Sunrise in Florence

by Kathleen Reid

  Pope Julius originally asked the famed architect Donato Bramante, Michelangelo’s nemesis, to come up with a scaffolding design. Bramante presented a design suspending wooden platforms from ropes that were anchored in the vault but that would create large holes in the ceiling. Michelangelo convinced the pope that this design was not workable. Michelangelo created rows of bridges across the chapel that started at the windows. Through a network of brackets, stepped arches allowed his team of assistants to link the bridges. The painters and plasterers had access to every part of the ceiling.

  Rose recalled that artists really didn’t have the power to conceive and create their own work. They were at the mercy of their patrons, who would tell them what to paint, often dictating the size and color of a specific project. In Michelangelo’s case, he was relentless in his complaints to the pope, who ultimately granted this gifted genius far more freedom than even the greatest artists of his time. Michelangelo was charged with creating a complete pictorial program of the single most important chapel in all of Christendom. A master of Latin, Michelangelo ultimately chose nine episodes from the Book of Genesis that included such stories as the “Creation of Adam and Eve,” and the “Drunkenness of Noah.” His design was the most ambitious of its time and would involve 150 pictorial units and more than 300 individual figures.

  As she marveled at the beauty of the chapel, the memory of her recent encounter with Doris surfaced like an unwanted swarm of mosquitos at the beach. She flinched as she recalled the scene from a week ago, right after Rose had signed the paperwork to take possession of her beautiful new apartment. Doris regularly watched HGTV, so Rose thought she would have been hanging on every detail of her story. The Facetime call didn’t exactly go as she had planned.

  “You’re making the biggest mistake of your life!” Doris had screamed as she paced back and forth in the kitchen. The muscles of her face contorted and her pink lipstick smeared. “How could you give up an excellent job to move abroad with no connections or family anywhere in sight? It would have been so much smarter to have rented a place, but you couldn’t do that. And what about Ben?”

  Rose had remained resolute and unintimidated. “Mother, I’m twenty-seven years old and have a right to choose my own path. It’s my life, damnit. When are you going to support me in my dreams?”

  “I’ll support good decisions, not reckless, thoughtless ones.”

  “I hardly consider it reckless to relocate to Florence.”

  “You have no job and no family there.”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Cindy says that Ben cares for you. Are you just going to throw away your one chance at happiness?”

  “This isn’t about Ben. Besides, there are planes and computers. The world has changed, and you can’t expect me to want to spend my whole life living in the place where I was born and raised. I needed something different.”

  “So, you’re saying Charlottesville isn’t good enough for you? That your stepfather and I aren’t interesting enough for you. Is that it?” she said, unable to hide the hurt.

  “That’s not what I’m saying. You know, you can come and visit me.”

  “I don’t like to fly. The airports are a mess these days and you hear about terrorist attacks all the time now. It’s just not safe to travel.” Doris had adjusted the collar of her pink Lily Pulitzer blouse.

  “I’ve made my decision. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  “You really shouldn’t treat me this way. I’m your mother; you should respect me.”

  “Why is this about you? It’s my life, not yours! I’m not a child anymore!”

  Doris had placed her palm on her chest to feel her racing heart. “So, what are you going to do all day in Florence?”

  “Nothing, Mother, absolutely nothing! You can tell all of your friends at the next cocktail party that your daughter has ruined her future.”

  “Well, you know people will talk around here,” said Doris, her eyes narrowing.

  “I don’t care what anyone there thinks of me. I am going to do what I want.”

  “Oh, so all that money we spent on your education and all of the years of scrimping and saving are going to come to nothing because my brilliant daughter—and I do emphasize brilliant—is going to throw it all away to become a painter, or better yet, marry some Italian stallion guy that we don’t like.”

  “It’s not your life, Doris!” yelled Rose, feeling breathless from the force of her anger.

  “Well,” said Doris, visibly stung by her daughter’s insult. “You should feel lucky that you have parents that care about you!”

  “Care?” said Rose. “You don’t know what caring is. You’re a control freak and that’s the entire problem. And, unfortunately, all you really care about is the next cocktail party and whether I can make a suitable match so you can plan a country club wedding.”

  “Clearly, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I’ve had enough of this. Goodbye, Doris.” She switched off the computer, shaken and angry.

  ***

  The buzz of her iPhone brought Rose’s focus back to the present. She peered around at the dwindling crowds; it was impossible to hear inside the chapel. She had received several texts from her contractor. She had successfully escaped the dust and mess of her new home for the weekend and assumed that they could carry on for a morning’s work without her. After confirming that she had signed a liability form to remove a section of wall, she put her phone back in her pocket.

  “Are you alright?” said a well-dressed woman as she eyed Rose glaring at her iPhone. With a gray pixie cut and bright blue eyes, she had a welcoming demeanor that immediately put Rose at ease.

  “Oh, yes,” Rose replied. “I’m renovating a new apartment in Florence and there are so many decisions. I came to Rome to escape the mess for the weekend. I really could sit here all day every day. This ceiling takes my breath away.”

