the Uffizi IV: Remaining Rooms
S. Zenobius--Piero della Francesca--Federigo da Montefeltro--Melozzo
da Forli--The Tribuna--Raphael--Re-arrangement--The gems--The
self-painted portraits--A northern room--Hugo van der Goes--
Tommaso Portinari--The sympathetic Memling--Rubens riotous--Vittoria
della Rovere--Baroccio--Honthorst--Giovanni the indiscreet--The
Medusa--Medici miniatures--Hercules Seghers--The Sala di Niobe--
Beautiful antiques.
Passing from the Sala di Botticelli through the Sala di Lorenzo
Monaco and the first Tuscan rooms to the corridor, we come to
the second Tuscan room, which is dominated by Andrea del Sarto
(1486-1531), whose "Madonna and Child," with "S. Francis and S. John
the Evangelist"--No. 112--is certainly the favourite picture here,
as it is, in reproduction, in so many homes; but, apart from the
Child, I like far better the "S. Giacomo"--No. 1254--so sympathetic
and rich in colour, which is reproduced in this volume. Another
good Andrea is No. 93--a soft and misty apparition of Christ to
the Magdalen. The Sodoma (1477-1549) on the easel--"S. Sebastian,"
No. 1279--is very beautiful in its Leonardesque hues and romantic
landscape, and the two Ridolfo Ghirlandaios (1483-1561) near it are
interesting as representing, with much hard force, scenes in the story
of S. Zenobius, of Florence, of whom we read in chapter II. In one he
restores life to the dead child in the midst of a Florentine crowd;
in the other his bier, passing the Baptistery, reanimates the dead
tree. Giotto's tower and the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio are to be
seen on the left. A very different picture is the Cosimo Rosselli,
No. 1280 his, a comely "Madonna and Saints," with a motherly thought
in the treatment of the bodice.
Among the other pictures is a naked sprawling scene of bodies and
limbs by Cosimo I's favourite painter, Bronzino (1502-1572), called
"The Saviour in Hell," and two nice Medici children from the same
brush, which was kept busy both on the living and ancestral lineaments
of that family; two Filippino Lippis, both fine if with a little
too much colour for this painter: one--No. 1257--approaching the
hotness of a Ghirlandaio carpet piece, but a great feat of crowded
activity; the other, No. 1268, having a beautiful blue Madonna and
a pretty little cherub with a red book. Piero di Cosimo is here,
religious and not mythological; and here are a very straightforward
and satisfying Mariotto Albertinelli--the "Virgin and S. Elizabeth,"
very like a Fra Bartolommeo; a very rich and beautiful "Deposition"
by Botticini, one of Verrocchio's pupils, with a gay little predella
underneath it, and a pretty "Holy Family" by Franciabigio. But Andrea
remains the king of the walls.
From this Sala a little room is gained which I advise all
tired visitors to the Uffizi to make their harbour of refuge and
recuperation; for it has only three or four pictures in it and three
or four pieces of sculpture and some pleasant maps and tapestry
on the walls, and from its windows you look across the brown-red
tiles to S. Miniato. The pictures, although so few, are peculiarly
attractive, being the work of two very rare hands, Piero della
Francesca (? 1398-1492) and Melozzo da Forli (1438-1494). Melozzo
has here a very charming Annunciation in two panels, the fascination
of which I cannot describe. That they are fascinating there is,
however, no doubt. We have symbolical figures by him in our National
Gallery--again hanging next to Piero della Francesca--but they are not
the equal of these in charm, although very charming. These grow more
attractive with every visit: the eager advancing angel with his lily,
and the timid little Virgin in her green dress, with folded hands.
