Part 8

It was the custom, in these specially created manuscripts, to immortalize the heads of the family by including them with other, and, perhaps in some cases, more religious subjects. In this _Book of Hours_, the Duke of Bedford is depicted, clad in a long, fur-lined gown of cloth-of-gold, kneeling before Saint George, and the portrait is so fine that it has been frequently copied. The page which perpetuates the Duchess is reproduced here (at _page 136_). Clad in a sumptuous gown of cloth-of-gold, lined with ermine, she kneels before Saint Anne; her elaborate head-dress supports an artificial coiffure, rich in jewels; on her long train, her two favorite dogs are playing. The Saint is clad in a grey gown, with blue mantle and white veil, with an open book in front of her. At her left stands the Virgin in white, with jeweled crown, and the infant Christ, in grey robe. His mother has thrown her arm affectionately about Him, while He, in turn, beams on the kneeling Duchess. In His hand He carries an orb surmounted by a cross. Saint Joseph stands at the right of the background, and four angels may be seen with musical instruments, appearing above the arras, on which is stamped the device and motto of the Duchess.

Surrounding the miniature, worked into the border, in addition to the Duke’s shield and arms, are exquisite smaller pictures, in architectural backgrounds, showing Saint Anne’s three husbands and her sons-in-law. The pages must be seen in their full color, and in their original setting, to be appreciated.

The manuscript is bound in red velvet, with silver-gilt clasps, bearing the Harley and the Cavendish arms, and dates back to the time of the Earl of Oxford.

In the _Antiquities of the Jews_, Jean Foucquet’s masterpiece at the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, we find the French Renaissance School. This manuscript interests me for several and different reasons. In the first place, Foucquet was one of the founders of the French School of painting, and had his masterpieces been painted on canvas instead of on vellum, his name would have been much more familiar to art lovers than it is today. The high degree attained by the art at Tours, which had become the center of the Renaissance in France, demanded a setting for the miniatures different from the Flemish type of decoration that had so dominated illumination in general. This it found in the Italian style, which at that time was first attaining its glory.

The book itself was originally bound in two volumes, being a French translation by an unknown writer of Flavius Josephus’ _Antiquities_ and _War of the Jews_, the subject being the clemency of Cyrus toward the captive Jews in Babylon. It is in folio (a little larger than 16 by 11 inches), written in double column, and contains superb initials, vignettes, and miniatures (_page 138_). The work was begun for the Duc de Berry, but was left unfinished at his death in 1416. Later it came into the possession of the Duc de Nemours. Can one imagine a more aristocratic treasure for a cultured gentleman to own! It was probably begun very early in the fifteenth century, and completed between the years 1455 and 1477. A note at the end of the first volume (which contains 311 leaves) by François Robertet, secretary of Pierre II, Duc de Bourbon, states that nine of the miniatures are “by the hand of that good painter of King Louis XI, Jean Foucquet, native of Tours.”

For over two hundred years this first volume, containing Books I to XIV of the _Antiquities of the Jews_, has been in the Bibliothèque Nationale. It is bound in yellow morocco, and bears the arms of Louis XV. The second volume was considered lost. In 1903 the English collector, Mr. Henry Yates Thompson, purchased the missing copy in London, at a sale at Sotheby’s. This contained Books XV to XX of the _Antiquities of the Jews_ and Books I to VII of the _War of the Jews_; but it was imperfect in that a dozen pages of miniatures had been cut out. Two years later, Sir George Warner discovered ten of these filched leaves in an album of miniatures that at some time had been presented to Queen Victoria, and were in her collection at Windsor Castle.

As soon as Mr. Thompson heard of this discovery, he begged King Edward VII to accept his volume, in order that the leaves might be combined. The English monarch received the gift with the understanding that he, in turn, might present the restored manuscript to the President of the French Republic. This gracious act was accomplished on March 4, 1906, and now the two volumes rest side by side in the Bibliothèque Nationale, reunited for all time after their long separation. If books possess personalities, surely no international romance ever offered greater material for the novelist’s imagination!

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Now our pilgrimage takes us from Paris to Venice, to study that priceless treasure of the Library of San Marco, the _Grimani Breviary_, the gem of the Flemish School (which should properly be called “Netherlandish”). This style overlapped, distinctly, into Germany and France, and further complicated any certainty of identification by the fact that the number of Netherlandish illuminators was large, and they scattered themselves over Europe, practising their art and style in France, Germany, and Italy. They all worked with the same minute care, and it is practically impossible to identify absolutely the work even of the most famous artists. There has always been a question whether the chief glory of the _Grimani Breviary_ belonged to Hans Memling or to Gerard Van-der-Meire, but from a study of the comparative claims the Memling enthusiasts would seem to have the better of the argument.

