Lorenzo added, “Michelangelo just came to us and now lives as part of our family. Ghirlandaio expects much from this young man and I trust that he will emerge as a first rate sculptor in a few years.”
“Do you only sculpt or do you also paint?” asked Antonio.
“I prefer sculpture, but I also paint. I feel freer with a chisel in my hand than a brush, but I enjoy the ability to use color that painting provides,” answered Michelangelo without hesitation.
“I have only met a few artists who are equally adept at sculpture and painting. Perhaps you will be one of those rare few. I look forward to seeing your work in the years to come,” said Antonio. He thought that if this boy’s painting was anywhere near as good as his sculpting then Lorenzo would have indeed found the world’s greatest artist. He also knew, without a doubt in his mind, that he himself was incapable of making anything that possessed such clear power and force that could move people so strongly. It was a sobering realization, but one that was becoming ever more common the more he met other great artists. But he had never felt it so clearly as he did with this twelve-year-old boy.
“Thank you, sir,” responded Michelangelo and then returned to chipping away at his block of marble.
Lorenzo and Antonio continued their walk.
“Keep an eye on that one,” said Lorenzo in a conspiratorial tone. “I expect that he may one day be Florence’s greatest artist.”
Antonio nodded as they continued their walk. He doubted that even Lorenzo himself knew the potential of this boy.
Chapter 44
Rome, Italy, October 1514
Antonio di Bernardi, personal art advisor to the Medici family, had been away from Rome for almost a year, traveling through Europe, appraising and acquiring art from some of the world’s greatest artists, who at the time were in the Netherlands and, to a lesser extent, Germany. He was by and large pleased with the mounting and layout of the artwork he had last seen months earlier when he had personally selected them for the papal collection. He made some suggestions on rearranging some of the works and also dividing the German and Dutch paintings into separate galleries.
They had already spent the better part of the morning reviewing some of the recent papal acquisitions, which were both extensive and impressive. The group moved slowly through the labyrinth of hallways at the Vatican with three assistants to Pope Leo X. Alessandro Bertolini, a priest from Milan, was the most engaged of the three, and looked towards Antonio like a child seeking his father’s approval on where the paintings had been hung, whether they matched the other paintings in the gallery, and noted gaps that the pope hoped to fill with some new acquisitions. The other two assistants, who were at least ten years Alessandro’s senior, shuffled along and grunted or made the occasional comment to confirm that they were at least paying attention. Perhaps they thought their time as the pope’s assistant would be spent learning secrets of the faith as opposed to ensuring that expensive paintings were hung carefully in halls that would be seen by only a select few. Either way, they were clearly not excited about what they were currently doing and didn’t particularly care what young Antonio thought.
Antonio had known Leo X, formerly Giovanni de’ Medici, and his cousin, Giuliano de’ Medici, since their birth in Florence. Both Giovanni and Giuliano had been forced to flee Florence when the Medici were expelled from the city in 1494.
After his expulsion, Giovanni travelled extensively throughout Germany, France and the Netherlands for six years before heading to Rome. After Pope Julius’s death, Giovanni was elected Pope Leo X in March 1513, and was welcomed back into Florence as the first Florentine pope. Within a month after being elected pope, Leo established Giuliano as both cardinal and archbishop of Florence. His extensive travels throughout Europe, his time in Rome, along with his early studies in his father’s academies, had instilled in him a great love of art, which was only slightly less voracious than his ruthless ambition and Machiavellian political prowess.
At the end of the hallway a small group of men in clerical vestiges had gathered. There were several cardinals and assistants, as well as the pope himself. They were standing in front of a set of massive, carved wooden doors that lay open. The group of priests he was with, either out of deference, or fear, or a mixture of both, backed away to allow Antonio to reach this most august congregation first. The cardinals greeted Antonio as he made his way to where Leo X was standing. Antonio knew some of them, but most he had never met before. Upon reaching the pope, Antonio dropped to one knee and kissed the extended ringed finger of the pontiff.
“Your eminence. I am blessed by your presence.” Antonio knew all too well that Pope Leo thrived on and expected deference and praise. The pope surrounded himself with sycophants and dealt ruthlessly with those who opposed him. Antonio didn’t particularly like Pope Leo, nor had he thought highly of his predecessor, Julius, but he did enjoy the opportunities that being the papal art collector afforded him.
“It is good to see you, my old friend. You look well. I hope that being back in Rome is agreeing with you after so much travel abroad,” said the pope casually.
“Yes, your excellence. I never tire of returning to the eternal city and tasting all it has to offer.”
“Indeed. One tires of sausage and beer after a time and welcomes some real food,” laughed Leo.
“Yes, your eminence. You are quite right about that.”
“Come, Antonio. I called you here today because I wanted you to see what must be considered one of the wonders of the world. You of course know that Michelangelo Buonorroti was commissioned by my predecessor, Julius II, God rest his soul, to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. What you perhaps did not know was that he finished it a little over nine months ago. Have you seen the chapel at all during the painting process?”