The two Pieros are, of course, superb. Piero never painted anything
that was not distinguished and liquid, and here he gives us of
his best: portraits of Federigo da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino, and
Battista, his second Duchess, with classical scenes behind them. Piero
della Francesca has ever been one of my favourite painters, and here he
is wholly a joy. Of his works Florence has but few, since he was not
a Florentine, nor did he work here, being engaged chiefly at Urbino,
Ferrara, Arezzo, and Rome. His life ended sadly, for he became totally
blind. In addition to his painting he was a mathematician of much
repute. The Duke of Urbino here depicted is Federigo da Montefeltro,
who ruled from 1444 to 1482, and in 1459 married as his second wife
a daughter of Alessandro Sforza, of Pesaro, the wedding being the
occasion of Piero's pictures. The duke stands out among the many
Italian lords of that time as a humane and beneficent ruler and
collector, and eager to administer well. He was a born fighter, and it
was owing to the loss of his right eye and the fracture of his noble
old nose that he is seen here in such a determined profile against
the lovely light over the Umbrian hills. The symbolical chariots in
the landscape at the back represent respectively the Triumph of Fame
(the Duke's) and the Triumph of Chastity (that of the Duchess). The
Duke's companions are Victory, Prudence, Fortitude, Justice, and
Temperance; the little Duchess's are Love, Hope, Faith, Charity,
and Innocence; and if these are not exquisite pictures I never saw any.
The statues in the room should not be missed, particularly the little
Genius of Love, the Bacchus and Ampelos, and the spoilt little comely
boy supposed to represent--and quite conceivably--the infant Nero.
Crossing the large Tuscan room again, we come to a little narrow room
filled with what are now called cabinet pictures: far too many to
study properly, but comprising a benignant old man's head, No. 1167,
which is sometimes called a Filippino Lippi and sometimes a Masaccio,
a fragment of a fresco; a boy from the serene perfect hand of Perugino,
No. 1217; two little panels by Fra Bartolommeo--No. 1161--painted for a
tabernacle to hold a Donatello relief and representing the Circumcision
and Nativity, in colours, and at the back a pretty Annunciation in
monochrome; No. 1235, on the opposite wall, a very sweet Mother and
Child by the same artist; a Perseus liberating Andromeda, by Piero
di Cosimo, No. 1312; two or three Lorenzo di Credis; two or three
Alloris; a portrait of Galeazzo Maria Sforza, by Antonio Pollaiuolo;
and three charming little scenes from the lives of S. John the Baptist
and the Virgin, by Fra Angelico, which belong properly to the predella
of an altar-piece that we saw in the first room we entered--No. 1290,
"The Coronation of the Virgin". No. 1162 has the gayest green dress
in it imaginable.
And here we enter the Tribuna, which is to the Uffizi what the Salon
Carré is to the Louvre: the special treasure-room of the gallery,
holding its most valuable pictures. But to-day there are as good works
outside it as in; for the Michelangelo has been moved to another
room, and Botticelli (to name no other) is not represented here at
all. Probably the statue famous as the Venus de' Medici would be
considered the Tribuna's chief possession; but not by me. Nor should
I vote either for Titian's Venus. In sculpture I should choose rather
the "Knife-sharpener," and among the pictures Raphael's "Madonna del
Cardellino," No. 1129. But this is not to suggest that everything
is not a masterpiece, for it is. Beginning at the door leading from
the room of the little pictures, we find, on our left, Raphael's
"Ignota," No. 1120, so rich and unfeeling, and then Francia's portrait
of Evangelista Scappi, so rich and real and a picture that one never
forgets. Raphael's Julius II comes next, not so powerful as the version
in the Pitti, and above that Titian's famous Venus. In Perugino's
portrait of Francesco delle Opere, No. 287, we find an evening sky
and landscape still more lovely than Francia's. This Francesco was
brother of Giovanni delle Corniole, a protégé of Lorenzo de' Medici,
famous as a carver of intaglios, whose portrait of Savonarola in
this medium, now preserved in the Uffizi, in the Gem Room, was said
by Michelangelo to carry art to its farthest possible point.