Internal and external evidence place the date of the execution of the _Grimani Breviary_ at 1478 to 1489,--ten years being required for its completion. It is believed that the commission was given by Pope Sixtus IV. The Pontiff, however, died before the volume was finished, and it was left in the hands of one of the artists engaged upon it. Antonello di Messina purchased it from this artist, who is supposed to have been Hans Memling, and brought it to Venice, where he sold it for the sum of 500 ducats to Cardinal Domenico Grimani, whose name it bears.

This Cardinal Grimani was a man noted not only for his exemplary piety but also as a literary man of high repute, and a collector of rare judgment. When he died, the _Breviary_ was bequeathed to his nephew, Marino Grimani, Patriarch of Aquileia, on the condition that at his death the precious manuscript should become the property of the Venetian Republic. Marino carried the _Breviary_ with him to Rome, where it remained until his death in 1546. In spite of his precautions, however, this and several other valuable objects would have been irretrievably lost had not Giovanni Grimani, Marino’s successor as Patriarch at Aquileia, searched for it, and finally recovered it at great cost to himself.

In recognition of his services, Venice granted Giovanni the privilege of retaining the manuscript in his possession during his lifetime. Faithful to his trust, Giovanni, fearing lest the volume be again lost, on October 3, 1593, sent for his great friend, Marco Antonio Barbaro, Procurator of Saint Mark’s, placed the treasure in his hands, and charged him to deliver it to the Doge Pasquale Cicogna in full Senate. This was done, and the volume was stored in the Treasury of the Basilica for safe keeping. Here it remained through the many vicissitudes of Venice, and even after the fall of the Republic, until the librarian Morelli persuaded the authorities to allow its removal to the Library of San Marco, whither it was transferred October 4, 1797.

When the _Breviary_ was delivered to the Doge Pasquale, the Republic voted to entrust the binding to one Alessandro Vittoria. The cover is of crimson velvet, largely hidden by ornaments of silver gilt. On one side are the arms and the medallion of Cardinal Domenico Grimani, and on the other those of his father, the Doge Antonio. Both covers contain further decorations and Latin inscriptions, relating in the first case to the gift, and in the other to its confirmation. In the small medallions in the border one sees a branch of laurel, the emblem of vigilance and protection, crossed by a branch of palm,--the symbol of the religious life. The dove typifies purity, and the dragon stands for defense.

The volume itself contains 831 pages about 10 by 9 inches in size. There are the usual Calendar pages, containing the signs of the Zodiac, and further decorated with small miniatures (_opp. page_), alternating with twelve superb full-page illuminations (_page 142_), showing the occupations of the months. Following these, come the Prayers, with sixty additional full-page miniatures based on Bible history or the lives of the Saints. At the end are eighteen pages with smaller miniatures assigned to the saints of special devotion, placed at the beginning of the office dedicated to each.

The marginal decorations throughout the book are wonderfully wrought. Some pages are adorned with perpendicular bands, with constantly varying color combinations. Arabesques of all kinds are used, and interspersed among the ornamentation are flowers and fruits, animals, birds, fishes, and all kinds of natural objects. In addition to these, one finds little buildings, landscapes, architectural ornaments, statues, church ornaments, frames, vases, cameos, medals, and scenes from Bible history and from every-day life as well,--all showing the genius of the artists who put themselves into the spirit of their work.

When the old Campanile fell in 1902, one corner of the Library of San Marco was damaged. Immediately telegrams poured in from all over the world, anxiously inquiring for the safety of the _Grimani Breviary_. Fortunately it was untouched. The last time I saw this precious manuscript was in 1924. Doctor Luigi Ferrari, the librarian, courteously took the volume from its case and laid it tenderly on a low table, extending to me the unusual privilege of personal examination. Thus I could turn the pages slowly enough to enjoy again the exquisite charm of its miniatures, the beauty of its coloring, and to assimilate the depth of feeling which pervades it throughout. My friends at the British Museum think that in the Flemish pages of the _Sforza Book of Hours_ they have the finest example of the Flemish School. They may be right; but no miniatures I have ever seen have seemed to me more marvelously beautiful than those in the _Grimani Breviary_.

