Our painter now set his face towards Italy, but he did not get far on his road without a hindrance. The story of the little episode we are about to relate is so differently given, that we only pretend to offer the most likely version.
At Brussels, where Vandyck tarried, the Infanta Isabella gave him a commission to paint the mistress of her Highness’s favourite hounds, a beautiful girl, by the name of Anna von Orphen. We are not told why a maiden of lowly origin was chosen for a place, though not very exalted, about Court, unless it were on account of her loveliness. But the portrait was executed, and Anna appeared, surrounded by her pack, each dog having its name duly inscribed on the canvas.
The picture is mentioned as being at the castle of Tervueren, near Brussels, in 1763. Vandyck speedily fell a victim to the charms of the lovely villager of Saventheim, and at her cottage he whiled away some months, to the great indignation of Rubens, who continued to write and expostulate with his former pupil, pointing out to him the value and importance of the time he was losing. Vandyck, however, was not wholly idle while at Saventheim; he painted (it is said at the instigation of his mistress) two pictures: one a Holy Family, in which he introduced likenesses of Anna and her family, and the other a St. Martin, being his own portrait, riding a horse which Rubens had given him. The last-mentioned painting was held in such high estimation by the inhabitants of Saventheim, that on three separate occasions, at the interval of many years, the peasantry rose en masse to prevent the treasure from being carried away, either by fraud or purchase.
At length Rubens hit on an expedient to extricate his friend from the spells of his rustic Armida. He sent the Chevalier Nanni, who was en route for Italy, to urge on Vandyck the expediency of accompanying him thither. The arguments chosen were successful; the lovers parted with mutual regret. Poor Anna was left disconsolate, and Vandyck set forth on a journey which was destined to be a triumphal progress. We have no space to detail his residence at Venice, where he studied Titian and Veronese, or his still longer sojourn at Genoa, where he became the favourite guest of the proudest nobles of the proud city, in which almost every palace is enriched by the works of the great Fleming, chiefly consisting of portraits, with a sprinkling of sacred subjects. This was the period when, as Vandyck afterwards confessed, he painted for fame, and not alone for money. At Rome, where he remained several years, the first order he undertook was the world-renowned portrait of Cardinal Bentivoglio, which, when once seen, attracted crowds of sitters to the studio, as at Genoa, including not only the nobility of the city, but most of the visitors sojourning there at the time. A most curious portrait of that period may now be seen at Petworth, representing Sir Robert Shirley, who had come from the East on a mission to his Holiness, representing him and his Persian wife both in Oriental costume. In the Duke of Buccleuch’s invaluable collection of miniatures there is a most eccentric effigy of this same lady, in the dress—or shall we say undress?—of her country.
On leaving Rome, many writers say driven thence by the jealousy of fellow-artists, especially among his own countrymen, Vandyck proceeded via Florence to visit the more northern cities of Italy, and after paying a second visit to his favourite Genoa, he sailed with his friend, the Chevalier Nanni, for Sicily, whither he had been invited by Prince Philibert of Savoy, who sat to him, as did also the famous painter Sofonisba Angusciola, celebrated alike for her talents and her romantic adventures. This remarkable woman was in her ninety-second year, and quite blind, but her mind was clear, and her love of art as keen as ever; and Vandyck said he had learned more from the conversation of this blind old lady than from all his former studies.
There is a charming portrait of her by her own hand, when young and handsome, in the collection of Earl Spencer at Althorp. Vandyck was driven from Sicily by the breaking out of the plague, and he once more set out for Antwerp, which he reached about the end of 1626. In his native city he at first shared the proverbial fate of the prophet in his own country; he found few patrons, and many cavilled at the prices, which were less than had been gladly paid him in Italy. Rubens came to his rescue by buying every completed picture in his studio, and, departing from Antwerp on diplomatic missions (from the Archduchess Isabella) to Portugal and England, left his friend Vandyck the undisputed master of the field.
His hands were now full. Orders from numerous religious fraternities in the city and neighbourhood, anxious to enrich their several churches and chapels, poured in on all sides, and the candidates for the honour of sitting to the great painter were incalculable. Yet Vandyck’s cup was mingled with gall, through the envy and jealousy of his fellow-artists, who attacked and traduced him on all occasions. He paid another short visit to England, where the Earl of Northumberland was his chief patron and employer, and afterwards to Paris; but it was not till 1632 that he listened to the persuasions of the Earl of Arundel (who many years before had admired the early promise of Vandyck’s talent), and once more went over to England. In consequence of the death of Buckingham, who literally ‘brooked no rival near the throne,’ Lord Arundel was in high favour with his Royal master, and King and subject were alike enthusiastic worshippers of art.
