[Giotto,
Campanile, Allegory of Skills and Education]
AM obliged to interrupt my account of the
Spanish chapel by the following notes on the sculptures of
Giotto's Campanile: first because I find that inaccurate
accounts of those sculptures are in course of publication; and
chiefly because I cannot finish my work in the Spanish chapel
until one of my good Oxford helpers, Mr. Caird, has completed
some investigations he has undertaken for me upon the history
connected with it. I had written my own analysis of the fourth
side, believing that in every scene of it the figure of St.
Dominic was repeated. Mr. Caird first suggested, and has shown
me already good grounds for his belief.1 that the preaching
monks represented are in each scene intended for a different
person. I am informed also of several careless mistakes which
have got into my description of the fresco of the Sciences;
and finally, another of my young helpers, Mr. Charles F.
Murray,—one, however, whose help is given much in the form of
antagonism,—informs me of various critical discoveries lately
made, both by himself, and by industrious Germans, of points
respecting the authenticity of this and that, which will
require notice from me: more especially he tells me of
certification that the picture in the Uffizi, of which I
accepted the ordinary attribution to Giotto, is by Lorenzo
Monaco,—which indeed may well be, without in the least
diminishing the use to you of what I have written of its
predella, and without in the least, if you think rightly of
the matter, diminishing your confidence in what I tell you of
Giotto generally. There is one kind of knowledge of pictures
which is the artist's, and another which is the antiquary's
and the picture-dealer's; the latter especially acute, and
founded on very secure and wide knowledge of canvas, pigment,
and tricks of touch, without, necessarily, involving any
knowledge whatever of the qualities of art itself. There are
few practised dealers in the great cities of Europe whose
opinion would not be more trustworthy than mine, (if you could
get it, mind you,) on points of actual authenticity.
But they could only tell you whether the picture was by such
and such a master, and not at all what either the master or
his work were good for. Thus, I have, before now, taken
drawings by Varley and by Cousins for early studies by Turner,
and have been convinced by the dealers that they knew better
than I, as far as regarded the authenticity of those drawings;
but the dealers don't know Turner, or the worth of him, so
well as I, for all that. So also, you may find me again and
again mistaken among the much more confused work of the early
Giottesque schools, as to the authenticity of this work or the
other; but you will find (and I say it with far more sorrow
than pride) that I am simply the only person who can at
present tell you the real worth of any; you will find
that whenever I tell you to look at a picture, it is worth
your pains; and whenever I tell you the character of a
painter, that it is his character, discerned by me
faithfully in spite of all confusion of work falsely
attributed to him in which similar character may exist. Thus,
when I mistook Cousins for Turner, I was looking at a piece of
subtlety in the sky of which the dealer had no consciousness
whatever, which was essentially Turneresque, but which another
man might sometimes equal; whereas the dealer might be only
looking at the quality of Whatman's paper, which Cousins used,
and Turner did not.
119.Not, in the
meanwhile, to leave you quite guideless as to the main subject
of the fourth fresco in the Spanish chapel,—the Pilgrim's
Progress of Florence,—here is a brief map of it:
On the right, in lowest
angle, St. Dominic preaches to the group of Infidels; in the
next group towards the left, he (or some one very like him)
preaches to the Heretics: the Heretics proving obstinate, he
sets his dogs at them, as at the fatallest of wolves, who
being driven away, the rescued lambs are gathered at the feet
of the Pope. I have copied the head of the very pious, but
slightly weak-minded, little lamb in the centre, to compare
with my rough Cumberland ones, who have had no such grave
experiences. The whole group, with the Pope above, (the niche
of the Duomo joining with and enriching the decorative power
of his mitre,) is a quite delicious piece of design.
The Church being thus
pacified, is seen in worldly honour under the powers of the
Spiritual and Temporal Rulers. The Pope, with Cardinal and
Bishop descending in order on his right; the Emperor, with
King and Baron descending in order on his left; the
ecclesiastical body of the whole Church on the right side, and
the laity,—chiefly its poets and artists, on the left.
Then, the redeemed
Church nevertheless giving itself up to the vanities and
temptations of the world, its forgetful saints are seen
feasting, with their children dancing before them, (the Seven
Mortal Sins, say some commentators). But the wise-hearted of
them confess their sins to another ghost of St. Dominic; and
confessed, becoming as little children, enter hand in hand the
gate of the Eternal Paradise, crowned with flowers by the
waiting angels, and admitted by St. Peter among the serenely
joyful crowd of all the saints, above whom the white Madonna
stands reverently before the throne. There is, so far as I
know, throughout all the schools of Christian art, no other so
perfect statement of the noble policy and religion of men.
120. I had intended to
give the best account of it in my power; but, when at
Florence, lost all time for writing that I might copy the
group of the Pope and Emperor for the schools of Oxford; and
the work since done by Mr. Caird has informed me of so much,
and given me, in some of its suggestions, so much to think of,
that I believe it will be best and most just to print at once
his account of the fresco as a supplement to these essays of
mine, merely indicating any points on which I have objections
to raise, and so leave matters till Fors lets me see Florence
once more.
