Chapter IX: Part 9

‘The apostle Peter had a daughter born in lawful wedlock, who accompanied him in his journey from the East. Being at Rome with him, she fell sick of a grievous infirmity which deprived her of the use of her limbs. And it happened that as the disciples were at meat with him in his house, one said to him, ‘Master, how is it that thou, who healest the infirmities of others, dost not heal thy daughter Petronilla?’ And St. Peter answered, ‘It is good for her to remain sick:’ but, that they might see the power that was in the word of God, he commanded her to get up and serve them at table, which she did; and having done so, she lay down again helpless as before; but many years afterwards, being perfected by her long suffering, and praying fervently, she was healed. Petronilla was wonderfully fair; and Valerius Flaccus, a young and noble Roman, who was a heathen, became enamoured of her beauty, and sought her for his wife; and he being very powerful, she feared to refuse him; she therefore desired him to return in three days, and promised that he should then carry her home. But she prayed earnestly to be delivered from this peril; and when Flaccus returned in three days with great pomp to celebrate the marriage, he found her dead. The company of nobles who attended him carried her to the grave, in which they laid her, crowned with roses; and Flaccus lamented greatly.’[194]

The legend places her death in the year 98, that is, 34 years after the death of St. Peter; but it would be in vain to attempt to reconcile the dates and improbabilities of this story.

St. Peter raising Petronilla from her sick bed is one of the subjects by Masaccio in the Brancacci Chapel. The scene of her entombment is the subject of a once celebrated and colossal picture by Guercino: the copy in mosaic is over the altar dedicated to her in St. Peter’s: in front, and in the lower part of the picture, she is just seen as they are letting her down into the grave, crowned with roses; behind stands Flaccus with a handkerchief in his hand, and a crowd of spectators: in the upper part of the picture Petronilla is already in Paradise, kneeling, in a rich dress, before the feet of Christ, having exchanged an earthly for a heavenly bridegroom. This great picture exhibits, in a surpassing degree, the merits and defects of Guercino; it is effective, dramatic, deeply and forcibly coloured, and arrests attention: on the other hand, it is coarse, crowded, vulgar in sentiment, and repugnant to our better taste. There is a standing figure of Petronilla in the Duomo at Lucca, by Daniel di Volterra, very fine.[195]

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The life of St. Peter, when represented as a series, generally comprises the following subjects, commencing with the first important incident after the Ascension of Christ.

1. Peter and John heal the lame man at the Beautiful Gate. 2. Peter heals the paralytic Eneas. 3. Peter raises Tabitha. 4. The angel takes off the chains of Peter. 5. He follows the angel out of the prison. 6. St. Peter and St. Paul meet at Rome. 7. Peter and Paul before Nero are accused by Simon Magus. 8. The fall of Simon Magus. 9. The crucifixion of St. Peter. This example is taken from the series of mosaics in the Cathedral of Monreale, at Palermo.

The fine series of frescoes in the Brancacci Chapel at Florence is differently arranged; thus:—1. The tribute money found in the fish by St. Peter. 2. Peter preaching to the converts. 3. Peter baptizes the converts. In this fresco, the youth, who has thrown off his garments and is preparing for baptism, is famous as the first really graceful and well-drawn undraped figure which had been produced since the revival of Art. 4. Peter and John heal the cripple at the Beautiful Gate, and Petronilla is raised from her bed. 5. Peter in his prison is visited by Paul. 6. Peter delivered by the angel. 7. The resuscitation of the dead youth. 8. The sick are laid in the way of Peter and John, ‘that at the least the shadow of Peter passing by might overshadow some of them.’ 9. Peter and John distribute alms; a dead figure lies at the feet of the apostles, perhaps Ananias. The situation of the fresco is very dark, so that it is difficult to distinguish the action and expression of the figures. 10. Peter and Paul accused before Nero. 11. The crucifixion of Peter.

In St. Peter’s at Rome, we have of course every scene from the life of the apostle which could well be expressed by Art; but none of these are of great merit or interest: most of them are from the schools of the seventeenth century.

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ST. PAUL, though called to the apostleship after the ascension of the Saviour, takes rank next to St. Peter as one of the chief witnesses of the Christian faith. Of all the apostles he is the most interesting; the one of whose personal character and history we know most, and through the most direct and irrefragable testimony. The events of his life, as conveyed in the Acts and the Epistles, are so well known, that I need not here particularise them. The legends connected with him are very few.

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The earliest single figure of St. Paul to which I can refer was found painted on the walls of the cemetery of Priscilla, near Rome.[196] He stands, with outstretched arms, in the act of prayer; (in the early ages of Christianity the act of supplication was expressed in the classical manner, that is, not with folded hands, but with the arms extended;) he has the nimbus; his dress is that of a traveller, the tunic and pallium being short, and his feet sandalled, perhaps to indicate his many and celebrated travels; perhaps, also, it represents Paul praying for his flock before he departed from Macedon to return to Jerusalem (Acts xx.): over this ancient figure, which, though ill drawn, is quite classical in sentiment and costume, is inscribed PAULUS. PASTOR. APOSTOLOS; on his right hand stands the Good Shepherd, in reference to the title of PASTOR, inscribed over his effigy. Another figure of St. Paul, which appears to be of later date, but anterior to the fifth century, was found in the catacombs at Naples: in this effigy he wears the dress of a Greek philosopher; the style in which the drapery is worn recalls the time of Hadrian: he has no nimbus, nor is the head bald; he has sandals on his feet: over his head is inscribed his name, PAULUS; near him is a smaller figure similarly draped, who offers him fruit and flowers in a vase; probably the personage who was entombed on the spot.

