anner.bloodandgold-第49部分

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　　　Now　I　was　taken　with　the　painting　for　many　reasons。　I　had　not　fallen　deeply　in　love　with　Gozzoli　as　I　had　with　Botticelli；　but　greatly　admired　him；　and　the　details　of　this　painting　were　fantastic　in　die　extreme。
　　　Not　only　was　the　Procession　itself　enormous；　if　not　actually　never　ending；　but　the　landscape　behind　it　was　wondrous；　filled　with　towns　and　mountains；　with　men　hunting　and　animals　running；　with
　　　　beautifully　realized　castles　and　delicately　shaped　trees。
　　　Well；　choosing　in　my　palazzo　one　of　the　largest　rooms；　I　set　out　to　duplicate　this　painting　in　the　flat　mode　on　one　wall。　What　this　meant　was　that　I　had　to　travel　back　and　forth　between　Florence　and　Venice；　memorizing　parts　of　this　painting；　and　then　render　it　with　all　my　supernatural　skill。
　　　To　a　very　large　part　I　succeeded　in　my　task。
　　　I　〃stole〃　the　Procession　of　the　Magi…this　fabulous　depiction　of　a　procession　so　important　to　the　Christians　and　especially　to　the　Florentines　and　I　laid　it　out　in　vivid　and　exact　color　on　my　wall。
　　　There　was　nothing　original　to　it。　But　I　had　passed　a　test　which　I　had　set　for　myself；　and　as　no　one　was　to　be　admitted　to　this　chamber；　I　did　not　fancy　that　I　had　truly　robbed　Gozzoli　of　anything　he　possessed。　Indeed　if　any　mortal　had　found　his　way　into　this　chamber　which　I　kept　locked；　I　would　have　explained　that　the　original　of　this　painting　was　done　by　Gozzoli；　and　indeed　when　the　time　came　for　me　to　show　it　to　my　apprentices；　for　the　lessons　it　contained；　I　did　so　explain。
　　　But　let　me　return　for　a　moment　to　the　subject　of　this　stolen　work　of　art。　Why　did　it　appeal　to　me？　What　in　it　made　my　soul　sing？　I　don't　know。　Except　that　it　had　to　do　with　the　three　kings　giving　gifts；　and　I　fancied　that　I　was　giving　gifts　to　the　children　who　lived　in　my　house。　But　I'm　not　sure　if　that　is　why　I　chose　the　painting　for　my　first　
　　　excursion　into　true　work　with　the　brush。　I'm　not　sure　at　all。
　　　Perhaps　it　was　only　that　all　the　details　of　the　work　were　so　fascinating。
　　　　　One　could　fall　in　love　with　the　horses　in　the　Procession。　Or　with　the　faces　of　the　young　men。　I　shall　now　leave　the　subject　as　puzzled　about　it　as　I　tell　my　story；　as　I　was　then。
　　　Immediately　after　confirming　my　success　with　the　copy；　I　opened　a　spacious　painting　studio　in　the　palazzo　and　began　to　work　on　large　panels　late　at　night　while　the　boys　slept。　I　did　not　really　need　their　help　and　I　did　not　want　them　to　see　the　speed　or　the　determination　with　which　I　worked。
　　　My　first　ambitious　painting　was　dramatic　and　strange。　I　painted　a　gathering　of　my　apprentices　in　full　fancy　dress　listening　to　an　old　Roman　philosopher　who　wore　only　his　long　tunic　and　cloak　and　　sandals；　and　this　against　a　backdrop　of　the　ruins　of　Rome。　It　was　full　of　vivid　color　and　my　boys　were　well　rendered；　I　give　myself　that。　But　I　didn't　know　if　it　was　any　good。　And　I　didn't　know　if　it　would　horrify。
　　　I　left　the　door　open　to　the　studio　in　the　hope　that　the　teachers　might　wander　in　there　by　day。
　　　As　it　turned　out　they　were　far　too　timid　to　do　it。
　　　I　proceeded　to　create　another　painting；　and　this　time　I　chose　the　Crucifixion…an　approved　theme　for　any　artist…and　I　rendered　it　with　tender　care…and　once　again　I　used　the　backdrop　of　the　ruins　of　Rome。　Was　it　sacrilege？　I　couldn't　guess。　Once　again；　I　was　sure　of　my　colors。　　
　　　
　　　Indeed；　this　time　I　was　sure　of　my　proportions；　and　of　the　sympathetic　expression　on　Christ's　face。　But　was　the　position　itself　somehow　something　that　should　not　be？
　　　How　was　I　to　know？　I　had　all　this　knowledge；　all　this　seeming　power。　Yet　I　didn't　know。　Was　I　creating　something　blasphemous　and　monstrous？
