and meanwhile the Lord be with thee and watch over thee.' So
Joseph left her, and Mary remained in her house."

There is nothing said of any marriage ceremony, some have even
affirmed that Mary was only betrothed to Joseph, but for conclusive
reasons it remains an article of faith that she was married to him.

I must mention here an old tradition cited by St. Jerome, and which
has been used as a text by the painters. The various suitors who
aspired to the honour of marrying the consecrated "Virgin of the
Lord," among whom was the son of the high-priest, deposited their
wands in the temple over night,[1] and next morning the rod of Joseph
was found, like the rod of Aaron, to have budded forth into leaves
and flowers. The other suitors thereupon broke their wands in rage and
despair; and one among them, a youth of noble lineage, whose name was
Agabus, fled to Mount Carmel, and became an anchorite, that is to say,
a Carmelite friar.

[Footnote 1: The suitors kneeling with their wands before the altar in
the Temple, is one of the series by Giotto in the Arena at Padua.]

According to the Abbe Orsini, who gives a long description of the
espousals of Mary and Joseph, they returned after the marriage
ceremony to Nazareth, and dwelt in the house of St. Anna.

*       *       *       *       *

Now, with regard to the representations, we find that many of the
early painters, and particularly the Italians, have carefully attended
to the fact, that, among the Jews, marriage was a civil contract,
not a religious rite. The ceremony takes place in the open air, in a
garden, or in a landscape, or in front of the temple. Mary, as a meek
and beautiful maiden of about fifteen, attended by a train of virgins,
stands on the right; Joseph, behind whom are seen the disappointed
suitors, is on the left. The priest joins their hands, or Joseph is
in the act of placing the ring on the finger of the bride. This is the
traditional arrangement from Giotto down to Raphael. In the series by
Giotto, in the Arena at Padua, we have three scenes from the marriage
legend. 1. St. Joseph and the other suitors present their wands to the
high-priest. 2. They kneel before the altar, on which their wands are
deposited, waiting for the promised miracle. 3. The marriage ceremony.
It takes place before an altar, in the _interior_ of the temple. The
Virgin, a most graceful figure, but rather too old, stands attended
by her maidens; St. Joseph holds his wand with the flower and the holy
Dove resting on it: one of the disappointed suitors is about to strike
him; another breaks his wand against his knee. Taddeo Gaddi, Angelico,
Ghirlandajo, Perugino, all followed this traditional conception of the
subject, except that they omit the altar, and place the locality in
the open air, or under a portico. Among the relics venerated in the
Cathedral of Perugia, is the nuptial ring of the blessed Virgin; and
for the altar of the sacrament there, Perugino painted the appropriate
subject of the Marriage of the Virgin.[1] Here the ceremony takes
place under the portico of the temple, and Joseph of course puts the
ring on her finger. It is a beautiful composition, which has been
imitated more or less by the painters of the Perugino school, and
often repeated in the general arrangement.

[Footnote 1: It was carried off from the church by the French, sold in
France, and is now to be seen in the Musee at Caen.]

But in this subject, Raphael, while yet a youth, excelled his
master and all who had gone before him. Every one knows the famous
"SPOSALIZIO of the Brera."[1] It was painted by Raphael in his
twenty-first year, for the church of S. Francesco, in Citta di
Castello; and though he has closely followed the conception of
his master, it is modified by that ethereal grace which even then
distinguished him. Here Mary and Joseph stand in front of the temple,
the high-priest joins their hands, and Joseph places the ring on the
finger of the bride; he is a man of about thirty, and holds his wand,
which has blossomed into a lily, but there is no Dove upon it. Behind
Mary is a group of the virgins of the temple; behind Joseph the group
of disappointed suitors; one of whom, in the act of breaking his wand
against his knee, a singularly graceful figure, seen more in front
and richly dressed, is perhaps the despairing youth mentioned in the
legend.[2] With something of the formality of the elder schools, the
figures are noble and dignified; the countenances of the principal
personages have a characteristic refinement and beauty, and a
soft, tender, enthusiastic melancholy, which lends a peculiar and
appropriate charm to the subject. In fact, the whole scene is here
idealized; It is like a lyric poem, (Kugler's Handbook, 2d edit.)

