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On Back: '5551. Firenze. Chiesa e Piazza di S.
Maria Novella. Edit. Brunner & C., Como, Stab.
eliografico'.
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S you return this morning to St.
Mary's, you may as well observe—the matter before us being
concerning gates,—that the western façade of the church is of
two periods. Your Murray refers it all to the latest of
these;—I forget when, and do not care;—in which the largest
flanking columns, and the entire effective mass of the walls,
with their riband mosaics and high pediment, were built in
front of, and above, what the barbarian renaissance designer
chose to leave of the pure old Dominican church. You may see
his ungainly jointings at the pedestals of the great columns,
running through the pretty, parti-coloured base, which, with
the 'Strait' Gothic doors, and the entire lines of the
fronting and flanking tombs (where not restored by the
Devil-begotten brood of modern Florence), is of pure, and
exquisitely severe and refined, fourteenth century Gothic,
with superbly carved bearings on its shields. The small
detached line of tombs on the left, untouched in its sweet
colour and living weed ornament, I would fain have painted,
stone by stone: but one can never draw in front of a church in
these republican days; for all the blackguard children of the
neighbourhood come to howl, and throw stones, on the steps,
and the ball or stone play against these sculptured tombs, as
a dead wall adapted for that purpose only, is incessant in the
fine days when I could have worked.
If you enter by the door most to the left, or
north, and turn immediately to the right, on the interior of
the wall of the façade is an Annunciation, visible enough
because well preserved, though in the dark, and extremely
pretty in its way,—of the decorated and ornamental school
following Giotto:—I can't guess by whom, nor does it much
matter; but it is well To look at it by way of contrast with
the delicate, intense, slightly decorated design of Memmi,—in
which, when you return into the Spanish chapel, you will feel
the dependence for its effect on broad masses of white and
pale amber, where the decorative school would have had mosaic
of red, blue, and gold.
90. Our first business this morning must be to
read and understand the writing on the book held open by St.
Thomas Aquinas, for that informs us of the meaning of the
whole picture.
It is this text from the Book of Wisdom VII. 6.
"Optavi, et datus est mihi sensus.
Invocavi, et venit in me Spiritus Sapientiae,
Et preposui illam regnis et sedibus."
"I willed, and Sense was given me.
I prayed, and the Spirit of Wisdom came upon
me.
And I set her before, (preferred her to,)
kingdoms
and thrones."
The common translation in our English Apocrypha
loses the entire meaning of this passage, which—not only as
the statement of the experience of Florence in her own
education, but as universally descriptive of the process of
all noble education whatever—we had better take pains to
understand.
First, says Florence "I willed, (in sense of
resolutely desiring,) and Sense was given me." You must begin
your education with the distinct resolution to know what is
true, and choice of the strait and rough road to such
knowledge. This choice is offered to every youth and maid at
some moment of their life;—choice between the easy downward
road, so broad that we can dance down it in companies, and the
steep narrow way, which we must enter alone. Then, and for
many a day afterwards, they need that form of persistent
Option, and Will: but day by day, the 'Sense' of the rightness
of what they have done, deepens on them, not in consequence of
the effort, but by gift granted in reward of it. And the Sense
of difference between right and wrong, and between beautiful
and unbeautiful things, is confirmed in the heroic, and
fulfilled in the industrious, soul.
That is the process of education in the earthly
sciences, and the morality connected with them. Reward given
to faithful Volition.
91. Next, when Moral and Physical senses are
perfect, comes the desire for education in the higher world,
where the senses are no more our Teachers; but the Maker of
the senses. And that teaching, we cannot get by labour, but
only by petition.
"Invocavi, et venit in me Spiritus Sapientiae"—"I
prayed, and the Spirit of Wisdom," (not, you observe, was
given,1 but,) "came upon me." The personal
power of Wisdom: the "[Greek: sophia]" or Santa Sophia, to
whom the first great Christian temple was dedicated. This
higher wisdom, governing by her presence, all earthly conduct,
and by her teaching, all earthly art, Florence tells you, she
obtained only by prayer.
