anner.bloodandgold(v2)-第57部分

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he　walls　in　the　new　style。
　　　I　did　not　seek　now　to　imitate　Botticelli。　But　I　did　return　to　the　old　motif　of　the　garden　which　I　had　so　loved　centuries　ago；　and　I　soon　found　myself　rendering　my　Venus；　my　Graces；　my　Flora；　and　infusing　into　the　work　all　the　details　of　life　which　only　a　blood　drinker　can　behold。
　　　Where　Botticelli　had　painted　the　dark　grass　rich　with　varied　flowers；
　　　　I　revealed　the　small　insectile　creatures　inevitably　concealed　there；　and　then　the　most　flamboyant　and　beautiful　of　creatures；　the　butterflies　and　the　varicolored　moths。　Indeed　my　style　ran　to　frightening　detail　in　every　respect；　and　soon　an　intoxicating　and　magic　forest　surrounded　the　Mother　and　Father；　the　egg　tempera　lending　a　gleam　to　the　whole　which　I　had　never　achieved　in　the　past。
　　　When　I　studied　it；　I　became　ever　so　slightly　dizzy；　thinking　of　Botticelli's　garden；　indeed；　thinking　even　of　the　garden　I　had　dreamt　of　in　old　Rome；　of　the　garden　I　had　painted…and　soon　I　had　to　shake　myself　and　collect　myself　because　I　did　not　know　where　I　was。
　　　The　Royal　Parents　seemed　more　solid　and　remote　than　ever。　All　trace　of　the　Great　Burning　was　now　gone　from　them　in　that　their　skin　was　purely　white。
　　　It　had　been　so　long　since　they　had　moved　that　I　began　to　wonder　if　I　had　dreamt　those　things　which　had　happened…if　I　had　imagined　the　sacrifice　of　Eudoxia…but　now　my　mind　was　very　much　intent　upon　escaping　the　shrine　for　long　periods　of　time。
　　　My　last　gift　to　the　Divine　Parents…after　all　my　painting　was　done；　and　Akasha　and　Enkil　were　decked　out　with　all　new　jewels…was　a　long　bank　of　one　hundred　beeswax　candles　which　I　lighted　for　them　all　at　once　with　the　power　of　my　mind。
　　　Of　course　I　saw　no　change　in　the　eyes　of　the　King　and　Queen。　Nevertheless；　it　gave　me　great　pleasure　to　offer　this　to　them；　and　I　spent　my　last　hours　with　them；　letting　the　candles　burn　down　as　I　told　them　in　a　soft　voice　of　all　the　wonders　of　the　cities　of　Florence　and　Venice　which　I　had　e　to　love。
　　　I　vowed　that　every　time　I　came　to　them　I　would　light　the　one　hundred　candles。　It　would　be　a　small　proof　of　my　undying　love。
　　　What　caused　me　to　do　such　a　thing？　I　have　no　true　idea。　But　after　that　I　kept　a　great　supply　of　candles　always　in　the　shrine；　I　stored　them　behind　the　two　figures；　and　after　the　offering；　I　would　replenish　the　bronze　holder　and　take　away　all　melted　wax。
　　　When　all　this　had　been　done；　I　returned　to　Florence　and　to　Venice；　and　to　the　rich　high…walled　little　city　of　Siena；　to　study　paintings　of　all　sorts。
　　　Indeed；　I　wandered　through　palaces　and　churches　throughout　Italy；　quite　drunken　on　what　I　beheld。
　　　As　I　have　described；　a　great　fusion　had　taken　place　between　Christian　themes　and　ancient　pagan　style；　which　was　developing　everywhere。　And　though　I　still　perceived　Botticelli　to　be　the　Master；　I　was　taken　aback　by　the　plasticity　and　wonder　of　much　of　what　I　saw。
　　　The　voices　in　the　taverns　and　in　the　wine　shops　told　me　I　ought　to　go　North　to　see　paintings　as　well。
　　　　　
