Page:010 Once a week Volume X Dec 1863 to Jun 64.pdf/234

 ONCE A WEEK. harbour, and struggle tible violence of the

on of tall waves and howls savagely shutters of the desolate Albergo. Through the spray my eye wanders

of shivering and leaping

on all sides by volumes of thick

which which I can only faintly trace

mountainous outlines. From the leaden

me to the boys sleeping in the boats beneath me under the shelter of the

ling tone is black and cheerless.

only creature who gives signs of life, by tottering to and fro, and mum-

he passes me that the lake is

He is speaking of the lake of Como.

lilt

small to fac

gome

lie

It was towards the close of a rough day in

my way to England

Pass, I found myself on the spot I have described. A friend had arranged to meet me further up the lake, and influenced

of losing an agreeable companion

was earnestly seeking some means of continuing my journey. The small steamer

from Como in the afternoon was kept in the harbour by the storm, and the very little attention to the remon-

the public as urged by myself, their passenger. To remain was out of the the dreary salle-à-manger was insup-

and the table-d'hôte, shared by my e landlord, and the salad-bowl, simply

ible. But although I had determined to proceed, between the resolution and the

yawned a formidable chasm, and

Curtius among the boatmen seemed for it was only with the greatest procured a boat at an exorbitant take me on to Caneggio. Here again ill-luck pursued me, for after proceeding

of miles my boatmen uncere-

and declared that all upon them to row

argument was

to have re-

gardens of which

unexpectedly found myself. Fortunately was in reality

ted

rounds of an ap-

l.uildin the sa

i

course to

eon:

th<;

•

iinunicative old

minutes fully acquainted me then .i,,ily of S , i

show

looking apartments, and listened wearily as she rolled out a series of excellently studied histories attached to the portraits in the gallery. One

of these, I must acknowledge, awakened in me a certain amount of interest. It appeared somewhat larger than those which surrounded it, and attracted my attention principally on ac-

count of a distinction which

it enjoyed apart It was carefully covered companions. Actuated by a feeling that with red baize. was perfectly natural, no sooner did I discover that this portrait was hidden from me, than I To this instantly expressed a desire to see it.

from

my

its

conductress seemed to entertain strong ob-

and

it

me

cost

something more than

persuasion to induce her to remove the cloth. I then saw that in the mere beauty of execution alone this picture was superior to

the gallery,

and

any in charm did not end with

its

It represented one of the discovery. numberless female saints of the Romish calendar, but her attractions were not purely spiritual on the contrary, the eyes were filled with no heavenly fire, and the pouting beauty of the parted lips but feebly harmonised with the glowing nimbus. Passion struggled in every feature, but it was not the passion of adoration it was no ideal creation of the painter bursting into prayer, but bore in every outline the impress of a brush inspired by a reality purely human. Apart from its value as a portrait, its art merit was considerable, and I did not repent of my this





After studying it for some time, I curiosity. noticed on the white folds of the scapulary several dark coloured spots that evidently had

no part in the composition of the painting. They appeared as if added after its completion and on approaching the canvas I saw that traces of the same nature covered a very considerable vague and indistinct in portion of its extent



the shadows, but strongly defined in the higher The appearance of these marks was lights.

w as extremely disappointed when, on inquiring further of the housekeeper, I found her quite at a loss to account for them.

so singular that I

r

The information she possessed respecting the remaining portraits was extremely varied, and no doubt did great credit to her retentive powers, but as it did not embrace this one, I fear that I failed I was endeafully to appreciate it. vouring to repress my annoyance, when a voice at my elbow said softly in French "They are blood-stains, monsieur." The speaker, who wore the unpretending of village padre, bowed towards me with an air of courteous dignity rarely met with among the Italian clergy, and giving

—

.i

imity the

20, 1804.

in no very excellent humour for sight-seeing, but I abstractedly suffered the housekeeper to conduct me through the suites of comfortless-

jections,

October, 1858, that, on

I

i

[Feb.