Chapter XXV: Appendix (2)

"And this I will give as a sufficient proof (as your Excellencies well know), that in the books we find Phidias and Praxiteles called painters, whilst it is certain that they were sculptors in marble, seeing that the statues from their hands in stone are here near us, on this hill, the horses which they made, which King Teridade sent to Nero as a present, for which reason in recent times this place is called Monte Cavallo. And should this not be enough, I will add how Donatello (who, with the permission of Master Michael, was one of the first modern ones who in sculpture merited fame and name in Italy) never said anything else to his pupils, when teaching them, but draw, telling them in a single word of doctrine: 'Pupils, I give you the whole art of sculpture when I tell you--_draw!_' And so Pomponio Gaurico, sculptor, also affirms in the book he wrote 'De Re Statuaria.' But why do I seek examples and proofs afar, when perchance they are near me? And so as not to speak of myself, I say the great draughtsman, M. Angelo, who is here, also sculptures in marble, which is not his art, and better even (if one may say it) than he paints with the brush on a panel, and he himself has told me sometimes that he finds the sculpture of stone less difficult than the using of colours, and that he deems it to be a very much greater thing to make a masterly stroke with the brush than with the chisel. And even a famous draughtsman, if he so desires, will by himself sculpture and carve in hard marble, in bronze and in silver, exceedingly large statues in full relief (which is a great thing), without ever having taken a chisel in his hand; and this is owing to the great virtue and power of drawing. It does not, therefore, follow that a sculptor will know how to paint or how to hold a brush, nor will he know how to paint and make a stroke like a master, as I learnt a few days ago on going to see Baccio Blandino,(197) the sculptor, whom I found trying to paint in oils and unable to do so. The draughtsman will be a master in building palaces or temples, and will carve statues and will paint pictures; for the said Master Michael and Raphael and Baltesar di Siena,(198) famous painters, taught architecture and sculpture, and Baltesar di Siena, after briefly studying that art, equalled Bramante, a most eminent architect, who passed all his life in its discipline, and yet he used to say that it gave him an advantage, for he appreciated the invention, fancy and freedom of drawing. I am speaking of true painters."

"But I say, Senhor Lactancio," said Michael, assisting M. Francisco, "that the painter of whom he speaks not only will be instructed in liberal arts and other sciences such as architecture and sculpture, which are his own province, but also in all other manual crafts which are practised throughout the world; should he wish, he will do them with more art than the actual masters of them. However that may be, I sometimes set myself thinking and imagining that I find amongst men but one single art or science, and that is drawing or painting, all others being members proceeding therefrom; for if you carefully consider all that is being done in this life you will find that each person is, without knowing it, painting this world, creating and producing new forms and figures here, in dress and the various garbs, in building and occupying spaces with painted buildings and houses, in cultivating the fields and ploughing the land into pictures and sketches, in navigating the seas with sails, in fighting and dividing the spoil, and finally in the 'firmamentos' and burials and in all other operations, movements and actions. I leave out all the handicrafts and arts, of which painting is the principal fount, of which some are rivers which spring from it, such as sculpture and architecture; some are brooks, such as mechanical trades; and some are stagnant ponds, which do not flow (such as useless handicrafts like cutting out with scissors and such like), formed from the waters of the flood when drawing overflowed its banks in old time and inundated everything under its dominion and empire, as one sees in the works of the Romans, all done in the manner of painting. In all their painted buildings and fabrics, in all works in gold, silver, or in metals, in all their vases and ornaments, and even in the elegance of their coins, and in their dress and armour, in their triumphs as well as in all their other operations and works, one easily recognises how, in the time when they held sway over all the earth, my lady painting was the universal sovereign and mistress of all their deeds and trades and sciences, extending herself even to writing, and composing or writing histories. So that whosoever well considers and understands human works, will find without doubt that they are all either painting itself or some part of painting; and although the painter be capable of inventing what has not as yet been found, and of doing all the handicrafts of the others with much more grace and elegance than their own professors, yet no one but he can be a true painter or draughtsman."

