citinotes
Rinascita!

From the Fall of an Empire to the Rise of a Movement
Rarely has a city been as intricately tied to an artistic movement as Florence is to the Renaissance. It is nearly impossible to imagine the Renaissance without Florence—or Florence without the Renaissance. The movement’s origins might be traced to Flanders, where Van Eyck’s revolutionary painting techniques first cast their light upon the canvas. It can also be argued that much of its literary progress arose from the erudite scholars of Venice and Rome. Yet, there is no doubt that it was upon Florence’s muddied soil that the Renaissance etched its most profound and enduring legacy. It was here, amidst the fervor of painters, sculptors, engineers, and philosophers, that the spirit of rebirth etched itself most indelibly into the annals of human achievement.
The conquest of Constantinople by the Ottomans in 1453 removed the barriers that had kept Europe at a short, yet firm, distance from its classical roots. For centuries, the Greek-speaking capital of the Byzantine Empire had served as a major center of learning, housing a vast collection of ancient Greek and Roman manuscripts. The fall of the city compelled many Byzantine scholars and artisans to flee to Western Europe and find refuge in its most prosperous cities. Among these, Florence stood at the forefront, playing a pivotal role in the cultural revival that defined the Renaissance.
The Medici Phenomenon
By the mid-15th century, Florence was already a thriving city-state, largely thanks to its dominance in international banking and trade. One of the most powerful financial institutions in Europe, the Medici Bank, operated in Florence, financing traders, royal courts, and even the papacy. At the same time, the city boasted a flourishing textile industry, with its merchants excelling in dyeing, weaving, and exporting textiles. This industry cemented Florence’s status as a major commercial hub in Europe.
The driving force behind this economic miracle was none other than the Medici family. Giovanni di Bicci, through his financial acumen and innovative banking practices —detailed in the article “The Banker & The Soldier”— laid the foundation for the Medici legend. His efforts not only established the family’s prominence but also set the stage for his son, Cosimo il Vecchio—revered as the family’s “pater patriae” (‘father of the fatherland’)—to expand and solidify their influence. If the essence of the Renaissance was the rebirth of an innovative spirit, then these two men were its living embodiment.
Renaissance: A Story of Religious Guilt
However, as long as usury remained condemned as a sinful act deserving eternal damnation, Cosimo could find no solace in sleep. On one such restless night, he conceived a bold plan: to lavish Florence with an unparalleled wealth of religious art, so breathtaking in its magnificence that it would compel the Church to absolve his “sinful” life and grant him an honorable seat in the kingdom of heaven.
Cosimo’s patronage spared no expense. In just a few years, a new monastery rose from the ground, frescoes of biblical scenes breathed life into the once-blank walls of churches and palazzos, and sculptures of saints adorned the city’s austere streets. Most remarkable of all, Florence’s Cathedral, Santa Maria del Fiore, received a gift that Italians have cherished with pride ever since: the most spectacular dome the world had ever seen, an architectural marvel that redefined possibility and became a symbol of the Renaissance itself.
The Art Explosion that Shaped Florence
For such an ambitious cultural project, the Medicis employed the finest talents of the era. At the gates of the Baptistery, Giovanni di Bicci entrusted Lorenzo Ghiberti with crafting golden panels that brought biblical scenes to life in breathtaking relief. Under Cosimo’s patronage, Fra Angelico inspired the monks of San Lorenzo’s monastery with his magnificent frescoes, while the ingenious Filippo Brunelleschi revolutionized art and engineering. Not only did he invent true linear perspective, forever transforming painting, but he also devised groundbreaking techniques to construct Florence Cathedral’s magnificent dome—the largest in a thousand years—without even using a scaffold.
Just a short walk away, Donatello created the first free-standing nude statue since antiquity, redefining sculpture. Some years later, Benozzo Gozzoli was commissioned to create one of the most breathtaking frescoes of all time, a vivid depiction of the Medici family’s grandeur and legacy, nestled at the heart of their own residence. The Medici’s cultural patronage reached its zenith under Lorenzo the Magnificent, Cosimo’s grandson, who founded the first modern art school. Among its students was none other than Michelangelo, while Lorenzo also commissioned masterpieces from legends like Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli, Verrocchio, and Ghirlandaio.
The Renaissance Artist: Free, At Last!
The Medici’s unwavering support of their artists had another profound consequence, one that bridged the ancient and modern worlds: the emancipation of the artist. For the first time, creators were free to depict their visions as they wished, unhindered by restrictions from the Church or their patrons. Byzantine art’s repetitive and abstract depictions of saintly figures transformed into deeply personal interpretations, featuring distinctive traits, expressive faces, and dynamic gestures, all set against vivid, realistic backgrounds.
From this point onward, every artist felt liberated to break with traditional rules and experiment with new materials and techniques. Thanks to this revolutionary freedom in form and subject, Da Vinci pushed the boundaries of art, inventing techniques like sfumato to imbue his figures with a lifelike quality. Donatello infused his statues with both motion and a sense of inner life; before him, no artist had dared to carve a Mary Magdalene with such a gaunt, aged, and haunting face, leaving viewers both shocked and captivated. And his free-standing bronze statue of David would have been unimaginable just a generation earlier, as the medieval world was too prudish to depict a nude in such a bold, unashamed manner.
