"Nor lets the trpe grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man." The choice or the convenience of other tourists may lead them to travel in the Autumnal months, when the party-coloured foliage gives us warning that Winter is approaching, and the trees must soon be stripped of their leaves, and that the flowers which yet linger in our gardens must die. Yet to cheer even this season of affectionate regrets for the past, and of somewhat mournful anticipations of the dark dreary Winter which we know awaits us, the fields are again enlivened with the song of birds, and the woods ccho with the powerful yet melodious whistling of the blackbird. The orchards now present a beautiful appearance when the apples and the pears are ripe; some of the former are of so rich a colour, that at a little distance the trees appear to be covered with blossom; while the branches of the more graceful pear-tree bend with its valuable produce, and give to it much of the appearance of a weeping willow. The one great and peculiar charm which now imparts to the country so much of gorgeous beauty, and enhances the picturesque appearance of an otherwise insignificant landscape, is the endless variety of tints given to the woodiands and the hedge-rows. The evergreens remain unchanged, | and contrast forcibly with those which are preparing to shed their leaves. The contrast and variety exhibited, are such as a painter would scarcely dare, if he were able, to copy, lest he should be charged with having "O'erstepped the modesty of nature." the noise of a china vessel smashed to pieces upon the pavement. If he takes up a bottle of ink, he empties it upon the floor. He unfolds all your papers, and scatters them about the room, and what he cannot undo he tears to pieces; and it is wonderful to see how much of this work he will do in a few minutes when he happens to get loose. Every body has heard of the monkey whose curiosity led him to the mouth of a cannon to see how it went off; when he paid for his peeping with the loss of his head. In a ship where a relation of mine was an officer, while the men were busy in fetching powder from below, and making cartridges, a monkey on board took up a lighted candle, and ran down to the powderroom to see what they were about; but happily was overtaken just as he got to the lantern, and thrown out at the nearest port-hole into the sea with the lighted candle in his hand. Another lost his life by the spirit of mimicry; he had seen his master shaving his own face, and at the first opportunity took up the razor to shave himself, and made shift to cut his own throat. When the wild monkeys have escaped to the top of trees, the people below who want to catch them shew them the use of gloves, by putting them on and pulling posed to have taken the hint, they leave plenty of gloves them off repeatedly; and when the monkeys are supupon the ground, having first lined them with pitch. The monkeys come down, put on the gloves, but cannot pull them off again; and when they are surprised, betaking themselves to the trees as usual, they slide backwards and are taken. A monkey who had seen his mistress upon her pillow in a nightcap, which at her rising she pulled off and hung upon a chair, puts on the cap, lays his head upon the pillow, and by personating the lady, made himself ten times more frightful and ridiculous; as awkward people do, when they ape their superiors, and affect a fashion which is above their The pen and the pencil cannot but fail in their sphere. A mischievous disposition is always inclined attempt to describe and depict them. S. J. THE MORAL CHARACTER OF THE MONKEY.* A GENTLEMAN whose premises were infested by a large breed of sparrows, said they were birds of no principle. Of all monkeys it may be said, with much more propriety, that they are beasts of no principle; for they have every evil quality, and not one good one. They are saucy and insolent; always making an attempt to bully and terrify people, and biting those first who are most afraid of them. An impertinent curiosity runs through all their actions; they never can let things alone, but must know what is going forward. If a pot or a kettle is set on the fire, and the cook turns her back, the monkey whips off the cover to see what she has put into it; even though he cannot get at it without setting his feet upon the hot bars of the grate. Mimicry is another of the monkey's qualities. Whatever he sees men do, he must affect to do the like himself. He seems to have no rule of his own, and so is ruled by the actions of men or beasts; as weak people follow the fashion of the world, whether it be good or bad. No monkey has any sense of gratitude, but takes his victuals with a snatch, and then grins in the face of the person that gives it him, lest he should take it away again; for he supposes that all men will snatch away what they can lay hold of, as all monkeys do. Through an invincible selfishness, no monkey considers any individual but himself, as the poor cat found to her cost, when the monkey burned her paws with raking his chestnuts out of the fire. They can never eat together in company without quarrelling and plundering one another. Every monkey delights in mischief, and cannot help doing it when it is in his power. If any thing he takes hold of can be broken or spoiled, he is sure to find the way of doing it; and he chatters with pleasure when he hears From