he said:

"Chiaro, servant of God, take now thine Art unto thee, and paint me
thus, as I am, to know me: weak, as I am, and in the weeds of this
time; only with eyes which seek out labour, and with a faith, not
learned, yet jealous of prayer. Do this; so shall thy soul stand
before thee always, and perplex thee no more."

And Chiaro did as she bade him. While he worked, his face grew solemn
with knowledge: and before the shadows had turned, his work was done.
Having finished, he lay back where he sat, and was asleep
immediately: for the growth of that strong sunset was heavy about
him, and he felt weak and haggard; like one just come out of a dusk,
hollow country, bewildered with echoes, where he had lost himself,
and who has not slept for many days and nights. And when she saw him
lie back, the beautiful woman came to him, and sat at his head,
gazing, and quieted his sleep with her voice.

The tumult of the factions had endured all that day through all Pisa,
though Chiaro had not heard it: and the last service of that Feast
was a mass sung at midnight from the windows of all the churches for
the many dead who lay about the city, and who had to be buried before
morning, because of the extreme heats.

* * * * * * *

In the Spring of 1847 I was at Florence. Such as were there at
the same time with myself--those, at least, to whom Art is
something,--will certainly recollect how many rooms of the Pitti
Gallery were closed through that season, in order that some of the
pictures they contained might be examined, and repaired without the
necessity of removal. The hall, the staircases, and the vast central
suite of apartments, were the only accessible portions; and in these
such paintings as they could admit from the sealed _penetralia_ were
profanely huddled together, without respect of dates, schools, or
persons.

I fear that, through this interdict, I may have missed seeing many of
the best pictures. I do not mean _only_ the most talked of: for
these, as they were restored, generally found their way somehow into
the open rooms, owing to the clamours raised by the students; and I
remember how old Ercoli's, the curator's, spectacles used to be
mirrored in the reclaimed surface, as he leaned mysteriously over
these works with some of the visitors, to scrutinize and elucidate.

One picture, that I saw that Spring, I shall not easily forget. It
was among those, I believe, brought from the other rooms, and had