I couldn't leave the hostel until 9:00 am, because I needed to pay the receptionist, possible only after he arrived. So with a rather slow start, involving a little bit of luggage management, I set off for possibly the most important site for me to visit in Florence: Ghiberti's doors, called by Michelangelo the "Gates of Paradise."
For those of you who don't know: the Florentines, in 1401, decided to commission a new set of bronze doors for their baptistry (which is full of cool old medieval mosaics). The doors were meant to be attractive, as was befitting for such an important structure. The Florentine government held a contest, in which competitors received a year to sculpt, in bronze, a sample panel: the theme for the contest was the binding of Isaac, from the book of Genesis. The two final contestants were Ghiberti and Brunelleschi (you'll hear more about him in a moment): in the end, Ghiberti's work won. Some art historians believe that Brunelleschi's scene was too "modern" for the judges, because of the intense level of interaction in the scene, an angel swooping down to grab Abraham's hand, who is tightly grasping a pained-looking Isaac by the throat, with his knife virtually in his son's neck. Ghiberti's sample version (which won the contest), I'll admit, is far less intense, although the final version which ended up in the doors is between the two. Anyway, Brunelleschi refused to work together with Ghiberti after losing the contest, claiming that one genius could not work with another. How modest of him.
When I arrived at the baptistry, which shares a plaza with the cathedral, I was glued in place for about 15-20 minutes, just staring at the gilded doors. They are breathtaking, and are probably the most famous doors in the world. I think three or four tours passed by me.
Although I needed to wait in line to enter the cathedral itself it was, unlike almost everything else in Florence, free of charge to enter. I was happy to wait: it gave me a chance to admire the white, red, and green stripes on the cathedral's exterior. It's a very colorful building, and stands out as a city landmark because of its colors, even among the other tall buildings of the city. The inside was surprisingly austere, unlike, say, Notre-Dame de Chartres. There were statues, pillars, and some modest stained glass, but nothing to write home about. There were free guided tours in several languages, and I latched on to one being led by a guy from the UK. The reason for the interior simplicity, apparently, is the Republican sentiment which the Florentines wished to project, as a means of contrasting themselves to the aristocratic Pisans. The guide also did a fantastic job describing the designs of the interior, the stained glass, etc.
I left the cathedral proper in order to climb the belltower. It's 400-some steps tall, and would fail every fire-safety test in the book if it were constructed today. There are several distinct landings, each with a spiral staircase leading up, and another leading down. Each floor is open on all four sides (kind of like the Cornell clocktower's top floor), giving a good view of the city skyline, and of the neighboring cathedral, whose dome is only slightly higher. I thought of my camera, abandoned by mistake in my closet, and of various friends (and family members) of mine who are skilled at photography, and I wished they all could have been there with me.
The baptistry interior is also worth visiting, if only to contrast its decoration, stylistically, with that of its doors. I've actually seen the mosaic of the Final Judgment before, as a case study in medieval art, meant to juxtaposition with the style of the Renaissance. The figures are unrealistic, frozen in time, and stare blankly outwards. The gold is gaudy and shiny, but the artist didn't even sign his name: contrast this to the doors of the Baptistry, which actually include a bust of Ghiberti himself! I craned my neck, and tried to recognize as many scenes as possible; it occurred to me today that religious artwork depicting biblical scenes selects from a relatively small number of possible tableaux. I've never, for instance, seen a painting or a sculpture of, say, Ruth.
I left the piazza, and began to do what I have learned to be a surprisingly successful strategy in a town such as Florence: I walked until I came to a prominent-looking building selling tickets, and bought a ticket. I'm oversimplifying, but not by much.
The next buildings to which I bough tickets were the Basilica of San Lorenzo, and the Medici Chapels, which are adjacent to each other. Everything is filled with what the Medici managed to loot from the rest of the world while they could. They amassed a surprising amount, and modern clueless tourists, such as myself, derive the benefit. Oh, well. Although all of the museums I am visiting in Italy have many treasures, the curation is generally terrible, and quite haphazard. I guess that I've just been spoiled by the French, who normally do a terrific job. I don't always know the significance of what I'm seeing, and for this reason, I remember relatively little from both of these locations. I do remember the apartments of Pope Leo X, and his papal apparel, which was pretty cool. For those of you who don't know, Leo X was a Medici Pope (I believe that he was Lorenzo the Magnificent's son), the first of two. There's a very famous painting of him with his nephew and brother (the latter of whom will become Clement VII), which I saw in the original. Daniel Bomberg also claimed to have received permission from him to print the Talmud. The chapels also contain the graves of many of the great Medici, including Cosimo the Elder.
The last historical building I visited was the Palazzo Vecchio, the historic city hall of Florence, parts of which are still in use, and only occasionally accessible to tourists. I didn't see any of those, but I did get to see a great deal of work done by my friend Giorgio Vasari. Vasari, in addition to being Duke Cosimo I's personal artist, is also remembered as the first art historian, writing The Lives of the Artists, an amazing source of knowledge from which we know a great deal of what we know of Renaissance artists' private lives and circles. Vasari also coined the term "Renaissance," which people have been using ever since to describe the "rebirth" of art and culture. Although the term is somewhat deceptive (it implies that nothing in Europe had been dead and in need of revival since the fall of Rome), it's also quite useful.
Anyway, Vasari produced meters and meters of canvas and fresco for the glorification of his patrons. The great hall's walls depict a successful war waged by the Medici (pure propaganda), and the ceiling tells a story of two Florentine wars: the first, waged over 14 years by the Republic against Pisa, was unsuccessful; the second, waged over 14 months by a monarch against Sienna, was successful. Get the point? Florence should be happy to have a duke, and shouldn't complain in the name of its Republican tradition.
There were some excellent paintings of Duke Cosimo-as-philosopher-and-patron, surrounded by many of the artists whose names have gone down in history (and in this blog): Michelangelo, Leonardo, Brunelleschi, Lippi, Ghiberti, Vasari himself, etc. To be honest, they're more interesting than the Duke. There are also several funerary monuments designed by Michelangelo. Very cool.
By this time, it was too late for more museums. So I wandered over to the tourist trap that is the Ponte Vecchio, a bridge lined with shops on either side, crammed full with visitors from across the world, and people trying to sell them overpriced luxury items. Florence apparently is a major leather producer, which I hadn't known.
Then I went back, completely beat, to my hostel, with my feet sore. I stopped by to stare at the historic Synagogue, taking a bit of a detour. Then I wrote up yesterday's post, and called it a night.
Wow, it seems as if I'm still a full day behind. I'll try to catch up: there's too much to say, and the mediocre Italian curating is not conducive to recounting one's day!
~JD
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