An Honest Painter From Naples

.Currently under revision!

Few painters in Naples were of higher standing, as the one who went by the name Artroni. Though not as highly acclaimed as those others who were known by one name only, such as Raphael and Michelangelo, he nonetheless went by one name to make himself feel better. Actually, he had much to be proud of, for to be moderately successful during the High Renaissance was no small feat, considering all the talent that existed at the time. Still, Artroni yearned for that lucky break that would establish his place in history.

One of the advantages of being artistico was that he could stay up late, and then sleep as long as he wanted to. Tall and handsome, with long brown hair, he had many friends, and the social calendar was always filled. His best friend, Orlando Ravioli played the lute, and would often drop by with those singers extraordinaire, Tanya Lasagna and Fabiana Frittata.

"Artroni, come dance for us!" they loved to say. One day, to their musical accompaniments, he raised his hands high, lifted one leg and then the other, and perfomed the most remarkable dance through the streets of the town. The sidewalks filled with onlookers, and soon became a cheering crowd. Young ladies applauded him from their balconies, and tossed down their undies. They poured him wine at each corner, and marveled at his ability to keep it up.

"What a delightful, dancing fool!"

"Oh Artroni, come see me sometime!"

And delightful it was, until he wretched in the main drinking well. Fortunately, his friends each had coins, and after throwing them in one direction, they carried him off in the other.

But even when he chose to stay in, there was plenty to do, including making wine, cooking and seducing his lady friend, Belinda Biscotti.

Artroni also spent a lot of his spare time practicing new painting techniques with nude models, those same women who were always appearing nude in paintings. And just who were those women? Artroni preferred that they be anonymous, but Belinda had a problem with one of them, especially a certain Mimi Tortellini.

"Artroni, tella me why she has to pose again! You've painted her a dozen times - you know what she looks like ah naked!"

"But my dainty flower, it is only work! You are my one and only!"

"My beautiful... sexy pie!"

"Don't you sweet talka me! You... porna piggo!" Artroni saw the vase coming, and ducked just in time. He dodged the second one also, just as he flew out the door.

But he would worry about that later, for he had work to do, and it was almost noon.

Artroni entered his studio, where his various assistants and pupils were already hard at work. Good news, he was told. A representative of Bartolini Fettucini had just left, and had offered a commission for him to paint Anabella Mozzarella, a wealthy woman of Benevento, to whom he was to be wed. It was a substantial sum, and Artroni immediately sent word to Fettucini that he had accepted the offer.

Fettucini was of the ruling class family of Naples, and as gonfalonier, his power and influence was undisputed. To Artroni, it was the chance of a lifetime, and he would put every ounce of his expertise and experience into the painting. At last, he announced, he would ascend to his rightful place among the greatest artists of the land!

The painter had to leave immediately, and all his helpers dropped what they were doing and set about preparing him for the journey. Benevento was a good distance away, and Artroni was anxious to get started. The best new oils, brushes and canvasses were gathered. Assistants left and returned with his clothing and his lute. Mrs. Baloni brought food and wine. Four donkeys were procured. Artroni’s trusted assistant Armani, who actually had one name only, would follow, and see to his every need. Soon all was ready, and Artroni was helped onto his donkey, only to fall off the other side. Rising up from the ground quite red-faced and angry, he saw two friends approaching, his fellow painters Umberto Desserto and Alfredo Oregano. Rather portly gentlemen, Artroni often joked that they only required food as payments.

“I once slid off the back end of a donkey,” Alfredo stated, “and just in time for it to relieve itself on me.” Artroni laughed loudly at the admission. How could he stay angry in the presence of such good friends as these?

“I hear you are to paint the Lady Anabella Mozarella,” Umberto said.

“Yes,” replied Artroni. “I am set to leave as we speak.”

“We won’t delay you long, then,” said Umberto. “But I have one question. Are you aware that she is ugly?” The smile left Artroni’s face, and he looked quite taken aback.

“No, I wasn’t,” he answered. “Are we speaking somewhat ugly or very ugly?”

“Very ugly!”

“As ugly as a one-eyed goat!” said Alfredo.

“Merda!”

Artroni was extremely distressed. Being required to paint an ugly sitter was obviously a dilemma for a painter, even for one of his talent.

No one knew quite what else to say. Umberto bit his nails, and Alfredo tapped his fingertips. Artroni scratched his chin, then the back of his head.

