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Pictures Every Child Should Know

by Mary Schell Hoke Bacon · English · Gutenberg #6932 · 522,065 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Pictures Every Child Should Know

Author: Mary Schell Hoke Bacon


        
Release date: November 1, 2004 [eBook #6932]
                Most recently updated: March 14, 2014

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW ***




Produced by Arno Peters, Branko Collin, Tiffany Vergon,
Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.










PICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW


A SELECTION OF THE WORLD'S ART MASTERPIECES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE


BY DOLORES BACON

Illustrated from Great Paintings



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


Besides making acknowledgments to the many authoritative writers upon
artists and pictures, here quoted, thanks are due to such excellent
compilers of books on art subjects as Sadakichi Hartmann, Muther,
C. H. Caffin, Ida Prentice Whitcomb, Russell Sturgis and others.



INTRODUCTION


Man's inclination to decorate his belongings has always been one of
the earliest signs of civilisation. Art had its beginning in the lines
indented in clay, perhaps, or hollowed in the wood of family utensils;
after that came crude colouring and drawing.

Among the first serious efforts to draw were the Egyptian square and
pointed things, animals and men. The most that artists of that day
succeeded in doing was to preserve the fashions of the time. Their
drawings tell us that men wore their beards in bags. They show us,
also, many peculiar head-dresses and strange agricultural
implements. Artists of that day put down what they saw, and they saw
with an untrained eye and made the record with an untrained hand; but
they did not put in false details for the sake of glorifying the
subject. One can distinguish a man from a mountain in their work, but
the arms and legs embroidered upon Mathilde's tapestry, or the figures
representing family history on an Oriental rug, are quite as correct
in drawing and as little of a puzzle. As men became more intelligent,
hence spiritualised, they began to express themselves in ideal ways;
to glorify the commonplace; and thus they passed from Egyptian
geometry to gracious lines and beautiful colouring.

Indian pottery was the first development of art in America and it led
to the working of metals, followed by drawing and portraiture. Among
the Americans, as soon as that term ceased to mean Indians, art took a
most distracting turn. Europe was old in pictures, great and
beautiful, when America was worshipping at the shrine of the chromo;
but the chromo served a good turn, bad as it was. It was a link
between the black and white of the admirable wood-cut and the true
colour picture.

Some of the Colonists brought over here the portraits of their
ancestors, but those paintings could not be considered "American" art,
nor were those early settlers Americans; but the generation that
followed gave to the world Benjamin West. He left his Mother Country
for England, where he found a knighthood and honours of every kind
awaiting him.

The earliest artists of America had to go away to do their work,
because there was no place here for any men but those engaged in
clearing land, planting corn, and fighting Indians. Sir Benjamin West
was President of the Royal Academy while America was still revelling
in chromos. The artists who remained chose such objects as Davy
Crockett in the trackless forest, or made pictures of the Continental
Congress.

After the chromo in America came the picture known as the "buckeye,"
painted by relays of artists. Great canvases were stretched and
blocked off into lengths. The scene was drawn in by one man, who was
followed by "artists," each in turn painting sky, water, foliage,
figures, according to his specialty. Thus whole yards of canvas could
be painted in a day, with more artists to the square inch than are now
employed to paint advertisements on a barn.

The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 came as a glorious flashlight. For
the first time real art was seen by a large part of our nation. Every
farmer took home with him a new idea of the possibilities of drawing
and colour. The change that instantly followed could have occurred in
no other country than the United States, because no other people would
have travelled from the four points of the compass to see such an
exhibition. Thus it was the American's _penchant_ for travel which
first opened to him the art world, for he was conscious even then of
the educational advantages to be found somewhere, although there
seemed to be few of them in the United States.

After the Centennial arose a taste for the painting of "plaques," upon
which were the heads of ladies with strange-coloured hair; of
leather-covered flatirons bearing flowers of unnatural colour, or of
shovels decorated with "snow scenes." The whole nation began to revel
in "art." It was a low variety, yet it started toward a goal which
left the chromo at the rear end of the course, and it was a better
effort than the mottoes worked in worsted, which had till then been
the chief decoration in most homes. If the "buckeye" was
hand-painting, this was "single-hand" painting, and it did not take a
generation to bring the change about, only a season. After the
Philadelphia exhibition the daughter of the household "painted a
little" just as she played the piano "a little." To-day, much less
than a man's lifetime since then, there is in America a universal love
for refined art and a fair technical appreciation of pictures, while
already the nation has worthily contributed to the world of
artists. Sir Benjamin West, Sully, and Sargent are ours: Inness,
Inman, and Trumbull.

The curator of the Metropolitan Museum in New York has declared that
portrait-painting must be the means which shall save the modern
artists from their sins. To quote him: "An artist may paint a bright
green cow, if he is so minded: the cow has no redress, the cow must
suffer and be silent; but human beings who sit for portraits seem to
lean toward portraits in which they can recognise their own features
when they have commissioned an artist to paint them. A man _will_
insist upon even the most brilliant artist painting him in trousers,
for instance, instead of in petticoats, however the artist-whim may
direct otherwise; and a woman is likely to insist that the artist who
paints her portrait shall maintain some recognised shade of brown or
blue or gray when he paints her eye, instead of indulging in a burnt
orange or maybe pink! These personal preferences certainly put a limit
to an artist's genius and keep him from writing himself down a
madman. Thus, in portrait-painting, with the exactions of truth upon
it, lies the hope of art-lovers!"

It is the same authority who calls attention to the danger that lies
in extremes; either in finding no value in art outside the "old
masters," or in admiring pictures so impressionistic that the objects
in them need to be labelled before they can be recognised.

The true art-lover has a catholic taste, is interested in all forms of
art; but he finds beauty where it truly exists and does not allow the
nightmare of imagination to mislead him. That which is not beautiful
from one point of view or another is not art, but decadence. That
which is technical to the exclusion of other elements remains
technique pure and simple, workmanship--the bare bones of art. A thing
is not art simply because it is fantastic. It may be interesting as
showing to what degree some imaginations can become diseased, but it
is not pleasing nor is it art. There are fully a thousand pictures
that every child should know, since he can hardly know too much of a
good thing; but there is room in this volume only to acquaint him with
forty-eight and possibly inspire him with the wish to look up the
neglected nine hundred and fifty-two.



CONTENTS


INTRODUCTION

I. Andrea del Sarto, Florentine School, 1486-1531

II. Michael Angelo (Buonarroti), Florentine School, 1475-1564

III. Arnold Böcklin, Modern German School, 1827-1901

IV. Marie-Rosa Bonheur, French School, 1822-1899

V. Alessandro Botticelli, Florentine School, 1447-1510

VI. William Adolphe Bouguereau, French (Genre) School 1825-1905

VII. Sir Edward Burne-Jones, English (Pre-Raphaelite) School, 1833-1898

VIII. John Constable, English School, 1776-1837

IX. John Singleton Copley, English School, 1737-1815

X. Jean Baptiste Camille Corot, Fontainebleau-Barbizon School, 1796-1875

XI. Correggio (Antonio Allegri), School of Parma, 1494(?)--1534

XII. Paul Gustave Doré, French School, 1833-1883

XIII. Albrecht Dürer, Nuremberg School, 1471-1528

XIV. Mariano Fortuny, Spanish School, 1838-1874

XV. Thomas Gainsborough, English School, 1727-1788

XVI. Jean Léon Gérôme, French Semi-classical School, 1824-1904

XVII. Ghirlandajo, Florentine School, 1449-1494

XVIII. Giotto (di Bordone), Florentine School, 1276-1337

XIX. Franz Hals, Dutch School, 1580-84-1666

XX. Meyndert Hobbema, Dutch School, 1637-1709

XXI. William Hogarth, School of Hogarth (English), 1697-1764

XXII. Hans Holbein, the Younger, German School, 1497-1543

XXIII. William Holman Hunt, English (Pre-Raphaelite) School, 1827-

XXIV. George Inness, American, 1825-1897

XXV. Sir Edwin Henry Landseer, English School, 1802-1873

XXVI. Claude Lorrain (Gellée), Classical French School, 1600-1682

XXVII. Masaccio (Tommaso Guidi), Florentine School, 1401-1428

XXVIII. Jean Louis Ernest Meissonier, French School, 1815-1891

XXIX. Jean François Millet, Fontainebleau-Barbizon School, 1814-1875

XXX. Claude Monet, Impressionist School of France, 1840-

XXXI. Murillo (Bartolomé Estéban), Andalusian School, 1617-1682

XXXII. Raphael (Sanzio), Umbrian, Florentine, and Roman Schools,
1483-1520

XXXIII. Rembrandt (Van Rijn), Dutch School, 1606-1669

XXXIV. Sir Joshua Reynolds, English School, 1723-1792

XXXV. Peter Paul Rubens, Flemish School, 1577-1640

XXXVI. John Singer Sargent, American and Foreign Schools, 1856-

XXXVII. Tintoretto (Jacopo Robusti), Venetian School, 1518-1594

XXXVIII. Titian (Tiziano Vecelli), Venetian School, 1489-1576

XXXIX. Joseph Mallord William Turner, English, 1775-1831

XL. Sir Anthony Van Dyck, Flemish School, 1599-1641

XLI. Velasquez (Diego Rodriguez de Silva), Castilian School, 1599-1660

XLII. Paul Veronese (Paolo Cagliari), Venetian School, 1528-1588.

XLIII. Leonardo da Vinci, Florentine School, 1452-1519.

XLIV. Jean Antoine Watteau, French (Genre) School, 1684-1721

XLV. Sir Benjamin West, American, 1738-1820

Index



ILLUSTRATIONS


FRONTISPIECE

The Avenue, Middleharnis, Holland--_Hobbema_

Madonna of the Sack--_Andrea del Sarto_

Daniel--_Michael Angelo (Buonarroti)_

The Isle of the Dead--_Arnold Böcklin_

The Horse Fair--_Rosa Bonheur_

Spring--_Alessandro Botticelli_

The Hay Wain--_John Constable_

A Family Picture--_John Singleton Copley_

The Holy Night--_Correggio (Antonio Allegri)_

Dance of the Nymphs--_Jean Baptiste Camille Corot_

The Virgin as Consoler--_Wm. Adolphe Bouguereau_

The Love Song--_Sir Edward Burne-Jones_

The Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine--_Correggio_

Moses Breaking the Tablets of the Law--_Paul Gustave Doré_

The Nativity--_Albrecht Dürer_

The Spanish Marriage--_Mariana Fortuny_

Mrs. Richard Brinsley Sheridan--_Thomas Gainsborough_

The Sword Dance--_Jean Léon Gérôme_

Portrait of Giovanna degli Albizi--_Ghirlandajo (Domenico Bigordi)_

The Nurse and the Child--_Franz Hals_

The Meeting of St. John and St. Anna at Jerusalem--_Giotto (Di
Bordone)_

The Avenue--_Meyndert Hobbema_

The Marriage Contract--_Wm. Hogarth_

The Light of the World--_William Holman Hunt_

Robert Cheseman with his Falcon--_Hans Holbein, the Younger_

The Berkshire Hills--_George Inness_

The Old Shepherd's Chief Mourner--_Sir Edwin Henry Landseer_

The Artist's Portrait--_Tommaso Masaccio_

Acis and Galatea--_Claude Lorrain_

Retreat from Moscow--_Jean Louis Ernest Meissonier_

The Angelus--_Jean François Millet_

The Immaculate Conception--_Murillo (Bartolomé Estéban)_

Haystack in Sunshine--_Claude Monet_

The Sistine Madonna--_Raphael (Sanzio)_

The Night Watch--_Rembrandt (Van Rijn)_

The Duchess of Devonshire and Her Daughter--_Sir Joshua Reynolds_

The Infant Jesus and St. John--_Peter Paul Rubens_

Carmencita--_John Singer Sargent_

The Miracle of St. Mark--_Tintoretto (Jacopo Robusti)_

The Artist's Daughter, Lavinia--_Titian (Tiziano Vecelli)_

The Fighting Téméraire--_Joseph Mallord William Turner_

The Children of Charles the First--_Sir Anthony Van Dyck_

Equestrian Portrait of Don Balthasar Carlos--_Velasquez (Diego
Rodriguez de Silva)_

The Marriage at Cana--_Paul Veronese_

The Death of Wolfe--_Sir Benjamin West_

The Artist's Two Sons--_Peter Paul Rubens_

The Last Supper--_Leonardo da Vinci_

Fête Champêtre--_Jean Antoine Watteau_



I

ANDREA DEL SARTO


  (Pronounced Ahn'dray-ah del Sar'to)
  _Florentine School_
  1486-1531
  _Pupil of Piero di Cosimo_

Italian painters received their names in peculiar ways. This man's
father was a tailor; and the artist was named after his father's
profession. He was in fact "the Tailor's Andrea," and his father's
name was Angelo.

One story of this brilliant painter which reads from first to last
like a romance has been told by the poet, Browning, who dresses up
fact so as to smother it a little, but there is truth at the bottom.

Andrea married a wife whom he loved tenderly. She had a beautiful face
that seemed full of spirituality and feeling, and Andrea painted it
over and over again. The artist loved his work and dreamed always of
the great things that he should do; but he was so much in love with
his wife that he was dependent on her smile for all that he did which
was well done, and her frown plunged him into despair.

Andrea's wife cared nothing for his genius, painting did not interest
her, and she had no worthy ambition for her husband, but she loved
fine clothes and good living, and so encouraged him enough to keep him
earning these things for her. As soon as some money was made she would
persuade him to work no more till it was spent; and even when he had
made agreements to paint certain pictures for which he was paid in
advance she would torment him till he gave all of his time to her
whims, neglected his duty and spent the money for which he had
rendered no service. Thus in time he became actually dishonest, as we
shall see. It is a sad sort of story to tell of so brilliant a young
man.

Andrea was born in the Gualfonda quarter of Florence, and there is
some record of his ancestors for a hundred years before that, although
their lives were quite unimportant. Andrea was one of four children,
and as usual with Italians of artistic temperament, he was set to work
under the eye of a goldsmith. This craftsmanship of a fine order was
as near to art as a man could get with any certainty of making his
living. It was a time when the Italian world bedecked itself with rare
golden trinkets, wreaths for women's hair, girdles, brooches, and the
like, and the finest skill was needed to satisfy the taste. Thus it
required talent of no mean order for a man to become a successful
goldsmith.

Andrea did not like the work, and instead of fashioning ornaments from
his master's models he made original drawings which did not do at all
in a shop where an apprentice was expected to earn his salt. Certain
fashions had to be followed and people did not welcome fantastic or
new designs. Because of this, Andrea was early put out of his master's
shop and set to learn the only business that he could be got to learn,
painting. This meant for him a very different teacher from the
goldsmith.

The artist may be said to have been his own master, because, even when
he was apprenticed to a painter he was taught less than he already
knew.

That first teacher was Barile, a coarse and unpleasing man, as well as
an incapable one; but he was fair minded, after a fashion, and put
Andrea into the way of finding better help. After a few years under
the direction of Piero di Cosimo, Andrea and a friend, Francia Bigio,
decided to set up shop for themselves.

The two devoted friends pitched their tent in the Piazza del Grano,
and made a meagre beginning out of which great things were to
grow. They began a series of pictures which was to lead at least one
of them to fame. It was in the little Piazza, del Grano studio that
the "Baptism of Christ" was painted, a partnership work that had been
planned in the Campagnia dello Scalzo.

"The Baptism" was not much of a picture as great pictures go, but it
was a beginning and it was looked at and talked about, which was
something at a time when Titian and Leonardo had set the standard of
great work. In the Piazza del Grano, Andrea and his friend lived in
the stables of the Tuscan Grand Dukes, with a host of other fine
artists, and they had gay times together.

Andrea was a shy youth, a little timid, and by no means vain of his
own work, but he painted with surprising swiftness and sureness, and
had a very brilliant imagination. Its was his main trouble that he had
more imagination than true manhood; he sacrificed everything good to
his imagination.

After the partnership with his friend, he undertook to paint some
frescoes independently, and that work earned for him the name of
"Andrea senza Errori"--Andrea the Unerring. Then, as now, each artist
had his own way of working, and Andrea's was perhaps the most
difficult of all, yet the most genius-like. There were those, Michael
Angelo for example, who laid in backgrounds for their paintings; but
Andrea painted his subject upon the wet plaster, precisely as he meant
it to be when finished.

He was unlike the moody Michael Angelo; unlike the gentle Raphael;
unlike the fastidious Van Dyck who came long afterward; he was
hail-fellow-well-met among his associates, though often given over to
dreaminess. He belonged to a jolly club named the "Kettle Club,"
literally, the Company of the Kettle; and to another called "The
Trowel," both suggesting an all around good time and much good
fellowship The members of these clubs were expected to contribute to
their wonderful suppers, and Andrea on one occasion made a great
temple, in imitation of the Baptistry, of jelly with columns of
sausages, white birds and pigeons represented the choir and
priests. Besides being "Andrew the Unerring," and a "Merry Andrew," he
was also the "Tailor's Andrew," a man in short upon whom a nickname
sat comfortably. He helped to make the history of the "Company of the
Kettle," for he recited and probably composed a touching ballad called
"The Battle of the Mice and the Frogs," which doubtless had its origin
in a poem of Homer's. But all at once, in the midst of his gay
careless life came his tragedy; he fell in love with a hatter's
wife. This was quite bad enough, but worse was to come, for the hatter
shortly died, and the widow was free to marry Andrea.

After his marriage Andrea began painting a series of Madonnas,
seemingly for no better purpose than to exhibit his wife's beauty over
and over again. He lost his ambition and forgot everything but his
love for this unworthy woman. She was entirely commonplace, incapable
of inspiring true genius or honesty of purpose.

A great art critic, Vasari, who was Andrea's pupil during this time,
has written that the wife, Lucretia, was abominable in every way. A
vixen, she tormented Andrea from morning till night with her bitter
tongue. She did not love him in the least, but only what his money
could buy for her, for she was extravagant, and drove the sensitive
artist to his grave while she outlived him forty years.

About the time of the artist's marriage he painted one fresco, "The
Procession of the Magi," in which he placed a very splendid substitute
for his wife, namely himself. Afterward he painted the Dead Christ
which found its way to France and it laid the foundation for Andrea's
wrongdoing. This picture was greatly admired by the King of France who
above all else was a lover of art. Francis I. asked Andrea to go to
his court, as he had commissions for him. He made Andrea a money offer
and to court he went.

He took a pupil with him, but he left his wife at home. At the court
of Francis I. he was received with great honours, and amid those new
and gracious surroundings, away from the tantalising charms of his
wife and her shrewish tongue, he began to have an honest ambition to
do great things. His work for France was undertaken with enthusiasm,
but no sooner was he settled and at peace, than the irrepressible wife
began to torment him with letters to return. Each letter distracted
him more and more, till he told the King in his despair, that he must
return home, but that he would come back to France and continue his
work, almost at once. Francis I., little suspecting the cause of
Andrea's uneasiness, gave him permission to go, and also a large sum
of money to spend upon certain fine works of art which he was to bring
back to France.

We can well believe that Andrea started back to his home with every
good intention; that he meant to appease his wife and also his own
longing to see her; to buy the King his pictures with the money
entrusted to him, and to return to France and finish his work; but,
alas, he no sooner got back to his wife than his virtuous purpose
fled. She wanted this; she wanted that--and especially she wanted a
fine house which could just about be built for the sum of money which
the King of France had entrusted to Andrea.

Andrea is a pitiable figure, but he was also a vagabond, if we are to
believe Vasari. He took the King's money, built his wretched wife a
mansion, and never again dared return to France, where his dishonesty
made him forever despised.

Afterward he was overwhelmed with despair for what he had done, and he
tried to make his peace with Francis; but while that monarch did not
punish him directly for his knavery; he would have no more to do with
him, and this was the worst punishment the artist could have
had. However, his genius was so great that other than French people
forgot his dishonesty and he began life anew in his native place.

Almost all his pictures were on sacred subjects; and finally, when
driven from Florence to Luco by the plague, taking with him his wife
and stepdaughter, he began a picture called the "Madonna del Sacco"
(the Madonna of the Sack).

This fresco was to adorn the convent of the Servi, and the sketches
for it were probably made in Luco. When the plague passed and the
artist was able to return to Florence, he began to paint it upon the
cloister walls.

Andrea, like Leonardo, painted a famous "Last Supper," although the
two pictures cannot be compared. In Andrea's picture it is said that
all the faces are portraits.

Just before the plague sent him and his family from Florence a most
remarkable incident took place. Raphael had painted a celebrated
portrait of Pope Leo X. in a group, and the picture belonged to
Ottaviano de Medici. Duke Frederick II., of Mantua, longed to own this
picture, and at last requested the Medici to give it to him. The Duke
could not well be refused, but Ottaviano wanted to keep so great a
work for himself. What was to be done? He was in great trouble over
the affair. The situation seemed hopeless. It seemed certain that he
must part with his beloved picture to the Duke of Mantua; but one day
Andrea del Sarto declared that he could make a copy of it that even
Raphael himself could not tell from his original. Ottaviano could
scarcely believe this, but he begged Andrea to set about it, hoping
that it might be true.