92. And these two Earthly and Divine sciences are
expressed beneath in the symbols of their divided
powers;—Seven terrestrial, Seven celestial, whose names have
been already indicated to you:—in which figures I must point
out one or two technical matters, before touching their
interpretation. They are all by Simon Memmi originally; but
repainted, many of them all over, some hundred years
later,—(certainly after the discovery of America, as you will
see)—by an artist of considerable power, and some feeling for
the general action of the figures; but of no refinement or
carelessness. He dashes massive paint in huge spaces over the
subtle old work, puts in his own chiaro-oscuro where all had
been shadeless, and his own violent colour where all had been
pale, and repaints the faces so as to make them, to his
notion, prettier and more human: some of this upper work has,
however, come away since, and the original outline, at least,
is traceable; while in the face of the Logic, the Music, and
one or two others, the original work is very pure. Being most
interested myself in the earthly sciences, I had a scaffolding
put up, made on a level with them, and examined them inch by
inch, and the following report will be found accurate until
next repainting.
For interpretation of them, you must always take
the central figure of the Science, with the little medallion
above it, and the figure below, all together. Which I proceed
to do, reading first from left to right for the earthly
sciences, and then from right to left the heavenly ones, to
the centre, where their two highest powers sit, side by side.
93. We begin, then, with the first in the list
given above, (Vaulted Book, page 75):—Grammar, in the corner
farthest from the window.
1. GRAMMAR: more properly Grammaticë, "Grammatic
Act" the Art of Letters or "Literature," or using the
word which to some English ears will carry most weight with
it,—"Scripture," and its use. The Art of faithfully reading
what has been written for our learning; and of clearly writing
what we would make immortal of our thoughts. Power which
consists first in recognizing letters; secondly, in forming
them; thirdly, in the understanding and choice of words which
errorless shall express our thought. Severe exercises all,
reaching—very few living persons know, how far: beginning
properly in childhood, then only to be truly acquired. It is
wholly impossible—this I say from too sorrowful experience—to
conquer by any effort or time, habits of the hand (much more
of head and soul) with which the vase of flesh has been formed
and filled in youth,—the law of God being that parents shall
compel the child in the day of its obedience into habits of
hand, and eye, and soul, which, when it is old, shall not, by
any strength, or any weakness, be departed from.
"Enter ye in," therefore, says Grammaticë, "at
the Strait Gate." She points through it with her rod, holding
a fruit(?) for reward, in her left hand. The gate is very
strait indeed—her own waist no less so, her hair fastened
close. She had once a white veil binding it, which is lost.
Not a gushing form of literature, this,—or in any wise
disposed to subscribe to Mudie's, my English friends—or even
patronize Tauchnitz editions of—what is the last new novel you
see ticketed up today in Mr. Goodban's window? She looks
kindly down, nevertheless, to the three children whom she is
teaching—two boys and a girl: (Qy. Does this mean that one
girl out of every two should not be able to read or write? I
am quite willing to accept that inference, for my own
part,—should perhaps even say, two girls out of three). This
girl is of the highest classes, crowned, her golden hair
falling behind her the Florentine girdle round her hips—(not
waist, the object being to leave the lungs full play; but to
keep the dress always well down in dancing or running). The
boys are of good birth also, the nearest one with luxuriant
curly hair—only the profile of the farther one seen. All
reverent and eager. Above, the medallion is of a figure
looking at a fountain. Underneath, Lord Lindsay says,
Priscian, and is, I doubt not, right.
94. Technical Points.—The figure is said by Crowe to be entirely
repainted. The dress is so throughout—both the hands also, and
the fruit, and rod. But the eyes, mouth, hair above the
forehead, and outline of the rest, with the faded veil, and
happily, the traces left of the children, are genuine; the
strait gate perfectly so, in the colour underneath, though
reinforced; and the action of the entire figure is well
preserved: but there is a curious question about both the rod
and fruit. Seen close, the former perfectly assumes the shape
of folds of dress gathered up over the raised right arm, and I
am not absolutely sure that the restorer has not mistaken the
folds—at the same time changing a pen or style into a rod. The
fruit also I have doubts of, as fruit is not so rare at
Florence that it should be made a reward. It is entirely and
roughly repainted, and is oval in shape. In Giotto's Charity,
luckily not restored, at Assisi, the guide-books have always
mistaken the heart she holds for an apple:—and my own belief
is that originally, the Grammaticë of Simon Memmi made with
her right hand the sign which said, "Enter ye in at the Strait
Gate," and with her left, the sign which said, "My son, give
me thine Heart."
95. II. RHETORIC. Next to learning how to read
and write, you are to learn to speak; and, young ladies and
gentlemen, observe,—to speak as little as possible, it is
farther implied, till you have learned.
In the streets of Florence at this day you may
hear much of what some people call "rhetoric"—very passionate
speaking indeed, and quite "from the heart"—such hearts as the
people have got. That is to say, you never hear a word uttered
but in a rage, either just ready to burst, or for the most
part, explosive instantly: everybody—man, woman, or
child—roaring out their incontinent, foolish, infinitely
contemptible opinions and wills, on every smallest occasion,
with flashing eyes, hoarsely shrieking and wasted
voices,—insane hope to drag by vociferation whatever they
would have, out of man and God.
