The Book of Art for Young People | Page 8

that Vasari was wrong in many of
the stories he told, but after all he lived much nearer than we do to the
times he wrote about, and it is safer to believe what he tells us than
what modern students surmise, except when they are able to cite other
old authorities to which Vasari did not have access.
The endless flood of misfortunes which overwhelmed unhappy Italy
not only ruined everything worthy of the name of a building, but
completely extinguished the race of artists, a far more serious matter.
Then, as it pleased God, there was born in the year 1240, in the city of
Florence, Giovanni, surnamed Cimabue, to shed the first light on the art
of painting. Instead of paying attention to his lessons, Cimabue spent
the whole day drawing men, horses, houses, and various other fancies
on his books and odd sheets, like one who felt himself compelled to do
so by nature. Fortune proved favourable to his natural inclination, for
some Greek artists were summoned to Florence by the government of
the city for no other purpose than the revival of painting in their midst,
since the art was not so much debased as altogether lost. In this way
Cimabue made a beginning in the art which attracted him, for he often
played the truant and spent the whole day in watching the masters work.
Thus it came about that his father and the artists considered him so
fitted to be a painter that if he devoted himself to the profession he
might look for honourable success in it, and to his great satisfaction his
father procured him employment with the painters. Thus by dint of
continual practice and with the assistance of his natural talent he far
surpassed the manner of his teachers. For they had never cared to make
any progress and had executed their works, not in the good manner of
ancient Greece, but in the rude modern style of that time. Cimabue
drew from nature to the best of his powers, although it was a novelty to
do so in those days, and he made the draperies, garments, and other
things somewhat more life-like, natural, and soft than the Greeks had
done, who had taught one another a rough, awkward, and commonplace
style for a great number of years, not by means of study but as a matter
of custom, without ever dreaming of improving their designs by beauty
of colouring or by any invention of worth.
If you were to see a picture by Cimabue (there is one in the National

Gallery which resembles his work so closely that it is sometimes said 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