In 1487 Memling executed a work full of emotion, which bears the date of the year when it was painted. It is a simple portrait, but with an admirable expression of finesse and charm. We see, in the centre, a young beardless man with feminine features, in an architectural frame, in front of an open book. His hands are clasped as he prays to God in meditation. Beautiful wavy hair surrounds his calm and gentle figure. During this same year, Martin Van Newenhoven commissioned a diptych from Memling, now conserved at St John’s Hospital; on one of the shutters, the artist represents the Virgin seated, holding her Son: on the other, the donor. The image carries the following inscription: Hoc opus fieri fecit Martinus de Newenhoven anno Dni 1487, anno vero ætatis suæ XXIII. (Martin de Newenhoven had this work made in the year of the Lord 1487, he was twenty three years old). This diptych is an exceptional example of Memling’s talent, notably in his treatment of light. The light shadow and the particular clarity bring a true impression of space to the interior. The Virgin, with her clear and oval visage and wide forehead, is one of his happiest creations, while the donor is one of the most interesting portraits that he ever produced. The landscapes have an equally exquisite touch.
Martin, succeeding the Count of Croeser, was born on November 14, 1465; he was deputy mayor of the town of Bruges in 1492, superintendent in 1495, magistrate in 1497. He died, still young, on August 16, 1500. Memling was connected to his family for a long time. In 1479, he had already painted Anne de Nieuwenhove (the spelling of whose name varied greatly during the fifteenth century and during the Middle Ages). At the bottom of his portrait, one finds this inscription in incorrect Latin:
De Nieuvenhove, conjunx, domicella, Johannis et Michœlis, Obit, de Blasere nata Johanne, Anna, sub m. c. quater, Xocto, sed exipeiotam; octobris quinta. Pace quiescat. Âmen.
In order to construe these confused sentences, one must appeal to the learned paleographer, Vallet de Viriville, who translates them as below. They mean: Miss Anne, daughter of John Blasere, wife of John and Michael of Nieuvenhove, died October 5, 1479. Rest in peace. Amen.[28]
This woman, who married two men with the same family name, two parents without any doubt, probably gave birth to Martin de Nieuwenhove. She is depicted on the panel, kneeling, hands clasped, in front of Mary and her Son, to whom Saint Anne, her patron, who occupies the left portion of the painting, recommends her. A velvet robe, accented with fur, a green belt and black hat that surrounds a transparent veil, makes up her outfit. She resembles the Sambethe Sibyl, the oldest and weakest of Memling’s works owned by St John’s Hospital. Behind this pious woman, the city of Bruges is drawn in perspective: one can recognise the belfry, Notre Dame, and Saint Sauver’s church. Behind the Virgin and Saint Anne is a rich rug that often served as the background in paintings from the fourteenth century. The fabrics and tapestries are shining and treated with the greatest care: the faces were almost secondary to them.[29]
Robert Campin, The Annunciation (detail of the central panel of The Annunciation Triptych), c. 1425. Oil on wood panel, 64.1 × 63.2 cm. The Cloisters Collection, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Melchior Broederlam, The Annunciation, the Visitation, the Presentation in the Temple and the Flight into Egypt, 1394–1399. Tempera on wood panel, 167 × 125 cm. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Dijon.
III. Memling’s Old Age and Genius
Hans Memling, Portrait of an Old Man, c. 1475. Oil on wood, 26.4 × 19.4 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Memling had three children with his wife, first a boy, whom he called Hans, then a girl named Pétronille or Cornélie (because the diminutive Nielkin, which served to designate her on official documents, can signify one or the other), and a second son, baptised Nicholas. His first son was born in 1478, but we do not know when the other two children entered the world. And, what is worse, there is no information on the good or bad fortune of this small family, or which professions the two sons chose, or whom the three children could have married. Did Hans and Nicholas follow in their father’s footsteps, guided by that genius of Flanders and Germany? No text clarifies these questions, but what is certain, unfortunately, is that they lost their mother when they were still very young. The charming, gracious and modest woman, for whom Memling seemed to have an ardent love, whom he depicted constantly with a sort of naive idolatry, this young companion in his old age, died in September 1487. On the tenth of this month, Louis de Valkenaere and goldsmith Thierry Van den Gheere, chosen as the children’s tutors, brought to their classroom the account of goods left by their mother. It was half of each of the two houses on Pont-Flamand Street, more than half of another parcel of land on which there was a small house, and half of a small passage close by; finally, a sum of twelve livres, produced from the sale of furniture and given to the tutors from their father, with loans on the mortgages for half of the houses and lands.
And the master of the paintbrush, then sixty years old, continued alone in life. He painted himself with his wife on the same panel; around 1492 he traced his own image again, but this time without the amiable woman who had charmed ten years of his life. This portrait, as we have had the opportunity to say, was found in Venice in 1521, at the residence of Cardinal Grimani. Memling, however, was taking his last steps: several years later and the ground would collapse under his feet. In 1494 the noble and charming artist with such poetic vision, enveloping himself in nuances, bringing figures to life with a delicate piety, seeming to paint while listening to the harmony of the angels, was taken by death. On December 10, tutors Louis de Valkenaere and Thierry Van den Gheere came to the classroom, for a second time, to present the account of goods that the children would inherit, the second half of the houses and lands, plus eight livres, which were the proceeds from the sale of the furniture.[30]
Where was Memling buried? Probably at Saint Donat Church, like Jan Van Eyck. But his tomb has disappeared, like that of the great inventor. Should one rue this, should one complain? What do the honours that nations later bestow on the dead matter, not because they love and revere the genius, but to satisfy their own love and to serve their own snobbery? One wants to be able to cite one’s illustrious compatriots; each nation is proud of these once forgotten or scorned glories, as if he himself had the right to their crown of thorns. And often the great man’s contemporaries did not condescend to salute the man, or mark him with a headstone that would always be with him! In doing this, after such a long series of injustices, what is the result? Onlookers come to look unenthusiastically at this famous tomb, saying a few words, while the attendant utters the deceased’s story, exploiting his misfortunes, then moving on to admire some other simple product or listening to other nonsense. Better to be forgotten, to enjoy the solitude and the majesty of eternal peace! Although he enriched the town of Bruges greatly, bringing it towards glory, Memling’s departure was inevitable. Neither political power nor his artistic significance had a chance. Dying relatively young, Memling left in the strength of his youth, in the radiance of this town that he cherished so much, Bruges, still magnificent today.
It is always a big advantage for an artist or author not to be known to people too early or too late. The role of the initiator is no doubt glorious, but it is at the same time full of perils and uncertainties: all pioneers of progress do not have, like the Van Eycks, a supreme and triumphant genius that overturns obstacles and achieves the most brilliant results. Many merely open the door, and lose their lives, and their ungrateful efforts are soon forgotten. To be known too late exposes another drawback, that of finding a dusty road full of travellers: more dew, more corolla on the edges, more morning songs in the branches. Those who leave, on the other hand, at an opportune hour avoid all these difficulties, avoid the rush, or, in other words, they leave protecting their savings and avoiding the extreme weariness and crush of the crowd. Guaranteed an exit, they can think only of their work itself, of the charm of the subject, of the beauty of form; they can push the perfection of their work further, uniting grace and pureness, strength and delicacy.
Memling