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Title

: Anthony Van Dyck’s Betrayal of Christ

Author

Wolfgang Stechow

Institution Minneapolis Institute of Arts
The Betrayal of Christ (figure 1), which The Minneapolis Institute of Arts was fortunate enough to acquire in 1958,1 is one of the most important works painted by Anthony Van Dyck during his early, most inspired period. It is a profound interpretation of a great religious theme, and it is unique in its time by virtue of the brilliant directness of its brushstroke, which gives it the appearance of an oil sketch of almost monumental size.In his depiction of the scene in which the tension of the Agony in the Garden explodes into furious action, Van Dyck followed the report of St. John (18:1-12). While all four gospels agree on the salient facts of the event, St. John alone mentions that the band received by the traitor from the chief priests and pharisees “comes thither with lanterns and torches and weapons” to capture Christ, just as he is the only one to identify St. Peter and Malchus as the protagonists of the secondary drama enacted in the left foreground of the picture. One of the glories of Van Dyck’s interpretation is the violence with which the darkness of the night is lent by the flickering torch that overpowers the mild light of the moon; his treatment of the great human drama, in which even the tree participates, evokes the image of a burning ship tossed about on massive waves.2 The furor is stilled in but two crucial areas of the surface: the curving yellow cloak over Judas’ arm which symbolizes bland treachery, and the wonderfully dignified features of Christ’s face which symbolize acceptance of the sacrifice in fulfillment of the prophecies of the Old Testament. While everything is subordinated to the power of this revelatory light the compositional and coloristic merits of the picture shine in a brilliant light of their own. The prestissimo of the soldier’s attack from the left which culminates in Judas’ ostensibly protective rush toward Christ’s body is magnificently balanced by the Savior’s face, which quietly turns to the traitor, and by the scintillating glance of the helmeted warrior, which throws our attention back upon Christ from the right edge. Furthermore, the rush toward right is at once counterbalanced in the lower left corner by the fulminating fury with which St. Peter, turning sideways, pounces upon an agonized prostrate Malchus; he thus establishes a violent thrust not only to the left but also to the frontal plane proper which, hovering in semi-darkness, serves as a foil for the brightly lit main scene. In the upper right zone, a wind-swept tree answers to the Malchus group in such a way as to suggest the enclosure of the main scene between two triangles set in different planes of the picture and yet referring the spectator back to the frontal plane by dint of their geometric affinity. Coloristically, the strongest accent—through concentration of color in somewhat larger areas, in contrast to the scintillating quality of the left section—falls on the group of Judas and Christ where the plum color of the Savior’s garment is framed by the traditional yellow of Judas’ garb and the strong red of Christ’s mantle; however, red and yellow are echoed in various spots of the left section, and St. Peter’s deep blue brilliantly counterbalances the darker elements on the right side.The “furia di penello” which characterizes the Minneapolis picture and which allows the bare canvas to show in many places immediately raises the question as to whether the picture is to be considered a preparation for a more deliberately executed painting or a “finished” work in its own right. Strangely enough, this question cannot be answered unequivocally. The size of the canvas far exceeds that of a typical preliminary oil sketch; at the same time, its execution is much more sketch-like than that of a typical modello (i.e., the version customarily submitted to a patron for his approval immediately before the start on the commissioned large-size work itself).3 The abbreviation of the brushstroke equals that which occurs in Tintoretto’s and the late Titian’s most daring paintings,4 and certainly finds no parallel among the works of Van Dyck’s Flemish contemporaries; it is well-nigh impossible to imagine that any patron of the young artist would have been satisfied with such a work as a final product. There exists in fact a painting for which the Minneapolis canvas could have served as a preparatory version, namely the huge picture (twice as wide and twice-and-one-half as high as the Minneapolis one) in the Prado in Madrid (figure 1)5 This is known to have been acquired by