Going at the work in good earnest, Andrea painted a copy so exact that
the pupil of Raphael, who had more or less to do with the original
picture, could not tell which was which when he was asked to
choose. This pupil, Giulio Romano, was so familiar with every stroke
of Raphael's that if he were deceived surely any one might be; so the
replica was given to the Duke of Mantua, who never found out the
difference.

Years afterward Giulio Romano showed the picture to Vasari, believing
it to be the original Raphael, neither Andrea nor the Medici having
told Romano the truth. But Vasari, who knew the whole story, declared
to Romano that what he showed him was but a copy. Romano would not
believe it, but Vasari told him that he would find upon the canvas a
certain mark, known to be Andrea's. Romano looked, and behold, the
original Raphael became a del Sarto! The original picture hangs in the
Pitti Palace, while the copy made by Andrea is in the Naples Gallery.

The introduction of Andrea to Vasari was one of the few gracious
things, that Michael Angelo ever did. About Andrea he said to Raphael
at the time: "There is a little fellow in Florence who will bring
sweat to your brows if ever he is engaged in great works." Raphael,
would certainly have agreed, with him had he known what was to happen
in regard to the Leo X. picture.

Notwithstanding Andrea's unfortunate temperament, which caused him to
be guided mostly by circumstances instead of guiding them, he was said
to be improving all the time in his art. He had a great many pupils,
but none of them could tolerate his wife for long, so they were always
changing.

Throughout his life the artist longed for tenderness and encouragement
from his wife, and finally, without ever receiving it, he died in a
desolate way, untended even by her. After the siege of Florence there
came a pestilence, and Andrea was overtaken by it. His wife, afraid
that she too would become ill, would have nothing to do with him. She
kept away and he died quite alone, few caring that he was dead and no
one taking the trouble to follow him to his grave. Thus one of the
greatest of Florentine painters lived and died. Years after his death,
the artist Jacopo da Empoli, was copying Andrea's "Birth of the
Virgin" when an old woman of about eighty years on her way to mass
stopped to speak with him. She pointed to the beautiful Virgin's face
in the picture and said: "I am that woman." And so she was--the widow
of the great Andrea. Though she had treated him so cruelly, she was
glad to have it known that she was the widow of the dead genius.

  PLATE--THE MADONNA DEL SACCO
  _(Madonna of the Sack)_

This picture is a fresco in the cloister of the Annunziata at
Florence, and it is called "of the sack" because Joseph is posed
leaning against a sack, a book open upon his knees.

Doubtless the model for this Madonna is Andrea del Sarto's abominable
wife, but she looks very sweet and simple in the picture. The folds of
Mary's garments are beautifully painted, so is the poise of her head,
and all the details of the picture except the figure of the
child. There is a line of stiffness there and it lacks the softness of
many other pictures of the Infant Jesus.

  PLATE--THE HOLY FAMILY

In this picture in the Pitti Palace, Florence, Andrea del Sarto
represents all the characters in a serious mood. There are St. John
and Elizabeth, Mary and the Infant Jesus, and there is no touch of
playfulness such as may be found in similar groups by other artists of
the time. Attention is concentrated upon Jesus who seems to be
learning from his young cousin. The left hand, resting upon Mary's arm
is badly drawn and in character does not seem to belong to the figure
of the child. A full, overhanging upper lip is a dominant feature in
each face.

Other works of Andrea del Sarto are "Charity," which is in the Louvre;
"Madonna dell' Arpie," "A Head of Christ," "The Dead Christ," "Four
Saints," "Joseph in Egypt," his own portrait, and "Joseph's Dream."





II

MICHAEL ANGELO (BUONARROTI)


  (Pronounced Meek-el-ahn-jel-o (Bwone-ar-ro'tee))
  _Florentine School_
  1475-1564
  _Pupil of Ghirlandajo_

This wonderful man did more kinds of things, at a time when almost all
artists were versatile, than any other but one. Probably Leonardo da
Vinci was gifted in as many different ways as Michael Angelo, and in
his own lines was as powerful. This Florentine's life was as tragic as
it was restless.

There is a tablet in a room of a castle which stands high upon a rocky
mount, near the village of Caprese, which tells that Michael Angelo
was born in that place. The great castle is now in ruins, and more
than four hundred years of fame have passed since the little child was
born therein.

The unhappy existence of the artist seems to have been foreshadowed by
an accident which happened to his mother before he was born. She was
on horseback, riding with her husband to his official post at Chiusi,
for he was governor of Chiusi and Caprese. Her horse stumbled, fell,
and badly hurt her. This was two months before Michael Angelo was
born, and misfortune ever pursued him.

The father of Angelo was descended from an aristocratic house--the
Counts of Canossa were his ancestors--and in that day the profession
of an artist was not thought to be dignified. Hence the father had
quite different plans for the boy; but the son persisted and at last
had his way. When he was still a little child his father finished his
work as an official at Caprese and returned to Florence; but he left
the little Angelo behind with his nurse. That nurse was the wife of a
stonemason, and almost as soon as the boy could toddle he used to
wander about the quarries where the stonecutters worked, and doubtless
the baby joy of Angelo was to play at chiseling as it is the pleasure
of modern babies to play at peg-top. After a time he was sent for to
go to Florence to begin his education.

In Florence he fell in with a young chap who, like himself, loved art,
but who was fortunate enough already to be apprenticed to the great
painter of his time--Ghirlandajo. One happy day this young Granacci
volunteered to take Michael Angelo to his master's studio, and there
Angelo made such an impression on Ghirlandajo that he was urged by the
artist to become his pupil.

All the world began to seem rose coloured to the ambitious boy, and he
started his life-work with enthusiasm. At that time he was thirteen
years old, full of hope and of love for his kind; but his good fortune
did not last long. He had hardly settled to work in Ghirlandajo's
studio than his genius, which should have made him beloved, made him
hated by his master. Angelo drew superior designs, created new
art-ideas, was more clever in all his undertakings than any other
pupil--even ahead of his master; and almost at once Ghirlandajo became
furiously jealous. This enmity between pupil and master was the
beginning of Angelo's many misfortunes.

One day he got into a dispute with a fellow student, Torregiano, who
broke his nose. This deformity alone was a tragedy to one like Michael
Angelo who loved everything beautiful, yet must go through life
knowing himself to be ill-favoured.

In height he was a little man, topped by an abnormally large head
which was part of the penalty he had to pay for his talents. He had a
great, broad forehead, and an eye that did not gleam nor express the
beauty of his creative mind, but was dull, and lustreless, matching
his broken, flattened nose. Indeed he was a tragedy to himself. In the
"History of Painting" Muther describes his unhappy disposition:

"In his youthful years he never learned what love meant. 'If thou
wishest to conquer me,' in old age he addresses love, 'give me back my
features, from which nature has removed all beauty.' Whenever in his
sonnets he speaks of passion, it is always of pain and tears, of
sadness and unrequited longing, never of the fulfilment of his
wishes."

Then, too, Michael Angelo had a quarrelsome disposition, and he was
harsh in his criticism of others. He hated Leonardo da Vinci more for
his great physical beauty than for his genius. He quarreled with most
of his contemporaries, never joined the assemblies of his brother
artists, but dwelt altogether apart. His was a gloomy and melancholy
disposition and he never found relief outside his work.

He was all kinds of an artist--poet, sculptor, architect, painter--and
although he worked with the irregularity of true genius, he worked
indefatigably when once he began. It is said that when he was making
his "David" he never removed his clothing the whole time he was
employed upon the work, but dropped down when too exhausted to work
more, and slept wherever he fell.

His first flight from the workshop of Ghirlandajo was to the gardens
of the great Florentine prince, Lorenzo de' Medici, who had sent to
Ghirlandajo for two of his best pupils. He wished them to come to his
gardens and study the beautiful Greek statues which ornamented
them. The choice fell to Angelo and Granacci. Probably those statues
in Lorenzo's garden were the first glimpses of really great art that
Michael Angelo ever had. Certain it is that he was overwhelmed with
happiness when he was given permission to copy what he would, and at
once he fell to work with his chisel. His first work in that garden
was upon the head of an old faun; and Lorenzo, walking by, curious to
know to what use the lad was putting his opportunity, made a
criticism:

"You have made your faun old," he said, "yet you have left all the
teeth; at such an age, generally the teeth are wanting."

Angelo had nothing to say and the prince walked on, but when next he
came that way, he found that Angelo had broken off two of the faun's
teeth; and this recognition of his criticism pleased Lorenzo so much
that he invited Angelo to live with him. At first his father
objected. He felt himself to be an aristocrat, and sculpture and
painting were indeed low occupations for his son, who he had resolved
should be nothing less than a silk merchant. Nevertheless, the
prince's command, united with the son's pleading, compelled the father
to give up his cherished dream of making a merchant of him, and Angelo
went to live in the palace.

Then indeed what seemed a beautiful life opened out. He was dressed in
fine clothing, dined with princes, and possibly he was grateful to his
patron. Some historians say so, and add that when Lorenzo died Angelo
wept, and returned sadly to his father's house to mourn, but this tale
seems at odds with what else we know of Angelo's unangelic, envious
and bitter disposition. It is quite certain, however, that with the
death of Lorenzo, Angelo's, fortunes became greatly changed. Another
prince followed in line--Pietro de' Medici--but he was a poor thing,
who brought little good to anybody. He had small use for Michael
Angelo's genius, but it is said that he did give him one
commission. After a great storm one day, he asked him to make a
snow-man for him, and Angelo obligingly complied. It was doubtless a
very beautiful snow-man, but although it was Angelo's it melted in the
night, even as if it had been Johnny's or Tommy's snow-man, and left
no trace behind.

In Rome there was a high and haughty pope on the throne--Julius
II.--who had probably not his match for obstinacy and haughtiness,
excepting in the great painter and sculptor. When Angelo went to Rome,
he was bound to come in conflict with Julius for it was popes and
princes who gave art any reason for being in those days, and the
Church prescribed what kind of art should be cultivated. Michael was
to come directly under the command of the pope and such a combination
promised trouble. Kings themselves had to remove their crowns and hats
to Julius, and why not Michael Angelo? Yet there he stood, covered,
before the pope, opposing his greatness to that of the pope. Soderini
says that Angelo treated the pope as the king of France never would
have dared treat him; but Angelo may have known that kings of France
might be born and die, times without number, while there would never
be born another Michael Angelo. There could be nothing but antagonism
between Angelo and Julius, and soon after the artist returned to
Florence; but the necessity for following his profession enabled
Julius to tame him after all, and it is said that the pope led him
back to Rome, later, "with a halter about his neck." This must have
been agony to Angelo.

Back in Rome, he was commissioned to make a tomb for the pope. He had
no sooner set about the preliminaries--the getting of suitable marble
for his work--than he began to quarrel with the men who were to hew
it. When that difficulty was settled, and the marble was got out, he
had a set-to with the shipowners who were to transport the stone, and
that row became so serious that the sculptor was besieged in his own
house.

At another and later time, when he was engaged upon the frescoes of
the Sistine Chapel, he was made to work by force. He accused the man
who had built the scaffolding upon which he must stand, or lie, to
paint, of planning his destruction. He suspected the very assistants
whom he, himself, had chosen to go from Florence, of having designs
upon his life. He locked the chapel against them, and they had to turn
away when they went to begin work. Because of his insane suspicion he
did alone the enormous work of the frescoes. Doubtless he was half
mad, just as he was wholly a genius.

By the time he had finished those frescoes he was so exhausted and
overworked that he wrote piteously to his people at home, "I have not
a friend in Rome, neither do I wish nor have use for any." This of
course was not true; or he would not have made the statement. "I
hardly find time to take nourishment. Not an ounce more can I bear
than already rests upon my shoulders." Even when the work was done he
felt no happiness because of it, but complained about everything and
everybody.

If Angelo thought this an unhappy day, worse was in store for
him. Julius II. died and in his place there came to reign upon the
papal throne, Leo X. If Michael Angelo had been restricted in his work
before, he was almost jailed under Leo X. Julius had been a virile,
forceful man, and Michael Angelo was the same. Since he must be
restrained and dictated to, it was possible for the artist to listen
to a man who was in certain respects strong like himself, but to be
under the thumb of a weak, effeminate person like Leo, was the tragedy
of tragedies to Angelo. That was a marvellous time in Rome. All its
citizens had become so pleasure-loving that the world, stood still to
wonder. When the pope banqueted, he had the golden plates from which
fair women had eaten hurled into the Tiber, that they might never be
profaned by a less noble use than they had known. From all this riot
and madness of pleasure, Michael Angelo stood aside with frowning brow
and scornful mien. He approved of nothing and of nobody--despising
even Raphael, the gentle and loving man whom the pleasure-crazed
people of Rome paused to smile upon and love. The pope said that
Angelo was "terrible," and that he filled everybody with fear.

Finally, Rome so resented his frowning looks and his surly ways that
work was provided for him at a distance. He was sent to Florence again
to build a facade. While there, the city was conquered, and Angelo was
one who fought for its freedom, but even so, he fled just at the
crisis. Thus he ever did the wrong thing--excepting when he worked. In
Florence he had planned to do mighty things, but he never accomplished
any one of them. He planned to make a wonderful colossal statue on a
cliff near Carrara, and also he resolved to make the tomb of Julius
the nucleus of a "forest of statues."

Michael Angelo never married, but he was burdened with a family and
all its cares. He supported his brothers and even his nephews, and
took care of his father. All of those people came to him with their
difficulties and with their demands for money. He chided, quarreled,
repelled, yet met every obligation. He would sit beside the sick-bed
of a servant the night through, but growl at the demands of his near
relatives--and it is not unlikely that he had good reason.

At last he withdrew himself from all human society but that of little
children, whom he cared to speak with and to please. He would have
naught to do with men of genius like himself; and when he fell from a
scaffolding and injured himself, the physician had to force his way
through a barred window, in order to get into the sick man's presence
to serve him.

An illustration of his determined solitude is given in the "Young
People's Story of Art:"

"There had long been lying idle in Florence an immense block of
marble. One hundred years before a sculptor had tried to carve
something from it, but had failed. This was now given to Michael
Angelo. He was to be paid twelve dollars a month, and to be allowed
two years in which to carve a statue. He made his design in wax; and
then built a tower around the block, so that he might work inside
without being seen."

Everything Angelo undertook bore the marks of gigantic
enterprise. Although he never succeeded in making the tomb of Julius
II. the central piece in his forest of statues, the undertaking was
marvellous enough. His original plan was to make the tomb three
stories high and to ornament it with forty statues, and if St. Peter's
Church was large enough to hold it, the work was to be placed therein;
but if not, a church was to be built specially to hold the tomb. When
at last, in spite of his difficulties with workmen and shipowners, the
marbles were deposited in the great square before St. Peter's, they
filled the whole place; and the pope, wishing to watch the progress of
the work and not himself to be observed, had a covered way built from
the Vatican to the workshop of Angelo in the square, by which he might
come and go as he chose, while an order was issued that the sculptor
was to be admitted at all times to the Vatican. No sooner was this
arrangement completed than Angelo's enemies frightened the pope by
telling him there was danger in making his tomb before his death; and
with these superstitions haunting him Julius II. stopped the work,
leaving Angelo without the means to pay for his marbles. With the
doors of the Vatican closed to him, Angelo withdrew, post haste to
Florence--and who can blame him? Nevertheless, the work was resumed
after infinite trouble on the pope's part. He had to send again and
again for Angelo and after forty years, the work was finished. There
the sequel of the sculptor's forty-years war with self and the world
stands to-day in "Moses," the wonderful, commanding central figure
which seems to reflect all the fierce power which Angelo had to keep
in check during a life-time.

The command of Julius that he should paint the ceiling of the Sistine
Chapel aroused all his fierce resistance. He did it under protest, all
the while accusing those about him of having designs upon his life.

"I am not a painter, but a sculptor," he said.

"Such a man as thou is everything that he wishes to be," the pope
replied.

"But this is an affair of Raphael. Give him this room to paint and let
me carve a mountain!" But no, he must paint the ceiling; but to render
it easier for him the pope told him he might fill in the spaces with
saints, and charge a certain amount for each. This Angelo, who was
first of all an artist, refused to do. He would do the work rightly or
not at all. So he made his own plans and cut himself a cardboard
helmet, into the front of which he thrust a candle, as if it were a
Davy lamp, and he lay upon his back to work day and night at the hated
task. During those months he was compelled to look up so continually,
that never afterward was he able to look down without difficulty. When
he had finished the work Julius had some criticisms to make.

"Those dresses on your saints are such poor things," he said. "Not
rich enough--such very poor things!"

"Well, they were poor things," was Angelo's answer. "The saints did
not wear golden ornaments, nor gold on their garments."

After Julius II. and Leo X. came Pope Paul III., and he, like the
other two, determined to have Angelo for his workman. Indeed all his
life, Michael Angelo's gifts were commanded by the Church of Rome. It
was for Paul III. he painted the "Last Judgment." His former work upon
the Sistine Chapel had been the story of the creation. All his work
was of a mighty and allegorical nature; tremendous shoulders, mighty
limbs, herculean muscles that seemed fit to support the
universe. These allegories are made of hundreds of figures. To-day
they are still there, though dimmed by the smoke of centuries of
incense, and dismembered by the cracking of plaster and disintegration
of materials.

Angelo's methods of work, as well as their results, were
oppressive. In his youth, while trying to perfect himself in his study
of the human form, he drew or modelled, from nude corpses. He had
these conveyed by stealth from the hospital into the convent of Santo
Spirito, where he had a cell and there he worked, alone.

He was concentrated, mentally and emotionally, upon himself. The only
remark he made after the blow from Torregiano was, "You will be
remembered only as the man who broke my nose!" This proved nearly
true, since Torregiano was banished, and murdered by the Spanish
Inquisition.

All sorts of anecdotes have floated through the centuries concerning
this man and his work. For example, he made a statue of a sleeping
cupid, which was buried in the ground for a time that it might assume
the appearance of age, and pass for an antique. Afterward it was sold
to the Cardinal San Giorgio for two hundred ducats, though Michael
Angelo received only thirty. Nevertheless, he died a rich man, after
having cared for a numerous family, while he himself lived like a man
without means. All the tranquillity he ever knew he enjoyed in his old
age.

It was characteristic of his perversity that he left his name upon
nothing that he made, with one exception. Vasari relates the story of
that exception:

"The love and care which Michael Angelo had given to this group, 'In
Paradise,' were such that he there left his name--a thing he never did
again for any work--on the cincture which girdles the robe of Our
Lady; for it happened one day that Michael Angelo, entering the place
where it was erected, found a large assemblage of strangers from
Lombardy there, who were praising it highly; one of them asking who
had done it, was told, 'our Hunchback of Milan'; hearing which Michael
Angelo remained silent, although surprised that his work should be
attributed to another. But one night he repaired to St. Peter's with a
light and his chisels, to engrave his name on the figure, which seems
to breathe a spirit as perfect as her form and countenance."

If his youth had been given to sculpture, his maturity to the painting
of wondrous frescoes, so his old age was devoted to architecture, and
as architect he rebuilt the decaying St. Peter's. In this work he felt
that he partly realised his ideal. Sculpture meant more to him, "did
more for the glory of God," than any other form of art. When he had
finished his work on St. Peter's, he is said to have looked upon it
and exclaimed: "I have hung the Pantheon in the air!"

This colossal genius died in Rome, and was carried by the light of
torches from that city back to his better loved Florence, where he was
buried. His tomb was made in the Santa Croce, and upon it are three
female figures representing Michael Angelo's three wonderful arts:
Architecture, sculpture and painting. No artist was greater than he.

His will committed "his soul to God, his body to the earth, and his
property to his nearest relatives."

  PLATE--DANIEL

This wonderful painting is a part of the decoration of the Sistine
Chapel in Rome. The picture of the prophet tells so much in itself,
that a description seems absurd. It is enough to call attention to the
powerful muscles in the arm, the fall of the hand, and then to speak
of the main characteristics of the artist's pictures.

It is extraordinary that there is no blade of grass to be found in any
painting by Michael Angelo. He loved to paint but one thing, and that
was the naked man, the powerful muscles, or the twisted limbs of those
in great agony. He loved only to work upon vast spaces of ceiling or
wall. Look at this picture of Daniel and see how like sculpture the
pose and modelling appear to be. First of all, Michael Angelo was a
sculptor, and most of the painting which fate forced him to do has the
characteristics of sculpture.

One critic has remarked that he loves to think of this strange man
sitting before the marble quarry of Pietra Santa and thinking upon all
the beings hidden in the cliff--beings which he should fashion from
the marble.

