material generally employed by the Chaldaeans was clay. Sun-dried bricks formed the mass of their structures. Kiln- baked bricks were used for facings, for arches, for those places requiring strength. Enameled bricks and terra cotta plates were employed for ornamentation. The Assyrians, though possessing excellent building stone, limestone and alabaster, used these sparingly, the first mainly for facings, the second for sculpture. For Assyria was the inheritor and the imitator of the science, the religion, the art, and civilization of Chal- dea, the older nation that dwelt lower down on the banks of the great rivers. Sun-dried bricks then were responsible for the speedy destruction of Chaldaean and Assyrian cities; and also for the fine state of preservation in which some of their contents have come down to us. The plains of Mes- opotamia are dotted with mounds, covering the sites of ancient cities, that await the coming of the spade to disclose, perchance, new marvels of that civilization which was old centuries before Abraham came forth from Ur of the Chaldees. The doctrine of demonology has rarely in the history of the world been developed so fully or been believed in more implicitly than by the Chaldaeans. For them the air was full of contending armies of evil and of beneficent spirits. Their lives were pre- occupied with plans to conjure or to combat the machinations of the evil ones. For this purpose they recited incantations; they hung up and buried statuettes and reliefs. To ward off the dreaded southwest wind, for example, they hung up his own image so ugly that he might well flee from it. To propitiate the powers of good they placed at the gates of their cities and palaces the great winged man-headed bulls symbols of force that thinks which are among the most splendid creations of Assyrian art. Their religion did not demand that the bodies of the dead be preserved for eternity. So we find no giant pyramid tombs and no rock-cut galleries for the eternal home of their great ones. They thought of the heavens as a metal dome whose base rested on the circumference of the world, and of the earth as a "stepped" pyramid rising beneath this dome. So they strove to build temples whose tops should mount heaven- ward in the same manner. The greatness of the king overshadowed all the land, and each monarch strove to build at least one palace where he might dwell at ease looking upon walls ornamented with long lines of sculptured slabs on which were recorded the pictured stories of his glorious deeds in war, and of his prowess in the chase. Therefore we have in architecture the remains of Assyrian and Chaldaean temples and palaces; in sculpture divinities and the i 4 3 PRE- GREEK ART. stories of kings. Painting, as in Egypt, has no separate existence, but is the handmaid of architecture and sculpture. As the best available example, and one typical of the Chaldaeo - Assyrian palace in general, we take that of Sargon at Khorsa- bad, erected between 712 and 707 B. C. This was built on an artificial platform of earth, more than 1,000 by 1,200 feet in area, raised, as was customary, some thirty feet above the level of the plain. This palace base was protected on every side by a sup- porting wall cased with stone of very beauti- ful masonry. Ascending the steps leading from the city, one entered through a mag- nificent portal. The pair of colossal man-headed bulls arranged on either side of the passage were 19 feet high. The four smaller ones meas- ured 15 feet. Between each pair of these last mentioned stood the giant figure of Isdubar, the Assyrian Herakles, strangling a lion. This entrance led into the great court, 315 by 280 feet in size. Here was the business portion of the great edifice; for it was surrounded on three sides with store rooms of various kinds. Beyond these at the right were the servants' quarters, the work rooms, and the stables of the palace. At the left, beyond the line of store rooms was the harem. Directly opposite the great entrance to the court were the private apart- ments of the king. Beyond these again were the State apartments. Two hundred and nine apartments, great and small, many of which were as large as 130 by 40 feet, were comprised within the walls of this vast structure. Room enough, it would seem, for the accommodation of the suite of even an Oriental despot. The thickness of the walls was often nearly as great as the width of the rooms they enclosed. We read of such walls, 15, 20 and 30 feet thick. They were constructed of unbaked bricks laid without mortar before they were fairly dry. They had to support heavy earthen roofs, either flat or vaulted, made several feet thick so as to exclude both the rain and the heat. These roofs and walls, resolved by the action of the elements into their original constituents, have supplied the larger por- tion of the material in which these huge structures lie buried. City walls also were constructed in a similar manner. It used to sound fabulous when we were told that several chariots could drive abreast on the summit of the walls of Babylon. But on the walls of this city of Sargon, 60 feet high, seven chariots could readily drive side by side. The splendid State apartments were wain- scoted inside and out, with great sculptured slabs of alabaster, often more than 9 feet high. From these and from similar palace walls, in fact, comes the main portion of the sculpture that now fills the Assyrian rooms of our museums. This palace of Sargon alone has yielded twenty-four pairs of colos- sal bulls in high relief, and the sculptural slabs from thence placed in position side by side would decorate two miles of wall. The sculpture of Assyria was nearly always in the form of reliefs. Enormous as was this palace, it was easily surpassed in size by others. That of Sen- nacherib at Nineveh covered more than twenty acres. All apparently were divided like that of Sargon, into three portions, the serail comprising the royal chambers and the State apartments, the harem for the women and children, the khan for the serv- ants, kitchens, store rooms and stables. To the left of the king's private apart- ments in Sargon's palace was placed the pyramidal Ziggurat, the temple of the seven celestial deities. This arose 135 feet above the level of the temple platform. Strabo tells us that the great temple of Bel at Babylon was more than 600 feet high. Such was the usual plan of a Chaldaean or Assyrian temple. The solid mass of sun- dried brick towered high above the one- storied palace as its base. It was ascended by an inclined plane winding about the four sides of the structure and leading up to the holy of holies on the apex. This has also been well named an observatory. For we must remember that these ancient peoples worshiped the heavenly bodies, and our science of the stars dates from the Chaldaean astronomers. Sometimes the sacred struc- ture was built of successive stories, masses of brick, placed one above the other, with flights of steps leading upwards. PRE- GREEK ART. 149 Such are the principal structures whose remains have come down to us. The unbaked bricks, however, were never left exposed. Where the pro- tection of sculptured slabs was lacking, the walls were covered with stucco, sometimes tinted in solid colors, some- times painted in conventional patterns, sometimes covered with what might be called imitation reliefs in color. There was apparently little opportunity here for columns, architrave, and all the rich details of classic architecture. Still we are not without indications that the Ionic column was Assyrian, if indeed not Chaldaean in origin. These royal structures in the valley of the Tigris, reared at such vast outlay of labor, gorgeous in their Oriental coloring must have been among the most impressive buildings of the world. In spite of the light derived from the study of cylinder impressions, gems, and statuettes, our knowledge of Chaldaean sculp- ture is most insufficient. As early as 3800 B. C. , sculptors possessed all technical skill. De Sarzac's excavations at Tello (Largash) gave to us the finest Chaldaean statuary we possess, from 3,000 B. C. The excessively hard material (diorite) is handled with much skill. The figures, unlike Assyrian statues, I'RIEST INTRODUCING VOTARIES TO SHAMASH, THE SUN-GOD, IN HIS SHRINK. A tablet from Sippara. Notice the Ionic like column. RECTANGULAR CHALDAEAN TEMPLE. Restored by Ch. Chipiez. are worked carefully in the back as well as on the front. The surfaces are too round, there is lack of detail, yet the forms are well rendered. There is some appreciation of the manner in which folds are formed in drapery, and the treatment of the eyes, cheeks and mouth is surprisingly good. Surely this "School of Largash" did not exist alone in Chaldaea, and the spade has still much to teach us of the sculpture of this ancient people. The jump from Chaldaean sculpture of the thirtieth century B. C. to Assyrians of the ninth century B. C., is a long one. But there is not much between to give us pause in this brief sketch. For the first great period of Assyrian sculpture fell in the reign of Assournazir- pal, 885-860 B. C., and under him Assyrian sculpture attained nearly its highest point. Be- tween his reign and that of Assourbanipal, 668 B. C., dur- ing the centuries of the glory of Assyria, the essential char- acteristics of the sculpture re- main the same. But there were decided changes in certain methods, details of represen- tation. One relief portrays Assour- nazirpal with a eunuch standing before him, in the act of pour- ing a libation. The figures are PRE-GREEK ART. of great dignity, the Semitic features are beyond question, the robes are sumptuous, but the muscles of the arm are rendered with great inaccuracy, and gross exaggeration. The heavy garments show no trace of the outline of the form beneath. The treatment of the beard and hair is curiously suggestive of tapestry work. The eyes in full front with the face in profile, the shoulders in ASSOURNAZIRPAL OFFERING A LIBATION. A Relief in the British Museum. three fourths profile with the lower body in full profile present conventions common also to Egyptian and early Greek reliefs. The faces are singularly devoid of expression. The cuneiform inscription extending across the bodies only emphasizes the fact that this is a story telling art. It is not demanded of the artist here that he shall imitate nature, or produce beautiful forms. It is his busi- ness to place upon the walls of the palace the history of the famous deeds of the king. He has great technical skill. His eye is true, his hand is sure. He reproduces in the soft alabaster every detail of dress or of form that he desires to copy, in exactly the manner he wishes. This is not the art of beginners. Only long training could pro- duce such skill. If we turn now to the reign of Assour- banipal (668 B. C.), we see the monarch upon his chariot. Here there is greater richness of decoration. The faces are softer, more effeminate, the pose is easier, the profile of the body is more strictly observed. The muscles are less exaggerated. But the same conven- tions of form, eyes, hair, garments, are found as in the preceding case. The ar- tist has not progressed in his knowledge of the human figure or in his ability to represent it. He remains as rigidly bound by his conventions as were the later Egyptian sculptors by those prevailing on the banks of the Nile. In landscape representations the change from the rigid generalizations of the earlier period when nothing is added which is not essential to the clearness of the narrative, to the semi- naturalistic methods of the later time in which pines, palms, and vines become recognizable as such, is more marked. It is, however, in. the representation of animals that the Assyrians excel. With these no other nation before the Greeks has siicceeded so well. Here the artist's models were ever before his eyes, their forms not hidden by heavy garments. And apparently no tradi- tions forbade that he should represent what his eyes beheld every day. So in some of the reliefs, especially those made under Assourbanipal, of dogs strug- gling in the leash, of wild asses playing and kicking on the plains, of linns at liberty in the park or wounded in the hunt, one hardly knows which to admire more, the remarka- ble technique of the stone cutter or the marvelous skill, truth and force of the artist. (See the relief p. 141.) In general Assyrian sculpture excels in vigor and movement, but shows defect in its want of variety, and in the absence of woman from its creations. PRE-GREEK ART. ASSOURBANIPAL IN HIS CHARIOT A relief in the Louvre, Paris. PHCENICIAN ART. (24) Phoenicia gave the alphabet to the Greeks. This is her greatest glory, her one important original contri- bution to civilization. Yet, so far as we know she possessed no poetry, no philoso- phy, no literature. This people seems to have invented letters merely to facilitate bookkeeping. For they were the first great manufacturing commercial nation, the first nation of traders. From 1400 B. C. to 800 B. C., the period when the maritime supremacy of the Phoenicians was undis- puted, whatever Egypt and Assyria in- vented, especially that which could prove attractive to the eyes of barbarians, the artisans of Phoenicia imitated and per- fected. They carried their wares in cara- vans overland to Jerusalem, to Babylon, to Nineveh, to Arabia, to India, as far north as the Caspian Sea, as far south as Egypt. Their ships seeking the murex that gave the purple d)^, slave stealing and trading, established trading posts on all the shores and islands of the Mediterranean, and pass- ing beyond the "Pillars of Hercules" braved the dangers of the Atlantic to obtain tin from the British Isles. In trade they were as shrewd as the Jew, as hardy, as ventursome as the Anglo- Saxon. Except under compulsion they were not warlike, and readily paid tribute to whatever power was uppermost in that quarter of the world. Time-serving, un- scrupulous, and grossly materialistic, they seem never to have invented an artistic motive or created a thing of beauty for its own sake. They had no lofty ideas. With an eye ever out for the "main chance" they were most prosaically matter of fact. Yet without "wishing it or willing it" they became mighty agents in the spread of civilization, and deserve a place in the his- tory of art, because they were the inter- mediaries between Egypt and Chaldaea and that wonderful Greek nation which was first the prey of Phoenicia, then her pupil, then her master. In the pages of Homer Phoenicia repre- sents the acme of perfection in art. We read of Tyrian garments, Sidonian craters, Phoenician armor. According to the tale of "Troy Divine," Hephaestos, the god of metallurgy, could produce nothing better than the work of the inhabitants of the narrow strip of coast at the eastern end of the Mediterranean Sea. Of Phoenician architecture only a few fragments of city walls and temple founda- tions are known, of which the sub-structures of the Temple of Solomon at Jerusalem furnish perchance the finest example. In sculpture too the remains are exceedingly scanty. The extant specimens serve to show that in the eighth century B. C. Assyrian influence was dominant, in the seventh and the sixth centuries B. C., Egyptian pre- vailed, while from the fifth century B. C. that of Greece was followed. This sculpture is not only not portrait-like, but from it we do not even learn the characteristic features of the Phoenicians. In four branches of manufacture the fame of the Phoenician artisans was very great. "Tyrian Purple" was ever the most sought PRE-GREEK ART. for and the costliest of dyes, and the secret of its manufacture was most jealously guarded. Phoenician woven stuffs were only less famous. Of these we . now of course possess little m,ore than the fame. As Tyre for its dyes, so Sidon for its glass. The manufacturers in this article imitated all Egyptian products in glass, in paste, and in faience so perfectly that an expert can- not always decide between the genuine and the imitation. Later they went beyond their masters, so that the glass of Sidon in ancient time may fairly be compared with that of Venice or of Bohemia in modern times. But, whatever the spade may yet have to teach us of Phoenicians, it is their work in the metals which to-day gives us the clear- est picture of the curiously mixed art of this remarkable people. Etruria,, Nineveh, Cy- prus, Crete, Sardinia have all yielded their quota of vases, patera, candelabra and statuettes. Of these the patera are perhaps the most characteristic and interesting. The workmanship is often very beautiful. Sometimes they are in repousse; sometimes the main work is done with the chisel; usually the finishing touches and the details are added with the graver. A patera from Cyprus may well serve as our example. Without endeavoring to account for all figures and motives, we may note that the walled city and the bowmen at the right who are discharging their arrows at its defenders were plainly suggested from the side of Assyria. The Jwplites, soldiers with helmets, corselet and round shields, immediately to the right of the city seem meant for Greeks. The Sphinxes of the inner zone, the scarabaeus and the seated divinities of the middle zone plainly suggest Egypt. Here is an epitome of the art of Phoenicia. She imitates, but does not orig- inate, she borrows, but does not assimilate. Yet she was the first nation to use the human figure not to tell a story or express a thought, but simply as a portion of a pat- tern, as a motive in decoration. THE AMATHUS PATERA. New York Museum. altvtmg aud ^Decoration, IN THEIIL HISTOICT ID EVELOPMENTa^ PRINCIPLES EDITOR, 1H * CHIEF EDMUND BUCKLEY, A.M.,Pk.D,Univer5ityQfaiicago CONSULTING EDITORS J. M .HOPPlN.im, YaU University ALFRED V.CHURCHILL,A.M., ColumbiaUnivewity fulfy Illustrated NATIONAL ART SOCIETY Chicago Copyright, 1907, by W. E. ERNST. Colosseum. Arch of Titus. Palatine Hili. Basilica of Constantine. Temple of Castor and Pollux. (three arches.) Column of Phocas. Arch of Septimus Severus. Julia Basilica (many stumps). Via Sacra. Temple of Vespasian. Temple of Saturn. THE ROMAN FORUM IN ITS PRESENT STATE. Architecture: Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Romanesque and Gothic. BY A. M. BROOKS, A.M. PROFESSOR IN HISTORY OF FINE ART, UNIVERSITY OF INDIANA. G REEK ARCHITECTURE: TIR- YNS, MYCENAE, THE DORIC ORDER, (i) All works of classic and medieval architecture belong to one of two great groups. These groups are made up ac- cording as the buildings they contain depend upon one or the other of two fundamental principles of architectural construction; the first that of the post and lintel, and the second that of the arch. In post and lintel construction upright posts or columns sup- port horizontal beams called lintels. This method of construction has been known from very remote times, as the so-called temple of the Sphinx in Egypt bears wit- ness. It was the method used by the Greeks in their temple architecture, and it is a method in general use at the present day. There is, however, one marked disadvantagfe attendant upon the use of posts and lintels, for while columns can be constructed ot almost any height, the spaces between them must always be of limited width, because monolithic blocks of stone of any very con. siderable length are rare as well as costly. Moreover, such stones are not capable ot supporting any great weight of superstruc- ture. It is evident, then, that in 155 156 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, of the post and lintel group there can be no apartment of great dimensions in which the floor space is not obstructed by the columns which, though necessary for the support of the roof, seriously interfere with seeing and hearing. Hence we might naturally expect, what we know to be the case, that the post and lintel buildings of antiquity were for the most part one-story structures, and that they contained no large stone-roofed apart- ments of unobstructed space. The vast GATE OF THE LIONS AT MYCENAE. halls of Karnak and the Egyptian Thebes contained many scores of columns within their walls, and with the exception of the central aisles, were but one story high. The noble and exquisite fifth century Greek temples were all, as is well known, one story buildings. In Greece, upon the shores of the Argolic Gulf, still stand the walls of what is prob- ably the oldest city in Europe, Tiryns; Homer's "Tiryns of the great walls. " The masonry of these walls is Cyclopean ; bowl- ders piled one upon another, the supposed work of the Cyclopes. In the neighborhood of Tiryns, but younger in years, stood the ancient and powerful city of Mycenae. The period of its best civilization extended from about 1500 to 1000 B. C., and of this period some interesting and remarkably complete remains have come down to us. The Gate of Lions offers an early example of the use of the post and lintel in Greek architec- ture, although the walls upon either side of the stone posts are arranged so as to receive a part of the weight of the lintel which is about fourteen feet long. In order to relieve the lintel of weight, the stones of the wall were laid so that they pro- jected over one another, and were so cut that together with the lintel they enclosed an open space of tri- angular shape. This space was closed by a triangular slab of stone upon which we may yet see the em- blems of faith, altar and pillar, sup- ported by the emblems of power, lions. Still more remarkable is the se- ries of tombs unearthed during the excavations of Dr. Schliemann. So much wealth, in the form of gold ornaments, clasps and diadems, and the decorations sewn upon the gar- ments of the dead, was found that the tombs were at first thought to have been treasuries, and the most important is always spoken of as the treasury of Atreus. It is built of cut stone, in the form of a bee- hive, and the blocks are fitted with great care and accuracy. The floor meas- ures about forty-five feet across and the height of the chamber is the same. In the remains of Tiryns and Mycenae we can trace the development of the art of stone construction from the point where men rolled together the bowlders of the field and heaped them on one another, as at Tiryns; through the period of rough-hewing, when the blocks were cut, but not planed or fitted in other than the rudest manner, as in the BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. '57 Lion gate of Mycenae, to the period when the builder cut and smoothed his blocks and carefully fitted them together, as in the walls of the treasury of Atreus. The peculiar and individual forms which distinguish a building, or a group of build- ings, from all others, constitute architec- i tural style. \K row of columns supporting an entablature and a gable characterize the appearance of the front of a Greek temple, and we say such a temple is in the classic style. J It is subdivided into two main divi- sions, the Greek classic and the Roman classic, and it is the former which must first receive our attention. Presently we shall speak of Roman buildings, which have an entirely different principle of construction from the Greek, the principle of the arch already referred to. Yet the Greek and the Roman classic styles both employed what are known as the Orders, and these orders and the different uses made of them are among the most important data which de- termine the age, source and style of a classic building. Ity an order in classic architec- ture we mean a column entire shaft, cap- ital, and base, if there is one, together with the entablature, the horizontal superstruc- ture which rests upon the column. The orders are distinguished by their individual forms, and in Greek architecture there are three varieties which determine, according as they were used, the style of the buildings to which they belong. They are the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian. In the Greek Doric order the column is fluted, and the flutes are less than a semi- circle in depth. The cap- ital is divided into two parts of equal thickness, the lower called echinos, and the upper abacus, a square plinth which gives a firm footing for the superstructure. In this order the column has no separate base. The entablature consists of three parts, the lower, called epistyle, the central part, the frieze, which is made up of a series of short upright blocks of stone, triglyphs, whose office like that of the col- CROSS-SECTION OF DORIC SHAFT. umns is to support, while the spaces between the triglyphs are closed with slabs of stone called metopes. The metopes were often decorated with bas-relief sculptures, while the triglyphs were always treated with a series of verti- cal flutes. The third and high- est division of the entablature, the cornice, con- sists of a series of lintels which project over and rest upon the triglyphs. The office of the cor- nice is two-fold : to protect the lower parts of the entablature, and to provide a broad and se- cure footing for the roof. Above and below each triglyph and over each metope there is a series of carved stone drops called guttae. The Doric order is remarkable alike for the solidity of its proportions and the simplicity of its com- position. Every part has its function, and each function is clearly expressed. The peculiar beauty of this order exists largely in its profiles or bounding lines, every one of which in the best examples is a free- hand line traced with wonderful precision, and a regard for vital strength and beauty unequaled. GREEK DORIC ORDER, AS USED IN THE PARTHENON, ATHENS. G REEK ARCHITECTURE: THE PARTHENON. (2) The temple dedicated to Athene, the Parthenon, standing on the Acropolis of Athens, is the masterpiece of the classic style and the Doric order (p. 154). Its existence, like that of the other works of art on the Acropolis works which even in ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, their dilapidation are looked on as "hope- less models of perfection" was due to Pericles, who became leader of the Athenian state in 461 B. C. The Parthenon stood upon a three-stepped platform which meas- ured about one hundred feet in width by two hundred in length, and it was sixty-five feet high. Such were the modest dimensions of the chief edifice of Athens, and the one acknowledged by architects and critics alike to have approached nearest to perfection of any structure ever built. The material used was white marble from the quarries of Mt. Pentelicus. It was built for a shelter to be the house of the statue of the goddess, as well as a treasury for the offerings made at her altar; not a place in which congrega- tions gathered, but a center of worship. The open top of the Acropolis was the place of congregation, and the Parthenon was the shrine. It was to the Acropolis what the high altar is to a cathedral. The upper step of the platform was the floor of the colonnade which surrounded the temple, although the level of the floor of the interior, the cella, was two steps higher. This colonnade which extends around the four sides of the cella, was composed of Doric columns six feet in diameter and thirty-four feet high. The columns were placed at the outer edge of the platform. They supported the entablature upon which the roof rested. The roof was low-pitched with gables or pediments facing east and west. The depth of this colonnade was a little over seven feet. At this distance within its columns there was a second plat- form reached by two steps, the upper of which formed the cella floor as has been said. The cella wall rose from the edge of the platform on its long sides, while at the ends the walls were pushed back and a row of six columns was placed on the edge of it. This arrangement made the colonnades of the east and west ends of the temple some- what more than double the width of the side colonnades. Single doors in the middle of the east and west wall gave access to the interior, which was divided by a partition into two compart- ments of unequal size. The larger of the two opened to the east, and contained the famous gold and ivory statue of Athene, the work of Phidias and the most renowned statue of antiquity. The smaller hall opened to the west, and served as a treas- ury. Of the method of lighting the interior little is known with certainty. The larger hall was separated into a broad nave and single side aisles, and these aisles were two- storied. The columns of both lower and upper stories were Doric. The roof of the treasury was carried by four Ionic columns. The Doric order of the Parthenon owed its extreme beauty to the refinements of its profiles. There was scarcely a vertical or a horizontal line in the entire temple. By an optical illusion any long horizontal lines, such as those of the steps of the foundation, will appear to sag in the middle. To over- come this apparent defect all such lines were given a slight upward curvature, so slight, however, as only to give the steps the ap- pearance of being perfectly flat. By a sim- ilar illusion columns, the sides of which are vertical, will appear to be slightly concave ; to overcome this the sides of the columns were given a slight entasis or swelling. Another refinement of this sort was the tapering of the column, for by another illusion the column would seem to spread at the top of the shaft. In reality this would be a grave fault of construction ; and to the sensitive Greeks no less a fault in seeming. Again, none of the columns rose in vertical lines, because such would appear to tip for- wards, and to prevent this the columns were slightly inclined towards the cella walls. The corner columns, to give the look of strength as well as the reality of it where most needed, were made stouter than the others, and they were inclined inwards upon the diagonals of the temple. Finally, the cella floor, which if laid flat would have appeared somewhat concave, was bowed up or crowned from all sides towards the cen- ter. Such refinements as these are expres- sive of a wonderful keenness of perception, and an unparalleled sense of beauty, on the part of those who designed and constructed the Parthenon. Perhaps nothing was more remarkable about this temple than the workmanship exhibited in the profiles and surfaces, and BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. the joints of its masonry laid without mor- tar, and so nicely that when the columns fell as the result of earthquake and cannon shot, they broke in many instances across rather than with the joints. Besides the bas-reliefs of the metopes, which represented the individual struggles of giants and centaurs with men, and are thought by some to have signified the strug- gle between Greeks and barbarians, or the victory of civilization over barbarism, there were other sculptures used for the decora- tion of the Parthenon; the statues of the pediments and the bas-reliefs of the frieze. This frieze is continuous and always to be distinguished from the true Doric frieze of the entablature, one, as we have said, com- posed of alternate triglyphs and metopes. It is a band of continuous sculptures in low relief which runs around the top of the out- side of the cella wall. Such a frieze is char- acteristic of the Ionic order, as we shall presently explain, and being placed upon a temple of the Doric style shows that the architects of Athens did not hesitate to appropriate whatever served their purpose, and to incorporate it where they chose; it shows that they were not bound by hard and fast rules of architectural composition. This frieze was not seen in any general view of the building, yet as seen on looking up from the steps and the colonnade, it was the crowning beauty of the structure. It repre- sented the chief religious festival of the Athenians; the one in which the highest born of the city, old and young, formed in solemn annual procession and bore Athene's offering, a woven and embroidered veil, to her shrine. Each participant, horseman and footman, matron and maiden, carrier of water, musician and judge all were to be seen on the frieze of the cella, a constant reminder of the purpose of the temple. (See cuts pp. 30, 120.) The pediments were filled with groups of statues carved in the round, which were expressive of the temple's origin; in the east pediment the gods of Olympus present at the birth of Athene, and in the west Athene's successful struggle with Poseidon for the mastery of Attica. The architecture of the Parthenon was organic in the same way that a tree in leaf is organic : the unity of the trunk, boughs, twigs and leaves of the natural object find- ing its analogue in the unity of the founda- tion, columns, entablature and roof of the artificial one. Such unity is one of the main sources of beauty in architecture, and results from the care with which every dimension is proportioned to every other; a slenderer member never appearing to be crushed by a thicker. Moreover, every dimension of the Parthenon was derived from the unit of measure, the six-foot diameter of the bases of the central front columns, every width, length and height of the parts as well as the whole being a multiple of that unit. G REEK ARCHITECTURE: THE IONIC ORDER, THE COR- INTHIAN ORDER. (3) The Ionic order was invented in Asia Minor, and it partook somewhat of the elaborate charac- ter of all Asiatic architecture, but being of Greek ori- gin, the elabora- tion was restrained and temperate. The best example of it was the Erechtheion, the temple dedicated to Athene, Posei- don, and the myth- ical hero Erech- theus. It likewise stood upon the summit of the Athenian Acropo- lis. In general the Ionic order is much lighter and more slender than the Doric, the shaft aver- aging eight diameters in height, while the Doric shafts of the Parthenon are but five. The capital is higher than the Doric, and consists of a scroll rolled out, as it were, over the top of the shaft, the necking under the scroll the ends of which appear as IONIC ORDER OF THE ERECH- THEION. i6o ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, RESTORATION OF THE ERECHTHEION. volutes, being decorated with a pattern in relief. The abacus is very thin, and its molded edge is ornamented with a carved border. The Ionic order always has an in- dividual base, but the form of this base varies a good deal in different examples. The entablature is made up of three parts, but is much lighter than the Doric. The epistyle is cut with three faces which pro- ject one over another, and is usually capped with a carved molding. The frieze is con- tinuous, either a plain surface like the Doric epistyle, or a band of relief sculpture. The cornice projects considerably over the face of the frieze, and is deeply undercut. It is usually decorated with carved moldings, the egg and dart, bead and reel, or leaf and tongue. The Erechtheion was not completed until a number of years after the death of Per- icles, probably in 408 B. C. It stood but a little more than a hundred feet from the Parthenon, and its design was a far more difficult problem for the architect than that of the Parthenon. He knew that it was hopeless to surpass that edifice, and that, nevertheless, he must build a temple of un- surpassed beauty. This may be the reason why he chose a new order, the Ionic. In choosing an order different from that of the Parthenon, he obeyed a fundamental law of art, the law of contrast. He placed the small and richly ornamented Erechtheion near the great simple mass of the Parthenon, in order that one might act as a foil to the other. These temples were contrasted not only in size and order, but even in plan. The Erechtheion had a cella about sixty feet long and thirty-three wide, and at one end there were two smaller porticos, the larger facing north and the smaller south. The irregularity of this temple was still further increased by the fact that its three wings all stood at different levels. This condition was forced upon the architect, because the site had been previously consecrated to several shrines, and consequent- ly could not be leveled or disturbed. The irregularity of the Erech- theion produces a striking contrast when compared with the symmetry of the Par- thenon. It shows that Greek architects, while they chose the symmetrical form where such was possible, were not afraid to undertake a design of the most opposite character when conditions demanded it. The east end of the large cella was the principal facade. It had six Ionic columns, placed at the edge of the upper step of the foundation, which formed a colonnade be- fore the portal. These columns supported an entablature and pediment. Each column had its individual base, which consisted of three circular slabs of stone the middle one smaller than the others and finished with a PLAN OF THE ERECHTHEION. BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. 161 CROSS-SECTION OF IONIC SHAFT. concave edge, while the upper and lower slabs had convex edges. This base, known as the Attic, has been the model more or less followed by architects in all ages down to our own. The shafts were fluted, but the flutes, twenty-four in number, were separated from one an- other by narrow flat surfaces. The order of the north po rtico was very similar to that of the east, but the columns were differently ar- ranged, there being but four across the front with one added be- hind each corner column, thus giving considerable depth to the portico and allowing it to be entered from the sides as well as from the front. The workmanship of the Erechtheion was equal to that of the Parthenon. Its carved moldings illustrate the Greek passion for form; for even where the most elaborate carving was used, the original profile of the molding was never concealed. On the con- trary, the profiling was emphasized by hav- ing the main lines and surfaces of the orna- ment, egg and dart, bead and reel, and leaf and tongue fol- low the form of the moldings with great accuracy. On the south side of the Erechtheion was a small porch unlike any other work of art in Athens, unique and one of the most beautiful in the whole world the porch of the maid- ens. Like the other parts of the Erechtheion, it had its own foundation, a small oblong three-stepped platform from which there rose a plain wall about five feet high. This wall had a molded base and cornice of its own. Upon it, as a base- ment, stood six marble statues, draped female figures, all fac- ing in the same direction, four across the front and one a few feet behind at each end. The figures are crowned with bas- ket-like head dresses which answer the purpose of capitals, and upon these the MOLDINGS FROM THE ERECHTHEION. entablature and the beams of the roof rest. The fitness of this entablature is noticeable. The frieze is omitted, thus reducing the thickness and apparent weight to propor- tions suitable to the supporting power of the figures. To still further diminish the ap- pearance of weight, the upper face of the epistyle was decorated with a row of disks, and lastly the thin cornice was given a row of small projecting blocks, a dentil course. PORCH OF THE MAIDENS, ERECHTHEION, ATHENS. 162 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, This latter feature was characteristic of the Asiatic-Ionic entablature, but was omitted, as the east and south porches of the Erech- theion bear witness, in the Attic-Ionic style. The entire design of this little porch pro- duces an idea of perfect stability as well as unique beauty: a design eminently fitted for a small structure which the Greeks would never have thought of applying to a great one. The Erechtheion and the Parthenon were both colored, a fact very difficult of compre- hension to us accustomed to look upon white marble as the finest building material obtain- THE PROPYL/EA ON THE ACROPOLIS, ATHENS. able. To us it seems barbarous to suggest coloring such material, but we must remem- ber that bronze, and silver, gold, ivory and ebony were not rare as materials for the decoration of the architecture known to the Greeks. With ideas of color such as these things give, it is scarcely to be wondered that plain marble should have been consid- ered unsuitable for the finest structures. We know from actual remains that the Parthenon and Erechtheion were colored. The Doric order had no carved ornament; but the moldings of its cornice, the echinos of its columns and the raking moldings of its pediment were painted with intricate designs in color, the shafts were tinted with a creamy yellow, and the triglyphs were colored with fine reds and blues, while the statues of the pediments and the bas-reliefs of the frieze were often colored in a somewhat natural- istic manner, draperies, eyes and hair being given each their appropriate shades,, and the whole relieved against dark backgrounds. In the Ionic order the carvings on the mold- ings were picked out with strong color, and often, as with the eyes of the volutes of Ionic capitals, and other especially con- spicuous parts, gold leaf was used. There were other im- portant buildings erect- ed upon the Acropolis during the age of Peri- cles. The chief of these, and one not inferior in size or in any other quality to the temples just described, was the entrance gate, the Pro- pylaea. It stood on the side of the hill, and one front faced the city while the other and higher in point of sit- uation faced the Acrop- olis. These fronts were like temple fronts, and each had six Doric columns which carried entablatures and pedi- ments. The fronts were ingeniously connected so that a hall was formed between them, the roof of which was supported by a double row of Ionic columns. A partition wall divided this hall, and in it there were five portals. To the right and left of the front facing the city there were great projecting terraces upon which stood rectan- gular structures, wings really of the main building. One of these served perhaps as a guardhouse, and the other was the national picture gallery. A broad roadway for horses and vehicles wound up from the city and passed directly through the middle of the Propyiaea, between the columns of its hall, through the central portal of its parti- BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. 163 tion-wall and out onto the Acropolis itself. Upon either side of this road there were long flights of steps for persons on foot, which, together with the space occupied by the road, the wall with the five gates, the broken shafts of the front porch, and the left wing, may still be seen in the extant ruins. To the right of the Propylasa and standing upon a high bastion are the remains of a very beautiful little temple dedicated to Wingless Victory. It has a small cella open upon one side, and a four-column portico upon each end. It was especially remark- able for the sculptures with which it was decorated. During the age of Pericles a foreign de- velopment, the Corinthian Capital, was engrafted upon the Ionic order. This inno- vation applied to the capital alone, the shaft, base, and entablature remaining practically unchanged. It hardly merits the dignity of being called an order, certainly not as used by the Greeks. The Corinthian capital, as we are familiar with it in so many Italian buildings, as so much used by the Romans and so generally copied by us, did not occur in Greece until the decline of Greek art had set in. It was a Roman development, and as such we shall consider it. In the Greek architecture of the age of Pericles it was a fanciful and always freshly designed gar- land of leafage and flowers carved upon the surface of a bell-shaped block. The Choragic monument of Lysicrates in Athens, built in 334 B. C. (p. 164), presents a TEMPLE TO WINGLESS VICTORY, ATHENS. beautiful example of the Corinthian capital as used by the Greeks. The proportions of this monument are delicate, and the rela- tion between its square basement with its simple cornice and the circular superstruc- ture with its stepped foundation is very happy. From the severity of the undeco- rated basement, this little monument in- creased in richness until at the summit it fairly blossomed; yet all of its decoration was so placed, and so carefully contrasted with plain surfaces, that not one ornament failed to produce its proper effect, while the form and structure of the whole was empha- sized by the decoration: in other words it was Greek. R OMAN ARCHITECTURE: ARCH AND VAULT. ( 4 ) ilillll i ill II GREEK CORINTHIAN CAPITAL. The second of the two great groups of architectural works re- ferred to at the beginning of this essay depends upon the constructive principle of the arch. It was understood by the Egyp- tians and in common use among the Assyr- ians. Although known to the Greeks, it seems to have been for the most part un- heeded, but in Italy we find the Etruscans, predecessors of the Romans in possession of the land and knowledge of the arts, mak- ing very early use of the arch principle both in drains and in tombs. When the Romans 164 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, CHORAGIC MONUMENT OF LYSICRATES, ATHENS. began to build they turned naturally to their Etruscan neighbors for models and instruc- tion, and from them they learned the struc- tural use of the arch. The Romans, always practical, at once recognized the advantage which the arch of Etruria had over the post and lintel of Greece, an advantage particularly applicable to their needs. It is well known that the Romans were a legislating and amusement- loving people, and hence among the earliest architectural requirements of the fully devel- oped Roman empire were halls capable of accommodating large gatherings of persons come together to hear cases argued and judgments rendered, as well as theaters and amphitheaters with seating capacity for many thousands of spectators. In the days of the republic the buildings of Rome appear to have been insignificant, and it was not until the time of Julius Caesar that the recon- struction of the buildings in the Forum was begun upon a scale of any magnificence. It was not until the age of Augustus Caesar and his immediate successors that Rome took on that unsurpassed splendor which was the fit expression of the power and resource of the empire. Two great advantages resided in the arch as a principle of construction when compared with the post and lintel. First, the arch could be placed over large spaces, no sup- ports being required but those at its points of springing, at the impost; second, it could be constructed of small materials, bricks, concrete and small stones. For many years, even until the last days of the republic, the buildings of Rome were constructed of brick and concrete. Then came the reconstruction or the rebuilding of the city, the golden age of Augustus, and with it the same methods of building and the same materials as formerly, but also the custom of hiding the rough brick walls and concrete vaults under a splendid marble cas- ing or veneer. Hence the boast of Augus- tus, "I found a Rome of brick, and I leave a Rome of marble." Roman arches were semi-circular, a form which exerts a strong lateral thrust, or tend- ency to spring apart. These thrusts had to be met by some opposing force, and such force was obtained in a number of ways. One was to place tlie arch upon walls of great strength and thickness, such as by their inertia would more than counterbalance the thrust. Another was that of loading the haunches of the arch with terraces of mason- ry; still another to carry the wall up above the impost or springing point of the arch, thus increasing the inertia of the wall by the addition of vertical weight. So long as the abutments at the sides of an arch are more than sufficient to oppose the thrusts put upon them, the greater the weight on the crown of the arch, the more stable the whole struc- ture becomes. But the instant that the thrusts exceed the opposing force the arch BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. 165 will fall ; for, as the Arabian proverb has it, the arch never sleeps. With the use of arches came the develop- ment of vaults: stone, brick or concrete roofs made up of arches variously disposed. The principal varieties of vaults used by the Romans were, the barrel vault, the elliptical groin vault, and the hemispherical dome. The first is a vault of semi-circular form, and gets its name from its resemblance to a half-barrel. Perhaps the earliest Roman example is still to be seen in the Cloaca Maxima, the drain that to-day, serviceable as in the fifth century B. C., carries off the water from a marshy portion of the city. While such a vault is, strictly speaking, a work of engineering skill, the same prin- ciples are involved as in the barrel vaults of buildings, the earth itself here forming both abutment and load. Because the barrel vault was expensive requiring continuous abutments-and because it restricted the designer of a building in the free placing of windows, Roman architects made much use of the elliptical groin vault. This consisted of two barrel vaults of equal span, hence of equal height, which inter- penetrated at right angles. The advantage of such a vault lies in the fact that it does not require continuous walls, the four arches which form the ends of the interpenetrating barrel vaults having sufficient abutment and support from the four piers at the four corners of the apartment. The edges or lines in which the interpenetrating barrel vaults meet are called groins, and these, taking as they do the form of ellipses, give its name. Whenever an elliptical groin vault was used by a Roman architect it had of necessity to be placed over a square apartment, and this put a restriction upon his architectural freedom. The third variety of Roman vault was the hemispherical dome. As its name implies, it had the form of a hollow hemisphere. It exerted a thrust at every point in its circum- ference, and therefore required a continuous abutment. This was obtained in the usual Roman manner by massiveness of wall and loading and weighting. In the con- struction of the dome, as in the other CLOACA MAXIMA, AND CIRCULAR TEMPLE. forms of Roman vaults, the designer found himself greatly restricted by his inability to place it over other than a circular apart- ment. When the Romans began to use the orders they modified their forms, and in- creased their num- ber to five, and al- though they made some constructive use of them, they more often applied them as a decorative screen behind which the real structure of the building was con- cealed. In this man- ner they succeeded ELLIPTICAL GROIN VAULT. Exterior view. An interior one appears in the cut p. 779. in making fine and imposing fagades, but they can never be said to have obtained that intimate relationship between construction and dec- oration, that logical character which so exalts Greek architecture. i66 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, R OMAN ARCHITECTURE: FIVE ORDERS, THE COLOSSEUM. (5) There were five Roman orders, and several of these were often used on the same building. These orders were the Tuscan, Roman Doric, Ionic, Corinthian and Composite. The Tuscan and Roman Doric were characterized by the thickness and heaviness of their col- umns and entablatures. The Tuscan order had no ornament, while the Doric, which in plinth inserted between the bases of the col- umns and the substructure or foundation, and often a square basement or pedestal several feet high was placed under the plinth. The unfluted shafts of the Roman Corinthian and Ionic orders were a notice- able deviation from their Greek prototypes. These latter orders as used by the Romans had the same general features as the similar orders when used by the Greeks. The Ionic capital had the volutes and the carved egg and dart molding, and the Corinthian had the I ROMAN DORIC ORDER. ROMAN IONIC ORDER. ROMAN CORINTHIAN ORDER. ROMAN COMPOSITE ORDER. form differed but little from it, had a triglyph frieze, and a dentil course in the cornice. The chief difference between the Tuscan and Roman Doric orders and the Greek Doric lay in their profiles and mold- ings. In the Greek Doric these were all bounded by free-hand curves, and exhibited the beauty natural to such lines, that living changefulness which expresses vital action; while the contours of Roman moldings, shafts and capitals were most commonly of geometric and mechanical design. The Roman orders almost always had a square rows of leafage and the angle scrolls, and both had bases patterned after the Attic- Ionic base. In most of the Roman ex- amples, however, the refinement of the curves, and the freehand lines of the foliate ornament which made the Greek orders so beautiful and beautiful also because de- signed, not imitated, after the forms of natural vegetable growths gave place to geometrical convolutions and straight lines. Some examples of beautiful Roman orders exist, and notably the Corinthian order of the portico of the Pantheon, yet even its BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC 167 shafts are unflutecl. The Composite order is characteristic of the exuberant taste of the age which produced it. It is an elab- orate compound of the Ionic and the Corin- thian. The upper row of leaves on the Corinthian capital give place to corner scrolls, enlarged to the size of Ionic volutes, but placed upon the diagonals of the capital like the volutes of the Corinthian. The entablature was often enriched with carved moldings, frequently piled one above an- other so that the good points of the decora- tion were lost sight of through the lack of plain surfaces, so important in any piece cf design to afford contrasts and give a sense of rest to the eye, as well as an opportunity of appreciating the beauty of the orna- ment itself. Roman architects from the time of Augustus to that of Diocletian were re- quired to design buildings on a scale of unparalleled magnificence. Egyptian kings built tombs and temples ; the Greeks erected * Most conspicuous among the buildings of Rome, ancient or modem, is the Flavian amphitheater or Colosseum, so-called on PLAN OF THE COLOSSEUM IN ROME. The quarter section represents the substructure; the three-quarter section the tiers of seats. temples; Roman emperors demanded pal- aces, basilicas, theaters and amphitheaters, baths, memorial arches and columns as well as temples and tombs. ELEVATION AND SECTION OF THE COLOSSEUM. account of its colossal size. It was begun by Vespasian, and completed by his son Titus. The Colosseum is elliptical in plan, having its minor axis five-sixths of its major, the latter meas- uring a little over six hundred feet. The outer or enclosing wall is one hundred and eighty feet high. The system of con- struction when once understood is comparatively simple, as may be seen in the cross-section of the building. It consists of tiers of corridors which fill the entire space between the wall of the arena and the enclosing wall, the tiers rising against that wall and diminishing in breadth un- til at the top there is but a sin- gle corridor, thus giving to the interior the shape of a truncated cone, small end downwards. These corridors are separated from one another by walls of great thickness, and are roofed with barrel vaults which follow the elliptical outline of the build- ing. The combined thrusts of these vaults outwards are counterbalanced by the great thickness of the outer wall, helped by the additional weight of the forty feet of wall which rises above the impost of 1 68 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, THE COLOSSEUM, ROME. the topmost vault. An immense load is put upon all the vaults by the terraces of stone seats which they support. These seats rise in ever-increasing ellipses from the edge of the arena to the highest row against the outer wall. This wall, as well as the parti- tion walls, is pierced by many round arches which give easy and sufficient access from corridor to corridor and connect them all with the outside world. Staircases lead from story to story, and radiating flights of steps lead down from the corridors through the seats, in a manner which resembles the passages between the seats of a modern theater. The arena, which occupied an acre of ground, was furnished with a sys- tem of aqueducts and drains, so that it could be flooded and emptied at will. This was for the convenience of the sham sea-fights which the Romans so much liked to watch. Under the Colosseum there was stabling room for hundreds of wild beasts used in the shows, as well as bathing and dressing rooms for the contestants, apart- ments for gladiators and prisons for the captives who were to be sacrificed. The exterior of the Colosseum offers an example on a large scale of the inconsistent manner in which the Romans sometimes used the orders. The constructive prin- ciple of the building is the arch, yet the numberless arches of its exterior are all subordinated to a decorative system of col- umns and entablatures. The arches do the work while the posts and lintels are made as much as possible to appear to do it. The orders are not used constructively but deco- ratively. The upper row of seats was protected by a roof which reached from the outer wall to a circle of columns which stood at the edge of the topmost tier of steps; otherwise the Colosseum was open to the sky. Its audi- ences were protected from sun and rain by BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. 169 awnings which were stretched from the cornice of the roof just mentioned to masts fixed in sockets about the seats. These awnings, which were often of rich material and high colored, must have greatly en- hanced the splendid appearance of the vast amphitheater. With an audience of perhaps eighty thousand persons, it must have been a spectacle of no small wonder even in the prime of the Roman empire, and to those who think their own the age of greatest works the ruined Colosseum stands as a protest. R OMAN ARCHITECTURE: ARCHES, TEMPLES, BASIL- ICAS. (6) No monuments are more typically Roman in spirit and in style than the arches which were erected to commemorate the military victories of the emperors, and as well known as any is the Arch of Titus. It was raised to commemorate the conquest of the East and the taking of Jerusalem by Titus in 70 A. D. It consists of two thick piers which support a barrel vault, and by their height and weight make it secure. These piers are decorated with an engaged Composite order placed upon a basement. A pair of columns flank the archway upon each side, and enframe it with their en- tablature. The shafts upon the angles of the archway are fluted, while those upon the outer angles are plain. Above the entablature there is an oblong mass of masonry called an attic story. The use of the attic was peculiarly Roman. While it served a contsructive purpose, it likewise offered a conspicuous place for inscriptions telling of the glory of the emperor in whose honor the arch was erected. In the span- drels above the archway there were carved winged victories, and within upon the walls where none who passed could fail to see, there were bas-reliefs showing the spoils from the temple at Jerusalem carried in triumphal procession; among them the golden table and the seven-branched golden candle-stick. In its proportions the Arch of Titus lacks a certain refinement, the careful adjustment of one part to another, and the still more careful subordination of the deco- rative details to the great masses of the design. The presence of such refinement characterizes the best Greek designs, and distinguishes them from most of the Ro- man. The whole arch is somewhat clumsy, and its heavy attic gives it a slightly top- heavy appearance. One of the finest and best preserved Roman temples is the so-called Maison THE ARCH OP TITUS IN ROME. Carree at Nimes. The whole building is about one hundred and twenty feet long and fifty feet wide, and is raised upon a high basement, the use of which, like that of attics, is peculiar to Roman architecture. The temple includes a single hall or cella preceded by a deep columnar portico. The cella occupies the entire width of the base- ment, and the Corinthian order of the por- ticos is carried around the wall as an engaged colonnade. The portico has six columns across the front, and is two columns 170 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, MAISON CARREE AT NIMES. deep. The entrance is in the wall at the back of the portico. The entablature with its carved frieze and its dentil courses in the cornice is rich and beautiful. While such a temple differs much in details, its base- ment and its engaged colonnade for exam- ple, from a typical Greek temple, it has many features in common with that tem- ple, both in plan and in structure. It may be thought of as the result of Greek and Etruscan ideas materialized by Roman hands. There was, however, a form of temple which was peculiarly Roman, though it too may have had an Etruscan origin ; a type of building which had a marked influence on subsequent archi- tecture,- the circular temple. There is such a building still standing in Rome and another, the much admired ruined tem- ple at Tivoli. Each had a cir- cular cella surrounded by a circular colonnade, and both were comparatively small build- ings, the one at Tivoli having a diameter of only fifty feet. But it was not such temples as these that influenced subse- quent architecture. It was the domed buildings, of which the best-known example, and one of the most renowned buildings in the world is the Roman Pan- theon. The precise purpose for which it was intended is not certainly known, but it was probably, as its name implies, a temple dedicated to all the gods. The building dates from the reign of Hadrian. The Pantheon, being a build- ing vaulted with a hemispher- ical dome, had to be circular, since Roman architects never discovered a way of placing such a dome over an apartment of any other shape. Its circu- lar hall is one hundred and forty-two feet in diameter, and the dome is one hundred and forty feet high. The enormous thrust of this dome is met by a wall twenty feet thick, and this wall is carried up twenty feet above the impost of the dome. Moreover, the haunch of the dome is loaded with six ter- races of masonry. The dome is made of concrete, but running through it from side to side are brick arches or ribs, which act as bonds and must have been of great assist- ance during the process of construction. There are no windows in the walls, but the interior is lighted by a great circular open- THE PANTHEON, ROME. BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. '73 INTERIOR OF THE PANTHEON, ROME. ing or eye, placed at the crown of the dome. This eye is forty feet in diameter, and is an original as well as perfect method for light- ing the hall, for through it the light falls equally in every part. From without the dome makes but slight impression of grandeur and none of beauty 'upon the mind. The wall of the interior of the Pantheon is divided horizontally by an entablature which rests upon a circle of Corinthian col- umns and pilasters. A deep overhanging cornice marks the springing point of the dome. The upper part of this wall is deco- rated with a series of blind-windows, while the lower part is relieved by a series of seven niches, semi-circular alternating with rec- tangular. Six of these niches, three each to the left and right of the entrance, are treated like the fronts of small temples distyle-iri- antis, that is, two columns stand in the entrance to each niche, while the angles are marked by Corinthian pilasters. The seventh niche, that opposite to the entrance, has no columns, but is entered under an archway. While these details may not be just like the originals, they are in the main similar. The dome is decorated with lines of square depressions, called coffers, which radiate from about the eye. The coffers were made by hewing or cutting out the concrete after it had set. When it was built the interior of the Pantheon was lavishly decorated with precious marble and plates of gilded bronze, and must have been very magnificent. The effect of the rectangular temple front, though in itself fine, is poor as applied to a cir- cular building. The two forms do not combine with one anoth- er gracefully or naturally. In the later days of the r e p u b 1 i c and pLAN QF THE PANTHEON> throughout the ROME. J74 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, empire, cases at law were argued and judgments given in halls called basilicas. These -halls also served other purposes. They were often very large, the basilica of Trajan measuring about two hundred by four hundred feet. Double rows of columns ran around its interior, the outer twenty feet from the walls, the inner forty, thus dividing it into a broad central space surrounded by two narrower aisles. The roof was wood, and was supported by the walls and columns. At one end there were entrances, and at the other a semi-circular projection called an apse. This was vaulted with a half-dome of concrete, constructed in the usual Roman manner. The aisles in such a basilica, public or civic, as it was called, were frequently used by the bankers and money-lenders, the broad central por- tion or nave by the merchants, and the apse, apart from the crowd and slightly raised above the level of the rest of the building, by the court and judge. To the Romans their basilicas were of the utmost impor- tance. They were the visible expression of that ever-present spirit of law and order which was at the root of their power. Roman basilicas were larger and more im- portant than Roman temples; indeed, they partook of a sacred character, because their apses usually contained an altar, at which sacrifice was made before entering upon any important business. The Palace of Diocletian at Spalatro, on the coast of Dalmatia, dates from the end of the third century, and exhibits some remark- able deviations from the normal forms of imperial Roman architecture. One, of great importance as leading the way towards the medieval styles, is the use of arches sprung directly from the capitals of col- umns. In the courtyard of this palace the arches of the arcade spring from the abaci of Corinthian columns, and, mutually thrust- ing and counter-thrusting one another, are made stable by the great piers at either end. Another deviation from the accepted classic type of design is to be seen in the so- called Golden Gate of the north wall of the palace. It has a decorative arcade, the small columns of which are supported upon corbels or brackets which project from the wall. This is a direct violation of Roman precedent in the use of orders, the shafts of the columns having no continuous support from the ground up. On one hand it shows a lack of knowledge of, and a disregard for, the fixed rules applied to Roman architec- tural forms; on the other a dawning spirit of invention, the rigid formality of classic architecture giving way to the picturesque quality of medieval. R OMAN ARCHITECTURE: THE CHRISTIAN BASILICA. (7) The last general persecution of the Christians occurred under Diocle- tian, and immediately after the coronation of Constantine, in 306 A. D., the Christian reli- gion was recognized as salutary and legal. The Christians at once set about building churches, and the earliest of these was the series of basilicas erected at Rome, Jerusa- lem, and Constantinople. The Christian basilica followed the private basilica, or great hall of the Roman house, as its model, rather than the civic basilica. Its aisles extended along only the length of the structure, and its central aisle or nave was raised above the side aisles, thus making room for a row of windows or clerestory just below the roof. The history of Chris- tian architecture from the time of Constan- tine to the close of the middle ages, is the history of changes wrought upon classic and earl)'' Christian models, by different races of men in widely separated regions of Europe and Asia, and dictated by the exigencies of each particular case, and the invention of the builders. The one and notable excep- tion was the Christian architecture of Rome, which from Constantine 's day well on into the middle ages remained nearly fixed in style, varying from century to century only in the diminishing skill and beauty which it displayed, due perhaps to the extraordinary conservatism of the Romans and the general ignorance and misery into which they had fallen. At Constantinople and Ravenna a new form of capital and a new style of decoration BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. were developed during the sixth and seventh centuries, but in Rome the classic Corin- thian and Ionic orders persisted. One reason for the changes in the east and north was that in those regions architects had for the most part to make their own capitals and decorations, there being comparatively few earlier buildings from which to take these things. Rome, however, furnished an almost unlimited quantity of them. It has been estimated that the Forum of Trajan alone contained twelve hundred columns, while a single basilica had its roof supported by one hundred and fifty. While no civic basilica, as such, was con- verted into a Christian church, such again and again furnished the actual materials for the building of churches. In general the Christian basilicas built between 400 and 1000 A. D. were plain brick on the outside, crude and simple, but inside rich with carved marble, and colored and golden with mosaic. During the dark ages Rome laid off her mantle of marble, that proud boast of Au- gustus, and again appeared as a city of brick and concrete. BYZANTINE ARCHITECTURE. (8) Although after 400 A. D. Roman architecture steadily declined, that of the Eastern empire, centering in Constantinople the ancient Greek By- zantium, whence the term Byzantine art developed rapidly and produced great re- sults. The finest example of the Byzantine style is the church of Santa Sophia at Con- stantinople, while the church of St. Vitale at Ravenna is important because it is the connecting link architecturally between the East and West. Both are planned about equal axes the equal armed cross, as contrasted with medieval churches whose plans have usually the form of the Latin cross. St. Vitale is a tentative solution, and Santa Sophia a perfect one, of the problem never attempted by Roman architects, namely, how to place a hemi spherical dome securely and gracefully over a square compartment. PENDENTIVE. The structural invention of the Byzantine style which solved this problem was the pendentive, a bracket of masonry inserted into the angle of a square apartment. This bracket has the form of a spherical triangle which, beginning m a point, gradually in- creases until at its summit it describes a quarter circle. Four such pendentives, one each in the corners of a square apartment, will obviously meet in a circle at their tops, and upon this circle as a base it is a simple matter to construct the dome. The dome of St. Vitale rests upon an octago- nal basement, a circle upon a polygon, little pendentive- 1 i k e brackets being placed in the an- gles, thus increas- ing the width of the walls at the points where the circular base of the dome would fall most outside its polygon foundations. In St. Vitale a two-storied aisle surrounds the octagonal space beneath the dome upon seven sides, while upon the eighth, that fac- ing the east, there is a rectangular addition terminated by an apse. This serves as a choir. It is of great interest on account of the fine early mosaics with which its walls and vault are decorated. The mosaic of the latter is very rich in color. In each of its four compartments there is the figure of an evangelist standing upon a globe, while the compartments themselves are' framed in with garlands of fruit, leaves and flowers; greens, blues, and orange being the pre- dominating colors. The church of Santa Sophia in Constanti- nople is the consummate work of the Byzan- tine style. In plan it is an equal armed cross, though by walling in and vaulting the re-entrant angles the church is made nearly square. Over the central square compart- ment of the church, carried upon four mas- sive piers and arches and four fully devel- oped pendentives, there is a dome ninety feet in diameter, with its crown one hundred and sixty feet above the pavement. To the east I 7 6 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, and west of this dome there are two half domes, equal in span to the great dome but much lower, being so arranged as to abut the central dome at its impost. To the north and south the thrusts of the great dome are met by piers of masonry, each forty SECTION OF ST. VITALE, RAVENNA. feet deep and twenty-five broad. The half domes which abut the central dome are sim- ilarly secured by a pair of smaller and lower half domes, the combined thrusts of all being carried down to the ground by piers, thick walls and an elaborate system of smaller cross vaults. An apse, vaulted with a half dome, extends slightly beyond the bounding wall towards the east, while to the west the length of the church is in- creased by a deep porch. Upon the interior the lofty arches between the piers and under the pendentives to the north and south are filled with stone and marble screens, won- derful pieces of design as well as constructive members which materially strengthen the build- ing, while the arches to the east and west, opening into the spaces beneath the half domes, are left open. This arrangement gives the church the appearance of having a long nave, like the nave of a basilica, also terminated like one, with an apse. This nave is about two hundred and thirty feet long and ninety broad. Its size is increased wonderfully in appearance by the number of pen- dentives and half domes which lead the eye by degrees up to the great dome. Its crown is visible from nearly every point of view, a marvel of design. The details of the interior are as noble as the design of the whole. The lateral screens which fill the arches beneath the great dome are divided into five stories. First, there arc two open arcades through which one looks into the aisles and the aisle galleries, then a low story of blind arches, and finally a double tier of clerestory win- dows, these latter cut in the wall that fills the head of the arch. These screens, in the careful proportioning of all their parts, height of column and breadth cf space, offer a fine example of scale in architectural design. The ground story arcade is com- posed of columns, each about thirty feet high. It is finished above the arches by a series of strongly marked moldings, but nothing that bears any resemblance to a classic entablature. Nor do the capitals of the columns recall those of any classic order. The Corinthian capital which had been so generally used for centuries was concave in form and decorated with foliate sculpture in high relief. It was designed to cany a weight of superstructure, light in compari- son with the high walls and domes placed upon the arches which formed the arcades of Byzantine buildings. For the support of PLAN OF ST. VITALE, RAVENNA. BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. 