In short, she looks
like a theatrical actress; without any sympathy with the solemnity of
the religious conception, who is there merely because a beautiful
woman was wanted to fill up the picture.
Then that old, faded green curtain, which is painted as hanging down
on either side of the picture, is, to my eye, a nuisance. The whole
interest, therefore, of the piece concentrates in the centre figures,
the Madonna and Child, and two angel children gazing up from the foot
of the picture. These angel children were the first point on which my
mind rested, in its struggle to overcome its disappointment, and bring
itself _en rapport_ with the artist. In order fully to appreciate
their spiritual beauty, one must have seen an assortment of those
things called angels, which occur in the works of the old masters.
Generally speaking, I know of nothing more calculated to moderate any
undue eagerness to go to heaven than the common run of canvas angels.
Far the greater part are roistering, able-bodied fellows with wings,
giving indisputable signs of good living, and of a coarseness slightly
suggestive of blackguardism. Far otherwise with _these_ fair
creatures, with their rainbow-colored wings, and their serene,
upturned eyes of thought baptized with emotion.
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