SCULPTURE IN STONE

(France and Italy)

Sculpture is not properly speaking the "plastic art," as is often understood. The real meaning of sculpture is work which is cut into form, whereas plastic art is work that is moulded or cast into form. Terra cotta, which is afterwards baked, is plastic; and yet becomes hard; thus a Tanagra figurine is an example of plastic art, while a Florentine marble statuette is a product of sculpture. The two are often confounded. We shall allude to them under different heads, taking for our consideration now only such sculpture as is the result of cutting in the stone. The work of Luca Della Robbia will not be treated as sculpture in this book. Luca Della Robbia is a worker in plastic art, while Adam Kraft, hewing directly at the stone, is a sculptor.

We have no occasion to study the art of the sculptor who produces actual statues; only so far as sculpture is a companion to architecture, and a decorative art, does it come within the scope of the arts and crafts. Figure sculpture, then, is only considered when strictly of a monumental character.

In attacking such a subject as sculpture in the Middle Ages it is impossible to do more than indicate the general tendencies in different countries. But there are certain defined characteristics an observance of which will make clear to any reader various fundamental principles by which it is easy to determine the approximate age and style of works.

In the first place, the great general rule of treatment of stone in the North and in the South is to be mentioned. In the Northern countries, France, Germany, and England, the stone which was employed for buildings and their decorations was obtainable in large blocks and masses; it was what, for our purposes, we will call ordinary stone, and could be used in the solid; therefore it was possible for carving in the North to be rendered as deeply and as roundly as the sculptor desired. In Southern countries, however, and chiefly in Italy, the stone used for building was not ordinary, but semi-precious stone. Marble, porphyry, and alabaster were available; and the use of such material led to a different ideal in architecture and decoration,—that of incrustation instead of solid piling. These valuable stones of Italy could not be used, generally speaking, in vast blocks, into which the chisel was at liberty to plough as it pleased; when a mass of marble or alabaster was obtained, the Æsthetic soul of the Italian craftsman revolted against shutting up all that beauty of veining and texture in the confines of a solid square, of which only the two sides should ever be visible, and often only one. So he cut his precious block into slices: made slabs and shallow surfaces of it, and these he laid, as an outward adornment to his building, upon a substructure of brick or rubble.

It is easy to perceive, then, the difference of the problem of the sculptors of the North and the South. The plain, solid Northern building was capable of unlimited enrichment by carving; this carving, when deeply cut, with forcible projection, acted as a noble embellishment in which the principal feature was a varied play of light and shade; the stone having little charm of colour or texture in itself, depended for its beauty entirely upon its bold relief, its rounded statuary, and its well shaped chiselled ornament. The shallow surface, already beautiful, both in colour and texture, in the Southern building material, called only for enrichment in low relief: ornament only slightly raised from the level or simply perforating the thin slab of glowing stone on which it was used was the more usual choice of the Italian craftsman.

This statement applies, of course, only to general principles of the art of sculpture; there is some flat bas-relief in the North, and some rounded sculpture in the South; but as a rule the tendencies are as they have just been outlined.

Another difference between sculpture in the North and South is due to the fact that in Italy the work was individual, as a rule, and in France it was the labour of a Guild or company. In Italy it is usually known who was the author of any striking piece of sculpture, while in France it is the exception when a work is signed, or the names of artisans recorded. In Italy, then, each piece was made more with a view to its own display, than as a part of a building, while in France statuary was regarded as an integral part of the architecture, and rows of figures were used as commonly as rows of columns in Italy. It is tragic to think of the personal skill and brilliancy of all these great French craftsmen being absorbed in one general reputation, while there were undoubtedly among them great art personalities who would have stood equally with the Pisani if they had been recognized.

A good deal of flat carving, especially in the interlace and acanthus of Ravenna, was accomplished by commencing with a series of drilled holes, which were afterwards channelled into each other and formed patterns. When the subsequent finish is not particularly delicate, it is quite easy to detect these symmetrical holes, but the effect, under the circumstances, is not objectionable.