Now consider Simon Memmi's Rhetoric. The Science
of Speaking, primarily; of making oneself heard
therefore: which is not to be done by shouting. She alone, of
all the sciences, carries a scroll: and being a speaker gives
you something to read. It is not thrust forward at you at all,
but held quietly down with her beautiful depressed right hand;
her left hand set coolly and strongly on her side.
And you will find that, thus, she alone of all
the sciences needs no use of her hands. All the others
have some important business for them. She none. She can do
all with her lips, holding scroll, or bridle, or what you
will, with her right hand, her left on her side.
Again, look at the talkers in the streets of
Florence, and see how, being essentially unable to
talk, they try to make lips of their fingers! How they poke,
wave, flourish, point, jerk, shake finger and fist at their
antagonists—dumb essentially, all the while, if they knew it;
unpersuasive and ineffectual, as the shaking of tree branches
in the wind.
96. You will at first think her figure ungainly
and stiff. It is so, partly, the dress being more coarsely
repainted than in any other of the series. But she is meant to
be both stout and strong. What she has to say is indeed to
persuade you, if possible; but assuredly to overpower you. And
she has not the Florentine girdle, for she does not
want to move. She has her girdle broad at the waist—of all the
sciences, you would at first have thought, the one that most
needed breath! No, says Simon Memmi. You want breath to run,
or dance, or fight with. But to speak!—If you know how,
you can do your work with few words; very little of this pure
Florentine air will be enough, if you shape it rightly.
Note, also, that calm setting of her hand against
her side. You think Rhetoric should be glowing, fervid,
impetuous? No, says Simon Memmi. Above all things,—cool.
And now let us read what is written on her
scroll:—Mulceo, dum loquor, varios induta colores.
Her chief function, to melt; make soft, thaw the
hearts of men with kind fire; to overpower with peace; and
bring rest, with rainbow colours. The chief mission of all
words that they should be of comfort.
You think the function of words is to excite?
Why, a red rag will do that, or a blast through a brass pipe.
But to give calm and gentle heat; to be as the south wind, and
the iridescent rain, to all bitterness of frost; and bring at
once strength, and healing. This is the work of human lips,
taught of God.
97. One farther and final lesson is given in the
medallion above. Aristotle, and too many modern rhetoricians
of his school, thought there could be good speaking in a false
cause. But above Simon Memmi's Rhetoric is Truth, with
her mirror.
There is a curious feeling, almost innate in men,
that though they are bound to speak truth, in speaking to a
single person, they may lie as much as they please, provided
they lie to two or more people at once. There is the same
feeling about killing: most people would shrink from shooting
one innocent man; but will fire a mitrailleuse contentedly
into an innocent regiment.
When you look down from the figure of the
Science, to that of Cicero, beneath, you will at first think
it entirely overthrows my conclusion that Rhetoric has no need
of her hands. For Cicero, it appears, has three instead of
two.
The uppermost, at his chin, is the only genuine
one. That raised, with the finger up, is entirely false. That
on the book, is repainted so as to defy conjecture of its
original action.
But observe how the gesture of the true one
confirms instead of overthrowing what I have said above.
Cicero is not speaking at all, but profoundly thinking before
he speaks. It is the most abstractedly thoughtful face to be
found among all the philosophers; and very beautiful. The
whole is under Solomon, in the line of Prophets.
98. Technical Points.—These two figures have suffered from
restoration more than any others, but the right hand of
Rhetoric is still entirely genuine, and the left, except the
ends of the fingers. The ear, and hair just above it, are
quite safe, the head well set on its original line, but the
crown of leaves rudely retouched, and then faded. All the
lower part of the figure of Cicero has been not only repainted
but changed; the face is genuine—I believe retouched, but so
cautiously and skilfully, that it is probably now more
beautiful than at first.
99. III. LOGIC. The science of reasoning, or more
accurately Reason herself, or pure intelligence.
Science to be gained after that of Expression,
says Simon Memmi; so, young people, it appears, that though
you must not speak before you have been taught how to speak,
you may yet properly speak before you have been taught how to
think.
For indeed, it is only by frank speaking that you
can learn how to think. And it is no matter how wrong
the first thoughts you have may be, provided you express them
clearly;—and are willing to have them put right.
