Chapter VIII: Part 8

The next event of importance is the separation of the Twelve Apostles when they disperse to preach the Gospel in all lands. According to the ancient traditions, the Apostles determined by lot to what countries they should go: Peter went to Antioch; James the Great remained in Jerusalem and the neighbourhood; Philip went to Phrygia; John to Ephesus; Thomas to Parthia and Judea; Andrew to Scythia; Bartholomew to India and Judea. The Parting of the Apostles is a beautiful subject, of which I have met with but few examples; one is a woodcut after Titian. The Mission of the Apostles I remember to have seen by Bissoni over an altar in the Santa Giustina at Padua: they are preparing to depart; one reads from a book; another looses his shoes from his feet, in allusion to the text, ‘Take neither purse, nor scrip, nor shoes;’ several are bidding adieu to the Virgin. This picture struck me as dramatic; its merits otherwise I do not remember.

* * * * *

We have next ‘The Twelve Baptisms.’[157] In the upper compartment Christ is standing in a majestic attitude, and on each side are six Apostles, all alike, and in white garments. The inscription above is in Greek: ‘Go ye, and preach the Gospel to all nations.’ Below, in twelve smaller compartments, each of the Apostles is seen baptizing a convert: an attendant, in white garments, stands by each font, holding a napkin. One of the converts and his attendant are black, denoting clearly the chamberlain of the Queen of Ethiopia. This is a very uncommon subject.

* * * * *

And, lastly, we have ‘The Twelve Martyrdoms.’ This is a more frequent series, in pictures and in prints, and occurs in a set of large fresco compositions in the church of San Nereo e Sant’ Achilleo at Rome. In such representations the usual treatment is as follows:—1. St. Peter is crucified with his head downwards. 2. St. Andrew, bound on a transverse cross. 3. St. James Major, beheaded with a sword. 4. St. John, in a cauldron of boiling oil. 5. St. Philip, bound on a cross in the form of a T. 6. St. Bartholomew, flayed. 7. St. Thomas, pierced with a spear. 8. St. Matthew, killed with a sword. 9. St. James Minor, struck down with a club. 10. St. Simon and St. Jude together: one is killed with a sword, the other with a club. 11. St. Matthias has his head cloven by a halbert. 12. St. Paul is beheaded.[158]

The authority for many of these martyrdoms is wholly apocryphal,[159] and they sometimes vary; but this is the usual mode of representation in Western Art. In early Greek Art a series of the Deaths of the Apostles often occurs, but they do not all suffer martyrdom; and the subject of St. John in the cauldron of boiling oil, so famous in the Latin Church, is, I believe, unknown, or, at least, so rare, that I have not found it in genuine Byzantine Art.

The most ancient series I have met with (in a Greek MS. of the ninth century) shows us five Apostles crucified: St. Peter and St. Philip with the head downwards; St. Andrew on the transverse cross, as usual; St. Simon and St. Bartholomew, in the same manner as our Saviour. St. Thomas is pierced by a lance; and St. John is buried, and then raised by angels, according to the legend. The same series, similarly treated, ornamented the doors of the old Basilica of St. Paul, executed by Greek artists of the tenth century.[160]

Wherever the Apostles appear as a series, we expect, of course, some degree of discriminating propriety of character in each face and figure. We seek it when they merely form a part of the general scheme of significant decoration in the architectural arrangement of a place of worship; we seek it with more reason when they stand before us as a series of devotional representations; and still more when, as actors in some particular scene, they are supposed to be animated by sentiments called forth by the occasion, and modified by the individual character. By what test shall we try the truth and propriety of such representations? We ought to know both what to require from the artist, and on what grounds to require it, before we can rest satisfied.

In the Gospel-histories the Apostles are consistently and beautifully distinguished in temper and bearing. Their characters, whether exhibited at full length, or merely touched upon, are sustained with dramatic truth. The mediæval legends, however wild, are, as far as character goes, in harmony with these scriptural portraits, and fill up the outline given. It becomes therefore a really interesting speculation to observe how far this variety of characteristic expression has been carried out in the early types, how far attended to, or neglected, by the great painters, since the revival of Art.

ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL.

_Lat._ SS. Petrus et Paulus. _Ital._ San Pietro or Piero, San Paolo.
_Fr._ S. Pierre, S. Paul. _Spa._ San Pedro, San Pablo. (June 29 and
30.)

I have already observed, that, as apostles and preachers of the word, St. Peter and St. Paul take the first place. Even during their lives, a superiority was accorded to them; and this superiority, as the acknowledged heads and founders of the Christian Church, under Christ, has been allowed down to the present time. The precedence is by common consent given to St. Peter; but they are held to be equal in faith, in merit, and in sanctity.

The early Christian Church was always considered under two great divisions: the church of the converted Jews, and the church of the Gentiles. The first was represented by St. Peter, the second by St. Paul. Standing together in this mutual relation, they represent the universal Church of Christ; hence in works of art they are seldom separated, and are indispensable in all ecclesiastical decoration. Their proper place is on each side of the Saviour, or of the Virgin throned; or on each side of the altar; or on each side of the arch over the choir. In any case, where they stand together, not merely as Apostles, but Founders, their place is next after the Evangelists and the Prophets.

Thus seen almost everywhere in companionship, it becomes necessary to distinguish them from each other; for St. Peter does not always bear his keys, nor St. Paul his sword. In the earliest examples, these attributes are wholly omitted; yet I scarcely know any instance in which a distinct type of head has not been more or less attended to.

