The Venetian Secret, or the art of the past

Chapter I

The French army was marching in Spain, closely followed by the forces of England and their native auxiliaries. Devastation extended far and wide ; wherever the troops had passed, much suffering had been inflicted on the inhabitants. A young officer, commanding a company of the Cth, was ordered to occupy the village of Esta, which comprised then some deserted and half ruined houses, and formed a suitable shelter for his men, who were sorely fatigued with the day's march. It was evening, and the dusk was coming on, when a monk approached and asked to be A allowed to see the officer in command. His story was, that though he and his companions could move away and be provided for, they had many sick with them, and were also the protectors of some nuns who were unable and afraid to travel in a country so disturbed as Spain — distracted, devastated, and infested by brigands, to say nothing of deserters from both sides, who found a more congenial em ployment in robbing others than in facing the bullets and baj'onets of the enemy.

The officer listened to the monk's story, and as sured him that all care would be taken that his people should not be put to greater inconvenience than could be helped, and that rations should be served out to those in extreme want. He added that the nuns had better remain where they were, as they would be safe from molestation. The officer offered the monk refreshment, and, finding him a man of intelligence, passed some hours in friendly conversation with him. The monk spoke of the necessity now of their raising funds, if possible, to help them to tide over the evil days that had fallen on them. He told him further that they had in the monastery some valuable pictures on which they would be very glad to raise money. These pictures had been painted, he said, by one of their order, who was still living with them.

He was a man who had made a great name at the Court of Madrid ; but his illness and partial loss of sight had cut him off from his work before he was really old. He had come, it seemed, to the monastery hoping to regain his sight by entire rest. He had given to the monastery a considerable sum of money, which now, alas ! was exhausted. The young officer replied that, should no order arrive to march the next morning, he would go and look at the pictures. This he was able to do ; and being much surprised at the excellence of the pictures, wrote a note to his colonel, who was at some little distance, telling him of them, and why the monks were compelled to sell these works of art. The colonel was the son of an English nobleman, and after admiring the pictures, and thinking what a pleasure it would be to present them to his father, so that they may be added to the treasures of the family home, he gave the superior of the monastery an order of payment to be presented, when the pictures should be delivered, to the army agents at the port of Cadiz.

The young man was in his quarters some hours after this matter had been arranged, when the monk again appeared, and told him the painter of the pictures much wished to see him. He went at once, and found a noble-looking man, who was partially blind, and who seemed very ill. He had a singularly sad expression, as if he had passed through great suffering and bitter disap pointment. He told the young officer how thank ful he was that his colonel had bought the pictures. He dwelt on the great kindness and goodness he had received from the monks ; and expressed sati-sfaeth >n that in that way he had been able to somewhat repay them. But, oh ! only in part, for no one could know the real benefit he had received among them. " Alas ! " he continued, " my life has been too full of trouble, too full of anxiety.

I may have been wrong in some matters, I may have been selfish, but the cruelties of Court favouritism have driven me to do what I have done. What my sin has been — if it can be called a sin — I cannot now tell you. It woul 1 take too long, and try me too much, and you might nut understand it. Alas ! few can understand it. I know my hours are numbered. My kind friends here have little idea how ill I really am, but I know." Thus speaking he drew from under his pillow a bundle of papers, which he handed to the young officer. " Take these," said he ; " they are no longer any use to me. They may prove useful some day to another. They once belonged to the celebrated Alonzo Cano, whose name, perhaps, you do not know. There are notes in them by the divine Murillo, and it was from him they came, from father to son, down to me.

Alas ! that I have not made better use of them, and that I wasted my precious time on the frivolities and intrigues of a life about the Court. I always thought that a time of repose would come, when I could fully follow out all that these papers teach ; but it was not to be. Broken health has come, and this kind of repose I did not calculate upon. Now go, leave me, and I bless you for your kindness to me." The young soldier was much touched. The papers were written in Italian, and much faded, with fresh annotations here and there by different hands. He could not read them, for he was ignorant of Italian, and, therefore, remained unaware that painting was the subject of the manuscripts. He placed them with other papers of his own, and the next day he was on the march again, spreading around more devastation, more distress, and more ruin.

