immortal person

Chapter 10 9

The hug behind the altar lasted for a long time, neither of them spoke or moved, their hands were still on each other's backs.Giovanni's breathing went from fast to flat, the feeling of shame and heartache receded, and he calmed down, realizing that the behavior between the two of them now was enough to be called overstepping.He let go, and Lorenzo, noticing his retreat immediately, took a step back.

The two stood up together.Lorenzo asked: "Can you forgive me?"

Giovanni nodded, then shook his head again.Lorenzo knew what he meant: I have no right to accuse you.

He stared at the black-haired boy in front of him. The word "boy" may no longer be suitable for Giovanni, the young sculptor apprentice is already as tall as him, and looks even stronger than him.But those clear gray eyes were too young to see the soul.Lorenzo sighed: "Is there anything I can do to compensate you? You can ask me a request, and I will try my best to satisfy it."

It was an expensive proposition, but Giovanni said, "No."

He displayed such humility that Lorenzo frowned—he was not used to excessive rustiness in conversation.He thought for a while, then clapped his hands and laughed: "Yes, I remembered, I still owe you one thing."

He held Giovanni by the wrist, followed him out of the chapel for some unknown reason, all the way back to the palace, and climbed up to the fourth floor.They came to Lorenzo's study and stopped before the gilded Persian tapestry between the fireplace and the bookcase.With a soft "click", the Duke opened the secret door hidden behind it.

There are many hidden doors and secret passages in the Medici Palace, which Giovanni had guessed before, but this was the first time he entered them.After climbing a rope ladder, they came to the roof of the palace.He looked around in amazement and found himself in a second garden where the duke hid in mid-air.

Roses, irises and lilacs grow in clusters in the geometric flowerbed. The stems of freesia and lily-of-the-valley are full of round flower buds. On the other side are tulips from Flanders. The calyx is a charming purple, which is almost black. .The silver-green fronds of the fern glisten in the breeze.In the center there is a black iron swing, on which a sterling silver lyre rests.Lorenzo sat down beside him, brushed his fingers on the piano, and struck out the first note.

There was a very light sound, like dew falling.

"Sometimes I want to find a deserted place in Florence. After searching for a long time, only rooftops and hills can meet this requirement." Lorenzo looked into the distance, and suddenly said, "The people in this city have one advantage: they Never look up."

Here you can easily overlook the whole city: Brunelleschi's Holy Spirit Monastery and long and winding arcades, patches of brick-red flat roofs, crowded low houses and drainage channels on the outskirts of the city, the blue Arno River in each The area meanders.The people become very small, just blurred shadows that are constantly moving, shuttling between stone bridges and narrow alleys.He found that Lorenzo was right. People in Florence always only pay attention to the floor tiles under their feet when they walk, as if they are looking forward to picking up coins from the cracks in the stones at any time.They therefore missed the rising and setting of the moon, the alignment and movement of the stars, and the secrets hidden on the roof.

Lorenzo plucked the strings again.

"I've wanted to turn this place into a garden since I was a child," said Lorenzo. "My grandfather didn't take the idea seriously. He used to say, what's the value of gardening when no one is watching?" He imitated Cosimo's tone perfectly. , "'There will be more than a hundred guests visiting you in the future, and a rooftop banquet is not a good idea.'"

"He was overthinking. In fact, I just wanted to reproduce a Babylonian garden." Lorenzo plucked the piano casually, and the sound of the piano flowed through his fingers like a spring. "You know—the ancient king wanted to welcome him. The queen from the rain-rich lands built a garden above the tall tower. Some classicists told me that this story is purely false, just Philo's dream or a hoax. Its ruins. But it doesn't matter, I can make the legend a reality."

He smiled softly: "I've always thought that Florence should be a city that realizes miracles."

When saying these words, Lorenzo's eyes were bright.

"Look over there," the Duke pointed to the empty southwest corner of the city, "soon, there will be an academy rising up on the ground. Scholars from Genoa and Greece will pour in here. In addition to canon law and eloquence, they will also Can teach students more... When imagining these images, I think of Athens and Alexandria in the past. Young scholars sit reverently before the philosopher, listening to him describe the common operation of wisdom and stars."

