anner.bloodandgold-第54节

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　　　〃I　am　Sandro；〃　he　said　simply；　〃I'm　Botticelli。　Why　would　you　bring　me　a　purse　of　gold？〃
　　　For　a　long　moment　I　was　speechless。　But　in　this　speechlessness；　I　had　the　sense　to　produce　the　gold。　I　handed　the　purse　over　to　the　man；　and　I　watched　silently　as　he　opened　it　and　as　he　took　out　the　gold　florins　and　held　them　in　his　hand。
　　　〃What　do　you　want？〃　he　asked。　His　voice　was　as　plain　as　his　　manner。　He　was　rather　tall。　His　hair　was　light　brown　and　already　threaded　with　gray　though　he　was　not　old。　He　had　large　eyes　that　appearedpassionate；　and　a　well…formed　mouth　and　nose。　He　stood　looking　at　me　without　annoyance　or　suspicion；　and　obviously　ready　to　return　my　gold。　I　didn't　think　he　was　forty　years　old。
　　　I　tried　to　speak　and　I　stammered。　For　the　first　time　in　all　my　memory
　　　　I　stammered。　Finally　I　managed　to　make　myself　plain：
　　　〃Let　me　e　into　your　workshop　tonight；〃　I　said。　〃Let　me　see　your　paintings。　That's　all　I　want。〃
　　　〃You　can　see　them　by　day。〃　He　shrugged。　〃My　workshop's　always　open。　Or　you　can　go　to　the　churches　in　which　I've　painted。　My　work　is　all　over　Florence。　You　don't　have　to　pay　me　for　such　a　thing。〃　What　a　sublime　voice；　what　an　honest　voice。　There　was　something　patient　and　tender　in　it。
　　　I　gazed　upon　him　as　I　had　gazed　on　his　paintings。　But　he　was　waiting
　　　　for　an　answer。　I　had　to　pull　myself　together。
　　　〃I　have　my　reasons；〃　I　said。　〃I　have　my　passions。　I　want　to　see　your　work　now；　if　you'll　let　me。　I　offer　the　gold。〃
　　　He　smiled　and　he　gave　a　little　even　laugh。　〃Well；　you　e　like　one　of　the　Magi；〃　he　said。　〃For　I　can　certainly　use　the　payment。　e　inside。〃
　　　That　was　the　second　time　in　my　long　years　that　I　had　been　pared　to　the　Magi　of　Scripture　and　I　loved　it。
　　　I　entered　the　house　which　was　by　no　means　luxurious；　and　as　he　took　the　lamp　from　the　other　man；　I　followed　him　through　a　side　door　into　his　workshop　where　he　put　the　lamp　on　a　table　full　of　paints　and　brushes　and　rags。
　　　I　couldn't　take　my　eyes　offhim。　This　was　the　man　who　had　done　the　great　paintings　in　the　Sistine　Chapel；　this　ordinary　man。
　　　
　　　
　　　The　light　flared　up　and　filled　the　place。　Sandro；　as　he　had　called　himself；　gestured　to　his　left；　and　as　I　turned　to　my　right；　I　thought　I　was　losing　my　mind。
　　　A　giant　canvas　covered　the　wall；　and　though　I　had　expected　to　see　a　religious　painting；　no　matter　how　sensual；　there　was　something　else　there；　altogether　different；　which　rendered　me　speechless　once　more。
　　　The　painting　was　enormous　as　I've　indicated；　and　it　was　posed　of　several　figures；　but　whereas　the　Roman　paintings　had　confused　me　in　the　question　of　their　subject　matter；　I　knew　very　well　the　subject　matter　of　this。
　　　For　these　were　not　saints　and　angels；　or　Christs　and　prophets…no；　far　from　it。
　　　There　loomed　before　me　a　great　painting　of　the　goddess　Venus　in　all　her　glorious　nudity；　feet　poised　upon　a　seashell；　her　golden　hair　torn　by　faint　breezes；　her　dreamy　gaze　steady；　her　faithful　attendants　the　god　Zephyr　who　blew　the　breezes　which　guided　her　landward；　and　a　nymph　as　beautiful　as　the　goddess　herself　who　weled　her　to　the　shore。
