Part 2

It was from this little district of Tuscany that the sculptors came forth who have helped to make Italy famous as the birthplace of modern art. The development of Tuscan sculpture covered a period of some three centuries, beginning with the Pisan Niccolo, who worked between the years 1220 and 1270, and culminating with the great Florentine Michelangelo, who died in 1564. We shall study in this little collection a few works of the fifteenth century.

It was the time called by historians the Renaissance, which means literally "the new birth." The world was awakening from the long sleep of the Middle Ages, and Italy was the first to be aroused. Certain adventurous spirits began to ponder the possibility of a new continent beyond the sea. There was a great revival of learning, accompanied by a passionate love of the beautiful. Schools of art were established throughout the length of Italy.

In other volumes of this series we have learned how the churches, palaces, and public buildings were filled with paintings.[3] We shall now see that sculpture also contributed much to the adornment of the cities. Statues, busts, and bas-reliefs, in marble, bronze, and terra-cotta, ornamented many buildings both without and within.

Our illustration shows two panels from the series of twelve bronze reliefs on the front of a church altar. Two little boy angels are making music with their pipes. The companion panels are also filled with musical angels, some singing and others playing on various instruments.

The New Testament begins and ends with the music of angels. The birth of Jesus is heralded by a multitude of the heavenly host singing "Glory to God in the highest." The golden city of St. John's vision is filled with "the voice of harpers, harping with their harps," in the new song before the throne of God. Thence has arisen the beautiful custom of artists to represent angels as musicians.

The child angels of our picture have tiny pointed wings as a sign of their heavenly origin. Certainly we cannot imagine such buoyant little creatures treading the earth like mortals. One stands on tip-toe like a bird poised for flight. The other skips through the air with joyous motion. The head of one is encircled by a halo, the emblem of purity. The other wears a fillet of flowers over his curls. Each carries two little pipes, the simplest of musical instruments.

It was long ago in the childhood of the race that some shepherd, plucking a reed from the bank of a stream, first found that the hollow stem had a voice of its own. The pipe thereafter became a favorite instrument among primitive people. We read in the Old Testament Scriptures that the ancient Hebrews used it in the celebration of their festivities. At the Greek festivals also the pipers had a place in the procession of musicians.

Our angel pipers are blowing lustily with puffing cheeks--

"Such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air."

They are genuine musicians, not children playing with the pipes as with toys. They move to the rhythm of their piping, their lifted faces expressing their delight. Their thin garments cling to their figures, and the loose ends flutter about them.

Every line of the modelling is beautiful, the poise of the figures full of rhythmic grace. The angel at the left stands in profile, with face slightly turned away from the spectator. The right hand figure skips directly out of his panel, swinging lithely about towards the left, as he moves. The outlines of both figures describe long fine curves, with which the edges of the drapery run parallel. In the drawing of the right hand angel we may trace delicate patterns of interlacing ovals.

Some portions of the work seem to be modelled in very high relief. The limbs, we are told, are in low relief, supported on a metal back, an inch or so thick, by which they are thrown out to a proper distance from the background.

The altar to which our panels belong is in the church of S. Antonio, Padua, and was executed by the Florentine sculptor, Donatello, in 1450. The entire scheme of decoration is very elaborate. On the front is a row of musical angels, in which the panels here reproduced occupy opposite ends. Above these are five reliefs of larger size; and still higher are seven life-size statues of saints. The whole is surmounted by a crucifix. Even the back of the altar is ornamented with reliefs, and the work is an example of the spirit of the age, which thought nothing too rich or beautiful for the purposes of worship.

[Footnote 3: See _Raphael_, _Michelangelo_, _Titian_, and _Correggio_.]

II

ST. PHILIP

BY NANNI DI BANCO

St. Philip was one of the first group of disciples whom Jesus called to his service. He was a native of Bethsaida in Galilee, but we do not know what occupation he pursued there. There is a tradition that he was a chariot driver, and in any case he was certainly a laboring man like all of the twelve. Having attached himself to Jesus he began at once to work in his cause. He persuaded Nathanael to come and see the Master, and thereby won a new adherent.[4]

Philip was not spiritually minded, like John, nor impetuous, like Peter, but in his own way he wanted to know the truth. Perhaps he was a little slower than others to grasp religious teaching. It may be that he was franker than many in confessing that he did not understand.

