In a small area, the problem lingered a little. I was a little late in the small square (Unified State Examination in Russian)
(1) I lingered a little in the small square. (2) Someone had already taken care of the pigeons, scattering food for them, and the flocks, hungry during the night, flocked here for a feast. (3) The pigeons pushed, quarreled, flapped their wings, jumped, pecked the grain with frenzy, not paying attention to the fluffy red cat, who was preparing to jump. (4) I was interested in how the hunt would end. (5) The pigeons seemed completely defenseless in front of the agile and fast animal, and greed dulled the instinct of self-preservation. (6) But the cat is in no hurry, carefully calculating the jump, which means it’s not so easy to grab the pigeon. (7) The serenity of the pigeons seemed to provoke the cat to attack. (8) However, the tiny tigress was an experienced hunter. (9) Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she crawled towards the flock and suddenly froze, as if all life stopped in her thin body under her red fluffy skin. (10) And I noticed that the bustling crowd of pigeons, with each movement of the cat, moved away from it exactly as much as it closed the gap. (11) Not a single pigeon individually cared about its safety - the protective maneuver was unconsciously and accurately carried out by the common pigeon soul. (12) Finally the cat contrived and jumped. (13) Caesar slipped out of her clutches, paying with a single gray feather. (14) He did not even look back at his enemy and continued to peck barley grains and hemp seeds. (15) The cat yawned nervously, opening its small mouth with sharp teeth, relaxed, as only cats can do, and again shrank and collected itself. (16) Her green eyes with a narrow pupil did not blink. (17) The cat seemed to want to press the greedy flock against the wall covered with bougainvillea, but the mass of pigeons did not simply retreat, but turned around its axis, maintaining the spaciousness of the square near it. (18) The fourth jump of the cat reached its goal - the dove hid in its paws. (19) It seems that it was the same dove that she had chosen from the very beginning. (20) Perhaps he had some kind of damage that deprived him of the dexterous mobility of his fellow pigeons, an irregularity in his build that made him an easier prey than other pigeons. (21) The dove writhed in her paws, but somehow powerlessly, as if not believing in its right to freedom. (22) The rest continued to eat their fill as if nothing had happened. (23) The flock did everything it could for collective safety, but, since the victim could not be avoided, it calmly sacrificed its inferior relative. (24) Everything happened within the framework of the great justice and impartiality of nature. (25) The cat was in no hurry to deal with the dove. (26) She seemed to be playing with him, allowing him to fight, lose fluff and feathers. (27) Or maybe cats don’t eat pigeons at all?.. (28) So what is this - culling a defective individual? (29) Or training a predator?.. (30) I suffered, not understanding whether I had the right to intervene in the whirlwind of forces beyond the jurisdiction of man. (31) And then some passer-by threw a notebook at the cat, hitting it in the side. (32) The cat instantly released the dove, soared onto the fence in an incredible leap and disappeared. (33) The pigeon shook itself off and, leaving behind a handful of gray fluff, hobbled towards the flock. (34) He was badly dented, but he didn’t look shocked at all and still wanted to eat (35) I was angry with myself for choosing aesthetics over ethics. Yuri Markovich Nagibin (1920-1994) - Russian writer, journalist, screenwriter.
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Yuri Nagibin writes about how the hero of the passage presented to us did nothing when the cat grabbed the pigeon, how he calmly stood and looked at it. His equanimity at that moment is indicated by the words: “I was interested in how the hunt would end.” But when the bird was already struggling in the cat’s paws, trying to escape, the literary hero of this text, he was tormented, not understanding whether he had the right to “intervene in the whirlwind of forces beyond the jurisdiction of man.”
The author gives the answer to the question posed with the last words of the passage: “I was angry with myself for choosing aesthetics rather than ethics.” Thus, the author condemns the behavior of his literary hero, cannot forgive this inaction, when a living being suffered in front of the hero’s eyes, when he neglected ethics, that is, moral standards, did not stand up.
I agree with the author. A person, in my opinion, should intervene when he sees that you need help. His moral principles, his conscience help him in this. Actions out of a sense of duty are truly humane actions.
Heroes of B. Vasiliev’s work “And the dawns here are quiet...
