SEVENTEENTH CENTURY ART

The XVII century is an age of opposites. Democracy is contrasted with absolutism; the newly won Dutch Republic with the monarchies of Spain and France. Christendom is divided between the antagonistic sects of Catholicism and Protestantism. The Counter-Reformation, at first mistrustful of the artist, now makes use of art to further the Catholic reaction. But religious art itself, exclusively Catholic, is animated by varying emotions which find expression, on the one hand, in the passionate, morbid fervor of Ribera (1588-1656); on the other, in the easy-going rhetoric and corpulent healthiness of Rubens (1577-1640). In secular art we find equally striking contrasts; the pendulum swings from the aristocratic refinement of Van Dyck (1599-1641) to the vulgarity of Brouwer (1606-1638). It seems incredible that two such great artists as Rembrandt (1607-1669) and Velasquez (1599-1660) should have been contemporaries: Velasquez, reserved, proud, the embodiment of Spanish courtliness; Rembrandt, emotional, democratic, understanding and sympathizing with all mankind. But the contrast is no greater than between the popular art that flourished in the Netherlands under a free people, and the monarchical art, with its academies, court painters, sculptors, architects, tapestry weavers and cabinet makers, that revolved around the awesome person of le grand monarque, Louis XIV. Architecture, sculpture and the minor arts display more uniformity of style than the paintings of the period. Dependent largely upon the Church or upon an opulent aristocracy for patronage, they reflect the taste for grandiloquence, ostentation and splendid show which characterized, in this century, ecclesiastic and noble alike. The classic orders tower and writhe on church facade and palace walls. Within, where all is resplendent with gold and rich colors, magnificence pays its lavish homage to deity or to royalty in equal measure.

English painting before the XVIII century was largely dominated by foreign artists: Holbein in the XVI century; Van Dyck in the first half of the XVII century; and, in the second half, the Dutchman, Sir Peter Lely, who came to England in 1641 and speedily won great reputation as a portrait painter, imitating the style of Van Dyck who had just died. Lely's work is distinguished by many excellent qualities, although marred by the pompous artificiality of his time. He is at his best in such a portrait as this, painted shortly after his arrival in England, of the second Earl of Clarendon (1638-1709) as a boy.

This interesting genre scene is by a Dutch painter of the late XVII century, a period when art, that had been democratic with Rembrandt and Frans Hals, now assumed, under the patronage of wealthy parvenus a pretentious gentility in which the accessories of life were more important than life itself. Van Musscher enjoyed considerable popularity in his time; he painted with meticulous care flattering portraits and pretty genre subjects; he was mindful of each shining pearl and gilded tassel, satin fold and silken curtain—not a detail escaped his devoted eye; but, were it not for a certain distinction which he had as a colorist and composer his paintings would have little importance today, save as records of costume and household gear.

Mierevelt, a well-known portrait painter of the Dutch school, lived principally at Delft, although occasionally residing at The Hague. He was court painter to the House of Orange, and like others of his kind, evidently enjoyed depicting the elegant costumes and accessories of his aristocratic sitters. Mierevelt differs widely from his younger and greater contemporary, Frans Hals, both in technique and in sentiment. Mierevelt's style recalls the courtly elegance of the Renaissance—which one might expect, since he was born well in the XVI century; whereas Frans Hals, striking out along new lines, represents the new spirit of democracy which inspired the long struggle in the Low Countries to win political and religious independence. The portrait, illustrated above, is dated 1630.

In the background of this “hunting tapestry,” from the Lowry Memorial Gift, is illustrated the story of Diana and Acteon; the rash huntsman is turned into a stag by the outraged Goddess. In its design the tapestry is more Renaissance in feeling than Baroque, but the crowded ordinance of the composition betrays its late date. The carving on the chest below shows various typical motives of the Jacobean style.

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY ART

Art of the XVIII century differs radically from that of the preceding century. It is graceful, elegant and coquettish rather than ponderous, majestic and passionate. Forgotten is the fervent piety of the Counter-Reformation and the oppressive grandeur of le Roi Soleil. Life is joyful, to be lived in luxurious boudoirs, exquisite in refinement of decoration, or in pretty gardens where Nature, properly disguised, welcomes aristocratic shepherds and shepherdesses to her pastoral delights.

The changed political and social conditions of the XVIII century had their immediate effect in the world of art. Except in England—relatively democratic as compared with France and other continental countries—art was almost exclusively aristocratic, and mirrored the self-indulgent interests of fashionable patrons. Even in England, where Hogarth moralized for the bourgeoisie, and the sturdy lineaments of the commoner were portrayed by a Reynolds or Gainsborough no less frequently, and truthfully, than the high-bred mien of a great nobleman, artistic concessions to the Third Estate were distinctly limited. It was in courtly France, soon to be racked by social revolution, that the epicurean art of the XVIII century was most at home. When we name Watteau, Boucher, Fragonard, Clodion, Houdon, we sum up, perhaps, all that is most characteristic of painting and sculpture in XVIII century art. The portrait painters of England contribute to the century the meed of their greatness; Italy gains lustre through Tiepolo; Spain through Goya; but it is to France that we turn to experience in its completeness the spirit of the Rococo.

