Original subtitles

Peter Paul Rubens, a Flemish painter sought by popes and princes, saints and the odd sinner

in order to embellish the walls and ceilings of their palaces and churches and to polish up the odd

ego. He put the voluptuous female form right at the heart of Western art and he used it as a

vehicle to express everything from desire to human destiny. His images are monumental, vast, theatrical

and sometimes a tad overblown. But he put the oomph into Baroque art and he became one of the most potent

weapons in the 17th century Roman church's armoury to re-establish the Roman Catholic faith.

Peter Paul Rubens was born in 1577 in Siegen, North Germany. His family had fled there to escape

religious persecution for their Protestant beliefs. In their homeland, the Low Country,

modern-day Holland and Belgium, Protestants were violently suppressed by their Catholic rulers.

For the first ten years of his life, Rubens was brought up and educated in northern Germany,

but after his father died, the family returned to Antwerp, having wisely converted to Catholicism.

Antwerp itself remained under the repressive rule of the Spanish monarchy. The Spanish crown ruled the

southern Low Countries, which remained Catholic, while the Protestant northern provinces broke off to

become the Dutch Republic. For the rest of his life, Rubens was a loyal Catholic, committed to healing the

divisions in his native land. He began his training as an artist when he was 14. Under the tuition of

Antwerp's most admired painters, particularly Otto van Veen, he received a thorough classical and

literary as well as artistic education. This is one of his earliest signed paintings. Completed in 1598,

it shows Adam and Eve, and already reveals Rubens' interest in the nude human form, which was to feature so

strongly in his later work. But the 21-year-old seems to have had very little direct experience of

female flesh. Eve seems almost to have been carved out of marble. Adam, though, is more alive. His muscles

seem almost to ripple. In the background, an idyllic Garden of Eden winds its way into the distance, and shows the

beginnings of Rubens' interest in landscape painting. Although he was made a master of the Antwerp Painters' Guild,

Rubens knew that his education wasn't complete until he'd visited the cradle of Western art, Italy.

He arrived at his first port of call, Venice, in 1600 at the age of 23. The city's sensual artistic

tradition struck a chord in the young painter, which reverberated throughout his life. His talent

was spotted by the Duke of Mantua, who employed him for the next eight years. The Duke had an eye for

the ladies, and Rubens was asked to paint portraits of his mistresses at court, fine-tuning his own

painter's eye for subsequent work.

At the end of 1601, he finally arrived in Rome, the cultural capital of Europe.

It was here that he first saw the major classical works of art that had inspired the Renaissance

artists. In particular, Roman sculpture made a huge impact on Rubens, as his numerous drawings testify.

But it wasn't just Rubens' artistic talents that interested his patron. Impressed with Rubens' learning,

his charm and his familiarity with court life, the Duke decided to use the painter for diplomatic tasks.

In 1603, the 25-year-old Rubens was sent to Spain to present gifts to King Philip III.

On his trip to Spain, Rubens was staggered by the works that he saw in the Spanish royal collections.

So many astonishing paintings of such quality and quantity, he wrote. And in particular,

he was bowled over by work that he saw in the royal palace in Madrid and here in the Escorial,

just outside the city. He mentions works by Raphael, Tintoretto, but above all by the Venetian painter

Titian, whose luminous use of colour and free use of brush strokes were to have a profound effect on the

young artist. Back in Rome, at the age of 29, Rubens received his first important public commission,

to paint an altarpiece for the Chiesa Nova, a high-profile church. It's a dramatic work,

a 14th-century icon of the Madonna and Child, surrounded by St Gregory and other saints.

The whole scene is imbued with action and flamboyance, the characteristics of all Rubens' work.

He manages to draw the viewer into the painting. We're looking through a Roman arch, which gives

depth and gravity to the work and is reflected in the expressions on the faces of the saints.

But it's the theatricality that strikes the strongest chord, the dramatic use of light and colour,

which formed part of an emerging style known as the Baroque, and Rubens became its grandest exponent.