The influx of Byzantine scholars further enriched Florence’s intellectual and artistic life. Bringing with them ancient texts—including works by Plato, Aristotle, Euclid, and Ptolemy—they transformed the city into a center for the translation of these long-forgotten or inaccessible works into Latin and later vernacular Italian. Funded by Cosimo il Vecchio, scholars like Marsilio Ficino, head of the Platonic Academy of Florence, translated Plato’s writings, making them widely accessible to European intellectuals for the first time since antiquity.
A Parade of Writers in Awe of Florence
Fueled by the religious guilt of the Medici family, Florence became the epicenter of a rebirth in architecture, the plastic arts, philosophy, and literature—a cultural revolution that spanned two centuries. This remarkable Renaissance could not escape the attention of the most gifted writers of the 19th century, who often turned to Florence and its legacy as a source of inspiration.
Alexandre Dumas (1802–1870), the famous French author, embarked on an evocative journey through Italy in the early 1840s as part of his wider European travels. He frequently depicted Florence as a city where the past seemed to come alive, forging a vivid connection to the grandeur of the Italian Renaissance. In the selected notes, Dumas marvels at Brunelleschi’s Dome as a monumental feat of architectural ingenuity and a symbol of Florence’s Renaissance brilliance. Later on, his enthusiastic notes of the Piazza della Signoria, mirrors what we might call the “Stendhal Syndrome”—a psychological condition where individuals experience intense emotional reactions to great works of art. He describes the Piazza with a kind of rapture, as if he is in awe of its ability to transport him through time, allowing him to experience the historical and artistic significance firsthand.
Henry James (1843–1916) was an American-born writer and critic, widely regarded as one of the greatest novelists of the English language. Known for his intricate psychological realism and exploration of social themes, James often examined the cultural contrasts between Europe and America. His deep fascination with Europe, particularly Italy, is reflected in much of his fiction and travel writing. Florence held a special place in Henry James’s imagination, as both a source of artistic inspiration and a symbol of timeless cultural allure. In Italian Hours (1909), a collection of essays chronicling his travels through Italy, James reflects on Florence with a mix of reverence and critical observation. His descriptions capture the city’s unparalleled artistic richness, focusing on landmarks like the Uffizi Gallery, the Palazzo Vecchio, and the Duomo. He marvels at Florence’s ability to preserve the Renaissance spirit, offering a profound sense of continuity with the past. In the selected extract James describes Giotto’s bell tower with a blend of admiration and poetic sensibility, emphasizing its elegance and harmonious proportions. He marvels at its intricate design, calling it “the most beautiful structure in the world,” and highlights the exquisite interplay of color, form, and detail that give it a jewel-like quality.
Théophile Gautier (1811–1872) was a French poet, novelist, and art critic associated with the Romantic movement and later the doctrine of “art for art’s sake” (l’art pour l’art). Renowned for his vivid imagery and sensuous prose, Gautier was a passionate traveler whose works often reflect his deep appreciation for art, architecture, and cultural history. Gautier visited Florence during his travels in Italy, captivated by the city’s artistic and historical richness. For him, Florence epitomized the Renaissance’s cultural splendor, serving as a vibrant repository of artistic and intellectual achievement. His descriptions of Florence often reflect a Romantic sensibility, emphasizing beauty, grandeur, and a sense of timelessness. In Journeys in Italy (Voyage en Italie), Gautier portrays the city as an almost sacred space, conveying a painterly quality, rich with color and detail, as he describes Florence’s vibrant streets, exquisite sculptures, and luminous paintings. In the selected notes, he describes the Loggia dei Lanzi with a keen appreciation for its architectural grace and its role as an open-air museum of Renaissance sculpture.
Charles Maurras (1868–1952) was a French political theorist, poet, and journalist, widely recognized as a leading figure of the monarchist Action Française movement. Though primarily engaged in political and ideological discourse, Maurras also produced literary and philosophical works that reflected his deep admiration for classical art and culture. His visit to Florence sparked contemplations on its Renaissance legacy and the timeless beauty of its art and architecture. In Anthinéa: D’Italie et de Grèce, Maurras celebrates Florence as a fountainhead of artistic and humanistic ideals, seamlessly aligning its achievements with his broader classical worldview. In his evocative depiction of the Loggia dei Lanzi, below, he lauds it as a space of artistic triumph—an open-air stage where heroic figures carved in stone strain their muscles skyward, embodying humanity’s ultimate aspiration to reach the divine.
André Suarès (1868–1948) was a French poet, essayist, and critic, known for his profound intellectualism and lyrical prose. As one of the four “pillars” of the prestigious Nouvelle Revue Française, Suarès often wrote about art, philosophy, and culture, blending deep emotional resonance with a keen analytical eye. His travels to Florence were part of his broader quest to understand the cultural and humanist ideals of Italy, which he documented in his book Voyage du Condottiere (1910). His notes below reflect on the power and emotion of Donatello’s sculptures, describing them as profound expressions of human vitality and inner strength. He is particularly struck by Donatello’s ability to capture the soul of his subjects, blending realism with an almost divine intensity.

