Part 20 (1/2)
”And now for the book,” said Piero, reaching down a ma.n.u.script volume.
”There's nothing about the Ariadne there,” said t.i.to, giving him the pa.s.sage; ”but you will remember I want the crowned Ariadne by the side of the young Bacchus: she must have golden hair.”
”Ha!” said Piero, abruptly, pursing up his lips again. ”And you want them to be likenesses, eh?” he added, looking down into t.i.to's face.
t.i.to laughed and blushed. ”I know you are great at portraits, Messer Piero; but I could not ask Ariadne to sit for you, because the painting is a secret.”
”There it is! I want her to sit to me. Giovanni Vespucci wants me to paint him a picture of Oedipus and Antigone at Colonos, as he has expounded it to me: I have a fancy for the subject, and I want Bardo and his daughter to sit for it. Now, you ask them; and then I'll put the likeness into Ariadne.”
”Agreed, if I can prevail with them. And your price for the Bacchus and Ariadne?”
”_Baie_! If you get them to let me paint them, that will pay me. I'd rather not have your money: you may pay for the case.”
”And when shall I sit for you?” said t.i.to; ”for if we have one likeness, we must have two.”
”I don't want _your_ likeness; I've got it already,” said Piero, ”only I've made you look frightened. I must take the fright out of it for Bacchus.”
As he was speaking, Piero laid down the book and went to look among some paintings, propped with their faces against the wall. He returned with an oil-sketch in his hand.
”I call this as good a bit of portrait as I ever did,” he said, looking at it as he advanced. ”Yours is a face that expresses fear well, because it's naturally a bright one. I noticed it the first time I saw you. The rest of the picture is hardly sketched; but I've painted _you_ in thoroughly.”
Piero turned the sketch, and held it towards t.i.to's eyes. He saw himself with his right-hand uplifted, holding a wine-cup, in the att.i.tude of triumphant joy, but with his face turned away from the cup with an expression of such intense fear in the dilated eyes and pallid lips, that he felt a cold stream through his veins, as if he were being thrown into sympathy with his imaged self.
”You are beginning to look like it already,” said Piero, with a short laugh, moving the picture away again. ”He's seeing a ghost--that fine young man. I shall finish it some day, when I've settled what sort of ghost is the most terrible--whether it should look solid, like a dead man come to life, or half transparent, like a mist.”
t.i.to, rather ashamed of himself for a sudden sensitiveness strangely opposed to his usual easy self-command, said carelessly--
”That is a subject after your own heart, Messer Piero--a revel interrupted by a ghost. You seem to love the blending of the terrible with the gay. I suppose that is the reason your shelves are so well furnished with death's-heads, while you are painting those roguish Loves who are running away with the armour of Mars. I begin to think you are a Cynic philosopher in the pleasant disguise of a cunning painter.”
”Not I, Messer Greco; a philosopher is the last sort of animal I should choose to resemble. I find it enough to live, without spinning lies to account for life. Fowls cackle, a.s.ses bray, women chatter, and philosophers spin false reasons--that's the effect the sight of the world brings out of them. Well, I am an animal that paints instead of cackling, or braying, or spinning lies. And now, I think, our business is done; you'll keep to your side of the bargain about the Oedipus and Antigone?”
”I will do my best,” said t.i.to--on this strong hint, immediately moving towards the door.
”And you'll let me know at Nello's. No need to come here again.”
”I understand,” said t.i.to, laughingly, lifting his hand in sign of friendly parting.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE OLD MAN'S HOPE.