The ancient Greek type of the head of St. Peter, ‘the Pilot of the Galilean lake,’ is so strongly characterised as to have the air of a portrait. It is either taken from the description of Nicephorus, so often quoted, or his description is taken from some very ancient representation: it certainly harmonises with all our preconceived notions of St. Peter’s temperament and character. He is a robust old man, with a broad forehead, and rather coarse features, an open undaunted countenance, short grey hair, and short thick beard, curled, and of a silvery white: according to the descriptive portrait of Nicephorus, he had red weak eyes,—a peculiarity which it has not been thought necessary to preserve in his effigies. In some early pictures he is bald on the top of the head, and the hair grows thick around in a circle, somewhat like the priestly tonsure; and in some examples this tonsure has the form of a triple row of curls close to the head, a kind of tiara. A curious exception to this predominant, almost universal, type is to be found in Anglo-Saxon Art,[161] where St. Peter is always beardless, and wears the tonsure; so that but for the keys, suspended to a ring on his finger, one might take him for an elderly monk. It is a tradition that the Gentiles shaved the head of St. Peter in order to make him an object of derision, and that this is the origin of the priestly tonsure.

The dress of St. Peter in the mosaics and Greek pictures is a blue tunic, with white drapery thrown over it, but in general the proper colours are a blue or green tunic with yellow drapery. On the early sarcophagi, and in the most ancient church mosaics, he bears merely a scroll or book, and, except in the character of the head, he is exactly like St. Paul: a little later we find him with the cross in one hand, and the Gospel in the other. The keys in his hand appear as his peculiar attribute about the eighth century. I have seen him with one great key, but in general he carries two keys, one of gold and one of silver, to absolve and to bind; or, according to another interpretation, one is of gold and one of iron, opening the gates of heaven and hell: occasionally, but rarely, he has a third key, expressing the dominion over heaven, and earth, and hell.[162]

St. Paul presents a striking contrast to St. Peter, in features as in character. There must have existed effigies of him in very early times, for St. Augustine says that a certain Marcellina, living in the second century, preserved in her Lararium, among her household gods, ‘the images of Homer, Pythagoras, Jesus Christ, and Paul the apostle.’ Chrysostom alludes to a portrait of Paul which hung in his chamber, but unfortunately he does not describe it. The earliest allusion to the personal appearance of St. Paul occurs in Lucian, where he is styled, in a tone of mocking disparagement, ‘the bald-headed Galilean with a hook-nose.’ The description given by Nicephorus, founded, we may presume, on tradition and on the existing portraits, has been the authority followed in the early representations. According to the ancient tradition, Paul was a man of small and meagre stature, with an aquiline nose, a high forehead, and sparkling eyes. In the Greek type the face is long and oval, the nose aquiline, the forehead high and bald, the hair brown, the beard long, flowing and pointed, and of a dark brown (in the Greek formula it is said that his beard should be greyish—I recollect no instance of St. Paul with a grey beard); his dress is like St. Peter’s, a blue tunic and white mantle; he has a book or scroll in one hand, sometimes twelve rolls, which designate his epistles. He bears the sword, his attribute in a double sense; it signifies the manner of his martyrdom, and it is emblematical of the good fight fought by the faithful Christian, armed with ‘the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God’ (Ephes. vi. 17). The life of St. Paul, after his conversion, was, as we know, one long spiritual combat:—‘perplexed, but not in despair; cast down, but not destroyed.’

These traditional characteristic types of the features and persons of the two greatest apostles were long adhered to. We find them most strictly followed in the old Greek mosaics, in the early Christian sculpture, and the early pictures; in all which the sturdy dignity and broad rustic features of St. Peter, and the elegant contemplative head of St. Paul, who looks like a Greek philosopher, form a most interesting and suggestive contrast. But, in later times, the old types, particularly in the head of St. Paul, were neglected and degraded. The best painters took care not to deviate wholly from the square head and short grey beard of St. Peter; but, from the time of Sixtus IV., we find substituted for the head of St. Paul an arbitrary representation, which varied according to the model chosen by the artist—which was sometimes a Roman porter or a German boor; sometimes the antique Jupiter or the bust of a Greek rhetorician.

I shall now give some examples, in chronological order, of the two great Apostles represented together, as Founders of the Church.

On the early sarcophagi (from A.D. 321 to 400), St. Peter and St. Paul stand on each side of the Saviour. The former bears a cross, and is generally on the left hand of Christ. The cross given to Peter, and often set with jewels, is supposed to refer to the passage in St. John, xxi. 19, ‘Signifying by what death he should die:’ but it may surely bear another interpretation, i.e. the spirit of Christianity transmitted to all nations by the first and greatest of the Apostles. St. Paul carries a roll of writing; he has a very high bald forehead: in other respects the two Apostles are not particularly discriminated; they wear the classical costume.[163] Similar figures of Peter and Paul occur on the ancient glass drinking-vessels and lamps preserved in the Vatican; but the workmanship is so rude, that they are merely curiosities, and cannot be cited as authorities.

MOSAIC (Rome, A.D. 443) in Santa Maria Maggiore, over the arch which separates the sanctuary from the nave. We have in the centre a throne, on which lies the roll, sealed with seven seals; above the throne rises a cross set with precious stones; on each side of the throne, St. Peter and St. Paul; they have no attributes, are habited in classical draperies, and the whole representation is strictly antique in style, without a trace of any of the characteristics of Mediæval Art. This is the oldest representation I have met with next to those on the sarcophagi.

