ten, for his one
thought was to increase his fortune and renown. Far from resting on
his laurels, he arranged a price with the Wardens of Sant' Agnolo for
a history of St. Michael, that was to cover all the Choir of the
Church and contain an infinity of figures. Into this enterprise he
threw himself with extraordinary ardour. Re-reading the parts of
Scripture that were to be his inspiration, he set himself to study
deeply every line and every word of these passages. Not content with
drawing all day long in his workshop, he persisted in working both at
bed and board; while at dusk, walking below the hill on whose brow
Arezzo proudly lifts her walls and towers, he was still lost in
thought. And we may say the story of the Archangel was already limned
in his brain when he started to sketch out the incidents in red chalk
on the plaster of the wall. He was soon done tracing these outlines;
then he fell to painting above the high altar the scene that was to
outshine all the others in brilliancy. For it was his intent therein
to glorify the leader of the hosts of Heaven for the victory he won
before the beginning of time. Accordingly Spinello represented St.
Michael fighting in the air against the serpent with seven heads and
ten horns, and he figured with delight, in the bottom part of the
picture, the Prince of the Devils, Lucifer, under the semblance of an
appalling monster. The figures seemed to grow to life of themselves
under his hand. His success was beyond his fondest hopes; so hideous
was the countenance of Lucifer, none could escape the nightmare of its
foulness. The face haunted the painter in the streets and even went
home with him to his lodging.

Presently when night was come, Spinello lay down in his bed beside his
wife and fell asleep. In his slumbers he saw an Angel as comely as St.
Michael, but black; and the Angel said to him:

"Spinello, I am Lucifer. Tell me, where had you seen me, that you
should paint me as you have, under so ignominious a likeness?"

The old painter answered, trembling, that he had never seen him with
his eyes, never having gone down alive into Hell, like Messer Dante
Alighieri; but that, in depicting him as he had done, he was for
expressing in visible lines and colours the hideousness of sin.

Lucifer shrugged his shoulders, and the hill of San Gemignano seemed
of a sudden to heave and stagger.

"Spinello," he went on, "will you do me the pleasure to reason awhile
with me? I am