"That is all the Supreme Council wishes to hear," answered the
secretary. "Speak on."
"It is true that I am a Dalmatian," Zorzi said, "and by the laws of
Venice, I should not have learned the art of glass-blowing. I came to
Murano more than five years ago, being very poor, and Messer Angelo
Beroviero took me in, and let me take care of his private furnace, at
which he makes many experiments. In time, he trusted me, and when he
wished something made, to try the nature of the glass, he let me make
it, but not to sell such things. At first they were badly made, but I
loved the art, and in short time I grew to be skilful at it. So I
learnt. Sirs--I crave pardon, your Highness, and you lords of the
Supreme Council, that is all I have to tell. I love the glass, and I can
make light things of it in good design, because I love it, as the
painter loves his colours and the sculptor his marble. Give me glass,
and I will make coloured air of it, and gossamer and silk and lace. It
is all I know, it is my art, I live in it, I feel in it, I dream in it.
To my thoughts, and eyes and hands, it is what the love of a fair woman
is to the heart. While I can work and shape the things I see when I
close my eyes, the sun does, not move, the day has no time, winter no
clouds, and summer no heat.
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