Fancy a wet, cloudy, spring day in an old Italian town; the only objects visible in the little grass-grown square where the hotel stands, being two or three mournful carriages, with the sorriest steeds harnessed to them, that even Italian feeding can produce, and surrounding these, houses of mildewed stone, faced occasionally with brown plaster, large flakes of which are peeling off in every direction. The drivers have long since given up all hope of even a stray tourist, and ensconced themselves in the low wine-shop that you may see at the corner of the square, whence the sound of their voices and the smoke of their cigars, break forth occasionally into the heavy atmosphere.

Every now and then a slippered figure, with white stockings down at heel, and black stuff petticoat wrapped carefully over its head, hurries by on some domestic errand, or a stray dog limps dejectedly in and out of the carriage wheels, in search of stray scraps of sausage or cheese, which might indeed well be there, since the drivers eat both, pretty well all day long. To close the picture, an Englishman in a tweed suit, staring contemplatively at the prospect from the doorway of the principal hotel, and wondering whether it was really worth while to travel half across Europe, in order to reach such a resting-place: wondering also whom he shall get to direct him to the Arena Chapel, for this is Padua, once most learned of universities, and now dullest of cities, and it is here that Giotto painted the Scrovegni Chapel from floor to ceiling.

After more or less contradictory directions and several fruitless attempts, I discovered the entrance to the enclosure wherein the chapel stands, and being by this time wet, tired, dirty, and considerably out of temper, immediately resolved to leave it to the next day to see the pictures, and returned to my hotel depressed in spirit, but trying to look forward to the morrow. All was unchanged in the square, save that the dog had departed, and the vetturini grown a trifle more noisy; so after a solitary dinner, wherein the landlord figured as sole attendant, and macaroni formed the principal dish, I turned into my room, and consoled myself with concocting an imaginary leader to the Times on the fallacy of believing that Italian weather was better than English, and so to bed.

Never was change more complete than that I woke to the next morning. A blazing sun, such as we see in July only, shone in the midst of a blue sky, and streamed brightly in upon the paved bedchamber, and a fresh little breeze rattled cheerfully to and fro the big window-shutters, and hinted at its being time to get up. A glance into the square revealed my vetturino friends cheerfully cracking their whips at imaginary flies, and, seated by the side of the fountain, a brown-skinned maiden in the whitest of linen and heaviest of earrings, was amicably partaking of a chunk of sausage, with the youngest of the party. The very dog had turned up again, and looked at least twice the size that he did yesterday, and was sitting at a respectful distance from the last-named couple, watching for scraps with cheerful confidence.

Now, if ever, it appeared to me was the time for a first favourable impression of a great artist, and so, hurrying through dressing and breakfast, I started for the chapel. Venting the content of my soul as I went along, in the solitary Italian phrase I was master of, I waved my hand to the young coachman, and said, chÉ bel' tempo. He looked down at his dark-eyed damsel; she was sitting on the step of the carriage by this time, and if ever a coachman agreed with any one, which is doubtful, that young fellow did with me; though I gathered his assent merely from his eloquent looks, for of what he said I have not the faintest conception.

So, like Æneas, with hope and fortune favouring me, I drew near to the great wooden gate which marks the entrance to the Arena. The large gates are immovable, but a little lattice door opens if you push it deftly at the right moment after having rung the bell, and on entering, you see a long garden, where currants and apple-trees, acacias and vines, almonds and poplars, are all mixed together in a confusion of greenery. At the end of the narrow gravel walk rises a house, not unlike an English suburban villa, much out of repair, in front of which two or three small children are tumbling about in perilous proximity to an old well, while at what should be the dining-room window, stands a girl twisting up her long, black hair, with the most perfect composure. Anything more delightfully unlike the usual aspect of a show place could hardly be imagined, and at first (not being able to see the chapel at all) I thought I had mistaken my direction for the third time, but there was the servant evidently getting ready to receive me, and, as I had undoubtedly rung the bell, I walked boldly up to the house.

