Kitabı oku: «The Story of Seville», sayfa 8
The dispersal of the cultured circle of Casa Pilatos would seem to mark the hour of the beginning of the decline of literature and the arts in Seville. We may feel astonishment that the writers of the Inquisition times were able to publish any works save those of theology, church history, or devotion. But we must remember that Pacheco was a cleric, that Góngora was a priest, and that Rioja held a post in the Holy Office. Antonio, the bibliographer, was a canon of the Cathedral, and Cervantes was a staunch Catholic. These authors were safe; they were either priests of the Church or sworn defenders of the faith.
Philosophers, scientific writers, and heterodox thinkers were unable to survive their environment. New thought was stamped out as soon as it was uttered, and it was seldom indeed that bold spirits dared to express innovating opinion. The greatest writer could scarcely subsist upon the earnings of his pen. He was forced, as in the case of Cervantes, Calderon, and Lope de Vega, among many other authors, to enter the army. The choice lay between the military and the ecclesiastic professions. Outside of these no man possessed a status.
With the decline of literature in Spain, the teaching that science is an evil spread everywhere. In the seventeenth century, on the authority of Spanish historians, the arts had fallen into decay. At the same time the trade of Seville greatly suffered. The city was reaping the harvest of trouble sown by the Inquisition, with its disastrous proscriptions of scientific inquiry, and its taboos upon learning and the arts. Not only were Bibles burnt publicly in Seville and elsewhere, but secular books, treating upon many subjects, were thrown to the flames, in the height of the Inquisition fanaticism. At the end of the fifteenth century six thousand volumes were thus destroyed at Salamanca. Such wanton acts contributed to the causes that brought the downfall of Spain. When Córdova, Granada and Seville were under the Saracen rule, the conquered Christians were protected in their religious rights, and there was no restraint upon knowledge. These cities possessed excellent schools and huge libraries. The Arabic and Spanish languages were both spoken, and there was an Arabian translation of the Bible. Unfortunately, the Christians failed to profit by this example of rational tolerance when they again came into power.
Classical learning was fostered in Seville by Antonio de Lebrixa, who lectured in the University, about 1473. Lebrixa had studied for ten years in Italy. He was opposed by the Sevillian clergy, who claimed sole authority in instruction; but fortunately Lebrixa found favour with influential persons, and so contrived to save himself from persecution. Queen Isabella had lessons from the learned Lebrixa, who may be called the Erasmus of Spain. But the royal tutor narrowly escaped the awful punishments of the Holy Tribunal, under Deza, Archbishop of Seville, and successor of Torquemada. The Inquisitor-General commanded the manuscripts of Lebrixa to be seized, and accused him of heresy for making corrections on the text of the Vulgate, and for his exposition of passages of Scripture.
'The Archbishop's object,' wrote Lebrixa in an Apologia, 'was to deter me from writing. He wished to extinguish the knowledge of the two languages on which our religion depends; and I was condemned for impiety, because, being no divine but a mere grammarian, I presumed to treat of theological subjects. If a person endeavour to restore the purity of the sacred text, and points out the mistakes which have vitiated it, unless he will retract his opinions, he must be loaded with infamy, excommunicated and doomed to an ignominious punishment!'
'Is it not enough that I submit my judgment to the will of Christ in the Scriptures? Must I also reject as false what is as clear and evident as the light of truth itself? What tyranny! to hinder a man, under the most cruel pains, from saying what he thinks, though he express himself with the utmost respect for religion! to forbid him to write in his closet or in the solitude of a prison! to speak to himself, or even to think! On what subject shall we employ our thoughts, if we are prohibited from directing them to those sacred oracles which have been the delight of the pious in every age, and on which they have meditated by day and by night.'
Lebrixa here eloquently announces the right of the layman to translate the Scriptures and to expound religion. He claims that liberty of inquiry and of speech which belongs to every man. His case is typical of the vast difficulties that encompassed all thinkers of his age.
Science and letters were not only hindered by the Church. Some of the kings of Spain were hostile towards learning, while others were apathetic. Carlos IV. instructed his Prime Minister to inform the heads of universities that 'what His Majesty wanted was not philosophers, but loyal subjects.' It was no uncommon custom of the inquisitors to enter private libraries, and to carry away such books as they considered heretical or dangerous.