"I am satisfied," answered Lactancio, "and understand better the great power of painting, which, as you stated, is seen in all things of the ancients and even in writing and composing. And perhaps notwithstanding your great imagination you will not have been as much struck as I have been with the conformity which letters have with painting (for you will certainly hold letters to be a part of painting); nor by how these two sciences are such legitimate sisters that, if one be separated from the other, neither is perfect, although it seems that these present times keep them in some way separated. But yet every learned and consummate man will find that in all his works he is always exercising to a great extent the office of a good painter, painting and colouring some intention of his with much care and devotion. Now in opening the old books, the famous ones are few which are not like painting; and it is certain that those which are the heaviest and most confused are so for no other reason but because the writers are not good draughtsmen and are not very skilful in drawing and dividing up their work; and the most facile and terse are those of the best draughtsman. And even Quintilian in the perfection of his _Rhetoric_ lays it down that not only in the division of the words his orator should draw, but that with his own hand he should know how to sketch and draw; and hence it is, Senhor M. Angelo, that you may at times call a great man of letters or a great preacher a good painter; and a great draughtsman you may call a man of letters, and whosoever most penetrates into real antiquity will find that painting and sculpture were both called painting, and that in the time of Demosthenes they called _writing_ 'antigraphia,' which means _drawing_, and it was a word common to both these sciences, and that the writings of Agatharco can be called the painting of Agatharco. And I think that the Egyptians also--all of them who had to write or express anything--were accustomed to know how to paint, and even their hieroglyphic signs were painted animals and birds, as is shown by some obelisks in this city which came from Egypt. But if I speak of poetry, it seems to me that it will not be very difficult for me to show how true a sister she is to painting. But so that Senhor Francisco may know how much necessity he has for poetry, and how much he may gain from the best of it, I will show him here how much care the poets take (although this is matter for a young man rather than for me) of their profession and intelligence, and how much they praise and celebrate their art as being free from penalties and blots; and it does not seem that the poets worked for anything except to teach the beauties of painting, and what ought to be avoided or done in it, with all their suavity and music of verses, and with so many just and fluent words that I do not know how I can repay them. Now one of the things in which they put the most study and work (I speak of the famous poets) is in painting well or in imitating a good painting; and this is due to the accuracy which, with the greatest promptness and care, they desire to express and attain. And the one who can attain this is the one who is the most excellent and clear. I remember that the prince of them, Virgil, threw himself down to sleep at the foot of a beech-tree, and how he has painted in words the forms of two vases that Alcimedon had made in a cavern covered with a wild vine, with some goats chewing willows, and some blue hills smoking in the distance; then he remains resting on one hand the whole day, to study how many winds and clouds he will put into the Tempest of AEolus, and how he will paint the Port of Carthage in a bay, with an island standing apart, and with how many rocks and woods he will surround it. Afterwards he paints Troy burning; then some feasts in Sicily, and beyond near Cumas the gate of hell with a thousand monsters, and chimeras, and many souls passing Acheron; then the Elysian Fields, the host of the Blest, the pains and torments of the Impious, and afterwards the Arms of Vulcan, a fine piece of work; shortly afterwards a painted Amazon, and the ferocity of capless Turnus. He paints the routs in battle, the many dead, the fates of noble men, the many spoils and trophies. Read the whole of Virgil and you will not find in it anything but the handicraft of a Michael Angelo. Lucan employs a hundred pages in painting an enchantress and the breaking up of a fine battle. Ovid is nothing else but a 'retavolo' (copyist). Statius paints the house of sleep and the walls of great Thebes. The poet Lucretius likewise paints, and Tibullus and Catullus and Propertius. One paints a fountain, and a wood close by, with Pan, the shepherd, playing a flute amongst the ewes. Another paints a shrine with nymphs around dancing. Another draws the drunken Bacchus, surrounded by wild women, with old Silenus, half falling from an ass, who would have fallen were he not held up by a satyr who carries a leathern bottle. Even the satirical poet paints the picture of the labyrinth. Now what do the lyric poets do, or the wits of Martial, or the tragic or comic ones? What do they do but paint reasonably? And what I say I do not invent, for each one of them himself confesses that he paints: they called painting dumb poetry."

At this point I said: "Senhor Lactancio, in calling painting _dumb_ poetry it seems to me that the poets did not know how to paint well, because, if they understood how much more painting declares and speaks than poetry, her sister, they would not say it was dumb, and I will maintain rather that poetry is the more dumb."

The Marchioness said: "How will you prove, Spaniard, what you say? how will you prove that painting is not dumb and that poetry is? Let us hear, for in no more worthy discourse could this day be spent, hearing what you maintain on that subject; afterwards it may be possible to bring this company together again, in another place."