A detail of the magnificent decoration adorning the vaulted ceiling of the Galleria degli Specchi (Mirror Gallery) by Luca Giordano at the Palazzo Medici Riccardi. The frescoes (1682–1685), which span the entire ceiling, showcase a rich and sophisticated iconography filled with countless mythological figures, distinguished by their radiant light and vibrant, luminous colors.
Citinotes
chapter 1
Santa Maria del Fiore, the Crown Jewel
The architect had calculated everything for the construction of the dome —everything, that is, except the brevity of life. Two years after the first stone was laid, Arnolfo died, leaving his creation barely begun in the hands of Giotto, who added the campanile to the original design. Then the years slipped by once more; Thaddeo Gaddi succeeded Giotto, Andrea Orcagna followed Gaddi, and Filippo came after Orcagna, yet none of these great heapers of marble dared to begin work on the dome.
The monument had already worn through five architects and still remained unfinished when, in 1417, Filippo Brunelleschi undertook this colossal work, a feat with no precedent, save Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, and destined to have no equal in the future except Saint Peter’s in Rome.
And so masterfully did this sublime craftsman accomplish his task that, a hundred years later, when Michelangelo was summoned to Rome by Pope Julius II to succeed Bramante, he cast a final glance at the dome—opposite which he had chosen his own tomb, to gaze upon it even in death—and declared:
– “Farewell. I shall try to make your sister, but I cannot hope to make your equal.”
Alexandre Dumas,
Une année à Florence, Dumont, 1841

On the east gates of the Baptistery, Lorenzo Ghiberti was entrusted with crafting golden panels that brought biblical scenes to life in breathtaking, intricate relief.

The mosaics in the Florence Baptistery, dating back to the 13th century, are celebrated for their detailed depictions of biblical stories, including a striking Last Judgment scene. Ongoing restoration efforts, which began in 2017 and are expected to span over a decade, focus on preserving their vibrant colors and delicate artistry.

