Curiosities of Christian History Prior to the Reformation

by James Paterson

Francesco Monsignori of Verona had attained the highest reputation as a painter. In one picture he had to paint a beautiful dog as part of a group; and one day a friend calling with a living dog, the latter rushed furiously to the painting to attack the painted dog. In another work of the same artist, a picture of the Virgin and the Infant Christ, the Divine Child was represented as visible from the shoulder upwards only, and having one arm extended in the act of caressing the Virgin mother. One day Count Ludovico, having heard of this painting and being anxious to see it, brought his wife and son with him, and the boy had a green bird, called in Verona a terrazzani, perched on his wrist like a falcon. The moment they entered the room the bird, seeing the extended arm of the Infant Christ in the picture, flew towards it, intending to perch upon it. The bird fell to the ground, but immediately rose again, and tried to perch exactly as if it were a child on whose wrist such a bird is accustomed thus to sit. The nobles, amazed at this, were inclined to offer any price for such a picture, but the artist could not be prevailed upon to part with it. A pupil of the same painter, named Girolamo, painted a Madonna sitting underneath a tree, which was put in a church near Verona, and the wild birds that sometimes found their way inside used often to fly against the picture, intending to alight on the branches of this tree. And this circumstance made the picture famous to all the neighbourhood.

FINDING A MODEL FOR A MARTYRED SAINT (MONSIGNORI, 1519).

Francesco Monsignori of Verona had painted many sacred subjects with the highest success before he was engaged to paint St. Sebastian for the Church of the Madonna, outside Mantua. The saint was shot to death with arrows. While the painter was at work on the picture the Marquis of Mantua called and asked him whether he had got a good model for this difficult picture. The painter said he had selected a very beautiful person who was a porter, and who would no doubt allow himself to be tied to the stake and assume the proper attitudes. “That won’t do,” said the Marquis; “you will not be able to represent the proper fear and horror and resistance of the person who is to be murdered. Just inform me when your model is to sit again, and I will show you the right thing to do.” The following day, when the painter had fastened the porter to the stake, and had given secret notice of it to the Marquis, the latter suddenly burst into the room with a cross-bow and arrows in a state of great excitement, and with a loud voice he rushed to the porter, exclaiming, “Traitor! you are a dead man! I have caught you at last, and I will make an end of you,” with other horrible exclamations of rage and revenge. The poor unlucky porter, believing that his doom was near, made the most desperate efforts to release himself, and the excitement and agitation of his countenance and limbs, as he was struggling against his fate, supplied the painter with the very attitudes and expression he most desired. “Now,” said the Marquis, “he is just in the right position, I will leave you to do the rest.” This timely assistance enabled the painter to make an admirable picture of the martyrdom of the saint.

A DIVINE ARTIST DISCOVERING ONE STILL MORE DIVINE (FRANCIA, 1520).

Francesco Francia, born in 1450, began as a goldsmith and designer at Bologna, but felt he could be a painter, and his pictures when he attempted them soon brought him wealth and fame, for his Madonnas and Christs and angels and saints were exquisite. When he was at the height of fame, he had been constantly told of the glories of Raphael, who was then working at Rome, so that he longed to see some of these much-applauded masterpieces. It happened that Raphael had been commissioned to execute a picture of St. Cecilia, which was to be forwarded to Bologna on its way to the chapel of San Giovanni in Monte. Raphael, on forwarding it, sent a polite and friendly letter, asking Francia to look after it, and remove any scratches it might have received, and make any alterations which his skill might suggest. This pleased Francia, who had the picture at once taken out of its case and put in a clear light, that he might critically examine it. He was instantaneously confounded and overwhelmed with the beauty and masterly execution of the work. He at once felt conscious of his own foolish presumption in thinking he could improve it. He was struck dumb with terror, and went about distracted and overweighted with grief at his own shortcomings. He sent the picture on to its destination, but its extreme and unparalleled beauty smote him to the heart. He took to his bed, never recovered his former spirits, and soon died of grief and vexation to think how far short he had been of such excellence. Such is the account given by Vasari, but it is thought by some authorities to have been exaggerated.

LEONARDO DA VINCI’S PICTURE OF THE LAST SUPPER (1520).

