In visiting the galleries of Europe, I made it my business to secure a
photograph of every "Madonna and Babe" of note that I could find. My
collection now numbers over one hundred copies, with no two alike.

The Madonna, of course, is the extreme example; but there are dozens of
"The Last Supper," "Abraham's Sacrifice," "The Final Judgment," "The
Brazen Serpent," "Raising of Lazarus," "The Annunciation," "Rebekah at
the Well" and so on.

If one painter produced a notable picture, all the other artists in the
vicinity felt it their duty to treat the same subject; in fact, their
honor was at stake--they just had to, in order to satisfy the clamor of
their friends, and meet the challenges of detractors.

This "progressive sketching" was kept up, each man improving, or trying
to improve, on the attempts of the former, until a Leonardo struck twelve
and painted his "Last Supper," or a Rubens did his "Descent From the
Cross"--then competitors grew pale, and tried their talent on a lesser
theme.

One of the most curious examples of the tendency to follow a bellwether
is found in the various pictures called "The Anatomy Lesson." When Venice
was at its height, in the year Fourteen Hundred Ninety-two--a date we can
easily remember--an unknown individual drew a picture of a professor of
anatomy; on a table in the center is a naked human corpse, while all
around are ranged the great doctor's pupils. Dissection had just been
introduced into Venice at that time, and in a treatise on the subject by
Andrea Vesali, I find that it became quite the fad. The lecture-rooms
were open to the public, and places were set apart for women visitors and
the nobility, while all around the back were benches for the plain