The Agony and the Ecstasy: A Novel of Michelangelo

“Was he praying to the beautiful Madonnas or to his mother? Was there truly a difference?”

Michelangelo lost his mother at a young age. To an extent, his attempts to depict the Virgin Mary in his work are an extension of his desire to fill a maternal void in his life. Since he did not know his own mother, he seeks to capture a spiritual mother-figure who can fill an emotional hole in his life.

“That romantic Torrigiani talks about going off to the wars. Child’s play! There is no thrill of mortal danger to surpass that of a lone man trying to create something that never existed before.”

While apprentices like Torrigiani attract much attention, they lack the devotion to art that defines men like Michelangelo and Bertoldo. Torrigiani is incapable of romanticizing art, not understanding—as Michelangelo does—that art is a battle within oneself. Instead, Torrigiani romanticizes actual battle, showing the lack of subtlety or sophistication in his thoughts.

“‘I have never realized,’ said Michelangelo, ‘architecture is almost as great an art as sculpture.’”

For Michelangelo, someone who is obsessed with sculpture as the highest artform, to praise architecture as being nearly as great as sculpture is a compliment. This revelation to the young Michelangelo foreshadows his later life, which will be defined by his architectural work. The novel tracks the ever-expanding horizons of his artistry.

“White marble was the heart of the universe, the purest substance created by God; not merely a symbol of God but a portrait, God’s way of manifesting Himself. Only a divine hand could create such noble beauty.”

With Savonarola’s arrival in the city, Florence is swept up in a religious debate. For Michelangelo, however, such internecine discussions are irrelevant. The sermons and debates are mere words beside the true divinity of marble. Michelangelo sees marble as both symbol and evidence of God’s presence in the world. His unique form of religion is troublingly pagan for some but—as he will later show—those confronted by his marble sculptures struggle to deny their divinity. Through sculpture, Michelangelo casts aside religious debate and proffers something new.

“Sandro Botticelli had deserted to Savonarola, publicly declaring his female nudes to be lewd, lascivious and immoral.”

Botticelli is one of the foremost artists in Florence. He has worked with nude models, recapturing a Classical spirit that is greatly appreciated by the Plato Academy. With Savonarola’s arrival in Florence, however, he is swept up in the religious fervor and disowns his former works. The word “deserted”—typically used to describe soldiers who flee the battlefield or defect to the other side—highlights the stakes of the debate between Renaissance humanism and religious fundamentalism.

“Almost paralyzed with shock and fear, Michelangelo stared down into the wet darkness. Then he recognized the face. It was Dr. Pier Leoni. He had killed himself.”

After Lorenzo’s death, his doctor throws himself into a well. This act of immense grief and shame illustrates the importance of Lorenzo for the people of Florence. The doctor tried his best, but his reputation as the man who had failed to save the life of Lorenzo de’ Medici was too much to bear. The death of Lorenzo is more than the death of one man. It is more than the death of his doctor. It is the death of an idea.

“For the first time he understood what breathing was, because he could see and feel and hear the communication between the lungs and the mouth, realized what it did to the whole figure.”

Michelangelo breaks one of the biggest taboos in his society when he dissects a corpse. The horror of the gruesome dissection is juxtaposed against the near-divine wonder of discovery. In a literal sense, Michelangelo discovers how it is to live, understanding how humans breathe and move. This understanding may be horrific in a social sense but, in an artistic sense, Michelangelo will use this knowledge to create beautiful art.

“What then? Florence is a pile of stones. If we knock them down, we will put them together again.”

Lorenzo and Piero are very different men. Piero makes this clear through his perception of Florence. To Piero, Florence is a mere pile of stones that can be assembled and disassembled in service of his rule. To Lorenzo (and to Michelangelo), the stones contain the spirit of the many people who have built the city over centuries. Michelangelo will never be able to respect a man who does not respect the city or the stone.

“Baglioni explained that the previous December the Tiber had flooded and the people had had to flee for three days to the surrounding hills, returning to a dank, decaying city in which the plague struck and one hundred and fifty corpses were buried each morning on the island in the river.”

Before he arrives in Rome, Michelangelo is beholden to the idea of Roman antiquity. To Michelangelo and to many others, Rome is more than just a city. It is an embodiment of the ancient world, of the Classical philosophy and art revered in his own world. The real Rome is a stinking ruin of a city, making clear what Lorenzo was trying to accomplish through his humanist Renaissance idealism. The real Rome may be a ruin, but the ideological Rome can be revived.

“The sculpture grows fat, I grow thin. That is the natural order of things.”

To Michelangelo, the idea of suffering in the name of art is entirely sensible. His throwaway comment masks the real physical suffering he endures when he is so focused on a project. He is emaciated and suffering, but this is a price worth paying—he believes—for what he wants to accomplish. Michelangelo innately believes that this suffering adds an element of the divine to his work.

“There is only a God-given number of years in which to work and fulfill yourself. Don’t squander them.”

At this stage of his career, Michelangelo can dismiss the passage of time. He is confident that—as Bertoldo urged him to do—he will create a body of work of which he can be proud. As he grows older, however, time becomes the one commodity he cannot replace. The “God-given number of years” (369) becomes more and more of a pressing issue as he strives to navigate a complicated world that seems insistent on interfering with his art.

“This is the first major commission agreed upon by all of the city Boards since the coming of Savonarola. Perhaps a new era will start for us, and we can wipe out our deep-lying sense of guilt.”