"How can your Excellency wish," I answered, "that I should dare to do so at once, and how should I be able to interest this company with my little knowledge, especially as I am a pupil of the lady who is dumb and has no tongue? Particularly, too, as it is already late, if the light through these windows does not deceive me; how can you order me to praise my innamorata before her own husband and in such an honourable court of those who know her worth? If there were some powerful adversaries here I might attempt it, although in this I am wrong, for it would be much easier to vanquish enemies than to please these friends. But if your Excellency desires so much to see me put to silence I will speak, not as an enemy of poetry, for I am much indebted to her, and I owe her much in the virtue of my profession, and in the perfection which I so much desire, but to defend the other lady, who is still more mine, for whose sake only I rejoice to live, and for whom I confess I have a voice and speak, she being dumb, solely because I one day saw her move her eyes; and as she teaches one to speak by her eyes, what would she do if she were to move her wise lips? Good poets (as Senhor Lactancio said) do not do more with words than even mediocre painters do with their works, for the former recount what the latter express and declare. They with fastidious meanings do not always engage one's ears, whilst the latter satisfy one's eyes, as with some beautiful spectacle they hold all men prisoners and entranced; and the passage over which good poets most trouble themselves, and which they hold as the greatest finesse, is to show you in words (perchance too many and too long), as if painting a storm on the sea, or the burning of a city, which storm, if they were able, they would rather paint, for when you finish the work of reading, you have already forgotten the commencement, and you have only present the short verse on which your eyes were last fixed; and the one who shows you this best is the best poet.

"Now, how much more does painting say which shows you that storm altogether with the thunder, lightning, waves, vessels, and reefs, and you see: _omniaque viris ostentant praesentem mortem_, and in the same place: _ex-templo Aeneas tendens ad sidera palmas_ and _tres Eurus abreptas in saxa latentia torquet emissamque hyemem sensit Neptunus et imis_, and likewise it shows very present and visibly all the burning of the city, in every part, represented and seen as if it were really true; on one side those who run through the streets and squares, on the other those who jump from the walls and towers; here the temples half demolished and the reflection of the flames in the rivers, and the surrounded shores illuminated; how Pantheus as he runs away limping with his idols, leading his grandchild by the hand; how the Trojan horse gives birth in the centre of a great square to armed men; how Neptune, very wrath, throws down the walls; how Pyrrhus beheads Priam; AEneas with his father on his shoulders, and Ascanius and Creusa who follow him in the darkness of night, full of fear; and all this so present and so connected and natural that very often you are moved to think that you are not safe before it, and you are glad to know they are only colours and that they cannot inspire or do harm. It does not show you this spread out in words, whilst you remember only the part which is before your eyes having already forgotten the past and not knowing the future, and which verses only the ears of a grammarian can understand with difficulty, but one's eyes visibly enjoy that spectacle as being true, and one's ears seem to hear the actual cries and clamour of the painted figures; it seems as if you smell the smoke, you fly from the flames, you fear the fall of the buildings; you are ready to give a hand to those who are falling, you defend those who are fighting against numbers; you run away with those who run away and stand firm with the courageous. Not only the learned are satisfied, but also the simple, the countryman, the old woman; not only these, but also the Sarmatian stranger, the Indian, and the Persian (who never understood the verses of Virgil, or Homer, which are dumb to them), delight themselves with and understand that work with great pleasure and quickness; the barbarian ceases to be barbarian, and understands, by virtue of the eloquent painting, that which no poetry or numbered feet could teach him. And the law of painting says: _in ipsa legunt qui literas nesciunt_, and further on says: _pro lectione pictura est_. When Cebes, a Theban, wished to write an opinion of his for a law of human life, he simulated and painted it on a 'panel,' as he thought that he would express it better thus, and that it would be more noble and more easily understood by all men; he then desired more to know how to paint, in order to speak, than how to write. But even, if after all this, poetry still affirms that a Venus painted at the feet of a Jupiter does not speak, nor Turnus painted, showing his valour before King Latinus, even this reason cannot render learned painting dumb so that she does not speak, and show in all things that she is in this also the first, or perhaps the companion, of my lady poetry. For the great painter will paint Venus weeping at the feet of Jupiter, with all the following advantages, which the poet will not have: the first one is that he paints heaven where it is supposed to be, and the person, dress, and action or movement of Jupiter and his eagle with the thunderbolt; and he will paint fully the luxurious beauty of Venus, and her robe of gauzy raiment with all her graceful movements, so elegant and light and with such skill that, although she may not speak with her mouth, yet it appears from her eyes, hands, and mouth that she is really speaking (nor do you hear the soft and sweet speech of Venus, when a croaking school-master reads the words and sayings of Venus). She appears to be uttering all those pious sayings and complaints which Virgil Maro writes concerning her. And also the great painter will make even King Latinus more copious in his work and the Councillors of the Laurentes more defined, clearer, some with perturbed face, and others more collected and quiet, different in appearance and physiognomy and age, different in movements, which the poet cannot do without too much prolixity and confusion. And even then he will not do it; and the painter will do it so that it may be seen with greater pleasure and move the spectator more, and likewise he will place before your eyes the brave image of Turnus, boastful and furious with the coward Drances, that it seems as if you fear him yourself and that he is saying: _Larga quidem semper, Drance, tibi copia fandi_. Therefore I with my small talent, as a pupil of a mistress without a tongue, still deem the power of painting to be greater than that of poetry in making greater effects and in having more force and vehemence whether to move mind and soul to joy and laughter, or to sorrow and tears, with more effective eloquence. But let the muse Calliope be the judge in this matter, for I will be content with her judgment."

