Part 2

Nearly all the notable personages of the time sat to Titian for their portraits,--emperors, queens, and princes, popes, and cardinals, the doges, or dukes, of Venice, noblemen, poets, and fair women. Wearing the costumes of a bygone age, these men and women look out of their canvases as if they were still living, breathing human beings. The painter endowed them with the magic gift of immortality. Though the names of many of the sitters are now forgotten, and we know little or nothing of their lives, they are still real persons to us, with their life history written on their faces.

Such is the man called Parma, who is believed to have been a physician of Titian's time, but whose only biography is this portrait. If we were told that it was the portrait of some eminent physician now practising in New York or London, we should perhaps be equally ready to believe it. We might meet such a figure in our streets to-morrow. There is nothing in the costume to mark it as peculiar to any century or country. The black gown is such as is still worn by clergymen and university men. The man would not have to be pointed out to us as a celebrity; we should know him at once as a person of distinction.

The science of medicine was making great progress during the sixteenth century. It was then that the subject of anatomy was first developed by the celebrated Fleming, Vesalius, court physician to Charles V.[5] In this period, also, the science of chemistry first came to be separated from alchemy, and progressive physicians applied the new learning to their practice.

We may be sure that our Doctor Parma belonged to the most enlightened class of his profession. His strong: intellectual face shows him to be one who would have little patience with quackery or superstition. He has a high, noble forehead, keen, penetrating eyes, and a firm mouth. His beautiful white hair gives him a venerable aspect, though he is not of great age. It blows about his face as fine and light as gossamer. He is an ideal "family physician," of a generation ago. We can imagine how children would learn to look upon him with love and respect, perhaps also with a little wholesome fear.

The hand which holds the folds of the long, black gown has a character of its own as definite as that of the face. It is a strong, firm hand, which looks capable of guiding skilfully a surgeon's knife.

Two fine seal rings ornament it. Such rings, sometimes of curious design and workmanship, were often bestowed as gifts by wealthy noblemen upon those who had done them some service.

The doctor Parma looks as good as he is wise. This benign face would grace an assembly of notable clergymen. Indeed, the picture suggests a well-known portrait of the great John Wesley, whose features were cast in the same strong mould, and who also had an abundance of bushy white hair.

By another play of the fancy we could imagine this a portrait of some eminent judge. There is that in the face which indicates the calm, impartial, deliberate mind that belongs to the character. He might now be about to charge the jury, or perhaps even to pronounce sentence.

Still another opinion is that here we have a Venetian senator in his official robes. The man is in any case an ideal professional man, a person of brains and character, who could fill equally well a position of responsibility in medicine, law, administrative affairs, or divinity. With a strict sense of justice, a stern contempt for anything mean and base, and a fatherly tenderness for the weak and oppressed, he is one in whom we could safely put confidence.

II

THE PRESENTATION OF THE VIRGIN

(_Detail_)

In the town of Nazareth many centuries ago lived a pious old couple, named Joachim and Anna. It is said that they "divided all their substance in three parts: " one part "for the temple," another for "the poor and pilgrims," and the third for themselves. The delight of their old age was their only child Mary, who afterwards became the mother of Jesus. She had been born, as they believed, in answer to their prayers, and they cherished her with peculiar devotion.

That Mary was a good and lovable child beyond common measure we can have no doubt: she was set apart for a strange and holy service. The beautiful story of her early life is told in an old Latin book called the "Legenda Aurea," or the "Golden Legend." This was a collection of old legends written out for the first time by Jacopo de Voragine, an Italian archbishop of the thirteenth century. The early English translation by Caxton, in which we still read the book, preserves the quaint flavor of the original. There is one portion of it describing the dedication, or presentation, of the Virgin in the temple. Before Mary was born, the mother, Anna, had promised the angel of the Lord that she would present the coming child as an offering to the Lord. Long before her day, a certain Hannah had made a like vow under similar circumstances. Her son Samuel, a "child obtained by petition," was "returned," or "lent," to the Lord as long as he lived.[6] A child thus dedicated was early carried to the temple to be educated within its precincts for special service to God.

The presentation of Mary was on this wise: "And then when she had accomplished the time of three years ... they brought her to the temple with offerings. And there was about the temple, after the fifteen psalms of degrees, fifteen steps or grees to ascend up to the temple, because the temple was high set. And nobody might go to the altar of sacrifices that was without, but by the degrees. And then our Lady was set on the lowest step; and mounted up without any help as she had been of perfect age, and when they had performed their offering, they left their daughter in the temple with the other virgins, and they returned into their place. And the Virgin Mary profited every day in all holiness, and was visited daily by angels, and had every day divine visions."[7] We see at once the picture there is in the story, the little girl ascending alone the long flight of steps, with the fond parents gazing after her in wonder. Many artists have put the subject on canvas, and among them our Venetian painter Titian. His is an immense picture, from which the central figure only is reproduced in our illustration.