Michelangelo famously referred to Lorenzo Ghiberti’s bronze panels of the Florence Baptistery as “the Gates of Paradise” due to their unparalleled beauty and masterful craftsmanship.

chapter 2
Giotto’s bell-tower: the joy of life
Perhaps the best image of the absence of stale melancholy or wasted splendour, of the positive presence of what I have called temperate joy, in the Florentine impression and genius, is the bell-tower of Giotto, which rises beside the cathedral.
No beholder of it will have forgotten how straight and slender it stands there, how strangely rich in the common street, plated with coloured marble patterns, and yet so far from simple or severe in design that we easily wonder how its author, the painter of exclusively and portentously grave little pictures, should have fashioned a building which in the way of elaborate elegance, of the true play of taste, leaves a jealous modern criticism nothing to miss.
Nothing can be imagined at once more lightly and more pointedly fanciful; it might have been handed over to the city, as it stands, by some Oriental genie tired of too much detail. Yet for all that suggestion it seems of no particular time—not gray and hoary like a Gothic steeple, not cracked and despoiled like a Greek temple; its marbles shining so little less freshly than when they were laid together, and the sunset lighting up its cornice with such a friendly radiance, that you come at last to regard it simply as the graceful, indestructible soul of the place made visible.
The Cathedral, externally, for all its solemn hugeness, strikes the same note of would-be reasoned elegance and cheer; it has conventional grandeur, of course, but a grandeur so frank and ingenuous even in its parti-pris.
It has seen so much, and outlived so much, and served so many sad purposes, and yet remains in aspect so full of the fine Tuscan geniality, the feeling for life, one may almost say the feeling for amusement, that inspired it.
Its vast many-coloured marble walls become at any rate, with this, the friendliest note of all Florence; there is an unfailing charm in walking past them while they lift their great acres of geometrical mosaic higher in the air than you have time or other occasion to look. You greet them from the deep street as you greet the side of a mountain when you move in the gorge—not twisting back your head to keep looking at the top, but content with the minor accidents, the nestling hollows and soft cloud-shadows, the general protection of the valley.
Henry James,
Italian Hours, William Heinemann, 1909



chapter 3
A Loggia of the Arts
The name Loggia dei Lanzi comes from an old barracks of lansquenets, or foot-soldiers, which formerly existed not far from there, when the foundations were laid under the tyrannical rule of the Duke of Athens. The object of these buildings was to shelter the citizens from sudden showers and to permit them to transact their business or that of the State under cover.
It was under this gallery, raised a few feet from the level of the Place, that the magistrates were invested with their powers, that knights were created, the decrees of government published and the people harangued from a raised platform.
[…] The Loggia is a species of Museum in the open air. The “Perseus” of Benvenuto Cellini, the “Judith” of Donatello, the “Rape of the Sabines” of John of Bologna are framed in the arcades. Six antique statues – the cardinal and monastic virtues – by Jacques, called Pietro, a Madonna by Orgagna adorn the interior wall. Two lions, one antique, the other modern, by Flaminio Vacca, almost as good as the Greek lions of the arsenal at Venice, complete the decoration.
The “Perseus” may be regarded as the masterpiece of Benvenuto Cellini, that artist so highly spoken of in France, without scarcely anything being known about him. This statue, a little affected in its pose, like all the works of the Florentine school, has a juvenile grace which is very attractive. The young hero is about to cut off the head of the unfortunate Medusa, whose body with its members convulsed with agony, makes a stool for the foot of the conqueror. Perseus, turning away his face, on which compassion is mingled with horror, holds his sword in one hand, and with the other lifts the petrifying head, immobile and dead in the midst of its hair of twisting serpents. […] We shall freely praise the Perseus for its heroic charm and the beauty of its delicate forms. It is a charming statue, a delicious jewel; it is worth all the trouble it cost. […]
The “Rape of the Sabines” was an admirable pretext for Jean of Bologna to display his knowledge of the nude and to exhibit the beauty of the human form under three different expressions: a beautiful young woman, a vigorous young man, and a stately old man. […]
The David of Michael Angelo, besides the inconvenience there is in representing under a gigantic form a Biblical hero of notoriously small size, seemed to us a trifle common and heavy, a rare defect with this master; his David is a great big boy, fleshy, broad-backed, with monstrous biceps, a market porter waiting to put a sack upon his back. The working of the marble is remarkable and, after all, is a fine piece of study which would do honor to any other sculptor except Michael Angelo; but there is lacking that Olympian mastership which characterizes the works of that superhuman sculptor.
Théophile Gautier,
Journeys in Italy, translated by Daniel Vermilye, Brentano’s, 1902
Let us sit for a moment before the Palazzo Vecchio and, without even noting the bold bell tower that soars powerfully into the sky, take in the Loggia dei Lanzi nearby. The statues gathered in this beautiful space seem to sing, perhaps too fervently for a philhellenic taste, a raw hymn to effort.
It is an effort crowned with a kind of triumphant joy, giving it a certain grace; yet it remains a fierce and intense effort—one that strains tendons, pushes muscles to their limits, and stretches the forms of heroic figures as they seem to surge toward the sky.
Charles Maurras,
Anthinéa, d’Athènes à Florence, Editions G. Grès et Cie, 1922