And having said that I ceased. The Marchioness honoured me in bantering terms thus:

"You, Senhor Francisco, have done so well for your innamorata, painting, that, if Master Michael does not show just as great a sign of love for her, we may perhaps get her to divorce him and go with you to Portugal."

And, smiling, Michael said: "He knows, Madam, that I have already done so, and that I have already released her entirely to him; for as I do not possess such powers as such great love demands, he has said what he has said, as of one who belongs to him."

"I confess," said I, "Madam, that he has released her to me, but she does not wish to go with me, so that she still remains at home with him; neither would I, although she is so worthy, like to see her come to my country, for there are but few there who know how to esteem her, and my most serene king, unless it were in his unoccupied moments, would not favour her, especially if there happened to be any unrest through war, in which she is of no use; and so she would become angry and perhaps in a fit of temper she would one day throw herself into the ocean, which is hard by, and cause me to sing many times the verse:

Audieras: et fama fuit; sed opera tantum
nostra valent, Lycida, tela inter maria, quantum
chaonias dicunt aquila veniente columbas.

But if she were of use in time of war, I would desire her to come at once."

"I quite understand," said the Marchioness, "but as now the day is far spent, let your question be for next Sunday." And as she said this she rose, and all of us with her, and we went away.

THIRD DIALOGUE

Not only were we unable to meet together on the following Sunday with the Marchioness and M. Angelo, but even on the next one, eight days later, we were almost prevented, and indeed did not wish to meet, because at that time was being celebrated in the city of Rome the feast of the twelve triumphal cars in the Camp Nagao(199) in the ancient manner. Starting from the Capitol with such magnificence and ancient pomp that it seemed as if one were back in the old times of the Emperors and the triumphs of the Romans. This feast was celebrated on the occasion of the marriage(200) of Senhor Ottavio,(201) son of Pedro Luiz, and grand-nephew of our Lord Pope Paul III., to Senhora Margarida,(202) adopted daughter of the Emperor. She had been a short time previously the wife of Alessandro de Medici, Duke of Florence, who was killed through treason in Florence. And now, she being a widow and very young and beautiful, his Holiness and his Majesty married her to Senhor Ottavio, a very young and estimable man, consequently the city and the Court feasted them as much as could be at night with serenades and banquets, and the whole of Rome ablaze with lights and illuminations, especially the Castle of St. Angelo, and every day feasts and great expenditure. Such as the feast of Monte Trestacho, with its twenty bulls attached to twenty carts, killed as a public spectacle in the square of St. Peter's; and the race which was run between buffaloes and horses along the entire Via di Nostra Signora Transpontina to the square of the said palace. And also those festivals which I have mentioned of the twelve triumphal cars, gilded and ornamented with many fine figures and very noble devices; there were Romans and the heads of the districts of Rome, dressed in the old style, with all the pomp and pride that could be desired; one hundred sons of citizens on horseback, so brave and so bizarre in their gallantry of painted antiquity, that in comparison with them the velvet mantles and plumes and the infinity of novelties and costumes in which Italy exceeds every other province of Europe, appeared very ordinary. But when I had seen this noble phalanx and company descending from the Capitol with many infantry, and had viewed all the bravery of the cars and the ediles, dressed in the old fashion, and had seen Senhor Giulio Cesarino pass with the standard of the city of Rome, on a horse with trappings covered with a white coat of arms and black brocade, I at once turned my horse towards Monte Cavallo, and thus went riding along the Thermae road pondering over many things of the olden times, in which I then felt myself to be more than in the present.

Then I ordered my servant to go without fail to St. Silvester and learn whether perchance the Marchioness or Senhor M. Angelo happened to be there. The servant was not long in returning, telling me that Senhor M. Angelo and Senhor Lactancio and Brother Ambrose were all together in the friar's cell, which was itself in St. Silvester, but that no mention whatever had been made of the Marchioness. I went on towards St. Silvester, but the truth is that I intended to pass before it and to return to the city, when I saw coming a certain Capata, a great servitor of the Marchioness, and a very honourable person and my friend. I being on horseback and he on foot, I was obliged to dismount; and he having told me that he had been sent by the Marchioness, we went into St. Silvester. As we were entering Senhores, M. Angelo and M. Lactancio were coming out by way of the garden or court, in order to take their siesta under the trees by the running water.

"Oh! welcome," said Senhor Lactancio, "both of you; you could not arrive at a better moment; you have been very wise to fly from the confusion in the city and take shelter in this quiet haven."

