SEBASTIAN DEL PIOMBO.
Giulia remembered, the next morning, as her cameriera was warping some
pearls into her hair, that she had meant and half engaged to try a
course of mortification on the Cardinal's departure. She therefore put
on an old green gown, with bouffonnée sleeves, which was almost too worn
for a duchess; and, in a very easy pair of slippers, sat down to her
morning refection. Some sweetmeats allured her, but she took a piece of
plain bread and a glass of lemonade; after which, she thought "Well
done, resolution!" and tasted the sweetmeats after all. Moderately,
however.
After this, she sat for a good while in a waking dream; and then,
rousing herself, determined to go to church, but found it was too late.
She thought she would send for the poor widow of whom Bar Hhasdai had
spoken to her; but just then, Caterina came to tell her that her lapdog
had run a thorn into its foot; and as one act of mercy would do for
another, she superintended the dressing of the little animal's paw, and
did not send for the widow. After this, she inspected the embroidery of
her maids of honour, and thought of fourteen rhymes as the skeleton of a
sonnet.
She had advanced thus far in this well-spent day, when the sound of
horses' feet made her suddenly aware of the approach of a visitor. Now,
our Duchess did not like being caught; it was very seldom, indeed, that
she _could_ be caught in déshabille; for she enjoyed the consciousness
of being at all times a perfectly well-dressed woman. It was hard,
therefore, to be found in half-toilette the only time in all the season
that such a misfortune could have occurred; especially as it would not
be known to partake of the meritorious nature of a penance. However,
the mortification would be all the more complete. Who could the visitor
be? The Bishop of Fondi?
She looked into the court-yard, and saw a grave, elderly person in
ecclesiastical habit, with four mounted attendants, descending somewhat
stiffly from his horse. His face was rather plain; his figure tall and
imposing. He had a snub nose, high, broad forehead, small, penetrating
eyes, and auburn hair and beard a little silvered.
In a few minutes the maggior-domo announced "Messer Sebastiano
Veneziano."
The Duchess uttered an exclamation of joy, and advanced, beaming with
smiles, to meet him. Never had she looked more lovely: the painter
started, and paused for a moment, as she approached. The next instant,
her white hand was in his.
"Welcome, Messer Sebastiano, welcome! How good of you to grace my poor
house!"
"Illustrious Lady, his Holiness the Pope desired me to give you his
paternal greeting."
"I gratefully thank his Holiness."
"--And his Eminence, Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici kisses your hands, and
supplicates of your condescension that you will remember your promise to
let my poor pencil limn your features."
"I have not forgotten it. I shall esteem it an honour to sit to so great
a master. How would you have me dressed, Messer Sebastian? What pose
shall you choose?"
"Vossignoria will allow me to study you a little before I decide?"
"Certainly, certainly. Rather formidable, though, to think I am always
being studied!"
"I should recommend Vossignoria not to think at all about it."
"Well, I will try. You are fatigued with your journey, Messer
Sebastian."
"It will soon pass off. My hand is not steady enough to paint to-day.
The journey has interested me. I have made acquaintance with the
promontory of Circe, the shining rock of Anxur, and the towering
Volscian mountains--all renowned in song, as I need not tell you,
Signora! I observed Cora and Sezza shining like aërial palaces against
the brown rugged rock that supports them. I viewed with interest the
woods and thickets that once sheltered Camilla. Piperno is, you know,
the _antiqua urbs_ of Virgil. I am speaking to a princess who is a
classical scholar----"
"Little enough of one," replied the Duchess. "Cardinal Ippolito took
compassion on my ignorance, and translated the second book of the Eneid
for me. But how go things at Rome?"
And the great painter found that the great lady was more interested in
the chit-chat of the capital, than in classical allusion and learned
quotation.
The Duchess could always summon at short notice a little circle of
deferential friends to her evening meal. She appeared in velvet and
jewels. The next morning she wore white. This was not out of coquetry,
but as a simple matter of business, that the famous master might make up
his mind what suited her best, as a sitter, and proceed to work.
"Lady," said he, "I prefer the dress in which I saw you first."
"Oh, but that is so old! so shabby!----"
"_Non importa_--it harmonises with your complexion----"
"Two shades of olive," said she, laughing a little; and she went to
change her dress.
When she returned, Sebastian had concentrated the light by excluding it
altogether from one window, and placing a screen before the lower half
of the other. His easel and panel had been brought in by his attendant,
who was now busy laying his palette, and the artist was selecting chalks
and cartridge paper for a preparatory sketch.
