Read Online The Palace by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Free Book Online
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
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faith and our city that I search in vain for the adequate
expression of my obligation to you.
Your superb example of mercy and tolerance on the occasion of the tenth of
this month, when there was that lamentable confrontation in the Piazza di Santa
Maria Novella, places all Fiorenza in your debt. How I wish that our other
citizens had your goodness. And, though I am always a faithful and devoted son
of Holy Church, I cannot help but grieve that those few overly zealous
Domenicani would stray so far from their duties as to incite their congregations
to battle in the streets. That you were willing to preach to the people in so
dangerous a situation speaks most eloquently of your devotion both to the Words
of Our Lord and to the people of Fiorenza.
I beg you will not trouble yourself over the pronouncement of the Domenicano
Savonarola. It is God, and not he, who will say what time I will die. He is
presumptuous to announce to the world that he knows more than his superiors.
Certainly I must die, as all men, but that is the decree of Heaven, not Girolamo
Savonarola.
Your prayers on my behalf during my recent indisposition are much valued by
me, and I deeply appreciate your willingness to address the Mercy Seat on my
behalf. Certainly such piety as yours has helped me very much in my recovery.
Unfortunately, as this letter must tell you, I still have a degree of weakness,
and so I have to ask you to forgive the poor quality of my hand. It is
sufficiently difficult for me to hold a pen that I have yet to finish a sonetto
this morning, which is a hard thing for a poet.
Most humbly and reverently I commend myself to you, good Brother, and with
profoundest respect thank you for your great service.
Laurentius Medicis
In Fiorenza, on the Feast of SS. Cosmo and Damiano, September 27, 1491
5
On his way up the grand staircase, Ruggiero stopped to watch as a team of
joiners eased the last section of the elaborately carved wood paneling into
place at the landing. Below, the loggia glowed with light, for the new fixtures
were burning, their polished metal reflectors diffusing the golden glow
throughout the large room and turning the recently carved oak the color of
copper.
"Excellent. This is well done." Ruggiero had stepped forward, his houseman's
gown just touching the floor where it brushed the last of the sawdust. "My
master will be pleased." He ran his hand over the almost invisible joining and
pushed on the middle section to be sure that the door it concealed would not
open by force of the weight of the carving.
Teobaldo, the supervisor of the joiners, stood back as his Arte brothers
began to screw the last section into place. "The Patron has been very generous,"
he remarked to Ruggiero. "He has promised each of us four fiorini d'or if we are
finished by Advent." He laughed. "For that, we would fit each wall of the
loggia."
"There are still the alcoves to do," Ruggiero reminded him, reserve in his
smile. "But my master has faith in you."
"With good reason." Teobaldo squinted at the houseman, at the bronze-tan gown
he wore, at his ring of keys tied to his belt. Though he disliked this
foreigner, he added good-naturedly, "In other places,
I daresay that it might be otherwise. But we in Fiorenza are the best
artisans in the world."
Ruggiero, who had seen the temples of Burma and China and had watched
Frankish monks illuminate parchment manuscripts, and who had, himself, once
helped to raise a Roman bridge, nodded. "Indeed."
Something in Ruggiero's face made Teobaldo uneasy, so he went on, "It's not
unusual for a Patron to be so generous."
"It is not," Ruggiero agreed. "I have served him many years, and would serve
no other."
That was too much for Teobaldo, who shook his head. "He's a worthy Patron,
that's certain. But I know of no one who could command such loyalty of me." He
waited arrogantly for Ruggiero's reply.
"You mistake me," Ruggiero said slowly, staring at the joiner
expression of my obligation to you.
Your superb example of mercy and tolerance on the occasion of the tenth of
this month, when there was that lamentable confrontation in the Piazza di Santa
Maria Novella, places all Fiorenza in your debt. How I wish that our other
citizens had your goodness. And, though I am always a faithful and devoted son
of Holy Church, I cannot help but grieve that those few overly zealous
Domenicani would stray so far from their duties as to incite their congregations
to battle in the streets. That you were willing to preach to the people in so
dangerous a situation speaks most eloquently of your devotion both to the Words
of Our Lord and to the people of Fiorenza.
I beg you will not trouble yourself over the pronouncement of the Domenicano
Savonarola. It is God, and not he, who will say what time I will die. He is
presumptuous to announce to the world that he knows more than his superiors.
Certainly I must die, as all men, but that is the decree of Heaven, not Girolamo
Savonarola.
Your prayers on my behalf during my recent indisposition are much valued by
me, and I deeply appreciate your willingness to address the Mercy Seat on my
behalf. Certainly such piety as yours has helped me very much in my recovery.
Unfortunately, as this letter must tell you, I still have a degree of weakness,
and so I have to ask you to forgive the poor quality of my hand. It is
sufficiently difficult for me to hold a pen that I have yet to finish a sonetto
this morning, which is a hard thing for a poet.
Most humbly and reverently I commend myself to you, good Brother, and with
profoundest respect thank you for your great service.
Laurentius Medicis
In Fiorenza, on the Feast of SS. Cosmo and Damiano, September 27, 1491
5
On his way up the grand staircase, Ruggiero stopped to watch as a team of
joiners eased the last section of the elaborately carved wood paneling into
place at the landing. Below, the loggia glowed with light, for the new fixtures
were burning, their polished metal reflectors diffusing the golden glow
throughout the large room and turning the recently carved oak the color of
copper.
"Excellent. This is well done." Ruggiero had stepped forward, his houseman's
gown just touching the floor where it brushed the last of the sawdust. "My
master will be pleased." He ran his hand over the almost invisible joining and
pushed on the middle section to be sure that the door it concealed would not
open by force of the weight of the carving.
Teobaldo, the supervisor of the joiners, stood back as his Arte brothers
began to screw the last section into place. "The Patron has been very generous,"
he remarked to Ruggiero. "He has promised each of us four fiorini d'or if we are
finished by Advent." He laughed. "For that, we would fit each wall of the
loggia."
"There are still the alcoves to do," Ruggiero reminded him, reserve in his
smile. "But my master has faith in you."
"With good reason." Teobaldo squinted at the houseman, at the bronze-tan gown
he wore, at his ring of keys tied to his belt. Though he disliked this
foreigner, he added good-naturedly, "In other places,
I daresay that it might be otherwise. But we in Fiorenza are the best
artisans in the world."
Ruggiero, who had seen the temples of Burma and China and had watched
Frankish monks illuminate parchment manuscripts, and who had, himself, once
helped to raise a Roman bridge, nodded. "Indeed."
Something in Ruggiero's face made Teobaldo uneasy, so he went on, "It's not
unusual for a Patron to be so generous."
"It is not," Ruggiero agreed. "I have served him many years, and would serve
no other."
That was too much for Teobaldo, who shook his head. "He's a worthy Patron,
that's certain. But I know of no one who could command such loyalty of me." He
waited arrogantly for Ruggiero's reply.
"You mistake me," Ruggiero said slowly, staring at the joiner
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