Fortunately, nearly all of this beautiful figure
is practically safe, the outlines pure everywhere, and the
face perfect: the prettiest, as far as I know, which
exists in Italian art of this early date. It is subtle to the
extreme in gradations of colour: the eyebrows drawn, not with
a sweep of the brush, but with separate cross touches in the
line of their growth—exquisitely pure in arch; the nose
straight and fine; the lips—playful slightly, proud,
unerringly cut; the hair flowing in sequent waves, ordered as
if in musical time; head perfectly upright on the shoulders;
the height of the brow completed by a crimson frontlet set
with pearls, surmounted by a fleur-de-lys.
Her shoulders were exquisitely drawn, her white
jacket fitting close to soft, yet scarcely rising breasts; her
arms singularly strong, at perfect rest; her hands,
exquisitely delicate. In her right, she holds a branching and
leaf-bearing rod, (the syllogism); in her left, a scorpion
with double sting, (the dilemma)—more generally, the powers of
rational construction and dissolution.
Beneath her, Aristotle,—intense keenness of
search in his half-closed eyes.
Medallion above, (less expressive than usual) a
man writing, with his head stooped.
The whole under Isaiah, in the line of Prophets.
100. Technical Points.—The only parts of this figure which have
suffered seriously in repainting are the leaves of the rod,
and the scorpion. I have no idea, as I said above, what the
background once was; it is now a mere mess of scrabbled grey,
carried over the vestiges, still with care much redeemable, of
the richly ornamental extremity of the rod, which was a
cluster of green leaves on a black ground. But the scorpion is
indecipherably injured, most of it confused repainting, mixed
with the white of the dress, the double sting emphatic enough
still, but not on the first lines.
The Aristotle is very genuine throughout, except
his hat, and I think that must be pretty nearly on the old
lines, though I cannot trace them. They are good lines, new or
old.
101. IV. MUSIC. After you have learned to reason,
young people, of course you will be very grave, if not dull,
you think. No, says Simon Memmi. By no means anything of the
kind. After learning to reason, you will learn to sing; for
you will want to. There is so much reason for singing in the
sweet world, when one thinks rightly of it. None for
grumbling, provided always you have entered in at the
strait gate. You will sing all along the road then, in a
little while, in a manner pleasant for other people to hear.
This figure has been one of the loveliest in the
series, an extreme refinement and tender severity being aimed
at throughout. She is crowned, not with laurel, but with small
leaves,—I am not sure what they are, being too much injured:
the face thin, abstracted, wistful; the lips not far open in
their low singing; the hair rippling softly on the shoulders.
She plays on a small organ, richly ornamented with Gothic
tracery, the down slope of it set with crockets like those of
Santa Maria del Fiore. Simon Memmi means that all
music must be "sacred." Not that you are never to sing
anything but hymns, but that whatever is rightly called music,
or work of the Muses, is divine in help and healing.
The actions of both hands are singularly sweet.
The right is one of the loveliest things I ever saw done in
painting. She is keeping down one note only, with her third
finger, seen under the raised fourth: the thumb, just passing
under; all the curves of the fingers exquisite, and the pale
light and shade of the rosy flesh relieved against the ivory
white and brown of the notes. Only the thumb and end of the
forefinger are seen of the left hand, but they indicate enough
its light pressure on the bellows. Fortunately, all these
portions of the fresco are absolutely intact.
102. vented harmony. They, the best smiths in the
world, knew the differences in tones of hammer strokes on
anvil. Curiously enough, the only piece of true part-singing,
done beautifully and joyfully, which I have heard this year in
Italy, (being south of Alps exactly six months, and ranging
from Genoa to Palermo) was out of a busy smithy at Perugia. Of
bestial howling, and entirely frantic vomiting up of
hopelessly damned souls through their still carnal throats, I
have heard more than, please God, I will ever endure the
hearing of again in one of His summers.
You think Tubal-Cain very ugly? Yes. Much like a
shaggy baboon: not accidentally, but with most scientific
understanding of baboon character. Men must have looked like
that, before they had invented harmony, or felt that one note
differed from another, says, and knows Simon Memmi. Darwinism,
like all widely popular and widely mischievous fallacies, has
many a curious gleam and grain of truth in its tissue.
Under Moses.
Medallion, a youth drinking. Otherwise, you might
have thought only church music meant, and not feast music
also.
103. Technical Points.—The Tubal-Cain, one of the most entirely pure
and precious remnants of the old painting, nothing lost:
nothing but the redder ends of his beard retouched. Green
dress of Music, in the body and over limbs entirely repainted:
it was once beautifully embroidered; sleeves, partly genuine,
hands perfect, face and hair nearly so. Leaf crown faded and
broken away, but not retouched.
