[CHAPTER XXVI]

Mediæval art chiefly religious—Innovations of Naturalism, Classicism, and Paganism—character and tendencies of Christian painting ill understood in England—influence of St. Francis—Mariolatry.

IN order to comprehend the peculiar tendency which painting assumed in Umbria, it will be necessary briefly to examine the principles and history of what is now generally known under the denomination of Christian art.[*102] Until after the revival of European civilisation, painting had scarcely any other direction than religious purposes. For household furniture and decoration, its luxuries were unheard of; the delineation of nature in portraits and landscapes was unknown. But pictorial representations had been employed for embellishment of churches from the recognition of Christianity by the Emperors of the West, and they had assumed a conventional character, derived chiefly from rude tracings in which the uncultivated limners of an outcast sect had long before depicted Christ, his Mother, and his apostles, for the solace of those whose proscribed creed drove them to worship in the catacombs. When these delineations, originally cherished as emblems of faith, had been employed as the adjuncts, and eventually perverted into the objects of devotion, they acquired a sacred character which it was the tendency of ever-spreading superstition continually to exaggerate. They became, in fact, the originals of those pictures which in subsequent ages were adopted as part and portion of the Roman worship; and forms, which they derived perhaps from the fancy or caprice of their inventors, came to be the received types to which all orthodox painters were bound to adhere.[*103] The means adopted for repeating them were enlarged or narrowed by various circumstances; the success with which they were imitated fluctuated with the advance or decline of taste. But whether traced upon the tablets of ivory diptychs, or blazoned in the pages of illuminated missals; whether depicted on perishable ceilings, or fixed in unfading mosaics; whether degraded by the unskilful daubing and spiritless mechanism of Byzantine artists,[*104] or refined by the holier feeling and improved handling of the Sienese and Umbrian schools,—the original types might still be traced. Indeed, those traditionary forms were as little subjected to modification by painters as the dogmas of faith were open to the doubts of commentators. Heterodoxy on either point was liable to severe denunciation, and pictorial novelties were interdicted by the Church, not as absolutely wrong, but as liable to abuse from the eccentricities of human fancy.[105] It was in Spain, the land of suspicion and priestcraft, that such jealousy was chiefly entertained, and the censorship of the fine arts there became in the sixteenth century a special duty of the Holy Office.

With the aid of authorities thus deduced through an unbroken chain from primitive times,—to conceive and embody abstractions "which eye hath not seen nor ear heard," was reckoned no rash meddling with sacred mysteries. On the contrary, the subjects almost exclusively selected for the exercise of Christian art, belonged to the fundamental doctrines of Christian faith, to the traditional dogmas of the Church, to the legendary lives of the Saviour and of saints, or to the dramatic sufferings of early martyrs. Such were the transfiguration, the passion, the ascension of our Lord; the conception, the coronation, and the cintola of the Madonna[106]; the birth and marriage of the Blessed Virgin; the miracles performed by popular saints, the martyrdoms in which they sealed their testimony. The choice, and occasionally the treatment, of these topics was modified to meet the spiritual exigences of the period, or the circumstances of the place, but ever in subservience to conventional standards derived from remote tradition. Thus we detect, in works of the Byzantine period, rigid forms, harsh outlines, soulless faces; in the schools of Siena and Umbria, pure figures lit up by angelic expressions; in the followers of Giotto, a tendency to varied movement and dramatic composition.

There is yet another reason for what to the uninitiated may seem monstrosities. The old masters had not generally to represent men and women in human form, but either prophets, saints, and martyrs, whom it was their business to embody, not in their "mortal coil," but in the purer substance of those who had put on immortality; or the Mother of Christ, exalted by mariolatry almost to a parity with her Son; or the "Ancient of Days,"—the personages of the Triune Divinity with their attendant heavenly host, whom to figure at all was a questionable licence, and who, if impersonated, ought surely to seem other than the sons and daughters of men. Of such themes no conception could be adequate, no approximation otherwise than disappointing; and those who were called upon to deal with them usually preferred painting images suggested by their own earnest devotional thoughts, to the more difficult task of idealising human models. Addressing themselves to the spirit rather than to the eye, they sought to delineate features with nought of "the earth, earthy," expressions purified from grovelling interests and mundane ties.

How much this religious art depended for its due maintenance upon the personal character of those whose business it was to embody and transmit to a new generation its lofty inspirations, can scarcely require demonstration. That they were men of holy minds is apparent from their works. Some, by long poring over the mystic incarnations which they sought to represent; others, by deep study of the pious narratives selected for their pencils; many, by the abstraction of monastic seclusion, brought their souls to that pitch of devotional enthusiasm, which their pictures portray far better than words can describe. The biographies that remain of the early painters of Italy fully bear out this fact; and of many instances that might be given we shall select three from various places and periods.

Of the early Bolognese school, Vitale and his pupil Lippo di Dalmasio were each designed delle Madonne, from their formally devoting themselves to the exclusive representation of her

"Who so above all mothers shone,
The mother of the Blessed One."

So far indeed did the latter of these carry enthusiastic mysticism, that he never resumed his labours without purifying his imagination and sanctifying his thoughts by a vigil of austere fasting, and by taking the blessed sacrament in the morning. In like manner did one of his comrades gain the appellation of Simon of the crucifixes. A century later, Gentile Bellini painted three of his noblest works for a confraternity in Venice, who possessed a relic of the True Cross, and chose for his subject various miracles ascribed to its influence. Refusing all remuneration, he affixed this touching record of his pious motives: "The work of Gentile Bellini, a knight of Venice, instigated by affection for the Cross, 1496." Similar anecdotes might be quoted of Giovanni da Fiesole, better known in Italy as Beato Angelico, whose life and pencil may well be termed seraphic, and to whom we shall again have occasion to allude; while parallel cases of a later date are found in Spain, where religion, and religious fervour, influenced by the self-mortification of dark fanatics and dismal ascetics, generally assumed less attractive forms.