The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes

by Hogarth Brown

  The ebullient conversation within the carriage rattled along, almost as fast as the horses could pull it. Hermes tossed in a comment when he felt engaged enough to speak, but otherwise occupied himself with the view outside. The Tuscan countryside impressed him with a majestic canvas of autumnal colours, even with some smudges of grey cloud in the sky, yet he began to feel the day had not been as spectacular as when he and Illawara arrived, as his jubilant feelings ebbed. As the carriage sped along the reality of human life seeped back into him. Again, he caught Antonio staring as he turned his head from the window: piqued by a particularly girlish laugh from Illawara, as she tapped the knee of the Earl in response to a joke that he made. The Earl smiled but moved his knee away from her.

  ‘You seem far away’, Antonio said to Hermes as he observed him,

  ‘Do I?’ he replied, shaking himself to attention.

  ‘Do you find these parts so strange?’

  ‘No, not here in particular’ said Hermes with a shrug, ‘It's just that life itself can be strange - don’t you think?’ his sentence paused the other conversation within the carriage.

  ‘It’s becoming the fashion for artists abroad to come here and paint the hillsides’ said the Earl, trying to maintain the cheerful mood, ‘I’m told they come for the light’. Hermes remained blank.

  ‘Are you OK Hermes?’ Illawara enquired, leaning forward,

  ‘Yes, I’m fine’ came his response, ‘I’m just having a think - that’s all.’ The carriage lurched after hitting a stone on the road, making Illawara tumble into the Earl’s lap. They all laughed with embarrassment, the Earl returning Illawara to her seat, but Hermes struggled to ignore the tingle that ran from his leg to his stomach when his knee clashed with Antonio’s. He took a deep breath, fixed his eyes on the view, and waited patiently for them to all arrive in Florence.

  After what seemed like an age for Hermes, the carriage, at last, began to trundle into the centre of the city. The clamour of farm animals, people, and oxen or horse drawn carts, carriages, and waggons grew ever louder as they came closer to the centre: ‘Florence’ Illawara exclaimed as the coach travelled past the imposing walls of the Fortezza da Basso. ‘We’re here already’ she said excited and leant over to Hermes’ side of the carriage, arm outstretched, to improve her view. Hermes took in the grim and imposing walls of the fortress pimpled with stone: so useful for deflecting artillery fire. He mused that the fort could defend itself with ugliness alone.

  ‘It looks like the skin of an alligator’ he said thinking out loud, Illawara’s eyes widened a somewhat.

  ‘What’s an Alligator?’ asked Antonio,

  ‘It’s a type of big swimming lizard’, the Earl interjected to Illawara’s surprise before Hermes could answer the question. She paused intrigued that the Earl had ever heard of one. Antonio twitched with confusion, but Hermes carried on:

  ‘You can find them in Florida.’ Antonio seemed intrigued.

  ‘I think we should go sight-seeing before the party’ Illawara interrupted, before bulging her eyes at Hermes ‘we have a few hours yet’ she said and gave another stare at the youth for referring to America. Antonio’s eyes flashed:

  ‘Oh, do you mean crocodile?’ He said to Hermes, ‘yes I have heard of those. Is it true they live in the Nile?’

  ‘That’s correct; they do live in the Nile as well as other places’ Illawara continued. Antonio’s brows tensed.

  ‘I’m sure Hermes can speak for himself’ said the Valet, ‘but it seems that you’re familiar with North Africa and the Americas?’ said the Valet, Illawara swallowed, ‘it’s a very long voyage for anyone, let alone such a young woman - few come back.'

  ‘Indeed, so I’ve heard' she replied, 'but I don’t see how being a woman makes that voyage more difficult’ Illawara sniped back, while she read a look of creeping embarrassment on Hermes' face.

  'I’m doubtless you could cross the Atlantic on a boat of your own’ Antonio added with arched eyebrows, ‘you strike me as familiar with the natural sciences and many other things. I’m just surprised a language tutor could teach you so much.’ Illawara gave an uncomfortable laugh, her head still in the grip of a hangover:

  'Well, you forget the professor I mentioned. But Master Salvatore allowed me to read a bit, here and there, from the books he had collected. But I don’t remember much; another time perhaps? Besides’ she added, ‘I want to explore this beautiful city.’ Illawara then snapped open her fan to end any further enquiry. The Valet puckered his lips and exchanged a glance with the Earl: Illawara may as well have slapped him across the face.