177 INTERIOR OF SANTA SOPHIA, CONSTANTINOPLE. such, the Byzantine builders devised the blocks or cubical capital, of convex form, the surfaces of which were chased and fretted with patterns of the most elaborate design, but such as could neither diminish nor conceal the simple and serviceable block, the capital itself. No finer ornament exists in its way than that on the capitals and spandrels of the ground story arcades of Santa Sophia. In point of variety and grace of line it is superb. It has the refinement of Greek work combined with the sumptuous character of Roman ; but it is neither Greek nor Roman. It is Byzantine. The interior decorations of this church, now sadly disfigured, deserve the most care- ful attention, both on account of the beauty of design and the preciousness of the material. They were generously lighted by a great number of windows. The vaults were encrusted with mosaics and the walls with colored marbles and semi-precious stones. The columns are green Thessalian and red Theban marble, and every costly stone to be found between Arabia and Switzerland. The walls are paneled with slabs of marble cut crosswise so as to show the veining, and often the individual panels are bordered with a carved stone molding. In the lower parts of the church the capitals, spandrels and soffits of arches are fretted and enriched with flat carving, while higher up where such decoration would not show sufficiently, the patterns are brought out by inlaying light-colored stone with daik. The patterns on the second story screen-arcades are wrought in black marble. The walls of the great church are kept in one general tone, and the vaults in another. There is no wild confusion of colors, produced by the bringing together of a heterogeneous collection of stone, marble and mosaic, though each in itself be of the most exquisite color and sub- stance. The exterior of this church has the defect I 7 8 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, common to all early Christian architecture, an almost total lack of beauty, either of construction or decoration. Little more can be said of the outside of Santa Sophia than that it is a vast and clumsy pile of brick, PLAN OF SANTA SOPHIA, CONSTANTINOPLE. lacking any salient feature, such even as would have emphasized the main entrance. Another but later expression of the inti- mate relations between the East and West is to be found in the Byzantine edifices of Venice, most notable of all the church of St. Mark, completed as early as 1054. In plan and construction it bears a close resemblance to Santa Sophia of Constantinople, though differing from it, and all earlier buildings, in its splendid exterior decoration of colored mosaics and semi-precious stones, shafts of veined marble, of porphyry and verd antique, with capitals of alabaster and grills of bronze, consummate skill being displayed in the combining of these varied materials, brought from far and wide and united into a harmonious whole ; the most gorgeously and exquisitely colored building in Europe. (See cut, p. 171.) R OMANESQUE ARCHITEC- TURE: LOMBARD, BURGUN- DIAN, RHENISH. (9) With the passing of the thousandth year of our era a marked improvement be- gan to show itself in European affairs, and there was a very widespread revival of build- ing in the eleventh century. A monk of Cluny writing at this time says, "It is as if the earth, arousing itself, and casting away its old robes, clothed itself with the white garment of churches." This took place in France, Germany and Italy alike; and the style of these buildings, though differing as widely as the lands in which they were built, is called Romanesque. It is a style of archi- tecture which had ceased to have the forms peculiar to the Roman, but had not attained to the logical constructive system of the Gothic. Romanesque is the style of a transi- tional period, yet in no sense inferior, for to- it belong many of the stateliest churches in Europe. Romanesque, in the parlance of the plastic arts, means much the same as Romance in that of language. As the changed and altered speech of the people of Gaul and Italy had not become French and Italian, and were no longer Latin in the Romance period, so the buildings of Italy and France were no longer classic and not yet Gothic. We accordingly hear of French, Italian and German Romanesque; more, even, of the Tuscan and Lombard Roman- esque in Italy, or the Norman and Burgun- dian in France, as the lesser divisions of the countries of Europe developed each its own peculiar styles. The earliest and constructively the most progressive is the style of Northern Italy, the Lombard Romanesque. The ancient church of San Ambrogio in Milan offers the most complete, as well as the earliest, ex- ample. Its plan includes the church and an atrium which precedes it. The church has a nave, and side aisles each half as wide as the nave. Its vaults are not of the old Roman type requiring vast abutments, nor built of concrete and requiring extensive centering. The enclosing surface of the vault (the roofing surface) is supported in separate sections upon a framework of inde- BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. 179 pendent stone ribs, or arches. Each vault- ing compartment is square, and has three pairs of ribs; four semi-circular ribs over the four sides of the compartment, and two elliptical ones arching the compartment from its diagonally opposite corners. A single square compartment of the nave is equal in width to two of those of the aisles, and these aisles are in two stories, while the nave is in one. The supports upon which the ribs rest are logically designed for their office, each vaulting rib having its indi- vidual supporting member rising from the pavement to the springing of the arch. The transverse ribs, those which cross the nave at right angles to its long axis, rise from rectangular shafts, while the diagonal ribs rise from circular shafts, the capitals of which face in the direction which the ribs take. Lower down, reaching from the pavement to the springing of the ribs of the aisle vaults, there are five shafts, one for the transverse aisle rib, two for the diagonal aisle ribs, and two for the arches of the ground arcade, which divides the nave from the aisles. These shafts together form a compound pier, a feature very unlike any Roman support. The intermediate piers, so-called because one is placed between each pair of the piers which carry the high vaults of the nave, are similarly designed but with fewer members. The ribs of the aisle vaults on the outer sides of the aisles rest constructed like those of the side aisles them- selves, and supported by low piers, one above each of the intermediate piers of the ground arcade. The atrium is open to the sky in the mid- dle, and is surrounded by a vaulted aisle. -n n LLrrl In Tl Tl "W* 7W^ X JL J* ' '^*> int PLAN OF SAN AMBROGIO, MILAN. upon piers or thickenings in the wall, and at each of these points there is additional strength given by a buttress or pilaster attached to the outside of the wall. (See the plan.) The vaults of the galleries, called triforium, above the side aisles, are SAN AMBROGIO, MILAN. The vaults of this aisle have ribs over the four sides of each compartment, but lack the diagonal ribs. The diagonals of these vaults are simple groins like those of an elliptical groin vault of Roman construction. The system of independent ribs for the vaults, and the compound pier, designed logically for the support of such ribs, show a change from all former styles of architec- ture, and point the way to the constructive system of the Gothic cathedrals. While the construct- ive system of San Ambrogio is of greater importance, its dec- orative details display features which are characteristic of the Romanesque style wherever found. Noticeable among these are the pilaster strips, rows of pilasters or buttresses often con- nected at their tops by arches ; and the corbel tables, cornices sup- ported upon projecting brackets, such as that which forms the ledge of the triforium in the nave of San Ambrogio. Or, again, the multi- plication of the members of arches, the archi- volts, over doorways, or in arcades, as may be seen in the nave just mentioned, and a i8o ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, corresponding multiplication of the members in the piers which support such arches. The capitals of the pieis of San Ambrogio are especially interesting as showing the strength and boldness, though the crudity of the conception, of the Lombard builders. They are in a high degree expressive of the loss of Roman refinement and technique, yet no less expressive of the new ideas and methods which were being introduced with the fresh barbarian blood; stock from which the strength and the nations of Europe were then arising. The next important advance in vault con- struction, beyond that attained in Lom- bardy, was made in the province of Burgundy. The Romanesque style, how- ever, as practiced in almost every part of Europe, shows a high degree of artistic in- vention, there being a marked difference between the buildings of adjacent provinces of even the same country. As examples, the famous and picturesque group of Pisan cathedral, baptistery and leaning tower, or the above described Lombard church of San Ambrogio in Milan might be cited. It is, however, the Burgundian abbey of Vezelay in Central France which shows the important advance just referred to. Its nave, built during the twelfth century, is divided into oblong compartments by a series of independent transverse ribs, while the vaulting compartments of the aisles are square. The independent ribs recall the Lombard vaults, but there the vaulting compartments are square, and the vaults, although supported by a system of in- dependent ribs, are of the Roman form wilh round arches over the sides and elliptical arches over the diagonals. This oblong compartment resulted in a change in the method of vaulting, and prepared the way for the introduction of Gothic vaults. In Lombard vaults, as in the Roman elliptical groin vault, the form of the groins was determined by the nature of the vault by the intersection at right angles of two barrel vaults; but the Burgundian builders con- ceived the idea of treating the groin as a starting point, by constructing semi-circular arches over the diagonals of their oblong vaulting compartments, as well as semi-cir- cular ribs over the four sides of the compart- ment. It is obvious that these arches and ribs, being semi-circular and having different spans, will have their crowns at different levels, and hence to cover the space with vaulting surfaces those surfaces must be in- clined upwards from the level of the lower ribs to the level of the higher arches; and such inclination giving the vault a somewhat domed appearance caused this form of vault to be called the domical groin vault. In one sense such a system of vaulting surpasses that of San Ambrogio because it permits the ar- chitect to plan his vaulting compartments of shapes other than square, while in another it falls behind, because the groin arcliej were not given a S2t of independent ribs. But between the Lombard and the Bargundian architects great freedom had been gained for the designer of vaulted structures. It had been made possible for him to construct cross vaults over spaces of oblong shape, and to construct them with independent ribs, and so dispense with a complete center- ing. To combine these two principles and to introduce the pointed arch for the sake of constructive convenience, and thus give perfect freedom to the designer; to enable an architect to vault compartments of any shape, square, oblong, triangular or curved in plan, remained for the builders of the Ile-de-France, the inventors of Gothic archi- tecture. The cathedrals of the Rhine border, those in Mainz, Speyer, and Worms, are perhaps most commonly thought of when mention is made of Romanesque architecture. Like the Lombaid churches, but unlike most of the French and English, these German churches were built of brick, their huge masses, high gables and lofty octagonal as well as square and sometimes circular towers forming picturesque groups as they rise high over the houses clustered about them. Mainz was probably the earliest of the Rhen- ish churches to receive a complete system of vaults. It had a western as well as an eastern transept, and likewise two apses, such a double arrangement being character- istic of this style. In the form of the vault- ing compartments, as in the absence of a complete system of ribs, Mainz recalls the BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. 181 church at Vezelay, but its exterior clearly distinguishes it and its class from the Romanesque of other countries. To Ger- many seems due the ciedit of having first combined the tower with the actual build- ing, and such has often been made an ele- ment of great beauty in church architecture. The original use of towers is not known, but soon after the introduction of bells they were used as belfries. When used in later times above the cross- ings of churches, as for example the octagonal towers of Mainz, they became serviceable for lighting the interiors, and were called lan- terns. diagonals, and then to point and stilt the ribs upon the four sides of the compartment. Such a vault was always somewhat domed and its longitudinal arches usually stilted, that is, the sides of the arch were carried up vertical for some distance before the arch began to curve. Suppose a, b, c, d of ac- companying figure to be the plan of the compartment to be vaulted, then a, c and b, G OTHIC AR- C H I T EC- TUR E IN FRANCE(io) The Romanesque style led to the Gothic, and contained many features which were adopted by it, but did not, as is often thought, change into Gothic, for Gothic implies a very important constructive innovation which trans- formed alike the struc- ture and the appearance of buildings. This was the use of pointed arch- es in place of round in the building of vaults. The pointed arch has two advantages, for with a given span its crown may be made to reach any height, and it exerts less thrust than the round arch. A fully developed Gothic vault possessed a complete system of independent, salient ribs: transverse, diagonal and longitudinal. The vaulting compartments were rrsnally oblong and the method of vaulting them was to construct semi-circular ribs above the THE CATHEDRAL OF MAINZ. d represent the diagonal ribs, and these are semi-circular, as shown by the dotted arch, d, g, b. Now round arches sprung above the sides of this compartment must neces- sarily reach a less height than the similar arches over the diagonals, because the diam- eters of the former are shorter than those of the latter. To make the crowns of the ribs over the sides a, b and d, c, reach to, or near to the lever of the crowns of the diag- 182 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, onal ribs, the ribs over a, b and d, c were made in the form of pointed arches, as shown by the dotted lines, d, h, c. Finally the ribs longitudinal above the sides a, d and b, c were not only pointed but were also stilted as shown by the dotted lines c, k, i, 1, b, the stilting being represented by c, k and 1, b. Thus the Gothic system of vaulting adopted the independent ribs of the Romanesque, and likewise its doming, although this latter was still earlier used by the Byzantine builders, but never upon any very considerable scale. But it was the introduction of pointed arches in place of round a thing done purely for the sake of utility that made possible the vaulting of compartments of any shape with only so much doming as was agreeable to the eye, and with moderate expend- ^ itures of labor /' and material. The / use of pointed / - K- -----i-- \ arches lessened the amount of the thrusts, and enabled the builders to construct their vaults in such a manner that the thrusts might be gathered along fixed lines, and at certain points, which places of stress could be strengthened by piers of masonry or arches sprung between such piers and the places where the strengthening was needed. The outer piers or buttresses were made heavy and strong enough to meet and overcome all the combined thrusts of the vaults of the inte- rior, and so secure the equilibrium of the en- tire structure. Gothic implies a building in which stone vaults are supported upon a framework of independent ribs, a skeleton as it were, these ribs being supported, so far as their vertical weight is concerned, by piers, and so far as their thrusts are con- cerned, by a system of arches and buttresses from without; an active Gothic system as opposed to an inert Roman. No more brief, clear and exact account of a typical Gothic building could be given than that contained in chapter I of Prof. Charles H. Moore's work, "Development and Char- acter of Gothic Architecture." We gladly avail ourselves of it: "i. The plan consists of a central nave, the eastern portion of which forms the choir, with side aisles, sometimes one and sometimes two on each side; and with a transept usually also provided with aisles. The choir terminates eastward, almost in- variably, in a segmental or polyg- onal apse, or sanctuary, around which the aisles are continued. Opening out of the apsidal aisles are usually a series of small chap- els, the central one of which is, in k most cases, more largely developed \ than the rest. The transept arms \\ have commonly rectangular ends, and the west end of the nave is in- variably rectangular. The nave is divided from the aisles by a row of piers on each side which support the superstructure, consisting of the triforium and the clerestory. On the outer sides of the aisles are half-piers, or responds, against which are set the great buttresses of the exterior, and the spaces be- tween them are enclosed by low and com- paratively thin walls with openings above them reaching from pier to pier and up to the arch of the aisle vaulting. "2. The vaults, whose forms and propor- tions determine the number and arrange- ment of the piers and buttresses, are constructed upon a complete set of salient ribs; namely, transverse ribs, diagonal (or groin) ribs, and longitudinal ribs. These ribs are independent arches, of which the transverse and longitudinal ones are pointed, while the diagonals sometimes remain round. Upon these ribs the vaults rest the one never being incorporated with the other. BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC '83 "3. The ribs are sustained by slender shafts, compactly grouped and often engaged, bonded by their bases and cap r itals, if not throughout their length, with the great piers which rise from the pavement through the successive stories of the building to the nave cor- nice. In addition to the shafts which support the main ribs of the vault are shorter ones to carry the great archivolts (the arches of the main arcades), the ribs of the aisle vaulting', and the arches of the triforium. To the pier is added a rectan- gular buttress which rises through the triforium and be- comes an external feature in the clerestory. Each pier is thus a compound member con- sisting of a- great central col- umn with which are incorpo- rated smaller shafts and a buttress. By these piers the vaults are supported their thrusts being so completely neutralized by the external but- tress system that they require to be only massive enough to "bear the weight of the vaults. "4. The clerestory buttresses are re-enforced by flying but- tresses, which are segments of arches rising from the vast outer abutments (the external members of the responds of the aisles) and springing over the aisle roofs. These flying buttresses are the most characteristic features of the Gothic exterior. "5. Walls proper are almost entirely omitted. Those that are retained are the low enclosing walls of the ground story, and the spandrels of the various arcades. The spaces between the piers, and beneath the arches of the vaulting, in both clerestory and aisles, are entirely open, like the inter- columniations of a colonnade. They are formed into vast windows, divided by mul- lions and tracery which support the iron INTERIOR CATHEDRAL OF AMIENS. bars to which the glazing is attached. It will thus be seen that the full development of the Gothic system is brought out only where the plan of the building includes a high central nave and lower side aisles. It was in such buildings that the system was evolved. The active principle introduced with the flying buttress, as opposed to the comparatively inert principle of the Roman- esque wall and wall buttress, is the distin- guishing principle of Gothic construction, as we have already remarked. By the flying buttress in connection with the pointed arch 184 ARCHITECTURE: GREEK, ROMAN, in the ribs of the vaulting, and a peculiar adjustment of these ribs, ... is the Gothic concentration and resistance of thrusts ren- dered possible." One of the finest, as well as the earliest, buildings in the Gothic style is the Cathedral of Paris, which, consists of a nave and choir of nearly equal length, separated by transepts. The choir termi- nates in a semi-circular apse. Both the nave and the choir have double side aisles which continue around the apse, forming an ambulatory of great extent. The transepts project but slightly, and are without aisles. The building is vaulted throughout, and the supports are regular and circular in section, with the exception of the two westernmost on each side of the nave. The JIXfL Ml ground story story PLAN OF PARIS CATHEDRAL: NOTRE DAME DE PARIS. piers are crowned with capitals of massive but finely-designed form, from the square abaci of which rise the shafts for the sup- port of the vaulting ribs. The aisles, which are double, are separated from one another by piers, and are vaulted in square compartments with a complete system of ribs. Above the aisle vaults there are triforium galleries which open upon the nave, while still higher the wall rises to the springing of the vaults. The original arrangement of the clerestory was peculiar, as may be seen by comparing it in two adjacent bays of the nave, in one of which the old circular and pointed openings still remain. The high vaults of the nave and choir, as likewise those of the east end, are secured from without by flying buttresses; those of the apse, says Violett le Due, "being not less than foity-five feet from center to circum- ference; an unique accomplishment." The west front of Paris is a design as temperate in the character and arrangement of its deco- rative details as it is grand and simple in its main divisions. (Sec the cut, p. 50.) The nave of the cathedral of Amiens, which dates from 1220, exhibits the Gothic style in its perfection. It is one hundred and twenty-six feet high, and its design is a marvel of logical construction and exquisite beauty. The piers which support the vaults are circular, with four engaged shafts. Those which carry the transverse ribs of the high vaults rise uninterruptedly from the pavement to the capitals, from which the ribs spring. The other three ground shafts carry the arches of the arcades of the ground story and the ribs of the aisle vaults. The shafts which carry the diago- nal ribs of the high vaults rise from the capitals of the ground story piers, while those which support the lon- gitudinal ribs rise from the level of the triforium string. (Seethecuts,pp. 130 and 183.) In this nave no walls can properly be said to exist, the windows occupying the en- tire space included between the longitudinal ribs, their supporting shafts and thereof above the triforium vaults. The whole structure has a vast skeleton of piers and arches which carry the vaults, the thrusts of which are counterbalanced by the double arches of the flying buttresses. In the aisles all the space between the buttresses and below the longitudinal ribs is occupied by windows. These, like the vast clere- story windows, are divided by stone traceries into richly designed compartment?, which are filled with stained glass, the tinted light from which not only gives color to the gray stone work, but constantly varied color, according as the light diminishes or in- creases in intensity. . (See the cut, p. 137.) The manner in which the clerestory and the triforium of Amiens are designed, by BYZANTINE, ROMANESQUE AND GOTHIC. 185 which both are made parts of a single great the result of organic necessity," and it is composition, and finally the way in which this quality which, more than any other, insures the beauty of Gothic architecture; which insured the beauty of the best Greek architecture, and will insure beauty to any architecture that shall yet be created. There are comparatively few churches in France which have spires, but among those few there are enough to show what the ; ,-' ' : CAPITAL FROM GROUND ARCADE IN THE CATHEDRAL OF PARIS. this composition is joined to the arcade be- low, in which every part clearly expresses its own function and yet all together are but the members of one vast whole, is unsur- passed in the architecture of any age. Throughout this nave no part exists inde- pendently of the other parts, yet none is SD prominent as to attract undue attention. Truly, "every member shows the result of a constructional necessity, just as in the ani- mal and vegetable kingdoms there is no phenomenon, no individuality which is not SPIRE OF THE CATHEDRAL OF SF.NLIS. From the" Gothic Architecture" of C. H. Moore, by permission. Gothic spire was like: to show how of all the features which individualize the Gothic work of the thirteenth century none does so more beautifully than the spire, and no spire in France, or in the world, can surpass that of the cathedral of Senlis. The fifteenth century Gothic style devel- oped peculiarities of detail which gave rise TWO BAYS IN THE CLERESTORY OF THE CATHEDRAL OF ., rM v. a VI T (brown or black color over white plaster), while the top story occasionally has an open loggia. The palaces of Siena at this time are still more medieval in character. Much of the detail of this period is very fine in scale and extremely delicate in execu- tion. The pulpits, paneling, church furni- ture of wood and of marble, and the tomb monuments are generally lavishly decorated with sculpture, and of very rich design. The niches in which the tombs are set are often crowned with semi-circular or seg- mental pediments, such as are also found on the doorways, and the pilasters that en- frame them are richly carved with delicate arabesques suggested by classic originals but treated with a wealth of quaint fancy and a tender refinement of execution which is peculiar to the period. Donatello, Desiderio da Settignano, Bene- detto de flajano, Bernardo and Antonio Rosselino are among the most important sculptor-architects who are noted for this work. T HE SECOND PERIOD OF THE EARLY RENAISSANCE IN TUSCANY: A L B E R T I. THE EARLY RENAISSANCE IN LOMBARD Y.(i6) The first architects of the Renaissance, Biunelleschi, Michelozzo and the rest, were essentially craftsmen. They carried out as builders their own designs just as the medi- eval mastercraftsmen had done. This gave a vital quality to their executed work such as we do not find in the work of the later Re- naissance, It gave them an appreciation of the connection between structure and design such as we fail to find among the later men in whom the dilettante and literary point of view was more strongly developed. As the RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 199 Renaissance goes forward we find the prog- ress of its architecture determined as much by what is written about it as by what is built. It is curious, therefore, to find so nearly at the beginning of the movement a man whose whole career exemplifies this tend- ency, who indeed did much to bend it into this direction and whose life and work in so many respects anticipated what was to fol- low. Many excellent craftsmen of the old kind followed one another in long succession after this time; but there were few of them who were not affected by this new point of view the point of view of the theorist and literateur rather than of the craftsman and builder. Leon Battista Albert! might indeed almost be called the first architect in the modern sense, as contrasted with the crafts- men, the artist masterbuilders of the olden time. He was a Florentine of wealthy and influential family, but was born in exile in Genoa in 1404, and did not return to Flor- ence until 1434 on the return of Cosimo Medici and the fall of the powerful Albizzi family, who for so long had controlled the destinies of the republic. On his return the wonderful revival of the arts which he found there, especially the work of Brunelleschi, made a most powerful impression upon this learned scholar steeped in the love of classic antiquity, upon this priest more influenced by paganism than by Christian learning, upon this Florentine returning for the first time to his native land to find it so far in advance of the rest of Italy and of the world. All this he fully states in the remarkable dedication to Brunelleschi of his "Treatise on Painting" in 1436. Doubtless the impres- sion then made upon him must have influ- enced him to the study of the architecture of antiquity during his repeated sojourns in Rome from 1436 to 1451. In 1447 he was made canon of the cathedral of Florence and priest of the quarter of San Lorenzo. Later he became rector of San Martino in Ganga- landi, and abbot of San Severino in Pisa. But, as was the case with many of the learned priests of this time, he seldom per- formed the duties of these offices, but held the revenues and left the duties to less dis- tinguished subordinates. Most of his time was devoted to writing books on art and on philosophy, to physical studies and to the practice of architecture. Among other things he invented the camera obscura. His first important work of architecture was the remodeling of the church of San Francisco at Rimini forSig. Malatesta (1447). The front, even in its unfinished condition, is a most interesting adaptation of the motive of the Roman triumphal aich to the treatment of a church fagade. It is indeed the first church fagade of the Renaissance. In 1451 he designed for Ludovico Gonzaga of Mantua, general of the republic of Flor- ence, the choir of the church of S. S. Annunziata. From here he went to Rome to advise with Rosselino as to the rebuilding of the church of St. Peter and additions to the Vatican. With regard to St. Peters nothing was dune, and but little remains of his work on the Vatican. In 1452 he dedi- cated to the pope his book on architecture ' ' De Re JEdificatore, " in which he propounded his theories of proportion. This is the first of that long series of works on the theory of architectural design which were to have so strong an influence on the further develop- ment of the Renaissance style. From 1458 to 1464, under Pius II., he served as papal secretary. In 1459 he designed the first Renaissance church on the Greek cross plan, a scheme which was afterward to be so gen- erally adopted. This church, the church of St. Sebastian at Mantua, is now ruined. Between 1460 and 1466 there was built from his designs in Florence the Rucellai Palace, in which another step in the development of the Renaissance palace was taken. Hitherto there was 110 featuie in the design of the palace fagade which was not required by the construction. The design consisted in the careful shaping and ordering of necessary features. But the front of the Rucellai Pal- ace is enlivened by a system of structurally unnecessary flat pilasters carrying light classic entablatures which take the place of the string-courses separating the stories. At the same time the great cornice is made less heavy. It is significant that this step was taken not by a craftsman but by a scholar and a theorist. It is indicative of the new view which regarded architectural design as 2OO ARCHITECTURE: THE RUCLLLAI PALACE, FLORENCE. a means of effect apart from its connection with structure, or rather which was content to substitute an ideal for the real structure as a basis of design. It will be noted, how- ever, that the pilasters and entablatures are so lightly treated as to avoid the suggestion that they are a part of the real structure; they are frankly treated as merely decorative features, and the classic proportions of the entablatures are modified so that they are hardly more than the string-courses which the occasion demands, while the main cor- nice still dominates 'the whole design. The windows, it will be seen, still recall those of medieval times. In 1470 he completed (also for Giovanni di Paolo Rucellai, for whom the palace had been designed) the front of the church of Santa Maria Novella, which had been commenced in Gothic style. Here enlarged consoles of classic form for the first time took the place of the half gables at the end of the aisles. This motive also became a constant one in Renaissance architecture from now on. But it was in the church of San Andrea at Mantua, which in 1472, the year of his death, he designed for Ludovico Gon- zaga, that he established the type of the Renaissance church front, again using the Roman triumphal arch as the basis of his design. But none of these numerous works of architecture did he carry out himself. This he regarded as beneath the dignity of the designer. He employed as his executants chiefly An- tonio Manetti and Bernardo Rosselino. Thus for the first time are architect and builder separated. This marks one of the great changes which differ- entiates modern from medieval architecture. Bernardo Ros- selino died before Alberti him- self, but he executed many independent works, in which, however, the influence of Al- berti is strikingly apparent, especially in the Palazzo Pic- colomini at Pienza, one of a series of buildings palace, church and town hall which he carried out for Pius II. at the pope's native town. Subject to the same influences but somewhat more robustly han- dled is the work of Luciano Laurana (born in 1420 at Vrana in Dalmatia) as may be seen especially in the courtyards of the pal- aces at Urbino and at Gubbio (1468-1482). A distinct step forward was taken here in the stronger treatment of the angle of the court. (Compare, for instance, the angle of the court at Gubbio with that of the Strozzi palace at Florence.) In church architecture a somewhat similar forward step was taken by Simone del Pallajuolo, called Cronaca (1454-1509), in the interior of his church San Francesco al Monte, on the hill of San Miniato, near Florence. Here the aisle is treated as an arcade in the Roman order with Doric pilasters, while the windows above are rectangular with classic enframe- ment and pediments. This shows a much closer imitation of the classic Roman work. It is more robust in handling than the earlier work, and it is one of the first in- stances of the use of Doric order. It already approaches the high Renaissance. While this astonishing development had been going forward in Tuscany, Renaissance work was introduced into Lombardy, where, however, the Gothic style, which was there much more consistent, lingered much longer. Tuscany was a country where stone was the natural building material. The flat plain of Lombardy, on the other hand, had no stone. RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 2OI Its natural building material was brick, though incrusted marble was often used, either in connection with the brick, or cover- ing its surface entirely. In Venice the same was true, but there marble was even more lavishly used, brought from over seas. The Renaissance architecture was imported into Venice even later than into Lombardy : but the Renaissance styles of the two regions were much more closely akin than their previous medieval styles had been. As showing the persistence of the Gothic man- ner in Venice and Lombardy it will be enough to state that the late Gothic gateway of the ducal palace in Venice, the Porta della Carta, was built between 1440 and 1443, after the Riccardi Palace had been begun by Michelozzo and the Pitti Palace by Brunel- leschi. The choir of the church of San Zac- caria in Venice was begun in Gothic style in 1457 (see the cut p. 153), while in Milan the nave of the church of Santa Maria delle Grazie was built in the Gothic style about 1470, some years after Renaissance architec- ture had been introduced there. Lombard and Venetian architecture of the Renaissance is characterized by its love of highly wrought detail which is always of great delicacy and beauty. The richness and variety of its changes in the general scheme of the Corinthian capital and the beauty and delicacy of its arabesques is even more striking than in Tuscany, while its em- ployment of these details is much more lav- ish. On the other hand it is frequently careless in its general composition. Its artists were carvers and sculptors, but showed little structural knowledge or feel- ing. The front of the church of Santa Maria dei Miracoli at Bresica and the church of the same name at Venice may be taken as examples of this. On the other hand, the Loggia del Consiglio at Verona (1476), by Fra Qiocondo (1435-1515), who is also known as the first to edit and publish the book of the Roman writer on architecture, Vitruvius, may be taken as an example of what is best in Lombard architecture. The motive, as will be seen, is similar to that of Brunel- leschi's Ospedale degl'Innocenti ; but the front is divided by pilasters, the windows are much more elaborate, and the color richer. It is characteristic of this Lombard work that the pilasters have lozenge-shaped or circular panels in the center, and that there is a string-course at the floor level, and another at the window-sill level, the two with the space between them recalling in a measure the forms of the classic entablature, though not its proportions. The use of statues above the cornice is also to be noted. The most celebrated and the richest of the works of the early Renaissance in Lombardy is the front of the Certosa (Carthusian monastery), near Pavia. This was begun in 1491. It is overloaded with rich carving, hardly a surface remaining plain. The palace fronts in Venice at this time are of great charm. Their motives are those of the earlier Venetian palaces, but with the round arches and Corinthianesqne columns of the Renaissance. They are lav- ishly decorated with colored marbles in friezes and circular grouped panels. We have not space to trace their interesting de- velopment. T HE LATER RENAISSANCE IN ITALY: BRAMANTE, RAFAEL, PERUZZI, THE SANGALLI, SANMICHELI, SANSOVINO. (17) The constant tendency of the Renaissance as it developed was toward a closer imitation of classic Roman detail, although the plan and arrangement of the buildings, and in some cases the motives, were founded on medieval precedent modified by the wants of the time. The next important steps in this develop- ment were taken by the great Bramante and his immediate pupils. Although the work of the first half of his career is still of early Renaissance character, his name is asso- ciated with the period of the fully developed Renaissance (or, as it has been conveniently termed by German writers, "the High Re- naissance"), just as that of Brunelleschi is with the Early Renaissance. Donato Bramante was born at Urbino in 1444. He was trained as a painter, and seems also to have worked with Luciano Laurana on the ducal palace at Urbino. By 2O3 ARCH I TEC TURE: about 1470 we hear of him in Milan, where he built in a vigorous Early Renaissance style, which shows the influence of Laur- ana, and lavishly decorated after the Lom- bard manner the little octagonal sacristy and church of Santa Maria presso San Satiro. In this he followed the modification of medieval Lombard octagonal towers suggested by Michelozzo (who was, perhaps, the first to introduce the Renaissance style into Lombard y) in his chapel of St. Peter Martyr at San Eustorgio in Milan. This motive of the octagonal dome or cloister vault treated exteriorly with a pyramidal roof and built of brick, Bramante used fre- quently in Lombardy, the most noticeable instance being the church of Santa Maria THE CANCELLERIA PALACE IN ROME. delle Grazie at Milan, the choir of which Bramante began in 1492 for Ludovico il Moio, Duke of Milan, whose court architect Bramante had been since 1479, when Ludo- vico seized the reins of power. This build- ing is one of the finest examples of Lombard Renaissance architecture in brick, and shows how admirably the Renaissance architects could modify their forms to a different material. The projections are slight, the cornices making up in height what they lack in projection, and the design depends on the rich treatment of a multiplicity of small parts, the units employed being determined by the size of the individual brick. Here is no attempt to imitate in brick, designs proper to stone. The same character is shown in the designs of the brick palaces and churches at Bologna and at Siena at the same period. The result of Bramante's influence in Lom- bardy was to give its buildings more of structural character and consistency, as is seen by the designs executed by his pupils and others influenced by him. Such are the domed churches of Santa Maria Incoronata at Lodi, and La Croce in Riva, the beautiful basilican church of the Monastero Maggiore at Milan, and .the cathedral at Como, where Bramante himself carried out some work. On the overthrow of Ludovico il Moro by the invasion of King Louis XII. of France, the brilliant court of Milan was scattered, and Bramante went to Rome, probably by way of Florence. He was evidently strongly influenced by the great works of Renais- sance architecture which he found here. Beside the buildings we have noted in Flor- ence itself, he may have seen in its partly completed state the domed church of the Madonna del Calcinajo at Cortona, which was begun in 1485 by Francesco di Giorgio, an able architect of Siena. Its dome, how- ever, was not completed until 1514. In Rome a change at once manifested it- self in the character of Bramante's work. The great Cancelleria Palace, which he com- pleted, if he did not begin, carries still far- ther the development of palace design from the point where it was left by Alberti and Laurana. Each story of the exterior is decorated by flat pilasters, as in the designs of those masters, but the pilasters are now grouped into alternately wide and narrow spacings, in what is well called by German writers 'the rhythmical bay', a motive which from now on Bramante constantly em- ployed. The windows are placed in the wider bays, are of a new form almost peculiar to Bramante (semicircular-headed windows with square enframement and slight cornice over the arch), and are carefully contrasted in size in the several stories. The design has thus much more variety than those of an earlier date. Each story has a slight entablature, as in the Rucellai Palace. The great court has arches resting on Doric columns instead of the Corinthian or Corin- thianesque order hitherto employed. The palace is one of the most splendid and one RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 205 of the most beautiful of the Renaissance. Another court of great beauty and some- what different motive is that of the monas- tery of Santa Maria della Pace. Perhaps the building which is most characteristic of Bramante's second manner is the Tempietto (or little Temple) in the cloister of San Pietro in Montorio in Rome. Save for its prominent dome and its characteristically Renaissance balustrade (a feature invented by the Renaissance architects without classic precedent), this design, with its Doric colon- nade of thoroughly classic proportion, is almost a reproduction of the Roman circular temple. It marks the change to the pre- cise following of Roman detail. At this period the court of the popes, which had become the most prominent in Italy, attracted all the best artists, and from this time on Rome rather than Florence was the center of the artistic and intellectual life of the peninsula. Bramante was employed by the great pope Julius II., in important additions to the Vatican Palace and in mak- ing designs for the rebuilding of St. Peter's. In the great court of the Vatican, Bramante gave evidence in a marked degree of that feeling for spaciousness, of the effectiveness of mere size which is so characteristic of the Renaissance. In the buildings that flank the court Bramante employed again the rhythmical bay: but this time in conjunction with the Roman arch order. The court was originally in three different levels, the con- nections with which were made by broad flights of balustraded steps, perhaps the earliest instance of that employment of monumental stairways which became so characteristic a feature of the Renaissance gardens. At the upper end of the court was a colossal niche several stories high. This motive had already been employed by Bramante on a smaller scale at the church of Abbiate Grasso,.near Milan. The court of the Vatican is now cut into three parts by buildings, so that the original effectiveness of the design is lost. In his drawings for St. Peter's Bramante completed the develop- ment of the dome treatment by making the plan on which the dome rested that of a square with truncated angles, thus greatly strengthening, both in fact and in appearance, the piers, and causing the pendentives to take the form of a spherical trapezoid in- stead of a spherical triangle. (See cut, p. 203.) The high drum was also further developed and enriched by an external colonnade. Very little of this was carried out, how- ever, by Bramante, and it remained for Michelangelo to give to the dome-forms, which Bramante had suggested, their fullness of beauty. Of domed churches which show more or less directly the result of Bramante's influence may be mentioned Santa Maria della Consolazione at Todi (1508), perhaps the work of Bramante himself, and the admirable San Biagio at Montepulciano built in 1518 (three years after Bramante's death) by Antonio da Sangallo the elder. Among those who assisted Bramante in his drawings for St. Peter's were his nephew the painter, Rafael Sanzio (1483-1520), Bal- dassare Peruzzi (1481-1536), Antonio da Sangallo the younger (d. 1546), Michele Sanmicheli (1484-1559), and Jacopo San- sovino (1477-1570). Under these great men the architecture of the Renaissance was car- ried to its greatest perfection, especially in palace design. They seemed to feel that the pilasters with which Alberti and Bramante had sought to enrich their palace fronts were superfluous and illogical. They therefore re- turned to the simple scheme of the Early Renaissance palace of Tuscany, that is to say, a simple massive fagade, its stories divided by string-courses, pierced with windows and crowned by a great cornice. Rustication, however, if it existed at all, was generally con- fined to the angles, and was always treated with more delicacy than in the earlier style, while the windows no longer recalled the middle ages, but were rectangular openings with classic enframements, sometimes with columns, and often with alternately trian- gular and segmental pediments. The string- courses were now neither medieval in char- acter nor treated like small entablatures, but rather like molded plinths preparing for the story above, and designed expressly for the function they had to perform in the de- sign. The details were all of strictly classic Roman character, much more robust than those of the Early Renaissance, and gener- ally with less decoration. The lavish use of 2O6 ARCHITECTURE: fanciful sculptured ornament now disap- pears, as does also the decorative use of col- ored marbles on the exterior, but, in the interior, decorations in fresco become even more elaborate and fanciful, as for instance, in Rafael's Loggie in one of the smaller courts of the Vatican built by Bramante. In general the whole treatment as compared with the earlier period is more formal, more correct in its imitation of Roman detail and wonderfully refined in propor- tion. In the courts the Roman arch order was generally employed, imitated from such buildings as the Colosseum. Among the THE FARNESE PALACE IN ROME. most beautiful of these buildings are the Villa Farnesina in Rome (about 1510), by Peruzzi and Rafael, containing some of Rafael's famous frescoes, the Palazzo Pandolfini in Florence, designed by Rafael (1520), the ^reat Farnese Palace in Rome, begun in 1534 by Antonio Sangallo the younger for Alexander Farnese, after- ward Pope Paul III., and completed by Michelangelo and Giacomo della Porta, and the Massimi palaces by Peruzzi, perhaps the most refined of all these designers. Peruzzi also executed work at Siena and at Bologna, while some very refined buildings were constructed in Florence, especially by Baccio d'Agnolo (1462-1543). In 1516 Rafael designed for Cardinal Giulio de' Medici (afterward Pope Clement VII.), one of the most beautiful and most characteristic of the country villas of the Renaissance, the Villa Madama, near Rome. Its courts, halls and loggie, its gardens with their balustraded terraces and great flights of steps, even in their present unfinished and ruinous condition, form one of the most attractive compositions of this great time. Rafael's Capella Chigi in Santa Maria del Popolo (1512) shows the application of Bra- mante's dome motive to a chapel of compar- atively small size. This somewhat form- al manner was carried to Venice and Verona by Sanmicheli (1484- 1559) and Sansovino (1477-1570). Here, how- ever, the style was treated less logically and often with less fine proportions, but with greater richness. In the Venetian palaces the treatment was mod- ified by the necessity of conforming to the Vene- tian type of palace with its balconies and great groups of windows. The most splendid of these compositions is undoubtedly Sansovi- no's Library of St. Mark (1536). Here the Roman arch-order is used in two stories crowned by a very broad frieze and enriched by a lavish use of figure sculpture. Here Fra Giocondo's motive of statues crowning the building is repeated. In its origin this mo- tive is Lombard and Venetian. The main scheme of the design will be seen by close analysis to be an enriched variation of the cen- tral motive of the Villa Farnesina. Apart from his palaces Sanmicheli is to be remem- bered for his fortifications and city gateways in which he employs rustication and a rusti- cated Doric order to gain vigor of effect. RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. THE VITRU- VIANS AND MICHELAN- GELO. PAL- LADIO. THE DECLINE IN ITALY. (18) Shortly after Rafael's death in 1520 two dis- tinct and conflicting movements are discern- ible in Italian architec- ture, to some extent in- fluencing the work of some of the men already named. On the one hand we have the architectural activity of Michelan- gelo Buonarroti (1475- 1564), which is in the nature of a protest against the somewhat formal work of his time. Michelangelo refused to be bound by rule and precedent, and insisted on treating the classic detail with a freedom which often ran into license and disregarded en- tirely the structural significance of the forms employed. His aim was to produce effect- ive compositions in vigorous light and shade, and he cared very little by what means this was obtained. It thus happens that his compositions are always bold and vigorous, but frequently coarse and mean- ingless in detail. Michelangelo's early career was that of a painter and sculptor, partly in Florence and partly in Rome, and he hardly turned his attention to architecture until after the troubled events which led to the final over- throw of the Republic of Florence and its enslavement by the Medici, when he was fifty-five years old. From that time on he was mainly in Rome; but his first important works of architecture were the New Sacristy of San Lorenzo with the tombs of the Medici, and the Laurentian Library in Florence. In both these works the tendency spoken of is clearly shown. Columns which carry noth- ing but are recessed in the wall, fantastic capitals of no particular order, broken pedi- ments, brackets which have nothing to sup- THE NEW SACRISTY IN THE CHURCH OF SAN LORENZO, FLORENCE. port, but are used simply for the shadow they cast these and other like features anticipate the decline of later years, which the example of Michelangelo did so much to bring about. In 1536 the great buildings on the Capitoline hill in Rome were begun from his designs, and here we find the first em- ployment of the colossal order, i. e., the order embracing two or more stories and generally applied to the wall simply as dec- oration. In 1546, when he was already seventy-one years old, he was appointed architect of St. Peter's in Rome, and here he showed his really marvelous capacity and power as an ar- chitect. He carried out Bramante's general idea of a church on a Greek cross plan sur- mounted by a dome ; but he treated the ex- terior of the building with a single colossal pilaster order with an attic, increased the height of the dome, and entirely changed the design of the drum. Instead of Bramante's encircling colonnade, he used a series of but- tresses marked by coupled columns. These were intended to be surmounted by scrolls and statues, which were never carried out. The main ribs of the dome itself rose from these buttresses. In the treatment of the detail of the dome we find almost nothing of the extravagance of form of his other work ; but in the attic of the church this indifference to 208 ARCHITECTURE: propriety of form is clearly apparent. The great dome of St. Peters marks the culmi- nation of dome development. The effective- ness and beauty of the whole church was much marred by the lengthening of the nave carried out by Maderna in the seven- teenth century, which changed the form of the plan to that of a Latin cross. To get any idea of the design of the exterior as Michelangelo intended it, one must look at ST. PETER'S CATHEDRAL IN ROME. the church toward the transept or the choir. The depravity of which Michelangelo was capable in his last years is shown in the Porta Pia, a design not surpassed in ugliness or absurdity by any work of the decline. About Michelangelo were grouped a number of followers and admirers whose work, how- ever, while marred by many of his faults, was usually less extravagant. Of these men three are important. The painter, Giorgio Vasari (1511-1514), is more especially known as the author of the "Lives of the Painters." His work in architecture is chiefly in Flor- ence, and is characterized by a picturesque- ness of handling, a scenic charm, hardly found among his contemporaries. His best work is the Uffizzi (or Offices) in Florence, 1560, now used as an art gallery one of the most celebrated of the world. A man of somewhat similar pictnresqueness of feeling is Bartolommeo Ammanati (1511-1592), who completed the Pitti Pal- ace. Giacomo del la Porta (1541-1604) car- ried to completion sev- eral of Michelangelo's unfinished buildings, notably St. Peters, the garden front of the Farnese Palace, the Collegia della Sapienza, and the Porta Pia, be- sides executing build- ings himself of which the most notable is the church of S. Maria dei Monti, a characteristic example of the period. As against the in- fluence of Michelangelo we have the work of the formalists. The men who could not de- sign a detail without seeking direct prece- dent for it in the Roman remains or in the trea- tise of Vitruvius which now was made almost an architectural bible. These men, and the learned but pedantic amateurs who encouraged them, sought to reduce everything to rule, and published books laying down fixed forms for each one of the orders, which now were reduced to a rigid system for which the work of ancient Rome really furnished no precedent. The detail of these men tended to become cold and mechanical, and was lacking altogether in that vitality which is such a charm in the work of the fifteenth century. Decoration was now reduced to a minimum. Sham RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 209 material, stucco masquerading as stone or marble now begins to appear, while the scale of the buildings is increased. Chief among the earlier men of this school was Gia- como Barozzi da Vignola (1507-1573), whose chief works are the Villa of Pope Julius III (1550-1555), (in which he was probably as- sisted by Vasari), the church of the Madonna degli Angeli at Assisi, the church of II Gesii in Rome, and the castle at Caprarola. But he is best known for his treatise on the five orders which since his day has been the standard authority in the schools, and which perhaps more than any other influence has tended to give to modern architectural design its mechanical quality. Sebastiano Serlio of Bologna, a pupil of Peruzzi's, published a treatise on architecture which also had a wide influence. In part belonging to this formal school, but showing a vigor in conception which places him rather apart, is Andrea Palladio of Vicenza (1518-1580). Of his numerous build- ings at Vicenzathe best known and the most beautiful is the so-called Basilica(begun about 1549), in which he treats the two stories each with a continuous arcade with columns, Doric below, Ionic above, in what has since been called the Palladian motive. He is fond also of using the same motive in his windows. The idea of the faade was evidently sug- gested by Sansovino's Library of St. Mark at Venice, completed a few years previously. But Palladio's building is treated with a dignity and simplicity and a picturesqueness of handling which produce a very different effect. Palladio follows Michelangelo in applying the colossal order to his palace fronts, often with great dignity of effect but with little logic. He was largely employed also in Venice, and the two great churches, S. Giorgio Maggiore (begun 1560) and the Redentore (1576) are by him. It will be noted that the fronts of these churches em- ploy the motive established by Albert! in S. Andrea at Mantua, but with the robustness of detail and the closer following of Roman precedent characteristic of the later time. The tower of San Giorgio is a characteristic and beautiful Italian Renaissance bell-tower or campanile. Palladio's villas between Ven- ice and Vicenza are often of great charm, but are much more formal than those of the previous period about Rome. Vincenzo Scamozzi (1552-1616) closely followed in Palladio's footsteps. Quite distinctive are the villas of Genoa at this time: formal buildings, generally with the colossal order, and with much extravagance of detail; but in which the use of the staircase is made a principal feature of the interior, as hitherto it had been of the garden terraces. The variety and picturesqueness of these Genoese stair- cases and staircase halls is quite remarkable, and not less so the formal treatment of the gardens about the houses, with their ter- races, balustrades, flights of steps, cascades and fountains. Chief among the architects of Genoa at this time is Galeazzo Alessi (1512-1572) to be remembered not only for his palaces, but also as architect of the church of Madonna del Carignano, in which the general idea of St. Peters is followed on a smaller scale. From this time on the extravagance and falsity of design increased. Renaissance architecture passed over into what is known as the Baroque. Nearly all connection be- tween structure and design now disappeared, and theatrical splendor of effect was the ideal aimed at. The colossal order was all but universal, and we find the most capri- cious use of detail, simply to obtain effects of light and shade. Rigid lines were avoided where possible. Broken pediments, curved fagades, twisted shafts, windows of weird shape, moldings and capitals bent as if made of some soft material, ornamentation of ex- travagant scroll and shell work, curtains executed in stone in imitation of cloth these and other debased forms everywhere appear and affect especially the treatment of the interiors. On the other hand build- ings of a more dignified character are not wanting, and there is often a largeness of handling which gives great dignity, as in the great colonnade in front of St. Peter's in Rome by Giovanni Lorenzo Bernini (1599- 1680), the most celebrated architect of this time. Garden design now reaches its highest development. Carlo Maderna (1556-1639), who lengthened the nave and built the large front of St. Peter's, and Francesco Bor- 210 ARCHITECTURE: romini (1599-1667) are others whose names are associated with these extravagances. In Venice is to be found perhaps the most splendidly effective composition of this period, the picturesque and finely grouped church of Santa Maria della Salute (1631) by Longhena, who also built there two great palaces, the palaces Pesaro and Rezzonico, which in spite of some ugliness of detail are as fine in composition as any of an earlier period. Burckhardt thus briefly sums up Renais- sance architecture in Italy: "We can distin- guish two periods of the Renaissance properly so called. The first extends from about 1420 to 1500, and may be characterized as the period of experiment. The second perhaps scarcely reaches the year 1540; it is the golden age of modern architecture, which in the greatest problems attains to a definite harmony between the main forms and the decoration, which is restrained within due limits. From 1540 on begin already the first foretokens of the Baroque style which insists solely on masses and proportions and treats the detail arbitrarily as an external sham-organism." R ENAISSANCE ARCHITECTURE IN FRANCE. (19) Renaissance architecture was in- troduced into France as a result of the invasions of Italy by the successive French kings, Charles VIII., Louis XII., and Francis I. During the middle ages the Gothic style had its origin and reached its highest development in the provinces of northern France; and as the monarchy strengthened and welded the provinces into a nation under its central government, the Gothic style tended to become more and more national until in the years of its decline it varied but little in different parts of the country from Calais to the Mediterranean. It was a style which had been developed by the people, and it perfectly expressed their noblest ideals and aspirations. When the nobles of the French armies, impressed by the luxury and splendor of Italian life and civilization, wished to intro- duce the Renaissance style into France, they met at first with strenuous opposition from the people, and from the Gothic craftsmen wedded to their beautiful traditional native art. During the reigns of Charles VIII. and Louis XII., in spite of the constant im- portation of Italian works of art and of Italian artists into France, the late French Gothic style was scarcely affected. The first building in which Renaissance forms appear to any marked degree is the Chateau Gaillon near Rouen, built for himself by Louis XII. 's minister Georges d'Amboise the cardinal archbishop of Rouen. But the main structure is still that of a great late Gothic castle overlaid with detail imitated from the Italian Renaissance. The chateau was wantonly destroyed in 1796, but one of its beautiful entrances is set up in the court- yard of the school of Fine Arts in Paris. It was a characteristic sign of the times that while the great ecclesiastic might employ the new foreign forms in building a palace for himself, yet in erecting the gorgeous front of the cathedral at Rouen (1509-1530), in the church of St. Maclou, and in the Pal- ace of Justice in the same town, he used the beautiful if somewhat florid and extravagant late Gothic style. The people built their town halls at this time by preference in Gothic, as at Noyon, Compiegne, Douai and Dreux; and the great tower of the cathedral of Beauvais, over three hundred feet high was built between 1555 and 1568, and the transepts were completed in Gothic style after the fall of the tower in 1573, a quarter of a century after the Early Renaissance style of 'France had already run its course. The wing of the castle of Blois built by King Louis himself is also Gothic, though Renaissance detail creeps in inconspicuously in a few places. It is not until the reign of Francis I. (1515-1547) that the new manner essentially a style of palaces, as the Gothic had been essentially a style of churches was fully established. Francis I. built en- tirely, or added to, a number of royal pal- aces: at Chambord (begun about 1526), at Blois, at Fontainebleau, at St. Germain-en- Laye; and the nobles followed suit in all parts of France in a series of chateaux of marvelous picturesqueness and beauty. The RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. plans were still those of the Gothic castles, regular if the site was flat and extended, as at Chambord, but often following the irregu- larities of some rocky height, as at St. Ger- main-en-Laye. They consisted of a great central donjon or keep, with enclosing wings forming a large court or courts. The angles were usually marked by large round towers, as in the medieval castles, and the buildings were crowned with steep roofs, with lofty and richly ornamented chimneys. But now these round towers were pierced with large window openings placed one over the other. In some instances medieval castles were altered into Renaissance pal- aces by cutting the walls and inserting large besques of friezes and pilasters, which are hardly behind the earlier Lombard work in delicacy, while they have even greater variety of treatment and a vigor of concep- tion and handling that distinguishes them from the Early Renaissance style of Italy which they imitated. It is noteworthy that these men followed the Early Renaissance style which was nearer in spirit to their own Gothic, and net the formal classicism which already had reached in Italy its highest point of development. The grafting of the forms of the Early Renaissance upon Gothic motives gives to the Early Renaissance style of France, usually spoken of as the style of Francis I., a quite peculiar charm. It is not THE CHATKAU OF ST. GERMAIN-EN-LAYE, NEAR PARIS. windows. The vertical line of windows was generally crowned by lofty dormers. The windows had stone mullions, as in the previous late Gothic style: but they were enframed by Renaissance pilasters. The whole wall surface indeed was divided into panels by Renaissance pilasters and hori- zontal string-courses, somewhat after the Lombard manner. The Lombard Renais- sance influence is clearly dominant, as was natural, for it was in Lombardy chiefly that the armies of Louis XII. and Francis I. had operated, and mainly Lombard artists who were imported into France. The Gothic craftsmen soon began to take kindly to the new forms of detail, and their exuberant fancy expends itself in capitals and ara- without its appropriateness that the succes- sive Renaissance styles of France are usually called by the names of the monarchs tinder whom they flourished. It was from the court that the impulse mainly came which led both to their first introduction and their subsequent development. But the buildings of the time of Francis I. were still the work of craftsmen, working in association though with perfect individual freedom, in the old medieval way. It is this fact which explains the vitality and the charm of the work of this time. It is still Gothic in spirit. Pierre Fain, Roulland Leroux, Guillaume Delorme, Pierre Val- ence, Colin Biart, and the rest, who worked on the Chateau Gaillon. Pierre Nepveu, 212 ARCHITECTURE: THE PALACE OF THE TUILERIES, PARIS. " master of the works of masonry" at the castle of Chambord, Pierre Gardier, master builder of the Chateau Madrid, were not architects in any modern sense. In the subsequent reigns from Henry II. to Henry III. the reigns of the last Valois kings (1547-15:89) a different spirit begins to show itself. The buildings of this time erected under the influence of the court are generally the work of individual architects. The principal men of this time are Pierre Lescot (1510-1578), a man of noble birth, architect of the oldest portion of the Louvre ; Philibert de I'Orme (1515-1570), who built the Chateau d'Anet for Diane de Poitiers, and began the palace of the Tuileries for Catherine de' Medici; and Jean Bullant (1515-1578), De 1'Orme's successor on the Tuileries and architect of a number of im- portant palaces. All these men had studied in Italy, and carried back with them into France something of the formality, coldness and close following of classic detail of the late Italian Renaissance. De I'Orme boasts that he had "carried into France the method of building well, removed barbarous meth- ods, and great faults, and shown to all how one ought to observe the measures of archi- tecture," i. e., the fixed formulae of the five orders. The charm and richness and vitality of the Early Renaissance detail now disap- pear. The detail becomes coarser, though the sculptured decoration of such men as Jean Goujon (1510-1562) has much grace and beauty, especially in individual figures fre- quently shown in very low relief. The type of the French Renaissance palace motive now reaches its most consistent develop- ment. The amelioration of manners leads to greater openness in the treatment of fronts. The circular towers of the medieval castles develop into square projecting pavil- ions, with high roof and flat tops, as in the Louvre. Such roofs have since been known as Mansard roofs, from a later architect who employed them. The court facade consists usually of a lower arcaded story in the Roman order, sometimes with coupled pilas- ters or columns, or with the rhythmical bay (as in Bramante's court of the Vatican) ; of a second story with large mullioned win- dows, one over each arch below, separated by pilasters placed over the columns or pilasters of the first story, the whole often surmounted by an attic. It will be seen that while the forms are mainly those of the later Italian Renaissance, the treatment of them and the main motives are still thor- oughly French, and are developments from the earlier castle modified by Italian influ- ences. Under Henry IV. the tendency toward coarser and more extravagant detail in- creased. The country was impoverished by the civil wars, and this leads in many of the buildings to a simplicity of treatment often very dignified. Brick and stone are often used together in a very effective way and in RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 213 a way distinctly French, which can be traced back to late Gothic times. The style of Louis XIII. is similar in general char- acter, but more grandiose and lavishly deco- rated, especially in the interior. The exterior became still more formal. The skyline is less picturesque. The dormers, which had been growing less prominent, now disappeared. The colossal order and the Renaissance dome make their first ap- pearance in France. Salomon de Brosse designed for the Queen Mother, Marie de' Medici, the Luxembourg Palace, which ap- plied to the pavilioned French chateau the rustication of Florentine buildings such as the Pitti Palace. Jacques Lemercier (1585- 1660) continued the work on the Louvre, hardly changing Lescot's motive; began a palace for Cardinal Richelieu afterward known as the Palais Royal, and in 1635 designed the church of the Sorbonne, one of the first instances in France of the use of the Renaissance dome. Under Louis XIV. (1643-1715) the ex- teriors became still more Roman, still more formal in manner. The steep, lofty roofs and picturesque skylines of the earlier periods now disappear, and are replaced by the low roof with balustraded parapet and the classic pediment. The colossal order everywhere reigned, and grandiose magni- ficence became the chief aim. During the whole history of the Renaissance in France the increasing degree of public security led to greater openness in the treatment of the dwellings, and at this period the fortress-pal- ace of earlier days ceased to built and the palaces were made more open than ever, as in the great palace at Versailles begun in 1661 by Louis Levau (1612-1670), where long ranges of windows on the ground story open directly onto the terrace. The gardens of Versailles are the most mag- nificent example of garden architecture of this time. They were the work of the famous Le N6tre. The palace of Versailles was continued after Levau's death by Jules Hardouin Mansard (1645-1708), (nephew of Francois Mansard, whose name was given to the Mansard roof), architect also, among many other buildings, of the dome of the church of the Invalides, which was begun in 1670 by Liberal Bruant. But perhaps the most characteristic work of the reign of Louis XIV. was the great front of the Louvre, a great colonnade of colossal coupled Corinthian columns over a basement story, the work of an amateur, a physician, Claude Perrault. This formal and grandiose architecture of the reign of Louis XIV. spread over all Europe. Architecture had almost become European rather than national. The found- ing of the School of Fine Arts at Paris, in THE NEW LOUVRE, IN PARIS. (THE PART DESIGNED BY LESCOT, NOT THAT BY PERRAULT.) 