Santa Croce, Florence – Where I Walked Among Giants and Found My Father Again
- Brian AJ Newman LLB
- 5 days ago
- 8 min read
By Brian AJ Newman Santa Croce Basilica, Florence, Tuscany, Italy 29 November 2019
There are places that impress you.
There are places that educate you.
And then there are places that quietly reach into your soul and change you forever.
For me, the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence was one of those places.
When I travelled to Italy in November 2019, I expected to see one of the world's great churches. I expected magnificent Renaissance architecture, breathtaking works of art and the tombs of some of history's greatest figures.
What I did not expect was that, in the stillness of that ancient basilica, I would unexpectedly find my father again.
He had been gone for just over a year.
Yet somehow, surrounded by marble, frescoes and seven centuries of history, he was with me.
Florence – Where the Modern World Was Born
Few cities can genuinely claim to have altered the course of civilisation.
Florence is one of them.
Long before modern universities became centres of learning, before science transformed humanity's understanding of the universe and before democracy evolved into its modern form, Florence became the beating heart of a revolution unlike any the world had seen.
The Renaissance
From this remarkable city emerged artists whose works remain unsurpassed, scientists who challenged centuries of accepted belief, philosophers who redefined politics and writers whose words continue to shape language itself.
Florence gave the world names that have become synonymous with genius.
Michelangelo.
Leonardo da Vinci.
Galileo Galilei.
Niccolò Machiavelli.
Dante Alighieri.
Giotto.
Brunelleschi.
These were not merely famous Italians.
They were individuals whose ideas fundamentally altered Western civilisation.
And nowhere in Florence are their lives remembered more profoundly than within Santa Croce.
The Temple of Italian Glory
Construction of the Basilica di Santa Croce commenced in 1294, traditionally under the direction of the renowned architect Arnolfo di Cambio.
Originally established as the principal Franciscan church in Florence, Santa Croce evolved over the centuries into something far greater than its founders could ever have imagined.
It became Italy's national shrine to genius.
Historians have long referred to it as:
Il Tempio dell'Itale GlorieThe Temple of Italian Glory
The description is entirely deserved.
Unlike many churches whose significance rests solely in their religious function, Santa Croce exists at the intersection of faith, history, philosophy, science and art.
It is simultaneously:
a functioning basilica;
one of the world's finest Gothic churches;
an extraordinary art gallery;
a museum of Renaissance civilisation;
and the final resting place—or memorial—for many of Italy's greatest sons.
Walking through its doors is not simply entering a church.
It is entering the story of humanity's intellectual awakening.
My First Impression
Nothing prepares you for the scale of Santa Croce.
The immense nave stretches before you beneath a magnificent timber roof supported by elegant Gothic arcades.
Towering stained-glass windows bathe the interior with coloured light.
Every wall carries centuries of artistic achievement.
Every chapel tells another story.
Every monument invites reflection.
Unlike many famous tourist sites, there is an unmistakable atmosphere of reverence.
People instinctively speak softly.
Many simply sit quietly.
Others wander slowly, allowing history to unfold around them.
It feels less like visiting a building and more like walking through time itself.
Giotto and the Birth of Renaissance Art
Before reaching the famous tombs, one cannot fail to notice the extraordinary frescoes that decorate many of Santa Croce's chapels.
Much of this work was created by Giotto di Bondone, whose influence upon Western art cannot be overstated.
Before Giotto, medieval painting tended to portray figures symbolically rather than naturally.
Giotto changed everything.
His figures possessed emotion.
His compositions demonstrated depth.
His paintings depicted real people experiencing genuine human suffering, joy and hope.
In many respects, Giotto laid the artistic foundations upon which later masters such as Michelangelo and Raphael would build.
Walking through Santa Croce, one witnesses not merely beautiful paintings but the birth of artistic realism itself.
The Pazzi Chapel
Within the Santa Croce complex stands one of the purest expressions of Renaissance architecture ever conceived.
