Surprise Visitor

May 15

Our last full day in Florence we set aside to visit the Uffizi. We had a reservation at 2 and set out from the hotel around 11, so we took the long way around.

The Duomo square was packed, as it has been every morning. All you could see were the heads of people, putting me in mind of an image I had once seen or heard about, “Mussolini Speaking to the Ten Thousand.” So I tried it.

The photo of the day is “Harry Channels Mussolini.”

Nobody knew what I was doing except that I was posing for the photograph, so I figured it was safe. Not having been to Italy before, I had no idea of the cultural wind. I was careful not even to pack a black shirt for this trip. I had no idea if it would have made some kind of inadvertent political statement. The last thing I wanted was to be hounded by a bunch of neo-fascist recruiters. 

Of course, the red roots of my youth are showing in the picture. I’m saluting with my left hand in a fist. That was the solidarity salute of the Spanish left—anarchists, socialists, communists, republicans, foreigners, and maybe some others besides—in the days of the civil war. 

Aside from the Uffizi, there was another wonder today. We were somewhere probably in the neighborhood of the old cathedral, the Basilica of St. Lawrence, when we saw an old medieval church. There was a panel on the wall inscribed in Latin, and from what I could make of it, it said, “Karolus francorum rex ...” Wow, unless my neighbor Karl is a lot older than he owns up to, this has to be—Guess who—Yes, Charlemagne. He is all over Western Europe, just like Stonewall Jackson in Virginia. And Western Europe is a bigger place even than Virginia. Holy Charlemagne, Batman. 

Anyhow, I think the sign said that Charles, king of the Franks, returning from Rome [where, you may recall, he stood on a maroon dot of marble in St. Peter’s and was crowned Holy Roman Emperor] entered Florence “cum magno gaudio”—with great rejoicing. Better and better all the time. It’s like oregano: You can’t get too much Charlemagne.

We got to the Uffizi just fine. No photos allowed. This place is like the Louvre, a little smaller maybe, but just as majestic. It is filled with recovered (or maybe plundered) Classical statuary. Roman originals, Roman copies of Greek originals, and some actually Greek. 

But that’s not the draw. The painting galleries are overwhelming. There are a couple of OK da Vincis, an annunciation and another that was out for restoration. But that’s OK. I am underwhelmed by da Vinci’s paintings. 

There’s lots better, Titian’s Venus, for instance. She is lying on a couch playing with herself and looking more smug and satisfied even than Pauline (nee Bonaparte) Borghese.

Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus” and “Springtime” are at the Uffizi. It would be arrogant for me to comment on either of these pieces. So I will. The figure of Flora, or Springtime, in La Primavera looks right at you. It’s the face of somebody I know. I have no idea who. Maybe someone I wanted to date when I was a kid or maybe a movie actress. It disturbs the hell out of me and it’s wonderful.

There is Ghirlandaio, also wonderful, whose work I can’t really distinguish from Botticelli’s. But I think there is a difference. Ghirlandaio’s faces are even more realistic and the colors of the compositions are a little darker, the color range less extreme.

I had heard about Andrea del Sarto, and maybe have seen some of his work in New York. I have no idea what he does with the brush, but the paintings look like frescoes, the color in pixels of sand. It makes the paintings dark, so the faces come out with subtle depth.

According to Rick Steves, Michelangelo’s portrayal of the Holy Family is the only easel painting that Buonarroti ever completed. Michelangelo considered himself a sculptor and supposedly was reluctant to do the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel.

The painting at the Uffizi shows Mary, Joseph, and Jesus as beefy figures in bright colors. John the Baptist as a child watches them fondly in the middle distance, and the background is a row of naked young men representing, perhaps, the Classical past. As we know from surviving sculpture from back then, clothes were optional in ancient times.

We spent five hours or more in the Uffizi. I don’t remember half of what we saw. I’m not sure I have the relationshiop of Botticelli’s work and Ghirlandaio’s right. Maybe I’m mixing up Botticelli with Raphael, or Ghirlandaio with Fra Angelico or another Fra. There is too much to handle, but mind, I’m not complaining. It was spectacular. Literally.

Maybe a lot of it will come back to me in dreams.

We stopped for crostini and bruschetta, with Chianti of course, outside Palazzo Vecchio. 

The sun was going down and the towers were shining burnt Siena. That’s a Crayola shade. Siena is in Tuscany, not far from Florence. I know where they get that color name now.

With our antipasti course completed, we strolled along the back streets and came to Buca Poldo, a ristorante in Chiasso degli Armagnati (I want to find this place again) with seating downstairs. 

We had penne with meat sauce, which had peas in it. Perfect.

And braised beef in Chianti sauce. Saying is almost as good as eating it.

The wine was a half bottle of Ruffino chianti riserva ducale. “Riserva” means that it is aged extra. Our label was dated 2008. “Ducale” I’m not sure. Maybe “fit for a duke.”

I had an open bottle of Chianti classico at the hotel. Wine, like bread, represents so much human toil. That’s why they are offered as the elements of the Eucharist. So I couldn’t let that bottle go to waste.

Then it was good night, all.