central, or at least the chief, personage in the group.
In a picture by Giovanni da Udine, the subject is taken out of the
region of the actual, and treated altogether as a mystery. In the
centre sits the young Redeemer, his hand raised, and surrounded by
several of the Jewish doctors; while in front stand the four fathers
of the Church, who flourished in the interval between the fourth and
sixth centuries after Christ; and these, holding their books, point to
Jesus, or look to him, as to the source of their wisdom;--a beautiful
and poetical version of the true significance of the story, which
the critics of the last century would call a chronological mistake.
(Venice, Academy.)

But those representations which come under our especial consideration
at present, are such as represent the moment in which Mary appears
before her Son. The earliest instance of this treatment is a group by
Giotto. Dante cites the deportment of the Virgin on this occasion, and
her mild reproach, "_con atto dolce di madre_," as a signal lesson of
gentleness and forbearance. (Purgatorio, c. xv.) It is as if he had
transferred the picture of Giotto into his Vision; for it is as a
picture, not an action, that it is introduced. Another, by Simon
Memmi, in the Roscoe Collection at Liverpool, is conceived in a
similar spirit. In a picture by Garofalo, Mary does not reproach her
Son, but stands listening to him with her hands folded on her bosom.
In a large and fine composition by Pinturicchio, the doctors throw
down their books before him, while the Virgin and Joseph are entering
on one side. The subject is conspicuous in Albert Durer's Life of
the Virgin, where Jesus is seated on high, as one having authority,
teaching from a chair like that of a professor in a university, and
surrounded by the old bearded doctors; and Mary stands before her Son
in an attitude of expostulation.

After the restoration of Jesus to his parents, they conducted him
home; "but his mother kept all these sayings in her heart." The return
to Nazareth, Jesus walking humbly between Joseph and Mary, was painted
by Rubens for the Jesuit College at Antwerp, as a lesson to youth.
Underneath is the text, "And he was subject unto them."[1]

[Footnote 1: It has been called by mistake "The Return from Egypt"]




THE DEATH OF JOSEPH.

_Ital._ La Morte di San Giuseppe. _Fr._ La Mort de St. Joseph _Ger._
Josef's Tod.


Between the journey to Jerusalem and the public appearance of Jesus,
chronologers place the death of Joseph, but the exact date is not
ascertained: some place it in the eighteenth year of the life of our
Saviour, and others in his twenty-seventh year, when, as they assert,
Joseph was one hundred and eleven years old.

I have already observed, that the enthusiasm for the character of
Joseph, and his popularity as a saint and patron of power, date from
the fifteenth century; and late in the sixteenth century I find, for
the first time, the death of Joseph treated as a separate subject. It
appears that the supposed anniversary of his death (July 20) had long
been regarded in the East as a solemn festival, and that it was the
custom to read publicly, on this occasion, some homily relating to his
life and death. The very curious Arabian work, entitled "The History
of Joseph the Carpenter," is supposed to be one of these ancient
homilies, and, in its original form, as old as the fourth century.[1]
Here the death of Joseph is described with great detail, and with many
solemn and pathetic circumstances; and the whole history is put into
the mouth of Jesus, who is supposed to recite it to his disciples:
he describes the pious end of Joseph; he speaks of himself as being
present, and acknowledged by the dying man as "Redeemer and Messiah,"
and he proceeds to record the grief of Mary:--

"And my mother, the Virgin, arose, and she came nigh to me and said,
'O my beloved Son now must the good old man die!' and I answered and
said unto her, 'O my most dear mother, needs must all created beings
die; and death will have his rights, even over thee, beloved mother;
but death to him and to thee is no death, only the passage to eternal
life; and this body I have derived from thee shall also undergo
death.'"

[Footnote 1: The Arabic MS. in the library at Paris is of the year
1299, and the Coptic version as old as 1367. Extracts from these
were become current in the legends of the West, about the fifteenth
century.--See the "Neu Testamentlichen Apokryphen," edited in German
by Dr. K.F. Borberg.]

And they sat, the Son and the mother, beside Joseph; and Jesus held
his hand, and watched the last breath of life trembling on his lips;
and Mary touched his feet, and they were cold; and the daughters and
the sons of Joseph wept and sobbed around in their grief; and then
Jesus adds tenderly, "I, and my mother Mary, we wept with them."

