Sal. Pooh! no more phrasing. Good wine needs no bush.
(Pushing Ravienna aside, he advances before the painting: fixing his eye steadily upon it, he addresses Ravienna in a tone of deep astonishment.)
Did you paint that, Bernardo?
Rav. Yes! great master;
How does it please you?
Sal. Please me!—you paint this!
This warm and soft creation, full of love,
Where all the goddess blends with woman's charms;
These lips that breathe the soul of soft desire;
These eyes, like rising stars, half hid beneath
The golden flood that breaks through yonder clouds,
Sunburst of Jove, that strews the earth with flowers!
If this creation—this fair Danäe —
Be yours, Bernardo, then you are indeed
A mighty master!
Rav. Sir, you banter well!
Sal. Look ye, Bernardo! Here, friend, is a picture
I painted for to-morrow's competition;
Its chance is gone—I now may lock it up.
'Tis a good painting; yet, compared with yours,
'Tis a mere daub—observe the two together.
When did I ever paint such arms as these?
Rav. Salvator!
Sal. Now, I ask you, by the art
In which you are so great a master—say,
Say what you know to be the naked truth.
Is not your picture better far than mine?
Rav. (after some hesitation.) I think 'tis better.
Sal. Yea, by God! it is.
(Embracing Ravienna,) Come to my arms, Bernardo. I am fill'd
With glad surprise to find in you so valiant
A fellow-labourer in the fields of art;
And if the world has hitherto been blind
To your great merits, it shall soon be taught
To do you justice—take my word for that.
Rav. Rosa! my art has all its roots in love.
Take love away, my art would wither soon.
'Twas Laura made me; without her, I am
Like to a voice whose sound hath pass'd away.
Sal. What would you say, Bernardo, if I knew
A secret which would keep your art alive,
By fostering the love in which 'tis rooted—
And make fair Laura yours?
Rav. Oh Rosa! Rosa!
Sal. Our game is not secured; but yet, I think,
With tolerable luck, we shall succeed.
Has no one seen this picture but myself?
Rav. No one has seen it. I have kept it close:
For the ideal Danäe before you
Is my own Laura's image to the life.
Sal. Is Laura's image! Better! better still!
Pray, let your picture for an hour be placed
At my disposal.
Rav. Use your pleasure with it.
Sal. Let no one—let not even your Laura—know
That you have painted this. Is she aware
That you're an artist?
Rav. No! Salvator; first
I was determined to have your approval
Or condemnation, ere she saw my work.
