I wonder how often he
told himself that he was quite as big a gun, if the truth were
known, as any of the men whose works he saw before him, how often he
wondered whether any of the visitors were recognizing him and admiring
him for sitting such a long time in the same chair, and how often he
was vexed at seeing them pass him by and take no notice of him. But
perhaps if the truth were known his two hours was not quite two hours.
Returning to Mr. Pontifex, whether he liked what he believed to be
the masterpieces of Greek and Italian art or no, he brought back
some copies by Italian artists, which I have no doubt he satisfied
himself would bear the strictest examination with the originals. Two
of these copies fell to Theobald's share on the division of his
father's furniture, and I have often seen them at Battersby on my
visits to Theobald and his wife. The one was a Madonna by Sassoferrato
with a blue hood over her head which threw it half into shadow. The
other was a Magdalen by Carlo Dolci with a very fine head of hair
and a marble vase in her hands. When I was a young man I used to think
these pictures were beautiful, but with each successive visit to
Battersby I got to dislike them more and more and to see "George
Pontifex" written all over both of them.
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