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At what period the sword was given to St. Paul as his distinctive attribute, is with antiquaries a disputed point; certainly, much later than the keys were given to Peter.[197] If we could be sure that the mosaic on the tomb of Otho II., and another mosaic already described, had not been altered in successive restorations, these would be evidence that the sword was given to St. Paul as his attribute as early as the 6th century; but there are no monuments which can be absolutely trusted as regards the introduction of the sword before the end of the 11th century; since the end of the 14th century, it has been so generally adopted, that in the devotional effigies I can remember no instance in which it is omitted. When St. Paul is leaning on the sword, it expresses his martyrdom; when he holds it aloft, it expresses also his warfare in the cause of Christ: when two swords are given to him, one is the attribute, the other the emblem; but this double allusion does not occur in any of the older representations. In Italy I never met with St. Paul bearing two swords, and the only instance I can call to mind is the bronze statue by Peter Vischer, on the shrine of St. Sebald, at Nuremberg.

Although devotional representations of St. Paul separate from St. Peter and the other apostles occur very rarely, pictures from his life and actions are commonly met with; the principal events are so familiar, that they are easily recognised and discriminated even by the most unlearned in biblical illustration: considered and treated as a series, they form a most interesting and dramatic succession of scenes, often introduced into the old churches; but the incidents chosen are not always the same.

Paul, before his conversion, was present at the stoning of Stephen, and he is generally introduced holding on his knees the garments of the executioners. In some ancient pictures, he has, even while looking on and ‘consenting to the death’ of the victim, the glory round his head, as one who, while ‘breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord,’ was already a chosen vessel to bear His name before the Gentiles.’ But in a set of pictures which relate expressly to St. Paul the martyrdom of Stephen is, with proper feeling, omitted, and the series generally begins with the CONVERSION OF PAUL,—in his character of apostle, the first great event in his life. An incident so important, so celebrated, and in all its accessories so picturesque and dramatic, has of course been a frequent subject of artistic treatment, even as a separate composition. In some of the old mosaics, the story is very simply, and at the same time vividly, rendered. In the earliest examples, St. Paul has the nimbus or glory while yet unconverted; he is prostrate on the ground, grovelling on his hands and knees; rays of light fall upon him out of heaven, where the figure of Christ, half-length, is seen emerging from glory; sometimes it is a hand only, which is the emblem of the Almighty Power; two or four attendants at most are flying in terror. It is not said in Scripture that St. Paul journeyed on horseback from Jerusalem to Damascus; but the tradition is at least as old as the time of Pope Dalmasius (A.D. 384), as it is then referred to. St. Augustine says he journeyed on foot, because the Pharisees made a point of religion to go on foot, and it is so represented in the old Greek mosaics. The expression, ‘It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks,’ has been oddly enough assigned as a reason for placing Paul on horseback;[198] at all events, as he bore a military command, it has been thought proper in later times so to represent him, and also as surrounded by a numerous cortége of attendants. This treatment admits, of course, of endless variety, in the disposition and number of the figures, in the attitudes and expression; but the moment chosen is generally the same.

1. The oldest example I can cite, next to the Greek mosaics, is an old Italian print mentioned by Zani. Paul, habited as a Roman warrior, kneels with his arms crossed on his breast, and holding a scroll, on which is inscribed in Latin, ‘Lord, what shall I do?’ Christ stands opposite to him, also holding a scroll, on which is written, ‘Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?’ There are no attendants. Zani does not give the date of this quaint and simple version of the story.

2. Raphael. Paul, habited as a Roman soldier, is lying on the ground, as thrown from his horse; he looks upward to Christ, who appears in the clouds, attended by three child-angels: his attendants on foot and on horseback are represented as rushing to his assistance, unconscious of the vision, but panic struck by its effect on _him_: one attendant in the background seizes by the bridle the terrified horse. The original cartoon of this fine composition (one of the tapestries in the Vatican) is lost.

3. Michael Angelo. Paul, a noble figure, though prostrate, appears to be struck motionless and senseless: Christ seems to be _rushing_ down from heaven surrounded by a host of angels; those of the attendants who are near to Paul are flying in all directions, while a long train of soldiers is seen ascending from the background. This grand dramatic composition forms the pendant to the Crucifixion of Peter in the Cappella Paolina. It is so darkened by age and the smoke of tapers, and so ill lighted, that it is not easily made out; but there is a fine engraving, which may be consulted.

4. Another very celebrated composition of this subject is that of Rubens.[199] Paul, lying in the foreground, expresses in his attitude the most helpless and grovelling prostration. The attendants appear very literally frightened out of their senses; and the grey horse snorting and rearing behind is the finest part of the picture: as is usual with Rubens, the effects of physical fear and amazement are given with the utmost spirit and truth; but the scriptural dignity, the supernatural terrors, of the subject are ill expressed, and the apostle himself is degraded. To go a step lower, Cuyp has given us a Conversion of St. Paul apparently for the sole purpose of introducing horses in different attitudes: the favourite dapple-grey charger is seen bounding off in terror; no one looks at St. Paul, still less to Christ above—but the _horses_ are admirable.

