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Capuzzi uttered a frightful howl. "Calm yourself, my dear Signor," said Antonio. "Although I am a painter now, I have not forgotten my surgery. We will carry you into Salvator's lodgings, and I will bandage you properly at once." "Dear Signor Antonio," whined Capuzzi, "you are inimically minded towards me, I am aware."
The last performances of Salvator's pencil were a collection of portraits of obnoxious persons in Rome in other words, a series of caricatures, by which he would have an opportunity of giving vent to his satirical genius; but whilst he was engaged on his own portrait, intending it as the concluding one of the series he was attacked with a dropsy, which in the course of a few months brought him to the grave.
Though Salvator's mind was in this way devoted to science and art, yet his real true nature came to life again when he was with his friend Antonio Scacciati, who, along with his lovely Marianna, led the pleasant sans souci life of an artist. They often recalled poor old Signor Pasquale whom they had deceived, and all that had taken place in Nicolo Musso's theatre.
He again knelt, seized Salvator's hand, kissed it, and bedewed it with hot tears as before. "I cannot tell, dear Antonio," said Salvator, raising himself up a little, "what strange spirit inspires you to exhibit such a profound veneration for me. You say you are a surgeon, and that is a calling which does not usually pair itself readily with art."
In these circumstances the morning had come, when the door opened with much noise, and the celebrated doctor, Signor Splendiano Accoramboni, entered. If it had not been for the great heart-sorrow over Salvator's mortal sickness, the two girls, petulant and merry as they were, would have laughed loud and long at the doctor's marvellous appearance.
He then took his departure with the same amount of solemnity with which he had entered, leaving all hands in the due condition of anxiety and alarm. He asked to see Salvator's box downstairs, and Dame Caterina showed him a box, in which were some old clothes of her deceased husband's, and some old boots and shoes. He tapped the box with his hand here and there, saying, with a smile, "We shall see!
Antonio scarcely left Salvator's room. He was all eye when the master was sketching, and his opinions on many matters showed him to be initiated in the mysteries of art himself. "Antonio," said Salvator, one day, "you know so much about art that I believe you have not only looked on at a great deal with correct understanding, but have even wielded the pencil yourself!"
It may be imagined how the hatred of him increased, and how much more bitterly he was persecuted than before. Dame Caterina cautioned him with tears in her eyes. She had noticed that as soon as it was dark, birds of evil omen suspicious-looking characters came slinking about the house, watching Salvator's every step.
Taking Salvator's hand he lisped in a low voice, "My dear Signor Salvator, you possess an unlimited influence over good Antonio; beseech him in my name to permit me to spend the short rest of my days with him, and my dear daughter Marianna, and to accept at my hands the inheritance left her by her mother, as well as the good dowry which I was thinking of adding to it.
Rembrandt, Gerard Dow & his pupils Mieris and Metsu please me more than any other artists. In the whole Collection they have but one of Salvator's, but that one, I think, is preferable to all Raphael's. I have not yet seen statues enough to be judge of their beauties. The Apollo of Belvidere & the celebrated Laocoon lose, therefore, much of their Excellence when seen by me.
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