It contains the Venus de' Medici, the
Explorator, the Pancratist, the Dancing Faun and a fine Apollo. These
more than outweigh the Laocoon and the Belvedere Apollo at Rome. It
contains, besides, the St John of Raphael and many other _chefs-d'oeuvre_
of the greatest masters in the world." It is interesting to compare Mr
Pontifex's effusions with the rhapsodies of critics in our own times. Not
long ago a much esteemed writer informed 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.
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