Chapter Twelve

Rome, 1501

For the next three days, Michelangelo had no visitors. His life had returned to normal - with one exception. He discovered that the cameo on which he was working demanded an inordinate amount of attention, perhaps even more, than any of his earlier works. Still, the hours passed quickly as he carved, made slight corrections and alterations and polished.

Late one night, he looked at the cameo objectively and pronounced it finished. “I think His Holiness will be pleasantly surprised,” he said aloud.

On the fourth day, there was a knock at the door in the early afternoon. He heard Paolo in conversation below, and wondered with whom the boy might be speaking.

He hadn’t long to wait to find out. Paolo bounded up the stairs, stood on the landing, his head poking above the floor and said, “Master, Pope Alexander would like you to join him for dinner.”

Michelangelo heaved a sigh of relief, and was glad that it was the pope rather than Cardinal della Rovere.

“What shall I tell the messenger?” asked the boy.

“Did he give you a time?”

“Yes master, seven o’clock.”

“Tell the messenger that I am the pope’s humble servant. I shall be at the papal palace at the appointed time.” After Paolo scrambled downstairs, he suddenly yelled up, “The pope says he will send a carriage for you at 6:30.” With that distraction behind him, Michelangelo picked up the cameo again and thought, “You are beautiful. Now, let us hope my new master shares my vision.”

He spent the rest of the afternoon, checking and rechecking his work, smoothing and polishing and searching for the tiniest imperfection. Finally, finding none, he thought, “If nothing else, this should buy me the pope’s good will - for now.”

Around six o’clock, Michelangelo began to dress. Putting on his best doublet, he hoped to make a slightly more favorable impression on those surrounding the pope than he had previously.

When the carriage arrived, he carefully wrapped the cameo in a piece of red velvet purchased just for the occasion and put it into his purse.

During the ride, he tried to anticipate Pope Alexander’s reaction, and in turn, his own.

Upon arriving at the papal palace, he was greeted once again by Father Ferrante. After exchanging pleasantries, the priest escorted Michelangelo into the papal apartments.

“His Holiness will be with you shortly,” Father Ferrante said. “In the meantime, you are to make yourself at home.”

Left to his own devices, Michelangelo admired the frescoes and other artwork that adorned the room. His reveries were interrupted by the entrance of Pope Alexander. Once again, he was wearing a white soutane. He was also wearing a red cloak secured at the throat by an ornate gold pin in the shape of a love knot and a red camauro trimmed with ermine. “So good to see you again, my friend,” said the pope warmly. “And how are you proceeding in your artistic endeavors?”

“Things are moving apace, Your Holiness,” said Michelangelo. “In the wake of our last conversation, I have been practicing.”

“Have you, my boy? And are you pleased with the results? I realize that I have set you a difficult task.”

Reaching for his purse, Michelangelo said, “I shall let Your Holiness judge the success of my efforts, and if you are pleased, then we can continue. If, however, you should find fault with my humble labors, then you may feel free to search for another artist.”

Michelangelo handed the pope the red velvet containing the cameo and said, “I hope this brings Your Holiness some small measure of joy.”

The pope pulled back the cloth, turned the cameo over and then stared at it without saying a word. After what seemed an eternity, he pulled his gaze from the stone, looked at Michelangelo, and said simply, “Magnificent!”

Michelangelo felt himself tossed by a sea of emotions, all fighting for supremacy. Eventually, joy emerged triumphant as Michelangelo was glad that he had pleased the pope.

“How did you get her to sit for you?” the pontiff asked.

“She didn’t,” replied the artist. “In fact, we have never formally met.”

“But you have captured her perfectly. I can see the determination in the set of her jaw while the slight tilt of her head conveys the quizzical quality that she so often displays. And her beauty shines through in every detail, and yet you say that you have never met my daughter. How is this possible?”

“I have been gifted with a memory that allows me to retain images, even after seeing something just once,” explained Michelangelo.

“I have encountered your daughter at several functions at Cardinal Riario’s palace, and I must confess that I was struck by her beauty. I hope that I have done her justice.”

“That is a precious gift, indeed,” said the pope. Looking at the cameo once again, he said, “I knew I had made the right choice when I asked you to undertake this commission.”

“Michelangelo, I must tell you that you have made your pope extremely happy. More importantly, perhaps, you have brought such joy to a father that now it is I who am in your debt.”

“You praise is payment enough,” said the artist.

“I shall think of something, I promise you,” said the pope, “and perhaps I will be able to surprise you as you have me.”

“Now, let us enjoy our dinner,” said the pontiff.

Michelangelo followed the Pope Alexander into a small dining room, where a lavish table had been set.

The napkins were snowy white, the plates trimmed with gold and the silverware had a substantial heft. The golden goblets all sparkled in the candlelight.

The pope proved a gracious host once again, regaling the artist with stories about monarchs who had misbehaved and cardinals who had strayed.

Michelangelo was quite enjoying himself when the pope asked, “And how are my good friends Cardinal della Rovere and Cardinal de’Medici?”

