Works of Grant Allen

by Grant Allen

  Room III, Salle de Michel Colombe, represents the advance made in French plastic art during the last half of the 15th cent., and the beginning of the 16th cent., in some cases independently of the Italian Renaissance. The bust of François Ier, in bronze, on a pedestal near the door, may be compared, both for spirit and likeness, with the (very wooden) contemporary portraits of the same king in the French School upstairs. It has all the stiffness and archaic fidelity of early portraiture, with the usual lack of artistic finish. Note such little points as that the king wears the collar of his order, with the St. Michael of France as a pendant. Near the window, fragments of work displaying Renaissance influence. One, a relief of the Return of the Master, from the Château de Gaillon (built by Cardinal d’Amboise, minister of Louis XII, and one of the great patrons of the Renaissance in France), exhibits the beginning of a taste for secular, domestic, and rustic subjects, which later became general. (Early work is all sacred — then comes mythical — lastly, human and contemporary.) Note on the opposite side, the fine bronze of Henri Blondel de Rocquencourt, under Henri II. The Apollo and Marsyas is strongly Renaissance — a mythic subject (see the Perugino upstairs). The Massacre of the Innocents exhibits Renaissance treatment of a scriptural scene. The centre of the room is occupied by fine bronzes of the school of Giovanni da Bologna, a Frenchman who worked in Italy and forms a link between the art of the two countries. Observe the decorative French slenderness and coquetry of form, combined with the influence of the Italian Renaissance. The Mercury — light and airy — is a replica of Giovanni da Bologna’s own famous statue in the Bargello at Florence. The Mercury and Psyché beside it is a splendid example of Giovanni da Bologna’s school, by Adrian de Vries. Notice the French tinge in the voluptuous treatment of the nude, and the slenderness and grace of the limbs. The bronze statue of Fame, from the tomb of the Duc d’Epernon, exhibits in a less degree the same characteristics. It is obviously suggested by Giovanni’s Mercury.

  Along the wall to the L, the most noticeable work is the splendid * *marble relief of St. George, by the great French sculptor Michel Colombe, produced for the chapel of the Château de Gaillon; recollect all these Gaillon objects, and their connection with one another: the château was erected under Louis XII, at the dawn of the French Renaissance, and much of its work, like this fine relief, shows a considerable surviving Gothic feeling. You will see the façade of the château later at the École des Beaux-Arts. It is interesting to compare this splendid piece of sculpture with the little Della Robbia in the Italian rooms, and the painting by Raphael upstairs: the dragon here is a fearsome and very mediæval monster; but the St. George and his horse are full of life and spirit; and the fleeing Princess in the background is delicately French in attitude and conception. The dragon is biting the saint’s lance, which accounts for its broken condition in the Raphael and the Mantegna. Comparison of the various St. Georges in this collection, indeed, will give you an admirable idea of the way in which a single conventional theme, embracing always the very same elements, is modified by national character and by the individuality of the artist. To understand this is to have grasped art-history. (Note that the legend of St. George itself is in one aspect a Christianisation of the myth of Perseus and Andromeda.)

  Beneath the St. George stands a fine Dead Christ, also exhibiting characteristic French treatment. The somewhat insipid but otherwise excellent Madonna and Child, on a pedestal close by, is admirable as exemplifying the transformation of the smirking Madonnas of the Middle Ages into the type of the Renaissance. The Death of the Virgin, near it, from St. Jacques-de-la-Boucherie (of which only the tower now remains), suggests to one’s mind the riches which must once have belonged to the demolished churches of Paris, — mostly, alas! destroyed at the great Revolution. Observe in this work the figures of the attendant apostles, the Renaissance architecture of the background, and the soul of the Madonna ascending above, escorted by angels, to heaven. More naïve, and somewhat in the earlier style, is the Nativity above it, flanked by the two St. Johns, the Baptist and the Evangelist. The tomb of Philippe de Commynes also illustrates the older feeling, as yet little influenced by the Italian irruption. Note that the works which betray the greatest Italian influence are chiefly connected with the royal châteaux and palaces of François Ier and his Italianate successors, or their wives and mistresses; the nation as yet is little touched by the new models.

