Titian was the first great artist to give a pronounced dignity of form to his subjects, and he never varied from the practice unless the subject were exhibited in action,[h] or too old to be represented as an upright figure.[] Nor did he once exaggerate the pose so that arrogance might be suggested. Though he squared the shoulders, he rarely threw back the head to emphasize the bearing,[j] and only in one portrait is the body slightly arched as the result of the pose.[k] In fact so careful was the artist in avoiding over-emphasis, that there is a tendency in two or three of his figures for the upper part of the body to lean a little forward.[l] Obviously Titian gave this dignified attitude to his portrait subjects of set purpose, as in his general compositions there is no suggestion of it.[51]
Velasquez no doubt acquired his habit of lending dignity to his important subjects from the examples of Titian's portraits which came under his view in Spain. Except in one notable instance where the bearing is much over-emphasized,[m] he was equally successful with the Italian master in the practice, though many of his characters are far from lending him any natural assistance. In the case of a Court Dwarf, however, the high dignity given to him by the painter seems to require explanation.[n]
Before he went to Italy, Van Dyck followed the natural system of Rubens in posing his portrait subjects, but at Genoa he painted under the spell of Titian's memory, and thereafter during his whole life, he gave a dignified bearing to his figures whenever this was not opposed to individual traits. During his English period, when he undertook more work than he could properly accomplish, he sometimes over-emphasized the dignity of a figure by arching the body,[o] but as a rule he produced a just balance of pose and setting, completing altogether a magnificent series of portraits which remain the astonishment of the world.
It is obviously the duty of the portraitist so to design his work that the attention of the observer is concentrated upon the countenance of the subject immediately he has grasped the whole composition, and it is in the successful accomplishment of this object that the power of Rembrandt lies. He rarely used accessories, and in only a few cases a background of any kind. He avoided portraits where an elaborate setting was required, as for instance full length standing figures, of which he only painted two[p]; and in his many three-quarter length portraits, there is seldom more than a table or chair to be seen apart from the figure. With this simplicity of design, and with nearly all the available light directed full upon the head of the subject, the eye of the observer of the picture is necessarily centred instantaneously upon the features. These are invariably cast into bold relief by perfect management of the chiaroscuro, and the correspondence with life seems as complete as it well can be. Rembrandt thus accomplishes the aim of every great artist: he executes a faithful picture, and throws it on the mind of the observer with the maximum of rapidity. Only artists of a high order can successfully ignore a more or less elaborate setting for a portrait, particularly if it be larger than bust size. Great care has to be taken with such a setting lest the eye of the observer be attracted by the pose of the figure and the general harmony of the work before being directed to the countenance. If we take the general opinion of known portraits, so far as it can be gauged, we find that the most highly esteemed of them are: the Julius II. of Raphael, the Mona Lisa of Lionardo, the Man with the Gloves by Titian, the Old Man with a Boy by Ghirlandaio, and Innocent X. by Velasquez.[q] All of these except Mona Lisa are remarkable for the simplicity of the setting, and in the exception the formal landscape is altogether subordinated to the figure. Raphael was the first artist who saw the value of avoiding accessories in portraiture. His half-length portraits painted after his arrival in Florence, are all free from them, and his Julius II. has only the chair on which the Pope is seated.
Rembrandt further aided the concentration of attention on the countenance of a sitter by the use of warm inconspicuous tones in the clothing, which harmonize with all kinds of surroundings in which the picture may be seen. The colours never specially attract the eye, and the attire consequently forms so completely a part of the figure, that after an inspection of the work one can rarely describe the costume. This subordination of colour is of the highest importance in portraiture, though it is not sufficiently practised nowadays. Velasquez used quiet tones whenever possible, that is, when he was not painting great personages, and Titian, Rubens, and Van Dyck, followed the same course in half-length portraits. None of these, however, seemed so careful as Rembrandt in adapting the tones to the general character of the figure, so that the impression left on the mind of the observer should relate entirely to the personality. Rembrandt, in fact, aimed at a representation of the man, and the man only; and he gave us a natural human being of a commonly known type, with his virtues somewhat emphasized, and his faults a little veiled.
The extraordinary power of Velasquez as a portraitist was due to the same general cause operating in the case of Rembrandt, namely, extreme simplicity in design. Apart from those instances where royal or official personages had to be represented in decorative attire, every portrait of Velasquez is merely the impress of a personality. There are no accessories; the clothing is subordinated to the last degree, and there is nothing for the eye to grasp but a perfectly drawn set of features thrown into strong relief by a method of chiaroscuro unsurpassed in depth and accuracy. Thus, as in the case of Rembrandt, the portrait fulfils the first law of art—the picture is thrown on the brain in the least possible fraction of time.