"That is all very well," we said, "but this flattery does not console us, nor is it sufficient to compensate us for the loss of the absent one."

"He said that for the Marchioness," said Senhor Michael, "and you are so far right, that if you had not come this instant I might have gone."

Conversing thus we sat down on a stone bench in the garden at the foot of some laurels, on which there was room for all of us, and we were very comfortable, leaning back against the green ivy which covered the wall, and from there we could see a good part of the city, very graceful and full of ancient majesty.

"Let us not lose everything," said Senhor Capata, after making excuses for the Marchioness; "let us get some profit out of such a goodly assembly as we have here; please continue the same noble discussion which you held a few days ago, on the most noble art of painting, seeing that the Marchioness very reluctantly commissioned me to that end, for she herself would have liked to be present. But you must know that she sent me here to report to her everything stored in my memory, to relate to her everything treated of, without losing a single point. And therefore we are bound, gentlemen, I to hear and to be silent about what I do not understand, and you to give me something to remember and report."

"Senhor Michael," I answered, "must fulfil the wishes of the Marchioness when she heard me in the last discussion, and practically promised to show me whether painting would be entirely useless in time of war, for I remember that her Excellency named last Sunday, in which we did not meet, for that purpose."

Here M. Angelo laughed, and added:

"So you, M. Francisco, expect the Marchioness to have as much power when absent as when present. Well, as you have so much faith in her, I do not wish you to lose it through me."

All said that it would be well, and then M. Angelo began to say:

"And what is there more profitable in the business and undertaking of war, or what is of more use in the operations of sieges and assaults than painting? Do you not know that when Pope Clement and the Spaniards besieged Florence, it was only by the work and virtue of the painter M. Angelo that the besieged were defended a good while, not to say, the city released, and the captains and soldiers outside were for a good while astonished and oppressed and killed through the defences and strongholds which I made on the tower, lining them in one night on the outside with bags of wool and other materials, emptying them of earth and filling them with fine powder, with which I burnt a little the blood of the Castillians, whom I sent through the air torn in pieces? So that I consider great painting as not only profitable in war, but exceedingly necessary; for the engines and instruments of war and for catapults, rams, mantlets, testudines, and iron-shod towers and bridges, and (as this bad and iron time does not make any use of these arms now, but rejects them) mortars; for the shaping of the mortars, battering-rams, strengthened cannons, and arquebuses, and especially for the shape and proportions of all fortresses and rocks, bastions, strongholds, fences, mines, countermines, trenches, loop-holes, casemates; for the entrenchments for horsemen, ravelins, gabions, battlements, for the invention of bridges and ladders, for the emplacement of camps, for the order of the lines, measurement of the squadrons, for the difference and design of arms, for the designs of the banners and standards, for the devices on the shields and helmets, and also for new coats of arms, crests and medals which are given on the field to those who show great prowess, for the painting of trappings (I mean, the giving of instruction to other lesser painters as to how they ought to be painted, and seeing that the excellent painters can paint the trappings of the horses and the shields and even the tents for valorous princes); for the manner of dividing and selecting everything; for the description and assortment of the colours and liveries, which but few can determine. Moreover, drawing is of exceedingly great use in war to show in sketches the position of distant places and the shape of the mountains and the harbours, as well as that of the ranges of mountains and of the bays and seaports, for the shape of the cities and fortresses, high and low, the walls and the gates and their position, to show the roads and the rivers, the beaches and the lagoons and marshes which have to be avoided or passed; for the course and spaces of the deserts and sandy pits of the bad roads and of the woods and forests; all this done in any other way is badly understood, but by drawing and sketching all is very clear and intelligible; all of these are great things in warlike undertakings, and the drawings of the painter greatly aid and assist the intentions and plans of the captain. What better thing can any brave cavalier do than show before the eyes of the raw and inexperienced soldiers the shape of the city that they have to attack before they approach it, what river, what mountains and what towns have to be passed on the morrow? And the Italians, at least, say that, if the Emperor when he entered Provence had first ordered the course of the river Rodano to be drawn, he would not have sustained such great losses, nor retired his army in disorder, nor would he have been painted afterwards in Rome as a crab, which crawls sideways, with the words borne by the columns of Hercules, _Plus ultra_, for, wishing to go forward, he went back. And I well believe that Alexander the Great in his great undertakings frequently made use of the skill of Apelles, even if he himself did not know how to draw. And in the works and commentaries, written by the monarch Julius Caesar, we may see how much he availed himself of drawing, through some capable man whom he had in his army. And I even think that the said Caesar was extremely intelligent in painting, that the great Captain Pompey drew very well and with style, he being vanquished by Caesar, as Caesar was a better draughtsman. And I assert that a modern captain who commands a great army and who is not capable and intelligent in painting and cannot draw, cannot do any great feats or deeds of arms; and that he who understands and esteems it will do deeds of renown which will be long remembered, and will know his ways and how he stands, and how and where he will break through, and how he will order his retreat, and he will know how to make his victory appear much greater. For painting in war is not only advantageous but very necessary. What country warmed by the sun is more bellicose and better armed than our Italy, or where are there more continuous wars and greater routs and sieges? and in what country warmed by the sun is painting more esteemed and celebrated than in Italy?"

