say, except that they
would delight children. Visitors are hurried through in small bands,
and dallying is discouraged. Hence one is merely tantalized by the
presence of their greatest treasure, Botticelli's "Pallas subduing
the Centaur," painted to commemorate Lorenzo de' Medici's successful
diplomatic mission to the King of Naples in 1480, to bring about
the end of the war with Sixtus IV, the prime instigator of the Pazzi
Conspiracy and the bitter enemy of Lorenzo in particular--whose only
fault, as he drily expressed it, had been to "escape being murdered
in the Cathedral"--and of all Tuscany in general. Botticelli, whom
we have already seen as a Medicean allegorist, always ready with
his glancing genius to extol and commend the virtues of that family,
here makes the centaur typify war and oppression while the beautiful
figure which is taming and subduing him by reason represents Pallas,
or the arts of peace, here identifiable with Lorenzo by the laurel
wreath and the pattern of her robe, which is composed of his private
crest of diamond rings intertwined. This exquisite picture--so rich
in colour and of such power and impressiveness--ought to be removed
to an easel in the Pitti Gallery proper. The "Madonna della Rosa,"
by Botticelli or his School, is also here, and I had a moment before
a very alluring Holbein. But my memory of this part of the palace is
made up of gilt and tinsel and plush and candelabra, with two pieces
of furniture outstanding--a blue and silver bed, and a dining table
rather larger than a lawn-tennis court.

The Boboli gardens, which climb the hill from the Pitti, are also
opened only on three afternoons a week. The panorama of Florence and
the surrounding Apennines which one has from the Belvedere makes a
visit worth while; but the gardens themselves are, from the English
point of view, poor, save in extent and in the groves on the way to
the stables (scuderie). Like all gardens where clipped walks are the
principal feature, they want people. They were made for people to
enjoy them, rather than for flowers to grow in, and at every turn
there is a new and charming vista in a green frame.

It was from the Boboli hill-side before it was a garden that much
of the stone of Florence was quarried. With such stones so near it
is less to be wondered at that the buildings are what they are. And
yet it is wonderful too--that these little inland Italian citizens
should so have built their houses for all