It was said that in Michael Angelo's hands the Holy Family became a
race of Titans, and where others would have put plants or foliage,
Angelo placed men and naked limbs to fill the space. When his subject
made some sort of herbage necessary, he invented a kind of mediæval
fern in place of grass and familiar leaves. Everything appears brazen
and hard and mighty, suggestive of Angelo's own throbbing spirit and
maddened soul. Most of his work, when illustrated, must be shown not
as a whole but in sections, but one can best mention them as entire
picture themes. On the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel are nine frescoes
describing "The Creation of The World," "The Fall of Man" and "The
Deluge." "The Last Judgment" occupies the entire altar wall in the
same chapel of the Vatican. "The Holy Family" is in the Uffizi
Gallery, Florence.




III

ARNOLD BÖCKLIN


  (Pronounced Bek'-lin)
  _Modern German School (Düsseldorf)_
  1827-1901

This splendid artist is so lately dead that it does not seem proper
yet to discuss his personal history, but we can speak understandingly
of his art, for we already know it to be great art, which will stand
the test of time. His imagination turned toward subjects of solemn
grandeur and his work is very impressive and beautiful.

He was born in Basel, "one of the most prosaic towns in Europe." His
father was a Swiss merchant, and not poor; thus the son had ordinarily
good chances to make an artist of himself. He was born at a time when
to be an artist had long ceased to be a reproach, and men no longer
discouraged their sons who felt themselves inspired to paint great
pictures.

When Böcklin was nineteen years old he took himself to Düsseldorf,
with his merchant father's permission, and settled down to learn his
art, but in that city he found mostly "sentimental and anecdotal"
pictures being painted, which did not suit him at all. Then he took
himself off to Brussels, where again he was not satisfied, and so went
to Paris. But while in Brussels he had copied many old masters, and
had advanced himself very much, so that he did not present himself in
Paris raw and untried in art.

At first he studied in the Louvre, then went to Rome, seeking ever the
best, and being hard to satisfy. He found rest and tranquillity in
Zürich, a city in his native country, but it was Italy that had most
influenced his work.

He loved the Campagna of Rome with its ruins and the sad grandeur of
the crumbling tombs lining its way, and therefore a certain
mysterious, grand, and solemn character made his pictures unlike those
of any other artist. He loved to paint in vertical (up-and-down)
fines, rather than with the conventional horizontal outlines that we
find in most paintings. This method gives his pictures a different
quality from any others in the world.

He loved best of all to paint landscape, and it is said of him that
"as the Greeks peopled their streams and woods and waves with
creatures of their imagination, so Böcklin makes the waterfall take
shape as a nymph, or the mists which rise above the water source
wreathe into forms of merry children; or in some wild spot hurls
centaurs together in fierce combat, or makes the slippery, moving wave
give birth to Nereids and Tritons."

Muther, art-critic and biographer, calls our attention to the
similarity between Wagner's music and Böcklin's painting. While Wagner
was "luring the colours of sound from music," Böcklin's "symphonies of
colour streamed forth like a crashing orchestra," and he calls him the
greatest colour-poet of the time.

In appearance Böcklin was fine of form, healthy and wholesome in all
his thoughts and way of living. In 1848 he took part in revolutionary
politics and later this did him great harm. Only the influence of his
friends kept him from ruin. After the Franco-Prussian war he was made
Minister of Fine Arts. In this office he rendered great service; but
because he had to witness the wrecking of the Column Vendôme in order
to save the Louvre and the Luxembourg from the mob, he was censured;
indeed so heavy a fine was imposed that it took his whole fortune to
pay it; and he was banished into the bargain. From 1892 to 1901 he
lived in or near Florence, and he died at Fiesole, January 16th, 1901.

  PLATE--THE ISLE OF THE DEAD

This picture is perhaps the greatest of the many great Arnold Böcklin
paintings, and it is both fascinating and awe-inspiring.

It best shows his liking for vertical lines in art. The Isle of the
Dead is of a rocky, shaft-like formation in which we may see hewn-out
tombs; and there, tall cypress trees are growing.

The traces of man's work in the midst of this sombre, ideal, and
mystic scene add to the impressiveness of the picture. The isle stands
high and lonely in the midst of a sea.

The water seems silently to lap the base of the rocks and the trees
are in black shadow, massed in the centre. It looks very mysterious
and still. There is a stone gateway touched with the light of a dying
day. It is sunset and the dead is being brought to its resting place
in a tiny boat, all the smaller for its relation to the gloomy
grandeur of the isle which it is approaching. One figure is standing
in the boat, facing the island, and the sunlight falls full upon his
back and touches the boat, making that spot stand out brilliantly from
all the rest of the picture.

Among Böcklin's paintings are "Naiads at Play," which hangs in the
Museum at Basel, "A Villa by the Sea," "The Sport of the Waves,"
"Regions of Joy," "Flora," and "Venus Dispatching Cupid."




IV

MARIE-ROSA BONHEUR


  (Pronounced Rosa Bon-er)
  _French School_
  1822-1895
  _Pupil of Raymond B. Bonheur_

Rosa Bonheur, Landseer, and Murillo maybe called "Children's Painters"
in this book because they painted things that children, as well as
grown-ups, certainly can enjoy. To be sure, Murillo was a very
different sort of artist from Rosa Bonheur or Landseer, but if the two
latter painted the most beautiful, animals--dogs, sheep, and
horses--Murillo painted the loveliest little children.

Rosa was the best pupil of her father; Raymond B. Bonheur. In Bordeaux
they lived together the peaceful life of artists, the father being
already a well known painter when his daughter was born. She became,
as Mr. Hamerton, who knew her, said, "the most accomplished female
painter who ever lived ... a pure, generous woman as well and can
hardly be too much admired ... as a woman or an artist. She is simple
in her tastes and habits of life and many stories are told of her
generosity to others."

After a time the Bonheurs moved to Paris where young Rosa could have
better opportunities; and there she put on man's clothing, which she
wore all her life thereafter. She wore a workingman's blouse and
trousers, and tramped about looking more like a man than a woman with
her short hair. This, made everybody stare at her and think her very
queer, but people no longer believe that she dressed herself thus in
order to advertise herself and attract attention; but because it was
the most convenient costume for her to get about in. She went to all
sorts of places; the stockyards, slaughter houses, all about the
streets of Paris, to learn of things and people, especially of
animals, which she wished most to paint. She could hardly have gone
about thus if she had worn women's clothing.

Rosa Bonheur exhibited her first painting at the _Salon_ in 1841, and
this was twelve years before her beloved father died; thus he had the
happiness of knowing that the daughter whom he had taught so lovingly
was on the road to success and fortune. He knew that when fortune
should come to her she would use it well. The year that she exhibited
her work in the _Salon_ she painted only two little pictures--one of
rabbits, the other of sheep and goats--but they were so splendidly
done that all the critics knew a great woman artist had arrived.

It was then that her enemies, those who were becoming jealous of her
work, said that she was wearing men's clothing in order to attract
attention to herself.

Soon her work began to be bought by the French Government, which was a
sure sign of her power. She was already much beloved by the people. In
the meantime we in America and others in England had heard of
Mademoiselle Bonheur, but we heard far less about her painting than we
did about her masculine garb. We thought of her mostly as an eccentric
woman; but one day came "The Horse Fair," and all the world heard of
that, so the artist was to be no longer judged by the clothes she wore
but by her art. Finally, she received the cross of the Legion of
Honour, and also was made a member of the Institute of Antwerp.

She lived near Fontainebleau; her studio a peaceful retired home, till
the Franco-Prussian war came about. Then she and others began to fear
that her studio and pictures would be destroyed, so the artist was
forced to stop her work and prepared to go elsewhere. But the Crown
Prince of Prussia himself ordered that Mademoiselle Bonheur should not
even be disturbed. Her work had made her belong to all the world and
all the world was to protect her if need be.

Rosa Bonheur had a brother who, some critics said, was the better
artist, but if that were true it is likely that his popularity would
in some degree have approached that of his sister. Rosa Bonheur did
not paint many large canvases, but mostly small ones, or only
moderately large; but when she painted sheep it seems that one might
shear the wool, it stands so fleecy and full; while her horses rampage
and curvet, showing themselves off as if they were alive.

  PLATE--THE HORSE FAIR

This picture was exhibited all over the world very nearly. It was
carried to England and to America, and won admiration wherever it was
seen. Finally it was sold in America. It was first exhibited in 1853,
the year in which the artist's father died. Mr. Ernest Gambart was the
first who bought the picture, and he wrote of it to his friend,
Mr. S.P. Avery: "I will give you the real history of 'The Horse Fair,'
now in New York. It was painted in 1852, by Rosa Bonheur, then in her
thirtieth year, and exhibited in the next _Salon_. Though much admired
it did not find a purchaser. It was soon after exhibited in Ghent,
meeting again with much appreciation, but was not sold, as art did not
flourish at the time. In 1855 the picture was sent by Rosa Bonheur to
her native town of Bordeaux and exhibited there. She offered to sell
it to the town at the very low price 12,000 francs ($2,400). While
there, I asked her if she would sell it to me, and allow me to take it
to England and have it engraved. She said: 'I wish to have my picture
remain in France. I will once more impress on my countrymen, my wish
to sell it to them for 12,000 francs. If they refuse, you can have it,
but if you take it abroad, you must pay me 40,000 francs.' The town
failing to make the purchase, I at once accepted these terms, and Rosa
Bonheur then placed the picture at my disposal. I tendered her the
40,000 francs and she said: 'I am much gratified at your giving me
such a noble price, but I do not like to feel that I have taken
advantage of your liberality; let us see how we can combine in the
matter. You will not be able to have an engraving made from so large a
canvas. Suppose I paint you a small one from the same subject, of
which I will make you a present.' Of course I accepted the gift, and
thus it happened that the large work went travelling over the kingdom
on exhibition, while Thomas Landseer was making an engraving from the
quarter-size replica.

"After some time (in 1857 I think), I sold the original picture to
Mr. William P. Wright, New York (whose picture gallery and residence
were at Weehawken, N.J.), for the sum of 30,000 francs, but later I
understood that Mr. Stewart paid a much larger price for it on the
breaking up of Mr. Wright's gallery. The quarter size replica, from
which the engraving was made, I finally sold to Mr. Jacob Bell, who
gave it in 1859 to the nation, and it is now in the National Gallery,
London. A second, still smaller replica, was painted a few years
later, and was resold some time ago in London for £4,000
($20,000). There is also a smaller water-colour drawing which was sold
to Mr. Bolckow for 2,500 guineas ($12,000), and is now an heirloom
belonging to the town of Middlesbrough. That is the whole history of
this grand work. The Stewart canvas is the real and true original, and
only large size 'Horse-Fair.'

"Once in Mr. Stewart's collection, it never left his gallery until the
auction sale of his collection, March 25th, 1887, when it was
purchased by Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt for the sum of $55,000, and
presented to the Metropolitan Museum of Art."

And thus we have the whole story of the "Horse-Fair." The picture is
93-1/2 inches high, and 197 inches wide, and it contains a great
number of horses, some of which are ridden, while others are led, and
all are crowding with wild gaiety toward the fair where it is quite
plain they know they are about to be admired and their beauty shown to
the best advantage. Other well-known Rosa Bonheurs are "Ploughing,"
"Shepherd Guarding Sheep," "Highland Sheep," "Scotch Deer," "American
Mustangs," and "The Study of a Lioness."




V

ALESSANDRO BOTTICELLI


  (Pronounced Ah-lays-sahn'dro Bo't-te-chel'lee)
  _Florentine School,_
  1447-1510 (Vasari's dates)
  _Pupil of Filippo Lippi and Verrocchio_

Botticelli took his name from his first master, as was the fashion in
those days. The relation of master and apprentice was very close, not
at all like the relation of pupil and teacher to-day.

Botticelli's father was a Florentine citizen, Mariano Filipepi, and he
wished his son to become a goldsmith; hence the lad was soon
apprenticed to Botticelli, the goldsmith. As a scholar, the little
goldsmith had not distinguished himself. Indeed it is said that as a
boy he would not "take to any sort of schooling in reading, writing,
or arithmetic." It cannot be said that this failure distinguished him
as a genius, or the world would be full of genius-boys; but the result
was that he early began to learn his trade.

Fortunately for him and us, Botticelli, the smith, was a man of some
wisdom and when he saw that the lad originated beautiful designs and
had creative genius he did not treat the matter with scorn, as the
master of Andrea del Sarto had done, but sent him instead to Fra
Filippo (Lippo Lippi) to be taught the art of painting. So kind a deed
might well establish a feeling of devotion on little Alessandro's part
and make him wish to take his master's name.

Fra Filippo was a Carmelite monk, merry and kindly; simple, good, and
gifted, but his temperament did not seem to influence his young
pupil. Of all unhappy, morbid men, Botticelli seems to have been the
most so, unless we are to except Michael Angelo.

After studying with the monk, Botticelli was summoned by Pope Sixtus
IV. to Rome to decorate a new chapel in the Vatican. Before that time
his whole life had been greatly influenced by the teachings of
Savonarola who had preached both passionately and learnedly in
Florence, advocating liberty. From the time he fell under Savonarola's
wonderful power, the artist grew more and more mystic and morbid. In
Rome it was the custom to have the portraits of conspirators, or
persons of high degree who were revolutionary or otherwise
objectionable to the state, hung outside the Public Palace, and in
Botticelli's time there was a famous disturbance among the aristocrats
of the state. In 1478 the powerful Pazzi family conspired against the
Medici family, which then actually had control. It was Botticelli who
was engaged to paint the portraits of the Pazzi family, which to their
shame and humiliation were to be displayed upon the palace walls.

One peculiarity of this artist's pictures was that he used actual
goldleaf to make the high lights upon hair, leaves, and draperies. The
effect of the use of this gold was very beautiful, if unusual, and it
may have been that his apprenticeship as a goldsmith suggested to him
such a device.

Also it was he who created certain characteristics of painting that
have since been thought original with Burne-Jones. This was the use of
long stiff lily-stalks or other upright details in his compositions.
Examples of this idea, which produced so weird an effect, will be
found in his allegory of "Spring," where stiff tree-trunks form a part
of the background. In the "Madonna of the Palms" upright lily-stalks
are held in pale and trembling hands. Like Michael Angelo, who came
years afterward, Botticelli was a guest of the great Lorenzo the
"Magnificent," in Florence. It was by Botticelli's hand that the
greater painter sent a letter to Lorenzo from a duchess friend who was
also his patron. This was in Angelo's youth; in Botticelli's old age.

All his life was a drama of morbid seeking after the unattainable, and
finally he became so poor and helpless that in his old age he would
have starved had Lorenzo de' Medici not taken care of him. Lorenzo and
other friends who in spite of his gloominess admired his real piety,
gathered about him and kept him from starvation.

On his "Nativity," Botticelli wrote: "This picture I, Alessandro,
painted at the end of the year 1500 in the troubles of Italy, in the
halftime after the time, during the fulfilment of the eleventh of
John, in the second woe of the Apocalypse, in the loosing the devil
for three and a half years. Afterward he shall be chained according to
the twelfth of John, and see him trodden down as in this picture." All
of this is interesting because Botticelli himself wrote it, but it is
not very easily understood by any child, nor by many grown people.

Botticelli did some very extraordinary things, but whether they are
beautiful or not one must decide for himself. They are paintings so
characteristic that one must think them very beautiful or else not at
all so.

  PLATE--LA PRIMAVERA
  _(Spring)_

In this picture we have the forerunner of a modern painter, because we
see in it certain, qualities that we find in Böcklin. Look at the
effect of vertical lines; the tree trunks, and the poses of the
slender women. Over all hovers a cupid who is sending love-shafts into
the hearts of all in springtime.

Notice the lacy effect of the flowers that bestar the wind-blown gown
of "La Primavera," the fern-like leaves that fleck the background; the
draperies that do not conceal the forms of the nymphs of the lovely
springtime.

The very spirit of spring is seen in all the half-floating,
half-dancing, gliding, diaphanous figures of the forest. The flowers
of "La Primavera's" crown are blue and white cornflowers and
primroses. She scatters over the earth tulips, anemones, and
narcissus. The painting is allegorical and unique. Never were such
fluttering odds and ends of draperies painted before, nor such
fascinating effects had from canvas, paint, or brush. The picture
hangs in Florence in the Uffizi Gallery. A German critic tells us that
the "Realm of Venus," is a better title for this picture, and that it
was painted after a poem of that name.

Other pictures by this artist are: "The Birth of Venus," "Pallas,"
"Judith," "Holofernes," "St. Augustine," "Adoration of the Magi," and
"St. Sebastian."




VI

WILLIAM ADOLPHE BOUGUEREAU


  (Pronounced W. A'dolf Bou-gair-roh)
  _French (Genre) School_
  1825-1905
  _Pupil of Picot and the Ecole des Beaux-Arts_

Bouguereau's business-like father meant his son also to be
business-like, but he made the mistake of permitting him to go to a
drawing school in Bordeaux and there, to his father's chagrin, the
youngster took the annual prize. After that there seemed nothing for
the father to do but grin and bear it, because the son decided to be
an artist and had fairly won his right to be one.

Young Bouguereau had no money, and therefore he went to live with an
uncle at Saintonge, a priest, who had much sympathy with the boy's
wish to paint, and he left him free to do the best he could for
himself in art. He got a chance to paint some portraits, and when he
and his uncle talked the matter over It was decided that he should
take the money got for them, and go to Paris. It was there that he
sought Picot, his first truly helpful teacher; and there, for the
first time he learned more than he already knew about art.

All Bouguereau's opportunities in life were made by himself, by his
own genius. No one gave him anything; he earned all. He longed to go
to Italy, and in the Ecole des Beaux-Arts he won the Prix de Rome,
which made possible a journey to the land of great artists. The French
Government began to buy his work, and he began to receive commissions
to decorate walls in great buildings; thus, gradually, he made for
himself fame and fortune.

When this artist undertook to paint sacred subjects, of great dignity,
he was not at his best; but when he chose children and mothers and
everyday folk engaged about their everyday business, he painted
beautifully. Americans have bought many of his pictures and he has had
more popularity in this country than anywhere outside of France.

Some authorities give the birthplace of Bouguereau as La Rochelle; at
any rate he died there at midnight, on the nineteenth of August, 1905.

  PLATE--THE VIRGIN AS CONSOLER

The main distinction about this artist's pictured faces is the
peculiarly earnest expression he has given to the eyes. In this
picture of the Virgin there is great genius in the pose and death-look
of the little child whose mother has flung herself across the lap of
Mary, abandoned to her agony. This painting is hung in the
Luxembourg. Others by the same master are called "Psyche and Cupid"
"Birth of Venus," "Innocence," and "At the Well."




VII

SIR EDWARD BURNE-JONES


  _English (Pre-Raphaelite) School_
  1833-1898
  _Pupil of Rossetti_

This artist has been called the most original of all contemporaneous
artists. He has also been called the "lyric painter"; meaning that he
is to painting what the lyric poet is to literature. His work once
known can almost always be recognised wherever seen afterward. He did
not slavishly follow the Pre-Raphaelite school, yet he drew most of
his ideas from its methods. He was, in the use of stiff lines, a
follower of Botticelli, and not original in that detail, as some have
seemed to think.

  PLATE--CHANT D'AMOUR
  _(The Love-Song)_

This is a picture in the true Burne-Jones style: a beautiful woman in
billowy draperies, playing upon a harp forms the central figure of the
group of three--a listener on either side of her. There is the
attractiveness of the Burne-Jones method about this picture, but after
all there seems to be no very good reason for its having been
painted. The subject thus treated has only a negative value, and
little suggestion of thought or dramatic idea.

Another picture of this artist, in which his use of stiff draperies is
specially shown, is that of the women at the tomb of Christ, when they
find the stone rolled away and, looking around, see the Saviour's
figure before them. The scene is low and cavern-like, with a brilliant
light surrounding the tomb. This artist also painted "The Vestal
Virgin," "King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid," "Pan and Psyche," "The
Golden Stairs," and "Love Among the Ruins."




VIII

JOHN CONSTABLE


  _English School_
  1776-1837
  _Pupil of the Royal Academy_

John Constable was the son of a "yeoman farmer" who meant to make him
also a yeoman farmer. Mostly we find that the fathers of our artists
had no higher expectations for their sons than to have them take up
their own business; to begin as they had, and to end as they expected
to. But in John Constable's case, as with all the others, the father's
methods of living did not at all please the son, and having most of
all a liking for picture-making; young John set himself to planning
his own affairs.

