"Capperi, Nalduccio," he cried as he looked from the model to the picture, "but you have a fine big imagination! I could not have drawn that from our old manikin. I see Themistocles has been trying to mend that bump on its nose. When are you going to have living models? You are a rich man, you rascal, and you can pay for them now. I wish I could."
"Peppino mio," replied Rinaldo, as he worked his palette off his thumb and prepared to wash his brushes, "I shall have a living model, and a very beautiful one, next October. Meanwhile I have an imagination which is neither fine nor big—but, thank Heaven, extremely obedient. It saves me much money. While I am painting, I see a cardinal, and I am most respectful to him. I address that person in the tablecloth as 'your Eminence' and push him into his place with reverence when he tumbles down. When the rich foreigner receives the picture, he also sees a cardinal, and he admires him, for he has probably never cast eyes on a real one. The picture goes with him to his nasty cold heretic country where there are no cardinals. Everybody admires it, and the naturally good of heart wish that they belonged to a Church governed by noble ecclesiastics with pink cheeks and Chinese white hair and beautiful taper fingers (I always draw the hands from those same old casts), and if God is good to them they come to Rome and save their souls. I obtain all these fine results and save many precious scudi—because I have an obedient imagination. Cultivate one, Peppino mio, it is as good as a savings bank."
CHAPTER XII
The hereditary lawyer of the Santafede family caused great inconvenience about this time by leaving a world of woe and circumlocution, to reap the reward stored up for honest men of business elsewhere. Since that section of the heavenly mansions cannot be overcrowded it is to be hoped that he met with a warm welcome. His demise, lamentable though it appeared to his employers, brought solid satisfaction to his successor, a stout young gentleman with a turn for malicious humor, whom he had himself trained and designated as the disciple on whom his mantle of faded parchments was to fall when he himself should no longer have any use for it.
Guglielmo De Sanctis swelled with pride when Ferretti, the power behind the Santafede throne, sent for him to come to the cancelleria to make out a new lease for one of the apartments. He had acquired considerable knowledge of the Santafede affairs through having for some years passed attended to those of the Princess's brother, Cardinal Cestaldini, who had warmly endorsed his recommendation for the vacant post. As the young lawyer saw in the appointment another source of income and honor for the rest of his life, his heart was gay within him as he passed under the archway into the Santafede palace to answer the maestro di casa's summons one fine morning late in July.
The Professor was better that day and Mariuccia intended to regale him with one of her "golden fries;" Giannella, running out in haste to buy whitebait and cucumbers, and counting her coppers in the corner of the red handkerchief which takes the place of the market basket in Rome, nearly bumped into the lawyer as he turned the angle of the colonnade. She pulled up with hurried excuses; he declared they should come from him; and then, recognizing the padrone's mysterious visitor of some weeks ago, she greeted him politely and asked after his respectable health. He did not reply at once, but stood looking at her with slightly knitted brow and a puzzled expression. Then, calling up a smile, he removed his hat and held it in his hand while he assured her that his health was fairly good, thank Heaven, hoped the scirocco was not too trying to that of the Signorina Brockmann; though indeed, if he might be permitted to say so in all sincerity, that was evident, since she looked so well (his eyes said: so pretty), and reminded her that he was always at her command should she require his services.
Giannella, unaccustomed to flowery speeches, was puzzled in her turn; she thanked him briefly, and passed on, unwilling to be seen conversing alone with any young man—except one. De Sanctis turned and gazed after her. "What a curious girl!" he said to himself; "she has bought no finery, she runs out marketing with a red handkerchief and a few baiocchi—I wonder what she is doing with her money? I suppose she has lived so long with Bianchi that she has caught some of his parsimonious tricks. Oh well, it is none of my business. Now for Ferretti," and he dived into the cool vaulted hall of the cancelleria.
The Professor was certainly much better. Indeed he intended to go out that afternoon to visit the Cardinal and have an exciting talk about a discovery made by his Eminence, a bit of an inscription unearthed in the Cestaldini cellars by the workmen who were repairing the drains. At this time of year these were always looked to, as heavy rains usually closed the long summer drought, and the Tiber, rising in his silt-choked bed, was apt to bubble up and make improvised fountains in unexpected places. On the discovery of the interesting fragment the Cardinal had suspended the repairs, feeling sure that the remainder of the inscription could be found, and had sent for his friend Carlo Bianchi, that light of dark learnings, to come and advise him as to further investigations.