The true “art for art’s sake” attitude, you perceive; and under the patronage of such esthetic prelates, the poets and musicians, the painters and sculptors flourished in sixteenth century Italy. Among those who were employed by the poisoner pope, Alexander VI, was a youthful painter of extraordinary ability, Raphael Sanzio by name. This pope was succeeded by two others, who conquered many cities for the glory of God, and spent millions of their plunder upon religious art. So this young painter of genius was floated through life upon a flood of gold ducats, and with his magic brushes he turned the blood and sweat and tears of the peasantry of Italy into beautiful images of serenely smiling madonnas, and enraptured saints, and ineffably gracious Jesuses. Raphael is ranked by many as the greatest painter in history; we stand, therefore, within the very holy of holies, before the shrine of “pure” beauty, and it will repay us to dig into the roots of his life, and see from what soil this precious flower grows. He was the son of a court painter, and his life was one of ease, swift achievement, and applause. He was gifted with all the graces of body, also a genial and winning nature. He studied the work of one painter after another, and acquired all the powers of each. He became so famous that his life was “not that of a painter, but of a prince.” Ambassadors from the wealthy and powerful besieged his doors, and waited for months in hope of an interview. He went about accompanied by a band of more than fifty youths, pupils and adorers of his art. He had one weakness, which was for the ladies. The popes and princes who cherished him sought to put loving restraint upon him, and planned wealthy marriages for him, but he could not bring himself to stoop to matrimony. At this time he was decorating the palace of a Sienese millionaire, Chigi, owner of ships and of salt and alum mines throughout Italy; this gentleman, discovering that Raphael was so wrapped up in his mistress that he was neglecting the palace decorations, solved the problem by a brilliant move--bringing the mistress to live in the palace! In the end this darling of fortune died at the age of thirty-seven, of a fever brought on by self-indulgence. His adoring biographer, Vasari, tells us that when he knew his last hour had come, he sent away his mistress from his home, “as a good Christian should,” and so passed on to decorate the palaces of heaven.