Tuscan Daughter by Lisa Rochon

Author:Lisa Rochon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperAvenue
Published: 2021-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Inside the massive studio, standing on the edge of his scaffold, Michelangelo dropped the buffing pad and picked out a rounded pumice stone. He pressed his chest lightly against the sculpture, a reluctant lover, and rubbed gently into the curve of the neck, coaxing with careful strokes. Running his fingers over the fossetta, he selected a pad layered with abrasive emery from his pocket to heighten the polish. He wanted to work the marble to the point of porcelain transparency, that people might imagine a pulse beating in the hollow of David’s neck.

It was like this every day: morning became afternoon, afternoon became night. The hours were swallowed whole by the art of careful, patient work.

“Under order of the Florentine government!” A man’s voice, unexpected, shouted from outside his studio. The oak doors were thrown wide and three men stepped inside. Michelangelo immediately recognized Soderini, a friend of the family and the republic’s governor, who heartily supported the Wool Guild. He knew the governor’s footman and, to his chagrin, he recognized the third man as Machiavelli, the second chancellor, who had nearly run him down on his horse.

“Gonfalonier, welcome,” said Michelangelo, addressing Soderini by his formal title, though he wanted to order the three men away so that he could continue to work in peace. The governor stepped toward the David, all business, ignoring the greeting. Experiencing art unsettled Soderini. Michelangelo had heard stories of the man wiping his brow furiously with a silk cloth, overwhelmed by the luminous frescoes of Giotto or the brilliant perspectives of Brunelleschi. Once, Michelangelo had been sitting quietly inside the Brancacci Chapel at Santa Maria del Carmine, sketching Masaccio’s luminous depiction of Adam and Eve being banished from Paradise for eating the forbidden apple, and Soderini burst into the church with a loud, excited entourage. The visit was part of a civic itinerary to educate the new governor on the city’s master works, but it had to be cut short. Seeing the fresco of the weeping, humiliated Adam and Eve, Soderini started pacing and muttering about the evil imperfection of man. It was the same when they made a stop at Santo Spirito to examine the crucifix up close. The limp body of a teenager sculpted by Michelangelo tore at the governor’s emotions. Afraid of upsetting the day’s schedule, his advisors guided him outside for fresh air.

There had been no warning that Soderini and Machiavelli would be visiting this morning. Michelangelo braced for an unpleasant encounter and a strange reaction to the David. Even from high up on the scaffold, he could see that the governor’s forehead was already slick with sweat.

“We must determine where to put the thing when it is complete,” said Soderini, to no one in particular.

“My lord,” said Machiavelli grandly. “The advantage of our surprise visit is to see the colossus up close.” He rubbed his hands in delight. “In advance of the public viewing.”

“My trusted chancellor,” said Soderini, wiping his face aggressively, clearly suffocated by the binding of his official woolen doublet, “you are a man of unexpected pleasures.

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