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Title: Great Artists, Vol 1.: Raphael, Rubens, Murillo, and Durer

Author: Jennie Ellis Keysor

Release date: September 10, 2007 [eBook #22564]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT
ARTISTS, VOL 1.: RAPHAEL, RUBENS, MURILLO, AND DURER ***

“Art manifests whatever is most
exalted, and it manifests it to
all.”—Taine

GREAT ARTISTS

RAPHAEL
RUBENS
MURILLO
BY
DURER
JENNIE ELLIS

KEYSOR
Author of “Sketches of American Authors”

EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING
COMPANY
boston

New York Chicago San
Francisco

Copyrighted
By EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY,
1899.

A WORD TO THE TEACHER.

The following brief sketches are presented in fear and in hope—in fear
lest they prove in no wise adequate for so glorious a subject; in the hope
that they may encourage not only the pupil, but the teacher, to study the
lives and the works of the great artists and to make every possible effort to
have copies of masterpieces ever before them to study and to love.

The field of art study is a wonderful one from which to draw for
language work. A double purpose is thus served. Interesting subjects are
secured and pupils are given a start in acquiring a knowledge of the
beautiful that fortifies them for the sorrows and cares of life; and, what is
even better, prevents their own life from being commonplace.

Would the teacher wish to study further, a list of valuable reference
books is appended to each sketch, any one of which will greatly assist in
acquiring a more extended knowledge of the subject.

In the study of an artist, take care to have a liberal supply of
reproductions of his pictures at hand. These may be photographs, half-
tones, like the illustrations in this book, or engravings. Good work cannot
be done without such pictures.

Above all, work to cultivate a love for good pictures, not to fill young
minds with uninspiring facts.
Back to title page
J. E. K.

SISTINE MADONNA.
Raphael.

RAPHAEL SANTI
“THE PERFECT ARTIST, THE PERFECT MAN.”

We are about to study Raphael, the most generally praised, the most
beautiful, and certainly the most loved of all the painters of the world.
When all these delightful things can be truthfully said of one man, surely
we may look forward with pleasure to a detailed study of his life and works.

Often in examining the lives of great men we are compelled to pass
over some events which, to say the least, are not creditable. Of Raphael this
was not true. He was gifted with all admirable qualities, and so many-sided
was his genius that, while we think of him first as a painter, we must not
forget that he also carved statues, wrote poems, played musical instruments,
and planned great buildings.

So much was he endeared to his pupils that, after he grew to be
famous, he never went on the streets unless he was followed by an admiring
throng of these students, ever ready to do his bidding or to defend his art
from any possible attack by malicious critics. He lived at a time when
artists were fiercely jealous of each other, and yet wherever he went
harmony, like a good angel, walked unseen beside him, making whatever
assembly he entered the abode of peace and good-will. It is a beautiful thing
that such a strong, lovable man should have had for his name that of the
chief of the archangels, Raphael, a name beautiful of sound and ever
suggestive of beauty and loveliness.

There seemed to have been special preparation for the birth of this
unique character. Not only were his parents of the ideal sort, loving the best
things of life and thinking ever of how best to rear the little son that God
had given them, but the very country into which he was born was fitted to
still further develop his natural tenderness and sweetness of disposition.

Webmo, the birthplace of Raphael, is a secluded mountain town on a
cliff on the east slope of the Apennines directly east of Florence. It is in the
division known as Umbria, a section noted for its gently broken landscape,
such as in later years the artist loved to paint as background for his most
beautiful Madonnas. Here the people were shut off from much of the
excitement known to commercial towns. They were slower to take up new
things than the people in the coast cities where men live by the exchange of
goods and, incidentally, of customs. The inhabitants led simple, religious
lives. We must remember, too, that hardly fifty miles away was the village
of Assisi, where Saint Francis, the purest of men, had lived and labored and
where, after his death, a double church had been built to his memory.

To this day there is a spirit of reverence that inspires the visitor to this
region. No wonder that, in Raphael’s time when this spirit was fresh and
strong, it gave a character of piety and sweetness to the works of all the
painters of Umbria. From these two causes, the secluded position of the
region and the influence of Saint Francis, arose what is called the Umbrian
school of painting. All painters belonging to this school made pictures very
beautiful and full of fine religious feeling.

One April morning in 1483, to the home of Giovanni Santi, the painter,
and his wife Magia, a dear little boy came, as millions of boys and girls
have since come, to cheer and to bless. The father and mother were very
proud of their little son, and feeling perhaps that a more than ordinary child
had been given them, they gave him the name of Raphael, as one of good
omen.

If we were to visit, in Urbino, the house where Raphael was born, we
would be shown a faded fresco of a Madonna and Child painted by
Giovanni and said to be Magia and the child Raphael.

From the earliest years the child was carefully tended. When he was
only eight, the fond mother died and left the father to care for his boy alone.
In due time a step-mother was brought home. She was a kind woman and
loved and cared for the beautiful lad as if he were really her own child.
Later when the father died, leaving the boy Raphael and his little half-sister,
no one could have been more solicitous for the boy’s rights than his step-
mother. She and his uncle together managed his affairs most wisely.

We have no record that, like Titian, the boy Raphael used the juice of
flowers with which to paint pictures of his childish fancies, but we do know
that very early he became greatly interested in his father’s studio and went
in regularly to assist. Now, it must be remembered that, at this time, when a
boy, wishing to learn to paint, went to the studio of a master he did not at
once begin to use colors, brushes, and canvas. Instead, he usually served a
long apprenticeship, sweeping out the studio, cleaning the brushes, grinding
colors, and performing other common duties. Raphael’s assistance to his
father must have been largely of this humble sort. We can imagine,
however, that his fond father did not make his hours long, and that there
were pleasant ramblings in the woods nearby, and that many a bunch of
flowers was gathered for the mother at home. There were happy hours, too,
when the father and his son read together great books of poetry in which
tales of love and knightly encounters were interesting parts. And then, I am
sure, there were other happy hours when, tuning their instruments together,
they filled the time with music’s sweetest discourse.

RAPHAEL.

This was indeed a happy childhood, a fit beginning for an ideal life.
Meanwhile the boy grew strong, and his beauty, too, increased. The dark
hair lay lightly upon his shoulders, and a certain dreaminess in his eyes
deepened,—he was about to feel a great sorrow, for the father, so devoted,
so exemplary, died when his boy was but eleven years old. We cannot help
wishing that he might have lived to see at least one great picture painted by
his son. We can easily imagine his smile of joy “at the first stroke that
surpassed what he could do.”

Just what to do with the boy on the death of his father was an
important matter for the step-mother and uncle to decide. They showed
wisdom by their decision. Now, the greatest of all the Umbrian painters,
before Raphael, was a queer little miserly man named Perugino, who at that
time had a studio in Perugia, an Umbrian town not far distant from Urbino.
Although he was of mean appearance and ignoble character, he had an
unmistakable power in painting mild-eyed Madonnas and spotless saints
against delicate landscape backgrounds. People disliked the man, but they
could not help seeing the beauty of his art, and so his studio was crowded.
Hither was sent the boy Raphael and when Perugino noted the lad and some
of his work, he said, “Let him be my pupil: he will soon become my
master.” As nearly as we can learn, he remained in this studio nine years,
from 1495 to 1504.

Perugino’s style of painting greatly pleased Raphael. He was naturally
teachable and this, with his admiration for Perugino’s pictures, made his
first work in the studio very much like his master’s. Indeed it is almost
impossible to tell some of his earliest pictures from those of his teacher. Let
me tell you about one. It is called “The Marriage of the Virgin ” and you
would have to go to the Brera gallery in Milan to see it.

The legend runs thus: The beautiful Mary had many lovers all wishing
to marry her. Now here was a difficulty indeed, and so the suitors were
required to put by their rough staves for a night. The promise was that in the
morning one would be in blossom, and its owner should have Mary for his
wife. We can imagine that these lovers were anxious for day to dawn, and
that all but one was sad indeed at the result. In the morning there were the
rods, all save one, brown and rough and bare, but that one lay there alive
with delicate buds and flowers, and all the air was full of fragrance. This
was Joseph’s, and he went away glad and brought his young bride. This first
great picture of Raphael’s represented this marriage taking place at the foot
of the Temple steps. The disappointed lovers are present and, I am sorry to
say, one of them is showing his anger by breaking his barren rod even while
the marriage is taking place.

The first and the last work of a great man are always interesting, and
that is why I have told you so much about this picture. You will be still
more interested in Raphael’s last picture, “The Transfiguration.”

While in the studio he made many friends. With one he went to Siena
to assist him in some fresco painting he had to do there. Of course you
know that fresco is painting on wet plaster so that the colors dry in with the
mortar.

The conversation of the studio was often of art and artists, and so the
beautiful city of Florence must often have been an engaging subject. Think
of what Florence was at this time, and how an artist must have thrilled at its
very name! Beautiful as a flower, with her marble palaces, her fine
churches, her lily-like bell-tower! What a charm was added when within her
walls Leonardo da Vinci was painting, Michael Angelo carving, Savonarola
preaching. In the early years of Raphael’s apprenticeship, the voice of the
preacher had been silenced, but still, “with the ineffable left hand,” Da
Vinci painted, and still the marble chips dropped from Angelo’s chisel as a
David grew to majesty beneath his touch.

To Raphael, with his love of the beautiful, with his zeal to learn,
Florence was the city of all others that he longed to see. At last his dream
was to be realized. A noble woman of Urbino gave him a letter to the
Governor of Florence, expressing the wish that the young artist might be
allowed to see all the art treasures of the city. The first day of the year 1505
greeted Raphael in Florence, the art center of Italy. We can only guess at his
joy in seeing the works here and in greeting his fellow artists.

Angelo and Da Vinci had just finished their cartoons for the town hall,
“The Bathing Soldiers,” and “The Battle of the Standard,” and they were on
exhibition. All Florence was studying them, and of this throng we may be
sure Raphael was an enthusiastic member. While here he painted several
pictures. Among them was the “Granduca Madonna,” the simplest of all his
Madonnas—just a lovely young mother holding her babe. It is still in

Florence, and to this day people look at it and say the Grand Duke, who
would go nowhere without this gem of pictures, knew what was beautiful.

RAPHAEL IN HIS STUDIO.

Raphael did not stay long in Florence at this time, but soon returned to
Perugia. His next visit to Florence was of greater length. During these
years, 1506 to 1508, he painted many of his best known pictures. In
studying the works of Raphael you must never tire of the beautiful
Madonna, for it is said that he painted a hundred of these, so much did he
love the subject and so successful was he in representing the child Jesus and
the lovely mother. Some of his finest Madonnas belong to this time. Let us
look at a few of them.

One, called “The Madonna of the Goldfinch,” shows Mary seated with
the Child Jesus at her knee and the young John presenting him with a finch,

which he caresses gently. The Madonna has the drooping eyes, the
exquisitely rounded face that always charm us, and the boys are real live
children ready for a frolic. Another, called “The Madonna of the Meadow,”
represents the Virgin in the foreground of a gently broken landscape with
the two children playing beside her. We must not forget, either, as belonging
to this time, the very beautiful “La Belle Jardiniere,” or the “Madonna of
the Garden ” which now hangs in the Louvre, the art gallery of Paris.

Like all his great Madonnas, the Virgin and Children are of surpassing
loveliness. It is finished in such a soft, melting style that to see it in its
exquisite coloring, one could easily imagine it vanishing imperceptibly into
the blaze of some splendid sunset. While we are talking of Raphael’s color
it may be interesting to call your attention to a very remarkable fact about
his paintings. He lays the color on the canvas so thin that sometimes one
can trace through it the lines of the drawing, and yet his color is so pure and
beautiful that he is considered one of the greatest colorists of the world. The
next time you see an oil painting, notice how thick or how thin the paint is
laid on, and then think of what I have told you of Raphael’s method of
using color.

LA BELLE JARDINIERE.
Raphael.

Now while Raphael was painting these drooping-eyed, mild-faced
Madonnas and learning great lessons from the masters of Florence, a
wonderful honor came to him. He was called to Rome by the Pope and
given some of the apartments of the Vatican to decorate in any way he
wished.

The Pope at this time was Julius II. and he was a very interesting man.
He was a warrior and had spent many years fighting to gain lands and cities
for the Church. When peace returned he was still anxious to do honor to the
Church and so, wherever he heard of a great architect, painter, or sculptor,
he at once invited him to Rome to do beautiful work for the Church.
Already he had set Michael Angelo to work on a grand tomb for him.
Bramante, a relative of Raphael’s, was working hard to make St. Peter’s the
most wonderful Church in all the world. Now the young Raphael was to
beautify still further the buildings belonging to the church.

Julius did not pretend to be an artist or a scholar, and yet by his
patronage he greatly encouraged art and literature. The story is told that
when Angelo was making a statue of the Pope for the town of Bologna, the
artist asked Julius if he should place a book in the statue’s extended left
hand, and the Pope retorted, almost in anger, “What book? Rather a sword
—I am no reader!”

In earlier years Florence had been a glorious sight to our artist and now
in 1508, standing in the “Eternal City,” he was more awed than when first
he beheld the city of the Arno. Here the court of Julius, gorgeous and
powerful, together with the works of art, like St. Peter’s, in process of
construction, were but a part of the wonders to be seen. In addition, the
remains of ancient Rome were scattered all about—here a row of columns,
the only remains of a grand temple, there a broken statue of some god or
goddess, long lost to sight, and all the earth about so filled with these
treasures that one had only to dig to find some hidden work of art. The
Roman people, too, were awake to the fact that they were not only living
out a marvelous present, but that they were likewise, in their every day life,
walking ever in the presence of a still more wonderful past. I wish, while
you are thinking about this, that you would get a picture of the Roman
Forum and notice its groups of columns, its triumphal arches, its ruined
walls. You will then certainly appreciate more fully what Raphael felt as he
went about this city of historic ruins.

MADONNA OF THE FISH.
Raphael.

The Pope received the young artist cordially and at once gave him the
vast commission of painting in fresco three large rooms, or stanze, of the
Vatican. In addition, he was to decorate the gallery, or corridor, called the
loggia, leading to these apartments from the stairway. With the painting of
these walls Raphael and his pupils were more or less busy during the
remainder of the artist’s short life. A great many religious and historic

subjects were used, besides some invented by Raphael himself, as when he
represented Poetry by Mount Parnassus inhabited by all the great poets past
and present. In these rooms some of his best work is done. Every year
thousands of people go to see these pictures and come away more than ever
enraptured with Raphael and his work.

