nitential services. It was the colour of the
mortuary-shroud of the kings of France; during the Middle Ages it was
the attribute of mourning, and it is at all times the melancholy garb of
the exorcist.

What is certainly far less easy to explain is the limited variety of
countenance the painter has chosen to adopt. Here symbolism is of no
use. Look, for instance, at the men. The Patriarchs with their bearded
faces do not show us the almost translucent texture, as of the
sacramental wafer, in which the bones show through the dry and
diaphanous parchment-like skin, or like the seeds of the cruciferous
flower called _Monnaie du Pape_ (honesty); they have all regular and
pleasant faces, are all healthy, full-blooded personages, attentive and
devout. His monks too have round faces and rosy cheeks; not one of his
Saints looks like a Recluse of the Desert overcome by fasting, or has
the exhausted emaciation of an ascetic; they are all vaguely alike, with
the same solidity and the same complexion. In fact, as we see them in
this picture, they are a contented colony of excellent people.

At least, so they appear at a first glance.

The women, too, are all of one family; sisters more or less exactly
alike; all fair and rosy, with light snuff-coloured eyes, heavy eyelids,
and round faces; they form a train of rather an insipid type round the
Virgin with her long nose and bird-like head kneeling at the feet of
Christ.

Altogether, among all these figures we find scarcely four distinct
types, if we take into consideration their more or less advanced years
and the modifications resulting from the arrangement of their hair,
their being bearded or shaven, and the pose of the head, front face or
profile, which distinguishes them.

The only groups which are not of an almost uniform stamp are the angels,
sexless youths for ever charming. They are of matchless purity, of a
more than human innocence in their blue and rose-pink and green robes
sprigged with gold, with their yellow or red hair, at once aerial and
heavy, their chastely downcast eyes, and flesh as white as pith. Grave,
but in ecstasy, they play on the harp or the theorbo, on the Viol
d'Amore or the rebeck, singing the eternal glory of the most Holy
Mother.

Thus, on the whole, the types used by Angelico are not less restricted
than his colours.

But then, in spite of the exquisite array of angels, is this picture
monotonous and dull? Is this much-talked-of work over-pr