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on writing Latin in a clear and steady hand。
In the evening he read aloud his verses to me。 He sang to me； softly acpanying himself on the lute。
I sat at my desk； leaning upon my elbow； listening to his low and measured voice。
His hair was always beautifully bed； his clothes elegant and immaculate； his fingers； like mine； covered in rings。
Didn't everyone know he was the boy I kept？ My minion； my lover； my secret treasure？ Even in old Rome； amid a wilderness of vices； there would have been whispers； low laughter； some bit of mockery。
Here in Venice for Marius de Romanus； there was none。 But Amadeo had his suspicions； not as to kisses that were fast being all too chaste for him； but as to the man of seeming marble； who never supped at his own table； nor took a drop of wine from a goblet； or ever appeared beneath his own roof during the light of day。
Along with these suspicions； I saw in Amadeo a growing confusion as memories tried to make themselves known to him and he would deny them； sometimes waking beside me as we dozed together； and tormenting me with kisses when I would rather dream。
One evening； in die early and beautiful months of winter when I came in to greet my eager students； Riccardo told me that he had taken Amadeo with him to visit the lovely and gracious Bianca Solderini； and she had made them wele； delighted by Amadeo's poetry and the manner in which he could pen tributes for her on the very spot。
I looked into the eyes of my Amadeo。 He had been enchanted by her。 How well I understood it。 And how strange a mood descended upon me as the boys talked of her pleasant pany and the fascinating English gentlemen now visiting her house。
Bianca had sent a small note to me。
〃Marius； I miss you。 Do e soon and bring your boys with you。 Amadeo is as clever as Riccardo。 I have your portraits everywhere。 All are curious about the man who painted them； but I say nothing； for in truth I know nothing。 Lovingly； Bianca。〃
When I looked up from the note； I saw Amadeo watching me； probing me as it were with his silent eyes。
〃Do you know her； Master？〃 he asked me soberly； surprising Riccardo； who said nothing。
〃You know I do； Amadeo。 She told you I had e to visit her。 You saw my portraits on her walls。〃
I sensed a sudden and violent jealousy in him。 But nothing changed in his face。 Don't go to her。 That's what his soul said to me。 And I knew he wished that Riccardo would leave now and we could have the shadowy bed； with its concealing velvet curtains； to ourselves。
There was something stubborn in him； something directed entirely towards our love。 And how it tempted me； how it drew from me the most plete devotion。
〃But I want you to remember；〃 I said to him suddenly in his Russian tongue。
It was a shock to him but he didn't understand it。
〃Amadeo；〃 I said in the Venetian dialect； 〃think back to the time before you came here。 Think back； Amadeo。 What was your world then？〃
A flush came to his cheeks。 He was miserable。 It was as if I'd beaten him。
Riccardo reached out for him with a consoling hand。 〃Master；〃 he said； 〃it's too hard for him。〃
Amadeo seemed paralyzed。 I rose from my chair at the desk and I put my arm around him where he sat and I kissed the top of his head。
〃e； forget everything。 We'll go to see Bianca。 This is die time of night which she likes the best。〃
Riccardo was amazed to be permitted out at this hour。 As for Amadeo he was still dazed。
We found Bianca thickly surrounded by her chattering guests。 There were Florentines among them； and Englishmen as I'd been told。
Bianca brightened as she saw me。 She took me away from the others； towards her bedchamber where the elaborate swan bed was exquisitely adorned as if it were something on a stage。
〃You've e at last；〃 she said。 〃I'm so glad to see you。 You don't know how I've missed you。'' How warm were her words。 〃You are the only painter who exists in my world； Marius。〃 She wanted to kiss me but I couldn't risk it。 I bent to press my lips to her cheek quickly and then I held her back。
Ah； such radiant sweetness。 Gazing into her oval eyes； I stepped into the paintings of Botticelli。 I held in my hands； for reasons I could never know； the dark perfumed tresses of Zenobia； gathered up in memory from the floor of a house on the other side of the world。
〃Bianca； my darling；〃 I said to her。 〃I'm ready to open my house if you will receive for me。〃 What a shock it was to hear these words e from my own lips。 I had not known what I meant to say。 Yet on I pressed with my dream。 〃I have neither wife nor daughter。 e； open my house to the world。〃
The look of triumph in her face confirmed it。 I would do it。
〃I shall tell everyone；〃 she said immediately。 〃Yes； I'll receive for you； I shall do it proudly； I shall do it gladly； but surely you'll be there yourself。〃
〃May we open the doors in the evening？〃 I asked her。 〃It's my custom
to e in the evening。 The light of candles suits me better than the light of day。 You set the night for it； Bianca； and I shall have my servants make everything ready。 The paintings are everywhere now。 You do understand I offer nothing to anyone。 I paint for my pleasure。 And for my guests I'll have food and drink as you say。〃
How happy she looked。 Off to one side I saw Amadeo gazing at her； loving her somewhat and loving the sight of us together though it gave him pain。
Riccardo was being drawn into conversation by men who were older than he and flattered him and loved his handsome face。
〃Tell me what to lay out on my tables；〃 I said to Bianca。 〃Tell me what wines to serve。 My servants shall be your servants。 I shall do everything as you say。〃
〃It's too lovely；〃 she answered。 〃All of Venice will be there； I promise you； you'll discover the most wonderful pany。 People are so curious about you。 Oh； how they whisper。 You can't imagine what a supreme delight this will be。〃
It came about as she described。
Within the month I opened the palazzo to the whole city。 But how different it was from those drunken nights in old Rome when people laid about on my couches and vomited in my gardens and I painted madly away on the walls。
Oh； yes； when I arrived； how proper were my finely clad Venetian guests。 Of course I was asked a thousand questions。 I let my eyes mist over。 I heard the mortal voices around nje as if they were kisses。 I thought； You are among them； it is truly as if you were one of them。 It is truly as if you are alive。
What did it matter their little criticisms of the paintings？ I would strive to make my work the finest； yes； truly； but what counted was the vitality； the momentum！
And here amid my best work stood my lovely fair…haired Bianca； free for the moment from those who put her up to her wrongdoings； recognized by all as the Mistress of my house。
Amadeo watched this with silent grudging eyes。 The memories inside him tormented him like a cancer； yet he could not see them and know them for what they were。
Not a month after； at sunset； I found him sick in the grand church on the nearby island of Torcello to which he had wandered； apparentl