Then came the thirteenth century, an era notable in the history of mind, more especially notable in the history of art.  The seed scattered hither and thither, during the stormy and warlike period of the crusades, now sprung up and flourished, bearing diverse fruit.  A more contemplative enthusiasm, a superstition tinged with a morbid melancholy, fermented into life and form.  In that general “fit of compunction,” which we are told seized all Italy at this time, the passionate devotion for the benign Madonna mingled the poetry of pity with that of pain; and assuredly this state of feeling, with its mental and moral requirements, must have assisted in emancipating art from the rigid formalism of the degenerate Greek school.  Men’s hearts, throbbing with a more feeling, more pensive life, demanded something more like life,—­and produced it.  It is curious to trace in the Madonnas of contemporary, but far distant and unconnected schools of painting, the simultaneous dawning of a sympathetic sentiment—­for the first time something in the faces of the divine beings responsive to the feeling of the worshippers.  It was this, perhaps, which caused the enthusiasm excited by Cimabue’s great Madonna, and made the people shout and dance for joy when it was uncovered before them.  Compared with the spectral rigidity, the hard monotony, of the conventional Byzantines, the more animated eyes, the little touch of sweetness in the still, mild face, must have been like a smile out of heaven.  As we trace the same softer influence in the earliest Siena and Cologne pictures of about the same period, we may fairly regard it as an impress of the spirit of the time, rather than that of an individual mind.

In the succeeding century these elements of poetic art, expanded and animated by an awakened observation of nature, and a sympathy with her external manifestations, were most especially directed by the increasing influence of the worship of the Virgin, a worship at once religious and chivalrous.  The title of “Our Lady"[1] came first into general use in the days of chivalry, for she was the lady “of all hearts,” whose colours all were proud to wear.  Never had her votaries so abounded.  Hundreds upon hundreds had enrolled themselves in brotherhoods, vowed to her especial service;[2] or devoted to acts of charity, to be performed in her name.[3] Already the great religious communities, which at this time comprehended all the enthusiasm, learning, and influence of the Church, had placed themselves solemnly and especially under her protection.  The Cistercians wore white in honour of her purity; the Servi wore black in respect to her sorrows; the Franciscans had enrolled themselves as champions of the Immaculate Conception; and the Dominicans introduced the rosary.  All these richly endowed communities vied with each other in multiplying churches, chapels, and pictures, in honour of their patroness, and expressive of her several attributes.  The devout painter, kneeling before his easel, addressed himself to the task of portraying those heavenly lineaments which had visited him perhaps in dreams.  Many of the professed monks and friars became themselves accomplished artists.[4]