"I've often convinced myself that I'm on to something great. A lot of people - I mean some of the older folks in town hall - dismissed my idea, but so far I don't think I've Wrong." He said, "People in this city have made enough money in the past century, but money alone is not enough. People need something permanent. Music, poetry, art...these something great and enduring."

His eyes rested on Giovanni's face.

The memory of being in the carriage a few months ago came to him and solved all the mysteries of the moment: he told Lorenzo about his grammar troubles, and Lorenzo asked him what kind of violin he liked.Now Giovanni looked at Lorenzo, and the Duke looked very soft.He guessed what the Duke was going to say next.

"Poetry is born for the soul—that's what Horace said." Lorenzo bowed his head and plucked the strings, a strand of slender blond hair hanging down his neck. "It was created and produced for the pleasure of the soul, and Not to be useful—it was said by Homer, whom everyone loved. I can't say it better than the greats, but perhaps I have another way of saying it..."

He recited an old poem.

This is a love story that takes place in Babylon.Giovanni had forgotten in which ancient book he had read it—Virgil, or Ovid?But never had the poem touched him so strongly as now:

A young man and woman fall in love, but family feuds make it difficult for them to marry.After a long period of resistance and struggle, the two finally chose to die in a hug. The blood stained the roots of the mulberry tree beside them, and the mulberry has since become the purple red that represents the magnificence of love.What Lorenzo sang was the first half of the story. It was a summer day under the laurel tree where Daphne was incarnated. As if by fate or by accident, the hero and heroine met each other.

"Run away from her, from the deadly fire,

The fire is so fierce that it will tear your heart;

But one always hears Maya whispering:

'Don't reject the love that happened in May'..."

A gentle wind blew by, and Giovanni smelled the fragrance of irises in the wind.Lorenzo's voice is gentle and earnest, and his music and narration seem to have a magical power that can easily infiltrate the soul of others.At the end of the chapter, he whispered another poem, about other great man-made things—

"Artifacts with souls, capable of avoiding

The ravages of time, the changes of taste and destiny,

as in anyone's pen and ink

Contains high, low, or ordinary character..."

There are always similarities between great arts, and eternal propositions are buried under different forms.Poetry and music, this is Lorenzo's specialty, and he has shown the result of the fusion of the two.A single thought will not create greatness, just as the vast sea must contain countless rivers.In sculpture, as in all other arts, poetic and philosophical qualities are always to be found in its most eminent works.

"What we want is an artist"—and what is the difference between a craftsman and an artist, is it continuous creativity, fresh enthusiasm, or something more pure?After getting Poliziano's answer, he thought for a long time.

How could the former him feel that those courses were troubles and burdens?That is obviously the path leading him to the "spirit".

What a fool I am, thought Giovanni.

Lorenzo plucked out the last chord, and after a short pause, he said, "I guess you already know, they're not useless."

Giovanni nodded.He laughed.

He thought of Janus, carved in stone on the palace gate, how similar he was to the duke, and also had two very different faces.Not long ago, he had just completed redefining the relationship between himself and his family, and discovered the harsh and cold side of the Duke, which was tantamount to experiencing a broken idol; but the good side turned to him again, Loren Zuo showed his unique thoughtfulness again-terrible, heart-pounding thoughtfulness.It was too 'Medici' and too 'Lorenzo'.

Does he have a third face?The boy thought.

The gentle sunlight fell on Lorenzo's face. At this time, Lorenzo was like his usual image in front of people, like the rising sun, and he was never depressed.Now Giovanni knew that this was only an illusion, that the blindness caused by his fame and style had gradually peeled off, and he was gradually seeing something deeper in the Duke, because Lorenzo was allowing him to come closer.

But these are no longer important at this time——

"Thank you." He said solemnly.

Lorenzo smiled at him: "My pleasure."

He looked sideways at the boy beside him.As always, Lorenzo saw the sheer sincerity and tenacity in those gray eyes, like rough stones whose luster was just beginning to shine.

He couldn't help but reached out and touched the boy's soft hair.Unlike ordinary nobles, Giovanni's black hair was trimmed very short, making his face appear smooth and neat. If the sculpture of Praxiteles had a prototype, it would probably look like this.

A green, pure and full fruit, Lorenzo thought in his heart, what will it look like when it matures?

