DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.53068#0046
RAPHAEL
§ Predella Panels for the Coronation of the Virgin
In the predella panels for the Coronation of the Virgin (Plates 13,1 7 a, b) we
find already a quality of colour of high dramatic significance utterly foreign
not only to Perugino but also to every other contemporary of Raphael.
The only painters in Central Italy who displayed power of expression as
colourists were the Sienese masters of the Trecento and their most faithful
follower, Fra Angelico. In the fifteenth century colour harmony resulted “auto-
matically” from the almost pleinairiste observation of light—and of this, these very
artists of the Marches were unrivalled as examples, earlier even than the
Venetians—or from the new convention of solemn harmonies of colour which
Perugino made to dominate with a hymn-like grandeur the monotonous rhythm
of his groups. But colour never became the expression of the entire mood of the
scene as it did here, in the young Raphael.
§ The Knight’s Dream
One is immediately struck by the contrast between the two women at the
feet and at the head of the Dreaming Knight (Plate 18), a bright little picture of
which the colours have indeed been thought to display a Bolognese or Ferrarese
quality; but there is nothing in these figures that would not fit in with the
assistant in the frescoes of the Cambio—costumes, pose and movement: only
here, on the small scale, everything is more controlled, every form is fuller
and healthier, than in the laboured monotony of the master. Yet here, how
much is conveyed by juxtaposition! Twice, at the confines of the picture, the
eye is arrested—by the grave figure standing in contemplation, her head covered,
her full robe some inches longer and many shades more sombre, in its neutral
violet, than that of her partner, and by the facing figure, Voluptas, standing
with the rhythm with which she must have come on the scene, still vibrating
in her limbs. The wind plays with her veil, the light glints on her close-fitting
sleeves, the little coral chains rattle on the yellow upper garment; she has
gathered it up like a woman gardening, or a nymph, and in consequence, half
unconsciously, half by intention, the shorter under garment exposes her dainty
ankles. For sword and book, strength and wisdom, we have severe lines in
sombre tones; for the world and its allurements, restless display, studied freedom
in the alternations of contrasted colour. Between worlds so far asunder, the arms
and hands that hold the tempting awards are extended towards one another
in an airy region above the relaxed sleeping figure, as if in truth to suggest the
cloudy fabric of a dream. This is the intention of the landscape, full of asym-
metrical forms; the steep path to the mount of Virtue—the bridge leading to
the road into placid vales. But in this bridge, and in the perpendicular formed
by the little bay-tree, the immeasurable and imponderable qualities of a dream
are forgotten.
The little frame is dominated, in a manner that cannot escape the eye, by
28
§ Predella Panels for the Coronation of the Virgin
In the predella panels for the Coronation of the Virgin (Plates 13,1 7 a, b) we
find already a quality of colour of high dramatic significance utterly foreign
not only to Perugino but also to every other contemporary of Raphael.
The only painters in Central Italy who displayed power of expression as
colourists were the Sienese masters of the Trecento and their most faithful
follower, Fra Angelico. In the fifteenth century colour harmony resulted “auto-
matically” from the almost pleinairiste observation of light—and of this, these very
artists of the Marches were unrivalled as examples, earlier even than the
Venetians—or from the new convention of solemn harmonies of colour which
Perugino made to dominate with a hymn-like grandeur the monotonous rhythm
of his groups. But colour never became the expression of the entire mood of the
scene as it did here, in the young Raphael.
§ The Knight’s Dream
One is immediately struck by the contrast between the two women at the
feet and at the head of the Dreaming Knight (Plate 18), a bright little picture of
which the colours have indeed been thought to display a Bolognese or Ferrarese
quality; but there is nothing in these figures that would not fit in with the
assistant in the frescoes of the Cambio—costumes, pose and movement: only
here, on the small scale, everything is more controlled, every form is fuller
and healthier, than in the laboured monotony of the master. Yet here, how
much is conveyed by juxtaposition! Twice, at the confines of the picture, the
eye is arrested—by the grave figure standing in contemplation, her head covered,
her full robe some inches longer and many shades more sombre, in its neutral
violet, than that of her partner, and by the facing figure, Voluptas, standing
with the rhythm with which she must have come on the scene, still vibrating
in her limbs. The wind plays with her veil, the light glints on her close-fitting
sleeves, the little coral chains rattle on the yellow upper garment; she has
gathered it up like a woman gardening, or a nymph, and in consequence, half
unconsciously, half by intention, the shorter under garment exposes her dainty
ankles. For sword and book, strength and wisdom, we have severe lines in
sombre tones; for the world and its allurements, restless display, studied freedom
in the alternations of contrasted colour. Between worlds so far asunder, the arms
and hands that hold the tempting awards are extended towards one another
in an airy region above the relaxed sleeping figure, as if in truth to suggest the
cloudy fabric of a dream. This is the intention of the landscape, full of asym-
metrical forms; the steep path to the mount of Virtue—the bridge leading to
the road into placid vales. But in this bridge, and in the perpendicular formed
by the little bay-tree, the immeasurable and imponderable qualities of a dream
are forgotten.
The little frame is dominated, in a manner that cannot escape the eye, by
28