Bowing to
the ground, the master-potter led the way, walking backward into
his bottega; the courtiers followed their prince; Giovanni Sanzio
with his little son and a few other privileged persons went in
also at due distance. At the farther end of the workshop stood the
pupils and the artists from Pesaro and other places in the duchy
whose works were there in competition. In all there were some ten
competitors: poor Luca, who had set his own work on the table with
the rest as he was obliged to do, stood hindmost of all, shrinking
back, to hide his misery, into the deepest shadow of the deep-
bayed latticed window.
On the narrow deal benches that served as tables on working days
to the pottery painters were ranged the dishes and the jars, with
a number attached to each--no name to any, because Signor
Benedetto was resolute to prove his own absolute disinterestedness
in the matter of choice: he wished for the best artist. Prince
Guidobaldo, doffing his plumed cap courteously, walked down the
long room and examined each production in its turn. On the whole,
the collection made a brave display of majolica, though he was
perhaps a little disappointed at the result in each individual
case, for he had wanted something out of the common run and
absolutely perfect. Still, with fair words he complimented Signor
Benedetto on the brave show, and only before the work of poor Luca
was he entirely silent, since indeed silence was the greatest
kindness he could show to it: the drawing was bold and regular,
but the coloring was hopelessly crude, glaring, and ill-disposed.
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