　　　Now　this　was　news　to　me；　for　North　had　always　meant　the　land　of　the　less　civilized；　but　so　great　was　my　hunger　for　the　new　styles　that　I　did　as　I　was　told。
　　　I　found　throughout　all　of　northern　Europe　an　intense　and　plex　civilization　which　I　had　surely　underestimated；　most　particularly　I　think　in　France。　There　were　great　cities　in　existence　and　Royal　Courts　which　supported　painting。　There　was　much　for　me　to　study。
　　　But　I　did　not　love　the　art　which　I　saw。
　　　I　respected　the　works　of　Jan　van　Eyck；　and　Rogier　van　der　Weyden；　of　Hugo　van　der　Goes；　and　of　Hieronymus　Bosch　and　many　other　nameless　masters　whom　I　beheld；　but　their　work　did　not　delight　me　as　did　the　work　of　the　Italian　painters。　The　Northern　world　was　not　as　lyrical。　It　was　not　as　sweet。　It　still　bore　the　grotesque　stamp　of　the　work　of　purely　religious　art。
　　　So　I　soon　returned　to　the　cities　of　Italy　where　I　was　richly　rewarded　for　my　wanderings　with　no　end　in　sight。
　　　I　soon　learnt　that　Botticelli　had　studied　with　a　great　master；　Filippo　Lippi；　and　that　this　one's　son；　Filippino　Lippi；　was　working　with　Botticelli　right　now。　Other　painters　whom　I　loved　included　Gozzoli　and　Signorelli；　and　Piero　della　Francesca　and　beyond　that　so　many　that　I　do　not　want　to　mention　their　names。
　　　But　all　during　my　study　of　painting；　my　little　travels；　my　long　nights　of　adoring　attention　to　this　or　that　wall；　or　this　or　that　altarpiece；　I　did　not　let　myself　dream　of　bringing　Botticelli　to　me；　and　I　never　lingered　long　near　any　place　where　he　was。
　　　I　knew　that　he　prospered。　I　knew　that　he　painted。　And　that　was　quite　enough　for　me。
　　　But　an　idea　had　e　to　brew　in　me…an　idea　as　strong　as　the　earlier　dream　of　seducing　Botticelli　had　been。
　　　What　if　I　were　to　reenter　the　world　again；　and　to　live　in　it　as　a　painter？　Oh；　not　a　working　painter　who　took　missions；　that　would　be　nonsense；　but　an　eccentric　gentleman　who　chose　to　paint　for　his　own　pleasure；　admitting　mortals　to　his　house　to　dine　at　his　table　and　drink　his　wine。
　　　Had　I　not　done　so　in　a　bumbling　way　in　the　ancient　nights　before　the　first　sack　of　Rome？　Yes；　I　had　painted　my　own　walls　with　crude；　hasty　images；　and　I　had　let　my　good…natured　guests　laugh　at　me。
　　　Oh　yes；　a　thousand　years　had　passed　since　then；　more　in　fact；　and　I　could　no　longer　easily　pass　for　human。　I　was　too　pale　and　too　dangerously　strong。　But　was　I　not　more　clever　now；　more　wise；　more　practiced　with　the　Mind　Gift；　and　more　willing　to　mask　my　skin　with　whatever　emollients　were　required　to　dim　its　preternatural　gleam？
　　　I　was　desperate　to　do　it！
　　　Of　course　it　would　not　be　in　Florence。　That　was　far　too　close　to　Botticelli。　I　would　attract　his　notice　and　were　he　to　set　foot　under　my　roof；　I　would　be　driven　to　extremes　of　pain。　I　was　in　love　with　the　man。　I　could　not　deny　it。　But　I　had　another；　most　marvelous　choice。
　　　It　was　the　gorgeous　and　glittering　city　of　Venice　which　drew　me　with　its　indescribably　majestic　palaces；　their　windows　open　to　the　constant　breezes　of　the　Adriatic；　and　its　dark　winding　canals。
