immortal person

Giovanni Buonarroti returned to Florence at the age of 23. It was the early spring of the 64th year of the Holy Calendar. Travelers entered the city through the San Frediano Gate in the early morning, and farmers drove ox carts full of crops. , the worker dragged a sack that was as tall as a person, and an inconspicuous cloth backpack was his only luggage.The rucksack contains all the tools a carver needs: a homemade chisel and hammer, and a small amount of wax for samples.These soulless things are sufficient to create souls in his hands, and are his loyal and long-lasting companions.

After five years, he finally returned to Florence.The years he spent in this city were not too long, but they were unforgettable enough.Years ago, on the long cobbled streets of this city, a man had put the fire of immorality into his heart with his own hands; The statue of John the Baptist inlaid in the city gate passed by, breathing the familiar air mixed with the smell of honey and sand, and memories swept towards him like gravel under the strong wind.

Passing women stared at him unabashedly.What they saw was a slender youth, with hair as black as ebony, and eyes as dark gray as the thick morning mist, or the sky when the stars are not hidden.His face was thin, his brow bones were high, his facial features were as deep as stone carvings, and his temperament was gloomy and stable.The woman thought to herself, this young man has a good appearance, and only his fortitude, kindness and tolerance can match his appearance.She guessed that he was a firm believer, and the cross around his neck and the shallow strangle marks were enough to declare this.Most of these people come from outside the city, because the dissolute Florence has rarely seen such good-looking young people in recent years; it's just that he doesn't know if he has a glorious surname enough to make him famous in the city?

His face is dusty and his clothes are simple, only his eyes are shining like stars.Time has honed and refined him. Even if his teacher was here when he was young, it may be difficult to immediately connect him with the taciturn and shy boy back then.The teacher he missed has now gone to heaven, and Giovanni returned just to attend his funeral.The master who had been immersed in sculpture all his life had unreservedly poured out his skills to him, and wept sadly when he bid farewell in a hurry.At that time, none of them thought that five years later, before he could say goodbye to his most beloved disciple before he died, he would be buried under the black soil forever.

Thinking of this, Giovanni's eyes were sore.However, he knew that if this was not the case, perhaps he would spend a longer time wandering outside, sharpening himself in the scorching sun of Greece and the mountains of the Balkans. to him.

The sky above the city was like a layer of gray glass, through which the morning light shone dimly.Giovanni stopped and looked around.The city named after flowers is still as he remembered it, with cars and horses coming and going, bustling with people, and it is the heart of the entire Tuscany region.Moving up the line of sight, beyond the brick-red roofs, beside Brunelleschi's amazing dome, is the white marble palace of the Medici family.During the five years, the family repaired the exterior wall of the building, and a huge coat of arms was engraved on the white wall on the west, and three angels held it up.There is no need to look at it. Based on his memory, he knows that there is a window on the second floor on this side. On the window sill covered by white gauze, there are two pots of violets in full bloom.

"You must be going to the Medici Palace."

The person who approached him was a short lady who had to raise her head to meet his gaze: "Every traveler who is new to Florence always wants to visit the Duke's mansion. Do you need to guide the way?"

"...No need," he was startled, and then declined her kindness, "I know how to get there, thank you."

More than knowing.When he was a teenager, he had dreamed of stepping into that building countless times, and every time he passed the palace gate, he would deliberately slow down his pace; when he was a little older, he moved in here and slept peacefully under the same roof as that person.Until that night five years ago, he fled hurriedly in the moonlight, and never went back.

"I think so," the woman laughed. "A prudent traveler will always inquire about the way beforehand. The fountain in the Duke's garden is the most beautiful in all Apennines, and people say that they have never seen a collection of books like the Duke's. Bookmark. These places are open to everyone, you won't want to miss them."

Unconcealable pride showed in her tone.In Florence, the Duke of Medici was revered and loved as a king.This love is based on the prosperity brought by the man who built the city into the Canaanite of art and restored Athens to its past glory.It is also because of his efforts that this city-state has been prosperous for a long time, and the happiness brought by money lingers around every citizen, and pleasure is no longer a sin here.At this moment, behind them came a group of exaggeratedly dressed pedestrians. They wore feather crowns and bulky clothes. They were Spanish clowns who were about to perform at the festival by the river.