Then follows a truly Oriental scene, of the evil angels rising up with
Death, and rejoicing in his power over the saint, while Jesus rebukes
them; and at his prayer God sends down Michael, prince of the angelic
host, and Gabriel, the herald of light, to take possession of the
departing spirit, enfold it in a robe of brightness thereby to
preserve it from the "dark angels," and carry it up into heaven.

This legend of the death of Joseph was, in many forms, popular in
the sixteenth century; hence arose the custom of invoking him as
Intercessor to obtain a blessed and peaceful end, so that he became,
in some sort, the patron saint of death-beds; and it is at this time
we find the first representations of the death of Joseph, afterwards
a popular subject in the churches and convents of the Augustine canons
and Carmelite friars, who had chosen him for their patron saint; and
also in family chapels consecrated to the memory or the repose of the
dead.

The finest example I have seen, is by Carlo Maratti, in the Vienna
Gallery. St. Joseph is on a couch; Christ is seated near him; and the
Virgin stands by with folded hands, in a sad, contemplative attitude.

*       *       *       *       *

I am not aware that the Virgin has ever been introduced into any
representation of the temptation or the baptism of our Saviour. These
subjects, so important and so picturesque, are reserved till we enter
upon the History of Christ.




THE MARRIAGE AT CANA IN GALILEE.

_Ital._ Le Nozze di Cana. _Fr._ Les Noces de Cana. _Ger._ Die Hochzeit
zu Cana.


After his temptation and baptism, the first manifestation of the
divine mission and miraculous power of Jesus was at the wedding
feast at Cana in Galilee; and those who had devoted themselves to the
especial glorification of the Virgin Mother did not forget that it was
at her request this first miracle was accomplished:--that out of her
tender and sympathetic commiseration for the apparent want, arose
her appeal to him,--not, indeed, as requiring anything from him, but,
looking to him with habitual dependence on his goodness and power. She
simply said, "They have no wine!" He replied, "Woman, what have I to
do with thee? Mine hour is not yet come." The term _woman_, thus used,
sounds harsh to us; but in the original is a term of respect. Nor did
Jesus intend any denial to the mother, whom he regarded with dutiful
and pious reverence:--it was merely an intimation that he was not
yet entered into the period of miraculous power. He anticipated
it, however, for her sake, and because of her request. Such is the
view taken of this beautiful and dramatic incident by the early
theologians; and in the same spirit it has been interpreted by the
painters.

The Marriage at Cana appears very seldom in the ancient
representations taken from the Gospel. All the monkish institutions
then prevalent discredited marriage; and it is clear that this
distinct consecration of the rite by the presence of the Saviour and
his mother did not find favour with the early patrons of art.

There is an old Greek tradition, that the Marriage at Cana was that
of John the Evangelist. In the thirteenth century, when the passionate
enthusiasm for Mary Magdalene was at its height, it was a popular
article of belief, that the Marriage which Jesus graced with his
presence was that of John the Evangelist and Mary Magdalene; and
that immediately after the wedding feast, St. John and Mary, devoting
themselves to an austere and chaste religious life, followed Christ,
and ministered to him.

As a scene in the life of Christ, the Marriage at Cana, is of course
introduced incidentally; but even here, such were the monastic
principles and prejudices, that I find it difficult to point out any
very early example. In the "Manual of Greek Art," published by Didron,
the rules for the representation are thus laid down:--"A table;
around it Scribes and Pharisees; one holds up a cup of wine, and
seems astonished. In the midst, the bride and bridegroom are seated
together. The bridegroom is to have 'grey hair and a round beard
(_cheveux gris et barbe arrondie_); both are to be crowned with
flowers; behind them, a servitor. Christ, the Virgin, and Joseph are
to be on one side, and on the other are six jars: the attendants are
in the act of filling them with water from leathern buckets."

The introduction of Joseph is quite peculiar to Greek art; and the
more curious, that in the list of Greek subjects there is not one from
his life, nor in which he is a conspicuous figure. On the other hand,
the astonished "ruler of the feast" (the _Architriclino_), so dramatic
and so necessary to the comprehension of the scene, is scarcely ever
omitted. The apostles whom we may imagine to be present, are Peter,
Andrew, James, and John.

*       *       *       *       *

As a separate subject, the Marriage at Cana first became popular in
the Venetian school, and thence extended to the Lombard and German
schools of the same period--that is, about the beginning of the
sixteenth century.