Perhaps she may, in
kindness forbid my ever seeing it more, the wreck of it being
now too ghastly and heartbreaking to any human soul that
remembers the days of old. Forty years ago, there was
assuredly no spot of ground, out of Palestine, in all the
round world, on which, if you knew, even but a little, the
true course of that world's history, you saw with so much
joyful reverence the dawn of morning, as at the foot of the
Tower of Giotto. For there the traditions of faith and hope,
of both the Gentile and Jewish races, met for their beautiful
labour: the Baptistery of Florence is the last building raised
on the earth by the descendants of the workmen taught by
Dædalus: and the Tower of Giotto is the loveliest of those
raised on earth under the inspiration of the men who lifted up
the tabernacle in the wilderness. Of living Greek work there
is none after the Florentine Baptistery; of living Christian
work, none so perfect as the Tower of Giotto; and, under the
gleam and shadow of their marbles, the morning light was
haunted by the ghosts of the Father of Natural Science,
Galileo; of Sacred Art, Angelico, and the Master of Sacred
Song. Which spot of ground the modern Florentine has made his
principal hackney-coach stand and omnibus station. The hackney
coaches, with their more or less farmyard-like litter of
occasional hay, and smell of variously mixed horse-manure, are
yet in more permissible harmony with the place than the
ordinary populace of a fashionable promenade would be, with
its cigars, spitting, and harlot- planned fineries: but the
omnibus place of call being in front of the door of the tower,
renders it impossible to stand for a moment near it, to look
at the sculptures either of the eastern or southern side;
while the north side is enclosed with an iron railing, and
usually encumbered with lumber as well: not a soul in Florence
ever caring now for sight of any piece of its old artists'
work; and the mass of strangers being on the whole intent on
nothing but getting the omnibus to go by steam; and so seeing
the cathedral in one swift circuit, by glimpses between the
puffs of it.
1807.
Firenze. Il Battistero (Dal VII e VIII secolo, restaurato
e rivestito di marmi di Arnolfo di Cambio) For larger image, click here
121. The front of Notre
Dame of Paris was similarly turned into a coach-office when I
last saw it—1872.2 Within
fifty yards of me as I write, the Oratory of the Holy Ghost is
used for a tobacco-store, and in fine, over all Europe, mere
Caliban bestiality and Satyric ravage staggering, drunk and
desperate, into every once enchanted cell where the prosperity
of kingdoms ruled and the miraculous- ness of beauty was
shrined in peace.
Deluge of profanity,
drowning dome and tower in Stygian pool of vilest
thought,—nothing now left sacred, in the places where
once—nothing was profane.
For that is
indeed the teaching, if you could receive it, of the Tower of
Giotto; as of all Christian art in its day. Next to
declaration of the facts of the Gospel, its purpose, (often in
actual work the eagerest,) was to show the power of
the Gospel. History of Christ in due place; yes, history of
all He did, and how He died: but then, and often, as I say,
with more animated imagination, the showing of His risen
presence in granting the harvests and guiding the labour of
the year. All sun and rain, and length or decline of days
received from His hand; all joy, and grief, and strength, or
cessation of labour, indulged or endured, as in His sight and
to His glory. And the familiar employments of the seasons, the
homely toils of the peasant, the lowliest skills of the
craftsman, are signed always on the stones of the Church, as
the first and truest condition of sacrifice and offering.
122. Of these
representations of human art under heavenly guidance, the
series of bas-reliefs which stud the base of this tower of
Giotto's must be held certainly the chief in Europe.3 At first you may be
surprised at the smallness of their scale in proportion to
their masonry; but this smallness of scale enabled the master
workmen of the tower to execute them with their own hands; and
for the rest, in the very finest architecture, the decoration
of most precious kind is usually thought of as a jewel, and
set with space round it,—as the jewels of a crown, or the
clasp of a girdle. It is in general not possible for a great
workman to carve, himself, a greatly conspicuous series of
ornament; nay, even his energy fails him in design, when the
bas-relief extends itself into incrustation, or involves the
treatment of great masses of stone. If his own does not, the
spectator's will. It would be the work of a long summer's day
to examine the over-loaded sculptures of the Certosa of Pavia;
and yet in the tired last hour, you would be empty-hearted.
Read but these inlaid jewels of Giotto's once with patient
following; and your hour's study will give you strength for
all your life. So far as you can, examine them of course on
the spot; but to know them thoroughly you must have their
photographs: the subdued colour of the old marble fortunately
keeps the lights subdued, so that the photograph may be made
more tender in the shadows than is usual in its renderings of
sculpture, and there are few pieces of art which may now be so
well known as these, in quiet homes far away.
123. We begin on the
western side. There are seven sculptures on the western,
southern, and northern sides: six on the eastern; counting the
Lamb over the entrance door of the tower, which divides the
complete series into two groups of eighteen and eight. Itself,
between them, being the introduction to the following eight,
you must count it as the first of the terminal group; you then
have the whole twenty-seven sculptures divided into eighteen
and nine.
Thus lettering the
groups on each side for West, South, East, and North, we have:
W.S.E.N.
7 + 7 + 6 + 7 = 27; or,
W.S.E.
7 + 7 + 4= 18; and,
E.N.
2 + 7 = 9
There is a very special
reason for this division by nines but, for convenience' sake,
I shall number the whole from 1 to 27, straightforwardly. And
if you will have patience with me, I should like to go round
the tower once and again; first observing the general meaning
and connection of the subjects and then going back to examine
the technical points in each, and such minor specialties as it
may be well, at the first time, to pass over.
124. (1). The series
begins, then, on the west side, with the Creation of Man. It
is not the beginning of the story of Genesis; but the simple
assertion that God made us, and breathed, and still breathes,
into our nostrils the breath of life.
