“And when you have reached fame, glory—what?” I asked.
“You do not quite understand,” he quickly replied, “it is not momentary fame we seek; immortal fame is the goal we all strive for. But all who are famous cannot be immortal, yet each believe immortality the just reward; even Alpha, the Superb, yearns for immortal fame, and is wasting her gorgeous youth in the effort.”
He turned to a huge stone chest or vault set in the wall; unbolting the door he invited me to enter. There was sufficient light from the outer room, and I saw shelves reaching from floor to ceiling ladened with parchment canvases carefully covered with oil silk.
“Stored on those shelves are rare works of art representing the endless toil of my ancestors,” explained the fisherman. “All were famous, but one only attained immortality. You have been to the museum?” he asked, drawing down a small canvas from an upper shelf. “Possibly you saw this picture while there; it is a portrait of Alpha the First. This is the original,” he continued. “History tells us Alpha the First reigned during the era of Love, and the renowned painter, Francesco, was deeply enamoured with her. But in a mood of exaltation she renounced Love, and went in bondage to Culture, and Francesco, the painter, died of a wounded heart.
“Culture opened a new epoch in this great world of ours, but brought down malignant wrath upon Alpha the First, who being advanced beyond her era, ignored the petulance of inferiors. To her the Centaurians are indebted for the grand, vigorous race of to-day.
“Alpha the First did not long survive Francesco, the artist, whose reward for deep suffering and anguish is immortality.”
I became deeply interested in the many treasures stored in the iron room, but the work of the living artist surpassed them all.
He threw up his arms and laughed when I asked to see some of his sketches of Abella.
“She is beautiful, but does not inspire,” he told me. “I fail when I attempt to portray Abella. Life, animation, is her beauty; repose, the death mask. Landscape is beautiful on canvas, but never reaches the beauty of reality. Those women up there that I know you do not admire have made me famous.”
He referred to the gaunt, dark-visaged ideal.