In the loggia are the paintings known collectively as Raphael’s Bible.
Of the fifty-two pictures in the thirteen arcades of this corridor all but four
represent Old Testament scenes. The others are taken from the New
Testament. Although Raphael’s pupils assisted largely in these frescoes they
are very beautiful and will always rank high among the art works of the
time.

Raphael’s works seem almost perfect even from the beginning, yet he
was always studying to get the great points in the work of others and to
perfect his own. Perhaps this is the best lesson we may learn from his
intellectual life—the lesson of unending study and assimilation. He was
greatly interested in the ruins of Rome and we know that he studied them
deeply and carefully. This is very evident in the Madonnas of his Roman
period. They have a strength and a power to make one think great thoughts
that is not so marked in the pictures of his Florentine period.

THE ARCHANGEL.

Detail from Madonna of the Fish. Raphael.

The “Madonna of the Fish ” is one of the most beautiful of this time. It
was painted originally for a chapel in Naples where the blind prayed for
sight, and where, legend relates, they were often miraculously answered.
The divine Mother, a little older than Raphael’s virgins of earlier years, is
seated on a throne with the ever beautiful child in her arms. The babe gives
his attention to the surpassingly lovely angel, Raphael, who brings the
young Tobias with his fish into the presence of the Virgin, of whom he
would beg the healing of his father who is blind. On the other side he points

to a passage in the book held by the venerable St. Jerome. This is doubtless
the book of Tobit wherein the story of Tobias is related, and which Tobias
translated. Whatever the real purpose of the artist was in introducing St.
Jerome, a very beautiful result was attained in contrasting youth and age.
Like a human being of note, this picture has had an eventful history. It was
stolen from Naples and carried to Madrid and then, in the French wars, it
was taken to Paris. It has since been restored to the Prado of Madrid, and
there to-day we may feast our eyes on its almost unearthly loveliness. In it
the divine painter showed that he knew the heart of a mother and the love of
a son; that he appreciated the majesty of age and the heavenly beauty of the
angels.

Hardly less beautiful is the “Madonna Foligno,” so named from the
distant view of the town of Foligno seen under a rainbow in the central part
of the picture. In the upper portion, surrounded by angel heads, is the
Madonna holding out her child to us. Below is the scene already referred to,
the portrait of the donor of the picture, some saints, and a beautiful boy
angel. The latter is holding a tablet which is to be inscribed, for this is one
of that large class of pictures in Italian Art called votive—that is, given to
the church by an individual in return for some great deliverance. In this case
the donor had escaped, as by a miracle, from a stroke of lightning.

In this short sketch there is time to mention only a few of Raphael’s
great pictures, but I trust you will be so interested that you will look up
about others that are passed over here. There are many very interesting
books about Raphael in which you can find descriptions of all of his
pictures.

Among other paintings, Raphael made many fine portraits. An
excellent likeness of Julius was so well done that, skillfully placed and
lighted, it deceived some of the Pope’s friends into thinking it the living
Julius.

The painting of portraits was not the only departure of our artist from
his favorite Madonna or historic subjects. We find him also interested in
mythology. Out of this interest grew his “Galatea,” which he painted for a
wealthy nobleman of his acquaintance. In this picture Galatea sails over the
sea in her shell-boat drawn by dolphins. She gazes into heaven and seems
unconscious of the nymphs sporting about her.

GALATEA.
Raphael.

Speaking of Raphael’s use of mythological subjects, though not quite
in the order of time, we may here mention his frescos illustrating the story

of Cupid and Psyche, painted on the walls and ceiling of the same
nobleman’s palace, the Chigi palace. The drawings for these pictures were
made by Raphael, but most of the painting was done by his pupils. As we
study these pictures of the joys and sorrows of this beautiful pair, we are
interested, but we regret that our angel-painter was willing, even for a short
time, to leave his own proper subjects, the religious. We feel like saying,
“Let men who know not the depth of religious feeling, as did Raphael, paint
for us the myth and the secular story, but let us save from any earthly touch
our painter of sacred things.”

In 1513 the great Julius died, and Leo X., a member of the famous
Medici family of Florence, succeeded to his place. Raphael was in the midst
of his paintings in the Vatican, and for a time it was uncertain what the new
Pope would think of continuing these expensive decorations. Though
lacking the energy of Julius, Leo continued the warrior-pope’s policy
regarding art works. So Raphael went on unmolested in his work, with now
and then a great commission added.

During the life of Leo the power of the Church sunk to a low level, and
yet the angel-painter of the Vatican pursued in peace the composition and
painting of his lovely works.

The “St. Cecilia ” was a very important work painted about the time of
Julius’ death. It was painted for a wealthy woman of Bologna to adorn a
chapel which she had built to St. Cecilia, the patroness of music. She had
built this chapel because she thought she heard angels telling her to do it; in
other words she had obeyed a vision.

In the picture the saint stands in the centre of a group made up of St.
John, St. Paul, St. Augustine, and Mary Magdalene. She holds carelessly in
her hands an organ from which the reeds are slipping. What charms can
even her favorite instrument have for her when streams of heaven’s own
music are reaching her from the angel choir above? Every line of face and

figure shows her rapt attention to the celestial singers. The instruments of
earthly music lie scattered carelessly about.

While our attention is held most of all by the figure of St. Cecilia, the
other persons represented interest us too, especially St. Paul, leaning on his
naked sword. (See illustration.) His massive head and furrowed brow show
man at his noblest occupation—thinking. In delightful contrast is the ever
beautiful St. John, the embodiment of youth and love.

ST. CECILIA.
Raphael.

When the picture was completed Raphael sent it to his old friend
Francia, the artist of Bologna. It is related that Francia, on seeing the
wonderful perfection of the picture, died of despair, feeling how poorly he
could paint as compared with Raphael. Whether this story be true or not, it
is certain that the people of Bologna were much excited over the arrival of

the picture and gloried in possessing the vision of St. Cecilia. The picture is
still to be seen in Bologna, where it retains its brilliant coloring, slightly
mellowed by the passing years.

The Sistine Chapel was the most beautiful apartment in the Vatican. Its
walls were covered with choicest frescos. Its ceiling, done by the wonder-
working hand of Michael Angelo, was a marvel. To add still more to the
beauty of this Chapel, Leo ordered Raphael to draw cartoons for ten
tapestries to be hung below the lowest tier of paintings. Now you know that
cartoons are the large paper drawings made previous to frescos and
tapestries to serve as patterns.

Raphael selected ten subjects from the Acts of the Apostles. His
designs were accepted and sent to Arras in Flanders where the most
beautiful tapestries were manufactured. The cartoons were cut into strips
that they might be more conveniently used. In 1518 the tapestries, woven of
silk, wool, and gold, were finished and brought to Rome, where they were
greatly admired.

MIRACULOUS DRAUGHT OF FISHES.
Raphael.

In 1527, Rome was sacked by savage soldiers and many of her
choicest things carried away. Among them were these tapestries. They were
sold and then restolen by Jews, who thought to separate the gold by burning
them. They tried this with one and found that the quantity of gold was so
small that it was not worth the trouble, and so the others were spared and
sold to a merchant of Genoa. They were finally recovered in a faded
condition and are now in the Vatican.

Meanwhile the cartoons were forgotten and three of them lost. The
Flemish artist, Rubens, came across those remaining, however, and
recommended Charles I. of England to purchase them for his palace at
Whitehall. Later Cromwell bought them for the nation, and today we may

see them pasted together and carefully mounted in South Kensington
Museum, London. “The Miraculous Draught of Fishes,” (see opposite
page,) is one of the best known of the series. All are bold and strong in
drawing, and several are very beautiful, as “Paul and John at the Beautiful
Gate.” One critic, in speaking of the cartoons, says they mark the climax of
Raphael’s art.

We must not forget that all these years, while Raphael was making
these wonderful cartoons and pictures, the work on the rooms of the Vatican
was going steadily forward. He certainly was a busy man!

Probably the best known of Raphael’s Madonnas is “The Madonna
della Sedia,” so called because the mother sits in a chair. A delightful story
is told of the painting of this picture. It runs something like this: Many years
ago there lived in a quiet valley in Italy a hermit who was greatly loved by
all the people round about, for he taught them and he helped them in
sickness and in trouble. His hut was near a giant oak tree that sheltered him
from the sun of summer and the biting winds of winter. In the constant
waving of its branches, too, it seemed to converse with him, and so he said
he had two intimate friends, one that could talk, and one that was mute. By
the one that could talk he meant the vine-dresser’s daughter who lived near
by and who was very kind to him. By the mute one he meant this sheltering
oak.

Now, one winter a great storm arose, and when the hermit saw that his
hut was unsafe, his mute friend seemed to beckon him to come up among
the branches. Gathering a few crusts, he went up into the tree where, with
hundreds of bird companions, his life was saved, though his hut was
destroyed. Just as he thought he should die of hunger, Mary, the vine-
dresser’s daughter, came to see her old friend and took him to her home.
Then the pious hermit, Benardo, prayed that his two friends might be
glorified together in some way.

MADONNA DELLA SEDIA.
Raphael.

Time wore on. The hermit died, the oak tree was cut down and
converted into wine casks, and the lovely Mary married and was the mother
of two boys. One day as she sat with her children, a young man passed by.
His eyes were restless, and one might have known him for a poet or a
painter in whose mind a celestial vision was floating. Suddenly he saw the
young mother and her two children. The painter, for it was Raphael, now
beheld his vision made flesh and blood. But he had only a pencil. On what
could he draw the beautiful group? He seized the clean cover of a wine cask
near by and drew upon it the lines to guide him in his painting. He went
home and filled out his sketch in loveliest color, and ever since the world
has been his debtor for giving it his heavenly vision. So the hermit’s prayer
was answered. His two friends were glorified together.

Other honors, besides those coming from his paintings, were showered
upon Raphael at this time. He was now rich, and the Cardinal Bibbiena
offered him his niece Maria in marriage. It was considered a great thing in
those times to be allied by marriage to a church dignitary, but Raphael had
higher honors, and so, while he accepted the offer rather than offend the
cardinal, he put off the wedding until Maria died. His heart was not in this
contract because for years he had loved a humble but beautiful girl,
Margherita, who was probably the model of some of his sweetest
Madonnas.

Speaking of the honors thrust upon Raphael, we must not forget that
the Pope made him architect-in-chief of St. Peter’s on the death of
Bramante. He was also appointed to make drawings of the ancient city of
Rome, in order that the digging for buried remains might be carried on
more intelligently.

In every Madonna we have described, we have had to use freely the
words lovely, great, beautiful, but one there remains which, more than any
other, merits all these titles and others in addition. It is the “Sistine
Madonna ” in the Dresden Gallery. It was the last picture painted wholly by
Raphael’s hand. It was painted originally as a banner for the monks of St.
Sixtus at Piacenza, but it was used as an altar-piece. In 1754, the Elector of
Saxony bought it for $40,000 and it was brought to Dresden with great
pomp. People who know about pictures generally agree that this is the
greatest picture in the world.

ST. PAUL.

Detail from St. Cecilia. Raphael.

Let us see some of the things which it contains—no one can ever tell
you all, for as the years increase and your lives are enlarged by joy and by
sorrow, you will ever see more and more in this divine picture and feel
more than you see. Two green curtains are drawn aside and there, floating
on the clouds, is the Virgin full length, presenting the Holy Child to the
world. It is far more than a mother and child, for one sees in the Madonna a
look suggesting that she sees vaguely the darkness of Calvary and the glory
of the resurrection. This is no ordinary child, either, that she holds, for He

sees beyond this world into eternity and that His is no common destiny;—at
least, one feels these things as we gaze at the lovely apparition on its
background of clouds and innumerable angel heads. St. Sixtus on one side
would know more of this mystery, while St. Barbara on the other is dazzled
by the vision and turns aside her lovely face. Below are the two cherubs, the
final touch of love, as it were, to this marvellous picture.

It is said that the picture was completed at first without these cherubs
and that they were afterwards added when Raphael found two little boys
resting their arms on a balustrade, gazing intently up at his picture.

This painting has a room to itself in the Dresden Gallery, where the
most frivolous forget to chat and the thoughtful sit for hours in quiet
meditation under its magic spell. One man says, “I could spend an hour
every day for years looking at this picture and on the last day of the last
year discover some new beauty and a new joy.”

There was now great division of opinion in Rome as to whether
Angelo or Raphael were the greater painter. Cardinal de Medici ordered two
pictures for the Cathedral of Narbonne, in France, one by Raphael and one
by Sebastian Piombo, a favorite pupil of Angelo’s. People knew that Angelo
would never openly compete with Raphael, but they also felt sure that he
would assist his pupil. The subject chosen by Raphael was “The
Transfiguration.” But suddenly, even before this latest commission was
completed, that magic hand had been stopped by death. The picture, though
finished by Raphael’s pupils, is a great work. The ascending Lord is the
point of greatest interest in the upper, or celestial part, while the father with
his demoniac child, holds our attention in the lower, or terrestrial portion.
At his funeral this unfinished picture hung above the dead painter, and his
sorrowing friends must have felt, as Longfellow wrote of Hawthorne when
he lay dead with an unfinished story on his bier,—

“Ah, who shall lift that wand of magic power,
And the lost clew regain?
The unfinished window in Aladdin’s tower
Unfinished must remain.”

TRANSFIGURATION.
Raphael.

Raphael died suddenly on his birthday in 1520, from a fever contracted
while searching for remains among the ruins of Rome. He realized from the
first that his sickness was fatal, and he immediately set about disposing of
his property. His works of art he gave to his pupils, his palace to Cardinal
Bibbiena, and his other property was distributed among his relatives, and to
his sweetheart, Margherita. He was buried with honors in the Pantheon at
Rome, beside Maria Bibbiena.

For many years there was exhibited at St. Luke’s Academy, in Rome, a
so-called skull of Raphael. In 1833 some scholars declared that they did not
believe this to be the skull of the artist. They urged the authorities to open
the grave to prove their position. After five days of careful digging the
coffin was reached and there lay the artist’s skeleton complete. For many
days it was exposed to view in a glass case. A cast was taken of the right
hand and of the skull, and then, with splendid ceremonies, they buried the
artist a second time.

Mention has often been made of Raphael’s personal beauty. Only
thirty-seven when he died, his seraphic beauty was never marred by age.

In his palace he lived the life of a prince, and when he walked abroad,
he had a retinue of devoted followers. He had for friends princes and
prelates, artists and poets, while the common people loved him for the fine
spirit they knew him to be.

Judged by the moral standard of his time, he was absolutely spotless.
Seldom, in any man, have all good qualities joined with a versatile genius to
the extent that they did in Raphael. No wonder that his friends caused to be
inscribed on his tomb these words—“This is that Raphael by whom Nature
feared to be conquered while he lived, and to die when he died. ”

REFERENCES FOR RAPHAEL.

