LIBRARY ANNEX CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY FINE ARTS LIBRARY Cornall Unlvaralty Library j ND 623.T49S79 ' l-ll* and genius of Jacopo RobustI, called 3 1924 016 774 097 ^^^^b Date Due Mm -m^^ :Mjft| >a»if iiiliigiy mi^ ^^» ImrM UCLA J^r^TT^ i9&7 ZMv^Mmmmx^^ Utemjli- MAR 2 mH ^ ll 13 /j^ \ 1999 PRINTED IN U. 5. A. fQS NO, ZSZSS Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924016774097 Tintorettds Last Portrait of Himself. From the Painting in the Uffiszi, Florence. LIFE AND GENIUS OF JACOPO ROBUSTI CALLED TINTORETTO With the Compliments of the Author G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK /; > . LONDON 27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND - Sfet ^tritlutbothtr Jfcss I J 89 A! LIFE AND GENIUS OF JACOPO ROBUSTI CALLED TINTORETTO FRANK PRESTON STEARNS author op " the real and ideal in literature" "a sketch-book of notables," etc. G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK ll'f , LONDON 27 -WKST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 2!^ BEDFORD STREET, STRAND ^f^^^F=^ Copyright, 1894 BY G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS Electtotyped, Printed aioA Bound by Ube Iftnfcftecbocbev iprees, mew l^orft G. P. Putnam's Sons DEDICATED TO THE FRIENDS OF MY YOUTH PREFACE. The thirty-first of May was the three hundredth anniversary of Tintoretto's death, and as yet no adequate account of him has appeared in English, or, so far as I can discover, in any language. Much that is excellent has been written about him by Taine, Ruskin, and other critics, but no clear analysis of his genius, no thorough and systematic examination of his works, has yet been placed before the public. Mr. Osier's little book is good so far as it goes, but the evolution of Tintoretto as a painter is not in it. At the same time it contains many valuable suggestions, and no other writer has appreciated so well the moral quality of this master's painting. The Italian Life of Tintoretto by Ridolfi does not appear to have been translated into English. The friends who have assisted me in the present undertaking can testify to the thorough manner in which it has been performed. Every clew that might lead to fresh information has been followed out carefully, and all publications in French, German, and Italian which could throw light on the subject have been consulted. The main difficulty, however, vi Preface. in writing the biography of an artist arises from the necessity of combining the external facts of his life with a critical examination of his works. It is hoped that the reader will recognize this and make some allowance for it. I acknowledge my indebtedness to Dr. Janit- schek for a few items of a practical character ; to Mr. Osier for better information in regard to Tin- toretto's early paintings ; to Mr. Horatio Brown for his admirable sketch of Venetian history ; and especially to John Ruskin, the most eloquent and interesting of all writers on Venetian art : but the estimate I have made of Tintoretto and the criticism of his pictures are my own, and no one else is responsible for them. F. P. S. N.B.— Photographs from Tintoretto's works can be obtained through Mr. B. F. Stevens, 4 Trafalgar Square, London, at about two shillings, or fifty cents, for the smaller size, and twice as much for the larger. Mr. Stevens is accustomed to receive orders from America for books and pictures which he fulfils in an exemplary manner. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I. The Veneti i CHAPTER II. Titian i8 CHAPTER III. Jacopo Robusti 45 CHAPTER IV. Early Work 65 CHAPTER V. The Art Character 94 CHAPTER VI. Onward 109 CHAPTER VII. The Genius of Tintoretto .... 134 vii viii Contents. PAGE CHAPTER VIII. Noontide 164 CHAPTER IX. ScuoLA OF San Rocco 187 CHAPTER X. Collateral Work 222 chapter xi. Color 248 CHAPTER XII. The Palace of the Doge 263 chapter xiii. // Paradiso 287 Appendix 315 ■^C^^35^ ILLUSTRATIONS Tintoretto's Last Portrait of Himself ..... Frontispiece From a Painting in the Uffizzi, Florence. "The Worship of the Golden Calf." . . 88 A Detail, showing the Group bearing the Golden Calf. Horse and Rider A Detail from the Second " Crucifixion." 182 'Marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne" 270 TINTORETTO He reveals to the eye of the idealist the magnificent results of practical activity, and unfolds before the realist the grandeur of the ideal world of thought. Grimm's Essay on Emerson. LIFE OF TINTORETTO. CHAPTER I. THE VENETI. THE most easterly portion of Cisalpine Gaul, lying between the Adige and the Adriatic, was called Venetia by the Romans from the earliest times, and is called so at the present day. The name of this district was no doubt derived, like others in Italy, from its inhabitants, who, as soon as they had obtained political independence, bestowed it on their capital city. Caesar, in the conquest of Celtic Gaul, also discov- ered a people called the Veneti, who lived upon the shores of the Bay of Biscay, especially about the mouth of the Loire. They occupied walled towns built on islands and promontories, so that when Caesar had captured one of their strongholds they sailed off with their possessions to another one, and thus kept him at work without much result for Life of Tintoretto. several months. It was only after he had fitted out a fleet on the Loire, and defeated them in a naval engagement, that they finally submitted to him. He speaks of their possessing a large number of ships, with which they made voyages to Britain and other places on the Atlantic coast. Like all the Gauls, they were of a hasty and excitable temper, but amiable and friendly in time of peace. The resemblance between the position and char- acter of the Veneti in France and the Veneti in Italy IS of historical importance. The former were evidently the carriers of the Atlantic coast, as the Venetians were afterwards of the Mediterranean. That they lived in walled cities and maintained a fleet, according to Caesar, of more than two hundred sail, would indicate fair progress on the way to civili- zation. The two must have been branches of the same original tribe, who had settled in prehistoric times in locations favorable to their aquatic disposi- tion. So we find a Gallatia in Asia Minor and a Gallitia in Austria, inhabited by Gallic tribes who separated from the parent stem during the westward migration. There is also a Gallicia in Spain, whose inhabitants are noted for courage, industry, and sobriety ; as the Venetians were in their best days. The parallel was completed by Napoleon's collecting a fleet of gun-boats on the Po, with which he sub- jugated, or rather intimidated, the superannuated Venetian state. Some English noblemen at the court of Henry the Eighth taunted the Venetian Ambassador with being a diplomatic representative of fishermen. They The Veneti. 3 were paid in turn by a biting retort ; but it seems likely that the low, muddy islands north of the estu- ary of the Po were inhabited long before the inva- sions of Attila and the Goths. Men will go wherever food is plentiful, and in those days the lagoons must have teemed with excellent fish. The confusion during the dark ages naturally transferred the politi- cal centre of the Veneti from the mainland to the extreme point of safety. There is only one Venice ; for nowhere else in the world could such an organization have taken place. If the tides of the Adriatic were like those of the Atlantic, the city would be not only inconvenient of access, but dis- agreeable to every sense. The disintegration and separativeness of the feudal period was favorable to the development of this island republic ; or otherwise some strong centraliz- ing tyrant would have taken possession of it and nipped its art and history in the bud. It was too remote to suffer from the invasions of the Saracens, and the German emperor was well satisfied to accept an empty form of submission rather than risk a fail- ure in exacting more substantial tribute. Finally the crusades came, and gave a marvellous impetus to its commerce and manufactures. They were more of an advantage to Venice than the gold of Mexico, for they brought a healthy activity and a vigorous tone to Venetian life. Peter the Hermit was the chief benefactor of this city. The Venetians were therefore more Gallic, or Celtic, if you choose to call it so, than any Italian community, excepting that which now inhabits 4 Life of Tintoretto. Sardinia. The Celtic races have not heretofore received their due for what they have accomplished for civilization ; being merged, in the opinion of men, under the name of Latin, which, at the present time, or even in the fifteenth century, really stands for little or nothing. Language has its value in the formation of nationality, but it will never outweigh traits of character inherited for thousands of years. The French possess the same peculiarities now that Caesar describes as appertaining to the Gauls. So we may be satisfied that the Venetians were of Gallic origin, not only from their name, but from their gayety, their love of social pleasures, their chivalrous daring, their preference for lively colors, their quick wit, their impulsive spirit, and their tendency to violent revolutions. Of the earliest Venetian chief magistrates, whether tribunes or doges, the larger number came to a violent death from popular tumults ; and at the close of the tenth century they indicated their nationality in a decisive manner by cremating the Doge Can- diano in his own palace. Froude was the first his- torian to suggest that the custom of burning people alive for heresy or political offenses originated with the Gauls, and after being suppressed by the Romans, came to the surface again during the religious excite- ment of the Reformation. It will also be remembered that Philip the Fair destroyed the Knights Templar in the same merciless manner. The violent tumult which took place at the time of Candiano's death, together with its final scene of relentless horror, recalls vividly the burning of the French chateaux The Veneti. in 1793. The treason of Marino Faliero, a sort of Italian Robespierre, who sought to destroy the aris- tocracy by conspiring with the lower classes, was a political episode of similar import. These popular tumults, however, came to an end with a closer organization of the Venetian aristocracy. After their conquests on the Dalmatian coast, a decided Illyrian element may have become mixed with the Venetian stock. Venice was the last of the ancient republics. Like Rome and Carthage, it was a city governing an em- pire ; not an extensive empire, it is true, but one that can be compared with advantage to that of Athens in the fifth century B. c. It differed in this respect from all other free cities of the middle ages, whose authority rarely extended more than a few miles from their walls. This gave it a broader nationality and its citizens a wider field of activity. A sea- faring life develops self-reliance and serious, religious feeling. The Norsemen, who began their political career as pirates, or at least as predatory rovers, became finally the most devout race of Christians in Europe, and have transmitted to their descendants in England a traditional solemnity. The Venetians also escaped the imposition of the feudal system, which, though it developed noble examples of heroism and personal devotion, may be considered, on the whole, an advantage. Neither did they partake of the intensely subjective spiritual feeling which passed over southern Europe during and after the crusades. The strongly objective char- acter of their art may be accounted for either in this Life of Tintoretto. way, or from their political affinity with Graeco- Roman life. The Provengal dialect, which was formerly the language of the Troubadours, serves as a stepping- stone from Italian to French. That it was not, how- ever, formed by French influence, but rather by the genius of the people in those parts would appear from this, that the Venetian dialect in the northeast of Italy very much resembles it, and is not at all like the German to which it is in such close proximity. The tendency of Roman and Tuscan Italian is to enunciate every letter in a word distinctly, arid even to linger on the consonants ; so that an educated Florentine will take as much time in pronouncing the name of the singer Patti as an Englishman would Gladstone, or an American, Washington. Among the Venetians, however, elision and contraction are so frequent that a native of central or southern Italy can hardly catcKthe lingo of a gondolier at first hear- ing. They say pan for bread, as is done also in Provence, and Gian for Giovanni, which is very close to the French Jean. The Venetian accent is so soft that from the tongue of a young woman it is almost like the murmur of the sea. A remarkable instance of popular contraction appears in the name of Za- nipolo for the church of San-Giovanni e Paolo. The softening of g into z in this instance is worth noti- cing. Even the best educated Venetians say ca' Loredan for casa Loredano ; from which we trace the origin of the French chez, at the house of ; the French word for house being derived neither from casa nor domus. Zenzi as a substitute for Giorgio was even The Veneti. 7 introduced into Venetian public documents of the sixteenth century. There was no corresponding softness in the Venetian character; but rather in their best period a well tempered hardihood. The Venetians were not an intellectual race. No famous poet, orator, or philosopher was ever born or brought up there. Pietro Aretino had a briny wit for which he was celebrated in his own time, but more so now for his scurrilous attack on Michel Angelo. His genius was of the intermittent and sputtery order, and he left no literary legacy of enduring value to his countrymen. " A good retort, without a good set speech," said Lord Bacon, "showeth shallowness and weakness." The chroni- cles of Dandolo and Sabellico are interesting, but hardly rise to the dignity of history. Climate has never yet produced a race of men, but its effect on national character is always percep- tible. The air of the sea-shore is stimulating to the nerves, but quieting to the mind. This is supposed to result from the fumes of iodine and bromine which are liberated by the sun from evaporating sea water. It induces a dreamy, sensuous, self-contained existence, which is, however, stimulated to physical exertion from the very excess of good health engen- dered by it. Care, anxiety, and sorrow weigh less heavily on dwellers by the sea than those who live at a distance from it. To obtain the full effect of it one should reside on a small island. Sea air induces a pleasant mental equanimity, but underneath that slumbers an intensity of feeling which is more forcible when it once comes to the surface. It 8 Life of Tintoretto. assists in every form of self-control, but if a man is once carried away by anger or hatred his passion is so much the more violent and excessive. Mountain air, on the contrary, unless the altitude be too great, clears the brain, brightens the faculties, and stimu- lates the mind to vigorous thought and lofty emo- tions; yet it also increases the liability to mental excitement, thus leading to rash and precipitate judgment as well as extravagant action. It renders people lively, quick-witted, versatile, and changeable. We mark this difference between the characteristics of the two most influential cities in Italian civiliza- tion. The Venetians despise the climate of Florence, while the Florentines consider the Venetians amiable people, but slow of comprehension. It has been noticed that people living among mountains or by the sea have been more given to rebellion or other political changes than the inhabi- tants of the plains ; and the reason is apparently because the former encourage independence of character, and the latter independence of thought ; while the local situation in both cases is favorable to self-defence. The deeply indented peninsular of Greece unites, in some measure, both these condi- tions, and whether in Asia, or Hellas, or Italy, the Greeks never dwelt far from the sea-coast. "Courage," said Dr. Johnson, "is the first of all virtues, for without it the others are of no avail." This the Venetians possessed in abundant measure, from their first conquests on the coast of Dalmatia till their last final struggle with the Turks in the Morea, — long after the spirit of manliness had de- The Veneti. parted from other Italian states. After the crusades were over the Venetians served as the rear-guard of Christianity against the encroachment of the Mo- hammedans. They carried on for centuries an obstinate struggle against those pitiless enemies, disputing one position after another with faultless bravery. Their noblemen were a race of sea-cap- tains, and their doges were naval heroes fit to be compared with Blake, Nelson, and Farragut. Their parliament was not composed of lawyers and land- owners, but in large measure of scarred and sun- burned veterans. Admiral Loredano in his despatch after the battle of Gallipoli wrote : " I, the com- mander, fighting manfully, attacked the first galley, which defended itself with great courage ; but by God's grace I took her and cut most of the Turks to pieces. It cost me much to save the prize, for I was wounded through the left cheek with a dart, and another passed through my left hand. Then I rammed and disabled a galleot, cut her crew in pieces, and ran up my flag." Fighting at sea requires more courage than land fighting, for the proportion of casualties is commonly much greater. In their contests with the Genoese courage alone was not sufficient to contend with an enemy equally brave and skilful ; and the varying fortune of those wars resulted from ingenious nautical stratagems, as one side or the other was victorious, such as had never been thought of before. They have been blamed too severely for these fratricidal conflicts, for there seems to be no way to prevent such collisions between rival states when there is no strong central lo Life of Tintoretto. government to hold them both in check. It was for the Pope's temporal interest to encourage discord between the most powerful Italian cities. As the Venetians differed from other mediaeval communities in their social organization, so they resembled them as little with respect to matters of religion. They were not lacking in piety, as their numerous churches and the sacred relics deposited in them still testify, but they wore their faith in a comfortable manner, and never carried religious feel- ing to the extremes of fanaticism or heresy. In this again they resembled the ancient republics of Greece and Italy. They contributed their share to the crusades, but always at the same time with a careful consideration for their own interests. Their occupa- tion of Oriental ports made it easy for them to col- lect those sacred relics, which, if not wholly authentic, served at least to inspire the populace with such sentiments of awe and veneration as are useful for the preservation of authority. The Inquisition found little occupation in Venice, or it certainly would not have troubled itself with the innocent composition of Paolo Cagliari's pictures. Readers of Tacitus will remember the passage in which he describes the death of Messalina, wife of Claudius Caesar ; which Corneille has also introduced into his tragedy of Britannicus. Messalina, flying from the wrath of her husband, had taken refuge in the gardens of Lucullus, "deserted by every one except her old mother, who now exhorted her to prepare for the worst. Suddenly the gates opened and the centurion stood in silence before her, while The Veneti. 1 1 the freedman who accompanied him, with the spirit of a slave, reproached her with her crimes and mis- demeanors. Then for the first time she became deeply sensible of her condition." This passage shows the spirit of the noble Roman more even than the heroism of Arria or the last words of Severus : " Strike if it be for the good of Rome." In the presence of death reproaches are servile. Now let us turn to the noble Venetian. Victor Pisani, having been surprised and defeated by the Genoese in the harbor of Portolungo, was impris- oned by the government ; but when one disaster fol- lowed another and Paganino Doria appeared with a hostile fleet before the harbors of Venice the people came together in a body and insisted on his release. This happened in 1354 and was the last popular uprising in Venice until the dissolution of the state. Sabellico, the old chronicler, gives a charm- ing and ingenuous account of it. " So great," he says, " was the modesty of Pisani that he preferred to remain in prison overnight, and begged that a priest might be sent to him in the morning ; and as soon as it was day he confessed and went out into the court ; and to the church of San Niccolo, where he received the precious Sacrament of the Host, in order to show that he had pardoned every injury both public and private ; and having done this he made his appearance before the Prince and the Sig- noria. Having made his reverence to the Senate not with angry or even troubled looks, but with a countenance glad and joyful, he placed himself at 1 2 Life of Tintoretto. the feet of the Doge, who thus addressed him : ' On a former occasion, Vittore, it was our business to execute justice ; it is now the time to grant grace. It was commanded that you should be imprisoned for the defeat of Pola ; now we will that you should be set free.' Pisani made answer in this fashion : ' There is no punishment, most serene Prince, which can come to me from you or from the others who govern the republic, which I should not bear with a good heart, as a good citizen ought. I know, most serene Prince, that all things are done for the good of the republic, for which I do not doubt all your counsels and regulations are framed. As for private grievances, I am so far from thinking that they should work harm to any one that I have this day received the blessed sacrament, so that nothing may be more evident than that I have wholly forgotten how to hate any man.' " The honest Sabellico did not perceive that Pisani's modesty was also the best policy he could have adopted ; but his whole conduct does not appear less considerate of the public welfare even from that standpoint. The temptation of a proud man to humiliate his enemies will usually overbalance the anticipation of possible future injury to himself. It was the most critical moment in all Venetian history, and Pisani proved to be the hinge on which the fortune of the city turned. Even if the ingenious plan of besieging the besiegers did not originate with him, he was the person in command who carried it into execution. It is equally pleasant to remember the magnanimous treatment — so rare in those times The Veneti. 13 — of the captive Genoese. To make the romance perfect Pisani was not long afterward killed in battle fighting for the state. There was long supposed to have been a dark, lurid, ensanguined element in Venetian history — senator plotting against senator, and family against family with diabolical machinations ; small personal slights revenged by the cruellest injuries, and inno- cent victims seized at midnight by masked officers and disposed of in ways unknown to their sorrowing relatives. The Illuminati of the eighteenth century pointed especially to Venice as a dark chamber of political intrigue and domestic conspiracy; and Napoleon evidently considered that he was doing humanity a service when he informed the envoys of the Doge that he would be like an Attila to the Venetian state. Through their commercial relations with the Orient, the Venetians were supposed to have assimilated something of Turkish ferocity as well £is the insidious cunning of the Byzantine Greek. Allusions were made to the secret proceed- ings of the terrible Council of Ten, with sentimental reflections on the Bridge of Sighs and the fearful torture chambers which lay beyond it. However, the first cock-crow of historical inves- tigation has dissipated these ghostly apparitions into thin air. The facility with which crimes may be concealed in a city whose streets are sea-water will readily occur to every one, and there probably were more murders in Venice in proportion to its popula- tion than in either New York or Chicago. The fact, however, remains that it was the only city or state 1 4 Life of Tintoreito. during the middle ages which possessed a satisfac- tory government. There is no such list in its annals of judicial murders and partisan crimes as disgrace the history of France and England. The sanguinary cry of Guelph and Ghibelline, which filled Germany and Italy with incessant petty civil wars for nearly two centuries, never reverberated across the lagoons. Rome was governed by a priesthood, like Brahmini- cal India, a form of despotism even less endurable than that of the Caesars. The other Italian cities were either ruled by petty tyrants like the Scaligers and Viscontis, who sustained themselves by con- tinual acts of violence from which their nearest relatives were the most frequent sufferers ; or they were torn by party factions which, as one or the other became dominant, exiled and sometimes de- capitated the leaders of the opposition. In Venice, meanwhile, the political machinery ran smoothly, and the affairs of government were despatched with as much good judgment and celerity as they are now in England and Germany. There were, of course, exceptions ; but the justice of Marino Faliero's fate has never been questioned ; and though the case of Carmagnola is involved in more obscurity, there can be little doubt that his sentence was well deserved. Too much sympathy has been expended on the Foscari. The father was evidently deposed on account of old age, and the long banishment of his son, though somewhat severe, tends to prove that small partiality was shown to persons in high position. There is little to be seen after one has crossed the Bridge of Sighs ; though The Veneti. 