THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Gladys Wickson 
 
 Ida Wickson Thomas 
 
 Ednah Wickson Kelly 
 
 A 
 
RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 THE ART OF RAPHAEL, MICHELANGELO 
 
 LEONARDO DA VINCI, TITIAN 
 
 CORREGGIO, BOTTICELLI AND 
 
 RUBENS 
 
 BY 
 GEORGE B. ROSE 
 
 THIRD EDITION 
 
 To WHICH is ADDED A STUDY OF THE ART OP 
 CLAUDE LORRAINE 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK & LONDON 
 
 Gbe Knickerbocker {press 
 
 1908 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1898 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1908 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 (For new material) 
 
 Ubc Knickerbocker f>ree0, View fiorb 
 
 GIFT 
 
A/6370 
 
 Tfr 
 
 /fef 
 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 MY WIFE 
 
 WHOSE INTELLIGENT SYMPATHY WITH MY STUDY 
 OF RENAISSANCE ART HAS BEEN A 
 GREAT ENCOURAGEMENT 
 
 921 
 
PREFACE 
 
 IT is not the purpose of this book to endeavor 
 to assist the successors of Morelli in deter- 
 mining the authenticity of pictures. It accepts 
 the results of the latest criticism, and is based 
 on a loving study of works whose genuineness 
 is established by the weight of authority. 
 
 Its design is to give in a brief compass an 
 insight into the essential characteristics of each 
 of the masters treated, so that the traveller 
 may be able to enjoy them for what they are, 
 without looking for merits in one which can 
 be found only in another. Even the greatest 
 have their limitations, and these as well as 
 their qualities must be understood to derive 
 the fullest pleasure and profit from the con- 
 templation of their achievements. 
 
 General students should form their concep- 
 tion of an artist from his acknowledged master- 
 
VI PREFACE 
 
 pieces, which give the measure of his powers. 
 I have therefore rarely considered doubtful or 
 inferior productions, and have added no lists of 
 the master's works. Many such lists exist 
 already, and no two of them agree. I should, 
 however, particularly recommend those ap- 
 pended to Mr. Bernhard Berenson's invalu- 
 able little books on the Painters of the Italian 
 Renaissance. The extraordinary penetration 
 displayed in the body of the text qualifies the 
 author in an unusual degree to pass on ques- 
 tions of authenticity. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION i 
 
 RAPHAEL 18 
 
 MICHELANGELO 42 
 
 LEONARDO DA VINCI \ . . .71 
 
 TITIAN 104 
 
 CORREGGIO 131 
 
 BOTTICELLI 159 
 
 RUBENS 180 
 
 CLAUDE LORRAINE . . . .211 
 INDEX 239 
 
 vii 
 
RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 THERE are two periods in the history of 
 the world's art that are of supreme in- 
 terest, the age of Pericles and the Italian 
 Renaissance. But they are widely different in 
 their character. The age of Pericles was the 
 culmination of a long and harmonious develop- 
 ment, the glorious blossoming of a perfect 
 flower, which had grown in symmetrical grace 
 to bloom in ideal beauty. 
 
 Not so with the Renaissance. No period of 
 humanity has been torn with more conflicting 
 ideas, with more diverse aspirations, with more 
 opposing passions. Greek literature and Greek 
 art had come again to light, and the hearts of 
 many, carried away by the loveliness of this 
 I 
 
2 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 world, longed to return to the bright days of 
 old when beauty was all in all, and men gath- 
 ered to watch the naked runners at Olympia 
 straining their forms of matchless grace and 
 power, or stood upon the shore of the Athen- 
 ian gulf to look at Phryne as she rose as 
 Aphrodite from the purple sea. But in other 
 breasts the religious fervor of the Middle 
 Ages, the hatred of the pomp and glory of 
 the earth, glowed as warmly as in the bosom 
 of Peter the Hermit when he aroused Europe 
 to throw itself upon Asia in the hope of re- 
 covering the Holy Sepulchre. What made 
 the conflict so intense and so peculiar was that 
 the new spirit did not come as a distinct faith 
 against which the forces of conservatism could 
 be clearly drawn. The lovers of antique art 
 did not cease to be Christians, they were not 
 even heretics, so that they could not be burned 
 at the stake and an end made of the matter, as 
 Simon de Montfort had wiped out in blood the 
 brilliant civilization of Provence when a holy 
 war had been proclaimed against the trouba- 
 dours because they sang too sweetly of woman's 
 love and of earthly beauty. The spirit of the 
 
INTRODUCTION 3 
 
 Renaissance penetrated into every heart, and 
 the conflict went on in the bosom of every 
 man. For long centuries men had bowed be- 
 neath the yoke of an ascetic discipline imposed 
 by a religious fervor that had blinded them to 
 the loveliness of nature, and had regarded the 
 fair earth as a hideous dungeon haunted by 
 evil spirits, the body as an unclean tenement 
 of clay that imprisoned the soul and dragged 
 it down to sin. Slowly their eyes wereX 
 opened. They looked upon the world, and 
 they saw that though defaced by the ravages 
 of man and stained by his crimes, it was still 
 fair and good, and in thier breasts there grew 
 up, although they struggled against it, the old 
 pagan love for the beauty of external things, 
 for the purple sea breaking forever on the 
 silver sands, for the sunlight's brilliance as it 
 fell upon fields of golden grain and hills clothed 
 in verdure; above all, for the beauty of the*^ 
 human countenance, for the grace of the human 
 form. But these feelings were not simple and 
 unmixed as in the bosom of a Greek. In 
 every breast there were also the spiritual aspira- 
 tions, the hatred of the world, the flesh, and 
 
4 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 the devil that characterized the Middle Age. 
 These inconsistent elements waged an incessant 
 war. Sometimes, as in the case of Fra Angel- 
 ico, the spiritual side had almost the entire 
 victory ; sometimes, as in the case of Titian, 
 the new paganism almost uprooted the Chris- 
 tian spirit; and sometimes, as in the case of 
 Raphael, they were blended together in har- 
 monious union. 
 
 AVhen the Renaissance began we cannot tell. 
 Far back in the Dark Ages we can see the 
 spirit stirring, now manifesting itself here, now 
 there, but always sternly repressed by the 
 bigotry of the time. But when at length the 
 human intellect broke its fetters, its advance 
 was extremely rapid. Petrarch was already 
 seventeen years of age when Dante died, yet, 
 while the spirit of Dante is almost entirely 
 mediaeval, the spirit of Petrarch is almost en- 
 tirely classic. Still, as showing how the two 
 spirits were intermingled, the very groundwork 
 of Petrarch's poetry is of the Middle Age. 
 One of the peculiarities of the Middle Age 
 was its constant yearning for the unattainable. 
 That which was within reach was without 
 
INTRODUCTION 5 
 
 value: that which was beyond the grasp was 
 longed for with infinite desire. Men cared 
 little for their own wives or for any whom they 
 could win. Every knight chose some lady in 
 whose honor he might achieve his feats of 
 arms, every minnesinger or troubadour chose 
 one to whom to address his songs of love and 
 war ; but it was always some one beyond their 
 reach, either because she was the wife of 
 another or because of her exalted rank. It 
 was this purely spiritual love alone that found 
 poetic expression ; and there was so little 
 reality in it, it was so entirely a matter of the 
 imagination, that the real objects of human 
 love cared little about it. His visionary pas- 
 sion for Beatrice did not prevent Dante from 
 marrying and having ten children, and his 
 good wife, Gemma, no doubt valued the poet's 
 devotion to his shadow at its true worth. 
 Had Beatrice come to Dante or Laura to Pe- 
 trarch the poets would have wept over their 
 shattered dream, and have chosen some other 
 woman as the object of their adoration. This 
 visionary love, which it is so hard for us now to 
 realize, was the natural result of the absorption 
 
6 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 of the Middle Age in the things of the spirit 
 and its abhorrence of the things of the flesh.* 
 /Though the Renaissance owed its awakening 
 to the re-discovery of antiquity, there is a vast 
 gulf between the art of Greece and that of 
 Italy. In ancient art it was the type that was 
 sought, each artist striving to produce the ideal 
 of perfect beauty, free from the imperfections 
 of any individual man or woman. With the 
 soul, Greek art has little to do. The expression 
 upon the faces is usually one of Olympian 
 serenity alone, and if human passions are por- 
 trayed, as in the " Laocoon," it is only in 
 their simplest form. 
 
 Far different was the Renaissance. Chris- 
 tianity and the Middle Ages had swept across 
 men's lives, and they had learned to turn their 
 glance inward, probing the soul's most hidden 
 mysteries. Instead of faces which merely ex- 
 press the joy of living in a joyous world, in a 
 world still bright with the freshness of its 
 glorious youth, we have countenances in which 
 
 * Perhaps the best illustration of this peculiar kind of love 
 is the Florentine poet Sacchetti, who married three successive 
 wives, and in the meantime addressed all his poems to a fourth 
 woman. 
 
IN TROD UC TION *J 
 
 are depicted all the passions of humanity, its 
 most secret instincts, its vaguest aspirations. 
 It is no longer the type that is sought, it is theN 
 individual. Instead of trying to eliminate from 
 the work of art all that is personal to the 
 model, leaving only the abstraction of ideal 
 beauty, the effort is to represent the individual 
 person, the individual soul. Instead of en- 
 deavoring to produce from many imperfections 
 a single perfect type, they strive to show how 
 body differs from body, spirit from spirit. 
 Leonardo da Vinci would follow all day long 
 one whose countenance struck him as they 
 passed upon the street, striving to penetrate 
 the secret of personality, and to fix upon his 
 sketch-book the charm of feature or expression 
 with which he had been impressed trying to 
 seize those very elements of being that Apelles 
 would have been most anxious to exclude. 
 
 Therefore, while the purpose of Greek art 
 was the attainment of abstract perfection, the\ 
 purpose of Renaissance art was the expression 
 of the individual countenance and form. In 
 this respect nearly all modern art has followed 
 the guidance of the Renaissance, not of an- 
 
8 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 tiquity. We admire ancient art, but its calm 
 grandeur is no longer possible to our souls, 
 torn as they are with conflicting feelings un- 
 dreamed of by a Greek ; and when we try to 
 imitate it we are usually merely stiff and 
 academic. But the people of the Italian Re 
 naissance are our true ancestors. Their feel- 
 ings were the same as ours, only more intense; 
 they were confronted by the same problems; 
 their art deals with the same sentiments, the 
 same aspirations; and in the study of their 
 works the modern artist will find infinite profit 
 and inspiration. 
 
 The result of this seeking after individuality* 
 is that Renaissance art is far more varied than 
 that of classic times. In Greece every artist 
 was striving for the same thing, for the highest 
 type of beauty or of strength, so that there is 
 a certain sameness in their works. Scopas is 
 more vehement, Praxiteles more voluptuous, 
 but they are in search of the same ideals, and 
 even among the ancients their works were 
 hopelessly confused a thing that could never 
 happen in the case of Michelangelo, Raphael, 
 Leonardo, Correggio, and Titian. 
 
INTRODUCTION 9 
 
 And it was in consequence of this love of 
 individuality that painting became the favorite 
 art of the Renaissance, as sculpture was the 
 favorite art of Greece. Sculpture is best suited 
 to the creation of ideal types, painting to the 
 depicting of individual expression. And in 
 the hands of the artists of the Renaissance the 
 function of sculpture is completely changed. 
 Instead of plastic forms with brows on which 
 sits the serenity of Olympus, the body is useol 
 as a vehicle for the utterance of the most com- 
 plex feelings; and often the artist thinks not 
 of its beauty, but only of the expressiveness of 
 the tortured limbs. 
 
 And this striving after individuality in art is 
 but an expression of the spirit of the age.^/ 
 There are times in the world's history when 
 the individual is completely absorbed in the 
 mass of his fellows ; when all men are seeking 
 a single ideal, each rejoicing to subordinate 
 himself to the spirit that animates the whole. 
 Such in art were the Middle Ages, when 
 myriads of men co-operated in the erection of 
 those marvellous Gothic cathedrals which are 
 the wonder of all succeeding generations, and 
 
IO RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 yet all were so absorbed in their work that we 
 know not even the names of the architects from 
 whose astounding brains could spring the con- 
 ception of these vast structures with their in- 
 finite complications of ornament and slender 
 shafts reaching heavenward their stony arms 
 in rapturous prayer to the throne of grace 
 men who cared only for their work, and who 
 did not even carve their names upon those 
 pillars, the least of which would have made 
 them immortal. 
 
 There are other times that are periods of 
 disintegration, when the bonds that bound 
 men together are loosened, and when each 
 strikes out for himself, or combines with others 
 only for purposes of temporary advantage, 
 moved by no common impulse, but each seek- 
 ing for himself pleasure, power, riches, or fame. 
 Such a period was the Peloponnesian War, 
 the fall of the Roman Republic, the dissolu- 
 tion of the Roman Empire, the Italian Renais- 
 sance, the Thirty Years' War, the French 
 Revolution, times of intense personal activ- 
 ity, of strong individual development, when the 
 human soul breaks its fetters and revels in a 
 
IN TR OD UC TION 1 1 
 
 freedom that too often leads to dissolution and 
 ruin. These are not the most wholesome 
 periods in the world's records, but they are the 
 periods of greatest interest. In them we pass 
 from history to biography. We are no longer 
 concerned with the movement of vast inert 
 masses we are fascinated by intense person-^ 
 alities, each of which differs from the other, 
 having different ideas, different aspirations, 
 different characteristics. And of all these 
 periods of transition, when the old idols are 
 crumbling and thousands of new ones are 
 clamoring to take their places, when the old 
 ties of association have been broken and new 
 ones have not yet been established, when men 
 are free to pursue the bent of their own spirit 
 without constraint, when each stands distinct 
 from the mass of humanity, the Italian Re- 
 naissance is the most attractive. It was a time 
 of vehement activity, when brain and nerves 
 and sinews were strained to the utmost, when 
 each strove most passionately for himself, 
 freeing himself most completely from his fel- 
 low-men, a time of intense light and Cimme- 
 rian darkness, of great virtues and astounding / 
 
12 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 crimes, of princes like the Visconti, of whom 
 it was said that their hate was fratricide and 
 their love was incest ; of popes like Sixtus IV. 
 and Alexander Borgia, who defiled the chair of 
 St. Peter with orgies that would have shocked 
 the companions of Nero, and at whose poisoned 
 banquets Death presided as master of the 
 revels ; of saints like Fra Angelico and Carlo 
 Borromeo ; of murderous Bacchantes like Lu- 
 cretia Borgia, and of holy matrons like Vittoria 
 Colonna, a time of upheaval, of tumult, of 
 confusion, when a mere condottiere like Sforza, 
 selling his sword and his mercenaries to the 
 highest bidder, could become a sovereign, 
 when principalities were daily changed into 
 republics and republics into principalities, 
 when the ruler of to-day was the exile of to- 
 morrow, only to return again in triumph to 
 exact a bloody vengeance, a time almost of J 
 anarchy, when men yet loved art and learning 
 with an intensity of devotion that has never 
 since been equalled, when the artist quietly 
 painted his altar-piece or his Venus rising from 
 the sea, or the scholar drank rapturously at 
 the newly discovered fount of the Grecian 
 
INTRODUCTION 13 
 
 Muses while men were cutting each other's 
 throats outside his door, a time, in short, 
 when a man could be anything if he only had 
 the boldness, the cunning, or the strength.^/ 
 No age is so varied in its interest^ Each city 
 has its different architecture, its different art, 
 and its individual history full of the storm and 
 stress of conflicting passions. The very air\ 
 seemed surcharged with electricity, here shin- ' 
 ing as a splendid beacon giving light to an 
 admiring world, there crashing downward as a 
 thunderbolt, bearing destruction in its wake. 
 In this atmosphere, where all things were pos- 
 sible for good or evil, life was intense, passion- 
 ate, voluptuous, cruel, as it has rarely been, 
 and yet pervaded everywhere by a spirit of 
 humanistic culture strangely at variance with 
 the brutal ferocity that was continually break- 
 ing forth. The art of such an age must neces-^ 
 sarily possess a peculiar and enduring interestX 
 /"There is nothing more striking than the 
 sodden ending of Renaissance art) Greek art 
 reached the zenith in the age of'Tericles, but 
 its long afternoon was almost as brilliant as 
 its noonday splendor. But when the sun of 
 
14 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 Utalian art had reached its meridian it was 
 suddenly eclipsed. This was partly due to 
 exhaustion, but was principally the result of 
 political causes. \ 
 
 \ While all this brilliant life was going on in 
 Italy, while the peninsula was divided among 
 a number of petty principalities maintaining 
 the balance of power as carefully as the Europe 
 of to-day, each the centre of a rich artistic 
 activity, beyond the Alps, in those countries 
 of the North and West of which the Italians 
 rarely thought, and then only with contempt 
 as a region of barbarism and darkness, forces 
 were at work of which they scarcely reckoned. 
 Slowly out of the anarchy and turmoil of the 
 Middle Ages two great kingdoms were emerg- 
 ing, France and Spain kingdoms that cared 
 not for the arts, but rejoiced in war and rapine, 
 before whose vast mail-clad armies the Italian 
 mercenaries must be scattered as chaff before 
 the wind. They rose above Italy like black 
 and angry waves ready to break and overwhelm 
 the land; but she saw not the danger, and 
 went on with her masques and her revels, her 
 painting and her sculpture, heedless of the 
 
INTRODUCTION 15 
 
 wrath to come.y In an evil hour Ludovico il 
 Moro, Duke of Milan, invoked the assistance 
 of the French. This brought the Spaniard 
 also into the peninsula, and from that time 
 forth havoc and desolation reigned supreme. 
 Italy, where serious war had been for centuriesN 
 unknown, became the battle-ground of Europe.^ 
 The steel-clad knights of France, the iron in- 
 fantry of Spain, the ruthless reiters of Ger- 
 many, who dreamed only of blood and gold, 
 and to whose rude natures art could make no 
 appeal, marched back and forth, devastating 
 the land and trampling upon the people until 
 in the wretchedness of slavery they lost their 
 genius and their manhood, and became as in- 
 capable of artistic production as Greece when 
 she was reduced to the condition of a Roman 
 province. 
 
 Moreover, Italy had returned toward classic 
 times until it had become almost pagan, while 
 the rest of Europe was still imbued with the 
 spirit of the Middle Age. The pilgrims from 
 the North, seeing the wealth, the luxury, the 
 immorality of Italian life, in which the church 
 took the lead, were shocked beyond measure; 
 
16 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 and doubtless to the rude visitors from beyond 
 the Alps many pictures which are now the 
 glory of the world gave greater offense than 
 the murders of the Borgias. Germany rose in 
 revolt, and Switzerland, Holland, Denmark, 
 Norway, Sweden, and England threw in their 
 lot with her. Even in France the authority of 
 the Pope was assailed. In this hour of the 
 church's extreme peril, the fierce and bigoted 
 Spaniards seized the helm, and fought out with 
 measurable success the long battle against the 
 forces of the Protestant revolt; and they 
 trampled the bright Italian race under foot as 
 cruelly as they had done the people of Mexico 
 and Peru. 
 
 Crushed and bleeding, Italy thought no more 
 of art, and under the tyranny of the Spanish 
 Inquisition, she sank into such a state of deg- 
 radation that not only was she unable to pro- 
 duce works worthy of her past, but she could 
 not even appreciate those which she possessed, 
 and covered many of them with hideous 
 whitewash. 
 
 So perished the Italian Renaissance, but as 
 long as man loves the beautiful and the grand 
 
INTRODUCTION \*J 
 
 it will be studied with a loving care devoted to 
 no other epoch of modern times. It has been 
 to the modern world what Greece was to the 
 ancient, the glorious beacon at which the 
 torches of civilization have been lit. 
 
RAPHAEL 
 (1483-1520) 
 
 ENIUS has so often been synonymous 
 * J with misfortune, its path has so often 
 led in despair and darkness over stones and 
 brambles to a neglected tomb, Life has so 
 often pressed down upon its aching brows the 
 crown of thorns, leaving Death to circle them 
 with the wreath of laurel, that it is with peculiar 
 pleasure that one contemplates Raphael's un- 
 varying felicity. ^From his cradle to his grave 
 Fortune smiled upon him, and the approbation 
 with which his first artistic efforts were greeted 
 increased with the progress of his years until 
 it became a chorus of universal praise^ 
 
 Most men who have enjoyed in fullest meas- 
 ure the admiration of their contemporaries are 
 forgotten by posterity. Their popularity is 
 due to the fact that they voice the peculiar 
 
 18 
 
RAPHAEL 19 
 
 feelings of their own time, and when those 
 feelings are forgotten, they, too, pass into ob- 
 livion, leaving the throne to some rival who 
 speaks to the eternal and unchanging heart of 
 man. But such was not Raphael's fate. /In 
 his own day he was hailed by common acclaim 
 the Prince of Painters, and if a faint voice has 
 since been raised here and there to contest his 
 pre-eminence, it has been drowned in the general 
 applause. His fame has grown with the pas- 
 sage of the centuries until it is co-extensive 
 with civilization, and his name is pronounced 
 with reverence in every land and on every sea. 
 Nor is his renown confined to any class/S There 
 are painters, like Botticelli, who appeal chiefly 
 to the learned. There are others, like Dore", 
 whose hold is only upon the populace. But 
 Raphael charms both alike. (The connoisseur 
 understands better the mystery of his power, 
 but the peasant is enthralled with the beauty of 
 his work.^ It may not be amiss to examine the 
 foundations of this universal and enduring fame. 
 Our modern civilization is composed of two 
 elements : the humanism, the love of beauty, 
 of harmony, of rhythm, of proportion, of the 
 
2O RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 sweetness and the light of this world that we 
 have borrowed from the Greeks; and the 
 spiritual aspirations that we have inherited 
 from the Hebrews. These forces are in large 
 measure antagonistic. We all remember the 
 Euphorion of Goethe, the beautiful boy born 
 of Faust and Helena, the perfect being sprung 
 from the marriage of the Middle Age and An- 
 tiquity, harmoniously blending in a single per- 
 son the excellences of each. Goethe fancied 
 that he saw Euphorion in Lord Byron, but he 
 was surely mistaken, for Byron is totally defi- 
 cient in that unclouded serenity which is the 
 crowning perfection of Greek culture. 
 
 (There has been but one Euphorion, and he 
 was Raphael} In him alone are combined the 
 noblest characteristics of the classic and the 
 mediaeval spirits.} In him alone do we discover 
 the spiritual fervor of the Hebrew so chastened 
 and refined that it mingles in harmonious union 
 with the rhythmic beauty of Grecian art. (Tie 
 is the crowning glory of the Renaissance.) 
 Since the great awakening the two forces had 
 moved on side by side, often in hostility, 
 sometimes blending imperfectly. To Raphael 
 
RAPHAEL 21 
 
 was reserved the supreme honor of uniting 
 them, of giving to Greek beauty the religious 
 fervor and the sweetness of the Christian spirit 
 in its pristine purity, of clothing the Hebraic 
 abstractions in the radiant forms of Greece. 
 /He has done more than any other man to 
 purify and elevate the conception of physical 
 beauty and to make us comprehend the beauty 
 of "holiness. The world has never been the 
 same since his inspired brush effected the 
 magic combination. The two spirits which 
 had been at conflict for ages he has reconciled 
 with one another, and we know now, as those 
 who preceded him could never know, that they 
 can be blended without injury to either, and 
 that from their union there can spring the 
 dazzling Euphorion, as serenely beautiful as 
 an Olympian divinity, as pure in spirit and as 
 full of heavenward aspirations as the Marys 
 who gazed in wonder into the vacant sepulchre. 
 According to our individual temperament or 
 culture, we may prefer the Hebraic or the 
 classic spirit ; but since Raphael has made the 
 great reconciliation we can never again look 
 upon them as incompatible. 
 
22 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 One great element in Raphael's fame is his 
 perfect purity. The soul of man was born to 
 rise. It may flounder in the mire, but it will 
 still strive with its soiled and broken pinions to 
 beat upward into the pure ether, and though 
 it may fall back into the slime from which it 
 rose, the gaze of the dying eagle will still be 
 fixed on the clear heavens where it might have 
 soared on extended wing. Therefore the art 
 that can combine a beauty that will allure with 
 a purity that will lift the soul to a higher plane 
 is the art that will last; and no painter com- 
 bines these qualities in the same measure as 
 does Raphael. There are some who have 
 more spiritual fervor, but they are so indiffer- 
 ent to external beauty that they repel as much 
 as they attract. There are others who have 
 an equal, possibly a finer, conception of physi- 
 cal beauty, but they have not the same power 
 to exalt the soul. It is impossible to look 
 upon a masterpiece of Raphael's without a 
 sense of spiritual elevation. He does not, like 
 Michelangelo, carry us to dizzy heights around 
 which rage the storms of Titanic passions ; he 
 leads us into an enchanted land bathed in a 
 
RAPHAEL 23 
 
 mellow radiance, where all is as wholesome as 
 it is charming, and where the Christian Graces 
 move about upon their errands of love and 
 mercy as fair as Olympian deities and with the 
 sweet serenity of the world's youth. It mat- 
 ters not whether we are Christians or pagans, 
 his works appeal to all ; and we can never look 
 upon them without carrying away with us 
 some atom of their serene beauty which will 
 make us aspire to a purer and a higher life. 
 
 Another cause of Raphael's success is his 
 never failing humanity. In his works there is 
 always to be found that touch of nature that 
 makes all men kin. Michelangelo is super- 
 human, and it is only the elect who can be in 
 full sympathy with his mighty and solitary 
 soul. Raphael deals indeed with a humanity 
 that is perfected and lifted into a serener 
 atmosphere than is possible for this troubled 
 world, but even in his grandest flights he re- 
 mains human. His men and women live on a 
 higher plane than ours, but they are never 
 beyond our comprehension or our sympathy. 
 They are so elevated that they must be looked 
 up to by the noblest, but they are never so far 
 
24 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 away that the humblest cannot grasp their es- 
 sential qualities. v They are select spirits who 
 have shaken off the dross of earth, but the 
 beauty, the dignity, the sweetness of true man- 
 hood and womanhood remain. They are not 
 supernatural beings, but men and women like 
 ourselves, purified, elevated, and refined. The 
 sight of the superhuman is dispiriting, for we 
 know that we can never reach it. But the 
 sight of the humanly perfect is encouraging, 
 for it shows us an ideal that we can under- 
 stand, and which does not seem beyond the 
 possibility of achievement. Before Michel- 
 angelo's prodigious figures we feel a sense 
 of our littleness and incapacity; but before 
 Raphael's noble creations we feel exalted, and 
 we say to ourselves, Why should not we be 
 thus ? In his power to combine the highest 
 art with an unfailing spirit of humanity Raphael 
 is supereminent. 
 
 One of the qualities which endear him most 
 to the hearts of men is his cheerful serenity. 
 Sometimes we enjoy the frenzied orgy of ex- 
 cessive mirth ; sometimes we like to sup full of 
 horrors; but both, in the healthy mind, are 
 
RAPHAEL 25 
 
 transient tastes, while we gladly pass our lives 
 in the contemplation of serene cheerfulness. 
 Therefore Raphael's are pictures that we love 
 to live with, that become dear companions of 
 our solitude, lifting the troubled soul into a 
 clearer and brighter atmosphere, purging it of 
 baleful and unwholesome thoughts, bringing it 
 to repose and peace; and as such they must 
 always be inexpressibly dear to the human 
 heart. 
 
 And it is to Raphael more than to anyone 
 'else that the modern world owes its conception 
 of beauty that beauty in which the physical 
 and the spiritual shall mingle in ever varying 
 proportions, but in which neither shall ever be 
 entirely lacking; the beauty of the " Sistine 
 Madonna," whose great eyes are full of the 
 light of heaven as she is revealed upon her 
 cloudy throne; the beauty of the " Madonna 
 of the Chair," the ideal of wholesome and 
 happy motherhood ; the beauty of the young 
 athlete worthy to have entered the Olympic 
 games, who hangs from the wall in the " Burn- 
 ing of the Borgo "; the beauty of the Arch- 
 angel Michael transfixing Satan with his lance, 
 
26 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 unmoved by passion, as serene in the per- 
 formance of his glorious duty as an Olympian 
 divinity; the beauty of Apollo and the Muses 
 thrilled with the rapture of divine harmony 
 upon the wooded summit of Parnassus, beauty 
 in countless forms, never sensual and gross, 
 never unsubstantial and inane, always truly 
 physical and truly spiritual, always attractive 
 and always ennobling. We do not know what 
 our ideal of beauty would have been without 
 Raphael, but it would have been different, 
 either erring like Leonardo on the side of the 
 spiritual, or like Titian on the side of the phys- 
 ical. It was Raphael who struck the golden 
 mean and established our standard. 
 
 In no other painter have the real and the 
 ideal so happily blended. He is upon principle 
 an idealist, seeking to elevate human nature 
 and to give it a surpassing beauty, dignity, 
 and grace. But it is not the washed-out, intan- 
 gible, unrealized idealism of which we see so 
 much to-day. His figures, beautiful as they 
 are, remain as real as the ugliest transcripts of 
 low life given us by Van Ostade or Teniers. 
 Even his fabulous monsters, his dragons and 
 
RAPHAEL 27 
 
 chimeras, are not mere creatures of the im- 
 agination, but are rilled with an intense, ve- 
 hement, palpitating life, and we feel that if 
 Nature had made such things she would have 
 made them thus. And idealist as he is, he is 
 perhaps the most absolute realist of all artists 
 in the one branch where absolute realism is the 
 highest merit, the making of portraits. He 
 anticipated Cromwell's injunction to paint him 
 as he was, warts and all, and it is doubtful 
 whether there are any portraits in the world 
 more remorselessly realistic, more intensely in- 
 dividual, than those of Raphael. He neither 
 flatters the physical aspect of the faces nor 
 lends to them any of the charm of his own 
 gracious personality; but with a pitiless pre- 
 cision almost without example he gives them 
 to us exactly as they were, with all their im- 
 perfections on their heads. 
 
 Outside of the physical beauty and the 
 spiritual elevation of his types, Raphael's 
 highest qualities as an artist those in which he 
 remains unapproached and unapproachable 
 are in illustration and composition. 
 
 Art may be roughly divided into two great 
 
28 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 elements, decoration and illustration : decora- 
 tion, which seeks beauty alone, regardless of 
 meaning; illustration, which seeks meaning 
 alone, regardless of beauty. Ordinarily they 
 are combined, so that the thing has both 
 beauty and meaning, but they may be utterly 
 divorced, as in the case of a crazy quilt, which 
 has no meaning at all, yet which pleases by 
 reason of the sensuous charm of color, and in 
 the case of a newspaper woodcut showing 
 some important event, which has no beauty, 
 but which interests by reason of the occur- 
 rences portrayed. In art the decorative ele- 
 ment is the universal, appealing to all times 
 and to all nations ; while the illustrative element 
 is transitory, and when we lose interest in the 
 events depicted we lose interest in the work as 
 an illustration ; and then if it still attracts, it 
 must be solely on account of the decorative 
 elements which it contains. But a vivid illus- 
 tration of anything about which people are 
 deeply concerned, as a terrible conflagration or 
 a great battle that has just taken place, will 
 interest the general public far more than any 
 decorative picture, however beautiful, and will 
 
RAPHAEL 29 
 
 bring to the artist a more immediate fame and 
 a greater meed of popular applause. Qnjthe 
 other- hand, a mere illustration of something 
 far away or almost forgotten will fall flat, how- 
 ever skilful may be its execution. 
 
 Raphael was the greatest illustrator that ever 
 lived, and he has devoted his incomparable 
 talents to the illustration of the book that in- 
 terests us most, to depicting the events of the 
 story in which we are all instructed at our 
 mother's knee, whose every episode is familiar 
 to every beholder, and which to most of us is 
 full of absorbing interest ; hence his vast popu- 
 larity with all mankind. 
 
 If the time shall ever come when the Babe 
 of Bethlehem shall be forgotten, when the 
 meaning of the pictures is lost and men marvel 
 vainly why angels should be attending an in- 
 fant sleeping in a manger, then the decorative 
 elements of Raphael's work will alone remain, 
 and men may wonder why he was more es- 
 teemed than Titian ; but as long as Christianity 
 maintains its hold, the story which he illus- 
 trates with a sweetness, a dignity, a beauty that 
 remain unrivalled will preserve its perennial at- 
 
30 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 traction, and the popularity of his works will 
 continue unimpaired. 
 
