"And will you begin afresh with the sittings?" asked Castiglione with ill concealed displeasure. Before Correggio could reply, Michael Angelo, who, looking towards the speakers, had caught a glimpse of Isaura, cried, "By St. Lucas, Allegri! there sits your Madonna, from the picture of St. George, bodily before you, as I live! Ha, you cunning rogue! you are as bad as Raphael; you paint, instead of the mother of God, your own mistress, whom you thus make the pious people worship!" Isaura grew pale, and looked bewildered at Correggio; who answered without embarrassment, "You are mistaken, Master Angelo; my Madonna indeed resembles this lovely original; she is not, however, my mistress, but the affianced bride of Count Castiglione, the Princess Isaura Cosimo, of the house of Medici." "Indeed!" muttered Buonazotti, and smiling he looked away. But Castiglione, trembling with passion, seized Allegri's hand, pressed it significantly and whispered to him in a choked voice, "We will speak together at the end of the banquet!" Correggio started, and seemed at first not to under While Michael Angelo and Correggio once more drank to the health of Romano, the Duke beckoned the Marchese Rossi apart, and questioned him minutely about the first meeting of the two painters. The Marchese told him how he and Correggio were about leaving the castle to mount their horses, and come over to Pietola, when the hall door opened, and Buonazotti appeared; how, without ceremony, he had addressed Allegri with the question,-"Are you Correggio?" and on his answer in the affirmative, had simply added-"And I am Michael Angelo;" offering his hand, while Correggio joyfully embraced him. How both had discoursed of their art, and Buonazotti had highly praised Correggio's work at Par-stand the Count, but a glance at Isaura, who sat blushing ma, particularly the cupola of St. John; criticising the drawing at the same time. How Correggio, mortified, had confessed he had seen none of Michael's paintings; the latter exclaiming, "Then you must come to Rome! you must see my Sistine chapel! you will understand it." How Correggio had shown him Julio's picture, which the noble Florentine gazed upon long and earnestly; then with manifestations of deep delight, had returned to Correggio's own paintings—for instance, the Io and the Leda, and the Madonna with St. George; bursting out at length with the exclamation,-“Yes-you understand it!" With great difficulty had he, (Rossi,) and Correggio been able at last to persuade the enthusiast to ride with them to Pietola. The Duke, apparently satisfied, dismissed the Marchese, and returning to his place, renewed his conversation with the three great masters. Suddenly Castiglione approached the group, and laying his hand lightly on Correggio's shoulder, said, "Master Allegri, a word with you." Allegri rose, and bowing to the Duke, withdrew with the Count, who led him towards the place occupied by Prince Cosimo, and in presence of the fair Isaura, said, in a friendly tone,-"The Prince and I rejoice at the acknowledgment you have to-day received from the great Buonazotti, which has the more increased our wish, to have as soon as possible in our possession, the portrait of the Princess, by your hand. Tell us then, when you think you can have it ready for us." "The picture of the Princess is finished;" answered Correggio carelessly, but immediately repented his precipitation, when, not only the Prince and the Count, but Isaura herself, exclaimed with one voice,-"How finished!" and then added,-"And when shall we have it?" "Oh," said the painter, embarrassed and correcting himself," not finished, I should have said: the portrait of the Princess is spoiled, and I have had to rub it out." Heaven help us!" cried the Prince, "spoiled!" 44 crimson, made him comprehend all; and looking quietly in the Count's face, replied,-" As you command!" went back to his place, and was the gayest of the gay, the rest of the evening. The next morning, the Count Castiglione entered his chamber with a sullen look, flung his sword on the table, and despatched his servant to fetch a surgeon to dress a wound in his right arm. As the servant went on his errand, the Marchese Rossi came in. "Ha, sir Count! are you wounded ?" asked he, with an expression of sympathy. "A scratch!" replied the Count; "the painter fights like the devil, and I may thank my good fortune I came off so well. After all, it would have been better, if I had at first (I was compelled to, after my useless labor.) quietly listened to my adversary. The matter is now cleared up; Allegri is an enthusiast, a dreamer, but at "I could answer," said Rossi, "that