Chapter II

Some years after, in London, a painter sat in his studio. He was a man past middle age. He had been well off, and the world was bright to him. His youth had been passed in amusement, in travel, and in working more for pleasure than profit. He had practised sculpture and other things connected with art. Of late years, the loss of his wife and loss of some property had told heavily upon him, and what had been to him an amusement, he was now obliged to take up in real earnest to support himself, his son and daughter. As he sat in his studio, the door opened, and a lovely girl entered. " Father," she said, " I have all your things ready as you told me ; do you think there is anything more you may want ? " " Well, yes," he said, "you may as well look out a pair of riding boots. I may be asked to go out, but I hope not, for I don't feel at all inclined for that sort of thing."

" All right, dear father," and she shut the door behind her. " Ah ! how times change," said the painter. " There was a time when hunting to me was a de light, but now, why should I trouble myself with such a thing, and get scratched and knocked about ? Ah, me ! if times were only better, and I were not hampered with so many difficulties, but now, what to me ai-e these so-called pleasures ? We have to go through a disagreeable business to-morrow, and, perhaps, I shall be the only sad one amongst the company. Sad, yes, I am sad. When I look at Nature and see all she is, then I feel my weakness ; then I feel a fool, indeed, and unequal to such a serious combat. One satisfactory thing is, that the people I am going amongst do not know a good picture from a bad. My pictures are as good as most others now, but in that house, full of the works of old, how poor it will look !

There they have, indeed, fine specimens of old masters. They know enough, though they know so little, not to put my picture among their Titians. Titians, well I suppose they are Titians, but at all events they are magnificent pictures." The speaker, it seems, had just finished two large pictures, to be presented to Lord and Lady Annan dale by their tenantry and friends, and the morrow was the day of presentation. His daughter had been invited to accompany him to the house of his patron. The train drew up at a country sta'ion, where a carriage met them ; and after a pleasant drive on well-kept roads, they turned in between two lodges overhung with tall trees, bare of leaves, showing their stately branches against the moonlit sky. A little farther, and many lights indicated the house, a large and stately mansion.

The door stood open, and they were shown into a large hall, the entrance to a home where many generations had lived and died. " His lordship is in his study," said the butler. " Dinner will be served in half an hour." While Lily turned off with a maid to be con ducted to her room, her father was ushered into the study, where his lordship was expecting him. "Very happy to see you again," said Lord Annan dale. " Your train was punctual. I hope you and your daughter are quite well ? Everything is ar ranged for the function to-morrow, and I am glad to tell you that all who have seen the pictures are quite charmed with the likenesses, and think you have succeeded admirably; in fact, I think myself it could not be better." " Thank you, Lord Annandale," replied the painter. " I thank you much for your kind words.

The pictures could, indeed, be better ; but what painter is satisfied with his own work, at least now-a-days ? " "Ah!" said his lordship, "just the same, too modest I see ; " and Lord Annandale kindly and gently laid his hand on the painter's arm. " Well, now, let's go and prepare for dinner. I have no doubt you will be glad of it after your journey." tj

Chapter III

I will not describe the drawing-room. All seemed magnificent. On the walls the principal pictures related to sacred subjects. They could only be seen now somewhat indistinctly, but one would have said that four — two of which hung at one side of the room, and two at the other — were magnificent works by Titian. The painter had seen them before, and glanced at them with re spectful admiration. But his eyes now fell on the lady of the house, who, gracious and beautiful, stood welcoming her guests. Charles Beverby, the painter, and his daughter, were introduced to the company. The eldest son, Lord Braidwood, was there with a younger brother and two sisters, the Ladies Mary and Dorothy — handsome young people, full of life and happiness. " Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Boothby," said Lord Annandale.

" He is our art critic, very devoted to your profession ! " Mr. Beverly bowed. " I have had the pleasure of meeting you before, Mr. Boothby, upon more than one occasion." " Very glad to see you, and to know what has brought you here," replied Mr. Boothby. " Lord Annandale showed me the portraits — they are ex cellent — and your daughter, I hope, will enjoy this lovely place and scenery." Dinner was now announced, and Mr. Beverly, in honour of the occasion, took in Lady Annandale. In passing through the room, a better view of two of the Titians was obtained. " Ah ! how fine are those wonderful works of Titian." " Yes," said Lady Annandale ; " every one is astonished at them. They are called the ' Four Maries,' but, of course, you have seen them before, last summer. Mary and Joseph in the wilderness, Mary in the garden, Mary at the feet of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene.