　　　It　seemed　I　should　make　a　new　and　spectacular　beginning　there；　purchasing　for　myself　the　finest　house　available；　and　acquiring　a　bevy　of　apprentices　to　prepare　my　paints　for　me；　and　the　walls　of　my　own　house　which　would　eventually　receive　my　best　efforts　after　I　had　done　some　panels　and　canvases　to　once　again　learn　my　craft。
　　　As　for　my　identity　I　would　be　Marius　de　Romanus；　a　man　of　mystery　and　incalculable　wealth。　Simply　put；　I　would　bribe　those　I　had　to　bribe　to　obtain　the　right　to　remain　in　Venice；　and　thereafter　spend　freely　among　those　who　came　to　know　me　in　the　smallest　capacity；　and　give　generously　to　my　apprentices　who　would　be　recipients　of　the　finest　education　I　could　obtain　for　them。
　　　Understand　please　that　in　this　time　the　cities　of　Florence　and　Venice　were　not　part　of　one　country。　Far　from　it。　Each　was　a　country　unto　itself。　And　so　being　in　Venice　I　was　quite　removed　from　Botticelli；　and　would　be　subject　to　very　important　laws　which　the　citizens　of　Venice　were　required　to　obey。
　　　Now　as　to　the　matter　of　my　appearance　I　intended　to　be　careful　in　the　extreme。　Imagine　the　effect　upon　a　mortal　heart　were　I　to　reveal　myself　in　all　my　coldness；　a　blood　drinker　of　some　fifteen　hundred　years　in　age　with　purely　white　skin　and　flashing　blue　eyes。　So　the　matter　of　emollients　was　no　small　thing。
　　　Renting　rooms　in　the　city；　I　purchased　from　the　perfume　shops　the　very　finest　tinted　salves　I　could　find。　Then　to　my　skin　I　applied　these　ointments；　carefully　inspecting　the　results　in　the　finest　mirrors　which　could　be　had。　I　soon　made　a　blending　of　salves　which　was　most　perfect　for　not　only　darkening　my　cold　plexion；　but　for　bringing　back　to　visibility　in　it　the　finest　little　wrinkles　or　lines。
　　　I　myself　had　not　known　that　these　lines　of　human　expression　still　remained　to　me；　and　I　was　most　happy　to　discover　them；　and　I　rather　liked　the　image　that　I　presented　to　the　glass。　As　for　the　perfume；　it　was　pleasing；　and　I　realized　that　once　settled　in　my　own　house；　I　could　have　the　proper　salves　made　for　me　and　have　them　always　on　hand。
　　　It　took　some　months　to　plete　my　entire　plan。
　　　And　this　was　largely　because　I　had　fallen　in　love　with　one　particular　palazzo；　a　house　of　great　beauty；　its　facade　covered　in　glistering　marble　tiles；　its　arches　in　the　Moorish　style；　and　its　immense　rooms　more　luxurious　than　anything　I　had　ever　beheld　in　all　my　nights；　and　even　my　long　ago　days。　The　lofty　ceilings　amazed　me。　We　had　known　nothing　like　them　in　old　Rome；　at　least　not　in　a　private　house。　And　on　top　of　the　immense　roof　was　a　carefully　arranged　roof　garden　from　which　one　could　view　the　sea。
　　　Once　the　ink　was　dry　upon　the　parchment；　I　set　out　to　purchase　for　myself　the　finest　furnishings　imaginable…coffered　beds；　desks；　chairs；　tables；　all　the　usual　appointments　including　gold…threaded　draperies　for　every　window…and　I　set　to　the　task　of　managing　all　this　a　clever　and　genial　old　man　named　Vincenzo；　a　creature　of　extremely　solid　health；　whom　I　had　bought　almost　as　if　he　were　a　slave　from　a　family　who　had　no　more　use　for　him　and　kept　him　about　in　shameful　neglect　because　he　had　once　educated　their　sons。
　　　I　saw　in　Vincenzo　just　the　sort　of　governor　I