The most beautiful representation I have ever seen is a fresco,
by Luini, in the church of San Maurizio, at Milan. It belongs to a
convent of nuns; and I imagine, from its introduction there, that it
had a mystic signification, and referred to a divine _Sposalizio_.
In this sense, the treatment is perfect. There are just the number
of figures necessary to tell the story, and no more. It is the bride
who is here the conspicuous figure, seated in the centre, arrayed in
spotless white, and represented as a nun about to make her profession;
for this is evidently the intended signification. The bridegroom is at
her side, and near to the spectator. Christ, and the Virgin are seated
together, and appear to be conversing. A man presents a cup of wine.
Including guests and attendants, there are only twelve figures.
The only fault of this exquisite and graceful composition, is the
introduction of a cat and dog in front: we feel that they ought to
have been omitted, as giving occasion for irreverent witticisms.[1]

[Footnote 1: This beautiful fresco, which is seldom seen, being behind
the altar, was in a very ruined condition when I saw it last in 1855.]

In contrast with this picture, and as a gorgeous specimen of the
Venetian style of treatment, we may turn to the "Marriage at Cana" in
the Louvre, originally painted to cover one side of the refectory of
the convent of _San Giorgio Maggiore_ at Venice, whence it was carried
off by the French in 1796. This immense picture is about thirty-six
feet in length, and about twenty feet in height, and contains more
than a hundred figures above life-size. In the centre Christ is
seated, and beside him the Virgin Mother. Both heads are merely
commonplace, and probably portraits, like those of the other
personages at the extremity of the table. On the left are seated the
bride and bridegroom. In the foreground a company of musicians are
performing a concert; behind the table is a balustrade, where are
seen numerous servants occupied in cutting up the viands and serving
dishes, with attendants and spectators. The chief action to be
represented, the astonishing miracle performed by him at whose command
"the fountain blushed into wine," is here quite a secondary matter;
and the value of the picture lies in its magnitude and variety as
a composition, and the portraits of the historical characters and
remarkable personages introduced,--Francis I., his queen Eleanora of
Austria, Charles V. and others. In the group of musicians in front we
recognize Titian and Tintoretto, old Bassano, and Paolo himself.

The Marriage at Cana, as a refectory subject, had been unknown till
this time: it became popular, and Paolo afterwards repeated it several
times. The most beautiful of all, to my feeling, is that in the
Dresden Gallery, where the "ruler of the feast," holding up the glass
of wine with admiration, seems to exclaim, "Thou hast kept the good
wine until now." In another, which is at Milan, the Virgin turns round
to the attendant, and desires him to obey her Son;--"Whatsoever he
saith unto you, do it!"

As the Marriage at Cana belongs, as a subject, rather to the history
of Christ, than to that of the Virgin his mother, I shall not enter
into it further here, but proceed.

*       *       *       *       *

After the marriage at Cana in Galilee, which may be regarded as the
commencement of the miraculous mission of our Lord, we do not hear
anything of his mother, the Virgin, till the time approached when he
was to close his ministry by his death. She is not once referred to
by name in the Gospels until the scene of the Crucifixion. We are
indeed given to understand, that in the journeys of our Saviour, and
particularly when he went up from Nazareth to Jerusalem, the women
followed and ministered to him (Matt. xxvii. 55, Luke, viii. 2): and
those who have written the life of the Virgin for the edification of
the people, and those who have translated it into the various forms
of art, have taken it for granted that SHE, his mother, could not have
been absent or indifferent where others attended with affection and
zeal: but I do not remember any scene in which she is an actor, or
even a conspicuous figure.

Among the carvings on the stalls at Amiens, there is one which
represents the passage (Matt. xii. 46.) wherein our Saviour, preaching
in Judea, is told that his mother and his brethren stand without.
"But he answering, said to him that told him, 'Who is my mother?
and who are my brethren?' And he stretched forth his hand toward
his disciples, and said, 'Behold my mother and my brethren!'" The
composition exhibits on one side Jesus standing and teaching his
disciples; while on the other, through an open door, we perceive the
Virgin and two or three others. This representation is very rare. The
date of these stalls is the sixteenth century; and such a group in a
series of the life of the Virgin could not, I think, have occurred
in the fifteenth. It would have been quite inconsistent with all the
religious tendencies of that time, to exhibit Christ as preaching
_within_, while his "divine and most glorious" Mother was standing
_without_.