15 the prison is externally a superior piece of architect- ure. Torture was used to extort confessions from suspected criminals, as was the universal custom, but there were no horrible engines of mutilation such as are to be seen in the mural cells of Nuremberg — one of the free cities in which modern civilization is sup- posed to have been cradled ; there were no Spanish horses, or iron virgins with daggers in their eyes and breasts ; — at least we do not hear of such, nor are they anywhere to be found. The Venetians, if not humane according to our standard, do not appear to have practised unnecessary cruelty. Their government was equally superior to those of Greece and Rome. After the tenth century at least, there were no conflicts between the patricians and plebeians, nor were the Venetians at any time obliged to resort to a military despotism. Their Senate, like the Roman Senate, was a close corpora- tion of wealthy men, sufficiently numerous, with their retainers and clients, to easily control the city ; and they were, in course of time, controlled by the smaller political bodies that emanated from them. The Council of Ten, in whom the chief power finally resided, may have been a resuscitation of the Roman Decemvirs ; though with this difference, that its con- stituent membership was changed every week, thus preventing the possibility of any clique or political faction coming into possession of supreme power. The ingenious election of the doge was intended for the same purpose, and was equally successful — the only instance of its kind in the history of political science. Modern nations might learn something 1 6 Life of Tintoretto. from this method of choosing a chief magistrate who shall be superior to party influences. Their government must have been more healthy and vigorous before the aristocracy was limited to a select number of families. Its character changed gradually while the form remained nearly the same. The Doge, who was originally a military commander abroad and a powerful administrator at home, be- came finally to be more like a " graceful cupola to the edifice of state than its main sustaining column," as Bismarck said of English royalty. It was the last compliment and honorable reward for a long course of public services, but the real power resided in the Council of Ten, and during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, in three Inquisitors, whose title caused no slight suspicion in respect to their proceed- ings. The Venetian rule was always popular on the mainland, and cities like Padua and Verona preferred it to a precarious independence. To the Greeks of the Archipelago, so long as it lasted, it was the great- est of blessings. It is doubtful if the city ever undertook an unjust or unnecessary war ; though there are many who would look upon their conflicts with Genoa as a disgrace to both parties. They not only protected Italian commerce from the Turks, but saved Florence and its art from the blighting rapacity of the Duke of Milan. After the consolidation of the nobility, a second aristocracy formed itself, as in England, about the first, and acquired great influence in the state, because most of the ready money was in its possession. The Veneti, \ 7 What lives those old Venetians lived : so full of practical activity, and yet with a keen sense of pleasure and an almost devout feeling for the beauti- ful ! What intensity in their love, hatred, and ambi- tion ! Their manners were not less stately than their architecture, and their costumes vie with the richness and grace of their paintings. The eyes that look out to us from the portraits of their doges have wit- nessed some wonderful sights. What a concentra- tion of human passion were their carnivals, their masked balls ; secret affection, jealousy, pride, and family interest contending together at fever heat ! How can we cool-blooded Northerners imagine it ? Then the summer evenings on the lagoons, gondola meeting gondola and song answering song; lovely women and splendid men rendered more beautiful in the light of the setting sun ; while sea and sky are united in a gorgeous, refulgent glow. The setting sun still flashes its carmine and gold across the un- dulating bay, and illumines the domes of La Salute and San Georgio, but the Pisani, the Morosini, and the Foscari look on it no longer. Venice has become a treasury of art, and its palaces are the empty monuments of former greatness. The Veneti have given their legacy to civilization and been ground up in the vortex of history. CHAPTER II. TITIAN, THE three most famous painters were born, each one of them, at the foot of a mountain. Michel Angelo and Raphael were nursed and cradled among the Apennines. But Titian had as a background for his early years the rugged and fantastic Tyrolese Dolomites, the strangest moun- tains in Europe if not on the face of the earth, with a giant peak, Monte Chrystallo, rising like a spear- head in the midst of them, ten thousand feet above Cadore, wreathed in opaline clouds, or glowing with rose and carmine in the morning sun. What effect this may have had on the culture of Titian's genius is uncertain ; but the Swiss and Tyroles£,_are de- votedly attached to their native valleys, and Titian returned continually to his birthplace and often painted its scenety in the background of his pictures. From his house in the San "Cassiano, Titian coiiTd look back to Cadore and the Dolomites, and from the summer cottage which he built, after the modern fashion, on a foothill of the Alps, he could look down upon the Adriatic and almost to Venice. Per- l8 '" Titian. i g haps a secret of his continued success lay in thus holding fast to the^asBociations of his youth, for it will be~noFiced that Leonardo and the otKer~artists who were attracted to the court of King Francis I. accomplished but little there, nor did Sebastian del Piombo succeed much better in Rome. We have noticed an instance of two American poets whose inspiration deserted them as soon as they left their half civilized habitat for more cultivated provinces. Genius is a tender plant ; it does not bear trans- portation to a foreign soil. One thinks with awe of a celebrated man whose life spanned a whole century ; and then nothing but the plague, or other Oriental disorder, imported with Venetian commerce, could make an end of him in his hundredth year. Instances are not uncommon of persons living to even a greater age than this, but they are such as vegetate in quiet, shady places, not those who have to breast the current of human affairs and endure the full glare of publicity in a large city. As already intimated, if this feat could be performed anywhere it was in Venice ; but what strength of character, as well as of constitution, does it suggest to us ! What temperance, self-control, good judgment, steadiness of nerve, must such a man possess, as well as a mind that could be un- balanced neither by fame, fortune, nor flattery. His comrade, Giorgione, died of social luxury (as well aa^ we can judge) at the age of thirty-five ; and in the Venice of that time temptation was the more allur- ing since it came with the full tide of prosperity, and in a refined and graceful form. Singing, dancing, 20 Life of Tintoretto. and the gondola, though harmless in themselves, were conducive to endless dissipation of time and strength. Neither was there protection of law or public opinion, such as prevailed in Anglo-Saxon communities against coarser pleasures. Titian would seem in this respect to have been the typical man, who lived as others ought to live, and do not. It may be noticed that poets, painters, and musi- cians, who are decidedly subjectrve^'that is, who carry into their work a personal sympathy, — like Raphael, Giorgione, Schiller, and Mendelssohn, are more likely to be short-lived than those who treat it ^obj^^^jj^^as Jjtian^JVIilton, and Handd.^lF wearTTi^; as MadaimeTT^musat suggested, to set a limit to the pleasures of the intellect, still more should the delights of the soul be kept under good control. A too much indulged sensibility would either weaken the physique directly, as with Edward Irving and Schiller, or be converted into other forms of self-indulgence, as in the case of Heine and Byron. According to such a theory, however, Correggio ought to have been more short-lived than Giorgione. In fact, it is not a theory, but a reflection. Titian was one of the prodigies of the sixteenth century. The poet Lowell has said that in that age geniuses were as common as they have been rare before and since ; two or three might be found in_any family. There were several causes for this : The discovery of America and of the southern extremity of Africa had enlarged men's minds with a new sense of the grandeur of their earthly inheri- tance and of the destiny of the human race; the Titian. 2 1 spirit of free investigation which had resulted from the study of ancient philosophy was leading by a broad highway to scientific discoveries and the reformation of religion; and the study of classical art and literature was enlarging, and at the same time correcting, the narrow and almost stereotyped notions that had prevailed hitherto, and supplied an unlimited fund of fresh inspiration. The art of printing, which has been so fearfully abused since, had just begun to circulate ideas and information, which produced a deeper impression from the diffi- culty which had previously attended their acquisi- tion. Behind it all lay the magnetic impulse of mediaeval Christianity, always seeking fresh fields for its spiritual conquests. Never before had man- kind been stimulated and excited into such tremen- dous energy ; and it was the good fortune of that period that this energy was well directed. A very remarkable energy also was developed in the Crusades ; but so far as we are now concerned, it was like rain which falls into the sea. Like all truly progressive ages the sixteenthv century was too earnestly engaged to be conscious/ of its own importance ; or at least only became so ax the last. What men accomplished in those days was marvellous enough. Lord Bacon could write Latin as fluently as English, and translate his strongly epigrammatic sentences into that language as a mere pastime of the pen. "Studies," he says, "are for delight." Lady Jane Grey and her noble ac- quaintances were as well schooled in Greek as the same class of Englishwomen are now in French or 2 2 Life of Tintoretto. Italian. Raphael spent the years in which young men go to college in drawing and painting, yet he was no wise deficient in education and displayed in numerous works a rare understanding of history and philosophy. In addition he was an excellent archi- tect — a profession which of itself requires a most de- voted course of study. Vasco da Gama and Sir Francis Drake sailed into unknown oceans and risked the changes of the monsoon in ships not much larger than a first-class yacht. They hauled their vessels up on unknown shores and caulked their seams with pitch from the primeval forests. These men worked as if they had a heavy wager on every hour of the day ; but something more than diligence and cour- age are required to explain their wonderful successes. Shakespeare was born in the same year that Buona- rotti died, and the world-spirit passed on from Italy to England. It is not safe to take the popular estimate of a celebrated man, but neither will it do to ignore it. The notion of modern Pre-Raphaelites that Botticelli stands at the top of all the Florentine painters, is suf- ficiently refuted by the oblivion in which his works have remained from his death until- the present time. There never has been a real enthusiasm for them, even among artists. On the other hand, ten people have heard of Titian, where one has known anything I pi Leonardo da Vinci. Titian was perhaps on the 1 whole a better painter, but there can be no doubt f that Leonardo was the greater man. There are fine pictures by Titian in the Louvre gallery, a portrait of Frances I. and others, but none of them receive Titian. 23 the admiration of Da Vinci's Mona Lisa. Still one would not say that Titian should be less famous, but rather that Da Vinci should be more celebrated. The art of painting as we have it now, was founded j by Titian and remains very nearly as he left it. ''^ If Raphael made paintin g_divine,Jntia n made it bumaru_ It wasessential that some one should do this ; for if man is not rooted in the ground like a tree, neither can he float in the air like an orchid, but must touch the ground continually, or his strength and vigor will depart from him. In truth, the fable of Antasus is not without a profound significance, and it were well if our Puritan ancestors in America had paid consideration to this and some other Grecian myths. Transfigurations are good and so are Pietas, or even St. Sebastians full of arrows, but these are exceptional conditions. If art has a moral value, it must enter into the routine life of men and women and represent whatever is signifi- cant and characteristic in it. The time had come when the individual required to see the reflection of himself, of his kindred and his friends. It was Titia n's destiny to celebrate true manliness and womanliness ; not to idealize life, but to portray everyone at his or her best. He was specially adapted by nature to do this. His char- acter was strong in its every-day completeness. He was not one of nature's noblemen ; not a great heroic spirit, and has even been accused of some very mean qualities ; but if his higher mental facul- ties were not so well developed, the mediate and lower ones were always in the finest running order. 24 Life of Tintoretto. No other great artist was so invariable in the quality of his work. xNeither was he incapable sometimes of lofty spir- -itual flights. Without the possibility of this, he could not perhaps have succeeded so well in that half-superior element, where he was properly at homeJHe naturally became a portrait-painter, and 3ut for his ideal of color and proportion, Titian vould have been a realist. Without sufficient deality of design to rise into imaginative art, he [/inevitably came to re prese nt human life in its famil- I iar aspect. It is remarkable Tiow few portraits were "paintedDefore his time and how numerous they have been ever since. His own portrait was one of the best and indicates a man endowed and equipped for any sort of enterprise. His keen penetrating look shows a thorough acquaintance with practical aiifairs, and he has the air of a man who expects to be obeyed. His face is not an attractive one, but commands respect and admiration. There is something in the aspect of his forehead that would seem to indicate rare ability. He rose to perfection early in life, and though his style changed somewhat during his long life he never at any time fell into mannerism. Only after he was seventy-five7 according to Vasari, a slight decline in his handling began to be perceptible. He adorned the portraits of his sitters with an air of amia- ble superiority which could not have belonged to all of them, and therefore we may conjecture that it was an emanation from himself. His tone of coloring sug- gests -a cheerful and sunny disposition. What he evidently lacked was a poetic imagination, yet he also possessed imagination of the practical kind. Titian. 25 The credit of having effected the favorable change in chiaroscuro which marked the advent of Giorgione and Titian has usually been given to the former, and, > as one would think, on insufficient ground. Giorgione y was the more enterprising and popular of the two, and obtained an earlier celebrity ; but they were of the same age, fellow-students, and excellent friends, and at the time of Giorgione's death, it could hardly be said that either had made better progress in paint- ing than the other. It would seem likely that if Titian had learned his skill in light and shade from Giorgione, he would also to some extent have imi- tated his tone of color, but in this respect the two differed from each other quite as much as they dif- , fered from all other painters ; while the fact that Titian's drawing was influenced by the more vigor- ous quality of his friend, is more convincing proof} that each developed his art of color by an unique method peculiar to himself. The tradition is a prob- lematic one, and may be accepted for what it is worth. Even had Giorgione never existed, we can- not doubt that Titian's finely harmonized nature would have solved the same problem with equal facility. It is with very tender feeling that we contemplate the short life of that splendid genius Giorgio Bar- berelli, who is still remembered by the name given to him when a boy. His pictures are few and widely scattered, two or three in Paris, a few more in Milan and Florence, and the most in the small city of his birth ; but it is a dull-sighted traveller who passes them by, and the impression they make is of lasting duration. They are mostly portraits, and 26 Life of Tintoretto. the subjects of his historical pieces are not such as excite strong emotion, but apart from the internal glow which illumines them, they have a mysterious romantic quality, which reminds one of Hawthorne's stories, and is quite as dramatic and fascinating, In the skilful blending of half-tints and producing a warm and brilliant effect by the use of a few colors, he has the field all to himself. Unfortunately, the wealthy V enetians o f that time had not learned to appreciate fine geniuses. They Ipossessed fine taste in architecture, but not in paint- iSng, which they looked upon rather as the handmaid lof the more mechanical art. Instead of employing Titian and Giorgione to give an immortal value to the interior of their palaces, as Guido and Guercino were employed at Rome, they made use of them to paint frescos on the outside walls, where the rain soon streaked and stained, and before many years obliterated them. Nothing more absurd or suicidal could be imagined. Even if the architecture were improved by it — which is doubtful, — it still holds good that no picture can be seen to advantage in the glaring light of day. In Goethe's Carnival, wealth and avarice are represented riding in a chariot, with the boy, poesy, for a driver ; but in Venice, poesy and wealth would seem to have been chained to- gether, while vanity drove the chariot and avarice officiated as footman. On the Fondaco dei Tedeschi a single incoherent figure is all that is now left of the finest work of Giorgione. One does not regret the early death of Byron, for he began life so early and accomplished so much, Titian. 2 7 that it seems like the natural terminus of his career; but Giorgione was robbed not only of all that he might have been, but also of the best fruits of his short-lived industry. He has more of the grand manner than Titian, as well as finer mental qualities, and if his genius had reached its full maturity and proper patronage had finally come to him, it seems as if he must have surpassed all other Venetian painters. Little as now remains to us from his hand, no critic has questioned his superiority, or his right to a prominent place in the Pantheon of Art. Only an Italian can thoroughly appreciate an Italian, and the following sympathetic passage from the Abate Lanzi's History of Painting is the most pertinent description of Titian's method of painting that I have anywhere met with. " Titian, for the most part, affected a deep and glowing light, whence, in various gradations of mid- dle tints, he formed the work of the lower parts ; and having very resolutely drawn the other parts, with the extremities stronger perhaps than in nature, he gave to objects that peculiar aspect which pre- sents them, as it were, more lively and pleasing than^ the truth. Thus, in his portraits, he centres the chiefs power in the eyes, the nose, and the mouth, leaving the remaining parts in a kind of pleasing uncertainty, extremely favorable to the spirit of the heads, and to the whole effect. But since the variations of depth and delicacy of shades are insufficient, without the aid of colors, in this branch, he likewise formed for himself an ideal method, consisting of the use, in their respective places, of simple tints, copied 28 Life of Tintoretto. exactly from the life, or of artificial ones, intended ta produce the illusion required. He was in the habit of employing only f eML_andsifflttle, colors, but they were such as affordedtlte g^Sesf°^^ety and contiigt^he knew all the gradations, and the most ^^Cvorabieinoment for their application and opposi- tion to each other. There appears no effort, no de- gree of violence in them, and that striking diversity of colors which seems to strive, one above another, for the mastery, as it were, in his pictures, has all the / appearance of nature, though an effect of the most [bold and arduous art." I The secret of Titian's golden tone would seem to I be that he made a special study of the effect of sun- V>et light, working at it every day during the few mo- ments when it was possible to do so. He must have been at great pains to secure this at first, but having once learned to mix his colors for it, he had the art at his finger ends for the rest of his life. If any of my readers would like to look at a portrait of Titian's without the trouble of crossing the Atlantic, let them arrange one of their friends artistically in a partially shaded room just before sunset, and so that the sun's rays throw a favorable light on the person without anywhere touching him. The effect of this artifice, especially if the subject be a pretty young woman, is sometimes more beautiful than any painting could be. ^ He was essentially a portrait-painter, as Mr. Alex- ander, the American artist and father of Francesca, once remarked. To separate man from his surround- ings and represent him essentially as he is in himself Titian. 29 — that is portraiture. It is true that Titian some- times escaped from it into fine historical paintings, but the greater number of these have been destroyed by fire, and in those which remain we are more im- pressed by the expression of particular faces than by the drawing of the figures, their relation to each other, or the action of the whole piece. It is for portraits of beautiful women especially (beside two or three religious pictures) that he is best known to ' lovers of art. The easiest subject for portraiture is always a middle-aged man or woman, of coarse strong features, one in whom the lines are deep and the facial expression settled ; what artists call a realistic face. The old Dutch artists painted many such. It is easier to paint a stable-boy than a gentle- man, and a gentleman is an easier subject than a statesman ; but to depict a beautiful woman, what graceful lines, evanescent shadows, and delicate hues are required for it. How few have succeeded in it, — only perhaps Raphael, Guido, Correggio, Titian, and Tintoretto. The limbs of the Venus dei Medici are much more beautiful than her face. Neither can the Venus of Milo be compared for beauty to a table-girl who waited on me a few summers ago. An eclectic regularity of feature is not enough. Every beautiful woman has a style of her own, as much as a poet, orator, or composer. Here Titian comes next to Raphael, if indeed he 1 is not on an equality with him ; but Raphael idealized ] everything, while Titian followed nature pretty^ closely. His portrait called the Flora in the Pitti Palace Gallery, supposed to be the daughter of 30 Life of Tintoretto. Jacopo Palma, may be slightly idealized, but it is not the regularity of her features that attracts us so much as the pensive inclination of her head, her expression of dreamy innocence, and the negligee simplicity of her attire. The portrait-painter must penetrate to the internal life of his subject, and ex- press that outwardly in form and feature ; and this is most difficult in the case of a pure-hearted maiden, because she has, in fact, nothing to conceal. The Flora is finished with such exceeding nicety, even to the least important details, as would be unsuitable for a more powerful or a much larger composition. Painting the Stanze of the Vatican, in the manner of Titian's earlier handling, could only have been accomplished by supernatural agency. Its perfectly smooth finish prevents the Flora from being as life- like as she might have been, in spite of the fresh, warm coloring, still in such good preservation. It is doubtful if any steel engraving could do justice to it, often as the attempt has been made. Rivera's engraving represents the expression fairly, but strangely distorts the lower portion of the face. Some who have become used to this engraving, do not like the original picture so well. f The various types of feminine loveliness portrayed VD^ Titian form the chain of a progressive series. ^he portrait in the Berlin Gallery, commonly sup- posed to be his daughter Lavinia, belongs to the maturity of his powers. She is dressed in deep yel- low brocade, holding up before her a dish of fruit ; her face nearly an oval, but her features characteris- tic. She is younger than the Flora, and her expres- Titian. 3 1 sion one of childish contentment. She has not yet reached the dreamy stage of maidenhood ; mere ex- istence is sufficient for her. On my last visit to Berlin, there happened to be a flight of movable steps in the alcove next Lavinia, and I took advantage of them to examine her face and neck with a magnifying glass. What struck me especially was, that among all those minute touches of the brush, there did not seem to be anything accidental. Every one had a character of its own, and indicated that the mind of the artist was active and continually alert. The tints were as clear and delicate as those on tropical sea-shells ; and any one who has attempted to copy either sea-shells or birds' eggs in water-colors will know what that means,. Her dress and the dish of fruit are not, however, treated with the same delicacy, and, generally, th^ farther off from her face the more bold and vigorous is the handling. Vasari says : " It is nevertheless true that Titian's mode of proceeding in his later works is very different from that pursued by him in those of his youth : the first being executed with a certain care and delicacy which renders the work equally effective, whether seen at a distance or ex- amined closely ; while those of a later period, executed in bold strokes and with dashes, can scarcely be distinguished when the observer is near them, but if viewed from the proper distance, they appear perfect. This mode of his, imitated by artists who have thought to show proof of facility, has given occasion to many wretched pictures, which probably comes from the fact that whereas many 32 Life of Tintoretto. believe the works of Titian done in the manner above described, to have been executed without labor, that is not the truth, and these persons have been deceived. It is, indeed, w^ll known that Titian went over them many times, nay, so frequently that the labor expended on them is most obvious. And this method of proceeding is a judicious, beautiful and admirable one ; since it causes the paintings so treated to appear living, they being executed with profound art, while that art is nevertheless con- cealed." In the painting of his Lavinia, we have his best effects from the union of both methods. Next in order, and the most beautiful of all is the Violante, sometimes called Titian's mistress, though there is not even an idle tale worth repeating for the calumny. She is probably the same as the central figure of the three beautiful women painted by Palma Vecchio, and now in the Dresden Gallery. If they were, as has been supposed, old Jacopo's daughters, she may have been the one whom Titian liked best, and the story may have arisen from that trifling circumstance. Palma represents her as a bright and animated young lady, but in Titian's picture, she appears in a dreamy, self-conscious mood, probably in love and fully cognizant of its meaning, although her destiny has not yet been de- cided. Finally we return to the Pitti Palace, for a look at Titian's Bella, a most magnificent painting, deep, warm and rich in color, equally strong and human in character. Her dark crimson dress is preserved Titian. ■^■^^ somewhat in shadow, so as not to overpower the expression of her face. Her features, with the ex- ception of her eyes, are not particularly fine, but she looks straight before her — the calm, self-possessed embodiment of womanhood. We do not know whether she is married yet or not, but she has given her promise and is ready to declare it before all the world. There is such firmness in her look, that we are reminded that there are occasions, as President Jackson discovered, when the energy of a woman surpasses that of a man. "And the light that rayed from her eyes Was tender and strong and true : I thought what a glorious prize For the highest of men to woo." This series of portraits, so complete in their sig- nificance, ought to be of great value to the historian, as indicating the difference and perhaps progress in social life between the sixteenth century and our own time. The procession of virgins on the bas-re- liefs of the Parthenon remind one of handsome servant girls ; but this was not so much from a lack of culture and refinement in Hellenic life, as from the vigorous work which those ancient dames were accustomed to, as well as their lack of protection from the roughness of the outside world. There is a broad gap between the ages of Pericles and that of Martin Luther, and civihzation has made some progress. Flora and Violante would appear in English or American society now very much as modern Greek or Servian ladies might. They look as if they were 34 Life of Tintoretto. lacking in the same sort of delicacy which we miss in Shakespeare's female characters, but are chaste and admirable nevertheless. Titian has been often blamed for painting naked women, but I think the best light in which to con- sider the case is as part of the classic revival of his time ; a reflection from Grecian mythology. They are splendid specimens of art, and no one else could have done the work so well ; so that on the whole we may be grateful to him for them. It is not necessary for us to accept the dark insinuations of the French critic, Taine, with regard to them. They are at least splendid examples of what coloring can do. Nothing could be more like flesh than the two yenuses in the Tribune of Florence. /, They are not Venuses, however, (for a goddess /jmust be idealized, even if a saint is not), but full- il'ength portraits of nude women. They are not idealized even in their drawing, but if the splendor of the human form was perpetuated by the Greeks in marble, now that we have forever lost sight of it, it may also be fortunate that we have the glory of its color represented to such perfection. In spite of the assertion of King Philip the Second's envoy that anything could be had from Titian for money, there is no evidence that he ever painted a positively dis- creditable picture. His Dresden Venus is unequal to the others, and barely attracts attention among the masterpieces that surround it. The Cleopatra in the Cassel Gallery is a work of a much higher order. It is worth a journey to Cas- sel, a city little visited by travellers, to look at this. Titian. 35 an autumn landscape by Rembrandt, and Rem- brandt's portrait of KroU, the poet. Here Titian rises to the rank of a first-class historical painter. The faces of the two Venuses in the Tribune are not more than ordinarily pleasant and good-looking, and their attitudes express little beyond a comfort- able position on the sofa, but the head of Cleopatra is noble and her attitude full of feeling and charac- ter. The poison of the asp is flowing in her veins, and with the weakening of her faculties she is losing her desire of life. The tragedy is over ; Egypt is nothing to her, and if she thinks at all, it is of An- tony. The coloring of the picture is subordinate to its design. We forget it, as we forget ourselves when we behold it. Titian's Danae matches the two Venuses in color, and is much superior to them in interest. Her up- ward look at the shower of gold is full of purity and tender expectation. If we were not confident of Titian's respect for woman, from the portraits of Bella and Lavinia, we are convinced of it after see- ing this. It is the antithesis of his Cleopatra, and it is a pity the two could not be hung in the same chamber. That there were deep religious currents in the spirit of this master is very certain, and it was more the fault of his surroundings than of his own serious nature that they so rarely came to the surface. While the moral influences of Florence and Rome tended to develop Raphael's spirituality to the utmost, the j sensuous indifference of Venetian life acted upon J Titian like a mental narcotic. 3 6 Life of Tintoretto. He painted for the church of Santa Maria Nuova, in Venice, a picture of St. Jerome in the Desert which is now said to be in the Brera Gallery at Milan, but more generally known from the admirable engraving of Cornells Cort. Jerome attended by his faithful lion bends over his book and the desert stretches far away before him ; it could not be ex- celled for devotional feeling. To make the scene appear more desolate, the trees and rocks and sand are full of weird faces, which one does not see im- mediately; but that the saint should not be alto- gether lonely, Titian has painted a squirrel in the branches over his head, a friendly interviewer, in one of the piquant attitudes of those pretty animals. It has been the fashion of late to complain of Titian's lack of piety, and our answer to this would be: " Purchase an engraving of St. yerome in the Desert." There is, however, stronger proof of it. Next in importance in the Dresden Gallery to Raphael's Madonna comes the " Render unto Caesar the Things that are Caesar's.'