The Weird Picture

by John R. Carling

"That's it. The oil-and-colour man. Here's a notice of his famous daub. This must be the critique he was referring to."

"O go on, Frank! Read it, read it!" she cried eagerly.

The praises of a rival are never very pleasant reading. They become doubly unpleasant when the beloved object is a listener. Pity me, then at having to read the following little Vasariad!

"'The principal topic of conversation among art-circles at present is a very remarkable picture, called in the catalogue "The Fall of Cæsar." The artist, who till yesterday was completely unknown to the public, is one Angelo Vasari, an Italian by birth, who has, however, spent the greater part of his life in the art-schools of London. He is said to be a descendant of the sixteenth-century Vasari, the friend of Popes and Princes, who has earned considerable fame by his Lives of the Painters. Though but twenty-five years of age, this new artist has produced a work that, without exaggeration, may be ranked with the finest compositions of Doré or Gérome. What he may be expected to accomplish when his genius is fully matured is shadowed forth by his present picture. What causes great surprise is the fact that up to the present time Vasari has never produced a work that deserved to rank above mediocrity. Indeed, so devoid of talent have his previous compositions been that the name "Il Divino" was bestowed upon him, not from his likeness to Raphael, but from his unlikeness. We are given to understand that when the artist was informed of the nickname, he replied unconcernedly: "Ah! then I must endeavour to merit the appellation."

"'"'Tis not in mortals to command success;" but Il Divino has both deserved and commanded it. His toil and perseverance have enabled him to turn the tables completely upon his critics, and from a poor, obscure, struggling artist he has become elevated to a position of fame and wealth, for the profits drawn from the crowds that have flocked to view the picture have been enormous.

"'That a young man accustomed only to paint mediocrities should, as it were, by one stroke produce a masterpiece is indeed a marvel, and there are not wanting tongues to say that "The Fall of Cæsar" is not the work of Vasari at all—an absurd statement, for it is not likely that the real author of such a remarkable work of genius would be so self-sacrificing as to give his glory to another. If there be any truth in this rumour, it is probably founded on the fact that some one may have collaborated with Vasari to produce a few minor points. If the latter be not the author of "The Fall of Cæsar," then assuredly his next work will betray him, unless indeed he has determined to rest his fame on this one picture only. But no importance is to be attached to the mysterious rumours current to account for the artist's success.

"'The Vasari Gallery is situated in the Rue de Sèvres, and admission is obtained by the payment of two francs. What the visitor first sees on entering the apartment devoted to this masterpiece is a wide doorway at the farther end draped on each side with curtains between which can be seen a court apparently open to the sky, since glimpses of a heavenly blue are visible between lofty columns. By one of these columns rises the statue of a warrior mounted on a pedestal, and at the base, with arrowy beams of sunlight streaming over it, lies a prostrate form, which requires no second glance to certify that it is a dead body, especially as the bloodstained weapons that have accomplished the deed are scattered on the pavement around.

"'The spectator (not in the secret) hurries forward, and on arriving at the end of the apartment can hardly be persuaded that no doorway exists, and that the whole scene is simply a picture painted on canvas. Yet so it is. The picture is draped on each side with curtains so disposed as to give it the appearance of a doorway. The light entering the apartment from above strikes the picture at a certain angle, and, aided by the marvellous perspective skill of the artist's brush, the picture has every appearance of being an actual scene beyond the room in which the spectator stands, and in which some terrible tragedy has taken place. The illusion is perfect.

"'We have indicated the principal features of the picture; the fallen Cæsar with his toga wrapped partly round him, the statue of Pompey rising above, a tesselated pavement stained with blood, here and there a discarded dagger, columnar architecture in the background: such are the simple elements presented by this work of art. The fidelity to archæological details displayed in all parts of the picture has satisfied the judgment of every antiquary who has examined the work.

"'The picture, as we have intimated, contains but two figures—a disappointing number, one might think; and yet it is no paradox to say that had the picture contained more it would have revealed less. Had the artist, for example, represented Marc Antony mourning over the dead body, and drawing eloquence from its pitiable aspect, the eloquence that was to excite the Forum, or had he given us the conspirators waving their swords aloft, their faces radiant with the enthusiasm of liberty, he would have drawn off the spectator's attention from the point which most deserves praise. In the multiplicity of details we should perhaps have lost sight of the marvellous manner in which the painter has triumphed over the difficulty of his subject in regard to the face of the dead Cæsar, expressing therein all the varying emotions that must have agitated the great Dictator's mind at the moment of his death.