In Seville, therefore, as elsewhere throughout Spain, institutions tended to crush out the genius of authors, and to discourage philosophy and science. We cannot wonder that Emilia Pardo Bazan, a modern Spanish writer, should say: 'Perhaps our public is indifferent to literature, especially to printed literature, for what is represented on the stage produces more impression.' It has also been said that the upper classes of Madrid would rather spend their money on fireworks or on oranges than on a book.
But Spain possesses to-day four or five gifted novelists, who give their readers true pictures of modern life and manners. Valdes and Galdos are social influences. Their books are eagerly read and discussed by the young intellectual spirits in whose earnestness lies the hope of Spain.
CHAPTER VIII
The Artists of Seville
By C. Gasquoine Hartley
'Beauty, like all other qualities presented to human experience, is relative.' – Walter Pater.
'THE art of Spain was, at the outset, wholly borrowed, and from various sources: we see heterogeneous, borrowed elements assimilated sometimes in a greater or less degree, frequently flung together in illogical confusion, seldom, if ever, fused into a new harmonious whole by that inner welding fire which is genius; and we see in the sixteenth century a foreign influence received and borne as a yoke, because no living generative force was there to throw it off; and finally we meet this strange freak of nature – a soil without artistic initiative bringing forth the greatest initiator in modern art – Diego Velazquez.'
These words, which form a portion of the address delivered by the late Lord Leighton to the students of the Royal Academy Schools, in the year 1889, epitomise the salient points in the artistic history of Seville. An almost impenetrable gloom shadows the early records of her art. Only one work remains to testify to the skill of her artists, during the thirteenth century. This is a rare old Bible, written on vellum and richly illuminated. It was transcribed for Alfonso, the Wise, by Pedro de Pampeluna, in the thirteenth century, and its numerous miniatures represent the pristine efforts of the Sevillian school of painting.
During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the artists of Seville were wholly dominated by the Flemish school. The great master of the Low Countries, Jan van Eyck, visited the Peninsula, and from that time the Flemish influence continued to increase in potency. Flemish works of art were largely imported into Spain, and three Flemish artists, according to Professor Carl Justi, were employed in the court of Isabella la Catolica. The Gothic characteristics of the Northern school are manifest in all the pictures of this period. They may be readily recognised by their long lean figures, their definite, almost harsh outlines, and their rich colours, which are frequently embellished with gold.
The pictures painted during these years bear little trace of Italian influence, although we know that in the year 1466 a Florentine painter, Dello, who belonged to the school of Giotto, was living in Seville. No authentic works from his hand remain, but he amassed great wealth, as a proof of which we are told that he always painted in an apron of stiff silk brocade.
Many of these paintings, dating to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, bear no signature. They are classified without distinction as the Escuela Flamenca, and the Spaniards apparently regard them with scant reverence. They are all interesting, while many of them possess great charm, and reveal well-developed artistic power. The Gothic influence is dominant, but a distinctly Spanish tendency can frequently be discerned. Local dress and customs are often depicted, and the pictures are executed with the relentless vigour, which is the specific characteristic of the early Spanish school. Examples of these Hispano-Flemish pictures will be found in the Museo, in the Cap de Santa Ana and the Cap de la Antigua, in the Cathedral, and in many of the churches.
The earliest Sevillian artist of whom we have any distinctive record is Juan Sanchez de Castro, who lived in the city from 1454 to 1516. Sir W. Stirling-Maxwell calls him 'the morning star of the school of Andalusia.' He quickly absorbed the Flemish influence, and his works are wholly Gothic, both in conception and manner of treatment. No details of his life are extant, but the wreckage of time has spared his work, and we can still study both a fresco and a panel painting executed by his hand.
In the Church of San Julian, situated in the plaza of that name, is a giant San Cristobal, painted by Sanchez in 1484. It is executed in tempera upon the wall of the church, close to the principal entrance. The figure of the saint is of enormous size, entirely subordinating the remainder of the composition, thus producing an effect of exaggeration and lack of proportion. The fresco has unfortunately been repainted, and little of the old master's work remains, except his signature and the date 1484.