104. V. ASTRONOMY. Properly Astro-logy, as
(Theology) the knowledge of so much of the stars as we can
know wisely; not the attempt to define their laws for them.
Not that it is unbecoming of us to find out, if we can, that
they move in ellipses, and so on; but it is no business of
ours. What effects their rising and setting have on man, and
beast, and leaf; what their times and changes are, seen and
felt in this world, it is our business to know, passing our
nights, if wakefully, by that divine candlelight, and no
other.
She wears a dark purple robe; holds in her left
hand the hollow globe with golden zodiac and meridians: lifts
her right hand in noble awe.
"When I consider the heavens, the work of Thy
fingers, the moon and the stars, which Thou hast ordained."
Crowned with gold, her dark hair in elliptic
waves, bound with glittering chains of pearl. Her eyes dark,
lifted.
105. Beneath her, Zoroaster,2
entirely noble and beautiful, the delicate
Persian head made softer still by the elaborately wreathed
silken hair, twisted into the pointed beard, and into tapering
plaits, falling on his shoulders. The head entirely thrown
back, he looks up with no distortion of the delicately arched
brow: writing, as he gazes.
For the association of the religion of the Magi
with their own in the mind of the Florentines of this time,
see "Before the Soldan."
The dress must always have been white, because of
its beautiful opposition to the purple above and that of
Tubal-Cain beside it. But it has been too much repainted to be
trusted anywhere, nothing left but a fold or two in the
sleeves. The cast of it from the knees down is entirely
beautiful, and I suppose on the old lines; but the restorer
could throw a fold well when he chose. The warm light which
relieves the purple of Zoroaster above, is laid in by him. I
don't know if I should have liked it better, flat, as it was,
against the dark purple; it seems to me quite beautiful now.
The full red flush on the face of the Astronomy is the
restorer's doing also. She was much paler, if not quite pale.
Under St. Luke.
Medallion, a stern man, with sickle and spade.
For the flowers, and for us, when stars have risen and set
such and such times;—remember.
106. Technical Points.—Left hand globe, most of the important folds of
the purple dress, eyes, mouth, hair in great part, and crown,
genuine. Golden tracery on border of dress lost; extremity of
falling folds from left sleeve altered and confused, but the
confusion prettily got out of. Right hand and much of face and
body of dress repainted.
Zoroaster's head quite pure. Dress repainted, but
carefully, leaving the hair untouched. Right hand and pen, now
a common feathered quill, entirely repainted, but dexterously
and with feeling. The hand was once slightly different in
position, and held, most probably, a reed.
107. VI. GEOMETRY. You have now learned, young
ladies and gentlemen, to read, to speak, to think, to sing,
and to see. You are getting old, and will have soon to think
of being married; you must learn to build your house,
therefore. Here is your carpenter's square for you, and you
may safely and wisely contemplate the ground a little, and the
measures and laws relating to that, seeing you have got to
abide upon it:—and that you have properly looked at the stars;
not before then, lest, had you studied the ground first, you
might perchance never have raised your heads from it. This is
properly the science of all laws of practical labour, issuing
in beauty.
She looks down, a little puzzled, greatly
interested, holding her carpenter's square in her left hand,
not wanting that but for practical work; following a diagram
with her right.
Her beauty, altogether soft and in curves, I
commend to your notice, as the exact opposite of what a vulgar
designer would have imagined for her. Note the wreath of hair
at the back of her head, which though fastened by a spiral
fillet, escapes at last, and flies off loose in a sweeping
curve. Contemplative Theology is the only other of the
sciences who has such wavy hair.
Beneath her, Euclid, in white turban. Very fine
and original work throughout; but nothing of special interest
in him.
Under St. Matthew.
Medallion, a soldier with a straight sword (best
for science of defence), octagon shield, helmet like the
beehive of Canton Vaud. As the secondary use of music in
feasting, so the secondary use of geometry in war—her noble
art being all in sweetest peace—is shown in the medallion.
Technical Points.—It is more than fortunate that in nearly every
figure, the original outline of the hair is safe. Geometry's
has scarcely been retouched at all, except at the ends, once
in single knots, now in confused double ones. The hands,
girdle, most of her dress, and her black carpenter's square
are original. Face and breast repainted.
108. VII. ARITHMETIC. Having built your house,
young people, and understanding the light of heaven, and the
measures of earth, you may marry—and can't do better. And here
is now your conclusive science, which you will have to apply,
all your days, to all your affairs.