214 ARCHITECTURE: 1646, by Louis XIV., tended to fix this as the modern style. In the subsequent reigns of Louis XV. (1715-1774), and Louis XVI. (1774-1793), the same formal manner was continued in the exteriors, as in the front of the church of St. Sulpice (1755), by Ser- vandoni [the towers are later] ; the church of Ste. Genevieve, generally known as the Pantheon (1757), by Jacques Germain Souf- flot (1714-1781); the Ministere de la Marine and the Garde Meuble (1772), by Jacques Ange Gabriel (1710-1782), which flank the Rue Royale on the Place de la Concorde: THE RATHHAUS (CITY HALL), COLOGNE. and the Odeon Theater (1789). In the in- teriors, however, extravagant and debased forms, scroll work of fantastic shape, and the curious decoration known as rocaille "rock- work," whence the term Rococo were introduced, chiefly under the influence of an architect named Oppenard, who had studied in Italy under the high priest of bad taste, Borromini. These forms are sometimes handled with a certain delicacy, and are executed in plaster or wood, and much decorated with gilding. Plaster decorations in execrable taste are at this time introduced. especially into the churches. Splendid screens of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries were removed, and many of the great medieval cathedrals and churches suffered irreparably. But, on the whole, in France at this time, in spite cf grandiose formality on the one hand and debased and meaningless detail and decoration on the other, the general level of taste did not fall as low as in Italy or Spain. R ENAISSANCE ARCHITECTURE IN GERMANY, THE NETHER- LANDS AND SPAIN. (20) The Renaissance style was intro- duced into Germany about the same time that it came into France, but by different channels. The soldiery of the emperors Maximilian and Charles V. took part indeed in the wars in Italy, which at this time was the veritable battleground of Europe, but their incursions had less influence on the arts of Germany than the commercial con- nection between the two countries which had existed since the middle ages. Italian works of art, especially of the minor crafts, were imported, and affected the work of German craftsmen, and German artists traveled in Italy. It was thus in the handi- crafts of Germany, in the backgrounds of paintings, in armour, utensils and the minor works of architecture and sculpture, that the new forms first made their appearance and the peculiar German craft character was afterwards impressed upon the architecture, when that also came to be affected by the new movement. The condition of Germany at this time was in marked contrast to France, and this condition is reflected in the architecture. France had been welded, especially by Louis XL, into a nation under the control of the king. When, therefore, under his successors the Renaissance style came in, it affected the whole country, and underwent a national development. In Germany there was but little national cohe- sion or national sentiment. The various electorates, dukedoms, and free cities were but loosely connected by the empire. Each followed its own more or less independent RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 2I 5 course. This lack of cohesion was still fur- ther increased by the Reformation, which divided the country by religious differences, and these qualified the whole development of the Renaissance. Absorbed by state affairs, the nobles gave much less attention to the arts than they did in France, and architecture was left in the hands of the craftsmen who had introduced the new forms. The Renaissance style in Germany on these accounts lacked consistent develop- ment. Its growth was popular and local, not a matter of concern to the nobles of the nation as in France, or one of universal interest as in Italy. The German workmen were strongly attached to their late medieval art, and were imbued with medieval senti- ment; and we find that the forms of the Italian style were not adopted without modi- fication, due partly to ignorance, partly to the medieval ideals of the German craftsmen. The main lines of the buildings of the Renaissance in Italy are horizontal. In France, in spite of the steep roofs and pic- turesque sky lines, a balance is preserved between vertical and horizontal; but in Germany the vertical movement distinctly predominates. It is also characteristic of the German Renaissance as distinguished from that of France that the town halls and the houses of the burghers are more impor- tant than the palaces of the nobles in the development of the style. The German craftsmen seized not only upon the forms of the orders, on the classic columns and pilas- ters, which were nearly always incorrect in proportion and clumsy in detail, but used the elements of the later Italian Baroque detail, treating them all in their own way to produce a quaint and fantastic picturesque- ness which often is attractive, even when the forms themselves are coarse and even vulgar. The high gable, which in the French style is seldom used, appears every- where. The fronts are often cut up into panels by pilasters and string-courses, as in France; but nearly always the vertical pilaster lines are kept stronger, while the horizontal strings are subordinate. These vertical pilaster lines are carried up into the gables, and the string-courses thus produce great steps in the gables, which are filled in HEIDELBERG CASTLE: WING OF FREDERICK IV. with capricious scroll and strap work with obelisque-like finials. This strap- work deco- ration becomes a marked feature of the style. Triple windows, arched windows, and those of strange late Gothic shape, are used, as well as the mullioned form com- mon in France. Bay windows and oriels were built on the fronts of the houses and on the angles, and the steep roofs are studded with several stories of dormers. Turrets and towers, often with roofs of fan- tastic stape, are quite common. In Germany as in France, half-timber fa- gades are still frequent in the houses of the burghers, especially in some regions. The 2l6 ARCHITECTURE: timber work is often richly carved, and the plaster walls decorated in color with quaint patterns, arabesques and mottoes. In some regions Italian precedent was more closely followed ; but where this was the case the buildings were apt to be the work of Italian artists, as in the case of the Belvedere at Prague, begun in 1536 by Paolo della Stella, or the Waldstein Palace in the same city, built for Wallenstein in 1629. The most celebrated building of the German Renais- sance is undoubtedly the castle at Heidel- berg, of which three wings belong to three successive periods of the style, viz., the buildings of the Elector Frederic II. (1544- 1556), the richest portion of the building the wing of Otto Heinrich (1556-1559), and the wing of Frederick IV., after 1601. The Renaissance style of Germany was of short duration. It was not fully established until the time of the peace of Augsburg in 1 555, and it was checked by the outbreak of the Thirty Years' War in 1618. Little was built during this terrible time, and when peace came the style was superseded by an imita- tion of the cold formalities of Louis XIV. of France, often producing most uninteresting and barrack-like structures. The Renaissance style of Belgium and Holland does not differ essentially from that of Germany. Occasionally some of its fan- tastic details suggest Spanish influence, but in general it may be regarded as belonging to the same movement as that of Germany. Town halls and city houses are, as in Ger- many, its principal monuments. The town hall at Antwerp (1565), by Cornelius de Vriendt, and the town hall at Amsterdam are among the most important examples. In Holland brick was extensively employed, as it was also in north Germany, frequently with stone trimmings. Spain, during the middle ages, was some- what sharply divided politically into three zones: the extreme north, chiefly a high, mountainous country, which was held by the Christians; the lofty plateau of the cen- ter, which was debatable ground, the Moors being gradually driven southward; and the extreme south, where the Moors held out longest, the kingdom of Granada continuing in the hands of the Moors until the begin- ning of the Renaissance period, when in 1492 Ferdinand and Isabella finally con- quered the country. In the north the medieval styles bore strong resemblance to those of France, and were hardly tinged by Moorish influences. In the center during the Gothic period Moorish and Gothic ele- ments mingled in various proportions, pro- ducing most fantastic but romantic results. In the south the work was Moorish. These differences continued, but in gradually less- ening degrees, during the period of the Renaissance. The new style was intro- duced into Spain about the time of the union of Castile and Aragon under Ferdinand and Isabella, when for the first time Spain be- came a united nation. The earliest period of Renaissance archi- tecture in Spain is known as Plateresque (from platero, a silversmith), because of the extreme delicacy and intricacy of the lavish surface ornaments, which was con- centrated especially about the doorways and cornices, and which was evidently im- itated from metal work, jewelry and ob- jects of the smaller crafts imported in the first instance from Italy. The flat-roofed buildings of Spain lent themselves more naturally to treatment with the new forms than the Gothic buildings of the north, and the prevailing lines from the begin- ning are horizontal. The buildings were often crowned with strongly-marked cor- nices, recalling those of Italy but much richer in treatment and less closely imitat- ing classic forms. They were frequently crowned by elaborate parapets, sometimes balustraded, sometimes consisting of fan- tastic pierced work. Under the cornices there was apt to be an open arcade, or a line of arched windows richly treated and having almost the effect of a frieze. Generally the walls were kept plain, or they were orna- mented by evenly-spaced bosses, sometimes taking the form of shells, as in the Casa de las Conchas at Salamanca. The main orna- ment was concentrated about the great door- ways, and the effectiveness of the designs generally depends on the striking contrast of these concentrated masses of elaborate carving relieved against the plain wall sur- face, and on projecting points of ornaments COURTYARD, ALHAMBRA, BY FORTUNY V. CARBO. Reproduced by permission of Samuel Untermeyer. RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 217 making strong glints of light against sharp dots of shadow. Especially characteristic are the large courtyards (patios] and the picturesque stairways. Contemporary with this and showing many of the same general characteristics we find a curious mixture of Renaissance and Moor- ish forms, sometimes one, sometimes the other predominating; and in the center of the country Flamboyant Gothic, Renaissance and Moorish elements are found in the same building, now distinguishable side by side, now blending into strange new forms. This fascinating work is what is known as the style of the Mudejar or Moriscos the Chris- tianized Moors. Its apparently incongruous elements often produce a strangely weird and romantic picturesqueness. In the midst of all this and close to the wonderful palace of the Moorish kings, the Alhambra at Granada, a portion of which was pulled down to make room for it, the great palace of the Emperor Charles V., built in strict classic Roman form, seems strangely out of place. The exterior is cold, unattractive and not well proportioned. The great circular court, however, is a fine piece of restrained classic design. This was begun by the Spaniard Machuca in 1527, and is the first instance of the close following of the later classic style of Rome, which in slightly varying forms was soon to spread over all Europe. It is known in Spain as the Griego-Romano, and flourished chiefly in the following reign of Philip II. (1556- 1598). The chief exponents of this coldly classic manner were Alonzo Berruguete, who completed Machuca's work at Granada, and Juan de Herrera, the architect of Valladolid Cathedral. The best-known work of the time is the vast monastery palace of the Escurial, begun by Juan Battista of Toledo in 1563, and continued by Herrera. The building is monotonous and dreary in detail, but its mass, crowned by the dome of the great church, is imposing and well com- posed, and its skyline at least is varied and picturesque. This style was continued into the eighteenth century, but in its later period it was accompanied, as in Italy, France and Germany, by the wild and hideous extravagances of the Rococo, which LA GIRALDA, BELL TOWER OF THE CATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE. The tower is Moorish, from 7/59, the belfry Renaissance, 1568. in Spain was often more fantastic and revolting than elsewhere. In two respects, however, its work is still in some cases attractive: in the excellent placing of orna- ment in itself bad (following the scheme of concentration of the Plateresque), and in the picturesque design of many of the 218 ARCHITECTURE: towers. Some of the most characteristic examples of this style are to be found in the great churches of Mexico and other Spanish countries of America. It is known as Churrigueresque, from the tasteless designer Churriguera, who was among the first to use it. R ENATSSANCE ARCHITECTURE IN ENGLAND. (21) The Gothic style persisted in Eng- land, particularly in domestic work, longer even than in France or Ger- many. Hoghton tower in Lancashire, for instance, still essentially late Gothic, with hardly an admixture of Renaissance detail, was built between 1563 and 1565, while in the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, and in many of the country houses, a species of the so-called Tudor style, with some admix- ture of Renaissance, persists until the mid- dle of the seventeenth century. In the expression of homely comfort and sweet domesticity no style ever equaled it. Its houses are essentially homes. The Renaissance forms were first intro- duced into England by Italian workmen under Henry VIII., and some very good Italian Renaissance detail may occasionally be seen intermingled with Gothic work, the Italian and the Englishman having worked side by side. Henry VII. 's monument in Westminster Abbey was finished by Pietro Torregiano in 1519. But the work of the Italians imported by the king and by Car- dinal Wolsey had no effect on the general current of building in England. The Ital- ians left and were succeeded by Dutch work- men, who, re-enforced by atrocious pattern books, of which a number were published at this time in Germany and Holland, brought into England their coarse and debased detail. We hear of several of them: Theodore Haveus of Cleves, Bernard Jansen, and Giles de Whitt; but their connection with definite buildings is a matter of some uncertainty. Many statements with regard to them rest on tradition not much better than that relat- ing to the half mythical John of Padua. No architect from Padua could have designed the buildings with which his name has been connected. Better authenticated are the records with regard to Sir Thomas Gres- ham's exchange in London, built between 1566 and 1570 by Henry de Pas. Some of the tiles for this building, which was destroyed in the Great Fire of London, were imported from Holland. It consisted of a group of two-storied buildings round a great court, surrounded by an arcade, and seems to have been of fairly good style. But as a rule the forms introduced by the Dutch into England were extravagant and lacking in refinement. Strap- work ornament was com- mon, especially in the woodwork and plaster work of the interiors. These debased ele- ments, however, were used by the English workmen with a frank directness and sim- plicity not without its quaint charm and often showing a true decorative perception, especially in the simpler buildings of the remote country places. The great gallery of Haddon Hall, with its bays of many mullioned windows of nar- row square-headed lights, still late Gothic in effect, was built between 1567 and 1584. It is a characteristic example of the time. While the exterior is without a suggestion of Renaissance form, the woodwork of the interior has quaint half-classic pilasters, paneling and cornice work in which the Dutch influence is quite apparent. As an indication of the long continuance of this stj'le compare this with Eyam Hall in Derbyshire, built in 1657. Here the door- way is designed with classic elements; but the whole sentiment of this charming home is distinctly Tudor. The cosy effect of these buildings depends very largely on their smallness of scale. The amount of glass is often greater than in French buildings ; but the individual openings (the lights) are small, and window space is obtained by grouping these small openings together divided by ranges of narrow mullions. The stories are low: at Eyam Hall only eight feet from floor to floor. This is widely different from the monumental and majestic scale of Italy or of France. In the houses of the great nobles at this time the Renaissance elements are much more in evidence, and the buildings archi- RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 219 tecturally are frequently as unsuccessful as the more modest houses are charm- ing. Pretentious display is the evident motive in too many of them, as at Wol- laton Hall (1580-1588) probably due to a builder named Smithson and the coarse Dutch detail shows to great disadvantage. This and other buildings of the time have been accredited to John Thorpe on account of the drawings of them remaining from his hand; but Mr. Blomfield (in "Architecture of the Renaissance in England") has shown good reason to doubt his authorship of many of these. In some cases the new forms are more successfully employed, sometimes, as at Montacute (1580-1601), with a large ad- mixture of the Tudor Gothic elements, sometimes with the Renaissance forms pre- dominating as at Rushton Hall, in North- amptonshire, where they are used with much delicacy. A characteristic example of English Renaissance is the gate tower of the Examination Schools at Oxford, in which coupled columns successively of the five orders with their entablatures are applied on each side of the center of an otherwise essentially Tudor tower (1600-1636). During all this period half-timbered houses, differ- ing only in detail from those of medieval times, continue to be built in town and country. In the midst of this Dutch influence we hear of a certain John Smith who in 1550 was sent to Italy by the Duke of North- umberland, and who in 1563 published "The Chief Groundes of Architecture"; but the first to make use in England of the correct forms of Italian architecture was Inigo Jones (1573-1652). He seems quite early in life to have gone to Italy to study painting under the patronage of the Earl of Pembroke, and later of the Earl of Arun- del, and devoted his time there also to the study of architecture. His first work in England was in the making of scenery for the court masques In 1613 and 1614 he was again in Italy, and in 1615 he was ap- pointed Surveyor-General. In 1617 he began work on a palace in Greenwich in pure Italian style, which now forms the center of the royal naval school. In the reign of Charles L, in 1639, he built an in- congruous classic colonnaded portico in front of the old Gothic cathedral of St. Paul's. But his chief work was the ban- queting hall at Whitehall, a small fragment of a stupendous design for a palace quite beyond the resources of the kingdom. The design is not strikingly original, but is pleasantly proportioned. Its chief merit is that in spite of its Italian character it con- trives to get a distinctly English flavor. One of his least agreeable designs is the decidedly Baroque porch which he added to the Gothic church of St. Mary at Oxford. The buildings, however, in which Inigo Jones shows to best advantage are in such country houses at Coleshill and Brympton. Here he lays the foundations for the dis- tinctively English classic style. He keeps the homelike expression of earlier English work while using as his elements the pure classic forms. This development was continued by Sir Christopher Wren (1632-1723), who was by early training a scholar and mathe- matician, and whose attention was seriously turned to architecture comparatively late in life. He worked for a time under Sir John Denham, Inigo Jones' successor in the sur- veyor-generalship, designed some buildings for the University of Oxford and in 1665 visited France. It was about this time that he designed in a pure and rather formal style, but with the English smallness of scale, the library of Trinity College, Cam- bridge. His great opportunity came when as surveyor-general he was called upon to rebuild the churches of London after the Great Fire of 1666. In the best of these churches he succeeded in giving a dis- tinctively English treatment to the classic forms. In his designs for the church steeples he treated the general form of the Gothic spire with classic detail (following out the suggestion of such lanterns as those of the castle of Chambord and Hatfield House, and of the crowning stories of Italian compa- nili with which he may possibly have been familiar from drawings). This is really a new and characteristically English development. His greatest achievement is St. Paul's cathe- dral (1675-1710), in which he treats the long plan of the English church with Italian Re- 220 ARCH I TEC TURE: naissance forms, surmounting the crossing with a great dome, in the drum of which the encircling colonnade, suggested by Bramante in his designs for St. Peter's, is for the first time employed. Greenwich Hospital, Chel- sea Hospital, Kensington Palace and ex- tensive additions to the palace of Hampton Court, show his power of giving a peculiarly English character to the classic motives, and in smaller country houses (the forerunners of our own colonial work) he contrives by Wren's successors, Nicholas Hawksmoor (1661-1736) and James Gibbs (1681-1754), continued his style; but n6t usually with the same success, save in Gibb's beautiful church of St. Martin 's-in-the-Fields, in London, the spire of which is certainly the most successful of the English Renaissance, and his excellent domed structure, Raclcliffe Library, at Oxford (1747). Hawksmoor was somewhat influenced by Sir John Van- brugh (1666-1726), whose colossal and pom- ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, LONDON. simplicity of treatment, by his proportions, and by moderation in scale, to give, even more than Inigo Jones, that peculiarly homelike quality which distinguishes the best English domestic work. This treatment was imitated by simple craftsmen all over England, pro- ducing buildings hardly less charming than those of the previous period. One of the more important examples of this craftsman work is Clare College, Cambridge (1685), by Robert Grumbold, a stonemason. pous monstrosities, Blenheim Palace and Castle Howard, aiming at the great scale and monumental grandeur of the French and Italian palaces, fail through awkward and clumsy proportion and detail. From now on the tendency of English architecture is toward the cold and dry formalism largely prevalent in the rest of Europe. England was saved the vagaries of the Rococo ; but in most of these buildings of the last half of the eighteenth century, in which her archi- RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 221 tects fancied they were following the foot- steps of Palladio, giving to the work of this period the name of the Palladian style, the proportions are poor and the conceptions uninteresting. The style is utterly lack- ing in vitality and imagination. Somerset House, in London, by Sir William Cham- bers (1726-1796) is perhaps one of the most successful buildings of the period. Its vestibule is especially dignified. The arti- ficial motive of the time is shown in the title given to one of the principal publications of these years, "Vitruvius Brittanicus, " in which Colin Campbell publishes a large number of designs by himself and his con- temporaries. M ODERN ARCHITECTURE IN FRANCE AND GERMANY. (22) The French Revolution inter- rupted but did not change the general current of French art. Already during the reign of Louis XVI. a new tend- ency had shown itself. The reaction against the wild extravagances of Oppenard and his imitators led partly to a more strict imitation and revival of ancient Roman forms. But a new direction was given to this reaction by the awakened interest in Greek art. The English architects, Stuart and Revett, published their great work on "The Antiquities of 'Athens" in 1762. They were followed by the Frenchmen Leroy in 1770, and Choiseul-Gouffier in 1780. About the same time Lagardette measured and published the Greek temples of Psestum in South Italy, and the order of the temple of Neptune was imitated in 1780 by Brongniart in his convent of the Capu- cins. These changes marked an attempt to recover from the vagaries of the decline of Renaissance art by the fatal endeavor to revive by direct imitation the styles of past ages. This distinctly modern, merely imitative impulse has, however, been less marked in France than in other countries. During the Revolution and the Republic architecture in France was at a standstill. Men's minds were grimly occupied with other things. But after the establishment of Bonaparte as Emperor there was at once unusual activity. The tendency to revive Greek architecture was overborne by the influence of Napoleon himself, who in all things endeavored to imitate the glories of the Roman Empire. In doing this, however, he only gave point to an impulse already man- ifested under the Republic. The two de- signers most influential in this movement were two young architects, Percier and Fon- taine, whom lack of occupation under the Republic had forced to the designing of fur- niture, stuffs, decorations, and utensils of various kinds, giving form to the curious passion of the time for masquerading as ancient Romans. Percier and Fontaine in- deed may be said to have created that peculiar adaptation of Roman forms to modern deco- ration and furniture known as the style of the Empire. Under Napoleon as Emperor, to whose direct personal impulse nearly all the important works of architecture in Paris at the beginning of the nineteenth century are due, Percier and Fontaine found more important occupation. They were em- ployed to connect the Louvre with the Tuileries. Only a portion of the connecting buildings was constructed at the time, and in the final completion of this project under Napoleon III. their plan was altered. They erected also in the great court between the two palaces the Arc du Carrousel, which is a close imitation of the triumphal arch of Septimius Severus in Rome. Perhaps their most remarkable work is the well-known arcades of the Rue de Rivoli. More remarka- ble than the Arc du Carrousel is the colossal Arcde 1'Etoile (p. 222), a grandly simple and quite original design by Chalgrin, in which the simple and majestic forms of the arch and its abutments are allowed to have their effect tmdisturbed by applied, merely deco- rative columns. This, the largest triumphal arch ever built, and perhaps the most beau- tiful, was begun in 1806, but not completed until 1836, long after the fall of the Empire. In 1806 Le Pere and Qoudouin erected the Colonne Vendome, hardly more than a copy of the Column of Trajan in Rome. In 1807 the vast portico of the Chamber of Deputies was begun by the architect Poyet. It was placed directly opposite the end of the Pont 222 ARCHITECTURE: de la Concorde, its twelve columns sur- mounted by a pediment, like a Roman temple, thus completing the majestic en- semble of the square and carrying its motive across the river. Between 1808 and 1826 the new Bourse, a building surrounded by a Corinthian peristyle, was built by Brongni- art. In 1808, by order of the emperor, on the site where a church of La Madelaine had been begun during the reign of Louis XV., the beginning was made from the designs of Vignon of the huge building now known as the Madelaine. It was intended by the emperor as a temple of glory to be inscribed "L'empereur Napoleon aux soldats de la grande armee." "It is not," he wrote, "a ARC DE L ETOILE IN PARIS. church that I want, but a temple. " Within, it was to contain, inscribed on tables of gold, the names of all the soldiers of the em- peror's armies who had died in battle, with statues of the marshals and generals. The exterior of the building was practically complete at the downfall of the empire, and was allowed to remain ; but the interior was modified in the endeavor to make it suitable for a church. Vignon continued as its architect until his death in 1828, and the building was finished substantially accord- ing to his designs in 1842. It still remains in form a colossal Roman temple, not a church. Its great pedimental portico is seen closing the vista, as from the Pont de la Concorde one looks across the square be- tween the colonnades of the Garde Meuble and the Ministere de la Marine up the Rue Royale thus completing one of the most im- posing architectural ensembles of the modern world. Within, it is roofed with three flat domes resting on piers marked by colossal columns between which run smaller Ionic colonnades which by contrast give great scale to its majestic interior. It is har- moniously decorated with colored marbles and gilding. These are only some of the more important and characteristic of the buildings of the first empire. After its fall a reaction against the close imitation of the antique set in; but few buildings of marked importance were under- taken until about 1830, when another attempt was made to revive Greek forms, but with the endeavor to use them logically in the fulfillment of modern requirements, In the church of St. Vincent de Paul Hittorff (the author of the great work on the Sicilian Greek temples) applies the Greek forms with but little change, but in a later work, the great railroad station, the Gare du Nord, he uses them in a frank and by no means un- successful solution of an entirely modern problem. The Greek forms are still farther modified in the front of the Palais de Justice by Due, the library of the School of Fine Arts by Duban, and the library of Ste. Genevieve by Labrouste, in which arches are used although the moldings are distinctly of Greek character. This endeavor to treat modern architecture in the Greek spirit and with Greek refinement in the moldings is known as the No-Grec. Under the second empire this movement continues and power- fully qualifies much of the work of that time (1852-1870). Napoleon III. revived the proj- ect of connecting the Louvre and the Tuil- eries, and carried it to successful completion under Visconti and Lefuel. The motives of the older portions of the Louvre, with their pavilions, Mansard roofs and orders in many stories, were revived, but treated with the modern spirit and not unaffected by the Neo-Grec. The most influential building of this period and one of the most splendid is the new Opera House, by Qarnier. Its fagade, in spite of some defects of detail, is one of the noblest and RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 223 perhaps the most effect- ive of modern times; but in the interior, es- pecially, in spite of grandeur and original- ity of conception and powerful composition, the effect is marred by detail in which the ex- travagant forms of the Rococo are recalled, but treated with the precision of the Neo- Grec. Gamier in this work set the fashion for that striving for the merely novel, which has characterized so much of recent French architecture in its reaction against the stiff formalism and mere archaeological imita- tion of the previous periods. During this time great attention was given to medieval architecture by a certain school headed by Viollet=le=Duc, but it occu- pied itself mainly with the restoration of medieval monuments. In the churches of this time a curious attempt was made to levive the forms of Romanesque architec- ture; but in the hands of men of classic training it produced most uninteresting and commonplace results, utterly lacking in the vitality and charm of the medieval originals it professed to improve upon. One of the most pretentious and elaborate of these buildings is the church of Sacre-Coeur at Montmartre. In some of the churches by Vaudremer a basilican motive was treated in the Byzantine manner with a carefully studied refinement, somewhat cold, but not without interest and beauty. During late years, in spite of some noble buildings such as Nenot's New Sorbonne, the mere striving for originality as an end in itself and the tendency to seek suggestion in the debased forms of the Rococo, has led to a marked decline in the excellence of French architec- ture, and has produced forms which have little but novelty to recommend them. During the century just closing the Ger- man countries even more than France have THE OPERA HOUSE IN PARIS. seen the revival of many styles of former days and other lands; but have produced no new development. Meritorious as are the works of some German architects, the country as a whole has not shown that continuous movement and vitality which, in spite of revivals and in spite of debasement, has persisted in France. After the cold classicism which imitated the French work of Louis XIV. and the vagaries of the Rococo (as in the Zwinger Palace in Dresden, or the church of St. Charles Borromeo, Vienna) there came as in France a revival of Greek forms. In Germany, how- ever, this revival (which affected more or less all European countries) was more generally followed than in France, and produced more successful results than in any other country. One of the first instances of this was in the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin (1784), in which the Greek Doric order was used. But the greatest imitators of the Greek forms were Friedrich Schinkel (1771-1841), and Leo von Klenze (1784-1864). Schinkel's Old Mu- seum in Berlin, with its portico of eighteen Ionic columns, his Theatre at Berlin (1821), and Von Klenze's Ruhmeshalle at Munich (a portico surrounding a colossal bronze statue of Bavaria), his Walhalla at Ratisbon (closely copied from the Parthenon), Gate- way and Glyptothek (Sculpture Gallery) at 224 ARCHITECTURE: Munich, may be mentioned as examples. Schinkel employed also other styles, as in the Redern Palace in Berlin, where the precedents of the Florentine Renaissance are somewhat freely used. In Vienna Theodor Hansen's Parliament House may be men- tioned, one of the splendid monumental group which surroimds the Franzenring and which includes also the City Hall, Univer- sity and Theater. It may be well to name here also Hansen's Academy of Science at Athens, where German architects at this time carried out several buildings. Pro- fessor Hamlin well sums up the Greek re- THE OPERA HOUSE IN BERLIN. vival in Germany when he says that it "presents -the aspect of a sincere striving after beauty, on the part of a limited num- ber of artists of great talent, misled by the idea that the forms of a dead civilization could be galvanized into new life in the service of modern needs." The Greek revival was followed by a revival of medieval Romanesque and Gothic forms. Some of the churches in Rhenish Romanesque style have not been without interest; but the Neo-Gothic buildings in Germany, and still more in Austria, have been dull and uninter- esting. The mechanical character of both their conception and execution is absolutely at variance with the Gothic spirit. One of the strongest architects Germany has pro- duced was Gottfried Semper, well known as a writer on art as well as an architect. Semper used classic, generally Italian motives; but handled them with more free- dom and feeling than has generally been shown by the German designers of modern times. Semper's theater at Dresden (1841), (destroyed by fire in 1870) his Oppenheim Palace in the same city, and the town hall at Winterthur (1865-1866) are among his most characteristic buildings. During recent years German designers have been flounder- ing amid futile imi- "i tations of all the styles. Some of the worst productions are the result of a recent craze for the Rococo, or of ill- advised attempts at eclectic design. Some of the best have been due to the revived use of the German Renais- sance work of the sixteenth century, in which manner the German spirit still seems most easily to express it- (1741)- self. In monumental buildings the Italian Renaissance style of the Roman period has often been effectively and intelligently employed as in Von Neureuther's Technical High School at Munich (1870), or the ele- ments of the classic Roman revival, as in the building for the University of Strass- burg by Dr. Warth (1872), the magnificent Technical High School at Charlottenburg, Berlin by Lucae, Hitzig and Raschdorff (1878-1884), or the university buildings in Vienna by von Ferstel (1874-1884). One of the largest undertakings has been the new Houses of Parliament at Berlin by Paul Wallot ; but it is extravagant in detail and unpleasant in general mass. RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 225 In Belgium may be mentioned the huge and heavy pile of the Palace of Justice by Polaert; pompous and theatrical, it is most unsatisfactory as a work of art. Everywhere it seems as if original impulse had for the time expended itself; and since vital architecture has always been devel- oped by the concentrated energy of peoples, there seems little hope of new and really living development so long as the nations are without artistic ideals and drift away from the path of simple and straightforward expression ,into that of vacillating attempts to revive different styles. M ODERN ARCHITECTURE IN ENGLAND. (23) As a reaction against the dry and uninteresting classicism, the so- called "Palladian" style of the latter part of the eighteenth century in England, came the Greek revival. The marvels of ancient Athens, made known in 1762 by the great pub- lication of James Stuart and Nicholas Revett, were the more impressive in that they came with the freshness of novelty. As they were more and more studied, these forms seemed to offer a ready escape from the tiresome formalism of the day. Unfortu- nately, it was merely the outward form that the designers endeavored to copy, without any apprehension of the underlying prin- ciples, which were much less understood in England than in Germany. This imitation of Greek forms hardly shows itself, however, until the beginning of the nineteenth cen- tury. The Greco-Roman order of the tem- ple at Tivoli was copied on an enlarged scale by Sir John Soane in the Bank of England (1788). James Wyatt (1743-1813) (notorious for the injury he did by his so-called ''restorations" of many of the English cathedrals, during which he absolutely destroyed important medieval monuments, such as the Norman Chapter House at Durham) used a species of Greek in Bowdon Park, and a sham Gothic style in the manor of Fonthill Abbey, Wiltshire, and was ready indeed to try his hand at any style, Greek, Roman, or medieval. But neither the medieval nor the Greek styles were suffi- ciently understood at this time to be intelli- gently used. Early in the century Greek Doric and Ionic columns came to be applied to the fronts of private houses, public build- ings and churches, all of which were made to look as much like Greek temples as pos- sible, quite without any regard to propriety of expression. This movement, side by side with others, continued until after the middle of the century. Its most important build- ing is perhaps the British Museum, by Sir Robert Smirke, in which a Greek Ionic colonnade is applied to the front of a building totally un-Greek in character, to which it has very little relation. St. Pancras Church in London, by Inwood, and a number of churches by Thompson, of Glasgow, may also be named. Abotit 1840 a tendency to copy the High Renaissance of Italy shows itself. This appears especially in the city clubs, to which it was supposed to be par- ticularly appropriate and which were made to look as much like Italian palaces as pos- sible. In the Carlton Club Smirke copied the motive of Sansovino's library of St. Mark at Venice. In the Reform Club (1840) Sir Charles Barry followed the Farnese Palace in Rome. In the Traveler's Club he copied Rafael's Pandolfini Palace at Florence. Parnell & Smith, in the Army and Navy Club, imitated the Palazzo Cornaro at Venice. Almost the only important build- ing in England which followed the revival of the style of Imperial Rome was Elmes' St. Georges Hall in Liverpool, finished in 1854. This is perhaps the most successful building in classic style in England. The classic forms are used with more knowledge and spontaneity than in most English work. During this same period, and partly even in the hands of the same architects, a revival of English medieval forms took place. This movement dates back even to the time of Sir Christopher Wren, who tried his hand at Gothic design in St. Dunstan's in the east, and in the west front of Westminster Abbey, examples which show how little he appre- ciated either the sentiment or the principles of the style. He was followed, as we have seen, by Wyatt in several theatrical imita- tions of castellated manors in which the 226 ARCHITECTURE: HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT, LONDON. SEEN FROM THE THAMES. Gothic detail was misused in most ignorant fashion. The first to have any appreciation of what Gothic architecture really was was Augustus Welby Pugin (1812-1852), who apart from his work in numerous churches had a strong influence on the current of English architecture through his writings, "A Contrast between the Architecture of the Fourteenth and Nineteenth Centuries," and especially by his "True Principles of Chris- tian Architecture" (1841). This Gothic re- vival was greatly strengthened by the Tractarian or High-Church movement (1833- 1841). Already in 1839 the new Houses of Parliament had been begun by Sir Charles Barry in perpendicular Gothic style, this style having been fixed upon by the govern- ment. In this Barry was assisted by Pugin. This building, although monotonous in treat- ment, is picturesque and dignified, and the great Victoria Tower is certainly a noble creation. Pugin was followed by Sir Gil- bert Scott (1811-1878), also mainly a church architect. Most of the English Gothic styles were successively followed with an intelli- gence and archaeological correctness which often produced works attractive and digni- fied, but lacking in real vitality. Younger contemporaries of Sir Gilbert Scott were George Edmund Street and William Bur- gess. These men endeavored to bring variety into the English medieval styles by borrowing from those of the continent. Street, who is the author of "Brick and Marble Architecture in Italy," varied his English medieval detail by suggestions from Northern Italian Gothic, while Burgess fol- lowed the precedents of thirteenth century France quite as much as those of England. Both these men had the merit of treating the revived style with more freedom. The most important work of these years is Street's Law Courts in London, an ill- planned and confused pile of buildings, lacking in composition in any large sense, but full of charming features and correct in its following of Gothic precedent. One of the ablest of the architects of these years was Godwin, who largely under the influ- ence of the writings of Ruskin turned even more than Street to Italian precedents, which he used with great freedom and charm. Mr. Alfred Waterhouse, who is still active, belonged during these years to the same school. His most attractive work is the Assize Courts at Manchester. Larger RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 227 but hardly so successful is the Manchester Town Hall. Both of these buildings show some following of French, as well as of English precedents ; but the detail is more mechanical and less interesting than that of the other prominent men of the school. Beside the more important architects who followed the Gothic revival were a host of lesser men, some of whom did excellent work. On the whole, it cannot be denied that the effect of this revival on English architecture in the low estate to which it had fallen has been salutary. On the other hand, much mediocre and much wretched work was done during these years by men of no talent and little training, who sometimes tried to follow in the steps of the Gothic revivalist, and who sometimes indulged in an ignorant eclecticism. Among the abler men of this time must be mentioned also Mr. Norman Shaw, who during his earlier years must be counted as a member of the Gothic school, and who is best known by a series of most picturesque country houses of late medieval style, many of them half-tim- bered, erected in different parts of England. In more recent years Mr. Shaw's name has been associated with what is known as the Queen Anne revival. There never was a style which could properly be called the Queen Anne style. During the reign of that Queen Sir Christopher Wren was at the height of his power; he was finishing St. Paul's cathedral, and was engaged upon the works at Greenwich Hospital, Hampton Court and other important undertakings. In the country places at that time many buildings were built of brick with stone or wood trimmings, some by Wren himself, some by lesser men. Some of these build- ings retained the high gables, steep roofs and lofty chimneys of an earlier period, together with the classic detail of the time. This was often executed in brick, the mold- ings of which were cut by hand after the brick was laid, and even brick carving was used. Such work as this was built in Eng- land even before Queen Anne's time, and continued after her death; but it was this particular phase of the architecture of the later Renaissance in England which the Queen Anne revivalists seized upon in their desire for a new sensation. This so-called Queen Anne style the revivalist used occa- sionally with much spirit. It was a reaction against the too exclusively archaeological trend of the Gothic men. But it did not produce any works of importance: it was obviously a style suited only to domestic work or to small country buildings, and in the hands of the so-called eclectics it is re- sponsible for some atrociously ugly build- ings. Mr. Waterhouse of late years has in some instances used a species of Roman- esque style, as in the much-criticised Natural History Museum at South Kensing- ton, London. During the last decades, side by side with examples of the various styles of work already named, two distinct tendencies are to be noted. On the one hand, men like the late J. D. Sedding, and Bodley, and Garner, in church architecture, and Ernest George and Peto in domestic work, use the English Gothic precedents with a freedom, originality and power which has already accomplished splendid results; and on the other hand, there is a revival of the late English Renaissance work of Sir Chris- topher Wren and his immediate successors which is also being employed not in any archaeological spirit, but with vigor and freedom by such men as Belcher, and Macartney, Blomfield and others. Re- cently a number of very important public buildings have been undertaken in this style in London and elsewhere. These buildings at any rate have the merit of spon- taneity and vitality, even in their less suc- cessful results, and they are distinctively English. The best buildings in this style, however, are after all not the important public buildings, but the dwelling houses in city and country. For the English have never had the monmnental sense of the French and Italians, while on the other hand no people has ever been so successful in the building of homes, buildings which seem to be the very expression of all that is best in the intimate English family life. While much of the work now being done in England is still vulgar, commonplace and ignorant, the average of English architec- ture has greatly improved since the middle 228 ARCHITECTURE: of the century, and perhaps nowhere in the world has such good work been done during the last decade as in the best of the domestic and church work of England. It is worthy of note that in England as in Germany the architects have been most successful when they employed a style of indigenous growth as a point of departure. A RCHITECTURE IN THE UNI- TED STATES.( 24 ) When the English colonists early in the seventeenth century began to settle along the Atlantic seaboard from New England to Virginia, they were at first too much occupied by the hard necessities of life to erect anything that could be called architecture. Nevertheless, the simple wooden cottages they built, and of which there are a few remains, especially in New England, are of interest, particularly as showing the traditions of English medieval craftsmanship which the colonists brought over with them. The oldest portion of the Fairbanks house at Dedham, near Boston, which was added to twice during the eight- eenth century, is probably the oldest and one of the most interesting of these cottages (1636). Such houses consisted usually of a single room below, with a huge fireplace and chimney at one end, and a staircase beside the chimney leading into the garret in the steep roof, which was all there was by way of second story. In the larger houses (such as the Fairbanks house) the door was in the center, leading into a small entry with a room on either hand. In this case the chimney was in the center, with a laige fireplace (often twelve feet wide) in each of the lower rooms. In some of the houses, especially in the towns, the second story overhung, and in the Sueton Grant house at Newport (1670) there are turned drops underneath the posts of the second story, ornamenting the overhang. A house with a simpler overhanging story stood in Salem Street, Boston, until a few years ago. These houses had casement windows with diamond leaded glass like the cottages of England. Some of the sash of such win- dows, with the original leading, are still pre- served in the Fairbanks house at Dedham, although the windows were provided in the eighteenth century with sash of the later fashion. In all these buildings the methods of framing are those of the medieval craftsman. Many of these houses had the spaces between the timbers of the frame filled in with brick, although the whole wall was covered with clapboards. Precisely such houses may be found in certain parts of England, especially in Kent and Surrey. A few houses were built of brick at this time; but they were of very simple character, almost without architectural detail. Such is the so-called Craddock house at Medford, Mass, (probably about 1650), which has the gambrel roof (or gabled roof of double slope), and the Wade house in the same place (before 1689), which has the ordinary triangular gable end. The meeting-houses of this time were as simple as the dwellings. Before the close of the century, however, some degree of elaboration was introduced, especially in the interior, the details being precisely like those of the contemporary Re- naissance work of England. The "Old Ship" church at Hingham, Mass., of 1681, still stands substantially as built. It is nearly square, with a highpitched hip roof surmounted by a lantern, or species of light wooden spire. Toward the end of the century, building with brick became more common in the large towns. Boston passed an ordinance against wooden houses in the town as early as 1679. This was allowed to remain prac- tically a dead letter until 1692 when it was re-enacted. One brick house of this time still remains standing in Washington Street. During the eighteenth century, and especially after about 1725, a little more of architectural character was introduced into the houses. In New England these were still largely of wood; but in Pennsylvania, Maryland and Virginia even country houses were often built of brick. The great mansions of Vir- ginia often have a good deal of dignity, and recall on a more modest scale the contem- porary manor-houses of the mother country. The architectural detail (window and door enframements, cornices, etc.) were always of wood even when the walls were of brick. But this was not infrequently the case even RENAISSANCE AND MODERN, 229 with the country houses of England in the eighteenth century. The colony was kept constantly in touch with the mother country in these matters by the constant immigra- tion of brick masons and carpenters who brought with them the new traditions estab- lished under the influence of Sir Christopher Wren. The architectural detail of the south- ern houses is generally richer and more elab- orate than in New England, but the work of the north is usually more delicate in detail. There is many a porch and window in the country towns of England built at this time which the American familiar with our colo- nial work would, if he should see a photo- graph of it, easily mistake for work in Newport, Ports- mouth or Newburyport. The style in England, as seen in its simpler and more modest examples, and the style in the colonies at this time were practically identical, al- though the American work was somewhat modified by the constant use of wood. The carpenters here, as in England, modified the classic proportions to suit them to the lighter and more easily worked materials, and added many a naive and charm- ing bit of detail not to be found in the books. Mantel- pieces and interior woodwork were not infrequently made in England and imported, even as late as in the Tayloe house in Wash- ington, where they are signed and dated: "'John Goode, London, 1803." Asarulethe plan of the colonial houses in New England varied but little. There was still the cen- tral entrance with a modest staircase hall and rooms on either side; but now there were often four rooms on a floor instead of two, and there was an L behind containing the kitchen. In the South the kitchen was generally in a separate building, connected to the main house by a gallery, and on the opposite side there were other rooms with a similar gallery, making a symmetrical com- position. The buildings for the servants' quarters were placed separately, the whole often forming a group of modest dignity and picturesqueness, as at Mount Vernon, or at Westover (1737), Virginia. The churches were generally plain rectangular structures, often very pleasantly treated interiorly with columns and paneled pews and pulpits. The exteriors generally were of little architec- tural interest, except for the spires, which were designed in the manner of Wren's spires, but with more slenderness of propor- tion and delicacy of detail, as the spires were carried out in wood even when the body of the church was of brick or stone, which frequently happened. One of the HOME OF WASHINGTON, MT. VERNON, VIRGINIA. most attractive churches is Christ Church, Philadelphia (1727-1735). The few public buildings of the time partook of the same general character. By far the most interest- ing of this class is Independence Hall, Phil- adelphia. All these buildings were the work of simple craftsmen, not of architects in the modern sense, although, as in the case of the Philadelphia church just mentioned, the gen- eral design was occasionally the work of an amateur. This simple but dignified style continued without much change until the opening of the nineteenth century, and in country places lingered until about 1830. But the tend- 230 ARCHITECTURE: INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHIA, AS IT LOOKS TO-DAY. ency of taste at the time, here as' in England, was toward vulgarity. The crafts- men lost their ancient cunning, and with few exceptions the now independent nation lacked the advantage of educated architects whose trained knowledge might take the place of the traditional craftsman's skill, which had been lost. A few exceptions, however, there were. In Boston there was Thomas Bulfinch, the most noteworthy ex- ample of whose many public and private buildings is the State House at Boston (1795). Thomas Jefferson, after the man- ner of the educated dilletanti in England, designed among other things the University of Virginia at Charlotteville (1817). The Frenchman Mangin designed the city hall of New York (1803-1812). The original cap- itol at Washington, of which portions are incorporated in the present building, was the work of Thornton, Mallet, Bulfinch and Latrobe (1793-1830). About 1830 to 1840 there began to appear the reflex of the Greek and Gothic revivals of England. The two movements ran side by side, but the Greek revival somewhat preceded and utterly de- stroyed what remnant there was of the colonial traditions. The carpenters now furnished themselves with Greek pattern books. They lost utterly their traditional knowledge, and reproduced in the interiors and exteriors of their wooden houses the utterly inappropriate Greek detail. Clumsy porticos of hollow wooden columns hav- ing the heavy stone propor- tions of the Greek orders stood out in 'front of dwell- ing, church and town hall alike. If the style was ab- surd in England, it was doubly so here where the material was wood. At this time, however, some digni- fied buildings in the Greek manner were built of gran- ite, as the Treasury Building in Washington, and the Cus- tom House in Boston, both by Ammi B. Young; the Cus- tom Houses of New York, and later Girard College, Philadelphia by Mr. Thos. U. Walter. These buildings were correct in detail, and dignified in appearance, and though not entirely suited to their purposes, they were not absurd like their wooden imitations. The Gothic re- vival at this time fared even worse. Its forms were so little understood, that it was not less ugly when clumsily and ignorantly imitated in granite, than when in wood its box buttresses hung to the sides of the thin framed walls. Matters went from bad to worse until during the period just before and just after the war the general level of public taste and the level of architectural attainment fell lower than at any previous period in any country. Hardly any buildings in good taste were at this time erected. Machine- made moldings and ornament, jigsaw pat- terns and the so-called French roof came in at this time, while shams of all kinds were rampant. Imitation marble, imitation stone, imitation woods graining, etc. were every- where seen with very little of genuine work. A few buildings of respectable design were, however, built at this time, notably in New York and Boston. These buildings followed the movement of architecture in England. English architects came to America, and American architects went to the mother country for training. Trinity Church in New York (1843), the Central Church in RENAISSANCE AND MODERN. 231 Boston, both by Mr. R. M. Upjohn, are among the best examples of the Gothic re- vival in this country. Grace Church (1840) and St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York, both by Renwick, are less successful, but still far better than most of the buildings of their time. The State Capitol at Hartford, Conn. (1875-1878) another of Mr. Upjohn's buildings, is an attempt to apply Gothic forms to civic building with a dome. In one or two instances the Renaissance work of Wren and his successors was re- vived with some success. The Capitol at Washing- ton, which had previously been enlarged by the addi- tion of extensive wings with colonnaded porticos, was between 1858 and 1873 com- pleted as to its main mass by the addition of the pres- ent dome, another work of Mr. Walter which imitates the dome of St. Paul's in London. Unfortunately, this dome, fine as it is in general design, is only a cast-iron shell imitating the massive forms of stone. The graceful spire of the Arlington Street Church in Boston (1862) is an al- most exact copy of that of St. Mattin's-in- the-Fields in London. It was the work of Mr. Alfred Qreenough, and is one of the most successful buildings of these years. But the great awakening in American archi- tecture for, although achievement still leaves much to be desired, and although the bad taste of the previous epoch still lingers with us, the change has been so great that it may really be called a great awakening this came especially with the Philadelphia Exposition of 1876, which opened the eyes of the average American to the artistic achievements of European countries. At the same time the work of Mr. R. M. Hunt (1827-1895) and that of Mr. H. H. Richardson (1838-1886), both trained at the School of Fine Arts in Paris, gave a new impulse to American architecture. Their work and that of their pupils has had a determining influence on the subsequent course of American architecture. Mr. Hunt followed largely the precedents of the School of Fine Arts in Paris; Mr. Richardson re- vived, with a freedom of treatment distinctly personal, the Romanesque work of South- THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING OF THE WORLD'S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION. R. M. Hunt, Architect. ern France and Northern Spain. Mr. Hunt's more important buildings are the Lenox Library (an attempt to use the French Neo-Grec style), the Tribune Build- ing, and the Wm. C. Vanderbilt house in New York, the great country mansion of Biltmore, near Asheville, N. C., in the style of Francis I., and largely imitated from por- tions of the Chateau of Blois, several palatial residences at Newport, R. I., and the Administration Building of the World's Fair of 1893 in Chicago. Mr. Richardson's most noteworthy works all of them in his characteristic and vigorous adaptation of the French Romanesque style are the "Brattle Square" Church on Common- wealth Avenue, Boston (1870), with its striking campanile whose frieze of colossal 232 ARCHITECTURE: figures is by the French sculptor Bartholdi; the court house at Springfield, Mass, (begun in 1871); Trinity Church in Boston (com- pleted 1875); the public libraries at North Easton, Woburn, and Quincy, Mass. ; the TRINITY CHURCH IN BOSTON. H. H. Richardson, Architect. town hall at North Easton, Mass, and Sever Hall, for Harvard University, all between 1877 and 1880; in 1883 the Law School of Harvard University and the library for the University of Vermont at Burlington; 1884- 86 the court house and jail at Pittsburg, Pa. ; the Marshall Field Building (whole- sale) in Chicago; and residences chiefly in Boston, Chicago, and Washington, D. C., besides portions of that curious but impressive con- glomerate of several styles and nu- merous architects, the State Capitol A at Albany, N. Y. It is impossible to judge clearly of the relative value of work in the midst of which we live. Still more impossible to give in brief compass an adequate account of present tend- encies. We have now going on domestic and ecclesiastical work sim- ilar in feeling to the recent Neo- Gothic of England already spoken of; we have a revival of our own colonial work tinged by the contemporary revival of Georgian work in England. We have a revival of the High Renaissance of Italy, often handled with great skill and freedom to produce most monumental effects, as in the Public Library at Boston, and the new buildings of Colum- bia University, New York, by Messrs. McKim, Mead, and White, we have the attempt to import the latest architectural fashion from Paris, so that many build- ings, especially in New York, re- call the boulevards of the French capital, and there is the unique development of the high build- ing, due to the invention of skel- eton steel construction and the elevator, of which the most strik- ing examples are to be seen in Chicago and New York. All these movements and others are go- ing on at this moment. One cannot, therefore, speak of con- sistent development, and yet, on the whole, American architecture has shown such marvelous improvement and so much of promise during the last decade, that attentive interest in the present and hopefulness with regard to the future seem most natural. THE MARSHALL FIELD BUILDING, CHICAGO. H. H. Richardson, Architect. ttte and Utecoration, IN THEIR. HISTORY* PRINCIPLES EDITOR,' IN' CHIEF EDMUND BUCKLEY,A.M.,PK.D.,Universl.1>., Yale University ALFRED V.CHURCHILL,A.M., ColumtiaUnivcrrity fu/fy Illuminated NATIONAL ART SOCIETY Chicago Copyright, 1907, by W. E. ERNST. RELIEF ON THE PAVILION DE FLORE, PARIS, BY J. B. CARPEAUX. (SEE P. 3Ol). Sculpture of the Nineteenth Century. BY LORADO TAFT. INSTRUCTOR IN SCULPTURE, ART INSTITUTE OF CHICAGO. FRENCH SCULPTURE. (i) There is one land at least where even in this modern day the sculp- tor's art is at home, where its appreciation is not an acquired taste nor its practice a "survival. " In France sculp- ture's title is clear; its lineage runs back for centuries From the days of the earliest church builders there has always been sculp- ture in that fascinating land. The Gothic cathedral alone could have suggested the thought that architecture is "frozen music." The decorations of these glorious piles are eloquent of the skill as well as of the faith of those who builded. Each chisel stroke was a prayer, and love guided the cunning hands which wrought out "to the glory of God" these rare traceries and noble sculp- tures. Thus launched, the statuary's art has never lost its hold upon the people of France. The "artistic succession" has never been broken. Each century has had its 299 300 SCULPTURE OF THE great name. Every year the beautiful churches and palaces and parks have grown richer in memorials and decorations. And every year, too, the number of sculptors has increased. To-day there must be many thousands of them, big and little, practicing their sturdy art in the ateliers of Paris. In the early years of the nineteenth cen- tury all sculptors were under the sway of the so-called classic influence. All Europe was "doing Greek," as it fondly imagined, though little enough would an old-time Hellenic sculptor have recognized of his art in the elegantly polished limbs and sedu- lously cold and formal poses of that sophisti- GENERAL BONAPARTE BY D. D ANGERS. cated age. It was a fashion which endured long and was sufficiently absurd; but after all it was a better fashion than that which had dictated the exaggerated, theatrical art of the preceding period. Sculpture had made one step towards its own rightful form. "Simplicity" was the watchword. A simplicity which now seems to us amus- ingly ostentatious became the rule. There are always two or three men in a thousand who are unwilling or unable to conform with the mutable many. Houdon had been of this kind. He belongs in date (1741-1828) to the eighteenth century, but in spirit he is of the nineteenth indeed of our very day. His portraits stand out in a period of conventional art, sole guarantees of a better era. They represent no fash- ion; their author was a law unto himself. He bowed only unto nature, studied her alone; and to-day when the very names of his clever and "successful" colleagues are forgotten, that of Houdon has been exalted to a place in the kingly line of genius. Chaudet, Pradier and Bosio were men of un- doubted talent, but they had nothing in par- ticular to say and went with the current. Their works interest us to-day only as illus- trations of the taste of the period. David d'Angers earned for himself eternal fame and the gratitude of all posterity through his wonderful medallions. No greater master of relief ever lived. The Parisian "medallists" of to-day may surpass him in delicacy of finish, but for vigor and endless resource of invention he has not been approached. "Whether the subject be intractable or not seems to have made no difference to David." His statues, on the other hand, with the exception of the aca- demic Philopoemon of the Louvre, are awk- ward and displeasing. The Bichat, in the Ecole de Medecine, falls but little short of caricature. The much-praised pediment of the Pantheon is bold, but hard and in no sense beautiful. The greatest name in the first half of the century is that of Francois Rude (1784-1855). Rude's position is an interesting one. He was not insensible to the spirit of the time. A schoolman and a teacher, he professed the theories of the so-called "classic" style, and when not particularly inspired, pro- duced work as harmless and commonplace as that of his colleagues. But he was a great man in spite of this policy of non-re- sistance, perhaps a greater artist than he him- self realized. For, time and again, we find him rising to splendid heights, and once at least he becomes sublime, in spite as it were of all of his theories and everyday practices. His life is too fine and suggest- ive to be squeezed dry in a few lines here. Let the reader rather turn to Hamerton's monograph and then to the group of the Departure on the Arc de Triomphe, the greatest thing, the most inspired work ever NINETEENTH CENTURY. 301 wrought by a French sculptor. (See the cut, p. 298.) Even had Rude never created this mar- vel his dead Cavaignac of Montmartre and his superbly living Gaspard Monge at Beaune would have insured him a place among the mas- ters. Of Rude's many pu- pils two were destined to win enduring fame. Jean - Baptiste Carpeaux (1827-1875) lived but forty-eight years, yet no sculptor has so left his impress upon exter- nal Paris since Jean Goujon. In the garden of the Tuileries is his early group, the terri- ble tragedy of Ugolino and his clinging, fam- ished boys. The Pa- vilion de Flore bears as a jewel the incompara- ble relief of the flower nymph and attendant rougish babies. On the fagade of the Opera is that marvel in stone, the Dance; and, crown- ing the fountain of the Observatory, the Four Quarters of the World are repre- sented by women, to whom Love has appar- ently delegated his responsibility of making the earth turn round. There are other things in Paris by Carpeaux, marvelous busts like that of Gerome, and many small vivacious works. The sculptor's life was full of feverish activity, and his works par- took of its animation. They fairly sparkle. Their play light and shade is wonderful, their joyousness exuberant. They are an unfail- ing delight to the eye. I never pass the Opera House without looking at the group; while of the Pavilion de Flore I never saw anything but the relief. (See cut, p. 299.) Barye died, as did Carpeaux, in 1875, but was a much older man, since the great "ani- THE DANCE BY J-B. CAKPEATX. malist" was born in 1795. Like Carpeaux, again, he was a unique personality, standing out in strong contrast from all of his asso- ciates. While Carpeaux's nymphs capered and laughed in the very faces of the Acad- emy's self-conscious creations, Barye's won- derful little bronzes were likewise bewilder- ing and delighting all but the "elect. " They were viewed with suspicion by the critics, because of their very spontaneity. But in the end their merit won recognition. That Barye's decorative figures and groups are equally fine we are assured by high authori- ties. To me these larger works are of but moderate interest. So much has been writ- ten on this great artist that we may well guard our space for the less familiar names of our own time. 302 SCULPTURE OF THE OURANG-OUTANG AND SAVAGE. E. FREMIET. F R E N C H tinned. (2) SCULPTURE. Con- Since the death of Barye, Em- manuel Fr^miet (1824 ) has been the unchallenged leader of the French ani- mal sculptors. This means, of course, that there is no greater living artist in that line of work. He was not a pupil of Barye, as is generally supposed, but studied under the direction of his uncle, the sculptor Rude. One feels in all his work the assurance which comes from thorough knowledge. His taste is not always so satisfactory. We re- call those horrors of various salons: The Death Struggle of the Hunter and Bear, the Gorilla Carrying off a Negro Woman, and his recent group show- ing the death grapple between an enormous orang-outang and a savage, where the beast, having gotten the ad- vantage of his adversary with a grip of iron about his neck, strangles him to death. However, Fre"miet has done monumental works of great beauty, and we can forgive him these excur- sions into the region of horrors when we understand that the groups were destined to a museum of natural his- tory and not a public square. And really, you forget after the first shock how dreadful they are in your admiration of their superb and mas- terly modeling. But it is in his quieter subjects that M. Fre"miet's work becomes dignified and therefore more truly sculptural. Especially fine is that solid, impas- sive Torch-bearer of the Hotel de Ville. The in- tensely alert face con- trasting with the straight architectural lines of horse and rider and torch gives this composition a peculiar, subtle power, an illu- sion of life. No amount of gesticulation could have been so convinc- ing. Hardly less monumental, though sug- gesting motion, is the Knight Errant. There is a feeling of mass and of irresistible mo- mentum in this work which with its perfect medieval character give it an impressiveness seldom found in modern art. The Louis d'Orleans, which stands in the LOUIS D'ORLEANS BY E. FRMIET. NINETEENTH CENTURY. 