Rev. W. Jones, of Nayland. to persecution. There are minds whose greatest pleasure it is to ride and tease the minds of other people. A late friend and neighbour of mine in the country kept a monkey who took to riding his hogs, especially one of them, which he commonly singled out as fittest for his the tail, he whipped it unmercifully, and drove it about, use; and leaping upon its back, with his face towards till it could run no longer. The hogs lived under such continual terrors of mind, that when the monkey first came abroad in the morning, they used to set up a great cry at the sight of him. A well-known nobleman once had a wild horse whom nobody could ride. "I know not what your lordship can do with him," said one," but to set the monkey upon his back." So they put a pad to the horse, and set the monkey upon it with a switch in his hand, which he used upon the horse, and set him into a furious kicking and galloping; but Pug kept his seat and exercised his switch. The horse lay down upon the ground; but when he threw himself on one side, the monkey was up on the other: he ran into a wood with him, to brush him off; but if a tree or a bush occurred on one side, the monkey slipped to the other side; till at last the horse was so sickened and fatigued and broken-spirited, that he ran home to the stable for protection. When the monkey was removed, a boy mounted him, who managed the horse with ease, and he never gave any trouble afterwards. In all the actions of the monkey, there is no appearance of any thing good or useful, nor any species of evil that is wanting in them. They are, indeed, like to mankind: they can ride a pig as a man rides a horse, or better, and are most excellent jockeys; but, after all, they are only like the worst of the human species. If all the qualities of the monkey are put together, they constitute what is properly called ill-nature; and if any person would know what an illnatured man is, that man is a monkey to all intents and purposes, with the addition of reason, which makes his character much worse, and the loss of religion and conscience, which is worst of all; for without these reason is rather a disadvantage. A FEW WORDS AT STARTING. supplied. But the desire of knowledge is an appetite which grows by what it feeds on. The more We do not feel that much apology is necessary for it is gratified, the more insatiable becomes its the attempt we are about to make, to add one to craving. Wherever it is planted, it carries a living the number of those caterers for the literary appe-generative principle within it, unceasingly tending tite of the day, who spread out their stores at to an indefinite increase. The more thoroughly a regularly recurring intervals to catch the public eye. publication of this kind succeeds, the more impossiIn all those cases in which the appearance of the ble does it become, that it should occupy alone the applicant for favour is really an intrusion, uncalled | field which it has opened up. Its power of gratifor and unwelcome, the process of putting him down fying the hungry cravings which it is waking (being nothing more than merely letting him alone) up around it, is bounded by limits, moral, inis at once so simple and so effectual, gives so little tellectual, mechanical,-while these cravings are trouble, and does the business so thoroughly, that unbounded in the extent of their increase, and in it amounts to a tax upon the public good-nature the diversified character of their objects. The man sufficiently slight to admit of its being easily par- who first stirs up the inert soil of his neighbour's doned, even though it should be rather unceremo- mind, and sets him a thinking, may perhaps be able, niously imposed. If, however, we must needs, for unaided, to keep up for him a constant supply of the sake of good manners, offer some apology, it materials, suited to his temperament and intelshall be much about what we should suppose a lectual character, on which to exercise his thoughts. tradesman to say in justification of his opening a But he who does the same service for twenty or a shop in a crowded thoroughfare:-"No doubt hundred men, each of whom has his own peculiar there are many shops, but there is also a large turn of mind, will most infallibly fail in the attempt demand. The world is becoming fuller every day, to furnish them all with intellectual food of which and the article in which I deal is getting more and they can continue to make a profitable use. more into request. Why should not I find cus- when we consider that each man, in whom the detomers as well as another, if I only give them as sire of knowledge is awakened, carries about with good an article for their money as he does?" him an atmosphere which transmits it like a contagion to the circle around him; that each of these in turn, as soon as infected, forms the centre of a circle, from which the like influence radiates to every point on its circumference; and so on, in endless geometrical progression; it becomes manifest, that we shall far sooner reach the limit of our power to supply the demand for intellectual sustenance, than we shall that of the demand itself. In this "if," lies the pinch of the case; for it cannot be denied, that there are already articles in the market, with which it would not be prudent rashly to challenge a comparison. It is, besides, precisely the point on which it least becomes him to speak, upon