Criteria
- 1 of 1 K1 Formulation of source text problems
- 3 of 3 K2
Essay based on the text by Yu.M. Nagibin “I was a little late in a small square...”
Is a person capable of action? Not to think, not to reflect, but simply to act, to make a gesture of kindness, thereby saving someone’s life, albeit a small one? I think that Yuri Nagibin raises precisely these problems in his story. It is this moral problem that worries the author, so he tries to involve us in joint reasoning.
In his text, Yu. Nagibin describes the pressing problem of our time of detachment from what is happening, carelessness, laziness and inability to make decisions in emergency situations, thereby leaving everything that happens to the mercy of fate. As a shell for this deep problem in his text, the author used a simple, unremarkable incident on the street. The subjects were careless pigeons, who, because of their greed, did not pay due attention to the impending danger, and a person who only observed what was happening, although he could easily change the situation radically.
The text also talks about the act of a passerby who, without hesitation, took action and saved the life of a pigeon.
The author believes that in each of us there lives a “real person” who simply needs to be “awakened”.
Each of us, at least once in our lives, has encountered the problems of this text. How many times, while walking down the street, have you noticed a person who needed your help right here and now without any hesitation? It’s unfortunate, but most passers-by simply brush aside the problem that has arisen as if it were an annoying fly and move on without noticing anything around them. But fortunately, there are also those who have managed to “awaken the person” within themselves. They will stop and help without sparing their time and effort. Yes, there are only a few such people, but they exist.
In the end, I want to say that the story of Yuri Nagibin, provided for analysis, pushed me to think that a “person” lives in each of us, only someone has already learned to listen to him, and someone has not yet.
no, an example from literature, conclusion: In a small square in front of the Church of St. Vidal, I was a little late. Someone had already taken care of the pigeons, scattering food for them, and the flocks, hungry during the night, flocked here for a feast. The pigeons jostled, quarreled, flapped their wings, jumped up, and frantically pecked at the grain, not paying attention to the fluffy red cat, who was preparing to jump. I was interested in how the hunt would end. The pigeons seemed completely defenseless in front of the agile and fast animal, and besides, greed dulled the instinct of self-preservation. But the cat is in no hurry, carefully calculating the jump, which means it’s not so easy to grab a pigeon. The serenity of the pigeons seemed to provoke the cat to lunge. But the tiny tigress was an experienced hunter. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she crawled towards the flock and suddenly froze, as if all life stopped in her thin body under the red fluffy skin. And I noticed that the bustling crowd of pigeons, with each crawl of the cat, moved away from her exactly as much as she closed the gap. Not a single pigeon individually cared about its safety - the protective maneuver was carried out unconsciously and precisely by the common pigeon soul. Finally, the cat contrived and jumped. Caesar slipped out of her clutches, paying with a single gray feather with a dove. He did not even look back at his enemy and continued to peck barley grains and hemp seeds. The cat yawned nervously, opening a small pink mouth with sharp teeth, relaxed, as only cats can, and again shrank and collected herself. Her green eyes with a narrow cut pupil did not blink. The cat seemed to want to press the greedy flock against the bougainvillea-covered wall, but the mass of pigeons did not simply retreat, but turned around an invisible axis, maintaining the expanse of the area around itself.... The fourth jump of the cat reached its goal, the pigeon began to huddle in its paws. It seems that it was the same pigeon that she had chosen from the very beginning. Perhaps he had some kind of damage that deprived him of the dexterous mobility of his fellow pigeons, an irregularity in his build that made him an easier prey than other pigeons. Or maybe it was an inexperienced young pigeon or a sick, weak one. The dove writhed in her paws, but somehow powerlessly, as if not believing in its right to be freed. The rest continued to feed themselves as if nothing had happened. The flock did everything they could for collective safety, but since sacrifice could not be avoided, they calmly sacrificed their inferior relative. Everything happened within the framework of the great justice and impartiality of nature. The cat was in no hurry to get rid of the pigeon. She seemed to be playing with him, allowing him to fight, lose fluff and feathers. Or maybe cats don’t eat pigeons at all?.. So what is this - culling a defective individual? Or training a predator?.. I was tormented, not understanding whether I had the right to intervene in the whirlwind of forces beyond human control, and then some passer-by threw a notebook at the cat, hitting it in the side. She instantly released the dove, flew up onto the fence in an incredible leap and disappeared. The pigeon shook itself off and, leaving behind a pile of gray fluff, hobbled towards the flock. He was badly bruised, but he didn’t look shocked at all and still wanted to eat. I was angry with myself. There are situations when you don’t have to reason, weigh the pros and cons, but act. When the truth is only in a gesture, in an action. I could immediately drive the cat away, but I treated what was happening aesthetically, not ethically. I was fascinated by both the behavior of the cat and the behavior of the pigeons, both of which had their own plastic beauty, and in which the cruel meaning of what was happening disappeared. Only when the dove began to struggle in its claws did I sluggishly remember the moral essence of the matter. But the passer-by did not reflect, he simply made a gesture of kindness...