 It is the fashion now to depreciate the illus- 
 trative or literary element in painting even to 
 the extent of denying it any place in true art. 
 But this is an extreme view. The illustrations 
 of the life of Christ can have no meaning for a 
 Turk or a Japanese, who might still enjoy the 
 splendor of Titian's coloring. But for a long 
 time the civilized world has been brought up 
 in the teachings of the Christian faith, and it 
 is not likely that the Christian legends will be 
 forgotten before the pictures themselves have 
 crumbled into dust ; and art can perform no 
 greater service to humanity than to clothe the 
 popular beliefs in noble and dignified forms 
 calculated to exalt and purify the people's 
 faith. Besides, it is doubtful whether illustra- 
 tion itself is inferior in artistic merit to decora- 
 tion. [The imaginative illustrator who enables 
 us to realize vividly and intensely the events 
 of the past or of the present, giving form and 
 substance to our faint and fleeting impressions, 
 so that we can feel the elevation and purity of 
 X soul of which humanity is capable, and can 
 
RAPHAEL 3 1 
 
 raise our feeble imaginations to a comprehen- 
 sion of the grandeur and solemnity of great 
 events, displays a talent that may well be 
 paralleled with that of the most splendid mas- 
 ters of decorative art. 
 
 From what I have said of Raphael's suprem- 
 acy as an illustrator it must not be inferred 
 that his works lack decorative qualities. As 
 a colorist he is inferior to the great Venetians, 
 but his color is always agreeable and appropri- 
 ate, and the harmony of his lines is decorative 
 in the highest degree. If their meaning were 
 entirely lost, his pictures would still be ex- 
 tremely attractive for their mere sensuous 
 beauty. 
 
 In the art of composition Raphael's pre- ^Hu-Q^ 
 eminence has never been contested. In the 
 grouping of the figures so as to form an agree- 
 able and impressive whole he has no rival. It 
 is not merely the balancing of group against 
 group on a flat surface, which had been done so 
 often and so admirably before him; it is the 
 composition in space, the composition in three 
 dimensions, in which he excels. No man, un- 
 less it be Claude Lorraine, gives so vivid an 
 
32 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 idea of space. And most of his pictures give 
 not merely the feeling of space, but of its limit- 
 less extent. He may not show a far-reaching 
 background, but there is a sense of space 
 stretching beyond and away into infinite dis- 
 tance. And this sense of space has much to 
 do with the impressiveness of his work. We 
 have all climbed to some eminence from which 
 we have overlooked a wide expanse of country, 
 and remember the thrill which we have experi- 
 enced, the exaltation, the sense of enlarged 
 vitality, the charm of the infinite t'hat has 
 stirred our souls. Something of this there is 
 in Raphael's pictures. And his skill in group- 
 ing his figures is such that they remind us of 
 the rhythmic harmony of music ; not, like 
 architecture, of music that is frozen, but of 
 music that is throbbing and palpitating with 
 life. 
 
 Nor is it necessary to go out of doors to 
 experience the feeling of space. The same 
 exhilarating sense comes upon us as we stand 
 beneath the arches of a vast cathedral, in a 
 lofty hall, or a lengthy corridor, and none of 
 Raphael's pictures gives it more strongly than 
 
RAPHAEL 33 
 
 the " School of Athens." To produce it is 
 perhaps the highest achievement of architec- 
 ture; to give the illusion of it is one of the 
 greatest feats of painting. 
 
 Man's puny body can be accommodated in 
 very restricted quarters, but his intellect pines 
 for extended reaches, for limitless distances. 
 A ceiling seven feet high will serve his every 
 physical want, but unless it towers far above 
 his head he experiences a sense of confine- 
 ment, of suffocation. It is all a matter of the 
 imagination, and therefore the same effect of 
 exhilarating freedom can be produced by a 
 picture so disposed as to give a feeling of the 
 measureless extent of space. 
 
 As I have said, Claude Lorraine approached 
 and perhaps equalled Raphael in his power of 
 creating this illusion, but they work in widely 
 different ways and to widely different ends. 
 With Claude man is swallowed up in nature. 
 He is but an atom in the illimitable expanse, 
 and his puny figure might be stricken from the 
 landscape without material loss. But with 
 Raphael it is nature dominated by man. The 
 sense of space is the same, but man is not a 
 
 3 
 
34 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 , mere incident, he is the master spirit. He is 
 not there to adorn the landscape: the land- 
 scape exists for him, and, limitless as it is, it is 
 subordinated to man's dignity. And it is this 
 faculty, which Raphael possesses in so supreme 
 a degree, of giving at the same time a realizing 
 sense of nature's boundless extent and of man's 
 inherent superiority, that imparts to Raphael's 
 pictures a large portion of their unrivalled 
 charm. 
 
 Raphael did not develop this faculty un- 
 aided. His master, Perugino, possessed it in 
 a high degree, and taught it to his pupil, who 
 surpassed him in this as in all else. And if, as 
 many critics now contend, the " Apollo and 
 Marsyas " of the Louvre, attributed to Ra- 
 phael, and the " Baptism of Christ " in the 
 National Gallery, attributed to Perugino, are 
 by neither of those masters, there must have 
 been at least one other who had almost equal 
 skill in the difficult art of composing so as to 
 reveal the depths of space while asserting man's 
 pre-eminence. 
 
 Raphael was the most receptive artist that 
 ever lived, learning something from everyone 
 

 RAPHAEL 35 
 
 with whom he came in contact; but he was 
 never an eclectic. We are familiar with eclec- 
 ticism in the next age, when the Carracci sought 
 to produce pictures combining the merits of all 
 schools. Their works exhibit great skill, and 
 are sometimes very beautiful, but they lack 
 vitality. With Raphael it was different. 
 Everything he learned was. so thoroughly as- 
 similated that it became his own, and in pass- 
 ing through the alembic of his marvellous brain 
 it was transmuted into purest gold. 
 
 This power of assimilation possessed by some 
 geniuses is startling. Shakespeare's knowledge 
 of antiquity was of the slightest, extending 
 little beyond Plutarch's Lives; and yet he 
 has given us in Julius Casar the most living 
 transcript of ancient life and feeling to be 
 found in the whole range of literature. The 
 flashlight of his genius penetrated deeper into 
 the spirit of antiquity than all the learned 
 have reached, groping painfully with their 
 farthing candles. So it was with Raphael. 
 His life was so short and so busy that he could 
 not have become a very profound scholar ; yet 
 the whole spirit of Greek poetry is in his 
 
36 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 " Galatea/' the whole spirit of Greek philos- 
 ophy is in his "School of Athens"; and 
 while he became so thoroughly a Greek that 
 his work would have been hailed by Pericles 
 with delight, he still remained the highest and 
 purest type of the Christian artist. 
 
 When he arrived at the zenith of his fame 
 Raphael was so overwhelmed with commis- 
 sions that Briareus himself would not have 
 been able to meet the demands upon him, and 
 the master had recourse to the assistance of 
 his pupils, often furnishing only a sketch, and 
 leaving to them the entire work of painting. 
 For this he has been greatly blamed, but it 
 was a priceless gain to art. His inexhaustible 
 fertility enabled him to dash off these designs 
 with extreme rapidity, and in the meantime he 
 was himself working industriously with his 
 brush. The patron who thought that he was 
 getting a picture by Raphael's own hand might 
 have had cause to complain, but we should 
 only be grateful. Without this collaboration 
 we should have had few, if any, additional 
 productions by Raphael himself, and we 
 should have lost numerous treasures of ines- 
 
 
RAPHAEL 37 
 
 timable value. Who would not have the 
 " Holy Family of Francis the First," with 
 that Madonna and that Magdalen which are 
 among the most beautiful faces that even Ra- 
 phael drew, and the magnificent " St. Michael " 
 of the Louvre, perhaps the most glorious type 
 of youthful manhood to be found in all the 
 range of modern art, painted as they are by 
 the hand of Giulio Romano, rather than not 
 have them at all ? Who would not have the 
 " Battle of Constantine," perhaps the most 
 splendid battle-piece ever produced, worked 
 out after Raphael's death by his scholars ac- 
 cording to his designs, rather than the unin- 
 spired compositions that they would have 
 turned off if left to their own devices ? 
 
 To realize the difference between Raphael 
 and his pupils we need only to go to the Far- 
 nesina at Rome, and look at his " Galatea," 
 the most beautiful of all the lovely pictures 
 that have been inspired by the art of antiquity, 
 so full of the sea's splendor and of the exultant 
 spirit of pagan joy, and then pass into the ad- 
 joining enclosed loggia decorated by his pupils 
 with the story of Cupid and Psyche after his 
 
38 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 designs. Nothing could be more deliciously 
 perfect than his own painting, while the work 
 of his disciples offends the eye by its coarseness 
 and haste. Still, through the imperfection of 
 the workmanship there shines forth the divine 
 beauty of Raphael's conception. The pictures 
 would have been incomparably more precious 
 had they been wrought by the master's own 
 hand; but in that event we must have done 
 without many a priceless masterpiece which we 
 could afford to sacrifice even less than we could 
 afford to dispense with this delightful specimen 
 of mural decoration. Owing to the brevity of 
 Raphael's life his works, without the assistance 
 of his pupils, must have been comparatively 
 few^ Each would have been perfect, but we 
 should have been deprived of many a marvel 
 of composition, whose merits may be impaired, 
 but not destroyed, by the inferiority of the 
 workmanship. 
 
 Apart from the assistance received from his 
 
 - f disciples Raphael was the most productive 
 
 artist that ever lived. His early death limited 
 
 his artistic activity to a period of twenty years, 
 
 and yet he has filled the galleries of the world 
 
RAPHAEL 39 
 
 with the most varied masterpieces. He was 
 unceasingly industrious, but he must have had 
 the most intensely creative imagination in 
 history. Just as Michelangelo could see the 
 statue in the marble, begging to be liberated, 
 so he must have seen upon the naked canvas, 
 as though projected by a magic lantern, the 
 fair faces, the graceful forms, the appropriate 
 attitudes that were to make up the picture, 
 and beyond them those wide reaches of hill 
 and meadow, always different and always 
 lovely, that carry the glance away into illimit- 
 able space. He saw it all with the mind's eye 
 as clearly as we see it now that he has given it 
 tangible shape, and in the realization of it 
 there was none of that doubt and hesitation 
 which sometimes paralyzes even a supreme 
 genius like Leonardo. He saw exactly what 
 he wanted to paint, and the slender white 
 fingers knew exactly how to paint it. The re- 
 sponse of the hand to the mind was instan- 
 taneous and unfailing. He worked as a bird 
 sings, from the fulness of an overflowing heart, 
 spontaneously, without an effort, knowing pre- 
 cisely the note that he would strike. When he 
 
4O RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 thought of an occurrence it did not present 
 itself to him in the vague and intangible way 
 in which it appears to most of us. The whole 
 scene rose up before him, not as it was irTfact, 
 but as it might have happened in a world 
 purer, serener, more beautiful than this, and 
 his magic pencil hastened to turn the vision 
 into an everlasting reality. Where other artists 
 fumble about, seeking the correct note, he 
 caught it at once ; where they hesitate, doubt- 
 ing the right path, he advanced blithely, seeing 
 the end from the beginning and the flowery 
 road leading to the goal. It was this wonder- 
 ful capacity for mental images, this concord of 
 all his faculties, that enabled him to produce 
 so much and to do it all so well. The facul- 
 ties of most of us are like the pieces of an 
 orchestra playing each a different air; while 
 his were all attuned together, each aiding the 
 other in the production of the divine harmony 
 that thrills our souls across the ages. 
 
 If you do not realize Raphael's greatness 
 when you first see one of his masterpieces, do 
 not despair. Few are they who do. JThe Ti- 
 tanic force of Michelangelo is more impressive, 
 
RAPHAEL 41 
 
 Titian's voluptuous charms are more alluring, 
 the haunting smile of Leonardo has a subtler 
 fascination. But none of them grows upon 
 one like Raphael. To appreciate him wholly 
 we must slowly realize the vast variety of com- 
 positions in which he excelled. There are 
 perhaps others who could have produced the 
 delicious pagan beauty of the " Galatea," the 
 noble dignity of the " School of Athens," 
 the dramatic intensity of the " Expulsion of 
 Heliodorus," the hurrying tumult of the 
 Battle of Constantine," the sweet, soul- 
 stirring loveliness of any of his numerous Ma- 
 donnas, or the agony of his " Entombment " ; 
 but who is there who could have produced 
 them all, or other works so various in their 
 character, so surpassing in their merit ? 
 
MICHELANGELO 
 (1477-1564) 
 
 IT is difficult to think of Raphael without 
 also thinking of Michelangelo. j^Beside 
 the beautiful countenance of the divine Um- 
 brian there always rises the grim visage of the 
 mighty Florentine. This is partly due to their 
 rivalry in life, still more to the law of contrasts^ 
 Each stood upon a summit to which succeeding 
 generations of artists have vainly sought to 
 climb; but while Raphael's mountain rises in 
 the clear ether bathed in sunshine and clothed 
 in verdure, Michelangelo's is wrapped in clouds 
 and beaten upon by the storms of Titanic pas- 
 sions. Which mountain is the higher we can- 
 not say. Sometimes the verdurous summit 
 seems to lift itself farther into the serene air ; 
 sometimes it appears dwarfed in the presence 
 of the rugged sublimity of the other. 
 
MICHELANGELO 43 
 
 Time usually settles such questions of pre- 
 eminence. We all remember Victor Hugo's 
 fine poem telling of his search among the 
 Pyrenees for the Pic du Midi. All the moun- 
 tains seemed of the same height, but when he 
 had given up the quest in despair, and was far 
 advanced on his return journey to the North, 
 he looked back, and behold, the Pic du Midi 
 standing alone upon the horizon's verge. But 
 time has not settled the contest between 
 Michelangelo and Raphael. The men who 
 saw them daily at their work were divided in 
 their judgment as to which was the greater 
 artist, and their descendants remain equally 
 unable to agree. 
 
 JBoth devoted their best talents to the illus- 
 tration of the Bible] but it was the Old Testa- 
 ment with its sternness and its God of Wrath 
 that appealed to Michelangelo, while it was 
 the New, with its sweetness and its God of 
 Love, that attracted RaphaelJ Sometimes 
 they invaded one another's province, but with 
 moderate success. If Raphael had painted 
 only the Bible pictures of the Loggie, or if 
 Michelangelo had produced only his " Christ," 
 
44 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 his " Pieta," and his " Holy Family of the 
 Tribune," they would have been esteemed 
 capable artists and nothing more ; but in their 
 proper spheres each has remained without a 
 rival. 
 
 [ There was never a more fervent Christian 
 than Michelangelo, but there have been few 
 who so utterly failed to grasp the Christian 
 spirit of sweetness and light, patience and 
 humility. Darkness and gloom, wrath and 
 defiance, an exultation in physical and mental 
 strength, a pride like that of Prometheus that 
 would never bow though the eagle should rend 
 his vitals through eternity these are the senti- 
 ments that we read in his works. He tries to 
 be a Christian, but his soul is with the Hebrew 
 prophetsj He was fit to stand beside Elijah 
 as he stretched out his hands on Mount Car- 
 mel, cursing the followers of Baal ; beside 
 Isaiah as he hurled his maledictions upon 
 Babylon the Great. He endeavors to repre- 
 sent Christian subjects, but all in vainj His 
 Christ of Santa Maria sopra Minerva is an 
 athlete rejoicing in his strength, who would 
 have borne the cross to Golgotha with a smile; 
 
 
MICHELANGELO 45 
 
 not the Man of Sorrows whose fragile body 
 sank beneath its weight. Change the head 
 but a little, and it might stand beside the 
 statues of the Olympic victors wrought by 
 Myron and Polycletus. The Christ of the 
 " Last Judgment " is not the gentle Saviour 
 of Mankind welcoming the elect into the 
 mansions that he has made ready to receive 
 them ; he is the God of Wrath of the Hebrew 
 prophets embodied in a form of unexampled 
 muscular development even exceeding that 
 Torso of the Belvedere that Michelangelo ad- 
 mired so much. The master had been asked 
 to restore the missing limbs to this headless 
 trunk of unequalled power. This he was un- 
 willing to attempt in the marble, but has sought 
 to surpass it in his Christ, who resembles 
 Apollo hurling the thunderbolts of Jove 
 against the ascending Titans, but with an im- 
 measurable strength and a vengeful implacabil- 
 ity of which the Greeks had no conception. 
 The "Pieta" of St. Peter's has been much 
 and justly admired; but it is the physical 
 beauty of the corpse of Christ, and the fidelity 
 with which the limpness of death is depicted 
 
46 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 that attract the attention, not the spiritual 
 significance; nor can any trace of Christian 
 spirit be found in the " Holy Family of the 
 Tribune," while the naked youths in the back- 
 ground, which are perhaps the best part of the 
 composition, are strangely out of keeping with 
 the subject. These and his Madonnas in stone 
 and his " Descent from the Cross " are precious 
 masterpieces, but they do nothing to body 
 forth in living shapes the Christian Gospel, and 
 a pagan who should infer from them the genius 
 of Christianity would fall into a singular mis- 
 conception. 
 
 The spirit of antiquity, whether Assyrian or 
 Egyptian, Hebrew, Greek, or Roman, was 
 always masculine. jThe feminine element, al- 
 though ever present, was strictly subordinate^ 
 [The virtues of antiquity were the manly virtues 
 courage, pride, independence, integrity, pa- 
 triotism. It was these embodied in noble 
 forms of perfect manhood that ancient art re- 
 joiced to portray. But they easily degenerated 
 into arrogance, revengefulness, and cruelty, 
 and when they had done so, and beneath the 
 tyranny of Tiberius the burden of the world's 
 
MICHELANGELO 47 
 
 anguish had become greater than it could bear, 
 Christ arose to proclaim the superiority of 
 the feminine virtues of love, gentleness, and 
 humility, and to preach the brotherhood of 
 man. Of the new gospel Raphael became the 
 supreme exponent in art, but Michelangelo 
 remained with the mighty men of old, the last 
 and the greatest to assert the supremacy of 
 
 the 
 
 And he carried his preference for the mas- 
 culine to the point of being abnormal, almost 
 unnatural. He loved no woman unless the 
 Platonic sentiment that he experienced for 
 Vittoria Colonna in his old age could be called 
 by such a name. His affection went out to his 
 own sex, and when he emerged from his soli- 
 tude peopled by stupendous phantoms, it was 
 the society of men that he sought, particularly 
 of young men distinguished for the beauty of 
 their persons. 
 
 It is the fashion to admire indiscriminately 
 all the works of a great man, and many laud 
 the beauty of the women of Michelangelo. It 
 
 is trne thai- many nf them arf> beautiful, but n it 
 
 is not the. hpRiitv of woman r The Eve of the 
 
48 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 " Creation " has been much commended; but 
 in point of fact she is heavy and somewhat 
 gross, a great Titaness sprung immediately 
 from the bosom of Mother Earth. And how 
 inferior she is to the glorious Adam in the ad- 
 joining fresco, receiving the spark of life from 
 the outstretched finger of God. He likewise 
 is a Titan, but he is one who, like Ixion, might 
 aspire to the embraces of Juno. The ' ' Night* ' 
 and the " Dawn " of the Medici tombs are also 
 of the Titan race, the one plunged in the 
 dreamless sleep that follows the exhaustion 
 of intolerable woe, the other waking from 
 troubled slumbers to look in agony upon the 
 hateful light of another day. They are very 
 beautiful, but in their beauty there is no trace 
 of feminine charm. It is the beauty of elemen- 
 tal creatures that Earth might have formed in 
 her teeming womb when she was producing 
 the great cave tiger and the mammoth. The 
 lower limbs of the " Night " and of the Eve of 
 the " Temptation " are surpassingly fine, but 
 they have none of woman's softness. Beneath 
 the tightly drawn skin we see the iron muscles 
 of a victor in the race-course at Olympia. 
 
MICHELANGELO 49 
 
 /No man could love one of Michangelo's 
 women. They are not human. We can no 
 more love them than we can love an elemental 
 force J If the " Night " should shake off her 
 slumber and sit upright upon her couch, if 
 " Dawn " should rear herself erect, we should 
 fly in terror from their superhuman strength 
 and their unspeakable despair. Frankenstein's 
 monster might claim them for his mates, but 
 they could only inspire terror in our puny 
 hearts. HLven his Madonnas are not lovable,./ 
 They are strong, vigorous women whom we 
 admire, but who could stir no tender passion 
 in our bosoms. 
 
 j3ut on the other hand no artist among the 
 moderns, perhaps none even among the arf^ 
 cients, has ever felt so keenly and expressed so 
 well the beauty of manhood of manhood in 
 its highest perfection, strong in body, with 
 every muscle developed to the utmost and 
 capable of the intensest strain, powerful and 
 undaunted in mind, ready for every conflict,,? 
 for every dangerTJ Look at the youths who 
 adorn the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. They 
 are beautiful, proud, and manly as the Apollo 
 
5O RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 Belvedere. fThey are not unhuman like his 
 women. They are men as men should bej as 
 we can imagine them to have been in the 
 heroic days when Jason sought the Golden 
 Fleece, when Theseus struggled with the Min- 
 otaur, and Hercules hunted the monsters in 
 their lairs. If called to life they would win the 
 love of woman and the admiration of man, and 
 their beauty would be as conspicuous as their 
 strength. And where will we find the beauty 
 of youth combined with the pathos of despair 
 as in the finer of the two " Captives " of the 
 Louvre ? The " Hermes of Olympia " is not 
 more beautiful, the " Dying Alexander" is 
 less pathetic; and the hopeless dejection of 
 the bright young spirit now bound in fetters 
 is revealed not merely in the lovely face but 
 in every muscle of the perfect form. 
 M3ut beautiful as are these adolescent figures, 
 the essential of Michelangelo's art is over- 
 whelming power, that terribilitct which amazed 
 all his contemporaries and continues to awe 
 the world. There is no other artist who lifts 
 [the soul so high. In the presence of his super- 
 \human shapes weighed down by thoughts too 
 
MICHELANGELO 5! 
 
 /great for mortal comprehension, bowed with 
 / a grief which tongue can never utter, or else 
 
 / defiantly erect like Ajax upon the storm-beaten 
 rock, we feel that we are transported into 
 
 V another world peopled by mighty and terrible 
 ^-shadows, forms of supernatural sorrow, despair, 
 and wrath, before whose vast elemental pas- 
 sions we quail as before some convulsion of 
 nature J Look at his " Moses," and think 
 what would happen if the giant, so instinct 
 with life even in the marble, should arise and 
 speak! How the multitudes would cower be- 
 fore him ! What thunders, like those of Sinai, 
 would roll from his mighty lips! We should 
 think no more of resisting him than we should 
 struggle with an earthquake. Before his over- 
 mastering will we could only bow in terror and 
 submit. Imagine the 4< David " alive again, 
 with that face that would defy a world in 
 arms! Before his wrath a host of Goliaths 
 would fly in consternation. Glorious in their 
 strength as are the deities of Greece, we feel 
 that if the war had been with Titans of this 
 mould the battlements of Olympus would have 
 been scaled and the Gotterdammerung would 
 
52 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 have come ; and upon the ruins of Jove's 
 palaces there would have sat the terrible Christ 
 of the " Last Judgment " condemning the 
 vanquished with an inexorable resolve. But 
 such creations could not exist in Hellas. 
 
 Happy Greeks! The iron had not entered 
 their soul, they had not bent beneath the 
 burden of an unutterable despair, they had not 
 striven to float among the stars on pinions that 
 would not lift them even from the earth ; and 
 they could have formed no conception of the 
 ideas which Michelangelo sought to body forth 
 in his stupendous shapes. The simple serenity 
 and directness of their imagination is impos- 
 sible to us. They belong to a different and a 
 happier world. What they desire is clear and 
 tangible. They are not haunted by impossible 
 dreams, by vague and unutterable longings. 
 Their art is the reflection of their own tranquil 
 souls. It is immensely beautiful, but it makes 
 to us no personal appeal. We admire it as we 
 admire Homer, but it cannot thrill us like a line 
 of Shakespeare, voicing our inmost thoughts, or 
 a statue of Michelangelo. We feel no kinship 
 with the Venus of Melos or the Apollo Belve- 
 
MI CHELA NGEL 53 
 
 dere. They are too far away, too alien to the 
 ideas and feelings that stir us now. We can- 
 not fathom the full meaning of Michelangelo's 
 prodigious figures ; but we feel that, Titanic as 
 they are, they are still modern, and that they 
 utter in superhuman tones the aspirations and 
 the sorrows of living humanity ; and they have 
 a fascination for us that is never found even in 
 the noblest works of Greece. 
 
 Artists who endeavor to express violent pas- 
 sions usually express nothing else. Their 
 picture or their statue is only a symbol of the 
 passion sought to be portrayed, of wrath or 
 fear, of love or hate. We see at a glance the 
 full message which they seek to utter. The 
 figures are there to say a certain thing and they 
 say it, well or ill. Understanding all that 
 they would communicate, we lose interest, and 
 return to them again only to admire the beauty 
 of line or color. But Michelangelo's creations, 
 like Shakespeare's, are real beings. We can 
 no more read their inmost hearts than we can 
 read the inmost hearts of living men ; and their 
 souls are vaster, more complex, than poor 
 humanity can be. Their depths remain eter- 
 
54 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 nally unsounded. We see the storms beating 
 upon the surface, but we also understand that 
 there are abysses which the eye can never 
 reach. They are infinitely suggestive like the 
 music of some mighty symphony. The more 
 we see them the more their power grows upon 
 us, the more unfathomable do we discover 
 them to be. 
 
 No man so dominates the soul as Michel- 
 angelo. As Rogers says of the fearfuFBfood- 
 ing figure that sits upon the tomb of Lorenzo, 
 meditating some frightful purpose of revenge 
 and death, he " fascinates and is intolerable." 
 In the presence of these awful shapes we feel 
 as we have felt in some lofty mountain region 
 with nothing around save stony desolation. 
 Michelangelo is more terrible than Milton or 
 than Wagner, for they comprehend the sweet- 
 ness of love, the charm of womanhood, the 
 rapture of exchanged caresses. They stroll at 
 times through the vales of Paradise, butjae 
 wanders forever upon the mountains amid 
 storms and darkness, or if he descends, it is 
 with a poor grace "as if he scorned his spirit 
 that could be moved to smile at anything." 
 
MICH EL A NGEL 55 
 
 But his mountain solitudes are peopled by 
 glorious dreams such as he alone has dreamt. 
 
 Yet it is a mistake to speak of them as 
 dreams. In the presence of his prodigious 
 figures we feel that they are the reality, and 
 that we are only shadows that flit before their 
 face. As Venetian art was devoted to color 
 and Umbrian to grace, Florentine art had been 
 devoted to the realization of the human form.f 
 From Giotto down the Florentine masters had 
 depicted figures that seemed more real than 
 life. This power over the reality of things was\ 
 inherited by Michelangelo, and applied to 
 types of such stupendous energy, so instinct 
 with passionate vitality, so colossal in their 
 dimensions and so overwhelming in their 
 power, that in their presence all else seems 
 trivial and unsubstantial. Beneath the Sis- 
 tine's vault there are noble pictures by illus- 
 trious masters, Perugino, Botticelli, and the 
 like. But who deigns to look at them ? In 
 another place they would enthrall our attention, 
 but beneath these overwhelming shapes, how 
 unreal, how insipid they appear! Others have 
 tried his terrible style, but have only succeeded 
 
56 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 in producing spiritless giants, while his are im- 
 bued with an intense vehement life, and are 
 worthy associates of those sons of God who 
 forsook heaven to woo the daughters of men, 
 only to brood despairingly over the loss of their 
 celestial home. 
 
 How is it that he produces this effect ? It 
 is not merely his mighty soul, it is also his per- 
 fect knowledge. He alone knew all the capac- 
 ities of the body as a vehicle of expression. 
 Most artists are content to exhibit passions 
 only in the face. He comprehended that 
 
 'every passion quivers in every muscle, and 
 knew how to utter the full burden of the flesh. 
 He was the first in modern times entirely to 
 
 ^understand the importance of the nude to see 
 rhat in the successful depicting of the naked 
 body so as to make every limb cry out the 
 emotions of the soul, art attains its completest 
 utterance. No man has ever comprehended 
 the use of the unclothed form as he. With 
 others we look to the countenance to see what 
 the subject feels; with him we look to the 
 torso and the limbs. Each sinew speaks and 
 proclaims its tale of agony or joy. In ancient 
 
MICHELANGELO 57 
 
 art the body rarely expressed anything save 
 the tranquillity of strength or beauty, or the 
 harmony of rhythmical exertion. Michel- 
 angelo's contemporaries unveiled it only for 
 purposes of study or to reveal its sensuous 
 beauty. He alone used it as the vehicle for\ '"**&* * 
 
 v ~ ~ ~~~~ ~ _-..._-- ^C-jr> ^"^ 
 
 the utterance of all the passions of humanity, 
 its love and hate, its rapture and despair. + 
 
 He^was born a sculptor, and a sculptor he 
 remained, even when he wielded the brusl^ 
 He was never a painter like Raphael. He had 
 none of the power of composition of the Prince 
 of Painters. When you see a picture by the 
 latter the first thing that strikes you is the 
 harmony of the design. It is only after you 
 have looked at it in its entirety for a long time 
 that it occurs to you to examine the details, 
 and probably you will look at it for years 
 charmed with the exquisite rhythm of the 
 balancing lines without going further. But 
 Michelangelo never pleases you in this way. 
 His composition is rarely satisfactory, some- '"' 
 times confused. You do not think of looking 
 at his pictures as a whole. It is the individual 
 figures that seize the eye and rivet the atten- 
 
RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 tion. How differently Raphael would have 
 painted the " Last Judgment." Christ would 
 have been a benignant and merciful judge, not 
 an avenging god. Stress would have been laid 
 rather upon the happiness of the blest than on 
 the agony of the damned. The Virgin would 
 not have crouched timid and unnoticed beside 
 her Son. Above all, instead of a confused 
 group of writhing shapes whose general pur- 
 pose is scarcely intelligible after the most 
 patient study, we should have had a composi- 
 tion comprehensible at a glance, and of such 
 rhythmic harmony that we should probably 
 never have thought to examine the details. 
 But if we did, how weak the individual figures 
 would have seemed compared with this crowd 
 of writhing Titans trying to scale heaven and 
 hurled back by the wrath divine ! In Michel- 
 angelo's great fresco we rarely try to make out 
 the general plan. Each figure attracts on its 
 own account. Each is an amazing study in 
 
 <^** 
 
 anatomical expression. Strong, passionate, 
 wrathful, despairing, they struggle up or fall 
 \backward with superhuman force. And, par- 
 adoxical as the statement seems, perhaps the 
 
MICHELANGELO 59 
 
 finest of all his statues are those created by his 
 brush ; for these prodigious forms of the Sis- 
 tine's vault and of the " Last Judgment " be- 
 long to statuary and not to painting. They 
 could be transferred to the marble with no loss 
 of effect. They are self-sufficing, they exist 
 for themselves, and could be freed from the 
 wall to which they are attached. They are 
 not mere parts of a scene like the figures in a 
 true picture. The sculptor has made them 
 with his brush because he was so commanded, 
 and because he did not have time to chisel 
 them out in stone; but they are the works of a 
 sculptor, and to statues they must be compared. 
 ^No artist was ever so wrapped up in man. 
 For the beauties of nature Michelangelo seems 
 
 Vto have cared nothing. The backgrounds of 
 Raphael's pictures are frequently marvels of 
 charming landscapes, and many of the most 
 delightful scenes ever delineated are to be 
 found in the pre-Raphaelite masters. But for 
 all this Michelangelo had no eyes. His only 
 
 /interest was in the human form and in the feel- 
 ings of humanity heightened to a supernatural 
 ^degree and expressed with Titanic power. He 
 
6O RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 does not rejoice in peaceful prospects like Ra- 
 phael ; he does not dream of fantastic rocks like 
 Leonardo ; he does not even think of the deso- 
 late sublimity of mountain summits. Man is 
 sufficient for him, and man's nude form suffices 
 to utter all his message. Man is even the only 
 ornament that he employs, and no one else has 
 so fully understood the decorative qualities of 
 the body. The grandest piece of decoration 
 in the world is the Sistine's vault, and the 
 only element that enters into it is the human 
 figure, sometimes draped, generally unclothed. 
 No one, not even Michelangelo, can entirely 
 escape the spirit of his time, and one reason 
 why he exults so much in physical strength is 
 that it was so highly esteemed by his contem- 
 poraries. The revival of Greek learning with 
 the pride of the Greeks in the triumphs of 
 physical vigor at the national games, added to 
 the warlike instincts inherited from the Middle 
 Ages, gave a great interest to all that con- 
 [cerned muscular development; and the ineffi- 
 Iciency of the laws, the insecurity of life and 
 (property, the constant necessity of repelling 
 assaults and the temptation to make them in 
 
MICHELANGELO 6 1 
 
 that troubled era gave to bodily force an im- 
 
 fportance far beyond anything that we can now 
 
 Vconceive. Rarely has so much civilization 
 
 been combined with so little protection of the 
 
 law ; rarely have men of such cultivation so 
 
 often taken into their own hands the righting 
 
 / of their wrongs. It is but natural that the 
 
 / foremost sculptor of the age should portray 
 
 / the type which the age admired; but it is 
 
 I fortunate that he was a man of so lofty a soul 
 
 \ that he could redeem from all grossness the 
 
 ] enormous brute strength which he delighted 
 
 1 to depict and make it the vehicle for the ex- 
 
 \ pression of the highest thoughts. By giving 
 
 \to his Titans a spirit even vaster than their 
 
 bodies he has created a type of art that has 
 
 remained unique, immeasurable, and over- 
 
 Iwhelming. 
 
 is exultation of Michelangelo in mere 
 physical force, this joy in iron muscles ready 
 for any strain, is most fully exhibited in that 
 cartoon of the soldiers bathing in the Arno and 
 surprised by the trumpet's blast, usually called 
 the " Battle of Pisa." No such study in an- 
 atomy, no such picture of the male body in 
 
62 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 fullest development, no such group of intensely 
 hurrying athletes, with every nerve throbbing 
 and palpitating with life, has been created in 
 modern times, perhaps not even by the Greeks. 
 Of its kind it is perfect. Exertion is carried 
 exactly to the point that it should not over- 
 pass. There is none of that excess so peril- 
 ously close to attitudinizing and contortion 
 that disfigures the " Last Judgment." All is 
 instinct with intense vitality, yet rhythmical 
 and harmonious. Cellini and many of his con- 
 temporaries in an age so enamored of physical 
 vigor regarded it as his masterpiece. It has 
 perished now, and we can judge it only by the 
 copies ; but we know that their estimate must 
 have been erroneous. Masterly as it was as an 
 anatomical study, it could not have had that 
 lofty spiritual meaning that gives to the gigan- 
 tic shapes that adorn the Sistine's vault or 
 brood above the Medicean tombs their everlast- 
 ing interest. Yet it is not surprising that 
 artists should have esteemed the cartoon so 
 highly. They were no more capable than the 
 rest of us of grasping the sense of those Titanic 
 forms, or of reading the secrets of their troubled 
 
MICHELANGELO 63 
 
 souls ; but the cartoon was a matchless school 
 of design where all the secrets of the human 
 frame stood openly revealed. 
 