Life of Raphael by Bell.

Life of Raphael by Sweetster.

Life of Raphael by Vasari.

Schools and Masters of Painting by Radcliffe.

History of Art by Luebke.

History of Art by Mrs. Heaton.

Great Artists by Mrs. Shedd.

The Fine Arts by Symonds.

Early Italian Painters by Mrs. Jameson.

SUBJECTS FOR LANGUAGE WORK.

1. The Boy Raphael at Home.

2. My Favorite Madonna.

3. Stories of St. Francis of Assisi.

4. What I know of Fresco Painting.

5. Looking for Buried Treasures in Rome.

6. A Day in the Roman Forum.

7. A Day with the Boy Raphael.

8. The Legend of the Madonna della Sedia.

9. Raphael and His Friends.

10. Raphael the Student.
Back to title page

COURT IN THE ALCAZAR.

MURILLO
AND
SPANISH ART

“Velazquez is in art an eagle; Murillo is an angel. One
admires Velazquez and adores Murillo. By his canvasses we
know him as if he had lived among us. He was handsome, good
and virtuous. Envy knew not where to attack him; around his
crown of glory he bore a halo of love. He was born to paint the
sky.” —De Amicis.

“Murillo could paint the sacred fervor of the devotee, or the
ecstasy of the religious enthusiast, as well as the raggedness of
the mendicant, or the abject suffering of Job.”
—Charles Blanc.

MURILLO.

MURILLO
AND
SPANISH ART.

Spain was not blessed as Italy was with one generation after another of
artists so great that all the world knows them even at this distant day. Spain
has only two unquestionably great painters that stand out as world-artists.
They are Velazquez and Murillo. The former painted with unrivalled skill
the world of noblemen among whom he lived. The other, not surrounded by
courtiers, looked into his own pure, religious soul, and into the sky above,
and gave us visions of heaven—its saints and its angels.

It is impossible to study either of these men apart from the other, or
apart from the art records of Spain. To understand either, we must know the
land, teeming with rich and unique cities, we must have glimpses of its
history, and we must know something of the rules laid down by the church
to guide the painter in his work.

The climate of Spain, except in the south, is rigorous. Elevated plains,
rounded by snow-capped mountains, and swept during a large part of the
year by chilling winds, are not adapted to inspire men to produce great
works of art. On such a plain Madrid is situated, and chilly indeed are its
nature pictures, even though they are over-arched by the bluest of skies and
the most transparent of atmospheres! In Andalusia, however, things were
different. Here were the olive, the orange, and the cypress, and here a sunny
climate encouraged the houseless beggar no less than the aspiring artist.

Velasquez de Silva.

In speaking of Spain as a home of painting, we must not forget, either,
how very devoted the people were to their religion, for this, perhaps more
than anything else, gave a peculiar character to the art of Spain. The
doctrines of Luther, found no willing listeners in Spain. Indeed, the
Spaniards clung all the closer to the Church when they knew that there were
those who wished to change it, and so their paintings are full of sad-faced,
suffering saints, and rejoicing, holy men and women who gave their lives to
religion. In connection with this extreme religious zeal, the Church found it
necessary to impose rules on the artists who would paint these holy
personages. The Virgin, whom all profoundly reverenced, should, according

to tradition, have fair hair and blue eyes. Her robes must be of pure white
and azure blue, and under no circumstances should her feet be exposed. She
should stand on the crescent moon with its horns pointing downward. Many
other similar rules were at that time thought necessary, and they greatly
limited the artists in their work, for however good a churchman a man may
be, it is impossible for him to properly prescribe colors and forms for the
artist, who, if he is any thing at all, is the see-er of his age. We want such
things as the artist sees them. We shall see how nearly Murillo got into
trouble by breaking some of these prescribed rules.

If we study the kings of Spain, Charles V. and the Philips, we shall see
two things that greatly influenced the art of Spain. First, they were fond of
art and spent great sums of money in buying fine paintings by Italian and
Flemish masters. Both Titian and Rubens were favorites in Spain, and many
of their pictures were painted expressly for Spanish monarchs. Then, these
rulers were vain and had a great liking for having their portraits painted.
This vanity extended to the Courtiers and even to the dwarfs, several of
whom were usually connected with the court as a source of amusement.
There are portraits of some of these diminutive creatures so skillfully
painted that we cannot help wishing that more worthy subjects had been
used. Thus the vanity of monarchs and their courtiers gave a direction to
Spanish art which can be accounted for in no other way—their greatest
artists are always great portrait painters. So we see that, while genius in
artists is indispensable, yet is this same genius largely influenced by
climate, by religious enthusiasm, and even by the whims of kings and
queens.

ÆSOP.
Velazquez.

Although Murillo stands out a superlatively great and beautiful artist,
yet we must not forget that Velazquez, only eighteen years his senior, and
like himself a native of Seville, lived during the greater part of Murillo’s
lifetime and divided honors with him. As has already been indicated,
Velazquez’s art was of a very different sort from Murillo’s. He was born

into a home of plenty, and very soon went to Madrid as court painter. We
know how he gained renown for all time by the accuracy of the portraits he
painted of various members of the court of Philip IV.—the king, the
minister, Count Olivarez, the princes, the dwarfs, and the buffoons. We
remember, too, how he thought that very ordinary personage, “The Water-
Carrier of Seville,” with his wrinkles, his joy, and his beggarly customers, a
subject worth painting. Then we recall a goodly list of other commonplace
subjects which he treated so truthfully that they will always stand among
the great pictures of the world,—“The Spinners,” where women labor in a
dingy room, “The Topers,” “The Lances,” representing the great surrender
of Breda, and the “The Maids of Honor.” Nor can we forget his ideal
portrait of “Æsop,” with his book under his arm. How well we know that
book of fables! The rugged, good-natured face, homely as can be, holds us,
as by a spell, and if we have not already done so, we read his book because
we must, after looking into that dear old face.

One of the loveliest things we remember of Velazquez was his
kindness to Murillo when he came to Madrid, a poor art student. Although
Velazquez was rich and his pictures in demand, he took a keen interest in
the young Murillo, who should one day stand beside him—they two the
greatest artists of Spain. By the duties of his office, he was obliged to take
an active part in the festivities attending the marriage of Louis XIV. and the
Infanta, Maria Theresa, in 1660. The fatigue and exposure caused his death.
We are reasonable in presuming that thus was Spain robbed of ten years of a
strong artist’s life and work. Incomparable loss when we think of what his
countrymen gained in watching a passing pageant.

CATHEDRAL, SEVILLE, SHOWING THE
GIRALDA TOWER.

Spain is a land of unique cities. Perhaps this is because in so many of
them the works of Christianity were grafted on to works originally built or
begun by the Moors. As we study the wonderful buildings of Spain, we
cannot forget, however much we may abhor the religion of the Arabs, that
they were marvellous builders and profound scholars. When the Spaniards
sent them from their country, after they had lived there for seven hundred
years, they lost their best citizens, and the most beautiful and highly

cultivated part of Spain was henceforth to be comparatively desolate. On all
the great section of Andalusia, the most southern part of Spain, the Moors
left marks in buildings and in cultivation, that it will take centuries yet to
sweep away.

Of all the cities of this division, and it includes a goodly number of
Spain’s most important towns, Seville, “the pearl of cities,” the birthplace
of both Velazquez and Murillo, appeals most strongly to everyone. Many
superlative adjectives rise to our lips as we think of its whiteness, of its
sunny vineyard slopes, its orange and olive groves, its salubrious climate,
and its ancient associations. We think of its wondrous cathedral, next in size
to St. Peter’s, of its storied bell-tower, the Giralda, of that fairy palace, the
home of generations of Moorish kings, the Alcazar, of the Golden Tower by
the river’s edge, where Christian rulers stored their treasure. And then to our
vision of Seville the beautiful, we add the silver Guadalquivir which
divides, and yet encloses this dream city of Andalusia. If we are not
interested in art, still must we be enthusiastic over Seville, for its
bewitching little women with their lustrous eyes, their glossy dark hair, held
by the ever present single rose. If it be entertainment we seek, then Seville
will furnish us the national bull-fight in all its perfection. If the more
refined delights of music attract us, still more is this our chosen city, for
here is the scene of, Mozart’s “Don Juan ” and “Figaro,” of Bizet’s
“Carmen,” and many are the shops that claim to have belonged to the
“Barber of Seville.”

It is most pleasing to our sense of appropriateness that out of this
beautiful white city of Andalusia, should have come, at about the same
time, the two greatest Spanish painters, the one to give us real scenes and
people, the other to give us ideals of loftiest type.

Here in the closing days of 1617, Murillo was born. His father and
mother were poor people. The house they lived in had formerly belonged to
a convent, and it was rented to them for a very small sum, on condition that

they would keep up the repairs. Even this Murillo’s father found to be a
heavy burden. He was a mechanic and his income very small.

THE GRAPE EATERS.
Murillo.

Our artist’s full name was Bartolome Esteban Murillo. His last name
seems to have come from his father’s family, though it was even more
common in those days to take the mother’s name for a surname, as in the

case of Velazquez. We know almost nothing of his early years except that
he was left an orphan before he was eleven, under the guardianship of an
uncle. Perhaps we should mention that Murillo early showed his inclination
to make pictures by scribbling the margin of his school books with designs
that in no wise illustrated the text therein. With this as a guide his guardian
early apprenticed him to Juan del Castillo, another uncle, and an artist of
some repute. Here he learned to mix colors, to clean brushes, and to draw
with great accuracy.

When Murillo was about twenty-two, Castillo removed to Cadiz, down
the river from Seville, and the young artist was thrown wholly on his own
resources. Life with him in those days was merely a struggle for existence.
He took the method very generally taken by young artists. He painted for
the Feria or weekly market. Here all sorts of producers and hucksters
gathered with their wares. We can imagine that men of this sort were not
very particular about the art objects they purchased. They demanded two
things—bright colors and striking figures. Murillo, in common with other
struggling artists, turned out great numbers of these little bits of painted
canvas. Some of them have been discovered in Spanish America, whither
they were undoubtedly taken to assist in religious teaching.

If there was hardship in this painting for the feria, as people slightingly
spoke of such work, there were also immense advantages. As he painted he
could observe the people who came to buy and the people who came to sell,
and, mayhap, that other numerous class in Seville who neither buy nor sell,
but beg instead. From this very observation of character must have come
largely that skill which is so marked in his pictures of beggar boys, who,
with a few coppers, or a melon, or some grapes, are kings of their
surroundings. Then the demand for striking figures cultivated a broad style
in the artist which added greatly to his later work.

A fellow pupil of Murillo’s had joined the army in Flanders. When he
returned he told such wonderful stories of the country and its art works, that
Murillo was more than ever inspired to go abroad to Rome or to Flanders.

He at once set about earning a little money to assist him in the journey.
Again he painted a great number of saints and bright landscapes on small
squares of linen, and sold them to eager customers. Thus he provided
himself with scant means for the journey. He placed his sister in the care of
a relative, and then started off afoot across the Sierras to Madrid, without
having told anyone of his intentions. His little stock of money was soon
exhausted, and he arrived in Madrid exhausted and desperately lonesome.
He at once searched out Velazquez, his townsman, who was then rich, and
honored in the position of court painter to Philip IV. Velazquez received
him kindly, and after some inquiry about mutual acquaintances, he talked of
the young painter’s plans for himself. Murillo spoke freely of his ambition
to be a great painter, and of his desire to visit Rome and Flanders.

Velazquez took the young painter to his own house, and procured for
him the privilege of copying in the great galleries of the capitol and in the
Escurial. He advised him to copy carefully the masterpieces in his own
country. There were pictures by Titian, Van Dyck, and Rubens, and Murillo
began the work of copying them at once. When Velazquez returned after
long absence, he was surprised at the improvement in Murillo’s work. He
now advised the young painter to go to Rome, but he had been away from
Seville for three years, and he longed to be again at home in his beautiful
native city. During his absence he had learned much in art and in the ways
of the world. He had met many distinguished artists and statesmen in
Velazquez’s home.

FRUIT VENDERS.
Murillo.

The first three years after his return to Seville, he busied himself with a
series of pictures for a small Franciscan convent near by. Although he did
the work without pay, the monks were loath to give him the commission
because he was an unknown artist. There were eleven in the series, scenes
from the life of St. Francis. They were admirably done, and though the artist
received no pay for them, they did him a greater service than money could
have bought—they established his reputation, so that he no longer wanted
for such work as he desired.

Among his earliest and best known pictures are those charming studies
of the beggar boys and flower girls of Seville. Several of the best of these
are in the gallery at Munich where they are justly prized. Here are some of
the names he gives these pictures, “The Melon Eaters,” “The Gamesters,”
“The Grape Eaters,” “The Fruit Venders,” “The Flower Girl.” They are true
to life—the happiest, most interesting, and self-sufficient set of young
beggars one could well imagine. Notice, too, the beauty of the faces,
especially in “The Fruit Venders,” reproduced in this sketch. There are other
interesting things in this picture. With what eagerness the day’s earnings are
counted! There is a motherliness in the girl’s face that makes us sure that
she is at once mother and sister to the boy. What luscious grapes—what a
back-ground, unkempt like themselves, but thoroughly in keeping with the
rest of the picture! In his works of this sort what broad sympathy he shows!
so broad, indeed, that they prove him as belonging to no particular nation,
but to the world.

From the painting of these scenes from real life, he passed gradually to
the painting of things purely imaginary—to those visible only to his own
mind.

A dainty picture which belongs half and half to each of these classes of
pictures, represents the Virgin a little girl, sweet and quaint as she must
have been, standing by St. Anne’s knee, apparently learning a lesson from
the open book. Both figures are beautiful in themselves and, besides, they
present the always interesting contrast of age and youth. This was one of the
pictures that well-nigh brought trouble on Murillo from some zealous
churchmen before referred to. They thought that the Virgin was gifted with
learning from her birth and never had to be taught. They merely criticized
the treatment of the subject, however. It was an innovation in church
painting.

THE MELON EATERS.
Murillo.

By this time Murillo was wealthy. He had numerous commissions and,
in society, he mingled with the best in the land. He was now in a position to
marry, which he did in 1648. There is a story told of Murillo’s marriage
which one likes to repeat. He was painting an altar-piece for the church in
Pilas, a town near by; while he was working, wrapt in thoughts of his
subject, a lovely woman came into the church to pray. From his canvas, the
artist’s eyes wandered to the worshipper. He was deeply impressed with her
beauty and her devotion. Wanting just then an angel to complete his picture,

he sketched the face and the form of the unsuspecting lady. By a pleasant
coincidence he afterwards made her the angel of his home—his good wife.
The painter doubtless proved the truth of Wordsworth’s beautiful lines—

“I saw her upon nearer view
A spirit yet a Woman too!
···
“A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright and good
For human nature’s daily food.
···
“A perfect woman nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.”

