flash with lightning; they still withhold it, but we feel that it may
break forth, and we tremble. This glance is truly splendid; it
fascinates you, attracts you, and, at the same time, fills you with
terror. The lips are quivering, and, from the point of view of line,
that is the great mystery, I think; the upper lip, visibly lifted on the
left side, assumes a strange accent of anger and indignation. This
deviation of a single feature is materially a small matter, and yet it
suffices to stamp the whole countenance with irresistible action. The
Infant Jesus assumes a formidable aspect; we recognize in him the
Sovereign Judge; his power is infinite and one act of his will be
sufficient to condemn or absolve. The _Virgin of the Chair_ had given us
a presentiment of this image in 1516; the _Virgin of St. Sixtus_ shows
it to us in 1518, in its eternal grandeur and sublime reality. But the
Word of God would scarcely leave room for anything but fear, if the
Virgin did not immediately come to shed hope in the soul terrified at
the idea of justice.

In fact, the Virgin remains calm and serene beside her enraged son, and
reassures our heart also with her confidence. If she presents the Son of
God to the world under a terrifying aspect, at the same time she presses
him so tenderly against her breast, and her features, under the
splendour of the divine radiance, shine with such purity that we feel
the flame that purifies all passing within ourselves. The Virgin
appears here like the dawning light. She advances from right to left,
beautiful as the skies, light as the cloud that bears her. Her gait, or
rather her flight through the air, is stamped with royal nobleness and
dignity. Her right hand, raised as high as the shoulder, holds the body
of Jesus under his right arm, and the Saviour lies back against his
Mother's right arm, while Mary's left arm is placed under the Infant's
body to support and carry him. The Virgin of St. Sixtus, like every