CHAPTER I

THE LIFE OF MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI

By JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS

TO THE CAVALIERE GUIDO BIAGI, DOCTOR IN LETTERS, PREFECT OF THE

MEDICEO-LAURENTIAN LIBRARY, ETC., ETC.

I DEDICATE THIS WORK ON MICHELANGELO IN RESPECT FOR HIS SCHOLARSHIP

AND LEARNING ADMIRATION OF HIS TUSCAN STYLE AND GRATEFUL

ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF HIS GENEROUS ASSISTANCE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. BIRTH, BOYHOOD, YOUTH AT FLORENCE, DOWN TO LORENZO DE' MEDICI'S

DEATH. 1475-1492.

II. FIRST VISITS TO BOLOGNA AND ROME--THE MADONNA DELLA FEBBRE AND

OTHER WORKS IN MARBLE. 1492-1501.

III. RESIDENCE IN FLORENCE--THE DAVID. 1501-1505.

IV. JULIUS II. CALLS MICHELANGELO TO ROME--PROJECT FOR THE POPE'S

TOMB--THE REBUILDING OF S. PETER'S--FLIGHT FROM ROME--CARTOON

FOR THE BATTLE OF PISA. 1505, 1506.

V. SECOND VISIT TO BOLOGNA--THE BRONZE STATUE OF JULIUS

II--PAINTING OF THE SISTINE VAULT. 1506-1512.

VI. ON MICHELANGELO AS DRAUGHTSMAN, PAINTER, SCULPTOR.

VII. LEO X. PLANS FOR THE CHURCH OF S. LORENZO AT

FLORENCE--MICHELANGELO'S LIFE AT CARRARA. 1513-1521.

VIII. ADRIAN VI AND CLEMENT VII--THE SACRISTY AND LIBRARY OF S.

LORENZO. 1521-1526.

IX. SACK OF ROME AND SIEGE OF FLORENCE--MICHELANGELO'S FLIGHT TO

VENICE--HIS RELATIONS TO THE MEDICI. 1527-1534.

X. ON MICHELANGELO AS ARCHITECT.

XI. FINAL SETTLEMENT IN ROME--PAUL III.--THE LAST JUDGMENT AND THE

PAOLINE CHAPEL--THE TOMB OF JULIUS. 1535-1542.

XII. VITTORIA COLONNA AND TOMMASO CAVALIERI--MICHELANGELO AS POET AND

MAN OF FEELING.

XIII. MICHELANGELO APPOINTED ARCHITECT-IN-CHIEF AT THE

VATICAN--HISTORY OF S. PETER'S. 1542-1557.

XIV. LAST YEARS OF LIFE--MICHELANGELO'S PORTRAITS--ILLNESS OF OLD

AGE. 1557-1564.

XV. DEATH AT ROME--BURIAL AND OBSEQUIES AT

FLORENCE--ANECDOTES--ESTIMATE OF MICHELANGELO AS MAN AND ARTIST.

THE LIFE OF MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI

CHAPTER I

I

The Buonarroti Simoni, to whom Michelangelo belonged, were a

Florentine family of ancient burgher nobility. Their arms appear to

have been originally "azure two bends or." To this coat was added "a

label of four points gules inclosing three fleur-de-lys or." That

augmentation, adopted from the shield of Charles of Anjou, occurs upon

the scutcheons of many Guelf houses and cities. In the case of the

Florentine Simoni, it may be ascribed to the period when Buonarrota di

Simone Simoni held office as a captain of the Guelf party (1392).

Such, then, was the paternal coat borne by the subject of this Memoir.

His brother Buonarroto received a further augmentation in 1515 from

Leo X., to wit: "upon a chief or, a pellet azure charged with

fleur-de-lys or, between the capital letters L. and X." At the same

time he was created Count Palatine. The old and simple bearing of the

two bends was then crowded down into the extreme base of the shield,

while the Angevine label found room beneath the chief.

According to a vague tradition, the Simoni drew their blood from the

high and puissant Counts of Canossa. Michelangelo himself believed in

this pedigree, for which there is, however, no foundation in fact, and

no heraldic corroboration. According to his friend and biographer

Condivi, the sculptor's first Florentine ancestor was a Messer Simone

dei Conti di Canossa, who came in 1250 as Podestà to Florence. "The

eminent qualities of this man gained for him admission into the

burghership of the city, and he was appointed captain of a Sestiere;

for Florence in those days was divided into Sestieri, instead of

Quartieri, as according to the present usage." Michelangelo's

contemporary, the Count Alessandro da Canossa, acknowledged this

relationship. Writing on the 9th of October 1520, he addresses the

then famous sculptor as "honoured kinsman," and gives the following

piece of information: "Turning over my old papers, I have discovered

that a Messere Simone da Canossa was Podestà of Florence, as I have

already mentioned to the above-named Giovanni da Reggio."

