RIBERA.
Your Highness is too gracious; if you glance
Round mine ill-furnished studio, my works
Shall best proclaim me and my poor deserts.
Luca, uplift you hangings.
DON JOHN (seating himself).
Sir, you may sit.
RIBERA (aside, seating himself slowly).
Curse his swollen arrogance! Doth he imagine
I waited leave of him?
(Luca uncovers the picture).
DON JOHN.
Oh, wonderful!
You have bettered here your best. Why, sir, he breathes!
Will not those locked lids ope?—that nerveless hand
Regain the iron strength of sinew mated
With such heroic frame? You have conspired
With Nature to produce a man. Behold,
I chatter foolish speech; for such a marvel
The fittest praise is silence.
[He rises and stands before the picture.]
RIBERA (after a pause).
I am glad
Your highness deigns approve. Lose no more time,
Lest the poor details should repay you not.
Unto your royal home 't will follow you,
Companion, though unworthy, to the treasures
Of the Queen's gallery.
DON JOHN.
'T is another jewel
Set in my father's crown, and, in his name,
I thank you for it.
[RIBERA bows silently. DON JOHN glances around the studio.]
DON JOHN.
There hangs a quaint, strong head,
Though merely sketched. What a marked, cunning leer
Grins on the wide mouth! what a bestial glance!
RIBERA.
'T is but a slight hint for my larger work,
"Bacchus made drunk by Satyrs."
DON JOHN.
Where is that?
I ne'er have seen the painting.
RIBERA.
'T is not in oils,
But etched in aqua-fortis. Luca, fetch down
Yonder portfolio. I can show your Highness
The graven copy.
[LUCA brings forward a large portfolio. RIBERA looks hastily
over the engravings and draws one out which he shows to DON JOHN.]