“No, your excellence. I knew that Michelangelo had been working on it for several years, but I have not seen it at all.” He had, in fact, kept a watchful and admiring eye on Michelangelo ever since his first meeting twenty-six years earlier. He was present for the unveiling of the Pietà as well as The Tomb of Pope Julius II, both of which were breathtaking. It was all he could do to keep himself from fainting as he stood in stunned rapture the first time he saw the statue of David. He had visited that statue multiple times since and always found himself speechless, overwhelmed by the sheer emotional force the statue brought out of him. There had of course been rumors throughout the pope’s inner circle about the stunning beauty and grandeur of the Sistine Chapel ceiling, but because of his travels he had yet to see it himself.
“Excellent! It is exactly as I had hoped. There is no better way to see its glory than for the first time and in its finished state. Come, let us go in.”
With a gentle shift of his hand, Leo led Antonio and the group through the doorway. They entered into an enormous rectangular room with a marble floor that mixed concentric circles with more linear geometric patterns, all below a large domed ceiling. The walls were thick and plastered with regularly spaced tall stained glass windows on both sides that filled the room with light. The chapel itself was not particularly beautiful, especially compared with some of the spectacular gothic cathedrals that had gained prominence throughout Europe. Without question the focal point of the entire chapel was the vast ceiling, which was completely covered by the most beautiful fresco that Antonio, or anyone in the rest of the world, had ever seen.
Leo, never being one to miss a dramatic opportunity, stopped and raised his left hand upwards towards the ceiling.
“Behold, the completed fresco by Michelangelo.”
Antonio didn’t hear anything. He just stared overhead at the masterwork painted by the same boy he had met in the Medici academy. To think that the same person painted this spectacular fresco and also carved the greatest statue the world had ever known was beyond belief.
The fresco was remarkable not only for its sheer size and grandeur, but for the beauty and the detail of the work itself. This was a painting that any art
ist at any time in history would look at in awe and realize that they were in the presence of undeniable greatness. They would also be humbled by his talent. The angelic face of the young Delphic Sybil, lips slightly parted, turning gently back to look longingly into the distance. The innocence and beauty in her face belied her massive arms and frame. She was clearly out of proportion because no woman would have such muscular arms, but somehow she lost none of her femininity. You couldn’t help falling in love with this woman. In the center of the ceiling was the image of a powerful Zeus-like God reaching out to touch the finger of Adam, extending life to mankind. The image, the color and the detail were so vivid, so real, you could feel the power of creation in His outstretched finger, which did not quite touch the lazily outreached hand of Adam.
Antonio, as well as the others in the group, wandered the room as if in a trance. There were occasional exhalations of emotions and Leo intermittently pointed out individual scenes and described them to the group. But by and large the men moved about in silence, their gaze never leaving the ceiling. They were in the presence of greatness and they all knew it. After what could have been an hour, but was probably much less than half that, the pope spoke.
“So, Antonio. What do you think?”
Antonio, as if awakened from a dream, barely heard the question. He gathered himself as best he could and forced his mouth to vocalize something. He realized that tears were streaming down his face. He turned away and brushed them aside with his sleeve.
“Your eminence. I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life. This is without question the greatest painting in the history of mankind.”
The pope smiled approvingly, the smile of a proud father.
“Excellent, I agree with you. I do not have your extensive knowledge of art but it would seem that the art of painting has been elevated to a higher level. You are fortunate. This is the pope’s private chapel. Few below the level of cardinal or prince or duke, for that matter, enter this chamber. Outside of conclave, when the College of Cardinals gather to elect the new pope, no one enters without the personal invitation of the pope.”
Leo’s father would have smiled at his bravado and his grandfather would have grimaced at it, thought Antonio.
“I cannot express my honor and gratitude, your excellence. I am humbled and awed in the presence of such a masterpiece.” He knew then that he would never paint again, at least not professionally, and perhaps not at all, after seeing this enormous work, every inch of it better than anything he was capable of painting. He had known for years that there were many artists greater than him. But he had hoped, somewhere deep inside, that perhaps there was still a place for him as an artist. This fresco, immense and at the same time precise, neatly severed that last cord of hope. There was a calmness that somehow wrapped itself around the pain that accompanied the finality of this realization. He would never be a great artist, and he now admitted to himself, that he probably never was.
He moved onward with the remainder of the group as they made their way out of the chapel. He spent the rest of the day and the next month, in fact, in a daze. The image of that fresco was burned in his memory. Over the next several centuries he would return to the chapel, sometimes on his own, with the pope’s blessing, and much later with crowds of tourists. But he never forgot the first time that he saw that chapel in its original majesty.
