Legends of the Madonna by Mrs. Jameson

M >> Mrs. Jameson >> Legends of the Madonna

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29

"On sait qu'an XVI siecle, le mystere de l'Incarnation etoit souvent
represente par une allegorie ainsi concue: Une licorne se refugiant
au sein d'une vierge pure, quatre levriers la pressant d'une course
rapide, un veneur aile sonnant de la trompette. La science de la
zoologie mystique du temps aide a en trouver l'explication; le
fabuleux animal dont l'unique corne ne blessait que pour purger de
tout venin l'endroit du corps qu'elle avoit touche, figuroit Jesus
Christ, medecin et sauveur des ames; on donnait aux levriers agiles
les noms de Misericordia, Veritas, Justitia, Pax, les quatre raisons
qui ont presse le Verbe eternel de sortir de son repos mais comme
c'etoit par la Vierge Marie qu'il avoit voulu descendre parmi les
hommes et se mettre en leur puissance, on croyoit ne pouvoir mieux
faire que de choisir dans la fable, le fait d'une pucelle pouvant
seule servir de piege a la licorne, en l'attirant par le charme
et le parfum de son sein virginal qu'elle lui presentoit; enfin
l'ange Gabriel concourant au mystere etoit bien reconnoissable sous
les traits du venenr aile lancant les levriers et embouchant la
trompette."

* * * * *

It appears that this was an accepted religious allegory, as familiar
in the sixteenth century as those of Spenser's "Fairy Queen" or the
"Pilgrim's Progress" are to us. I have since found it frequently
reproduced in the old French and German prints: there is a specimen
in the British Museum; and there is a picture similarly treated in the
Musee at Amiens. I have never seen it in an Italian picture or print;
unless a print after Guido, wherein a beautiful maiden is seated under
a tree, and a unicorn has sought refuge in her lap, be intended to
convey the same far-fetched allegory.

Very common, however, in Italian art, is a less fantastic, but still
wholly poetical version of the Annunciation, representing, in fact,
not the Annunciation, but the Incarnation. Thus, in a picture by
Giovanni Sanzio (the father of Raphael) (Brera, Milan), Mary stands
under a splendid portico; she appears as if just risen from her seat
her hands are meekly folded over her bosom; her head declined. The
angel kneels outside the portico, holding forth his lily; while above,
in the heavens, the Padre Eterno sends forth the Redeemer, who, in
form of the infant Christ bearing his cross, floats downwards towards
the earth, preceded by the mystic Dove. This manner of representing
the Incarnation is strongly disapproved of by the Abbe Mery (v.
Theologie des Peintres), as not only an error, but a heresy: yet it
was frequently repeated in the sixteenth century.

The Annunciation is also a mystery when certain emblems are introduced
conveying a certain signification; as when Mary is seated on a throne,
wearing a radiant crown of mingled gems and flowers, and receives the
message of the angel with all the majesty that could be expressed by
the painter; or is seated, in a garden enclosed by a hedge of roses
(the _Hortus clausus_ or _conclusus_ of the Canticles); or where the
angel holds in his hands the sealed book, as in the famous altar-piece
at Cologne.

In a picture by Simone Memmi, the Virgin seated on a Gothic throne
receives, as the higher and superior being, yet with a shrinking
timidity, the salutation of the angel, who comes as the messenger
of peace, olive-crowned, and bearing a branch of olive in his hand.
(Florence Gal.) This poetical version is very characteristic of the
early Siena school, in which we often find a certain fanciful and
original way of treating well known subjects. Taddeo Bartoli, another
Sienese, and Martin Schoen, the most poetical of the early Germans,
also adopted the olive-symbol; and we find it also in the tabernacle
of King Rene, already described.

The treatment is clearly devotional and ideal where attendant
saints and votaries stand or kneel around, contemplating with devout
gratitude or ecstatic wonder the divine mystery. Thus, in a remarkable
and most beautiful picture by Fra Bartolomeo, the Virgin is seated on
her throne; the angel descends from on high bearing his lily: around
the throne attend St. John the Baptist and St. Francis, St. Jerome,
St. Paul, and St. Margaret. (Bologna Gal.) Again, in a very beautiful
picture by Francia, Mary stands in the midst of an open landscape; her
hands, folded over each other, press to her bosom a book closed and
clasped: St. Jerome stands on the right, John the Baptist on the left;
both look up with a devout expression to the angel descending from
above. In both these examples Mary is very nobly and expressively
represented as the chosen and predestined vehicle of human redemption.
It is not here the Annunciation, but the "_Sacratissima Annunziata_"
we see before us. In a curious picture by Francesco da Cotignola,
Mary stands on a sculptured pedestal, in the midst of an architectural
decoration of many-coloured marbles, most elaborately painted: through
an opening is seen a distant landscape, and the blue sky; on her
right stands St. John the Baptist, pointing upwards; on her left St.
Francis, adoring; the votary kneels in front. (Berlin Gal.) Votive
pictures of the Annunciation were frequently expressive offerings from
those who desired, or those who had received, the blessing of an heir;
and this I take to be an instance.