Answer
The heroes of B. Vasiliev’s work “And the dawns here are quiet...” are distinguished by their humanity. After the death of one of the girls in the detachment, the main character of the work, Fedot Vaskov, takes her son in to raise him. He does this not in the name of gratitude and, it seems to me, not to clear his conscience, because he is partly to blame for the death of this girl, but thanks to the understanding that he cannot do otherwise, he cannot leave her child alone.
Actions not related to desires, but actions according to conscience are shown in the story “Man” by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Guillaume is a pilot who finds himself in the most severe natural conditions, which he himself describes as those in which not a single animal would survive. But Guillaume saved himself. He walked into a snowstorm, he climbed, overcame pain, taking every new step along impassable snowy slopes for the sake of his loved ones.
He did not give up, did not submit to the “whirlwind of forces beyond the control of man,” which was the raging element, but did what he felt he should. It seemed that his comrades should have helped him, and if not, then there was no chance of salvation. But Guillaume could not submit to fate. He did everything he could because those were his moral principles. What his wife would endure if he were gone was much more serious than his fatigue, his legs swollen from the cold, and his heart beating intermittently.
Many events in this world happen regardless of a person. But doing everything possible to help, not being indifferent, is the golden rule of humanity.
Updated: 2017-08-02
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Italy is plagued by rats. According to statistics, there are at least a billion of them. These are the so-called gray rats, the largest, strongest and most ferocious of all cesspool rats. They came to Italy from India in the Middle Ages, partly destroying and partly driving into attics the original inhabitants of the Apennine Peninsula - not so large and aggressive black rats. Gray rats are a real scourge of the country. They attack small children, helpless old people and paralytics, spread infection, and devour countless amounts of grain and all kinds of food. The most prominent Italian rat scientists assure us that it is almost impossible to fight a rat. Fewer cats, compared to the plague of rats, are afraid of rats, all types of rat traps are powerless, poison is ineffective, a rat cannot be drowned, it can stay under water as long as it wants. The rat has lived near a person for so long that it has thoroughly studied all his pitiful tricks, acquired great human adaptability, plasticity and survival, it is not afraid of either frost or heat, it is omnivorous and unpretentious. She overtook her teacher. And if we want to know what we can achieve in the near future of history as a result of intense self-improvement, we should take a closer look at rats.
But I do not share the pessimism of Italian scientists. The country's population is approaching fifty million. Let's throw away the old people, children, the sick, the disabled, and there will be twenty million combat-ready population left. Twenty million heavy table lamps are within the capabilities of Italian industry; each rat killer will only have to make fifty throws. And the gray danger will be over. If this is not done, the country will be ground to pieces by the gray inhabitants of garbage dumps and basements...
Also in Italy there are chamois, wild cats, hares, squirrels, ferrets, numerous birds and reptiles, as well as fish of commercial importance. But I write only about what I saw with my own eyes.
JACOPO TINTORETTO
This essay was written not by an art critic who is obliged to know everything about the subject in which he deals, but by a writer who is not burdened with such a responsibility. However, is it possible to know everything in a state of fragile and subtle spiritual values? With patience and the necessary materials, you can thoroughly study the artist’s biography, collect more or less interesting and reliable anecdotes about him, which will give an idea of the gross manifestations of character and temperament; one can embrace with knowledge the entire volume of creativity and trace its evolution; one can finally find out what the artist himself thought about his art, if he thought about it and did not create unconsciously, as a tree grows or as the gentlest and most Christian Fra Beato Angelico created angelic faces . And, having learned all this and much more, you suddenly find yourself, after your painstaking labors, infinitely far from the main secret of the creator, ready to be revealed to intuition, and not to scientific comprehension.
