CHAPTER 15 #5
Just before leaving, Dechio knocked on the door with a glass of juice. "Madam, Mr. Botticelli would like to see you."
Her expression faltered, clearly reluctant to go.
"What’s going on?" Hedy asked, sensing something was off. "What happened?"
"He... seems to have brought a child with him."
Another child?!
Hedy frowned, feeling as though these men had all gone mad.
Dechio clearly thought the same, but he was still dutifully there to make the introduction.
She quickly tidied up and, along with Dechio, headed to the back yard.
Botticelli was teaching a little boy how to paint, occasionally chatting and laughing with him.
The child seemed to be around three or four years old, with a gentle and refined appearance. When he looked at Hedy, he gave her a shy smile.
"Hedy," Botticelli said, reaching out to ruffle the boy's soft hair with a smile. "I’ve found a little genius."
It seemed like he had recruited another young apprentice for his workshop—but what did this have to do with her?
"...Is that so?" She remained cautious and didn’t approach, her mind wandering to whether Sarai had set her Milan estate on fire.
"This boy was recommended by your friend, Mr. Alejo. His father is also a painter," Botticelli explained with a smile. "Unfortunately, I’m going to travel abroad for the next two years and may not be able to take him with me."
"If it's convenient, next time you go back to Milan, could you perhaps introduce him to Da Vinci?"
Hedy carefully observed the child, preparing to refuse Botticelli’s suggestion.
Botticelli had no idea that Da Vinci was living with her, nor was he aware of the conflict with Sarai.
Before she could speak, Botticelli added one more thing.
"Raphael, say hello to the gracious Miss Medici."
"Hello, Lady Medici," the little boy said sweetly, smiling. "You're so beautiful."
Hedy thought she had misheard, instinctively repeating, "Raphael?"
"Yes," Botticelli motioned for the boy to go to the studio and fetch some paint, then turned to Hedy. "I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble. I just didn’t expect Da Vinci to be away."
She hadn’t expected the child who would later be known as the "Saint of Painters" to be so young. At three or four, he looked innocent and friendly, but he seemed far removed from the title of master.
"Maybe his background is something you might not accept," Botticelli seemed to realize something, letting out a soft sigh. "He’s Jewish, and he was born on Good Friday."
Jewish? Good Friday?
Hedy suddenly remembered that during their trip to Milan, Da Vinci had mentioned this to her, remarking on how delicate that timing was.
"This child has such heritage. In the future, if he wants to be recognized by more people, he’ll need to work much harder than others," Botticelli observed, watching the small figure. "But if he chooses Christ instead of the pagan gods, it might help."
Hedy’s expression grew more complicated.
"I’ll write to Da Vinci," she said softly. "I hope he can take him in."
Back at the Uffizi Gallery, she had heard many things about this child.
He had lost his mother at eight, his father at eleven. Due to his Jewish background, he once self-deprecatingly called himself an "outsider wherever he went." As an adult, he indulged in countless lovers, and his clients often had to go through his lovers to get his attention.
— Genius seems to come with emotional neglect in childhood, and different emotional responses as adults. Like Da Vinci, who denied and avoided it, or like Raphael, who indulged in passion.
Fortunately... he was still a soft little boy now, and all the sad things had not yet happened, right?
Hedy watched as the little boy, on tiptoe, helped by handing things to Botticelli, and she couldn’t help but reach out and ruffle his slightly curly hair.
Soft, like feathers.
Botticelli, noticing her affection, couldn’t help but smile. "I promised his parents that he will be an apprentice in my workshop for the long term. So there’s no need to worry."
"Still, it’s better if he reads some books," Hedy murmured. "If he only learns painting, he might miss out on many things."
She suddenly thought of Da Vinci again.
The feeling was subtle—she clearly didn’t want to have anything more to do with him, but still, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to him, as if something were pulling her in that direction.
The vine disease would take at least a few months to resolve, so she decided to spend more time dealing with matters related to the workshop.
For various reasons, Hedy hoped to recruit a group of female workers, sending them to her workshops in Milan and Florence.
She believed that the existence of each group influenced the individual’s development, and that by improving the lives of women on a larger scale, her own position in the future might become more stable.