In the following example, the picture is votive in another sense,
and altogether poetical. The Virgin Mary receives the message of the
angel, as usual; but before her, at a little distance, kneels the
Cardinal Torrecremata, who presents three young girls, also kneeling,
to one of whom the Virgin gives a purse of money. This curious and
beautiful picture becomes intelligible, when we find that it was
painted for a charitable community, instituted by Torrecremata,
for educating and endowing poor orphan girls, and styled the
"_Confraternita dell' Annunziata_."[1]

[Footnote 1: Benozzo Gozzoli, in S. Maria sopra Minerva, Rome.]

In the charming Annunciation by Angelico, the scene is in the cloister
of his own convent of St. Mark. A Dominican (St. Peter Martyr)
stands in the background with hands folded in prayer. I might add
many beautiful examples from Fra Bartolomeo, and in sculpture from
Benedetto Maiano, Luca della Robbia, and others, but have said enough
to enable the observer to judge of the intention of the artist. The
Annunciation by Sansovino among the bas-reliefs, which cover the
chapel at Loretto is of great elegance.

I must, however, notice one more picture. Of six Annunciations
painted by Rubens, five represent the event; the sixth is one of his
magnificent and most palpable allegories, all glowing with life and
reality. Here Mary kneels on the summit of a flight of steps; a dove,
encompassed by cherubim, hovers over her head. Before her kneels
the celestial messenger; behind him Moses and Aaron, with David and
other patriarchal ancestors of Christ. In the clouds above is seen
the heavenly Father; on his right are two female figures, Peace and
Reconciliation; on his left, angels bear the ark of the covenant. In
the lower part of the picture, stand Isaiah and Jeremiah, with four
sibyls:--thus connecting the prophecies of the Old Testament, and
the promises made to the Gentile nations through the sibyls, with the
fulfilment of both in the message from on high.

THE ANNUNCIATION AS AN EVENT.

Had the Annunciation to Mary been merely mentioned as an awful and
incomprehensible vision, it would have been better to have adhered to
the mystical style of treatment, or left it alone altogether; but the
Scripture history, by giving the whole narration as a simple fact, a
real event, left it free for representation as such; and, as such, the
fancy of the artist was to be controlled and limited only by the words
of Scripture as commonly understood and interpreted, and by those
proprieties of time, place, and circumstance, which would be required
in the representation of any other historical incident or action.

When all the accompaniments show that nothing more was in the mind
of the artist than the aim to exhibit an incident in the life of the
Virgin, or an introduction to that of our Lord, the representation is
no longer mystical and devotional, but historical. The story was to be
told with all the fidelity, or at least all the likelihood, that was
possible; and it is clear that, in this case, the subject admitted,
and even required, a more dramatic treatment, with such accessories
and accompaniments as might bring the scene within the sphere of the
actual. In this sense it is not to be mistaken. Although the action is
of itself so very simple, and the actors confined to two persons, it
is astonishing to note the infinite variations of which this favourite
theme has been found susceptible. Whether all these be equally
appropriate and laudable, is quite another question; and in how far
the painters have truly interpreted the Scriptural narration, is now
to be considered.

And first, with regard to the time, which is not especially mentioned.
It was presumed by the Fathers and early commentators on Scripture,
that the Annunciation must have taken place in early spring-time, at
eventide, soon after sunset, the hour since consecrated as the "Ave
Maria," as the bell which announces it is called the "Angelus;"[1]
but other authorities say that it was rather at midnight, because
the nativity of our Lord took place at the corresponding hour in the
following December. This we find exactly attended to by many of the
old painters, and indicated either by the moon and stars in the sky,
or by a taper or a lamp burning near.

[Footnote 1: So Lord Byron:--

"Ave Maria! blessed be the hour!
The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft
Have felt that moment in its fullest power
Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft,
While swung the deep bell in the distant tower,
Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft,
And not a breath crept through the rosy air,
And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer"]

* * * * *

With regard to the locality, we are told by St. Luke that the angel
Gabriel was sent from God, and that "he came _in_ to Mary" (Luke i.
28), which seems to express that she was _within_ her house.

