We are, however, approaching the time of Guido da Siena and Guinto da Pisa, and it is pleasant at last to know (or to suppose we know) the names of two artists after centuries of anonymous work. The fact of these names having been preserved shows at any rate that their bearers were not mere workmen bound to execute the morbid fancies of the Church, but painters of some repute, whose creations, though still very cramped and stiff, show better modelling and a more intelligent execution than are to be found in the works of their predecessors.
Every one has heard of Cimabue, but comparatively few have seen his frescoes. I imagine that his best work is in the Church of St. Francis at Assisi. I once spent six weeks at Assisi, and devoted a good deal of time to the wall-paintings of the church.
The frescoes of Cimabue seemed to me infinitely better than his panel pictures, but they were (even then) in such a state of decay that it was difficult to form an opinion of them. This was twenty-two years ago, and since that time I believe that the progress of decay has been very rapid indeed. The Arundel Society had some admirable fac-simile drawings of these works executed five years ago.
It is curious how much more rapidly all the old frescoes are decaying now than formerly.
I attribute this accelerated rate of ruin to the presence of gas in the towns. At Pisa the Campo Santo frescoes are deteriorating much more rapidly than before the introduction of gas into the town. I don’t know whether Assisi is now blessed with a gasometer, but if it is, poor old Cimabue’s work is doomed.
His famous Madonna, which was carried in triumphant procession through the streets of Florence, is painted quite in the Greek style. The flesh is better modelled, and the draperies of the surrounding angels are much better drawn, than in any previous example of Byzantine work, but I cannot understand the enthusiasm of the Florentines.
The specimen we have in the National Gallery appears to me to have been much re-painted; the heads especially (although ugly enough to be early work) are of a later character, and are painted in the fumbling, uncertain way which is characteristic of restorers.
There are other artists of this period whose works show a great improvement on the old Byzantine. These are Toriti, who executed some fine mosaics in Rome; the brothers Cosmati, also of Rome; and Gaddo Gaddi, the Florentine. The mosaics of the last named in the dome of the baptistery at Florence are very highly commended, but they appear to me rather improved Byzantine than true Romanesque. Indeed, with the single exception of Cimabue’s frescoes at Assisi, I don’t know of any work of the thirteenth century which has a true Romanesque character at all. Giotto was (as every one knows) the pupil of Cimabue, and I believe that the truth of the old story about Cimabue finding him when a shepherd boy occupied in drawing a sheep, and taking him back to Florence as an apprentice, has not yet been doubted. We can easily imagine the respect and awe which this shepherd lad would feel for the greatest painter of the capital, and can readily believe that the work of his early youth would be founded entirely on that of his master. It is more than probable that he served his apprenticeship at the great sanctuary of piety and art which arose after the death of St. Francis at Assisi. At any rate it is there that his earliest known, and to my mind his best, works are to be found. The series of frescoes illustrative of the life of the saint, may be considered as the starting-point of historical painting in Italy. Compare the figures in these frescoes with the best work of Cimabue, and notice what an enormous advance has been made. Here we have natural, if somewhat timid, action, well-proportioned figures, and skilful arrangement of drapery. I confess I was surprised to hear that these works were anterior to his larger frescoes in the lower church, which represent the glorification of St. Francis, and which appeared to me to indicate a step backward toward Cimabue. It is probable that in these last-named frescoes, which adorn the compartments under the high altar, Giotto did not venture to depart much from the traditional arrangement of his predecessors, and accordingly we find the poor, meagre composition and the horizontal lines of heads cherished by the thirteenth century painters.
Giotto would require a whole lecture to himself, were I to attempt an account of what he did at Padua, Florence, Rome, and Naples. His chefs-d’œuvre are said to be in Florence, at the Church of St. Croce. No less than four chapels in this church were decorated by him; but, alas! there is very little left. Time, whitewash, and the restorers, have done their work pretty effectually. Still, the mere outlines of many of the groups show that these works may very well have been the finest that the master ever produced.
I have seen the Arena Chapel at Padua, which is literally covered with Giotto’s frescoes. It is many years since I was there, and very possibly, were I to revisit the chapel, I might form a different opinion, but at the time I was disappointed with the paintings, which appeared to me weak in design and feeble in execution.