Angels in Art

Angelico believed that he was divinely directed in his work, which he began with prayer, and for this reason he would never change his original design. His care in the finish of his pictures was phenomenal; his draperies were dignified; his color and composition were harmonious. It has well been said of his works: “Every part contributed to that unity of tenderness, inspiration, and religious feeling which marks his pictures, and which are such as no one man had ever succeeded in accomplishing.” Angelico knew nothing of human anxieties and struggles, and could not paint them; he could not depict the hatred of the enemies of Christ; martyrdoms and persecutions were feebly represented by him, but to annunciations, coronations of the Virgin, and kindred subjects he imparted a sweetness and a spiritual fervor that has rarely, if ever, been surpassed. We can imagine him rising from his prayers with his conceptions of the Virgin and the archangel as distinct in his mind’s eye as they are to our vision in his pictures, and it is easy to understand that the man who lived in his atmosphere would be void of ambition, and refuse to be made Archbishop of Florence, as he did.

Gabriel is reverenced by the Jews as the chief of the angelic guards, and the keeper of the celestial treasury. The Mohammedans regard him as their patron saint; their prophet believed this archangel to be his inspiring and instructing spirit. Thus he is important in the faith and legends of Christians, Jews, and Mohammedans alike. Milton may have had the Jewish tradition in mind when he represented Gabriel as the guardian of paradise:

CHAPTER IV.

THE ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL.

REPRESENTATIONS OF THREE, AND OF FOUR ARCHANGELS.

That Raphael’s language was benevolent and sympathetic, as imagined by the poet, appears in Adam’s farewell to the angel:

Representations of St. Raphael are far less numerous than are those of St. Michael and St. Gabriel. They are always pleasing, and present him as a benign, sympathetic, and companionable friend to those whom he serves. His symbol is habitually a pilgrim’s staff; as a guardian he wears a sword, and has a small casket or vase, containing the “fishy charm” against evil spirits. He wears a pilgrim’s dress, has sandals on his feet, and a pilgrim bottle or wallet hangs from his belt. His flowing hair is bound by a diadem, and his beautiful face expresses the benevolence of his character and mission.

Many chapels and some churches are dedicated to the Archangel Raphael, as the chief of celestial guardians, and in these are numerous pictures commemorating his benevolent deeds. The greater part of the representations of this archangel are so connected with the history of Tobias, that it is necessary to know his story, in order to enjoy or understand these pictures. I will give this beautiful Hebrew narrative as concisely as possible:

Tobit was a rich man, and just; and he and his wife, Sara, were carried into captivity by the Assyrians. He gave alms to all his people, lived justly, and ate not the bread of the Gentiles. His misfortunes, however, increased; he had but his wife and his son, Tobias, left to him, when he became blind, and prayed for death.

At the same time a man named Raguel, who dwelt in Ecbatane, was afflicted with a daughter who was persecuted by an evil spirit. She had married seven husbands, and each one had been killed by the fiend, as soon as he entered the bridal chamber. The maiden was accused of these murders, and, like Tobit, she prayed for death.

God then sent the Archangel Raphael to cure the blindness of Tobit, and take away the reproach of the unhappy daughter of Raguel of Ecbatane.

At this time Tobit desired his son, Tobias, to go to Gabael in Media to receive ten talents, which Tobit had left in trust with Gabael. Tobias asked, “How can I receive the money, seeing I know him not?” Tobit gave Tobias the handwriting, and bade him seek a guide for his journey. Raphael then offered to guide the young man, who knew not that he spoke with an archangel. Tobias led Raphael to his father, and they agreed upon the wages the guide should receive, and Tobit gave directions concerning the journey, while he and Sara, his wife, were greatly afflicted at parting with Tobias.

At evening the travellers came to the river Tigris, and when Tobias went to bathe, a fish leapt out at him. Raphael told the youth to take out the liver and gall of the fish and preserve it carefully, which being done, they roasted the fish and ate it. When Tobias asked why he should keep the liver and the gall, the angel told him that the heart and liver would cure a person vexed with an evil spirit, if a smoke from them was made before the person; and the gall would cure the blindness of one afflicted with whiteness of the eyes.

In our illustration from the picture by Andrea del Sarto, in the Belvedere, Vienna, Tobias carries the fish, and it appears to represent the moment when Raphael is making his explanation of its purpose.