Velasquez was remarkable in a greater degree than any other artist, if we except Hals, for his facility in execution. In his brush-work he appeared to do the right thing at all times without hesitation, achieving the most perfect balance as if by instinct. So far as we can judge from those instances where his subjects were painted also by other artists, his portraits are good likenesses, but he followed the best practice in generalizing the countenance to the fullest extent. It is unfortunate that his work was confined to so poor a variety of sitters. Of his known portraits more than half represent Philip IV. or his relatives; eight others are nobles of the time, and another half dozen are dwarfs and buffoons, leaving only seventeen examples of the artist's work amongst ordinary people. There never was a weaker royal family than that of Philip IV., and it is really astonishing how Velasquez was able to produce such excellent works of art by means of their portraits. With his abnormal lips and weak face, the king himself must have been a most difficult person to ennoble, yet the painter managed in three portraits to give him a highly distinguished countenance and bearing, without in any way suggesting exaggeration.[r] Of another weak man—Innocent X.—Velasquez painted what Reynolds described as the greatest portrait he saw in Rome; and it is truly one of the most amazing life representations ever executed.[] A reddish face peers out through a blaze of warm surroundings and background; a face in full relief as if cut out of apoplectic flesh—almost appalling in its verity. It is like nothing else that Velasquez painted: it overpowers with its combined strength and realism. But it is a picture to see occasionally, and admire as a great imitation. If one lived with it, the colour would hurt the eye, the unpleasant face would tire the mind. Such a face should not be painted: it should be carved in stone, where truth may be given to form without the protrusion of mortal decay. Bernini sculptured the countenance, and gave the Pope a certain majesty which no painting could present. As a life portrait the work of Velasquez is unrivalled, but as a pure work of art, it is behind the three portraits of Philip IV. already mentioned. A distinctly unhealthy face cannot be produced in portraiture without injuring the art, for it is a variety of distortion.
Velasquez was so naturally a portraitist that apart from his actual portrait work, every figure composition he painted seems to consist merely of the portraits of a group of persons. He took little pains to connect the figures in a life action, often painting them with a look of unconcern with the proceedings around them, as if specially posing for the artist. In several of his works there are faces looking right out of the picture, and it is evident that in these the artist had little thought in his mind away from portrait presentation.[t] The Surrender of Breda and Las Meninas,[] regarded generally as his best compositions, are admittedly portrait groupings, but the setting in each case is one of action, and hence the faces looking out of the picture are a great drawback, as they disrobe the illusion of a natural scene. That a man so accurate in his drawing, so perfect in his chiaroscuro, and so skilful in his brushwork, should yet be so conspicuously limited in imagination, is a problem which art historians have yet to solve.
Franz Hals was on a level with Velasquez in respect of facility in execution, and like him seems to have been a born portraitist. His brushwork was so rapid and decisive that in scarcely any of his designs is there evidence of deliberation. He seems to have been able to take in the essential features of a subject at a glance, and to transfer them to canvas without preliminaries, producing an amazing countenance with the least possible detail. Though some of his large groups are a little stiff, this is rather through his want of capacity in invention than a set purpose of exaggeration with a view to heightening the dignity of pose, for it is obvious that Hals had little imagination, and knew nothing of the boundless possibilities of his art in general composition. He appears to have passed through life without concern for his work beyond material results, being well convinced that the magic of his execution would leave nothing further for the public to desire. In the last forty years of his life he made no advance in his art except in one respect, but the change was great, for it doubled the art value of his portraits. He learned how to subordinate his colours; how to modify his chiaroscuro in order to force the immediate attention of the observer on the countenance of his subject.[52] Such an advance with such an artist placed him in the rank of the immortals among the portraitists.
It will be seen that in the judgment of the greatest painters, decoration in a portrait should be altogether subordinated to the truthful representation of character, this practice being only varied when the personage portrayed is of public importance, and the portrait is required more or less as a monument. The rule is natural and reasonable, being based upon the universal agreement that the all-important part of a man comprehended by the vision is his countenance. But the rule only strictly applies to a single figure portrait, for when the painter goes beyond this, and executes a double portrait or a multiple group, he restricts the scope of his art. Other things being equal a double portrait is necessarily inferior art to a single figure picture, since the dual objective complicates the impression of the work on the brain, and the only remedy, or partial remedy, for this drawback possessed by the painter is to introduce accessories and arrange his group in a subject design. This plan results in detracting from the force of the actual portraits, as it divides the attention of the observer, but there is no help for it unless one is content with the representation of the figures in a stiff and formal way which extinguishes the pictorial effect of the work.