Nothing had changed: the city was still the same city, a more prosperous and flashier Florence.What has changed is him.

Giovanni bade farewell to the eager woman.Bertholdo's funeral is scheduled for tomorrow, and he has a day to rest.There are several taverns densely crowded on both sides of the Lord's Square. It was not yet noon, but the wooden chairs in front of the door were already full of drunk customers.He rented a room on the second floor from the shopkeeper with two silver coins, and returned downstairs after a brief freshening up.Amidst the white smoke from inferior firewood, the crowd gathered in front of the fire in the corner of the tavern, exchanging wild news they had heard recently.Giovanni went straight through them and asked the clerk for a cup of hot milk.

"There is no young man of your age who does not drink," said the man.

Giovanni shook his head; he hardly ever drank.

"Hey, come on! Wine is the best thing, nothing is better than it," said the clerk, shaking his head. "Have a rum, there's nothing a rum can't fix!"

This familiar sentence stunned him for a moment.Giovanni shook his head and took the wooden cup.

"It's a nice day today," suddenly, someone in the corner said, "Will you bet? The Qibo family will send the portrait today."

"There's nothing for them," continued another. "Listen, my dear brother is in the court, and he is inseparable from the duke. Guess what? He told me that the duke has long since decided to marry a French lady!"

The effect of this sentence in a crowd is like a stone suddenly dropped on the water.The voices are boiling——

"Really? Did he really say that?"

"Damn!"

"How is it possible? Stop joking!"

Almost immediately it became the hottest topic in the tavern.Giovanni turned his head abruptly, only to see that the man changed his posture and leaned against the fire, with a triumphant expression on his face: "Is this true? I heard it from my brother, but he heard it from the Duke himself! Don't you You know, the Duke just left for the Palace of Fontainebleau a few days ago? . . . "

Whoever became the duke's wife was the de facto mistress of Florence.The onlookers were obviously very interested in this topic, and all crowded towards the speaker: "Stop drinking, think again! What else did your brother say?..."

"The Duchess is dead?"

Beside the wine cabinet at the entrance, the tavern clerk was stretching his neck like a goose to listen to the conversation by the fireside, but his wrist was suddenly grabbed.The copper cup he was wiping in his hand immediately fell to the ground, cursing and bending over to pick it up.The dark-haired stranger stared at him, waiting for his answer.

When he stared at people, he really looked like a big man.The guy rolled his eyes and changed into a flattering face: "Duchess? You said that 'Miss Rome'? My friend, the newborn baby in Florence knows more than you! How many years ago was that?" - long dead!"

"How long ago?"

"I have to think about it. Three years? No, four years ago." The clerk twirled a cup with one hand, "Not long after she got married, hey, there was an incredible funeral! But ——The Holy Mother, she is such an unlovable girl, she didn't even have time to leave an heir for His Highness. The Duke of that year was probably the happiest widower in the world..."

Giovanni silently placed the two silver coins on the wooden table, and the clerk snatched them away as quickly as if his hands had been oiled.He saw that the visitor was not interested in gossip, so he cleared his throat vigorously: "What's going on, I have to think about it..."

"What's so strange? Pneumonia, or other diseases, I heard that her mother died in the same way." Someone interjected, "Wait, you are strange, why are you so concerned about this? Romans?"

Together they looked at the big-spending stranger.Giovanni ignored him, his expression was almost grim, like a pointed pine covered with frost and snow.

Everyone knows that the Duke of Medici married a bride from the Orsini family in Rome five years ago.This dignified young lady hardly ever had contact with the people, and was therefore far less popular than her husband.It is the nature of every tavern clerk to be noisy. They collect all the gossip in the city like sparrows collect grains, and they are not stingy to reveal one or two to this strange distant man.He picked out a few famous anecdotes from her life to tell the visitor, but the visitor was obviously not curious about it.