The theologians of the middle ages insist on the close and mystical
relation which they assure us existed between Christ and his mother:
however far separated, there was constant communion between them; and
wherever he might be--in whatever acts of love, or mercy, or benign
wisdom occupied for the good of man--_there_ was also his mother,
present with him in the spirit. I think we can trace the impress
of this mysticism in some of the productions of the fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries. For example, among the frescoes by Angelico da
Fiesole in the cloisters of St. Mark, at Florence, there is one of
the Transfiguration, where the Saviour stands glorified with arms
outspread--a simple and sublime conception,--and on each side, half
figures of Moses and Elias: lower down appear the Virgin and St.
Dominick. There is also in the same series a fresco of the Last Supper
as the Eucharist, in which the Virgin is kneeling, glorified, on one
side of the picture, and appears as a partaker of the rite. Such a
version of either subject must be regarded as wholly mystical and
exceptional, and I am not acquainted with any other instance.




LO SPASIMO.

"O what avails me now that honour high,
To have conceived of God, and that salute,
'Hail highly favoured among woman blest!
While I to sorrows am no less advanced,
And fears as eminent, above the lot
Of other women by the birth I bore."
--"This is my favoured lot,
My exaltation to afflictions high."

MILTON.


In the Passion of our Lord, taken in connection with the life of the
Virgin Mother, there are three scenes in which she is associated with
the action as an important, if not a principal, personage.

We are told in the Gospel of St. John (chap. xvii), that Christ took a
solemn farewell of his disciples: it is therefore supposed that he did
not go up to his death without taking leave of his Mother,--without
preparing her for that grievous agony by all the comfort that his
tender and celestial pity and superior nature could bestow. This
parting of Christ and his Mother before the Crucifixion is a modern
subject. I am not acquainted with any example previous to the
beginning of the sixteenth century. The earliest I have met with is by
Albert Durer, in the series of the life of the Virgin, but there are
probably examples more ancient, or at least contemporary. In Albert
Durer's composition, Mary is sinking to the earth, as if overcome with
affliction, and is sustained in the arms of two women; she looks up
with folded hands and streaming eyes to her Son who stands before her;
he, with one hand extended, looks down upon her compassionately, and
seems to give her his last benediction. I remember another instance,
by Paul Veronese, full of that natural affectionate sentiment which
belonged to the Venetian school. (Florence Gal.) In a very beautiful
picture by Carotto of Verona, Jesus _kneels_ before his Mother, and
receives her benediction before he departs: this must be regarded
as an impropriety, a mistake in point of sentiment, considering the
peculiar relation between the two personages; but it is a striking
instance of the popular notions of the time respecting the high
dignity of the Virgin Mother. I have not seen it repeated.[1]

[Footnote 1: Verona, San Bernardino. It is worth remarking, with
regard to this picture, that the Intendant of the Convent rebuked
the artist, declaring that he had made the Saviour show _too little_
reverence for his Mother, seeing that he knelt to her on one knee
only.--See the anecdote in _Vasari_, vol. i. p. 651. Fl. Edit. 1838.]

*       *       *       *       *

It appears from the Gospel histories, that the women who had attended
upon Christ during his ministry failed not in their truth and their
love to the last. In the various circumstances of the Passion of
our Lord, where the Virgin Mother figures as an important personage,
certain of these women are represented as always near her, and
sustaining her with a tender and respectful sympathy. Three are
mentioned by name,--Mary Magdalene; Mary the wife of Cleophas;
and Mary, the mother of James and John. Martha, the sister of Mary
Magdalene, is also included, as I infer from her name, which in
several instances is inscribed in the nimbus encircling her head. I
have in another place given the story of Martha, and the legends
which in the fourteenth century converted her into a very important
character in sacred art, (First Series of Sacred and Legendary Art.)
These women, therefore, form, with the Virgin, the group of _five_
female figures which are generally included in the scriptural scenes
from the Life of Christ.

Of course, these incidents, and more especially the "Procession to
Calvary," and the "Crucifixion," belong to another series of subjects,
which I shall have to treat hereafter in the History of our Lord;
but they are also included in a series of the Rosary, as two of the
mystical SORROWS; and under this point of view I must draw attention
to the peculiar treatment of the Virgin in some remarkable examples,
which will serve as a guide to others.