A placid and typical Perugino--the Virgin and two saints--comes next,
and then a northern air sweeps in with Van Dyck's Giovanni di Montfort,
now darkening into gloom but very fine and commanding. Titian's second
Venus is above, for which his daughter Lavinia acted as model (the
Venus of the other version being possibly the Marchesa della Rovere),
and under it is the only Luini in the Uffizi, unmistakably from the
sweet hand and full of Leonardesque influence. Beneath this is a rich
and decorative work of the Veronese school, a portrait of Elisabetta
Gonzaga, with another evening sky. Then we go north again, to Dürer's
Adoration of the Magi, a picture full of pleasant detail--a little
mountain town here, a knight in difficulties with his horse there,
two butterflies close to the Madonna--and interesting also for the
treatment of the main theme in Dürer's masterly careful way; and then
to Spain to Spagnoletto's "S. Jerome" in sombre chiaroscuro; then north
again to a painfully real Christ crowned with thorns, by Lucas van
Leyden, and the mousy, Reynoldsy, first wife of Peter Paul Rubens,
while a Van Dyck portrait under a superb Domenichino and an "Adam
and Eve" by Lucas Cranach complete the northern group. And so we come
to the two Correggios--so accomplished and rich and untouching--all
delightful virtuosity without feeling. The favourite is, of course,
No. 1134, for its adorable Baby, whose natural charm atones for its
theatrical Mother.
On the other side of the door is No. 1129, the perfect "Madonna
del Cardellino" of Raphael, so called from the goldfinch that the
little boys are caressing. This, one is forced to consider one of the
perfect pictures of the world, even though others may communicate more
pleasure. The landscape is so exquisite and the mild sweetness of the
whole work so complete; and yet, although the technical mastery is
almost thrilling, the "Madonna del Pozzo" by Andrea del Sarto's friend
Franciabigio, close by--No. 1125--arouses infinitely livelier feelings
in the observer, so much movement and happiness has it. Raphael is
perfect but cold; Franciabigio is less perfect (although exceedingly
accomplished) but warm with life. The charm of this picture is as
notable as the skill of Raphael's: it is wholly joyous, and the little
Madonna really once lived. Both are reproduced in this volume.
Raphael's neighbouring youthful "John the Baptist" is almost a
Giorgione for richness, but is as truly Raphael as the Sebastian
del Piombo, once (like the Franciabigio also) called a Raphael, is
not. How it came to be considered Raphael, except that there may be
a faint likeness to the Fornarina, is a mystery.
The rooms next the Tribuna have for some time been under
reconstruction, and of these I say little, nor of what pictures are
to be placed there. But with the Tribuna, in any case, the collection
suddenly declines, begins to crumble. The first of these rooms, in the
spring of this year, 1912, was opened with a number of small Italian
paintings; but they are probably only temporarily there. Chief among
them was a Parmigianino, a Boltraffio, a pretty little Guido Reni,
a Cosimo Tura, a Lorenzo Costa, but nothing really important.
In the tiny Gem Room at the end of the corridor are wonders of
the lapidary's art--and here is the famous intaglio portrait of
Savonarola--but they want better treatment. The vases and other
ornaments should have the light all round them, as in the Galerie
d'Apollon at the Louvre. These are packed together in wall cases and
are hard to see.
Passing through the end corridor, where the beautiful Matrona reclines
so placidly on her couch against the light, and where we have such
pleasant views of the Ponte Vecchio, the Trinita bridge, the Arno,
and the Apennines, so fresh and real and soothing after so much paint,
we come to the rooms containing the famous collection of self-painted
portraits, which, moved hither from Rome, has been accumulating
in the Uffizi for many years and is still growing, to be invited
to contribute to it being one of the highest honours a painter can
receive. The portraits occupy eight rooms and a passage. Though the
collection is historically and biographically valuable, it contains for
every interesting portrait three or four dull ones, and thus becomes
something of a weariness. Among the best are Lucas Cranach, Anton More,
Van Dyck, Rembrandt (three), Rubens, Seybold, Jordaens, Reynolds,
and Romney, all of which remind us of Michelangelo's dry comment,
"Every painter draws himself well". Among the most interesting to us,
wandering in Florence, are the two Andreas, one youthful and the other
grown fatter than one likes and very different from the melancholy
romantic figure in the Pitti; Verrocchio, by Lorenzo di Credi; Carlo
Dolci, surprising by its good sense and humour; Raphael, angelic,
wistful, and weak; Tintoretto, old and powerful; and Jacopo Bassano,
old and simple. Among the moderns, Corot's portrait of himself is
one of the most memorable, but Fantin Latour, Flandrin, Leon Bonnat,
and Lenbach are all strong and modest; which one cannot say of our
own Leighton. Among the later English heads Orchardson's is notable,
but Mr. Sargent's is disappointing.
