A PORTRAIT OF FRA ANGELICO.
BY EDMOND LAFONDE.
At dawn of a summer's day in the year of grace 1453, a Dominican monk set out from his convent of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, at Rome. He was an old man, but the brightness of youth still shown in his aged countenance, attributable, perhaps, to the shadowless sanctity of his life, and the purity of a soul which had never known wrinkles. He walked slowly in his dress of white woolen covered with a black scapular, his shaven head bared to the sun, his eyes cast down, and his hands employed in rolling the beads of the Rosary of St. Dominic. He traversed the square of the Pantheon, and was going to cross the bridge of St. Angelo, when, in passing the prison of the Tor di Nona, he saw coming out of it a funeral cortége; a condemned person, led to death in the usual place of execution, the piazza della Bocca Verità. A man nearly forty years of age, of noble and proud figure, but seemingly worn out by vice or grief; his costume curious, and wholly oriental; clothed in red silk, with a turban ornamented with gold and ermine. A Franciscan accompanied him, but endeavored in vain to direct his thoughts to heaven, and make him kiss the crucifix, from which he turned away his lips in discussed. The crowd that followed, becoming infuriated, exhorted him to penitence, crying out, "Amico, pensa a salvar l'anima." "My friend, think of saving thy soul."
As soon as the Franciscans saw a brother priest, he called to him, saying: "Ah! Fra Giovanni, in the name of the holy friendship which united our two glorious patriarchs, St. Dominic and St. Francis, come to my aid. You see this unhappy man. He is one of the Greeks just come from Italy, since the taking of Constantinople. His name is Argyropoulos. He has murdered a Roman woman; is doomed to die, and will not reconcile himself with God. He is not merely schismatical, but pagan. Try if you can be more successful than I." At a sign from the chief of the guard the cortége stopped—for in Rome, since the earliest age, pontifical justice does not wish to kill the soul, and makes every effort to save it while sacrificing the guilty body. Fra Giovanni tried to speak to the Greek, but was met with repulse and blasphemy. With tears rolling down his cheeks he whispered a few words to the Franciscan, who, elevating his voice, thus addressed the chief of the guard: "This son of St. Dominic," he said, "is Fra Giovanni of Fiesole, the favorite painter of his holiness. He is going to the Vatican, and will ask the Holy Father a delay of one day, in order to try once more to induce the sinner to repent." The people applauded, and the captain of the guard declared himself willing to assume the responsibility of suspending the execution while awaiting a new order from the sovereign pontiff. The condemned man, who remained apparently immovable during this debate, was re-conducted into the prison of Tor di Nona, where still later were to be enclosed the guilty family of Cenci, and the Franciscan entered with him. The crowd remained a long time before the door, losing none of its interest or curiosity. Fra Giovanni again pursued his way to the Vatican, his soul, so calm ordinarily, deeply agitated and troubled by the unfortunate event. Arrived at the square of St. Peter, he kneeled by the obelisk which contains a piece of the true cross; then passing the guards, who were daily accustomed to see him, entered without difficulty into the pontifical palace. He repaired immediately to the new chapel, which Pope Nicholas V. had just finished, and charged him to decorate; for it is time to say that Fra Giovanni was the painter-monk of Fiesole, whose purity of genius and sanctity of life had surnamed him Beato (blessed) or Fra Angelico (the angelical brother), under which latter name he is most generally known, and which is equally appropriate to his beauty of soul and to his works. The great Pope Nicholas V., who had known him at Florence, and watched the budding of these marvellous products of his pencil in the convent of St. Mark, had just called him to Rome, where Eugene IV. had already bid him come, to enthrone in his own person Christian art in the Vatican. Nicholas V. had built in his palace a small chapel, in which he desired the painter-monk to retrace for him the story of St. Lawrence and St. Stephen, reuniting them in the same poetical commemoration; as had been the custom of the faithful to invoke them, since their bones had lain united outside the walls in the ancient basilica of St. Lawrence. This chapel being very small is lighted by a single arched window; happily it has been preserved, and is one of the sanctuaries where the friends of Christian art love to make a pilgrimage. Below the window is now placed the altar which formerly faced it. On the three other sides Fra Angelico has painted two series of compositions, one above the other; in the arches of the upper part is represented, in six compartments, the history of St. Stephen, and in the lower that of St. Lawrence. On entering the chapel Fra Angelico fell on his knees to pray God to guide his pencil, then commenced to paint the scene where St. Stephen was led to martyrdom. He there represented an enraged Jew, who conducts the saint outside of Jerusalem, while others pushed and pursued him with stones in their hands. While painting the violence of the Jews Fra Angelico [{673}] thought deeply of the Greek whose execution he had arrested, and awaited with pious impatience the arrival of the Pope, who never failed daily to visit the works of his favorite painter. The Dominican interrupted his work now and then to rest, reposing his mind with prayer and singing occasionally a stanza of Dante, who was then for mystical painters an unfailing source of religious inspiration. He recited the exquisite passage where Dante paints the glorious martyrdom of St. Stephen:
"Poi vidi genti accese in fuoco d'ira
Con pietre un giovinetto ancider, forte
Gridando a se pur; Martira, martira, ect."