How diligent and tireless Vasari knew everything, especially about contemporary artists, many of whom this sociable and friendly man was friends with! And the long-gone founders of the Italian Renaissance did not have time to become a legend for it. He heard stories about them, sometimes from eyewitnesses, sometimes from hearsay, but always truthful in everyday life, not myth-making. The great primitives were to him men of flesh and blood, not disembodied shadows. The main thing is that he saw almost everything with his own eyes, and not in copies or redrawings. Vasari managed to work in the largest art centers of Italy - Rome, Florence, Venice - and visit small towns that had their own painting schools. But did this help him to fully comprehend the unconventional art of Jacopo Tintoretto, one of the giants of the Renaissance? Vasari paid tribute to his skill, credited him with a number of great artistic achievements, but San Rocco did not suspect the true scale of the master Scuola. And how he scolded him for being sketchy, unfinished, even for laziness and carelessness, which in our opinion is called hack work. And this was said about the artist, in whom, like no other, God’s gift was combined with hard work and diligence. But Tintoretto's artistic responsibility had nothing in common with the creeping pedantry of the artisans of painting.
The remarkable Russian artist, art historian and critic Alexander Benois says: “Once Tintoretto was visited by Flemish painters who had just returned from Rome. Examining them carefully, to the point of dryness, the executed drawings of heads, the Venetian master suddenly asked how long they had been working on them. They answered smugly: some - ten days, some - fifteen. Then Tintoretto grabbed a brush with black paint, sketched a figure with a few strokes, boldly enlivened it with whitewash and declared: “We, poor Venetians, can only paint like this.”
Of course, it was just a clever and meaningful joke. So, quite consciously, for artistic reasons, and not for the sake of saving time, Tintoretto sometimes created figures of the second and third plan, giving the plot a mystical character; In general, he took drawing more seriously than other Venetians. No wonder rumor gave him as an artistic credo, allegedly inscribed on the wall of the workshop: “Drawing by Michelangelo, colors by Titian,” a statement by the theorist Pino. Coloristically mature, Tintoretto was the complete opposite of Titian, but in the drawing of some of his first-ground female figures one can find similarities with the style of Buonarroti, although, unlike Titian, who traveled to Rome, he never saw his originals. But he earned the nickname “Venetian Michelangelo” not only for the fierce energy of his creativity. By the way, according to Vasari, Michelangelo, who met Titian, spoke very flatteringly about his painting, but scolded his drawing. Flaubert once said about Balzac: “What kind of person Balzac would be if he could write!” Michelangelo spoke similarly about the brilliant Venetian: “What kind of artist Titian would be if he could draw!”
With Vasari came the idea of Tintoretto as a “wrong” artist. However, Vasari was hardly original in this; he rather repeated the popular opinion. But, undoubtedly, he himself contributed a lot to the establishment of such an opinion and its extension for centuries. In any case, both Raphael Mengs and John Ruskin were angry with Tintoretto in the spirit of Giorgio Vasari, who called Tintoretto “a powerful and good painter” - apparently, they were captivated by the overflowing energy of Tintoretto’s manner, which so pleasantly reminded Vasari of his idol Michelangelo - and right there: “the strangest head in painting.” Tintoretto's impressionism, thanks to which he stepped through the centuries into our time, seemed to Giorgio Vasari either a joke, or arbitrariness, or an accident. He even believed that Tintoretto sometimes exhibits “the roughest sketches, in which every stroke of the brush is visible, as if they were finished.” About Tintoretto’s masterpiece “The Last Judgment” in the church of Sen Moria all’Orto, he wrote: “Whoever looks at this picture as a whole is left in amazement, but if you look at its individual parts, it seems that it was painted as a joke.”
Titian's dear friend, the famous poet Aretino, also never missed an opportunity to condescendingly scold Tintoretto. Aretino, who worshiped Titian, would turn over in his grave if he heard that the time would come - and Viccellio’s “Annunciation”, so tender, graceful, perfect in painting, would lose in the eyes of visitors next to the frantic “Annunciation” of the little dyer, as Jacopo was nicknamed Robusti by his father's trade.
