immortal person

Lorenzo left the study in the latter part of the night.Florence has fallen asleep, and the thin silver-white moonlight water slowly seeps into the long carpet in the corridor, lighting up those complicated and strange Persian patterns.Opposite him stood a figure, Poliziano stood motionless like a statue, his eyes fixed on him.

"I've been waiting for you here for a long time." He said.

Lorenzo didn't look surprised.He walked towards Poliziano and whispered, "Come this way."

"Just let him stay inside alone." His counselor didn't move a step, just staring at the closed door, "Is it appropriate?"

There are countless secrets hidden in the study of the Duke of Medici, any one of which will bring immeasurable crisis to the family."He fell asleep," said Lorenzo.

"Then maybe he will wake up soon," Poliziano warned.

Lorenzo just shook his head: "Don't worry."

Together they walked to the corner room.After the candles were lit, eight neatly arranged portraits of women appeared in the room, and each of them seemed to be silently observing the visitors with their demure and gentle eyes.The first figure on the left has long, curly hair of pale blond, and a skin very pale without blood, almost like a china man.Lorenzo's eyes flicked past her, and stayed on her face indistinctly for a moment.

"So you remember her," Poliziano said sarcastically, "that's surprising."

"Never dare to forget." Lorenzo said softly, "Please forgive me. Today I..."

His voice deepened and finally stopped.Lorenzo pressed his forehead wearily, and quickly let go: "It's my fault."

"You told the archbishop to delay the date," Poliziano asked, "is it because of him?"

"……Yes."

Polizia turned to look at his thin wrist.Because of the days of fasting, the joints there have become particularly prominent. "You've been punishing yourself these days," Poliziano said sternly, without the usual smile on his face. "I thought it was because you felt guilty for Gian Sforza. It turned out that... ..."

At first he seemed to want to say "this wrong relationship", but soon stopped in time, trying to find a correct explanation.But he ended up just letting out a long sigh.

"Both." Lorenzo replied calmly.

Poliziano stared at his face, trying to find a flaw in it: "You have restrained yourself for so long, why not this time? You clearly know that you are off the rails, don't you? You are better than anyone We all understand what a dangerous moment we are in...you, our Highness, the leader of the country!"

He became irritable and spoke faster and faster: "Do you know why I disturbed you late at night? I received this, please take a look - Salviati is coming!"

He took out a roll of paper tied up with straw rope.The archbishop of Florence, Filippo Medici, an offshoot of the Medici family, died the night before, and the Vatican has made a final decision on a new candidate, Francesco Salviati will be appointed to succeed him.The writer's handwriting was messy, and he obviously realized the urgency of the situation as soon as he heard the news. Lorenzo hurriedly read it without saying a word.Poliziano could no longer control his tone: "You know our new bishop as well as I do. A mercenary villain, a loyal lackey of the Holy See... Where did he come to preach the Gospel? He came to convey your message. excommunication!"

"I understand," Lorenzo replied.He took a long breath and turned his back to Poliziano: "Give me some more time... please wait a moment."

At this moment, the room was as quiet as a cemetery in the middle of the night, and Poliziano heard Lorenzo breathing slowly and forcefully, as if he was trying to expel certain emotions in his body.He hurried up to Lorenzo impatiently and said, "You have never been so weak since I have known you. What has weakened you? I—"

Suddenly, his words stopped abruptly, and his eyes widened in disbelief.

Lorenzo said hoarsely, "I hoped you wouldn't come here."

Pain was clearly visible on the Duke's face.Poliziano has never seen such undisguised emotional changes on this face, such intense sadness that belongs to "mortals".Lorenzo raised his head slightly, his eyes were closed, and his lips were pursed into a line. His appearance reminded him of San Sebastian tied to a wooden stake in the painting, with thousands of arrows passing through his heart.

Poliziano opened his mouth.He also seemed to be hit by such emotions, and suddenly remembered everything he knew: how the Highness he served had endured all his life; and the Duke of Medici, Lorenzo de Medici, had always been the One of the best at giving up among those who know.

All he needs is time.Thinking of this, the resentment and dissatisfaction on Poliziano's face gradually softened, replaced by some kind of pity.

"I'll take this as a test," Lorenzo said without looking at him, "—to make me face the next one so quickly after one difficult decision."