King Philip IV of Spain from Rubens’ estate in 1641, and it differs from the Minneapolis picture in comparatively minor respects only (on which more will be said later). Under these circumstances, it is tempting to believe that Van Dyck showed the Minneapolis picture to Rubens, not as a modello proper, but rather as a spontaneously conceived and executed work placed before a trusted artist-friend for criticism, and that Rubens encouraged him to paint a somewhat altered and more elaborate, more “finished” larger version which he then acquired for himself—and kept until his death. However, this explanation is avowedly hypothetical.It is at first difficult to believe that such a masterpiece should have been produced by a young man aged twenty or twenty-one. Yet, all scholars now agree that Van Dyck must have painted it just prior to his Italian journey on which he embarked in 1621; and a glance at the documented output of this prodigy between 1616 (when at the age of seventeen he signed his first portrait) and 16206 leaves no room for any doubt with regard to the date of the Betrayal of Christ, even though it occupies a unique place in this early group because of its unparalleled sketchiness. In view of the latter it is perhaps surprising to find that there exist few paintings of the seventeenth century for which more preparatory material has survived. However, this material consists almost exclusively of rapid sketches.7 No less than six drawings pertain to the whole composition, and it behooves us to learn as much about them as possible in order to understand how much profound artistic thought has been lavished upon, synthesized in, this seemingly spontaneous painting. In presenting my interpretation of the various drawings I shall try to avoid giving the impression that I can “hear the grass grow”; surely there were once more than these six, and it would be futile to maintain that we can arrange them in strictly chronological order with any degree of certainty.Of all earlier representations of the Betrayal of Christ, two prints by Albrecht Dürer seem to have made the greatest impression on the young master. The woodcut from the “Small Passion” (ca. 1510) and the engraving from the “Engraved Passion” (1508) clearly anticipate some main features of Van Dyck’s composition. It is probable that he knew these works; but they had also been summarized, as it were, in a design by Marten de Vos of Antwerp which has survived in a drawing (Collection de Grez, Brussels Museum, figure 2) and in a (reversed) print of 1582 by Jan Sadeler;8 here the Malchus group is greatly indebted to Dürer’s woodcut, and seems in turn to have contributed to the violent interpretation of the same scene by Van Dyck. The drawing by de Vos also anticipates the strong nocturnal element in Van Dyck’s work. Our survey of the latter’s sketches will show, however, that he did not start with an outright dependence on this tradition but that some of the main features of that tradition gained power over him only in the process of his own evolution.It would seem that one of the two drawings in markedly oblong format was the first, or among the first, of Van Dyck’s preparatory sketches. This (figure 3) is now in the Albertina at Vienna9 and shows the wild pen strokes characteristic of the first pensieri of Van Dyck (who outdid even Rubens in this respect), supplemented by very dark, very splotchy washes, seemingly applied at random. Many figures are boldly distorted, and St. Peter, comparable to that of de Vos (figure 2), is racing in from the right to pounce upon a crouching Malchus, whose raised hand and arm stand out in a ghostly light against the black wash around them. Additional evidence for placing this drawing early in the group is the fact that the interpretation of Christ is very far removed from the calmly dignified one of the later versions; he looks around to Judas with a suspicious glance, and there is no inkling here of the eventual greatness of this figure. This drawing is supplemented, as it were, by one in Berlin, likewise in oblong format (figure 4),10 which represents Christ being led away by the soldiers after the consummation of the treason; this (or a similar) sheet served as a model for an etching by Pieter Soutman, in which Judas stands pensively aside, with a suggestion of incipient despair.11A second drawing in the Albertina (figure 5)12 is nearly square but still a bit wider than high. There is much here that prepares the way for the Minneapolis picture, including several of the soldiers and the position of Judas to the left of Christ. However, the interpretation of Christ is still very far from that of the painting. He is looking up toward heaven with