“He gives the impression of a rather pretentious and affected person.”
“Yes, he does. He was an exuberant, luxuriant Neapolitan; but when he chose he could produce marvels. Haven’t you seen his Saint Teresa?”
“No.”
“Then you must see it. Let’s take a carriage.”
They drove to the Piazza San Bernardo, a little square containing three churches and a fountain, and went into Santa Maria della Vittoria.
Kennedy went straight toward the high altar, and stopped to the left of it.
In an altar of the transept is to be seen a group carved in marble, representing the ecstasy of Saint Teresa. Cæsar gazed at it absorbed. The saint is an attractive young girl, falling backward in a sensual spasm; her eyes are closed, her mouth open, and her jaw a bit dislocated. In front of the swooning saint is a little angel who smilingly threatens her with an arrow.
“Well, what do you think of it?” said Kennedy.
“It is wonderful,” exclaimed Cæsar. “But it is a bedroom scene, only the lover has slipped away.”
“Yes, that is true.”