In describing the actual scene of the interview between the angel and
Mary, the legendary story of the Virgin adheres very closely to the
scriptural text. But it also relates, that Mary went forth at evening
to draw water from the fountain; that she heard a voice which said,
"Hail thou that art full of grace!" and thereupon being troubled, she
looked to the right and to the left, and seeing no one, returned to
her _house_, and sat down to her work, (Protevangelion, ix. 7.) Had
any exact attention been paid to oriental customs, Mary might have
been working or reading or meditating on the roof of her house; but
this has not suggested itself in any instance that I can remember. We
have, as the scene of the interview, an interior which is sometimes
like an oratory, sometimes a portico with open arcades; but more
generally a bedroom. The poverty of Joseph and Mary, and their humble
condition in life, are sometimes attended to, but not always; for,
according to one tradition, the house at Nazareth was that which Mary
had inherited from her parents, Joachim and Anna, who were people of
substance. Hence, the painters had an excuse for making the chamber
richly furnished, the portico sustained by marble pillars, or
decorated with sculpture. In the German and Flemish pictures, the
artist, true to the national characteristic of _naive_ and literal
illustration, gives us a German or a Gothic chamber, with a lattice
window of small panes of glass, and a couch with pillows, or a
comfortable four-post bedstead, furnished with draperies, thus
imparting to the whole scene an air of the most vivid homely reality.

As for the accessories, the most usual, almost indispensable, is the
pot of lilies, the symbolical _Fleur de Marie_, which I have already
explained at length. There is also a basket containing needle work and
implements of female industry, as scissors, &c.; not merely to express
Mary's habitual industry, but because it is related that when she
returned to her house, "she took the purple linen, and sat down to
work it." The work-basket is therefore seldom omitted. Sometimes a
distaff lies at her feet, as in Raphael's Annunciation. In old German
pictures we have often a spinning-wheel. To these emblems of industry
is often added a basket, or a dish, containing fruit; and near it a
pitcher of water to express the temperance of the blessed Virgin.

There is grace and meaning in the introduction of birds, always
emblems of the spiritual. Titian places a tame partridge at the feet
of Mary, which expresses her tenderness; but the introduction of a
cat, as in Barroccio's picture, is insufferable.

* * * * *

The archangel Gabriel, "one of those who stand continually in the
presence of God," having received his mission, descends to earth.
In the very earliest representation of the Annunciation, as an event
(Mosaic, S. Maria Maggiore), we have this descent of the winged spirit
from on high; and I have seen other instances. There is a small and
beautiful sketch by Garofalo (Alton Towers), in which, from amidst
a flood of light, and a choir of celestial spirits, such as Milton
describes as adoring the "divine sacrifice" proclaimed for sinful man
(Par. Lost, b. iii.), the archangel spreads his lucid wings, and seems
just about to take his flight to Nazareth. He was accompanied, says
the Italian legend, by a train of lower angels, anxious to behold
and reverence their Queen; these remained, however, at the door, or
"before the gate," while Gabriel entered.

The old German masters are fond of representing him as entering by
a door in the background, while the serene Virgin, seated in front,
seems aware of his presence without seeing him.

In some of the old pictures, he comes in flying from above, or he is
upborne by an effulgent cloud, and surrounded by a glory which lights
the whole picture,--a really _celestial_ messenger, as in a fresco
by Spinello Aretino. In others, he comes gliding in, "smooth sliding
without step;" sometimes he enters like a heavenly ambassador, and
little angels hold up his train. In a picture by Tintoretto, he comes
rushing in as upon a whirlwind, followed by a legion of lesser angels;
while on the outside of the building, Joseph the carpenter is seen
quietly at his work. (Venice, School of S. Rocco.)

But, whether walking or flying, Gabriel bears, of course, the
conventional angelic form, that of the human creature, winged,
beautiful, and radiant with eternal youth, yet with a grave and
serious mien, in the later pictures, the drapery given to the angel is
offensively scanty; his sandals, and bare arms, and fluttering robe,
too much _a l'antique_; he comes in the attitude of a flying Mercury,
or a dancer in a ballet. But in the early Italian pictures his dress
is arranged with a kind of solemn propriety: it is that of an acolyte,
white and full, and falling in large folds over his arms, and in
general concealing his feet. In the German pictures, he often wears
the priestly robe, richly embroidered, and clasped in front by a
jewel. His ambrosial curls fall over this cope in "hyacinthine
flow." The wings are essential, and never omitted. They are white, or
many-coloured, eyed like the peacock's train, or bedropped with gold.
He usually bears the lily in his hand, but not always. Sometimes it is
the sceptre, the ancient attribute of a herald; and this has a scroll
around it, with the words, "Ave Maria gratia plena!" The sceptre or
wand is, occasionally surmounted by a cross.