As they proceeded Raphael said: “Brother, to-day we shall lodge with Raguel, who is thy cousin; he hath but one daughter, named Sara; I will ask her as a wife for thee: she belongs to thee by law, and is fair and wise, and you can marry her when we return.” Then Tobias, who knew the fate of the seven husbands, was filled with fear lest he too should die, and thus afflict his parents, who had no other child.

But Raphael assured Tobias that Sara

was the wife that the Lord intended for him, and that when he entered the marriage chamber the evil spirit would flee at the smoke he should make with the liver of the fish, and would never return. When Tobias heard this he loved the maiden, and his heart was effectually joined to her.

When they came near Ecbatane, they met Sara, and she led them to her parents, who rejoiced to see them, and wept when they heard of the blindness of Tobit. While the servants of Raguel prepared a supper, Tobias said to the angel, “Speak of those things of which thou didst talk, and let this business be despatched.” Then Raphael asked Raguel to give Sara to Tobias; but the father was sore distressed, and told of the death of the seven who had already married her; but as Sara belonged to Tobias by the law of Moses, his request could not be denied, and before they did eat together, Raguel joined their hands, and blessed them.

Then the marriage chamber was prepared, and the maiden wept; but her mother comforted her, and when Tobias entered and made the smoke as the angel had directed, the evil spirit fled. Tobias and Sara knelt in thankfulness, and Tobias prayed as Raphael had told him, and Sara said, “Amen.”

In the morning Raguel dug a grave, for he wished to bury Tobias quickly, that no one should know what had happened; but when he sent to see if he were dead, it was found that the young husband was quietly sleeping. Then there was great rejoicing, and a wedding feast was made, which lasted fourteen days. Meanwhile, Raphael went to Gabael and received from him the ten talents, and when the feast ended, the angel conducted Tobias and Sara to Tobit, and Raguel bestowed on Sara half his wealth.

As they approached Nineveh, Raphael said to Tobias, “Let us haste before thy wife, to prepare the house: and take thou the gall of the fish.” The mother of Tobias was watching for his return, and was greatly alarmed at his long absence. When she saw him with his guide, and the little dog which he had taken away, she ran to Tobit with the news, and they rejoiced greatly. Raphael now said to Tobias, “I know that thy father will open his eyes; therefore anoint them with the gall, and being pricked therewith, he shall rub them, and the whiteness shall fall away, and he shall see thee.” And so it was, and Tobit was blind no more, and they all rejoiced and blessed God.

Then Tobias recounted all that had happened, and his parents went out with him to meet his wife, and her servants, and cattle, and all she had brought with her. And the people were filled with wonder to see that Tobit was blind no more, and they rejoiced greatly with him during seven days when he kept a feast.

Tobit bade his son to call his guide and give him more than the wages that had been named. And Tobias wished to give the angel half of all he had brought back with him, and Tobit said, “It is due unto him.” But when Raphael knew their intentions he commanded them to glorify God for all his goodness, and told Tobit that his goodness and sorrows and those of the daughter of Raguel had been known in heaven, and God had sent him to heal all these troubles; and added, “I am Raphael, one of the seven holy angels, which present the prayers of the saints, and go in and out before the glory of the Holy One.”

Our illustration after the picture of

Giovanni Biliverti in the Pitti Gallery, Florence, places before us the scene, when, refusing reward, the Archangel declared himself. The beauty of the angel, the affectionate enthusiasm of Tobias, and the sincere and reverent gratitude of the old Tobit are wonderfully portrayed, while the young wife and the aged mother in the background complete the group of those who have been delivered from their sorrows by the messenger of the Most High.

From the time when the angel left them Tobit and Raguel prospered, and after Tobit and Sara died, Tobias removed to Ecbatane and inherited the wealth of Raguel; he lived with honor to be an hundred and seven and twenty years old, and to hear of the destruction of Nineveh.

Milton thus refers to the story of Tobias:

Raphael is frequently represented without wings when leading Tobias, who—in order to emphasize the contrast between an angel and a mortal—is made very small, and is thus manifestly out of keeping with the story. When the wings appear there is no reason for dwarfing Tobias, and the picture is far more satisfactory. It is not difficult to discern that if the story of Tobias is considered as an allegory, the young man personates the Christian, guided and guarded through life by God’s mercy.