　　　I　drew　in　my　breath　and　put　my　hands　over　my　face；　and　then　when　I　uncovered　my　eyes　I　found　the　painting　there　again。
　　　A　slight　impatient　sigh　came　from　Sandro　Botticelli。　What　in　the　name　of　the　gods　could　I　say　to　him　about　the　brilliance　of　this　work？　What　could　I　say　to　him　to　reveal　the　adulation　I　felt？
　　　Then　came　his　voice；　low　and　resigned。　〃If　you're　going　to　tell　me　it's　shocking　and　evil；　let　me　tell　you；　I　have　heard　it　a　thousand　times。　I'll　give　you　back　your　gold　if　you　want。　I've　heard　it　a　thousand　times。〃
　　　I　turned　and　went　down　on　my　knees；　and　I　took　his　hands　and　I　kissed　them　with　my　lips　as　closely　as　I　dared。　Then　I　rose　slowly　like　an　old　man　on　one　knee　before　the　other　and　I　stood　back　to　gaze　at　the　panel　for　a　long　time。
　　　I　looked　at　the　perfect　figure　of　Venus　again；　covering　her　most　intimate　secret　with　locks　of　her　abundant　hair。　I　looked　on　the　nymph　with　her　outstretched　hand　and　her　voluminous　garments。　I　looked　on　the　god　Zephyr　and　the　goddess　with　him；　and　all　of　the　tiny　details　of　the　painting　came　to　reside　in　my　mmd。
　　　〃How　has　it　e　about？　〃　I　asked。　〃After　so　long　a　time　of　Christs　and　Virgins；　that　such　a　thing　could　be　painted　at　last？　〃
　　　From　the　quiet　figure　of　the　unplaining　man　there　came　another　little　laugh。
　　　〃It's　up　to　my　patron；〃　he　said。　〃My　Latin　is　not　so　good。　They　read　the　poetry　to　me。　I　painted　what　they　said　to　paint。〃　Fie　paused。　He　looked　troubled。　〃Do　you　think　it's　sinful？〃
　　　〃Certainly　not；〃　I　responded。　〃You　ask　me　what　I　think？　I　think　it's　a　miracle。　I'm　surprised　that　you　would　ask；〃　I　looked　at　the　painting…　〃This　is　a　goddess；〃　I　said。　〃How　could　it　be　other　than　sacred？　There　was　a　time　when　millions　worshiped　her　with　all　their　hearts。　There　was　a　time　when　people　consecrated　themselves　to　her　with　all　their　hearts。〃
　　　〃Well；　yes；〃　he　answered　softly；　〃but　she's　a　pagan　goddess；　and　not　everyone　thinks　that　she　is　the　patron　of　marriage　as　some　say　now。　Some　say　this　painting　is　sinful；　that　I　shouldn't　be　doing　it。〃　He　gave　a　frustrated　sigh。　He　wanted　to　say　more；　but　I　sensed　that　the　arguments
　　　　were　quite　beyond　him。
　　　〃Don't　listen　to　such　things；〃　I　said。　〃It　has　a　purity　I've　almost　never　seen　in　painting…　Her　face；　the　way　you've　painted　it；　she's　　newborn　yet　sublime；　a　woman；　yet　divine。　Don't　think　of　sin　when　you　work　on　this　painting。　This　painting　is　too　vital；　too　eloquent。　Put　the　struggles　of　sin　out　of　your　mind。〃
　　　He　was　silent　but　I　knew　he　was　thinking。　I　turned　and　tried　to　read　his　mind。　It　seemed　chaotic；　and　full　of　wandering　thoughts　and　guilt。
　　　He　was　a　painter　almost　entirely　at　the　mercy　of　those　who　hired　him；　but　he　had　made　himself　supreme　by　virtue　of　the　particularities　that　all　cherished　in　his　work。　Nowhere　were　his　talents　more　fully　expressed　than　in　this　particular　painting　and　he　knew　this　though　he　couldn't　put　it　into　words。　He　thought　hard　on　how　to　tell　me　about　his　craft　and　his　originality；　but　he　simply　couldn't　do　it。　And　I　would　not　press　him。　It　would　be　a　wicked　thing　to　do。