However this may be, we know that she is often painted as the Virgin
in Murillo’s great pictures. Her liquid eyes and dark hair inspired him to
forget the rigid rules laid down regarding the Virgin’s having blue eyes and
fair hair or, at all events, to disregard them. We shall see the Mary in some
of his loveliest pictures with the dark hair and eyes of his countrymen.
Three children were born into Murillo’s home, two boys and one girl. One
boy for a time practised the art of his father, but he later became a
clergyman. The other son came to America, while the daughter devoted
herself to religion and entered a convent.

After Murillo’s marriage, his house was the gathering place for the
most distinguished people of Seville. What a change was this from
Murillo’s early condition, when he toiled at the weekly markets for bread
and shelter! His power in his work increased, so that every new picture was
an additional pledge of his greatness.

THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION.
Murillo.

It was in middle life that Murillo began painting the subject that more
than any other distinguished him. It was to glorify a beautiful idea, that
Mary was as pure and spotless as her divine son. It is called the doctrine of
the Immaculate Conception, and so much did it appeal to Murillo that he
painted it over and over again. He has left us at least twenty different
pictures embodying this doctrine. The one most familiar is perhaps the

greatest. It is the one that now graces the gem-room of the Louvre. I so
name this room, for in it, within a few feet of one another, are pictures by
Raphael, Da Vinci, Correggio, Rembrandt, Veronese, in short, by the
foremost masters of the world. Among all these the vision of Murillo takes
an equal rank. To many, the idea which the picture represents is of
secondary importance, save perhaps as giving a reason for the name it
bears. But all can see the exquisite loveliness of this young woman in her
blue mantle and her white robe, with her feet concealed by the voluminous
folds of her drapery, and with the crescent moon, the symbol of all things
earthly, in the midst of a throng of child-angels “hovering in the sunny air,
reposing on clouds, or sporting among their silvery folds”—“the apotheosis
of womanhood.” It is as if an unseen hand had suddenly drawn aside an
invisible curtain and we, the children of earth, were for a moment permitted
to view the interior of heaven itself. In this vision of a poet, so masterfully
painted, the lover of pictures rejoices.

How did the Louvre come by this magnificent monument of Spanish
art when so much that is glorious has been kept within the boundaries of
Spain? We have but to turn to the wars of Napoleon and the campaigns in
the Spanish peninsula, when the marshals of the mighty warrior swept
everything before them. One of these, Marshal Soult, brought back, after his
victorious invasion, pictures enough to enrich a Czar. One of these stolen
treasures was the picture we are studying. In 1852, the French government
bought it of him for more than $120,000. There is but one mitigating
thought regarding this rapine of the French, and that is that many art
treasures, heretofore virtually locked to the public, were opened to the
world—were made easily accessible.

From this fair vision of womanhood let us turn to another, fairer still,
where a little child is the central figure, “St. Anthony of Padua.” Although
he did not repeat this subject so often as he did the Conception, yet he has
left us several representations of this beautiful and much adored saint.

HEAD OF VIRGIN, FROM THE
IMMACULATE CONCEPTION.
Murillo.

In the life of Raphael we saw how great an influence was exerted on
art by St. Francis of Assisi. His most devoted follower was St. Anthony of
Padua, from whose lips sweet words fell like drops of honey, and whose
ready hands ever dispensed deeds of love. Any man whose life abounds in
such acts must be devout. Such was the character of St. Anthony, and he
added to this a vivid imagination. Many were the beautiful visions that
rewarded and encouraged his deeds of mercy and kindness. One of the

loveliest is the one Murillo caught from the depths of his own pure soul,
and held long enough to transfer it to canvas to delight the people of his
own day, and us of this later time who no longer see visions. It is still in the
cathedral of Seville for which it was painted. It is merely called “St.
Anthony of Padua.” Never was a more soul-thrilling vision sent to man to
illumine his earthly pathway. There is the kneeling saint with outstretched
arms reaching forward to embrace the Christ child, who comes sliding
down through the nebulous light from among a host of joyous angels. From
the ecstatic look on St. Anthony’s face we know that the Child of God has
been drawn to earth by the prayerful love in the saint’s heart. We feel
certain that the open book on the table near by is none other than the best of
all good books. The vision has come to Saint Anthony on the earth, for that
is common daylight that streams in through the open door, and those are
perishable lilies in the vase there by the open book. By the painting of this
picture Murillo gained for himself the title of “The Painter of Heaven.” The
picture has always been highly prized, and even the hardships of war did
not tempt the men of the Cathedral to accept the Duke of Wellington’s offer
to literally cover the canvas with gold to be given in exchange for the
precious picture. The English general was obliged to keep his money, and in
the cathedral still we may view Murillo’s masterpiece. Treasures tempt
thieves even when they are in the form of pictures. In 1874, the figure of the
Christ Child was cut from this painting. It was brought to New York, where
the thief, in trying to dispose of it, was caught. The figure was returned to
Seville, and carefully inserted in the injured painting.

It may not be out of place to stop here and notice the wonderful variety
of holy children that Murillo has given us. His Madonnas invariably hold
very beautiful children, not so heavenly, perhaps, as Raphael’s in the Sistine
Madonna, but nevertheless, children that charm us into loving them. From
the holy babe, with all his lovely qualities, let us turn to that dear little boy
of older growth, that Joseph and Mary hold so tenderly by either hand in the
picture of the “Holy Family ” in the National Gallery in London, or to those
other boys, “The Divine Shepherd ” and “St John.” Better than all, however,

are those beautiful children known as “The Children of the Shell,” where
the little Christ offers to his playfellow, John, the cooling draught from a
conch shell they have picked up in their play. They are children drawn from
the sky quite as much as the Jesus in the famous St. Anthony picture.

Among his children there are little girls, too. We have already noticed
the Virgin as a child, and there is that other, led by the guardian angel sure
and safe along life’s uncertain way. Even in our practical time we all have
more or less faith in the guardian spirit that watches over every little child.
If by some miracle these children could all come to life, what a joyous yet
thoughtful assembly it would be! Difficult indeed would it be to select the
one beyond all others precious. No more certain proof exists of Murillo’s
high appreciation of spiritual things, of the simplicity and purity of his own
life and thought than this selfsame throng of little children that he has given
us.

ST. ANTHONY OF PADUA.
Murillo.

Murillo had always thought that a public academy of painting was very
much needed in Seville. In his youth he had greatly felt the need of such an
institution. Finally, in 1660, the year of Velazquez’s death, several of the
artists united with Murillo in starting an academy. It lived only as long as its
founder and never produced a great artist.

In 1671 our artist seemed in the very prime of his power. In that year
he began the wonderful series of pictures for the Charity Hospital of
Seville. It was an old institution of the city, but it had been neglected until it

was almost in ruins. In Murillo’s time a wealthy and pious citizen set about
restoring it. For the beautifying of the restored hospital Murillo was
commissioned to paint eleven works. They are among his very best. Two of
them we must notice in particular, “Moses Striking the Rock ” and
“Elizabeth of Hungary Tending the Sick.”

In the first of these the artist shows himself in a new capacity, that of
illustrator. Nothing could better express the thirst of that vast assembly in
the wilderness than this picture. From a mighty, towering rock the coveted
water gushes forth in a generous, crystal stream, by its very abundance
making a pool beneath. All degrees of thirst are represented in man and
beast, from that which is not pressing to that which, in its intensity, makes a
mother seize the cup from the babe in her arms.

In the “St. Elizabeth ” we admire the composition of the work, but the
subject rather repels than holds us. With the diadem of a queen upon her
head, with the delicate hands of a gentlewoman, and from a costly basin St.
Elizabeth bathes the scrofulous head of a beggar. Her ladies-in-waiting turn
from the loathsome object of her care, while other patients await their turn.
In the distance is the court feast that goes on joyously in the palace while
Elizabeth, the mistress of the feast, serves the diseased beggars at the portal.

I have said that we could not stop to notice more than two of this
notable series. Yet, as I run my photographs over, I cannot refrain from the
mention of one other, the noble and wonderfully beautiful “Liberation of St.
Peter.” It is simply a magnificent angel awakening Peter who languishes in
prison. The suddenly aroused prisoner, the broken fetters, and above all,
that glorious angel, extending a helping hand—his presence making a light
in that dark cell—tell in no uncertain accents of the power of our beloved
painter.

MADONNA.
Murillo.

Thus might we go on from picture to picture, and from year to year, for
the list ever strengthens as it lengthens. Two more, at least, should claim our
attention before this sketch is closed. They are “St. Thomas giving Alms ”
and “The Madonna of the Napkin.” The St. Thomas is rightly the
companion of that other great charity picture, “St. Elizabeth.” The one
represents the abnegation of self in woman’s way—she gives service. The

other represents man’s way—he gives money. At the portal of the church
stands the pale-faced, spiritual St. Thomas, dispensing his alms to beggars
and cripples. In composition and drawing this is one of Murillo’s greatest
works. We are interested to know that it was his own favorite among his
pictures.

“The Madonna of the Napkin ” is both beautiful and curious. While
Murillo was painting a series of pictures for a Capuchin convent of Seville,
the cook became very much attached to him. When his work was done and
he was about to leave the convent, the cook begged a memento. But how
could he paint even a small picture with no canvas at hand? The cook, bent
on obtaining his wish, presented him with a table napkin and begged him to
use that instead of canvas. With his usual good nature, the artist complied,
and before evening he produced a beautiful Virgin holding the infant Christ.
Though done thus hastily, this Madonna is one of his best in design and
coloring. His other Madonnas we know well, the one holding a rosary, and
the other marked by nothing but its own surpassing grace and beauty, and
known simply as Murillo’s Madonna.

According to the subject he was painting, Murillo used three distinct
styles of work, known as the cold, the warm, and the aerial. The first, in
which the line or drawing is marked by strength, he used in his studies of
peasant life. The second he used in his visions, while the third he reserved
for his Conceptions—his heavenly effects. So fine a colorist was he,
however, and so indispensable a part of his art did he consider the coloring
that even the pictures classed as cold are radiant with his lovely, mellow
colors.

VIRGIN OF THE MIRROR.
Murillo.

Through the greater part of Murillo’s life he painted for his beautiful
Seville. In 1680, however, he went to Cadiz to paint pictures for the
Capuchins at that place. He began on the largest one of the number. It was
to represent the marriage of St. Catherine, a favorite subject of the time.
Events proved that this was to be his last picture, for, while trying to reach
the upper part of it, he fell from the scaffolding, receiving injuries from
which he died two years later. Gradually his physical power deserted him

until he did not attempt to paint at all. Then he spent much of his time in
religious thought. In the church of Santa Cruz near by his home, was a
picture of the “Descent from the Cross ” by Campana. Before this picture he
spent many hours, so much did he admire it. One evening he remained later
than usual. The Angelus had sounded, and the Sacristan wished to close the
church. He asked the painter why he lingered so long. He responded, “I am
waiting until those men have brought the body of our blessed Lord down
the ladder.” When Murillo died he was buried, according to his wish,
immediately under this picture.

He died in April, 1682. His funeral was of the sort that draws all
classes—a beloved man and a profound genius had passed away. His grave
was covered with a stone slab on which were carved but few words beside
his name. The church was destroyed during the French wars, and the Plaza
of Santa Cruz occupies its place. In later years a statue of bronze was
erected in one of the squares of the city in honor of Murillo; there it stands,
through all changes, the very master spirit of the city.

If this sketch has implied anything, it has emphasized over and over
again the sweet and lovable character of Murillo. His religious zeal was
great, yet no one could ever justly write fanatic beside his name. There was
too much love in his soul for that. His pictures are indisputable proof of the
never-dying love that permeated his life.

He left a great number of pictures, and his habit of not signing them
made it easy to impose on unwary seekers after his paintings. Passing by all
the work the authorship of which is uncertain, yet is there enough left to
make us marvel at his productiveness.

SUBJECTS FOR LANGUAGE WORK.

1. Seville, the City of Music.

2. A Day in Seville.

3. Some Stories of the Alcazar.

4. The Giralda—Its History and Its Architecture.

5. The Children of Murillo’s Paintings.

6. Murillo and Velazquez.

7. Some Spanish Portraits.

8. My Favorite Picture by Murillo.

9. Some Visions Seen by Murillo.

10. The Escurial—Its History.

REFERENCES FOR THE STUDY OF “MURILLO
AND SPANISH ART.”

De Amicis Spain.
Hoppin Murillo.
Minor Murillo.
Stirling Spanish Art.
Stowe Velazquez.
Washburn Masters.
Back to title page

RUBENS

PETER PAUL RUBENS

PETER PAUL RUBENS.
1577–1640.

In our study of Raphael, we had a glimpse of the golden age of art in
Italy. In our work on Murillo, we saw what Spain was able to produce in
pictures when the whole of Europe seemed to be trying its hand at painting.
Moving north, we are to see in this sketch what the little country now
known as Belgium produced in the same lines. For this we need hardly take
more than the one name, Peter Paul Rubens, for he represented very
completely the art of Flanders or Belgium, as we call it to-day.

If we love to read of happy, fortunate people, as I am sure we do, we
shall be more than pleased in learning about Rubens. You know there is an
old story, that by the side of every cradle stand a good and an evil fairy, who
by their gifts make up the life of the little babe within. The good fairy gives
him a wonderful blessing, perhaps it is the power to write poems or paint
pictures. Then the bad fairy, ugly little sprite that he is, adds a portion of
evil, perhaps it is envy that eats the soul like a canker. And so they alternate,
the good and evil, until the sum of a human life is made up, and the child
grows up to live out his years, marked by joy and sorrow as every life must
be.

As we look at the men and women about us we feel, often, that one or
the other of these fairies must have slept while distributing their gifts and so
lost a turn or two in casting in the good or ill upon the babe, so happy are
some lives, so sorrowful are others. At Rubens’ cradle the evil fairy must
well nigh have forgotten his task, for the babe grew up one of the most
fortunate of men.

In order to understand as we should any great man, we must always
study his country and his time. No man can be great enough not to be like
the nation that produced him, or the time when he came into the world. For
these reasons we love to study a man’s time and country, and, indeed, find it
quite necessary if we would understand him aright.

