CHAPTER 1 #5
He casually opened another jar and continued, "This is yellow made from resin and plant juices. It’s not very pure, so the color isn’t as bright."
"What about the blue?"
"Blue is the most expensive pigment," Da Vinci seemed to remember something, letting out a slow sigh. "To get this, you have to grind gemstones into powder. Normally, we rely on the nobles for supplies."
Hedy watched him, and suddenly something flashed in her mind.
She remembered a blue, pure and bright, as clear as the Mediterranean.
That blue was called copper sulfate blue.
But getting copper sulfate wasn’t something that could be done immediately.
Back when she was still the young lady of the Kiesler family, her favorite subject at school had been chemistry.
Even when she was in her seventies or eighties, during media interviews, she would still laugh and reminisce about conducting experiments, with a touch of nostalgia in her voice.
Unfortunately, she had ended up becoming an actress, and never had the chance to achieve anything in that field.
Now, watching Leonardo busying himself with his painting again, Hedy tried to mentally sketch out chemical formulas, struggling to pull out the many memories stored in her mind.
Copper sulfate... how was it synthesized again?
Copper was easy to find anywhere, and copper oxide was even easier.
But sulfuric acid?
She pondered these trivial matters, occasionally glancing at what Da Vinci was painting.
He also sketched with his left hand, and his method of painting was the same as his writing—he drew from right to left.
But after spending ten days or so with him, Hedy gradually realized that this man had a rather troublesome habit.
He was incredibly—incredibly—fond of procrastination.
When he was in a good mood, he could draw from the first line to the last, sometimes even adding color, but he never seemed to finish a painting.
Most of the sketches in the room were half-finished.
Anything that could be done today was always delayed until tomorrow. Even then, he'd barely make a few strokes, or just glance at it before delaying it again until the day after.
What was even more frustrating was that there were six or seven completed paintings sitting around, yet he would randomly start on something else. A new painting would go up on the easel, and before long, he’d turn back to study cannons and flying machines.
Couldn't he just focus and finish one thing?
At first, Hedy couldn’t quite understand why old Da Vinci would keep insisting on instructing his son. But after quietly waiting for several days, she realized that this man had no sense of urgency when it came to deadlines.
He’d wake up in the morning and go for a stroll, then study frog dissections, or perhaps read a couple of books of poetry.
After lunch, he’d go out to listen to a lecture, take a walk around the Florence Cathedral, and then come back to study candle designs.
He was always doing something, but never coming back to work.
Between his prayers and Sunday Mass, there truly wasn’t much time left for painting.
Even when clients came with specific deadlines and repeatedly came to urge him, he was still slow as ever.
Hedy even asked him how many paintings he could finish in a year.
"Two? Or three?" Da Vinci responded uncertainly. "Does it matter?"
No wonder when I went to the Louvre, I didn’t see many of your paintings...
It was bad enough that he painted so slowly, but many of them were left half-done, abandoned with no intention of being touched again.
Hedy had gotten used to helping him tidy up these works, saving them in order. She casually asked, “Sir, why don’t you continue painting?”
At least finish one before moving to the next.
Da Vinci, sipping his citrus potion, clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “—That one has issues.”
“Issues?”
He stood up, holding his glass, and walked over to the old painting. “When a person stretches their arms, the lines of the arms and shoulders shouldn’t be like this.”
As if to prove his point, he extended his right arm, showing her the muscles that tensed as he stretched.
“If I’m right, the wrist, arm, muscles—these things are all interconnected.” He sat back down. “But how exactly they influence each other, I haven’t figured out yet.”
Wasn’t this common knowledge in medicine? Wouldn’t it be clear from studying human anatomy charts?
Hedy was about to say something when she suddenly recalled the strange things she had seen in the apothecary.
Of course, this era didn’t have medical school; they probably hadn’t even started studying human anatomy yet.
She sighed softly, continuing to wipe down the tables and chairs with a cloth.
"By the way, the potion you made is quite useful," Da Vinci shook his glass. "Not only does it taste good, but my gum bleeding has stopped."
That was the vitamin C supplement.
Hedy looked up, continuing to play the role of a clumsy maid. "The alchemist taught me to make it that way."
When his sketches from four months ago were finally finished, he took the materials and went to the church near Palazzo Vecchio to paint.
As Da Vinci’s only maid, Hedy not only had to prepare his meals in the morning and afternoon but also had to follow him to the church and help with the ladder.
In Florence, the real power was in the hands of the young fourth-generation heir of the Medici family, Lorenzo de’ Medici.
In this small republic, with the rise of the merchant class, the Medici family had almost absolute control.
They owned grand private estates on the outskirts of the city and even controlled the vast Palazzo Pitti, which towered like a mountain.
The Medici family started with moneylending, then switched to banking halfway through, making a fortune in the process.
The second and third generations expanded the family business and used their wealth to sponsor artists and build churches for the Pope, gaining fame in the process.
Even the magnificent Florence Cathedral was completed thanks to a blueprint from ancient Greece provided by Cosimo de’ Medici, the second generation. This move helped him gain favor with the Pope and enter the political sphere.
Now, in the fourth generation—Lorenzo de’ Medici, the great Lorenzo—the banking business hadn’t seen much progress, but the political scene was well under control. Artists had more work, and every few months, they could afford a nice meal.