"Then I saw an excited and angry crowd, stoning and forcing onward a young man, with loud cries of 'Kill him, kill him!' And him I saw bent to the earth by the weight of death, but with eyes uplifted and turned to heaven; in the midst of the terrible struggle praying the sovereign God to forgive his enemies, with an expression so beautiful as to command pity and respect."
At last the door of the chapel opened and the Pope entered. Nicholas V. was old, but more bent by sorrow than age. In his youth he was called the poor student of Sarzana, and had passed his life in the society of saints and literary men. Become sovereign pontiff, he encouraged piety, science, art, and letters; laid the foundation of St. Peter's, embellished Rome, and merited truly to give his name to the fifteenth century as Leo X., gave his to the sixteenth. During the Council of Florence he had known Fra Angelico, and soon perceived that the soul of the Dominican artist was worth far more than his pencil. Pope Eugene IV. had thus judged him when he wished to name this holy religious Archbishop of Florence. Fra Angelico, seized with fear on learning the intentions of the pontiff, besought to be spared so great a weight. His vocation, he said, was not to govern, but stated at the same time he could recommend a brother of his order far more worthy than he of such a dignity. Eugene IV. listened to his suggestion and named for archbishop the monk who was afterward to be St. Antonine. When Nicholas V. entered the chapel he appeared so unhappy that Fra Angelico, in kneeling to implore his blessing, could not forbear asking the cause of his sadness; if some recent misfortune had not befallen him. "O my son," replied the Pope, "the misfortune which has happened me is the catastrophe long since foretold, but not the less bitter to all Christian hearts, the taking of Constantinople by the Turks! My dreams, even, are troubled, for since I have been Pope the principal aim of my pontificate has been the pacification of Christianity, so as to unite and direct all our forces in a crusade against the Turks. But the unfortunate Greeks have upset all my projects in their hatred of the papacy, preferring the turban to the tiara. They have broken the peace of Florence, ill received the assistance of the Latins, and now their capital is no longer for Jesus Christ, but Mahomet. Ah! Fra Giovanni, can any one in the world be more wretched than I? Were it not that I fear a failure of duty, I would renounce the pontifical dignity, to become again Master Thomas of Sarzana. Then, one day gave me more true happiness than I have since enjoyed in a whole year." The Pope shed tears abundantly. [Footnote 188]
[Footnote 188: See this scene in Muratori, volume 25th, page 286. The taking of Constantinople was a mortal blow to Nicholas V. From that day he was never seen to smile.]
Fra Giovanni deeply commiserated him, and replied in a voice choked with emotion: "Most Holy Father, let us resign ourselves to the will of God. Bear your cross as did he of whom you are the vicar; I wish I were the good Cyrenean to aid you. Let us contemplate the images of the two martyrs I am to paint on the walls of the chapel, and, like them, let us learn to suffer." "You are right, Fra Giovanni. Your soul and talent are truly consolatory, and I love to come here and open my heart, charged as it is with incurable anguish." [{674}] Just then twelve o'clock struck. The Pope knelt down to recite the Angelus, and dried the tears which since St. Peter so often had reddened the eyes of the sovereign pontiffs. At this moment a prelate came to announce that the dinner of his holiness was ready. "My son," said the Pope, "do not leave me in this hour of affliction. I beg you to dine at my table." "Holy Father," replied the humble monk, "without the permission of the prior I dare not do so. I must dine with my community." "But, my son, I can dispense with this obligation. Come, come!" The Dominican dined, therefore, tete-à-tete with the Pope, but in silence, and with eyes cast down, as if he had been in his own refectory. It was not a day of abstinence, and meat was served on the Pope's table, but the monk refused to partake of it, "Fra Giovanni," said Nicholas, "you exhaust yourself with this painting, and I perhaps urge you too closely to finish it. You have worked hard to day, and should strengthen yourself anew by eating some meat." "Holy Father, I can not without the permission of the prior." The Pope smiled, but could not help admiring the innocent scruples of the pious monk. "My son," said he, "do you not think the authority of the sovereign pontiff greater than the permission of your prior? For to-day I dispense with the rule of St. Dominic, and order you to eat all that is offered you." [Footnote 189]
[Footnote 189: This scene, which so well portrays the virtue of Fra Angelico, is related by Vasari and Fra Leandro Alberti; De Viris Illustribus Ordinis Predicatorum, libri sex.]
