by George Eliot
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
THE PORTRAIT.
When Tito left the Via de' Bardi that day in exultant satisfaction atfinding himself thoroughly free from the threatened peril, his thoughts,no longer claimed by the immediate presence of Romola and her father,recurred to those futile hours of dread in which he was conscious ofhaving not only felt but acted as he would not have done if he had had atruer foresight. He would not have parted with his ring; for Romola,and others to whom it was a familiar object, would be a little struckwith the apparent sordidness of parting with a gem he had professedlycherished, unless he feigned as a reason the desire to make some specialgift with the purchase-money; and Tito had at that moment a nauseatingweariness of simulation. He was well out of the possible consequencesthat might have fallen on him from that initial deception, and it was nolonger a load on his mind; kind fortune had brought him immunity, and hethought it was only fair that she should. Who was hurt by it? Theresults to Baldassarre were too problematical to be taken into account.But he wanted now to be free from any hidden shackles that would gallhim, though ever so little, under his ties to Romola. He was not awarethat that very delight in immunity which prompted resolutions not toentangle himself again, was deadening the sensibilities which alonecould save him from entanglement.
But, after all, the sale of the ring was a slight matter. Was it also aslight matter that little Tessa was under a delusion which woulddoubtless fill her small head with expectations doomed todisappointment? Should he try to see the little thing alone again andundeceive her at once, or should he leave the disclosure to time andchance? Happy dreams are pleasant, and they easily come to an end withdaylight and the stir of life. The sweet, pouting, innocent, roundthing! It was impossible not to think of her. Tito thought he shouldlike some time to take her a present that would please her, and justlearn if her step-father treated her more cruelly now her mother wasdead. Or, should he at once undeceive Tessa, and then tell Romola abouther, so that they might find some happier lot for the poor thing? No:that unfortunate little incident of the _cerretano_ and the marriage,and his allowing Tessa to part from him in delusion, must never be knownto Romola, and since no enlightenment could expel it from Tessa's mind,there would always be a risk of betrayal; besides even little Tessamight have some gall in her when she found herself disappointed in herlove--yes, she _must_ be a little in love with him, and that might makeit well that he should not see her again. Yet it was a triflingadventure such as a country girl would perhaps ponder on till some ruddycontadino made acceptable love to her, when she would break herresolution of secrecy and get at the truth that she was free._Dunque_--good-bye, Tessa! kindest wishes! Tito had made up his mindthat the silly little affair of the _cerretano_ should have no furtherconsequences for himself; and people are apt to think that resolutionstaken on their own behalf will be firm. As for the fifty-five florins,the purchase-money of the ring, Tito had made up his mind what to dowith some of them; he would carry out a pretty ingenious thought whichwould set him more at ease in accounting for the absence of his ring toRomola, and would also serve him as a means of guarding her mind fromthe recurrence of those monkish fancies which were especially repugnantto him; and with this thought in his mind, he went to the Via Gualfondato find Piero di Cosimo, the artist who at that time was pre-eminent inthe fantastic mythological design which Tito's purpose required.
Entering the court on which Piero's dwelling opened, Tito found theheavy iron knocker on the door thickly bound round with wool andingeniously fastened with cords. Remembering the painter's practice ofstuffing his ears against obtrusive noises, Tito was not much surprisedat this mode of defence against visitors' thunder, and betook himselffirst to tapping modestly with his knuckles, and then to a moreimportunate attempt to shake the door. In rain! Tito was moving away,blaming himself for wasting his time on this visit, instead of waitingtill he saw the painter again at Nello's, when a little girl entered thecourt with a basket of eggs on her arm, went up to the door, andstanding on tiptoe, pushed up a small iron plate that ran in grooves,and putting her mouth to the aperture thus disclosed, called out in apiping voice, "Messer Piero!"
In a few moments Tito heard the sound of bolts, the door opened, andPiero presented himself in a red night-cap and a loose brown sergetunic, with sleeves rolled up to the shoulder. He darted a look ofsurprise at Tito, but without further notice of him stretched out hishand to take the basket from the child, re-entered the house, andpresently returning with the empty basket, said, "How much to pay?"
