. Earthwork out of Tuscany : being impressions and translations of Maurice Hewlett. nd the Dominican Church. Thismixture is Florence and has made her art. Theblue of the sky gives the key to her palette, thebreath of the west wind, the salt wind from our ownAtlantic, tingles in her campanill; and the Italiansun washes over all with his lazy gold. Habit andinclination both speak. She rejects no wise thingand accepts every lovely thing. Nature and Art haveworked hand in hand, as they will when we letthem. For what is an art so inimitable, so innocent,so intimate as this of Tuscany, after all, bu
. Earthwork out of Tuscany : being impressions and translations of Maurice Hewlett. nd the Dominican Church. Thismixture is Florence and has made her art. Theblue of the sky gives the key to her palette, thebreath of the west wind, the salt wind from our ownAtlantic, tingles in her campanill; and the Italiansun washes over all with his lazy gold. Habit andinclination both speak. She rejects no wise thingand accepts every lovely thing. Nature and Art haveworked hand in hand, as they will when we letthem. For what is an art so inimitable, so innocent,so intimate as this of Tuscany, after all, but a higheffort of creative Nature—Natura naturans, as Spinosacalls her ? Here, on the weather-fretted walls, aDelia Robbia blossoms out in natural colours—blue and white and green. They are Springscolours. You need not go into the Bargello tounderstand Luca and Andrea at their happy task;as well go to a botanical museum to read the secretof April. See them on the dusty wall of Orsam-michele. They have wrought the blossom of thestone—clusters of bright-eyed flowers with the. Eye of Italy lo throats and eyes of angels, singing, you might say,a childrens hymn to Our Lady, throned and purein the midst of the bevy. See the Spedale degliInnocenti, where a score of little flowery whitechildren grow, open-armed, out of their sky-bluemedallions. Really, are they lilies, or children,or the embodied strophes of a psalter ? you mix my metaphors like an Irishman, but you willsee my meaning. All the arts blend in art: rienne fait mieux entendre combien un faux sonnet estridicule que de simaginer une femme ou une maisonfaite sur ce modele-la. Pascal knew; and sodid Philip Sidney. Nature never set forth theearth in so rich tapestry as divers poets have done; and the nearer truth seems to be that Art is Naturemade articulate. Natures soul inflamed with loveand voicing her secrets through one man to there may be no difference between me and acabbage-rose but this, that 1 can
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