  The bronze tomb of Alberto Pio of Savoy, by Ponzio, on the other hand, exhibits strongly the Italian tendency, and should be compared with the earlier recumbent tombs, behind in Room I, as showing the survival of the mediæval type, transmuted and completely revivified. The same may be said of the tomb of Philippe de Chabot, which, however, is more distinctively French and much less markedly Italian. See how the early prostrate effigies become here recumbent: the figure, as it were, is trying to raise itself. In comparing the various works in this room, endeavour to note these interlacing points of resemblance and difference. The beautiful Genii above are parts of the same tomb, and are exquisite examples of the minor work of the French Renaissance. Passing the Italian Tacca’s admirable bust of Giovanni da Bologna, we come to an excellent Entombment, of the French School, from St. Eustache, which should be compared with earlier specimens in the adjacent rooms. Beneath it, a fine fragment by Jean Cousin. Still lower, a Passage of the Red Sea, beginning to display that confused composition and lack of unity or simplicity which spoiled the art of the later 16th and 17th centuries. The fine Madonna and Child close by should be compared with the very similar example opposite, as well as with its predecessors in other centuries. (Comparison of varying versions of the same theme is always more instructive than that of different subjects.) The tomb of Abbot Jean de Cromois, with its Renaissance framework, shows a survival of earlier tendencies; as does also that of Roberte Legendre, though the figures of Faith and Hope (Charity is missing) are distinctly more recent in type than the recumbent effigy. Those who have time to notice and hunt up the coats of arms on the various tombs will often find they shed interesting light on their subjects. Observe also the churches from which these various monuments have been removed, a point which will fit in with your previous or subsequent knowledge of the buildings in many cases.

  The last window contains a few works of the German School, which it is interesting to compare with their French contemporaries. Thus, the shrewd, pragmatical, diplomatic head of Frederick the Pacific, a coarse, cunning self-seeker, is excellently contrasted with the French portrait-busts. The little scene of the Holy Family, after Dürer, which should be closely studied, is essentially German in the domestic character of its carpenter’s shop, in the broad peasant faces of its Madonna and attendant angels, in the playful touches of the irreverent cherubs, and in the figure of the Almighty appearing in clouds at the summit of the composition. The Kiss of Judas, opposite it, is also characteristically German; notice the brutal soldiers, whose like we have seen in woodwork at Cluny: the bluff St. Peter with the sword is equally noteworthy; in the background are separate episodes, such as the Agony in the Garden; though officially ascribed to the French School, this is surely the work of a deft but unideal German artist. Do not neglect the many beautiful decorative fragments collected in this room, nor the fine busts, mostly of a somewhat later period.

  Now enter Room VIII, the Salle de Jean Goujon. The magnificent collection of works contained in this room embraces the finest specimens of French Renaissance work of the school of the great artist whose name it bears, and of his equally gifted contemporary, Germain Pilon. They represent the plastic side of the School of Fontainebleau. In the centre is Jean Goujon’s * *Huntress Diana, with her dogs and stag; it was probably executed for Diane de Poitiers, and comes from her Château d’Anet, presented to her by her royal lover. (Note all the works from the Château d’Anet, which is a destroyed museum of the art of the Renaissance.) Observe on the base the monogram of H. and D., which recurs on contemporary portions of the Louvre. The decorative lobsters and cray-fish on t
he pedestal should also be noted. Diana herself strikes the keynote of all succeeding French sculpture. Beautiful, coquettish, lithe of limb, and with the distinctive French elegance of pose, this figure nevertheless contains in it the germs of rapid decadence. It suggests the genesis of the 18th century, and of the common ormolu clock of commerce. Step into the next room and compare it with the Nymph of Fontainebleau, by Benvenuto Cellini. You will there see how far the Florentine artist approached the French, and how much the Frenchman borrowed from the Florentine. Walk round and observe on either side this the most triumphant work of the French Renaissance. Observe also its relations to the Diana of Versailles, in the Classical Gallery — brought to France by François Ier, — and its general debt to the antique, as well as to contemporary Italy.

