"
The following day the programme of which Vaura had spoken to
Castenelli, was gone through. But as Vaura wished just now that the
days would quickly join themselves to the great past, we shall not
linger; but say, that on nearing the painting of the Transfiguration,
a figure caught her eye, it was that of the young Italian Castenelli,
who, with the dark rich colouring, clear cut features and soft brown
eyes that Roman blood gives, looked as though he might have stepped
from the canvas on the wall.
The painting in its glorious beauty held them in silent admiration for
some time. Vaura drew a long breath as she turned away, saying:
"The man who painted the figure of the Christ in its God-like sanctity
of expression, must have been inspired. What a volume of sermons it
preaches!"
As the Italian had tickets of admission to the Tower of St. Peter's,
Vaura decided to make the ascent. The double walls of the dome are
passed through as quickly as possible, as Vaura's time is short. But
the view from the top! who can describe it? Not I; my pen falls
lifeless; it would take a Moore to sing of; a Byron to immortalise; a
Longfellow, a Whittier or a Tennyson to make an idyl of; it has sent
artists wild; the eye rests lovingly on the hill-crests of the Sabine,
Volscian and Albano on the one side, then turns to the city with its
temples, its palaces, the historic past showing in their very stones.
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