Chapter Ten

Rome, 1501

Energized, Michelangelo rose at dawn. After making himself breakfast, he returned to the loft, where he began sketching the new likeness. In an hour, he had a fairly complete drawing. When Paolo arrived, Michelangelo was stunned to discover that it was already past nine.

After hiding the sketch, Michelangelo left the house and set out on foot for the residence of his old friend and schoolmate Cardinal Giovanni di Lorenzo de’Medici. He knew that Giovanni had returned to Rome a year ago and that the pope had received him warmly - at least on the surface. How deep that affection really ran was a mystery, given that Giovanni and Cardinal della Rovere had campaigned against Alexander’s ascension to the papacy.

He also knew that Giovanni, always of a scholarly nature, since returning to Rome, had immersed himself in studying art and literature. Perhaps he had tired of the politicking of the Curia or perhaps he simply wished to live in peace, maintaining a strict neutrality that showed he was not a threat to the House of Borgia.

Since the day promised fair weather and plenty of sunshine, Michelangelo decided to walk to the home of Cardinal de’Medici. After about 30 minutes, he arrived at the palace and told the servant who he was and that he wished to see the cardinal. He was ushered into a sitting room. The walls and ceilings were all frescoes and no expense had been spared in the décor.

“Did none of them take a vow of poverty?” Michelangelo wondered.

At that point, Giovanni entered, dressed in the red cassock and biretta of a cardinal, and rushed across the room, his arms open, to embrace Michelangelo. “And how is my old friend?” Giovanni asked, pulling Michelangelo to him. “It’s been so long.”

“It has been far too long,” Michelangelo replied. “I often thought of you while you were abroad.”

“A rather necessary sojourn,” Giovanni laughed, “but an educational one as well. I spent much of my time studying German and Dutch artwork. And now that I am returned, I must say their best are not nearly as good as ours.”

Both men laughed heartily. “I hear you have been busy, Michelangelo. Would you like to kiss my ring and add it to your collection?”

“Is there anyone in Rome, who doesn’t know my business?” asked the artist in exasperation.

“Outside of the Curia, I should say a great many people are unaware of your comings and goings. Within the Curia, that is another matter altogether,” he laughed.

“It’s just as a simple matter of preservation. We all keep a servant fee’d in the houses of our rivals. My chambermaid reports my activities to della Rovere, my groom reports to the pope, and my cook’s helper receives a regular stipend from the vice chancellor, Cardinal Sforza. Shall I continue?” he laughed.

“And you have spies in their homes as well?” asked Michelangelo.

“Spies has such a sinister sound to it. I rather prefer to think of them as ‘friends,’ who keep me up to date on the latest news and gossip and any and all misbehavior,” he said, laughing again.

“And am I the subject of such gossip?” asked Michelangelo.

“Indeed, you are. I know that you met with the pope, from whom you received a commission, though exactly what the project is, no one seems quite certain. Then the next day you had dinner with della Rovere, who gave you a purse filled with gold florins. I assume that was for you to keep him informed. You see how it works Michelangelo?”

“And now you are here. Were we not such good friends, I might take umbrage at finishing third.”

“I need a small favor,” admitted Michelangelo.

“If you are trying to play Pope Alexander against Cardinal della Rovere, you are engaging in a very dangerous game, my friend. Are you certain that a ‘small favor’ will suffice?”

“I am not playing anyone against anyone,” Michelangelo replied. “I am a simple artist trying to eke out a living.”

“Artist, indeed! I have seen your Pieta. It is a masterpiece! Simple - not at all.”

“You flatter me,” said Michelangelo.

The cardinal brushed aside the last remark. “How may I help you my friend?”

“Do you know where the scutella de calcedonio is?”

“Of course, why?”

“I should like very much to see it,” Michelangelo said.

“Is that your papal commission?” Giovanni asked.

“Not exactly,” said Michelangelo.

“But there is a connection?”

“Of sorts. And that is all I will say until I see it,” Michelangelo said.

“Then follow me,” Giovanni said.

“It’s here?” Michelangelo asked.

“Indeed it is. I couldn’t trust Piero with such a piece,” Giovanni explained.

The cardinal then led Michelangelo up a flight of stairs to the second floor of his palace. There was artwork everywhere. Michelangelo stopped at a small portrait. After examining it carefully, he asked, “Who painted this?”

“A fellow by the name of Raffaello Sanzio, who goes by the name of Raphael. He’s quite young, but I think he shows great promise. He rather reminds me of another young artist, I knew some years ago,” said Giovanni pointedly.

Michelangelo said, “I see a rival. You must do everything you can to discourage this Raphael.”

“You are not serious?” asked Giovanni.

“About discouraging him, no! About a rival, absolutely!”

They entered a large salon filled with statuary, vases and sundry other pieces. Michelangelo tried to take in some of the myriad items that had made up Lorenzo’s collection. In the middle, sitting by itself on a beautiful mahogany table covered by a simple white cloth, was the scutella.

Michelangelo walked over to it and began to scrutinize it carefully, taking in the different figures. He noticed the careful arrangement as well as the various layers of stone. Looking at Giovanni, he asked, “May I?”

“Indeed. But you must promise to be as careful with this plate as you were with your chisel and the face of the Virgin.”

Michelangelo smiled. Holding the bowl in his left hand, he paid careful attention to the each figure. He knew there was widespread disagreement about whom they symbolized, but he didn’t care. He examined each carefully, taking in all the minute details.

Then he closed his eyes and ran his fingers over each much as a blind man might study a face. Caressing the images carefully, he could feel where the artist had etched the beard of the figure seated on the left. He felt the delicate work that had gone into the two airborne figures, the hair and the face of the male standing in the center. He had no idea how long he traced the figures before his reverie was interrupted by Giovanni, who said quietly, “You must also look at the reverse?”

Turning the scutella over, Michelangelo was stunned to see the face of a gorgon - perhaps Medusa herself - glaring ominously at him. Again he studied the horrific image in detail, committing every aspect to memory. Then, as he had with the figures on the obverse, he closed his eyes and let his fingers explore the surface, noting the few rough spots, the overall smoothness and the swirling lines that made up the snake-like tentacles of the gorgon’s hair.

After he had finished, he placed the bowl back on the table as gently as possible. “Thank you, Giovanni. You have surrounded yourself with works of genius, and I must say that I am inspired.”

“You too are a genius, my friend,” said the cardinal.

“I am just a humble collector.”

“You must preserve these things for future generations,” said Michelangelo.

“That is certainly my intent, but you know the vicissitudes of fortune, my friend.”

“Indeed,” said the artist.

“Will you stay for a small repast? We have so much catching up to do,” asked the cardinal.

“Another time, Your Eminence,” said Michelangelo. “I promise to come see you very soon, and we shall talk and laugh and reminisce.”

“I will hold you to that Michelangelo. And remember, lying to a prince of the church is one of the surest ways to eternal damnation.”

They laughed again, and as Michelangelo hugged his friend good-bye, the cardinal said, “In all seriousness, my friend, be careful. The pope and della Rovere would like nothing more than to attend the other’s funeral. I shall do everything in my power to protect you, but we are in Rome not Florence, and the Medici name does not carry the weight here that it does at home.”

“I understand,” said Michelangelo, “but the most important thing is your friendship.”

They embraced again, and as he made his way home, Michelangelo considered everything the cardinal had told him. “At least I have one ally in this war,” he thought.