There is, in Verona, in the Church of St. Euphemia, a most impressive chapel which was decorated with pictures illustrating the story of Tobias, by Carotto, a pupil of Mantegna, who seems to have painted more in the manner of Leonardo than in that of his master.

Various incidents of the story are effectively pictured, but the famous altar-piece, the greatest work by Carotto, is the most important of the number. It represents the Archangels Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael,—three exquisite wingless figures,—the latter being in the centre, and the only one having an aureole. He is leading Tobias, and looking down at the youth with an expression of tenderness.

St. Michael is on the right; one hand rests on his great sword, while with the other he lifts his crimson robe. His countenance, serious and indomitable in expression, fitly indicates the characteristics that his titles imply. He is the Lord of Souls and the Angel of Judgment, so far as human imagination can picture so exalted a celestial being.

St. Gabriel, on the left, holding a lily, and gazing heavenward in adoration, is a beautiful, angelic figure, far less powerful than the other archangels, and quite in harmony with his office.

The impression on my mind, made by this picture, is that Gabriel realizes that his blessed office has been fulfilled, his active work is done, and adoration is now his duty and his joy; but Michael and Raphael have still their great missions to perfect; they are still battling against evil, and guiding men in the paths of righteousness.

Carotto was a native of Verona, and his pictures are rarely seen elsewhere. His color is warm and well blended, while his drawing is severe. It is said that he was but twenty-five years old when he decorated the Chapel of St. Raphael, in 1495. He was of a quick wit, and when told that the legs of his angels were

too slender, he instantly replied, “Then they will fly the easier.”

A very famous and wonderful picture of the three archangels with Tobias, by Botticelli, is in the Academy of Florence. The angels of this artist are frequently criticised for a certain stiffness, but their beautiful faces more than redeem any fault in their figures, and have a sweetness and depth of expression that appeals to the heart and makes one forget less important details.

A picture of St. Raphael leading Tobias, in the Church of St. Marziale in Venice, is said to be the earliest remaining work by Titian. For this reason it is most interesting, but it is certainly not so beautiful as that of Carotto, nor as that of Raphael, called the Madonna del Pesce,—the Madonna of the Fish,—in the Madrid Gallery, in which the master pictures the archangel whose name he bore.

Of this last picture Passavant says, “Here Christian poetry has found its highest expression; for it is poetry which touches all nations the most deeply, and beauty alone can give an idea of divinity.”

In the famous Madonna del Pesce, the Virgin is seated on a throne with the child; the young Tobias, holding a fish in his hand, and led by the Archangel Raphael, comes to implore Jesus to cure his father’s blindness. The Infant Saviour looks at Tobias, while his hand is on an open book which St. Jerome holds before him; the symbolic lion crouches at the feet of the saint. The background of the picture is principally formed by a curtain, but on the right a small opening of sky is seen.

The whole picture is executed in the best style of the artist’s mature power, while it is full of the fervent piety of his earlier works. The Virgin is the ideal of purity and loveliness; the child is radiant with divine beauty; the angel is celestial in his bearing and his countenance, while the head of the reverend saint is grand and noble in expression.

Raphael’s Madonnas sometimes seem to be but simple domestic women, gifted with beauty; in them no trace of a mystical or spiritual nature appears; but the Madonna del Pesce, like the Madonna di San Sisto, and the Madonna di Fuligno, justifies the eulogy of Vasari, when he says, “Raphael has shown all the beauty which can be imagined in the expression of a Virgin; in the eyes there is modesty, on the brow there shines honor, the nose is of a very graceful character, the mouth betokens sweetness and excellence.” The color of the Madonna del Pesce is admirably clear and harmonious, even for this great master.

This Madonna was originally painted for the Church of San Domenico Maggiore, at Naples, in which church a chapel had been erected as an especial place of worship for the numerous Neapolitans who suffer from diseases of the eye; it was not, however, permitted to serve its intended purpose, and has had an interesting history.

It is said that the Duke of Medina, when Viceroy of Naples, took the picture from the Dominicans without the consent of the government, and when the prior complained to the Pope, Medina had him escorted to the frontier by fifty horsemen, and expelled from the kingdom. In 1644 the Duke took the Virgin with the Fish to Spain, and Philip IV. placed it in the Escurial. In 1813, when the French were compelled to leave Spain, they took this picture, with many others, to Paris.