5. In Albert Dürer’s print, a shower of _stones_ is falling from heaven on St. Paul and his company.

6. There is a very curious and unusual version of this subject in a rare print by Lucas van Leyden. It is a composition of numerous figures. St. Paul is seen, blind and bewildered, led between two men; another man leads his frightened charger; several warriors and horsemen follow, and the whole procession seems to be proceeding slowly to the right. In the far distance is represented the previous moment—Paul struck down and blinded by the celestial vision.

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‘Paul, after his conversion, restored to sight by Ananias,’ as a separate subject, seldom occurs; but it has been treated in the later schools by Vasari, by Cavallucci, and by P. Cortona.

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‘The Jews flagellate Paul and Silas.’ I know but one picture of this subject, that of Niccolò Poussin: the angry Jews are seen driving them forth with scourges; the Elders, who have condemned them, are seated in council behind: as we might expect from the character of Poussin, the dignity of the apostles is maintained,—but it is not one of his best pictures.

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‘Paul, after his conversion, escapes from Damascus;’ he is let down in a basket (Acts ix. 25): the incident forms, of course, one of the scenes in his life when exhibited in a series, but I remember no separate picture of this subject, and the situation is so ludicrous and so derogatory that we can understand how it came to be avoided.

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‘The ecstatic vision of St. Paul, in which he was caught up to the third heaven.’ (2 Cor. xii. 2.) Paul, who so frequently and familiarly speaks of angels, in describing this event makes no mention of them, but in pictures he is represented as borne upwards by angels. I find no early composition of this subject. The small picture of Domenichino is coldly conceived. Poussin has painted the ‘Ravissement de St. Paul’ twice; in the first, the apostle is borne upon the arms of four angels, and in the second he is sustained by three angels. In rendering this ecstatic vision, the angels, always allowable as machinery, have here a particular propriety; Paul is elevated only a few feet above the roof of his house, where lie his sword and book. Here the sword serves to distinguish the personage; and the roof of the house shows us that it is a vision, and not an apotheosis. Both pictures are in the Louvre.

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‘Paul preaching to the converts at Ephesus.’ In a beautiful Raffaelesque composition by Le Sueur, the incident of the magicians bringing their books of sorcery and burning them at the feet of the apostle is well introduced. It was long the custom to exhibit this picture solemnly in Notre Dame every year on the 1st of May. It is now in the Louvre.

‘Paul before Felix,’ and ‘Paul before Agrippa.’ Neither of these subjects has ever been adequately treated. It is to me inconceivable that the old masters so completely overlooked the opportunity for grand characteristic delineation afforded by both these scenes, the latter especially. Perhaps, in estimating its capabilities, we are misled by the effect produced on the imagination by the splendid eloquence of the apostle; yet, were another Raphael to arise, I would suggest the subject as a pendant to the St. Paul at Athens.

‘Paul performs miracles before the Emperor Nero;’ a blind man, a sick child, and a possessed woman are brought to him to be healed. This, though a legendary rather than a scriptural subject, has been treated by Le Sueur with scriptural dignity and simplicity.

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‘The martyrdom of St. Paul’ is sometimes a separate subject, but generally it is the pendant to the martyrdom of St. Peter. According to the received tradition, the two apostles suffered at the same time, but in different places; for St. Paul, being by birth a Roman citizen, escaped the ignominy of the public exposure in the Circus, as well as the prolonged torture of the cross. He was beheaded by the sword outside the Ostian gate, about two miles from Rome, at a place called the Aqua Salvias, now the ‘Tre Fontane.’ The legend of the death of St. Paul relates that a certain Roman matron named Plautilla, one of the converts of St. Peter, placed herself on the road by which St. Paul passed to his martyrdom, in order to behold him for the last time; and when she saw him, she wept greatly, and besought his blessing. The apostle then, seeing her faith, turned to her and begged that she would give him her veil to bind his eyes when he should be beheaded, promising to return it to her after his death. The attendants mocked at such a promise, but Plautilla, with a woman’s faith and charity, taking off her veil, presented it to him. After his martyrdom, St. Paul appeared to her, and restored the veil stained with his blood. It is also related, that when he was decapitated the severed head made three bounds upon the earth, and wherever it touched the ground a fountain sprang forth.

In the most ancient representations of the martyrdom of St. Paul, the legend of Plautilla is seldom omitted. In the picture of Giotto preserved in the sacristy of St. Peter’s, Plautilla is seen on an eminence in the background, receiving the veil from the hand of Paul, who appears in the clouds above; the same representation, but little varied, is executed in bas-relief on the bronze doors of St. Peter’s. The three fountains gushing up beneath the severed head are also frequently represented as a literal fact, though a manifest and beautiful allegory, figurative of the fountains of Christian faith which should spring forth from his martyrdom.

In all the melancholy vicinity of Rome, there is not a more melancholy spot than the ‘Tre Fontane.’ A splendid monastery, rich with the offerings of all Christendom, once existed there: the ravages of that mysterious scourge of the Campagna, the malaria, have rendered it a desert; three ancient churches and some ruins still exist, and a few pale monks wander about the swampy dismal confines of the hollow in which they stand. In winter you approach them through a quagmire; in summer, you dare not breathe in their pestilential vicinity; and yet there is a sort of dead beauty about the place, something hallowed as well as sad, which seizes on the fancy. In the church properly called ‘San Paolo delle Tre Fontane,’ and which is so old that the date of the foundation is unknown, are three chapels with altars raised over as many wells or fountains; the altars are modern, and have each the head of St. Paul carved in relief. The water, which appeared to me exactly the same in all the three fountains, has a soft insipid taste, neither refreshing nor agreeable. The ancient frescoes have perished, and the modern ones are perishing. It is a melancholy spot.

