Curiosities of Christian History Prior to the Reformation

by James Paterson

At the beatification of St. Benozzi in 1671, the monks of the order of Servi were anxious to have their church of the Annunziata at Florence suitably decorated. The sacristan of the convent wished to get the work done well and cheaply, and stimulated the vanity of rival artists by representing how their works would have the advantage of being exhibited in a church where such numbers of the devout constantly attended. He would not hold out the hope of large pay, but he promised abundance of prayers; and, above all, he dwelt on the favour which their performances would no doubt obtain from the Blessed Virgin herself, to whose especial honour they were to be consecrated. Andrea del Sarto yielded to these representations, and put forth all his strength. He painted on one side of the cortile two scenes from the life of the Madonna—“The Birth of the Virgin” and “The Adoration of the Magi”; and on the other side scenes from the life of San Filippo Benozzi. Every figure in those sublime groups is now familiar to the lovers of art. Other masterpieces were added by Andrea to that glorious church.

THE DIVINE MURILLO (1682).

Murillo, the Spanish painter, according to Sir D. Wilkie, adapted the higher subjects of art to the commonest understanding, and seems of all the painters the universal favourite. His paintings of “St. Elizabeth” and “The Healing of the Paralytic” are rich in colour and of singular beauty. He himself thought “The Charity of St. Thomas” was his best picture. His picture of “The Virgin of the Napkin,” though executed hastily, as a present to a cook who begged some memorial of him, shows a face in which thought is happily blended with maidenly innocence, and the Divine Child, with His deep, earnest eyes, leans forward in her arms, struggling, as it were, almost out of the frame, as if to welcome the saintly carpenter home from his daily toil. The picture is executed with a brilliancy of touch never excelled; it glows with a golden light, as if the sun were also shining on the canvas. Another picture, “The Guardian Angel,” shows the chief figure in a rich yellow robe and purple mantle, pointing as he goes with the right hand to heaven, and with the other leading a lovely child—the emblem of the soul passing through the pilgrimage of this world. Never was an allegory more sweetly told than in this picture, which is painted with great lightness of touch, and the transparent texture of the child’s garment is finely rendered. In his pictures of the Virgin Murillo’s celestial attendants are among the loveliest cherubs that ever bloomed on canvas. Hovering in the sunny air, reposing on clouds, or sporting amongst their silvery folds, these ministering shapes give life and movement to the picture, and relieve the Virgin’s statue-like repose. Some of them bear the large white lilies, others roses, sprays of olive and palm boughs, like those which are still annually blessed in churches, and hung as charms on balconies and portals. As a painter of children Murillo has caught with matchless insight all the nameless ways and graces of the bright-eyed Andalusian boys and girls he loved to depict.

CANO’S PICTURE OF THE VIRGIN (1690).

The most beautiful of Cano’s pictures is that of “Our Lady of Belem,” or Bethlehem, painted at Malaga for the cathedral of Seville. In serene celestial beauty this Madonna is excelled by no image of the Blessed Mary to be found in Spain. Her glorious countenance lends credit to the legends of the older art, and is such as might have been revealed in answer to the prayers of the saintly Vargas or of Joanes. The drapery is a crimson robe, with a dark blue mantle drawn over the head. The head of the Divine Child is perhaps not childlike; but there is much infantine simplicity and grace in the attitude, as He sits with His tiny hand resting on that of His mother. These hands are as usual admirably painted; and the whole picture is finished with exceeding care, as if the painter had determined to crown his labours and honour Seville with a masterpiece. Cano was the artist who was once engaged to model a statue of St. Antony for an accountant, and after it was finished and the price spoken of was deemed large, the accountant asked how many days’ labour it had cost. The answer being that it took twenty-five days, the patron at once rather indignantly observed, that at the rate charged it would be four doubloons a day—a most extravagant sum. To this Cano rejoined, “Yes, and I have been fifty years learning to make such a statue as that in twenty-five days.”

A PAINTER INCAUTIOUSLY WATCHING EFFECTS (1734).

When Sir James Thornhill was painting the cupola of St. Paul’s and adorning it, as he supposed, with masterpieces of sacred art, he was, like all great painters, absorbed in thought, and was frequently changing and improving his details. One day, when mounted on his lofty scaffold, he moved backwards step by step to view the effect of some of his touches, and had reached the very edge apparently without knowing his danger, for a fall there would have been instant destruction. The artist’s servant, having observed the danger, with great presence of mind instantly threw the contents of a pot of paint over his master. This happy thought had the effect of recalling the absent-minded artist to real life, for he immediately rushed forward to resent the outrage. On the attendant’s object, however, being explained, his wrath was with equal suddenness changed into lively gratitude.

ORIGIN OF CHURCH BELLS.

The Romans used bells in their baths. The Hebrew high priests also wore small bells. When Porsena, King of Etruria, was buried, and a magnificent monument with pyramids at each end was erected, small bells were suspended so delicately that the least breath of wind would sound them. Pope Sabinianus, about 604, in imitation of the bells of Porsena’s tomb, introduced the same in the charnel-houses, for the sound of bells was then supposed to frighten away evil spirits. Hence the bells came to be sounded at funerals, and passing bells have since been common. The goddess of Syria was anciently worshipped with the sound of bells, from which custom it is supposed the Christian Churches took the hint of hanging them in their steeples. The use of bells, however, was not coeval with the Church, for it was a considerable time before the Christians dare openly avow their profession or could venture on the publicity of such a mode of summoning their worshippers. Turkey and Greece are the only countries where the use of large bells has almost been abolished. Greece in this particular has degenerated, and Turkey has at length opposed their reception. The Dutch long excelled in the construction and management of their bells. The large bells of the Netherlands are so well tuned and hung, that any slow melody may be performed upon them with the greatest facility and as perfectly as on a church organ. The church bells were formerly regularly baptised, anointed, exorcised, and blessed by the bishop. The priest sprinkled the bell with holy water, while all the gossips laid hold of the rope, bestowing a name on it.