iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第14部分

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　Vassar　named　Molly　and　Martha　Roberts。　The　relationship；　which　my　father　once　pared　to　a　hallucination　in　a　hall　of　mirrors；　ended　the　following　spring　when　the　sisters　wore　identical　dresses　to　a　dance；　and　the　two　men；　having　drunk　too　much　and　having　paid　attention　too　little；　made　separate　passes　at　the　twin　the　other　was　dating。
　I　have　to　believe　that　my　father　and　Vincent　Taft　appealed　to　different　sides　of　Richard　Curry's　personality。　The　laid…back；　catholic…minded　midwestern　boy　and　the　fearsome；　focused　New　Yorker　were　different　animals；　and　they　must've　sensed　it　from　the　first　handshake；　when　my　father's　palm　was　swallowed　in　Taft's　meaty　butcher's　grip。
　Of　the　three　of　them；　it　was　Taft　who　had　the　darkest　mind。　The　parts　of　the　Hypnerotomachia　that　fascinated　him　were　the　bloodiest　and　most　arcane。　He　devised　systems　of　interpretation　to　understand　the　meaning　of　sacrifices　in　the　story…the　way　animals'　necks　were　cut；　the　way　characters　died…to　impose　meaning　onto　the　violence。　He　labored　over　the　dimensions　of　buildings　mentioned　in　the　story；　manipulating　them　to　find　numerological　patterns；　cross…checking　them　with　astrological　tables　and　calendars　from　Colonna's　time；　hoping　to　find　matches。　From　where　he　stood；　the　best　approach　was　to　confront　the　book　head…on；　match　wits　with　its　author；　and　defeat　him。　According　to　my　father；　Taft　had　always　believed　that　he　would　one　day　outsmart　Francesco　Colonna。　That　day；　as　far　as　we　knew；　had　never　e。
　My　father's　approach　could　not　have　been　more　different。　What　fascinated　him　most　about　the　Hypnerotomachia　was　its　candid　sexual　dimension。　In　the　more　prudish　centuries　after　its　publication；　pictures　from　the　book　were　censored；　blacked　out；　or　torn　up　entirely；　the　same　way　many　Renaissance　nudes　were　repainted　with　fig　leaves　when　tastes　changed　and　sensibilities　were　offended。　In　the　case　of　Michelangelo；　it　seems　fair　to　cry　foul。　But　even　today；　some　of　the　prints　from　the　Hypnerotomachia　seem　a　little　shocking。
　Parades　of　naked　men　and　women　are　only　the　beginning。　Poliphilo　follows　a　gaggle　of　nymphs　to　a　springtime　party…and　there；　hovering　in　the　middle　of　the　festivities；　is　the　enormous　penis　of　the　god　Priapus；　the　focal　point　of　the　entire　picture。　Earlier；　the　mythological　queen　Leda　is　caught　in　the　heat　of　passion　with　Zeus；　who　is　shown　lodged　between　her　thighs　in　the　shape　of　a　swan。　The　text　is　even　more　explicit；　describing　encounters　too　bizarre　for　the　woodcuts。　When　Poliphilo　is　overe　with　physical　attraction　to　the　architecture　he　sees；　he　admits　to　having　sex　with　buildings。　At　least　once；　he　claims　the　pleasure　was　mutual。
　All　of　it　fascinated　my　father；　whose　view　of　the　book　understandably　shared　little　with　Taft's。　Instead　of　considering　it　a　rigid；　mathematical　treatise；　my　father　viewed　the　Hypnerotomachia　as　a　tribute　to　the　love　of　a　man　for　a　woman。　It　was　the　only　work　of　art　he　knew　that　mimicked　the　beautiful　chaos　of　that　emotion。　The　dreaminess　of　the　story；　the　unrelenting　confusion　of　its　characters；　and　the　desperate　wandering　of　a　man　in　search　of　love　all　resonated　with　him。
　As　a　result；　my　father…and；　at　the　beginning　of　his　research；　Paul…felt　that　Taft's　approach　was　misguided。　The　day　you　figure　out　love；　my　father　told　me　once；　you'll　understand　what　Colonna　meant。　If　there　was　truly　anything　to　be　known　about　it；　my　father　believed　it　must　be　found　outside　the　book：　in　diaries；　letters；　family　documents。　He　never　told　me　as　much；　but　I　think　he　always　suspected　that　there　was　a　great　secret　locked　inside　the　pages。　Against　Taft's　formulations；　though；　my　father　felt　it　was　a　secret　about　love：　an　affair　between　Colonna　and　a　woman　below　his　station；　a　political　powder　keg；　an　illegitimate　heir；　a　romance　of　the　kind　teenagers　imagine　before　the　ugly　bride　of　adulthood　es　and　snuffs　out　childish　things。
　
　
