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Page 57
We take afternoon tea at the English Mrs. Watson's, beside the foot of
the _Scala di Spagna_, close to whose top tradition tells us that
shameless Messalina, Claudius's empress, was mercilessly slain.
And so it is throughout the city. Tradition, legend, and romance have
peopled every place we visit. Wars, massacres, and horrible suffering
have left a stain at every step. Love and faith and glorious
self-sacrifice have consecrated the ways over which we pass. And though
we do not give definite thought to these things always, yet all the
time the city is weaving her spell about our minds and hearts, and we
suddenly arouse to find that, traditional or historic, civilized or
barbarous, conqueror or conquered, ancient or modern, she has become
_Cara Roma_ to us, and so will be forevermore.
Thus it had been with Mrs. Douglas and Mr. Sumner, and so it now was
with the young people of their household who had come hither for the
first time.
The days flew fast. It was almost difficult to find time when all could
get together for their art study. Mr. Sumner had told them at first that
here they would study under totally different conditions from those in
Florence, so separated are the works of any particular artist save
Michael Angelo.
They had already visited individually, as they chose, those historic
palaces in which are most important family picture-galleries, such as
the Colonna, Farnese, Doria, Corsini, Villa Borghese, etc., but they
wished to go all together to the Vatican to hear Mr. Sumner talk of
Raphael's works, and right glad were they when finally a convenient time
came.
They walked quickly through many pictured rooms and corridors until they
reached the third room of the famous picture-gallery, where they took
seats, and Mr. Sumner said, in a low voice:--
"I did not wish to come here immediately after we had studied Michael
Angelo's frescoes. It was better to wait for a time, so utterly unlike
are these two great masters of painting. I confess that I never like to
compare them, one with the other, although their lives were so closely
related that it is always natural to do so. Their characters were
opposite; so, also, their work. One sways us by his all-compelling
strength; the other draws us by his alluring charm. Michael Angelo is in
painting what Dante and Shakespeare are in poetry, and Beethoven in
music; Raphael is like the gentle Spenser and the tender Mozart. Michael
Angelo is thoroughly original; Raphael possessed a peculiarly receptive
nature, that caught something from all with whom he came into close
contact. Michael Angelo strove continually to grow; Raphael struggled
for nothing. Michael Angelo's life was sternly lonely and sorrowful;
Raphael's bright, happy, and placid. Michael Angelo lived long; Raphael
died in early manhood.
"Still," he continued, after a moment, as he noted the sympathetic faces
about him, "although I have mentioned them, I beg of you not to allow
any of these personal characteristics or distinctions to influence you
in your judgment of the work of these two. Forget the one to-day as we
study the other.
"You have read much of Raphael's life, so I will not talk about that.
You remember that, when young, he studied in Perugia, in Perugino's
studio, and perhaps you will recollect that, when we were there, I told
you that his early work was exceedingly like that of this master.
"Now, look! Here right before us is Raphael's _Coronation of the
Virgin_,--his first important painting. See how like Perugino's are the
figures. Notice the exquisite angels on either side of the Virgin, which
are so often reproduced! See their pure, childlike faces and the queer
little stiffness that is almost a grace! See the sweet solemnity of
Christ and the Madonna, the staid grouping of the figures below,--the
winged cherubim,--the soft color!
"I have here two photographs," and he unfolded and passed one to
Margery, who was close beside him, "which I wish you to look at
carefully. They are of works painted very soon after the _Coronation_;
one, the _Marriage of the Virgin_, or _Lo Sposalizio_, is in the Brera
Gallery at Milan. It is as like Perugino's work as is the _Coronation_."
After a time spent in looking at and talking about the picture, during
which Bettina told the story of the blossomed rod which Joseph bears
over his shoulder, and the rod without blossoms which the disappointed
suitor is breaking over his knee, Mr. Sumner gave them the other
photograph.
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