eserved for us the many rich fabrics
of his period, and his pictures would be a delight were these details
their sole attraction. Heavy velvet, with the light playing
deliciously in the creases, lustrous satins, broken by folds into many
tints, delicate laces, elaborate embroideries, gleaming jewels--these
are the never-failing accessories of his compositions. Yet while he
loved rich draperies, he was also a careful student of the nude.
Examples of his work range from the supple and youthful torso of
Icarus to the huge muscular body of the beggar receiving St. Martin's
cloak. The modelling of the Saviour's body in the Crucifixion and the
Pieta shows both scientific knowledge and artistic handling.

Generally speaking, Van Dyck was little of a psychologist. His patrons
belonged to that social class in which reserve is a test of breeding
and thoughts and emotions are sedulously concealed. To penetrate the
mask of the face and interpret the character of his sitter was an
office he seldom took upon himself to perform. Yet he was capable of
profound character study, especially in the portrayal of men. Even in
so early a work as the so-called portrait of Richardot and his son, he
revealed decided talent in this direction, while the portrait of
Cardinal Bentivoglio, of the Italian period, and the portrait of
Wentworth, in the English period, are masterly studies of the men they
represent.

A common feature of his portraits is the averted glance of the
sitter's eyes. This fact is in itself a barrier to our intimate
knowledge of the subject, and also in a measure injures the sense of
vitality expressed in the work. It must be confessed that Van Dyck,
disciple though he was of Rubens and Titian, fell below these masters
in the art of imparting life to a figure.

In certain mechanical elements of his art Van Dyck was conspicuously
deficient. He seemed to have no ingenuity in devising poses for his
subjects. Sitting or standing, the attitude is usually more or less
artificial and constrained. The atmosphere of the studio is painfully
evident. Never by any accident did he seem to catch the sitter off
guard, so to speak, except in a few children's portraits. Here he
expressed a vivacity and charm which seemed impossible to him with
adult subjects.

In composition he is at his best in altar-pieces. In portrait groups,
as in the pictures of the children of Charles I., he apparently made
no effort to bring the separate figures into