THE CRUCIFIXION.
"Verum stabas, optima Mater, juxta crucem Filli tui, non solum corpore, sed mentis constatia."
This great subject belongs more particularly to the Life of Christ. It is, I observe, always omitted in a series of the Life of the Virgin, unless it be the Rosary, in which the "Vigil of the Virgin by the Cross" is the fifth and greatest of the Seven Sorrows.
We cannot fail to remark, that whether the Crucifixion be treated as a mystery or as an event, Mary is always an important figure.
In the former case she stands alone on the right of the cross, and St. John on the left.[1] She looks up with an expression of mingled grief and faith, or bows her head upon her clasped hands in resignation. In such a position she is the idealized Mater Dolorosa, the Daughter of Jerusalem, the personified Church mourning for the great Sacrifice; and this view of the subject I have already discussed at length.
[Footnote 1: It has been a question with the learned whether the Virgin Mary, with St. John, ought not to stand on the left of the cross, in allusion to Psalm cxlii. (always interpreted as prophetic of the Passion of Christ) ver. 4: "I looked on my right hand, and be held, but there was none who would know me.">[
On the other hand, when the Crucifixion is treated as a great historical event, as a living scene acted before our eyes, then the position and sentiment given to the Virgin are altogether different, but equally fixed by the traditions of art. That she was present, and near at hand, we must presume from the Gospel of St. John, who was an eye-witness; and most of the theological writers infer that on this occasion her constancy and sublime faith were even greater than her grief, and that her heroic fortitude elevated her equally above the weeping women and the timorous disciples. This is not, however, the view which the modern painters have taken, and even the most ancient examples exhibit the maternal grief for a while overcoming the constancy. She is standing indeed, but in a fainting attitude, as if about to sink to the earth, and is sustained in the arms of the two Marys, assisted, sometimes, but not generally, by St. John; Mary Magdalene is usually embracing the foot of the cross. With very little variation this is the visual treatment down to the beginning of the sixteenth century. I do not know who was the first artist who placed the Mother prostrate on the ground; but it must be regarded as a fault, and as detracting from the high religious dignity of the scene. In all the greatest examples, from Cimabue, Giotto, and Pietro Cavallini, down to Angelico, Masaccio, and Andrea Mantegna, and their contemporaries, Mary is uniformly standing.
In a Crucifixion by Martin Schoen, the Virgin, partly held up in the arms of St. John, embraces with fervour the foot of the cross: a very rare and exceptional treatment, for this is the proper place of Mary Magdalene. In Albert Durer's composition, she is just in the act of sinking to the ground in a very natural attitude, as if her limbs had given way under her. In Tintoretto's celebrated Crucifixion, we have an example of the Virgin placed on the ground, which if not one of the earliest, is one of the most striking of the more modern conceptions. Here the group at the foot of the cross is wonderfully dramatic and expressive, but certainly the reverse of dignified. Mary lies fainting on the earth; one arm is sustained by St. John, the other is round the neck of a woman who leans against the bosom of the Virgin, with eyes closed, as if lost in grief. Mary Magdalene and another look up to the crucified Saviour, and more in front a woman kneels wrapped up in a cloak, and hides her face. (Venice, S. Rocco.)
Zani has noticed the impropriety here, and in other instances, of exhibiting the "Grandissima Donna" as prostrate, and in a state of insensibility; a style of treatment which, in more ancient times, would have been inadmissible. The idea embodied by the artist should be that which Bishop Taylor has painted in words:—"By the cross stood the holy Virgin Mother, upon whom old Simeon's prophecy was now verified; for now she felt a sword passing through her very soul. She stood without clamour and womanish noises sad, silent, and with a modest grief, deep as the waters of the abyss, but smooth as the face of a pool; full of love, and patience, and sorrow, and hope!" To suppose that this noble creature lost all power over her emotions, lost her consciousness of the "high affliction" she was called to suffer, is quite unworthy of the grand ideal of womanly perfection here placed before us. It is clear, however, that in the later representations, the intense expression of maternal anguish in the hymn of the Stabat Mater gave the key to the prevailing sentiment. And as it is sometimes easier to faint than to endure; so it was easier for certain artists to express the pallor and prostration of insensibility, than the sublime faith and fortitude which in that extremest hour of trial conquered even a mother's unutterable woe.
That most affecting moment, in which the dying Saviour recommends his Mother to the care of the best beloved of his disciples, I have never seen worthily treated. There are, however, some few Crucifixions in which I presume the idea to have been indicated; as where the Virgin stands leaning on St. John, with his sustaining arm reverently round her, and both looking up to the Saviour, whose dying face is turned towards them. There is an instance by Albert Durer (the wood-cut in the "Large Passion"); but the examples are so few as to be exceptional.