Nevertheless, the foundation of John's art was laid right there in the
Suffolk farmer's home and conditions. He was born in East Bergholt,
and the father seems to have believed in windmills, for early in life
the signs of wind and weather became a part of the son's education. He
learned a deal more of atmospheric conditions there on his father's
windmill planted farm than he could possibly have learned shut up in a
studio, French fashion. As a little boy he came to know all the signs
of the heavens; the clouds gathering for storm or shine; the bending
of the trees in the blast; all of these he loved, and later on made
the principal subjects of his art. He learned to observe these things
as a matter of business and at his father's command; thus we may say
that he studied his life-work from his very infancy. All about him
were beautiful hedgerows, picturesque cottages with high pitched roofs
covered with thatch, and it was these beauties which bred one other
great landscape painter besides Constable, of whom we shall presently
speak, Gainsborough.

At last, graduating from windmills, John went to London. He had a
vacation from the work set him by his father, and for two years he
painted "cottages, studied anatomy," and did the drudgery of his art;
but there was little money in it for him, and soon he had to go into
his father's counting house, for windmills seemed to have paid the
elder Constable, considerably better than painting promised to pay
young John.

John doubtless liked counting-house work even less than he had done
the study of windmills and weather in his father's fields. He was a
most persistent fellow, however, and finally he returned to London, to
study again the art he loved, this time in the Royal Academy, which
meant that he had made some progress.

His father gave him very little aid to do the things he longed to do,
but after his father's death he found that a little money was coming
to him from the estate--£4,000. He had already triumphed over his
difficulties by painting his first fine pictures; he now knew that he
was to become a successful artist, and be able to take care of himself
and a wife. Though in love, he had hitherto been too poor to
marry. His first splendid work was "Dedham Vale."

Though things were going very well with him, it was not until Paris
discovered him that he achieved great success. In 1824 he painted two
large pictures which he took to Paris, and there he found fame. The
best landscape painting in France dates from the time when Constable's
works were hung in the Louvre, to become the delight of all
art-lovers.

He received a gold medal from Charles X., and became more honoured
abroad than he had ever been at home.

Constable had many enemies, and made many more after he became an
Academician. Some artists, who would have liked that honour and who
could not gain it for themselves, declared that Constable painted
"with a palette knife," though it certainly would not have mattered if
he had, since he made great pictures.

He painted things exactly as he saw them, and was not a popular
artist. Most of all, he loved to paint the scenes that he had known so
well in his youth, and he did them over and over again, as if the
subject was one in which he wished to reach perfection.

When he died he left a picture, "Arundel Castle and Mill," standing
with its paint wet upon his easel for he passed away very suddenly, on
April 1st, leaving behind him many unsold paintings.

He was a sensitive chap, and throughout his youth was greatly
distressed by the differences of opinion between himself and his
father. He was torn asunder between a sense of duty and his own wish
to be an artist; and his greatest consolation in this situation was in
the friendship he had formed for a plumber, who, like himself, dearly
loved art. The plumber's name was John Dunthorne, and the two men
wandered about the country, when not employed at their regular work,
and together, by streams and in fields, painted the same scenes. At
one time they hired a little room in the neighbouring village which
they made into a studio. Constable was a handsome fellow in his youth
and was known to all as the "handsome miller." His father, the yeoman
farmer with the windmills, was also a miller.

In London he became acquainted with one John Smith, known as
"Antiquity Smith," who taught him something of etching. After he was
recalled to his father's business, his mother wrote to "Antiquity
Smith," that she hoped John "would now attend to business, by which he
will please me and his father, and ensure his own respectability and
comfort"--a complete expression of the middle-class British mind. Her
satisfaction was short-lived, for her son soon returned to London.

When his first pictures were rejected by the Royal Academy he showed
one of them to Sir Benjamin West, who said hopefully: "Don't be
disheartened, young man, we shall hear of you again; you must have
loved nature very much before you could have painted this."

About that time he tried to paint many kinds of pictures, such as
portraits and sacred subjects, but he did not seem to succeed in
anything except the scenes of his boyhood, which he truly loved. Hence
he gave up attempting that which he could do only passably, and kept
to what he could do supremely well.

When his friends wished him to continue portrait painting, the only
thing that was well paid at that time, Constable wrote: "You know I
have always succeeded best with my native scenes. They have always
charmed me, and I hope they always will. I have now a path marked out
very distinctly for myself, and I am desirous of pursuing it
uninterruptedly."

About the time he fell in love and before his father's death, his
health began to fail, and the young woman's mother would have none of
him. Her father was in favour of Constable, but he could not hold out
against the chance of his daughter losing her grandfather's fortune by
marrying the wrong man.

The lady was not so distractingly in love as young Constable was, and
she did not entirely like the idea of poverty, even with John, so she
held off, and with so much anxiety Constable became downright ill. For
five years the pair lived apart, and then the artist and the young
woman, whose name was Maria Bicknell, lost their mothers about the
same time, This drew them very closely together; and to help the
matter on, John's attendance upon his father in his last illness
brought him to the same town as Miss Bicknell. After his father's
death, he urged the young lady so strongly to be his wife that she
consented They were married and her father soon forgave her, but not
so her grandfather, who declared that he never would forgive her, but
he really must have done so from the first, for when he died it was
found that he had left her a little fortune of £4,000. This was about
the same amount the artist had received from his father, so that they
were able to get on very well.

After Constable's marriage he went on a visit to Sir George Beaumont,
and there an amusing incident occurred which is known to-day as the
story of Sir George's "brown tree." It seems that Constable's ideas of
colour for his landscapes were so true to nature that a good many
people did not approve of them, and one day while painting, Sir George
declared that the colour of an old Cremona fiddle was the best model
of colour tone that a landscape could have. Constable's only answer
was to place the fiddle on the green lawn in front of the house. At
another time his host asked the artist, "Do you not find it very
difficult to determine where to place your brown tree?" "Not at all,"
was Constable's reply, "for I never put such a thing into a picture in
my life."

In painting one picture many times he declared, "Its light cannot be
put out because it is the light of nature." A Frenchman called
attention to one of his pictures thus: "Look at these landscapes by an
Englishman. The ground appears to be covered with dew."

Notwithstanding the little fortune of his wife and himself, Constable
was not quite carefree, because he had to raise a good sized family of
six children so that when his wife's father died and left his daughter
£20,000 he said to a friend: "Now I shall stand before a six-foot
canvas with a mind at ease, thank God!" In the very midst of this
happiness, his beloved wife became ill with consumption, and was
certain to die. He no longer cared very much for life and wrote very
sadly:

"I have been ill, but am endeavouring to get work again, and could I
get afloat upon a canvas of six feet, I might have a chance of being
carried from myself." When he became a member of the Royal Academy, he
said: "It has been delayed until I am solitary and cannot impart it,"
meaning that without his dear wife to share his good fortune, it
seemed an empty honour to him.

Strange things are told which show how little his work was valued by
his countrymen. After he had become a member of the Academy one of his
small pictures was entered but rejected; nobody knowing anything about
it. It was put on one side among the "outsiders." Finally, one of his
fellow members glancing at it was attracted.

"Stop a bit! I rather like that. Why not say 'doubtful'?" Later
Constable acknowledged the picture as his, and then they wished to
hang it, but he refused to let them. Another Academy story is about
his picture "Hadleigh Castle." On Varnishing Day, Chartney, a
brilliant critic, told Constable that the foreground of the picture
was "too cold," and so he undertook to "warm it," by giving it a
strong glaze with asphaltum with Constable's brush which he snatched
from the artist's hand. Constable gazed at him in horror. "Oh! there
goes all my dew," he cried, and when Chartney's back was turned he
hurriedly wiped the "warmth" all away and got back his "dew."

Even the amusing things that happened to him, seem to have a little
sadness about them. He wrote to a friend: "Beechey was here yesterday,
and said: 'Why d--n it Constable, what a d--n fine picture you are
making; but you look d--n ill, and you've got a d--n bad cold!' so,"
added Constable, "you have evidence on oath of my being about a fine
picture and that I am looking ill."

An illustration of his painstaking and truthfulness to nature is that
he once took home with him from a visit bottles of coloured sand and
fragments of stone which he meant to introduce into a picture; and on
passing some slimy posts near a mill, he said to his host, "I wish you
could cut those off and send their tops to me."

Constable was a loyal friend, the most persistent of men, and several
anecdotes are told of his characteristics. His friend Fisher said to
him:

"Where real business is to be done, you are the most energetic and
punctual of men. In smaller matters, such as putting on your breeches,
you are apt to lose time in deciding which leg shall go in first."

  PLATE--THE HAY WAIN

This picture was first called "Landscape," and it was painted in
1821. In his letters about it, however, Constable also called it
"Noon," and others wrote of it as "Midsummer Noon." This tells us what
a wealth of hot sunlight is suggested by the painting.

It shows a little farmhouse upon the bank of a stream, a spot well
known as "Willy Lott's Cottage." The owner had been born there and he
died there eighty-eight years later, without ever having left his
cottage for four whole days in all those years. Upon the tombstone of
Lott, which is in the Bergholt burial ground, his epitaph calls the
house "Gibeon Farm." It was a favourite scene with Constable, and he
painted it many times from every side. It is the same house we see in
the "Mill Stream," another Constable painting, and again in "Valley
Farm." In this last picture he painted the side opposite to the one
shown in the "Hay Wain."

The stream near which the house stands spreads out into a ford, and in
the picture the hay cart, with two men upon it, is passing through the
ford. The horses are decked out with red tassels. On the right of the
stream there is a broad meadow, golden green in the sunlight, "with
groups of trees casting cool shadows on the grass, and backed by a
distant belt of woodland of rich blues and greens." On the right is a
fisherman, half hidden by a bush, standing near his punt.

Constable wrote to his friend, Fisher, "My picture goes to the Academy
on the tenth." This was written on April 1st, 1821. "It is not so
grand as Tinney's." This shows us, that Constable had not vanity
enough to interfere with his self-criticism. Again in a letter written
to him by a friend: "How does the 'Hay Wain' look now it has got into
your own room again?" adding that he wished to see it there, away from
the Academy which to him was always "like a great pot of boiling
varnish."

Later Fisher wrote: "I have a great desire to possess your 'Wain,' but
I cannot now reach what it is worth;" and he begged Constable not to
sell it without giving him a chance to try once more to raise the
money to buy it. He wrote that the picture would become of greater
value to his children if the artist left it hanging upon the walls of
the Academy, "till you join the society of Ruysdael, Wilson, and
Claude. As praise and money will then be of no value to you, the world
will liberally bestow both."

Later a Frenchman wished to buy it for exhibition purposes, and when
Constable wrote to Fisher of this, his friend replied that he had
better sell it to the Frenchman "for the sake of the _éclat_ it may
give you. The stupid English public, which has no judgment of its own,
will begin to think there is something in it if the French make your
works national property. You have long lain under a mistake; men do
not purchase pictures because they admire them, but because others
covet them."

Finally, the "Hay Wain" was sold to the French dealer for £250, and
Constable threw in a picture of Yarmouth for good measure. Later a
friend declared that he had created a good deal of argument about
landscape painting, and that there had come to be two divisions, for
he had practically founded a new school. He received a gold medal for
the "Hay Wain," and the French nation tried to buy it. In the Louvre
are "The Cottage," "Weymouth Bay," and "The Glebe Farm." Elsewhere are
"Hampstead Heath," "Salisbury Cathedral," "The Lock on the Stour,"
"Dedham Mill," "The Valley Farm," "Gillingham Mill," "The Cornfield,"
"Boat-Building," "Flatford Mill on the River Stour," besides many
others.




IX

JOHN SINGLETON COPLEY


  _English School_
  1737-1815

A little boy with a squirrel was the first picture that pointed this
artist toward fame and that was painted in England and exhibited at
the Society of Arts.

This American-born Irishman had no family or ancestry of account, but
he himself was to become the father of Lord Chancellor Lyndhurst, and
he did some truly fine things in art.

About the same time America had another painter, Benjamin West, marked
out for fame, but he got his start in Europe while Copley had already
become a successful artist before he left Boston, his native place.

He liked best to paint "interiors"--rooms with fine furniture and
curtains, women in fine clothing and men in embroidered waistcoats and
bejewelled buckles.

In 1777 he got into the Royal Academy, and on the whole had
considerable influence on European art. If we study the portraits that
he painted while in Boston, we can get a very complete idea of the
surroundings of the "Royalists" at the time of our colonial history.

  PLATE--THE COPLEY FAMILY GROUP

In this picture there are seven figures with an open landscape forming
the background. The baby of the family plays, with uplifted arms, upon
grandfather's knee. The mother on the couch, surrounded by her three
other children, is kissing one while another clings to her. Before her
stands a prim little maid, gowned in the fashion of grown-folks of her
day. A little lock of hair falling upon her forehead suggests that
when she was good she was very, very good, and when she was bad she
was horrid! She wears a little cap. At the back is the artist himself
in a wig and other fashions of the time. A great column rises behind
him, forming a part of the architecture or the landscape, one hardly
knows which in so artificially constructed a picture.

Copley painted also John Hancock, Judge Graham, Jeremiah Lee, and
General Joseph Warren.




X

JEAN BAPTISTE CAMILLE COROT


  (Pronounced Zhahn Bah-teest' Cah-mee'yel Coh'roh)
  _Fontainebleau-Barbizon School_
  1796-1875
  _Pupil of Michallon_

About three hundred years before Corot's time there was a
Fontainebleau school of artists, made up of the pathetic Andrea del
Sarto, the wonderful Leonardo da Vinci, and Cellini. These painters
had been summoned from their Italian homes by Francis I., to decorate
the Palace of Fontainebleau. The second great group of painters who
had studios in the forest and beside the stream were Rousseau, Dupré,
Diaz, and Daubigny; Troyon, Van Marcke, Jacque; then Millet, the
painter of peasants.

Corot was born in Paris and received what education the ordinary
school at Rouen could give him. He was intended by his parents for
something besides art, as it would seem that every artist in the world
was intended. Corot was to grow up and become a respectable draper; at
any rate a draper.

The young chap did as his father wished, until he was twenty-six years
old, and dreary years those must have been to him. He did not get on
well with his master, nor did the world treat him very well. He found
neither riches nor the fame that was his due till he was an old man of
seventy. At that age he had become as rich a man as he might have been
had he remained a sensible draper.

Best of all, Corot loved to paint clouds and dewy nights, pale moons
and early day, and of all amusements in the world, he preferred the
theatre. There he would sit; gay or sad as the play might make him,
weeping or laughing and as interested as a little child.

After he had anything to give away, Corot was the most madly generous
of men. It was he who gave a pension to the widow of his brother
artist, Millet, on which she lived all the rest of her days. He gave
money to his brother painters and to all who went to him for aid; and
he always gave gaily, freely, as if giving were the greatest joy,
outside of the theatre, a man could have. Everyone who knew him loved
him, and there was no note of sadness in his daily life, though there
seems to be one in his poetical pictures. Because of his generous ways
he was known as "Pere Corot." He sang as he worked, and loved his
fellowmen all the time; but most of all, he loved his sister.

"Rousseau is an eagle," he used to say in speaking of his fellow
artist. "As for me, I am only a lark, putting forth some little songs
in my gray clouds."

It has been noted that most great landscape painters have been
city-bred, a remarkable fact. Constable and Gainsborough were born and
bred in the country, but they are exceptions to the rule. Corot's
parents were Parisians of the purest dye, having been court-dressmakers
to Napoleon I.; and when Corot finally determined to leave the
draper's shop and become a painter, his father said: "You shall
have a yearly allowance of 1,200 francs, and if you can live on that,
you can do as you please." When his son was made a member of the
Legion of Honour, after twenty-three years of earnest work, his father
thought the matter over, and presently doubled the allowance, "for
Camille seems to have some talent after all," he remarked as an excuse
for his generosity.

It is told that when he first went to study in Italy, Corot longed to
transfer the moving scenes before him to canvas; but people moved too
quickly for him, so he methodically set about learning how to do with
a few strokes what he would otherwise have laboured over. So he
reduced his sketching to such a science that he became able to sketch
a ballet in full movement; and it is remarked that this practice
trained him for presenting the tremulousness of leaves of trees, which
he did so exquisitely.

One learns something of this painter of early dawn and soft evening
from a letter he wrote to his friend Dupré:

One gets up at three in the morning, before the sun; one goes and sits
at the foot of a tree; one watches and waits. One sees nothing much at
first. Nature resembles a whitish canvas on which are sketched
scarcely the profiles of some masses; everything is perfumed, and
shines in the fresh breath of dawn. Bing! the sun grows bright but has
not yet torn aside the veil behind which lie concealed the meadows,
the dale, and hills of the horizon. The vapours of night still creep,
like silvery flakes over the numbed-green vegetation. Bing! bing!--a
first ray of sunlight--a second ray of sunlight--the little flowers
seem to wake up joyously. They all have their drop of dew which
trembles--the chilly leaves are stirred with the breath of morning--in
the foliage the birds sing unseen--all the flowers seem to be saying
their prayers. Loves on butterfly wings frolic over the meadows and
make the tall plants wave--one sees nothing--yet everything is
there--the landscape is entirely behind the veil of mist, which
mounts, mounts, sucked up by the sun; and as it rises, reveals the
river, plated with silver, the meadow, the trees, cottages, the
receding distance--one distinguishes at last everything that one had
divined at first.

In all the world there can hardly be a more exquisite story of
daybreak than this; and so beautiful was the mood into which Corot
fell at eventime, as he himself describes it, that it would be a
mistake to leave it out. This is his story of the night:

Nature drowses--the fresh air, however, sighs among the leaves--the
dew decks the velvety grass with pearls. The nymphs fly--hide
themselves--and desire to be seen. Bing! a star in the sky which
pricks its image on the pool. Charming star--whose brilliance is
increased by the quivering of the water, thou watchest me--thou
smilest to me with half-closed eye! Bing!--a second star appears in
the water, a second eye opens. Be the harbingers of welcome, fresh and
charming stars. Bing! Bing! Bing!--three, six, twenty stars. All the
stars in the sky are keeping tryst in this happy pool. Everything
darkens, the pool alone sparkles. There is a swarm of stars--all
yields to illusion. The sun being gone to bed, the inner sun of the
soul, the sun of art awakens. Bon! there is my picture done!

In writing those letters, Corot made literature as well as
pictures. That little word "bing!" appears also in his paintings, as
little leaves or bits of tree-trunk, some small detail which,
high-lightened, accents the whole.

  PLATE--DANCE OF THE NYMPHS

There could hardly be a more charming painting than this which hangs
in the Louvre. It is of a half-shut-in landscape of tall trees, their
branches mingling; and all the atmospheric effects that belong to
Corot's work can here be seen.

On the open greensward is a group of nymphs dancing gaily, while over
all the scene is the veil of fairy-land or of something quite
mysterious. At the back and side, satyrs can be seen watching the
nymphs. There is here less of the blur of leaves than that seen in
later pictures, but the same soft effect is found, and the little
"bings" are the accents of light placed upon a leaf, a nymph's
shoulder, or a tree-trunk.

This picture was painted in 1851, when Corot had not yet developed
that style which was to mark all his later work.

Besides this picture he painted "Paysage," "The Bathers" "Ville
d'Arvay," "Willows near Arras," "The Bent Tree," "A Gust of Wind," and
others.




XI

CORREGGIO (ANTONIO ALLEGRI)


  (Pronounced Cor-rage'jyo Ahl-lay'gree)
  _School of Parma_
  1494(?)-1534
  _Pupil of Mantegna_

When Correggio was a little boy, he lived in the odour of spices,
which were kept upon his father's shop-shelves. He was a highly-spiced
little boy and man, although the most timid and shrinking. His
imagination was the liveliest possible.

The spice merchant lived in the town of Correggio, and thus the artist
got his name. Correggio knew what should be inside the lovely flesh of
his painted figures before he began to paint them, because he studied
anatomy in a truly scientific manner before he studied painting.
Probably no other artist up to that time, had ever begun with the bare
bones of his models, but Correggio may be said to have worked from the
inside out. He learned about the structure of the human frame from
Dr. Giovanni Battista Lombardi, and showed his gratitude to his
teacher by painting a picture "Il Medico del Correggio" (Correggio's
Physician), and presenting it to Doctor Lombardi.

Now Correggio's childhood, or at least his early manhood, could not
have been spent in poverty, because it is known that he used the most
expensive colours to paint with, painted upon the finest of canvas,
while greater artists had often to be content with boards. He also
painted upon copper plates, and it is said that he hired Begarelli, a
sculptor of much fame, to make models in relief for him to copy for
the pictures he painted on the cupolas of the churches in Parma. That
sculptor's services must have been expensive.

On the lovely island of Capri, in the Franciscan convent, will be
found one of his first pictures, painted when Correggio was about
nineteen years old.

He was highly original in many ways. Although he had never seen the
work of any great artist, he painted the most extraordinary
fore-shortened pictures; and fore-shortening was a technicality in art
then uncommon. He also was the first to paint church cupolas.
Fore-shortening produces some peculiar as well as great results, and
being a feature of art with which people were not then familiar,
Correggio's work did not go uncriticised. Indeed one artist, gazing up
into one of the cupolas where Correggio's fore-shortened figures were
placed, remarked that to him it appeared a "hash of frogs."

