Salvator came to the conclusion that the man must be either a maniac, or some Academician of San Luca whom he did not know.
All Rome rang with the fame of Scacciati's wonderful picture. Scarce anything else was talked of, and this ought to have been enough to show its superiority. When the painters held their next meeting in San Luca to decide as to the reception of sundry applicants for admission, Salvator Rosa made a sudden inquiry whether the painter of the Magdalene at the Saviour's feet would not have been worthy to be admitted. All the members of the Academy, not excepting the excessively critical Cavaliere Josepin, declared, with one voice, that such a great master would have been an ornament to the Academy, and, in the most studied forms of speech, expressed their regret that he was dead (though in their hearts they thanked heaven that he was). Not only this, but in their enthusiasm for art, they decided to elect this marvellous young painter an Academician, notwithstanding that he had been withdrawn from art by a premature death; directing masses to be said for the repose of his soul in the church of San Luca. Wherefore they requested Salvator to acquaint them with the full names of the deceased, as well as the year and place of his birth, &c., &c.
On this Salvator rose up and said: "Signori, the honours which you fain would pay to a man in his grave are due to, and had better be bestowed on, a living painter, who is walking to and fro in our midst. Know ye that the Magdalene at the Saviour's feet--the picture which you have such a high opinion of justly, and esteem so highly above anything which living painters have produced--is not the work of a Neapolitan painter no longer in life, as I pretended it was, that your verdict might be unbiassed. This picture, this masterpiece, which all Rome admires at this moment, is by the hand of Antonio Scacciati, the surgeon."
The painters glared dumb and motionless at Salvator, like men struck by lightning. Salvator enjoyed their consternation for a short time, and then went on to say: "Well, gentlemen, you would not allow Antonio to come amongst you because he is a surgeon; but I think the Academy of San Luca is in very great need of a surgeon to mend and set the crippled arms and legs of the figures which come from the studios of many of its members. However, I presume you will not longer delay to do what you ought to have done long ago; that is, to admit this admirable painter, Antonio Scacciati, a member of your Academy."
The Academicians swallowed Salvator's bitter pill; they said they were much overjoyed that Antonio had displayed his talent in such a striking and decided manner, and they elected him a member of the Academy with much ceremony. As soon as it was known in Rome that Antonio was the painter of the wonderful picture, there streamed in upon him from all sides congratulations, and commissions to undertake great and important works. Thus was this young painter--thanks to Salvator's method of setting to work--brought, in a moment, out of obscurity, and raised to high honour, at the very juncture when he had made up his mind to start upon his career as an artist.
Floating and hovering, as he was, in an atmosphere of happiness and bliss, it all the more surprised Salvator one day when Antonio came to him, pale and upset, full of anger and despair. "Ah, Salvator," he cried, "what does it avail me that you have set me up on a pinnacle, where I could never have dreamt of being, that I am overwhelmed with praise and honour, that the prospect of the most delightful and glorious artistic career opens before me, when I am inexpressibly unhappy, when the very picture, to which, next to yourself, dear master, I am indebted for my victory, is the express cause of irremediable misfortune to me?"
"Silence!" cried Salvator. "Do not commit a sin against your art and your picture. I don't believe a word as to your irremediable misfortune. You are in love, and perhaps things are not going in all respects exactly as you wish; but that is all, no doubt. Lovers are like children, they cry and yell the moment anybody touches their toy. Leave off lamenting, I beg of you; it is a thing which I cannot endure. Sit down there, and tell me quietly how matters stand as regards your beautiful Magdalene and your love-affair altogether, and where the stumbling-blocks are which we must get out of the way, for I promise you, to commence with, that I will help you. The more difficult and arduous and adventurous the things are that we have to set about, the better I shall be pleased, for the blood is running quick in my veins again, and the state of my health calls upon me to set to work and play a wild trick or two; so tell me all about it, Antonio, and, as aforesaid, none of your 'Ohs' and your 'Ahs.'"
Antonio sat down in the chair which Salvator had placed for him near the easel where he was at work, and commenced as follows:--
"In Strada Ripetta, in the lofty house whose projecting balcony you see as soon as you go through the Porta del Popolo, lives the greatest ass and most idiotic donkey in all Rome. An old bachelor, with all the faults of his class--vain, trying to be young, in love, and a coxcomb. He is tall, thin as a whip-stalk, dresses in party-coloured Spanish costume, with a blonde periwig, a steeple-crowned hat, gauntlets, and long sword at his side----"
"Stop, stop! wait a moment, Antonio," cried Salvator, and, turning round the picture he was working at, he took a crayon, and, on the reverse side of it, drew, in a few bold touches, the curious old fellow who had been going on so absurdly in front of Antonio's picture.