Messer Bernardo del Nero was as inexorable as Romola had expected in his advice that the marriage should be deferred till Easter, and in this matter Bardo was entirely under the ascendancy of his sagacious and practical friend. Nevertheless, Bernardo himself, though he was as far as ever from any susceptibility to the personal fascination in t.i.to which was felt by others, could not altogether resist that argument of success which is always powerful with men of the world. t.i.to was making his way rapidly in high quarters. He was especially growing in favour with the young Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici, who had even spoken of t.i.to's forming part of his learned retinue on an approaching journey to Rome; and the bright young Greek who had a tongue that was always ready without ever being quarrelsome, was more and more wished for at gay suppers in the Via Larga, and at Florentine games in which he had no pretension to excel, and could admire the incomparable skill of Piero de' Medici in the most graceful manner in the world. By an unfailing sequence, t.i.to's reputation as an agreeable companion in ”magnificent”
society made his learning and talent appear more l.u.s.trous: and he was really accomplished enough to prevent an exaggerated estimate from being hazardous to him. Messer Bernardo had old prejudices and attachments which now began to argue down the newer and feebler prejudice against the young Greek stranger who was rather too supple. To the old Florentine it was impossible to despise the recommendation of standing well with the best Florentine families, and since t.i.to began to be thoroughly received into that circle whose views were the unquestioned standard of social value, it seemed irrational not to admit that there was no longer any check to satisfaction in the prospect of such a son-in-law for Bardo, and such a husband for Romola. It was undeniable that t.i.to's coming had been the dawn of a new life for both father and daughter, and the first promise had even been surpa.s.sed. The blind old scholar--whose proud truthfulness would never enter into that commerce of feigned and preposterous admiration which, varied by a corresponding measurelessness in vituperation, made the woof of all learned intercourse--had fallen into neglect even among his fellow-citizens, and when he was alluded to at all, it had long been usual to say that, though his blindness and the loss of his son were pitiable misfortunes, he was tiresome in contending for the value of his own labours; and that his discontent was a little inconsistent in a man who had been openly regardless of religious rites, and who in days past had refused offers made to him from various quarters, on the slight condition that he would take orders, without which it was not easy for patrons to provide for every scholar. But since t.i.to's coming, there was no longer the same monotony in the thought that Bardo's name suggested; the old man, it was understood, had left off his plaints, and the fair daughter was no longer to be shut up in dowerless pride, waiting for a _parentado_. The winning manners and growing favour of the handsome Greek who was expected to enter into the double relation of son and husband helped to make the new interest a thoroughly friendly one, and it was no longer a rare occurrence when a visitor enlivened the quiet library. Elderly men came from that indefinite prompting to renew former intercourse which arises when an old acquaintance begins to be newly talked about; and young men whom t.i.to had asked leave to bring once, found it easy to go again when they overtook him on his way to the Via de' Bardi, and, resting their hands on his shoulder, fell into easy chat with him. For it was pleasant to look at Romola's beauty; to see her, like old Firenzuola's type of womanly majesty, ”sitting with a certain grandeur, speaking with gravity, smiling with modesty, and casting around, as it were, an odour of queenliness;” [Note 1] and she seemed to unfold like a strong white lily under this genial breath of admiration and homage; it was all one to her with her new bright life in t.i.to's love.
t.i.to had even been the means of strengthening the hope in Bardo's mind that he might before his death receive the longed-for security concerning his library: that it should not be merged in another collection; that it should not be transferred to a body of monks, and be called by the name of a monastery; but that it should remain for ever the Bardi Library, for the use of Florentines. For the old habit of trusting in the Medici could not die out while their influence was still the strongest lever in the State; and t.i.to, once possessing the ear of the Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici, might do more even than Messer Bernardo towards winning the desired interest, for he could demonstrate to a learned audience the peculiar value of Bardi's collection. t.i.to himself talked sanguinely of such a result, willing to cheer the old man, and conscious that Romola repaid those gentle words to her father with a sort of adoration that no direct tribute to herself could have won from her.
This question of the library was the subject of more than one discussion with Bernardo del Nero when Christmas was turned and the prospect of the marriage was becoming near--but always out of Bardo's hearing. For Bardo nursed a vague belief, which they dared not disturb, that his property, apart from the library, was adequate to meet all demands. He would not even, except under a momentary pressure of angry despondency, admit to himself that the will by which he had disinherited Dino would leave Romola the heir of nothing but debts; or that he needed anything from patronage beyond the security that a separate locality should be a.s.signed to his library, in return for a deed of gift by which he made it over to the Florentine Republic.