 Michelangelo will always be more interesting- 
 than Raphael. The latter, like Tennyson, was 
 only an artist. He lived in and for his art 
 alone, and expressed himself completely in it. 
 But with Michelangelo, great as was his work, 
 we feel that the man was greater still. Lofty 
 as is the dome of St. Peter's, terrible as is 
 the " Moses," mournful as are the Medicean 
 tombs, we feel that the soul of Michelangelo was 
 loftier, more terrible, more mournful than them 
 all. It is a rugged greatness, stern and unap- 
 proachable ; but at heart he is kind and tender, 
 filled with unspeakable pity for the miseries of 
 man, with burning protest against his wrongs. 
 Though beneath his touch the marble quivers 
 with an elemental life, and on the barren wall 
 there spring into being forms of supernatural 
 power, we feel that much is still unuttered, 
 that within that prodigious soul there are 
 oceans of woe and whirlwinds of passion too 
 great for brush or chisel to articulate. ^Ra- 
 phael lived in an ideal world that was all his 
 
64 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 own, serenely indifferent to the tempests that 
 were raging round. With Michelangelo the 
 
 Florentine patriotism and devotion to liberty 
 
 4F 
 
 lose even above his love for art. He was first 
 
 S man and then an artist, and he was a part of 
 the storm and stress of contemporary life. 
 
 If Raphael availed himself too freely of the 
 labors of others, Michelangelo went to the 
 opposite extreme of excluding reasonable 
 co-operation. He wore himself out in rough- 
 hewing the marble when a common stone- 
 cutter could have done it as well ; and therefore, 
 considering the duration of a life prolonged to 
 the ninetieth year and the robust health which 
 he enjoyed, the amount of work that he has 
 left, particularly in stone, seems limited, and 
 very little of that has been finished in every 
 part. Had he done like the modern sculptor, 
 merely making a figure of clay and leaving to 
 his workmen the task of turning it into a 
 statue, his amazing energy and inexhaustible 
 fertility would have enabled him to fill the 
 world with masterpieces; but it is doubtful 
 whether any of them would have had upon 
 their brows the seal of supreme greatness, 
 
MICHELANGELO 6$ 
 
 whether all of them together would have been 
 worth one of these astounding creations sprung 
 entirely from that mighty hand and that tre- 
 mendous brain. Still we can easily conceive 
 how he could have availed himself to a greater 
 degree of the services of others in doing the 
 rough work of shaping his statues, and in that 
 way have doubled his artistic production with- 
 out a loss of power. But we must accept 
 genius with its limitations. His solitariness 
 was inseparable from his greatness. Like the 
 lion, he stalked alone. His quarry would have 
 been larger had he availed himself of the assist- 
 ance of the jackals ; but they were hateful in 
 his sight, and he hunted by himself. 
 
 In our own days we have seen the art of 
 music culminate in a genius worthy to stand 
 beside Michelangelo, and have beheld his death 
 followed by a decline like that which ensued 
 when the mighty Florentine had passed away. 
 A few years ago, when Wagner was pouring 
 out his prodigious music-dramas, it was felt 
 that at last the true dramatic music had been 
 discovered, and that we should have a series 
 of great operas of ever increasing power. He 
 
 5 
 
66 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 died, and there fell a silence so profound that 
 the slender flute of Mascagni resounded 
 throughout the world. 
 
 So it was after the death of Michelangelo. 
 Some artists went to the other extreme, like a 
 relaxed bow, and painted pictures of sugared 
 sweetness, which found a ready popularity; 
 but the majority of the public, having become 
 accustomed to the grandeur of Michelangelo's 
 style, demanded that it should be continued ; 
 and many of the artists themselves, fascinated 
 by its power and forgetting their own limi- 
 tations, strove to imitate it. The pigmies, 
 encumbered by the giant's armor, rattled pain- 
 fully along, stumbling at every step. Where 
 he was dramatic, they were theatrical ; where he 
 was vigorous, they were hysterical ; where 
 he was awful, they were grotesque, and the 
 almost superhuman power of the master be- 
 came one of the most potent influences in the 
 decline of art. 
 
 In one respect Michelangelo was less fortu- 
 nate than Wagner. He survived his genera- 
 tion, to sit alone like Marius upon the ruins of 
 Carthage, brooding over the desolation and 
 
MICHELANGELO 6/ 
 
 shrouded in the gloom of the descending night. 
 If Wagner has had no successors, he at least 
 passed away surrounded by contemporaries 
 worthy of his genius and with every reason to 
 hope that music would take yet bolder flights ; 
 but the illustrious artists with whom Michel- 
 angelo had been associated preceded him to 
 the tomb, and he lived to see art decline from 
 Raphael to Giovanni Penni, from himself to 
 Baccio Bandinelli, and to stand like some 
 glorious mountain whose snowy summit still 
 remains bathed in sunlight when the world 
 all around lies wrapped in shadow. 
 
 Unhappily the progress of the decline is 
 nowhere more plainly visible than in the works 
 of Michelangelo himself. 
 
 At the outset of his career his efforts were 
 directed to the attainment of an absolute mas- 
 tery over the human body. By diligent study 
 of the living model and continual dissection of 
 the dead he acquired a proficiency in artistic 
 anatomy that has never been paralleled, and 
 which finds its supreme expression in the car- 
 toon of the " Battle of Pisa." Nothing has 
 ever surpassed the power and grace of these 
 
68 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 hurrying athletes, whose movements are so 
 varied, so rhythmic, and so natural. 
 
 But when he had reached this point he was 
 not content, as almost any other artist would 
 have been, to repeat himself. He sought still 
 /higher flights. No longer satisfied with the 
 ( mere beauty and strength of the body, he de- 
 J termined to make it the vehicle for the expres- 
 A sion of the deepest passions and the loftiest 
 v^aspirations of humanity. A technical skill, a 
 perfect knowledge, which others would have 
 considered an end in themselves, were with 
 him only the beginning, only a stepping-stone 
 from which he might mount to higher things. 
 It was in this period of his perfect development 
 that he produced the ceiling of the Sistine 
 Chapel, the " Moses," and the Medicean 
 tombs, figures that are still almost, if not 
 quite, as realistically true as the " Pisan Bat- 
 tle," but in which the soul utters the burden 
 of its grandest thoughts. 
 
 /"But with the " Last Judgment " the decline 
 
 [. /begins. These prodigious figures, with their 
 
 muscles like knotted ropes, their surprising 
 
 lattitudes, their amazing foreshortenings, are 
 
MICHELANGELO 69 
 
 still immensely powerful, but they pass the 
 modesty of nature. The era of mannerism 
 has set in it is no longer nature that the 
 master imitates, but himself, and his strength 
 has become exaggeration. In the paintings of 
 the Pauline Chapel the end has come the 
 divine fire has burnt out nature has been for- 
 gotten, and mannerism alone remains. 
 
 Yet even now, when he has lost his empire 
 over his own peculiar domain and the powers 
 of the Titan seem exhausted, he invades 
 another field, and, designing the dome of St. 
 Peter's, so prodigious in its size, so harmonious 
 in its proportions, so strong and yet so beauti- 
 ful, he achieves the grandest triumph of modern 
 architecture. 
 
 Ages have passed, but he still remains the 
 greatest name in art. The Greeks have none 
 to compare with him. Phidias was only a 
 sculptor, Ictinus only an architect, Apelles 
 only a painter. Michelangelo was a sculptor 
 by profession, and with extreme reluctance 
 did he take up the brush, but only to project 
 upon the Sistine's vault the sublimest forms 
 that painting has produced. With still greater 
 
7<D RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 reluctance he took up the compass, but only to 
 
 give the world the crowning glory of St. Peter's 
 
 _dome. As painter, architect, or sculptor he 
 
 has had no superior, and in his supreme mas- 
 
 ; tery of the three he stands unapproached and 
 
 unapproachable. 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 
 (1452-1519) 
 
 IN Venice a painter was usually only a painter, 
 a sculptor only a sculptor ; but in Florence 
 it was customary for the same man to practice 
 all the arts. Giotto was the foremost painter 
 and architect of his day, and in sculpture he 
 attained no mean distinction. And such was 
 the case with many of his successors, until the 
 school culminated in Michelangelo, who stood 
 pre-eminent in all. 
 
 But of Florentine versatility Leonardo is Jthe 
 supreme expression. He embraced not only 
 all the arts, but all the sciences. He was dis- 
 tinguished as a military and civil engineer, as a 
 geologist, geographer, and astronomer; he re- 
 discovered the principles of the lever and 
 hydraulics ; he was a great mathematician and 
 machinist, an anatomist, a physiologist, and a 
 71 
 
?2 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 chemist. He invented more mechanical de- 
 vices than any man that ever lived unless it be 
 Edison, some of them merely wonderful toys 
 that delighted or terrified his contemporaries, 
 others serviceable implements that are still in 
 use, like the saws employed to-day at the quar- 
 ries of Carrara, or the hoisting apparatus with 
 which the obelisks of London and New York 
 were lifted into position. He designed breech- 
 loading cannon, and demonstrated the advan- 
 tages of conical bullets. He invented the 
 camera-obscura and boats that ran with wheels, 
 and foresaw that the latter could be propelled 
 by steam. He planned the great works of en- 
 gineering that have controlled the courses of 
 the Arno and the Po, and put a stop to their 
 destructive floods. Not content to walk upon 
 the earth, he devoted much time to the con- 
 trivance of a flying-machine, studying the 
 flight of birds, and trying to devise an instru- 
 ment that could soar on extended wings above 
 the mountains. 
 
 But it was in penetrating the secrets of 
 Nature that he is most amazing. She who 
 
 I guards her secrets so carefully from us all, so 
 
 I 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 73 
 
 that we have to wrest them from her bit by 
 bit, considering ourselves fortunate if after a 
 lifetime of toil we have lifted but a little corner 
 of the veil, welcomed him to her bosom with 
 outstretched arms, and whispered into his ears 
 her most hidden mysteries. He walked be- 
 side the sea, and he understood that the waters 
 were composed of countless molecules. He 
 watched the billows in their rhythmical advance, 
 and he comprehended that light and sound 
 moved onward in succeeding waves. He trod 
 the mountain summits, and he knew that they 
 had been the bottom of the ocean when the 
 fossil shells had been deposited there, and that 
 they had since been raised aloft. He looked 
 into the heavens, and perceived that the world 
 was not the centre of created things, forestall- 
 ing the discovery of Copernicus; and he saw 
 that the universe was held together by the at- 
 traction of gravitation. He gazed at the 
 faintly illumined body of the new moon, and 
 divined that it was the earth's reflection that 
 lit it up. He loved all plants and animals, and 
 comprehended their structure and their growth. 
 He knew that the tides obeyed the moon, and 
 
74 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 that the waters of the sea must rise highest at 
 the equator. And long before Bacon was born 
 he perceived the barrenness of the scholastic 
 philosophy, and laid down the principles of 
 inductive reasoning. And yet, though he saw 
 deeper into Nature than any one man ever 
 saw, it is doubtful whether he ever took the 
 trouble to mention his discoveries to a human 
 being, contenting himself to set them down in 
 those note-books written in strange characters 
 running from right to left, and which we are 
 now only beginning to decipher, continually 
 surprised by some unexpected flash of preter- 
 natural insight, and saddened to find that many 
 a secret that we have since wrested from Na- 
 ture with infinite toil was known to him and 
 noted in his memoranda; while other notes 
 which now seem obscure and incomprehensible 
 are perhaps only revelations of a penetration 
 transcending ours, and will one day be seen to 
 foreshadow discoveries the most profound. 
 
 And yet science was only the diversion of 
 his leisure hours. He was by profession an 
 artist, inscribing himself as a Florentine painter, 
 and practicing also architecture and sculpture, 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 75 
 
 poetry and music. The beauty of his person 
 fascinated every beholder, while the charms of 
 his eloquence enchanted every ear; and in ad- 
 dition to his multifold occupations he was an 
 accomplished courtier, the best swordsman of 
 his time, and the leader of the brilliant revels 
 and pageants in which the age rejoiced. 
 
 It is not surprising that as a youth in Flor- 
 ence he was courted and admired as youth has 
 never been since the days of Alcibiades, or that 
 when he went to Milan he took the court by 
 storm. As he appeared before the duke in the 
 strength and beauty of his early manhood with 
 his hair falling in luxurious ringlets below his 
 waist, holding in his hand his wonderful lute 
 that he had fashioned of silver in the likeness 
 of a horse's head and from which he drew 
 notes sweeter than living man had heard, im- 
 provising songs accompanied by music of his 
 own composing, sung in tones of richest mel- 
 ody, it must have seemed to the assembled 
 courtiers that the heavens had opened and that 
 Apollo Citharaedus was standing in their midst. 
 
 That a man of such varied occupations 
 should have produced little in art is not sur- 
 
76 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 prising ; but that that little should be so per- 
 fect is astonishing, so rare is the combination 
 of scientific and artistic genius, so difficult is it 
 to look into the essence of things and yet be 
 charmed with the beauty of their external 
 forms. Yet there can be no doubt that among 
 the countless works produced by that desire 
 of beauty that dwells in every heart, none 
 rank higher than the few that we owe to Leo- 
 nardo's hand. 
 
 Modern criticism has done a great deal for 
 the reputation of the masters. It has freed 
 them from responsibility for many unworthy 
 productions ascribed to them by the vanity 
 and self-interest of successive owners. But in 
 Leonardo's case the result is in the highest 
 degree confusing. A few years ago the Euro- 
 pean galleries numbered many pictures con- 
 ceded to his brush. The critics began their 
 work of demolition, and there are no two whose 
 lists agree ; while of the numerous paintings 
 once attributed to him only the cartoon of the 
 Royal Academy, the " Mona Lisa" and the 
 decaying fresco of the " Last Supper" are 
 admitted by all to be authentic. His works 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 77 
 
 are the field where the modern criticism that 
 has done so much for art is most vulnerable to 
 the ridicule of its enemies. Still the doubt as 
 to the genuineness of the paintings accredited 
 to him does not greatly detract from their 
 value as an insight into the character of his 
 style. If not from his hand they are from 
 craftsmen of his school, and in his genius their 
 inspiration must be sought. 
 
 Fecundity is almost an essential element of 
 greatness. It is scarcely possible for a single 
 work, however perfect, to entitle its author to 
 a seat among the mighty witness Gray's Elegy 
 and Poe's Raven ; and it is doubtful whether 
 any other man so deficient in fecundity as 
 Leonardo was ever numbered with the greatest. 
 Yet no voice has been lifted to dispute his rank 
 among the master spirits of all time. 
 
 J$y what qualities has Leonardo been raised 
 to this pre-eminence ? Tojp_egin with, he was 
 the first perfect painter among the moderns. 
 Compared with him, his predecessors are all 
 primitives. Between their art and his there 
 yawns an immense chasm. They are striving 
 with doubtful success to give tangible form to 
 
?8 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 simple ideas; he bodies forth with consummate 
 power thoughts too subtle and profound for 
 vocal utterance. Childlike and sincere, their 
 vision ranges over a narrow field, and depicts 
 imperfectly the things that it beholds; while 
 his powerful mind grasps the most hidden 
 secrets of Nature and of the human heart, and 
 his wizard fingers transfer them to the canvas 
 with unerring skill. They are still mediaeval, 
 while he is modern, belonging not to the past 
 but to our own and all succeeding generations, 
 one of those marvellous geniuses who outrun 
 their time, like Omar Khayyam questioning 
 the Deity among the blind followers of Ma- 
 homet, or like Shakespeare writing the solilo- 
 quies of Hamlet. In passing to his works from 
 those of the most illustrious of his predecessors 
 we perceive none of that gradual transition that 
 we usually meet. Their art is an attempt his 
 the perfection of achievement. They are 
 
 ^JLtui^C^ 
 
 fascinating by their immaturity, he by the 
 plenitude of his power. They are suggestive 
 because we seek to realize what they were try- 
 
 ^***f$^*-%+*-*4. 
 
 ing to express; he is infinitely more so because 
 he represents more than our minds can seize. 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 79 
 
 Of all artists Giotto alone has so far outleaped 
 the men who went before. In the singular 
 letter which Leonardo wrote to the Duke 
 of Milan in his youth he said, " In painting I 
 can do what can be done as well as any man, 
 be he who he may," and his boast stands as 
 good now as on the day when it was made. 
 The first of the great triumvirate of art in point 
 ofjime, he remains the most modern in the 
 spirit of his work. We feel that he was familiar 
 with all the thoughts that haunt us now, per- 
 haps with some that will only come to our re- 
 mote descendants. He was the first modern 
 artist in whom absolute technical skill and a 
 great creative mind went hand in hand, and in 
 neither respect has he ever been surpassed. 
 
 To Leonardo also must be accorded the 
 supreme glory of being the first modern to in- 
 vent grandeur of style. Before his day there / 
 were strong and beautiful pictures, but the 
 " Last Supper " was the first that was truly 
 grand. And it is the genuine grandeur which 
 depends not on largeness of dimensions, but 
 which arises from the harmonious combination 
 of nobility and simplicity, and shines forth in 
 
80 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 the smallest woodcut of the immortal work. 
 Every line of the majestic composition, how- 
 ever reduced in size, is marked by a grandeur 
 which was a revelation to his contemporaries, 
 and for the like of which they had to return to 
 the shattered marbles of Greece. .1 The picture 
 reminds one of Handel's music, which can be 
 properly rendered only by a mighty organ or a 
 full orchestra, and yet whose simple grandeur 
 is apparent when it is played upon a flute. Its 
 painting was like the discovery of some majes- 
 tic harmony in nature of which men had never 
 dreamed. In these thirteen figures seated at a 
 table in a bare room with windows outlooking 
 upon an extended prospect there is a dignity, 
 an elevation, a majesty that came as an aston- 
 ishment to the world ; while in the varied yet 
 harmonious arrangement of the several groups, 
 the full capacities of composition were first 
 disclosed. When the picture was completed it 
 was hailed as the masterpiece of painting, and 
 succeeding ages have but joined in the acclaim. 
 From Uggione's great copy in the Royal 
 Academy to the cheapest print that adorns the 
 humblest cottage every reproduction of it con- 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 8 1 
 
 veys some impression of the grandeur of the 
 original which, faded, repainted, and defaced, 
 still charms us by the majesty of its shadowy 
 outlines. If Leonardo had produced nothing 
 else, his title to rank with the greatest could 
 never be gainsaid. Grandeur of style is the 
 highest merit that a work of art can possess, 
 and of that supreme distinction he is the in- 
 ventor. Had he never lived it might have 
 been discovered by Michelangelo or Raphael; 
 but who can say that without the " Last Sup- 
 per " we should ever have had the " Creation 
 of Man " or the " School of Athens " ? Had 
 Columbus never sailed upon the Western seas 
 another might have planted his foot upon 
 America's shores; but the glory of the dis- 
 covery is justly his; and we cannot determine 
 with certainty what Raphael and Michelangelo 
 would have done had not Leonardo taught 
 them how such miracles are wrought. 
 
 No man ever had such a mastery of facial 
 expression. In portraying the human counte- 
 nance he has the same undisputed supremacy 
 that Michelangelo possesses in dealing with 
 the human form. He looked quite through 
 
 6 
 
82 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 the souls of men, and fixed them on his sketch- 
 book or the canvas with unequalled skill. No 
 expression is too violent or too grotesque to be 
 depicted there, none too delicate or too evanes- 
 cent. He understood the whole gamut of 
 human feelings, the fiercest passions, the most 
 fleeting sensations. His whole life was a study 
 of the faces that he met, and the exquisite re- 
 finement and accuracy of his drawing enabled 
 him to fasten forever the surging frenzy of the 
 storm or the shade that passed over the face for 
 a moment like the shadow of a summer cloud. 
 
 When occasion required, the meaning could 
 be plain and comprehensible at a glance, as in 
 the " Last Supper," where were to be seen all 
 the manifestations of horror and amazement 
 exhibited by strong men as Christ uttered the 
 words, " One of you shall betray me." In 
 the " Battle of Anghiari," or the " Battle of 
 the Standard," as it is commonly called, the 
 first great battle piece of modern times, we 
 have every aspect of rage and fury of which 
 the countenance of man or beast was ever 
 capable. 
 
 Nowhere can we better contrast Leonardo, 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 83 
 
 Michelangelo, and Raphael than in their three 
 great battle pieces. In Raphael's " Battle of 
 Constantine " we are attracted by the harmony 
 and rhythm of the contending masses, the 
 beauty of the composition, the pomp, pride, 
 and circumstance of glorious war. In Michel- 
 angelo's " Battle of Pisa "it is the muscular 
 development of the hurrying athletes. But 
 with Leonardo it is the psychological interest 
 the unspeakable rage of the struggling 
 soldiers. His ancestors had known nothing 
 of real war. The contests of the Italian mer- 
 cenaries were little more than jousts and tour- 
 neys, where fatalities were rare. But in his 
 day the French, Germans, and Spaniards had 
 made Italy the battle-ground of Europe, and 
 had shown its inhabitants how war was carried A/ 
 on by the barbarians across the Alps. Leo- 
 nardo beheld it, and it seemed to him, in his 
 own words, a most bestial frenzy. As such he 
 has depicted it, and beside his masterpiece all 
 other representations of the rage of battle are 
 weak and tame. The insane fury, the fiendish 
 hunger for blood that has changed the combat- 
 ants into wild beasts having only the outward 
 
84 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 semblance of humanity extends even to the 
 horses, which fight savagely, tearing each other 
 with their teeth with all the ferocity of tigers. 
 There is nothing glorious here all is fierce, 
 realistic, horrible, the truest, strongest, most 
 merciless picture of the human brute ravening 
 for slaughter that has ever been drawn. In 
 Raphael's painting we see war as it looks to 
 the leaders from afar; in Michelangelo's, war 
 as it appears to the soldiers preparing for the 
 conflict; while Leonardo gives us war as it is 
 in fact, in all its nameless horror. 
 
 Leonardo's cartoon, like Michelangelo's, has 
 disappeared, and we know it only by the 
 copies ; but in his Treatise on Painting he gives 
 us the best description of the appearance of a 
 battle that has ever been penned, and as we 
 know that he had the power to body forth 
 every vision of his teeming brain, we have no 
 reason to doubt that all the smoke and dust, 
 the confusion, the frenzy and despair of which 
 he speaks were to be seen in this cartoon. 
 Even as it has come down to us it stands un- 
 rivalled as a representation of war in its psy- 
 chological significance. 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 85 
 
 But while Leonardo thus excelled all others 
 in depicting the violent passions of men, he 
 delighted most in delineating faces of a charm 
 so delicate and subtle that they remain as 
 fathomless as those Alpine lakes whose smiling 
 surface conceals abysmal depths. Upon most 
 of them there is that strange smile extend- 
 ing no further than the lips which he inherited 
 from his master Verrocchio, but which beneath 
 his magic touch changed from a pleasing smirk 
 to a thing of profound and fascinating mystery. 
 
 It is seen in its perfection on the lips of the 
 " Mona Lisa," that marvellous portrait which 
 Francis I. purchased at a price then almost un- 
 heard of, and whose riddle succeeding genera- 
 tions have striven in vain to read. In the 
 Louvre she is still sitting, and every passer is 
 constrained to stop, lured by that smile as by 
 a siren's song, vainly demanding why she 
 smiles and with what intent. Has she ex- 
 hausted all the possibilities of pain and joy ; 
 has she wandered through the streets of Sodom 
 and by the waters of Damascus ; has she hung 
 her harp upon the willows of Babylon ; has she 
 danced with Messalina and supped with Nero; 
 
86 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 and does she smile to behold our innocence ? 
 Has she sat with Apollo beside the Castalian 
 stream, and is she still listening to the Muses' 
 song ? Is she thinking of her liege lord Gio- 
 condo, or dreaming of some guilty love ? Is 
 it good or evil that is in those haunting eyes 
 and on those smiling lips ? Perhaps Walter 
 Pater, whose peculiar and super-refined genius 
 brings him very close to Leonardo, has best 
 divined her meaning: 
 
 " The presence that thus rose so strangely 
 beside the waters, is expressive of what in the 
 ways of a thousand years man had come to 
 desire. Hers is the head upon which all ' the 
 ends of the world are come/ and the eyelids 
 are a little weary. It is a beauty wrought out 
 from within upon the flesh, the deposit, little 
 cell by cell, of strange thoughts and fantastic 
 reveries and exquisite passions. Set it for a 
 moment beside one of those white Greek god- 
 desses or beautiful women of antiquity, and 
 how would they be troubled by this beauty 
 into which the soul with all its maladies has 
 passed ? All the thoughts and experience of 
 the world have etched and moulded there, in 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 8? 
 
 that which they have of power to refine and 
 make expressive the outward form, the animal- 
 ism of Greece, the lust of Rome, the reverie of 
 the middle age with its spiritual ambition and 
 imaginative loves, the return of the Pagan 
 world, the sins of the Borgias. She is older 
 than the rocks among which she sits ; like the 
 vampire, she has been dead many times, and 
 learned the secrets of the grave ; and has been 
 a diver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day 
 about her ; and trafficked for strange webs with 
 Eastern merchants ; and, as Leda, was the 
 mother of Helen of Troy, and, as Saint Anne, 
 the mother of Mary ; and all this has been to 
 her but as the sound of lyres and flutes, and 
 lives only in the delicacy with which it has 
 moulded the changing lineaments, and tinged 
 the eyelids and the hands." * 
 
 Many others have sought to read her riddle, 
 but she remains the most insoluble of mysteries, 
 and pursues us with a haunting power pos- 
 sessed by no other work save perhaps the " Mel- 
 ancholia " of Albert Pjir^r. 
 
 And this same charm is in the faces of all 
 
 * The Renaissance, p. 134. 
 
88 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 his women, in those Madonnas which are so 
 fascinating as revelations of subtlest woman- 
 hood, and in his countless sketches of female 
 heads. No man has ever penetrated so deeply 
 into woman's heart, none has ever felt so 
 strongly the enchantment of the eternal 
 womanly, or transferred it to canvas with such 
 consummate skill. 
 
 He is not a lover of physical beauty. His 
 types, if robbed of the charm of expression 
 that transfigures them, would rarely be beauti- 
 ful at all. His is a beauty that works from 
 within outward, which existed in the soul be- 
 fore it manifested itself in the face. Take it 
 away, and the features attract no more some- 
 times they would be merely commonplace, 
 more frequently they would be simply strange. 
 
 It is not all beauty that is suited to artistic 
 treatment. Many exquisitely beautiful women 
 are fit only for the adornment of a fashion plate 
 they lack that nameless distinction which a 
 picture must possess to be classed as art. This 
 fashion-plate beauty made no appeal to Leo- 
 nardo. He did not even value it at its worth. 
 The only beauty that he cared for was the 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 89 
 
 purely artistic beauty, beauty so thoroughly 
 artistic that only the elect can realize the full 
 extent of its subtle fascination. 
 
 It is everywhere in Leonardo's genuine 
 work, in the " Mona Lisa," in the Academy 
 cartoon, in the " Madonna of the Rocks " of 
 the National Gallery, in " La Vierge aux 
 Rochers " and the " St. Anne " of the Louvre. 
 Deprived of the refined, sensitive soul that 
 shines through their eyes and quivers on their 
 lips they would be plain enough ; but he who 
 is insensible to their enthralling magic may 
 well despair of ever comprehending art in its 
 most exquisite manifestations. 
 
 Leonardo's figures are the most spiritual ' 
 that have ever been drawn. Beside them 
 Michelangelo's are only athletes, Raphael's 
 only innocents upon whose unstained brows 
 sorrow and sin and love and hate have set no 
 mark. Leonardo's have lived this life and 
 drunk its cup of joy and anguish to the lees 
 lived it with minds intensely active and nerves 
 vibrating to passion's every thrill, and it is 
 with their souls that they have lived souls 
 that have trembled with rapture and quivered 
 
9O RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 with pain, and which have learned the lesson 
 that their lives could teach. But they are not 
 spiritual in the sense of religious. He was not 
 a saintly man, and Vasari says in his firsc edi- 
 tion, probably not without reason, that he was 
 an unbeliever. But in humanity it was the 
 spiritual essence that concerned him and not 
 the fleshly envelope. 
 
 Of all artists he was the greatest anatomist, 
 unless it be Michelangelo. But how differently 
 they studied and for what different ends! 
 Michelangelo studied anatomy only to see what 
 he could do with the human frame as a means 
 of artistic expression. Leonardo investigated 
 it as a scientific fact, and competent judges 
 declare that his anatomical drawings are the 
 most accurate that have ever been made. 
 Michelangelo loved the body, and rejoiced to 
 portray its strength and beauty. Leonardo 
 painted no nude figure save the " Leda," 
 which has disappeared, and even there it was 
 the expression of the face that struck the be- 
 holder, not the beauty of the form; and his 
 sketches and drawings of the nude are hasty 
 and defective. It was in the face that his art 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 91 
 
 was centred, in the representation of the soul 
 shining through mortal lineaments. Perhaps 
 no one was ever so exclusively a painter of the 
 soul. 
 
 And as usual, exclusive devotion met with 
 its reward. He caught the soul in the mo- 
 ments when it seems most hidden to mortal 
 sight, when it was listening to the music of the 
 spheres, when it was wandering among dreams 
 of unspeakable raptures and impossible sins, 
 when it strayed with the women of Gomorrah 
 or sat by the waters of Lethe. 
 
 No man ever painted faces of such subtle 
 charm or of so unsearchable a meaning; and 
 as we stand before them we are impelled to in- 
 quire whether they were mysteries also to him, 
 or whether those penetrating eyes of his which 
 saw so deeply into Nature's secrets could also 
 read their strange enigmas. To us they remain 
 as inscrutable as they are fascinating, and be- 
 cause their riddle remains unread they haunt 
 us yet with their inscrutable smile. 
 
 There are no women whom men could love 
 like Leonardo's, and none perchance whose 
 love would be so dangerous. Age could not 
 
Q2 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 wither them, nor custom stale their infinite 
 variety. Their empire would not be based 
 upon the passing attractions of the flesh, but 
 upon all that is subtle and alluring in the soul 
 of woman. With the witchery of their smile 
 they could change their lovers into brutes or 
 lift them into heroes. They would be forever 
 new because the shadowy depths of their being 
 could never be sounded, and leaden-eyed 
 Satiety would not wait upon their multiform 
 caresses. They might be the sirens, the lamias, 
 the vampires of old; they might be Lais or 
 Cleopatra; to their subtle genius all things 
 would be possible, and the man who fell be- 
 neath the magic of their spell would find re- 
 lease in death alone. When his soul was once 
 caught in the witchery of that mysterious 
 smile or in the shining meshes of those locks 
 waving in uncontrolled luxuriance or bound in 
 intricate braids above the arching brows, it 
 might struggle as a butterfly in the web, but 
 never could it burst its bonds. 
 