We now come to one of the most remarkable rooms in the gallery, where
every picture is a gem; but since all are northern pictures, imported,
I give no reproductions. This is the Sala di Van der Goes, so called
from the great work here, the triptych, painted in 1474 to 1477 by
Hugo van der Goes, who died in 1482, and was born at Ghent or Leyden
about 1405. This painter, of whose genius there can be no question,
is supposed to have been a pupil of the Van Eycks. Not much is known
of him save that he painted at Bruges and Ghent and in 1476 entered
a convent at Brussels where he was allowed to dine with distinguished
strangers who came to see him and where he drank so much wine that his
natural excitability turned to insanity. He seems, however, to have
recovered, and if ever a picture showed few signs of a deranged or
inflamed mind it is this, which was painted for the agent of the Medici
bank at Bruges, Tommaso Portinari, who presented it to the Hospital of
S. Maria Nuova in his native city of Florence, which had been founded
by his ancestor Folco, the father of Dante's Beatrice. The left panel
shows Tommaso praying with his two sons Antonio and Pigallo, the right
his wife Maria Portinari and their adorably quaint little daughter
with her charming head-dress and costume. The flowers in the centre
panel are among the most beautiful things in any Florentine picture:
not wild and wayward like Luca Signorelli's, but most exquisitely
done: irises, red lilies, columbines and dark red clove pinks--all
unexpected and all very unlikely to be in such a wintry landscape at
all. On the ground are violets. The whole work is grave, austere,
cool, and as different as can be from the Tuscan spirit; yet it is
said to have had a deep influence on the painters of the time and
must have drawn throngs to the Hospital to see it.
The other Flemish and German pictures in the room are all remarkable
and all warmer in tone. No. 906, an unknown work, is perhaps the
finest: a Crucifixion, which might have borrowed its richness from
the Carpaccio, we saw in the Venetian room. There is a fine Adoration
of the Magi, by Gerard David (1460-1523); an unknown portrait of
Pierantonio Baroncelli and his wife, with a lovely landscape; a jewel
of paint by Hans Memling (1425-1492)--No. 703--the Madonna Enthroned;
a masterpiece of drawing by Dürer, "Calvary"; an austere and poignant
Transportation of Christ to the Sepulchre, by Roger van der Weyden
(1400-1464); and several very beautiful portraits by Memling, notably
Nos. 769 and 780 with their lovely evening light. Memling, indeed,
I never liked better than here. Other fine pictures are a Spanish
prince by Lucas van Leyden; an old Dutch scholar by an artist unknown,
No. 784; and a young husband and wife by Joost van Cleef the Elder,
and a Breughel the Elder, like an old Crome--a beauty--No. 928. The
room is interesting both for itself and also as showing how the
Flemish brushes were working at the time that so many of the great
Italians were engaged on similar themes.
After the cool, self-contained, scientific work of these northerners
it is a change to enter the Sala di Rubens and find that luxuriant
giant--their compatriot, but how different!--once more. In the Uffizi,
Rubens seems more foreign, far, than any one, so fleshly pagan is
he. In Antwerp Cathedral his "Descent from the Cross," although
its bravura is, as always with him, more noticeable than its piety,
might be called a religious picture, but I doubt if even that would
seem so here. At any rate his Uffizi works are all secular, while
his "Holy Family" in the Pitti is merely domestic and robust. His
Florentine masterpieces are the two Henri IV pictures in this room,
"Henri IV at Ivry," magnificent if not war, and "Henri's entry into
Paris after Ivry," with its confusing muddle of naked warriors and
spears. Only Rubens could have painted these spirited, impossible,
glorious things, which for all their greatness send one's thoughts
back longingly to the portrait of his wife, in the Tribuna, while
No. 216--the Bacchanale--is so coarse as almost to send one's feet
there too.