It is impossible to think of Rubens without associating him with
Flanders and with Antwerp, his home city. Here, then, is just a little about
the history of this most interesting country: One of the richest possessions
of Spain in the sixteenth century was known as the Netherlands. When the
doctrines of Luther began to spread many of the Netherlanders accepted
them. Philip II., the terrible and gloomy king of Spain, seized this
opportunity to persecute them cruelly. Many of them resisted, and then
Philip sent his unscrupulous agent, the Duke of Alva, to make the people
submit. This he partially accomplished by the greatest cruelty. The northern
provinces, which we know as Holland, declared their independence. The
southern, of which Flanders was the most flourishing province, longed so
for peace and the prosperity that accompanies it, that they submitted to
Spain. The people then grew rich as weavers, merchants and traders.
Splendid cities like Bruges, Ghent and Antwerp became the seats of
commerce and their artists and workmen of all sorts were known
throughout Europe for their thrift and the excellence of their workmanship.
We recall how Raphael’s cartoons were sent to Flanders to be copied in
tapestry the finest in the world.

RUBENS’ MOTHER
Rubens

Of all the cities dear to Flemish hearts Antwerp was, perhaps, the most
beautiful and the most prosperous. It was situated on the river Scheldt about
twenty miles from the sea. In the time of its greatness one might count
almost at any time twenty-five hundred ships and boats riding at anchor in

front of the city, and within her walls, two hundred thousand people lived in
plenty. There were marble palaces, beautiful churches, a magnificent town
hall (Hotel de Ville); and the houses of the humble showed by their
cleanlines and comfortable surroundings that enjoyment of life was
restricted to no one class.

This matter of religious faith, however, was bound to come up again
and bring, as it proved, ruin upon the city. A body of people who thought it
wrong to have pictures and statues of saints, and of Mary and her Son,
gathered together and for four days went from one Flemish town to another
and destroyed everything of the sort to be found in the churches. Four
hundred places of worship were desecrated, many of them within the city of
Antwerp. Because of their zeal against the use of so-called images they
were called Iconoclasts.

If formerly they had been punished for thinking things against the
established religion of the State, what now could be expected when they
had done such sacrilegious things?

“Again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote;
And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin’s throat.”

RUBENS AND HIS FIRST WIFE
Rubens

Our imagination cannot picture things so terrible as were perpetrated
upon the inhabitants of Antwerp for their part in the destruction of the
“images.” This terrible event is known in history as The Spanish Fury.
Thousands of her people were killed, most of her palaces were burned, and
the treasure of her wealthy citizens was stolen. Property was confiscated to
the Spanish Government. Death and terror, theft and rapine reigned in the
beautiful city of the Scheldt. When the dead were buried, the charred ruins

of buildings removed, and the Spanish soldiery withdrawn, the mist-
beclouded Netherland sun shone out on a dead city which even to-day bears
marks of the Spaniard’s fury. Grass grew in what had been its busiest
streets, trade almost ceased, and thousands of weavers and other artisans
went to England where they could pursue their vocations unmolested.

Philip was apparently satisfied with the chastisement he had inflicted.
He began to restore the confiscated property to its rightful owners, and to
encourage the industry he had so cruelly destroyed. He even made Flanders
an independent province under the Archduke Albert and the Infanta
Isabella. Although peace had returned and a degree of prosperity again
prevailed, yet many other things were irretrievably gone, and the people
lived every day in the sight of painful reminders of their former greatness.

In art, too, these low country provinces had made much progress.
There had been Hubert and Jan Van Eyck who had painted with minute skill
devout pictures. They had, moreover, given to the world the process of
painting in oils. This discovery, worked out with the extreme care natural to
the Netherlanders, changed the whole character of painting, and made it
possible to have such colorists as Titian, Raphael and Rubens. We must
remember that the colors used in fresco painting were mixed with a sort of
“size” and that they had none of the richness of oil colors. There had been
other artists of note besides the Van Eycks. Hans Memling, with the spirit of
a real poet, had painted his sweet visions, and to-day it is not for the opulent
merchants who added fame and wealth to their city in their time, but for this
poet-painter, Memling, that we venerate the ancient and stately city of
Bruges. Quentin Matsys, the brawny blacksmith, who, for love of an artist’s
daughter, became a painter, comes to our minds as a name of no mean fame
in the early records of Flemish painting.

HELEN FOURMONT, RUBENS’ SECOND
WIFE, AND YOUNGEST SON
Rubens

The guild system, where every class of artisans was organized for
protection and for the production of good work, touched even the fine arts.
No man could set up for a good painter who had not served his
apprenticeship, and whose work was not satisfactory to experts. When
Rubens was born he came as the heir of all that had been accomplished

before him. He only carried on what his predecessors had begun, but he
carried it on in a matchless way so that he was able to leave to succeeding
painters not only all he had inherited, but a goodly legacy besides—the
legacy of a pure life, a glowing, natural, vigorous art. It seems to me that
right here is a lesson for us. May we not add our mite, tiny though it be, to
the ever-growing volume of truth? I like this quotation in this connection,
and I hope you may see its beauty too—“The vases of truth are passed on
from hand to hand, and the golden dust must be gathered into them, grain
by grain, from the infinite shore.”

Rubens’ birth took place in 1577, the year following the Spanish Fury.
When he was only seven, William the Silent, the saviour and protector of
the northern provinces, was assassinated at the instance of Philip II. When
he was eleven, the Spanish Armada, the proudest fleet that ever sailed the
seas, sent to invade England and punish Queen Elizabeth, was scattered by
wind and wave and dashed to pieces on alien rocks. The Reformation was
well established in England and Holland, while France, led by Henry IV.,
was yet uncertain whether or not to accept the new doctrines. Such were
some of the portentous events that marked the advent and early years of the
greatest of Flemish painters.

The family of Rubens’ father had lived for years in Antwerp, but when
Luther’s doctrines were put forward Jan Rubens, the father of our artist,
believed in them. For this reason he was compelled to flee from the city,
and his property was confiscated. He went to the little village of Siegen, in
western Germany, where his illustrious son was born on June 29th, 1577.
His birth was on the day dedicated to the saints, Peter and Paul, and so his
parents gave the child their names. After the residence of a year in this little
town, the family removed to Cologne, where they lived for ten years, until
the death of the father.

Jan Rubens was a lawyer and a learned man, and he took pains that his
sons should be thoroughly educated. In addition to his heretical views
regarding religion he had grievously offended William the Silent and so was

doubly exiled. His wife remained with him, and by her efforts kept him
from prison, and added cheer to his life of exile. This was the admirable
Marie Pypeling, the mother so revered by Rubens, and so deserving the
respect of all who know of her. A portrait of her by her son is given in this
sketch. To her he owed his handsome face, his strong physique, his
shrewdness and his love of order.

RUBENS’ DAUGHTER
Rubens

Immediately after the death of her husband, Marie Pypeling and her
family, now consisting of two sons and a daughter, returned to Antwerp.
Her property, which had been confiscated in those wild days at Antwerp,
was restored to her in the general restitution with which Philip tried to
compensate the citizens for their losses in the Spanish Fury. From this time
Rubens was an adherent of the Catholic Church.

The education of Peter Paul, which was so carefully begun by his
father, was continued by his mother, in a Jesuit College at Antwerp. He was
an apt student and soon attained the elements from which he became a very
learned man. He knew seven languages, was interested and learned in
science and politics. All through his life he devoted some part of each day,
however busy he was with his painting, to general reading. This, perhaps
more than his early studies, accounts for his elegant scholarship.

His mother was quite determined that this son should be, like his
father, a lawyer. His own tastes, however, and a power to use the brush
early displayed, decided otherwise. It very soon became evident that he was
to be a painter—good or bad—who could tell in those early days?

In accordance with a custom of the time, he was placed as a page in
the house of a nobleman of Antwerp. To the talented and restless boy this
life was intolerable, and he soon induced his mother to allow him to enter
the studio of Van der Haeght, a resident artist of some repute and a close
follower of Italian Art. He was only thirteen at this time. Here he learned to
draw skillfully and, through the influence of his teacher, he acquired a love
of landscape art which never left him.

From Van der Haeght and his mild but correct art, Rubens, feeling his
weakness in figure work, went to the studio of the irascible and forcible

painter Van Noort, about whom critics have delighted to tell stories of
brutality. However true these may be, Rubens stayed with him four years
and never ceased to speak in praise of his master’s work. Here he became
acquainted with Jordaens, who used often to paint the animals in Rubens’
landscapes.

From Van Noort’s studio the restless Rubens went to study with Van
Veen, who afterwards became court-painter. When the Archduke Albert and
Isabella entered Antwerp in 1594, it was Van Veen who decorated the
triumphal arches used on the occasion. We may judge that he did the work
well, for he was shortly selected to serve the new rulers as court painter.
Rubens’ experience with Van Veen closed a ten years’ apprenticeship in the
studios of Antwerp, and now he determined to go to Italy, where he could
study the masters at first hand.

RUBENS’ TWO SONS
Rubens

As a sort of parting work and, perhaps, because he wished to impress
more vividly on his mind those dear, strong features of his mother, he
painted that portrait of her which we so much admire both for its subject
and its art. This image of his mother was an effectual charm to carry with
him in his travels—a charm to save him perhaps, from some of the

stumbling places into which a handsome young man away from home
might wander.

In May of 1600, after making all needful preparation, our artist set out
on his journey. It was natural that he should direct his steps first to Venice.
Titian had but recently completed his productive life of nearly a century.
His misty atmosphere, his intense interest in human life and, above all, his
glowing color touched a kindred cord in Rubens’ nature. Then there were
Tintoretto and Veronese, almost as interesting to our painter.

The Duke of Mantua, a most liberal and discerning patron of art, was
in Venice when Rubens reached that city. One of the Duke’s suite happened
to be in the house with Rubens. He took notice of the painter’s courtly
bearing, his fine physique, and his ability to paint, and introduced him to
the Duke. Never did our painter’s handsome face and fine presence so
quickly win a patron. He was at once attached to the Duke’s court and
began copying for him the masterpieces of Italy—the pictures of Titian,
Correggio, Veronese, leading all others. He also studied carefully the work
of Julio Romano, Raphael’s famous pupil. He accompanied the Duke to
Milan, where he copied Leonardo’s great picture, “The Last Supper,”
besides doing some original work.

The Duke had observed Rubens’ courtly manner and his keen mind.
He decided that the painter was just the person to send in charge of some
presents to the King of Spain, whose favor he was anxious to gain. The gifts
were made up of fine horses, beautiful pictures, rare jewels and vases. Early
in 1603, the painter set out with his cavalcade, and after a stormy journey of
about three months they reached the Court of Spain. He was cordially
received and the gifts were delivered, although the pictures had been
somewhat damaged by the rains which marked the last days of their trip. He
was asked to paint several portraits of eminent personages of the court and
he complied graciously.

He returned to Italy after somewhat more than a year’s absence. For
some time he remained at Mantua to paint an altar-piece for the chapel
where the Duke’s mother was buried.

HOLY FAMILY

(Pette Gallery, Florence) Rubens

Later he went to Rome where he studied carefully the works of
Michael Angelo. In turn he visited all the great art cities of Italy except
Naples. He stopped for some time at Florence, Bologna, and Genoa. At the

last place he received so many orders for his work that he could not attend
to them all. Everywhere he went the fame of “the Fleming,” as he was
called in Italy, had gone before him. In many of the cities he made lengthy
sojourns, copying the masterpieces that pleased him, and painting originals
highly prized to-day in the galleries of Italy.

He had been in Italy eight years, when one day from over the Alps
came a courier in hot haste bearing to Rubens the sad news that his mother
lay at home very ill. Not even waiting for permission from his patron, the
Duke, Rubens started north with a heavy heart, for he felt sure that he
should never see his mother again. Although he rode with all haste, as he
neared his home city of Antwerp, he received the sad tidings he had so
much dreaded. Marie Pypeling had died nine days before he left Italy. As
was the custom in his country, he secluded himself for four months in a
convent attached to the church where his mother was buried.

The profound sorrow for his mother, and the sudden change from the
life he had so recently led made him melancholy. He longed for the skies,
the pictures, and the society of Italy. When he came forth from his
retirement, his countrymen could not bear the thought of their now
illustrous artist returning to Italy. They wanted him among them to glorify
with his splendid brush the now reviving city of the Scheldt.

The rulers of the city, Albert and Isabella, made him court painter and
gave him a good salary. He accepted the office on condition that he should
not have to live at the court. It was with some regret that he gave up
returning to Italy, but the natural ties that bound him to Antwerp were
stronger. He hoped that he might yet one day visit Italy. This part of his life-
plan, however, he never carried out.

INFANT CHRIST, ST. JOHN AND ANGELS
Rubens

He was now thirty-two years old, respected of all men not only for his
power as a painter, but for his sterling worth as a man. He had studied
carefully the best art that the world could show, and he had absorbed into
his own characteristic style what was best for him—his style of painting
was now definitely formed. His fame as a painter was established from the
Mediterranean to the Zuyder Zee. He was overwhelmed with orders for his
pictures, so that he had plenty of money at his command. He had the
confidence of princes, and was attached to one of the richest courts of
Europe. A crowd of anxious art students awaited the choice privilege of
entering his studio when he should open one. It would seem that there was
little left for this man to desire in earthly things. The two he lacked he

speedily procured, a good wife and a happy home, both destined to live
always on the canvasses of this most fortunate of painters.

In 1610, he married the lovely and beautiful Isabella Brandt, the
daughter of the Secretary of Antwerp. Happy indeed were the fifteen years
of their life together, and often do we find the wife and their two boys
painted by the gifted husband and father. We reproduce a picture of the two
boys.

He bought a house on Meir Square, one of the noted locations in
Antwerp. He re-modelled it at great expense in the style of the Italians. In
changing the house he took care that there should be a choice place to keep
and display his already fine collection of pictures, statues, cameos, agates
and jewels. For this purpose he made a circular room, lighted from above,
covered by a dome somewhat similar to that of the Pantheon at Rome. This
room connected the two main parts of the house and was, with its precious
contents, a constant joy to Rubens and his friends. The master of this
palace, for such it certainly was, lived a frugal and abstemious life, a most
remarkable thing in an age of great extravagance in eating and drinking.
Here is the record of one of his days in summer: At four o’clock he arose,
and for a short time gave himself up to religious exercises. After a simple
breakfast he began painting. While he painted he had some one read to him
from some classical writer, and if his work was not too laborious, he
received visitors and talked to them while he painted. He stopped work an
hour before dinner and devoted himself to conversation or to examining
some newly acquired treasure in his collection. At dinner he ate sparingly of
the simplest things and drank little wine. In the afternoon he again began
his work at his easel, which he continued until evening. After an hour or so
on a spirited Andalusian horse, of which he was always passionately fond,
and of which he always had one or more fine specimens in his stables, he
spent the remainder of the evening conversing with friends. A varied
assembly of visitors loitered in this hospitable home. There were scholars,
politicians, old friends—perhaps former fellow-pupils in Antwerp studios.
Occasionally the princess Isabella came among the others, and Albert

himself felt honored to stand as god-father to Rubens’ son. Surely the
wicked fairy did forget some of the evil he was to have mixed with this life!

PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG WOMAN

(Hermitage, St. Petersburg) Rubens

It was in connection with the building of this house that the best
known and perhaps the greatest work of Rubens was painted: “The Descent
from the Cross,” now in Antwerp Cathedral. It is said that in excavating for

the foundation to some of the new parts of Rubens’ house, the workmen
unintentionally trespassed on some adjoining ground belonging to the
gunsmiths’ guild. In settlement for this Rubens was requested to paint a
picture of St. Christopher, the Christ-Bearer, as they called him. Rubens
complied with the request and painted what to us to-day would seem a very
strange picture—a “triptych,” that is a middle panel over which two narrow
side panels, hinged to the middle one, could be closed. He interpreted the
request of the guild rather strangely too—he thought it would please them
to represent in the several spaces of the triptych all who had ever carried
Christ in their arms. In the middle panel we have the men removing the
dead Christ from the cross, with the three Marys below, one of whom, the
Magdalen, is, perhaps, the most beautiful woman Rubens ever painted. The
light is wonderful, coming, as it does, from the great white cloth in which
they would wrap our Lord. The form of the dead Christ in its difficult
position is a piece of masterly drawing. This panel is, of course, the
principal part of the altar-piece. On one side of this was painted the Virgin
visiting St. Anne, and on the other we have the aged St. Simeon presenting
the Christ-Child in the temple. If we close these side panels over the middle
one we find a space as large as the center panel. On this Rubens painted St.
Christopher with the child and accompanied by a hermit carrying his
lantern. Surely it was a good-natured artist and a glowing and generous soul
who painted so much in response to a request for a St. Christopher!

There were, however, trials for this fortunate man. There were those
who were jealous of his fame and who said unkind things of him. In answer
to their jealousies he only said, “Do well and you will make others envious;
do better and you will master them.”

He was called away from the home he loved so well. In 1619, when
the truce, under which Antwerp had regained somewhat of her former
greatness, was about to expire, Rubens was sent to Spain to renew it. He
had hardly returned to Antwerp before Marie de Medicis, the wife of Henry
IV. of France—the Henry of Navarre, of historic fame—sent for the artist to
adorn her palace of the Luxemburg in Paris. He was to paint twenty-one

pictures for this purpose. They were to describe the life of the queen. We
give one of the series. He accomplished this entire work in glowing
allegorical fashion in which mythological and historical personages are
sadly confused at times. If there was occasionally this confusion, there were
also present the artist’s strongest characteristics as a painter—rich color and
vigorous human action.

ELEVATION OF THE CROSS
Rubens

While in Paris he became intimately acquainted with the Duke of
Buckingham, the favorite of Charles I. of England. This nobleman visited
Rubens at his home in Antwerp and he was so pleased with the artist’s
collection that he offered him ten thousand pounds sterling for it complete.
Rubens hesitated, for in the collection there were nineteen pictures by
Titian, thirteen by Veronese, three by Leonardo, and three by Raphael,
besides many of his own best works. The artist, however, was always
thrifty, and he felt sure he could soon gather another collection, so he
accepted the offer.

In 1626, his lovely wife died. He mourned her deeply, saying “she had
none of the faults of her sex.” To beguile his time he accepted another
diplomatic mission to Spain. This time he was to secure a strong ally for
Spain against the powerful Richelieu who then held France in his hand as it
were. Incidentally he painted much while at Madrid. Among other work he
copied the Titians which were likely to be taken out of the country at the
marriage of the Infanta. At this time, too, he undoubtedly met Velazquez,
the able and high-souled court painter of Philip IV. This was certainly one
of the most notable meetings in the history of artists.

DESCENT FROM THE CROSS
Rubens

It was while at the court of Madrid at this time that Jean of Braganza,
afterward King of Portugal, invited the artist to visit him at his hunting-
lodge, and Rubens set out with several of his followers, as was usual with
travellers of note in those days. Before he reached the lodge Jean, hearing
of so many attendants, and dismayed at the expense of entertaining them,
departed suddenly for Lisbon. He wrote Rubens a courteous letter telling
him that state business detained him and begged him to accept some money
to defray the expenses so far incurred on the journey. Rubens replied in like

courteous manner and returned the money, saying that they had brought
twenty times the amount with which to pay their expenses.

MARIE DE MEDICIS

(Museum, Madrid) Rubens

An interesting story is related of their return. Overtaken by dark night
in the open country they took shelter in a monastery. The next morning
Rubens, with an eye always quick to see rare and interesting things,

scanned the place carefully looking for something which might interest him.
He was about to give up the search as hopeless, when he discovered in a
dark corner a grand picture. It represented in more than mortal fashion the
beautiful things that a dead young man, painted in the foreground, had
renounced. Rubens called the prior to him and begged to know the name of
the artist of so masterly a work. The prior, an old, bowed man, refused
saying, “He died to the world long ago. I cannot disclose his name.” Then
the artist said, “It is Peter Paul Rubens who begs to know.” The prior
started, for even in the remoteness of the isolated monastery the fame of
that name had gone, and fell in a dead faint at the artist’s feet. The
attendants lifted the prior gently but he had ceased to live. Through the ashy
pallor they saw the features of the young man in the picture yonder. They
instinctively turned to look that they might more carefully compare the
faces, and lo! like some cloud-vision, the picture had disappeared. Then
they knew that the dead monk there had painted the canvas from the depth
of his own experience.

From Madrid, Rubens was sent to England in the interest of Spain.
Here he was most kindly received by Charles I., who made him a knight
and presented him with his own jeweled sword and a diamond ring. He also
gave him a hat-band set with precious stones which was valued at two
thousand pounds sterling. From London he went to Cambridge where the
ancient university conferred on him its highest degree. In London he
painted almost constantly. Among other commissions he was given that of
decorating the dining room in Whitehall palace with nine pictures
representing the life of James I. To make the person or events of this king’s
life attractive must have been an immense task even for so supreme a
genius as Rubens.

As he sat painting one day a courtier entered and exclaimed, “Ah, his
Majesty’s Ambassador occasionally amuses himself with painting.” “On the
contrary,” responded Rubens who was always proud of his art, “the painter
occasionally amuses himself by trying to be a courtier.”

The influence of Rubens’ visit to London must be counted rather as
artistic than political. It really was the beginning of that desire for collecting
pictures and other things of the sort which has ever since distinguished the
English nobility. On the Continent the price of pictures rose on account of
England’s demand. For Charles I., Rubens bought the entire collection of
the Duke of Mantua which he knew so well.

MADONNA AND CHILD WITH ST.
FRANCIS
Rubens

Rubens was tired of the almost fruitless mission at various courts and
was glad to give up the business of an ambassador and return to Antwerp
and to the life of a private gentleman. We must not forget that all these
years Rubens was painting a great number of pictures in his ripest style.
There was hardly a class of subjects or size of canvas which he could not
skillfully use, although he always maintained that he could do his best work
on large surfaces. There were religious pictures of Madonnas and saints all
crowded with numerous figures and filled with vigorous human action.
There were portraits such as those of his wives, of Elizabeth of France, or
“The Girl with a Straw Hat,” which rank among the best of the world.
There were wonderful animal pictures—hunting scenes, the excitement of
which even to-day makes the cheek glow. There were historical scenes
mingled with allegory. There were most beautiful children whose fat and
agile bodies and whose laughing faces make us want to hug them. There
were enchanting angels, and there were huge fauns and satyrs. There were
placid landscapes where, it may be, the artist’s soul, teeming with the life of
all time, took its rest and recreation sporting with the nymphs of the
woodland streams or with the frisky dryads of the trees.

In 1630, at the age of fifty-three, he married his second wife, Helen
Fourmont, only sixteen years old. Like his first wife she was very beautiful,
as his numerous portraits indicate. Five children came to them and the
felicity of his early years with Isabella Brandt continued with his second
wife.

The health of our painter gradually gave way. For many years he had
suffered intensely from repeated attacks of gout. As he aged, these became
more and more frequent and severe. Often the disease, working in his
fingers, kept him from painting. “The Death of St. Peter ” was painted for
Cologne Cathedral in 1635. It seems as if in his last years his heart turned
affectionately to the city of his boyhood home and he would thus
commemorate it. Another picture belongs to these last years. It was a family
picture which he called “St. George.” It represented four generations of the
painter’s family and included both his first and his second wife. He himself

figured as the Saint, clad in shining armor and triumphant over his late
enemy, the deadly dragon. Rubens was too great to be conceited, but he
stood at the end of a most successful life. If ever a man had conquered the
dragon of disappointment, that lies crouching at the door of every life,
Rubens had. He did well to represent himself as St. George. In both of these
last pictures the painter shows at his very strongest.

He died May 30th, 1640, and was buried in the church beside his
mother and his first wife. All the city attended his funeral, for in three
capacities they mourned their illustrious citizen—as an artist, as a diplomat
and scholar, and as a man of noble character. Two years after his death the
picture “St. George ” was hung above his tomb where it is found to-day.

He left great wealth which was largely represented by his collection of
pictures and jewels. There were three hundred and nineteen paintings, all
masterpieces. The collection sold for what would be in our money about
half a million dollars. This is a large sum at any time but in Rubens’ day it
was well nigh fabulous.

SATYRS
Rubens

Rubens has left us more than fifteen hundred pictures bearing his
name. That any man could leave so many can be accounted for only by
reckoning many of them as largely executed by his pupils. He used to make
small sketches in color and hand them over to his pupils for enlargement.
He was always at hand to make corrections and, at the end, to give the
finishing touches. He used to charge for his pictures according to the time
he used in painting them, and he valued his time at fifty dollars a day.

He shows none of the mystical visionary feeling of the Spaniards even
in his religious pictures. He was too much in love with life for that, and so,

sometimes, we are offended by stout Flemish Saints and Madonnas too
healthy to accord with our notions of their abstemious lives. In his pictures
there is spirited action, almost excess of life, and rich unfading color in
which the reds largely prevail. His lights are fine but the deep, expressive
shadows that made Rembrandt famous are entirely lacking. The softly
flowing way in which the color leaves his brush is, perhaps, the most
inimitable part of his art. On this account someone has said, who evidently
has great reverence for both Velazquez and Rubens, that we will see another
Velazquez before another Rubens.

Considering the qualities of his art, the number of his pictures, his
scholarship, his eminence as a diplomat and his pure and honorable life, we
must place Rubens among the very greatest men who ever wielded a brush.

QUOTATIONS ABOUT RUBENS.

Rubens was par excellence the painter of the group that
included the heroes of the Dutch Republic; and, like many of his
contemporaries, whilst excelling in his own line, he was, in
other respects also, a great man, in a time of and among great
men. —Chas. W. Kett.

I cannot sufficiently admire his personal appearance nor
praise his uprightness, his virtue, his erudition and wonderful
knowledge of antiquities, his skill and celerity of pencil, and the
charm of his manner. —A Contemporary.

His eye is the most marvellous prism that has ever been
given us of the light and color of objects, of true and

magnificent ideas. —Eugene Fromentin.

SUBJECTS FOR LANGUAGE WORK.

1. 1. A Day in Rubens’ Studio.

2. 2. An Evening with Rubens.

3. 3. Rubens at the Monastery.

4. 4. A Day with Rubens in London.

5. 5. Rubens as a Diplomat.

6. 6. Antwerp, the Home City of Rubens.

7. 7. Rubens and His Friends.

8. 8. The Women Rubens Loved.

9. 9. My Favorite Picture by Rubens.

10. 10. The Masters of Rubens.
Back to title page

DURER’S HOUSE, NUREMBERG

ALBRECHT DURER
AND HIS CITY

“Of a truth this man would have surpassed us all if he had
had the master-pieces of art constantly before him.”
—Raphael.

“Hardly any master has scattered with so lavish a hand all
that the soul has conceived of fervid feeling or pathos, all that
thought has grasped of what is strong or sublime, all that the
imagination has conceived of poetic wealth; in no one has the
depth and power of the German genius been so gloriously
revealed as in him.” —Lubke.

“He was content to be a precious corner-stone in the edifice
of German Art, the future grandeur of which he could only
foresee.” —Richard Ford Heath.

DURER

ALBRECHT DURER.
1471–1528.
In our study of the great artists so far, we have found that each
glorified some particular city and that, whatever other treasures that city
may have had in the past, it is the recollections of its great artist that hallow
it most deeply today. Thus, to think of Antwerp is to think instantly of
Rubens. Leyden and Amsterdam as quickly recall to our minds the name of
Rembrandt. Seville without Murillo would lose its chief charm, while
Urbino is Raphael and, without the revered name of the painter, would
seldom draw the visitor to its secluded precincts.

To the quaintest of European cities the name of Albrecht Durer
instinctively carries us—to Nuremberg.

“That ancient, free, imperial town,
Forever fair and young.”

Were we to study Durer without first viewing his venerable city which
he so deeply loved all his life that no promise of gain from gorgeous
Venetian court or from wealthy Antwerp burgers could detain him long
from home, we should leave untouched a delightful subject and one deeply
inwoven in the life and thought of the artist. Were we to omit a brief
consideration of his time and the way the German mind looked at things
and naturally represented them in words and in pictures, we should come
away from Durer impressed only with his great homely figures and faces
and wondering why, in every list of the great artists of the world, Durer’s
name should stand so high.

Having these things in mind, it will not then seem so far away to speak
of Nuremberg and Luther before we rehearse the things which make up the
life of Albrecht Durer.

Nuremberg does not boast a very early date, for she began her
existence just after the year one thousand when men, finding out surely that
the end of the world was not come, took as it were a new lease of life. The
thing she does boast is that her character as a mediæval town has been
almost perfectly preserved up to the present day.

There were many things which made Nuremberg an important city in
early times. She was conveniently located for traders who shipped vast
amounts of merchandise from Venice to the great trade centers in the
Netherlands. For many years she was a favorite city of the Emperor and
here were kept the crown jewels which were displayed with great pomp
once a year.

