FLORENTINE SCHOOL

“Washed by the morning’s water gold Florence lay out on the mountain side.”

We push the swing-door open and we enter. Most of the pictures at the first glance will strike you as religious pictures, for art was the handmaid of religion. The supreme artist expresses best what are the spiritual influences of his time, and therefore you will see how powerful was the influence of the Catholic Church during the Middle Ages. Men and women were always thinking of the Jewish maiden, so pure, so pious, so tender, whom God considered worthy to be the Mother of His Son. You will see the Madonna continually painted—sometimes she is seated on a throne, sometimes she is lowly adoring her child, sometimes she is simply the human mother rejoicing in her baby boy, or weeping broken-hearted at the cross. In Italian and in Spanish pictures you will continually see the Madonna depicted, because in these two countries the influence of the Catholic Church was strongest.

But all the pictures here are not religious pictures. There are many of heathen gods and goddesses, and there are portraits. Near the pictures of the Madonna, or of the legends of the saints, you will find, for instance, one of the heathen gods, and that is because there was another influence at work among painters and lovers of art. The fifteenth century saw the rebirth of learning—what we call the Renaissance. I shall not enter into the causes of this rebirth except to ascribe it to the invasion of Constantinople by the Turks and the dispersion of the treasure of art and literature hoarded in the city. Plato and Aristotle, Ovid and Virgil, the great poems of Homer, became the favourite study of the scholars of the time. They laid aside their canonical books to read the classics. They put away austere thoughts; a great joy of life seized the Italian nation. It delighted in lovely things as it had not done before, for before it had been absorbed in the high truths of religion only. The period of the Renaissance is the finest period of art the world has known, and here in this first room we see the struggle of the new spirit and of the old. Of this conflict Sandro Botticelli was the exponent.

Let us begin by looking at the picture of the Virgin and Child by Fra Filippo Lippi (589), who was the master of Botticelli. “Fra Filippo Lippi’s art,” says Mr. Ruskin, “is the finest out and out art which ever man did.” He was the son of a butcher, and he was strong and full of life. He early became an orphan, and he was placed by his aunt in a Carmelite convent; then, when he was in his early teens, he was persuaded to take the vows. But he was faithless to them, for when he went to paint an altarpiece at the convent of Santa Margherita, at Prato, he fell in love with one of the sisters, rather with a young novice—the charming Lucretia Buti, who had sat for the Madonna in his picture. We are told that he ran away with her at a convent festival, in which she was to bring the girdle to the Madonna. There are other pictures by him in this room, and in each you will find the same realism of representation and the same strong religious fervour of idea. There is something very vital about his art. It is an art more than four hundred years old, for Fra Lippi was born about 1406 and died 1469. And yet we seem through it to know the artist; he loved human beings, he loved life, he was always watching the people around him, he was curious about them. His patron was Cosmo de’ Medici, whose portrait is here painted by Angelo Bronzino (704). It is a small portrait, but you will see that his face expresses all that he was—cruel to his enemies, intellectual, generous towards those whom he patronised.

Let us first look at Fra Filippo Lippi’s picture, “The Virgin and Child” (589). It is a strange and beautiful conception, a wonderful symbol; all the details in it are full of nature. It gives us the key to Fra Lippi’s genius, which was both ideal and realistic. We see the Virgin sitting out of doors, and an angel comes and presents to her the infant Christ. It is not the Virgin who holds the Child, but the angel who brings it, as a symbol that He is more than a human babe, that He is the Redeemer of the world.

