Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 050.djvu/343

Rav. (departing as if displeased.) Farewell, Salvator!
Sal. Stay! What takes you off?
Rav. Business.
Sal. Bernardo, something vexes you;
Pray, let me know in what I have offended.
Rav. (after a pause, in which he appears struggling with his feelings.)
Salvator! I no longer can endure
Thus to be treated. It is now a month
Since I have been in daily converse with you;
Yet every time that I have sought to speak,
Touching the glorious art in which you shine,
You've stopp'd my mouth, declining all discussion.
'Tis plain you view me but as one to whom
You owe some intervals of ease—a man
Good at his own trade—good for nought beyond.
I wish not to seem better than I am,
Yet am I better than you take me for.
Sal. You're a strange man! I own I have remark'd
That sometimes you attempted to make painting
The topic of our conversation—why
I waived the subject I will now explain:
Either you thought 'twould be a mighty treat
For the sick man to be allow'd to ride
His favourite hobby—or—still more provoking—You are yourself a dauber with the brush,
And would exchange opinions upon art
With me—an equal with an equal.
Rav. Rosa!
Sal. Pray, hear me out.—In either case, my friend,
You were to blame: For this is your dilemma.—
You either think too meanly of Salvator,
Or else you think too highly of yourself.
You are a man of skill, and while I live
I shall remain your debtor. But be warn'd,
Strive to be perfect in one manly calling,
And do not seek to be supreme in two.
Rav. Suppose I should entreat your confidence.
Sal. (after a short pause.) Answer me this, my friend,—Suppose I came
To you and said, "Good sir, pray tell me when
The lancet may be used with best effect,
Explain to me how wounds should be bound up,
And all the et ceteras of surgery"—
In such a case what would your answer be?
Rav. I first would ask—"Why would you know all this?"
Sal. And I would answer—"I'd fain be a surgeon."
Rav. I'd then enquire what principles of healing
You were acquainted with.
Sal. I'd say, " With none.
I come to learn my principles from you."
Rav. (perplexed.) Then—Then—
Sal. (laying his hand on Ravienna's shoulder.) Then would you say, "My worthy sir,
You are a painter, mind your colours then,
And leave alone the lancet: 'tis a thing
With a sharp point, and may prove mischievous
In inexperienced hands: its use, believe me,
Cannot be taught by words: practice alone can give the necessary skill—in short,
You are a painter—mind your brushes, man."
Rav. Yet say, Salvator, might not you have been
As great a surgeon as you are a painter?