M. de Hansfeld could not refrain from a smile at Pierre Raimond's enthusiasm, and replied,-- "I do not deny the somewhat savage energy of Michael Angelo; he had, unfortunately, a disposition morose, haughty, taciturn, sombre, disdainful, and difficult to be satisfied." "Unfortunately! what do you mean by the word unfortunately?" "I mean that it was unfortunate for the sincere admirers of this man to be unable to form with him agreeable and close intimacies." "So much the better. Do you take him for a Raphael, for a poor creature like your hero? For," added the engraver, with an accent of disdain, "there never was a living man in the world whose disposition was more easy, more insinuating, more amiable, than your Raphael." "Well, at least, you confess his good qualities." "Qualities! why, it is because of such _qualities_ so odious that I detest him as a man, though I venerate him as an artist." "And I, my dear M. Raimond, for the precisely same reason, in consequence of the defects of the diabolical disposition of Michael Angelo that I have such an antipathy to the man, although I bow devoutly before his genius." "Your admiration is not natural, it is forced--exaggerated!" exclaimed the engraver. "What!" said Arnold, amazed; "you detest Raphael for his qualities, yet when I do not like Michael Angelo in consequence of his defects, you accuse me of exaggeration!" "Certainly: no man is great--no man is Michael Angelo, but in consequence of certain conditions. I admire in the lion his wild and savage instincts,--he is only a lion on condition of being wild and savage; and he cannot have the _virtues of a sheep_ like your Raphael." "But, at least, allow me to admire in Raphael these _sheeplike_ virtues, which are, if you will, the consequence of his nature, his talent." "Assuredly admire, if you can find any thing worthy of admiration in such a character. As for me, physically speaking, I cannot for an instant place the insipid face of the beautiful, celestial Raphael, all bedecked as he is with velvet and embroidery, in the scale with the masculine physiognomy of my old Buonarotti, sombre, fierce, tanned by the sun, and attired in an old blouse, half hidden by his sculptor's leathern apron! Come, come, do you suppose that these two natures can be compared for an instant? Ah, ah, ah! what a pleasant contrast! On the one hand I see the divine Raphael----" "The divine Raphael would have bent his knee, and respectfully kissed the powerful hand of old Michael Angelo, his master and grandsire in the art," said Arnold mildly, and extending his hand to Pierre Raimond. "You are right," replied the latter, responding warmly to this evidence of cordiality on the part of M. de Hansfeld; "I am an old ass, and as much excited as I was at twenty!"