shaven forehead, the rounded breasts, placed high and wide apart, the high and slender waist. The bizarre inscrutable expression of the Madonna’s face, the red and blue cherubim surrounding her, all contribute to give this painting an air of decadent impiety in spite of the stalwart figure of the donor. Godefroy observed on the large frame of blue velvet E’s done in pearls linked by love-knots of gold and silver thread. There is a flavour of blasphemous boldness about the whole, unsurpassed by any artist of the Renaissance.
The irreverence of daily religious practice was almost unbounded. Choristers, when chanting mass, did not scruple to sing the words of the profane songs that had served as a theme for the composition: baisez-moi, rouges nez.[1]
A startling piece of impudence is recorded of the father of the Frisian humanist Rodolph, Agricola, who received the news that his concubine had given birth to a son on the very day when he was elected abbot. “To-day I have twits become a father. God’s blessing on it!” said he.
At the end of the fourteenth century people took the increasing irreverence to be an evil of recent date, which, indeed, is a common phenomenon at all times. Deschamps deplores it in the following lines:
“On souloit estre ou temps passé
En l’église benignement,
A genoux en humilité
Delez l’autel moult closement,
Tout nu le chief piteusement,
Maiz au jour d’uy, si come beste,
On vient à l’autel bien souvent
Chaperon et chapel en teste.”[2]
On festal days, says Nicolas de Clemanges, few people go to mass. They do not stay till the end, and are content with touching the holy water, bowing before Our Lady, or kissing the image of some saint. If they wait for the elevation of the Host, they pride themselves upon it, as if they had conferred a
