Then I read
aloud the first two stanzas of _Old Pictures in Florence_, and
realised for the thousandth time the definiteness of Browning's
poetry. This particular poem is a mixture of art and doggerel; but
even the latter is interesting to lovers of Florence.
Not a churlish saint, Lorenzo Monaco?
Did you ever stand in front of the picture by Lorenzo that Browning
had in mind, and observe the churlish saints? Most saints in Italian
pictures look either happy or complacent; because they have just
been elected to the society of heaven and are in for life. But for
some strange reason, Lorenzo's saints, although in the Presence, and
worshipping with music, look as if they were suffering from acute
indigestion. If one will wander about the galleries of Florence, and
take along Browning, one will find the poet more specifically
informing than Baedeker.
The philosophy of this poem is Browning's favorite philosophy of
development. He compares the perfection of Greek art with the
imperfection of the real human body.
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