n and
took possession of it. Before any one could prevent it, the soldiers
began to shoot their arrows at the great statue, which they used as a
target, and in a few hours the work of sixteen years was utterly
destroyed. It is sadder still to tell the fate of Leonardo's fresco,
the greatest picture perhaps that ever was painted. Dampness lurked in
the wall and began to dim and blur the colours. The careless monks cut
a door through the very centre of the picture, and, later on, when
Napoleon's soldiers entered Milan, they used the refectory as a stable,
and amused themselves by throwing stones at what remained of it. But
though little of it is left now to be seen, there is still enough to
make us stand in awe and reverence before the genius of the great
master.

Not far from Milan there lived a friend of Leonardo's, whom the master
loved to visit. This Girolamo Melzi had a son called Francesco, a
little motherless boy, who adored the great painter with all his heart.

Together Leonardo and the child used to wander out to search for
curious animals and rare flowers, and as they watched the spiders weave
their webs and pulled the flowers to pieces to find out their secrets,
the boy listened with wide wondering eyes to all the tales which the
painter told him. And at night Leonardo wrapped the little one close
inside his warm cloak and carried him out to see the stars--those same
stars which old Toscanelli had taught him to love long ago in Florence.
Then when the day of parting came the child clung round the master's
neck and would not let him go.

'Take me with thee,' he cried, 'do not leave me behind all alone.'

'I cannot take thee now, little one,' said Leonardo gently. 'Thou art
still too small, but later on thou shalt come to me and be my pupil.
This I promise thee.'

It was but a weary wandering life that awaited Leonardo after he was
forced to leave his home in Milan. It seemed as if it was his fate to
begin many things but to finish nothing. For a while he lived in Rome,
but he did little real work there.

For several years he lived in Florence and began to paint a huge
battle-picture. There too he painted the famous portrait of Mona Lisa,
which is now in Paris. Of all portraits that have ever been painted
this is counted the most wonderful and perfect piece of work, although
Leonardo himself called it unfinished.

By this time the master had fallen on evil days. All his pupils were
gone, and his friends