He and Thomas were somewhat alike in this respect, and once, when Jesus was talking of departing to the Heavenly Father, both interrupted him with questions. Philip said, "Lord, show us the Father and it sufficeth us." "Have I been so long time with you and yet hast thou not known me?" replied Jesus. "He that hath seen me hath seen the Father."[5]

Apparently Philip learned his lesson well, for we read in traditional history of his faithful missionary services in later life. He was twenty years in Scythia preaching the gospel. Then he went to Hieropolis in Phrygia, where the people worshipped a serpent. The apostle drove the serpent away, but the pagan priests sought his life in revenge. He was bound to a cross and stoned to death, praying even in his agony for his enemies.[6]

The statue of St. Philip in our illustration shows him as a somewhat commonplace-looking man with heavy features. It accords with the usual account of him that his face should not be particularly intellectual. His attitude is full of dignity, and denotes a well-balanced character. The large well-knit hands are those of an artisan. He is of about middle age, as the artists usually represent him. A plain man of good common sense and sterling worth--this was Philip both in fact and in the statue.

In pictures and statues the apostles nearly always carry the symbols of their identity. St. Philip's emblem is the cross, but it is here dispensed with, and we have only the Latin inscription to show us who he is.

The statue stands in a niche, and is one of a series ornamenting the outside of the church of Or San Michele in Florence. In building this church all the merchants and artisans of the city contributed to support the work. Each trade was at that time represented by a guild or association whose members united to advance their common business interests.[7] These various guilds furnished the statues for the niches, each supplying the figure of its own patron saint. St. Philip was the gift of the Guild of Hosiers, and was executed by the sculptor Nanni di Banco.

Donatello had at first been approached by the guild, but considering his price exorbitant they gave the order to Nanni, who promised to accept any terms they decided upon. When the statue was done, however, the sculptor demanded a sum larger than the price of Donatello. The latter was now called upon to act as referee, and he set a still higher price upon the work. The Hosiers were indignant. "Why," they asked, "had Donatello rated Nanni's work at a higher price than his own, which would have undoubtedly been better?" "Because," replied the great sculptor, laughing, "being less skilful than I, he has worked harder, and therefore deserves more pay." A compromise was effected, and the statue set in place.

That Donatello could indeed have made a better statue we shall presently see when we study his St. George, designed for the same church. St. Philip lacks distinction, and it has not the animation which the greater sculptor knew how to impart to his work. Nevertheless it has certain artistic qualities which make it worthy of Donatello's championship.

The lines of the drapery are well studied. Apparently Nanni had learned something in this respect from the Greek sculpture. Where draperies are simple and hang in long unbroken lines, the effect is impressive and dignified. When they are voluminous and broken, they lose in dignity. Good art is always simple and has no meaningless lines.

We are interested in examining the niche in which the statue is set. It is Gothic in design, and with its pointed top and side pinnacles recalls the cathedral windows in northern Europe. An architectural frame of this sort is often called a tabernacle, being in fact a miniature church in form. In the triangular space at the top is a bas-relief figure in half length which seems to represent Christ. The base is ornamented with an arabesque or scroll design, flanked at each end by the arms of the Hosiers' Guild. The side pillars have rich Corinthian capitals. Just inside are twisted pillars of curious workmanship.

Our illustration also shows a portion of the wall against which the niche is placed. We see that the church is built of stone, set in square blocks. On each side of the niche is a metal ring through which torches were thrust.

[Footnote 4: St. John, chapter i., verses 43-51.]

[Footnote 5: St. John, chapter xiv., verses 1-11.]

[Footnote 6: Mrs. Jameson's _Sacred and Legendary Art_, p. 235.]

[Footnote 7: The Florentine guilds of this period may be compared with those of the seventeenth century in Holland. See the chapter on the "Syndics of the Cloth Guild" in the volume on Rembrandt in the Riverside Art Series.]

III

ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST

BY DONATELLO

In the hill country of Judaea lived the priest Zacharias and his wife, Elisabeth, who were the parents of St. John the Baptist. They were pious people, "walking in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord, blameless." One day, as Zacharias was ministering in his office in the temple, an angel brought him the glad tidings that he was to have a son. "Thou shalt call his name John," said the vision, "and thou shalt have joy and gladness, and many shall rejoice at his birth."

A great career was promised for the coming child. He was to be a preacher filled with spiritual power. Like the old prophet Elias, he was to turn the hearts of the people to God, and to prepare the way for the Christ. As a sign that the angel's words were true, Zacharias was stricken dumb until his son was born. Then "his tongue was loosed, and he spake and praised God."

The neighbors marvelled at the mystery of John's birth, and they saw that "the hand of the Lord was with him." "And the child grew and waxed strong in spirit," until he came to manhood.[8] Then was fulfilled the angel's prophecy concerning him. He became a great preacher, and multitudes flocked to hear him.

John's manner of life was like that of a hermit. He dwelt in the wilderness about the river Jordan, wearing a garment of camel's hair bound about his loins with a leathern girdle. His food was locusts and wild honey. He gathered his audiences in the open air and baptised his disciples in the river.

