e merits of Salvator
Rosa, as their ancestors had been to appreciate the genius of Raffaelle.
Between the Prince Don Mario Ghigi, (whose brother Fabio was raised to
the pontifical throne by the name of Alexander VII.) and Salvator, there
seems to have existed a personal intimacy; and the prince's fondness for
the painter's conversation was such, that during a long illness he
induced Salvator to bring his easel to his bedside, and to work in his
chamber at a small picture he was then painting for the prince. It
happened, that while Rosa was sketching and chatting by the prince's
couch, one of the most fashionable physicians in Rome entered the
apartment. He appears to have been one of those professional coxcombs,
whose pretensions, founded on unmerited vogue, throws ridicule on the
gravest calling.

After some trite remarks upon the art, the doctor, either to flatter
Salvator, or in imitation of the physician of the Cardinal Colonna, who
asked for one of Raffaelle's finest pictures as a fee for saving the
Cardinal's life, requested Don Mario to give him a picture by Salvator
as a remuneration for his attendance. The prince willingly agreed to the
proposal; and the doctor, debating on the subject he should choose,
turned to Salvator and begged that he would not lay pencil to canvas,
until _he_, the Signor Dottore, should find leisure to dictate to him
_il pensiero e concetto della sua pittura_, the idea and conceit of his
picture! Salvator bowed a modest acquiescence, and went on with his
sketch. The doctor having gone the round of professional questions with
his wonted pomposity, rose to write his prescription; when, as he sat
before the table with eyes upturned, and pen suspended over the paper,
Salvator approached him on tiptoe, and drawing the pen gently through
his fingers, with one of his old _Coviello_ gesticulations in his
character of the mountebank, he said, "_fermati dottor mio!_ stop
doctor, you must not lay pen to paper till I have leisure to dictate the
idea and conceit of the prescription I may think proper for the malady
of his Excellency."

"_Diavalo!_" cried the amazed physician, "you dictate a prescription!
why, _I_ am the prince's physician, and not _you!_"

"And _I, Caro_," said Salvator, "am a painter, and not _you_. I leave it
to the prince whether I could not prove myself a better physician than
you a painter; and write a better prescription than you paint a
picture."

The prince, much amused,