Florence

I haven’t blogged in quite a long time!  Things have kept on being busy in Venice during Dr. Cooper’s stay.  She gave me an introduction to using the Archivio di Stato, which was ridiculous, and truly brought home to me why people come to study on 1 or 2 year fellowships, because it takes an incredibly long time just to locate and request the right boxes of documents, let alone trying to decipher them! I set myself the task of transcribing Jacopo Tintoretto’s will, which came in a box full of other wills by the same notary, Antonio Brinis.  Luckily, Antonio had pretty good handwriting.  Still, there was plenty of places I had to leave blank because I couldn’t figure out either what the handwriting actually said, or if it was some kind of shorthand, what it stood for.  Then after I did that I started reading some of the other wills (which were organized not by date but by first name of the testator, which I only cottoned on to after wondering “was every woman named Elena and Elisabetta in the late 16^th century??); I quickly realized how formulaic they were.  The name of the testator, the name of their father and, if a woman, their husband, the place where they met with the notary, some expressions of religious sentiment, then any specific bequests plus the division of estates among heirs (often with second-, third- and even fourth-string heirs in case people have died, more of a concern then than now), and then the closing with witnesses.  The formulaic nature is actually extremely helpful because then you know what to expect of a particular will, even if you’re having trouble making out some words; for example, in Tintoretto’s I couldn’t make out this word that came after “being of good health and,” but realized after looking at another that the word was “intellect.”

The content of these wills was in general uninteresting.  Tintoretto’s of course was fascinating, since he left all of his property to his beloved wife Faustina--with admonitions to his children to obey her, and giving her authority to cut them out of her own will if they didn’t—except for all the things of his profession, which he left to his son Domenico, who would carry on the family workshop into the 17^th century. There was also a clause stating that Domenico would finish all of Jacopo’s unfinished commissions in the manner of his father, just as he had long been accustomed to doing during his father’s life to great honor—very interesting from the perspective of thinking about workshop practice and a painter’s personal ‘brand’.  Meanwhile, in a woman’s will, she left various pieces of jewelry to female relatives, only to add a later codicil retracting the gift of a pearl necklace—I had hoped there would be a gossipy reason, like ‘Madonna Elisabetta is a ho, she’s not getting my jewelry’ but it just said ‘the pearls are no longer in the house.’ Another aspect I was having trouble understanding at first was the closing; there aren’t really paragraph breaks or anything, so one minute they’ll be talking about executors and the next something about hospitals and pious places, and it took me a while to figure out that the notary was required (it’s stated in the will) to ask the testator if he or she wanted to leave money to religious institutions or the poor (even if they had already specified such earlier).  The responses are generally formulaic but one woman just wrote (I’d like to think, snarkily) “I have already left what I wanted to leave.”  In other words, quit hounding me, asshole.

I have learned a number of things from my archive experience—I love the feel of the soft paper, for one thing!  I read somewhere that paper in the early modern period wasn’t made from wood pulp but rather cloth, which may explain why it feels soft and not dry and crack-y.  That’s not to say it’s not dry and crumbly around the edges, of course.  Rae was amazed when I told her you don’t have to use ggloves to handle these 500-year old documents—it surprised me too, honestly.  I mean, you’re obviously supposed to handle it delicately and not touch the actual ink, but when you sit down with a giant busta or box and open it up (once you’ve managed to prie open all the strings tying the box together, and then the strings wrapped around the bundle inside; I actually couldn’t get the interior knot open, so I had to slide the loop of string off and hope I could reaffix it later), little bits of edges and things are cracking all over the place.  I also learned that the archives are very hot in summer.  The archive was once part of the Frari monastery complex, and the reading room was a refectory or chapel or something; one giant room, with no open windows or fans (lest the documents get the dreaded colpo d’aria, perhaps—Italians have a fanatical terror of drafts of air), so by afternoon all the hot air is just pressing down on you.  It was pretty awful.  I don’t think I could ever come here to do serious work in summer.  We went for lunch to a place across the street, Bar L’archivio, because they have a cold rice salad dish that Dr. Cooper can actually eat (celiac s have such a terrible time in Italy, it’s sad), and met a bunch of other scholars, including one, Allison Sherman, who is close to my age and just received her degree a couple of years ago.  She explained to me how she was so depressed her first six months of research that she used to buy a Twix from the vending machine every day, and eat it in the bathroom while she cried her eyes out before going back to the reading room.  Other people at the table nodded.  I was a bit apprehensive!

