In the Refectory of the old Dominican Friary attached to the church of Santa Maria delle Grazie, we saw Leonardo da Vinci's famous fresco of the _Last Supper_. It is on the wall of a large, bare, whitewashed room, this celebrated work being almost the only furniture and decoration. Although in a very bad state of decay and dilapidation, it is yet sufficient to draw hither artists from all quarters of the world, who are always busily copying the great work, aspiring to fill up the flaws of decay and age in the best way they can imagine the master's hand had originally painted it. But, in truth, there are few parts that have not been retouched at different times, and sometimes by far from skilful brushes; yet the painting bears, and will bear to the end, the divine and ineffable touch of genius given by the inspired mind which so carefully, lovingly, and thoughtfully designed it. It is very probable that the fame of this unique work will ultimately have to depend upon the fine copy in mosaics at Vienna, executed at Napoleon's command, and supposed to be the largest and finest mosaic in the world. The expression in the faces of the apostles is said to be most admirably preserved.
The painting itself, which took the great Leonardo twelve years to execute, was unfortunately painted in oils, and the plaster of the wall not being properly prepared, the paint flakes off from exposure to the damp. It retains just enough to show the emotions the artist wished to express, and which the best copies fail to produce. The _motif_ of the work is most beautifully and pathetically represented. Amidst the loving peace of that last evening meal, Jesus sorrowfully bows His head, saying, "One of you shall betray Me." Then all are filled with the deepest agitation and dismay. Two of the disciples, Peter and James, I think, reaching behind the dark form of Judas, who clutches the bag, make signs to John to ask the Master who it is. But the silent, downcast attitude of the Saviour, the expression of heavenly resignation, seems but too truly to confirm the mournful words--"One of you shall betray Me."
I must here repeat my lamentation at the unfinished condition of the exterior of many of the cathedrals and churches of Italy, which I consider disgraceful, containing as they do so much that is beautiful in sculpture, painting, and art-treasures beyond value, which can never be replaced, and yet are allowed to gradually sink into oblivion and ruin. Little care is taken to preserve them, or prevent decay: often have I seen the damp saturating the walls on which were the most admired frescoes of the greatest masters, slowly but surely becoming spoiled and effaced. It must be more than the want of funds which prevents the people from properly finishing the buildings they took so much time to construct and decorate--some senseless superstition must attach to it in some way, I should think.