The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle
That's curdied by the frost from purest snow
And hangs on Dian's temple.
[132] The doors of the temple of "two-headed Janus" at Rome were always thrown open when the State was at war, and only closed in time of peace.
[133] The whole, or part, of this picture was at one time freely ascribed to Raphael; but Morelli has effectually disposed of the superstition by showing, amongst other arguments, that the drawings for Tobias and the Angel (in the Oxford University Gallery and in the British Museum) are undoubtedly by Perugino (Italian Art in the German Galleries, 1883, p. 289). The Oxford drawing is described and discussed, on the assumption that it is by Raphael, in Sir J. C. Robinson's Drawings by Michael Angelo and Raffaello, p. 129.
[134] For a record of his movements the reader may refer to Morelli's Italian Masters in German Galleries, 1883, pp. 285-291.
[135] Vasari's bias against the Umbrian master is too marked for any of his attacks to be accepted without corroboration.
[136] In a critique of F. Walker's "Fishmongers' Stalls," Ruskin says: "If the reader will waste five minutes of his season in London in the National Gallery, he may see in the hand of Perugino's Tobias a fish worth all these on the boards together" (Arrows of the Chace, i. 177).
[137] With regard to the "purist ideal" it should be noticed that "these fantasies of the earlier painters, though they darkened faith, never hardened feeling; on the contrary, the frankness of their unlikelihood proceeded mainly from the endeavour on the part of the painter to express, not the actual fact, but the enthusiastic state of his own feelings about the fact; he covers the Virgin's dress with gold, not with any idea of representing the Virgin as she ever was, or ever will be seen, but with a burning desire to show what his love and reverence would think fittest for her. He erects for the stable a Lombardic portico, not because he supposes the Lombardi to have built stables in Palestine in the days of Tiberius, but to show that the manger in which Christ was laid is, in his eyes, nobler than the grandest architecture in the world. He fills his landscape with church spires and silver streams, not because he supposes that either were in sight at Bethlehem, but to remind the beholder of the peaceful course and succeeding power of Christianity" (Modern Painters, vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. iv. § 10). For a different kind of feeling in "naturalistic" art, see under 744.
[138] Visitors who are interested in such points of connoisseurship may be glad of this summary with regard to the works ascribed in the Official Catalogue to the associated painters, Fra Filippo Lippi, Filippino Lippi, and Botticelli. The undisputed pictures of Fra Filippo are 248, 666, and 667; of Filippino, 293 and 927. The pictures 592 and 1033 have marked resemblances both to Fra Filippo, Filippino, and to Botticelli, and are ascribed by different critics to one or other of those masters or pupils. 598 and 1124 are often ascribed to a pupil of Filippino; the pictures 586 and 589 to a pupil of Fra Filippo. The undisputed pictures of Botticelli are 1034 and 1126. The pictures 226, 275, 782, 915, and 916, are all ascribed by some critics to a pupil of his only, whilst to Botticelli himself has now been ascribed the portrait 626, formerly classed as "Unknown." To a supposed painter, christened by the critics "Amico di Sandro," 1124 and 1412 are attributed.
[139] Layard, ii. 621. Similarly Ruskin says: "The possession of the Pisani Veronese will happily enable the English public and the English artist to convince themselves how sincerity and simplicity in statements of fact, power of draughtsmanship, and joy in colour, were associated in a perfect balance in the great workmen in Venice" (Catalogue of the Turner Sketches and Drawings, 1858, p. 10). As an instance of Veronese's "economical work"—a sure sign of a great painter—Ruskin refers to "the painting of the pearls on the breast of the nearer princess, in our best Paul Veronese. The lowest is about the size of a small hazel nut, and falls on her rose-red dress. Any other but a Venetian would have put a complete piece of white paint over the dress, for the whole pearl, and painted that into the colours of the stone. But Veronese knows beforehand that all the dark side of the pearl will reflect the red of the dress. He will not put white over the red, only to put red over the white again. He leaves the actual dress for the dark side of the pearl, and with two small separate touches, one white, another brown, places its high light and shadow. This he does with perfect care and calm: but in two decisive seconds. There is no dash nor display, nor hurry, nor error. The exactly right thing is done in the exactly right place, and not one atom of colour, nor moment of time spent vainly. Look close at the two touches,—you wonder what they mean. Retire six feet from the picture—the pearl is there!" (Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. viii. ch. iv. § 18). "One of the chief delights which any one who really enjoys painting finds in that art as distinct from sculpture, is in the exquisite inlaying or joiner's work of it, the fitting of edge to edge with a manual skill, precisely correspondent to the close application of crowded notes without the least slur, in fine harp or piano-playing. In many of the finest works of colour on a large scale, there is even some admission of the quality given to a painted window by the dark lead bars between the pieces of glass. Both Tintoret and Veronese, when they paint on dark grounds, continually stop short with their tints just before they touch others, leaving the dark ground showing between in a narrow bar. In the Paul Veronese in the National Gallery, you will find every here and there pieces of outline which you would suppose were drawn with a brown pencil. But no! look close, and you will find that they are the dark ground left between two tints, brought close to each other without touching" (Lectures on Landscape, § 68). Elsewhere, Ruskin calls special attention to the painting of "the drooped left hand of the princess, holding her crown" (Academy Notes, 1858, p. 46).
[140] An even more striking instance is to be found in Veronese's picture of the Last Supper, now in the Academy of Venice. Here too he introduced his favourite dog, as well as dwarfs and armed retainers. He was summoned before the Inquisition for such irreverent anachronisms; and the account of his cross-examination is most amusing and instructive reading. A translation will be found in the appendix to Ruskin's Guide to the Academy at Venice.