"You look charming," said he, as Giulia entered and seated herself in a
raised chair. She was in the olive-green dress, cut square on the bust,
with velvet bars on the corsage; and full, puffed, long sleeves, a white
lace neckerchief, and long transparent veil, added to the modest and
noble simplicity of her dress; while her rich auburn hair, dark in the
shade and golden in the sun,[8] was braided behind with a few pearls,
and gathered into rich coils.
[8] "As through the meadow-lands clear rivers run,
Blue in the shadow, silver in the sun."
Hon. Mrs. Norton. _Lady of La Garaye._
Poor Cynthia, with her throat swathed up, stood behind with her
feather-fan; but the painter looked distastefully at her, and did not
repeat his glance: he had no mind to introduce her, even as a foil.
"I must make a saint or an angel of you, since you are for a Cardinal,"
said he, with a grave smile; "and it will not be difficult."
"Surely, this old gown is not very angelical?" said the Duchess.
"No matter. A nimbus and pincers will identify you with St. Agatha or
St. Apollonia, quite sufficiently for the purpose."
He began to draw with great diligence, and was terribly silent. The
Duchess felt inclined to yawn.
"More to the right," he said, abruptly, as she inclined her head a
little to the left. "Perdona, illustrissima."
"Pray do not stand on ceremony," said she. Her countenance had become
vacant, and he felt he must call up its expression.
"Do you take any interest in art, Signora?"
"O yes, a great deal. I only wish I knew more about it."
"Do you know what is its great object?"
"To address the eye?"
"To address the mind."
"Certainly. Of course. I ought to have said so."
"The painter who only aims to deceive the eye is ignorant of the true
dignity of art."
"To deceive the eye, and to please it, however, are different things."
"I grant it; but the eye of an intelligent, a refined person, is not
pleased by that which offends the mind."
"I thought you Venetians cared more for colour than for drawing or
expression."
"I did so as long as I was a pupil of Giorgione's. But when I came to
Rome, Michael Angelo showed me where I was wrong. He said, 'It is a pity
you Venetians do not learn to draw better in your youth, and adopt a
better manner of study.' I took the hint, and drew diligently from the
living model. But even this did not content him. 'You neglect the ideal
beauty of form,' said he, 'and propriety of expression,' I treasured
this hint, too. I said to him, 'If you would condescend to unite our
colouring to your drawing, you would be--what, after all, you are
already--such a master as the world ne'er saw,' 'That may not be,' said
he, half-smiling; 'you might as well try to graft a rose on an oak: but
if _you_, my son, would unite good drawing to your colouring, you might
distance Raffaelle.' And, taking up a piece of pipeclay, he sketched out
a Lazarus, and splashed in the colour. I do not altogether like it, the
action is too violent, and he has made him as black as your Moorish
girl; but still it is a grand thing--a very grand thing--the action of
the toe, trying to disentangle the bandage of the left leg, is
wonderfully original. I have tried to paint all the rest of my picture
up to it. A little more to the right, Signora!"
"Cardinal Ippolito told me that picture of yours was very grand," said
the Duchess. "He especially admired the different expressions of the two
sisters. But he thought the figure of the Saviour too small."
"----Well," said Sebastian, after drawing for a few minutes in silence,
"perfect proportion always gives the idea of smallness. The figure was
on the same scale with the rest, till Michael Angelo put in his great
Lazarus: and you know I could not re-touch the master's work."
"Michael Angelo writes to me sometimes," observed the Duchess, "but he
is a better correspondent of my cousin, Vittoria Colonna."
Sebastian worked a little while in silence, and then said:
"Is not the Marchioness somewhat tinctured with the new opinions?"
"Yes," said Giulia, "I am afraid she is. That's the worst of being too
clever."
"Is it a proof of being so?"
"Well, clever people are apt to run after new things."
"Perhaps they see more in them than the less clever do."
"They think they do, at any rate."
"Has your ladyship looked yet into the works of the Prince of Carpi?"
"Do you mean the great heavy books you brought me from the Cardinal?
No."
"They contain a masterly refutation of the heresies of Erasmus. The
Cardinal thought they might confirm you in the faith."
"I am happy to say my faith wants no confirming. I would rather have had
some novels. You may tell him so, if he says anything to you about
it.... Have you read the books yourself?"
"I have looked into them."
"Have you read Erasmus's books?"
"No."
"Well, when I attack controversy, I will read both sides."
"That will be rather dangerous."
"How can that be? Only one side can be right."
"Your excellency is of course above danger," said Sebastian, with a
little cough, "but, for common minds, there is the danger of not
distinguishing which _is_ the right. For myself, being but a moderate
logician, and still slighter theologian, I prefer taking my religion as
I have been taught it, to meddling with edged tools. The Church is
irrefutable: the Church has foundations that will never be shaken. And I
am content to abide by its decisions.--A little more to the right."