Part 3

"Elate With that new power, more daring grew, and left His guide, and higher, with ambitious flight Soared, aiming at the skies!"

This was the very danger against which Daedalus had warned his son.

"Upon his wings The rays of noon struck scorching, and dissolved The waxen compact of their plumes:--and down He toppled, beating wild with naked arms The unsustaining air, and with vain cry Shrieking for succour from his sire! The sea that bears his name received him as he fell."

Daedalus, having buried his son on the island of Icaria, proceeded on his way and came at last to Sicily, where he lived to finish some important works of architecture.

Our illustration shows some phases of Van Dyck's art with which we are least familiar. He rarely interested himself in mythological stories, though such subjects were common among his contemporaries. The painter has caught in this case the essential spirit of the myth. There are few of his pictures also in which he expressed so well the sense of motion. The inclination of the body of Icarus, the poise of the wings, and the gesture of the right hand all contribute admirably to this end.

Here, too, we see how carefully he studied the nude figure, and how well he understood the principles of modelling. The foreshortening of the right arm and hand of Icarus is a clever piece of technical workmanship. The composition is well planned to fill the canvas.

VII

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES I

(_By Sir Peter Lely, after Van Dyck_)

Charles I of England was the second king of the Stuart dynasty, whose despotic tendencies made the seventeenth century a memorable period in history. He ascended the throne at the age of twenty-five, and began at once to assert his belief in the divine right of kings. Indignant at the restraints which Parliament set upon his power, he dissolved this body and ruled alone.

For more than ten years he governed England in his own way, and during this time his court was conducted with great magnificence. The palace at Whitehall was the scene of many brilliant entertainments and lavish hospitalities.

Charles was an ardent lover of music, literature, and painting, and in his gallery was a collection of pictures remarkable for his time. He was particularly proud of the ceiling decorations of his Banqueting Hall, furnished by Rubens. He interested himself also in the manufacture of tapestries, and secured for England Raphael's cartoons for the Vatican tapestries, hoping thereby to raise the artistic standard of the home production.[7]

[Footnote 7: See Chapter III. of volume on _Raphael_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

It was a crowning proof of his good taste that early in his reign he appointed Van Dyck the court painter. The Flemish painter was thereupon made Sir Anthony Van Dyck, and remained in the royal service until his death in 1641. It was the king's intention to have the walls of the Banqueting Hall decorated by Van Dyck, but this plan was never carried out. As it was, however, the court painter is said to have made, during his nine years' residence in England, no less than thirty-six portraits of the king, and twenty-five of the queen, Henrietta Maria, besides many pictures of their children, singly or in groups. His studio was a favorite resort of the royal pair, who used to come in their barge, by the way of the Thames, to his house at Blackfriars. The painter would receive them with the manners of a prince. Musicians played for their entertainment, and the conversation turned on questions of art.

In this constant intercourse, Van Dyck came to know well the face of his royal patron. It was not really a handsome face, as we see when we analyze the features in our illustration. The forehead is high but not broad, the nose large and not classically modelled, and the thick lips and weak curves of the mouth are not hidden by the upturned mustache. The shape of the face is long and narrow beyond good proportion, but this defect is relieved by the chestnut hair, which falls in long waving locks over the shoulders, and makes a broad frame for the face.

All these details, however, escape our attention when we look at the portrait for the first time. We are chiefly impressed by the kingly presence of the man. There is an indefinable suggestion of nobility in his bearing, an expression of grave dignity in his countenance. The eyes are almost melancholy, the glance is averted and remote. The consciousness of his royal birthright gives an air of aloofness to the figure.

The king stands beside a table, resting one hand on the broad rim of the hat which lies there, and holding his gloves in the other. He wears the mantle of the Order of the Garter, ornamented on the left side with the six-pointed silver star, in the centre of which is the red cross of St. George. From a broad blue ribbon about the neck is suspended a gold medallion. This is the "George," the image of the warrior saint, represented on horse-back in his encounter with the dragon.