*       *       *       *       *

The Procession to Calvary (_Il Portamento della Croce_) followed a
path leading from the gate of Jerusalem to Mount Calvary, which has
been kept in remembrance and sanctified as the _Via Dolorosa_, and
there is a certain spot near the summit of the hill, where, according
to a very ancient tradition, the Virgin Mother, and the women her
companions, placed themselves to witness the sorrowful procession;
where the Mother, beholding her divine Son dragged along, all bleeding
from the scourge, and sinking under his cross, in her extreme agony
sank, fainting, to the earth. This incident gave rise to one of the
mournful festivals of the Passion Week, under the title, in French,
of _Notre Dame du Spasme_ or _de la Pamoison_; in Italian _La Madonna
dello Spasimo_, or _Il Pianto di Maria_; and this is the title given
to some of those representations in which the affliction of Mary is a
prominent part of the tragic interest of the scene. She is sometimes
sinking to the earth, sustained by the women or by St. John; sometimes
she stands with clasped hands, mute and motionless with excess of
anguish; sometimes she stretches out her arms to her Son, as Jesus,
sinking under the weight of his cross, turns his benign eyes upon her,
and the others who follow him: "Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for
me!"

This is the moment chosen by Raphael in that sublime composition
celebrated under the title "_Lo Spasimo di Sicilia_" (Madrid Gal.);
so called because it was originally painted for the high altar of the
church of the Sicilian Olivetans at Palermo, dedicated to the _Madonna
dello Spasimo_. It was thence removed, by order of Philip IV. of
Spain, early in the seventeenth century, and is now placed in the
gallery at Madrid. Here the group of the five women forms an important
part of the picture, occupying the foreground on the right. The
expression in the face of the Mother, stretching forth her arms to
her Son with a look of appealing agony, has always been cited as one
of the great examples of Raphael's tragic power. It is well known
that in this composition the attitude of Christ was suggested by the
contemporary engraving of Martin Schoen; but the prominence given to
the group of women, the dramatic propriety and pathetic grace in the
action of each, and the consummate skill shown in the arrangement
of the whole, belong only to Raphael.[1] In Martin Schoen's vivid
composition, the Virgin, and the women her companions, are seen far
off in the background, crouching in the "hollow way" between two
cliffs, from which spot, according to the old tradition, they beheld
the sad procession. We have quite a contrary arrangement in an early
composition by Lucas van Leyden. The procession to Calvary is seen
moving along in the far distance, while the foreground is occupied by
two figures only, Mary in a trance of anguish sustained by the weeping
St. John.

[Footnote 1: The veneration at all times entertained for this picture
was probably enhanced by a remarkable fact in its history. Raphael
painted it towards the close of the year 1517, and when finished, it
was embarked at the port of Ostia, to be consigned to Palermo. A storm
came on, the vessel foundered at sea, and all was lost except the case
containing this picture, which was floated by the currents into the
Bay of Genoa; and, on being landed, the wondrous masterpiece of art
was taken out unhurt. The Genoese at first refused to give it up,
insisting that it had been preserved and floated to their shores by
the miraculous interposition of the blessed Virgin herself; and it
required a positive mandate from the Pope before they would restore
it to the Olivetan fathers.--See _Passavant's Rafael_, i. 292.]

In a very fine "Portamento del Croce," by Gaudenzio Ferrari, one of
the soldiers or executioners, in repulsing the sorrowful mother,
lifts up a stick as if to strike her;--a gratuitous act of ferocity,
which shocks at once the taste and the feelings, and, without adding
anything to the pathos of the situation, detracts from the religious
dignity of the theme. It is like the soldier kicking our Saviour,
which I remember to have seen in a version of the subject by a much
later painter, Daniele Crespi.

Murillo represents Christ as fainting under the weight of the cross,
while the Virgin sits on the ground by the way-side, gazing on
him with fixed eyes and folded hands, and a look of unutterable
anguish.[1]

[Footnote 1: This picture, remarkable for the intense expression, was
in the collection of Lord Orford, and sold in June, 1856.]