 But it was not alone in the grandeur of his 
 style or in his unequalled capacity to delineate 
 the varying expressions of the human counte- 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 93 
 
 nance that Leonardo advanced beyond his pred- 
 ecessors ; no man has ever made greater 
 changes in the technic of painting. Before 
 his day men were content with line and color 
 as the means of artistic utterance. He was 
 the first to perceive that light and shade were 
 equally important, and were capable of pro- 
 ducing the most poetical and illusive effects. 
 He did not invent chiaroscuro, but he was the / 
 first to handle it as a master. In his pictures 
 lights and shadows are treated with all the 
 truth of nature, and they are full of bewitching 
 loveliness, of mystery and charm. His chiar- 
 oscuro is not brilliant like Correggio's, it is not 
 full of luminous splendor like that of Rem- 
 brandt; but it is deep and true. He experi- 
 mented much with pigments, and as the effect 
 of time upon them could only be determined 
 with the lapse of years, he fell into errors never 
 sufficiently to be deplored, which have lost for 
 us the " Last Supper " and the portion of the 
 " Battle of the Standard " that was executed 
 upon the wall, and whose effects are only too 
 visible in all his works. To deepen his shadows 
 he painted upon a sombre groundwork, and ,/ 
 
94 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 the pigment of this having come through, it 
 has darked all his pictures. The wonderful 
 flesh tints of the " Mona Lisa" which filled 
 Vasari with admiration have disappeared, and 
 it is only with difficulty that we can distin- 
 guish the fantastic rocks and meandering 
 streams that fill the background. To convince 
 ourselves that this darkening is not essential to 
 the most perfect light and shade we need only 
 turn to the other wall of the Salon Carr6 on 
 which hangs Correggio's " Jupiter and An- 
 tiope," still as bright as on the day when it 
 left the painter's hand. But as Raphael and 
 Michelangelo learned from Leonardo the 
 grandeur of their style, so Correggio owes to 
 him the bewitching charm of his chiaroscuro. 
 
 Some complain of Leonardo that he enticed 
 men from the pleasant paths of primitive art 
 so that after him it was impossible to paint 
 with the old simple directness. The observa- 
 tion is just, but the reproach unfounded. No 
 work can combine every merit, and every gain 
 implies a corresponding loss. There can be 
 no increase of power without some loss of deli- 
 cacy, and what we gain in depth we lose in 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 95 
 
 simplicity. A man who innovated so much as 
 Leonardo, who converted the works of his pred- 
 ecessors into relics of the past, and lifted art 
 to a higher and a broader plane, necessarily 
 bore it away from many a sweet dell where at 
 times we still delight to linger; but his services 
 were none the less conspicuous. He did 
 nothing to degrade art ; he only exalted it to 
 a perfection where certain charming qualities 
 of the delicious primitives became impossible ; 
 and if their pictures grow brighter and mellower 
 with time while his have steadily darkened, 
 that is due to the accidental use of unsatisfac- 
 tory pigments and to the absence in their 
 works of those delicate gradations of light and 
 shade so essential to artistic truth. 
 
 Nature never loved a son as she loved 
 Leonardo, and to none other has she opened 
 her bosom with such unreserve. And he re- 
 turned her love with an equal devotion. She 
 was his sole monitor, his only example. To 
 her he went in all his perplexities ; from her he 
 gathered every truth. While his contempo- 
 raries were all powerfully affected by the re- 
 mains of antique art, for him it did not exist. 
 
96 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 Only once in his Treatise on Painting does he 
 mention the Greeks and Romans, and then 
 not as objects of artistic imitation. The plas- 
 tic beauty of form and feature that they ad- 
 mired meant nothing for him ; the mysterious 
 beauty of the soul for which he sought would 
 have been incomprehensible to them. Amidst 
 the countless faces that his sketch-books have 
 preserved there is perhaps not one of classic 
 purity of outline. Neither are they mediaeval, 
 like Botticelli's. They are modern or, rather, 
 they belong to all ages where the soul of man 
 suffers and pants and yearns and is rejoiced. 
 
 But though Leonardo turns so persistently 
 to Nature, he was not a realist. He was never 
 content with commonplace ugliness. He 
 sought to penetrate Nature's remotest con- 
 fines and pluck the rarest and most delicate 
 flowers that blossom there unseen by common 
 eyes. He was a seeker after things that are 
 beautiful and exotic, the exquisite orchids, fed 
 by the air and the dew, that bloom in life's 
 tangled garden. It is Nature that attracts 
 him, but it is Nature in her most refined and 
 subtlest revelations. 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 97 
 
 His devotion to Nature is apparent not only 
 in his studies of the human countenance, 
 but in his treatment of every leaf and flower. 
 He paints them with a skill, a tenderness, an 
 accuracy, which reveal not merely his botanical 
 knowledge, but his affection. He loved all 
 living things, and he would spend large sums 
 in buying birds that he might open their cages 
 and watch them fly away. In his long study 
 for Sforza's statue he acquired the most 
 thorough comprehension of the anatomy and 
 movements of the horse that any man has ever 
 possessed, and he was so attached to his horses 
 that in the moments of his greatest adversity 
 nothing could induce him to part with them. 
 His fondness extended even to inanimate 
 nature, particularly when it manifested itself 
 in unusual forms; and he paints his fantastic 
 rocks with the same care as his Madonna's 
 smile. 
 
 One of the things that he loved most was 
 human hair. His own was the admiration of 
 his contemporaries, and he loved hair in all its 
 multifold shapes and varying colors, and 
 painted it with an unequalled patience of de- 
 
 7 
 
98 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 tail,. so that each gleaming thread is distinctly 
 seen. It appears to fascinate him, and he 
 represents it in every conceivable way, now 
 freely flowing, now arranged in intricate de- 
 signs of marvellous conception. 
 
 And to the same love of Nature we owe that 
 interest in all things strange and curious that 
 seems to have been the strongest passion of 
 his life. Rare plants and flowers, singular ani- 
 mals, above all, fantastic rocks such as haunt 
 the dreams of poets, and unusual faces, having 
 in them something extraordinary, whether of 
 ugliness or beauty, had for him a resistless 
 charm. Insects and reptiles of the most hid- 
 eous aspect, countenances the most grotesque 
 and repulsive, allured him as much as forms of 
 benignity and grace. He would gather rude 
 peasants about him and excite them to laugh- 
 ter by unseemly jests that he might fix upon 
 his note-book their bestial mirth. He would 
 stand beside the dying criminal, and watch 
 him writhing in the agony of the execution ; 
 or he would follow a crippled beggar that he 
 might preserve the record of his deformity. 
 All that was abnormal, all that was strange and 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 99 
 
 curious, had for him an attraction in no way 
 dependent on its inherent worth. 
 
 His fondness for strange things is also mani- 
 fested in that fashion of writing from right to 
 left, which makes his manuscripts so difficult 
 to decipher that a great part of them still re- 
 tain their secrets. Some writers have accounted 
 for it by those wanderings through the East 
 which his papers seem to put beyond question, 
 though Vasari knew nothing of them; but 
 many have travelled there without that result. 
 Others, again, explain it by the fact that he 
 was left-handed ; but the world is full of left- 
 handed men who still write in the normal man- 
 ner. It could only have been a part of that 
 seeking after strange things that was an es- 
 sential element of his genius. 
 
 Was it this same love of Nature that caused 
 him to paint St. John as a smiling faun such 
 as thronged the forests when Greece was 
 young ? A face closer to Nature in her smiling 
 moods it would be difficult to find. He is one 
 of the joyous children of universal Pan, such a 
 face as we should look to see peering out of 
 the thicket in spring when a bird is singing on 
 
IOO RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 every bough and every bramble is a mass of 
 flowers. He is not the pale anchorite of the 
 desert, the voice crying in the wilderness. He 
 is not even Christian. By a kinship of soul, 
 by the same love for the beauty of woodland 
 nature, Leonardo has returned unconsciously 
 to the early pagan spirit, and has created a 
 type which is perhaps the most profoundly 
 pagan of any that we possess; and the pupil 
 who has taken the same conception, crowned 
 it with vine-leaves and converted it into the 
 beautiful " Bacchus " that sits in the Louvre 
 beside the " St. John ' ' had a truer sense of the 
 character of the work. 
 
 Leonardo is the most thoughtful of all 
 painters unless it be Albert Durer. The mind 
 and its infinite suggestions are his realm. 
 .! With Raphael it is beauty and harmony, with 
 
 Michelangelo it is passion and strength, with 
 him it is thought and feeling thought so deep 
 that voice can never utter it, feelings so sensi- 
 tively delicate, so preternaturally refined that 
 they elude our grasp; and he is full of all 
 sorts of curious questionings, of intricate ca- 
 prices mingled with sublime conceptions. No 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI IOI 
 
 mind of power so versatile and penetrating 
 was ever devoted to artistic effort. The time 
 that he spent in scientific investigation has 
 been regretted, but it was not lost, even to 
 art. Had he been less intent to know the 
 hidden mystery of things he might have pro- 
 duced more; but would it have been worth 
 the smile of the " Mona Lisa" or the faces 
 of the Academy cartoon ? The world is full of 
 commonplace painters whose production is un- 
 limited ; is it not better to have the few master- 
 pieces of Leonardo, full of subtle witchery 
 drawn from the inmost heart of nature and of 
 man, than all their shallow works ? We must 
 accept him as he is. His mind was too vast, 
 too subtle, for him to be a largely creative 
 artist. He saw too deeply into the essence of 
 things to be content with facile hand to depict 
 their surfaces. His visions were so beautiful 
 that he despaired of giving them tangible 
 shapes, and preferred to leave them in the 
 realm of dreams. Perhaps he cared not to 
 bring them forth to public view, just as he was 
 content with merely jotting down in his note- 
 book discoveries which we have since remade 
 
IO2 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 with infinite toil. Perhaps he wished to do 
 more than art could, and so accomplished less 
 than it might. But the little that we possess 
 gives us a deeper insight into nature and the 
 human heart than we should otherwise have 
 had, and is as precious as it is rare. Had he 
 not been so curious of other things he would 
 have painted more, but he could not have 
 painted as he did. 
 
 Of Leonardo we have only one authentic 
 portrait, a powerful drawing in red chalk by 
 his own hand, representing himself in his old 
 age, and it is the saddest portrait that was 
 ever made. It is a strong face with beetling 
 brows and piercing eyes, but its expression is 
 one of bitterest disenchantment. He is the 
 man to whom Nature had opened her bosom 
 as to no other that ever lived, who read as in 
 an open book the most hidden secrets of the 
 human heart, and the only result is an inex- 
 pressible bitterness, an unutterable scorn for 
 man and perhaps for Nature. With all his 
 Herculean strength, he died of exhaustion at 
 sixty-seven, an age at which Michelangelo 
 and Titian were in their prime, and we can 
 
LEONARDO DA VINCI 103 
 
 imagine him upon his death-bed muttering 
 to himself, " Vanity of Vanities, all is Van- 
 ity. He who increaseth Knowledge increaseth 
 Sorrow." 
 
TITIAN 
 
 IN Titian the Renaissance culminates. The 
 revolt against the Middle Ages, which be- 
 gan timidly with Niccolo Pisano, achieved in 
 him its completest triumph. Raphael com- 
 promised with the past, and fused the mediaeval 
 and classic conceptions into a new ideal of ever- 
 lasting beauty. Rejecting the mediaeval spirit, 
 Titian, although he painted some of the noblest 
 of religious pictures, was essentially a pagan, 
 with all a Greek's joy in the dignity of man, 
 the beauty of woman, and the charm of nature ; 
 loving them for what they are, and with no 
 vain aspirations toward a higher spiritual life. 
 Most of the Renaissance masters are still strug- 
 gling with the Middle Age, endeavoring with 
 only partial success to escape from the prison 
 in which it has confined their souls. Titian 
 104. 
 
TITIAN IO5 
 
 has conquered his freedom, or rather was 
 born free, and if the Middle Age exists for 
 him at all, it is only as a hideous nightmare 
 which he has almost forgotten in the golden 
 sunshine of a perfect day. Life, which to 
 the mediaeval conception was only a gloomy 
 portal leading to death and judgment, is to 
 him a thing of infinite beauty, dignity, and 
 health. 
 
 We are only now recovering the position to 
 which Titian had attained. The Protestant 
 Reformation, followed by the Catholic Reac- 
 tion, the Spanish Inquisition, and the religious 
 wars, swept away the bright spirit of youthful 
 joy and freedom which thrilled the men of the 
 Italian Renaissance, and plunged the world 
 into a darkness almost as black and even 
 bloodier and more hideous than the night of 
 the Middle Ages. This terrible tempest of 
 bigotry and wrath has thundered past us, and 
 for two hundred years the clouds that it left 
 behind have been drifting slowly by, so that 
 at length we can again look at the world with 
 Titian's eyes, rejoicing in its life and beauty, 
 though rather with the saddened gaze of his 
 
106 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 later years than with the idyllic freshness of 
 his early prime. 
 
 In his broad sanity, his masterful serenity, 
 his perfect control of the resources of his art, 
 he reminds us of Goethe in his Olympian days 
 at Weimar; but unlike Goethe he had no 
 Gothic period, no season of storm and stress. 
 From the time when he came to Venice, look- 
 ing with the wonder of a mountain lad on the 
 dazzling splendor of the Ocean's Queen, until 
 in his hundredth year he laid down his brush 
 at the summons of the plague, he is ever the 
 same, with an unchanging sense of the dignity 
 of life and of nature's beauty, with the same 
 broad comprehension of humanity, and the 
 same exclusive devotion to his art. We see 
 the tree grow until its branches reach far and 
 wide, but its symmetrical form remains un- 
 altered. To the end of his unexampled career 
 he follows the same path, ever upward and on- 
 ward, patiently, firmly, without haste and 
 without rest. The joy of existence and the 
 love of beauty for its own sake never desert 
 him, and the Venuses which he painted when 
 oppressed by the burden of a century have all 
 
TITIAN ID/ 
 
 the voluptuous charm of those that he depicted 
 in his lusty manhood. Who that looks upon 
 the " Sleeping Antiope " of the Louvre or the 
 " Venus and her Nymphs Equipping Cupid " 
 of the Borghese Gallery, would imagine that 
 they are the work of one who had already at- 
 tained an age that few indeed have reached ? 
 
 In the handling of the brush he was the 
 greatest painter of all time. Others may be 
 more inspired, but in brush-work he surpasses 
 everyone. He can paint with the detail of 
 Albert Diirer or the breadth of Velasquez, and 
 seems to exhaust every possibility of his craft, 
 tone, color, texture, perspective, chiaroscuro, 
 drawing, composition. In particular qualities 
 there are others who can surpass him ; but no 
 other brings to the technic of painting a pro- 
 ficiency so perfect and so varied. He is the 
 most rounded and complete of painters, and 
 therefore the hardest to describe. If a man 
 has a phenomenally long nose or a monstrous 
 head, we can strike off his portrait in a few 
 words ; but when he is faultless in his propor- 
 tions, his accurate characterization becomes a 
 matter of extreme difficulty. 
 
108 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 The Venetians were always the most skilful 
 painters of the Renaissance. Painting is color ; 
 and of color the Venetians were the supreme 
 masters. Their merchants traded with the 
 Levant, bringing back the gorgeous fabrics of 
 the East. They beheld the splendor of the 
 Orient, and transferred it to their city, adorn- 
 ing their buildings like the mosques and palaces 
 of Cairo and Damascus. Beneath their feet 
 was the emerald sea and above their heads the 
 azure dome of heaven. The ocean mists were 
 tinged with a thousand hues, while far away 
 were the purple summits of the Alps. And 
 who can tell what effect was produced upon 
 their art by those gorgeous sunsets across the 
 Lagunes that Aretino has described so well ? 
 What painter could look upon that pageant of 
 gold and crimson without wishing to preserve 
 it on his canvas ? Hemmed in by his moun- 
 tains clothed in the pale green of their olives, 
 a Florentine rarely saw the perfect glory of a 
 sunset; but the Venetian lived in an ever- 
 changing pageant of color. It became to him 
 the most essential part of life, the very sub- 
 stance of existing things. Every Venetian 
 
TITIAN 
 
 painter was therefore a colorist, and of them 
 all v Titian is the most complete. Giorgione is 
 sometimes more luminous, Bonifazio brighter, 
 Tintoretto more startling, Veronese more 
 stately, and if they could all be combined in 
 one, Titian would be surpassed; but no one 
 of them has such perfect mastery of color's 
 varied resources. They are all limited in their 
 range, while he is universal. And no one ever 
 knew how to use color so appropriately. He 
 understands what exact tints will enhance the 
 effect of every picture. From the brilliant 
 hues of his bacchanals, which recall the emer- 
 ald islands of the sparkling ^Egean, and the 
 glorious splendor of his "Assumption," where 
 heaven's own light seems streaming through 
 its gates, to the darkness of his " Entomb- 
 ment " that so heightens the agony of the 
 scene, he adapts his color to his subject with a 
 skill that is all his own. And when we consider 
 that these colors which we now admire so 
 much have been dimmed and faded by the 
 lapse of more than three centuries, we may well 
 be amazed at the thought of what they must 
 have been in their pristine glory. 
 
1 10 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 Yet this result is produced by comparatively 
 simple means. He was not a searcher after 
 strange and recondite pigments. His palette 
 was not peculiar, embracing only the hues 
 within the reach of every painter, and he dif- 
 fered from others only in his patient industry 
 and consummate skill, an industry so tireless 
 that he worked upon his pictures for years, 
 going over them again and again and altering 
 them repeatedly, a skill so great that many 
 have doubted whether it was oil that he em- 
 ployed, surmising that he possessed some 
 vehicle known to himself alone an idea that 
 seems to be without foundation. 
 
 Color is perhaps the most enchanting element 
 of beauty. The most perfect features cannot 
 redeem a face if the complexion be bad, while 
 a dazzling complexion will lend an alluring 
 charm to lineaments the most irregular. So, 
 too, color is the essence of life, as pallor is 
 death's most striking ensign. It is therefore 
 only to be expected that Titian should excel 
 all other painters in depicting beauty, as he 
 excels all save only Rubens, the mighty color- 
 ist of the North, in imparting a sense of vital- 
 
TITIAN 1 1 1 
 
 ity. And while Rubens surpasses him in the 
 intensity of vital energy, he falls far below in 
 appreciation of life's dignity and grace. 
 
 It is the fashion in recent years to belittle 
 Titian as a religious painter ; but his are among 
 the most splendid religious pictures that we 
 possess. It is true that he treats them from a 
 human standpoint, but was not Christ also a 
 man, and were not his disciples men ? The rock 
 on which devotional painters split is the face of 
 Christ. In trying to make it divine while pre- 
 serving its meekness and humility they gener- 
 ally make it weak and unmanly. In the effort 
 to do more than is in the power of art, they 
 fall below what they might accomplish. Into 
 this trap Titian never falls ; and since the de- 
 struction of Leonardo's " Last Supper," which 
 was also treated from a purely human stand- 
 point, probably the finest head of Christ that 
 we possess is in Titian's " Tribute Money." 
 It is impossible to conceive a nobler face, or to 
 imagine a loftier or gentler expression of re- 
 proach, or a finer contrast than is presented by 
 the cunning Pharisee beside the exalted Christ. 
 
 And of all the glorious altar-pieces that Chris- 
 
112 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 tian art has furnished, the most magnificent is 
 the " Assumption^ " It provokes comparison 
 with Raphael's "Transfiguration," and in this 
 instance the palm must be awarded to Titian. 
 It is a perfect composition, all centering in the 
 stately figure of the Madonna, to whose face 
 the eye is irresistibly drawn from every part of 
 the canvas; while Raphael's is in reality two 
 pictures in one, and the drama going on at the 
 foot of the mountain is so much fuller of 
 human interest than that upon the summit 
 that the eye lingers there instead of soaring 
 upward. It has been said that the figure of 
 the Madonna is too matronly; but Titian is 
 right, both in point of fact and in point of art. 
 The Virgin was no longer young she was the 
 mother of a son who had died at the age of 
 thirty-three, and she must have been fully as 
 mature as she is represented. And if you 
 doubt the correctness of his artistic judgment, 
 imagine a slender, girlish figure in the centre 
 of this vast composition and bearing all its 
 weight. The balance and majesty of the 
 picture would be destroyed. Then it is said 
 that the Apostles below are too agitated. 
 
TITIAN 113 
 
 Even in those days it was not an every-day 
 affair for a person to be carried to heaven 
 by exultant angels. The amazement of the 
 Apostles was therefore natural ; and when we 
 consider that she who was thus snatched from 
 their midst by the angelic host in a burst of 
 light and song was one whom they loved and 
 reverenced with an absolute devotion, their 
 agitation is no greater than we should expect. 
 When we consider the splendor of the color, 
 the unity of the composition, the majesty of 
 the Madonna, the strength of the Apostles, the 
 beauty of the angels, particularly of the three 
 exquisite young girls upon the right, it is dif- 
 ficult to name another altar-piece that can stand 
 beside this. In particular features it may be 
 excelled, but as a whole it is unsurpassable. 
 
 To value aright the greater part of Titian's 
 religious pictures, such as the " Pesaro Ma- 
 donna " and the " Presentation of the Virgin 
 in the Temple," we must understand the re- 
 ligious feeling of Venice. The Venetian was 
 as completely absorbed in his city as a Roman 
 of the Republic. He lived for Venice alone, 
 and scarcely had a separate existence. He 
 
 8 
 
114 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 conceived religion not so much as a matter of 
 personal worship as of state ceremonial. He 
 was first a Venetian and then a Christian. Of 
 the Italian cities Venice alone is personified by 
 her citizens like Rome, seated upon her throne 
 as mistress of the sea while the nations lay 
 their tribute at her feet. The Venetian who 
 looked upon her beauty saw in her the god- 
 dess of his idolatry, and her faith was his. 
 From her grandeur he derived the idea of his 
 stately and ceremonial religion, which in the 
 hands of Titian is so noble and dignified, but 
 which with Veronese is to degenerate into a 
 splendid but worldly pageant. 
 
 And it was with this conception of religion 
 as a state function that Titian painted. If we 
 consider his pictures as something to take into 
 our closet as a stimulus to personal devotion, 
 we shall be much disappointed ; but if we place 
 ourselves in his point of view, we shall perceive 
 that nothing could be worthier or more appro- 
 priate that the grand solemnities of a state 
 religion could not be more nobly rendered. 
 
 The sense of humanity which gives so much 
 life and interest to his religious pictures makes 
 
 
TITIAN 115 
 
 of him the greatest of portrait painters. In 
 this line even Raphael, Rubens, Van Dyck, 
 and Velasquez must yield the palm to him. 
 The vital realism of his portraits is unsur- 
 passed, and is combined with a sense of human 
 dignity that gives them an unique distinction. 
 How much of this dignity was in the subject 
 and how much in the painter it is now impos- 
 sible to determine. We should deem him a 
 flatterer were it not that the three portraits 
 where he had most interest to please, those of 
 Paul III., Charles V., and Philip II., are so 
 cruelly realistic. Paul appears as a gaunt, 
 treacherous wolf, while it is difficult to believe 
 that the protruding under-jaw and sickly phy- 
 sique of Charles and Philip were less attractive 
 than they are represented. Of all his portraits 
 these possess perhaps the least of his peculiar 
 dignity, and we are forced to conclude that he 
 only rendered nobly the qualities which his 
 sitters in fact possessed. 
 
 The Venetian nobility were a superior race. 
 Venice gave to her nobles wealth and power, 
 but, as we have said, she exacted in return the 
 exclusive consecration of their lives. To find 
 
Il6 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 an equal absorption of the citizen in his city 
 we must go back to Sparta or to Rome. The 
 Venetian loved Venice with an intense devo- 
 tion that made exile the worst of punishments, 
 so that, like the young Foscari, he preferred 
 to die at home beneath the torture rather than 
 to be a wanderer in foreign lands. The life of 
 the Venetian nobility was one of labor and 
 danger, and they stood at all times ready to 
 toil and bleed and die for Venice. Yet their 
 intense patriotism involved no narrowness of 
 view. Their commerce brought them into 
 contact with all the nations of the earth, and 
 they were continually sent on missions of war 
 and peace to foreign capitals. In this busy 
 life, with their minds full of lofty purposes and 
 unalterable resolve, they acquired something 
 of that calm, masterful dignity that made the 
 ambassadors of Pyrrhus see in the Roman 
 senate a council of the gods. Such men were 
 Titian's friends and associates, and their proud, 
 thoughtful faces he transferred to the canvas. 
 His own genius enabled him to understand 
 them, and their society helped him to attain 
 their level. His portraits are therefore not 
 
 
TITIAN 117 
 
 merely marvels of execution they give us an 
 enhanced appreciation of man's dignity and 
 worth. 
 
 He is the painter of humanity. In the 
 breadth and sanity of his conception of man 
 and his environment he has no superior save 
 Shakespeare, whom he resembles in many 
 ways. He does not, like Raphael, idealize 
 human nature and lift it to a higher plane. 
 Like Shakespeare he accepts it as it is, but 
 from the herd he chooses the noblest and fair- 
 est types. And he is the painter of the flesh. 
 The mediaeval notion that the flesh is hateful 
 and unclean found no lodgment in his mind. 
 He appreciated its beauty with the simplicity 
 of a Greek, and had as much delight in its 
 representation. The forms of his women are 
 as rounded and voluptuous as art can make 
 them, but as sane and wholesome as Grecian 
 goddesses. He has all a Greek's joy in sensu- 
 ous beauty, but he is always healthy and virile, 
 never corrupt or coarse. Except in some cases 
 where he is constrained by the necessities of 
 portraiture, he gives to his nude Venuses 
 something of the dignity of Venetian senators. 
 
Il8 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 Venetian painting was allowed to develop 
 along the lines of pure decoration, almost en- 
 tirely unaffected by those classical influences 
 that moulded the art of Florence. And this 
 was a great good fortune. The Florentine 
 school could not have been surpassed in its 
 special qualities, and as it is we have two 
 manifestations of artistic genius as different as 
 if they had grown up in remote regions of alien 
 race, the one the product of thought and study, 
 the other as spontaneously beautiful as a 
 flower. By their contrast each enhances the 
 other's interest, and both are essential to the 
 glorious harmony of the Renaissance. 
 
 Of all the arts painting was the one which 
 on its revival was least affected by the art of 
 antiquity. It was not until long afterward, 
 when Pompeii and Herculaneum were un- 
 covered, that men acquired any adequate con- 
 ception of the style of painting practised 
 among the ancients; and the influence of an- 
 tique art on painting was indirect, working 
 through the medium of sculpture. This is one 
 reason why the painting of the Renaissance is 
 so superior. It is spontaneous and original; 
 
TITIAN IIQ 
 
 and particularly was this true in Venice. 
 There were no remains of ancient statuary to 
 be found in her lagunes, and she was too much 
 occupied with war and commerce to import 
 them. Her attention was directed not to the 
 dead past, but to the living East and her per- 
 ennial contest with the Turk. Yet in its spirit 
 Venetian painting is far nearer to Greece than 
 that of Florence. There was no conscious 
 imitation, but the Venetians were imbued with 
 the same sentiments a respect for the dignity 
 of man and a love for the beauty of nature. 
 And of this revived spirit of antiquity, this 
 new flowering of humanity, this unconscious 
 neo-paganism, Titian is the supreme exponent. 
 The first to realize it fully was Giorgione, 
 who revolutionized the art of Venice, so that 
 all men had to follow in his footsteps or be 
 forgotten. He was a fellow-pupil of Titian in 
 Bellini's workshop, and they appear to have 
 been born in the same year; but it seems to be 
 universally conceded that it was Giorgione who 
 invented the new style. He, however, did not 
 advance beyond the idyl. He felt as no artist 
 has ever felt the sweet poetry of nature, so 
 
120 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 joyous and yet so near to melancholy, that we 
 find in Daphnis and Chloe and in Theocritus; 
 but he found that domain so charming that he 
 sought no further. Titian adopted Giorgione's 
 spirit and method, and in the " Sacred and 
 Profane Love" and the "Three Ages of 
 Man " presented them to perfection. But he 
 was not content to remain there. He de- 
 veloped the new art in every direction, and 
 applied it to the most varied and important 
 themes. In his hands it gradually lost some- 
 thing of its poetry, but it gained immensely in 
 dignity and breadth. 
 
 Her absorption in practical affairs also pre- 
 cluded Venice from becoming a literary centre, 
 and preserved her art from the literary bias 
 that is visible upon the mainland. The de- 
 mands which she made upon the time and 
 energies of her nobles were too great to allow 
 them much leisure for literary pursuits. The 
 love of fame which led the Italian princes to 
 gather around them scholars and poets to per- 
 petuate the memory of their exploits was for- 
 bidden by the jealous oligarchy which ruled in 
 Venice, and which insisted sternly upon the 
 
TITIAN 121 
 
 principle of equality among the governing 
 class. Though on account of her freedom and 
 her commercial advantages she had long been 
 the centre of the book-trade, it was only when 
 the Spanish Inquisition had rendered intellec- 
 tual life throughout the Peninsula a thing of 
 extremest danger that the humanists sought an 
 asylum in Venice, where they found the same 
 protection that England has afforded to the 
 political refugees of later days. But they 
 came only after Venice had formed her style 
 of painting, and too late to produce a marked 
 effect either upon its spirit or its practice. The 
 Venetian princes had encouraged art only be- 
 cause it had served to decorate the city they 
 loved so well. Hence the decorative element, 
 not the illustrative, remained paramount in 
 Venetian painting. Some, like Giorgione, 
 never grasped at all the idea of illustration. 
 Several of his pictures, which Herr Franz 
 Wickhoff has demonstrated to have been in- 
 tended as illustrations of classic authors, are so 
 ineffectual as such that they have been always 
 mistaken for charming but incomprehensible 
 allegories. 
 
122 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 p 
 
 So it was with Titian in his early days. The 
 wonderfully beautiful picture in the Borghese 
 collection of two women, one nude and the 
 other richly draped, seated beside a fountain 
 in which a Cupid is playing, has always been 
 known by the absurd title of " Sacred and 
 Profane Love," and has been considered a 
 profound allegory, though none could say 
 .which was the sacred and which the profane. 
 Now, however, the same eminent scholar has 
 shown that it was painted to illustrate the 
 Argonautica of Valerius Flaccus, and repre- 
 sents Venus persuading Medea to fly with 
 Jason that it is one of those subjects sug- 
 gested to the painter by the scholars who had 
 sought refuge in Venice, as was also perhaps 
 the picture entitled the " Three Ages of 
 Man." 
 
 This incapacity to conceive of art otherwise 
 than as decoration, which remained with Gior- 
 gione till his death, was overcome by Titian, 
 and the passages chosen from the Erotes of 
 Philostratus and the Epithalamium of Peleus 
 and Thetis of Catullus could not have been 
 better rendered than they are in the " Worship 
 
TITIAN 123 
 
 of Venus " and the " Bacchus and Ariadne," 
 whose meaning is apparent at a glance. 
 
 Titian's progress in composition is conspicu- 
 ous. At first he seems to have painted pictures 
 mostly for the beauty of the individual figures; 
 but later he displayed great skill in composing 
 a skill only surpassed by that of Raphael, 
 and which he perhaps owed in some measure 
 to his visit to Rome and his study of the lat- 
 ter's masterpieces. Still, even to the end he 
 was uncertain in composition, often splendid, 
 generally good, but sometimes strangely de- 
 fective. 
 
 It has been said that he was no draughts- 
 man, but the charge shows a misconception of 
 his art. Drawing implies an insistence upon 
 the outline, and the greatest draughtsmen are 
 those who render the outline with the greatest 
 power. Titian was not of these. His system 
 implied the subordination of the outline. He 
 rendered form by color, light and shade and 
 atmosphere, as Nature does, and in his proc- 
 esses he was truer to Nature's methods than 
 Michelangelo. The outline of his figures is 
 rarely prominent, but the figures themselves 
 
124 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 are admirably modelled, and in his " St. Peter 
 Martyr" he displayed a power of drawing 
 that Michelangelo himself might envy, together 
 with a feeling for landscape of which the great 
 Florentine was wholly destitute. -That picture 
 shows that if he had wished to be a draughts- 
 man he could have ranked with th*e Jrig$es$Q 
 but he preferred the domain of color, light, 
 and air. Michelangelo was in Venice while it 
 was being painted, and perhaps influenced its 
 style. This, however, is doubtful, for the 
 " Danae " that Titian painted in Rome is thor- 
 oughly Venetian. 
 