The attempt of Charles to govern England without a Parliament proved a sad failure. He set his own authority above all laws, and persistently disregarded the rights of the people. At last he became involved in so many difficulties that he was obliged to reassemble the two houses. Then followed the long struggle between the king and the Parliament, which resulted in the Civil War. The supporters of the Crown represented chiefly the upper classes, and were called Cavaliers. The Parliamentarians were for the most part Puritans, and were men of fervent piety.

There were six years of fighting, beginning with the battle of Edgehill, and culminating in the Parliamentary victory at Naseby. Charles was tried and condemned as a "tyrant, traitor, murderer, and public enemy." On the 30th of January, 1649, he was executed in front of Whitehall Palace, walking to the scaffold with the same kingly dignity which he had shown throughout his life. "I go," said he, "from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no disturbance can take place." His body was laid among others of England's royal dead at Windsor.

The picture reproduced in our illustration is not thought to be the original work of Van Dyck's hand, for that precious painting was destroyed by a fire in the Palace of Whitehall. It was a fortunate circumstance that while it was still in existence, Sir Peter Lely, court painter to Charles II., made a fine copy of it, which is now in the Dresden Gallery. A competent critic (Lionel Cust) tells us that the Dresden picture is so excellent that "it is difficult to believe it to be other than an original by Van Dyck."

AUTHORITIES.--Green: _A Short History of the English People; D'Israeli: Commentaries on the Life and Reign of Charles I._

VIII

THE MADONNA OF ST. ROSALIA

On the summit of Monte Pellegrino, in the island of Sicily, stands a colossal statue of St. Rosalia. Like the old Greek statue of Victory on the island of Samothrace,[8] or to use a modern instance, like the statue of Liberty on Bedloe's Island in New York harbor, St. Rosalia serves as a beacon to mariners. The Sicilians hold the saint in great reverence, and celebrate her memory in two annual festivals. From the eleventh to the fifteenth of July are horse-races, regattas, illuminations, and all sorts of gayeties in her honor. In September there is a solemn procession to her chapel.

[Footnote 8: See Chapter XV. in the volume on _Greek Sculpture_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

St. Rosalia was a Sicilian maiden of noble family, the niece of William II., called the Good. Being both rich and beautiful, she had many suitors for her hand, but she rejected them all. At the age of fifteen she renounced the pomps and vanities of the world, and devoted herself to a life of meditation. She retired secretly to a cavern on Mt. Heirkte, and here she passed her solitary life. It was not until five hundred years after her disappearance that her hiding-place was discovered. There they found her lying in her grotto, as if she had just fallen asleep, and on her head was a wreath of roses with which the angels had crowned her. The body was carried in triumph to Palermo, and she became the patron saint of her native city.

This was in the early part of the seventeenth century,[9] and the story of the new saint's life immediately became the subject of art. Van Dyck painted for a church in Antwerp a series of pictures of St. Rosalia, from which our illustration is taken. The maiden saint kneels on the steps of a throne to receive a wreath of roses from the Christ-child. An angel attendant behind her holds a basket of roses. St. Peter and St. Paul add dignity to the scene.

[Footnote 9: The date of her disappearance is given as 1159.]

As we see at once, this is not an actual incident from the life of St. Rosalia. The aim of the picture is devotional. It is as if we were given a glimpse into the court of heaven, where the saints of all ages gather about the Christ-child's throne.

St. Peter is seen at the Madonna's left, gazing at some little cherubs who hover in mid air with sprays of flowers. We know him by the mammoth key he carries in his left hand, a symbol of his authority in spiritual concerns. The reference is to the words of Jesus when Peter declared him to be the Christ: "I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven."[10] He seems here a very old man, and one who has suffered many persecutions in the master's cause.

[Footnote 10: St. Matthew, chapter xvi., verse 19.]