33 quadrangle of the restored chateau at Pierrefonds is generally referred to as Fre- miet's masterpiece. In this class of work he is perfectly at home, and makes no mis- takes. One feels that no living artist could give more truly the old-time character, for this sculptor knows archaeology as he knows anatomy. The Louis has to an unusual degree the ever-present dignity of Fremiet's riders, comporting so well with the monumental char- acter of these compositions. One feels that this grim warrior and the armored battle horse must be living creatures, their stillness is so nervous and in- tense. Fremiet's Joan of Arc is well known. She has stood for many years on the Rue de Rivoli, a very effective and beautiful statue, and a great favorite with the Parisians. The only trouble with this really excel- lent work is that a greater ar- tist has had a yet loftier and more satisfying vision of the Maid of Orleans. Paul Dubois has spoiled for us all other repre- sentations of the gentle warrior. M. Fre"miet is represented in the Luxembourg by a very amusing early work, Pan and Young Bears, a young faun stretched on the ground feed- ing honeycomb to a couple of bear cubs. The faun's laughter at the greediness of his ungainly little guests is contagious. At the Exposition of 1900 this prolific artist displayed eight important works in the decen- nial section. In the retrospec- tive exhibit nine others ap- peared, while among the man- ufactured bronzes his name was everywhere to be seen. The larger groups of recent date, like the St. George and St. Michael, are some- what hard and dry in treatment, and the re- lief of the Man and Young Bear of the Stone Age is hopelessly bad in both composition and technique; but in smaller works the aged fingers show no loss of cunning. Certain of them are indeed among the finest things that the great sculptor has ever pro- duced. Another worthy name in this field of CHARITY BY P. DUBOIS. (SEE PAGE 304). sculpture is that of Auguste Cain (1822- 1894). His large groups are almost as well known in this country as in France. In the entrance hall of Chicago's Art Institute are to be seen four of the choicest pieces of modern sculpture, the casts of 34 SCULPTURE OF THE those famous figures which Paul Dubois (1829 ) modeled for the tomb of General Lamoriciere in the cathedral of Nantes. Here sits the ideal of Military Courage, with watchful eye and resolute mouth; Faith, the slender girl, her pure face and clasped hands upraised ; venerable Meditation, with thought-furrowed brow ; and worthy to be called greatest all-beneficent, all-satisfying Charity. To their creation the leader of modern French sculpture consecrated sev- eral years of loving toil. They in turn PASTEUR KY P. DUBOIS. assured him his enviable position of chef (Thole, and stand to-day among the triumphs of contemporaneous art. They won for the sculptor the medal of honor of the Salon of 1876, and the highest honors of the Exposi- tion of 1878. The story of M. Dubois's beginning in art is an unusual one. He showed no precocity. He had reached the age of twenty-six before l 'the call" came to him. After which he made up for lost time. In two years M. Dubois had made the progress of six or eight years of ordinary student life. Indeed, the teacher had nothing more to give him. Though past the age of competition for the prize of Rome, he was fortunate enough to be able to make the trip to Italy. The work of the early masters of the Renaissance, painters and sculptors alike, appealed to him strongly; the Eternal City made a profound impression upon him, but even more potent was the charm of Florence. Here at last he felt himself at home, and Donatello was his . friend. His grasp of the significance of the early Italians meant not only freedom for himself but the emancipation of a national art. From it the whole French school re- ceived a new baptism. The first important result of the visit was a little St. John the Baptist, which was sketched in Florence and afterward modeled in Rome. It was sent to the Salon of 1863, along with the beautiful but very classic Nar- cissus. Both stand to-day in the Luxembourg gallery. Theodore Child has happily called the little John the ''forerunner" of the new movement. It met with an instant success, and turned the eyes of all the young sculp- tors toward Florence and the "primitives." In 1865 appeared the charming little Flor- entine Singer, which had, likewise, a great popularity. We could understand better the reason for it if it were possible to picture to ourselves the tiresome monotony of most of the sculpture of that date, the weight of tra- dition under which the great body of French sculptors grievously labored. We of Amer- ica should learn to appreciate it, for our new sculpture is inspired by this same modern French school, led, if not founded, by Paul Dube.s;. It means with us the blessed ad- vance from Greenough and Randolph Rogers to St. Gaudens, French and MacMonnies. The "classic school" was swept out of sight. Donatello was canonized saint of the new faith, the re-renaissance. There have been extremes and reactions during the wonderful thirty-five years of aritstic devel- opment which have gone by since then, but M. Dubois has never had to resign his proud place as leader. He has taken his honors modestly, yet with dignity. He has done his work deliberately and made no mistakes, His unshaken preeminence at the head of a NINETEENTH CENTURY. 305 hundred brilliant rivals is due as much to his quiet, well-bal- anced temperament as to his artistic skill. His art has made him a man of culture. He writes with a vigorous pen, he is an excellent musician, and as a painter he has won honors second only to his triumphs in the sturdier art. As director of the Ecole des Beaux Arts for many years he has rendered a great service to the State and to the cause of art ediication. Space fails me to describe his other great works. I must name, however, the wonderful busts of Paul Baudry, Henner and Pasteur, the noble eques- trian statue of le Connetable cle Montmorency at Chantilly, and finally the matchless Jeanne d'Arc of the Salon of 1895. This statue was first shown at the Exposition of 1889 in plaster, but the fastidious sculp- tor was not satisfied with it. Back it went to his studio. The position of the horse's head was changed entirely, and the harness was considerably elaborated. These are the visible alterations, but in reality every part was subjected to the unhasting scrutiny of the most relentless of critics. No less than twelve years it occupied the center of his studio, Like all that is great- est, this work requires time for its apprecia- tion. Its simplicity defies and confounds one. She is not the Joan of the stage. She does not shout at you like so much of French art. Not even is her mouth open. She does not wave her sword; it is lifted to heaven, and all unconscious of us the sweet, maidenly face is turned upward, "whence cometh aid." "Not in my strength, but in thine, O Lord," is what I hear her say. This statue, a recumbent figure in marble of the late Due d'Aumale and four busts, supplemented by a group of paintings seven masterful portraits comprised M. Dubois's impressive exhibit at the Exposi- tion of 1900. The retrospective exhibit was JOAN OF ARC BY P. DUBOIS. enriched by most of his early works. Their concurrent testimony is that their author has never made a mistake. Every one of them is good sculpture; simple, contained, dignified; yet rich in color and life, and above all "nobly artistic" without taint of commonness, much less of sensuality. F RENCH SCULPTURE. Continued. (3) Henri Chapu (1833-1891) will be remembered for two works, his noble Joan of Arc Listening to the Voices, and the beautiful La Jeunessc of the monu- ment to Regnault in the Ecole des Beaux Arts. It has been said of Chapu that he was per- haps the only eminent sculptor of his time whose inspiration was clearly the antique. With him it was a real inspiration, not some- 306 SCULPTURE OF THE JOAN OF ARC BY H. CHAPU. thing assumed. It was an attitude of mind; a working basis. He did not strive to "do Greek," and his work showed nothing of the effort of many of his contemporaries; he simply conceived things in the lofty imper- sonal way which we call classic, concerning himself with the ideal instead of the varia- ble, accidental, multiform phases of nature. Such a personality as his exercises a refin- ing, uplifting influence upon its generation, but can have no direct following. It is unique and inimitable. Among the treasures of modern French sculpture, brought us by the Columbian Exposition, there was nothing more striking than The First Funeral, by Louis Ernest Barrias. (See the cut, p. 20.) As the name implies, it represents the burial of Abel. In a group of three figures the father of the race is seen bearing in his arms the limp body, while Eve bendj to kiss the cold brow of her martyred son. When this magnifi- cent group was ex- posed in the Salon of 1883 it was imme- diately recognized as one of the great works of the century. Its pure and lofty sentiment appealed to all; the technical execution was be- } r ond criticism. The contrast of the Adam's sturdy strength with the rare, soft curves of the mother's form, and the thorough deadness of the youthful body, borne so tenderly; the fa- ther's wondering sor- row, the mother's uncontrollable grief, so pathetically ex- pressed all these things proved this to have been a real labor of love with the great man that had con- ceived it and caressingly wrought it from the gigantic block of spotless stone. It is said that Barrias did the entire work of chiseling these figures, which are considera- bly above life size, and that he spent three years upon them. What an unsuspected outlay of thought and toil and money such a work represents! What happiness in the doing! What a joy forever to those that really see it! A French critic has called this group "the chef d'oeuvre of our modern sculpture." Brownell demurs to such sweeping praise, but says: "It may be justly termed, I think, the most completely representative of the masterpieces of that sculpture. Its NINETEENTH CENTURY. 307 triumph over the prodigious difficulties of elaborate composition 'in the round' diffi- culties to which M. Barrias succumbed in the 'Spartacus' of the Tuileries Garden and its success in subordinating the de- tails of a group to the end of enforcing a single motive, preserving the while their individual interest, are complete. Nothing superior in this respect has been done since John of Bologna's 'Rape of the Sabines. ' ' M. Barrias' first really important work was the Jeune Fille de Megara, sent from Rome in marble to the Salon of 1870. This graceful figure of a young girl seated Turk- fashion speedily found a resting place in the gallery of the Luxembourg. Twenty years later the sculptor used the same motif m his bronze, Jeune Fille de Bou-Saada, for the tomb of Guillaumet, the painter of the des- ert, in the cemetery of Montmartre. The position of the hands is reversed, and she is represented as scattering flowers upon the grave It is interesting to compare these two figures and see how the clinging classic tradition so much in evidence in the earlier work has given way to a very personal ex- pression in the figure of 1890. The Salon of 1871 saw the Oath of Spar- tacus, referred to by Brownell, a scholarly and somewhat impressive work, which was put into marble for the decoration of the Garden of the Tuileries in 1877. Each year offers its record of figures or busts by Barrias, but space will allow men- tion of but a few of the greater works. In 1878 The First Funeral was exhibited in plaster, winning for the sculptor the medal of honor of the year. The Salon of 1887, which brought forth Mercie's Quand Meme, made public Barrias' version of an almost identical theme The Defense of Paris, which stands in bronze at Courbevoie. Then came the delightful Young Mozart tuning his violin, the thoughtful- browed Bernard Palissy, in the churchyard of St. Germain des Pres, a Joan of Arc captive, the in- tensely real and yet most artistic figure of Dr. Ricord, and that exquisite nude, Nature Revealing Herself to Science. A draped polychromatic variant of this theme was a beautiful feature of the Exposition of this NATURE REVEALING HERSELF TO SCIENCE. L. E. BARRIAS. year. (See next page). One would have been glad to overlook there M. Barrias' big, bombastic monument to Victor Hugo, which marks his declining power. Of Delaplanche's able and abundant works we can cite but two examples illustrating two phases of this master's skill. Most im- portant and most beautiful of all his concep- tions is the dreamy Aurora of the Luxem- bourg Gallery. With closed eyes and arms raised above her head, lifting a drapery which trails behind the exquisite nude form, this figure of ideal beauty seems to rise in a burst of morning light. To model a nude so well, to make it so satisfactorily true and 3 o8 SCULPTURE OF THE NATl'RE REVEALING HERSELF TO SCIENCE. L. K. BARRIAS. at the same time so thoroughly free from the taint of realism is indeed a triumph. It is more than Falguiere, with all his clever- ness, ever succeeded in doing. The other work to which we would call attention is M. Delaplanche's fine decora- tive figure Security, in the Chicago Art In- stitute collection, which gives a good idea of the "bigness" of treatment required in ex- terior sculpture. The freedom of pose of the limbs and the subordination of detail to the general mass gives this work a generous amp- litude, very different from the meagerness cf most of our decorative sculpture in Amer- ica. F RENCH SCULPTURE. Continued. (4) Rene Saint-Marceaux (1845) is an artist of peculiarly nervous temper- ament, whose flights of fancy extend over a wide field. His best known works are a Harlequin, which does not particularly appeal to Anglo-Saxon taste, and his su- perb Genius of Death Guarding the Secret of the Tomb. (See the cut, p. 69.) To have created this is enough for one man. That the motif was borrowed from one of Michelangelo's favorite poses does not de- tract from its power; the artist has made it thoroughly his own. Saint Marceaux's busts have had an extraordinary vogue in the past. The sculptor seemed to possess a secret formula for making eyes eyes that gaze and give the very illusion of life. His recent works are quite inferior. Alexander Falguiere's (1831-1900) range AURORA i;v E DELAPLANCHE. NINE TEENTH CEN TUR Y. 39 reminds one of the writings of Paul Ver- laine; while most zestful in "frankly carnal creations," like his Diana and The Lady of the Peacock, he now and then rises to heights almost spiritual, as in the Little Martyr, of the Luxembourg, and particu- larly in his sympathetic rendering of St. Vincent de Paul in the Pantheon. Though so different in temperament, Falguiere and Rodin stand together as the most marvelous modelers of flesh of this century. Falguiere was immensely popular with the French public and highly esteemed by his col- leagues, many of whom were likewise his pupils. Among his last works were the spirited Henri de la Rochejacquelin, and the Cardinal Lavigerie. Aiitoine Mercie is a southerner by birth, having first seen light in Toulouse in 1845. At the age of but twenty-three he won the ROCHEJACQUELIN BY J. A. SECURITY BY DELAI'LANCHE. prize of Rome. To the Salon of 1872 he sent from Rome his David After the Com- bat, one of the most pleasing works of mod- ern sculpture. There is a confident swing in the fine, lithe figure. The right foot rests upon the giant's grim head, the right arm is raised, as with a proud gesture he sheathes his sword. The joy of the victor has not yet chased from his brow its threat- ening frown. Altogether it is a thoroughly fine thing, whether Donatello's be better or worse. It was in 1875, however, that M. Mercie achieved his greatest triumph, with a mag- nificent work which ranks as highly now as it did at that time when it took all Paris by storm and won for the young sculptor the medal of honor of the Salon. I speak of the famous group, the Gloria Victis, "Glory to the Vanquished." It represents a dying youth borne from the field of battle by a winged Victory. His face shows the last agony, in his right hand he still grasps his broken sword, the left is raised as in a con- vulsive appeal to his comrades. The figure of Victory is very beautiful ; her face a sub- tle blending of delicacy and strength. Fol- lowing close upon the events of 1870 and 1871, this artist's dream of patriotism, this poem in bronze glorifying the defeated, struck a responsive chord in the heart of the French public and raised the young sculptor to a perilous eminence of popularity. Jules Clareti wrote that it was worthy of an artist of the Renaissance, that it was "purely and absolutely beautiful." "C'est la strophe d'une ode immortelle," cried another en- thusiast. Now came in quick succession the Genius of the Arts and the Tomb of Michelet. The GLORIA VICT1S BY A. MERCIE. first is that fiery and impetuous work which in high relief forms the most conspicuous decoration of the south fagade of the Tuile- ries, over the gateway to the Place du Car- rousel. The relief with which h.e has com- memorated Michelet is one of the most original and impressive decorations of Pere Lachaise. The figure of the genial historian is represented as recumbent, the eyes closed in the last sleep, while upon the mouth still rests the memory of a kindly smile. The upper portion of this great com- position is occupied by a majestic floating form, the artist's symbolic representation of Truth. Quand Meme, which we may freely trans- late "In spite of all," was first seen in the Salon of 1 88 1. It, too, has a patriotic sig- nificance, being a group to commemorate the heroic defense of Belfort. It is power- ful in its conception and picturesque in treatment. A vigorous Amazon in Alsatian peasant costume seizes the musket from the hand of a falling soldier. Next followed the magnificent tomb of Louis Philippe and his queen at Dreux. M. Mercie's Le Souvenir, in the Luxembourg, a seated figure with closed eyes, is the re- plica of a tomb decoration, a motif 'as sweet and impressive as those gentle partings which the Greeks once pictured on their memorials to the dead. In the Salon of 1895 M. Mercie exhibited an energetic William Tell, and a very striking conception of Jeanne d'Arc. Theodore Child speaks of "two character- istics of Mercie's genius intensity of feel- ing and unerring sentiment of beauty in form," adding: "I use the word 'genius' ex- pressly; for M. Mercie, of all contemporary French sculptors, seems the most gifted by nature and the most favored by mysterious and inexplicable inspiration." Brownell observes more cautiously that, "At one epoch in any examination of academic French sculpture that of M. Mercie seems the most interesting." How true this has been in his own case the writer remembers well, and no less vividly does he recall the petulance with which his early enthusiasm spurned Mr. Brownell's reservations and his qualified praise of this sculptor's triumphs. He could agree heartily when he read, "Mercie's 'Gloria Victis' is very fine ; I know nothing so fine in modern sculpture outside of France"; but that it should be called "rhetoric" and "prose" stirred him to the depths. If this is not poetry, what is? he asked. Youthful loyalty has been somewhat weakened by the passing years. The Gloria Victis is still beautiful, but there are modern works which move one more deeply. With all his skill and invention and unfailing taste, M. Mercie has added nothing to his record in the last ten years. His later works are trivial and quite unworthy of his talent. NINETEENTH CENTURY. F RENCH SCULPTURE. Concluded. (5) Many will recall that strange, grim figure which rose so impressive in the south court of the Art Palace at the Columbian Exposition, the rugged man who clutched a gigantic key in his enor- mous hands, whose feet were big and ugly beyond description, and whose face never- theless seemed to look scorn upon the posing puerilities around him. He stood there erect and immovable, like a solitary tree with gnarled limbs, amid swaying grasses and impertinent weeds. You can look at him still at the Art Institute of Chicago. You may not like him, this stern old Sieur Eustache de St. Pierre of centuries ago, as Rodin has conceived and fashioned him ; but you cannot fail to respect him. You are sure, too, to want to know from the first what the figure means and who made it. You feel an extraordinary creative mind behind it, a force almost terrible in its intensity. The figure alluded to is one of six which the sculptor has combined into a group as original in its united effect as are its com- ponent parts. The story which he has de- sired to recall is that of the long and desper- ate defense of Calais against the English, led by Edward III. After a protracted siege, the starved city was obliged to capit- ulate, and the lives of the inhabitants were spared only upon condition that the six lead- ing citizens should be surrendered for death. They were to be brought into the royal pres- ence bearing the keys of the city and clad only in their shirts, with halters about their necks. This melancholy procession is what the great sculptor has represented in such extraordinary fashion, with an art so vital, so uncouth, and yet so fascinating. Auguste Rodin has been the most con- spicuous figure in French sculpture during the last fifteen years He is by no means a favorite with his brothers in the craft, but they no longer deny the genius of the man who persisted from the first in expressing his own individuality in everything he has done. With all their skill the sculptors of Paris seem closely related; they belong to one school. Rodin is the exception. He has always stood alone, as unmoved by the adulations and flattery of the present hour as he was by the sneers and opposition of those younger days. This sturdy self-con- fidence and power are recognized and appre- ciated now, and those best fit to judge speak of him respectfully as a very great master. The first figure which he sent to the Salon was L'Age d'Airain "The Bronze Age." Up to this time he had been unknown, a hired workman in the studios of more popular sculptors. The statue was so remarkable in conception and so perfect in modeling that the jury were dumbfounded; it was the work of a master, but signed by an unknown name. In their bewilderment the author was accused of having cast it directly from nature. He had no difficulty in disproving the charge, and the incident made him friends. A year or two later his "John the Bap- tist" was exhibited. In this figure the artist breaks loose from all tradition. He repre- sents "a sort of ferocious anchorite, a man of powerful frame made gaunt by fatigues and fasts. He walks with long strides, very erect upon his lean legs. His feet are cal- loused by the stones and burning sands of the road. And preaching as one does battle, he makes a violent gesture which seems to scatter anathemas. His face is illumined with a mystic light, his mouth vomits impre- cations. " (See page 312.) Probably you or I never thought of John the Baptist in that way, but then we are not Rodins. History, like nature, translates itself variously, seen through different tem- peraments. Strangely enough, this revolu- tionary work now one of the features of the Luxembourg gallery attracted but lit- tle attention for the time being in Paris. It was too strong, too virile to please, and so strange that the critics probably did not know how to take hold of it. Next followed, however, a series of busts which could not be neglected; wonderful works which wrung admiration and that highest flattery imitation from friends and detractors alike. Among these heads one recalls vividly the portraits of Victor Hugo, Rochefort, Jean P. Laurens the 312 SCULPTURE OF THE JOHN THE BAPTIST BY A. RODIN. painter, Dalon the sculptor, Puvis de Chavannes, and that incompar- able Head of a Woman in the Lux- embourg. There are two things especially noticeable in all of these busts, the incisive characterization, that intensity of life which unmasks the very soul, and, almost equally important in a great work of art, that masterly neglect of non-essen- tials, which Rodin understands bet- ter perhaps than any other living sculptor. There is no "frittering away of the general effect in useless details." With him cravats and button-holes are of small importance compared with the face. The Head of a Woman has some of the most delicate, mellow modeling that I have ever seen, the perfection of marble cutting; the neck and bosom, likewise, are nothing else than soft, white flesh art can go no further. Then the master considered his work done. With a sort of noble petulance he has scratched the suggestion of drapery into shape. For a moment he has played with the clay and pressed the loose scraps into semblance of flowers. And he has been very careful that the marble-cutter should not carry them any further. The tooth of the tool has left its mark on all this subor- dinate portion of the bust. It is rendered purposely uninteresting in order that the face may have all attention. The result is one of the greatest works of sculpture of our time. M. Rodin's special exhibit this exposition year was a most extraordinary collection. There were things of marvelous beauty and originality alongside sketches and unfinished figures distorted and sometimes brutal be- yond belief. Here were the famous Dante Gates, still incomplete, though they have been the artist's task for years. Here stood the misshapen Balzac, amorphous, hideous, and yet impressive. In the Art Palace one saw that luminous, exquisite group, The Kiss, a work so great, so subtly wrought, so sculp- turally compact yet so free within its bounds, HEAD OF A WOMAN BY A. RODIN. NINETEENTH CENTURY. that everything near looked hard and am- ateurish. Certainly M. Rodin is a riddle, and his work the most perversely captivat- ing of all that is done in these days. Another man of remarkable talent and facility whose art approaches most nearly to that of Rodin in its unacadernic character is Jules Dalou. His reliefs, The Republic and the Mirabeau \vith their many figures are incredibly difficult problems in which he has acquitted himself tri- um phantly. His recent monument to the Republic is as compact as his Dela- croix me- morial is dif- fuse, but in both is the same rich p a 1 p i t ating play of light and shade. A u he's Dante is worthy of either of the two preced- ing masters with whom his name is often asso- ciated. Its author has not risen to the same height a sec- o n d time. Bartholome was originally a painter, but his monument, Aux Morts, "To the Dead," is a greater and profounder work than most of his sculptor brethren ever conceived. Boucher's early robustness is growing com- monplace. Puech has been too popular for his own good. He has never equaled his Muse of Andre* Chenier. His elegance is running away with sturdier qualities. Dampt's occasional works are very interes- ting. Sicard is a younger man of great DANTE BY J. P. AUB promise. Lefevre, Charpentier and Dagonet have each done one great work, as in the past did Lanson, Massoule, Escoula, and scores of others. Hundreds are striving in the ranks just behind these men who have "arrived." Eclecticism is the spirit if not the watch- word of modern French sculpture. The united efforts of romanticism and of nat- uralism have beaten down all barriers. In- dividualism is supreme. Temperament alone guides expression. The result is the most varied art that the world has yet seen, a range from the unformed Balzac of Rodin to the picturesqueness of Lefeuvre and the destructive finish of Puech In art as else- where liberty often leads to license, but without liberty is death. These French masters represent a living force, and the sum total of their achievement is a splendid contribution to the art of our time. s CULPTURE IN NORTHERN EUROPE. (6) For many years, during at least the lifetime of an entire generation of sculptors, the influence of Canova and of Thorwaldsen dominated all effort not only in Italy but throughout Europe. These men were not great when compared with the mighty creators of the past, but they did much to give sculpture a recognized place in modern life. We deprecate the formal, conventional limitations of their art, but it is possible that men of more positive originality might have accomplished less at that particular period. These made sculp- ture popular without degrading it, and the venerable craft received a new lease of life. It is interesting to note that the two leaders were the sons respectively of a marble-cut- ter and of a wood -carver; workmen who knew how to do things. Canova's art has been treated elsewhere, falling as it does largely within the record of the eighteenth century. Bertel Thor- waldsen (1770-1844) was Danish in origin only; his art is Italian, though he believed it to be Greek. He brought to it the robustness of a strong-bodied, simple-mind- SCULPTURE OF THE ed peasant, and his life work in no small degree contributed to the general advance- ment of sculpture. His treatment is often archaic and hard. He had little charm, little color-sense using the term sculptor- fashion to mean relations of light and shade and personality is assiduously obliterated from all of his figures. Nevertheless there remains a simple, manly directness in his approach to every subject, a self-respecting dignity, infinitely superior to the theatrical exaggeration which preceded and to the meretricious realism of much current art. FREDERICK THE GREAT, BERLIN, BY C. D. RAUCH. What Thorwaldsen made was always sculp- ture. The Dane left no successor in his own land. It is to Germany that we must turn for the next great names, outside of France. We find at this time a group who did much to revive the fallen prestige of Teutonic art. The works of Danneker, Schadow, Emil Wolff and Tieck, though important in the evolution of taste, may be passed over lightly, since they interest us but little to- day. While Christian Daniel Rauch (1777-1857) was of the same school, having studied like- wise in Rome, he was a stronger artistic nature, and has left works of great distinc- tion. In his memorial to Queen Louisa of Prussia at Charlotte nburg, he was favored with a beautiful subject which he treated with much tenderness His well-known monument to Frederick the Great (Unter den Linden, Berlin) is one of the greatest and ablest productions of the first half of this century. The labor expended upon such an assemblage of figures is incredible. Many other statues and memorials in Ber- lin and throughout Germany testify to the industry and invention, if not imagination, of this great sculptor. August Kiss, a pupil of the above, is generally ranked next to him. He is best known to us through his Ama- zon on Horseback, at the entrance to the Old Museum in Berlin. The Luther monument, at Worms by Ernst Riet- schel (1804-1861), although distinctly sculptural and dignified, is very hard in execution. The poses and charac- terizations of its many figures are ex- cellent, the treatment of their drapery is often bad. The works of Johannes Schilling likewise betoken a refined, spiritual nature. His groups of Night, Morn- ing, Noon, and Evening, on the Brlihl Terrace in Dresden, are full of charm, and their poetry is not lost through inadequate handling. Schilling's re- liefs on the Niederwald monument are rather "lean," but are sympathetically conceived. The Victories blowing the trumpets are effective and picturesque. The colossal Germania has the faults and the qualities of recent German monumental art. She seems florid and exuberant, with over- much detail, and, for a figure which is in itself a monument, has scarcely enough of architectonic quality. Yet she is adequate ; and when compared with Sch wan thaler's Bavaria seems even contained and impress- ive. She is very German, and as a national expression this is perhaps fully as important as the larger attribute of style. The decorations of the picturesque Palace Bridge of Berlin are now quite overshad- NINETEENTH CENTURY. 3'5 owed by new and better work. The pseudo- classic groups by Drake, Shiefelbein, Albert Wolff and others are all exceedingly me- chanical in treatment, and even their com- positions are uniformly unpleasant in mass and in line. Albert Wolff is perhaps at his best in the monument to Frederick William III. in the Lustgarten, an immense tableau in bronze. Encke's graceful figure of Queen Louisa, in the Thiergarten, and Schaper's Goethe are fortunate in their handsome pedestals. The Goethe monu- ment is decorated with three very beautiful allegoric groups. In the changes of the last thirty years a great many sculptural decorations have been lavished, upon the capital of the German Empire. Berlin shows to-day a marked tendency towards the florid and theatrical, not to say bombastic. Monuments to roy- alty do not represent what is best in contem- poraneous art. The perfunctory works of Reinhold Begas, like the recent William I. memorial, though undoubtedly showing much skill and a certain grandiose inven- tion, are far from pleasing to others than Germans. So the new and very costly Washington monument in Philadelphia, the work of Rudolph Siemering of Berlin, a collocation of conscientiously wrought fig- ures, fails completely in dramatic power. This gigantic table-ornament shows no spontaneity; it looks too carefully arranged. It will never cause a thrill of exultation nor a pulse-beat of patriotism. It is questiona- ble whether even a larger menagerie around its base would avail to that end. Ludwig Schwanthaler (1802-1848), the favorite sculptor of King Louis of Bavaria, ranks close to the American MacMonnies in the rapidity if not in the value of his pro- duction. During his short life he created a vast number of statues and reliefs of the stage-furniture type, which give a superficial richness to the fantastic architecture called into existence by that mad monarch's whim. At the Columbian Exposition we first be- came acquainted with the work of Hun- drleser. His group, Sleep, now in the St. Louis Museum, was a work of rare beauty and tenderness. Very different but de- lightfully modeled was Max Baumbach's Siesta, showing an obese sleeping faun, a triumph of clever marble-cutting. The finest thing shown by the Germans in Paris in 1900 was Peter Breuer's Adam and Eve, a noble sculptural composition, modeled and carved in masterful fashion. This received a medal of honor, as did Robert Diez' wild fountain-motif, The Tempest, a whirling medley of figures, horses and marine monsters. Other names of prominence in German sculpture are Briitt, Eberleln, Herter, Hildebrand, Unger and Franz Stuck the painter. Of the younger generation the works of Freese, Hahn, Hoesel and Kruse are especially promising. s CULPTURE IN NORTHERN EUROPE. Continued. (7) Since Thorwaldsen, Denmark has produced no sculpture of more than local reputation, although Saabye and others have upheld the academic traditions with no mean ability. The great painter Kroyer has modeled many excellent busts of friends, some of which were seen in Chicago in 1893. It is the Norwegian Stephan Sinding, how- ever, who has brought prestige to Copen- hagen, his adopted city. This gifted brother of Christian Sinding, the musical composer, and of Otto Sinding, the painter, is one of the greatest sculptors of our time, a man who is original and virile in everything that he does. His Captive Mother, shown at the Columbian Exposition, was one of the finest figures in the entire display. Greater still is his almost elemental A Man and a Woman, a group as simple and compact in mass as it is intense in its emotional expression. One cannot help thinking how strange such art would have seemed to Thorwaldsen. Can- ova, we may be sure, would have thought it crude and primitive. Another Scandinavian whose promise was left but half fulfilled through untimely death was Per Hasselberg. His poetic and charmingly etherial Snowdrop stands in the Art Institute of Chicago. The Frog-girl, a roguish little minx of quite different mood is in the St. Louis Museum. A third ex- 316 SCULPTURE OF THE CAPTIVE MOTHER. S. BINDING. hibit at the Columbian Exposition, the Water-lily, was of yet another inspiration. Unlike the artists of worn-out civilizations this man seemed to have no lack of distinct, poetic, sculptural ideas. Such men as Sind- ing and Hasselberg, with the brilliant Scan- dinavian painters encourage us to believe that these northern lands will exert a great influence upon the art of the twentieth century. Holland, the home of so much beautiful painting, has had no sculptor of eminence since the distant days when Claux Sluter led the Gothic carvers of Burgundy. Belgium has patronized sculpture gener- ously, and offered a home to more than a few of France's exiled geniuses. Naturally this country has followed the fashions and fluctuations of French art. Of her native sculptors we may cite Simonis, Fraikin, and Joseph and William Geefs, among the elders. Of contemporaries Constant Meu- nier may be called the Millet of sculpture, glorifying as he does the life of the laborer ; while, to continue the comparison, J. Lam- beaux is a veritable Rubens, delighting in fleshy nude figures restless and exaggerated in action. These with Jules Van Bresbroeck received medals of honor at the Exposition of 1900. Charles Samuels' quaintly original monument to Charles de Coster with char- acters from that writer's works has an im- pressive power. Van der Straeten's chic little ladies of fashion are excellent of their kind, though it must be confessed that the kind is not particularly digni- fied. Of a strange barbaric note, yet within the bounds of good sculpture, were those early works of Mark Antokolsky, the Russian Jew. His Ivan the Terrible, Nestor the Historian, head of Jaroslaw, etc., have very great qualities. His Christ Bound before the People is much admired by his country- men, but is too Russian and not sufficiently ideal to please a larger public. With increasing popularity, Antokolsky's ideas have become less independent and the robustness of his work has disap- peared. His exhibit in Paris in 1900, while a SNOWDROP BY P. HASSELBERG. NINETEENTH CENTURY. triumph, had this pathetic side: it traced the artist's progress from the splendid achievements of ardent youth, through stages more picturesque and fanciful but less serious, to the commonplaces of the successful, popular artist. Other Russians who have done interesting things are Bernstamm,*famed for his busts IVAN THE TERRIBLE. M. ANTOKOLSKY. and statuettes of distinguished men ; Qinz- bourg, who makes a specialty of the pranks of mischievous children ; Vallgren, ingenious in little bronzes and the curiosities of the "new art" movement; and the various men who do tiny horses, reindeer and sledges with so much crispness and charm. Most interesting perhaps of all is Prince Paul Troubetzkoi of Moscow, who studied for some time in Milan, yet was not spoiled by it. He evolved there a style of rapid sketchy treatment which is fascinating in small works, if less convincing in figures of life size. His important and extraordinary exhibition in Paris shared with that of Antokolsky the highest honors. There is a zest in the handling, a novelty in the point of view of the Russians which give their works a peculiar attractiveness. Our ar- tists might well take to heart their 'les- son of independence and use of material at hand. s CULPTURE EUROPE. (8) 3*7 IN SOUTHERN The artist's antipathy to modern Italian sculpture seems to the lay- man, an iniquitous prejudice. The very things that artists most detest in this factory work are what the average purchaser most delights in. Its cheap prettiness; its curi- osities of realistic carving; its mimicries of laces and silks and feathers, are to sculptors of other races not only childish but posi- tively irritating. The smirking faces under transparent veils and broad-brimmed hats, the coy and timid bathers, the self-conscious, sentimental dreamers, the everything that is common and vulgar, without sculptural inspiration, without grace of line or dignity of significance, are the works which the average American and Englishman prefer to all others. These nations support the Florentine and Milanese workshops, whose output fills our houses and blockades our parlor windows. Crushed under the weight of their great inheritance, the Italians are the most disap- pointing, the most tantalizing of all artists. The noble thoughts which the great masters gave to the world have been repeated by insignificant followers for centuries, de- claimed as empty words, until to-day Italian art has but little to say beyond the merest maundering. It has grown inarticulate through its own facility of utterance. There are many serious, earnest men in the army of Latin sculptors of to-day as there have been throughout the century, but the com- mon standard is so low, cleverness counts for so much and ideas for so little that even the best of them rise but seldom to great heights whence they speedily return to the safer level of dexterous nullity. Among their most important names of the first half of the nineteenth century we find Lorenzo Bartolini and Pio Fedi. The latter executed a group called the Rape of Polyx- ena, which has been honored with a place in the Loggia dei Lanzi among the treasures of the past. Gradually the bonds of classic tradition became loosened, and emancipated Italian sculpture like a drunken man reeled in the other direction. Giovanni Dupre SCULPTURE OF THE RAPE OF POLYXF.NA BY P. FEDI. (1817-1882) was strong enough in person- ality to put soul into his very realistic works. His Pieta is conceived in a large and rever- ent way. His Cain is, however, but a care- ful study of a low-browed model. Vincenzo Vela (1822-1891), no less realistic, shows at times a greater reserve, a quality which comports so well with sculptural art. His dramatic Last Day of Napoleon, at Ver- sailles, and again in the Corcoran Gallery, displays his marvelous skill in modeling and carving. Giulio Monte verde illustrates only too well the fhitterings of a spirit of real ideality in the suffocating atmosphere of modern Italy. His Dr. Jenner is a wonder of conscientious realism well applied. Some of his monu- ments are of poetic inspiration, and among them are faces and forms of great beauty, but every one of these is injured by the artist's self-confident emphasis of details which it were much better to suppress. Too often the work has no other reason for exis- tence than this display of technic. Maccag- nani's scenes of cruelty, gladiatorial con- tests, etc., are treated in a hard but work- manlike fashion. Ciferielli, who is now a professor in Berlin, puts so much finish upon his works that even his Italian brothers con- sider them "too well done"; they are abso- lutely photographic. Medals of honor were given at the Expo- sition of 1900 to Ba/zaro, Biondi and Gemito, whose works vie with each other in cleverness, if not in elevation of thought. Among Biondi's picturesque little genre groups shown in the Columbian Exposition was The Spree, where two or three peasants were shown steadying each other and evi- dently shouting the Italian versions of "We won't go home till morning." This miserable little subject the sculptor has since developed with wonderful skill into the extraordinary group, The Saturnalia, which attracted more attention than any other sculpture at the Exposition of 1900, and finally won a medal of honor. The term group is a mis- nomer here, because in reality the com- position is a string of nine life-size figures CAIN BY G. DUPRE. NINETEENTH CENTURY. 319 supposed to be parading the streets of Rome abreast. Six of these old-time revelers, arm in arm, advance in an irregular line; a handsome Roman of the decadence, on one side his wife and boy, on the other a harlot, a soldier and a slave. These have been joined in their wanderings by three drunken priests, one of whom offers some gallantry to the beautiful young matron. She beams an appreciative -smile upon him, but her husband flashes a look of indignant protest. The priests are hideous creatures with the small heads of degenerates, and beastly faces. Two of them support each other, but the third, with enormous Falstaffian paunch, has slipped to the pavement, where he sits iir idiotic bliss and helplessness. The whole work was realistic to the mi- nutest detail of costume and anatomy. The hands "went" with the figures and were as- tonishingly like real hands, especially the flabby hands of those unspeakable priests. It is no wonder that the crowds gathered; for, if the group were made of real, stuffed Romans, it could not have been more true to nature, nor less in keeping with the prin- ciples of good sculpture. It was the art of the Musee Grevin and Mme. Tussauds car- ried to the last degree of perfection and translated into bronze. Its methods and its subject were in perfect harmony. This disgustingly clever performance seemed to the writer like a kind of a "wake" over the corpse of a once noble national art which produced the Augustus and later the St. George and the Moses, which has long been dead but which men refuse to bury. The sculpture of Spain and Portugal shares the clever realism of Italian art, but is less attractive to Anglo-Saxon tastes. The idea of a just balance between the impor- tance of a theme and the labor to be ex- pended in giving it expression seems never to occur to these people. A hideous cross- eyed beggar, covered with warts and wrin- kles seems to them a worthy and stimulating problem to be rendered with topographical accuracy. At the recent Exposition a life- size group representing a struggling peasant in the hands of a brutal dentist confirmed the impression made upon the writer by an equally felicitous work at the Columbian Exposition in which figured an energetic old hag, a fine-toothed comb and an unwill- ing child! Auguste Querol, a sculptor of dignity and distinction was the Spanish juror in Paris in 1900. Medals of honor were bestowed upon Mariano Beulliure y Oil, and Miguel Blay y Fabrega. The Portuguese Antonio Lopes, who like- wise received a medal of honor in the liberal distribution to all nations, showed a num- ber of interesting works, some of which were almost fine. As a rule, however, it LAST DAY OF NAPOLEON BY VELA. may be said that the sculptural sense is nearly extinct in these southern lands, and that it is impossible for them to produce really great art until they have felt a new baptism. ENGLISH SCULPTURE. (9) The English have long patronized sculpture, but have themselves pro- duced few notable works. Though there are to-day more good British sculptors than ever before, they can still be counted 320 SCULPTURE OF THE upon the fingers, and their achievements put no one of them in the first rank. English sculpture often shows skill, dig- nity and thought, but it is generally lacking in the suggestion of spontaneity. It is too thoughtful perhaps. Its grace is too evi- dently calculated. It has not been done from love of the art, but as a recent writer says, "from a sense of duty." There are exceptions, but the majority of English sculptures impress one in this way. This great colonizing people, superb in govern- ment, commerce, engineering and manufac- ture, is painfully perfunctory and ineffective in its artistic production. It has no accu- mulated momentum of art tradition and enthusiasm. The English have bought sculptures for centuries; have embellished public buildings and country seats almost as lavishly as did the Romans, but the parallel with those earlier days is rendered complete by the fact that here too the art has been exotic, the decorators men of another race. The present generation has seen a certain change in this respect. Sculptures are no longer looked upon as curiosities for mu- seums, or mere symbols of wealth. Men of intellect and social position are turning to this unusual profession. They study in France and return with new and liberal ideas. Their art becomes to them what all art should be, a means of expression. If they bring no inherited facility nor even a favoring attitude of mind to the work, they at least dignify it in the eyes of their coun- trymen and win the respect of the guild through their solid scholarly attainments. Writers like Edmund Gosse have welcomed them and sounded their praises, and later acknowledged with disappointment that the results have not justified all that enthusias- tic lovers of beauty had hoped. But such evolutions are slow, even in the most favor- able environment. The present generation is preparing the way for another. It is making artistic tradition. Though a hostile atmosphere of commercialism may suffocate some, though artistic atavism claim now and then a victim from among the most promis- ing, there is good reason to believe that the English sculpture of the twentieth century, however meager compared with the output of France and America, will be something fine and strong, and, above all, distinctly racial. The opening years of the century found John Flaxman (1755-1826) the central figure in English sculpture. He was a man of at- tractive personality and of some education. His lectures on sculpture before the Royal Academy are still read. Endowed with a fertile and graceful imagination, he made countless designs which he was unable to execute in sculptural form. His drawings, illustrative of the Iliad, Odyssey, etc., are a mine of suggestions for students of sculp- AN ILLUSTRATION FOR THE ODYSSEY BY FLAXMAN. Ulysses implores Kirke to restore his companions. ture, and are held in high esteem in the best schools. In the actual practice of his art Flaxman's undisputed field was low relief, For twelve years he was in the employ of his friend Josiah Wedgwood, decorating the famous Wedgwood ware. His figures are in the pseudo-classic style of the time. Flaxman's monuments, of which there exist a considerable number, are far from success- ful, being steeped in allegory and burdened by historical allusions. Chantrey's monuments in Westminster Abbey show the same characteristics, and are but curiosities to-day. His busts are often dignified and impressive. (1782-1841). John Gibson (1791-1866) was a pupil of Canova, and his work shows the grace and delicacy of his master. His experiments in coloring statuary are interesting. Alfred J. Stevens (1817-1875) is a bril- liant exception in the line of more or less conventional imitators of classic art. His ability comes close to genius. Though a NINETEENTH CENTURY. 321 pupil of Thorwaldsen, his art is inspired by that of Michelangelo. His life was full of disappointments, and his work was not ap- preciated until after his death, when that splendid fragment, the Wellington memo- rial in St. Paul's, was first shown to the public. Thomas Woolner (1825-1892), of the 1 "pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood," made a real contribution to sculpture in his faithful por- traits of the great English writers and states- men of the century. Armstead, like so many artists of old-time Florence, began his career as a silversmith. His reliefs on the Albert memorial are the only artistic fea- tures of that great ostentatious pile. Foley's sculptures are hard, dry and insistent of un- important detail. This is illustrated by the figure of Prince Albert and the group of Asia in the monument just mentioned. The Hungarian Boehm, a royal favorite of pains- SLUGGARD HY LORD F. LEIGHTON. TEUCER BY H. THORNYCROFT. taking ability, rose once above the common- place in his admirable statue of Carlyle on the Thames embankment. Lord Leighton was a better modeler than painter. His Sluggard is a truly sculptural conception, and ranks among the best of English works. A few years ago Hamo Thornycroft would have been named as the unquestioned head of the younger group of British sculptors, his Teucer and his Mower being among the finest things yet done in England. But despite his artistic ancestry, Mr. Thornycroft seems to have succumbed to his surroundings. His draped figure, The Joy of Life, shown in 1895, was hopelessly artificial, while his Cromwell, at the Paris Exposition of 1900, was easily the worst piece of sculpture shown by the English, being very crude and commonplace. 322 SCULPTURE OF THE Probably Onslow Ford (born 1852) is the best sculptor among them to-day. His work is always good, if never great. It suggests Parisian training, though in reality he studied in Munich. His General Gordon on a camel is a very original and daring con- ception for a monument. His Shelley me- morial has much distinction and is almost beautiful. The nude figure of the young poet is fine, but the work as a whole is too small to be impressive. The draped figure of the Muse is weak and inadequate, and various parts of the composition seem irrele- vant. Ford's seated Hamlet (Sir Henry Irving) is sculpturally composed, though too realistic and monotonous in detail. His Echo, a standing figure of a young girl, is one of the most refined things thus far pro- duced in England. Mr. Ford's portrait busts, while not great works when compared with those of Dubois or Rodin, are thor- oughly good presentments of real people, well constructed and suavely modeled. Harry Bates, recently deceased, made beautiful reliefs, such as the Homer, Psyche, etc., well known through platinotype repro- ductions. George Frampton's interesting and sometimes successful experiments in decorative work, combinations of various metals, etc., are worthy of note. Thomas Brock has done some dignified figures. Charles J. Allen, Alfred Drury, Goscombe John, David McGill, Bertram McKennal and Henry A. Pegram are all men of ability who sometimes do interesting work. AMERICAN SCULPTURE. (10) The record of our national art de- velopment is bounded by the short span of a single century. In writ- ing of other countries the chronicle of the last hundred years is but a fragment, a brief sequel to the story of ages of endeavor. Our earliest pioneer sculptors were born well within the nineteenth century. One can hardly realize that our actual achieve- ment from the very kindergarten stage of a nai'f art to the proud position held by American sculpture in the Paris Exposition of 1900 has been the work of three-score years and ten, has been ceen in its entirety by not a few men now living. The evolution of taste has been so rapid that many a worthy artist has been left stranded and bewildered in the midst of his fading fame. Thirty years ago, for instance, the scholarly W. W. Story was honored as our leading American sculptor. Within fifteen years his prestige had completely dis- appeared, and to-day his dry, amateurish arrangements of drapery over lay figures are mere historical curiosities. Despite Hawthorn's enthusiasm, nothing could be more artificial than his Cleopatra in the Metropolitan Museum, nothing more dis- tressingly weak than his Jerusalem in the Pennsylvania Academy. Coming at a time when all the world was looking to the dead art of Rome for inspira- tion, it is not strange that America's first essays in sculpture should have been timid and purely imitative. The struggles of the self-taught John Frazee of New Jersey are interesting but without special significance in the annals of our art. American sculpture may be said to begin approximately with Hiram Powers' Greek Slave (1843), a work of immense pop- ularity in the earlier days. It was a chaste, nude figure which looked to our fathers very much like those in the museums of Europe. They could not see why it was not fully as good. The clock-maker of Cincinnati had done his best, and if his ideal work was not as complete a success as his justly famous Inferno, with its cheery waxwork devils, it was a step upward. It prepared the way for better things, turning a nation's thoughts toward the ideal. When the better things came our people were somewhat better able to appreciate them, thanks to the efforts of these sturdy pioneers, these boyish enthu- siasts, who were tasting for the first time the pleasure of "making things." Let us not begrudge them this popularity; let us re- joice rather that the whole country admired their marble dolls It was right. It is the way that art must be born and grow. The Greeks did worse things than the Slave, not so many decades before the building of the Parthenon. But as intelligent people, we should be able to know the place of these, NINETEENTH CENTURY. 3 2 3 our "primitives. " Their work has been in vain, if we have made no progress in the last half century. The fact is that Hiram Pow- ers, Horatio Greenough, Clark Mills and others of that early group are not to be mentioned in the same breath with our great artists of to-day. They were but novices in their profession. We thank them for their effort, but we must classify them where they belong. Powers was a representative "cute" Yankee, of little education, but possessed of some natural refinement and vast ingenuity. Horatio Greenough of Boston born likewise in the year 1805 was of another class. He was a college man and came of a cultured and well-to-do family. His ideals were high, but to them he seldom attained. He met with many disappointments and misfor- tunes. The greatest of these was in connec- tion with the work which premised most and longest, the work which he was able to carry to completion, his colossal statue of Washington for the national capitol. Into this great figure he put his best effort. He conceived it on a very high plane; he la- bored on it for nearly eight years, and the execution is dignified and workmanlike, if not masterly. Greenough felt that our greatest citizen, the father of his country, was worthy of apotheosis, and with dim vision of the Olympian Zeus in his pillared sanctuary regnant, he conceived his Wash- ington as a majestic, god-like figure en- throned beneath the vaulted arch of the Capitol and gilded by the filtered rays of far-falling sunlight. The conception was exalted, grandiose, and in another age might have succeeded. But the sculptor was not big enough for the work which he had dreamed, nor had he control of certain very essential details of his mise en scene. The ponderous statue was found to be too heavy for the building, and, hastily with- drawn, remains to-day outside the promised land, exposed to the elements and to the pitiless gibes of an unimaginative gener- ation. Then came Clark Mills from his Charleston stucco shop and offered to make an eques- trian statue of General Jackson. Congress found his proposition a fair one, and with- out model or advice this untrained man created our first equestrian statue. The Jackson of the rampant steed is one of the sights of Washington; amazing and awe- inspiring. Hopelessly bad from an artistic GREEK SLAVE BY H. POWERS. standpoint, its shortcomings are forgotten in wonder at the intrepidity of the sculptor who modeled and successfully cast the big group in bronze by his own processes. Next followed the poetic Thomas Craw- ford, and sturdy Randolph Rogers whose SCULPTURE OF THE modeling is like wood-carving. His are the bronze doors of the capitol and various pub- lic monuments, likewise certain ideal works, as the Lost Pleiad and the once-popu- lar Blind Nydia with its flying drapery in monotonous parallel ribs and grooves, its fingers and toes suggestive of piano keys! BLIND NYDIA BY R. ROGERS. Other men of this time who contributed their part were Erastus D. Palmer, Henry Kirke Browne, Larkin Mead, Launt Thomp- son, William H. Rhinehart, Martin Milmore, and several of less renown. Good American sculpture begins with Thomas Ball (born in 1819), who still lives to behold the progress of his art in this country and to receive the homage of scores of younger colleagues. Ball's figures have little variety of surface treatment, but are well constructed and always dignified, being conceived in a large, monumental way. The best known are the equestrian Washing- ton in Boston, and the Emancipation Monu- ment in the city of Washington. Distinguished from most of those who precede by the fact that his study and work have been entirely upon native soil, is J. Q. A. Ward, the honored president of the Na- tional Sculpture Society. Among the many well-known achievements of this veteran sculptor are his early Shakespeare and In- dian Hunter, of Central Park, New York, the Pilgrim, of later date, in the same place, General Washington, the admirable Beecher in Brooklyn, the fine equestrian General Thomas and the Garfield Monument in Washington, and the crowning decoration of the ephemeral Dewey Arch of 1899, a quadriga of sea-horses driven by a winged Victory and attendants. Though Mr. Ward's work may lack at times the charm of surface manipulation in which his younger colleagues excel, it always shows a quiet simplicity, an impressiveness of mass which is the first element in good monumental sculpture. Over-clever men are liable at times to neglect this, but Mr. Ward could not neglect it; it is part of his artistic per- sonality. In this he is like the great French animalist Fremiet whatever he does is "big" and effective even at a distance where detail is completely obliterated. Mr. Ward's figures do not sparkle, and they would gain, no doubt, in interest, if Mac- Monnies or St. Gaudens could touch them here and there, but the sculptural concep- tion and the structural evolution require naught at their hands. One might search long to find a more impressive and virile portrait statue than the Washington in Wall Street. In the Pilgrim the sculptor has shown the same comprehension. He has not trifled with his subject. One questions if the more vivacious technique of the Paris trained sculptor would make the figure any better the handling is in such perfect ac- cord with the stern, inflexible repression which we associate with this manner of man. NINETEENTH CENTURY. A 325 MERICAN SCULPTURE. Con- tinued, (n) Olin L. Warner, in spite of meager opportunities, produced good sculpture and will always be respected by artists. From lack of other employment he devoted much time to medallions, pro- ducing a series of several hundred low re- liefs of great beauty and interest. Among these are many portraits of famous Indians. His busts are characterized by an extraor- dinary subtlety of modeling, and in his statue of William Lloyd Garrison (Boston) he has left us perhaps the finest seated fig- ure in the country. His Governor Bucking- ham, of Connecticut, is also highly esteemed. In 1880 Augustus St. Gaudens (b. 1848), a young man of French and Irish parentage, made himself known to the American public through his statue of Admiral Farragut, now in Madison Square, New York. The sculp- tor's thorough preparation successively as an apprentice, a cameo cutter, then in the Ecole des Beaux Arts and finally through a sojourn of some years in Italy united with an admirable grasp of his subject, resulted in a figure which was a revelation to our peo- ple. Mr. St. Gau- dens' position as a leader was assured at once, and our national art has been colored from that day by his dominant influence. He has produced more good sculpture here than any other American of the pres- ent or past. He has thereby done more to raise the standard of America's sculpture than has any other man. As conscientious as he is gifted, Mr. St. Gaudens has never sent work from his studio until it was as good as he knew how to make it. St. Gaudens' memorials in low and in high relief grace many eastern churches and museums. No American sculptor has approached him in the taste and skill with which he has wrought a great variety of these charming echoes of early Florentine art. Most of our sculptors have essayed to imitate him, and to the casual observer he has many rivals, but 110 trained artist ever mistakes the work of St. Gau- dens. There is one certain rule if the workmanship is found to be in the slightest 326 SCULPTURE OF THE LINCOLN STATUE, CHICAGO, BY A. ST. GAUDENS. measure careless or open to criticism, it is not his. If it bears the most careful scru- tiny and is "just right" in drawing-, in its "planes," in the beauty of its modeling-, it is sure to be signed somewhere in letters microscopic, Augustus St. Gaudens. To the professional eye, however, it needs no signa- ture; he alone could have done it. Without question the Lincoln of Lincoln Park, Chicago, is the greatest portrait statue in this country. From conception to fin- ish it is masterly. It is criticised only by those who do not know it. All who see it come under the spell. It is potent and irre- sistible in its grave appeal. For appreciative estimates of this and other works of St. Gaudens, by Mrs. Van Rensselaer, Kenyon Cox and W. A. Coffin, the reader should see the "Century Maga- zine" of November, 1887, and Jan- uary, 1897. In a cemetery of Washington, D. C., is one of St. Gaudens' most beautiful and least known works. Within an enclosure of evergreens sits a bronze figure whose deeply shadowed mystic countenance photographs itself upon the mem- ory of every visitor. The weird dreamer, with head half hidden in drapery and listless hands, sits like one of the fateful sisters of old a sibyl peering, though with closed eyes, into futurity. She alone could make an artist's fame. But no youthful dreamer could have created her; she was born of the earnest thoughts of a ma- ture life. In some respects the greatest and most original of all of St. Gaudens' works is the superb Shaw memorial. Boston pos- sesses this masterpiece and is justly proud of it. It is a large relief of bronze, framed in stone, a composition of many figures in high relief, or, indeed, in the round, though attached to a background. Colonel Shaw is represented starting for the war with his colored regiment. With head square upon the shoulders and sad eyes un- ADAMS MEMORIAL, WASHINGTON, BY A. ST. GAUDENS. NINETEENTH CENTURY. 3 2 7 SHAW MEMORIAL KY A. ST. GAUDENS. Copyright 1897 by A. St. Gaudens. From a Copley Print, copyright 1897, by Curtis & Cameron. flinching, the heroic leader rides steadily to his fate. His horse is a splendid sculptural work, but ever dominated by the stern-faced rider. Then behind and across the entire background march with rhythmic tread the black men, their muskets over shoulders which bend under the burdensome knapsacks. They are equipped for a long journey from which not many will return. The move- ment of this vast composition is extraordi- nary. You almost hear the roll of the drums and the shuffle of the heavy shoes. It makes the day of that brave departure very real again. Mr. St. Gaudens' exhibit at the Exposition of 1900 was composed of The Shaw relief, the beautiful Amor Caritas of the Luxembourg, the Deacon Chapin, a series of medallions, and the sculptor's latest work, a splendid equestrian Sherman led by a winged Victory. St. Gaudens' favorite pupil has made a record apart from the real artistic excel- lence of his work. Frederick MacMonnies (b. 1863) surpasses the Frenchmen them- selves in cleverness ; and in the last ten years has produced more than any other living sculptor. Indeed, it is probable that no man has ever done so much before in the same length of time. Following the Nathan Hale, and Stranahan (Salon of 1891) he be- gan the decade with his Pan of Ronhallion and the Faun with Heron. These were but curtain-raisers, as it were, of the drama of feverish toil which the youth was about to undertake. It began in serious earnest with the enormous Columbian fountain whose twenty-seven gigantic figures cost two years of unremitting labor and all the money that the sculptor received for his work. It was an artistic success, one of the greatest at- 328 SCULPTURE OF THE tractions of the Exposition, and made the young sculptor known from one end of the country to the other. Then followed the nimble Bacchante with Infant Faun, a marvel of blithesome move- ment, Sir Henry Vane (Boston), Venus and Adonis, a strange archaic Shakespeare for the Congressional Library, bronze doors for the same building, a Victory for West Point, two Cupids on globes, the little Goose-thief, an enormous quadriga and two colossal mili- tary groups for the Brooklyn Soldiers and COLUMBUS BY P. BARTLETT. Sailors Monument, two groups of gigantic horse tamers for Prospect Park, Brooklyn, and this year an equestrian statue of Gen- eral Slocum. These with a parallel list of less important works form Mr. MacMonnies' record for the last ten years, an array worthy of a long life of strenuous effort. Ten of these pieces were shown at the Ex- position of 1900, where Messrs. MacMonnies, St. Gaudens and French received medals of honor. No other country made a showing of such distinction. Indisputably the sculp- ture of the United States stood next to that of France in matter of both dignity and workmanship. For an able and appreciative article on Mr. MacMonnies see "Scribner's Magazine" of November, 1895. Far shorter is the list of Paul Bartlett's achievements, but it is one which inspires respect. After the well-known Bear-trainer of 1890, he fashioned the strange Ghost- dancer, which we saw at the Columbian Ex- position, a work of astonishing skill, though hardly a thing of beauty. Then followed the Dying Lion, in which the young artist revealed his indebtedness to M. Fremiet. Mr. Bartlett's two contributions to the Con- gressional Library, his proud Columbus and the somber Michelangelo, seem to the writer far superior to the majority of their companions in all the qualities of distinct- ness of idea, in the carrying power of their lines, and in modeling. This summer Mr. Bartlett has scored a new triumph in his thoroughly admirable equestrian statue of Lafayette, presented to the French govern- ment by this country. It will occupy wor- thily the very center of historic and aesthetic Paris, the court of the Tuileries. A MERICAN eluded. (12) SCULPTURE. Con- The two preceding sculptors - MacMonnies and Bartlett have sojourned abroad for many years; George Barnard, on the other hand, after his great, success in the Salon of the Champs de Mars in 1894, elected to return to his native land. In talent and skill the French recognized him as one of our greatest sculptors; but so original not to say wayward is his work, so purely sculptural in conception, that to many it is a sealed book. As an able critic has written of him: "He is perhaps just a little out of the perspective of modern days. We have too much talent, conventional and tranquil and adaptive in its tendencies to calmly accept a man of striking originality and divergence." In the presence of Mr. Barnard's Two NINETEENTH CENTURY. Natures, in the Metropolitan Museum, New York, one feels a creative force that is com- pelling, irresistible ; you look at nothing- else until you have made the circuit of that ex- traordinary group. You are drawn and held, but not alto- gether persuaded. Mr. Bar- nard's thought is too power- ful, his expression too original, to strike responsive chords at once. How could they? What is there within us to respond to such notes as these? What in our daily humdrum lives to bring us into tune with such Titanic dreams of struggle? A mighty victor, half erect, half bending over a prostrate foe. Figures nude, much larger than life ; superb bodies marvelously modeled, or rather carved, since the whole treatment is consistently that of the marble. It is consistent in more ways than one. It is consistently perplexing from its very name and intention all the way down to the last touches on its strange- ly wrought extremities. "I Feel Two Natures Struggling within Me" is its full title the artist's point of departure. And depart at once he does. The two natures he shows and the struggle, or at least the end of a vigorous grapple, which leaves the triumph by no means in doubt. But here our sculptor is tantalizing; he never deigns to tell us which is which. The in- scrutable faces are those of twin brothers. > they might have been cast in the same mold. Does Mr. Barnard belong to the good old school of art where right always triumphs in the last act? Or does he view life with the eye of the hopeless modern "veritist," calmly persuaded that, "Whatever is is wrong"? Probably he is doing the most modern thing of all, leaving us to guess the riddle as we will. And art or no art, we believe in our heart of heart that right will conquer in the end. We read this meaning into the group before us, and are pleased at our own clearness in having fathomed the TWO NATURES BY G. BARNARD. artist's intention without his telling us a thing. One other important name remains to be added to the group of American Sculptors of the first magnitude, that of Daniel Ches- ter French (b. 1850), who is perhaps the most representative American of them all. He was born in New Hampshire of lineage long native ; his foreign study, though val- uable, was but slight in duration, and his life work has been done in this country. Even the Minute Man of Concord, a boy- ish performance, reveals a manly compre- hension and strikes the note of succeeding maturer achievements. A year abroad in the studio of Thomas Ball widened the young artist's range, and much practice in the sculptural decorations of public build- ings next gave helpful experience. The ideal portrait of John Harvard may be called 'the last of Mr. French's early works, at least from this point we find the suaver touch of the ripened artist. Mr. French absorbed some of the best qualities of mod- ern French sculpture while executing his General Cass in Paris in 1888. This statue 332 SCULPTURE OF THE r DEATH AND THE SCULPTOR. D. C. FRENCH. Front a Copley Print, copyright i&qj by Curtis and Cameron. is the only respectable work in our National Sculpture Gallery. Among those hard, conventional figures it stands alone. It has an individuality, an equipoise and a tech- nical perfection undreamed of by the earlier generations of American sculptors. Com- paring it with its fellows, one understands why all turn now to Paris instead of to Rome or Florence. Next came the Gallaudet monument of Washington, D. C., where the teacher of the deaf and dumb is shown seated with a little girl of eight or ten beside him. The treatment of the subject is sympathetic without becoming sentimental. The ges- ture of the child, who forms a letter of the alphabet with her little hand, is full of sig- nificance. Finer than this, however, finer than the excellent modeling of the figures, is the tender interest of the teacher and the gratitude of the pupil. It is the essence which permeates the whole conception and makes of it a work of art. Mr. French's greatest thought is embod- ied in the magnificent relief of Death and the Sculptor. Here is no space to do it jus- tice. Let me say only that nothing finer has been done in this country, nor is likely to be for many a year. Beside this noble memorial to the sculptor Milmore, most of our work sinks into insignificance. Pains- taking realism, "clever" modeling, even tours de force of dexterity seem but stale, dry and unprofitable beside the calm dignity NINETEENTH CENTURY. 