enser, and less fatiguing realisation. This is precisely
what the artist who succeeds in representing movement achieves: making
us realise it as we never can actually, he gives us a heightened sense
of capacity, and whatever is in the actuality enjoyable, he allows us to
enjoy at our leisure. In words already familiar to us, he _extracts the
significance of movements_, just as, in rendering tactile values, the
artist extracts the corporeal significance of objects. His task is,
however, far more difficult, although less indispensable:--it is not
enough that he should extract the values of what at any given moment is
an actuality, as is an object, but what at no moment really is--namely
movement. He can accomplish his task in only one way, and that is by so
rendering the one particular movement that we shall be able to realise
all other movements that the same figure may make. "He is grappling with
his enemy now," I say of my wrestler. "What a pleasure to be able to
realise in my own muscles, on my own chest, with my own arms and legs,
the life that is in him as he is making his supreme effort! What a
pleasure, as I look away from the representation, to realise in the same
manner, how after the contest his muscles will relax, and rest trickle
like a refreshing stream through his nerves!" All this I shall be made
to enjoy by the artist who, in representing any one movement, can give
me the logical sequence of visible strain and pressure in the parts and
muscles.

It is just here that the scientific spirit of the Florentine naturalists
was of immense service to art. This logic of sequence is to be attained
only by great, although not necessarily more than empiric, knowledge of
anatomy, such perhaps as the artist pure would never be inclined to work
out for himself, but just such as would be of absorbing interest to
those scientists by temperament and artists by profession whom we have
in Pollaiuolo and, to a less extent, in Verrocchio. We remember how
Giotto contrived to render tactile values. Of all the possible outlines,
of all the possible variations of light and shade that a figure may
have, he selected those that we must isolate for special attention when
we are actually realising it. If instead of figure, we say figure in
movement, the same statement applies to the way Pollaiuolo rendered
movement--with this difference, however, that he had to render what in
actuality we never can perfectly isolate, the line and light