anner.vittoriothevampire-第28部分

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ed　in　its　warmth。　Slowly；　as　my　stomach　settled；　I　tried　to　gaze　steadily　before　me；　to　fight　the　pain　of　the　light　and　love　it　and　trust　in　it。
　My　vision　was　filled　with　the　face　of　the　angel　Setheus　right　in　front　of　me；　only　a　foot　from　me；　peering　at　me　with　the　deepest　concern。　〃Dear　God；　you　are　here；〃　I　whispered。
　〃Yes；〃　he　said。　〃I　promised　you。〃
　〃You　aren't　leaving　me；　are　you？〃　I　asked。
　〃No；〃　he　said。
　Over　his　shoulder；　Ramiel　peered　at　me　closely；　as　if　studying　me　at　leisure　and　with　mitment　for　the　first　time。　His　shorter　looser　hair　made　him　seem　younger；　though　such　distinctions　made　no　difference。
　〃No；　none　at　all；〃　he　whispered；　and　for　the　first　time；　he　too　smiled。
　〃Do　as　these　gentle　people　tell　you；〃　said　Ramiel。　〃Let　them　take　you　inside；　and　then　you　must　sleep　a　natural　sleep；　and　when　you　wake　we'll　be　with　you。〃
　〃Oh；　but　it's　a　horror；　a　story　of　horrors；〃　I　whispered。　〃Filippo　never　painted　such　horrors。〃
　〃We　are　not　painted　things；〃　said　Setheus。　〃What　God　has　in　store　for　us　we　will　discover　together；　you　and　Ramiel　and　I。　Now　you　must　go　inside。　The　monks　are　here。　Into　their　care　we　give　you；　and　when　you　wake　we　will　be　at　your　side。〃
　〃Like　the　prayer；〃　I　whispered。
　〃Oh；　yes；　truly；〃　Ramiel　said。　He　raised　his　hand。　I　saw　the　shadow　of　his　five　fingers　and　then　felt　the　silken　touch　of　his　fingers　as　he　closed　my　eyes。
　
　
　10
　IN　WHICH　I　CONVERSE　WITH　THE　INNOCENT　AND　POWERFUL　SONS　OF　GOD
　
　WOULD　sleep　and　deeply；　yes；　but　not　until　much　later。　What　came　was　a　hazy；　dreamlike　wonderland　of　protective　images。　I　was　carried　by　a　burly　monk　and　his　assistants　into　the　monastery　of　San　Marco。
　There　could　be　no　place　better　for　me　in　all　of　Florence　…　other　than　Cosimo's　own　house　perhaps　…　than　the　Dominican　Monastery　of　San　Marco。
　Now；　in　all　of　Florence；　I　know　of　many　exquisite　buildings　and　so　much　magnificence　that　even　then；　as　a　boy；　I　could　not　catalogue　in　my　mind　all　the　riches　that　lay　before　me。
　But　nowhere　is　there　any　cloister　more　serene；　I　think；　than　that　of　San　Marco；　which　had　only　recently　been　renovated　by　the　most　humble　and　decent　Michelozzo　at　the　behest　of　Cosimo　the　Elder。　It　had　a　long　and　venerable　history　in　Florence；　but　only　in　recent　times　had　it　been　given　over　to　the　Dominicans；　and　it　was　endowed　in　certain　sublime　ways　in　which　no　other　monastery　was。
　As　all　Florence　knew；　Cosimo　had　lavished　a　fortune　on　San　Marco；　maybe　to　make　up　for　all　the　money　he　made　by　usury；　for　as　a　banker　he　was　a　taker　of　interest　and　therefore　a　usurer；　but　then　so　were　we　who　had　put　money　in　his　bank。
　Whatever　the　case；　Cosimo；　our　capo；　our　true　leader；　had　loved　this　place　and　given　to　it　many　many　treasures；　but　most　of　all　perhaps　its　marvelously　proportioned　new　buildings。
　His　detractors；　the　whiners；　the　ones　who　do　nothing　great；　and　suspect　all　that　isn't　in　a　state　of　perpetual　disintegration；　they　said　of　him；　〃He　even　puts　his　coat　of　arms　in　the　privies　of　the　monks。〃
