A Visit to the Sistine Chapel.
Deep love lieth under
These pictures of time;
They fade in the light of
Their meaning sublime.
—Emerson.
ST. PETER'S AND CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO, ROME.
They first passed into the great Cathedral in order to give a look at that most beautiful of all Michael Angelo's sculptures—Mary holding on her knees her dead Son. Barbara and Bettina had studied it on a former visit to St. Peter's when Mr. Sumner was not with them. Now he asked them to note the evident weight of the dead Christ,—with every muscle relaxed,—a triumph of the sculptor's art; and, especially, the impersonal face of the mother; a face that is simply the embodiment of her feeling, and wholly apart from the ordinary human!
"This is a special characteristic of Michael Angelo's faces," he said, "and denotes the high order of his thought. In it, he approached more closely the conceptions of the ancient Greek masters than has any other modern artist—and now we will go to the Sistine Chapel," he added, after a little time.
They went out to the Vatican entrance, passed the almost historic Swiss Guards, and climbed the stairs with quite the emotion that they were about to visit some sacred shrine, so much had they read and so deeply had they thought about the frescoes they were about to see.
For some time after they entered the Chapel Mr. Sumner said nothing. The custodian, according to custom, provided them with mirrors; and each one passed slowly along beneath the world-famous ceiling paintings, catching the reflection of fragment after fragment, figure after figure. Soon the mirrors were cast aside, and the opera-glasses Mr. Sumner had advised them to bring were brought into use,—they were no longer content to study simply a reflected image.
At last necks and eyes grew tired, and when Mr. Sumner saw this, he asked all to sit for a time on one of the benches, in a corner apart from others who were there.
"I know just how you feel," he said. "You are disappointed. The frescoes are so far above our heads; their colors are dull; they are disfigured by seams; there are so many subjects that you are confused and weary. You are already striving to retain their interest and importance by connecting them with the personality of their creator, and are imagining Michael Angelo swung up there underneath the vault, above his scaffoldings, laboring by day and by night during four years. You are beginning in the wrong place to rightly comprehend the work.
"It is the magnitude of Michael Angelo's conceptions that puts him among the very first of painters; and it is the conception of these frescoes that makes them the most notable paintings in the world. We must dwell on this for a moment. When the work was begun it was the artist's intention to paint on the end wall, opposite the altar, the Fall of Lucifer, the enemy of man, who caused sin to befall him. This was never accomplished. Then he designed to cover the ceiling (as he did) with the chief Biblical scenes of the world's history that are connected with man's creation and fall—to picture all these as looking directly forward to Christ's coming and man's redemption; and then to complete the series, as he afterward did, by painting this great Last Judgment over the altar. Is it not a stupendous conception?
"Let your eyes run along the ceiling as I talk. God is represented as a most superbly majestic Being in the form of man. He separates light from darkness. He creates the sun and moon. He commands the waters to bring forth all kinds of fish; the earth and air to bring forth animal life. He creates Adam: nothing more grand is there in the whole realm of art than this magnificent figure, perfect in everything save the reception of the breath of eternal life; his eyes are waiting for the Divine spark that will leap into them when God's finger shall touch his own. He creates Eve. In Paradise they sin, and are driven out by angels with flaming swords. Then, a sad sequence to the parents' weakness, Cain murders his brother Abel. The flood comes and destroys all their descendants save Noah. He who has withstood evil is saved with his family in the ark, and becomes the father of a new race."
"And do the pictures at the corners, and the single figures, have anything to do with this subject?" asked Malcom, after a pause, during which all were busy following the thoughts awakened by Mr. Sumner's words.
MICHAEL ANGELO. SISTINE CHAPEL, ROME. THE DELPHIAN SIBYL.
"Yes, indeed; nothing here is foreign to the one great thought of the painter. The four irregular spaces at the corners are filled with representations of important deliverances of the Jewish people from evil,—David slaying Goliath, the hanging of Haman, the serpent raised in the wilderness, and Judith with the head of Holofernes. The connection in Michael Angelo's mind evidently was that God, who had always provided a help for His people, would also in His own time give a Saviour from their sins.
"Ranged along the sides you see seven prophets and five sibyls: the prophets foretold Christ's coming to the Jewish world, and the sibyls sang of it to the Gentile world.
"Nowhere, however, do we see the waiting and the longing for the coming of the Redeemer more strikingly shown than in these families,—'Genealogy of the Virgin' they are commonly called,—that are painted in the triangular spaces above the windows. Each represents a father, mother, and little child, every bit of whose life seems utterly absorbed with just the idea of patient, expectant waiting. When troubled and weary, as we all are sometimes, you know, I have often come here to gain calmness and strength by looking at one or two of these groups;" and Mr. Sumner paused, with his eyes fixed on one of the loveliest of the Holy Families, as they are sometimes called, as if he would now drink in its spirit of hopeful peace.
"They are waiting," he resumed after a few minutes, "as only those can wait who confidently hope; and, therefore, there is really nothing in the rendering of all this grand conception that more clearly points to the Saviour's coming than do these.
