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Rh scarcely be possible to speak too highly of such works as the portrait of the lady in white satin and the Durazzo children at the Durazzo Palace, the Balbi children at Panshanger, the Marchesa Balbi at Dorchester House, the equally beautiful portraits of the Lommelini and of the knight in black armour, buff jacket and boots in the Scottish National Gallery at Edinburgh, or the Marchesa Brignole Sale (formerly at Warwick Castle, and afterwards in America). Van Dyck's “Genoese manner” is a current expression, and indeed his Genoese portraits are remarkable for their richness of tonality and what might be called royal splendour, perhaps never before attained in works of the kind. This we may suppose to have had its origin, not only in his recent study of Titian, but also in decorative necessities—the size of the palatial galleries and the rich hues of the Genoese velvets, on which these portraits were to find their place, obliging the painter to find a most uncommon strength of contrast. It must also be acknowledged that the beauty and distinction of Van Dyck's models are greatly enhanced by a splendour of costume entirely different from the dullness then prevalent almost everywhere else. In Italy, moreover, he found the reality of those gorgeous backgrounds—flowing draperies, beautiful gardens, ornamental pillars, marble terraces and balustrades—which elsewhere must be regarded as fictions merely. Here, finally, he was for the first time called upon to paint some of his grandest equestrian portraits, and the often-recurring grey steed with flowing mane (an admirable study of which belongs to Lord Brownlow) was first employed for the portrait of Antonio Giulio Brignole (still at Genoa) and for another picture which we may suppose to represent the same personage at Stafford House. As with Rubens, Titian seems to have been paramount in Van Dyck's regard. Copies in great number we know he possessed of the master's best works, and several little sketches in the British Museum and in the Chatsworth sketch-book bear proof of his devout study of the great Venetian. Some of Van Dyck's earlier paintings, religious and mythological—the “Tribute Money” (Brignole Palace), “Holy Family” (Turin), “Virgin and Saints” (Louvre), “Virgin” (Grosvenor House), “Martyrdom of St Lawrence” (S. Maria dell' Orto, Venice), “Bacchanal” (Lord Belper)—engraved at Genoa as early as 1628—“St Sebastian” (Edinburgh)—are certainly Titianesque in the extreme. Still the master's individuality is not obliterated, and the gallery at Parma has a “Virgin with the Infant Asleep,” which may be termed a marvel of realistic simplicity.

In 1624 Van Dyck sailed from Genoa to Palermo and there painted several persons of rank, including the viceroy, Emmanuel Philibert of Savoy. While in Sicily he became acquainted with the painter Sofonisba Anguisciola (or Angussola), who was then ninety-six years of age and blind; and he was wont to say that he had received more valuable information from a blind woman than from many a seeing man. No important works of Van Dyck are now to be found in Sicily, except the “Virgin and Child” at S. Caterina in Palermo, and a “Virgin and Child with Saints” in the same city. Bellori tells us that a plague broke out and compelled him to leave abruptly, taking with him an unfinished picture of St Rosalia, which was destined for a confraternity of that name, and was completed in Genoa. The composition was repeated in Antwerp for the Bachelors' Brotherhood, a picture now in Vienna. Van Dyck most probably remained in Genoa till 1626, and here in all likelihood he painted the De Jodes, father and son, the celebrated engravers, who are represented together in a masterly portrait in the Capitol at Rome, the companion picture to the brothers De Wael; and Nicholas Laniere, musician-in-chief to Charles I., a painting spoken of in Van der Dort's catalogue as “done beyond the seas.” Laniere was in Italy precisely at this time, and it was through his portrait (now at Windsor Castle), Walpole assures us, that Van Dyck attracted the notice of Charles I.

Traversing the Mont Cenis pass, Van Dyck stopped at Aix with Peiresc, the famous scholar and friend of Rubens, and probably proceeded straight to Antwerp. His beautiful portrait of Langlois, the Paris print-seller, from which it was conjectured that he spent some time at Paris, was unquestionably painted in Genoa. It is very likely that, before settling again at Antwerp, Van Dyck at this time paid a second visit to England, to paint a portrait of Queen Henrietta Maria, but left again when he found Mytens firmly established as court favourite. He probably returned to Antwerp in 1627, though there is no recorded proof of his presence before the 3rd of March 1628. One of his sisters had died in a convent the year before, and he now made a will in favour of Susan and Isabella, two other sisters, also nuns. That Van Dyck was in Antwerp on the 18th of May is proved by a letter from Lord Carlisle to Buckingham (Sainsbury, ciii.).

Great as may have been the strength of Italian reminiscence, from the moment Van Dyck again trod Flemish soil the influence of Rubens became predominant, and we can scarcely doubt that a competition speedily arose between master and pupil. At this period churches and convents were numerous and richly endowed; and the number of pictures, stained glass windows and elaborate carvings in Belgian churches before the French conquest was enormous. Hardly fifty years had elapsed since these buildings had been stripped of their artistic treasures, and the devout were now eager once more to adorn them with productions of the greatest painters. Hence Van Dyck's share could be very copious without in any degree interfering with the vast undertakings assigned to Rubens. The latter was also absent for many months in 1629 and 1630, so that Van Dyck was for a time the first master in the Netherlands. Among the earliest works after his return to Antwerp we find the “Crucifixion,” given to the Dominican nuns, in accordance with the wish expressed by the painter's dying father, and now in the Antwerp museum. The figures are life-size, and at the foot of the cross, besides a weeping angel, are St Catherine of Siena and St Dominic. Neither in type nor in general effect does it suggest the master's immediately preceding works. As a new feature we observe a kind of elegance, not entirely free from mannerism, which is often conspicuous with Van Dyck even when the technical excellence commands our warmest admiration. Inspiration, as Waagen observes, was far more limited with Van Dyck than with Rubens. His truly delicate nature led him to restrain his conceptions within the bounds of an academic evenness, generally more pleasing to the uninitiated than the strength of expression which sometimes imparts a sort of violence to the works of Rubens. To Van Dyck's second—more justly speaking third—manner belong some of his best religious works. The “Crucifixion” in the cathedral at Mechlin is termed by Sir Joshua Reynolds one of the finest pictures in the world. Other Crucifixions are in St Michael's at Ghent (sketches in Lord Brownlow's collection and the Brussels museum) and in the church at Termonde. Still finer are the two works painted for the Antwerp Jesuits and now at Vienna—“The Mystic Marriage of the Blessed Herman Joseph” and “St Rosalia Crowned by the Infant Saviour.” To this period likewise belong the celebrated “Elevation of the Cross” at Courtrai and the “St Augustine in Ecstasy,” in the church of the Jesuits at Antwerp; the general effect of this last, it must be acknowledged with—Reynolds, is inferior to that of the beautiful engraving by De Jode, and also to the earl of Northbrook's magnificent sketch. At Dulwich we find the first idea of the composition, with many interesting differences. It may be a matter of individual preference to pronounce Van Dyck's Flemish portraits superior to those of an earlier period; but nobody can fail to admit that, technically speaking, they indicate a further step towards perfection. The darkness of the Genoese portraits has vanished; broad daylight now freely illuminates the model, and such works as the portraits of Francisco de Moncada (Louvre) and of the Count de Bergh (Prado) are perhaps as close to material excellence as any painting could be. The full-length likenesses of Philip Le Roy (1630) and his wife