This, Giotto tells you
to believe as the beginning of all knowledge and all power,4 This he tells you to
believe, as a thing which he himself knows.
He will tell you nothing
but what he does know.
(2). Therefore, though
Giovanni Pisano and his fellow sculptors had given, literally,
the taking of the rib out of Adam's side, Giotto merely gives
the mythic expression of the truth he knows,—"they two shall
be one flesh."
(3). And though all the
theologians and poets of his time would have expected, if not
demanded, that his next assertion, after that of the Creation
of Man, should be of the Fall of Man, he asserts nothing of
the kind. He knows nothing of what man was. What he is, he
knows best of living men at that hour, and proceeds to say.
The next sculpture is of Eve spinning and Adam hewing the
ground into clods. Not digging: you cannot, usually,
dig but in ground already dug. The native earth you must hew.
They are not clothed in
skins. What would have been the use of Eve spinning if she
could not weave? They wear, each, one simple piece of drapery,
Adam's knotted behind him, Eve's fastened around her neck with
a rude brooch.
Above them are an oak
and an apple-tree. Into the apple-tree a little bear is trying
to climb.
The meaning of which
entire myth is, as I read it, that men and women must both eat
their bread with toil. That the first duty of man is to feed
his family, and the first duty of the woman to clothe it. That
the trees of the field are given us for strength and for
delight, and that the wild beasts of the field must have their
share with us.5
125. (4). The fourth
sculpture, forming the centre-piece of the series on the west
side, is nomad pastoral life.
Jabal, the father of
such as dwell in tents, and of such as have cattle, lifts the
curtain of his tent to look out upon his flock. His dog
watches it.
(5). Jubal, the father
of all such as handle the harp and organ.
That is to say, stringed
and wind instruments;—the lyre and reed. The first arts (with
the Jew and Greek) of the shepherd David, and shepherd Apollo.
Giotto has given him the
long level trumpet, afterwards adopted so grandly in the
sculptures of La Robbia and Donatello. It is, I think,
intended to be of wood, as now the long Swiss horn, and a long
and shorter tube are bound together.
(6). Tubal Cain, the
instructor of every artificer in brass and iron.
Giotto represents him as
sitting, fully robed, turning a wedge of bronze on the
anvil with extreme watchfulness.
These last three
sculptures, observe, represent the life of the race of Cain;
of those who are wanderers, and have no home. Nomad
pastoral life; Nomad artistic life, Wandering Willie; yonder
organ man, whom you want to send the policeman after, and the
gipsy who is mending the old schoolmistress's kettle on the
grass, which the squire has wanted so long to take into his
park from the roadside.
(7). Then the last
sculpture of the seven begins the story of the race of Seth,
and of home life. The father of it lying drunk under his
trellised vine; such the general image of civilized society,
in the abstract, thinks Giotto.
With several other
meanings, universally known to the Catholic world of that
day,—too many to be spoken of here.
126. The second side of
the tower represents, after this introduction, the sciences
and arts of civilized or home life.
(8). Astronomy. In nomad
life you may serve yourself of the guidance of the stars; but
to know the laws of their nomadic life, your own must
be fixed.
The astronomer, with his
sextant revolving on a fixed pivot, looks up to the vault of
the heavens and beholds their zodiac; prescient of what else
with optic glass the Tuscan artist viewed, at evening, from
the top of Fésole.
Above the dome of
heaven, as yet unseen, are the Lord of the worlds and His
angels. To-day, the Dawn and the Daystar: to-morrow, the
Daystar arising in the heart.
(9). Defensive
architecture. The building of the watchtower. The beginning of
security in possession.
(10). Pottery. The
making of pot, cup, and platter. The first civilized
furniture; the means of heating liquid, and serving drink and
meat with decency and economy.
(11). Riding. The
subduing of animals to domestic service.
(12). Weaving. The
making of clothes with swiftness, and in precision of
structure, by help of the loom.
(13). Law, revealed as
directly from heaven.
(14). Dædalus (not
Icarus, but the father trying the wings). The conquest of the
element of air.
127. As the seventh
subject of the first group introduced the arts of home after
those of the savage wanderer, this seventh of the second group
introduces the arts of the missionary, or civilized and
gift-bringing wanderer.
(15). The Conquest of
the Sea. The helmsman, and two rowers, rowing as Venetians,
face to bow.
(16). The Conquest of
the Earth. Hercules victor over Antæus. Beneficent strength of
civilization crushing the savageness of inhumanity.
(17). Agriculture. The
oxen and plough.
(18). Trade. The cart
and horses.
(19). And now the
sculpture over the door of the tower. The Lamb of God,
expresses the Law of Sacrifice, and door of ascent to heaven.
And then follow the fraternal arts of the Christian world.
(20). Geometry. Again
the angle sculpture, introductory to the following series. We
shall see presently why this science must be the foundation of
the rest.
(21). Sculpture.
(22). Painting.
(23). Grammar.
(24). Arithmetic. The
laws of number, weight, and measures of capacity.
(25) Music. The laws of
number, weight (or force), and measure, applied to sound.
(26). Logic. The laws of
number and measure applied to thought.
(27). The Invention of
Harmony.
128. You see now—by
taking first the great division of pre-Christian and Christian
arts, marked by the door of the Tower; and then the divisions
into four successive historical periods, marked by its
angles—that you have a perfect plan of human civilization. The
first side is of the nomad life, learning how to assert its
supremacy over other wandering creatures, herbs, and beasts.