Chapter 45
Mackenzie spent the better part of the previous month trying to come to grips with her feelings about Anthony. She lay in bed on her back, which inevitably turned out to be the signal for Octavius to climb on top of her chest. His face was so close to hers that she could actually feel his breath. Having fifteen pounds sitting directly on her rib cage didn’t promote good sleep, but it was comforting to have him sitting there while she thought. Ever since Anthony had revealed his secret, they had grown closer and, at least from Mackenzie’s perspective, their relationship had moved to a different level. She had no idea if Anthony felt the same way.
After playing it over in her head a hundred times, Mackenzie finally decided to say something to Anthony about how she felt. She had never in her life met anyone that captivated her, who made her feel that she was part of something more than just her everyday life. She was comfortable with him, but tense at the same time. She felt pressure to never let him down. It was odd. Other than her father, she had never felt so concerned about letting another person down in her life. It wasn’t that Anthony was judgmental. In fact, it was just the opposite. He accepted her as she was, without pointing out her mistakes and making nit-picky comments about what she could do better, like her mother had. No, it wasn’t that Anthony ever criticized her or intentionally revealed her weaknesses, even though she was sure that he could clearly see them. It was that she was so—in love, would be the best description, and in awe would be a close second. She just wanted to be the best person she could be whenever she was with him.
She asked him at work if he wanted to have a drink and some dinner that evening, and he accepted. Anthony recommended a small, casual Italian restaurant in midtown within a couple of blocks of Bloomingdales. It was very reasonably priced, especially for Manhattan, and he went there quite often. He enjoyed their simple, fresh pastas. They also had a great selection of Italian wines by the glass that he liked to sample.
It was a drizzly, chilly spring evening and they decided to share a cab from work. During the cab ride they engaged in small talk, mostly about projects they were working on. The restaurant was filling up rapidly. Fortunately she had called ahead for reservations. They were shown to a small table in the back, passing well-dressed couples and businesspeople enjoying a meal after work. Once they were seated, they ordered a glass of a simple, clean Soave from the Veneto region.
Mackenzie was fidgety and found it hard to offer anything more than superficial nods and “Uh-huhs,” to most of what he said. Anthony was not a particularly talkative, extroverted person and didn’t mind sitting in silence. Mackenzie was typically the one who initiated and drove most of their conversations. She was good at getting him to open up and once she got him started, he was more than able to carry the conversation to any number of subjects. After all, he certainly did have a lot of experiences from which to draw.
They spent most of the meal in idle chatter about work, new paintings that were coming in, Broadway shows, good and bad movies that they had seen, etc. She was so nervous. She went through three glasses of water before the entrees arrived. The server now made it a habit of topping off her glass every time he passed the table.
Mackenzie was clearly not her normal bubbly self and Anthony seemed to have noticed.
“Are you all right?” he finally said as they were sipping espressos at the end of the meal, “Is anything wrong?”
This is it, the moment of truth, she thought. It would have been better if I had initiated the topic, but here goes.
She took another sip of water, feeling her hands shaking. “Anthony, I feel really strange saying this to you. I enjoy our time together so much, I don’t want to say anything that would jeopardize it. But I need to know if there’s not something more than just a good friendship here. I’ve got feelings for you that go beyond friendship and wanted to see if you felt the same way.”
There, I’ve said it! she thought. Now it’s in his court.
Anthony sat back in his chair and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment. Then he leaned forward and placed his hands around Mackenzie’s, which were folded in front of her on the table.
“I wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how best to say it,” he said, warmly looking into her eyes. “I have very strong feelings for you. I just don’t know where they should go or what to do about them.”
“Why don’t we do what other people do when they have strong feelings for each other and see where they take us?” asked Mackenzie, feeling elated to have him holding her hands.
“It is actually not that simple. I know that it never is and that relationships a
re always more complex than they seem, but our situation is much more complex than you might think.”
“Do you mean because you’re probably going to live for another thousand years and I won’t?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“Certainly, that is part of it. You cannot imagine how much it hurts to lose those that you love, over and over again. It creates sort of a hard outer shell that protects you from getting too attached so that you do not have to feel that pain again.”
“I understand. But certainly it’s better to love and be loved than to wall yourself off from your feelings.” Was he rejecting her? Was this his polite way of saying that he just wants to be friends? Her heart already felt heavy in her chest.
“Yes, that is very true. There is nothing in life that compares with love. Without love, there would be no art or music or great literature. It is something that binds us all together, something universal. It compels us to greatness and at the same time exposes our deepest fears and weaknesses.”
“Then what you’re saying is that love is worth the effort and the pain, but you’re not sure if it’s worth it with me?” Despite her best efforts to keep her emotions in check, tears began welling in her eyes.
“No, no, that is not what I am saying at all. I need to show you something that will help explain why I think that our relationship is more difficult and complex than you think and why I do not think that we can pursue a romantic relationship, even though I would love to as much as you would. Can you come to my apartment and see what I mean?”
“Okay, this is not where I thought this conversation would be going. What in the world could you show me in your apartment that would explain why we can’t be together?” she said, both confused and upset.
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