Piazza della Signoria: Saturday, 8:30 PM

s I sit here getting quietly but inexorably toasted on fine Tuscan vino rosso, and messing cruelly with my taste buds' minds by alternating sips of wine with tastes of tiramisu, I hear the sound of angels off in the distance. Now Florence is wonderful, but no one ever confused it with heaven, I'm sure. Soon, however, the mystery is solved: a group of twenty or so tourists, obviously some sort of traveling choral group, burst into song while walking down Via dei Calzaiuoli, and now they're camped out about thirty yards away from me, putting on an impromptu recital, while a large throng enthusiastically applauds each number (they all sound like opera tunes).

Alas, this idyllic scene was too good to last, I guess. Off in the distance I hear the unmistakable sounds of the Hare Krishna cult that's been making the rounds of Florence while I've been here. Under normal circumstances, I have a live-and-let-live attitude toward the Hare Krishnas. Tonight, however, I cannot remain indifferent. Their mindless chanting and music—accordions, drums, and tambourines, amplified, no less—has not only drowned out the choral singers, but has driven them away to the other side of the piazza. (I can see them entertaining a lucky few by the entrance of the Palazzo Vecchio.)

Obviously the Krishnas, intent as ever on their own ecstasy, would have had no way of knowing that they were ruining a perfect Florentine moment, so I suppose I shouldn't be too hard on them. Perhaps they should anoint some sort of "scout" Krishna who could stay in front of the pack and reconnoiter the road ahead. Then, detecting a scene in which his bretheren's cacaphony would be unwelcome, he could double back and suggest either a different route or a few moments of blissful silence and prayer. Hare, Hare.

As I gaze out at the huge open space that beckons before me (now, thankfully, Krishna-less), I can't help but think of the history woven into the fabric of this place. The Piazza della Signoria is the southern point of Florence's main axis—the northern point being the Piazza del Duomo, the two parts joined at the hip by the Via dei Calzaiuoli. Half a century ago, these two squares formed the very heart of Florentine life: the Duomo/Battistero nexus was the religious centre and the Piazza della Signoria was the hub of civic life. The latter, where now only street entertainers and Krishnas hold sway, was once the meeting place of the city's elected government, while non-elected officials harangued this parlamento from the steps of the Loggia de Lanzi, located at the southern end of the piazza.

How thrilling to think that, almost directly ahead from my piazza-side seat here in this pasticcheria, the great Savonarola was burned at the stake. What a powerful figure Girolamo Savonarola (shown on the left) cuts in the history of this intensely historical city. An ascetic cleric who chastised the city's populace for many years, Savonarola held his audiences in thrall with fiery rhetoric. (Legend has it that his intense green eyes would sometimes give forth red flashes during his sermons.) He harangued the people of Florence for their love of profit and creature comforts, and even held a "Bonfire of the Vanities" in which citizens were urged to burn their combs, mirrors, books, games, wigs, paintings, and other symbols of the sinfully secular.

Savonarola predicted that a new "Cyrus" would someday come to rid Florence of its current corrupt rulers and priests and fulfill Florence's destiny as the "chosen people." When Charles VIII of France invaded in 1494, Savonarola took this as confirmation that his prophecy had come true. Piero, the weak heir to Lorenzo de Medici, fled without much of a fight. In the power vacuum that ensued, Savonarola became the effective ruler of Florence (although he held no legal position of authority).

Eventually, however, the people grew tired of Savonarola's puritanism, and his continued attacks on the church in Rome led to his excommunication. Before long, the merchants and other Florentine power brokers were able to turn the will of the people against Savonarola. Dragged out of his home base in the monastery at San Marco, beaten and tortured, the cleric was imprisoned in the tower of Palazzo Vecchio overlooking the Piazza della Signoria. Soon, in an ironic and cruel echo of his Bonfire of the Vanitites, Savonarola was burned at the stake in the piazza. A plaque now marks the spot where this imposing figure met his brutal fate.

Florentine Notebook	Fiesole	A Close Call

Copyright © 1995-2012 Paul McFedries and Logophilia Limited