the madonna of the future-第4章

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ineffable　type　is　one　of　the　eternal　needs　of　man's　heart；　but　pious

souls　long　for　it　in　silence；　almost　in　shame。　　Let　it　appear；　and

their　faith　grows　brave。　　How　SHOULD　it　appear　in　this　corrupt

generation？　　It　cannot　be　made　to　order。　　It　could；　indeed；　when　the

order　came；　trumpet…toned；　from　the　lips　of　the　Church　herself；　and

was　addressed　to　genius　panting　with　inspiration。　　But　it　can　spring

now　only　from　the　soil　of　passionate　labour　and　culture。　　Do　you

really　fancy　that　while；　from　time　to　time；　a　man　of　complete

artistic　vision　is　born　into　the　world；　that　image　can　perish？　　The

man　who　paints　it　has　painted　everything。　　The　subject　admits　of

every　perfectionform；　colour；　expression；　composition。　　It　can　be

as　simple　as　you　please；　and　yet　as　rich；　as　broad　and　pure；　and　yet

as　full　of　delicate　detail。　　Think　of　the　chance　for　flesh　in　the

little　naked；　nestling　child；　irradiating　divinity；　of　the　chance　for

drapery　in　the　chaste　and　ample　garment　of　the　mother！　think　of　the

great　story　you　compress　into　that　simple　theme！　　Think；　above　all；

of　the　mother's　face　and　its　ineffable　suggestiveness；　of　the　mingled

burden　of　joy　and　trouble；　the　tenderness　turned　to　worship；　and　the

worship　turned　to　far…seeing　pity！　　Then　look　at　it　all　in　perfect

line　and　lovely　colour；　breathing　truth　and　beauty　and　mastery！〃



〃Anch'　io　son　pittore！〃　I　cried。　　〃Unless　I　am　mistaken；　you　have　a

masterpiece　on　the　stocks。　　If　you　put　all　that　in；　you　will　do　more

than　Raphael　himself　did。　　Let　me　know　when　your　picture　is　finished；

and　wherever　in　the　wide　world　I　may　be；　I　will　post　back　to　Florence

and　pay　my　respects　tothe　MADONNA　OF　THE　FUTURE！〃



He　blushed　vividly　and　gave　a　heavy　sigh；　half　of　protest；　half　of

resignation。　　〃I　don't　often　mention　my　picture　by　name。　　I　detest

this　modem　custom　of　premature　publicity。　　A　great　work　needs

silence；　privacy；　mystery　even。　　And　then；　do　you　know；　people　are　so

cruel；　so　frivolous；　so　unable　to　imagine　a　man's　wishing　to　paint　a

Madonna　at　this　time　of　day；　that　I　have　been　laughed　atlaughed　at；

sir！〃　and　his　blush　deepened　to　crimson。　　〃I　don't　know　what　has

prompted　me　to　be　so　frank　and　trustful　with　you。　　You　look　as　if　you

wouldn't　laugh　at　me。　　My　dear　young　man〃and　he　laid　his　hand　on　my

arm〃I　am　worthy　of　respect。　　Whatever　my　talents　may　be；　I　am

honest。　　There　is　nothing　grotesque　in　a　pure　ambition；　or　in　a　life

devoted　to　it。〃



There　was　something　so　sternly　sincere　in　his　look　and　tone　that

further　questions　seemed　impertinent。　　I　had　repeated　opportunity　to

ask　them；　however；　for　after　this　we　spent　much　time　together。　　Daily

for　a　fortnight；　we　met　by　appointment；　to　see　the　sights。　　He　knew

the　city　so　well；　he　had　strolled　and　lounged　so　often　through　its

streets　and　churches　and　galleries；　he　was　so　deeply　versed　in　its

greater　and　lesser　memories；　so　imbued　with　the　local　genius；　that　he

was　an　altogether　ideal　valet　de　place；　and　I　was　glad　enough　to

leave　my　Murray　at　home；　and　gather　facts　and　opinions　alike　from　his

gossiping　commentary。　　He　talked　of　Florence　like　a　lover；　and

admitted　that　it　was　a　very　old　affair；　he　had　lost　his　heart　to　her

at　first　sight。　　〃It's　the　fashion　to　talk　of　all　cities　as

feminine；〃　he　said；　〃but；　as　a　rule；　it's　a　monstrous　mistake。　　Is

Florence　of　the　same　sex　as　New　York；　as　Chicago？　　She　is　the　sole

perfect　lady　of　them　all；　one　feels　towards　her　as　a　lad　in　his　teens

feels　to　some　beautiful　older　woman　with　a　'history。'　　She　fills　you

with　a　sort　of　aspiring　gallantry。〃　　This　disinterested　passion

seemed　to　stand　my　friend　in　stead　of　the　common　social　ties；　he　led

a　lonely　life；　and　cared　for　nothing　but　his　work。　　I　was　duly

flattered　by　his　having　taken　my　frivolous　self　into　his　favour；　and

by　his　generous　sacrifice　of　precious　hours　to　my　society。　　We　spent

many　of　these　hours　among　those　early　paintings　in　which　Florence　is