The Science of Number. Infinite in solemnity of
use in Italy at this time; including, of course, whatever was
known of the higher abstract mathematics and mysteries of
numbers, but reverenced especially in its vital necessity to
the prosperity of families and kingdoms, and first fully so
understood here in commercial Florence.
Her hand lifted, with two fingers bent, two
straight, solemnly enforcing on your attention her primal
law—Two and two are—four, you observe,—not five, as those
accursed usurers think.
Under her, Pythagoras.
Above, medallion of king, with sceptre and globe,
counting money. Have you ever chanced to read carefully
Carlyle's account of the foundation of the existing Prussian
empire, in economy?
You can, at all events, consider with yourself a
little, what empire this queen of the terrestrial sciences
must hold over the rest, if they are to be put to good use; or
what depth and breadth of application there is in the brief
parables of the counted cost of Power, and number of Armies.
To give a very minor, but characteristic,
instance. I have always felt that with my intense love of the
Alps, I ought to have been able to make a drawing of Chamouni,
or the vale of Cluse, which should give people more pleasure
than a photograph; but I always wanted to do it as I saw it,
and engrave pine for pine, and crag for crag, like Albert
Dürer. I broke my strength down for many a year, always tiring
of my work, or finding the leaves drop off, or the snow come
on, before I had well begun what I meant to do. If I had only
counted my pines first, and calculated the number of
hours necessary to do them in the manner of Dürer, I should
have saved the available drawing time of some five years,
spent in vain effort. But Turner counted his pines, and did
all that could be done for them, and rested content with that.
109. And how often in greater affairs of life,
the arithmetical part of the business must become the dominant
one! How many and how much have we? How many and how much do
we want? How constantly does noble Arithmetic of the finite
lose itself in base Avarice of the Infinite, and in blind
imagination of it! In counting of minutes, is our arithmetic
ever solicitous enough? In counting our days, is she ever
severe enough? How we shrink from putting, in their decades,
the diminished store of them! And if we ever pray the solemn
prayer that we may be taught to number them, do we even try to
do it after praying?
Technical Points.—The Pythagoras almost entirely genuine. The
upper figures, from this inclusive to the outer wall, I have
not been able to examine thoroughly, my scaffolding not
extending beyond the Geometry.
Here then we have the sum of sciences,—seven,
according to the Florentine mind—necessary to the secular
education of man and woman. Of these the modern average
respectable English gentleman and gentlewoman know usually
only a little of the last, and entirely hate the prudent
applications of that: being unacquainted, except as they
chance here and there to pick up a broken piece of
information, with either grammar, rhetoric, music,3 astronomy, or geometry; and are not only
unacquainted with logic, or the use of reason, themselves, but
instinctively antagonistic to its use by anybody else.
110. We are now to read the series of the Divine
sciences, beginning at the opposite side, next the window.
I. CIVIL LAW. Civil, or 'of citizens,' not only
as distinguished from Ecclesiastical, but from Local law. She
is the universal Justice of the peaceful relations of men
throughout the world, therefore holds the globe, with its three
quarters, white, as being justly governed, in her left hand.
She is also the law of eternal equity, not erring
statute; therefore holds her sword level across her
breast. She is the foundation of all other divine science. To
know anything whatever about God, you must begin by being
Just.
Dressed in red, which in these frescoes is always
a sign of power, or zeal; but her face very calm, gentle and
beautiful. Her hair bound close, and crowned by the royal
circlet of gold, with pure thirteenth century strawberry leaf
ornament.
Under her, the Emperor Justinian, in blue, with
conical mitre of white and gold; the face in profile, very
beautiful. The imperial staff in his right hand, the
Institutes in his left.
Medallion, a figure, apparently in distress,
appealing for justice. (Trajan's suppliant widow?)
Technical Points.—The three divisions of the globe in her hand
were originally inscribed ASIA, AFRICA, EUROPE. The restorer
has ingeniously changed AF into AME—RICA. Faces, both of the
science and emperor, little retouched, nor any of the rest
altered.
111. II. CHRISTIAN LAW. After the justice which
rules men, comes that which rules the Church of Christ. The
distinction is not between secular law, and ecclesiastical
authority, but between the equity of humanity, and the law of
Christian discipline.
In full, straight-falling, golden robe, with
white mantle over it; a church in her left hand; her right
raised, with the forefinger lifted; (indicating heavenly
source of all Christian law? or warning?)