The country immediately about Nuremberg was sandy but carefully
cultivated. There were also large banks of clay very useful to the citizens in
the manufacture of pottery. Like the salt of Venice, it was a natural source
of wealth to the citizens. Very early we find a paper mill here, and here, too,
were set up some of the earliest printing presses. Perhaps the most
interesting of the early wares of this enterprising city were the watches. The
first made in the world were manufactured here and from their shape they
were called “Nuremberg Eggs.” We have a story that Charles V. had a
watchmaker brought in a sedan chair all the way from Nuremberg that he
might have his watch repaired. Here was manufactured the first gun-lock,
and here was invented the valued metallic compound known as brass.

From all these sources the citizens grew rich, but their wealth did not
make them forget their city. A little more than fifty years before Durer’s
birth, the Emperor being very much in need of money, they bought their
freedom. For this they paid what would be, in our money, about a million of
dollars. It was a goodly price, but they gave it freely. Then they destroyed

the house where their governor or Burgrave had lived and they were
henceforth ruled by a council selected from their own number.

The city lies on both sides of the river Pegnitz which divides it into
two almost equal parts. The northern side is named from its great church,
St. Sebald’s, and the southern for that of St. Lawrence. Originally the city
was enclosed by splendid ramparts. Three hundred and sixty-five towers
broke the monotony of the extensive walls. Of these one hundred are still
standing today. In days gone by, a moat thirty-five feet wide encircled the
wall, but since peace has taken the place of war and security has come
instead of hourly danger, the moat has been drained and thrifty kitchen
gardens fill the space.

SHRINE OF ST. SEBALD, NUREMBERG

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust,
And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their
trust.
—Longfellow

Within the city are some of the most beautiful buildings both private
and public. Here, too, sculpture, which the Germans cultivated before they
did painting, has left rare monuments. Among these last we must notice the

wonderful shrine of St. Sebald in the church of the same name. For thirteen
years Peter Vischer and his five sons labored on this work. Long it was to
toil and vexing were the questions which arose in the progress of the work;
but the result was a master-piece which stands alone among the art works of
the world. Nor can we forget the foamy ciborium of the Church of St
Lawrence. For sixty-five feet this miracle of snowy marble rises in the air,
growing more lacey at every step until, in its terminal portions, so delicate
does it become that it seems like the very clouds in fleeciness.

THE CIBORIUM (PYX) CHURCH OF ST.
LAWRENCE

Church doorways are carved with beautiful and fantastic forms by men
whose names were long ago forgotten. Common dwellings are adorned with
picturesque dormer windows. Even the narrow crooked streets hold their
share of beauty, for here are fountains so exquisite in their workmanship

that their like is not to be found elsewhere. Here it is the Beautiful Fountain,
gay with sculptures of heroes and saints, and there it is the Little
Gooseman’s Fountain where humor is added to beauty. Through all the
years stands the little man with a goose under either arm, patiently receiving
his daily drenching. Still two other fountains known to fame send up their
crystal waters to greet the light.

If we seek for more modern things we are also rewarded, for here in
Durer Square stands Rauch’s great statue of the artist, copied from Durer’s
portrait of himself in Vienna. We note the custom house, one of the oldest

buildings, the town hall and the burg or castle, which for many years was
the favorite residence of the Emperor.

THE BEAUTIFUL FOUNTAIN IN
NUREMBERG

Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of art;
Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the
common mart.
—Longfellow

Here, too, are many fine old houses which used to belong to noblemen
of the city. It is not these residences that we seek, however, if we are
visiting Nuremberg. We ask rather for the house of Hans Sachs, the cobbler
poet, of John Palm, the fearless patriot, who gave his life for the privilege of
beating Napoleon, and above all we seek that quaint house where Durer
lived and worked. In choosing these as objects of our special attention we
feel like Charles I., who said, when he compelled a reluctant courtier to
hold Durer’s ladder, “Man can make a nobleman, but only God can make an
artist.”

In our search for interesting things in old Nuremberg, we come
suddenly upon a house bearing a tablet on which are these words, “Pilate’s
House.” At first we are mystified, for was not Pilate’s house in Jerusalem?
But at once we recall that this is the house of the pious Jacob Ketzet who
twice visited the Holy Land that he might measure exactly the distance
from Pilate’s house to Calvary. When he was satisfied with his
measurements he returned to Nuremberg and commissioned the great
sculptor, Adam Kraft, to carve “stations,” as he called them, between his
home and St. John’s Cemetery to the northwest of the city. These “stations,”
which are merely stone pillars on which are carved in relief scenes from the
sufferings of our Lord just before his death, are still standing, and if we go
to Durer’s grave, as I am sure we should wish to do, we shall pass them on
our way.

1526 Viventis potvit dvrerivs ora philippi
Mentem non potvit pingere docta
manvs
AD
MELANCTHON

The Nurembergers have long taken pride in the quaint appearance of
their city, so that many of the newer houses are built in the old style with
their gables to the street. As we note the patriotic spirit of the people and
recount the beauties of the old city, we feel that Durer was warranted “in the

deep love and affection that I have borne that venerable city, my
fatherland,” as he expressed it.

ERASMUS

As to the time when Durer came into the world, it was truly a
wonderful age in which to live! Less than twenty-five years after his birth,
Columbus found a vast new world. People were already much agitated over
the evil practices in the old established church. Durer knew and loved

Luther and Melancthon but he was quite as much attached to the scholarly
Erasmus, who wished not to break away from the old church, but merely to
correct its abuses. In short Durer belonged to the Conservative class which
found it possible to accept the food in the new doctrines and retain the pure
from the old without revolution. Such were the citizens of Nuremberg and
thus did the ancient city as easily accept the new doctrines as she did the
morning sunshine pouring in at her storied windows. Thus, too, were
preserved the ancient buildings and institutions, which, through the wisdom
of her citizens, were not called upon to withstand sieges and other military
attacks.

Durer was above everything a true representative of the German
people, and so we ought to take note of some of the qualities of the German
mind. As Goethe, their greatest poet, says, one of their strongest
characteristics is that of wishing to learn and to do rather than to enjoy. The
Germans love truth and they do not stop short in their imaginings when they
wish to drive it home. So in German art, the toiling man or woman is often
accompanied by angels and demons, the equal of which were never pictured
by any other people. The greatest extremes of beauty and ugliness have
these people given in their art. In either extreme, however, thoughts on the
deepest questions of human life are at the foundation.

DOORWAY IN ST. SEBALD’S CHURCH,
NUREMBERG

And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in
stone,
By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own.
—Longfellow

On a summer’s day in 1455, there wandered into the far-famed city of
Nuremberg a young goldsmith from Hungary. The ramparts of the city with
their towers and gateways, the splendid buildings enclosed, were like
miracles to the youth. It was a fête day in celebration of the marriage of the
son of a prominent citizen, Pirkheimer by name. Albrecht Durer, for that

was the youth’s name, long studied the gay throng, little thinking how in the
future the name of his son and that of the bridegroom there would together
be known to fame, the one as the greatest artist, the other as the most
learned man of Nuremberg. The wandering youth was the father of our
artist and the bridegroom was the father of Wilibald Pirkheimer, Durer’s life
long friend and companion.

The young goldsmith loved the city at once and, encouraged by the
business activity of the place, he made it his permanent abode. He found
employment with Hieronymus Holper, and soon married his master’s
comely daughter, Barbara. They resided in a little house which was a sort of
appendage to the great house of Pirkheimer. A few months after a much
longed for son came to bless the Pirkheimers, a little boy was born in the
goldsmith’s house whom they named, for his father, Albrecht Durer. As the
years went by, seventeen other children came to the Durer home. Three only
of all these children grew to maturity.

With such a family to support we can easily imagine that the father’s
life was a hard one. He was a pious and industrious man whom his
illustrious son never tires of praising. In one place he says of him, “He had
a great reputation with many who knew him, for he led an honorable
Christian life, was a patient man, gentle, in peace with everyone and always
thankful to God. He had no desire for worldly pleasures, was of few words,
did not go into society and was a God-fearing man. Thus my dear father
was most anxious to bring up his children to honor God. His highest wish
was that his children should be pleasing to God and man; therefore he used
to tell us every day that we should love God and be true to our neighbors.”

Durer sorrowed deeply when his father died in 1502. On his death-bed
he commended the mother to her son. Durer was faithful to his trust and
cared tenderly for his mother until her death, several years later. Never did
boy or man more faithfully keep the command, “Honor thy father and
mother,” than did our artist.

For many reasons Albrecht seemed to be his father’s favorite child. We
find him, in spite of numerous other cares, taking great pains with the boy’s
education. He taught him to read and write well and must have given him
instruction in Latin. These were years when thirst for learning was abroad
in the land. Free Latin schools were established to meet the needs. Durer’s
father was filled with this spirit and he communicated it to his son.

DORMER WINDOW IN THE BISHOP’S
HOUSE, NUREMBERG

On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days,
Sat the poet Melchoir singing Kaiser Maximilian’s praise.
—Longfellow

As was customary at the time, the son was trained to follow his
father’s trade and so he learned the goldsmith’s art in his father’s shop. It is
said that in his tender years he engraved, on silver, events from Christ’s
passage to Calvary. Albrecht’s drawing was superior to that usually done in
a goldsmith’s shop. In his free hours he drew to entertain his companions.
After a while he began to feel that he might paint pictures instead of merely
drawing designs for metal work. He loved the work and so had the courage
to tell his father of his wish to become a painter. The elder Durer was
patient with the boy, regretting only that he had lost so much time learning
the goldsmith’s trade. Albrecht, then only sixteen, was surely young enough
to begin his life work! His father put him to study with Wolgemut, the
foremost painter of the city, which is not high praise, for the art of painting
was then new in the prosperous city of the Pegnitz. Wolgemut was,
however, a good engraver on wood and so perhaps was able to direct the
young apprentice in quite as valuable a line as painting.

Here Durer remained for three years, until 1490. He was now but
nineteen, full of hope and perhaps conscious, to a certain extent, that his
was no ordinary skill of hand. He was now ready, according to the custom
of his countrymen, for his “wanderschaft” or journeyman period, when he
should complete his art education by going abroad to other towns to see
their ways and thus improve his own method. For four years he traveled
among neighboring towns. The evidence is strong that the last year was
spent in Venice. We have little certain knowledge of where he spent these
years but we feel quite sure that one of the places he visited was Colmar,
where he became acquainted with the artist, Martin Schougauer.

He was called home rather suddenly in 1494 by his father, who had
arranged what he thought was an acceptable marriage for his son. A short
time before Durer had sent his father a portrait of himself in which he
figured as a remarkably handsome and well-dressed young man. It is
supposed that the father sent for this portrait to help him along in his
arrangements for the marriage of his son. However Albrecht may have felt
about the matter of making his marriage merely a business affair, he never
expressed himself, but was married shortly after his return to Nuremberg.

ST. JOHN AND ST. PETER
Durer

ST. MARK AND ST. PAUL
Durer

Agnes Frey, the woman selected by Durer’s father, was a handsome
woman of good family with a small fortune of her own. She has come down
to us with a most unenviable record as a scold who made life almost
unendurable for her husband. It is now quite certain, however, that for all
these years she has been grossly misrepresented, simply because her

husband’s friend Pirkheimer, for small reason, became offended with her. It
seems that in his lifetime Durer, who had collected many curious and
valuable things, had gathered together some remarkably fine stag-horns.
One pair of these especially pleased Pirkheimer. The widow, without
knowing Pirkheimer’s desire for these, sold them for a small sum and thus
brought upon herself the anger of her husband’s choleric friend, who wrote
a most unkind letter concerning her which has been quoted from that day to
this to show how Albrecht Durer suffered in his home. The truth seems
really to be that Agnes Durer was as sweet-tempered as the average woman,
fond of her husband and a good housekeeper.

The earlier works of Durer are largely wood-cuts, the art which more
than any other was the artist’s very own. The discussions of the times
regarding religious matters made a demand for books even at great cost. It
was a time when written and spoken words held people’s attention, but
when, in addition, the text was illustrated by strong pictures the power and
reach of the books were increased ten-fold. A place thus seemed waiting for
Albrecht Durer, the master wood-engraver.

His first great series was the Apocalypse—pictures to illustrate the
book of Revelations. Such a subject gave Durer ample scope for the use of
his imagination. Then came the story of Christ’s agony twice engraved in
small and large size. These were followed by still another series illustrating
the life of Mary. This series was especially popular, for it glorified family
life—the family life of the Germans, so worthy, so respected. To be sure,
Mary is represented as a German woman tending a dear German child. The
kings who come to adore could be found any day on the streets of
Nuremberg. The castles and churches that figure in the backgrounds are
those of mediæval and renaissance Germany. But this was Durer’s method
of truth speaking and it appealed strongly to the people of his time as it
must to us of to-day.

In 1506, when the last series was not quite completed, Durer went to
Venice, perhaps to look after the sale of some of his prints, but more likely

because the artist wished to work in the sunshine and art atmosphere of the
island city. While away he wrote regularly to his friend Pirkheimer. His
letters are exceedingly interesting, as we learn from them much about the
art society of the time. Durer was looked upon with favor by the Venetian
government but most of the native artists were jealous of the foreigner and
not friendly. They complained that his art was like nothing set down as
“correct” or “classical” but still they admired it and copied it, too, on the
sly.

DURER IN VENICE
Theobald von Oer

Gentile Bellini, the founder of the Venetian School, was then a very
old man. He was fond of Durer and showed him many kindnesses, not the
least of which was praising him to the Venetian nobles. There is a charming
story told of Bellini’s admiration of Durer’s skill in painting hair: One day,
after examining carefully the beard of one of the saints in a picture by
Durer, he begged him to allow him to use the brush that had done such
wonderful work. Durer gladly laid his brushes before Bellini and indicated
the one he had used. The Venetian picked it up, made the attempt to use it
but failed to produce anything unusual, whereupon Durer took the brush
wet with Bellini’s own color and painted a lock of woman’s hair in so
marvelous a way that the old artist declared he would not believe it had he
not seen it done.

The most important picture Durer painted while in Venice was the
“Madonna of the Rose Garlands.” It was painted for the artist’s countrymen
and is now in a monastery near Prague. Durer evidently valued it highly
himself for he writes of it to Pirkheimer, “My panel would give a ducat for
you to see it; it is good and beautiful in color. I have got much praise and
little profit by it. I have silenced all the painters who said that I was good at
engraving but could not manage color. Now everyone says that they have
never seen better coloring.”

After little more than a year’s sojourn in Venice, he returned to
Nuremberg. He had been sorely tempted by an offer from the Venetian
Council of a permanent pension if he would but remain in their city. But the
ties of affection which bound him to his home city drew him back to
Nuremberg, even though he had written while in Venice, “How cold I shall
be after this sun! Here I am a gentleman,” referring indirectly to the smaller
place he would occupy at home.

