The XVII century is an age of opposites. Democracy is contrasted with absolutism; the newly won Dutch Republic with the monarchies of Spain and France. Christendom is divided between the antagonistic sects of Catholicism and Protestantism. The Counter-Reformation, at first mistrustful of the artist, now makes use of art to further the Catholic reaction. But religious art itself, exclusively Catholic, is animated by varying emotions which find expression, on the one hand, in the passionate, morbid fervor of Ribera (1588-1656); on the other, in the easy-going rhetoric and corpulent healthiness of Rubens (1577-1640). In secular art we find equally striking contrasts; the pendulum swings from the aristocratic refinement of Van Dyck (1599-1641) to the vulgarity of Brouwer (1606-1638). It seems incredible that two such great artists as Rembrandt (1607-1669) and Velasquez (1599-1660) should have been contemporaries: Velasquez, reserved, proud, the embodiment of Spanish courtliness; Rembrandt, emotional, democratic, understanding and sympathizing with all mankind. But the contrast is no greater than between the popular art that flourished in the Netherlands under a free people, and the monarchical art, with its academies, court painters, sculptors, architects, tapestry weavers and cabinet makers, that revolved around the awesome person of le grand monarque, Louis XIV. Architecture, sculpture and the minor arts display more uniformity of style than the paintings of the period. Dependent largely upon the Church or upon an opulent aristocracy for patronage, they reflect the taste for grandiloquence, ostentation and splendid show which characterized, in this century, ecclesiastic and noble alike. The classic orders tower and writhe on church facade and palace walls. Within, where all is resplendent with gold and rich colors, magnificence pays its lavish homage to deity or to royalty in equal measure.

English painting before the XVIII century was largely dominated by foreign artists: Holbein in the XVI century; Van Dyck in the first half of the XVII century; and, in the second half, the Dutchman, Sir Peter Lely, who came to England in 1641 and speedily won great reputation as a portrait painter, imitating the style of Van Dyck who had just died. Lely's work is distinguished by many excellent qualities, although marred by the pompous artificiality of his time. He is at his best in such a portrait as this, painted shortly after his arrival in England, of the second Earl of Clarendon (1638-1709) as a boy.

This interesting genre scene is by a Dutch painter of the late XVII century, a period when art, that had been democratic with Rembrandt and Frans Hals, now assumed, under the patronage of wealthy parvenus a pretentious gentility in which the accessories of life were more important than life itself. Van Musscher enjoyed considerable popularity in his time; he painted with meticulous care flattering portraits and pretty genre subjects; he was mindful of each shining pearl and gilded tassel, satin fold and silken curtain—not a detail escaped his devoted eye; but, were it not for a certain distinction which he had as a colorist and composer his paintings would have little importance today, save as records of costume and household gear.

Mierevelt, a well-known portrait painter of the Dutch school, lived principally at Delft, although occasionally residing at The Hague. He was court painter to the House of Orange, and like others of his kind, evidently enjoyed depicting the elegant costumes and accessories of his aristocratic sitters. Mierevelt differs widely from his younger and greater contemporary, Frans Hals, both in technique and in sentiment. Mierevelt's style recalls the courtly elegance of the Renaissance—which one might expect, since he was born well in the XVI century; whereas Frans Hals, striking out along new lines, represents the new spirit of democracy which inspired the long struggle in the Low Countries to win political and religious independence. The portrait, illustrated above, is dated 1630.

In the background of this “hunting tapestry,” from the Lowry Memorial Gift, is illustrated the story of Diana and Acteon; the rash huntsman is turned into a stag by the outraged Goddess. In its design the tapestry is more Renaissance in feeling than Baroque, but the crowded ordinance of the composition betrays its late date. The carving on the chest below shows various typical motives of the Jacobean style.