understand?"

One morning my Jew friend said to me: "Do you want to see de, what you call
behind-de-scenes of Florence? Ver' well, you come wid me. I am going after
pictures."

He had a carriage at the door. I jumped in with him, and we spent the day
in driving about the town, visiting palaces and the houses of professional
men and tradesmen--of all who were "down on their luck," and wanted to part
with art-treasures. Here we entered a palace, of roughed stone blocks after
the ancient Florentine style, where a splendid porter with cocked hat, a
silver-headed _baton_, and gorgeous livery kept guard. Up the white marble
stairs, into stately halls overladen with gilding, the walls crowded with
paintings in cumbrous but resplendent frames. Prince So-and-So had got into
financial difficulties, and wanted to part with some of his heirlooms.

There we entered a mean door in a back street, ascended a dirty stair, and
came into a suite of apartments, where a dishevelled woman in a dirty split
dressing-gown received us and showed us into her husband's sanctum, crowded
with rare old paintings on gold grounds. Her good man had been a collector
of the early school of art; now he was ill, he could not attend to his
business, he might not recover, and whilst he was ill his wife was getting
rid of some of his treasures.

There we entered the mansion of a widow, who had lost her husband recently,
a rich merchant. The heirs were quarrelling over the spoil, and she was in
a hurry to make what she could for herself before a valuer came to reckon
the worth of the paintings and silver and cabinets.

In that day I saw many sides of life.