386 OLD SAN R E MO. 



south, away into the distance where sea and sk^- merge 

 in a light bhie mist. 



The slope below the church is laid out with modern 

 gardens, but we will not tarry here, for the picturest|ue 

 old town of San Remo on the tlank of the hill attracts 

 us. Its blackened houses in the narrow streets are bound 

 together b\' strong arches and vaults, thus forming a 

 firmly knit mass capable of resisting even violent earth- 

 C[uakes. Loggias, terraces and sharp angles in the streets 

 break the monoton\' of the lines. We notice the 

 time-worn figures of tlie Madonna as we pass: and 

 we meet women, in the ancient costume of tlie countr\-, 

 slowU' mounting the steep hill carrying water on then" 

 heads in copper vessels. At one street corner I lin- 

 gered. Through the deep shadow of a dark vaulted 

 passage I saw a house lighted up b\' dazzling sun- 

 shine: at the threshold sat a woman attired in blue 

 and red, with a child, dressed in white, in her arms. 

 A ra\ ol sunlight gilded the curh' locks of the child. 

 The arched passage formed a setting to this picture. 

 It was a living model of one of those Madonna 

 pictures that the great Italian Masters of the Renas- 

 cence so skilfully transferred to canvas. There was 

 the same grace in the attitude and the draper^'. the 

 same artistic effect of light and shade and a similar 

 harmony in the surroundings. This scene attracted me 

 and I stood so long that the curiosity of the passers 

 bA- was aroused and I had to leave the spot. Hut m\' 

 attention was soon again arrested, this time by the high 

 belfrv tower of San Sirio, Hooded with golden light. 