St. Paul stands at the right of the throne, leaning on his sword in an attitude of meditation. The sword has been chosen as this apostle's emblem because of his allusion in the Epistle to the Ephesians to the "sword of the spirit."[11] The books lying on the pavement at his feet are his various writings.

[Footnote 11: Ephesians, chapter vi., verse 17.]

According to tradition the Apostle Paul was a man of mean stature and insignificant appearance. Regardless of this fact, however, the old artists always tried to make him as grand and noble as possible, that his outward appearance might correspond to the grandeur of his character. There was a certain old Italian painter named Masaccio, who set the fashion, as it were, for the ideal portrait of St. Paul.[12] A hundred years later Raphael imitated this figure, and again a century later, Van Dyck repeated it in the picture before us. If we compare our illustration with a print of Raphael's picture of St. Cecilia we shall see the resemblance.[13] Even the pose is the same in the two cases. The grand head with the full beard reminds us of the Greeks' conception of their god Zeus.[14]

[Footnote 12: In the fresco of the Carmine Church, Florence.]

[Footnote 13: See Chapter IX. of the volume on _Raphael_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

[Footnote 14: See Chapter I. of the volume on _Greek Sculpture_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

St. Rosalia is a beautiful young woman, richly dressed in a brocaded mantle, and with wavy hair falling over her shoulders. Her attitude is very humble, and she lifts her face to the Christ-child's with sweet adoration. The little fellow seems delighted with his task, and leans forward eagerly, to offer the saint the crown of roses. Is it for me? she seems to ask, as she lays one hand upon her breast and timidly holds out the other.

On the step beside her is a human skull, across which lies a stalk of lilies. The flowers are an Easter emblem, and symbolize the Resurrection. The skull is the token of death. Thus are we taught the victory over death through the purity of the spiritual life.

The grotto of St. Rosalia has become a church which is the object of many a pious pilgrimage. It is for this that the name of the mountain was changed from Heirkte to Monte Pellegrino, which means the Pilgrim Mountain.

We have already seen (Chapters II. and IV.) how much Van Dyck owed to Titian in the rendering of sacred subjects. Here the Madonna's high throne beside the marble pillars, and the cherubs in mid air are striking reminiscences of Titian's Pesaro Madonna.[15]

[Footnote 15: See Chapter XIV. in the volume on _Titian_ in the Riverside Art Series.]

IX

CHARLES, PRINCE OF WALES

(_Detail of Children of Charles I._)

The Prince Charles of our picture was the son of Charles I. and Henrietta Maria, and bore the title of the Prince of Wales. He was born on the morning of May 29, 1630, and there was great rejoicing in the royal household that he was a fine strong baby. The king at once rode in state to St. Paul's Cathedral to give thanks for the birth of an heir. While the procession was on its way a bright star appeared in the noonday sky. This was hailed as a good omen, and an epigram was composed on the occasion:--

"When to Paul's Cross the grateful King drew near, A shining star did in the heavens appear. Thou that consultest with bright mysteries Tell me what this bright wanderer signifies?" "Now there is born a valiant prince i' the west, That shall eclipse the kingdoms of the east."

A month later the baby's baptism was celebrated with great solemnity in the chapel at St. James. The famous Laud, Bishop of London, officiated, and the sponsors were Louis XIII. of France, Marie de Medicis, and the Elector Palatine, all represented by proxies. There were wonderful christening presents, among them a jewel of great value brought by the old Duchess of Richmond.

The new-born prince did not grow into a pretty baby. Even his mother, who would naturally wish to praise him, wrote to a friend in France that he was "so ugly she was ashamed of him." "But," she added, "his size and fatness supply the want of beauty. I wish you could see the gentleman, for he has no ordinary mien; he is so serious in all that he does that I cannot help deeming him far wiser than myself." A few years later the child became a pretty boy, with a fine figure, brown complexion, and large, bright black eyes. His mouth, however, remained very ugly.

