A characteristic piece of "Bible by candle-light." There is, however, something spiritually instructive, as well as technically skilful, in the way in which such light there is all proceeds from Him who came to be the light of the world: compared with this divine light that in the lantern of the shepherds pales and is ineffectual. The picture is dated 1646. For the most part, however, the picture is a piece of pure realism, which may be contrasted in an instructive way with the essentially religious art of earlier schools. Here there is little, if any, symbolism, and "the decorative qualities with which a painter like Botticelli appealed to the imagination to heighten the impressiveness of the story have vanished also. In their stead we have pure naturalism,—naturalism of a very refined and cultured order, which appeals to the imagination as powerfully, but in a totally different way. The charm of the picture is independent of any exegetical qualities. Rembrandt treats the Nativity as a natural event, in a scientific spirit. The only connection between this picture and religious art is that it represents certain conventional attributes which are common to both. But just so much as we subtract from it as an exponent of strictly religious thought, just so much must we add to it as appealing to the intellect in general; its impressiveness, its sublimity, and its suggestiveness, and it has all these, are evolved out of the phenomena of natural effects by a poetical process" (J. E. Hodgson, R.A., in Magazine of Art, 1890, p. 42).
48. LANDSCAPE, WITH TOBIAS AND THE ANGEL.
Domenichino (Eclectic-Bologna, 1581-1641).
Domenico Zampieri, called Domenichino for his small stature, was born at Bologna, the son of a shoemaker. He entered the school of the Carracci, and afterwards was invited to Rome by Albani, in whose house he lived. Here he soon acquired a great reputation, and was taken by Annibale Carracci as assistant in the execution of the frescoes of the Farnese Palace. The Cardinals Borghese and Aldobrandini were also among his patrons. In 1617 he revisited Bologna, where he married. In 1621 he was recalled to Rome by the Pope Gregory XV., who appointed him principal painter and architect to the pontifical palace. Some of the villas at Frascati were designed by him. In 1630 he was invited to Naples to decorate the Cappella del Tesoro of the Duomo, a commission which Guido Reni sought in vain. Here Domenichino incurred the hostility of the Neapolitan painters, and the machinations of the notorious triumvirate, the "Cabal of Naples," were suspected of causing his death. At Rome also he had been much persecuted by rival artists. Accusations of plagiarism were levelled at him, and his more pushing competitors "decried him to such a degree that he was long destitute of all commissions." It is interesting to contrast the conditions of (literally) "cut-throat competition," under which the Italian painters of the decadence worked, with the Guild System of the Flemish and the honourable time and piece-work of the earlier Italians.
The varying fortunes of Domenichino's fame form a curious chapter in the history of taste. In his own time and down to the end of the eighteenth century he was ranked among the greatest masters. Poussin placed him next to Raphael. Bellori attributed to him "the same wand which belongs to the poetical enchanters." Sir Joshua Reynolds speaks of him with high respect, and Lanzi describes him as the admiration of all professors, and records the enormous price which his pictures still fetched (1809). Against these panegyrics we may set Ruskin's invectives. "I once supposed," he says, "that there was some life in the landscape of Domenichino, but in this I must have been wrong. The man who painted the 'Madonna del Rosario' and 'Martyrdom of St. Agnes' in the gallery of Bologna is palpably incapable of doing anything good, great, or right, in any field, way, or kind whatsoever.... Whatever appears good in any of the doings of such a painter must be deceptive, and we may be assured that our taste is corrupted and false whenever we feel disposed to admire him.... I am prepared to support this position, however uncharitable it may seem; a man may be tempted into a gross sin by passion and forgiven, and yet there are some kinds of sins into which only men of a certain kind can be tempted, and which cannot be forgiven. It should be added, however, that the artistical qualities of these pictures are in every way worthy of the conceptions they realise; I do not recollect any instance of colour or execution so coarse and feelingless." Domenichino and the Carraccis were, says Ruskin elsewhere, mere "art-weeds." "Their landscape, which may in few words be accurately described as 'scum of Titian,' possesses no single merit, nor any ground for the forgiveness of demerit." "The flight of Domenichino's angels is a sprawl paralysed." "They are peculiarly offensive, studies of bare-legged children howling and kicking in volumes of smoke" (Modern Painters, vol. i. pt. ii. sec. i. ch. vii. § 13; vol. ii. pt. iii. sec. ii. ch. v. § 17; vol. iii. pt. iv. ch. xviii. § 20; Stones of Venice, travellers' edition, vol. ii. ch. vi.; On the Old Road, vol. i. § 91). Ruskin's estimate, "though expressed with such a clangour of emphasis," yet fairly represents, as Mr. Symonds says, the feeling of modern students. Perhaps, however, the reaction against the once worshipped pictures of Domenichino has gone too far. His celebrated "Diana and her Nymphs" in the Borghese Gallery is "a charming picture," says