Although Durer studied and enjoyed the works of the Italian masters,
there is hardly a trace of the influence of this study in his own works. His
mind was too strongly bent in its own direction to be easily turned even by
so powerful an influence as Venetian painting. We are grateful indeed for

the steadfast purpose of Durer that kept his art pure German instead of
diluting it with Italian style so little adapted to harmonize with German
thought and method.

PRAYING HANDS
Durer

On Durer’s return to Nuremberg he did some of his best work. He
painted one of his greatest pictures at this time, “All Saints.” It is crowded
with richly dressed figures, while the air above is filled with an angelic host
which no one can count. In the center is the Cross on which hangs our
suffering Lord. Below, in one corner, is Durer’s unmistakable signature,
which in this case consists of a full length miniature of himself holding up a
tablet on which is this inscription, “Albertus Durer of Nuremberg did it in
1511.” After this follows the renowned monogram used by the artist in
signing his works after 1496, the “D” enclosed in a large “A” something
after this style. He then designed a very beautiful and elaborate frame for
this picture to be carved from wood. It was adorned with figures in relief,
beautiful vine traceries and architectural ornaments which showed our artist
master of still another national art—wood-carving.

It is interesting, too, to know that about this
time Durer, finding painting not so lucrative as he
had hoped, turned his attention to engraving on all
sorts of hard materials, such as ivory and hone-
stone. To this period belongs that tiny triumph of his art, the “Degennoph,”
or gold plate, which contains in a circle of little more than an inch in
diameter the whole scene of the Crucifixion carefully represented.

Through his indefatigable labors Durer’s circumstances were now
greatly improved and so he planned to publish his works, a matter of large
expense. Instead of going to some large publishing house, as we to-day do,
Durer had a press set up in his own house. We delight in illustrated books
to-day, indeed we will hardly have a book without pictures. Imagine then
the joy that must have been felt in this time of the scarcity of even printed
books to have those that were illustrated. There was ready sale for all the
books Durer could print.

Some prints came into Raphael’s hands. He wrote a friendly letter to
the artist and sent him several of his own drawings. In return Durer sent his

own portrait, life size, which Raphael greatly prized and at his death
bequeathed to his favorite pupil, Julio Romano.

Durer’s prosperity continuing, he purchased the house now known to
fame as “Albrecht Durer’s House.” It is still very much as it was in the
artist’s lifetime. Here one may study at his leisure the kitchen and living-
room which seem as if Durer had just left them.

The artist’s reputation was now fully established. In 1509, he was
made a member of the Council that governed the city and he was granted
the important commission of painting two pictures for the relic chamber in
Nuremberg. In this room, which was in a citizen’s house, the crown jewels
were kept on Easter night, the time of their annual exhibition to the public.
Sigismund and Charlemagne were the subjects selected, the former
probably because it was he who first gave to Nuremberg the custody of the
precious jewels, and the latter because Charlemagne was a favorite hero
with the Germans. The Charlemagne is here reproduced. In wonderful
jeweled coronation robes, with the coat of arms of France on one side and
that of Germany on the other, he is a fine figure well suited to make us feel
Durer’s power as a painter.

CHARLEMAGNE
Durer

In 1512, there came to Nuremberg a royal visitor, no less a personage
than the Emperor Maximilian. This was of greatest importance to Durer to
whom two important commissions came as the result of this visit. The
Emperor had no settled abode, so his travels were important, at least to
himself. He was fond of dictating poems and descriptions of these travels.

Durer was asked to make wood-cuts for a book of the Emperor’s travels to
consist of two parts, the one called The Triumphal Arch and the other The
Triumphal Car.

The wood-cuts for the first were made on ninety-two separate blocks
which, when put together, formed one immense cut ten and a half feet high
by nine feet wide. For this Durer made all the designs which were cut by a
skilled workman of the city, Hieronymus Andræ. It was while this work was
going forward that the well-known saying, “A cat may look at a king,”
arose. The Emperor was often at the workshop watching the progress of the
work and he was frequently entertained by the pet cats of the wood-cutter
who would come in to be with their master.

The designs for The Triumphal Car were of the same general style. In
these Durer was assisted by other engravers of the city. One expression of
Durer’s regarding the ornamentation of the car shows him skilled in the
language of the courtier as well as in that of the citizen. He says, “It is
adorned, not with gold and precious stones, which are the property of the
good and bad alike, but with the virtues which only the really noble
possess.”

The noted Prayer Book of Maximilian was the other work done for the
Emperor. Only three of these are in existence and of course they are almost
priceless in value. The text was illustrated by Durer on the margin in pen
and ink drawings in different colored inks. Sometimes the artist’s fancy is
expressed in twining vines and flying birds and butterflies, again it is the
kneeling Psalmist listening in rapt attention to some heavenly harpist, or it
may be that the crafty fox beguiles the unsuspecting fowls with music from
a stolen flute. Thus through almost endless variety of subjects stray the
artist’s thought and hand.

We have also a fine likeness of Maximilian drawn in strong free lines
by Durer at this same time. Seeing how deft the artist was with his crayons,
Maximilian took up some pieces which broke in his hand. When asked why

it did not do so in the fingers of the artist, Durer made the well known reply,
“Gracious Emperor, I would not have your majesty draw as well as myself.
I have practised the art and it is my kingdom. Your majesty has other and
more difficult work to do.”

HEAD OF AN OLD MAN
Durer

For all this wonderful work Durer’s compensation was little more than
the remission of certain taxes by the Nuremberg Council and the promise of
a small annual pension. Maximilian’s death made it doubtful whether the
pension would be paid. Durer in common with others sought out the new
Emperor, Charles V., to have the favors granted by his predecessor
confirmed.

With this in view, in 1520, the artist with his wife and maid set out for
the Netherlands. They were gone something more than a year and a half,
during which time Durer kept a strict account of his expenses and of his
experiences and impressions throughout the journey. Everywhere he was
received with the most marked attention. He was invited to splendid feasts,
and was the recipient of all sorts of gifts. In return he gave freely of his own
precious works.

He made his headquarters at Antwerp and here he witnessed the entry
of the new monarch. The magnificence of the four hundred two-storied
arches erected for the occasion impressed Durer deeply. Of the many and
varied experiences of the Nuremberger, not the least interesting was his
attempt to see a whale that had been cast ashore in Zealand. He made all
haste to see this unusual sight and was nearly ship-wrecked in the attempt.
The exposure, too, to which he was subjected gave rise to ills which
eventually caused his death.

After all his trouble he was disappointed at his journey’s end for the
whale had been washed away before he arrived. He finally accomplished
the object for which he went to the Netherlands. His pension was confirmed
and in addition he was named court painter. Ladened with all sorts of
curious things which he had collected and with a generous supply of
presents for his friends and their wives, he started home where he arrived in
due time.

There were but seven years of life left to our painter and these were
burdened with broken health. To this period, however, belong some of his

most wonderful and characteristic works. The very year of his return he
engraved that marvellous “Head of an Old Man,” now in Vienna. Never
were the striking qualities of age more beautifully put together than in this
head.

MELANCHOLY
Durer

With about the same time we associate “The Praying Hands,” now
also in Vienna. How an artist can make hands express the inmost wish of
the soul as these do will always remain a mystery even to the most acute.
We have the story that they were the clasped hands of Durer’s boyhood
friend who toiled for years to equal or rival his friend in their chosen work.
When, in a test agreed upon, to Durer was given the prize, then Hans, for
that was the friend’s name, prayed fervently to be resigned to a second
place. Durer caught sight of the clasped hands and drew them so well that
wherever the name and fame of Albrecht goes there also must go the
praying hands of his friend. Whether the story be true we cannot say, but in
the hands we have a master work to love.

At this time the new religious doctrine formed the subject of thought
everywhere. There was the most minute searching for truth that the world
has ever known. Durer, deeply moved by the thought of the time, put its
very essence into his works. He was a philosopher and a student of men. He
saw how the varied temperaments of men led them to think differently on
the great questions of the time. Feeling this keenly, he set to work to
represent these various temperaments in pictured forms, a most difficult
thing to do as we can easily imagine. Perhaps his own diseased condition
led him to select as the first of these “Melancholy,” that great brooding
shadow that hovers constantly above man, waiting only for the moment
when discouragement comes to fall upon and destroy its victim.

How does Durer represent this insidious and fatal enemy? A powerful
winged woman sits in despair in the midst of the useless implements of the
art of Science. The compass in her nerveless fingers can no longer measure,
nor even time in his ceaseless flow explain, the mysteries which crowd
upon this well-nigh distraught woman, who it seems must stand for human
reason. The sun itself is darkened by the uncanny bat which possibly may
stand for doubt and unbelief. Perhaps no one can explain accurately the
meaning of this great engraving and therein lies the greatness, which allows
each person to interpret it to please himself.

In painting he attempted the same difficult subject of the
temperaments, in his four apostles, St. Paul and Mark, St. John and Peter.
He painted these without charge as a sort of memorial of himself in his
native town. Two saints are painted on each panel. No figures in art are
more beautiful than the leading one on each panel, the St. Paul on the one
and the St. John on the other. If we interpret these as regards temperament,
John is the type of the melancholy, Peter of the phlegmatic, Paul of the
choleric and Mark of the sanguine.

In 1526, Durer sent these pictures as a gift to the Council of
Nuremberg. It was the artist’s wish that they should always remain in the
Council hall. Notwithstanding this, only copies are now to be seen in
Nuremberg, while the originals are in Munich, carried there by the Elector
of Bavaria, who paid a good price for them.

THE KNIGHT, DEATH AND THE DEVIL
Durer

One other of Durer’s pictures should be spoken of, though it hardly
belongs last in order of time. It is really the summing up of much that he
had done from time to time all through his busy life time. This picture,
called “The Knight, Death and the Devil,” is an engraving on copper. The
stern, intelligent men of the time, who were ready to face any danger in
order to bear themselves according to their notions of right, are well
represented in this splendid mounted knight. What though Death reminds
him by the uplifted hourglass that his life is nearly ended? or that Satan

himself stands ready to claim the Knight’s soul? There is that in this grand
horseman’s face that tells of unflinching purpose and indomitable courage
to carry it out against the odds of earth and the dark regions besides. One of
our greatest art critics says of this work, “I believe I do not exaggerate when
I particularize this point as the most important work which the fantastic
spirit of German Art has produced.” A reading of Fouqué’s “Sintram”
inspires us anew with the true spirit of Durer’s great work.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON
Durer

The gift to his natal city was Durer’s last work of note. The sickness
that had been growing upon him, which was none other than consumption,
gradually absorbed his energies and in April, 1528, he died. He was buried
in St. John’s Cemetery in the lot belonging to the Frey family. On the flat
gravestone was let in a little bronze tablet on which was a simple inscription
written by his friend Pirkheimer. A century and a half later Sandrart, the
historian of German painters, visited the tomb, then in ruins. He caused it to
be repaired and added another inscription which has been translated into
English:—

“Rest here, thou Prince of Painters! thou who wast better than
great,
In many arts unequaled in the old time or the late.
Earth thou didst paint and garnish, and now in thy new abode
Thou paintest the holy things overhead in the city of God.
And we, as our patron saint, look up to thee, ever will,
And crown with laurel the dust here left with us still.”

Durer’s character was one of the purest to be found on the honor-list of
the world. He bore heavy burdens with patience and was true to his country
and to himself in the most distracting of times. He was the father of popular
illustration and the originator of illustrated books. He was as many-sided in
his genius as Da Vinci and as prolific as Raphael, though along a different
line. That he was architect, sculptor, painter, engraver, author and civil
engineer proves the former point, while the fact that he left a great number
of signed works satisfies us regarding the latter comparison. One who knew
him wrote of him in these words,—“If there were in this man anything
approaching to a fault it was simply the endless industry and self-criticism
which he indulged in, often even to injustice.”

STATUE OF ALBRECHT DURER,
NUREMBERG

In closing this sketch, nothing can so delightfully summarize the
beauty of the old town of Nuremberg and the character of its great artist as a
part of Longfellow’s poem, Nuremberg:[*]

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands,
Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg the ancient
stands.

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and
song,
Memories haunt thy pointed gables like the rooks that round them
throng:

Memories of the Middle Ages, when the Emperors, rough and
bold,
Had their dwelling in thy castle, time defying, centuries old;

And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth
rhyme,
That their great imperial city stretched its hand thro’ every clime.

In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron band,
Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde’s hand;

On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days,
Sat the poet Melchoir singing Kaiser Maximilian’s praise.

Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of art;
Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common
mart;

And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in stone,
By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own.

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust,
And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their
trust;

In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare,
Like the foamy sheaf of fountains rising through the painted air.

Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent heart
Lived and labored Albrecht Durer, the Evangelist of Art;

Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand,
Like an emigrant he wandered seeking for the Better Land.

Emigravit is the inscription on the tomb-stone where he lies;
Dead he is not, but departed—for the artist never dies.

Fairer seems the ancient city and the sunshine seems more fair,
That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its
air!

[*] These stanzas are here reproduced by the courtesy of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the regular
publishers of Longfellow’s works.

SUBJECTS FOR LANGUAGE WORK.

1. A Day in Ancient Nuremberg.

2. The Churches of Nuremberg.

3. With Durer at Antwerp.

4. Durer and His Friends.

5. Durer and His Wife.

6. Durer’s Stay in Venice.

7. Maximilian and the Artist.

8. Stories about Durer.

9. The Art of Wood Engraving.

10. The Fountains of Nuremberg.

11. Some Stories about St. Sebald.

SPECIAL REFERENCES FOR ALBRECHT DURER.

“Life of Durer” by Heath.

“Life of Durer” by Heaton.

“Life of Durer” by Thansing.

“Life of Durer” by Sweetser.

“Art and Artists” by Clement.

“Durer” by Gurnsey in Harper’s Magazine, Vol. 40.

Transcriber's Note:

1. “cleanlines” might be a typographical error for “clean lines” or “cleanliness”.

2. Inconsistencies in the use of the words background(s) / back-ground(s); masterpiece(s) /
master-piece(s); and today / to-day have been retained as in the original book.

3. The following changes have been made to the original:

which he carresses gently changed to “caresses”

Mary in some of his lovliest pictures changed to “loveliest”

for their part in the distruction changed to “destruction”

dissapointment, that lies crouching changed to “disappointment”

whole scene of the Crucifiixon changed to “Crucifixion”

magnifience of the four hundred changed to “magnificence”

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT ARTISTS,
VOL 1.: RAPHAEL, RUBENS, MURILLO, AND DURER ***

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