In the “century of little things” the minor arts attained an exceptional importance. Artisans ranked as artists, and justly. Among the distinguished artists of the XVIII century must be included such great craftsmen as Chippendale, Sheraton, Hepplewhite, Oeben, Riesener, Gouthiere, and Caffieri—to make but a brief selection from among the numerous English and French cabinet-makers, metal chasers, and other craftsmen of the period. The productions of these celebrated artisans were rightly looked upon as works of creative art of a high order, and the makers were accorded the patronage and protection of royalty and nobility.

In technical perfection the XVIII century crafts have never been surpassed. But too great proficiency led sometimes to artistic disaster, as we may note in tapestries imitating the difficulties of inappropriate pictorial models, or in the florid carving sometimes indulged in by the cabinet-makers—even the celebrated Chippendale, if the truth be told. These occasional deviations from the path of artistic rectitude must not mislead us, however, from a just appreciation of the extraordinary merits of XVIII century decorative art.

The work of Domenico Tiepolo, the son of Gian Battista Teipolo, the head of the Venetian school of the XVIII century and the last of the great Italian painters. In the period of exhaustion which followed the Renaissance, the Venetian school alone was blessed with genius. The list of painters is indeed impressive when compared with the nonentities of the other Italian schools of the XVIII century. Although Domenico did not display the same great genius as his father, at his best he approached Giambattista so closely that his works have often been confused. Domenico is known as an etcher as well as a painter. In his set of character heads, called the “Raccolta di teste”, there is an etching reproducing the above portrait.

Gilbert Stuart was typical of his time and country in that his art was not national but derived from England, where he received most of his training. His masterful expression of personality, his brilliant brush-work and treatment of light, permit him to be classed among the most gifted artists of his age as the first truly great American artist. The Portrait of Master Ward, painted in 1789, and one of the very few signed works of the artist, was exhibited at the Royal Academy in the year in which it was painted. It is considered by eminent critics the most beautiful of Stuart's paintings in American collections. This graceful lad, portrayed fondling his dog, afterwards became famous as an engraver of animal subjects.

In its early days, American painting was derived from Europe and especially from the mother country, England. The early XVIII century portraits of prominent Colonials and their families, though valuable as historical documents and not without a naive charm, are halting and provincial as works of art.

The first American painter to win a widely recognized position in the world of art was Benjamin West. In his twenty-second year he went to study in Rome, where he worked for several years in the “grand manner.” Moving to England in 1768, he won favor at once, was appointed historical painter to the King in 1772, and twenty years later, on the death of Reynolds, was elected president of the Royal Academy. The Institute's painting, Death on the Pale Horse, is a study for his grandiose canvas in the Pennsylvania Academy. When it was first exhibited, the artist was acclaimed a second Michelangelo. It is painted mostly in subdued bronze and dull red tones, and shows Death as a splendid youth seated upon a white horse, charging out of the sky at the head of a troop of heroic horsemen. Below him crowds of terrified human beings are fleeing before the vision, idols fall, and wild beasts snarl and cower. The subject is taken from Revelation VI, 8: “And I looked and beheld a pale horse and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.”

The piece of reticello lace, illustrated above, is an unusually fine example of early Italian needlepoint. Reticello was the first needlepoint, and from it all the later ones were derived. Long points, such as we see here, were much used on collars and cuffs in the XVII century. Of other Italian laces in the collection may be noted a large panel of Milanese bobbin lace of the late XVII or early XVIII century, a fine piece of beautiful Venetian rosepoint of the XVIII century, and examples of Burano and grounded Venetian lace of the same period. French laces of the XVIII century are represented by characteristic examples of Point d'Alencon and Point d'Argentan needlepoint and of old Valenciennes bobbin lace. Flemish laces may be studied in typical examples of Mechlin, Point d'Angleterre, Application, etc. These exquisite fabrics of France and Flanders have never been surpassed in beauty of design and skilful workmanship. The delicate meshes seem at times almost miraculous—as if they owed their origin to Jack Frost rather than to human hands. To show the fineness of the thread used in making the characteristic hexagonal mesh of Point d'Argentan, it may be stated that on an average one side of the hexagon measures only 1-16 of an inch. On each of these sides there are usually 10 stitches. This makes 160 stitches to the inch—which means more, perhaps, when we realize that in the finest machine sewing there are usually 32 stitches to the inch. The collection also includes XIX century and modern examples of Belgian, English and American lace.

