CHAPTER VI.
With the dawn of liberty in the republican cities of Italy, we hail the reappearance of the arts. Before the close of the thirteenth century, Pisa, with the neighboring cities of Etruria, the ancient seats of elegance, had already made progress in sculpture. The founder of this, the primitive school of modern Europe, was Nicolo Pisano. The works of this master, and those of his scholars, still remaining in his native city, in Sienna, Arezzo, Pistoia, Orvieto, and Lucca, induce a very high opinion indeed of the progress of the age. In the succeeding century, the art was carried by his grandson, Andrea, to Florence, the future head and fountain of art. Here, in 1350, was established the first academy of design; and before the close of the century, sculpture was firmly established, and far from unskilfully practised, throughout a considerable portion of Italy. Nor was this the limit of the influence, though, as upon its centre, the eye of history is fixed chiefly here. Fraternities of itinerant sculptors carried their art over Germany and France; and even in England the works of this early school have been traced. In these countries the numerous Gothic edifices, with their sculptured ornaments, furnished rich occasions for the exercise of the art; but from this very circumstance it ceased, in a certain degree, to be regarded as independent of architecture. In Italy, private excellence was better preserved, and is easily traced. But it was union with the grand moral and political principles of free constitutions, that in Italy at once gave dignity to, and cherished the progress of, the arts. In the ancient world we bade a common farewell to freedom and to genius, nay, virtue at the same time would have winged her flight, had she not found an asylum on earth in the bosom of Christianity. Upon the ages now passing in review, when Freedom again rises, we behold genius also revive, as if the sweeter sensibilities and the manlier virtues had together slumbered through the long long night of ignorance and of despotism. It is thus that spring, breathing on bank and wild wood, unchains the bud and the blossom from the tenderest floweret to the hardy oak.
In the progress of intelligence, the fifteenth century constitutes a splendid era. Advances were then accomplished in moral, intellectual, and political knowledge, which form the ground work of no inconsiderable portion of modern science. In the arts of elegance, especially in sculpture, the labours of this age will always hold distinguished rank. In the first year of the century, we find six great masters—competitors for the same public work—the bronze folding-doors of the baptistry at Florence: Brunelleschi and Ghiberti, Florentines; Jacomo della Quercia of Sienna; Nicolo Lamberti of Arezzo; Francisco di Valdambrino, and Simon dei Colle, Tuscans. The competitors each afterwards became the head of a flourishing school. Ghiberti, a youth of twentythree, was the successful candidate; and the work thus assigned to his superior merit, occupied forty years of his future life, remaining still one of the proudest triumphs of modern talent. The subjects are upon panels in relievo, representing historical passages from the Old and New Testaments, and the same which were afterwards declared worthy the gates of Paradise.
This era may be styled the commonwealth of sculpture; no single master so far excelling his compeers as to impress upon the art the stamp and bearing of one individual style. But among this crowd of illustrious contemporaries, Donatello, born in 1383, and already an eminent artist at the age of twenty, stands forth pre-eminently conspicuous by the magnitude and excellence of his own labours, as also by the number and merits of his pupils. His performances, in almost every variety of material, are scattered over all Italy; the best are in Florence, but the equestrian statue of Erasmus, Duke of Narni, in that city, merits attention as the first attempt of such magnitude in the revival of art.
The numerous scholars of Donatello may be divided into two classes. The first comprehends those who, without producing much of their own, have attained reputation as fellow-labourers in the most considerable undertakings of their master. The legitimate disciples of Donatello, however, consists of those who, without servilely following in the train of their instructer, preserved, or even in some respects improved, the science derived from his precepts. These include most of the leading masters of the latter part of the century, for in every town of importance he had left works and planted a school. After the demise of Ghiberti in 1455, and of Donatello in 1466, the art was far from languishing in the hands of their successors, and especially under Andrea du Verrochio, towards the close of the century. In the academy founded by the Medici, many of the most eminent men of the next century are to be found, as yet youthful though not undistinguished pupils.
