but all the bloom, the magic of the painter's touch, his topmost art,
have long ago been rubbed off, the white plaster showing through the
colors in spots, and even in large spaces. Any other sort of ruin
acquires a beauty proper to its decay, and often superior to that of its
pristine state; but the ruin of a picture, especially of a fresco, is
wholly unredeemed; and, moreover, it dies so slowly that many generations
are likely to be saddened by it.

We next saw the famous picture of the Virgin by Cimabue, which was deemed
a miracle in its day, . . . . and still brightens the sombre walls with
the lustre of its gold ground. As to its artistic merits, it seems to me
that the babe Jesus has a certain air of state and dignity; but I could
see no charm whatever in the broad-faced Virgin, and it would relieve my
mind and rejoice my spirit if the picture were borne out of the church in
another triumphal procession (like the one which brought it there), and
reverently burnt. This should be the final honor paid to all human works
that have served a good office in their day, for when their day is
over, if still galvanized into false life, they do harm instead of good.
. . . . The interior of Santa Maria Novella is spacious and in the Gothic
style, though differing from English churches of that order of
architecture. It is not now kept open to the public, nor were any of the
shrines and chapels, nor even the high altar itself, adorned and lighted
for worship. The pictures that decorated the shrines along the side
aisles have been removed, leaving bare, blank spaces of brickwork, very
dreary and desolate to behold. This is almost worse than a black
oil-painting or a faded fresco. The church was much injured by the
French, and afterwards by the Austrians, both powers having quartered
their troops within the holy precincts. Its old walls, however, are yet
stalwart enough to outlast another set of frescos, and to see the
beginning and the end of a new school of painting as long-lived as