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."I see them, Mastema!" I said.I groped for her hand, trying to find her, hold her, shieldher."I do see them, I do.""In each and every one of them, Vittorio, there is what I see in you, and in her a humansoul.Do you know what that is, Vittorio? Can you imagine?"I didn't dare to answer.The crowd spread out over the moonlighted piazza, and drew closer to us, even as itloosened."A spark of the power that made all of us is within each of them," cried Mastema, "aspark of the invisible, of the subtle, of the sacred, of the mystery - a spark of that whichcreated all things."'Ah, God!" I cried out."Look at them, Ursula, look!"For each and every one of them, man, woman, it did not matter old or young, had takenon a powerful hazy golden glow.A light emanated from and surrounded and embracedeach figure, a subtle body of light shaped to the very form of the human being whowalked in it, unheeding of it, and the entire square was full of such golden light.I looked down at my own hands, and they too were surrounded by this subtle, ethericbody, this lovely gleaming and numinous presence, this precious and unquenchable fire.I pivoted, my garments snagging around me, and I saw this flame envelop Ursula.I sawher living and breathing within it, and, turning back to the crowd, I saw again that eachand every one of them lived and breathed in it, and I knew suddenly, understood perfectly- I would always see it.I would never see living human beings, be they monstrous orrighteous, without this expanding, blinding, fire of the soul."Yes," Mastema whispered in my ear."Yes.Forever, and every time you feed, every timeyou raise one of their tender throats to your cursed fangs, every time you drink from themthe lurid blood you would have, like the worst of God's beasts, you will see that lightflicker and struggle, and when the heart stops at the will of your hunger, you will see thatlight go out!"I broke away from him.He let me go.With her hand only, I ran.I ran and ran towards the Arno, towards the bridge, towards thetaverns that might still be open, but long before I saw the blazing flames of the soulsthere, I saw the glow of the souls from hundreds of windows, I saw the glow of soulsfrom beneath the bottoms of bolted doors.I saw it, and I knew that he spoke the truth.I would always see it.I would see the sparkof the Creator in every human life I ever encountered, and in every human life I took.Reaching the river, I leant over the stone railing.I cried out and cried out and let my cries echo over the water and up the walls on eitherside.I was mad with grief, and then through the darkness there came a toddling childtowards me, a beggar, already versed in words to speak for bread or coins or any bit ofcharity that any man would vouchsafe him, and he glowed and sputtered and glittered anddanced with brilliant and priceless light. Chapter SixteenAND THE DARKNESS GRASPED IT NOTOver the years, every time I saw one of Fra Filippo's magnificent creations, the angelscame alive for me.It was I only for an instant, only enough to prick the heart and drawthe blood, as if with a needle, to the core.Mastema himself did not appear in Fra Filippo's work until some years later, when FraFilippo, struggling and arguing as always, was working for Piero, the son of Cosimo, whohad gone to his grave.Fra Filippo never did give up his precious nun, Lucrezia Buti, and it was said of Filippothat every Virgin he ever painted - and there were many - bore Lucrezia's beautiful face.Lucrezia gave Fra Filippo a son, and that painter took the name Filippino, and his worktoo was rich in magnificence and rich in angels, and those angels too have always for oneinstant met my eyes when I came to worship before those canvases, sad andbrokenhearted and full of love and afraid.In 1469, Filippo died in the town of Spoleto, and there ended the life of one of thegreatest painters the world has ever known.This was the man who was put on the rackfor fraud, and who had debauched a convent; this was a man who painted Mary as thefrightened Virgin, as the Madonna of Christmas Night, as the Queen of Heaven, as theQueen of All Saints.And I, five hundred years after, have never strayed too far from that city which gave birthto Filippo and to that time we call the Age of Gold.Gold.That is what I see when I look at you.That is what I see when I look at any man, woman, child.I see the flaming celestial gold that Mastema revealed to me.I see it surrounding you, andholding you, encasing you and dancing with you, though you yourself may not behold it,or even care.From this tower tonight in Tuscany I look out over the land, and far away, deep in thevalleys, I see the gold of human beings, I see the glowing vitality of beating souls.So you have my story.What do you think?Do you not see a strange conflict here? Do you see a dilemma?Let me put it to you this way.Think back to when I told you about how my father and I rode through the woodstogether and we spoke of Fra Filippo, and my father asked me what it was that drew meto this monk.I said that it was struggle and a divided nature in Filippo which so attractedme to him, and that from this divided nature, this conflict, there