The prince's earliest years were passed happily, and no one could have foreseen the stormy experiences through which he must pass before he should inherit the throne of his father. The king and queen were devoted to each other and to their children. There was a younger boy, Prince James, and three sisters, to complete the family circle.[16] It is pleasant to imagine them at play in the royal nursery.

[Footnote 16: That is, Princess Mary, Princess Elizabeth, and Princess Anne. Prince Henry was only an infant when the family circle was broken up, and Princess Henrietta was not born until 1644, while the Civil War was actually in progress.]

The young Prince of Wales had for his governor the Earl of Newcastle. We read of a letter written at the age of eight and addressed to this nobleman.

The contents refer wittily to the governor's advice about taking medicine:--

"My lord,

"I would not have you take too much phisike for it doth always make me worse; and I think it will doe the like with you. I ride every day, and am ready to follow any other directions from you. Make haste back to him that loves you,

"Charles P."

We see from this that the boy was early taught to ride, and was doubtless trained in all manly sports. In the Stuart household dogs were the favorite pets, and the young Charles seems always to have been accompanied by one, now a collie, now a spaniel, now a great boarhound. The queen had a peculiar fancy for dwarfs, which were in this period common playthings of royalty. Little Geoffrey Hudson, eighteen inches high, was an important member of the court, having been presented to Henrietta Maria in a huge pie.[17]

[Footnote 17: As we read in Scott's novel, Peveril of the Peak.]

In our picture Prince Charles is about five years old. At this age, in our modern fashions, a boy is dressed quite differently from a girl. Here, however, the little prince's finery and his round lace cap somewhat belie his manliness. Yet his short hair cut in a straight fringe across the forehead is his boy's prerogative. The wide lace collar was worn by men as well as boys, as we may see in the portraits of the king and of the Duke of Lennox. We speak of it to-day as a "Van Dyck collar."

The child has a winning face, with large round eyes and a mouth which the flattering painter has shaped like a Cupid's bow. Though the expression is perfectly child-like, there is a certain dignity in the pose of the head, which makes the boy appear mature beyond his years. Evidently Van Dyck meant everybody to know that this was a prince.

Prince Charles's happy boyhood came to an end at the breaking out of the Civil War. Though he was then only twelve years of age, he and his brother, Prince James, followed their father to the battlefield, suffering cold and hunger and even the dangers of the enemy's bullets. At the age of sixteen, the Prince of Wales joined his mother in Paris. Upon the execution of his father he at once assumed the title of King Charles II., and in the following year was crowned at Scone in Scotland at the age of twenty-one. Putting himself at the head of the Scottish army, he advanced into England, and was completely defeated by Cromwell. After nine years of exile he was recalled to England and restored to the throne. Thus did the innocent baby prince of our picture become the Merry Monarch of the Restoration, whose court was a disgrace in English history.

Our illustration is a detail of a larger picture containing a group of three children, Prince Charles, with Princess Mary and Prince James, Duke of York.

AUTHORITY.--Strickland: _Queens of England_.

X

ST. MARTIN DIVIDING HIS CLOAK WITH A BEGGAR

St. Martin was born during the reign of the Emperor Constantine the Great, and was the son of a Roman soldier. He himself entered the army at an early age, and was sent into Gaul with a regiment of cavalry. Among his comrades he was loved for his mildness of temper and his generosity.

It happened that he was stationed in the city of Amiens, during a winter of unusual severity. There was great suffering among the poor, and many perished with cold and hunger. St. Martin was riding one day through the city gate, when he passed a naked beggar shivering on the pavement. Immediately he drew rein, and spoke pityingly to the poor creature. The young soldier was wearing over his coat of mail a long mantle. Slipping this garment from his shoulders he divided it with his sword, giving half to the beggar. That same night, as he slept, he had a vision of Jesus clad in the portion of his mantle. And Jesus, turning to the angels who accompanied him, said, "My servant Martin hath done this."

