Giulia remembered, the next morning, as her cameriera was warping some pearls into her hair, that she had meant and half engaged to try a course of mortification on the Cardinal's departure. She therefore put on an old green gown, with bouffonnÉe sleeves, which was almost too worn for a duchess; and, in a very easy pair of slippers, sat down to her morning refection. Some sweetmeats allured her, but she took a piece of plain bread and a glass of lemonade; after which, she thought "Well done, resolution!" and tasted the sweetmeats after all. Moderately, however.

After this, she sat for a good while in a waking dream; and then, rousing herself, determined to go to church, but found it was too late. She thought she would send for the poor widow of whom Bar Hhasdai had spoken to her; but just then, Caterina came to tell her that her lapdog had run a thorn into its foot; and as one act of mercy would do for another, she superintended the dressing of the little animal's paw, and did not send for the widow. After this, she inspected the embroidery of her maids of honour, and thought of fourteen rhymes as the skeleton of a sonnet.

She had advanced thus far in this well-spent day, when the sound of horses' feet made her suddenly aware of the approach of a visitor. Now, our Duchess did not like being caught; it was very seldom, indeed, that she could be caught in dÉshabille; for she enjoyed the consciousness of being at all times a perfectly well-dressed woman. It was hard, therefore, to be found in half-toilette the only time in all the season that such a misfortune could have occurred; especially as it would not be known to partake of the meritorious nature of a penance. However, the mortification would be all the more complete. Who could the visitor be? The Bishop of Fondi?

She looked into the court-yard, and saw a grave, elderly person in ecclesiastical habit, with four mounted attendants, descending somewhat stiffly from his horse. His face was rather plain; his figure tall and imposing. He had a snub nose, high, broad forehead, small, penetrating eyes, and auburn hair and beard a little silvered.

In a few minutes the maggior-domo announced "Messer Sebastiano Veneziano."

The Duchess uttered an exclamation of joy, and advanced, beaming with smiles, to meet him. Never had she looked more lovely: the painter started, and paused for a moment, as she approached. The next instant, her white hand was in his.

"Welcome, Messer Sebastiano, welcome! How good of you to grace my poor house!"

"Illustrious Lady, his Holiness the Pope desired me to give you his paternal greeting."

"I gratefully thank his Holiness."

"—And his Eminence, Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici kisses your hands, and supplicates of your condescension that you will remember your promise to let my poor pencil limn your features."

"I have not forgotten it. I shall esteem it an honour to sit to so great a master. How would you have me dressed, Messer Sebastian? What pose shall you choose?"

"Vossignoria will allow me to study you a little before I decide?"

"Certainly, certainly. Rather formidable, though, to think I am always being studied!"

"I should recommend Vossignoria not to think at all about it."

"Well, I will try. You are fatigued with your journey, Messer Sebastian."

"It will soon pass off. My hand is not steady enough to paint to-day. The journey has interested me. I have made acquaintance with the promontory of Circe, the shining rock of Anxur, and the towering Volscian mountains—all renowned in song, as I need not tell you, Signora! I observed Cora and Sezza shining like aËrial palaces against the brown rugged rock that supports them. I viewed with interest the woods and thickets that once sheltered Camilla. Piperno is, you know, the antiqua urbs of Virgil. I am speaking to a princess who is a classical scholar——"

"Little enough of one," replied the Duchess. "Cardinal Ippolito took compassion on my ignorance, and translated the second book of the Eneid for me. But how go things at Rome?"

And the great painter found that the great lady was more interested in the chit-chat of the capital, than in classical allusion and learned quotation.

The Duchess could always summon at short notice a little circle of deferential friends to her evening meal. She appeared in velvet and jewels. The next morning she wore white. This was not out of coquetry, but as a simple matter of business, that the famous master might make up his mind what suited her best, as a sitter, and proceed to work.

"Lady," said he, "I prefer the dress in which I saw you first."

"Oh, but that is so old! so shabby!——"

"Non importa—it harmonises with your complexion——"

"Two shades of olive," said she, laughing a little; and she went to change her dress.

When she returned, Sebastian had concentrated the light by excluding it altogether from one window, and placing a screen before the lower half of the other. His easel and panel had been brought in by his attendant, who was now busy laying his palette, and the artist was selecting chalks and cartridge paper for a preparatory sketch.