Head-dress, a white veil floating into folds in
the air. You will find nothing in these frescoes without
significance; and as the escaping hair of Geometry indicates
the infinite conditions of lines of the higher orders, so the
floating veil here indicates that the higher relations of
Christian justice are indefinable. So her golden mantle
indicates that it is a glorious and excellent justice beyond
that which unchristian men conceive; while the severely
falling lines of the folds, which form a kind of gabled niche
for the head of the Pope beneath, correspond with the
strictness of true Church discipline firmer as well as more
luminous statute.
Beneath, Pope Clement V., in red, lifting his
hand, not in the position of benediction, but, I suppose, of
injunction,—only the forefinger straight, the second a little
bent, the two last quite. Note the strict level of the book;
and the vertical directness of the key.
The medallion puzzles me. It looks like a figure
counting money.
Technical Points.—Fairly well preserved; but the face of the
science retouched: the grotesquely false perspective of the
Pope's tiara, one of the most curiously naïve examples of the
entirely ignorant feeling after merely scientific truth of
form which still characterized Italian art.
Type of church interesting in its extreme
simplicity; no idea of transept, campanile, or dome.
112. III. PRACTICAL THEOLOGY. The beginning of
the knowledge of God being Human Justice, and its elements
defined by Christian Law, the application of the law so
defined follows, first with respect to man, then with respect
to God.
"Render unto Caesar the things that are
Caesar's—and to God the things that are God's."
We have therefore now two sciences, one of our
duty—to men, the other to their Maker.
This is the first: duty to men. She holds a
circular medallion, representing Christ preaching on the
Mount, and points with her right hand to the earth.
The sermon on the Mount is perfectly expressed by
the craggy pinnacle in front of Christ, and the high dark
horizon. There is curious evidence throughout all these
frescos of Simon Memmi's having read the Gospels with a quite
clear understanding of their innermost meaning.
I have called this science Practical
Theology:—the instructive knowledge, that is to say, of what
God would have us do, personally, in any given human relation:
and the speaking His Gospel therefore by act. "Let your light
so shine before men."
She wears a green dress, like Music her hair in
the Arabian arch, with jewelled diadem.
Under David.
Medallion, Almsgiving.
Beneath her, Peter Lombard,
Technical Points.—It is curious that while the instinct of
perspective was not strong enough to enable any painter at
this time to foreshorten a foot, it yet suggested to them the
expression of elevation by raising the horizon.
I have not examined the retouching. The hair and
diadem at least are genuine, the face is dignified and
compassionate, and much on the old lines.
113. IV. DEVOTIONAL THEOLOGY.—Giving glory to
God, or, more accurately, whatever feelings He desires us to
have towards Him, whether of affection or awe.
This is the science or method of devotion
for Christians universally, just as the Practical Theology is
their science or method of action.
In blue and red: a narrow black rod still
traceable in the left hand; I am not sure of its meaning.
("Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me?") The other hand
open in admiration, like Astronomy's; but Devotion's is held
at her breast. Her head very characteristic of Memmi, with
upturned eyes, and Arab arch in hair. Under her, Dionysius the
Areopagite—mending his pen! But I am doubtful of Lord
Lindsay's identification of this figure, and the action is
curiously common and meaningless. It may have meant that
meditative theology is essentially a writer, not a preacher.
The medallion, on the other hand, is as
ingenious. A mother lifting her hands in delight at her
child's beginning to take notice.
Under St. Paul.
Technical Points.—Both figures very genuine, the lower one almost
entirely so. The painting of the red book is quite exemplary
in fresco style.
114. V. DOGMATIC THEOLOGY.—After action and
worship, thought becoming too wide and difficult, the need of
dogma becomes felt; the assertion, that is, within limited
range, of the things that are to be believed.
Since whatever pride and folly pollute Christian
scholarship naturally delight in dogma, the science itself
cannot but be in a kind of disgrace among sensible men:
nevertheless it would be difficult to overvalue the peace and
security which have been given to humble persons by forms of
creed; and it is evident that either there is no such thing as
theology, or some of its knowledge must be thus, if not
expressible, at least reducible within certain limits of
expression, so as to be protected from misinterpretation.
In red,—again the sign of power,—crowned with a
black (once golden?) triple crown, emblematic of the Trinity.
The left hand holding a scoop for winnowing corn; the other
points upwards. "Prove all things—hold fast that which is
good, or of God."
Beneath her, Boethius.
Under St. Mark.
Medallion, female figure, laying hands on breast.
Technical Points.—The Boethius entirely genuine, and the painting
of his black book, as of the red one beside it, again worth
notice, showing how pleasant and interesting the commonest
things become, when well painted.
