adjoining. It chanced unfortunately, that this piece of land did not
belong to an individual who could be tempted by a large price, but to
a society or club called the "Arquebussiers," one of those old Flemish
guilds, which date their origin several centuries back. Insensible to
every temptation of money, they resisted all the painter's offers, and
at length only consented to relinquish the land on condition that he
would paint a picture for them, representing their patron saint, St.
Christopher. To this, Rubens readily acceded, his only difficulty being
to find out some incident in the good saint's life, which might serve
as a subject. What St. Christopher had to do with cross-bows or
sharp-shooters, no one could tell him; and for many a long day he
puzzled his mind, without ever being able to hit upon a solution of the
difficulty. At last, in despair, the etymology of the word suggested a
plan; and "christopheros," or cross-bearer, afforded the hint on which
he began his great picture of "The Descent." For months long, he worked
industriously at the painting, taking an interest in its details, such
as he confesses never to have felt in any of his previous works. He
knew it to be his _chef-d'oeuvre_, and looked forward, with a natural
eagerness, to the moment when he should display it before its future
possessors, and receive their congratulations on his success.

The day came; the "Arquebuss" men assembled, and repaired in a body to
Rubens' house; the large folding shutters which concealed the painting
were opened, and the triumph of the painter's genius was displayed
before them: but not a word was spoken; no exclamation of admiration,
or wonder, broke from the assembled throng; not a murmur of pleasure, or
even surprise was there: on the contrary, the artist beheld nothing but
faces expressive of disappointment, and dissatisfaction; and at length,
after a considerable-pause, one question burst from every lip--"Where is
St. Christopher?"

It was to no purpose he explained the object of his work: in vain he
assured them, that the picture was the greatest he had ever painted,
and far superior to what he had contracted to give them. They stood
obdurate, and motionless: it was St. Christopher they wished for; it was
for him they bargained, and him, they would have.

The altercation continued long, and earnest. Some of them, more
moderate, hoping to conciliate both parties, suggested that, as
there was a small space un