149.  Francis:  Francis I of France (1494-1547), who invited Andrea to his Court at Fontainebleau, where he was loaded with gifts and honors, until, says Vasari, “came to him certain letters from Florence written to him by his wife . . . with bitter complaints,” when, taking “the money which the king confided to him for the purchase of pictures and statues, . . . he set off . . . having sworn on the Gospels to return in a few months.  Arrived in Florence, he lived joyously with his wife for some time, making presents to her father and sisters, but doing nothing for his own parents, who died in poverty and misery.  When the period specified by the king had come . . . he found himself at the end not only of his own money but . . . of that of the king.”

184.  Agnolo . . . to Rafael:  Angelo’s remark is given thus by Bocchi, “Bellezze di Firenze”; “There is a bit of a manikin in Florence who, if he chanced to be employed in great undertakings as you have happened to be, would compel you to look well about you.”

210.  Cue-owls:  the owl’s cry gives it its common name in various languages and countries; the peculiarity of its cry as to the predominant sound of oo or ow naming the species.  This Italian a`ulo> is probably the Bubo, of the same family as our cat-owl.  Buffon gives its note, he-hoo, boo-hoo; hence the Latin name, Bubo.

241.  Scudi:  Italian coins.

261.  The New Jerusalem:  Revelation 21.15-17.

263.  Leonard:  Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519), painter, sculptor, architect, and engineer, who, together with Rafael and Agnolo, incarnates the genius of the Renaissance.  He visited the same Court to which Andrea was invited, and was said to have died in the arms of Francis I.

THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB AT SAINT PRAXED’S CHURCH

ROME, 15-

1845

Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity! 
Draw round my bed:  is Anselm keeping back? 
Nephews—­sons mine . . . ah God, I know not!  Well—­
She, men would have to be your mother once,
Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! 
What’s done is done, and she is dead beside,
Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since,
And as she died so must we die ourselves,
And thence ye may perceive the world’s a dream. 
Life, how and what is it?  As here I lie 10
In this state-chamber, dying by degrees,
Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask
“Do I live, am I dead?” Peace, peace seems all. 
Saint Praxed’s ever was the church for peace;
And so, about this tomb of mine.  I fought
With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: 
—­Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care;
Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South
He graced his carrion with.  God curse the same! 
Yet still my niche is not so cramped but thence 20
One sees the pulpit o’ the epistle-side,