n Mourning, the fourth from the end on the left, which is
a superb creation.

Donatello's Judith, which gives me less pleasure than any of his work,
both in the statue and in the relief, was commissioned for Cosimo
de' Medici, who placed it in the courtyard or garden of the Medici
palace--Judith, like David, by her brave action against a tyrant,
being a champion of the Florentine republic. In 1495, after Cosimo's
worthless grandson Piero de' Medici had been expelled from Florence
and the Medici palace sacked, the statue was moved to the front of the
Palazzo Vecchio, where the David now is, and an inscription placed
on it describing it as a warning to all enemies of liberty. This
position being needed for Michelangelo's David, in 1506, Judith was
moved to the Loggia to the place where the Sabine group now is. In
1560 it took up its present position.

Cellini's Perseus will not quite do, I think, after Donatello and
Verrocchio; but few bronzes are more famous, and certainly of none
has so vivacious and exciting a story been written as Cellini's own,
setting forth his disappointments, mortifications, and pride in
connexion with this statue. Cellini, whatever one may think of his
veracity, is a diverting and valuable writer, and the picture of
Cosimo I which he draws for us is probably very near the truth. We
see him haughty, familiar, capricious, vain, impulsive, clear-sighted,
and easily flattered; intensely pleased to be in a position to command
the services of artists and very unwilling to pay. Cellini was a blend
of lackey, child, and genius. He left Francis I in order to serve
Cosimo and never ceased to regret the change. The Perseus was his
greatest accomplishment for Cosimo, and the narrative of its casting
is terrific and not a little like Dumas. When it was uncovered in its
present position all Florence flocked to the Loggia to praise it; the
poets placed commendatory sonnets on the pillars, and the sculptor
peacocked up and down in an ecstasy of triumph. Then, however, his
troubles once more began, for Cosimo had the craft to force Cellini
to name the price, and we see Cellini in an agony between desire for
enough and fear lest if he named enough he would offend his patron.

The whole book is a comedy of vanity and jealousy and Florentine
vigour, with Courts as a background. It is good to read it; it is
good, having read it, to study once again the unfevered resolute
features of Donatello's S. George. Cellini