A Roman prince, more notorious for his pretensions to _virtu_ than for
his liberality to artists, sauntering one day in Salvator's gallery, in
the Via Babbuina, paused before one of his landscapes, and after a long
contemplation of its merits, exclaimed, "Salvator mio! I am strongly
tempted to purchase this picture: tell me at once the lowest
price."--"Two hundred scudi," replied Salvator, carelessly. "Two hundred
scudi! Ohime! that is a price! but we'll talk of that another time." The
illustrissimo took his leave; but bent upon having the picture, he
shortly returned, and again inquired the lowest price. "Three hundred
scudi!" was the sullen reply. "Carpo di bacco!" cried the astonished
prince; "mi burla, vostra signoria; you are joking! I see I must e'en
wait upon your better humor; and so addio, Signor Rosa."
The next day brought back the prince to the painter's gallery; who, on
entering, saluted Salvator with a jocose air, and added, "Well, Signor
Amico, how goes the market to-day? Have prices risen or fallen?"
"Four hundred scudi is the price to-day!" replied Salvator, with
affected calmness; when suddenly giving way to his natural impetuosity,
and no longer stifling his indignation, he burst forth: "The fact is,
your excellency shall not now obtain this picture from me at any price;
and yet so little do I value its merits, that I deem it worthy no better
fate than this;" and snatching the panel on which it was painted from
the wall, he flung it to the ground, and with his foot broke it into a
hundred pieces. His excellency made an unceremonious retreat, and
returned no more to the enraged painter's studio.