M. Angelo was already reposing when Joao Capata said:

"It indeed seems to me, Master Michael, that in arming excellently Francisco d'Ollanda's lady you disarmed the Emperor Charles, not remembering that we here are more Colonna than Orsino. I do not wish to revenge myself for that except by asking you, since you have shown the worth of painting in war, to now say what it can do in peace, because it appears to me that you have said so many profitable things of it in the time of arms that I doubt whether you will find as many in the time of the toga."

He laughed and answered:

"Your Excellency will please not to count me as an Orsino. You will remember how I at once became one of those columns that the crab was going to seek;" and afterwards he added:

"If it was a trouble for me to show the advantage of this our art in time of war, I hope it will not be so to show its worth in the time of the toga and of peace; then princes are in the habit of availing themselves with pleasure and cost of things of very little importance and almost of no value at all; and we see that some men are so clever in idle things that by works of no nobility or profit, and without any learning or substance, they are able to acquire a name, honour, profit and substance for themselves and loss to whomsoever may give them their profit. We see that in the domains and states which are governed by a senate and republic they make much use of painting in public places, in the cathedrals, in the temples, in halls of justice, in courts, porticos, basilicas and palaces, in libraries, and generally for public ornament; and every noble citizen has privately in his palaces or chapels, country seats or 'vignas,' a good portion of painting. But as it is not lawful in such a country for any one to make more show than his neighbour, by giving commissions to painters so as to make themselves out rich and well-to-do, with how much more reason ought this profitable art and science to be made use of in the obedient and peaceful kingdoms where God permits one man to incur all these magnificent expenses and carry out all the sumptuous works that his taste and honour may desire and demand, particularly as it is such a generous art that one person can do alone and without any adviser what many men together cannot do? And a prince would be doing a great wrong to himself--to say nothing of the fine arts--if, when he obtains quietness and saintly peace, he does not undertake great enterprises in painting both for the ornamentation and glory of his estate and for his private contentment and the recreation of his mind. And then in times of peace there are so many things in which painting may be of use, that it seems to me that peace is obtained with so much labour of arms, for nothing else but in order to do her work, and carry out enterprises with the quiet which she merits and demands, after the great services she has rendered in war. For what name will remain alive in consequence of a great victory or a great feat of arms, if afterwards, when quiet comes, it be not kept in perpetual memory (a thing so important and necessary amongst men), by virtue of painting and architecture, in arches, triumphs and tombs, and in many other ways. And Augustus Caesar departed not from my saying when, during the universal peace in all lands, he closed the doors of the Temple of Janus, because in closing those doors of iron he opened the doors of gold of the treasures of the Empire, in order to spend more largely in peace than he had done even in war; and perhaps amongst such ambitious and magnificent works as those with which he ornamented Mount Palatine and the Forum, he paid as much for a figure in painting as he would have paid to a regiment of soldiers in a month. So that the peace of great princes should be desired in order that they may give their country great works in painting for the ornamentation of their estate and their glory, and receive from them spiritual and special contentments and beautiful things to behold."

"I do not know, Senhor Michael," said I, "how you will prove to me that Augustus paid as much for a painted figure as he would pay to a regiment of soldiers for a month; if you were to say that in Spain it would be more difficult to believe you, than if you said that there were such bad painters in Italy that they painted the Emperor with the legs of a crab and with the label, _Plus ultra_!"

Senhor Michael laughed once more, without the Marchioness, and afterwards said:

"I well know that in Spain people do not pay so well for painting as in Italy, and therefore you will be surprised at the great sums paid for it, as you are only accustomed to small sums; and I have been well informed of this by a Portuguese servant that I had, and therefore painters live and exist here, and not in the Spains. Of the Spaniards, the finest nobility in the whole world, you will find some who applaud and praise and like painting to a certain extent, but on pressing them further, they have no mind to order even a small work, nor to pay for it; and, what I consider baser still they are astonished when they are told that there are persons in Italy who give good prices for paintings; indeed, in my judgment they do not act in this like such noble people as they say they are, even though it were for nothing else but not to undervalue that which they have no experience of and cannot do; it recoils on their own head, however, they demean themselves and disgrace the nobility of which they boast; and not indeed that virtue, which will always be esteemed so long as there are men here in Italy and in this city. And for this reason a painter ought not to desire to be away from this land in which we are; and you, M. Francisco d'Ollanda, if you hope to be appreciated through the art of painting in Spain or in Portugal, I tell you at once that you are living in a vain and false hope, and that in my judgment you ought rather to live in France or in Italy, where talent is recognised and great painting is much esteemed, because you will find here private persons and gentlemen, even those who at present do not take much pleasure in painting, as for instance Andrea Doria, who nevertheless had his palace painted magnificently, and magnificently paid Master Perino his painter; and like Cardinal Fernes, who does not know what painting is, but who made a very nice allowance to the said Master Perino, merely to call him his painter, giving him twenty 'cruzados' per month and rations for him and for a horse and servant, besides paying him very well for his works. See what Cardinal Della Valla or Cardinal de Cesis did. Likewise Pope Paul, who, although not very musical nor interested in painting, yet treats me well, and at least better than I ask; and then there is Urbino, my servant, to whom he gives solely for grinding my colour ten 'cruzados' a month besides rations in the palace. I say nothing of his vain favours and kindnesses, of which I sometimes feel ashamed. Now, what shall I say of the diverting Sebastian Veneziano? to whom (although he did not come at a favourable time) the Pope gave the Leaden Seal, with the honour and profit which appertain to that office, without the lazy painter having painted more than two things in Rome, which will not astonish Senhor Francisco much. So that in this our country, even those who do not esteem painting greatly, pay for it much better than those who are greatly delighted with it in Spain or Portugal; and therefore I advise you as a son that you ought not to depart from Italy, because I fear that if you do you will repent it."

"I thank, you, Senhor Michael Angelo, for your advice," I said to him, "but still I am serving the King of Portugal, and in Portugal I was born and hope to die, and not in Italy. But as you make such a difference in the value of painting in Italy and in Spain, do me the favour of teaching me how painting ought to be valued, because I am in this matter so scandalised that I do not trust myself to value any work."

"What do you call valuing?" he replied. "Do you wish the painting which we are discussing to be paid for according to a valuation, or do you think that any one knows how to value it? for I consider that work to be worth a great price which has been done by the hand of a very capable man, even though in a short time; if it were done in a very long time who will know how to value it? And I hold that to be of very little value which has been painted in many years by a person who does not know how to paint, although he be called a painter; for works ought not to be esteemed because of the amount of time employed and lost in the labour, but because of the merit of the knowledge and of the hand which did them; for if it were not so, they would not pay more to a lawyer for an hour's examination of an important case, than to a weaver for as much cloth as he may weave during the course of his whole life, or to a navvy who is bathed in sweat the whole day by his work. By such variation nature is beautiful, and that valuation is very foolish which is made by one who does not understand the good or the bad in the work: some paintings worth little are valued highly, and others, which are worth more, do not even pay for the care with which they are done or for the discomfort that the painter himself experiences when he knows that such persons have to value his work, or for the exceeding disgust he feels asking for payment from an unappreciative treasurer.

"It does not seem to me that the ancient painters were content with your Spanish payments and valuations; and I certainly think they were not, for we find that some were so magnificently liberal that, knowing that there was not sufficient money in the country to pay for their works, they presented them liberally for nothing, having spent on such work, labour of their mind, time and money. Such were Zeuxis, Heracleotes and Polygnotus Thasius and others. And there were others of a more impatient nature who used to waste and break up the works that they had done with so much trouble and study, on seeing that they were not paid for as they deserved; like the painter who was commanded by Caesar to paint a picture, and having asked a sum of money for it that Caesar would not give, perhaps in order to effect his intention the better, the painter took the picture and was about to break it up, his wife and children around him bemoaning such great loss; but Caesar then delighted him, in a manner proper to a Caesar, giving him double the sum which he had previously asked, telling him that he was a fool if he expected to vanquish Caesar."

"Now, Senhor Michael," said Joao Capata, a Spaniard, "one thing I cannot understand in the art of painting: it is customary at times to paint, as one sees in many places in this city, a thousand monsters and animals, some of them with faces of women and with legs and with tails of fishes, and others with arms like tigers' legs, and others with men's faces; in short, painting that which most delights the painter and which was never seen in the world."

"I am pleased," said Michael, "to tell you why it is usual to paint that which was never seen in the world, and how right such licence is, and how true it is, for some who do not understand him are accustomed to say that Horace, a lyric poet, wrote this verse in abuse of painters:

Pictoribus adque poetis
Quidlibet audendi semper fuit acqua potestas.
Scimus et hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim.