To return, however, to that event which has rendered it for ages consecrated and memorable. Among the many representations of the decollation of St. Paul which exist in sculpture and in painting, I have not met with one which could take a high place as a work of art, or which has done justice to the tragic capabilities of the subject.

After his martyrdom the body of St. Paul was interred on a spot between the Ostian gate and the Aqua Salvias, and there arose the magnificent church known as San Paolo-_fuori-le-mura_. I saw this church a few months before it was consumed by fire in 1823; I saw it again in 1847, when the restoration was far advanced. Its cold magnificence, compared with the impressions left by the former structure, rich with inestimable remains of ancient art, and venerable from a thousand associations, saddened and chilled me.

The mosaics in the old church, which represented the life and actions of St. Paul, were executed by the Greek mosaic masters of the eleventh century. They appear to have comprised the same subjects which still exist as a series in the church of Monreale near Palermo, and which I shall now describe.

1. Saul is sent by the high-priest to Damascus. Two priests are seated on a raised throne in front of the Temple; Saul stands before them.

2. The Conversion of Saul, as already described (p. 214).

3. Saul, being blind, is led by his attendants to the gate of Damascus.

4. Saul seated. Ananias enters and addresses him.

5. Paul is baptized: he is standing, or rather sitting, in a font, which is a large vase, and not much larger in proportion than a punch-bowl.

6. St. Paul disputes with the Jews. His attitude is vehement and expressive: three Jewish doctors stand before him as if confounded and put to silence by his eloquent reasoning.

7. St. Paul escapes from Damascus; the basket, in which he is lowered down from a parapet, is about the size of a hand-basket.

8. St. Paul delivers a scroll to Timothy and Silas; he consigns to their direction the deacons that were ordained by the apostles and elders. (Acts xvi. 4.)

9. St. Paul and St. Peter meet at Rome, and embrace with brotherly affection. I believe this subject to represent the reconciliation of the two apostles after the dispute at Antioch. The inscription is, _Hic Paulus venit Romam et pacem fecit cum Petro_. (In the Christian Museum in the Vatican there is a most beautiful small Greek picture in which Peter and Paul are embracing; it may represent the reconciliation or the parting: the heads, though minute, are extremely characteristic.)

10. The decollation of St. Paul at the Aqua Salvias; one fountain only is introduced.

This is the earliest instance I can quote of the dramatic treatment of the life and actions of St. Paul in a series of subjects. The Greek type of the head of St. Paul is retained throughout, strongly individualised, and he appears as a man of about thirty-five or forty. In the later schools of art, which afford some celebrated examples of the life of St. Paul treated as a series, the Greek type has been abandoned.

The series by Raphael, executed for the tapestries of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican, consists of five large and seven small compositions.

1. The conversion of Saul, already described: the cartoon is lost. 2. Elymas the sorcerer struck blind: wonderful for dramatic power. 3. St. Paul and Barnabas at Lystra. 4. Paul preaches at Athens. Of these three magnificent compositions we have the cartoons at Hampton Court. 5. St. Paul in prison at Philippi. The earthquake through which he was liberated is here represented allegorically as a Titan in the lower corner of the picture, with shoulders and arms heaving up the earth. This, which strikes us as rather pagan in conception, has, however, a parallel in the earliest Christian Art, where, in the baptism of Christ, the Jordan is sometimes represented by a classical river-god, sedge-crowned, and leaning on his urn.

The seven small subjects, which in the set of tapestries run underneath as borders to the large compositions, are thus arranged:—

1. ‘As for Saul, he made havoc of the church, entering into every house, and haling men and women committed them to prison.’ (Acts viii. 3.) At one end of a long narrow composition Saul is seated in the dress of a Roman warrior, and attended by a lictor; they bring before him a Christian youth; farther on are seen soldiers ‘haling men and women’ by the hair; others flee in terror. This was erroneously supposed to represent the massacre at Prato, in 1512, by the adherents of the Medici, and is so inscribed in the set of engravings by Bartoli and Landon.

2. John and Mark taking leave of the brethren at Perga in Pamphylia. (Acts xiii. 3.)

3. Paul, teaching in the synagogue at Antioch, confounds the Jews. (Acts xviii. 3.)

4. Paul at Corinth engaged in tent-making with his host. This is an uncommon subject, but I remember another instance in a curious old German print, where, in the lower part of the composition, the apostle is teaching or preaching; and above there is a kind of gallery or balcony, in which he is seen working at a loom: ‘You yourselves know that these hands have ministered to my necessities, labouring night and day, because we would not be chargeable unto you.’ (Acts xviii. 6.)