Then the second side is the fixed home life, developing race
and country; then the third side, the human intercourse
between stranger races; then the fourth side, the harmonious
arts of all who are gathered into the fold of Christ.
129. Now let us return
to the first angle, and examine piece by piece with care.
(1). Creation of
Man.
Scarcely disengaged from
the clods of the earth, he opens his eyes to the face of
Christ. Like all the rest of the sculptures, it is less the
representation of a past fact than of a constant one. It is
the continual state of man, 'of the earth,' yet seeing God.
Christ holds the book of
His Law—the 'Law of life'—in His left hand.
The trees of the garden
above are,—central above Christ, palm (immortal life); above
Adam, oak (human life). Pear, and fig, and a large-leaved
ground fruit (what?) complete the myth of the Food of Life.
As decorative sculpture,
these trees are especially to be noticed, with those in the
two next subjects, and the Noah's vine as differing in
treatment from Giotto's foliage, of which perfect examples are
seen in 16 and 17. Giotto's branches are set in close
sheaf-like clusters; and every mass disposed with extreme
formality of radiation. The leaves of these first, on the
contrary, are arranged with careful concealment of their
ornamental system, so as to look inartificial. This is done so
studiously as to become, by excess, a little unnatural!—Nature
herself is more decorative and formal in grouping. But the
occult design is very noble, and every leaf modulated with
loving, dignified, exactly right and sufficient finish; not
done to show skill, nor with mean forgetfulness of main
subject, but in tender completion and harmony with it.
Look at the subdivisions
of the palm leaves with your magnifying glass. The others are
less finished in this than in the next subject. Man himself
incomplete, the leaves that are created with him, for his
life, must not be so.
(Are not his fingers yet
short; growing?)
130. (2). Creation
of Woman.
Far, in its essential
qualities, the transcendent sculpture of this subject,
Ghiberti's is only a dainty elaboration and beautification of
it, losing its solemnity and simplicity in a flutter of
feminine grace. The older sculptor thinks of the Uses of
Womanhood, and of its dangers and sins, before he thinks of
its beauty; but, were the arm not lost, the quiet naturalness
of this head and breast of Eve, and the bending grace of the
submissive rendering of soul and body to perpetual guidance by
the hand of Christ—(grasping the arm, note, for full
support)—would be felt to be far beyond Ghiberti's in beauty,
as in mythic truth.
The line of her body
joins with that of the serpent-ivy round the tree trunk above
her: a double myth—of her fall, and her support afterwards by
her husband's strength. "Thy desire shall be to thy husband."
The fruit of the tree—double-set filbert, telling nevertheless
the happy equality.
The leaves in this piece
are finished with consummate poetical care and precision.
Above Adam, laurel (a virtuous woman is a crown to her
husband); the filbert for the two together; the fig, for
fruitful household joy (under thy vine and fig-tree6—but vine properly the
masculine joy); and the fruit taken by Christ for type of all
naturally growing food, in his own hunger.
Examine with lens the
ribbing of these leaves, and the insertion on their stem of
the three laurel leaves on extreme right: and observe that in
all cases the sculptor works the moulding with his own
part of the design; look how he breaks variously deeper into
it, beginning from the foot of Christ, and going up to the
left into full depth above the shoulder.
131. (3). Original
labour.
Much poorer, and
intentionally so. For the myth of the creation of humanity,
the sculptor uses his best strength, and shows supremely the
grace of womanhood; but in representing the first peasant
state of life, makes the grace of woman by no means her
conspicuous quality. She even walks awkwardly; some feebleness
in foreshortening the foot also embarrassing the sculptor. He
knows its form perfectly—but its perspective, not quite yet.
The trees stiff and
stunted—they also needing culture. Their fruit dropping at
present only into beasts' mouths.
132. (4). Jabal.
If you have looked long
enough, and carefully enough, at the three previous
sculptures, you cannot but feel that the hand here is utterly
changed. The drapery sweeps in broader, softer, but less true
folds; the handling is far more delicate; exquisitely
sensitive to gradation over broad surfaces—scarcely using an
incision of any depth but in outline; studiously reserved in
appliance of shadow, as a thing precious and local—look at it
above the puppy's head, and under the tent. This is assuredly
painter's work, not mere sculptor's. I have no doubt whatever
it is by the own hand of the shepherd-boy of Fésole. Cimabue
had found him drawing, (more probably scratching with
Etrurian point,) one of his sheep upon a stone. These, on the
central foundation-stone of his tower he engraves, looking
back on the fields of life: the time soon near for him to draw
the curtains of his tent.
I know no dog like this
in method of drawing, and in skill of giving the living form
without one touch of chisel for hair, or incision for eye,
except the dog barking at Poverty in the great fresco of
Assisi.
Take the lens and look
at every piece of the work from corner to corner—note
especially as a thing which would only have been enjoyed by a
painter, and which all great painters do intensely enjoy—the fringe
of the tent,7 and precise insertion of its point in the
angle of the hexagon, prepared for by the archaic masonry
indicated in the oblique joint above;8 architect and painter
thinking at once, and doing as they thought.
I gave a lecture to the
Eton boys a year or two ago, on little more than the
shepherd's dog, which is yet more wonderful in magnified scale
of photograph. The lecture is partly published—somewhere, but
I can't refer to it.
Still Giotto's, though a
little less delighted in; but with exquisite introduction of
the Gothic of his own tower. See the light surface sculpture
of a mosaic design in the horizontal moulding.
