anner.bloodandgold-第61节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


I　have　in　my　house。　But　what　is　that　to　you？〃
　　　〃Wine？〃　she　repeated。　〃I　don't　want　gifts　of　wine　from　you；　Marius。
　　　　Paint　my　picture。　Paint　the　pearls　interwound　in　my　hair；　I　should　love　it。〃
　　　There　was　soft　laughter　all　around　the　room。　I　gazed　musingly　at　the　others。　The　candlelight　was　dim　even　for　me。　How　rich　it　all　seemed；　these　naive　poets　and　students　of　the　classics；　this　　indescribably　beautiful　woman；　and　the　room　itself　with　all　the　usual　splendid　trappings；　and　time　passing　slowly　as　though　the　moments　had　some　meaning　and　were　not　a　sentence　of　penitence　and　grief。
　　　I　was　in　my　glory。　I　realized　it　quite　suddenly　and　then　something　else　struck　me。
　　　This　young　woman　was　in　her　glory　too。
　　　Something　sordid　and　evil　lay　behind　her　recent　fortunes　here；　yet　she　displayed　nothing　of　the　desperation　she　must　surely　feel。
　　　I　tried　to　read　her　mind　and　then　I　chose　not　to　do　it！　I　didn't　want　anything　but　this　moment。
　　　I　wanted　to　see　this　woman　as　she　wanted　me　to　see　her…young；　infinitely　kind；　yet　utterly　well　defended…a　panion　for　the　night's　cheerful　gatherings；　mysterious　mistress　of　her　own　house。
　　　Indeed；　I　saw　another　great　drawing　room　adjacent　to　this　one；　and　beyond　it　a　marvelously　decorated　bedroom　with　a　bed　made　of　golden　swans　and　gold…threaded　silk。
　　　Why　this　display　if　not　to　tell　everyone　that　in　that　bed；　this　woman　slept　alone？　No　one　was　ever　to　presume　to　cross　that　threshold；　but　all　might　see　where　the　maiden　retired　of　her　own　accord。
　　　〃Why　do　you　stare　at　me？〃　she　asked　me。　〃Why　do　you　look　about　yourself　as　if　this　is　a　strange　place　to　you　when　surely　it's　not？　〃
　　　〃All　of　Venice　is　lovely　to　me；〃　I　answered；　making　my　voice　soft　and　confidential　so　that　it　would　not　be　for　the　whole　room。
　　　〃Yes；　isn't　it？〃　she　said；　smiling　exquisitely。　〃I　too　love　it。　I'll　never　return　to　Florence。　But　will　you　paint　a　picture　of　me？〃
　　　〃Perhaps　I　will；〃　I　answered。　〃I　don't　know　your　name。〃
　　　〃You're　not　serious；〃　she　said；　smiling　again。　I　realized　suddenly　how　very　worldly　she　was。　〃You　didn't　e　here　not　knowing　my　name。　How　could　you　want　me　to　believe　such　a　thing？〃
　　　〃Oh；　but　I　don't　know　it；〃　I　said；　because　I　had　never　asked　her　name；　and　had　learnt　of　her　through　vague　images　and　impressions　and　fragments　of　conversation　overheard　by　me　as　a　blood　drinker；　and　I　stood　at　a　loss　because　I　wouldn't　read　her　mind。
　　　〃Bianca；〃　she　said。　〃And　my　rooms　are　always　open　to　you。　And　if　you　paint　my　picture；　I'll　be　in　your　debt。〃
　　　There　were　more　guests　ing。　I　knew　that　she　meant　to　receive　them。　I　backed　away　from　her　and　took　a　station；　so　to　speak；　in　the　shadows　well　away　from　the　candles；　and　from　there　I　watched　her；　watched　her　infallibly　graceful　movements　and　heard　her　clever；　ringing　voice。
　　　Over　the　years；　I　had　beheld　a　thousand　mortals　who　meant　nothing
　　　　to　me；　and　now；　gazing　at　this　one　creature　I　felt　my　heart　tripping　as　it　had　when　I　had　entered　Botticelli's　workshop；　when　I　had　seen　his　paintings　and　seen　him；　Botticelli；　the　man。　Oh；　yes；　the　man。
