CHAPTER IV.
THE FRESCOES OF ST. CECILIA’S CHAPEL, 1506-1509.
The only series of frescoes painted by Francia in Bologna of which some traces still remain, are those in the Oratory of St. Cecilia, attached to the church of San Giacomo Maggiore. This chapel, founded by Giovanni Bentivoglio and erected by the architect Gasparo Nadi in 1481, was decorated entirely by the hands of Francia and his scholars in the early part of the sixteenth century. Costa’s fresco, which alone bears a date, was executed in 1506, and the whole series was probably completed before the exile of the Bentivogli in 1507.
Unfortunately this chapel, which is for the Bolognese school what the chapels of the Carmine and Eremitani are for Florentine and Paduan art, has been frequently turned to other uses, and during its occupation by French soldiers the frescoes suffered great injury. All are much damaged, and some mutilated in such a manner that the principal figures are scarcely visible. But even in their present melancholy condition Francia’s frescoes are full of interest, and it is easy to see how superior they are in merit to any other works of the school. Of the four remaining artists employed in the chapel—Lorenzo Costa, Giovanni Chiodarolo, Amico Aspertini, and Giacomo Raibolini (or Tamaroccio)—the Ferrarese master is the only one who approaches him in the excellence of his style, and even Costa’s heads cannot compare with those of Francia for beauty and expression. The subjects of the ten frescoes are all taken from the history of St. Cecilia.
On the right of the altar:—
1. Marriage of Cecilia and Valerian. _Francia._
2. Valerian instructed in the Christian faith by Pope Urban. _Costa._
3. Baptism of Valerian. _Cesare Tamaroccio._[9]
4. Valerian and Cecilia crowned with roses by an Angel. _Chiodarolo._
5. Martyrdom of Valerian and his brother Tiburtius. _Aspertini._
On the left of the altar:—
6. The Burial of the Brothers. _Aspertini._
7. Cecilia before the Prefect. _Aspertini._
8. Cecilia condemned to the boiling bath. _Cesare Tamaroccio._[9]
9. Cecilia distributing her riches to the poor. _Costa._
10. Burial of Cecilia. _Francia._
The two frescoes by Francia are placed nearest to the altar, exactly opposite each other, and are on the whole the best-preserved of the series. Here Raphael’s influence is more apparent than in any of Francia’s works, and it is highly probable that he visited Bologna while the chapel was being painted. The fresco of the Marriage at once recalls Raphael’s “Sposalizio” in the grouping of the figures, and is remarkable for its grace of composition. The officiating priest stands between the bride and bride-groom under the portal of a chapel which opens on to a wooded valley. The bride shrinks timidly back and turns her face away as one of her maidens holds her hand on which Valerian places the ring. On either side are groups of youths and maidens who, by their intent gaze and animated gesture, show their interest in the marriage that is being celebrated. The action is simple, the heads noble and refined; those of the maidens are especially remarkable for their beauty, while the grace of line that marks the grouping is happily continued in the landscape beyond, which harmonizes well with the scene before us. Evidently the subject was exactly suited to Francia’s genius, and he has succeeded admirably.
The same praise can scarcely be given as fully to the “Burial of St. Cecilia,” wonderful as is the power of its simple pathos. There is a want of dramatic action in the spectators, and at the same time a formality in the arrangement of the groups on either side of the picture, which gives the whole an air of stiffness and renders it inferior in point of composition to the Marriage. But these defects are atoned for by the beauty of the central portion, where four young men hold the lifeless form of the martyred saint suspended in a winding-sheet above the opening of the vault. A wreath of white roses crowns her gentle brows, and the bystanders press forward to take a last look at the sleeping face that is still so fair in death. As in the Christ of the Pietà all trace of suffering has passed away, the hands are folded with exquisite tenderness, and the sweet maiden seems to lie there wrapt once more in the deep unconscious sleep of childhood. For a moment we wonder if this happy slumber can be death, but—if we look a little further, beyond the pale light just breaking into the valley, above the tall cliffs and the topmost branches of the waving palm-trees—we shall see the dim form of an angel who wings his flight upwards, bearing the soul of the martyr back to God.
The frescoes of St. Cecilia were the last works which Francia painted for his patron Giovanni Bentivoglio. In 1507, perhaps even before the chapel was completed, the Bentivogli were driven out of Bologna by a popular rising and forced to flee for their lives. Not only did Francia lose their patronage and friendship, but he had the grief of seeing some of his best works destroyed by an infuriated mob in the sack of their palace in the Strada Donato.
The universal respect in which he was held by his countrymen saved him from sharing in the ruin of his patrons, and he retained his office at the head of the Mint under Pope Julius II. In this capacity he was required to coin the money which the Pope threw to the populace on his triumphal entry and which bore the inscription:—“Bononia per Julium a tyranno liberata.” But although he was forced to lend his talents, as Michelangelo did on another occasion, to the service of the victor, he could not conceal the bitterness of his grief, and for a whole year after the flight of the Bentivogli still lamented the loss he had suffered.
