| |
| TWO steps, your Highness,—let me go before, | |
| And let some light down this dark corridor,— | |
| Ser Leonardo keeps the only key | |
| To the main entrance here so jealously, | |
| That we must creep in at this secret door | 5 |
| If we his great Cenacolo would see. | |
| |
| The work shows talent,—that I must confess; | |
| The heads, too, are expressive, every one; | |
| But, with his idling and fastidiousness, | |
| I fear his picture never will be done. * * * * * | 10 |
| ’T is twenty months since first upon the wall | |
| This Leonardo smoothed his plaster,—then | |
| He spent two months ere he began to scrawl | |
| His figures, which were scarcely outlined, when | |
| Some new fit seized him, and he spoilt them all. | 15 |
| As he began the first month that he came, | |
| So he went on, month after month the same. | |
| At times, when he had worked from morn to night | |
| For weeks and weeks on some apostle’s head, | |
| In one hour, as it were from sudden spite, | 20 |
| He ’d wipe it out. When I remonstrated, | |
| Saying, “Ser Leonardo, you erase | |
| More than you leave,—that ’s not the way to paint; | |
| Before you finish we shall all be dead”; | |
| Smiling he turns (he has a pleasant face, | 25 |
| Though he would try the patience of a saint | |
| With all his wilful ways), and calmly said, | |
| “I wiped it out because it was not right; | |
| I wish it had been, for your sake, no less | |
| Than for this pious convent’s; and indeed, | 30 |
| The simple truth, good Padre, to confess, | |
| I ’ve not the least objection to succeed: | |
| But I must please myself as well as you, | |
| Since I must answer for the work I do.” | |
| |
| There was St. John’s head, that I verily thought | 35 |
| He ’d never finish. Twenty times at least | |
| I thought it done, but still he wrought and wrought, | |
| Defaced, remade, until at last he ceased | |
| To work at all,—went off and locked the door,— | |
| Was gone three days,—then came and sat before | 40 |
| The picture full an hour,—then calmly rose | |
| And scratched out in a trice the mouth and nose. | |
| This is sheer folly, as it seems to me, | |
| Or worse than folly. Does your Highness pay | |
| A certain sum to him for every day? | 45 |
| If so, the reason ’s very clear to see. | |
| No? Then his brain is touched, assuredly. | |
| |
| At last, however, as you see, ’t is done,— | |
| All but our Lord’s head, and the Judas there. | |
| A month ago he finished the St. John, | 50 |
| And has not touched it since, that I ’m aware; | |
| And now he neither seems to think nor care | |
| About the rest, but wanders up and down | |
| The cloistered gallery in his long dark gown, | |
| Picking the black stones out to step upon; | 55 |
| Or through the garden paces listlessly | |
| With eyes fixed on the ground, hour after hour, | |
| While now and then he stoops and picks a flower, | |
| And smells it, as it were, abstractedly. | |
| What he is doing is a plague to me! | 60 |
| Sometimes he stands before yon orange-pot, | |
| His hands behind him just as if he saw | |
| Some curious thing upon its leaves, and then, | |
| With a quick glance, as if a sudden thought | |
| Had struck his mind, there, standing on the spot, | 65 |
| He takes a little tablet out to draw, | |
| Then, muttering to himself, walks on agen. | |
| He is the very oddest man of men! * * * * * | |
| But, as I was observing, there have passed | |
| Some twenty long and weary months since he | 70 |
| First turned us out of our refectory, | |
| And who knows how much longer this may last? | |
| Yet if our painter worked there steadily, | |
| I could say nothing; but the work stands still, | |
| While he goes idling round the cloisters’ shade. | 75 |
| Pleasant enough for him,—but is he paid | |
| For idle dreaming thoughts, or work and skill? | |
| |
| I crave your pardon; if I speak amiss, | |
| Your Highness will, I hope, allowance make | |
| That I have spoken for your Highness’ sake, | 80 |
| And not that us it inconveniences, | |
| Although it is a scandal to us all | |
| To see this picture half done on the wall. | |
| A word from your most gracious lips, I feel, | |
| Would greatly quicken Ser Leonardo’s zeal, | 85 |
| And we should soon see o’er our daily board, | |
| The Judas finished, and our blessed Lord. * * * * * | |
| |
