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Now Via S.Leonardo is one of the most beautiful of all narrow streets, curving as it does with the old buildings and walls that are traced with network shadows of cypresses and olive trees, or on grey days show intricate, time-wrought designs on stone and plaster. The passing of dark-robed priests from the monastery nearby or of nuns with their peculiar black and white head-gear brings accent to this background of sun-lit greys and soft greens. The whole presenting perfect harmony of its kind.
Evidently our artist did not see Via S.Leonardo with my eyes, for his canvas showed a crude and highly-honoured scene such as those designed for the time-honoured operas when peasants assemble to dance in the market-place. In the foreground was the traditional peasant with cart and donkey. All this I took in with one amused glance, No sooner however, did the front door close on me when I heard commotion outside. From the window I saw a car stopping at the door. Two German military men jumped out and one of these snatched the crude canvas from its easel and was holding it up in the air while with pointed finger he directed the artist to the car. The young man's face was deep red, he was showing obstinacy when a pointed pistol made further persuasion unnecessary. This all took place within two minutes time. 'A poor artist hoping to make a few lire with his daubs.' said someone. Others, 'he is a spy watching the