Note also the painter's
freehand working of the complex mouldings of the table—also
resolvedly oblong, not square; see central flower.
(6). Tubal Cain.
Still Giotto's, and
entirely exquisite; finished with no less care than the
shepherd, to mark the vitality of this art to humanity; the
spade and hoe—its heraldic bearing—hung on the hinged door.9 For subtlety of
execution, note the texture of wooden block under anvil, and
of its iron hoop.
The workman's face is
the best sermon on the dignity of labour yet spoken by
thoughtful man. Liberal Parliaments and fraternal Reformers
have nothing essential to say more.
(7). Noah.
Andrea Pisano's again,
more or less imitative of Giotto's work.
134. (8). Astronomy.
We have a new hand here
altogether. The hair and drapery bad; the face expressive, but
blunt in cutting; the small upper heads, necessarily little
more than blocked out, on the small scale; but not suggestive
of grace in completion: the minor detail worked with great
mechanical precision, but little feeling; the lion's head,
with leaves in its ears, is quite ugly; and by comparing the
work of the small cusped arch at the bottom with Giotto's soft
handling of the mouldings of his, in 5, you may for ever know
common mason's work from fine Gothic. The zodiacal signs are
quite hard and common in the method of bas-relief, but quaint
enough in design: Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces, on the
broad heavenly belt; Taurus upside down, Gemini, and Cancer,
on the small globe.
I think the whole a
restoration of the original panel, or else an inferior
workman's rendering of Giotto's design, which the next piece
is, with less question.
(9). Building.
The larger figure, I am
disposed finally to think, represents civic power, as in
Lorenzetti's fresco at Siena. The extreme rudeness of the
minor figures may be guarantee of their originality; it is the
smoothness of mass and hard edge work that make me suspect the
8th for a restoration.
(10). Pottery.
Very grand; with much
painter's feeling, and fine mouldings again. The tiled
roof projecting in the shadow above, protects the first
Ceramicus-home. I think the women are meant to be carrying
some kind of wicker or reed-bound water-vessel. The Potter's
servant explains to them the extreme advantages of the new
invention. I can't make any conjecture about the author of
this piece.
(11). Riding.
Again Andrea Pisano's,
it seems to me. Compare the tossing up of the dress behind the
shoulders, in 3 and 2. The head is grand, having nearly an
Athenian profile: the loss of the horse's fore-leg prevents me
from rightly judging of the entire action. I must leave riders
to say.
135. (12). Weaving.
Andrea's again, and of
extreme loveliness; the stooping face of the woman at the loom
is more like a Leonardo drawing than sculpture. The action of
throwing the large shuttle, and all the structure of the loom
and its threads, distinguishing rude or smooth surface, are
quite wonderful. The figure on the right shows the use and
grace of finely woven tissue, under and upper—that over the
bosom so delicate that the line of separation from the flesh
of the neck is unseen.
If you hide with your
hand the carved masonry at the bottom, the composition
separates itself into two pieces, one disagreeably
rectangular. The still more severely rectangular masonry
throws out by contrast all that is curved and rounded in the
loom, and unites the whole composition; that is its aesthetic
function; its historical one is to show that weaving is
queen's work, not peasant's; for this is palace masonry.
(13). The Giving of
Law.
More strictly, of the
Book of God's Law: the only one which can ultimately
be obeyed.10
The authorship of this
is very embarrassing to me. The face of the central figure is
most noble, and all the work good, but not delicate; it is
like original work of the master whose design No. 8 might be a
restoration.
(14). Dædalus.
Andrea Pisano again; the
head superb, founded on Greek models, feathers of wings
wrought with extreme care; but with no precision of
arrangement or feeling. How far intentional in awkwardness, I
cannot say; but note the good mechanism of the whole plan,
with strong standing board for the feet.
136. (15). Navigation.
An intensely puzzling
one; coarse (perhaps unfinished) in work, and done by a man
who could not row; the plaited bands used for rowlocks being
pulled the wrong way. Right, had the rowers been rowing
Englishwise: but the water at the boat's head shows its motion
forwards, the way the oarsmen look. I cannot make out the
action of the figure at the stern; it ought to be steering
with the stern oar.
The water seems quite
unfinished. Meant, I suppose, for surface and section of sea,
with slimy rock at the bottom; but all stupid and inefficient.
(16). Hercules and
Antæus.
The Earth power, half
hidden by the earth, its hair and hand becoming roots, the
strength of its life passing through the ground into the oak
tree. With Cercyon, but first named, (Plato, Laws,
book VII., 796), Antæus is the master of contest without use;—φιλονεικίας άχρήστου—and is generally the
power of pure selfishness and its various inflation to
insolence and degradation to cowardice;—finding its strength
only in fall back to its Earth,—he is the master, in a word,
of all such kind of persons as have been writing lately about
the "interests of England." He is, therefore, the Power
invoked by Dante to place Virgil and him in the lowest circle
of Hell;—"Alcides whilom felt,—that grapple, straitened sore,"
etc. The Antæus in the sculpture is very grand; but the
authorship puzzles me, as of the next piece, by the same hand.
I believe both Giotto's design.
137. (17). Ploughing.
The sword in its
Christian form. Magnificent: the grandest expression of the
power of man over the earth and its strongest creatures that I
remember in early sculpture,—(or for that matter, in late). It
is the subduing of the bull which the sculptor thinks most of;
the plough, though large, is of wood, and the handle slight.
