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Suddenly； unable to control myself any longer I pounded on the door of the house。
Naturally enough； no one answered； so I pounded again。
Finally a light brightened in the upstairs window； and I could hear footfall within。
At last a voice demanded： Who was I； and what did I want？
What was I to answer to such a question？ Was I to lie to someone whom I worshiped？ Ah； but I had to get in。
〃Marius de Romanus；〃 I answered； making up the name at that very moment。 〃I've e with a purse of gold for Botticelli。 I've seen his paintings in Rome； and I greatly admire him。 I must put this purse into his own hand…〃
There was a pause。 Voices behind the door。 Two men conferring with each other as to who I might be； or why such a lie might be told。
One man said not to answer。 The other man said it was worth a brief look； and it was he who pulled back the latch and opened the door。 The other held the lamp behind him； so I saw only a shadowy face。
〃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