This verse does not in any way insult painters, but rather praises and honours them; for it says that poets and painters have power to dare, I mean to dare to do whatever they may approve of; and this good insight and this power they have always had, for whenever a great painter (which very seldom happens) does a work which appears to be false and lying, that falsity is very true, and if he were to put more truth into it it would be a lie, as he will never do a thing which cannot be in itself, nor make a man's hand with ten fingers, nor paint on a horse the ears of a bull or the hump of a camel, nor will he paint the foot of an elephant with the same feeling as for that of a horse, nor in the arm or face of a child will he put the senses of an old man, nor an ear nor an eye out of its place by as much as the thickness of a finger, nor is he even permitted to place a hidden vein in an arm anywhere he likes; for such things as these are very false. But should he, in order better to retain the decorum of the place and time, alter some of the limbs (as in grotesque work, which without that would indeed be without grace and therefore false) or a part of one thing into another species such as to change a griffin or a deer from the middle downwards into a dolphin, or from thence upwards into any figure he may wish, putting wings instead of arms, putting off arms if wings suit it better, that limb which he changes, whether of a lion, horse or bird, will be quite perfect of the species to which it belongs; and this although it may appear false can only be called well imagined and monstrous. The reason is it is better decoration when, in painting, some monstrosity is introduced for variety and a relaxation of the senses and to attract the attention of mortal eyes, which at times desire to see that which they have never yet seen, nor does it appear to them that it can be more unreasonable (although very admirable) than the usual figures of men or animals. And so it is that insatiable human desire took licence and neglected at times buildings with columns and windows and doors for others imitated in false grotesque, the columns of which are made of children springing from the leaves of flowers, with the architraves and summit of branches of myrtle and gates of canes and other things, which appear to be very impossible and out of reason, and yet all this is very grand if done by one who understands it."

He ended, and I said:

"Does it not seem to you, Senhor, that this feigned work is much more suitable for ornament in its proper place (such as a country seat or a pleasure house) rather than, for instance, a procession of friars, which is a very natural thing, or a King David doing penance, is it not a great insult to drag him from his oratory? And does not the god Pan playing on the pipes, or a woman with the tail of a fish and wings (which is seldom seen), appear to you to be a more suitable painting for a garden or for a fountain? And it is a much greater falsity to put an imagination in a place where the real is demanded, and this reasoning explains all the things which some call 'impossibilities' in painting. Still the obstinate will say: 'How can a woman with a beautiful face have the tail of a fish and the legs of the swift deer or panther, with wings on her back like an angel?' To such one may however reply that if such nonconformity is in just proportion in all its parts it is quite in harmony and is very natural; and that much praise is due to the painter who painted a thing which was never seen and is so impossible, with such wit and judgment that it seems to be alive and possible, so that men wish that such things did exist in the world, and say that they could pluck feathers from those wings and that it is moving hands and eyes. And so one who paints (as a book said) a hare which, in order to be distinguished from the dog following it, required a label indicating it, such a person, painting a thing so little deceitful, may be said to paint a great falsehood, more difficult to find amongst the perfect works of nature than a beautiful woman with the tail of a fish and wings."

They agreed with what I said, even Joao Capata himself, who was not well instructed in the beauties of painting. And Master Michael, seeing that his conversation was not badly employed on us, said:

"Now what a high thing is decorum in painting! and how little the painters who are no painters try to observe it! and what attention the great man pays to this!"

"And are there painters who are not painters?" asked Joao Capata."

"In many places," answered the painter, "but as the majority of people are without sense and always love that which they ought to abhor, and blame that which deserves most praise, it is not very surprising that they are so constantly mistaken about painting, an art worthy only of great understandings, because without any discretion or reason, and without making any difference, they call a painter both the person who has nothing more than the oils and brushes of painting and the illustrious painter who is not born in the course of many years (which I consider to be a very great thing); and as there are some who are called painters and are not painters, so there is also painting which is not painting, for they did it. And what is marvellous is that a bad painter neither can nor knows how to imagine, nor does he even desire to do good painting, his work mostly differs but little from his imagination, which is generally somewhat worse; for if he knew how to imagine well or in a masterly manner in his fantasy, he could not have a hand so corrupt as not to show some part or indication of his good will. But no one has ever known how to aspire well in this science, except the mind which understands what good work is, and what he can make of it. It is a serious thing, this distance and difference which exist between the high and the low understanding in painting."

At this point M. Lactancio, who had not spoken for some time, said:

"I cannot suffer at all one indiscretion of bad painters, the images which they paint without consideration or devotion in the churches. And I should like to direct our discussion to this end, being sure that the carelessness with which some paint the holy images cannot be good. Work which a very incapable painter or man dares to do, without any fear, so ignorantly that instead of moving mortals to devotion and tears, he sometimes provokes them to laughter."