"That is promising," said some.
"He still has much to learn," said others.
"There is much imagination and good taste; it pleases the eye and interests the mind."
"True, but some of the arms are too long, and the legs too short; the foreshortening shows extreme ignorance; the figures are making impossible gestures."
"Agreed, but graceful, none the less. I tell you that this boy, for they say he is a mere child, will go a long way."
"He is a child of our city."
"Indeed! well, he will go around it and no farther," retorted a Neapolitan.
From first to last Michelangelo Lavoratori heard more kindly praise than bitter criticism; but he felt many thorns while plucking many roses, and he realized that success is a sweetmeat in which there is a plentiful supply of gall. He was depressed at first; then, folding his arms across his breast, and contemplating his work, without listening farther to the opinion of others, he took account of its merits and defects with an impartiality which triumphed over his self-love.
"They are all right," he said. "It promises, but pays nothing in advance. I have already made up my mind to destroy these canvases when I store them in the storerooms of the palace, and I will do better hereafter. I have made an experiment upon myself, which I do not regret, although I am not very well satisfied with it; but I shall know how to profit by it, and whether this undertaking is favorable to my fortunes or not, it shall be to my talent."
Having recovered all his lucidity of thought, and reflecting that he was not one of those patrons who assisted the poor by purchasing a card of admission, Michel determined to abstain from watching the fête and to walk about alone in some quiet corner of the palace until he felt absolutely calm and disposed to go home and to bed. His reason had returned, but the fatigue of the preceding days had left a touch of feverish excitement in his blood and in his nerves. He bent his steps toward the Casino, whence he could go out upon the natural terraces of the mountain.