Looking round the room, after Rubens has been dismissed, it is too
evident that the best of the Uffizi collection is behind us. There
are interesting portraits here, but biographically rather than
artistically. Here are one or two fine Sustermans' (1597-1681),
that imported painter whom we shall find in such rare form at the
Pitti. Here, for example, is Ferdinand II, who did so much for the
Uffizi and so little for Galileo; and his cousin and wife Vittoria
della Rovere, daughter of Claudia de' Medici (whose portrait, No. 763,
is on the easel), and Federigo della Rovere, Duke of Urbino. This
silly, plump lady had been married at the age of fourteen, and she
brought her husband a little money and many pictures from Urbino,
notably those delightful portraits of an earlier Duke and Duchess of
Urbino by Piero della Francesca, and also the two Titian "Venuses"
in the Tribuna. Ferdinand II and his Grand Duchess were on bad terms
for most of their lives, and she behaved foolishly, and brought up
her son Cosimo III foolishly, and altogether was a misfortune to
Florence. Sustermans the painter she held in the highest esteem, and
in return he painted her not only as herself but in various unlikely
characters, among them a Vestal Virgin and even the Madonna.
Here also is No. 196, Van Dyck's portrait of Margherita of Lorraine,
whose daughter became Cosimo III's wife--a mischievous, weak face
but magnificently painted; and No. 1536, a vividly-painted elderly
widow by Jordaens (1593-1678); and on each side of the outrageous
Rubens a distinguished Dutch gentleman and lady by the placid,
refined Mierevelt.
The two priceless rooms devoted to Iscrizioni come next, but we
will finish the pictures first and therefore pass on to the Sala di
Baroccio. Federigo Baroccio (1528-1612) is one of the later painters
for whom I, at any rate, cannot feel any enthusiasm. His position in
the Uffizi is due rather to the circumstance that he was a protégé of
the Cardinal della Rovere at Rome, whose collection came here, than to
his genius. This room again is of interest rather historically than
artistically. Here, for example, are some good Medici portraits by
Bronzino, among them the famous Eleanora of Toledo, wife of Cosimo I,
in a rich brocade (in which she was buried), with the little staring
Ferdinand I beside her. Eleanora, as we saw in chapter V. was the first
mistress of the Pitti palace, and the lady who so disliked Cellini and
got him into such trouble through his lying tongue. Bronzino's little
Maria de' Medici--No. 1164--is more pleasing, for the other picture has
a sinister air. This child, the first-born of Cosimo I and Eleanora,
died when only sixteen. Baroccio has a fine portrait--Francesco Maria
II, last Duke of Urbino, and the grandfather of the Vittoria della
Rovere whom we saw in the Sala di Rubens. Here also is a portrait
of Lorenzo the Magnificent by Vasari, but it is of small value
since Vasari was not born till after Lorenzo's death. The Galileo
by Sustermans--No. 163--on the contrary would be from life; and
after the Tribuna portrait of Rubens' first wife it is interesting
to find here his pleasant portrait of Helen Fourment, his second. To
my eyes two of the most attractive pictures in the room are the Young
Sculptor--No. 1266--by Bronzino, and the version of Leonardo's S. Anne
at the Louvre by Andrea Salaino of Milan (1483?-1520?). I like also
the hints of tenderness of Bernardino Luini which break through the
hardness of the Aurelio Luini picture--No. 204. For the rest there are
some sickly Guido Renis and Carlo Dolcis and a sentimental Guercino.
But the most popular works--on Sundays--are the two Gerard Honthorsts,
and not without reason, for they are dramatic and bold and vivid,
and there is a Baby in each that goes straight to the maternal
heart. No. 157 is perhaps the more satisfying, but I have more reason
to remember the larger one--the Adoration of the Shepherds--for I
watched a copyist produce a most remarkable replica of it in something
under a week, on the same scale. He was a short, swarthy man with
a neck like a bull's, and he carried the task off with astonishing
brio, never drawing a line, finishing each part as he came to it, and
talking to a friend or an official the whole time. Somehow one felt him
to be precisely the type of copyist that Gherardo della Notte ought
to have. This painter was born at Utrecht in 1590 but went early to
Italy, and settling in Rome devoted himself to mastering the methods
of Amerighi, better known as Caravaggio (1569-1609), who specialized
in strong contrasts of light and shade. After learning all he could
in Rome, Honthorst returned to Holland and made much money and fame,
for his hand was swift and sure. Charles I engaged him to decorate
Whitehall. He died in 1656. These two Honthorsts are, as I say, the
most popular of the pictures on Sunday, when the Uffizi is free; but
their supremacy is challenged by the five inlaid tables, one of which,
chiefly in lapis lazuli, must be the bluest thing on earth.
