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promising foundation？ The elements of it are all HERE。 And he
tapped his forehead with that mystic confidence which had marked the
gesture before。 〃If I could only transpose them into some brain that
has the hand； the will！ Since I have been sitting here taking stock
of my intellects； I have come to believe that I have the material for
a hundred masterpieces。 But my hand is paralysed now； and they will
never be painted。 I never began！ I waited and waited to be worthier
to begin； and wasted my life in preparation。 While I fancied my
creation was growing it was dying。 I have taken it all too hard！
Michael Angelo didn't； when he went at the Lorenzo！ He did his best
at a venture； and his venture is immortal。 THAT'S mine！〃 And he
pointed with a gesture I shall never forget at the empty canvas。 〃I
suppose we are a genus by ourselves in the providential schemewe
talents that can't act； that can't do nor dare！ We take it out in
talk； in plans and promises； in study； in visions！ But our visions；
let me tell you；〃 he cried； with a toss of his head； 〃have a way of
being brilliant； and a man has not lived in vain who has seen the
things I have seen！ Of course you will not believe in them when that
bit of worm…eaten cloth is all I have to show for them； but to
convince you； to enchant and astound the world； I need only the hand
of Raphael。 His brain I already have。 A pity； you will say； that I
haven't his modesty！ Ah； let me boast and babble now； it's all I
have left！ I am the half of a genius！ Where in the wide world is my
other half？ Lodged perhaps in the vulgar soul； the cunning； ready
fingers of some dull copyist or some trivial artisan； who turns out
by the dozen his easy prodigies of touch！ But it's not for me to
sneer at him； he at least does something。 He's not a dawdler！ Well
for me if I had been vulgar and clever and reckless； if I could have
shut my eyes and taken my leap。〃
What to say to the poor fellow； what to do for him； seemed hard to
determine； I chiefly felt that I must break the spell of his present
inaction； and remove him from the haunted atmosphere of the little
room it was such a cruel irony to call a studio。 I cannot say I
persuaded him to come out with me； he simply suffered himself to be
led； and when we began to walk in the open air I was able to
appreciate his pitifully weakened condition。 Nevertheless； he seemed
in a certain way to revive； and murmured at last that he should like
to go to the Pitti Gallery。 I shall never forget our melancholy
stroll through those gorgeous halls； every picture on whose walls
seemed； even to my own sympathetic vision； to glow with a sort of
insolent renewal of strength and lustre。 The eyes and lips of the
great portraits appeared to smile in ineffable scorn of the dejected
pretender who had dreamed of competing with their triumphant authors；
the celestial candour； even； of the Madonna of the Chair； as we
paused in perfect silence before her； was tinged with the sinister
irony of the women of Leonardo。 Perfect silence； indeed； marked our
whole progressthe silence of a deep farewell； for I felt in all my
pulses； as Theobald； leaning on my arm； dragged one heavy foot after
the other； that he was looking his last。 When we came out he was so
exhausted that instead of taking him to my hotel to dine； I called a
carriage and drove him straight to his own poor lodging。 He had sunk
into an extraordinary lethargy； he lay back in the carriage； with his
eyes closed； as pale as death； his faint breathing interrupted at
intervals by a sudden gasp； like a smothered sob or a vain attempt to
speak。 With the help of the old woman who had admitted me before；
and who emerged from a dark back court； I contrived to lead him up
the long steep staircase and lay him on his wretched bed。 To her I
gave him in charge； while I prepared in all haste to seek a
physician。 But she followed me out of the room with a pitiful
clasping of her hands。
〃Poor； dear； blessed gentleman；〃 she murmured； 〃is he dying？〃
〃Possibly。 How long has he been thus？〃
〃Since a certain night he passed ten days ago。 I came up in the
morning to make his poor bed； and found him sitting up in his clothes
before that great canvas he keeps there。 Poor； dear； strange man； he
says his prayers to it！ He had not been to bed； nor since then；
properly！ What has happened to him？ Has he found out about the
Serafina？〃 she whispered； with a glittering eye and a toothless grin。
〃Prove at least that one old woman can be faithful；〃 I said； 〃and
watch him well till I come back。〃 My return was delayed； through the
absence of the English physician； who was away on a round of visits；
and whom I vainly pursued from house to house before I overtook him。
I brought him to Theobald's bedside none too soon。 A violent fever
had seized our patient； and the case was evidently grave。 A couple
of hours later I knew that he had brain fever。 From this moment I
was with him constantly； but I am far from wishing to describe his
illness。 Excessively painful to witness； it was happily brief。 Life
burned out in delirium。 One night in particular that I passed at his
pillow； listening to his wild snatches of regret； of aspiration； of
rapture and awe at the phantasmal pictures with which his brain
seemed to swarm； comes back to my memory now like some stray page
from a lost masterpiece of tragedy。 Before a week was over we had
buried him in the little Protestant cemetery on the way to Fiesole。
The Signora Serafina； whom I had caused to be informed of his
illness； had come in person； I was told； to inquire about its
progress； but she was absent from his funeral； which was attended by
but a scanty concourse of mourners。 Half a dozen old Florentine
sojourners； in spite of the prolonged estrangement which had preceded
his death； had felt the kindly impulse to honour his grave。 Among
them was my friend Mrs。 Coventry； whom I found； on my departure；
waiting in her carriage at the gate of the cemetery。
〃Well；〃 she said； relieving at last with a significant smile the
solemnity of our immediate greeting； 〃and the great Madonna？ Have
you seen her； after all？〃
〃I have seen her；〃 I said； 〃she is mineby bequest。 But I shall
never show her to you。〃
〃And why not； pray？〃
〃My dear Mrs。 Coventry； you would not understand her！〃
〃Upon my word； you are polite。〃
〃Excuse me； I am sad and vexed and bitter。〃 And with reprehensible
rudeness I marched away。 I was excessively impatient to leave
Florence； my friend's dark spirit seemed diffused through all things。
I had packed my trunk to start for Rome that night； and meanwhile； to
beguile my unrest； I aimlessly paced the streets。 Chance led me at
last to the church of San Lorenzo。 Remembering poor Theobald's
phrase about Michael Angelo〃He did his best at a venture〃I went
in and turned my steps to the chapel of the tombs。 Viewing in
sadness the s