Page 163 - The Grotesque Children's Book
P. 163
Chapter 7.
Where have they hidden the seashell this time?
Nine months prior to the opening of the new Uffizi art gallery, that is to say
January 19, 1581
“And seashells!” whispered Francesco de’ Medici, “You must include at least one
seashell!” He winked. “But you must hide it. Make a mystery of it! 'Where is the seashell
Where have they hidden the seashell this time!?'“ Francesco roared with laughter, delighted with
himself and his scheme.
He was speaking with his court painter, Alessandro Allori, about the brilliant idea he had
had this morning to have a royal portrait painted of his wife, Bianca Cappello de’ Medici, in time
for the opening of the galleries of the new Uffizi.
“She is to know nothing of it! Do you hear me, Allori!? It is to be a complete and utter
surprise! No!, strike that, I'll tell her tonight! She must pose for you in her Spanish brocade of
gold and white. Gold to represent the sun, I'm sure the symbology is not wasted on you, and
white for her namesake. Bianca; white. I'll have her model it for you this afternoon, this very
afternoon, no, strike that! We'll have something made for her just for the occasion, woven with
shapes into its very fabric which shall reference, shall reference the seasons, or, or the Zodiac, or
strike that! The shapes will reference the Medici lineage and my legacy enjoyed with -- No,
Allori, you, you and I must design our own alphabet of symbols, or, or codex, an obscure puzzle
game which will yield a magic incantation, but only for those who know to look for it and who
have the key!”
Francesco de’ Medici, large and robust man though he was, clapped his hands like a little
delicate putto, urging his feet into a tiny little dance step. “It will be our private secret, Allori.
None will know about the codex hidden in the brocade, until a hundred years hence when some
scholar, studying my legacy, will happen upon it and decipher it like some ancient Babylonian
scroll!” His legs were not heeding his command; they were bearing too much weight from his
ursine body to be able to lift and touch a toe, even for a moment, even for the effect of
merriment. “But don't tell Bianca the codex, Allori, promise me! Promise me it will be our
secret, and we'll see if she, so sharp-minded, so clever with puzzles, can decipher it without us.
Promise me!”
“I promise, your Majesty.”
“I'll have your head if she finds out.”
“I'd gladly serve it to you on a platter, your Majesty, if I break my word to you.”
“On a platter! On a seashell, you mean! How rich an irony would that be, Allori, your
head on her seashell!” More roaring. “Oh, you are just the man for it, just the man! There's
163
