anner.bloodandgold(v2)-第73章
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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 me 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； apparently on his own。 I picked him up from the cold damp floor and took him home。
Of course I understood the reason。 There he had found ikons of the very style he had once painted。 There he had found old mosaics from centuries past； similar to those he had seen in Russian churches as a child。 He had not remembered。 He had merely e upon some old truth in his wanderings…the brittle； stark Byzantine paintings…and now the heat of the place had left him with a fever； and I could taste it on his lips and see it in his eyes。
He was no better at sunrise when； half mad； I left him in the care of Vincenzo； only to rise again at sunset and hurry back to the side of his bed。
It was his mind that stoked the fever。 Bundling him like a child I took him into a Venetian church to see the wondrous paintings of robust and natural figures that had been done in these last few years。
But I could see now it was hopeless。 His mind would never be opened； never truly changed。 I brought him home； and laid him down on the pillows once more。
I sought to better understand what I could。
His had been a punitive world of austere devotion。 Painting for him had been joyless。 And indeed all of life itself in far…away Russia had been so rigorous that he could not give himself over to the pleasure that awaited him now at every turn。
Beset by the memories； yet not understanding them； he was moving slowly towards death。
I would not have it。 I paced the floor； I turned to those who attended him。 I walked about； whispering to myself in my anger。 I would not have it。 I would not let him die。
Sternly； I banished others from the bedchamber。
I bent over him； and biting into my tongue I filled my mouth with blood and then I loosed a thin stream of it into his mouth。
He quickened； and licked his lips after it； and then he breathed more easily and the flush came to his cheeks。 I felt of his forehead。 It was cooler。 He opened his eyes and he looked at me； and he said as he did so often； 〃Master；〃 and then gently； without memories； without terrible dreams； he slept。
It was enough。 I left the bed。 I wrote in my thick diary； the quill scratching as I quickly inscribed the words：
〃He is irresistible； but what am I to do？ I claimed him once； declaring him my very own； and now I treat his misery with the blood I wish that I could give him。 Yet in treating his misery； I hope to cure him not for me but for the wide world。〃
I closed the book； in disgust with myself for the blood I'd given him。 But it had healed him。 I knew it。 And were he ill； I would give him blood again。
Time was moving too swiftly。
Things were happening too fast。 My earlier judgments were shaken； and the beauty of Amadeo increased with every passing night。
The teachers took the boys to Florence that they might see the paintings there。 And all came home more truly inspired to study than before。
Yes； they had seen the work of Botticelli； and how splendid it was。 Was the Master painting？ Indeed； so； but his work had bee almost entirely religious。 It was due to the preaching of Savonarola； a stringent monk who condemned the Florentines for their worldliness。 Savonarola had great power over the people of Florence。 Botticelli believed in him； and was thought to be one of his followers。
This saddened me greatly。 Indeed it damn near maddened me。 But then I knew that whatever Botticelli painted it would be magnificent。 And in Amadeo's progress I was forted； or rather pleasantly confused as before。
Amadeo was now the most brilliant of all my little academy。 New teachers were required for him in philosophy and law。 He was outgrowing his clothes at a marvelous rate； he had bee quick and charming in conversation； and he was the beloved of all the younger boys。
Night after night we visited Bianca。 I became accustomed to the pany of refined strangers； the eternal stream of northern Europeans who came to Italy to discover its ancient and mysterious charms。
Only occasionally did I see Bianca hand the poisoned cup to one of her ill…fated guests。 Only occasionally did I feel the beat of her dark heart； and see the shadow of desperate guilt in the very depth of her eyes。 How she watched the unfortunate victim； how she saw him out of her pany at last with a subtle smile。
As for Amadeo； our private sessions within my bedchamber became ever more intimate。 And more than once； as we embraced； I gave the Blood Kiss to him； watching his body shiver； and seeing the power of it in his half…lidded eyes。
What was this madness？ Was he for the world or for me？
How I lied to myself about it。 I told myself the boy might still prove himself and thereby earn his freedom to leave me； safe and rich； for acplishments beyond my house。
But I had given him so much of the Secret Blood that he pushed me with questions。 What manner of creature was I？ Why did I never e by day？ Why did I take no food or drink？
He wrapped his warm arms around the mystery； He buried his face in the monster's neck。
I sent him off to the best brothels to learn the pleasures of women； and the pleasures of boys