[Footnote 1: At Milan. The fine engraving by Longhi is well known.]

[Footnote 2: In the series by Giotto at Padua, we have the youth
breaking his wand across his knee.]

In Ghirlandajo's composition (Florence, S. Maria Novella), Joseph
is an old man with a bald head; the architecture is splendid; the
accessory figures, as is usual with Ghirlandajo, are numerous and
full of grace. In the background are musicians playing on the pipe
and tabor, an incident which I do not recollect to have seen in other
pictures.

The Sposalizio by Girolamo da Cotignola (Bologna Gal.), painted for
the church of St. Joseph, is treated quite in a mystical style. Mary
and Joseph stand before an altar, on the steps of which are seated, on
one side a prophet, on the other a sibyl.

*       *       *       *       *

By the German painters the scene is represented with a characteristic
homely neglect of all historic propriety. The temple is a Gothic
church; the altar has a Gothic altar-piece; Joseph looks like an old
burgher arrayed in furs and an embroidered gown; and the Virgin is
richly dressed in the costume of the fifteenth century. The suitors
are often knights and cavaliers with spurs and tight hose.

*       *       *       *       *

It is not said anywhere that St. Anna and St. Joachim were present at
the marriage of their daughter; hence they are supposed to have been
dead before it took place. This has not prevented some of the old
German artists from introducing them, because, according to their
ideas of domestic propriety, they _ought_ to have been present.

*       *       *       *       *

I observe that the later painters who treated the subject, Rubens and
Poussin for instance, omit the disappointed suitors.

*       *       *       *       *

After the marriage, or betrothal, Joseph conducts his wife to his
house. The group of the returning procession has been beautifully
treated in Giotto's series at Padua;[1] still more beautifully by
Luigi in the fragment of fresco now in the Brera at Milan. Here Joseph
and Mary walk together hand in hand. He looks at her, just touching
her fingers with an air of tender veneration; she looks down, serenely
modest. Thus they return together to their humble home; and with this
scene closes the first part of the life of the Virgin Mary.

[Footnote 1: Cappella dell' Arena, engraved for the Arundel Society.]




HISTORICAL SUBJECTS




PART II

THE LIFE OF THE VIRGIN MARY FROM THE ANNUNCIATION TO THE RETURN FROM
EGYPT.

1. THE ANNUNCIATION. 2. THE SALUTATION OF ELIZABETH. 3. THE JOUBNEY TO
BETHLEHEM. 4. THE NATIVITY. 6. THE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS. 6.
THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI. 7. THE PRESENTATION IN THE TEMPLE. 8. THE
FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 9. THE RIPOSO. 10. THE RETURN FROM EGYPT.




THE ANNUNCIATION.

_Ital._ L' Annunciazione. La B. Vergine Annunziata. _Fr._
L'Annonciation. La Salutation Angelique. _Ger._ Die Verkuendi gung. Der
Englische Gruss. March 25.


The second part of the life of the Virgin Mary begins with the
Annunciation and ends with the Crucifixion, comprising all those
scriptural incidents which connect her history with that of her divine
Son.

But to the scenes narrated in the Gospels the painters did not confine
themselves. Not only were the simple scripture histories coloured
throughout by the predominant and enthusiastic veneration paid to the
Virgin--till the life of Christ was absolutely merged in that of His
mother, and its various incidents became "the seven joys and the seven
sorrows of Mary,"--but we find the artistic representations of her
life curiously embroidered and variegated by the introduction of
traditional and apocryphal circumstances, in most cases sanctioned
by the Church authorities of the time. However doubtful or repulsive
some of these scenes and incidents, we cannot call them absolutely
unmeaning or absurd; on the contrary, what was _supposed_ grew up very
naturally, in the vivid and excited imaginations of the people, out of
what was _recorded_; nor did they distinguish accurately between what
they were allowed and what they were commanded to believe. Neither can
it be denied that the traditional incidents--those at least which we
find artistically treated--are often singularly beautiful, poetical,
and instructive. In the hands of the great religions artists, who
worked in their vocation with faith and simplicity, objects and scenes
the most familiar and commonplace became sanctified and glorified by
association with what we deem most holy and most venerable. In the
hands of the later painters the result was just the reverse--what
was most spiritual, most hallowed, most elevated, became secularized,
materialized, and shockingly degraded.