Whenever I examine a beautiful manuscript, and take delight in it, I find myself comparing it with the Italian masterpiece of Francesco d’Antonio del Cherico. It may be that this is due to my dramatic introduction to that volume, as recorded at the beginning of this chapter. Its date is perhaps half a century earlier than the _Hours of Anne of Brittany_; it is of the same period as the _Grimani Breviary_ and the _Antiquities of the Jews_; it is fifty years later than the _Bedford Book of Hours_, and a century and a half later than _Queen Mary’s Psalter_. Which of all these magnificent manuscripts is the most beautiful? Who would dare to say! In all there is found the expression of art in its highest form; in each the individual admirer finds some special feature--the beauty of the designs, the richness of the composition, the warmth of the coloring, or the perfection of the execution--that particularly appeals.

When one considers the early civilization of Italy, and the heights finally attained by Italian illuminators, it is difficult to understand why the intervening centuries show such tardy recognition of the art. Even as late as the twelfth century, with other countries turning out really splendid examples, the Italian work is of a distinctly inferior order; but by the middle of the thirteenth century, the great revival in art brought about by Cimabue and Giotto stimulated the development in illumination. During the next hundred years the art became nationalized. The ornament diverged from the French type, and assumed the peculiar straight bar or rod, with profile foliages, and the sudden reversions of the curves with change of color, which are characteristic of fourteenth-century Italian work. The miniatures, introducing the new Tuscan manner of painting, entirely re-fashioned miniature art. The figure becomes natural, well-proportioned, and graceful, the heads delicate in feature and correct in expression. The costumes are carefully wrought, the drapery folds soft, yet elaborately finished. The colors are vivid but warm, the blue being particularly effective.

The vine-stem style immediately preceded the Classic revival which came when the Medici and other wealthy patrons recognized the artistic importance of illumination. In this style the stems are coiled most gracefully, slightly tinted, with decorative flowerets. The grounds are marked by varying colors, in which the artists delicately traced tendrils in gold or white.

The great glory of Italy in illumination came after the invention of printing. Aside from the apprehensions of the wealthy owners of manuscript libraries that they would lose prestige if books became common, beyond the danger to the high-born rulers of losing their political power if the masses learned argument from the printed book,--these true lovers of literature opposed the printing press because they believed it to cheapen something that was so precious as to demand protection. So they vied with one another in encouraging the scribes and the illuminators to produce hand-written volumes such as had never before been seen.

Certainly the _Book of Hours_ of d’Antonio is one of the marvels of Florentine art. The nine full-page miniatures have never been surpassed. No wonder that Lorenzo de’ Medici, lover of the beautiful, should have kept it ever beside him! The delicate work in the small scenes in the Calendar is as precise as that in the larger miniatures; the decoration, rich in the variety of its design, really surpassed the splendor and glory of the goldsmith’s art (_page 146_). Some deplore the fact that England lost this treasure when the Italian government purchased the Ashburnham Collection in 1884; but if there ever was a manuscript that belongs in Florence, it is this.

You may still see d’Antonio’s masterpiece at the Laurenziana Library, but it is no longer kept in the ancient wooden desk. The treasures of illumination are now splendidly arrayed in cases, where all may study and admire. There are heavy choir-books, classic manuscripts, books of hours, and breviaries, embellished by Lorenzo Monaco, master of Fra Angelico; by Benozzo Gozzoli, whose frescoes still make the Riccardi famous; by Gherado, and Clovio, and by other artists whose names have long since been forgotten, but whose work remains as an everlasting monument to a departed art that should be revived.

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Experts, I believe, place the work of Jean Foucquet, in the _Antiquities of the Jews_, ahead of that of Jean Bourdichon (probably Foucquet’s pupil) in the _Hours of Anne of Brittany_; but frankly this sixteenth century manuscript at the Bibliothèque Nationale, in Paris, always yields me greater pleasure. Perhaps this is in compensation for not knowing too much! I will agree with them that the decorative borders of Foucquet are much more interesting than Bourdichon’s, for the return of the Flemish influence to French art at this time was not particularly fortunate. In the borders of the _Grimani Breviary_ realism in reproducing flowers, vegetables, bugs, and small animal life, would seem to have been carried to the limit, but Bourdichon went the _Grimani_ one better, and on a larger scale. The reproductions are marvelously exact, but even a beautifully painted domesticated onion, on which a dragon-fly crawls, with wing so delicately transparent that one may read the letter it seems to cover, is a curious accompaniment for the magnificently executed portraits of Anne and her patron saints in the miniature pages! Here the artist has succeeded in imparting a quality to his work that makes it appear as if done on ivory instead of vellum (see _page 148_). The costumes and even the jewels are brilliant in the extreme. The floral decorations shown in the reproduction opposite are far more decorative than the vegetables, but I still object to the caterpillar and the bugs!