His silence made Giovanni realize that he was in front of Lorenzo, the Duke of the Medici family, who was thanked by about a thousand people a day.The feelings in his heart cannot be conveyed by a single word, but fortunately he has his own unique way - for example, a statue.

"May I make a statue of you?" he asked.

Lorenzo blinked: "That would be my honor."

"Not now," said Giovanni, "when I will be more proficient in my art."

When I become an "artist," he added in his mind.He said: "Your statue should be perfect, and now I can't do it."

Lorenzo smiled: "But I am not a perfect person."

He finally said these words, which instantly lifted a lot of weight from his heart.From Giovanni's words in the chapel - "I am as loyal to you as I am to God" - that's what he wanted to say.

The expectations of others are both honey and sex, and he has already understood this.

"I think you've heard too many stories about the town," he said, "and most of them are false."

Giovanni looked surprised: "They say you traveled all over the world when you were a teenager..."

"It's true," said Lorenzo. "I did go to Venice as an envoy when I was thirteen. But the storyteller in the tavern won't tell you that I was nervous for a month before meeting the Doge. I got seasick when I went there. I didn't do well, I made a lot of mistakes...I've never had a calm demeanor."

Giovanni opened his eyes wide.

"That's it." Lorenzo said, and he smiled, "But people always want to witness the birth of heroes more than the foolishness of mediocrity. When they like you, they will actively create many glorious deeds for you, Even if it’s not true. I’ve even heard rumors that if I had lived in ancient times, I would have killed Goliath with my bare hands—David even used a slingshot.”

His tone was relaxed, as if he was describing something unrelated.He stopped smiling suddenly, and only watched the light gradually descending on the horizon to the west of the city.Giovanni's eyes followed him.

"Don't overestimate me," finally, the Duke said softly, "I have my emptiness and confusion, as well as my weak will and selfish desires."

"Are you disappointed?" he asked.

The evening wind blew the sleeves of the Duke, and the light of the setting sun fell into his blue eyes, swimming sparklingly.The heat dissipated quietly, and the vesper bells rang out again and again.The evening of early summer has fallen.The flower branches hang down docilely in the wind, and a pale crescent moon floats over the dome of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore.

Giovanni watched Lorenzo's profile.Feeling his gaze, Lorenzo turned to look at him.

Strangely, he didn't feel lost at all.

He felt closer to Lorenzo than ever before.A clear image appeared from the vague phantom of the past. The Duke descended from the legend to the ground. He felt the real heat and breath of Lorenzo, and felt that he was also a living, approachable, and touchable person. people.

He put his hand on the back of Lorenzo's.

"I will never disappoint you," Giovanni promised him.

Lorenzo smiled.

He ignored Giovanni's faux pas, and he did not withdraw his hand.For a long time, none of them spoke again.The two leaned quietly on the swing, looking at Florence in the twilight, as if they were in a dim tempera painting.White pigeons fly by in groups, and the wind blows like a sea tide, bringing the scent of lemon and bergamot in the garden.

Did young Alexander and Hephaestion sit side by side on the windy hills of Macedonia back then, thinking about their future ambitions and dreams?Maybe he will never have Heffie's prowess and military exploits, but he also longs to stand beside his king... in another immortal way.

Many great poems have been written in praise of summer, the season that is favored by the sun.At this moment Giovanni felt himself touching the very heart of summer: like a throbbing, burning heart, like the one in his chest.

"Don't reject the love that happened in May..." He seemed to hear the ballad that Lorenzo had recited not long ago.

It is also May, the month ruled by the Mayans.Giovanni felt his heart beat faster, and at this moment Lorenzo smiled at him again.

Then the dusk suddenly brightened.

The author has something to say:

Some of the poems in this article are adapted from Michelangelo’s original works, and most of them are made up by me. I believe the level of the characters in the article is much higher than mine.

Maya: Maia, the goddess of May in the Roman calendar of the imperial era.

Janus: Janus, an ancient Roman deity with two faces.

The framework of the Babylonian love story comes from Ovid's "Metamorphoses", and the specific content is all made up by me.

The story of Goliath and King David can be found in the Book of Samuel in the Old Testament.

I failed to explain the process of transformation well, so I will change it in the future.