　　　I　stayed　in　her　rooms　only　for　a　short　time　that　night。
　　　But　I　returned　within　the　week　with　a　portrait　of　her。　I　had　painted　it　on　a　small　panel　and　had　it　framed　with　gold　and　jewels。
　　　I　saw　her　shock　when　she　received　it。　She　had　not　expected　something　so　exact。　But　then　I　feared　she　might　see　something　wrong。
　　　When　she　looked　at　me；　I　felt　her　gratitude　and　her　affection　and　something　greater　collecting　inside　her；　an　emotion　she　denied　in　dealing　with　others。
　　　〃Who　are　you　。。。　really？〃　she　asked　me　in　a　soft；　lilting　whisper。
　　　〃Who　are　you　。。。　really？〃　I　repeated；　and　I　smiled。
　　　She　looked　at　me　gravely。　Then　she　smiled　too　but　she　didn't　answer；　and　all　her　secrets　folded　inside　her…the　sordid　things；　things　to　do　with　blood　and　gold。
　　　For　a　moment；　I　thought　my　powerful　self…control　would　be　lost。　I　would　embrace　her；　whether　or　not　she　would　have　it；　and　take　her　rapidly　by　force　from　the　veiy　middle　of　her　warm　and　safe　rooms　to　die　cold　and　fatal　domain　of　my　soul。
　　　I　saw　her；　positively　saw　her　as　if　the　Christian　Satan　were　giving　me　visions　once　more…I　saw　her　transformed　by　the　Dark　Blood。　I　saw　her　as　if　she　were　mine；　and　all　her　youth　burnt　out　in　sacrifice　to　immortality；　and　the　only　warmth　or　riches　known　to　her　those　which　came　from　me。
　　　I　left　her　rooms。　I　couldn't　remain　there。　For　nights；　no；　months　I　did　not　return。　In　that　time　a　letter　came　to　me　from　her。　I　was　quite　astonished　to　receive　it　and　I　read　it　over　and　over　and　then　put　it　in　a　poqket　inside　my　tunic　next　to　my　heart。
　　　My　dear　Marius；
　　　Why　leave　me　with　only　a　brilliant　painting　when　I　would　have　your　panionship　as　well？　We　are　always　seeking　for　amusement　here；　and　there　is　much　kind　talk　of　you。　Do　e　back　to　me。　Your　painting　occupies　a　position　of　honor　on　the　wall　of　my　salon　so　that　I　might　share　the　pleasure　of　it　with　all　who　e。
　　　How　had　this　happened；　this　craving　to　make　a　mortal　my　panion？
　　　　After　so　many　centuries；　what　had　I　done　to　bring　it　on？
　　　I　had　thought　that；　with　Botticelli；　it　had　to　do　with　his　remarkable　talent；　and　that　I；　with　eyes　so　sharp　and　heart　so　hungry；　had　wanted　to　mingle　the　Blood　with　his　inexplicable　gift。
　　　
　　　But　this　child；　Bianca；　was　no　such　seeming　miracle；　no　matter　how　precious　I　found　her　to　be。　Oh；　yes；　she　was　to　my　taste　as　if　I'd　made　her…the　daughter　of　Pandora…it　was　as　if　Botticelli　had　created　her；　even　to　the　somewhat　dreamy　expression　of　her　face。　And　she　did　have　a　seemingly　impossible　mingling　of　fire　and　poise。
　　　But　I　had　in　rny　long　miserable　years　seen　many　beautiful　humans；　rich　and　poor；　younger　and　older；　and　I　had　not　felt　this　sharp；　near　uncontrollable　desire　to　bring　her　to　me；　to　take　her　to　the　shrine　with　me；　to　spill　out　to　her　whatever　wisdom　I　possessed。
　　　What　was　I　to　do　with　this　pain？　How　should　I　be　rid　of　it？　How　long　would　it　torment　me　right　here　in　the　city　of　Venice　where　I　had　chosen　to　seek　fort　from　mortals　and　give　back　to　the　world　in　secret　payment　my　blessed　and　well…educated　boys？