! This was one of Titian's earliest, is his greatest and also his most popular work. Its coloring is rather too brilliant for the subject, but its dramatic power is beyond all ques- tion. The reason for this, aside from the perfection with which it is painted, is, that it represents a prin- ciple of universal application. It might be called, Prometheus and Epimetheus, or Socrates and his Accuser, or Bishop Latimer and the Inquisitor, Emerson and Jeremiah Mason, or Spiritual Insight and Worldly Cunning. The contrast between the Titian, 37 faces, one pale and wan with constant self-denial, the other hard and almost of the consistency of leather, is repeated in the two hands, and the coin which is held by the publican is evidently copied from a Roman denarius. This is one of the pictures which Titian was sup- posed by earlier commentators to have painted under the influence of Giorgione, and it was even alleged that the figure of Christ was a somewhat idealized portrait of his friend. Can it be possible that this serious and careworn face, which looks as if a jest had never been known to it, can represent, in any degree, the light-hearted, gay, and almost wan- ton Giorgione, whose life is supposed to have ebbed out in revelry with young men of fashion ? There is often a deep enough under-current in those joy- ous natures, who are too sympathetic and susceptible for their own good ; but it is impossible to imagine a face like the Dresden Christ, appearing in a com- pany of serenaders, or lolling in a gondola. Either Giorgione has been misrepresented, or this is not his portrait. The Tribute Money was painted in or about 1510, a year which may be taken as the earlier climax of Italian art. There is another religious painting by Titian in the Dresden Gallery, a Virgin and Child attended by several saints, which belongs to a later period and shows an improved tone of color, but an appar- ent decline in religious feeling. Perhaps Titian for- got the vows that he made in his youth, and be- came epicurean and materialistic, during middle/ life. This could not have happened, however, until 38 Life of Tintoretto. after he had painted the Death of Peter Martyr and the Ascension of the Virgin. The first of these two masterpieces is more realis- tic than the Tribute Money, but it has been gener- ally considered Titian's chef-tTceuvre. Unhappily it was destroyed by fire about twenty-five years since. To judge from engravings of the picture, it had the advantage of a very fine landscape, perhaps the best ever painted ; an open breezy wood, with large, vigorous trees. The contrast between the brutal ferocity of the assassin, the submissive despair of St. Peter, who has fallen on the ground, and the ab- ject terror of his companion, who is endeavoring to escape, is brought out with great force and skill. While it is a serious and even noble composi- tion, still it is not so penetrating as his Cleopatra. It does not go so much to the heart. As a work of color and what is called chiaroscuro, it was sup- posed to be unsurpassable. The Ascension of the Virgin almost deserves a chapter by itself. There are those who look upon it as a cold, theatrical affair ; and it is true that it contains a theatrical element, but that is not all it contains. It is something of a tableau, but also something more. No other picture is so character- istic of Titian, for in it are united all his different qualities. The Madonna appears carried upward on such a white, fleecy cloud as we see roll off after a spring rain. It is filled with cherubs, some of them of rare delicacy of feature and expression. She has a full womanly figure, and might be accepted as the perfect type of womanhood. Her upturned Titian. ' 39 face exposes a most beautiful throat, and it is this which first attracts the spectator's attention. There have been those who said that the picture was painted for this throat. In the face there is a twofold expression of pious confidence and the trepidation which we feel on being lifted from the earth, remarkably well blended together. Titian's attempt to represent divine majesty in the floating figure above is at least as successful as other efforts of the kind. The group of apostles underneath is not so good, and has been often criticised for the energy of its action. Titian does not appear to have taken into his reckoning that Christ's disciples had become quite accustomed to supernatural events, and were not likely to stare with outstretched arms, even at such a prodigy as this. The head and figure of St. John is very fine ; but the attitude of St. Peter, with his head thrown back so that his beard is almost at right angles with his body, is too realistic for an ideal work. What increases this appearance of pe- culiarity is that the spectator is supposed to be nearly on a level with the Holy Virgin, and the apostles are therefore somewhat foreshortened in their draw- ing. I am not aware that Titian anywhere suc- ceeded in giving dramatic action to a group of figures, though he may have done so in the large pictures which were destroyed by fire in the Doge's Palace. In coloring, the Ascension of the Virgin is more like the Tribute Money, and with good reason, for it was painted not very long after that. The central 40 Life of Tintoretto. portion of it is very bright, being mostly of crim- son and blue in large masses, while the group of the apostles is dark and shadowy. It was a long time before I could understand the meaning of this, until a few days since it occurred to me that its color plan might have been taken from a blue and red sunset, in which the group of apostles would appear in shadow, as people always do at evening between the spectator and the sun. The smooth- ness and ease with which it is painted seems magical. It is certainly a work of genius, but at the same time hardly an inspired work. As a whole it lacks crea- tive freedom. Another well-known Titian in the Venetian /Academy is the Presentation of the Virgin, which ^has lately been criticised as wanting in religious feeling ; but it is difficult to imagine how very much religious feeling could enter into an action so con- ventional. There is rather too much architecture in the picture for the size of the figures ; and yet, with the necessity of filling a certain space, this could not very well be avoided. The group of aristocratic Venetians at the foot of the staircase is painted in Titian '§ ^ best pdrtrait rnanjier. They are watching the ceremony with the air of connoisseurs ; but the most interesting figure in it is a peasant-woman with her basket of eggs. Where have we seen that homely old woman before ? Certainly gha. is very much jike Michel Angelo's Cumcean Sybil in the Sistine Chapel.~" There will be occasion to consider this picture again, when we come to Tintoretto's treatment of the same subject. Titian. 41 The private letters of the great Italian masters, of which such a number have been brought to light lately, contain little that explains their methods of working, or their theories in regard to art. They are mostly concerned with plain, practical affairs, and may serve to dispel the illusion that artistic and poetic geniuses are by birthright unpractical, visionary, and eccentric. About ten years after the publication of Grimm's Life of Michel Angela, an- other biography appeared, which was supposed by some to be better, because it contained letters and other documents which had never before been printed. They relate, however, chiefly to dry mat- ters of business, and give little insight with respect to the higher life of Michel Angelo. A few pages of Grimm's fine criticism were worth the whole of them. So, now, we have Titian's letters before us, and there is enough in them of bad debts and the failure of his annuities from his royal patrons, but nothing that is of much value in the history of art. There is more sentiment in Napoleon's letters and despatches than in those of the shrewd Venetian. He seems to have been a hard creditor and perhaps avaricious, as Marshal Massena was, in spite of his splendid courage and military skill. But Titian would not have been complete unless he understood the value of property. It should be remembered in his favor that he never was paid a fifth, or, in some cases, a tenth of the true value of his paintings. Most of them are now held beyond all price, and it is doubtful if the King of Saxony would exchange the Tribute Money for Queen Victoria's Koh-i-noor. 42 Life of Tintoretto. Should Titian be blamed for wishing to make his family independent and enabling his descendants to enjoy the reiined tastes which they inherited from him ? This must have been a greater comfort to him in his old age than either his posthumous fame or the shadow of his former celebrity. He was a strong man, standing firm on his feet, not likely to be troubled by petty accusations. I wonder what he or Raphael would have thought of the following statement, which appeared lately in one of the cheapest of our periodicals — a money-making publi- cation with slight claim to literary merit : " I do not think any man ought to live by an art. A man's art should be his privilege, when he has proven his fitness to exercise it, and has otherwise earned his daily bread, and its results should be free to all. There is an instinctive sense of this, even in the midst of the grotesque confusion of our economic being ; people feel that there is something impious in taking money for a picture, or a poem, or a statue. Most of all, the artist himself feels this." This is the sentimentalism of the nineteenth cen- tury, equally debilitating to the intellect and the moral sense. Away with such transcendental moon- shine. How Shakespeare would have roared at it. As soon as an artist says to himself: "This picture of mine is immortal ; I feel that it is the child of my genius, — how can I endure to accept gold of silver for it," he resolves himself into chaos, de- scends to the lowest depth of hypochondria. One reason why the men of the sixteenth century accom- Titian, 43 plished such grand results was that they never troubled themselves with these cobwebby fancies, but thanked God for their daily bread, in whatever way it came. Genius never can be taught ; but Titian might have made the best of instructors in painting, on account of his invariable excellence, his absence of mannerism, and rare combination of good qualities. It does not appear, however, that he had many pupils, or took much pains with their instruction. Vasari complains that this was owing to indifference on Titian's part, and blames him especially in the case of Paris Bordone, a very fine artist, and one exceedingly eager to learn, but who finally withdrew from Titian's studio, because he found that what he obtained there was not worth the cost. The same accusation has been made against musi- cal composers. Men of creative power do not like to give instruction, because it reverses the ordinary currents of their thought, and also because their minds are too much preoccupied with the designs they have in process of completion. Titian may have been unwilling also to impart the secret of his wonderful coloring to those who were likely to make too good a use of it. He certainly had a right to the fruits of his invention for a term of years ; as Elias Howe had a right to his profits from the sewing-machine. Valuable secrets in art and in artifi- cer's work were guarded as carefully in those days as the Russian method of curing leather is at present. Certain it is that Tintoretto was the only one of 44 Life of Tintoretto. Titian's pupils who could perfectly imitate his color- ing ; and we have considered the genius of Titian at such length since only thus could we fix with any exactness Tintoretto's starting-point in the evolution of painting. CHAPTER III. JACOPO ROBUSTI. IT is said that once, while a number of philoso- phers were congregated in a hall, discussing that insoluble problem, the mystery of existence, a dove suddenly flew in at a window which happened to be open, circled round above the heads of the assembly, and flew out again at a window on the opposite side. " There," exclaimed one of the sages, " that is the symbol of human life. We come out of the darkness, flutter a moment in the light, and then disappear into the darkness again." This simile would apply equally well to the ad- vent of men of genius, who are more likely to make their appearance in unknown and little thought-of families, than among those already distinguished for talent and ability. It is true that Sophocles be- longed to the royal family of Athens, and that mili- tary genius has not unfrequently been born upon a throne ; but it is much more likely to arise on a rocky island, or in the quiet seclusion of a provincial town, blooming forth, like the century-plant, almost without premonition, in a single night. The mystery 45 46 Life of Tintoretto. that attaches to it is one of its greatest fascinations. Yet if we were able to trace back the hidden cur- rents of thought and character through the genea- logical tree, should we not find some explanation of this sudden and surprising development, — some family inheritance carefully guarded and treasured from one generation to another, something felt and suspected, rather .than actually realized as an actual possession ; too precious and mysterious to be spoken of ? Is not the reserve and secretiveness, which so often accompanies genius itself, an inheritance? " Why," cries Ruskin, " this cruel reticence of our greatest minds ? " Perhaps if they were to divulge their secret, their magical power would disappear with it. How long did nature retain her precious secret that this earth was intended as a residence for man ; and yet the prediction was involved in the first fish that swam the seas. The fortunate possessor of the talisman at last, is he who inherits all the strong qualities of his an- cestors without their weak ones. For what does genius consist in so much as completeness ? A man may possess the lyrical gift in full measure, and also have a faculty for fine language, and yet, if he lacks clearness of perception, delicacy of feeling, a lively fancy, imagination, and sound judgment withal, he never can become a great poet. Another may be able to draw easily and correctly, but if he lacks application and imagination, if he has a hard, barren nature, with but slight sense of beauty in form and color, and but little skill in composition, he will never make a good painter. This is what the Jacopo Robust i. 47 word signifies. A genius is one who possesses the qualities of his race, or his class, in a pre-eminent degree. One of the best English sculptors of the present day is the son of a marble worker, and he gave early promise of his talent, by the dexterity with which he carved the lettering and ornaments on grave- stones. It seems natural, therefore, that among sev- eral thousand chances there should also be the son of a dyer who was endowed with a remarkable talent for painting. When or where, exactly, Jacopo Ro- bust! was born will probably never be known. No investigations have succeeded in discovering more than the name and occupation of his father. Who his mother was, or his grandfather, or where they dwelt, and what sort of people they were, and where the dye-house was situated, are questions that will always be asked in vain. Neither are we better in- formed with regard to his descendants. Although at least two sons survived him, we hear no more of the Robusti family, and every one in Venice says it is now extinct. It is possible, however, after the decay of Venetian commerce, and 'the conse- quent collapse of Venetian industries at the close of the seventeenth century, that they emigrated to Milan, or some more prosperous community on the mainland. Thus the Robusti family came out of the darkness, was illumined for a time, and then dis- appeared in night and oblivion. The only authority of value in regard to the life of Tintoretto is the Chevalier Carlo Ridolfi, who came into the world just as his favorite master was 48 Life of Tintoretto. leaving it, and who could, therefore, never have known him personally, or even perhaps have been acquainted with his sons, who must have been al- ready advanced in life. He is better known for his biographies of Venetian artists than for any pictures that he painted of his own — resembling in this and some other respects, the Florentine Vasari. Lanzi, Zenetti, Zabeo, and other Italian art writers all fol- low after Ridolfi in regard to the facts of Tintoretto's life, though they frequently differ from his estimate of Tintoretto's works. He had not the good for- tune, like Vasari, of being a contemporary of the great men whom he describes and personally ac- quainted with them, but his book has nevertheless a positive value, both on account of Vasari's unfin- ished statement of Venetian art and from his de- cided preference for the Florentine painters. If it were not for Ridolfi, we should know little or noth- ing of some of the brightest lights of the Venetian school. Fortunately, he is a sincere writer. We feel this in reading him, as we feel that Vasari is sometimes willing to fake the risk of an erroneous statement, and prefers afterwards to insist on his own correct- ness, rather than gracefully acknowledge a mistake. It is not to be supposed that his writing belongs to a high order of literature, for literature was not his profession. His style, however, is pleasant, sym- pathetic, naive ; and when the subject of his short biographies is an interesting one, his account is very good reading. Occasionally he succeeds in giving quite an original and ingenious turn to his expres- yacopo Robusti. 49 sion. He does not attempt, like so many other writers of the second class, to conceal himself be- hind his composition, but frankly discloses his charac- ter and temperament. A large portion of his book is necessarily devoted to an enumeration of differ- ent works of art, which he varies at times with philosophical reflections on art and the life and character of artists — some excellent, and others more or less commonplace. He knows nothing of the modem form of art criticism, as we find it in Kiigler, and Crowe, and Cavalcaselle, but his remarks on the masterpieces to which he refers are generally sensible, judicious, and instructive. We like this ingenious, warm-hearted Italian, who is so ready to admit the superiority of his predecessors. He is not, however, a penetrating critic. To enter deeply into the spiritual life of a great artist, the sanctuary, where his poetic designs are conceived, requires a cultivated delicacy of introspection, like the visual training by which the naturalist learns to make use of his microscope. Ridolfi never went far in this direction. Neither is he altogether impartial. His admiration for Tintoretto, both as an artist and a man, is much to his credit, but his praise often takes on the color of a panegyric, and we should guard ourselves against following him too far in this direction. He also repeats statements which could only have come to him by tradition, without, in most cases, referring to any authority, and positively as if he had been an eye-witness of the circumstances. This adds much to the dramatic effect of his narra- tive, but should be a warning against our placing a 50 Life of Tintoretto. too credulous faith in it. That he was himself fully satisfied of its truthfulness, there can be no doubt* Ridolfi lived in a period of Venetian history when the decay of national prosperity had brought on the whole community those evil effects which Byron describes in the death speech of Marino Faliero. There was no work for anyone, except house servants and gondoliers : idleness had brought with it vice, and crime : misery was wellnigh universal ; for even the wealthy, whose means had been greatly reduced, could not be considered rich, so heavy were the taxes, and so exacting the demands of charity. Ridolfi must have felt this without quite understand- ing it, for it was the element in which he was born and brought up. It gives a tinge of sadness to his biographies, which finally conclude with the most pathetic confession concerning his own life. He says : " Long were my labors, scant my reward, hard my profession, many the vexations, small the human discretion ; I found teachers envious, rivals numer- ous, pretenders many, friends few, the world a liar, and hope delusive, — founded on vanity and empty air." This is the echo of a national tragedy. It comes from the tightening of the coils of fate, and poor * I cannot learn that Ridolfi's book has ever been translated into English, except in some detached passages. It seems to me a more valuable Vfork than Lanzi's, especially in this, that it was viritten by a professional artist and not by an amateur critic. It would be a ■worthy and profitable undertaking, now that public interest in Vene- tian painting is at a high pitch, to render it into our language. The edition of 1648, one of the earliest, was a most sumptuous publication, worthy of Aldus himself. Jacopo Robusti. 5 1 human nature is not responsible for it. In the indi- vidual, a moral decline is not always coincident with the loss of material possessions. Why, therefore, should it be in a nation ? Yet it is a sad spectacle when a prosperous and cultivated family are suddenly compelled by financial bankruptcy to struggle against necessities to which they are wholly unaccustomed ; and how much more pitiful when a great city, or a whole nation is placed under the ban of adversity. Turner's affecting picture in the National Gallery of the Decline of Carthage, in which the setting sun shines on groups of noble men and women, all list- less and despondent, might have been termed with equal truth the Decline of Venice. Vasari has little to say of Tintoretto, except that he was an amiable and remarkably versatile man, much given to music, but as a painter, bold, obsti- nate, and perverse. It is not likely that Vasari knew much about him or he would have made a more com- plete and, we will hope, a more appreciative state- ment. Ridolfi, indeed, refers to a severe and, as he thinks, unjust criticism by Vasari of Tintoretto's earlier pictures, but where he came across such a statement is quite a mystery, for nothing of the kind has come down to us in Vasari's published writings. It is not improbable that Vasari de- pended on Sebastian del Piombo, or some other Venetian resident of Florence, for his opinion of Tintoretto, but whence Ridolfi drew his information about Vasari, nobody can tell. The Abate Luigi Lanzi was a Florentine writer on art, who lived nearly a hundred years after Ridolfi — 52 Life of Tintoretto. that is, in the early part of the eighteenth century. He has never been considered a distinguished authority, but his observations have value, because they indicate the best opinion of a period mediate between Vasari's time and our own. The passage already quoted from him in regard to Titian is of a keenness and brilliancy somewhat above his usual level. Such passages are not so common in his writings as they might be. In his account of Tinto- retto he follows closely after Ridolfi with respect to the facts of his life and after Vasari in the opinion of his character, adding a criticism of his own, which would appear to have been founded on too slight an investigation. The space and consideration which he devotes to Tintoretto are hardly worthy of the subject. To return to Ridolfi, then, he begins as follows : "Jacopo was born in Venice, scene of so many mar- vels, in the year 1512.* His father was Battista Robusti, a Venetian citizen and a cloth dyer, from which circumstance the son received the cognomen of Tintoretto. While still a boy, he began to draw upon the walls of his house with charcoal, frequently also employing colors from his father's dyes, and al- though his figures were puerile, they were not devoid of grace. His parents were agreed in desiring to cul- * According to the record of Tintoretto's death, preserved in the church of St. Marciliau in Venice, which states that he was seventy- five years and eight months at that time, he must have been born some time in September, A.D. 1518. When we consider the years in which his different chef-d'ceuvres were produced, and also the birth year of his youngest daughter, we perceive that this is more likely to be correct than the date commonly assigned. yacopo Robtisti. 53 tivate this natural inclination, and he was placed with Titian, being received into his house among other youths and permitted to copy some studies of the master. But when the latter, returning after a brief absence, saw some papers, covered with draw- ings, peeping out from under a bench, he asked who had executed them. Jacopo, being the author, and fearing that his work was incorrect, said rather timidly that he had done them. Titian, foreseeing from such beginnings that the boy might become a great painter, and interfere with him in his art, lost patience, and — so active in the human breast is the little worm of jealousy — after going upstairs to lay aside his mantle, he ordered his pupil, Girolamo, to dismiss Jacopo from his house, so that the latter, not knowing wherefore, was deprived of a master." The story of Titian's unfair treatment of the young Robusti, reminds us at once of what Vasari says of his somewhat similar behavior towards Paris Bordone; but it also suggests the experience of Ghirlandajo with the young Buonarotti. The truth of the matter may lie between these extremes. We ought to be so much the more cautious as to ac- cepting Ridolfi's statement in its fulness, because it is made with so much confidence and such cir- cumstantial accuracy of detail. The story seems to have been current in Venice, and believed there without opposition. Dr. Hubert Janitschek, who has made a careful and thorough examination into the lives of the chief Venetian painters, considers the whole anecdote highly improbable. Titian, he avers, might perhaps have been jealous of a promis- 54 Life of Tintoretto. ing rival in his art, but it is hardly conceivable that he would feel in that manner towards a boy, no mat- ter how precocious. The query naturally arises, if Jacopo Robust! was expelled from Titian's studio while he was still of tender age, when and where did he learn the art of painting ? Schiavone may have confided to him the secret of Titian's coloring, but Schiavone was little more than a household decorator, and Tintoretto could not have learned much more from him than skill in the mixing of paints. We do not hear that he studied under Palma Vecchio, or any other well-reputed master. That he should have offended Titian by some act of gross negligence is not more likely than that the breach between them occurred as it is here set down. All accounts agree that Tintoretto was of an ardent, tempestuous nature, and a young person in whom such a temperament is united with strength of character, is usually a most difficult subject to deal with. The instruction of genius is no sinecure, at best. We do not think better of Michel Angelo for having corrected his master's drawing, nor was Ghirlandajo to be blamed for resenting such a slight upon his dignity and reputation. That Jacopo, with his original and inventive turn of mind, should final- ly have come into collision with Titian is by no means to be wondered at, and the form or occasion of the occurrence is comparatively unimportant. All the maxims of art which Titian had invented for his own guidance, and which had become to him conventional or irrefragable rules, his great celebrity. Jacopo Robusti. 55 increasing wealth, and association witli men of the highest rank, were so many barriers to prevent him from assimilating with a youthful and different type of genius. The trouble between them is more likely to have been caused by a difference of opinion than by jealousy or any sordid motive. The separation may have taken place at a later period than Ridolfi sup- poses, and the objectionable drawings may have contained an ambitious attempt to improve on some of Titian's own designs. Racine had a similar dif- ficulty with Corneille, and Schiller also encountered at first no very friendly reception from the august Goethe. At all events, we have only one side of the testimony before us, and should give Titian the benefit of a judgment deferred. At what age Jacopo graduated from the workshop of his master is, therefore, uncertain, but it was evi- dently not until he had become well grounded in the principles of his art. The intervening years from this time until he appeared before the public as an accomplished painter are externally almost a blank. It was, however, the critical period of his life, — his internally constructive period, in which he studied, and struggled, and fought against himself ; nourish- ing the spark of genius, until it blazed up into a resplendent flame. It might be compared to the same period in the life of Demosthenes, when he copied Thucydides seven times, and shaved one side of his face to avoid the allurements of fashionable society. The daring ambition of young Robusti knew no limit. Whatever others had accomplished 56 Life of Tintoretto. that was finest and greatest, this he would surpass. Like Raphael he wished to unite in himself all the virtues of his predecessors. Whatever was excellent in other artists he would appropriate : the beauty of the Venetian school should be grafted on the Roman. Fortunately he was endowed with a strong constitu- tion to bear the strain of all this ; and the honest old dyer must have supplied him generously with his ducats, for the course of training which he prescribed for himself was such as no modern painter even dreams of. It fairly gives one a touch of sentiment to think of this handsome, manly youth, so amiable, sociable, and fond of music, secluding himself in his own study, and working industriously while the gay crowd went continually by his window. Hear Ridolfi again : " The disgust which filled Jacopo's mind is easily imagined ; yet as affronts of this sort are often keenly stimulating to gentle souls and inspire them with noble resolutions, so Jacopo, moved by gener- ous disdain, although only a boy, resolved in his mind the means of continuing in the course he had begun. Knowing the worth of Titian and the honors universally heaped upon him, he carefully studied that artist's works, together with the reliefs of Michel Angelo (reputed to be the father of de- sign), and strove in every way to become a painter. Thus by the aid of these two divine lights which painting and sculpture render so illustrious in mod- ern times, he made his way to the wished-for goal ; it being only wisdom, while on a difficult road, to provide one's self with a sure guide to point out the yacopo Robusti. 