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.So that even as Signore Filipo di Vecellio luxuriated still in his new fame as art collector extraordinaire - accepting as his due the many compliments that came his way, as the Morning Advertiser wrote of THE GREAT ART AUCTION, mentioning the Italian portraitist several times; ignoring the occasional scurrilous new Pamphlet (obviously penned by the Evangelists) admonishing of Waste and Shame and Greed in the big city - even then the ghosts had drifted.Nobody understood how the rumour began, but it was repeated at dining-table after dining-table like wild-fire, there with the meat-bones and the wine and the beer and the fish and the cabbage.The newly-acquired Rembrandt painting Girl Reading, which had been bought for seven hundred guineas and quickly become the toast of London, was a Fake.Filipo di Vecellio heard the rumour in horror: he immediately sent a message to his banker.James Burke heard the rumour in horror: he sent an immediate note to Signorina Francesca di Vecellio.No answer was forthcoming.He then went at once to Covent Garden to divulge the news to the Frenchman and the Jew-men in the attic; on his way there, quite by accident, he found Claudio di Vecellio on the piazza and imparted the news, holding on to the boy’s collar angrily, not caring who might see: Was it you, Claudio? But Claudio heard the rumour from the Art Dealer in such unbelieving horror that James Burke understood it could not be so: Claudio realised at once that all his plans would be ruined.He had talked so boastingly to the vicious cock-fighting men (not knowing that he had an uncle watching close by who would later pay to save him); telling the men jauntily that all was arranged, that the money owing was forthcoming and more with it - in fact so great had been his excitement and his confidence that although he quickly realised he was not yet welcome at Broad-street, he had borrowed from a money-lender to bet on an illegal boxing match near the piazza and had later lost another five guineas.When he heard Mr Burke’s words he looked back across the piazza in utter terror, clung almost to the older man.James Burke shook him off: Claudio ran home to Pall Mall as fast as his thin legs would carry him, not daring to look behind.Isabella di Vecellio cared not one jot about any rumour, all she wanted was to marry Mr Bounds, but her Father had most rudely ejected Mr Bounds from the house; she kept to her room, would not speak to her father, and seemed never to find her aunt available for consolatory purposes.Isabella decided to starve herself to death, and then everybody would be sorry; she also contrived to still meet with Mr Bounds, who insisted he would come back and speak to her father again and again until his permission was obtained.The rumour grew and grew and ran through the city like a fever.Finally the gentlemen of the press heard the rumour: this delicious twist to the story of the painting was also published, causing even bigger headlines.Several hacks appeared at the house in Pall Mall, causing great distress to the owner.Signore di Vecellio was informed by his banker that his bank draft had been cashed: however, Mr James Burke did not seem to be part of the scandal for he appeared through the evening light at the house in Pall Mall, banging angrily on the door, large as life, furious, and ready to refute all rumours.In the big hallway the Dealer and the Italian stood beneath the object in question; the girl reading looked, just slightly, amused as she looked up, past the book she was reading: she looked past the two gentlemen below her as if she remembered something.‘I presume you think I am both an ignorant Dealer, and an ignorant Businessman, Filipo,’ said Mr Burke icily to the man who used to be his friend.‘I understand perfectly well what is occurring here.An old Trick indeed! Perhaps you are already in cahoots with the original Seller? One of you has started this Rumour: I know that.Either you think the Painting is worth less than you paid for it, and wish to return it, or the original Seller thinks it worth more than he got for it, and wishes to re-sell it.So you start a Rumour, one of you.I myself refuse to be a Pawn in either Strategy, and I particularly resent my Honesty and fine Judgement about a work of Art of Genius being questioned in this way.’Filipo di Vecellio was outraged.‘That is a gratuitous Slur!’ he was heard to shout at his erstwhile close companion.‘How dare you accuse me of such Subterfuge! I have no idea how such a story, so damaging to me and my Reputation, has suddenly erupted! I insist that you remove yourself from my house at once and return my money until this matter is settled!’ and Roberto the parrot screeched from the drawing-room.The reading girl looked past them.‘The money has of course already been dispatched to my Client in France.Let him return it if he is not part of this Subterfuge!’‘I will take you to the Courts, you may count upon it!’Mr James Burke bowed wrathfully and, just as he turned away, his eye was caught by a movement above him; he looked upwards, looked past the painting of the reading girl which hung there, so beautiful, in the big hallway.The sister of the painter stood on the stairs above him; she looked down upon the two men in silence.He gave a formal bow.‘Signorina Francesca.’She bowed back from the staircase.‘Good evening, Mr Burke.’And it almost seemed to him (he could not be sure: the light was not good) that, very faintly, she smiled.‘Take this Painting down immediately!’ thundered the signore to his servants.‘I will not be made a poltroon by Tricksters!’THIRTY-THREEDO ARTISTS KNOW ART?WITH THEIR HAND ON THEIR HEART?OR IS ALL JUST A FARTIN THE STORY OF ART?sang the street balladeers barging past the milkmaids in the piazza; along the Strand the penny patterers declaimed poems about foolish daubers who were really nothing but drunken debauchers.The balladeers sang all along Pall Mall, past the Temple of Health and The Celestial Bed; they sang again up into Covent Garden where the inns overflowed and the bawds plied their trade; and along St Martin’s Lane so that Sir Joshua Reynolds could hear them as he sat in Leicester Fields with his eagle and his ear trumpet.And a ghost - Mr William Hogarth’s ghost - laughed in derision from the other side of the Square where he had once pleaded so passionately for British Art [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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