Passing for the present the Sala di Niobe, we come to the Sala di
Giovanni di San Giovanni, which is given to a second-rate painter who
was born in 1599 and died in 1636. His best work is a fresco at the
Badia of Fiesole. Here he has some theatrical things, including one
picture which sends English ladies out blushing. Here also are some
Lelys, including "Nelly Gwynn". Next are two rooms, one leading from
the other, given to German and Flemish pictures and to miniatures,
both of which are interesting. In the first are more Dürers, and
that alone would make it a desirable resort. Here is a "Virgin and
Child"--No. 851--very naive and homely, and the beautiful portrait of
his father--No. 766---a symphony of brown and green. Less attractive
works from the same hand are the "Apostle Philip"--No. 777--and
"S. Giacomo Maggiore," an old man very coarsely painted by comparison
with the artist's father. Here also is a very beautiful portrait
of Richard Southwell, by Holbein, with the peacock-green background
that we know so well and always rejoice to see; a typical candle-light
Schalcken, No. 800; several golden Poelenburghs; an anonymous portrait
of Virgilius von Hytta of Zuicham, No. 784; a clever smiling lady by
Sustermans, No. 709; the Signora Puliciani and her husband, No. 699;
a rather crudely coloured Rubens--"Venus and Adonis"--No. 812; the
same artist's "Three Graces," in monochrome, very naked; and some
quaint portraits by Lucas Cranach.
But no doubt to many persons the most enchaining picture here is
the Medusa's head, which used to be called a Leonardo and quite
satisfied Ruskin of its genuineness, but is now attributed to the
Flemish school. The head, at any rate, would seem to be very similar
to that of which Vasari speaks, painted by Leonardo for a peasant,
but retained by his father. Time has dealt hardly with the paint, and
one has to study minutely before Medusa's horrors are visible. Whether
Leonardo's or not, it is not uninteresting to read how the picture
affected Shelley when he saw it here in 1819:--
... Its Horror and its Beauty are divine.
Upon its lips and eyelids seem to lie
Loveliness like a shadow, from which shine,
Fiery and lurid, struggling underneath,
The agonies of anguish and of death.
The little room leading from this one should be neglected by no one
interested in Medicean history, for most of the family is here, in
miniature, by Bronzino's hand. Here also are miniatures by other great
painters, such as Pourbus, Guido Reni, Bassano, Clouet, Holbein. Look
particularly at No. 3382, a woman with brown hair, in purple--a most
fascinating little picture. The Ignota in No. 3348 might easily be
Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I of England. The other exhibits
are copies in miniature of famous pictures, notable among them a
Raphael--No. 3386--and a Breughel--No. 3445--while No. 3341, the
robing of a monk, is worth attention.
We come now to the last pictures of the collection--in three little
rooms at the end, near the bronze sleeping Cupid. Those in the first
room were being rearranged when I was last here; the others contain
Dutch works notable for a few masterpieces. There are too many
Poelenburghs, but the taste shown as a whole is good. Perhaps to
the English enthusiast for painting the fine landscape by Hercules
Seghers will, in view of the recent agitation over Lord Lansdowne's
Rembrandt, "The Mill,"--ascribed in some quarters to Seghers--be the
most interesting picture of all. It is a sombre, powerful scene of
rugged coast which any artist would have been proud to sign; but it
in no way recalls "The Mill's" serene strength. Among the best of
its companions are a very good Terburg, a very good Metsu, and an
extremely beautiful Ruysdael.
