TITIAN'S PICTURE. TITIAN, having buried a dear friend, forthwith left the mourners, and took his journey to his own house and habits. It chanced that he fell in company with a young gentleman named Frederigo, gay of heart, and who, having a good fortune, travelled from place to place with his attendants, whither his will led him. The day was glowing warm, the air cool and gentle, the fervid sun veiled in a rack of clouds: the way that Titian rode was a pattern of nature's rarest work: woods and waters, pastures and lawny meadows gemmed over with flowers, that breathed into the air, sweetening its freshness; the pastoral orchards, the green coppice, the yellow hay, the distant hills, as in a chaotic belt kissing the hemisphere, o'ercanopied by the clear blue sky. Titian, full of the harmony of beauty and nature, and lingering in thought on the tone of a beautiful cloud that faded fast away, struck on his breast, saying, "Why should men die ?" The tear of bitterness that started to his eye fell to his beard; his face was placid and his heart expanded with joy, and he said, "Thou spirit of my dear friend who is in the new cold grave, judge not hardly of me, nor limit my affection, if I am so soon glad, while those my fellow mourners still wet the earth with tears; though they bear so great a show of sadness, yet is my memory of longer life; for I shall never forget thee and thy goodness: it may so happen, that years hence when they shall laugh a ready chorus at some idle jest, I shall miss thee from the circle, and groan in secret; they could not love thee better whilst thou livedst, nor shall they regret thee more deeply since thou art gone, though I know not the howling Indian, nor loudness in grief.' And he parted his hair from his forehead, and gathered it from his neck to taste well the temper of the air and suddenly a laugh fell upon his ear as musical as a rising lark, or as if swept from a mellow harp, and Frederigo rode gallantly up and accosted Titian, who, having looked well upon him, fell into conEur. Mag. Vol. 82. versation with him. Now, Frederigo was a youth whose heart was in his countenance, and that was lit by all the energy, enthusiasm, and hopes of unpractised years; wild as a roe, noble as a panther; beautiful as a flower; the giant passion had not yet mutinied against the fine natural temperament of his youthful mind. And Titian thought to himself, this young man is as the earthly deity of such a day of beauty as this; and, being that he is so pure from the stains and customs of the world, he teaches us that are in years sweet lessons from the book of Heaven; and he turned suddenly and said, "Do your father and mother live?" And it dashed him as if you should cast a stone into a spring, and tears were in his eyes; and Titian seeing this, and that he had no mind to speak, talked to him immediately, and requested that he would go with him to his house and stay his pleasure. Frederigo having ordered his attendants to provide themselves in a village hard by, went with Titian to his house. There he had ample time to himself; from the nature of Titian's profession, he could not be often in his company, nor was it de sirable, beyond à relaxation of mind with an honest companion. Frederigo had no professional respect for his host; he had heard others speak highly of his name, but knew nothing himself of paintings. Titian did not like him the less for this. He spent his time in hawking and hunting, with other amusements in the open air: joining all masks and sports, rural and of the palace. The two never grew tired of each other's company; and Frederigo missed his father less than ever, though, perhaps, he thought more often of him. It happened one day that his favourite falcon crossed a wild hawk in his flight, and more by fortune than power brought it down; being struck with the peculiar beauty of its form and colour, he crossed the field and carried it to Titian's chamber, where he was painting, to shew it him; the dew of the morning was yet upon its feathers, and though the energy of life was gone, it was very beauti ful. Titian looked upon it some 2 F shall believe you, Aimé, seeing there is so much feeling in what yon say respecting Frederigo." "Every one, Sir, must feel for so kind a gentleman, and I claim the general privilege." And Titian said, "blush not, but kiss me: and may Time be too much occupied in the jostling of nations, and the shocks of the world, ever to bring about the breaking of so gentle and humane a heart as thine." And Aimé having embraced him, she was silent through excessive feeling. time thinking, and said, “At the and having paused a moment, said, further end of the chamber thou wilt "Uncle, I cannot think what has see one painted as like this as fire is come to your guest, that he is so out to fire; this is the only one that I of spirits, so thoughtful, and silent; have ever seen like it; if a love of he who was the first at all our dancnatural beauty induced you to wish ings and rejoicings, who was as I should sympathise with your de cheerful as the lark, and as merry light, a reflection of it may also as the day was long, plays nought vary and add to it, go, it will not but melancholy ditties on his pipe, be time