Not many portraits of Catherine, the former Duchess of Taranto, survive. She died at a very young age. The few precious portraits that remain are mostly propaganda pieces intended to showcase the monarch's majesty.
She is usually depicted with her husband, wearing sumptuous clothing that reaches all the way to the neck, intended to show the wealth and power of the Taranto estate, surrounded by various splendid ornaments, and looking straight ahead with a stern expression.
As far as Bianca knew, there was not a single portrait left of her in such comfortable attire and with such a natural expression.
“Then that child...”
“Yeah. It’s you, Bianca.”
The vertical height of the picture in front of her eyes was slightly shorter than the height of an average man.
Bianca of Taranto could not take her eyes off the beautiful smile of the woman painted slightly smaller than life on the vast canvas.
It was the first time she saw her mother's smile.
Suddenly, tears welled up in her eyes. Bianca frantically wiped them with her sleeve.
Ariadne approached Bianca and put her arm around her back.
“Sister... I...”
Tears welled up in Bianca's eyes again. She was speechless for a moment, trying to regain her composure.
She bit her lip and shook her shoulders for a long time to keep from crying, and then barely opened her mouth.
“...I thought my mother had abandoned me.”
It wasn't a logical thought. Duchess Catherine had died young from illness. How many young mothers would want to leave their young children behind? But the children who remained felt differently.
“Whenever I need Mom... I know, she's there. Just on days when I’m feeling really sad.”
A day where nothing happens. A day when luck is upon her. A day when things don't work out. A day when no one understands her feelings. A day when the rain pours down and she doesn't have an umbrella.
“The days when I wish my mom would hug me tight, those days.”
A day when she wished she had a mom, too.
It was a feeling Ariadne understood, yet couldn't quite grasp. She couldn't even count the days since she'd given up such luxury.
She could have harbored ill will toward Bianca, accusing her of being a brat and being childish. That would be a form of jealousy. But instead of harboring resentment, Ariadne wanted to comfort Bianca.
Not everyone has to live with the same level of misfortune as she does. She can't argue that she deserves the same material possessions, recognition, or happiness as others. Life isn't fair, and ultimately, she's responsible for her own life.
Regardless of her own misfortune, she simply wanted to offer a little help to her emotionally troubled friend. But all Ariadne could do now was offer Bianca some human warmth.
Ariadne tightened her grip on Bianca's arms.
"Every day like that, I resented my mother so much. Why did she die so young, leaving me behind? Why did she leave me alone in this world, gone, with no hand to hold? Did she ever miss me or feel any attachment to me?"
Bianca's sobs became uncontrollable. She raised one hand and covered her contorted face with her sleeve. But she couldn't hide the heaving of her large back.
“I can tell by her expression. Mom really... loved me.”
Bernardo of Urbino. A renowned architect, sculptor, and painter, he was highly regarded by the late Pope Ludovico and oversaw the expansion and renovation of the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre in Trevero.
There lived and breathed the young Duchess, who, with her delicate yet powerful strokes, showed unparalleled affection and loyalty to her newborn child.
After a long time, Bianca gathered her emotions and asked Ariadne.
“Sister, I knew the moment I saw it. This was a painting of my mother.”
Even though the features she remembered were faint, she could never forget her gentle smile and the laughter in her eyes. Moreover, the Duchess's forehead and eyes were strikingly resemblance of Bianca of Taranto.
"But how did you know that and have it? No, you know everything, so it's not surprising."
Bianca turned her head and looked at Ariadne standing next to her.
“Why didn’t the world know that this was a portrait of Catherine, Duchess of Taranto?”
She asked her new family member, a sister who was about half a head younger than her, for worldly wisdom.
“If I had known that, I would have done whatever it took to get it.”
Bianca was truly an outstanding student in this regard. She accurately grasped the examiner's intentions.
Ariadne stood next to Bianca and spoke softly.
“Because women don’t have names.”
Of course, Bianca's mother had a long and ornate title: Catherine, Duchess of Taranto, wife of Alessio de Carlo, Duke of Taranto, and eldest daughter of the Bellini family.
But is that her name?
“Bernardo of Urbino saw the Duchess of Taranto visiting the city from a distance and decided that he should paint her as his subject.”
That commitment was quite firm. A work the size of "The Madonna of Urbino" is considered a masterpiece. It takes considerable time and effort to produce, and it's guaranteed to be included in an artist's portfolio.
Deciding to paint a portrait on a 100-foot canvas was a challenge that could not be undertaken without considerable determination.
