defiance of all laws of politeness and etiquette,
gives her a round of kisses in amazingly rapid
succession; then, turning on his tail, flies and
is seen no more.

Now La Parqueria, I grieve to tell it, is
rather more beautiful than good. Scandal,
busy at Rome as elsewhere, says naughty
things of her with reference to a certain
Cardinal. Next day, on the statue of Pasquin
appears a most abusive libel, called il bracciamento,
in which, in reference to the occurrence
of the day before, his Eminence the
Cardinal is likened to an old ape (Noto pellato).
The affair makes a furious noise in Rome;
and our friend Bamboccio is generally believed
to know more about it than he cares to aver.
He drinks, and fiddles, and paints none the
less, but he keeps his own counsel, goes home
rather earlier of an evening, and never alone,
and is heard to boast a good deal in public
touching being cunning of fence. As for the
poor Parqueria, so great is the hubbub and
ridicule, that she is obliged to leave Rome.
At this time of day it would scarcely bring
Peter de Laar within the range of the
batteries of the Holy Inquisition to say that
he is the guilty party, the real monkey, and
the author of the libel as well. There is an
obstinate old woman in Rome who is of the
same opinion, and who avers, that with her
proper eyes she saw the monkey assume the
shape of Bamboccio, mount a horse, and
gallop away at the top of his speed; but she
is at last persuaded that it was the devil she
saw and not the Dutchman, and performs, in
consequence, a Novena at the church of San
Pancrazio.

Five years have nearly elapsed since
Bamboccio's arrival at Rome, when he is one day
agreeably surprised by the appearance of his
brother, Roeland de Laar, who brings with
him two more young Dutchmen (and famous
ones), John and Andrew Both, who are come
to study landscape under Claude Lorraine.
Roeland has come with the intention of
taking his brother back to his native country;
but, after the manner of the hammer which
was sent to fetch the chisel, and which, in
turn, required the mallet to be sent after it,
Bamboccio easily persuades his brother to
stay in Rome, and the four painters agree to
live merrily together. They take a roomy old
house, and live for upwards of a year the
gayest, most jovial, yet most industrious
bachelor life you can imagine. Alas, for the
clouds that are so soon to overcast this fair
sky!

One day, on a sketching excursion, and
during Lent, after having tilled their
portfolios with sketches, they sit down by a
running stream to eat their afternoon meal.
The pie is good, and the wine is good, and the
ample and hilarious enjoyment thereof does
them, so they think, good too. Not so,
however, thinks a shaven monk with a white,
cowled blanket lashed round his waist by a
greasy rope, feet very picturesquely sandalled
but leaving something to be desired in the
way of cleanliness, a thin lip, and an evil eye.
He takes the artists roundly to task for eating
meat in Lent, and threatens nothing less than
to denounce them to the ecclesiastical
authorities; whereupon Bamboccio abuses him
with much humorous virulence.

"For a fellow," says Peter, "who recommends
abstinence, you keep no Lent in wine,
Father Baldpate, to judge by your ruby snout."

"Wine, in moderation, is sent by
Providence for the use of man," answers the monk,
sententiously.

"And water wherewith to dilute it," cries
Bamboccio, with an ominous glance at the
running stream. "Did you ever do penance,
old shaveling?"

"When I sin, as you do," responds the monk.

"Well" says Bamboccio, "you must have
sinned during the last two minutes, and you
shall do penance now. What say you,
brothers?" he adds, turning to his three
companions, and glancing at the stream again.

A clamorous cry of acquiescence in his
proposition greets him. The monk endeavours
to beat a retreat; but Peter, with a great
Dutch oath, swears he shall do penance, and,
catching him by the cowl and waistband,
throws him clean into the water.

"When he has washed a few of his sins
out," he says, laughing, "we will fish him
out."

But the current is rapid and the stream is
deep, and the monk never is fished out again.
He is drowned.

Bamboccio and his accomplices are in
consternation; some counsel one thing, some
another, but all at length agree to set off
immediately on their return to Holland.

From that fatal day Peter de Laar becomes
another man. The shadow of the monk is
always before him. At Amsterdam, at
Haerlem, at Dordt, at Utrecht, where his
paintings are held in great request and
are munificently paid for, he lives extravagantly,
and is as boisterous a boon companion
as of old; but his laugh loses its heartiness,
and his eye grows dull and his cheek haggard.
It is the monk. He avoids the companions
and accomplices of his crime, even his favourite
brother Roeland.

In the year 1650, Andrew Both drowns
himself in a canal at Venice.

In the year 1660, John Both perishes in the
water at Utrecht.

In the year 1663, Roeland de Laar crossing
a wooden bridge, the ass on which he is
mounted stumbles: he is precipitated into the
torrent beneath, and is drowned.

In the year 1675, Peter de Laar having
come to be more than sixty years of age, a
miserable, infirm, sombre old man, ruined in
health by excesses, impoverished in purse,
eclipsed in fame by the rising constellation of
Wouvermans, is found drowned in a well at
Haerlem.