No subject has been more profoundly felt and more beautifully handled
by the old painters, nor more vilely mishandled by the moderns, than
the ANNUNCIATION, of all the scenes in the life of Mary the most
important and the most commonly met with. Considered merely as an
artistic subject, it is surely eminently beautiful: it places before
us the two most graceful forms which the hand of man was ever called
on to delineate;--the winged spirit fresh from paradise; the woman
not less pure, and even more highly blessed--the chosen vessel of
redemption, and the personification of all female loveliness, all
female excellence, all wisdom, and all purity.

*       *       *       *       *

We find the Annunciation, like many other scriptural incidents,
treated in two ways--as a mystery, and as an event. Taken in the
former sense, it became the expressive symbol of a momentous article
of faith, _The Incarnation of the Deity_. Taken in the latter sense,
it represented the announcement of salvation to mankind, through the
direct interposition of miraculous power. In one sense or the other,
it enters into every scheme of ecclesiastical decoration; but
chiefly it is set before us as a great and awful mystery, of which
the two figures of Gabriel, the angel-messenger, and Mary the
"highly-favoured," placed in relation to each other, became the
universally accepted symbol, rather than the representation.




THE ANNUNCIATION AS A MYSTERY.


Considering the importance given to the Annunciation in its mystical
sense, it is strange that we do not find it among the very ancient
symbolical subjects adopted in the first ages of Christian art. It
does not appear on the sarcophagi, nor in the early Greek carvings and
diptychs, nor in the early mosaics--except once, and then as a part of
the history of Christ, not as a symbol; nor can we trace the mystical
treatment of this subject higher than the eleventh century, when
it first appears in the Gothic sculpture and stained glass. In the
thirteenth, and thenceforward, the Annunciation appears before
us, as the expression in form of a theological dogma, everywhere
conspicuous. It became a primal element in every combination of sacred
representations; the corner-stone, as it were, of every architectural
system of religious decoration. It formed a part of every altar-piece,
either in sculpture or painting. Sometimes the Virgin stands on
one side of the altar, the angel on the other, carved in marble or
alabaster, or of wood richly painted and gilt; or even, as I have
seen in some instances, of solid silver. Not seldom, we find the two
figures placed in niches against the pillars, or on pedestals at the
entrance of the choir. It was not necessary, when thus symbolically
treated, to place the two figures in proximity to signify their
relation to each other; they are often divided by the whole breadth
of the chancel.

Whatever the subject of the altar-piece--whether the Nativity, or the
Enthroned Madonna, or the Coronation, or the Crucifixion, or the
Last Supper,--the Annunciation almost invariably formed part of the
decoration, inserted either into the spandrels of the arches above, or
in the predella below; or, which is very common, painted or carved on
the doors of a tabernacle or triptychon.

If the figures are full-length, a certain symmetry being required,
they are either both standing or both kneeling; it is only in later
times that the Virgin sits, and the angel kneels. When disposed in
circles or semicircles, they are often merely busts, or half-length
figures, separated perhaps by a framework of tracery, or set on each
side of the principal subject, whatever that may be. Hence it is
that we so often find in galleries and collections, pictures of the
Annunciation in two separate parts, the angel in one frame, the
Virgin in another; and perhaps the two pictures, thus disunited,
may have found their way into different countries and different
collections,--the Virgin being in Italy and the angel in England.

