contempt." On the other hand, indeed, there is a tinge of sadness and
compassion, objective and subjective, which gives it a charm, even a
fascination. _Tanto è bella_, says Bocchi, _tanto è vera, tanto è
naturale_, that one gazes upon it in astonishment, wondering in truth
why the statue does not speak![23] Bocchi's criticism cannot be
improved. The problem has been obfuscated by the modern jargon of art.
Donatello has been charged with orgies of realism and so forth. There
may be realism, but the term must be used with discretion: nowadays
it generally connotes the ugly treatment of an ugly theme, and is
applied less as a technical description than as a term of abuse.
Donatello was certainly no realist in the sense that an ideal was
excluded, nor could he have been led by realism into servile imitation
or the multiplication of realities. After a certain point the true
ceases to be true, as nobody knew better than Barye, the greatest of
the "realists." The Zuccone can be more fittingly described in
Bocchi's words. It is the creation of a verist, of a naturalist,
founded on a clear and intimate perception of nature. Donatello was
pledged to no system, and his only canon, if such existed, was the
canon of observation matured by technical ability. We have no reason
to suppose that Donatello claimed to be a deep thinker. He did not
spend his time, like Michael Angelo, in devising theories to explain
the realms of art. He was without analytical pedantry, and, like his
character, his work was naïve and direct. Nor was he absorbed by
appreciation of "beauty," abstract or concrete. If he saw a man with a
humped back or a short leg he would have been prepared to make his
portrait, assuming that the entity was not in conflict with the
subject in hand. Hence the Zuccone. Its mesmeric ugliness is the
effect of Donatello's gothic creed, and it well shows how Donatello,
who from his earliest period was opposed to the conventions of the
Pisan school, took the lead among those who founded their art upon the