Venice laughed in the sunshine. Gay-colored boats flitted here and there
on the Grand Canal, and overhead the birds of Venus sailed in the warm
air.
A richly equipped gondola, coming down the canal, made its way among the
moving boats. Its occupant, a dark, handsome man, sitting alone among
the crimson cushions, looked out on the hurrying scene with watchful
eyes. Other eyes from passing gondolas returned the glance with curious,
smiling gaze and drifted past. No one challenged him and none
remembered. Two years is overlong for laughing Venice to hold a grudge
or to remember a man--when the waters close over him.... Slowly the boat
drifted on, and the dark eyes of the man feasted on the flow and change
of color.... "Bride of the Sea," he murmured as the boat swept on.
"Bride of the Sea--There is none like thee in beauty or power!" His
eyes, rapt with the vision, grew misty. He raised an impatient hand to
them, and let it fall again to his knee. It rested there, strong and
supple. The seal of a massive ring broke its whiteness. The other hand,
incased in a rich glove, rested on the edge of the gondola. The man's
eyes sought it for a moment and turned away to the gay scene.
With a skilful turn the boat had come to rest at the foot of a flight of
stairs leading to a richly carved doorway. The young man leaped out and
ran up the steps. The great silent door swung open to his touch, and he
disappeared within.
Titian, standing by his easel, looked up quickly. "You are come!" He
sprang forward, holding out his hands.
The young man took them, looking into the welcoming eyes. "I am come,"
he said slowly.
"Why did you send for me?" he asked after a pause. His eyes sought the
glowing walls of color, with curious, eager glance.
"Nothing there!" The painter shook his head with a wistful smile. "I
have not done a stroke since that last night--the night I rowed you out
to the lagoon."
"Why not?" They were seated by a window; the tide of life drifted below.
Titian shook his head again. "I was broken at first--too strained and
weak. My fingers would not follow my thoughts." He glanced down at them
ruefully. "And then--" His voice changed. "Then they came for me to
finish his pictures.... There has been no time."
"Did he want you to do it?" asked the other in a low voice.
Titian's gaze returned the question. "I shall never know--He would not
see me--to the last. He never spoke.... When he was gone they came for
me. I did the work and asked no questions--for friendship's sake." He
sighed gently and his glance fell on the moving, changing crowd below.
"His name is water," he said slowly. "Ask for the fame of
Giorgione--They will name you--Titian!" He laughed bitterly.
The young man's smile had little mirth in it. "We are all like that...."
He turned to him sharply: "Why did you want me?"
The painter roused himself. "To sit for me"--with a swift look. "I am
hunted! I cannot wipe away your face--as it looked that night. I paint
nothing.... Perhaps when you are done in oil I shall rest easy." He
laughed shortly and rose to his feet.
The young man rose also with a courteous gesture of the supple hand. "I
am at your service, Signor Cevelli, now and always."
Titian's eyes swept the graceful figure. "I must begin at once." He
turned away to an easel.
"There was a picture begun, was there not?" asked the young man. He had
not moved from his place.