A Romance of Two Worlds

"And he handed the dagger back to me with a slight bow. I sheathed it at once, feeling somewhat like a chidden child, as I met the slightly satirical gleam of the clear blue eyes that watched me.

"'Will you give me your name, signor?' I asked, as we turned from the Campagna towards the city.

"'With pleasure. I am called Heliobas. A strange name? Oh, not at all! It is pure Chaldee. My mother--as lovely an Eastern houri as Murillo's Madonna, and as devout as Santa Teresa--gave me the Christian saint's name of Casimir also, but Heliobas pur et simple suits me best, and by it I am generally known.'

"'You are a Chaldean?' I inquired.

"'Exactly so. I am descended directly from one of those "wise men of the East" (and, by the way, there were more than three, and they were not all kings), who, being wide awake, happened to notice the birth-star of Christ on the horizon before the rest of the world's inhabitants had so much as rubbed their sleepy eyes. The Chaldeans have been always quick of observation from time immemorial. But in return for my name, you will favour me with yours?'

"I gave it readily, and we walked on together. I felt wonderfully calmed and cheered--as soothed, mademoiselle, as I have noticed you yourself have felt when in MY company."

Here Cellini paused, and looked at me as though expecting a question; but I preferred to remain silent till I had heard all he had to say. He therefore resumed: "We reached the Hotel Costanza, where Heliobas was evidently well known. The waiters addressed him as Monsieur le Comte; but he gave me no information as to this title. He had a superb suite of rooms in the hotel, furnished with every modern luxury; and as soon as we entered a light supper was served. He invited me to partake, and within the space of half an hour I had told him all my history--my ambition--my strivings after the perfection of colour--my disappointment, dejection, and despair--and, finally, the fearful dread of coming madness that had driven me to attempt my own life. He listened patiently and with unbroken attention.

When I had finished, he laid one hand on my shoulder, and said gently: "'Young man, pardon me if I say that up to the present your career has been an inactive, useless, selfish "kicking against the pricks," as St. Paul says. You set before yourself a task of noble effort, namely, to discover the secret of colouring as known to the old masters; and because you meet with the petty difficulty of modern trade adulteration in your materials, you think that there is no chance--that all is lost. Fie! Do you think Nature is overcome by a few dishonest traders? She can still give you in abundance the unspoilt colours she gave to Raphael and Titian; but not in haste-- not if you vulgarly scramble for her gifts in a mood that is impatient of obstacle and delay. "Ohne hast, ohne rast," is the motto of the stars. Learn it well. You have injured your bodily health by useless fretfulness and peevish discontent, and with that we have first to deal. In a week's time, I will make a sound, sane man of you; and then I will teach you how to get the colours you seek--yes!' he added, smiling, 'even to the compassing of Correggio's blue.'