By and by dealings became more direct between us and at last, I know
not how, I found myself in full discussion with the elder barrister
as to whether Jean Van Eyck's picture in the National Gallery
commonly called "Portrait of John Arnolfini and his Wife" should not
properly be held to be a portrait of Van Eyck himself (which, by the
way, I suppose there is no doubt that it should not, though I have
never gone into the evidence for the present inscription). Then they
spoke of the tricks of light practised by De Hooghe; so we rebelled,
and said De Hooghe had no tricks--no one less--and that what they
called trick was only observation and direct rendering of nature.
Then they applauded Tintoretto, and so did we, but still as men who
were bowing the knee to Baal. We put in a word for Gaudenzio
Ferrari, but they had never heard of him. Then they played Raffaelle
as a safe card and we said he was a master of line and a facile
decorator, but nothing more.
On this all the fat was in the fire, for they had invested in
Raffaelle as believing him to be the Three per Cents of artistic
securities. Did I not like the "Madonna di S. Sisto"? I said, "No."
I said the large photo looked well at a distance because the work was
so concealed under a dark and sloppy glaze that any one might see
into it pretty much what one chose to bring, while the small photo
looked well because it had gained so greatly by reduction.
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