57 way. And in order not to depart from the resolve he had formed, he wrote on the wall of his studio the following inscription : ^ II disegno di Michel Angela e'l colorito di Titiano.' " He then set to work to procure from many sources, not without great expense, chalk drawings from antique marbles, and sent to Florence for the small models made by Daniello da Volterra of the figures on the tombs of the Medici, I.e., those of Dawn, Twilight, Night, and Day. These he care- fully studied, making an endless number of designs by lamplight, in order to acquire, by means of the strong shadows thus produced, a vigorous manner of depicting objects in relief. He also reproduced with charcoal and water-colors on tinted pasteboard, the hands, arms, and torsos which he had collected, putting in the high lights with chalk and white lead, learning in this manner the current forms for the needs of his art. " He was possessed of sufficient acuteness to know that in order to become a great painter it was neces- sary to make his designs from well chosen reliefs, rather than confine himself to a close imitation of nature, whose productions, as has been said, are for the most part imperfect and of unequal beauty. He went on his way, sagely observing that the idea of the skilful workman is to make use of the beautiful in nature, and to supplement her deficiencies in his work, so as to give her an appearance of com- pleteness. By steadily copying and studying the pictures of Titian, he established his method of color- ing, whence it arises that many pictures painted in 58 Life of Tintoretto. his best period retain the style of the earlier master, with the advantage of some observations acquired through study: and thus, following in the foot- steps of the great masters, he advanced with rapid strides towards perfection. " He also applied himself to the drawing of figures, to which he gave grace of movement, representing them in various attitudes and often greatly fore- shortened. Sometimes he dissected corpses, in order to see the action of the muscles, comparing what he had observed in the reliefs with nature, learning from the first correctness of form, and from the lat- ter harmony and tenderness. He moreover acquired facility in his drawing by constructing little models of wax or clay, and dressing them with pieces of cloth, suiting the folds of the cloth to the outlines of the limbs. He then arranged these figures in little houses and perspective (boxes) made of wood or pasteboard, with little windows fitted into them, in order to obtain his lights and shadows. Other models he suspended by threads to the beams of his room, so that he might observe their effect when seen from below and be able to make the foreshort- enings for friezes and entablatures. In this manner he conceived fanciful designs, the records of which were afterwards preserved in the storehouse of his wide- ranging thoughts." Even if this account be taken as somewhat mythi- cal — that is, if we consider it a mixture of the facts of Tintoretto's custom and Ridolfi's theory of in- struction, it still remains the most complete state- ment on record of the methods of study employed yacopo Robusti. 59 by a painter of the sixteenth century. For young Robusti to have imported casts and models of Flor- entine statues to Venice, in those days, when trans- portation by land was so costly and difficult, was certainly a significant piece of enterprise. In the prevailing condition of Italian politics, one or two wars might have been declared while his merchan- dise was on the way, and his baggage wagons ap- propriated by the Dukes of Milan or Ferrara. It was not more than ten years since Francis the First arranged with Benvenuto Cellini for the first casts from the Apollo Belvedere and other celebrated antiques that had been seen in Paris. That they could not be obtained in Venice is in itself a suf- ficient explanation of the lack of ideality in Titian's and Giorgione's figures — especially the lack of grace in Titian's Venuses. Here was a long stride tow- ards the amalgamation of Florentine and Venetian art ; and the example set by Jacopo Robusti has re- mained in force to the present time. Leonardo da Vinci had already recommended to beginners in art to study from the best antiques in order to obtain a perfect sense of form, and also from living models, in order to escape from the coldness and hardness which result from continual copying of marble and plaster. The pictures of Mantegna, who was the first to make Greek sculpture useful in Italian art, suffer irremediably from this last defect. His Christ in the Berlin Museum, otherwise a very noble work, looks like a human being who has just been turned to stone. Leonardo himself succeeded in escaping from it, but Buonarotti, who was a sculp- 6o Life of Tintoretto. tor by profession, could not fairly be expected to do so, and Tintoretto retained traces of it in various works almost to the close of his life. Reminiscences of his study from statuary appear in one place in the grouping of his figures, in another perhaps as a portion of a single figure, or as a lack of tenderness in the expression of a face. Sometimes when it has been obscured by the warmth and delicacy of his coloring, it will be brought out again in the brown shadows of a photograph. I believe the last shadow of this fault is to be met with in the back of his beautiful Euphrosyne in the Anticollegio of the Ducal Palace, painted in or about the year 1 577, while its companion piece, the Bacchus and Ariadne, is without a blemish. In his St. Sebastian, who is represented already stone-dead, as the phrase goes, it would seem to be not altogether inappropriate. Titian would probably have desig- nated this as a dangerous method of instruction, but Tintoretto acquired from it a skill in drawing and a perfect mastery of the human form, such as has never been surpassed but once, nor equalled by any Venetian whatsoever. His figures are more Hellenic than Raphael's, and their postures as original and striking as those of Michel Angelo. It is in his most ideal compositions that this statue-like appear- ance oftenest comes to the surface, which is what might be expected. The motto, the drawing of Michel Angelo and the coloring of Titian, is well known to people who have either forgotten, or have never been informed of Tintoretto's proper name. It has rather a startling Jacopo Robusti. 6i sound, and has often been derided by art critics, who have considered it impossible to combine such widely separated extremes. This depends, however, on the significance in which we accept it. The Italian disegno may be translated either as " design " or " drawing." Now design is properly the mental conception of a picture which precedes the drawing, and to which the primary sketch, often roughly and hastily executed, is the nearest visible approach, so that in some instances a superior design may be compatible with quite indifferent drawing. Sculptors and painters, however, dislike meta- physiczd subtleties, and there are few things so un- pleasant to their sight as a book on aesthetics. There is more than one reason, therefore, for believing it was the drawing and not the design of Michel Angelo that Jacopo Robusti intended. The dull, autumnal color-tone of Buonarotti is remarkably well suited to the grand, primeval creations of the Sistine Chapel — we could not wish it to be other- wise, — and where Jacopo approached the same class of subjects, as in the Death of Abel, he always made use of sober and even dusky colors. Nothing could be more unsuitable for a subject like the Creation of Adam than the warm, sensuous, life-like hues of Titian, because they bring us too close to the event, and leave nothing for the imagination. The very idea of it reminds us of the stained statues of Venus and Eve by the English sculptor Gibson. Tintoretto never imitated Michel Angelo's style, though there is sometimes a pleasant reminiscence of it in his drawing — in an outstretched arm, per- 62 Life of Tintoretto. haps, or the foreshortening of a torso — what no charitable person would think of calling an imita- tion. If we are to judge therefore of the meaning of this motto by the example of his works, we would suppose that he intended by it the cultivation of a spirited and expressive outline, such as Michel Angelo first set the example of, united with a warm and life-like tone of coloring ; that is, the best draw- ing and the best coloring in one. In his Miracle of St. Mark he has succeeded in reproducing Titian's color with the most admirable drawing ; and in a number of other pictures he has united the drawing of Michel Angelo with a color at least as good as Titian's though in a different style. Rubens also combined a more brilliant coloring than Titian's with the most rigorous and expressive drawing, and the two seem to be exactly suited to each other. Tintoretto never followed after the physical extrava- gance of Michel Angelo, but kept prudently within the bounds of possible humanity. If he anywhere indulged in colossal fancies, they are to be sought for among the ruins of his Last Judgment in Santa Maria dell' Orto. The question naturally arises, whether Tintoretto visited Florence and Rome during these under- ground years of self-instruction, or at any later period. It would seem as if either his enterprising spirit or his admiration for Michel Angelo would alone have been sufficient to carry him thither, but there is no record that he ever passed beyond the frontiers of the Venetian state. Italians have never been much given to travelling, each being satisfied yacopo Robusti. 63 with his native city, and thinking it the finest in the world, and why should any one belonging in Venice, and having enough to occupy him there, desire to leave it, even for a temporary absence? If Tinto- retto went to Rome at all, it^s more likely to have been at this time, in pursuance of his studies, than after he had become celebrated, for the sake of being entertained by cardinals and princes. It would be more in accordance with his character. The influence of Leonardo's treatise on painting is visible in Jacopo's darker reliefs and may have suggested to him the little figures in wax and clay and their houses. We do not hear of this elsewhere in the history of art, and his biographers all make a special point of it, as if it were quite original with him. He could acquire in this way practical experi- ence of three different kinds. First ; he learned to reproduce the effect of artifi- cial light, for which he afterwards became especially noted. It was by this kind of rather superficial skill that he achieved his first victory over public opinion. Secondly; he thus learned the art of grouping figures in composition. It was easier to do this on a small scale than on a large one ; and his marionettes could be moved about more quickly and satisfactorily than living models could be in the same manner. By the use of artificial light he also became accus- tomed to the use of deeper shadows and thus ajj quired a bold and effective chiaroscuro. Thirdly ; by suspending his images to the ceilind he was enabled to study the foreshortening in pei" 64 Life of Tintoretto. spective of figures from below, a science very useful in the representation of angels and other celestial personages, and one hitherto little cultivated in Venice. And finally he practised himself in the drawing of elongated figures to be placed high up on the walls of churches and public buildings, so that they might appear of the right proportions when seen from below. Nothing can give a clearer sense of the difSculties an historical painter is obliged to contend with, than the fact that he has to consider in such cases not only what expression his drawing will have in itself, but also how it will appear in a different perspective from that in which he paints it. It is not less of a triumph than that of the celebrated violinist, who, having broken one of his strings in the midst of a performance, finished the concerto successfully on the other three. In such solid courses of masonry, did Jacopo Robusti lay the foundation of his art and his great- ness as well. Having obtained familiarity with all the details of anatomy, perspective, light and shade, and the dramatic positions of the body, he was able to work henceforth confidently and quickly, for the most part without the aid of living models ; and could therefore design his compositions with more freedom and originality. We hear little of his studies in anatomy but they must have been a most thorough preparation ; to judge from the grace and suppleness of his nude figures and the great variety of attitudes in which they are represented. CHAPTER IV. EARLY WORK. " The hero is not fed on sweets ; Daily his own heart he eats : The chambers of the great are jails And head-winds right for royal sails." NONE of the great artists of Italy suffered so much from lack of encouragement, patron- age, and appreciation as Jacopo Robusti ; and this, no doubt, had its influence in determining the bent of his genius, which was always more or less serious, and often with an undertow of deep pathos. Especially in early life, when we should expect him to be cheerful and light-hearted, many of his paintings have a decidedly grave, almost sombre, cast, which he did not escape from until better success crowned his efforts. He had no influential friend to advance his interests, and he was obliged, therefore, to push his way to the front very much in the American fashion. The ingenious devices by which he ob- tained satisfactory orders proves him to have been a person of business tact, and not without some shrewd information with regard to human nature. 65 66 Life of Tintoretto. The Roman pontiffs rewarded the artists who have given them distinction in a princely manner, though not beyond their deserts ; and the Duke of Tuscany presented Benvenuto Cellini with a house in Florence, in return for his statue of Perseus ; but there were no such beneficent patrons in Venice. The only support that art received there on a large scale, came from the government, and from the chief dignitaries of the churches. It is almost amus- ing now to read that the chiefs of the illustrious Council of Ten paid Victor Carpaccio five ducats, or about nineteen dollars, per month, like a house- painter, for his work in the Ducal Palace ; and the dignitaries of the Church always considered that whatever was done at their request ought to be a semi-gratuitous contribution. Such fine largesses as Titian received from Charles the Fifth and the Duke Alphonso never fell to Tintoretto's share. He was even sometimes obliged to resort to arbitration to obtain his just dues. He worked for little, and often for nothing, apparently feeling satisfied if he could obtain an outlet for the pictorial ideas that crowded his mind. There is no record of a more unselfish devotion to an elevated pursuit. Jacopo, therefore, being aware that no amount of knowledge is of much value without practical ex- perience, began by offering his services to artists of the second class, who made a business of decorating benches in the piazza of St. Mark. In those vigor- ous times when spring beds were unknown, and even prelates galloped about on horseback, the place of the modern sofa was largely supplied by benches of Early Work. 67 oak or other hard wood, with high backs, in a pre- ceding age elaborately carved, but now left plain and smooth to be ornamented with arabesques, small portraits, and even pictures from sacred or pro- fane history. Not only benches, but the panels of cabinets, the woodwork of fireplaces, and almost any piece of household furniture that presented a suffi- cient surface to paint a picture on was likely to be made use of in the same manner. Such was the fashion of the day. The artists who served for this superior kind of decoration would seem to have had a sort of exchange, or exhibition room, in St. Mark's Place and almost formed a guild by themselves. At the top of the profession was Schiavone, whose pic- tures, so little thought of then, have long since been distributed among the different museums. Jacopo attached himself to him, in order to follow in the footsteps of his former master, and offered his ser- vices as a free gift, in order to acquire the steadiness of hand that can only come from continual practice. In consequence of this, Jacopo's earlier pictures re- semble Schiavone's in coloring, and a number of them have been mistaken for Schiavone's and so reported by different writers. One of his first independant commissions was not unlike the escapade of a college boy, and we could wish that Ridolfi had given a more complete state- ment of it. Having learned that a new clock was to be placed in the citadel — probably the clock- tower at the gates of the arsenal, — he accompanied the workmen to whom the business had been con- signed, and having made friends with the officer in 68 Life of Tintoretto. charge, Jacopo was permitted to decorate the face of the clock after his own fancy. We are not in- formed that permission was obtained for this from the illustrious Council of Ten, nor what they thought of the affair afterwards. The first substantial return that came to him from such arduous efforts was helping Schiavone to or- nament the palace of the Zeno family, near the church of the Crociferi. The Zeni were among the noblest of the old Venetian families ; Renier Zeno having been chosen doge nearly at the time that Dante was born in Florence, during the heroic days of the Venetian doges. Next in order to Victor Pisani and Pietro Loredano, in the list of great Venetian sea captains, comes Carlo Zeno, who cap- tured the great Genoese galleon, (the largest vessel that had so far floated in the Mediterranean, and, perhaps, like the Great Eastern, too large to be altogether manageable according to mediaeval methods,) and divided with Pisani the honor of having finished the last desperate struggle between Venice and Genoa with a glorious victory for his native city. The family continued to be prominent in peace and war until the last days of the republic. In the Cd de' Zeni, then, Jacopo made his first appearance as a serious artist, painting the full- length figure of a woman on a panel in the ceiling, which gave such good satisfaction that he was soon afterward engaged to paint an historical picture with many figures on the side of the palace fronting the Campo San Paolo. The subject of this. The Con- version of St- Paul, is so characteristic of Tintoretto Early Work. 69 that it seems as if be must have chosen it himself, and it is much to be regretted that such an early fruit of genius, even if immature, could not have been preserved, but at the time of Ridolfi's writing- there were only a few patches of it left. Another work, which he performed with Schiavone's assist- ance, was the Story of St. Barbara, arranged as a frieze around the walls of a chapel, with a figure of St. Christopher in the opening above ; but Ridolfi does not indicate clearly where it was located, and now nothing is known of it any more. The easiest success in life usually comes from technical dexterity, united with quick wit and a docile nature. This appears to have been the case with Schiavone, who was somewhat younger than Jacopo, and yet had thus far taken the lead of him. He had, for the same reason, succeeded in retaining the favor of Titian, and this was no doubt of assist- ance to him. Such men are, however, like small yachts that sail about bravely in a harbor, but can- not venture on the high seas. After this commence- ment at the Zeno palace, we find the previous order of affairs reversed. The mental superiority of Jacopo now gives him the advantage, and he soon leaves his amiable friend far behind. He did not, however, forget Schiavone's kindness ; they had feen fellow-pupils together, and they always remained most excellent friends. It is reported that Tintc^ett^' once said that it would be well if all other artists would follow Schiavone's example, though they would do ill not to design better than he did, which was perhaps as sincere a comj^iment as he deserved. 70 Life of Tintoretto. That Schiavone should have obtained the decora- tion of the library in the Ducal Palace in compe- tition against Jacopo, appears like a just recompense of fortune, and also a fair decision, for he was the best person in Venice for work of that kind. It is a pleasure to read Ridolfi, because he brings us closer to the time of which he writes than any author of the present day is able to. It is like listen- ing to the tales of a grandfather. He says again : "But now let us briefly refer to the works which Tintoretto executed in the spring-time of his youth, and which gave promise of the more mature produc- tions of his after years. At this time, the works of Palma Vecchio, of Pordenone, of Bonifacio, were renowned only in Venice, whereas universal homage was rendered to Titian ; and it only remained for Tintoretto to make himself estimated at his full value — for practising one's self in public labors gives opportunity for further study and for advancement in the general estimation, — wherefore he shrank from no fatigue in overcoming those difificulties which usually beset the inexperienced. There is no path more diflScult to traverse than that of virtue, all covered with stones and thorns ; and the reward of noble effort is a breath of vapor, which nourishes not and soon disappears." It is to be regretted that we cannot know more of the spring-time of this aspiring spirit. Scarcely anything remains to mark this integrating period of Jacopo's life. We are unable to trace the develop- ment of his talent through an interesting series of phases, as we can in the life of Raphael, until we Early Work. 71 reach the perfect fruition of his maturity and art. That he painted smaller pictures at this time, por- traits and imaginative pieces, there can be little doubt, but they have disappeared, and there is no way of identifying them, if they were to be dis- covered again. There are pictures in various gal- leries, attributed to Tintoretto, which do him little justice, and may belong to his immature efforts ; but a close comparison between a painting in Dresden and another in Florence is quite impossible. Ridolfi says : " In those days which may be called the happy ones of painting, there were growing up in Venice many highly endowed youths, who were making good progress in art and were accustomed to expose the fruits of their labors in the Merceria, in order to test the sentiments of the spectators. Tintoretto himself exhibited in this way the results of his communion with God and nature, and among the pictures thus shown were two portraits of him- self with a bas-relief in his hand, and of a brother of his playing the guitar. These were painted by lamplight in so wonderful a manner as to cause amazement to all ; and one gentle soul, inflamed with poetic ardor at the sight of them sang as follows : " Si Tinctorettus noctis sic lucet in umbris, Exorto faciet quid radiante Die ? " Literally translated : " If Tintoretto shines thus in the shadows of night, what will he accomplish when the radiant Day has risen ? " This is the first instance in which we hear of 72 Life of Tintoretto. Jacopo Robusti being called by the name of Tinto- retto ; though he may have received that cognomen when he first came into Titian's atelier. It would seem to have been already a title with which the public was familiar. In the days of Mantegna and Filippino Lippi, when painters worked for the glory of God and the holy saints and not at all for art or their own reputation, such theatrical effects of light were wholly unknown, nor do we hear much of them after this until a later period, the age of the eclectic school. They have their value, as sheep painting and still-life pictures have, and if Tintoretto could find no other way to attract the attention of the giddy Venetians, who will blame him for making . use of this ? Effects of light were a sort of stock in trade with him ; and if this is to be considered a symptom of the decline of art, then so far Tinto- retto shared in that decline. It cannot be denied that, unless taken as a &{)ecialty, as in Rembrandt's case, it indicates a lack of simplicity. There is no reason why an easel painting should be destroyed unless by a conflagration, and yet Ridolfi evidently did not know what had become of these two portraits. Tintoretto is reported to have set a trap for his former master by painting a spirited historical scene and placing it on the bridge of the Rialto, where Titian would be certain to pass by it, sooner or later. There were of course plenty to inform him what so distinguished a man had to say of it, and the story goes that Titian was much attracted by it, and praised it warmly, without being at all aware who Early Work. 73 was its author. Yet he may have perceived whence the picture came, and been only too glad to do Tintoretto justice for once. He painted as Byron wrote poetry, in order to re- lieve his mind ; at least there is no other way of accounting for the prodigality of his early work. Ridolfi enumerates quite a catalogue of pictures pro- duced at this time, for which he received, at the best, but a small remuneration. Their size and the number of figures they contained prove that they must have been struck off with ease and rapidity ; sometimes no doubt with too much haste. To the Church of Mary Magdalen he gave an oil painting to be placed in the square above the frieze, representing Christ discoursing to the penitent saint, and in the opposite square another of the Magdalen receiving the sacra- ment from St, Maximian at her death ; subjects of the very finest, which do not appear to have been repeated by any other painter of the first rank. One cannot help referring here to the coarse power of Titian's Magdalen in the Pitti Palace, a savage creature of whom nothing better was to be expected than a brief, emotional repentance, and also to Murillo's Magdalen in Madrid, with dishevelled hair and the skull beside her. Any one can perceive the superiority of Tintoretto's conception, but how far his performance equalled it, remains in the dark, for this also has gone with the rest. Ridolfi gives a long list of works executed during the first seven years of Tintoretto's manhood, but they are little more to us now than the catalogue of warriors which Homer recounts as being slain by 74 Life of Tintoretto. Diomed and Achilles. They are only names to us, but they at least indicate that he was engaged on an elevated and interesting class of subjects, very dif- ferent from those that Titian was at work upon about this time, and those of Bellini before him. Two of them are peculiarly significant, both on account of their character, their great size, and the conditions in which they were painted. About the year 1 546, he painted Belshazzar's Feast in fresco on the fagade of the house of the ordinary men at the Arsenal ; and this is noteworthy from its being the first of Tinto- retto's works to which Ridolfi assigns a definite date. Now if we accept 1512 as the time of his birth, he would at this juncture have been thirty-four years old, with comparatively little to show for it for so active, enterprising, and rapidly working a person. This is the best, and perhaps as good a reason as we I'equire, for preferring to accept the later date referred to in the necrology of St. Marcillian. Ridolfi writes in a glowing vein of the merits of this fresco, and the public enthusiasm when it was first dis- played. It was, no doubt, a highly dramatic work, with a great many fine and characteristic figures; and when we consider the dismal list of subjects with which he afterwards adorned San Rocco, we cannot regret too much its premature disappearance. For fifty years past, Venice had been the scene of a perpetual Belshazzar's feast. The luxury, the splendid establishments of the nobles, their gorgeous entertainments, the revelry of young aristocrats, as well as the pomp of state ceremonies and proces- sions, had been constantly increasing, while the Early Work. 75 political importance of Venice and the national prosperity were rapidly declining. The government treasury was empty, while the income of the nobles and of wealthy plebeian families was only exceeded by the most prosperous period of Venetian history. The Grand Canal, as it appears now, was built up chiefly during the sixteenth century, and the largest private palaces in the city were begun at this time, and many of them still remain unfinished. The fashion of decorating the fronts of houses was an index of the levity and thoughtlessness that resided within. The costumes of men and women, so simple and graceful in the fourteenth century, had been growing more and more flamboyant during the past hundred years. The richest velvets and brightest colored silks were worn alike by both sexes. The heels of ladies' shoes were of a surprising height. We use such costumes now for masquerades, and that is what they are the proper exponent of. Mean- while the Venetian navy, the sole protection of the state, was declining both in efificiency and the number of its ships. Too much importance has been attached to the evil consequences of the League of Cambray. Venice suffered from the coalition, but quickly recovered most of the territory that she was deprived of by it ; while the other powers engaged in that piratical alliance were all obliged to pay dearly for their cupidity, one after another. Her pecuniary loss was enormous, but a prosperous community will usually recover from the severest war-debt in the course of fifteen years. How much solid property there was 76 Life of Tintorelto. in the state may be known by this, that, in one of the later exigencies of the repubhc, the sale of patents of nobility at fifty thousand ducats apiece was taken advantage of by no less than seventy families. Now there is no city of the United States, except New York, where such a transaction could be effected, even if people cared for titles as much as formerly. If Venice had possessed a spirit in 1 540 like that of Prussia in 18 10, the state might have preserved its eastern empire, or even improved upon it. For at that time its empire was still four times as large as that of Athens during the reign of Pericles. Besides its possessions in the mainland of Italy, it owned the coast of Dalmatid, the Morea, Cyprus, Crete, and nearly all the Grecian islands. The peril of the republic lay at Constantinople. The Turks had seized Rhodes, Tenedos, Negropont, and were preparing for fresh aggressions. They had the ad- vantage of being close to the scene of action, and their land forces were equal to the power of France or Spain ; but they were no match at sea for the naval tactics of the Italians, The Venetians were no longer obliged to maintain an expensive mercenary force and pay General CoUeoni twelve hundred ducats a month ; their Italian territory was now pro- tected by the jealousy between the Austrian and Spanish branches of the Hapsburg family ; and by con- centrating the energy of the state on one point, they might have supported a fleet that would have swept all opposition from the Mediterranean. When the final struggle came, they fought with desperate valor, but they were not properly prepared for it. Early Work. 