Works of Grant Allen

by Grant Allen

  In 7 you will have no difficulty in distinguishing St. Lawrence, St. Sebastian, St. James, St. John, etc. The gradino has subjects from the legend of Joachim and the Madonna — her birth, Presentation in the Temple, Sposalizio, etc., with which the frescoes in Santa Croce will have familiarised you.

  Number 6 contains a version of the frequent subject of the Virgin ascending to heaven and dropping her girdle, the Sacra Cintola, to St. Thomas, many variants upon which will occur in other rooms in this gallery. As the girdle was preserved at Prato, this was a common theme in this district.

  Number 5 contains another Annunciation, where all the adjuncts are extremely typical. Observe the quaint figure of St. Luke painting the Madonna. In the other saint you will recognise St. Apollonia.

  Number 4 is a somewhat unusual type of Presentation, with a good characteristic figure of St. Benedict. If you can read Latin, make out the inscription on this and other pictures. They often help you.

  I cannot too strongly recommend close study of these superficially unattractive pictures, which, nevertheless, contain the germ of all that comes after in Tuscan and Umbrian art. Go over them again and again, till you are sure you understand every figure. I would advise you to get the official catalogue, and note in every case whence the picture comes, as well as why the various saints are in it.

  Now pass straight along this entrance hall till you reach the Cupola, with the * *David of Michael Angelo transferred to this place from the door of the Palazzo Vecchio. This famous statue, the first great work in sculpture of the artist, was modelled out of a block of marble which had been spoiled and abandoned. (Read the good remarks on the subject in Baedeker.) In this youthful effort Michael Angelo shows more poetry, and less of his rugged massiveness, than in his latter work. Both in painting and sculpture he is more attractive, indeed, in his treatment of the youthful nude male form than in his women or his elder men and draped figures. Remember that this is a great masterpiece.

  Adjoining the David is a collection of casts of all the plastic work of Michael Angelo. Taking this room in connection with the Medici tombs in the Nuova Sagrestia at San Lorenzo, you get a better opportunity of studying Michael Angelo’s work as a sculptor than can possibly be attained anywhere else. As, however, these works require merely a general taste for sculpture, and close observation and comparison on the part of the visitor, for their proper appreciation, they do not enter into the special scheme of this work, which is purely explanatory. I recommend long and attentive scrutiny of all, with the aid of such critical remarks as are to be found in the various valuable books on the subject of Michael Angelo by English and German critics (Springer, Symonds, etc.). Do not study the sculpture at the same visit with the pictures. Go to San Lorenzo on a separate day, and then come back here more than once for comparison.

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE HALLS OF PERUGINO AND BOTTICELLI.

  Pass along the corridor containing the casts, and enter the first door on the left, which leads to the Sala del Perugino.

  This room and the two adjoining ones contain the noblest and most beautiful pictures of the Florentine Renaissance. Strictly speaking, in order to preserve the chronological order, you ought to go first to the Sala dei Maestri Toscani; but as you must return to the Academy many times, it will do you no harm to begin in this manner.

  PERUGINO. — ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN (DETAIL).

  To the right of the doorway is * *57, a very noble Perugino, representing the Assumption of the Virgin, in a mandorla, surrounded by a group of cherubs in the same shape. Her attitude, features, and expression of ecstatic adoration, as well as the somewhat affected pose of her neck and hands, are all extremely characteristic of Perugino. So are the surrounding groups of standing and flying angels; the angel immediately to the spectator’s left of the Madonna has also the characteristic poise of the head. Above is the Eternal Father, in a circle, with adoring angels. Below stand four Vallombrosan saints, as spectators of the mystery (the picture comes from the great suppressed monastery of Vallombrosa). You will grow familiar with this group in many other parts of the gallery, as most of the pictures were brought here at the suppression. The saints are San Bernardo degli Uberti (in cardinal’s robes); San Giovanni Gualberto (the founder); St. Benedict (in brown); and the Archangel Michael. Note their features. The figure of St. Michael, in particular, may be well compared with the other exquisite St. Michael, also by Perugino, from the great altar-piece in the Certosa di Pavia, now in the National Gallery in London. This Assumption is one of Perugino’s finest and most characteristic works. It deserves long and attentive study. Such compositions, with a heavenly and earthly scene combined, are great favourites with Umbrian painters. (See them at Perugia, and in Raphael’s Disputà in the Vatican.) Do not fail to notice the beautiful landscape background of the country about Perugia. Study this work as a model of Perugino at his best.