It was painted on a panel and was in bad condition, and Bonnemaison was commissioned to transfer it to canvas. This work was not completed in 1815, when other pictures which had been taken from Spain were returned, and this Madonna remained in France until 1822. Naturally, it must have lost something of its original excellence, but it still holds a place of honor in the wonderful Italian Gallery of the Madrid Museum; it is a rival of the famous Dresden Madonna—di San Sisto—in the regard of many connoisseurs in art.

The various scenes from the story of Raphael and Tobias have been represented in the works of artists of all nations. Rembrandt four times painted the parting of Tobias from his father and mother, and several other incidents in the story. His picture in the Louvre, of the departure of the Archangel, is remarkable for its spirited action. As the angel ascends, flying through the air, he seems to part the clouds as a strong swimmer passes through the breakers of the sea.

There have been many curious conceits introduced into some of the early religious pictures, and I have seen two instances in which little seraphim and angels are perched on trees, near the Virgin and Holy Child. The idea seems to be that these “Birds of God”—as Dante calls the angels—are making music and singing for the Divine Infant, some of them also praying for his solace.

Occasionally a series of pictures called the Acts of the Holy Angels has been painted. It consists of eleven strictly Scriptural subjects, usually as follows, but varied in some instances by the introduction of other motives of the same character, as, for example, the angel appearing to Hagar and to Elijah:

I have already said that of the seven archangels to whom Milton refers, when he says:

but three are recognized by the Christian Church; and when three archangels are seen together, they are Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael. In the Greek Church this representation is regarded as typical of the military, civil, and religious power, and, accordingly, the costumes indicate a soldier, a prince, and a priest.

But Uriel has not been entirely ignored, even by the Christian Church, and an early tradition teaches that this archangel, and not Christ, accompanied the two disciples on their way to Emmaus. In the book of Esdras we read, “The angel that was sent unto me, whose name was Uriel.” His office was that of interpreter of judgments and prophecies, which Milton recognizes thus:

In several ancient churches four archangels are represented in the architectural decoration. An example in which they are very splendid is that in the mosaics above the choir arch in the Cathedral of Monreale, Palermo. These colossal, armed figures are impressive, not only from their size, but also because of their apparent realization of their illustrious rank in the order of created beings.

More frequently the four archangels are so represented as to appear to sustain the roof, or vault, in churches where the figure of Christ, or his symbol, the Lamb, is pictured as the central decoration. These are clearly intended to personate the four “who sustain the throne of God.” Their symbols are sceptres or lances; at times they stand erect, like faithful, watchful guardians; again with arms outstretched they seem to uphold the vault on which Christ is portrayed.

The representations of three archangels are more numerous than the above, and are variously treated. In some ancient pictures they have no wings, and appear like men of princely rank and noble character. I have seen the visitors of Abraham thus represented, which accords with the Hebrew idea of angels at the period when Abraham was thus honored; for, as I have mentioned, it was not until after the captivity, when the Egyptian custom of giving wings to their representations of messengers had been observed, that the cherubim and seraphim covered the mercy-seat with their wings.

One of the best known and most beautiful pictures of these angelic visitors is that by Raphael in the fourth arcade of the Loggie of the Vatican.

CHAPTER V.

A belief in guardian angels—those especially devoted to the care of individuals—is far more widespread than the realism of the present day is inclined to admit. The godly man has a sure warrant for this trust in the ninety-first psalm:

We cannot think of angels as a reality in the winged, human forms that have been given them in Art, any more than we can look for mermaids to rise from the waters mentioned in the charming legends in which these maidens acted their parts. These imaginary and apparently palpable angels are but allegories, which long have been and continue to be the angels of Art, and we could not willingly give them up. We know that

they are impossible, even fantastic, if we permit ourselves to be matter-of-fact; but as emblems of spiritual guardians, sent to mortals by an ever-watchful Father, we love them; and we wish to believe in guardian angels for those who are dear to us, even if we cannot realize them for ourselves.

In one of the early councils of the Church the form of angels was considered, and it was maintained by John of Thessalonica that they were in shape like men, and should be thus represented. This decision is supported by the supposition that God spoke to the angels when he said, “Let us make man after our image;” and again by Daniel, when he describes his heavenly visitors as “like unto the similitude of the sons of men.”

