Chapter 26 Chapter Twenty-Five

For the next few weeks, God and the devil fought to the death in the streets.Savonarola preached every day, and hordes of young men in the streets, as Protestant fighters, punished the ungodly Florentines and drove the women home to their rooms. My beautiful sister chose to challenge herself at this time.Irina woke me up on Christmas morning when she got the news, "Your mother sent a messenger saying that your sister gave birth to a girl last night. She is with your sister now, she is coming home In time, it will come to us. " my mom.I haven't seen her for six weeks since we got married.In my life, although her love for me can sometimes be harsh, no one understands my abnormality like her, she doesn't care about it, and even cares about me more because of it.However, it was this woman who shared a common past with my husband, and it was her son who betrayed his own sister.When she came that afternoon, I was almost a little afraid to see her.Even though my husband left home last night and hasn't returned yet, it doesn't do much to cover up the truth.

Like a virtuous housewife, I welcome her in the reception room.Compared with her elegant and generous reception room, this room looked cold and uninteresting.When she came in, I stood up and we hugged each other.After sitting down, she looked at me with her still sharp eyes. "Your sister gave birth, proud as a peacock, and in good spirits. The baby is doing well, too." "Thank goodness," I said. "That's it. How about you, Alexandra? You look good." "It's not bad." "Where's your husband?" "He's fine, too."

"I'm sorry I didn't see him." "Yeah...I'm sure he'll be back soon." She paused and said, "So, between the two of you..." "...very good." I said slowly. Knowing that I was avoiding the question, she asked insincerely, "This room is very quiet, how do you live every day?" "I prayed," I said, "that I followed your advice. On to your next question, I'm not pregnant yet." My candor made her smile. "It's okay, I'm not worried. Your sister is faster than people usually think." "Did the delivery go well?"

"Easier than giving birth to you." She said softly.I knew that when she brought up my birth, she was trying to soften me around her.But I don't appreciate it. "Maurizio is rich today." "Indeed. But he'd rather have a boy." "Nevertheless, the birth of his daughter earned him 400 florins. No heir, but a good start for his daughter's dowry. When it's my turn, I'll have Cristoforo do the same .” This line makes me smug because it sounds like what a wife should say. Mom looked at me, "Alexandra?" "What's the matter?" I replied cheerfully.

"Is everything all right, my boy?" "Of course, you don't have to worry about me any more. I'm married, remember." She kept silent.She seemed about to say something more, but I knew she was annoyed by this cold and unflappable young girl in front of her.I was also silent. "How long have you been at the palace, mother?" "what?" "My husband told me of his time at the house of Lorenzo the Splendid. He said the whole court was overwhelmed by your beauty and wit." I don't think it would surprise her so much if I attacked her violently.I had never seen her so evasive before. "I... haven't... I haven't been at the court. I've only visited... a few times... when I was little. My brother took me, but..."

"So you do know my husband?" "No, no... I mean, I might have seen him if he was there, but I don't know him. I... that was many years ago." "Even so, I'm still surprised why you never brought it up? Aren't you very keen to let us know about history? You don't think we are interested in it?" "That was a long time ago," she repeated, "when I was very small . . . not much older than you are now." But in that moment I felt like I was getting old. "Is my father in the court too? How did you meet?" Because I know very well that if Dad wants to write off such a thing, we as his children can't know the end of the matter.

"No," I felt a change in her tone, a return to composure, as she said the word, "we married later. You know, Alexandra, though you have an admirable knowledge of the past. I think we should talk about what's going on," she said, "You should know your dad is not doing well." "Not good? What's wrong?" "He... he's got some constraints. The French invasion and the change of fortune in Florence got him in trouble." "I thought he'd made a killing. From what I've heard, the French army was only interested in our clothes."

