A MATER DOLOROSA
465
Giacomo sent you. At the convent there,
Near Santa Croce."
So I thither went
Early next morning, trembling as I stole
Into the master's presence. A grave man
Of most unworldly aspect, with bowed head
And pale chin resting on his long, thin hand,
He sat before an easel, lost in thought.
"Giacomo sent me," said I, creeping in,
And then stood breathless. Swift as light he turned,
But smiled not, spoke not, while his searching eye
For minutes that seemed hours scanned my face,
Reading it line by line. Signor, it seemed
As if the judgment-day had come, and God
Sat on the great white throne! At length he spoke,
Nodding as one content—"To-morrow morn
I pray thee come thou hither. Canst thou bring
A little child with thee—some fair, sweet child
Whose eyes are like the morning?"
Then I said,
Bethinking me of Beppo's little boy
Whose mother died last week—"Yes, I will come
Surely, my father, and will bring with me
The fairest child in Florence." "It is well,"
Softly he answered, and a sudden light
Made his pale face all glorious. At the door
I paused, and looking backward saw him bow
Before the easel as before a shrine.
I know not if he prayed, but never saint
Had aspect more divine.
Next day I went
With little Nello to the studio.
Impatiently the Frate greeted us,
Palette in hand. "So!—Thou art come at last?"
But as I drew the cap from Nello's head
Near Santa Croce."
So I thither went
Early next morning, trembling as I stole
Into the master's presence. A grave man
Of most unworldly aspect, with bowed head
And pale chin resting on his long, thin hand,
He sat before an easel, lost in thought.
"Giacomo sent me," said I, creeping in,
And then stood breathless. Swift as light he turned,
But smiled not, spoke not, while his searching eye
For minutes that seemed hours scanned my face,
Reading it line by line. Signor, it seemed
As if the judgment-day had come, and God
Sat on the great white throne! At length he spoke,
Nodding as one content—"To-morrow morn
I pray thee come thou hither. Canst thou bring
A little child with thee—some fair, sweet child
Whose eyes are like the morning?"
Then I said,
Bethinking me of Beppo's little boy
Whose mother died last week—"Yes, I will come
Surely, my father, and will bring with me
The fairest child in Florence." "It is well,"
Softly he answered, and a sudden light
Made his pale face all glorious. At the door
I paused, and looking backward saw him bow
Before the easel as before a shrine.
I know not if he prayed, but never saint
Had aspect more divine.
Next day I went
With little Nello to the studio.
Impatiently the Frate greeted us,
Palette in hand. "So!—Thou art come at last?"
But as I drew the cap from Nello's head