MOSAIC (Rome, 6th century) in the church of Santa Sabina on the interior of the arch over the door. We find on one side St. Peter, on the other St. Paul. Under St. Peter stands a graceful female figure, veiled, and inscribed _Ecclesia ex circumcisione;_ under St Paul, a female figure, crowned, and inscribed _Ecclesia ex gentibus_.

MOSAIC (Rome, A.D. 526) in St. Cosmo and St. Damian, on the vault of the apsis. Christ stands in the centre, sustained by clouds; his right hand is raised in the attitude of one who exhorts (not blessing, as is the usual manner); the left hand holds the book of life; at his feet flows the river Jordan, the symbol of Baptism. On each side, but lower down and much smaller in size, stand St. Peter and St. Paul; they seem to present St. Cosmo and St. Damian to the Saviour. Beyond these again, on either side, stand St. Theodore and the pope (Felix I.) who dedicated the church. Palm trees, and a Phœnix crowned with a starry glory, emblems of Victory and Immortality, close this majestic and significant composition on each side. Here St. Peter and St. Paul are dignified figures, in which the Greek type is strongly characterised; they wear long white mantles, and have no attributes.

MOSAIC (Milan, 9th century), in Sant’ Ambrogio. Christ enthroned presents the Gospel to St. Paul, and the two keys to St. Peter.

MOSAIC (A.D. 936) on the tomb of Otho II. St. Peter and St. Paul together, rather more than half length, and above life size. St. Peter has three keys, suspended on a ring; St. Paul, the book and sword. The original mosaic is preserved in the Vatican, and a copy is in the Lateran. This relic is, as a document, invaluable.

MOSAIC (A.D. 1216-1227), in the apsis of the old basilica of St. Paul. Christ is seated on a throne, with the cruciform glory and his name ĪC̄. X̄C̄.: the right hand gives the benediction in the Greek form; he holds in his left an open book, inscribed VENITE BENEDICTI PATRIS MEI PERCIPITE REGNUM. (Matt. xxv. 34.) On the left, St. Peter with his right hand raised to Christ, and an open scroll in his left hand, inscribed TU ES CHRISTUS FILIUS DEI VIVI. On the other side of Christ, St. Paul; his right hand on his breast, and in his left a scroll with these words, IN NOMINE JESU OMNE GENU FLECTATUR CŒLESTIUM TERRESTRIUM ET INFERNORUM. (Phil. xi. 10.) Beyond St. Peter stands his brother St. Andrew; and beyond St. Paul his favourite disciple Luke. At the foot of the throne kneels a diminutive figure of the pope, Honorius III., by whom the mosaic was dedicated. Palm-trees close the composition on each side; underneath runs the frieze of the Twelve Apostles, described at p. 173.

MOSAIC (12th century) in the Cathedral of Monreale at Palermo. St. Peter and St. Paul are seated on splendid thrones on each side of the tribune; St. Peter holds in his left hand a book, and the right, which gives the benediction, holds also the two keys: over his head is inscribed, SANCTUS PETRUS PRINCEPS APOSTOLORUM CUI TRADITÆ SUNT CLAVES REGNI CŒLORUM. St. Paul holds the sword with the point upwards like a sceptre, and the book as usual: the intellectual Greek character of the head is strongly discriminated. The inscription is, SANCTUS PAULUS PRÆDICATOR VERITATIS ET DOCTOR GENTIUM GENTI.

Among the rich and curious bas-reliefs in front of the church of St. Trophime at Arles, we have St. Peter and St. Paul seated together receiving the souls of the just. Each has two souls in his lap, and the Archangel Michael is bringing another.

In pictures, their proper place, as I have observed, is on each side of the throne of the Redeemer, or on each side of the Virgin and Child: sometimes they are standing together, or reading in the same book.

This must suffice for the devotional treatment of St. Peter and St. Paul, when represented as joint founders and patrons of the universal Christian Church. Before I notice those historical subjects in which they appear together, I have to say a few words of the manner in which they are treated separately and distinctly. And first of St. Peter.

* * * * *

The various events of the life of St. Peter are recorded in the Gospels and the Acts so minutely, that they may be presumed to be familiar to all readers. From these we may deduce his character, remarkable for fervour and energy rather than sustained power. His traditional and legendary history is full of incidents, miracles, and wonderful and picturesque passages. His importance and popularity, considered as Prince of the Apostles and Founder of the Church of Rome, have extended with the influence of that powerful Church of which he is the head and representative, and multiplied, almost to infinitude, pictures and effigies of him in his individual character, as well as historical representations of his life and actions, wherever his paramount dignity is admitted.

It struck me, when wandering over the grand old churches of Ravenna, where the ecclesiastical mosaics are the most ancient that exist, and still in wonderful preservation, that St. Peter and St. Paul do not often appear, at least are in no respect distinguished from the other apostles. Ravenna, in the fifth century, did not look to Rome for her saints. On the other hand, among the earliest of the Roman mosaics, St. Peter is sometimes found sustaining the throne of Christ, without his companion St. Paul; as in S. Maria-in-Trastevere, S. Maria Nuova, and others. At Rome, St. Peter is _the_ Saint, the _Santissimo_. The secession of the Protestant Church dimmed his glory as Prince of the Apostles and universal Saint; he fell into a kind of disrepute as identified with the See of Rome, which exposed his effigies, in England and Scotland particularly, to a sweeping destruction. Those were disputatious days; and Peter, the affectionate, enthusiastic, devoted, but somewhat rash apostle, veiled his head to the intellectual, intrepid, subtle philosopher Paul.