came a torment to thefaces which Filippo rendered in paint.Filippo was a storm unto himself.So am I.My father, a man of calm spirits and simpler thoughts, smiled at this.But what does it mean in relationship to this tale?Yes, I am a vampire, as I told you; I am a thing that feeds on mortal life.I exist quietly,contentedly in my homeland, in the dark shadows of my home castle, and Ursula is withme as always, and five hundred years is not so long for a love as strong as ours.We are demons.We are damned.But have we not seen and understood things, have I not written things here that are of value to you? Have I not rendered a conflict so full oftorment that something looms here which is full of brilliance and color, not unlikeFilippo's work? Have I not embroidered, interwoven and gilded, have I not bled?Look at my story and tell me that it gives you nothing.I don't believe you if you say that.And when I think back on Filippo, and his rape of Lucrezia, and all his other tempestuoussins, how can I separate them from the magnificence of his paintings? How can I separatethe violation of his vows, and his deceits and his quarrels, from the splendor whichFilippo gave to the world?I am not saying I am a great painter.I am not such a fool.But I say that out of my pain, out of my folly, out of my passion there comes a vision - avision which I carry with me eternally and which I offer to you.It is a vision of every human being, bursting with fire and with mystery, a vision I cannotdeny, nor blot out, nor ever turn away from, nor ever belittle nor ever escape.Others write of doubt and darkness.Others write of meaninglessness and quiet.I write of indefinable and celestial gold that will forever burn bright.I write of blood thirst that is never satisfied.I write of knowledge and its price.Behold, I tell you, the light is there in you.I see it.I see it in each and every one of us,and will always.I see it when I hunger, when I struggle, when I slaughter.I see it sputterand die in my arms when I drink.Can you imagine what it would be like for me to kill you?Pray it never takes a slaughter or a rape for you to see this light in those around you.Godforbid it that it should demand such a price.Let me pay the price for you instead.THE END Selected And Annotated BibliographyI went to Florence to receive this manuscript directly from Vittorio di Raniari.It was myfourth visit to the city, and it was with Vittorio that I decided to list here a few books forthose of you who might want to know more about the Age of Gold in Florence and aboutFlorence itself [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl centka.pev.pl
."I see them, Mastema!" I said.I groped for her hand, trying to find her, hold her, shieldher."I do see them, I do.""In each and every one of them, Vittorio, there is what I see in you, and in her a humansoul.Do you know what that is, Vittorio? Can you imagine?"I didn't dare to answer.The crowd spread out over the moonlighted piazza, and drew closer to us, even as itloosened."A spark of the power that made all of us is within each of them," cried Mastema, "aspark of the invisible, of the subtle, of the sacred, of the mystery - a spark of that whichcreated all things."'Ah, God!" I cried out."Look at them, Ursula, look!"For each and every one of them, man, woman, it did not matter old or young, had takenon a powerful hazy golden glow.A light emanated from and surrounded and embracedeach figure, a subtle body of light shaped to the very form of the human being whowalked in it, unheeding of it, and the entire square was full of such golden light.I looked down at my own hands, and they too were surrounded by this subtle, ethericbody, this lovely gleaming and numinous presence, this precious and unquenchable fire.I pivoted, my garments snagging around me, and I saw this flame envelop Ursula.I sawher living and breathing within it, and, turning back to the crowd, I saw again that eachand every one of them lived and breathed in it, and I knew suddenly, understood perfectly- I would always see it.I would never see living human beings, be they monstrous orrighteous, without this expanding, blinding, fire of the soul."Yes," Mastema whispered in my ear."Yes.Forever, and every time you feed, every timeyou raise one of their tender throats to your cursed fangs, every time you drink from themthe lurid blood you would have, like the worst of God's beasts, you will see that lightflicker and struggle, and when the heart stops at the will of your hunger, you will see thatlight go out!"I broke away from him.He let me go.With her hand only, I ran.I ran and ran towards the Arno, towards the bridge, towards thetaverns that might still be open, but long before I saw the blazing flames of the soulsthere, I saw the glow of the souls from hundreds of windows, I saw the glow of soulsfrom beneath the bottoms of bolted doors.I saw it, and I knew that he spoke the truth.I would always see it.I would see the sparkof the Creator in every human life I ever encountered, and in every human life I took.Reaching the river, I leant over the stone railing.I cried out and cried out and let my cries echo over the water and up the walls on eitherside.I was mad with grief, and