“How do you know this?” Artroni asked. “Are you sure?”

“I am afraid so,” said Umberto. “We have both seen her in the past.”

“I can’t imagine her being pretty now,” added Alfredo.

“Does Fettucini know?”

“I’m not sure,” Umberto answered. “I don’t think think he has met her.”

The news was the last thing Artroni would have hoped to hear. Within the community of painters, there was an unwritten rule stating that if the subject is ugly, then the artist must never paint them as they really are. It was one of the first things taught to pupils, and was commonly known as the Brutto Regolamento (The Ugly Rule).

Not that painting a person to look better than they are could ever fool anybody for long. In the case of the gonfalonier, who was entering an arranged marriage for the sake of greater riches, he was certainly going to see what she looked like sooner or later. It was a sign of respect, to show the patron that neither the artist nor anyone else who saw the sitter could ever think of her as ugly. If the painter could not be the first to see the beauty in someone, than who could? Besides, if the patron were to get angry when he saw the sitter in person, the blame couldn’t fall entirely upon the painter, but upon her ugly parents.

Umberto had walked the tightrope before, only it had been many years before. After a bit of pondering, and a long surpressed burp, he spoke of what he knew.

“My good friend Artroni, the best thing you can do is emphasize the positives. If there are any…”

Artroni looked up to the sky, and his mouth hung almost to the ground.

“Please allow me to apologize,” continued Umberto. “What I meant was, look for the positives and heighten them! And mask the negatives just enough so that the painting is not a total lie. If the eyes are like bottomless wells of doom… well, add enough sparkle so they’ll show some life. If the mouth looks surly, as if she’s just bitten a rotten apple, upturn one end to give an impression of mischief, or as if a laugh is about to come forth. If the nose is too long, then shorten it. Make a wart smaller, a blemish lighter, a grey hair darker. Those things you must do, Artroni! It may seem taxing on your abilities and nerves, but if anyone can do it, you can!”

Artroni didn’t feel much better, but he hid it well behind his smile, and thanked his friends heartily. He was again hoisted upon the donkey, and in his large floppy hat, he looked particularly pompous and silly.

“I shall do my best! Now please excuse me as I must go!” At that, he and Armani rode in the direction of Benevento, while Umberto and Alfredo walked down the narrow cobblestone street, shaking their heads.

Along the way, Atroni stopped every so often, and looked worried. At times, he even considered returning home and relinquishing the commission. But Armani, a slender young man with long hair, did all he could to boost the painter’s confidence.

“You are the best painter in all of Naples!”

“Naples?” Artroni would say.

“Italy! You are the best painter in all of Italy!”

Armani continued his pep talks, and in no time Artroni was brimming with confidence. After all, he was the best painter he knew.

"I amaze myself!" he said.

He had received critical acclaim for his techniques with light and shadow. And the poses and expressions given his subjects were amazing impressions of spontaneity of movement. He would, he decided, breathe life and beauty into the portrait, no matter how ugly the lady might be.

When they reached the city, Artroni’s spirits were high, and they never wavered, even as they walked through the massive, imposing gates of the Mozzarella family, across the expansive courtyard, and up the seemingly endless front steps of stone. At last, they reached the top and were bade to enter and go to the grand hall, where the painter was announced before a waiting assemblage of courtiers.

“The most esteemed artist of Naples, Rigotoni Pastaroni, known to all as the great Artroni!”

He was greeted warmly by all, and had to shake many hands, and make just as many bows. It was a struggle to make his way down the long carpet runner, but at last he reached the end, and as he did, crowd before him cleared. Finally, he stood face-to-face with Anabella Mozzarella.

Artroni could taste the acid from his stomach as it crept up his throat.

He had truly never seen anyone so hideous in all his life. The lady had unusually large brown eyes that rarely moved or blinked, and absolutely no eyebrows. Her nose, though not necessarily long, stuck way out somehow, as if there was some kind of structure pushing it from behind. She had short, little ears, and there was more than a trace of a mustache. Yellow bucked teeth protruded from a wrinkled mouth with practically no lips. To Artroni, something about that mouth of hers made it look not so much that she was bucktoothed as much as perhaps that she was doing it on purpose. She was eating nuts, and half of what she chewed came back out and onto the floor, and she made an irritating throat clearing sound at least every ten seconds. Her revolting appearance and mannerisms, combined with her grayish brown coat and its like-colored fur collar, and her brown skull cap, and dress, made Artoni wonder if she was trying to look like a squirrel.