“But he couldn’t publish it to the world. At that time, Bernardo of Urbino wasn’t a court painter.”
A new painter, not a court painter, painted a picture of a woman from another world, a Duchess of high status, as his model. It was clear as day that if he published such a painting without permission, he would be dragged off to court and punished.
Bernardo had no way to directly ask Duchess Catherine for permission, and even if he had asked and she had been willing, it wasn't something she could personally consent to. Had he done so, the story would have turned into a scandal involving an affair between the artist and the noblewoman over a painting of the Virgin.
So he invoked the authority of religion. The painter Bernardo left the most beautiful and sacred image of the mother and daughter he had ever seen under the name of the Virgin Mary. Thus, "Our Lady of the Castle of Urbino."
“A woman can only make her mark in history by serving the family she belongs to and the man she belongs to.”
The Duchess of Taranto's name, appearance, status, and existence could only be revealed to the public to demonstrate the power of the duchy.
Her own personality, her aspirations, and her accomplishments were buried beneath the heavy, expensive fabrics and massive tiaras, portrayed in the court painter's stodgy brushstrokes as more important than her face.
Ariadne sang again.
“Women have no names of their own.”
For the two women standing here, having a name of their own was either a distant dream or a great sacrifice.
Bianca of Taranto. Despite being the sole descendant of the kingdom's only royal collateral ducal house, she has yet to be granted the title of "Duchess of Taranto."
Her official name was still 'Bianca of Taranto'. Princess of Taranto. Daughter of the Duke of Taranto.
To inherit her father's possessions, which should have been hers, Bianca would have to establish a feat worthy of a title from Leo III. The procedure was quite different from Ottavio's smooth ascension to the title of Count Contarini the day after the death of the old Count.
“Sister. You have it all.”
Ariadne, who held her own as Countess Ariadne de Mare, smiled without answering. Bianca, her eyes wide, questioned.
“Why, no?”
The name of Ariadne de Mare shook the entire Etruscan kingdom, no, the entire Central Continent.
Everyone knew that she had engaged in theological discussions on equal footing with the apostle of Asereto, that she had fed the starving poor, that she had founded schools for the people, that she had periodically visited the slums to see to the needs of both natives and foreigners, and that she had run the Rambouillet Relief Home.
"Bianca. Is that all they know about what I've done?"
Ariadne, thanks to Greta's sacrifice, drove the Montpellier Knights Templar out of the Etruscan garrison. This was attributed to Cesare, the Grand Duke of Pisano, then commander-in-chief of the Etruscan army.
Before reaching there, Ariadne predicted the Black Death epidemic and stockpiled grain in time to release it at the right time.
She did a good deed by distributing a significant portion of the grain she had hoarded to the most vulnerable, and by retaining grain that would otherwise have escaped outside the Etruscan kingdom, she contributed to the nation's strength. However, her actions were ultimately a hoarding and speculation. Thanks to this, she became the greatest rising star to emerge from the Central Continent in this era.
However, this was officially a reputation that belonged to the Bocanegro Company's representative, Caruso.
Unlike Cesare, it wasn't a loss. Ariadne voluntarily hid behind Caruso and the Boccanegro company. She was afraid that if it became known that a young woman with a deep theological background and a reputation for helping the poor had become incredibly wealthy through private investment, the moral condemnation would be unspeakable.
The ethical standards required of women were far higher than those of men. Consider CEO Caruso. What Ariadne would have been buried for did not taint the forty-year-old merchant. He became the leader of the Seven of Unaisola, crediting his achievements for monopolizing grain during the Black Death.
Ariadne thought about Greta for a moment. She might have become a socialite, but no one remembered Greta. All that remained was a five-letter engraving on a stone pillar of the Scuola di Greta, the school Ariadne had built.
That difference did not arise because Ariadne's activities were continuous and Greta's were one-time activities.
Ariadne, too, was observing him with keen observation. Even in situations where she was the beneficiary, she didn't close her eyes. Right and wrong, reflection on the system, were matters for later consideration; observation of facts was observation.
The difference between Ariadne and Greta was essentially who their fathers were.
“Bianca. If I were someone’s daughter.”
Ariadne was the first to reveal her true feelings.
She was mostly expressionless. She didn't show any signs of happiness or displeasure. She hated having people guess her true feelings.
On Ariadne's face, there was an extremely rare, cold cynicism.
“If I had not tried to make a name for myself, and had quietly remained in my father’s shadow as the daughter of some Duke or Grand Duke, I would have been ‘Principessa Ariadne’ a long time ago.”