"I hear that the duke has an heir," said Giovanni, as he paused.

"You must mean little Giulio," replied the clerk, "but who knows who his mother is? Anyway, it can't be of this lady's offspring. Everyone says—I mean, Dr. Rovere always Say—she's a dry land that doesn't sprout!"

The clerk stopped to moisten his throat, and secretly eyed the distant traveler who seemed to have just been on a long journey, looking like a chipmunk.The black-haired young man didn't look at him, his eyes were fixed on the rim of the cup, motionless.

Another person raised his hand and asked for a glass of spirits: "Your Highness should have married a new wife long ago. How can a man of this age endure loneliness?"

"How do you know no one warmed his bed?" The man narrowed his eyes, "Haven't you heard of it? The one in the west of the city..."

He hooked his hand to signal the guest to come over.The two exchanged the names of a well-known beauty.Giovanni turned away from them, and walked quickly to the stairs by the fireplace.

Impetuous, innocent people, they imagine that surname is too simple.The status of the Duke determines that he must marry such a wife, and maybe there will be a next one; just as it was impossible for him to remain single forever, it is very likely that he will give up widowhood in exchange for more things.Every family on this continent will be willing to pay for their daughter to marry him. The bride can bring him a dowry that is more generous than the tax revenue of the entire Florence in a year, or tens of thousands of florins, or a piece of gold. An enviable territory.He knew this better than anyone in this tavern.

There was a night when the moonlight was blue and reflected on the marshes of the street stones.The man stood an inch away from him and admitted it all himself.

"I hope God has mercy on me for this," Giovanni still remembers him saying.

"grown ups!"

Giovanni had only time to take two steps.Suddenly there was the sound of a horse raising its hooves at the door, followed by a man's surprise voice: "Good morning, my lord. Do you want the same wine today? I've already warmed it up for you—"

"Thanks, Freddy," replied a gentle voice, "I want two glasses today. Please hurry up, the cold wind is going to freeze our hands."

an old friend.It was Poliziano's voice, and he would never admit it.Years earlier he had been Giovanni's grammar teacher at the Medici palace.It's been too long, and it's too familiar. Giovanni is not yet ready to face the family's old man again, but Poliziano has suddenly appeared at the door of this tavern.He was caught off guard and froze in place, feeling faintly uneasy.

"Two cups? Could it be—" the man was a little puzzled, and his voice suddenly raised, "Your Highness?!"

In this city, there is no second "His Royal Highness".

Reason told him that he must not turn back and should leave here quickly—however, another colossal force dragged and ordered him, it was so surging and unstoppable, it almost overwhelmed reason in an instant.It was as if a huge clock was ringing behind him, and there was a roar in his ears. He turned around stiffly, his eyes were like iron dust attracted by a magnet, flying far away over the crowd, and accurately fixed on the person who came outside the door.

Even after many years, when he found that figure in the crowd, he only needed one glance.

At the same time, there was a sudden burst of deafening cheers inside and outside the tavern, which almost lifted the dilapidated roof above.All the people who were curled up in front of the fireplace stood up at once. They raised their wine glasses high and greeted the visitor behind Poliziano: "Your Highness!"

Lorenzo Medici stood outside the door, holding the bridle in his hand.With a smile on his lips, he nodded slightly to everyone.

As if in a casual glance, he raised his head and met Giovanni's eyes.

At this moment, the old days come again.

The author has something to say:

The plot of this article combines the life experiences of two historical figures, but please do not bring in real people and events. It is recommended to read it as a parallel world.

It should be noted that Florence is a republic, and Lorenzo's duke title in this article was conferred by the author (.), and the fiefdom is not in the local area.

This article adopts the fictitious "sacred calendar" to separate the story from the history on purpose. In fact, the real time and space referred to is Italy from the [-]th to the [-]th century.Customs and customs are also as close as possible to the Renaissance period in history, but it is not guaranteed to be accurate, and there will be many magical changes, please do not delve into it XD

The length is not long, try to keep it updated.I have a premonition that this article will be very cold, thank you in advance for reading here.