Chapter 7 Chapter Six

I took the Alberti and Chenini book out of my trunk and put it on the bed.Chenini's book is indispensable. When drawing, I always have to refer to it, whether it is the direction of the clothes pattern or the colors that I don't know how to mix.But it might be possible to give him Alberti. I asked Ilila to deliver it for me, promising her a red silk scarf. "No." "Why don't you go? You love the color and it suits you too." "If you don't go, you won't go." "Why? How easy! You just go down and give him the book. You know where his room is as well as I do."

"What if your mother finds out?" "She won't find out." "But if she finds out, she'll know it's yours and I sent it there. Then I'll be miserable." "It won't." I'm looking for some excuses. "She, she'll understand that we're all for art. God wants us to get acquainted." "Oh! Old Ludovika wouldn't say that!" "What do you mean? She's asleep and can't see anything." She fell silent, but I was too happy.She smiled at me.I get it, "Oh, you're lying, Elila! She didn't tell you anything."

"She didn't, but you just said." "I think we're talking about art, Elila. We're talking about churches and chapels of art, and the colors of the sun. I tell you, his paintbrush works like a charm." I paused, "though he behaved rudely. " "That's what worries me. You two are so alike." She took the book with her after all.The days that followed were crazy.Mother and servants were arranging Protila's dowry, and Protila spent endless hours adorning herself, getting her hair to shine, her skin whitened, and so on, to look more like a ghost than a bride.When I went to the window the next night, it was already late.The painter appeared almost at the same time, still wearing the same cloak, still walking towards the darkness with that firm step.This time I decided to wait until he came back.It was a clear spring night, the sky was full of stars.But there was a burst of thunder from nowhere, and lightning tore a huge gap in the sky.

"Wow--" "what!" Around the corner, the brothers and their friends staggered and pulled each other down the street like a pack of landed pirates.I hurried away from the window, but Tommaso's eyes were like a hawk's, and I heard him whistle viciously as he usually greets his dogs. "Hello, sister?" His voice was loud enough to push away the pebbles, "little sister!" I poked my head out and shushed him to keep him quiet.But he was so drunk that he didn't care. "Wow, look at her! Her head is as big as those statues in the Church of Our Lady of the Flowers, and her face is like a dog's butt!"

Friends around him cheered and expressed their agreement with his vision. "Keep shouting, Dad will hear!" I shouted angrily. "If he wakes up, you will be in more trouble than me!" "Where have you been?" "Why don't you ask Luka?" But Luka couldn't stand still. "We found him with his hands on the breasts of the Virgin Catherine, vomiting filth on her feet. If we hadn't found out in time, he would have been arrested for blasphemy." Another bolt of lightning illuminated the night sky as bright as day.The two thunderclaps that followed were deafening, as if the earth had been split by the lightning.Of course, we all know how it is: sometimes the earth has this sign of a split, and the devil captures some wandering soul without a master at the split second.My legs were shaking with fear, but it was over.

They were also petrified below, but then yelled to hide their fear. "Okay! Earthquake!" Luka shouted. "No! It's the cannon!" laughed Tommaso. "It's the French army crossing the Alps to conquer Naples. What a prospect! Think about it, sister, rape and robbery. I heard that in Athens , those rough Frenchmen love to humiliate virgins." In the garden behind the house, the peacock was awakened, and uttered a shriek that could wake the dead.I saw the windows facing the street open, and a ray of fire came from the direction of the church.Can't wait any longer for that painter.I quickly left the room and went back upstairs.When I just climbed into the bed, I heard my father's angry voice from downstairs.

The next morning, the family was talking about a piece of news.In the dead of night last night, a bolt of lightning struck the skylight of the great vault of the Church of Our Lady of the Flowers, and split a block of marble in two.The lightning was so powerful that half of the marble pierced through the roof and hit the ground; the other half smashed into a nearby house, but miraculously no one was injured. Then came worse news.That same night, the great scholar, diplomat, statesman, and noblest citizen of Florence, the philanthropist "Lorenzo the Luxurious," lay in the mansion of Carricci, suffering from apoplexy and stomachaches.He heard what was happening in the city, and sent to find out how the stone fell.After he knew it, he closed his eyes and said, "It really is. I'm going to die tonight."