chapter 4
Piazza della Signoria
So great was the idea I had formed in advance of the Piazza della Signoria, that I must confess, the reality exceeded even my lofty expectations as I beheld this mass of stone, so powerfully rooted in the earth, crowned by its tower that threatens the sky like the arm of a Titan. Old Florence, with all its Guelphs and Ghibellines, its balia (note: council of guilds) and priors, its lordship and guilds, its condottieri, its tumultuous populace, and its haughty aristocracy, appeared before me as though I were about to witness the exile of Cosimo the Elder, or the support of Salviati.
Indeed, four centuries of history and art surround you on the right, the left, in front and behind, enveloping you on all sides, speaking simultaneously through the stones, the marble, and the bronze: the voices of Niccolò d’Uzzano, Orcagna, Rinaldo degli Albizzi, Donatello, the Pazzi family, Raphael, Lorenzo de’ Medici, Flaminio Vacca, Savonarola, Giovanni Bologna, Cosimo I, and Michelangelo.
Let one search throughout the world for a place that brings together such names, not to mention those I have forgotten, like Baccio Bandinelli, like Ammannati, like Benvenuto Cellini.
I would like to impose a bit of order on this magnificent chaos and classify chronologically the great men, the great works, and the grand memories, but it is impossible; when one arrives in this marvelous square, one must go where the eye leads, where instinct guides.
Alexandre Dumas,
Une année à Florence, Dumont, 1841


chapter 5
Donatello, the Florentine touch
If a statue need not serve as an ideal extension or expressive line of a building—if statuary is not bound to be an organ of architecture—then Donatello stands as the supreme master of all sculptors. Dante and Michelangelo, on the other hand, are prodigies and singular forces in Florence and beyond. They are less defined by their Florentine roots than by an intense individuality, imposing a rigorous discipline upon themselves yet rebelling against anything that challenges their will. They seem to emerge from the ancient depths and shadowy realms of Etruria, reaching back through the ages, more so than from the common soil of Tuscany.
Donatello embodies Florence itself, sculpting and carving images in its likeness. Through his long life of eighty-five years, he represents the entirety of the fifteenth century—a flourishing Fiorenza, triumphant in both politics and the arts, still republican, yet already under the emerging order of the prince, wholly Christian in morals, yet subtly pagan in spirit.
Until Rodin, no one had ever brought such painterly qualities to sculpture as Donatello did. He is the Da Vinci of statuary. […]
Donatello’s powerful genius conveys strength by concealing it rather than flaunting it, always seeking grace and harmony. In the modern age, he is like Victory tying her light sandal. His works—the Annunciation of Santa Croce, the Saint George of Orsanmichele, and Saint Cecilia—are worthy of the Panathenaea and stand as the only truly Attic creations in Italy. Above all, his little David at the Bargello is perhaps the most enchanting of bronzes: with his winged foot resting on Goliath’s head, his flowery torso, and his joyous grace, he radiates with a smile as captivating as Leonardo’s finest.
Every woman might fall in love with this David, who is delicately built with the soft lines of youth. His form—small breasts and the gentle curve of his thighs—is playfully poised, with knees that seem to hinge perfectly.
Yet his masculine strength is evident, unhidden and undeniable. He severs Goliath’s head as one might pluck an oversized apple, a melon, or a pumpkin. Smiling, brimming with youthful pleasure, he is vibrant, alive. His hat, an unmatched elegance adorned with flowers, hints at the daisy-clad petasus, the youthful glow on his lips making him seem destined to join hands with Botticelli’s Primavera. It’s as though he has a rendezvous awaiting her, perhaps at Titania’s fairy castle near Athens. With that mischievous smile and wreath, he embodies Shakespeare’s Mercury.
André Suarès,
Voyage du condottiere, Édouard cornély & Cie, 1901

