was regarded as of consequence. The principle of early painting might
be summed in the proud saying, "On earth there is nothing great but
man; in man there is nothing great but mind." It is true when man is
thus detached from nature he hardly appears to advantage or in his
appropriate setting. But the early painters would tolerate nothing
natural near their splendid persons. They covered their backgrounds
with gilding, so that a glory surrounded the entire figure, throwing
out the personality sharp and strong. Nothing broke its effect. But
after all, one comes to see that we inhabit a world; nature is
continually about us, and man really shows his eminence most fully
when standing dominant over nature. Early painting, accordingly, began
to set in a little landscape around the human figures, contrasting the
person with that which was not himself. But an independent interest
could not fail to spring up in these accessories. By degrees the
landscape is elaborated and the figure subordinated. The figure is
there by prescription, the landscape because people enjoy it. Nature
begins to assert her claims; and man, the eminent and worthy
representative of old ideals, retires from his ancient prominence.

When the Renaissance revolted against the teachings of the mediaeval
church, the disposition to return to nature was insolently strong.
Natural impulses were glorified, the physical world attracted
attention, and even began to be studied. Hitherto it had been thought
deserving of study only because in a few respects it was able to
minister to man. But in the Renaissance men studied it for its own
sake. Gradually the distinction between man and nature grew faint, so
that a kind of pantheism arose in which a general power, at once
natural and spiritual, appeared as the ruler of all. We individual men
emerge for a moment from this great central power, ultimately
relapsing into it. Nature had acquired coordinate, if not superior,