We turn now to the left side of Christ, in order that the figure of the Saviour may come last in our description.
St. Thomas’ head and right hand, whose upraised fore-finger is bent slightly toward his brow to imply reflection. This movement, which is so much in keeping with a person who is suspicious or in doubt, has been hitherto misunderstood, and a hesitating disciple looked upon as threatening. In Vespino’s copy, likewise, he is reflective enough, but as the artist has again left out the retreating right eye, the result is a perpendicular, monotonous profile, without any remnant of the protruding, searching elements of the older copies.
St. James the Elder.—The most violent agitation of the features, the most gaping mouth, horror in his eye; an original venture of Leonardo’s; yet we have reason to believe that this head, likewise, has been remarkably succesful with Marco. The working out is magnificent, whereas in the copy of Vespino all is lost; attitude, manner, mien, everything has vanished, and dwindles down into a sort of indifferent generality.
St. Philip, amiable and invaluable, resembles Raffaelle’s youths, collected on the left side of The School of Athens about Bramante. Vespino has, unfortunately, again suppressed the right eye, and as he could not deny that there was something more than profile in the thing, he has produced an ambiguous, strangely inclined head.
St. Matthew, young, of undesigning nature, with curly hair, an anxious expression in the slightly opened mouth, in which the teeth, which are visible, express a sort of slight ferocity in keeping with the violent movement of the figure. Of all this nothing remains in Vespino; he gazes before him, stiff and expressionless; one does not receive the remotest notion of the violent movement of the body.
St. Thaddeus, according to Marco, is likewise quite an invaluable head; anxiety, suspicion, vexation, are expressed in every feature. The unity of this agitation of the countenance is extremely fine, and is entirely in keeping with the movement of the hands which we have already explained. In Vespino, everything is again reduced to a general level; he has also made the head still more unmeaning by turning it too much towards the spectator, whereas, according to Marco, hardly a quarter of the left side is seen, whereby the suspicious, askance-looking element is admirably portrayed.
St. Simon the Elder, wholly in profile, placed opposite the likewise pure profile of young Matthew. In him the protruding under lip which Leonardo had such a partiality for in old faces, is most exaggerated; but, along with the grave, overhanging brow, produces the most wonderful effect of vexation and reflection, in sharp contrast with the passionate movement of young Matthew. In Vespino he is a good-natured old man in his dotage, incapable of taking any interest in even the most important occurrence that might take place in his presence.
Having thus now thrown light upon the apostles, we turn to the form of Christ himself. And here again we are met by the legend, that Leonardo was unable to finish either Christ or Judas, which we readily believe, since, from his method, it was impossible for him to put the last touch to those two extremes of portraiture. Wretched enough, in the original, after all the darkening processes it had to undergo, may have been the appearance presented by the features of Christ, which were only sketched. How little Vespino found remaining, may be gleaned from the fact that he brought out a colossal head of Christ, quite at variance with the purpose of Da Vinci, without paying the least attention to the inclination of the head, which ought of necessity to have been made parallel with the inclination of John’s. Of the expression we shall say nothing; the features are regular, good-natured, intelligent, like those we are accustomed to see in Christ, but without the very smallest particle of sensibility, so that we should almost be unable to tell what New Testament story this head would be welcome to.
We are here met and aided by the circumstance that connoisseurs assert, that Leonardo himself painted the head of the Saviour at Castellazzo, and ventured to do in another’s work what he had not been willing to undertake in his own principal figure. As we have not the original before us, we must say of the copy that it agrees entirely with the conception which we form of a noble man whose breast is weighed down by poignant suffering of soul, which he has endeavored to alleviate by a familiar word, but has thereby only made matters worse instead of better.
By these processes of comparison, then, we have come sufficiently near the method of this extraordinary artist, such as he has clearly explained and demonstrated it in writings and pictures, and fortunately it is in our power to take a step still further in advance. There is, namely, preserved in the Ambrosiana library a drawing incontestably executed by Leonardo, upon bluish paper, with a little white and colored chalk. Of this the chevalier Vossi has executed the most accurate fac-simile, which is also before us. A noble youthful face, drawn from nature, evidently with a view to the head of Christ at the Supper. Pure, regular features, smooth hair, the head bent to the left side, the eyes cast down, the mouth half opened, the tout ensemble brought into the most marvellous harmony by a slight touch of sorrow. Here indeed we have only the man who does not conceal a suffering of soul, but the problem, how, without extinguishing this promise, at the same time to express sublimity, independence, power, the might of godhead, is one which even the most gifted earthly pencil might well find hard to solve. In this youthful physiognomy which hovers between Christ and John, we see the highest attempt to hold fast by nature when the supermundane is in question.