*       *       *       *       *

The Ecce Homo, by Correggio, in our National Gallery, is treated in
a very peculiar manner with reference to the Virgin, and is, in fact,
another version of _Lo Spasimo_, the fourth of her ineffable sorrows.
Here Christ, as exhibited to the people by Pilate, is placed in the
distance, and is in all respects the least important part of the
picture, of which we have the real subject in the far more prominent
figure of the Virgin in the foreground. At sight of the agony and
degradation of her Son, she closes her eyes, and is on the point
of swooning. The pathos of expression in the half-unconscious face
and helpless, almost lifeless hands, which seem to seek support, is
particularly fine.


THE CRUCIFIXION.

"Verum stabas, optima Mater, juxta crucem Filli tui, non solum
corpore, sed mentis constatia."

This great subject belongs more particularly to the Life of Christ. It
is, I observe, always omitted in a series of the Life of the Virgin,
unless it be the Rosary, in which the "Vigil of the Virgin by the
Cross" is the fifth and greatest of the Seven Sorrows.

We cannot fail to remark, that whether the Crucifixion be treated as a
mystery or as an event, Mary is always an important figure.

In the former case she stands alone on the right of the cross, and St.
John on the left.[1] She looks up with an expression of mingled grief
and faith, or bows her head upon her clasped hands in resignation. In
such a position she is the idealized Mater Dolorosa, the Daughter of
Jerusalem, the personified Church mourning for the great Sacrifice;
and this view of the subject I have already discussed at length.

[Footnote 1: It has been a question with the learned whether the
Virgin Mary, with St. John, ought not to stand on the left of the
cross, in allusion to Psalm cxlii. (always interpreted as prophetic
of the Passion of Christ) ver. 4: "_I looked on my right hand, and be
held, but there was none who would know me._"]

On the other hand, when the Crucifixion is treated as a great
historical event, as a living scene acted before our eyes, then the
position and sentiment given to the Virgin are altogether different,
but equally fixed by the traditions of art. That she was present, and
near at hand, we must presume from the Gospel of St. John, who was an
eye-witness; and most of the theological writers infer that on this
occasion her constancy and sublime faith were even greater than her
grief, and that her heroic fortitude elevated her equally above the
weeping women and the timorous disciples. This is not, however, the
view which the modern painters have taken, and even the most ancient
examples exhibit the maternal grief for a while overcoming the
constancy. She is standing indeed, but in a fainting attitude, as if
about to sink to the earth, and is sustained in the arms of the two
Marys, assisted, sometimes, but not generally, by St. John; Mary
Magdalene is usually embracing the foot of the cross. With very little
variation this is the visual treatment down to the beginning of the
sixteenth century. I do not know who was the first artist who placed
the Mother prostrate on the ground; but it must be regarded as a
fault, and as detracting from the high religious dignity of the
scene. In all the greatest examples, from Cimabue, Giotto, and Pietro
Cavallini, down to Angelico, Masaccio, and Andrea Mantegna, and their
contemporaries, Mary is uniformly standing.

In a Crucifixion by Martin Schoen, the Virgin, partly held up in the
arms of St. John, embraces with fervour the foot of the cross: a very
rare and exceptional treatment, for this is the proper place of Mary
Magdalene. In Albert Durer's composition, she is just in the act of
sinking to the ground in a very natural attitude, as if her limbs had
given way under her. In Tintoretto's celebrated Crucifixion, we have
an example of the Virgin placed on the ground, which if not one of the
earliest, is one of the most striking of the more modern conceptions.
Here the group at the foot of the cross is wonderfully dramatic and
expressive, but certainly the reverse of dignified. Mary lies fainting
on the earth; one arm is sustained by St. John, the other is round the
neck of a woman who leans against the bosom of the Virgin, with eyes
closed, as if lost in grief. Mary Magdalene and another look up to the
crucified Saviour, and more in front a woman kneels wrapped up in a
cloak, and hides her face. (Venice, S. Rocco.)