But when Titian saw that cupola, he said: "Reverse the cupola, fill it
with gold, and even then that will not be its money's worth."

Correggio did not receive very large sums for his work, and since he
was married and took good care of his family, he must have had some
source of income besides his brush. He received some interesting
rewards for his paintings. For example, for "St. Jerome," called "Il
Giorno," he was given "400 gold imperials, some cartloads of faggots
and measures of wheat, and a fat pig." That picture is in the Parma
Gallery, and all the cupolas which he painted are in Parma churches.

Some of his pictures are signed; "Leito," a synonym for his name,
"Allegri." This indicates his style of art.

There is an interesting story told of how Correggio stood entranced
before a picture of Raphael's, and after long study of it he
exclaimed: "I too, am a painter!" showing at once his appreciation of
Raphael's greatness and satisfaction at his own genius.

Doubtless a good share of Correggio's comfortable living came from the
lady he married, since she was considered a rich woman for those times
and in that locality. Her name was Girolama Merlini, and she lived in
Mantua, the place where the Montagues and Capulets lived of whom
Shakespeare wrote the most wonderful love story ever imagined. This
young woman was only sixteen years old when Correggio met and loved
her, and very beautiful and later on he painted a picture,
"Zingarella," for which his wife is said to have been the model. It
seems to have been a stroke of economy and enterprise for painters to
marry, since we read of so many who made fame and fortune through the
beauty of their wives.

They were very happy together, Correggio and his wife, and they had
four children. Their happiness was not for long, because Correggio
seems to have been but thirty-four years old when she died, nor did he
live to be old. There is a most curious tale of his death which is
probably not true, but it is worth telling since many have believed
it. He is supposed to have died in Correggio, of pleurisy, but the
story is that he had made a picture for one who had some grudge
against him, and who in order to irritate him paid him in copper,
fifty scudi. This was a considerable burden, and in order to save
expense and time, it is said that Correggio undertook to carry it home
alone. It was a very hot day, and he became so overheated and
exhausted with his heavy load that he took ill and died, and he may be
said literally to have been killed by "too much money," if this were
true. Vasari, a biographer to be generally believed, says it is a
fact.

Correggio said that he always had his "thoughts at the end of his
pencil," and there are those who impudently declare that is the only
place he _did_ have them, but that is a carping criticism, because he
was a very great artist, his greatest power being the presentation of
soft blendings of light and shade. There seem to have been few unusual
events in Correggio's life; very little that helps us to judge the
man, but there is a general opinion that he was a kind and devoted
father and husband, as well as a good citizen. With little demand upon
his moral character, he did his work, did it well, and his work alone
gave him place and fame.

He became the head of a school of painting and had many imitators, but
we hear little of his pupils, except that one of them was his own son,
Pompino, who lived to be very old, and in his turn was successful as
an artist.

Correggio was buried with honours in the Arrivabene Chapel, in the
Franciscan church at Correggio.

  PLATE--THE HOLY NIGHT

This painting is not characteristic of Correggio's work, but
nevertheless it is very beautiful. The brilliant warm light which
comes from the Infant Jesus in His mother's arms is reflected upon the
faces of those gathered about, and even illuminates the angelic group
hovering above him. The slight landscape forming the background is
also suggestive, and the conditions of the birth are indicated by the
ass which may be seen in the middle distance. The faces of all are
joyous yet full of wonderment, the whole scene intimate and human.

The picture is also called the "Adoration of the Shepherds," and that
title best tells the story. See the shepherdess shading her face with
one hand and offering two turtle-doves with the other. The ass in the
distance is the one on which Mary rode to Bethlehem, and Joseph is
caring for it. Even the cold light of the dawning day is softened by
the beauty of the group below. This picture is in the Royal Gallery in
Dresden.

  PLATE--THE MYSTIC MARRIAGE OF ST. CATHERINE

The Infant Jesus sits upon His mother's lap, and places the ring upon
St. Catherine's finger, while Mary's hand helps to guide that of her
Child. This action brings the three hands close together and adds to
the beauty of the composition. All of the faces are full of pleasure
and kindliness, while that of St. Sebastian fairly glows with happy
emotion. The light is concentrated upon the body of the Child and is
reflected upon the faces of the women. This painting hangs in the
Louvre.

Other great Correggio pictures are the "School of Cupid," which is
more characteristic of his work; "Antiope," "Leda," "Danae," and "Ecce
Homo."




XII

PAUL GUSTAVE DORE


  _French School_
  1833-1883

This artist died in Paris twenty-five years ago, but there is little
as yet to be told of his life history. He was educated in Paris at the
Lycée Charlemagne, having gone there from Strasburg, where he was
born.

He was a painter of fantastic and grotesque subjects, and as far as we
know, he began his career when a boy. He made sketches before his
eighth year which attracted much attention, and he earned considerable
money while still at school. He was at that time engaged to illustrate
for journals, at a good round sum, and before he left the Lycée he had
made hundreds of drawings, somewhat after the satirical fashion of
Hogarth.

His work is very characteristic and once seen is likely to be always
recognised.

He first worked for the _Journal Pour Rire_, but then he undertook to
illustrate the work of Rabelais, the great satirist, whose text just
suited Doré's pencil. After Rabelais he illustrated Balzac, also the
"Wandering Jew," "Don Quixote," and Dante's "Divine Comedy."

He undertook to do things which he could not do well, simply for the
money there was in the commissions. He had but a poor idea of colour
and his work was coarse, but it had such marked peculiarities that it
became famous. He did a little sculpture as well, and even that showed
his eccentricities of thought.

  PLATE--MOSES BREAKING THE TABLETS OF THE LAW

This is one of the illustrations of the Doré Bible, published in
1865-66. The story is well known of how Moses went up into the Mount
of the Lord to receive the laws for the Israelites, which were written
upon tables of stone. Upon his descent from the Mount he found that
his followers had set up a golden calf, which they were worshipping;
and in his wrath Moses broke the tablets on which the Law was
inscribed. The power shown in his attitude, the affrighted faces of
the cowering Jews, the thunder and lightning as an expression of the
wrath of the Almighty are all painted in Doré's best manner.




XIII

ALBRECHT DÜRER


  (Pronounced Dooer-rer')
  _Nuremberg School_
  1471-1528
  _Pupil of Wolgemuth and Schongauer_

Albrecht Dürer by nationality was a Hungarian, but he was born in the
city of Nuremberg. His father had come from the little Hungarian town
of Eytas to Nuremberg that he might practise the craft of a
goldsmith. Notwithstanding his Hungarian origin, the name is German
and the family "bearing," or sign, is the open door. This device
suggests that the name was first formed from "Thurer," which means
"carpenter," maker of doors.

The father became the goldworker for a master goldsmith of Nuremberg
named Hieronymus Holper, and very soon the new employee had fallen in
love with his master's daughter. The daughter was very young and very
beautiful; her name was Barbara, and as Herr Dürer was quite forty
years of age, while she was but fifteen, the match seemed most
unlikely, but they married and had eighteen children! The great
painter was one of them.

Albrecht loved his parents most tenderly, and from first to last we
hear no word of disagreement among any members of that immense
household. Young Albrecht was especially the companion of his father,
being brilliant, generous, and hard-working in a family where everyone
needed to do his best to help along. This love and companionship never
ceased until death, and after his parents died Albrecht wrote in a
touching manner of their death, describing his love for them, and
their many virtues. He was an author and a poet as well as a painter,
and only Leonardo da Vinci matched him for greatness and
versatility. We may know what Dürer's father looked like, since the
son made two portraits of him; one is to be seen in the Uffizi Gallery
at Florence and the other belongs to the Duke of Northumberland's
collection. The latter portrait has been reproduced in an engraving,
so that it is familiar to most people.

In the days when the great artist was growing up, Nuremberg was the
centre of all intellectuality and art in the North. The city of
Augsburg also followed art fashions, but it was far less important
than Nuremberg, because in the latter city every sort of art-craft was
followed in sincerity and with great originality.

In those days, the craft of the goldsmith was closely allied with the
profession of the painter, because the smith had to create his own
designs, and that called for much talent. Thus it was but a step from
designing in precious metals to the use of colour, and to
engraving. In making wood engravings, however, the drudgery of it was
left almost entirely to workmen, not artists. Nuremberg was also the
seat of musical learning. Wagner makes this fact pathetic, comical,
and altogether charming in his "Mastersingers of Nuremberg."

Till Dürer's time, however, there had been little painting that could
be regarded as art, and when he came to study it there was but little
opportunity in his own land, but Dürer was destined to bring art to
Nuremberg. If he went elsewhere to study, it was only for a little
time, because he was above all things patriotic and dearly loved his
home.

With seventeen brothers and sisters, young Dürer's problem was a
serious one. His father not only meant him to become a goldsmith like
himself--a craft in which there was much money to be made at a time
when people dressed with great ornamentation and used gold to decorate
with--it was highly necessary with so large a family that he should
learn to do that which could make him helpful to his father. Hence the
young boy entered his father's shop. If he had not been handicapped
with so many to help to maintain, he would have laid up a considerable
fortune, because from the very beginning he was master of all that he
undertook; doing the least thing better than any other did it, putting
conscience and painstaking into all.

"My father took special delight in me," the son said, "seeing that I
was industrious in working and learning, he put me to school; and when
I had learned to read and write, he took me home from my school and
taught me the goldsmith's trade."

The family were good and kind; excellent neighbours, deeply religious,
and little Albrecht certainly was comely. He was beautiful as a little
child, and as a man was very handsome, with long light hair sweeping
his shoulders, and gentle eyes. He was very tall, stately, and full of
dignity.

In his father's shop he made little clay figures which were afterward
moulded in metal; also he learned to carve wood and ivory, and he
added the touch of originality to all that he did. He was the Leonardo
da Vinci of Germany, an intellectual man, a poet, painter, sculptor,
engraver, and engineer. He approached everything that he did from an
intellectual point of view, looking for the reasons of things.

After a while in his father's shop, he found mere craftsmanship
irksome, and he begged to be allowed to enter a studio. This was a
great disappointment to the father, even a distress, because he could
see no very quick nor large returns in money for an artist, and he
sorely needed the help of his son; but being kind and reasonable, he
consented Albrecht was apprenticed to the only artist of any repute
then in Nuremberg, Wolgemuth.

To his studio Albrecht went, at the age of fifteen, and if he did not
learn much more of painting, under that artist's direction, than his
own genius had already taught him, he learned the drudgery of his
work; how to grind colours and to mix them, and he studied wood
engraving also.

In Wolgemuth's studio he remained for the three years of his
apprenticeship, and then he fled to better things. For a time he
followed the methods of another German artist, Schongauer, but finally
he went forth to try his luck alone. He wandered from place to place,
practising all his trades, goldsmithing, engraving, whatever would
support him, yet always and everywhere painting.

It is thought that he may have gone as far as Italy, but it is not
certain whether he went there in his first wanderings or later
on. However, he was soon recalled home, for his father had found a
suitable wife for him. She was the daughter of a rich citizen and her
name was Agnes Frey. She was pretty as well as rich, but had she been
neither Albrecht would have returned at his father's bidding. There
was never any resistance to the fine and proper things of life on
Albrecht Dürer's part. He was the well balanced, reasonable man from
youth up.

There have been extraordinary tales told of the artist's wife. She has
been called hateful and spiteful as Xantippe, the wife of Socrates,
but we think this is calumny. The stories came about in this way:
Dürer had a life-long friend, Wilibald Pirkheimer, who in his old age
became the most malicious and quarrelsome of old fellows. He lived
longer than Dürer did, and Dürer's wife also outlived her
husband. Pirkheimer wanted a set of antlers which had belonged to
Dürer and which he thought the wife should give him after Dürer was
dead, but Agnes thought otherwise and would not give them up. Then,
full of rage, the old man wrote the most outrageous letters about poor
Agnes, saying that she was a shrew and had compelled Dürer to work
himself to death; that she was a miser and had led the artist an awful
dance through life. This is the only evidence against her, and that so
sane and sensible a man as the artist lived with her all his life and
cherished her, is evidence enough that Pirkheimer didn't tell the
truth. When Dürer died he was in good circumstances and instead of
being overworked, he for many years had done no "pot-boiling," but had
followed investigations along lines that pleased him. After his death,
the widow treated his brothers and sisters generously, giving them
properties of Dürer's and being of much help to them. During the
artist's life he and she had travelled everywhere together and had
appeared to love each other tenderly; hence we may conclude that the
old Pirkheimer was simply a disgruntled, gouty old man without a good
word for anybody.

If Dürer's father and mother had eighteen children, Albrecht and Agnes
struck a balance, for they had none. Whether or not Dürer went to
Italy before his marriage in 1494, certain it is that he was in
Venice, the home of Titian, in 1506. Titian was six years younger than
Dürer, who was then about thirty-five years old. It is said that he
started for Italy in 1505 and that he went the whole of the way, over
the Alps, through forests and streams, on horseback. Who knows but it
was during that very journey, while travelling alone, often finding
himself in lonely ways, and full of the speculative thoughts that were
characteristic of him, that he did not think first of his subject,
"Knight, Death, and the Devil," which helped make his fame. In that
picture we have a knight, helmeted, carrying his lance, mounted upon
his horse, riding in a lonely forest, with death upon a "pale horse"
by his side, holding an hour glass to remind the knight of the
fleeting of time. Behind comes the devil, with trident and horn,
represented as a frightful and disgusting beast, which follows
hot-foot after the lonely knight, who looks neither to right nor left,
but persistently goes his way.

Titian's teacher, Bellini, was still living, and he was one of Dürer's
greatest admirers. Especially did he believe that he could paint the
finest hair of any artist in the world. One day, while studying
Dürer's work, and being especially fascinated by the hair of one of
his figures, the old man took Dürer's brush and tried to reproduce as
beautiful a tress. Presently he put down the brush in despair, but the
younger artist took it up, still wet with the same colours, and in a
few brilliant strokes produced a lovely lock of woman's hair.

While luxuriating in Venetian heat, Dürer wrote home to his friend
Pirkheimer: "Oh, how I shall freeze after this sunshine!" He was a
lover of warm, beautiful colour, gay and tender life. Most of all he
loved the fatherland, and all the honours paid him and all the
invitations pressed upon him could not keep him long from
Nuremberg. The journey homeward was not uneventful because he was
taken ill, and had to stop at a house on his way, where he was cared
for till he was strong enough to proceed. Before he went his way he
painted upon the wall of that house a fine picture, to show his
gratitude for the kind treatment he had received. Imagine a people so
settled in their homes that it would be worth while for an artist who
came along to leave a picture upon the walls to-day--we should have
moved to a new house or a new flat almost before Dürer could have
washed his brushes and turned the corner.

Back in Nuremberg, he settled down into the life of a responsible
citizen, lived in a fine new house, in time became a member of the
council, and his studio was a veritable workshop. Studios were quite
different from those of to-day. Then the pupils turned to and ground
colours, did much of their own manufacturing, engaged at first in such
commonplace occupations, which were nevertheless teaching them the
foundation of their art, while they watched the work of the
master. Such a studio as Dürer's must have been full of young men
coming and going, not all working at the art of painting, but
engraving, preparing materials for such work, designing, and executing
many other details of art work.

After this time Dürer made his smallest picture, which is hardly more
than an inch in diameter. On that tiny surface he painted the whole
story of the crucifixion, and it is now in the Dresden Gallery. To
those of us who see little mentality in the faces of the Italian
subjects, the German art of Dürer, often ugly in the choice of models,
and so exact as to bring out unpleasing details, is nevertheless the
greater; because in all cases, the faces have sincere expressions. They
exhibit human purposes and emotions which we can understand, and
despise or love as the case may be.

They say that his Madonna is generally a "much-dressed round-faced
German mother, holding a merry little German boy." That may be true;
but at any rate, she is every inch a mother and he a well-beloved
little boy, which is considerably more than can be said of some
Italian performances.

Dürer made a painting of "Praying Hands," a queer subject for a
picture, but those hands are nothing _but_ praying hands. The story of
them is touching. It is said that for several years Dürer had won a
prize for which a friend of his had also competed, and upon losing the
prize the last time he tried for it, the friend raised his hands and
prayed for the power to accept his failure with resignation and
humility. Dürer, looking at him, was impressed with the eloquence of
the gesture; thus the "Praying Hands" was conceived.

Dürer was also called the _Father of Picture Books_, because he
designed so many woodcuts that he first made possible the illustration
of stories.

He printed his own illustrations in his own house, and was well paid
for it. The Emperor Maximillian visited Nuremberg, and wishing to
honour Dürer, commanded him to make a triumphal arch.

"It was not to be fashioned in stone like the arches given to the
victorious Roman Emperors; but instead it was to be composed of
engravings. Dürer made for this purpose ninety-two separate blocks of
woodcuts. On these were represented Maximillian's genealogical tree
and the principal events of his life. All these were arranged in the
form of an arch, 9 feet wide and 10-1/2 feet high. It took Dürer three
years to do this work, and he was never well paid," so says one who
has compiled many incidents of his life.

"While the artist worked, the Emperor often visited his studio; and as
Dürer's pet cats often visited it at the same time, the expression
arose, 'a cat may look at a King!'"

On the occasion of one of these kingly visits, Maximillian tried to do
a little art-work on his own account. Taking a piece of charcoal he
tried to sketch, but the charcoal kept breaking and he asked Dürer why
it did so.

"That is my sceptre; your Majesty has other and greater work to do,"
was the tactful reply. It is a question with us to-day whether the
King ever did a greater work than Albrecht Dürer, king of painters,
was doing.

After this, Maximillian gave Dürer a pension, but when the Emperor
died the artist found it necessary to apply to the monarch who came
after him, in order to have the gift confirmed. This was the occasion
for his journey to the Low Countries, and he took his wife Agnes with
him. In the Netherlands he was received with much honour and was
invited to become court painter; and what was more, his pension was
fixed upon him for life. The great work of his life was his
illustration of the Apocalypse. For this he made sixteen extraordinary
woodcuts, of great size.

On his journey to see Charles V., Maximillian's successor, Dürer kept
a diary in which he noted the minutest details of all that happened to
him. He told of the coronation of Charles; of hearing about a whale
that had been cast upon the shore; of his disappointment that it had
been removed before he had reached the place. He wrote with great
indignation about the supposed kidnapping of Martin Luther, while he
was on his way home from the Diet of Worms.

While Dürer was in the Low Countries, a fever came upon him, and when
he returned home, it still followed him. Indeed, although he lived for
seven years after his return, he was never well again. Among his
effects there was a sketch made to indicate to his physician the seat
of his illness.

Dürer did not paint great frescoes upon walls as did Raphael, Michael
Angelo, and all great Italian artists; but instead he painted on wood,
canvas, and in oils.

In all the civilised world Dürer was honoured equally with the great
Italian painters of his time. He was a man of much conscientiousness,
dignity, and tenderness. He was devoted to his home and country, and
regarded the problems of life intellectually. When he came to die, his
end was so unexpected that those dearest to him could not reach his
bedside. He was buried in St. John's cemetery in Nuremberg. After his
death, Martin Luther wrote as follows to their mutual friend, Eoban
Hesse:

"As for Dürer; assuredly affection bids us mourn for one who was the
best of men, yet you may well hold him happy that he has made so good
an end, and that Christ has taken him from the midst of this time of
troubles, and from yet greater troubles in store, lest he, that
deserved to behold nothing but the best, should be compelled to behold
the worst. Therefore may he rest in peace with his fathers, Amen."

  PLATE--THE NATIVITY

Our description of this painting calls attention to the fact that the
columns and arches of the picturesque ruin belong to a much later
period in history than the birth of Christ. Dürer was not acquainted
with any earlier style of architecture than the Romanesque and
therefore he used it here. "The ruin serves as a stable. A roof of
board is built out in front of the side-room which shelters the ox and
ass, and under this lean-to lies the new born babe surrounded by
angels who express their childish joy. Mary kneels and contemplates
her child with glad emotion. Joseph, also deeply moved, kneels down on
the other side of the child, outside the shelter of the roof. Some
shepherds to whom the angel, who is still seen hovering in the air,
has announced the tidings, are already entering from without the
walls." (Knackfuss). The picture is the central panel of an
altar-piece now in the Old Pinakothek at Munich. Dürer's oil painting
of the four apostles--John, Peter, Mark, and Paul--is in the same
gallery. Other Dürer pictures are: "The Knight, Death and the Devil,"
"The Adoration of the Magi," "Melancholy," and portraits of himself.