  “It’s remarkable. I never get tired of seeing it. My daughter lives here, so I love to tour the Vatican whenever I visit.” She extended her hand. “Elsa von der Layman.”

  “Rose Maning, but my friends call me Rose.”

  “Are you traveling alone?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Rose. “It’s all been a bit overwhelming. I moved to Italy by myself. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to start over in a new place.”

  Rose felt tears well at the admission, and she was embarrassed by the rush of emotion.

  Elsa sat beside her and handed her a handkerchief. “You should be so proud of yourself, my dear. That is a big undertaking. Where are you from?”

  “The States. Charlottesville, Virginia, which is in the South.”

  “I’ve always heard that it’s a beautiful historic city, but I’ve never been,” Elsa said. “We live in Switzerland but keep an apartment in Rome so we can spend time with our daughter. So, tell me what you did back in the States.”

  “I was an art history teacher, and I’m passionate about the life and works of Michelangelo.”

  “Well, you came to the right place.” Elsa smiled. “You’ll be glad to know that the Vatican has eight laboratories and over 150 employees that conserve its treasures. My daughter, Beatrice, is one of them.”

  “That has to be fascinating work. How did she do it?”

  “She received her degree in conservation at New York University graduate school and finished her studies here in Rome. It was a lot of hard work, but nothing compared to Michelangelo, who worked on scaffolding sixty feet aboveground to paint these frescoes.”

  “I’m looking up and trying to imagine him straining his neck each day to paint. It’s simply awe inspiring!”

  They talked nonstop for the next few hours, sharing a cup of coffee at a nearby local café.

  “You know, Beatri
ce and I are planning on going on a Roman food tour tomorrow evening. Her good friend, Jess, is the leader of the tour and it’s a wonderful way to meet people and learn the Prati neighborhood through its food. She wants us to give her feedback on some new places she’s decided to visit. I can give you the information. Would you like to join us?”

  “What a lovely offer!” Rose realized that she would be returning to dust and debris in her new home and there was no schedule. “I’ve never been on a food tour. How does it work?”

  Elsa gave her the information, and Rose promised to follow up online and hoped to meet them tomorrow. There were so many new experiences waiting for her; it was all she could do not to skip back to her hotel. She checked the train schedule and realized that she could easily return to Florence on Monday afternoon to check on the small construction project. After all, cutting a hole in a wall couldn’t be that complicated. A vision of a support beam falling in the middle of her living room came to mind, but she quickly banished the thought.

  Thanks to Lyon, Rose had received a full list of contractors, painters and various other vendor suggestions. He checked on her periodically, and they had plans to connect as soon as he returned from a business trip, which had allowed her time to begin the process of settling into this new life.

  ***

  Rose set out the following morning to St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City to attend church services and, once again, visit Michelangelo’s Pietà. As she walked toward the dome of the basilica, Rose had a fleeting image of Thomas Jefferson’s dome at Monticello. She snapped several photos and texted them to Ben, adding a few sentences about her weekend and how Jefferson’s views on architecture must have been influenced by his time in Rome. He immediately wrote back, Enjoy, with a smiley face. She realized that she missed him a lot more than she was willing to admit.

  Incense burned as she stood reverently staring at the masterpiece, which nearly brought tears to her eyes. Restrained sadness emanated from the marble, underscored by a quiet, constant love. Time was suspended as she marveled at this sculpture, which was so much more alive in person. Rose believed that Michelangelo’s rendering of Christ allowed mankind to feel sympathy for the reposed figure, and it seemed as if he infused the figures with his own religious faith.

  Michelangelo was revolutionary in depicting Christ on the lap of his mother, Mary. The composition was complex because there were two full-sized bodies. Mary held the full body of her deceased son on her lap, cradling his head as if Jesus were still an infant. Mary’s face looked eternally youthful, while Christ was depicted in a quieter repose that gave no evidence of the violence that had just occurred; the moment in time made him seem both human and divine. Chills ran up Rose’s spine as she gazed at the sublime masterpiece.

  The day passed by in a flash, and before long she found herself standing outside a subway station, which was the designated meeting location for the Prati food tour. A friendly, dark-haired woman with luminous brown eyes approached.

  “Hi, I’m Jess. Are you waiting for the food tour?”

  Rose’s nerves quelled the moment they shook hands. Jess was dressed casually in jeans, comfortable flats and a bright top. They launched into an easy conversation about Rose’s amazing weekend in Vatican City.

  “I’ve never done a food tour before, but I met a friend of yours yesterday, Elsa, at the Sistine Chapel and she suggested I sign up.”

  “Oh, I absolutely love Elsa, and Beatrice is our age. We’re going to have a fabulous time.”

  “Your English is perfect.”

  “I was born and raised in Tampa but moved to Rome five years ago with my boyfriend.”

  In the next ten minutes, Elsa arrived with a flourish and gave Rose a big hug. She introduced Rose to Beatrice, who had the same sparkly blue eyes as her mother. Their warmth and enthusiasm were infectious. A gentleman joined the group who had rather thick, white hair, a bowtie, and sported a tailored navy jacket with gold buttons.