A few steps explained the matter. The chapel stands to the right of the house, at the edge of the orchard, and the servant was doing up her hair previous to bringing out the keys. The chapel outside is simply a barn-shaped building, with a gable roof, absolutely undecorated in any way whatever, unless a round-arched door, with the remains of a very small fresco above it, can be called decorative. The entrance is at the west end of the building, which is lighted from the south side only, by six long narrow windows. The gable roof hardly projects at all beyond the walls. The whole appearance of the chapel being somewhat like those box-like constructions drawn by children, to represent a house. If it be a proper criticism to call a thing ugly which has only been constructed for a certain purpose, and which has fulfilled that purpose fairly well for six hundred years, the Scrovegni Chapel may fairly be called by that name; but personally I must confess to a feeling of gratification at finding there was absolutely no attempt at architectural embellishment in the whole building, and many will probably share this feeling. Knowing that the interior was absolutely covered with frescoes, each of which was almost priceless, it seemed to me appropriate, both to the pictures, and the simplicity of style in the master who executed them, that their covering should be not sculptured marble or vaulted stone, but simply plain, honest building.

After all the chapel was hardly more to the frescoes than is the canvas to the picture, and it afforded a refreshing contrast to the way in which things are done nowadays, to remember that Enrico Scrovegni,[57] wishing to build a temple to the honour, and for the service of, the Virgin, thought it more necessary to give her the work of genius within her shrine, than to adorn its exterior with costly materials and sculptured ornament. Given that it was a choice between Giotto's frescoes and elaborate architectural design (and we may suppose that a plain citizen could not afford both), then we can look at this homely building with pleasure rather than repulsion, as we do at the rough coating of some precious stone. And if we do not grumble at the plainness of the building, still less will we do so at its position in the quaint garden-close, where flickering shadows from the bright leaves of the acacias dot the gravel path, and where from behind the chapel rises the humming of the custodian's bee-hives.[58]

Is not this such a surrounding as we might best desire for our painter's work? In front of his masterpieces, an orchard green and gay, with trembling leaves and flashing sunshine, and human with the soft voices of laughing children; and behind, a rich meadow, where a few cattle doze lazily through their time, and long ranges of bee-hives stand in the very shadow of the chapel; and if the eye lifts its gaze from meadow and orchard, with a sense of something wanting to the full agreement of the surroundings and the painter's mind, it meets the great dome of the neighbouring church rising against the cloudless sky, as it might in one of Giotto's own frescoes, and is satisfied. So with the rustling of the leaves, and the murmur of the bees in our ears, and something of the bright sunshine in our hearts, we enter the chapel where the custodian waits patiently enough, having had experience of many tourists and their foolish ways.

A long vaulted chamber plainly divided by a high arch into nave and chancel, lighted by six high narrow windows, all on the right hand wall, the entire interior surface covered with frescoes, three tiers of which run from the ceiling to within about eight feet of the ground; at intervals, below this lowest tier, there are other frescoes of smaller size in monochrome, symbolical of the various Christian virtues and vices, surrounded by craftily painted borders, imitating mosaic of coloured marbles.

Wherever the eye turns it meets a bewilderment of colour pure and radiant, and yet restful to the eye; tints which resemble in their perfect harmony of brightness the iridescence of a shell, and seem to be possessed of something of the same strange quality of imprisoned light. From the blue ceiling, with its medallions and golden stars, to the lowest range of mosaic, there is literally not a spot where the eye cannot rest with pleasure; and the whole interior, owing perhaps to its perfect simplicity of form, and the absence of all other decoration than the frescoes, presents less the aspect of a building ornamented with paintings, than that of some gigantic opal in the midst of which the spectator stands.

It is difficult to speak without seeming exaggeration of the effect produced, or to attempt to convey to those of my readers who are not familiar with the spot, the peculiar qualities of the colouring in these paintings. In England, and to the majority of Englishmen, pure colour, bright colour, and staring colour, are almost interchangeable terms, and depth of colour is but too frequently understood to mean depth of shadow. Now you must quite get rid of the idea that the colouring of these frescoes is crude or violent, because I call it "pure."

If there is one quality of our master's work which is more certain than another, it is the general harmony of his tints, the absence of any discordant effect from his paintings. The great difference between his system of colouring and that of later masters is, that his harmony is gained by means of the combination of broad masses of comparatively simple tints, while later artists discovered that by paying greater attention to the gradation of colour, its subtle variations of light and shade, and its enhancement by means of complementary tints, they could produce a greater truth to nature, as well as a greater amount of colour beauty, than in any other way—and one, moreover, which was applicable to all the varying conditions of nature. Giotto's system was one which he would have been the first to discard, had it occurred to him to paint a picture save in full daylight, for its beauty is incompatible with any other effect. It must always be remembered in thinking of his work, that he was the successor of men who absolutely banished shadow from their pictures; for the gloomy hues of the older Byzantine pictures were not representative of shadow, any more than their rich tones represented light; and Giotto's master, Cimabue, had revolted from the darkness of his predecessors' pictures to comparatively light tints.