I am indeed the friend of Correggio, but not of his follies; and that an approving conscience is dearer to me than his friendship, so that I have held it my duty to make the communication to you. I pass for Correggio's friend, because our Duke took the whim into his head to appoint me to that post, and I should have proved myself a poor courtier, had I set myself against the Prince's order. Thus, I am the painter's friend; and as much so, as a man like me, can be the friend of so haughty and splenetic a person. If you knew how deeply my pride has often been wounded by him, and what unearthly patience it requires to follow his sudden fancies and turns of humor, without giving them receive, so soon as this arm is able to lift a sword! Be a baneful direction, you would pity me." assured, meanwhile, that Correggio shall be warned of the "I pity you, indeed!" said the Count, with some con- falsehood of his pretended friend!" Rossi departed in a rage; but a sting rankled in Castiglione's heart. Michael Angelo left Mantua, after a visit of many days, not failing before his departure to express publicly his high opinion of Correggio's genius. "It is true," he remarked, "that Antonio is sometimes not quite correct in drawing; that he neglects the study of anatomy; but how sublimely conceived are all his pictures! full of poetry-original throughout; and the magic of his coloring enchants the severest judge, as well as the amateur." "And is it not reasonable, that I should wish my friend, if not at the deuse, at least a little salutary chastisement, for all the torments I have suffered in his company! If a morose humor takes him, he sets himself to talk of his dear wife, of his love to her, of his inconstancy! Gives me a catalogue of her virtues, and of his own faults, which register I have ten times better by heart than he! Then he bethinks him of his first love, and he describes the beauty of the damsel that kindled the flame; anon he falls to his pictures, talks of design, composition, drawing, coloring, effect, chiar' oscuro, etc., of all Not only this, but the proud Florentine who had unwilwhich I understand nothing. If I persuade myself that lingly yielded the meed of praise even to the great Sanzio, I comprehend something of it, and have a word to throw expressed his verdict in an admirable sonnet, which he in, he laughs in my face, derides me, tells the story to handed to Allegri at their parting. The disciples of the Duke, Romano and his pupils, and I am the laugh- Romano disputed much over this, and pronounced it ing stock of the whole circle! A plague upon the fellow's" something unheard of from the haughty, stern Buonaarrogance." "Enough!" interrupted Castiglione, gravely; "you love him not, you cannot love him, for he has done you injury, wantonly, if not with malicious intent. You wish him ill-you confess it honestly—and were I in your place, I should perhaps, not exceed you in magnanimity. These circumstances prevent you having the impartiality I require in his accuser, so that you will not be surprised that I attach little or no weight to your information." "That as you will!" replied Rossi, sullenly; "but I repeat to you that what I have said is true, and that Correggio, as he himself confesses, adores your affianced bride." "Signor Count!" answered the Marchese, quietly, "you speak as if Correggio were a man who stood no chance of finding favor in female eyes; and yet it is known to you, that he has turned the heads, not only of our court dames, but of half the women in the capital; and that when a youngster is brought into the world, ten to one he is christened Antonio, in honor of Correggio! And to give him his due, you must acknowledge that this frenzy of the women is excusable; for really, I am acquainted with no man, who, in beauty of person, noble carriage, and, when he pleases, insinuating manners, can equal, much less surpass him. Now hold you yourself so all accomplished, as to run no risk from the rivalry of Correggio, in the eyes of the young, enthusiastic, and susceptible Isaura?" The Count bit his lip, and replied with forced calmness, "Your audacity deserves chastisement, which you shall zotti!" It being observed every where, that he showed the very highest consideration for Correggio; it was not a little remarkable to notice how rapidly Allegri rose in the estimation of all, particularly in that of the Duke, who declared him the jewel of his court. This was enough to admire, feel themselves bound now to idolize. to make the courtiers, who had hitherto felt it their duty It is scarcely necessary to add, that with Correggio's rising reputation, the number