Of infinitely greater value is his painting on panel, preserved among the pictures collected by the late Señor D. Manuel López Cepero, which may now be seen in the house of Murillo, described elsewhere in these pages. The picture is painted upon a panel of wood, covered with canvas and carefully prepared plaster, as was the manner of the early masters, who did none of their work hurriedly, and devoted much time to the painstaking preparation of their materials. The picture may be regarded as a typical instance of the Hispano-Flemish manner. The conventional grief, symbolised by the drooping eyelids, falling tears and set countenances of the women; the harsh outlines; the extreme length of the reclining figure of the Christ, all bear the imprint of the Gothic school. The picture deserves much study. Its decorative proportions, extreme simplicity and harmony of colour can hardly be praised too highly. It is a meritorious herald of the work of the Sevillian artists.
Juan Nuñez, the pupil of Sanchez, continued to imitate the manner of his master. His finest work is a composition, representing the Piéta. It was painted for the Chapter of the Cathedral, during the latter half of the fifteenth century, and now hangs in the Sacristía de los Cálices, where many of the choicest treasures of art are preserved. The Virgin supports the dead body of the Christ; St. Michael and St. Vincent are at her side, while kneeling ecclesiastics pray below. The Flemish manner still prevails, and the Gothic stiffness of the Saviour's figure bears a strong resemblance to the work of Sanchez. Cean Bermudez praises the picture very highly, and states that it is not inferior to Albert Dürer in colour and arrangement of the drapery. Like many of the early religious painters, Nuñez appears to have been destitute of a sense of humour, and in a picture of St. Michael and St. Gabriel, painted for the Chapter of the Cathedral, he depicted the saints adorned with gaily-coloured peacocks' wings.
The Hispano-Flemish manner was perfected by Alezo Fernandez, who came from Córdova, in 1525, to work in Seville Cathedral. Lord Leighton considers him 'the most conspicuous among the Gothic painters,' and without doubt, his work marks a further advancement in the development of the Andalusian school. It bears testimony to advancing knowledge. For the first time we perceive clearly the growth of a distinctive Spanish style. The Flemish manner is still strongly visible, but from out of this eclecticism emerges that forceful effort after truth and natural expression, which is the conspicuous characteristic of the Spanish school. His finest picture is the Virgen de la Rosa, in the Church of Santa Ana, at Triana. The charm of this work is very great. The mellow splendour of its tones, and the lofty spirit in which it is conceived render it a study of high merit. Other pictures by this master may be seen in the Palacio Arzobiscopal, where hang the Conception, the Birth of the Virgin, and the Purification, three works of great interest; and in the Church of San Julian, where there is a fine altar-piece. The figure of San Pedro depicted upon the left of the composition is one of the ablest; beside him is San Antonio, while San Julian and San Josef stand upon the left. Over the altar are representations of the Incarnation and the Crucifixion.
During the opening years of the sixteenth century a new influence from without was imposed upon the Spanish school of painting. The Italian Renaissance extended to Spain, and this movement, which in Italy produced the brilliant group of the quatrocentisto, fell upon the artistic genius of Spain as a deadening blight. It was alien to the temper of the Spanish nation. The simple, truthful directness of their early mode was forgotten; gradually their art became steeped in a hopeless mannerism.
Luis de Vargas, who was born in Seville in 1502, was the first Andalusian artist, whose work testifies to the Italian influence. He spent many years studying in Italy. He was a devout Catholic, and like all the artists of Seville was supported by the munificence of the Chapter of the Cathedral. Unfortunately his frescoes, upon which his reputation, according to Cean Bermudez, largely rested, have been almost entirely obliterated. Dim traces of them may be seen upon the Giralda Tower, and upon the outer wall which encloses the Court of the Oranges; but it is impossible to appraise the work of De Vargas from these time-spoilt relics.
Of his panel paintings only a small number have been preserved. They are simple, yet powerful in design; the colour is fresh, and the drawing is good. They are specially noteworthy for the charm with which women are portrayed, a characteristic unusual among the artists of Spain. The earliest known work of De Vargas was The Nativity, which was painted for the Chapter of the Cathedral, in 1555, and placed over the Altar del Nacimiento, where it still hangs. Sir W. Stirling-Maxwell says that the figure of the Virgin, as she stands gazing upon her babe, 'bears a simple dignity not unworthy of Raphael.' The grouping of the figures is admirable. Notice especially the peasant, as he kneels and offers his basket of young doves. The care bestowed upon the execution of the details shows that De Vargas had not yet forgotten the example of the early masters. The goat, the sheaf of corn, the Spanish pack-saddle, all the accessories are painted with Flemish accuracy.