It was, of course, impossible for Giotto to work out an entire system of chiaroscuro for himself (as a matter of fact it took another two hundred years to accomplish that advance); the marvel is that by his exquisite arrangement of tint he was able to compose pictures which are to this day comparable in colour beauty to those of the great masters of succeeding ages, though they are not comparable in subtlety of colour, nor is there ever such beauty of a special colour gained as in the work of the later artists.[59]

The series of paintings comprises illustrations of the apocryphal history of Joachim and Anna, the Virgin's parents, the life of the Virgin up to the period of the Annunciation, and finally, a set of illustrations of the life and passion of Jesus Christ, culminating in a fresco above the choir showing Him enthroned in glory. Thus the series forms one connected history, supplementing which there is on the great wall above the door a representation of the last judgment. Every fresco is surrounded by a frame, painted in imitation of coloured mosaic, and at intervals, beneath the lowest row of the scenes from the life of Christ, there are representations of the Virtues, each of which has its corresponding Vice facing it upon the opposite side of the chapel. In the arrangement it should be noticed that each Virtue has its head turned to the portion of the Last Judgment fresco representing Heaven, or to the fresco of Christ in Glory; each Vice looks towards the portion representing Hell. These symbolical figures are in greyish green, with occasionally a background of dull red; the historical works are in various colours.

This arrangement is probably due in some measure to the rules of Byzantine art, but here the resemblance ends; nothing can be more original, owing less to tradition, than the composition of the various pictures in this series. They are not so much an improvement upon Byzantine art, as a wholly new departure; the difference is something like that between the gallop of a horse, and the fierce rush of a locomotive, not only a greater pace, but a changed mode of progression. It is difficult to see how the one could have ever developed into the other, and there is no clue left, save such as may be found in that lonely shepherd life led by the young artist, amidst the olive groves and grey hills of Vespignano. I subjoin a table of the subjects of these series in the order in which they here occur; but I do not propose to weary my readers with a description of the composition of each picture; it will be sufficient if I indicate the main features of a few of the most important.[60]

The order of the drawings in the Arena Chapel is as follows:—

• 1. Joachim's Offering rejected by the High Priest.
• 2. Joachim retires to the Sheepfold.
• 3. The Angel appears to Anna.
• 4. The Sacrifice of Joachim.
• 5. The Angel appears to Joachim.
• 6. The Meeting of Joachim and Anna.
• 7. The Birth of the Virgin Mary.
• 8. The Presentation of the Virgin.
• 9. The Rods are brought to the High Priest.
• 10. The Watching of the Rods at the Altar.
• 11. The Espousal of the Virgin Mary.
• 12. The Virgin Mary returns to her Home.
• 13. The Annunciation—the Angel Gabriel.
• 14. The Annunciation—the Virgin Mary.
• 15. The Marriage of the Virgin.
• 16. The Salutation.
• 17. The Nativity.
• 18. The Wise Men's Offering.
• 19. The Presentation in the Temple.
• 20. The Flight into Egypt.
• 21. The Massacre of the Innocents.
• 22. The Young Christ in the Temple.
• 23. The Baptism of Christ.
• 24. The Marriage in Cana.
• 25. The Raising of Lazarus.
• 26. The Entry into Jerusalem.
• 27. The Expulsion from the Temple.
• 28. The Hiring of Judas.
• 29. The Last Supper.
• 30. The Washing of the Feet.
• 31. The Kiss of Judas.
• 32. Christ before Caiaphas.
• 33. The Scourging of Christ.
• 34. Christ bearing His Cross.
• 35. The Crucifixion.
• 36. The Entombment.
• 37. The Resurrection.
• 38. The Ascension.
• 39. The Descent of the Holy Spirit.

The first of this series which deserves especial attention is that numbered two in the above table, the representation of Joachim's retirement to the sheepfold, after his offering has been rejected by the high priest. This is especially remarkable as being the first of his series of the Arena frescoes in which Giotto's early training shows itself. Nothing can be more marked than the evident delight of the painter in depicting any form of this shepherd life. Throughout his works every opportunity of introducing animal nature, especially sheep nature, is eagerly seized and made the most of, and, as in this fresco, the animals have invariably a character of their own, and are by no means walking gentlemen in the scene represented. Look, for instance, at the varied action of the sheep in this composition, and the eager welcome that Joachim's dog is giving to his master. In the third and fourth pictures, too, of the Sacrifice of Joachim, and the subsequent appearance of the angel, is the delight of the painter in animal idiosyncrasies apparent, as in the two rams butting at one another, and the air of quiet watchfulness in which the dog lies down, with a sense of responsibility strong upon him.