'jy No nation can afford to waste its substance in long- continued revelry. There were reflective and seri- ous men in Venice, who saw the handwriting on the wall and trembled for the future. Tintoretto must have been one of these. A man who is true to him- self is a patriot of necessity, and with his ardent and deep-toned nature, how could it be otherwise ? Painters and musicians express their feeling in their different arts. We do not hear that the Illustrious Ten rewarded him suitably for his work at the Arse- nal. We can believe that, disgusted at their frivol- ity, he went to the Arsenal and set up a protest and warning to his degenerate countrymen in the very birthplace of Venetian glory. After this, having heard that a new palace was being erected near the Ponte St. Angelo, he was de- termined to decorate it, and went to the padrone to offer his services. He met, however, with a cool reception ; the owner had no intention of ornament- ing his fagade, but finally accepted Tintoretto's proposal to do the work for the cost of the col- ors. Here he represented a cavalry battle on the lower portion, and above it an historical scene with many figures (but the subject already forgotten an hundred years later), with beautiful female figures like Caryatids in the narrow spaces. The action of the knights was so spirited that it appears to have been remembered after the work had been obliter- ated ; and however much we may deprecate painting the outside of houses with works of genius, it may be admitted that the effect in this case must have been magnificent. It is easy to imagine it. yS Life of Tintoretto. There are a number of easel pictures in various galleries out of Venice attributed to Tintoretto among which a good many may be set down as of doubtful authenticity. A few of them, perhaps, be- long to this formative period of his life, but the comparative examination of them is diflficult and would hardly repay even a connoisseur of infinite leisure. I remember a picture somewhere ascribed to Tintoretto, with a mule or a donkey in it — it may be in Florence, but I cannot recollect — which struck me at the time as being a youthful production. It was of a light, dusky-brown tone, and not especially in- teresting. His Madonna with St. Mark and St. Luke in the Berlin Gallery might be classed with it, or perhaps have been painted a year or two later. In the Prado at Madrid there is a Chaste Susanna, a daring picture, but of stainless purity, which I am inclined to ascribe to his twenty-fourth or twenty- fifth year. The expression is noble, but it is not drawn with a free hand. The only picture in Berlin that does Tintoretto justice is the one containing three half-length portraits. In the Venetian Academy there is a Madonna as- cribed to Tintoretto, standing statue-like on a pedes- tal, with devotees kneeling on either side, while a semicircle of cherubs without bodies are suspended like lanterns around her head. We might suppose that this juvenile design was the artist's first inde- pendent effort had he not been Titian's pupil, and if we did not know, from certain evidence, that it could not have been painted until after his sixtieth year. It is doubtful if he ever touched a brush to it. Early Work. 79 We have now arrived at the authentic worlts of Tintoretto,* and after so much has been lost there still remains enough to make, and as some think, to unmake, a great reputation. In the Venetian art of the sixteenth century we meet with a certain class of religious subjects which are peculiar to that city, and representative of the time. In Florence we find the religion of domestic life — holy families, and social congregations of saints ; in Rome, the glory of the Christian church— the victory of Constantine, and the acts of the apostles ; but in Venice, scenes of pageantry, wedding feasts, processions, and presentations. Of this not very re- ligious description of painting, Paolo Veronese was the head master, and in his hands it became still less religious. He certainly carried it to a pretty high pitch, and it is not surprising that he was summoned before the Inquisition to give an explanation of the levity with which he treated sacred subjects. Neither does it seem to me that the reproof which his judges administered to him was wholly undeserved. Tintoretto could not escape the prevailing tend- ency any more than the son of a millionaire can escape the influence of inherited wealth, but wher- ever he had to deal with this element he infused into * Yet we must not neglect to mention his fresco on the little house of a dyer, presumably a friend of the Robusti family, representing Ganymede carried aloft in a state of nature by Jupiter's eagle, a serio-comic subject which always provokes a smile from one sex and sjrmpathetic anxiety from the other. " He did not," says Ridolfi, " portray a tender, delicate boy, such as the poets d^escribe to us, but rather a strong, muscular fellow, and yet with so much feeling and spirit that the figure could not have been more powerfully painted. " 8o Life of Tintoretto. it the earnestness of his own nature. With him cere- monial splendor was always subordinated to some spiritually human quality, which outshone it as day- light does the brightest chandelier. His Wedding Feast at Cana is not attractive as a banquet scene, but for other reasons. In the modest little antique church of Santa Maria del Carmine, near the Campo Margherita, we suddenly come before a painting, which will natu- rally astonish any one who sees it for the first time, for it is almost a Titian and a Raphael united. " Why," he says, " have I never heard of this ? " In fact there is no more faultless picture between the Alps and the Apennines, and few that are less celebrated. It may not be more perfect than the Europa of Veronese, but it attains to a higher kind of perfection. It has not the fascinating grace of Raphael, but it possesses the ideality of Raphael, which is something much better. The Presentation of Jesus in the Temple. It is difficult to imagine a more perfect composi- tion than this. The Madonna, with full, womanly dignity, but with an expression of tenderness and religious humihty, supports the infant Saviour, while the high-priest, a splendid-looking old man, bends forward to receive him with equal gravity and tenderness. The Saviour is not represented as pre- maturely intelligent, but full of life and eagerness at the recognition of the high-priest as a , spiritual in- structor ; Joseph stands at one side, leaning easily on a stick, and resembles strikingly Raphael's Joseph Early Work. 61 • in the Holy Family at Munich, but is somewhat older, and has a more intellectual expression. It is the finest Joseph that I know of anywhere. Next to him stands a handsome lady with a Florentine face, bright and keen-looking, holding two white doves in her hands ; and a group of eight or ten spectators, mostly in shadow, complete the circle. The Virgin is not especially beautiful, but classic regularity of feature in her position would have looked somewhat cold. Tintoretto, therefore, con- centrated all his force upon her throat and breast, which seem to glow with a light reflected from her child. At the right of the high-priest, that is, on the left of the picture, is one of Tintoretto's charac- teristic figures, a young mother with her babe. She is looking upward, with an expression so pure, naive, loving, and altogether womanly, as to captivate every spectator. There is no female figure in the Vatican more original, or painted with more delicacy. The composition is well balanced, without effort, or evident intention, and everywhere carefully and soberly painted. In coloring, it is better than Schiavone and not quite equal to Titian. The general hue is a rich golden brown, lighted in places with brighter tints ; a tone well suited to the cheer- ful gravity of the subject. The figures of the high- priest, of Joseph, and of the woman seated with her babe are among Tintoretto's best ; but they are all free, graceful, and lifelike. There is, however, some- thing better in it than its perfection as a work of art, and that is the moral and intellectual quality of Tintoretto himself. 8^2- Life of Tintoretto. The Presentation in the Temple is mentioned by Ridolfi as having been painted previous to Tinto- retto's work in the Arsenal, which would place it somewhere about his twenty-sixth year. Later writers mention it as the earliest, or one of his earliest works, still extant in Venice ; but here we have the artist in the full maturity of his powers. There is not that boldness of design in it which is characteristic of the middle period of his life, but neither does it show any signs of youthful tender- ness or timidity. We do not discover in it signs of his preparatory studies, the use of artificial light, and drawing from plaster casts, which appear inter- mittently until his sixtieth year. According to this clue, it would seem likely his Fall of Man and Death of Abel belong to an earlier period than the Presenta- tion in the Temple ; but there is a boldness of design and originality in coloring in those two pictures which properly mark the transition to a later style. I am inclined to believe, on the whole, that Ridolfi is right, and the fact only causes us to regret the more the disappearance of all preceding paintings. From internal evidence, one would suppose it had been executed on Tintoretto's return from a visit to Florence ; as his Last Judgment may have been after a subsequent visit to Rome. The only works by Tintoretto which resemble it closely are the Miracle of St. Agnes and the group of saints in the left-hand upper corner of his Paradise. For the church of San Benedetto he painted a number of pictures, of which only two now remain, ^& Annunciation zxiA.^^ Woman of Samaria. These Early IFork. 83 resemble the preceding not a little in their coloring and the quiet grouping of the figures, and are well worth visiting, though not so decidedly works of genius and inspiration. We are informed that they were painted about the same time as the Presenta- tion, and this would seem to be quite likely. There is no picture of Raphael's, except his Entombment, painted at or before the same age, which is a match for the Presentation of Jesus. It ought to have made Tintoretto famous, and yet it did not. He was obliged to wait seven years longer before obtaining the celebrity he so well deserved. He could not say, as Dr. Johnson did in London two centuries later : " Slow rises worth, by poverty oppressed," for he does not appear to have suffered from pov- erty. Either he had inherited a good maintenance from his father, or the old dyer, proud of his son, and especially of his own foresight in regard to him, still supplied him generously, yet the situation could hardly have been satisfactory. Neither could he, as Titian had, years before, threaten the government with deserting his native city, to seek employment and better patronage in Rome, for the pillage of that city by Bourbon and Orange had spoiled it as a centre of the fine arts ; and, though Paul Third had brought about a temporary revival, Rome never became again what it had been under Julius and Leo, Milan was in possession of the Spaniards, and, in fact, everywhere except in Venice and Florence, the despotism of Charles the Fifth was crushing out 84 Life of Tintoretto. local independence, and with it all intellectual and artistic life. Titian still reigned in Venice, and it was not until his powers commenced visibly to de- cline, that Tintoretto came at last into public favor. It is highly probable that he made the journey to Rome about this time (perhaps with the hope of obtaining better commissions), for the next paintings of his we meet with indicate such a style as can hardly be accounted for, except by some foreign in- fluence. The muscular Ganymede in the house of the dyer may also be explained in this way. Ri- dolfi says : " Nor did he cease his efforts to become known as the most daring painter in the world ; so he now offered himself to the Holy Fathers of the Madonna delV Orto, for whom he proposed to paint two large walls in the Cappella Maggiore, occupying a space fifty feet in height. The prior laughed at the idea, and, thinking that a whole year's income would not be sufificient to pay for such a piece of work, declined the offer, Tintoretto, without becoming disheart- ened, replied that he would ask nothing for his labor, and required only a guaranty of the cost. Upon reflection, the wise prior decided not to let such an opportunity slip, and made an agreement with him for a hundred ducats. When the professors saw that Tintoretto was engaged for so important a work, they began to scoii at him ; and surely no further attestation of his merit was necessary, since love of art reduced to such an extremity can only suffer injury, not inflict it." The Church of the Madonna delV Orto is at the Early Life. 85 extreme north of Venice, looking across to Murano and the Tyrol. Titian's residence and garden were not far to the west of it, and Tintoretto now lies buried in its precincts. Next to St. Mark's, it is the finest of Venetian churches, having been built at the close of the fourteenth century, when Gothic archi- tecture was at its prime. The height of the wall, in the chapel referred to, will give some idea of its dimensions ; and it is remarkable also for the exqui- site carving of its windows. There are half a dozen points of view within it, which tempt the amateur draughtsman or colorist. As a rule, Venetian churches are not highly pictorial ; but this and St. Mark's are exceptional, though the gloomy grandeur of San Giovanni e Paolo and of the Frari is well suited to the sepulchral monuments which they con- tain. The trip in a gondola from St. Mark's Place to the Deir Orto, either outside by way of the Arsenal and English Garden, or under the Bridge of Sighs, and through interior Canaletti, is one of the pleasantest. The Last Judgment, and the Worship of the Golden Calf. It would be well if engravings or photographs of these two immense pictures could be circulated freely in England, America, Australia, or wherever the descendants of Hengist and Horsa are dominant, to instruct them what a continuous worship of the golden calf for several generations may finally result in. Certainly there is a spiritual connection between the two subjects ; and it is significant that they were 86 Life of Tintoretto, chosen by the artist himself, and not by the priests of Santa Maria dell' Or to. They might indeed have served as a warning to the materialized Venetians of that day, and to all others who are likely to fall into that chasm hereafter. Both these grand pictures have been repainted and to a certain extent spoiled as works of art. This, however, may be said of restoration ; that a partially injured picture may be carefully touched up in places, especially in the drapery and shadows, to very good advantage sometimes. This prevents it from having a dilapidated appearance, and those portions which are still well preserved appear to better advantage. Repainting a picture wholly changes its character ; it ceases to be the work of the original artist, and becomes that of some other per- son. It is a rule on board ship never to allow two sailors to braid the man-ropes, for the difference in style will be noticeable even at some distance. How much more will this be the case in a picture or a statue.* In the present instance, it was certainly better to repaint the pictures, so that we can at least see what Tintoretto's designs originally were, than to permit them to remain in the patchy and partially effaced condition that Ruskin found them in when he wrote The Stones of Venice. They are at least interesting now in the manner that Kaulbach's huge historical pictures in Berlin are interesting ; and they serve to mark an era in the development of their * For this reason I do not believe that the Laoco6n, or any other fine statue could have been sculptured by any two or more artists, as stated by Pausanias, or some other ancient writer. Early Work. ^l author's genins. Their metaphysical quality is of a high order. The Worship of the Golden Calf is the more real, original, and interesting of the two. It has also the advantage of being in somewhat better preservation, several of its most important figures still remaining almost as Tintoretto left them. There is a slight amount of mannerism in it, but, as a whole, it is a powerful work. It has an invigorating effect upon the spectator. The way in which Tintoretto idealized his subject is worth noticing as an illustration of his own char- acter. He has not represented a calf on a high pedestal, surrounded by kne&ling worshippers, whose faces are distorted by brutal superstition, while an angry Moses is dashing the tables of the law down from above ; but the calf is being carried in a fes- tal and joyous procession, ornamented with gold chains and precious stones. In the distance are seen the tents of the Israelites with many of the occu- pants resting or lounging in front, while the proces- sion winds around the base of the mountain which Moses has ascended. What more delightful subject could there be for a painting, or one which would better develop the possibilities of art, than a proces- sion winding about the base of a mountain ? Four stalwart men support the idol on a marble slab, while a number of women are seated on a ledge of rock to see the procession pass. One woman, an exquisite figure, is nursing her child ; others are taking off their ornaments as an offering to the false deity, whose praises are being chanted by a group of 88 Life of Tintoretto. artificers in front. High up in the mountain Moses is seen receiving the ten commandments from Jehovah, surrounded by a group of angels to whom distance lends enchantment. The calf is almost the best piece in the picture. Except for its color, one might suppose it had been painted from a live animal, instead of a statue. It is every inch a calf. Tintoretto had a poetic faculty of humanizing animals, and this one seems to say : " Good friends, do you know what a fool you are making of me ? " It is as if the social order were inverted, and some clownish fellow selected to pre- side on this highly important occasion. He knows that he is out of his place and feels more foolish for being conspicuous. The strongest and handsomest men would natu- rally be selected for carrying the idol, and the difficulty of supporting such a burden, would give rise to striking and original positions, which Tinto- retto has not failed to take advantage of. It is doubtful if Leonardo, or any other, could have im- proved on his drawing here. The originality of this group is not less than its perfection, and the figures remain still almost uninjured. There is a slight reminiscence of Michel Angelo in the drawing of the lower limbs, but this may be on account of the unusual strain which is brought upon their muscles. We admire the full-bearded man in front for his magnificent figure ; and in advance of him there is another bending over to lift the chains and jewels in the basket ; but we like still more the beardless youth, who walks behind, and is looking up at Worship of the Golden Calf. Early Work. 89 Moses on the mountain, his face radiant with " the new birth from above." He still supports the calf, but idolatry exists for him no longer. After him comes a majestic woman, much admired by Ridolfi, pointing forward with her arm, but with her head turned towards the throng that presses behind. She is a priestess, and her attitude is that of sacer- dotal authority. The drawing of the whole group has that calm, inevitable repose which indicates the acme of art. Who, now, are the men that are bearing this burden? They are somewhat ideahzed, but they seem like portraits. They have the look of artists about their eyes. The sacristan will tell you that the foremost is Tintoretto himself ; the next to him, Paolo Veronese ; the youth in the rear is Giorgione, the young, the beautiful, the glad, while the priestess was painted from Tintoretto's wife, and Titian is hidden on the other side of the calf. Yes, this broad-shouldered, deep-chested man, a finer figure than any Hercules or Apollo, is the master himself, and, if his face were not somewhat injured, it would be the best portrait we have of him. How- ever, the next carrier, also full-bearded, with the dark, imaginative eyes, cannot be Paul of Verona, for Paul at this time was barely twenty-one. He resem- bles Rubens somewhat, but Paris Bordone still more, and no doubt was intended for Paris Bordone. The third carrier, with the upturned face and spiritual expression was evidently copied from the earliest portrait of Giorgione ; and the fourth may well be in- tended for Titian, though all we can see of him is a go Life of Tintoretto. bearded lip and a pair of herculean legs. His being hidden in this manner has perhaps a moral signifi- cance ; but they are a glorious group, and no other painting in Venice, or perhaps in the world, can boast the like of them. Tintoretto appears here as if he were about thirty-one or thirty-two. The priestess is incomparable, and Ruskin told the sacristan that only Raphael or Tintoretto could have drawn such a figure. It is barely possible that she was a portrait of Tintoretto's wife, though he does not seem to have been married till after this time. There is something of mannerism in the attitudes of the women who are seated on the rocks above, as well as in the folds of their dresses, and this is the only fault I can perceive in this mighty work. They do not recall the manner of Michel Angelo so much as that of Bernini, and may be considered as prophetic of his breezy statues. In the left- hand corner of the picture, however, there are two women, one seated and the other bending over her, who recall the Sistine Chapel most vividly. The one who is seated is, in form, attitude, and very nearly in dress, the Libyan Sibyl, taken from a different point of view. There is no mistaking it. This ought to be sufificient evidence that Tintoretto visited Rome not long before the production of these works, both of which are remarkable for their intellectual power, and indeed are more like Tusco- Roman than Venetian paintings. This is Ridolfi's description of the Last Judgment: " The subject of the other painting is the Last Judgment, in which are represented the terror and Early Work, 91 despair of that dreadful day. In the upper portion stands Christ as Judge, the Virgin and St. John kneeling before him, and the penitent robber with the cross upon his neck ; on the other hand the reli- gious virtues, the means of defence against divine wrath. Upon the clouds, somewhat retired, the saints are seated ; in the centre angels are ascending and blowing their trumpets to awaken the dead for judgment. On the left side is seen a multitude of men and women, falling precipitately, pursued by St. Michael's brandished sword. And, as Tintoretto wished also to show the resurrection of those whose graves were in the water, he had the singular idea of representing in the distance a river filled with bodies tossed about by the waves. He further depicted the boat of Charon, laden with the damned and con- ducted to the Inferno by demons, resembling wild beasts and impossible monsters ; and, wishing to show the manner of the resurrection of the bodies, he painted some, standing near by, who had already returned to the flesh ; others have death's heads, and rise from the earth with leafy branches sprouting from their arms ; others leap from their graves in fury, and many, in the confusion, fall into the abyss, entwined with demons. Words cannot describe the prodigious invention here displayed, the wonderful attitude of the figures, the wild activity of the bodies, or the art shown in the movement of the river, for works of this sort can only be faintly out- lined, not fully represented with the pen." Tintoretto was rather too young yet to construct a Last Judgment. Paradise Lost and the Divine 92 Life of Tintoretto. Comedy were both written after forty. Goethe be- gan to write Faust in his youth, but found he had not a sufficient measure of experience for it, and postponed the work till towards the close of his life. Still the picture has the grand manner, and must have required daring and fortitude for its execution. We feel that the man who could paint it might have climbed the Matterhorn, or led a cavalry charge at the battle of Leipsic. The composition does not resemble Michel Angelo's Last Judgment, except in a general way. Tintoretto might have conceived it all without going to Rome ; but we find a nearer similarity in the drawing, and it must be confessed that in the frightful appearance of his demons he has surpassed all rivalry. For covering two such enormous walls, he was paid less than seven hundred dollars, allowing for the difference in the purchasing power of gold. What assistance he obtained in executing them is not now known, but it could not have been much. He probably painted the greater part with his own hand, and, though he was the swiftest of all artists, two or more years at least must have been required for their completion. There is no evidence of haste about them, nor do they appear to have been any- where slighted ; though their coloring is supposed to have suffered from the use of a cheaper and less durable blue than ultramarine. They are full of fresh, vigorous intellect, of bright faces, and grace- ful attitudes. The gap in Tintoretto's life, from his work at Ponte Angelo, until he commenced the Miracle of St. Mark, or from his twenty-seventh to Early Work. 93 his thirty-first year, is sufficiently explained by them. One would like to have been present at their first exhibition ; to have seen the concourse of citizens and heard the criticisms and admiration ; but they have long since gone away; and the only visitors to the church now are foreign travellers and a few pious Venetian peasants. CHAPTER V. THE ART CHARACTER. " Beings by me shall still be known Who make love, light, and life their own." Faust, Part II. THAT art has nothing to do with morality is a statement which Victor Cousin, the French philosopher, has been held responsible for, but many others have said it before and since his time. With conventional morality art has certainly as little afifinity as conventional fashions have with it. Neither has it ever been the direct object of art to serve as a handmaid for moral problems or ethical formulas. It is not to be supposed that any lady would appear at her own table in the costume of Titian's innocent Flora, nor that the women of ancient Greece were as negligent of their attire as the Venus of Milo. Literature also has its Romeo and Juliet, the deceptions of a Mas- cariUe, and the shrewd knavery of a Reineke Fuchs. The erotic verses of the Minnesingers are better poetry than the didactic Meister-song. " If I make a work of art," said Goethe, " the moral will come of itself." 