In 1620 we know that Van Dyck was working with Rubens, for on 20th March, in making arrangements with the Antwerp Jesuits for the decoration of their church, the great master is allowed to avail himself of his pupil’s assistance, and obtains for him the promise of a picture. This proof of Van Dyck’s personal reputation is fully confirmed (17th July) by a correspondent of the earl of Arundel, who speaks of Van Dyck as a young man of one and twenty whose works are scarcely less esteemed than those of his master, and adds that, his relations being people of considerable wealth, he could hardly be expected to leave his home. Van Dyck was, however, thus persuaded, for on 28th November Sir Toby Mathew mentions the artist’s departure to Sir Dudley Carleton, adding that he is in receipt of an annual pension of £100 from the king. There is evidence of Van Dyck’s presence in London till the end of February 1621. He is first mentioned in the order-books of the Exchequer on the 17th of that month as receiving a reward of £100 “for special service by him performed for His Majesty,” and on the 28th, “Antonio van Dyck, gent., His Majesties servant, is allowed to travaile 8 months, he havinge obtayneid his Ma ties leave in that behalf, as was signified by the E. of Arundell.” What Van Dyck did in London is not known. Among his numerous paintings still preserved in English houses one only is admitted as belonging to the period of this first visit, a full-length portrait of James I. in the royal collection. That he was at the time a portrait painter of the rarest merit may easily be seen from his own likeness of himself when still quite young and beardless, in the National Gallery (London), in the Pinakothek at Munich, and in the private collections of the duke of Grafton and Sir Richard Wallace. In this last admirable specimen the young painter has represented himself in the character of Paris. Early paintings by Van Dyck are certainly not scarce in British galleries; and at Dulwich there is his admirable Samson and Delilah, wrongly ascribed to Rubens.

Van Dyck is supposed to have profited by his leave of absence to visit Paris and The Hague; but it is much more probable that the eight months were spent in Antwerp, where Rubens was greatly in need of his assistance for the church of the Jesuits. After this Van Dyck most probably returned to London and remained there till the end of 1622, when his father died. The precise date of his departure for Italy—perhaps at the beginning and certainly in the course of 1623—has not been ascertained. But he is known to have left with Rubens a considerable number of paintings, most of which have been identified in Madrid, Berlin, Dresden, &c., and show that study, as well as advice, had long since made the painter acquainted, through Rubens, with those principles of picturesque expression which he was now about to see exemplified so splendidly in the works of the Venetian and Genoese schools. His previous acquaintance with many excellent examples of Titian, Tintoretto, and others in Rubens’s own collection can alone account for the remarkably glowing tints of Van Dyck’s earliest paintings. In fact, such works as the Martyrdom of St Peter (Brussels), the Crowning with Thorns (Berlin), the Betrayal of Christ (Madrid and Lord Methuen), St Martin Dividing his Cloak (Windsor Castle),—a magnificent production, generally ascribed to Rubens, but easily identified through Van Dyck’s admirable sketch at Dorchester House,—incontestably prove that, in point of colouring, Venice at this moment stood higher in his predilection than Antwerp.

It is unnecessary to dwell on a number of tales connected with Van Dyck’s early life, all of which have on closer examination proved to be apocryphal; but one story has been too frequently told to be altogether ignored. At the very outset of his Italian journey the inflammable youth was captivated by the beauty of a country girl, and for the love of her painted the altar-piece still to be seen in the church at Saventhem near Brussels, in which he himself is supposed to be represented on a grey horse, given by Rubens to his pupil. It is now known, however, that the picture was commissioned by a gentleman living at Saventhem (to the charms of whose daughter Van Dyck in reality seems not to have been altogether insensible), and a closer study makes it almost certain that it was executed after, not before, his Italian journey. On a reduced scale, and with the omission of two or three figures, the St Martin at Saventhem is a reproduction of the picture at Windsor Castle.

No master from beyond the Alps ever took up a higher position than Van Dyck among the most celebrated representatives of Italian art. Study, as a matter of course, had been one of his principal objects. No doubt can be entertained as to the great influence exerted by the works of Titian and Paul Veronese in the development of his genius; still the individuality of the painter remains a striking feature of what may be termed his Italian works, especially portraits. Their peculiar character seems to originate even more in the stateliness of the personages he was fortunate enough to have as sitters than in any desire to follow individual predilection or prevailing fashion. As in later years Van Dyck gives us a striking picture of the higher classes in England, so at this stage he makes us acquainted with Italian beauty and style; and at no other period is his talent more advantageously shown than in some of the glorious portraits he painted at Rome, at Florence, and above all at Genoa. At Rome he resided with Cardinal Guido Bentivoglio, who had been papal nuncio in Flanders from 1607 to 1617. For this patron were painted several works of very great importance, the most renowned being the prelate’s own portrait, now in the Pitti Palace at Florence. Another work was a Crucifixion, representing Christ dying on the cross with uplifted eyes. Most probably the picture spoken of by Bellori ought to be identified with the admirable edition now in the gallery at Naples, catalogued as “Scuola di Van Dyck,” unsurpassed by any of those at Antwerp, Paris, Vienna, Rome, or elsewhere. Besides these he painted religious subjects and portraits, several of which are reckoned among his finest examples, such as the portrait of Francis Duquesnoy, the famous sculptor, belonging to the king of the Belgians, and those of Sir Robert Shirley and his wife, in Persian attire, now at Petworth.