5. Being at Corinth, he is mocked by the Jews. (Acts viii. 12.)

6. He lays his hand on the Christian converts.

7. He is brought before the judgment-seat of Gallio.[200]

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‘Paul, in the island of Melita, shaking the viper from his hand,’ is not a common subject, and yet it is capable of the finest picturesque and dramatic effects: the storm and shipwreck in the background, the angry heavens above, the red firelight, the group of astonished mariners, and, pre-eminent among them, the calm intellectual figure of the apostle shaking the venomous beast from his hand,—these are surely beautiful and available materials for a scenic picture. Even if treated as an allegory in a devotional sense, a single majestic figure, throwing the evil thing innocuous from him, which I have not yet seen, it would be an excellent and a significant subject. The little picture by Elzheimer is the best example I can cite of the picturesque treatment. That of Le Sueur has much dignity; those of Perino del Vaga, Thornhill, West, are all commonplace.

Thornhill, as everybody knows, painted the eight principal scenes of the life of the apostle in the cupola of St. Paul’s.[201] Few people, I should think, have strained their necks to examine them; the eight original studies, small sketches _en grisaille_, are preserved in the vestry, and display that heartless, mindless, mannered mediocrity, which makes all criticism foolishness; I shall, however, give a list of the subjects.

1. Paul and Barnabas at Lystra. 2. Paul preaching at Athens. 3. Elymas struck blind. 4. The converts burn their magical books. 5. Paul before Festus. 6. A woman seated at his feet; I presume the Conversion of Lydia of Thyatira. 7. Paul let down in a basket. 8. He shakes the viper from his hand.

At the time that Thornhill was covering the cupola at ‘the rate of 2_l._ the square yard,’ Hogarth, his son-in-law, would also try his hand. He painted ‘St. Paul pleading before Felix’ for Lincoln’s. Inn Hall; where the subject, at least, is appropriate. The picture itself is curiously characteristic, not of the scene or of the chief personage, but of the painter. St. Paul loaded with chains, and his accuser Tertullus, stand in front; and Felix, with his wife Drusilla, are seated on a raised tribunal in the background; near Felix is the high-priest Ananias. The composition is good. The heads are full of vivid expression—wrath, terror, doubt, fixed attention; but the conception of character most ignoble and commonplace. Hogarth was more at home when he took the same subject as a vehicle for a witty caricature of the Dutch manner of treating sacred subjects—their ludicrous anachronisms and mean incidents. St. Paul, in allusion to his low stature, is mounted on a stool; an angel is sawing through one leg of it; Tertullus is a barrister, in wig, band, and gown; the judge is like an old doting justice of peace, and his attendants like old beggars.

In the Florentine Gallery there is a very curious series of the lives of St. Peter and St. Paul in eight pictures, in the genuine old German style; fanciful, animated, full of natural and dramatic expression, and exquisitely finished,—but dry, hard, grotesque, and abounding in anachronisms.[202]

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Among the few separate historical subjects in which St. Peter and St. Paul are represented together, the most important is the dispute at Antioch,—a subject avoided by the earliest painters. St. Paul says, ‘When Peter was come to Antioch, I withstood him to the face, because he was to be blamed.’ Guido’s picture in the _Brera_ at _Milan_ is celebrated: Peter is seated, looking thoughtful, with downcast eyes, an open book on his knees; Paul, in an attitude of rebuke, stands over against him. There is another example by Rosso: here both are standing; Peter is looking down; Paul, with long hair and beard floating back, and a keen reproving expression, ‘rebukes him to his face.’ I presume the same subject to be represented by Lucas van Leyden in a rare and beautiful little print, in which St. Peter and St. Paul are seated together in earnest conversation. St. Peter holds a _key_ in his right hand, and points with the other to a book which lies on his knees. St. Paul is about to turn the leaf, and his right hand appears to rebuke St. Peter; his left foot is on the _sword_ which lies at his feet.

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‘The Parting of St. Peter and St. Paul before they are led to death.’ The scene is without the gates of Rome; and as the soldiers drag Peter away, he turns back to Paul with a pathetic expression. This picture, now in the Louvre, is one of Lanfranco’s best compositions.[203]

When the crucifixion of St. Peter and the decollation of St. Paul are represented together in the same picture, such a picture must be considered as religious and devotional, not historical; it does not express the action as it really occurred, but, like many pictures of the crucifixion of our Saviour, it is placed before us as an excitement to piety, self-sacrifice, and repentance. We have this kind of treatment in a picture by Niccolò dell’ Abate:[204] St. Paul kneels before a block, and the headsman stands with sword uplifted in act to strike; in the background, two other executioners grasp St. Peter, who is kneeling on his cross and praying fervently: above, in a glory, is seen the Virgin; in her arms the Infant Christ, who delivers to two angels palm-branches for the martyred saints. The genius of Niccolò was not precisely fitted for this class of subjects. But the composition is full of poetical feeling. The introduction of the Madonna and Child stamps the character of the picture as devotional, not historical—it would otherwise be repulsive, and out of keeping with the subject.

There is a Martyrdom of St. Peter and St. Paul engraved after Parmigiano,[205] which I shall notice on account of its careless and erroneous treatment. They are put to death together; an executioner prepares to decapitate St. Peter, and another drags St. Paul by the beard: the incidents are historically false, and, moreover, in a degraded and secular taste. These are the mistakes that make us turn disgusted from the technical facility, elegance, and power of the sixteenth century, to the simplicity and reverential truth of the fourteenth.