The process of cutting a bas-relief was generally to outline the whole with an incision, and then cut away the background, leaving the simple elevated flat value, the shape of the proposed design. The modelling was then added by degrees, until the figure looked like half of a rounded object. While it is often unpractical to refer one's readers to examples of work in far and various countries, and advise them instantly to examine them, it is frequently possible to call attention to well-produced

plates in certain modern art books which are in nearly every public library. To understand thoroughly the use of the drill in flat sculpture, I wish my readers would refer to Fig. 121 in Mr. Russell Sturgis's "Artist's Way of Working," Vol. II.

In a quaint treatise on Belles Lettres in France nearly two centuries ago, by Carlencas, the writer says: "It is to no great purpose to speak of the Gothick sculptures: for everybody knows that they are the works of a rude art, formed in spite of nature and rules: sad productions of barbrous and dull spirits, which disfigure our old churches." Fie on a Frenchman who could so express himself! We recall the story of how Viollet le Duc made the people of Paris appreciate the wonderful carvings on Notre Dame. All the rage in France was for Greek and Roman remains, and the people persisted in their adoration of the antique, but would not deign to look nearer home, at their great mediÆval works of art. So the architect had plaster casts made of the principal figures on the cathedral, and these were treated so as to look like ancient marble statues; he then opened an exhibition, purporting to show new discoveries and excavations among antiques. The exhibition was thronged, and everyone was deeply interested, expressing the greatest admiration for the marvellously expressive sculptures. Viollet le Duc then admitted what he had done, and confessing that these treasures were to be found in their native city, advised them to pay more attention to the beauties of Gothic art in Paris.

We will not enter into a discussion of the relative merits of Northern and Southern art; whether the great revival really originated in France or Italy; but this is certain: Nicolo Pisano lived in the latter half of the thirteenth century, while the great sculptures of Notre Dame, Paris, and those of Chartres, were executed half a century earlier.

But prior to either were the Byzantine and Romanesque sculptures in Italy and Southern France. Our attention must first be turned to them. Charles Eliot Norton's definition of this word Romanesque is as satisfactory as any that could be instanced: "It very nearly corresponds to the term of Romance as applied to language. It signifies the derivation of the main elements, both in plan and construction, from the works of the later Roman Empire. But Romanesque architecture" (and this applies equally to sculpture) "was not, as it has been called, a corrupted imitation of the Roman architecture, any more than the ProvenÇal or the Italian language was a corrupted imitation of the Latin. It was a new thing, the slowly matured product of a long period of many influences."

All mediÆval carving was subordinate to architecture, therefore every piece of carving was designed with a view to being suitable to appear in some special place. The most striking difference between mediÆval and later sculpture is that the latter is designed as a thing apart, an object to be stood anywhere to be admired for its intrinsic merit, instead of being a functional component in a general scheme for beautifying a given building.

The use of the interlace in all primitive arts is very interesting. It undoubtedly began in an unconscious imitation of local architecture. For instance, in the British Isles, the building in earliest times was with wattles: practically walls of basket work. William of Malmsbury says that Glastonbury was "a mean structure of wattle work," while of the Monastery of Iona, it is related that in 563, Columba "sent forth his monks to gather twigs to build his hospice." British baskets were famous even so far away as Rome. So the first idea of ornament was to copy the interlacing forms. The same idea was worked out synchronously in metal work, and in illuminated books. Carving in stone, wood, and ivory, show the same influence.

Debased Roman sculptural forms were used in Italy during the fourth and fifth centuries. Then Justinian introduced the Byzantine which was grafted upon the Roman, producing a characteristic and fascinating though barbaric combination. This was the Romanesque, or Romano-Byzantine, in the North of Italy generally being recognized as the Lombard style. The sculptures of this period, from the fifth to the thirteenth century, are blunt and heavy, but full of quaint expression due to the elemental and immature conditions of the art. Many of the old Byzantine carvings are to be seen in Italy.