The David is an important symbol on many levels, but particularly in terms of its relationship with Florence. The commission and the installation of the great work are, in effect, a symbolic gesture of atonement. The city that was swept up in Savonarola’s fervor and burned so many essential works of art tries to seek forgiveness by replacing what was lost. The David is a symbol of atonement through art.

“The months that followed were the happiest he had known. The David, still called the Giant by most Florentines, was accepted by the city as its new symbol, mentor and protector.”

Michelangelo’s David earns him a great deal of praise. While his talents as a sculptor are vindicated, he is also vindicated in his belief in art as a unifying force. Though there were objectors to the David before it was installed, it is now universally adored in Florence. Michelangelo’s art has healed the wounds of a divided city and brought people together. While others are obsessed with war, Michelangelo believes that art can be the most powerful force of all.

“Next they played the drawing game on Donnino, letting him win so that he would have to buy the next day’s dinner.”

Throughout Michelangelo’s life, history moves in cycles. The reactionary forces of Savonarola foreshadow the similarly reactionary Inquisition, for example, but this also operates on a smaller scale. When he first arrived in Ghirlandaio’s studio, he was at the center of an initiation ritual. Now, he sees the apprentices conducting the same initiation in his own studio. The same forces and the same actions echo across the years.

“Fifteen months of his time, energy, talent and suffering now sat on the cobbles of the Piazza Maggiore in the form of a cannon that was the butt of coarse jokes from the Bolognese, and would surely be used against Pope Julius if he were rash enough to lead another army northward.”

Throughout his life, Michelangelo struggles with money. As he grows older, however, his money troubles are less of a concern than his lost time. The time he spends on unfinished and unwanted projects is a pressing reminder of the limited time he has to build a body of work. Months wasted on a statue that is melted down to be turned into a cannon symbolize the weaponization of this fear.

“We have never spoken of our feelings.”

Michelangelo is not a verbose man. Both he and Contessina believe that their relationship is meaningful, even if they have never said as much. As her death approaches, however, Contessina becomes more direct. Even this directness is obfuscated, with their loved conveyed through the vague, evasive term “feelings” (570). This is enough for even Michelangelo to understand; he agrees with her that they have loved one another, even if they do not say so directly.

“He had bled from marble before: chips from his too frenzied chiseling had sometimes hit him in the face, piercing the skin. But this was the first time he had been stoned.”

When the stone cutters of Carrara turn against Michelangelo, they throw stones at him. His beloved marble is weaponized against him, and he is made to bleed. The material has turned against the master, emphasizing Michelangelo’s sense of losing control. To make matters worse, he understands why they have turned against him and he feels that their anger is vindicated. His marble has turned against him and, he fears, it is justified in doing so.

“The death of the boy lay heavy on his conscience.”

Michelangelo has always consoled himself through his belief that his art is centered around himself. He can defy Popes and break social taboos, but he only risks himself. The death of the boy on the hillside is a painful reminder of the consequences of his actions. He drove the team hard to excavate the marble, and he blames himself for not taking more precautions. The accident may not have been his fault, but he cannot help but blame himself. As such, he takes more responsibility for the lives of others than most other characters in the novel.

“Every work of art is a self-portrait.”

Granacci’s comment recalls the novel’s opening scene, in which Michelangelo sketches himself. The novel is built on this same sentiment. More than a single work of art, it is the body of work itself that is the true self-portrait. The contrast in skill, theme, and execution of Michelangelo’s earlier works compared to his later works allows the audience to chart his growth as a person through the changes in his works. Every work of art is a self-portrait, but many such portraits taken across a life create a more complete depiction of the artist.

“The whole fate of the sacristy depends on the good will of Pope Clement. If I join a movement to drive out the Medici, what happens to the sculptures?”

The politics of the world are a constant source of annoyance to Michelangelo. To some, his lack of commitment to either side would seem like cowardice. In truth, however, he is only really committed to his art. He does not see the world as others see it; to Michelangelo, politics are merely a perpetual barrier to good art. Rather than indecisive or cowardly, Michelangelo is one of the most morally consistent characters in the novel, in that he never waivers in his commitment to art and art alone.

“For a moment he wondered if it were wrong to pray before his own creation; but he had carved these figures so long ago, when he was only twenty-four.”

Michelangelo fears that there is an element of narcissism in praying in front of his own statue. But the Michelangelo who created the statue many years earlier was a different man. Michelangelo barely recognizes his younger self, meaning that to pray before this statue does not feel like narcissism. This emphasizes the novel’s idea that a biography can be told through artworks, contrasting Michelangelo with his younger self by having him stand before his previous works and reflect on his growth.

“Pope Paul readily gave his consent to Michelangelo’s building plans. Michelangelo found himself liking the Farnese Pope more and more, developing a feeling of friendship for him.”

Michelangelo has known many Popes from many different factions. The only real constant in these relationships is that his disposition toward them is shaped by their willingness to fund his art. Michelangelo begins to like Pope Paul not for any spiritual or personal reason, but because the Pope is willing to indulge Michelangelo’s ambitions. For Michelangelo, unlike anyone else, this is all that matters in a Pope.

“I must make my peace with the Church, find forgiveness for my sins against her.”

As when Lorenzo sought the blessing of Savonarola on his deathbed, Vittoria wishes to make her peace with the reactionary forces within the Church. To Michelangelo, this feels like a betrayal. At the same time, however, he has never really had a crisis of conviction or faith. His entire life has been shaped by his belief in the divinity of art and nothing has changed his mind. As such, the idea that someone may waiver in their final days is alien to him. That he cannot understand this supposed betrayal illustrates his iron-willed belief in The Divinity of Creativity.