Though stern in his teachings he became for a time very popular. Yet he always spoke of his own work with great humility. "There cometh one mightier than I after me," he said.[9] This was Jesus, who, on presenting himself for baptism, was greeted by John as the "Lamb of God." The prophet's mission was now accomplished. He was soon after thrown into prison and beheaded, at the order of King Herod, whose sins he had openly rebuked.

The story of the Baptist's life brings readily before the imagination the strange figure of the man.[10] It is not so easy to fancy how he might have looked as a boy. The bas-relief of our illustration shows us what form the idea took in the mind of the sculptor Donatello.

The little fellow seems tall and slender for his years, as if he had stretched his limbs by running much in the open air. The face is somewhat serious, but perfectly childish. The lips are parted in a half smile. He has a good forehead, and is an independent thinker. He impresses us as a straightforward character, a boy to like and trust.

It would be too much to say that he shows the making of a great man. It is enough that he is an honest, healthy boy with a mind of his own. He is hardly pretty, but he is very interesting. The hair is his most charming feature, waving in little tendrils over the head. He is not plump enough for his figure to show fine curves. On the contrary, the modelling is on rather severe lines, as if in keeping with the character.

Certain well understood signs show who he is. The circle about his head is the halo, the symbol of a sacred character. The skin garment fastened at the shoulder reminds us of the strange clothing John wore in the desert. The tall cross is the emblem of the prophet, as a forerunner of the crucified one.

Donatello's art covered a wide range of subjects, but in none was he more at home than in representing children. He has been called "the poet of child-life." There are interesting points of comparison between the example before us and the Musical Angels of the altar at Padua. St. John the Baptist is evidently a real little boy, transferred to the stone just as he was. The piping angels, on the other hand, are child ideals, without counterpart

in real life. St. John's large ear, with its irregularly bent rim, and his straight upper lip, are features such as an artist must certainly have copied, not invented. The angel faces, on the other hand, are moulded in the perfect curves which originate in the imagination of the artist. Donatello was, above all things else, a close student of human nature. Sometimes, indeed, he chose very unattractive models, and reproduced them so faithfully that the realism is almost painful. His artistic eye was always open to new impressions. Perhaps, one day as he walked through the streets of Florence, he noticed among the children playing there this little fellow of the long neck and pensive face. "Ecco," said he, to himself, "il Giovannino."[11] The child's face and bearing had a quaint seriousness precisely suited to the character.

It is wonderful how the sculptor's art has made the little boy seem actually alive in the bas-relief. The hair is executed with the skill peculiar to Donatello, and seems to grow from the head. Such studies from real life--_genre_ studies, as they are called--were lessons which prepared the artist for higher works of idealism. The little St. John may have been the original material for some of the angel figures.

[Footnote 8: The circumstances of John's birth are related in the first chapter of St. Luke, from which the quotations are drawn.]

[Footnote 9: St. Mark, chapter i., verse 7.]

[Footnote 10: See the pictures of St. John the Baptist in the volumes on _Titian_ and _Correggio_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

[Footnote 11: "There is the little John."]

IV

THE INFANT JESUS AND ST. JOHN

BY MINO DA FIESOLE

Jesus and St. John the Baptist were of nearly the same age, and there was a peculiar tie between them. Their mothers, Mary and Elizabeth, were cousins, and before the boys were born the two women had confided in each other their hopes for the future of their children. Angelic messengers had predicted a remarkable destiny for both boys. Jesus was to rule over an everlasting kingdom, and John was to be his prophet preparing the way for him. These were secrets which the outside world could not have understood, and Mary paid a visit to her kinswoman that they might talk of them together.

As John's home was in the hill country and Jesus was born in the town of Bethlehem, we do not know how soon the boys met. It might be supposed that Mary and Elizabeth would be eager to bring them together. While the mothers took council on the training of their sons, the children would be at play.

The little ones were, we believe, brought up quite simply, with no sense that they were different from other children. Jesus was a natural leader. We remember how he surprised his mother at the age of twelve by asserting his own judgment.[12] Among his playfellows he must have shown much earlier that he was the one to take the first place. John was doubtless taught by his mother to defer to his little cousin. He was not lacking in spirit himself, but he could sometimes be very humble. In his manhood he spoke of Jesus as one whose shoe's latchet he was not worthy to unloose.[13]

It is pleasant to picture the two children together in our fancy, and we do not wonder that artists have liked the subject.[14] Our illustration shows us the theme wrought in marble. The child Jesus sits on the steps, and the little St. John approaching kneels in adoration. We see at once the religious meaning of the artist: the relation between the two in after life is foreshadowed in this imaginary incident. Each child carries the symbol of his character. A halo behind the head of Jesus signifies his divine origin. He holds on his knee a globe surmounted by a cross, in token that he who was crucified shall be the ruler of the world. In the symbol of the globe the old artists anticipated the later discoveries of science as to the form of the earth. Some of the ancient philosophers had taught that the earth is a sphere, and through the writings of Aristotle the belief was spread among the scholars of the Middle Ages.[15] That the idea made its way into art is perhaps because the sphere is the most perfect and beautiful form, and hence the fitting symbol of God's created work.[16]

St. John carries the cross, which is his usual emblem as a prophet of Christ. It is tall and slender because it was supposed to be made of reeds. The reference is to Jesus's words concerning John when asking the people if they had sought the prophet merely as "a reed shaken by the wind."

