Part 3

"Praise God in his sanctuary: praise him in the firmament of his power. Praise him for his mighty acts: praise him according to his excellent greatness.

Praise him with the sound of the trumpet: praise him with the psaltery and harp. Praise him with the timbrel

and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs. Praise him upon the loud cymbals: praise him upon the high sounding cymbals. Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord."

The eight illustrations of the gallery omit nothing mentioned by the psalmist. Here are the trumpets, the harp, the psaltery, and the timbrel. Here is the choric dance, followed by players on organs and stringed instruments; after these come the loud cymbals or tambourines, and finally the "high sounding cymbals" of our illustration.

The players are a half dozen children, some dressed in tunics, and others wearing scarf-like garments which leave their limbs free. Two are crowned with flowers in the Greek fashion, and others have a fillet or band bound about the hair. The leader walks with his head thrown back, his mouth wide open, singing with all his might, oblivious of everything but his music. He holds the cymbals high, striking them together in the rhythm of his song. His companion is a jolly little fellow, not at all concerned in the music, but laughing at something which attracts his attention in the distance.

There is another rogue just behind the leader. Without losing step he throws his weight forward on bending knee, putting his ear to the upper cymbal. He is evidently amusing himself with the lingering vibrations of the metal. The flower-crowned boy bringing up the rear smiles at us cheerily, as he steps along, clashing his cymbals with right good-will. The children in the background seem to take their task more seriously, as if sharing the spirit of the leader.

It is clear that our artist found the models for his figures in the streets of Florence. These round-faced children with their large mouths are not pretty enough for imaginary types. They are perfectly natural, and that is why we like them.

The grouping is skilfully planned to give unity to the composition without any stiffness. There are no awkward gaps between the figures, but the lines flow from one to another, binding them together. The half kneeling posture of the child in the middle makes diagonal lines to unite the leader with the boy in the rear. We notice in the drawing the same sweep of line which we have admired in Donatello's bronze reliefs of angels. The three figures in front are modelled in high relief, and in beautiful curves; the children in the rear are in low relief.

The work of Luca della Robbia was not confined to marble. Soon after completing the organ gallery he made a bronze door for the interior of the cathedral. He is best known for his work in enamelled terra-cotta, of which we shall hear more in later chapters.

[Footnote 19: See Chapter III. in the volume on _Greek Sculpture_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

[Footnote 20: Psalm lxviii., verse 25, and 1 Chronicles, chapter xiii., verse 8.]

[Footnote 21: St. Matthew, chapter xxvi., verse 30.]

[Footnote 22: The pontificate of Gregory I. was from 590 to 604.]

VI

TOMB OF ILARIA DEL CARRETTO (_Detail_)

BY JACOPO DELLA QUERCIA

A certain marquis of Carretto, living in Lucca at the close of the fourteenth century, had a daughter named Ilaria. Ilaria was like Helen of Troy, "a daughter of the gods, divinely tall and most divinely fair."[23] Her face was delicately cut in a patrician mould, and she carried her head with the air of a princess. The marquis must have been proud of his beautiful daughter, and as she grew into womanhood he looked about for a suitable match for her. There was little romance about marriages in those days, and when a rich widower sought Ilaria's hand, she was doubtless thought by all a very fortunate maiden.

Her husband, Paolo Guinigi, was the signor or lord of the city of Lucca, and though somewhat despotic in temper was at least without vices. He was besides the richest man in Italy. In his treasury, says the historian, "diamonds and rubies, emeralds and pearls, were counted by hundreds." The palace awaiting the bride was magnificently furnished. There was linen from Paris and other French cities, exquisite in quality and in stores so abundant as to delight the heart of a housewife. The walls were hung with tapestries of many colors woven in Arras. Priceless vessels of gold and silver adorned the table. Nor were signs of learning lacking. There was a library, well stocked with the works of classical authors, written in manuscript in the manner of the times.

So far as surroundings make for happiness Ilaria may well have been a happy woman. We like to fancy her queenly figure moving through the stately apartments of the palace or on the green terraces of the garden. But she did not long enjoy the splendors of her surroundings, for two years after her marriage she died. Her husband then ordered of the sculptor Jacopo della Quercia a marble tomb to be placed in the cathedral. On the sarcophagus lay the portrait figure of the lady herself; the sides were richly carved with cherubs holding festoons of flowers, and above was a canopy.

