lding, pottery, training horses, weaving, lawgiving, and
exploration--are certainly by Andrea; while among the rest the Jubal,
the Creation of Man, the Creation of Woman, seem to be his own among the
work of his pupils. It is to quite another hand, however, to Luca della
Robbia, that the Grammar, Poetry, Philosophy, Astrology, and Music must
be given. The genius of Andrea Pisano, at its best in those Baptistery
gates, in the panel of the Baptism of our Lord, for instance, or in
those marvellous works on the facade of the Duomo at Orvieto, so full of
force, vitality, and charm, is, as I think, less fortunate in its
expression when he is concerned with such work as these statues of the
prophets in the niches on the south wall of the Campanile,--if indeed
they be his. Seen as these figures are, beside the large, splendid,
realistic work of Donatello, so wonderfully ugly in the Zuccone, so
pitiless in the Habakkuk, they are quickly forgotten; but indeed
Donatello's work seems to stand alone in the history of sculpture till
the advent of Michelangelo.

I speak of Donatello elsewhere in this book,[92] but you will find one
of his best works among much curious, interesting litter from the Duomo
in the Opera del Duomo, the Cathedral Museum in the old Falconieri
Palace just behind the apse of the Cathedral. A bust of Cosimo Primo
stands over the entrance, and within you find a beautiful head of
Brunellesco by Buggiano. It is, however, in a room on the first floor
that you will find the great organ lofts, one by Donatello and the other
by Luca della Robbia, which I suppose are among the best known works of
art in the world. Made for the Cathedral, these galleries for singers
seem to be imprisoned in a museum.

The beautiful youths of Luca, the children of Donatello, for all their
seeming vigour and joy, sing and dance no more; they are in as evil a
case as the Madonnas of the Uffizi, who, in their golden frames behind
the glass, under the vulgar, indifferent eyes of the multitude, envy
Madonna of the street-corner the love of the lowly. So it is with the
beautiful Cantorie made for God's praise by Donatello and Luca della
Robbia. Before the weary eyes of the sight-seer, the cold eyes of the
scientific critic, in the horrid silence of a museum, amid so much that
is dead, here the headless trunk of some saint, there the battered
fragments of what was once a statue, some shadow has fallen upon them,
and though they keep still the g