"To the Memory of the Sublime
Giotto,
Who, in his zeal for Art,
Set at defiance those fantastic notions which
Casuists call Morality,
And whose example inspired the genius of
Angelo Vasari,
With the idea that gave birth to that Noble
Masterpiece,
'The Fall of Cæsar.'"
"Giotto? Giotto?" repeated the Baronet with a thoughtful air. "He means the Giotto, of course."
"Without doubt," responded my uncle. "But what does he mean by the words, 'setting at defiance those fantastic notions which casuists call morality?'"
"Can't say, I'm sure," replied Sir Hugh. "I'm not sufficiently versed in Giotto's history to understand the allusion. But perhaps Frank can explain it."
"I'm sorry to say I'm exactly in your position," I returned.
"Learned gentlemen we are!" laughed the Baronet; and then, after a brief interval of silence, he continued:
"I would like to know what this allusion is—for a reason," he added in a grave tone. "It refers undoubtedly to some incident in Giotto's career; if we knew what this incident was, it might furnish us with a clue to the mystery that surrounds the production of Angelo's picture."
"Well, let us try to solve the enigma," said I, going to a bookcase, and taking therefrom a volume entitled The History of Early Italian Art. "Here's a book that is sure to contain a biography of Giotto."
I turned to the index, and having found the pages referring to Giotto, I glanced hastily over the biography of the great "Fa Presto," stopping now and then to read aloud, for the edification of the Baronet and my uncle, some item that I deemed worthy of notice. At length, in the course of my reading, I came to the following passage:
"A horrible story is told in connexion with his picture of 'The Crucifixion.' It is said that Giotto persuaded the man who acted as his model to be tied to a cross, and while in this helpless state he stabbed him, in order that he might be the better enabled to limn with ghastly fidelity the dying agonies of the Saviour."