"I think this part of the frescoes has not generally received the attention it merits.
"The decorative figures, called Athletes, that you see seated on the apparently projecting cornice, at each of the four corners of the smaller great divisions of the ceiling, are a wholly unique creation of the artist, and serve as a necessary separation of picture from picture. They are with reason greatly admired in the world of art.
"These many figures, each possessing distinct personality, were evolved from the mind of the artist. We can never think of him as going about through the city streets seeking models for his work as did Leonardo da Vinci. His figures are as purely ideal as the creations of the old Greeks. Now think of all this. Think of the sphere of the old master's thought during these four years, and you will not wonder that he could not sleep, but, restless, came again and again at night with a candle fixed in his paper helmet to light the work of his hands."
All were silent. Never before had they seen Mr. Sumner so evidently moved by his subject; and this made it all the more impressive. They became impatient as they heard a little group of tourists chatting and laughing in front of the Last Judgment; and when, finally, a crowd of travellers with a noisy guide entered the Chapel, they quickly decided to go away and to come again the next day.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Sumner," said Barbara, in a low, sympathetic voice, as she found herself beside him as they came out through the long corridor; "you have made it all very plain to us,—the greatness, the skill, the patience of Michael Angelo. It is as if he had been inspired by God."
"And why not?" was the gentle reply, as he looked down into the upturned face so full of sweet seriousness. "Do you believe that the days of inspiration were confined to past ages? God is the same as then, and close at hand as then; man is the same and with the same needs.
"The passive master lent his hand
To the vast soul that o'er him planned,
wrote our Emerson, showing he believed, as I firmly do, that we ourselves now work God's will, as men did ages ago; that God inspires us even as he did the old Prophets."
"I love to believe so," said Barbara, simply.
"And," continued Mr. Sumner, "this does not lessen any man, but rather makes him greater. Surely God's working through him makes him truly grander than the mere work itself ever could."
As Malcom, Barbara, and Bettina drove homeward, their talk took a serious turn. Malcom was deeply impressed by his uncle's last words, which he had overheard, when taken into connection with all the preceding thoughts about Michael Angelo. Finally he asked:—
"And then what can a man do? What did Michael Angelo, himself, do if, as uncle suggested, God wrought through him?"
"Oh, I know!" exclaimed Bettina, eagerly. "I have heard papa and mamma talk about the same thing more than once, only of course Michael Angelo was not their subject. In the first place, he must have realized that God sent him into the world to do something, and also that He had not left him alone, but was with him. Papa always says that to realize this begins everything that is good."
"Yes," interrupted Barbara. "He did feel this. Don't you remember that he wrote in one of his letters that we were reading in that library book the other day, 'Make no intimacies with any one but the Almighty alone'? I was particularly struck by it, because just before I read it, I was thinking what a lonely man he was."
"Yes, dear, I remember. And in the next place," continued Bettina, "papa says we must get ourselves ready to do as great work as is possible, so that may be given us. If we do not prepare ourselves, this cannot be. You know how Michael Angelo studied and studied there in Florence when he was a young man; how he never spared himself, but 'toiled tremendously,' as some one has said. And, next, we must do in the very best way possible even the smallest thing God sees fit to give us to do, so that we may be found worthy to do greater ones. But, Malcom, you know all this as well or better than I do, and I know you are trying to do these things too!" and Bettina blushed at the thought that she had been preaching.
But Malcom laughed, and looked as if he could listen to so sweet a preacher forever. Never were there two better comrades than he and Bettina had been all their lives.
Barbara said little. There was a far-away look in her eyes that told of unexpressed thought. She was pondering that which the morning had brought; and underneath and through all was the happy knowledge that her hero had not failed her. As usual he had committed new gifts into her keeping. And the gentle, almost intimate, tones of his voice when he was talking to her,—she felt it was to herself alone, though others heard—dwelt like music in her ears.
Mr. Sumner had been calmed by the lesson of Michael Angelo's frescoes, as he had often been before. In the presence of eternal verities,—however they may be embodied to us,—our own private concerns must ever grow trivial. What matters a little unrest or disappointment, or even unhappiness, when our thought is engaged with untold ages of God's dealing with mankind? With the wondrous fact that God is with man,—Immanuel,—forever and forevermore?
That evening he spent with the family in their pretty sitting room, and in answer to some questions about the Last Judgment, talked for a few minutes about this large fresco, which occupied seven years of Michael Angelo's life. He told them that although it is not perhaps so great as a work of art as the ceiling frescoes, yet because of its conception, of the number of figures introduced, the boldness of their treatment, and the magnificence of their drawing, it stands unrivalled. He said they ought to study it, bit by bit, group by group, after having once learned to understand its design.
They talked of the grim humor of the artist in giving his Belial—the master of Hades—the face of the master of ceremonies of the chapel, who found so much fault with his painting of nude figures.
"That was the chief feature of interest in the picture to that group of young people who stood so long before it this morning," said Mr. Sumner. "I often notice that the portrait of grouty old Biagio attracts more attention than any other of the nearly three hundred figures in the picture."