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There are various traditions concerning the relics of St. Peter and St. Paul. According to some, the bodies of the two apostles were, in the reign of Heliogabalus, deposited by the Christian converts in the catacombs of Rome, and were laid in the same sepulchre. After the lapse of about two hundred years, the Greek or Oriental Christians attempted to carry them off; but were opposed by the Roman Christians. The Romans conquered; and the two bodies were transported to the church of the Vatican, where they reposed together in a magnificent shrine, beneath the church. Among the engravings in the work of Ciampini and Bosio are two rude old pictures commemorating this event. The first represents the combat of the Orientals and the Romans for the bodies of the Saints; in the other, the bodies are deposited in the Vatican. In these two ancient representations, which were placed in the portico of the old basilica of St. Peter, the traditional types may be recognised—the broad full features, short curled beard, and bald head of St. Peter, and the oval face and long beard of St. Paul.

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Here I must conclude this summary of the lives and characters of the two greatest apostles, as they have been exhibited in Christian Art; to do justice to the theme would have required a separate volume. One observation, however, suggests itself, and cannot be passed over. The usual type of the head of St. Peter, though often ill rendered and degraded by coarseness, can in general be recognised as characteristic; but is there among the thousand representations of the apostle Paul, _one_ on which the imagination can rest completely satisfied? I know not one. No doubt the sublimest ideal of embodied eloquence that ever was expressed in Art is Raphael’s St. Paul preaching at Athens. He stands there the delegated voice of the true God, the antagonist and conqueror of the whole heathen world:—‘Whom ye ignorantly worship, HIM declare I unto you’—is not this what he says? Every feature, nay, every fold in his drapery, speaks; as in the other St. Paul leaning on his sword (in the famous St. Cecilia), every feature and every fold of drapery meditates. The latter is as fine in its tranquil melancholy grandeur, as the former in its authoritative energy: in the one the orator, in the other the philosopher, were never more finely rendered: but is it, in either, the Paul of Tarsus whom we know? It were certainly both unnecessary and pedantic to adhere so closely to historic fact as to make St. Paul of diminutive stature, and St. Peter weak-eyed: but has Raphael done well in wholly rejecting the traditional portrait which reflected to us the Paul of Scripture, the man of many toils and many sorrows, wasted with vigils, worn down with travel, whose high bald forehead, thin flowing hair, and long pointed beard, spoke so plainly the fervent and indomitable, yet meditative and delicate, organisation,—and in substituting this Jupiter Ammon head, with the dark redundant hair, almost hiding the brow, and the full bushy beard? This is one of the instances in which Raphael, in yielding to the fashion of his time, has erred, as it seems to me,—though I say it with all reverence! The St. Paul rending his garments at Lystra, and rejecting the sacrifice of the misguided people, is more particularly false as to the character of the man, though otherwise so grandly expressive, that we are obliged to admire what our better sense—our _conscience_—cannot wholly approve.

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I shall now consider the rest of the apostles in their proper order.

ST. ANDREW.

_Lat._ S. Andreas. _Ital._ Sant’ Andrea. _Fr._ St. André. Patron saint
of Scotland and of Russia. Nov. 30 A.D. 70.

St. Andrew was the brother of Simon Peter, and the first who was called to the apostleship. Nothing farther is recorded of him in Scripture: he is afterwards merely included by name in the general account of the apostles.

In the traditional and legendary history of St. Andrew we are told, that after our Lord’s ascension, when the apostles dispersed to preach the Gospel to all nations, St. Andrew travelled into Scythia, Cappadocia, and Bithynia, everywhere converting multitudes to the faith. The Russians believe that he was the first to preach to the Muscovites in Sarmatia, and thence he has been honoured as titular saint of the empire of Russia. After many sufferings, he returned to Jerusalem, and thence travelled into Greece, and came at length to a city of Achaia, called Patras. Here he made many converts; among others, Maximilla, the wife of the proconsul Ægeus, whom he persuaded to make a public profession of Christianity. The proconsul, enraged, commanded him to be seized and scourged, and then crucified. The cross on which he suffered was of a peculiar form (_crux decussata_), since called the St. Andrew’s cross; and it is expressly said that he was not fastened to his cross with nails, but with cords,—a circumstance always attended to in the representations of his death. It is, however, to be remembered, that while all authorities agree that he was crucified, and that the manner of his crucifixion was peculiar, they are not agreed as to the form of his cross. St. Peter Chrysologos says that it was a tree: another author affirms that it was an olive tree. The Abbé Méry remarks, that it is a mistake to give the transverse cross to St. Andrew; that it ought not to differ from the cross of our Lord. His reasons are not absolutely conclusive:—‘Il suffit pour montrer qu’ils sont là-dessus dans l’erreur, de voir _la croix véritable_ de St. André, conservée dans l’Église de St. Victor de Marseille; on trouvera qu’elle est à angles droits,’ &c.[206] Seeing is believing; nevertheless, the form is fixed by tradition and usage, and ought not to be departed from, though Michael Angelo has done so in the figure of St. Andrew in the Last Judgment, and there are several examples in the Italian masters.[207] The legend goes on to relate, that St. Andrew, on approaching the cross prepared for his execution, saluted and adored it on his knees, as being already consecrated by the sufferings of the Redeemer, and met his death triumphantly. Certain of his relics were brought from Patras to Scotland in the fourth century, and since that time St. Andrew has been honoured as the patron saint of Scotland, and of its chief order of knighthood. He is also the patron saint of the famous Burgundian Order, the Golden Fleece; and of Russia and its chief Order, the Cross of St. Andrew.