of his secret enemies increased, and that they hated him the more bitterly, the higher he was placed above their enmity. The painter knew little of this; he was absorbed in his art. The Leda was now completed-and the connoiseurs disputed among themselves whether the picture was not more perfect than his Io; Correggio himself, gave it the preference. When Castiglione saw the painting, he started as if struck by a bolt; for again Isaura seemed to breathe in the image, though the features were not entirely hers. Correggio marked his emotion and secretly enjoyed it. The Count's surprise and resentment were so much the more ludicrous, as the artist knew full well he dared not express it, if he would not pass for a madman. No ob server could answer in the affirmative the question—“ If he thought Isaura the original of Leda ?" Though a certain inexplicable resemblance could be traced. It was a likeness not attainable by a careful copy of the several features-but that higher resemblance, to be felt, when the ingenious artist has transfused into his ideal the original, spiritual expression of a beloved being. Antonio had not hitherto looked upon the fair Isaura with other eyes than the admiring ones of an enthusiastic painter. So he openly acknowledged after his duel with the Count, but even while he avowed it, this pure and blameless feeling underwent a change. Whether from mere vanity or from thoughtlessness, it is too certain that Isaura felt an inclination towards him, which led her to forget, not exactly her station, but her pride. He, himself, reflected not upon his course in the event of success; he devoted himself with heartfelt im pulse, to the object-winning the love of the beautiful || of the Imperial design, appointed a day for him to leave Princess. Castiglione kept his word, and took an opportunity to inform Correggio, when the artist one day made him a visit, of the treachery of the Marchese. But, instead of flying into a passion, and challenging Rossi on the spot, as the Count expected, the painter laughed heartily, when he learned that the Marchese had been his friend by the Duke's command, and how bitterly he had complained of the imposed duty. "Tell me yourself," he said, when Castiglione blamed his levity, "tell me yourself, if it is not laughable that such a man as Rossi, who knows how to carry his wea pon as well as you or I, in obedience to a command should put on the semblance of friendship to a man whom he hated,-who has ridiculed him, tormented him,—and I must confess, treated him often with contempt. But have patience, my good Marchese! I will make hell too hot for you with my friendship!" Mantua for Correggio, and said on parting with him :"You go from me as a great painter; if I am not mistaken, the Emperor means well towards you, and will make you a great lord. Go on, Correggio! in life, as in art, even higher; and the nearer me, the better!" Proud and happy, his bosom filled with delightful hopes, and his head with bold schemes, Antonio Allegri left Mantua. "Enough for to-day!" said the illustrious Master Allegri, as he laid aside pencil and pallet, stepped back a few paces from the easel, and stood with folded arms, gazing on a picture just completed. "A fickle thing is man's heart!" said he, after a thoughtful pause. "A few months ago I stood in this very spot-my heart full of grief-weary of life! Now, how bright, how joyful is each dawning day! and all life can offer of good, is mine! Renown-Love-Wealth did me service while she claimed me as her own, for she breathed a soul of melancholy into my work, and opened the way for them to all hearts. And thou, dear, beloved image! no feeling heart shall pass thee by unmoved; but for once imagine the delight-not to love in vain.—It is mine!" In vain Castiglione represented to him that new pro-and the power and mind to enjoy! Yes, even sorrow vocations would only arouse the vengeance of Rossi, which would slowly but surely overtake him, since the Marchese was too mean to dare him to the encounter openly. Correggio persevered in thinking the matter not worth serious consideration, and ended by asking the Count, somewhat scornfully:-"To what, I pray you, am I indebted for the honor of your sudden care for my life and welfare ?" “Not, certainly, to your behavior towards me," replied Castiglione; "but were you my mortal enemy, I would not suffer you to rush blindly to your ruin, or see a cowardly knave creep behind to thrust you into the abyss." "It is well, Signor Count!" cried the painter with honest warmth; "I thank you for your caution, and acknowledge your nobleness; but I beseech you, let me have my own