The women in her surroundings wore high-heeled shoes, walking unsteadily, which seemed both an obstruction and a meaningless form of fashion.
Hedy contacted a tailor she had known before, starting to design a more affordable and soft pair of cloth shoes.
She decided to promote these shoes under the guise of "work requirements," hoping to liberate more women’s feet and allow them to engage with the world in a freer and more agile manner.
The soles of the cloth shoes were neither too thick nor too hard, so they wouldn’t cause discomfort, yet still offered enough flexibility.
After sending one of the samples to Dechio, he tried them on and exclaimed in surprise, "How is this so light—my goodness!"
He almost checked to see if his legs were still there, running around the high heels that had been discarded on the floor, as if he could almost jump in the shoes.
"But..." Dechio hesitated, "Madam, can I really wear these shoes?"
"If anyone asks," Hedy replied gently, "just say it’s a work requirement. I need my staff to move swiftly. No need to explain anything further."
The maid cheered and smiled joyfully. "Finally, I don’t have to take small steps when carrying things. Thank you so much!"
Meanwhile, the experiments with the vine disease treatments had seen several failures. Some treatments had no effect at all, while others poisoned the plants, turning their stems and leaves black and rotten.
Among the remaining few, one particular treatment showed the most promise. It seemed to have no side effects and worked remarkably quickly. It was the copper sulfate solution Da Vinci had once used for his paintings—an elegant and brilliant ice-blue liquid.
The plants that were sprayed with diluted copper sulfate solution began to show significant recovery within a short time, and the spots and streaks faded quickly.
When Hedy noticed this, she carefully recorded her findings in her notebook and drew a star to highlight the key points.
Earlier, during a meeting with everyone, Hedy had carefully instructed the farmers whose vines were infected with mildew to be mindful of the other animals and visitors at their estates. She also helped them isolate the healthy vines from the diseased ones.
For now, she could only save what she could, but to truly test the toxicity of the copper sulfate solution, she would have to wait until the grapes ripened next August.
At least this year, it seemed she would have to spend Christmas in Florence with everyone.
According to reports from the palace, young Leo, who had been sent to the Vatican, had become a cardinal two years ago. Now, at just ten years old, he had countless noble families coming to Doge's Palace to discuss his engagement.
His sister, it was said, had already been betrothed to the son of Pope Innocent VIII. In a few years, once she had grown a little older, she would be sent far away in marriage.
Out of caution, Hedy had begun to use more and more aliases to start new businesses. The textile workshop she had initially bought in the West District had officially merged into a three-in-one factory, allowing her to hire more people in a more organized way.
She could now buy the paints she had created at her own brand in Florence, with the price of purple paint plummeting. She had even heard that a Persian merchant had once tried to destroy their shop.
Similarly, in Milan, she could now buy fabric and satin produced by her workshop, and the reputation and quality were excellent.
More and more women in Florence were beginning to step outside their homes, using their hands to create more respectable lives for themselves. The craze for high heels gradually began to subside, and quietly, the cloth shoes made for women started to gain popularity.
Little Raphael often came to the studio, sometimes holding his head high as he listened to Botticelli’s lectures, and other times helping Hedy with simple sketch designs for patterns. Though he was the youngest in the yard, he still made an effort to take on some of the work.
Sometimes, when Hedy looked at this boy with his red lips and white teeth, she would think of her own son when he was young, smiling with nostalgia and tenderness.
Indeed, there were still lovely children around.
Botticelli didn’t inquire much about Milan, and instead, he often pulled her into watching dances or plays, then they would sit in the courtyard, painting for the whole day.
There were some other sponsored individuals living there as well, but most, upon seeing his paintings, would feel an inexplicable sense of inadequacy and wouldn’t dare to join in the fun.
They would sometimes talk about a particular play, laughing heartily, while little Raphael would stand on tiptoe, helping his teacher fill in some colors or painting flowers as embellishments.
The atmosphere was relaxing and natural, truly endearing.
When Hedy came over to chat with them again, Botticelli spoke a few words before suddenly glancing toward the entrance of the courtyard, his expression one of surprise.
Raphael paused his painting and curiously looked over. "Sir, who is he?"