ll being
especially unfavourable: perhaps, indeed, the very style of painting
lent itself to speedy destruction. In the second half of the Sixteenth
Century a traveller says that the picture is half spoiled; another sees
in it only a tarnished blot; people complain that the picture is already
lost, assuredly it can scarcely be seen; another calls it perfectly
useless, and so speak all the later authors of this period.

But the picture was still there, even if it was the shadow of its former
self. Now, however, from time to time fear arises lest it be lost
entirely; the cracks are increasing and run into one another, and the
great and precious surface is splitting into numberless small flakes and
threatening to fall piece by piece. Touched by this state of affairs,
Cardinal Frederick Borromeo had a copy of it made in 1612, and we are
grateful for his forethought.

Not only did it suffer by the lapse of time, in connection with the
above-mentioned circumstances, but the owners, themselves, who should
have kept and preserved it, wrought its greatest ruin and therefore have
covered their memory with eternal shame. It seemed to them necessary to
have doors that they might pass in and out of the Refectory; so these
were cut symmetrically through the wall upon which the picture stood.
They desired an impressive entrance into the room which was so precious
to them.

A door much larger than was necessary was broken through the middle,
and, without any feeling of reverence either for the painter or the holy
company, they ruined the feet of several apostles, indeed, even of
Christ. And from this, the ruin of the picture really dates. Now, in
order to build an arch, a much larger opening had to be made in the wall
than even for the door; and not only was a large portion of the picture
lost, but the blows of hammers shook the picture in its own field, and
in many places the crust was loosened and some pieces were fastened on
again with nails.

At a later period, by a new form of bad taste, the picture was obscured,
inasmuch as a national escutcheon was fastened under the ceiling, almost
touching the forehead of Christ; thus by the door from below, so now
from above also, the Lord's presence was cramped and degraded. From this
time forward the restoration was again spoken of which was undertaken at
a later period. But what real artist would care to undertake such a
responsibility? Unfortunately, in the year 1726, Bellotti present