I have seen a copy of the book with its hundred or more sketches of the very figures that we now see and admire in the Uffizi and Pitti galleries and in the Vatican.  Eight generations of men have come and gone since Rubens sketched from the Old Masters, but there today stand the chiseled shapes, which were then centuries old, and there today are the “Titians” and the “Raphaellos” just as the exuberant Fleming saw them.  Surely this must show us how short are the days of man!  “Open then the door; you know how little while we have to stay!”

The two figures that seemed to impress Rubens most, as shown in the sketchbook, are the Farnese “Hercules” and Michelangelo’s “David.”  He shows the foot of the “Hercules,” and the hand of the “David,” and gives front, back and side views with comments and criticisms.  Then after a few pages have been covered by other matter he goes back again to the “Hercules”—­the subject fascinates him.

When we view “The Crucifixion,” in the Cathedral at Antwerp, we conclude that he admired the “Hercules” not wisely but too well, for the muscles stand out on all the figures, even of the Savior, in pure Farnese style.  Two years after that picture was painted, he did his masterpiece, “The Descent From the Cross,” and we behold with relief the change that had come over the spirit of his dreams.  Mere pride in performing a difficult feat had given place to a higher motive.  There is no reason to suppose that the Apostles had trained to perform the twelve labors of Hercules, or that the two Marys were Amazons.  But the burly Roman forms went back to Flanders, and for many years staid citizens were slipped into classic attitudes to do duty as Disciples, Elders, Angels—­all with swelling biceps, knotted muscles, and necks like the Emperor Vespasian.

The Mantuan Envoy at Rome had private orders from Chieppo to see that the Fleming was well treated.  The Envoy was further requested to report to the Secretary how the painter spent his time, and also how he was regarded by Cardinal Montalto.  Thus we see the wily Secretary set one servant watching another, and kept in close touch with all.

The reports, however, all confirmed the Secretary in his belief that the Fleming was a genius, and, moreover, worthy of all the encouragement that was bestowed upon him.  The Secretary sent funds from time to time to the painter, with gentle hints that he should pay due attention to his behavior, and also to his raiment, for the apparel oft doth proclaim the man.

The Duke of Mantua seems to have regarded Rubens as his own private property, and Rubens had too much sense to do anything by word or deed that might displease his patron.

When he had gotten all that Italy could give, or more properly all he could absorb, his intent was to follow his heart and go straight back to Flanders.

Three years had passed since Rubens had arrived in Venice—­years of profit to both spirit and purse.  He had painted pictures that placed him in the rank of acknowledged artists, and the Duke of Mantua had dropped all patronizing airs.  With the ducal party Rubens had visited Verona, Florence, Pisa and Padua.  His fame was more than local.  The painter hinted to Chieppo that he would like to return to Antwerp, but the Secretary objected—­he had important work for him.