And so we are at the end of the pictures--but only to return again and
again--and are not unwilling to fall into the trap of the official who
sits here, and allow him to unlock the door behind the Laocöon group
and enjoy what he recommends as a "bella vista" from the open space,
which turns out to be the roof of the Loggia de' Lanzi. From this
high point one may see much of Florence and its mountains, while,
on looking down, over the coping, one finds the busy Piazza della
Signoria below, with all its cabs and wayfarers.
Returning to the gallery, we come quickly on the right to the first
of the neglected statuary rooms, the beautiful Sala di Niobe, which
contains some interesting Medicean and other tapestries, and the
sixteen statues of Niobe and her children from the Temple of Apollo,
which the Cardinal Ferdinand de' Medici acquired, and which were for
many years at the Villa Medici at Rome. A suggested reconstruction
of the group will be found by the door. I cannot pretend to a deep
interest in the figures, but I like to be in the room. The famous
Medicean vase is in the middle of it. Sculpture more ingratiating
is close by, in the two rooms given to Iscrizioni: a collection
of priceless antiques which are not only beautiful but peculiarly
interesting in that they can be compared with the work of Donatello,
Verrocchio, and other of the Renaissance sculptors. For in such a case
comparisons are anything but odious and become fascinating. In the
first room there is, for example, a Mercury, isolated on the left,
in marble, who is a blood relation of Donatello's bronze David in
the Bargello; and certain reliefs of merry children, on the right,
low down, as one approaches the second room, are cousins of the same
sculptor's cantoria romps. Not that Donatello ever reproduced the
antique spirit as Michelangelo nearly did in his Bacchus, and Sansovino
absolutely did in his Bacchus, both at the Bargello: Donatello was
of his time, and the spirit of his time animates his creations, but
he had studied the Greek art in Rome and profited by his lessons,
and his evenly-balanced humane mind had a warm corner for pagan
joyfulness. Among other statues in this first room is a Sacerdotessa,
wearing a marble robe with long folds, whose hands can be seen through
the drapery. Opposite the door are Bacchus and Ampelos, superbly
pagan, while a sleeping Cupid is most lovely. Among the various fine
heads is one of Cicero, of an Unknown--No. 377--and of Homer in bronze
(called by the photographers Aristophanes). But each thing in turn is
almost the best. The trouble is that the Uffizi is so vast, and the
Renaissance seems to be so eminently the only proper study of mankind
when one is here, that to attune oneself to the enjoyment of antique
sculpture needs a special effort which not all are ready to make.
In the centre of the next room is the punctual Hermaphrodite without
which no large Continental gallery is complete. But more worthy of
attention is the torso of a faun on the left, on a revolving pedestal
which (unlike those in the Bargello, as we shall discover) really does
revolve and enables you to admire the perfect back. There is also a
torso in basalt or porphyry which one should study from all points,
and on the walls some wonderful portions of a frieze from the Ara
Pacis, erected in Rome, B.C. 139, with wonderful figures of men,
women, and children on it. Among the heads is a colossal Alexander,
very fine indeed, a beautiful Antoninus, a benign and silly Roman
lady in whose existence one can quite believe, and a melancholy
Seneca. Look also at Nos. 330 and 332, on the wall: 330, a charming
genius, carrying one of Jove's thunderbolts; and 332, a boy who is
sheer Luca della Robbia centuries before his birth.
I ought to add that, in addition to the various salons in the Uffizi,
the long corridors are hung with pictures too, in chronological order,
the earliest of all being to the right of the entrance door, and in
the corridors there is also some admirable statuary. But the pictures
here, although not the equals of those in the rooms, receive far too
little attention, while the sculpture receives even less, whether the
beutiful full-length athletes or the reliefs on the cisterns, several
of which have riotous Dionysian processions. On the stairs, too, are
some very beautiful works; while at the top, in the turnstile room, is
the original of the boar which Tacca copied in bronze for the Mercato
Nuovo, and just outside it are the Medici who were chiefly concerned
with the formation of the collection. On the first landing, nearest
the ground, is a very beautiful and youthful Bacchus. The ceilings
of the Uffizi rooms and corridors also are painted, thoughtfully
and dexterously, in the Pompeian manner; but there are limits to the
receptive capacity of travellers' eyes, and I must plead guilty to
consistently neglecting them.