 In his work he generally preferred repose or 
 quiet movement, but when he desired he could 
 be agitated and dramatic. He understood that 
 it is pleasantest to live with pictures of serene 
 and tranquil beauty, but when the occasion 
 demanded he was a master of vehement action 
 and intense emotion. 
 
 He was not a great anatomist like Michel- 
 angelo. He did not love the body for its 
 framework of bones and muscle, but for the 
 beauty of its fleshly covering. And no one 
 has rendered this so well. The female types 
 
TITIAN 125 
 
 that he prefers are voluptuous and full, so that 
 the muscles are rarely seen, and as they are 
 fitted rather for repose than for action, he 
 shows them seated or reclining, sometimes in 
 princely palaces, sometimes upon the sward 
 beneath overarching trees or beside the sea. 
 He is the painter of woman's form, as Leo- 
 nardo is the painter of her soul ; and his women, 
 so beautiful and so healthy, often with that 
 hair of reddish gold that has acquired his name, 
 stand among modern works where the Venus 
 of Cnidus did among the ancient. 
 
 He is sensuous but never gross. He remains 
 always an aristocrat to his finger-tips. Amongst 
 the commonplace and vulgar types that cover 
 the walls of our modern salons his women 
 would reign as queens. He painted them for 
 the great of the earth, for the princes and 
 nobles with whom he associated, not for the 
 vulgar populace. 
 
 And, indeed, no modern populace has suffi- 
 ciently shaken off the Middle Ages properly to 
 enjoy the nude. When certain men appeared 
 naked before the Empress Livia, and her ser- 
 vants would have chastised them, she forbade 
 
126 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 it, saying, " Let them alone; to a pure woman 
 they are only statues." But to the modern 
 populace statues are only naked men and 
 women. In Titian's time, however, as with 
 us to-day, many of the intelligent classes had 
 passed beyond that stage, and for them he 
 painted, producing works which, however dif- 
 ferent in their mode of treatment, would have 
 delighted the companions of Pericles, and 
 would have been hailed with universal ac- 
 clamation by that beauty-loving people who 
 assembled in multitudes to gaze upon the 
 
 charms of Phryne or of Lais. 
 
 ' 
 
 He was a master of many manners. He 
 began with the idyllic style of Giorgione, in 
 which is to be found the sweetest essence of 
 bucolic poetry. But he passed on to the 
 splendid realism of his portraits, the grand 
 style of his "Assumption," the agony of his 
 ' Entombment," and the unspeakable torture 
 of his " Mocking of Christ." No painter save 
 only Raphael has covered so wide a field, or 
 covered it so well. 
 
 But in one respect he was the very antithesis 
 of Raphael. As if conscious that his life and 
 
TITIAN 127 
 
 vigor were to be prolonged to an unexampled 
 degree, he was in no haste, though he rested 
 not, and his development was slow; while 
 Raphael, as if aware that, like Achilles, his 
 career was to be as brief as glorious, developed 
 at the earliest moment, and crowded into his 
 narrow span every possible activity. 
 
 Though his masterful repose was removed 
 as far as possible from Byron's storm and 
 stress, in two respects they were strikingly 
 alike they had a more intense and personal 
 comprehension of woman's beauty than any- 
 one else has had, and an unequalled feeling 
 for nature, a sort of pantheistic sense of being 
 a part j)f the inanimate world. 
 
 Titian was the first in modern times to paint 
 a landscape. There were many fine landscapes 
 before his day, and landscape-painting has 
 achieved few greater triumphs than in his 
 master Bellini's " Agony in the Garden," with 
 that awful light in the east proclaiming the 
 lurid dawning of the fatal day. But they were 
 only backgrounds. Titian was the first to 
 paint a landscape for itself alone. The land- 
 scape, too, is an important part of nearly all his 
 
128 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 pictures, and it is as appropriate as his colors. 
 It smiles with the joyous, it weeps with the 
 
 sorrowing, it thunders with the wrathful., It 
 
 is not, as with Raphael, nature dominated by 
 man ; it is man and nature as inseparable parts 
 of a pantheistic whole, laughing, wailing, curs- 
 ing together, and each answering to the other's 
 mood. He, too, painted a great battle-piece, 
 which has perished, and which we know only 
 by engravings and his sketch. It is not so 
 passionate as Leonardo's, nor so harmonious as 
 Raphael's; but it differs from both in the in- 
 sistence upon the landscape, and in the violent 
 tempest by which Nature contributes to the 
 tumult of the strife. 
 
 He was the first to understand the grandeur 
 and the mystery of the mountains. To the 
 ancients and to his contemporaries they were 
 simply horrid and forbidding. He was born 
 among them, and he loved them with a moun- 
 taineer's devotion to his home. But he knew 
 how to use them for artistic purposes. He 
 knew that the barren desolation of mountain 
 regions soon wearies the eye, and that the true 
 function of mountains in landscape-painting is 
 
TITIAN 129 
 
 as a background to verdant and alluring scenes. 
 As such they are supremely effective, lending 
 grandeur and sublimity to a view which would 
 otherwise be only pretty. Of all painters he 
 uses mountains with the greatest felicity. In 
 most of his pictures his native Dolomites, far 
 away, as he saw them from Venice or the ad- 
 jacent mainland, stand out blue in the distance, 
 enveloping the landscape with a sense of 
 mystery and awe. He was the greatest of 
 landscape-painters until Claude Lorraine, and 
 in breadth exceeded him, passing from the 
 idyllic suavity of Giorgione's scenes to the 
 desolate horror which forms the appropriate 
 setting to St. Peter's death. 
 
 Like Raphael he is a painter to live with. 
 He is not a striver after the unattainable, a 
 wearier of the flesh, like Michelangelo. With 
 him there is no strife between mind and body. 
 Each is suited to the other, and repose and 
 harmony result. He is the painter of man as 
 a citizen of the world, of woman as a thing of 
 beauty, all placed in a suitable environment. 
 He is mundane and human, while Raphael 
 
 soars above the earth, but he is equally serene, 
 
 I 
 
I3O RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 and he lends to our mortal life a dignity and a 
 beauty that we can never contemplate too 
 often. He may not lift us up, but he gives us 
 a keener and a fuller sense of the worthiness 
 of terrestrial things. 
 
CORREGGIO 
 (1494-1534) 
 
 CORREGGIO is a Greek of the Ionian 
 Isles, the fit companion of Sappho, of 
 Alcaeus, of Anacreon, full of the joy of life, 
 of the adoration of physical beauty, blithe as a 
 skylark, lovely as the morning. The return to 
 the pagan spirit is not with him the result 
 of study and conscious effort, as with most of 
 his contemporaries ; he was born a pagan of the 
 gladsome days when the forests were full of 
 fauns and dryads, when a nymph lay hidden in 
 every fountain, when the wilderness trembled 
 with the sighs of the amorous Pan. How such 
 a spirit survived the darkness and sorrow of 
 the Middle Ages, its joy undimmed, its bright- 
 ness untarnished, fresh as in the days when 
 Apollo watched the flocks of Admetus on the 
 Thessalian plains, is one of those problems of 
 which there is no solution. 
 131 
 
I3 2 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 He is the painter of joy, of a dithyrambic 
 ecstasy which, if it ever existed in this work- 
 a-day world, has long since passed away. His 
 family name, Allegri, means joyful, and he ac- 
 cepted it as descriptive, for he often signs him- 
 self Lieto, or Laetus, its Italian and Latin 
 synonyms. In Italy there has never been the 
 break of continuity between classic and modern 
 times that exists in other lands, and perhaps 
 Correggio was descended from some glad pagan 
 of the ancient days whose jocund spirit won 
 for him the title that was borne by his descend- 
 ants. And Correggio almost makes us believe 
 in the doctrine of metempsychosis. In an ob- 
 scure little town scarcely to be found upon an 
 ordinary map, and in the humble dwelling of a 
 small merchant, he was born, the glorious rein- 
 carnation of the spirit of Grecian joy, which 
 had been crushed beneath the iron heel of im- 
 perial Rome and entombed in mediaeval dark- 
 ness. And he comes forth from his long sleep 
 with no stain of the past upon him, fresher, 
 brighter, more buoyant than when he wandered 
 with Sappho and Anacreon through Lesbos 
 and Ionia. Everything with him is gladsome, 
 
 
CORREGGIO 133 
 
 and even the Fates, whom other artists have 
 conceived as gloomy, stern and old, he repre- 
 sents as youthful maidens spinning the shining 
 webs of golden destinies. 
 
 It has been the fashion of late years to de- 
 preciate Correggio, but it is difficult to see why 
 he should not be numbered with the greatest. 
 It is true that his art bears the same relation 
 to that of Raphael and Michelangelo that lyric 
 poetry bears to the drama and the epic. But 
 is the lyric essentially inferior ? Is not the 
 quivering, impassioned song, free in its move- 
 ment as the air and beautiful as the sunset, one 
 of the highest expressions of poetic genius ? 
 The Greeks, who were no mean judges, ranked 
 Sappho's Odes with the Iliad of Homer, and 
 he who loves beauty for its own sake must be 
 drawn to Correggio with an irresistible attrac- 
 tion. 
 
 Beauty and joy are the essence of his art, 
 beauty of a sweetly sensuous type, exultant, 
 rapturous joy such as the modern world has 
 never seen. His beings are not of the earth 
 that we know, neither are they of heaven. 
 Sometimes they are the fauns that basked in 
 
134 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 the sunlight and frolicked in the shadows of 
 Grecian woodlands, sometimes the Ariels who 
 palpitate with ecstasy as they disport them- 
 selves in the blue empyrean. 
 
 His children and his boys are the loveliest 
 that were ever painted, far exceeding poor sad 
 humanity in their beauty as in their joy. His 
 infants that frolic among the clouds or play at 
 Madonnas' feet are thrilled with a rapture such 
 as childhood never knew, and the happiness of 
 his youths reaches the highest pitch of lyric 
 transport. Even the jubilant gladness of 
 _. Shelley's Ode to the Skylark gives no idea of 
 their feelings. 
 
 It would be wrong to call his beings super- 
 human. They are fairer and happier than 
 man can ever be, but they lack that tinge of 
 sadness which purifies and elevates humanity 
 at its best. They are spirits of the air that 
 hover near to earth, playing in the sunbeams 
 and wantoning with the roses, and they have 
 never scaled those heights wrapped in storms 
 and clouds which the soul of man can reach. 
 Our own Shakespeare, whose immeasurable gen- 
 ius enabled him to comprehend not merely the 
 
CORREGGIO 135 
 
 infinite complexities of humanity, but the un- 
 seen beings that people the air about us, alone 
 has understood them, and in the Midsummer 
 Night 's Dream and The Tempest he brings them 
 into view Oberon, Ariel, and their rout, 
 creatures of inexpressible grace and gladness, 
 wanton yet innocent, knowing nothing of sor- 
 row and incapable of guilt. 
 
 These are the types which give to Correg- 
 gio's works their essential character. He can 
 represent grief with infinite truth, and the sad, 
 sweet face of the Madonna in his " Ecce 
 Homo " of the National Gallery has been 
 the model for all subsequent pictures of the 
 Mater Dolorosa. But with him joy is con- 
 tagious while sorrow is individual. His glad- 
 some pictures are glad throughout, all his 
 figures joining in the glorious paeon of raptur- 
 ous delight ; while his mournful works are so 
 only in part. The pious wish that health 
 might be contagious instead of disease finds 
 its realization in his ideal world. 
 
 No other artist ever took so lofty a flight 
 from so low an eminence. He was brought up 
 in the insignificant Emilian town whose name 
 
136 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 he bears, and it is not known that he ever had 
 a competent teacher. He never visited Flor- 
 ence, Rome, or Venice. Morelli sees in his 
 works traces of Francia's influence, but there 
 is no proof that he was ever at Bologna, or 
 that he ever beheld one of Francia's pictures. 
 Traces of Mantegna's influence are apparent, 
 and it is strongly believed that he must have 
 studied at Mantua; but the genius of Man- 
 tegna, the severest of Renaissance masters, has 
 so little in common with Correggio's that the 
 influence could not have been great. It is 
 suspected that he must have seen something 
 by Leonardo and Raphael, but there is no cer- 
 tainty, perhaps no likelihood, of that. He is 
 generally looked upon as an outgrowth from 
 the school of Ferrara, but his gracious style 
 has little in common with that of Tura, Costa, 
 Grandi, or even Dosso. Of course he learned 
 the rudiments of painting from someone. The 
 mastery of technic results only from the labor 
 of successive generations, and no one who 
 begins at the beginning can accomplish much. 
 But the vital elements of his style are all his own, 
 and its originality is as striking as its beauty. 
 
CORK EGG 10 137 
 
 Perhaps his isolation was an advantage. 
 With none about him of commensurate talents, 
 his genius was left in unfettered freedom to 
 develop along its own lines. Contact with 
 men of equal force might have robbed him of 
 a portion of his originality, taken away some- 
 thing of the lyric ecstasy of his works and left 
 them more formal and academic. It is sad to 
 think that one of the few supreme masters of 
 art should have passed his life in obscurity, 
 without the fellowship of the great men who 
 could have understood his worth ; but perhaps 
 it is better as it is. Who can tell what effect 
 the life of courts would have had on the ex- 
 quisite poetry of his delicate nature ? 
 
 Nor was the place of his birth so unpropi- 
 tious as it would seem at first. The spirit of 
 the Renaissance had permeated the whole of 
 Northern Italy, and in every town and hamlet 
 men talked of Plato and Apelles, often with 
 insufficient knowledge, but always with un- 
 limited enthusiasm. The little city of Correg- 
 gio, now so drowsy, was then the centre of 
 considerable intellectual activity. At no time 
 have women been more cultivated or more 
 
138 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 influential than during the Italian Renaissance, 
 and in Correggio's day the petty court of his 
 native town was presided over by Veronica 
 Gambara, one of the most charming of her sex, 
 a lover of art and literature and a poetess of 
 decided merit. Existing documents show that 
 Correggio must have been a welcome visitor at 
 this court, and there, if he met no artists of the 
 first distinction, he at least found painters who 
 could teach him the rudiments of his craft, and 
 he sucked in with every breath that love of 
 classic beauty that was the very soul of the 
 Renaissance. Even in that provincial town 
 the opportunities for grasping the true spirit 
 of artistic creation excelled those now offered 
 by many a pretentious city. That spirit of 
 youth which characterizes the Renaissance 
 movement was stirring in the breast of every- 
 one. Each felt that he had a message for his 
 fellow men, and strove to utter it. Some 
 sought to do so in words, others by the brush ; 
 and art, which owes its origin in some measure 
 to the longing of the soul to escape its solitude 
 and commune with its fellows, naturally re- 
 ceived a tremendous impulse. 
 
CORREGGIO 139 
 
 Living as they did at the centre of the 
 world's thought and culture, where the most 
 complex problems were agitating the minds of 
 men, it was inevitable that the art of Leonardo, 
 Raphael, and Michelangelo should be weighted 
 with a deep significance. But probably the 
 profoundest thought with which Correggio 
 came in contact was the sweet, feminine poetry 
 of Veronica Gambara, which cast no burden 
 upon his mind. In art's great symphony the 
 high, clear notes that thrill us in the paeon are 
 as essential to the harmony as the echoing 
 basses of the dirge or the mellow beauty of the 
 middle chords, and it is well that Correggio 
 was left to play them to the end. 
 
 From the time when Vasari and the Caracci 
 proclaimed his merits to the world, he was the 
 object of unqualified admiration until recent 
 years, when there arose a school of critics, with 
 Mr. Ruskin at their head, who loudly condemn 
 him as immoral. They might as well inveigh 
 against the morality of a skylark or a turtle- 
 dove. The feelings which he expresses are joy 
 and love, and if they are immoral, heaven must 
 be a place of exceeding wickedness. 
 
14 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 It is readily conceivable that persons who 
 think that the function of art is to inculcate 
 moral precepts should find nothing to attract 
 them in his works; but it is amazing that in- 
 tolerance in this age should be carried so far as 
 Mr. Ruskin carries it when he brands as " las- 
 civious " the Magdalen of the Holy Family 
 called the " Day," who, fully draped, nestles 
 against the shoulder of the Virgin, one of the 
 sweetest incarnations of womanhood in all the 
 range of art. 
 
 It is said that if his beings were alive they 
 would be of no use. It is true that they would 
 not be serviceable as plow-hands or as soldiers. 
 But is beauty of no utility ? Is not the flower 
 that adorns the fields, which toils not, neither 
 does it spin, as essential in the world's economy 
 as the cabbage or the potato ? Is the great 
 singer who thrills the hearts of thousands to be 
 condemned because she cannot toil upon the 
 highway or fight in the ranks of battle ? The 
 love of beauty is one of the greatest influences 
 in the refinement and elevation of humanity, 
 and its contemplation is one of the few enjoy- 
 ments that leave no sting behind. 
 
CORK EGG 10 141 
 
 It is true that his beings, were they alive, 
 would be wrapped up in the joy of living and 
 the ecstasy of light and air; but they would be 
 as harmless as birds. And can as much be said 
 of the prodigious figures of Michelangelo which 
 are supposed to breathe so lofty a morality ? 
 Would the " David " care greatly who fell be- 
 fore his wrath ? Would not the " Moses " in 
 his immeasurable pride tread the innocent and 
 the guilty indiscriminately under foot ? And 
 who can assure us that the mighty figures on 
 the Medicean tombs, if they should rouse 
 themselves, would not wish to plunge the 
 world into a gloom as overwhelming as their 
 own ? 
 
 There is nothing immoral in joy, neither is 
 love a sin. The early Christians believed that 
 God was love, and as such He is portrayed in 
 the catacombs, where the pictures are all cheer- 
 ful, even joyous. But in the frightful night 
 of the Middle Ages man's conception of God 
 underwent a change. Judging Him by their 
 own misery and suffering, they conceived Him 
 as a being of implacable wrath and hate, de- 
 lighting in His creatures' woes. Gladness and 
 
142 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 beauty were accounted sinful, sighs and tears 
 and the maceration of the flesh were alone sup- 
 posed to find favor in the sight of God. That 
 mediaeval conception of Christianity, so differ- 
 ent from the benign spirit of Him whose first 
 miracle was wrought that nothing might mar 
 the joy of a wedding festival, still persists in 
 the hearts and minds of many ; and to such, 
 and to such alone, Correggio is immoral. Love 
 is holy, and joy that is not purchased with 
 another's pain is sweet and good. These are 
 the worst sentiments that Correggio expresses, 
 and he is no more open to the charge of im- 
 morality than the wanton flower that is kissed 
 by the breeze. He may be called unmoral, but 
 he is not immoral. His works simply have 
 nothing to do with morality. He belongs to 
 the class of those who are neither for heaven 
 nor against it. He is content with depicting 
 beauty in its most exquisite forms, with no 
 suggestion of evil, and if others are seduced 
 by it he is no more concerned than the youth- 
 ful angels whose charms so tempted Mephis- 
 topheles at the burial of Faust. He is as inno- 
 cent of offence as the children of Adam and Eve 
 
CORREGGIO 143 
 
 playing unclothed among the thornless roses 
 of Eden. He belongs to the age when men 
 were naked and were not ashamed, and if we 
 have eaten of the forbidden fruit, the fault is not 
 with him. Raphael's beauty is of a kind that 
 cannot be divorced from active goodness ; Cor- 
 reggio's is neither good nor evil, but simply 
 innocent and glad. 
 
 In his early works there is a marked religious 
 / feeling, though conceived in a sweet human 
 way that would have startled and perhaps 
 shocked the primitives. How much of this 
 was heartfelt and how much the result of imi- 
 tation we cannot say. Doubtless he received 
 a religious training in his youth ; but he was a 
 faun from the Grecian woodland on whose soul 
 the teachings of the church could make little 
 impression, and year by year we see its influ- 
 ence weakening and the pagan joy of life and 
 love of carnal beauty reasserting themselves 
 more strongly. The greater number of his 
 mythological pictures were painted in his last 
 days, when he had abandoned the work in the 
 Parma Cathedral in disgust, and had returned 
 to his native town. And as his genius was 
 
144 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 essentially pagan, the further he wanders from 
 the ascetic spirit of mediaeval Christianity the 
 more striking and beautiful his works become. 
 There was in him no revolt against mediaeval 
 devotion as in some of his contemporaries. It 
 never had a firm hold upon him, and he merely 
 slips away from it. He was like some lovely 
 bird of paradise which we capture in the nest 
 and seek to tame, but which when its wings 
 are grown flies back to its glad life of free- 
 dom among the golden flowers of its native 
 forest. 
 
 When at his maturity, his religious and his 
 mythological subjects are treated in very much 
 the same spirit. He humanizes religious feel- 
 ing and spiritualizes sensual passion until there 
 is no great difference between them. The St. 
 John the Baptist of the " St. George " picture 
 is a faun straight from the Grecian forests, and 
 there was never a more charming representa- 
 tion of Cupid in his youthful prime than the 
 St. Sebastian who looks on at the mystic 
 marriage of St. Catherine in the Louvre. On 
 the other hand there is nothing gross in the 
 ecstasy of his " Danae " or " lo." The joy of 
 
CORREGGIO 145 
 
 love was never depicted with more realistic 
 truth or more exquisite refinement. And the 
 child angels that are strewn over the "Assump- 
 tion " and " Ascension " like flowers upon a 
 meadow, tumbling upon the clouds, or peeping 
 out from between the legs of the Apostles, are 
 conceived in exactly the same mood as the 
 boys who attend " Diana " in the chase. 
 
 Like Michelangelo he is a painter purely of 
 the imagination, though his visions are simple 
 and joyous while Michelangelo's are complex 
 and mournful; and like him he made no por- 
 traits, not even his own, so that we know not 
 how he looked. His figures spring like Mi- 
 nerva from his creative brain, and have no pro- 
 totypes on earth. They are superhuman in 
 blitheness as in beauty, and yet so vivid is his 
 imagination and so great his artistic power that 
 they are projected upon the canvas or the wall 
 with an intensity of realism that would do 
 honor to the Dutch. Our reason tells us that 
 such beings never existed in this sad world, 
 but we sympathize with Guido, who always 
 asked those who had seen the " Madonna with 
 St. George " since he had seen it, if the chil- 
 
146 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 dren were still in the picture, and if they had 
 not grown up. 
 
 His name has become a synonym for light 
 and shade. No Italian artist ever equalled 
 him in that respect, and it is doubtful whether 
 Rembrandt himself surpassed him, though 
 their methods are so different that an intelli- 
 gent comparison is hard to make. Like Rem- 
 brandt's, his shadows are not opaque, but 
 luminous, suffused through and through with 
 light, just as in nature a thing so difficult of 
 achievement that it has been accomplished in 
 a satisfactory manner by few. None of his 
 predecessors save Leonardo and Dosso had 
 any considerable skill in chiaroscuro, yet Cor- 
 reggio in his earliest works reveals himself a 
 master of the art, though a master who con- 
 tinually improves. It is incredible that so 
 young a man should have conquered its com- 
 plexities unaided, and we are driven to the 
 conclusion that he must have seen some of 
 Leonardo's works and perhaps studied under 
 Dosso. 
 
 And as a result of his mastery of light and 
 shade, his figures are bathed in atmosphere. 
 
CORREGGIO 147 
 
 They are not standing in a vacuum like those 
 of the primitives; the air circles round them, 
 full of light, and they stand out in a luminous 
 medium as in nature. 
 
 The Florentine masters usually practised 
 both painting and sculpture, with the result 
 that their sculpture is frequently pictorial, as 
 in the case of Ghiberti, their painting always 
 somewhat sculptural, standing out in bold re- 
 lief, with strongly marked outlines. But Cor- 
 reggio and the Venetians are painters and 
 nothing else, and the luminous, palpitating 
 vitality of color finds its most perfect expres- 
 sion in their works. 
 
 As a colorist he must be numbered with the 
 greatest. His color has not the glowing splen- 
 dor of Venice, but in transparent lustre it is 
 unexcelled. It has been well described as a 
 clarification of Leonardo's. 
 
 It is very difficult to be a great colorist in 
 fresco. The system is suited to works of mon- 
 umental or primitive simplicity, and is not 
 conducive to brilliancy, depth, or delicate 
 gradations. It was rarely employed by the 
 great masters of color, the Venetians. Titian 
 
148 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 tried it at Padua, but without adding anything 
 to his fame. Leonardo was so dissatisfied with 
 it that he mixed his fresco paints with oil, and 
 so destroyed them ; while the colors of Michel- 
 angelo are so inconspicuous that they are 
 scarcely thought of. Raphael himself seldom 
 reached great eminence in frescoed color, 
 though in some of his compositions, particu- 
 larly the " Miracle of Bolsena," his success is 
 undeniable. But it was reserved to Correggio 
 to give to fresco the splendor and transparency 
 of oil, and to produce with it those subtle 
 effects of light and shade in pursuit of which 
 Leonardo had sacrificed the durability of his 
 most precious works. 
 
 In the painting of the delicate flesh of women 
 and children even Titian and Veronese must 
 own Correggio's pre-eminence. The finest 
 piece of flesh painting in the world is probably 
 his " Antiope " of the Louvre. The satiny 
 sheen, the dainty tenderness, the rich, soft 
 flesh-tints of a youthful nymph could not be 
 better rendered. It seems living flesh, with the 
 warm blood coursing through the veins as she 
 lies there dreaming of love upon her mossy bank. 
 
CORREGGIO 149 
 
 This picture of Correggio's and Titian's in 
 the same gallery dealing with the same sub- 
 ject afford a rare opportunity of contrasting 
 their styles, which have so much in common 
 and yet are so diverse. Titian's gives an ex- 
 tended landscape, while Correggio's reveals 
 only enough of the background to show that 
 the scene takes place in the forest depths. 
 Titian's Antiope is stronger, healthier, and 
 lies in an attitude of graceful repose, full of 
 dignity even as she sleeps. The posture of 
 Correggio's is violently foreshortened, with the 
 knees projecting straight toward the spectator, 
 and her light slumbers are haunted by amorous 
 dreams. But the greatest contrast is in the 
 satyrs. Titian's is the perfect blending of the 
 goat and man, exactly such a creature as would 
 be produced by such a union. The goat's 
 legs, the hairy body, and the low, sensual, cun- 
 ning physiognomy are just what we should ex- 
 pect in a real satyr. Such a creature would be 
 content with himself and assured of his own 
 perfection. But the satyr of Correggio is a 
 beautiful monster. There are the hairy legs 
 of a genuine goat, but the head is one of the 
 
ISO RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 most beautiful ever painted, as lovely as the 
 " Eros " of Praxiteles, as the vision that ap- 
 peared to Psyche when she lit the fatal lamp 
 to gaze upon the sleeping Cupid. Such a 
 creature would have died of mortification had 
 he looked down at his hideous shanks. The ex- 
 pression of their faces, too, is widely different. 
 Titian's satyr shows only the animal satis- 
 faction of a bestial nature, while Correggio's is 
 quivering with jubilant love. Yet it is not 
 certain that Titian's is the juster rendering of 
 the subject. If it were only a common satyr 
 surprising a nymph, there could be no doubt 
 of Titian's superiority ; but when we remember 
 that it was great Jove himself in this disguise, 
 it is quite probable that Correggio's picture 
 interprets more faithfully the true significance 
 of the scene. Then we see divine beauty re- 
 vealed in spite of its disguise, and the god, 
 knowing that the travesty can be cast off at 
 pleasure, is not ashamed of the ugly shanks 
 and cloven hoofs. But the two pictures show 
 well the difference between the realistic and 
 human beauty of Titian and the ideal, super- 
 mundane beauty of Correggio. 
 
CORREGGIO 151 
 
 From someone, doubtless Mantegna, Cor- 
 reggio early acquired a taste for the problems 
 of foreshortening, and attained such a profi- 
 ciency in it that he remained unrivalled until 
 Michelangelo painted the " Last Judgment." 
 And as with Michelangelo, his extraordinary 
 skill led to its abuse, so that he sometimes 
 painted figures merely to test his powers, plac- 
 ing them in violent postures where they seem 
 attitudinizing and in points of view from which 
 they appear contorted. Extreme power is 
 always apt to be pushed to exaggeration, but 
 in Correggio's behalf it must be said that 
 Michelangelo in his later days departed further 
 from the modesty of Nature than he has ever 
 done. 
 
 In the handling of great masses Correggio 
 has no superior. It would be vain to seek 
 elsewhere for a composition so vast and so 
 united as the " Assumption of the Madonna " 
 that fills the dome of the Cathedral at Parma. 
 It is not a complicated harmony ; it is a thou- 
 sand voices singing together a jubilant paeon of 
 ecstatic joy. The Virgin rises into heaven in 
 a quivering transport of triumphant exultation, 
 
152 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 and all the apostles and the heavenly host join 
 in a chorus of rapture that borders upon frenzy. 
 For the first time save in his majestic frescoes 
 in San Giovanni the architectural framework of 
 the dome is disregarded, and we look straight 
 upward into heaven. At the first glance the 
 countless legs of the ascending angels seen 
 through the billowy clouds of light produce a 
 singular effect; but as we continue to gaze 
 upon the prodigious sweep and whirl of the 
 mighty throng the wonderful realism of the 
 scene grows upon us, the world around is 
 forgotten, and we seem to behold heaven in 
 all its glory opened before our eyes. It is a 
 bold experiment, one of those daring attempts 
 which must find their justification in success. 
 It fascinated his followers, who continually 
 imitated it, but it remains alone as the one 
 perfect achievement of its kind. 
 
 He loved most the beauty of women, youths, 
 and children, but "The Apostles" of San 
 Giovanni's dome are among the grandest types 
 of manhood that art can offer. Perhaps the 
 thing in which he was most deficient was in 
 capacity to represent the withering effects of 
 
CORREGGIO 153 
 
 age. Youth was his domain. He may give 
 to his old men silver locks and flowing beards, 
 but their eyes remain bright and their cheeks 
 rounded, so that they do not really look old. 
 
 Correggio inspired in the breast of Toschi a 
 devotion that has no parallel in the history of 
 art, and the great engraver devoted his long 
 life to reproducing the master's works. In this 
 way we are able to enjoy portions of the fres- 
 coes which have been so injured by damp and 
 dirt as to be invisible or incomprehensible from 
 below. In the translation from the poetry of 
 color to the engraving's prose there has been 
 necessarily a change no work can pass through 
 another's hand and brain and remain unaltered. 
 Something of the dithyrambic ecstasy of the 
 originals has been lost, something of academic 
 neatness has been added. Still the result is a 
 triumph of the engraver's art and a boon for 
 which the world must remain forever indebted. 
 
 One of the first duties of modern criticism 
 was to relieve Correggio from responsibility for 
 a multitude of unworthy pictures attributed to 
 him by an uncritical age. Many of them were 
 by feeble imitators like Parmigianino and An- 
 
154 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 selmi, and had something of his manner, while 
 others bore no resemblance to his work. They 
 were simply clouds that obscured his fame, and 
 now that they have been dispersed his star 
 shines with a clearer lustre. Among them, 
 however, was one whose loss we must all de- 
 plore, the famous ' Reading Magdalen." 
 Since Morelli called attention to the absence 
 in it of the qualities of Correggio's style it has 
 been abandoned by all authoritative critics save 
 M. Muntz, and even he dares not be positive. 
 It is apparently the work of a later age ; but it 
 is with reluctance that we give it up and con- 
 fess that we do not know by whose hand the 
 dainty marvel was wrought. It is a lovely 
 little jewel taken from Correggio's crown a 
 jewel that never belonged there, but which he 
 had worn so long that we regret to see it go. 
 
 He is perhaps the equal of Titian in depict- 
 ing the beauty of woman ; and in his style there 
 is more of tenderness and refinement. He 
 never degenerates into the insipid elegance of 
 his imitators, but his female types are so ex- 
 quisite that even the lovely patricians whom 
 Titian delights to paint seem too voluptuous 
 
CORREGGIO 155 
 
 and strong when placed beside them. Like 
 Titian's, his Madonnas are only women, but 
 women of such charming grace that they are 
 almost worthy of adoration. And he has 
 Leonardo's fondness for hair, and a nearly 
 equal skill in representing its waving, fluffy 
 lustre. 
 
 Like Michelangelo, he was one of the great 
 factors in the decline of art. After his death 
 countless imitators thought that they must 
 paint laughing children and wriggling legs, 
 with which they filled half the domes of Italy ; 
 but that was no fault of his. They carried his 
 qualities to the same exaggeration to which 
 Bernini carried the mannerisms of Michel- 
 angelo, but the irresistible impulse of weaklings 
 to imitate the play of giants is as inevitable as 
 it is unfortunate. Many a modest painter who 
 might have been a worthy disciple of Francia 
 or Perugino was ruined in his vain effort to 
 follow Michelangelo and Correggio in their 
 audacious flight. 
 