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Since the fourteenth century, St. Andrew is generally distinguished in works of art by the transverse cross; the devotional pictures in which he figures as one of the series of apostles, or singly as patron saint, represent him as a very old man with some kind of brotherly resemblance to St. Peter; his hair and beard silver white, long, loose, and flowing, and in general the beard is divided; he leans upon his cross, and holds the Gospel in his right hand.

The historical subjects from the life of St. Andrew, treated separately from the rest of the apostles, are very few; his crucifixion is the only one that I have found treated before the fifteenth century. On the ancient doors of San Paolo, the instrument of his martyrdom has the shape of a Y, and resembles a tree split down the middle. The cross in some later pictures is very lofty, and resembles the rough branches of a tree laid transversely.

I know but two other subjects relating to the life of St. Andrew which have been separately treated in the later schools of art—the Adoration of the Cross, and the Flagellation.

‘St. Andrew adoring his cross,’ by Andrea Sacchi, is remarkable for its simplicity and fine expression; it contains only three figures. St Andrew, half undraped, and with his silver hair and beard floating dishevelled, kneels, gazing up to the cross with ecstatic devotion; he is addressing to it his famous invocation:—‘Salve, Croce preziosa! che fosti consecrata dal corpo del mio Dio!’—an executioner stands by, and a fierce soldier, impatient of delay, urges him on to death.[208]

‘St. Andrew taken down from the cross’ is a fine effective picture by Ribera.[209]

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When Guido and Domenichino painted, in emulation of each other, the frescoes in the chapel of Sant’ Andrea in the church of San Gregorio, at Rome, Guido chose for his subject the Adoration of the Cross. The scene is supposed to be outside the walls of Patras in Achaia; the cross is at a distance in the background; St. Andrew, as he approaches, falls down in adoration before the instrument of his martyrdom, consecrated by the death of his Lord; he is attended by one soldier on horseback, one on foot, and three executioners; a group of women and alarmed children in the foreground are admirable for grace and feeling—they are, in fact, the best part of the picture. On the opposite wall of the chapel Domenichino painted the Flagellation of St. Andrew, a subject most difficult to treat effectively, and retain at the same time the dignity of the suffering apostle, while avoiding all resemblance to a similar scene in the life of Christ. Here he is bound down on a sort of table; one man lifts a rod, another seems to taunt the prostrate saint; a lictor drives back the people. The group of the mother and frightened children, which Domenichino so often introduces with little variation, is here very beautiful; the judge and lictors are seen behind, with a temple and a city in the distance. When Domenichino painted the same subject in the church of Sant’ Andrea-della-Valle, he chose another moment, and administered the torture after a different manner: the apostle is bound by his hands and feet to four short posts set firmly in the ground; one of the executioners in tightening a cord breaks it and falls back; three men prepare to scourge him with _thongs_: in the foreground we have the usual group of the mother and her frightened children. This is a composition full of dramatic life and movement, but unpleasing. Domenichino painted in the same church the crucifixion of the saint, and his apotheosis surmounts the whole.

All these compositions are of great celebrity in the history of Art for colour and for expression. Lanzi says, that the personages, ‘if endued with speech, could not say more to the ear than they do to the eye.’ But, in power and pathos, none of them equal the picture of Murillo, of which we have the original study in England.[210] St. Andrew is suspended on the high cross, formed, not of planks, but of the trunks of trees laid transversely. He is bound with cords, undraped, except by a linen cloth; his silver hair and beard loosely streaming in the air; his aged countenance illuminated by a heavenly transport, as he looks up to the opening skies, whence two angels of really celestial beauty, like almost all Murillo’s angels, descend with the crown and palm. In front, to the right, is a group of shrinking sympathising women; and a boy turns away, crying with a truly boyish grief; on the left are guards and soldiers. The subject is here rendered poetical by mere force of feeling; there is a tragic reality in the whole scene, far more effective, to my taste, than the more studied compositions of the Italian painters. The martyrdom of St. Andrew, and the saint preaching the Gospel, by Juan de Roelas, are also mentioned as splendid productions of the Seville school.

I think it possible that St. Andrew may owe his popularity in the Spanish and Flemish schools of art to his being the patron saint of the far-famed Burgundian Order of the Golden Fleece. At the time that Constantinople was taken, and the relics of St. Andrew dispersed in consequence, a lively enthusiasm for this apostle was excited throughout all Christendom. He had been previously honoured chiefly as the brother of St. Peter; he obtained thenceforth a kind of personal interest and consideration. Philip of Burgundy (A.D. 1433), who had obtained at great cost a portion of the precious relics, consisting chiefly of some pieces of his cross, placed under the protection of the apostle his new order of chivalry, which, according to the preamble, was intended to revive the honour and the memory of the Argonauts. His knights wore as their badge the cross of St. Andrew.

ST. JAMES THE GREAT.

_Lat._ Sanctus Jacobus Major. _Ital._ San Giacomo, or Jacopo,
Maggiore. _Fr._ St. Jacques Majeur. _Spa._ San Jago, or Santiago. El
Tutelar. Patron saint of Spain. July 25. A.D. 44.

