Chapter 8 Chapter VII

Protila's wedding took place after all. It was a contract between my father's business and my family's wealth.Whenever I think of Protila, I can vividly remember that day.The early morning sun was soft and bright. She was wearing a wedding dress and sitting in the living room at home.The painter sat and observed for a long time, preparing to paint her expression and scene on the wall of my house.She was supposed to be tired (she stayed up almost all night despite the sleeping pills her mother gave her), but she looked like she had just woken up from heaven.Her face was full and soft, her skin was amazingly white, and her cheeks were slightly flushed with excitement.Her eyes are clear, red pupils like pomegranate seeds, shining against the whites of the eyes; the density and color of the eyelashes are just right-of course

Not like a closed hedge—thicker in the middle of the brows, tapering off at the ends to the corners of the eyes and ears, like a painter's line.Her lips are small and slightly pursed like Cupid's bow; her hair, which has been sunbathed for many afternoons, is adorned with flowers and jewels, showing her delicacy. Her clothes were the most fashionable: the neckline was of Papa's beautiful Flemish wool, which was already in short supply, with scalloped creases; her petticoats were as soft and wide as angel wings.Her coat is even more beautiful.Its cloth is the finest yellow silk.The nearby saffron is especially suitable for dyeing; the skirt is full of delicate patterns, and the hand-embroidered flowers and birds are subtly intertwined, which is completely different from the poorly made altar tablecloths in the church.

The older sister under the dress is very beautiful, and if one believes Plato's statement, one can expect goodness to shine from her.Of course, she was doing much better than usual that morning, almost giddy with excitement.Although she hoped that the wedding ceremony would be painted, she was impatient to sit in the room for too long.Everyone in the house is busy, and I, as her partner, was assigned to laugh and laugh with her in the room.On the other side of the room, the artist's hand moves steadily across the drawing board. Of course, I was as interested in him as I was in my sister.To celebrate, the whole family had put on new clothes that day; his new clothes didn't fit very well, but he looked handsome.I have given him Alberti's book for several weeks, but he has not expressed anything.He got fat (my family's chef is famous), don't know if it's my imagination or he actually looked up, our eyes met when I walked in the door, maybe he smiled.He must be trying to learn to be humble these days.The only thing that remains unchanged is his hands, which are as expressive as before, and every stroke makes my sister more lively.He marked some numbers on the clothes of the drawing so that the coloring can be distinguished later.

I still don't know anything about his nighttime life, not even my gossip queen told me anything about him.He is still a loner at home, avoiding contact with Ilila and the others.The servants now regarded him not so much as a sick man as self-righteous: a man who, by virtue of his status as an artist in the family, regarded himself above the other servants.It took me a long time to realize that it wasn't that he didn't speak because he was self-righteous, but that he didn't know what to say at all.As a younger sister, I'd better not steal the bride's light, although this happens occasionally.My mother puts on skin creams, and my skin is as fair and beautiful as my sister's; and lately my body has grown so long that Ilila's bandages and tailor's oblong pleats can't hide it.Before he could finish drawing me, a group of people suddenly squeezed into the room and pulled us out in a hurry.The gate was opened, and Ilila and I saw Protila riding a horse in the yard, her dress arranged like a golden lake around her, and the servants had already carried the dowry box on their shoulders (Elila said that there were as many people carrying the dowry as Lorenzo's coffin).So the team began to march towards her husband's house.

The crowds of onlookers made my father especially happy as we walked through the streets.He knew that if we aroused women's interest in clothes, our family would be rich; hundreds of the most powerful families in Florence were waiting for us at Maurizio's, and they also liked beautiful clothes. The outside walls of their house were covered with beautiful tapestries specially rented; inside the mansion the wedding feast was lined up in the garden.If Dad is the king of clothes, his in-laws are not far behind him when it comes to cooking.I think all the animals in the hunting area around Florence lost at least one relative that day.The menu is so rich that soon someone is belching.Of course, such a lavish banquet is officially forbidden.Like all good Christian cities, Florence had laws limiting luxury.But just as everyone knows that dowry chests hide excess jewelry and fabric from the authorities, wedding receptions are little more than private celebrations.

After the feast comes the dance.Protila, who was the real bride now, turned coquettishly and held out her hand to an inviter; this again disappointed me at my clumsiness.People stared at her as she and Maurizio danced to Lorenzo's "Bassal Laurel" (danced shortly after his death, as a token of allegiance). I'm like a three-legged cat compared to her.In a complicated turn, I got it all wrong; but my partner whispered in my ear what to do next, which saved the day. The celebration lasted until late at night.The guests were struggling because they were too full, and the wine was like the overflowing Arno River, and many people drank to the point of losing their composure.But what they said to each other I don't know, for at present I have to stay in the upstairs room, with two fat maids and a group of girls of similar age.I swear this is the last time I'll be at such a vulgar party, and I'd rather be a bystander than be a part of it.