But the pawing and bellowing labourer he has bound to it!—here
is victory.
(18). The Chariot.
The horse also subdued
to draught—Achilles' chariot in its first, and to be its last,
simplicity. The face has probably been grand—the figure is so
still. Andrea's, I think by the flying drapery.
(19). The Lamb, with
the symbol of Resurrection.
Over the door: 'I am the
door;—by me, if any man enter in,' etc. Put to the right of
the tower, you see, fearlessly, for the convenience of
staircase ascent; all external symmetry being subject with the
great builders to interior use; and then, out of the rightly
ordained infraction of formal law, comes perfect beauty; and
when, as here, the Spirit of Heaven is working with the
designer, his thoughts are suggested in truer order, by the
concession to use. After this sculpture comes the Christian
arts,—those which necessarily imply the conviction of
immortality. Astronomy without Christianity only reaches as
far as—'Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels—and
put all things under His feet':—Christianity says
beyond this,—'Know ye not that we shall judge angels (as also
the lower creatures shall judge us!)'11 The series of
sculptures now beginning, show the arts which can only
be accomplished through belief in Christ.
138. (20). Geometry.
Not 'mathematics': they
have been implied long ago in astronomy and architecture; but
the due Measuring of the Earth and all that is on it. Actually
done only by Christian faith—first inspiration of the great
Earth-measurers. Your Prince Henry of Spain, your Columbus,
your Captain Cook, (whose tomb, with the bright artistic
invention and religious tenderness which are so peculiarly the
gifts of the nineteenth century, we have just provided a fence
for, of old cannon open-mouthed, straight up towards
Heaven—your modern method of symbolizing the only appeal to
Heaven of which the nineteenth century has left itself
capable—'The voice of thy Brother's blood crieth to me'—your
outworn cannon, now silently agape, but sonorous in the ears
of angels with that appeal)—first inspiration, I say, of
these; constant inspiration of all who set true landmarks and
hold to them, knowing their measure; the devil interfering, I
observe, lately in his own way, with the Geometry of
Yorkshire, where the landed proprietors,12 when the neglected
walls by the roadside tumble down, benevolently repair the
same, with better stonework, outside always of the
fallen heaps;—which, the wall being thus built on what
was the public road, absorb themselves, with help of moss and
time, into the heaving swells of the rocky field-and behold,
gain of a couple of feet—along so much of the road as needs
repairing operations.
This then, is the first
of the Christian sciences: division of land rightly, and the
general law of measuring between wisely-held compass points.
The type of mensuration, circle in square, on his desk, I use
for my first exercise in the laws of Fésole.
139. (21). Sculpture.
The first piece of the
closing series on the north side of the Campanile, of which
some general points must be first noted, before any special
examination.
The two initial ones,
Sculpture and Painting, are by tradition the only ones
attributed to Giotto's own hand. The fifth, Song, is known,
and recognizable in its magnificence, to be by Luca della
Robbia. The remaining four are all of Luca's school,—later
work therefore, all these five, than any we have been hitherto
examining, entirely different in manner, and with late
flower-work beneath them instead of our hitherto severe Gothic
arches. And it becomes of course instantly a vital
question—Did Giotto die leaving the series incomplete, only
its subjects chosen, and are these two bas-reliefs of
Sculpture and Painting among his last works? or was the series
ever completed, and these later bas-reliefs substituted for
the earlier ones, under Luca's influence, by way of conducting
the whole to a grander close, and making their order more
representative of Florentine art in its fulness of power?
140. I must repeat, once
more, and with greater insistence respecting Sculpture than
Painting, that I do not in the least set myself up for a
critic of authenticity,—but only of absolute goodness. My
readers may trust me to tell them what is well done or ill;
but by whom, is quite a separate question, needing for any
certainty, in this school of much-associated masters and
pupils, extremest attention to minute particulars not at all
bearing on my objects in teaching.
Of this closing group of
sculptures, then, all I can tell you is that the fifth is a
quite magnificent piece of work, and recognizably, to my
extreme conviction, Luca della Robbia's; that the last,
Harmonia, is also fine work; that those attributed to Giotto
are fine in a different way,—and the other three in reality
the poorest pieces in the series, though done with much more
advanced sculptural dexterity.
But I am chiefly puzzled
by the two attributed to Giotto, because they are much coarser
than those which seem to me so plainly his on the west side,
and slightly different in workmanship—with much that is common
to both, however, in the casting of drapery and mode of
introduction of details. The difference may be accounted for
partly by haste or failing power, partly by the artist's less
deep feeling of the importance of these merely symbolic
figures, as compared with those of the Fathers of the Arts;
but it is very notable and embarrassing notwithstanding,
complicated as it is with extreme resemblance in other
particulars.
141. You cannot compare
the subjects on the tower itself; but of my series of
photographs take 6 and 21, and put them side by side.
I need not dwell on the
conditions of resemblance, which are instantly visible; but
the difference in the treatment of the heads is
incomprehensible. That of the Tubal Cain is exquisitely
finished, and with a painter's touch; every lock of the hair
laid with studied flow, as in the most beautiful drawing. In
the 'Sculpture,' it is struck out with ordinary tricks of
rapid sculptor trade, entirely unfinished, and with
offensively frank use of the drill hole to give picturesque
rustication to the beard.
