The Sistine Chapel

Father Rizzo had been pounding on Michelangelo's door for far too long. He had a crucial message for him from Pope Julius II, and he wasn’t about to stop until he delivered it. After exhausting his patience, he finally threw open the door to Michelangelo's studio. The overpowering stench almost made him gag but there was no way he could use that as an excuse. He braced himself and stepped into the back room, narrowly avoiding slipping on the vomit-covered floor. Rizzo felt disgusted as he looked at the sight of Michelangelo, sprawled haphazardly on the bed, half in vomit and the other half in crap. Rizzo shook him awake with determination. “What’s going on? What do you want? Who are you? Why do I smell so terrible?” Michelangelo mumbled, half-conscious. He didn't feel well. He had felt great the night before.

Father Rizzo, said, “The Pope sent me with a message that you need to hear immediately,” Rizzo stated firmly. Father Rizzo wasn't about to have the Pope mad at him. He wished he had stayed in Spain instead of coming here. True it was hard in Spain, no one there spoke Italian and Rizzo didn’t speak Spanish. On the other hand, the Pope didn’t bother him in Spain.

“It’s the middle of the night! Tell him I'll be here first thing in the morning,” Michelangelo said. Michelangelo groaned. Julius was probably pissed off at him for something he did or said the night before. He'd have Michelangelo sit and wait for him. That could be a while. Michael hadn’t slept nearly enough to talk to the Pope. He was barely sure where he was.

“If you think I’m going to deliver that response to him, you’re mistaken. I’d end up locked away in some monastery!” Rizzo shot back. Monasteries are fine for those who feel a calling for it. Rizzo would rather set himself on fire than go to one. He shuddered at the thought.

“Okay, I’ll go now. Damn that Julius. Oh, stop looking at me like that. It’s just you and me here.”

“Alright, then. Clean yourself up. You can’t let him see you looking like this.” Without hesitation, Michelangelo marched outside and jumped into the fountain, splashing water everywhere.

This shocked Rizzo. This wasn’t the slums. This was a good neighborhood. “What are you doing? People drink from that fountain!” Rizzo exclaimed, incredulous about what Michael was doing. Rizzo drank from it at times when it was his turn to say Mass for these people. He never would do it again. He was feeling a little queasy.

“Listen,” Michelangelo replied, brushing off his indignation. “The aqueducts flow down from the mountains. This fountain feeds into the next one. It’s all part of a system. Do you really think I care where it all comes from?” Michelangelo didn’t care about anything but sculpturing. He liked to drink strong wine and he enjoyed the ladies but that was about all.

They started out for the Vatican, aware of the muggers and the prostitutes, sometimes the same thing. Without saying anything to Rizzo, Michelangelo began singing, loudly and not too well. Rizzo thought this was the clearing of Michelangelo’s hangover. Going to see Julius Ii in this condition was a stupid thing to do, Michelangelo or no Michelangelo Rizzo wanted to not be with him when they got to the Vatican. There were places to hide and Rizzo was going to find the best one and hide until morning Mass. Michelangelo looked at Rizzo and said, “You know the Swiss Guards. They think everyone is out to bother the Pope during the day. Imagine what they think about someone trying to get quietly into the Vatican in the dark. Those Halberds aren’t just for show.”

Michelangelo recovered a little bit from his hangover. He looked at the priest and then the bench. He said, “First of all, you don’t tell me what to do. Period. Then, you don’t have to say anything about Rizzo He was just an errand boy. Last, but certainly not the least, I didn’t come here to sit on a wooden bench and get splinters up my ass. Now, run along and tell Julius II that I’m here.”

Michelangelo sat in the anteroom waiting impatiently for Julius II to show up. The room was extremely warm. Michelangelo didn’t need that this time the of day or having a hangover. He heard the door from the Pope apartment squeak open. Fat Julius waddled his way in and managed to climb up the throne. He held his hand out. It wasn’t for Michelangelo to shake. It was for Michelangelo was to him to kiss the ring. Michelangelo never did that. The Pope could kiss his ass before that was going to happen. Julius asked him once why he wouldn’t kiss the ring. “I’m not Catholic.”

Farther Rizzo hoped the Pope’s wouldn't get angry at them for the smell of the two of them. He told Rizzo to leave. Then he told Michelangelo that he wanted him to paint the ceiling of the Basilica. It was, frankly, an embarrassment. What? Paint the ceiling of the Basilica? What did he do or say last night. It must have been pretty bad. He wasn’t a painter, he was an artist. That was a big ceiling. It would take a lot of time away from sculpting. Michelangelo told the Pope he wasn’t interested in painting that ceiling. The Pope told him it wasn’t an offer. Either that ceiling got painted or Michelangelo might get mugged some night. Michelangelo told Julius that was unfair. The Pope said he could start in the morning.