lost." He went and, cast- and is become silent and pale. It is ing his eye on the bird, was asto- sad, indeed, to see such a change in nished to see the equal beauty and him." And Titian said, "I have precision there was in the energy of noted much of this myself, but you, acute animal existence of that upon Aimé, have gone beyond me in the the canvas; the spleen and power strictness of your observation, for I blended in the eye; the mixture of knew not his sadness was so great.” wilfulness and repose in the figure," Sir, it is deep and mellow." "I what, he had looked on for many years without knowing it; his mind glanced at his own bird while in the act of falling, and he wondered at this close alliance to nature. Haying perused thus far, with wonder and delight, he fell to examining the picture: it was of a young and beautiful woman with her favourite falcon. The bird was on her wrist his beak toying with a diamond trembling in her ear, which, from the sidelong inclination of her head, approached too near his jealous eye; her lips were barely parted, as if with breathing; her face pallid, intensely sweet and thoughtful; her eyes were large and blue, and dwelt upon her thought; her head was gently bent; her Italian ringlets, as it were, danced with her breath; their shadow was on her breast; some streamed upon her arm and shoulder like water; it was as yellow as gold. In her other hand a lily hung; the act of thought pervaded even her fingers; they rested on the stalk with sensibility. Was she thinking of beauty? Yea, to music-music unheard"-music of the soul, which is "the breath of thoughts." At night, Frederigo went with Titian, and again in the morning he found a pretence to be there; there was a charm in it which he could not account for, strong and gentle as it was, that kept even his thoughts there when he himself was absent. One night when Titian and his niece Aime, who was a girl of great loveliness and sensibility, though very young, were sitting quietly together, she dropt the flowers from her hand which she was arranging, Now Titian was too old a scholar in the book of nature to need the effect, in matters of the heart, to enable him to discover the cause; and had been too great a listener to the long tale of humanity, that is repeated each day of our lives by every tongue, and all people; and that, by the ratification of silent thought, is hallowed in the heart. The next day Titian called Frederigo to him and told him, that he intended to walk that day, as it was so fine (being early in June) and he should be happy if he would bring his pipe and accompany him; with which Frederigo joyfully complied, for there was a sweetness of wisdom in Titian's discourse, that in his gayest moods sunk deep into his heart as seeds in rich ground, and nourished his reflection, and lighted him in the perplexity of thought. There was at some distance a certain favourite haunt of Titian's, and thither they arrived just before noon. And Frederigo said, "Do I not hear some music in the distance." Titian answered, "yes, it proceeds from the vale of orchards yonder, in which we shall walk presently." This was a vale, on each side guarded by irregular hills, as though the waves of the sea should fix in the act of undulation; on each hill was an orchard in full bloom, and between them rills of water ran down into a rivulet in the bed of the valley; and the hedges or boundaries being of may-bush, and covered with cloudy blossoms, no place could be so fit for a prayer and fervent thanksgiving-yea, not even a house of adversity; and from swarms of bees, that laboured in the fervor of the noon-day sun, there proceeded one continued melodious hum, as if of minstrelsy, but of longer memory, indeed. When Frederigo had ceased the Song Titian requested him to play, he said to him, "Frederigo, seeing thy good manners and amiable nature not only counterbalance that hospitality, which you render me happy to share with you, yet there is some pledge necessary of a finer feeling to fill the depth of my heart; in return for the enchanting manner in which you played that melancholy air, that has, indeed, stirred the spring of quiet thoughts (for I have remembrances upon me of those who played and sang it when I was yet young, but whose hands are turned to dust, and whose voices are faded into the oblivious air, years and years ago-.) Accept of me that picture of the lady and the falcon, which I know you do me so much honour as to admire." And Frederigo being embarrassed, said, "Sir, this is so much that I know not how to answer you; to accept your offer gratefully must be thanks enough, for I see not why my inexperience should be honoured with that which many persons who come to you, and wonder at the great nature of your art, would be proud to receive at your hands." Titian replied, "Good youth, you are deceived. Those who may come to me have but the husk and mask of love to my profession; it is for the most part idle. They do not love nature enough for ine to honour them; they think more of me than of my pictures, which is insolent and no compliment: we love honest men for honesty's sake: in this case, they pay me personal attentions, but abridge my fame; they put my name into my coffin