The Lombards, when invading Northern Italy, brought with them a mighty smith, Paul the Deacon, who had much skill with the hammer. When these rude Norsemen found themselves among the Æsthetic treasures of Byzantium, and saw the fair Italian marbles, and the stately work of Theodoric and Justinian, they were inflamed with zeal for artistic expression, and began to hew and carve rough but spirited forms out of the Pisan and Carrara stones. The animals which they sculptured were, as Ruskin has said, "all alive: hungry and fierce, wild, with a life-like spring." The Byzantine work was quiescent: the designs formal, decent, and monumental. But the Lombards threw into their work their own restless energy, and some of their cruelty and relentlessness. Queen Theodolinda, in her palace at Monza, encouraged the arts; it was because of her appreciative comprehension of such things that St. Gregory sent her the famous Iron Crown, of which a description has been given, on the occasion of the baptism of her son. Under the influence of these subsequently civilized barbarians many of the greatest specimens of carving in North Italy came into being. The most delightful little stumpy saints and sacred emblems may be found on the faÇade of St. Michele at Pavia, and also at Lucca, and on the Baptistery at Parma. The sculptor who produced these works at Parma was a very interesting craftsman, named Antelami. His Descent from the Cross is one of the most striking pieces of early sculpture before the Pisani. He lived in the twelfth century. The figures are of Byzantine proportions and forms, but have a good deal of grace and suggestion of movement.

Among the early names known in Italy is that of Magister Orso, of Verona. Another, in the ninth century, was Magister Pacifico, and in the twelfth there came Guglielmus, who carved the charming naÏve wild hunting scenes on the portal of St. Zeno of Verona. These reliefs represent Theodoric on horseback, followed by an able company of men and horses which, according to legend, were supplied by the infernal powers. The eyes of these fugitives have much expression, being rendered with a drill, and standing out in the design as little black holes—fierce and effective.

There is a fine round window at St. Zeno at Verona, designed and executed by one Briolottus, which, intended to represent the Wheel of Fortune, is decorated all over with little clinging figures, some falling and some climbing, and has the motto: "I elevate some mortals and depose others: I give good or evil to all: I clothe the naked and strip the clothed: in me if any one trust he will be turned to derision."

Perhaps the most wonderful carvings on the church of St. Zeno at Verona are over the arched entrance to the crypt. These, being chiefly grotesque animal forms, are signed by Adaminus. Among the humourous little conceits is a couple of strutting cocks carrying between them a dead fox slung on a rod. Ruskin has characterized the carvings at Verona, especially those on the porch, as being among the best examples of the true function of flat decorative carving in stone. He says: "The primary condition is that the mass shall be beautifully rounded, and disposed with due discretion and order;... sculpture is essentially the production of a pleasant bossiness or roundness of surface. The pleasantness of that bossy condition to the eye is irrespective of imitation on one side, and of structure on the other." The more one considers this statement, the more he is convinced of its comprehensiveness. If the lights and shadows fall pleasantly, how little one stops to inquire, "What is the subject? Do I consider that horse well proportioned, or do I not? Is that woman in good drawing?" Effectiveness is almost independent of detail, except as that detail affects the law of proportion. There are varying degrees of relief: from flat (where the ornament is hardly more than incised, and the background planed away) to a practically solid round figure cut almost entirely free of its ground.

In Venice, until the revival in the thirteenth century, the Greek Byzantine influence was marked. There is no more complete storehouse of the art of the East adapted to mediÆval conditions than the Church of St. Mark's. If space permitted, nothing could be more delightful than to examine in detail these marvellous capitals and archivolts which Ruskin has so lovingly immortalized for English readers. Of all decorative sculpture there is none more satisfying from the ornamental point of view than the Byzantine interlace and vine forms so usual in Venice. The only place where these may be seen to even greater advantage is Ravenna. The pierced marble screens and capitals, with their restful combinations of interlacing bands and delicate foliate forms, are nowhere surpassed. The use of the acanthus leaf conventionalized in a strictly primitive fashion characterizes most of the Byzantine work in Italy. With these are combined delightful stiff peacocks, and curious bunches of grapes, rosettes, and animal forms of quaint grotesqueness. Such work exemplifies specially what has been said regarding the use of flat thin slabs for sculptural purposes in the South of Europe. Nearly all these carvings are executed in fine marbles and alabasters. The chief works of this period in the round are lions and gryphons supporting columns as at Ancona and Perugia, and many other Italian cities.

In Rome there were several sculptors of the name of Peter. One of them, Peter Amabilis, worked about 1197; and another, Peter le Orfever, went to England and worked on the tomb of Edward the Confessor at Westminster.

In Bologna is an interesting crucifix probably carved in the eighth or ninth century. Christ's figure is upon the cross and that of his mother stands near. The sculptor was Petrus Albericus. On the cross is an inscription in the form of a dialogue: "My son?" "What, Mother?" "Are you God?" "I am." "Why do you hang on the cross?" "That Mankind may not perish."

