Chapter 35 Chapter Thirty-Four

He is sitting at the table drinking wine and reading a book.We haven't seen each other for several weeks.I don't know what's changed in me, but when I looked at myself in the mirror that morning, I couldn't see anything different.On the other hand, he has changed.His lips are more rounded and look less woebegone; his skin is more radiant.When two men are together, usually the younger gets worn out and the older gets radiant.He said hello to me, and I sat across from him, wondering what was going on in his mind. He waved his hand. "Have you cured your...sorrow?" "Yes," I said, after a while, "I've been drawing."

He raised his eyes, and I swear there was happiness in them. "That's good." He read his book again. I don't think I'll ever find such a good opening line again. "Sir, I have something to tell you." "What's up?" "There is a guest at home." I put it blandly, painting it as a story about art and beauty: the painter is so talented, but I'm afraid he won't be able to paint again.I tried to act as nonchalant as possible, but I knew I was acting more nervous than I expected.He kept looking at me, and even after I finished speaking, he looked at me silently.

"Alexandra...you remember our first conversation, don't you? On our wedding night." "yes." "Then you should remember that I made some requests to you at that time, and I remember you agreed to them. One of the requests is that you should be careful." "Yes, but..." "Do you really think it prudent to take a half-mad man in a carriage at night, across half the city, and bring him home while your husband is away; and you put him in the room next door to yours? " "He's sick..." I hesitated.I know it's pointless. "I'm sorry," I said, "I know this puts your safety at risk, even if he's not…"

"It doesn't matter at all what he is or isn't. Alexandra, it's what people think about it. That's the way the city is now, my dear. It doesn't matter what the truth is. What matters is what people think about it .You're so smart, you should know as well as I do." Now I'm speechless again. "Can't he stay here?" I said after a while, making it sound like I was expressing my own thoughts rather than asking for his opinion. "No, he can't stay." "I... er... I think he's getting better at last, so maybe he'll think about going back to my parents' house. His work is done, he's a good painter, Cristoforo .”

"I believe I will." He took a sip of his red wine, "Now I have something to say to you," he continued after a pause, "Two acquaintances of mine were arrested yesterday and people suspect that they have Sex. Someone reported them at the whistleblower box at Notre Dame Church." "What will happen to them?" "They'll be tortured until they confess. Then they'll be made to confess more people involved. It's impossible for either of them to just confess me...but you know, these things are like a thread, and it's going to be very fast. The truth is out."

Needless to say, my inappropriate behavior annoyed him. "Well, sir, we should find a way to better protect you." I hesitated. "If your wife is pregnant, will it help your reputation?" With a wry smile on his face, he said, "Of course it will put my mind at ease. But you're not pregnant." I stared at him intently. "Yes," I said, "I will." I stood up, leaned down slowly, kissed his forehead lightly, and then went back to my bedroom. Unlike the first time, he didn't leave immediately.Instead, we sat together for a while, almost side by side, having some snacks and talking about art, life and state affairs.

"Will Savonarola obey?" "Put yourself in your shoes, Alexandra. If you were the undisputed leader of the city, Florence would enshrine your every word, and the pulpit would rule the city more than the Piazza de la Ville. Your enemy, the Pope, excommunicates you and forbids you to preach, what will you do?" "I guess it depends on whose verdict I fear, the Pope's or God's." "Don't you think it's pagan thinking to separate the two?" "Well, I think so. But I'm looking for an excuse for Savonarola. He doesn't make distinctions. God comes first to him, but..." I paused myself, and then Said, "He's not a fool after all when it comes to matters of state, and neither is the Pope."

"If he agrees, he'll get a cardinal's hat." "Ah!" I thought, "no, he won't agree. He may be mad for God, but he's not a hypocrite. He denounces the corruption of the church. If he accepts the title of cardinal, it's the same as for thirty Selling out the real Christ for a silver coin makes no difference." "Yeah, let's wait and see." "Christophero, how do you know this?" I asked enviously. He hesitated and said, "I didn't spend all my time hanging out with your brother." I was taken aback. "But...but I didn't expect you to be involved in these things."

"In the current situation, it may be the best choice to be involved. Before the time comes, the safest resistance is to hold back, seemingly non-existent." "I think you'd better be careful and don't tell anyone casually." "I'm careful," he looked at me friendly, "do you think I shouldn't tell you?" "No!" My voice was very firm. "That's good." "In short, you have to be careful, so that you are not only his moral enemy, but also his political opponent." "True. I doubt, though, that when they light the straw beneath me, they don't burn me because of my politics."

"Don't talk nonsense," I said, "it's not going to happen. No matter how powerful he is, he can't ignore the Pope forever." "You're right. But the pope has to bide his time. He has to wait until there is a crack in Florence." "You didn't see the scene of his fighters blocking us and the painter on the street..." I saw his face darken, and said hastily, "That's okay, they don't know who we are. Ilila cleverly mentioned Boils of the French, scare them off." "Ah, yes, boils. So the French are our saviors, and the French left us more than liberty."

"Yes, but it's hard to diminish his power." "No, boils do not weaken his power. But what if the summer is as hot as the winter is icy? What if there is no rain for a long time, and the crops fail? As for his holy army, there is still one in the city. Crazy people killing people everywhere, hanging people's intestines like necklaces around their necks." "Someone must have been killed." He shrugged. "It's not widely known. The night watchman at Santa Feliceta found someone dead on the altar early yesterday morning." "what……" "But when they called for help, they found that the body was gone." "You think his supporters moved the body?" "When he rebelled against the rule of the Medici, these sacrilegious acts were a gift from God. Now it embodies a kind of political chaos, or worse. Imagine if Florence were a holy city, But God was still cruel to Florence, so it was only a matter of time before his supporters questioned whether his piety was right." He smiled and said, "Now tell me, Alexandra, how are you feeling?" how do i feelIn just a few hours, I slept with two men, one for my body and one for my soul. "I feel... very satisfied," I said. "Very well. I've heard that early summer is a good time to conceive if the couple loves each other and not have sexual intercourse out of lust," he said. "So, let's pray for the future." The painter left early the next morning.Irilah finally gave him the key to the chapel. After he left, I lay in my room, wondering which child I would love the most: the one with the talent for painting, or the one with the political flair?