333 of this majestic, mysterious presence. It is a great thought simply, adequately ex- pressed. Mr. French's contributions to the Colum- bian Exposition were of the first impor- tance. His stately "Republic" was the im- pressive, dominating genius of the Court of Honor; at the same time a personality and a monument harmonizing with its architectural surroundings. Compare it with Schwanthaler's Bavaria or Bartholdi's America and its masterly reserve will be appreciated. The O'Reilly Memorial of Boston is more ingenious but less inspired than the "Death and the Sculptor." Its dignity and its beauty of modeling are worthy, however, of its author and of its subject. This summer has seen the unveiling of Mr. French's much admired Washington, in Paris, a work of great distinction. In this, as well as in all of his equestrian subjects, Mr. E. C. Potter, his former pupil, has ably collaborated with him. These are but a small part of the worthy works which Mr. French has produced. His hand and brain are indefatigable, yet he is overwhelmed with orders. Each one completed adds to the country's sum total of artistic wealth. Space will not permit of more than men- tion of Herbert Adams' exquisite busts, of Edwin Elwell's ideal subjects, of John Boyle's robust groups, and of the poetic art of William Ordway Partridge. In addition to the foregoing array of talent, to the admirable decorative sculp- tors led by Philip Martiny and Karl Bit- ter, and to the sculptors of animals, Pot- ter, Proctor and the self-trained Edward Kemeys, there remains a group of younger men whose careers may be safely predicted from the works already achieved. Among those who have received gratifying, well- merited honors are Charles Qrafly of Phila- delphia, Cyrus E. Dallin and Richard E. Brooks of Boston, H. H. MacNeil of Chi- cago, and Clement J. Barnhorn of Cincin- nati. And each of these in turn has a score of eager pupils There is no danger that sculpture will become extinct in this coun- try during the twentieth century. Even the conservative can read in the omens something new and strong and fine. Un- hampered by tradition, yet the heirs of all accomplished in the past, quick to learn, virile and imaginative, our sculptors will certainly have something new to say to the world in the story of art. THE CRUCIFIXION BY FRA ANGELICO. (SEE PAGE 343). Painting: Greek, Roman, Medieval and the Early Renaissance in Italy. BY OLAF M. BRAUNER. ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF DRAWING AND MODELING, CORNELL UN1VKRSITY. G REEK AND ROMAN PAINT- ING.(i 3 ) Greek Art, so rich in examples of sculpture, is not represented by one example from the work of its famous masters in painting. Several causes com- bined to produce this result, among others the greater perishability and transporta- bility of painting, which made it more easily the prey of the Roman conquerors. It is almost impossible to judge of paint- ing by description, but that is precisely what we have to do in Greek art. Aris- totle, Plutarch, Pliny, Quintilian, Lucian and Cicero are the authorities upon which our knowledge of Greek painting is based, though some idea can be gained from the Greek vases (see the cut, p. 97) and the few slabs and frescoes from the Graeco-Roman period found on Roman soil. The Greeks were the first people to make painting a really free and independent art, and the first who succeeded in picturing realities; for in Egyptian and Assyrian art painting had been simply an adjunct to architecture. The development of painting was very 334 PAINTING: GREEK. 335 much slower than that of sculpture. The Greeks were a people passionately fond of form. The charm of fine proportions, the beauty of exquisite pure line appealed to them with more force than did beauty of color, space and envelope. The earliest work seems to have been pottery and tomb decoration. Later, painting was done on stone and terra cotta slabs. Wall paintings were done in distemper. Encaustic paint- ing carne into use later than distemper, which is the earliest medium known to his- tory. Down to 500 B. C., Greek painting seems to have been little more than outline filled in with flat monochromatic tints. About this date the names of the more im- portant artists begin to be mentioned. History is very uncertain about the paint- ers and schools of the earlier Greek paint- ing; but during the period from the Persian to the Peloponnesian wars the principal art activity centered at Athens, then supreme in Greece, and the painters of that time are classed under the Older Attic School. Polygnotus of Thasos (fl. 475-455 B. C.) is the first immortal name among this group of men. His greatest work was a series of paintings for the assembly room of the Knidians at Delphi. They were not, how- ever, complete pictorial renderings. In composition they seem to have been made up of isolated groups tied together in no particular way and treated more as a bas- relief than a painting. The figures were drawn in profile against a conventional background, while the charm of color as affected by light and shade and atmosphere was as yet undreamed of. Landscape, buildings, etc., were represented by sym- bols rather than by delineation of actualities. But the activity of Polygnotus was so nearly contemporaneous with that of Phidias that his figures must have had at least some of the majestic dignity, repose and breadth which distinguishes the sculpture of the time. Polygnotus was the exponent of one tend- ency in the earlier school. With Agathar- chos of Samos (fl. end of fifth cen. B. C.) we find a decidedly opposite tendency, which was finally to completely revolutionize Greek painting. He was a scene painter, and by the necessities of his profession was led to study more carefully the appearances of nature so as to produce the effect of illu- sion. This led to the realism of later Greek art and gave rise to landscape painting. He seems to have understood the first principles of perspective, and changed the art of paint- ing from the drawing of outline and flat color to the rendering of -nature in broad masses with its light and shade. Apollodorus of Athens (fl. end of fifth cen. B. C.) combined the ideal dignity and beauty of Polygnotus' line with the effect of realism gained by Agatharchos. He de- veloped light and shade farther than before, and on that account received the name of Skiagraphos (shadow-painter). With the decline of the political suprem- acy of Athens, Greek painting branched in- to several schools, chief among these until the time of Alexander the Great being : (i) The Ionian; (2) the Sikyonian; (3) the The- ban-Attic. The painters of the Ionian School carried the realistic effects of Apollodorus still far- ther. Zeuxis of Herakleia (born about 450 B. C.) gained his style under Apollodorus at Athens, but the scene of his greatest activ- ity was Ephesus. He seems to have been especially noted for his peculiar choice of subjects and his power to create the effect of illusion. That the painters of his day carried realism to a considerable extent we may know by the story of the birds who came to peck at a bunch of grapes painted by Zeuxis. This implies a knowledge of light and shade, color and modeling; and the supposition is confirmed by the story of Parrhasios of Ephesus (about 400 B. C.), who seems to have outdone Zeuxis in real- ism, for whereas Zeuxis deceived only the birds, Parrhasios deceived Zeuxis himself by a realistic painting of a curtain. If the story is true, it shows the smallness of aim at the time. The ancient writers, however, may have known no more about painting than do so many people of to-day, and may have looked only for the claptrap of illusion and minute finish, and missed the grander qualities of their painters, Timanthes of Kythnos seems to have been the equal of Zeuxis and Parrhasios in exe- cution, and to have surpassed them both in 336 PAINTING: conception. About his famous work, The Sacrifice of Iphigenia, more has been writ- ten than about any other picture of antiq- uity. There is a supposed copy of this picture among the Pompeiian decorations. The Sikyonian School sprang up after the Peloponnesian wars with Eupompos as its founder. His advice to Lysippus, the sculptor, gives the keynote of the school. In reply to a question of Lysip- pus as to which of his predecessors he should imitate, he said, "Let nature be your model, not an artist." His pupil, Pamphilos brought the Sikyonian school to its maturity. He seems to have been a Grecian Leonardo da Vinci, skilled in all branches of science. He taught academic methods of composition and drawing, and his school became famous all over Greece, the mere reputation of having studied there being sought after. His pupil, Pausias carried execution still farther forward. Pliny says he painted an ox with such just values that its body actually seemed to recede into the picture. The importance of the Sikyonian school seems to have ceased with the immediate succes- sors of Pausias. TheTheban-Attic School was distinguished for greater ease and versatility instead of the academic exactness of the Sikyonian. Nikomachus (fl. about 360 B. C.) was its head. He was noted for the rapidity and boldness of his execution ; Aristides, his brother, for the intense ex- pression he imparted to his figures. Euphranor (fl. 360 B. C.) was equally famous as sculptor and painter. With academic drawing and principles he seemed to combine the power of expressing intense emotion. He was especially renowned for his pictures of the Olympian Gods at Athens. Nikias (fl. 340-300 B. C.) was a contem- porary of the great sculptor Praxiteles, and in his younger days colored some of the latter's statues. Nikias opposed the grow- ing tendency of the time to paint trivial sub- jects, holding that an artist should always choose a worthy theme. He was especially strong in rendering the female form. Nikias and his contemporaries before men- tioned belonged in spirit to the fourth cen- tury, though they lived into the Hellenistic period ; but contemporary with them and succeeding them were men who belonged more specifically to that period. At their head stood Apelles of Kos, the most famous of the Grecian painters. He has been called the Raphael of antiquity. His severe academic training in the Sikyonian school, coupled with his native Ionic feeling, must have produced a powerful kind of painting. He is said to have been superior to all others in refinement of light and shade and modeling, and he obtained a beautiful rich glow of color by the use of glazing over his tempera. Seventeen hundred years after him Bot- ticelli tried to reproduce his celebrated Calumny. His greatest work was the Aphrodite Rising from the Sea, which ranked with the Knidian Aphrodite of Praxiteles. Ovid says: "But for Apelles' picture Aphrodite would have remained concealed forever beneath her native wat- ers. " Apelles was also a great portrait painter. Protogenes seems to have been noted mostly for his remarkably minute finish rather than for his artistic merit. Such was the taste of the day. After Alexander the Great the tide of decline set in more and more strongly. Artists were either theatri- cal and strained, or commonplace and trivial ; their only aim seeming to be decep- tive illusion. Theon of Samos illustrates this peculiar spirit of the age in his reported painting of a warrior shown in the moment of attack. On drawing the curtain before the picture he would sound a blast on a trumpet, and the warrior was painted with such action that he seemed to plunge forward at the spectators. With some painters art had descended to mere trickery; with others it found its subjects in huckster stalls, cobbler shops, etc., painted in a finical and literal- istic way. Landscape painting, but only of a decorative kind, came in with this pe- riod. The Greek creative force was spent. Under the dominance of Rome, painters set up their studios in the imperial city to pan- der to the taste of their political masters. Roman Painting The Romans in general GREEK AND ROMAN. 337 looked upon art from a standpoint entirely different from that of the Greeks. They did not patronize art because of any inborn crav- ing, but simply because they were luxurious and felt art to be a luxury. It tickled their vanity to possess works of art. Later, it gained for some an additional value by imparting an air of culture. The Etruscans had practiced a native art in Italy long before the Romans gained the ascendency there, but it was clumsily real- istic and crude. A decided Greek influence set in, however, in the third century B. C., and brought Etruscan art to its climax. Na- tive realism is there seen side by side with Hellenic idealism. Roman art was simply a direct outgrowth or continuance of decadent Greek art. In painting as in sculpture, however, the Ro- mans appear to have been strong in por- traiture. Painting seems first to have been done on panels alone, but in the beginning of the Empire mural decoration came into favor. Single figures or groups were painted on the walls and then surrounded by geo- metric, floral or architectural borders. The excavations at Pompeii have thrown valua- ble light on this phase of art. These decorative wall paintings are re- markable for the light fantastic architec- tural designs used as a decorative motive, the whole rather frivolous and impossible. (See the cut, p. 135.) The coloring is very often rich and agreeable, but also at times simply garish. Single figures were often painted on panels of black or red, forming part of the decoration. They are usually graceful and good in line; and animals are sometimes done with surprisingly good action, although colored in an arbitrary way. Sometimes, however, the figures are even crude and ill-drawn, and draperies are represented without any idea of folds. When one con- siders, however, that these decorations were done by mere craftsmen to whom decora- tion was a trade, not an art, one can gain some idea of the excellence of ancient painting proper. Very little is known about Roman paint- ers. Fabius Pictor (about 300 B. C.) is the first celebrated name. He is known to have decorated the temple of Salus with large figure paintings. Ludius was a favorite decorator at the time of Augustus. He is perhaps the only celebrated ancient painter of whose work there is an existing example. This is the famous wall-painting of Prima Porta in Rome, representing the entire plan of a garden on the four walls of a room. Roman portraiture had a note of the mod- ern spirit in it. Whereas Greek portraiture was an ideal representation of a man, in Roman art we find him as he was. Among the portrait painters of the last century of the Republic we find Sopolis, Dionysius and Antiochus Qabinius. Some very inter- esting portraits were found in the Fayoum, Egypt, and are fine examples of later an- cient work. 1ARLY CHRISTIAN AND GOTH- , 1C PAINTING. (14) -^ Early Christian art does not differ from the antique in any respect save that its painters were usually not so proficient as the pagan. While the fear of image worship led the Christians to avoid sculpture, they did not feel that danger in painting; and so painting became the chief means of artistic expression for the Chris- tian world. The domain of early Christian art ex- tended over the whole Roman Empire wherever Christian communities arose; and as their art was derived directly from the antique, then at a low ebb, we find a gen- eral decadence all over Europe until the re- vival of the thirteenth century. The earliest paintings of Christian art were executed in the Catacombs. In fact, Christian art was born there. The earliest works are simply decorative, and pagan mo- tives are freely used. These designs were of a strictly symmetrical and architectural character, and the coloring was usually a scheme of bluish green and reddish brown. But the Christians soon felt a need for some- thing to set forth the spiritual teachings of their creed, and hence symbolism begins to appear. Thus begins the twofold purpose 338 PAINTING: of Christian art, decoration and edification. There were at first only signs, such as the Christ's monogram; then later, symbols, which properly come under the head of painting. A shepherd and his sheep be- came the symbol of Christ and his flock; the ship, of the church, etc. Other symbols were borrowed from pagan mythology. Thus Orpheus charming the beasts with his only as a temporary check to their deca- dence. Christian art now extended itself into book-illumination, mosaics and mural decorations in general. Classic form maintained itr hold down to the fourth and fifth centuries A. D., as the mosaics in the Baptistery of Ravenna show. There is still some life in the action, propor- tions are fairly good, and drawing and the gen- MOSA1C IN ST. CECILIA S CHURCH. ROME. lyre became the symbol of the power of Christianity over the heathen. There was at first a distinct aversion to the actual representation of Christ's figure; but when his likeness appears it is that of a Greek youth in a Phrygian cap, and is bor- rowed directly from classic art. With Constantine Christianity was organ- ized as the state religion, and Christian art was then made free to leave the Catacombs; but this encouragement of the arts served eral effect much better than in productions which came later. In the age of Justinian (A. D. 527-565) art became more and more fettered through church traditions and edicts. After the iconoclastic strife medieval art may be said to be fully established. Byzantine Art, which was distinctly differ- ent from Italian art, now began to extend its sway. Its nearness to Oriental influences could not but result in a transformation of its spirit. Flat and badly drawn figures MEDIEVAL. 339 and draperies are shown in works where richness and magnificence of materials seem the prime motive. An overloading- of gold is also a characteristic feature. An artist might not paint as he felt, but must adhere to the type fixed by the church. The Byzantines still retained a degree of tech- nical excellence ; but in Italy that also was lost, and crude workmanship became cou- pled with bad drawing and coloring. Prudery forbade the rendering of the nude. Painters could not even select from the antique. In the church of St. Cecilia in Rome a mosaic of the ninth century shows meaningless folds of drapery and a pitiful lack of form in the figure. The figures are hung in mid air, the feet hanging help- lessly down as though out of joint. Art sank lower and lower in Italy through the succeeding "dark ages." North of the Alps the contest of barbaric and classic elements gave form to an art which, though distinctly founded on antique precedent, still had native characteristics of its own. Nothing remains of this art, however, but illuminated manuscripts. Under Charlemagne the Germanic Empire saw a decided encouragement and better- ment of art, while the art of Italy still shows a progressive degeneracy. The Romanesque movement came into being in the tenth century, and lasted until the fifteenth. The architecture of this period was fully developed, whereas paint- ing and sculpture remained very primitive. Still the art of the west during the Ro- manesque period was struggling towards freedom, while Byzantine art with its more elegant technique stood still. The Gothic Period. In the thirteenth cen- tury medieval art saw a decided transforma- tion. The Romanesque architecture was superseded and Gothic was carried to its greatest perfection in France, whence the new movement extended its influence over Europe. With the growth and ascendency of the cities, so characteristic of the period, art passed from the hands of the priests into that of the trade corporations, and came to have its roots in the life of the cities. The masters of this new age were tied no longer by ecclesiasticism ; individuality was allowed, although individuality of conception in the full modern sense was not known. Of course art was still the handmaiden of reli- gion, but the old morose, ghastly art gave place to a healthier one. The expression of sentiment and religious fervor seems the keynote of the whole Gothic period. The stiffness and ungain- liness of the Byzantine pattern disappears, and in France and the countries influenced by her art there is a fondness for flowing lines and almost exaggerated movement. Until A. D. 1350 Spain, England, the Netherlands, and Germany came under this influence, although Germany showed less refinement. Wall painting in the above-mentioned countries was not favored by this new architecture, for the wall space was taken up by the salient structural members. In Germany we find more remains of wall paintings than in any other country north of the Alps; but they are crude and some- what affected, and not of much importance. In Italy other conditions prevailed, as we shall see below. Glass painting, however, bloomed into full glory. In the North the great windows were filled with designs in a wonderfully harmonious way. They were kept flat in an entirely architectural man- ner, and for that reason they were much better than the windows of the Renaissance period, when the pictorial element was allowed to detract from the distinctive architectural purpose. Painting on wooden panels was also carried steadily forward in this period. The painted altar-piece came in about A. D. 1350. Panel pictures now became more numerous, and local schools can be distinguished and their character determined. The French love of sentiment, almost exaggerated, the long flowing drapery and the slender, willowy, almost too long figure showed themselves strongly all over Ger- many with the exception of the provinces in the East. Here the School of Prague was the exponent of a freer although ruder art. It was remarka- ble for its austerity and solemnity, charac- teristics which seem to disappear elsewhere in the fourteenth century. Meister Dietrich, 340 PAINTING: MADONNA WITH CHILD liY G. CIMABUE. to whom are ascribed the pictures of the Royal Chapel of the castle of Karlstein, was the first master of this school. Here senti- ment was rather lost in an attempt at real- ism, and the figures were bony, heavy and awkward. The School of Cologne was entirely im- bued with the characteristics of the later French Gothic. Here the religious fervor the exquisite purity and serenity, the wist- ful yearning of that art reach their fullest expression. One of the best pictures of the school is the Madonna with the Bean-flower. Here the gesture of the child as it reaches its hand up to the mother's face is full of feeling, though the head is rather affectedly posed on the shoulders; but the Madonna's face is full of charm, sweet, pure and ten- der. The most celebrated painter of this school was Meister Wil- helm. The early School of Nu- remberg had the tenderness and sweetness of the Cologne School with the realism of the School of Prague. There is no known painter of this school, but its chief work is the Imhof altar-piece. Of Spanish painting little or nothing is known at this period, and Flemish art was closely allied to the French. In the middle of the four- teenth century French paint- ing changed from flat rep- resentation to a distinctly pictorial rendering, which led directly to the Flemish realism of the fifteenth cen- tury. I TALI AN PAINTING IN THE GOTHIC PE- RIOD.(is) The thirteenth century saw a remarkable change in Italy. This was the age of Dante, Petrarch and Boccac- cio, when science and poetry were cultivated and religion took on a higher form. Architecture, sculpture and painting could not help being infused with the same new life. In spite of internal turmoils and brawls, commerce flourished in the independ- ent cities, and wealth came with it. Condi- tions were favorable for progress in all things. Italian painting, which had lagged behind until the Gothic period, now suddenly took the lead. The Italians took the Gothic archi- tecture and applied it to already existing con- ditions. Under Italy's searching light the large windows were out of place, and in their stead we find large wall-spaces to be decorated. This opportunity for decoration powerfully stimulated the art of painting. Italian painting developed faster than the rest of European art and on lines peculiar to itself. There seems to be a classic MEDIEVAL. 34i dignity and restraint, a severer line and form, rather than the more sentimental art of France and of most of Germany with its ex- aggerated flow of line and pose. The mys- tical element of the North, moreover, is ab- sent from Italian painting. From A. D. 1250 to the beginning of the sixteenth century Tuscany took the lead in the art of Italy. It was in her free cities that the most important movements of this period originated, Florence ranking first, Sienna next. The Florentine School In Florence arose the man who has been called the father of modern painting. This was Giovanni Cima- bue (1240-1300). He was only one of several, but seems to have had more originality and ability than his contemporaries. To a great extent he departed from the Byzantine traditions of his time. His frescoes at Assisi show that he imparted more of life to his figures and that his composition was freer. These frescoes are in a very bad state of preservation, however, and we have to form an opinion of his work from his famous Ma- donna painted for the church of S. Maria Novella in Florence. This picture was carried in a procession from the master's workshop to its destination by the rejoicing Florentines. Here we find that the hard, staring, expressionless Byzantine face has disap- peared. The drawing is still primitive, but there is more life and flow in the line, the drapery is no longer hard and angular, and the face is turned to one side, whereas the Byzantine painters invariably painted the full face. The child is too much like an old man in expression ; but the Madonna's face is pervaded with an expression of thought and wistf ulness, and over the whole broods a sentiment which is many times sadly want- ing in later art with its perfect execution. Cimabue retains the Byzantine gold back- ground, and love of detail. In his pupil, Giotto (1266?- 1 336) we find the greatest master of the Gothic period, an extraordi- nary genius who lacked only in technique. It has been, said of him that "his merit lies in an entirely new conception of character and facts." He changed from the dingy, dark color scheme of the Italo-Byzantine man- ner into a purer and livelier key. Instead of the cut-up and finical compositions of the Byzantine, Giotto painted in broad and dig- nified masses, with more variety in his fig- ures and real expression in the faces. His drawing was faulty at times; he could not draw feet at all, and was deficient in the feeling for line ; but he was fine in the ar- rangement of groups, and his disposition of masses was superb. In his noble color- DESCENT OF THE HOLY GHOST. GIOTTO. ing he was more like Titian than any other Florentine. There were many technical shortcomings: he knew no perspective; architecture, trees and rocks were simply symbolized ; but it is in the feeling of dig- nity and artistic restraint, in the power to express so much with so little, in the ability to grasp a complex situation and present it simply, in his mastery over human expres- sion, so that in spite of certain crudities of technique we feel the inward spirit and thought, that Giotto's greatest power lies. In the Arena Chapel at Padua, for instance, where his greatest series of works is, in the scene where the Holy Ghost is descending on the waiting disciples, we feel to the full 342 PAINTING: the tremendous expectancy, the portent of the moment, the wonderful awakening of a new power. Quaint, perilously simple in composition, still what a wonderful unity runs through the picture! But again, in the Christ before the High Priest, how effect- ive is the composition alone; how well everything is tied together; how beautifully and with what rhythmic power the line of figures is subdivided into groups, the light mass of Christ's mantle telling most effec- tively against the darker masses on either side. For true dramatic power the Raising of Lazarus can hardly be surpassed ; and in his Visitation Giotto painted a conception which served as a model for generations of succeeding artists, but which none could sur- pass in its sweet simple dignity. The Oiottesque Painters. Giotto had many followers and imitators, whose style was so closely copied after his that it is difficult in some cases to distinguish their works. There was a general technical ad- vance. Landscape was used by them, though not in the modern sense. Some formal trees represented a wood, a bluish space represented a river or the sea. But all these pictures are pervaded by a lofty, earnest and devout feeling. Taddeo Qaddi (1300?- 1366) was Giotto's chief pupil, but his work lacks the dramatic force, the largeness of conception, and the grandeur of form which distinguished his master. It is a peculiarity of these early painters to connect several incidents into one composition, incidents which ought each to have made a separate picture. In Gaddi's Resurrection, for instance, in the Santa Maria Novella, the women coming to the tomb, the resurrection and the appearance to Mary are all represented in a single com- position. Giotto did this rarely, another in- stance which shows how far he was in advance of his time; and when he did do it it was done more successfully. The strongest of the Giottesque painters was Orcagna (i329?-i3y6). Like Giotto he was painter, sculptor and architect in one. Orcagna carried painting farther towards the Renaissance than any painter of his time. The technical shortcomings of Giotto he overcame in part, such for instance as perspective and foreshortening. The prin- ciples of perspective had not yet been dis- covered, but Orcagna intuitively came nearer to them than any one before. He even foreshortens figures boldly, his draw- ing of feet and hands is far above that of Giotto, and his figures stand more firmly on their feet. His study of shadows is carried further so that he gets more relief; and he is also a master of expression, as witness the contrast between the humble sweetness of the Madonna and the majestic dignity of the Christ in his Paradise in the S. Maria Novella. But he does not have the instinct of pictorial composition so strongly as Giotto. In his Triumph of Death in the Campo Santo, for instance, we find a pic- torial writing rather than a picture. In his eagerness to point a moral he has forgotten the limits of his medium, and the larger elements of a well-connected composition are wanting, whereas Giotto is nearly always pictorial. In the Paradise, again, he has resorted to the questionable expedient of making his central figure important by in- crease in size. The monumental quality of this picture, however, is magnificent, in that the glorifying hosts rise tier above tier around the celestial throne. There was a decided decline in the Giot- tesque school towards the beginning of the fifteenth century, though none of Giotto's followers can be said to have come up to his excellence, taking him all in all. I TALIAN PAINTING IN THE GOTHIC PERIOD. Continued. (\6 The Siennese School were more con- tent to follow Byzantine traditions than were the Florentines. They did not try to study nature like Giotto, but cared more for the expression of spiritual beauty. Theirs was a more sentimental art full of rich de- tail of ornamentation, in direct contrast to Giotto, who was severe simplicity itself. It was done with more nicety and finish, per- haps, but it was not so strong and virile. Duccio (born about 1260) was the real founder of the Siennese school. He was like Cimabue in his manner, but his famous altar MEDIEVAL. 343 for the Cathedral of Sienna shows a stronger feeling for ideal beauty than Cimabue's. In the center-picture the Madonna surrounded by angels and saints has much more grace and sweetness than Cimabue's. In his Burial of the Virgin he shows himself a master of the tender emotions. The group- ing there, as the apostles tenderly and rev- erently lower the body into the tomb, is fine. He was a careful workman. His drawing was better than that of his contemporaries, his rendering of the nude body very far ahead of his time, and his drapery was ren- dered with a flow of line almost equal to that of later work. Simone di Martino (1283-1344) was a con- temporary of Giotto, and is said to have filled the same place in the Siennese school that Giotto did in the Florentine. His masterpiece is a wall painting which fills the whole side of the council chamber in the Palazzo Pubblico, a Madonna with saints and angels. In this we see the sentiment and tenderness of Duccio's work. The forms are rounder, however, and the pro- portions of the face better; but there is the same Siennese love of ornamentation and detail. Ambrogio (fl. 1342) and Pietro (fl. 1350) Lorenzetti were the Siennese who came nearest to Giotto in vigor and power. They seemed to have none of the weak senti- mentality which was often an earmark of this school. There is very little known about the brothers except that they worked together and that their work was similar. Ambrogio's principal work is the great wall painting in the hall of the Nine in the Pub- lic Palace, the most important now remain- ing of the political allegories of that time. In this his figure of Peace is beautiful in its flow of line, and the figure of Concord shows a beauty of form almost worthy of a Raphael. In these masters Siennese paint- ing is equal to the Florentine, but after them the school rapidly declined and became lost in detail and archaisms. The Gothic period was rich in painters of strong devotional feeling. Many of them were powerful in conception, and grandly simple and forceful in composition; but the times were changing, and the people and their mode of thought and conception with them. There are some painters who mark the transition between the two peri- ods, though they remained essentially Gothic even in the new period, iinheeding the rapid changes around them. Stamina (1354-1413) is classed with the transition painters. He was for a long time in Spain, and painted there. Although his work shows study of form, there still clings to it strong traces of Byzantine con- ventions in the detail of face and figure as well as in his coloring and his fondness for gold embossing. This is also true of the other two painters of the transition, Gentile da Fabrino and Fra Angelico. Gentile da Fabrino (i36o?-i44o), living closer to the Renaissance, was more of a nature student than Stamina, but he still clung to the fourteenth century style. His work is characterized by the delicate finish, the richness of detail and color that distin- guish the Siennese school. It is said of his pictures that "they breathe the joy of spring and are full of an inexpressible serenity." His Adoration of the Kings, in the Academy of Florence, ranks among the finest examples of the early school. Fra Angelico (1387-1455), a monk of the Dominican order, was almost entirely Gothic in both technique and sentiment, although he lived far into the Renaissance. He was a man of great fervor, and never began work without prayer. Tears would often interrupt him when representing the sufferings of the Savior. It is this religious fervor and the exquisite beauty and sweet- ness of spiritual life that breathe through his pictures in spite of almost childish tech- nique, that make him really great; for he knew almost nothing of perspective or of light and shade, his painting was thin, with the faintest shadows, and with his limited power of observation he knew only one face, though that face carries divine purity and tenderness in it. His Annunciation in the Museum of S. Marco is wonderful in its ex- quisite sentiment. With a subject like that he excels. His greatest picture perhaps is the Crucifixion in the same S. Marco, where varying expressions of devotion and sor- row are depicted. (See cut, p. 334.) But 344 PAINTING: one can see here also his entire lack of dra- matic force, the expression of the unrepent- ant thief, for instance, being nothing but a grimace. Weak in drawing as it is in places, it is well composed, though almost architectural in character, strict symmetry being observed rather than balance. The group of the Virgin shows the only devia- tion from this. The dark pall of clouds, stopping just where it does, is very effect- ive in subordinating the sorrowing group and throwing into prominence the central and important motif. T HE EARLY RENAISSANCE IN ITALY: THE FLORENTINE SCHOOL. (17) In the fifteenth century there was as momentous a change in Italian painting as there had been in the thirteenth. The old attitude toward life, the old religious mystical fervor, were giving way. Medieval asceticism, which thought of nature and man as sinful, reprobate and low; which shunned the purely sensuous as sin itself; whose ideal was not that of beauty or comeliness, but rather that of ugliness; whose idea of existence was that it was sim- ply to be endured in the hope of a better life, now gave place to a passionate love of nature, to a deep interest in man as man, to the love of beauty for its own sake, and to a pure delight and joy in mere existence. Around these Italians now lay a whole world full of beauty and interest, quivering with life. Of this very life the artist of the early Renaissance became so enamored that he was often carried too far. In his eagerness to depict incidents, to give life and variety, he oversteps his limits and loses simplicity. He will introduce elements having no rela- tion to the real action of the picture for the sake of reveling in his newly found power of observation and appreciation of his sur- roundings. This deeper study and delight in man and nature was coupled with a passionate inter- est in classic art. The proud feeling of being the inheritors of past greatness in art also stimulated, but the Renaissance artist did not imitate the antique. His art was a true expression of his time and himself; it was truly individual and modern. Even those who studied classic art most deeply, and who were most strongly influenced by it, are distinctly an expression of their age. The scientific side of art was also made a source of study. Perspective was gradually mastered and formulated into laws; ana- tomy was studied, and dissections made; nature was approached directly for light and shade and color, which were mastered more and more thoroughly. Then, too, the painter's range of subjects and motives widened. Religious subjects had hitherto claimed his entire attention ; now mythol- ogy, history, fable, portraiture and nature at large all furnished him with subjects. The religious subject was not slighted, but more of the human was imparted to it. It was a glorious age for the artist in that he was given an opportunity and full scope for his work. There was enough for all to do, and numberless monumental undertakings trained him to largeness of conception and sureness of hand. The stimulus of an intel- ligent and art-loving public was also his, a public that understood and appreciated. During the periods of the Renaissance and Decadence the painting of Italy was divided into many schools of different tendencies. These were usually named from their locali- ties, sometimes, however, from the peculiar tendency or purpose of the school. There were fifteen of these schools, some of less importance than others. A few of them were outgrowths of other schools, and in one instance two of them are so intermin- gled and confused that it is almost impossi- ble to separate them. The Florentine School stood easily first in the early Renaissance. Form and line ap- pealed to it more than color. That crown- ing glory it remained for the Venetians to give to the art of Italy. But in the mastery of grand composition, in intellectual grasp of the subject, in thorough technical knowl- edge, in the feeling for grandeur of sweep- ing lines and in knowledge of form, the Florentines were preeminent. To this school belongs the master who EARL Y RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 345 gave the first real note of the Renaissance period ; the master who, like Giotto, was the prime mover and originator in a new epoch, and to whom succeeding generations of artists looked for inspiration. This was Masaccio (1402-1428). His supposed master, Masolino (1383-1447) shows some study of nature and an indication of the spirit of the Renaissance in his later work, for instance, in the Herodias' Daughter; but he has stud- ied nature in bits rather than as a whole, and his work lacks the largeness of concep- tion which distinguishes Masaccio. Masaccio was born in a little village a few miles from Florence. Tommaso Guido was his proper name, but his utter indifference to his per- sonal appearance, due to his zeal for his work, earned him the title of Slovenly Tom. Vasari speaks of works he produced in his native village while still a child, which pro- voked admiration ; and he was only between sixteen and eighteen when he painted some frescoes in the church of S. dementi at Rome. These, however, have been painted over, and there is nothing left of Masaccio's hand. Before he was twenty-one he com- menced those remarkable frescoes in the Brancacci Chapel of the church of Santa Maria del Carmine, which made that chapel a source of inspiration to such men as Mich- elangelo, Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci and other painters of great fame. Here are works which are painted for the love of na- ture, for the beauty of form, for the charm of light and shade, and for atmospheric effects. This was a new impulse in art, the beginning of the Renaissance. The scenes he depicted in the Brancacci chapel are all from the life of St. Peter with the exception of two which represent Adam and Eve, and the Expulsion. These two were introduced because St. Peter was the keeper of Paradise. In them we find the first instance in Italian painting where the human figure is treated for the beauty of its form, where the light and shade is made to yield charm, and where the true values of nature are attempted. In the Expulsion the figure of Eve is not so successful as that of Adam, which is superb in strength and grace and in its modeling. These two figures are really enveloped in air, the first instance of this in Italian art. The caress of light and shade over the surfaces, and the modulation of the values from one plane to another on the figure are wonderful in their truth and beauty. Details like hands and feet are still unmastered; but the life and vigor of the figures, and the truth of their action, which is made to express the significance of the moment, are admirable. The grief, shame ADAM AND EVE. MASACCIO. and despair of the two figures are given with a true artistic breadth. In the Adam and Eve in the Garden the figure of Eve is beau- tiful, and it is the first really graceful de- lineation of the nude female form. In another picture, St. Peter Baptizing, Masaccio shows still further his growing mastery over the human form and its ex- pression. In this he introduces among the 346 PAINTING: RESURRECTION OF THE KING'S SON. T. MASACCIO. crowd a naked youth who stands waiting his turn, shivering- with cold. Masaccio was a master in handling drapery. He treated it in broad masses with grand free lines, and the modeling of the body makes itself felt beneath. He mastered fore- shortening as it had never been done before, and well understood both linear and aerial perspective. It has been said of him that he painted the soul as well as the body, and we can well believe it when looking at the head of Christ in the Tribute Money. In com- position he also shows the modern freedom. He is no longer tied down by the stiffness of architectural setting, but treats composi- tion for pictorial effect. The last picture upon which he was engaged, The Resurrec- tion of the King's Son, was left unfinished by him and completed by Filippino Lippi. Each figure and each head in it is distinct with individuality and interest. The gen- eral type of former days is gone. He shows here a surprising draftsmanship and grasp of individuality, but everything helps to- wards the general effect. He died, still a young man, from poison, it is said, but he had carried painting with a mighty advance toward the High Renais- sance. The contemporaries and followers of Masaccio did not have the genius to rise to his excellence. Some took up nature in a half-hearted way; others still clung to the traditions of the past with its gold emboss- ing and excessive ornamental detail; others again lost themselves in the literal imita- tion of nature. T HE FLORENTINE Continued. (18) SCHOOL. Paolo Uccello (1396?-! 479?) was the first to apply geometry to perspec- tive. He made a science of it, but Vasari says he spent so much time on the intrica- cies of perspective, neglecting meanwhile the study of the figure, that he degenerated instead of advancing as he grew older. Andrea del Castagno (1390-1457) was a coarse, violent man, it is said. His realism was a coarse exaggeration, and he painted saints who look more like criminals than the characters they are supposed to represent. His St. John the Baptist, in the Academy of Fine Arts in Florence, is a good example of these traits. Antonio del Pollajuolo (1426-1498) was the first Italian painter to study anatomy from dissection. He was a goldsmith, sculptor and painter in one, and this training is evi- dent in his painting. There is hardness of line and a good deal of fine execution trace- able to the goldsmith's trade, combined with a sculpturesque modeling of the form. Like others of his time, he was too fond of detail, and studied it more than the general mass. MADONNA, INFANT JESUS AND ST. JOHN BY S. BOTTICELLI. EARL Y RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 349 He carried realism so far in some details as to neglect an artist's privilege of selection. For instance, in his altar-piece in the Uffizi Gallery containing the figures of SS. James, Eustace and Vicentius, the legs of one of the saints are extremely ugly. Their gar- ments are almost painfully finished in detail, brocaded stuffs and jewels being rendered in the minutest way. Pollajuolo was best when he represented force, as in the small panel pictures representing the encounter of Hercules with Antaeus and with the Hydra. His masterpiece is supposed to be the St. Sebastian in the National Gallery, London. Baldovinetti (1427-1499) also painted with painful minuteness. He tried to discover new methods of painting on walls, and thought he had found a way of preserving frescoes from dampness. He would lay in his painting in true fresco, and then work over it with color mixed with yolks of eggs and varnish. The result was that his finish after a time peeled off and left the bare lay- ing-in. Baldovinetti painted a great deal of still life and bits of nature in a minute lit- eral way. The age was one of experiment- ing and feeling the way through new diffi- culties; there were so many untried things to be overcome that one need not wonder that many of these men forgot the end for the means. Cosimo Rosselli (1439-1507) was at first a follower of Masaccio, but later degenerated. His frescoes in the Sistine Chapel are hardly worthy of their place. He is poor in draw- ing, and his figures are lame and without grace, but he is of interest as being the mas- ter of Fra Bartolommeo. Benozzo Gozzoli (i42o?-i497?) is a painter about whom there seems to be a great diver- sity of opinion. Some will have it that he was simply a machine-copyist, others laud the charm of life and movement in his pic- tures. There is no doubt about his being a man who adopted and combined the charac- teristics of many masters. He is distin- guished by a peculiarly rich and almost extravagant fancy, and by an execution of the utmost rapidity. His pictures teem with life, and are full of brightness and vivacity. When young lie went to Rome and painted there with Fra Angelico. His earlier work decidedly shows the influence of Fra Angelico, but without the strong religious fervor of that master. His deco- rations in the Chapel of the Riccardi Palace fully show the richness of ornament and detail, the crowding of incidents and the peculiar brightness and life of his work. Here he painted the journey of the Magi or Three Kings to Bethlehem. It is full of figures in all sorts of movement and posture. His colors are rather harsh, but bright and fall of a certain charm. His motif is a cavalcade winding through a landscape. The moving procession of figures and ani- mals makes a decorative line of great inter- est. There are richness, life, fancy, and vivacity, but the picture lacks the simplicity of a great conception. In the altar recess of this chapel he painted Paradise repre- sented as a garden of roses crowded with groups, single figures, and angels. This picture has a good deal of poetic charm in it. A group of kneeling angels is full of sweetness and sentiment, and one figure especially is one of the most charm- ing of early Renaissance painting. His works in the Campo-Santo at Pisa are reck- oned his greatest. Here he painted a series of frescoes illustrating the whole story of the Old Testament from Noah to Joseph. It took him sixteen years to complete them, a short time for twenty-two immense pic- tures. The man to take up Masaccio's work in some measure, and to carry forward the tendencies indicated by him was Fra Pilippo Lippi, a Carmelite monk (1406-1469). He is even supposed to have been a pupil of Masaccio. In his early style he was so imbued with Masaccio's manner that Vasari says, "Masaccio's spirit had en- tered Fra Filippo Lippi'sbody. " Fra Filip- po, however, was distinctly different from Masaccio in many essentials. The severe dignity and breadth of Masaccio's style is not his. He is more playful and rich in fancy, shows more fondness for detail and incident, and there is nothing of the grand in him. For his time he was a master of color and of light and shade, but in the feel- ing for grandeur of line he fell below Masaccio. It has been said of him that he 35 PAINTING: MADONNA ADORING CHILD. FILIPI'O LIPPI. was the first to enjoy the fullness of life heartily even in its chance manifestations, and he was the first to represent the ex- uberant playfulness of youth. He was one of the earliest to take the individual faces of those about him as models for his sacred characters and to clothe them in contem- porary costumes. There is very little of the religious about Fra Filippo's work. Human life and thought and feeling are what in- terest him. His Madonnas, for instance, are the plain everyday mothers of the earth, but they are treated with the greatest feel- ing and tenderness. His Madonna Adoring the Divine Child, in the Uffizi Gallery, is a beautiful example. The Madonna of the medieval period is con- scious of her own divinity; here is a mother with her child as her only thought. The naively-treated landscape in the background gives promise of what is to come in the High Renaissance. The face of one of the two little angels holding the Christ child up to the mother shows a curious technical shortcoming, in that the head of the angel is tilted and the artist has been unable to draw the dif- ferent features with one plane running through them. This gives a curiously twisted appearance to the face. Even the depicting of Paradise is to Fra Filippo only an oppor- tunity to portray the human and human interests. His Coronation of the Virgin, in the Galleria An- tica c Moderna in Florence, has earthly accessories and human incidents; for instance, a mother and child who seem to take no special interest in what is going on. The All-Father himself is a kindly, human old man, and some of the saints are posing for the spectators rather than attending to the central action. Still there is a wholesomeness and joy of life that make it very charming. Fra Filippo's greatest work is the fresco in the choir of the Ca- thedral of Prato, depicting the histories of John the Baptist and of St. Stephen. The Death of St. Stephen is con- sidered his masterpiece, and in it he al- most ascends to the grandeur of Masaccio's compositions. The attitudes and sense of motion of the figures in these compositions are among the most finely conceived up to his time. The picture that he painted towards the end of his life in the apse of the choir in the Cathedral at Spoleto is the first semidome picture in Italian art arranged with freedom of composition. Severe decorative bands parallel to the horizontal lines of the dome had been the scheme of composition before. Here the grouping and lines are freer and more pictorial, while still conforming to the architectural lines. Fra Filippo died in Spoleto while this picture was still unfinished, and his pupil, Fra Dimante completed it. EARL Y RENAISSANCE IN ITALY. 35* T HE FLORENTINE SCHOOL. Continued. (19) With Sandro Botticelli (1446-1510) we come to one of the most indi- vidual painters of the Early Renaissance. He was first trained to be a goldsmith, but was later placed under Fra Filippo Lippi, whose influence is strongly shown in his earlier work. Botticelli's originality was not long in asserting itself, however, and he is one who charms by the individuality of his temperament. A contemporary and friend of Savonarola, he was strongly in- fluenced by his religious feeling, and his work shows a depth of religious sentiment which is often absent from the painters of the time. His Madonna, Child and St. John in the Louvre, and the Madonna and Child Crowned by Angels in the Uffizi are charged with a depth of feeling which must touch chords in any beholder. The Uffizi picture is a circular composi- tion, and how beautifully the subject fills its space! In Botticelli the Florentine feel- ing for line comes out to the fullest extent, only his line is thoroughly an expression of himself. In this picture every line com- poses with the circle. The arrangement of spots of heads, hands, arms, and of the body of the child is felt to so beautifully fill the space. In the matter of arrangement he has left nothing to be desired, and the qual- ity of his beautifully flowing graceful line speaks as do tone melodies in music. The public often looks merely for the story in a picture. The success with which a certain story or moment of a story is pre- sented demands attention, while other quali- ties of perhaps greater import are over- looked. We all feel that in music the anecdotal is out of place. We do not look for it, and we are swayed by sounds which tell no story, but which impart to us the mood and feelings of the composer. But how many are stirred in the same way by line just as fully charged with feeling? The delight and joy in pure, expressive line is as yet only a remote possibility to the many. Line, like color, may express any range of feeling, from overwhelming power to the most exquisite tenderness. In the Louvre Madonna the arrangement of figures fills the rectangular field as beau- tifully as the Uffizi composition fills the cir- cular one. It is, perhaps, a more complete pictorial rendering than the Uffizi picture, for the light and shade is carried farther and made more a part of the pictorial scheme. Accessories are also made more subservient to the principal feature, and the child is much more successful. There is a little affectation about the child in the Uffizi picture, whereas here it is rendered with a most tender and exquisite sentiment natural, childlike, but holy. (See the cut, P- 347-) Botticelli was a strong draughtsman, and studied nature carefully. Indeed, he drew so well that artists after his time took, the utmost pains to secure examples of his drawings. The head of the angel to the right in the Uffizi Madonna can hardly be approached for pure, expressive drawing. He was a learned student of the antique, and was one of the first to take subjects from it. Indeed, he was the first Floren- tine to show a preference for mythological subjects. His Birth of Venus, in the Uffizi, and the Calumny, after Apelles from Lucian's description, are fine examples of this. Allegory, too, claimed his attention, and here his rich imagination and originality were allowed full scope. The famous so- called Allegory of Spring is a fine piece of decorative painting. In it the long willowy figures of the Three Graces are beautiful in their grace and flow of line. The rich, rather conventional treatment of back- ground adds to the decorative effect. Bot- ticelli was a good colorist, and his pictures are full of the feeling of motion. His best composed historical painting is the Adora- tion of the Magi, now in the Uffizi. This picture made his fame so great that Pope vSixtus IV. commanded that Botticelli should be made superintendent of the painting then being done in the Sistine Chapel. Here he painted some large fres- coes, Christ's Temptation in the Wilderness, several scenes from the life of Moses, and several large portraits of Popes in the niches. Life, motion, action are character- istics of these frescoes. After completing 352 PAINTING: them Botticelli returned to Florence, where he became so fanatical a follower of Savonarola that he neglected and finally abandoned his work altogether. He would have died of starvation in his old age, but for the munificence and care of Lorenzo de Medici. Filippino Lippi (i457?-i504) is said by Vasari to have been the illegitimate son of Fra Filippo Lippi, but it is more likely that he was an adopted son. When Fra Filippo died Filippino came under the charge of Botticelli, who brought him up and in- structed him. So it is said, at least; but Filippino's style was more like Fra Filip- pu's than it was like Botticelli's. While yet in his first youth Filippino was selected to complete the decorations of the Brancacci Chapel which Masaccio had left unfinished. The severe, simple grandeur of Masaccio's style influenced Filippino greatly; for his style had never so much of the dignity of simplicity afterwards as he displayed in these paintings. He first painted-in the central part of the unfinished painting of Masaccio's Resurrection of the King's Son. His own subjects are The Crucifixion of St. Peter, St. Peter and St. Paul before the Proconsul, and St. Peter Liberated from Prison. The Crucifixion of St. Peter and the St. Peter and St. Paul before the Proconsul are represented in one picture, a mode of com- position so often used in the Early Renais- sance; but whereas Masaccio succeeded in the Resurrection of the King's Son in mak- ing a unity of the composition, Filippino has really two distinct compositions within one boundary, with nothing definite either to separate them or tie them together. An un- pleasant vacancy is thus felt. There is no transition from one group to the other. The separate figures, however, are drawn with great truth and power. The action of each is very expressive, and there is in them a grand, healthy realism. The Liberation of St. Peter is beautifully simple and express- ive, and of great interest in line, spotting, and composition in general. Filippino could not have been more than twenty when he did the Brancacci decorations. Away from the influence of Masaccio's pictures his style changed and became more like Fra Filippo Lippi's. There was the same liveliness, the same exuberance, the same animation and playfulness. Simplic- ity gave way to delight in detail, but there was a distinct advance in such technical features as the rendering of textures and of light and shade. Drawing had been en- tirely mastered. Such errors of foreshort- ening as are found in Fra Filippo are en- tirely absent from a picture like Filippino Lippi's Adoration of the Magi in the Uffizi. This is rather crowded in composition, but in the sure characterization of individuals, in the grace and expressiveness of figures, and in the treatment of landscape, it is a distinct advance. The quality of delighted though still timid and reverential approach of the figures towards the Holy Child is beautifully rendered. T HE FLORENTINE SCHOOL. Concluded. (20) Filippino is also represented by frescoes in the church of S. Maria Sopra Minerva in Rome. All are scenes from the legend of St. Thomas Aquinas. Allegorical representation is made use of freely in these compositions, and they are crowded with figures in the same express- ive attitude, with the same fine characteri- zation, which is a distinguishing mark of Filippino. In the St. Thomas Aquinas Defending the Church against a School of Heretics the composition is admirably tied together. The work which, perhaps, stands out the most conspicuously among the frescoes is St Thomas Spoken to by the Crucifix. Filippino's color was bright and clear and of a rosy tone. His last work was a Deposition from the Cross of which he had finished only the upper half when death interrupted him. It was finished by Perugino, but the combination is not a suc- cessful one. The men were too dissimilar in style. Filippino was much lamented, "for he had ever been courteous, obliging and friendly, and had been loved for his modest propriety of life." While his funeral EARLY RENAISSANCE IN ITALY. 353 ADORATION OF THE MAGI. FILIPPINO LIPVl. passed through the streets of Florence, all the shops were closed, a mark of respect usually paid only to Princes. Qhirlandajo (1449-1494) carried to per- fection Masaccio's style. Like him he was strong in composition, handling masses and line in a large way. There is breadth and dignity about Ghirlandajo's work. He was a fine draughtsman and handled dra- peries in a strong, simple way. His work does not express the intensely personal temperament of Botticelli, but it is more robust. Art, at the time, as we have seen, was in danger from literalism, from love of doing the things composing the picture. Ghirlandajo loved the charm of life and beauty and the zest of overcoming difficulties as well as any; but he makes it entirely subservient to the grand law of unity and simplicity, to the meaning of the moment represented. Like his fellow painters, Ghirlandajo introduced portraits of his contemporaries into his pictures; but in contrast to them he did not paint them as holy personages, taking part in the cen- tral action, but rather as interested speeta- 354 PAINTING: tors. He was fond of introducing rich and fine architecture into his pictures, and he would render it in complete perspective. Ghirlandajo's power, unlike that of so many, increased with his age. There is a continuous progress in his work from his youth till his death. His finest works are done in fresco. He seemed to feel more at home there, and painted with such sure hand that his frescoes hardly had to be retouched in tempera, a characteristic which made them for centuries almost proof against the ravages of climate. Among his earlier works are those done in the Sistine Chapel at Rome. Of these only one, The Calling of SS. Peter and Andrew, exists. Ghirlandajo's growth was slow, and in the frescoes in the Cappela S. Fina at S. Gimignano, there is a certain stiffness and hardness in the Vision of St. Fina. The draperies look hard and carved, the attitudes are wooden compared to those of his later works. The freedom and power of grand composition has not yet fully come. The frescoes in the Sasetti Chapel in the church of the Trinita at Florence, however, contain some works which are the flower of all that had as yet been done in Italian monumental painting. These decorations represented the life of St. Francis. The Death of St. Francis here is one of the best pictures of modern art. The varying expressions of grief, awe and resig- nation in the several mourners are depicted with masterly skill. The composition is grand in its effect of variety in unity, and there is the air of nobility and dignity in the figures which is so distinctive of Ghir- landajo's style. The bishop and two attend- ants to the left are marvels of characteriza- tion and noble drawing. What one had gained in perspective, another in light and shade, another in draw- ing, Ghirlandajo united in himself- and made the means to a harmonious dignified whole. He was of a mold which could best express itself in the grand, the monumental ; there- fore his compositions are truly architectural, and he is not so successful in his easel pic- tures. They are more crowded, less grand. His greatest works are the frescoes in the church of S. Maria Novella at Florence. This work was undertaken for a public- spirited citizen who agreed to repair at his own costs the choir, which was then in a lamentable state. The decorations which Orcagna had painted there were almost obliterated. Ghirlandajo was offered 1200 ducats to paint in the walls again. He had the work finished in four years. On the ceiling he painted colossal figures of the Evangelists. On one wall he executed scenes from the lives of St. Dominico, St. Peter the Martyr, and St. John ; on the wall to the right of this the story of the Virgin ; and on the opposite side the life of St. John the Baptist. Grand and severe, but free and not rigid in composition, fine in bal- ance, rhythm and opposition of line and mass, they are a delight to the eye independ- ent of the masterly way in which the sto- ries are told. One can see here his mastery in making line and mass tell the feeling he wishes to represent. The Birth of the Vir- gin, for instance: how stately the group of ladies who are entering is rendered by the very arrangement of mass and line. Con- trast it with the wild tumult suggested by the confused mass and sharply opposed lines in the Slaughter of the Innocents/ The two compositions of St. John Preaching and The Baptism of Christ are superb in their arrangement. In the latter, for instance, how skillfully every line leads to the central group of Christ and the Baptist. Entirely a symmetrical arrangement, still how well it is kept from being stiff or monotonous. "Ghirlandajo was, next to Masaccio, the most important master of the Forentine School in the fifteenth century. He crowned the tentative work of his predecessors, and at the same time prepared the way for the coming epoch." Ghirlandajo was for three years the mas- ter of Michelangelo. He died from over- work, it is thought, while yet in the full prime of his powers. He is buried in the Santa Maria Novella, where his grand fres- coes are the best monument to his greatness. Andrea Verrocchio (1435-1488) was more of a sculptor than a painter. His painting is hard and rather dry and colorless; but still he is of great interest from the fact of his influence over three celebrated painters EARL Y RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 355 who were pupils in his studio, namely, Perugino, Lorenzo di Credi, and Leonardo da Vinci. Lorenzo di Credi (1450-1537) never out- grew the fifteenth century, although he lived into the sixteenth He was a painter of sentiment, although of a rather weak kind. He was very painstaking, almost laboriously so, and fond of detail. His drawing is good, but lacks entirely the grand qualities of Ghirlandajo. In his carefulness of finish he is very much like his great fel- Piero di Cosirno (1462-1521), a contempo- rary of Lorenzo di Credi, was a man of a peculiarly fantastic bent of mind. He was very fond of mythological and classical sub- jects. He was influenced later in life by the great Leonardo da Vinci, but more in the matter of light and shade than in any- thing else. His light and shade has a good deal of the charm and mystery of Leon- ardo's, his color is pleasant, and his land- scape is always treated in an interesting manner. His Perseus and Andromeda, BIRTH OF THE VIRGIN. GHIRLANDAJO. low pupil, Leonardo da Vinci; but unlike him he did not have the force to make his work great through those very painstaking qualities. His drawing has certain ear- marks; a peculiar double-like quality of draperies and an overfatness of children. He gives them no neck to speak of, and represents wrists and ankles as though the flesh were stuffed and tied in with a string at the joints. All in all there is a great deal of sentiment and grace about Lorenzo di Credi 's work, but it lacks strength. in the Uffizi, besides illustrating his style, is an excellent example of the rather nai've way in which so many painters of the day would illustrate a story in progressive stages on the same canvas. Perseus is seen flying through the air in the upper right- hand corner, then he appears again on the back of the dragon, while the group sor- rowing over Andromeda's fate in the lower left-hand corner is balanced by one rejoic- ing over her delivery in the lower right- hand corner. 35 PAINTING: T HE UMBRTAN AND PERUGIAN SCHOOLS. (21) In the fifteenth century the Um- brian and Perugian schools became the inheritors of the sentiment and feeling so strongly characteristic of the Siennese School. That school saw a rapid decline after its great masters, the Lorenzetti, had passed away; and it is in the Umbrian and Perugian schools that we must now look for the peculiar Siennese characteristics. The force and intellectual grasp of the Floren- tine school were foreign to these two; but in sentiment, feeling, and tenderness they added a strong element to the sum total of excellence of Italian painting. The fusion of the excellences of the Florentine and Um- brian schools made the great art of the se- renely grand Raphael. The firct master to show decidedly this Umbrian sentiment was Niccolo da Foligno (i43o?-i5o2),who seems to have been a pupil of Benozzo Gozzoli. The Florentine school, with its strength of line, its masterful composition, and its tech- nical grasp on the real influenced all the schools of Italy more or less, as they in turn influenced the assimilative genius of the Florentines, and so we find the Umbrian sentiment and Florentine technique com- bined in such masters as Niccolo da Foligno, Bonfiglio, and Fiorenzo di Lorenzo. Bonfiglio (i425?-i496?) shows some traces of the style of Gentile da Fabrino, but there is mingled with it an unpleasant hardness of his own. Fiorenzo di Lorenzo (i444?-i52o) was pos- sessed of more refinement in his conception and rendering of form. Piero della Francesca (i42o?-i492), though an Umbrian, was almost Florentine in spirit, and had a decided influence on the Floren- tine school. He had about him something of the Florentine grandeur, and was almost equal to Masaccio and Ghirlandajo in ren- dering the nude. He was the first to pro- ject shadows scientifically, and his treatment of light and shade suggests Leonardo da Vinci. In all he was a fine student of na- ture, and made direct innovations in the Florentine method of painting in oils. His influence coupled with that of his great pu- pil Luca Signorelli extended to all the schools of Italy. Luca Signorelli (i44i?-i523) has been called the Michelangelo of the Early Re- naissance. Like him he loved to represent the nude human figure in all sorts of atti- tudes with very often the boldest foreshort- ening. There was no sentiment about Luca's work; in fact, he was an Umbrian only by birth, but his compositions have a grandeur and tremendous power about them. An original genius and a man of great learning, he was a powerful influence in Italian Art. His knowledge of anatomy, which was extensive, he seemed sometimes almost to parade, and he was a fine draughtsman. His color, however, was hot and "bricky, " and not at all pleasant. His figures often have a polished glassy texture, but he certainly drew them better than any of his contemporaries. His principal works are in the Sistine Chapel in Rome, in the convent of Monte Oliveto near Sienna, and in the Cathedral of Orvieto. It is in the last-named place that his greatest works, representing the Last Judgment, are found. The principal ones are the four great pictures representing Antichrist, Hell, the Resurrection, and Paradise. These are the first pictures in Italian art where the nude predominates. Signorelli thus marks a new epoch, where anatomy and the nude is made a passionate study. These frescoes were studied and in some respects almost imitated by Michel- angelo. In the Resurrection of the Dead, a most powerful conception, the two angels are mighty in action and form. They are unique for the time in being almost undraped. There is great hardness and almost angular- ity about the figure of the resurrected dead; but in the Crowning of the Elect there is displayed more grace of line and softness of form, with a knowledge of the figure alto- gether astonishing. The End of the World is a conception which takes hold with fear- ful power. Luca Signorelli is less powerful in altar- pieces. His vigorous, almost coarse style holds well on a wall in large frescoes, but is less suited to panel pictures. Still his fellow EARL Y RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 357 CROWNING OF THE ELECT. L. SIGNORELLI. Umbrians are often too sweet in sentiment and too graceful in pose, so that a picture like his Holy Family in the UfHzi, hard, severe, without grace as it is, still maintains a superior hold by its power and strength. He died an old man, working to the last, finally only for the love of the work. His frescoes in the Orvieto Cathedral were finished only three years before Michel- angelo exhibited his famous cartoon in com- petition with Leonardo da Vinci. A painter of an entirely different stamp from Luca Signorelli, and also a pupil of Piero della Francesca, is Melozzo da Forli (1438-1494). In place of the square-shoul- dered, powerful forms of Luca Signorelli, Melozzo da Forli is distinguished by his love for youthful, graceful forms of a nobly sensuous beauty, and by a peculiarly clear color. In the church of the Apostles in Rome he painted the Ascension, a work of beauty. Here, in a semidome, he repre- sented Christ ascending among cherubs with the apostles and angels, the latter playing instruments, looking towards him. The angels and apostles were represented fore- shortened as if seen from below, a technical feat which caused great wonderment at the time, as nothing like it had ever been at- tempted before. When the tribune in which this was painted was torn down in 1711 the figure of Christ was sawed out, and is now in the Quirinal Palace. Some of the figures of the apostles and angels were removed to the sacristy of St. Peter's. The angels are well known through photographs, and are beautiful in sentiment and in their full sen- suous form. (See next page.) Strongly influenced by both Signorelli and Melozzo da Forli was Giovanni Santi (1435?