then through the darkness there came a toddling childtowards me, a beggar, already versed in words to speak for bread or coins or any bit ofcharity that any man would vouchsafe him, and he glowed and sputtered and glittered anddanced with brilliant and priceless light. Chapter SixteenAND THE DARKNESS GRASPED IT NOTOver the years, every time I saw one of Fra Filippo's magnificent creations, the angelscame alive for me.It was I only for an instant, only enough to prick the heart and drawthe blood, as if with a needle, to the core.Mastema himself did not appear in Fra Filippo's work until some years later, when FraFilippo, struggling and arguing as always, was working for Piero, the son of Cosimo, whohad gone to his grave.Fra Filippo never did give up his precious nun, Lucrezia Buti, and it was said of Filippothat every Virgin he ever painted - and there were many - bore Lucrezia's beautiful face.Lucrezia gave Fra Filippo a son, and that painter took the name Filippino, and his worktoo was rich in magnificence and rich in angels, and those angels too have always for oneinstant met my eyes when I came to worship before those canvases, sad andbrokenhearted and full of love and afraid.In 1469, Filippo died in the town of Spoleto, and there ended the life of one of thegreatest painters the world has ever known.This was the man who was put on the rackfor fraud, and who had debauched a convent; this was a man who painted Mary as thefrightened Virgin, as the Madonna of Christmas Night, as the Queen of Heaven, as theQueen of All Saints.And I, five hundred years after, have never strayed too far from that city which gave birthto Filippo and to that time we call the Age of Gold.Gold.That is what I see when I look at you.That is what I see when I look at any man, woman, child.I see the flaming celestial gold that Mastema revealed to me.I see it surrounding you, andholding you, encasing you and dancing with you, though you yourself may not behold it,or even care.From this tower tonight in Tuscany I look out over the land, and far away, deep in thevalleys, I see the gold of human beings, I see the glowing vitality of beating souls.So you have my story.What do you think?Do you not see a strange conflict here? Do you see a dilemma?Let me put it to you this way.Think back to when I told you about how my father and I rode through the woodstogether and we spoke of Fra Filippo, and my father asked me what it was that drew meto this monk.I said that it was struggle and a divided nature in Filippo which so attractedme to him, and that from this divided nature, this conflict, there came a torment to thefaces which Filippo rendered in paint.Filippo was a storm unto himself.So am I.My father, a man of calm spirits and simpler thoughts, smiled at this.But what does it mean in relationship to this tale?Yes, I am a vampire, as I told you; I am a thing that feeds on mortal life.I exist quietly,contentedly in my homeland, in the dark shadows of my home castle, and Ursula is withme as always, and five hundred years is not so long for a love as strong as ours.We are demons.We are damned.But have we not seen and understood things, have I not written things here that are of value to you? Have I not rendered a conflict so full oftorment that something looms here which is full of brilliance and color, not unlikeFilippo's work? Have I not embroidered, interwoven and gilded, have I not bled?Look at my story and tell me that it gives you nothing.I don't believe you if you say that.And when I think back on Filippo, and his rape of Lucrezia, and all his other tempestuoussins, how can I separate them from the magnificence of his paintings? How can I separatethe violation of his vows, and his deceits and his quarrels, from the splendor whichFilippo gave to the world?I am not saying I am a great painter.I am not such a fool.But I say that out of my pain, out of my folly, out of my passion there comes a vision - avision which I carry with me eternally and which I offer to you.It is a vision of every human being, bursting with fire and with mystery, a vision I cannotdeny, nor blot out, nor ever turn away from, nor ever belittle nor ever escape.Others write of doubt and darkness.Others write of meaninglessness and quiet.I write of indefinable and celestial gold that will forever burn bright.I write of blood thirst that is never satisfied.I write of knowledge and its price.Behold, I tell you, the light is there in you.I see it.I see it in each and every one of us,and will always.I see it when I hunger, when I struggle, when I slaughter.I see it sputterand die in my arms when I drink.Can you imagine what it would be like for me to kill you?Pray it never takes a slaughter or a rape for you to see this light in those around you.Godforbid it that it should demand such a price.Let me pay the price for you instead.THE END Selected And Annotated BibliographyI went to Florence to receive this manuscript directly from Vittorio di Raniari.It was myfourth visit to the city, and it was with Vittorio that I decided to list here a few books forthose of you who might want to know more about the Age of Gold in Florence and aboutFlorence itself [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]