e easily understood by all men; he then desired
more to know how to paint, in order to speak, than how to write. But even,
if after all this, poetry still affirms that a Venus painted at the feet
of a Jupiter does not speak, nor Turnus painted, showing his valour before
King Latinus, even this reason cannot render learned painting dumb so that
she does not speak, and show in all things that she is in this also the
first, or perhaps the companion, of my lady poetry. For the great painter
will paint Venus weeping at the feet of Jupiter, with all the following
advantages, which the poet will not have: the first one is that he paints
heaven where it is supposed to be, and the person, dress, and action or
movement of Jupiter and his eagle with the thunderbolt; and he will paint
fully the luxurious beauty of Venus, and her robe of gauzy raiment with
all her graceful movements, so elegant and light and with such skill that,
although she may not speak with her mouth, yet it appears from her eyes,
hands, and mouth that she is really speaking (nor do you hear the soft and
sweet speech of Venus, when a croaking school-master reads the words and
sayings of Venus). She appears to be uttering all those pious sayings and
complaints which Virgil Maro writes concerning her. And also the great
painter will make even King Latinus more copious in his work and the
Councillors of the Laurentes more defined, clearer, some with perturbed
face, and others more collected and quiet, different in appearance and
physiognomy and age, different in movements, which the poet cannot do
without too much prolixity and confusion. And even then he will not do it;
and the painter will do it so that it may be seen with greater pleasure
and move the spectator more, and likewise he will place before your eyes
the brave image of Turnus, boastful and furious with the coward Drances,
that it seems as if you fear him yourself and that he is saying: _Larga
quidem semper, Drance, tibi copia fandi_. Therefore I with my small
talent, as a pupil of a mistress without a tongue, still deem the power of
painting to be greater than that of poetry in making greater effects and
in having more force and vehemence whether to move mind and soul to joy
and laughter, or to sorrow and tears, with more effective eloquence. But
let the muse Calliope be the judge in this matter, for I will be content
with her judgment."

And having said that I ceased. The Marchioness honoured me in bant