Sometimes the Annunciation--still as a mystical subject--forms an
altar-piece of itself. In many Roman Catholic churches there is
a chapel or an altar dedicated expressly to the mystery of the
Annunciation, the subject forming of course the principal decoration.
At Florence there is a church--one of the most splendid and
interesting of its many beautiful edifices--dedicated to the
Annunciation, or rather to the Virgin in her especial character and
dignity, as the Instrument of the Incarnation, and thence styled
the church _della Santissima Nunziata_. The fine mosaic of the
Annunciation by Ghirlandajo is placed over the principal entrance. Of
this church, and of the order of the Servi, to whom it belongs, I have
already spoken at length. Here, in the first chapel on the left, as
we enter, is to be found the miraculous picture of the Annunciation,
formerly held in such veneration, not merely by all Florence, but
all Christendom:--found, but not seen--for it is still concealed from
profane eyes, and exhibited to the devout only on great occasions. The
name of the painter is disputed; but, according to tradition, it is
the work of a certain Bartolomeo; who, while he sat meditating on the
various excellences and perfections of our Lady, and most especially
on her divine beauty, and thinking, with humility, how inadequate were
his own powers to represent her worthily, fell asleep; and on awaking,
found the head of the Virgin had been wondrously completed, either by
the hand of an angel, or by that of St. Luke, who had descended from
heaven on purpose. Though this curious relic has been frequently
restored, no one has presumed to touch the features of the Virgin,
which are, I am told--for I have never been blessed with a sight
of the original picture--marvellously sweet and beautiful. It is
concealed by a veil, on which is painted a fine head of the Redeemer,
by Andrea del Sarto; and forty-two lamps of silver burn continually
round it. There is a copy in the Pitti Palace, by Carlo Dolce.

It is evident that the Annunciation, as a mystery, admits of a style
of treatment which would not be allowable in the representation of
an event. In the former case, the artist is emancipated from all
considerations of locality or circumstance. Whether the background
be of gold, or of blue, or star-bespangled sky,--a mere curtain, or a
temple of gorgeous architecture; whether the accessories be the most
simple or the most elaborate, the most real or the most ideal; all
this is of little moment, and might be left to the imagination of the
artist, or might be modified according to the conditions imposed by
the purpose of the representation and the material employed, so long
as the chief object is fulfilled--the significant expression of an
abstract dogma, appealing to the faith, not to the senses or the
understanding, of the observer.

To this class, then, belong all those church images and pictures of
the Annunciation, either confined to the two personages, with just
sufficient of attitude and expression to place them in relation to
each other, or with such accompaniments as served to carry out the
mystical idea, still keeping it as far as possible removed from the
region of earthly possibilities. In the fifteenth century--that age of
mysticism--we find the Annunciation, not merely treated as an abstract
religious emblem, but as a sort of divine allegory or poem, which
in old French and Flemish art is clothed in the quaintest, the most
curious forms. I recollect going into a church at Breslau, and
finding over one of the altars a most elaborate carving in wood of
the Annunciation. Mary is seated within a Gothic porch of open tracery
work; a unicorn takes refuge in her bosom: outside, a kneeling angel
winds a hunting horn; three or four dogs are crouching near him. I
looked and wondered. At first I could make nothing of this singular
allegory; but afterwards found the explanation, in a learned French
work on the "Stalles d'Amiens." I give the original passage, for it
will assist the reader to the comprehension of many curious works of
art; but I do not venture to translate it.

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

*       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




THE ANNUNCIATION AS AN EVENT.


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

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

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

[Footnote 1: So Lord Byron:--

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

*       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

*       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*       *       *       *       *

The presence of the Holy Spirit in the historical Annunciations is to
be accounted for by the words of St. Luke, and the visible form of the
Dove is conventional and authorized. In many pictures, the celestial
Dove enters by the open casement. Sometimes it seems to brood
immediately over the head of the Virgin; sometimes it hovers towards
her bosom. As for the perpetual introduction of the emblem of the
Padre Eterno, seen above the sky, under the usual half-figure of a
kingly ancient man, surrounded by a glory of cherubim, and sending
forth upon a beam of light the immaculate Dove, there is nothing to
be said but the usual excuse for the mediaeval artists, that certainly
there was no _conscious_ irreverence. The old painters, great as they
were in art, lived in ignorant but zealous times--in times when
faith was so fixed, so much a part of the life and soul, that it was
not easily shocked or shaken; as it was not founded in knowledge or
reason, so nothing that startled the reason could impair it. Religion,
which now speaks to us through words, then spoke to the people through
visible forms universally accepted; and, in the fine arts, we accept
such forms according to the feeling which _then_ existed in men's