nd ample Chronicle than from contemplating
such representative works of art. Moreover, the Florentine masters
took heed to paint, under the shade of orange groves, on the
flower-starred turf, fair ladies and gallant knights, with Death lying
in wait for them with his scythe, while they were discoursing of love
to the sound of lutes and viols. Nothing was better fitted to convert
carnal-minded sinners who quaff forgetfulness of God on the lips of
women. To rebuke the covetous, the painter would show to the life the
Devils pouring molten gold down the throat of Bishop or Abbess, who
had commissioned some work from him and then scamped his pay.

This is why the Demons in those days were bitter enemies of the
painters, and above all of the Florentine painters, who surpassed all
the rest in subtlety of wit. Chiefly they reproached them with
representing them under a hideous guise, with the heads of bird and
fish, serpents' bodies and bats' wings. This sore resentment which
they felt will come out plainly in the history of Spinello of Arezzo.

Spinello Spinelli was sprung of a noble family of Florentine exiles,
and his graciousness of mind matched his gentle birth; for he was the
most skilful painter of his time. He wrought many and great works at
Florence; and the Pisans begged him to complete Giotto's
wall-paintings in their Campo Santo, where the dead rest beneath roses
in holy earth shipped from Jerusalem. At last, after working long
years in divers cities and getting much gold, he longed to see once
more the good city of Arezzo, his mother. The men of Arezzo had not
forgotten how Spinello, in his younger days, being enrolled in the
Confraternity of Santa Maria della Misericordia, had visited the sick
and buried the dead in the plague of 1383. They were grateful to him
besides for having by his works spread the fame of their city over all
Tuscany. For all these reasons they welcomed him with high honours on
his return.

Still full of vigour in his old age, he undertook important tasks in
his native town. His wife would tell him:

"You are rich, Spinello. Do you rest, and leave younger men to paint
instead of you. It is meet a man should end his days in a gentle,
religious quiet. It is tempting God to be for ever raising new and
worldly monuments, mere heathen towers of Babel. Quit your colours and
your varnishes, Spinello, or they will destroy your peace of mind."

So the good dame would preach, but he refused to lis