"Two grossoni, Messer Piero; they are all ready boiled, my mother says."
Piero took the coin out of the leathern scarsella at his belt, and thelittle maiden trotted away, not without a few upward glances of awedadmiration at the surprising young signor.
Piero's glance was much less complimentary as he said--
"What do you want at my door, Messer Greco? I saw you this morning atNello's; if you had asked me then, I could have told you that I see noman in this house without knowing his business and agreeing with himbeforehand."
"Pardon, Messer Piero," said Tito, with his imperturbable good-humour;"I acted without sufficient reflection. I remembered nothing but youradmirable skill in inventing pretty caprices, when a sudden desire forsomething of that sort prompted me to come to you."
The painter's manners were too notoriously odd to all the world for thisreception to be held a special affront; but even if Tito had suspectedany offensive intention, the impulse to resentment would have been lessstrong in him than the desire to conquer goodwill.
Piero made a grimace which was habitual with him when he was spoken towith flattering suavity. He grinned, stretched out the corners of hismouth, and pressed down his brows, so as to defy any divination of hisfeelings under that kind of stroking.
"And what may that need be?" he said, after a moment's pause. In hisheart he was tempted by the hinted opportunity of applying hisinvention.
"I want a very delicate miniature device taken from certain fables ofthe poets, which you will know how to combine for me. It must bepainted on a wooden case--I will show you the size--in the form of atriptych. The inside may be simple gilding: it is on the outside I wantthe device. It is a favourite subject with you Florentines--the triumphof Bacchus and Ariadne; but I want it treated in a new way. A story inOvid will give you the necessary hints. The young Bacchus must beseated in a ship, his head bound with clusters of grapes, and a spearentwined with vine-leaves in his hand: dark-berried ivy must wind aboutthe masts and sails, the oars must be thyrsi, and flowers must wreathethemselves about the poop; leopards and tigers must be crouching beforehim, and dolphins must be sporting round. But I want to have thefair-haired Ariadne with him, made immortal with her golden crown--thatis not in Ovid's story, but no matter, you will conceive it all--andabove there must be young Loves, such as you know how to paint, shootingwith roses at the points of their arrows--"
"Say no more!" said Piero. "I have Ovid in the vulgar tongue. Find methe passage. I love not to be choked with other men's thoughts. Youmay come in."
Piero led the way through the first room, where a basket of eggs wasdeposited on the open hearth, near a heap of broken egg-shells and abank of ashes. In strange keeping with that sordid litter, there was alow bedstead of carved ebony, covered carelessly with a piece of richoriental carpet, that looked as if it had served to cover the steps to aMadonna's throne; and a carved _cassone_, or large chest, with painteddevices on its sides and lid. There was hardly any other furniture inthe large room, except casts, wooden steps, easels and rough boxes, allfestooned with cobwebs.
The next room was still larger, but it was also much more crowded.Apparently Piero was keeping the Festa, for the double door underneaththe window which admitted the painter's light from above, was thrownopen, and showed a garden, or rather thicket, in which fig-trees andvines grew in tangled trailing wildness among nettles and hemlocks, anda tall cypress lifted its dark head from a stifling mass of yellowis
hmulberry-leaves. It seemed as if that dank luxuriance had begun topenetrate even within the walls of the wide and lofty room; for in onecorner, amidst a confused heap of carved marble fragments and rustyarmour, tufts of long grass and dark feathery fennel had made their way,and a large stone vase, tilted on one side, seemed to be pouring out theivy that streamed around. All about the walls hung pen and oil-sketchesof fantastic sea-monsters; dances of satyrs and maenads; SaintMargaret's resurrection out of the devouring dragon; Madonnas with thesupernal light upon them; studies of plants and grotesque heads; and onirregular rough shelves a few books were scattered among great droopingbunches of corn, bullocks' horns, pieces of dried honeycomb, stones withpatches of rare-coloured lichen, skulls and bones, peacocks' feathers,and large birds' wings. Rising from amongst the dirty litter of thefloor were lay figures: one in the frock of a Vallombrosan monk,strangely surmounted by a helmet with barred visor, another smotheredwith brocade and skins hastily tossed over it. Amongst thisheterogeneous still life, several speckled and white pigeons wereperched or strutting, too tame to fly at the entrance of men; threecorpulent toads were crawling in an intimate friendly way near thedoor-stone; and a white rabbit, apparently the model for that which wasfrightening Cupid in the picture of Mars and Venus placed on the centraleasel, was twitching its nose with much content on a box full of bran.