The Masters of Stone and Wood were among the early Guilds and Corporations of Florence. Charlemagne patronized this industry and helped to develop it. Of craftsmen in these two branches exclusive of master builders, and recognized artists, there were, in 1299, about a hundred and forty-six members of the Guild.

Italy was backward for a good while in the progress of art, for while great activities were going on in the North, the Doge of Venice in 976 was obliged to import artists from Constantinople to decorate St. Mark's church.

The tombs of this early period in Italy, as elsewhere, are significant and beautiful. Recumbent figures, with their hands devoutly pressed together, are usually seen, lying sometimes on couches and sometimes under architectural canopies.

The first great original Italian sculptor of the Renaissance was Nicola Pisano. He lived through almost the whole of the thirteenth century, being born about 1204, and dying in 1278. What were the early influences of Nicola Pisano, that helped to make him so much more more modern, more truly classic, than any of his age? In the first place, he was born at the moment when interest in ancient art was beginning to awaken; the early thirteenth century. In the Campo Santo of Pisa may be seen two of the most potent factors in his Æsthetic education, the Greek sarcophagus on which was carved the Hunting of Meleager, and the Greek urn with Bacchic figures wreathing it in classic symmetry. With his mind tuned to the beautiful, the boy Nioola gazed at the work of genuine pagan Greek artists, who knew the sinuousness of the human form and the joy of living with no thought of the morrow. These joyous pagan elements, grafted on solemn religious surroundings and influences, combined to produce his peculiar genius. Basing his early endeavours on these specimens of genuine classical Greek art, there resulted his wonderful pulpits at Pisa and Siena, and his matchlessly graceful little Madonnas denote the Hellenistic sentiment for beauty. His work was a marked departure from the Byzantine and Romanesque work which constituted Italian sculpture up to that period. An examination of his designs and methods proves his immense originality. By profession he was an architect. Of his pulpit in Siena Charles Eliot Norton speaks with much appreciation. Alluding to the lions used as bases to its columns, he says: "These are the first realistic representations of living animals which the mediÆval revival of art has produced; and in vivacity and energy of rendering, and in the thoroughly artistic treatment of leonine spirit and form, they have never been surpassed." It is usually claimed that one may learn much of the rise of Gothic sculpture by studying the models in the South Kensington Museum. In a foot-note to such a statement in a book edited by Ruskin, the indignant editor has observed, "You cannot do anything of the kind. Pisan sculpture can only be studied in the original marble: half its virtue is in the chiselling!" Nicola was assisted in the work on his shrine of St. Dominic at Bologna by one Fra Guglielmo Agnelli, a monk of a very pious turn, who, nevertheless, committed a curious theft, which was never discovered until his own death-bed confession. He absconded with a bone of St. Dominic, which he kept for private devotions all his subsequent life! An old chronicler says, naÏvely: "If piety can absolve from theft, Fra Guglielmo is to be praised, though never to be imitated."

Andrea Pisano was Nicola's greatest scholar, though not his son. He took the name of his master after the mediÆval custom. His work was largely in bronze, and the earlier gates of the Baptistery in Florence are by him. We have already alluded to the later gates by Ghiberti, when speaking of bronze. Andrea had the honour to teach the celebrated Orcagna,—more painter than sculptor,—whose most noted work in this line was the Tabernacle at Or San Michele. Among the loveliest of the figures sculptured by the Pisani are the angels standing in a group, blowing trumpets, on the pulpit at Pistoja, the work of Giovanni. Among Nicola's pupils were his son Giovanni, Donatello, Arnolfo di Cambio, and Lorenzo Maitani, who executed the delightful sculptures on the faÇade of the Cathedral of Orvieto,—perhaps the most interesting set of bas-reliefs in detail of the Early Renaissance, although in general symmetrical "bossiness" of effect, so much approved by Ruskin, they are very uneven. In this respect they come rather under the head of realistic than of decorative art.