Jasmine and Nick came up to Venice for a couple of days this week.  We met up with a guy, Giancarlo, with whom Dr. Cooper and I had toured San Pietro in Castello, and who had been a classmate of Jasmine’s during the Venice Duke program (and the fact that I never got to participate in that because it lost funding is extra depressing after having seen all the connections Jasmine was able to make there); he’s working at a brand new institution, the Studium Marcianum, and was able to give us a tour.  It had an amazing view from the Zattere toward the Giudecca.  After lunch I ran some errands, including locating a real Italian hardware store with multiple floors (Rata, in Salizzada S. Lio, in case I forget in the future) to buy new earbuds (Carla had told me I should find a music store to buy them in, but Giancarlo disagreed and I decided to trust the native, who was right).  I also wanted to visit the single gluten-free shop in Venice, off Strada Nuova, but of course I hadn’t written down the actual address, just briefly glanced at the Google map, so I had to call Carla to look it up for me, and then of course when I find it, it’s closed for the afternoon break!  Even when I came back at 4 when it reopened, nothing! I had to camp out in what was basically an alley for 20 minutes until the shopkeeper showed up, but I was able to get her some nice amaretti cookies as a gift, so it was worth it.  She’s been so wonderful this whole time.

In the evening Jasmine had invited all of her friends in Venice to meet for a spritz, and I joined.  Four prosecchi later, we headed to meet Dr. Cooper and Tim for dinner, where of course more prosecco was waiting!  It was a fun dinner.  Jasmine observed later that my relationship with Coop has definitely reached a new level when I’m openly joking about how much I’ve had to drink, and I laughed and told her how Dr. Cooper advised that I sell my extra oxycontin pills for money!  Dr. Cooper has told me that there’s a difference in rapport just being together off campus, like in Princeton, and it’s even more different in Italy.  Needless to say, I’m loving it. 

Wednesday I went down to Florence with Jasmine to stay with our friend Suzanne.  Now, every Venetian I told that I was going to Florence had an expression of horror, “why would you do that?”  Carla has told me that Florence can be the hottest place in the peninsula in the summer, because it just bakes in the valley, and I believe her—getting off the train was like getting walloped in the face by a wall of heat.  Dry heat, to be fair, but heat all the same, 95 degrees every day. You’re basically forced to follow the shadows and avoid all but the most necessary exposure  to sun—you don’t cross the piazza, you walk around the perimeter under the loggias, in other words.  Jasmine and I took a taxi from the station to Borgo San Iacopo in Oltrarno where Suzanne’s apartment is.  This place was magnificent, first and foremost because of the air conditioning, set to a chilly 22-24 degrees, vs 36-38 outside.  Totally redone (entirely with IKEA furnishings and accoutrements, haha), with a microwave (rare in this country) and even an ice machine (which I would never have expected; I thought it was a breadmaker).  There was a comfy pullout couch for us to share, and a lofted bedroom and bathroom above that was really nice, double sinks and everything.  Of course, Suzanne paid through the nose for this luxury—2400 euro per month, and she stayed 6 weeks.  Jasmine and I were so grateful to her that we got to stay there!  Naturally the first thing we did on Wednesday was go to the grocery store for food and wine.  We ended up drinking three bottles, and time literally flew; it was 5pm and then suddenly it was 8:30, time for our skype date with our friend Cate, who showed us her baby bump—she’s having a boy!

 I was definitely feeling the effects of the wine when I woke up in the morning, no headache, just kind of dizzy before I had some tea.  I got to talk to Sean briefly, since he’s returned to his night owl ways and was going to bed when I was waking up.  The three of us went to Palazzo Pitti, which was awesome even if it was too hot to go into the Boboli Gardens.  After lunch Jasmine and I tried to go to Ognissanti, but it was inexplicably closed; we did make it to Sta Felicita before splitting up so Jasmine could go meet her undergrad advisor for a drink.  I went over to the thrift store by S. Lorenzo where I bought my coats to see if there was anything interesting, but no luck; likewise at the Paperback exchange.  That night we had dinner with Dr. Hall as well as Dr. Kline, another faculty member who we included only at Dr. Hall’s request, because he’s been weird in the past, but it turned out to be really fun (and Dr. Hall’s treat!) at Mamma Gina’s, downstairs from Suzanne’s place—this restaurant is enough of an institution that Dr. Hall said “oh, Mamma Gina’s!  My Mercedes was keyed outside of this place in 1963.”  Think about that statement. Haha. I had a delicious tagliata di manzo over arugula, and there was lots of wine, so I woke up yesterday morning with a throat like a smoker’s!  More tea cured that, too.