The Pazzi Chapel, designed by Filippo Brunelleschi, embodies the Renaissance belief that beauty could be achieved through proportion, mathematics and harmony.
Brunelleschi's revolutionary architectural principles transformed European design for centuries.
Standing within the chapel, one appreciates how profoundly mathematics and art became intertwined during the Renaissance.
Cimabue's Crucifix
Santa Croce is also home to one of Italy's most treasured religious artworks.
The monumental painted crucifix by Cimabue, created around 1288.
Although devastatingly damaged during Florence's catastrophic flood of 1966, the crucifix remains displayed with its scars intentionally visible.
Rather than restoring it to perfection, conservators allowed history itself to remain part of the artwork.
It stands today not only as a masterpiece of medieval art but as a testament to Florence's resilience.
Michelangelo Buonarroti – The Artist Who Defined an Age
No monument within Santa Croce affected me more profoundly than the tomb of Michelangelo Buonarroti.
Perhaps it was because Michelangelo had occupied such a prominent place in my childhood long before I ever understood Renaissance history.
My father loved talking about him.
As a boy, I remember hearing stories about the sculptor who transformed blocks of marble into figures so lifelike they seemed capable of breathing.
Dad would describe how Michelangelo saw the finished sculpture already trapped inside the stone, believing his task was simply to remove everything that did not belong.
That idea fascinated me.
Later I learned of Michelangelo's astonishing achievements.
The David.
The Pietà.
The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
The Last Judgment.
The architecture of St Peter's Basilica.
Few human beings have ever possessed such extraordinary gifts across so many disciplines.
When Michelangelo died in Rome in 1564, Florence insisted that its greatest son should return home.
His body was secretly removed from Rome and brought back to Florence, where Giorgio Vasari designed the magnificent monument that now dominates one side of Santa Croce.
Three grieving female figures represent Painting, Sculpture and Architecture.
Above them sits Michelangelo himself.
As I stood before that monument, I found myself remembering conversations with Dad from decades earlier.
He had never seen this place.
Yet somehow he had introduced me to Michelangelo long before I ever stood here.
Galileo Galilei – The Courage to Pursue Truth
Nearby rests another man whose name had echoed throughout my childhood.
Galileo Galilei.
My Dad admired Galileo.
Not simply because he was a brilliant scientist, but because he possessed the courage to stand by evidence when powerful people demanded otherwise.
As a boy, I listened to stories about Galileo turning his telescope toward the heavens.
About discovering Jupiter's moons.
About proving that the Earth was not the centre of the universe.
About his trial before the Inquisition.
Dad spoke about Galileo with genuine admiration.
He saw him as a man who refused to abandon truth, regardless of the consequences.
Standing before Galileo's magnificent tomb, I thought about those conversations.
The marble before me enclosed the remains of a man whose discoveries fundamentally changed humanity's understanding of creation.
History had vindicated him.
Centuries later, he rests within one of Christianity's greatest churches—a powerful reminder that faith and scientific discovery need not be enemies.
Niccolò Machiavelli – Beyond the Myth
Not far away stands the tomb of Niccolò Machiavelli.
Even as a child I knew his name.
Dad often explained that Machiavelli was probably one of history's most misunderstood writers.
He would tell me that people casually described ruthless behaviour as "Machiavellian," yet very few had actually read The Prince.
According to Dad, Machiavelli was not glorifying cruelty.
He was analysing political reality.
He sought to understand power as it actually operated rather than as people wished it did.
Those conversations stayed with me.
Standing before Machiavelli's tomb in Florence, I remembered them vividly.
The famous inscription seemed entirely appropriate:
"No praise is equal to so great a name."
Dante Alighieri
Although Dante Alighieri remains buried in Ravenna, Santa Croce contains an extraordinary cenotaph honouring the author of The Divine Comedy.
Florence had exiled Dante during his lifetime.