I was right, though I still don't know the cost.Surprisingly I miss Protila.At first I was happy to have an undisturbed room, but soon the bed seemed too big without her.I never heard her snore again, nor did I get tired of her babbling.Although her long-winded and trivial things are annoying, they have been a part of my life for a long time, and I can't imagine what it's like to live in peace.The home began to look empty.My father went abroad again, and when he was away, my brothers went out into the streets even more recklessly.Even the painter had gone, and moved to a studio near the Holy Cross Church, to study the frescoes in preparation for the altar in my house.He found a suitable teacher, and my father paid for him to enter the Guild of Physicians and Pharmacists and obtain official permission to paint in Florence.Just thinking about him tortured me.

As for my own future, my mother kept her word and never spoke directly about my marriage.When Dad came back, his mind was entirely elsewhere.Even I could see that the power system in the city was changing after Lorenzo's death.The citizens of Florence doubted the extent to which Piero Medici could exercise his father's power.If he can't, will the family's enemies gain enough support to overthrow their rule after years of being oppressed?Even though I knew nothing about politics at the time, it was impossible to turn a deaf ear to the venom from the pulpit of Santa Maria del Fiore.Savonarola's influence has recently spread beyond the convent of San Marco, and he now preaches weekly in the crowded church of Santa Maria del Fiore.This holy

The Taoist priest seemed to be directly commanded by God, and Florence seemed to him to be condemned as a city corrupted by privilege and useless knowledge. All of this made it difficult to determine my future marriage plans, although I would eventually have to marry. I remember that conflict happened the summer of the wedding.The family was lively again, Dad was busy with his last trip, and the painter had just returned home from his advanced studies, and closed the door in his room to prepare the design of the chapel.Sitting in my room with an open book on my lap, I wondered how I could visit him.Luca and Tommaso were just about to go out at this moment and swaggered past me.

"Alexandra, my dearest," he said, bowing mockingly to me, "Look, Luca! Our sister is reading again, and she's in just the right pose, how charming! But you'd better be careful Point, while men like submissive wives, sometimes you better look up at them." "Excuse me, what are you talking about?" "I'm saying you're next. Is that her, Luca?" "What next?" "Shall I tell her, or you?" Luca shrugged. "Roll and strip," he said, making the sound of a cock being killed.My older brothers, though struggling with Greek grammar, have a flair for the latest street slang;