XIV

MARIANO FORTUNY


  (Pronounced Mah-ree-ah-no' For-tu'ne)
  _Spanish School_
  1838-1874
  _Pupil of Claudio Lorenzalez_

Fortuny won his own opportunities. He took a prize, while still very
young, which made it possible for him to go to Rome where he wished to
study art. He did not spend his time studying and copying the old
masters as did most artists who went there, but, instead, he studied
the life of the Roman streets.

He had already been at the Academy of Barcelona, but he did not follow
his first master; instead, he struck out a line of art for
himself. After a year in Rome the artist went to war; but he did not
go to fight men, he was still fighting fate, and his weapon was his
sketch book. He went with General Prim, and he filled his book with
warlike scenes and the brilliant skies of Morocco. From that time his
work was inspired by his Moorish experiences.

After going to war without becoming a soldier, Fortuny returned to
Paris and there he became fast friends with Meissonier, so that a good
deal of his work was influenced by that artist's genius. After a time
Fortuny's paintings came into great vogue and far-off Americans began
buying them, as well as Europeans. There was a certain rich dry-goods
merchant in the United States who had made a large fortune for those
days, and while he knew nothing about art, he wanted to spend his
money for fine things. So he employed people who did understand the
matter to buy for him many pictures whose excellence he, himself,
could not understand, but which were to become a fine possession for
succeeding generations. This was about 1860, and this man,
A.T. Stewart, bought two of Fortuny's pictures at high prices. "The
Serpent Charmer," and "A Fantasy of Morocco."

When Fortuny was thirty years old he married the daughter of a
Spaniard called Madrazo, director of the Royal Museum. His wife's
family had several well known artists in it, and the marriage was a
very happy one. Because of this, Fortuny was inspired to paint one of
the greatest of his pictures, "The Spanish Marriage." In it are to be
seen the portraits of his wife and his friend Regnault. After a time
he went to live in Granada; but he could never forget the beautiful,
barbaric scenes in Morocco, and so he returned there. Afterward he
went with his wife to live in Rome, and there they had a fine home and
everything exquisite about them, while fortune and favour showered
upon them; but he fell ill with Roman fever, because of working in the
open air, and he died while he was comparatively a young man.

  PLATE--THE SPANISH MARRIAGE

Fortuny is said to "split the light into a thousand particles, till
his pictures sparkle like jewels and are as brilliant as a
kaleidoscope.... He set the fashion for a class of pictures, filled
with silks and satins, bric-à-brac and elegant trifling."

Look at the brilliant scene in this picture! The priest rising from
his chair and leaning over the table is watching the bridegroom sign
his name. This chap is an old fop, bedecked in lilac satin, while the
bride is a dainty young woman, without much interest in her husband,
for she is fingering her beautiful fan and gossiping with one of her
girl friends. She wears orange-blossoms in her black hair and is in
full bridal array. One couple, two men, sit on an elegantly carved
seat and are looking at the goings-on with amusement, while an old
gentleman sits quite apart, disgusted with the whole unimpressive
scene. Everybody is trifling, and no one is serious for the
occasion. The furnishings of the room are beautiful, delicate, almost
frivolous. People are strewn about like flowers, and the whole effect
is airy and inconsequent. Fortuny painted also "The Praying Arab," "A
Fantasy of Morocco," "Snake Charmers," "Camels at Rest," etc.




XV

THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH


  _English School_
  1727-1788
  _Pupil of Gravelot and of Hayman_

There seems to have been no artist, with the extraordinary exceptions
of Dürer and Leonardo, who learned his lessons while at school. Little
painters have uniformly begun as bad spellers.

Gainsborough's father was in the business of woolen-crape making,
while his mother painted flowers, very nicely, and it was she who
taught the small Thomas. There were nine little Gainsboroughs and,
shocking to relate, the artist of the family was so ready with his
pencil that when he was ten years old he forged his father's name to a
note which he took to the schoolmaster, and thereby gained himself a
holiday. There is no account of any other wicked use to which he put
his talent. It is said that he could copy any writing that he saw, and
his ready pencil covered all his copy-books with sketches of his
schoolmasters. It was thought better for him finally to follow his own
ideas of education, namely, to roam the woodlands and make beautiful
pictures.

His father's heart was not softened till one day little Gainsborough
brought home a sketch of the orchard into which the head of a man had
thrust itself, painted with great ability. This man was a poacher, and
father Gainsborough recognised him by the portrait. There seemed to be
utility in art of this kind, and before long the boy found himself
apprenticed to a silversmith.

Through the silversmith the artist got admission to an art school and
began his studies; but his master was a dissolute fellow, and before
long the pupil left him.

Gainsborough was born in the town of Sudbury on the River Stour, the
same which inspired another great painter half a century
later. Gainsborough is best known by his portraits, in particular as
the inventor of "the Gainsborough hat," but he was first of all a
truly great landscape painter, and learned his art as Constable did
after him, along the beautiful shores of the river that flowed past
his native town.

The old Black Horse Inn is still to be seen, and it was in the orchard
behind it that he studied nature, the same in which he made the first
of his famous portraits, that of the poacher. It is known to this day
as the portrait of "Tom Pear-tree." That picture was copied on a piece
of wood cut into the shape of a man, and it is in the possession of
Mr. Jackson, who lent it for the exhibition of Gainsborough's work
held at the Grosvenor Gallery, in 1885.

While Thomas was with his first master, by no means a good companion
for a lad of fifteen, he lived a busy, self-respecting life, since he
was devoted to his home and to his parents. Only three years after he
set out to learn his art he married a young lady of Sudbury. The pair
were by no means rich, Gainsborough having only eighteen years of
experience in this world, besides his brush, and a maker of
woolen-crape shrouds for a father--who was not over pleased to have an
artist for a son. The lady had two hundred pounds but this did not
promise a very luxurious living, so they took a house for six pounds a
year, at Ipswich. Thus the two young lovers began their life
together. There was a good deal of romance in the story of his wife,
whose name was supposed to be Margaret Burr. The two hundred pounds
that helped to pay the Ipswich rent did not come from the man accepted
as her father, but from her real father, who was either the Duke of
Bedford, or an exiled prince. This would seem to be just the sort of
story that should surround a great painter and his affairs.

While he lived at Ipswich Gainsborough used to say of himself that he
was "chiefly in the face-way" meaning that for the most part he made
portraits. He loved best to paint the scenes of his boyhood, as
Constable afterward did, but he soon found there was more money in
portraits, and so he decided to go to live in Bath, the fashionable
resort of English people in that day, where he was likely to find rich
folk who wanted to see themselves on canvas. He settled down there
with his wife, whom he loved dearly, and his two daughters and at once
began to make money. It is said he painted five hours a day and all
the rest of the time studied music. As the theatre was Corot's
greatest happiness, so did music most delight Gainsborough, and he
could play well on nearly every known instrument; he became so
excellent a musician that he even gave concerts. He had the most
delightful people about him, people who loved art and who appreciated
him, and then there were the other people who paid for having
themselves painted. Altogether it was an ideal situation.

His studio was in the place known as the "Circus" at Bath, and people
came and went all day, for it became the fashionable resort for all
the fine folks.

From five guineas for half length portraits, he soon raised his price
to forty; he had charged eight for full length portraits, but now they
went for one hundred. He painted some famous men of the time. The very
thought is inspiring of such a company of geniuses with Gainsborough
in the centre of the group. He painted Laurence Sterne, who wrote "The
Sentimental Journey," and a few other delightful things; also Garrick,
the renowned actor.

Even the encyclopædia reads thrillingly upon this subject and one can
afford to quote it, with the feeling that the quotation will be read:
"His house harboured Italian, German, French and English musicians. He
haunted the green room of Palmer's Theatre, and painted gratuitously
the portraits of many of the actors. He gave away his sketches and
landscapes to any one who had taste or assurance enough to ask for
them." This sounds royal and exciting.

After that Gainsborough went up to London with plenty of money and
plenty of confidence and instead of six pounds a year for his house,
he paid three hundred pounds, which suggests much more comfort.

There were two other great painters of the time in London, Sir
Benjamin West--an American, by the way--and Sir Joshua Reynolds. West
was court favourite, but Gainsborough too was called upon to paint
royalty, and share West's honours. Reynolds was the favourite of the
town, but he too had to divide honours with Gainsborough when the
latter painted Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Edmund Burke and Sir William
Blackstone.

Notwithstanding, his landscapes, for which he should have been most
famous, did not sell. Everybody approved of them, but it is said they
were returned to him till they "stood ranged in long lines from his
hall to his painting room" Gainsborough was a member of the Royal
Academy and also a true Bohemian. He cared little for elegant society,
but made his friends among men of genius of all sorts. He was very
handsome and impulsive, tall and fair, and generous in his ways; but
he had much sorrow on account of one of his daughters, Mary, who
married Fischer, a hautboy player, against her father's wishes. The
girl became demented--at least she had spells of madness.

When Mary Gainsborough married, her father wrote the following letter
to his sister, which shows that he was a man of tender feeling for
those whom he truly loved:

" ... I had not the least suspicion of the attachment being so long
and deeply seated; and as it was too late for me to alter anything
without being the cause of total unhappiness on both sides, my
consent ... I needs must give ... and accordingly they were married
last Monday and settled for the present in a ready-furnished little
house in Curzon Street, Mayfair ... I can't say I have any reason to
doubt the man's honesty or goodness of heart, as I never heard anyone
speak anything amiss of him, and as to his oddities and temper, she
must learn to like them as she likes his person ... Peggy has been
very unhappy about it, but I endeavour to comfort her." Peggy was his
wife.

The abominable Fischer died twenty-years before Mary did--she lived to
be an old, old woman.

Among those whom Gainsborough loved best was the man called Wiltshire
who carried his pictures to and from London. He was a public "carrier"
but would never take any money for his services to the artist, because
he loved his work. All he asked was "a little picture"--and he got so
many of these, given in purest affection, that he might have gone out
of business as a carrier, had he chosen to sell them. Four of those
little pictures are now very great ones worth thousands of pounds and
known everywhere to fame. They are "The Parish Clerk," "Portrait of
Quin," "A Landscape with Cattle," and "The Harvest Waggon."

We have a good many stories of Gainsborough's bad manners. The artists
of his day tried to treat him with every consideration, but in return
he treated them very badly, especially Sir Joshua Reynolds. Reynolds,
who was then President of the Academy greatly admired Gainsborough but
the latter would not return Sir Joshua's call, and when Reynolds asked
him to paint his portrait for him, Gainsborough undertook it
thanklessly. Sir Joshua left town for Bath for a time, and when he
returned he tried to learn how soon the portrait would be finished,
but Gainsborough would not even reply to his inquiry. There seems to
have been no reason for this behaviour unless it was jealousy, but it
made a most uncomfortable situation between fellow artists.

Gainsborough has told some not very pleasing stories about himself,
but one of them shows us what a knack he had for seeing the comic side
of things, and perhaps for seeing comedy where it never existed. Upon
one occasion he was invited to a friend's house where the family were
in the habit of assembling for prayers, and he had no sooner got
inside, than he began to fear he should laugh, when prayer time came,
at the chaplain. In a rush of shyness he fled, leaving his host to
look for him, till he stumbled over a servant who said that
Mr. Gainsborough had charged him to say he had gone to breakfast at
Salisbury. Even respect for the customs of others could not make him
control himself.

It was through his intimacy with King George's family that his quarrel
with the Royal Academy came about. He had painted the three
princesses--the Princess Royal, Princesses Augusta and Elizabeth, and
these were to be hung at a certain height in Carlton House, but when
he sent the first to the Academy he asked it to be specially hung and
his request was refused. Then he sent a note as follows:

"He begs pardon for giving them so much trouble, but he has painted
the picture of the princesses in so tender a light that,
notwithstanding he approves very much of the established line for
strong effects, he cannot possibly consent to have it placed higher
than eight feet and a half, because the likeness and the work of the
picture will not be seen any higher, therefore at a word he will not
trouble the gentlemen against their inclination, but will beg the best
of his pictures back again." Immediately, the Academy returned his
pictures, although it would seem that they might better have
accommodated Gainsborough than have lost such a fine exhibition. He
never again would send anything to them.

He was inclined to be irritated by inartistic points in his sitters,
and is said to have muttered when he was painting the portrait of
Mrs. Siddons, the great actress: "Damn your nose madam; there is no
end to it." The nose in question must have been an "eyesore" to more
than Gainsborough, for a famous critic is said to have declared that
"Mrs. Siddons, with all her beauty was a kind of female Johnson ...
her nose was not too long for nothing."

Notwithstanding that his landscapes were not popular, he used to go
off into the country to indulge his taste for painting them, and once
he wrote to a friend that he meant to mount "all the Lakes at the next
Exhibition in the great style, and you know, if people don't like
them, it's only jumping into one of the deepest of them from off a
wooded island and my reputation will be fixed forever." An old lady,
whose guest he was, down in the country, told how he was "gay, very
gay, and good looking, creating a great sensation, in a rich suit of
drab with laced ruffles and cocked hat."

One of the boys he saw in the country he delighted to paint, and he
also grew so much attached to him that he took him to London and kept
him with him as his own son. That boy's name was Jack Hill and he did
not care for city life, nor maybe for Gainsborough's eccentricities,
so he ran away. He was found again and again, till one day he got away
for good, and never came back.

All his later life Gainsborough was happy. His daughter, who had
married Fischer, the hautboy-player, came back home to live, and her
disorder was not bad enough to prevent her being a cause of great
happiness to her father. The other daughter never married.
Gainsborough says that he spent a thousand pounds a year, but he also
gave to everybody who asked of him, and to many who asked nothing, so
that he must have made a great deal of money during his lifetime, by
his art. It is said that the "Boy at the Stile" was bestowed on
Colonel Hamilton for his fine playing of a solo on the violin. A lady
who had done the artist some trifling service received twenty drawings
as a reward, which she pasted on the walls of her rooms without the
slightest idea of their value.

Gainsborough got up early in the morning, but did not work more than
five hours. He liked his friends, his music, and his wife, and spent
much time with them. He was witty, and while he sketched pictures in
the evening, with his wife and daughters at his side, he kept them
laughing with his droll sayings.

The last days of Gainsborough showed him to be a hero. He died of
cancer, and some time before he knew what his disease was he must have
suffered a great deal. There is a story that is very pathetic of a
dinner with his friends, Beaumont and Sheridan. Usually, he was the
gayest of the gay, but of late all his friends had noticed that gaiety
came to him with effort. Upon the night of this dinner, Sheridan had
been his wittiest, and had tried his hardest to make Gainsborough
cheer up, till finally, the artist, finding it impossible to get out
of his sad mood, asked Sheridan if he would leave the table and speak
with him alone. The two friends went out together. "Now don't laugh,
but listen," Gainsborough said; "I shall soon die. I know it; I feel
it. I have less time to live than my looks infer, but I do not fear
death. What oppresses my mind is this: I have many acquaintances, few
friends; and as I wish to have one worthy man to accompany me to the
grave, I am desirous of bespeaking you. Will you come? Aye or no!" At
that Sheridan, who was greatly shocked, tried to cheer him, but
Gainsborough would not return to the table, till he got the promise,
which of course Sheridan made.

It was not very long after this that a famous trial took place--that
of Warren Hastings. It was in Westminster Hall, and Gainsborough went
to listen several times. On the last occasion, he became so interested
in what was happening that he did not notice a window open at his
back. After a little he said to a friend that he "felt something
inexpressibly cold" touch his neck. On his return home he told of the
strange feeling to his wife. Then he sent for a doctor, and there was
found a little swelling. The doctor said it was not serious and that
when the weather grew warmer it would disappear; but all the while
Gainsborough felt certain that it would mean his death. A short time
after that he told his sister that he knew himself to have a cancer,
and that was true.

When he felt that he must die, he fell to thinking of many things in
the past, and wished to right certain mistakes of his behaviour as far
as possible.

He sent to Sir Joshua Reynolds and asked him to come and see him,
since he could not go to see Sir Joshua. Reynolds went and then
Gainsborough told him of his regret that he had shown so much ill-will
and jealousy toward so great and worthy a rival. Reynolds was very
generous and tried to make Gainsborough understand that all was
forgiven and forgotten. He left his brother artist much relieved and
happier, and he afterward said: "The impression on my mind was that
his regret at losing life was principally the regret of leaving his
art." As Reynolds left the dying man's room, Gainsborough called after
him: "We are all going to heaven--and Van Dyck is of the company."

He was buried in Kew Churchyard and the ceremonies were followed by
Reynolds and five of the Royal Academicians, who forgot all
Gainsborough's eccentricities of conduct toward them in their honest
grief over his death. He was one of the first three dozen original
members of the Royal Academy.

  PLATE--PORTRAIT OF MRS. RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

This picture is now in the collection of Lord Rothschild,
London. Mrs. Sheridan was the loveliest lady of her time. She was the
daughter of Thomas Linley, and a singer.

She came from a home which was called "a nest of nightingales,"
because all in it were musicians. The father had a large family and
made up his mind to become the best musician of his time in his
locality in order to support them. He was successful, and in turn most
of his children became musicians. His lovely daughter, Eliza
(Mrs. Sheridan), he bound to himself as an apprentice and taught her
till she was twenty-one, insisting that she "serve out her time" to
him, that she might become a perfect singer. The story of this
beautiful lady seems to belong to the story of Gainsborough's portrait
and shall be told here.

When she was a very little girl, no more than eight years old, she was
so beautiful that as she stood at the door of the pump room in Bath to
sell tickets for her father's concerts, everyone bought them from
her. When she was a very young woman her father engaged her to marry a
Mr. Long, sixty years old. She did not seem to mind what arrangements
her father made for her, but continued to sing and attend to her
business, till after the wedding gowns were all made and everything
ready for the marriage, when she happened to meet the brilliant
Richard Brinsley Sheridan, whose plays were so fashionable, and she
fell deeply in love with him. She told Mr. Long she would not marry
him, and without much objection he gave her up, but her father was
very angry and he threatened to sue Mr. Long for letting his daughter
go. Then the beautiful lady ran away to Calais and married
Mr. Sheridan without her father's permission; but she came home again
and said nothing of what she had done, kept on singing and helping her
father earn money for his family. One day, Mr. Sheridan was wounded in
a duel which he had fought with one of his wife's admirers, and when
she heard the news she screamed, "my husband, my husband," so that
everybody knew she was married to the fascinating playwright. Sheridan
for some reason did not at once come and get her, nor arrange for them
to have a home together. For a good while she continued to sing; and
once hearing her in oratorio, Sheridan fell in love with his wife all
over again. He took her from her home and would never let her sing
again in public. They remarried publicly and went to live in
London. He was not at all a rich and famous man at that time--only a
poor law-student--but he would not let his wife make the fortune she
might easily have made, by singing.

This must have made his beautiful wife very sad, but she made no
complaint at giving up her music and letting him silence her lovely
voice, but turned all her attention to advancing his fortunes. She
worked for him even harder than she had for her father, and that was
saying a great deal. When he became a great writer of plays his wife
took charge of all the accounts of his Drury Lane Theatre, and when he
was in the House of Commons she acted as his secretary. Sheridan died
in great poverty and wretchedness, and it is believed had his
self-sacrificing wife not died before him she would have looked after
his affairs so well that he would not have lost his fortune.
Gainsborough painted the portraits of Sheridan's father-in-law, and of
Samuel Linley; and it was said that this last portrait was painted in
forty-eight minutes. Among his other portraits are: eight of George
III., Sir John Skynner, Admiral Hood, Colonel St. Leger, and "The Blue
Boy"; but he was first and last a landscape painter of highest genius.




XVI

JEAN LEON GEROME


  (Pronounced Zhahn Lay'on Zhay-rome)
  _French, Semi-classical School_
  1824-1904
  _Pupil of Delaroche_

One cannot write much more than the date of birth and death of a man
who lived until three or four years of the time of writing, so we may
only say that Gérôme was one of the most brilliant of modern French
painters. He was born at Vesoul and his father was a goldsmith. Thus
he probably had no very great difficulty in getting a start in his
work. The prejudice against having an artist in the family was dying
out, and as a prosperous goldsmith we may believe that his father had
means enough to give his son good opportunities.

Gérôme, like Millet, studied under Delaroche, but became no such
characteristic painter as he. While studying with Delaroche he also
was taking the course in l'Ecole des Beaux-Arts.

His first exhibited picture was "The Cock Fight," and he won a third
class medal by it.

Almost always this painter has chosen his subjects from ancient or
classic life, and his pictures are not always decent, but he painted
with much care, the details of his work are very finely done and their
vivid colour is fascinating.

  PLATE--THE SWORD DANCE

This painting may be seen in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New
York City. The scene is full of action and interest, but perhaps the
details of dress, mosaic decoration upon the walls, patterns of the
rugs, the coloured and jewelled lamps and windows are the most
splendidly painted of all.