an empty glance which gives his face a sentimental, almost maudlin touch; and this impression is enhanced by a gesture of his right hand which is stretched out as if he were saying: “Look, this is the way they are treating me.” There is nothing majestic or even truly calm in this Christ. The same right-hand gesture occurs in an oil sketch of the Betrayal of Christ attributed to the early Rubens (in which, however, Christ looks at Judas, figure 6),13 a thoroughly Michelangelesque affair in oblong format, the right side of which is completely taken over by soldiers who, conforming to St. John’s report (18:6). “as soon…as He said to them, I am He… went backward, and fell to the ground.”14 The left-hand side of Van Dyck’s drawing contains large ambiguous areas of wash, and above, there appears a head which can only be identified as that of Christ. This strange fact finds explanation in two other drawings, one in Berlin and one in the Louvre in Paris.The Berlin drawing (figure 7)15 reverts to the oblong format, and the reason for this is that Van Dyck sought to combine two scenes in one composition: the Betrayal proper and the immediately preceding moment when Christ visited the sleeping disciples for the third time. Christ is depicted at the left, behind two (or three) lightly sketched figures of sleeping apostles. These were then studied in detail on the other side of the Berlin drawing,16 and these studies served as models for the corresponding section in the Louvre drawing (figure 8)17 where the two sleeping disciples, much more fully rendered, are placed in the shadow of a tree. However, in this sheet, the idea of combining two scenes properly speaking (with two representations of Christ) was abandoned, and Van Dyck concentrated upon one scene in which Christ is being betrayed while the disciples are still sleeping.18 This entailed a thorough solidification and reorganization; a slightly upright format was established; the group of Christ and Judas was reversed from that of the Berlin drawing and given a shape which already comes very close to that of the Minneapolis and Madrid paintings. However, the former arrangement, with Judas coming from the right (and Christ turning to the right to meet his glance) was temporarily upheld in another drawing in Berlin of all but exactly square shape (figure 9).19 Here the group on the left seems to be turning into a Malchus group before our very eyes, and the reverse of this drawing appropriately contains a study for St. Peter raising his sword over Malchus,20 rather than studies for sleeping apostles such as we found on one side of the oblong Berlin drawing.The anxious or sentimental characterization of Christ found on the two Vienna drawings has disappeared. Christ is now facing Judas with calm and dignity, in an interpretation which closely approaches that of the Minneapolis painting;21 however, the rhetorical gesture of the free hand is still used (though in variation), another clear indication that these drawings belong closely together.The motif of the sleeping disciples, seen as an auxiliary scene in the Berlin drawing but temporarily integrated into the main drama in the one at the Louvre, forms a fascinating interlude in the over-all development of this composition. We have seen22 that older works, including a sketch attributed to Rubens, represented St. John’s version of a group of soldiers falling to the ground under the impact of Christ’s words. With this, the appearance of prostrate figures in this scene had been inaugurated. By harking back to the Biblical report, Van Dyck now meant to justify the presence of calm, sleeping forms which would yield a finer contrast to the turbulent drama above. He must even have intended to execute a painting with this motif, for the Louvre drawing is squared for transfer. Since it is evident that it did not serve for any of the three extant paintings of the subject, we must assume that the one prepared by the Louvre drawing was either not preserved or never executed. The artist may have realized that this motif could not really be fully justified by any of the Biblical accounts (since the passage: “Sleep on now” is immediately followed by one containing the words: “Rise up, let us go”), or that the daring innovation would not be acceptable for other reasons. In any case, he dropped it for good. In the very large drawing in Hamburg (figure 10)23 the Malchus scene appears in a form which is almost identical with that of the Minneapolis picture. In fact, all parts of this drawing correspond very closely to the painting, including the helmeted warrior at the right (reminiscent of Marten de Vos, figure 2, as is the figure of Christ), and, even more