Titian. My Bacchus and Ariadne! Oh my tints! Oh my glazings! A picture of mine cleaned!
Rubens. My Peace and War! Cleaned! say flayed rather. I know your cleaners. Oh wasted labour; reputation obscured; thoughtful work rudely scrubbed away!
All. Shame and horror!
First Artist (who has looked in as he was passing). How are you? I say, Stapyton, have you heard what your “Cavalier in a Coal-Hole” went for at Jobinson’s yesterday?
Second Artist. No; how much, my dear fellow; how much?
First Artist. Why, very nearly a pound, I heard!
Omnes (delighted). Hurrah!
M. Angelo. So much for your oil-painting. Nay—excuse me, my Rafael—I sympathize with you; but why not work in fresco? Cheer up, my Titian.
