anner.vittoriothevampire-第5部分

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　〃So　what　did　you　so　like　about　him？〃　my　father　asked　me。
　〃He's　bad　and　good；〃　I　said；　〃not　just　one　or　the　other。　I　see　a　war　going　on　inside　of　him！　And　I　saw　some　of　his　work　once；　work　he　did　with　Fra　Giovanni〃　…　this　was　the　man　later　called　Fra　Angelico　by　all　the　world　…　〃and　I　tell　you；　I　think　he　is　brilliant。　Why　else　would　Cosimo　put　up　with　such　a　scene？　Did　you　hear　him！〃　〃And　Fra　Giovanni　is　a　saint？〃　asked　my　father。
　〃Hmmmmm；　yes。　And　that's　fine；　you　know；　but　did　you　see　the　torment　in　Fra　Filippo？　Hmmm；　I　liked　it。〃　My　father　raised　his　eyebrows。
　On　our　next　and　very　last　trip　to　Florence；　he　took　me　to　see　all　of　Filippo's　paintings。　I　was　amazed　that　he　had　remembered　my　interest　in　this　man。　We　went　from　house　to　house　to　look　at　the　loveliest　works；　and　then　to　Filippo's　workshop。
　There　an　altarpiece　missioned　by　Francesco　Maringhi　for　a　Florentine　church　…　The　Coronation　of　the　Virgin　…　was　well　under　way；　and　when　I　saw　this　work；　I　nearly　fainted　dead　from　shock　and　love　of　it。　I　couldn't　leave　it　alone。　I　sighed　and　wept。
　I　had　never　seen　anything　as　beautiful　as　this　painting；　with　its　immense　crowd　of　still　attentive　faces；　its　splendid　collection　of　angels　and　saints；　its　lithe　and　graceful　feline　women　and　willowy　celestial　men。　I　went　crazy　for　it。
　My　father　took　me　to　see　two　more　of　his　works；　which　were　both　paintings　of　the　Annunciation。
　Now；　I　have　mentioned　that　as　a　child；　I　had　played　the　Angel　Gabriel　ing　to　the　Virgin　to　announce　the　Conception　of　Christ　in　her　womb；　and　the　way　we　played；　he　was　supposed　to　be　a　pretty　beguiling　and　virile　angel；　and　Joseph　would　e　in　and；　lo；　find　this　overwhelming　male　with　his　pure　ward；　the　Blessed　Mary。
　We　were　a　worldly　bunch；　but　you　know；　we　gave　the　play　a　little　spice。　I　mean　we　cooked　it　up　a　bit。　I　don't　think　it　says　anything　in　scripture　about　St。　Joseph　happening　on　a　tryst。
　But　that　had　been　my　favorite　role；　and　I　had　particularly　enjoyed　paintings　of　the　Annunciation。
　Well；　this　last　one　I　saw　before　I　left　Florence；　done　by　Filippo　sometime　in　the　1440s；　was　beyond　anything　I　had　beheld　before。
　The　angel　was　truly　unearthly　yet　physically　perfect。　Its　wings　were　made　of　peacock　feathers。　I　was　sick　with　devotion　and　covetousness。　I　wished　we　could　buy　this　thing　and　take　it　back　home。　That　wasn't　possible。　No　works　of　Filippo　were　on　the　market　then。　So　my　father　finally　dragged　me　away　from　this　painting；　and　off　we　went　home　the　next　day　or　so。
　Only　later　did　I　realize　how　quietly　he　listened　to　what　I　said　as　I　ranted　on　and　on　about　Fra　Filippo：
　〃It's　delicate；　it's　original；　and　yet　it　is　mendable　according　to　everybody's　rules；　that's　the　genius　of　it；　to　change；　but　not　so　much；　to　be　inimitable；　yet　not　beyond　the　mon　grasp；　and　that's　what　he's　done；　Father；　I　tell　you。〃　I　was　unstoppable。
　〃This　is　what　I　think　about　that　man；〃　I　said。　〃The　carnality　in　him；　the　passion　for　women；　the　near　beastly　refusal　to　keep　his　vows　is　at　war　always　with　the　priest；　for　look；　he　wears　his　robes；　he　is　Fra　Filippo。　And　out　of　that　war；　there　es　into　the　faces　he　paints　a　look　of　utter　surrender。〃　My　father　listened。
　〃That's　it；〃　I　said。　〃Those　characters　reflect　his　own　continued　promise　with　the　forces　he　cannot　reconcile；　and　they　are　sad；　and　wise；　and　never　innocent；　and　always　soft；　reflective　of　mute　torment。〃
　On　the　way　back　home；　as　we　were　riding　together　through　the　forest；　up　a　rather　steep　road；　very　casually　my　father　asked　me　if　the　painters　who　had　done　our　chapel　were　good。
　〃Father；　you're　joking；〃　I　said。　〃They　were　excellent。〃
　He　smiled。　〃I　didn't　know；　you　know；〃　he　said。　〃I　just　hired　the　best。〃　He　shrugged。　I　smiled。
　Then　he　laughed　with　good　nature。　I　never　asked　him　when　and　if　I　could　leave　home　again　to　study。　I　think　I　figured　I　could　make　both　of　us　happy。
