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Hans Memling, Portrait of an Old Man, c. 1475. Oil on wood, 26.4 × 19.4 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Memling had three children with his wife, first a boy, whom he called Hans, then a girl named Pétronille or Cornélie (because the diminutive Nielkin, which served to designate her on official documents, can signify one or the other), and a second son, baptised Nicholas. His first son was born in 1478, but we do not know when the other two children entered the world. And, what is worse, there is no information on the good or bad fortune of this small family, or which professions the two sons chose, or whom the three children could have married. Did Hans and Nicholas follow in their father’s footsteps, guided by that genius of Flanders and Germany? No text clarifies these questions, but what is certain, unfortunately, is that they lost their mother when they were still very young. The charming, gracious and modest woman, for whom Memling seemed to have an ardent love, whom he depicted constantly with a sort of naive idolatry, this young companion in his old age, died in September 1487. On the tenth of this month, Louis de Valkenaere and goldsmith Thierry Van den Gheere, chosen as the children’s tutors, brought to their classroom the account of goods left by their mother. It was half of each of the two houses on Pont-Flamand Street, more than half of another parcel of land on which there was a small house, and half of a small passage close by; finally, a sum of twelve livres, produced from the sale of furniture and given to the tutors from their father, with loans on the mortgages for half of the houses and lands.

And the master of the paintbrush, then sixty years old, continued alone in life. He painted himself with his wife on the same panel; around 1492 he traced his own image again, but this time without the amiable woman who had charmed ten years of his life. This portrait, as we have had the opportunity to say, was found in Venice in 1521, at the residence of Cardinal Grimani. Memling, however, was taking his last steps: several years later and the ground would collapse under his feet. In 1494 the noble and charming artist with such poetic vision, enveloping himself in nuances, bringing figures to life with a delicate piety, seeming to paint while listening to the harmony of the angels, was taken by death. On December 10, tutors Louis de Valkenaere and Thierry Van den Gheere came to the classroom, for a second time, to present the account of goods that the children would inherit, the second half of the houses and lands, plus eight livres, which were the proceeds from the sale of the furniture.[30]

Where was Memling buried? Probably at Saint Donat Church, like Jan Van Eyck. But his tomb has disappeared, like that of the great inventor. Should one rue this, should one complain? What do the honours that nations later bestow on the dead matter, not because they love and revere the genius, but to satisfy their own love and to serve their own snobbery? One wants to be able to cite one’s illustrious compatriots; each nation is proud of these once forgotten or scorned glories, as if he himself had the right to their crown of thorns. And often the great man’s contemporaries did not condescend to salute the man, or mark him with a headstone that would always be with him! In doing this, after such a long series of injustices, what is the result? Onlookers come to look unenthusiastically at this famous tomb, saying a few words, while the attendant utters the deceased’s story, exploiting his misfortunes, then moving on to admire some other simple product or listening to other nonsense. Better to be forgotten, to enjoy the solitude and the majesty of eternal peace! Although he enriched the town of Bruges greatly, bringing it towards glory, Memling’s departure was inevitable. Neither political power nor his artistic significance had a chance. Dying relatively young, Memling left in the strength of his youth, in the radiance of this town that he cherished so much, Bruges, still magnificent today.

It is always a big advantage for an artist or author not to be known to people too early or too late. The role of the initiator is no doubt glorious, but it is at the same time full of perils and uncertainties: all pioneers of progress do not have, like the Van Eycks, a supreme and triumphant genius that overturns obstacles and achieves the most brilliant results. Many merely open the door, and lose their lives, and their ungrateful efforts are soon forgotten. To be known too late exposes another drawback, that of finding a dusty road full of travellers: more dew, more corolla on the edges, more morning songs in the branches. Those who leave, on the other hand, at an opportune hour avoid all these difficulties, avoid the rush, or, in other words, they leave protecting their savings and avoiding the extreme weariness and crush of the crowd. Guaranteed an exit, they can think only of their work itself, of the charm of the subject, of the beauty of form; they can push the perfection of their work further, uniting grace and pureness, strength and delicacy.

Memling obtained this precious favour in all its splendour. When he drew his first sketches, the Van Eycks and Rogier Van der Weyden, Jean’s beloved disciple, Dierick Bouts (circa 1415–1475), Hugo Van der Goes and Marmion had resolved the most difficult problems in painting, and had created a new style.

Domenico Ghirlandaio, Portrait of an Old Man and a Young Boy, c. 1480. Tempera on poplar, 62 × 46 cm. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

Hans Memling, A Young Man at Prayer, c. 1475. Oil on oak panel, 39 × 25.4 cm. The National Gallery, London.

Hans Memling, The Donor Benedetto Portinari (right shutter of the Benedetto Portinari Triptych), 1487. Oil on wood, 45 × 34 cm. Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence.

Hans Memling, Portrait of an Old Man, c. 1470–1472. Oil on wood, 36.1 × 29.4 cm. Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Berlin.