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THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS, and the DEPOSITION, are two separate themes. In the first, according to the antique formula, the Virgin should stand; for here, as in the Crucifixion, she must be associated with the principal action, and not, by the excess of her grief, disabled from taking her part in it. In the old legend it is said, that when Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus wrenched out the nails which fastened the hands of our Lord to the cross, St. John took them away secretly, that his mother might not see them—"affin que la Vierge Marie ne les veit pas, crainte que le coeur ne lui amolist." And then, while Nicodemus drew forth the nails which fastened his feet, Joseph of Arimathea sustained the body, so that the head and arms of the dead Saviour hung over his shoulder. And the afflicted Mother, seeing this, arose on her feet and she took the bleeding hands of her Son, as they hung down, and clasped them in her own, and kissed him tenderly. And then, indeed, she sank to the earth, because of the great anguish she suffered, lamenting her Son, whom the cruel Jews had murdered.[1]
[Footnote 1: "—— tant qu'il n'y a coeur si dur, ni entendement d'homme qui n'y deust penser. 'Lasse, mon confort! m'amour et ma joye, que les Juifz ont faict mourir à grand tort et sans cause pour ce qu'il leur monstrait leurs faltes et enseignoit leur saulvement! O felons et mauvais Juifz, ne m'epargnez pas! puisque vous crucifiez mon enfant crucifiez moy—moy qui suis sa dolente mere, et me tuez d'aucune mort affin que je meure avec luy!'" v. The old French Legend, "Vie de Notre-Dame la glorieuse Vierge Marie.">[
The first action described in this legend (the afflicted Mother embracing the arm of her Son) is precisely that which was adopted by the Greek masters, and by the early Italians who followed them, Nicolo Pisano, Cimabue, Giotto, Puccio Capanna, Duccio di Siena, and others from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century. But in later pictures, the Virgin in the extremity of her grief has sunk to the ground. In an altar-piece by Cigoli, she is seated on the earth, looking out of the picture, as if appealing, "Was ever sorrow like unto my sorrow?" while the crown of thorns lies before her. This is very beautiful; but even more touching is the group in the famous "Descent from the Cross," the masterpiece of Daniel di Volterra (Rome, Trinità di Monte): here the fainting form of the Virgin, extended on the earth, and the dying anguish in her face, have never been exceeded, and are, in fact, the chief merit of the picture. In the famous Descent at Antwerp, the masterpiece of Rubens, Mary stands, and supports the arm of her Son as he is let down from the cross. This is in accordance with the ancient version; but her face and figure are the least effective part of this fine picture.
In a beautiful small composition, a print, attributed to Albert Durer, there are only three figures. Joseph of Arimathea stands on a ladder, and detaches from the cross the dead form of the Saviour, who is received into the arms of his Mother. This is a form of the Mater Dolorosa which is very uncommon, and must be regarded as exceptional, and ideal, unless we are to consider it as a study and an incomplete group.
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The DEPOSITION is properly that moment which succeeds the DESCENT from the Cross; when the dead form of Christ is deposed or laid upon the ground, resting on the lap of his Mother, and lamented by St. John, the Magdalene, and others. The ideal and devotional form of this subject, styled a Pietà, may be intended to represent one of those festivals of the Passion Week which commemorate the participation of the holy Virgin Mother in the sufferings of her Son.[1] I have already spoken at length of this form of the Mater Dolorosa; the historical version of the same subject is what we have now to consider, but only so far as regards the figure of the Virgin.
[Footnote 1: "C'est ce que l'on a jugé à propos d'appeler La Compassion de la Vierge, autrement Notre Dame de Pitié."—Vide Baillet, "Les Fêtes Mobiles.">[
In a Deposition thus dramatically treated, there are always from four to six or eight figures. The principal group consists of the dead Saviour and his Mother. She generally holds him embraced, or bends over him contemplating his dead face, or lays her cheek to his with an expression of unutterable grief and love: in the antique conception she is generally fainting; the insensibility, the sinking of the whole frame through grief, which in the Crucifixion is misplaced, both in regard to the religious feeling and the old tradition, is here quite proper.[1] Thus she appears in the genuine Greek and Greco-Italian productions of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, as well as in the two finest examples that could be cited in more modern times.