　We　must　have　made　twenty…five　stops　on　that　last　journey　home　from　Florence。　We　were　wined　and　dined　at　one　castle　after　another；　and　wandered　in　and　out　of　the　new　villas；　lavish　and　full　of　light；　and　given　over　to　their　abundant　gardens。　I　clung　to　nothing　in　particular　because　I　thought　it　was　my　life；　all　those　arbors　covered　with　purple　wisteria；　and　the　vineyards　on　the　green　slopes；　and　the　sweet…cheeked　girls　beckoning　to　me　in　the　loggias。
　Florence　was　actually　at　war　the　year　we　made　this　journey。　She　had　sided　with　the　great　and　famous　Francesco　Sforza；　to　take　over　the　city　of　Milan。　The　cities　of　Naples　and　Venice　were　on　the　side　of　Milan。　It　was　a　terrible　war。　But　it　didn't　touch　us。
　It　was　fought　in　other　places　and　by　hired　men；　and　the　rancor　caused　by　it　was　heard　in　city　streets；　not　on　our　mountain。
　What　I　recall　from　it　were　two　remarkable　characters　involved　in　the　fray。　The　first　of　these　was　the　Duke　of　Milan；　Filippo　Maria　Visconti；　a　man　who　had　been　our　enemy　whether　we　liked　it　or　not　because　he　was　the　enemy　of　Florence。　But　listen　to　what　this　man　was　like：　he　was　hideously　fat；　it　was　said；　and　very　dirty　by　nature；　and　sometimes　would　take　off　all　his　clothes　and　roll　around　naked　in　the　dirt　of　his　garden！　He　was　terrified　of　the　sight　of　a　sword　and　would　scream　if　he　saw　it　unsheathed；　and　he　was　terrified　too　to　have　his　portrait　painted　because　he　thought　he　was　so　ugly；　which　he　was。　But　that　was　not　all。　This　man's　weak　little　legs　wouldn't　carry　him；　so　his　pages　had　to　heft　him　about。　Yet　he　had　a　sense　of　humor。　To　scare　people；　he　would　suddenly　draw　a　snake　out　of　his　sleeve！　Lovely；　don't　you　think？
　Yet　he　ruled　the　Duchy　of　Milan　for　thirty…five　years　somehow；　this　man；　and　it　was　against　Milan　that　his　own　mercenary；　Francesco　Sforza；　turned　in　this　war。
　And　that　man　I　want　to　describe　only　briefly　because　he　was　colorful　in　an　entirely　different　way；　being　the　handsome　strong　brave　son　of　a　peasant　…　a　peasant　who；　kidnapped　as　a　child；　had　managed　to　bee　the　mander　of　his　band　of　kidnappers　…　and　this　Francesco　became　mander　of　the　troop　only　when　the　peasant　hero　drowned　in　a　stream　trying　to　save　a　page　boy。　Such　valor。　Such　purity！　Such　gifts。
　I　never　laid　eyes　on　Francesco　Sforza　until　I　was　already　dead　to　the　world　and　a　prowling　vampire；　but　he　was　true　to　his　descriptions；　a　man　of　heroic　proportions　and　style；　and　believe　it　or　not；　it　was　to　this　bastard　of　a　peasant　and　natural　soldier　that　the　weak…legged　crazy　Duke　of　Milan　gave　his　own　daughter　in　marriage；　and　this　daughter；　by　the　way；　was　not　by　the　Duke's　wife；　poor　thing；　for　she　was　locked　up；　but　by　his　mistress。
　It　was　this　marriage　which　led　eventually　to　the　war。　First　Francesco　was　fighting　bravely　for　Duke　Filippo　Maria；　and　then　when　the　weird　unpredictable　little　Duke　finally　croaked；　naturally　his　son…in…law；　handsome　Francesco；　who　had　charmed　everybody　in　Italy　from　the　Pope　to　Cosimo；　wanted　to　bee　the　Duke　of　Milan！
　It's　all　true。　Don't　you　think　it's　interesting？　Look　it　up。　I　left　out　that　the　Duke　Filippo　Maria　was　also　so　scared　of　thunder　that　he　was　supposed　to　have　built　a　soundproof　room　in　his　palace。
　And　there　is　more　to　it　than　that。　Sforza　more　or　less　had　to　save　Milan　from　other　people　who　wanted　to　take　it　over；　and　Cosimo　had　to　back　him；　or　France　would　have　e　down　on　us；　or　worse。
　It　was　all　rather　amusing；　and　as　I　have　said；　I　was　well　prepared　already　at　a　young　age　to　go　into　war　or　to　court　if　it　was　ever　required　of　me；　but　these　wars　and　these　two　characters　existed　for　me　in　dinner　table　talk；　and　every　time　someone　railed　about　the　crazy　Duke　Filippo　Maria；　and　one　of　his　insane　tricks　with　a　snake　out　of　his　sleeve；　my　father　would　wink　at　me　and　whisper　in　my　ear；　〃Nothing　like　pure　lordly　blood；　my　son。〃　And　then　laugh。
　As　for　the　romantic　and　brave　Francesco　Sforza；　my　father　had　wisely　nothing　to　say　as　long　as　the　man　was　fighting　for　our　enemy；　the　Duke；　but　once　we　had　all　turned　together　against　Milan；　then　my　father　mended　the　bold　self…made　Francesco　and　his　courageous　peasant　father。
　There　had　been　another　great　lunatic　running　around　Italy　during　earlier　times；　a　freebooter　and　ruffian　named　Sir　John　Hawkwood；　who　would　lead　his　mercenaries　against　anybody；　including　the　Florentines。
　But　he　had