important, the marked difference in the level of the two main groups (soldiers and Christ-Judas); both features were still lacking in the previous sketches. It should therefore not be surprising to find that this drawing—the largest of all, and the only one on which black and red chalk are employed along with pen work while the large wash effects are omitted—is squared for transfer. Yet, a surprise it is in a way. Because the Minneapolis picture looks so utterly spontaneous, and the immediacy of its brushstroke seems so obviously to be the result of an alla prima attack on the canvas, one is almost dumbfounded to find it prepared in such meticulous fashion, with but minor alterations, among which the change of an emaciated, somewhat forlorn-looking Christ—still reminiscent of the one in the Louvre drawing (figure 8)—to a less haunting but even more dignified figure is the most important one. Nevertheless, the testimony of the drawing in Hamburg is incontrovertible, and a careful comparison reveals that Van Dyck also deviated from the drawing in innumerable small details when he went to work on the canvas. It is a wholly admirable synthesis of freedom and discipline that we are privileged to witness here.I have pointed out before24 that the very large painting in Madrid (figure 11) was once in Rubens’ possession and that it can roughly be interpreted as a “more definitive” version of the Minneapolis canvas, which, though carefully prepared, may not have stood the test as a “finished” work, just as the hypothetical version prepared by the Louvre drawing may have run into difficulties because of its daring deviation from accepted iconography. The decisive difference between the Minneapolis and Madrid versions is twofold and pertains to the Malchus group and to the relationship between figures and surroundings. The latter has been altered by increasing the height of the picture; the foliage extends farther upward, and the moon is placed in the extreme upper left corner. The Malchus group has been turned around, as it were;25 the violent directional thrust from the center to the lower left corner has been replaced by an action which parallels and supports the left-right thrust of the main group, and by doing so markedly diminishes the explosive power of the Minneapolis composition. This change, which conforms to the Dürer-de Vos tradition (see figure 2), must be seen together with the more finished, smoother technique of the Prado picture which differs noticeably from the “furia di pennello” of the smaller version. I strongly suspect that both changes were recommended by Rubens, the owner of the Madrid picture, among whose contemporary compositions a similar type of finish as well as corresponding groupings in corners abound. For the latter, one may compare, for example, the famous group in the Miracle of Ignatius of Loyola in Vienna;26 true, the figure of the possessed foreshadows Van Dyck’s first version in its violent foreshortening (and may even have inspired it) but it is supported from the left by a figure turning toward the center of the picture as does Van Dyck’s St. Peter in the second version, and nowhere in Rubens’ works of that period does one find the violently centrifugal element so characteristic of the Minneapolis group.I hesitate to speak of the large canvas in the collection of Lord Metheun at Corsham (figure 12)27—a picture known to me only from reproductions and apparently not seen under favorable conditions even by many Van Dyck experts. The main group has here been placed in the exact center of the picture and quite close to the frontal plane; the Malchus story has been completely eliminated and replaced with a somewhat indecisive figure of St. Peter alone. On the other hand, most details conform to the Minneapolis and Madrid versions. These features, together with what looks like a rather smooth finish, seem to exclude the possibility of connecting this version with any of the preparatory drawings and to speak strongly in favor of the assumption that the Corsham picture if the latest of all works discussed in these pages. Doubts with regard to its authenticity are apparently unjustified;28 the question of its exact date will have to be discussed on the basis of its coloristic properties and the fact that the daringly free balance of the earlier versions has been replaced with an almost classically balanced one.I can only hope that the reader will return from here to the contemplation of the magnificent work at Minneapolis with the ability of a musician who performs a piece with renewed freshness and a sense of its artistic oneness after having studied it in detail and having realized the deep thought and arduous labor bestowed upon it by its composer. Few works illustrate better the enigmatic synthesis of bold spontaneity and hard work which characterizes the creative process in its most admirable manifestations.Endnotes