so　rich；　returning　ever　and　anon；　with　restless　sympathies；　to　wonder

whether　these　tender　blossoms　of　art　had　not　a　vital　fragrance　and

savour　more　precious　than　the　full…fruited　knowledge　of　the　later

works。　　We　lingered　often　in　the　sepulchral　chapel　of　San　Lorenzo；

and　watched　Michael　Angelo's　dim…visaged　warrior　sitting　there　like

some　awful　Genius　of　Doubt　and　brooding　behind　his　eternal　mask　upon

the　mysteries　of　life。　　We　stood　more　than　once　in　the　little　convent

chambers　where　Fra　Angelico　wrought　as　if　an　angel　indeed　had　held

his　hand；　and　gathered　that　sense　of　scattered　dews　and　early　bird…

notes　which　makes　an　hour　among　his　relics　seem　like　a　morning　stroll

in　some　monkish　garden。　　We　did　all　this　and　much　morewandered　into

dark　chapels；　damp　courts；　and　dusty　palace…rooms；　in　quest　of

lingering　hints　of　fresco　and　lurking　treasures　of　carving。



I　was　more　and　more　impressed　with　my　companion's　remarkable

singleness　of　purpose。　　Everything　was　a　pretext　for　some　wildly

idealistic　rhapsody　or　reverie。　　Nothing　could　be　seen　or　said　that

did　not　lead　him　sooner　or　later　to　a　glowing　discourse　on　the　true；

the　beautiful；　and　the　good。　　If　my　friend　was　not　a　genius；　he　was

certainly　a　monomaniac；　and　I　found　as　great　a　fascination　in

watching　the　odd　lights　and　shades　of　his　character　as　if　he　had　been

a　creature　from　another　planet。　　He　seemed；　indeed；　to　know　very

little　of　this　one；　and　lived　and　moved　altogether　in　his　own　little

province　of　art。　　A　creature　more　unsullied　by　the　world　it　is

impossible　to　conceive；　and　I　often　thought　it　a　flaw　in　his　artistic

character　that　he　had　not　a　harmless　vice　or　two。　　It　amused　me

greatly　at　times　to　think　that　he　was　of　our　shrewd　Yankee　race；　but；

after　all；　there　could　be　no　better　token　of　his　American　origin　than

this　high　aesthetic　fever。　　The　very　heat　of　his　devotion　was　a　sign

of　conversion；　those　born　to　European　opportunity　manage　better　to

reconcile　enthusiasm　with　comfort。　　He　had；　moreover；　all　our　native

mistrust　for　intellectual　discretion；　and　our　native　relish　for

sonorous　superlatives。　　As　a　critic　he　was　very　much　more　generous

than　just；　and　his　mildest　terms　of　approbation　were　〃stupendous；〃

〃transcendent；〃　and　〃incomparable。〃　　The　small　change　of　admiration

seemed　to　him　no　coin　for　a　gentleman　to　handle；　and　yet；　frank　as　he

was　intellectually；　he　was　personally　altogether　a　mystery。　　His

professions；　somehow；　were　all　half…professions；　and　his　allusions　to

his　work　and　circumstances　left　something　dimly　ambiguous　in　the

background。　　He　was　modest　and　proud；　and　never　spoke　of　his　domestic

matters。　　He　was　evidently　poor；　yet　he　must　have　had　some　slender

independence；　since　he　could　afford　to　make　so　merry　over　the　fact

that　his　culture　of　ideal　beauty　had　never　brought　him　a　penny。　　His

poverty；　I　supposed；　was　his　motive　for　neither　inviting　me　to　his

lodging　nor　mentioning　its　whereabouts。　　We　met　either　in　some　public

place　or　at　my　hotel；　where　I　entertained　him　as　freely　as　I　might

without　appearing　to　be　prompted　by　charity。　　He　seemed　always

hungry；　and　this　was　his　nearest　approach　to　human　grossness。　　I　made

a　point　of　asking　no　impertinent　questions；　but；　each　time　we　met；　I

ventured　to　make　some　respectful　allusion　to　the　magnum　opus；　to

inquire；　as　it　were；　as　to　its　health　and　progress。　　〃We　are　getting

on；　with　the　Lord's　help；〃　he　would　say；　with　a　grave　smile。　　〃We　are

doing　well。　　You　see；　I　have　the　grand　advantage　that　I　lose　no　time。

These　hours　I　spend　with　you　are　pure　profit。　　They　are　SUGGESTIVE！

Just　as　the　truly　religious　soul　is　always　at　worship；　the　genuine

artist　is　always　in　labour。　　He　takes　his　property　wherever　he　finds

it；　and　learns　some　precious　secret　from　every　object　that　stands　up

in　the　light。　　If　you　but　knew　the　rapture　of　observation！　　I　gather

with　every　glance　some　hint　for　light；　for　colour；　or　relief！　　When　I

get　home；　I　pour　out　my　treasures　into　the　lap　of　toy　Madonna。　　Oh；　I

am　not　idle！　　Nulla　dies　sine　linea