"Yes, but your father refused to sell them." After I heard it, I loved him even more. "I'm concerned that his refusal will be seen as a dissenter. I'm sure it won't cause us too much trouble in the future." "However, he must have also been told that the Town Hall would never summon him again. From now on, our great halls of government will be occupied by the Snifflers," I said, using a descriptive reference to Savoy. Slang for followers of Narola.She looked a little worried. "Don't worry, I wouldn't say that in public. My husband kept me informed of the changing times in town. Like you, I've heard of some new laws against gambling, prostitution," I paused, Say, "And sodomy."

I could feel my words taking her breath away again.The air became very still.That's impossible, she's my own mother, how could something like this happen... "Sodomy," I repeated, "is a brazen crime, and I have only recently learned what it means. But I don't think I've been educated enough in it." "Well, it's not something a good family should talk about," she said.Now her words are as cold as mine.Judging by her words, it was clear that she had betrayed me.I didn't want to believe it, but I was so angry I didn't even want to be in the same room with her.I stood up and signaled to see off the guest, but she didn't move.

"Alexandra," she said. I stared at her calmly. "My dear child, if you are unhappy..." "Unhappy? Why? What's wrong with my marriage?" I continued to stare at her. She stood up and responded to my aggressiveness. "You know, your father would be very happy if you came home now. He's been very busy with business these days. Florence isn't the only country where there's riots, it's pretty bad in a lot of places and it's affecting business. I think, Maybe he'll relax a little bit when his favorite daughter visits." She said softly, "Me too."

"Really? I thought the brothers were all at home, and now these young stupid men are getting harder and harder to get along with." "Yes, Luca has become like this," she said. "Really, I'm afraid Savonarola will bribe your brother. You have to be careful in your dealings with him. As for Tommaso . . . She paused, and I felt the fear in her. "We haven't seen him a lot these days. I think that's something that worries your dad." She dropped her gaze. She was almost at the door, and I still didn't say a word.She turned and said, "Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you something, from the artist." "Painter?" I felt a familiar, sweet pain rising in my stomach.Even though we've had so much going on in our lives, sometimes I don't think about him at all. "Yes," she pulled out a package wrapped in a white cloth from her purse, "he gave this to me this morning. It was your wedding present. We didn't ask him to paint your dowry box, I miss him There must be some confusion, although your father has explained to him that it is because of lack of time." "how is he?" She shrugged. "He's started a mural. We won't see it until it's finished. He works with assistants during the day and alone at night. He never leaves the house except for religious services. He's a strange young man, He and I haven't spoken 50 words since he came to our house. I think he might be better off in his own monastery than in our secular city. Still, your dad has a lot of faith in him. We have to hope that his murals are as rich as his ideas." She stopped.Perhaps she wanted to soften my silence by promising to reveal more to me in the future.But I still ignored her, so she gave me a quick hug and left. I was alone again, and the room got colder.I don't allow myself to think about the truth I just learned, because otherwise, I will surely fall into an abyss of pain from which I will never be able to pull out.So I turned my attention to the painter's gift. I gently untied the white cloth.Inside was a wooden panel the size of a church bible, with a tempera painting of a portrait of the Virgin.The picture is lively, with the brightly colored sun of Florence, and the background vividly shows the elements of the city: the great dome, intricate loggias, piazzas and numerous churches.The Virgin is seated in the center, her hands (what beautiful hands) resting lightly on her lap, and she has a golden halo around her head, indicating that she is the Mother of God. These are all certain.Less certain is how old the Madonna is.She looks very young, looking straight into the eyes of the viewer, obviously, she must be looking at someone.And there was no sign of an angel bringing her happy news, no dance or sleeping baby to bring her joy.Her face was long and plump, too plump to be called pretty, and there was not a single part of her skin that was white enough to be fashionable, but whatever she looked like, she looked so dignified, with such distinctions between likes and hates, that one could hardly help thinking take a look. Looking again, I found something.The Virgin looks less like a supplicant than a questioner: her eyes reveal doubts, as if she doesn't quite understand or accept her task.Without thinking about it, she might choose to refuse rather than obey. In brief, she reveals a betrayal such as I have never seen in a Madonna.Besides her betrayal, I am also very familiar with her, because her face is my face.