I
"Ho, _Tiziano_! Ala-ala-_ho_! _Tizi-ah-no_!"
The group in the gondola raised a merry call. The gondola rocked at the
foot of a narrow flight of steps leading to a tall, sombre dwelling. The
moonlight that flooded the gondola and steps revealed no sign of life in
the dark front.
The young man sitting with his back to the gondolier raised the call
again: "What, ho!--Tiziano!" The clear, tenor voice carried far, and
occupants of passing gondolas turned to look and smile at the dark,
handsome youth as they drifted past.
The door at the top of the steps opened and Titian ran lightly down. He
carried in his hand a small lute with trailing purple ribbons, and the
cap that rested on his thick curls was of purple velvet. He lifted it
with gentle grace as he stepped into the gondola and took the vacant
seat beside a young woman facing the bow of the boat.
Her smiling face was turned to him mockingly. "Late again, Signor
Cevelli, and yet again!" She plucked at the strings of a small
instrument lying on her lap, and the notes tinkled the music of her
words.
"Pardon, Signora, a thousand pardons to you and to your gracious lord!"
He bowed to the man opposite him.
"Giorgio? Oh--Giorgio doesn't mind." Her soft lips smiled. "He's too big
and lazy. He never minds." Her laugh rose light and sweet. The three men
joined in.
The boat shot into midstream. It threaded its way among the brilliant
craft that floated in the moonlight, or shot by them under vigorous
strokes. Many glances were turned toward the boat as it passed. The face
of Titian was well known and that of the woman beside him was the face
of many pictures; while the big man opposite--her husband--the famous
Giorgione, was the favorite of art-loving Venice. It was a group to
attract attention at any time. But it was the fourth member of the group
that drew the eyes and held them to-night.
He was a stranger to Venice, newly come from Rome--known in Venice years
ago, it was whispered--a mere stripling. Now the face and figure had the
beauty and the strength of manhood.... A famous courtesan touched her
red-gold locks and laughed sweetly as she drifted by. But the sombre,
dark face with the inscrutable eyes and the look of power did not turn.
He sat, for the most part, a little turned away, looking at the waves
dancing with leaden lights under the moon and running in ripples from
the boat. Now and then his lips curved in a smile at some jest of his
companions, or his eyes rested on the face of the woman opposite--and
filled with gentle, wondering light.
Titian, watching him from beside the young woman, marvelled at the look
of mystery and the strength. He leaned forward, about to speak--but
Giorgione stayed him with a gesture.
"The Fondaco," he said, raising his hand to the gondolier. "Ho, there!
Halt for the Fondaco!"
The boat came slowly to rest at the foot of the great building that rose
white and gray and new in the half light. Giorgione's eye ran lovingly
along the front. "To-morrow," he said, "we begin the last frescos. You,
Titian, on the big facade to the south, and Zarato and I--" He laid his
hand affectionately on the arm of the young man at his side, "Zarato and
I on the inner court."
The youth started and looked up. His eyes studied the massive walls,
with the low, arching porticos and long unbroken lines. "A noble piece
of work," he said.
Giorgione nodded. "German and Venetian mixed." He laughed softly. "With
three Venetians at the frescos--we shall see, ah--we shall see!" He
laughed again good-humoredly.
The boat shot under the Rialto and came out again in the clear
moonlight.
"To-morrow," said Giorgione, looking back, "to-morrow we begin."
"To-morrow Zarato comes to me--for his portrait." Titian spoke quickly,
almost harshly. His eyes were on the young man's face.
The gondola stirred slightly. Every one looked at the young man. He sat
staring at Titian, a look half amused and half perplexed in his dark
eyes. The look broke and ran. "Is it so!" he said almost gayly.