The Dominican obeyed in silence, but his mind seemed preoccupied. He thought unceasingly of the poor guilty Greek whose execution he had suspended, but he dared not speak of him to the Pope. Nicholas V. perceived his distraction and asked him of what he was thinking. Then Fra Angelico related to him the story of Argyropoulos, and added: "Holy Father, with justice your government has condemned this unhappy man to be executed, but I know your holiness desires not the death of his soul, and I have hoped your mercy would grant him the delay of a day that he may still have time to repent." "My son, I thank you for having acted thus. I accord you not only one day, but several if necessary." Nicholas V. then wrote an order suspending the execution, and gave it to Beato, who full of joy, asked permission to retire without finishing his repast. He obtained it, and in haste quitted the Vatican. After passing the bridge of St. Angelo, he was strongly tempted to stop at the prison of Tor di Nona; but he considered his duty to his convent, where doubtless his absence from dinner had occasioned surprise. When he entered the cloister of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, the brothers had left the refectory, so the prior exacted of the dilatory monk a penance, which consisted of eating his dinner in a kneeling posture. The Beato, without saying a word to excuse himself, knelt down and simply made a sign he would rather not eat. The prior then ordered him to explain his absence. "My Father," said he, "I am guilty; mea culpa. His Holiness wished me to dine with him, and obliged me to eat meat without your permission." The prior admired the simplicity and obedience of the blessed one, but said nothing to disturb his humility. The habit of obedience was so natural to him that all orders for his art were received through his spiritual superior; and when any work was requested of him, his friends were referred to the prior, as nothing could be done without his consent. He refused to stipulate a price for his works, and distributed all they bought him to the poor and unfortunate. "He loved the poor during his life," said Vasari, "As tenderly as his soul now loves the heaven where he enjoys the glory of the blessed." If he loved the poor, Fra Angelico better loved souls; he obtained from the prior permission to go immediately to the prison. He ran thither with the wings of charity, and showed the order from the Pope which delayed the execution. He gained [{675}] admittance to what is now called the prisoner's cell, now that so many of our ancient abbeys are transformed into houses of detention. Argyropoulos presented himself, grave and sad, clothed always in his red dress and white turban, which gave him an air of majesty quite oriental. He was seated on a straw bed, but his attitude was King Solomon enthroned. The Dominican, with his white robe and angelical figure, resembled one of the beautiful lilies he so often painted in the hands of the angel of the annunciation; one of the lilies of the field, of which the Saviour himself has said, "Not Solomon in all his glory could be arrayed like one of these." Fra Angelico, without saying anything at first, stopped at the entrance, and, kneeling, prayed God to cure this ulcerated soul. A ray of light, which shone obliquely through the only window, illuminated his bared and shaven head, and gave him the anticipated crown of glory of the blessed. The Greek contemplated with astonishment this luminous apparition, and thought he dreamed again the dream of the patriarch Jacob, who saw angels ascend and descend a mysterious ladder. Having strengthened himself by prayer, Fra Angelico approached the prisoner, and said in a voice truly angelical: "My brother!" But the charm to which Argyropoulos had given himself up at the vision of the blessed one was broken by the sound of his voice; he saw in him only a Catholic monk, and thus a being he detested. "I am not thy brother, we have nothing in common, and I hate the religion of the Azymites." [Footnote 190]
[Footnote 190: A name that the Greeks gave the Catholics on account of the discussion on the unleavened bread as material of the eucharist.]
"My brother, you and I are Christians, although fifteen years ago you have separated the Greek and Latin churches, which the Council of Florence so happily united."
