Hans Memling - Alfred Michiels Temporis

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the brothers Hubert and Jan Van Eyck. Hubert, the elder, lived there at the beginning of the century, and then moved to Ghent, while Jan lived in the town in 1425, from May to August. Then, in 1431, he moved there permanently and stayed there until he died in 1441. Peter Christus, a native of Baarle and student of the Van Eycks, also lived in Bruges, where he died in 1473 or 1474. It is also highly probable that the Memling family also came to live there. In addition, the artist’s mother could have quite possibly been Flemish and the character inscribed on his paintings supports this theory. It is the discovery of an inscription in the Bruges citizens’ register dating from 20 January 1465, under the name of Jean Van Mimnelinghe, son of Hamman, born in Seligenstadt, in Germany, which finally confirmed his Germanic origins. It is probable that Memling was already a major painter when he moved to Bruges: the fact that he was not recorded in the register preserved by the Bruges Painters Guild, demonstrates that he could have certainly practiced his art without constraint.

      Memling’s birth must have been, at the latest, in 1435. An anonymous traveler, whose notes were published by Giovanni Morelli (1816–1891), had seen in 1521, at Cardinal Grimarni’s, a self-portrait of Memling in which he appeared to be seventy years old.

      If death had taken him in 1494, one must report his birth at least in the period around 1424. But when one traces his image in the mirror, he is fat and has a rosy face, indications of good health: therefore it would be very risky to think that he painted this image in the same year as his death. Thus, it appears more likely that he had not yet reached the end of his life, so we can then fix 1430–1435 as the approximate year in which he was born. So we shall adopt the middle year 1433 in order to not have him marry too late in life the woman who would accept him, and with whom he would have three children.

      If Memling was raised within Dutch traditions, his apprenticeship as a painter and the identity of his master raise more questions. As he was only eight years old when Jan Van Eyck died in the month of July 1441, one can hardly suppose that he had learned the art of painting under that master’s direction; their works present, in addition, fundamental differences. Nonetheless, he must have met Van Eyck sometimes in the streets of the city, in churches, in public meetings and during holidays, and examined his superior talents with precocious instinct. He helped, with all probability, at Van Eyck’s funeral under the vault of Saint Donat; an emotional crowd gathered around the artist’s humble coffin as the organ played, sending into the nave its sublime grief. The priests, celebrating the requiem mass, sang these beautiful lyrics: “Let whoever comes from the earth return to the earth, let whoever comes from God return to God!”

      However, very early, Francesco Guichardin (1483–1540), Giorgio Vasari (1511–1574) and Filippo Baldinucci (1624–1696) ranked Memling among the students of Rogier Van der Weyden.[5] Vasari mentions a “Ausse, disciple of Rogier;”[6] Guichardin calls him “Hausse”, and Baldinucci “Ans di Brugia.” If the information acquired throughout the centuries and the “kinship” of certain works from the two masters seem to confirm this link, the notable stylistic differences between Memling’s early works and Van der Weyden’s late paintings at times render this hypothesis improbable. And even if his style shows more resemblance to Van der Goes’, the fact that the two men belong to the same generation can argue against a master-pupil relationship.

      Hans Memling, Portrait of a Young Man, c. 1480–1485. Oil on wood, 26.7 × 19.8 cm. Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich.

      Raphael (Raffaello Sanzio), Portrait of the Young Pietro Bembo, 1504–1505. Oil on canvas, 54 × 39 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest.

      Hans Memling, Portrait of a Man, c. 1465–1470. Oil on wood, 41.8 × 30.6 cm. Städel Museum, Frankfurt.

      Hans Memling, Portrait of a Young Man before a Landscape, c. 1475–1480. Oil on wood, 26 × 20 cm. Gallerie dell’Accademia, Venice.

      In the hotel of Margaret of Austria, one could see during the sixteenth century a triptych whose centre panel had been painted by Van der Weyden and whose side panels had been done by a pupil. The piece in the middle represents the Virgin holding the dead Christ in her arms; on the interior side of the panels two angels are moved to pity; on the outside, following a pattern already established, the Annunciation is traced in grey.[7] Memling’s paintings prove that he was influenced by Rogier Van der Weyden at a time when the older artist was practicing his “second style.” Thus we can believe that Memling left Bruges in order to come to Brussels to work under Rogier’s direction.