"And now, Messer Greco," said Piero, making a sign to Tito that he mightsit down on a low stool near the door, and then standing over him withfolded arms, "don't be trying to see everything at once, like MesserDomeneddio, but let me know how large you would have this sametriptych."
Tito indicated the required dimensions, and Piero marked them on a pieceof paper.
"And now for the book," said Piero, reaching down a manuscript volume.
"There's nothing about the Ariadne there," said Tito, giving him thepassage; "but you will remember I want the crowned Ariadne by the sideof the young Bacchus: she must have golden hair."
"Ha!" said Piero, abruptly, pursing up his lips again. "And you wantthem to be likenesses, eh?" he added, looking down into Tito's face.
Tito laughed and blushed. "I know you are great at portraits, MesserPiero; but I could not ask Ariadne to sit for you, because the paintingis a secret."
"There it is! I want her to sit to me. Giovanni Vespucci wants me topaint him a picture of Oedipus and Antigone at Colonos, as he hasexpounded it to me: I have a fancy for the subject, and I want Bardo andhis daughter to sit for it. Now, you ask them; and then I'll put thelikeness into Ariadne."
"Agreed, if I can prevail with them. And your price for the Bacchus andAriadne?"
"_Baie_! If you get them to let me paint them, that will pay me. I'drather not have your money: you may pay for the case."
"And when shall I sit for you?" said Tito; "for if we have one likeness,we must have two."
"I don't want _your_ likeness; I've got it already," said Piero, "onlyI've made you look frightened. I must take the fright out of it forBacchus."
As he was speaking, Piero laid down the book and went to look among somepaintings, propped with their faces against the wall. He returned withan oil-sketch in his hand.
"I call this as good a bit of portrait as I ever did," he said, lookingat it as he advanced. "Yours is a face that expresses fear well,because it's naturally a bright one. I noticed it the first time I sawyou. The rest of the picture is hardly sketched; but I've painted _you_in thoroughly."
Piero turned the sketch, and held it towards Tito's eyes. He sawhimself with his right-hand uplifted, holding a wine-cup, in theattitude of triumphant joy, but with his face turned away from the cupwith an expression of such intense fear in the dilated eyes and pallidlips, that he felt a cold stream through his veins, as if he were beingthrown into sympathy with his imaged self.
"You are beginning to look like it already," said Piero, with a shortlaugh, moving the picture away again. "He's seeing a ghost--that fineyoung man. I shall finish it some day, when I've settled what sort ofghost is the most terrible--whether it should look solid, like a deadman come to life, or half transparent, like a mist."
Tito, rather ashamed of himself for a sudden sensitiveness strangelyopposed to his usual easy self-command, said carelessly--
"That is a subject after your own heart, Messer Piero--a revelinterrupted by a ghost. You seem to love the blending of the terriblewith the gay. I suppose that is the reason your shelves are so wellfurnished with death's-heads, while you are painting those roguish Loveswho are running away with the armour of Mars. I begin to think you area Cynic philosopher in the pleasant disguise of a cunning painter."
"Not I, Messer Greco; a philosopher is the last sort of animal I shouldchoose to resemble. I find it enough to live, without spinning lies toaccount for life. Fowls cackle, asses bray, women chatter, andphilosophers spin false reasons--that's the effect the sight of theworld brings out of them. Well, I am an animal that paints instead ofcackling, or braying, or spinning lies. And now, I think, our businessis done; you'll keep to your side of the bargain about the Oedipus andAntigone?"
"I will do my best," said Tito--on this strong hint, immediately movingtowards the door.
"And you'll let me know at Nello's. No need to come here again."
"I understand," said Tito, laughingly, lifting his hand in sign offriendly parting.