  Perhaps still more beautiful is the exquisite * *group of the Three Graces, supporting an urn, by Germain Pilon, intended to contain the heart of Henry II, and commissioned by Catherine de Médicis. It once stood in the Church of the Celestines. Here again one sees the delicacy and refinement of the French Renaissance, with fewer marks of its inherent defects than in Jean Goujon’s statue. Sit long and study this exquisite trio — which the Celestines piously described as the Theological Virtues. Walk round it and observe the admirably natural way in which the figures are united by their hands in so seemingly artificial a position. The charming triangular pedestal is by the Florentine sculptor, Domenico del Barbiere.

  The third object in the centre of the room is the exquisite group of the * *Four Theological Virtues, in wood, also by Germain Pilon, which, till the Revolution, supported the reliquary containing the remains of Ste. Geneviève, in St. Étienne-du-Mont, and earlier still in the old church now replaced by the Panthéon. These are probably the finest figures ever executed in this difficult material. The faces and attitudes deserve from every side the closest study. If you have entered into the spirit of these three great groups in the centre of this room, you have succeeded in understanding the French Renaissance.

  Now, begin at the further wall, in the body of the Salle, and observe, first, the exquisite reliefs of *Tritons and Nereids, with * *Nymphs of the Seine, by Jean Goujon. Read the labels. We shall visit hereafter the Fountain of which these graceful and delicate reliefs once formed a portion. The Nymph to the L is one of the loveliest works ever produced by its sculptor, and is absolutely redolent of Renaissance spirit. It indicates the change which had come over French handicraft, under the influence of its Italian models, at the same time allowing the national spirit to shine through in a way which it never succeeded in doing in contemporary painting. Beneath it are two noble figures in bronze, from the tomb of Christopher de Thou, attributed to an almost equally great artist, Barthélemy Prieur. Frémin Roussel’s Genius of History still more markedly anticipates more recent French tendencies. It is intensely modern. Germain Pilon’s monumental bronze of René Birague prepares us for the faults of the French works of this style in the Louis XIV period. Mere grandiosity and ostentation are here foreshadowed. The centre of the next wall is occupied by Germain Pilon’s fine chimney-piece, with Jean Goujon’s bust of Henri II as its central object. The decorative Renaissance work on this mantel should be closely studied, as well as that — so vastly inferior — on the adjacent later columns of the age of Louis XIV. Barthélemy Prieur’s exquisite bronzes from the tomb of the Constable Anne de Montmorency also breathe a profoundly French spirit. The figures represent Justice, Courage, and Abundance. Germain Pilon’s too tearful Mater Dolorosa (painted terra-cotta) close by, from the Sainte Chapelle, indicates the beginnings of modern French taste in church furniture. His recumbent tomb of Valentine Balbiani, on the other hand, is admirable as portraiture; but the genius of the artist is only fully displayed in the repulsive figure of the same body seen emaciated in death and decomposition beneath it. Barthélemy Prieur’s recumbent figure of Anne de Montmorency shows survival of the older type, doubtless due to the prejudices of patrons.

  Above it is an admirable piece of Renaissance sculpture, by Jean Goujon, for the decoration of the rood-loft (now removed) in St. Germain l’Auxerrois. The rare beauty of the existing one at St. Étienne-du-Mont (by a far inferior artist) enables us to estimate the loss we have sustained by its disappearance. The Deposition, in the centre, marked by the highly classical style and secular or almost sensuous beauty of its Maries, and the anatomical knowledge displayed in its Dead Christ, should be contrasted with earlier specimens in adjacent rooms. In the accompanying figures of the four Evangelists, notice how earlier conceptions of the writers and their attendant symbols have been altogether modified by a Raphaelesque spirit. You would scarcely notice the eagle, angel, bull, and lion (compare Sacchi upstairs), unless you were told to look for them. Germain Pilon’s Agony in the Garden displays an exactly similar transformation of a traditional subject.

