Page 71 of The Medici Return

No question. What went around came around.

So Anna Maria’s concerns about violence were understandable.

Thankfully, each entry bore a date. What he’d just read was dated March 1741. Two years before she died. By then her son would have been a young man. Was he aware of his adoption? Or had the secret of his birth parents been maintained? He gravitated to the latter since the diaries mentioned nothing about any direct contact.

They did, though, speak of grief.

Being alone has toughened me, which was all the more tender in that not an hour, not a moment, not an instant has elapsed that I do not think of my beloved. Men take greater satisfaction in the powers of their own eyes than in their fame proclaimed by others. But my late husband was held in the highest esteem. I take pride and assign pre-eminence to the valor and wisdom in which he was abounded. It is true thatpain is greater in the one who has greater knowledge than in the one who is least aware. I could have died myself as I saw his body breathe its last breath. Only the consolation of his eternal memory has sustained me in life. His wisdom and virtue are the jewels of my widowhood and have many times worked to dry my tears. It nourishes me to hear what great people said about him. “A force of nature has died.” “A paragon of ancient loyalty has expired.” “A true heart of Tuscany is gone.” What better boast could one who has been torn from human affairs have than the fond recollection of others. I still recall what was said at his funeral, when one man proclaimed, “Here he is, just buried, and pride rises up to heaven terrifying the most courageous.” No truer words could have been spoken. I have long ago consented to the Divine Will, without piercing my heart further, by lending an ear to the harmony of praise.

She clearly loved Raffaello de’ Pazzi. Entries continued to speak of him in nothing but glowing terms. One in particular was reflective.

Since childhood I have admired the ceiling fresco in the Old Sacristy of San Lorenzo. It is a representation of the sky, with the constellations visible over Florence the night of July 4, 1442. An identical starry vault fresco exists over the altar in the Pazzi Chapel at Santa Croce. The great Brunelleschi created both, before the infamy that some misguided Pazzis brought to their family. Yet my family allowed them both to remain. Lorenzo could have destroyed them, but he did not. I found his actions instructive, and perhaps a sign that the Medici hate knew its bounds and that forgiveness was not something out of the question. After all, Lorenzo’s precious sister was married to a Pazzi, and was allowed to remain in her marriage, though living in exile. I too chose to love a Pazzi and I too went into a self-imposed exile. My husbandwas fond of saying, Into the wolf’s mouth. May the wolf die. Such good wishes were always easy to come from his lips.

She was right.

After the attempt on his life Lorenzo hung every Pazzi he could link to the murder of his brother. He showed no mercy. None. But his sister Bianca’s Pazzi husband was not hung. Instead he was sent into exile and Bianca went with him, both dying away from Florence. All Pazzi women were forbidden to marry anyone. Many fled Tuscany. But he exempted his sister’s daughters from that decree.

Which showed something.

Eric knew Anna Maria died February 18, 1743. The last entry was dated nine days before.

And seemed most critical.

I write this to my son with a frankness that is necessary. My illness has progressed and I am not long for this world. Writing this seems superfluous because, as my son, I could not have any greater love, benevolence, or reverence for you. May God grant you a long and prosperous life so all may enjoy your sweet success. To those good people who raised you I thank them with all the abundance of my heart. You have been liberated from the burden of my troubled past and for that I am happy. As my life grew older and the burden of what I was bequeathed from my father and brother became more evident I made two decisions. The first concerned the beauty and art my family has amassed over the centuries. It now all belongs to me and I decided that it would stay in Florence, for the benefit of the Florentines, in perpetuity. That seemed the right course to take. All of that was done to the greater good. But for you, my son, one thing remains. Something our family acquired long ago and only you, or your children or their children, can claim. If these words ever find their way to you, know that I have made this decision as away to say, once again, how sorry I am for not being a part of your life. All that was Medici is gone, save for one sacred pledge given by Pope Julius II to Giuliano de’ Medici in 1512. Ten million gold florins, loaned to the Pope, with repayment sworn before God to the Medici, their heirs and assigns. You, my son, are Medici. Your mother and father were duly married. You are the last remaining royal Medici heir, as will be your children after you. The pledge was secured with two writings, one for Rome, the other for our family. I leave that pledge to you alone. It does not belong to the people of Florence. Instead, it rests safely under a watchful eye and this verse will lead the way.

Know the darkened world

has long missed the night and day, which

while the shade still hung before his eyes,

shone like a guide unto steps afar.

Ne’er will the sweet and heavenly tones resound, silent be the harmonies of his sweet lyre,

only in Raffaello’s bright

world can it be found.

Auguror Eveniat

The last two words were interesting.Auguror Eveniat.He used the phone to translate them. I wish it will come.

He’d read all nine volumes. There had been a lot of insight, but the most pressing inquiries remained unanswered. Number one? How had all this remained secret for centuries? His family had clearly harbored the diaries. Why not reveal them? Expose them to academicians? Tell the world. His grandmother blamed it on indifference and illiteracy.

Was that the answer?

He’d slept in his former room, the one he’d occupied up to the time he left for university. A shower and shave had also beenpossible after he walked to a nearby store for some toiletries. His grandmother had slept soundly through the night, with the nurse there, on duty. They needed one more conversation. Perhaps the last one they would ever have. His patience with the past had reached an end. Only the future remained important. And it had become that much brighter thanks to a text from Florence.Confirmation. You are genetically connected to Anna Maria Luisa at a probability of 99%.

Good news.

Now for the rest.

He found his grandmother again in the parlor, sitting quietly, staring out the window.

“I read them all,” he said.

“Then you know the depth of her pain, and the joy of her gift.”

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