 He is the most emotional of painters. All 
 his figures feel intensely. The sentiment 
 which he usually prefers is joy, but sorrow, 
 
156 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 when it is expressed at all, is expressed with 
 the same vehemence. But his emotions are 
 never complicated or difficult of apprehension. 
 They are as simple as those of childhood, ut- 
 tered with as little reserve, and weighted with 
 as little thought. 
 
 He and Leonardo are the painters of smiles, 
 but in what a different way ! Leonardo sur- 
 prises the soul upon the lips souls of wonder- 
 ful depth and unspeakable complexity, and 
 fixes them there forever as a riddle that no man 
 can read. Sorrow and hope and joy, unutter- 
 able passions and unavowed desires are in that 
 smile, while Correggio's have all the wanton 
 happiness of childhood, only raised to a super- 
 human pitch. 
 
 It is this want of depth that debars Correggio 
 from the highest place. All other qualities of 
 his art beauty and color and light and shade, 
 strength and movement and composition are 
 united in him as perhaps in no other; but he 
 lacks Raphael's serene wisdom and the depth 
 of those who have passed through the Valley 
 of the Shadow of Death and drained the bitter 
 cup. Joy is good, but he who has tasted only 
 
CORREGGIO 157 
 
 its honeyed draught knows not the fulness of 
 our mortal life; and Correggio's works lack 
 that poignant fascination which an acquaint- 
 ance with Our Ladies of Sorrow alone can 
 give. 
 
 During the eighteenth century he was the 
 most esteemed of painters. It was an age of 
 super-refinement and elegance, when the nobil- 
 ity had become courtiers and passed their but- 
 terfly lives in exquisite enjoyments, scarcely 
 conscious of the vast, hungry, suffering multi- 
 tudes whose existence was to be revealed by 
 the lurid flames of the French Revolution. 
 To that polished and effeminate society the 
 works of Correggio seemed the highest ideal 
 of perfection. And even now as we stand be- 
 fore them, their fascination is so great that we 
 can hardly restrain ourselves from concurring 
 in this judgment. 
 
 We see in him a boldness of drawing and 
 foreshortening worthy of Michelangelo, a 
 genius for composition that Raphael alone can 
 surpass, color not so glowing as Titian's, but 
 of a marvellous lustre and transparency, a 
 mastery of light and shade that only Rem- 
 
158 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 brandt can rival, and a sweet joyousness that 
 has never been seen on earth since the mighty 
 voice was heard off Paxos proclaiming the death 
 of Pan. While we look at him we cannot con- 
 fess that another is his superior, and it is only 
 when we have left him and our enthusiasm has 
 had time to cool that a still, small voice whis- 
 pers in our ears that, great as he is, Leonardo, 
 Michelangelo, Raphael and Titian are greater 
 still. 
 
BOTTICELLI 
 (1446-1510) 
 
 IT is very difficult to write impartially of 
 Botticelli. Those whom he pleases at all 
 are apt to love him to excess, and see in his 
 works all possible and impossible perfections ; 
 while those who are not touched by his peculiar 
 charm are disposed to look upon him as merely 
 quaint and curious. The truth lies between 
 these two extremes. He is not a great master 
 like Raphael and Leonardo, but he has a 
 singular and personal fascination that marks 
 him as one apart, and gives him a niche in the 
 temple of fame that is all his own. His works 
 are like certain music that strikes a responsive 
 chord only in particular hearts, but a chord 
 that vibrates with an intense and special har- 
 mony. He who has caught its singular charm 
 has a joy of his own forever, but he must not 
 159 
 
l6o RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 blame his neighbor upon whose ear it jars. 
 Every man who is not abnormal appreciates 
 Raphael ; but one has to be somewhat out of 
 the ordinary to experience the full attraction 
 of Botticelli's work. He speaks to an elect 
 circle, whose members are prone to worship 
 him with idolatrous devotion, and to regard as 
 boors the profane who reject their idol. 
 
 No artist has had greater vicissitudes of 
 fame. In his prime he was the favorite painter 
 of the brilliant court of Lorenzo the Magnifi- 
 cent, but with the death of his illustrious patron 
 he sank under the influence of Savonarola, so 
 inimical to his genius, and in his old age he 
 was eclipsed by the glories of Leonardo, 
 Michelangelo, and Raphael. He was almost 
 forgotten when at length he passed away in 
 poverty and neglect, and he seemed consigned 
 to hopeless oblivion when Mr. Ruskin and the 
 English pre-Raphaelites proclaimed his great- 
 ness and made him the object of a cult that is 
 extending every day. His pictures, little 
 prized forty years ago, are now sought for with 
 infinite eagerness, and are numbered among 
 the most precious gems of the richest galleries. 
 
BOTTICELLI l6l 
 
 Those who do not feel their charm regard this 
 sudden fame as sentimental and factitious, born 
 without reason and destined to a speedy de- 
 cay ; while his votaries wonder that his position 
 among the highest should ever have been denied. 
 
 Both are wrong. He cannot be numbered 
 with the supreme masters, but he gives a 
 peculiar form of aesthetic pleasure that no one 
 else can give, and now that we are awakened 
 to its enjoyment, it is not likely that his works 
 will ever again sink into oblivion. 
 
 In fact, he is especially the painter of our 
 age, of an age that lives upon its nerves and is 
 deficient in the placid strength of earlier days. 
 He is the painter of the nerves, as Michel- 
 angelo is the painter of the muscles and Titian 
 of the flesh. In all his pictures, pagan or re- 
 ligious, the type is nervous, quivering, restless, 
 palpitating with feeling, incapable of repose. 
 They are all neurotic ; not to the point of dis- 
 ease, but beyond the limits of normal health. 
 The women that he loves to paint are delicate 
 hothouse flowers, rare orchids and sensitive 
 plants that know not the sunlight and the rain. 
 They are very lovely, and they have the tender 
 
1 62 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 charm of those fragile beings whose heads are 
 bowed with the weight of impending doom. 
 
 They are enchanting, but they are not beau- 
 tiful. Their faces are irregular, often with high 
 cheek-bones and hollow cheeks, and frequently 
 their expression is one of poignant sadness. 
 Yet perhaps it is wrong to deny them beauty. 
 They do not conform to our standard, to the 
 standard that has been bequeathed to us by 
 Raphael's harmonious genius. But according 
 to other standards they may be perfect. They 
 are purely mediaeval. If they had been pro- 
 duced in the depths of the Middle Ages men 
 would have hailed them as a divine revelation, 
 and would have considered them immeasurably 
 finer than the master works of Greece. Every 
 age has its own standards which it deems in- 
 fallible, and the type created by Botticelli does 
 not conform to our ideals. It belongs to 
 another world more delicate, more exquisite, 
 less healthy and practical than ours. 
 
 One reason of the high regard in which he is 
 now held is the prevailing practice of studying 
 art historically. No artist represents so per- 
 fectly a particular moment in history. He 
 
 
BOTTICELLI 163 
 
 stands at the exact point where the mediaeval 
 is aspiring toward the classical with infinite but 
 ineffectual desire. In him the Middle Age 
 stretches out its arms with unutterable yearn- 
 ing toward the goddess of Grecian beauty 
 rising again resplendent from the sea, but she 
 still eludes its grasp. He belongs to the time 
 when men kept lamps burning before the bust 
 of Plato as before the Virgin's shrine, yet 
 failed to grasp the essence of Hellenic culture. 
 In a little while the full day is to burst upon 
 them, revealing shapes of classic purity that 
 are to be preserved by Raphael's and by 
 Titian's brush. But Botticelli's contempo- 
 raries are still in the early dawn, lit up by a 
 dim and misty light through which the radiant 
 forms of the Grecian goddesses look thin and 
 pale. They scarcely see their shapes at all, 
 but they know that they are there, and in try- 
 ing to give them a corporeal form Botticelli 
 recurs for models to the delicate, unhealthy 
 types of mediaeval beauty which he already 
 knows ; and it is as if some slender nun brought 
 up in the shadow of the cloister should attempt 
 to rise with Phryne from the sea. 
 
1 64 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 In his work we are most powerfully attracted 
 by this yearning of the Middle Age for the fair 
 Grecian land this love of the pine tree for the 
 palm which it cannot see, but of whose beauty 
 it has heard, and of which it has formed grace- 
 ful misconceptions based upon a study of the 
 ferns that grow about its feet. The most 
 popular of his pictures are the " Birth of 
 Venus" in the Uffizi and the " Spring" in 
 the Florentine Academy. And they are justly 
 so, for in them we see the very essence of 
 Botticelli's genius. They are among the most 
 fascinating pictures ever painted. Their spirit 
 is purely mediaeval, but with what ineffable 
 desire does it yearn toward the beautiful shores 
 of Greece! And how unavailingly ! In the 
 " Parnassus " Raphael transports us to the 
 Hellenic mountains; in the "Galatea" we 
 float with him upon the sparkling waves of the 
 blue -/Egean. But Botticelli knows them not. 
 In his search for Hellas he wanders far astray, 
 and leads us to an enchanted land where the 
 fairies dance upon flowers that their footsteps 
 do not crush. He shows us Venus again, not 
 as she landed in all the pride of her beauty 
 
BOTTICELLI 165 
 
 upon the shores of Cyprus, but as she emerged 
 from the Venusberg, grown slender and pale 
 in her long seclusion, with softly rounded limbs 
 whose muscles have disappeared for want of 
 use, and in whose eyes is the sad, wistful gaze 
 that speaks of the infinite longing for the 
 moonlit valleys and sun-kissed mountains of 
 her native land that has grown up during the 
 centuries of her northern exile. It is a world 
 that has never existed save in the imagination 
 of mediaeval dreamers, a sweet fairyland of 
 delicate and delicious fancies. In his works we 
 see what the men of the early Renaissance im- 
 agined Greece to be, just as in his illustrations 
 of Dante so different from the pictures that 
 we owe to Flaxman's classic genius or to the 
 unbridled imagination of Dor we probably 
 have a much nearer approach to the visions 
 that arose before the poet and his contempo- 
 raries than any that we can attain elsewhere. 
 His works are precious documents that enable 
 us to understand the workings of the human 
 mind as words can never do, which reveal to 
 us the Middle Age standing upon tiptoe and 
 peering with unspeakable longing through the 
 
1 66 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 morning's gilded mists toward the fair shapes 
 that are dimly seen beyond the veil. 
 
 Historically Botticelli is of the first impor- 
 tance, and as an artist he has merits of a high 
 order. 
 
 Though one of the worst anatomists, he is 
 one of the greatest draughtsmen of the Renais- 
 sance. This may seem a contradiction in terms 
 when applied to a painter who dealt so largely 
 with the nude, yet it is true. The anatomy 
 of his figures is usually wretched. There is 
 every reason to believe that the poor diet, the 
 imperfect sanitation, the want of cleanliness 
 and the general misery of the Middle Ages had 
 a most deleterious effect upon the human 
 frame, and that the average man and woman 
 of mediaeval days was far from beautiful. In 
 Botticelli's time but few of the masterpieces of 
 antique art had been rescued from the clay. 
 The Middle Age had looked upon the body as 
 unclean, and had rarely represented it save in 
 ghastly crucifixions; but with the revival of 
 Greek learning came a new interest in the 
 human figure, and men turned again to its 
 representation. But they sought for models 
 
BOTTICELLI l6? 
 
 among those about them, and sometimes with 
 as little discrimination as Botticelli displayed 
 in the selection of the " Mars " of the National 
 Gallery or the youth dragged by the hair in the 
 " Calumny " of the Uffizi, with their emaciated 
 limbs; and doubtless a part of Botticelli's de- 
 fective anatomy is due to the imperfections of 
 his models. But Nature never made such 
 shapes as some of those that he has drawn, 
 and it is difficult to see how they could have 
 held together if they had been created. Either 
 he was ignorant of anatomy, or utterly in- 
 different to its requirements. 
 
 Yet he is one of the greatest masters of the 
 single line that ever lived. He treats the 
 human body simply as a pattern for a living 
 arabesque. As a lineal decorator he stands 
 supreme. In point of color he is perhaps the 
 best of the Florentine school, sometimes bright, 
 usually harmonious, nearly always charming. 
 Yet he subordinates coloring so thoroughly to 
 the line that his pictures have been described 
 as tinted drawings. The tendency of color is 
 usually toward the obliteration of the outline. 
 With him it serves only to accentuate it. In 
 
1 68 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 these days when it is the fashion to confound 
 the distinction between the arts, his pictures 
 may be described as symphonies of lines. And 
 all of them are lines of grace. Such harmoni- 
 ous curves it would be difficult to find else- 
 where. Frequently they are false to nature, 
 an outrage upon the human anatomy, and to 
 appreciate them we must forget how men are 
 made, and look upon them merely as parts of 
 an arabesque design. We shall then perceive 
 that as lineal decorations they are endowed 
 with a wonderful beauty. 
 
 Another merit which he possesses in an 
 extraordinary degree is the presentation of 
 movement. His figures are all in motion or 
 ready to move. It is not a strong movement 
 dependent upon muscular power, it is the 
 light, quick, graceful movement whose seat is 
 in the nerves. His walking figures nearly all 
 rest lightly on the ball of the foot in a position 
 that they could not retain for a moment. They 
 are like instantaneous photographs taken when 
 motion is at the highest point of its curve. And 
 this motion is always graceful. However bad 
 the figures may be in point of anatomy, they 
 
BOTTICELLI 169 
 
 always move with an exquisite rhythm. In- 
 deed, the grace of their movements is enhanced 
 by their very imperfection. When we see mo- 
 tion in a body of perfect outline, its grace is 
 only what we expect, and our attention is 
 attracted most by the plastic beauty of the 
 form itself. But when we see these thin, ill- 
 drawn bodies moving so gracefully, it strikes 
 us with all the force of a surprise, and there 
 being no plastic loveliness to charm the eye, 
 we surrender ourselves entirely to the sense of 
 grace. By making the forms attenuated and 
 unattractive he gives us the very essence of 
 movement. We feel that he would be de- 
 lighted if he could express it entirely disem- 
 bodied. 
 
 And this he almost does through the agency 
 of the wind. He is the painter of the breeze. 
 In his pictures it blows continually, sometimes 
 quaintly represented as issuing from the wind- 
 god's mouth, sometimes as only revealed in 
 the flutter of garments not the horrible ba- 
 roque flutter with which Bernini has made us 
 all familiar, but a flutter in which is expressed 
 all the buoyant joy and vitality of the zephyr. 
 
1 70 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 No one has ever depicted so faithfully or so 
 daintily the effects of the breeze playing with 
 a woman's vestments. 
 
 And what vestments they are! Sometimes 
 heavy, sometimes light, sometimes mere gauzy 
 draperies that only serve to enhance the rhyth- 
 mic grace of the moving limbs, they fall or 
 flutter in delightful folds, and are usually 
 adorned with those delicious embroideries 
 which were only produced in their perfection 
 during the Middle Ages, when time was a 
 matter of no importance, and when a handmaid 
 would spend years in the beautifying of a gar- 
 ment as a monk would pass his life in the illu- 
 mination of a missal. Embroideries so fanciful 
 or so charming have never been depicted by 
 the brush. And however classical the subject, 
 if it is clothed at all, it is in these quaintly 
 beautiful draperies of the Middle Ages un- 
 dreamed of by the Greeks. 
 
 He was the painter of small groups and of 
 single figures. In a large field he lost himself. 
 His great frescoes in the Sistine Chapel are 
 charming in many of their details, but the 
 composition is confusing a confusion height- 
 
BOTTICELLI I/I 
 
 ened by the insertion into one picture of suc- 
 cessive episodes of the same story, so that it is 
 only with great labor that we can make out 
 the meaning; and they can scarcely be said to 
 have a general plan. He is like many writers 
 who can tell a short story well, but who can- 
 not handle the complicated threads of a long 
 romance. Within his narrow limitations his 
 composition is pleasing, but when he attempts 
 it on too large a scale we see that he has over- 
 passed his powers. 
 
 And he has surprising limitations. Though 
 he spent his life in seeking after dainty types, 
 his hands and feet are usually coarse, and the 
 way in which he sometimes sought to indicate 
 the fruitfulness of Nature is so gross and in- 
 artistic that it is inconceivable that so exquisite 
 a painter should have committed such a blun- 
 der. It must be noted, too, that he was almost 
 indifferent to light and shade at a time when 
 Leonardo was displaying all its resources. 
 
 He was a great lover of flowers, and painted 
 them, particularly roses, with exceeding skill. 
 Usually they are true to nature, but there are 
 some of them that have no prototypes now on 
 
172 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 earth, and which were probably creations of 
 his own delicious fancy. It has been suggested 
 that his fondness for round pictures was due to 
 his love of flowers, and that he borrowed the 
 design of the " Crowned Madonna" from a 
 full-blown rose. 
 
 From the Middle Ages he derived a fond- 
 ness for allegory, and like a good many 
 other allegories his own are not always clear. 
 The one single exception is the recently dis- 
 covered picture of " Pallas and the Centaur," 
 and this was probably painted under the im- 
 mediate direction of Lorenzo the Magnificent, 
 and owes its comprehensibility to his shrewd 
 and practical genius. No more delightful alle- 
 gory than the " Spring " was ever painted, but 
 its entire meaning can never be deciphered, 
 and, indeed, it owes a part of its charm to that 
 very fact. If we understood it fully it might 
 lose in interest.* 
 
 He is the most feminine of all painters, and 
 that is one reason why he so appeals to an age 
 dominated by the female element. He paints 
 
 * It seems to have been intended to illustrate some lines of 
 Lucretius, which, however, do not fully explain it. 
 
BOTTICELLI 173 
 
 men sometimes, but rarely with entire success, 
 and as soon as possible he turns away to the 
 presentation of woman's charm and grace. 
 Vasari informs us that he loved to paint beau- 
 tiful undraped women, but the iconoclastic 
 frenzy of Savonarola, which has obliterated so 
 many traces of the pagan spirit in the early 
 Renaissance, has doubtless robbed us of most 
 of these. Still the best remain those which 
 he executed for the Medici, who took no part 
 in the mad orgy of destruction when so many 
 priceless treasures were cast upon the bonfires 
 in the Piazza della Signoria and from them 
 we can judge the type. We see that it was 
 not woman's plastic beauty that he loved, but 
 the alluring grace of her airy motion. Only 
 once does he produce a form of exceeding love- 
 liness the new-born Venus that floats toward 
 the shore in the pearly shell. And she is not 
 classically beautiful. She has never known 
 the free life of the mountains and the fields, 
 her bosom has never throbbed with pagan joy, 
 her limbs have never been strengthened by 
 wholesome exercise. She has been brought 
 up in the shadow of some dim cloister, wearied 
 
174 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 by the droning of unceasing prayers, and now 
 that she has escaped she feels no exultant rap- 
 ture, and in her nakedness she is ashamed. 
 The maiden upon the shore rushes with a richly 
 embroidered mantle to clothe her nudity, and 
 when she gets the robe she will fold it around 
 her with all the modesty of a nun. As an at- 
 tempt to represent the radiant goddess of pagan 
 love, failure could scarcely be more complete ; 
 but it is full of the most delicate charm of 
 womanhood. And so, too, are the maidens of 
 the " Spring." Ill-drawn as they are, they 
 are the very essence of dainty grace. 
 
 One reason that Botticelli is so attractive is 
 that he falls so far short of what he attempts 
 that much remains for the play of the imagina- 
 tion. He loves to tell a story, but he tells it 
 imperfectly, leaving a great deal for fancy to 
 supply. It is as if one should try to play the 
 Moonlight Sonata on a flute. He would fail in 
 the attempt, but he might draw forth sweet 
 and haunting melodies that would never have 
 been heard had he confined himself to music 
 appropriate to his instrument. 
 
 His faces are as irregular in their outline as 
 
BOTTICELLI 175 
 
 his forms ; but as in the figures it is the grace 
 and not the shape that allures us, in the faces 
 it is the expression. He is a painter of the 
 soul of woman, not in its unsounded depths 
 like Leonardo, but in its delicate refinement, 
 its melancholy reveries, its sweet sadness, its 
 wistful longings. If Leonardo's types may be 
 compared to an Alpine lake whose smiling sur- 
 face conceals unfathomed depths, his may be 
 compared to a lovely brook that winds in 
 sinuous curves, never very deep, but full of 
 charming grace. Botticelli's women are not 
 profound ; but they are wholly womanly, with 
 a tender, gentle melancholy that is the same in 
 a Venus or a Madonna. He is not a very re- 
 ligious painter, nor of a powerful imagination. 
 His realm is one of delicious fancy perhaps 
 the most refined and exquisite in all the range 
 of art. In his yearning for Grecian days he 
 wanders far from his purpose, and finds him- 
 self not in the classic land of Hellas, but in 
 that region of mediaeval paganism against 
 which the church waged a war so unrelenting 
 and so unavailing. It might crush mind and 
 body, but at times the human soul would slip 
 
RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 its fetters and escape into the woodland peopled 
 by elves and fairies and water-sprites, sweet, 
 tender spirits whose joy was close akin to sor- 
 row. In his search for the isles of Greece it 
 was into this enchanted land of fancy that 
 Botticelli strayed, while he thought that he 
 was wandering through Grecian vales and by 
 Castalian springs. 
 
 But though the thing that charms us most 
 is the sight of this mediaeval soul rambling 
 through a pagan world of its own creation, he 
 has produced two religious works that are 
 among the most attractive of all time, the 
 " Crowned Madonna" of the Uffizi and the 
 ' ' Nativity ' ' in the National Gallery. The first, 
 with its irregular mediaeval faces that are yet so 
 beautiful, so full of wistful melancholy, is one 
 of the hardest to forget of all the pictures of 
 the Virgin; while the latter, with its angels 
 circling in the air as graceful as butterflies, is 
 perhaps the daintiest in all of art's domain. 
 Neither of them is great, but there are those who 
 would rather surrender many a grand master- 
 piece than give up these delicious creations of a 
 rare fancy ; and their choice is not to be despised. 
 
BOTTICELLI 1/7 
 
 He is one of the most poetical of all painters, 
 with a quaint, sweet poetry that we love some- 
 times beyond its merits, like some of the old 
 lyrics of Elizabethan and Stuart days, so naive, 
 so touching, so full of delicate fancies and pleas- 
 ing affectations, and possessed of a haunting 
 rhythm and a delightful freshness that can 
 never be forgotten. They, too, sing of Grecian 
 gods with the same spirit of mediaeval phan- 
 tasy, striving with the same unsuccess to grasp 
 the spirit of Ovid or Theocritus. The painters 
 of his day were mostly realists, but Botticelli 
 was a poet and a dreamer, living apart in a 
 fairyland of his own creation. 
 
 There is no denying that there is something 
 affected in many of his attitudes. It was an 
 age of affectation, when poets delighted in 
 fanciful conceits and far-fetched images, and 
 Botticelli was not strong enough to escape its 
 influence. The most poetical painter of his 
 time, he had the faults as well as the qualities 
 of the men who sang around him, and his poses 
 sometimes overpass the limits of nature, and 
 assume the affected airs of the pastoral verse 
 that charmed his soul. 
 
178 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 There are individuals whom we love beyond 
 their deserts, whom we love with a full knowl- 
 edge of their deficiencies, because of some 
 peculiar attraction that emanates from their 
 personality. Indeed, it is not usually the best 
 and greatest whom we love the most. There 
 is in all of us something of the spirit of the 
 Athenian who was tired of hearing Aristides 
 called the Just. And so it is that many turn 
 willingly from Raphael's perfect sanity and 
 beauty to the super-refined and morbid deli- 
 cacy of Botticelli. Nor are they to be greatly 
 blamed, for he can give them a peculiar pleas- 
 ure like the love of some exquisite creature 
 upon whose hectic cheek consumption has set 
 its mark, and whose caresses derive a poignant 
 sweetness from the sense of impending death. 
 
 Until our own day his influence has been 
 slight. But since Mr. Ruskin rediscovered 
 him he has been growing steadily in impor- 
 tance. It is difficult to understand how Burne- 
 Jones could have existed had he never seen the 
 "Madonna Incoronata," the "Spring" and 
 the " Birth of Venus," or how Strudwick could 
 have painted those wonderfully dainty and 
 
BOTTICELLI 
 
 gracious pictures of his had he never beheld 
 the " Nativity." As the progenitor of these 
 two masters Botticelli must be numbered with 
 the blest ; but he shines by no borrowed light, 
 and few painters below the greatest are pos- 
 sessed of a charm so haunting when it has once 
 been felt. 
 
RUBENS 
 (1577-1640) 
 
 BORN one year after Titian's death, Rubens 
 was the last and in some respects the 
 most dazzling product of the Italian Renais- 
 sance. There are flowers which, when trans- 
 planted to a foreign soil, assume strange forms 
 never seen before and take on a new and start- 
 ling brilliancy. So it was with the flower of 
 Renaissance culture when transplanted to the 
 Belgian Netherlands. It lost its delicacy, its 
 grace of form, its refinement of color, its subtle 
 perfume ; but it bloomed forth into something 
 brighter, more gorgeous, and of a more start- 
 ling splendor. At first glance it appears to 
 have no affinity with the beautiful lily that 
 grew tall and stately beside the Arno, gracious 
 and lovely among the Umbrian mountains, 
 luxuriant yet still refined beside the lagoons 
 180 
 
RUBENS l8l 
 
 of Venice; but on a careful scrutiny we dis- 
 cover that it is still the same. 
 
 If we imagine a number of wild Thracians 
 coming to Athens to view the Pan-Athenaic 
 procession and on their return attempting to 
 enact it at one of the orgies of their bearded 
 Bacchus, we shall have some idea of the trans- 
 formation of Renaissance art when it passed 
 from Raphael and Titian to its northern exile. 
 The grace, the delicacy, the refinement are 
 lost, but we have instead a wild, lusty strength, 
 a primitive joy in animal existence, unprece- 
 dented since man replaced the fauns and satyrs 
 that haunted the primeval woods. 
 
 The perfection of classic art is in its serenity 
 and self-restraint, the subordination of the 
 individual and characteristic to the ideal and 
 universal. And yet, unrestrained and some- 
 times even grotesque as Rubens is, he is es- 
 sentially a classicist. He was one of the most 
 accomplished men of his time, speaking all the 
 languages of Western Europe, familiar with 
 Latin and Greek, and steeped to the lips in 
 ancient literature, art, and archaeology. That 
 love for " the glory that was Greece and the 
 
1 82 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 grandeur that was Rome," that spirit of 
 humanism which so permeated the elect spirits 
 of the Italian Renaissance, was Rubens' in 
 fullest measure. At the banquets of Lorenzo 
 de' Medici, with Politian, Ficino, Filelfo, and 
 the rest, he would have been the guest of 
 honor. In his conversation, so learned, so 
 brilliant, so full of tact and refined courtesy, 
 they would have recognized a kindred soul ; 
 and would have hailed him as one of the glories 
 of the Renaissance. 
 
 But art is nature seen through a tempera- 
 ment, and no artist ever had a temperament 
 so overmastering as that of Rubens. When 
 he picked up the brush and sought to put 
 upon the canvas (or rather the boards, for 
 he usually painted on wood) those antique 
 legends that he knew so well and loved so 
 much, when he sought to translate to the eye 
 those stories of the Greek and Latin poets with 
 which he was so familiar, they suffered beneath 
 his magic touch a wonderful sea-change. They 
 remained things of rarest beauty, but instead 
 of the chastened and refined beauty that had 
 adorned them in their southern home, they 
 
RUBENS 183 
 
 took on a florid and luxuriant beauty, a bar- 
 baric pomp and splendor, a lusty vitality that 
 is wholly new. 
 
 Usually when he deals with classic subjects 
 it is in his own manner. A great student of 
 classic art, he yet understood that it must not 
 be imitated, but used only as an inspiration. 
 With his wonderful facility of execution he 
 could no doubt have reproduced the master- 
 pieces that he studied with absolute accuracy; 
 but when he copies them he changes them to 
 suit his own genius. With him classic scenes 
 lose their calm majesty and are filled with 
 tumult and fire. The tall, straight forms of 
 ancient deities become overfull in their con- 
 tours and their curves exaggerated. But that 
 he can, if he sees fit, be perfectly classic in his 
 outlines is attested by his wonderful " Tiberius 
 and Agrippina " in the Liechtenstein Gallery, 
 where a purity of drawing that is worthy of 
 Greece is combined with a glory of color and 
 an intense vitality peculiar to himself. 
 
 While so entirely individual in his method 
 of presentation, he embodied, though with 
 superhuman power, the thoughts and ideals of 
 
1 84 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 his own day. No one, however powerful, can 
 escape the spirit of the times in which he lives. 
 Already art was invaded by the affectations, 
 the baroque style, the fluttering draperies, the 
 excessive curves, which a little later Bernini 
 was to carry to so disastrous an excess. 
 Rubens was permeated by all of these. Every 
 fault of his contemporaries is found in his 
 works: their stilted manner, their tedious alle- 
 gories, their countless incongruities ; but these, 
 in passing through the wonderful alembic of 
 Rubens' genius, undergo a transformation, 
 and, ceasing to be lifeless affectations, become 
 endowed with an unspeakable vitality. He 
 utters with his brush all the thoughts of his 
 own age, but he utters them with the voice of 
 a giant, so that their petty babblings sound 
 like the blast of a trumpet. The ideals which 
 he embodies are the ideals of his own time; 
 but he clothes them for eternity. 
 
 Even in his unbridled sensuousness he is a 
 man of his age and country. The long, deso- 
 lating religious wars were over in Belgium ; the 
 stern, unbending Protestants had fled to Hol- 
 land, Germany, or England, and the population 
 
RUBENS 185 
 
 that remained, weary of suffering, thought 
 only of festivals and enjoyment. In this dis- 
 position they were encouraged by their rulers, 
 who knew that happy people are never dan- 
 gerous, and who sought by splendid pageants 
 and worldly pleasures to divert the attention 
 of their subjects from the strife-breeding ques- 
 tions of the day. 
 
 It was to this harmony with contemporary 
 ideals that he owed his wonderful prosperity, 
 a prosperity which Raphael alone has rivalled. 
 They both stood as the perfect exponents of 
 their respective ages, thinking the thoughts of 
 their fellow-men, but giving to those thoughts 
 forms of imperishable glory. Because they 
 uttered the thoughts of their own time they 
 were appreciated in their own day, and knew 
 nothing of the penury and neglect that dog 
 the footsteps of him who is either before or 
 behind his age ; and because they bodied forth 
 those thoughts in everlasting types their fame 
 can never die. 
 
 Rubens lived when allegory was the fashion. 
 He was an elder contemporary of John Bun- 
 yan. He turns out one allegory after another, 
 
1 86 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 sometimes fairly comprehensible, sometimes 
 demanding a volume of explanations, and 
 mingling real and mythological personages in 
 a most bewildering manner. But while as 
 allegories they are usually obscure enough, save 
 those splendid works in which he so often tried 
 to impress upon the strife-laden nations the 
 contrast between the horrors of war and the 
 blessings of peace, as pictures they are im- 
 mensely successful, and we are content to gaze 
 upon them for their own refulgent beauty, and 
 never trouble ourselves to inquire what it is all 
 about. 
 
 The coarseness and sensuality of the art of 
 Rubens offends all sensitive souls; and yet it 
 would be impossible to make any list of the 
 world's half-dozen supreme masters that should 
 not include his name. There is none who is 
 absolutely greater, and few indeed can stand 
 beside him. He does not, like Michelangelo, 
 carry us to dizzy heights where the soul com- 
 munes with the Deity face to face; he does 
 not, like Raphael, lead us by Castalian springs 
 where the Greek Muses and the Christian 
 Graces move in loving converse ; he does not, 
 
RUBENS 187 
 
 like Titian, transport us to the Isle of Paphos, 
 and show us Venus rising from the sea amid 
 the glories of a summer sunset; he does not, 
 like Leonardo, whisper to us the soul's un- 
 spoken secrets. He is of the earth earthy, 
 intensely human, and with a humanity that 
 aspires to no higher sphere. 
 
 In what, then, does his greatness consist ? 
 
 In the first place, he exceeds all artists who , /, 
 have ever lived in the power of life. He is the 
 Prometheus of art, causing the inanimate clay 
 to thrill and pulsate with unexampled vitality. 
 Of all figures that ever glowed upon the canvas 
 or sprang from the chiselled rock, his are the 
 most alive; so much alive that the men and 
 women who pass before them seem dead or 
 sleeping in their presence. Beneath his brush 
 the flesh gleams and quivers, the blood surges 
 like liquid fire, or rolls in turgid rivers. It is 
 a purely animal life, but a life of an intensity 
 unparalleled since Leviathan sported in the 
 flood and Behemoth reared his shaggy mane. 
 
