Sandro Botticelli - Daily Confession

  Sandro Filipepi (Botticelli) lived most of his life in Florence and, having been patronised by the wealthy Medici family, for whom he painted such masterpieces as The Birth of Venus, he fell under the influence of the reforming priest Savanarola. Savanarola organised The Bonfire of the Vanities at which the citizens of Florence were told to forego their dissolute and self-indulgent ways and burn those things which might inhibit their progress to Heaven.

A year or two later Savanarola was himself publically burned alive by the disenchanted Florentines. In this poem ('not of the modern style', it must be admitted) an elderly Jesuit speaks to a younger priest about the artist,

Daily Confession

See shambling 'neath his hood across the street

A man reformed - had you been here to meet

His younger self you may have been impressed

By youthful beauty and artistic zest -

No sin in that - for we soldiers of Christ

May understand (if not condone) at least,

The troublesome allure of human flesh.

You know my heart, I see (you smile and blush).

So, Signor Filipepi, over there,

Head bowed before this church, wearing threadbare

Coat of plainest weave and reverently

Crossing himself - bless him in return - see

A man saved for our God and for the Faith,

....sancti. He turned away from fame and wealth.

For once he was a painter of the school

Of Fra Lippi - not of the modern style.

Alas at times his skill served pagan tastes

And certain works show modesty debased.

While you may blame his patrons, nonetheless,

He made good profit from lasciviousness.

No doubt the great Medici paid him well

And feted Sandro's genius until

They left our city and decamped to Rome

(They will be back. This is their ancient home.)

But, for all that, he is a soul reclaimed.

Savanorola, though he can be blamed

For grievous error and deserved his fate,

Held such sway over our unfortunate

Bereft, devout and daily penitent

That in his fear of flames, to flames he sent

His profane works and piled them high upon

The Bonfire of the Vanities. No-one

Who was there can forget the gleaming eyes

The fervent looks, the mob's approving cries.

Michelangelo, it is said, looked on.

Perhaps. I think he had already gone

To Rome - and now his David contemplates

Both bonfire sites. How fickle are the Fates.