"Rolling and stripping? What's that, Luca?" "That's what Protila has done!" He smirked, reminding me of the recent news that has excited the family—my sister is pregnant and is expected to have a boy to inherit the inheritance. "Poor little girl," said Tommaso, with more sympathy than malice, "didn't she tell you what it was like? Well, I'll tell you, but I can only talk about how men are. Mature At times, it's like sucking on a juicy watermelon." "What about the skin?" He laughed. "It depends on how long you want it to last. But maybe you should ask your precious painter." "What will he do?" "You don't know? Oh, dear Alexandra, I thought you knew everything! Our teacher always says so." "That's just comparing with you," I couldn't stop myself, and retorted, "What are you talking about that painter?" I was too eager to know, which gave them the upper hand. He kept me waiting for a while, then said: "I'm talking about our little pious painter who wanders around the slums every night. He doesn't go there to paint, does he, Luca?" My eldest brother nodded in agreement, with a smirk on his fat face. "How do you know?" "Because we met him, that's why." "when?" "Last night, he was sneaking in Ponte Vecchio, a bridge across the Arno River. It was originally a Florentine trade fair, with shops and handicraft workshops on both sides of the bridge. The original site is still there, and it is one of the most famous attractions in Florence. One. Over there." "You talked to him?" "Of course! We asked him where he went." "and then?" "Then he looked guilty and said he was walking around." "Perhaps he is." "Ah, girl, you don't understand. This man is a bastard. His face looks like a ghost, he is dirty from top to bottom, and he smells like a woman's vagina." Although I have never heard this word before, but from him I could guess what it meant by the tone of the voice.I pretended not to understand, and he hit me in a contemptuous voice, "So you have to be careful. If he draws you again, tighten your coat. Maybe he wants more than just your likeness." "Have you told anyone else about this?" He smiled. "You mean did I tell him? Why would I? I think he'd be better off painting a lewd whore than a gospel meeting. Who's that artist you like? Just for the sake of painting The one where Our Lady stripped the nun?" "Frother Filippo," I said, "has a very beautiful Madonna, and he married that nun." "That's because of the Medicis betrothed. I bet Cosimo the Elder Cosimo de' Medici, grandfather of Lorenzo de' Medici. Got a lot out of that set of altarpieces." Apparently, Tommaso inherited some business savvy from his father. "Then what are you gaining by not denouncing the painter, Tommaso?" He laughed and said, "What do you think I want? I made him promise to paint me with long legs and a wide forehead to impress my children and grandchildren. And then paint you with a harelip and short legs— —exactly explains your poor dancing skills." Although I was prepared for it, his rudeness still took me by surprise.We argued all because he needed to punish me, to combat my sense of superiority, to compensate for his humiliation in the classroom.Sometimes I feel like the trajectory of my entire life is unfolding against Tommaso, and every win I have comes at a price. "Oh, don't say I hurt your feelings! If you knew...we're just trying to help you, Luca? It's not easy finding a husband for a girl who quotes Plato but has no common sense. We both know you need all the energy get help." "Better watch out, you two!" I said grimly, trying to hide my sadness, "You think you can do whatever you want with Daddy's money and our family crest. But if you open your eyes, you Things will be seen changing! The sword of God's wrath hangs high over the city, and every night he follows your steps in the streets to see what crimes you commit." "Wow! You sound like him!" Luca laughed nervously.I am good at imitating other people's voices. "Laugh now!" I turned to him, looking sternly into his eyes like Savonarola on the pulpit, "but you'll soon be weeping. God will use the plague, Floods, wars, and famines will punish those evil. The righteous will be saved, and the rest will be suffocated by the smoke of brimstone!" My curse instantly made my prodigal brother feel the flames of hell. "Don't listen to her, Luca." Tommaso was not so easily intimidated, "Savonarola is a madman, everyone knows it." "Not everyone, Tommaso. He knows the scriptures and preaches well. You better hear what he has to say sometimes." "Ah... I did start listening, but then my eyelids got heavier and heavier..." "That's because you fooled around so late at night. You look back and see how the people who slept peacefully at home at night were impressed by him. Their eyes were as big as communion bread! They convinced him!" I saw Lu Ka listened more seriously. "Wars? Famines? Floods? The Arno River floods every year. If the crops fail, of course people will starve again. These have nothing to do with God's will." "Yes, but if his prophecy comes true, people will associate it. Think of the Pope." "What? He told us a sick old man was going to die, and then the old man did die, and we all called him a prophet. I'd rather think that's a lot better than the one that hit you. Also, you should be better than most Worry about all. If he doubts the knowledge of men, he also believes that the devil is in women. He even thinks women should not speak...for, if you remember, dear sister, it was Eve's rhetoric that induced Adam to sin... ..." "Why do you always make noises in the house?" Mom walked in wearing her out clothes, and Maria and another servant followed behind with a few leather bags. "You're swearing like shrews! Your voice is disgusting, sir, and you shouldn't always be humiliating your sister. And you, Alexandra, are insulting your sex!" We bowed to her and admitted our mistake.When I bent over, Tommaso gave me a wink, reminding me how to deal with it.Despite our differences, there are times when we need each other's help. "Dear mamma, forgive us! We are only discussing religious matters," his flattery may have impressed many women, but it had no effect on mamma, "discussing what we should give to the recent remarks of that excellent monk." focus on." "Oh..." The anger subsided a little, "I hope my children can consciously follow God's will without being stimulated by Savonarola." "But are you sure you don't agree, mother?" I said eagerly. "I mean, he thinks learning ancient knowledge is contrary to the truth of Christ?" She stopped, looked at me, and was still thinking about something else. "Alessandra, I pray every day that you will accept more and not always ask questions. As for Girolamo Savonarola, let's put it this way, he is a devout man who believes in heaven." She frowned. "But I doubt Florence needs a friar from Ferrara to say something about it. If a man has to hear bad news, it better come from his own home. Like now," she sighed , "I have to go and see Protila." "Plautila? Why?" "There's something wrong with her fetus. She begged me to go. I'll stay there tonight and let Angelica take word home. Alexandra, you'd better stop arguing and focus on your dance teacher. He still hasn't completely given up on you. Luca, you have to go to study. Tommaso, you stay here. Dad will come back later and have something to say to you. He will attend the meeting of the Security Committee in the Town Hall Square, and it may be later Just go home." "But mom..." "...whatever you plan to do tonight, Tommaso, you have to wait until your father comes back. Got it?" My clever brother, who always has an answer to every question, said nothing this time.