Yesterday was a pretty full day. Suzanne and I tried to go to SS. Annunziata to see Vasari’s painting of himself as Saint Luke, but were thwarted once again, arriving right as a Mass began.  We had lunch at a Greek place on Via San Gallo that I always looked at when I lived there but never went into; I had an insalata greca which came, as hoped, with a big ol’ block of feta on top!  Then Suzanne went off to meet Dr. Kline to take the bus to Villa I Tatti, which is Harvard’s research institute in the hills outside Florence.  It was the private villa of one of the most famous 20^th century art historian/connoisseurs, Bernard Berenson, who donated it to Harvard in his will.  Dr. Hall has been doing research there since the 60s, and is welcome as a former fellowship-holder (ex-borsista; a ‘borsa’ is a purse). The night before we floated the idea of Dr. Hall taking Suzanne and Dr. Kline to I Tatti—I did the floating, not on Kline’s behalf but on Suzanne’s.  Dr. Hall is not an involved advisor at the best of times, and Suzanne had told us she was worried Dr. Hall had written her off entirely.  Suzanne came into the master’s program in 2005, and because she has a mortgage, and a graphic design business, and usually at least two other jobs, she’s only now prepping for prelims for the fall.  There’s not a lot of appreciation among the faculty for how hard it is to do grad school without a fellowship.  I mean, I can hardly talk, since I had one, but I can imagine, and I give Suzanne credit for having to work so hard, but all Dr. Hall sees is that she’s not moving forward with the “real work.”  Anyway, Jasmine and I were trying to do for Suzanne’s exam panic what my friends did for me at RSA, and also encourage to put herself forward with Dr. Hall.  Hence the I Tatti idea, from which I excluded myself voluntarily when it became clear that Dr. Hall felt awkward about introducing even two random people into the center (it’s not like a walk-in library, more like an exclusive yacht club).  It turns out I apparently earned major brownie points with her for gracefully bowing out, though, go me!  And she promised me that the next time we’re in Florence together she’ll take me to get a card (Dr. Kline and Suzanne got registered and got reader cards, which are valid forever and hence like gold).

While she was off doing that, I went on a lovely tour of some sights, including San Lorenzo, the New Sacristy, Santa Croce (that Bronzino!!), and Casa Buonarroti, where I’d never been before.  Dr. Hall had emailed Suzanne in the morning about a possible dinner, and Suzanne had promised to call me when she got there, so as I’m walking home around 5 I thought it was odd I hadn’t heard.  I was hungry, so I stopped at the store, and as I’m finally walking into the blissfully cold apartment, she calls me on Dr. Hall’s cell, as hers had died.  They wanted me to come join them, but I needed to get to I Tatti by 6:15. That meant I had to catch the 5:50 bus from Piazza San Marco, clear on the other side of town, and it was 5:15, I was sweaty and gross and kinda tired.  But Suzanne didn’t want to be left to have dinner with Dr Kline and Dr. Hall’s creepy husband, so I said I’d try to make it.  I wound up taking a cab, because there was no way I could have walked in time, and caught the Settignano bus 2 minutes before it left.  So all was well, and Gerry picked us all up in the car from I Tatti and whisked us over to Maiano, where we sipped white wine on the balcony/patio of the apartment they’re renting, on this property with amazing views over the valley and an Olympic-sized pool (and dear god, how I wanted to dive in).  Then we had dinner at some restaurant up the hill where the food was delicious and the wine (and then limoncello, and then grappa for the men) flowed freely.  Dr. Hall and Gerry treated us once again, which was very nice of them, and we really had an awesome time, which more than made up for the serious hassle it was trying to get up there.  I nearly melted into a puddle of sweat on the bus, which was NOT air conditioned, and the whole way I was grumpily like “stupid dr hall, why do we have to have dinner there, argghhh.”  She even gave us a ride back to the city after dinner, since the buses had stopped running already (Suzanne and I had privately worried earlier that Gerry, who is tacitly understood as an alcoholic, was going to offer to drive us, and what we would say if he did.  Dr. Hall on the other hand, assured us she was ok to drive, but then said ‘and anyway, I’m one of those rare people who drives just beautifully when they’re intoxicated’ and we though, oh Christ…).  Then Suzanne and I strolled from Piazza San Marco, past Palazzo Vecchio, and over the Ponte Vecchio to her apartment.  It was a fabulous night.

I’ve spent so long writing this that we’re already in Padua!  We’ll be in Venice in 20 minutes.  It’s supposed to be in the 90s there too, and I doubt it’s dry like Florence.  Tonight is Dr. Cooper’s last night, and I’m having dinner with her, Tim, and Richard Schofield and his wife—and then tomorrow I’m on my own again!