From the Oak to the Olive: A Plain record of a Pleasant Journey

by Julia Ward Howe

PICTURES IN ANTWERP.

As you cannot, with rare exceptions, see Raphael out of Italy, so, I should almost say, you cannot see Rubens and Vandyck out of Belgium. This is especially true of the former; for one does, I confess, see marvellous portraits of Vandyck's in Genoa and in other places. But one judges a painter best by seeing a group of his best works, which show his sphere of thought with some completeness. A single sentence suffices to show the great poet; but no one will assume that a sentence will give you to know as much of him as a poem or volume. So the detached sentences of the two great Flemish painters, easily met with in European galleries, bear genuine evidence of the master's hand; but the collections of Antwerp and Bruges show us the master himself. Intending no disrespect to Florence, Munich, or the Medicean series at the Louvre, I must say that I had no just measure of the dignity of Rubens as a man and as an artist, until I stood before his two great pictures in the Cathedral of Antwerp. One of these represents the Elevation of the Cross. Mathematically it offends one—the cross, the principal object in the picture, being seen diagonally, in an uneasy and awkward posture. On the other hand, the face of the Christ corresponds fully to the heroism of the moment; it expresses the human horror and agony, but, triumphing over all, the steadfastness of resolve and faith. It is a transfiguration—the spiritual glory holding its own above all circumstances of pain and infamy. A sort of beautiful surprise is in the eyes—the first deadly pang of an organism unused to suffer. It is a face that lifts one above the weakness and meanness of ordinary human life. This soul, one sees, had the true talisman, the true treasure. If we earn what he did, we can afford to let all else go. The Descent from the Cross is better known than its fellow-picture. It had not to me the wonderful interest of the living face of Christ in the supreme moment of his great life; for I shall always consider that the Christ represented in the Elevation is a true Christ, not a mere fancy figure or dramatic ghost. The Descent is, however, more grand and satisfactory in its grouping, and the contrast between the agony of the friendly faces that surround the chief figure and the dead peace of his expression and attitude is profound and pathetic. The head and body fall heavily upon the arms of those who support it, and who seem to bear an inward weight far transcending the outward one. The pale face of the Virgin is stricken and compressed with sorrow. Each of the pictures is the centre of a triptych, the two smaller paintings representing subjects in harmony with the chief groups. On the right of the Descent we have Mary making her historical visit to the house of Elisabeth; on the left, the presentation of the infant Christ in the temple. On the right of the Elevation is a group of those daughters of Jerusalem to whom Christ said, "Weep not for me." The subject on the left is less significant.

With these pictures deserves to rank the Flagellation of Christ, by the same artist, in the Church of St. Paul. The resplendent fairness of the body, the cruel reality of the bleeding which follows the scourge, and the expression of genuine but noble suffering, seize upon the very quick of sympathy, weakened by mythicism and sentimentalism. This fair body, sensitive as yours or mine, endured bitter and agonizing blows. This great heart was content to endure them as the penalty of bequeathing to mankind its priceless secret.

The churches of Antwerp are rich in architecture, paintings, and marbles. In the latter the Church of St. Jacques excels, the high altar and side chapels being adorned with twisted columns of white marble, and with various sculptures. The Musée contains many pictures of great reputation and merit. Among these are a miniature painting of the Descent from the Cross, by Rubens himself, closely, but not wholly, corresponding with his great picture; the Education of the Virgin, and the Vierge au Perroquet, both by Rubens, in his most brilliant style. Another composition represents St. Theresa imploring the Savior to release from purgatory the soul of a benefactor of her order. Rubens is said to have given to this benefactor the features of Vandyck, and to one of the angels releasing him those of his young wife, Helena Forman; while the face of an old man still in suffering represents his own.

This gallery contains three Vandycks of first-class merit, each of which will detain the attention of lovers of art. The one that first meets your eye is a Pietà, in which the body of Christ is stretched horizontally, his head lying on the lap of his mother. The strongest point of the picture is the Virgin's sorrow, expressed in her pallid face, eyes worn with weeping, and outstretched hands. The second is a small crucifix, very harmonious and expressive. The third is a life-size picture of the crucifixion, with a very individual tone of color. The Virgin, at the foot of the cross, has great truth and dignity, but is rather a modern figure for the subject. But the pride of the whole collection is a unique triptych by Quintin Matsys, his greatest work, and one without which the extent of his power can never be realized. The central picture represents a dead Christ, surrounded by the men and women who ministered to him, preparing him for sepulture. The right hand of the Christ lies half open, with a wonderful expression of acquiescence. The faces of those who surround him are full of intense interest and tenderness; the Virgin's countenance expresses heart-break. The whole picture disposes you to weep, not from sentimentalism, but from real sympathy. Of the side pieces, one represents the wicked women with the head of John the Baptist, the other the martyrdom of Ste. Barbe. Add to these some of the best Teniers, Ostades, Ruysdaels, and Vanderweldes, with many excellent works of second-class merit, and you will understand, as well as words can tell you, what treasures lie within the Musée of Antwerp.

Copy is exhausted, say the printers. Perhaps patience gave out first. My MS. is at end—not handsomely rounded off, nor even shortened by a surgical amputation, but broken at some point in which facts left no room for words. Observation became absorbing, and description was adjourned, as it now proves, forever. The few sentences which I shall add to what is already written will merely apologize for my sudden disappearance, lest the clown's "Here we are" should find a comic pendant in my "Here we are not."

I have only to say that I have endeavored in good faith to set down this simple and hurried record of a journey crowded with interests and pleasures. I was afraid to receive so freely of these without attempting to give what I could in return, under the advantages and disadvantages of immediate transcription. In sketches executed upon the spot, one hopes that the vividness of the impression under which one labors may atone for the want of finish and of elaboration. If read at all, these notes may be called to account for many insufficiencies. Some pages may appear careless, some sentences Quixotic. I am still inclined to think that with more leisure and deliberation I should not have done the work as well. I should, perhaps, like Tintoretto, have occupied acres and acres of attention with superfluous delineation, putting, as he did, my own portrait in the corner. Rejoice, therefore, good reader, in my limitations. They are your enfranchisement.

Touching Quixotism, I will plead guilty to the sounding of various parleys before some stately buildings and unshaken fortresses. "Who is this that blows so sharp a summons?" may the inmates ask. I may answer, "One who believes in the twelve legions of angels that wait upon the endeavors of faithful souls." Should they further threaten or deride, I will borrow Elizabeth Browning's sweet refrain,—

"I am no trumpet, but a reed,"—

and trust not to become a broken one.

Conscious of my many shortcomings, and asking attention only for the message I have tried to bring, I ask also for that charity which recognizes that good will is the best part of action, and good faith the first condition of knowledge.

The following typogrphical errors were corrected by the etext

transcriber:

embarassment=>embarrassment

Minature=>Miniature

procesison=>procession

pivations=>privations

the shonlder of the garment=>the shoulder of the garment

fortutunate=>fortunate

Bronner pass.=>Brenner pass.

Pinakethek=>Pinakothek

antiquitties=>antiquities

Macchiavelli's Principe=>Machiavelli's Principe

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