[Footnote 1: The reason given is curious:—"Perchè quando Gesù pareva tormentato essendo vivo, il dolore si partiva frà la santissima madre e lui; ma quando poi egli era morto, tutto il dolore rimaneva per la sconsolata madre.">[
1. In an exquisite composition by Raphael, usually styled a Pietà, but properly a Deposition, there are six figures: the extended form of Christ; the Virgin swooning in the arms of Mary Salome and Mary Cleophas; Mary Magdalene sustains the feet of Christ, while her sister Martha raises the veil of the Virgin, as if to give her air; St. John stands by with clasped hands; and Joseph of Arimathea looks on the sorrowing group with mingled grief and pity.[1]
[Footnote 1: This wonderful drawing (there is no finished picture) was in the collection of Count Fries, and then belonged to Sir T. Lawrence. There is a good engraving by Agricola.]
2. Another, an admirable and celebrated composition by Annibale Caracci, known as the Four Marys, omits Martha and St. John. The attention of Mary Magdalene is fixed on the dead Saviour; the other two Marys are occupied by the fainting Mother. (Castle Howard.) On comparing this with Raphael's conception, we find more of common nature, quite as much pathos, but in the forms less of that pure poetic grace, which softens at once, and heightens the tragic effect.
Besides Joseph of Arimathea, we have sometimes Nicodemus; as in the very fine Deposition by Perugino, and in one, not loss fine, by Albert Durer. In a Deposition by Ambrogio Lorenzetti, Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from the dead, stands near his sister Martha.
In a picture by Vandyke, the Mother closes the eyes of the dead Redeemer: in a picture by Rubens, she removes a thorn from his wounded brow:—both natural and dramatic incidents very characteristic of these dramatic painters.
There are some fine examples of this subject in the old German school. In spite of ungraceful forms, quaint modern costumes, and worse absurdities, we often find motifs, unknown in the Italian school, most profoundly felt, though not always happily expressed, I remember several instances in which the Madonna does not sustain her Son; but kneeling on one side, and, with clasped hands, she gazes on him with a look, partly of devotion, partly of resignation; both the devotion and the resignation predominating over the maternal grief. I have been asked, "why no painter has ever yet represented the Great Mother as raising her hands in thankfulness that her Son had drank the cup—had finished the work appointed for him on earth?" This would have been worthy of the religions significance of the moment; and I recommend the theme to the consideration of artists.[1]
[Footnote 1: In the most modern Deposition I have seen (one of infinite beauty, and new in arrangement, by Paul Delaroche), the Virgin, kneeling at some distance, and a little above, contemplates her dead Son. The expression and attitude are those of intense anguish, and only anguish. It is the bereaved Mother; it is a craving desolation, which is in the highest degree human and tragic; but it is not the truly religious conception.]
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The entombment follows, and when treated as a strictly historical scene, the Virgin Mother is always introduced, though here as a less conspicuous figure, and one less important to the action. Either she swoons, which is the ancient Greek conception; or she follows, with streaming eyes and clasped hands, the pious disciples who bear the dead form of her Son, as in Raphael's wonderful picture in the Borghese Palace, and Titian's, hardly less beautiful, in the Louvre, where the compassionate Magdalene sustains her veiled and weeping figure;—or she stands by, looking on disconsolate, while the beloved Son is laid in the tomb.
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All these fine and important themes belong properly to a series of the History of Christ. In a series of the Life of the Virgin, the incidents of the Passion of our Lord are generally omitted; whereas, in the cycle of subjects styled the ROSARY, the Bearing of the Cross, the Crucifixion, and the Deposition, are included in the fourth and fifth of the "Sorrowful Mysteries." I shall have much more to say on these subjects when treating of the artistic representations from the History of Christ. I will only add here, that their frequency as separate subjects, and the preëminence given to the figure of the Virgin as the mother of Pity, are very suggestive and affecting when we come to consider their intention as well as their significance. For, in the first place, they were in most instances the votive offerings of those who had lost the being most dear to them, and thus appealed so the divine compassion of her who had felt that sword "pierce through her own heart also." In this sense they were often suspended as memorials in the chapels dedicated to the dead, of which I will cite one very beautiful and touching example. There is a votive Deposition by Giottino, in which the general conception is that which belonged to the school, and very like Giotto's Deposition in the Arena at Padua. The dead Christ is extended on a white shroud, and embraced by the Virgin; at his feet kneels the Magdalene, with clasped hands and flowing hair; Mary Salome kisses one of his hands, and Martha (as I suppose) the other; the third Mary, with long hair, and head dropping with grief, is seated in front to the right. In the background, in the centre, stands St. John, bending over the group in profound sorrow; on his left hand Joseph of Arimathea stands with the vase of "spices and ointments," and the nails; near him Nicodemus. On the right of St. John kneels a beautiful young girl, in the rich Florentine costume, who, with a sorrowful earnestness and with her hands crossed over her bosom, contemplates the dead Saviour. St. Romeo (or San Remigio) patron of the church in which the picture was dedicated, lays his hand paternally on her head; beside her kneels a Benedictine nun, who in the game manner is presented by St. Benedict. These two females, sisters perhaps, are the bereaved mourners who dedicated the picture, certainly one of the finest of the Giottesque school.[1]
[Footnote 1: It is now in the gallery of the Uffizii, at Florence. In the Florentine edition of Vasari the name of the church in which this picture was originally placed is called San Romeo, who is St. Remi (or Remigio), Bishop of Reims. The painter, Giottino, the greatest and the most interesting, personally, of the Giottesque artists, was, as Vasari says, "of a melancholy temperament, and a lover of solitude;" "more desirous of glory than of gain;" "contented with little, and thinking more of serving and gratifying others than of himself;" "taking small care for himself, and perpetually engrossed by the works he had undertaken." He died of consumption, in 1356, at the age of thirty two.]
