"It pursues me even here, I cannot succeed in getting the right coloring to-day. Have you finished anything new?"
Moor now pointed out to the king a picture by his own hand, and after Philip had gazed at it long and appreciatively, criticising it with excellent judgment, the artist led him to Ulrich's portrait of Sophonisba, and asked, not without anxiety: "What does Your Majesty say to this attempt?"
"Hm!" observed the monarch. "A little of Moor, something borrowed from Titian, yet a great deal that is original. The bluish-grey leaden tone comes from your shop. The thing is a wretched likeness! Sophonisba resembles a gardener's boy. Who made it?"
"My pupil, Ulrich Navarrete."
"How long has he been painting?"
"For several months, Sire."
"And you think he will be an artist of note?"
"Perhaps so. In many respects he surpasses my expectations, in others he falls below them. He is a strange fellow."
"He is ambitious, at any rate."
"No small matter for the future artist. What he eagerly begins has a very grand and promising aspect; but it shrinks in the execution. His mind seizes and appropriates what he desires to represent, at a single hasty grasp. . . ."