"No! As our great Duke Notaras said, there is no peace between us. I would rather see the turban of Mahomet at Constantinople than the tiara of the Pope."
"O my brother, can you say so? If you are not Catholic, are you not Christian?"
"No, I am so no longer. I do not believe in God; and besides, if there is a God, I have committed crimes too great for him to pardon. I am pagan and of the school of Plato; I prefer Jupiter to Jehovah, Plato to the Scripture, and the gods of Homer to the Saints of Christianity."
"Why, my brother, you have gone backward two thousand years, to breathe what Dante calls the fetid air of paganism, 'Il puzzo del paganes mo.'"
Fra Angelico tried in vain to move this heart, as hardened and desperate as that of Judas; during three days he fasted, prayed, and begged the prayers of his fraternity, offered himself to God as a victim to save this soul, and employed against his own body the instruments of penance. But God did not grant him the grace he sought. Every morning, while painting at the Vatican, he rendered an account to the Pope of his unsuccessful efforts, and recommended the Greek to the pontifical prayers. The three days expired; again he solicited a still longer delay of the execution. "Holy Father," said he, "a residence in prison seems to exasperate this unhappy man; perhaps I might obtain a better hearing if I could take him out and let him breathe the fresh air." "I can refuse you nothing, Fra Giovanni. Bring him to see this chapel, I am sure your painting will do his soul some good." "I will bring him to-morrow, since your Holiness permits me, and at the same time solicit your daily visit, as I am certain his meeting the vicar of Jesus Christ will have more effect on him than my pictures." Nicholas V. promised to do so, and wrote an order to place the captive at liberty for one day, and at the responsibility of Fra Giovanni. It was a touching spectacle to see the Pope and the monk so generously united in their [{676}] efforts to convert this paganized schismatic.
The next morning Fra Angelico ran to the prison, brought out the Greek, and proposed to him to see his pictures, without mentioning the Pope. Argyropoulos, who rather prided himself on his knowledge of art as well as of literature, willingly accepted the invitation. The fresh air and the glorious Roman sun softened his mood, hitherto so ferocious, and gave him an air almost of serenity. Fra Angelico, transported with joy, conducted his future neophyte to the Vatican, and introduced him to the chapel, praying God to work in him the same miracle which he had granted to St. Methodius, whose painting of the Last Judgment, on the walls of a palace belonging to the King of Bulgaria, had not only converted the king, but as many of his subjects as looked upon it. The Greek was deeply affected by these admirable pictures, and took upon himself to explain them lengthily. To show his artistic knowledge, he criticised the executioners who stoned St. Stephen, and thought their countenances lacked sufficient energy. The painter monk humbly accepted the criticism, which was not wanting in justice. A competent judge has said that the character of Fra Angelico was so formed of a love amounting to ecstasy that he never could familiarize himself with dramatic scenes where hateful and violent passions had the ascendency. In the painting of the life of St. Lawrence, the Beato begged the Greek to particularly observe the prison window where the martyr was converting a man on his knees, who afterward became St. Hippolytus. "In painting this scene of conversion I thought of you, my brother," he said, in a voice so sweet and tender it would have touched a heart of marble; but Argyropoulos turned away his eyes, and pretended not to hear him. Fra Angelico's heart was grieved, and he felt his only hope was in the sovereign pontiff. He had not long to wait for him. Nicholas V. entered into the chapel, with a dignity tempered by an ineffable tenderness. The Beato knelt down—his forehead in the dust—to kiss the feet of His Holiness. The sight of the Pope always caused him transports of joy, equal to those of St. Joseph of Cupertino, who went into ecstasy whenever in the presence of the vicar of Jesus Christ. But a contrary effect was visible in the mind of the pagan of Constantinople. At the sight of the pontiff he reassumed all his dignity. "On your knees, my brother, on your knees!" in vain said Beato to him, while pulling his dress. "Never," cried the Greek, "never will I bend the knee before the idol of the Azymites—before a priest who wished our submission at the Council of Florence." Angelico sighed in the dust at the obstinacy of this pagan, but the Pope, calm and dignified, began to converse in Greek with Argyropoulos, who, captivated instantaneously by this graciousness, replied by a verse of Homer. "My son," said Nicholas V., "I also will cite you a passage from Homer. In the second book of the Iliad, the prudent Ulysses cries out: 'All Greeks cannot reign, too many chiefs would do harm; let us have but one sovereign, but a single king, him to whom the prudent Saturn entrusted the sceptre and the laws to govern us:
Thus, my son, God wished in his church but one chief, one flock, and one shepherd." At these words the Greek grew angry and replied in harsh terms. "My son," said the Pope to him with tenderness, "I forgive you, I pity your blindness, and I will continue to pray God to enlighten you."
