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Page 82
They told him the feats of Prince, and he appeared to be interested.
"Nevertheless, the faithful creature ought to die now. He is blind
and paralysis is crippling his hinder parts."
Sir Walter patted the head of his ancient favorite.
"He dies on Friday," he said. "The vet will come then. I assure
you the thought gives me very genuine pain."
"He has earned euthanasia, surely. What is that fine tree with
great white flowers? I have seen the like before, but am sadly
ignorant of horticulture."
"A tulip-tree," said Mary. "It's supposed to be the finest in
Devonshire."
"A beautiful object. But all is beautiful here. An English spring
can be divine. I shall ask you to drive me to primroses presently.
Those are azaleas--that bank of living fire--superb!"
He praised the scene, and spoke about the formal gardens of Italy.
Then, when luncheon was finished and he had smoked a couple of
cigarettes, Signor Mannetti rose, bowed to Sir Walter, and said:
"Now, if you please."
They accompanied and watched him silently, while his eyes wandered
round the Grey Room.
The place was unchanged, and the dancing cherubs on the great
chairs seemed to welcome daylight after their long darkness.
The visitor wandered slowly from end to end of the chamber, nodded
to himself, and became animated. Then he checked his gathering
excitement, and presently spoke.
"I think I am going to help you, Sir Walter," he said.
"That is great and good news, signor."
Then the old man became inconsequent, and turned from the room to
the contents. If, indeed, he had found a clue, he appeared in no
haste to pursue it. He entered now upon a disquisition concerning
the furniture, and they listened patiently, for he had showed that
any interruption troubled him. But it seemed that he enjoyed
putting a strain upon their impatience.
"Beautiful pieces," he said, "but not Spanish, as you led me to
suppose. Spanish chestnut wood, but nothing else Spanish about
them. They are of the Italian Renaissance, and it is most seemly
that Italian craftsmanship of such high order should repose here,
under an Italian ceiling. Strange to say, my sleeping apartment
at Rome closely resembles this room. I live in a villa that dates
from the fifteenth century, and belonged to the Colonna. My chests
are more superb than these; but your suite--the bed and chairs--I
confess are better than mine. There is, however, a reason for that.
Let us examine them for the sake of Mrs. May. Are these carved
chairs, with their reliefs of dancing putti, familiar to her--the
figures, I mean?"
Mary shook her head.
"Then it is certain that in your Italian wanderings you did not go
to Prato. These groups of children dancing and blowing horns are
very cleverly copied from Donatello's famous pulpit in the duomo.
The design is carried on from the chairs to the footboard of the
bed; but in their midst upon the footboard is let in this oval,
easel-picture, painted on wood. It is faded, and the garlands have
withered in so many hundred years, as well they might; but I can
feel the dead color quite well, and I also know who painted it."
"Is it possible, signor--this faint ghost of a picture?"
"There exists no doubt at all. You see a little Pinturicchio.
Note the gay bands of variegated patterns, the arabesques and
fruits. Their hues have vanished, but their forms and certain
mannerisms of the master are unmistakable. These dainty
decorations were the sign manual of such quattrocento painters as
Gozzoli and Pinturicchio; and to these men he, for whom these
works of art were created, assigned the painting and adornment of
the Vatican. We will come to him directly. It was for
Michelangelo to make the creations of these artists mere colored
bubbles and froth, when seen against the immensity and intellectual
grandeur of his future masterpieces in the Sistine. But that was
afterwards. We are concerned with the Pope for whom these chairs
and this bed were made. Yes, a Pope, my friends--no less a
personage than Alexander VI.!"
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