His career seemed set to take off in Italy, but in 1608, Rubens was called home. His mother was dying.

After his mother's death, Rubens remained in Antwerp, where he had no problem finding work.

A 12-year truce between the Dutch and the Spanish ushered in a period of peace and prosperity.

The city's great and good wanted art for their houses, and commissions flooded in.

The typical of these commissions was this one, done by Rubens in 1609 for a friend of his,

the influential burgermeister, virtually the mayor of Antwerp, called Nicholas Rokox.

But instead of this image, which is the Old Testament story of Samson and Delilah,

being a devotional one to hang in a church, it was commissioned to hang above Rokox's fireplace.

The story of Samson and Delilah is well known. It's about a tribal war between Samson and Nazarite,

and the Philistines, who were in awe by and threatened by his supernatural strength.

The secret was that once you cut his hair, he would lose his strength.

And all of that is in this story as depicted by Rubens.

There's the barber, gently cutting the hair of Samson, who lies on Delilah's lap.

And clearly, the two have just been having sex. He is fast asleep. She looks with an extraordinary

ambivalence. After all, she's a woman who's, for money, shot Samson, the man she's supposed to love.

But it's a painting of really strong contrasts. The tenderness and the milky white of her skin

against his muscled back. This red silk against the animal skin that Samson wears.

And then the soldiers at the door. They're about to burst through the door,

and Samson is about to be undone. But in the end, what we get in this picture is a sense of Rubens,

the artist who celebrates human flesh and sensuality, in a world where that really shouldn't be so

graphically celebrated. But it's underpinned by the strong moral that sexual temptation ultimately leads

to tragedy.

Demand for Rubens' work continued to grow. In 1609, he was appointed court painter to the regents of the

Spanish Low Countries, Albert and Isabella.

In the same year, at the age of 32, he married.

His wife was Isabella Brandt, the daughter of a lawyer and a humanist.

This was the first of many family portraits that Rubens made over the course of two marriages,

which produced nine children. From both letters and paintings, it seems clear that he was a devoted,

if frequently absent, father and husband.

Soon after his marriage, Rubens began to build himself an elaborate townhouse that was almost a

palace here in the centre of Antwerp. It took over seven years to build. It was totally designed

by Rubens and was the talk of the town. In fact, it anticipated much of the developments in

architecture in this part of the world over the next 40 years. Rubens began with traditional

Flemish architecture on the left-hand side of the courtyard, but he counterbalanced it with

dramatic Italian classicism. And in many ways, that set the tone for the rest of his own career,

a fusion or synthesis of these two styles.

His studio was always buzzing with visiting art dealers, patrons and friends. He worked with

incredible energy, reputedly getting up at four o'clock in the morning. He dictated letters,

talked to his guests, viewed artworks for his collection and painted all at the same time.

He was also immensely popular with pupils who wanted to join the workshop.

In 1611, he wrote,

His most famous student was Anthony van Dyck, later court painter to Charles I of England.

As was common practice in large studios, Rubens would often start a project by sketching a modello,

a small pen or oil work, to give an idea of what the finished work would be,

drafting the design on canvas and indicating with chalk the colours he wanted.

His students and apprentices would do the bulk of the work,

and Rubens would subsequently finish the piece by adding his own touches.

In 1611, Rubens was commissioned by the Guild of the Arcbussiers, or the Gunsmiths in Antwerp,

to design an altarpiece for a chapel in the transept of the cathedral here in Antwerp.

And the result was one of the most spectacular paintings in the history of sacred art.

It's called the descent from the cross, and shows Christ's limp, lifeless body being taken down from

the wooden cross into the arms of St John, who's wearing the red robe. And there's that extraordinary

sense of plummeting, of descent, of everything emptying out when you look at the work. But your

eyes are also taken up the ladder to the two figures at the top, who are straining to hold Christ's body.

And this is a muscular, heroic image of Christ, whose blood and whose greyness, whose ashen look,

makes it seem even more tragic that the life is emptied out of him.

