The Judge is what the crimes of the world and Italy have made him.
Immediately below the corbel, and well detached from the squadrons of attendant saints, Christ rises from His throne.

His face is turned in the direction of the damned, His right hand is lifted as though loaded with thunderbolts for their annihilation.

He is a ponderous young athlete; rather say a mass of hypertrophied muscles, with the features of a vulgarised Apollo.

The Virgin sits in a crouching attitude at His right side, slightly averting her head, as though in painful expectation of the coming sentence.

The saints and martyrs who surround Christ and His Mother, while forming one of the chief planes in the composition, are arranged in four unequal groups of subtle and surprising intricacy.