The Temporal Generation of our Lord, in the south transept of the Cathedral, adjacent to the colossal figure of San Cristobal, is generally considered the masterpiece of Luis de Vargas. It is an allegorical composition, representing Adam and Eve adoring the infant Christ, who rests in the arms of the Virgin. The picture is lacking in charm, but the figures are finely conceived, and executed with power. Indeed, the life-like drawing of Adam's leg has given the picture its name of La Gamba (the leg). It is reported that the Italian Perez de Alesio, the painter of the giant San Cristobal, exclaimed when gazing upon his handiwork, 'The whole of my figure is of less merit than the leg of Adam.'
Greater than Luis de Vargas was the Flemish painter Pedro Campaña, who came to Spain and settled in Seville in the year 1548. He had spent many years in Italy, studying in Rome, and his pictures bear the impress of a combined Flemish-Italian influence. He stayed in Seville for twenty-four years, and is always identified with the artists of Andalusia. His finest picture, The Descent from the Cross, was painted for the Church of Santa Cruz in the year he came to Seville, 1548. The strength and realism of this work are truly majestic. It is, without doubt, the finest picture painted by the Italian mannerists in Seville. It exerted great influence upon the artists of a later day. Pacheco declared that its realism was so overmastering that he did not care to be left alone with it in the dimly-lighted chapel. Murillo spent long hours in earnest contemplation of the picture. He was wont to perform his devotions before it, and once, when asked why he sat watching the picture so intently, he is reported to have answered, 'I am waiting until those men have brought the body of our Blessed Lord down the ladder.' It was beneath this picture that the favourite master of Seville chose to be buried. The picture now hangs in the Sacristía Mayor of the Cathedral. It was rescued from the Courts of the Alcázar, where it had been wantonly flung by the French, during the War of Independence, and tolerably restored by Joaquin Cortes, in 1882.
Seville contains many other works by the Flemish master. In the Cap de Mariscal, in the Cathedral, is a very beautiful Purification of the Virgin. The charm and simple grace of the fair-haired maiden, who stands upon the left of the picture, contrasts vividly with the form of the beggar beneath. The half-length portraits of the Mariscal Don Pedro Cabellero and family, which also hang in the chapel, are individual and life-like. There is little trace of Italian influence in the rendering of these figures; they are all painted with Flemish carefulness. Other works of Campaña may be seen in the Church of San Pedro and the Church of Santa Ana, at Triana. The individuality of Campaña can hardly be too strongly emphasised. His pictures possess many of the essential and distinctive attributes, which characterise the work of the greatest of the Sevillian artists.
Contemporary with Luis de Vargas and Pedro Campaña – the masters of the early Italian mannerists – worked a group of artists of lesser fame. Antonio de Arfian, 1537-1587, a native of Triana, painted frescoes for the parish church of St. Mary Magdalen. Juan Bautista Vasquez, in 1568, executed an altar-piece for the Church of Our Lady of the Pomegranate, in the Court of the Oranges; and other works since destroyed, for the Cathedral. Alonso Vasquez painted many pictures for the Cathedral and the Convents of St. Francis and St. Paul. The few of these works which remain may be seen in the Museo, where they hang neglected, fast rotting in their frames. These artists closely imitated the style of De Vargas.
More individuality is revealed in the works of Pedro Villegas Marmolego, 1520-1597, an artist whose pictures are extremely rare. The Virgin visiting Elizabeth, which hangs over the Altar de la Visitación in the Cathedral, is a good example of his work, and displays his charm as a colourist. The garments of both the Virgin and Elizabeth are beautiful with radiant harmony. The works of Francesco Frutet – like Campaña a Flemish artist trained in Italy, who came to Seville, about the year 1548 – will be noticed in the account of the Museo.