      Not only did Van der Weyden teach him how to use pencil and paintbrush, but he also taught him the art of oil painting. Descamps claims, however, that Memling did not want to employ this new method, and he always continued to thin his colours with egg white and plant gum. Tempera was then the most commonly employed technique, with these materials carefully mixed in more or less large quantities. The addition of honey, vinegar, or beer then allowed one to change the thickness of the body already obtained; the paint ended up like a coloured varnish, having the double advantage of giving the subject its tone and vigour and preserving the tempera from the harmful effects of the air. For a long time this error found resonance, yet never was this opinion more false nor did it delude the reader more. How would a man so skilled, a man so passionate about beauty, who appreciated so much, have looked down on an admirable means of standing by an ancient procedure? This hypothesis only offers little substance and is refuted elsewhere by facts. It is true, however, that certain of Memling’s canvases, no doubt influenced by his Rhineland apprenticeship, were first started with tempera and then completed in oil. Thus, the master accentuated the principal lines of his composition, painted the rest in infinite delicacy, while his colours, following an unchangeable rule, proved to be so fine that the original drawing seemed to show through it.

      However, this flimsy information hardly gives us a sense of the graceful colourist, and so we escape from the new and find Memling again in the notes from the anonymous traveler mentioned earlier. This time, the anonymous tourist admired, at the residence of Cardinal Grimani, a work by Memling’s brush depicting Isabelle of Portugal, wife of Philip the Good, on which one can read the date of 1450. This painting proves that the Duke of Burgundy, connoisseur to the end, held the artist in the highest opinion; otherwise he would not have entrusted such an important task to him and would not have let him reproduce his wife’s face, which had been painted for the first time by Jan Van Eyck himself. In the new image, the princess was seen a little smaller than she was in nature.[8] She had lost the brightness of her early days: twenty two years had passed since the head of the Bruges school had reproduced her features in all their splendour. What is twenty two years, when one thinks about it? It was one drop in the limitless abyss of eternity. This short space of time nonetheless sufficed to exhaust the soul and shrivel up the body; it embraces all the fertile years of life, almost all our moral existence; and however much time still wanting to abridge it, we do not repeat with bitterness: “Lord, Lord, take this chalice away from me!” Isabelle deserved to pose in front of a superior artist: she was a rare woman. She certainly was for the Duke of Burgundy, as she helped in many circumstances to make judgements, speeches, and activities, as a valiant companion and a skilled auxiliary. A prime minister could not have done better, or have been more useful to his monarch. In 1434, while they resided together in Dijon, the duke, forced to go to Flanders to take care of serious business, made Isabelle the Governor of Burgundy in his absence. It was a turbulent era in which men hardly had time to rest. As soon as Philip the Good left, the sound of a trumpet, the noise of arms, and the neighing of horses rang out in the dukedom: the discontented men and adversaries of the prince believed they would have better luck with a woman. Isabelle immediately convened every last one of her subjects, who rode into the countryside and forced the rebels to surrender. Such a brilliant debut inspired the duke with full confidence in the talents of the princess, whom he employed thereafter as an elite agent, especially in negotiations, in which she demonstrated great dexterity.

      She

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<p>5</p>

“A ce Rogier succéda en renom son disciple et apprenti Hausse, qui fit un tableau excellent pour les Portionnaires, que du présent tient le duc de Florence.” (“Rogier’s fame surpassed that of his disciple and apprentice Hausse, who did an excellent painting for the Portionnaires, which at present belongs to the Duke of Florence.”) Guichardin, p.150.

<p>6</p>

Ausse, instead of Ansse, must have originally been a printing fault that Guichardin reproduced; the Italian composers went on to write a “u” in the place of an “n”, a mistake frequently made in all other countries.

<p>7</p>

“Ung petit tableau d’ung Dieu de pityé estant ès bras de Nostre-Dame; ayant deux feullets, dans chacun desquels y a un ange, et dessus les dits feuillets y a une Annunciade de blanc et de noir. Fait le tableau de la main de Rogier et les dits feuillets de celle de maître Hans.” (“A small painting of a God of Mercy in the arms of Our Lady; with two leaves, an angel on each, and above the two leaves an Annunciate of white and black. The painting made by the hand of Rogier and the two leaves by that of the master Hans”) (Inventaire de Marguerite d’Autriche, put together 1516). The inventory of 1533 tells us that one of the angels held “une espée en sa main” (“a sword in his hand”).

<p>8</p>

MM. Crowe and Cavalcaselle are sceptical about the anonymous note regarding the portrait of Isabelle, because, they say, Rogier Van der Weyden was then more famous, and the master would have been employed rather than the disciple. The motif contains nothing conclusive. Philippe the Good and Isabelle could easily have taken such an interest in a talented young man with a promising future. And do not whim, favour and curiosity play a part in the work demanded of painters?