Miriam was glad to find the Dove in her turret-home; for being endowed

with an infinite activity, and taking exquisite delight in the sweet

labor of which her life was full, it was Hilda's practice to flee abroad

betimes, and haunt the galleries till dusk. Happy were those (but they

were very few) whom she ever chose to be the companions of her day; they

saw the art treasures of Rome, under her guidance, as they had never

seen them before. Not that Hilda could dissertate, or talk learnedly

about pictures; she would probably have been puzzled by the technical

terms of her own art. Not that she had much to say about what she most

profoundly admired; but even her silent sympathy was so powerful that

it drew your own along with it, endowing you with a second-sight that

enabled you to see excellences with almost the depth and delicacy of her

own perceptions.

All the Anglo-Saxon denizens of Rome, by this time, knew Hilda by sight.

Unconsciously, the poor child had become one of the spectacles of the

Eternal City, and was often pointed out to strangers, sitting at her

easel among the wild-bearded young men, the white-haired old ones, and

the shabbily dressed, painfully plain women, who make up the throng of

copyists. The old custodes knew her well, and watched over her as their

own child. Sometimes a young artist, instead of going on with a copy

of the picture before which he had placed his easel, would enrich

his canvas with an original portrait of Hilda at her work. A lovelier

subject could not have been selected, nor one which required nicer skill

and insight in doing it anything like justice. She was pretty at all

times, in our native New England style, with her light-brown ringlets,

her delicately tinged, but healthful cheek, her sensitive, intelligent,

yet most feminine and kindly face. But, every few moments, this pretty

and girlish face grew beautiful and striking, as some inward thought and

feeling brightened, rose to the surface, and then, as it were, passed

out of sight again; so that, taking into view this constantly recurring

change, it really seemed as if Hilda were only visible by the sunshine

of her soul.

In other respects, she was a good subject for a portrait, being

distinguished by a gentle picturesqueness, which was perhaps

unconsciously bestowed by some minute peculiarity of dress, such as

artists seldom fail to assume. The effect was to make her appear like an

inhabitant of pictureland, a partly ideal creature, not to be handled,

nor even approached too closely. In her feminine self, Hilda was

natural, and of pleasant deportment, endowed with a mild cheerfulness of

temper, not overflowing with animal spirits, but never long despondent.

There was a certain simplicity that made every one her friend, but it

was combined with a subtile attribute of reserve, that insensibly kept

those at a distance who were not suited to her sphere.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024