* * * * *

Let us now see how Art has placed before us the sturdy Prince of the Apostles.

I have already mentioned the characteristic type which belongs to him, and his prevalent attributes the key, the cross, the book. When he figures among the disciples in the Gospel stories, he sometimes holds the fish as the symbol of his original vocation: if the fish be given to him in single devotional figures, it signifies also Christianity, or the rite of Baptism.

The figures of St. Peter standing, as Apostle and Patron Saint, with book and keys, are of such perpetual occurrence as to defy all attempts to particularise them, and so familiar as to need no further illustration.[164]

Representations of him in his peculiar character of Head and Founder of the Roman Church, and first universal bishop, are less common. He is seated on a throne; one hand is raised in the act of benediction; in the other he holds the keys, and sometimes a book or scroll, inscribed with the text, in Latin, ‘Thou art Peter, and on this rock have I built my Church.’ This subject of the throned St. Peter is very frequent in the older schools. The well-known picture by Giotto, painted for Cardinal Stefaneschi, now in the sacristy of the Vatican, is very fine, simple and solemn. In a picture by Cima da Conegliano,[165] St. Peter is not only throned, but wears the triple tiara as pope; the countenance is particularly earnest, fervent, almost fiery in expression: the keys lie at his feet; on one side stands St. John the Baptist, on the other St. Paul.

As a deviation from the usual form of this subject, I must mention an old bas-relief, full of character, and significantly appropriate to its locality the church of San Pietro-in-Vincoli, at Rome. St. Peter, enthroned, holds in one hand the keys and the Gospel; with the other he presents his chains to a kneeling angel: this unusual treatment is very poetical and suggestive.

There are standing figures of St. Peter wearing the papal tiara, and brandishing his keys, as in a picture by Cola dell’ Amatrice (70). And I should think Milton had some such picture in his remembrance when he painted _his_ St. Peter:—

Last came and last did go
The pilot of the Galilean Lake;
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain,
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,)
He shook his _mitred_ locks, and stern bespake.

When, in devotional pictures, St. Peter is accompanied by another apostle with no distinctive attributes, we may suppose it to be St. Mark, who was his interpreter, companion, and amanuensis at Rome. According to an early tradition, the Gospel of St. Mark was written down from the dictation of St. Peter.[166] In a miniature frontispiece to St. Mark’s Gospel, the evangelist is seated writing, and St. Peter stands opposite, as if dictating. In a picture by Angelico,[167] Peter is preaching from a pulpit to a crowd of people: Mark, seated on one side, is diligently taking down his words. In a very fine picture by Bonvicino[168] they stand together; St. Peter is reading from a book; St. Mark holds a scroll and inkhorn; he is submitting to St. Peter the Gospel he has just penned, and which was afterwards confirmed by the apostle.

Lastly, a magnificent Venetian picture[169] represents St. Peter throned as bishop, with an earnest and rather stern countenance; he holds a book in his hand; two angels with musical instruments are seated on the steps of his throne: on his right hand stand John the Baptist, and St. Jerome as cardinal; on his left St. Ambrose; while St. Mark bends over a book, as if reading to this majestic auditory.

* * * * *

Those scenes and incidents related in the Gospels in which St. Peter is a principal or conspicuous figure, I shall enlarge upon when treating of the life of Christ, and will only indicate a few of them here, as illustrating the manner in which St. Peter is introduced and treated in such subjects.

We have, first, the Calling of Peter and Andrew in a picture by Basaiti,[170] where the two brothers are kneeling at the feet of the Saviour; the fishing-boats and the Lake of Gennesareth in the background: and in the beautiful fresco by Ghirlandajo in the Sistine Chapel, where a number of contemporary personages are introduced as spectators. St. Andrew presenting St. Peter to our Saviour (as in a picture by Cavalucci, in the Vatican), is another version of the same subject; or St. Andrew is seen at the feet of Christ, while St. Peter is sitting on the edge of the boat, or descending from it in haste.

‘Christ walking on the Sea’ is a familiar and picturesque subject, not to be mistaken. The most ancient and most celebrated representation is Giotto’s mosaic (A.D. 1298), now placed in the portico of St. Peter’s, over the arch opposite to the principal door. The sentiment in the composition of this subject is, generally, ‘Lord, help me; or I perish:’ St. Peter is sinking, and Christ is stretching out his hand to save him. It is considered as a type of the Church in danger, assailed by enemies, and saved by the miraculous interposition of the Redeemer; and in this sense must the frequent representations in churches be understood.

In the ‘Miraculous Draught of Fishes,’ St. Peter is usually on his knees looking up with awe and gratitude:—‘Depart from me, O Lord! for I am a sinful man.’ The composition of Raphael (the cartoon at Hampton Court) is just what we should seek for in Raphael, a masterpiece of dramatic expression,—the significant, the poetical, the miraculous predominating. The composition of Rubens, at Malines, which deserves the next place, should be looked at in contrast, as an instance of the picturesque and vigorous treatment equally characteristic of the painter;—all life and reality, even to the glittering fish which tumble in the net. ‘St. Peter finding the tribute money’ is a subject I have seldom met with: the _motif_ is simple, and not to be mistaken.