In reviewing the ages which have been made to pass before us in their leading characters, the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, we perceive, may be termed the infancy of sculpture; with the fifteenth begins its manhood, while in some respects full vigour was attained even at the close of this period. During the two preceding centuries, we find views frequently derived from the antique, of which many specimens were brought directly from the East to Pisa. A character of truth and simplicity, faithful imitation of nature, and just expression, visibly begin from the time of Nicolo, whose own style indeed is remarkable for sweetness and absence of all pretension. The effect is never daringly ventured, but is sought to be discovered by patient reiteration of effort and persevering imitation. At first, therefore, no acknowledged principles of taste or of composition can be perceived; a degree of restraint and meagreness consequently long pervade the early labours of sculpture. But if in these the creative faculties have seldom been conspicuously exerted; if the fancy be rarely excited by novelty or variety of invention, the heart, even in the sculpture of the fourteenth century, is often awakened to deep feeling by unexpected beauties of the sweetest power, arising from a diligent imitation of nature. The art being chiefly dedicated to devotion, and to the memory of departed virtue, an air of dignified sincerity, a touching portraiture of the gentler affections, diffuse over the mind of the spectator a melancholy yet pleasing serenity, to be felt rather than described—which give back the images of our own sensibilities in all their simple, unpretending reality. The succeeding age assumes a style and character more elevated, without being less true. The simplicity is refined—equally removed from affectation as from poverty—the skill of hand great, the execution bold and felicitous; yet still exercised as a means, never as an instrument to astonish or surprise. Nature is imitated faithfully, under the least remote appearances, and by the simplest expression—the manner never allures from the subject. The great proportion of the sculpture of this century being in bronze, may account for a style of execution in some respects harsh, with a degree of restraint, and occasionally defective in energy. As respects intellectual merits, the design is always chaste, often extremely elegant; the composition judicious, seldom contrasted or grouped artificially. The expression is sweet and calmly dignified, for rarely is strongly marked passion attempted. No decided aims at representation of abstract or ideal beauty can be observed; the powers of fancy are never presumed upon—seldom roused by remote associations. But the mind of the artist, now no longer entirely engrossed in mechanical detail, or confined by difficulties of mere representation, expatiates, selects, combines; if the forms and conceptions are not invested with the sublimity of ideal elevation, the beautiful models of real existence are imitated not unsuccessfully. Were the extent and object of art confined to simple imitation, the aim of the sculptor would now nearly be attained. Yet, judging even by the principles of the most refined criticism, one department, during the fifteenth century, acquired a perfection which has not been surpassed, rarely equalled, in succeeding times. Donatello and Ghiberti, the former in high, the latter in low relief, have left models which it does not easily appear possible to excel. The best of these are Donatello's, in the church of San Lorenzo, representing the most memorable events in the life of the Saviour; and Ghiberti's, already noticed, on the gates of the baptistry at Florence. The subjects seem to have imparted to the genius of the sculptors a portion of their own sacred dignity, and calm and holy feeling. Indeed, to the influence of religious impressions, we attribute, to a great degree, the improvement of sculpture during this age, the principal undertakings being from Scripture.
CHAPTER VII.
Notwithstanding the very considerable attainments already exhibited, to the perfection of Sculpture, there yet wanted greater ease and grace of execution, more perfect and elevated expression, more refined selection of form and composition,—more, in short, of that heightening charm which fancy lends to reality—of that which constitutes the poetry, not the fiction, of art. The first blush of the times, too, at the commencement of the sixteenth century, seemed to promise a most propitious era for the accomplishment of these remaining improvements. In Italy, yet the only fixed and native seat of art, a spirit of refinement and love of elegance, a high and general respect for art, pervaded all ranks. Universal activity, also, and energy of character, growing out of the conscious dignity of independence, animated the republican cities. Each vied with its neighbour in the splendour of public buildings, and in munificence of patronage. Florence, indeed, from her peculiar advantages and superior opulence, sooner distanced rivalry; but her schools were open to all, and her Medici, the most enlightened of patrons, were as yet but merchants and simple citizens. In those states, too, where free and popular government was not established, kings and princes affected to love and encourage the arts. Literature, in most of the countries of Europe, had spread its lights around; the ancient models of eloquence were known, at least in their precepts, to all who laboured in the fields of genius; and even in sculpture, some of the most breathing fragments had been, or in the course of the century, were restored to day. The stir of spirit had penetrated even the recesses of papal domination and priestly ease. Means of empire were now to be essayed more congenial to the complexion of the times, and to the minds of men, than spiritual weapons, unhallowed in every church, because unscriptural, or than—more unjustifiable still, when wielded by ministers of peace—secular arms. Rome was to be rendered the home and habitation of art, as of religion. She was to contain a temple vainly hoped to become the Zion of the Christian world. All these causes, favorable as they were to general developement of talent, tended with a peculiar energy to the advancement of sculpture, in which, with the exception of poetry, the greatest progress had yet been accomplished since the revival of intelligence. The path, too, which had here been pursued, led directly to excellence. Nothing was to be unlearned. The era bore a striking resemblance in its leading features to that of Pericles; there was wanting only a Phidias to realize its expectancy; and in Michael Angelo, the genius of Greece seemed to be supplied.