DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.61902#0232
212
THE MAKEHS OF FLORENCE.
the mountain watchers stood round about, and the little
Tuscan hills on a lower level stretched their vine garlands
like hands each to the other, and drew near, a wistful
friendly band, to see what Florence was doing. Florence,
heart and soul of all, lay under him, as he took his moon-
Florence, from Fiesole.
light meditative stroll on the terrace or gazed and mused
out of his narrow window. One can fancy that the com-
position of that lovely landscape stole into the painter’s
heart and worked itself into his works, in almost all of
which some group of reverent spectators, Dominican
brethren with rapt faces, or saintly women, or angel
lookers-on more ethereal still, stand by and watch with
adoring awe the sacred mysteries transacted in their pres-
ence, with something of the same deep calm and hush
which breathes about the blue spectator-heights round the
City of Flowers. What Fra Giovanni saw was not what
THE MAKEHS OF FLORENCE.
the mountain watchers stood round about, and the little
Tuscan hills on a lower level stretched their vine garlands
like hands each to the other, and drew near, a wistful
friendly band, to see what Florence was doing. Florence,
heart and soul of all, lay under him, as he took his moon-
Florence, from Fiesole.
light meditative stroll on the terrace or gazed and mused
out of his narrow window. One can fancy that the com-
position of that lovely landscape stole into the painter’s
heart and worked itself into his works, in almost all of
which some group of reverent spectators, Dominican
brethren with rapt faces, or saintly women, or angel
lookers-on more ethereal still, stand by and watch with
adoring awe the sacred mysteries transacted in their pres-
ence, with something of the same deep calm and hush
which breathes about the blue spectator-heights round the
City of Flowers. What Fra Giovanni saw was not what