tremble to
think of what might have come of it. see to the skin tint: it is
not to be replaced, for paint as you will, it is not once in a
hundred times that it is not either burned too brown in the
furnace or else the color will not hold, and you get but a sickly
white. there you can see the very veins and the throb of thee
blood. yes, diavolo! if it had broken, my heart would have
broken too. it is for the choir window in the church of st.
remi, and we had gone, my little helper and i, to see if it was
indeed of the size for the stonework. night had fallen ere we
finished, and what could we do save carry it home as best we
might? but you, young sir, you speak as if you too knew
something of the art."
"so little that i scarce dare speak of it in your presence,"
alleyne answered. "i have been cloister-bred, and it was no very
great matter to handle the brush better than my brother novices."
"there are pigments, brush, and paper," said the old artist. "i
do not give you glass, for that is another matter, and takes much
skill in the mixing of colors. now i pray you to show me a touch
of your art. i thank you, tita! the venetian glasses, cara mia,
and fill them to the brim. a seat, signor!"
while ford, in his english-french, was conversing with tita in
her italian french, the old man was carefully examining his
precious head to see that no scratch had been left upon its
surface. when he glanced up again, alleyne had, with a few bold
strokes of the brush, tinted in a woman's face and neck upon the
white sheet in front of him.
"diavolo!" exclaimed the old artist, standing with his head on
one side, "you have power; yes, cospetto! you have power, it is
the face of an angel!"
"it is the face of the lady maude loring!" cried ford, even more
astonished.
"why, on my faith, it is not unlike her!" said alleyne, in some
confusion.
"ah! a portrait! so much the better. young man, i am agostino
pisano, the son of andrea pisano, and i say again that you have
power. further, i say, that, if you will stay with me, i will
teach you all the secrets of the glass-stainers' mystery: the
pigments and their thickening, which will fuse into the glass and
which will not, the furnace and the glazing--every trick and
method you shall know."
"i would be right glad to study under such a master," said
alleyne; "but i am sworn to follow my lord whilst this war
lasts."
"war! war!" cried the old italian. "ever this talk of war. and
the men that you hold to be great--what are they? have i not
heard their names? soldiers, butchers, destroyers! ah, per
bacco! we have men in italy who are in very truth great. you
pull down, you despoil; but they build up, they restore. ah, if
you could but see my own dear pisa, the duomo, the cloisters of
campo santo, the high campanile, with the mellow throb of her
bells upon the warm italian air! those are the works of great
men. and i have seen them with my own eyes, these very eyes
which look upon you. i have seen andrea orcagna, taddeo gaddi,
giottino, stefano, simone memmi--men whose very colors i am not
worthy to mix. and i have seen the aged giotto, and he in turn
was pupil to cimabue, before whom there was no art in italy, for
the greeks were brought to paint the chapel of the gondi at
florence. ah, signori, there are the real great men whose names
will be held in honor when your soldiers are shown to have been
the enemies of humankind."
"faith, sir," said ford, "there is something to say for the
soldiers also, for, unless they be defended, how are all these
gentlemen whom you have mentioned to preserve the pictures which
they have painted?"
"and all these!" said alleyne. "have you indeed done them all?--
and where are they to go?"
"yes, signor, they are all from my hand. some are, as you see,
upon one sheet, and some are in many pieces which may fasten
together, there are some who do but paint upon the glass, and
then, by placing another sheet of glass upon the top and
fastening it, they keep the air from their painting. yet i hold
that the true art of my craft lies as much in the furnace as in
the brush. see this rose window, which is from the model of the
church of the holy trinity at vendome, and this other of the
'finding of the grail,' which is for the apse of the abbey
church. time was when none but my countrymen could do these
things; but there is clement of chartres and others in france who
are very worthy workmen. but, ah! there is that ever shrieking
brazen tongue which will not let us forget for one short hour
that it is the arm of the savage, and not the hand of the master,
which rules over the world."
a stern, clear bugle call had sounded close at hand to summon
some following together for the night.
"it is a sign to us as well," said ford. "i woul
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