he had often at
sunrise and sunset, enjoyed from his Fiesole convent the gentle fields
and dales "peopled with houses and olives"; but, after all, these
beauties of nature so often displayed before him, were dumb to an
artist who was wholly absorbed in visions beyond this world.

The study of the verdant country never occupied his mind; in his
paintings, landscape is either an insignificant accessory, or if it
occupies a large space in the picture as in the "Deposition from the
Cross" in the Florentine Gallery, it shows plainly that it is not the
result of special study, of personal impressions, or of love of the
place itself. In fact it does not attract or interest the observer at
all.

Nor could this be otherwise; the inner life of the spirit, which he
lived so intensely, and so vividly transfused in the figures of his
Saints, must necessarily have abstracted his mind from his
surroundings, to which he therefore gave little attention. In this he
was faithful to the Giottesque principle of not enriching the
background, except by just what was necessary to render the subject
intelligible, and this without pretension, or new research.

His trees rose straight on their trunks, the leaves and branches
spreading in conventional style; his rocks have the usual gradations
which we find in the old school; the views of distant cities are
absolutely fantastic and infantile creations; only the green plain is
often illumined, in an unusual manner, by tiny flowerets of many hues,
while mystic roses crown the angels' locks, adorn overflowing baskets,
or rise on long stalks at the foot of the Virgin's throne in
transparent vases.

Such are the characteristics, the spirit and the sentiment that appear
in the works of Fra Angelico, who might be considered as the last
representative of that school of which Giotto was master; and at the
same time the initiator of "Quattrocento" art, whose powerful
development irresistibly attracted him. He painted so many pictures
for the houses of Florentine citizens, that "I was often astonished,"
writes Vasari, "how one man alone could, even in many years, do so
much and so well." "And we also," justly observes Milanesi, "are not
less amazed than Vasari, for although many works have been dispersed
or are still hidden, yet a great number still remain both in Italy and
other countries, and, what is more remarkable, the greater part are
not mentioned by Vasari."[14]

We will follow our artist in h