Anecdotes of Painters, Engravers, Sculptors and Architects, and Curiosities of Art | Page 6

havoc
had been made of the forest of fairy columns by the erection of the
Christian choir. "Had I known," said he to the abashed improvers, "of
what you were doing, you should have laid no finger on this ancient
pile. You have built a something, such as is to be found anywhere, and
you have destroyed a wonder of the world."
The Emperor delighted to frequent the studio of Titian, on which
occasions he treated him with extraordinary familiarity and
condescension. The fine speeches which he lavished upon him, are as
well known as his more substantial rewards. The painter one day
happening to let fall his brush, the monarch picked it up, and presented
it to the astonished artist, saying, "It becomes Cæsar to serve Titian."
On another occasion, Cæsar requested Titian to retouch a picture which
hung over the door of the chamber, and with the assistance of his
courtiers moved up a table for the artist to stand upon, but finding the
height insufficient, without more ado, he took hold of one corner, and
calling on those gentlemen to assist, he hoisted Titian aloft with his
own imperial hands, saying, "We must all of us bear up this great man
to show that his art is empress of all others." The envy and displeasure
with which men of pomp and ceremonies viewed these familiarities,
that appeared to them as so many breaches in the divinity that hedged

their king and themselves, only gave their master opportunities to do
fresh honors to his favorite in these celebrated and cutting rebukes:
"There are many princes, but there is only one Titian;" and again, when
he placed Titian on his right hand, as he rode out on horseback, "I have
many nobles, but I have only one Titian." Not less valued, perhaps, by
the great painter, than his titles, orders, and pensions, was the delicate
compliment the Emperor paid him when he declared that "no other
hand should draw his portrait, since he had thrice received immortality
from the pencil of Titian." Palomino, perhaps carried away by an
artist's enthusiasm, asserts that "Charles regarded the acquisition of a
picture by Titian with as much satisfaction as he did the conquest of a
province." At all events, when the Emperor parted with all his
provinces by abdicating his throne, he retained some of Titian's pictures.
When he betook himself to gardening, watchmaking, and manifold
masses at San Yuste, the sole luxury to be found in his simple
apartments, with their hangings of sombre brown, was that master's St.
Jerome, meditating in a cavern scooped in the cliffs of a green and
pleasant valley--a fitting emblem of his own retreat. Before this
appropriate picture, or the "Glory," which hung in the church of the
convent, and which was removed in obedience to his will, with his
body to the Escurial, he paid his orisons and schooled his mind to
forgetfulness of the pomps and vanities of life.
TITIAN AND PHILIP II.
Titian was not less esteemed by Philip II., than by his father, Charles V.
When Philip married Mary, Queen of England, he presented him his
famous picture of Venus and Adonis, with the following letter of
congratulation, which may be found in Ticozzi's Life of Titian:
"To Philip, King of England, greeting:
"Most sacred Majesty! I congratulate your Majesty on the kingdom
which God has granted to you; and I accompany my congratulations
with the picture of Venus and Adonis, which I hope will be looked
upon by you with the favorable eye you are accustomed to cast upon
the works of your servant

"TITIAN."
According to Palomino, Philip was sitting on his throne, in council,
when the news arrived of the disastrous conflagration of the palace of
the Prado, in which so many works by the greatest masters were
destroyed. He earnestly demanded if the Titian Venus was among those
saved, and on being informed it was, he exclaimed, "Then every other
loss may be supported!"
TITIAN'S LAST SUPPER AND EL MUDO.
Palomino says that when Titian's famous painting of the Last Supper
arrived at the Escurial, it was found too large to fit the panel in the
refectory, where it was designed to hang. The king, Philip II., proposed
to cut it to the proper size. El Mudo (the dumb painter), who was
present, to prevent the mutilation of so capital a work, made earnest
signs of intercession with the king, to be permitted to copy it, offering
to do it in the space of six months. The king expressed some hesitation,
on account of the length of time required for the work, and was
proceeding to put his design in execution, when El Mudo repeated his
supplications in behalf of his favorite master with more fervency than
ever, offering