It is a little sad that Tintoretto himself, abstract, extravagant, immersed in his world and in his art, devoid of vanity and professional considerations, did not show high contempt for the slanderous rumor. His words are well known: “When you exhibit your works publicly, you need to refrain for some time from visiting the places where they are exhibited, waiting for the moment when all the arrows of criticism are released and people get used to the look of the picture.” When asked why the old masters wrote so carefully, and he so carelessly, Tintoretto answered with a joke, behind which resentment and anger were hidden: “Because they did not have so many unsolicited advisers.”
The topic of non-recognition is a sore subject, because there is no artist, no matter how independent and self-confident he may seem, who does not need understanding and love. The great Russian pianist and composer Anton Rubinstein said: “A creator needs three things: praise, praise and praise.” Tintoretto heard a lot of praise during his lifetime, but, perhaps, none of the greats knew so much misunderstanding, blasphemy, stupid instructions, and arrogant grins. He emerged victorious from the struggle with the century and kept accumulating posthumous fame, but not only the above-mentioned Mengs and Ruskin opened fire on the long-departed artist with all weapons - at different times, in different countries, the naive Vasarian myopia suddenly seized enlightened art critics in relation to the Master, so powerfully conquering time.
From the very beginning I warned readers that I am not an art historian, not an art critic, but simply a person who knows how to freeze in front of a painting, a fresco, or a drawing. If the experts miss, then what should they take from me? And it seems that you don’t have to repent of your mistakes. And yet I want to apologize for how my reunion happened with Tintoretto, whom I mistook for a completely different person.
This happened during my first visit to Venice. Before that, I knew and loved the Tintoretto of Madrid, London, Paris, Vienna and the “Hermitage” (in my homeland everything is renamed: streets, squares, cities, the country itself, so it’s better to call Tintoretto, who received refuge on the banks of the Neva, exactly that), but did not know the main Tintoretto - the Venetian one. And so I went on a long-awaited date.
From the hotel on Via (or embankment?) Schiavone to Via Tintoretto, where the Scuola San Rocco painted by him is located, it’s a long way, judging by the map, but I decided to do it on foot. During the week I spent in Venice, I became convinced that there are no long distances. The fright of narrow streets and humpbacked bridges quickly leads to any place that seems infinitely far away on the red and blue map. First of all, we had to get to the other side of the canal. I walked away from Piazza San Marco, deserted at this hour of the morning, not crowded with tourist crowds, guides, photographers, sellers of artificial flying pigeons, crawling snakes and luminous disks spinning madly on an elastic band, loud-mouthed blind men selling lottery tickets, languidly unkempt Venetian children . There were not even pigeons - puffed up for warmth, they sat on the roofs and eaves of the buildings surrounding the square.
I chose the route along Prophet Moses Street, along the wide street 22 March to Morosini Square, from where the humpbacked Academy Bridge can already be seen. Beyond the bridge begins the most difficult and confusing part of the journey. It would have been easier to get there via the Rialto Bridge, but I wanted to go to the Academy Museum again and look at the “Miracle of St. Mark." I fell in love with Tintoretto's beautiful and strange reproductions. The messenger of heaven descends to the body stretched out on the ground upside down, as if he had thrown himself from the firmament, like a diver from a tower, upside down. In all the paintings I know, the celestial beings descend in the most correct way: in splendor and glory, feet down, head up, illuminated by a halo. The saint sits on the ground like a wild goose, with his feet far and straight under him. And here he is flying head over heels, in a great hurry to work his miracle. An amazingly muscular and earthly juicy sight. In this complex multi-figure composition, unusually unified and integral, a young woman in a golden dress with a baby in her arms attracts the eye. She is depicted from behind in a strong and feminine half-turn towards the prostrate martyr on the ground. This figure reminds me of another one from an underpainting by Michelangelo in the National Gallery in London. The sketch itself is not very successful, the shamelessly and unnecessary naked Christ is especially unconvincing (the eternal craving of a frantic shifter for male shameful flesh - he did not even spare the God-Man!), but the foreground figure of one of the myrrh-bearing women is filled with delightful expression. But Tintoretto could not have seen this sketch; is such a coincidence really possible? In general, the influence of artists on each other is a mystery that cannot be explained by simple everyday reasons. The impression is that some fluids are floating in the air and influencing a soul that is ready to perceive. It's the same in literature. I met imitators of Knut Hamsun, who did not hold the books of the singer Glan and Victoria in their hands, epigones of Boris Pasternak, who had the most superficial understanding of his poetry.