Hedy was well-versed in these matters because she had visited the office of this noble family—the future Uffizi Gallery.
Back when she was filming in Italy, she took the opportunity to explore, and she spent a long time at the Uffizi Gallery, guided by a hired tour guide.
Now, in this era, it felt like she was working as an assistant to Lorenzo's helpers, spending all day with Da Vinci in the small church.
Every morning before dawn, the two would walk through the mist in Piazza della Signoria, bypassing the Florence Cathedral, greeting familiar faces, and heading to the Palazzo Vecchio.
At this time, Hedy was usually still half-asleep, quickly packing some bread and jam to bring along, occasionally remembering to fill a glass bottle with orange juice.
The Palazzo Vecchio was now a town hall, where the wealthy and guild leaders gathered daily for elections.
Though Hedy was still unclear about many of the customs here, she was enjoying her time.
After all, most of the time, Leonardo wasn't up on the ladder.
He could spend hours looking at a wall, sketching drafts, erasing, and pondering deeply.
Meanwhile, she would leave the bread and water, sneaking off to see the daily performances and festivities in the city.
There were speakers and preachers giving passionate speeches in the streets, and musicians playing the wind pipes and the lyre, with dancers performing nearby.
The open-air theaters were always packed, with actors not only wearing realistic costumes but also performing stunts while being hoisted high into the air.
The stories performed were often epic tales or myths, and occasionally, a story from the Bible would be reenacted.
Hedy watched the performances with great focus, sometimes even imagining herself joining in.
After all, she was a professional.
She had heard that during Lent, the parades were especially lively, with hundreds of hounds, many falcons, horn players, and poets marching together. Thousands of soldiers and fine horses would form a long procession, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Da Vinci would sometimes go out for a stroll, perhaps to the apothecary to get more paint.
Hedy noticed that he seemed to have good relationships with most people.
Whether it was due to his upbringing or something else, Leonardo was always quite kind to strangers.
He had a habit of consciously adjusting his posture when walking, trying his best to be polite and pleasant when speaking, even though he wasn’t a nobleman. His manners were always measured.
Except, of course, with one person.
One day, as they were carrying their basket on the way to the Palazzo Vecchio, they spotted a man in the distance with light golden curly hair.
He looked handsome and tall, with a smile on his face.
"Leonardo—"
Before Hedy could recognize who it was, Da Vinci immediately stiffened, turned, and briskly led her in the other direction.
"Wait, wait..." Hedy couldn’t keep up. "Don’t walk so fast."
But before they had walked far, the man with the curly hair had already caught up with them.
"Leonardo, are you heading to the Palazzo Vecchio?" He smiled, and his soft curls shimmered with a golden hue in the sunlight.
Before Da Vinci could respond, the man’s gaze landed on Hedy, and he grinned. "Did you bring the goddess Aglaea with you? When did Florence have such a beautiful young lady?"
Hedy, accustomed to compliments, curiously asked, "Who are you?"
The young man shrugged. "They all call me ‘Botticelli’ (which means 'small barrel' in Italian)."
"Small barrel?" Hedy couldn’t help but laugh. "I’ve never seen a ‘small barrel’ quite as slender as you."
"Let’s go." Da Vinci spoke curtly without looking back. "I don’t have time for idle chatter with him."
Mr. Botticelli, with a flourish, bowed and kissed Hedy’s hand, then winked with his light green eyes. "Do visit my workshop sometime, I would love to paint your portrait."
Hedy glanced at Da Vinci, who rolled his eyes and continued walking, clearly not planning to wait for her.
She waved a quick goodbye to Botticelli and hurriedly quickened her pace to catch up with him.
For some reason, the name Botticelli sounded very familiar.
Had she heard it at the Uffizi Gallery?
But who would name their child "small barrel"?
"Mr. Da Vinci," Hedy, in her high-heeled shoes, felt a bit unsteady, much like she used to when walking in small heels. She twisted her ankle slightly and nearly fell. "Wait for me!"
Da Vinci quickly turned, grabbing her to steady her. She clung to his arm for a moment, the jars and bottles in the basket clinking like bells.
His brown eyes, dark as amber, looked at her with a trace of apology, but his tone was still somewhat annoyed.
"Don’t walk so close to that man."
I only spoke a few words to him...
Hedy winced as she moved her ankle, quietly hissing in pain. "I think I twisted it."
Da Vinci didn’t argue and let her lean on him, slowing his pace as they continued walking.
"Do you dislike him?"
He walked in silence for a while before responding with a quiet, "Not particularly."
"Well... can I still visit his workshop?" Hedy asked softly, testing the waters. "Just to take a look, I swear I won’t sit down and model for him."
Da Vinci shot her a glance, clearly not very happy about it.
But Hedy, limping with the effort of walking in the heels, still tried her best to keep up with him.
He was silent for a moment, then took the lunch basket from her, holding it along with the paintbox, continuing to support her as they walked forward.
"Go after Sunday mass, but we need to be back by noon."
"Alright," Hedy couldn't help but smile. "Looks like you don't dislike him that much after all."
"Don’t push it, just don't go."
"I won’t, I won’t!"