with me; they bow to me for what I am, not for what I have laboured to do. I would sooner be thought well of by one who had never muttered my name nor met my eye, but knew me in his heart, through my works, and would dedicate one sigh to my memory, than hold the chief banner in the parade of art. Those who give me place and superiority flatter not my pride, but insult me as much as those who would debase me from what I am, for nature is above us all, the most we can do is to copy her; and the chief virtue, as the world goes, is its innocence.""You are as wise as good, as kind to me as both." "Since I have begun to get contented, and a little satisfied with myself in my profession, I can tell thee, Frederigo, that no man has paid me so high a compliment as thyself; for how exqui sitely must my picture of the lady and the falcon be executed for you to fall in love with it, and sigh, and forsake your food." Titian seeing he was full, and knowing there were many difficulties in the way, said, "But, perhaps, she may be old ere this or dead, and must be the love of your imagination." And Frede rigo said, "I do not think it, Titian, for there is a newness about the painting; and, besides, I have seen the date which is upon it; if she be dead-oh, Heavens!-why, then, good night: but I have hopes your words will fall short of either, or the tone of your voice wronged me." "I will not torture you-she lived last year, but where she may be this, I know not: she is a Milanese, and her name is Julia; her family fell under the censure of the state and was ruined; her sister loved a nobleman, who, when her fortunes went, deserted her; she languished to death in consequence. It was after this I took the picture of Julia, and to which she owes that wan melancholy look." And Titian seeing a tear in Frederigo's eye, took his hand between his, and lowering his voice more tenderly, said, “I am afraid, gentle youth, thy hopes are buried within the walls of some convent, for I have heard she retired to a religious house, from deserting friends and the cares of the world, to weep-the only one of her family remaining: but I know not, nor ever could learn where it was she had bestowed herself. From the love I bore her face, I would fain have made her company for my gentle niece." It was early morning, and Apollo, ready in promise, paused for the slow unbarring of the eastern gate, whilst winged spirits, with deep melody, showered ambrosia over his golden locks, tempering its sphered fustre. His radiant sandal on, he had scarce begun with glimpses of his presence to warm away the precious dew from the face of the earth, when Frederigo came, hailing propitiously his onward course into the Vale of Orchards, thoughtful and alone. He sat down beneath a tree, and fell into deep musing, when suddenly he heard a voice near to him singing some stanzas, sweet and sorrowful, the burthen of which was most melancholy; and it hit so closely on Frederigo's state of mind, that he took up his pipe and accompanied with eloquent and melodious pathos. When the song was ended, the myrtles were parted close at his side, and there came forth a youth of delicate appearance, who advancing, bowed to Frederigo courteously. And Frederigo said, "Gentle youth, any company but thine at this moment would have been a painful intrusion, but I felt so much sympathy with thy song, which is encreased so much the more from thy appearance, that I am fain to offer you half this flowery bank, for I see a tale of sorrow in thy face, which is the food I eat, and those who have it are welcome to me." The youth was silent, but sighed deeply. Frederigo said, "What is thy name, fair boy? If thy story be dear to melancholy, feed my ears with it I pray you; if it is circumstantial and not of the heart, I can relieve it; if thy heart is bruised, I can yet shew you one that is sick of as sad a wound; come, sit and speak." And the youth answered, “My name is Lucio, my story is a sad and solitary one as any in the world. My heart is in danger of breaking, My youth blushes at the confession when I tell you that I am in love. Woe, and alas! though the great world will laugh at my childish passion, yet, I pray you, pity me.". "Aye, verily will I, and we will share our wealth of pity between us. We lovers, that are beggars of comfort, rich only in desire-go on." "Sir, I have done, I love one who is young and beautiful, and that one doats upon another; no more remembering me than Flora her dead flowers. I am as hopeless as one who pines for the image of his dream, My thoughts are air, and my sighs the doleful music of my heart, that charms the crimson colour in my cheeks to deadly pale. The tyrant Love hath already allotted me my grave; he ravens up the date of a long life, and eats his way onward into my youth." And Frederigo said, "Shall we sing and die? And yet, not so, though my eye becomes yellow as the daffodil, and my soul aches for her flight, yet will I die only through much patience, so great is the love I bear you, O Julia!" And turning to Lucio, he said, "Sad one, hast thou no hopes that thy Lady may listen to thy suit? Have you told of your love? And Lucio looking piteously upon him, answered, "No, alas! I could not bear the honey