Armani could not bear to look at her, and instead gazed around at the architecture, but Artroni could not afford to be perceived as rude. Then she spoke, and the meeting got very awkward, for Artroni could not understand her at all. Instead of speaking recognizable words, her voice sounded more like a burst of short, high-pitched grunting noises. Artroni tried to listen but could not make sense of it, and he looked at a manservant and beseeched him with his eyes, but no help was offered. So the painter put his hand behind his ear as if he was hard of hearing, but instead of the valet speaking as he’d hoped, the Lady Mozzarella grunted louder! And she didn’t stop there. The louder she grunted, and the longer Artroni went without responding to her, the more tense the situation became. Finally, he put his hands behind both ears and before he could scream, the servant yelled at the top of his lungs that he was expected for dinner at six, and that the painting of the portrait would begin the next afternoon.

His nerves shot, Artroni was shown to his room, where he collapsed until Armani woke him up in time for dinner. Just as he had dreaded, he had to sit next to the Lady Mozzarella, but the manservant stood nearby to help, as he had to do throughout the rest of Artroni’s stay. The only time Artroni spoke directly to her was to say, not entirely truthfully, that he could only paint in complete silence. Then he excused himself, just as the entire front of her dress had become soiled with food.

The next day, Anabella Mozzarella sat in her brown chair, wearing her brown coat in front of a window with brown drapes. The view outside was of a tree with autumn colors, and as the Lady Mozzarella opened a bag of nuts, Artroni pondered the background. He would simply have to paint some squirrels on the limbs. And maybe one right outside the window and looking in, though he later decided against it. While she chomped away, Artroni did some quick sketches, and Armani mixed the colors. This is absurd, the painter thought. The only colors he would really need were yellow and brown.

Painting the lady to look better than she was seemed like a daunting task, but Artroni kept thinking of Umberto’s advice about masking the negatives. The only positive he could find was when he imagined her without the protruding nose, yellow bucked teeth and mustache. Without those, she might have looked not half bad. Artroni, you are too kind, he told himself.

Using his pencil and all his skills, he was immediately able to form a more complimentary look for her face, and so he then began to paint. But after a short while, his sitter looked fidgety, and started grunting. The servant walked over to Artroni.

“She’s asking what’s taking so long!” he yelled.

“But I’ve just started!” Artroni replied.

The lady kept fidgetting, and it became apparent that she could not sit still for long. After a few more minutes, she got up and left.

“The sitting shall resume tomorrow!” the servant yelled.

Artroni decided it was enough for him also, for she certainly wasn’t an enjoyable subject to paint. Over three days, she sat for barely an hour altogether, each time wearing a different brown coat, so Artroni had to work quickly. He made a request that he and Armani be left to work uninterrupted for the next two full days to complete the painting and add the finishing touches. Save for opening the door so their meals could be brought in, they worked nonstop --no women, no lute playing, and very little drinking.

When their work was done, Artroni requested an audience with the Lady Mozzarella, where he showed the painting in an appropriate frame. It was a masterful accomplishment. Not his crowning moment, but all things considered, a great painting. The lady was pleased, and according to the valet, she requested that it be taken good care of on their way home. Armani was well prepared, and he put the painting in a wooden case, in which it fit just right. The job was at last done, and after much praise and many goodbyes, the painters left for Naples.

But oddly enough, as soon as they’d gone out the door, the Lady Mozzarella remarked how peculiar Artroni was.

Over the route home, Artroni and Armani amused themselves by imitating Anabella Mozzarella and her servant. They took turns grunting and yelling loudly, and it became especially funny to them after a bottle of wine. But by the time they approached Naples, they were pondering their circumstances, for the painting they were taking home was not the one that the Lady Mozzarella had seen, but another one depicting her as she really was. And much farther back, outside Benevento, they had thrown the first painting in a river while under the influence of alcohol!

After they arrived at Artroni’s studio, the painting was placed on an easel for the assistants and pupils to see. And as expected, the usual flow of artist friends began to drop by. When Umberto Desserto arrived, Alfredo Oregano was standing on Artoni’s steps and tapping his fingertips.

