The Dramatic Works of G. E. Lessing Part 43

CONTI (_taking it up and holding it still reversed_).

It is also a female portrait.

PRINCE.

Then I had almost rather not see it; for the ideal depicted here (_pointing to his forehead_), or rather here (_laying his hand upon his heart_), it cannot equal. I should like, Conti, to admire your art in other subjects.

CONTI.

There may be more admirable examples of art, but a more admirable subject than this cannot exist.

PRINCE.

Then I'll lay a wager, Conti, that it is the portrait of the artist's own mistress. (Conti _turns the picture_.) What do I see? Your work, Conti, or the work of my fancy? Emilia Galotti!

CONTI.

How, Prince! do you know this angel?

PRINCE (_endeavouring to compose himself, but unable to remove his eyes from the picture_).

A little; just enough to recognise her. A few weeks ago I met her with her mother at an a.s.sembly; since then I have only seen her in sacred places, where staring is unseemly. I know her father also; he is not my friend. He it was who most violently opposed my pretensions to Sabionetta. He is a veteran, proud and unpolished, but upright and brave.

CONTI.

You speak of the father, this is the daughter.

PRINCE.

By Heavens! you must have stolen the resemblance from her mirror (_with his eyes still rivetted on the picture_). Oh, you well know, Conti, that we praise the artist most when we forget his merits in his works.

CONTI.

Yet I am extremely dissatisfied with this portrait, and nevertheless I am satisfied with being dissatisfied with myself. Alas! that we cannot paint directly with our eyes! On the long journey from the eye through the arm to the pencil, how much is lost! But, as I have already said, though I know what is lost, and how and why it is lost, I am as proud and prouder of this loss than of what I have preserved. For by the former I perceive more than by the latter, that I am a good painter, though my hand is not always so. Or do you hold, Prince, that Raffaelle would not have been the greatest of all artists even had he unfortunately been born without hands?

PRINCE (_turning his eyes a moment from the picture_).

What do you say, Conti? What was your enquiry?

CONTI.

Oh, nothing--nothing; mere idle observations! Your soul, I observe, was wholly in your eyes. I like such souls and such eyes.

PRINCE (_affecting coldness_).

And so, Conti, you really consider Emilia Galotti amongst the first beauties of our city.

CONTI.

Amongst them? Amongst the first? The first of our city? You jest, Prince, or your eyesight must have been all this time as insensible as your hearing.

PRINCE.

Dear Conti (_again fixing his eyes on the picture_), how can we uninitiated trust our eyes? In fact, none but an artist can judge of beauty.

CONTI.

And must the feeling of every person wait for the decision of a painter? To a cloister with him who would learn from us what is beautiful! But this much I must own to you, as a painter, Prince. It is one of the greatest delights of my life that Emilia Galotti has sat to me. This head, this countenance, this forehead, these eyes, this nose, this mouth, this chin, this neck, this bosom, this shape, this whole form, are from the present time forward my only model of female beauty.

The original picture for which she sat, is in the possession of her absent father. But this copy----

PRINCE (_turning to him quickly_).

Well, Conti--is not surely bespoke already?

CONTI.

Is for you, Prince, if it affords you any pleasure.

PRINCE.

Pleasure! (_smiling_.) How can I do better than make your model of female beauty my own? There, take back that other portrait, and order a frame for it.

CONTI.

Good.

PRINCE.

As rich and splendid as the carver can possibly make it. It shall be placed in the gallery. But this must remain here. A study need not be treated with so much ceremony; one does not hang it up for display. It should always be at hand. I thank you, Conti, cordially. And as I said before, the arts shall never starve in my dominions, as long as I have bread. Send to my treasurer, Conti, and let him pay your own price for both pictures; as much as you please, Conti.

CONTI.

I must begin to fear, Prince, that you mean to reward me for something else besides my art?

PRINCE.

Oh the jealousy of an artist! No, no! But remember, Conti, as much as you please. (_Exit_ Conti.)

Scene V.

_The_ Prince.

PRINCE.

Yes, as much as he pleases. (_Turning to the picture_.) Thou art mine, too cheap at any price. Oh, thou enchanting work of art! Do I then possess thee? But who shall possess thyself, thou still more beautiful masterpiece of nature? Claim what you will, honest old mother; ask what you will, morose old father. Demand any price. Yet, dear enchantress, I should be far more happy to buy thee from thyself! This eye! how full of love and modesty! This mouth! when it speaks, when it smiles! This mouth!--Some one comes.--I am still too jealous of thee. (_Turning the picture to the wall_.) It is Marinelli. I wish I had not sent for him!

What a morning might I have had!