  ‘I agree’ said the Earl, conjuring a smile, while Illawara fanned herself. Hermes remained mute, and consensus fell upon the carriage. Illawara was relieved to have changed the subject but annoyed that Antonio had questioned her again, and that Hermes was the cause. She remained keen to play for time, for she had not yet figured out how to gain access to the Duke’s party. After parking the carriage, and mooring the horses next to a trough Antonio, acting as the guide, suggested they all walk from the Basilica Santa Maria Novella, and through the marketplace to the Duomo before returning later to make their way to the Uffizi.

  The streets teemed with crowds: far busier than the later times in which Illawara and Hermes visited: when he first saw Florence - while peeping out of Illawara’s bag. All of humanity clattered and jangled in front of them, as they paused next to a wall to take in the view of the Basilica. The pair did not have to act as if they had never seen the like before, as both were surprised at the sheer variety of life that surrounded them.

  Children of all ages ran about streets screaming and yelling at the tops of their voices, while playing with iron rings that they rolled in front of them, throwing missiles, or grabbing at farmer’s chickens before hurling them into the air. The ferret-like packs of children cackled, as the startled birds fluttered to the ground screeching, and the urchins scattered like mosquitos when furious market sellers scolded and swung at them with sticks. As the group walked to the Santa Maria Novella’s piazza, women with bales of apples, and other produce called out in rough voices as they mingled through the crowds selling their wares: at night, when well away from the Basilica walls, other conveniences of theirs were sold.

  Oxen pulled heavy goods-carts through the streets, laden and precarious, with cut stone for new buildings, held in place with ropes as their cargo creaked along. Shouts of animated greeting or swearing seemed to ring out from every orifice of the surrounding buildings, to be caught with a gesture, assessed, and then voiced back by the people of the streets below. The very populous seemed alive with raucous music, as citizens added their notes to the cacophony of sound.

  As they all progressed into the market area, they spied small stalls that sold sweet foods and savouries. The Earl, from one seller, bought everyone a flavoured pie of their choice, still warm from the oven, and each declared their pie the best after trying one another's in turn. Spice merchants stood with pride in their rented shops, wearing expensive clothes, and displayed a bounty of exotic ingredients. Cloves, ginger, chillies and pepper from the new world sat resplendent in their shop windows, next to glass jars of ochre coloured Iranian saffron, Mexican vanilla pods, and the sweet dark bark of cinnamon. The air clung thick with the fragrant spices and burning incense that helped to overpower the humming sweat of workers, and the dung of their animals. The group as they walked became infused with the energy of the streets of Florence: each thrilled in their own way. When the opportunity presented itself, Illawara took the chance to speak to Hermes, as The Earl and Antonio engaged a merchant about his wares: ‘Hermes, what was going on with you in the carriage earlier on? So moody’ she whispered, taking him to one side,

  ‘What mood?’

  ‘C’mon, you know what I mean, you were distant, you hardly said anything the whole journey, and then when you did speak why did you talk about Florida?’

  ‘I don’t know? The fortress made me think about Alligators skin, and that made me th
ink about Florida, and then about home.’ Illawara's face flinched with anguish, but she fixed Hermes with a look before the pair avoided a man walking past with his goats.

  ‘OK, I know we’re far from home, but you need to keep quiet about America. It’s too risky. We need to stay on the ball with this, and you have to back me up’ she whispered, ‘and you were warning me about slip ups - but I can’t always cover for you.' She studied him, ‘why are you acting all weird?' She said. Hermes stared at the floor before looking up: ‘I’m sorry’ he said, ‘I don’t know what’s come over me. I feel very different than I did before.'

  ‘Hmmm?’ said Illawara with knitted brows. She squinted. ‘Maybe it’s a side effect of the change? Being human again?’ She watched as Hermes tipped his head up to the sky with his eyes closed and let out a long breath. Illawara watched him and then scratched an itch at the back of her neck between her hair and Ruff: ‘I may have to proposition the Earl’

  ‘With what?’ said Hermes, after paused reflection.