When Leonardo da Vinci painted the Last Supper about 1497, one of the greatest pictures of the world, the subject had been little attempted before, and he gave the greatest care to the details. He used to remain at his easel on the scaffold absorbed in thought for whole days, often forgetful of his meals. One great difficulty was to satisfy himself about the proper head for his Christ. He used to say that, when he attempted it, his hand trembled under the excitement of discovering the most appropriate face and expression. A friend, whom he consulted about the difficulty, comforted him by saying that, after his heads of James the Great and James the Less, it was beyond the power of man to give greater divinity and beauty to any human figures, and therefore he should leave the head of Christ imperfect. He never could satisfy himself about leaving out or finishing this cardinal point. At last he accepted a good deal of the form which the Byzantine painters had previously adopted, though he also improved upon it. Leonardo is said to have spent an inordinate time over this picture, and the prior of the monastery at Florence for whom it was painted in fresco could never understand why the painter seemed for so many days and weeks to be brooding and contemplating, and criticising, undoing, and altering, without finishing his work. The prior thought that, like the day-labourers, the great painter ought to have the brush constantly in his hand, spreading his colours and making visible progress in covering the wall. And he grievously complained again and again, not only to the painter himself, but to the duke, of all this delay; and the worry and importunity of this prior vexed and annoyed the painter, who, when alluding to it, explained to the duke how artists are sometimes producing most when they seem to be labouring least, their minds being elaborating the conceptions which it is so difficult to realise. He also informed the duke that there were still wanting to him two heads, one of which, that of the Saviour, he could not hope to find on earth, and had not yet attained the power of presenting to himself even in imagination, with all that perfection of beauty and celestial grace which appeared to him to be demanded. The second head still wanting was that of Judas Iscariot, which also caused him some anxiety, since he did not think it possible to imagine fitting features for a man who, after so many benefits received from his Master, had possessed a heart so depraved as to be capable of betraying that Master, the Lord and Creator of the world. With regard to the second, however, he said he would still pursue his search, and after all, if the worst came to the worst, and if he could find no better, then he would never be at any great loss so long as he had that troublesome and impertinent prior’s face before him. The duke laughed heartily, and the poor prior when informed was so utterly confounded at the appalling destiny awaiting him that he kept his peace for ever after. This magnificent masterpiece of the Last Supper unfortunately rapidly deteriorated in its colouring, owing to its being painted in oils instead of fresco; and it has often since been retouched and repaired, till it is doubtful how much of the original now remains, except the composition, design, and grouping, which make the picture imperishable. The refectory of the convent in which the picture was painted in fresco was more than once inundated with water, and ill usage did the rest. In 1796, when Napoleon’s troops entered Italy, they turned the refectory into a stable, and the men even amused themselves with throwing bricks at the painted heads of the Apostles. Fortunately the original work in its beauty was well copied in 1510, and this copy, after changing hands, came into the possession of the Royal Academy in London, who now possess it. Other copies were painted by the same artist about the same time. This picture is the best known and most famous in Christian art. We find it alike in rich men’s palaces and poor men’s cottages, in splendid mosaic and in coarse woodcut, on altarpieces and in all kinds of collections. On Christ’s right hand are in their order John, Judas, Peter, Andrew, James the Less, and Bartholomew. On Christ’s left hand in their order are James the Great (who sits next to Christ), Thomas, Philip, Matthew, Thaddeus, and Simon. Leonardo’s other sacred pieces, his Virgins and Holy Families, are all of exquisite beauty. A noble statue was erected to the memory of this great painter at Milan in 1872. The painter had a peculiarity of writing his chief documents backwards from right to left, so that they required to be read by the aid of a looking-glass. He is supposed to have done this to prevent the curious too easily acquiring knowledge of his studies for pictures.

RAPHAEL’S PICTURE OF THE PROCESSION TO CALVARY (1520).

Raphael painted his famous picture of the Procession to Calvary, called “Lo Spasimo di Sicilia,” for a Sicilian church at Palermo. In 1217, on its being finished, it was packed and taken on board a ship at Ostia bound for Palermo. A storm arose, the vessel foundered at sea, and all was lost except the package containing this picture, which was floated by the currents into the Bay of Genoa, and on being landed the wondrous masterpiece of art was taken out unhurt. The Genoese at first refused to give it up, insisting that it had been preserved and floated to their shores by the miraculous interposition of the Blessed Virgin herself, and it required a positive mandate from the Pope to represent it as a work done by contract.