ir dead bodies:--their
native valley between its mountains is to them as the furrow of a
grave;--"and so much of their land they have, as is sepulcher." Nay, not
of Florence and Pisa only was this true: Venice and Genoa died in
death-grapple; and eight cities of Lombardy divided between them the joy
of leveling Milan to her lowest stone. Nay, not merely in city against
city, but in street against street, and house against house, the fury of
the Theban dragon flamed ceaselessly, and with the same excuse upon
men's lips. The sign of the shield of Polynices, Justice bringing back
the exile, was to them all, in turn, the portent of death: and their
history, in the sum of it and substance, is as of the servants of Joab
and Abner by the pool of Gibeon. "They caught every one his fellow by
the head, and thrust his sword in his fellow's side; so they fell down
together: wherefore that place was called 'the field of the strong
men.'"

254. Now it is not possible for Christian men to live thus, except under
a fever of insanity. I have before, in my lectures on Prudence and
Insolence in art, deliberately asserted to you the logical accuracy of
the term 'demoniacal possession'[BR]--the being in the power or
possession of a betraying spirit; and the definite sign of such insanity
is delight in witnessing pain, usually accompanied by an instinct that
gloats over or plays with physical uncleanness or disease, and always by
a morbid egotism. It is not to be recognized for demoniacal power so
much by its _viciousness_, as its _paltriness_,--the taking pleasure in
minute, contemptible, and loathsome things.[BS] Now, in the middle of
the gallery of the Brera at Milan, there is an elaborate study of a
dead Christ, entirely characteristic of early fifteenth century Italian
madman's work. It is called--and was presented to the people as--a
Christ; but it _is_ only an anatomical study of a vulgar and ghastly
dead body, with the soles of the feet set straight at the spectator, and
the rest foreshortened. It is either Castagno's or Mantegna's,--in my
mind, set down to Castagno; but I have not looked at the picture for
years, and am not sure at this moment. It does not matter a straw which:
it is exactly characteristic of the madness in which all of
them--Pollajuolo, Castagno, Mantegna, Lionardo da Vinci, and Michael
Angelo, polluted their work with the science of the sepulcher,[BT] and
degraded it with presumptuous and paltry technical skill. F