Zani has noticed the impropriety here, and in other instances, of
exhibiting the "_Grandissima Donna_" as prostrate, and in a state
of insensibility; a style of treatment which, in more ancient times,
would have been inadmissible. The idea embodied by the artist should
be that which Bishop Taylor has _painted_ in words:--"By the cross
stood the holy Virgin Mother, upon whom old Simeon's prophecy was now
verified; for now she felt a sword passing through her very soul.
She stood without clamour and womanish noises sad, silent, and with
a modest grief, deep as the waters of the abyss, but smooth as the
face of a pool; full of love, and patience, and sorrow, and hope!"
To suppose that this noble creature lost all power over her emotions,
lost her consciousness of the "high affliction" she was called to
suffer, is quite unworthy of the grand ideal of womanly perfection
here placed before us. It is clear, however, that in the later
representations, the intense expression of maternal anguish in the
hymn of the Stabat Mater gave the key to the prevailing sentiment.
And as it is sometimes easier to faint than to endure; so it was
easier for certain artists to express the pallor and prostration of
insensibility, than the sublime faith and fortitude which in that
extremest hour of trial conquered even a mother's unutterable woe.

That most affecting moment, in which the dying Saviour recommends his
Mother to the care of the best beloved of his disciples, I have never
seen worthily treated. There are, however, some few Crucifixions in
which I presume the idea to have been indicated; as where the Virgin
stands leaning on St. John, with his sustaining arm reverently round
her, and both looking up to the Saviour, whose dying face is turned
towards them. There is an instance by Albert Durer (the wood-cut
in the "Large Passion"); but the examples are so few as to be
exceptional.

*       *       *       *       *

THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS, and the DEPOSITION, are two separate
themes. In the first, according to the antique formula, the Virgin
should stand; for here, as in the Crucifixion, she must be associated
with the principal action, and not, by the excess of her grief,
disabled from taking her part in it. In the old legend it is said,
that when Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus wrenched out the nails
which fastened the hands of our Lord to the cross, St. John took them
away secretly, that his mother might not see them--"_affin que la
Vierge Marie ne les veit pas, crainte que le coeur ne lui amolist_."
And then, while Nicodemus drew forth the nails which fastened his
feet, Joseph of Arimathea sustained the body, so that the head and
arms of the dead Saviour hung over his shoulder. And the afflicted
Mother, seeing this, arose on her feet and she took the bleeding hands
of her Son, as they hung down, and clasped them in her own, and kissed
him tenderly. And then, indeed, she sank to the earth, because of the
great anguish she suffered, lamenting her Son, whom the cruel Jews had
murdered.[1]

[Footnote 1: "---- tant qu'il n'y a coeur si dur, ni entendement
d'homme qui n'y deust penser. 'Lasse, mon confort! m'amour et ma joye,
que les Juifz ont faict mourir à grand tort et sans cause pour ce
qu'il leur monstrait leurs faltes et enseignoit leur saulvement! O
felons et mauvais Juifz, ne m'epargnez pas! puisque vous crucifiez
mon enfant crucifiez moy--moy qui suis sa dolente mere, et me tuez
d'aucune mort affin que je meure avec luy!'" v. _The old French
Legend_, "_Vie de Notre-Dame la glorieuse Vierge Marie._"]

The first action described in this legend (the afflicted Mother
embracing the arm of her Son) is precisely that which was adopted by
the Greek masters, and by the early Italians who followed them, Nicolo
Pisano, Cimabue, Giotto, Puccio Capanna, Duccio di Siena, and others
from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century. But in later pictures,
the Virgin in the extremity of her grief has sunk to the ground. In an
altar-piece by Cigoli, she is seated on the earth, looking out of the
picture, as if appealing, "Was ever sorrow like unto my sorrow?" while
the crown of thorns lies before her. This is very beautiful; but even
more touching is the group in the famous "Descent from the Cross," the
masterpiece of Daniel di Volterra (Rome, Trinità di Monte): here the
fainting form of the Virgin, extended on the earth, and the dying
anguish in her face, have never been exceeded, and are, in fact, the
chief merit of the picture. In the famous Descent at Antwerp, the
masterpiece of Rubens, Mary stands, and supports the arm of her Son as
he is let down from the cross. This is in accordance with the ancient
version; but her face and figure are the least effective part of this
fine picture.

In a beautiful small composition, a print, attributed to Albert Durer,
there are only three figures. Joseph of Arimathea stands on a ladder,
and detaches from the cross the dead form of the Saviour, who is
received into the arms of his Mother. This is a form of the _Mater
Dolorosa_ which is very uncommon, and must be regarded as exceptional,
and ideal, unless we are to consider it as a study and an incomplete
group.