Secondly, we find that the associations left in the minds of the people by the expeditions of the Crusaders and the pilgrimages to the Holy Sepulchre, rendered the Deposition and the Entombment particularly popular and impressive as subjects of art, even down to a late period. "Ce que la vaillante épée des ayeux avait glorieusement defendu, le ciscaux des enfans aimait à le réproduire, leur piété à l'honorer." I think we may trace these associations in many examples, particularly in a Deposition by Raphael, of which there is a fine old engraving. Here, in the centre, stands a circular building, such as the church at Jerusalem was always described; in front of which are seen the fainting Virgin and the mournful women: a grand and solemn group, but poetically rather than historically treated.
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In conclusion, I must notice one more form of the Mater Dolorosa, one of the dramatic conceptions of the later schools of art; as far as I knew, there exist no early examples.
In a picture by Guercino (Louvre), the Virgin and St. Peter lament the death of the Saviour. The Mother, with her clasped hands resting on her knees, appears lost in resigned sorrow: she mourns her Son. Peter, weeping, as with a troubled grief, seems to mourn at once his Lord and Master, and his own weak denial. This picture has the energetic feeling and utter want of poetic elevation which generally characterized Guercino.
There is a similar group by Ludovico Caracci in the Duonio at Bologna.
In a picture by Tiarini, the Madre Addolorata is seated, holding in her hand the crown of thorns; Mary Magdalene kneels before her, and St. John stands by—both expressing the utmost veneration and sympathy. These and similar groups are especially to be found in the later Bologna school. In all the instances known to me, they have been painted for the Dominicans, and evidently intended to illustrate the sorrows of the Rosary.
In one of the services of the Passion Week, and in particular reference to the maternal anguish of the Virgin, it was usual to read, as the Epistle, a selection from the first chapter of the Lamentations of Jeremiah, eloquent in the language of desolation and grief. The painters seemed to have filled their imagination with the images there presented; and frequently in the ideal Pietà the daughter of Jerusalem "sits solitary, with none to comfort her." It is the contrary in the dramatic version: the devotion of the women, the solicitude of the affectionate Magdalene, and the filial reverence of St. John, whom the scriptural history associates with the Virgin in a manner so affecting, are never forgotten.
In obedience to the last command of his dying Master, John the
Evangelist—
"He, into whose keeping, from the cross,
The mighty charge was given—"
DANTE.
conducted to his own dwelling the Mother to whom he was henceforth to be as a Son. This beautiful subject, "John conducting the Virgin to his home," was quite unknown, as far as I am aware, in the earlier schools of art, and appears first in the seventeenth century. An eminent instance is a fine solemn group by Zurbaran. (Munich.) Christ was laid in the sepulchre by night, and here, in the gray dawn, John and the veiled Virgin are seen as returning from the entombment, and walking mournfully side by side.
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We find the peculiar relation between the Mother of Christ and St. John, as her adopted son, expressed in a very tender and ideal manner, on one of the wings of an altar-piece, attributed to Taddeo Gaddi. (Berlin Gal., No. 1081.) Mary and St. John stand in front; he holds one of her hands clasped in both his own, with a most reverent and affectionate expression. Christ, standing between them, lays one hand on the shoulder of each; the sentiment of this group is altogether very unusual; and very remarkable.