His lordship's father bought them in Spain out of an old monastery from a dying monk. A sad story. Soult seems to have over looked them. It seems very strange they should have escaped the keen eyes of the French." The painter's daughter sat by the young lord, who thought her a very pretty girl, and soon found out that she was a very clever one, and she looked as good as she was clever too. Mr. Boothby sat opposite the painter. Some times art subjects cropped up, and he seemed much inclined to lay down the law whenever that happened. " There are very fine works in this house," said Mr. Boothby ; " the Titians here are superb." " Yes," said Mr. Beverly. " They are no doubt Titians, but there is something about them I can not quite understand. At Venice I studied the great master's works most carefully, and I have seen most of the Titians in England, and yet in these pictures, containing to the full, as I admit they do, the beauties and truth of Titian, there is some thing different, as if there had been two Titians ; but does not every artist change his manner some what during the course of his life ?

" " Certainly, certainly," said Mr. Boothby; " and these Titians are in his latest and best manner, and they were sent by the Grand Duke Maximilian as a present to Charles V. My friend Verachi, who lives at Venice, tells me the story of this is to be found in the State papers there, and he sent me an extract, made by himself, which some time since I handed to his lordship. I wish Lord Annandale felt inclined to part with them. I think I could induce the present ministry to buy them for the nation. This extract from the State papers makes it quite certain that the nation would do right in buying them. They have never been seen by the public, as they have never been out of this house since they were brought from Spain. Verachi also found out that these pictures were given by Charles V. to his minister Cordoni, who left them to a monastery in Estremadura, near Mouldan in Spain.

They were purchased by his lordship's father from the monks of the half-ruined monastery, so, you see, their history is perfect." Lily, who had caught some of the art critic's remarks, said to her companion : " My father talked so much about these pictures on his return from visiting you last summer, the}' made him quite sad for days, and so dissatisfied with his own work. Sad, you will say is curious, but that is because he admired them so much, and felt his own shortcomings, and yet to me his pictures seem quite perfect; but then, you know, I do not understand art as he does. My dear father works so hard and is so anxious, and it is a great joy to me that the portraits he has done here are so good, and now that I have seen Lord and Lady Annandale, I see how excellent they are as like nesses."

" Could not be better," said the young lord ; " they are first-rate, and my father likes your father so much. He is always talking about him and saying how well he does everything, but there is one thing I am thankful for, and that is that I am not a painter. The bother and trouble arc too great, they would make me an old man in a week. I should have gone into the army, but, I fear, I did not work very hard, and the examination papers came rather crossways. My father was not in the least disappointed, and now I think he would not very well get on without me. There is so much to do_jind to look after, that it would have come hard upon him had I gone away. He intended to get me into the 6th, which was his father's regiment. He was colonel of it, and it was he purchased those Titians you were talking about in the days of the Penin sular War."

Did you say the Gth ? " asked Lily. Yes, that was my grandfather's regiment. " And my grandfather's also," said Lily. " How strange that our grandfathers should have been friends, as I suppose they were. Only a year ago my aunt died, and lately a box containing papers and a diary, I think, has been sent to us. When we get back I will, with father's permission, look to see if he mentions your grandfather's name, which, of course, he must do." " It is most interesting," said Lord Braidwood. ■5 " You must at once read the diary, and see what it says, but I should think your father knows all about it." " Most likely he does, but it is so long ago since he read it. He had not seen his sister for many years, and then, perhaps, he did not think of the diary. These things sometimes get put away, and I do not know why it is they are so seldom read.