way! I would not torment myself with apprehensions (which indeed seem to me ill-grounded) even had I reason to do so. Better to fall suddenly under the assassin's knife, or drink 'welcome' death in the sparkling wine-cup, than with trouble and suspicion to measure every step in the flowery path of life, when to tread it heedlessly and gaily, is alone worthy of being called life." Herewith he took leave of the Count, before he could pursue the argument. Castiglione thought proper to lay the whole matter before the Duke, and the immediate consequence of his information was, that the Marchese Rossi received permission to retire to his seat in the country, as soon as it suited him. Rossi smiled ironically and shrugged his shoulders, muttered a curse or two, and the next morning left Mantua. Gonzaga retained Correggio's pictures a considerable time in his possession; at length, both the Io and the Leda were sent to Charles V, who was on a visit to Florence; the Madonna with St. George, was despatched to Modena. Some one knocked without; Correggio hastily concealed the picture, turning the face to the wall, and opened the door. It was the Marchese Rossi ! "A fair good morrow, Master Allegri!" cried he to the astonished painter. "Ha! ha! you are puzzled to account for my unexpected visit?" "Almost!" answered Correggio, with some haughtiness. "If, however, my old friend comes on the part of the Duke Frederico Gonzaga, to invite me to Mantua, all is quite clear to me.' "Well said!" cried the Marchese, with a smile, while he threw his hat on the table, and settled himself comfortably in a seat. "I have nothing now to do with an embassy from Frederico Gonzaga; I come of my own accord, and now really as your friend, even because I come of my own accord." "That may be seen," said Correggio. "In what can I serve you?" "First, with a good drink, for I am tired." Allegri called for wine; a servant brought it, and with him came in the painter's son, little Giovanni. "Ho-ho! Cupid!" cried the Marchese, "how he is grown! Take heed, Correggio, that he does not grow over your head, the Cupid I mean." "I thank you for him, Marchese; but the boy's name is not Cupid, but Giovanni." "Or Ascanius, eh! was not that the name of the supposed son of Æneas, that slept in Dido's lap?" The Emperor, enraptured with the magnificent productions of the great master, felt a desire to become "What means your silly talk?" interrupted the painter, personally acquainted with him; and it was reddening. 'Let the boy go: go away, Giovanni; and announced that his highness would have pleasure in you, Marchese, speak reasonably, if you would have me visiting the painter at his birth-place, Correggio. soon This was an honor no other artist had ever received at the hand of an Emperor. Gonzaga informed his favorite listen to you." Rossi rose, placed himself directly before the artist, and looking him in the face, said,-"That there is no deceit in you, Correggio, I know well now; for I see in your eyes how much you fear that I should really begin to speak reasonably with you. Had you been prudent, you would have taken a lesson from my treachery; but that was not your business; thoughtless, self-conceited, blinded by passion, you rushed to your destruction!" "My good Mentor!" replied Correggio, mockingly, "I perceive to what you allude! If it can quiet you, know that I am certain, in my own affairs, and have nothing to fear; nothing! on the contrary, you shall soon see with astonishment, to what Correggio can aspire!" to observe your art, for it is known to you, doubtless, that we dabble now and then in it ourselves." Hesitatingly Correggio obeyed ;-a cry of astonishment and admiration broke from every lip; and almost overpowered with the splendor that burst on his sight, Charles stepped a pace backward. The picture represented Isaura in a light fanciful drapery. "By the light of Heaven!" exclaimed the Emperor at length; "your mastery over art, startles the beholder! Never saw I anything so lovely, and so grand at the same time! Is it a portrait ?" "Yes!" answered Correggio. The Princes Isaura Cosimo." "For whom did you paint it?" "For myself." "For yourself?" "Yes, Sire-for myself;" said Correggio boldly, and "Now?" asked the painter, with a look of triumph at approaching nearer; "for myself for no one else! I the Marchese. love the original, and if you esteem me, as you say, the "And I say, now! my Allegri!" replied Rossi gravely, prince of living painters, I conjure you-" and followed the messenger out of the house. The morning was bright and beautiful. In rich, but simple attire, Antonio Allegri sat in his studio, awaiting his