　　　I　returned　to　the　subject　of　the　Magi。　I　knew　the　conventions。　Three　kings；　the　stable；　Mary；　Joseph；　the　Infant；　Jesus；　and　this　time　I　did　them　freely；　imputing　to　Mary　the　beauty　of　Zenobia；　and　glorying　in　the　colors　as　before。
　　　Soon　my　giant　workroom　was　full　of　paintings。　Some　were　correctly　hung。　Others　were　simply　propped　against　the　wall。
　　　Then　one　night；　at　supper　to　which　I'd　invited　the　boys'　more　refined　instructors；　one　of　them；　the　Greek　teacher；　happened　to　
　　　mention　that　he　had　seen　into　my　workshop　through　an　open　door。
　　　〃Oh；　please；　tell　me；〃　I　said；　〃what　did　you　think　of　my　paintings？〃
　　　〃Most　remarkable！〃　he　said　frankly。　〃I've　never　seen　anything　like　them！　Why；　all　of　the　figures　in　the　painting　of　the　Magi。。。〃　He　broke　off；　afraid。
　　　〃Please　go　on；〃　I　said　instantly。　〃Tell　me。　I　want　to　know。〃
　　　　〃All　of　die　figures　are　looking　out　at　us；　including　Mary；　and　Joseph；　and　the　three　kings。　I　have　never　seen　it　done　in　that　way。〃
　　　〃But　is　it　wrong？〃　I　asked。
　　　〃I　don't　think　so；〃　he　said　quickly。　〃But　who's　to　say？　You　paint　for　yourself；　don't　you？〃
　　　〃Yes；　I　do；〃　I　answered。　〃But　your　opinion　matters　to　me。　I　find　at　moments　I'm　as　fragile　as　glass。〃
　　　We　laughed。　Only　the　older　boys　were　interested　in　this　exchange；　and　I　saw　that　the　very　oldest；　Pierp；　had　something　to　say。　He　too　had　seen　the　paintings。　He　had　gone　inside　the　room。
　　　〃Tell　me　everything；　Piero；〃　I　said；　winking　at　him；　and　smiling。　〃e　on。　What　do　you　think？〃
　　　〃The　colors；　Master；　they　were　beautiful！　When　will　it　be　time　for　us　to　work　with　you？　I'm　more　skilled　than　you　might　think。〃
　　　〃I　remember；　Piero；〃　I　said；　referring　to　the　shop　from　which　he'd　e。　〃I'll　call　upon　you　soon　enough。〃
　　　In　fact；　I　called　upon　them　the　very　next　night。
　　　Having　severe　doubts　about　subject　matter　more　than　anything　else；　I　resolved　to　follow　Botticelli　in　that　regard。
　　　I　chose　the　Lamentation　for　my　subject　matter。　And　I　made　my　Christ　as　tender　and　vulnerable　as　I　could　conceivably　do　it；　and　I　　surrounded　him　with　countless　mourners。　Pagan　that　I　was；　I　didn't　know　who　was　supposed　to　be　there！　And　so　I　created　an　immense　and　varied　crowd　of　weeping　mortals…all　in　Florentine　dress…to　lament　the　dead　Jesus；　and　angels　in　the　sky　torn　with　anguish　much　like　the　angels　of　the　painter　Giotto　whose　work　I　had　seen　in　some　Italian　city　the　name　of　which　I　could　not　recall。
　　　My　apprentices　were　quite　astonished　by　the　work　and　so　were　the　teachers；　whom　I　invited　into　the　huge　workroom　for　the　initial　view。　Once　again　the　faces　I　painted　elicited　special　ment　but　so　did　the　bizarre　qualities　of　the　painting…the　inordinate　amount　of　color　and　gold…and　small　touches　I　had　added；　such　as　insects　here　and　there。
　　　I　realized　something。　I　was　free。　I　could　paint　what　I　wanted。　Nobody　was　going　to　be　the　wiser。　But　then　again；　I　thought；　perhaps　dial's　not　true。
　　　It　was　desperately　important　for　me　to　remain　in　the　middle　of　Venice。　I　did　not　want　to　lose　my　foothold　in　the　warm；　loving　world。
　　　I　drifted　out　in　the　following　weeks　to　all　the　churches　once　more　in　search　of　inspiration　for　my　paintings；　and　I　studied　many　a　grotesque　and　bizarre　picture　which　amazed　me　almost　as　much　as　my　own　work。
　　　An　artist　by　the　name　of　Carpaccio　had　created　a　work　called　　Meditation　on　the　Passion　which　revealed　the　body　of　the　dead　Christ　endironed　against　a　fantastical　landscape；　and　flanked　by　two　
　　　white…haired　saints　who　peered　at　the　viewer　as　if　Christ　were　not　there！
　　　In　the　work　of　a　painter　named　Criyelli；　I　found　a　truly　grotesque　picture　of　die　dead　Savior；　flanked　by　two　angels　who　looked　like　　monsters。　And　the　same　painter　had　done　a　Madonna　almost　as　lovely　and　lifelike　as　Botticelli's　goddesses　or　nymphs。