whom the task of introducing a publication of this kind by a preliminary notice generally devolves. A tradesman may commend his own wares without incurring the charge of presumption or bad taste; but the literary workman has no such privilege. Diligence and good intention are the utmost to which he can be permitted to pledge himself beforehand. Of his ability to command the other qualities requisite to render his commodity attractive, he is seldom a competent judge; and it is, therefore, a point of prudence with him to be silent on a subject on which his opinion would not carry much weight. The world has become sufficiently knowing in these matters, to refuse to accept the expression either of confidence or of humility, as a sure indication of the possession of powers to command success. If the former is too often the offspring of presumption and ignorance, the latter, where it is genuine, is just as likely to be nothing better than the mere outleaking of unretentive conscious dulness. Silence, in these circumstances, is the wisest and most dignified course. Readers very soon discover for themselves what they ought to think; and promises made at starting are speedily forgotten amid the realities of actual performance. Our Publisher has informed the world already, in the announcement circulated by him, that his object has been "to furnish a publication which shall supply the general reader with matter of an amusing and instructive character, for the hours of recreation." We do not know that we can add much to this description of the purpose of this publication. That it points to what has now become one of the imperative wants of society, which must somehow or other be supplied, no man of common observation is ignorant; nor are we at all disposed to question that the want is, in many quarters, and from many sources, very worthily And The growing development of this particular form of publication-the Periodical-and the increasing variety of subjects to which it is becoming adapted, are a necessary consequence of the extension of a literary_taste beyond the class of merely literary men. The professional student, whose business lies in his books, can afford time to dig for his necessary knowledge through the bowels of the most ponderous folios, and finds in the fruit of his labours a sufficient reward for his toil. But thousands have now been taught to regard knowledge as a necessary, whose pursuit of it can be followed only by snatches, at intervals of relaxation from their ordinary business and labour; and to these, this mode, desultory and fragmentary though it is, of presenting it, prepared and trimmed for immediate use, the husk removed, the shell broken, and the kernel ready for mastication, is as indispensable as the daily supply of the common necessaries of life. Their Magazine must come to their doors as regularly as their milk or their beer. The knowledge which publications of this kind disseminate may be compared to a fountain, far hid among the mountains, which can only be reached, after much painful and toilsome travel, by a few; to render it available to the multitude, reservoirs must be formed, and pipes laid, which carry it to every man's door, to be drawn off as he needs it, without waste of time, expense of labour, or hindrance to his regular employments. We claim only to be allowed to insert our pipe into the general reservoir, and so to share in the work of distribution of the precious element. There is little danger that all of us together shall either exhaust the fountain, or deluge the world with an overabundant supply, such as A single word may be necessary as to the principle on which we propose that this Magazine shall be conducted. We intend its contents to be as diversified in character as may be found practicable, furnishing something to gratify all tastes, except we cannot stoop to gratify without degrading ourselves. Original essays, tales, articles descriptive of objects of antiquarian or historical interest, will be interspersed with translations from approved foreign authors, and occasional notices of, and interesting extracts from, English publications not generally accessible. And to the lovers of poetry we think we can promise contributions in that department, to which they will not disdain to grant more than one perusal. We should be sorry to allow any reader to rise from the perusal of these remarks, with the impression that we had no moral purpose in view in this undertaking, although we have not attempted formally to obtrude it upon his notice. We are, we trust, sensible of the responsibility which attaches to every man, who takes upon him to address the world through the press, and who thus sets in motion an agency, whose effects may be immeasurably out of proportion to his individual capacity or personal importance. We wish to instruct as well as amuse; to instruct while we amuse; so to amuse that our readers shall be wiser and happier for the enjoyment we may afford them. Disclaiming all intention of usurping the chair of the appointed religious teacher, we trust so to regulate our undertaking, that the reader of this Magazine will find it to deepen in his mind the impression, that religion and pure morality are the sources of our truest happiness-the foundations of our highest hopes. Having no party views, we have no intention of addressing ourselves to the limited sympathies of any particular