L. Unquestionably; and granting him to be that, the peculiar phenomenon in his art is, to me, not its loveliness, but its weakness.  The effect of “inspiration,” had it been real, on a man of consummate genius, should have been, one would have thought, to make everything that he did faultless and strong, no less than lovely.  But of all men, deserving to be called “great,” Fra Angelico permits to himself the least pardonable faults, and the most palpable follies.  There is evidently within him a sense of grace, and power of invention, as great as Ghiberti’s:—­we are in the habit of attributing those high qualities to his religious enthusiasm; but, if they were produced by that enthusiasm in him, they ought to be produced by the same feelings in others; and we see they are not.  Whereas, comparing him with contemporary great artists, of equal grace and invention, one peculiar character remains notable in him,—­which, logically, we ought therefore to attribute to the religious fervor;—­and that distinctive character is, the contented indulgence of his own weaknesses, and perseverance in his own ignorances.

Mary.  But that’s dreadful!  And what is the source of the peculiar charm which we all feel in his work?

L. There are many sources of it, Mary; united and seeming like one.  You would never feel that charm but in the work of an entirely good man; be sure of that; but the goodness is only the recipient and modifying element, not the creative one.  Consider carefully what delights you in any original picture of Angelico’s.  You will find, for one minor thing, an exquisite variety and brightness of ornamental work.  That is not Angelico’s inspiration.  It is the final result of the labor and thought of millions of artists, of all nations; from the earliest Egyptian potters downwards—­Greeks, Byzantines, Hindoos, Arabs, Gauls, and Northmen—­all joining in the toil; and consummating it in Florence, in that century, with such embroidery of robe and inlaying of armor as had never been seen till then; nor probably, ever will be seen more.  Angelico merely takes his share of this inheritance, and applies it in the tenderest way to subjects which are peculiarly acceptant of it.  But the inspiration, if it exist anywhere, flashes on the knight’s shield quite as radiantly as on the monk’s picture.  Examining farther into the sources of your emotion in the Angelico work, you will find much of the impression of sanctity dependent on a singular repose and grace of gesture, consummating itself in the floating, flying, and above all, in the dancing groups.  That is not Angelico’s inspiration.  It is only a peculiarly tender use of systems of grouping which had been long before developed by Giotto, Memmi, and Orcagna; and the real root of it all is simply—­What do you think, children?  The beautiful dancing of the Florentine maidens!

Dora (indignant again).  Now, I wonder what next!  Why not say it all depended on Herodias’ daughter, at once?