Giotto, about to paint a picture of the Crucifixion, induced a poor man
to suffer himself to be bound to a cross, under the promise of being set
at liberty in an hour, and handsomely rewarded for his pains. Instead of
this, as soon as Giotto had made his victim secure, he seized a dagger,
and, shocking to tell, stabbed him to the heart! He then set about
painting the dying agonies of the victim to his foul treachery. When he
had finished his picture, he carried it to the Pope; who was so well
pleased with it, that he resolved to place it above the altar of his own
chapel. Giotto observed, that, as his holiness liked the copy so well,
he might perhaps like to see the original. The Pope, shocked at the
impiety of the idea, uttered an exclamation of surprise. "I mean," added
Giotto, "I will show you the person whom I employed as my model in this
picture, but it must be on condition that your holiness will absolve me
from all punishment for the use which I have made of him." The Pope
promised Giotto the absolution for which he stipulated, and accompanied
the artist to his workshop. On entering, Giotto drew aside a curtain
which hung before the dead man, still stretched on the cross, and
covered with blood.
The barbarous exhibition struck the pontiff with horror; he told Giotto
he could never give him absolution for so cruel a deed, and that he must
expect to suffer the most exemplary punishment. Giotto, with seeming
resignation, said that he had only one favor to ask, that his holiness
would give him leave to finish the piece before he died. The request had
too important an object to be denied; the Pope readily granted it; and,
in the meantime, a guard was set over Giotto to prevent his escape.
On the painting being replaced in the artist's hands, the first thing he
did was to take a brush, and, dipping it into a thick varnish, he daubed
the picture all over with it, and then announced that he had finished
his task. His holiness was greatly incensed at this abuse of the
indulgence he had given, and threatened Giotto that he should be put to
the most cruel death, unless he painted another picture equal to the one
which he had destroyed. "Of what avail is your threat," replied Giotto,
"to a man whom you have doomed to death at any rate?" "But," replied his
holiness, "I can revoke that doom." "Yes," continued Giotto, "but you
cannot prevail on me to trust to your verbal promise a second time."
"You shall have a pardon under my signet before you begin." On that, a
conditional pardon was accordingly made out and given to Giotto, who,
taking a wet sponge, in a few minutes wiped off the coating with which
he had bedaubed the picture, and instead of a copy, restored the
original in all its beauty to his holiness. Although this story is
related by many writers, it is doubtless a gross libel on the fair fame
of this great artist, originating with some witless wag, who thought
nothing too horrible to impose upon the credulity of mankind. It is
discredited by the best authors. A similar fable is related of
Parrhasius. See the Olynthian Captive, vol. I. page 151 of this work.