Popular with his patrons, admired by his inferiors for his sumptuous way of living, yet was he despised by his countrymen then studying art in Rome. They were most of them roistering fellows who clung to the boorishness of their native land. What could such a company have in common with the refined Van Dyck, who lived like a prince and not like a poor art student in a foreign city? They were stung by his lofty manners and more yet by the fact that he excelled them in their art. The spitefulness they felt grew into malignity and they circulated wicked stories about him and in other ways made life so unbearable for him that he was glad to leave Rome and seek Genoa again, where he had been so cordially received. On his way thither, he stopped at Florence and other northern cities famous for their pictures or buildings.

He remained in Genoa this time only a short period, for he had an opportunity to go to Sicily with a friend. His sojourn in this southern isle he always looked upon as one of the happiest experiences of his life. As always seemed his fortune, he moved among courtiers, painting their portraits and, in return, receiving their money and their praises.

Among other distinguished people he met here the aged Sofonisba Anguissola. She was now ninety-two years old, but with intellectual powers perfectly preserved, although she was then totally blind. She had been a noted portrait painter. As Van Dyck made her portrait, she talked so delightfully of the art to which she had given her life, that in later years he was fond of saying that he had learned more of his art in his conversation with this blind woman than from his study of the masterpieces of the world.

A sudden breaking out of the plague, in 1626, caused him to leave this pleasant retreat for Antwerp. He reached his home city with the honors of Italy fresh upon him, but even thus crowned, he found it difficult to make his way in the city which was Rubens's home. The departure of Rubens on a diplomatic errand to Spain, however, soon gave Van Dyck the opportunity he desired. It was scarcely fifty years since the rich city of Antwerp had been sacked by the Spaniards, but prosperity had again come among her citizens. They were now desirous of making their churches as spending as they had been before the Spanish Fury, and so there were commissions for many skilled hands. For this purpose the call for was for sacred subjects. Here are some used by Van Dyck at this time. "The Adoration of the Shepherds," "The Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine," "Christ Crowned with Thorns," "St. Augustine," "The Crucifixion."

Why a man of Van Dyck's temperament—pleasure-loving and rather careless of some of the things that make up a Christian—should over and over paint the sorrows of the crucifixion is matter of surprise to the student of his life and work. Yet as we often find under a gay and apparently thoughtless exterior a soul moved by the deepest religious principles and a heart so tender that the cry of a loveless child would pierce it to its very core. Such a man Van Dyck at times seemed to be. Putting this fact with the demand of the day, may we not in some manner account for the "Cavalier Painter's" power in the painting of sacred subjects?

However we may please our fancy in accounting for them, the fact remains that he has given us at least fifty beautiful pictures in which the religious element predominates. Perhaps his favorite subject along these lines was. "The Holy Family." One of these, called "Repose in Egypt," we reproduce in this sketch. Joseph sits deep in the shade of the great tree under which the three are resting. The lovely mother supports the beautiful Christ Child who seems striving to join the angel circle, whose members seem to be asking if there is any service they can render. Among the clouds above is an angel choir doing service in their own sweet way. This picture is in the Pitti Palace in Florence and is one of the favorites among Van Dyck's religious pictures.

It was shortly after his return from Italy that he began that series of portraits "in gray" of his contemporaries in almost every walk of life. There were literary men, artists, statesmen and warriors, besides artisans and men of no trade. Some of the heroes of the Thirty Years' War were represented in the series for which it is quite certain that Van Dyck visited Germany though we have no other record of such a visit.

The spirit which showed itself in Van Dyck's enemies in Rome followed him to Antwerp and annoyed the artist in the midst of his strongest work. Disturbed by the carping criticism of his enemies and spurred on by the ambition that a man of genius feels, he looked longingly toward England as a promising source of patronage. In 1629, he again went to London, and, it is said, made the acquaintance of the Earl of Northumberland for whom he painted several portraits in his home at Petworth. It is supposed that he hoped to meet the king and so lay the foundation for future work in England. In this he evidently failed for he shortly returned to Antwerp after a few days spent in Paris.

It is little to be wondered at that Van Dyck looked to England for patronage. Thither had gone some of the most valuable art collections of the continent. The government, at the suggestion of Rubens, had purchased and mounted cartoons of Raphael. While her literary artists led the world, England quite willingly acknowledged that she had no native pictorial art and she therefore liberally patronized the great painters of the continent.

Although Van Dyck's visit of 1629 had not apparently advanced his interests with the English king, that same Charles was becoming familiar with the work of the Fleming and inquiring for him. When a little later a carefully executed portrait by Van Dyck of Laniere, a court musician, fell into the king's hands, he at once dispatched a message to the artist inviting him to the English court.

Van Dyck set his affairs at home in order and in the early part of 1632 presented himself before Charles for orders. He was enthusiastically received and lodged at the expense of the court in a house in Blackfriars where the king was accustomed to entertain distinguished guests. In addition he was given a country place at Eltham, in Kent. Van Dyck's heart's desire was now accomplished. He was beyond the reach of the criticism of his jealous brother artists. He had nothing to do but to paint and paint his very best.

His elegant personal appearance, his social charms, and his hospitality soon made him immensely popular in society and about him gathered the gayest and the fairest of England's capital. This butterfly life did not seem to interfere with his art, for in spite of it he accomplished a prodigious amount of work. Within a few months of his arrival in England he had painted full length portraits of the king and queen besides a fine family group of them and their children. To the honor that naturally came with his successful work the king added very soon that of knighthood and henceforth he was known as Sir Antony Van Dyck.

He painted portraits for many of the nobility, among whom he had devoted friends. Of these none were more valued that Sir Kenelm Digby and his wife Venetia, whose features he painted many times. One portrait of Lady Venetia he has given us in the form of an allegory, the popular literary form of the day. Here she figures as Prudence, draped with a white veil and girdled by a jeweled belt. Deceit, Anger, and Envy lie bound beneath her feet while in her purity she puts forth her hands to seize two white doves flying near by.

Van Dyck's best known and, in many senses, his strongest pictures belong to the period of his residence in London. Charles and his queen, Henrietta Maria, he represented more than a score of time, sometimes together but more often as separate portraits. The most famous of them all is the picture in the Louvre, where Charles, in full cavalier costume, stands just in front of his fine gray horse that impetuously paws the ground. In spite of our nineteenth century prosaic desire to smooth out some of the folds of his rich attire or to pull up his wrinkled top-boots, we feel that we are in the presence of a masterly portrait. Though decked out with all the gew-gaws of a frivolous age there is that in the face of this unfortunate king which makes us instinctively dread what the future has in store or him.

In later years, long after the tragedy of 1649 had been accomplished, Louis XVI., destined to be another royal victim to an outraged people's ire, used to beg to have this picture removed from his presence, for the whole tenor of the face was a menace to his own happiness. Forgetting the sad fate of the central figure in this picture, let us note its accessories—the wide-spreading tree, the water and sail boar to the left, the verdure-clothed ground on which the king and his attendants stand, the cloud-flecked sky bending over all. All this clothed in the color which Van Dyck knew so well how to use, made a picture to rank, as it does, among the classics of painting.