Ilaria lies with hands crossed just where they would naturally fall in her sleep.[24] Her feet rest against a little dog, which, according to the old writer, Vasari, was an emblem of conjugal fidelity. It is surely no harm to fancy that the little creature was the lady's pet. The gown is girdled high, and falling in long, straight folds, is wrapped about the feet. Over this is worn a mantle made with large, loose sleeves, and a high flaring collar, which comes well up under the chin.[25]

Our illustration shows only the head and shoulders of the figure. The head rests on a pillow in a hollow shaped to receive it, and the shoulders are supported by a second and larger cushion underneath. Ilaria's waving hair is parted over the high brow, and brought down on each side the face, completely concealing the ears. A few short tendrils have escaped, and curl daintily over the forehead. She wears a large flower-wound wreath or crown, set aslant over the shapely head. It may be that this is a sort of head-dress worn in her time. No one can look at the face without thinking of a flower, and most of all of the lily. The mouth is moulded in exquisite curves; Ilaria was, indeed, a bewitching woman.

Had the fair marchioness lived to middle age her fortunes would have been sadly altered. In 1430 there was a political upheaval in Lucca, and Guinigi was driven from the city.[26] His palace was pillaged, and the mob even laid desecrating hands upon Ilaria's tomb. An attempt to remove it seems to have been frustrated, and it was dropped on the floor of the transept, where it now stands. It lost, however, the canopy and one ornamented side of the base.

As a work of art, Ilaria's tomb has been greatly admired by critics. Even in our little picture we can, with no great training, see how well the sculptor has rendered the texture of the hair and the softness of the plump chin. Even the tassels on the cushion are carved with clever imitative skill. We must be careful to look at the face just as the sculptor intended it to be seen, not upright, but lying horizontally. It is only thus that we get the significance of the beautiful continuous line across forehead and nose. The line of the head-dress exactly follows that of the hair, and is drawn at the same angle as the edge of the collar, which it meets. In the triangular space thus formed is fitted the lovely profile of the face. Ruskin has written with much enthusiasm of the merits of Ilaria's tomb. From it, he declared, one may receive "unerring canon of what is evermore lovely and right in the dealing of the art of man with his fate and his passions." Still more helpful is his interpretation of the feeling which the sculptor has conveyed. After first explaining that "every work of the great Christian schools expresses primarily conquest over death," he shows that this particular tomb has "all the peace of the Christian eternity." We may see, he says, "that the damsel is not dead but sleepeth; yet as visibly a sleep that shall know no ending until the last day break and the last shadows flee away."[27]

[Footnote 23: Tennyson's "A Dream of Fair Women."]

[Footnote 24: Not "folded below her bosom," nor "laid on her breast," as in two familiar descriptions.]

[Footnote 25: That this mantle was a prevailing style of the period among the aristocracy, we judge from an old Spanish painting, in which King Ferdinand of Aragon and his queen both wear it. The picture is reproduced in Carderara's _Iconografia Espanola_, and copied in Planche's _Cyclopedia of Costumes_.]

[Footnote 26: The exact date is here given because of the vagueness of some writers who refer to the event as "not many years" and "within twenty years" after Ilaria's death in 1405.]

[Footnote 27: Quoted by Sydney Colvin in an article on Jacopo della Quercia, in the _Portfolio_, 1883. See also _Modern Painters_, Part III.]

VII

MADONNA AND CHILD (_Detail of lunette_)

BY LUCA DELLA ROBBIA

In reading the gospel narrative of the life of Jesus we are glad to learn something of his mother Mary. Her life had some peculiar hardships to test the strength of her character. It was a strange lot for a mother to have to tend her babe in the manger of an inn, but such was Mary's experience. At the time of Jesus's birth she and Joseph were in Bethlehem, whither they had come to pay their taxes. There were many other people there on the same errand, and the inn was so crowded that the young mother had to find quarters in the stable.

While the child was still very young a terrible danger threatened his life. An order went forth from King Herod to slay all the young children of Bethlehem. Still the mother's courage did not fail. She arose by night, and, taking her babe, fled with her husband into Egypt. Returning at length to their home in Nazareth, she watched her boy's growth, and kept all his sayings in her heart.

When Jesus entered upon his ministry Mary was the first to show perfect confidence in her son.[28] She seems to have followed him whenever she could.[29] Her courage sustained her even in the hour of his agony, and we read how she stood with his disciples at the foot of the cross.[30]

It is this woman of quiet fortitude whom we see in Luca della Robbia's bas-relief of the Madonna and Child. We are impressed at once with a sense of her strength and poise of character. It is precisely such as fits the story of her life. Steadying her little boy with both hands, she turns her face in the direction in which he is looking. The Child seems to stand on a sort of balustrade in front of his mother. With feet wide apart he holds himself erect in a firm posture. His right hand is raised in a gesture of benediction. With his left he grasps firmly a long scroll bearing the Latin inscription, "Ego sum Lux Mundi" (I am the Light of the World).

