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never sold a picture was more obvious than glorious。 His velvet coat
was threadbare； and his short slouched hat； of an antique pattern；
revealed a rustiness which marked it an 〃original；〃 and not one of
the picturesque reproductions which brethren of his craft affect。
His eye was mild and heavy； and his expression singularly gentle and
acquiescent； the more so for a certain pallid leanness of visage；
which I hardly knew whether to refer to the consuming fire of genius
or to a meagre diet。 A very little talk； however； cleared his brow
and brought back his eloquence。
〃And this is your first visit to these enchanted halls？〃 he cried。
〃Happy； thrice happy youth！〃 And taking me by the arm； he prepared to
lead me to each of the pre…eminent works in turn and show me the
cream of the gallery。 But before we left the Mantegna he pressed my
arm and gave it a loving look。 〃HE was not in a hurry；〃 he murmured。
〃He knew nothing of 〃raw Haste； half…sister to Delay！〃 How sound a
critic my friend was I am unable to say； but he was an extremely
amusing one； overflowing with opinions； theories； and sympathies；
with disquisition and gossip and anecdote。 He was a shade too
sentimental for my own sympathies； and I fancied he was rather too
fond of superfine discriminations and of discovering subtle
intentions in shallow places。 At moments； too； he plunged into the
sea of metaphysics； and floundered a while in waters too deep for
intellectual security。 But his abounding knowledge and happy
judgment told a touching story of long attentive hours in this
worshipful company； there was a reproach to my wasteful saunterings
in so devoted a culture of opportunity。 〃There are two moods；〃 I
remember his saying； 〃in which we may walk through galleriesthe
critical and the ideal。 They seize us at their pleasure； and we can
never tell which is to take its turn。 The critical mood； oddly； is
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