In all the scenes of the life of our Saviour in which the apostles are assembled,—in the Transfiguration, in the Last Supper, in the ‘Washing the Feet of the Disciples,’ in the scene of the agony and the betrayal of Christ,—St. Peter is introduced as a more or less prominent figure, but always to be distinguished from the other apostles. In the third of these subjects, the washing of the feet, St. Peter generally looks up at Christ with an expression of humble expostulation, his hand on his head: the sentiment is—‘Not my feet only, but my hands and my head.’

In the scene of the betrayal of Christ, St. Peter cutting off the ear of Malthus is sometimes a _too_ prominent group; and I remember an old German print in which St. Peter having cut off the ear, our Lord bends down to replace it.[171]

‘St. Peter denying the Saviour’ is always one of the subjects in the series of the Passion of Christ. It occurs frequently on the ancient sarcophagi as the symbol of repentance, and is treated with classical and sculptural simplicity, the cock being always introduced, as in the illustration (71): it is here to be understood as a general emblem of human weakness and repentance. As an action separately, or as one of the series of the life and actions of Peter, it has not been often painted; it seems to have been avoided in general by the early Italian painters as derogatory to the character and dignity of the apostle. The only examples I can recollect are in the later Italian and Flemish schools. Teniers has adopted it as a vehicle for a guard-room scene; soldiers playing at cards, bright armour, &c. Rembrandt has taken it as a vehicle for a fine artificial light; and, for the same reason, the Caravaggio school delighted in it. The maiden, whose name in the old traditions is Balilla, is always introduced with a look and gesture of reproach, and the cock is often perched in the background.

‘Christ turned and looked upon Peter:’ of this beautiful subject, worthy of Raphael himself, I can remember no instance.

The ‘Repentance of Peter’ is a subject seldom treated in the earlier schools of Italy, but frequently by the later painters, and particularly by the Bologna school; in some instances most beautifully. It was a subject peculiarly suited to the genius of Guercino, who excelled in the expression of profound rather than elevated feeling.

There is a manner of representing the repentance of Peter which seems peculiar to Spanish Art, and is more ideal than is usual with that school. Christ is bound to a column and crowned with thorns; St. Peter kneels before him in an attitude of the deepest anguish and humiliation, and appears to be supplicating forgiveness. Except in the Spanish school, I have never met with this treatment. The little picture by Murillo[172] is an exquisite example; and in the Spanish Gallery are two others, by Pedro de Cordova and Juan Juanes:—in the former, St. Peter holds a pocket-handkerchief with which he has been wiping his eyes, and the cock is perched on the column to which our Saviour is bound.

Another ideal treatment we find in a picture by Guercino; St. Peter is weeping bitterly, and opposite to him the Virgin is seated in motionless grief.

Half-length figures of St. Peter looking up with an expression of repentant sorrow, and wringing his hands, are of frequent occurrence, more especially in the later followers of the Bologna and Neapolitan schools of the seventeenth century: Ribera, Lanfranco, Caravaggio, and Valentin. In most of these instances, the total absence of ideal or elevated sentiment is striking;—any old bearded beggar out of the streets, who could cast up his eyes and look pathetic, served as a model.

I recollect no picture of the Crucifixion in which St. Peter is present.

‘The delivery of the keys to Peter’ and ‘the Charge to Peter,’ (Feed my sheep,) either in separate pictures or combined into one subject, have been of course favourite themes in a Church which founds its authority on these particular circumstances. The bas-relief over the principal door of St. Peter’s at Rome represents the two themes in one: Christ delivers the keys to Peter, and the sheep are standing by. In the panels of the bronze doors beneath (A.D. 1431), we have the chain of thought and incident continued; Peter delivers the emblematical keys to Pope Eugenius IV.

It is curious that, while the repentance of Peter is a frequent subject on the sarcophagi of the fourth century, the delivery of the keys to Peter occurs but once. Christ, as a beardless youth, presents to Peter two keys laid crosswise one over the other. Peter, in whose head the traditional type is most distinctly marked, has thrown his pallium over his outstretched hands, for, according to the antique ceremonial, of which the early sculpture and mosaics afford us so many examples, things consecrated could only be touched with covered hands. This singular example is engraved in Bottari.[173] An example of beautiful and solemn treatment in painting is Perugino’s fresco in the Sistine Chapel. It contains twenty-one figures; the conception is quite ideal, the composition regular even to formality, yet striking and dramatic. In the centre, Peter, kneeling on one knee, receives the keys from the hand of the Saviour; the apostles and disciples are arranged on each side behind Christ and St. Peter; in the background is the rebuilding of the Temple;—a double allegory: ‘Destroy this temple, I will build it up in three days:’ and also, perhaps, alluding to the building of the chapel by Sixtus IV.

In Raphael’s cartoon[174] the scene is an open plain: Christ stands on the right; in front, St. Peter kneels, with the keys in his hand; Christ extends one hand to Peter, and with the other points to a flock of sheep in the background. The introduction of the sheep into this subject has been criticised as at once too literal and too allegorical,—a too literal transcript of the words, a too allegorical version of the meaning; but I do not see how the words of our Saviour could have been otherwise rendered in painting, which must speak to us through sensible objects. The other apostles standing behind Peter show in each countenance the different manner in which they are affected by the words of the Saviour.