Another foreigner, who worked in Seville during this period, was Sturmio, probably a German, who, in 1554, painted nine pictures on panel for the Cap de los Evangelistas, in the Cathedral. These studies are important, for they afford the earliest instance of the fine brown tones distinctive of the Sevillian school. The central picture depicts St. Gregory saying Mass, while around him are grouped the fourteen evangelists, and the saints of the city. Santas Justa and Rufina, the holy maids, frequently portrayed by the artists of Seville, are among the best.
The work of all these artists, who may be classified as the early Italian mannerists, reveals a distinctive personality. The individuality of the artist constantly breaks forth, through the strong Italian bias, while traces are often revealed of the truthful expression of the early Hispano-Flemish mode.
As the sixteenth century drew to its close, the tendency to adopt a style of affected mannerism was largely augmented in the work of the artists of Andalusia, the result being a corresponding loss of national individuality. All that was essentially Spanish was for the time forgotten, submerged in an imported Italianism. The pictures of these later mannerists are dreary and almost entirely without interest. Their work may be readily identified by the conventional conceptions, the flat tones, the dry, hard colours, and the utter lack of that element of charm, so essential to all works of art.
Juan del Castillo, 1584-1640, and Francisco Pacheco, 1571-1654, may be regarded as types of this phase in the record of Andalusian art. Their reputation rests largely upon the renown of their pupils. Juan del Castillo was the master of Murillo and Alonso Cano, and the chief interests incited by the study of his work, rests in tracing the influence he may have exercised in moulding the work of the Sevillian favourite. His best picture is the Assumption, in the Museo, in which the figure of the Virgin has some merit.
Francisco Pacheco, the father-in-law and devoted teacher of Diego Velazquez, claims our attention as an individual, rather than as an artist. He painted innumerable pictures, which may still be viewed in the Cathedral, the churches and the Museo, but none rise above the level of mediocrity. They are carefully executed and rarely offend the rules of drawing, but they are all hopelessly 'mannered,' and entirely devoid of individual imagination.
We owe a debt of gratitude to Pacheco for his Arte de la Pintura, a treatise upon the principles of art, and the lives of the artists of Spain, published in Seville in 1649. In style the work is pompous and prolix, and often very tedious, but as a record of the lives of the Sevillian artists it possesses great value. Pacheco was the Inquisitor of Art, or Familiar of the Inquisition. His authority under the Holy Office was great, and it was his duty to see that no indecorous or indecent pictures found their way into the churches. Here is a copy of the commission which was granted to him: 'We give him commission and charge him henceforward that he take particular care to inspect and visit all sacred subjects which may stand in shops or in public places; if he finds anything to object to in these he is to take the picture before the Lords, the Inquisitors.'
The degraded Italian taste was carried to its uttermost limits by Herrera El Mozo (the younger), 1622-1625, who, by a strange anomaly, was the son of the man, who was the first to break completely away from the trammels of the pseudo-Italian manner. His works may be viewed in the Cathedral and the Museo; they instance the degradation which had been brought upon the art of Seville, by the unintelligent adoption of an alien style.
It is a relief to revert to the work of those men, whose sturdy Spanish spirits refused to bend beneath the yoke of conventional tradition. The work of the cleric, Juan de la Roelas, 1560-1625, bears little, or no, trace of the degenerate pseudo-Italianism, although his pictures are not exempt from foreign influence. They are Venetian in colour, soft, yet free, in their drawing. They exhibit many of the features, afterwards amplified in the work of Murillo. His finest composition is the Death of San Isidore, in the parish church, dedicated to that saint. The theme of the picture is the transit of the holy man, Archbishop of Seville, during Gothic days. Many figures fill the canvas, but with true artistic unity, the interest is centralised upon the dying saint, who rests upon the ground, clad in dark mantle and finely-painted pontifical robes. Subtle discernment is manifested in the grouping of the figures. The aged fathers are thrown into distinct relief, by the youthful bloom of the children who kneel beside them. The shadowy forms of the worshippers, as they kneel in the receding aisles of the church, lend atmosphere to the study. The heavens are depicted above, and in the midst of a blaze of glowing light, the Virgin awaits with Christ, the coming of the saint.
San Santiago, destroying the Moors in the battle of Clavigo, which hangs in the Cathedral, affords another fine instance of the work of Roelas. Three more of his pictures may be seen in the University – The Holy Family, The Nativity, and the Adoration of the Shepherds, while several hang in the Museo. A figure of a black-robed kneeling saint, in the Holy Family, is said to be the portrait of Roelas.
