It is a grand and
masterly work. The vigorous genius of Titian has grappled with the
essential difficulties of a subject that trembles on the balance of
ridiculous and sublime, and has come out triumphant. The Father and the
Son sit on high. The Operating Spirit hovers above them. The Virgin in
robes of azure stands in the blaze of the Presence. The celestial army
is ranged around. Below, a little lower than the angels, are Charles and
Philip with their wives, on their knees, with white cowls and clasped
hands,--Charles in his premature age, with worn face and grizzled beard;
and Philip in his youth of unwholesome fairness, with red lips and pink
eyelids, such as Titian painted him in the Adonis. The foreground is
filled with prophets and saints of the first dignity, and a kneeling
woman, whose face is not visible, but whose attitude and drapery are
drawn with the sinuous and undulating grace of that hand which could not
fail. Every figure is turned to the enthroned Deity, touched with
ineffable light. The artist has painted heaven, and is not absurd. In
that age of substantial faith such achievements were possible.
There are two Venuses by Titian very like that of Dresden, but the heads
have not the same dignity; and a Danae which is a replica of the Vienna
one. His Salome bearing the Head of John the Baptist is one of the
finest impersonations of the pride of life conceivable. So
unapproachable are the soft lights and tones on the perfect arms and
shoulders of the full-bodied maiden, that Tintoret one day exclaimed in
despair before it, "That fellow paints with ground flesh.
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