 the world that he felt
»disposed to cry out with delight« before a figure by Michael Angelo. I wonder
whether he would feel disposed to cry out before a real Michael Angelo, if the
critics had decided that it was not genuine, or before a reputed Michael Angelo
which was really by someone else. But I suppose that a prig with more money than
brains was much the same sixty or seventy years ago as he is now.
    Look at Mendelssohn again about this same Tribune on which Mr. Pontifex felt
so safe in staking his reputation as a man of taste and culture. He feels no
less safe and writes, »I then went to the Tribune. This room is so delightfully
small you can traverse it in fifteen paces, yet it contains a world of art. I
again sought out my favourite armchair which stands under the statue of the
Slave whetting his knife (L'Arrotino), and taking possession of it I enjoyed
myself for a couple of hours; for here at one glance I had the Madonna del
Cardellino, Pope Julius II., a female portrait by Raphael, and above it a lovely
Holy Family by Perugino; and so close to me that I could have touched with my
hand the Venus de' Medici; beyond, that of Titian. ... The space between is
occupied by other pictures of Raphael's, a portrait by Titian, a Domenichino,
etc., etc., all these within the circumference of a small semi-circle no larger
than one of your own rooms. This is a spot where a man feels his own
insignificance and may well learn to be humble.« The Tribune is a slippery place
for people like Mendelssohn to study humility in. They generally take two steps
away from it for one they take towards it. I wonder how many chalks Mendelssohn
gave himself for having sat two hours on that chair. I wonder how often he
looked at his watch to see if his two hours were up. I wonder how often he told
himself that he was quite as big a gun, if the truth were known, as any of the
men whose works he saw before him, how often he wondered whether any of the
visitors were recognising him and admiring him for sitting such a long time in
the same chair, and how often he was vexed at seeing them pass him by and take
no notice of him. But perhaps if the truth were known his two hours was not
quite two hours.
    Returning to Mr. Pontifex, whether he liked what he believed to be the
masterpieces of Greek and Italian art or no
