Of the seven large free-standing statues, that of the Madonna and Child worthily occupies the central position.  Nobody was more modern than Donatello, nobody less afraid of innovation.  But in this Madonna he went back to archaic ideas, and we have a conception analogous to the versions of the two previous centuries:[195] indeed, his idea is still older, for there is something Byzantine in this liturgical Madonna, who gazes straight in front of her, and far down the nave of the Santo—­a church with mosque-like domes, like those of the early Eastern architects.  The Child is seated in her lap, as in the earliest representation of the subject:  here, however, the Christ is a child, with an element of helplessness almost indicated, whereas the primitive idea had been to show the vigour and often the features of a biggish boy.  Donatello’s version is much more pathetic, as the little Christ raises a tiny hand in benediction.  The Virgin herself is of unequalled solemnity, while her young and gracious face, exquisite in expression and contour, is full of queenly beauty.  But there is still this atmosphere of mystery, an enigmatic aloofness in spite of the warm human sentiment.  The Sphinx’s faces, with all their traditions of secrecy, contribute their share to the cryptic environment.  Donatello uses them as the supports of the throne on which the Madonna is seated; behind it are Adam and Eve in relief:  in front she herself shows the New Adam to the multitude, on whom he confers his blessing.  St. Francis of Padua [Transcriber’s Note:  Should be “Assisi.”] stands on the right of the Madonna, as founder of the Order, and taking precedence of St. Anthony, to whom the church is dedicated.  He holds the crucifix and the book of rules.  He is draped in the ordinary Franciscan habit, which falls round his feet, giving a stiffness to the figure as seen in profile, and making him appear rather short when seen from the front.  The workmanship is good, the hands, with lightly shown stigmata, being excellent; but the lack of distinction in the figure makes one look more closely at the head, which is modelled with great power and freedom, showing that Donatello still possessed the vigour and penetration for which the Campanile prophets are notable.  The head is full of character; not perhaps what one would expect from the apostle of self-abnegation:  but it is determined, strong in the mouth and broad chin.  It was, of course, only meant to be seen a few feet from the ground, and the lines do not compare in depth with the Habbakuk or the Zuccone; but there is none the less an analogy in the manner by which Donatello calls in the assistance of light and shade to add tone and finish to the modelling.  St. Anthony was a deservedly popular saint in Padua, where he preached and denounced the local tyrant; and he may be accounted the greatest man of Portuguese birth.  But Donatello does not seem to have found the subject very inspiring.  He has taken his idea from rather an ordinary friar