In general, the palm is given to the angel who announces the death of
Mary. In one or two instances only I have seen the palm given to the
angel Gabriel, as in a predella by Angelico; for which, however, the
painter had the authority of Dante, or Dante some authority earlier
still. He says of Gabriel,

"That he bore the _palm_
Down unto Mary when the Son of God
Vouchsafed to clothe him in terrestrial weeds."

The olive-bough has a mystical sense wherever adopted: it is the
symbol of _peace_ on earth. Often the angel bears neither lily, nor
sceptre, nor palm, nor olive. His hands are folded on his bosom; or,
with one hand stretched forth, and the other pointing upwards, he
declares his mission from on high.

In the old Greek pictures, and in the most ancient Italian examples,
the angel stands; as in the picture by Cimabue, wherein the Greek
model is very exactly followed. According to the Roman Catholic
belief, Mary is Queen of heaven, and of angels--the superior being;
consequently, there is propriety in making the angel deliver his
message kneeling: but even according to the Protestant belief the
attitude would not be unbecoming, for the angel, having uttered
his salutation, might well prostrate himself as witness of the
transcending miracle, and beneath the overshadowing presence of
the Holy Spirit.

Now, as to the attitude and occupation of Mary at the moment the
angel entered, authorities are not agreed. It is usual to exhibit her
as kneeling in prayer, or reading with a large book open on a desk
before her. St. Bernard says that she was studying the book of the
prophet Isaiah, and as she recited the verse, "Behold, a Virgin shall
conceive, and bear a son," she thought within her heart, in her great
humility, "How blessed the woman of whom these words are written!
Would I might be but her handmaid to serve her, and allowed, to kiss
her feet!"--when, in the same instant, the wondrous vision burst
upon her, and the holy prophecy was realized in herself. (Il perfetto
Legendario.)

I think it is a manifest fault to disturb the sublime tenor of the
scene by representing Mary as starting up in alarm; for, in the first
place, she was accustomed, as we have seen, to the perpetual ministry
of angels, who daily and hourly attended on her. It is, indeed, said
that Mary was troubled; but it was not the presence, but the "saying"
of the angel which troubled her--it was the question "how this should
be?" (Luke i. 29.) The attitude, therefore, which some painters have
given to her, as if she had started from her seat, not only in terror,
but in indignation, is altogether misplaced. A signal instance is
the statue of the Virgin by Mocchi in the choir of the cathedral at
Orvieto, so grand in itself, and yet so offensive as a devotional
figure. Misplaced is also, I think, the sort of timid shrinking
surprise which is the expression in some pictures. The moment is
much too awful, the expectance much too sublime, for any such human,
girlish emotions. If the painter intend to express the moment in which
the angel appears and utters the salutation, "Hail!" then Mary may be
standing, and her looks directed towards him, as in a fine majestic
Annunciation of Andrea del Sarto. Standing was the antique attitude
of prayer; so that if we suppose her to have been interrupted in her
devotions, the attitude is still appropriate. But if that moment
be chosen in which she expressed her submission to the divine will,
"Behold the handmaid of the Lord! let it be unto me according to thy
word!" then she might surely kneel with bowed bead, and folded hands,
and "downcast eyes beneath th' almighty Dove." No attitude could be
too humble to express that response; and Dante has given us, as the
most perfect illustration of the virtue of humility, the sentiment and
attitude of Mary when submitting herself to the divine will. (Purg.
x., Cary's Trans.)

"The angel (who came down to earth
With tidings of the peace to many years
Wept for in vain, that op'd the heavenly gates
From their long interdict) before us seem'd
In a sweet act so sculptur'd to the life,
He look'd no silent image. One had sworn
He had said 'Hail!' for SHE was imag'd there,
By whom the key did open to God's love;
And in her act as sensibly imprest
That word, 'Behold the handmaid of the Lord,'
As figure seal'd on wax."

And very beautifully has Flaxman transferred the sculpture "divinely
wrought upon the rock of marble white" to earthly form.