A guardian angel must be ever beside his charge from the beginning to the end of life, not only to guard from evil, but also to incite to good. In sorrow he is a comforter; in weakness, strength; even in death he is faithful, and contends against the evil spirits who fight for the possession of every soul; and after death he bears the spirit to St. Michael, the Lord of Souls. Thus is the guardian angel represented in Art, as is seen in our illustration called the Angel of Peace.

When we observe a beautiful, unselfish life that rises far above its surroundings, we recall the belief in angelic guardians, and the description which Milton gave of a chaste, saintly soul:

The impersonality of angels is one of their most precious qualities. An angel

is never active except as the agent of the Almighty, deputed to manifest his mercy and love to the pious, or to inflict his punishments on the wicked. Thus angels must be perfect beings; and while they love to serve, their service is void of the personality which is inherent in all human service. When they sing together it is because some good has come to men, and when they mourn it is for human affliction.

According to the teaching of the Fathers of the Church to which we have referred, the combat between good and evil angels is unceasing, and they also warrant Christians in invoking the aid of angels, and believing them to be ever near to prevent evil and encourage good. From the views of the early theologians the artists evolved their manner of representing the hosts of heaven, and while for a time angels were represented as colossal, gradually they became more graceful and lovely, as well as more human.

An ideal, a thought, must be personified to be represented to the eye, and I doubt if any new personification of angels could satisfactorily replace that which has been developed in Art during sixteen centuries, and to which we are accustomed from our earliest childhood. The angels that are known in pictures, watching over children, preventing harm to individuals, as in the sacrifice of Isaac, encouraging or even compelling worthy action, as in the case of Balaam, are dear to the heart of the world.

The representations of guardian angels in the more homely relations, watching sleeping infants, guiding their feeble steps,—as is seen in our frontispiece,—and shielding them from accidents, are modern. To the end of the sixteenth century guardian angels, while engaged in all these minor duties, according to the teaching of the Church, were only represented in Art as performing solemn and superhuman deeds.

This may have resulted from the fixed belief of the old artists in these angelic beings, and their deep reverence for them, while modern artists are simply seeking a graceful and poetic subject. But, be this as it may, the angels who perform miracles to prevent the torture of Christian martyrs and other superhuman acts, are as essentially guardian angels as are those bending over cradles and gathering blossoms for children in the fields.

After the guardians, the choristers, or musical angels, most appeal to us. They are beautiful in their representations, and fulfil an ideal mission. Their hymns of praise are not all devoted to the pure worship of the Almighty,—except as he is all and in all,—since they rejoice and sing when blessings are conferred upon mankind.

How exquisite is the story in the second chapter of St. Luke’s Gospel, when the single angel announces the birth of Jesus to the shepherds, “and suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’” In the final sentences of this heavenly chant we have the assurance that angels delight to sing of happiness to mankind.

There is much that appeals to our imagination in the thought of these heavenly musicians. We fancy their perfect instruments attuned to perfect voices, creating such harmonies as no earthly orchestra can reproduce.

In the early days of Christian Art, painters and sculptors alike delighted in the representation of musical angels, and it is surprising to find in how many scenes they are not only appropriate but indispensable. Our illustration, after Perugino, is from his picture of the Assumption of the Virgin in the Florentine Academy.

They are most fittingly present at the coronations of Jesus and the Virgin; they gladly welcomed the just to heaven; they join in the hymn of St. Cecilia, which they must have inspired; they are always in harmony with pictures of the Madonna and child, and, in short, numerous as are the representations of them, they are never too many.

It would seem that certain sculptors and painters must have seen these blessed beings in visions, and listened to their music, so wonderfully did they embody them in statues and on canvas. Della Robbia, Ghiberti, Fra Angelico, Ghirlandajo, Melozzo da Forli, Vivarini, Gian Bellini, Raphael, Palma, must all have seen, at least with the eyes of the spirit, the angelic choirs which make so precious a part of their legacy to us.

The difference in the sentiments with which these angelic choristers seem to be inspired lends them a peculiar charm. Now they are alone intent on solemnly praising God; again they seem full of such overflowing joy as can only be expressed in vocal harmonies, in symphonies with viol, pipe, harp, and lute. Nowhere are these angels more lovely than when, with their sweet faces turned to the Infant Jesus, they chant their love for him.