Nicholas V. withdrew.
Argyropoulos, mortified at his own conduct, returned to Fra Angelico, and again commenced to eulogize the pictures. "My paintings are worth nothing," cried the monk, bursting into tears, "since they have failed to convert you. I am unworthy the name of preacher, since all my teaching has not succeeded, [{677}] and I have brought you before the holy father, only to hear you outrage the dignity of God's representative on earth." The remembrance of this scene completely overcame the tender and pious soul of Fra Angelico. He became pale and weak, sank on his white robe like a lily on its stalk, and fell on the pavement as one dead, according to Dante:
"E cadi, come corpo morte cade."
The Greek, seized with pity and astonishment, tried vainly to restore him. He thought he had killed him, and this man, whose hands were already bloodstained, imagined he had committed another murder. He hated himself when he saw this angel extended at his feet. He knelt before him, rubbed his hands in his own, and threw in his face the water in the vase which was used in his painting. "Father, father," cried he, "come back to life, and I swear to do all you wish." The Angelico opened his beautiful eyes, languishing and moist with tears. "My brother," said he, "you restore me to life, but again you will give me to death if you forget your promise. Now we must leave the chapel; it is time, according to my duty, that I take you back to prison." Notwithstanding his pallor and feebleness Fra Angelico insisted on leaving the Vatican immediately, and returned home leaning on the shoulder of Argyropoulos. He said nothing until they reached the prison of Tor di Nona. But there again, alone with him, the angelical monk knelt before the prisoner, and reproached him for his conduct toward the Pope with that sweetness he never lost, and which so greatly astonished his biographer Vasari. [Footnote 191]
[Footnote 191: "Never," said he, "could one surprise him in an angry moment. This seemed to me incredible: Il che e grandissima cosa e mi pare impossibile a credere.">[
This touching kindness greatly affected the Greek, who had been already so deeply moved by the fainting of Beato. He began to comprehend the love with which this pious monk was inflamed for the salvation of his soul. "My brother," said the Dominican to him, while joining his hands, "you have restored me to life, but in promising to do as I wish, and I only desire to save you. You must discharge your conscience of its weight of sin—you must confess." "But I cannot believe in the necessity of confession, or in its divine institution." "O my brother, if you could contemplate your poor soul in its mirror of truth, it would appear so shaded and sullied. Your soul is bound in cords ruder than those that chained your body when they led you to execution. But confession would deliver you from all." "Let me see this with my eyes, or I can never believe it." A sudden inspiration came to the mind of the angelical painter. "My brother, we will speak again of this. I am hurried to finish a picture; would you be pleased I should paint it with you by my side, that I might every morning distract your thoughts and keep you company?" "Oh! yes, my father, I should be most happy, for you are very good to the poor prisoner." The Beato obtained permission from Nicholas V. to suspend for some days his work at the Vatican, and from the next morning he installed himself in the prison, accompanied by his pupil Benozzo Bozzoli, who brought with him an easel, some brushes, and a box of colors. After a fervent prayer, he placed on the easel a small panel of wood, upon which he commenced to paint rapidly, and without retouching, according to his custom; he never perfected his paintings, leaving them according to his first impression, believing, as he said, so God wished them. "His art," says M. de Moutalembert, "was so beautiful in his eyes, and so sacred, that he respected its productions as the fruits of an inspiration much higher than his own intention." He commenced by painting, as a foundation for his picture, some trees, which rose near a house of simple appearance, and a modest church, decorated by a portico supported by four pillars in Florentine style. In a court grown over with herbs and studded here and there with [{678}] flowers, he grouped five personages. At the right our Saviour, clothed in a blue robe and draped in a red mantle, is seen in profile; a large nimbus of gold encircles his tender and majestic countenance, his golden hair falls on his shoulders. The Saviour has an attitude of command, and extends his arm and hand which holds a golden rod. He accomplished one of the greatest acts of his mercy, he institutes the sacrament of penance, he gives to his apostles the power to remit sins: one can almost hear him repeat the words which he addresses to Peter, that he may transmit them to the entire Christian priesthood: "Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatsoever ye shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." [Footnote 192]
[Footnote 192: In the convent of St. Mark at Florence, the Beato has painted the grand scene of Calvary, where he represents St. Benedict holding in his hand the rod of penitence.]
