Sunday, March 15, 2009

3/15

We slept late as one should do on the day of rest. Penny's friend, Candee (correct spelling) walked our feet off yesterday mostly looking for a good restaurant. In spite of late morning I still appear exhausted .. not unlike Anna Magnani in Open City.


We went to Noon mass at the Duomo .. big empty gray building with busy Vasari painting up in the Dome...he was never one for restraint. I tried to follow the Italian. As the Priest speaks there is an incessant humming drone resonating off the walls varying in intensity according to the volume of the Priest's words. Very unworldly as I guess it's meant to be. This probably happened in the Caves of our ancestors too. It's a warm day but damp and cold in the Church.


Penny is busy arranging excitements for her birthday crowd such as a tour of the Forum by our friend, Vincent, and a private tour of the Vatican galleries and Sistine Chapel. If anyone who is reading this wants to go let us know pronto.

Sunday continued. After late late pranzo we saw a big open old wooden door up some steps and of course wandered in to see a non-descript church door to the left. Inside it was quite bare of adornments. A few people were sitting in the pews, and down in front of the altar were kneeling white robed figures. At first I thought it was an Art display of plaster of paris Nuns but they turned out to be real. They were so still, like a George Segal work or those unmoving figures in front of museums dressed like the statue of liberty. Hanging over the Altar was a small exquisite gold cross. The church was dimly lit but we could make out an elaborately carved wooden ceiling. The silence was enormous...like a substance you could touch. Soon other Nuns came out from a right side gated area and knelt with the others. Priests, also all in white, began emerging from the back of the altar. The folds of their garments were almost sensuous. This all occurred so slowly, like some Dance drama or a Butoh performance.. Some knelt in a more prostrate position with little prayer stools to perch on over their ankles. And then, when they had all gathered together they all stood up...Nuns on one side and Priests on the other, and they began singing the Mass in post Gregorian melody.....Acapella. And then when the organ started to play solo Penny became ecstatic because she's always waiting to hear those massive chords. Why aren't all Music Halls built out of stone. And while this was going on we did discover a small Annunciation up on high.

For all of you who are familiar with these rituals I apologize for my Pagan take on all this. It's not that I haven't been to lots of churches lots of times but for some reason this was totally unique. Perhaps it was the purity of the voices. If you ever get to Florence it's the Badia di Fiorentina* right across from the Bargello on Proconsolo.

Will continue the Annunciation Report tomorrow and then on to our secular life.


*Badia Fiorentina

The spire of the Badia opposite the Palazzo del Bargello is an unmistakable feature of the skyline of Florence. This church and its Benedictine abbey were founded in 978 by Willa, the mother of Ugo, Margrave of Tuscany. The church was enlarged by Arnolfo di Cambio in the 13th century and then internally rebuilt by Matteo Segaloni in the 17th century. Interesting features are the portal by Benedetto da Rovezzano (1495) with a "Madonna and Child" (early 16th century) in glazed terracotta by Benedetto Buglioni, Filippino Lippi's masterpiece (1485) "The Madonna appearing to St Bernard", the tomb of Ugo, Margrave of Tuscany (d. 1001), built between 1469 and 1481 by Mino da Fiesole, and the beautiful 15th century cloister, known as the "Chiostro degli Aranci" because of its orange trees, with a fresco of scenes from the life of St Benedict dating from the completion of the cloister (ca.1436-1439).

1 comment:

Unknown said...

Your description of the Badia de Fiorentina is wonderful--wish I was there with you. I wonder if I will ever see it in what's left of my lifetime. I am leaving on Friday for Paris--when do you get home?
Love,
Marion