She is usually depicted with her husband, wearing sumptuous clothing that reaches all the way to the neck, intended to show the wealth and power of the Taranto estate, surrounded by various splendid ornaments, and looking straight ahead with a stern expression.
As far as Bianca knew, there was not a single portrait left of her in such comfortable attire and with such a natural expression.
“Then that child...”
“Yeah. It’s you, Bianca.”
The vertical height of the picture in front of her eyes was slightly shorter than the height of an average man.
Bianca of Taranto could not take her eyes off the beautiful smile of the woman painted slightly smaller than life on the vast canvas.
It was the first time she saw her mother's smile.
Suddenly, tears welled up in her eyes. Bianca frantically wiped them with her sleeve.
Ariadne approached Bianca and put her arm around her back.
“Sister... I...”
Tears welled up in Bianca's eyes again. She was speechless for a moment, trying to regain her composure.
She bit her lip and shook her shoulders for a long time to keep from crying, and then barely opened her mouth.
“...I thought my mother had abandoned me.”
It wasn't a logical thought. Duchess Catherine had died young from illness. How many young mothers would want to leave their young children behind? But the children who remained felt differently.
“Whenever I need Mom... I know, she's there. Just on days when I’m feeling really sad.”
A day where nothing happens. A day when luck is upon her. A day when things don't work out. A day when no one understands her feelings. A day when the rain pours down and she doesn't have an umbrella.
“The days when I wish my mom would hug me tight, those days.”
A day when she wished she had a mom, too.
It was a feeling Ariadne understood, yet couldn't quite grasp. She couldn't even count the days since she'd given up such luxury.
She could have harbored ill will toward Bianca, accusing her of being a brat and being childish. That would be a form of jealousy. But instead of harboring resentment, Ariadne wanted to comfort Bianca.
Not everyone has to live with the same level of misfortune as she does. She can't argue that she deserves the same material possessions, recognition, or happiness as others. Life isn't fair, and ultimately, she's responsible for her own life.
Regardless of her own misfortune, she simply wanted to offer a little help to her emotionally troubled friend. But all Ariadne could do now was offer Bianca some human warmth.
Ariadne tightened her grip on Bianca's arms.
"Every day like that, I resented my mother so much. Why did she die so young, leaving me behind? Why did she leave me alone in this world, gone, with no hand to hold? Did she ever miss me or feel any attachment to me?"
Bianca's sobs became uncontrollable. She raised one hand and covered her contorted face with her sleeve. But she couldn't hide the heaving of her large back.
“I can tell by her expression. Mom really... loved me.”
Bernardo of Urbino. A renowned architect, sculptor, and painter, he was highly regarded by the late Pope Ludovico and oversaw the expansion and renovation of the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre in Trevero.
There lived and breathed the young Duchess, who, with her delicate yet powerful strokes, showed unparalleled affection and loyalty to her newborn child.
After a long time, Bianca gathered her emotions and asked Ariadne.
“Sister, I knew the moment I saw it. This was a painting of my mother.”
Even though the features she remembered were faint, she could never forget her gentle smile and the laughter in her eyes. Moreover, the Duchess's forehead and eyes were strikingly resemblance of Bianca of Taranto.
"But how did you know that and have it? No, you know everything, so it's not surprising."
Bianca turned her head and looked at Ariadne standing next to her.
“Why didn’t the world know that this was a portrait of Catherine, Duchess of Taranto?”
She asked her new family member, a sister who was about half a head younger than her, for worldly wisdom.
“If I had known that, I would have done whatever it took to get it.”
Bianca was truly an outstanding student in this regard. She accurately grasped the examiner's intentions.
Ariadne stood next to Bianca and spoke softly.
“Because women don’t have names.”
Of course, Bianca's mother had a long and ornate title: Catherine, Duchess of Taranto, wife of Alessio de Carlo, Duke of Taranto, and eldest daughter of the Bellini family.
But is that her name?
“Bernardo of Urbino saw the Duchess of Taranto visiting the city from a distance and decided that he should paint her as his subject.”
That commitment was quite firm. A work the size of "The Madonna of Urbino" is considered a masterpiece. It takes considerable time and effort to produce, and it's guaranteed to be included in an artist's portfolio.
Deciding to paint a portrait on a 100-foot canvas was a challenge that could not be undertaken without considerable determination.
“But he couldn’t publish it to the world. At that time, Bernardo of Urbino wasn’t a court painter.”
