After Raphael, the Umbrian School, having reached its zenith, was destined to degenerate rapidly. But in that privileged land art was not exhausted. Its creative activity, confined at first to the centre of Italy, advanced gradually towards the North, where, whilst prolonging the era of the great artists, it was destined to produce fresh masterpieces. Andrea Mantegna (1431–1506), one of the most original of the precursors and perhaps the one who was destined to exercise the greatest influence over his contemporaries, was born at Isola di Carturo. Attracted equally by nature and by antiquity, he endeavoured with great individuality to unite all that could be learnt from the old masters and from a persistent study of reality. He was, in this respect, the living incarnation of the many and various aspirations of the Renaissance. In this synthesis of the universality of things at which he was aiming, force was to be seen rather than grace, and, side by side with his magnificent divinations and his wonderful inspirations, his powerful and austere style has something indescribably rough and terrible. He had his moments of relaxation, however, and then communed sincerely with nature. Behind his stiff, solemn Madonnas, he loved to weave heavy garlands of leaves, flowers and fruits; or, as in the Parnassus, to depict a rich country with scattered towns and castles between the weird fissures in overhanging rocks.

      This mass of somewhat incoherent detail, and the minute finish which we notice in the works of Mantegna’s maturity, were allied to a sense of the picturesque. And yet, although a comparatively short interval separates him from Correggio (1489–1534), the latter gives a very much freer, larger, and truer interpretation of nature. Mantegna is as hard, harsh, violent, and complex as the Parma master is simple, graceful, and restrained. Correggio shows us kindly nature, blossoming under clement skies. There are undulating outlines delicately softened, a delicious lingering light in place of the crude, hard daylight and the stiff, angular lines of primitive style. Chiaroscuro had been attempted by Leonardo, but with Correggio it became an element of expression, which was destined to increase the resources of painting.

      The episodes taken from fable appealed, more than religious subjects, to the characteristics of his talent. For instance, Io swooning is enwrapped by the cloud; Leda and a gay band of companions are pursued by the swans when sporting in the water. Antiope is one of his masterpieces. The nymph, whose beautiful form Jupiter discovers, is sleeping; the white cloud passing above, and the leaves of the oak tree, stirred by the wind, throw their changing shadows and reflections over her, thus lending an additional charm to the picture. Owing to this harmonious union of humanity and nature, the master gives us such an ensemble of rich colours and forms that one sees the harmony at a glance and cannot fail to be fascinated by it.

      Great as it was, Correggio allotted a portion of his work to nature; however, it was with the masters of the Venetian School that landscape painting was to find its full development. With the exception of portrait painting, which held its own by its direct imitation of nature, and thus for some time maintained a certain superiority, the other branches of art, after their period of splendour, rapidly declined everywhere else in Italy. It was on account of this decadence, that the Carracci endeavoured to bring about a reaction in Bologna by its revival. Far from not appreciating the worth of the great masters who had preceded them, the innovators proclaimed their admiration for them and, without pretending to surpass them in the various points in which they excelled, their ambition was to blend the special qualities of each into a harmonious whole.

      The human figure remained the principal object of their study, but the Carracci understood what additional interest landscape would lend to their compositions. They therefore gave an important place to it in large decorative paintings. Annibale (1560–1609), the younger of the two brothers, who was alone entrusted with the execution of the latter work in Bologna and the Farnese Palace, Rome, was not, at that time, sufficiently skilled in this special branch to be able to treat landscape in a very individual manner. He was working with an abstract ideal, and he put the most incongruous details into this work, with deplorable facility. Lacking fresh ideas, he inevitably fell back upon the same forms and colour schemes. His pictures suggest a mass of confused memories; so much so, that upon coming across one of these pictures for the first time we are apt to think we have seen it before. In the Louvre, however, there are two large paintings, Hunting and Fishing, which are worthy of special mention. In the latter picture the artist, impressed no doubt by a similar sight which he had witnessed, has grouped the various figures very cleverly. A deep sense of nature is lacking in these works, but they are very decorative on account of the breadth, the sureness, and the ease of their execution.

      Venice must be considered as the true cradle of landscape. This privilege seemed to be reserved for this city by its very topography. The other Italian cities in the Middle Ages, had only a narrow horizon before them. From Venice, on the contrary, the view extended on all sides over the sea, and, in the distance, over vast plains of land dominated by the Alpine peaks. The city itself is a joy to the eye.

      Nevertheless, art was slow in responding to the call of nature.

      Absorbed for a long time by various difficulties which it was necessary to overcome in order to secure its existence in so exceptional a location, Venice had held back aloof from the great movement of artistic revival which had begun in the centre of Italy. But when, with the prosperity which was the result of its daring enterprises, Venice realised that art was destined to be the supreme luxury of her