influence of the moment.  At Verona he almost ceased to be Florentine:  at Tolentino he was himself; working for the Campanile he was subject to the power of Donatello.  The Prophet Obadiah, which corresponds in position to the St. John Baptist of Donatello on the western face of the tower, shows Rosso to have been a correct and painstaking sculptor, with notions much in advance of Ciuffagni’s; noticeable also for a refinement in the treatment of hands, in which respect many of his rivals lagged far behind.  Judging from the inscription at Verona, Rosso was appreciated by others—­or by himself:[13] he is, in fact, an artist of merit, rarely falling below a respectable average in spite of the frequency with which he changed his style.

[Footnote 13:  On the Brenzoni tomb in the Church of San Fermo:  “Quem genuit Russi Florentia Tusca Johanis:  istud sculpsit opus ingeniosa manus.”]

* * * * *

[Sidenote:  St. John the Baptist.]

Rosso does not compare favourably with Donatello.  Obadiah is less attractive than St. John the Baptist, its pendant.  The test is admittedly severe, for the St. John is a figure remarkable alike in conception and for its technical skill.  Were it not for the scroll bearing the “Ecce Agnus Dei,” we should not suggest St. John as the subject.  Donatello made many Baptists—­boys, striplings and men young and mature:  but in this case only have we something bright and cheerful.  He is no mystic; he differs fundamentally from the gloomy ascetic and the haggard suffering figures in Siena and Berlin.  So far from being morose in appearance, clad in raiment of camel’s hair, fed upon locusts and wild honey, and summoning the land of Judaea to repent, we have a vigorous young Tuscan, well dressed and well fed, standing in an easy and graceful attitude and not without a tinge of pride in the handsome countenance.  In short, the statue is by no means typical of the Saint.  It would more aptly represent some romantic knight of chivalry, a Victor, a Maurice—­even a St. George.  It competes with Donatello’s own version of St. George.  In all essentials they are alike, and the actual figures are identical in gesture and pose, disregarding shield and armour in one case, scroll and drapery in the other.  The two figures are so analogous, that as studies from the nude they would be almost indistinguishable.  They differ in this:  that the Saint on the Campanile is John the Baptist merely because we are told so, while the figure made for Or San Michele is inevitably the soldier saint of Christendom.  It must not be inferred that the success of plastic, skill less that of pictorial, art depends upon the accuracy or vividness with which the presentment “tells its story.”  Under such a criterion the most popular work of art would necessarily bear the palm of supremacy.  But there should be some relation between the statue and the subject-matter.  Nobody knew this better than Donatello:  he seldom incurred