Both mother and child seem to belong to the happy, every-day working world. Mary has the straight figure, full throat, and square shoulders of a Tuscan peasant girl. Her only aristocratic feature is the shapely hand. She holds her chin level, like a country maiden used to carrying burdens on the head. It may be that the artist had seen her like in some market-place in Florence. The boy too has the square shoulders and sturdy frame of a child of the people.

Some artists have tried to give a supernatural and ethereal beauty to the mother and child. Others have represented them enthroned in splendor like a queen and prince receiving their court. Luca della Robbia went to no such extremes. There is nothing morbid or sentimental in his art: nor does he care for any worldly pomp and ceremonial. His religious ideals were very simple, suited to the needs of common life. The Christ child here is a dear little human baby, and the Madonna is the poet's ideal of "a creature not too bright or good for human nature's daily food."[31]

The bas-relief is one of the famous works in enamelled terra-cotta, known as "Della Robbia ware." The idea of overlaying clay with a glazing was not original with Luca della Robbia, but he seems to have been the first to apply it to sculpture. In his own day he was looked upon as a great inventor, and his works were very popular. The material was inexpensive, and lent itself readily to all sorts of decorative purposes. Its beauty, moreover, was of a lasting quality. While paintings fade, the Della Robbia ware, "gem like, shall as very gems endure."[32] The only injury to which it is liable is the breaking off of some projecting portions. In our picture we see that a fragment is broken out of the child's wrist. Fortunately, however, there are no defects in the important parts of the work.

The figures are in the centre of a lunette or semi-circular composition, with an adoring angel on each side holding a jar of lilies. The piece is set up over a doorway on the outside of a building in a narrow street in Florence. The location explains the attitude of the mother and child. If they looked directly out of the picture as in an altar-piece, there would be but one place, on the opposite side of the street, where the passer-by could meet their eyes. As it is, they turn their faces toward the vista of the street as if to welcome the approaching wayfarer. While still a long way off one feels the cheerful influence of their gaze. Even when coming from the opposite direction it is pleasant, after passing the door, to know that the friendly eyes follow us on our way.

The workmanship of Luca is seen in the artistic qualities of the sculpture. There was a severe simplicity in his drawing of the outline and draperies which contrasted with the more elaborate work of his followers. Luca was also a close student of nature, and drew his materials from the world about him.

[Footnote 28: At the Marriage of Cana, St. John, chapter ii., verses 3-5.]

[Footnote 29: St. John ii., verse 12, and St. Matthew, chapter xii., verse 46.]

[Footnote 30: St. John, chapter xix., verse 25.]

[Footnote 31: Wordsworth's "She was a Phantom of Delight."]

[Footnote 32: From some verses by Edith M. Thomas, "A Della Robbia Garland," printed in _The Critic_, December, 1901.]

VIII

THE MEETING OF ST. FRANCIS AND ST. DOMINICK

BY ANDREA DELLA ROBBIA

In the beginning of the thirteenth century two men living in different countries of Europe were struck simultaneously with the same idea. They were St. Dominick, the Spaniard, and St. Francis, the Italian, and each determined to found a new religious order.[33] Hitherto the members of religious orders had shut themselves up in the solitude of monasteries and convents. In the new plan they were to mingle freely with the people, calling themselves brothers, or friars.

The first object of the Dominicans was to be preachers, and they were called Frati Predicatori. The Franciscans took the humbler name of the Frati Minori, or lesser brothers. The members of both orders were bound by a vow of poverty to possess nothing of their own. Like the disciples whom Jesus sent out, they were to carry neither purse nor scrip, but beg their food and raiment on their way. It is for this that they are called mendicant orders.

The affairs of their orders brought both St. Dominick and St. Francis to Rome at the same time. The two men met and embraced, each seeing in the other a kindred spirit. It was proposed to unite the two bodies in one, and St. Dominick favored this plan. He had won but a few followers, and St. Francis already had many. The Brother Minor however was sure that such union would be impossible. The two men were indeed of widely contrasting characters. St. Dominick was a scholar, a man of fiery and energetic temperament. St. Francis was unlettered, but his mind was poetic and imaginative, his nature gentle and humble. St. Dominick was known as the "Hammer of the Heretics," St. Francis as the "Father of the Poor."

A bas-relief by Andrea della Robbia represents the meeting of St. Dominick with St. Francis.[34] It is apparently the artist's intention to emphasize the kinship rather than the contrast between the two men. Both have the thin faces and sharp features of the ascetic. Their shaven faces and tonsured heads heighten the resemblance between them. Both have the same type of hand, with the long fingers which are characteristic of a sensitive nature.[35] A disc over the head of each symbolizes his saintliness.