  Some interesting works are placed near the windows. In the first is a fragment from the pulpit of the Church of the Grands Augustins in Paris, by Germain Pilon, representing Paul Preaching at Athens. The bald head and long beard of the Apostle of the Gentiles are traditional; the figure is modelled on Italian precedents; here again the female auditors are introduced entirely in the classical spirit, and treated with Renaissance love for exuberant femininity. Nominally sacred, such works as this are really nothing more than sensuous and decorative in their tendencies. The Church accepted them because they were supposed to be artistic. Other fragments opposite exemplify the same baneful tendency, pregnant with decadence. Christ and the Woman of Samaria (with her classical urn) is a subject we have already met with elsewhere: here, it is much permeated by Renaissance feeling. The Preaching of St. John Baptist gives the artist an opportunity for introducing two attractive female listeners. In the second window, the contrast between the comparatively archaic St. Eloi from Dijon, and the Nymphs of the school of Jean Goujon, is sufficiently abrupt to point its own moral. Germain Pilon’s Entombment may be instructively compared with Jean Goujon’s and others; the Magdalen here is an admirable figure. Glance across from one to the other and note the resemblance. Even at this late date, how close is the similarity in the attitudes of the chief actors! They almost correspond figure for figure: — Joseph of Arimathæa, and then Nicodemus, supporting the dead Christ; next, the fainting Madonna, in the arms of one of the Maries; then, the Magdalen at the foot, with her box of ointment, and the mourning women; all stand in the same relations in the two reliefs. If you will compare both paintings and sculptures in this manner, you will learn how much the artist borrowed in each case from predecessors, and exactly how much is his own invention. Opposite the Entombment are other Nymphs of the school of Jean Goujon, and a characteristic transitional figure of a Donor and his Family, showing a distinct attempt to treat an old motive by the new methods; L the Donor, kneeling, introduced by his patron, St. John Baptist; R, two ladies of his family, introduced by a sainted bishop and an abbot; near them, their children, kneeling, but with some genial allowance for the sense of tedium in infancy; in the background, Renaissance architecture, with quaint bas-reliefs of Samson carrying off the gates of Gaza; the Resurrection and Appearance to the Apostles; the Supper at Emmaus; and Jonah emerging from the mouth of the whale. Works like these, often artistically of less importance, nevertheless not infrequently throw useful light on the nature of the conditions under which the sculptor worked — the trammels of tradition, the struggle to wriggle out of the commands of a patron, who desires to see reproduced the types of his childhood. The third window contains some charming but mutilated fragments from the tomb of the Duc de Guise: more figures by Germain Pilon; and a thoroughly Renaissance Awakening of the Nymphs, attributed (with little doubt) to Frémin Roussell. Germain Pilon’s good bust of Charles IX strikes the keynote of the king’s vain and heartless character. The baby Christ, by Richier, though evidently suffering from water on the brain, is otherwise a charming early French conception of soft innocence and infantile grace. Notice, above this, a somewhat transitional Pietà, placed as
a votive offering (like so many other things) in the (old) church of Ste. Geneviève, with the kneeling donor represented as looking on, after the earlier fashion. The Judgment of Daniel, attributed to Richier, though splendid in execution, forms an example of the more crowded and almost confused composition which was beginning to destroy the unity and simplicity of plastic art. As a whole, the works in this room should be attentively and closely studied, illustrating as they do the one exquisite moment of perfect fruition, when the French Renaissance burst suddenly into full flower, to be succeeded almost at once by painful degeneracy and long slow decadence. I would specially recommend you to compare closely the more classical works of this room with those in the adjoining Salle de Michel Ange in order to recognise the distinctively French tone as compared with the Italian. The importance of these various rooms, of both nationalities, to a comprehension of Paris and French art in general, cannot be over-estimated. By their light alone can you fully understand the fabric of the Louvre itself, the Luxembourg, the Renaissance churches, the tombs at St. Denis, and above all, Fontainebleau, St. Germain, Versailles itself, and the entire development of architecture and sculpture from François Ier to the Revolutionary epoch. Especially should you always bear in mind the importance of works from the Château de Gaillon (early) and Château d’Anet (full French Renaissance).