But Raphael, a man of the world, wedded to his independence, took a far less simple view of the institution. His uncle, a worthy canon, never spoke to him of a dowry; a stroke of Raphael’s brush was worth a dowry in itself. Unhappily, the divine poet of maternal love, the exquisite interpreter of women, weighed and digested the matter like a man of sense. He does not cease to thank Providence, he says, that he has refrained from wedding any of the ladies contemplated up to the present. To-day (1514) he may marry brilliantly if he likes; the choice is open to him: a cousin of Cardinal St. Maria in Porticu, offered him by the Cardinal himself—a lovely creature, of good family, with a dower of 3000 crowns, or even more. But “he is in no hurry”; and indeed, that is the sober truth: men are not in a hurry; and Raphael never married. So it was quite with the feeling that he was fulfilling an impersonal and family duty that a man ended by espousing a woman whose attitude was as impersonal as his own. For the same reason, to consecrate the nuptial transaction and give it due importance in the eyes of the world, the marriage was surrounded with an ever-increasing ostentation. The opening scene was as imposing and brilliant as the subsequent years of married life were to prove sombre and colourless. At a later date we find the Calvinists up in arms against these idle gawds, which they style scandalous worldliness, a “villany.” Nevertheless there was evidently no idea of glozing over the real character of the contract; but aesthetic taste, however rudimentary, insisted apparently, if not on idealising the contract, at least on beautifying it.