THE PAINTING ON THE WALL.

Western Star, Issue 2236, 2 September 1898, Page 5

THE PAINTING ON THE WALL.

In Florence, so long ago that centuries intervene, a woman was performing her eventide duties in a humble, unpretending house on the Via San Gallo, where later a famous and exquisite palace raised its noble proportions. She was a woman of the people, and as she worked she sang a Venetian lullaby, that sounded sad and sweet as the silver tinkling of a lute. She was alone, and when a sudden knock came to her door, she started and ceased singing, not knowing that she had told her story of sorrow in her tender ballad.

But with the confidence of good citizenship she opened the door, and saw by !hi swinging lamp’s red light a youth with a remarkable countenance, so sweet and sincere was its expression, and of a slight, graceful figure, clad in a Roman tunic, open at his white throat, around which tendrils of long wavy hair clung with pic-

turesque effect. A cup of grey velvet covered his head. The woman noticed that his hands were

white ; the fingers supple ; also that he was a little shabby, and had not the patrician air which distinguished even the poor nobles of Florentine birth. Nevertheless, there was that in his speech and manner which indicated a reserve of power not common to one who belonged to the

people. 44 Can I sleep under this roof to-night ? ” he inquired in the musical Tuscan syllables of his native tongue.

44 Nay, sir, we keep not an inn for travellers and strangers,” the woman said.

44 I have ducats to pay for my lodging, but I have lost my way, and am weary—besides all the inns are full for the carnival. ”

The woman hesitated a moment before answering, then she said, “ For the sake of my little Raphael, who is now an tinsel in heaven, you may sleep in our spare chamber. My husband will be home when the music ceases in the streets. You are hungry and must eat, but I will take no pay, nothing bub your good word.” “ My name is Raphael, too, and I thank you,” said the youth, and he entered tho house where the walls were bare, save for a crucifix, and where a child’s cradle with angels carved in rude scrolls upon it was the most luxurious piece of furniture.

A supper of figs and brown bread with red wine was set before the stranger guest, and tho woman watched him eat with eyes that were red with weeping, as she waited on him, for she kept saying to herself : “ Such a youth would my Raphael have

been if the angels had not needed him more than I,” and then she fell to crying as if her heart would break. “Is it to God you give with tears?” asked the youth. “ Where is your portrait of the little one ? ”

“ I have none, my good sir. He had eyes like mine, and a chin like his father’s. His hair was honey-yellow, and as fine as silk. Hi§ smile—oh, sir, it was.like an angel’s ; and, though it be wicked, I do say ho looked like the picture of the Holy Child.”

When Giovanni returned to his home his wife Lucia explained to him the presence of the stranger, and told him how she had refused money for a. supper and a night’s lodging.

“ You did well, mia,” he said, “ for that the saints may comfort our little Raphael, who must miss us sorely. What sayesb ? The same name ? Who knows that he was not sent by the Blessed Virgin for this very purpose ? I will take a look at him,and hear what lie has to say.”

The youth had that insignia of bearing which his host recognised as knowledge, but in what line he could not tell even when he had asked the question, “ What dost thou bo'earn thy bread ? ”

11 1 am an artisan,” the youth replied, and there the question rested. He was nob noble- they were, both these plain people, familiar with the air of nobility. If their guest would nob talk of himself.their hospitality forbade them the discourtesy of compelling him; he was interested in their little angel, his name sake—a passport to their

’• regard. He told them that he would up and away n in the morning before it was light, and ho •> took the box that he carried with him to 15 his room that he might not disturb them if on going, but he did not seek rest on the -h rough but clean pallet provided for him. All d night they heard him moving a little, and a curious noise attended his movements, so r . that a great fear oppressed them lest he j might burn down their dwelling or do some damage of a strange, mysterious nature. 16 And before- morning they had made up LS their ignorant minds that this youth with 3 the sweet face was none other than the evil one in disguise. They prayed loudly to the t, Virgin for aid, and when it grew light, and they heard the street door close, they F wailed until certain that he had gone, then stole hand in hand to see his room. And u then they saw what seemed to them a part n 0 f that heaven wiiero their affections were. II T(, er e was a great picture on the wall that g had been bleak and bare when they saw it. e The Virgin was depicted there in all her serene majesty of motherhood, with her infant son leaning against her knees. There, 8 too, was the little comrade of Jesus, the 5 infant St. John, bringing his loving gift of < a bird. Bub the little St.John had the exact 1 expression, the eyes and smile of their dear boy Raphael. The husband and wife dropped on their knees and thanked their gracious lady for this signal instance of her favour, for now they never for a moment doubted that they had entertained an angel . unawares. And the splendour of the paints, . yet undried, on the wall, the colours that wore blended with such exquisite harmony : that they resembled fabrics of silk or velvet, 1 filled them with ecstatic admiration of this 1 divine work of art. Even the honey-yellow hair of the little dead boy was reproduced in his picture. The next day all Florence heard the miracle of Ihe picture. Although they demanded no fee to show their treasure to the public, Giovanni and his wife Lucia grew rich by the money given them,a largo share of which they devoted to the church in gratitude. , r It was not long before these good people learned the truth respecting the painting on the wall—that it was the work of a youth of Urbino come to Florence to study, one Raphael Santi, whoso genius was undoubtedly a gift from Heaven, and who, even then, was assisted by patrician Florcntines.and under the patronage of Taddeo Taddei. They saw him again when he came with the humility of genius to ask their permission to reproduce the picture for a Florentine connoisseur, who had been kind to him, and that picture, the Madonna del Cardellino, was given to Lorenzo Nazi, tho patron, who had been kind to him, and who valued it tho more that it had been used in a high and holy mission of compassion. It was almost destroyed by the great earthquake, but afterwards was rescued from obscurity, and restored to its original beauty, by the arts of renaissance. And the name of the artist who painted it is written as master in letters of light.