Lorenzo Maitani was a genuine leader of his guild of craftsmen, and superintended the large body of architects who worked at Orvieto, stone masons, mosaicists, bronze founders, painters, and minor workmen. He lived until 1330, and practically devoted his life to Orvieto. It is uncertain whether any of the Pisani were employed in any capacity, although for a time it was popularly supposed that the four piers on the faÇade were their work. An iconographic description of these sculptures would occupy too much time here, but one or two features of special interest should be noted: the little portrait relief of the master Maitani himself occurs on the fourth pier, among the Elect in heaven, wearing his workman's cap and carrying his architect's square. Only his head and shoulders can be seen at the extreme left of the second tier of sculptures. In accordance with an early tradition, that Virgil was in some wise a prophet, and that he had foretold the coming of Christ, he is here introduced, on the second pier, near the base, crowned with laurel. The incident of the cutting off of the servant's ear, by Peter, is positively entertaining. Peter is sawing away industriously at the offending member; a fisherman ought to understand a more deft use of the knife! In the scenes of the Creation, depicted on the first pier, Maitani has proved himself a real nature lover in the tender way he has demonstrated the joy of the birds at finding the use of their wings.

The earliest sculptures in France were very rude,—it was rather a process than an art to decorate a building with carvings as the Gauls did! But the latent race talent was there; as soon as the Romanesque and Byzantine influences were felt, a definite school of sculpture was formed in France; almost at once they seized on the best elements of the craft and abandoned the worthless, and the great note of a national art was struck in the figures at Chartres, Paris, Rheims, and other cathedrals of the Ile de France.

Prior to this flowering of art in Northern France, the churches of the South of France developed a charming Romanesque of their own, a little different from that in Italy. A monk named Tutilon, of the monastery of St. Gall, was among the most famous sculptors of the Romanesque period. Another name is that of Hughes, Abbot of Montier-en-Der. At the end of the tenth century one Morard, under the patronage of King Robert, built and ornamented the Church of St. Germain des PrÈs, Paris, while Guillaume, an Abbot at Dijon, was at the head of the works of forty monasteries. Guillaume probably had almost as wide an influence upon French art as St. Bernward had on the German, or Nicola Pisano on that of Italy. In Metz were two noted architects, Adelard and Gontran, who superintended the building of fourteen churches, and an early chronicler says that the expense was so great that "the imperial treasury would scarce have sufficed for it."

At Arles are two of the most famous monuments of Romanesque art, the porches of St. Trophime, and of St. Gilles. The latter exhibits almost classical feeling and influence; the former is much blunter and more Byzantine; both are highly interesting for purposes of study, being elaborately ornamented with figure sculptures and other decorative motives.

Abbot Suger, the art-craftsman par excellence of the Ile de France, was the sculptor in chief of St. Denis from 1137 to 1180. This magnificent faÇade is harmonious in its treatment, betokening plainly that one brain conceived and carried out the plan. We have not the names of the minor architects and sculptors who were employed, but doubtless they were the scholars and followers of Suger, and rendered work in a similar manner.

There are some names which have been handed down from early times in Normandy: one Otho, another Garnier, and a third, Anquetil, while a crucifix carved by Auquilinus of Moissac was popularly believed to have been created by divine means. If one will compare the statues of St. Trophime of Arles with those at St. Denis, it will be found that the latter are better rounded, those at St. Trophime being coarsely blocked out; although at first glance one would say that there was little to choose between them.

The old font at Amiens is very ancient, older than the church. It is seven feet long, and stands on short square piers: it resembles a stone coffin, and was apparently so made that a grown person might be baptized by immersion, by lying at full length. Angels holding scrolls are carved at its four corners, otherwise it is very plain. There is an ancient Byzantine crucifix at Amiens, on which the figure of Our Lord is fully draped, and on his head is a royal crown instead of thorns. The figure, too, is erect, as if to invite homage by its outstretched arms, instead of suggesting that the arms had to bear the weight of the body. Indeed, it is a Christ triumphant and regnant though crucified—a very unusual treatment of the subject in the Middle Ages. It was brought from the East, in all probability, by a returning warrior from the Crusades.

