Francesco Petrarch—the prolific poet and philosopher whom some historians call “the father of humanism”—bitterly criticized the Avignon papacy and the Babylonian captivity, even as he lived off the tithes and other proceeds collected by the “whore of Babylon.” Petrarch’s decades-long adoration of the unattainable young noblewoman, Laura—an infatuation that continued even after she died during the Black Death of 1348—is one of history’s most famous unrequited romances. Petrarch wrote reams of sonnets to and about Laura; even at the time, though, some critics wondered if he was more in love with the idea of being in love—more smitten with himself as tragic hero—than with the actual, flesh-and-blood Laura: a woman whose lips he never even kissed.
Painter Simone Martini did, indisputably, paint a small portrait of Laura for Petrarch. Alas, that portrait—the world’s first commissioned portrait, say art historians—has been lost; if it could be found, it would surely fetch millions on the auction block at Sotheby’s or Christie’s. Little is known about Simone’s personal life. He married into a family of Sienese painters; he and his wife, Giovanna, moved to Avignon in 1335 or 1336, and the couple had no children. When Simone died in Avignon in 1344, he left behind surprisingly few works from his time there, besides four frescoes (now undergoing restoration) in the portal of Avignon Cathedral and the sinopia studies for two of those frescoes: the powerful portraits of Mary and Jesus, that I—like Brockton and Miranda—found myself captivated by within the Palace of the Popes.
The Palace of the Popes, Europe’s biggest Gothic palace, was begun in 1335 by Pope Benedict XII, who—prior to becoming pope in 1334 and taking the name Benedict XII—was named Jacques Fournier. In his six years as a cardinal in Avignon, Fournier was indeed known as le Cardinal Blanc, the White Cardinal, because of the white Dominican habit he always wore, even after he was entitled to far more sumptuous vestments. Fournier is a fascinating and (to me, at least) frightening study in contrasts. Immune to most of the temptations of luxury (except, apparently, food and drink), he built the fortress-like papal palace at least partly to safeguard the 17,500,000 gold florins amassed by his shrewd predecessor, Pope John XXII.