We must imagine ourselves standing with a great throng of people in the public square in front of the temple. Men, women and children jostle one another near the steps. The old man Joachim and his wife Anna are easily singled out among the number. The windows of the adjoining palaces are full of faces looking into the square. A group of senators stand somewhat apart, looking on. An old peasant woman with a basket of eggs sits in the shadow of the steps. All eyes are turned towards the little child who is walking alone up the great stone staircase. On the topmost step the high priest advances to meet her, resplendent in his rich priestly garments.

The figure of the little Virgin is very quaint in a long gown made of some shimmering blue stuff. The golden hair is brushed back primly and woven into a heavy braid, whence it at last escapes in beautiful profusion. It would be hard to guess the child's age, for her demeanor is that of a little woman as she gathers her long skirt daintily in her right hand. She carries herself erect in the new dignity of the great moment, and advances with perfect self-confidence. The face, however, is quite childlike and innocent, and is lifted to the priest's with a happy smile. The left arm is raised in a gesture of wonder and delight.

The whole figure is surrounded by a halo of golden light. This is the oval-shaped glory which the Italians call the _mandorla_, from the word meaning "almond." It is of course the symbol of the virgin's peculiar sanctity. The painter has not tried to make the little girl particularly pretty, but he gives her the indescribable charm which we call winsomeness. She is perhaps one of the most lovable children art has ever produced.

As we study the artist's method of work in the picture we see how very simply the figure is drawn. Titian was fond of rich and voluminous draperies, as we shall learn from several examples which are to follow. Here, however, he draws a dress with tight sleeves and scanty skirt absolutely without decoration of any sort. It is this simplicity which gives the childlike appearance to the figure.

There is a pathos in the little figure which we cannot altogether appreciate in our illustration. We have to remember that the whole picture measures twenty-five feet in width by eleven in height, and then imagine how tiny the child looks ascending alone the great staircase in the centre of this vast panorama. The isolation of the figure suggests the singular destiny of Mary, set apart from others in the loneliness of a unique service.

III

THE EMPRESS ISABELLA

The most illustrious of Titian's many patrons was the Emperor Charles V., whose wife was the Empress Isabella of our portrait. This powerful monarch had inherited from one grandfather, Ferdinand, the kingdom of Spain, and from another, Maximilian, the empire of Germany. His marriage was arranged chiefly for political reasons, but proved to be a happy one.

Isabella was the daughter of Emmanuel the Great, late King of Portugal, and the sister of John III., the reigning king. She was a princess of uncommon beauty and accomplishments. The Portuguese government bestowed a superb dowry of nine hundred thousand crowns upon her, and the marriage was celebrated in Seville in 1526. The ceremony was splendid, and there were great festivities following.

Soon after, the emperor travelled with his bride through Andalusia and Granada that he might see his new kingdom. Called at last to other parts of his dominion, he left Isabella as regent in Spain, and went to Italy, where in 1532 he first called Titian into service to paint his portrait. In the years that followed the painter found the emperor a constant and generous patron, and was frequently summoned to meet the court at various places. In the meantime, however, the lovely empress never had had a sitting to the first painter of the day. She stayed quietly at home and had her portrait painted by such inferior artists as were at hand.

When she died in 1539 Charles was left disconsolate, without any satisfactory portrait of her beloved face. He accordingly sent to Titian a portrait of her painted at the age of twenty-four, and required him to use it as the basis of a picture. The painter obeyed, and soon sent, his royal patron two canvases, begging him to return them with criticisms if he wished any changes made. As they were never sent back we infer that Charles found them as much like the original as could have been expected. The fame of Isabella's beauty and goodness had of course come to the painter's knowledge, and this was perhaps a better inspiration than the old portrait which was his guide. Certainly the picture he produced shows a winning personality.

The empress is seated near a window, holding a little book open in one hand, probably a prayer-book or Book of Hours. The lady is not reading, but gazes somewhat pensively before her, as if thinking over the familiar words. The face is gentle and refined, and has an innocent purity of expression like that of a child.