94 The Art Character. 95 This, however, is taking a narrow, limited, and even prejudiced view of morality. The morals of mankind are not to be defined by stringent rules or conventional prescriptions. The man who tries to live in that manner is in danger of becoming like an empty cask. Real morals are the best customs or habits of mankind, varying in different climates, races, and communities, fluctuating with the spirit of the age or the needs of humanity ; not easily de- finable, more a matter of feeling than thinking ; here decided and irrefragable, and there evanescent as clouds in the sky. The morality of a German is different from that of a New-England er, and the New-Englanders again differ from the Virginians. Each thinks that he is correct and that the others are somewhat abnormal and eccentric. Now what do we know of the manners and customs of past ages, except through their art ; their literature, sculp- ture, and painting ; and does not this prove, if other proof be wanting, the close relationship between art and morality, taken in its broadest sense ? Is not even the Apollo Belvedere a moral image, making always the impression on us of a culture that is superior to clothes ? Yet underneath the best habits and customs lying close to the fountain head of human intelligence is the transcendental sense of right and wrong, which is continually criticising, correcting, and amending custom, so that it is again and again brought into serious and obstinate conflict with conventional morality. It is this repeated schism and reconcilia- tion between the internal life of man and its formu- 96 Life of Tintoretto. lated expression which constitutes reh'gious history. It was the conflict of the Saviour against Jewish traditions of morality, and the struggles of his dis- ciples against Grzeco-Roman tradition that formed the perennial subject of mediaeval art. The more profoundly the artist realized this fact, and the more perfectly he represented his realization, the higher is the estimation, generally speaking, in which he is now held. Art originates in imitation, but if it were nothing more than that, it would have little value. Even the most realistic art possesses a quality not to be found in that which it represents. The hand of man gives it immortality, — or at least permanence of form. In nature all things are mutable : only mind endures. A beautiful rose is painted so that its likeness may be preserved after the flower has faded. Family portraits serve to teach children how their ancestors appeared. Unless a landscape retains some transi- tory effect of light or shade, it has little value. So we ascend to those rare expressions of the human face or attitudes of the body, like Caravaggio's Card Players or the Discobolus of Myron, which painters and sculptors perpetuate for hundreds and thousands of years. When this purely objective kind of art is united with remarkable skill, it pos- sesses a high value, but the highest it can never have. ,The next step comes when the artist begins to in- fuse his own personaHty into his work. When, in crossing an Alpine glacier, we come upon three stones placed one above the other, we recognize The Art Character. 97 that this has happened by no freak of nature, but that human agency has placed them there for a guide or warning to us. We are cheered by the signal in that desolate waste, and go on our way rejoicing. So the carved paddles of the Pacific Islanders are in- teresting, because they indicate an attempt of those rude savages to escape from a life of mere physical wants into a better kind of activity. The develop- ment of personality in Italian art, from Cimabue, who had none of it, to Michel Angelo, in whom it was most powerful, is, as the student traces it from one generation to another, like the gradual unfolding of spring into summer. We notice that it goes hand in hand with progress in workmanship, and the discovery of perspective, the knowledge of anatomy and chiaroscuro. The progress is not always a regu- lar one ; Giotto, who gave it the impulse, had more personality than some of his successors. In the old Byzantine pictures there is none at all, nor could there be under a civil and religious despotism that everywhere crushed out individuality. Grimm ob- serves quite rightly that on the gates of the Bap- tistry at Florence, which were designed near the beginning of the fifteenth century, while the flowers and animals are imitated to perfection, the faces and forms of men and women have not yet acquired complete individuality. They are in the process of emerging from a general type, a transition from the generic to the specific, but the personality of Michel Angelo is so powerful that it overawes his technical skill. The personality of the artist, however, must be a 98 Life of Tintoretto. pleasant one, or it excites curiosity instead of ad- miration. This was the case with Gustave Dor^, who astonished the world thirty years ago with his original and prolific designs, but the public has long since ceased to take an interest in them, because the man himself had not a superior nature. Once on coming out of the Doges' Palace, after a morn- ing's study of Tintoretto's Paradise, I noticed in a shop window, on my way across the Piazza, two photographs from French paintings then very popular, one called The Man Who Laughs, and the other The Man Who Weeps ; and I was horrified at the ghastly personality which I perceived in them. It seemed as if the possibility of another Reign of Terror lay concealed in those unholy creations. This may have arisen partly from an excited sen- sibility ; but, to take examples of a higher kind, there are many who feel a prejudice against Rubens on account of his strongly sensuous flavor, and others dislike Corregio for the soft effeniinacy of many of his creations. Though no impartial person would condemn Rubens and Corregio for such small peculiarities, it requires a certain amount of charac- ter in an artist to be purely objective, to keep himself out of his work. Yet there are many who have succeeded in this, even among the French. To paint fine religious pictures it is necessary to have a religious nature ; that is, not a pietistic nature, but to be profoundly respectful, with a clear sense of the underlying moral and intellectual unity. Raphael had this if ever a man had. So had Perugino, Albert Durer, and Gian Bellini. I have The Art Character. 99 said before that Goethe's songs and ballads could only have emanated from a pure and beautiful soul. Let it be said again, there are passages in Faust and Wilhelm Meister, which for fine religious feeling surpass anything in Paradise Lost. So it was with Raphael. A love of harmony lies at the base of every artist's character. If this is born in him, it soon becomes the corner-stone, to which all his activities are cor- related. According as the feeling is stronger or weaker, he rises or sinks. He finds discord and confusion without him and within, and his sensitive nature is constantly irritated by this. He finds himself unable to remodel the actual world, so he constructs an ideal , dominion of his own. The form which this tendency now assumes will depend on the other gifts and peculiarities of his nature. He may express himself either in sound, or color, or language. If he becomes an orator he will attempt to remodel civil institutions. In this manner the artist builds up his intellectual life as bees cumulate cells upon cells. No good poetry was ever derived from a love of rhyming, or a good painting from fondness for pretty colors. Such tastes, as is well known, are often very misleading. The superior artist ought not to be a specialist, but a man of wise culture and diversified interests. He should learn from other arts beside his own ; as Ridolfii says, poetry should play the part of elo- quent painting, and painting of silent poetry ; he should find interest in new inventions, strange dis- coveries, the news from foreign countries, and great lOO Life of Tintoretto. political movements. Everything beautiful will of course be clear gain to him. Tales of patriotic devotion, of heroic courage, and noble self-sacrifice will be his inspiration. He should study Plato, like Shakespeare and Raphael. He cannot know too much, so long as knowledge does not interfere with faithful work. Emerson says : " He must be musical, Tremulous, impressional, Alive to gentle influence Of landscape and of sky, And tender to the spirit-touch Of man's or maiden's eye ; But, to his native centre fast, Shall into Future fuse the Past, And the world's flov^ing fates in his ovi^n mould recast." The contrast in the first book of the //?«^ between the sullen anger of Achilles and the furious rage of Agamemnon has frequently been admired, and there is a similar contrast in Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered between the gay and light-hearted Rinaldo and the grave and solemn Tancred in his suit of dark mail. There was the same difference between Tintoretto and Michel Angelo. The lives of both were pos- sessed with that deep religious earnestness, that un- compromising sincerity, which led Emerson to speak of Michel Angelo as the conscience of Italy. They were each a compact of intense feeling, united with great physical energy ; men who would necessarily follow out their own destiny, or dash themselves to pieces against any obstacle that might be in the way. Yet in the two men this fiery impetuosity expressed The Art Character. loi itself so differently that, while they were more alike than any other two artists that we know of, to a superficial consideration they appear as dissimilar as possible. Michel Angelo, who had the stronger character of the two, studiously controlled the force within him, and this self-control was the cause of that reserved and taciturn behavior for which he is so well known. Tintoretto, on the contrary, often gave full rein to his vehement feeling, and allowed it to carry him as far as his otherwise prudent and sensible nature could possibly permit him. This explains the terrible energy with which the one sometimes attacked his marble, and the desperate manner with which the other threw himself into his painting. Fortunately they possessed exceptionally strong constitutions, such as could not easily be worn out. Tintoretto was called Furioso by the Venetians, on account of this trait. He grappled with the work before him as if he were fighting the Turks, and only those who had experienced this concentration — the life-and-death struggle — could understand him. Vasari's saying, that he possessed " the most singular, capricious, and determined hand, with the boldest and most extravagant and obstinate brain that had ever yet belonged to the domain of paint- ing," may fairly be attributed to Titian's influence, and is just the way that a cool-headed, unimaginative person regards such a character. Vasari, who for some mysterious reason passes by Tintoretto with a very brief reference, less than what he has given to many a third-rate painter, seems quite unconscious I02 Life of Tintoretto. that this statement would apply quite as well to Michel Angelo, whose genius Vasari considers beyond the reach of criticism ; yet there were thou- sands of people in Floi'ence and Rome at that time who looked upon the works of the Sistine Chapel as little else than the production of a bold, extravagant, and obstinate brain. There are plenty more in our own time who hold this opinion of him. It is this union of intense feeling with moral energy which founds an heroic character. It is the same spirit which filled and electrified Luther, Crom- well, Joseph XL, Mirabeau, Charles Sumner. For- tunate he who possesses it and is not destroyed by it ; which is likely enough to happen unless it be joined to a well balanced mind. When heroism is engrafted on a person of weak judgment, it some- times results in the most pathetic of catastrophes. I have seen an engraving of the young Tintoretto, but who the engraver may have been, or where the portrait now is from which it was taken, my most diligent inquiry has failed to discover. However, I believe it to be genuine from the shape of the fore- head and the general contour of the face — a long oval with a full English chin and short beard. It represents him with a frank, manly, open coun- tenance, clear-eyed and full of decision, yet refined and unusually sensitive. Such a tender, tremulous mouth shows plainly that he must have felt keenly and suffered deeply. The face bears a decided re- semblance to the carrier who is supporting the golden calf already referred to, but suggests a person perhaps ten years younger. He is a handsome, intelligent, The Art Character. 103 amiable-looking fellow ; quite a pleasant contrast to Titian's shrewd, keenly scrutinizing countenance. By far the finest portrait of him, however, is the one painted by Paul of Verona, in his great Wedding Feast in the gallery of the Louvre, where Tintoretto appears playing the viola. Here we have a strong, reso- lute looking man, about forty years of age ; a figure conspicuous beyond all others in that splendid assem- bly of European notables. He stands out from all the rest of the assembly like a marked man — a veritable Agamemnon. In every feature and in every limb is seen the union of strength and symmetry. It seems as if here, at last, we had come upon the per- fect man, physically and mentally, and that nature, for once, had expressed her internal life consistently in the outward form. He is evidently a whole man and not a fraction of one. He looks like a soldier, and no doubt he had that in him, as well as many other possibilities that never were developed. He might have been another Carmagnola if his inclina- tion had not fortunately led him in a different direc- tion. The contour of his forehead in this and ali- bis other portraits resembles that of Michel Angelo. Others have observed this, but perhaps it has not been noticed before that the drawing of his right knee and foot is nearly identical with that in Michel Angelo's Moses, a double tribute to the cor- rectness of the sculptor and the observation of the painter. It is the attitude of firmness, and the fact that he is playing on a musical instrument adds to its expression. Tintoretto himself was equal to the finest of his own designs. I04 L.ife of Tintoretto. Otherwise, we find him to be one of the highest kind of men of whom we have any knowledge. There is no stain on his character at any period of his life, nor any reproach of youthful indiscretion ; none at least has come down to us. Even his im- petuous ardor, which sometimes carried him beyond the limits of conventional politeness, does not appear to have led him into situations which he might after- wards repent of. Vasari, besides many others, has testified to the amiability of his nature, and his charming social qualities. He lived in a large, gen- erous manner, trusting in his own strength and abilities to provide for the coming years, but at the same time without extravagance or ostentation. His devotion to his profession has already been referred to ; a devotion in itself as noble as that of the patri- otic statesman or the philanthropist. Above all, what is rare enough among the brotherhood of artists, he was evidently superior to either jealousy or vanity, and even when commissions were few and difficult to be obtained in Venice, he still remained in friendly and cordial relations with his nearest com- petitors. His friendship with Paul of Verona is nearly as unique in painting as that of Goethe and Schiller in literature. It is much to his credit that his love of music, of which he was himself a skilful performer, was not of the convivial sort. Of his sincerity, purity, and refinement, his pic- tures afford the best evidence. You feel that in looking at them for the first time. He is no senti- mentalist, nor does he shrink from the plain facts of life, but he represents them with a delicacy rare The Art Character. 105 enough in those times. He could not have painted a picture like Titian's Magdalen, nor would he, like his friend Paul, have represented one of Christ's apostles picking his teeth at a dinner party.* If he was obliged, as in the Miracle of St. Mark, to paint a tyrannical oppressor, he preferred to rep- resent him as a narrow-minded man, hardened by conventional usage, rather than a savage and low- minded brute. His purity and refinement of feel- ing are most conspicuous in the elevated types of his women f — in his Ariadne, his two Eves, his group at the foot of the Cross, and even in the Magna Pecca- * Inquisitor — That fellow dressed like a buffoon, with the parrot on his wrist — for what purpose is he introduced into the canvas ? Paul — For ornament, as is usually done. Inquisitor — At the table of the Lord, whom have you placed ? Paul — The twelve apostles. Inquisitor — ^What is St. Peter doing, who is the first ? Paul — He is cutting up a lamb to send to the other end of the table. Inquisitor — ^What is he doing who is next to him ? Paul — He is holding a plate to receive what St. Peter will give him. Inquisitor — Tell us what he is doing who is next to this last. Paul — He is using his fork as a toothpick. Inquisitor — Were you commissioned by any person to paint Ger- mans and buffoons and such-like things in this picture ? Paul — No, my lord. My commission was to ornament the pic- ture as I judged best, which being large requires many figures, as it appears to me. [From Mr. Edward Cheney's Collection of Documents Relating to Venetian Painters^ \ There are a few curious exceptions to this, which will be consid- ered in due course ; but compare his Adam and Eve with Marc An- tonio's wood-cut of the same subject, said to be from a design by Raphael, io6 Life of Tintoretto. trix. There was an almost feminine tenderness of feeling in him. His single fault as an artist was a disposition to haste ; and yet that did not prevent him from finish- ing some pictures to an almost miraculous perfection. But he was impatient of small work, and especially of indifferent work. If an insignificant man, or a dull, spiritless woman came to him for a portrait, instead of making the best of a bad situation, he would reproduce them as still worse than they were. He was ambitious of great achievements, and wished for large opportunities. He liked to draw figures the size of life, or even larger, and a great many of them. The side of a house was not too broad a space for him to work on. His imagination was not always poetic, but it carried him forward in a mighty current, and often to the highest pitch of excellence. An American poet has celebrated the heroism of the scholar, which he could do with better grace, since he was barely a scholar himself ; but the hero- ism of the true artist goes beyond that. Both have their seasons of discouragement, when they feel un- equal to the difficulties before them ; as if they were in a dense forest, shut in by doubts, with no path- way of escape between the darkening trees. The scholar, however, can accomplish much by persever- ance alone, whereas to the artist, perseverance is rather a dangerous friend. He must watch himself as carefully as the astronomer watches the condi- tion of the weather when taking an observation. He cannot trust himself wholly when the tramontana is blowing. Neither will it do to give up his work The Art Character. 107 always when his mind is weary and lassitude sets upon him. He must control himself sufficiently to maintain a lively interest in spite of fatigue, and yet decide resolutely when it is the time to stop. He must cultivate all the imagination that he can, all the passion that he can, and yet keep it well in hand during the most fiery moments of composition. The severe training by which he has acquired his skill of eye and hand, though replaced in part by facility of execution, must still be maintained till death or old age arrives to tell him that his work is over. " If I neglect practising a single day," said von Billow, the pianist, " I notice the effect on my playing ; if two days, my friends notice it ; and if three days, the public notices it." When the artist feels that he has lost his mental tone, no creature can be more miserable, and he has to regain it by study, exercise, and self-denial. Every great under- taking is for him an ordeal that he dreads, and after it is over, he looks back upon it as a soldier does upon a battle which he feels he could not fight again. This continues to be true for him even after the demand for great enterprises has become a craving of his nature. Every good painting has a right to its existence, but its ultimate value will depend on its effect on character. A marvellous piece of imitation chal- lenges every one to be more painstaking, correct, and truthful. If a shoemaker sees it, this will tend to improve the quality of his shoes; and so, even from a single example, its influence penetrates a wide circle. Still more does an ideal work of art. io8 Life of Tintoretto. which sets before us an example of superior man- ners and elevated virtue. Why is it that we are so stimulated by the unexpected sight of a fine por- trait ? It attracts us like the presence of a celebrated person. If you place it in a shop-window, a crowd will collect about it, and every man will go away feeling better for having seen it. Can this be ac- counted for by the admiration for technical excel- lence? Still deeper is the impression made by an historical picture painted with adequate feeling and skill, especially if the subject be a religious one. Titian's Tribute Money is more popular than his Venuses. Here, then, we see the importance of character in the artist himself. It is the sincerity of Tintoretto, a sincerity so innate as scarceIyTo"be conscious of itself, which casts the light by which we view his painting. CHAPTER VI. ONWARD. IN the Academy of Fine Arts there are two paintings of twin size, hanging on either side of Titian's Ascension of the. Virgin. One is the Fall of Man, and the other the Death of Abel; and they are supposed to have been painted by Tintoretto near or during the time he was at work on the Last jfudgment ; and they are evidence of an entirely new and original color treatment, such as had not appeared before in Italian art. Of a grave, almost sombre tone, something between Rembrandt and Velasquez, they prepare the mind of the specta- tor for the seriousness of the subject. Their sobriety is attractive and restful. The death of Abel is always a painful subject ; for, as he was not a Christian, he could not, according to mediaeval thinking, receive the martyr's crown, although no saint in the calendar deserved it more. The tragedy thus remains unrelieved by any spiritual compensation, and Tintoretto could not have safely deviated from this treatment. Cain could not be punished for his crime, for in that case the human log 1 1 o Life of Tintoretto. race, in theory at least, would have come to an end. It is a solemn fact that crimes have still to be con- doned for the good of the community. Even a king of Prussia was unable to punish the minister who conspired with a foreign court against the welfare of his son. Such a painting possesses an intrinsic nobility, even if the subject is unpleasant. There are pictures that we admire and others that we love ; and in the latter class Tintoretto's Adam and Eve deserves one of the highest places. The difificulty of representing our first parents so that they may be agreeable to the demands of modern taste is almost insuperable, and we must take a deep plunge, as Schiller says, into classical antiquity in order to become en rapport with them. In dealing with this problem Tintoretto has certainly succeeded more cleverly than Raphael, whose design is gen- erally known through the small woodcut of Marc Antonio Raimondi. He has placed Adam with his back toward us in the foreground of a delightful landscape, and Eve opposite to him with some sprays of alder across her lap. This arrangement is not too artificial, for she already holds the apple in her hand, and with its possession comes the con- sciousness of modesty. Her figure is not especially graceful but rather heavy, and in her limbs we notice for the first time the effect of Tintoretto's study from Volterra's casts. The expression of her face is that of a wilful girl who follows what she considers her destiny, in spite of the warning of her parents to the contrary ; and her coiffure would make the for- tune of a Paris hair-dresser if he had wit enough to Onward. 1 1 1) imitate it. The belief is gaining ground now that Eve was, after all, in the right, and the expulsion from Paradise was properly a rise in life. Certainly those who have lived in an earthly paradise at any time have usually found advantage in being driven out of it. Almost anything is better than a life devoid of objective interest. The head and back of Adam are very expressive. It seems as if this were the only back that had ever been painted ; every muscle, rib, vertebra, and hollow are represented, but none of them obtrusively. He looks like a large boy who has just come out of the river and is drying himself in the sun. His attitude and figure are indicative of a good-humored sim- plicity. A leering face in the bark of the tree (which Eve clasps with one arm) is suggestive of the serpent. Each of these two pictures is the best of its kind. Their tranquillizing influence must be due to their color tone rather than to such diverse subjects. The true lover of art will return to them after completing the circuit of the gallery, and find comfort in them. They are unique ; and, so far as I know, Tintoretto never painted in the same style again. The nearest . approach to it is his St. George and the Princess in the Ducal Palace. The Miracle of St. Mark. Tintoretto was now almost midway in the jour- ney of life, and as yet had not obtained more than a foothold in it. He had outlived Giorgione, and 1 1 2 Life of Tintoretto. had not yet acquired either fame or popularity. A change, however, was at hand, and the direction from which it came was the Guild of St. Mark, in whose fraternity, according to Ridolfi, he had influential relatives. They commissioned him to paint a picture, nearly twenty feet in length, of the miracle of St. Mark rescuing a devout slave from torture and death. This gave such good satis- faction that they immediately enlarged the order to include three other subjects from the life of their saint, namely : a ship of the infidels rescued by St. Mark in a storm ; the body of the saint disinterred from the church in Alexandria ; and the transporta- tion of his body to Venice. It is related that after Tintoretto had stretched his canvas in the place assigned for it in the guild hall, and had drawn the figures of his design upon it, a certain number of the members, who formed a sort of clique, expressed much dissatisfaction with the design, and even made an effort to have the contract abrogated. There were not wanting foolish persons to inform Tintoretto of this fact; whereupon he immediately rolled up his canvas in great wrath, and had it removed to his own house before any vote could be taken. By such precipitate action he brought the brotherhood to their senses, and stirred up no little indignation against the fac- tion who had created this disturbance. A committee was despatched to the artist to extend apologies and entreat him to return to the work. This, how- ever, they found it difficult to persuade him to do, and it was not until after several weeks' time and a Onward. 1 1 3 good deal of small diplomacy, that he complied with their request. The first of this quartette was very much the best, and is now preserved in the Academy of Fine Arts. It is to be feared that in this instance, as sometimes afterwards, the prospect of much to do had an un- favorable influence in the perfection of Tintoretto's handling. From what Ridolfi says of the rescue of the infidel ship, it must have been a most interesting picture, but it has long since disappeared, and is probably secreted in the castle of some country nobleman of the quadrilateral, who does not appre- ciate its value. The other two have come into the possession of the king of Italy, and it is no longer easy to obtain a view of them, but to judge from the subjects this is no very considerable loss. — The Miracle of St. Mark is the most popular of all Tintoretto's paintings, and the pride of the Venetian Academy. This is probably owing to its lively action and the brilliancy of its coloring. It is twenty feet in length and nearly as much in height, and con- tains about thirty figures in the most varied pos- tures. The picture is also remarkable for its easy, natural grouping. Its first exhibition was attended with much public excitement, and Tintoretto's merit was fully admitted on all sides. He became the centre of congratulations, not only from his friends and neighbors, but from distinguished visit- ors in the city, and others who had hitherto treated him with indifference. It made an epoch in his career. The clouds were at last dispelled, and his position assured to him as an artist of the highest rank. 114 I^if^ of Tintoretto. The subject was a decidedly national one. A Venetian who has been captured and enslaved by Turks or Algerians, is condemned to torture and death for offering prayers to his patron saint. At the critical moment, however, St. Mark descends from the sky in a blinding flash of light, and the in- struments of torture are shattered in the hands of the executioners — a glorious event if one could be- lieve it. Tintoretto has chosen the dramatic moment when one of the infidels starts to his feet in astonish- ment to show his broken hammer to the judge, who, as is the habit of semi-barbarous countries, is pre- siding over the execution, ; while another, whose mind works more slowly, does not yet realize what is taking place. The judge himself appears half stupe- fied with surprise, and a number of Turks, men and boys, stand about in various attitudes of astonish- ment and curiosity. No subject could give a painter much wider range of costume or variety of action, while it would tax his skill in foreshortening and chiaroscuro to the utmost. St. Mark appears turning over in the air like an eagle when he is about to catch the fish dropped by an osprey — so much so that it seems as if Tintoretto must have seen an eagle stoop on its prey somewhere in the mountains, and taken note of the action. It was this figure which so much ex- cited the admiration of M. Taine, a critic whose opinions are always of value, whether in art or litera- ture. He says of it ( to quote from memory ) : " Here is a man head-downwards in the air, his clothes flying, and yet he does not appear unnatural Onward. i ! 