"I don't wonder, for I want to see it too," said Malcom, laughing.
They talked also of Vittoria Colonna, at whose home and in whose companionship the lonely master found all his happiness, especially during these years of toil. The girls were much interested in her, and Mr. Sumner said he would take them to visit the Colonna Palace, where, among other pictures, they would find a portrait of this noble woman, who was so famous in the literary life of her time.
One morning, not long after, Malcom brought a handful of letters from the banker's, among which several fell to Barbara and Bettina.
After opening two or three of his own, Mr. Sumner looked up and said:—
"I have here a letter dictated by Howard's grandmother. It contains only a few words, which were written evidently by some friend, who adds that the poor old lady is greatly prostrated, and it is feared will never recover from the shock of his death."
"Poor woman! I wish it might have come less suddenly to her," replied Mrs. Douglas, in a sympathetic voice.
After a little silence, during which all were busy with their letters, a low cry burst from Barbara's lips.
Startled, all looked up to find her, pale as death, staring at a sheet clutched in her hand, while Bettina had sunk on her knees with her arms about her sister's waist.
"What is it? oh! what is it?" cried they.
Barbara found just voice enough to say: "No bad news from home," and then appealingly held her letter toward Mr. Sumner.
"Shall I read it?" and as she bowed assent, he hastily scanned the contents.
"Howard left a large portion of his money to Barbara," he said briefly, in response to the inquiring eyes, and handed the letter back to the agitated girl, who, with Bettina, sought their own room.
Then he added, striving to keep his voice calm and natural: "It seems that the very day before he was taken ill, Howard went to a lawyer in Florence and made a codicil to his will, in which he grouped several bequests heretofore given, into one large one, which he gave to Barbara. This he at once sent to his lawyer in Boston, who has now written to Barbara."
"This is what poor Howard tried so hard to tell me at the last," said Mrs. Douglas. "He began two or three times, but did not have the strength to continue. I suspected it was something like this, but thought it best not to mention it. How much is it?" she asked after a pause, during which Malcom and Margery had talked in earnest tones.
"Nearly half a million," answered Mr. Sumner.
Barbara the owner of nearly half a million dollars! No wonder she was overcome! It seemed like an Arabian Nights' tale.
"How perfectly lovely!" cried Margery; and her mother echoed her words.
Mr. Sumner looked rather grave. It was not that Barbara should have the money, but that another should have the right to give it her. Some one else to bless the life of the girl who was becoming so dear to him! To whom he was beginning to long to bring all good things! It was as if the dead Howard came in some way between himself and her; and he went out alone beneath the trees of the Pincian Gardens to think it all over.
Meanwhile, the two girls were in their chamber. Barbara threw herself on a couch beneath the window, and gazed with unseeing eyes up into the depths of the Italian sky. She was stunned by the news the letter had brought, and, as yet, thought was completely passive.
Bettina read several times the lawyer's letter, trying to understand its contents. At last she said gently:—
"Can it be possible, Bab? I can hardly comprehend how much it is. We have never thought of so much money in all our lives. Why! you are rich, dear. You have more money than you ever can spend!"
Barbara sprang from the couch, and threw out her arms with an exultant gesture.
"Spend! I hadn't once thought of that! Betty! Betty! Papa and mamma shall have everything they wish! They shall never work so hard any more! Mamma shall have a seamstress every day, and her poor pricked fingers shall grow smooth! She shall have the loveliest clothes, and never again give the prettiest of everything to you and me! Papa shall have vacations, and books, and the study in hospitals he has so longed for! Richard shall have college certain to look forward to; Lois shall have the best teachers in the world for her music; Margaret shall be an artist; and dear little Bertie!—oh! he shall have what he needs for everything he wishes to do and be! And they shall all come abroad to this dear lovely Italy, and enjoy all that we are enjoying! And you and I, Betty!—why!—you and I can have some new spring dresses!" And the excited girl burst into a flood of tears, mingled with laughter at the absurdity of her anti-climax.
Bettina did not know what to do. She had never seen Barbara so overwrought with excitement. Presently, however, she began to speak of Howard, and before long they were talking tenderly of the young man who so short a time ago was a stranger to them, but whose life had been destined to touch so closely their own.
Barbara was profoundly moved as she realized this proof of his affection for her, and a depression was fast following her moment of exultation, when a tap at the door ushered in Mrs. Douglas, who took her into her arms as her mother would have done. Her sweet sympathy and bright practical talk did a world of good in restoring to both the girls their natural calmness.
Barbara, however, was in a feverish haste to do something that would repay her parents for the money she and Betty were using, and, to soothe her, Mrs. Douglas told her what to write to the lawyer, so that he would at once transfer a few thousands of dollars to Dr. Burnett. Then she said:—
"I would not write your father and mother about it until to-morrow. You can do it more easily then; and I will write, too, if you would like. Margery and Malcom are longing to see you. So is Robert, I am sure. And will it not be best for you to go right out somewhere with us?"