At the bottom of the painting, and in the foreground, and this is our connection with the work,

are the three Marys. There's Mary Cleophus, who has tears on her cheeks. Then there's the Magdalene,

Mary Magdalene, who's holding Christ's feet that she's recently washed with her hair.

And then in blue is the Blessed Virgin Mary, is Christ's mother. And Mary binds

the three parts of the painting together, because in both the accompanying panels,

she is there. On the left-hand side, she shows us her pregnant stomach. Christ is inside. And on

the right-hand side, she presents the infant Christ at the temple to St Simeon.

There's one other postscript to this painting. Its size is enormous. It hangs over an altar. And when

you look up at it, in some ways you're mirroring the act of making communion. You kneel at communion,

the wafer is held above you, and you look up to receive the body of Christ. And that's just what

you do here in this picture. Over the next decade, Rubens produced 22 altarpieces for Antwerp alone,

and 63 major paintings in churches around the city. His popularity was now at its peak. No one could

rival him in either output or scale. And he was now established as one of the most powerful

promoters of the Catholic Church.

By the 1620s, Rubens' reputation had become truly international, and his services were coveted

by almost all the major courts of Europe.

Rubens' grandest commission came from this woman, Marie de Medici, who invited Rubens to Paris in 1621

to see her new palace, and to do two monumental series of paintings, one for each wing of the building.

And this giant series, in sheer acreage, unprecedented in the history of art, took Rubens the small matter

of less than four years to complete. The first series, which is recreated here at the Louvre,

is 24 pictures, starting with the birth of Marie de Medici, and romping through her life. So we have

her education, and we have here a picture of her sent to the King of France, Henry IV. He falls in

love with the image, at least according to the way Rubens paints it, and then marries her. And here's

the image of the marriage, all pomp and circumstance. In fact, Rubens, as a young man, had come to that

wedding. Henry IV hadn't even been bothered to turn up to it. He didn't love her. It was diplomatic.

But Rubens was also a diplomat, and he had to paint the work in a way that would please and flatter

Marie de Medici. He's being a poet. He's transforming, rather than a reportage photographer.

Now, he does some sketches in Paris to show Marie de Medici, but then he goes back to Antwerp,

does more old sketches, starts on the canvases themselves, working with assistants. He does the

faces, the main figures, the hands, and so on. But then when the works are finished,

they're brought back to Paris. Rubens comes to Paris and does the final touches in situ.

This work is the largest in the series, and in many ways, it's the pivot of the cycle. It shows the

moment where Marie de Medici finally gets power. What's happened is that her husband, Henry IV,

has been assassinated, and we see him here on the left-hand side of the picture, depicted by Rubens

as a Roman god, ascending up to heaven. And in the right-hand side of the painting, in her widow's

robes, there's Marie de Medici, looking extraordinarily distraught. And yet, rumours had abounded that she'd

even been involved in the assassination. They may have been scurrilous, but Rubens shows her with great

dignity here. And the courtiers of the French establishment are pleading with her to assume

power, to become regent and look after the kingdom until her son, Louis XIII, is able to take over.

And everything in the picture is extraordinarily well handled. There's a real bravura about the way

Rubens uses his brush, but control is the ultimate characteristic that you notice, and control is

what Marie de Medici is seeking. And in the end, what we're left with is a feeling of wanting to see

the next series, wanting to see the really exciting saga of the life of one of France's favourite kings,

Henry IV, who united the kingdom after religious discontent. But that doesn't happen. Why?

Because Marie de Medici falls out with her son yet again in 1631. She's banished from France for the

final time, and she dies in 1642 in Germany. What we're left with here, though, is a monument both

to her enlightened patronage, to her massive ego, and to Rubens's genius.

As the conflict between the European powers intensified, Rubens was struck by a personal tragedy.

In 1626, the plague hit Antwerp and claimed the life of his wife, Isabella Brandt.