Francisco de Herrera, 1575-1656, termed, el Viego (the Elder) to distinguish him from his son, possessed a character of unusual vigour. The traditions which have survived, reveal the temper of the man. His methods were eccentric. He worked with a dashing pencil, and it was his custom to employ any implement, which presented itself as convenient. It is reported that upon one occasion, when short of a brush, he painted a picture with a spoon. His fame induced numerous artists – the young Velazquez being among them – to seek his studio; but his irascibility was so great that few of them remained. He broke many a maul-stick across their shoulders, and frequently he was left without a single pupil to execute his mandates.
It is said that one day, when this had occurred, he rushed into the kitchen, and insisted upon the serving-maid becoming his attendant; and amidst oaths and blows, he forced the trembling girl to prepare a canvas for the composition he desired to execute. His turbulent spirit led him into difficulties, and he was accused – whether falsely or not it is now impossible to say – of coining money. To escape punishment he sought sanctuary in the College of the Jesuits, where he painted the Legend of St. Hermingild, now in the Museo. In the year 1624 Philip III. came to Seville, and visited the college. In common with all the house of Austria, the King had a fine appreciation of art, and when he saw the work of Herrera, he at once recognised its merits, and desired to see the artist. Herrera knelt at the King's feet, and told the reason of his confinement in the convent. 'What need of silver and gold has a man gifted with a talent like yours? Go, you are free,' was the answer of the King.
Such was the nature of the man, whose cogent individuality re-established a national Spanish style. His pictures are distinguished for their vigorous force. Sir W. Stirling-Maxwell calls him 'the most remarkable of the painters, who learnt their art solely in Andalusia'; while Palomino, often termed the Spanish Vasari, says that the boldness of his manner conveys to his figures the appearance of being painted in relief. Several of his pictures are now in the Museo; the Cathedral possesses none, but there is one in the Church of San Bernardo, which, in spite of dirt and dim lighting, affords a fine instance of the power of Herrera. In the upper portion the Lord is shown with a band of attendant angels, while below St. Michael divides the sinful from the righteous. The canvas is overcrowded; a fault in which the majority of the compositions of Herrera share, and the form of St. Michael is somewhat uncouth, but the picture is full of power, and many of the figures, especially among the hosts of the wicked, are drawn with a fine freedom of handling.
Francisco de Zurbaran, a peasant, born in Estremadura, in the year 1598, was the veritable follower of Herrera. His work more fully than that of any other artist typifies the genius of Spain. Lord Leighton speaks of him 'as a man of powerful personality, in whom more than any of his contemporaries, the various essential characteristics of his race were gathered up – its defiant temper, its dramatic bent, its indifference to beauty, its love of fact, its imaginative force, its gloomy fervour, its poetry, in fact, and its prose.'
He was the pupil of Juan de las Roelas, but his work soon eclipsed that of his master. From the very first he cast from him all mannered tradition, and determined unflinchingly to follow natural methods. He copied all objects directly from Nature, and while still a lad working in the studio of Roelas, he refused to paint drapery, without having it placed upon a lay figure to represent the living model. He has been termed the Spanish Caravaggio from his strict adherence to Nature, and his delight in breadth and strong contrasts of light and shadow. As he saw Nature thus he painted her, without desire to soften or to idealise. His one purpose was to portray conscientiously the exact impression of the objects he beheld. And for this reason he may be designated the herald of Velazquez. His pictures lack the facility, the charm and the impelling force of the great master; but in their adherence to Nature and strict nationality of style they are in nowise inferior. The Adoration of the Shepherds, the fine picture in our National Gallery, formerly ascribed to Velazquez, is now held to be the work of Zurbaran. His colour is above all praise; his tints, although sombre, have at times, as Sir W. Stirling-Maxwell justly remarks, 'the depth and brilliancy of Rembrandt.'
His earliest work was a series of pictures, illustrative of the life of the Apostle Peter, which he painted for the Chapter of the Cathedral. They may still be inspected in the Cap de San Pedro, but unfortunately the deficiency of light renders it well-nigh impossible to see them.
