Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 142: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

484 “Oh!” cried his hostess as she clapped her hands gleefully. “I was right. What a fine bird this plumage of yours makes, Monna Barbara! Bid them serve us and then leave us. Well, Messer Jacopo, have you no were of greeting for one who loves you, or ave you all painter and none poet?”’ The painter bent his knee and kissed the white, ringed hand she held out for his lips. “ *Tis a tepid kiss at best, the kiss of the hand; but then, perhaps after breakfast you may be bolder,’’ announced Madonna Bea- trice laughingly. ‘‘ Sit down, master seeker after beauty, and say if your quest be ended.”’ Messer Bandello regarded her with in- creasing boldness, the alluring darkness of her eyes, the red lips, the olive oval of her perfect face, the sleek outline of bare arms outstretched from the sleeveless robe of silk, each harmonious curve of body and limb against the dark background of the divan. “Ts it aS painter or as man that you study me, Messer Jacopo?” she asked roguishly, as his gaze lingered. “As both, Madonna Beatrice,” he cried eagerly. “ Oh, to paint you.” “Pooh! Listen to the man!” “To love you,” he added quickly. “That is better. You shall do both, young man.” “ Young man?” he sighed with drooping lip. “Aye, young man. I am sick of gray- beards. I am weary for a young and hand- some lover. Come, sit beside me.” He felt her arm go about his neck like a silk-soft noose. “Am I not beautiful?’’ she whispered a little wistfully, as she noted his hesitation. The painter cast aside the last of his doubts. “ By Bacchus! More beautiful than the Queen of Love!” he cried, as he drew her to him, and his soul died upon her clinging lips. A harsh chuckle broke in upon their rap- tures. “ Ah, my little lovebirds, love is well, but you must eat, Master Painter; and you, too, my mistress, before the heat of the day.” ‘“Hasten the meal, then, Monna Bar- ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. bara, for I begrudge each moment of love we may lose,” cried the courtesan. “‘ And, Monna Barbara, I will not play with my ape to-day. See that he is chained. Draw the curtains and light the candles. Those chattering parrots in the cages tire my ears. I am at home to no one, not even the mem- bers of the council were they come post- haste to see her whom they call the Pearl of Venice. You see how I love you, my Jacopo. See that you do not fail me. You talked of a woman in your delirium,” she added jealously. ‘ Know that I am she whom you love, and love alone, am I not?” And the painter stifled the memory of a pair of patient eyes as he looked into an- other pair, which burned with passionate entreaty. A week went by before he bethought himself of his work. The lover had not killed the painter. On the contrary, his art was reborn, and he was devoured with long- ing to set the features of Madonna Bea- trice on canvas for all time, that men might know the fame of Jacopo Bandello and the Pearl of Venice. He besought his mistress to permit him to go and get his palette, his brushes, his paints, and a canvas. At first she would not hear of his going beyond the doors which had opened to no visitor for eight days.. Was he not con- tent? Did he intend to seek another wo- man? Let one of her slaves go to his lodg- ing and bring his utensils, if, indeed, he must busy himself with his tiresome work. But when she began to see that his heart was set upon going, and that he grew morose as she denied him, she yielded, and bent her efforts to his plans with willing advice and practise of allurements which would -not fade from his mind. He must go alone and in plain dress. He must hold talk with none. If forced to speak, he must say he had been upon a journey and.was setting forth upon another. He would have a purse of money for his wants, return by-nightfall. The painter eagerly agreed to all, and set out. As he approached his lodging, he paused, drawing his nostrils tight with disgust. How had he ever endured the odors of the street, the squalor of his surroundings? COM cloooks. com