Morelli, "worthy of a purer period of art. Full of cheerful animation and naïve and delightful details, it cannot fail to please" (Roman Galleries, p. 228). Of the moral obliquity which Ruskin seems to impute, Domenichino must be acquitted. He appears to have been a simple, modest, painstaking, and virtuous person. "He was misled by his dramatic bias, and also by the prevalent religious temper of his age. That he belonged to a school which was essentially vulgar in its choice of type, to a city never distinguished for delicacy of taste, and to a generation which was rapidly losing the sense of artistic reserve, suffices to explain the crude brutality of the conceptions which he formed of tragic episodes" (Symonds, Renaissance, vii. 220). Lanzi says with truth that Domenichino's style of painting is "almost theatrical." He tears the passion of his figures to tatters—"exaggerated action destroying," as Ruskin says, "all appearance of intense feeling." An interesting tale is told of the way in which the artist worked himself up. He was engaged on a scene of martyrdom, and "in painting one of the executioners he actually threw himself into a passion, using threatening words and actions. Annibale Carracci, surprising him at that moment, embraced him, exclaiming with joy, 'To-day, my Domenichino, thou art teaching me.'"
Tobias, directed by the angel, is drawing out of the water the fish that attacked him. See the Book of Tobit, ch. vi. 4, 5, and the note on No. 781.
49. THE PORTRAIT OF RUBENS.
Van Dyck (Flemish: 1599-1641).
Sir Anthony Van Dyck, the prince of court portrait-painters and the most famous of Rubens's pupils, is one of the many great artists whose gifts showed themselves almost from birth. He was born at Antwerp, the seventh child of a tradesman in good circumstances. His mother was a woman of taste, who attained considerable skill in art-needlework, and from her he doubtless derived many of the qualities for which his works are conspicuous. At the age of ten the boy had already begun to paint. His admission at the age of thirteen to the crowded studio of Rubens is a proof of his precocious talent. Documents recently discovered show that Van Dyck when seventeen had already pupils of his own, and that his independent work was sought after by artists and amateurs. At nineteen he was admitted to the painters' Guild of St. Luke. For five years (1620-25) he was for the most part travelling and painting in Italy, with introductions from Rubens. Many of his best works are still to be seen in Genoa and Turin. He also visited Venice, where the spell of Titian's genius enchanted him. Several sketches in the British Museum testify to his devout study of the great Venetian. On his return to Antwerp at the end of 1625, Van Dyck soon became the great court-painter of his time. Queens visited him in his studio, and the nobility of three nations considered it an honour to be painted by him. Religious pictures were also produced by him at this time with amazing rapidity. In 1632 he came to England. He had already paid a short visit in 1620-21, when he had painted James I., and was in receipt of a grant from the Exchequer "for special service performed for His Majesty." This first visit to England seems to have been due to the initiative of the celebrated connoisseur, the Earl of Arundel. At the court of Charles I. Van Dyck came at once into the highest favour. Sir Kenelm Digby, a gentleman of the bedchamber, was his bosom friend, and on his first presentation to Charles I. he obtained permission to paint the king and queen. He was appointed painter to the court, was knighted, and received a pension of £200. A town-house was given him at Blackfriars, and a country-house at Eltham. He "always went magnificently dressed, had a numerous and gallant equipage, and kept so good a table in his apartment that few princes were more visited or better served." In England alone there are said to be twenty-four portraits of the king by Van Dyck, and twenty-five of Queen Henrietta Maria. Every one of distinction desired to have his or her features immortalised by the court-painter, and for seven years he worked at the portraits of the English aristocracy with indefatigable industry. Some 300 of these portraits exist in this country. The painter's health gradually began to fail, from the constant drain upon his strength caused by the incessant labour necessary to procure the means of gratifying his luxurious tastes, and also by his irregular mode of life. Van Dyck, says Mr. Law in his Catalogue of the Hampton Court Gallery, "loved beauty in every form, and found the seduction of female charms altogether irresistible." In 1639 he married Mary Ruthven, grand-daughter of the unfortunate Lord Ruthven, Earl of Gowrie—a marriage promoted by the king, who hoped thereby to effect a change in the painter's habits of life. Margaret Lemon, the celebrated beauty, who lived with Van Dyck for some time at Blackfriars, resented the marriage most bitterly, and tried to maim the painter's right hand. In 1640-41 he travelled abroad with his wife, but returned to this country a dying man. The king offered a special reward to any doctor who could save the painter's life; but he expired in his house at Blackfriars on December 9, 1641, at the early age of forty-two. Two days afterwards he was buried in the old cathedral of St. Paul's, and the king erected a monument to record the death of one "who in life had conferred immortality on many." A magnificent collection of his works was shown at the Royal Academy in the winter exhibition of 1900.
