On the voyage home Apelles made me promise, when we got to Rhodes, to take him at once to Protogenes' studio.
Accordingly, when we arrived, I sent Kavaros home with the baggage and walked Apelles out to the suburb, south of the wall. Finding Protogenes' door open and the place deserted, we went in. There was a neat vegetable garden in which Protogenes raised most of his own food, for he was a man of solitary and abstemious habits. We went on into the studio and halted before the great picture of Ialysos.
This painting occupied an entire wall of the room, being about eight by sixteen feet. A common joke in Rhodes was to ask Protogenes what he expected to do with the picture when it was finished, as the frame was too large to go through the door. Protogenes simply said that when he was offered enough for it to be worth while, he would knock down the wall and then brick it up again.
The painting showed the legend of Ialysos, the eldest of the three sons of Kerkaphos and Kyrbe, who was a granddaughter of Helios-Apollon. These three founded the cities of Ialysos, Lindos, and Kameiros, named for their respective founders. In Protogenes' picture Ialysos was trying to defend the people of his city against the plague of huge serpents, which infested the land and slew many, including the three heroes.
Long stood Apelles silently before the painting. At last he roused himself.
"A great labor and a wonderful success," he said. "It is true that some of my own works surpass it in charm, but one cannot have everything on the same panel." He bent forward to look at a detail. "How in Hera's name did Protogenes ever get so lifelike an effect? Look at the foam on that dog's jaws!"
He pointed to Ialysos' faithful hound, which was helping the hero to fight the serpents.
"I know the tale of that," I said. "Protogenes kept trying and trying to get that effect, and wiping the paint off and starting over. At last, in a fit of temper, he hurled his sponge at the painting. It struck right on the mouth of the dog and gave the effect that you see."
"It takes quick wit to seize upon a stroke of luck when it comes," said Apelles. "I only hope he won't give in to his old vice of working and reworking the details. Did you ever hear how I gave him his start?"
"No, sir."
Apelles' eyes saw back over the decades. "It was about twenty years ago, when Protogenes was not much older than you are now. At that time I was already established. He, however, had come hither from Kaunos a few years before and was trying to work up a clientele. To live, he even painted ships in the dockyards as a common laborer.
"While I was visiting here, one of the local magnates said to me: Apelles, have you ever seen the work of our man Protogenes?'
" 'No,' said I. 'Who is he?'
" 'Nobody of importance,' said the moneybag. 'Just a local boy from the mainland who, some think, shows promise. I would not mention him in the same breath as you, of course. Do not disturb yourself on his account.'
"This made me curious, so I sought out Protogenes. I found him living in a shack on barley porridge and beans, with a pile of unsold paintings. As soon as I saw them in a good light, I knew that here was a master. When I praised the paintings, Protogenes looked at me in astonishment.
" 'Why, sir,' he said, 'do you really mean you think them good? You're not jesting at the expense of a poor ship's painter, I hope?'
" 'I'll show you who is jesting,' I said. 'How much for the lot?'
"He began totting up his prices—five drachmai for this, ten for that, and he'd throw in this poor one free, and so forth. When I saw that the total would be absurdly small, I said: 'Here, man, I can't take all day. I will give you fifty pounds for the stack.' Remember, the drachma was worth more in those days.
"His eyes bulged out like those of a lobster, and he sat down on his stool. 'Five—thousand—drachmai!' he whispered. 'Are you feeling all right, sir?'
" 'I have never felt better,' I said, and called for my slave and counted out the money. Then I made arrangements to take away the paintings, leaving Protogenes fanning himself with his hat and mumbling."
I said: "I can understand his astonishment."
"Oh, I wasn't being so rash as this story sounds. For, when I got the paintings to my quarters, I spread a rumor about the town that I had bought them to sell as my own. Of course that started a vogue for Protogenes' pictures, and I was readily able to sell my purchases to the Rhodians at a profit. Thereafter Protogenes had no difficulty—"
There was a shuffling sound; the did woman who kept house for Protogenes stood in the doorway.
"Rejoice, Demo," I said. "Where's the master? Here's a visitor to see him."
"He's in town, sir. I don't know when a will be back. Who shall I say called with you, O Chares?"
I was about to speak when Apelles touched my arm. "Wait," he said.
He went to Protogenes' painting supplies, mixed up a little red paint, pointed a brush, and approached a blank panel that stood on an easel. He stood back for an instant; then, with one firm stroke, painted a red line across the panel, no more than a barleycorn in width and as straight as if he had ruled it with a straightedge.
I had seen him perform such feats before. He had insisted on doing a little painting on the Peripolos every day, rain or shine, to keep his hand in. But I never ceased to wonder that a man who must have been nearly seventy should keep so keen an eye and so steady a hand.
"Tell your master, this one," he said to Demo, indicating the line. "We shall be back after lunch."
I guided Apelles around the town, introducing him proudly to some of my friends. Then I took him home for lunch; a little nervously, for I was snobbish enough to worry lest a rich and famous artist sneer at the establishment of a mere bronze founder. I need not have concerned myself; Apelles fitted in perfectly.
Afterwards we returned to Protogenes' house. Demo cackled:
"The master came in, gentlemen, and looked at the line on the board and said a knew the lion by its claw. That there line, quotha, could only have been painted by Apelles of Kôs. Be you he?"
Apelles smiled and wagged his head affirmatively.
"Well, then," continued Demo, "a took a brush, a did, and —but look at it yourself."
Apelles peered at the stripe on the blank panel. "Herakles!"
Protogenes had mixed some black paint and drawn, on top of the red line, a still finer black line, so that the red could be seen on either side of the black.
Apelles now mixed up some more red paint. He hunted down Protogenes' smallest brush, dipped it, pointed it to the fineness of a needle, and slowly, squinting and pursing his lips, drew another red line atop the black—a line no thicker than a horsehair.
"Phy!" he said. "Now let's see him put another one on top of that!"
For now the original red line had become five adjacent lines: red, black, red, black, and red. By no mortal hand could another line have been added atop of those already there, yet leaving the edges of the previous lines still showing.
"The master begs your pardon,, gentlemen," said Demo, "but a had to go out to deliver a picture. A said a'd be back in an hour."
"Tell him we shall be in Evios' tavern," I said.
Thus it was that an hour later Protogenes found Apelles conversing with Berosos and me in the tavern. The two great painters hailed and embraced each other with an affection heartening to behold. They soon forgot us younger men in their eager talk of things that happened before Theognis was born (as they say), and Berosos and I reluctantly excused ourselves.