Then we have a scene of wonder.  Michael is extended on his bed in profound sleep.  An angel at his head, and another at his feet, are about to lift him up; for, says the story, Michael was so jealous of his treasure, that not only he kindled a lamp every night in its honour, but, fearing he should be robbed of it, he placed it under his bed, which action, though suggested by his profound sense of its value, offended his guardian angels, who every night lifted him from his bed and placed him on the bare earth, which nightly infliction this pious man endured rather than risk the loss of his invaluable relic.  But after some years Michael fell sick and died.

In the last compartment we have the scene of his death.  The bishop Uberto kneels at his side, and receives from him the sacred girdle, with a solemn injunction to preserve it in the cathedral church of the city, and to present it from time to time for the veneration of the people, which injunction Uberto most piously fulfilled; and we see him carrying it, attended by priests bearing torches, in solemn procession to the chapel, in which it has ever since remained.

Agnolo Gaddi was but a second-rate artist, even for his time, yet these frescoes, in spite of the feebleness and general inaccuracy of the drawing, are attractive from a certain naive grace; and the romantic and curious details of the legend have lent them so much of interest, that, as Lord Lindsay says, “when standing on the spot one really feels indisposed for criticism."[1]

[Footnote 1:  M. Rio is more poetical.  “Comme j’entendais raconter cette legende pour la premiere fois, il me semblait que le tableau reflechissait une partie de la poesie qu’elle renferme.  Cet amour d’outre mer mele aux aventures chevaleresques d’une croisade, cette relique precieuse donnee pour dot a une pauvre fille, la devotion des deux epoux pour ce gage revere de leur bonheur, leur depart clandestin, leur navigation prospere avec des dauphins qui leur font cortege a la surface des eaux, leur arrivee a Prato et les miracles repetes qui, joints a une maladie mortelle, arracehrent enfin de la bouche du moribond une declaration publique a la suite de laquelle la ceinture sacree fut deposee dans la cathedrale, tout ce melange de passion romanesque et de piete naive, avait efface pour moi les imperfections techniques qui au raient pu frapper une observateur de sang-froid.”]

The exact date of the frescoes executed by Agnolo Gaddi is not known, but, according to Vasari, he was called to Prato after 1348.  An inscription in the chapel refers them to the year 1390, a date too late to be relied on.  The story of Michele di Prato I have never seen elsewhere; but just as the vicinity of Cologne, the shrine of the “Three Kings,” had rendered the Adoration of the Magi one of the popular themes in early German and Flemish art; so the vicinity of Prato rendered the legend of St. Thomas a favourite theme of the Florentine school, and introduced it wherever the influence of that school had extended.  The fine fresco by Mainardi, in the Baroncelli Chapel, is an instance; and I must cite one yet finer, that by Ghirlandajo in the choir of S. Maria-Novella:  in this last-mentioned example, the Virgin stands erect in star-bespangled drapery and closely veiled.