- 1 494), the father of Raphael. He was for a long time quite overshadowed by 35* PAINTING: ANGEL BY M. DA FORLI. the mighty genius of his son; but is now valued more for the sake of his own work, which in many instances gives promise of the beauty which was to shine forth in that of his son. Piero della Francesca, Luca Signorelli, Melozzo da Forli, and even Giovanni Santi, were all more or less Florentine rather than Umbrian; but in Perugino (1446-1524) the true Umbrian sentiment so characteris- tic of Foligno and Bonfiglio found its chief exponent. The territory of Umbria had been especially distinguished as the peculiar seat of religious enthusiasm, and Pietro Perugino's work is saturated with it. But even Perugino could not help being in- fluenced by the worship of the beauty of na- ture so strongly felt in art at this time. There is about his work a delicate charm and a religious depth of feeling; but he is likely to be somewhat monotonous in his fig- ures. Graceful in line and pose, beautiful of feature, with a wistful, yearning sadness about them, they nevertheless often run into sentimentality of gesture and pose, and there is a sameness of the tilt of head and upturned eyes which becomes almost un- pleasant when many of his pictures are seen side by side. When young, Perugino stud- ied in Florence, struggling at first with pov- erty so dire that he had not a bed to sleep on. It was in a convent in Florence that he learned the art of glass painting, and the clearness and brilliancy of stained glass no doubt greatly influenced his color. Perugino was in fact an excellent technician. He was among the first of his school to use the oil medium and obtained many brilliant effects by its use. His composition is very simple. In some cases the figures are all represented on one plane, and a strict symmetry is ob- served, varied only by a slightly different twist of the head, a gesture of the hand, the position of a leg, or the fold of a drapery. Such is the composition in the frescoes which he painted in the Hall of Exchange in Perugia. In the Eternal Father in Glory, for instance, the draperies of the Prophets and Sibyls are cast in lines which oppose one another in exact symmetry. Perhaps as architectural decorations they gain by it, but pictorially the effect is monotonous. In some of his compositions he makes no at- tempt at tying the figures together, as was done by other painters of his period, but places them simply side by side as in the Fortitude and Temperance of this same ser- ies. There was nothing of the dramatic about Perugino. The Transfiguration, also of this series, gave a strong opportunity for the rendering of emotion; but we find in- stead the same mild, pathetic attitude and expression. There is a monotony of type in Perugino's faces, but in one composition at least, the Deposition from the Cross, in the Pitti Gal- lery, Florence, we find a variety of type and a skill and freedom in grouping which places that composition among his best- The pyramidal central group, flanked on either side by secondary groups, so much affected in composition at the time, is here strongly felt. Perugino's Madonnas have a mild, beautiful, oval face of heavenly ten- derness and purity. They are the forerun- ners of Raphael's divine creations, the models, indeed, on which his earlier Madon- nas were formed (See the cut, p, 84.) Perugino's earlier struggles with poverty sadly affected his later life. When he found EARL Y RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 359 his pictures in demand and saw himself growing wealthy, he became avaricious. His only thought now was what his pictures would bring and how many he could turn out. The galleries of Europe are full of these inferior works of Perugino. Pinturricchio (1454-1513) was Perugino's friend and assistant. He was the historical painter of the Umbrian school. Unlike Perugino he never used oils, devoting him- self to fresco and distemper. In variety and in the treatment of landscape Pinturricchio is superior to Perugino ; but he has not his feeling, a deficiency which he often at- tempts to supply by imitation ; and his com- positions, though less rigid in symmetry than Perugino's, very often lack clearness. His coloring, though colder than his mas- ter's, is still rich and full. His most impor- tant works are found in Sienna, Spello and Rome. Perugino's best pupil, however, next to Raphael, was the Spaniard Giovanni, called Lo Spagna ( ?-i53o?). But little of his life is known. His style was at first an imitation of Perugino's; but in the High Renaissance it was modeled after that of Raphael, of whom he became a follower. There is in Lo Spagna's work some of the serene spiritual beauty and delicacy which distinguishes that of Raphael. His greatest picture is a Madonna Enthroned, in the church of St. Francis at Assisi. s CHOOLS OF FERRARA, BO- LOGNA AND LOMBARDY.( 22 ) The School of Ferrara was in its beginning influenced by the Paduan School, of which we shall hear later. Its style was stiff, and full of mannerisms; anatomical rendering was too much in- sisted on; and there was a coarseness of form and an infinity of detail together with ornamentation of a peculiarly fantastic kind. Cosimo Tura (i425?-i498) was the best painter of its earlier period. A peculiarly hard angularity of line and form was charac- teristic of him. Francesco Cossa (fl. 1450-1470) was a stronger painter with a somewhat morbid feeling in his work. Cossa, Ercole d Giulio Grandi ( ?-i53i) and Lorenzo Costa (i46o?-i536) formed the principal masters of the earlier school. These men after- wards removed to Bologna, where their Paduan style was modified by the Umbrian sentiment. Thus the schools of Ferrara and Bologna became confused in one another, and have remained so in history to the present day. Lorenzo Costa was perhaps the strongest influence in the School of Bologna, and he might be called its real founder. His earlier work was rugged; but later, under the influence of the South, his work be- came delicate in drawing and color, with a soft light and shade, fine detail and almost Peruginesque sentiment. This influence of Perugino can be distinctly seen in the most important of the painters of Bologna, name- ly, Francia (1450-1518). Till his fortieth year he was a goldsmith. His earliest pic- ture bears the date of 1490. It was then that Lorenzo Costa came to Bologna, and it was probably through him that Francia be- came interested in painting, and it was per- haps to him that he owed his instruction. His earliest work, a Madonna Enthroned and Surrounded by Saints, shows decidedly the influence of his training as a goldsmith. Smooth, shiny surfaces of drapery, hard sharp edges, minute detail as if done by a graver are its characteristics. Francia's second work evoked a storm of enthusiasm in Bologna. At last the Bolognese had an artist who was strong enough to vie with those of Florence, Perugia or Venice. There is a continuous progress in Fran- - cia's work. The hardness and detail of his first picture disappear; more grace of line, softness and truth of texture, and more sim- plicity become the characteristics. With more power of technique, with more appre- ciation of beauty, he never loses the deep religious feeling with which he was imbued. His earliest works were in oils, but later he became encouraged to paint in fresco. To one trained in minute, smooth, detailed work which could be gradually brought to a finish, fresco was a difficult undertaking. Here sureness, swiftness, and broadness of handling were demanded, but he succeeded 3 6 PAINTING: at once. His masterpiece is perhaps the Madonna Adoring her Child, in the Pin- akothek at Munich. Surely no one ever gave more sweetness or more divine human- ity in a Madonna than did Francia in this picture. Simple in composition, beautiful in line, and pervaded by a depth of feeling without affectation, it is one of the loveliest pictures of Early Renaissance art. Although Francia was thirty-four years MADONNA ADORING HER CHILD. FRANCIA. Raphael's senior, there was a strong friendship between these two men. An- extant letter from Raphael to Francia con- cludes affectionately, "Continue to love me as I love you with all my heart." When Raphael had finished his famous picture of St. Cecilia surrounded by other saints, he sent it to its destination, Bologna, to the care of his friend Francia, and asked him to examine it in order to see if it had suffered harm. If so, he begs Francia to restore it, and if he could find any faults, to alter them. The ugly story of Francia's dying of chagrin from s'eeing himself sur- passed in this picture is entirely incompati- ble with his gentle and generous spirit. His character was as beautiful as the spirit of his work. The Lombard School is a name given to a number of isolated schools or men in the Lombardy region. At best it is a vague name in history. In the fifteenth century the school had very little importance. Milan was the principal center of activity, and drew painters from the surrounding cities, these forming what is called the Milanese School. Vincenzo Foppa (fl. 1455-1492) was prob- ably the founder of the school. He seems to have received his training in the Paduan school, and his nude figures have the statuesque feeling of that school. Borgognone ( ?-i523), said to have been Vincenzo Foppa's pupil, has been called the Fra Angelico of this school. More severely realistic and more a master of form than that painter, he coupled with these qualities much sentiment and spiritual feeling. Un- der Leonardo da Vinci's influence the Mi- lanese school was destined to be of much import in the High Renaissance period. s CHOOLS OF PADUA, VERONA AND VICENZA.( 2 3) It was upon the Paduan School that the study of the antique marbles exercised the most powerful influence. At first the painters of this school missed en- tirely the ideal spirit of the antique, bor- rowing only outward forms and decorations. Their work was rather a patching up of classic fragments than a creative art. It was lacking also in broadness, and was, moreover, less pictorial than plastic until the influence of the Venetian School set in. The man who gave the Paduan School its character was Francesco Squarcione (1394-1474). He was a man of learning, and had traveled over Italy and Greece collecting many ex- amples of classic art and making casts from a greater number. Many pupils came to him to study from his casts and drawings, and they were proud to be known as his followers. An art statuesque rather than EARL Y RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 361 pictorial was the outcome. Squarcione lives through his pupils, for all authentic pictures by him are lost. His great pupil Andrea Mantegna (1431-1506) was a pow- erful influence in Italian art. Although his work reflects the teachings of Squarcione, still he did not escape the powerful in- fluence of Florence. Fra Filippo and Paolo Uccelo were represented by examples of their work at Padua. From them he gained much, and later in life his color was greatly influenced by the Bellinis, Venetians of whom we shall hear later. His work is stat- uesque in character, and in his earlier period is very sharp and hard in its figures, while the drapery is very liney. The most important pictures of this period were painted in the chapel of St. Christo- pher in the Eremitani in Padua. Squar- cione regarded Mantegna as his favorite; but about this time Mantegna married the daughter of Jacopo Bellini, the rival of Squarcione. Squarcione gave vent to his rage in harsh criticism of Mantegna's work, saying that it was lifeless, that it was like marble, etc., and that the figures should have been painted in white rather than in color, this in spite of the fact that Montegna had simply followed his teaching. Man- tegna saw the justice of the criticism in spite of the malignity which prompted it, and diligently set to work to study nature, in- stead of relying simply on the antique. He now furthermore imitated the color of the Bellinis, and his next picture silenced the violent criticism of his former teacher. In composition Mantegna was a master, and the effect of depth of space he probably felt before any of his time. His skies, for instance, give the feeling of a wonderful depth and distance. His figures are dis- tinguished by a feeling of nobility, and his invention and imagination were never sur- passed in his time. One of his frescoes in Mantua is remarkable as being the oldest example of ceiling painting intended to deceive the eye. The ceiling appears open to the sky in the center. A circular balus- trade marks the line of sky, and people look across to each other. This innovation was taken up later by Correggio. Although some of Mantegna's earlier pic- tures are hard and coarse in the figures, we find in his later works graceful lines and soft, delicate modeling. The nude figure of the Venus and the forms of the dancing Muses of the Parnassus in the Louvre are as ideally beautiful as Greek statues, and still full of the realism of living nature. So also does soft flesh replace hard marble in the celebrated Madonna della Vittoria, in the Louvre. Here, too, we can see what a realist Mantegna was, although such a stu- dent of the antique. The sheen of armor, the softness of hair, the clinging folds of drapery show how much his determined study of nature had done in that direction. The cartoons in Hampton Court are full of life, movement and action. Although the figures in these cartoons are based on antique statues, they are not the immovable effigies of David, the French painter, who also based his art on the antique. The altar-piece in the Church of S. Zeno, Verona, is one of Mantegna's finest panel pictures in Italy. The saints on either side of the Virgin are grand in form, without stiffness, and are superbly draped. The Crucifixion, a smaller panel belonging to a lower series in this same altar-piece, but now in the Louvre, having been stolen by the French, is a tremendous composition. Intensely dramatic, yet entirely dignified, it is worthy of the master, who, although sometimes extreme, still appeals to us in works which always make one feel their power. (See the cut, p. 363.) Mantegna was one of the first to practice engraving on copper. He is the first painter to have engraved his own designs, and the extent of his influence is in no small degree due to the fact that his designs were widely spread by means of engraving. Mantegna is a grand witness to the fact that an inti- mate understanding and study of nature are the essentials to progress and a living art. Except Mantegna, whose influence was marked, it is a strange fact that none of Squarcione's pupils had any influence. Marco Zoppo (1445-1498) was considered the best, but he carried the peculiarities of the school to exaggeration. Coarseness of fig- ures, heavy, badly arranged drapery, and an 362 PAINTING: insistence on detail make his work unpleas- ant in character. Except in the very beginning, the School of Verona really belongs in its tendencies to the Venetian. Vittore Pisano (1380-1456) was its earliest celebrated artist. He worked with Gentile da Fabrino in the Ducal Palace at Venice, and his style seems to have been influenced by him. Liberale da Verona (1451-1536?) was first a minia- turist, but later he painted in a larger style, following Mantegna in the treatment of the figure. In his coloring and treatment of background and light and shade, a Venetian influence is to be discerned in his work. Francesco Bonsignori (1455-1519) was also under Mantegna's influence. A strong portraitist, he charms rather by his excel- lent rendering of individuality and charac- ter than by his technique, which is rather hard and coarse. Besides being a portrait painter, he was also strong in historical sub- jects and in the drawing of animal and architectural forms. In the School of Vicenza there was only one master in the time of the Early Renais- sance whom we need consider: Bartolom- meo Montagna (1450?- 15 23) has had the misfortune to have nearly all his works ascribed to other masters, but now the critics are adding one honor after another to his name. Like the other painters of these schools, he shows the influence of Mantegna, but coupled with some of the Venetian feeling for color and light and shade. A painter of much grandeur, he expressed himself through the medium of both oils and fresco. THE VENETIAN SCHOOL. (24) We have seen how the different schools have developed on separate lines, the Florentine emphasizing nature study and line; the Umbrian, senti- ment ; and the Paduan adding the corrective element of classic idealism and laws of pro- portion. The Venetian school added the final glory color, which is to painting what the blood is to a finely formed cheek. Why the Venetians should have had so much bet- ter sense of color than the other Italians is a question which has been a matter for spec- ulation to many. The wonderfully colored skies and water of Venice are given as one cause, and her commerce with the eastern nations, always lovers of fine color, as another. Both probably contributed to the result. In the latter case, especially, the influence of the richly and harmoniously colored draperies and rugs of the East must have educated and developed the eye to the appreciation and love of color. Color is more sensuous and perhaps less a matter of the intellect than either line or form. The Venetians, wealthy and luxurious, loved magnificence and richness in the decora- tions with which they surrounded them- selves. Nowhere else has color rung with nobler,* richer, more majestic harmonies. There were two families of artists in Ven- ice with whom the Venetian painting of the Early Renaissance begins. Of these two the Vivarinis formed what is called the Muranese School, the name being derived from the outlying Venetian island, Murano, where they lived and worked. This Mur- anese School shows a Paduan influence, but Gentile da Fabrino, the transition painter of the Siennese school, undoubtedly also influenced it during his stay in Venice about 1420. There were three of these Vivarini. The two earlier, Antonio and Bartolommeo Vivarini, worked with Johannes Alemanus, a painter of supposed German birth and training. Antonio Vivarini ( ?-i4yo) painted in a peculiarly soft manner. His younger brother or near relative, Bartolommeo Vivarini (1450-1499), is more Paduan in character, with more severity and sharpness showing in his earlier work. In him, how- ever, we find the first indication of the true Venetian color, and, moreover, a certain grandeur of figures. Bartolommeo was the best of the family. Luigi Vivarini (fl. 1461-1503) was the youngest of the family. His works are to some extent similar to those of Bartolom- meo. The Paduan hardness in the render- ing of drapery and faces is evident; but sometimes, in the same picture, one may observe more grace and softness in some of ALTAR-PIECK IN THE CHURCH OF S. ZENO, VERONA. A. MANTEGNA. Madonna and Child with attending Saints. The Agony. The Crucifixion. The Resurrection. EARL Y RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 365 the faces, especially in those of the Madon- nas. His drawing is always good. After Luigi Vivarini the Muranese school seems to merge into the Venetian school proper, with the exception of some pupils and fol- lowers. Of these Carlo Crivelli (1468-1495) was the only one of prominence. His work shows a mix- ture of many styles. Gold embossing and richly bejeweled ornamentation suggestive of Byzantine art, and minute architectural detail suggestive of classic patterns, are commingled with drawing of Paduan hard- ness and a coloring peculiarly transparent and beautiful. In characterization he is equally varied. Scowling, villainous-look- ing popes are placed side by side with Madonnas that are rendered with consider- able feeling and sentiment. Venetian art pure and simple dates from the Bellinis. Jacopo Bellini (i4oo?-i464?), the father, was a pupil of Gentile da Fab- rino. A sketch-book of his has been re- cently discovered, and is now in the Louvre. It shows him to have been a close student of the antique, of perspective, and of na- ture. His son, Gentile Bellini (i426?-i5o7), is of great interest in his treatment of Venetian sub- jects. These usually have a background of Venetian architecture against which he paints processions and masses of people clad in rich costumes. Richly and warmly col- ored, with good light and shade and atmos- pheric effects, they show a strong feeling for the out-of-doors. Giovanni Bellini (1428-1516) was the youngest of the family and the greatest. The brother-in-law of Mantegna, he was in- fluenced by him, and his earlier work is hardly distinguishable from Mantegna's. There is a steady progress observable in Bellini's work, his best works being his latest. The richness and glow of Venetian color comes out almost to the full in him, a possibility brought to fruition by the intro- duction of the Flemish method of oil paint- ing by Antonello da Messina, of whom we shall hear later. It was impossible to get such glow and glory by the old method of tempera. To be sure, oils had been used before, but in such a way that the paints would hardly dry, and there was great diffi- culty in manipulating the medium. Van Eyck's discovery did away with these ob- stacles; and Giovanni, having mastered its results from Antonello da Messina, devel- oped by their aid his beautiful color-har- monies, which are flooded with a golden light. The grandeur and sweep of Floren- tine line Giovanni Bellini did not know; but he is one of the first to make the disposition of light and shade an essential part of com- position, and he surpassed all his contem- MADONNA AND CHILD. G. BELLINI. poraries in technical skill and color-har- mony. Giovanni's subjects are mostly religious, and his pictures of this character are per- vaded by a harmonious dignity and sweet- ness. His sacred characters are not marked by any great religious feeling; but they are grand, even majestic in their nobly con- ceived humanity. Not in any particular way ideal, they are beautiful through their serene dignity. As a portrait painter Giovanni Bellini was very strong There is a decided Flemish quality in his portrai- PAINTING: ture in the close rendering of individual traits and the careful following of line. Antonello da Messina must evidently have influenced him in portraiture, as he in turn influenced Antonello. His Virgin and Child Enthroned with Saints, in the Church of the Frari at Venice, is by many considered his masterpiece. The two little boy angels playing on instruments here are worthy of the High Renaissance, in their expressive strenuousness of atti- tude. The Madonna and Child, in the Academy of Fine Arts in Venice, is a beau- tiful rendering of fine, serious motherhood. The Christ child is a true child, but for all that carries a feeling of something higher than the ordinary. Giovanni Bellini was the true founder of Venetian painting, and among his many pupils are the great Gior- gione and Titian. Carpaccio ( ?-i522?) was a younger con- temporary of the Bellinis, and was influ- enced by both Gentile and Giovanni. He delighted in painting legends and poetic tales, which he rendered in a peculiarly quaint, interesting manner. His characters are mostly homely, but of a very earnest mien. With his rendering of architectural backgrounds, and the out-door feeling he gets into his pictures, he is interesting in spite of occasional awkward passages of drawing. His Presentation at the Temple is fine in movement and feeling, in spite of a decidedly formal composition. Here we find again little angels playing instruments, which became so prevalent after Bellini, and one of them possesses the same beautiful earnestness and strenuousness that marked Bellini's two angels in the Frari altar-piece. Cima da Conegliano (i46o?-i5i7?) was the best of Giovanni Bellini's immediate fol- lowers. He painted religious works en- tirely. His work is strong in color, in light and shade, and in atmosphere, and his land- scape backgrounds rival those of Giovanni himself. His work is of great finish in detail, but still it carries in mass. Of Bel- lini's other followers, Catena ( ?-i53i) had a great reputation in his day, but it was due more to elab- orate finish than to any original merit. Other followers are, Andrea Previtali (i48o?-i525?), Pier Francesco Bissolo (1464- 1528), and Giovanni Mansuetti (1450?- -?) Antonello da Messina (1445 7-1493) * s fa- mous especially for introducing the Flemish method of oil painting (or rather varnish painting) into Italy. He was born in Sicily, but properly should be classed with the Venetians. The story that he went to Flan- ders to learn the secret of Van Eyck*s oil- painting seems without foundation. It is more likely that he learned the process from Flemish painters in Italy. His early work is of a very precise and Flemish character, but later he came under the influence of the Bellinis, and his work became fuller in character. There is nothing elevated about Antonello's work, but his light and shade is excellent, and in portraiture he is fine. In fact, as suggested before, his influence on Giovanni Bellini made possible the strong, exact and finely rendered portrai- ture of that master. Antonello's introduc- tion of oil painting completed the list of achievements which made possible the glorious art of the High Renaissance. MOXA LISA. LEOXAKDO DA VIXCI. {SEE PAGE 372.) t Bourse tt IN THEIIL HISTORY PRINCIPLES EDITOR, IH * CHIEF EDMUND BUO(LEY 1 A.M.,PIi.D.,Universityofaiicago CONSULTING EDITORS J. M .HOPPIN,D.D M Yale University ALFRED V. CHURCHILL ,A.M., ColumbiaUnivcwity fli/fy Illustrated NATIONAL ART SOCIETY Chicago Copyright, 1907, by W. E. ERNST. CREATION OF MAN. MICHELANGELO. (SEE PAGE 378.) Painting: The High Renaissance in Italy. The Renaissance in Other Countries. BY OLAF M. BRAUNER. ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF DRAWING AND MODELING, CORNELL UNIVERSITY. ' I NTRODUCTION. FLORENTINE AND ROMAN SCHOOLS: DA VINCI, (i) The art of a nation passes through very much the same development as that of an individual. There are the first crude efforts, and then the struggle with technical difficulties. The delirious pleasure of over- coming the latter, then, very often makes one forget the end for the means, and one falls in love with the language itself rather than with the things to be expressed. Ever increasing power of observation and per- ception also captivates, and the result is often mere transcription from nature. There is, however, in this stage a certain naive unconsciousness, a simplicity of thought, which is often lost in the maturity of effort. It is this unconscious, nai've, sensitive quality about the Early Renais- sance work that makes it so attractive. But technique in all its branches had now been mastered one process by one school or indi- vidual, another process by another school or individual. Perspective, both linear and aerial, line, light and shade, color and com- position, no more offered any difficulties. One school had developed in grandeur and simplicity, another in sentiment, another in ideal quality, and so on. Now the giants of painting came, and united all these excel- lencies of quality and technical accomplish- ments into one great, perfect art. Thus we have the period of the High Renaissance. The introduction of oils had been the highest technical triumph of the Early Renaissance, and by its aid the range of painting was widened immeasurably. The art of painting was to blossom into greater 369 370 PAINTING: glory than ever before in the history of the world; for perfect technique, beauty of line, form, color, light and shade, were combined with depth of feeling and lofty thought. The Florentine and Roman Schools. The first master mind in point of time of this new era was Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519). He was one of those rare beings upon whom nature seems to shower every gift in her power. Science, music, poetry, painting, sculpture, architecture were all within his power, and he excelled in them all. It is no wonder that he has been called "the Miracle of that miraculous age, the Renaissance," the wiz- ard, magician, dreamer, the scentist, realist and idealist by different writers. So uni- versal a genius probably never lived before. His knowledge was simply astonishing for his time. Manuscripts left by him have proven that he anticipated discoveries in science long before the times were ripe for their acceptance. He was the greatest mathematician, and the most ingenious mechanic of his time; and as chemist and engineer, he stood in the front rank. When we add to this an imposing but still mag- netic and winning personality, endowed with a physique so strong that he could easily bend a horseshoe with his bare hands, and with a body tall, straight and graceful and crowned by a head noble and beautiful in shape, we need not wonder that Vasari said of him: "He was perfection in all things." His very versatility, his love of experimen- tation and discovery, proved the cause of an immeasurable loss to art. His . energies were directed in so many channels that little time was left for painting; and his passion for experimenting caused him to use new oils, varnishes, and colors, that proved dis- astrous to his own work, but of great value to his successors. There are few works left by Leonardo da Vinci, and some of his grand conceptions can be but feebly guessed at from his sketches. He has been classed variously with the Florentine and Milanese School. Though he was Florentine by training, his greatest influence was felt at Milan; but he was so universal a genius that it is hard to class him anywhere. His greatest gift to art was the discovery of the poetry of mystery in light and shade and the rendering of subtility of personality, of soul. Light and shade with him reaches its highest perfection, and perhaps no other man has been able so well to express the inner spirit through the outward form. ' ' He had mastered the whole scale of human ex- pression from the sublime and heavenly pure to the depths of absurdity and corruption." This study of expression was a passion with him. He always carried a sketch-book, and would sometimes follow people of striking peculiarity a whole day, then corne home and reproduce their features. He would get peasants into a room and make them laugh, and would even follow criminals to execution for the sake of studying their ex- pression. His knowledge of form was great, for he mastered the anatomy of both men and animals to such an extent that anato- mists of to-day can find no fault with his anatomical drawings. While Leonardo da Vinci was still a youth his father sent him to the studio of Andrea Verrocchio, who was excellent in design but very poor in color. Leonardo soon sur- passed his master in painting; for the story goes that when Verrocchio painted his Bap- tism of Christ, he entrusted to Leonardo the painting of one of the two angels who form part of the composition. This task Leo- nardo performed with so much grace and expression and with such richness of color that Verrocchio saw himself surpassed and ever after devoted himself solely to sculp- ture. One of the earliest works of Leonardo was a Medusa Head which still exists in a Flor- entine gallery. The head is represented as lying on the fragment of a rock, foreshort- ened, the hair already changing into scaly serpents. It is said that as one looks at this "the ghastly head seems to expire, and the serpents to crawl into glittering life." (See the cut, p. 75.) But, at the same time that he was doing this thing expressive of horror, he showed his power to express also the elevated and the graceful, by some car- toons of sacred and mythological subjects. When he was thirty years old and in the prime of his talents, he was invited by the HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITALY. Duke of Milan to come there and make a colossal equestrian statue of one of his an- cestors. He was engaged iipon this statue for more than ten years, reading ancient writers, studying classic statuary, and mak- ing a close .study of the movements of live horses and the anatomy of dead ones. It was one of Leonardo's strongest character- istics, this of taking infinite pains and of never being satisfied with results. He made a vast number of studies for this statue, and many of them are preserved; still no one knows exactly how the statue looked. When he had finally finished the clay model there was no money to cast it, fresco, and that alone would have proved disastrous. But, furthermore, floods have twice inundated the room, the French sol- diers under Napoleon barracked there in 1796, and the French officers found a source of amusement in using the heads as targets. Worst of all the restorers have done their fell work time and again, so that now hardly anything of Leonardo's own work remains but the general composition. One almost wishes that Francis I. had succeeded in his attempt to remove the picture to France. Mutilated as the picture is, however, the masterful character of the composition is still apparent. Theie were certain diffi- kl THE LAST SUPPER. LEONARDO DA VINCI. (FROM AN EARLY COPY.) and twenty years later it had entirely disap- peared. It was in Milan and for this same Duke Ludovicothat Leonardo da Vinci painted the wonderful and justly famous Last Supper, a picture perhaps better known than any other in the world, and certainly the grandest one ever conceived up to his time. This masterpiece was executed in the short space of two years. It was painted on the wall of the refectory or dining room of the Dominican Convent of Santa Maria della Grazie. Perhaps to no other master- piece has time been so unkind. In the first place, Leonardo painted in oils instead of culties imposed by tradition, for instance the long table behind which Christ and the apostles must sit. The monks themselves at their meals were seated in exactly the same way facing the picture. But how gloriously Leonardo has met the difficulties ! What interesting rhythm in the groups of three disposed on either side of Christ! What an expressive line runs through the picture, what perfect balance without rigid- ity of symmetry; how beautifully one head and figure is relieved against another; what a master stroke to lean the head of Judas forward so as to throw it into shadow, thus making it all the more sinister! Then, last 372 PAINTING: of all, how daring to put a window right back of the head of Christ, where it might so easily have detracted from it; but how well the head holds and centers the attention by the aid of that very window! Then, -how expressive the attitude-s and what a variety ! How charged the whole group seems with the intensely felt moment ! Leonardo left the head of Christ uncompleted. His ideals were too high, and he could not satisfy them ; but he has left a study, a mere sketch in pastel, now in the Pinacoteca at Milan. Slight as the sketch is, it is the most wonderful head HEAD OF CHRIST. LEONARDO DA VINCI. in art. No Christ head has ever reached its height, so charged is it with depth of mean- ing and spirit. No description of Christ could tell so much as does that pastel sketch. Where have strength and meekness, power and gentleness, sorrow and resignation ever been so wonderfully blended in one face? In all the range of art there is nothing like it. Sketches also remain of the heads of the apostles, sketches all the more precious be- cause the picture has been so repainted and repainted. Every one of them individual, but only the larger qualities searched out. All varieties of emotion are there; how headlong, Peter; how gentle, John; how mean and crabbed, Judas! He is indeed a towering genius who could charge a picture so full of interest, emotion, and variety, but still hold it all in hand, and make it all a unit with a forceful climax. While at Milan Leonardo da Vinci was a powerful influence in the Milanese School. He established an art academy there, and some of the notes written for lectures which he delivered are still preserved. It is he- cause his activity centered so largely in Milan and because of his strong influence on the Milanese painters that Leonardo has been classed with the School of Milan. Of the few Madonna pictures by Leonardo da Vinci, the Madonna of the Rocks, in the Louvre, is the most famous. It is a picture full of the depth of shadow and the glimmer of lights that are so characteristic of Leo- nardo. The indefinable smile, which Leo- nardo alone could paint, lingers over the mouth of the Virgin. As might be expected from one so keen in the study of expression, one so able to seize on the individual, we find Leonardo da Vinci one of the greatest portrait painters. His masterpiece in portraiture is the Mona Lisa, that portrait of all portraits. What a beautiful, easy, unaffected pose! What caress of light, and softness of shadow! What searching, well-felt drawing and ex- quisite modeling! Every plane of the face is felt, but how wonderfully gentle the transition from one to another! Then, above all, what a living presence is there! The very innermost spirit is in the eyes, and the wonderful smile which tells so much and so little, hovers over the mouth. (See the full page cut, p. 368.) In 1514 Leonardo da Vinci went to Rome on the invitation of Leo X., but more in the character of philosopher, mechanic, and alchemist than as painter. Raphael was at that time painting his frescoes in the Vati- can; and with his innate courtesy and gen- tleness, he received the venerable master with all marks of respect. Even Leonardo showed the influence of the wonderful young genius in the only two pictures he painted while in Rome. But he felt he was HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 373 set aside at Rome, he who had been the foremost. Michelangelo slighted him, and that galled him. So he decided to go to France where he was sure of a welcome. He was received by Francis I. with every mark of respect, was loaded with favors, had a pension of seven hundred golden crowns settled on him for life, and was attached to the court as principal painter. He lived like a prince in the castle given him, and received from all the reverence and homage due his wonderful genius. He died in France in 1519. F LORENTINE AND ROMAN SCHOOLS: FRA BARTOLOM- MEO, ALBERT1NELLI, DEL SARTO, AND OTHERS. (2) Although the Florentines loved line and intellectual conception more than the more sensuous qualities of color, there were some of them who combined both elements. One who did this in a most remarkable way was Fra Bartolommeo (1475-1517). He was a pupil of Cosimo Roselli, and learned the technique of colors from Leonardo da Vinci. While young he came under the influence of Savonarola, and one of the first things he did was a portrait of the homely but strong and powerful head of that genius. Many of Fra Bartolommeo's works have been lost through the fanatical zeal of Savonarola; for in 1497 he induced a good many artists to burn all of their pictures into which any nude figure had been introduced, or which did not happen to have a religious subject. Fra Bartolommeo was one of the first to carry out Savonarola's wishes. The martyr- dom of Savonarola was such a great shock to Baccio, as our painter was then called, that he joined the monastery of S. Marco, and did not touch the brush again for six years, when his friends at last prevailed upon him to resume it. Fra Bartolommeo had that mark of a great painter in his work, the union of fine technique (color, drawing and composition) with deep sentiment and feeling. His fine color may be attributed to his visit to Venice, where he stiidied the glowing har- monies of the Venetians. In light and shade, he was directly influenced, as were so many of his time, by Leonardo da Vinci. He was opposed to the sensuous on prin- ciple, but there is a good deal of it in his fine light and shade and in the expressive beauty of his faces. He was opposed to painting the nude, but that he was a master of the human form he proved by the only nude he ever painted, a St. Sebastian. This was so beautiful in form and line and color, and so fine in its modeling and life, that people forgot the suffering of the saint for the beauty of his form, with the result that the prior had to have the picture removed. One of his greatest pictures is the Deposi- tion from the Cross, in the Pitti Gallery. This is composed on the pyramidal principle, a form of composition found in all Fra Bar- tolommeo's works. The lines marking the masses of drapery are beautiful in flow and disposition, and the light and shade comes up to Leonardo da Vinci's in beauty. There is a true dramatic breadth about this picture, but it is repressed, held within bounds. (See cut, page 374.) Mantegna, for instance, goes beyond artistic dignity, when in. his Burial of Christ he makes John scream out aloud in his grief. In Fra Bartolommeo's picture the deep, silent, tearless, unutterable grief of St. John is far truer to the dignity and pathos of the moment. Fra Bartolommeo was great by his pure painter-like qualities, but with it he had a depth of sentiment and fervor of re- ligious feeling that mark him above all others of his time. Mariotto Albertinelli (1465-1520). There was a close friendship between Albertinelli and Fra Bartolommeo, a friendship which lasted for life. They worked in partnership and often painted together on the same pic- ture. In such cases it is almost impossible to tell their work apart. Albertinelli lacked the religious devotion of Fra Bartolommeo, but that he painted religious pictures with feeling can be seen from his masterpiece, The Salutation, in the Uffizi, a picture of much tender sweetness. Among the followers of Fra Bartolommeo and Albertinelli were Fra Paolo da Pistoja (1490-1547), Bugiardini (1475-1554), Qra - nacci (1477-1543), and Ridolfo Qhirlandajo 374 PAINTING: DEPOSITION FROM THE CROSS. FRA BARTOLOMMEO. (1483-1561). Paolo inherited Fra Bartolom- meo's drawings, and made use of them for his -own pictures, which are for that reason always good in design; but he did not have Fra Bartulommeo's mellowness of color, his being rather harsh and crude. His best work is a Crucifixion, at Sienna; a picture which has been attributed also to Fra Bar- tolommeo, but which has faults and hard- ness of drawing not at all characteristic of that master. Bugiardini was an assistant rather than scholar of Albertinelli. In the shop of Ghirlandajo he met Michelangelo, who afterwards employed him as an assistant in the Sistine Chapel. Bugiardini had no original force, but imitated any master with whom he might happen to be in contact. This was also true to a great extent of Granacci. who shows the influence of many masters in his work. Ridolfo Ghirlandajo, the son of Domenico Ghirlandajo, was one of Fra Bartolommeo's principal followers. His two masterpieces are the S. Zenobio Restoring a Dead Child to Life, and the Funeral Procession of the Saint. Here he rivals the rich coloring and deep relief of Fra Bartolommeo, and the animation and expression of Andrea del Sarto. Andrea del Sarto (1486-1531) was called the faultless painter by his fellow towns- men, and this was true so far as technique goes. As a colorist and handler of the brush he went far beyond the rest of the Florentines. His drawing was perfection, and his mastery of light and shade nothing short of the marvelous. His talent for assimilation was great. He gained in draw- ing from Masaccio and Ghirlandajo, and in line from Michelangelo. Light and shade, as might be expected, he gained from Leo- HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 375 nardo da Vinci ; but in the matter of strong, interesting-, masterful brushwork, and in his coloring 1 , characterized by a subdued, though rich and beautifully soft harmony of secon- daries and tertiaries rather than the harsh primaries of his fellow Florentines, he stood entirely by himself. In landscape work and atmospheric effects also he went beyond the other Florentines. But with all his fine technique and wonderful adaptability, he lacked that spark which, had he possessed it, would have lifted his work up to the height of the four giants of the art world. It was the times that made Andrea del Sarto great, his talent rather than his genius. Browning in his poem of Andrea del Sarto makes his wife the principal cause of his lack of soul, and his pictures give the appearance of truth to the assertion. All his Madonnas (and his subjects were entirely religious) are of one face, beautiful in form, the face of his infamous wife, who was the cause of his dishonor. That Andrea del Sarto was of tremendous promise to his contemporaries we gain from Michelangelo's remark to Ra- phael: "There is a little fellow in Florence who will bring sweat to your brow if ever he is engaged in great works." It is unfair to say that Andrea del Sarto entirely lacks soul. His St. John, in the Pitti Gallery, with its luminous depth of eye refutes the charge somewhat. But, on the other hand, in the same gallery is a Madonna, Child and Saints which shows a woeful lack of soul and feel- ing, wonderful as it is in the modeling of form, the sweep and beauty of line, the softness of enveloping atmosphere, and the mastery of drawing. The Madonna's face is of a low type, although of a certain beauty, and is decidedly unpleasant. Andrea del Sarto is perhaps the finest technician in fresco that ever lived. In that he went beyond even Michelan- gelo and Raphael. He seemed to be able to make fresco do the work of oils, and he never retouched. His master- piece, the Madonna of the Sack, so called from the sack upon which St. Joseph is lean- ing, is a fresco in the Chapel of the Annun- ciate at Florence. In a small, narrow, semi- circular space, so small that the figures are represented seated low down, he has suc- ceeded in placing a composition of great grandeur and power, beautiful in balance and sweep of line. The drapery is superb in arrangement, and the Madonna here" is marked by real dignity and even grandeur. The child is also a masterful rendering of lively, eager, yet dignified childhood. His finest work in oils is the Madonna of St. Francis, sometimes also called the Madonna of the Harpies. Andrea del Sarto died poor and alone; for his wife, for whom he had lost honor and the respect of his fellows, deserted him in his last illness. He had a large number of pupils and followers, but they deserted him later for Michelangelo. The two most important are Pontormo and Franciabigio. MADONNA OF ST. FRANCIS. A. DEL SARTO. 376 PAINTING: Pontormo (1493-1558) was of great prom- ise, for Michelangelo is reported to have said of him: "If this young man's life is spared, he will raise our art to the skies. But, alas, he did not live up to his promise, losing himself later in life in imitation of others. In fact, imitation, the death of all creative art, was almost inevitable, for the great masters had already said the last word in the art of the time. Franciabigio was a pupil of Albertinelli, and became a co-worker with Andrea del Sarto, by whom he was greatly influenced, although Andrea was by several years his junior. Franciabigio painted some very fine portraits in oils. His finest work is perhaps the Marriage of the Virgin, in the Annunciate Church at Florence. The monks uncovered this work before it was finished, which so enraged the artist that he attacked it with hammer blows. The head of the Virgin was entirely destroyed, and it has never been restored. F LORENTINE AND ROMAN SCHOOLS: MICHELANGELO. (3) Michelangelo (1475-1564), one of the world's four painters, was the most majestic of them all. His great word in art was power. He dealt in the things that are vast, titanic, superhuman. Everything he did, everything he studied, was done for the strength in it. He was the most powerful creative genius that ever lived. He did not care for the imitation of facts; his tre- mendous thoughts and feelings were put forth through forms, built on the .knowledge of facts, but nevertheless created. His fig- ures, huge of limb but not gross, mighty in pose and gesture though not exaggerated, without human prototype still instinct with life whether in repose or in motion, impress one with a vast, unexplainable power, with a might like the grandeur of huge architec- tural creations. He himself was a stern, rugged, grand, unflinching character, who carried art to its highest pinnacle, and lived long enough to see the mighty impulse, which culminated in him, shatter and break and become mere imitation and mummery in those that tried to follow his vast flight. He was more of a sculptor than a painter in that he did not care for the more sensuous charm of color and atmosphere; but his architectural decorations gain all the more in that he leaves out the matter of atmos- phere and consequent illusion. In grandeur of composition he is of the best, and in draw- ing he stands supreme. Weak of body, his inflexible will and temper account for his immense productivity. Michelangelo was born near Florence. Of noble family, his father, a poor man, wanted him to adopt the profession of notary public or advocate rather than that of artist, for which he had great contempt. But the spirit within the boy was not to be denied. He neglected his irksome studies, and spent a great deal of his time in artists', studios, mastering art as best he might by himself, until Ghirlandajo, who saw the wonderful power in the boy, pleaded his cause so well that his father at last con- sented, and Michelangelo entered Ghirlan- dajo's studio at fourteen. Here Ghirlandajo paid him a small sum for his help instead of charging for tuition as was usually the case. When fifteen Michelangelo was selected among other fortunate youths to study in the academy which Lorenzo the Magnificent had established in his garden under the charge of Bartoldo, the sculptor. He instantly caught Lorenzo's attention by his Satyr's Mask, and that patron of art offered to take the young genius and care for him. With Lorenzo Michelangelo heard the con- versation of the greatest men of the day, and this must have wonderfully stimulated his youthful mind. His activity was directed entirely to sculpture until 1503, when he entered into direct competition, if so it can be called, with Leonardo da Vinci in car- toons for the decoration of the Town Hall of Florence. Leonardo da Vinci chose as a subject the defeat of the Milanese by the Florentines in 1440. Here he could intro- duce his great knowledge and study of the horse. Michelangelo's subject was a group of Florentines surprised while bathing in front of Pisa, which they were besieging. Powerful figures in all positions, some naked, some half-clothed, form the subject, HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 377 and it gave Michelangelo full chance to dis- play his great knowledge of the human fig- ure. These two cartoons were never executed in fresco on the walls; but they formed a school for all the artists of the time, and their influence was felt to a power- ful degree in the development of modern art. Both cartoons have perished. Rubens copied from Leonardo's a group of horsemen fighting for a standard, but he did it in his own Flemish manner. Baccio Bandinelli, a sculptor and rival of Michelangelo, is said to have cut Michelangelo's cartoons into shreds in a fit of jealousy, but some of the groups are known through old copies and engrav- ings. In 1506 Pope Julius II. called Michelan- gelo to Rome. The pope had a magnificent project for his own tomb, and Michelan- gelo was to execute it; but it was never completed. Bramante, the architect, could not bear to see Michelangelo in favor, and often made him suffer by his schemes arid plots. At last he made the pope believe that to build one's tomb while living was an ill omen, and Michelangelo's work was thus brought to an end. The pope then commanded Michelangelo to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo protested ; for he was a sculptor and no painter, he said, but his pleas were unavailing. He was so diffident about his power as a painter that he invited several painters from Florence to assist him by coloring the decorations from his designs. But, as one might expect, these painters were unable to grasp the style of the giant mind, and in disgust Michelangelo destroyed their work and sent them away. It is said that he spent only twenty-two months on this gigantic undertaking the ceiling was 150 feet long and 50 feet wide but others estimate that it took three or even four years. On the surface of this ceiling, which is a flattened arch in section, he painted in all about two hundred figures, some of colossal size. (See the cut, p, 43.) The center of the ceiling, which is a flat plane, is divided into nine compartments, four large and five small. In the large com- partments he has represented the Creation of Sun and Moon, the Creation of Adam, the Fall, and the Deluge. In the small compartments are represented the Gather- ing of the Waters, the Almighty Separating Light from Darkness, the Creation of Eve, the Sacrifice of Noah, and the Drunken- ness of Noah. In the curved part are rep- resented, besides the genealogy of Christ, the colossal figures of sibyls and prophets, and in the four corners are scenes represent- ing the miraculous deliverances of Israel. DECORATIVE FIGURE IN THK SISTINE CHAPEL. ANGELO. All these figures and scenes are contained in a well composed strong architectural framework. There is not one figure or por- tion in it but has its own interest, and yet it is all ordered and unified into one grand whole. It took one with the gifts of a great sculptor, architect and painter to keep this vast space, so crowded with interest, from being scattered; but Michelangelo had them all, and with well-defined spaces and strong PAINTING: leading architectural lines, which emphasize each scene at the same time that they unite them, he has produced a decoration that is one of the marvels of the world in its repose in action. The first three compositions, the Drunk- enness of Noah, the Deluge, and the Sacri- fice of Noah, are smaller of figure than the other compositions. This is especially true of the Deluge. Michelangelo evidently started at this end of the ceiling, and, find- ing that the figures in the Deluge could hardly be seen from below, altered the scale in the other compositions. The triangular compositions representing the ancestors of Christ are interesting as being gentler and tenderer than is Michel- angelo's wont. These are really idyllic family groups, wherein some of the female figures are full of grace and beauty. The seated architectural figures are mar- velous in their variety of pose and strength, and with the sibyls and prophets we come upon some of the mightiest figures known to art. But the climax of all the figures is reached in the Adam of the Creation. (See the cut, p. 369 ) In all art there is nothing like it save the grandly god-like figures of the ^Parthenon pediment. Mighty is the form as it lies stretched on the rirn of the world, powerful and huge, but what grace withal in every supple line ! Nothing else could be worthy of the father of a race. There is that about Michelangelo's work which cre- ates a mood like that one falls into when viewing some overpowering scene of nature, some mighty mountain range or grand sweep of ocean. It is no wonder that Sir Joshua Reynolds said of Michelangelo: "To kiss the hem of his garment, to catch the slightest of his perfections, would be glory and distinction enough for any ambitious man." Michelangelo did not paint again for twenty-two years, but in 1534 Paul III. de- cided to have the Sistine Chapel finished, and Michelangelo, again interrupted in his work as a sculptor, now painted on the end wall of the chapel his Last Judgment, a picture sixty feet high. The composition was part of Michelangelo's scheme, and had always been intended by him. In mastery of form, in power of drawing the figure in the most difficult positions, this work is unrivaled; but it does not have the well- ordered dignity of composition which dis- tinguishes the ceiling decoration. All is grewsome despair in this conception. There is no ray of joy; even the blessed are weighed down by the doom of the con- demned. The Christ figure is awe-inspiring in its expression of terrible wrath. In this composition Michelangelo indulged to the fullest bent his love for the nude figure, but there seem to have been prudes in those days as well as now. Pope Paul IV., who did not care for art at all, wished to have the painting destroyed; but a compromise was effected by having Daniele da Volterra paint draperies over some of the most "objectionable" figures, a deed which earned him the title of breeches-maker. The last pictures Michelangelo executed are the two frescoes in the Pauline Chapel of the Vatican, The Crucifixion of St. Peter and The Conversion of St. Paul. These are so blackened by incense smoke, and so badly preserved generally that they are rarely even mentioned. Michelangelo did only one easel picture, a Holy Family. It shows the mastery of difficult posture and anatomy, as does all of Michelangelo's work; but it lacks the ten- derness and feeling that one expects from such a subject. The Fates and other easel pictures given as being Michelangelo's were painted by his pupils and followers, some- times from his designs, but often in imita- tion of him. Michelangelo led his lonely and stern life to the last, a giant among men, never swerving from his purpose, always true to himself. His path in art was entirely orig- inal, the expression of a tremendous person- ality, an individual temperament. It is in this intense individuality of temperament that he is so modern, and comes so near us at the present time. Grimm says of him: "All Italians feel that he occupies the third place by the side of Dante and Raphael and forms with them a triumvirate of the great- est men produced by their country, a poet, a painter, and one who was great in all arts. HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITALY. 379 Who would place a gen- eral or a statesman by their side as equal to them? It is art alone which marks the prime of nations. " Michelangelo's tre- mendous personality exerted a powerful in- fluence on all the paint- ers of his time, even the "divine" Raphael falling under his spell. But the direct imitators failed sadly; for where he expressed tremen- dous power and awe-in- spiring grandeur, they would sink into mere exaggeration and gross- ness. A few of his followers, however, showed some independence and painted things of some strength. F LORENTINE AND ROMAN SCHOOLS: VOLTERRA, VEN- USTI, PIOMBO.( 4 ) Daniele da Volterra (1509-1566) was the strongest of them. His great pic- ture is the Descent from the Cross in S. Trinita de Monte at Rome. Poussin classed it among the three pictures of the world rather an absurd statement. The picture is full of action and passion, but almost too violently so ; and there is a certain affecta- tion in pose and gesture. It is so much better than other pictures by Daniele da Volterra, that the design is in part ascribed to Michelangelo. Marcello Venusti (1515-1585?) painted a number of pictures directly from Michel- angelo's designs. His technique was smooth and finished, and forms a peculiar contrast to the powerful designs of Michelangelo. Certain characteristics of Michelangelo, for instance the bended wrist, become an un- pleasant reiteration in some of his followers. In the Holy Family (or Silence) of Venusti, for instance, the pose of the Virgin's hand MARTYRDOM OF SAINT AGATHA. PIOMBO. is sprawly in fingers, and the pose of the hand of St. Joseph and of the Christ child is decidedly monotonous and tire- some. His copy of Michelangelo's Last Judgment, in the Gallery of Naples, was made under Michelangelo's own superin- tendence, and is of especial interest now that the original is in such a bad state of preservation. Sebastiano del Piombo (1485-1547) was an- other strong follower of Michelangelo. Born in Venice and trained under the strongest painters there, he had the fine color and light and shade qualities of the Venetians. These he tried to unite with Florentine grandeur of line, after coming to Rome and falling under Michelangelo's influence. The yielding softness and texture of flesh so distinctive of the Venetians was also Sebas- tiano's, and in that he is much different from Michelangelo. The mastery of the mystery of light and 'shade is also his, and like Giorgione, his early master, he loves to dwell on the glint of light on armor and its glimmer on soft flesh. It was his ability to render the more sensuous, the beauties of nature, that gave rise to the story that Michelangelo once designed a pic- ture for Sebastiano to paint, so that thus Raphael might be outdone. Sebastiano 3 8o PAINTING: was really a wonderful portrait painter. Here he combined the color of Titian with Michelangelo's style of drawing. His masterpiece is supposed to be the Rais- ing of Lazarus, in the National Gallery, London. F LORENTINE AND ROMAN SCHOOLS: RAPHAEL. (5) "Raphael (1483-1520) the Prince of Painters," "Raphael the Divine" are names given again and again to this one of the quartet of the world's painters. "The harmonist of the Renaissance," he is also called, and rightly, for his great aim was to produce a union of all elements into a perfect whole. For the same reason he was also called the "Greek of the Renais- sance." The passionate fiery expression of indi- viduality by Michelangelo is not Raphael's. He stands more apart from his creations, he views them more critically. Feeling is tem- pered by thought, by regard for canons and established laws of proportion. Not that Raphael is cold, for his works are full of feeling; but he is more serenely calm, more tempered, more regardful of an exact bal- ance, rhythm and union of feeling, thought, form, proportion and expression. Michel- angelo is subjective entirely; Raphael is objective. With him the personal element is kept in the background. The headlong, passionate working out of a mood was for- eign to Raphael; he worked more deliber- ately, added one thing here, another there, held himself always in check, and saw to it that nothing had undue prominence, that nothing was one-sided. His figures are grand, majestic, serenely powerful, but not mighty, passionate and titanic, like Michel- angelo's. He was more of a painter pure and simple than Michelangelo. For a Florentine his color was good, his light and shade had the beauty of nature's mysteries in it, envelope also was at his command, and in drawing and composition he was grand, forceful. For grace, lofty serenity, purity and beauty of line and form he stands su- preme. It is not that Raphael did all things better than any one else that makes him supreme, but it is the wonderfully harmonious union of all excellencies in him. Titian had better color, and far better brush work, Michelangelo greater power, vaster thoughts, Leonardo da Vinci per- haps more charm and feeling; but none other than Raphael has possessed all these qualities. We should expect a fine character and an even temperament from a man who pro- duced work like that, and Raphael had both. There was nothing crabbed or mean about him. His spirit was true, sweet and whole- some, and he felt no jealousy of the attain- ments of others. To all he gave their due, and he paid homage and deference to paint- ers who were older than he, but whose art was far below his own. It has been well said of him, "Every grace of mind and hand was Raphael's." He saw the good in other artists' work, and would assimilate from them, but not imitate. He made their various qualities his own; they bear the stamp of his individuality. In studying Raphael's work one finds that it passes through three distinct styles. The first is the Peruginesque. This manner characterized him while he was directly under Perugino's influence and for some time after. The second is the Florentine manner, acquired during his visit to Flor- ence and while under the influence of Fra Bartolommeo and Leonardo da Vinci. The third is the Roman manner, which becomes characteristic of him after his coming to Rome and feeling the influence of Michel- angelo's work. His greatest works are those of the Roman Period. Raphael was born in the city of Urbino. His father, Giovanni Santi, gave him his first training; but Giovanni died while Raphael was still young, and his uncle de- cided to place him with Perugino, who was then at the height of his fame. It is said that Perugino exclaimed upon seeing Ra- phael's sketches: "Let him be my pupil, he will soon become my master." Raphael was less assertive than Michelangelo. His progress was gradual and there is no indica- tion of the force and strength and grandeur HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 381 of his Roman period in his Marriage of the Virgin, the best -known picture of the Peru- ginesque period. There is far more life than in Perugino's work, greater beauty of drawing and expression; but there is the wistful, mild sweetness of that master, the same slight affectation in tilt of head and the same lack of dramatic force. The young man, for instance, breaking his rod, shows no agitation, no vigor of pose. There is also the same simple symmetrical com- position which distinguishes Perugino's work. It is Perugino's style carried to per- fection. It was about this time (1504) that Raphael made his first visit to Florence. Here he became acquainted with Fra Bartolommeo, and saw the cartoons of Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo. It was a powerful stim- ulus to Raphael, and revealed to him new ideas of form and composition. His work became far stronger in line and action, and grander in form. There was more of na- ture, affectations were dropped, and certain peculiarities in handling of draperies disap- peared. The St. Catherine of the later Florentine manner, now in the -National Gallery, London, is a splendid contrast to the Marriage of the Virgin. That looks weak beside it. The strength of pose and free, grand swing of line and natural fullness of form in the St. Catherine makes an agree- able contrast to the Marriage of the Virgin. There is still the Peruginesque feeling, but it is less sentimental, far more virile and much loftier. This can be seen to the full in one of the most famous pictures of the Florentine manner, The Madonna of the Goldfinch, Graceful and sweet in expres- sion, it has besides a strength which places it far above Perugino's rather weak works. The face has the regularity of classic art, but far more warmth of expression. The beautiful pure line and form is such as Ra- phael alone mastered. The head of the Christ child is not successful when com- pared to that of the child in the Madonna di San Sisto. It looks almost unhealthy beside that, and too strained in the effect of expres- sion. The equally famous La Belle Jar- diniere, in the Louvre, is far more successful in the Christ child, here entirely natural, but without the peculiar something which makes the Christ child in the Madonna di San Sisto supreme. Moreover, the light and shade in La Belle Jardiniere is far stronger. It is impossible to describe the beautiful flow of line and the tender model- ing of form in this picture. (See the full page cut on p. 385). ^ Whereas Michelangelo seems to have hewed out his mighty lines, Raphael appears to have loved his into being, so gracefully do they flow and ripple one into the other, so fraught are they with feeling and tenderness. F LORENTINE AND ROMAN SCHOOLS: RAPHAEL. Con- tinued. (6) Many artists of the Renaissance reached full prime early in life. Whether the greater stimulus of a universal appreciation of art or whether peculiar training was the cause is hard to say. There is one thing cer- tain, however, that art training was begun earlier. When Raphael was twenty-five years old his fame completely filled Italy. He had then entirely emerged from the Peruginesque manner, based his work on nature, rather than on the traditions which governed Perugino, and had far greater scope than that master. It was now that Bramante, the architect, saw that his fellow townsman had become strong enough, and he recommended Raphael to Pope Julius II. to decorate rooms in the Vatican. The youthful Raphael saw the mighty frescoes of Michaelangelo and fell under their power- ful spell, and it is from this time that his third manner, the Roman, dates. The new element, the grandeur of Michelangelo, appeared, and now there sprang from under his wonderful brush those creations from which succeeding artists have borrowed something or other, but which none have been able to equal, much less improve upon. There were four of these halls or stanzas which Raphael decorated. They had al- ready been partly decorated by Perugino and Francesca; but when Raphael had fin- ished the first stanza, the pope was so aston- ished and delighted that he commanded that 3 82 PAINTING: all the former frescoes should be destroyed and that Raphael should decorate the entire hall. This Raphael refused to do. He venerated his old master, and it was foreign to him to slight what had been done by others. The first stanza to be decorated was the Judicial Assembly Hall, called "La Segnatura." Here he painted in grand allegories representations of Theology, Poetry, Philosophy and Jurisprudence. of Theology, or Knowledge of Divine Things, are the most beautiful in line and pose. There is an indescribable grace about these figures, an earnest, gentle se- riousness and serenity. For a gentle rhyth- mic flow of line, so that one takes up where another ends, Raphael has never been sur- passed. The large wall decorations in this stanza illustrate the progression of Raphael's style, THE "DISPUTA. " RAPHAEL. Four allegorical figures representing these abstractions appear in circular spaces on the vaulted ceiling. Under these figures and on the four sides of the room Raphael painted four great pictures about fifteen feet high by twenty-five feet wide, illustrat- ing historically the four allegorical figures above. The allegorical figures are painted against a gold background which is treated as a mosaic. The figure of Poetry and that a progression so rapid that it becomes ap- parent even in this single room. Under the figure of Theology is the so-called La Disputa del Sacramento, which should rather be called Divine Inspiration. This was the first painting that he did. Next came the Parnassus, painted under the allegorical figure of Poetry. Here we find the painting less minutely done, with less of the old clinging to it. With the School HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 383 of Athens, placed under the figure of Philosophy, we reach a larger style and grander composition, with the general mass thought of more than the detail. There is something majestic, however, in the line of Saints in the Divine Inspiration, as it sweeps in a curve from one side of the composition to the other, and divides the field in a peculiarly happy proportion of space. This line is again beautifully opposed by the extended line of prelates, sages and students underneath. It is this thorough understanding of the necessities of clearly divided spaces and strong leading lines en- closing different elements of the composition that makes Raphael's decorations so truly architectural in spite of the fact that they are "holes" in the wall. That Raphael has clung to gold ornamentation and certain other conventionalities in the upper part of this composition, is no doubt due to the absolute impossibility of depicting such a scene with anything but symbols. How won- derfully the main axis of the composition is kept through the figure of Christ, and how' well all the lines lead to that figure, any one can perceive. The Parnassus is com- posed over and on each side of a window. The composition here has the rhythmic grouping of figures so characteristic of the Last Supper, by Leonardo da Vinci. Al- though subdivided into groups, the compo- sition has a wonderful unity, the total line made by the several groups beautifully fit- ting the architectural setting and the space to be covered. The School of Athens is the most im- pressive of the four compositions. It is truly great in dignity of line and mass. The figures are grand beings, elevated above the common, beings who impress one with powers beyond the ordinary. Again there is the same ordering of the separate parts, the same unity; but the composition has even more stability and architectural weight. The different groups are varied and full of interest. The two central figures, Plato and Aristotle, are grand in form and ges- ture, and are a worthy climax to it all. On the whole this is perhaps the grandest composition, the most sublime, of all the stanzas. The fourth composition under Jurispru- dence had to meet the same difficulty as the Parnassus. A large window breaks up the space, but instead of being covered with one composition this wall is divided into three separate pictures. Directly under the ceil- ing and enclosed by the arch are represented Prudence, Fortitude and Temperance, as virtues necessary for the application of law to daily life. At the sides of the window is represented the Science of Jurisprudence, in its two divisions of ecclesiastical and civil law. Justinian on the left represents state law, and Gregory XL on the right ecclesias- tical law. The picture in the arch, without being so majestic in composition as the others, is magnificently beautiful in gran- deur of figure, in beautiful roundness of form, in fine arrangement of drapery, in a wonderful balance and opposition of line and mass, and above all by a flow and rhythm of line which ripples through the whole composition. It was not till the year 1510 that Raphael commenced the second stanza, called Stanza dell' Eliodoro, from the most famous com- position in it. The pictures in this room are the Expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple, the Mass of Bolsena, the Attila, and St. Peter Delivered from Prison. The last named, besides being a fine dramatic rendering of the subject, is a masterful rendering of conflicting lights, of the sheen on armor, and 6f the vigor of attitude. The figure of the angel leading St. Peter from the prison is a peculiarly strong yet beautiful one. The Expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple is the strongest among the compositions of this stanza. Here the dramatic element is still more evident. The rush of the angels bent on their errand of punishment, and the agitation of the spectators are finely given. The beautiful wrathful being on the horse is fine in power of form and vigor of pose. The Stanza dell' Incendio was done in great part by Raphael's scholars from his designs. Commissions poured in upon him in such numbers that he was unable to do much but direct the work of his scholars and furnish the designs. He had, moreover, suc- ceeded Bramante as architect of St. Peter's, PAINTING: MIRACULOUS DRAUGHT OF FISHES. RAPHAEL. and his hands were too full. The work in this stanza progressed so slowly that the fourth chamber, the Sala di Costantino, was not completed until after his death. In the Stanza dell' Incendio was painted the Vic- tory at Ostia over the Saracens, The Oath of Leo III., Charlemagne Crowned by Leo III., and The Fire in the Borgo. The Fire in the Borgo is the most remark- able work in this stanza. It shows perhaps most thoroughly of all Raphael's work the influence of Michelangelo in powerful forms and anatomical rendering. In particular the figure of the woman to the right is a powerful rendering of form and windswept drapery. The agitation and varying degrees of despair in the single figures are wonder- fully rendered, and there is still a well-bal- anced, well-united composition; but in some of the other pictures in this stanza begin to be seen the germs of the tendency so soon to ruin the art of Italy, a striving for dra- matic effect at any cost, an exaggeration of muscular development and action. The Victory over the Saracens, for in- stance, lacks the stability of mass and gran- deur of line so essential to a monumental decoration, and in the Sala del Costantino, which was done after Raphael's death, and in which his designs were deliberately al- tered, there is visible a positive degeneracy. Crowded, restless and confused compositions displace the grand ma- jestic, architectural compositions of the Stanza del Segnatura. There is a striving to show anatomical skill, to make a figure pow- erful by exaggerating form, and the execution is much more careless and coarse. The Loggii, of the Vatican, open galleries running around three sides of an open court, were also decorated by Raphael's scholars un- der his personal direc- tion. The entire series of pictures here is called Raphael's Bible. F LORENTINE AND ROMAN SCHOOLS: RAPHAEL. Con- cluded.