For nearly ten days scarcely a single publication appeared that failed
to reproduce a comment or criticism upon the subject; but, strangely
enough, no single leader, writer or casual contributor remarked upon
the oddness of the composition or the absence of the Infant from the
Madonna's arms. In the course of time--that is to say, on the eleventh
day--the matter passed from the public mind, a circumstance explainable
perhaps by the decent interment of the canvas in the National Gallery,
where it affected no one save those mysterious folk who look at
pictures for their pleasure and the umbrellaless refugee who is driven
to take shelter from the fierceness of storms.
The little Madonna was placed upon a south wall, whence she could look
out upon a brave company. And sometimes people would pause to gaze at
her and then shake their heads. And once a girl said, "How sad she
looks! I wonder why." And once a little old lady with industrious hands
set up an easel before her and squeezed little twists of colour upon a
palette, then thought a long time and pursed her lips, and puzzled her
brow and finally murmured, "I could never copy it.
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