e
long folds of the drapery we may see something of the severe grace of
early Tuscan sculpture--something of severity in the long, thin,
emphatic shadows. For the light is high, as with the level lights of
early morning, the air of which ruffles the banners borne by Ursula in
her two hands, her virgin companions laying their hands also upon the
tall staves, as if taking share, with a good will, in her
self-dedication, with all the hazard of battle. They bring us,
appropriately, close to the grave of this manly yet so virginal
painter, born in the year 1500, dead at forty-seven.

Of Moretto and Romanino, whose works thus light up, or refine, the dark
churches of Brescia and its neighbourhood, Romanino is scarcely to be
seen beyond it. The National Gallery, however, is rich in Moretto's
work, with two of his rare poetic portraits; and if the large
altar-picture would hardly tell his secret to one who had not studied
him at Brescia, in those who already know him it will awake many a
reminiscence of his art at its best. The three white mitres, for
instance, grandly painted towards the centre of the picture, at the
feet of Saint Bernardino of Siena--the three bishoprics refused by that
lowly saint--may remind one of the great white mitre which, in the
genial picture of Saint Nicholas, in the Miracoli at Brescia, one of
the children, who as delightfully+ [105] unconventional acolytes
accompany their beloved patron into the presence of the Madonna,
carries along so willingly, laughing almost, with pleasure and pride,
at his part in so great a function. In the altar-piece at the National
Gallery those white mitres form the key-note from which the pale,
cloistral splendours of the whole picture radiate. You see what a
wealth of enjoyable colour Moretto, for one, can bring out of monkish
habits in themselves sad enough, and receive a new lesson in the
artistic value of reserve.

Rarer still (the single work of Romanino, it is said, to be seen out of
Italy) is the elaborate composition in five parts on the opposite side
of the doorway. Painted for the high-altar of one of the many churches
of Brescia, it seems to have passed into secular hands about a century
ago. Alessandro, patron of the church, one of the many youthful
patrician converts Italy reveres from the ranks of the Roman army,
stands there on one side, with ample crimson banner superbly furled
about his lustrous black armour, and on the other--Saint Jerome,
R