  ‘I’m not sure, it’s just I’ve no real idea how we’re going to get into the party - and we don’t have long.’ Illawara wrung her hands and checked to see that the Earl and Antonio were still talking.

  ‘I thought so: it’s been on my mind too’ said Hermes, ‘and I don’t think flaunting a pineapple is enough to do it.’ Illawara gave a nervous laugh but nodded.

  ‘Agreed… I’ve been thinking - do you think I should go as the Earl’s consort?’ Hermes frowned.

  ‘I thought that we were each other’s consort?’ He said. Illawara grimaced.

  ‘Yes we are, sort of, but I think it’s more convincing if I’m on the arm of the Earl, so to speak.’ Hermes folded his arms and scowled. ‘Well, it’s either that or trying to kick down a door or climb through a window… and to be honest, I don’t think I can do either in this dress.’ Illawara then made a demure sweeping motion with her skirts, adding a beaming smile as she fluttered her eyelashes. Hermes smirked, seeing, in his mind's eye, Illawara trying to clamber through a small unguarded window, him pushing from behind, with her clothed in her high collar, bodice, and farthingale.

  ‘Ah, Illy’ sighed Hermes, ‘makes sense, I suppose. When will you ask him?’ Hermes glanced over Illawara's shoulder to be sure the other pair were still talking to the merchant.

  ‘I think I’ll ask him in the Duomo; Antonio said we're going there next. I think I heard him say something about going to the top. I’m hoping Edward will be so impressed by the view that he’ll just say yes.' Her eyes shone. ‘Besides, it’s not like he’s got another woman with him.’ The smile slid from Hermes' face.

  ‘Do you like him Illy?’ he enquired. Illawara avoided Hermes’ gaze and tried to stifle a blush as the pair stepped aside to let a cabbage waggon pass. ‘I wouldn’t blame you’ he added, ‘he’s very… “Dashing” - like a hero from some of those films you like to watch.’ Illawara’s expression changed as she absorbed his words.

  ‘Well, I suppose I could ask you the same about Antonio?’ She said. Hermes stood still and stared at her before he looked away, and his shoulders slumped. He then looked back at his friend before rubbing at his face and letting his hands drop to his sides: as if exhausted. A silent understanding passed between them, as Florentine life jangled by. They gazed each other, contemplated, and with nothing more to be said on the subject, they both returned to the sides of their companions.

  Antonio proved to be an excellent guide. He gestured at every turn to some feature of the Florentine surroundings, or some old guild’s mascot, upon a high wall, rendered impotent or half forgotten. He pointed here and there to buildings and palazzos, mentioning the architect that made it, or the noble family that commissioned it. Antonio gestured to new constructions of elaborate facades cleaved onto old buildings: straight classical lines contorted into bending ones as craftsmen hammered away above on their scaffolding.

  Antonio, gaining momentum, spoke of the artisan’s passion for ‘the new style’ as they made way through the crowds. He turned his palm in the direction of an open door of a palazzo, where gilded adornments glowed within, as a procession of workers marched goods through the doors. The group moved on, but Illawara paused, when a shrunken woman with a swaddle, limped to the side of the open door, sat, made a weak motion with her bundle, and muttered repetitive words at all who passed her. She sat there ignored by the workmen as they busied themselves, and invisible to another as he crossed off his goods list. After a while, the woman struggled to her feet, and almost forgot her baby wrapped in old fabric, making no protest, as it was laid on the dusty ground as she got up. Illawara looked on and saw the woman, wearing a tangle of rags, limping off with her swaddle on one arm, and the other hand, slack-wristed, waving at passers-by to no avail. Illawara stood, transfixed, to watch the woman before Hermes returned to tug her arm and pull her away.

  It soon became evident to Illawara and Hermes that the Medici’s crest could be seen everywhere: with its famous balls. There seemed almost nothing that Antonio did not know about the family: as they moved along Illawara and Hermes grew nervous.