illustrious visitor. At length the hour struck, and, accompanied by the most distinguished of his suite, the Duke Gonzaga and Prince Cosimo at his side, Charles V. drew nigh the country-seat of the painter of Correggio. "Hold!" cried Charles, "rash, vain man, what have you dared-" Correggio looked at him surprised. The old Prince Cosimo then came to the Emperor's side and said respectfully,-"Your Majesty will be pleased to forgive the man for his folly for the painter's sake; it can only injure himself. My daughter submitted yesterday, at my parental command, to wed the illustrious Count Casti "Receive our congratulations," said Charles, turning to the Prince, "the name of Castiglione hath a goodly sound in our ears, for your cousin was one of our most valued servants." He then went up to Correggio, who stood pale, rigid, and speechless, and asked,—“ Will you part with the picture, Chevalier?" Correggio hastened out as soon as he knew of their ap-glione." proach, and held the stirrup for the Emperor to dismount, while he bent one knee to the ground before him. Charles beckoned to his followers, who formed a circle round himself and the artist. "We are come, Antonio Allegri," he said, "to prove to you how highly we esteem your mastery in your noble art. Be you numbered from this day among our chamberlains! Stand up, Cavalier Correggio!" He gave him his hand to kiss, raised him from the ground, and then led the way into the house; the company following. In the hall, where the painter had placed his best pictures for exhibition, the Emperor lingered with visible delight before each, often asking explanations of Correggio, oftener pointing out to the rest the peculiar beauties of this or that piece. At last he said," I will see your work-room, also, Allegri! lead the way thither; and, if you are so disposed, you shall sketch a picture, a subject for which, we will give you. Lead on." Correggio led the way into his studio; the Emperor and the other visitors following. "Strange!" cried Charles, as he entered the apartment, lighted for the convenience of the painter; "I feel as if I were entering a consecrated temple! Herewonderful genius, thou dost create those works whose magic makes us forget they owe existence to mortal art!" He passed with slow steps through the room; suddenly he stopped before a picture turned to the wall. "What is this?" he asked. "Only an experiment," replied Allegri, embarrassed. "Ha!" cried the Emperor, "we learn most from the experiments of great masters. "Not for all your kingdom!" answered Correggio. "The price is rather too high for me!" said the Emperor. "Keep it-and when you have gained the mastery over your insane passion, come to our court. We will welcome worthily the great painter, Antonio Allegri! LEARN TO LIVE FOR YOUR ART!" He turned Antonio remained and left the house with his followers. alone, standing as if petrified. 'She-Castiglione's wife?" he cried, after a long pause; and turning to the picture, he repeated," Thou, Isaura, faithless?" "By compulsion!" said a well-known voice near him. He turned, and saw Rossi standing and gazing upon him with looks of sympathy. Two years after, and the Count Castiglione came in deep mourning to the bedside of the dying Correggio, and said,-"Isaura is gone before you; I bring you her last farewell.” Correggio smiled gently, pressed the Count's hand, and expired. 'He has appointed you his heir," said the Marchese Rossi. "You are to keep his boy-and Isuara's picture." Castiglione trembled with emotion, as he closed the An excellent opportunity || eyes of the dead. Original. THE UNSUMMONED WITNESS.* she had not got one of the jury to sign it, but that several had told her that they would do so, if she would obtain, previously, the signature of the presiding judge. By the BY THE AUTHOR OF 'CLINTON BRADSHAW,' "HOWARD PINCKNEY." law of Ohio, a judgeship is not held for life, but for a term CHAPTER II. THE interest which I took in Brown's mother and Sarah, induced me to visit them after he was sent to the penitentiary to which he was sentenced for ten years. His afflicted mother, overcome by accumulated sorrows for his many crimes, and their consequences, rapidly sunk into the grave. I happened to call at her humble dwelling the night she died. Sarah supported her by her needle, and a hard task it was, for the doctor's bill and the little luxuries which her relative needed, more than consumed her hard earnings. The old woman called me to her bed-side, and together with Sarah, made me promise that if I saw her son again, I would tell him that with her dying breath she prayed for him. The promise was made, and while