Standing in front of the painting, I wanted to understand: what excited Tintoretto’s creative will, who did he love here? Of course, a saint flying upside down, this young, coldly curious, but beautifully elastic woman and two or three more sharply expressive characters in the crowd, but not a martyr - naked, powerless, incapable of protesting effort. There was something blasphemous in this furious picture, so far from the usual interpretation of a religious plot.
I paused a little in the small square in front of the Church of St. Vidal. Someone had already taken care of the pigeons, scattering food for them, and the flocks, hungry during the night, flocked here for a feast. The pigeons jostled, quarreled, flapped their wings, jumped up, and frantically pecked at the grain, not paying attention to the fluffy red cat, who was preparing to jump. I was interested in how the hunt would end. The pigeons seemed completely defenseless in front of the agile and fast animal, and besides, greed dulled the instinct of self-preservation. But the cat is in no hurry, carefully calculating the jump, which means it’s not so easy to grab the pigeon.
The serenity of the pigeons seemed to provoke the cat to attack. But the tiny tigress was an experienced hunter. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she crawled towards the flock and suddenly froze, as if all life stopped in her thin body under her red fluffy skin. And I noticed that the bustling crowd of pigeons with each crawl of the cat moved away from her exactly as much as she closed the gap. Not a single pigeon cared about its own safety - the protective maneuver was carried out unconsciously and accurately by the common pigeon soul.
Finally the cat contrived and jumped. Caesar slipped out of her clutches, paying with a single gray feather with a dove. He did not even look back at his enemy and continued to peck barley grains and hemp seeds. The cat yawned nervously, opening its small mouth with sharp teeth, relaxed, as only cats can do, and again shrank and collected itself. Her green eyes with a narrow pupil did not blink. The cat seemed to want to press the greedy flock against the wall covered with bougainvillea, but the mass of pigeons did not simply retreat, but turned around an invisible axis, maintaining the spaciousness of the square around it.
The cat's fourth leap reached its goal, and the dove began to huddle in her paws. It seems that it was the same pigeon that she had chosen from the very beginning. Perhaps he had some kind of damage that deprived him of the dexterous mobility of his fellow pigeons, an irregularity in his build that made him an easier prey than other pigeons. Or maybe it was an inexperienced young pigeon or a sick, weak one. The dove writhed in her paws, but somehow powerlessly, as if not believing in its right to be freed. The rest continued to eat their fill as if nothing had happened.
The flock did everything it could for collective safety, but, since the victim could not be avoided, it calmly sacrificed its inferior relative. Everything happened within the framework of the great justice and impartiality of nature.
The cat was in no hurry to get rid of the pigeon. She seemed to be playing with him, allowing him to fight, lose fluff and feathers. Or maybe cats don’t eat pigeons at all? So what is this – culling a defective individual? Or training a predator?.. I was tormented, not understanding whether I had the right to intervene in the whirlwind of forces beyond human control, and then some passer-by threw a notebook at the cat, hitting it in the side. The cat instantly released the dove, flew up onto the fence in an incredible leap and disappeared. The dove shook itself off and, leaving behind a handful of gray fluff, hobbled towards the flock. He was badly bruised, but did not look shocked at all and still wanted to eat.
I was angry with myself. There are situations when it is necessary not to reason, not to weigh the pros and cons, but to act. When the truth is only in a gesture, in an action. I could immediately drive the cat away, but I treated what was happening aesthetically, not ethically. I was fascinated by both the behavior of the cat and the behavior of the pigeons; both had their own plastic beauty, in which the cruel meaning of what was happening disappeared. Only when the dove began to struggle in its claws did I sluggishly remember the moral essence of the matter. But the passerby did not reflect, he simply made a gesture of kindness...