  The Duomo with its high domed roof seemed the very beating heart of Florence. The streets, although still busy, were calmer around the immense Basilica. The breadth of the cobbles between the Basilica and Baptistery provided relief from the stifling clamour of the narrow walkways and oxygenated the citizens as they ambled along. Antonio became excited: The Basilica had always been his favourite landmark to show off to new guests in the city. Illawara and Hermes both looked shocked when they first spied the Duomo: both stood open-mouthed. Without its iconic and elaborate façade – that they had known from their later visits - to them, the building looked grand but naked.

  ‘I see that you’re both impressed’ declared Antonio with pride. The pair manufactured nods before glancing to each other. ‘I suggest we go inside so I can show you the ceiling, and then we go to the top of the Duomo itself. The view is spectacular.'

  ‘So we're allowed up in there?’ said Hermes almost recovered,

  ‘I have a friend’ said Antonio, beaming a smile. The Earl walked on ahead with Antonio, while Illawara studied his body language: he seemed bored. Neither she nor Hermes had been inside the Duomo before. The queues to get inside were far too long, in their time, when they visited with the Professor, and he had become impatient with the aimless chatter of tourists, as they all baked together in the sunshine.

  Priests and lay people mingled around outside the Basilica, as the group climbed the steps that lead to the Duomo’s huge imposing doors: but these doors stood carved from wood and were not the ornate bronze narratives that they had expected. The pair disguised their mutual disappointment - reminded that splendours take time. Antonio began talking with a young priest to one side, with animated gestures as they exchanged banter. The Earl kicked at the ground and threw crumbs from his pie crust to the pigeons as they fluttered about the place. Illawara watched him carefully, as Hermes observed Antonio, and pondered how best to suggest her idea to the Earl. Antonio beckoned the three of them over and introduced his friend.

  ‘Everyone, this is my friend Brother Marco da Perugia.’ The young priest could not have been more than twenty-five. He wore his dark brown hair short, had olive skin and large brown eyes. His smiled exposed his neat square teeth, and he nodded as he clasped his hands as if in prayer. Antonio introduced everyone in turn, and Hermes and Illawara introduced themselves back in flawless Italian. The Earl spoke his Italian too, but with an awkward English accent. Niceties aside the group were granted access to the Duomo. Inside various elements of the clergy floated about in their pressed robes. Some held books and others lit candles or incense burners in preparation for evening mass. Antonio hurried the group along, as Marco left them. Illawara and Hermes stood awestruck as they looked up into the Duomo’s painted ceiling: ‘started by Giorgio Vasari, and finished by Federico Zuccari thirty-two years ago’ said Antonio. Illawara looked up in that instant and wished for her camera. The de
pictions of The Last Judgement glowed and seemed to reach down to pull up the viewers.

  Each person stood with their heads thrown back in wonder as if being lifted, in the ribcage, by the paintings.

  ‘Stunning, absolutely stunning’ said Hermes,

  ‘This is what genius is. It’s one of my favourites’ declared the Earl, quite animated. Everyone’s ears pricked.

  ‘Have you seen this before?’ Asked Antonio. The Earl stalled.

  ‘No… well not in person, of course, it’s just its fame reaches even England; Italian friends have spoken of it often, and I’ve heard it described so much it’s as if I knew the piece already.’ Hermes and Illawara exchanged glances with one another.

  ‘I’m impressed’ said Antonio satisfied, and then gave more detail about the various artworks around, before Marco returned and made a sign to usher them over to a corner of the space.

  ‘Here, this is the staircase’ said Marco opening a narrow door, ‘you can take your friends up here.’ Antonio thanked him and offered the priest a small bag of coins. Marco gave effusive praise and then waved the group off: ‘thank you… and Ciao Bella Donna’ he called after Illawara, she, surprised, then turned to smile and gave a curtsy. Hermes rolled his eyes and emitted a grunt:

  ‘As if she needs encouraging’ he muttered to himself.

  Their ascent became laborious after fifty steps as the rest of the four hundred and thirty-seven footfalls lead the group upward. Illawara hung back a somewhat, although fit, as her dress swallowed up the narrow confines of the stairways: just wide enough for two slim people to pass. She pressed down on her farthingale to reduce her dress brushing against the walls and rubbing into ribbons against the bricks. Hermes’ breath started to become ragged. As a little bird, he could have flown up the steps with ease, but human limitations brought heaviness and mixed feelings for him.