*       *       *       *       *

The DEPOSITION is properly that moment which succeeds the DESCENT from
the Cross; when the dead form of Christ is deposed or laid upon the
ground, resting on the lap of his Mother, and lamented by St. John,
the Magdalene, and others. The ideal and devotional form of this
subject, styled a Pietà, may be intended to represent one of those
festivals of the Passion Week which commemorate the participation of
the holy Virgin Mother in the sufferings of her Son.[1] I have already
spoken at length of this form of the Mater Dolorosa; the historical
version of the same subject is what we have now to consider, but only
so far as regards the figure of the Virgin.

[Footnote 1: "C'est ce que l'on a jugé à propos d'appeler _La
Compassion_ de la Vierge, autrement _Notre Dame de Pitié_."--Vide
_Baillet_, "Les Fêtes Mobiles."]

In a Deposition thus dramatically treated, there are always from four
to six or eight figures. The principal group consists of the dead
Saviour and his Mother. She generally holds him embraced, or bends
over him contemplating his dead face, or lays her cheek to his with
an expression of unutterable grief and love: in the antique conception
she is generally fainting; the insensibility, the sinking of the whole
frame through grief, which in the Crucifixion is misplaced, both in
regard to the religious feeling and the old tradition, is here quite
proper.[1] Thus she appears in the genuine Greek and Greco-Italian
productions of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, as well as in
the two finest examples that could be cited in more modern times.

[Footnote 1: The reason given is curious:--"_Perchè quando Gesù pareva
tormentato essendo vivo, il dolore si partiva frà la santissima madre
e lui; ma quando poi egli era morto, tutto il dolore rimaneva per la
sconsolata madre._"]

1. In an exquisite composition by Raphael, usually styled a Pietà,
but properly a Deposition, there are six figures: the extended form
of Christ; the Virgin swooning in the arms of Mary Salome and Mary
Cleophas; Mary Magdalene sustains the feet of Christ, while her sister
Martha raises the veil of the Virgin, as if to give her air; St. John
stands by with clasped hands; and Joseph of Arimathea looks on the
sorrowing group with mingled grief and pity.[1]

[Footnote 1: This wonderful drawing (there is no _finished_ picture)
was in the collection of Count Fries, and then belonged to Sir T.
Lawrence. There is a good engraving by Agricola.]

2. Another, an admirable and celebrated composition by Annibale
Caracci, known as the Four Marys, omits Martha and St. John. The
attention of Mary Magdalene is fixed on the dead Saviour; the other
two Marys are occupied by the fainting Mother. (Castle Howard.) On
comparing this with Raphael's conception, we find more of common
nature, quite as much pathos, but in the forms less of that pure
poetic grace, which softens at once, and heightens the tragic effect.

Besides Joseph of Arimathea, we have sometimes Nicodemus; as in the
very fine Deposition by Perugino, and in one, not loss fine, by Albert
Durer. In a Deposition by Ambrogio Lorenzetti, Lazarus, whom Jesus
raised from the dead, stands near his sister Martha.

In a picture by Vandyke, the Mother closes the eyes of the dead
Redeemer: in a picture by Rubens, she removes a thorn from his wounded
brow:--both natural and dramatic incidents very characteristic of
these dramatic painters.

There are some fine examples of this subject in the old German school.
In spite of ungraceful forms, quaint modern costumes, and worse
absurdities, we often find _motifs_, unknown in the Italian school,
most profoundly felt, though not always happily expressed, I remember
several instances in which the Madonna does not sustain her Son; but
kneeling on one side, and, with clasped hands, she gazes on him with
a look, partly of devotion, partly of resignation; both the devotion
and the resignation predominating over the maternal grief. I have
been asked, "why no painter has ever yet represented the Great Mother
as raising her hands in thankfulness that her Son _had_ drank the
cup--_had_ finished the work appointed for him on earth?" This would
have been worthy of the religions significance of the moment; and I
recommend the theme to the consideration of artists.[1]

[Footnote 1: In the most modern Deposition I have seen (one of
infinite beauty, and new in arrangement, by Paul Delaroche), the
Virgin, kneeling at some distance, and a little above, contemplates
her dead Son. The expression and attitude are those of intense
anguish, and _only_ anguish. It is the bereaved Mother; it is a
craving desolation, which is in the highest degree human and tragic;
but it is not the truly religious conception.]

*       *       *       *       *

The entombment follows, and when treated as a strictly historical