The central figure is a dancing girl, only partly draped, balancing a
sword on her head, while a brilliant green veil flies from head and
face. Other Oriental women squat upon the floor watching her with a
half indolent expression, while their Oriental masters and their
friends sit in pomp at one side, absorbed in the dance and in the
girl. The expressions upon all the faces are excellent and, the
jewelled light that falls upon the group, the rich clothing, the grace
of the dancer--all make a fascinating picture of a genre type. Other
Gérômes are "Daphnis and Chloe," "Leda," and "The Duel after the
Masked Ball."




XVII

GHIRLANDAJO


  (Pronounced Geer-lan-da'yo)
  _Florentine School_
  1449-1494
  _Pupil of Fra Bartolommeo_

It is a good deal of a name--Domenico di Tommaso di Currado
Bigordi--and it would appear that the child who bore it was under
obligation to become a good deal of a something before he died.

Italian and Spanish painters generally had large names to live up to,
and the one known as Ghirlandajo did nobly.

His father was a goldsmith and a popular part of his work was the
making of golden garlands for the hair of rich Italian ladies. His
work was so beautiful that it gained for him the name of Ghirlandajo,
meaning the garland-twiner, a name that lived after him, in the great
art of his son. Domenico began as a worker in mosaic, a maker of
pictures or designs with many coloured pieces of glass or stone.

Ghirlandajo's art was no improvement on that of his teacher, but he in
turn became the teacher of Michael Angelo.

The Florentine school of painting, to which Ghirlandajo belonged, was
not so famous for colour as the Venetian school, but it had many other
elements to commend it. One cannot expect Ghirlandajo to rank with
Titian, Rubens, or other "colourists" of his own and later periods,
but he did the very best work of his day and school. He attained to
fame through his choice of types of faces for his models, and by his
excellent grouping of figures.

Until his day, the faces introduced into paintings were likely to be
unattractive, but he chose pleasing ones, and he painted the folds of
garments beautifully. He was not entirely original in his ideas, but
he carried out those which others had thus far failed to make
interesting.

Often, in his wish to paint exactly what he saw, he softened nothing
and therefore his figures were repulsive, but Fra Bartolommeo's pupil
gave promise of what Michael Angelo was to fulfill.

Ghirlandajo and Michael Angelo were a good deal alike in their
emotional natures. Both sought great spaces in which to paint, and
both chose to paint great frescoes. Indeed Ghirlandajo had the
extraordinary ambition to put frescoes on all the fortification walls
about Florence. It certainly would have made the city a great picture
gallery to have had its walls forever hung with the pictures of one
master. Had he painted them, inside and out, when such an enemy as
Napoleon came along, with his love of art, and his fashion of taking
all that he saw to Paris, he would likely enough have camped outside
the walls while he decided what part of the gallery he would transfer
to the Louvre.

One of the reasons that Ghirlandajo is famous is that he often chose
well known personages for his models, and as he painted just what he
saw, did not idealise his subject, he gave to the world amazing
portraits, as well as fine paintings. The same thing was done by
painters of a far different school, at another period. The Dutch and
Flemish painters were in the habit of using their neighbours as
models.

Ghirlandajo is classed among religious painters, but let us compare
some of his "religious" paintings with those of Raphael or Murillo,
and see the result.

He painted seven frescos on the walls of the Santa Maria Novella in
Florence, all scenes of Biblical history, as Ghirlandajo imagined
them. They show him to have been a fine artist, but to have had not
much idea of history, and to have had little sense of fitness.

Ghirlandajo's seven subjects are taken from legends of the Virgin, and
the greatest represents Mary's visit to Elizabeth; it is called "The
Visitation," and it is a fresco about eighteen feet long painted on
the choir wall.

Let us imagine the possible scene. The Virgin Mary came from Cana, a
little town in Galilee placed in the hills about nine miles from
Nazareth, the home of the lowliest and the poorest, of a kindly
pastoral people living in the open air, needing and wanting very
little, simple in their habits. Elizabeth, Mary's old cousin, lived in
Judea, and St. Luke writes thus: "Mary arose in those days and went
into the hill country with haste, into a city of Judea; and entered
into the house of Zacharias" (Elizabeth's husband) "and saluted
Elizabeth."

This record had been made at least eleven hundred years before
Ghirlandajo painted in the Santa Maria Novella, and from it one cannot
imagine that Mary made any preparation for her journey, nor does it
suggest that Elizabeth had any chance to arrange a reception for
her. Even had she done so, it must have been of the simplest
description, at that time among those people. One can imagine a lowly
home; an aged woman coming out to meet her young relative either at
her door or in the high road.

There may have been surroundings of fruit and flowers, a stretch of
highroad or a hospitable doorway; but the wildest imagination could
not picture what Ghirlandajo did.

He paints Elizabeth flanked with handmaidens, as if she were some
royal personage, instead of a priest's wife in fairly comfortable
circumstances where comfort was easily obtained. Mary appears to be
escorted by ladies-in-waiting, hardly a likely circumstance since she
was affianced to no richer or more important person than a carpenter
of Galilee. Possibly the three ladies that stand behind Mary in, the
picture are merely lookers-on, but in that case the visit of Mary
would seem to have been of public importance, especially as there are
youths near by who are also much interested in one woman's hasty visit
to another. The rich brocades worn by Elizabeth's waiting ladies are
splendid indeed and the landscape is fine--a rich Italian landscape
with architecture of the most up-to-date sort--showing, in short, that
the artist lacked historical imagination. He found some models, made a
purely decorative painting with an Italian setting and called it "The
Visitation." The doorway on the right is distinctly renaissance.

Such a painting as this is not "religious," nor is it historic, nor
does it suggest a subject; it is merely a fine picture better coloured
than most of those of the Florentine school. There is another painting
of this same subject by Ghirlandajo in the Louvre, but it is no nearer
truth than the one in the Santa Maria.

Ghirlandajo painted other than religious subjects, and one of them, at
least, is quite repulsive. It is the picture of an old man, with a
beautiful little child embracing him. The old man may have tenderness
and love in his face, but his heavy features, his warty nose, do not
make one think of pleasant things and one does not care to imagine the
dear little child kissing the grotesque old fellow.

It was before Ghirlandajo's time that another painter had discovered
the use of oil in mixing paints. Previously colours had been mixed in
water with some gelatinous substance, such as the white and yolk of an
egg, to give the paint a proper texture or consistency. This
preparation was called "distemper," and frescoes were made by using
this upon plaster while it was still wet. Plaster and colours dried
together, and the painting became a part of the wall, not to be
removed except by taking the plaster with it.

The different gluey substances used had often the effect of making the
colours lose their tone and they presented a glazed surface when used
upon wood, a favourite material with artists.

There are numberless anecdotes written of this artist and his brother,
and one of these shows he had a temper. The brothers were engaged in a
monastery at Passignano painting a picture of the "Last Supper." While
at work upon it, they lived in the house. The coarse fare did not suit
Ghirlandajo, and one night he could endure it no longer. Springing
from his seat in the refectory he flung the soup all over the monk who
had served it, and taking a great loaf of bread he beat him with it so
hard that the poor monk was carried to his cell, nearly dead. The
abbot had gone to bed, but hearing the rumpus he thought it was
nothing less than the roof falling in, and he hurried to the room
where he found the brothers still raging over their dinner. David
shouted out to him, when the abbot tried to reprove the artist, that
his brother was worth more than any "pig of an abbot who ever lived!"

It is recorded in the documents found in the Confraternity of St. Paul
that:

Domenico de Ghurrado Bighordi, painter, called del Grillandaio, died
on Saturday morning, on the 11th day of January, 1493 (o.s.), of a
pestilential fever, and the overseers allowed no one to see the dead
man, and would not have him buried by day. So he was buried, in Santa
Maria Novella, on Saturday night after sunset, and may God forgive
him! This was a very great loss for he was highly esteemed for his
many qualities, and is universally lamented.

The artist left nine children behind him.

Ghirlandajo's pictures may be found in the Louvre, the Berlin Museum,
the Dresden, Munich, and London galleries. Most children will find it
hard to see their beauty.

Great men are likely to come in groups, and with Ghirlandajo there are
associated Botticelli and Fra Filippo Lippi.

  PLATE--PORTRAIT OF GIOVANNA DEGLI ALBIZI

This lovely lady was the wife of one of the painter's patrons,
Giovanni Tornabuoni, through whom he received the commission for a
series of frescoes in the choir of the Santa Maria Novella,
Florence. The subjects chosen were sacred, but since Ghirlandajo, no
more than his neighbours, knew what the Virgin or her contemporaries
looked like, he saw no reason why he should not compliment some of the
great ones of his own city and his own time by painting them in to
represent the different characters of Holy Writ. So, as one of the
ladies attendant upon Elizabeth when Mary comes to visit her, we have
this signora of the fifteenth century. The artist made another picture
of her, the one here shown, but in the same dress and posed the same
as she had been for the church fresco. This accounts for its dignity
and simplicity. It would seem like a bas-relief cut out of marble were
it not for its wonderful colouring. It is in the Rudolf Kann
Collection, Paris. This artist's other pictures are "Adoration of the
Shepherds," "Adoration of the Magi," "Madonna and Child with Saints,"
"Three Saints and God the Father," "Coronation of the Virgin," and
"Portrait of Old Man and Boy."




XVIII

GIOTTO (DI BORDONE)


  (Pronounced Jot-to)
  _Florentine School_
  1276-1337
  _Pupil of Cimabue_

Giotto painted upon wood, and in "distemper"--the mixture of colour
with egg or some other jelly-like substance. We know nothing of his
childhood except that he was a shepherd, as we learn from a story told
of him and his teacher, Cimabue.

The story runs that one day while Giotto was watching his sheep, high
up on a mountain, Cimabue was walking abroad to study nature, and he
ran across a shepherd boy who was drawing the figure of a sheep, with
a piece of slate upon a stone. In those days we can imagine how rare
it was to find one who could draw anything, ever so rudely.
Immediately Cimabue saw a chance to make an artist and he asked the
little shepherd if he would like to be taught art in his studio.
Giotto was overjoyed at the opportunity, and at once he left the
mountains for the town, the shepherd's crook for the brush.

In those days the studio of one like Cimabue was really a workshop.
Artists had to grind their own colours, prepare their own panels upon
which to paint, and do a hundred other things of a workman rather than
an artist kind in connection with their painting. Such a studio was
crowded with apprentices--boys who did these jobs while learning from
the master. Their teaching consisted in watching the artist and now
and then receiving advice from him.

It was into such a shop as this, in Florence, that Giotto went, and
soon he was to become greater than his master. Even so, we cannot
think him great, excepting for his time, because his pictures,
compared with later art, are crude, stiff, and strange.

No pupil was permitted to use a brush till he had learned all the
craft of colour grinding and the like, and this was supposed to take
about six years. These workshops were likely to be dull, gloomy
places, and only a strong desire to do such things as they saw their
master doing, would induce a boy to persevere through the first
drudgery of the work. Giotto persevered, and not only became an
original painter, at a time when even Cimabue hardly made figures
appear human in outline, but he designed the great Campanile in
Florence, and he saw it partly finished before he died. The Campanile
is a wonder of architecture, but Giotto's Madonnas had to be improved
upon, as certainly as he had improved upon those of Cimabue.

There are many amusing stories of Giotto, mainly telling of his good
nature, and his ugly appearance, which everyone forgot in appreciation
of his truly kind heart. Once a visit was made to his studio by the
King of Naples, after the artist had become famous. Giotto was
painting busily, though the day was very hot. The King entered, and
bade Giotto not to be disturbed but to continue his work, adding:
"Still, if I were you, I should not paint in such hot weather." Giotto
looked up with a laugh in his eye: "Neither would I--if I were you,
Sire!" he answered.

There is a famous saying: "As round as Giotto's "O," and this is how
it came about. The pope wanted the best of the Florentine artists to
do some work in Rome for him and he sent out to them for examples of
their work. When the pope's messenger came to Giotto the artist was
very busy. When asked for some of his work to show the pope, he
paused, snatched a piece of paper and with the brush he had been
using, which was full of red paint, he hurriedly drew a circle and
gave it to the messenger who stared at him.

"But--is this _all_?" he asked.

"All--yes--and too much. Put it with the others." This perfect circle
and the account the messenger gave of his visit so delighted the pope
that Giotto was chosen from all the Florentine artists to decorate the
Roman buildings.

Thus Giotto worked till he was fifty-seven or eight years old when he
put aside his brush and turned to sculpture and architecture. Meantime
he had far outstripped his master in art. The arrangement of the
groups is about the same, but the figures look human and the draperies
are more natural, while he gives the appearance of length, breadth,
and thickness to his thrones and enclosures. We shall not choose a
Madonna for illustration, but another of Giotto's masterpieces,
remembering that good as he was in his time, he seems amazingly bad
compared with those who came after him.

  PLATE--THE MEETING OF ST. JOHN AND ST. ANNA AT JERUSALEM.

In 1303 a certain Enrico Scrovegno had a private chapel built in the
Arena at Padua and he sent for Giotto to come there and adorn the
whole of its walls and ceiling with frescoes. These remain, though the
chapel is now emptied of all else, and they suffice to bring scores of
art-lovers to Padua. The picture here reproduced represents the
meeting and reconciliation between the father and mother of the Virgin
before her birth. The peculiarly shaped eyes and eyebrows that Giotto
gives to all his characters are specially noteworthy here as in every
one of the thirty-eight frescoes. There are three rows of pictures,
one above the other and in them are portrayed the principal scenes in
the lives of Christ and the Virgin. The painter here reached his
high-water mark, showed the very best he could produce in sincere,
restrained art.




XIX

FRANZ HALS


  _Dutch School_
  1580-04-1666
  _Pupil of Karel Van Mander_

Franz Hals belonged to a family which for two hundred years had been
highly respected in Haarlem in the Netherlands. The father of the
painter left that town for political reasons in 1579, and it was at
Antwerp that Franz was born sometime between that date and 1585. His
parents took him back to Haarlem as an infant, and that is the town
with which his name and fame are most closely associated.

Little is known of his early life except that he began his studies
with Karel Van Mander and Cornelis Cornelissen. What we know of his
family life is not to his credit. In the parish register of 1611 is
recorded the birth of a son to Franz Hals and five years later he is
on the public records for abusing his wife, who died shortly
afterward. He married again within a year and the second wife bore him
many children and survived him ten years. Five of his seven sons
became painters.

Franz Hals drank too much and mixed too freely with the kind of
disreputable people he loved to paint, but he never became so degraded
that his hand lost its cunning, or his eye its keen vision for that
which he wished to portray. In 1644, he was made a director of the
Guild of St. Lucas, an institution for the protection of arts and
crafts in Haarlem, but from that time onward he sank in popular
esteem, deservedly. He fell into debt, then into pauperism, and when
he died, about the age of eighty-six, he was buried at public expense
in the choir of St. Bavon Church in Haarlem.

It was in the year 1616 that Hals first became known as a master of
his art by the painting of the St. Jovis Shooting Company, one of the
clubs composed of volunteers banded together for the defence of the
town should occasion arise. Such guilds were common throughout
Holland, and they became a favourite subject with Hals, as with other
painters of the time, who vied with one another in portraiture of the
different members. These groups were hung upon the walls of the
chambers where meetings were held for social purposes in times of
peace. The men of highest rank are always given the most conspicuous
places in the pictures. The flag is generally the one bit of gorgeous
colour in the scene; but Franz Hals seized the opportunity to show his
wonderful skill in detail while painting the cuffs and ruffs worn by
these grandees. In all his work there is an impression of strength
rather than of beauty; it is the charm of expressiveness he is aiming
at, rather than the charm of grace and colour to which the Italian
school was devoted. He differed from that school, also, in his choice
of subjects, for he was distinctly and almost entirely a portrait
painter, and within his own limited range he is unsurpassed. A
wonderful collection of his works is to be seen in the Haarlem Town
Hall.

  PLATE--THE NURSE AND THE CHILD

Considering the woeful life that Franz Hals led, it is amazing to
think that he of all artists is the best painter of good humour. He
puts a smile on the face of nearly every one of his "leading
characters," whether it be a modest young girl, a hideous old woman, a
strolling musician, or a riotous soldier, and in every case the laugh
suits the subject. It may have been his own easygoing shiftlessness,
his way of casting care aside with a jest that enabled him to live so
long and to accomplish so much in spite of his poverty and other
misfortunes.

The roguish look upon the face of this baby of the house of Ilpenstein
makes it appear older than the pleasant faced nurse. The dress of the
child is such as Hals delighted to spend his talents upon. The picture
is in the Berlin Gallery.

Among his best known paintings are "The Laughing Cavalier," "The
Fool," "The Man with the Sword," and "Hille Bobbe. the Witch of
Haarlem."




XX

MEYNDERT HOBBEMA


  _Dutch School_
  1637-1709
  _Pupil of Jacob van Ruisdael_

When a man becomes famous many people claim his acquaintance, and
often many places his birthplace. In Hobbema's case it has never been
decided whether he was born in the little town of Koeverdam, or in the
city of Haarlem or in Amsterdam. Nor is it quite certain when he was
born; but what he did afterward, we are all acquainted with.

No one knows much about the life of this artist, but his master was
doubtless his uncle, van Ruisdael. Hobbema was dead a hundred years
before the world acknowledged his genius, thus he reaped no reward for
hard work and ambition. He, like Rembrandt, died in great poverty, and
with nearly the same surroundings. Rembrandt died forsaken in
Roosegraft Street, Amsterdam, and Hobbema died in the same
locality. We must speak chiefly about his work, since we know little
of his personality or affairs.

If Böcklin's pictures seem to be composed of vertical lines, Hobbema's
are as startling in their positive vertical and horizontal lines
combined. We are not likely to find elevations or gentle, gradual
depressions in his landscapes, but straight horizons, long trunked,
straight limbed trees; and the landscape seems to be punctured here
and there by an upright house or a spire. It is startlingly beautiful,
and so characteristic that after seeing one or two of Hobbema's
pictures we are likely to know his work again wherever we may find it.

Hobbema got at the soul of a landscape. It was as if one painted a
face that was dear to one, and not only made it a good likeness but
also painted the person as one felt him to be--all the tenderness, or
maybe all the sternness.

It may be that Hobbema's failure to get money and honours, or at the
very least, kind recognition as a great artist, while he lived,
influenced his painting, and made him see mostly the sad side of
beauty, nor it is certain that his landscapes give one a strange
feeling of sadness and desolation, even when he paints a scene of
plenty and fulness.

The French have made a phrase for his kind of work, _paysage
intime_--meaning the beloved country--the one best known. It is a fine
phrase, and it was first used to describe Rousseau's and Corot's work;
but it especially applies to Hobbema's.

While this artist was not yet recognised, his uncle van Ruisdael was
known as a great artist. The family must have been rich in spirit that
gave so much genius to the world. Hobbema certainly loved his art
above all things, for he had no return during his lifetime, save what
was given by the joy of work. There are those who complain that
Hobbema was a poor colourist. True, he used little besides grays and a
peculiar green, which seemed especially to please him; but since that
colouring belonged to the subjects he chose, one cannot complain on
the ground that what he did was unsatisfying. For lack of knowledge
about him we can think of him as a man of moods, sad, desolate ones at
that; because his work is too extreme and uniform in its character for
us to believe his method was affected.

  PLATE--THE AVENUE, MIDDELHARNIS, HOLLAND

This perhaps is one of the most characteristic of Hobbema's
pictures. Note a strange hopelessness in the scene, as well as
beauty. The tall and solemn trees, the high light upon the road,
suggesting to us all sorts of joys struggling through the
cheerlessness of life. What other artist would have chosen such a
corner of nature for a subject to paint? To quote a fine description:

"He loved the country-side, studied it as a lover, and has depicted it
with such intimacy of truth that the road to Middelharnis seems as
real to-day as it did over a hundred years ago to the artist. We see
the poplars, with their lopped stems, lifting their bushy tops against
that wide, high sky which floats over a flat country, full of billowy
clouds as the sky near the North Sea is apt to be. Deep ditches skirt
the road, which drain and collect the water for purposes of
irrigation, and later on will join some deeper, wider canal, for
purposes of navigation. We get a glimpse on the right, of patient
perfection of gardening, where a man is pruning his grafted fruit
trees; farther on a group of substantial farm buildings. On the
opposite side of the road stretches a long, flat meadow, or "polder,"
up to the little village which nestles so snugly around its tall
church tower; the latter fulfilling also the purpose of a beacon, lit
by night, to guide the wayfarer on sea and land; scene of tireless
industry, comfortable prosperity, and smiling peace. ... Pride and
love of country breathe through the whole scene. To many of us the
picture smiles less than it thrills with sadness. Perhaps it speaks
thus only to those who find a kind of hurt in the revival of the
spring, which promises so much and may fulfill so little."

Hobbema's "Watermill" is very well-known and so are his "Wooded
Landscape," and "Haarlem's Little Forest."