The infant Jesus is a vigorous child, straight and perfectly formed. The little St. John is an older and taller boy, wearing a tunic. The younger child is delighted to have a playfellow. There is an eager smile on his face, and he puts out his right hand as if he longed to take the curious plaything St. John carries. Both children are plump, with well-shaped heads, but there is nothing precocious-looking about either. They are indeed uncommonly pretty, but for the rest are like other children, eying each other somewhat shyly in the early stages of acquaintance. It will not be long before they are the best of friends.

The figures in our illustration form a part of a marble altar-piece by Mino da Fiesole. The whole composition consists of three niches approached by steps. In the central compartment kneels the mother Mary, adoring with folded hands the child, who sits below her. We see in our picture only the lower part of her dress behind the Christ child. In the side niches are figures of saints, the little St. John kneeling in front of the one on the Madonna's right.

Mino da Fiesole has been called "The Raphael of sculpture," and his work in this altar-piece illustrates the fitness of comparing him with the great painter. Especially do the figures of the two children here remind us of the child ideals of Raphael. At the time when this work was executed (1462) painters and sculptors had just begun to represent the Christ child undraped. The earlier artists had always shown the little figure clad in a tunic. We shall presently see how this old custom was still followed in bas-reliefs of the Madonna and Child by Luca della Robbia and Rossellino. The more progressive artists were unwilling to conceal the beauty of the child's figure by any sort of dress. By the beginning of the sixteenth century the old way had entirely given place to the new.[17]

In our picture we see that a Latin inscription on the base of the lowest step contains the name of Leonardo Salutati, bishop of Fiesole. [18] It was by the order of this bishop that the altar was executed, as was also the tomb opposite it in the cathedral of Fiesole.

[Footnote 12: St. Luke, chapter ii., verse 49.]

[Footnote 13: St. Luke, chapter iii., verse 16.]

[Footnote 14: See Chapter IX., on the "Children of the Shell," in the volume on _Murillo_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

[Footnote 15: This is on the authority of a French writer, A. Jourdain, quoted by William H. Tillinghast in an essay on the "Geographical Knowledge of the Ancients," in the _Narrative and Critical History of America_. In the same essay an anonymous poem of the thirteenth century is quoted to show the prevalent belief in the sphericity of the earth.]

[Footnote 16: In Didron's _Christian Iconography_, several interesting illustrations from old miniatures, etc., show the globe in the hand of the Creator. It is curious that this supposedly exhaustive authority on church symbolism gives no account of the origin and history of this emblem.]

[Footnote 17: See Madonna pictures by Raphael, Titian, Correggio, and Michelangelo in other volumes of the Riverside Art Series.]

[Footnote 18: _Eps_, with the curious mark above, stands for _episcopus_.]

V

BOYS WITH CYMBALS

BY LUCA DELLA ROBBIA

The bas-relief of our illustration is one of a series of marble panels designed to ornament the singing-gallery of a church. The children moving forward with song and cymbal remind us of the bands of singers and musicians who took part in religious processions of ancient times. We read of such processions among both the Greeks[19] and the Hebrews. [20]

The custom of singing was adopted by the Christian church from its foundation,[21] and gradually the musical part of the service was developed into a fine art. There was a famous system of choral chanting under Pope Gregory I.,[22] and in the eleventh century part singing was introduced. At length the organ came into use, and by the fifteenth century it had become an important part of the church furnishings.

It was early in this century when the wardens of the cathedral at Florence had an organ constructed on what the old writer Vasari called "a very grand scale." In connection with this an organ loft, such as the Italians call a _cantoria_, was needed to accommodate the singers. The Florentine sculptor, Luca della Robbia, received the order for this work, and was occupied with it some nine years (1431-1440).

The cantoria is entirely of marble, built like a balcony, with the upper part or balustrade supported on five consoles or brackets. Four square bas-reliefs, separated by pilasters, ornament the front of the balustrade, and four more fill the corresponding spaces below, separated by the consoles. The artist took as the motive of his decorative scheme the one hundred and fiftieth psalm. This hymn of praise furnished his imagination with a series of pictures illustrating many kinds of music. The entire psalm is quoted in the Latin version on the gallery, the inscriptions running in narrow bands across the top and bottom and between the two rows of panels. These are the verses in the familiar English version of King James, grouped in the three sections into which they are divided:--