“He did what?” gasped Umberto.

“He has painted her as she is!” cried Alfredo. “Come inside and look!”

“Non!"

Umberto bounced up the steps, releasing gas with each step. Inside, his eyes got almost as big as the Lady Mozzarella’s.

“This cannot be! Artoni, have you gone mad?”

“No, my friend, I have not,” Artroni responded.

“But why?” asked Umberto, as he wiped his brow.

“I decided in this case, that honesty would be the best policy.”

“Fettucini will not let you get away with it!”

“Perhaps not, but it is a chance I must take.”

“Incredibile!”

Other artist friends came in and looked at the painting, including Santorino Pesto, and his cousin Andolini.

“Oddio…”

“Atroni,” they said, “I hope you have a swift horse.”

Such were the reactions of all who saw the painting. It wasn’t that it was not a good painting--everyone agreed that it was great. But they feared for Artroni, for he had broken the Ugly Rule, and so all who saw it agreed to keep the secret.

Artroni sent word to Fettucini that the painting was ready, and waited nervously for a reply. He feared his career as a painter was in the balance, and wondered if he should have kept the other painting. Later in the day, the invitation came. Atroni, and his invited guests, would go to Fettucini the next day and unveil the painting. The moment of truth was near, and there was no turning back.

The morning arrived all too quickly, and Artroni went to the house of Fettucini accompanied by Armani, and his other closest friends and associates. Led by Machismo Testostero, Fettucini's bodyguard, they walked down a long hallway, and then to his private office. As the others stood just inside the door, Artroni carried the painting to where Fettucini stood.

The gonfalonier was a large and intimidating man, and Artoni’s knees shook as he uncovered the portrait. Fettucini looked at the painting quickly, then glared at Artroni. The man’s cold, hard stare cut straight to the painter’s soul and the words yet to come were sure to be those of his death and damnation. But it was not Fettucini’s voice that was heard.

“My brother’s talents as a painter are remarkable, are they not?”

Fettucini turned, and standing beside Artroni was his beautiful sister, Brigida. Her long, dark hair cascaded in waves over her sensuous bosom, and her green eyes and radiant smile were enough to melt the hearts of men.

Fettucini was caught off guard by her beauty, and his head turned back and forth from her to the painting.

“He has dishonored me by painting such a terrible picture of my bride-to-be!”

Brigida walked up and stood close to Fettucini.

“Artroni is an honest man. With all due respect, I am certain that his painting is an accurate representation of her natural appearance.”

“But he…!”

“Surely it was not your desire to be fooled.”

Fettucini seemed unable to argue. The fact of the matter was, he was suddenly torn between the additional wealth his union with the Lady Mozzarella would bring, and the vision of loveliness who stood by his side. He was impressed also by her wisdom and sense of refinement, and wondered why he had not managed to meet her before.

“But…!”

"Yes?” she inquired.

Brigida put a hand on Fettucini’s arm, and he could not help but smile. He was entranced by her beauty, and had found himself totally tongue-tied. To him, her eyes were like emeralds in a deep green sea, and he was lost in their gaze.

“Will you let my brother be absolved from any wrong doing?” she asked him.

“What? Yes, of course!”

With his sister’s help, Artroni remained a free man. Fettucini had fallen in love, and he and Brigida were wed soon thereafter.

Artroni’s plan had worked perfectly. His sister had introduced him to Belinda, and so he’d wanted to repay her by finding her a rich husband. That was why he and Armani had spent the two days and nights working nonstop--to create the second painting showing Anabella Mozzarella as she really was. It had been a gamble, for sure, but it worked. And besides finding a husband for his sister, Artroni had helped himself, for his fame grew by leaps and bounds due to his exploit.

Although Artroni and his new brother in law were quite different, they got along famously. Fettucini promised him lifelong protection from the Mozzarellas, who were obviously upset with both of them. And it was soon needed, for it was revealed that while in his drunken state outside Benevento, Artroni had apparently not noticed that the river flowed towards the city. The painting was found and brought to the Lady Mozzarella, who reportedly got so angry that she climbed the wall. A price was put on the painter’s head, but fortunately he survived.

Today, that original version is, by all accounts, still in the possession of her family, because of its value as an Artroni original. But the painting has never been displayed, nor has it been photographed, for it is said that at the river he had painted over her face, of all things… the face of a squirrel!