Bellori tells us of Van Dyck’s prepossessing appearance, of his elegance and distinction, altogether so different from the habits of his compatriots in Rome, who formed a jovial “gang,” as they termed their association. Van Dyck seems to have kept out of their way, and incurred in consequence such annoyance as made his stay in Rome much shorter than it would otherwise have been. In the company of Lady Arundel, who tried to persuade him to return to England, he travelled to Turin, and perhaps produced some of the paintings now in the royal gallery there, such as the spirited portrait of Thomas of Savoy on his splendid black charger. But he was eager to reach Genoa, where Rubens had worked with great success some twenty years before, and where his Antwerp friends, Luke and Cornelis de Wael, for many years resident in Italy, now were. Van Dyck remained their guest for several months, and their portraits, now in the Pinacoteca Capitolina at Rome (engraved by W. Hollar from the monochrome at Cassel), may be supposed to have been one of his first Genoese productions. Though several of the palaces of the “superb” city no longer retain their treasures, and among the specimens of Van Dyck’s genius still left too many have been greatly injured by cleaning and retouching, Genoa can still boast of a good number of his most attractive productions, portraits of the beautiful ladies and haughty cavaliers of the noble houses of Doria, Brignole Sale, Pallavicini, Balbi, Cattaneo, Spinola, Lommelini, and Grimaldi. It would 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 national gallery at Edinburgh, or the Marchesa Brignole Sala at Warwick Castle. 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 (Van Dyck having, it is said, first spent some time at Venice), 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 dulness 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 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.

Van Dyck is said to have sailed from Genoa to Palermo and there to have 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 over ninety years of age and blind; and he was wont to say 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. Bellori tells us that a plague broke out and compelled him to leave abruptly, taking with him an unfinished picture of St Rosalia, destined for a confraternity of that name, and which 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 1627, and here in all likelihood he met and painted the sculptor George Petel, whose portrait is now in Munich, and who was frequently employed by Rubens; 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.

Embarking for Marseilles, Van Dyck is said to have stopped at Aix with Peiresc, the famous scholar and friend of Rubens, and thence to have gone to Paris, where most probably he painted the beautiful portrait of Langlois the print-seller (belonging to Mr W. Garnett), a work still influenced by Italian reminiscences, and had the opportunity of meeting Callot, Simon Vouet, and Dupuy, the king’s librarian,—all of whose portraits were engraved from his drawings in Antwerp. According to some authors, he also worked in Holland before returning to his native town; but the supposition rests entirely on two portraits in the museum at The Hague, dated 1627 and 1628, and representing a lady and gentleman, with the Sheffield arms. The lady is easily identified by a well-known print by Clouwet as Anne Wake. The Wake family resided in Antwerp, and both portraits may have been painted there. There is no recorded proof of Van Dyck’s return to Antwerp before 6th 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 18th May is proved by a letter from Lord Carlisle to Buckingham (Sainsbury, CIII.), but it is stated in Bullart’s Académie, published in 1682, that he returned again to London in 1629, without, however, attracting the king’s attention. It is very likely that Lady Arundel’s endeavours to get him back to England were now successful, and that the beautiful portrait of Lord Thomas, at Stafford House, belongs to this period.

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 Blessed Herman Joseph Kneeling before the Virgin 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 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 Cornelius Van der Geest (National Gallery, London) and Ambrogio Spinola (Rev. W. H. Wayne) are perhaps as close to material excellence as any painting could be. The full-length likenesses of Philip Le Roy (1630) and his wife (1631) (at Manchester House) and of Mary Louisa of Tassis (Prince Liechtenstein, Vienna) are not only the finest examples of the master’s talent, but deserve to rank among the most beautiful portraits ever painted. The Snyders at Castle Howard is regarded by Waagen as not inferior to the most celebrated Raphaels, Titians, or Holbeins; and of almost equal excellence are the Wife of Colin de Nole in the Munich gallery, the Lady and her Daughter at the Louvre, and the Lady in Black at Cassel.

Rapidly rising to honour and wealth, Van Dyck shared with Rubens the official title of court painter, and his numerous portraits of the Infanta in her monastic garb (Paris, Vienna, Turin, Parma, &c.) bear testimony to the great favour in which he stood with her. When Mary de’ Medici,...