you will
say, with justice, that it is only here and there that I have hit upon
the true 'Novella' tone--perhaps only in the headings of the chapters.
After this noble and candid confession I am sure you will not deal too
hardly with me, but think chiefly of anything which you may find
entertaining and lively."

"What prefaces!" cried Lothair. "An unnecessary _Capitatio
Benevolentiae_; read us your Novella, my good friend Ottmar, and
if you succeed in vividly portraying to us your Salvator Rosa
in verisimilitude before our eyes, we will recognise you as a
true Serapion brother, and leave everything else to the grumbling,
fault-finding critics. Shall it not be so, my eminent Serapion
Brethren?"

The friends acquiesced, and Ottmar began.

SIGNOR FORMICA.
_A NOVELLA._

The renowned painter, Salvator Rosa, comes to Rome, and is attacked by
a dangerous malady.--What happened to him during this malady.

People of renown generally have much evil spoken of them, whether
truthfully or otherwise, and this was the case with the doughty painter
Salvator Rosa, whose vivid, living pictures you, dear reader, have
certainly never looked upon without a most special and heartfelt
enjoyment.

When his fame had pervaded and resounded through Rome, Naples, Tuscany,
nay, all Italy; when other painters, if they would please, were obliged
to imitate his peculiar style--just then, malignant men, envious of
him, invented all sorts of wicked reports concerning him, with
the view of casting foul spots of shadow upon the shining auriole
of his artistic fame. Salvator, they said, had, at an earlier
time of his life, belonged to a band of robbers, and it was to his
experiences at that time that he was indebted for all the wild, gloomy,
strangely-attired figures which he introduced into his pictures, just
as he copied into his landscape those darksome deserts, compounded of
lonesomeness, mystery, and terror--the _Selve Selvagge_ of Dante--where
he had been driven to lurk. The worst accusation brought against him
was that he had been involved in that terrible, bloody conspiracy which
"Mas' Aniello" of evil fame had set afoot in Naples. People told all
about that, with the minutest details.

Aniello Falcone, the battle-painter (as he was called), blazed up in
fury and bloodthirsty revenge when the Spanish soldiers killed one of
his relations in a skirmish. On the spot he col