He literally died that night.The news hit the city harder than any lightning strike.My brothers and I sat quietly that morning as our Greek teacher choked up reading Pericles' eulogy to us, his tears soaking the specially transcribed manuscript.Although we later teased him that his sad tone was hypocritical, I know that even Luca was touched at that time.Baba stopped business that day, and I heard Maria and Ludovica moaning and crying in their room.Before I was born, Lorenzo de' Medici was the most influential man in Florence, and his death was like a cold wind that sent shudders through all of us.

His body was placed in the monastery of San Marco, where the city's prominent families went to pay their respects at night.I also went to my house.In that chapel, the coffin was placed so high that I could barely see inside.But what impresses me the most is that his face is very ugly.Although I had seen his face on hundreds of medals before, I was still amazed to see him in person: a fat nose that reached almost to his lower lip, a jutting chin like a rocky coastal headland. As I stood dumbfounded, Tommaso whispered in my ear that Lorenzo's ugliness itself was an aphrodisiac that would lure women's minds, and that his love poems could move even the coldest of women.This scene reminds me of the day at Our Lady Novosibirsk when Mom saw the great architecture of Girandayo and noticed that history was being formed.I vividly remember the moment when her tears shone like crystals in the candlelight.I'd never seen her cry before, and it puzzled me more than Lorenzo's body.

The Abbey of San Marco, where the body was buried, was Lorenzo's grandfather's favorite resting place, and the family donated a lot of money here precious.But its new abbot, a maverick thinker, cursed the Medici for encouraging pagan scholars to misinterpret the word of God.Some say he refused to pardon Lorenzo at the coffin, but I think this is a shameless rumour, just to fuel the flames.Girolamo Savonarola, Abbot of the monastery that day, was evidently filled with great reverence: his sermon was passionate about the transience of life and the eternity of God's gift; Indulging in earthly pleasures, always ready to die for the Savior.There were nods of admiration and agreement at the table, though I doubt they'll forget about it when they go home, taste the food and the good life.I know we all are like that.

It is well known that our family and the future Protila family are supporters of the Medici, so the wedding was postponed. But that's not the worst.Lorenzo's death has turned the city into a mess.Over the next few weeks, Irila brought back all sorts of cruel news: the day before Lorenzo's death, in the cage behind the Piazza de la Ville, two lions, the incomparable symbols of Florence, bit each other and fought each other. and on the day after his death a woman at Santa Maria Novella ran mad, came down the gallery, and said before the crowd that a bull with fire in its horns had come upon her, and had knocked the whole church from The danger of their heads collapsing.Long after she was taken away, it was said that the echoes of her screams could still be heard in the main hall. But the most horrific thing happened a week later, when guards at Holy Cross Church found the body of a young woman in the swamp between the church and the river. These are all I heard from Ilila when Protila and I sat under the arbor in the garden and embroidered.Irilah described every gory detail vividly, and the yellow gorse around us, and the scent of cloves and lavender made the story sound even worse. "The body was decomposed and the bones were exposed. While searching for it, the guards had to cover their noses with a cloth smoked with camphor. They said she died that night during the thunderstorm. The murderer did not bury her. She lay on her own. In the blood, the stench attracted rats and dogs. Half of her stomach had been eaten, and there were bruises all over her body." Then a notice appeared in the market saying that she had died in the attack, calling on the murderer to act out of conscience and to surrender himself to the authorities in order to preserve the good name of the republic.In this city, girls are indeed regularly violated and sometimes even killed.But this case is different.Elila said the wounds were terrible, and her pussy was so horrible that no one could tell whether it was done by a man or a beast.