[Illustration: 116]
THE WHICH WAS SHOWED IN A TEMPLE AND OF SUNDRY LIMNINGS OF A
RIGHT PACIFIC AND AMOROUS SORT THE WHICH THE SAGE PHILEMON
HAD HANGED IN HIS LIBRARIE AND OF A NOBLE PORTRAITURE OF THE
POET HOMER THE WHICH THE AFORESAID PHILEMON DID PRIZE ABOVE
ALL OTHER LIMNINGS
PHILEMON was used to confess how, in the fire of his callow youth
and fine flower of his lustie springal days, he had been stung with
murderous frenzie at view of a certaine picture of Apelles, the which
in those times was showed in a temple. And the said picture did present
Alexander the Great laying on right shrewdly at Darius, king of the
Indians, whiles round about these twain, soldiers and captains were
a-slaying one another with a savage furie and in divers strange
fashions. And the said work was right cunningly wrought and in very
close mimicrie of nature. And none, an they were in the hot and lustie
season of their life, could cast a look thereon without being stirred
incontinent to be striking and killing poor harmlesse folk for the sole
sake of donning so rich an harnesse and bestriding such high-stepping
chargers as did these good codpieces in their battle,--for that young
blood doth aye take pleasure in horseflesh and the practise of arms.
This had the aforesaid Philemon proven in his day. And he was used to
say how ever after ‘twas his wont to turn aside his eyen of set purpose
from suchlike pictures of wars and bloodshed, and that he did so
heartily loathe these cruelties as that he could not abear to behold
them even set forth in counterfeit presentment.
And he was used to say that any honest and prudent wight must needs be
sore offended and scandalized by all this appalling array of armour
and bucklers and the horde of warriors Homer calls _Corythaioloi_
(glancing-helmed) by reason of the terrifying hideousness of their
head-gear, and that the portrayal of these same fighting fellows was
in very truth unseemly, as contrarie to good and peaceable manners,
immodest, no thing in the world being more shameful then homicide, and
eke lascivious, as alluring folk to cruelty, the which is the worst of
all allurements. For to entice to pleasant dalliaunce is a far lesse
heinous fault.
And the aforesaid Philemon was used to say that it was honest, decent,
of good ensample and entirely modest to show by painting, chiselling, or
any other fine artifice the scenes of the Golden Age, to wit maidens and
young men interlacing limbs in accord with the craving of kindly Nature,
or other the like delectable fancy, as of a Nymph lying laughing in the
grass. And on her ripe smiling mouth a Faun is crushing a purple grape.
And he was used to say that belike the Golden Age had never flourished
save only in the fond imagining of the poets, and that our first
forebears of human kind, being yet barbarous and silly folk, had known
naught at all thereof; but that, an the said age could not credibly be
deemed to have been at the beginning of the world, we might well wish
it should be at the end, and that meanwhiles it was a gracious boon to
offer us a likeness of the same in pictured image.
And like as it is (so he would say) obscene,--‘t is the word Virgil
writes of dogs wallowing in the mud and mire,--to depict murderers,
whoreson men-at arms, fighting-men, conquering heroes and plundering
thieves, wreaking their foul and wicked will, yea! and poor devils
licking the dust and swallowing the same in great mouthfuls, and one
unhappie wretch that hath been felled to the earth and is striving to
get to his feet againe, but is pinned down by an horse’s hoof pressing
on his chops, and another that looketh piteously about him for that his
pennon hath been shorn from him and his hand with it,--so is it of right
subtile and so to say heavenly art to exhibit prettie blandishments,
caresses, frolickings, beauties and delights, and the loves of the
Nymphs and Fauns in the woods. And he would have it there was none
offence in these naked bodies, clothed upon enow with their owne grace
and comeliness.
And he had in his closet, this same Philemon aforesaid, a very
marvellous painting, wherein was limned a young Faun in act to filch
away with a craftie hand a light cloth did cover the belly of a sleeping
Nymph. ‘T was plain to see he was full fain of his freak and seemed to
be saying: The body of this young goddess is so sweet and refreshing
as that the fountaine springing in the shade of the woods is not more
delightsome. How I do love to look upon you, soft sweet lap, and prettie
white thighs, and shady cavern at once terrifying and entrancing! And
over the heads of the twain did hover winged Cupids and watched them
laughingly, whiles fair dames and their gallants, their brows wreathen
with flowers, footed it on the lush grass.
And he had, the aforesaid Philemon, yet other limnings of cunning
craftsmanship in his closet. And he did prize very high the portraiture
of a good doctor a-sitting in his cabinet writing at a table by
candle-light. The said cabinet was fully furnished with globes, gnomons,
and astrolabes, proper for meting the movements of the orbs of heaven,
the which is a right praiseworthy task and one that doth lift the spirit
to sublime thoughts and the exceeding pure love of Venus Urania.
And there was hanging from the joists of the said cabinet a great
serpent and crocodile, forasmuch as they be rarities and very needful
for the due understanding of anatomy. And he had likewise, the
said doctor, amid his belongings, the books of the most excellent
philosophers of Antiquity and eke the treatises of Hippocrates. And he
was an ensample to young men which should be fain, by hard swinking, to
stuff their pates with as much high learning and occult lore as he had
under his own bonnet.
And he had, the aforesaid Philemon, painted on a panel that shined like
a polished mirror a portraiture of Homer in the guise of an old blind
man, his beard white as the flowers of the hawthorn and his temples
bound about with the fillets sacred to the god Apollo, which had loved
him above all other men. And, to look at that good old man, you deemed
verily his lips were presently to ope and break into words of mélodie.