something of a miracle that Michelangelo’s brother Buonarroto managed to get himself chosen as a prior in 1516.
Despite the intended symbolism of the David , Florence was nocloser to being a city of liberty and equality than it had been in the mid-fourteenth century. Though cloaked in the language of republicanism, profound socioeconomic differences continued to find expression in a culture of relentless political exclusion in which the poorest and least affluent were reduced to a merely passive role in the operation of government, and in whichdissent was treated with uncompromising severity.
Against a historical backdrop of violence, factionalism, and revolt, Michelangelo and the David were preparing to take center stage in a political drama designed to deceive and delude the dispossessed and the downtrodden. Although it may have been intended as a symbol of liberty, the city over which the David watched was certainly not one dominated by political equality.
R INALDO O RSINI : R ELIGION
Yet if Salviati and Soderini both made their presence felt while Michelangelo was at work on the David , his statue was every bit as closely informed by another, almost invisible figure. Hiding in the background, but taking an enthusiastic interest in the artist’s work as it progressed just a few meters from the doors of the Duomo, was Rinaldo Orsini, the quiet, unassuming archbishop of Florence.
It was no surprise that Orsini concerned himself with Michelangelo’s sculpture, albeit in a discreet manner. The project was, after all, religious. Although it was to become a powerful political symbol and owed its existence to the money generated by Florentine business, the David was cloaked in the language of faith and had for its subject a familiar biblical story. What’s more, the operai had commissioned Il Gigante as an adornment for one of the cathedral buttresses, and it would have been all but impossible for Orsini not to have been at least mildly interested in the character of a work originally destined for his episcopal seat.
But there was also a more fundamental reason for Orsini—who is often left out of the statue’s story—to have been a subtle presence in the David ’s history. Orsini was the figurehead of Florence’s religious life, and no matter how hardheaded Soderini and Salviati might have been, there was no getting around the fact that religion was an integral part of daily existence in Michelangelo’s Florence. Although considerably less well-known than many of his predecessors, Orsini was the living embodiment of the glue that held society together.
At its most basic, religion provided a kind of framework into which everything else could be fitted. It was the stuff of time. It structured lives. The milestones of life—baptism, confirmation, marriage, death—all took place in church, while the liturgical calendar provided the framework for the passage of the year. Legal documents and court records were often dated not with reference to a particular day or month but in terms of religious festivals; and rents, too, were frequently collected on feast days. Religion also structured the day. Families worshipped together or separately with piety, often attending Mass or vespers at least once each day, and the chiming of the bells for the various celebrations furnished a largely clockless city with markers for work and leisure. It was, moreover, the stuff of place. The parish remained the basic unit of urban organization, and the local church not only grounded individuals in a locality but also provided a rallying point for communal organization. So, too, religion shaped and defined interpersonal relations of all complexions. Privately, families (especially the rich) cultivated the worship of particular saints in much the same way as the Romans had worshipped household deities (the lares and penates). Individually and collectively, guilds were endowed with a profound religious dimension—asthe competition over the
Despite the intended symbolism of the David , Florence was nocloser to being a city of liberty and equality than it had been in the mid-fourteenth century. Though cloaked in the language of republicanism, profound socioeconomic differences continued to find expression in a culture of relentless political exclusion in which the poorest and least affluent were reduced to a merely passive role in the operation of government, and in whichdissent was treated with uncompromising severity.
Against a historical backdrop of violence, factionalism, and revolt, Michelangelo and the David were preparing to take center stage in a political drama designed to deceive and delude the dispossessed and the downtrodden. Although it may have been intended as a symbol of liberty, the city over which the David watched was certainly not one dominated by political equality.
R INALDO O RSINI : R ELIGION
Yet if Salviati and Soderini both made their presence felt while Michelangelo was at work on the David , his statue was every bit as closely informed by another, almost invisible figure. Hiding in the background, but taking an enthusiastic interest in the artist’s work as it progressed just a few meters from the doors of the Duomo, was Rinaldo Orsini, the quiet, unassuming archbishop of Florence.
It was no surprise that Orsini concerned himself with Michelangelo’s sculpture, albeit in a discreet manner. The project was, after all, religious. Although it was to become a powerful political symbol and owed its existence to the money generated by Florentine business, the David was cloaked in the language of faith and had for its subject a familiar biblical story. What’s more, the operai had commissioned Il Gigante as an adornment for one of the cathedral buttresses, and it would have been all but impossible for Orsini not to have been at least mildly interested in the character of a work originally destined for his episcopal seat.
But there was also a more fundamental reason for Orsini—who is often left out of the statue’s story—to have been a subtle presence in the David ’s history. Orsini was the figurehead of Florence’s religious life, and no matter how hardheaded Soderini and Salviati might have been, there was no getting around the fact that religion was an integral part of daily existence in Michelangelo’s Florence. Although considerably less well-known than many of his predecessors, Orsini was the living embodiment of the glue that held society together.
At its most basic, religion provided a kind of framework into which everything else could be fitted. It was the stuff of time. It structured lives. The milestones of life—baptism, confirmation, marriage, death—all took place in church, while the liturgical calendar provided the framework for the passage of the year. Legal documents and court records were often dated not with reference to a particular day or month but in terms of religious festivals; and rents, too, were frequently collected on feast days. Religion also structured the day. Families worshipped together or separately with piety, often attending Mass or vespers at least once each day, and the chiming of the bells for the various celebrations furnished a largely clockless city with markers for work and leisure. It was, moreover, the stuff of place. The parish remained the basic unit of urban organization, and the local church not only grounded individuals in a locality but also provided a rallying point for communal organization. So, too, religion shaped and defined interpersonal relations of all complexions. Privately, families (especially the rich) cultivated the worship of particular saints in much the same way as the Romans had worshipped household deities (the lares and penates). Individually and collectively, guilds were endowed with a profound religious dimension—asthe competition over the
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