of such breath should utter any name but mine. Her friendship stung me as forgiveness does penitence, it drove me to sob aloud in the fields; but to return to the object still unbeloved, was to nurse my heart upon a bed of thorns, to nourish it with more grief. And seeing she was true in affection for another, as I was in affection for her, I shed a few tears, and turning from the spot, wandered forth till Time should do its work, to find some other place to die than at her foot." Frederigo, embracing him said, "I thought I was the only mi serable boy of the world; but these tears are for you; I have heard your tale, now hear mine; and he told the story of the picture, and the fullness of his affection for the lady, and added with a thick voice, “I know not whether she be dead, her heart possessed, or a wife-perhaps a mother. I have taken leave of so sweet and kind a friend, and have dismissed my attendants, and am going forward to Milan in search of the object of my soul; and if you, my companion in the heart-breaking way of the word, will become the companion also of my steps, and partake of my bountiful fortune, I shall account myself a little happy, even though it beguile me sometimes of the thought tracing the weedy path, saying, of Julia." Lucio was silent with emotion, but took his hand eagerly," Here hath Julia been-here her foot has pressed the flowers-she has dipped at yonder spring-upon this bank her violets grew; and the self-same sun that shines now has warmed her angel face, and cast her graceful shadow on the lawn-perchance this bower is hers-here hath she sung, or slept, or laughed, or grieved-Oh! what a space I look upon, for she is not here." And clasping his hands, his tears would flow as he murmured, "Is she alive or dead?" The deity of Love to have heard it would have smiled, while Humanity sighed. and, pressing it, raised it to his fervent lips, and they departed together. And Frederigo went forthwith on his journey, the two ever contenting themselves with their own company, for which, indeed, they were only fit; but whenever they fell into conversation with strangers, Frederigo instinctively led the discourse to Julia's family, and though he could never learn any tidings of her, he partly contented himself, seeing the pain with which every one spoke of their misfortunes, and heartily cursing their enemies. Arriving at Milan, he went immediately to the house were Julia had lived, but which was now a ruin, and having sighed to her memory, he said, "Titian told me true in saying, that the policy of the world and the feelings of the heart are two things; for Julia's father was an honest man, yet his house is in ruins through the State of Milan; he in his cold grave, his family destroyed. Such is the bane of violent power unqualified by honesty. Why did I not remain a child? A little while and I knew not that pillows received their boons of sighs and tears, as well as patient heads; the day was never too long, the sun too hot, nor the fields too green for my patience; my delight was young and fervent, nor yielded sighs for virtue's tears. I knew not truth could faint under persecution, though not through fear; I knew not of the mortality of virtue, its pains, its death, its faith, its immortality. I knew not to be unwisely honest was to be whipped to death. I knew not of the grave folly; the over-crusted heart of this breathing world. But for thee, Julia, would I were again a child, or old and grey, past care and hope and fear, and fumbling at death's door." And turning to Lucio, he said, "Yet heed me not, good youth, I am sick with melancholy; but for these fits I am of a merry nature." Often would he go over the gar den, the orchard, and the grove, Now Frederigo was haunting this spot one day when Lucio came to him, with a slow and portentous step, and with a countenance more than usually melancholy, and grasping his hand, he said, suppressing a sharp and bitter sigh," Gentle Frederigo, I have noted of late that the ill success of thy search for thy lady has made great ravages upon thy health, in as much as it has deprived thee of so much hope, which has hitherto alone supported you; and fearing that your life may be sacrificed to your love, I have been thinking of a way by which we may (if Fortune should favour us) gain some knowledge of Julia." And Frederigo cast a look upon him beyond all thanks, but said nothing. Lucio, speaking like one under the influence of pain, continued, "I rememher when you were with Titian, that he gave to you a song which the lady Julia used ever to sing to her sick sister before she died, and evermore afterwards, when alone, would ease the melancholy of her spirit with it. Now, as we cannot doubt but that she is in some convent, I pray you let us habit ourselves as minstrels, and travel from gate to gate through the towns and villages, and highways, when, if she is within hearing of it, the strangeness of the thing will so act upon her feelings, that she will instantly discover herself: you shall play on the pipe, while I will sing. I remember the words ran thus: Oh twine the melancholy braid Of murkey cave, ne'er sprinkled with fresh dew; But, moaning, hither bring Circaan herbs of sallow, poisonous hue. |