Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 050.djvu/344

310 I fear the converse in respect to you

Will not hold good.

Nay, how can you tell that?

You may have talent: yet—

Let me speak out

At once. I've made the attempt.

I thought as much.

. Pray, sir, will you be kind enough to examine

One of my pictures?

I would rather not.

Nay, why?

Bernardo, the plain truth is this:—

I would not hurt your feelings, which are keen;

And yet I promise you, your work would meet

With no indulgence at my hands.

I am

Content to run the risk.

Pray, do not urge me.

I'll readily believe that you possess

Talents for painting—that your pencil wiles

Agreeably away the idle hours:

But ask me not to judge you, for I'd be

So candid with you, and expect so much,

That probably I might condemn in you

What I should praise in any other person.

I fear, my friend, that your acquaintance with me

Will not add greatly to your peace or comfort.

Your restless blood bounds with the thought of fame,

And to your dazzled eyes my life appears

Surrounded with a golden atmosphere;

Yet, my Bernardo, if you look more closely,

You'll find the sunshine of a life like mine

Is like the rainbow—glory built on tears.

Weigh well the lives of those men you admire—

Guido, Leonardo, the two Allegri,

Raphael himself, or me, (if I may dare

To name myself with these illustrious men)—

Regard us well, and say, what are we all

But baffled swimmers, in a stormy flood,

Towards a goal that never may be reach'd?

(with warmth.) Yes, you have reach'd it.

Friend! you are mistaken,

And little know what toil our art demands

Before its pupils can become its priests.

The temple's sheen attracts you, like the stars

Which you shall reach—when you are dead and buried.

But come—if you have courage to begin

The toilsome journey of an artist's life,

To tread our thorny pathways—undeterr'd

By fear of envy, malice, or detraction—

If you are like the lark that yonder (pointing to one: out of the window) sends

Her strong notes heavenward, heedless of the frogs

That croak beneath her—bring your picture here.

I haste to fetch it—

(putting his head in at the door.) Is not this the dwelling of the great Salvator Rosa?

(advancing towards him with a smile.) I am he,

Much at your service: pray, sir, who are you?

(coming forward.) Andrea del Calmari is my name,

Director of Saint Carl's academy.