"You look charming," said he, as Giulia entered and seated herself in a raised chair. She was in the olive-green dress, cut square on the bust, with velvet bars on the corsage; and full, puffed, long sleeves, a white lace neckerchief, and long transparent veil, added to the modest and noble simplicity of her dress; while her rich auburn hair, dark in the shade and golden in the sun,[8] was braided behind with a few pearls, and gathered into rich coils.

Poor Cynthia, with her throat swathed up, stood behind with her feather-fan; but the painter looked distastefully at her, and did not repeat his glance: he had no mind to introduce her, even as a foil.

"I must make a saint or an angel of you, since you are for a Cardinal," said he, with a grave smile; "and it will not be difficult."

"Surely, this old gown is not very angelical?" said the Duchess.

"No matter. A nimbus and pincers will identify you with St. Agatha or St. Apollonia, quite sufficiently for the purpose."

He began to draw with great diligence, and was terribly silent. The Duchess felt inclined to yawn.

"More to the right," he said, abruptly, as she inclined her head a little to the left. "Perdona, illustrissima."

"Pray do not stand on ceremony," said she. Her countenance had become vacant, and he felt he must call up its expression.

"Do you take any interest in art, Signora?"

"O yes, a great deal. I only wish I knew more about it."

"Do you know what is its great object?"

"To address the eye?"

"To address the mind."

"Certainly. Of course. I ought to have said so."

"The painter who only aims to deceive the eye is ignorant of the true dignity of art."

"To deceive the eye, and to please it, however, are different things."

"I grant it; but the eye of an intelligent, a refined person, is not pleased by that which offends the mind."

"I thought you Venetians cared more for colour than for drawing or expression."

"I did so as long as I was a pupil of Giorgione's. But when I came to Rome, Michael Angelo showed me where I was wrong. He said, 'It is a pity you Venetians do not learn to draw better in your youth, and adopt a better manner of study.' I took the hint, and drew diligently from the living model. But even this did not content him. 'You neglect the ideal beauty of form,' said he, 'and propriety of expression,' I treasured this hint, too. I said to him, 'If you would condescend to unite our colouring to your drawing, you would be—what, after all, you are already—such a master as the world ne'er saw,' 'That may not be,' said he, half-smiling; 'you might as well try to graft a rose on an oak: but if you, my son, would unite good drawing to your colouring, you might distance Raffaelle.' And, taking up a piece of pipeclay, he sketched out a Lazarus, and splashed in the colour. I do not altogether like it, the action is too violent, and he has made him as black as your Moorish girl; but still it is a grand thing—a very grand thing—the action of the toe, trying to disentangle the bandage of the left leg, is wonderfully original. I have tried to paint all the rest of my picture up to it. A little more to the right, Signora!"

"Cardinal Ippolito told me that picture of yours was very grand," said the Duchess. "He especially admired the different expressions of the two sisters. But he thought the figure of the Saviour too small."

"——Well," said Sebastian, after drawing for a few minutes in silence, "perfect proportion always gives the idea of smallness. The figure was on the same scale with the rest, till Michael Angelo put in his great Lazarus: and you know I could not re-touch the master's work."

"Michael Angelo writes to me sometimes," observed the Duchess, "but he is a better correspondent of my cousin, Vittoria Colonna."

Sebastian worked a little while in silence, and then said:

"Is not the Marchioness somewhat tinctured with the new opinions?"

"Yes," said Giulia, "I am afraid she is. That's the worst of being too clever."

"Is it a proof of being so?"

"Well, clever people are apt to run after new things."

"Perhaps they see more in them than the less clever do."

"They think they do, at any rate."

"Has your ladyship looked yet into the works of the Prince of Carpi?"

"Do you mean the great heavy books you brought me from the Cardinal? No."

"They contain a masterly refutation of the heresies of Erasmus. The Cardinal thought they might confirm you in the faith."

"I am happy to say my faith wants no confirming. I would rather have had some novels. You may tell him so, if he says anything to you about it.... Have you read the books yourself?"

"I have looked into them."

"Have you read Erasmus's books?"

"No."

"Well, when I attack controversy, I will read both sides."

"That will be rather dangerous."

"How can that be? Only one side can be right."

"Your excellency is of course above danger," said Sebastian, with a little cough, "but, for common minds, there is the danger of not distinguishing which is the right. For myself, being but a moderate logician, and still slighter theologian, I prefer taking my religion as I have been taught it, to meddling with edged tools. The Church is irrefutable: the Church has foundations that will never be shaken. And I am content to abide by its decisions.—A little more to the right."