  “My real name is Leonard,” he joked, “but tonight you can call me Leonardo.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Soon after, a very attractive Asian couple introduced themselves as Annie and Ichario.

  “We’re from New York and just got married a week ago,” Annie said.

  “Oh my goodness, we need champagne! I’m so honored that you’re sharing your honeymoon with us! This is going to be a great night.”

  Everyone started talking at once, sharing bits and pieces of information about themselves while Jess stepped away with her cell phone; her secret smile convinced Rose that she was probably ordering up something special for the night.

  Rose asked Annie and Ichario where they lived in New York.

  “We just bought a loft in SoHo, which is where we both work. I’m an aspiring fashion designer.”

  “She’s more than aspiring,” said Ichario. “She’s just landed her own label.”

  “Are you kidding me?” said Rose. “That’s amazing! I was about to say that I love your jacket.”

  “It’s one of my designs,” she replied modestly. “And Ichario handles the business end of things. We’re here checking out those boutiques by the Spanish Steps and dreaming of owning our own fashion empire. How about you?”

  “I just bought my first home in Florence and moved there two weeks ago. I taught art history at a private girls’ school in Charlottesville and now I’m here to explore my interest in painting.”

  “You live in Florence? We’re heading there on Monday.”

  Leonard joined them. “I get to Florence regularly on business myself. Where are you located?”

  “The Santa Croce neighborhood. I’ve been wandering the streets figuring it all out.”

  “Aha! I know it well.”

  “I’m impressed,” said Annie. “I’m not sure I could move abroad on my own.”

  Rose gazed longingly at Ichario and Annie, observing their clasped hands. To be in the presence of two people who were so clearly in love infused Rose with a renewed sense of optimism.

  “I’m so glad you met my mom at the Sistine Chapel,” Beatrice said. “It sounds like you both really hit it off.”

  “Your mom is so lovely. I was on my own and suddenly felt overwhelmed. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your invitation! I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “You’re going to love Jess. She knows this neighborhood inside and out and is going to teach you more than you can imagine about mozzarella, balsamic vinegar and gelati. Mom says you taught art history. Did she tell you that I work at the Vatican as a conservator?”

  “She did. I can’t imagine what it’s like to restore and maintain all of the treasures in the world’s most famous museum.”

  “You’d be surprised how innovative our approach to conservation has become.”

  “It sounds fascinating. I’d love to learn more.”

  “It is endlessly fascinating. I like connecting to the past.”

  “Then we have that in common. It’s hard to believe that I actually live in proximity to so many historical treasures in Florence.”

  “Yes, you’ll love living in Florence; it’s such a manageable city. I’d relocate there, but I have, how do you say, a dream job. Every day is new, and we are always making new discoveries. Recently, we’ve been doing some restoration work on the Hall of Constantine where Raphael painted some glorious frescoes. As you know, he died prematurely in 1520. Turns out two of the allegorical figures in the painting Justice and Friendship originally attributed to other artists were done by the master himself.”

  “When I come back to Rome, I’ll definitely pay another visit to the Vatican to see that fresco in person.”

  “Absolutely!” Beatrice said with a smile. “Let me know ahead of time so I can try to break away and show it to you myself.”

  “That would be lovely!”

  Jess called
the group to order and announced the ground rules. No one had to eat everything, and it was okay to take small bites because they would likely make six stops on the evening’s tour.

  “And I’m excited to take you to my favorite Roman pizzeria called Bonchi.” She looked directly at Rose. “Our art history scholar here, Rose, will love that Bonchi is known as the Michelangelo of pizza!”

  “I’ve gotta see this,” said Annie. “You mean, taste this,” added Ichario.

  “Remember, they weigh the pizza, so pace yourselves.”

  ***

  A summer breeze kicked in as they made their way to the first stop on the tour. The crowd was daunting, so they waited to get inside and order. Jess told them that Bonchi used only the freshest of ingredients and made new flavors each day depending upon what fruits and vegetables were in season. His creations totaled up to 1,500 artisanal pizzas per year.

  “They’re delicious,” said Beatrice, who recommended that Rose try a slice of the potato, which was their bestseller.

  “Are they really weighing the pizza and cutting it with scissors?”

  Jess overheard her. “You’re going to love it.”

  The fresh crust and warm potato melted in her mouth. It was all so delicious, and Rose managed to try a red onion and sausage sample along with a vegetable pizza topped with yellow and red beets covered in goat cheese.

  The next stop involved sampling 150-year-old balsamic vinegar and learning about the origins of parmesan cheese. After tasting imported meats and salami at a local market, they ended up in a cozy restaurant which featured homemade pasta. Rose was sandwiched between Leonard and Elsa, who debated whether either of them would ever spend more than thirty euros on a jar of balsamic vinegar. The tour concluded with a tasting of various flavored gelati; Rose loved the chocolate and coffee flavors. Jess unearthed a bottle of prosecco from her bag along with plastic cups, and they went into a nearby park to toast the happy couple.

  “To life and new beginnings,” she said. They all clapped, and Annie and Ichario kissed tenderly.