class. We shall find more pleasure in dwelling upon those views of our present condition and future hopes, which afford to all of us a common ground for our sympathies to rest upon, than upon those which may be suggestive of topics of contention and animosity. No part of our projected plan is contemplated by us with more interest and satisfaction, than that which holds it out as intended to furnish employment for "hours of recreation;" for it suggests that we shall be engaged in lightening the burden of labour; in conveying some portion of the more elevated enjoyments of life within the reach of men whose condition is, too generally, one of unmingled toil and privation; and thus contributing to sweeten the lot and brighten the hopes of those whose stalwart limbs, if we view the matter aright, are the main pillars on which the structure of society rests. strangely solemn tone of the master. with this angel thy career begins, and mine finishes. One man cannot accomplish all, neither should one man attempt, in his vain imaginings, to reach the far distant limits of art, which the united powers of many, simultaneously and successively, have not attained. I lay my pencil aside, and henceforth paint no more. who hast already surpassed thy master, be bold, be vigorous. Italy will ere long do homage to thy genius." But thou, Leonardo stood glowing with delight at the praise of his master, and gazed with sparkling eyes at the painting. And he does not cast down his eyes!" murmured Andreas to himself, as he read in Leonardo's countenance the vain and presumptuous thoughts that were passing through his mind. "There is still time. One draught of bitter medicine, and his better nature will triumph. Yes," he continued, addressing his scholar, and taking him kindly by the hand-" yes, my son ! thou wilt shine, but thy lustre will not be the dazzling radiance of the hue of evening. Of this, too, rest assured, that arrogance midday sun, but like a gentle Aurora, or the soft rosy and self-sufficiency will never bring thee to the goal, from which thou art yet far distant. Examine thine angel a little closer. It is good, I repeat, very good; but is it not incorrect in the foreshortening? That look, however celestial it may appear at first sight, has it not, in reality, more of the languishing gaze of a courtesan ? This curl over the right eye, is it not unnatural, as if burnt by an iron? No, this work of Leonardo da Vinci shall not go down to posterity. Thou knowest now of what thou art capable. Let perfection henceforth be thy mark, and let what is imperfect perish. This shall be the last the picture with a coat of black annihilating paint. stroke of my pencil." With these words, he besmeared This passed like an electric shock through the heart of the affrighted scholar, and a hasty word of anger and reproach trembled upon his lips. But he was silent; for silence was a lesson his master had early taught him. He swallowed, therefore, the bitter gall of wounded vanity, and calm reflection soon returned, and with it the firm determination to repress his arrogance and presumption. "I thank you, master," he exclaimed, deeply affected; and from that moment became his own severest critic, more disposed to find what called for censure in his works, than what deserved praise. This advances in skill and knowledge; so that many, even of distrust of his own powers increased in proportion to his his best productions, were destroyed by his own hand; at first, in the angry discontent of a noble mind, satisfied with nothing short of perfection; afterwards, when his passions had been cooled, and his judgment had been matured by the sage counsels of his paternal friend, from a sober and settled conviction, that, by these means only, was excellence to be attained; and many relics of his pencil have, only by artifice or fraud, been rescued from destruction. "That is right," his master was wont to say, with his quiet smile; "that is the way to immortality, the title to which consists, not in the multiplicity of a man's works, but in their excellence." If he received an order, or went to work from his own impulse, he would tremble like a child, when he thought THE LAST SUPPER OF LEONARDO DA VINCI. of the difficulties he had to encounter, and how far his (Translated from the German.) "It is enough!" said the excellent old master, Andreas del Barrochio, smiling mournfully, as he put up his easel, and placed it gently in the farthest corner of his room. "Rest thou there! I, too, can now rest." Again he stood musing before the painting he had just taken down. It was the Baptism of St. John, in which there was an Angel's head, from the pencil of his scholar, Leonardo da Vinci, that, for exquisite beauty, far excelled any of his own productions. "Thus far, and no further!" he continued, turning to Leonardo, who just entered, and who was struck by the picture would fall short of that standard of excellence it was his desire to reach. Still, notwithstanding these feelings of despondency, he laboured indefatigably, by day and night; for he had learned from his master, that not genius only, but industry,-patient untiring industry, was necessary to the attainment of his object; for how often has the man of inferior ability, by unremitting diligence and attention, arrived at a degree of eminence, which, to idle ill directed talent, remained for ever unapproachable! Thus did Andreas del Barrochio, the