By Gian Bellini: a beautiful picture:[175] St. Peter kneeling, half-length, receives the keys from Jesus Christ, seated on a throne. Behind St. Peter stand the three Christian Graces, Faith, Hope, and Charity. Poussin has taken this subject in his series of the Seven Sacraments[176], to represent the sacrament of Ordination. In this instance again, the two themes are united; and we must also remember, that the allegorical representation of the disciples and followers of Christ as sheep looking up to be fed, is consecrated by the practice of the earliest schools of Christian Art. Rubens has rendered the subject very simply, in a picture containing only the two figures, Christ and St. Peter;[177] and again with five figures, less good.[178] Numerous other examples might be given; but the subject is one that, however treated, cannot be easily mistaken.

A very ideal version of this subject is where St. Peter kneels at the feet of the Madonna, and the Infant Christ, bending from her lap, presents the keys to him; as in a singularly fine and large composition by Crivelli,[179] and in another by Andrea Salaino. Another, very beautiful and curious, is in the possession of Mr. Bromley of Wootten.[180]

* * * * *

After the ascension of our Saviour, the personal history of St. Peter is mingled first with that of St. John, and afterwards with that of St. Paul.

‘Peter and John healing the lame man at the gate called Beautiful’ is the subject of one of the finest of the cartoons at Hampton Court. Perin del Vaga, Niccolò Poussin, and others less renowned, have also treated it; it is susceptible of much contrast and dramatic effect.

‘The sick are brought out and placed in the shadow of Peter and John that they may be healed,’ by Masaccio.[181]

‘Peter preaching to the early converts:’ the two most beautiful compositions I have seen, are the simple group of Masaccio; and another by Le Sueur, full of variety and sentiment.

‘Peter and John communicate the Holy Ghost by laying their hands on the disciples,’ by Vasari.[182] I do not well remember this picture.

The Vision of Peter: three angels sustain the curtain or sheet which contains the various forbidden animals, as pigs, rabbits, &c. (as in a print after Guercino).

‘Peter baptizes the Centurion’ (very appropriately placed in the baptistery of the Vatican). St. Peter meets the Centurion; he blesses the family of the Centurion. All commonplace versions of very interesting and picturesque subjects.

‘The Death of Ananias.’ Raphael’s cartoon of this awful scene is a masterpiece of dramatic and scenic power; never was a story more admirably and completely told in painting. Those who had to deal with the same subject, as if to avoid a too close comparison with his unapproachable excellence, have chosen the death of Sapphira as the _motif_: as, for example, Niccolò Poussin.[183]

‘Dorcas or Tabitha restored to life.’ One of the finest and most effective of Guercino’s pictures, now in the Palazzo Pitti: the simple dignity of the apostle, and the look of sick amazement in the face of the woman restored to consciousness, show how strong Guercino could be when he had to deal with natural emotions of no elevated kind. The same subject, by Costanzi, is among the great mosaics in St. Peter’s. ‘The Death of Dorcas,’ by Le Sueur, is a beautiful composition. She lies extended on a couch; St. Peter and two other apostles approach the foot of it: the poor widows, weeping, show to St. Peter the garments which Dorcas had made for them (Acts ix. 39).

* * * * *

The imprisonment of Peter, and his deliverance by the Angel, were incidents so important, and offer such obvious points of dramatic effect, that they have been treated in every possible variety of style and sentiment, from the simple formality of the early mosaics, where the two figures—Peter sitting on a stool, leaning his head on his hand, and the Angel at his side—express the story like a vision,[184] down to the scenic and architectural compositions of Steenwick, where, amid a vast perspective of gloomy vaults and pillars, a diminutive St. Peter, with an Angel or a sentinel placed somewhere in the foreground, just serves to give the picture a name.[185]

Some examples of this subject are of great celebrity.

Masaccio, in the frescoes of the Brancacci Chapel, has represented Peter in prison, looking through his grated window, and Paul outside communing with him. (The noble figure of St. Paul in this fresco was imitated by Raphael in the ‘St. Paul preaching at Athens.’) In the next compartment of the series, Masaccio has given us the Angel leading forth Peter, while the guard sleeps at the door: he sleeps as one oppressed with an unnatural sleep. Raphael’s fresco in the Vatican is not one of his best, but he has seized on the obvious point of effect, both as to light and grouping; and we have three separate moments of the same incident, which yet combine most happily into one grand scene. Thus in the centre, over the window, we see through a grating the interior of the prison, where St. Peter is sleeping between two guards, who, leaning on their weapons, are sunk in a deep charmed slumber;[186] an angel, whose celestial radiance fills the dungeon with a flood of light, is in the act of waking the apostle: on the right of the spectator, the angel leads the apostle out of the prison; two guards are sleeping on the steps: on the left, the soldiers are roused from sleep, and one with a lighted torch appears to be giving the alarm; the crescent moon faintly illumines the background.

The deliverance of St. Peter has always been considered as figurative of the deliverance of the Church; and the two other frescoes of this room, the Heliodorus and the Attila, bear the same interpretation. It is worth while to compare this dramatic composition of Raphael with others wherein the story is merely a vehicle for artificial effects of light, as in a picture by Gerard Honthorst; or treated like a supernatural vision, as by that poet, Rembrandt.

Those historical subjects in which St. Peter and St. Paul figure together will be noticed in the life of St. Paul.

I come now to the legendary stories connected with St. Peter; an inexhaustible source of popular and pictorial interest.

Peter was at Jerusalem as late as A.D. 52; then at Antioch; also in Babylon: according to the most ancient testimonies he was at Rome about A.D. 63; but the tradition, that he resided as bishop in the city of Rome for twenty-five years, first related by Jerome, seems questionable.[187] Among the legendary incidents which marked his sojourn in Rome, the first and the most important is the story of Simon Magus.