The features are small, and modelled with an almost doll-like regularity. Yet the mouth is set firmly enough to indicate a strong will behind it. Isabella was indeed a woman of remarkable self-control. A story is told that once when ill and in great pain she turned her face in the shadow that none might see her suffer, and uttered no sound of complaining. Her nurses remonstrated, but she replied firmly, "Die I may, but wail I will not."

The costume of a Spanish queen of the sixteenth century naturally interests us. Apparently Spanish Court etiquette of the period dictated a dress made with high neck and long sleeves. The bodice is of red velvet, the loose sleeves lined with satin. The under bodice, which we should call a _guimpe_, is of white muslin with gold fillets. A jewel adorns the red hair, and a long necklace of pearls is caught on the bosom with a pendant of rubies and emeralds. The careful dressing of the hair, the strict propriety of the gown, and the attitude of the queen herself suggest the regard of conventionality which governed the great lady.

What the portrait lacks is the quality of lifelikeness which makes other pictures by Titian so wonderful.[8] Naturally the painter could not so easily impart vitality to the picture when not working directly from the living model. To make up, as it were, for this defect, he painted the various textures of the dress with marvellous skill. Satin, velvet, and muslin, each is distinguished by its own peculiar lustre.

The bit of landscape seen through the window is another beautiful part of the picture. The distance gives depth to the composition and avoids the crowded effect it might otherwise have. We shall see a similar setting again in the portrait of Lavinia.

The Emperor had been very fond of his wife, and an old historian says that "he treated her on all occasions with much distinction and regard." If this seems nothing surprising to note, we must remember that at the same period Henry VIII. of England was treating his queens quite differently.

In the last years of his life Charles V., weary of the cares of government, relinquished his kingdom to his son. He retired to the convent of Yuste to end his days, taking with him this portrait of his wife. When he lay on his death-bed he asked to see the picture, and when at last he died his body was laid to rest beside Isabella. Their son, Philip II., whose portrait we are presently to study, succeeded to a portion of his father's dominion.

IV

MADONNA AND CHILD WITH SAINTS

There was never a child so longed for as the Child Jesus, and none whose infancy has been held in such loving remembrance. Centuries before his birth the prophets of Israel preached to the people of his coming. Year after year men waited eagerly for One who would teach them the way of righteousness. On the night when he was born the angels of heaven appeared in the sky with the glad tidings. His birthday ushered in a new era.

We all know the story of his infancy in the Bethlehem manger, of his boyhood in the little town of Nazareth, of the years of his ministry throughout Judea, and of his crucifixion on Calvary. The narrative of his life was written by the four evangelists, and has been told in nearly every part of the world.

Many of the great painters have drawn the subjects of their best pictures from the story in the Gospels. A favorite subject has been the mother Mary holding the Babe in her arms, as in our illustration. To understand why the other figures are included in the scene, a few words of explanation are necessary.

In the early days of Christianity the followers of the new faith had to endure great persecutions, and many laid down their lives for their Master. The religious liberty we enjoy to-day is due to the courage and loyalty of these early saints and martyrs. Much, too, is due to the work of those teachers who are called the Fathers of the church. These saints and heroes of the olden time have been honored in art and song and story. It is fitting to associate their memory with that of him to whom they gave their lives. This is the reason why in pictures of the Mother and Child Jesus we often see them standing by.

Such pictures do not represent any actual historical event. The various persons represented may not even be contemporaries. It is in a devotional and not a literal sense that they worship the Christ child together.

In our picture the Mother tends her Babe at one side while three saints form an attendant company. The nearest is St. Stephen, the young man "full of faith and power," who did "great wonders and miracles among the people" of Jerusalem in the apostolic days. When false witnesses accused him of blasphemy his face was like "the face of an angel." Nevertheless, when his accusers heard his defence they were angry at his frank denunciations, and casting him out of the city, stoned him to death.[9]

The old man standing next is St. Jerome, one of the Latin fathers of the fourth century. He was both a preacher and a writer, and his greatest service to the world was his translation of the Bible into Latin (the Vulgate). This is the book from which he is now reading, and St. George seems to look over his shoulder. St. George is the hero saint who rescued the princess Cleodolinda from the dragon. He suffered many tortures at the orders of the Emperor Diocletian, and was finally beheaded for his faith.[10]

We learn to identify these and other saints in the old pictures by certain features which the masters long ago agreed upon as appropriate to the characters. St. Stephen we recognize here because he is young, and carries a palm as the symbol of his martyrdom. St. Jerome is always an old man and is known here by his book, and St. George is distinguished by his armor.

