Part 8 (1/2)
”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 d.u.c.h.ess. ”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 d.u.c.h.ess, ”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 ladys.h.i.+p 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 distinguis.h.i.+ng 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.”
CHAPTER VIII.