In the main hall of the Academy Museum, directly opposite the “Miracle of St. Mark", hanging "Assunta" by Titian. It’s scary to say, but the wondrous painting of the greatest Venetian pales next to the fury of his younger contemporary. But there is something in Titian’s canvas that is completely absent from Tintoretto - he thought about God when he wrote. And Tintoretto created not the miracle of St. Mark, but the trick of St. Mark. But Titian is much more physical, much more down to earth than Tintoretto, who has already stepped towards that spirituality, incorporeality that will distinguish his great student El Greco. I must make a reservation, I am expressing here those thoughts and feelings that possessed me at the time described, that is, at the time of my first meeting with Tintoretto on his native soil.
Scuola is a place for religious and philosophical reasoning and debate, designed to get closer to the highest truth. There were several dozen similar brotherhoods in Venice, and less than a dozen were considered “great.” Scuola San Rocco is a great brotherhood and therefore very rich. And when the brotherhood decided to decorate their luxurious chambers, they announced a competition, inviting all the major Venetian artists to participate: Paolo Veronese, Jacopo Tintoretto, Andrea Schiavone, Giuseppe Salviati and Federico Zuccari. They were asked to make a small sketch on the theme of the Ascension of St. Rocco to heaven. And then Tintoretto, apparently feeling that his fateful hour had come, accomplished an unprecedented artistic feat: in the shortest possible time he painted a huge canvas (5.36 × 12.24) “The Crucifixion” and brought it as a gift to the San Rocco brotherhood. The pictorial power of the work, created with such incredible speed, made such a strong impression on Tintoretto’s rivals that they respectfully withdrew from participating in the competition. It is difficult to say what shocked the elders of the brotherhood more - the work itself or the artist’s gesture of selflessness, but with an overwhelming majority of votes they gave the order to Tintoretto. This was in 1564, when the artist was forty-six years old. He completed his work in 1587, being sixty-nine years old, and seven years later, recognized, loved and mourned by everyone, he left this world physically, spiritually remaining in it forever. Tintoretto completed his herculean task in three stages: in 1564 - 1566 he painted pictures for the Albergo, or Council Hall, between 1576 and 1581 he decorated the Upper Hall and from 1583 to 1587 he did the same for the Lower hall In terms of power and artistic completeness, what Tintoretto created can only be compared with the Sistine Chapel, and in terms of exhaustiveness of self-expression - with the painting of the Dominican monastery of St. Mark in Florence by Brother Beato Angelico.
The subjects of the paintings are traditional: the story of Jesus. Tintoretto seemed to set out to reveal the monstrous energy that, in modern terms, accumulated in the short life of the Son of Man. It begins with the “Annunciation”, where the winged Saint Gabriel, accompanied by angels, flies like a mighty bird into the chamber of the Virgin Mary, breaking through the wall. So you can rush in with a sword, and not with an olive branch. Of course, the Virgin Mary is frightened, she made a protective gesture with her hand, her mouth opened slightly. You have to look long and hard at the picture in order to discover that Tintoretto did not violate the canon, for which the artists were brought to the church court, and the archangel and his retinue fly into the windows. But even having understood this, you continue to see a gap in the wall, for Tintoretto himself could not otherwise imagine the appearance of God’s messenger with such news. The artist revealed enormous energy in a quiet, good event, although fraught with great upheavals. Suffice it to recall an early painting by Leonardo, located in the Uffizi Gallery, where the same scene is filled with great silence, tenderness, and peace. And even the painting by Titian that we mentioned, which is much more dynamic than Leonardo’s, in the same Scuola San Rocco next to Tintoretto looks pastoral.
The next painting, “The Adoration of the Magi,” appears as a clot of energy. Artistic taste did not allow Tintoretto to give the Magi - they are also called magicians or kings - expression in the spirit of St. Gabriel. Those who come to the den are filled with humility, tenderness, and reverent love for the Divine Infant and his haloed mother. Only the black king, with hotter southern blood - it seems his name was Gaspar - presents his gift, myrrh in a golden vessel, with a restrained and impetuous gesture. Tintoretta's energy is given to the figures framing the central scene: maids, jubilant angels and ghostly riders on white horses, visible in the gap in the wall. These horsemen who came from who knows where and why are thrown onto the canvas by the brush of a true impressionist. It’s strange, but these horsemen, more than the frolicking well-fed angels, give a completely everyday scene a mystical shade.
