Michelangelo touched Andrea’s painted face. “Where is his scar? I heard he was maimed by boys when he was young.”
“Mattina elected not to put it in. She said there were plenty of scars in his eyes and on his heart.”
“And this is the only portrait of him that he posed for?”
“Yes.”
Michelangelo brought the painting close to his face then viewed it at arm’s length. “It looks as if he is about to slay a monster.”
Dolce smiled. “He certainly was good with the slingshot.”
“Are you sure there is no way I can meet him? I would love to sculpt him.”
“I am sure. He will see no one.”
Chapter Seventy-nine
One month later, on the night before Good Friday, Dolce walked off Il Poderino and toward the dome; taking the same path she had traveled when she was seven years old and had just freed herself from being buried alive by Bandino. She walked slowly. Pain and stiff muscles prevented her from moving faster but she also wanted to enjoy every step of earth beneath her bare feet. The spring breeze blew through the thin layer of her white cotton dress. The aroma of the Iris Florentia guided her.
He waited for her at the Campanile, under the bell tower, a small, metal pick in his left hand. She took his right hand and slowly they hobbled toward the dome. They did not speak. Together, gradually, little by little because they were extremely old, they climbed the 463 steps to the summit of Brunelleschi’s dome. Atop, Dolce ducked under the stairs and ran her fingers over the first carving she ever made.
Dolce Gaddi, Architetta.
Andrea handed the pick to her. She carved. Il Buggiano, Scultore/Eroe. Sculptor and Hero. When she was done, she cupped her hand on his face, covering his scar. She leaned back, closed her eyes and released her final breath.
Thirty-three minutes later, Andrea followed her to paradiso.
In her will, Dolce left Il Poderino, Po’s Humanist Academy, all of the Gaddi artwork, her writings and her drawings to her daughter, Mattina.
She bequeathed Il Gigante to a student named Michelangelo Buonarroti.
PART SEVEN
Chapter Eighty
A long queue hugged the side of the graffiti splattered Galleria dell’Accademia.
Filippa, Marcello and Carla had already been waiting on line for two hours. Foreign tongues waggled. English seemed to be the most prevalent. German, Asian languages, Italian were spoken too. Hawkers tried to trap tourists. Buy this statue of David, that painting of the cathedral, this postcard of Michelangelo. Filippa stepped from foot to foot. She was anxious as they neared the entrance.
“I would have made reservations,” Marcello said, “but I didn’t know we’d be coming here this morning. What’s the sudden desire to see David?”
“It’s been bothering me how Vasari knew Dolce had drawn skyscrapers and entered the lantern competition when he and Dolce had never lived at the same time.”
“You mean …?” Carla asked as the line lunged forward.
Inside, they snaked through a metal detector. They paid ten euros each and entered the museum.
“This way,” Carla said.
Filippa and Marcello followed Carla through a room of large, Renaissance paintings and around a nave designed to guide tourists efficiently in one direction and ending at David. Through the nave, they passed four of the original unfinished Prisoner statues Michelangelo had carved for the tomb of Pope Julius II, a statue of Saint Matthew and a Pieta—also by Michelangelo and also incomplete.
“This way,” Carla grabbed Filippa’s hand and quickened her pace.
They scooted through the crowds and around a corner where David came into view, majestic at the end of a long hallway. He was seventeen feet tall and posed contrapposto on a pedestal enclosed in glass. Skylights illuminated him from above. A halo of light danced around his head.
Filippa stopped and gasped, stunned at the glory of Michelangelo’s masterpiece, even from the end of the long hallway. She felt possessed with the urge to sprint through the crowd that stood between her and the giant. Instead, she allowed Carla to pull her through. She grabbed Marcello’s hand as they stepped in front of the King. The three friends held hands and looked up.
There were no words for Filippa. She dropped their hands and circled David, seeing him from four points of view; right side, rear, left side and front. She followed the route of hundreds of thousands before her, hundreds of thousands after her. She studied David’s form—the large right hand, the twist of his head, the apprehensive expression on his face, the determination in his eyes, the poised slingshot. She smelled Michelangelo’s sweat. She saw the subtle marks of his claw chisel even after modern restoration attempts had wiped so many of his original marks away. She heard the whirr of his hand drill. She saw the marble when it was shapeless and before it was transformed into a being that transcended time. She wanted to touch David, to touch Michelangelo, but couldn’t with the glass barrier.
Marcello put his arm around her waist. “Magnifico, si?”
Filippa searched for the right word and there it was. In the marble. In the history. She walked around to the back of the statue and looked at the tree trunk that jutted out from behind his right heel and served as a post to hold David in place.
“Perfetto,” she said.