  On the left wall is 56, *Perugino, the Descent from the Cross, a beautiful composition. The scene takes place in characteristic Renaissance architecture. The anatomy and painting of the dead nude are worthy of notice. Observe the way in which the Madonna’s face and head stand out against the arch in the background, as well as the somewhat affected pietism of all the actors. On the right are the Magdalen and Joseph of Arimathea; on the left, St. John and Nicodemus. Notice their types.

  Beyond the door, 53, is a Perugino, the Agony in the Garden. The attitudes of the Saviour and the three sleeping apostles are traditional. Look out for them elsewhere. The groups of soldiers in the background are highly redolent of Perugino’s manner. So is the charming landscape. Compare this angel with those in the Vallombrosan picture first noted in this room. Observe Perugino’s quaint taste in head-dresses; also, throughout, here and in the Assumption, the Umbrian isolation and abstractness of his figures.

  Above, on this wall, *55, is a Fra Filippo Lippi, a very characteristic Madonna and Child enthroned. The Medici saints, Cosimo and Damian, in their red robes, and two holy Franciscans, St. Francis and St. Anthony of Padua, stand by. The faces and dresses of the Medici saints are typical. The Madonna belongs to the human and somewhat round-faced type introduced into Tuscan art by Filippo Lippi. Note, in the arcaded niches at the back, a faint reminiscence of the older method of painting the saints in separate compartments. This is a lovely picture; do not hurry away from it. It comes, you might guess, from a Franciscan monastery — namely, Santa Croce. I took you first to that church and Santa Maria in order that such facts might be the more significant to you.

  Number 54 is a Fra Filippo Lippi, St. Jerome in the desert, with his lion in the background, and his cardinal’s hat and crucifix. The impossible rocks smack of the period. This is a traditional subject which you will often meet with. Don’t overlook the books and pen which constantly mark the translator of the Vulgate.

  Number 52 is a St. Barbara, by Cosimo Rosselli, a curious but characteristic example of this harsh though very powerful painter. In the centre stands St. Barbara herself, with her tower and palm of martyrdom, as if just rising from the throne on which she had been sitting. Beneath her feet is a fallen armed figure, sometimes interpreted as her father, sometimes as the heathen proconsul, Marcian, who ordered her execution. The picture, however, as the Latin elegiac beneath it relates, was painted for the German Guild of Florence. Now, St. Barbara was the patroness of artillery (the beautiful Palma Vecchio of St. Barbara at Venice was painted for the Venetian Guild of Bombardiers). I take the figure on whom she tramples, therefore, though undoubtedly an emperor in arms, to be mainly symbolical of the fallen enemy. In short, the picture is a Triumph of Artillery. To the left stands the St. John of Florence; to the right St. Matthias the Apostle, with his sword of martyrdom. Two charming angels draw aside the curtains: a frequent feature. Study this as a typical example of Cosimo Rosselli. It comes from the Florentine Church of the Annunziata.

  On the right wall, near the window, *66, is a Ghirlandajo, a Madonna and Child, enthroned, in reality a Glorification of the Ang
els. (It must have come, I think, from some church degli Angeli.) To the left stands St. Dionysius the Areopagite, who was said to have written a treatise (still existing) on the angelic hierarchy (drawn from Hebrew sources). Kneeling at the feet is his spiritual father, St. Clement the Pope, as a secondary personage. To the right is St. Thomas Aquinas, in his Dominican robes and with his open book, as the great vindicator of the position of the angels. Kneeling at the feet is his spiritual father, St. Dominic. The picture was clearly painted for the Dominicans; but the figures are placed in diagonal order, I believe by some misconception of the donor’s wishes. Observe that the angels in whose honour this fine picture is painted are here, quite exceptionally, provided with starry halos. Beneath the main picture, a series of little works in a predella, containing stories from the lives of these saints — decapitation of St. Denis (identified with Dionysius the Areopagite); he carries his head; St. Dominic restores the young man Napoleon to life, doubly represented, etc.

  Number 65, above, a Luca Signorelli, the Madonna embracing the Cross, is a good sample of this able and powerful Renaissance painter.