  1. Oil on canvas, height 56”; width 44 3/4” (142 by 113 cm). In the Cook Collection at Doughty House, Richmond, since 1896 when it was acquired from Lord Egremont. Exhibited in London, Royal Academy, 1900, No. 85, and 1953/54, No. 218; in Toledo, Ohio, 1944/45, No. 250 (the number of the catalogues of the Cook Collection, 1914 and 1932), with the earlier literature. The statement, found in all of these catalogues, that the picture is identical with that of the Sebastien Érard Collection, described by John Smith, Catalogue Raisonné…, III, 1831, No. 17 (Supplement 1842, No. 102), is incorrect. The Érard picture was sold in Paris in 1832 (sale announced for April 23 ff. But actually held on August 7 ff.) under No. 79 (bought by a Mr. Douglas for 10,000 frcs.; wrongly identified with the painting from Rubens’ estate, see below); it measured 98 by 84 pouces (ca. 265 by 227 cm.) and was thus much larger than the Minneapolis canvas; also, the descriptions of the Érard picture by Smith and the sale catalogue indicate a Malchus scene much more like the one in the Madrid picture. (Smith gives no measurements for the Érard picture; unfortunately I do not know the engraving by G. Donck which he mentions as having been made after it—and after the Prado picture [see note 5]!) Max Rooses was therefore right when he said expressly that the Cook picture differed from the Érard canvas. See further: Horst Vey, Bulletin Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts, Brussels, V, 1956, p. 168 and p. 203, note 7; Gustav Glück, Van Dyck (Klassiker der Kunst), 1931, pp. 71 and 527; Leo van Puyvelde, Van Dyck, 1950, pp. 178 ff. Glück’s suggestion that the Minneapolis canvas is identical with that of the Alexander Voet Collection (1689) is certainly unacceptable, see note 27. What looks like a rather weak copy of the present picture (Castle Peles at Sinaia, Romania) was published as an original by Pierre Bautier in Revue belge d’archéologie et d’histoire de l’art, X, 1940, p. 45 (no size given). Form much valuable information I am indebted to Professor Seymour Slive.
  2. The first great nocturne of this kind is the miniature of Jan van Eyck in the Turin Hours; Erwin Panofsky, Early Netherlandish Painting, Cambridge, Mass., 1953, I, p. 233, and II, fig. 298.
  3. Horst Vey, op. cit., p. 168, also hesitates somewhat to call it a modello.
  4. The whole problem of the possible connection of this composition with the presumable Titian briefly sketched as such in Van Dyck’s Catsworth sketch-book (Lionel Cust, A Description of the Sketch-Book by Sir Anthony van Dyck…London, 1902, pl. XI; Gert Adriani, Anton van Dyck, Italienisches Skizzenbuch, Vienna, 1940, p. 40 and pl. 24; E. Tietze-Conrat, Critica d’arte, VIII, 1950, pp. 425 ff.) must be left for future investigations. This may eventually turn out to be an example of how, in copying, “Tizian sich in van Dyck verwandelt,” as Georg Gronau suggested for a similar case (Zeitschrift für bildende Kunst, n.s., XIV, 1903, p. 322). The differences between the two compositions are in any event considerable.
  5. Cat. 1952, No. 1477; oil on canvas, 344 by 249 cm. According to G. Glück (op. cit., p. 527) engraved by A. Lommelin while J. Smith (op. cit., No. 203) mentions a print by a G. Donck (but see note 1). The prints are unknown to me, as is the “small version” of the Madrid picture at Kingston Lacy, mentioned in the catalogue of the Royal Academy Exhibition, 1953/54, No. 218.
  6. The portrait of 1613 (G. Glück, op. cit., p. 75) has not been universally accepted.
  7. Very fully documented in: Maurice Delacre, Le dessin dans l’oeuvre de van Dyck (Académie royale de Belgique, Classe des beaux-arts, Mémoires, second series, III), Brussels, 1934, pp. 67 ff. My interpretation of the drawings frequently differs from M. Delacre’s, in some cases radically so. The elaborate treatment of these drawings in the dissertation of Horst Vey (Van-Dyck-Studien, Cologne, 1958, pp. 178) became known to me only after completion of this study. I am happy to record a very close similarity in our comparative material and our results. The one main difference of opinion concerns not the interpretation of the drawings but the sequence of the paintings: I cannot accept the suggestion that the Metheun version (see below, figure 12) is the earliest of the extant canvases; in it, the Malchus scene, so logically arrived at in the sequence of the sketches, is missing, and the centralization of the Christ-Judas group is a totally new feature.