　His　coat　of　arms；　by　the　way；　is　a　shield　with　five　protuberant　balls　on　it；　the　meaning　of　which　has　been　variously　explained；　but　what　these　enemies　actually　said　was：　Cosimo　had　hung　his　balls　over　the　monks'　privies。　Eh！　That　his　enemies　would　be　so　lucky　to　have　such　privies；　or　such　balls。
　How　much　more　clever　it　might　have　been　for　those　men　to　point　out　that　Cosimo　often　spent　days　at　this　monastery　himself　in　meditation　and　prayer；　and　that　the　former　Prior　here；　who　was　Cosimo's　great　friend　and　advisor；　Fra　Antonino；　was　now　the　Archbishop　of　Florence。
　Ah；　so　much　for　the　ignorant；　who　still　to　the　day　five　hundred　years　from　then　tell　lies　about　Cosimo。　As　I　passed　under　the　door；　I　thought；　What　in　the　name　of　God　shall　I　say　to　these　people　in　this　House　of　God？
　No　sooner　had　that　thought　popped　out　of　my　sleepy　head　and；　I　fear；　my　drugged　and　sleepy　mouth；　than　I　heard　Ramiel's　laugh　in　my　ear。
　I　tried　to　see　if　he　was　at　my　side。　But　I　was　blubbering　and　sick　again；　and　dizzy；　and　could　make　out　only　that　we　had　entered　the　most　tranquil　and　pleasing　cloister。
　The　sun　so　burnt　my　eyes　that　I　couldn't　thank　God　yet　for　the　beauty　of　the　square　green　garden　in　the　center　of　this　place；　but　I　could　see　very　starkly　and　sweetly　the　low　rounded　arches　created　by　Michelozzo；　arches　which　created　gentle　colorless　and　humble　vaults　over　my　head。
　And　the　tranquillity　achieved　by　the　pure　columns；　with　their　small　rolled　Ionic　capitals；　all　of　this　added　to　my　sense　of　safety　and　peace。　Proportions　were　always　the　gift　of　Michelozzo。　He　opened　up　things　when　he　built　them。　And　these　wide　spacious　loggias　were　his　stamp。
　Nothing　would　erase　the　memory　for　me　of　the　soaring　dagger…tipped　Gothic　arches　of　the　French　castle　in　the　North；　of　the　filigreed　stone　peaks　everywhere　there　that　seemed　to　point　in　animosity　at　the　Almighty。　And　though　I　knew　I　misjudged　this　architecture　and　its　intent　…　for　surely；　before　Florian　and　his　Court　of　the　Ruby　Grail　had　taken　hold　of　it；　it　had　been　born　from　the　devotions　of　the　French　and　the　Germans　…　I　still　could　not　get　the　hated　vision　of　it　out　of　my　head。　Trying　desperately　not　to　heave　up　my　guts　again；　I　relaxed　all　my　limbs　as　I　saw　this　Florentine　enclosure。
　Down　around　the　cloister；　down　around　the　burning　hot　garden；　the　large　monk；　a　bear　of　a　man；　beaming　down　at　me　in　habitual　and　inveterate　kindness；　carried　me　in　his　burly　arms；　while　there　came　others　in　their　flowing　black　and　white　robes；　with　thin　radiant　faces　seeming　to　encircle　us　even　in　our　rapid　progress。　I　couldn't　see　my　angels。
　But　these　men　were　the　nearest　to　angels　that　the　world　provides。
　I　soon　realized　…　due　to　my　former　visits　to　this　great　place　…　that　I　was　not　being　taken　to　the　hospice；　where　drugs　were　dispensed　to　the　sick　of　Florence；　or　to　the　pilgrims'　refuge；　which　was　always　swarming　with　those　who　e　to　offer　and　pray；　but　up　the　stairs　into　the　very　hall　of　the　monks'　cells。
　In　a　glaze　of　sickness　in　which　beauty　brought　a　catch　in　my　throat；　I　saw　at　the　head　of　the　stairway；　spread　out　on　the　wall；　the　fresco　of　Fra　Giovanni's　Annunciation。