Although he had expected the topic to arise at some point in the evening, the blasé manner in which the pope had introduced it still managed to take Michelangelo by surprise. Searching for words, he decided to tell the truth. “Cardinal de’Medici is well. He busies himself with his artwork and books.”

“And the nature of your visit?” the pope asked innocently.

“The Medici family possesses an ancient cameo that I wanted to study before I attempted the likeness of Lucrezia.”

“Oh yes, the scutella,” said the pope. “Well, then that was a visit worth making,” said the pontiff as he looked again at the engraved image of his daughter. “And His Eminence, Cardinal della Rovere?”

“He summoned me and asked me exactly what I might be doing for Your Holiness. Rest assured, I told him nothing.”

“And did he give you anything?”

“A purse with 30 florins,” answered Michelangelo.

“Christ was betrayed for 30 pieces of silver,” remarked the pope. “I wonder if he is trying to send me a message,” he mused aloud.

“I am loyal to Your Holiness,” said Michelangelo.

“Would that you were a member of the Curia,” laughed the pope. “Now to business, shall we?”

“The date of the banquet has been set. It will take place on October 30 here in the papal palace. Many members of the Curia will be present as will various other dignitaries,” said the pope.

“Would you prefer to meet your subjects beforehand? Because I can arrange that, or do you think that marvelous memory of yours will hold you in good stead, given the diverse tasks?”

“I hope that seeing them that night will suffice,” said the artist.

“Wonderful. I have secured a number of pieces of stone that I will have delivered to your home, or you may work here. It is your choice.”

“I think I should prefer my loft,” said the artist. “The light is constant, all my tools are there and it is a bit more private.”

“As you wish,” said the pope agreeably.

“I have taken the liberty of making a list of the different subjects and the deadly sin that should be assigned to each,” said the pope, reaching inside his cloak to hand Michelangelo a scroll.

“I have included some other information there that I think you may find useful,” he added.

“Your Holiness is too kind,” said the artist.

Unrolling the parchment, Michelangelo looked at the names on the list.

“Is there anyone there with whom you are not familiar?” asked the Pope.

“No, Your Holiness. I have seen all of these men at least once and can recall their visages in detail.”

“Splendid,” said the pontiff.

“Holiness?”

“Yes.”

“How I am to execute these? Surely, none of these men will want to be captured by me.”

“No, my son,” laughed the pope. “They certainly will not. During the banquet, you will be hidden behind a screen. I’m afraid it is the only method my poor intellect could devise to bring everyone together in the same place at the same time.”

“I think that will work,” said Michelangelo, “as long as there is sufficient light.”

“There will certainly be light at the start of the ball,” the pope promised. “However, I cannot say for certainty that the illumination will be to your liking as the evening proceeds. Still, if you should desire to get closer, I will make certain that the robe of a Franciscan friar - complete with hood - is left for you. Should you wear it, don’t forget to don the sandals.”

“I think that if you time your forays properly, no one will even notice your presence.”

“Indeed?” said Michelangelo, “How can you be so certain?”

At that, the pope laughed heartily and said simply, “I am fairly certain this ball will be unlike any other that you may have attended. I will provide you with more details as we get closer to the date.”

“As you wish, Your Holiness.”

“Now, Michelangelo. I have something for you,” said the pope. “This is not the surprise of which I spoke of earlier, but something I should have given you at our last meeting.”

The pope rose and walked to a side table. Opening a drawer, he withdrew a small chest. Returning to the dinner table, he placed the chest in front of Michelangelo. “Think of this as a small retainer,” he said.

“This is not necessary, Your Holiness.”

“I insist,” said the pope. “Thus far, you have proven a loyal servant, Michelangelo. I am of the belief that fidelity should be rewarded.”

“Thank you,” said the artist.

“It does come with one small caveat,” said the pope. “Next time you see della Rovere - and I have no doubt that after our dinner tonight, you shall be hearing from him shortly - you must endeavor to persuade him to attend my ball. I am certain that an invitation from me would simply be ignored, but accompanied by some encouragement from you, it might pique his curiosity.”

“I shall do my best,” said the artist.

“Tell me, Michelangelo. Given his machinations, is he not the personification of pride, or have I missed the mark?”

“No, Holiness, I should consider your assessment impeccable. Were your words an arrow, I am certain they would have hit the bulls-eye dead center.”

“And with that complexion, I am equally certain that violet is a color that suits him. Do you agree?” “Again, Holiness. Your arrow flies true.”

“Michelangelo, be well,” said the Pope.

During the ride home, Michelangelo opened the chest and without counting, he guessed that it contained at least 200 gold pieces.

“I may only be a pawn,” he thought, “but at least I am a well-paid one.”

He spent the rest of the ride, thinking back over everything the pope had said and he kept repeating the words in his mind, “I am fairly certain this ball will be unlike any other that you have attended,” and wondering what exactly the pontiff had planned for that night.