University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—A Room in the Palace of the Prince C---.
Raffaelle. Julio Romano. (The Picture of ‘The Triumph of Galatea unfinished.)
JULIO.
I do not like that head.

RAFFAELLE.
I am sorry for it.

JULIO.
It is too sleek, too soft, too—

RAFFAELLE.
'Tis a woman's.
Wouldst have me paint each muscle starting forth?
Or play the anatomist with her delicate limbs,
As Michael doth? Thou'rt wrong, friend Julio.
Here, in this brawny back, thou seest I have writ
Strength, and a life of toil: but this—'tis Love's!

JULIO.
I do not like it.

RAFFAELLE.
I have done better things;
But let it pass. I want her company,
Without whose smiles my figures turn to stone.
Now, look!

JULIO.
I'faith, that is a dove-eyed Triton.
With what a milk-fed glance he winds his shell!
I would have filled it like the North, and puffed
His broad cheeks out like two tempest-blown billows.
This fellow, now, is like a loving shark,
And wears his spirit in his eyes: 'tis good.

RAFFAELLE.
Dost thou not see that, throughout all this story,
The spirit of Love prevails, in many shapes;
In some most gentle, and in others warm,
Whilst in one form, bare lust alone is seen,
The blood's rebellion, the—

JULIO.
I understand not.
Would all were such as he!

RAFFAELLE.
Pshaw! I had better
Have drawn a herd of bulls lowing about
One white Europa, than another such.
Julio, I tire. I loathe this gaudy prison;
I'll paint no more, unless my love be present.

JULIO.
If thou darest trust thy Venus in my sight—

RAFFAELLE.
Ha, ha, ha, ha!

JULIO.
Then why not bring her hither?

RAFFAELLE.
Hither? I will.
She shall stand here before thee, plain as Truth;
Less stedfast, but as white as untouched Truth,
Whom slander never blew on. Brace thy heart,
Lest she take all by storm.

JULIO.
What is she like?

RAFFAELLE.
Her eye is like a magnet.

JULIO.
What, i' the Pole?
Is it set round with ice?

RAFFAELLE.
With blushing fire;
With crimson beauty, like the death of day
At midsummer. Her look—O Love! O Love!
She treadeth with such even grace, that all
The world must wonder, and the envious weep,
Hopeless to match her ever. How I pined
Through months and months (I was a fool and humble)
Till at the last—I won her! Dost thou hear?
She's mine, my queen; and she shall shine a queen.
I'll clasp her round with gems: Her train shall be
Rich as a comet's,—

JULIO.
Art grown mad?

RAFFAELLE.
I tell thee
I'll pave the way she treads on with pure gold.
She shall not touch the trampled earth, and do
The base dust honor. I'll have Cretan pinions
Wrought for her, and a barb whose task shall be
To outfly the wind. Scarfs, fine as the air,
And dipped in Iris colors, shall be wove,
In Cashmere and the sunny Persian looms,
To be her commonest 'tire. She shall be decked
Forth, as she is, a goddess!

JULIO.
O rare Love!
What a brave dream thou art! Great pity 'tis
These rainbows which we weave from our dull thoughts
Should perish in broad noon.

RAFFAELLE.
Once, I despaired!
(Painting.)
Ha, ha! and saw through tears and cloudy dreams:
What wonder that I erred? But now,—'tis day!

JULIO.
Ay, ay; 'tis what we wish it, day or night:
We make our seasons as we make ourselves.

RAFFAELLE.
There; now I toil no more. While I am gone,
Do thou enrich this panel with some tale.
Let it be gaunt, and wild, dim as a dream:
'Twill well oppose mine own.

JULIO.
I'll do it. Farewell!

RAFFAELLE.
I shall be with thee ere the sun's awake.
Be busy, and farewell!

[Raffaelle exit.
JULIO.
I'll do't, I'll do't.
—Now, shall I paint the devil? Ah, ha!—or drag
Misshapen Chaos from his dark abysm,
And stretch him, like a giant, in the sun?
Or shall I tear the blue from South to North?
Or paint a comet plunging through the wind?
This ‘Triumph’ of our friend's is wanton soft:
But there's high matter in the sea-nymph's story,
Which might become a painter's pencil well.
He should have drawn the Cyclop, as he sate
Uplifted like a crag, and piped his songs
Of Galatea to the watery shores.
Some say that Orpheus-like he charmed dull stones,
Made ocean murmur, and the airy winds
Took captive; but 'tis known he sighed, and sang
The deathful ditties which belong to love;
Calling on Galatea. She the while
Lay mute, and closed (if e'er she heard his strains)
Her soul against his passion. Day by day
He sang, and like the mateless lark called forth
The dawn; and underneath the burning noon
Held mournful celebration; and at eve,
Fatigued by sorrow and wild songs, he wept.
I cannot fill this panel as he bids.

[Sketching.
The Prince C---enters.
PRINCE.
So; where is Raffaelle?

JULIO.
Gone.

PRINCE.
Gone whither? gone?

JULIO.
Ay, marry; Cupid called him, and he went.
You'll find him by the two great lemon-trees,
Which sleep beside the fountain in his garden.
H' 'as brought his brown girl there for summer talking.

[Paints.
PRINCE.
'Sdeath! what art thou doing, sirrah?

JULIO.
Um! as my master bade me. I have tried—

PRINCE.
Tried? ay, and failed. Get thou to Raffaelle, fellow.
Bid him sketch for thee each particular,
The scene, the groups, the—all. I will not have
My palace painted by a meaner hand.
Bid him come here (if it must be) with his—mistress,
And paint with Cupid's colors.

[Exeunt.