Naturally the characters of the founders were impressed upon their respective orders. The Dominicans were more aggressive in their methods and zealous in persecuting all forms of heresy. The Franciscans, on the other hand, strove for the higher life of sanctity. The members of each order wore a distinctive dress, such as we see in our picture. The Franciscan habit was at first gray, and afterwards dark brown; it is gray in the bas-relief. It consisted of a plain tunic with long loose sleeves and a scanty cape to which a hood was attached. A knotted cord fastened the garment around the waist, to remind the wearer that the body is a beast which should be subdued by a halter. The Dominican habit was a white woollen gown fastened about the waist with a girdle. A white scapular was worn over this, and over all, a black cloak with a hood.

We see at once in our picture that St. Dominick is the elder of the two men. There was really a difference of twenty years in their ages, but the artist has made it less. It is as if each, upon seeing the other approach, had hastened forward with outstretched hands. They stand now face to face with interlocked arms in mutual contemplation. It is a moment of perfect understanding. With widely different ideas of ways and means, they have at heart a single common aim. Both are called to the same great work, and each feels strengthened by the contact.

The profile of St. Francis shows the sensitive lines of his face. Tradition tells us that he was a man of more than average height, with black eyes, and soft sonorous voice. His expression here is serene, as one would expect of the gentle friar who called all the beasts his brethren, and talked with the birds as familiar companions. St. Dominick has a more strenuous countenance, and is perhaps more deeply moved than the other. He leans forward and peers into St. Francis's face with an expression of great tenderness. One is reminded of a beautiful verse in one of the Hebrew psalms (the eighty-fifth), "Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other."

The artistic qualities of this relief place it among the best works by Andrea della Robbia. Only a skilful artist could have rendered the draperies with such grace and simplicity. They have been compared with the draperies of the painters Raphael and Bartolommeo. It is said that the faces were left unglazed in order that all the lines of the modelling might be preserved.

[Footnote 33: The lives of both saints are related in _The Golden Legend_. In Caxton's translation (Temple Classics) see volume iv., p. 172, for St. Dominick, and volume v., p. 215, for St. Francis. Mrs. Jameson's _Legends of the Monastic Orders_ contains an admirable account of the character and work of the two men. _The Little Flowers of St. Francis_ is a series of legends collected about two hundred years after his death. There is an English translation by Abby Langdon Alger. Sabatier's _Life of St. Francis_ is an exhaustive biography.]

[Footnote 34: A tradition that St. Francis and St. Dominick met in Florence, on the site of the present Loggia of S. Paolo, accounts for the placing of this bas-relief there. See the Misses Horner's _Walks in Florence_, vol. i., p. 448.]

[Footnote 35: The reader who is familiar with the typical figure of St. Francis in sacred art may miss the sign of the wound print (the stigmata) in his hand. Here Andrea is historically accurate, as the vision of St. Francis occurred four years after the confirmation of the Order.]

IX

ST. GEORGE

BY DONATELLO

In the third century of the present era lived the Christian knight George of Cappadocia. Going forth after the usual knightly fashion in search of adventures, he came to the province of Libya. The country was at that time ravaged by a dragon whose lair was a great pond near the royal city of Silene. When the monster came forth the air was filled with the poisonous vapor of his breath. To insure the safety of the city two sheep were daily given to feed him.

At length the supply failed, and now the people had to give their own children. The victims were chosen by lot, and after many had perished the lot fell upon the beautiful princess Cleodolinda. The king besought the people to spare his daughter, offering gold and silver for her ransom. They would have none of it, but declared that the princess must meet her fate. Arrayed as for her bridal, she was led out to the place where the dragon was wont to come for his prey.

While she stood here weeping, St. George chanced to ride by and inquired the cause of her distress. Hearing her pitiable story he assured her she had nothing to fear. Just then the dragon came in sight, and the knight, charging full upon him, wounded him with his sword. Then taking the girdle of theprincess, he tied it about the neck of the beast and led him into the city. The people all came out to see the wonder, and in the presence of a great company St. George smote off the dragon's head.

The further adventures of the knight were in behalf of the Christians, who were persecuted by the Emperor Diocletian. Selling all that he had, he gave it to the poor and boldly denounced the pagans. All sorts of tortures were devised to force him to renounce his faith, but in every persecution he was miraculously preserved from harm. At length the provost caused him to be beheaded, and offering his last prayers St. George went to his death.

In our statue St. George is represented as a warrior standing at rest while he surveys the enemy. His young figure is as straight as an arrow. The litheness of his body is apparent even through his armor. He holds his head erect in conscious power, yet with no arrogance. Evidently he measures the difficulty carefully, for he seems to knit his brows as he looks abroad. He has a gentle face, but it is thoroughly masculine.

The hands are beautiful, and full of character, large and flexible. The left one rests on a shield which bears the sign of the cross. The armor, we see, has a more than literal significance. This is the "shield of faith" wherewith the Christian shall be able "to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked." St. George is the impersonation of the soldier who wars "not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places."[36]