ough the technical mastery is
almost thrilling, the "Madonna del Pozzo" by Andrea del Sarto's friend
Franciabigio, close by--No. 1125--arouses infinitely livelier feelings
in the observer, so much movement and happiness has it. Raphael is
perfect but cold; Franciabigio is less perfect (although exceedingly
accomplished) but warm with life. The charm of this picture is as
notable as the skill of Raphael's: it is wholly joyous, and the little
Madonna really once lived. Both are reproduced in this volume.

Raphael's neighbouring youthful "John the Baptist" is almost a
Giorgione for richness, but is as truly Raphael as the Sebastian
del Piombo, once (like the Franciabigio also) called a Raphael, is
not. How it came to be considered Raphael, except that there may be
a faint likeness to the Fornarina, is a mystery.

The rooms next the Tribuna have for some time been under
reconstruction, and of these I say little, nor of what pictures are
to be placed there. But with the Tribuna, in any case, the collection
suddenly declines, begins to crumble. The first of these rooms, in the
spring of this year, 1912, was opened with a number of small Italian
paintings; but they are probably only temporarily there. Chief among
them was a Parmigianino, a Boltraffio, a pretty little Guido Reni,
a Cosimo Tura, a Lorenzo Costa, but nothing really important.

In the tiny Gem Room at the end of the corridor are wonders of
the lapidary's art--and here is the famous intaglio portrait of
Savonarola--but they want better treatment. The vases and other
ornaments should have the light all round them, as in the Galerie
d'Apollon at the Louvre. These are packed together in wall cases and
are hard to see.

Passing through the end corridor, where the beautiful Matrona reclines
so placidly on her couch against the light, and where we have such
pleasant views of the Ponte Vecchio, the Trinita bridge, the Arno,
and the Apennines, so fresh and real and soothing after so much paint,
we come to the rooms containing the famous collection of self-painted
portraits, which, moved hither from Rome, has been accumulating
in the Uffizi for many years and is still growing, to be invited
to contribute to it being one of the highest honours a painter can
receive. The portraits occupy eight rooms and a passage. Though the
collection is historically and biographically valuable, it contains for
every interesting portrait three or four dull ones, and thus becomes
somethi