le heaven of godlike
ideas in the works of the greatest master of our time has been revealed
to you. You understand Raphael. You will not reply to me as did
Velasquez, whom I asked, the other day, what he thought of the Sanzio.
He said Titian was the greater master; Raphael knew nothing about flesh
colour. In that Spaniard is the Flesh, not the Word; yet they laud him
to the skies in San Luca, because he once painted cherries which the
birds came and tried to peck."

A few days after the above conversation, it happened that the
Academists of San Luca assembled in their church to judge the pictures
of the painters who had applied for admission to the Academy. Salvator
had sent Scacciati's beautiful Magdalene picture. The painters were
amazed by the charm and the power of the work, and the most unstinted
praise resounded from every lip when Salvator explained that he had
brought the picture with him from Naples--the work of a young painter,
prematurely snatched away by death.

In a very short time all Rome streamed to see and admire this work of
the young, unknown, dead master. Every one was unanimously of opinion
that no such picture had been painted since Guido Reni's time, and,
indeed, people carried their enthusiasm so far as to declare that this
work was even to be ranked above Guido Reni's creations of the same
kind. Among the crowd of people who were always collected before
Scacciati's picture, Salvator one day observed a man, who, besides
being of very remarkable exterior, was conducting himself like a
madman. He was advanced in years, tall, lean as a spindle, pale of
face, with a long, pointed nose, and an equally long chin, which
increased its pointedness by being tipped with a little beard, and
green, flashing eyes. Upon his thick, extremely fair peruke he had
stuck a tall hat with a fine feather. He had on a short, dark-red cloak
with many shining buttons, a sky-blue Spanish-slashed doublet, great
gauntlets trimmed with silver fringe, a long sword by his side, light
grey hose drawn over his bony knees, and bound with yellow ribbons, and
bows of the same ribbon on his shoes. This strange figure was standing,
as if enraptured, before the picture. He would stand up on his tiptoes,
then bob himself quite low down; then hop up, with both legs at once,
sigh, groan, close his eyes so tightly that the tears streamed from
them, and then open them as wide as they would go; gaze incessantly at
the beautiful Magdalene,