 | III. People I have met, or, Pictures of society and people of mark, drawn under a thin veil of fiction |  |
3. III.
Upon the lofty dome of the altar in the cathedral of Bologna
stands poised an angel in marble, not spoken of in the books of
travellers, but perhaps the loveliest incarnation of a blessed
cherub that ever lay in the veined bosom of Pentelicus. Lost
and unobserved on the vast floor of the nave, the group of artists,
who had made a day's journey from Ferrara, sat in the wicker
chairs, hired for a baioch during the vesper, and drew silently
from this angel, while the devout people of Bologna murmured
their Ave Marias around. Signor Basil alone was content to look
over the work of his companions, and the twilight had already
begun to brighten the undying lamps at the shrine, when he
started from the pillar against which he leaned, and crossed hastily
toward a group issuing from a private chapel in the western aisle
her, attended by an equally distinguished company, followed that
lady's husband, the Marchese del Marmore. They were strangers
passing through Bologna, and had been attended to vespers by
some noble friends.
The companions of the Signor Basil looked on with some surprise
as their enamored friend stepped confidently before the two
nobles in attendance upon the lady, and arrested her steps with a
salutation which, though respectful as became a gentleman, was
marked with the easy politeness of one accustomed to a favorable
reception.
“May I congratulate miladi,” he said, rising slowly from his
bow, and fixing his eyes with unembarrassed admiration on her
own liquid but now frowning orbs, “upon her safe journey over
the Marches! Bologna,” he continued, glancing at the nobles
with a courteous smile, “welcomes her fittingly.”
The lady listened with a look of surprise, and the Bolognese
glanced from the dusty boots of the artist to his portfolio.
“Has the painter the honor to know la Signora?” asked the
cavalier on her right.
“Signor, si!” said the painter, fiercely, as a curl arched the
lady's lip, and she prepared to answer.
The color mounted to the temples of the Marchesa, and her
husband, who had loitered beneath the Madonna of Domenichino,
coming up at the instant, she bowed coldly to the Signor Basil,
and continued down the aisle. The artist followed to her carriage,
and lifted his hat respectfully as the lumbering equipage
took its way by the famous statue of Neptune, and then, with a
confident smile, which seemed to his companions somewhat mistimed,
and strolled loitering on with them to the trattoria.
| III. People I have met, or, Pictures of society and people of mark, drawn under a thin veil of fiction | |