ades
marched behind him, reckless and insolent under the protection of such a
chieftain. As long as Mariano was with them there was no danger. They
told the story that in the alleys of the Trastevere he had given a
deadly beating to two bullies of the district, after taking away their
stilettos.

Suddenly the athlete shut himself up in the Academy and did not come
down to the city. For several days they talked about him at the
gatherings of artists. He was painting; an exhibition that was going to
take place in Madrid was close at hand and he wanted to take to it a
picture to justify his fellowship. He kept the door of his studio closed
to everyone, he did not permit comment nor advice, the canvas would
appear just as he conceived it. His comrades soon forgot him and
Renovales ended his work in seclusion, and left for his country with it.

It was a complete success, the first important step on the road that was
to lead him to fame. Now he remembered with shame, with remorse, the
glorious uproar his picture "The Victory of Pavia" stirred up. People
crowded in front of the huge canvas, forgetting the rest of the
Exhibition. And as, at that time, the Government was strong, the Cortes
was closed and there was no serious accident in any of the bull-rings,
the newspapers, for lack of any more lively event, hastened in cheap
rivalry to reproduce the picture, to talk about it, publishing portraits
of the author, profiles, as well as front views, large and small,
expatiating on his life in Rome and his eccentricities, and recalled
with tears of emotion the poor old man who far away in his village was
pounding iron, hardly knowing of his son's glory.

With one bound Renovales passed from obscurity to the light of
apotheosis. The older men whose duty it was to judge his work became
benevolent and extended kindly sympathy. The little tiger was getting
tame. Renovales had seen the world and now he was coming back to the
good traditions; he was going to be a painter like the rest. His picture
had portions that were like Velasquez, fragments worthy of Goya, corners
that recalled El Greco; there was everything in it, except Renovales,
and this amalgam of reminiscences was its chief merit, what attracted
general applause and won it the first medal.

A magnificent debut it was. A dowager duchess, a great protectress of
the arts, who never bought a picture or a statue but who entertained at
her table painters and sculptors of renown,