Next, put 22 and 5 back
to back. You see again the resemblance in the earnestness of
both figures, in the unbroken arcs of their backs, in the
breaking of the octagon moulding by the pointed angles; and
here, even also in the general conception of the heads. But
again, in the one of Painting, the hair is struck with more
vulgar indenting and drilling, and the Gothic of the picture
frame is less precise in touch and later in style. Observe,
however,—and this may perhaps give us some definite hint for
clearing the question,—a picture-frame would be less
precise in making, and later in style, properly, than cusped
arches to be put under the feet of the inventor of all musical
sound by breath of man. And if you will now compare finally
the eager tilting of the workman's seat in 22 and 6, and the
working of the wood in the painter's low table for his pots of
colour, and his three-legged stool, with that of Tubal Cain's
anvil block; and the way in which the lines of the forge and
upper triptych are in each composition used to set off the
rounding of the head, I believe you will have little
hesitation in accepting my own view of the matter—namely, that
the three pieces of the Fathers of the Arts were wrought with
Giotto's extremest care for the most precious stones of his
tower; that also, being a sculptor and painter, he did the
other two, but with quite definite and wilful resolve that
they should be, as mere symbols of his own two trades,
wholly inferior to the other subjects of the patriarchs; that
he made the Sculpture picturesque and bold as you see it is,
and showed all a sculptor's tricks in the work of it; and a
sculptor's Greek subject, Bacchus, for the model of it; that
he wrought the Painting, as the higher art, with more care,
still keeping it subordinate to the primal subjects, but
showed, for a lesson to all the generations of painters for
evermore,—this one lesson, like his circle of pure line
containing all others,—'Your soul and body must be all in
every touch.'
143. I can't resist the
expression of a little piece of personal exultation, in
noticing that he holds his pencil as I do myself: no writing
master, and no effort (at one time very steady for many
months), having ever cured me of that way of holding both pen
and pencil between my fore and second finger; the third and
fourth resting the backs of them on my paper.
144. As I finally
arrange these notes for press, I am further confirmed in my
opinion by discovering little finishings in the two later
pieces which I was not before aware of. I beg the masters of
High Art, and sublime generalization, to take a good
magnifying glass to the 'Sculpture' and look at the way Giotto
has cut the compasses, the edges of the chisels, and the
keyhole of the lock of the toolbox. For the rest, nothing
could be more probable, in the confused and perpetually false
mass of Florentine tradition, than the preservation of the
memory of Giotto's carving his own two trades, and the
forgetfulness, or quite as likely ignorance, of the part he
took with Andrea Pisano in the initial sculptures.
145. I now take up the
series of subjects at the point where we broke off, to trace
their chain of philosophy to its close. To Geometry, which
gives to every man his possession of house and land, succeed
21, Sculpture, and 22, Painting, the adornments of permanent
habitation. And then, the great arts of education in a
Christian home. First—
(23). Grammar,
or more properly Literature altogether, of which we have
already seen the ancient power in the Spanish Chapel series;
then,
(24). Arithmetic,
central here as also in the Spanish Chapel, for the same
reasons; here, more impatiently asserting, with both hands,
that two, on the right, you observe-and two on the left-do
indeed and for ever make Four. Keep your accounts, you, with
your book of double entry, on that principle; and you will be
safe in this world and the next, in your steward's office. But
by no means so, if you ever admit the usurers Gospel of
Arithmetic, that two and two make Five.
You see by the rich hem
of his robe that the asserter of this economical first
principle is a man well to do in the world.
(25). Song.
The essential power of
music in animal life. Orpheus. the symbol of it all, the
inventor properly of Music, the Law of Kindness, as Dædalus of
Music, the Law of Construction. Hence the "Orphic life" is one
of ideal mercy, (vegetarian,)—Plato, Laws, Book VI.,
782,—and he is named first after Dædalus, and in balance to
him as head of the school of harmonists, in Book III., 677,
(Steph.) Look for the two singing birds clapping their wings
in the tree above him; then the five mystic beasts,—closest to
his feet the irredeemable boar; then lion and bear, tiger,
unicorn, and fiery dragon closest to his head, the flames of
its mouth mingling with his breath as he sings. The audient
eagle, alas! has lost the beak, and is only recognizable by
his proud holding of himself; the duck, sleepily delighted
after muddy dinner, close to his shoulder, is a true conquest.
Hoopoe, or indefinite bird of crested race, behind; of the
other three no clear certainty. The leafage throughout such as
only Luca could do, and the whole consummate in skill and
understanding.
(26).
Logic.
The art of Demonstration. Vulgarest of the whole series; far too
expressive of the mode in which argument is conducted by those
who are not masters of its reins.
(27). Harmony.
Music of Song, in the
full power of it, meaning perfect education in all art of the
Muses and of civilized life: the mystery of its concord is
taken for the symbol of that of a perfect state; one day,
doubtless, of the perfect world. So prophesies the last corner
stone of the Shepherd's Tower.
Notes
1··He
wrote thus to me on 11th November last: "The three preachers
are certainly different. The first is Dominic; the second,
Peter Martyr, whom I have identified from his martyrdom on the
other wall; and the third, Aquinas."
2··See
Fors Clavigera in that year.
··For
account
of the series on the main archivolt of St. Mark's, see my
sketch of the schools of Venetian sculpture in third
forthcoming number of 'St. Mark's Rest.'
3··So
also the Master-builder of the Ducal Palace of Venice. See
Fors Clavigera for June of this year.