　　　On　rising；　I　found　myself　shaking　loose　light　dreams　of　Bianca；　dreams　in　which　she　and　I　were　sitting　in　my　bedroom　and　talking　together　as　I　told　her　of　all　the　long　lonely　paths　I'd　trod；　talking　together　as　she　told　me　of　how　she　had　drawn　from　mon　and　filthy　pain　her　immeasurable　strength。
　　　Even　as　I　attended　the　feast　with　my　students　I　couldn't　shake　off　these　dreams。　They　broke　in　on　me　as　if　I　were　falling　asleep　over　the　wine　and　meats。　The　boys　vied　for　my　attention。　They　thought　they　had　failed　the　Master。
　　　When　I　went　to　my　rooms　to　paint；　I　was　equally　confused。　I　painted　a　large　picture　of　Bianca　as　the　Virgin　Mary　with　a　chubby　Infant　Jesus。　I　laid　down　the　brushes。　I　wasn't　content。　I　couldn't　be　content。
　　　I　went　out　of　Venice　into　the　countryside。　I　searched　for　the　Evil　Doer。　I　drank　blood　until　I　was　glutted。　And　then　I　returned　to　my　rooms；　and　I　lay　down　on　my　bed　and　I　dreamt　of　Bianca　again。
　　　At　last　before　dawn　I　wrote　my　admonitions　down　in　my　diary：
　　　This　desire　to　make　an　immortal　panion　is　no　more　justified
　　　　　here　than　it　was　in　Florence。　You　have　survived　all　your　long　life　without　ever　taking　this　evil　step；　though　you　know　well　how　to　do　it…the　Druid　priest　taught　you　how　to　do　it…and　not　doing　it；　you　will　continue　to　survive。　You　cannot　bring　over　this　child　to　you；　no　matter　how　you　envision　it。　Imagine　her　to　be　a　statue。　Imagine　your　evil　to　be　a　force　that　would　shatter　that　statue。　See　her　then　in　fragments。　Know　that　that　is　what　you　would　do。
　　　
　　　I　went　back　to　her　rooms。
　　　It　was　as　if　I'd　never　seen　her　before；　so　great　was　her　impression　upon　me；　so　soft　and　pelling　her　voice；　so　radiant　her　face　and　her　worldly　eyes。　It　was　an　agony　and　also　an　immeasurable　consolation　to　be　near　her。
　　　For　months　I　came　to　her　rooms；　pretending　to　listen　to　the　poems　recited；　sometimes　forced　to　answer　in　the　gentle　discussions　　regarding　the　theories　of　aesthetics　or　philosophy；　but　all　the　while　simply　wanting　to　be　near　her；　studying　the　minutia　of　her　beauty；　closing　my　eyes　now　and　then　as　I　listened　to　the　song　of　her　voice。
　　　Visitors　came　and　went　from　her　famous　gatherings。　No　one　dared　question　her　supremacy　within　her　own　domain。　But　as　I　sat；　as　I　observed；　as　I　let　myself　dream　in　the　candlelight；　there　came　to　my　observation　something　subtle　and　dreadful　as　ever　I　had　beheld。
　　　Certain　men　who　came　into　these　rooms　were　marked　for　a　dark　and　specific　purpose。　Certain　men；　well　known　to　the　divinely　alluring　mistress；　received　in　their　wine　a　poison　which　would　follow　them　as　they　left　the　genial　pany　and　soon　acplish　their〃deaths！
　　　At　first；　when　I　with　my　preternatural　senses　had　smelled　this　subtle　but　certain　poison　I　thought　I　had　imagined　such　a　thing。　But　then　with　the　Mind　Gift；　I　saw　into　the　heart　of　this　enchantress；　and　how　she　lured　those　whom　she　must　poison；　knowing　little　or　nothing　of　why　they　had　been　condemned　to　death。
　　　This　was　the　sordid　lie　I　had　first　perceived　in　her。　A　kinsman；　a　Florentine　banker；　kept　her　in　terror。　Indeed　i