paid the greatest care to the relation between the location of the statue and its carving:  his work consequently suffers enormously by removal:  to change its position is to take away something given it by the master himself.  The Judith looks mean beneath the Loggia de’ Lanzi; the original of the St. George in the museum is less telling than the copy which has replaced it at Or San Michele.  Photography is also apt to show too clearly certain exaggerations and violences deliberately calculated by Donatello to compensate for distance, as on the Campanile, or for darkness, as on the Cantoria.  The reproductions, therefore, of those works not intended to be seen from close by must be judged with this reservation.  The classical sculptors seem to have been oblivious of this sense of distance.  Cases have been quoted to show that they did realise it, such as the protruding forehead of Zeus or the deep-set eyes of the Vatican Medusa.  These are accidents, or at best coincidences, for the sense of distance is not shown by merely giving prominence to one portion or feature of a face.  In Roman art the band of relief on the Column of Trajan certainly gets slightly broader as the height increases:  but the modification was half-hearted.  It does not help one to see the carving, which at the summit is almost meaningless, while it only serves to diminish the apparent height of the column.  So, too, in the triumphal arches of the Roman Emperors little attention was paid to the relative and varying attitudes of the bas-reliefs.  From Greek art the Parthenon Frieze gives a singular example of this unrealised law.  When in situ the frieze was only visible at a most acute angle and in a most unfavourable light:  beyond the steps it vanished altogether, so one was obliged to stand among the columns to see it at all, and it was also necessary to look upwards almost perpendicularly.  The frieze is nearly three feet four inches high and its upper part is carved in rather deeper relief than the base:  but, even so, the extraordinary delicacy of this unique carving was utterly wasted, since the technical treatment of the marble was wholly unsuited to its emplacement.  The amazing beauty of the sculpture and the unsurpassed skill of Phidias were never fully revealed until its home had been changed from Athens to Bloomsbury.

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[Illustration:  Alinari

THE ZUCCONE

CAMPANILE, FLORENCE]

[Sidenote:  The Zuccone, “Realism” and Nature.]

The Zuccone is one of the eternal mysteries of Italian art.  What can have been Donatello’s intention?  Why give such prominence to this graceless type?  Baldinucci called it St. Mark.[21] Others have been misled by the lettering on the plinth below the statue “David Rex”:  beneath the Jeremiah is “Salomon Rex."[22] These inscriptions belonged, of course, to the kings which made way for Donatello’s