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For the keeping of a Divine Secret had I not turned my back on Zenobia？ And did I not suffer routinely and justly for having abandoned my inparable Pandora whom I might never find again？
At last I could endure my confused thoughts no longer。 I came close to one of the older men in the tavern who was not singing with the younger ones。
〃I've e here to find a great painter；〃 I told him。
He shrugged and took a drink of his wine。
〃I used to be a great painter；〃 he said； 〃but no more。 All I do is drink。〃
I laughed。 I called for the tavern maid to serve him another cup。 He gave a nod of thanks to me。
〃The man I'm looking for…he's called Botticelli； or so I'm told。〃
Now it was his turn to laugh。
〃You're seeking the greatest painter in Florence；〃 he said。 〃You won't have any trouble finding him。 He's always busy； no matter how many idlers hang about in his workshop。 He may be painting now。〃
〃Where is the workshop？〃 I asked。
〃He lives in the Via Nuova； right before the Via Paolino。〃
〃But tell me…。〃 I hesitated。 〃What sort of man is he？ I mean to you？〃
Again； the man shrugged。 〃Not bad； not good； though he has a sense of humor。 Not one to make an imprint on your mind except through his painting。 You'll see when you meet him。 But don't expect to hire him。 He has much work already to do。〃
I thanked the man； laid down money for more wine if he wanted it； and slipped out of the tavern。
With a few questions I found the way to the Via Nuova。 A night watchman gave me the way to the home of Botticelli； pointing to a sizable house； but not a great palazzo； where the painter lived with his brother and his brother's family。
I stood before this simple house as if it were a shrine。 I could see where the workshop most certainly was by its large doors to the street which were inevitably open by day； and I could see that all the rooms both on the main floor and above it were dark。
How could I go into this workshop？ How could I see what work was being done there now？ Only by night could I e to this place。 Never had I cursed the night so much。
Gold had to do this for me。 Gold and the Spell Gift； though how I would dare to daze Botticelli himself I had no idea。
Suddenly； unable to control myself any longer I pounded on the door of the house。
Naturally enough； no one answered； so I pounded again。
Finally a light brightened in the upstairs window； and I could hear footfall within。
At last a voice demanded： Who was I； and what did I want？
What was I to answer to such a question？ Was I to lie to someone whom I worshiped？ Ah； but I had to get in。
〃Marius de Romanus；〃 I answered； making up the name at that very moment。 〃I've e with a purse of gold for Botticelli。 I've seen his paintings in Rome； and I greatly admire him。 I must put this purse into his own hand…〃
There was a pause。 Voices behind the door。 Two men conferring with each other as to who I might be； or why such a lie might be told。
One man said not to answer。 The other man said it was worth a brief look； and it was he who pulled back the latch and opened the door。 The other held the lamp behind him； so I saw only a shadowy face。
〃I am Sandro；〃 he said simply； 〃I'm Botticelli。 Why would you bring me a purse of gold？〃
For a long moment I was speechless。 But in this speechlessness； I had the sense to produce the gold。 I handed the purse over to the man； and I watched silently as he opened it and as he took out the gold florins and held them in his hand。
〃What do you want？〃 he asked。 His voice was as plain as his manner。 He was rather tall。 His hair was light brown and already threaded with gray though he was not old。 He had large eyes that appeared passionate； and a well…formed mouth and nose。 He stood looking at me without annoyance or suspicion； and obviously ready to return my gold。 I didn't think he was forty years old。
I tried to speak and I stammered。 For the first time in all my memory
I stammered。 Finally I managed to make myself plain：
〃Let me e into your workshop tonight；〃 I said。 〃Let me see your paintings。 That's all I want。〃
〃You can see them by day。〃 He shrugged。 〃My workshop's always open。 Or you can go to the churches in which I've painted。 My work is all over Florence。 You don't have to pay me for such a thing。〃 What a sublime voice； what an honest voice。 There was something patient and tender in it。
I gazed upon him as I had gazed on his paintings。 But he was waiting for an answer。 I had to pull myself together。
〃I have my reasons；〃 I said。 〃I have my passions。 I want to see your work now； if you'll let me。 I offer the gold。〃
He smiled and he gave a little even laugh。 〃Well； you e like one of the Magi；〃 he said。 〃For I can certainly use the payment。 e inside。〃
That was the second time in my long years that I had been pared to the Magi of Scripture and I loved it。
I entered the house which was by no means luxurious； and as he took the lamp from the other man； I followed him through a side door into his workshop where he put the lamp on a table full of paints and brushes and rags。
I couldn't take my eyes off him。 This was the man who had done the great paintings in the Sistine Chapel； this ordinary man。
The light flared up and filled the place。 Sandro； as he had called himself； gestured to his left； and as I turned to my right； I thought I was losing my mind。
A giant canvas covered the wall； and though I had expected to see a religious painting； no matter how sensual； there was something else there； altogether different； which rendered me speechless once more。
The painting was enormous as I've indicated； and it was posed of several figures； but whereas the Roman paintings had confused me in the question of their subject matter； I knew very well the subject matter of this。
For these were not saints and angels； or Christs and prophets…no； far from it。
There loomed before me a great painting of the goddess Venus in all her glorious nudity； feet poised upon a seashell； her golden hair torn by faint breezes； her dreamy gaze steady； her faithful attendants the god Zephyr who blew the breezes which guided her landward； and a nymph as beautiful as the goddess herself who weled her to the shore。
I drew in my breath and put my hands over my face； and then when I uncovered my eyes I found the painting there again。
A slight impatient sigh came from Sandro Botticelli。 What in the name of the gods could I say to him about the brilliance of this work？ What could I say to him to reveal the adulation I felt？
Then came his voice； low and resigned。 〃If you're going to tell me it's shocking and evil； let me tell you； I have heard it a thousand times。 I'll give you back your gold if you want。 I've heard it a thousand times。〃
I turned and went down on my knees； and I took his hands and I kissed them with my lips as closely as I dared。 Then I rose slowly like an old man on one knee before the other and I stood back to gaze at the panel for a long time。
I looked at the perfect figure of Venus again； covering her most intimate secret with locks of her abundant hair。 I looked on the nymph with her outstretched hand and her voluminous garments。 I looked on the god Zephyr and the goddess with him； and all of the tiny details of the painting came to reside in my mind。
〃How has it e about？ 〃 I asked。 〃After so long a time of Christs and Virgins； that such a thing could be painted at last？ 〃
From the quiet figure of the unplaining man there came another little laugh。
〃It's up to my patron；〃 he said。 〃My Latin is not so good。 They read the poetry to me。 I painted what they said to paint。〃 Fie paused。 He looked troubled。 〃Do you think it's sinful？〃
〃Certainly not；〃 I responded。 〃You ask me what I think？ I think it's a miracle。 I'm surprised that you would ask；〃 I looked at the painting… 〃This is a goddess；〃 I said。 〃How could it be other than sacred？ There was a time when millions worshiped her with all their hearts。 There was a time when people consecrated themselves to her with all their hearts。〃
〃Well； yes；〃 he answered softly； 〃but she