Before any knowledge of painting was brought to Florence, therewere already painters in Lucca, and Pisa, and Arezzo, who fearedGod and loved the art. The keen, grave workmen from Greece,whose trade it was to sell their own works in Italy and teachItalians to imitate them, had already found in rivals of the soil with a skill that could forestall their lessons and cheapen their crucifixesand addolorate , more years than is supposed before the art came atall into Florence. The pre-eminence to which Cimabue was raisedat once by his contemporaries, and which he still retains to a wideextent even in the modern mind, is to be accounted for, partly bythe circumstances under which he arose, and partly by that extra-ordinary purpose of fortune born with the lives of some few, andthrough which it is not a little thing for any who went before, ifthey are even remembered as the shadows of the coming of such anone, and the voices which prepared his way in the wilderness. It isthus, almost exclusively, that the painters of whom I speak arenow known. They have left little, and but little heed is taken ofthat which men hold to have been surpassed; it is gone like time gone—a track of dust and dead leaves that merely led to the fountain.

Nevertheless, of very late years, and in very rare instances, somesigns of a better understanding have become manifest. A case inpoint is that of the tryptich and two cruciform pictures at Dresden,by Chiaro di Messer Bello dell' Erma, to which the eloquent pam-phlet of Dr. Aemmster has at length succeeded in attracting the stu-dents. There is another, still more solemn and beautiful work, nowproved to be by the same hand, in the gallery at Florence. It isthe one to which my narrative will relate.

This Chiaro dell' Erma was a young man of very honorablefamily in Arezzo; where, conceiving art almost, as it were, for him-self, and loving it deeply, he endeavored from early boyhood towardsthe imitation of any objects offered in nature. The extreme longingafter a visible embodiment of his thoughts strengthened as his yearsincreased, more even than his sinews or the blood of his life; until he would feel faint in sunsets and at the sight of stately persons.When he had lived nineteen years, he heard of the famous GiuntaPisano; and, feeling much of admiration, with, perhaps, a little ofthat envy which youth always feels until it has learned to measuresuccess by time and opportunity, he determined that he would seekout Giunta, and, if possible, become his pupil.

Having arrived in Pisa, he clothed himself in humble apparel,being unwilling that any other thing than the desire he had forknowledge should be his plea with the great painter; and then,leaving his baggage at a house of entertainment, he took his wayalong the street, asking whom he met for the lodging of Giunta. It soonchanced that one of that city, conceiving him to be a strangerand poor, took him into his house, and refreshed him; afterwardsdirecting him on his way.

When he was brought to speech of Giunta, he said merely thathe was a student, and that nothing in the world was so much athis heart as to become that which he had heard told of him withwhom he was speaking. He was received with courtesy and con-sideration, and shewn into the study of the famous artist. But theforms he saw there were lifeless and incomplete; and a suddenexultation possessed him as he said within himself, “I am the masterof this man.” The blood came at first into his face, but the nextmoment he was quite pale and fell to trembling. He was able,however, to conceal his emotion; speaking very little to Giunta,but, when he took his leave, thanking him respectfully.

After this, Chiaro's first resolve was, that he would work outthoroughly some one of his thoughts, and let the world know him.But the lesson which he had now learned, of how small a greatnessmight win fame, and how little there was to strive against, servedto make him torpid, and rendered his exertions less continual.Also Pisa was a larger and more luxurious city than Arezzo; and,when in his walks, he saw the great gardens laid out for pleasure,and the beautiful women who passed to and fro, and heard themusic that was in the groves of the city at evening, he was takenwith wonder that he had never claimed his share of the inheritanceof those years in which his youth was cast. And women lovedChiaro; for, in despite of the burthen of study, he was well-favouredand very manly in his walking; and, seeing his face in front, therewas a glory upon it, as upon the face of one who feels a light roundhis hair.

So he put thought from him, and partook of his life. But, onenight, being in a certain company of ladies, a gentleman that wasthere with him began to speak of the paintings of a youth named Bonaventura, which he had seen in Lucca; adding that Giunta Pisanomight now look for a rival. When Chiaro heard this, the lamps shookbefore him, and the music beat in his ears and made him giddy. Herose up, alleging a sudden sickness, and went out of that house withhis teeth set. And being again within his room, he wrote up over the door the name of Giunta Bonaventura, that it might stop him when he would go out.

He now took to work diligently; not returning to Arezzo, butremaining in Pisa, that no day more might be lost; only living en-tirely to himself. Sometimes, after nightfall, he would walk abroadin the most solitary places he could find; hardly feeling the groundunder him, because of the thoughts of the day which held himin fever.

The lodging he Chiaro had chosen was in a house that looked upongardens fast by the Church of San Rocco. During the offices, as hesat at work, he could hear the music of the organ and the longmurmur that the chanting left; and if his window were open,sometimes, at those parts of the mass where there is silence through-out the church, his ear caught faintly the single voice of thepriest. Beside the matters of his art and a very few books, almostthe only object to be noticed in Chiaro's room was a small conse-crated image of St. Mary Virgin wrought out of silver, before whichstood always, in summer-time, a glass containing a lily and a rose.

