It was beautiful to observe, indeed, how tender was the soul of man and
woman towards the Virgin mother, in recognition of the tenderness which,
as their faith taught them, she immortally cherishes towards all human
souls. In the wire-work screen 'before each shrine hung offerings of
roses, or whatever flower was sweetest and most seasonable; some already
wilted and withered, some fresh with that very morning's dewdrops.
Flowers there were, too, that, being artificial, never bloomed on earth,
nor would ever fade. The thought occurred to Kenyon, that flower-pots
with living plants might be set within the niches, or even that
rose-trees, and all kinds of flowering shrubs, might be reared under the
shrines, and taught to twine and wreathe themselves around; so that
the Virgin should dwell within a bower of verdure, bloom, and fragrant
freshness, symbolizing a homage perpetually new. There are many things
in the religious customs of these people that seem good; many things,
at least, that might be both good and beautiful, if the soul of goodness
and the sense of beauty were as much alive in the Italians now as they
must have been when those customs were first imagined and adopted. But,
instead of blossoms on the shrub, or freshly gathered, with the dewdrops
on their leaves, their worship, nowadays, is best symbolized by the
artificial flower.
The sculptor fancied, moreover (but perhaps it was his heresy that
suggested the idea), that it would be of happy influence to place a
comfortable and shady seat beneath every wayside shrine. Then the weary
and sun-scorched traveller, while resting himself under her protecting
shadow, might thank the Virgin for her hospitality. Nor, perchance,
were he to regale himself, even in such a consecrated spot, with the
fragrance of a pipe, would it rise to heaven more offensively than
the smoke of priestly incense. We do ourselves wrong, and too meanly
estimate the Holiness above us, when we deem that any act or enjoyment,
good in itself, is not good to do religiously.
Whatever may be the iniquities of the papal system, it was a wise and
lovely sentiment that set up the frequent shrine and cross along the
roadside. No wayfarer, bent on whatever worldly errand, can fail to be
reminded, at every mile or two, that this is not the business which
most concerns him. The pleasure-seeker is silently admonished to look
heavenward for a joy infinitely greater than he now possesses. The
wretch in temptation beholds the cross, and is warned that, if he yield,
the Saviour's agony for his sake will have been endured in vain. The
stubborn criminal, whose heart has long been like a stone, feels it
throb anew with dread and hope; and our poor Donatello, as he went
kneeling from shrine to cross, and from cross to shrine, doubtless found
an efficacy in these symbols that helped him towards a higher penitence.