We can imagine how they might all stand aside to make room for the mother Mary. Perhaps, indeed, they would withdraw a little way to leave her for a moment alone with her son. The years seem to melt away, and again she gathers him in her lap as when he was a babe. All the motherly tenderness which she has had long pent up in her heart now overflows. If she has sometimes felt a little lonely that in his manhood he no longer needed her care, she forgets it now. He is still her child.
The marble group by Michelangelo interprets such a moment for us. The Italians call the subject the Pietà, which means compassion, but the name scarcely expresses all the emotions of the mother. She seems as strong and young as when she brooded over her babe in the Bethlehem manger. "Purity enjoys eternal youth" was the sculptor's explanation to those who objected.
THE PIETÀ. St. Peter's, Rome.
Across her capacious, motherly lap lies the slender, youthful figure of the dead Christ. The head falls back, and the limbs are relaxed in death. Suffering has left no trace on his face. The nail prints in hands and feet, and the scar in the side, are the only signs of his crucifixion. The delicately moulded body is beautiful in repose.
The mother seems to find mysterious comfort in gazing upon her son. Perhaps his death has opened her eyes to the meaning of his life. If this is so, she cannot grieve. He has finished the work given him to do, and death is the beginning of immortality. So sorrow gives place to resignation. She is again the proud mother. The fond hopes with which she watched his childhood have been more than fulfilled. She extends her hand in a gesture which seems to say, "Behold and see."
It is said that certain Lombards, passing through the church where the Pietà stood, ascribed the work to a Milanese sculptor named Cristoforo Solari. Michelangelo, having overheard them, shut himself up in the chapel, and chiselled his name upon the girdle which crosses the Madonna's breast and supports her flowing garments. His name is not found on any of his other works, and we can understand why he felt proud of such a masterpiece. Though made when on the very threshold of his career, it was never surpassed even in his later years. Some other artist afterwards designed the two little bronze cherubs who hold a crown over the Madonna's head. They are quite out of harmony with the impressive dignity of the figures below.
Michelangelo's early love of Greek sculpture taught him many lessons, which were worked out in this group. It has, first of all, that perfect repose which was the leading trait in classic art. There is nothing strained or violent in the positions. Besides this, the figures are so arranged that on all sides, as in a Greek statue, the lines are beautiful and harmonious.
But the subject itself is one which would have been too sad for the pleasure-loving Greek. To the pagan the thought of death was something to be avoided. Michelangelo's statue teaches the highest lesson of religious faith,—the beauty of resigned sorrow and the sublimity of sacrificing love.