The foundation of Chartres was very early: the first Bishop St. Aventin occupied his see as early as 200 A. D. The early Gothic type in figure sculpture is always characterized by a few features in common, though different districts produced varying forms and facial expressions. The figures are always narrow, and much elongated, from a monumental sentiment which governed the design of the period. The influence of the Caryatid may have remained in the consciousness of later artists, leading them to make their figures conform so far as expedient to the proportions of the columns which stood behind them and supported them. In any case, it was considered an indispensable condition that these proportions should be maintained, and has come to be regarded as an architectural necessity. As soon as sculptors began to consider their figures as realistic representations of human beings instead of ornamental motives in their buildings, the art declined, and poor results followed.

The west porch of Chartres dates from the twelfth century. The church was injured by fire in 1194. In 1226 certain restorations were made, and an old chronicle says that at that time it was quite fire-proof, remarking: "It has nothing to fear from any earthly fire from this time to the day of Judgment, and will save from fires eternal the many Christians who by their alms have helped in its rebuilding." The whole edifice was consecrated by St. Louis on Oct. 17, 1260. The King gave the north porch, and several of the windows, and the whole royal family was present at this impressive function.

About the time of William the Conqueror it became customary to carve effigies on tombstones, at first simple figures in low relief lying on flat slabs: this idea being soon elaborated, however, into canopied tombs, which grew year by year more ornate, until Gothic structures enriched with finials and crockets began to be erected in churches to such an extent that the interior of the edifice was quite filled with these dignified little buildings. In many instances it is quite impossible to obtain any view of the sanctuary except looking directly down the central aisle; the whole ambulatory is often one continuous succession of exquisite sepulchral monuments.

Perhaps the most satisfying monument of French Gothic style is the tomb of the elder son of St. Louis at St. Denis. The majesty of the recumbent figure is striking, but the little procession of mourners about the main body of the tomb is absolutely unrivalled in art of this character. The device of little weeping figures surrounding the lower part of a tomb is also carried out in an exquisite way on the tomb of Aymer de Valence in Westminster.

Some interesting saints are carved on the north portal of Amiens, among others, St. Ulpha, a virgin who is chiefly renowned for having lived in a chalk cave near Amiens, where she was greatly annoyed by frogs. Undaunted, she prayed so lustily and industriously, that she finally succeeded in silencing them!

The thirteenth century revival in France was really a new birth; almost more than a Renaissance. It is a question among archÆologists if France was not really more original and more brilliant than Italy in this respect. A glance at such figures as the Virgin from the Gilded Portal at Amiens, and another Virgin from the same cathedral, will show the change which came over the spirit of art in that one city during the thirteenth century. The figure on the right door of the western faÇade is a work of the early part of the century. She is grave and dignified in bearing, her hand extended in favour, while the Child gives the blessing in calm majesty. This figure has the spirit of a goddess receiving homage, and bestowing grace: it is conventional and monumental. The Virgin from the Gilded Portal is of a later generation. Her attention is given to the Child, and her aspect is human and spirited,—almost merry. It may be said to be less religious than the other statue, but it is filled with more modern grace and charm, and glorifies the idea of happy maternity: every angle and fold of the drapery is full of life and action without being over realistic. There is much in common between this pleasing statue and the Virgins of the Pisani in Italy.

Professor Moore considers the statue of the Virgin on the Portal of the Virgin at the west end of Notre Dame in Paris as about the best example of Gothic figure sculpture in France. He says further that the finest statues in portals of any age are those of the north porch at Paris. The Virgin here is marvellously fine also. It combines the dignity and monumental qualities of the first of the Virgins at Amiens, with the living buoyancy of the Virgin on the Gilded Portal. It is the clear result of a study of nature grafted on Byzantine traditions. It dates from 1250.

While sculpture was practised chiefly by monastic artists, it retained the archaic and traditional elements. When trained carvers from secular life began to take the chisel, the spirit of the world entered in. For a time this was a marked improvement: later the pendulum swung too far, and decadence set in.

A favourite device on carved tympana above portals was the Last Judgment. Michael with the scales, engaged in weighing souls, was the tall central figure, and the two depressed saucers of the scales help considerably in filling the triangular space usually left over a Gothic doorway. At Chartres, there is an example of this subject, in which Mortal Sin, typified by a devil and two toads, are being weighed against the soul of a departed hero. As is customary in such compositions, a little devil is seen pulling on the side of the scale in which he is most interested!