Florentine, instruct his beloved pupil in the best and noblest principles of his art, and rejoice at the success of his teaching. But his last hour approached, and from his sick bed he thus addressed the mourner by his side: "Why weepest thou unmanly tears, now that the time is come that I must depart hence? Earth demands her offering and her right?" "And heaven too,"-interrupted Leonardo, kissing the withered and trembling hands of his dying friend. "Heaven calls the noble undying spirit back to its home." "Dost thou wonder, then," resumed Andreas, "that I have been seized with home sickness? Do I not depart with the conviction, that with thee I leave behind a portion of my being, and that I have fulfilled the mission entrusted to me, a weak instrument, to usher in the dawn which, from the unprofaned temple of thy genius, now sheds its mild radiance over Italy?" "But which," said Leonardo, mournfully, "the Perugier would darken !" "No envy, my son," interrupted Andreas, mildly; "is this Pietro, then, the only painter? Surely, the path we are all treading is wide enough for many. Behold how various nature is in her formations! how diversified in material and design and shall the ideal world, the world of dreams, be found so poor, that one may exhaust the magazine, and leave nothing for a fellow-worker? Therefore, my son, no envy in thy pure bosom! No ugly jealousy! Above all, never let these personal feelings of hatred or contempt be transferred to thy works! That is alike unworthy of a noble art, and a generous artist. Even when thou smartest under the lash of oppression, or the reproach of undeserved persecution, never degrade the dignity of thy art, by making it the instrument of thy revenge. Revenge thyself by words of mildness, by deeds of charity: then will thy productions, free from the stain of unworthy passions, go down to future ages, living memorials of thy merits and thy wrongs. My strength is fast sinking; but, before I depart, give me thy hand, and promise me that thou wilt observe my words, and, never refusing the honour due to the merits of others, pursue thy appointed path in cheerful ness and humility. Give me thy hand, and promise me this, Leonardo !" And Leonardo gave him his hand. "Then will I be also near to thee," said the master, while an unearthly smile played upon his features," in the hour of thy greatest earthly need. My spirit shall hover near thee; and when, bowed down by the thought of what seems impracticable, every human resource fails thee, and thou art threatened by undeserved shame and disgrace, then cry aloud, that thy voice may reach me amid the palm-trees of Paradise; cry aloud, Andreas! Andreas!-And-I will .. The angel of death gently interrupted the words of promise and comfort. The head of the faithful master sank back upon the pillow, and Leonardo, in the bitter sorrow of separation, closed the eyes of the departed, and, with the sign of the holy cross, blessed the gentle spirit of his beloved master to its eternal rest. the Escurial, can rightly appreciate these points of his character. These prove their author to have been a profound thinker, an enthusiastic lover of his art, and an upright noble-minded man. His acquirements were various. He excelled as engineer and architect, as well as painter. For even in this age of mechanical wonders, men admire the skill displayed in a work, at that time deemed impracticable-that, namely, of carrying_the waters of the Adige to Milan; those of the Arno from Pisa to Florence; and the canal of Mortsana through the valleys of Chiavenna and the Voktellina, a distance of two hundred miles. Nay, he even constructed automata, the like of which had not been seen until his day; for when, at the entrance of the French king, Louis XII. into Milan, the citizens begged him to execute some novel and extraordinary work in honour of their august visitor, he performed the task committed to him in a manner which showed how well he deserved their confidence. As the King, in triumphant pomp, passed through the state rooms of the palace, a majestic lion approached, lashing himself with his tail, and gazing round with flashing eyes. Suddenly he threw himself at the King's feet, his breast opened, and displayed to the astonished monarch, and the gaping multitude, the arms of the French king. This lion was the work of Leonardo da Vinci. As a writer upon the arts, he surpassed any of his contemporaries; nor was his soul less susceptible of the ennobling influence of music. With all this, he was a cheerful and entertaining companion, who despised no amusement that conduced to harmless and healthy enjoyment, reining in the untamed horse with the skill of an experienced rider, and fighting in the lists like a Roman Gladiator. On these various accounts, his fame was noised abroad throughout all Italy, at that time the only country where the arts and sciences found a shelter, under the protection of the noble house of Medicis, the magnificent Pope Leo X., and various other princes. It was this well-earned reputation which induced Ludovico Moro Sforza, Duke of Milan, by the most brilliant offers, to seek to allure him to his court. Most unwillingly did Leonardo accept this flattering invitation; most unwillingly did he forsake the land of his birth, and his own lovely Florence; for he had a gloomy presentiment of coming evil. He shuddered, too, at the thought of entering that den of