 From nothing in art or literature did Rubens 
 borrow this vitality. The wildest orgies de- 
 picted on Grecian marbles, the scenes por- 
 
1 88 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 trayed in the Fourth Book of Lucretius' De 
 Rerum Natura^ are tame in comparison with 
 those " banquets of the flesh " of the marvel- 
 lous Fleming. Even that wonderful Battle of 
 the Gods and Giants that adorned the high 
 altar at Pergamon is not so full of seething, 
 passionate life. 
 
 This is Rubens' highest claim to immortal- 
 ity, the indestructible rock on which is reared 
 the imperishable temple of his fame. The 
 power to infuse life into inanimate objects is 
 the power which brings man closest to the 
 Deity. It is art's supremest triumph. And 
 this Rubens possessed in an unexampled de- 
 gree. He used it not with the serene wisdom 
 of the gods, but abused it in the wantonness 
 of human pride. From the shadowy void of 
 formless things he brought forth not shapes of 
 celestial grace, but strange beings, half satyr 
 and half man, palpitating with a vehement, 
 sensuous life at which Pan himself would have 
 gazed in open-mouthed astonishment. 
 
 Such was Rubens when himself, Rubens 
 painting for his own pleasure, uncontrolled 
 by religious conventions or the necessities of 
 
RUBENS 189 
 
 portraiture. But when the occasion demanded 
 he could restrain this wild pagan spirit, and 
 be most nobly human ; and while such scenes 
 have not the fierce, lusty life of his prodigious 
 orgies, they are immensely vital, more alive 
 than when treated by any other hand. 
 
 In the second place, he is the most brilliant 
 colorist that ever lived. He seems to dip his 
 brush in glowing, palpitating light; not the 
 luminous gloom that encircles Rembrandt's 
 ugly figures with an undying halo, but the 
 dazzling brightness of a summer's noon. 
 
 It will not do to say that he is the greatest 
 of all colorists. The Venetians surpassed him 
 in depth and harmony. But in brilliancy he 
 remains forever unapproached. In every gal- 
 lery his pictures shine out like a lambent flame. 
 As far as the eye can reach, before the figures 
 can be detected, his works can be distinguished 
 at a glance. The same colors that others use 
 acquire on his palette a more penetrating 
 brightness. They seem lit up by a radiance 
 that somehow fails to fall upon the works that 
 hang beside them. It is neither the pale gray 
 light of the north through which objects loom 
 
RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 pallid and indistinct, nor the clear white light 
 of southern climes; it is a splendid super- 
 mundane effulgence seen only in the painter's 
 visions as he dreamed of that Italy which he 
 loved so well, basking beneath Apollo's golden 
 
 beams. 
 
 . 
 
 It is this supernatural brilliancy of color that 
 makes Rubens' pictures the most incompre- 
 hensible of all to him who has studied them 
 only in photographs and engravings. To 
 such, Rubens seems simply coarse and inele- 
 gant, and the beholder wonders why this un- 
 couth Fleming should be throned beside the 
 mighty ones of Italy and Greece. But no one 
 who has looked upon the original masterpieces 
 long enough to recover from the first shock of 
 their unbridled sensuality can doubt his right 
 to be numbered with the greatest; and the 
 more we look the more we love his splendor, 
 and the paler and darker seem the works that 
 hang beside him. Take, for example, the 
 " Judgment of Paris " in the National Gallery 
 or the " Perseus and Andromeda " at Berlin. 
 Anyone studying these in black and white, 
 and seeing only the coarse outlines and heavy 
 
RUBENS IQI 
 
 forms, would pronounce them ugly; while in 
 fact the rich splendor of their coloring converts 
 them into visions of eternal beauty. 
 
 The work of every artist is very apt to be 
 affected by the prevailing atmospheric condi- 
 tions of his country. Different men may de- 
 vote their attention to differing objects, but 
 they all see them through the same all-pervad- 
 ing medium. In a dry climate like Florence, 
 where there is little atmospheric coloring, and 
 every outline stands forth clear and distinct, 
 the painter is apt to be primarily a draughts- 
 man. In a moist climate like Venice, where 
 in the shimmering mists outlines are frequently 
 blurred, and where the sun rises and sets in a 
 blaze of glory, the painter is apt to sacrifice 
 outline to color. It is therefore not surprising 
 that in the far mistier climate of the Nether- 
 lands Rubens was essentially a colorist. So 
 much environment did for him ; but it was his 
 own supreme genius that made of him in that 
 gray, dark land the most brilliant colorist that 
 the world has ever seen, dipping his brush in 
 tints so splendid that they seem to have been 
 made for him alone. 
 
192 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 In the third place, he is the greatest of all 
 painters of the flesh. Even Titian is not his 
 equ&L With a few strokes of the brush, with 
 an amazing economy of labor, he brings before 
 us the living, palpitating flesh, with all its 
 quivering vitality, its satiny sheen. The 
 human flesh is the most difficult of all things 
 to paint, and yet the most important, for 
 nothing is more profoundly true than that 
 saying of Pope's that " the proper study of 
 mankind is man." Hence, he who can excel 
 in that is entitled to be called the most skilful 
 of the wielders of the brush. 
 
 Great discrimination is required in the study 
 of Rubens' works. He was not merely an 
 earnest and laborious painter, but, like Ra- 
 phael, he was the presiding genius of an im- 
 mense picture manufactory, where all manner 
 of decorative commissions were undertaken. 
 In practically all of his works, save those of his 
 early days and a few painted in his latter years 
 to glorify the voluptuous beauty of his second 
 wife, the handiwork of his pupils is seen. For 
 many pictures he furnished only a sketch, 
 leaving to the assistants the entire work of 
 
RUBENS 193 
 
 gainting. In some he only touched up the 
 flesh tints ; in others he reserved to himself the 
 principal figures, leaving the background and 
 the accessories to meaner hands. But so char- 
 acteristic is his touch, that we can rarely doubt 
 where his work ends and where commences the 
 labor even of the most skilful of his pupils; 
 and he has fortunately left many documents 
 stating accurately the extent of their participa- 
 tion, to confirm us in our deductions. 
 
 Nothing is more difficult to carry on than a 
 picture factory like this. Artists are notorious 
 for their delicately strung nerves, their sensi- 
 tiveness to criticism, their vanity and their 
 irritability; and it is almost impossible to in- 
 duce them to work together in harmony and 
 under the guidance of a common master. 
 Only two men have had the tact and suavity 
 to succeed entirely in such an enterprise, Ra- 
 phael and Rubens, the two most charming 
 personalities in all the history of art, combining 
 the perfection of technical skill with the grace 
 and polish of the most accomplished men of 
 the world and the native urbanity of a heart 
 of gold, so that all who knew them loved them. 
 
194 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 Both have been severely criticized for the 
 employment of their assistants, and most un- 
 justly blamed. In this way they were enabled 
 to multiply their production many times while 
 keeping it essentially their own ; and upon the 
 great economic principle of the division of 
 labor it would seem folly for the man who 
 could paint the face of the Virgin or the flesh 
 of the Magdalen as no one else could do, to 
 waste his precious moments on draperies and 
 furniture. 
 
 Moreover, in this way great schemes of 
 decoration could be carried out with a unity 
 of design and style that is now impossible. 
 Look at any of our public buildings that have 
 been adorned since the practice of collabora- 
 tion has been abandoned. Each picture is the 
 work of a single artist, and a unity in itself; 
 but all the separate unities generally make a 
 most discordant whole ; and it is only on those 
 rare occasions where an entire building is 
 turned over to a single artist, as was some- 
 times the case with Baudry and Puvis de 
 Chavannes, that a satisfactory result proceeds 
 from so much labor. 
 
RUBENS 195 
 
 Rubens' amazing and unexampled fecundity 
 was not due altogether nor chiefly to the as- 
 sistance of his pupils. He himself had an un- 
 equalled facility of production. His mastery 
 of the brush was perfect ; his ability to produce 
 the desired effect with the greatest economy of 
 labor has never been excelled. He had the 
 true artist's eye, which seizes at once on the 
 essential characteristics of things, and his wide 
 reading and continual converse with learned 
 men filled his mind with unlimited ideas to be 
 transmuted into pictures. When you look at 
 the orgies and revels which he delights to 
 paint, you would expect to find a boon com- 
 panion and a wassailer; but of all artists he 
 was the most methodical and industrious. Be- 
 tween the man and his art there was a mighty 
 gulf. His works are the most unrestrained in 
 all art's wide domain, but in his life he was 
 the model of manly virtue, living laborious 
 days and passing his nights in the bosom of 
 his family. Even in the painting of those 
 impetuous canvases where it seems as if the 
 artist, hurried onward by the fire of his imagi- 
 nation, had lost all self-control, he was never 
 
196 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 for a moment carried away, but moved on with 
 calm self-mastery, advancing the picture each 
 day as much as time and circumstances would 
 permit. 
 
 Like most men destined to a long life, 
 Rubens was slow to develop, and he was well 
 advanced in manhood before his style was 
 formed. The pictures painted during his 
 youth are numerous and they are entirely by 
 his hand, but in the estimate of his genius 
 they are scarcely to be considered the real 
 Rubens has not yet been born. During a 
 long sojourn in Italy, on emerging from his 
 master's studio he acquired the vicious method 
 of Caravaggio, which was then the rage, with 
 its high lights and black shadows, and it was 
 many years before he shook it off. His life 
 was one long progress toward the light. Each 
 year the shadows grow less opaque, each year 
 the passage from light to shadow is less abrupt, 
 until gradually the shadows almost pass away, 
 and the light shines forth with an effulgence 
 without example. 
 
 Perhaps the period of his painting that ap- 
 peals to the greater number is the middle one, 
 
RUBENS 197 
 
 when he produced the " Descent from the 
 Cross " at Antwerp and so many other noble 
 masterpieces; but the works which are most 
 attractive to the real lover of Rubens are those 
 which he painted in his later years after his 
 marriage to Helen Fourment. 
 
 At the age of fifty-three Rubens wedded 
 this girl of sixteen. A wonderfully fair 
 blonde, she was accounted the most beauti- 
 ful woman in Flanders. She was the perfec- 
 tion of the type toward which the art of 
 Rubens had been constantly tending. His 
 love for her was unbounded, and henceforth 
 his painting is but a song in praise of her 
 voluptuous charms. Marvellous as had been 
 his brush-work before, astonishing his skill as 
 a painter of flesh, henceforth he surpasses 
 himself. In everything he produced afterwards 
 the satiny sheen of her plump, blond flesh is 
 seen, painted with a caressing touch that only 
 love could dictate, and with a perfect mastery 
 that remains forever unapproachable. 
 
 And his indiscretions in the disclosure of her 
 beauty are amazing even among painters. He 
 has portrayed her in every stage of nudity, 
 
198 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 from the absolutely undraped " Andromeda " 
 of Berlin and " Venus of the Prado " to the 
 far more suggestive half nudity of the " Shep- 
 herd and Shepherdess" at Munich and " La 
 Pelisse" at Vienna. Of all these countless 
 portrayals of her beauty the last is probably 
 the best probably the most perfect piece of 
 flesh painting in all the world; and his own 
 appreciation of it is shown in his keeping it by 
 him while he lived, and leaving it to his wife 
 as a legacy at his death. 
 
 Singularly pure in his life for his profession 
 and his age, the imagination of Rubens had 
 always been of a sensuous type ; and as men 
 of that description advance in years a warmer 
 voluptuousness usually displays itself in their 
 works; as, for example, in those of Titian. 
 This was the case with Rubens, and after his 
 marriage to Helen Fourment his art became 
 a hymn in glorification of the beauty of the 
 flesh. Rich and with an established fame, 
 no longer annoyed with those embassies and 
 political commissions into which he had been 
 drawn because of his rare tact in dealing with 
 princes, he was able to paint more for his own 
 
RUBENS 199 
 
 pleasure; and it was apparently for the joy of 
 the work itself that he produced that wonder- 
 ful series of pictures of voluptuous beauty 
 which have so aptly been called his " banquets 
 of the flesh." 
 
 This had always been the most characteristic^! 
 side,pf his art, the side on which he will remain 
 forever unapproachable; but his marriage with 
 Helen gave him the model that seemed per- 
 fect to his eyes and one which he could never 
 weary of depicting ; and so from that time this 
 style remained uppermost. It was owing to 
 his love for her that he brought to perfec- 
 tion that luminous type of the perfect blonde 
 that has been the despair of all succeeding 
 artists. 
 
 The morality of the art of Rubens has been 
 much discussed. Some persons are shocked 
 beyond measure at the grossness of his pic- 
 tures; others equally pure find in them no 
 offense. But it is rather a question of temper- 
 ament than of morals. Those of a cold 
 temperament find him shocking in the ex- 
 treme, while they see nothing objectionable in 
 many works which, though more refined, are 
 
r: 
 
 2OO RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 more immoral; while those of warmer blood 
 discover in Rubens nothing to offend. Some, 
 like Ruskin, go so far as to allow their preju- 
 dice against the morality of his works to blind 
 them to his greatness as an artist ; but these 
 are few, and are not increasing. 
 
 These " banquets of the flesh/' which to 
 some are so objectionable, must remain Ru- 
 bens' greatest masterpieces. In them he has 
 the opportunity to display to perfection the 
 three qualities in which he stands supreme: 
 
 l__his superabundant vitality, his brilliant color, 
 and his living flesh. But they are not all. 
 
 'It. He is one of the noblest of religious painters. 
 So far as we know, he was sincerely religious. 
 He began each day by hearing mass, and con- 
 formed to all the requirements of the Church. 
 In this there may have been something of 
 worldly policy in an age and country where 
 safety could be found only in conformity to 
 ecclesiastical demands; but Rubens was no 
 hypocrite, and was doubtless a Christian, 
 though one of liberal mind. That spirit of 
 humanism that penetrated the Renaissance 
 permitted a man to have a Christian soul and 
 
RUBENS 201 
 
 a pagan art. Had he not been a Christian he 
 could scarcely have brought his wanton im- 
 agination to render with so much nobility of 
 feeling the scriptural story. In the gentler 
 scenes from the Gospels the face of his Christs 
 is usually rather commonplace; but in the 
 great tragic moments he rises to the level of 
 his subject, and the face, though wrung with 
 pain, is noble and manly in the highest degree. 
 It is human and not divine, but it is grandly 
 human. 
 
 Of all these religious pictures the best 
 known, and on the whole the finest, is the 
 " Descent from the Cross " at Antwerp. It is 
 a work worthy to stand beside Titian's " As- 
 sumption." The unity of the composition is 
 perfect, every feeling and every emotion cen- 
 tering around the descending body of our 
 Lord. Each movement is rhythmical yet 
 grand, and while pity and sorrow are intense, 
 they are not carried to the point of disfigura- 
 tion. It is one of the great masterpieces in 
 grandeur of style. The color is not yet so 
 rich as the master afterwards attained nor the 
 lights so skilfully handled ; but as a noble, 
 
2O2 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 dignified work of religious painting it has few 
 rivals, and perhaps no superior. 
 
 There are many others by Rubens' brush 
 that are fit for its illustrious companionship; 
 such, for example, as the noble " Theodosius 
 Refused Admittance to the Church," that 
 adorns the gallery at Vienna; but there are 
 also many others which he painted for relig- 
 ious pictures and which were gravely hung in 
 sacred places that are really as much " ban- 
 quets of the flesh " as those which he painted 
 in praise of Helen Fourment's beauty. Yet 
 who would wish them otherwise ? Who 
 would blot out those numerous Saint Sebas- 
 tians, Magdalens, and Susannahs that are 
 among art's greatest triumphs ? The Mag- 
 dalen in the picture of " Christ and the Four 
 Penitents" at Munich, with her perfect blond 
 beauty and her shoulders so white and smooth 
 that beside them the richest satin would seem 
 coarse, is alone worth a king's ransom. 
 
 Rubens was himself most abstemious for his 
 time, but he took a strange delight in the 
 representation of drunkenness. Silenus and 
 his drunken rout repeatedly pass before us, 
 
RUBENS 2O3 
 
 and even Hercules reels by, supported by 
 fauns and satyrs whose intoxication is scarcely 
 less complete. And it is with evident love 
 that he paints all this. Sober himself, he de- 
 lights to note in those around him the exhilara- 
 tion and the imbecility of the winecup. And 
 this was not so unreasonable in his day as it 
 now appears. Drunkenness then brought no 
 dishonor. It was the accompaniment and the 
 crown of every banquet. The ancestors of his 
 fellow-citizens had been the worshippers of the 
 god Thor, whose proudest exploit had been 
 that he had threatened to drink the ocean dry. 
 Rubens in this, as in other things, accepted the 
 ideas of his time, but clothed them in forms 
 that have made them colossal and eternal. 
 
 Rubens was principally a painter of the 
 human figure, but he excelled all contempo- 
 raries in every other branch. Usually the 
 animals in his pictures were painted by Sny- 
 ders or some other assistant; but when he 
 turned his hand to them, even Snyders had to 
 own himself surpassed. In his early days he 
 paid little regard to landscape, usually having 
 his backgrounds painted in by others; but in 
 
204 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 his declining years, when he had retired to the 
 country, he devoted some attention to the 
 study of nature, and the landscapes that he 
 painted go far beyond anything that had 
 hitherto been produced in penetrating obser- 
 vation of natural phenomena, particularly of 
 clouds, light, and atmosphere ; while his vege- 
 tation has the same superabundant life and sap 
 that characterize his men and animals. 
 
 He was too intensely original to devote 
 himself greatly to portraiture. He abhorred 
 the literal fact. Even when he set himself to 
 copy a picture by a master whom he loved, as, 
 for example, Mantegna's " Triumph of Julius 
 Caesar," it was never an accurate transcription, 
 but a free version in his own exuberant lan- 
 guage. Therefore his portraits are not numer- 
 ous, and perhaps they are not absolutely true 
 to fact; but they are full of palpitating life, 
 and sometimes they are perfect in their style. 
 What could be lovelier or more living than the 
 charming portrait of the elder sister of Helen 
 Fourment that hangs in the National Gallery, 
 and is called " Le Chapeau de Foil," or that 
 Jacqueline de Cordes that is one of the brightest 
 
RUBENS 205 
 
 jewels in the gallery at Brussels ? His por- 
 traits have not the aristocratic bearing that 
 Van Dyck gave to all his sitters nor the in- 
 tense realism of Velasquez ; but they are won- 
 derfully alive. 
 
 Yet it is easy to see that in painting them 
 Rubens felt himself hampered, and that he 
 worked unwillingly save when love guided the 
 brush. He turns with evident delight to 
 themes that leave to his imagination unfettered 
 scope, and particularly to vast canvases which 
 he could fill with exuberant forms of super- 
 human power. 
 
 He was not a painter of miniatures. He 
 loved broad surfaces over which his brush 
 could sweep in unfettered boldness of design 
 and execution. He preferred figures of natural 
 size; and in the handling of large groups in 
 strenuous action he has had few compeers. 
 Sometimes, like Michelangelo in his " Last 
 Judgment," he overreached himself, as in his 
 " Fall of the Damned" and " Fall of the 
 Rebel Angels," and in his two versions of the 
 " Last Judgment " at Munich, crowding 
 the scene to such an extent that pictorial 
 
2O6 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 effect is lost ; but usually he succeeds wonder- 
 fully, as in the marvellous " Boar Hunt " at 
 Dresden and " Lion Hunt " at Munich; 
 which, in the intensity of the passions, the 
 vehemence of the action, and the impression 
 of strenuous vitality, are worthy a place beside 
 Leonardo's " Battle of the Standard," a part 
 of which Rubens had copied, and which no 
 doubt he had in mind when these masterpieces 
 were produced. 
 
 Yet the man who painted these wonderful 
 displays of rage and power has had no rival save 
 Correggio in depicting the sweet innocence of 
 babyhood. He loved children with all his 
 soul, and delighted in their dimpled charms, 
 their guileless mirth, and their bird-like prat- 
 tle. His children are not superhumanly bright 
 and soulful, youthful seraphs, like those of 
 Correggio. But they are so plump, so healthy, 
 so full of bubbling life, so thoroughly childlike 
 that they are irresistible. Where will you find 
 such a picture of babyhood as the " Christ and 
 St. John with Two Infant Angels " in the gal- 
 lery at Berlin ? And he painted many others 
 that are little, if at all, inferior. 
 
RUBENS 207 
 
 As we have said, in the handling of large 
 masses in movement or at rest, he has had 
 few, if any, equals. However great the crowd, 
 he possesses a wonderful faculty of binding it 
 together so as to produce an effect of unity. 
 The wealth of details rarely detracts from the 
 unity of the effect. To crowd a picture with 
 figures is nearly always a mistake. The asser- 
 tion made by a distinguished artist that there 
 was never a great picture with more than one 
 figure is of course an exaggeration ; but when 
 they surpass a certain number they are rarely 
 handled with success. As some generals can 
 marshal a larger army than others, so Rubens 
 could marshal a greater array of figures in more 
 varied action than is usually possible. Again 
 and again he presents us vast compositions, 
 such as the " Rape of the Sabines," the 
 " Massacre of the Innocents," the " Garden 
 of Love," the " Kermesse," and the like, 
 filled with many figures, each entirely indi- 
 vidual and deserving of special study, yet all 
 contributing to produce a single impression. 
 
 Though so different, Rubens reminds one of 
 Michelangelo. In the mighty Florentine he 
 
208 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 finds his only rival in vital force. In that re- 
 spect those two giants stand upon an eminence 
 which none other dares approach. The life 
 that quivers in every muscle of Michelangelo's 
 titans is gloomy and stern, full of inward striv- 
 ings and of aspirations too lofty for this world. 
 The life that surges in reddest blood through 
 the overfed bodies of Rubens and glistens in 
 their shining flesh is joyous, earthly, and 
 sensual, and thrills with no supermundane de- 
 sires; but it is equally intense. The one is the 
 life of titans that would pile Pelion on Ossa to 
 reach the heaven from which they are ex- 
 cluded ; the other is what the life of the fauns, 
 satyrs, and wood nymphs would have been had 
 they grown up in a richer, fatter land, flowing 
 with milk and honey, and where the gift of 
 Bacchus hung from every bough. 
 
 He also resembles Michelangelo in his im- 
 mense originality. No other artists are so 
 original, none others owe so little to external 
 suggestion. Michelangelo deals with strenu- 
 ous muscles, Rubens with palpitating flesh. 
 Michelangelo is above the weaknesses of 
 earth ; the art of Rubens is the apotheosis 
 
RUBENS 2O9 
 
 of carnal appetites. Both are equally re- 
 moved from the serene perfection of Raphael, 
 both are abnormal, pressing their characteristic 
 qualities far beyond the narrow bounds of na- 
 ture. Their men and women are not human- 
 ity perfected ; but humanity with special quali- 
 ties developed to a superhuman degree. But 
 in their way of looking at the world, in the 
 character of the types which they evoke and 
 the method of their presentation, Michelangelo 
 and Rubens are both removed to an immeasur- 
 able distance from those who approach them 
 closest. 
 
 They are alike also in that neither founded 
 a school, and both were stumbling blocks in 
 the way of those who followed. This is the 
 inevitable consequence of supreme strength. 
 Skill may be imitated, but strength is Nature's 
 gift. And the sight of strength is demoraliz- 
 ing to the weak. They strive to imitate its 
 play, but theatrical straining after effect is the 
 only result. Both had many admirers, and 
 Rubens had many pupils ; but the true art of 
 both was so intensely personal that it perished 
 when they died. 
 
210 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 Rubens is one of the broadest of all painters. 
 In landscape, in the painting of animals, in 
 humanity's boundless realm he was almost in- 
 exhaustible. There was only one limitation 
 to his talent he could not scale the loftiest 
 heights. Man's highest spiritual nature was 
 to him a sealed book. Ordinary emotions he 
 could feel intensely; but he could not climb 
 Sinai's riven summit with Michelangelo nor 
 stand with Phidias in serene majesty upon 
 Parnassus' brow. His place was in the valley 
 where dwell the men of earth, or in the forest 
 glades where Bacchus and his rout held their 
 prodigious revels. 
 
 The spirit of the Renaissance will never die, 
 but Rubens was its last great exemplar. Al- 
 ready the two great painters who were his 
 younger contemporaries, Rembrandt and Vel- 
 asquez, have wholly escaped its influence, 
 looking upon the world with different eyes and 
 from a different point of view. But as the 
 dying day often flares up in a sunset glory 
 that makes us almost forget its noontide splen- 
 dor, so Rubens came to give to the dying 
 Renaissance the one triumph that it lacked. 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 
 (1600-1682) 
 
 LANDSCAPE artists, like all others, are 
 divided into two great schools, the real- 
 ists, who are content to reproduce with photo- 
 graphic accuracy the things they see, and the 
 idealists, who strive to body forth their own 
 conceptions. Of these, the latter are the 
 higher type. For the realist only a clear eye, a 
 cunning hand, and technical training are essen- 
 tial. The idealist worthy of the name must 
 possess all these, and must have in addition 
 that capacity to evoke forms of power and 
 beauty from the shadowy void, that creative 
 faculty, which brings man closest to the Deity. 
 The idealistic school has been discredited in 
 the opinion of many by the incompetency so 
 often manifested by its practitioners. Their 
 minds teeming with images, they have sought 
 
 211 
 
212 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 to give to their visions a local habitation and a 
 name without first attaining the technical mas- 
 tery essential for self-expression. They have 
 sought to dance before they have learned to 
 walk ; and the result has been feeble, sometimes 
 even grotesque. If we attempt to produce the 
 ideal without an effectual hold of the real, we 
 have vague, lifeless abstractions that may excite 
 the wonder of the ignorant, but which cannot 
 long command attention. But when both are 
 combined, when a dream is clothed with a real- 
 ism so intense that it seems as true as fact, as in 
 the case of Dante's vision of Heaven and Hell, 
 or when the hard actualities of life are bathed in 
 an ideal atmosphere, as in Hawthorne's Scarlet 
 Letter, we have a work that will survive the 
 wearing of the ages. 
 
 The real is the first thing to be aimed at. 
 We cannot write a poem until we have mastered 
 the grammar; we cannot dance until we have 
 learned to walk. But if we are content with 
 grammatical exercises, we shall never produce 
 literature ; if we are content to walk, we shall 
 know nothing of the poetry of motion. As the 
 scholar learns a language not for the sake of 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 213 
 
 knowing it, but as a key to the treasures which 
 it unlocks, so the idealist learns to reproduce 
 the real by brush or chisel only as a means of 
 giving tangible forms to the visions of beauty 
 that float before his mind's eye. 
 
 It is the function of art to perfect nature. 
 She is a wonderful enchantress, infinite in her 
 variety, but never perfect in her workmanship. 
 Of the thousands of leaves upon a tree, no two 
 are alike, yet no one of them is the perfect type 
 to which the others should conform. Of the 
 millions of beautiful women that have adorned 
 the earth, no two could be mistaken for one an- 
 other on a careful comparison, yet not one is 
 faultless. And so it is in landscape. There 
 was never a scene so lovely that it could not be 
 improved by the removal of some unsightly or 
 discordant object, or the addition of something 
 to enhance its beauty or sublimity. The painter 
 who reproduces any view, however enchanting, 
 with literal accuracy, has merely learned the 
 technic of his craft. He is not a creative genius. 
 To be such he must not only know the secrets 
 of mixing and applying paint to board and can- 
 vas ; he must have studied Nature with such 
 
214 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 loving insight that he can enter into her work- 
 shop and comprehend her processes. He must 
 not only be able to copy what she has done, 
 but to create scenes that she might have created 
 and as she would have made them. He should 
 be able to use the prospect before him as the 
 inspired sculptor uses the living model merely 
 as a source of suggestions and as a guide to 
 truth. He should be able to look beyond 
 the actual to the ideal, taking the real only 
 as a firm foundation on which to plant the 
 ladder of his dreams. 
 
 Thus it was with Claude Lorraine, who, in 
 spite of all the attacks made upon him by smart 
 critics, still remains the prince of landscape 
 painters. Never did artist study nature with 
 more loving care. His two biographers, Sand- 
 rart and Baldinucci, tell us how he would 
 wander forth into the Campagna before the 
 dawn and remain until after nightfall, striving 
 to fix upon his palette every gradation of light, 
 every tint of the earth and sky, every atmos- 
 pheric effect ; how laboriously he would copy 
 every tree and leaf and flower, every rock and 
 mountain, the flowing brook and the rippling, 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 21$ 
 
 sun-kissed sea. Innumerable sketches remain 
 to attest his industry and the keenness of his 
 observation. These are no doubt but a small 
 fragment of the whole ; yet they demonstrate 
 that he was no idle dreamer, but one of the 
 most conscientious seekers after truth in all the 
 range of art. They show, too, that he perceived 
 many things that he did not put upon his canvas 
 because they did not suit his purpose ; things 
 which critics have accused him of being too 
 artificial to appreciate. They prove that had 
 he desired it he could have been one of the most 
 effective realists that ever lived. His Liber 
 Veritatis, with its two hundred drawings of his 
 finished pictures, is unhappily locked up at 
 Chatsworth, the home of the Duke of Devon- 
 shire; but every important gallery in Europe 
 possesses some of his sketches and drawings, 
 the National Gallery an immense number ; and 
 these show a delicacy and precision that rank 
 Claude among the great draughtsmen ; nor is 
 their beauty more remarkable than the variety 
 of the observations that they record. But all 
 this enormous mastery of detail he used only 
 as steps to the ideal. He did not sit down be- 
 
2l6 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 fore a landscape and copy it with literal fidelity. 
 From the view before him he eliminated every 
 discordant element and added what was needed 
 to make it perfect ; and he bathed it all in an 
 atmosphere of celestial peace that Nature has 
 never known and man has found only in his 
 dreams of heaven. There results a scene like the 
 " Marriage of Isaac and Rebecca " in the Doria 
 Gallery, such as Nature has never made, but 
 which is true in every detail, and which she 
 would have rejoiced to make had her mood 
 been happier. To a dweller in a northern clime 
 these pictures may seem unreal in the ideality 
 of their beauty; but he who has wandered 
 through the hills and valleys of Umbria with 
 their sense of limitless space and their mountains 
 blue in the distance, who has gazed from the 
 battlements of her high-perched cities over the 
 broad vales where all lies in unbroken repose 
 touched with sweetest melancholy, to the far- 
 off summits whose sun-kissed clouds seem 
 heaven's own outworks, who has stood at a 
 Mediterranean seaport and watched the setting 
 sun fill the air with gold-dust and suffuse the 
 sapphire sea with amethystine tints, he can 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 21? 
 
 understand that while the scene which Claude 
 spreads out before us is nature perfected, it is 
 still as true as it is enchanting. 
 
 In four aspects of landscape art Claude has 
 never been surpassed, and rarely equalled : in 
 beauty, in serene peacefulness, in the sense of 
 space, in atmosphere and light. 
 
 The beauty of his landscapes none can deny. 
 Everything that nature offers most alluring to 
 the eye is to be found there ; trees that are the 
 perfection of symmetry and grace ; crystalline 
 brooks that murmur between their verdurous 
 banks, now breaking into miniature waterfalls, 
 now spreading out into lovely pools that reflect 
 the glories of the earth and sky ; distant moun- 
 tains whose curves possess a truly feminine grace 
 which yet detracts not from their sublimity ; 
 ancient ruins and classic buildings of pleasing 
 architecture ; the sunlit sea in all the charm of 
 its hours of peace. And while he gives us all 
 these in their most exquisite forms, he excludes 
 all that is ugly, all that is out of keeping with 
 the spirit of the scene. His pictures are true 
 harmonies, such harmonies as have rarely been 
 produced. 
 
2l8 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 The realist says : " This is all very beautiful, 
 but it is artificial. Nature makes nothing so 
 perfect." To which Claude might reply : "Every 
 tree, every mountain, every aspect of earth and 
 sky, has been studied from Nature. Every part 
 is true, and if I have brought together forms 
 of grace and beauty that Nature scattered far 
 apart, I have but discharged the function of 
 the artist." And the traveller who will follow 
 Claude over the rolling Campagna and the 
 Alban and Sabine hills into Umbria's land of 
 enchantment will see that Nature in her happiest 
 moments can give us effects almost as sym- 
 metrical, almost as serenely beautiful, as any 
 offered by Claude's magic brush. Pictures which 
 to the dwellers in less favored countries seem 
 too exquisite for reality are little more than the 
 bare truth in that region of delight. 
 
 Besides, no one reproaches Phidias or the 
 unknown sculptor of the Venus of Melos with 
 having surpassed Nature in dealing with the 
 human form. Their figures, though super- 
 human, are true to life. And so it is with 
 Claude's landscapes. They are perfectly true 
 to Nature, such scenes as she has made in 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 219 
 
 Italy, such as she might have made in other 
 lands had her mood been happier. The fact 
 that they are not transcripts of any particular 
 view does not impair their truth, any more 
 than the Venus of Melos suffers because she is 
 not a literal reproduction of any model. 
 