One of the most cheerful and delightful figures at Chartres is that of the very tall angel holding a sun dial, on the corner of the South tower. A certain optimistic inconsequence is his chief characteristic, as if he really believed that the hours bore more of happiness than of sorrow to the world.

There is no limit to the originality and the symbolic messages of the Gothic grotesques. Two whole books might be written upon this subject alone to do it justice; but a few notable instances of these charming little adornments to the stern structures of the Middle Ages must be noticed here. The little medallions at Amiens deserve some attention. They represent the Virtues and Vices, the Follies, and other ethical qualities. Some of them deal with Scriptural scenes. "Churlishness" is figured by a woman kicking over her cup-bearer. Apropos of her attitude, Ruskin observes that the final forms of French churlishness are to be discovered in the feminine gestures in the can-can. He adds: "See the favourite print shops in Paris." Times have certainly changed little!

One of these Amiens reliefs, signifying "Rebellion," is that of a man snapping his fingers at his bishop! Another known as "Atheism" is variously interpreted. A man is seen stepping out of his shoes at the church porch. Ruskin explains this as meaning that the infidel is shown in contradistinction to the faithful who is supposed to have "his feet shod with the preparation of the Gospel of Peace;" but AbbÉ Roze thinks it more likely that this figure represents an unfrocked monk abandoning the church.

One of these displays the beasts in Nineveh, and a little squat monkey, developing into a devil, is wittily characterized by Ruskin as reversing the Darwinian theory.

The statues above these little quatrefoils are over seven feet in height, differing slightly, and evidently portrait sculptures inspired by living models, adapted to their more austere use in this situation.

A quiet and inconspicuous example of exquisite refinement in Gothic bas-relief is to be seen in the medallioned "Portail aux Libraires" at the Cathedral in Rouen. This doorway was built in 1278 by Jean Davi, who must have been one of the first sculptors of his time. The medallions are a series of little grotesques, some of them ineffably entertaining, and others expressive of real depth of knowledge and thought. Ruskin has eulogized some of these little figures: one as having in its eye "the expression which is never seen but in the eye of a dog gnawing something in jest, and preparing to start away with it." Again, he detects a wonderful piece of realism and appreciative work in the face of a man who leans with his head on his hand in thought: the wrinkles pushed up under his eye are especially commended.

In the south transept at Amiens is a piece of elaborate sculpture in four compartments, which are the figures of many saints. There is a legend in connection with those figures: when the millers were about to select a patron saint, they agreed to choose the saint on whose head a dove, released for the purpose, should alight; but as the bird elected to settle on the head of a demon, they abandoned their plan! The figures in these carvings are almost free of the ground; they appear to be a collection of separate statuettes, the scenes being laid in three or four planes. It is not restrained bas-relief; but the effect is extremely rich. The sculptures in high relief, but in more conventional proportion than these, which occur on the dividing wall between the choir and the north aisle, are thoroughly satisfactory. They are coloured; they were executed in 1531, and they represent scenes in the life of the Baptist. In the panel where SalomÉ is portrayed as dancing, a grave little monkey is seen watching her from under the table. The similar screen surrounding the sanctuary at Paris was the work of the chief cathedral architect, Jean Renoy, with whom worked his nephew, Jehan le Bouteiller. These stone carved screens are quite usual in the Ile de France. The finest are at Chartres, where they go straight around the ambulatory, the whole choir being fenced in, as it were, about the apse, by this exquisite work. This screen is more effective, too, for being left in the natural colour of the stone: where these sculptures are painted, as they usually are, they suggest wood carvings, and have not as much dignity as when the stone is fully recognized.

The Door of St. Marcel has the oldest carving on Notre Dame in Paris. The plate representing the iron work, in Chapter IV., shows the carving on this portal, which is the same that has Biscornette's famous hinges. The central figure of St. Marcel himself presents the saint in the act of reproving a naughty dragon which had had the indiscretion to devour the body of a rich but wicked lady. The dragon is seen issuing from the dismantled tomb of this unfortunate person. The dragon repented his act, when the saint had finished admonishing him, and showed his attachment and gratitude for thus being led in paths of rectitude, by following the saint for four miles, apparently walking much as a seal would walk, beseeching the saint to forgive him. But Marcel was firm, and punished the serpent, saying to him: "Go forth and inhabit the deserts or plunge thyself into the sea;" and, as St. Patrick rid the Celtic land of snakes, so St. Marcel seems to have banished dragons from fair France.