In “The Massacre of the Innocents,” the master’s fiery temperament, as well as his impressionistic style, received complete freedom. There is seduction and blasphemy in this picture, where before the artist’s eye, admiring the expression of the spectacle, victims and executioners are equal. But Tintoretto reaches the limit of fury in that very “Crucifixion”, which gave him the opportunity to decorate the Scuola San Rocco. Many great artists painted Golgotha, each in his own way, but for all of them the emotional center of the picture is the crucified Christ. In Tintoretto, Christ is the formal center of the picture. The huge fresco represents the apotheosis of the movement. Calvary? No, it’s a construction site during emergency times. Everything is at work, everything is in motion, in the utmost and in some kind of joyful tension of strength, except for one of the myrrh-bearing women, who either fell asleep or fell into a trance. The rest are experiencing a clear uplift: those who are still fiddling with the crucified Christ, and those who are erecting a cross with a robber nailed to it, and those who are nailing another robber to the crossbar, and those who are digging a hole in the corner of the picture and cutting bones. , and those who rush to the place of execution on foot or by window.
Even the group of mourners in the foreground did not give peace to the last pain. They are energetic in their suffering, and how powerfully the beloved disciple of Jesus, the Apostle John, raised his beautiful head! The athletically built Christ crucified on the cross falls out of the lively violent action. His face is hidden in a tilt, his pose is extremely inexpressive and insensitive. He is excluded from active life and therefore is of no interest to Tintoretto. The artist bought off Christ with a huge circle of very cold radiance, and gave all his mighty soul, all his passion to those who live and do. Christ appears completely different in the paintings “Behold the Man”, “The Burden of the Cross”, “The Ascension”; here he is included in the world’s tension and therefore desired by Tintoretto’s brush. Yet Tintoretto is devoid of a truly religious feeling; his god is plastic, movement. He is for both the cat and the dove, if they are true to their destiny, their instincts and the place they have determined in nature. Most of all, he loves sweaty work, which strains the human body so beautifully, be it the work of an excavator, a warrior, a miracle worker, or even an executioner. If only the muscles hummed and the tendons rang. The clergy brought to trial painters who violated the canon - the wrong wingspan of the archangels and other nonsense - but they overlooked the impudent revelry committed by Tintoretto. There is great irony in the fact that the Scuola San Rocco brothers attracted to God's work a man who was unusually far from heaven.
Tintoretto is brilliant and tragic in these paintings, but unpoetic and irreligious. Yes, I know that Goethe, admiring “Paradise,” one of the last paintings of the old Tintoretto, called it “the ultimate praise to God.” Perhaps, at the end of his life, Tintoretto came to what I could not discover in his biblical series. No, it was not the miracle of God, but the miracle of Man that the artist worshiped. But it happens that even an avid atheist, when close to death, reaches for the cross.
This is how I thought, this is how I wrote about Tintoretto at that time, admiring my own insight and impartiality of the critical eye, which allowed me to clearly and soberly see my beloved artist. Rather than revel in your supposed insight, it would be better to think about the words of the great sage Goethe. And I had no idea then that I was just one of many small-minded “witty minds” who did not reach the understanding of the true essence of Tintoretto.
It’s not easy to understand someone else’s blindness; I’ll try to understand my own. Perhaps the way I approached Tintoretto played a certain role. I have already said: the main, Venetian, Tintoretto was revealed to me at last, and before that there was the joy of meeting him in other major world museums. I experienced the strongest shock in Vienna, where two of the most beautiful of his non-religious paintings are located, of which, if we exclude portraits, there are not so many. Tintoretto more than once turned to the subject beloved by Renaissance artists: Susanna and the Elders. I saw one painting in the Madrid Prado, here the theme was taken somehow naively, head-on. While one of the elders makes a hypocritically respectful bow to the taken aback naked bather, the other pecked into her chest. This is not senile, sinful and pathetic voyeurism, but almost rape. And the color of the picture is quite ordinary. But the Viennese Susanna is truly a miracle, a triumph of painting.