The hectic magnificence of life in XVIII century Venice finds its reflection, naturally enough, in the decorative arts of the time. Furniture less ornate than the lavishly carved chair illustrated on this page would have seemed out of place in the great gilded salons where human peacocks strutted in the bravery of brocade and rustling silk. As a general rule, Italian furniture of the Rococo Age is easily recognized by its prodigal indulgence in the spices, so to speak, of furniture designing. Rarely is a piece of Italian furniture of the elaborate character of this pearwood chair so successful in combining an almost excessive richness of carving with a fine feeling for proportions and harmonious ensemble. Indeed, it is not impossible that the chair is the work of a cabinet maker who may have come from France to Venice in the suite of some great nobleman.

Of the master craftsmen of England in the XVIII century none has achieved greater renown than Thomas Chippendale (1709-1779). Through the publication of his book of furniture designs in 1754 (later editions in 1759 and 1762) as well as by the example of his own cabinet work, he exerted a widespread influence. His various styles were imitated not only in England, but also in the American colonies. Consequently, not every “Chippendale” piece is from the master's hands; on the contrary, well authenticated furniture by Chippendale himself, or by his own workmen, are great rarities. It is customary, however, to designate as “Chippendale” the work of his contemporaries and imitators who copied the styles which the master had popularized.

The tripod table was perhaps the most important achievement of Thomas Chippendale as innovator, for it was his exclusive creation. The tripod table in our collection was made approximately between 1760 and 1765. The quality of the carving is so excellent, the sense of style so marked, that, if not by Chippendale himself, the table is surely the work of a cabinet maker who closely rivaled the famous master. Tripod tables are commonly referred to in documents of the period as “snap [pg 73] tables.” The top is hinged so that it can be tilted back to save space. When in use it is held in place by a sliding catch, which snaps sharply into position when the top is let down.

Card playing, often for high stakes, was so much the rage in the XVIII century that there were generally several card tables in a fashionable house of the period. The folding card table, here reproduced, dates about 1750-1775 and was possibly made in America rather than in England. Characteristic of the Chippendale manner are the cabriole legs and the style of the relief carving. One of the legs swings outward to support the hinged half of the top when open; the rounded corners of the top served as candle stands.

Note the fine carving of the moulded rim with its foliated scallop shells. The fluted shaft and the cabriole legs with ball-and-claw feet are well proportioned.

The dressing-table, or low-boy, illustrated above, is a fine example of the more elaborate cabinet work done in this country during the XVIII century. It dates from about 1760 to 1775, and was probably made in Philadelphia. In a dressing-table very similar to ours there has been found the advertisement of the maker, “William Savery, at the Sign of the Chair near the Market on Second Street, Philadelphia.” The small group of existing furniture to which our piece belongs includes some of the finest examples of American furniture. Low-boys and high-boys; that is, dressing-tables and high chests of drawers on legs, would appear generally to have been made in pairs. The companion piece to our lowboy has been lost sight of, but the type is well known. The lower part would have been about the same in design as the dressing-table; the chest of drawers, which it supported, completed by a scroll top. The high chest of drawers enjoyed a long continued popularity in America. The type just described, despite its Chippendale motifs, was distinctly American. The expressions, high-boy and low-boy, are not found in the old records; they probably originated later in derision, when the chest of drawers and its accompanying table seemed grotesquely out of fashion.

We take glass so much for granted today that it is difficult for us to realize how rare and precious a commodity it was to the first settlers of this country. It is significant that the first attempt to establish a manufacturing industry in the American colonies was the building and equipping of a glass house. About the middle of the XVIII century, glass began to be manufactured upon an extensive scale. The Stiegel Glass Works, the second successful glass factory, and the best known of the early American works, commenced operations at Manheim, Pa., in 1765. “Baron” Stiegel—his title was a courtesy one—was born in Germany, at Cologne, in 1729; came to Philadelphia in 1750; married the daughter of a rich iron master; and in the course of time, launched his ambitious project for the establishment of a glass manufactory that would compete successfully with the European glass centers for the American market. The Colonies were then going through a period of economic stress that was soon to lead to the Revolution. Unable or unwilling to read the signs of the time aright, Stiegel speedily met with financial embarrassment, failed in 1774, and was even imprisoned for debt. The victim of his own vanity, or rather self-confidence, this early American captain of industry died in destitution, January 10, 1785. His factory, maintained for a while after is failure, was not operated after 1780. The three pieces of glass illustrated above are typical of the white flint glass with engraved designs made at the Stiegel works. The manufactory was also renowned for its colored flint glass, and for glass with enameled decoration.