Italy, and more particularly Tuscany, may lay claim to the honour of
Fig. 247.—“Baptism of King Clovis.” (Fragment of a Painting on Canvas at Rheims. Fifteenth Century.)
having witnessed, about the end of the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth century, the dawn of the great revival of artistic light. The names of Giunta of Pisa, Guido of Siena, and Duccio, had, however, already commenced the glorious list of Italian artists, who were the first to endeavour to modify the immutable Greek manner. Their attempts, no doubt, seem but insignificant, looking at the immense progress subsequently accomplished; but, however slight it may appear to be, the first step made beyond the beaten path which has been trodden for centuries is often evidence of the most courageous daring.
The year 1240 witnessed the birth of Cimabue: as a young man, he became enamoured of art by watching the labours of the Greek painters who had been summoned to Florence to decorate the chapel of the Gondi. It was purposed to make him a savant and a lawyer; but he succeeded in abandoning the pen in favour of the pencil, and, from the lessons of the timid Byzantines, he soon became a master whose every thought was henceforth devoted to the emancipation of an art that he found condemned to a kind of immobility. Thanks to him, the expression of faces, which up to that time had been entirely conventional in character, was animated by a truer sentiment; the lines of drawing, which had been hard and stiff, were broken up into well-ordered grace; the colouring, hitherto dull and gloomy, assumed soft brilliancy and harmonious relief. It is said that Cimabue’s chef-d’œuvre, the “Madonna” which is still to be seen in the Church of Santa-Maria-Novella, was carried in procession by the crowd to the place which it now occupies; the painter was received with shouts, and, it is added, the joy of the people at the sight of the picture was so great that the part of the city wherein Cimabue’s studio was situated received, after this event, the name of Borgo Allegro (the Joyous Town). One day when Cimabue was in the country, he noticed a young shepherd-boy who was amusing himself by sketching on a rock the sheep he tended. The painter took charge of the boy; he became his favourite pupil, and was the celebrated Giotto, who happily persevered in the reform commenced by Cimabue. Giotto, the first among the artists of his time, ventured to paint portraits, and succeeded well in them. To him we owe our acquaintance with the real features of his friend Dante; and we still admire, at least as manifestations of an adventurous genius, the paintings he left in the Church of Santa Clara at Naples, in the Cathedral of Assisi, and especially in the Campo Santo at Pisa, where he painted in fresco the history of Job.
Giotto died in 1336, but he left behind him to continue his work, Taddeo Gaddi, Giottino, Stefano, Andrea Orcagna, and Simon Memmi, who were each destined to open out some new path in art. In the Campo Santo at Pisa we may see how great was the power of the genius of these masters, especially of Andrea Orcagna (1329-1389), who has there represented, with an equal measure of beauty and of sombre and terrible energy, the “Dream of Life,” facing the “Triumph of Death.” Taddeo Gaddi remained a fervent disciple of his master, and continued his delicate accuracy of design, and the living freshness of his colouring. Stefano succeeded him in the boldness of his compositions, in his studious knowledge of the nude, and of perspective effect which had been hitherto neglected. Giottino inherited his serious inspirations. Memmi endeavoured to recall his mystical and graceful sentiment. Orcagna, who was at once painter, sculptor, architect, and poet, seemed to possess in turn all the qualities which his fellow-disciples had shared among them, and could represent with equal success the terrors of the infernal regions and the visions of heaven.
The progress of which these painters had constituted themselves the apostles was not carried out without exciting some opposition. In addition to the Greek masters, who naturally felt compelled to contend with the innovators, certain individuals were found among the Italian artists who energetically embraced the party of the past. We will only mention one, Margaritone of Arezzo, who wore out his long life in a useless devotion to a cause which was already lost; even his name we should not have particularised, if it had not been that the art owed him some gratitude for the service he rendered it, by substituting the use of canvas prepared for painting instead of panels of wood, which had hitherto been exclusively employed.
The Florentine school (for thus we call the group of artists who trod in the footsteps of Cimabue and Giotto) had for its representative, at the beginning of the fifteenth century, Giovanni of Fiesole, surnamed Fra Angelico, the personification of enthusiasm in artistic sublimity; whose works, too, resemble so many hymns of adoration. Born in the year 1387, and inheriting great wealth, he was endowed with a contemplative mind, and, ignorant of the talent which inspired him, he sought oblivion from the world in the garb of a Dominican, little suspecting that glory awaited him in the very depth of his humility. At first, as a kind of pious recreation, he covered with miniatures several pages of manuscripts; next, his companions in the cloister requested him to paint a picture. He obeyed, feeling convinced that the inspiration which stirred within him was a manifestation of the Divine spirit, and it was with the most artless simplicity that he referred to this celestial origin the chef-d’œuvre which proceeded from his hands. His reputation spread far and wide. At the invitation of the head of the Christian Church, he repaired to Rome in order to paint one of the chapels of the Vatican. And when the pontiff, full of enthusiasm at his talent, wished to confer upon him as a reward the dignity of archbishop, Angelico retired modestly to his cell in order to devote himself without interruption to that art which was to him a continual prayer, and a perpetual soaring up to that heavenly country on which he unceasingly meditated with all the unutterable feelings of the elect.
About the same era as the “seraphic monk,” who died full of years in 1455, appeared Tomaso Guidi, for whom a kind of unconsciousness of everyday life had obtained the ironical sobriquet of Masaccio (the Stupid); who, however, astonished the world by his works to such extent that it was said concerning them, “those of his predecessors were painted, but his were living.” Masaccio was one of the first (and this fact shows how slowly art may progress even in bold hands) to place in his pictures firmly on the soles of their feet figures presenting a full front, instead of making them stand upon their great-toes, as his predecessors had done from a want of knowledge of the requisite foreshortening. Masaccio died in 1443.
Philippo Lippi, who devoted himself more specially to the study of nature, both in the human physiognomy and also in the accessory details of his works, marks as it were the last stage of the art, when it approached the state of full vigour in which it was to manifest the whole extent of its power. We are now at the end of the fifteenth century, and the masters of the great masters are in existence. It was Andrea Verrochio who, at the sight of an angel which Leonardo da Vinci, his pupil, had painted in one of his works, for ever abandoned his pencil. It was Domenico Ghirlandajo who, jealous of the superior qualities which he recognised in his pupil, the youthful Buonarotti, not only endeavoured, but succeeded in diverting his talents, at least for a time, to sculpture. It was Fra Bartolommeo (1469-1517) who was affected with such profound grief at the death of his friend Savonarola, that he embraced a monastic life. Baccio della Porta (such was the name of the Brother) was a very great painter ([Fig. 248]); the vigour and