Consequently, Rubens threw himself deeper into his diplomatic work, trying to negotiate a truce

between England and Spain. Representing the Spanish king, he went to England in 1629. His mission was to

smooth the way for peace. His trip was a political and personal success. He was well known in England

and received a knighthood from King Charles I. In return, Rubens gave the king this painting.

It's an allegory of peace and war, appropriately enough. And it's a very difficult picture when you

first look at it to make sense of. But Rubens cleverly divides the picture in half by this diagonal.

And in fact, the easiest way of looking at it is that on this side is peace, and on that side is war.

In the centre is the figure of peace herself. She's also a fecund, motherly type, who's squirting her milk

into the mouth of this little fellow, who in fact is Plutus, the god of wealth.

What's happening down here? Well, these are followers of Bacchus, party goers, people who love to celebrate

and live the good life. And that's amplified by this leopard, this wild animal, tamed and playful,

with its claws stuck into the vine. And the message is clear. If you follow peace, life is bountiful,

wonderful, luscious. But there's a threat. And the threat comes from war. And there's Mars,

the classical god of war, with a female fury behind, egging him on. But everything is saved in the end

by the figure here in the centre, who in fact is not a god, although she looks a bit like one,

but it's the goddess of wisdom, Minerva, who pushes Mars away. And so, through all this visual complexity,

what Rubens is saying is rather simple. That politically, war is a threat, and that peace

is the most desirable state to be in.

London also gave Rubens the chance to paint on a grand scale, when he was asked by Charles I to

decorate the new banqueting house being designed by Inigo Jones. The scheme was to glorify the reign

of Charles I's father, James I, who was the first king to sit on both the English and Scottish thrones.

Rubens made sketches, and the pictures were completed in his studio in Antwerp.

They were finally placed in situ in 1636. While working on the banqueting house, Rubens came to a dead

end in his diplomatic career. His patron, the Spanish regent Isabella, was dead, and with her died his

dreams for a united Netherlands. He was also left with a humiliating job of chasing money he was owed for

those diplomatic missions. In the end, Rubens decided to retire from the political arena.

However, there was something else that tempted Rubens away from diplomatic life.

In 1630, when he was 53, Rubens married for the second time. His wife-to-be, called Hélène Formant,

was 16 years old, 37 years his junior. She bore him two children, and from 1635 to 1640,

he worked on this portrait of Hélène, one of the most extraordinary evocations of female flesh

in the history of Western art. Hélène looks as if she's been surprised, but at the same time,

she gazes with a real tenderness at the man who's painting her, and he reciprocates by painting her

flesh in a sensual and loving way. There's also, though, one or two other references in the painting.

He's paying a little homage to Titian in this work. Titian painted a work called Lady in a Fur Coat

that was owned by Charles I, that Rubens had seen in London and made a copy of. Also, the pose that

she adopts is mirroring that of a celebrated Venus, a classical Roman Venus, and so what he's doing

is giving an erotic private image classical respectability. At the same time, though,

what he's saying is that he sees his wife as a goddess. She's Venus for him, and although that's

sentimental, it makes the image even more powerful.

In 1635, Rubens and Hélène bought a country house between Brussels and Moline,

the Chateau of Steen, or Hetstein. From 1639, this became a retreat where he could begin to focus on the

landscape. His painting took on an Arcadian, nostalgic tone, in sharp contrast to the dramatic pieces

he'd done 20 years or so before.

But within a year of retiring, at the age of 63, Rubens died.

Rubens could have been buried in any major city in Europe, but fittingly enough,

he chose his hometown of Antwerp, and it's here in the St Jacob's Church that he is buried,

with this picture, a late work of the Madonna and Child, surrounded by saints, above his tomb.

He emerges as one of the great synthesizers in Western art, of the Flemish tradition and the

Italian tradition, and he's also one of the most prolific artists, with over 3,000 works remaining.

He also sets a new model for the way an artist will be perceived. He's courtier, he's scholar,

he's diplomat, as well as supreme technical master. And it's this large, ambitious, bold,

monumental vision that remains in his art. He's an artist who, in death, remains larger than life.