XXI

WILLIAM HOGARTH


  _School of Hogarth (English)_
  1697-1764

William Hogarth, like Watteau, originated his own school; in short
there never was anybody like him. He was an editorial writer in
charcoal and paint, or in other words he had a story to tell every
time he made a picture, and there was an argument in it, a right and a
wrong, and he presented his point of view by making pictures.

English artists in literature and in painting have done some great
reformatory work. Charles Dickens overthrew some dreadful abuses by
writing certain novels. The one which has most interest for children
is the awful story of Dotheboys' Hall, which exposed the ill treatment
of pupils in a certain class of English schools. What Dickens and
Charles Reade did in literature, Hogarth undertook to do in
painting. He described social shams; painted things as they were, thus
making many people ashamed and possibly better.

Italians had always painted saints and Madonnas, but Hogarth pretended
to despise that sort of work, and painted only human beings. He did
not really despise Raphael, Titian, and their brother artists, but he
was so disgusted with the use that had been made of them and their
schools of art, to the entire exclusion of more familiar subjects,
that he turned satirist and ridiculed everything.

First of all, Hogarth was an engraver. He was born in London on the
10th December, 1697, and eighteen days later was baptised in the
church of St. Bartholemew the Great. His father was a school teacher
and a "literary hack," which means that in literature he did whatever
he could find to do, reporting, editing, and so on.

Hogarth must early have known something of vagabond life, for his
father's life during his own youth must have brought him into
association with all sorts of people. He knew how madhouses were run,
how kings dined, how beggars slept in goods boxes, and many other
useful items.

Hogarth said of himself: "Shows of all sorts gave me uncommon pleasure
when an infant, and mimicry, common to all children, was remarkable in
me.... My exercises, when at school, were more remarkable for the
ornaments which adorned them, than for the exercises themselves." He
became an engraver or silver-plater, being apprenticed to Mr. Ellis
Gamble, at the sign of the "Golden Angel," Cranbourne Alley, Leicester
Fields.

Engraving on silver plate was all well enough, but Hogarth aspired to
become an engraver on copper, and he has said that this was about the
highest ambition he had while he was in Cranbourne Alley.

The shop-card which he engraved for Mr. Ellis Gamble may have been the
first significant piece of work he undertook. The card is still among
the Hogarth relics. He set up as an engraver on his own account,
though he did study a little in Sir James Thornhill's art school; but
whatever he learned he turned to characteristic account.

He continued to make shop-cards, shop-bills, and book-plates. Finally,
in 1727, a maker of tapestry engaged Hogarth to sketch him a design
end he set to work ambitiously He worked throughout that year upon the
design, but when he took it to the man it was refused. The truth was
that the man who had commissioned the work had heard that Hogarth was
"an engraver and no painter," and he had so little intelligence that
he did not intend to accept his design, however much it might have
pleased him. Hogarth sued the man for his refusal and he won the
suit. He next began to make what he called "conversation pieces,"
little paintings about a foot high of groups of people, the figures
being all portraits. These were very fashionable for a time and made
some money for the artist. Both he and Watteau were fond of the stage,
and both painted scenes from operas and plays.

In time he moved into lodgings at the "Golden Head," in Leicester
Fields, and there he made his home. He had already begun the great
paintings which were to make him famous among artists. These were a
series of pictures, telling stories of fashionable and other life. His
own story of how he came to think of the picture series was that he
had always wished to present dramatic stories--present them in scenes
as he saw them on the stage.

He had married the daughter of Sir James Thornhill, and had never been
thought of kindly by his father-in-law till he made so much stir with
his first series. Then Sir James approved of him, and Hogarth found
life more pleasing.

There are very few anecdotes to tell of the artist's life, and the
story of his pictures is much more amusing. One of his first satires
was made into a pantomime by Theophilus Gibber, and another person
made it into an opera. Many pamphlets and poems were written about it,
and finally china was painted with its scenes and figures. There was
as much to cry as to laugh over in Hogarth's pieces and that is what
made them so truly great. One of his great picture series was called
the "Rake's Progress" and it was a warning to all young men against
leading too gay a life. It showed the "Rake" at the beginning of his
misfortunes, gambling, and in the last reaping the reward of his
follies in a debtor's prison and the madhouse. There are eight
pictures in that set.

In this series, especially in the fifth picture, there are
extraordinary proofs of Hogarth's completeness of ideas. Upon the wall
in the room wherein the "Rake" marries an old woman for her money, the
Ten Commandments are hung, all cracked, and the Creed also is cracked
and nearly smudged out; while the poor-box is covered with
cobwebs. The eight pictures brought to Hogarth only seventy guineas.

One of his pictures was suggested to him by an incident which greatly
angered him. He had started for France on some errand of his own, and
was in the very act of sketching the old gate at Calais, when he was
arrested as a spy. Now Hogarth was a hard-headed Englishman, and when
he was hustled back to England without being given time for argument,
he was so enraged that he made his picture as grotesque as possible,
to the lasting chagrin of France. He painted the French soldiers as
the most absurd, thin little fellows imaginable, and that picture has
largely influenced people's idea of the French soldier all over the
English-speaking world.

As Hogarth grew old he grew also a little bitter and revengeful toward
his enemies, often taking his revenge in the ordinary way of
belittling the people he disliked, in his paintings.

Hogarth came before Reynolds or Gainsborough; in short, was the first
great English artist, and his chief power lay in being able instantly
to catch a fleeting expression, and to interpret it. An incident of
Hogarth's youth illustrates this. He had got into a row in a pot-house
with one of the hangers-on, and when someone struck the brawler over
the head with a pewter pot, there, in the midst of excitement and
rioting, Hogarth whipped out his pencil and hastily sketched the
expression of the chap who had been hit.

Hogarth was friends with most of the theatre managers, and one of his
souvenirs was a gold pass given him by Tyers, the director of Vauxhall
Gardens, which entitled Hogarth and his family to entrance during
their lives. This was in return for some "passes," which Hogarth had
engraved for Tyer.

Upon one occasion Hogarth set off with some companions for a trip to
the Isle of Sheppey. Incidentally Forest wrote a sketch of their
journey and Hogarth illustrated it. That work is to be found,
carefully preserved, in the British Museum. The repeated copying and
reproduction for sale of his pictures brought about the first effort
to protect his works of art by copyright. But it was not till he had
done the "Rake's Progress" that he was able to protect himself at all,
and even then not completely.

Just before his death he was staying at Chiswick, but the day before
he died he was removed to his house in Leicester Fields. He was buried
in the Chiswick churchyard; and in that suburb of London may still be
seen his old house and a mulberry tree where he often sat amusing
children for whom he cared very much. Garrick wrote the following
epitaph for his tomb:

  If Genius fire thee, Reader, stay;
  If Nature touch thee, drop a tear;
  If neither move thee, turn away,
  For Hogarth's honour'd dust lies here.

  Farewell, great Painter of Mankind!
  Who reached the noblest point of art,
  Whose pictured Morals charm the Mind
  And through the Eye correct the Heart.

  PLATE--THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT

The picture used in illustration here is part of probably the very
greatest art-sermon ever painted, called "Marriage à la Mode." The
story of it is worth telling:

"The first act is laid in the drawing-room of the Viscount
Squanderfield"--is not that a fine name for the character? "On the
left, his lordship is seated, pointing with complacent pride to his
family tree, which has its roots in William the Conqueror. But his
rent roll had been squandered, the gouty foot suggesting whither some
of it has gone; and to restore his fortunes he is about to marry his
heir to the daughter of a rich alderman. The latter is seated
awkwardly at the table, holding the marriage contract duly sealed,
signed and delivered; the price paid for it, being shown by the pile
of money on the table and the bunch of cancelled mortgages which the
lawyer is presenting to the nobleman, who refuses to soil his elegant
fingers with them. Over on the left is his weakling son, helping
himself at this critical turn of his affairs, to a pinch of snuff
while he gazes admiringly at his own figure in the mirror. The lady is
equally indifferent; she has strung the ring on to her finger and is
toying with it, while she listens to the compliments being paid to her
by Counsellor Silver-tongue. Through an open window another lawyer is
comparing his lordship's new house, that is in the course of building,
with the plan in his hand. A marriage so begun could only end in
misery." This is the first act, and the pictures that follow show all
the steps of unhappiness which the couple take. There are five more
acts to that painted drama, which is in the National Gallery, London.




XXII

HANS HOLBEIN, THE YOUNGER


  (Pronounced Hahntz Hol'bine)
  _German School_
  1497-1543
  _Pupil of Holbein, the Elder_

There were three generations of painters in the Holbein family, and
the Hans of whom we speak was of the third. His grandfather was called
"old Holbein," and when more painters of the same name and family came
along it became necessary to distinguish them from each other thus:
"old Holbein," the "elder Holbein," and "young Holbein." The first one
was not much of an artist; still, in a locality where at best there
was not much art he was good enough to be remembered.

"Young Holbein" was born in Augsburg, which is in Swabia, in southern
Germany; "elder Holbein" and his father, Michael, "old Holbein," had
moved there from Schonenfeld, a neighbouring village, about forty
three years before little Hans was born, the old Michael bringing his
family to the larger town where it was easier to make a living.

The "elder Holbein" was a really good artist and well thought of in
Augsburg, and when little Hans's turn came he had no teacher but his
father, unless indeed we were to call him also a pupil of his elder
brother, Ambrosius. His uncle Sigismund, too, taught him something of
art, for the whole Holbein family seem to have been artists. Young
Holbein was never regularly apprenticed to any outsider.

Art was not then taught as it is now. The work of a beginner was often
to paint for his master certain details which it was thought that he
might handle properly, while the master occupied himself with what he
thought to be some more important part of the picture. It is said that
Hans often painted the draperies of his father's figures when his
father was engaged upon the altar pieces so fashionable at the
time. The Holbeins one and all must have been bad managers or
improvident; at any rate, Hans did not turn out well as a man and we
read that his father was always in debt and difficulty although he
received much money for his work and was not handicapped, like Dürer's
father, by a family of eighteen children.

The story of the Holbeins is quite unlike that of the Dürers, and not
nearly so attractive.

Some time before Hans was twenty years of age, the entire family had
packed up and gone to live in Lucerne, while Hans and his brother,
Ambrosius, went travelling together, as most young Germans went at
that time before they settled down to the serious work of life. The
last we hear of Ambrosius he had joined the painters' guild in Basel,
and probably he died not long afterward, or at any rate while he was
still young. There was in Basel a certain Hans Bar, for whose wedding
occasion Hans Holbein designed a table, on which he pictured an
allegory of "St. Nobody." This was very likely such work as our
cartoonists do to-day, but being the work of Holbein, it had great
artistic value. Besides that, he painted a schoolmaster's sign to be
hung outside the door.

As an illustrator, Holbein made the acquaintance of several authors
about that time and started on the high road to fame. He was a man of
very little conscience or fine feeling, and there could hardly be a
greater contrast than that between the clean sweet life of Dürer and
the brawling, unfeeling one that Hans Holbein led.

Dürer married, had no children, but tenderly loved and cared for his
wife, taking her with him upon his journeys and making her happy.

Holbein married and beat his wife; had several children and took care
of none of them. His wife grew to look old and worn while he remained
a gay looking sport, quite tired of one whom he had had on his hands
for ten years. He wandered everywhere and left his family to shift for
itself. One writer in speaking of the two men says:

"Dürer would never have deserted his wife whom he took with him even
on his journey to the Netherlands; and he was bound by the same
tenderness to his native town. However much he rejoiced to receive a
visit from Bellini at Venice, or when at Antwerp, the artists
instituted, a torch-light procession in his honour, nothing could have
moved him to leave Nuremberg." Dürer loved his home; Holbein hated
his.

Holbein had a cold, light-blue eye; Dürer a soft and tender
glance. While Dürer lived he was the mainstay of his family--father
and brothers. Holbein's father died in misery and his brother's life
was disastrous, Hans doing nothing to serve them and looking on at
their sufferings indifferently.

There is a court document in existence which tells the particulars of
Hans Holbein's arrest for getting into a brawl with a lot of
goldsmiths' apprentices during a night of carousal. The court warned
him that he would be more severely punished if he did not cease his
lawless life and he was made to promise not to "jostle, pinch, nor
beat his lawful spouse." When he died he made no provision in his will
for his family. There is a picture of his wife, Elizabeth Schmidt, to
be seen in his "Madonna" at Solothurn Holbein used her for the
model. She then was young and blooming and the model for the child was
his own baby; at that time he found them useful.

His life of folly can hardly be excused by impulsiveness or emotion,
for his pictures show little of either. He was best at portrait
painting. At that time guilds and town councils wanted the portraits
of their members preserved in some way, and it was the habit of
painters like Holbein to form picturesque groups and give to such
dramatic groupings the features of townsmen. Rembrandt did this much
later than Holbein, when he painted the "Night Watch," or as it is
more properly called, "The Sortie."

Probably Holbein's first important work was to make title pages for
the second edition of Martin Luther's translation of the New
Testament. This MS. was made about the time that Holbein's work began
to be of interest to the public, and so the commission was given to
him.

After a time this artist went to England with letters of introduction
to Sir Thomas More, Chancellor to King Henry VIII. Sir Thomas treated
him very kindly and set him to work making portraits of his own
family. During the time he was living at More's home in Chelsea, the
King himself, used frequently to visit there, and on one occasion he
saw the brilliant portraits of the More family and inquired about the
artist. Sir Thomas offered the King any of the pictures he liked, but
Henry VIII. asked to see the artist. When brought before him,
Holbein's fortune seemed to be made for the King asked him to go to
court and paint for him, remarking that "now he had the artist he did
not care about the pictures."

Holbein seems to have been a favourite with Henry and many anecdotes
are told of his life at Whitehall, where he went to live. Once while
Holbein was engaged upon a portrait, a nobleman insisted upon entering
his studio, after the artist had told him that he was painting the
portrait of a lady, by order of the King. The nobleman insisted upon
seeing it, but Holbein seized him and threw him down the Stairs; then
he rushed to the King and told what had happened. He had no sooner
finished than the nobleman appeared and told his story. The King
blamed the nobleman for his rudeness.

"You have not to do with Holbein," he said, "but with me. I tell you,
of seven peasants I can make seven lords, but of seven lords I cannot
make one Holbein. Begone! and remember that if you ever attempt to
avenge yourself, I shall look upon any injury offered to the painter
as done to myself."

It was Holbein who, visiting a brother artist and finding a picture on
the easel, painted a fly upon it. When the artist returned he tried to
brush the fly off, then set about looking for the one who had deceived
him.

His portrait painting was so superb that he received many commissions.

Meantime, Sir Thomas More had fallen into disfavour with the King and
was to lose his head, but it is written that the artist's portraits
"betray nothing of this tragedy." He was as ready to climb to fame by
the favour of his generous patron's enemies as he had been to accept
the offices of Sir Thomas More. He painted the portraits of several of
the wives of Henry VIII., and it may be said that there was a good
deal of that monarch's temperament to be found in Holbein
himself. Take him all in all, Hans was as detestable as a man as he
was excellent as a painter.

In his adopted home in Lucerne, Holbein had painted frescoes, both on
the inside and the outside of a citizen's house, and this house stood
until 1824, when it was torn down to make way for street improvements,
but several artists hastily copied the frescoes so that they are not
entirely lost.

Before he left Germany for England, Holbein had been commissioned to
decorate the town hall in Basel, and a certain amount of money was
voted for the work, but after he had finished three walls, he decided
that the money was only enough to pay him for what he had already
done. The councillors agreed with him, but as money was a little
"close" in Basel at that time, they felt unable to give him more, and
so voted to "let the back wall alone, till further notice."

He painted one Madonna whom he surrounded with the entire family of
Burgomaster Meyer, including even the burgomaster's first wife, who
was dead. This work is called the "Meyer Madonna."

It is said that after Holbein's return to Basel he, with others, was
persecuted for his "religious principles," but if this were true, his
persecutors went to considerable pains for nothing, because Holbein
was never known to have any sort of principles, religious or
otherwise. He was neither a Protestant, nor a Catholic but a painter,
a man without convictions and without thought. He did not care for
family, country, friends, politics, religion, nor for anything else,
so far as any one knows.

When he was asked why he had not partaken of the Sacrament, he
answered that he wanted to understand the matter better before he did
so. Thus he escaped punishment, and when matters were explained to
him, he did whatever seemed safest and most convenient under the
circumstances.

On his return to England, he settled among the colony of German and
Netherland merchants, who were in the habit of meeting at a place
called "The Steelyard," as their home and warehouses were grouped in
that locality, with a guild hall and a wineshop they alone patronised.

While associated with his compatriots Holbein made portraits of many
of them, and these are magnificent works of art. He painted them
separately or in groups; in their offices and in their guild hall, as
the case might be. The men whom he thus painted were: Gorg Gisze, Hans
of Antwerp, Derich Berck, Geryck Tybis, Ambrose Fallen, and many
others. He designed the arch which the guild erected upon the occasion
of Anne Boleyn's coronation, and he painted Henry's next Queen, Jane
Seymour.

Holbein painted many portraits of Henry VIII. and probably all those
dated after 1537 were either copies or founded upon the portrait which
Holbein made and which was destroyed with Whitehall.

While he painted for Henry, Holbein received a sort of retainer's fee
of thirty pounds a year, but he may have received sums for outside
commissions which he undertook. On one occasion, when he took a
journey to Upper Burgundy to paint a portrait of the Duchess whom
Henry contemplated making his next wife, the King gave him ten pounds
out of his own purse. We have no record of vast sums such as Raphael
received.

Henry did not succeed in making the Duchess his wife, so Holbein was
sent to paint another--Anne of Cleves--that Henry might see what he
thought of her before he undertook to make her his queen. Holbein did
a disastrous deed, for he made Anne a very acceptable looking woman,
(the portrait hangs in the Louvre) and Henry negotiated for her on the
strength of that portrait. Later, when he saw her, he was utterly
disgusted and disappointed.

Holbein, notwithstanding this trick, was employed to paint the next
wife of Henry, and doubtless he also made the miniature of Catherine
Howard which is in Windsor Castle. Holbein finally died of the plague
and no one knows where he was buried. His wife died later, and it was
left for his son, Philip, who was said to be "a good well-behaved
lad," to bring honours to the family. He was apprenticed in Paris,
and, settling later in Augsburg, he founded a branch of the Holbein
family on which the Emperor Matthias conferred a patent of nobility,
making them the Holbeins of Holbeinsberg.

  PLATE--ROBERT CHESEMAN WITH HIS FALCON

This is one of the best of the many splendid portraits Holbein
painted. It hangs in The Hague gallery. The gentleman was forty-eight
years old and in the portrait he wears a purplish-red doublet of silk
and a black overcoat, which was the fashion of the day, all trimmed
with fur. He has curly hair, just turning gray. His left hand is
gloved and on it he holds his falcon, while with the other hand he
strokes its feathers.

Of all sports at that time, falconry was the most fashionable and
every fine gentleman had his sporting birds. Robert Cheseman lived in
Essex. He was rich and a leader in English politics. His father was
"keeper of the wardrobe to Henry VIII." and he himself served in many
public offices. He was one of the gentleman chosen to welcome Anne of
Cleves when she landed on English soil to marry Henry VIII. These
details were first published by Mr. Arthur Chamberlain and are taken
from his sketch of Holbein and his works.

Among Holbein's other famous pictures are: "The Ambassadors," "Hans of
Antwerp," "Christina of Denmark," "Jane Seymour," "Anne of Cleves,"
and "St. George and the Dragon."





XXIII

WILLIAM HOLMAN HUNT


  _English (Pre-Raphaelite) School_
  1827--
  _Pupil of Academy School_

The story of the Pre-Raphaelites is all by itself a story of
art. Holman Hunt was one of three who formed this "brotherhood"; and
he, with one other, are the only ones whom some of us think worthy of
giving a place in art. This is to be the story of the brotherhood
rather than a story of one man.

The last great artist England had had before this extraordinary group,
was J. M. W. Turner, truly a wonderful man, but after him England's
painters became more and more commonplace, drawing further and further
away from truth, There was one, J. F. Lewis, who went away to Syria
and lived a lonely and studious life, trying to paint with fidelity
sacred scenes, but he was not great enough to do what his conscience
and desires demanded of him; and, finally, Constable declared that the
end of art in England had come. But it had not, for up in London, in
the very heart of the city, in Cheapside (Wood Street) there was born,
in April, 1827, a child destined to be a brilliant and wonderful man,
who was actually to rescue English art from death. Many do not think
thus, but enough of us do to warrant the statement.

The new artist was Holman Hunt. He was the son of a London
warehouseman, with no inclination whatever for learning, so that it
seemed simply a waste of time to send him to school. This continually
repeated history of artists who seem to know nothing outside their
brushes and colours, is astonishing, but it is true that artists for
the most part must be regarded as artists, pure and simple, and not as
men of even rea

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