she was in the act of praying for him, her voice grew inaudible, and uttering with her last feeble breath an ejaculation for mercy, not for herself, but for her outcast child, her spirit passed to the judgment seat; and if memory and affection hold sway in the disembodied soul, doubtless she will be a suppliant there for him as she was here. After the death of the old woman, I saw Sarah once or twice, and then suddenly lost all trace of her. More than a year had now elapsed since Brown's conviction, and in increasing ill health, and the presence of other scenes and circumstances as touching as those of the mother and the cousin, I had forgotten them. I was advised by my physician to forsake all business, obtain a vehicle and horse, and by easy stages, travelling whither Fancy led, try to resuscitate my system. In fulfilment of this advice, I was proceeding on my way to Columbus, || Ohio, with the double purpose of improving my health, and by making acquaintances in the state where I had settled, facilitate and increase my practice should I ever be permitted to resume my profession. The sun was just setting in a summer's evening, as, within a half of a mile of Columbus, I passed a finely formed female on the road, who was stepping along with a bundle in her hand. There was something of interest in the appearance of the girl, which caused me to look back at her after I had passed. Instantly I drew up my horse. It was Sarah Mason. Her meeting with me seemed to give her great pleasure. I asked her if she would not ride, and thanking me, she entered my vehicle, and took a seat by my side. She had been very anxious to obtain a pardon for Brown before his mother's death. I had told her it would be fruitless unless she could get the jury who con demned him, together with the judges, to sign the recommendation to the governor, and I did not believe they would do it. I, however, at her earnest solicitation, drew up the petition, and when I last asked her about her success, which was, in fact, the last time I saw her, she told me * Concluded from page 8. of years. The term of office of the presiding judge on Brown's trial, had expired, and a new party prevailing in the legislature from that which had appointed him, he failed to obtain the reappointment. He had removed to Saint Louis for the purpose of practising law there, and thither Sarah had repaired with her unsigned petition. After repeated solicitations, and prayerful entreaties, she at last prevailed on the ex-judge to sign it. She then returned to Cincinnati, and after considerable trouble, succeeded in finding ten of the jury, some of whom followed the judge's example. The rest refused, stating what was too true, that the ease with which criminals obtained pardon from gubernatorial clemency in this country, was one of the great causes of the frequency of crime, for it removed that certainty of punishment which should ever follow conviction, and which has more effect upon the mind than severity itself, when there is a hope of escaping it. A new governor, in the rapid mutations of official life in the United States, had become dispenser of the pardoning power shortly after Brown's conviction, and it was his ear that Sarah personally sought, armed with the recommendation. He was a proud, easy man, where party influence was not brought to bear adversely on him, and after he had read the petition, Sarah's entreaty soon prevailed, and Brown was pardoned. The very day he was pardoned, he called on me at Russell's hotel, with his cousin, and after they had mutually returned me their thanks, for the interest which I took in their behalf, he promised me, voluntarily, to pay me a fee with the first earnings he got, which he said solemnly should be from the fruits of honest industry. He took my address and departed. I thought no more of it, 'till, one day, most opportunely, I received, through the post-office, a two hundred dollar bill of the United States Bank, with a well-written letter from him, stating that he had reformed his course of life, and that it was through the interference of his cousin, whom he had married, that he had done so. that he had assumed another name in the place where he then dwelt, which he would have no objection to communicate to myself, but as it was of no consequence to me, and might be to him, should my letter fall into the hands of another person, he had withheld it, together with the name of the place where himself and wife were located. The letter had been dropped in the Cincinnati post-office, and there was no clue whereby I could have traced him, had I entertained such a wish, which I did not. He said |