When Raphael was painting his beautiful
frescoes in the Farnesina palace, he passed
daily over the bridge and through this narrow
street to his work. One day, it is said, he saw
a beautiful black-haired girl, of the voluptuous
type painters love so well, bathing her white feet
in the waters of the Tiber. From that hour all
peace of mind forsook him, and he forgot even
art in his earnest desire to be loved by so                                                  exquisite a creature. The baker's daughter,                                              however, was already provided in the way of a lover,
a certain fierce soldier, stained by the blood of
many battles, aspiring to the possession of this
peerless beauty. Egidio had no refinement of
soul, no "intellect of love;" only the outward
charms of the girl had touched him; but he
swore that, if any one else presumed to think
of or approach her, he would finish him with a
stoccata. Catterinella, never having known the
delicious frenzy of love, had hitherto submitted
with a tolerable grace, arising from perfect
indifference, to the advances of the soldier; he
often came to her father's shop, and gossiped
and smoked, until she grew used to him, and
Egidio, in a manner, became domesticated. But
when Raphael came also, and talked and cast
amorous glances out of his beautiful eyes at
Catterinella, she began to detest the soldier,
and to feel all the joys and pains of first love.
Raphael not only rapidly insinuated himself into
her affections, but, with that amiability and
grace which he so prominently possessed,
fascinated even the rough baker himself. He was
too much absorbed in his art to spend much
time at the shop, but that very art afforded him
the readiest means of advancing his suit. He
asked Guiseppe to allow his daughter to sit to
him for her picture, and he, though but a
common vulgar tradesman, still had enough
respect for the fine arts, then so generally
cultivated in Rome, to consider the request as a
compliment, and to comply. But he made
Raphael promise never to mention his compliance,
both out of regard to Catterinella's fair
fame, and for fear of the rough soldier, Egidio,
whose blind jealousy might prompt him to
commit some violence. When Catterinella first
went to Raphael's studio it was secretly and
cautiously, and accompanied by her mother, but
so frequent were the visits of Egidio, and so
ardent his passion for Catterinella, that it was
impossible for their absence not to raise his
suspicions. One day when they had left the shop,
as they supposed unobserved, he watched them
at a distance, and, seeing them enter a doorway
and ascend a staircase, followed them. The
door was inadvertently left open, and Egidio
entered, and, stealing noiselessly into the
spacious studio, hid himself among some lumber.
Unable to control his fierce passions at seeing
Catterinella seated opposite Raphael, Egidio,
drawing his stiletto, rushed on the painter, who,
at that very instant poising his brush in the
air, was intently and passionately examining the
Fomarina's features. The women, horrified at
the sudden apparition of Egidio, his drawn
knife and horrid looks, screamed aloud; but
Raphael, unarmed as he was, rose and faced his
assailant. No sooner had Egidio recognised
Sanzio as the detested rival whom he was about
to murder—Sanzio, whom he regarded as a deity,
whom he had heard celebrated as the very
wonder of the world—than he stood transfixed,
and the stiletto dropped from his hand. A few
inarticulate words of excuse and prayers for
pardon fell from his lips. Tranquillised by the
humane looks of Raphael, who gazed on him
with a kind of pitying astonishment, he endeavoured,
in broken words, to explain the motives
which had induced this murderous conduct; he
spoke of his love, he concealed not his jealousy.
Determined at the moment and on the spot to
know his fate, Egidio, deeply agitated, now
turned towards the affrighted Catterinella, who,
scared by his fierce looks of mingled hate, rage,
and love, scarcely dared to raise her head, while,
himself shaking with ill-suppressed passion, he
implored her to be calm. He assured her he
would not injure her, but he conjured her, by all
she held most sacred, to tell him if she really
loved him. Catterinella, inspired by the
passionate excitement of the moment about to
decide her fate, trembled no more. She forgot
her fears of Egidio, his cruelty and his jealousy;
she forgot all save Raphael—the sun under
whose rays she had expanded into a new and
delicious life—Raphael, the god of her idolatry,
who stood pale and speechless before her.
Raising her eyes to his face, she gave utterance
to the love she had long secretly cherished in
her heart, and, trembling, confessed in faltering
accents that he was dear to her beyond all other
mortals. Egidio was struck dumb when he
heard his fate pronounced by the lips of her he
loved. Seizing his knife, which had lain on the
floor, he rushed from the studio. Relieved from
the fascination of Raphael's countenance and
majestic presence, Egidio, clasping his weapon
in his hand, resolved to return and murder him;
but when he remembered the words of
Catterinella—when he recalled those passionate words
in which she had confessed her love—his
resolution again changed. "Why kill him, when
she loves me not?" exclaimed he. Honour and
despair strove in the breast of the savage
soldier; love, hope, life—all had passed into the
possession of another, and that other a man so
godlike, that he could scarcely, even in the wild
paroxysms of his jealousy, wonder at the
preference. His violent nature could not endure
the tortures of his soul, and, in utter despair, he
plunged into his own breast the weapon he had
raised against Sanzio.

As we turned into the Lungara every palace
was illuminated with red light. The immense
Corsini palace especially shone out brilliantly,
and looked the very image of a magnificent
feudal residence belonging to some mediæval
baron. Lights glittered along its interminable
façade, row above row to the very roof, while
at intervals in the street were planted huge
torches of burning pitch, that blazed and flashed
and cast ruddy unearthly tints on the white
palace behind, while great bonfires of tar-barrels,