The painter monk put into action these words of Christ. He painted a priest in Florentine costume; a red cap encircled with ermine and a blue dalmatic, which hung in graceful folds; his figure is youthful, and expression benignant. This priest approaches a sinner in a red dress, and turbaned with a cap of gold and ermine. The sinner is bound with cords which are passed several times around his body. The priest approaches him with ineffable compassion. With what care, what delicacy, what respect, what love, he unties the cord with his white and pure hands! With what grace and dignity he fills his office of priest and confessor! The seven capital sins are figured by seven demons chased from his body by absolution, and who are making every effort to re-enter it. Rage and impatience are depicted on the faces of these servants of Satan, and their attitudes are as various as strange. One of them still threatens the sinner with his iron trident. In the second part, Fra Angelico represents a person in a green robe and turban, who expresses, by figure and gesture, his admiration at the sight of this miracle of divine mercy, which is called the institution of confession. Near this man, and right against the Saviour, is a second personage, of whom the face only is seen. His head is bared, and his angelical features seem to recall those of the Beato, such as they are sculptured on his tombstone at Santa Maria sopra Minerva. The Greek had followed with curiosity and profound interest all the details of this picture, accomplished in three days under his own inspection. He had admired the piety of the Angelico, who, according to his custom, had not dared to paint the head of the Saviour but on bended knees. Contrary to his usual manner, he had only lightly sketched the face of the sinner bound with the cord. It was on the third day that he suddenly finished it. But how express the surprise and emotion of Argyropoulos, when he perceived that, under the pencil of the painter-monk, this face became his own portrait! The blessed one had painted his gray beard, his noble profile, and expressed in his face at the same time the grief of being restrained by sin and the hope of a speedy deliverance. Argyropoulos, in the midst of the picture, had truly an expression of contrition in the intensity of his regard. "It is I," cried the Greek, "it is I indeed!" And he burst into tears. The divine touch of grace had vanquished him at last. "My father, my father, untie me also, deliver me from the bonds of many sins." The Angelico seized him in his arms, and in transports of joy pressed him to his breast, then begged him to kneel with him and render thanks to God. He passed several days in explaining to him Catholic truths; then he received the acknowledgment of his faults, baptized him conditionally at St. Jean de Latran, in the baptistry of Constantine. [Footnote 193]
[Footnote 193: The author has here fallen into a mistake; the sacraments of the Greek Church are never reiterated conditionally. —Ed. CATHOLIC WORLD.]
The eve of this great day he had enjoined him, as penance, to go to the Vatican, throw himself at the feet of the Pope, and ask pardon on his knees for the invective he had cast on the holy father in the chapel. Nicholas V. received him kindly, and said: "My son, Jesus Christ has pardoned you, and I could not do otherwise than he of whom I am vicar; I absolve you, not only for what you have said against me, but the crimes committed against society. I grant you full and entire pardon from the punishment you have merited, in the hope that your new life will atone for the past." The Greek prostrated himself with gratitude, and kissed his feet; then showed the picture from which he would never part. The Pope admired it, and said to the painter-monk: "Your pencil has worked another miracle of conversion." The humble artist replied that only to God must be given the glory, and recited the verse of David: "Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam." This was the device of the Templars, and we have seen it in Venice engraved on the wall of the old palace Vendramini. "Most holy father," said the Greek. "I know with what goodness your Holiness has received my compatriots, Theodore Gaza, George of Trebizond, Calchondylos, and Gemistos Plethon, who after the taking of Constantinople took refuge on a Venetian galley, and have come to Italy, bringing with them the precious manuscripts of the ancient Greek authors and fathers of the Greek Church, which but for them would have been burned by the infidels. They have been most happy to repay your hospitality by enriching the library of the Vatican with these literary treasures." "It is true," said Nicholas V. "Thanks to their and other conquests, we have become able to reunite in the Vatican nearly five thousand manuscripts; it is, we believe, the richest collection made since the dispersion of the Alexandrian library. But I still have one gap to fill, and I have promised a reward of fifty thousand ducats to him who will bring me the gospel of St. Matthew in the original language." "O holy father, how can I express my happiness! I possess this manuscript, which I brought from Constantinople. After having committed the crime by which I merited death, I hid this book in a place in the Roman campagna, where I could easily find it again. To thank your Holiness for all your goodness, I am only too happy to offer you the gospel of St. Matthew," Nicholas V. was delighted, he who ever thanked God for the taste given him from his youth for literature, and the faculties necessary for its successful cultivation. On the receipt of the manuscript the Pope paid to the Greek the fifty thousand ducats, who, finding himself possessed of so great a fortune, resolved to go to Venice, and engage in commerce with one of his compatriots. He quitted Rome with regret to leave Fra Angelico, but returned at Easter to confess to the saviour of his soul, as he called him, and receive the communion from his hands in the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva. The mass said by the Beato inspired him with great devotion, and he was happy to receive from such pure hands the body and blood of Jesus Christ. The year that followed 1455, the Greek appeared at the same epoch, carrying ever with him, in a casket of cedar, the precious painting which had been the determining cause of his conversion, [Footnote 194] and which, he never ceased to contemplate with love and, gratitude, repeating what Vasari said of another picture of the Beato: "I can affirm I never contemplate this work that it does not appear new to me, and I am never satisfied gazing upon it."