The other pictures by Fra Filippo Lippi in this gallery are “The Vision of St. Bernard” (248). The Virgin, surrounded by children, appears to the saint as he sits writing. It is an open-air scene—the table at which St. Bernard, wearing a white Carmelite costume, sits is formed by a rock on which are placed his inkstand and his paper. He is looking up, gazing at the gracious apparition, surrounded by a procession of angels. The Virgin is a benignant presence. She might be a tender woman answering one who calls her, and the little angels about her are human children. Then there is the “Annunciation” (666), at present in the second room. In a charmingly furnished interior the Virgin is sitting. Beyond, on the left, we have a glimpse of a garden full of flowers. Fra Filippo evidently loved flowers, for he paints them so lovingly; from the garden, steps an angel, who, with a graceful gesture, proclaims to Mary her future motherhood. Above the young girl’s head a mysterious hand appears, from which a dove is loosened and descends in a ray of golden light. The companion picture (667) is “St. John the Baptist and Saints.” This is the loveliest picture of all, I think. I want you to observe the details, the greenery of the garden, the marble bench, the light and peace over all. It is a serene summer day, full of the glow of delicate sunshine. St. Francis is there with the stigmata, St. Lawrence and St. Cosmas sitting on the right of St. John the Baptist; St. Anthony and St. Peter the martyr on his left; all are listening to the saint’s words. We breathe the warmth of the summer day, we hear the thousand sounds of nature—the singing of the birds, the hum of the insects; we smell the fragrance of the exquisite flowers. The joy and peace that the artist felt so many hundred years ago, fill our hearts to-day—the joy of earthly beauty and the peace of the spirit.

In Fra Filippo’s pictures you must always look for the beauty of material surroundings; he is very much the painter of light idealising what it touches. The picture of St. John and saints is all suffused with light. In “The Annunciation” the light falls upon the sweet maiden about to become the Mother of God. It is caught up by the angel and repeated by a thousand touches in the room and in the garden.

Fra Filippo died suddenly, some say by poison.

Sandro Botticelli was the pupil of Fra Filippo. In childhood he longed to be allowed to devote himself to art as a career. He was then apprenticed to a goldsmith, and he learned how to handle gold, but he was unhappy until his father placed him with Fra Filippo to learn painting. Sandro won the affection of his master. He was gay; his pictures, full of the delight of life, were full of vigour. Before we begin to look at them I must tell you something of a preacher named Savonarola, who had a tremendous influence over his time. He was a monk, stern, severe, inspired; his voice was harsh, his aspect was austere. When he first began to preach no one listened to what he said, then he went into retreat in order to study and pray. As I have told you, the nobles, the people, and the clergy of Italy had become devoted to the new learning. They cared no longer for the Christian virtues of self-sacrifice and detachment from the world’s joys; they thought only of the beauty of life. Before he heard Savonarola Botticelli painted nothing but heathen gods and goddesses. “Mars and Venus” (915) is a good example of his earlier work. Venus is clothed in delicate white and gold tissue; she lies among flowers, and no one ever painted roses as Botticelli painted them. Near Venus is Mars asleep, satyrs and loves play about; they have got hold of the god’s weapons—one of them is shouting in his ear, but he does not heed. What mischievous little imps they look! How full of life they are! A swarm of hornets buzzes round the head of Mars. It is a picture of the ruin brought by lazy pleasure. There are other pictures by Botticelli, painted during his first period; in them Venus is a beautiful woman surrounded by roses and by loves.

Then comes a great difference in Botticelli’s art. He had heard Savonarola preach; and the monk was thundering against the pagan influences of the time. He was telling of the visions he had seen of the fair city of God—purity was its light, and obedience to divine law the habit of every life. He spoke of the day of judgment, and the citizens of Florence listened and were afraid. They went about like ghosts wringing pale hands in dread. Savonarola stirred the conscience of his hearers; they lit a great fire at the door of the cathedral, and women threw their jewels into the flames; learned men and youths threw their books of poetry, their classics, the works of art that celebrated the pagan gods and goddesses. This was called the great sacrifice. Savonarola founded a company of mourners of “Grumblers,” and Botticelli entered that order. He turned away from the subjects that had been the theme of his art till now—he vowed that he would belong to Christ alone, and his pictures from henceforth were inspired by religion. You will see in this room the picture of “The Nativity”; it expresses all Botticelli’s creed. It is Christmas morning and there

... “the heaven born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.”

Heaven and earth are rejoicing together. See the very animals in the manger are lifting up their voices and joining in the Hosannah. The Virgin is kneeling worshipping her Babe, the shepherds, the kings, are hurrying towards Him, and radiant winged angels are rushing to greet them. They embrace pointing to where the heavenly Child is lying. They seem to be saying “this is the Saviour of mankind,” and the crowd is pressing onwards as if nothing could keep it back; and look, the devils, all in amaze, are hiding away in rocks. Above the manger is a glow of dazzling light:—

“The helmed Cherubim And sworded Seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, Harping, in loud and solemn quire, With inexpressive notes, to Heaven’s new born Heir.”

