the madonna of the future-第3章

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the　genial　one；　the　friendly；　the　condescending。　　It　relishes　the

pretty　trivialities　of　art；　its　vulgar　cleverness；　its　conscious

graces。　　It　has　a　kindly　greeting　for　anything　which　looks　as　if；

according　to　his　light；　the　painter　had　enjoyed　doing　itfor　the

little　Dutch　cabbages　and　kettles；　for　the　taper　fingers　and　breezy

mantles　of　late…coming　Madonnas；　for　the　little　blue…hilled；

pastoral；　sceptical　Italian　landscapes。　　Then　there　are　the　days　of

fierce；　fastidious　longingsolemn　church　feasts　of　the　intellect

when　all　vulgar　effort　and　all　petty　success　is　a　weariness；　and

everything　but　the　bestthe　best　of　the　bestdisgusts。　　In　these

hours　we　are　relentless　aristocrats　of　taste。　　We　will　not　take

Michael　Angelo　for　granted；　we　will　not　swallow　Raphael　whole！〃



The　gallery　of　the　Uffizi　is　not　only　rich　in　its　possessions；　but

peculiarly　fortunate　in　that　fine　architectural　accident；　as　one　may

call　it；　which　unites　itwith　the　breadth　of　river　and　city　between

themto　those　princely　chambers　of　the　Pitti　Palace。　　The　Louvre　and

the　Vatican　hardly　give　you　such　a　sense　of　sustained　inclosure　as

those　long　passages　projected　over　street　and　stream　to　establish　a

sort　of　inviolate　transition　between　the　two　palaces　of　art。　　We

passed　along　the　gallery　in　which　those　precious　drawings　by　eminent

hands　hang　chaste　and　gray　above　the　swirl　and　murmur　of　the　yellow

Arno；　and　reached　the　ducal　saloons　of　the　Pitti。　　Ducal　as　they　are；

it　must　be　confessed　that　they　are　imperfect　as　show…rooms；　and　that；

with　their　deep…set　windows　and　their　massive　mouldings；　it　is　rather

a　broken　light　that　reaches　the　pictured　walls。　　But　here　the

masterpieces　hang　thick；　and　you　seem　to　see　them　in　a　luminous

atmosphere　of　their　own。　　And　the　great　saloons；　with　their　superb

dim　ceilings；　their　outer　wall　in　splendid　shadow；　and　the　sombre

opposite　glow　of　mellow　canvas　and　dusky　gilding；　make；　themselves；

almost　as　fine　a　picture　as　the　Titians　and　Raphaels　they　imperfectly

reveal。　　We　lingered　briefly　before　many　a　Raphael　and　Titian；　but　I

saw　my　friend　was　impatient；　and　I　suffered　him　at　last　to　lead　me

directly　to　the　goal　of　our　journeythe　most　tenderly　fair　of

Raphael's　virgins；　the　Madonna　in　the　Chair。　　Of　all　the　fine

pictures　of　the　world；　it　seemed　to　me　this　is　the　one　with　which

criticism　has　least　to　do。　　None　betrays　less　effort；　less　of　the

mechanism　of　success　and　of　the　irrepressible　discord　between

conception　and　result；　which　shows　dimly　in　so　many　consummate　works。

Graceful；　human；　near　to　our　sympathies　as　it　is；　it　has　nothing　of

manner；　of　method；　nothing；　almost；　of　style；　it　blooms　there　in

rounded　softness；　as　instinct　with　harmony　as　if　it　were　an　immediate

exhalation　of　genius。　　The　figure　melts　away　the　spectator's　mind

into　a　sort　of　passionate　tenderness　which　he　knows　not　whether　he

has　given　to　heavenly　purity　or　to　earthly　charm。　　He　is　intoxicated

with　the　fragrance　of　the　tenderest　blossom　of　maternity　that　ever

bloomed　on　earth。



〃That's　what　I　call　a　fine　picture；〃　said　my　companion；　after　we　had

gazed　a　while　in　silence。　　〃I　have　a　right　to　say　so；　for　I　have

copied　it　so　often　and　so　carefully　that　I　could　repeat　it　now　with

my　eyes　shut。　　Other　works　are　of　Raphael：　　this　IS　Raphael　himself。

Others　you　can　praise；　you　can　qualify；　you　can　measure；　explain；

account　for：　　this　you　can　only　love　and　admire。　　I　don't　know　in

what　seeming　he　walked　among　men　while　this　divine　mood　was　upon　him；

but　after　it；　surely；　he　could　do　nothing　but　die；　this　world　had

nothing　more　to　teach　him。　　Think　of　it　a　while；　my　friend；　and　you

will　admit　that　I　am　not　raving。　　Think　of　his　seeing　that　spotless

image；　not　for　a　moment；　for　a　day；　in　a　happy　dream；　or　a　restless

fever…fit；　not　as　a　poet　in　a　five　minutes'　frenzytime　to　snatch

his　phrase　and　scribble　his　immortal　stanza；　but　for　days　together；