I have not examined the upper figure.
115. VI. MYSTIC THEOLOGY.4 Monastic science, above dogma, and attaining to
new revelation by reaching higher spiritual states.
In white robes, her left hand gloved (I don't
know why)—holding chalice. She wears a nun's veil fastened
under her chin, her hair fastened close, like Grammar's,
showing her necessary monastic life; all states of mystic
spiritual life involving retreat from much that is allowable
in the material and practical world.
There is no possibility of denying this fact,
infinite as the evils are which have arisen from misuse of it.
They have been chiefly induced by persons who falsely
pretended to lead monastic life, and led it without having
natural faculty for it. But many more lamentable errors have
arisen from the pride of really noble persons, who have
thought it would be a more pleasing thing to God to be a sibyl
or a witch, than a useful housewife. Pride is always somewhat
involved even in the true effort: the scarlet head-dress in
the form of a horn on the forehead in the fresco indicates
this, both here, and in the Contemplative Theology.
Under St. John.
Medallion unintelligible, to me. A woman laying
hands on the shoulders of two small figures.
Technical Points.—More of the minute folds of the white dress
left than in any other of the repainted draperies. It is
curious that minute division has always in drapery, more or
less, been understood as an expression of spiritual life, from
the delicate folds of Athena's peplus down to the rippled
edges of modern priests' white robes; Titian's breadth of
fold, on the other hand, meaning for the most part bodily
power. The relation of the two modes of composition was lost
by Michael Angelo, who thought to express spirit by making
flesh colossal.
For the rest, the figure is not of any interest,
Memmi's own mind being intellectual rather than mystic.
"Who goes forth, conquering and to conquer?" "For
we war, not with flesh and blood," etc.
In red, as sign of power, but not in armour,
because she is herself invulnerable. A close red cap, with
cross for crest, instead of helmet. Bow in left hand; long
arrow in right.
She partly means Aggressive Logic: compare the
set of her shoulders and arms with Logic's.
She is placed the last of the Divine sciences,
not as their culminating power, but as the last which can be
rightly learned. You must know all the others, before you go
out to battle. Whereas the general principle of modern
Christendom is to go out to battle without knowing any one
of the others; one of the reasons for this error, the prince
of errors, being the vulgar notion that truth may be
ascertained by debate! Truth is never learned, in any
department of industry, by arguing, but by working, and
observing. And when you have got good hold of one truth, for
certain, two others will grow out of it, in a beautifully
dicotyledonous fashion, (which, as before noticed, is the
meaning of the branch in Logic's right hand). Then, when you
have got so much true knowledge as is worth fighting for, you
are bound to fight for it. But not to debate about it, any
more.
There is, however, one further reason for Polemic
Theology being put beside Mystic. It is only in some approach
to mystic science that any man becomes aware of what St. Paul
means by "spiritual wickedness in heavenly6 places;" or, in
any true sense, knows the enemies of God and of man.
117. Beneath St. Augustine. Showing you the
proper method of controversy;—perfectly firm; perfectly
gentle.
You are to distinguish, of course, controversy
from rebuke. The assertion of truth is to be always gentle:
the chastisement of wilful falsehood may be—very much the
contrary indeed. Christ's sermon on the Mount is full of
polemic theology, yet perfectly gentle:—"Ye have heard that it
hath been said—but I/ say unto you";—"And if ye salute
your brethren only, what do ye more than others?" and the
like. But His "Ye fools and blind, for whether is greater," is
not merely the exposure of error, but rebuke of the avarice
which made that error possible.
Under the throne of St. Thomas; and next to
Arithmetic, of the terrestrial sciences.
Medallion, a soldier, but not interesting.
Technical Points.—Very genuine and beautiful
throughout. Note the use of St. Augustine's red bands, to
connect him with the full red of the upper figures; and
compare the niche formed by the dress of Canon Law, above the
Pope, for different artistic methods of attaining the same
object,—unity of composition.
But lunch time is near, my friends, and you have
that shopping to do, you know.
Notes
1· · I in careless error,
wrote "was given" in 'Fors Clavigera.
2· · Atlas! according to
poor Vasari, and sundry modern guides. I find Vasari's
mistakes usually of this brightly blundering kind. In
matters needing research, after a while, I find he is
right, usually.
3· · Being able to play
the piano and admire Mendelssohn is not knowing music.
4· · Blunderingly in the
guide-books called 'Faith!'
5· · Blunderingly called
'Charity' in the guide-books.
6· With cowardly
intentional fallacy, translated 'high' in the English Bible.
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