"
Raffaelle heard all this in silence, leaning his elbows on his
friend's knee, and his chin on the palms of his own hands. He knew
that the other pupils were better painters by far than his Luca,
though not one of them was such a good-hearted or noble-looking
youth, and for none of them did the maiden Pacifica care.
"How long a time is given for the jar and the dish to be ready?"
he asked, at length.
"Three months, my dear," said Luca, with a sigh sadder than ever.
"But if it were three years, what difference would it make? You
cannot cudgel the divine grace of art into a man with blows as you
cudgel speed into a mule, and I shall be a dolt at the end of the time
as I am now. What said your good father to me but yesternight?--and
he IS good to me and does not despise me. He said: 'Luca, my son,
it is of no more avail for you to sigh for Pacifica than for the
moon. Were she mine I would give her to you, for you have a heart
of gold, but Signor Benedetto will not; for never, I fear me, will
you be able to decorate anything more than an apothecary's mortar
or a barber's basin. If I hurt you, take it not ill; I mean kindness,
and were I a stalwart youth like you I would go try my fortunes in
the Free Companies in France or Spain, or down in Rome, for you are
made for a soldier.' That was the best even your father could say
for me, 'Faello.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122