Only centuries later did the city truly appreciate the magnitude of its mistake.
His magnificent memorial stands as both tribute and apology.
Rossini, Foscolo, Alfieri and Others
Santa Croce also honours many other remarkable Italians.
Among them:
Gioachino Rossini, composer of The Barber of Seville and William Tell.
Ugo Foscolo, poet and patriot whose own writings celebrated the importance of honouring great people through monumental tombs.
Vittorio Alfieri, one of Italy's greatest playwrights.
Leonardo Bruni, historian and Chancellor of Florence.
Carlo Marsuppini, scholar and humanist.
Lorenzo Ghiberti, creator of Florence Baptistery's famous bronze "Gates of Paradise."
The basilica also commemorates scientific giants such as Guglielmo Marconi and Enrico Fermi, ensuring that Italy's tradition of honouring intellectual achievement continues well beyond the Renaissance.
The Moment I Will Never Forget
Then came the moment that changed everything.
There were people nearby.
Yet somehow the basilica became completely silent.
I stood before the tomb of Galileo.
Without really thinking about it, I reached out and placed my hand upon the marble.
Moments later I did the same before Michelangelo.
Then Machiavelli.
The stone felt cool beneath my hand.
It had stood there for centuries.
Suddenly an overwhelming wave of emotion came over me.
It almost took my breath away.
My father had died on 25 September 2018.
Only fourteen months earlier.
He never travelled outside Australia.
Life simply never gave him that opportunity.
Yet despite never seeing Florence, he somehow brought Florence into our home.
As a young bloke growing up in Australia, I remember him speaking with genuine enthusiasm about Michelangelo.
About Galileo.
About Machiavelli.
About extraordinary people who had changed history.
At the time they were simply stories.
Names in books.
People from another world.
Never—not once—did either of us imagine that one day I would stand where they were buried.
And now here I was.
Halfway around the world.
Standing in Florence.
My hand resting on the tombs of the very men my father had introduced me to so many years earlier.
The realisation was almost overwhelming.
He had never stood here.
He never saw these monuments.
He never walked these ancient streets.
But without ever knowing it, he had given me the curiosity that eventually brought me here.
In that quiet moment I realised that although he had never left Australia, part of him had travelled to Florence through me.
I wasn't simply visiting a church anymore.
I was finishing a conversation that had begun decades earlier in my childhood.
For a few precious moments it genuinely felt as though Dad was standing beside me.
Not because I imagined seeing him.
But because every memory, every lesson and every story he had shared had somehow led to this exact place.
Grief and gratitude became impossible to separate.
I found myself fighting back tears.
Not tears of sadness.
Tears of appreciation.
Because I finally understood something profound.
History remembers extraordinary men with marble monuments.
Ordinary fathers leave something far greater.
They leave curiosity.
They leave wisdom.
They leave integrity.
They leave a love of learning.
They leave children who continue asking questions long after they themselves are gone.
No sculptor can carve those monuments.
Yet they may be the most enduring monuments of all.
Leaving Santa Croce
As I slowly walked back down the great nave toward the entrance, I looked over my shoulder one final time.
The basilica was exactly as I had first found it.
Quiet.
Magnificent.
Timeless.
Yet I was no longer the same person who had walked through its doors.
I arrived expecting to admire masterpieces.
I left understanding that history is not simply preserved in books or marble tombs.
It is passed from one generation to the next through conversations.
Through stories.
Through parents who take the time to explain why certain people mattered.
On 29 November 2019, I visited one of the world's greatest churches.
I stood before the tombs of Michelangelo, Galileo and Machiavelli.
I marvelled at Giotto's frescoes, Brunelleschi's architecture and the extraordinary legacy of Renaissance Florence.
But the greatest gift Santa Croce gave me was something I never expected.
For a brief, quiet moment in that ancient basilica, I was no longer walking through Florence alone.
I was walking beside my father.
And that remains one of the greatest privileges of my life.
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