A round-faced, small-eyed little thing, tied up in a bundle!
Yes, Giotto was of opinion she must have appeared really not much else
than that. But look at the servant who has just finished dressing her;
--awe-struck, full of love and wonder, putting her hand softly on the
child's head, who has never cried. The nurse, who has just taken her,
is--the nurse, and no more: tidy in the extreme, and greatly proud and
pleased: but would be as much so with any other child.
Ghirlandajo's St. Anne (I ought to have told you to notice that,--you
can afterwards) is sitting strongly up in bed, watching, if not
directing, all that is going on. Giotto's lying down on the pillow,
leans her face on her hand; partly exhausted, partly in deep thought.
She knows that all will be well done for the child, either by the
servants, or God; she need not look after anything.
At the foot of the bed is the midwife, and a servant who has brought
drink for St. Anne. The servant stops, seeing her so quiet; asking the
midwife, Shall I give it her now? The midwife, her hands lifted under
her robe, in the attitude of thanksgiving, (with Giotto distinguishable
always, though one doesn't know how, from that of prayer,) answers,
with her look, "Let be--she does not want anything."
At the door a single acquaintance is coming in, to see the child. Of
ornament, there is only the entirely simple outline of the vase which
the servant carries; of colour, two or three masses of sober red, and
pure white, with brown and gray.
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