St. James the Great, or the Elder, or St. James _Major_, was nearly related to Christ, and, with his brother John (the evangelist) and Peter, he seems to have been admitted to particular favour, travelled with the Lord, and was present at most of the events recorded in the Gospels. He was one of the three who were permitted to witness the glorification of Christ on Mount Tabor, and one of those who slept during the agony in the garden. After our Saviour’s ascension, nothing is recorded concerning him, except the fact that Herod slew him with the sword. In the ancient traditions he is described as being of a zealous and affectionate temper, easily excited to anger: of this we have a particular instance in his imprecation against the inhospitable Samaritans, for which Christ rebuked him: ‘Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of. The Son of man is not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them.’ (Luke, ix. 55.)

As Scripture makes no farther mention of one so distinguished by his zeal and by his near relationship to the Saviour, the legends of the middle ages have supplied this deficiency; and so amply, that St. James, as St. Jago or SANTIAGO, the military patron of Spain, became one of the most renowned saints in Christendom, and one of the most popular subjects of Western Art. Many of these subjects are so singular, that, in order to render them intelligible, I must give the legend at full length as it was followed by the artists of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.

According to the Spanish legend, the apostle James was the son of Zebedee, an illustrious baron of Galilee, who, being the proprietor of ships, was accustomed to fish along the shores of a certain lake called Gennesareth, but solely for his good pleasure and recreation: for who can suppose that Spain, that nation of Hidalgos and Caballeros, would ever have chosen for her patron, or accepted as the leader and captain-general of her armies, a poor ignoble fisherman? It remains, therefore, indisputable, that this glorious apostle, who was our Lord’s cousin-german, was of noble lineage, and worthy of his spurs as a knight and a gentleman;—so in Dante:—

Ecco _il Barone_
Per cui laggiù si visita Galizia.‘

But it pleased him, in his great humility, to follow, while on earth, the example of his divine Lord, and reserve his warlike prowess till called upon to slaughter, by thousands and tens of thousands, those wicked Moors, the perpetual enemies of Christ and his servants. Now, as James and his brother John were one day in their father’s ship with his hired servants, and were employed in mending the nets, the Lord, who was walking on the shores of the lake, called them; and they left all and followed him; and became thenceforward his most favoured disciples, and the witnesses of his miracles while on earth. After the ascension of Christ, James preached the Gospel in Judea; then he travelled over the whole world, and came at last to Spain, where he made very few converts, by reason of the ignorance and darkness of the people. One day, as he stood with his disciples on the banks of the Ebro, the blessed Virgin appeared to him seated on the top of a pillar of jasper, and surrounded by a choir of angels; and the apostle having thrown himself on his face, she commanded him to build on that spot a chapel for her worship, assuring him that all this province of Saragossa, though now in the darkness of paganism, would at a future time be distinguished by devotion to her. He did as the holy Virgin had commanded, and this was the origin of a famous church afterwards known as that of Our Lady of the Pillar (’_Nuestra Señora del Pillar_‘). Then St. James, having founded the Christian faith in Spain, returned to Judea, where he preached for many years, and performed many wonders and miracles in the sight of the people: and it happened that a certain sorcerer, whose name was Hermogenes,[211] set himself against the apostle, just as Simon Magus had wickedly and vainly opposed St. Peter, and with the like result. Hermogenes sent his scholar Philetus to dispute with James, and to compete with him in wondrous works; but, as you will easily believe, he had no chance against the apostle, and, confessing himself vanquished, he returned to his master, to whom he announced his intention to follow henceforth James and his doctrine. Then Hermogenes, in a rage, bound Philetus by his diabolical spells, so that he could not move hand or foot; saying, ‘Let us now see if thy new master can deliver thee:’ and Philetus sent his servant to St. James, praying for aid. Then the apostle took off his cloak, and gave it to the servant to give his master; and no sooner had Philetus touched it, than he became free, and hastened to throw himself at the feet of his deliverer. Hermogenes, more furious than ever, called to the demons who served him, and commanded that they should bring to him James and Philetus, bound in fetters; but on their way the demons met with a company of angels, who seized upon them, and punished them for their wicked intentions, till they cried for mercy. Then St. James said to them, ‘Go back to him who sent ye, and bring him hither bound.’ And they did so; and having laid the sorcerer down at the feet of St. James, they besought him, saying, ‘Now give us power to be avenged of our enemy and thine!’ But St. James rebuked them, saying, ‘Christ hath commanded us to do good for evil.’ So he delivered Hermogenes from their hands; and the magician, being utterly confounded, cast his books into the sea, and desired of St. James that he would protect him against the demons, his former servants. Then St. James gave him his staff, as the most effectual means of defence against the infernal spirits; and Hermogenes became a faithful disciple and preacher of the word from that day.

But the evil-minded Jews, being more and more incensed, took James and bound him, and brought him before the tribunal of Herod Agrippa; and one of those who dragged him along, touched by the gentleness of his demeanour, and by his miracles of mercy, was converted, and supplicated to die with him; and the apostle gave him the kiss of peace, saying, ‘Pax vobis!’ and the kiss and the words together have remained as a form of benediction in the Church to this day. Then they were both beheaded, and so died.

And the disciples of St. James came and took away his body; and, not daring to bury it, for fear of the Jews, they carried it to Joppa, and placed it on board of a ship: some say that the ship was of marble, but this is not authenticated; however, it is most certain that angels conducted the ship miraculously to the coast of Spain, where they arrived in seven days; and, sailing through the straits called the Pillars of Hercules, they landed at length in Galicia, at a port called Iria Flavia, now Padron.