At Chartres there are eighteen hundred statues, and almost as many at Amiens and at Rheims and Paris. One reason for the superiority of French figure sculpture in the thirteenth century, over that existing in other countries, is that the French used models. There has been preserved the sketch book of a mediÆval French architect, Vilard de Honcourt, which is filled with studies from life: and why should we suppose him to be the only one who worked in this way?

Rheims Cathedral is the Mecca of the student of mediÆval sculpture. The array of statues on the exterior is amazing, and a walk around the great structure reveals unexpected riches in corbels, gargoyles, and other grotesques, hidden at all heights, each a veritable work of art, repaying the closest study, and inviting the enthusiast to undue extravagance at a shop in the vicinity, which advertises naÏvely, that it is an "Artistical Photograph Laboratory."

On the door of St. Germain l'Auxerrois in Paris, there is a portrait statue of St. GeneviÈve, holding a lighted candle, while "the devil in little" sits on her shoulder, exerting himself to blow it out! It is quite a droll conceit of the thirteenth century.

Of the leaf forms in Gothic sculpture, three styles are enough to generalize about. The early work usually represented springlike leaves, clinging, half-developed, and buds. Later, a more luxuriant foliage was attempted: the leaves and stalks were twisted, and the style was more like that actually seen in nature. Then came an overblown period, when the leaves were positively detached, and the style was lost. The foliage was no longer integral, but was applied.

There is little of the personal element to be exploited in dealing with the sculptors in the Middle Ages. Until the days of the Renaissance individual artists were scarcely recognized; master masons employed "Imagers" as casually as we would employ brick-layers or plasterers; and no matter how brilliant the work, it was all included in the general term "building."

The first piece of signed sculpture in France is a tympanum in the south transept at Paris, representing the Stoning of Stephen. It is by Jean de Chelles, in 1257. St. Louis of France was a patron of arts, and took much interest in his sculptors. There were two Jean de Montereau, who carved sacred subjects in quite an extraordinary way. Jean de Soignoles, in 1359, was designated as "Macon et Ymageur." One of the chief "imageurs," as they were called, was Jacques Haag, who flourished in the latter half of the fifteenth century, in Amiens. This artist was imprisoned for sweating coin, but in 1481 the king pardoned him. He executed large statues for the city gates, of St. Michael and St. Firmin, in 1464 and 1489. There was a sculptor in Paris in the fourteenth century, one Hennequin de Liege, who made several tombs in black and white marble, among them that of Blanche de France, and the effigy of Queen Philippa at Westminster.

It was customary both in France and England to use colour on Gothic architecture. It is curious to realize that the faÇade of Notre Dame in Paris was originally a great colour scheme. A literary relic, the "Voyage of an Armenian Bishop," named Martyr, in the year 1490, alludes to the beauty of this cathedral of Paris, as being ablaze with gold and colour.

An old record of the screen of the chapel of St. Andrew at Westminster mentions that it was "adorned with curious carvings and engravings, and other imagery work of birds, flowers, cherubims, devices, mottoes, and coats of arms of many of the chief nobility painted thereon. All done at the cost of Edmond Kirton, Abbot, who lies buried on the south side of the chapel under a plain gray marble slab." H. Keepe, who wrote of Westminster Abbey in 1683, mentioned the virgin over the Chapter House door as being "all richly enamelled and set forth with blue, some vestigia of all which are still remaining, whereby to judge of the former splendour and beauty thereof." Accounts make frequent mention of painters employed, one being "Peter of Spain," and another William of Westminster, who was called the "king's beloved painter."

King RenÉ of Anjou was an amateur of much versatility; he painted and made many illuminations: among other volumes, copies of his own works in prose and verse. Aside from his personal claim to renown in the arts, he founded a school in which artists and sculptors were included. One of the chief sculptors was Jean Poncet, who was followed in the king's favour by his son Pons Poncet. Poor Pons was something of a back-slider, being rather dissipated; but King RenÉ was fond of him, and gave him work to do when he was reduced to poverty. The monument to his nurse, Tiphanie, at Saumur, was entrusted to Pons Poncet. After the death of Pons, the chief sculptor of the court was Jacques Moreau.