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！
My loneliness seemed as great as my age and it frightened me。
I returned to the Sistine Chapel。
I spent the remainder of the night perusing the frescoes once more。
Before dawn a guard came upon me。 I allowed it to happen。 With the Spell Gift I gently convinced him that I belonged where I was。
〃Who is the figure here in these paintings？ 〃 I asked； 〃the elder with the beard and the gold light streaming from his head？ 〃
〃Moses；〃 said the guard； 〃you know； Moses the prophet。 It all has to do with Moses； and the other painting has to do with Christ。〃 He pointed。 〃Don't you see the inscription？ 〃
I had not seen it but I saw it now。 The Temptation of Moses； Bearer of the Written Law。
I sighed。 〃I wish I knew their stories better；〃 I said。 〃But the paintings are so exquisite that the story doesn't matter。〃
The guard only shrugged。
〃Did you know Botticelli when he painted here？〃 I asked。
Once again； the man only shrugged。
〃But don't you think the paintings are inparably beautiful？〃 I asked him。
He looked at me somewhat stupidly。
I realized how lonely I was that I was speaking to this poor creature； trying to elicit from him some understanding of what I felt。
〃Beautiful paintings are everywhere now；〃 he said。
〃Yes；〃 I said； 〃yes； I know they are。 But they don't look like this。〃
I gave him a few gold coins； and left the chapel。
I had only time enough to reach the vault of Those Who Must Be Kept before dawn。
As I lay down to sleep I dreamt of Botticelli； but it was the voice of Santino that haunted me。 And I wished that I had destroyed him； which； all things considered； was a very unusual wish for me。
15
t
HE FOLLOWING NIGHT I went to the city of Florence。 It was of course splendid to see it quite recovered from the ravages of the Black Death； and indeed a city of greater prosperity and greater ingenuity and energy than Rome。
I soon learnt what I had suspected…that having grown up around merce； the city had not suffered the ruin of a classical era； but had rather grown progressively strong over the centuries； as its ruling family； the Medici； maintained power by means of a great international bank。
Everywhere about me there were elements of the place…its growing architectural monuments； its interior paintings； its clever scholars…that drew me fiercely； but nothing really could keep me away from discovering the identity of Botticelli； and seeing for myself not only his works； but the man。
Nevertheless； I tormented myself slightly。 I took rooms in a palazzo near the main piazza of the city； hired a bumbling and remarkably gullible servant to lay in lots of costly clothes for me； all made in the color red as I preferred it； and still do to any other； and I went at once to a bookseller's and knocked and knocked until the man opened his doors for me； took my gold； and gave me the latest books which 〃everyone was reading〃 on poetry； art； philosophy and the like。
Then retiring to my rooms； I sat down by the light of one lamp and devoured what I could of my century's thinking； and at last I lay flat upon the floor； staring at the ceiling； overwhelmed by the vigor of the return to the classical； by the passionate enthusiasm for the old Greek and Roman poets； and by the faith in sensuality which this age seemed to hold。
Let me note here that some of these books were printed books； thanks to the miraculous invention of the printing press； and I was quite amazed by these though I preferred the beauty of the old handwritten codexes； as did many men of the time。 In fact； it is an irony that even after the printing press was very well established； people still boasted of having handwritten libraries； but I digress。
I Was talking of the return to the old Greek and Roman poets； of the infatuation of the era with the times of my birth。
The Roman church was overwhelmingly powerful as I have suggested。
But this was an age of fusion； as well as inconceivable expansion… and it was fusion which I had seen in the painting of Botticelli…so full of loveliness and natural beauty though created for the interior of the Pope's；own chapel in Rome。
Perhaps near to midnight； I stumbled out of my quarters； finding the city under curfew； with the taverns which defied it and the inevitable ruffians roaming about。
I Was dazed as I made my way into a huge tavern full of gleeful young drunkards where a rosy…cheeked boy sang as he played the lute。 I sat in the corner thinking to control my overwrought enthusiasms； my crazed passions； yet I had to find the home of Botticelli。 I had to。 I had to see more of his work。
What stopped me from it？ What did I fear？ What was going on in my mind？ Surely the gods knew I was a creature of iron control。 Had I not proven it a thousand times？
For the keeping of a Divine Secret had I not turned my back on Zenobia？ And did I not suffer routinely and justly for having
abandoned my inparable Pandora whom I might never find again？
At last I could endure my confused thoughts no longer。 I came close to one of the older men in the tavern who was not singing with the younger ones。
〃I've e here to find a great painter；〃 I told him。
He shrugged and took a drink of his wine。
〃I used to be a great painter；〃 he said； 〃but no more。 All I do is drink。〃
I laughed。 I called for the tavern maid to serve him another cup。 He gave a nod of thanks to me。
〃The man I'm looking for…he's called Botticelli； or so I'm told。〃
Now it was his turn to laugh。
〃You're seeking the greatest painter in Florence；〃 he said。 〃You won't have any trouble finding him。 He's always busy； no matter how many idlers hang about in his workshop。 He may be painting now。〃
〃Where is the workshop？〃 I asked。
〃He lives in the Via Nuova； right before the Via Paolino。〃
〃But tell me…。〃 I hesitated。 〃What sort of man is he？ I mean to you？〃
Again； the man shrugged。 〃Not bad； not good； though he has a sense of humor。 Not one to make an imprint on your mind except through his painting。 You'll see when you meet him。 But don't expect to hire him。 He has much work already to do。〃
I thanked the man； laid down money for more wine if he wanted it； and slipped out of the tavern。
With a few questions I found the way to the Via Nuova。 A night watchman gave me the way to the home of Botticelli； pointing to a sizable house； but not a great palazzo； where the painter lived with his brother and his brother's family。
I stood before this simple house as if it were a shrine。 I could see where the workshop most certainly was by its large doors to the street which were inevitably open by day； and I could see that all the rooms both on the main floor and above it were dark。
How could I go into this workshop？ How could I see what work was being done there now？ Only by night could I e to this place。 Never had I cursed the night so much。
Gold had to do this for me。 Gold and the Spell Gift； though how I would dare to daze Botticelli himself I had no idea。
Suddenly； unable to control myself any longer I pounded on the door of the