··The
oak and apple boughs are placed, with the same meaning, by
Sandro Botticelli, in the lap of Zipporah. The figure of the
bear is again represented by Jacopo della Quercia, on the
north door of the Cathedral of Florence. I am not sure of its
complete meaning.
4··Compare
Fors
Clavigera, February, 1877.
5··"I
think
Jabal's tent is made of leather; the relaxed intervals between
the tent-pegs show a curved ragged edge like leather near the
ground" (Mr. Caird). The edge of the opening is still more
characteristic, I think.
6··Prints
of
these photographs which do not show the masonry all round the
hexagon are quite valueless for study.
7··Pointed
out
to me by Mr. Caird, who adds farther, "I saw a forge identical
with this one at Pelago the other day,—the anvil resting on a
tree-stump: the same fire, bellows, and implements; the door
in two parts, the upper part like a shutter, and used for the
exposition of finished work as a sign of the craft; and I saw
upon it the same finished work of the same shape as in the
bas-relief—a spade and a hoe."
8··Mr.
Caird
convinced me of the real meaning of this sculpture. I had
taken it for the giving of a book, writing further of it as
follows:— All books, rightly so called, are Books of Law, and
all Scripture is given by inspiration of God. (What we
now mostly call a book, the infinite reduplication and
vibratory echo of a lie, is not given but belched up out of
volcanic clay by the inspiration of the devil.) On the
Book-giver's right hand the students in cell, restrained by
the lifted right hand: "Silent, you, till you know"; then,
perhaps, you also. On the left, the men of the world,
kneeling, receive the gift. Recommendable seal, this, for Mr.
Mudie! Mr. Caird says: "The book is written law, which is
given by Justice to the inferiors, that they may know the laws
regulating their relations to their superiors—who are also
under the hand of law. The vassal is protected by the
accessibility of formularized law. The superior is restrained
by the right hand of power."
9··In
the deep sense of this truth, which underlies all the bright
fantasy and humour of Mr. Courthope's "Paradise of Birds,"
that rhyme of the risen spirit of Aristophanes may well be
read under the tower of Giotto, beside his watch-dog of the
fold.
10·I mean no accusation
against any class; probably the one-fielded statesman is more
eager for his little gain of fifty yards of grass than the
squire for his bite and sup out of the gypsy's part of the
roadside. But it is notable enough to the passing traveller,
to find himself shut into a narrow road between high stone
dykes which he can neither see over nor climb over, (I always
deliberately pitch them down myself, wherever I need a gap,)
instead of on a broad road between low grey walls with all the
moor beyond—and the power of leaping over when he chooses in
innocent trespass for herb, or view, or splinter of grey rock.
AM obliged to interrupt my account of the
Spanish chapel by the following notes on the sculptures of
Giotto's Campanile: first because I find that inaccurate
accounts of those sculptures are in course of publication; and
chiefly because I cannot finish my work in the Spanish chapel
until one of my good Oxford helpers, Mr. Caird, has completed
some investigations he has undertaken for me upon the history
connected with it. I had written my own analysis of the fourth
side, believing that in every scene of it the figure of St.
Dominic was repeated. Mr. Caird first suggested, and has shown
me already good grounds for his belief.1 that the preaching
monks represented are in each scene intended for a different
person. I am informed also of several careless mistakes which
have got into my description of the fresco of the Sciences;
and finally, another of my young helpers, Mr. Charles F.
Murray,—one, however, whose help is given much in the form of
antagonism,—informs me of various critical discoveries lately
made, both by himself, and by industrious Germans, of points
respecting the authenticity of this and that, which will
require notice from me: more especially he tells me of
certification that the picture in the Uffizi, of which I
accepted the ordinary attribution to Giotto, is by Lorenzo
Monaco,—which indeed may well be, without in the least
diminishing the use to you of what I have written of its
predella, and without in the least, if you think rightly of
the matter, diminishing your confidence in what I tell you of
Giotto generally. There is one kind of knowledge of pictures
which is the artist's, and another which is the antiquary's
and the picture-dealer's; the latter especially acute, and
founded on very secure and wide knowledge of canvas, pigment,
and tricks of touch, without, necessarily, involving any
knowledge whatever of the qualities of art itself. There are
few practised dealers in the great cities of Europe whose
opinion would not be more trustworthy than mine, (if you could
get it, mind you,) on points of actual authenticity.
But they could only tell you whether the picture was by such
and such a master, and not at all what either the master or
his work were good for. Thus, I have, before now, taken
drawings by Varley and by Cousins for early studies by Turner,
and have been convinced by the dealers that they knew better
than I, as far as regarded the authenticity of those drawings;
but the dealers don't know Turner, or the worth of him, so
well as I, for all that. So also, you may find me again and
again mistaken among the much more confused work of the early
Giottesque schools, as to the authenticity of this work or the
other; but you will find (and I say it with far more sorrow
than pride) that I am simply the only person who can at
present tell you the real worth of any; you will find
that whenever I tell you to look at a picture, it is worth
your pains; and whenever I tell you the character of a
painter, that it is his character, discerned by me
faithfully in spite of all confusion of work falsely
attributed to him in which similar character may exist. Thus,
when I mistook Cousins for Turner, I was looking at a piece of
subtlety in the sky of which the dealer had no consciousness
whatever, which was essentially Turneresque, but which another
man might sometimes equal; whereas the dealer might be only
looking at the quality of Whatman's paper, which Cousins used,
and Turner did not. 
