d; not to idealise them
into forms artfully impressive to the spectator. But in so far as he
was compelled to retain, or did not wish to reject, the figurative
character of the Byzantine symbols, he stands opposed to succeeding
realists, in the quantity of meaning which probably lies hidden in any
composition, as well as in the simplicity with which he will probably
treat it, in order to enforce or guide to this meaning: the figures
being often letters of a hieroglyphic, which he will not multiply,
lest he should lose in force of suggestion what he gained in dramatic
interest.

None of the compositions display more clearly this typical and
reflective character than that of the Raising of Lazarus. Later
designers dwell on vulgar conditions of wonder or horror, such as they
could conceive likely to attend the resuscitation of a corpse; but
with Giotto the physical reanimation is the type of a spiritual one,
and, though shown to be miraculous, is yet in all its deeper aspects
unperturbed, and calm in awfulness. It is also visibly gradual. "His
face was bound about with a napkin." The nearest Apostle has withdrawn
the covering from the face, and looks for the command which shall
restore it from wasted corruption, and sealed blindness, to living
power and light.

Nor is it, I believe, without meaning, that the two Apostles, if
indeed they are intended for Apostles, who stand at Lazarus' side,
wear a different dress from those who follow Christ. I suppose them
to be intended for images of the Christian and Jewish Churches in
their ministration to the dead soul: the one removing its bonds, but
looking to Christ for the word and power of life; the other inactive
and helpless--the veil upon its face--in dread; while the principal
figure fulfils the order it receives in fearless simplicity.

* * * * *

XXV.

THE ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM.

This design suffers much from loss of colour in translation. Its
decorative effect depends on the deep blue ground, relieving the
delicate foliage and the local colours of dresses and architecture. It
is also one of those which are most directly opposed to modern
feeling: the sympathy of the spectator with the passion of the crowd
being somewhat rudely checked by the grotesque action of two of the
foremost figures. We ought, however, rather to envy the deep
seriousness which could not be moved from dwelling on the real power
of the scene by any ungracefulness