Michelangelo looked around the Basilica. It was disgusting. The wall panels were mostly mold. The ceiling was a disgrace. He saw the spider webs stretching across the entire ceiling. The place smelled musty. Everything was dusty. It was a shame. It needed work, a lot of work. It was work Michelangelo didn’t want. He had no idea of how to say no to a Pope. Could he send him to Hell? Julius as okay for a Pope Michelangelo was an artist, not some hack. On the other hand,the Pope wanted what he wanted. Julius wanted Michelangelo to set everything else aside to do this. That made it worse. The Pope didn’t say anything about being paid. Julius was famous for that. He then would claim he was overpaying as is. It wasn’t as if you could take the the Pope to court. He picked the jurors.

He stared at the ceiling for a very long time. Michelangelo took a good view of the Chapel and the ceiling seemed to come alive. Yes, to honor God, he would make a masterpiece. What he wanted to do was a massive job. Michelangelo wasn’t Michelangelo for nothing. He’d leave a great reputation behind. That meant you were dead.It would take years to finish it. He’d have to live off the tiny, occasional pay until he finished. He would do great job on the ceiling. It was the biggest “canvas” you could ask for. He could paint as much of Man and God as he wanted to. The ideas started flowing. What to paint exactly? How long to do it? How many helpers did he need. Would build the necessary platforms? It would be difficult at the top. He’d have to lay on his back to paint there. He thought the Pope might die before that happened. Wouldn’t the Pope be pissed about that?

Michelangelo knew he’d have to get rid of the mold on the wall murals. Rather than clean them, he decided to remove them off along with the murals. He’d scour them off. They would draw attention from his ceiling. That was the important thing. If he couldn’t, he’d blame Leonardo DaVinci. That sissy boy thought he was a great warrior or something like that. The Madonna was pretty good. He painted it when he was drunk. When Michelangelo first saw it he told Da Vinci it looked like he had painted himself in drag.

Michelangelo was putting the final finish on the murals. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t,save most of them so he redid them with the help of apprentices. Da Vinci wouldn’t know the-

“Apprentices?You won’t get away with this. As usual, your best is poor. I’m going to talk to the Pope about this.”

Michelangelo laughed at that. He’d have to get the Pope to admit he was wrong in hiring Michelangelo to paint the ceiling. Julius would go get into his coffin before that happened. “You do that and you will be burned at the stake or hanged in chains or, maybe both.”

Da Vince thought that through and decided not to do that. But, getting rid of his murals was too much. But, having apprentices filling in Michelangelo’s cartoon was unbearable. He decided to go back to Florence and draw up the defenses of the city. He’d never come to Rome again. That would show them.

He got the platforms made to his plan. Romo Barcelona was the best builder in Rome. He told Michelangelo it would take months to do. Michelangelo told him he needed it in two weeks. Barcelona laughed at that. He told Michelangelo that would be impossible. No builder in Rome could do that and do it right. Michelangelo told him he’d see if the Pope thought about that. Barcelona then said he could do it if he hired some laborers. He was told what he’d earn and knew he was going to lose money on this and told Michelangelo this.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

He knew he now had to paint the ceiling white to be a canvas he could work with. He should have done that first. He couldn’t trust Barcelona and his workers to do it now. There’d be drops of white over his murals. How could he have not thought of that. This would set him back a month. Luckily, Julius hadn’t given him a deadline. He may have forgotten about it all together. Romo Barcelona made a series of movable platforms for Michelangelo to stand on to paint the lower parts of the ceiling. When Barcelona saw what Michelangelo was painting, he started overseeing the project himself. Whatever Michelangelo needed he got. Barcelona thought painters and sculptors were sissies. He still did but this one was a genius. Barcelona knew he couldn’t do anything close to this.

Michelangelo sketched what he planned to do. He’d have to draw cartoons. He wouldn’t let any apprentice paint anything. He wanted perfection. He could do that? Perfection would take a long time but live on as long as the Basilica would and that would be until the heathen hordes came to Rome. They may not recognize genius if they saw it.

The first part was easy. He could stand up and that worked out nicely. As he went up he became more cramped. He took another good look and knew the painting would be beautiful but a pain in the ass. He thought he may have been too confident about his ability. No, not his abilities, it more about his stamina. He may not live to see his completed ceiling. He couldn’t stop it in the middle of it unless the Pope died. Michelangelo realized that Julius was younger and might well live longer. It’s not as if he’d let Michelangelo leave off. Truth be told,Michelangelo knew he’d finish this glory to God work as long as it took, barring his own death. Maybe he should have run off like Da Vinci did, the coward. It took years, but it was done. He spent days looking at the best painting ever done. He went to Julius to tell him it was done.

“What was done?”

“The Sistine Chapel. It is my finest work.”

“Oh. I thought you had died.”He went to the Chapel with Michelangelo. He looked at the ceiling for a moment .

“I thought a nice blue would have been okay.”