Page:Hoffmann's Strange Stories - Hoffman - 1855.djvu/241

 points of his toes, then dropping clown again; moving his legs forward and back, uttering suppressed sighs, shutting his eyes until the tears flowed, then opening them again like telescopes, he devoured with his looks the angelic painting, lisping, in his sharp falsetto:

"Ah, dearest, most blessed! Ah, most beautiful Marianna!"

Salvator curious to study nearer this living mummy, made his way through the crowd and placed himself near the unknown, to try and learn the motive that detained him before Scacciati's painting. Without noticing Salvator, the man cursed his poverty, that deprived him of the happiness of buying a picture which he would have been willing, at the price of a million, to withdraw from every profane gaze. Then he recommenced dancing about, giving thanks to the Virgin and to all the saints for the death of the painter who had executed this marvellous work. Salvator thought that this man had lost his wits.

Meanwhile, nothing was talked of in Rome but this famous Magdalen; and when the Academicians of San-Luca met again to elect candidates to the vacant places, Salvator asked if the author of the master-piece, which was talked of in the city, was worthy of being admitted into the illustrious society. All, without even excepting the quarrelsome Josepin, were unanimous in deploring the loss of so eminent an artist, but whom, in the bottom of their hearts, they were glad to be rid of.

They carried hypocrisy so far as to decide that the palm of the academy should be awarded to the departed, and that a solemn mass should be said every year, in the church of San-Luca, for the repose of his soul. As soon as this resolution was taken, Salvator rose in the midst of the assembly:

"Well, gentlemen," exclaimed he, "console yourselves; the glorious prize with which you were about to honor the ashes of a dead man, you can give into the hands of a living one. Know that the Magdalen at the Saviour's feet, this painting that you have praised above all the productions of our time, is not the work of a Neapolitan painter who died