The characteristics of Van Dyck's art may in large measure be gathered from the circumstances of his life. He is essentially the painter of princes. His sacred and other subject pictures are often remarkable for force and vigour of handling. "Van Dyck," says Ruskin, "often gives a graceful dramatic rendering of received Scriptural legends." But it is not in these subjects that Van Dyck is seen in his most interesting and most characteristic manner. "Rubens is only to be seen in the Battle of the Amazons, and Van Dyck only at court." No more in him than in the other later Flemish artists is there anything spiritual. The difference between him and Teniers, for instance, is accidental rather than essential. "They lived," says Ruskin, "the gentle at court, the simple in the pot-house; and could indeed paint, according to their habitation, a nobleman or a boor, but were not only incapable of conceiving, but wholly unwishful to conceive, anything, natural or supernatural, beyond the precincts of the Presence and the tavern." What distinguishes Van Dyck is the indelible mark of courtly grace and refinement which he gives to all his sitters. Nowhere clearer than in his portraits does one see the better side of the "Cavalier" ideal. In this connection we may note Van Dyck's feeling for the nobility of the horse (see note on No. 156). One thing "that gives nobleness to the Van Dyck," says Ruskin in describing one of his "cavalier" portraits, "is its feminineness; the rich, light silken scarf, the flowing hair, the delicate, sharp, though sunburnt features, and the lace collar, do not in the least diminish the manliness, but add feminineness. One sees that the knight is indeed a soldier, but not a soldier only; that he is accomplished in all ways, and tender in all thoughts." The reader who remembers any large collection of Van Dycks will feel that the spirit of Ruskin's description is true to a very large number of them. One may forget the individual sitter; the impression left by the Van Dyck type is indelible. Charles I. and his Queen, though painted by several other painters, are known to posterity exclusively through Van Dyck—not (says M. Hymans) from a greater closeness of resemblance to the original, but from a particular power of expression and bearing, which, once seen, it is impossible to forget. The same may be said of Van Dyck's portraits generally. He endowed all his sitters alike with the same distinction of feature and elegance in bearing. He excelled in giving delicacy to the hands, and is said to have kept special models for this part of his work. He is not what is called an "intimate" portrait painter. He does not startle us with penetration in seizing points of individual character; he charms us with the refinement of his type. "In Titian," says Ruskin, "it is always the Man whom we see first; in Van Dyck the Prince or the Sir." With regard to Van Dyck's technique, his earlier productions (says Sir F. Burton) "are scarcely to be distinguished from those of Rubens, and there are cases in which dogmatism as to authorship would be hazardous.[81] Differentiation is first visible in a greater precision, a slenderer, it might be said, a more wiry touch, and a cooler colouring, on the part of the pupil." At its worst, Van Dyck's touch is distinguished by what Ruskin calls a certain "flightiness and flimsiness"; at its best, by great refinement: "there is not a touch of Van Dyck's pencil but he seems to have revelled in—not grossly, but delicately—tasting the colour in every touch as an epicure would wine." His output was prodigious; in spite of his early death more than 1000 works are attributed to him. A considerable portion of many of these was done by assistants, and his later works are often hasty and careless. The references to Van Dyck in Ruskin's books are numerous. (The most interesting are Modern Painters, vol. v. pt. ix. ch. vi. §§ 5, 10, 22; ch. vii. § 23; Elements of Drawing, appendix ii.; On the Old Road, i. § 154; Art of England, 1884, pp. 43, 83, 138, 212.)
A portrait of special interest as having been much prized by Sir Joshua Reynolds, to whom it formerly belonged. When Mr. Angerstein bought it, the great Burke is said to have congratulated him on possessing Sir Joshua's "favourite picture." It is commonly called "The Portrait of Rubens," but the principal figure does not greatly resemble the well-known face of Rubens; it is more probably a portrait of Luke Vostermann, a celebrated engraver of the time. He is discoursing, it would seem, on some point of art, suggested by the little statue which a man behind is holding.