A new painter, not a court painter, painted a picture of a woman from another world, a Duchess of high status, as his model. It was clear as day that if he published such a painting without permission, he would be dragged off to court and punished.
Bernardo had no way to directly ask Duchess Catherine for permission, and even if he had asked and she had been willing, it wasn't something she could personally consent to. Had he done so, the story would have turned into a scandal involving an affair between the artist and the noblewoman over a painting of the Virgin.
So he invoked the authority of religion. The painter Bernardo left the most beautiful and sacred image of the mother and daughter he had ever seen under the name of the Virgin Mary. Thus, "Our Lady of the Castle of Urbino."
“A woman can only make her mark in history by serving the family she belongs to and the man she belongs to.”
The Duchess of Taranto's name, appearance, status, and existence could only be revealed to the public to demonstrate the power of the duchy.
Her own personality, her aspirations, and her accomplishments were buried beneath the heavy, expensive fabrics and massive tiaras, portrayed in the court painter's stodgy brushstrokes as more important than her face.
Ariadne sang again.
“Women have no names of their own.”
For the two women standing here, having a name of their own was either a distant dream or a great sacrifice.
Bianca of Taranto. Despite being the sole descendant of the kingdom's only royal collateral ducal house, she has yet to be granted the title of "Duchess of Taranto."
Her official name was still 'Bianca of Taranto'. Princess of Taranto. Daughter of the Duke of Taranto.
To inherit her father's possessions, which should have been hers, Bianca would have to establish a feat worthy of a title from Leo III. The procedure was quite different from Ottavio's smooth ascension to the title of Count Contarini the day after the death of the old Count.
“Sister. You have it all.”
Ariadne, who held her own as Countess Ariadne de Mare, smiled without answering. Bianca, her eyes wide, questioned.
“Why, no?”
The name of Ariadne de Mare shook the entire Etruscan kingdom, no, the entire Central Continent.
Everyone knew that she had engaged in theological discussions on equal footing with the apostle of Asereto, that she had fed the starving poor, that she had founded schools for the people, that she had periodically visited the slums to see to the needs of both natives and foreigners, and that she had run the Rambouillet Relief Home.
"Bianca. Is that all they know about what I've done?"
Ariadne, thanks to Greta's sacrifice, drove the Montpellier Knights Templar out of the Etruscan garrison. This was attributed to Cesare, the Grand Duke of Pisano, then commander-in-chief of the Etruscan army.
Before reaching there, Ariadne predicted the Black Death epidemic and stockpiled grain in time to release it at the right time.
She did a good deed by distributing a significant portion of the grain she had hoarded to the most vulnerable, and by retaining grain that would otherwise have escaped outside the Etruscan kingdom, she contributed to the nation's strength. However, her actions were ultimately a hoarding and speculation. Thanks to this, she became the greatest rising star to emerge from the Central Continent in this era.
However, this was officially a reputation that belonged to the Bocanegro Company's representative, Caruso.
Unlike Cesare, it wasn't a loss. Ariadne voluntarily hid behind Caruso and the Boccanegro company. She was afraid that if it became known that a young woman with a deep theological background and a reputation for helping the poor had become incredibly wealthy through private investment, the moral condemnation would be unspeakable.
The ethical standards required of women were far higher than those of men. Consider CEO Caruso. What Ariadne would have been buried for did not taint the forty-year-old merchant. He became the leader of the Seven of Unaisola, crediting his achievements for monopolizing grain during the Black Death.
Ariadne thought about Greta for a moment. She might have become a socialite, but no one remembered Greta. All that remained was a five-letter engraving on a stone pillar of the Scuola di Greta, the school Ariadne had built.
That difference did not arise because Ariadne's activities were continuous and Greta's were one-time activities.
Ariadne, too, was observing him with keen observation. Even in situations where she was the beneficiary, she didn't close her eyes. Right and wrong, reflection on the system, were matters for later consideration; observation of facts was observation.
The difference between Ariadne and Greta was essentially who their fathers were.
“Bianca. If I were someone’s daughter.”
Ariadne was the first to reveal her true feelings.
She was mostly expressionless. She didn't show any signs of happiness or displeasure. She hated having people guess her true feelings.
On Ariadne's face, there was an extremely rare, cold cynicism.
“If I had not tried to make a name for myself, and had quietly remained in my father’s shadow as the daughter of some Duke or Grand Duke, I would have been ‘Principessa Ariadne’ a long time ago.”
Thank you very much
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