Lodovico thought of refusing to go to the Medici Palace. He knew the meeting had to do with sculpting, which he hated even more than he hated painting. It was no better than menial labor, and his family had worked hard so that no one would have to do that sort of work ever again. Lodovico was also still seething over the mess Michelangelo had made of his arrangement with Ghirlandaio.
Lodovico realized, however, that it would be unwise to refuse the invitation. Lorenzo was the most powerful man in Florence, and would not take a refusal lightly. Perhaps he, like Ghirlandaio, wanted to pay to teach Michelangelo.
In any case, and Lodovico hated to admit it, it wasn’t really possible to say no to Lorenzo de’ Medici. So one day he and Michelangelo went to the Medici Palace.
Lorenzo the Magnificent
They waited in the inner courtyard of the palace, just outside of Lorenzo’s office. Michelangelo couldn’t take his eyes off of Donatello’s nude brass statue of David standing in the middle of the courtyard. Lodovico fidgeted, thinking about how to make a good impression.
Finally Lorenzo, wearing a fine red silk robe, entered the courtyard and invited them into his office.
Michelangelo froze when he first saw the triptych of the Battle of San Romano hanging on the wall inside.
“Do you know who that is?” Lorenzo said.
“It has to be Uccello,” said Michelangelo. “I’d know his style anywhere.”
Battle of San Romano by Paolo Uccello
Lorenzo nodded, smiling. Then he slowly turned to Michelangelo’s father, who was staring at a pile of gemstones set out on Lorenzo’s desk. “Thank you, sir, for coming. You’re probably wondering why I have asked to see you.”
Lorenzo explained that he believed he had found the next Donatello in Michelangelo. He wanted to make sure Michelangelo was given every chance to grow in mind and body.
“To do this I’ll need your permission for something out of the ordinary,” Lorenzo continued. “I’d like for Michelangelo to come live in my home so I can raise him as if he were my own son.” He watched the boy’s father closely, ready for a negotiation to begin.
Lodovico was surprised. It was more than he had expected. “Not only Michelangelo — but all of us — with our lives and our faculties — are at the disposal of Your Magnificence,” he stammered.
Next to him, Michelangelo had gone very still. Lodovico tried to think fast, wondering if he was missing something. He didn’t really feel he could say no. Also, if Michelangelo lived elsewhere he would not have to pay for Michelangelo’s room and board, so he would earn money from the arrangement.
Lorenzo de’ Medici had expected that the boy’s father would demand something in return. “Maybe there is something I can do for you, perhaps a position,” he said. It would have been nothing for him to pay more, or to appoint Lodovico to high office, maybe even to the Signoria, if that was what he wanted.
“I never practiced any profession,” Lodovico said after a long silence. “The only things I know how to do are read and write. So I don’t really know what I could do.”
Lorenzo suggested that Lodovico think about it.
David by Donatello
Lodovico went home feeling oddly burdened. He had said it aloud: he was literate but had no other training. What was he capable of doing that would be worthy of an appointment by Lorenzo de’ Medici? Still, it was an opportunity. Lorenzo expected him to ask for something.
Finally he returned to the palace and told Lorenzo he had heard of a job opening as an assistant customs officer that he thought he could do.
Lorenzo smiled at Lodovico and slapped him on the back. “You will always be poor,” he told Michelangelo’s father.
Too late it sunk in for Lodovico that he had played his cards unwisely. This wasn’t about a job he was capable of doing, but about what he decided to demand. He had been shamed, he realized as he left the palace. Once again Michelangelo’s need to muck around with art was humiliating him.
Lodovico could have left the meeting proved wrong about Michelangelo’s dream. It could have been the moment he believed his son would indeed become a great artist. But Michelangelo’s father was not the type to admit he was wrong about anything.
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