"Your Highness," Poliziano trembled uncontrollably, "forgive me for the offense, I'm sorry... I just hope..."

Lorenzo shook his head, signaling that he needn't continue.He took a step back and leaned against the wall, staring at the flickering shadow of the candle.

After a long while, he gave Poliziano a very shallow smile.

In the summer of the 58th year of the Holy Calendar, the new archbishop became the most attractive topic in Florence for a while.Francesco Salviati, a grizzled Franciscan friar, eagerly visited his pastoral estate on his first day in Florence.He knocked on the doors of the Palazzo de Medici at dusk, and there was much talk about it—for the Pazzi were the first people he visited, and the Medici Dukes were the last.As always, Giovanni was able to get a lot of information from the gossip of the servants at court: it was not a peaceful conversation that took place that day in Lorenzo's study; It is very boastful; to deal with such arrogant monks, maybe His Highness needs to invite a truly learned pastor from other places, preferably a Dominican... They are resentful for the Duke and avoid it during Sunday worship Do not go to the main church.Lorenzo, on the other hand, took communion from Salviati with his friends from the Fraternity of St. Martin and reportedly had a pleasant conversation with the bishop afterward.

Giovanni can only piece together Lorenzo's life from the leftovers of other people's mouths--the other side of life that blocked him.

Frustrated by this, he turned his attention to carving.For more than a month, the sound of chisels and chisels in the workshop never stopped, and people passing by would wonder whether the teenagers still needed to eat and sleep.From the first light of the morning to the sunset of the moon, he devoted seemingly endless energy to his statue of Hercules. Day after day of thinking, modifying and pondering, the stone statue gradually had life.When the work was nearing completion, Bertoldo came to check on his progress, and his teacher was silent for a long time in front of this Hercules, until he left without saying a word.This did not make Giovanni feel disappointed. He knew the meaning of what he had paid, and he was sure that his work was not bad.Many years later, he heard Bertoldo's comments from other people at that time. He said - "When I stared at it, I felt that its eyes also penetrated me."

Unbeknownst to him, there was a short conversation between Bertoldo and Lorenzo surrounding his statue:

"Your efforts are worthwhile," said the old master sculptor to the Duke. "In any case, there is at least one real sculptor in our garden."

Lorenzo poured him a glass of wine: "What height do you think he will reach?"

"What I'm sure of is that he's going to surpass me—it's not reconciled," said Bertoldo. "I guess he can reach Donatello's achievements. You are also a connoisseur, how do you think?"

"I think," said Lorenzo slowly, "that one day his name will be the first one mentioned when enumerating the sculptors of this country."

"You don't seem surprised by what he's capable of now," Bertoldo said.

"Yes," Lorenzo lowered his head and smiled, "I'm not surprised."

He didn't like the doctrine of determinism, but he was willing to believe that some people-such as those who were often called "saints"-were born with a mission.It seems that God sent him to the world, just to make him spread the gospel like an apostle, so that ordinary people can see what a perfect image is.Cosimo often accused him of being ignorant when he was alive, but this time, he chose to trust his own judgment.

The statue was inaugurated at the end of August, and the bachelors in the Medici palace were the first to see it.Giovanni stood aside, waiting for their evaluation, watching their eyes gradually change from surprise to undisguised enthusiasm, and even an old poet came over to shake hands with him: "I want to thank you, for you Let me witness the revival of the ancient beauty that has been lost for so many years..."

"I bet this is what the cultural relics from the Golden Age look like..." another person murmured.

"—with the splendor of Christ," added one of the scribes, "look at the face, I can see St. George in that gallant pagan face!"

There was even a promise on the spot to write an ode to the statue.Their praises were so sincere and warm that even Giovanni felt at a loss for a long time.He was surrounded by people, listening to them repeat their admiration again and again in excited words.

However, there was always one person who never spoke.Lorenzo stood outside the crowd, just looking at him and smiling.

"Your Highness!" Giovanni finally couldn't help walking towards Lorenzo in the gap between a bachelor's stop.He stopped in front of the Duke and looked straight into those sea-blue eyes: "Can I get your advice?"

Lorenzo looked at him with soft eyes.He stretched out his hand and gently wiped the sweat from the boy's forehead.

"Best I've ever seen," he said. "It is, and so are you."