Come let us stand beneath his Cross:
So may the blood from out his side
Fall gently on us drop by drop.
Jesus our Lord is crucified.
"A cold sky with underlit clouds suggests the still and solemn hour of early dawn, a fitting time for the advent of this weird and livid apparition. Gaunt, bloodless, and with attenuated limbs, the Redeemer, we recognise, has passed through the Valley of 'the Shadow of Death'—not victoriously; there is no light of triumph in the lustreless eyes; no palm nor crown awaits this victim of relentless hate, the type of infinite despair and eternal sacrifice" (Times, September 19, 1887)—
Sunrise is close: the upper sky is blue
That has been darkness; and the day is new,
Bleaching yon little town: where the white hue,
Spread blank on the horizon, skirts
The night-mass there is strife and wavy rush
Of beams in flush....
The dawn is blue among the hills and white
Above their tops; a gladness creeps in sight
Across the silver-russet slopes, but night
Obscures the mortal ebb and flow
Flushing Thy veins; Thy lips in strife for breath
Are full of death.
("Michael Field" in Sight and Song.)
The looks and gestures of the Saviour seem to demonstrate that the blood which pours from His riven side is freely given for the redemption of the world. In the details of the picture, which careless observers might mistake for mere chance accessories, there is an allegorical meaning. The paved terrace with the open doorway symbolises the Paradise regained by the Blood of the Sacrificed, the ideal Church, the Church of the New Covenant, in contradistinction to the Hortus Inclusus, the garden enclosed, without a door, which was the type of the Old Covenant. The antique reliefs are pagan prototypes of the Christian sacrifice. On the right is Mucius Scaevola, before Lars Porsena, thrusting his hand into the fire,—the ancient type of heroism and readiness to suffer; on the opposite side is a pagan sacrifice, with Pan playing the pipes, signifying the propitiatory sacrifices of the ancients, and thus foreshadowing the Sacrifice on the Cross. The landscape background carries out the same ideas. On the right is a barren hill with leafless trees, and at its base some ancient ruins and a crumbling fountain. In contrast to this on the opposite side is a prosperous and well-fortified city, lying amid meadows; a church tower; the sky above is rosy with the light of early dawn. Figures are seen turning from the ancient ruins and making their way along the path which leads to a new and better home, the Christian city (Richter's Lectures on the National Gallery, p. 37).
This little picture is among the earliest of Bellini's works. The abnormal length of the figure of Christ and the exaggerated length and straightness of the forearms are points which should be noticed in this connection, resembling as they do characteristics of other early works by the painter, and also the drawings of his father, Jacopo. But "already, in spite of the archaism of form, he shows a feeling for atmospheric tonality; the ruin to the right and the two figures near it are, as painters say, in their place; that is to say, the treatment as regards relations of tone is such as the linear perspective would lead us to expect. Still more surprising is the way in which the eye is led down the valley to free spaces of luminous air" (Roger Fry: Giovanni Bellini, p. 18). The subject is a rare one in Italian art. Mr. Fry gives a reproduction of a similar figure in a picture by Crivelli in the Poldi Pezzoli Collection at Milan; and Dr. Richter, one from a woodcut in Savonarola's treatise on "Humility," first printed in 1492.
1234. "A MUSE INSPIRING A COURT POET."
Dosso Dossi (Ferrarese: 1479-1542). See 640.
Called a "court poet" because, one may suppose, of his sleek and uninspired appearance; but poets do not always look their parts, and 'tis the function of the Muse "to mould the secret gold." But perhaps the artist had some gently sarcastic intention, for it is but a small sprig that the Muse has spared to the poet from her garland. The head of the poet is clearly a portrait. That of the Muse "is as fine in technique and condition as anything in the whole range of Dossi's work" (Benson).