This picture was painted in 1500, two years after Savonarola had been put to death. The Friar had been executed for seditious preaching; but Botticelli lived to paint the vision that had haunted the monk—the reconciliation of heaven and earth. On the top of the picture there is an inscription in Greek telling that it was painted in “the second woe of the Apocalypse,” that the devil was loosened, that afterwards he would be chained, and that we should see him trodden down as we see in this picture.

What a difference between the two Botticellis—between the pagan Botticelli, and the Christian painter who saw all heaven and earth with anointed eyes.

There is another picture by Botticelli (275), a circular picture of the Virgin holding her baby boy on her lap, and of St. John and an angel behind. This picture was painted at a time when Botticelli, while much impressed by Savonarola’s preaching, was not yet quite converted to Christianity. The Virgin is very beautiful, but she seems somewhat frightened at being the Mother of the Christ. The Child, a chubby baby, is lying on her knee in all the joyous life of infancy. St. John is watching adoringly behind, and the angel is bowing low to the little one. I want you to notice the delicacy of the painting in all Botticelli’s works, how beautifully he uses gold. He was apprenticed to a goldsmith in early life. Notice the way in which it is laid upon the Virgin’s veil, upon the bodice of her dress. I would have you note also the energy of Botticelli’s temperament, expressed by the vehement gesture of the Child in this picture. We see the same force and feeling in the laughing triumph of the children in Mars asleep, in the joy of the angels and the shepherds in the Nativity.

There is a picture of the school of Botticelli (2083), lately added to the National collection by the “Cohen” bequest. It shows the profile of a lovely Florentine woman, painted with the marvellous care with which Botticelli worked. Her auburn hair, her lilac dress and pearl ornaments are models of exquisite workmanship. Behind, at the back of the picture, is an angel carrying a celestial globe, standing, with sandalled feet, tiptoe on our globe, announcing the glad tidings to all mankind that the Redeemer is born.

There is a great picture by Botticelli, “The Assumption of the Virgin” (1126). It is in Room II. among the pictures by Sienese painters. Critics are not agreed whether Botticelli painted it or not, but they are certain, if not by him, that it was painted by one of his disciples. It is a splendid bit of colour. Christ is on high blessing His mother, who kneels before Him, and on His knee is an open book showing the mystic letters, “Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.” He stands amongst cherubim and seraphim, saints, apostles, and martyrs, amongst the glorious company of heaven, lauding and magnifying His name. When we sing the “Te Deum Laudamus” on a Sunday we sing what this picture teaches in zones of colour and light. Below is the empty tomb of the Virgin, in which blossom pure white lilies, and, by the side, following the custom of the time, are the portraits of the giver of the picture, Palmeira and his wife, kneeling on either side of the sepulchre. Behind stretches the valley of the Arno and the lovely city of Florence.

Another Florentine picture is Fra Angelico’s “Resurrection” (663). There we see the spirit of prayer and the spirit of art mingling as they have never mingled before or since. Fra Angelico entered a Dominican convent in Florence when he was quite young, but the spirit of art was in him. He illuminated the breviaries of the brethren, and you will see through his art how illumination influenced him. You will see it in the golden halos round the heads of the blessed, in the shadowless and flame-like colouring of their raiment. Angelico’s visions were of the glory of heaven. Before setting to work he always knelt and prayed, asking God and His saints to inspire him. He could never think of the Passion of our Lord without weeping bitter tears. Thus he painted the sweet faces of angels, the glorified countenances of martyrs and saints, dressing his angels in robes that glitter like flame. The Christ stands above. He is somewhat weakly drawn; about Him floats the white banner bearing the red cross of the Resurrection. What can be more beautiful than the choirs of cherubim and seraphim that crowd about the Lord, sounding their trumpets, playing their viols, their lutes, and beating their drums. Above, on the right of the Saviour, is the Virgin followed by the Apostles; on the left are Abraham with his sword, Noah with the ark, Moses with the tables of the law, Aaron with his name inscribed on his mitre. About are numberless patriarchs and saints. The martyrs carry palms in their hands. Some wear wreaths of roses, others crowns of thorns. At the extreme end, on either side of the picture, are portraits of the brothers Dominican, wearing their black robes, who have joined the company of the blessed. Other pictures by Florentine artists are hung, but these are the finest in the Sienese room.