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It is a bas-relief by an old master, considerably more antique in origin than the most archaic gem or intaglio in the Museo Borbonico at Naples, the mildly decorous Louvre in Paris, or the eminently respectable British Museum, which is the glory of our own smoky London in the spectacled eyes of German professors, all put together.
Yet when, being forced into inglorious surrender, I carried the manuscripts to the Museo, and appealed to Don Rafael for assistance, he read to me in fluent Spanish all that I had found so utterly incomprehensible. "It is only a knack," he explained. "A little time and patience are required at first, but then all comes easily." But Don Rafael did here injustice to his own scholarship.
Hitherto she had avoided looking at him, and kept her gaze upon the sleeping child, but warned by the tone that made her heart throb, she bravely lifted her eyes. "When next you write to your betrothed, ask her to go to the Museo Chiaramonti while in Rome, and standing before the crowned Tiberius, she will fancy her future husband welcomes her.
They could not comprehend how a man could study science for its own sake; but I told them I was collecting for the "Museo de Londres," and was paid for it; that was very intelligible.
A pen-and-ink drawing at the Museo Buonarroti possesses greater merit, find may perhaps have been a first rough sketch for the façade. It is not drawn to scale or worked out in the manner of practical architects; but the sketch exhibits features which we know to have existed in Buonarroti's plan masses of sculpture, with extensive bas-reliefs in bronze.
Two of these pictures are in the Museo del Prado, at Madrid. They are a "Festoon of Flowers and Fruits with a Medallion in the Centre, on which is a Landscape"; and a "Garland of Flowers with a Similar Medallion." <b>ZIESENSIS, MARGARETTA.</b> There were few women artists in the Scandinavian countries in the early years of the eighteenth century.
The suitability of this consummation needn't be pointed out. Even we ourselves, in the irresistible contagion, are going so fast now that we have only time to note in how clever and costly a fashion the Museo Civico, the old Fondaco dei Turchi, has been reconstructed and restored.
It was in the Museo Civico of Venice that we saw and fell victims to an enchanting antique table decoration a formal Italian garden, in blown glass, once the property of a great Venetian family and redolent of those golden days when Venice was the playground of princes, and feasting their especial joy; days when visiting royalty and the world's greatest folk could have no higher honour bestowed upon them than a gift of Venetian glass, often real marvels mounted in silver and gold.
There are a few, very few, fine paintings left within its walls, most of those which originally hung here having been very properly removed to the Museo at Madrid. In the refectory will be noticed a choice painting by Titian, of which we are a little surprised that no more has been said, for it is a remarkable painting.
The master looked for a long while at one of the copyists an old man, decrepit and almost blind, with heavy convex spectacles that gave him the appearance of a sea-monster, whose hands trembled with senile unsteadiness. Renovales recognized him. Twenty years before, when he used to study in the Museo, he had seen him in the same spot, always copying Los Borrachos.
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