Cherubim and seraphim are technically the adoring angels, as they are represented in pictures of God, the Father. But adoring angels are frequently seen in pictures of the Madonna and Child, as well as in scenes from the lives of Jesus and the Virgin. Sometimes they appear in great numbers, as in Angelico’s picture of the Last Judgment; or in smaller groups, as the three adoring angels by Francesco Granacci; or singly, as in the case of the angel with bowed head, who stands behind the Virgin in the Madonna and Angels, by Boticelli; the last three pictures being among our illustrations.

Mourning angels appear more frequently in sculpture than in painting, and are much used as monuments to the dead; but there are pictures in which angels show their sympathy with sorrow and suffering. While from their nature they cannot be unhappy, they are not represented as joyful in pictures of the Crucifixion and other sorrowful scenes in the lives of Jesus, the Virgin, or saintly martyrs. They hide their faces, wring their hands, and manifest their sympathetic grief in various ways. I recall a picture of a mourning angel kneeling before a crown of thorns with tears upon his face.

There are occasional pictures of kneeling angels, who have the appearance of praying. Artists have naturally manifested their individuality in their works, but I do not recall any Scripture warrant for representing angels as themselves praying, although they are present with mortals who pray. It is, however, not inconsistent with their mission to bear the prayers of mortals to the throne of God and to return with a blessing.

In the early centuries of the Church there was a well-established belief that wicked spirits had power over men and tempted them to all manner of sins; they especially desired, it was taught, to lead

the pious to revolt against the true religion, and to become idolaters, as they had themselves revolted against the Almighty. It was also believed that good and evil spirits constantly contended over every human being, the struggle between angels and demons being unending.

Devils are introduced in many pictures, and are easily recognized by their demoniacal appearance. Frequently they are very small and numerous. They are represented as hovering above death-beds, they rejoice in the persecution of the martyrs, and wherever seen, are the very personification of all that is repulsive and loathsome.

The most important pictures in which the devil is represented as a human being are scenes in the temptation of Jesus, when he was led into the wilderness to be tempted forty days. Shakespeare says that “the devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape,” but apparently artists have not recognized this. In their pictures of him there is always some characteristic which at once discloses his personality. His skin is an ugly brown, or the hoofs which he endeavors to hide are disclosed, or the repulsive expression of his face warns one of his dangerous character.

Happily such pictures are not numerous, but an ideal of the repulsiveness of the Father of Lies has been conceived by many from the famous representations of him by Raphael and Guido, in their pictures of his conquest by St. Michael. In numerous cases, however, the presence of Satan is indicated by symbols. The dragon and the serpent are the usually accepted emblems of the Evil Spirit, but there are many variations of this symbolism. A horrid dragon head with open mouth typifies hell. Frequently the serpent has an apple in his mouth and thus personates the wily tempter of Mother Eve; but in many cases the serpent has no relation to the fall of man, and is personified evil.

CHAPTER VI.

PICTURES OF ANGELS AS AUTHORIZED BY THE SCRIPTURES.

The first mention of angels in the Old Testament occurs in the third chapter of Genesis, when it is related that cherubims were placed at the east of the Garden of Eden, to keep the way to the Tree of Life. Good pictures of this subject are as rare as they are beautiful. In them the exquisite garden, the radiant cherubim, and the dazzling light from the flaming sword, combine in producing a glorious effect.

In connection with the story of Abraham, angels frequently appear. The sacrifice of Isaac is always an interesting subject, symbolizing, as it does, in the submission of Isaac, that of Jesus, and in the willingness of Abraham to give his son in sacrifice, that of the Divine Father to give his well-beloved Son for the salvation of men. The appearance of the angel to prevent the consummation of the sacrifice has been painted many times, notably by Andrea del Sarto, whose poetical pictures of this scene are in the Dresden and Madrid galleries.

The picture by Rembrandt is powerful, and painfully realistic. It is in the Hermitage at St. Petersburg. The same scene in the Church of Santa Maria della Salute, Venice, is by Titian, and is among the famous works of this great master.

Our illustration after a picture by Il Sodoma, in the Cathedral of Pisa, is in the best style of that master, who has been called the pride of the Sienese school. His acknowledged power to render intense feeling is seen in the face of Abraham, while the angel is an example of his conception of beauty; the submissive Isaac, missing the pressure of his father’s hand from his shoulder, without changing his position, turns his eyes to discover the reason for the delay of the expected blow.

In the story of Hagar an angel twice appears, and one is surprised that these charming subjects have so rarely been