to be his), you would think less highly than Vasari of the life-like
quality of his art, though there is something dignified and stately
in the picture of the Virgin and Child with angels that he painted
for the Church of St. Francis at Assisi. Another story is told by Vasari
of a picture by Cimabue, which tradition asserts to be the great Madonna,
still in the Church of Santa Maria Novella at Florence.

Cimabue painted a picture of Our Lady for the church of Santa Maria
Novella. The figure was of a larger size than any which had been
executed up to that time, and the people of that day who had never
seen anything better, considered the work so marvellous that they
carried it to the church from Cimabue's house in a stately procession
with great rejoicing and blowing of trumpets, while Cimabue himself
was highly rewarded and honoured. It is reported, and some records
of the old painters relate, that while Cimabue was painting this
picture in some gardens near the gate of S. Piero, the old King Charles
of Anjou passed through Florence. Among the many entertainments
prepared for him by the men of the city, they brought him to see the
picture of Cimabue. As it had not then been seen by any one, all the
men and women of Florence flocked thither in a crowd with the greatest
rejoicings, so that those who lived in the neighbourhood called the
place the 'Joyful Suburb' because of the rejoicing there. This name
it ever afterwards retained, being in the course of time enclosed
within the walls of the city.

For this story we may thank Vasari, because it helps us to realize
the love the people of Florence felt for the pictures in their churches,
and the reverence in which they held an artist who could paint a more
beautiful picture of the Virgin and Child than any they had seen before.
It is difficult to think of the population of a town to-day walking
in procession to honour the painter of a fine picture; but a picture
of the Madonna was a very precious thing indeed to a Florentine of
the thirteenth century, and we may try to imagine ourselves walking
joyfully in that Florentine procession so as the better to understand
Florentine Art.

I have repeated this legend about Cimabue, because he was the master
of Giotto, who is called the Father of Modern Painting. The story is
that Cimabue one day came upon the boy Giotto, who was a shepherd,
and found him drawing a sheep with a pointed piece of stone upon a
smooth surface of rock. He was so much struck with the drawing that
he took the boy home and taught him, and soon he in his turn far
surpassed his master. In order to appreciate Giotto we need to go to
Assisi, Florence, or Padua, for in each place he has painted a series
of wall-paintings. In the great double church of Assisi, built by the
Franciscans over the grave of St. Francis within a few years of his
death, Giotto has illustrated the whole story of his life. An isolated
reproduction of one scene would give you no idea of their power. In
many respects he was an innovator, and by the end of his life had broken
away completely from the Byzantine school of painting. He composed
each one of the scenes from the life of St. Francis in an original
and dramatic manner, and so vividly that a person unacquainted with
the story would know what was going on. Standing in the nave of the
Upper Church, you are able to contrast these speaking scenes of the
lives of people upon earth, with the faded glories of great-winged
angels and noble Madonnas with Greek faces, that were painted in the
Byzantine style when the church was at its newest, before Giotto was
born. These look down upon us still from the east end of the church.

Giotto died in 1337, and for the next fifty years painters in Italy
did little but imitate him. Scenes from the life of St. Francis and
incidents from the legends of other saints remained in vogue, but they
were not treated in original fashion by succeeding artists. The new
men only tried to paint as Giotto might have painted, and so far from
surpassing him, he was never even equalled by his followers.

We need not burden our memories with the names of these 'Giottesque'
artists; and now, after this glimpse of an almost vanished world, we
will turn our attention to England and to the first picture of our
choice.




CHAPTER III

RICHARD II.


Our first picture is a portrait of Richard II. on his coronation day
in the year 1377, when he was ten years old. It is the earliest one
selected, and the eyes of those who see it for the first time will
surely look surprised. The jewel-like effect of the sapphire-winged
angels and coral-robed Richard against the golden background is not
at all what we are accustomed to see. Nowadays it may take some time
and a little patience before we can cast ourselves back to the year
1377 and look at the picture with the eyes of the person who painted
it. Let us begin with a search for his purpose and meaning at least.

The picture is a diptych--that is to say, it is a painting done upon
two wings or shutters hinged, so as to allow of their being closed
together. You have no doubt been wondering why I called it a portrait,
for the picture is far from being what to-day would commonly be
described as such. Richard himself is not even the most conspicuous
figure; and he is kneeling and praying to the Virgin. What should we
think if any living sovereign, ordering a state portrait, had himself
portrayed surrounded on one side by his predecessors on the throne,
and on the other side by the Virgin and Child and angels? But, in the
fourteenth century, it was nothing strange that the Virgin and Child,
the angels, John the Baptist, Edward the Confessor, Edmund the Martyr,