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"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?"