　　　〃I　don't　have　your　words；〃　he　said　simply。　〃You　really　believe　the　painting　isn't　sinful？〃
　　　〃Yes；　I　told　you；　it's　not　sinful。　If　anyone　tells　you　anything　else　they're　lying　to　you。〃　I　couldn't　stress　it　enough。　〃Behold　the
　　　　innocence　in　the　face　of　the　goddess。　Dori't　think　of　anything　else。〃
　　　He　looked　tormented；　and　there　came　over　me　a　sense　of　how　fragile　he　was；　in　spite　of　his　immense　talent　and　his　immense　energy　to　work。　The　thrusts　of　his　art　could　be　utterly　crushed　by　those　who　criticized　him。　Yet　he　went　on　somehow　every　day　painting　the　best　pictures　that　he　knew　how　to　paint。
　　　〃Don't　believe　them；〃　I　said　again；　drawing　his　eyes　back　to　me。
　　　
　　　
　　　〃e；〃　he　said；　〃you've　paid　me　well　to　look　at　my　work。　Look　at　this　tondo　of　the　Virgin　Maty　with　Angels。　Tell　me　how　you　like　this。〃
　　　He　brought　the　lamp　to　the　far　wall　and　held　it　so　that　I　might　see　the　round　painting　which　hung　there。
　　　Once　again　I　was　too　shocked　by　the　loveliness　of　it　to　speak。　But　it　was　plainly　obvious　that　the　Virgin　was　as　purely　beautiful　as　thegoddess　Venus；　and　the　Angels　were　sensual　and　alluring　as　only　very　young　boys　and　girls　can　be。
　　　〃I　know；〃　he　said　to　me。　〃You　don't　have　to　tell　me。　My　Venus　looks　like　the　Virgin　and　the　Virgin　looks　like　the　Venus　and　so　they　say　of　me。　But　my　patrons　pay　me。〃
　　　〃Listen　to　your　patrons；〃　I　said。　I　wanted　so　to　clasp　his　arms。　I　wanted　to　gently　shake　him　so　that　he　would　never　forget　my　words。　〃Do　what　they　tell　you。　Both　paintings　are　magnificent。　Both　paintings　are　finer　than　anything　I've　ever　seen。〃
　　　He　couldn't　know　what　I　meant　by　such　words。　I　couldn't　tell　him。　I　stared　at　him；　and　for　the　first　time　I　saw　a　little　apprehension　in　him。　He　had　begun　to　notice　my　skin；　and　perhaps　my　hands。
　　　It　was　time　to　leave　him　before　he　became　even　more　suspicious；　and　I　wanted　him　to　remember　me　kindly　and　not　with　fear。
　　　I　took　out　another　purse　which　I　had　brought　with　me。　It　was　full　of　gold　florins。
　　　He　gestured　to　refuse　it。　In　fact；　he　gave　me　a　very　stubborn　refusal。　I　placed　it　on　the　table。
　　　For　a　moment　we　merely　looked　at　each　other。
　　　〃Good…bye；　Sandro；〃　I　said。
　　　〃Marius；　was　it？　I'll　remember　you。〃
　　　I　made　my　way　out　the　front　door　and　into　the　street。　I　hurried　for　the　space　of　two　blocks　and　then　I　stopped；　breathing　too　hurriedly；　and　it　seemed　a　dream　that　I　had　been　with　him；　that　I　had　seen　such　paintings；　that　such　paintings　had　been　created　by　man。
　　　I　didn't　go　back　to　my　rooms　in　the　palazzo。
　　　When　I　reached　the　vault　of　Those　Who　Must　Be　Kept；　I　fell　down　in　a　new　kind　of　exhaustion；　crazed　by　what；　I　had　beheld。　I　couldn't　get　the　impression　of　the　man　out　of　my　mind。　I　couldn't　stop　seeing　him　with　his　soft　dull　hair　and　sincere　eyes。
　　　As　for　the　paintings；　they　haunted　me；　and　I　knew　that　my　torment；　my　obsession；　my　plete　abandonment　to　the　love　of　Botticelli　had　only　just　begun。
　　　
　　　
　　　
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　　　IN　THE　MONTHS　that　followed　I　became　a　busy　visitor　of