PART EIGHT
Chapter Eighty-one
Two years later, Filippa sat at a table at the 11th Street Annex, an independent bookstore and café in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. She wore the dolphin pendant on a chain around her neck and a silver ID bracelet on her wrist. Buddy’s hospital band had fallen apart. The ID bracelet that Filippa never took off had Buddy inscribed on it.
She twisted the wedding band around her ring finger then looked at Marcello who stood nearby. Carla cuddled into Ileana as they sipped lattes and laughed. A young red headed girl shyly approached Filippa. The girl clasped her mother’s hand.
“Will you sign this, please?” The little girl held out a book.
Filippa smiled and took the pop-up. The red brick of Brunelleschi’s dome graced the cover, a starry sky behind it. The title was blocked in gold lettering—Ellie the Elephant’s Adventures in Florence. Dr. Rajah was there. Mousey Mouse and the Silly Monkeys too. And a few added characters that Grandpa Raj hadn’t shared with a young Filippa. A small brown and white horse named Tiny and two small boys—Buddy and Roman. It was the first book in the adventure series of Ellie the Elephant. Filippa had a five book deal.
As Filippa signed the book, the girl’s mother spoke. “She insists I read it to her every night. How did you come up with this idea? The dome? The girl who entered the lantern competition? The connection to Michelangelo’s David? Did it really happen?”
The answer was in the statue of David. Strong, majestic, thick curly hair, a protruding Adam’s Apple, and those eyes—intense and determined, ready to slay with his slingshot.
Once Filippa saw David—Il Gigante—it had been easy to figure out how Vasari had known about Dolce. Dolce had known Michelangelo when he was a boy at Po’s Humanist Academy. And Vasari had bragged of being friends with Michelangelo as an adult. Connection made.
Upon her death, Dolce had bequeathed Il Gigante to Michelangelo. And finally, someone had been able to tame the beast. The young David who had slayed Goliath had been carved in the image of Andrea who had slayed the biggest enemy of all—prejudice.
Filippa also knew no one would believe her.
It didn’t matter that Dolce’s drawings were disqualified and she hadn’t won the lantern competition. It d
idn’t matter that Filippa chose not to reveal her discovery and she hadn’t won the competition to provide proof of the girl who had drawn the first skyscraper with cantilevers. She knew no one would win that competition. What mattered is that she and Dolce had pursued their dreams. They had found redemption. They had been reborn.
Finally, Filippa had made something of herself. Not by winning a contest but by her own hand, by her own writing and drawings. Grandpa Raj and Dr. Rajah were alive in her books. Ellie the elephant would live forever. And one day, she knew, she would see Buddy again.
“Thank you,” the little girl clutched the signed Ellie the Elephant’s Adventures in Florence to her chest. “I drew this for you.” She thrust a folded piece of construction paper in front of Filippa.
“C’mon, Dolce,” her mother said, “there are others waiting.”
“What did you say her name was?” Filippa gasped.
But the mother and the girl were already gone.
Filippa unfolded the page. It was a crayon drawing of Michelangelo’s David. Ellie the Elephant, Mousey Mouse and a few Silly Monkeys dangled off his arms and legs. David was drawn so large his head and shoulders grew into the clouds and up to the stars.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to my family for their love and support. Thank you to my friends for their encouragement and kindness. Thank you to Ross King and Paul Robert Walker for their guidance. Thank you to you, the reader, for reading The Lantern, a Renaissance Mystery and sharing my passion.
Much appreciation goes to the gang at Telemachus Press who promptly and graciously answered all my questions.
Special thanks to Debi Duckett for her friendship and artwork.
QUESTIONS FOR BOOK GROUPS
1. Do you agree with Filippa’s decision to leave Buddy and go to Italy to try and win the contest? What would you have done?
2. Why did Filippa keep searching for Dolce once Buddy passed away?
3. Who/what was Dolce’s true love?
4. Who/what was Filippa’s true love?
5. How are Dolce and Filippa’s personalities similar? How do they differ from each other? What are the parallel events in their lives?
6. What prejudices faced in the fifteenth century are present today?
7. Would you have wanted to live during the Italian Renaissance? Why or why not?
For more book group questions and other information about me and my books, please visit my website at www.joannelewiswrites.com
Please email me at jtawnylewis@gmail.com. I would love to hear from you.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHARACTERS OF THE LANTERN, A RENAISSANCE MYSTERY
MODERN VIEW
THE GADDI FAMILY TREE
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
PART TWO
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
PART THREE
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
PART FOUR
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
PART FIVE
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
PART SIX
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
PART SEVEN
Chapter 80
PART EIGHT
Chapter 81
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
QUESTIONS FOR BOOK GROUPS