Then at his command I approached more nearly, and
he drew full face and three-quarter and profile. It was between
these accomplishings that he talked more intimately.
"Seamen go to Italy," he said. "Were you ever in
Milan? But that is inland."
I answered that I had been from Genoa to Milan.
"It is not likely that you saw a great painter there
Messer Leonardo?"
It happened that I had done this, and moreover had seen
him at work and heard him put right thought into most right
words. I was so tired of lying that after a moment I said
that I had seen and heard Messer Leonardo.
"Did you see the statue?"
"The first time I saw him he was at work upon it. The
next time he was painting in the church of Santa Maria.
The third time he sat in a garden, sipped wine and talked."
"I hold you," he said, "to be a fortunate fisherman!
Just as this fisher I am painting, and whether it is Andrew
or Mark, I do not yet know, was a most fortunate fisherman!"
He ended meditatively, "Though whoever it is,
probably he was crucified or beheaded or burned."
I felt a certain shiver of premonition. The day that had
been warm and bright turned in a flash ashy and chill. Then
it swung back to its first fair seeming, or not to its first, but
to a deeper, brighter yet. The Fisherman by Galilee was
fortunate. Whoever perceived truth and beauty was fortunate,
fortunate now and forever!
We came back to Messer Leonardo.
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