 I have never understood the reproach so 
 often directed against Claude of introducing 
 into his pictures Roman ruins and classic archi- 
 tecture. Such things exist, and they are beau- 
 tiful. They were constantly under his eye. 
 Men travel thousands of miles to see them. 
 Why, then, should not Claude use them to 
 embellish his landscapes ? They are as real as 
 a peasant's hut. But somehow in these later 
 days the idea has gotten abroad that only the 
 ugly and the commonplace are real ; that things 
 of elegance and beauty lend an aspect of arti- 
 ficiality to a scene. Yet in fact the togaed 
 Romans, the mailed knights of chivalry, and 
 the silken courtiers of Watteau were just as 
 real as the drunken boors of Teniers or the 
 peasants of Millet, and the artist who repre- 
 sented them as they were was as true a realist. 
 Nor was Claude's introduction of these ruins 
 
22O RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 and this beautiful architecture the result of 
 pedantry. He was an unlearned, almost an il- 
 literate man, who painted as a bird sings, from 
 the fulness of an overflowing heart. He painted 
 the things that were lovely in his eyes, and 
 happily there are few to whom they are not a 
 source of perennial delight. If Claude had had 
 no successors, the charge of artificiality would 
 probably never have been advanced ; but un- 
 happily he was followed by a horde of imita- 
 tors, who, with no study of Nature, sought to 
 paint scenes like his; and their lifeless pro- 
 ductions have brought the whole school into 
 disrepute. 
 
 In conveying a sense of peace Claude has 
 never been equalled, and this makes him one 
 of the greatest ethical forces in the domain of 
 art. The old Greek virtue of serenity one of 
 the greatest of all virtues has been sadly lack- 
 ing in modern days. Instead, we have con- 
 tinual unrest, strivings for the unattainable, 
 dissatisfaction with ourselves and with all about 
 us. Claude takes us out of this nervous, irri- 
 table, work-a-day world, and transports us into 
 a land of enchantment, where all is peace and 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 221 
 
 rest and serenest joy ; where strife and sin 
 have been forgotten ; where the gladness of 
 the morning, the delicious languor of a day in 
 June, or the exquisite reveries of the sunset 
 hour abide forever. When we are oppressed 
 with toil and care ; when love and hope seem 
 mockeries and hate and pain and weariness the 
 only realities, then let the troubled spirit turn 
 to Claude and bathe in his immortal sunshine. 
 There are few pictures that we so love to live 
 with, that have so healing an effect upon the 
 soul. The calm beauty of his landscapes de- 
 scends upon us like a benediction. They take 
 us out of ourselves, out of our sordid surround- 
 ings, away from the trivialities of our petty 
 existence, and bear us off into a world of serene 
 beauty, where struggle and sorrow are unknown 
 or but a fading memory that enhances our 
 sense of tranquil happiness. Of all man's 
 dreams of heaven on earth, Claude's come 
 nearest to perfection. 
 
 Nature is infinite in her manifestations, and 
 some of her aspects appeal to one, some to 
 another ; but there are many of us for whom 
 the finest quality in a landscape is the sense of 
 
222 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 space, the uplifting of the soul into the infinite 
 that it gives. In this respect Claude has never 
 been equalled save by Turner in a few in- 
 stances ; and he produces his effects with the 
 sureness of a consummate master, whose hand 
 rarely fails. 
 
 If any man of clear vision will ask himself 
 what was the supreme moment of his soul's 
 expansion, what was the moment when he felt 
 most like a god, when the trammels of the flesh 
 seemed to fall away and the disembodied spirit 
 to soar highest in the heavens, he will recall 
 the instant when some far-reaching prospect 
 was first opened to his gaze. He will think of 
 the time when he first stood on Mount Royal 
 above Montreal, upon Richmond Hill, on Peru- 
 gia's battlements, or on some other eminence 
 overlooking a limitless expanse. In the pres- 
 ence of such a view we forget that we are 
 poor creatures crawling upon the earth. The 
 soul takes unto itself the wings of the morning, 
 and flies away over sea and land into the realm 
 of the infinite. 
 
 The weakness of man's mind and of his 
 vision is such that for him to feel the sense of 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 
 
 space the scene must have a distant boundary 
 and there must be objects between on which 
 the eye can rest. The most limitless of all 
 views is up into the cloudless heavens, where 
 the closest star is millions of miles away ; but 
 we wholly fail to grasp its import. So it is 
 beside the sea. Its vastness so far exceeds our 
 comprehension, the eye is so completely lost 
 over the boundless expanse, that we have no 
 realization of distance. But in the region 
 around Rome, where Claude spent nearly the 
 whole of his long life, everything combines to 
 fill us with a sense of space. The gently roll- 
 ing Campagna, dotted with ruins and studded 
 with an occasional tree or dwelling, lures the 
 eye on and on from point to point till at last it 
 rests upon the far-off mountains. There are 
 countless objects to arrest the gaze, and as our 
 glance ranges from one to another ever farther 
 away, the vista seems to stretch into infinity. 
 
 Claude had this view ever before his eyes, 
 and its lesson sank into his soul as it has never 
 sunk into the soul of any other artist. Nearly 
 all of his pictures give us an unparalleled sense 
 of space. The eye is led on from tree to river, 
 
224 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 from river to hill, and from hill to distant 
 mountain that suggests yet something beyond. 
 The vanishing point seems removed to an un- 
 limited distance ; and in their presence we feel 
 the same thrill, the same sense of the immedi- 
 ate presence of the infinite as when we have 
 climbed some eminence that gives us a far- 
 reaching view. 
 
 There are few artists who are so sure of their 
 effects as Claude. Of course, being human, he 
 failed at times ; but the failures are so few that 
 they can be ignored in the estimate of his 
 achievement. He was not a rapid worker. He 
 painted with so much care, he was so deter- 
 mined that every detail should be accurate, 
 that with all his unflagging industry he turned 
 out only from three to five pictures a year ; but 
 he was fortunately spared for so great a length 
 of days that his total production amounted to 
 some four hundred finished paintings, so that 
 every considerable gallery in Europe can boast 
 of something from his brush, while the homes 
 of the English nobility and gentry are teeming 
 with his works. And in all this vast output 
 how few are the unworthy canvases ! Nearly 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 22$ 
 
 every one of them gives us a glorious vision of 
 peace and beauty, and arouses in us a percep- 
 tion of the infinity of space. 
 
 Landscape art has explored so many fields 
 since Claude's day that it is hard now to realize 
 that in his own time he was something of a 
 revolutionist, making many advances upon the 
 work of his predecessors. The chief of these 
 was that he was the first to place the sun 
 in the sky. In the predella of his "Adora- 
 tion of the Kings," in the Florentine Academy, 
 Gentile da Fabrino paints the sun ; but he 
 gives it the face of a man, and makes no effort 
 to depict its real aspect. The same is true of 
 all Claude's predecessors. Claude not only 
 painted the rising and the setting sun, but he 
 painted it so well that no one has since sur- 
 passed or even equalled him. Some of Turner's 
 sunsets are said to have been originally more 
 brilliant ; but the pigments used were so defec- 
 tive that they have long since faded; and 
 for the present generation Claude is still the 
 painter who gives us the most perfect presenta- 
 tion of the sun's glory. 
 
 In light and atmosphere and the rendering of 
 
226 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 the sky he also made an immense advance on 
 anything that had been done before. Many 
 atmospheric phenomena, many effects of light 
 have been since presented by the brush that 
 Claude either failed to observe or eliminated as 
 unsuited to his purpose. But in the rendition 
 of those effects which he chose to portray he is 
 still the master. His landscapes are bathed in 
 atmosphere ; not the heavy moist atmosphere 
 of the north of Europe, which envelops every- 
 thing in mist and blurs all outlines, but the 
 clear, luminous atmosphere of sunlit Italy, 
 which leaves all clear and distinct and only 
 serves to accentuate the distance. 
 
 And there are no pictures more thoroughly 
 suffused with light. It permeates everywhere. 
 It shimmers through the foliage, it laughs upon 
 the surface of the rippling brook, it caresses 
 the ruin in the foreground, it bathes the dis- 
 tant hill in splendor. But it is never obtrusive. 
 As in nature, it is the all-pervading revealer of 
 opaque objects, not a thing existing for itself. 
 And Claude comprehended what so many real- 
 ists have forgotten, that the light can fall as well 
 upon the beautiful as upon the ugly, that it can 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 22^ 
 
 light up a temple or a palace as delightfully as a 
 cottage. Claude realized, too, the limitations 
 of pigment in dealing with light a thing which 
 the impressionists have yet to learn. Knowing 
 that no paint could reproduce the clear bril- 
 liancy of sunlight, he did as a composer who 
 transposes a harmony to a lower key he did 
 the best he could to represent the sun's bright- 
 ness, and then brought down all the other 
 lights in proportion, so as to preserve the har- 
 mony of effect. The impressionist, on the other 
 hand, tries to paint the light precisely as it is. 
 He can give us the exact tone of light in the 
 shadows ; but he cannot produce the brilliance 
 of the sunlight, and so discord results. To any 
 normal eye the light in Claude's pictures is 
 more natural than in the productions of the 
 plein air school. He reproduces Nature's har- 
 mony, though in a lower key ; while they, with 
 all their scientific accuracy of observation, give 
 us a discord unknown to her. 
 
 Claude has been reproached for his inability 
 to depict the violent aspects of nature. It is 
 true that he was not able to render satisfactorily 
 storms and darkness. For that matter, neither 
 
228 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 was Raphael, whose efforts to portray the tragic 
 are essentially failures. But this limitation of 
 Raphael's genius does not prevent his being ac- 
 knowledged as the Prince of Painters, and it is 
 hard to perceive why a different rule should be 
 applied to Claude. He does supremely well 
 what he undertakes to do ; and that is all that 
 can be demanded of any artist. You might as 
 well condemn Raphael because he could not 
 paint like Michelangelo, or Michelangelo be- 
 cause he could not paint like Titian. Every 
 one has his limitations, and the question is 
 whether he achieves a high degree of perfection 
 within those limits. 
 
 In devoting himself to the smiling aspects of 
 Nature Claude was true to the traditions of his 
 Italian home. The Italian loves light and ab- 
 hors darkness. The dim, shadowy aisles of a 
 Gothic cathedral have no charm for him. He 
 enjoys buildings in which the noon's whitest 
 radiance falls upon the splendor of fresco and 
 gilding. He delights in days when the air is of 
 crystalline brilliancy and when every object 
 appears most clearly defined. He may be sor- 
 rowful, but the brooding melancholy ,of the 
 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 
 
 North has no hold upon him. His bright na- 
 ture turns from the mournful haze that some- 
 times envelops his land to the sun's effulgence. 
 He sees many aspects of nature, but only one 
 charms his soul, only one does he seek to per- 
 petuate on the canvas. At least, so it was in the 
 days of the Renaissance, when his own charac- 
 ter was suffered to develop naturally, unaffected 
 by those influences that now invade him from 
 beyond the Alps. Living much in the open air, 
 his eyesight was generally good, so that on the 
 clear days that he loved he saw distant objects 
 with great distinctness. 
 
 Not only is the Italian's sunny nature averse 
 to mists and dampness, but they bring to him 
 serious physical discomfort. The Hollander in 
 his cosy little room beside a cheerful fire likes to 
 look out on fogs and clouds. The sight of them 
 only adds to his satisfaction, making his home 
 seem sweeter and more attractive by contrast. 
 From his immaculate windows with their well 
 polished panes he gazes on the shifting vapors, 
 and loves to study the play of light through 
 and upon them and the ever varied atmospheric 
 effects which they produce. But with the Ital- 
 
230 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 ian all is different. His great bare rooms with 
 their lofty vaulted ceilings are rarely heated 
 save by the sun. When the day is bright they 
 are beautiful and stately beyond all other dwell- 
 ings ; but in damp weather they are cheerless 
 to the last degree. Pictures of mist and rain 
 are therefore associated in the Italian's mind 
 with all that is cold and chill and wretched. 
 In such weather there may be beauty, but he is 
 too uncomfortable to observe it ; and the ac- 
 companying sensations are so unpleasant that 
 he does not wish them recalled to his memory. 
 Therefore, in the painting of the Italian 
 Renaissance you must not look for storms and 
 darkness. The dampness that makes such 
 phenomena possible was hateful to the painter's 
 sight. Sunlight alone he loves, and sun-bathed 
 landscapes are all that he cares to depict. In 
 the Italian mind there is little of that haziness, 
 of that dreamy vagueness so common with the 
 Teuton. What he sees at all he sees clearly, 
 and so it pleases him to portray it. Accordingly 
 he delights to paint his landscapes only as they 
 appear in sunny weather, and especially as they 
 appear when a storm has cleared the atmosphere 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 
 
 and when its crystalline purity interposes no 
 veil between him and the object of his regard. 
 In his taste for landscape, as in so many 
 other things, the Renaissance Italian was the 
 heir of imperial Rome. To what extent this 
 was unconscious, a manifestation of an inherited 
 disposition, and to what extent it was due to 
 cultivation at a time when almost all works of 
 literary merit were in the Latin tongue, we can- 
 not say. But certain it is that he loved pre- 
 cisely those views that would have pleased the 
 subjects of Trajan or Augustus. The ancients 
 delighted only in nature's smiling aspects. 
 They saw nothing to attract in rugged moun- 
 tains or barren rocks. Such things filled them 
 with horror. They loved broad meadows slop- 
 ing to an azure sea, gentle eminences clothed 
 in verdure and bathed in sunlight, seaports 
 guarded by graceful promontories and dotted 
 with islands like jewels on ocean's bosom. It 
 was such prospects that they celebrated in their 
 poems and romances ; with such did they 
 decorate their walls. The sublimity of desolate 
 mountain fastnesses, of fathomless gorges, of 
 storms and darkness brooding over waters that 
 
232 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 moan and shriek in fury and despair, were to 
 them unsympathetic and forbidding. Lord 
 Byron's exultation in the grandeur of the 
 storm-swept Alps they would have found in- 
 comprehensible. They loved mountains, but 
 only when their desolation was concealed by 
 distance, and when, blue on the horizon's verge, 
 they seemed the fitting home of the immortal 
 gods. They knew nothing of that desire to 
 scale them, to climb their riven and blasted 
 sides with infinite toil and no little danger, of 
 the intoxication of standing upon their dizzy 
 summits, that thrills our breasts to-day. They 
 knew nothing of our restless aspirations toward 
 the infinite. They thought that this world was 
 all in all, and that the gods dwelt just above 
 their heads on Ida and Olympus, and were 
 content. 
 
 The man of the Renaissance knew no more of 
 the universe than the ancient Roman, and he 
 looked at Nature with much the same eyes. He 
 loved her smiles and dreaded her frowns in the 
 same way, and was equally inclined to repre- 
 sent only her pleasing features. It was they 
 alone on which he could look with satisfaction ; 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 233 
 
 it was they alone that he desired to remember. 
 Therefore it was they alone that he willingly 
 fixed upon the canvas. 
 
 Claude is reproached with the poor drawing 
 of his figures. The reproach is just. In dealing 
 with the human form he was hopelessly in- 
 competent. It is almost inconceivable that one 
 who could represent inanimate nature with such 
 perfect accuracy should have failed so com- 
 pletely in his figure painting. Nor was it due 
 to a want of application. He was continually 
 drawing from the antique and from life, striving 
 with all his might to learn the secrets of the 
 human body, yet all in vain. He realized his 
 own deficiencies, and used to say that he sold 
 his landscapes and threw in the figures. When 
 he had attained such eminence as to admit the 
 hiring of assistants, he usually employed some 
 one to put the figures in according to his scheme. 
 
 It is generally said that Claude derives the 
 basis of his art from Titian and the great Vene- 
 tians and from the Bolognese. That may be 
 so, but I fail to perceive it. Titian and his 
 followers are in some aspects more modern 
 than Claude. They possess in only moderate 
 
234 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 degree his sense of space and his serenity. 
 They are deeper and richer in color. The 
 Bolognese, on the other hand, are so inferior to 
 Claude in artistic worth that they are not to be 
 mentioned in the same breath. 
 
 To find Claude's real predecessors we must 
 go back to the old Umbrian school, especially 
 to Perugino, to Pinturicchio, to the youthful 
 Raphael before he fell under the spell of Michel- 
 angelo. It is only of late that we have begun 
 to realize how great were these men as land- 
 scape painters. They relegated their landscapes 
 to the background, so that the casual observer 
 neglected them for the figures. As they were 
 not presentations of any known view, it was 
 the fashion to speak of them slightingly as 
 " conventional." Now, however, we perceive 
 that these old Umbrian backgrounds are among 
 the glories of art, often far more precious than 
 the saints and Madonnas that are the centre of 
 the pictures. These scenes, like Claude's, are 
 ideal. The artist has not copied any one frag- 
 ment of nature. He has composed a work of 
 the imagination, true to nature's spirit, but his 
 own beautiful creation. And there is the same 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 235 
 
 sense of peace, of infinite distance, the same 
 exclusive predilection for scenes of tranquil 
 beauty, the same unobtrusive color, the same 
 preference for form and line as means of 
 expression. 
 
 We do not know that Claude ever saw these 
 pictures, far less that he consciously studied 
 them. It is likely that the resemblance is due 
 entirely to the fact that they lived in similar 
 environments, in constant contemplation of the 
 same charming scenes, beneath the same lumin- 
 ous sky. Certain it is that Claude takes up the 
 work where Perugino and Raphael leave it off, 
 and carries it along their lines to an ultimate 
 perfection. 
 
 It must be noted that not only was Claude a 
 great painter, but he was a great etcher. Only 
 at two short and distant periods of his life did 
 he take up the needle ; and for want of practice 
 his work in that line is very unequal. But at 
 his best it is very beautiful, remarkable for the 
 clearness and delicacy that characterize his 
 drawings. Some of his skies are the best ever 
 made with the burin. 
 
 Of late years Claude's fame has suffered an 
 
236 RENAISSANCE MASTERS 
 
 eclipse. On the Continent the methods of the 
 Impressionists are the precise antithesis of his, 
 and they and all their followers have been con- 
 strained to ridicule him and to cry him down. 
 In England, Turner, who owed him so great a 
 debt and who sometimes imitated him so 
 closely, would suffer no rival near his throne, 
 and insisted upon abuse of Claude as a passport 
 to his favor. Claude's pictures have all the 
 qualities called for by the artistic principles 
 that Ruskin laid down, the accuracy of detail, 
 the idealism, the ethical quality ; and one would 
 have expected him to be enthusiastic in their 
 praise. But such was his devotion to Turner 
 that he voiced all the jealousy and prejudice of 
 the master, and his amazing eloquence is con- 
 tinually used in abuse of Claude. Rarely does 
 he bestow a word of praise on Turner without 
 flinging a stone at his great predecessor. 
 
 If, as many critics believe, composition is the 
 highest faculty of the artist, Claude must be 
 ranked supremely high. His pictures hang 
 together in a faultless way. Everything har- 
 monizes, and the wealth of detail, instead of 
 distracting attention, unites to produce the 
 
CLAUDE LORRAINE 237 
 
 effect intended. Raphael is called the Prince 
 of Painters, largely because his composition is 
 so rarely at fault. The same rule should be 
 applied to Claude. He is one of the great 
 composers. And now, as the influence of Rus- 
 kin wanes and the world is growing weary of 
 the aberrations of the Impressionists, it is turn- 
 ing back to Claude, where he still sits enthroned 
 in an enchanted land of his own creation, a land 
 where all is harmony, where peace and joy 
 reign undisturbed, and sin and sorrow dare not 
 enter. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 ART: 
 
 Renaissance and Greek compared, 6 
 
 Individuality of Renaissance, 7 
 
 Its variety, 8 
 
 Its preference for painting, 9 
 
 Its sudden end, 13 
 
 Art as decoration and illustration, 28 
 
 Venetian color, 108 
 
 Color as an element of beauty, no 
 
 Venetian art little affected by classic, 118, I2O 
 
 Venetian art decorative, 120 
 
 The nude, 125 
 
 Florentine and Venetian, 147 
 
 Color in fresco, 147 
 
 BOTTICELLI : 
 
 Diversity of opinion, 159 
 Vicissitudes of fame, 160 
 Painter of the nerves, 161 
 His ideal of beauty, 162, 163 
 His historical importance, 162 
 His ineffectual striving after classic ideals, 163, 175 
 " Birth of Venus," 164, 173, 178 
 "Spring," 164, 172, 173, 178 
 Compared with Raphael, 164, 160 
 His illustrations of Dante, 165 
 239 
 
240 INDEX 
 
 BOTTICELLI : Continued. 
 
 His defective anatomy, 166 
 
 " Mars and Venus," 167 
 
 "Calumny," 167 
 
 His mastery of lineal decoration, 167 
 
 His color, 167 
 
 His sense of motion, 168 
 
 The painter of the breeze, 169 
 
 His draperies, 170 
 
 His weakness in large compositions, 170 
 
 Sistine frescoes, 170 
 
 His limitations, 171 
 
 His flowers, 171 
 
 "Crowned Madonna," 172, 176, 178 
 
 His fondness for allegory, 172 
 
 44 Pallas and the Centaur,'* 172 
 
 Most feminine of painters, 172 
 
 His suggestiveness, 174 
 
 Painter of woman's soul, 175 
 
 Compared with Leonardo, 175 
 
 His fancy, 175 
 
 " Nativity," 176, 179 
 
 His poetry, 177 
 
 His affectations, 177 
 
 His charm, 178 
 
 His influence on our time, 178 
 
 CORREGGIO : 
 
 His debt to Leonardo, 94, 146, 147 
 " Jupiter and Antiope," 148, 94 
 His paganism, 131 
 His joyousness, 132 
 44 The Fates," 133 
 
 Compared with Raphael, 133, 139, 148, 156, 157 
 Compared with Michelangelo, 133, 139, 141, 145, 148, 
 151. I55> 157 
 

 INDEX 24T 
 
 CORREGGIO : Continued. 
 A lyric poet, 133 
 His children and boys, 134 
 His types, 134 
 
 His expression of sadness, 135 
 "Ecce Homo," 135 
 His slight opportunities, 135 
 His isolation, 137 
 
 Compared with Leonardo, 139, 146, 147, 148, 156, 158 
 Is he immoral? 139 
 "The Day," 140 
 His religious feeling, 143 
 " Madonna with St. George," 144, 145 
 " Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine," 144 
 " Danae," 144 
 " Jupiter and lo," 144 
 "Assumption," 151, 145 
 "Ascension," 145, 146 
 A painter purely of the imagination, 145 
 Painted no portraits, 145 
 His chiaroscuro, 146 
 His atmosphere, 146 
 His color, 147 
 
 Compared with Titian, 148, 154, 157 
 "Sleeping Antiope," 148 
 His love for foreshortening, 151 
 His handling of masses, 151 
 Toschi's engravings, 153 
 "Reading Magdalen," 154 
 His sense of female beauty, 154 
 His effect on the decline of art, 155 
 Most emotional, 155 
 His smiles, 156 
 His want of depth, 156 
 His qualities, 157 
 
242 INDEX 
 
 LEONARDO DA VINCI : 
 
 His study of countenance, 7 
 
 His versatility, 71 
 
 His scientific discoveries and inventions, 71 
 
 His personal appearance and accomplishments, 75 
 
 Questions of authenticity, 76 
 
 Academy cartoon, 76, 89, 101 
 
 " Mona Lisa," 85, 76, 94, 101 
 
 " Last Supper," 79, 76, 82, 93, in 
 
 Want of fecundity, 77, 101, 38 
 
 First modern painter, 77 
 
 Invented grandeur of style, 79 
 
 Mastery of facial expression, 81 
 
 " Battle of the Standard," 82, 93 
 
 Compared with Raphael, 83, 89, 100 
 
 Compared with Michelangelo, 83, 89, 90, IOO 
 
 Preference for subtle types, 85 
 
 His appreciation of the womanly, 88 
 
 Not a lover of physical beauty, 88 
 
 His smile, 85, 150 
 
 " Madonna of the Rocks," 89 
 
 " Virge aux Rochers," 89 
 
 "St. Anne," 89 
 
 His spirituality, 89 
 
 Anatomical skill, 90 
 
 Indifference to the nude, 90 
 
 " Leda," 90 
 
 The painter of the soul, 91 
 
 Lovableness of his women, 91 
 
 His chiaroscuro, 93 
 
 Revolutionized art, 77, 94 
 
 Devotion to nature, 95 
 
 Indifference to classic art, 95 
 
 Not a realist, 96 
 
 His fondness for plants and animals, 97 
 
 His fondness for hair, 97 
 
INDEX 243 
 
 LEONARDO DA VINCI : Continued. 
 Interest in all things curious, 98 
 His writing from right to left, 99 
 " St. John," 99 
 "Bacchus," 100 
 
 Most thoughtful of painters, 100 
 His portrait, 102 
 
 Compared with Corregio, 139, 146, 147, 148, 156, 158 
 His frescoes, 150 
 Compared with Botticelli, 175 
 
 MICHELANGELO : 
 
 Compared with Raphael, 42, 58, 22, 23, 24, 39, 40, 47, 57, 
 
 63,64 
 
 His preference for the Old Testament, 43 
 " Christ " of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, 43, 44 
 " Pieta," 44, 45 
 
 41 Holy Family of the Tribune," 44, 46 
 Not Christian in spirit of his art, 44 
 " Last Judgment," 45, 52, 62, 68, 151 
 " Descent from the Cross," 46 
 His preference for the masculine, 46 
 " Eve," 47, 48 
 "Adam," 48, 81 
 " Night," 48, 49 
 " Dawn," 48, 49 
 
 Medicean Tombs, 48, 62, 63, 68, 141 
 His women not womanly, 47 
 Nor lovable, 49 
 His feeling for male beauty, 49 
 " Captives," 50 
 His terribilitb, 50 
 " Moses," 51, 63, 68, 141 
 "David," 51, 141 
 Compared with Greeks, 52 
 The vitality of his creations, 53 
 
244 INDEX 
 
 MICHELANGELO : Continued. 
 His power, 54 
 
 Sistine ceiling, 47, 55, 62, 68 
 His mastery of the nude, 56 
 Essentially a sculptor, 57 
 His absorption in man, 59 
 His fondness for physical vigor, 60 
 ' Battle of Pisa," 61, 67, 83 
 His personality, 63 
 His aversion to assistants, 64 
 Decline following his death, 65 
 His own decline, 67 
 Pauline Chapel, 69 
 St. Peter's Dome, 69 
 Painter, sculptor, architect, 69 
 His color, 149 
 
 Compared with Correggio, 133, 139, 141, 145, 148, 151, 
 155, 157 
 
 MIDDLE AGES : 
 
 Their longing for the unattainable, 4 
 Their conception of love, 5 
 Their absorption of the individual, 9 
 Their conception of religion, 141 
 Mediaeval paganism, 175 
 
 RAPHAEL : 
 
 His unvarying good fortune, 18 
 
 Reconciled the mediaeval and the classic, 19 
 
 His purity, 22 
 
 Compared with Michelangelo, 42, 58, 22, 23, 24, 39, 40, 
 
 47, 57 
 
 His humanity, 23 
 Fixed our standard of beauty, 25 
 "Sistine Madonna," 25 
 '* Madonna of the Chair," 25 
 
INDEX 245 
 
 RAPHAEL : Continued. 
 
 " Burning of the Borgo," 25 
 
 " St. Michael," 25, 37 
 
 4 'Parnassus," 26, 164 
 
 Compared with Leonardo, 26, 39, 41 
 
 Compared with Titian, 26, 41, 112, 123 
 
 His realism and idealism, 26 
 
 His portraits, 27 
 
 As illustrator, 29 
 
 His feeling for space, 32 
 
 His color, 31, 148 
 
 His composition, 31, 58 
 
 41 School of Athens," 33, 36, 41, 8l 
 
 Compared with Claude Lorraine, 31, 33 
 
 44 Apollo and Marsyas," 34 
 
 His receptiveness, 34 
 
 4< Galatea," 36, 37, 164 
 
 Assistance received from his pupils, 36 
 
 44 Holy Family of Francis I.," 37 
 
 44 Battle of Constantine," 37, 41, 83 
 
 44 Cupid, and Psyche," 37 
 
 His fecundity, 38 
 
 His imaginative power, 39 
 
 4 ' Expulsion of Heliodorus," 41 
 
 4 "Entombment," 41 
 
 Variety of his compositions, 41 
 
 His preference for the New Testament, 43 
 
 Loggie pictures, 43 
 
 "Transfiguration," 112 
 
 44 Miracle of Bolsena," 148 
 
 Compared with Correggio, 133, 139, 148, 156, i$7 
 
 Compared with Botticelli, 164, 160 
 
 RENAISSANCE : 
 
 Conflict between classic and mediaeval, I 
 A period of disintegration and contrasts, IO 
 
246 INDEX 
 
 RENAISSANCE : Continued. 
 Its lawlessness, 60 
 Its general culture, 137 
 
 TITIAN : 
 
 His paganism, 104 
 
 His breadth and sanity, 105 
 
 " Sleeping Antiope," 149, 107 
 
 " Venus and Nymphs Equipping Cupid," 107 
 
 His mastery of his craft, 107 
 
 His color, 108 
 
 " Assumption," 112, 109, 126 
 
 " Entombment," 109, 126 
 
 His religious pictures, 113 
 
 " Tribute Money," in. 
 
 His conception of Christ, in 
 
 " Pesaro Madonna," 113 
 
 " Presentation of the Virgin," 113 
 
 His portraits, 115 
 
 His humanity, 117 
 
 Painter of the flesh, 117, 124 
 
 His debt to Giorgione, 119 
 
 " Sacred and Profane Love," 122, I2O 
 
 " Three Ages of Man," 120, 122. 
 
 As an illustrator, 122 
 
 " Bacchus and Ariadne," 123 
 
 " Worship of Venus," 123 
 
 His composition, 123 
 
 Compared with Raphael, 112, 123, 126 
 
 His draughtsmanship, 123 
 
 Compared with Michelangelo, 123 
 
 " St. Peter Martyr," 124 
 
 "Danae," 124 
 
 His preference for repose, 124. 
 
 His anatomy, 124 
 
 His variety, 126 
 
INDEX 247 
 
 TITIAN : Continued. 
 
 " Mocking of Christ," 126 
 
 His slow development, 127 
 
 His feeling for nature, 127 
 
 His serenity, 129 
 
 His frescoes, 147 
 
 Compared with Correggio, 148, 154, 157 
 
 RUBENS : 
 
 A classicist, 181 
 
 "Tiberius and Agrippina," 183 
 
 Represents ideas of his own time, 183 
 
 Allegories, 185 
 
 His rank as an artist, 186 
 
 His sense of vitality, 187, 208 
 
 His color, 189 
 
 "Judgment of Paris," 190 
 
 " Perseus and Andromeda," 190 
 
 His flesh painting, 192 
 
 His picture factory, 192 
 
 His fecundity, 195 
 
 His youthful style, 196 
 
 " Descent from the Cross," 197, 201 
 
 Helen Fourment, 197 
 
 "Andromeda," 198 
 
 "Venus of the Prado," 198 
 
 " Shepherd and Shepherdess," 198 
 
 "La Pelisse," 198 
 
 His sensuousness, 198 
 
 Morality of his works, 199 
 
 His religious paintings, 200 
 
 " Theodosius Refused Admittance to the Church," 202 
 
 " Christ and the Four Penitents," 202 
 
 Fondness for painting drunkenness, 202 
 
 His landscapes, 203 
 
 His portraits, 204 
 
248 INDEX 
 
 " Le Chapeau de Foil," 204 
 
 His fondness for large compositions, 205, 207 
 
 " Last Judgment," 205 
 
 " Fall of the Damned," 205 
 
 " Fall of the Rebel Angels," 205 
 
 " Boar Hunt," 206 
 
 "Lion Hunt," 206 
 
 His children, 206 
 
 " Christ and St. John," 206 
 
 *' Rape of the Sabines," 207 
 
 " Massacre of the Innocents," 207 
 
 " Garden of Love," 207 
 
 "Kermesse," 207 
 
 Compared with Michelangelo, 207 
 
 His originality, 208 
 
 His successors, 209 
 
 His breadth, 210 
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY INDEX. 
 
 CLAUDE LORRAINE: 
 
 Real and ideal, 211 
 
 His drawings, 214 
 
 His sense of beauty, 217 
 
 His use of architecture, 219 
 
 His serenity, 220. 
 
 His sense of distance, 221 
 
 His high average, 224 
 
 Painting the sun, 225 
 
 Light and atmosphere, 225 
 
 Inability to represent storms, 227 
 
 Influence of Italian climate, 228 
 
 His predecessors, 233 
 
 His etchings, 235 
 
 Turner and Ruskin, 235 
 
 His composition, 236 
 
 
i4 PAY TTC 
 
 RETUP 
 
 
 
 14. AY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
YB 17663