harder down. The other--not ungently--is taking Christ's red robe off
His shoulders. And St. John, a few yards off, is keeping his mother
from coming nearer. She looks _down_, not at Christ; but tries to
come.

And now you may go on for your day's seeings through the rest of the
gallery, if you will--Fornarina, and the wonderful cobbler, and all the
rest of it. I don't want you any more till to-morrow morning.

But if, meantime, you will sit down,--say, before Sandro Botticelli's
"Fortitude," which I shall want you to look at, one of these days; (No.
1299, innermost room from the Tribune,) and there read this following
piece of one of my Oxford lectures on the relation of Cimabue to
Giotto, you will be better prepared for our work to-morrow morning in
Santa Croce; and may find something to consider of, in the room you are
in. Where, by the way, observe that No. 1288 is a most true early
Lionardo, of extreme interest: and the savants who doubt it are--never
mind what; but sit down at present at the feet of Fortitude, and read.

Those of my readers who have been unfortunate enough to interest
themselves in that most profitless of studies--the philosophy of art
--have been at various times teased or amused by disputes respecting the
relative dignity of the contemplative and dramatic schools.

Contemplative, of course, being the term attached to the system of
painting things only for the sake of their own niceness--a lady because
she is pretty, or a lion because he is strong: and the dramatic school
being that which cannot be satisfied unless it sees something going on:
which can't paint a pretty lady unless she is being made love to, or
being murdered; and can't paint a stag or a lion unless they are being