* * * * *

The presence of the Holy Spirit in the historical Annunciations is to
be accounted for by the words of St. Luke, and the visible form of the
Dove is conventional and authorized. In many pictures, the celestial
Dove enters by the open casement. Sometimes it seems to brood
immediately over the head of the Virgin; sometimes it hovers towards
her bosom. As for the perpetual introduction of the emblem of the
Padre Eterno, seen above the sky, under the usual half-figure of a
kingly ancient man, surrounded by a glory of cherubim, and sending
forth upon a beam of light the immaculate Dove, there is nothing to
be said but the usual excuse for the mediaeval artists, that certainly
there was no _conscious_ irreverence. The old painters, great as they
were in art, lived in ignorant but zealous times--in times when
faith was so fixed, so much a part of the life and soul, that it was
not easily shocked or shaken; as it was not founded in knowledge or
reason, so nothing that startled the reason could impair it. Religion,
which now speaks to us through words, then spoke to the people through
visible forms universally accepted; and, in the fine arts, we accept
such forms according to the feeling which _then_ existed in men's
minds, and which, in its sincerity, demands our respect, though now we
might not, could not, tolerate the repetition. We must also remember
that it was not in the ages of ignorance and faith that we find
the grossest materialism in art. It was in the learned, half-pagan
sixteenth and the polished seventeenth century, that this materialized
theology became most offensive. Of all the artists who have sinned
in the Annunciation--and they are many--Nicolo Poussin is perhaps
the worst. Yet he was a good, a pious man, as well as a learned and
accomplished painter. All through the history of the art, the French
show themselves as the most signal violators of good taste, and what
they have invented a word for--_bienseance_. They are worse than the
old Germans; worse than the modern Spaniards--and that is saying much.

In Raphael's Annunciation, Mary is seated in a reclining attitude,
leaning against the side of her couch, and holding a book. The angel,
whose attitude expresses a graceful _empressement_, kneels at some
distance, holding the lily.

* * * * *

Michael Angelo gives us a most majestic Virgin standing on the steps
of a prie-Dieu, and turning with hands upraised towards the angel, who
appears to have entered by the open door; his figure is most clumsy
and material, and his attitude unmeaning and ungraceful. It is, I
think, the only instance in which Michael Angelo has given wings to
an angelic being: for here they could not be dispensed with.

In a beautiful Annunciation by Johan Van Eyck (Munich Gal., Cabinet
iii. 35), the Virgin kneels at a desk with a book before her. She has
long fair hair, and a noble intellectual brow. Gabriel, holding his
sceptre, stands in the door-way. The Dove enters by the lattice. A
bed is in the background, and in front a pot of lilies. In another
Annunciation by Van Eyck, painted on the Ghent altar-piece, we have
the mystic, not the historical, representation, and a very beautiful
effect is produced by clothing both the angel and Mary in robes of
pure white. (Berlin Gal., 520, 521.)

In an engraving after Rembrandt, the Virgin kneels by a fountain,
and the angel kneels on the opposite side. This seems to express the
legendary scene.

These few observations on the general arrangement of the theme,
whether mystical or historical, will, I hope, assist the observer in
discriminating for himself. I must not venture further, for we have a
wide range of subjects before us.

THE VISITATION.

_Ital._ La Visitazione di Maria. _Fr._ La Visitation de la Vierge
_Ger._ Die Heimsuchung Mariae. July 2.

After the Annunciation of the angel, the Scripture goes on to relate
how "Mary arose and went up into the hill country with haste, to
the house of her cousin Elizabeth, and saluted her." This meeting
of the two kinswomen is the subject styled in art the "Visitation,"
and sometimes the "Salutation of Elizabeth." It is of considerable
importance, in a series of the life of the Virgin, as an event; and
also, when taken separately in its religious significance, as being
the first recognition of the character of the Messiah. "Whence is this
to me," exclaims Elizabeth, "that the mother of my Lord should come to
me?" (Luke i. 43); and as she spoke this through the influence of the
Holy Spirit, and not through knowledge, she is considered in the light
of a prophetess.

Of Elizabeth I must premise a few words, because in many
representations relating to the life of the Virgin, and particularly
in those domestic groups, the Holy Families properly so called, she
is a personage of great importance, and we ought to be able, by some
preconceived idea of her bearing and character, to test the propriety
of that impersonation usually adopted by the artists. We must remember
that she was much older than her cousin, a woman "well stricken
in years;" but it is a, great mistake to represent her as old, as
wrinkled and decrepit, as some painters have done. We are told that
she was righteous before the Lord, "walking in all his commandments
blameless:" the manner in which she received the visit of Mary,
acknowledging with a glad humility the higher destinies of her young
relative, show her to have been free from all envy and jealousy.
Therefore all pictures of Elizabeth should exhibit her as an elderly,
but not an aged matron; a dignified, mild, and gracious creature; one
selected to high honour by the Searcher of hearts, who, looking down
on hers, had beheld it pure from any secret taint of selfishness, even
as her conduct had been blameless before man.[1]

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29