The three make an interesting group as they represent three ages of man,--youth, maturity, and old age. They stand, too, for distinctly different temperaments. St. Stephen has the ardent imaginative nature of a dreamer, St. George the active prosaic temper of the warrior, and St. Jerome the grave contemplative mind of the scholar. Each serves the Christ with his own gift.

In the picture the three seem to be reading together some passage referring to the birth of Christ, perhaps that glorious verse from the prophet Isaiah, "Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given." Coming to the words "Wonderful, Counsellor," St. Stephen lifts his face adoringly.

The Child is innocently unconscious of his grave guests. He lies across his mother's lap kicking his feet gleefully and looking up to her with a playful, appealing gesture. She bends over him smiling, and the two seem to talk together in the mystic language of babyhood. The artist, we see, painted the mother as beautiful and the child as winsome as he could well imagine them. He did not try to discover how a woman of Judea was likely to have looked centuries before. He preferred to think of Mary as one of the beautiful Venetian women of his own day. He may have seen some real mother and babe who suggested the picture to him, but in that case he painted them largely according to his own fancy. The Madonna's dress is not according to any Venetian fashions, but in the simple style chosen as most appropriate by old masters. Red and blue were the colors always used in her draperies, and it was also an ancient custom to represent her as wearing a veil over her head as befitting her modesty.

The mother has the fresh comely look of perfect health, yet with much delicacy and refinement in her gentle face. Both she and the babe seem to rejoice in abounding health and vitality. The picture is full of the joy of life.

V

PHILIP II

Philip II. was the son of the Emperor Charles V. and the Empress Isabella, whose portrait we have seen. He had therefore, like most princes, a union of several nationalities in his lineage. Upon his birth in 1527, all Spain rejoiced that there was now an heir to the throne. Charles himself counted eagerly upon the help his son would give him in the administration of his vast dominions.

From the first Philip was a grave and thoughtful child, pursuing his studies first with his mother and then with a tutor. When he was twelve years old his mother died; and two years later his father, who had scarcely seen the boy, returned to Spain, and devoted himself for a while to teaching him the principles of government. Philip was an apt pupil, and showed great fondness for statesmanship.

At the age of sixteen a great responsibility fell upon the young prince. Charles was called to Germany and left Philip as regent of Spain. A marriage had already been arranged between the youth and his cousin Mary of Portugal, and this took place soon after the Emperor's departure. Philip's regency was eminently successful, and he won the lasting affection and loyalty of the Spanish people.

The Emperor now planned that the prince should make a journey through the empire to become acquainted with his future subjects. The Spanish parted with him reluctantly, and he set forth accompanied by a great train of courtiers. Six months he was on his way, everywhere greeted by festivals, banquets and tourneys. Philip, being of a reticent and sombre nature, had little taste for these festivities, but having political ambition, submitted as gracefully as possible. At length he made a state entry into Brussels. This was in 1548; and in the two years that followed, the emperor and prince were together, planning their future policy of government. The lessons which Charles most deeply impressed upon Philip were those of self-repression, patience and distrust. The leading element in his policy was to be absolute ruler.

It was at the close of these two years, that is, in 1550, that the emperor, attending a diet in Augsburg, summoned thither Titian to paint the portrait of Philip. The prince was now in his twenty-fourth year, and stood, as it were, on the threshold of his great career. There could scarcely be a more unattractive subject for a portrait. Philip had a poor figure, with narrow chest and large ungainly feet, and his features were exceedingly ill-formed. His eyes were large and bulging, he had a projecting jaw and full fleshy lips which his scanty beard could not conceal. Titian, however, had the great artist's gift of making the most of a subject. We forget all Philip's defects when we look at this magnificent portrait.

The skill with which the splendid costume is painted would alone make the picture a great work of art. Philip wears a breastplate and hip pieces of armor, richly inlaid with gold, slashed embroidered hose, as the short trousers are called, white silk tights and white slippers. The collar of the Golden Fleece is the crowning ornament.

The attitude of the prince is full of dignity. He stands in front of a table on which his helmet and gauntlets are laid. The right hand rests on the helmet, and the left holds the hilt of the rapier which hangs at his side.

The most remarkable quality in the portrait is the impression of royalty it conveys. Though Philip has little to boast of in good looks, he has inherited from generations of royal ancestors that indefinable air of distinction which belongs to his station. It is this which the painter has expressed in his attitude and bearing.

Young as the face is, with little of life's experience to give it individuality, the painter makes it a revelation of the leading elements in Philip's character. The seriousness of the boy has developed into the habitual gravity of the man. Already we see how well the father's lessons have been learned, how self-contained and cautious the prince has become. The affairs of state seem to weigh heavily upon him.