5 or more surprising than tlic occasion requires." St. Mark is certainly not more surprising in this instance than some performances we see in a hippodrome. For those, however, who prefer to see people standing on their feet, the turbaned Turk holding up the hammer is an equally fine study. It is, in fact, one of Tintoretto's best pieces of draw- ing, full of life and elasticity. Less than a quarter of his face is visible, but his attitude is expressive of astonishment from his toes to the ends of his fin- gers. It IS also emphatically the figure of a Turk, moulded into its peculiar form by the religio-sensual life of his race. Equally fine, and to one who considers the legend very affecting, is the captive Christian who lies on the ground like a patient on the dissecting-table, numb with apprehension and despair. The supple- ness of its drawing, the muscles being all relaxed, is a contrast to the muscular tension of the Turk be- side him. Many of the figures in the group are full of interest, especially a soldier in a tight-fitting leather jerkin, leaning over on his right hand, and a woman with a child in arms, who is as indifferent to the whole proceeding as if it took place every day. In the lower left-hand corner is a spectator who looks as if he had walked in from the nineteenth century — perfectly modern in expression, dress, and attitude. In the background is a fence and marble doorway which resembles the Rucellai Gardens, in Florence, and the sky-line is gracefully broken by pendant branches of a vine above. The only fault that can be ' found with it is one that has already 1 1 6 Life of Tintoretto. been referred to. A number of faces among the spectators look so much ahke that it suggests im- mediately that they may have all been taken from the same model. However, this is not much, and we soon forget it in admiration for so many excel- lencies. Its coloring is magnificent : fully equal to Titian at his best, and superior to that of any of Titian's larger works, excepting perhaps the Madonna of the Pesaro family. If we compare it with Titian's Ascension of the Virgin, which hangs very near, we see at once that Tintoretto's coloring, at the same age, is more refined than Titian's. As in all his best pictures, the color-tone of the Miracle of St. Mark is suited to its subject. The canvas glows with a sort of triumphal splendor. It is the perfection of brilliant coloring, and there is hardly another in- stance of it on so grand a scale. Its general tone is a golden brown inclining to chocolate ; but there is no lack of variety in the different tints. It attracts the eye of the spectator immediately on entering the Academy. The light that emanates from St. Mark is not the conventional oreole sort, but such a strong, bright light as might be expected during the performance of a miracle. The pi^oximity of the Ascension of the Virgin affords a fair chance to compare Titian's drawing with Tintoretto's, and it is much to the advantage of the latter. The group about the Christian slave is natural, unconstrained, and full of animation. The men stand lightly on the ground, and occupy their places without premeditation. There is animation Onward. 1 1 7 everywhere, and the action of the different figures unites them in a harmonious whole. In the Ascen- sion of the Virgin, the drawing of the Madonna may fairly be called perfect, but the attitude is not a difficult one. The cherubs are also well drawn, but they are not united in a definite manner. Each one is by himself ; and the same is true of the Apostles. If one of them were omitted he would leave a gap in the picture, but would not break the chain. A more severe test, however, comes when we compare the Turk holding up his broken hammer with the Apostle, perhaps St. Mark, who is in a similar atti- tude. It has been supposed that Tintoretto in this instance imitated Titian's figure. If so, he certainly improved upon it. In one case we see a man full of life and elasticity, and in the other a model holding up his arms according to dictation. A close com- parison of the lines and shading of their arms proves the advantage in Tintoretto's case of the thorough study of anatomy, and an accurate knowledge of the way in which different movements affect distension of the muscles ; and this is wholly without effort or ostentation. When we look at the clothes of Tinto- retto's figures, we know that there is a human body inside of them ; but with Titian's we do not feel so sure of this. His forms have not the same resilience. According to Lanzi, the Miracle of St. Mark was painted in Tintoretto's thirty-seventh year. If we accept, however, the later and more probable date of Tintoretto's birth, it would be attributed to his thirty-first year. If he had painted half a dozen 1 1 8 Life of Tintoretto. more like it, as he might have done well enough, his fame would have risen to the very zenith. Whether his failure to do so was owing to the lack of gener- ous patronage, or to the idiosyncrasy of this rare master, it is no longer possible to determine. The Miracle of St. Mark is not, however, a work that appeals strongly to the heart, for there is not a noble, elevated countenance in the whole of it, — not one that we care for so much as we do for the face of the ascending Madonna, — and for such a subject it is difficult to see how there could be. It claims our admiration, and deepens our sympathy with suf- fering humanity ; but it has no moral or intellectual lesson for us. Ridolfi states that this miracle happened in south- ern France during the heresy of the Albigenses, a supposition that would account for the architecture of the painting much better than for the presence of so many Turks. In fact, it is difificult to distinguish who are intended for Turks in it and who, if any, may not be. The judge has features like a Euro- pean, but there are many such among the higher orders of the Mohammedans, as might be expected from their Grecian concubines. Tintoretto made at least two preparatory studies for the picture, one of which was presented by an English lady of rank to Charles Sumner in honor of his championship of the anti-slavery cause in the Senate of the United States ; and never was a gift more appropriate. It was willed by Senator Sum- ner, not quite so appropriately, to his colored friend, Mr. J. B. Smith ; and is now in the possession of Onward. 1 1 9 George Harris, Esq., of Boston, having been pur- chased of Mr. Smith's heirs for a paltry sum. Like all Tintoretto's sketches, it was hastily and forcibly executed, his object being, apparently, to obtain a transcript of the ideas in his mind so far as they concerned attitude and dramatic action, with but little regard for other considerations. Neither is there any hint in it of that brilliant coloring which is the chief glory of the finished picture. FAUSTINA DEI VESCOVI. The three great Florentines never were married. Art was their mistress, and they gave up their lives to her with unreserved devotion. Perhaps they were greater for this social self-sacrifice. Andrea del Sarto, who tried the experiment, made a lamentable failure of it ; and the domestic unhappiness of Albert Diirerhas become proverbial. Schaeffer's little book about him, called The Artist's Married Life, -whether true or not, is a valuable study as showing how a man may be worried very nearly to death by his wife, without having any ostensible cause for com- plaint. In spite of all this, there is much comfort in knowing that the chief Venetian painters of the six- teenth century were all married, and, so far as we hear, happily married. It is in keeping with what we know of them otherwise, and with the human quality of their art. When or where Tintoretto became acquainted with Faustina, the daughter of Marco dei Vescovi is uncertain. The Vescovi family is not to be found 1 20 Life of Tintoretto. in the golden book of the Ducal Palace. There is no palace of that name in the city, nor does any Vescovi appear in the annals of Venetian history. The conclusion is, therefore, that they came from some place on the mainland ; perhaps near Padua, where Jacopo's brother was settled with his family ; but nobody seems to know. The word means bishop, and as they could not very well have been descended from a bishop, we may presume that the name originated during that integrating period of Italian nomenclature, after the tide of barbarian conquest had subsided, and that the Vescovi family was one of the oldest. Otherwise Faustina is almost as mythical to us as the Fornarina. We do not even know the date of her death. She is said to have been the model for the priestess in the Worship of the Golden Calf, and served also for one of the ladies in waiting in Tintoretto's Nativity, but no authentic portrait of her is known, and there is no certainty about it. No doubt her husband painted her a number of times. We may suppose she was a sensi- ble person, since she preferred a superior man who was not socially her equal. Tintoretto was, therefore, fortunate in the two leading personal events of his life : in having a father who appreciated his talent and cared for him wisely ; and in marrying a wife who appreciated his char- acter, — for it is character which a cultivated young lady will naturally prefer to temperament or appear- ances. Tintoretto was not one of those dear fellows who are so convenient in a house, but have no public actuality. Onward. 1 2 1 During the greater part of his married life Tinto- retto lived, together with his father-in-law, in the Palazzo Camello, or Camel Palace on the riva or brook of the same name. The rear of this building comes out on the Canale dei Mori, where there is a half-length statue of a Turk in a turban, and passes by the name of the Casa di Tintoretto ; so that peo- ple sometimes purchase photographs of it under the impression that it is the house where Tintoretto was born. There is a medallion of Tintoretto and a par- tially effaced inscription set in the wall above the window of the concierge. The Palazzo Camello is a much finer example of mediaeval architecture than most of those on the grand canal. It is sheathed in white marble, carved and ornamented with a chaste luxuriance. The round arched windows of the ground-floor recall those in the upper story of the Ducal Palace, though much smaller, even in propor- tion. So do the short, stout columns, with their leafy capitals, in the first story, and the row of Gothic windows with their fretted balcony above them. The narrow marble balconies at the angles of the primo piano are of exquisite workmanship ; and in fact the wonder is how so many varied de- tails could have been harmoniously united on a fa9ade less than fifty feet in width, yet every line suggests delicacy and refinement. On the right hand, above the wide doorway, there is a bas-relief, some- what mutilated, of a man leading a camel with a heavy pack. There must be some legend connected with this piece of sculpture which is now forgotten. It has not exactly the appearance of a coat-of-arms. 122 Life of Tintoretto. Tintoretto's income from his profession would not have enabled him to live in this magnificent style, but for the assistance of his father-in-law, who came to Venice to join his daughter and her husband. Marco dei Vescovi died in 1571, and was buried in a vault of his own purchase in Santa Maria dell' Orto. There is no record that Faustina's mother was buried with him, or any other member of his family, so that the evidence is conclusive that he came to Venice after the death of his wife, and we may almost pre- sume that Faustina was the last of the Vescovi race. The old nobleman wished, naturally, to live in a manner consistent with his rank. Ridolfi does not have much to relate of Tintoretto's household, but we fancy his wife's aristocratic no- tions must sometimes have troubled him. There are no people so prudent in expenditures as those who are obliged to sustain a high social position. Faustina, as is still the custom in many Italian fami- lies, had charge of the exchequer, and required a strict account of her husband for every ducat he spent. Men do not like to be examined too closely in such matters, and Tintoretto acquired a habit of informing her that he had given his money to the poor, or to the fund for prisoners — a statement which she could not very well circumvent. She was equally exacting in regard to his personal appear- ance, and this resulted in his wearing his cloak in a more negligent manner while in the vicinity of his own palace than on other occasions. However, if they had lived unhappily together, we should prob- ably have heard of it. Onward. 123 They had three children whose names are known to us, if not others. Marco, named for his grand- father, was presumably the eldest ; Marietta, the gifted daughter, was born in 1560; and Domenico, who inherited his father's talent without his genius, perhaps even later than that time. What Marco's occupation was is uncertain, and he appears to have left no family to succeed him. He remains to us, therefore, merely as a name. Domenico became a painter, evidently because it was his father's profes- fession, as he might have became a dyer, a doctor, or a shoemaker for the same reason. (Cicero had very much such a son.) He obtained commissions through his father's reputation, and after his death inherited his position of painter to the Ducal Palace, where he filled up such spaces as were still vacant with works that might be interesting if they did not suffer by comparison with those about them. A Madonna of Domenico's now in the Venetian Academy is even better than the one there by Tintoretto, which re- sembles it in design. He was certainly a very good painter, perhaps the best in Venice after the death of Bassano, and has been too much disparaged of late. Of his character we can judge something by one of Ridolfi's anecdotes. A certain merchant, having taken a fancy to a Magdalen painted by Domenico, offered his father, in the absence of the son, thirty ducats for it, which was certainly a good price for those days. At any rate Tintoretto thought so, and delivered the picture to him for it ; but when Domenico returned and found his picture had been sold he was very much 124 I^if^ of Tintoretto. incensed, and his father, in order to pacify him, was obliged to seek out the merchant and beg of him to exchange it for a picture by his own hand ; whereby it would seem that the merchant was much the gainer and Domenico the loser. Marietta was a child according to her father's desire, and grew ultimately to be one of the most noted portrait painters of the sixteenth century. She seems to have lacked inventive genius, but there is more spiritual life in her faces than in those painted by Domenico. Her skill must have been a great satisfaction to her father, if for nothing else,, because he could have her company so much of the time in his old age. It was one of his characteristic freaks to take her to his studio dressed as a boy ; but why he did so is not very clear. She received invitations from the kings of both France and Spain to come to their capitals as court painter, but she could not be induced to leave Venice and her father ; nor is it easy to imagine that any one who was well situated in that enchanted city could be tempted to seek fortune elsewhere. It has been already noticed that Tintoretto in his earlier years lived a very retired life, avoiding society or whatever might distract him from the diligence of his studies ; but, having acquired the mastery of his profession, he somewhat relaxed this severe disci- pline, and was nothing loth to enjoy such entertain- ments as were agreeable to his wife and children. It is not surprising that so dramatic an artist should have been interested in the theatre. He invented new costumes for the impromptu theatricals that Onward. 1 2 5 took place in their social circle, and enlivened the plays his friends acted with humorous sayings, so that he became more in demand for such occasions than was altogether convenient for a busy man. He played the lute, and sang delightfully ; and invented besides other musical instruments such as were not seen before or since. He was fond of dress, but with- out ostentation, and always appeared in good taste, as one can imagine from the coloring of his pictures. In his old age, influenced by the wishes of his wife, he adopted the long cloak of the Venetian aristocracy. The names of the distinguished personages whom Ridolfi recounts in his acquaintance have long since ceased to find an echo in the halls of fame. Even Giovanni Francisco Otthobono, Grand Chancellor of Venice, famous in the literature of his day, is now less real to us than the portrait Tintoretto painted of him. He came too late to make the acquaintance of Cardinal Bembo, or of Theobaldo Menucci, better known as the originator of the Aldine editions, in which the contraction of his given name has mys- teriously overshadowed that of his family. Tinto- retto had one important friend, however, whose fame will endure so long as Italian art is remembered, and that was Paolo Cagliari, or, as he is commonly designated, Paul Veronese. When Paul came to Venice is not definitely known. He is said to have been born in 1530, but if we examine his portrait of himself in the Marriage at Cana it becomes evident that he certainly could not have been eighteen years younger than Tinto- 126 Life of Tintoretto. retto, and very unlikely that he was even twelve. The last portraits of him also represent quite an old man, and, as he died in 1588, it seems as if he must have come into the world several years earlier than the date that has been assigned for his birth. Of all Tintoretto's immediate cotemporaries, Paul was most nearly his equal ; and he has often been considered his superior on account of the unfailing excellence of his coloring. There is, however, little variety in his paintings, and he is decidedly lacking in seriousness. The Rape of Europa is his one poetic picture. Giorgione lived in gayety and amusement, but he was always in earnest when he painted. Paul of Verona did not care for revelry, but he liked the sunny side of life. Tragedy was unknown to him, and for this reason he has never won a place in the affections of mankind, notwith- standing his gigantic talents. There is a prosaic regularity about his work ; he possessed neither the originality of design nor the poetic fire of Tintoretto. It is possible to imagine how Titian acquired his tone of coloring; but whence did Paul derive the beautiful silver sheen of his painting, unless it were the inspiration of a summer moonlight night in a gondola between the islands. He also had a par- tiality for large patches of light-blue — what used to be called verditer blue. How rare is a friendship between such men ! Great artists especially seem to be separated like mountain peaks — the higher the farther apart. Neither is it easy for rivals in any occupation to remain good friends. There was no very cordial intimacy between Onward. 127 any of the English or American poets of the last half century. In painting, rivalry is more direct and penetrating. It is not only a matter of fame, but often a question of bread. Paul and Tintoretto were frequently competitors for the same commission ; sometimes one obtained it, and sometimes the other, yet there seems to have been no interruption of the cordial attachment which existed between them. This may have had its origin in an united opposition to Titian's too extensive authority, but it continued long after Titian had ceased to be a prominent actor on the Venetian stage. They had much to give and receive from each other. Paul was one of the greatest of dramatic painters, and as remarkable for his drawing as for his color. From seven to ten years the junior of Tintoretto, whom else could he learn his art from so well? It is not related that he was ever Tintoretto's pupil, but at the time when he left Verona for Venice the Miracle of St. Mark was in the meridian of its celebrity. Whoever will compare that picture with the masterpieces by Paul of Verona in the same room, and also with those in Sala XV., will be satisfied, I think, of a certain similarity between them in draw- ing and in the arrangement of attitudes and groups. There is no reason why this should not have been so. Tintoretto had little to learn from Paul in the way of his art, except perhaps in the criticism of particular works ; but the substantial, common-sense character of the latter, must have been a decided help to him. Men of Tintoretto's impetuous nature always require some one, either a man or a woman, 128 Life of Tintoretto. who may serve them as a sheet-anchor to hold fast by in dangerous weather. A distinctively creative in- telligence is apt to lose magnetism in its high flights of imagination, and can only regain it by contact with a more sensuous and purely terrestrial life. In. addition to his even temperament and unfailing cheerfulness, Paul was prudent, judicious, and as self-centred as a pyramid. Such a friend is inval- uable. Pietro Aretino can hardly be estimated among the number of Tintoretto's friends, for they finally came into violent collision ; nor does it appear that Tin- toretto ever solicited his favor or patronage, as was the case with many young painters. Aretino was a man who depended for his celebrity on the weak- nesses of human nature, and the ground tone of his character has been fitly described in the following epitaph : Condit Aretini cineres lapis iste sepultos, Mortales atro qui sale perfricuit : Intactus est illi, — causamque rogatus, Deus Hanc dedit ; ille, inquit, non mihi notus erat. Which Mr. F. B. Sanborn has freely rendered as follows : Old Time, that all things will devour. Beneath this stone hath hid the head Of Aretine, whose verses sour Spared not the living nor the dead : His ink has blackened the good name Of princes, whose enduring fame Survives the coffin and the pall ; Omvard. 1 29 And if he never did blaspheme Our Lord himself, the cause, I deem, Was this, — he knew Him not at all. There are men who pretend to be atheists, and yet live in fear of God, but Aretino would seem to have been a genuine one. He was a malignant fellow, a sort of human scorpion, whose jests were like pois- oned stilettos. Few examples of his wit are still in existence, and it is difficult to understand how he could have acquired the influence he is supposed to have possessed. He was a brilliant letter-writer, a talent which was valued during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries more highly than it is at pres- ent. Young scions of the nobility were proud to count him as a correspondent. He gained his ends with the upper classes by a mixture of servility, drol- lery, and impudence. Everybody was afraid of him. Even Michel Angelo in far-off Rome, with his mag- nificent reputation, suffered from Aretino's insidious criticism. You would have supposed from his argu- ment that he, Aretino, was the highly virtuous man, and Michel Angelo a corrupter of public morality. He exacted tribute from the nobles in money and jewels, and pictures from celebrated artists. His portrait, painted by Titian, is in the Pinacothek in Munich : a dark-complexioned man, rendered still darker by the expression of his face, with eyes like black diamonds, his arms akimbo, and the settled look of a professional gambler. In his own time his face was as proverbial as that of Queen Victoria or General Grant, and might be met with in all the shops of Venice " on pipe-heads and on china ware." 1 30 Life of Tintoretto. The early promise of Tintoretto could not escape the sharp observation of this old lynx, and appar- ently late in the year 1544 Aretino arranged to have him decorate one of the interior walls of his palace with two mythological paintings, which served as the occasion for the following letter : " 7!? Signor Jacopo Tint ore : " Your two historical paintings, the fable of Apollo and Ma7-syas, and the story of Argus and Mercury, which you, although so young, have painted on the wall of my room in barely as much time as it would take to design them, have given great satisfaction to me as well as to others, — persons of experienced judgment having pronounced them to be beautiful and natural, and the postures lifelike and charming. If, however, rapidity in producing what we desire is attended by poor performance, what pleasure can we feel in the quickness of its completion ? Promptness of execution is the result, assuredly, of a clear con- ception of what one has to do, just as you perceive mentally where you should place the light and where the dark colors. In a similar manner your nude and draped figures are made to stand out in suitable relief. " But though your brush, my son, gives evidence by your present achievements of the fame your future works will win for you, do not permit yourself to become egotistical, nor forget to be grateful to God by whose gracious mercy your mind is no less fitted for the study of righteousness than for that of painting. For you know that the former can exist Onward. 1 % i without the latter, but the latter cannot endure with- out the former. Philosophy is a science, and so is theology, and so is war : and as one sort of timber is good for sailyards, another for oars, and a third for the ship's hull ; and one kind of wood is more suitable for laths and another is better for stairways ; so it is that talent, which varies in all the several professions, enables you to surpass the sculptor in painting, the sculptor to surpass you in sculpture. But no effort of genius nor skill of hand is to be compared to righteousness, for this alone is a virtue not of genius nor of skill, but of soul and spirit ; not given us by nature, but inspired within our hearts by Christ.* " P. Aretino. " Venice, February, 1545." Considering the source whence it came, this is cer- tainly a remarkable document. It might have been added as an afterpiece to the conversation in Faust between Mephistopheles and the young student. I once met a reformed gambler, with eyes like gimlets, who entertained me with an account of his past life, and ended by inviting me to attend a tem- perance lecture which he was going to deliver that evening in the vestry of a suburban church. I respected the man for his good intentions, and re- pressed the smile that was rising within me. Aretino, however, never made the slightest pretension to moral reform, and Tintoretto must have been greatly disgusted at receiving this piece of smooth- * It seems as if this letter must have been written under the influ- ence of opium, for it cannot be turned into good English. 132 The Life of Tintoretto. tongued hypocrisy instead of a purse with eighty or a hundred ducats. Although he might be willing to accept Aretino's patronage for a fair equivalent, he had neither fear nor respect for the cynical old scoffer, and we may suppose also that he exhibited the letter to his friends, who must have laughed heartily at the affectation of piety from such a repro- bate. In course of time this also must have reached Aretino's ears, and accounts for the collision between him and Tintoretto which followed some time after- ward. Tintoretto heard at length that Aretino had been circulating jests and unfavorable criticisms at his ex- pense. He perceived that the struggle was coming which comes to every man of independent character, and quietly resolved how he should meet it. When he happened one day to meet Aretino in a public place he greeted him cordially and expressed a de- sire to paint his portrait ; wished he would call at his house (probably not yet the Palazzo Camello) for that purpose. What happened when they were fairly within doors is something of a mystery. Ridolfi's account of it is not very clear ; but certain it is that Tintoretto, having captured his game, did not let Aretino go again until he was thoroughly frightened and cured ; Ridolfi asserts that he made Aretino weep. Men who make a weapon of their tongues are not usually more courageous than women of the same ilk ; and Aretino coined no more witticisms on Tin- toretto. We have now reached a point in the life of this artist Onward. 