GISMONDO GADDI, a confrère of Del Moro. CONTENTS Chapter I. The Street and the Studio II. A Goldsmith of the Sixteenth Century III. Dædalus IV. Scozzone V. Genius and Royalty VI. To What Use A Duenna May Be Put VII. A Lover and a Friend VIII. Preparations for Attack and Defence IX. Thrust and Parry X. Of the Advantage of Fortified Towns XI. Owls, Magpies, and Nightingales XII. The King's Queen XIII. Souvent Femme Varie XIV. Wherein it is proven that Sorrow is the Groundwork of the Life of Man XV. Wherein it appears that Joy is nothing more than Sorrow in another Form XVI. A Court XVII. Love as Passion XVIII. Love as a Dream XIX. Love as an Idea ILLUSTRATIONS Francis I _Drawn by E. van Mughen._ Francis I. visits Benvenuto Cellini. "Ascanio, beside himself with joy, fell on his knees." "'Your Majesty is losing your ring,' said Anne." "All the workmen joined in a cry of admiration." ASCANIO I THE STREET AND THE STUDIO Time, four o'clock in the afternoon of the tenth day of July in the year of grace 1540. Place, the entrance to the church Des Grands Augustins, within the precincts of the University, by the receptacle for holy water near the door. A tall, handsome youth, olive-skinned, with long waving locks and great black eyes, simply but elegantly clad, his only weapon a little dagger with a hilt of marvellous workmanship, was standing there, and, doubtless from motives of pure piety and humility, had not stirred from the spot throughout the vespers service. With head bowed in an attitude of devout contemplation, he was murmuring beneath his breath I know not what words,--his prayers let us hope,--for he spoke so low that none but himself and God could hear what he might say. As the service drew near its close, however, he raised his voice slightly, and they who stood nearest him could hear these half-audible words:-- "How wretchedly these French monks drone out their psalms! Could they not sing more melodiously before her, whose ear should be accustomed to angels' voices? Ah! this is well; the vespers are at an end at last. Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! grant that I be more fortunate to-day than on last Sunday, and that she do at least raise her eyes to my face!"