The Meeting of Joachim and Anna, chiefly remarkable for the grace and beauty of the two leading figures; it is somewhat curious to notice how the position of Anna's head suggests that of a famous modern picture, perhaps the most celebrated ever painted in England, the Huguenots, by Mr. J.E. Millais, R.A. A propos of this fresco, Mr. Ruskin remarks, that the artist has heightened the effect of the leading figures by wilfully coarsening the features of the subordinate characters, and that the horizontal lines of the architecture enhance by contrast the beauty of the curved draperies. I am, however, inclined to think that the first of these contrasts is accidental, as the type of face of the servants in this composition, is found throughout the minor characters in Giotto's pictures; indeed, it may be noticed that, whether from his own uncomeliness, or some other more recondite reason, the painter had a curious difficulty in depicting beautiful faces, that belongs to him alone of contemporary masters. This does not apply to beauty of gesture or line, to which he was excessively sensitive.

8. The Presentation of the Virgin—the Virgin represented not as a child, but, as Lord Lindsay remarks, a dwarf woman. The figure of Anna in this picture is one of the least graceful in Giotto's works.

10. The Watching of the Rods at the Altar.—Chiefly characteristic as showing Giotto's power of seizing the expression in the simplest actions, which is most characteristic of the subject; in this fresco the eagerness of the watchers is shown with a quite unmistakeable plainness, especially in the three centre figures, though all of these have their backs more or less turned to the spectator.

11. The Espousal of the Virgin.—Some of the figures in this composition are very fine, such, for instance, as those of Joseph, the high priest, and the youth behind, who is in the act of breaking the rod over his knee. Mr. Ruskin remarks of this last figure that in Perugino's treatment of the same subject (at Cannes) there is "nothing in the action of the disappointed suitors so perfectly true and touching as that of the youth breaking his rod in this composition of Giotto."

12. The Return of the Virgin Mary to her Home.—The figure of the violin-player in this composition is remarkable, not only for its beauty, but for being identical with that of one of the attendants in the fresco of the Daughter of Herodias dancing before Herod, in the Santa Croce at Florence. It is a very quiet picture, full of slow movement and dignified grace, but a little wanting in the variety of action which is generally characteristic of Giotto's work, and more severe in the lines of the drapery.

13. The Annunciation—the Angel Gabriel and the Virgin Mary. These are two single figures which together encircle the arch above the entrance to the choir of the chapel, and are as beautiful as any of the compositions; especially fine is the attitude of the lines of drapery of the angel's figure. Giotto seems not to have attempted to render the Virgin's face beautiful either in expression or feature.

16. The Salutation—almost the first fresco where Giotto's full powers are seen. I know no two figures more finer in their way than those of the Virgin and Elizabeth. Here the plainness of Mary's face seems quite obscured by the beauty of its expression, and every line of the two figures helps to tell the story. This picture is smaller than the others, owing to its place beneath the figure of the Virgin in the Annunciation, and is nearly bare of all background.

17. The Nativity.—This Nativity is doubly interesting from the fact of the subject being repeated at Assisi in the lower church[61] in the series generally attributed to Giotto. The one at Padua is as beautiful as any of the Arena frescoes, and in every way finer than the Assisi rendering, which latter is almost certainly the work of one of Giotto's pupils, and is as stiff and mechanical in its general arrangement as the former is easy and natural.

I need not enter into the reasons which have convinced me of Giotto not having personally executed the Assisi Nativity, as they are given at length in a subsequent chapter.[62] The varied action of the angels, the natural gestures of the Virgin and the shepherds and the quiet harmony of blue and grey colour (in which this fresco is almost entirely painted), are especially worthy of notice. Very noticeable too are the attentive animals, and the natural manner in which the Virgin turns half round in her bed to place the child in its attendant's arms. On the right are the shepherds listening to the angels, who fly hither and thither above the mountain background; on the left, the ox and ass stretching their heads towards the Virgin's couch.

