The first of the series on the subject simply styled Claudius though full of life, solemnity and graphic force, was surpassed by its successors, into which the artist infused more of his wonderful genius for archæological indivination. This first Claudius belonged to a set of pictures ordered from Alma Tadema by the dealer M. Gambart.
The second, The Roman Emperor, was painted after his removal to London. In this new version Alma Tadema also adopted a scheme of colour that was absolutely new to him, to the consternation, it is said, of some of his clients, who saw in this departure an alarming tendency towards pre-Raphaelitism. According to them it was distinctly unfair to the public for this artist to change his style. Where were the white marbles, the dresses of pale, soft tints to which they were accustomed in his canvases? Here he had boldly introduced a girl of the Roman people with hair of pure copper tints, and even the corpse was clad in a dress of brilliant blue and vivid purple, while the purity of the marble pavement was stained not only with the blood of the slain, but was also a confusion of restless coloured mosaics that distracted the eye from the picture's main purpose. Criticism waxed hot around this canvas which seemed to threaten a revolution in the artist's methods.
But it was only a passing phase and proved of no real import. Alma Tadema's pictures continued as before to be distinguished by a certain calm and majestic solemnity, such as suits best the Roman people whom by choice he represented. Still this third and finest version of the Claudius story can scarcely be classed among his calmer works. It is dramatic and full of movement. For brilliant colouring, for vigorous drawing, for its admirable archæological verity this picture is distinguished even among Alma Tadema's many distinguished works. Note too that it is painted in proportions so small as would hardly suffice a latter-day Italian artist for the depicting of a cauliflower. But Alma Tadema, far from thinking that a canvas must be large in proportion to the importance of his subject, is of the opinion that minute dimensions tend to excite the imagination and give to a work a more poetic and ideal character.
"AVE CÆSAR! IO SATURNALIA."
In this Ave Caesar! Iò Saturnalia! we look upon the man whose supposed imbecility saved him from the cruel fate to which Caligula subjected his relations, found by the soldiery in a corner of the palace where he had hid himself in his dread, a hiding place whence the Praetorians dragged him forth and proclaimed him their ruler. We see the elected Emperor, his face blanched with terror, holding for support to the curtain which has lately hid his trembling form from the pursuing soldiers and the populace. These ironically salute him as Imperator. Especially obsequious and excellent in rendering is the figure of the guard who has drawn aside the heavy drapery. A confused heap of corpses, all that is left of those who have been slain in defence of their murdered master, litter the marble pavement. Above them, laurel crowned, smile down in marble indifference the portrait busts of other Caesars now dead and gone to their account. In the far corner is huddled the populace mingled with the lance-bearing soldiers. They are sarcastically amused by Claudius's undignified election to the great Roman throne. Tragedy and comedy are most felicitously fused. Furthermore, wonderful though the details be, as they always are with Alma Tadema, in this case the accessories do not withdraw our attention for one moment from the human interest. Marbles and draperies, metals and flowers, though so perfectly rendered, take their natural place in the composition without detracting from the central interest.
And yet how exquisite in their archæological and æsthetic perfection are these accessories. No wonder that in a picture from Alma Tadema's hand we look quite as much for the marbles, the hangings, the stuffs, the mosaics, the trees, and the flowers, as for the faces of his creations. It would almost seem at times as though he had painted these accessories with even more care than he bestowed upon his men and women, as if they interested him more. Indeed, where flowers are concerned Alma Tadema seems to give to them an inner life, a very physiognomy, his flowers are inimitable, both as suggestions and as realities. Even in the choice made it is quite remarkable how there is always a peculiar fitness to the picture's theme. Is there not, for example, to note but a few instances, a tragic impress about the poppy beds in his picture of Tarquinius Superbus? Have not his red and pink oleanders a bloom and blush as fitting as that on the faces of the young lovers they shade? Do not the cypresses and the stone pines in his Improvisatore adumbrate all the solemn mournfulness of a Roman garden? Is there not a sensual note in the prodigality of roses that inundates his Heliogabalus? Are they not almost arch in his Love's Missile, in Shy, to name but a few of the many pictures in which trees and flowers figure as the very embodiment of the summer of life and nature.
Indeed, so exquisitely, so superbly painted are these flowers that in some of Alma Tadema's minor pictures they actually assume the upper hand, though of course unconsciously to the painter, and become the protagonists in the composition. There is one picture which he calls simply Oleanders, showing that he recognized himself how the flowers had impressed his imagination and gained precedence over the human beings with whom they were associated. Tadema's flowers are very poems, and had he painted nothing but these he would have been a great artist.