slaughter, in which the inhuman Galeazzo Maria, unlike his noble father Francis, had raged like a wild beast, and whose blood still reeked upon the ducal throne; for he fell a sacrifice to the revenging Nemesis, by the hand of an assassin. Upon this throne sat his brother, the above-mentioned Ludovico, who, no less cruel, but more subtle and cautious, had succeeded in usurping the inheritance from John Galeazzo, the son of his murdered brother. But, at that time, where was there a spot in Italy that was not disgraced by the perpetration of the most scandalous crimes? Did not the members of the princely house of Medicis stain their hands red with human blood? Did not Florence and Pisa, in bitter and deadly feud, slaughter each other's children? Even in Rome itself, were not virtue, life, and everything held sacred by the faith or the affections of mankind, to be purchased with gold? Little, then, could it matter to the man of refined taste and intellectual pursuits, where, under these circumstances, he took up his abode. Here was Sodom, there Gomorrah, and the danger which threatened his pure life and simple manners not greater in Milan than in Florence. It is needless here to tell of the eminence and celebrity which Leonardo da Vinci subsequently attained, or how much he contributed, in conjunction with the first Perugino, to the restoration of the art of painting. His merits are known and acknowledged by the whole of the civilized world, which, even at this day, after the lapse of four centuries, admires the fragments of his genius, though time, which wraps everything in mist, has deprived the colouring of its freshness, and covered his paintings with the yellow hue of age. But he shone as a man as well as a painter, excelling in every good and noble quality which can enrich the heart and dignify the character; and, in obedience to his master's precepts, ever judged mildly of another's faults, acknow-however, far beyond his years, who, in proud anticipation ledged generously another's merits, and, with meek patience, endured much bitter persecution. Of this, however, the world knows but little; and only those who have had the opportunity of reading his manuscript notices of his life, preserved in the Ambrosian Library, and in Another motive urged Leonardo to accept the invitation of Ludovico Sforza. His residence in Florence had become embittered to him by the bold unbending opposition of a boy, not yet eighteen years old, with a mind, of future greatness, met every advance of the mild and contemplative Leonardo with enmity and contempt, and embittered to him his beloved city, and the spot where the ashes of his master rested. This boy was Michel Angelo Buonarotti. He overcame, therefore, his reluc tance, controlled the gloomy presentiments which oppressed him, and, encouraging himself by contemplating the prospect opened to him of higher and more varied exertion in his art, bade his lovely home adieu, and, with the light and buoyant spirits of youth and inexperience, directed his steps to Milan. Let no one blame him also, if, young, ardent, ambitious, and gifted with every faculty of enjoyment, the anticipation of the rewards and pleasures that awaited him in that rich and luxurious Babylon of Lombardy, formed part of his happy dream. The Duke gave him a reception honourable alike to both, and in accordance with the fashion of those times, when patrons sought to add to their own lustre, by pay-paint? And, if he painted-would he not be required to ing honour to those whose merit had already gained for them a renown more enduring than that which depends upon the smile of princes. The haughty, yet cunning Ludovico, drew in his dangerous talons, and caressed the master with an appearance of fondness. The courtiers, according to their wont, began also to follow the example set them, and overwhelmed the guest and favourite of their prince with their hollow kindnesses. The most prominent among those whom he was in the habit of meeting at the court, was a monk, whose tall, lean, ghost-like figure was continually crossing his path, as if to watch his movements. His small restless eyes gleamed maliciously from beneath his dark brows, above which rose, like a wall of rock, the hard, yellow, angular forehead. The nose was aquiline; the firmly compressed mouth wore a constant, though scarcely perceptible sneer, and the pointed chin was overgrown by a beard of mingled red and black. This was the Prior of the Dominican monastery of St. Maria della Grazia, the Duke's confidential adviser. His speech distilled like honey-drops, but the poison of asps lurked beneath his lips. From the first moment of Leonardo's arrival, he had inwardly chafed at the favour in which he stood with the Prince, and, at each meeting, the bitter, though concealed hatred of the one, and the undefined antipathy and apprehension of the other, increased; and it was strange that these feelings oppressed the painter most when occupied by his labour within doors. When in the open air, superintending his mechanical and architectural undertakings, he could breathe more freely. He felt refreshed and strengthened by the ever-varying, ever-beautiful forms and colouring of nature; the light breezes that played round his temples-the soft grey morning the dewy evening-night, with the delicious melody of the nightingale, and her eternal heaven of stars; and, by day, the bustle and hurry-the driving