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Updated: May 8, 2025
This is the latest of Sandro's works which are in public galleries, and there is every probability that the last years of his life were not very productive.
And that, indeed, was Sandro's fortune. He caught her in just such a propitious hour. He saw the sweet wild thing, pure and undefiled by touch of earth; caught her in that pregnant pause of time ere she had lighted. Another moment and a buxom nymph of the grove would fold her in a rosy mantle, coloured as the earliest wood-anemones are.
Yet George Eliot writes that there were wiseacres who shook their heads and said: "This Madonna is the work of some good monk only a man who is deeply religious could put that look of exquisite tenderness and sympathy in a woman's face. Some one is trying to save Sandro's reputation, and win him back from his wayward ways." In the lives of Botticelli and Rembrandt there is a close similarity.
That was not "Sandro's way"; here again he was content to be an ancestor, the originator of his methods, and the sufficient authority for them. He was justified. The spirit of his fighting men ran high, and his fighting men's wives grew gracious to him.
I promised some note of Sandro's Fortitude, before whom I asked you to sit and read the end of my last letter; and I've lost my own notes about her, and forget, now, whether she has a sword, or a mace; it does not matter. What is chiefly notable in her is that you would not, if you had to guess who she was, take her for Fortitude at all.
Sandro's picture is but slight; but it is true to her, and the only one I know that is; and after writing out these verses, you will see why he gives her that swift, peaceful motion, while you read in her face, only sweet solemnity of dreaming thought. "My people delivered, and by my hand; and God has been gracious to His handmaid!"
'Sandro's assistant, becoming frightened, had left his wounded companion on the mesas, and had ridden to the Loring rancho with the story of the fight and its ending. "But I ain't no dove more like a stork, I guess," reflected Sundown as he stood in the doorway of his house. "And storks brings responsibilities in baskets, instead of olive branches.
And that, indeed, was Sandro's fortune. He caught her in just such a propitious hour. He saw the sweet wild thing, pure and undefiled by touch of earth; caught her in that pregnant pause of time ere she had lighted. Another moment and a buxom nymph of the grove would fold her in a rosy mantle, colored as the earliest wood- anemones are.
It once happened that one of these pupils, Biagio by name, had made a copy of one of Sandro's pictures, a beautiful Madonna surrounded by eight angels. This he was very anxious to sell, and the master kindly promised to help him, and in the end arranged the matter with a citizen of Florence, who offered to buy it for six gold pieces.
A drab crew of cripples lounged on the steps yawning and shivering, and two country girls were strolling to mass with brown arms round each other's waists. When Sandro's footfall clattered on the stones they stopped by the door looking after him and laughed to see his dull face and muffled figure.
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