Donatello’s bronze statue of David, crafted in the 1440s for the Medici palace in Florence, is the first free-standing nude sculpture of the Renaissance, reviving classical ideals of beauty and humanism. Its innovative use of bronze and sensuous realism marked a departure from medieval styles, cementing Donatello’s role as a pioneer in Renaissance art.

Donatello’s Madonna Pazzi, crafted around 1420–1430 for the Pazzi family in Florence, is a marble relief showcasing his exceptional skill in conveying depth and emotion. It stands out for its use of stiacciato (a very shallow relief technique), which creates a sense of spatial depth and intimacy, elevating the Virgin and Child’s tender interaction.

Donatello’s Judith and Holofernes statue (1455-1460), was originally commissioned for the Medici Palace but was later moved to the Piazza della Signoria as a symbol of civic virtue and the triumph of justice over tyranny. The bronze sculpture stands out for its dynamic movement and psychological intensity, capturing Judith mid-action as she beheads Holofernes, embodying Renaissance ideals of storytelling and human emotion.
chapter 6
Botticelli's women
Botticelli — A thinness marked by long prayer, asceticism, and self-denial. His figures are bodies where the material contour is softened, refined, as though thinned by spiritual aspiration—dry, angular forms.
Flesh like flowers blooming in shadow, pale and bloodless, with amber-tinted shadows that seem almost translucent. His figures hold dreamy, pensive postures, detached from earthly matters, draped in fabrics with broken folds reminiscent of Albrecht Dürer’s work.
[…] Oh! The mysterious, haunting figures of women, with sharply defined, restless mouths hinting at an enigmatic melancholy in their smiles. Their eyes—a dark point within a hazy, bluish-green pupil—are no longer mere features in a drawing; they have become windows into the mind or the heart.
This Botticelli, a master of a subtly supernatural art, seems intent on capturing in his paintings the fantastical visions of German poetry. He is the creator of that fair-haired Venus with her striking blue eyes—a shade rarely seen in Italy—emerging in his Uffizi painting like an aurora borealis.
This painting depicts The Birth of Venus, where Venus is no longer the dark-haired figure of Antiquity but rather a Venus who seems to have been born on Walpurgis Night—a vision of the fair-haired woman of the North. Her golden-threaded hair cascades around her pale body, poised on one hip and illuminated by a kind of winter moonlight. She retains from paganism only the modest gesture of the Venus de Medici, one hand across her breast, the other covering her sex with a lock of hair.
Botticelli’s Venus stands, outlined in her nudity, in a cascade of nearly ideal lines down to her feet, which rest upon a large shell. On the ground, a servant draped in a white cloth sprinkled with small, heraldic-like flowers offers a cloak to the goddess. In the sky, two little gods of love hover—one scattering roses into the air, the other releasing a delicate trickle of ambrosia from his parted lips onto Venus’s shoulders. These small gods or angels, with an elegantly delicate suffering, resemble beautiful, frail English children, almost consumptive in appearance.
Edmond and Jules de Goncourt,
L’Italie d’hier, notes de voyage, 1855-1856, Librairie L. Conquet, 1894




Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, created around 1486, is a masterpiece of Renaissance art, depicting the mythological birth of Venus from the sea foam, elegantly standing on a shell. Its ethereal beauty and symbolic richness make it one of the Uffizi Gallery’s most iconic works; it is often considered the most photographed painting in the museum due to its fame and timeless appeal.
Florence, a Renaissance marvel
Places to feel the artistic flair of the city