"I do not fear my father's violence," he said, "but I do fear his anger.When it came to the point he would not imprison me.I would marry Margaret to-morrow if that was my only fear.No; he would disown me.I should take Margaret from her father, and give her a poor husband, who would never thrive, weighed down by his parent's curse.Madam! I sometimes think if I could marry her secretly, and then take her away to some country where my craft is better paid than in this; and after a year or two, when the storm had blown over, you know, could come back with money in my purse, and say, 'My dear parents, we do not seek your substance, we but ask you to love us once more as you used, and as we have never ceased to love you' - but, alas! I shall be told these are the dreams of an inexperienced young man."The old lady's eyes sparkled.
"It is no dream, but a piece of wonderful common-sense in a boy;it remains to be seen whether you have spirit to carry out your own thought.There is a country, Gerard, where certain fortune awaits you at this moment.Here the arts freeze, but there they flourish, as they never yet flourished in any age or land.""It is Italy!" cried Gerard."It is Italy!""Ay, Italy! where painters are honoured like princes, and scribes are paid three hundred crowns for copying a single manuscript.
Know you not that his Holiness the Pope has written to every land for skilful scribes to copy the hundreds of precious manuscripts that are pouring into that favoured land from Constantinople, whence learning and learned men are driven by the barbarian Turks?""Nay, I know not that; but it has been the dream and hope of my life to visit Italy, the queen of all the arts; oh, madam! But the journey, and we are all so poor.""Find you the heart to go, I'll find the means.I know where to lay my hand on ten golden angels: they will take you to Rome: and the girl with you, if she loves you as she ought."They sat till midnight over this theme.And, after that day, Gerard recovered his spirits, and seemed to carry a secret talisman against all the gibes and the harsh words that flew about his ears at home.
Besides the money she procured him for the journey, Margaret Van Eyck gave him money's worth.Said she, "I will tell you secrets that I learned from masters that are gone from me, and have left no fellow behind.Even the Italians know them not; and what I tell you now in Tergou you shall sell hear in Florence.Note my brother Jan's pictures: time, which fades all other paintings, leaves his colours bright as the day they left the easel.The reason is, he did nothing blindly, in a hurry.He trusted to no hireling to grind his colours; he did0it himself, or saw it done.His panel was prepared.and prepared again - I will show you how - a year before he laid his colour on.Most of them are quite content to have their work sucked up and lost, sooner than not be in a hurry.
Bad painters are always in a hurry.Above all, Gerard, I warn you use but little oil, and never boil it: boiling it melts that vegetable dross into its heart which it is our business to clear away; for impure oil is death to colour.No; take your oil and pour it into a bottle with water.In a day or two the water will turn muddy: that is muck from the oil.Pour the dirty water carefully away.and add fresh.When that is poured away, you will fancy the oil is clear.You mistaken.Reicht, fetch me that!"Reicht brought a glass trough with a glass lid fitting tight.