第27部分(第1/7 页)

painted　as　a　symbol；　a　memento　of　their　lives　and　a　sign　of　their　riches；　power

and　influence—so　they　might　always　be　there；　standing　before　us；　announcing

their　existence；　nay；　their　individuality　and　distinction。”

His　words　were　belittling；　as　if　he　were　speaking　out　of　jealousy；　ambition

or greed。 Though； at times； as he talked about the portraits he’d seen in

Venice；　his　face　would　abruptly　light　up　like　a　child’s；　invigorated。

Portraiture　had　bee　such　a　contagion　among　affluent　men；　princes　and

great families who were patrons of art that even when they missioned

frescoes　of　biblical　scenes　and　religious　legends　for　church　walls；　these　infidels

would insist that their own images appear somewhere in the work。 For

instance；　in　a　painting　of　the　burial　of　St。　Stephan；　you’d　suddenly　see；　ah　yes；

present　among　the　tearful　graveside　mourners；　the　very　prince　who　was　giving

you　the　tour—in　a　state　of　pure　enthusiasm；　exhilaration　and　conceit—of　the

paintings hanging on his palazzo walls。 Next； in the corner of a fresco

depicting　St。　Peter　curing　the　sick　with　his　shadow；　you’d　realize　with　an　odd

sense　of　disillusionment　that　the　unfortunate　one　writhing　there　in　pain　was；

in　fact；　the　strong…as…an…ox　brother　of　your　polite　host。　The　following　day；　this

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time in a piece depicting the Resurrection of the Dead； you’d discover the

guest　who’d　stuffed　himself　beside　you　at　lunch。

“Some　have　gone　so　far；　just　to　be　included　in　a　painting；”　said　my　Enishte；

fearfully as though he were talking about the temptations of Satan； “that

they’re　willing　to　be