while　the　slow　labour　of　the　brush　went　on；　while　the　foul　vapours　of

life　interposed；　and　the　fancy　ached　with　tension；　fixed；　radiant；

distinct；　as　we　see　it　now！　　What　a　master；　certainly！　　But　ah！　what

a　seer！〃



〃Don't　you　imagine；〃　I　answered；　〃that　he　had　a　model；　and　that　some

pretty　young　woman〃



〃As　pretty　a　young　woman　as　you　please！　　It　doesn't　diminish　the

miracle！　　He　took　his　hint；　of　course；　and　the　young　woman；　possibly；

sat　smiling　before　his　canvas。　　But；　meanwhile；　the　painter's　idea

had　taken　wings。　　No　lovely　human　outline　could　charm　it　to　vulgar

fact。　　He　saw　the　fair　form　made　perfect；　he　rose　to　the　vision

without　tremor；　without　effort　of　wing；　he　communed　with　it　face　to

face；　and　resolved　into　finer　and　lovelier　truth　the　purity　which

completes　it　as　the　fragrance　completes　the　rose。　　That's　what　they

call　idealism；　the　word's　vastly　abused；　but　the　thing　is　good。　　It's

my　own　creed；　at　any　rate。　　Lovely　Madonna；　model　at　once　and　muse；　I

call　you　to　witness　that　I　too　am　an　idealist！〃



〃An　idealist；　then；〃　I　said；　half　jocosely；　wishing　to　provoke　him　to

further　utterance；　〃is　a　gentleman　who　says　to　Nature　in　the　person

of　a　beautiful　girl；　'Go　to；　you　are　all　wrong！　　Your　fine　is　coarse；

your　bright　is　dim；　your　grace　is　gaucherie。　　This　is　the　way　you

should　have　done　it！'　　Is　not　the　chance　against　him？〃



He　turned　upon　me　almost　angrily；　but　perceiving　the　genial　savour　of

my　sarcasm；　he　smiled　gravely。　　〃Look　at　that　picture；〃　he　said；　〃and

cease　your　irreverent　mockery！　　Idealism　is　THAT！　　There's　no

explaining　it；　one　must　feel　the　flame！　　It　says　nothing　to　Nature；

or　to　any　beautiful　girl；　that　they　will　not　both　forgive！　　It　says

to　the　fair　woman；　'Accept　me　as　your　artist　friend；　lend　me　your

beautiful　face；　trust　me；　help　me；　and　your　eyes　shall　be　half　my

masterpiece！'　　No　one　so　loves　and　respects　the　rich　realities　of

nature　as　the　artist　whose　imagination　caresses　and　flatters　them。

He　knows　what　a　fact　may　hold　（whether　Raphael　knew；　you　may　judge　by

his　portrait；　behind　us　there；　of　Tommaso　Inghirami）；　bad　his　fancy

hovers　above　it；　as　Anal　hovered　above　the　sleeping　prince。　　There　is

only　one　Raphael；　bad　an　artist　may　still　be　an　artist。　　As　I　said

last　night；　the　days　of　illumination　are　gone；　visions　are　rare；　we

have　to　look　long　to　see　them。　　But　in　meditation　we　may　still

cultivate　the　ideal；　round　it；　smooth　it；　perfect　it。　　The　result

the　result；〃　（here　his　voice　faltered　suddenly；　and　he　fixed　his　eyes

for　a　moment　on　the　picture；　when　they　met　my　own　again　they　were

full　of　tears）〃the　result　may　be　less　than　this；　but　still　it　may

be　good；　it　may　be　GREAT！〃　he　cried　with　vehemence。　　〃It　may　hang

somewhere；　in　after　years；　in　goodly　company；　and　keep　the　artist's

memory　warm。　　Think　of　being　known　to　mankind　after　some　such　fashion

as　this！　of　hanging　here　through　the　slow　centuries　in　the　gaze　of　an

altered　world；　living　on　and　on　in　the　cunning　of　an　eye　and　hand

that　are　part　of　the　dust　of　ages；　a　delight　and　a　law　to　remote

generations；　making　beauty　a　force　and　purity　an　example！〃



〃Heaven　forbid；〃　I　said；　smiling；　〃that　I　should　take　the　wind　out　of

your　sails！　　But　doesn't　it　occur　to　you　that；　besides　being　strong

in　his　genius；　Raphael　was　happy　in　a　certain　good　faith　of　which　we

have　lost　the　trick？　　There　are　people；　I　know；　who　deny　that　his

spotless　Madonnas　are　anything　more　than　pretty　blondes　of　that

period　enhanced　by　the　Raphaelesque　touch；　which　they　declare　is　a

profane　touch。　　Be　that　as　it　may；　people's　religious　and　aesthetic

needs　went　arm　in　arm；　and　there　was；　as　I　may　say；　a　demand　for　the

Blessed　Virgin；　visible　and　adorable；　which　must　have　given　firmness

to　the　artist's　hand。　　I　am　afraid　there　is　no　demand　now。〃



My　companion　seemed　painfully　puzzled；　he　shivered；　as　it　were；　in

this　chilling　blast　of　scepticism。　　Then　shaking　his　head　with

sublime　confidence〃There　is　always　a　demand！〃　he　cried；　〃that

ineffable　type　is　one　of　the　eternal　needs　of　man's　heart