Before we go farther, we must point out a happy device whereby Leonardo principally enlivened his picture; it is the motion of the hands; this device, however, only an Italian could discover. With his nation, the whole body is full of animation; every limb participates in the expression of feeling, of passion, even of thought. By various motions and forms of the hand, he expresses: “What do I care!—Come hither!—This is a rogue! beware of him!—He shall not live long!—This is a main point!—Observe this well, my hearers!” To such a national peculiarity Leonardo, who observed every characteristic point with the closest attention, must have turned his careful eye. In this respect, the present picture is unique, and one can scarcely observe it enough. Every look and movement perfectly correspond, and at the same time there is a combined and contrasted position of the limbs, comprehensible at a glance, and wrought out in the most praiseworthy manner.
The figures on both sides of the Saviour may be considered by threes, and each of these again must be thought into a unity, placed in relation, and still held in connection with its neighbors. First, on the right side of Christ, are John, Judas, and Peter. Peter the most distant, in consonance with his violent character, when he hears the word of the Lord, hastens up behind Judas, who, looking up affrighted, bends forward over the table, and holds with his right hand firmly closed, the purse, but with the left makes an involuntary nervous movement, as if he would say: What’s that? What does that mean? In the meanwhile Peter has with his left hand seized the right shoulder of John, who is inclined towards him, and points to Christ, and at the same time urges the beloved disciple to ask who the traitor is. He strikes a knife-handle, which he holds in his right hand, inadvertently into the ribs of Judas, whereby the affrighted forward movement, which upsets the salt-cellar, is happily brought out. This group may be considered as the one which was first thought out by the artist; it is the most perfect.
If now upon the right hand of the Lord immediate vengeance is threatened, with a moderate degree of motion, there arises upon his left the liveliest horror and detestation of the treachery. James, the elder, bends back from fear, extends his arms, stares with his head bowed down as one who sees before him the monster which he has just heard of. Thomas peers from behind his shoulder, and approaching the Saviour, raises the index of his right hand to his forehead. Philip, the third of this group, rounds it off in the loveliest manner; he has risen, bends toward the Master, lays his hands upon his breast, and declares with the greatest clearness: Lord, it is not I! Thou knowest it! Thou seest my pure heart. It is not I!
And now, the last three figures of this group give us new material for thought; they talk with one another about the terrible thing which they have just heard. Matthew, with a zealous motion, turns his face to the left toward his two companions; his hands, on the contrary, he stretches with rapidity towards his master, and thus, by the most ingenious artifice, unites his own group with the previous one. Thaddeus shows the most violent surprise, doubt and suspicion; he has laid his left hand open upon the table, and has raised the right in a manner as if he intended to strike his left hand with the back of the right—a movement which one still sees in men of nature when they wish to express at an unexpected occurrence: Have I not said so? Have I not always supposed it? Simon sits at the end of the table, full of dignity—we therefore see his whole figure; he, the eldest of all, is clothed with rich folds; his countenance and movements show that he is astonished and reflecting, not excited, scarcely moved.
If we now turn our eyes to the opposite end of the table, we see Bartholomew, who stands upon his right foot, with the left crossed over it; he is supporting his inclined body by resting both hands firmly upon the table. He listens, probably to hear what John will find out from the Lord; for, in general, the incitement of the favorite disciple seems to proceed from this entire side. James, the younger, beside and behind Bartholomew, lays his left hand upon Peter’s shoulder, just as Peter lays his upon the shoulder of John, but James does so mildly, seeking explanation only, whereas Peter already threatens vengeance.
And thus, as Peter reaches behind Judas, so James the younger reaches behind Andrew, who, as one of the most important figures, shows with his half-raised arms, his expanded hands in front, a decided expression of horror, which appears only once in this picture, while in other works of less genius, and of less profound thought, it recurs unfortunately only too often.
COPIES GENERALLY.
Before we now come to imitations of our painting, of which the number amounts to about thirty, we must make some reference to the subject of copies generally. Such did not come into use until everybody confessed that art had reached its culminating point, whereupon, inferior talents, looking at the works of the greater masters, despaired of producing by their own skill anything similar, either in imitation of nature, or from the idea; and art, which now dwindled into mere handicraft, began to repeat its own creations. This inability on the part of most of the artists did not remain a secret to the lovers of art, who, not being able always to turn to the first masters, called upon and paid inferior talents, inasmuch as they preferred, in order not to receive something altogether destitute of skill, to order imitations of recognized works, with a view to being well served in some degree. This new procedure was favored, from reasons of illiberality and overhaste by owners no less than by artists, and art lowered itself advisedly by setting out with the purpose to copy.
In the fifteenth century, as well as in the previous one, artists entertained a high idea of themselves and their art, and did not readily content themselves with repeating the inventions of others; hence we find no real copies dating from that period—a circumstance to which every friend of the history of art will do well to give heed. Inferior arts no doubt made use of higher patterns for smaller works, as in the case of Niello and other enamelled work, and, of course, when from religious or other motives, a repetition was desired, people contented themselves with an accurate imitation, which only approximately expressed the movement and action of the original, without paying any close regard to form and color. Hence in the richest galleries we find no copy previous to the sixteenth century.
But now came the time, when, through the agency of a few extraordinary men—among whom our Leonardo must be reckoned and considered as the first—art in every one of its parts attained to perfection; people learned to see and to judge better, and now the desire for imitations of first-class work was not difficult to satisfy, particularly in those schools to which large numbers of scholars crowded, and in which the works of the master were greatly in request. And yet, at that time, this desire was confined to smaller works which could be easily compared with the originals and judged. As regards larger works, the case was quite different at that time from what it was at a later period, because the original cannot be compared with the copies, and also because such orders are rare. Thus, then, art, as well as its lovers, contented itself with copies on a small scale, and a great deal of liberty was allowed to the copyist, and the results of this arbitrary procedure showed themselves, in an overpowering degree, in the few cases in which copies on a large scale were desired. These indeed were generally copies of copies, and, what is more, generally executed from copies on a smaller scale, worked out far away from the original, often from mere drawings, or even perhaps from memory. Job-painters now increased by the dozen, and worked for lower prices; people made household ornaments of painting; taste died out; copies increased and darkened the walls of ante-chambers and stair-cases; hungry beginners lived on poor pay, by repeating the most important works on every scale; yea, many painters passed the whole of their lives in simply copying; but even then an amount of deviation appeared in every copy, either a notion of the person for whom it was painted, or a whim of the painter, or perhaps a presumptuous wish to be original.