After a time St. Martin left the army, to devote himself wholly to a religious life. He became the Bishop of Tours, and was noted for his deeds of mercy and charity. It was always his delight to clothe the poor. Once while he was standing at the altar of the cathedral, he turned and threw his priestly garment over a beggar, with the same impulsive generosity which had led him to divide his military cloak. He was zealous also in uprooting all forms of heathenism, and cast down many temples of idols.

He lived to a good old age, and died among the scenes of his labors. The legend relates that as he lay in his last illness he prayed his brethren to move him where he might see more of heaven than of earth. His face shone as it had been glorified, and the voices of angels were heard singing.[18] In Tours from that day to this his memory is piously cherished. Every child in the street loves to tell the story of the gallant soldier who shared his cloak with the beggar.

[Footnote 18: The life of St. Martin is related with much circumstance in the _Golden Legend_. See Caxton's translation in the _Temple Classics Edition_, vol. vi., p. 142. Mrs. Jameson gives a brief account of the same in _Sacred and Legendary Art_, p. 705.]

This is the story in our picture. St. Martin rides forward on a splendid white charger, accompanied by other horsemen. At the corner of the gateway two beggars await them. The older one hobbles forward on his knees, supported by crutches. Though he is a miserable object, he is fairly protected from the cold by a long garment. His companion is perfectly naked, a huge muscular fellow seated on some straw. He is just turning about to make way for the cavalcade, when the knight draws rein.

The horse arches his neck proudly and stamps impatient at the delay. The rider on St. Martin's right looks across with surprise. But the young knight serenely proceeds in his generous act. Already his cloak has slipped from his figure and hangs only from his left shoulder. Grasping it with his left hand half way down its length, he raises his sword to sunder it at this place.

The lower end has fallen across the beggar's right arm. At its warm touch, the man, overwhelmed with gratitude, abashed perhaps by the goodness of his benefactor, hides his face with his upraised left arm. It is as if the knightly purity of the compassionate face above him has revealed the man to himself in his loathsome degradation.

The young soldier is clad in a tunic of mail which sets off to perfect advantage the lithe figure. Over his short curls is worn a jaunty cap with a long feather; he is a veritable fairy prince. The boyish face accords well with the legend, which relates that he was only a youth when the incident occurred. It is said that no one ever saw St. Martin angry, or sad, or gay; he was always sweet, and serious, and serene. This, too, is precisely as we see him in the picture. The good deed done, we may fancy the young cavalier riding on his way, as if nothing had happened.

The beautiful horse of the picture is one which appears in many of Van Dyck's works. There is a tradition that the original was Rubens's gift to the painter when he set out for Italy. Van Dyck has built his picture on a diagonal plan, such as the older painter Rubens often used. The main line of the composition runs from the head of the man in the upper left corner, to the beggar in the lower right corner. The lifted sword and the falling mantle form the connecting lines across the canvas.

The feast of St. Martin is celebrated on the eleventh of November, in that short season of warm weather which brightens the autumn. It is for this that the French call the week "St. Martin's little summer." Every year, at this time, pious pilgrims visit the quiet cells, in the limestone cliff by the riverside, where the good bishop used to retire for prayer.

XI

THE CRUCIFIXION

The life of our Lord, which began in the Bethlehem manger, culminated on the cross of Mount Calvary. In our picture we see the Man of Sorrows in his last moments of suffering. How it came about that he was crucified is fully related by the four evangelists.[19]

[Footnote 19: St. Matthew, chapters xxvi. and xxvii.; St. Mark, chapters xiv. and xv.; St. Luke, chapters xxii. and xxiii.; St. John, chapters xviii. and xix.]

For three years he had gone about among the people, healing the sick, comforting the sorrowing, and preaching the good tidings of the kingdom. His blameless life was a constant reproach to hypocrites and evil doers. The priests were jealous of his popularity and hated him for his rebukes. As the feast of the Passover drew near, they sought how they might kill him.