Vandyck was received at Court with every mark of distinction. Charles I. provided apartments for him, and in all respects treated him as a personal friend, taking the greatest delight in his society. It was supposed that his Majesty had even entertained the idea of building a house expressly for his guest, since among the State papers, in the handwriting of one of the officials, there is an entry, ‘Things to be done: to speak with Inigo Jones concerning a house for Vandike.’
The painter was however well lodged at Blackfriars, and a pleasant summer residence at Eltham was also allotted him. Indeed, wherever he went, Anthony Vandyck was the centre of attraction, the cynosure of all eyes. Pre-eminently handsome, brilliant in conversation, a good linguist, an enlightened traveller, even without the crowning quality of his splendid talent, the painter must assuredly have proved a shining light in the refined and aristocratic circles of the English capital. Courted in society, foremost in art, crowds resorted to his studio. The King himself was not only his constant sitter, but often dropped down the river in his royal barge as far as Blackfriars, to pass a pleasant hour, and gossip of art and artists with his newly-created knight, Sir Anthony Vandyck, to whom he had presented a valuable miniature of himself, splendidly set with diamonds. Neither of their Majesties ever appeared wearied of sitting for their portraits to their ‘Painter in Ordinary,’ and few records of a sad life can be more touching than the three heads (at Windsor Castle) of Henrietta Maria, in which Vandyck so truthfully delineated the mental and physical changes wrought by grief and misfortune.
Amongst Vandyck’s closest and most intimate friends may be reckoned the Earl of Strafford, whose noble and characteristic countenance gazes intently at us from the walls of so many dwelling-houses, and who was said to have sat oftener to his artist friend than any one in England, with the exception of Charles I. and his Queen. Sir Kenelm Digby was another of Sir Anthony’s chosen companions, and the portraits of the learned knight and his beautiful wife, Venetia Stanley, have become familiar to us by the magic touches of Vandyck’s brush. On the sudden and mysterious death of the ‘divine Venetia,’ her widower summoned the great painter to portray, for the last time, that lovely countenance in ‘a calm unbroken sleep, that hath no awakening,’—a beautiful and touching picture, which forms one of the gems of Lord Spencer’s collection. Notwithstanding the number of his sitters, and the large sums (by comparison) paid for his paintings, Sir Anthony was invariably in pecuniary difficulties. Luxurious in his manner of living, splendid even to ostentation in his dress and equipages, his hospitality was boundless, his generosity to struggling members of his own profession proverbial. Added to all his other expenses, there was invariably a Margaret Lemon, or one of her class, ever ready to drain his purse. On the subject of his monetary troubles, the noble knight was candid and outspoken. One day the King and Lord Arundel were sitting in intimate conversation with the painter in his studio at Blackfriars, when Charles began a sorrowful dissertation on his own lack of money. Turning to Sir Anthony, he said with a smile, ‘And you, Sir Knight, has it ever happened to you to be at a loss where to turn for one or two thousand pounds?’ ‘Sire,’ was the reply, ‘when a painter keeps an open house for his friends, and an open purse for his mistresses, he is not unlikely to have empty coffers.’ It was doubtless on account of these pecuniary difficulties that Vandyck in his latter days painted in so hurried and slovenly a manner, as might well have gained him the name of ‘Fa Presto.’ He got into the habit of intrusting many of the details of his paintings to the numerous scholars in his studio, and the similarity of the shape and character of the hands in his portraits, which has so often been remarked and marvelled at, may surely be accounted for by the fact that he usually painted the hands from those of models of both sexes retained by him for that purpose. Yet there were exceptions to this rule, for Vandyck, who had beautifully formed hands of his own, was a great admirer of that particular personal charm; and an amusing anecdote is told of him, when he had a no less noble sitter than Margaret de Bourbon, daughter to Henry IV. of France. The Royal lady, after watching Vandyck for some time, ventured the question, why he gave so much more attention to the painting of her hands than of her head, or indeed any other detail of the picture. ‘It is, Madam,’ replied Sir Anthony, with a sly smile, ‘that I anticipate a rich compensation from those beautiful white hands.’