Nevertheless, it appears now certain that no Simone da Canossa held

the office of Podestà at Florence in the thirteenth century. The

family can be traced up to one Bernardo, who died before the year

1228. His grandson was called Buonarrota, and the fourth in descent

was Simone. These names recur frequently in the next generations.

Michelangelo always addressed his father as "Lodovico di Lionardo di

Buonarrota Simoni," or "Louis, the son of Leonard, son of Buonarrota

Simoni;" and he used the family surname of Simoni in writing to his

brothers and his nephew Lionardo. Yet he preferred to call himself

Michelangelo Buonarroti; and after his lifetime Buonarroti became

fixed for the posterity of his younger brother. "The reason," says

Condivi, "why the family in Florence changed its name from Canossa to

Buonarroti was this: Buonarroto continued for many generations to be

repeated in their house, down to the time of Michelangelo, who had a

brother of that name; and inasmuch as several of these Buonarroti held

rank in the supreme magistracy of the republic, especially the brother

I have just mentioned, who filled the office of Prior during Pope

Leo's visit to Florence, as may be read in the annals of that city,

this baptismal name, by force of frequent repetition, became the

cognomen of the whole family; the more easily, because it is the

custom at Florence, in elections and nominations of officers, to add

the Christian names of the father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and

sometimes even of remoter ancestors, to that of each citizen.

Consequently, through the many Buonarroti who followed one another,

and from the Simone who was the first founder of the house in

Florence, they gradually came to be called Buonarroti Simoni, which is

their present designation." Excluding the legend about Simone da

Canossa, this is a pretty accurate account of what really happened.

Italian patronymics were formed indeed upon the same rule as those of

many Norman families in Great Britain. When the use of Di and Fitz

expired, Simoni survived from Di Simone, as did my surname Symonds

from Fitz-Symond.

On the 6th of March 1475, according to our present computation,

Lodovico di Lionardo Buonarroti Simoni wrote as follows in his private

notebook: "I record that on this day, March 6, 1474, a male child was

born to me. I gave him the name of Michelangelo, and he was born on a

Monday morning four or five hours before daybreak, and he was born

while I was Podestà of Caprese, and he was born at Caprese; and the

godfathers were those I have named below. He was baptized on the

eighth of the same month in the Church of San Giovanni at Caprese.

These are the godfathers:--

DON DANIELLO DI SER BUONAGUIDA of Florence,

Rector of San Giovanni at Caprese;

DON ANDREA DI .... of Poppi, Rector of the Abbey

of Diasiano (_i.e._, Dicciano);

JACOPO DI FRANCESCO of Casurio (?);

MARCO DI GIORGIO of Caprese;

GIOVANNI DI BIAGIO of Caprese;

ANDREA DI BIAGIO of Caprese;

FRANCESCO DI JACOPO DEL ANDUINO (?) of Caprese;

SER BARTOLOMMEO DI SANTI DEL LANSE (?), Notary."

Note that the date is March 6, 1474, according to Florentine usage _ab

incarnatione_, and according to the Roman usage, _a nativitate_, it is

1475.

Vasari tells us that the planets were propitious at the moment of

Michelangelo's nativity: "Mercury and Venus having entered with benign

aspect into the house of Jupiter, which indicated that marvellous and

extraordinary works, both of manual art and intellect, were to be

expected from him."