Simon, a famous magician among the Jews, had astonished the whole city of Jerusalem by his wonderful feats; but his inventions and sorceries were overcome by the real miracles of Peter, as the Egyptian magi had been conquered by Aaron. He offered the apostles money to buy the secret of their power, which Peter rejected with indignation. St. Augustine tells us, as a characteristic trait of the fiery-spirited apostle, that ‘if he had fallen on the traitor Simon, he would certainly have torn him to pieces with his teeth.’ The magician, vanquished by a superior power, flung his books into the Dead Sea, broke his wand, and fled to Rome, where he became a great favourite of the Emperor Claudius, and afterwards of Nero. Peter, bent on counteracting the wicked sorceries of Simon, followed him to Rome. About two years after his arrival he was joined there by the Apostle Paul. Simon Magus having asserted that he was himself a god, and could raise the dead, Peter and Paul rebuked his impiety, and challenged him to a trial of skill in presence of the emperor. The arts of the magician failed; Peter and Paul restored the youth to life: and on many other occasions Simon was vanquished and put to shame by the miraculous power of the apostles. At length he undertook to fly up to heaven in sight of the emperor and the people; and, crowned with laurel, and supported by demons, he flung himself from a tower, and appeared for a while to float thus in the air: but St. Peter, falling on his knees, commanded the demons to let go their hold, and Simon, precipitated to the ground, was dashed to pieces.

This romantic legend, so popular in the middle ages, is founded on some antique traditions not wholly unsupported by historical testimony.

There can be no doubt that there existed in the first century a Simon, a Samaritan, a pretender to divine authority and supernatural powers; who, for a time, had many followers; who stood in a certain relation to Christianity; and who may have held some opinions more or less similar to those entertained by the most famous heretics of the early ages, the Gnostics. Irenæus calls this Simon the father of all heretics. ‘All those,’ he says, ‘who in any way corrupt the truth, or mar the preaching of the Church, are disciples and successors of Simon, the Samaritan magician.’ Simon gave himself forth as a god, and carried about with him a beautiful woman named Helena, whom he represented as the first conception of his—that is, of the divine—mind, the symbol or manifestation of that portion of spirituality which had become entangled in matter.[188]

The incidents of the story of Simon Magus have been often and variously treated.

1. By Quintin Matsys: Peter refuses the offer of Simon Magus—‘Thy money perish with thee!’ Here Peter wears the mitre of a bishop: the picture is full of coarse but natural expression.

2. ‘Peter and Paul accused before Nero:’ the fresco in the Brancacci Chapel, attributed by Kugler to Filippino Lippi, is certainly one of the most perfect pieces of art, as a dramatic composition, which we have before the time of Raphael. To the right the emperor is seated on his throne, on each side his ministers and attendants. The countenances are finely varied; some of them animated by attention and curiosity, others sunk in deep thought. The two apostles, and their accuser Simon Magus, are in front. Simon, a magnificent figure, who might serve for a Prospero, lays his hand on the vest of Peter, as if to drag him forward; Paul stands aside with quiet dignity; Peter, with a countenance full of energetic expression, points contemptuously to the broken idol at his feet. For the felicity and animation with which the story is told, and for propriety, grace, and grandeur, Raphael has not often exceeded this picture.

3. Another of the series of the life of Peter in the Brancacci Chapel is the resuscitation of the youth, who in the legend is called the nephew of the emperor; a composition of numerous figures. In the centre stands St. Peter, and before him kneels the youth; a skull and a few bones are near him—a naïve method of expressing his return from death to life. The variety of expression in the countenances of the assembled spectators is very fine. According to the custom of the Florentine school at that time, many are portraits of distinguished persons; and, considering that the fresco was painted at a period most interesting in the Florentine history (A.D. 1440), we have much reason to regret that these can no longer be discriminated.

4. ‘The Fall of Simon Magus’ is a favourite and picturesque subject, often repeated. A most ancient and most curious version is that on the walls of the Cathedral at Assisi, older than the time of Giotto, and attributed to Giunta Pisano. (A.D. 1232.) On one side is a pyramidical tower formed of wooden bars; Peter and Paul are kneeling in front; the figure of the magician is seen floating in the air and sustained by hideous demons;—very dreamy, poetical, and fanciful. In Mr. Ottley’s collection I saw a small ancient picture of the same subject, very curious, attributed to Benozzo Gozzoli. Raphael’s composition in the Vatican has the simplicity of a classical bas-relief,—a style which does not appear suited to this romantic legend. The picture by L. Caracci at Naples I have not seen. Over one of the altars of St. Peter, we now see the great mosaic, after Vanni’s picture of this subject; a clever commonplace treatment: the scene is an amphitheatre, the emperor above in his balcony; Peter and Paul in front, invoking the name of Christ, and Simon Magus tumbling headlong, forsaken by his demons; in the background sit the vestals. Battoni’s great picture in the S. Maria degli Angeli at Rome is considered his best production; it is full of well-studied academic drawing, but scenic and mannered.