It was then that Raphael addressed his well-known letter to Francia, begging him to take heart, and assuring him of his sympathy. The two painters had, it appears, agreed to exchange portraits, and in this letter Raphael thanks Francia for having sent him his likeness painted by his own hand. We give a translation of this interesting document, which was first discovered with Francia’s sonnet in the papers of the Lambertini family, and brought to light by Malvasia:—
“My dear Messor Francesco,—
“I have this moment received your portrait, which Bazotto brought me safely, without injury of any kind, and for which I thank you exceedingly. It is very beautiful, and so life-like that at times it deceives me. I seem to be with you and to hear your voice. I pray you, pardon my delays, which arise from the tasks in which I am incessantly engaged, and which have been the cause why I have not yet painted the portrait with my own hand, according to our agreement. Nor would I allow it to be painted by one of my pupils and retouched by myself, since this would not have been seemly, although I have no hope of ever equalling your work. Have compassion on me, I say, since you know by experience what it is to be deprived of liberty and bound to patrons. I am sending you by this same messenger, who returns in six days, another drawing, that of ‘The Nativity,’ somewhat different from the original, which you were good enough to praise so highly, with the same kindness with which you speak of my other works in a manner that causes me to blush. I hope that you will accept this trifle, more as a token of love and obedience than for any other reason, and if in exchange I may receive a drawing of your ‘History of Judith’ I will place it among my dearest and most precious treasures. Monsignore il Datario awaits his ‘Madonella’ with much impatience, and Cardinal Riario his large one, all of which you will hear more particularly from the said Bazotto. I, for my part, shall behold them with the same delight and satisfaction with which I see and praise all your other works, never having seen any images that are fairer or more devout and well painted. In the meantime take courage, summon up all your habitual wisdom, and be sure that I feel your afflictions as keenly as if they were my own. Continue to love me as I love you, with my whole heart.
“Ever your most obliged and devoted,
“RAFAELLE SANZIO.
“Roma, the fifth day of September, 1508.”
Few documents in art history are more interesting than this letter, which breathes all the sunny gladness of Raphael’s nature, and proves how sincerely he admired Francia as an artist and felt for him as a friend.
It is uncertain whether the portrait which he praises so warmly still exists, but at the end of last century a half-length figure of Francia holding a diamond ring, by his own hand, was in the Boschi collection at Bologna, and a few years ago a similar work belonged to a private gallery at Turin.[10]
As a portrait-painter Francia ranks high, and all the works of this class by him which remain are marked by the same exquisite finish and life-like fidelity. The Tribune of the Uffizi has a fine specimen in the head of Evangelista Scappi, whose pleasant open face and bushy locks modern copyists have rendered familiar. The Umbrian character of the landscape and general style of the work resemble Perugino’s heads, while other of Francia’s portraits are painted more in his Raphaelesque manner.
Such is the noble portrait of the Liechtenstein Gallery at Vienna long ascribed to Raphael, but rightfully restored to Francia by Crowe and Cavalcaselle, and probably the likeness of some Bolognese noble, since it originally belonged to an old family of that city.
The poet Girolamo di Casio also alludes in one of his sonnets to two female portraits by Francia remarkable for their beauty, but these have perished, it is to be feared, since no portraits of women by his hand are known to exist.
The expulsion of the Bentivogli, although a severe shock to Francia, does not appear to have diminished his powers of activity, and many of his best works belong to the years immediately following this event, which he deplored so deeply. In 1509 he painted the “Baptism of Christ,” now at Dresden, which still retains its rich glow of colour in spite of injuries received from the splinters of a shell during the bombardment of that city in 1760. Christ is represented standing on the waters of Jordan while the Baptist bends forward from one of the banks, and two angels with wistful faces wait on the other. A good replica of the subject, with the same hilly landscape but some variations, is at Hampton Court, and originally belonged to the Mantuan collection purchased by Charles I. The Dresden Gallery possesses two other fine works of Francia, an “Adoration of the Magi,” with a lake and mountain background, which bears strong marks of Raphael’s influence, and a “Madonna” from the Quandt collection. This last is one of the half-length figures of the Virgin with the child, and one or more attendant saints, which became so popular a subject in Francia’s school, and of which so many repetitions are to be seen. The example in the National Gallery, acquired from the Beaucousin collection, has unfortunately lost much of its original clearness, owing to the wash of burnt sienna which has been laid on the surface.
Another finely conceived work, which has been ruined by repainting, is the “Madonna and Saints” of the Belvedere at Vienna, while the same fate has attended the Berlin altar-piece, originally painted for the Friars of the Osservanza at Modena.
[Illustration: THE MADONNA OF THE ROSE-GARDEN. BY FRANCIA.
_In the Pinakothek, Munich._]
Two other panels, which, in type and execution, bear a marked resemblance to the frescoes of St. Cecilia’s chapel, and were evidently painted soon afterwards, are in a better state of preservation. The first, an “Annunciation,” with St. Jerome and the Baptist, in the Bologna Gallery, is a picture of the same class as the earlier Annunziata altar-piece, and is distinguished by the refinement and gentleness of the Virgin’s face. The other is the beautiful “Madonna of the Rose Garden,” originally painted for the Gonzagas, into whose service Francia’s old friend, Lorenzo Costa, had passed after the exile of the Bentivogli. It remained in the Mantua collection till 1786, and after experiencing many changes of hands, became the property of the Empress Josephine, until in 1815 it passed from Malmaison into the Pinakothek of Munich. The child lies on a bed of flowery grass, stretching out its little arms with a smile of delight to its mother, who is in the act of sinking upon her knees in a rapture of loving adoration. A trellis of tall roses, which might have been painted by a Botticelli or Filippino, fences the garden round, and, in the pleasant meadows beyond, horses are feeding on the banks of a winding stream, and church-towers rise in the distance. Nowhere is the transparent delicacy of Francia’s colouring more pleasing than in the silver-grey tones of the Virgin’s robe, while her countenance wears the same gentle air of tender melancholy which haunts his conceptions in the same way as the smile on Leonardo’s faces, and the deeper sadness of Botticelli’s Madonnas.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]