^'] There was still one more great undertaking that Raphael did for the Vati- can. That was making the cartoons for tapestries for the Sistine Chapel. The lower walls of the chapel had been orna- mented with paintings in imitation of dra- peries, but Leo X. resolved to substitute real draperies of the most costly material, and he commissioned Raphael to design the car- toons for them. These were to be copied by the looms of Flanders, and worked in a mix- ture of wool, silk and gold. In spite of their costliness of material, all the tapestries to- gether are not worth one of the cartoons; yet for a long while these were lost or for- gotten in the dusty warehouse of the weaver at Arras. Three of these invaluable car- toons were never recovered, but the remain- ing ten, after running many risks of destruction, came by the advice of Rubens into the hands of Charles I. of England. They are now in the Kensington Museum, LA BELLE JARDINERE. RAPHAEL. (SEE PAGE 381.) HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 387 London, and form one of the greatest art treasures in the world. The subject of the designs is the history of the Apostles. Richardson says about the figures in these pictures that they are a sort of people superior to what one has ever seen. "What grace and majesty," says he, "is seen in the great Apostle of the Gentiles in all his actions, preaching, rending his garments, denouncing vengeance upon the Sorcerer! What a dignity is in the other Apostles wherever they appear, particularly the prince of them in the cartoon of Ananias! How infinitely and divinely great, with all his gentleness and simplicity, is the Christ in the boat! But these are exalted characters, which have a delicacy in them as much beyond what any of the gods, demi-gods, or heroes of the ancient heathens admit of, as the Christian religion excels the ancient superstition!" The younger Rich- ardson compares the frescoes of the Vatican Stanza with the cartoons, and sa)^ about the latter, "They are better painted, colored and drawn; the composition is better, the airs of the heads are more exquisitely fine ; there is more grace and greatness spread throughout; in short, they are better pic- tiires, judging them only as they are com- monly judged of, and without taking the thought and invention into the account." Sir Charles Eastlake says: "As designs they are universally considered the finest inventions of Raphael. At the time he was commissioned to prepare them, the fame of Michelangelo's ceiling, in the same chapel they were destined to adorn, was at its height; and Raphael, inspired with a noble emulation, his practice matured by the exe- cution of several frescoes in the Vatican, treated these new subjects with an elevation of style not perhaps equaled in his former efforts. The highest qualities of these works are undoubtedly addressed to the mind, as vivid interpretations of the spirit and letter of the Scriptures; but as exam- ples of art they are the most perfect expres- sions of that general grandeur of treatment in form, composition, and draperies, which the Italian masters contemplated from the first, as suited to the purposes of religion and the size of the tem-ples destined to receive such works. In the cartoons this greatness of style, not without a due regard to variety of character, pervades every figure, and is so striking in some of the Apostles as to place them on a level with the Prophets of Michelangelo." Raphael's greatest easel pictures are from his Roman manner. Among them are some wonderful portraits. The Fornarina, a portrait of Raphael's supposed mistress, Pope Julius II., and Pope Leo X. are among the best. In these portraits one receives an additional proof of the wonderful range of Raphael's art. One who is essentially ideal in his treatment of figures, ordinarily so that they are very impersonal, here comes out in strong realistic rendering of indi- viduality and personality the very essence of the man portrayed. What a difference between the two popes! One rather coarse featured, round jawed and fat, but with wrinkled brow and tightly-clipped lips de- noting great determination and will power; the other old and bent, refined of feature, but with deep, serious eyes denoting purpose, set under the overhanging, reflective brow. Then how splendidly Raphael has rendered PORTRAIT OF POPE JULIUS II. RAPHAEL PAINTING: the textures, he who has been accused of not knowing how to render them ! Here the varying- qualities of texture in fur, velvet, hair, metal, etc., are given with the utmost fidelity. To the Roman period belongs also the celebrated St. Cecilia, a picture full of inde- scribable sentiment, with noble forms and expressive attitudes. Notice, for instance, the ecstatic uplifted face of St. Cecilia, and her graceful, beautiful form, the powerful MADONNA DELLA SEDIA (CHAIR), OR SECGIOLA (LITTLE CHAIR). RAPHAEL. brooding figure of St. Paul, so majestic in its swing of line, and the highstrung, soulful, inspired head of St. John. What a contrast these strongly-moved but quiet figures to the St. Michael and Satan in the Louvre, where the beautiful form of the Angel appears like a flash on the groveling demon. Raphael's Madonnas are the greatest in all art. Here also how magnificently varied he is! Some are the joyful mothers of the earth, some are wistful and tender, others are the divine being who is to be worshiped. The Madonna della Sedia, "of the Chair" and the Madonna di San SisLo or Sistine Madonna are the best known. The former is a circular composition, and it is a wonder- ful adaptation to its field. There is an ex- quisite tenderness in the way the mother caressingly bends her head down to her child's. But the greatest of all the Madon- nas is the Madonna di San Sisto, now in the Dresden Gallery. Here is the most won- derful representation of a divine child and a divine mother, divine but still human, with the power to sym- pathize with the hu- man. Never has the Christ child been so ex- altedly treated. Truly a child; there is still an indescribable depth in the eyes, which be- speaks worlds of thought and power. How ten- der and sympathetic the mother through all her majesty; how sweet and humble the reverence of St. Barbara, as she sinks to her knees in adoration ; how trustful and expressive in atti- tude the Pope, as he intercedes for humanity outside. The composi- tion is a marvel of grace, rhythm, flow, and bal- ance of line, and the drapery is managed with a wonderful skill, so that although every fold falls in just the right place, it still looks as if taken directly from nature. The glory of innumerable angels' heads in the background lends a ra- diance to the whole composition ; and the two cherubs below bestow a charming note of naive, childlike seriousness, besides filling out the composition in just the right place. Raphael had the good fortune to be fully appreciated while still living. His com- missions were innumerable, and he became HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITALY. 389 rich. It was said of him that he lived rath- er like a prince than a painter; but his spirit was always the same: gentle, courteous, kind, free from all petty jeal- ousy and ill-feeling. When he went to the Papal Court it is said that fifty of his pupils and fellow workers al- ways attended him as though they were his retinue, and they glo- ried in doing him such homage. His life be- came so busy that many pictures left his studio which were not done by him, but which were attributed to him. Then those who were jealous of him would insinuate that Raphael was losing power, that his mastery was declining. Thus, it is said, he decided to paint a picture entirely by his own hand which should forever refute the accusation. This was the Transfigura- tion, which, it is further said, he painted in in- direct competition with Michelangelo. The story goes that the latter desired to put Sebastiano del Piombo forward as no unworthy rival of Raphael ; but to in- sure good design he composed and drew in the picture himself, much to the delight of Ra- phael, who expressed pleasiire at the austere Michelangelo himself entering into compe- tition with him. Although profound in thought and beautiful in execution, while tremendously expressive in action and ges- ture, and full of dramatic force, we still feel in the Transfiguration a lack of the sim- plicity and unity of composition so essentially a usual characteristic of Raphael. Here one sees really two compositions, in no par- ticular way tied together except by the MADONNA DI SAN SISTO. RAPHAEL. thought contained in the scenes depicted. Pictorially it is two compositions. The restlessness of drapery in the three floating figures also mars the sublimity of the con- ception. Kugler, however, says: "The twofold action contained in this picture, to which shallow critics have taken exception, is explained historically and satisfactorily merely by the fact that the incident of the possessed boy occurred in the absence of Christ; but it explains itself in a still higher sense, when we consider the deeper, uni- versal meaning of the picture. For this purpose it is not even necessary to consult the books of the New Testament for the explanation of the particular incidents; the 39 PAINTING: lower portion represents the calamities and miseries of human life the rule of demoniac power, the weakness even of the faithful when unassisted and points to a superior power. Above in the brightness of divine bliss, undisturbed by the suffering of the lower world, we behold the source of consolation and redemption from evil." All of this, however, deals only with the intel- lectual phase of the subject and does not do away with the feeling, that pictorially the composition falls short, in that the eye must force itself from one point of interest to another, and that there is no single climax, no one center of interest to which every- thing should lead. It is indeed a wonder that Raphael in his short life should have been able to accom- plish so much. Besides his painting, he was architect of St. Peter's after Bramante's death ; he designed several works in sculp- ture; and he conducted excavations which brought to light the treasures of the old Rome hidden underground. It was while engaged in this last work that he exposed himself so that he was taken with a violent fever, and died after fourteen days' illness on his birthday, April 6th, thirty-seven years old. All classes grieved over his prema- ture death, and the grief of his friends and scholars was unspeakable. It is said that the pope, upon hearing of Raphael's death, broke out into lamentations over his own and the world's loss. After lying in state with the picture of the Transfiguration, still wet and unfinished (afterwards completed by Guilio Romano) suspended over his head, his re- mains were carried to the church of the Pantheon, a multitude of all ranks following in a sad procession, and was there interred as he himself had requested. Painters had poured into Rome from all quarters of Italy during Raphael's lifetime, and they tried to imitate his style closely. After his death this school, the Roman, was scattered over Italy, the conquest and pillage of Rome in 1527 by the French con- tributing not a little to dispersing them. But the imitation of a master, as in the case of Michelangelo, proved fatal, what origin- ality they might have had being entirely lost. F LORENTINE AND ROMAN SCHOOLS: ROMANO AND OTHERS. MILANESE SCHOOL. SIENNESE SCHOOL. (8) Giulio Romano (1492-1546) was the strong- est of Raphael's pupils, and became the real founder of the Roman School, which directly influenced the painting of the Decadence. As long as he was under Raphael's influence he painted so closely in his style that in many instances his work is almost like his master's; but after Raphael's death he struck out for himself, and in his hands the refined strength and power of Raphael be- came exaggerated coarseness. He was a good draughtsman, but his forms are heavy and entirely lack the grace of Raphael. His color was dead and of a bricky tone, due, it is said, to his having been employed so much by Raphael for the dead-coloring of his pic- tures. In his decorations at Mantua, the Fall of the Giants, in the Palazzo del Te, he oversteps all bounds of taste and artistic judgment. The walls are painted as a tum- bling, chaotic mass of architecture, in the midst of which the bulky giants are being crushed. The decorations are entirely out of scale with the room, which is rather small. Thus the decadence of Italian art is already staring one in the face ; for here the nice discrimination of fitness, of har- mony, of restrained and ordered power is entirely lost. Francesco Penni (i488?-i528) was, next to Giulio Romano, Raphael's most confidential assistant. He died only eight years after Raphael, and his works are rare; but he seems to have been content to closely follow Raphael's style. Francesco Primaticcio (1490-1570) was a pupil of Giulio Romano. He assisted Giulio in the Palazzo del Te, and was afterwards invited by Francis I. to France, where he had much to do with founding the school of Fontainebleau. Giovanni da Udine (1487-1564) was trained in the Venetian School before coming to Raphael. He was chiefly distinguished for painting the arabesques in the Loggie of the Vatican. The style of these was founded on the antique decorations in the Baths of HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITALY. Titus, then recently discovered, and formed a new school of ornamental art, the influ- ence of which is still felt. Perino del Vaga (1500-1547) also did some decorative work in the Loggia of great liveli- ness and interest. The little Cupids, for instance, holding wreaths, etc., are full of lively action and drawn with much vigor and grace. Andrea Sabbatini (1480?- 1545) was one of the chief instruments in bringing the principles of the Roman School to the south of Italy. Sabbatini 's color was good, but he fell into a mannered style in trying to fol- low Raphael. Several artists from the Bo- lognese School, and fol- lowers of Francia, en- tered into Raphael's School. Innocenza da Imoli (i494-i55 ?), although he never resided in Rome, became such a zealous follower of Ra- phael that he often re- peats whole figures from Raphael's pictures in his own compositions. Timoteodi Viti (1469- 1523) was born at Ur- bino and returned there after a short residence at Rome. His work has the grace of Raphael and a good deal of the Umbrian sentiment His Magdalene in the Desert is a charming example of his work, and shows that he did not run into the ex- cesses of the Roman School. The Milanese School. Leonardo da Vinci and his academy exerted a great influence on the painters of Milan, and many painters followed his type and methods. Kugler says: "The distinguishing qualities of Leo- nardo were variously repeated by his schol- ars, according to their own individual pe- culiarities. Although none attained to his eminence, a certain amiable and pure spirit, reflected from his noble mind, pervades the whole school. This spirit seems to have preserved his followers from falling into the unmeaning style, and mere aca- demic ostentation, which characterize almost all the schools founded by the other great masters of the time." The most prominent of Leonardo's followers was Bernardino Luini (1475?- 1533?), whose work is characterized by sweetness and purity of sentiment, a trait really distin- guishing the whole school. His style re- sembles Leonardo's to such an extent that several pictures which are now attributed to DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. LUINI. Luini were formerly thought to be Leo- nardo's. The Herodias' Daughter, in the Uffizi, for instance, is one of these. It has much of Leonardo's charm and softness of light and shade and much of his grace, but it lacks the penetration of that master and his power to represent character. Luini's frescoes rank him among the first fresco painters, for his technique in that medium was astonishingly free and bold. In the Brera Gallery are several fragments of his wall-paintings, and among them the Body of St. Catherine Borne to the Tomb is 39 2 PAINTING: the finest. This is distinguished by a beau- tiful simplicity, purity and tenderness of spirit. Marco da Oggiono (i47o?-i53o) was also a close follower of Leonardo, but he did not have the sweetness and deep charm of Luini. He made an excellent copy of Leonardo's Last Supper. Andrea del Salaino (fl. 1495- 1518) resembles him, but has more freedom and power. Beltraffio (1467-1516) is a painter of much gentle refinement and purity. Andrea Solario (i458?-i5i5?) shows SAINT SEBASTIAN. SODOMA. by a portrait in the London Gallery a de- cided Flemish influence in the close follow- ing of line and modeling. But he came later under the influence of Leonardo at Milan. The Flemish carefulness still distin- guished him, but his work became imbued with much feeling and tenderness. Care- fully-wrought detail and smooth finish is also characteristic of him. Qaudenzio Ferrara (1481?- 15 47?) is distinguished by a peculiarly fantastic style of his own. He was an exceptionally brilliant colorist, but his work lacks tone. He used primaries almost entirely, and his color lacks unity. His frescoes are almost equal to Luini's in freshness. He painted unevenly, and senti- ment with him was sometimes carried too far, but in all he is considered one of the most interesting painters of northern Italy. The Siennese School, which had been so important in the Gothic period, had no artists of any prominence in the fifteenth century; but in the sixteenth century it saw a decided revival under the leadership of Sodoma (also variously called Razzi or Bazzi), (i477?-i549), who settled in Sienna and built up a school there. He was a pupil of Leonardo da Vinci, and his earlier work was strongly influenced by him. He seems much better in single figures than in large compositions where many figures are introduced, for these are often crowded. The human figure he rendered with the greatest beauty of form and line and ex-, pression, and his best female heads are almost ranked with Leonardo's. His St. Sebatian, in the Uffizi, shows a fineness of form almost classic in its perfection of modeling. In his Descent into Hades, now in the Museum of Sienna, the figure of Eve is so beautiful, so exquisite in line and proportion, with so much of Leonardo's charm and feeling, that it is justly famous. The figure is part of a fresco in which medium Sodoma's best works were done. Sodoma became a friend of Raphael, and later in life he was strongly influenced by him. The other men of the Siennese school were not of much strength, and the influence of the school in the sixteenth century was very slight. Baldassare Peruzzi (1481-1536) was one of the best of the modern archi- tects, and he also holds considerable rank as a painter. He is especially known for his architectural ornamental painting. Domen- ico Beccafumi (1486-1551) assisted his mas- ter Sodoma, and at such times his work approaches the excellence of his master's. He became more mechanical in later life. Pacchiarotta (1474-1540?), who also assisted Sodoma in his frescoes, and Qirolamo della Pacchia (1477-1535) are other painters of this school. HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 393 F ERRARA AND BOLOGNESE SCHOOLS: CORREGGIO AND OTHERS (9) Although the painters of these schools are classed as followers of Raphael, they show distinctive characteristics of their own, especially in color, which, however, shows some Venetian influence. Dosso Dossi (1479-1542) of Ferrara was the strongest painter of these schools, a man of much fancy and of a strikingly original treatment of landscape. In his color he was strongly influenced by the Venetians, and his portraits are said to have been worthy rivals of Titian's. Benvenuto Garofolo (1481-1559) was called by the Ferrarese the Ferrarese Raphael. Wornum calls him "a Raphael in little." He followed the Ferrarese painters first, but later he came under Raphael's influence at Rome, and after that his work shows the type of face and sweep of line distinctive of Raphael's style. His earlier pictures are the best, however, for his work in the Roman style was very mannered. His best work is perhaps the Adoration of the Magi, in Ferrara, where he is more natural, although the style is more like that of the period preceding Leonardo da Vinci than of that after him. His drawing shows many weaknesses and false proportions in some pictures. Bagnacavallo (1484-1542) was first a pupil of Francia at Bologna, but afterwards he became one of the most ardent of Raphael's followers. So much was this so that he claimed that there was more to be learned from Raphael than from nature herself, "inasmuch as men of ordinary ability must be content of necessity to learn mediately through higher geniuses." His master- piece, Madonna and Child in Glory, in the Dresden Gallery, is charming, and an in- stance of his close following of Raphael, althotigh he does not succeed in giving the inner spirit through the outward form as did Raphael. Correggio (i494?-i534) has been variously classed with the Ferrara, Bologna and Lombard schools. The latter is a vague term. Moreover, Correggio can hardly be classed in any school or as the follower of any master, for he is absolutely himself and struck an original note in art. The greater part of his work was done at Parma, and his influence there was felt by painters who founded the so-called school of Parma. The might of Michelangelo, the serene grandeur of Raphael, the religious feeling of Fra Bartolommeo are not to be seen in Correg- gio. He comes nearer Leonardo da Vinci than any, but only in the external matter of light and shade, the poetry of which comes out to the fullest extent in Correggio. He has none of the depth of soul of Leonardo, none of the sublimely grand, sensuous quality of the Venetians; but through his work runs an indescribable grace, a joyous- ness and fullness of life, a lively rhythm of motion, and a passionate worship of nature, that have rightly earned him the title of the "Faun" of the Renaissance. It is in him that the worship of nature pure and simple reaches its height, and it is in this love of nature, of its joyous moods and vivacity of life, that he is the Faun. There is never a sad note struck in Correggio's work; all is like an early summer day. He cared not to tell a story or to point a moral. All was done for the love of nature's beauties, its mystery of light and shade and envelope, the beauty of a rounded arm, the soft bloom on a cheek, the depth and glow and sparkle of color. His many pictures are mostly reli- gious in subject, but he treated them not for the religious purpose. Even here there is the same joyousness, the same earthly beauty and life and vivacity. In composi- tion Correggio cared less for line than for placing a beautiful scheme and arrangement of light and dark on the canvas. His draw- ing was not always of the surest, but his rendering of values was superb, and his soft, all-surrounding atmosphere was beau- tiful beyond description. In color, he stood beside the great Venetians, and his brush- work is full of life and verve. About Correggio's life very little is defi- nitely known, although much has been writ- ten and conjectured. He seems to have led an uneventful life and to have traveled little. He is supposed to have learned from Lorenzo Costa and Mantegna, but if he 394 PAINTING: was ever under the influence of the latter, his mature work does not show it. The only thing about his work that suggests Mantegna's influence is his fondness for foreshortening, which he sometimes carried to excess. For instance, in his Assumption In the same cathedral with the Assumption of the Virgin he painted Christ in Glory Surrounded by Apostles, and a Coronation of the Virgin. In the convent of S. Paolo he painted in a saloon for the abbess sub- jects from ancient mythology. These are MYSTIC MARRIAGE OF SAINT CATHERINE. CORREGGIO. of the Virgin, in the Cathedral at Parma, he foreshortened the figures so violently that almost nothing but legs are seen ; and it was said jestingly that he had painted "a hash of frogs. ' ' Correggio's principal works are at Parma. among his most beautiful works. Kugler says about these: "On the principal wall is Diana returning from the chase, in a car drawn by white stags; the light drapery of the goddess conceals but little of her per- fect and youthful form. On the ceiling is HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 395 painted a vine-arbor, with sixteen oval openings, in which are charming groups of genii, some with attributes of the chase, horns, hounds, the head of a stag, etc. ; some caress each other, some pluck fruits from the borders of the arbor. It is im- possible to conceive more graceful, at- tractive gaiety than in the figures of these genii. Underneath are sixteen lunettes in chiaroscuro, filled also with mythical subjects the Graces, Fortune, the Fates, Satyrs, etc. The choice of these sub- jects for a convent appears strange; but in the sixteenth cen- tury the nuns of Italy enjoyed the greatest freedom, without being shut up, while the abbess lived in princely splendor and luxu- ry." Correggio's easel pictures are spread all over the world in various galleries. The Marriage of St. Catherine, in the Louvre, is a beautiful example of his composition by lights and darks rather than by line. What a masterful arrangement of spots, what a beautiful glimmer and caress of lights, what an exquisite transparency of shadows and roundness of form ! There is over it all a feeling like a song of spring, joyous, but gentle, graceful, tender and sweet. It is one of the sweetest lyrics of the world. The La Notte, in the Dresden Gallery, is perhaps better known than any other of his pictures, and has been classed with the so- called twelve pictures of the world. There LA NOTTK, OR THE HOLY NIGHT. CORREGGIO. is a most astounding mastery of the effect of light in this picture, a light unearthly in its sweetness and brightness as it emanates from the figure of the Christ child. Correg- gio's joyousness of spirit comes out to the full here in the radiant joy and love of the mother, in the eager, gladsome shepherds, and in the face of the young girl who shields her eyes from the dazzling glory shining from the figure of the child. There is the most wonderful management of values in this picture; how deep the gloom in the shadows and still how transparent; how all- enveloping the atmosphere, and how soft the light of the new-born day just faintly light- ing up the horizon! There is the most won- 39 6 PAINTING: derful contrast of brilliancy and depth here, of soft tenderness of half-tones and tremu- lous light, with the effulgence which centers around the mother and child. The whole is a beautiful song of gladness over the prom- ised child. It was a popular tradition that Correggio lived and died poor and unappreciated ; but later investigations have disproved this, and the poetic tale of his death is no longer credited. Correggio had a number of followers, but what had proved the rule with Michel- angelo's and Raphael's followers did not fail here. The method and the externals were seized upon, whereas the spirit was entirely passed by. Correggio's son, Pom- ponio Allegri was a painter of some merit, but he fell entirely below his father's level. Parmigianino (1504-1540), whose real name was Francesco Mazzola, or Mazzuoli, was Correggio's best follower. He tried to combine the grace and soft charm of Cor- regio with the grandeur of Florentine line and the attempt,as might be expected, proved a failure. Imitation brings mannerisms and Parmigianino was unpleasantly mannered. The Madonna of the Long Neck, in the Pitti Gallery, is a good example of his mannered style. All members of the body have been so elongated to obtain grace that the figure appears pulled out of shape, and there is an attempt at the grand which ends in feeble- ness. There are still touches of real charm in Parmigianino's work, as in the Cupid Framing His Bow, in the Gallery at Vienna; and in his Moses Breaking the Tables of the Law, in the Santa Maria della Steccata, he strikes a note of real grandeur. V ENETIAN GIONE.(io) SCHOOL : GIOR- The Venetian School, which added the last great element color to Italian art, continued the impulse of the High Renaissance longer than did the other schools. Decadence set in less rapidly with them, and the last really great masters were Venetians. The art motive of Correggio was also that of the Venetians. With them it was truly art for art's sake in the highest meaning of the word. Although a sensuous art, it was noble, stately and dignified. Nature to the Venetians rang with sym- phonic harmonies, and although the gran- deur of line of the Florentines was not theirs, they built up vast and grand color harmonies that hold one with the power of a mighty orchestra. It is the Venetian love of the sensuous, of the beauties of nature that made landscape so prominent a feature of their painting, and they carried landscape to a greater height than ever before in Italian art. There was no particular idealization about the Venetian painters, they took nature around them as it was; but how they succeed in endowing it with absorbing interest and beauty! It is the grand, the noble and the dignified of our world as it is that they portray with con- summate skill. Giorgione (i477?-i5ii) was a painter whose influence over his contemporaries and followers was greater than that of any other Venetian. There are very few authentic pictures by him, but even without them his influence would have made his name great in art. He was a fellow pupil with Titian under Giovanni Bellini, but Giorgione shaped Titian's art more than did Bellini himself. A noble, serious sentiment and rich, glowing, intense color distinguish Giorgione's work. He was the first Italian to select subjects of the every-day world about him. Up to his time subjects had been rather removed from ordinary life Madon- nas, Saints, etc. ; but Giorgione took the every-day, the common, and made it dig- nified and noble. Giorgione treated nature in its broad, simple masses, and always sacrificed detail to such mass and general effect. In landscape he went far beyond his master, Bellini, and he always succeeds in imparting the mood of the scene represented into the landscape background. His com- positions are very simple; few figures, usually two or three, suffice for him, but with these simple means he succeeds in im- parting his moods and feelings and creating works that are of strong and enduring interest. HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 397 Giorgione created a class of subjects in painting that have been likened to lyrics and pastorals in poetry. There is a pic- ture in the Louvre, the so-called Concert Champetre, which, although denied by some to Giorgione, serves as a good example of these subjects. There is a full sensuous quality in this pictuie, noble, grand masses of trees, long vistas of landscape, in the fore- ground beautiful forms that are rounded and modeled with softness and glow of flesh, soft, transparent shadows and enveloping atmosphere; but it is a grand, noble mood of na- ture, a lofty feeling expressed through the mere sensuous. Giorgione painted historical subjects, mostly in fresco ; but they are nearly all ruined, most of them having been painted on the outside of buildings. In portraiture Giorgione is simply magnificent. With all their lifelike quality, with all their closeness to nature, which makes one feel that they are pictures of actualities, of peo- ple who have really existed, there is a nobility in these por- traits, a high ideal quality, that places them far above the com- mon. Through them all we feel, besides these qualities, Giorgione 's personality, his temperament. The portrait of General Gattamelata, for instance. What a powerfully living quality in it, what strength of modeling, what close rendering of tex- tures, and what careful following of the values of the sheen on the armor! But also what nobility of spirit it breathes, how powerfully it holds our attention and inter- ests us! Sometimes Giorgione would make ideal compositions out of portraits, and a favorite subject of this kind would be a Concert. The Concert, in the Pitti Gallery, Florence, is perhaps the finest of this sort of pictures. There is the same quality of living reality, the same fineness of modeling, the same seriousness of mood. Here we see a cserol rendering of textures, too, than had ever before been known in Italian art. The im- pression left on one by Giorgione's pictures is very strong. One feels that one has been before something real, something of life and blood ; but it is a grand, noble reality. PORTRAIT OF GENERAL GATTAMELATA. GIORGIONE. V ENETIAN SCHOOL: TITIAN. Titian (1477-1576) is the last of the quartet of the world's painters; and as a painter pure and simple, in the matter of presenting nature, in his mastery of color, in his sure, strong brushwork, in his ability to keep a composition a unit, in fact, in all those things that go to make a purely pictorial effect, he probably stands at the head of them all. It is the dignity and grandeur of human existence that Titian presents to us. In Correggio was the life and joy and vivacity of nature; in Titian 39$ PAINTING: the grand, the magnificent, the sublimely sensuous. He builds up masses and spaces and forms in his pictures that have the grandeur and power of mountain ranges. Titian does not appeal directly to our , reasoning powers any more than does the vibrating blue of sky, or a smiling meadow, or a glorious sunset, or towering mountain range; but he makes us feel the grand and sublime in nature, and reaches our intellect through our feelings. Everything Titian touches with his magic brush glows with wonderful hues, and takes on an exalted mood. His choice of subjects was wide the religious, historical, mythological and allegorical were all treated by him. Land- scape he treated with consummate grandeur, and his influence in this respect lived on in Nicolas Poussin and Claude Lorraine. In portraiture he was perhaps the greatest painter that ever lived. Titian was born in the Valley of Cadore, a place full of grandeur in mountain and forest; and the impress of nature around him during his youth and in repeated visits is seen in all his succeeding work. There is a story of this early youth of Titian which characterizes the trend of his whole life in art. . It is said that, whereas other painters began in early youth by drawing in char- coal or on a slate, he pressed the juices out of certain flowers and painted with them. Thus early did he indicate his position as the greatest colorist the world has ever seen. Titian began his studies in art at the age of ten, when he was placed under Zuccato, a painter and worker in mosaics; but later he became a fellow pupil of Griorgione under Giovanni Bellini. Titian's earliest work shows Bellini's influence in his mode of composition, but he became still more influ- enced by Giorgione. When Titian and Giorgione were youths of about eighteen or nineteen they worked together on the fres- coes of the Fondaco dei Tedeschi; but a preference shown for Titian's work caused an estrangement between the two friends. For several years after, however, the influ- ence of Giorgione on the mind and style of Titian was so great that it is hard to tell their work apart, and on the early death of Giorgione, Titian was commissioned to com- plete his unfinished pictures. But Titian's style was not long in forming itself, and he was famous before the age of thirty. From middle life on Titian lived in princely style, surrounded by friends philosophers and poets ; and honors and commissions flowed to him from all sides. He was considered the greatest portrait painter living, and there was not a prince or potentate, a poet or beauty, who did not wish to have him paint his or her portrait. Titian loved pleasure, and has often been reproached for his intimacy with the "witty profligate Pietro Aretino" ; but he never flagged in his industry, and his powers were undimmed at an age when most men would be too feeble for any effort. Titian has often been accused of lack in drawing; but no one seeing his Sacred and Profane Love, in the Borghese Gallery, would agree with the fault-finders. (See the cut, p. 67.) The nude figure in that picture is most exquisite in pose and line and modeling. It is a marvelous feat of rendering modeling in full light. Full light as well as full shadow obliterates modeling to a great extent, and roundness and form are felt more than actually seen. But in this figure the modeling is as truly given as though it had been marked by the strongest contrast of light and shade. What a beautiful glow of flesh too, and what soft- ness of texture! It is beautiful, too, in its decorative element, this picture. The masses of dark foliage and light draperies and the flesh of figures are most happily placed. There is a richness and depth and glow altogether charming, and there is be- sides the grand feeling so characteristic of Titian. To be sure, Titian's drawing be- comes looser in later life, but then he draws more by mass than by line. During Diirer's visit to Venice, it was perhaps inevitable that comparisons should be made between his work and Titian's. Italy had gone wild over Diirer, who in technique was the opposite of Titian. Diirer carried detail to excess, and spent as much time over a curl of hair as over any other part of a picture. Titian painted in broad masses. It was in a way to show that he could paint detail if he chose that Titian HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITALY. 399 painted the famous Christ and the Tri- bute Money, now in the Dresden Gallery. But what a differ- ence in result! Al- though everything is painted with the most minute care, everything counts in mass. What a careful rendering of dome of head, of soft wrinkled flesh, of brown sin- ewy hand in the Pharisee ! And then the fairness of skin in the Christ-face, the delicacy of line and the softness of modeling! The hair lies so lightly and easily on the head that one might any moment expect it to move. The manage- ment of values is su- perb as they range over the fair form of Christ to the dark one of the Pharisee. What a strong ren- dering of character too in the gentle but penetrating glance of Christ and the crafty expression of the hard- ened Pharisee! Then, although every inch of the picture is well painted and full of interest, how well the attention is centered on the expressive head of Christ! "This wonderful work is expressive in every de- tail; the action of the hands supplies the place of words. " In his religious pictures in general Titian does not show that spirituality which marks the works of some painters of the Renais- sance, Francia's for instance. Still they are marked by a nobility, a grandeur and dig- nity that make them truly impressive. In the Dresden Gallery, the Virgin, Child and Saints is a magnificent example of grandeur of form and mass. Another religious picture TRIBUTE MONEY. TITIAN. of grandeur in composition is the Madonna with Several Saints and the Pesaro Family as Donors, in the S. Maria dei Frari at Venice. Perhaps the best known of his religious pictures are the Presentation of the Virgin, in the Academy at Venice; the Entomb- ment, in the Louvre; and the Assumption of the Virgin, in the Academy of Venice. Of the Presentation of the Virgin in the Temple (see the cut, p. 39), Kugler says: "This great picture is of a cheerful, worldly character. A crowd of figures, among whom are the senators and procurators of St. Mark's, are looking on in astonishment and excitement while the lovely child, hold- ing its little blue garment daintily in its right hand, is ascending the steps of the 400 PAINTING: Temple, where the astonished high priest, attended by a Levite, is receiving her with a benediction. The scene is rendered with great naivete, and with an incomparable glow of color." One cannot help feeling in the picture, however, that the subject is belittled by the surroundings. The stone steps, for instance, are too uninteresting to ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN. TITIAN. occupy so large a space in the composition, and the little figure of the Virgin is almost lost in the splendor of the architecture be- hind her and the massiveness of the steps upon which she stands. The Entombment, however, is one of the most complete and perfect pictorial compo- sitions in the world. In the perfect dispo- sition and balance of line and masses; in the beauty of light and shade and color and atmosphere; in the rendering of texture and the modeling; in fact, in all those things which go to make a perfect pictorial effect, this picture is superb. Then, above all, the scene is rendered with such sure dramatic instinct there is nothing theatrical or forced about it, all is so truly dignified and noble in its strong emotion and action that one need not wonder that this picture greatly influenced succeeding art. It is surely one of Titian's greatest efforts. The Assumption has been placed as one of the twelve pictures of the world, and it deservedly holds a high rank. The noble, beautifully powerful figure of the Virgin, as it is impelled upward surrounded by angels, the agitated group of disciples and apostles beneath, the swimming glorious light in which the All Father soars, and the beauty and grace of the glorifying angels are all given with incomparable power. Titian's portraits are wonderful in close characterization of personality. The cun- ning fox-like face and bent form of his portrait of Pope Paul III. is an instance. Where his subjects will allow, he endows t:iem with a courtly dignity and high breed- ing, as for instance his Catherine Cornaro, in the Uffizi, and the famous Donna Bella, iii the Pitti Gallery. These show a wonder- ful rendering of textures and management of light and shade, and they look out at us from the canvas with a stately, dignified life, The Young Man with the Glove, in the Louvre, is remarkable for depth of feeling and an intensely felt personality. Titian also painted allegorical figures which appear to have been portraits. The well-known Flora, in the Uffizi, is an example of this. It is a wonderful rendering of soft, living flesh and rounded form, of shining curls of hair and rich drapery; and there is a depth and dignity about it altogether charming. Titian painted several pictures of Emperor Charles V. It was while painting one of these portraits at Augsburg that the incident occurred which has been so often related. Titian was then seventy years old. He is said to have dropped his brush, whereupon Charles picked it up and presented it to the HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITALY. 401 ENTOMBMENT OF CHRIST. TITIAN. painter, who made many excuses; but Charles replied that "Titian was worthy of being served by Caesar. " When at Augs- burg, Titian was ennobled and created a count of the empire, with a pension of two hundred gold ducats. Titian's powers did not seem to dim even in very old age. He was eighty-one when he painted the Martyrdom of St. Lawrence, one of his largest and grandest composi- tions. He lived to be ninety-nine years old, and it was only in his nineties that he showed any sign of declining power, and as Mrs. Jameson says: "And then it seemed as if sorrow rather than time had reached him and conquered him at last. He had lost his daughter Lavina,who had been his model for many beautiful pic- tures. The death of many friends, the com- panions of his convivial hours, left him 'alone in his glory, ' and he found in his beloved art the only refuge from grief. His son Pomponio was still the same worthless profligate in age that he had been in youth; his son Orazio attended upon him with truly filial duty and affection, and under his father's tuition became an accomplished artist ; . . . The early morning and the evening hour found him at his easel ; or lingering in his little garden (where he had feasted with Aretino and Sansovino, and Bembo and Ariosto, and 'the most gracious Virginia' and 'the most beautiful Violante'), and gazing on the setting sun, with a thought perhaps of his own long and bright career fast hastening to its close; not that such antici- pations clouded his cheerful spirit buoyant to the last!" In 1575 the plague struck Venice, and in 1576 the great master was stricken with it and died. The sanitary laws forbade burial in churches during the plague, but the Vene- tian veneration for the grand master was so great that these were set aside, and his le- mains were borne to the tomb with great honors and deposited in the church of S. Maria dei Frari, for which he had painted his famous Assumption. 402 PAINTING: V ENETIAN SCHOOL: TINTO- RETTO. (12) Tintoretto (1518-1592) is the third of the four great Venetians, and he is the boldest, the most assured and head- long painter known to the world. He was called "11 Furioso" by his contemporaries, for the passionate, fiery style which marks his work. It is because of his being such a passionate, fiery genius that his work is so uneven. At times he is so hasty, so anxious to work out his ideas, that he falls short, his work is lax, is ill-considered and wild in composition; but at other times he soars to the height of the greatest masters. It is because of these inequalities that he has been so variously estimated. Some have exalted him to the skies, others again have refused to grant him any honor. Vasari, for instance, says that he executed his pic- tures haphazaid, without design; while Ruskin classes him with Michelangelo. Tintoretto's motto was "the line of Michel angelo with the color of Titian," and he almost accomplished his ideal in some of his pictures. Compared to Titian, Tintoretto has not magnificent calm dignity and grandeur; but his work has more action and force. Some of his figures are tremendous in their passionate energy, their impetuous and headlong rush. Tintoretto, or Jacobo Robusti, was born in the city of Venice proper. His father was a dyer, and it was from his father's occupation (tintore) that he received the name by which he is known in art. He be- gan early to show his genius, and drew and painted figures on the walls of his father's house, using his colors. His father took him to Titian, but it is said that Titian soon set him away with the words that he "would never be anything but a dauber." It is notorious, however, that Titian made a bad teacher. Probably he was too impatient and believed that there was only one way to art. At any rate, his judgment of Tinto- retto's gifts was proved erroneous by that painter's later works. Tintoretto had a great admiration for Titian, and it was a sore disappointment to him to have that master's ill-will; but nothing daunted he set out for himself and studied day and night, for he was a most indefatigable student. Daniele da Volterra had made some small copies of Michelangelo's figures for the Medici Tomb the Day, Night, Dawn and Twilight, and Tintoretto having obtained these small models from Florence, made them the subject of unceasing study. Un- like Michelangelo's other followers, how- ever, Tintoretto did not become a mere mechanical copyist. It is to this study of Michelangelo that he owes his powerful form and the swing and suggestive force of his line. Tintoretto met with much disappointment and many slights in early life. Titian, who was entrusted with the apportioning of pub- lic work among the painters of Venice, in- variably passed by Tintoretto; and so we find that young master, in order to break a way for himself, often undertaking to do great works without remuneration. But success came in the end. Tintoretto's productive power was prodi- gious. After fires and thefts and all sorts of vicissitudes a vast number of his pictures still exists in Venice, and it is there he should be studied to be really appreciated. In the Scuola di San Rocco are fifty-seven large pictures by him of which the Cruci- fixion is the most noted. This illustrates to the full his passionate, fiery style, his bold action and his teeming inventive fancy. It is tremendously tragic, with its powerful contrast of the fierceness and brutality of the executioners, the haughty indifference of some of the high personages witnessing the scene, and the helpless grief and faint- ing despair of the sorrowing followers. In drawing he proved himself more daring and inventive than the rest of the Venetians, the bold foreshortening and strong action of some of the figures being most powerfully given. The tragic, the fierce, pervades the whole picture from the agitated groups to the threatening sky and storm-tossed trees. But Tintoretto is also a master of grace among the best. What, for instance, could be more graceful in form, line and gesture than his Marriage of Ariadne and Bacchus, in the Ducal Palace at Venice? This com- position is singularly beautiful in arrange- HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITAL Y. 43 ment of line and light and shade, and is filled with the most exquisite rhythm. There are twenty-three of his works in this same Ducal Palace, and among these the Par- adise, a canvas thirty by seventy-four feet, is the largest oil painting in the world. In the S. Maria dell' Orto, Venice, are also several pictures, among them the Last Judg- ment, so highly praised by Ruskin ; and the Presentation of the Virgin, which, it is said, he painted in direct competition with Titian, and which in the matter of composition seems better held together than that of Titian, although not so gracious in sentiment and of far less cheer- fulness of aspect. In the Academy of Venice is found the Miracle of St. Mark, which is by many reckoned his mas- terpiece. This is a pic- ture of rich coloring, strong drawing and great dramatic interest. Tintoretto's portraits are among the best. These he treated with the dignity and breadth of Titian. His daughter Mariet- ta was also a portrait painter of note. She died at the age of thirty, to the great grief of the father, who, it is said, "painted the calm rem- nant of his beautiful daughter as she lay dead." Two years after Tintoretto died and was buried in the S. Maria dell' Orto. Venetian love of magnificence, pomp and glory he carried out to its fullest scope, and it is only his genius that prevents his work from being a simple display. His art was very near the toppling-over line; it had the germs of decadence in it, without belonging to the decadent art. There is a strong deco- rative element in Veronese's work, a deco- ration of the peculiarly rich magnificent Venetian kind. Glittering stuffs, jewels, armor, silks, and tremendous, magnificent architecture, glowing brilliant color, and richness of robe are combined with a ren- V ENETIAN SCHOOL: VERO- NESE, PALMA AND OTHERS. PAINTERS OF BRESCIA AND VERONA.(i 3 ) Paolo Veronese (1528-1588) was the last of the four great Venetians. He did not fol- low Tintoretto in the matter of line. The ARIADNE AND BACCHUS. TINTORETTO. dering of life varied, rich, active, full of energy and motion. These were the things, magnificent decorative schemes, that Vero- nese cared for; the subject was nothing to him. One does not find much sentiment in Veronese's work. Even'his religious pictures are only an excuse for the display of mag- nificence and action. It is a shock to one's sense of the fitting or proper to find in such a subject as his Annunciation, in the Uffizt, the Madonna surrounded by magnificent, stately columns, and the angel clad in glit- tering silks. The quiet, intensely-felt reli- 404 PAINTING: gious sentiment of the Early Renaissance is entirely wanting. But one must take Veronese for what he is and what he offers; and he does offer a magnificent, interesting art. . His peculiar powers are best unfolded in banquet scenes and rich, courtly affairs. As such he has rendered the Marriage Feast at Cana, now in the Louvre, perhaps the most famous of his pictures, a canvas 600 square feet in ex- tent and containing 130 life-size figures. It presents at first glance a bewildering mass of richly-clad, magnificent figures in animated and varied poses, a wondrously rich pile of architecture, and a mass of rich color. Air, space, light, textures are all given with a master hand, and there is not an inch of the vast canvas that is painted in an uninterest- ing manner. This is the fullness and rich- ness of sumptuous Venetian life, a panorama of varied and interesting human beings, and one forgets almost that it is supposed to be a religious picture, until one sees the face and form of the Virgin and Christ at the table in the middle ground. It is like the rich chords of stately, festive music. In such a subject, too, as the famous Rape of Europa, in the Ducal Palace, Venice, Veronese is at his best. The softness of light and shade, the beautiful radiance of sky, the luxurious magnificence "of rich robes and soft, palpitating flesh, the rich decorative quality of landscape, and the touches of festive joy in the garlands and wreaths and fruits flung down by the little Cupids induce a dream-like mood, the luxur- ious feeling of a summer's day. In the Church of St. Sebastian, Venice, is a series of three pictures representing scenes from the story of that Saint. The finest of these is the picture representing the com- panions of St. Sebastian, Marcus and Mar- cellinus, preparing for their martyrdom, and is considered by many Veronese's master- piece. Kugler says of this: "This picture displays a beauty of composition, a richness without an overcrowding of subject, and a power of expression and color which in some HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITALY. 45 RAPE OF F.t'ROPA. VERONESE. respects entitle it to be considered the noblest of Paul Veronese's works;" and Mrs. Jameson says that this picture is "for the expression of life, passion and dramatic power, one of the grandest pictures of the world; it is esteemed the masterpiece of the painter. ' ' These four painters, Giorgione, Titian, Tintoretto and Veronese, are the greatest masters of the Venetian School ; but around them and with them stood painters that, but for the age in which they lived, would be ranked among the greatest masters. Raima il Vecchio (i48o?-i528) is one of the best of them, a man of a gentle, quiet gran- deur in his pictures. The Adoration of the Shepherds, in the Louvre, is marked by a more devotional feeling than is the wont of Venetian painters, and there is a sweet, simple dignity about it both in composition and sentiment. It has besides much of Giorgione's beauty of light and shade. That painter's influence is strongly felt in many of Palma's pictures. His Reclining Venus, for instance, in the Dresden Gallery, is marked by the serious, dignified, sensuous charm so much felt in Giorgione's work. A most beautiful figure in line and form, with a wonderful quality of soft flesh and beautiful, lustrous hair, all set off against a most dreamy, noble landscape, it has the depth and seriousness of Giorgione's best creations. Palma was essentially the creator of grand, stately, dignified female forms. His masterpiece, the St. Barbara, in the Santa Maria Formosa, Venice, is majestic in mien and pose, and grand in its cast of drapery. There is a wonderful power and dignity in this figure, which is rightly con- sidered one of the grandest figures in all art. 406 PAINTING: RECLINING VENUS. PALMA VECCHIO. Lorenzo Lotto (1480?- 15 56?) was Palma's fellow-worker and friend, a man of most sensitive temperament. His Three Ages of Man, for instance, in the Uffizi Gallery, shows a wonderful appreciation of the subtle inner feelings or emotions, that makes one think of Leonardo da Vinci, whom he is also said to have followed. Lorenzo's portraits are almost equal to Titian's. Besides these two fellow -workers in the Venetian School, there were several men of lesser merit, who should be mentioned. Rocco Marconi (fl. 1505-1520) was distin- guished principally for the glow and transparency of his color and for the high quality of his landscapes. He is a very unequal painter. Some- times his pictures are built up in a soulless fashion, while again he comes out with a great deal of force and feel- ing, as in his Descent from the Cross, in the Academy of Ven- ice. Pordenone (1483-1540), a fol- lower of Giorgione, made a weak attempt at competing with Titian. A weakness of action and dullness of senti- ment characterize his work ; but it is also marked by a warmth and mellowness of tone which few have approached. Paris Bordone (1495- I 57) was a painter of marked individuality. His figures are gentle, graceful and aristocrat- ic, and he was a por- trait painter of the best. The great technical mastery over textures of all kinds which we have seen a character- istic of Venetian paint- ing, would lead one to expect that imitation of natural objects would become almost an end in itself; and at Bas- sano, we find a family of painters who painted almost from the Dutch point of view. These were the members of the Da Porte family, called the Bassanos from their native town. There were six of them, and Jacopo (1510-1592) was their head. He painted religious subjects in a genre style, introducing into them animals and the scenery around his home, and giving them a rural character. He was fond of still life, and very often introduced it into rural scenes together with cattle and sheep, which he painted extremely well. THRF.E AGES OF MAN. LORENZO LOTTO. HIGH RENAISSANCE IN ITALY. 407 Francesco (1550-1591) was next to Jacopo the most prominent of this family. He painted the usual sacred subjects in the characteristic Venetian way. The whole family is distinguished by a rich, gem-like quality of color. There was another family of artists at this time. Bonifazio I., called Bonifazio Vero- nese ( ?-i54o), Bonifazio II. ( ?-i553), and Bonifazio III., called Bonifazio Veneziano ( ?-i57o) are all from a Veronese family, and are painters of some note in the Vene- tian School. Especially is this the case with Bonifazio Veronese, several of whose pictures have until recently been attributed to Palma il Vecchio or Titian. Venetian art extended also to the Vene- tian territories, but it was modified there by local traits. Painters of Brescia and Verona. Moretto (i498?-i555) was the strongest and most original of these painters. He was a native of Brescia and worked chiefly in that city and its neighborhood. He did the almost impossible thing of uniting the Venetian color with Florentine severity and dignit)^. His composition was noble and dignified, and his work shows great directness and simplicity. His color was more silvery than the Venetian, which was of a golden hue, and it was kept in beautiful tone. He was a painter of much feeling and painted reli- gious subjects with rare dignity and a devo- tional spirit. His portraits are very strong, full of the individuality of the subject, close in drawing and modeling, but with none of the larger qualities left out. They are marked by a great dignity and nobility. His pupil, Moroni (fl. 1549-1578) was a fine portrait painter, a man who delights us with his truly modern style and spirit. There is a pleasing air of life and reality about Ma- roni's portraits, an entire absence of pose and affectation; one feels the presence almost of a living personality. At Verona Caroto (1470-1546) showed a style where warm and well-blended coloring was combined with hard, statue-like severity of drawing. (iirolamo dai Libri (1474-1555) belongs in style to the fifteenth rather than the six- teenth century. He was a miniaturist as well as a painter of altar-pieces. Torbido (i486?-i546?) was a painter of no particular style who followed many masters, at one time Giorgione, then Liberale da Verona, then Bonifazio Veronese, and finally veered around to Giulio Romano. Cavazzola (1486-1522) was a man of talent who showed more originality. There are several more painters in the several Vene- tian territories, but they are not important PORTRAIT OF A TAILOR. MORONI. when compared to those previously men- tioned. D ECADENCE, MANNERISTS, ECLECTICS AND NATURAL- ISTS. (14) The mighty art impulse of Italy had reached its climax in the great painters of the sixteenth century, and had spent it- self in them. It was felt that the last word had been said, and so there was nothing left but imitation and combination of various 408 PAINTING: excellences. The decline set in last at Venice, not till after 1590; but in the cen- tral part of Italy it began about 1540. This imitation and weak combination of styles was simply an external matter. They for- got, these men of decline, that it was the spirit, the originality and the temperament of their predecessors, their openness to nature and their originality of thought in viewing it, that had made them great. They saw the power of Michelangelo's work, and thought it consisted in muscu- lar development; so they painted figures whether in repose or in action, with muscles standing out in bunches all over them. They saw the grace and serene majesty of Raphael, the exquisite grace and depth and purity of Leonardo; but they debased them with over-refinement, weakness and sentimentality. In like manner the splen- didly healthy realism of Venice became simply transcriptions from nature. The taste of patrons of art had also changed, and this proved another cause of decline at least equally strong. All vied for the possession of enormous and showy decorations, heed- less of the hasty or careless execution, pro- vided they were large and cheap. Vasari says, and he indicates the spirit of the times: "We paint six pictures in one year, while the earlier masters took six years to one;" and adds very complacently, "and yet these pictures are much more perfectly executed than those of the early school by the most distinguished masters." The technical power was still so great, however, that in portraiture, where these painters were obliged to follow their own point of view, the results were still fine. It was the man- nerisms which resulted from this imitation that have given their name to the painters who followed Michelangelo and Raphael. At Florence the imitation of Michelangelo became the first object of the painters. Agnolo Bronzino (1502?-! 5 7 2) painted cor- rect academic figures in mannered poses. His best-known picture, Christ in Limbo, is an instance of this. It leaves one entirely unmoved. His coloring is usually dull and cold. He is a splendid example, however, of how the mannerists could rise to real excel- lence in portraiture. Vasari (1511-1574) will forever be famous for his lively and entertaining historical work, the "Lives of the Painters." But as a painter he was a superficial imitator of Michelangelo, supposing that his excessive and false modeling, his heavy and lumber- ing forms, and his grandiose conceptions gave the grandeur and power of Michel- angelo's creations. Salviati (1510-1563) was Vasari's friend and was as much a mannerist. Federigo Zuccheri (1543-1609) was a man- nerist of an insipid, smooth style, and a painter of shallow allegories. Federigo painted the cupola of the Duomo of Flor- ence, introducing a multitude of figures, some colossal. A satire of the day shows what they are worth. It concludes with these lines: "Poor Florence, alas! will ne'er cease to complain Till she sees her fine cupola whitewashed again." Baroccio (1528-1612) was a stronger man than his contemporaries and showed more power and fewer mannerisms than they. One of his principal works is a colossal Descent from the Cross, in the Cathedral of Perugia, and is distinguished by no little grandeur. There was a reaction against this blind mannerism by the Eclectic School, which was formed about 1585 by the Caracci fam- ily. Their aim was to "revive art" by com- bining into one style the excellences of all the great masters: Angelo's line, Titian's color, Correggio's light and shade, and Ra- phael's symmetry and grace. This could but result in failure; "for the greatness of the earlier masters consisted precisely in their individual and peculiar qualities; and to endeavor to unite characteristics essen- tially different at once implies a contradic- tion. " (Kugler.) There were five of the Caracci, but three of them, Ludovico (1555-1619), Agostino (1557-1602) and Annibale (1560-1609) led the school. These Caracci saw their mistake later in life, and based their art more on nature ; but that was entirely unheeded by their followers, who in spirit and point of time belong to the seventeenth rather than the sixteenth century. Of the Caracci, Ludovico was more teacher than painter, THE RENAISSANCE IN SPAIN. 409 and Agostino also was more of a theorist than a man of practice. Annibale was by far the strongest of the family. The series of frescoes in the Farnese Palace at Rome is considered his finest work. As examples of pure technical accomplishment these pic- tures can hardly be surpassed, but they leave one cold. The pupils and followers of the Caracci spread all over Italy, and their influence was very strong, but there was very little originality and spontaneity about their work. In distinct opposition to the Eclectics arose the School of the Naturalists in Naples. Nature was their only model, but nature of only the lowest and wildest type. True nature, sane, pure, strong and beautiful, which the painters of the Early and High Renais- sance had set for their ideal, these naturalists did not know or care for. The leader and founder of the school was Car- avaggio (1569-1609), and he was also the extreme type of the school. His was a wild and passionate nature, as his work shows. It is strongly dramatic, although without any elevation of feeling. He was a strong draughtsman and very often good in color. His work has a tremendous contrast of light and dark, and his pecul- iar dark shadows became the earmark of the whole school. His best known picture is the Entombment, in the Vatican, Rome. This seems, as some one has suggested, more the funeral of a gypsy chief than the burial of Christ; still it has a tragic power all its own. (See page 410.) It was with these men that the spirit of the seventeenth century painting in Italy began. The golden age of art in Italy had ceased, the mightiest impulse of art the world had seen since the time of the Greeks had spent itself, perhaps never more to appear in Italy. But its influence on the art of the world can never be fully esti- mated. P AINTING: THE RENAISSANCE IN SPAIN.(is) Spanish painting until the seven- teenth century can hardly be called an original art. The art that is first known PIETA. ANNIBALE CARACCI. is plainly derived from the Italian, besides showing some influence of the Flemish. In fact very little is known about Spanish painting until the fourteenth century. It is then that Italian and Flemish influences begin to appear. Stamina, the painter of the transition period, was the first Italian to appear in Spain. A little later came Dello Fiorentino, a companion of Paolo PAINTING: ENTOMBMENT. CARAVAGGIO. Uccello. He died in Spain after having lived at the court of Juan II. of Castile, who held him in great esteem. The great Flem- ish master, Jan van Eyck, also visited Spain 1429. Although these foreign influences shaped Spanish art, especially in its meth- ods, there was a decided Spanish spirit in it, a dark, gloomy, morose spirit, full of horror, an outgrowth of the inquisition. Spanish art was distinctly a church art. The inquisition ruled with an iron hand all representation, and the Spaniards were only too willing to be ruled. There were some portraits and genre pictures done; but until the time of Velasquez, the great bulk of Spanish art was religious. The nude was strictly forbidden by the inquisition, and the censorship went so far as to dispute whether an artist had the right to paint the Savior nailed to the cross with three nails or with four. It was a rigid, gloomy, religious spirit which ruled Spain's art until the seventeenth century. There are three schools of painting in Spanish art, schools which are named from locali- ties rather than from any par- ticular tendency. These are the Castilian, the Andalusian and the Valencian schools. The first painter of note in the Castilian School seems to have been Antonio del Rincon (1446?- 1 500?) of Toledo. He has been called the father of Spanish painting, and was court painter to Ferdinand and Isa- bella the Catholic. He is sup- posed to have studied in Flor- ence under Andrea del Cas- tagno and Ghirlandajo. Few of his works remain. Alonzo Berruguete (i 480?- 1561) was one of the Spaniards to do most to introduce Italian art into Spain. He studied under Michelangelo in Italy, and is said to have assisted him on his cartoon of the war of Pisa. His paintings are said to have been good in composition, but somewhat hard and cold in treatment. He did much, however, to replace the hard angular line then prevalent by the softer and more rounded line of the Ital- ians. Berruguete was a sculptor and archi- tect as well as a painter. Caspar Becerra (1520-1570) was also sculp- tor, painter and architect, and is also said to have studied with Michelangelo. He is classed among the great fresco painters of vSpain. Luis de Morales (i509?-i586) was called the "Divine" by his countrymen. Wornum says of him: "He may be termed the Ludovico Caracci of Spain, as regards his color and light and shade; in design and manner of execution, he has been termed THE RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE. 411 the Spanish Bellini; but he is not so hard as that painter. His works, however, or at least those attributed to him out of Spain, want vigor in the modeling and conception, and his title of the Divine, as far as respects excellence in art, is a misnomer." Sanchez-Coello (i5i3?-i59o) was a portrait painter of fame in his day. Philip II. is said to have called him his Portuguese Titian (he had formerly painted for Don Juan of Portugal) ; but his work does not have the glow and transparency of Titian's color, and his outlines are harder, although he studied Titian's work at Madrid. Juan Fernandez Navarette (15 26?