and riding over hill and vale all this, by occupying his mind, gave him courage and cheerfulness. But, when he sat alone before his easel, in his solitary chamber, a vague, almost supernatural horror would seize him, till the sweat-drops stood upon his brow, and the trembling and uncertain hand could with difficulty guide his pencil. And thus it is that we have so few paintings of this master belonging to this particular period of his life; most of them were destroyed by himself, and many of them when wanting only the last touches. The Duke often stood enraptured before his growing picture, but, when he began to hope the painting would soon be ready to adorn his gallery, he found it on his next visit destroyed-torn in pieces or burnt. This, doubtless, was vexatious enough; still he might have been content with those which did receive completion, and consequently, were stamped with the seal of the master's own approbation. "Now, master," he exclaimed, upon one occasion, "this time you shall paint me, and, of course, in this instance, we shall hear nothing of cutting or burning." The descent of a thunderbolt when the sky is clear and cloudless, could not have struck more sudden terror into the heart of Leonardo, than did this announcement of the Duke's, accompanied as it was, by the ambiguous smile of the Dominican. What? he, the refined and fastidious painter, accustomed to depict only the most noble and lovely of nature's forms, or the beautiful and fairy like creations of his own exuberant fancy-he shall paint that face, the personification of ugliness, where might be read, as in an open book, the characters of the worst passions that ever disgraced humanity-the history of a nature inhumanized by crime; that grey, bristly hair, starting from every side of the abominable head; those cheeks of ashy paleness, the graves of worn-out passions; those mulberry marks upon the neck, from which he had received the name of "Moro;" the cruel malicious twitching of the pale lips, visible through the disordered beard! No, it was impossible! And yet the command had been given; what was he to do? To paint, or not to flatter the tyrant,-conceal his ugliness with a professional lie? But then, what would remain of the original features? The picture, in that case, would be no likeness. If, on the contrary, his pencil should be faithful, what reward might he not expect from a tyrant whom all feared, if he presented to him, as himself, a copy of distorted humanity, frightful enough to be taken for a counterfeit of the devil himself? Verily, the painter was in a sore strait, and often and anxiously did his mind revert to the promise of his departed master. On whichever side he turned, he saw nothing but ruin awaiting him; shame and disgrace to his professional reputation, as well as to his moral character, if, for the sake of wealth and patronage, he stooped to produce a false and flattering picture; or the most terrible revenge of which an insulted tyrant is capable, if he represented him in his true colours. "Oh, what shall I do? how shall I save myself?" exclaimed the trembler, as with anxious steps he paced his lonely chamber, and thought of the last words of his master. "Oh Andreas! Andreas! hear me and help me as thou promisedst, in this my greatest need!" But his master heard him not; the time was not yet come; Leonardo had not yet encountered the greatest difficulty he was to meet with upon earth. "Be it so, then," he exclaimed at length; "I will drink this bitter cup, and paint the truth, for I can do no other." The day for the first sitting came; with a trembling hand he seized his pencil, for before him sat the haughty Duke arrayed in princely ermine, and urged him to dispatch. Another sitting, and the sketch was complete. The finishing now alone remained; but, with each day that the picture advanced towards completion, the painter's anxiety and gloomy forebodings increased. At length, it stood finished before him, against the wall; and, as he gazed, the hateful figure so worked upon his heated imagination, that it appeared to him like some dreadful apparition from the nether world. "What!" he exclaimed, "is it possible that Leonardo da Vinci's pencil can have produced thee, thou frightful monster! and that, for centuries to come, thou wilt hang in the gallery as his work? Must I be forced to stain my noble art and my future fame with this specimen of distortion? Away from my sight, Satan !" and, in the violence of his rage, he stamped upon the unlucky painting till the canvass cracked, and scarcely knowing what he did, tore it with the violence of a maniac, and scattered it in a thousand pieces about the room. "So, ho!" croaked the Dominican, who had been sent by the Duke to inquire after the progress of his picture, peeping through the half-opened door, "you seem to have a violent, I might almost say, a dangerous paroxysm! Well, I will not disturb you." Leonardo, thus recalled to his senses, felt his blood freeze with horror, and, as the dreadful spectre disappeared as softly as it had approached, he became fully conscious of the mad action he had committed. He had abused the portrait of his sovereign, and what might he not expect from the anger of one whom he had so grossly insulted? But a deeper sorrow than that arising from the fear of punishment struck upon his generous heart. It was his patron, his benefactor, whom he had thus ill-treated. |