The Priceless Necklace of a Florentine Beauty: A Testament to the Toil and Sacrifice of My Ancestors

 

 

The Priceless Necklace of a Florentine Beauty: A Testament to the Toil and Sacrifice of My Ancestors

By: Mohamed Ahmad al-Suweidi

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The Museo Poldi Pezzoli is one of Milan's most charming museums. It was once the palace of the wealthy antique collector Gian Giacomo Poldi Pezzoli, who left his impressive art collection to the Brera Academy. Although the building suffered severe damage during the Second World War, it has since been restored to its former glory. The museum's architecture follows the Neoclassical style and it was opened to the public in 1951.

The museum's collection comprises many stunning works of art created by a variety of renowned artists.

 It's difficult to wander through Poldi Pezzoli's exhibits without encountering Botticelli's captivating masterpiece, the Lamentation over the Dead Christ, or his other notable work, the Madonna of the Book. Botticelli's Madonna gracefully gazes upon anyone who looks towards her. The word "Madonna" is derived from two syllables: the first, "Ma," means "my," and the second, "donna," means "lady." Two other notable paintings in the museum are Canaletto's Prà della Valle in Padua and Conegliano's Marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne.

The museum takes great pride in its acquisition of a statue of a nude teenager praying, created by Lorenzo Bartolini. In this work, nudity symbolizes the human spirit's complete trust in the Lord. However, the erotic element in the statue is not lost on the viewer. This sculpture has been widely praised and admired by art critics. We had previously seen another similar work by Bartolini, called Nymph with a Scorpion, at the Louvre Museum.

The Museo Poldi Pezzoli not only houses exquisite artworks but also boasts a rare collection of clocks, weapons, and other unique acquisitions. Although the museum's extensive collection includes numerous fascinating items, I am drawn to visit it time and again because of a single work that I first saw a decade ago. Even after all these years, I still long to see it every time I visit the city.

As far as I am concerned, the essence of the entire museum is captured in a single painting. It's as if beauty has been condensed into a small frame. The artwork in question is a portrait of a woman painted by Piero del Pollaiuolo, a contemporary of da Vinci who lived between 1443 and 1496. The painting is either a portrait of a girl or an anonymous woman, and it captures my attention for several reasons. It represents what was likely considered beauty during that era, and I also sense an interconnection between two civilizations in her crimped braids.

As I gaze at the painting, the woman's ginger hair, which displays distinct red tinges, prompts me to draw comparisons with women from our region. Perhaps this mysterious woman is an ancestor of Venice's Red Priest, Vivaldi, who was called the Red Priest due to his red hair.

The portrait of a woman by Piero del Pollaiuolo, a contemporary of da Vinci, captures my attention at the Museo Poldi Pezzoli. In a way, it feels like all the beauty of the museum has been distilled into this small frame. The painting features either a girl or an anonymous woman and portrays what was likely considered beautiful during the era. Her crimped braids suggest a connection between different civilizations, sparking my curiosity.

As I gaze at the painting, I am drawn to the ginger tinges in her hair. It prompts me to draw comparisons with women from my region. Could this mysterious woman be an ancestor of Venice's Red Priest, Vivaldi, who was called so because of his red hair?

The painting also reflects the prosperity of Venice during that period, in stark contrast to the privations faced in our region. While the Arabs may praise a tight-fisted woman, the miserliness of this Milanese lady is of a different order. I cannot help but wonder if she refused to pay Piero for the painting, which may have led to him consigning her name to oblivion for over five centuries.

The pearls adorning her hair and neck evoke a sense of sadness in me. I imagine my ancestors, who may have played a part in obtaining those pearls from the blue gulf. Months of hard work had turned their bodies thin and threadlike, as they rose at dawn and tirelessly worked in the water until sunset. They subsisted on only a few dates and some coffee, while the women waited anxiously along the coast for the end of the diving season. I can almost picture their boats exploring the coral reefs of the Gulf, with divers throwing themselves into the water to collect the pearls that lay beneath the silvery waves.

Oh, the toil and labor it entailed! One could hear the solitary sound of the oar hitting the water, and the voice of the nahham, whose melodic chants dictated the rhythm of the rowing and the task at hand, resonated through the air every time the diver's assistant, the saib, pulled or loosened the rope to lower the diver's body through the water. The diver would not rest until he felt the touch of the coral reef where the treasures of his luck were scattered.

How much our forefathers endured, so that the neck of that Milanese woman - which I have been visiting for a decade - could be adorned with those precious pearls! And how many days did they spend threading that necklace to bring joy to that young lady? Yet, our ancestors have long since passed away, and not a single one of them ever received a consoling glance from her.

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Revised by: Jameel salah