　However　much　his　approach　differed　from　Taft's；　though；　when　my　father　arrived　in　Manhattan　for　a　research　year　away　from　the　University　of　Chicago；　he　sensed　that　the　two　men　were　making　great　strides。　Curry　insisted　that　his　old　friend　join　them　in　their　work；　and　my　father　agreed。　Like　three　animals　in　a　single　cage；　the　men　struggled　to　acmodate　one　another；　circling　in　suspicion　until　new　lines　were　drawn　and　new　balances　struck。　Nevertheless；　time　was　their　ally　in　those　days；　and　all　three　shared　faith　in　the　Hypnerotomachia。　Like　a　cosmic　ombudsman；　old　Francesco　Colonna　watched　over　and　guided　them；　whitewashing　dissent　with　layers　of　hope。　And　for　a　while；　at　least；　the　veneer　of　unity　endured。
　　
　For　more　than　ten　months；　Curry；　Taft；　and　my　father　worked　together。　Only　then　did　Curry　make　the　discovery　that　would　prove　fatal　for　their　partnership。　By　then　he　had　gravitated　out　of　the　galleries　and　into　the　auction　houses；　where　the　larger　stakes　of　the　art　world　lay；　and　it　was　as　he　prepared　his　first　estate　sale　that　he　came　across　a　ragged　notebook　that　had　once　belonged　to　a　collector　of　antiquities；　recently　deceased。
　The　notebook　belonged　to　the　Genoese　portmaster；　an　old　man　with　a　crabbed　hand　who　made　a　habit　of　remarking　on　the　state　of　the　weather　and　his　failing　health；　but　who　also　kept　a　daily　record　of　all　goings…on　at　the　docks　in　the　spring　and　summer　of　1497；　including　the　peculiar　events　surrounding　the　arrival　of　a　man　named　Francesco　Colonna。
　The　portmaster…whom　Curry　called　Genovese；　for　he　never　gave　his　name…gathered　the　rumors　about　Colonna　circling　through　the　wharf。　He　made　a　point　of　overhearing　the　conversations　Colonna　had　with　his　local　men；　and　learned　that　the　wealthy　Roman　had　e　to　Genoa　to　oversee　the　arrival　of　an　important　ship；　whose　cargo　only　Colonna　knew。　Genovese　began　bringing　news　of　ining　ships　to　Colonna's　day　lodgings；　where　he　once　caught　Colonna　scribbling　notes；　which　the　Roman　hid　as　soon　as　Genovese　entered。
　Had　it　been　left　at　that；　the　portmaster's　diary　would've　shed　little　light　on　the　Hypnerotomachia。　But　the　portmaster　was　a　curious　man；　and　as　he　grew　impatient　waiting　for　Colonna's　ship　to　arrive；　he　sensed　that　the　only　way　to　discover　the　nobleman's　intentions　was　to　see　Francesco's　shipping　documents　listing　the　contents　of　the　cargo。　Finally　he　went　to　ask　his　brother…in…law；　Antonio；　a　merchant　who　sometimes　trafficked　in　pirated　goods；　if　a　thief　might　be　hired　to　enter　Colonna's　lodgings　and　copy　whatever　could　be　found　there。　Antonio；　in　exchange　for　Genovese's　help　in　another　shipping　scheme；　agreed　to　help。
　What　Antonio　found　was　that　even　the　most　desperate　men　would　refuse　the　job　upon　mention　of　Colonna's　name。　The　only　one　willing　to　do　it　was　an　illiterate　pickpocket。　As　it　happened；　though；　the　pickpocket　did　his　job　well。　He　copied　all　three　documents　in　Colonna's　possession：　the　first　was　part　of　a　story；　which　the　portmaster　found　of　no　interest　and　never　fully　described；　the　second　was　a　scrap　of　leather　with　a　plicated　diagram　drawn　on　it；　which　was　inscrutable　to　Genovese；　and　the　third　was　a　peculiar　sort　of　map；　consisting　of　the　four　cardinal　directions；　each　followed　by　a　set　of　units；　which　Genovese　struggled　in　vain　to　understand。　The　portmaster　was　beginning　to　regret　hiring　the　thief；　when　an　event　transpired　that　quickly　made　him　fear　for　his　life。
　Upon　his　return　home　at　night；　Genovese　found　his　wife　weeping。　She　explained　that　her　brother；　Antonio；　had　been　poisoned　at　dinner　in　his　own　home；　his　body　discovered　by　an　errand　boy。　A　similar　fate　had　befallen　the　pickpocket：　while　drinking　at　a　tavern；　the　illiterate　thief　had　been　stabbed　in　the　thigh　by　a　passing　stranger。　Almost　before　the　tavern　keeper　noticed；　the　man　had　bled　to　death；　and　the　stranger　had　disappeared。
　Genovese　lived　the　following　days　in　a　sweat；　hardly　able　to　perform　his　duties　at　the　docks。　He　never　returned　to　Colonna's　lodgings；　but　in　his　diary　he　recorded　every　useful　detail　of　what　the　thief　had　found；　and　he　waited　nervously　for　the　arrival　of　Colonna's　ship；　hoping　the　nobleman　would　depart　with　his　cargo。　His　concerns　became　so　dire　that　large　merchant　vessels　came　and　went　with　hardly　a　mention。　When　Francesco's　ship　finally　did　e　to　port；　old　Genovese　could　hardly　believe　his　eyes。