133 so that, by looking forward a little also, we are able to make some estimate of his genius and rank as a painter ; as the chemists say, take a qualitative and quantitative analysis of him ; which we shall accord- ingly attempt in the following chapter. CHAPTER VII. THE GENIUS OF TINTORETTO. " T N two great masters of considerable genius the J^ vigorous activity and the fertile productive power of this later epoch culminated. One of these is the Venetian Jacopo Robusti, known as Tintoretto (1512-1594). Heat first frequented the school of Titian, but he soon withdrew and studied henceforth with the express intention of combining Michel Angelo's outline with Titian's coloring. He certainly thus acquired more exact and more plastic forms by means of deeper shadows and more forcible modelling ; but the irreconcilability of these contrasts made him, for the most part, lose the clearness, deli- cacy, and harmony of the coloring of the Venetian school, without affording an essential compensation for the loss. He belongs, indeed, to the boldest and most unfailing painters known in the history of art ; his pictures are immense in number and extent — a circumstance especially produced by the fact that the Venetians were never fond of frescos, and preferred adorning the walls and ceilings of their large and splendid halls with gigantic oil paintings. Tintoretto produced marvellous things in the execution of these 134 The Genius of Tintoretto, 135 works ; and not the least admirable part in them is that for a long time he guarded himself from the danger of falling into coarse decoration painting. It is true, it could not be otherwise than that his style no longer reached the height of the Titian period, that he aimed only at great effects of light and shade, and at length he also fell into gross mechanical painting. " Some noble altar-pieces belonging to his earlier period are in the churches of Venice and elsewhere in galleries. There are also some ably treated mythological paintings. Among the numerous pic- tures with which he adorned the Doge's Palace, there are many excellent ones, happily conceived, and beautifully painted. In the great Council Hall, he executed a gigantic oil painting of Paradise, thirty feet high by seventy-four feet broad — a tolerably wild medley, it is true. The Marriage at Cana, in the sacristy of S. Maria della Salute, and the Miracle of St. Mark in the Academy, are important composi- tions. In the Scuola di San Rocco there are more than fifty large oil paintings, among them a Cruci- fixion. He appears more pleasing on other occa- sions than in these colossal works ; in his numerous portraits, for instance, which, from their able concep- tion and excellent coloring, occupy a high rank." — Liibke's History of Art, vol. ii. Dr. Wilhelm Liibke was professor of the history of art in the University of Stuttgart, and belonged to a rather academic school of criticism, that has flourished in Germany for more than sixty years. Professor Kiigler, who was its best-known repre- 1 36 Life of Tintoretto. sentative thirty years ago, published a handbook of German and Italian painting, which for a long time served as an authority on the subject, and held its ground almost without opposition. It has since, however, been largely superseded by the more elabo- rate works of Crowe and Cavalcaselle, Tyrwhitt, and other English writers. Dr. Liibke's History of Art was translated into rather ilamboyant English in i86g, and accepted immediately as a requisite study in the University of Oxford ; and not without reason, for no such work had ever been published or even contemplated before in England. It was also favor- ably received in America, and has been very generally read by those who are interested in European art. That it should have its limitations is not surprising when we consider the vast extent of the subject and the varied material of which it consists. Dr. Liibke, though somewhat formal and conventional, is not, however, a scholastic pedant ; and, like all the better class of German writers, he recognizes the superiority of the spiritual conception to the material form, even in a domain where form is of absolute importance. This, and this only, from the very beginning, would make his work a success. He has, beside, a fair breadth of vision, and his book is happily filled with large views and elevated thought. He respects the mystery of genius ; he never attempts to draw too decisive a conclusion, or measure his subject by stringent and inviolable rules. He is impartial and dispassionate, never favoring any particular style or school of art at the expense of another. He indi- cates no preference for either the classic or romantic, The Genius of Tintoretto. 1 3 7 recognizing that each has a peculiar value of its own. Professor Liibke possesses an almost Homeric faculty for interesting the reader in those great mas- terpieces of human skill, with whose description his pages are mostly filled. With clear insight he traces the development of the art idea through all its Protean changes from the earliest times to the present era. His work is almost a philosophy of history, and no student of the progress of civilization can neglect to consider the light which it casts on that subject. It has suffered somewhat from the English translation, for, though Dr. Liibke often takes advantage of the facility with which words are compounded in his native language, he generally expresses himself in neat, direct, and intelligible sentences. There are, however, weak points in his cosmic topography. To appreciate a great work either in art, literature, or statecraft frequently requires long and patient contemplation, with many tentative ex- periments, before we finally succeed in penetrating it. Sometimes this can only be done in gifted mo- ments of receptivity, which have to be watched and waited for. A busy, active life is unfavorable- to this, and so is the necessity of finishing an extensive history within a reasonable time. Among a multi- tude of objects which all have a certain value, some will, of course, interest us more quickly than others. It is doubtful if any single critic can bring himself en rapport with all the different geniuses which Italy produced during the sixteenth century. How nu- 138 Life of Tintoretto. merous are the sincere admirers of Raphael, and how few and rare those who can appreciate Leonardo da Vinci. Now that we take up Dr. Lubke again after some years, we are surprised to find a number of instances of what appears to be erroneous judg- ment on his part, which we had formerly accepted on his good reputation. His book is better as a whole than in the separate parts. While he evi- dently has comprehended the merits of the chief Florentine artists and differentiates between them in a satisfactory manner, in his treatment of the great Venetians he appears rather as a man who is groping in the dark and attempting to express some- thing which is not yet distinctly visible to him. At the same time he comprehends sufficiently well the relations which these two schools of painting bear to each other. The extract previously quoted is all that Dr. Lubke has to say about Tintoretto, and is discour- aging enough. It is so unfairly compounded that we wonder whether it was written from memory or from the report of a second person. It is given here not so much on account of Dr. Liibke's authority as a writer, but rather as an example of the superficial criticism that Tintoretto has been subjected to for the last half century. Truly it requires a cool- headed observer to spend the winter in Rome, and April in the gallei'ies of Florence, and after doing justice to such widely different talents as those of Titian and Correggio, — then at last to esti- mate Tintoretto and Paul of Verona without preju- dice or constraint. One can imagine the historian The Genius of Tintoretto. 139 of art entering the Doge's Palace at Venice, and as he surveys Tintoretto's Paradise, which Dr. Liibke has reported as " a tolerably wild medley, seventy- four feet in breadth," saying half aloud : " Is it possible that I must also criticise a picture like this ? " It is not a wild medley at all, but a work as full of grace and dignity as any in the Vati- can ; and this will be demonstrated in the proper place. The mistake may have arisen from Tinto- retto's representing his angels, like those of Michel Angelo, as flying in the air, instead of being sta- tioned at conventional intervals about the throne ; but the error is so obvious that there can be little excuse for it. An equally bold solecism is the statement that Tintoretto for a long time guarded himself against the dangers of coarse decorative-painting, but that at length he also fell into a gross mechanical man- nerism. This is said, no doubt, in order to make Tintoretto conform to the general rule of Italian art in the last half of the sixteenth century ; but it is easily refuted by the facts of his life. To satisfy ourselves on this point, it is only necessary to ex- amine the dates of his principal works and consider the age at which he produced them. The Miracle of St. Mark, which holds the place of honor in the Academy of Fine Arts, was painted by Tintoretto in his thirty-first year, — a fresh, vigorous, and per- fectly finished work. Ten years later he com- menced a series of paintings in the Ducal Palace, with which he appears to have taken more pains, perhaps on account of being favored with a better 140 Life of Tintoretto. light there, than with his numerous pictures in the Venetian churches. The Crucifixion in San Rocco, which has generally been considered his master- piece, and is, in its way, without a rival, was finished in his forty-eighth year. The four exquisite paint- ings in the Sala dell' Anti-Collegio, perhaps the most perfect of his works, and conceived in an equally simple and refined manner, belong to the sixtieth year of his life ; and the Paradise, in which Tintoretto's powers obtained their most complete and harmonious development, was not begun till after he was seventy. In truth, a gradual though somewhat irregular improvement may be observed thoughout his whole career; and though he was not in all instances equal to himself, we cannot find an opening anywhere to justify a statement that he fell into a gross decorative style of painting. The occasion of this misjudgment may have arisen from a superficial consideration of his sketchy and roughly finished productions in the Scuola of San Roccp. These, taken by themselves, certainly give color to the suspicion that in the later portion of his career Tintoretto fell away from the high standard that he held in the beginning. This idea disappears, however, on careful investigation. We find that the pictures in the Scuola were not painted in course, but at intervals during more than twelve years, and that meanwhile Tintoretto was occupied with works of a wholly different order. Neither can they be called coarse or decorative, for they contain many of the master's noblest conceptions, and decoration only supposes an intention to please the spectator, and The Genius of Tintoretto. \ 4 1 not a vestige of this can be discovered in them. They are, for the most part, awfully serious com- positions, full of energy and pathos. It has been concluded, therefore, that Tintoretto painted them in this rough manner because, in the dim, religious light of San Rocco, more carefully finished pictures would not express so well what he wished to convey to the spectator. In a number of Venetian churches there are pictures painted by him in the same style and apparently for the same reason ; though the rule does not always hold good even in San Rocco. What is the first qualification of a painter? Drawing. There are, however, four distinct stages of this. First. The artist should be able to draw, correctly and easily, a living object, a man, for instance, in a position of repose. Unless he can do it easily he has no talent. To be able to draw a house, a ship, or even a tree, is nothing. Secondly. The artist should be able also to draw the same figure in motion, or from memory. This is to the first what shooting a bird on the wing with a rifle is to hitting a target. Some idea of the diffi- culty of it may be obtained by reading Leonardo's treatise on painting, which reveals a degree of self- devotion to his profession that to most people would seem incredible. He recommends the student to carry about with him a note-book, in which he can sketch rapidly both striking attitudes and the transient ex- pressions of fear, anger, love, anxiety, as he happens to meet with them. 142 Life of Tintoretto. Thirdly. To draw the figure so that it may ap- pear to the best advantage in the space which is allotted to it or in relation to other figures in the same picture. This requires a fine sense of propor- tion, an architectural sense, and is an art in itself. This is what connoisseurs call " breadth," though it is doubtful if they have a clear conception of what they intend by the term. There is a head of St. John, by Correggio, formerly in the collection of Mr. James J. Jarves, which is drawn so as to almost fill the canvas, leaving only a few square inches of background. In this way great force is added to the eager spirituality of the face ; but it would not be so well to paint the portrait of a young lady in the same manner. The exceptional power of Leonardo's Mona Lisa is owing largely to the breadth of its drawing; and William Hunt, in his picture of Niagara Falls emphasized the height of the cataract by leaving only a small strip of sky above it. Fourthly. The artist must feel the life of his sub- ject in the lines of his pencil ; for not otherwise will his representation appear lifelike. It is true, however, that the number of artists who have fulfilled these requirements are not very many. Leonardo was the first to give breadth to his drawing and animation to his figures. Michel Angelo was only a short distance behind him ; and Raphael learned from Michel Angelo. The early energies of Giorgione and Titian appear to have been concentrated on the evolution of color. Gior- gione's pictures are as great and peaceful in tone as those of the Florentine Raphael. Titian was at The Genius of Tintoretto. 143 length recalled by the warning voice of Buonarotti to the possibilities of his own genius. If we follow his pictures in series (so far as is known), from the age of forty, we find a continual effort to cultivate dramatic effect ; but no one could ever fill a canvas better than he. Tintoretto, of course, had heard of this criticism and determined to profit by it. It was on this account that he sent to Florence for the casts from Buonarotti's statues. The Florentine painters of the quattrocento considered drawing only with reference to the form and expression of the features, in which certainly they attained great proficiency. There are not any more finely individualized heads than those by Botticelli, Fra Angelico, and Ghir- landajo. It is not to be supposed because Leonardo gained the prize in the celebrated contest of the cartoons, that he was a better draughtsman than Michel Angelo, for on another occasion the decision might have been reversed. It proved, however, that they were very nearly equal in that respect. Tintoretto might as well have said : // disegno di Leonardo, in- stead of the well-known motto which he set up in his atelier ; for his drawing more frequently resembles the cartoon of the Battle of the Standard than the frescos of the Sistine Chapel. Rarely are we re- minded in his figures of the majestic outlines of Michel Angelo ; perhaps in the outstretched arm of Ariadne, and in the group of the Nine Muses at Hampton Court. Tintoretto, however, never imitated any one. He was too true to himself and to nature for that. He sometimes borrowed pictorial ideas, 144 Z.z/^ of Tintoretto. as has been the custom with many of the most in- ventive painters. The four great masters of drawing are Leonardo, Michel Angelo, Tintoretto, and Rubens. These, and these only, have succeeded in representing the human figure in difficult positions and with such faciHty that we feel sure the effort was not a forced one. Raphael was a splendid draughtsman and in the Fire in the Borgo he has represented both men and women in a great variety of lively attitudes ; but when you compare his sketches with those by Leo- nardo, you discover that there is a difference in favor of the latter. Neither did he create anything like Michel Angelo's group of the Seven Cardinal Sins. Paul of Verona also treads closely up to their skirts. His drawing is more spirited and expressive than Titian's, and the flying figures on the ceiling of the Doge's Palace do him no slight honor ; but his fond- ness for conventional life and heavy drapery fixed a certain limit to his genius in this direction. In purity of drawing Tintoretto surpassed them all, for his outlines are free from anything Hke peculiarity. All artists have a tendency to draw or model figures like their own. This may be observed in the first schools of instruction, and so on up to the greatest. An English sculptor, wishing to model a group of Michael and Satan formed the latter so nearly after his own image that there was no mistak- ing the likeness. Michel Angelo had a thick-set and remarkably strong physique, and the effect of this in his drawing, even of children, is well known. So also the more slender and elegant figure of The Genius of Tintoretto. 145 Raphael had its influence in his work. Tintoretto possibly escaped this slight aberration through the natural felicity of his constitution. To judge from Paul's full-length portrait of him, he possessed such a well developed and symmetrical form as one rarely meets with. Any imitation of this in his own pic- tures might pass for a presentation of the typical man. He painted many such figures, but also others of various modes and statures. He may have avoided another slight error in drawing, through his own, or the Venetian respect for nature. There is in Rubens's paintings a certain physical exuberance, exemplified in his high-toned color and fulness of outline, by which they are easily distin- guished. Not a few people mistake this for sensu- ality, and feel a strong dislike for it ; and it certainly deprives most of his religious pieces of the devo- tional feeling which should belong to them. The peculiar, feminine grace of Raphael's style is more attractive and has helped greatly to make him popu- lar. He acquired it evidently in the study for that progressive series of Madonnas in which he has excelled all others, but it became a habit with him, almost a mannerism, and it is quite out of place in such a subject as fhe epileptic boy in his Transfigura- tion. Tintoretto's drawing is so disinterested that he can hardly be said to have a style of his own. There could be no better evidence of the purity of his character than the fact that self is nowhere apparent in his works. They are to be distinguished more readily in this than by any other token. ' 146 Life of Tintoretto. There is a class of connoisseurs with whom style in art is everything. In their opinion, what the artist requires is to express himself, and it makes slight difference in what way he may do this. " Oh, one of Rembrandt's etchings," they say, " how delightful ! " without considering, perhaps, even what the subject of it might be. They admire Van Dyck for his superior air of gentility and Correggio for his sensuous sensibility. Form, which even to the sculptor is only the objective expression of an idea, appears to these critics as the expression of a subjective personality. To estimate the true value of a superior work of art from such a standpoint is impossible. Without admitting the dominion of style, we like the personality of an author or artist whose work has been found interesting. It affords a favorable light in which to view other productions by the same hand. Style has also a value of its own as representative of character. It gives strength and solidity to the improbable creations of the artist's mind. When we hsten to a good piece of music, we wish to know who the composer of it was, and can- not wait until it is finished before we learn this. We feel the man behind his work. Goldsmith was a more gifted writer than Dr. Joh"nson, though we do not feel he was equal to him in other respects ; and there have been those who could not appreciate the statues in the chapel of the Medicis and yet were interested in them because they had heard it said that Michel Angelo was the conscience of Italy. Yet is it not also true that the style is best The Genius of Tintoretto. 147 which contains least of the individual, and ap- proaches most nearly to an universal standard. Do we not like Milton and Goldsmith the better for their style, and Carlyle and Pope in spite of it ? Is not even Shakespeare more satisfactory in Cymbeline or Julius Ccesar than in the double superlatives of Richard II., or the tropical luxuriance of Romeo and Juliet ? The artist who throws himself heartily into his subject will of course imbue it strongly with his own nature, but he may do this either in an objec- tive and disinterested manner, or in an egoistic and subjective one. The degree of either will depend on the state of mind he may be in for the time be- ing. Correggio's drawing is most pure in the Read- ing Magdalen and least so in the Ecce Homo of the London National Gallery. A vigorous style usually indicates a strong char- acter, even if it be also a florid style, like that of Rubens. A delicate, intangible, and evanescent style is the token of a refined and elevated nature, as we perceive in Plato, Wordsworth, and Fra Angelico. There can be no doubt that Michel Angelo when he was at his best, that is, when he was perfect master of his own forces, was the greatest of all draughtsmen. No other has drawn with such intense vitality, and, as Aretino said, he expressed more by outline alone than many painters could in their fin- ished pictures. Next to him in vitality comes Leonardo ; but in expressiveness of outline, Tin-f' toretto. Even in the roughest scene-paintings of; San Rocco, Tintoretto's drawing is delightful. You feel that he always hits the mark, that his hand is 148 Life of Tintoretto. unerring, and your eye follows his lines with such pleasant confidence as you may feel perhaps in lis- tening to a master of oratory. No wells of Burke's or Gladstone's English are so pure as the outlines drawn by the " little dyer." His lines are inevitable, and it seems as if they could not have been otherwise. He is equally suc- cessful in representing a group of persons regard- ing a single object, as in the Martyrdom of St. Agnes, where there can be but little variety either in attitude or expression ; or, as in his Crucifixion, where a large number of men are employed in a variety of different occupations. His St. Mark ap- pears descending like an eagle from above, and yet the motion of his garments is so perfect that we only admire that, and do not think of the undigni- fied attitude. In his picture of Paradise the arch- ' angels are represented as flying into the picture, and they seem no less angelic because we can see the soles of their feet. In the Marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne, Venus is floating horizontally above the heads of the lovers, and yet her action is neither ungraceful nor constrained. When we see a man pitch headlong over some obstacle we feel a sym- pathetic shiver, but if we behold an acrobat sud- denly turn over in the air we are filled with a pleasant astonishment. Thus it is with these figures of Tintoretto's. They belong to the miracles of art. There is no miracle, however, like the spiritual and intellectual life of man ; and to convey this in the expression of the face, the movement of the Hmbs, and the attitude of the whole body, not only The Genius of Tintoretto. 1 49 taxes the skill of the artist's hand, but the deepest faculties of his mind. He cannot depend on his models for this, but rather on the study of human nature. He must be an artist and a dramatist as well. Memory and imagination are both called to his assistance. There are certain conventional forms for the expression of joy, anger, fear, astonishment and other passions, which we may find at any time in the illustrated papers of New York and London. They have been common in all times and countries ; but these will not serve the ideal artist. He must take observations from real life, and even study to avoid what is conventional. No other portion of his work makes such a stringent demand on his power of origination. The expression of the face attracts more attention, and is more readily understood than the pose of the body. The Dutch painters have excelled especially in giving a variety of lively and graphic expressions to their faces; but their conceptions are not often of an elevated type. The Preraphaelites, on the other hand, found their chief difficulty in represent- ing an expression that was not elevated. Attitude, however, will tell the truth sometimes, when faces are constrained to lie. Does not a dog indicate his state of mind by the motion of his tail ? Likewise every movement that a man will make, even if it be affected, has some direct relation with his mental processes. He may betray indecision by the posi- tion of his feet ; and a woman disclose her vanity in the tips of her fingers. The posture of the head represents a great variety of mental conditions. 1 50 Life of Tintoretto. Michel Angelo has been praised for the freedom and originahty of the attitudes of his men and women ; but what was the genesis of this freedom and originahty ? Every one of them represents a great idea in the thought of their master. He knew what his prophets and sibyls were thinking of, though we can only surmise it. It is the mystery that attaches to them which repels some people and attracts others so strongly. There is a mystery underlying Tintoretto's work, but of a different kind. His aim was constantly to /give a more beautiful and refined expression to (familiar ideas. He could express emotion in his iaces when he chose to, but he more frequently dis- played his power in the inclination of a hand or the folds of a mantle. Some of the most important I personages in his pictures are represented with their backs to the spectator ; and yet that back will signify to us more than some of his faces. This is the case with the figure of Adam in his Fall of Man, the Ma- donna in his Crucifixion, the most prominent figure in his Presentation of the Virgin, and many others. There is a picture formerly owned by Mr. T. G. Appleton, and attributed by him to Bassano, but by others to Tintoretto, called // Coconotte by the Italians, from the resemblance of one of the heads in it to a cocoa-nut. Whether it was by Tintoretto or not, it belongs to this class of paintings, and there is something irrisistibly good-humored in the expres- sion of that thinly covered scalp. That the painting should have been named from it is a proof of its im- portance in the composition. Tintoretto thus dis- The Genius of Tintoretto. 1 5 1 tinguished his work from that of others, and also remained more true to nature. Chiaroscuro. Professor Liibke, in mentioning that Tintoretto's shadows are deeper than those of Titian, neglected to explain what he attempted to accomplish by this. One glance at the Venetian pictures before Tinto- retto's time gives a ready interpretation of it. Bellini's richly colored paintings possess so little shadow that they sometimes remind one of stained- glass windows, and the two fine portraits by Gior- gione at the entrance of the Pitti Palace would be as flat, except for their internal light, as the canvas they are on. Previous to Michel Angelo's visit to Venice, Titian painted in the same manner, though he afterwards gradually changed until he came nearly, though never quite, on Tintoretto's ground. The Flora and Bella in Florence, with his portrait of Aretino, where the man seems to be emerging out of a dark room, form a progressive series, which corresponds with the date of their production. Whether Tintoretto sacrificed too much in his V effort to give roundness and fulness to his figures, is a debatable question. There can be no doubt that he sometimes did so, and in other instances he seems to have struck just the right medium, so far as that may be possible. If we compare a Venus of Titian or Pordenone with one of the best of Tintoretto's nude figures, we see that while the latter excels in 1 5 2 Life of Tintoretto. outline and roundness, it by no means equals the flesh-tint of the others. It is a conventional saying that Titian's Venuses are the perfection of coloring, and nothing could be more like flesh than they ap- pear, but they certainly are not the perfection of light and shade. It may be doubted if the illusion of shadow, which is produced by that peculiar neu- tral green, which is the legitimate co-relative of pink, could have been carried so far as to produce the effect that Tintoretto desired. As soon as we take notice that the shadows in a picture are paint, our interest in it is greatly diminished. Tintoretto's ambition, evidently, was to paint a man so that he could walk around him ; and he may be said to have succeeded in this. His portraits are not faces, but heads. His landscapes, also, where he chose to exert himself, are scenes that one can walk into. No one has ever understood the mystery of aerial perspective better than he ; and Leonardo, who has written so much about it, did not begin to comprehend it so well. His skies have a far-off, appealing look, and if they do not partake of the ideal climate of Correggio, they have the Italian climate, which is surely good enough. In this way he attained to the greatest depth in his pic- tures and solidity for his figures. However, as good chiaroscuro always requires a careful and delicate handhng, in those works which Tintoretto considered, either from their position or from some other reason, not worth the trouble of finishing nicely, the light and shade is often of a poor quality. The Genius of Tint