  FILIPPO LIPPI. — CORONATION OF THE VIRGIN.

  Beyond the door, 62, is * *Filippo Lippi’s Coronation of the Virgin, the finest altar-piece by this great master. It is well to compare it with the earlier treatments of the same subject in the corridor, from which it is, oh, how much, developed and beautified. I will not attempt any description of this noble and beautiful work, one of the masterpieces of early Italian painting. I will merely call attention to a few formal points in it. Notice first, in the centre, the extremely human Virgin, no longer the Queen of Heaven, but a Florentine lady, whose features reappear again in the touching figure in blue in the right foreground, with the two children (said to represent Lucrezia Buti, the painter’s wife, and their two little ones, including Filippino. Read up the romantic story of their elopement in any good history). On either side of the throne, adoring angels with sweet childish faces. The rest looks confused at first, but will gradually unravel itself into a celestial and terrestrial scene, with saintly mediators. To the extreme right is St. John of Florence, preserving his traditional features, but transformed and transfigured by spiritual art. He introduces and patronises the kneeling figure of Filippo Lippi beside him, whom a scroll in Latin (“This man composed the work”) designates as the painter. To the left are St. Zenobius and other saints, amongst whom the patriarch Job is specially identified by the very inartistic device of writing his name on his shoulder. Do not overlook the frequent obtrusion of the Florentine lily. This picture can be adequately appreciated only after many visits. It is one of the most exquisite things to be seen in Florence. Very human in its models, it is divine and spiritual in its inner essence.

  Above it, 63, is a Trinity, in the conventional form, by Mariotto Albertinelli: good, but uninteresting.

  The other pictures in this room, including the fragment of two charming little angels by Andrea del Sarto (from Vallombrosa), though deserving attention, do not stand in need of interpretation. Examine every one of them, especially that attributed to Francia.

  BOTTICELLI. — THREE GRACES (DETAIL OF THE PRIMAVERA).

  Now, enter the room to the right, the Sala Prima del Botticelli. Facing you as you enter is * *80, Botticelli’s Primavera, perhaps the most beautiful picture in the world. This exquisite allegory has been variously explained. I give my own interpretation. It is probably one of four panels representing the seasons. In the centre stands the figure of Spring, who is therefore significantly painted as pregnant. To the extreme left, Mercury, the god of change, with his caduceus, dispels the clouds of winter. (Perhaps rather Favonius, the west wind, in the guise of Mercury.) Beside him, an unspeakably beautiful group of the Three Graces, lightly clad in transparent raiment, represent the joy and freshness of spring-time; on whom a winged and blindfolded Love, above the head of Primavera, is discharging a fiery arrow — since spring is the period of courtship and mating. The figures to the right represent the three spring months. On the extreme right is March, cold and blue, blowing wind from his mouth (notice the rays), lightly clad, and swaying the trees as he passes through them. Next to him, as if half escaping from his grasp, is April, somewhat more fully draped in a blue and white sky. On the hem of her robe green things are just sprouting. She seems as if precipitating herself into the lap of May, who, erect and sedate, fully clad in a flowery robe, scatters blossoms as she goes from a fold of her garment. March blows on April’s mouth, from which flowers fall into the lap of May. The obvious meaning is “March winds and April showers bring forth May flowers,” — a Tuscan equivalent for which proverb still exists in Italy. The action of March’s hands probably represents the old idea that he borrows three days from April. I will not attempt to say anything about the æsthetic beauty of this exquisitely spiritual and delicate work. It is one of those profound pictures which must be visited again and again, and which gain in intensity every time you look at them. As to place, it was painted for Lorenzo de’ Medici’s villa at Castello: notice it as one of the first purely secular paintings, with Renaissance love of the nude, which we have yet come across.