* * * * *

The next subject in the order of events is styled the ‘DOMINE, QUO VADIS?’ After the burning of Rome, Nero threw upon the Christians the accusation of having fired the city. This was the origin of the first persecution, in which many perished by terrible and hitherto unheard-of deaths. The Christian converts besought Peter not to expose his life, which was dear and necessary to the well-being of all; and at length he consented to depart from Rome. But as he fled along the Appian Way, about two miles from the gates, he was met by a vision of our Saviour travelling towards the city. Struck with amazement, he exclaimed, ‘Lord! whither goest thou?’ to which the Saviour, looking upon him with a mild sadness, replied, ‘I go to Rome to be crucified a second time,’ and vanished. Peter, taking this for a sign that he was to submit himself to the sufferings prepared for him, immediately turned back, and re-entered the city. Michael Angelo’s famous statue, now in the church of S. Maria-sopra-Minerva at Rome, is supposed to represent Christ as he appeared to Peter on this occasion; and a cast or copy of it is in the little church of ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ erected on the spot sanctified by this mysterious meeting.

It is surprising that this most beautiful, picturesque, and, to my fancy, sublime legend has been so seldom treated; and never, as it appears to me, in a manner worthy of its capabilities and its high significance. It is seldom that a whole story can be told by two figures, and these two figures placed in such grand and dramatic contrast;—Christ in his serene majesty and radiant with all the glory of beatitude, yet with an expression of gentle reproach; the apostle at his feet, arrested in his flight, amazed, and yet filled with a trembling joy; and for the background the wide Campagna or the towering walls of imperial Rome;—these are grand materials; but the pictures I have met with are all ineffective in conception. The best fall short of the sublime ideal; most of them are theatrical and commonplace.

Raphael has interpreted it in a style rather too classical for the spirit of the legend; with great simplicity and dignity, but as a _fact_, rather than a vision conjured up by the stricken conscience and tenderness of the affectionate apostle. The small picture by Annibale Caracci in our National Gallery is a carefully finished academical study and nothing more, but may be referred to as a fair example of the usual mode of treatment.

Peter returned to Rome, persisted in his appointed work, preaching and baptizing; was seized with St. Paul and thrown into the Mamertine dungeons under the Capitol. The two centurions who guarded them, Processus and Martinian, and many of the criminals confined in the same prison, were converted by the preaching of the apostle; and there being no water to baptize them, at the prayer of St. Peter a fountain sprang up from the stone floor; which may be seen at this day.

‘The Baptism of St. Processus and St. Martinian in the Dungeon,’ by Trevisani, is in the baptistery of St. Peter’s at Rome; they afterwards suffered for the faith, and were canonised. In the same church is the scene of their martyrdom by Valentino; they are seen bound and stretched on a hurdle, the head of one to the feet of the other, and thus beaten to death. The former picture—the Baptism—is commonplace; the latter, terrible for dark and effective expression; it is just one of those subjects in which the Caravaggio school delighted.

* * * * *

A few days after their incarceration, St. Peter and St. Paul were condemned to death. According to one tradition, St. Peter suffered martyrdom in the Circus of Caligula at the foot of the Vatican, and was crucified between two metæ, i.e. the goals or terminæ in the Circus, round which the chariots turned in the race; but, according to another tradition, he was put to death in the court-yard of a barrack or military station on the summit of Mons Janicula, where the church of San Pietro in Montorio now stands; that is, on an eminence above the site of the Circus of Caligula. At his own request, and that his death might be even more painful and ignominious than that of his Divine Master, he was crucified with his head downwards.

In the earliest representations I have met with,[189] St. Peter is raised on the cross with his head downwards, and wears a long shirt which is fastened round his ankles. In the picture of Giotto,[190] the local circumstances, according to the first tradition, are carefully attended to: we have the cross erected between the two metæ, and about twenty soldiers and attendants; among them a woman who embraces the foot of the cross, as the Magdalene embraces the cross of the Saviour. Above are seen angels, who bear the soul of the martyred saint in a glory to heaven. Masaccio’s composition[191] is very simple; the scene is the court-yard of a military station (according to the second tradition). Peter is already nailed upon a cross; three executioners are in the act of raising it with cords and a pulley to suspend it against a great beam of wood; there are several soldiers, but no women, present. In Guido’s composition[192] there are only three figures, the apostle and two executioners; it is celebrated as a work of art, but it appeared to me most ineffective. On the other hand, Rubens has gone into the opposite extreme; there are only three persons, the principal figure filling nearly the whole of the canvas: it is full of vigour, truth, and nature; but the brutality of the two executioners, and the agony of the aged saint, too coarsely and painfully literal. These simple representations of the mere act or fact should be compared with the fresco of Michael Angelo,[193] in which the event is evolved into a grand drama. Here the scene is evidently the summit of the Mons Janiculum: in the midst of a crowd of soldiers and spectators, St. Peter lies nailed to the cross, which a number of men are exerting their utmost strength to raise from the ground.

* * * * *

The legend which makes St. Peter the keeper of the gate of Paradise, with power to grant or refuse admission, is founded on the delivery of the keys to Peter. In most of the pictures which represent the entrance of the blessed into Paradise or the New Jerusalem, Peter stands with his keys near the gate. There is a beautiful example in the great fresco of Simone Memmi in the chapel _de’ Spagnuoli_ at Florence: St. Peter stands at the open portal with his great key, and two angels crown with garlands the souls of the just as they enter joyously hand in hand.

The legend of St. Petronilla, the daughter of St. Peter (in French, Sainte Pernelle), has never been popular as a subject of Art, and I can remember no series of incidents from the life of St. Peter in which she is introduced, except those in the Carmine at Florence. It is apparently a Roman legend, and either unknown to the earliest artists, or neglected by them. It is thus related:—