  8. The Brussels drawing (Coll. De Grez. No. 3934) is here reproduced through the kind services of Professor R. FA. d’Hulst. Its importance for Van Dyck’s composition was first stressed by F. Lugt, Musée du Louvre, Inventaire général des dessins des écoles du Nord, Paris, 1949, p. 52. The emphasis on the nocturnal element is stronger here than in Dürer’s prints; de Vos could hardly have known the latter’s Green Passion but the night effect was frequently employed in sixteenth-century paintings of the subject.
  9. No. 11644; 208 by 318 mm. J. Schönbrunner and J. Meder, Handzeichnungen alter Meister aus der Albertina…, Vienna, 1893 ff., pl. 513. H. Vey, Studien, op. cit., p. 178, No. 2.
  10. No. 6334; M. Delacre, op. cit., p. 68 fig. 32; H. Vey Studien, op. cit., p. 178, No. 1.
  11. M. Delacre, op. cit., p. 69, fig. 34.
  12. No. 17537; 217 by 230 mm. Schönbrunner-Meder, op. cit., pl. 696; H. Vey, Studien, op. cit., p. 179, No. 5.
  13. R. Oldenbourg, P. P. Rubens (Klassiker der Kunst, fourth edition), p. 17 (dated ca. 1605); 1937 in the Amsterdam trade; present whereabouts unknown to me. Oil on panel, 58,5 by 73,5 cm.
  14. This interpretation occurs in a somewhat desultory fashion through many centuries, see Gabriel Millet, Recherches sur l’iconographie de l‘Évangile, Paris, 1916, pp. 326 ff.; S. der Neressian in Art Bulletin, IX, 1926/27, p. 252 and figs. 27-28; K. Künstle, Ikonographie der Christlichen Kunst, Freiburg, 1928, pp. 428 ff. And fig. 210 (Fra Angelico). Particularly striking is the rendering of this scene in the Chantilly Book of Hours (E. Panofsky, op. cit., fig. 87). See also note 18.
  15. E. Bock and J. Rosenberg, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Die Niederländischen Meister, Frankfurt, 1931, p. 124, No. 5683 (“verso”); 160 by 245 mm. H. Vey, Studien, op. cit., p. 178, No. 3.
  16. M. Delacre, op. cit., p. 75, fig. 41.
  17. F. Lugt, op. cit., p. 52, No. 586, pl. LII; H. Vey, Studien, op. cit., p. 179, No. 6.
  18. The useful encyclopedic Passion panel in Berlin (No. 1224, School of Cologne, ca. 1400) combines the scene of the soldiers knocked over by Christ’s words (see note 14) with the sleeping disciples in one section. In Tintoretto’s Agony in the Garden in San Rocco (Luigi Coletti, Il Tintoretto, Bergamo, 1951, pl. 107) the main theme appears on the upper right, supplemented by the sleeping disciples in the right foreground and the approaching band in the left middleground.
  19. Bock-Rosenberg, op. cit., No. 1340, pl. 92; 186 by 185 mm. H. Vey, Studien, op. cit., p. 178, No. 4.
  20. M. Delacre, op. cit., p. 73, fig. 39; see also the rapid sketch of the same scene, formerly in the Viktor Koch Collection in London, now in the Museum Boymans-van Beuningen, Rotterdam; ibid., p. 79, fig. 44; H. Vey, Studien, op. cit., p. 179, No. 7, and in Bulletin Museum Boymans, VII, 1956, p. 46 ff.