　My　painting；　the　Annunciation！　My　chosen　favorite；　the　painting　which　meant　more　to　me　than　any　other　religious　motif。
　And　no；　it　wasn't　the　genius　of　my　turbulent　Filippo　Lippi；　no；　but　it　was　my　painting；　and　surely　this　was　an　omen　that　no　demon　can　damn　a　soul　through　the　poison　of　forced　blood。　Was　Ursula's　blood　forced　on　you　too？　Horrid　thought。　Try　not　to　remember　her　soft　fingers　being　pulled　loose　from　you；　you　fool；　you　drunken　fool；　try　not　to　remember　her　lips　and　the　long　thick　kisslet　of　blood　slipping　into　your　own　open　mouth。
　〃Look　at　it！〃　I　cried　out。　I　pointed　one　flopping　arm　towards　the　painting。
　〃Yes；　yes；　we　have　so　many；〃　said　the　big　smiling　bear　of　a　monk。
　Fra　Giovanni　was　of　course　the　painter。　Who　could　have　not　seen　it　in　one　glance？　Besides；　I　knew　it。　And　Fra　Giovanni　…　let　me　remind　you　one　more　time　that　this　is　Fra　Angelico　of　the　ages　…　had　made　a　severe；　soothing；　tender　but　utterly　simple　Angel　and　Virgin；　steeped　in　humility　and　devoid　of　embellishments；　the　visitation　itself　taking　place　between　low　rounded　arches　such　as　made　up　the　very　cloister　from　which　we　had　just　e。
　As　the　big　monk　swung　me　around　to　take　me　down　the　broad　corridor　…　and　broad　it　was；　and　so　polished　and　austere　and　beautiful　to　me　…　I　tried　to　form　words　as　I　carried　the　image　of　the　angel　in　my　mind。
　I　wanted　to　tell　Ramiel　and　Setheus；　if　they　were　still　with　me；　that　look；　Gabriel's　wings　had　only　simple　stripes　of　color；　and　look；　how　his　gown　fell　in　symmetrical　and　disciplined　folds。　All　of　this　I　understood；　as　I　understood　the　rampant　grandeur　of　Ramiel　and　Setheus；　but　I　was　blubbering　nonsense　again。
　〃The　halos；〃　I　said。　〃You　two；　where　are　you？　Your　halos　hover　over　your　heads。　I　saw　them。　I　saw　them　in　the　street　and　in　the　paintings。　But　you　see　in　the　painting　by　Fra　Giovanni；　the　halo　is　flat　and　surrounds　the　painted　face；　a　disk　hard　and　golden　right　on　the　field　of　the　painting
　The　monks　laughed。　〃To　whom　are　you　speaking；　young　Signore　Vittorio　di　Raniari？〃　one　of　them　asked　me。
　〃Be　quiet；　child；〃　said　the　big　monk；　his　booming　bass　voice　pushing　against　me　through　his　barrel　of　a　chest。　〃You're　in　our　tender　care。　And　you　must　hush　now；　see；　there；　that's　the　library；　you　see　our　monks　at　work？〃
　They　were　proud　of　it；　weren't　they？　Even　in　our　progress　when　I　might　have　vomited　all　over　the　immaculate　floor；　the　monk　turned　to　let　me　see　through　the　open　door　the　long　room　crowded　with　books　and　monks　at　work；　but　what　I　saw　too　was　Michelozzo's　vaulted　ceiling；　again；　not　soaring　to　leave　us；　but　bending　gently　over　the　heads　of　the　monks　and　letting　a　volume　of　light　and　air　rise　above　them。
　It　seemed　I　saw　visions。　I　saw　multiple　and　triple　figures　where　there　should　only　be　one；　and　even　in　a　flash　a　misty　confusion　of　angelic　wings；　and　oval　faces　turned；　peering　at　me　through　the　veil　of　supernatural　secrecy。
　〃Do　you　see？〃　was　all　I　could　say。　I　had　to　get　to　that　library；　I　had　to　find　texts　in　it　that　defined　the　demons。　Yes；　I　had　not　given　up！　Oh；　no；　I　was