It was here, and at this time, that Chiaro he painted the Dresdenpictures; as also, in all likelihood, the one—inferior in merit, butcertainly his—which is now at Munich. For the most part, he wascalm and regular in his manner of study; though often he wouldremain at work through the whole of the day, not resting once solong as the light lasted; flushed, and with the hair from his face.Or, at times, when he could not paint, he would sit for hours inthought of all the greatness the world had known from of old;until he was weak with yearning, like one who gazes upon a pathof stars.

He continued in this patient endeavour for about three years, atthe end of which his name was spoken throughout all Tuscany. Ashis fame waxed, he began to be employed, besides easel-pictures, upon paintings in fresco: but I believe that no traces remain to us of any of these latter. He is said to have painted in the Duomo: and D'Agincourt mentions having seen some portions of a fresco by him which originally had its place above the high altar in the Church of the Certosa; but which, at the time he saw it, being very dilapidated, had been hewn out of the wall, and was preserved in the stores of the convent. Before the period of Dr. Aemmster's researches, however, it had been entirely destroyed.

Chiaro was now famous. It was for the race of fame that he had girded up his loins; and he had not paused until fame was reached:yet now, in taking breath, he found that the weight was still at hisheart. The years of his labor had fallen from him, and his lifewas still in its first painful desire.

With all that Chiaro had done during these three years, and evenbefore, with the studies of his early youth, there had always been afeeling of worship and service. It was the peace-offering that hemade to God and to his own soul for the eager selfishness of hisaim. There was earth, indeed, upon the hem of his raiment; but this was of the heaven, heavenly. He had seasons when he couldendure to think of no other feature of his hope than this: and some-times, in the ecstasy of prayer, it had even seemed to him to beholdthat day when his mistress—his mystical lady (now hardly in herninth year, but whose solemn smile at meeting had already lightedon his soul like the dove of the Trinity)—even she, his owngracious and holy Italian art—with her virginal bosom, and her un-fathomable eyes, and the thread of sunlight round her brows—shouldpass, through the sun that never sets, into the circle of the shadowof the tree of life, and be seen of God, and found good: and then ithad seemed to him, that he, with many who, since his coming, hadjoined the band of whom he was one (for, in his dream, the body hehad worn on earth had been dead an hundred years), were permittedto gather round the blessed maiden, and to worship with her throughall ages and ages of ages, saying, Holy, holy, holy. This thing hehad seen with the eyes of his spirit; and in this thing had trusted,believing that it would surely come to pass.

But now, (being at length led to enquire closely into himself,) evenas, in the pursuit of fame, the unrest abiding after attainment hadproved to him that he had misinterpreted the craving of his ownspirit—so also, now that he would willingly have fallen back ondevotion, he became aware that much of that reverence which hehad mistaken for faith had been no more than the worship of beauty.Therefore, after certain days passed in perplexity, Chiaro said withinhimself, “My life and my will are yet before me: I will takeanother aim to my life.”

From that moment Chiaro set a watch on his soul, and put hishand to no other works but only to such as had for their end thepresentment of some moral greatness that should impress the be-holder: and, in doing this, he did not choose for his medium theaction and passion of human life, but cold symbolism and abstractimpersonation and to this end, he multiplied abstractions, and forgot the beauty and passion of life> the world.. So the people ceased to throng about his picturesas heretofore; and, when they were carried through town and townto their destination, they were no longer delayed by the crowds Banfield Compositor's name eager to gaze and admire: and no prayers or offerings were broughtto them on their path, as to his Madonnas, and his Saints, and hisHoly Children, wrought by him for the sake of the life he saw in the faces that he loved.. Only the critical audience remained to him; andthese, in default of more worthy matter, would have turned theirscrutiny on a puppet or a mantle. Meanwhile, he had no more offever upon him; but was calm and pale each day in all that he didand in his goings in and out. The works he produced at this timehave perished—in all likelihood, not unjustly, It is said (and wemay easily believe it), that, though more labored than his formerpictures, they were cold and unemphatic; bearing marked out uponthem, as they must certainly have done, the measure of that boun-dary to which they were made to conform.

And the weight was still close at Chiaro's heart: but he held inhis breath, never resting (for he was afraid), and would not know it.

Now it happened, within these days, that there fell a great feastin Pisa, for holy matters: and each man left his occupation; andall the guilds and companies of the city were got together for gamesand rejoicings. And there were scarcely any that stayed in thehouses, except ladies who lay or sat along their balconies betweenopen windows which let the breeze beat through the rooms andover the spread tables from end to end. And the golden cloths thattheir arms lay upon drew all eyes upward to see their beauty; andthe day was long; and every hour of the day was bright with thesun.

So Chiaro's model, when he awoke that morning on the hot pave-ment of the Piazza Nunziata, and saw the hurry of people thatpassed him, got up and went along with them; and Chiaro waitedfor him in vain.

For the whole of that morning, the music was in Chiaro's roomfrom the Church close at hand: and he could hear the sounds thatthe crowd made in the streets; hushed only at long intervals whilethe processions for the feast-day chanted in going under his windows.Also, more than once, there was a high clamour from the meetingof factious persons: for the ladies of both leagues were lookingdown; and he who encountered his enemy could not choose butdraw upon him. Chiaro waited a long time idle; and then knewthat his model was gone elsewhere. When at his work, he wasblind and deaf to all else; but he feared sloth: for then his stealthythoughts would begin, as it were, to beat round and round him,seeking a point for attack. He now rose, therefore, and went tothe window. It was within a short space of noon; and underneathhim a throng of people was coming out through the porch of SanRocco.