[Footnote 194: This picture on wood is painted a tempera and enriched with gold. It is twenty-seven centimetres high, and twenty-three broad. After various vicissitudes it was carried from Rome to Venice, from Florence to Turin, and finally found an asylum in Paris, in the celebrated Pourtales gallery. To-day it is in possession of him who relates the story, according to a traditional account received by him at Rome.]
Scarcely landed at Rome, Argyropoulos hastened, according to his custom, to the convent of Santa Maria sopra Minerva and asked for Fra Angelico. At this name grief overshadowed the countenance of the brother porter, who replied: "Alas! signor, the blessed one has gone from earth and left us to sorrow. His death was as angelical as his life." The prior, who appeared, confirmed the sad news and gave the details to the heart-broken Greek. The holy father said he was so impatient to enjoy his beautiful chapel that he hurried continually our blessed brother to finish his work; and he, ever willing to be sacrificed to duty, and believing he worked for God in serving this vicar, would not even interrupt his work during the fever season, which is always more pernicious at the Vatican than elsewhere. His health was lost by it entirely, he languished, and died at last of malaria. Argyropoulos shed tears and asked to pray by the tomb of his friend. It is still seen at the left of the church choir, a simple tombstone encased vertically in the wall; the painter-monk is rudely sculptured in bas-relief in his Dominican robe, with hands joined, his head uplifted, and mouth partly opened as in prayer, as he was in life, as he was particularly in death. I have often contemplated this sepulchral stone, and recalled the verse of Dante, which could so well have described the heart of Argyropoulos:
"Come, perche di lor memoria sia,
Sovr' a sepoiti le tombe terragne
Porton segnato quel ch'elli eran pria;
Onde li molte volte siripiagne.
Por la pun ura della rimenbranza
Che solo a pii da della calcagne."
"As to preserve the memory of the dead, the tombs given them on earth bear the impress of their features as they were in life, so each time one weeps over them the pious heart is pierced with the remembrance." "Nicholas V.," said the prior to the Greek, "was inconsolable at the death of his painter and friend, and survived him but a few weeks. It is this great Pope who has erected this monument to Fra Angelico, and who composed the epitaph you can read on this stone:
"'Hic jacet ven. Pictor.
Fr. Jo. de Flor. Ord. P.
MCCCCLV.
Non mihi sit laudi quod eram velut alter Apelles.
Sed quod lucra tuis omnia Christe dabam
Altera nam terris opera extant, altera caelo;
Urbs me Joannem flos tulit Etruriae.'"
"Here lies the venerable painter. [Footnote 195] Brother John, of Florence, of the order of Brother Preachers; 1455. Let me not be praised because I have painted as another Apelles, but because I have given all I made to the poor. O Christ! I have worked for heaven at the same time as for earth. I am called John, the town which is the flower of Etruria was my country."
[Footnote 195: We must remark this title of venerable given the Angelico immediately after his death, and which justifies the popular canonization which has surnamed him in Italy, Il Beato.]
Argyropoulos remained long kneeling by the tomb, then on rising said to the prior: "Tell me exactly the day of his death; for me it will ever be an anniversary to be celebrated with prayers and tears." "It was the 18th of last March," replied the prior, "that the blessed one went to heaven, there to contemplate the true models of the dear and holy pictures which, with so much love, he painted on earth."