  To the left of it, *81, is a Visitation, by Pacchiarotto. The central part of the picture should be compared with the Mariotto Albertinelli in the Uffizi. The arrangement of the figures and the way they are silhouetted against the arch is almost identical. It should also be compared with the Ghirlandajo in the Louvre (where the first use of the arch in this way occurs) and other examples, such as the Giotto at Padua. This, however, is not a Visitation simple, but a Visitation with attendant saints, amongst whom to the left stands St. John the Baptist. He, of course, could not possibly have been present at the moment, as he was still unborn — thus well showing the nature of these representative gatherings. Kneeling in the foreground to the right is St. Vincent, the patron saint of prisoners, holding handcuffs, whence it is probable that the picture was a votive offering for a release from Barbary pirates or some form of captivity. Behind is St. Nicholas of Bari, with his three golden balls. The other saints are the two St. Anthonies — the Abbot, and the Paduan: note their symbols. Most probably the donor was an Antonio who wished to stand well with both his patrons. The architecture of the triumphal arch shows study of the antique. The bronze horses are suggested by those over the doorway of St. Mark’s at Venice. Note the dove brooding above the picture. The technique of this somewhat hard and dry but admirable and well-painted work deserves close attention. I have entered at length into the evolution of Visitations in one of my papers in the Pall Mall Magazine.

  Below it, 82, is a Fra Filippo Lippi, a Nativity; good and characteristic. Note the ruined temple, ox and ass, etc., as well as Lippi’s nascent endeavour to overcome the difficulty of placing the attendant saints, well shown in the figure of the Magdalen to the right of Our Lady. He is striving hard after naturalistic positions. The infant, of course, is Lippi all over. Beneath the St. Jerome, observe the figure of the kneeling St. Hilarion, doubtless the name saint of the donor. The whole of this quaint work is highly interesting as exhibiting the conscious effort after greater freedom, not yet wholly successful.

  Number 79, opposite, the Virgin adoring the Child, by Fra Filippo Lippi, is a very similar picture. It should be closely compared with the preceding. The hands of God appearing through the clouds, discharging the Holy Spirit, are an interesting feature. Note again the attempt to introduce the youthful St. John the Baptist of Florence in a more natural manner. Compare with the great Coronation of the Virgin. From about this time, too, Renaissance feeling makes the young St. John (more or less nude) tend to supersede the adult representation. Study these two pictures carefully. The saint in white is St. Romuald, the founder of the Camaldolese: this altar-piece comes from Camaldoli.

  Number 78 is a Perugino; the Crucifixion with the Madonna and St. Jerome, the latter attended (as usual) by his lion. Our Lady is a good figure, but the rest of the picture is unworthy of Perugino. It comes from the mona
stery of St. Jerome in Florence — whence the saint.

  Number 76 is an Andrea del Sarto; the subjects four Vallombrosan saints, originally painted on either side of an adored Virgin, much older. To the left is St. Michael; observe the exquisite painting of his robe and armour. The other saints are San Giovanni Gualberto (the founder), San Bernardo degli Uberti, and St. John the Baptist. Compare them with the group of similar saints in Perugino’s Assumption. Both for character and technique such comparison is most luminous.

  BOTTICELLI. — CORONATION OF THE VIRGIN.

  Number 73 is Botticelli’s Coronation of the Virgin (from the monastery of San Marco). The main subject of this vehement work should be compared, or rather contrasted, with the early Giottesque examples. The beautiful and rapturous flying angels are highly characteristic of Botticelli’s ecstatic conception. Observe the papal tiara worn by the Father. In the earthly scene below are four miscellaneous saints observing the mystery. I do not understand the principle of their selection. They are St. John the Evangelist, St. Augustine, St. Jerome, and St. Eloy (Eligius), the holy blacksmith. Look for the last again on Or San Michele, where one of his miracles is recorded in bas-relief under his statue, where he is similarly represented in his blacksmith’s forge in the predella. See Mrs. Jameson.

  On the right of it *is Verrocchio’s Baptism, perhaps the most famous example of this well-known subject. Somewhat hard and dry, with peasant-like ascetic features, the St. John is yet a noble figure, very well painted, with excellent anatomical knowledge. His position, as well as the cup which he raises and the cross which he holds, are strictly conventional; they may be seen in many earlier examples. So also is the course of the narrow and symbolical Jordan. The angels on the bank, replacing the earlier river-god of the Ravenna mosaics, and holding the conventional towel, are extremely beautiful. The softer and more delicately touched of the pair to the left is said to have been painted in by Leonardo (a pupil of Verrocchio), and indeed it seems to bear the impress of that great painter’s youthful manner. Do not overlook the hands discharging the dove. I have treated more fully the evolution of this subject in an article on “The Painter’s Jordan” in the English Illustrated Magazine.