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.