I fear that, through this interdict, I may have missed seeing many of
the best pictures. I do not mean _only_ the most talked of: for
these, as they were restored, generally found their way somehow into
the open rooms, owing to the clamours raised by the students; and I
remember how old Ercoli's, the curator's, spectacles used to be
mirrored in the reclaimed surface, as he leaned mysteriously over
these works with some of the visitors, to scrutinize and elucidate.
One picture, that I saw that Spring, I shall not easily forget. It
was among those, I believe, brought from the other rooms, and had
been hung, obviously out of all chronology, immediately beneath that
head by Raphael so long known as the "Berrettino," and now said to be
the portrait of Cecco Ciulli.
The picture I speak of is a small one, and represents merely the
figure of a woman, clad to the hands and feet with a green and grey
raiment, chaste and early in its fashion, but exceedingly simple. She
is standing: her hands are held together lightly, and her eyes set
earnestly open.
The face and hands in this picture, though wrought with great
delicacy, have the appearance of being painted at once, in a single
sitting: the drapery is unfinished. As soon as I saw the figure, it
drew an awe upon me, like water in shadow.
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