18. The Adoration of the Magi.—The composition of this fresco in its leading figures is very fine, and somewhat more elaborate than customary in this series. The artist has tried very hard to get some expression of interest in the camel, who is being held by an attendant on the left of the picture, and has actually succeeded to some extent, despite the Noah's-ark-like appearance of the animal, caused no doubt by Giotto's insufficient acquaintance with its shape.

19. The Presentation in the Temple.—There are two incidents in this scene, for the right interpretation of the latter of which I am indebted to Mr. Ruskin. The first of them is the naturalism of the child, which is evidently struggling to leave the high priest's arms and get back to its mother, who holds out her arms to receive it; the second being the approach of an angel to Simeon, who is supposed by Mr. Ruskin to typify the angel of death, "sent in visible fulfilment of the thankful words of Simeon: 'Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.'" The drapery of the Virgin in this fresco, though simple, is very fine.

20. The Flight into Egypt.—One of the simplest of the series. The colour in several places completely gone, as, for instance, in the Virgin's robe, which, originally blue, is now a yellowish white, the dark shadow of the drapery alone remaining. The patient pace of the tired ass on which the Virgin is seated, if contrasted with that of the one on which Christ is riding in the fresco of the Entry into Jerusalem, will show how minute was Giotto's observation and appreciation of animal life.

21. The Murder of the Innocents.—Perhaps the least pleasing of the series, though no doubt much of its lack of beauty is owing to the change of colour which this fresco has sustained, a change which, from some unknown cause, has been much more radical than in most of this series. The composition could, however, have been at no time a beautiful one, and the heap of stiff wooden dolls (for such they seem) that represents the slaughtered innocents is simply ugly. The fresco, however, is full of action, and the figure of the leading executioner, who stands drawing back his sword to pierce the child, whom he holds head downwards in his left hand, is one of the most vigorous Giotto ever conceived.

22. The Teaching of Christ in the Temple.—This fresco is so much injured by damp as to be practically destroyed.

23. The Baptism of Christ by John.—Wholly Byzantine in its arrangement, especially in the water, which is depicted as a heavy green wall, reaching half way up the fresco and covering Christ's body as high as the chest. Mary and Joseph stand on the right bank, attendants on the left, Christ in the centre of the picture, with a glory streaming down upon him. It is somewhat curious to observe that Giotto has made a compromise in the garments of the Apostle John, and while clothing him in a pink robe, for the sake of the fresco's colour, has allowed a little bit of the camel's-hair garment to be seen beneath the long drapery.

24. The Wedding in Cana.—A touch of nature in the fat butler in the foreground, who is swigging away at the wine before taking it to the table; otherwise this fresco is one of the most commonplace of the series. It is worthy of notice that in all cases where Giotto has to represent a scene in which the actors are seated, the artist seems to lose much of his attractiveness; to become more commonplace. It is as if the dramatic instinct in him refused to work freely except when he could depict varied actions.

25. The Raising of Lazarus.—This is another fresco full of the various attitudes of surprise and energy in which Giotto delighted so much. The pose of the principal figure of the disciples should be noticed, as it is very characteristic of our artist, and occurs in many of his frescoes where surprise or grief has to be indicated. The body is bent slightly forward with the arms thrown abruptly back, the hand hollowed with the palm towards the ground, the fingers held together and the thumb as much spread out as possible. The figures of the two attendants in this fresco, who are raising the heavy slab which covered the tomb of Lazarus, are of very marked action; the one on the right trying to raise the slab to his shoulder, while the left-hand one, with feet planted firmly wide apart, is just bending to the strain of lifting his end of the stone from the ground, or as a rowing man would say, is just "getting his weight on."

26. The Entry into Jerusalem.—Greatly injured by damp but still interesting. Notice the figure of the woman, whose cloak has tumbled over her head in her excitement, and the haste with which the two boys in the background are climbing the palm-trees to get a good view.

27. The Expulsion of the Money-changers.—Like the last this composition is one of varied interest, but the left-hand portion of it having been considerably damaged by damp is scarcely intelligible. The attitude of Christ is energetic, and there is a fine contrast in feeling between the two money-changers on the right hand of the picture, one of whom shrinks away, while the other seems inclined to stand his ground, while the precipitation with which the goat is leaping out of the little pen is one of those little semi-burlesque touches of animal life which Giotto introduces whenever he gets a chance.

THE
ENTOMBMENT OF CHRIST.
FRESCO BY GIOTTO.
IN THE CAPPELLA DELL' ARENA, PADUA.