alace decorated with paintings. Buffalmacco undertook the
commission, and directly the walls were duly laid with stucco, started
on a picture of the Adoration of the Wise Men.

In the course of a few days he had painted in King Melchior complete,
mounted on a white horse, looking for all the world as if he were alive.
His horse's saddle-cloth was scarlet, dotted with precious stones.

Now all the time he was at work, the Bishop's pet monkey sat staring
intently at his proceedings, never taking his eyes off him. Whether the
painter was squeezing his tubes, mixing his colours, beating up his eggs
or laying on the colour with his brush on the moist surface, the
creature never lost one of his movements. It was a baboon brought from
Barbary for the Doge of Venice in one of the State Galleys. The Doge
made a present of it to the Bishop of Arezzo, who thanked his
Magnificence, reminding him prettily how King Solomon's ships had in
like fashion imported from the land of Ophir apes and peacocks, as is
related in the First Book of Kings (x. 22). And there was nothing in all
his Palace Bishop Guido held more precious than this baboon.

He left the animal to roam at liberty about the halls and gardens, where
it was for ever at some mischievous trick or another. One Sunday, during
the painter's absence, the creature climbed up on the scaffolding, laid
hold of the tubes, mixed up the colours in a way of its own, broke all
the eggs it could find, and began plying the brush on the wall, as it
had seen the other do. It worked away at King Melchior and his horse,
never leaving off till the whole composition was repainted according to
its own ideas.

Next morning Buffalmacco, finding his colours all topsy-turvy and his
work spoiled, was both grieved and angry. He was persuaded some painter
of Arezzo, who was jealous of his superior skill, had played him this
dirty trick, and went straight to the Bishop to complain. The latter
urged him to set to work again and repair with all speed what had been
ruined in a manner so mysterious. He undertook that for the future two
soldiers should keep guard night and day before the frescoes, with
orders to drive their lances through any one who should dare to come
near. On this condition, Buffalmacco agreed to resume his task, and two
soldiers were put on sentry close at hand. One evening, just as he was
leaving the hall, his day's work finished, the soldiers saw the Lord
Bishop's ape spring so nimbly