In 1508 there is a record that Anne of Brittany, Queen of Louis XII, made an order of payment to Bourdichon of 1050 _livres tournois_ for his services in “richly and sumptuously historiating and illuminating a great Book of Hours for our use.” This consists of 238 leaves of vellum, 12 by 7½ inches in size. There are sixty-three full pages, including forty-nine miniatures, twelve reproductions for the various months, and a leaf containing ornaments and figures at the beginning and end of the volume. Of the text, there are some 350 pages surrounded by borders. The Italian influence shows in the architectural and sculptural decorations, just as the Flemish obtains in the borders.

The manuscript is bound in black shagreen, with chased silver clasps.

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The question naturally arises as to the reason for the decline and practically the final extinction of the art. I believe it to be that which the princely Italian patrons foresaw. Their apprehensions, though selfish in motive, have been confirmed by history. The invention of printing did make the book common, and as such, its true significance came to be forgotten because of greater familiarity. The book as the developer of the people in science and in literature crowded out the book as an expression of art.

I wonder if it is too late to revive illumination. Never has there existed in America or England a keener appreciation of beautiful books; never have there been so many lovers of the book blessed with the financial ability to gratify their tastes. There are still artists familiar with the art, who, if encouraged, could produce work worthy of the beautifully printed volumes the best Presses are capable of turning out. What is lacking is simply a realization that illumination stands side by side with art at its best. In America, the opportunities for studying illumination are restricted, but a student would have no difficulty in finding in certain private collections and in a few public libraries more than enough to establish his basic understanding of the art. The great masterpieces are permanently placed now, and strictly enforced laws prevent national monuments from being further transferred from one country to another; but even of these, excellent facsimile reproductions have been made and distributed throughout the world

No true lover of art visits Europe without first preparing himself by reading and study for a fuller understanding and more perfect enjoyment of what he is to find in the various galleries. Assuming that no one can be an art lover without also being a lover of books, it is perhaps a fair question to ask why he should not make an equal effort to prepare himself to understand and enjoy those rich treasures in the art of illumination which are now so easily accessible

V

FRIENDS THROUGH THE PEN

Maurice Hewlett combined to an unusual degree those salient characteristics that go to make the great writer: he was a discerning observer, and had formed the habit of analyzing what he observed; his personal experiences had taught him the significance of what he had seen and enabled him to assess its valuation. Beyond all,--having observed, analyzed, and understood,--he possessed the power to interpret to others.

At the time I first met him, _The Queen’s Quair_ was having a tremendous run, and the volume naturally came into the conversation.

“In spite of its success,” he said with much feeling, “I am disappointed over its reception. I have always wanted to write history, but not the way history has always been written. There are certain acts attributed to the chief characters which, if these characters are studied analytically, are obviously impossible; yet because a certain event has once been recorded it keeps on being repeated and magnified until history itself becomes a series of distortions. Mary, Queen of Scots, has always been my favorite historical figure, and I know that in _The Queens Quair_ I have given a truer picture of her character than any that at present exists. But alas,” he added with a sigh, “no one accepts it as other than fiction.”

After this statement from him I turned again to my copy of _The Queen’s Quair_ and re-read the author’s prologue, in which I found:

_A hundred books have been written and a hundred songs sung; men enough of these latter days have broken their hearts over Queen Mary’s; what is more to the point is that no heart but hers was broken at the time. All the world can love her now, but who loved her then? Not a man among them. A few girls went weeping; a few boys laid down their necks that she might fall free of the mire. Alas, the mire swallowed them up and she needs must conceal her pretty feet. This is the note of the tragedy; pity is involved, rather than terror. But no song ever pierced the fold of her secret, no book ever found out the truth because none ever sought her heart. Here, then, is a book which has sought nothing else, and a song which springs from that only._

I wonder if every writer in his heart does not feel the same ambition. The novelist is a story-teller who recites bed-time stories to his audience of grown-up children, while the humorist plays the clown; but in writing history one is dealing with something basic. Within a year a volume has been published containing alleged documentary evidence to prove that Mary, Queen of Scots, was innocent of the charge of treason. What a triumph if an author through character analysis could correct tradition! It was a loss to the world that Hewlett permitted himself to be discouraged by unsympathetic critics from carrying out a really big idea.