I think it may be because handwriting is often so difficult to read." " Yes, no doubt it is. My father says there are many papers in our library he has never read, and I don't suppose he ever will. By the wayT, Miss Beverly, we go hunting to-morrow, after the presentation. Do you ride ? " "No," said Lily, "I have rarely ridden." " Well, my sister must drive you in her pony cart." " Father used to be very fond of hunting," said Lily, " but now, of course, he never thinks of it. Some of father's friends have told me what a good rider he used to be ; you would not think it now ! " "Well, it is like swimming, yrou never forget it. I am afraid we have not got a suitable horse to put your father on to-morrow ; but, I daresay, he would rather drive." The ladies then left the room, and Lord Annan dale said to his son : " Well, George, have you ordered the hounds to be here at twelve to-morrow ?

I think we shall be ready by that time." " Yes, father, it is all right. Jones says there is a fox in Barking Copse, and if he is not there, he is sure to be in Highburton, so there won't be much trouble to find him. But we are not to go to the right, for there is a vixen there, and the earth is left open. There will be a good many people here to morrow, wet or dry ; too many to have much of a run. I suppose Mr. Beverly will drive with her ladyship ? " " Oh, no ! " said Lord Annandale, " I particularly want him with me. We may get a good way off, and, if so, I shall much enjoy a chat with him riding home, for, I am sorry to say, he must leave us the day after, so, if he does not ride, I shall not see much of him, and I want to talk to him about some improvements I am making, and which we shall most likely come across during our ride.

He is a man of taste, and may give me a hint or two. We will put him on Oliver. It is his turn, I think, and he is a safe hack. He pulls too much during a run, but as Mr. Beverly will keep to the roads, pretty much as I do," (his lordship was really a hard man occasionally,) "and as I mean to do, I think he will find him a very pleasant mount. He does not pull a bit on the roads." " Mr. Beverly," said the young lord, " I have made the curious discovery that my grandfather and your father were in the same regiment in the Peninsular War, the 6th. Is it not strange ? " " Yes, indeed, it is. It only shows how small the world at home really is. But how did you find this out ? " " Well, I was telling Miss Beverly that our Titians were brought from Spain by the colonel of the 6th, my grandfather, who purchased them there, and then your daughter told me that that was your father's regiment.

Also, that there is a diary of your father's in your possession. I hope you will look it over and find they were friends, and also see if there is anything about these pictures in it." " Well, how very strange," said Lord Annandale. " My dear sir, will you allow me to fill your glass, and we will drink our health one to the other, in memory that our fathers served in the same regiment and were friends, and may we ever be the same." Beverly was much touched, and drained in silence the proffered glass. B " My father was older than yours," said his lordship, " and the discipline of those days may have caused an intimacy, less than will be the future of our acquaintance." With all good feeling they left for the drawing room, except that Mr. Boothby would rather it had been himself with whom Lord Annandale had thus drunk, as he was the sort of man who liked to be the one taken most notice of.

Music was going on in the drawing-room, and Boothby rose and approached one of the pictures, and was joined by Beverly. " Do you see," said he, " there is something about these pictures not quite in the style of the Titians we are accustomed to see. The features have an almost Spanish type instead of an Italian." " No," said Mr. Boothby, " I cannot see it. I am well acquainted with the second manner of Titian. There were plenty of Spaniards in Venice, who might have been the models for these figures, be sides, any doubt is entirely set at rest by my friend Verachi's document giving their history. It is true that the copy of this document is not to be found truly speaking in the State papers of Venice ; but it was found in some papers belonging to the State, papers which had reference to art matters of the time, being the permission given to Titian to send the pictures out of the country.

This was, I assure you, a very curious find on the part of nry friend, and shows great ingenuity.'' Beverly joined the ladies, Boothby drew near the fire, and fora moment frowned into the flames ; then cast, as it were, a thought away, and moving towards the piano, listened to a pretty song the painter's daughter was singing. That night the painter kissed and blessed his daughter, and said : " Dear one, I wish to-morrow was over. The kindness of these people overwhelms me, when I think of the very poor return I can make. Oh that I had the power of him who painted those pictures. There is some mystery I cannot under stand. How curious that the diary should remain. There may be something in it which will explain. But, no, it is impossible, and Boothby must be right. It is very odd that my father should have served under Lord Annandale's father.

