Pigeons were hardly uncommon at the Vatican. After all, those white shit-making machines symbolized peace.
But anyone struck by the droppings of these "messengers of peace" would not be in a good mood.
"Damn it!" Joseph saw the white pigeon droppings on his shoulder and could not help swearing in a most unclerical manner, drawing an odd look from a nun who had just stepped out of the Apostolic Palace gates.
That curse was not even considered profanity in America, but the nun still made the sign of the cross at him.
Gritting his teeth, he quickly passed the Swiss Guards and entered the palace.
After treatment, the Pope's health had improved considerably, and he had already returned from the hospital to his residence.
Every Wednesday, the Pope would address the faithful gathered in St. Peter's Square from the study window in the second room from the right on the top floor. After being discharged this time, he had also waved to the faithful from that window before returning to his bedroom to rest. He had not yet resumed work.
Since the Renaissance, no Pope of Rome had failed to value the connection between art and faith. People of that era spent money like water, using costly materials to paint frescoes, carve sculptures, and adorn this sacred place.
Artists were always exploited. In the fresco of The Last Judgment on the western wall of the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo had painted his own skin into the work. Though he had made his name as a master sculptor, the warrior pope Julius II had demanded that he paint frescoes.
And because Julius II was in poor health, he frequently urged Michelangelo to finish quickly.
Michelangelo gave him only one reply: "When it's done—Michelangelo Buonarroti."
Artists were not cows, and inspiration was not