　　　I　arose　night　after　night　hungry　not　for　blood；　though　I　certainly　fed　when　I　had　to　feed；　but　for　my　time　in　thie　workshop；　and　soon　my　paintings；　all　of　them　on　large　wooden　panels；　were　propped　all　over　the　enormous　house。
　　　Finally；　because　I　could　keep　track　of　them　no　longer；　and　went　on　to　tilings　new；　rather　than　to　perfect　die　old；　I　gave　in　to　Vincenzo　that　he　might　have　these　works　properly　mounted　as　he　wished。
　　　Meanwhile　our　whole　pajazzo；　though　it　had　bee　famous　in　Venice　as　〃a　strange　place；〃　remained　somewhat　closed　to　the　world。
　　　Undoubtedly　my　hired　teachers　spoke　of　their　days　and　evenings　in　the　pany　of　Marius　de　Romanus；　and　all　our　servants　gossiped；　no　question　of　it；　and　I　did　not　seek　to　put　an　end　to　such　talk。
　　　But　I　did　not　admit　the　true　citizens　of　Venice。　I　did　not　lay　put　the　banquet　table　as　I　had　done　in　the　old　nights。　I　did　not　open　the　doors。
　　　Yet　all　the　while　I　was　longing　to　do　it。　I　wanted　the　fashionable　world　of　the　city　to　be　received　under　my　ropf。
　　　What　I　did　instead　of　extending　invitations　was　to　accept　those　I　received。
　　　Often　in　the　early　evening；　when　I　didn't　want　to　dine　with　my　children；
　　　and　long　before　I　needed　to　begin　painting　furiously；　I　went　tP　other　palaces　where　feasting　was　in　progress；　and　I　entered；　whispering　my　name　when　asked；　but　more　often　being　received　without　question　and　discovering　that　the　guests　were　eager　to　have　me　among　them　and　had　heard　of　my　paintings　and　of　my　famous　little　school　where　the　apprentices　hardly　did　any　work　at　all。
　　　Of　course　I　kept　to　the　shadows；　spoke　in　vague　but　gentle　words；　read　minds　well　enough　to　make　the　most　clever　conversation　and　in　general　almost　lost　my　wits　so　great　was　this　love　to　me；　this　convivial　reception　of　me　which　was　nothing　more　than　most　of　the　noblemen　of　Venice　took　for　granted　every　night　of　their　lives。
　　　I　don't　know　how　many　months　passed　in　this　way。　Two　of　my　students
　　　went　on　to　Padua。　I　went　out　into　the　city　and　found　four　more。　Vincenzo　shpwed　no　signs　of　ill　health。　I　hired　new　nid　better　teachers　from　time　to　time。　I　painted　fiercely。　So　on　it　went。
　　　Let　me　say　a　year　or　two　had　gone　by　before　I　was　told　of　a　very　lovely　and　brilliant　young　woman　who　maintained　a　house　always　open　to　poets　and　playwrights　and　clever　philosophers　who　could　make　their　visits　worth　her　while。
　　　Understand　the　payment　in　question　was　not　a　manner　of　money；　it　was　that　one　had　to　be　interesting　to　be　admitted　to　this　woman's　
　　　pany；　poems　had　to　be　lyrical　and　meaningful；　there　had　to　be　wit　in　
　　　conversation；　one　could　play　the　virginal　or　the　lute　only　if　one　knew　how。
　　　I　was　fiercely　curious　as　to　the　identity　of　this　creature；　and　the　general　sweetness　of　the　reports　of　her。
　　　And　so　passing　her　house；　I　listened；　and　I　heard　her　voice　threading　through　the　voices　of　those　around　her；　and　I　knew　her　to　be　a　mere　child；　but　one　filled　with　anguish　and　secrets；　all　of　which　she　concealed　with　immense　skill　behind　a　graceful　manner　and　a　beautiful　face。
　　　
　　　
　　　How　beautiful；　I　had　no　idea；　until　I　mounted　the　steps；　entered　her　rooms　boldly　and　saw　her　for　myself。
　　　When　I　came　into　the　room；　she　had　her　back　to　me；　and　turned　as　if　my　arrival　had　made　some　noise　which　it　had　not。　I　saw　her　in　profile　and　then　pletely　as　she　rose　to　greet　me；　and　I　could　not　speak　for　a　moment；　so　great　was　the　impression　on　my　mind　of　her　form　and　face。
　　　That　Botticelli　hadn't　painted　her　was　a　mere　accident。　Indeed　he　might　well　have　done　so。　She　looked　so　very　like　his　women　that　all　other　thoughts　left　my　mind。　I　saw　her　oval　face；　her　oval　eyes；　and　her　thick　wavy　blond　hair；　interwound　with　long　strings　of　tiny　pearls；　and　the　fine　shape　of　her　body　with　exquisitely　molded　arms　and　breasts