  21. One is tempted to see in this close confrontation of the faces of Judas and Christ a reminiscence of Lucas van Leyden’s engraving of 1509, B. 58 (M. J. Friedländer, Lucas van Leyden [Meister der Graphik, XIII], Leipzig, 1924, pl. XVIII).
  22. See above, p. 8 and note 14.
  23. No. 21882; 553 by 403 mm. Gustav Pauli, Zeichnungen alter Meister in der Kunsthalle zu Hamburg, Niederländer, I, Frankfurt, 1924, No. 7. The unwarranted rejection of this drawing by M. Delacre, op. cit., pp. 85 ff., has already been rectified by F. Lugt, op. cit., p. 52. H. Vey, Studien, op. cit., p. 179, No. 8.
  24. See above, p. 6 and note 5.
  25. The new Malchus figure was carefully prepared in the black chalk study in Providence, the only study properly speaking for the Betrayal—and characteristically not connected with the rapidly executed Minneapolis picture; E. J. Richmond, Bulletin of the Rhode Island School of Design, XIX, 1931, p. 65, and XX, 1932, p. 14 f; M. Delacre, op. cit., p. 81, fig. 45; H. Vey, Studien, op. cit., p. 180, No. 11.
  26. R. Oldenbourg, op. cit., p. 204.
  27. The picture, still at Corsham, measures 274 by 222 cm; see Burlington Magazine, LXXIX, 1941, p. 185, note 7, in criticism of the wrong statements and misleading reproduction in the Klassiker der Kunst volumes. L. Burchard (in literis, March, 1956) tentatively identified the Corsham picture with the one seen by Nicodemus Tessin in the collection of Alexander Voet in Antwerp in the year 1687 (Oud Holland, XVIII, 1900, p. 203) and listed in Voet’s inventory of Feb. 18, 1689; Glück’s identification of the latter with the Minneapolis picture (op. cit., p. 527) cannot be accepted because Tessin expressly mentioned its being of Lebensgrösse (it cost 1000 Reichstaler). The picture at Corsham was described by John Smith, op. cit., No. 16, with the correct measurements; see also the catalogue of the Royal Academy Exhibition, 1950/51, No. 229, with the older literature.
  28. See on this point G. Glück, op. cit., p. 527, with the older literature.
Referenced Works of Art
  1. Anthony Van Dyck
    The Betrayal of Christ c. 1620
    55 7/8” x 44 3/4”
    The Minneapolis Institute of Arts
    W. H. Dunwoody Fund, John R. and Ethel M. Van Derlip Funds, and miscellaneous Purchase Funds 1958
  2. Marten de Vos
    The Betrayal of ChristDrawing
    Brussels Museum
  3. Anthony Van Dyck
    The Betrayal of Christ
    Drawing
    Albertina, Vienna
  4. Anthony Van Dyck
    Christ Led Away After His Capture
    Drawing
    Museum Berlin-Dahlen
  5. Anthony Van Dyck
    The Betrayal of Christ
    Drawing
    Albertina, Vienna
  6. P.P. Rubens (?)
    The Betrayal of Christ
    Whereabouts unknown
  7. Anthony Van Dyck
    The Betrayal of Christ
    Drawing
    Museum Berlin-Dahlen
  8. Anthony Van Dyck
    The Betrayal of Christ
    Drawing
    Louvre, Paris
  9. Anthony Van Dyck
    The Betrayal of Christ
    Drawing
    Museum Berlin-Dahlen
  10. Anthony Van Dyck
    The Betrayal of Christ
    Drawing
    Kunsthalle, Hamburg
  11. Anthony Van Dyck
    The Betrayal of Christ
    Prado, Madrid
  12. Anthony Van Dyck
    The Betrayal of Christ
    Coll. Lord Metheun, Corsham
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Source: Wolfgang Stechow, "Anthony Van Dyck's Betrayal of Christ," <i>The Minneapolis Institute of Arts Bulletin</i> 49, no. 1 (January-June, 1960): 4-17.
Rights: ©MIA
Added to Site: March 10, 2009