-: 5 79), called "El Mudo" (the dumb) was a painter who had studied the works of Titian in Venice and whose work shows a free execu- tion, a fine coloring, and a good deal of dig- nity inspired by his study of that master. His finest picture is the Abraham and the Angels, in the Escorial. Gerard Smith says: "This picture is remarkable for the peculiar effect of the light, and the rich glow of color on the bending form of Abraham. El Mudo deserves his title of the Spanish Titian. In freedom and boldness of design he was surpassed by none of his contemporaries, and he pos- sessed the powers of Rubens without his coarseness." Theotocopuli (1548? - 1625), called "El Greco," was another painter showing a de- cided Venetian influence. In fact, his pic- tures were often taken to be by Titian, and it is said that no doubt this induced him sometimes to paint in a startling and eccen- tric manner, so that he might vindicate his originality. He was a fine portrait painter besides, as a portrait of his daughter in the Louvre shows. The Andalusian School arose in the mid- dle of the sixteenth century. Luis de Vargas (1502-1568) was its real founder. He is said to have been a pupil of Perino del Vaga, and his work exhibits the grandeur and simplicity of design and the correct drawing of the Italians of the six- teenth century. "Had his works," says Cean Bermudez, "been as conspicuous for tone and harmony of color as they were for brilliancy, composition, character and ex- pression, he would have been the greatest of Spanish painters." Pablo de Cespedes (i538?-i6o8) was cele- brated as painter, sculptor and architect. He was in Italy twice, and studied under Michelangelo or Zucchero, but his work seems to show more of the influence of Correggio. He studied anatomy carefully, and was skillful in foreshortening. Contemporaneously with this Aadalusian school arose the School of Valencia. Juan de Joanes (1523?- 1579), a pious man who always confessed and communicated before starting a sacred picture, was its founder. He seems to have based his art on that of Raphael, without in any way approaching his greatness. He was, however, a good portrait painter. The next painters in point of time of the School of Valencia belong to the seventeenth century. This was the great century in Spanish art, when her painters struck out for themselves and created a national school. P AINTING: THE RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE. (16) French painting, like that of Spain, was at first derived largely from Italy. There was here, too, a Flemish in- fluence, though it was less marked than the Italian. Before the fourteenth century painting had no standing as a separate art in France, being entirely subordinated to sculpture and architecture. In the fif- teenth century it derived a decided impetus from Rene of Anjou (1408-1480), the titular king of Naples. He resided in Italy for some time and there felt the Italian influence which he brought back to France. With this Italian quality he combined a Flemish hardness and closeness of drawing. Jean Fouquet (i4i5?-i48o?), his contem- porary, was chiefly a miniaturist and illumi- nator. His costumes are Italian, his types French, and his handling decidedly Flem- ish. Smith says: "He is perhaps most original in his accessory landscapes, and his architecture is also good. The pictures by him in the illuminated 'Josephus, ' in the 412 PAINTING: Paris Library show freedom, invention, and great artistic genius, and the compositions in his 'Titus Livius' are admirable for their naturalness and life." Jean Pereal ( ?-i528?) attached himself to the French army under Charles VIII. in his Italian expedition and painted many battle scenes. Jean Bourdichon (i457?-i52i?) is known as a painter of historical subjects and portraits in the reign of Louis XI. He and Jean Pereal with Fouquet's pupils and sons are said to have formed a school at Tours which showed some of the Italian influence. At Paris, however, the native illuminators and painters showed a decided Flemish in- fluence. There was an indecision in French art in the fifteenth century, a halting be- tween the Flemish and Italian methods and styles. In the sixteenth century, however, Francis I. induced several Italian painters of note, among them the great Leonardo da Vinci, to come to France, where they formed what is called the Fontainebleau School. From that time until the period of Watteau French painting was decidedly Italian both in technique and spirit. The only painters who seem to have shown any national feel- ing in the sixteenth century were the Clouets. There were four of them. They were of Flemish origin, and their technique is decidedly Flemish. Two cf them are of more importance than the others. Jean Clouet (i485?-i54i?) was court painter to Francis I. in 1518. He is the author of two portraits of Francis I that were for a long time attributed to other masters. For instance, the one in the Uffizi Gallery, Flor- ence, was attributed to Holbein, and the cne at Versailles, a half-length, was attributed to Mabuse. Francois Clouet (1510?-! 572?) has had many of his pictures attributed to Holbein. He succeeded his father as court painter. "The works of all the Clouets are distin- guished by a nai've adherence to nature, combined with great care and delicacy in the details." Jean Cousin (1501-1589?) began his career as a painter on glass. He was native French, and is said to have been the first Frenchman to paint oil pictures. He was a painter, an architect and a sculptor, but very little is known about his life. He founded his style upon that of the Italian, Primaticcio. He is perhaps most celebrated for his picture the Last Judgment, in the Louvre, where he signally failed to equal Michelangelo. It has been said of him that "he was undoubtedly the greatest French painter before Poussin; and in the grace, moderation and taste he displays, well ex- emplifies the severer side of the French school." Toussaint Dubreuil is said to have copied exactly the style of Primaticcio. This servile imitation of Italian art was carried to a still greater extent in the seventeenth century. P AINTING: THE RENAISSANCE IN FLANDERS. BRUGES SCHOOL: THE VAN EYCKS.(iy) The art of Flanders seems not to have owed its impulse to any foreign influ- ence. The Flemings seem to have begun picturing the life about them in a minute, painstaking way of their own. There is very little known of Flemish art until the fifteenth century, Laie investigations are clearing up its obscure history somewhat, and frescoes done in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries have been discovered. Monumental painting of these periods seems to have been greatly inferior to miniature painting or illumination. These latter were finally done on panels and became larger and larger, but the minute way of working still clung to the painter. We find the earlier Flemish art, then, very exact in detail, and very minute in observation ; but it was very often lacking in breadth and mass; and in searching for detail and exactness, the Flemish painters neglected composition and lost sight of the larger elements of line and form. They showed a strong realism, how- ever, in such things as texture and per- spective ; and seemed to feel air and space better than the earlier Italians. Subjects with the Flemings, as with the Italians, were mostly religious, but they also painted excellent portraits and showed a rare appre- ciation of landscape in a rather minute way THE RENAISSANCE IN FLANDERS. 413 Allegories were more rarely attempted. The real history of Flemish painting begins with the Van Eycks. Hubert van Eyck (i366?-i426) was the elder of the two, and very little is known of his life. He lived partly at Bruges and panly at Ghent. The only work remaining by which we can judge of Hubert's style is the famous Agnus Dei or Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, painted for the Chapel at Saint Bavon at Ghent. Hubert designed and began it, but upon his death it devolved upon his brother Jan to finish it. Crowe and Cavalcaselle say about his work: "It was the finest picture of the age in Belgium, remarkable fur its perfection of technical handling." It was a polyptych of twelve panels, which with their shutters form twenty-four pictures divided into two rows, having five panels in the one and seven in the other. Hubert lived to complete the whole upper part of the interior of the altar- piece, the part containing the Deity, the Virgin, St. John the Baptist, and Adam and Eve. He seems also to have painted on or begun sjme of the other panels and the cen- tral one, containing the Lamb, surrounded by worshipers is in part attributed to him. There is a curious mixture of the mystic, the real and the unreal in these pictures, and as a piece of painstaking and minute work- manship the altar-piece is marvelous. The God Father, as might be expected, is a failure. (By Crowe and Cavalcaselle this figure is designated Christ.) It is a not very ideal portrait of some one, with a papal tiara on his head. The magnificence of jewels and richly-embroidered drapery is depended on to give a celestial glory. Of all the figures in this altar-piece the Virgin is the finest. With its rich decorative feel- ing and its magnificent workmanship it is inspired with a most beautiful sentiment, an exquisite depth of feeling. It seems to be at any rate the greatest of Hubert's crea- tions in this altar-piece. The Adoration of the Lamb is composed in a most nai've way, and is distinguished by the same peculiar northern combination of realism with mysticism. Of Hubert's brother, Jan van Eyck (i39o?-i44o) more is known. He was in the service of Philippe le Bon, Duke of Burgundy, as "varlet and painter," acting at the same time as confidential friend and companion, and for these services received an anmial salary of one hundred livres parisis, two horses for his use, and a "varlet in livery" to attend him. In 1428 Jan van Eyck is heard of in Portugal, where he painted a portrait of Isabel of Portugal, after which he started upon a journey through Portugal and Spain, and, as wo have seen, influenced the art of the latter country to some extent. The Duke re- mained Jan van Eyck's friend through life, stood sponsor to his daughter, and showed him many favors. In the Agnus Dei altar-piece Jan van Eyck shows a power of observation which in many instances surpasses that of his Italian contemporaries. The portrait of the donor, Jodocus Vydts, for instance, is a most won- derful rendering of texture of flesh and robe. The hands in this portrait are marvels of texture painting in wrinkled skin and hard sinews and shell-like nails. What a keen characterization in the head, too! It is interesting to compare the two nude figures in this altar-piece, variously ascribed to Jan and Hubert, with those of Masaccio's Eve and Adam in the Brancacci Chapel, executed almost contemporaneously with these. In these figures by the van Eycks are found a closer study and understanding of detail, of extremities; but they lack the large dignity of conception in Masaccio's figures. In some of the panels Jan van Eyck again shows the Flemish superiority in a really splendid rendering of horses, armor and garments, and above all in a for that time most marvelous rendering of landscape, although it is too minute. There is too a fine rendering of space and air in these pieces. The Singing Angels and the St. Cecilia and Angels Playing Instruments are beautiful in grace and done with the same exquisite workmanship. In the Angel Announcing and the Mary Praying one sees the peculiar angularity of fold so common in the northern schools. On the whole this altar-piece is the finest work by the Van Eycks. After many vicissitudes it was sep- arated into its different panels, and only the panel containing the Adoration of the Lamb 414 PAINTING: is now in St. Bavon at Ghent. The two panels of Adam and Eve are at Brussels, and the remaining ones at Berlin. "There are numerous unsigned and undated works portraits and Madonnas which it is safe to ascribe to this master on purely artistic grounds. ... In the Madonna from Autun, now in the Louvre, with the Chancellor Rollin kneeling as donor, the portrait is ad- mirable, the Virgin almost ugly, the child their full rich coloring. With the Van Eycks began the School of Bruges. Peter Cristus (i4oo?-i472) was a pupil of Jan van Eyck, of whom Crowe and Caval- caselle say that he "was no worthy follower of Hubert van Eyck, whose grandeur and simplicity were beyond his comprehension; he was inferior to Jan van Eyck as a draughtsman and colorist, yet as a portrait painter he excelled. . . . What repels us most in his composed pieces is the vulgar quality of the dramatis personae, their awk- wardness of build and con- spicuous disproportion. " s CHOOL OF BRABANT. (18) MADONNA FROM AUTUN. JAN VAN EYCK. pitiable, the scene and landscape quite love- ly." (Woltmann and Woermann. ) Although these Flemings lack the breadth and largeness of view of Masaccio, they charm nevertheless by their naivett and wonderful workmanship and their love of truth. To Jan van Eyck has been given the honor of inventing painting in oils. There seems to be some controversy whether he or Hubert invented the process. Oil painting had been done before, but it was the invention of a certain varnish by the Van Eycks which made it practicable. It was by this invention that they made possible Roger van der Weydcn (i4oo?-i464) was the founder of a new school in Flemish art, the School of Bra- bant. He was of a different cast of mind from the Van Eycks. His art is stiffer, more angular, more ungainly ; and in sentiment he is gloomier and sometimes at first sight repul- sive. In color and the render- ing of atmosphere he stood far below the Van Eycks. His masterpiece is the Last Judg- ^^^^^^ ment, painted in 1443 for the hospital of Chancellor Rollin at Beaune. Crowe and Caval- caselle remark: "It is a fair subject of inquiry how it happened that Van der Weyden rose to the high position which he undoubtedly occupied in the esteem of his contemporaries and successors. The answer will be that it was because he appealed to a feeling in the human breast which generally breeds sympathy, and that he delighted to depict subjects in which the sentiment of the masses was naturally enlisted. He was more indebted for the honor he received to the peculiar religious subjects which he chose, than to the perfection of his paint- ing; and it is a matter for serious thought that an artist who did not approach to the THE RENAISSANCE IN FLANDERS. excellence of the Van Eycks should have been more exten- sively known and have exercised a greater influence than any other master of the Netherlands, that Germany should owe him some of the elements which com- bined to produce the talents of Schon and Diirer, that Bruges should owe to him its Memling, and Louvain its Dierick Bouts, that the School of Cologne should have derived from him a new character, and that the mix- ture of the three should have found its incarnation in Quintin Massys, the only original artist of Antwerp in the sixteenth cen- tury. ' ' Van der Weyden vis- ited Italy, but shows no trace of any Italian influence in his work. Van der Goes (i43o?-i482) seems to have followed Van der Weyden. There is only one authentic picture by him, the Nativity, in Santa Maria Nuova at Florence. The center panel of this altar-piece is full of exacting de- tail, and is marked throughout by the Flemish minuteness. It has none of the fullness and grace of the Van Eycks, and the Child and the Madonna are positively ugly. One of the three shepherds looks like an escaped jailbird. The little angels are peculiarly stiff, with drapery of angularity in fold, and are curiously conventional. The best figure of all is the one of St. Joseph, a capital, although very detailed rendering of a figure. Justus van Ghent (fl. last half of isth cen.) was another painter who seems to have followed Van der Weyden. According to Crowe and Cavalcaselle, "he seems to have been an industrious painter, without claims to superiority over the numerous pupils of the Van Eycks." Contemporary with these men stands Dierick Bouts (1410-1475), Dutch by birth but classed with the Flemings; for in 1450 he settled in Louvain, and his art is Flemish in character. His figures have a peculiarly JESUS CARRIED TO THE SEPULCHRE. R. VAN DER WEYDEN. long attenuated appearance, with the small- est amount of shoulders and calves. The solemn visages of his subjects show Van der Weyden's influence, although Bouts treats them with more softness and a gentle seri- ousness. His color is usually warm and rich, and in his landscape background he greatly advanced on the painting of his time, although he still treats objects in the far distance with as much minuteness as in the foreground. There is also more soft- ness in the cast of drapery than in Van der Weyden's work. His two greatest works are in the Museum of Brussels. They were painted for the council chamber of the town hall in Louvain, and represent the triumph of justice, as exhibited in the legend of Otho III., who having executed a guiltless courtier on the testimony of his own faithless wife, discovers the truth by the ordeal successfully passed by the wife of the innocent victim, and com- mits his wife to the flames. Hans Memling (i425?-i495?) was by far the greatest of this school. Although prob- 4i 6 PAINTING: ably associated with Van der Weyden in his earlier career, his art seems more akin to that of Van Eyck than to that of Van der Weyden. There is a great deal of grace, sentiment and beauty in Memling's work. His texture painting and landscape render- ing fell below some of his contemporaries, but he possessed mure refinement than any of them. As a portrait painter he showed great ability to render individuality, and in his portraits his ability to follow line was simply wonderful. In composition all the Flemings seemed to fall below the Italians, and in Memling is often found an over-crowding of figures and incidents. His Seven Joys of Mary, in Munich, is an extreme example; a most naive conception, where to tell a long con- nected story is considered of far more importance than pictorial composition. It is a marvelous example of miniature paint- OTHO III. ADMINISTERING JUSTICE. BOUTS. S3. JOHN AND LAWRENCE. MEMLING. ing, of delicacy and craftsmanship in the minute. His coloring is wonderful in its purity and brilliancy and depth. Among single figures his St. Lawrence, in the Na- tional Gallery, London, is regarded as very charming. His most famous work is in the Hospital of St. John at Bruges. This is the famous shrine of St. Ursula, a chest formed like a Gothic chapel, about four feet in length, on which Memling painted scenes from the saint's life. Of these pictures Crowe and Cavalcaselle say: "It would be difficult to select any picture of the Flemish school in which the dramatis personae are more naturally put together than in the shrine of St. Ursula, nor is there a single panel in the reliquary that has not the charm of rich and well-contrasted color. . . . Nothing is more striking than the minuteness of the painter's touch, or the perfect mastery of his finish, except the patience and accuracy with which he renders reflections or projections of sha- dows in burnished armor. . . . The sweet harmony and pleasing serenity of female faces are as grateful to the eye as the dig- nified character of their carriage and mien." THE RENAISSANCE IN FLANDERS. Of Memling they say: "Without the stern power of Hubert, without the grave and measured force of Jan van Eyck, with less depth of passionate expression than Van der Weyden, he won applause by creations embodying sensitive grace and purity of feeling, at a time when public morality had sunk to a point of degradation which it had not known in more barbarous and remote periods of history." Gerard van der Meirc (i427?-i474?) was one of the two best followers of Memling, beautifully finished landscapes, which hold in broad masses in spite of minute render- ing, and the "gaudy juxtaposition" of color in the draperies of the foreground figures. It is asserted by some critics that the back- grounds are by another hand. It has been said of him that he was realistically horrible in many subjects. In the sixteenth century there was a gradual change in Flemish art. The schools changed from Bruges and Ghent to the larger commercial cities of Antwerp and Brussels, and the lively commercial intercourse between these cities and Italy brought a decided Italian influence into Flemish painting. The change was brought about gradually ; but there was a steady de- cadence from the begin- ning of the sixteenth century until the time of Rubens, who restored to it its robust national flavor. A N T W E R P SCHOOL. (19) ENTOMBMENT. MASSYS. although neither of them had his grace and sentiment. Only one work can with any certainty be assigned to Van der Meire, the triptych in a chapel of St. Bavon at Ghent, representing the Crucifixion, the Lifting Up the Brazen Serpent, and Moses Striking the Rock. He shows Van der Weyden 's qualities in stiff figures of meager limbs. The other follower of Memling was Qheeraert David (1450?- 15 23), whose style was remarkable for a gloss and polish of surface. There is a peculiar contradiction in his work between the well-colored and Quentin Massys Matsys or Metsys. The Antwerp School was the most conspicuous in the early part of the sixteenth century. The founder of the school was (i46o?-i53o), also called He was the last of the Flemish painters of the older tendencies, and with him begin the new. He is popu- larly known as the "Blacksmith of Ant- werp." The story goes that he fell in love with a painter's " daughter, whose father declared that she should marry none but an artist. Massys accordingly studied art, some say under Dierick Bouts, others under Van der Weyden, and became one of the most prominent painters of the period. There is all the Flemish minuteness in 4i8 PAINTING: INCREDULITY OF ST. THOMAS. DE VOS. Massys' work, but it holds with far greater simplicity than the work of some of his predecessors. His masterpiece, the great altar-piece now in the Museum at Antwerp, was originally painted for the chapel of the Joiner's Company in Antwerp Cathedral. Wornum calls it "one of the wonders of its age." The center panel represents the Entombment. The figures of this, contrary to Flemish custom, are of life size, and in the composition the artist comes up to some of the Italians in the matter of grouping and leading lines. His figures are still some- what attenuated, but they have far more grace and beauty and are better propor- tioned than those of Van der Weyden and his followers, and the angularity of drapery has entirely disappeared. The characteri- zation of the heads is wonderful, and Massys almost reaches ideal realism in the head of St. John and the Marys. In spite of being so minutely done, everything holds its place, the background goes back and the different objects occupy their proper planes. A wonderful care and exquisite workmanship mark the whole work. He received the paltry sum of 300 florins, or about $125, for this great work. Massys painted genre pic- tures besides, the Banker and His Wife, in the Louvre, being a good example. Thereis al- most the Dutch point of view in this picture. Mabuse (i47o?-i54i) was a follower of Massys. He was one of the first who went to Italy, and he finally became Italianized in his work. His name was Jan Gossaert, but he is called Mabuse from his birthplace. He was also in England at one time, where he was employed by Henry VII. As long as he followed Massys he was his equal in color and execution, but after his visit to Italy he began to copy Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci, and, like all the Italian- ized Flemings, he lost originality of treat- ment and composition. Franz Floris (i5i8?-i5yo) was a painter of the Antwerp School much admired in his time. Wornum calls him a painter of un- questionable power, but of very questionable life. One of his most remarkable composi- tions is the large picture of the Fall of the Rebel Angels, in Antwerp. His influence on his. pupils was fatal to any native ex- pression. Martin de Vos (1531-1603) was one of them. One of his best works is the In- credulity of St. Thomas, which Wornum ranks a masterpiece of that time. It is almost entirely Italian in character. It is well composed and well modeled. He is a very interesting portrait painter. Franckens is another pupil of Franz Floris, who painted some allegorical pictures THE RENAISSANCE IN FLANDERS. 419 in a peculiarly confused mixture of the real and the unreal. Barent van Orley (1491 7-1542) was a painter from Brussels, who also did much to introduce Italian methods into Flanders. He is distinguished for carefulness of workman- ship and a brilliancy of color which, it is said, he obtained by the use of a gold ground over which he scumbled color. Besides painting on panels in oils and tempera, he made cartoons to be executed in glass. His masterpiece is considered to be the large pic- ture in the Belvedere Gallery at Vienna, in two compositions separated by a shield. These represent the Desecration of the Temple of Jerusalem by Antiochus Epiph- anes, and the Descent of the Holy Spirit on the Apostles. Michael Cocxie (1499-1592) was a pupil of Van Orley. He has been called the Flemish Raphael, but he certainly did not follow that master with any great success. His best work is a copy of the St. Bavon altar- piece by the Van Eycks. It has been said of him that his own pictures are remarkable chiefly as exhibiting the decline of national art in the Low Countries. The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, in the Antwerp Museum, is one of the best known of his pictures. Lambert Lombard (1505-1566), also called Suavius or Sustermann, was born at Liege. He studied first under Mabuse, then went to Italy and formed his style upon the Italian painters. Coming back to Liege he formed a school where he had numerous pupils who still further Italianized the art of Flanders. The pictures of Lambert Lom- bard are very scarce. The Pestilence, and the Shipwreck, in the gallery of the king of Holland, and a Deposition from the Cross, in the National Gallery at London, are noted as his. Pieter Pourbus (i5io?-i584), of Bruges, was one of the best portrait painters of a period which has been designated as the century of portrait painters. Wornum says : "Bruges is rich in fine works of Pieter Pourbus. The Academy has a Last Judg- ment, by him, with many small figures, well composed, and conspicuous for its fine draw- ing, in a decided Italian taste, in the spirit of the cinquccento and of Michelangelo . . . there is an unassuming modesty about all his portraits, which are carefully and smoothly finished, though not unpleasantly so." Antonio Moro (151 2?- 15 78?) was Dutch by birth, but he studied in Flanders and was Flemish in style. He became the best portrait painter of his time in the Nether- lands. His style marks the intermediary stage between the style of the Van Eycks School and that of Rubens. He was patron- ized by Charles V. and King Philip II. of Spain, and later by the Duke of Alva, and he died a rich man at Antwerp. Among all these imitators of Italian art were some who stood for the Flemish point of view. Paul Bril (1554-1626) was the best of them. Kugler says of him: "He viewed nature with a fresh eye, selecting her nat- ural and poetic rather than her arbitrary and fantastic features. He was the first to introduce a certain unity of light in his pic- tures, attaining thereby a far finer general effect than those who had preceded him. His deficiencies lie in overforce, and also in the monotonous green of his foregrounds, and in the exaggerated blueness of his dis- tances. " Paul Bril went to Italy, where he greatly influenced the Italian painters in landscape. The three Brueghels also held to the Flemish point of view in their landscape, and did not try to paint Italian scenes in an Italian way. They are known as Peasant Brueghel, Hell Brueghel and Velvet Brueghel. Pieter Brueghel (1520-1569), the "Peas- ant," took his scenes mostly from peasant life. It is said that he joined in many a rustic revel disguised in peasant clothes. He also painted small landscapes, with sol- diers and banditti. Buxton says: "There is a coarse humor about his pictures, which if vulgar is better than the insipid produc- tions of his contemporaries." Pieter Brueghel the younger (1564-1637), or "Hell" Brueghel, is inferior to his father. He received his name from his delight in painting scenes suggestive of the horrors of hell, imps, devils and the like. Jan Brueghel (i589?-i642?) belongs in point of time more to the seventeenth cen- 420 PAINTING: tury. He was the "Velvet" Brueghel, and was decidedly superior to his father. He often painted landscape backgrounds to the figures of other painters, Rubens for instance. On the whole, the portrait paint- ers of the sixteenth century of Flemish art were its best. It remained for the seven- teenth century to bring Flemish art to its height. I'ARABLR OF THE BLIND. P. ERUEGHEL P AINTING: THE RENAISSANCE IN HOLLAND. (20) Dutch painting was very nearly allied to the Flemish in its earlier history. In fact, the Van Eycks led the way and influenced the earlier painters of the Dutch School. We have seen how many painters, Dutch by birth, settled in Flanders and were classed with the Flem- ings. It was not till the seventeenth cen- tury that Dutch art struck out for itself, and then it became one of the most original influences in art. Albert van Ouwater of Haarlem is one of the earliest names mentioned, and he has been called the founder of the Dutch School. He lived in the early part of the fifteenth century. There is nothing au- thentic left of his work. Geertjen van St. Jan (about 1475) seems to have been his pupil. There are two pic- tures attributed to him in the Vienna Gal- lery, the Legend of the Bones of St. John the Baptist, and a Pieta. Jerom Bosch (1460?- 1518), also known as Hieronymus van Acken, painted many pic- tures of weirdand fantastic subjects which are known to-day through engravings. Engelbrechsten (1468-1533) seems to have received much from the art of the Van Eycks. It is said that he was probably the first artist in Ley- den who painted in oils. The three panels, the Cruci- fixion, the Sacri- fice of Abraham, and the Lifting of the Brazen Ser- pent, in the town hall of Leyden, are said to be au- thentic works by him. Lucas van Ley- den (1494-1533), Engelbrechsten's pupil, was the foremost painter of the Dutch School in this period. He is per- haps better known as an engraver than a painter, and his now rare engravings are highly valued. He was a personal friend of Diirer, whose engravings his work some- what resembles. He is said to have had a reputation as early as his twelfth year both as an engraver and as a painter. At that age he painted a picture in tempera of St. Hubert, for a citizen of Leyden, who was so astonished and delighted that he gave the youth one gold piece for 'each year of his age. Lucas lived like a prince and enter- tained his friends lavishly; and, it is said, ruined his health by dissipation. His work was first Flemish in character. Then he began to show an indication of the peculiar Dutch spirit which was to appear later in Dutch art. The La Dame de la THE RENAISSANCE IN GERMANY. 421 Madeleine, in Brussels, shows this. Later in life he became influenced by Italian work, and the La Vergine Orante, in the Palazzo Spinola, Genoa, if it is genuine, shows the peculiar grace and softness of Italian art with very little left in it of the Dutch spirit. Wornum says that Lucas' greatest excel- lences lay in his coloring and his aerial perspective. In the sixteenth century Dutch artists imitated Italian types. They were probably influenced in this by the Flemish painters of Antwerp. Jan van Schoreel (1495-1562) was the leader of the movement. He studied first under Mabuse at Utrecht and Albrecht Diirer in Niirnberg. His earlier work is so German in spirit that it has often been attributed to Diirer. Later he went to Rome and studied the works of Raphael and Michelangelo, and his pictures of this period are decidedly Italian in character and form. He returned to Utrecht and there opened a school, thus introducing Italian art into Holland. He is said to have been an accomplished linguist, poet and musician as well as a painter. He had a large follow- ing of pupils whose work was Italian in character and lacked originality. tieemskerck (1498-1574), or Marten van Veen, shows in some pictures a coarse mixture of Italian and Flemish traits. His Burial of Christ, in the Brussels Museum, is an example. The two figures in the side panels of this altar-piece are clad in marble drapery, and are throughout marked by a weak imitation. Cornells van Haarlem (1562-1638) was one nf the more prominent men of this period of imitation, a man who lost all native traits and imitated the forms of Michelangelo and Raphael with a certain coarseness of his own, as is shown by his Massacre of the Innocents, in the Museum of Amsterdam. Steenwyck (i55o?-i6o4) was a man of this period who painted architectural pieces in a very elaborate manner. "He is distin- guished for his Gothic interiors of churches and other buildings, sometimes with can- dlelight effects, in which the figures were sometimes inserted by Velvet Brueghel" (Wornum). There were many other men of this period, but they are less important than these before mentioned. P AINTING: THE RENAISSANCE IN GERMANY: COLOGNE SCHOOL, SAXON SCHOOL. The art of Germany in the fifteenth cen- tury seems to have received its impulse from that of the Flemings. The develop- ment of painting seems to have been slower in Germany, the old was clung to longer, and the work of the earlier period shows a singular struggle to throw off the fetters of old traditions. The art of the fifteenth century neither reached the new nor did it completely emerge from the old. The Germans lagged behind the Flemings, too, in the matter of landscape and perspective renderings. The science of the human fig- ure was not known as in Italy, and it is sur- prising to find how well the greater masters of earlier German art understood the figure from simple external observation. In studying the painting of Germany one must remember that it owes much of its character to the art of engraving. There was not in Germany, as was the case in Italy, the encouragement of great public decorations, by which an artist might reach the multitude. Therefore, upon the discov- ery of printing, engraving was eagerly re- sorted to by the German artists, so that by its aid they might show their ideas abroad. Hence nearly all the earlier painters were engravers, and their painting shows the in- fluence of this mode of expression. The line of the engraver, the sharp and the rather minute are prominent features of German painting. " 'No Medici smiled on German art,' said Schiller with truth, and it does the German artists of the period the greater honor that they should have been able, unpatronized and unaided, to take a foremost rank. The German emperors Maximilian I. and Charles V. appreciated art highly no doubt; still 'the last of the Knights' favored it only so far as it could promote his fame, and Charles V. encouraged chiefly foreign artists. Some 422 PAINTING: German princes patronized native art The Elector Frederick the Wise, John Frederick the Constant of Saxony, Cardinal Albert of Brandenburg, and Duke William of Bavaria but few in comparison with the long list of Italian princes whose love of art was proverbial. German cities again were far behind the Italian 1 municipalities as patrons of art. Four years before his death Diirer wrote to the Town Council of Nuremburg: 'In the thirty years during which I have lived in ihis city I have not earned five-hundred gulden, truly a small and ridiculoiis sum.' And Diirer certainly included private com- missions in this sum; for these were on the whole more frequent than orders from the authorities. Altar-pieces were ordered by wealthy patricians for the benefit of their souls, and portraits for the maintenance of family traditions, rather than from any care for art. The love of beauty was swamped by abstract theological discussions, and though it can hardly be said that the Refor- mation of which Diirer, Holbein, and Cranach were adherents was baleful to art, it lost much influential patronage by the suppression of religious foundations. Be- sides this, art in Germany was directed by the development of the national style of architecture into a different channel from that which it took contemporaneously in Italy. In a southern climate fresco-paint- ing found its use and opportunity in public buildings, and the art assumed a monumen- tal and public character, only condescend- ing, as it were, to easel work; while in Germany, where Gothic architecture with its broken surfaces still prevailed, wall-space was rarely available for painting; and the instincts and habits of the people also led them to develop their tastes for private en- joyment rather than for public display. "One direct result was that artists sought to disseminate their works widely in the form of engravings; the delicate manipula- tion needed for this class of work reacted on painting, and although easel-painting went through a parallel and independent develop- ment, as it did in Italy, the more popular arts of reproduction to a great extent filled the place in the life of the people which mural decoration held in the south. A greater contrast can hardly be imagined ; it is one of the most remarkable facts in the his- tory of art. In treating of German art, engraving must be regarded as of equal im- portance in every respect with oil or tem- pera-painting. It is in striking confirmation of this fact that engraving on copper was less practiced in those towns of Southern Germany, where wall-painting in the houses was treated with as much success as in Italy: while wood-engraving, as an adjunct to book-printing, was as thriving in these towns as in other parts of Germany. "Without engraving, the Renascence in Germany would have left comparatively little for us to study. It is in the prints which abound that we find a genuine record of the life, costume, and manners of the German people, and a faithful reflection of their intellectual and spiritual struggles, of their nature and their moods." The School of Cologne seems to have been the important center of German art when the impulse of Flemish realism reached it. Meister Stephen (fl. 1450), or Stephen Lochner, was one of the first to feel this influence. There are two celebrated pictures by him. One is the Madonna in the Rose-arbor, in the Cologne Museum, and the other the famous altar-piece, the Dombild, in the Cologne Cathedral. They show besides the Flemish influence a strong national flavor. "The 'Dombild,' which has been favorably compared with the masterpieces of the Van Eycks, is a trip- tych, . . . The figures are all painted on a gold background, and the green foreground with its many flowers seems to anticipate the rich culors of the oil-painters of Flanders." (Buxton) Of the figures in this picture Wornum says: "The principal figures are excellent for their time. They are small life-size, and well planted, and the heads are good, but pale in color; the draperies are well cast and carefully painted. " The Madonna in the Rose-arbor is a charming picture with a quaint mingling of the Gothic sentiment and grace and unreality with the realism of the new period. This Gothic sentiment is seen to be still further modified and encroached upon by Flemish realism in the works of the un- RENAISSANCE IN GERMANY. 423 known master of this school, the so-called Master of the Lyversberg Passion (fl. about 1463-1480), whose works may be seen in the Cologne Museum. He belonged to the so- called Westphalian School, which was closely allied to that of Cologne. Lucas Cranach (1472-1553) was a master of the Franconian School who settled in Saxony and there formed the Saxon School. The school was of short duration, for it begins and ends with Lucas Cranach and his son. Lucas Cranach the elder was suc- cessively the court painter to three elec- tors, and he was so attached to one of them, John Frederic the Magnanimous, that when that prince was taken prisoner by Charles V. at Miihlberg, he preferred sharing with him his five years' captivity. So the story goes, although now it is discredited. Cranach was Luther's friend, and painted several portraits of him. Cranach's style is a combination of the grotesque, the ugly and the naive, and still he is very interesting. His drawing of the nude figure, and he is very fond of using it, is very crude. He has, for instance, to dis- joint the anatomy of the foot entirely to get all the toes in, and the proportions of the figure are not always of the best, but still there is some grace in his work. His fan- tastic, humorously grotesque style is shown to perfection in the Fountain of Youth, in the Berlin Museum. Buxton writes: "From his primitive style of drawing, combined with his German naive tt and want of per- ception of the beautiful, his Eves and Venuses sometimes present a most comic appearance; especially when, as is occasion- ally to be seen, he crowns these otherwise unadorned beauties with a large crimson velvet hat!" One of his most represent- ative works is the Crucifixion, in a church at Weimar. Here he has introduced him- self and his friend Luther. The artist is being struck by a stream of blood which flows from the pierced side of the Savior. His portraits are hard and coarsely drawn, but they have a tremendous individuality about them. Lucas Cranach the younger (1515-1586) has had many of his pictures attributed to his father. He was a weaker painter than his father, and had less individuality, but perhaps a little more grace. F RANCONIAN SCHOOL: DURER AND OTHERS.( 22 ) The most important painter of the fifteenth century in the Franconian School was Michael Wolgemut (1434-1519). He seems to have been a very unequal painter, who at times could produce works of quiet power and dignity, but whose pic- tures are often ungainly, lank, and very harsh in drawing and expression. "Such works as are attributed to him are con- spicuous for the prevailing ugliness both of feature and of limb, which seems uniformly to characterize the German painters of this period; passion being expressed by distor- tion; as if they had an especially ill-favored people for models; though this idea is not conveyed by the works of sculpture of this period. . . . His masterpiece is considered the Peringsdorfer altar-piece, originally in the church of the Augustines at Niirnberg; now in part in the Moritz Kapelle there." (Wornum) To Wolgemut belongs the honor of being the master of the greatest painter of German art, the painter who brought it to its height as an expression of national life, spirit, thought and originality; and in whom the sixteenth century saw its chief leader. This was Albrecht Diirer (1471-1528). The Ger- manic mind had in him a complete ex- ponent. In him the studiously inquiring, the carefully painstaking, the minutely observing were combined with the poetically felt and the fantastically conceived. All the mysterious, deep and shrouded, the mystic and the elusive are combined with the most minute realism. They seem a con- tradiction, but are true of the northern mind, and Diirer exemplifies them perfectly. He fell below many of his Italian contem- poraries in several respects. He was not so broadly grand as they, his ideas were not put forth with such singleness and artistic simplicity; but, nevertheless, he holds one with tremendous interest, and never fails to make one feel deeply. 424 PAINTING: "Albrecht Diirer fills a large space in the history of art. So far as Germany is con- cerned he is facile princeps, unrivaled even in his own age by so great an artist as the younger Hans Holbein, and towering above all his successors, with the exception per- haps of Adolph Menzel at the present day. Wherever there are or will be students and lovers of art, there must be a great majority in whom instinct and intellect will be stimu- lated by the study of the works of Diirer, whether as painter, engraver, philosopher, author, or merely as simple burgher citizen of Nuremberg. . . . Although it would seem that it was Diirer's ambition to excel as a painter, it is as an engraver that he has won his fame and taken so sympathetic a grasp of the human heart." (Lionel Cust) It was indeed in his engraving that Diirer's peculiarly fantastic and mystic bent seemed to unfold itself best; and his power to tell so much with so little so simple a medium is wonderful The strain of the strangely passionate, the intensely felt in his work may perhaps be attributed to the Hungarian blood in his veins. His father was a Hungarian who settled at Niirnberg as a goldsmith; and in that city Albrecht was born on the 2ist of May, 1471. He showed his talents for art early, and at the age of fifteen was appren- ticed to Wolgemut for three years. His earliest known work is a portrait of himself drawn with the silver point. This was done when he was only thirteen, and shows an amazing power of observation and draughts- manship for one so young. Being one of many pupils, it is very uncertain how much personal instruction he received from Wolgemut; but he says himself that, "God lent me industry so that I learnt well; but I had to put up with a great deal of annoy- ance from his [Wolgemut's] assistants." There is a steady, slow progress visible in Diirer's art from the very beginning. The hard angularity of Wolgemut, especially in drapery, clings to him for a long time; but it gives place finally to a strong sweep of line and broadness of mass. It was his deep, arduous and continual study which ever improved his work. "He was a sim- ple, earnest, industrious artist, always work- ing towards an ideal, which he never considered himself to have attained." (Cust) Diirer's apprenticeship to Wolgemut ended in 1489. It was the custom after the "Lehrjahre" to enter upon the "Wander- jahre," thus to broaden by learning what was being done in other places, and it seems that Diirer spent part of the time in Schongauer's school for engraving in Col- mar, and part of the time in Venice, al- though the latter has been very often denied. At this time the Bellinis were at their height in Venice, and it is known that Diirer had some intercourse with Giovanni Bellini. Here he also came into close contact with the Italian painter and engraver, Jacopo del Barbari, known as Jacometto, who was the first to introduce to him the proportions and measurements of the human body as a subject for study. Diirer has in fact recorded that when Barbari first showed him the male and female figure drawn according to measure- ments, he would rather have had it ex- plained to him than to have received a kingdom. The proportions of the human figure became after that a source of passion- ate study to Diirer. He returned in 1494 to Niirnberg, where he took to himself a wife, who, it is said, brought him as a dowery two hundred florins, but with whom he found more than two thousand unhappy days There was not the opportunity to paint in Niirnberg that the painters in Italy found in their cities. A town of rich burghers, whose purse strings were always pulled tight, it gave no public commissions of any worth, and so we find Diirer depending mostly on his engraving for the support of himself and his family. He became quickly known through his work in this art, both in the North and in Italy; and when he again visited Venice in 1506 his fame was fully established there, where he was shown every honor by some, as well as many petty jeal- ousies by others. Giorgione and Titian had now brought a new glow and life into Venetian art, and Diirer must have appreciated the vast ad- vance since his first visit. Buxton says: "Doubtless he learnt much from the works he saw, and the criticisms which he heard, MADONNA OF THE BURGOMASTER MEYER. HOLBEIN. (SEE PAGE 425.) THE RENAISSANCE IN GERMANY. 427 but, fortunately for his country, he could go to Italy without becoming a copyist, Gio- vanni Bellini paid him especial honor, and Diirer tells us that he considered Bellini the best painter of them all ! The great master must have felt thus early that he was almost without honor in his own city. Niirnberg did not appreciate its greatest son. We find Diirer writing to his friend and gossip, Pirkheimer: . . . that in Venice he meets with many pleasant companions . . . who bestow on one much honor and friendship. Here, he says, he is a gentleman, but at home a parasite. How I shall freeze after this sunshine!" But Diirer loved his native town too well. He refused an offer by the Venetian govern- ment of two hundred ducats a year to remain with them, and in one year he was back in his native town working as faithfully as ever, without the encouragement so greatly his due. He even refused an offer of three hundred florins and free lodging at Ant- werp, and he complains later to the town council of his beloved city that whilst he had been offered these liberal sums by the people of other cities to dwell among them, his own city had not given him five hundred florins for thirty years of work. Maximilian appointed Diirer his court painter, but nearly all the reward that the painter received for two years' work was promises. He was also afterwards appointed court painter to Charles V., and Christian II., king of Denmark, sat to him for his portrait and showed him every mark of honor and appreciation. This was on Diirer's third journey away from Niirnberg, when he visited the Netherlands and was feted and honored by the painters there. "Of Diirer's wood-cuts the best known are the Apocalypse, the Life of the Virgin, and the History of Christ's Passion; of his cop- perplate engravings, St. Hubert, St. Jerome, and the Knight, Death and the Devil, . . . in which we see what Kugler calls the most important work which the fantastic spirit of German art has ever produced. The weird, the terrible, and the grotesque look forth from this picture like the forms of some horrible nightmare. " (Buxton) Lionel Cust says of this picture: "The engraving shows the Christian, clad in the armor of faith and courage, riding to his goal, conscious of, but undisturbed by, the menace of death or the horrible suggestions of the devil." There is a splendid energy and vigor displayed in the drawing of both the knight and the horse in this picture, and the engraving renders textures with wonderful power. The St. Jerome is a most beautiful render- ing of a cheerful, quaint interior with the bright warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. There is a quaint earnestness KNIGHT, DEATH AND DEVIL. DURER. and strenuousness about the old saint which charms with deep power. In strong contrast to this picture is one of Diirer's most famous engravings. This is the Melancholia. It was done directly after the death of Diirer's mother, and Lionel Cust says: "The blow has fallen, and his mother was no longer alive. In his engrav- ing all is dark and gloomy. 'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, ' dreams Melancholy. 'What use are wings, what worth the crown of bays, what avails it to build, to measure, to level, to weigh, to solve problems of 428 PAINTING: CHRIST ON THE CROSS. PURER. mathematics, alchemy, or philosophy, when the only end is nothing? Night and eternal sleep is all that mankind has to look forward to in this life.' The rainbow is the only note of hope in the composition, while the comet seems to denote the existence of another world beyond human comprehen- sion." It is full of strange power, this en- graving, but pictorially it fails; for it is sadly confused in composition and an explanatory text must go with it. In many of his engravings, however, Diirer reaches the pictorially sublime. That one figure, the Man of Sorrows, in the Small Passion, is tragic in its tremen- dous power of pathos. The Christ Driving out the Money Changers, in the same series, is marked by a grandeur and dignity and a well-designed and simple composition. Most of Diirer's paintings are to be found in Germany, but there are some in Madrid, Vienna and Florence. The Portrait of Himself, in the Munich Pinakothek, is an instance of his almost more than photo- graphic minuteness. Every hair almost seems to be painted separately, and there is an infinite following of the least detail in the face; still how well, after all, it holds in mass, and what a depth of personality and soul is in it! How much preferable this minuteness to the weak generalization of the Eclectics in Italy! However, Diirer is great in spite of his minuteness, not because of it. The same year in which he painted this picture (1500), he painted the Burial of Christ, also to be found in the Pinakothek, Munich. In this there is more success in the grouping than in some of his earlier works ; there is less confusion, and the ele- ments of the composition are kept clear. The drapery under the figure of Christ is also done with more breadth and less angularity of fold. The long - limbed, blood-streaked form of Christ is pathetic, nay almost gruesome, in its tortured ap- pearance. There is no suggestion of vic- tory in that death. This picture, like so many of Diirer's earlier ones, was done with the help of the assistants of his studio, and is therefore unequal in execution. Among Diirer's most important works are the Adoration of the Magi, in the Uffizi ; the Nativity, in Munich; several portraits in Berlin; Adam and Eve, in the Pitti Gallery, Florence; the Crucifixion, in Dresden ; the four Apostles, St. John, St. Peter, St. Paul and St. Mark, in the old Pinakothek, Munich ; and the Adoration of the Trinity, in the Belvedere Gallery, Vienna. In the Adam and Eve, in the Pitti Gallery, Diirer has created the finest types of the nude pro- duced by any of the northern masters. His study of the human form which he had pur- sued so diligently after leaving Venice, by continuous observation and drawings from the nude in the public baths of Niirnberg, shows itself fully here. They have the ideal grace and beauty of the best Italian works, and, as Lionel Cust observes; "are not un- worthy of being compared with such volup- tuous rendering of the nude, as the 'Adam and Eve' by Pahna Vecchio in the Bruns- wick Gallery." There is no more sugges- tion of the northern hardness and cramped ugliness here, Diirer has entirely freed him- self from the accidental and the ugly. Diirer availed himself also of his study of the human figure in the composition depict- ing the legend of the Ten Thousand THE RENAISSANCE IN GERMANY. 429 Martyrs, who were slain by the Persian king Shahpour II. Here Diirer has "described on a panel of about a foot square every con- ceivable kind of torture; these horrors are witnessed by two figures which represent the painter himself and his friend Pirkheimer. The difficulty of treating such a subject is immense; the execution, finish, and coloring of the picture are marvelous." (Buxton) In the Crucifixion, of the Dresden Gallery, can be seen still further Diirer's complete free- dom from the ugliness and horror of the style of Wolgemut. If we compare this picture to the Deposition, in Mu- nich, we are struck at once by the greater ar- tistic feeling and the greater dignity of treat- ment in the Crucifixion. The pain and agony of death is in this face and figure, but it is not gruesome like the form- er, for it has the dignity and beauty and resig- nation and a hint of the victory befitting the God-man. The nude body is treated with none of the ugliness of the older picture. The coarse, ugly extremities and ill proportions are all gone ; and although the figure is thin, it has not the horribly starved attenuated appearance of older German figures. "It may be doubted whether any painting of the Italian or any other school can rival this little panel paint- ing, only seven and one-half inches high by six inches broad, in intensity and no- bility of expression, in truth and precision of drawing, and in charm and richness of color. Executed like a miniature painting, it is as large in conception and rendering as an altar-piece of Bellini or Raphael. The body of the Savior hangs relieved against a dark and sullen sky, which breaks behind the foot of the cross into a low sunset horizon reflected in a deep-blue lake bounded by the purple hills in the shadows of evening. A few thin trees help to accentuate the solitude and pathos of the situation. Small as the painting is, it can never fail to impress, and it may be regarded as the high water mark of Diirer's painting." (Lionel Cust) ADORATION OF THE TRINITY. PURER. The Adoration of the Trinity, in the Bel- vedere Gallery, Vienna, is one of Diirer's grandest conceptions. This is in grandeur of line and mass equal to the pictures of the greatest Italian masters; and in fact it sug- gests, without in any way being like, the Divine Inspiration, in Raphael's Stanza della Segnatura at Rome. "The Holy Trinity floats in the air suspended by choir- ing angels, and adored by tiers of saints, who float around and below the divine group. Below lies, radiant in evening light, 43 PAINTING: SS. JOHN AND PETER. DURER. an exquisite view of a land-locked lake with wooded hills, ... on one side of which stands the painter holding a tablet with an inscription. ... It is one of the noblest pictures ever painted." (Lionel Gust) In the Four Apostles, or Four Pillars of the Church, or Four Temperaments for they are known by these various names Diirer has reached the grandeur and sim- plicity which in later life he longed for and strove to express. Melanchthon, who was Diirer 's friend, says of him that, "Diirer, the painter, a man of remarkable talent and virtue, was wont to say that, when young, he liked bright and florid pictures, and could not help delighting to see the brilliance and variety of the coloring. But later, when he came to look upon nature as an old man, and endeavored to get a closer view of her native face, he began to understand that the greatest glory of art lay in her simplicity. And as he could not wholly attain to this, he said that he had ceased to admire his own works, as he had once done, but that now he groaned when he looked on his paintings and thought of his own deficien- cies". The Apostles are supposed to have been painted in 1526, and the simplicity Diirer longed for is certainly here. They are grand, mighty figures, and treated with a breadth in line and form and drapery that places them with the immortal creations of Raphael and Michelangelo. The figure of St. John especially is one of the grandest and noblest figures of all art. Illness and anxiety seems to have blunted Durer's creative powers towards the end of his life. He suffered from a malady of long standing, and died peacefully on the 6th of April, 1528. His faithful friend Pirkheimer said about him that, "he united every virtue in his soul genius, uprightness, purity, energy and prudence, gentleness and piety. " "He was one of the great pioneers of art. Before him, little or nothing had been done north of the Alps to make art a factor in popular life. There is probably no branch of the fine arts which has not been affected in some way or other by the fact of Durer's existence. Of how many artists can it be said that they left an impress on the whole THE RENAISSANCE IN GERMANY. subsequent history of art, and that they re- mained beacon lights or milestones by which the course of true art can be followed with the certainty of arriving- at some definite conclusion? Giotto, Signorelli, Michelan- gelo, Raphael, Leonardo, Rubens, Titian, Velasquez, Rembrandt, Turner; it is among these names that that of Diirer will rank forever in the history of the world. " (Lionel Gust) Dlirer's influence was far-reaching, and he had many followers who copied his style. Especially was this true in engraving. Schaufelin (i49o?-i54o?) was so close a fol- lower that many of his works have been attributed to Dtirer. Hans von Kulmbach ( ?-i522) is said by Kugler to be "one of the most pleasing of Albrecht Diirer 's scholars. " He was a painter, who, although not a great creative mind like his master, had perhaps more feeling for the purely beautiful. His work shows a strong lean- ing towards Italian methods. There were several lesser followers of Diirer's style, who were painters as well as engravers, and who, from the stnallness of their engravings, have been called the "Little Masters." Among these are Al- brecht Altdorfer (1480?- 15 38), who was also an architect, but he was perhaps too orig- inal to be called a follower; Barthel Beham (1502-1540), whose style has been designated as coarsely realistic; Sebald Beham (1500- 1550), who possessed "great powers of in- vention, and sometimes used them without much care for delicacy or decency" ; Pencz (i5oo?-i55o), who studied the works of Raphael and finally imitated him; Heinrich Aldegrever (1502-1558), who imitated Diirer so successfully that he received the name of "Albrecht von Westphalen"; and Jakob Bink (i49o?-i569?), who was appointed painter to Christian III. of Denmark, but who was more an engraver than a painter. S WABIAN SCHOOL. SCHOOL.( 23 ) AUGSBURG To the Swabian School, which in- cludes a number of painters located at different places like Colmar and Ulm, be- longs the greatest master of the fifteenth century in Germany. This was Martin Schongauer (1446-1488), or Martin Schon. He was called "Der hiibsche Mar- tin" by the Germans, "Bel Martino" by the Italians, and "Beau Martin" by the French, because of the beauty of his works. He seems to have been a pupil of Roger van der Weyden of the Flemish School, but he was thoroughly original and German in his work. In him is found a decided deviation from the old and accepted, from the tradi- tions of the old Church; the spirit and life of the Reformation shine out from his work. That spirit of the fantastic, which so often seems to break forth in German art, fre- quently comes out to the full in him. He is perhaps better known as an engraver than as a painter. In fact, he commenced life as a goldsmith and engraver, and afterwards became a painter. He was born in Ulm, but settled in Colmar, and became the head of a school there. His pictures, which are rare, have the hardness of the engraver's line with a bril- liant coloring besides. Of the works attributed to him the best are a Virgin and Child, forming an altar- piece at St. Martin's Church in Colmar, the St. Antony, in the Museum of Colmar, and the Death of the Virgin, now in the Na- tional Gallery at London. Buxton says: "There is a valuable collec- tion of Schongauer's prints in the British Museum, where the marvelously beautiful rendering of his female figures proves his right to the title of Beau Martin. But apart from the beauty of his figures, we find a weird, unearthly, almost grotesque spirit in some of his works, which was quite un- known to the strict painters of religious art before the Reformation." Bartholomaus Zeitblom (fl. 1484-1516) was a supposed disciple of Schongauer, but no traces of the new spirit in that master's work are to be found in Zeitblom. He was a rather poor draughtsman, but his painting had a solidity quite remarkable for his age, and he rendered drapery well. Martin Schaffner (fl. 1500-1535) is a painter of this same Swabian School in the sixteenth century who seems by his grace- 432 PAINTING: ful and free compositions to have studied in Italy. Till within comparatively recent times he was unknown, his monogram, an S on an M, having caused his works to be ascribed to Martin Schon, although Schaffner is much larger in style. As an outgrowth of the Swabian School came the School of Augsburg. This was brought into great prominence in the six- teenth century by Holbein, who, after Diirer, is the greatest name in German art. The full Renaissance feeling came forth here at Augsburg in simpler and more telling compositions and in less angularity of draw- ing. Hans Burckmair (1473-1531) was the founder of the school. He was a pupil of Schongauer in early life, later came under Diirer's influence, and finally under that of Italian art, in which style his best composed and freest work was done. He was a rather good colorist, and seemed particularly able to give the effect of motion. He is perhaps best known by his series of wood cuts repre- senting the triumph of the Emperor Maxi- milian, a continuous procession rendered on more than one hundred plates. These are really remarkable for their prolific invention and their fine execution. The Holbein family, however, are the strongest painters of this school. There were four of them. Hans Holbein the Elder (i46o?-i524) was the father of the great Holbein, and his fame was so far overshadowed by that of his son that pictures now known to be by the elder Holbein were, until recently, attributed to the younger. Schongauer seems to have been his first master, but he was also influ- enced by the Flemish painters and those of Cologne. Later he seems to have followed Italian methods. The Saint Sebastian altar-piece in the Munich Gallery was until recently ascribed to the younger Holbein, but it is now con- ceded to be by the elder and proves him to have been a painter of a good deal of grace and feeling for the swing of line. He had a great power of rendering the characteris- tics of the human face, and this gift of por- traiture descended in a wonderful measure to his famous son. A UGSBURG SCHOOL: Continued. HOLBEIN. (24) Hans Holbein the Younger (1497- 1543) is the greatest of the family, and after Diirer stands as the greatest repre- sentative of German art. He is the first painter of the Reformation; for to Diirer clings still some of the medieval, the Gothic, while the Renaissance feeling is supreme in Holbein. He is not so mystical, so fanciful, so deep as Diirer, neither does he have his lofty thoughts; but he has a more pictorial feeling in general, more of the objective in his work, and the manifestation of the ordinary world around him suffices him as a subject. Then, he is generally simpler in composition, putting forth what he has to say in a clear pictorial manner. As a draughtsman in the ability to follow a line in all its qualities, as it glides over a bone here or a fleshy part there ; in the ability to model and indicate planes with the surest and most exquisite feeling, he stands second to none. It is this that makes him a portrait painter worthy of a place with the very greatest. His power of char- acterization is so keen, so sure, that his portraits live with a presence and personality unmistakable. He succeeds entirely in keeping his own personality in the back- ground, and places his sitters before us with an entirely unbiased objective truth. "He looked out with serene eyes upon the world around him, accepting nature without pre- occupation or afterthought, but with a keen sense of all her subtle beauties, loving her simply and for herself. As a draughtsman he displayed a flow, a fullness of form, and an almost classic restraint which are want- ing in the work of Diirer, and are, indeed, not found elsewhere in German art. As a colorist, he had a keen sense of the values of tone relations, a sense in which Diirer again was lacking; not so Teutonic in every way as the Nuremberg master, he formed a link between the Italians and the German races. A less powerful personality than Diirer, he was a far superior painter. Proud may that country be indeed that counts two names so great in art." (Leighton) He and his brother Ambrosius worked THE RENAISSANCE IN GERMANY. 433 under his father until 1516, and there is no doubt that the sons helped their father on his pictures. A book of sketches, by the younger Hans, done while in his father's studio (preserved in the Berlin Museum) shows him to be even then a better draughtsman than his father. In 1515 the two brothers went to Basle, where Hans Holbein found his powerful patron Jacob Meyer, who gave him the commission for one of Holbein's greatest works, the Meyer Madonna. In 1517 Holbein left Basle for two years, which he spent in travel. He is then supposed to have visited Italy. Re- turning to Basle again, he met the learned Erasmus with whom he formed a friendship, and for the illustration of whose work, Praise of Folly, he made a number of sketches- "The illustrations of this famous satire were as deservedly popular as the work itself. . . . The book went through twenty-seven editions during its author's lifetime, and Holbein undoubtedl)' deserves an equal share of its popularity. " (Cundall) But for the patronage of Meyer, however, Holbein would have received few commis- sions of any value in Basle. He seems chiefly to have been designing for stained glass, decorating furniture, and illustrating books. His best illustrations are perhaps the drawings for the Dance of Death. In this series of drawings, "the whole point is in the malicious pleasure with which Death beholds the consternation of his victims; pope, emperor, preacher, nun, are alike unready for his coming; rich and poor, young and old, make the same desperate, vain resistance. The drawings must have been made sometime before 1527, for in that year Hans Lutzelberger, their engraver, died, leaving his work unfinished, and for more than ten years the publication was delayed, it being impossible to find a wood engraver competent to render the action and the expression of the tiny faces. The dra- matic feeling, the raciness, the grim humor and abundant fancy of these little master- pieces, as well as the extreme care of their composition and drawing, prove that Hol- bein must have thrown himself heart and soul into their composition." (Robinson) Among Holbein's paintings the earliest known are the Last Supper, a Flagellation, and the Portraits of Jacob Meyer and His Wife. These are all in the gallery of Basle. It was for the walls of the Rathhaus at this town that he later painted frescoes of which only fragments remain. These are now in the Museum at Basle, as well as an altar-piece, painted at the same date, containing eight scenes from the Passion. The latter pic- tures are full of strong, passionate scenes. In the altar-piece in the Cathedral of Frei- burg is a most marvelous rendering of light which streams from the form of the Divine Child. In 1522 he painted another of his most important paintings, the Madonna of Solothurn, now in a gallery at Solothurn. This is marked by a decided Protestant feel- ing; the Madonna is a sweet mother of this earth. His most famous religious picture is the Meyer Madonna, in the Museum of Darm- stadt. In Dresden there is a free copy of this picture by an unknown painter, and it was by that the world knew Holbein's Ma- donna. A controversy, which lasted for years, was waged as to which picture was the original, but in 1871 it was settled con- clusively in favor of the Darmstadt picture. This has been called the "First Protestant Madonna." Llibke says about it: "In this work Holbein appears as one of the first among the painters of simple votive pic- tures. It is not the ravishing force of lofty beauty, not the spirited nobility of impor- tant characters, but the fervid devoutness and genuine sentiment which will always endear it to all hearts." This Madonna is indeed a wonderful rendering of a graceful, superb figure, and the dignity of pure, earthly motherhood. (See the cut, p. 425.) It is perhaps most as a portrait painter that Holbein is known. And it was his fame as such which brought him to England in 1526. Here he lived the rest of his life with the exception of a short visit to Basle. He brought letters with him from Erasmus to Sir Thomas Moore, and received through that person many commissions for portraits. Ten years after his arrival he was made court painter to Henry VIII., with a salary of thirty-four pounds a year, and rooms in the Palace. Among Holbein's portraits the 434 PAINTING: most important are : Morett, the Jeweler of Henry Vlll., now in Dresden; Georg Gyze, in Berlin; Nicolas Kratzer; Anne of Cleves; Sir Thomas Moore; Erasmus, PORTRAIT OF MORETT. HOLBEIN. and Sir Richard Southwell, in the Louvre, Paris; Wife and Children, in Basle; and Christina, Duchess of Milan, in the National Gallery, London. The last is a marvel of beauty in well placed spotting and in its exquisite simplicity of rendering. "Both paint and painter are forgotten in looking at a work like this; you see only the incarnate spirit, and feel its very sphere. Though the woman is really not beautiful, her expres- sion is fascinating in the highest degree. The rich brown eyes, with the yellow ring immediately around the pupil, seem to admit you to the secrets of her thoughts, and the full pouting lips irresistibly command ad- miration." (Wornum) The portrait of Hubert Morett was for many years attrib- uted to Leonardo da Vinci, It has not the simplicity of the Christina, but it shows Holbein's marvelous fidelity to nature com- bined with his unerring artistic taste. "Hans Holbein's death, like his birth and life, is enveloped in mystery. All that we know is that in the year 1543 the plague again attacked London, that on the yth of October he made his will, and that on the 2Qth of November he was already numbered with the dead. And so without a sign, with no word to note the day or manner of his death, or the place of his burial, the great painter, whose work is so well and whose character is so little known, passes silently from the pages of history." (Robinson) The glory of German art passed away with Holbein. After him it slumbered and did not awaken into national life and an expression of native thought until the present century. 13 041 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW BOOKS REQUESTED BY ANOTHER BORROWER ARE SUBJECT TO RECALL AFTER ONE WEEK. RENEWED BOOKS ARE SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE RECALL UCD LIBRAE 26 1985 EC'D LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, DAVIS D4613 (12/76) 3 117500687 2462