My poor, good father, would he have liked to know that his only son was to be a dauber of the 19th century7 portraits ? But these people, at all events, trust me as if I were the equal of Titian and our own Sir Joshua." " Oh, father clear, don't be sad. They all -say the likenesses are most excellent, and everyone is so pleased. Why, oh ! why, are you so desponding?" " Ah. my dear, I have told you before why I am out of heart. I feel that I am not on the right road; and I also feel that no one else is. Why should the work of those who have gone before be so much better than what we can do? Truly it is a problem I cannot solve, think as I may. But now, good-night, my darling ; and in the morning, mind you write to Charlie, and tell him not to overdo the training ; it is not worth while for him to in jure his health for the small honour of what he calls his ' blue.' It would be blue for me if anjs thing should happen to the dear boy."

Chapter IV

The big house was early astir in the morning — servants running here and servants there, prepar ing rooms for the breakfast for 200 people, moving the furniture so that the assembled party could have a view of the pictures, when they should be uncovered. How the breakfast was enjoyed need not be de scribed ; nor how the wives of the farmers were astonished, not at the rooms and furniture, and plate, and linen, for their own homes were speckless as far as cleanliness went, but what astonished their now unaccustomed eyes (for many of them had served in the household) was the richness of the appointments, the wealth and thought dis played, the amount of moneyr spent, the thought, the art. They were not envious ; no, not the}'. Their homes were good enough for them. True, a few less troubles, a few more necessaries, and theyr would be better pleased, but their homes were to them the most natural and happy places on earth.

Their affections were fixed there, and on things around them. His lordship's health, and that of her ladyship's were drunk, and a most able speech made by the Dean. The health of the young lord followed, and other healths were drunk, and suitable and pleasant speeches made. In the stables and up at the kennels it had been an easier morning than in the house. A late meet meant horses not fed so early, and men not bustled about as was often the case. " I saw those pictures," said Jones the huntsman to his wife, " and I must say I never did see better pictures or better likenesses ; but I wish they had put his lordship on horseback. He does look so well mounted, but I suppose they thought it would make too big a picture to put a hoss into it, though surely the house is big enough for that. I shall go to the breakfast, and then trot back as they are getting towards the end of the speeches.

Send Jacky down to hold my hack, and I will give him sixpence. He can go to the breakfast afterwards. He won't care about the speeches. He can ride the hack up and down while I am inside. Breakfast will go on long after we are gone, and a few more healths drunk, I know." The last speech was about over, when, beyond the crowd of horses, and carriages, and foot, and mounted people, was seen, against a background of purple and evergreen, the scarlet spots of huntsmen. The red coats and the black moved out of doors to find their respective horses, and now all were mounted. Many enter the doors now, those who did not care to go in as long as the great function ri o c_ was in progress, but who now were about to enjoy a pleasant feast. Beverly, who was little accustomed to be much out of doors in winter, had put on an ulster, which covered him nearly from neck to heels.

"Jones," said his lordship, "this is the gentle man who has been so kind as to paint her ladyship's and my portraits. I should like him to see the hounds. Just turn them round and bring them here." As he spoke, Jones took off his cap, and said : " Yes, my lord, I never saw better portraits in my life," and turning his horse, brought up the hounds, just about the distance he thought the painter would like them, if he had his sketch-book with him. " Yes," said Beverly, " they are, indeed, beautiful animals, to be seen only in this land of England." As he spoke, a tall black and white hound singled himself out from the pack, and coming towards the painter, just touched the tip of his boot with his nose, and passing on struck the stirrup with his stern, as if giving some friendly recogni tion, and saying, " I am glad to see you.

You, I think, are a friend of ours." Beverly felt the sympathetic touch, and looking down, said, " That is a beautiful hound. Is he as good as he looks ? " added he to the huntsman. "Quite, every bit; we never had a better, neither has anyone else." Boothby was a great hunter, and was now mounted on one of his best horses ; but he was one of those men who seemed hardly to hunt for hunting's sake, but for other reasons. Jorrocks mixed his hunting with tea-dealing. He mixed his picture-dealing with hunting. He sat now apart from where the hounds were and seemed to be looking at Beverly as though he did not ap prove of gentlemen of the brush mixing in out-of door sports. It is not necessary to describe the various people out. There were riders of all sorts, male and female, and of all conditions.