II

Caprese, from its beauty and remoteness, deserved to be the birthplace

of a great artist. It is not improbable that Lodovico Buonarroti and

his wife Francesca approached it from Pontassieve in Valdarno,

crossing the little pass of Consuma, descending on the famous

battle-field of Campaldino, and skirting the ancient castle of the

Conti Guidi at Poppi. Every step in the romantic journey leads over

ground hallowed by old historic memories. From Poppi the road descends

the Arno to a richly cultivated district, out of which emerges on its

hill the prosperous little town of Bibbiena. High up to eastward

springs the broken crest of La Vernia, a mass of hard millstone rock

(_macigno_) jutting from desolate beds of lime and shale at the height

of some 3500 feet above the sea. It was here, among the sombre groves

of beech and pine which wave along the ridge, that S. Francis came to

found his infant Order, composed the Hymn to the Sun, and received the

supreme honour of the stigmata. To this point Dante retired when the

death of Henry VII. extinguished his last hopes for Italy. At one

extremity of the wedge-like block which forms La Vernia, exactly on

the watershed between Arno and Tiber, stands the ruined castle of

Chiusi in Casentino. This was one of the two chief places of Lodovico

Buonarroti's podesteria. It may be said to crown the valley of the

Arno; for the waters gathered here flow downwards toward Arezzo, and

eventually wash the city walls of Florence. A few steps farther,

travelling south, we pass into the valley of the Tiber, and, after

traversing a barren upland region for a couple of hours, reach the

verge of the descent upon Caprese. Here the landscape assumes a softer

character. Far away stretch blue Apennines, ridge melting into ridge

above Perugia in the distance. Gigantic oaks begin to clothe the stony

hillsides, and little by little a fertile mountain district of

chestnut-woods and vineyards expands before our eyes, equal in charm

to those aërial hills and vales above Pontremoli. Caprese has no

central commune or head-village. It is an aggregate of scattered

hamlets and farmhouses, deeply embosomed in a sea of greenery. Where

the valley contracts and the infant Tiber breaks into a gorge, rises a

wooded rock crowned with the ruins of an ancient castle. It was here,

then, that Michelangelo first saw the light. When we discover that he

was a man of more than usually nervous temperament, very different in

quality from any of his relatives, we must not forget what a fatiguing

journey had been performed by his mother, who was then awaiting her

delivery. Even supposing that Lodovico Buonarroti travelled from

Florence by Arezzo to Caprese, many miles of rough mountain-roads must

have been traversed by her on horseback.

III

Ludovico, who, as we have seen, was Podestà of Caprese and of Chiusi

in the Casentino, had already one son by his first wife, Francesca,

the daughter of Neri di Miniato del Sera and Bonda Rucellai. This

elder brother, Lionardo, grew to manhood, and become a devoted

follower of Savonarola. Under the influence of the Ferrarese friar, he

determined to abjure the world, and entered the Dominican Order in

1491. We know very little about him, and he is only once mentioned in

Michelangelo's correspondence. Even this reference cannot be

considered certain. Writing to his father from Rome, July 1, 1497,

Michelangelo says: "I let you know that Fra Lionardo returned hither

to Rome. He says that he was forced to fly from Viterbo, and that his

frock had been taken from him, wherefore he wished to go there

(_i.e._, to Florence). So I gave him a golden ducat, which he asked

for; and I think you ought already to have learned this, for he should

be there by this time." When Lionardo died is uncertain. We only know

that he was in the convent of S. Mark at Florence in the year 1510.

Owing to this brother's adoption of the religious life, Michelangelo

became, early in his youth, the eldest son of Lodovico's family. It

will be seen that during the whole course of his long career he acted

as the mainstay of his father, and as father to his younger brothers.

The strength and the tenacity of his domestic affections are very

remarkable in a man who seems never to have thought of marrying.

"Art," he used to say, "is a sufficiently exacting mistress." Instead

of seeking to beget children for his own solace, he devoted himself to

the interests of his kinsmen.

The office of Podestà lasted only six months, and at the expiration of

this term Lodovico returned to Florence. He put the infant

Michelangelo out to nurse in the village of Settignano, where the

Buonarroti Simoni owned a farm. Most of the people of that district

gained their livelihood in the stone-quarries around Settignano and

Maiano on the hillside of Fiesole. Michelangelo's foster-mother was

the daughter and the wife of stone-cutters. "George," said he in

after-years to his friend Vasari, "if I possess anything of good in my

mental constitution, it comes from my having been born in your keen

climate of Arezzo; just as I drew the chisel and the mallet with which

I carve statues in together with my nurse's milk."

When Michelangelo was of age to go to school, his father put him under

a grammarian at Florence named Francesco da Urbino. It does not

appear, however, that he learned more than reading and writing in

Italian, for later on in life we find him complaining that he knew no

Latin. The boy's genius attracted him irresistibly to art. He spent

all his leisure time in drawing, and frequented the society of youths

who were apprenticed to masters in painting and sculpture. Among these

he contracted an intimate friendship with Francesco Granacci, at that

time in the workshop of Domenico Ghirlandajo. Granacci used to lend

him drawings by Ghirlandajo, and inspired him with the resolution to

become a practical artist. Condivi says that "Francesco's influence,

combined with the continual craving of his nature, made him at last

abandon literary studies. This brought the boy into disfavour with his

father and uncles, who often used to beat him severely; for, being

insensible to the excellence and nobility of Art, they thought it

shameful to give her shelter in their house. Nevertheless, albeit

their opposition caused him the greatest sorrow, it was not sufficient

to deter him from his steady purpose. On the contrary, growing even

bolder he determined to work in colours." Condivi, whose narrative

preserves for us Michelangelo's own recollections of his youthful

years, refers to this period the painted copy made by the young

draughtsman from a copper-plate of Martin Schöngauer. We should

probably be right in supposing that the anecdote is slightly

antedated. I give it, however, as nearly as possible in the

biographer's own words. "Granacci happened to show him a print of S.

Antonio tormented by the devils. This was the work of Martino

d'Olanda, a good artist for the times in which he lived; and

Michelangelo transferred the composition to a panel. Assisted by the

same friend with colours and brushes, he treated his subject in so

masterly a way that it excited surprise in all who saw it, and even

envy, as some say, in Domenico, the greatest painter of his age. In

order to diminish the extraordinary impression produced by this

picture, Ghirlandajo went about saying that it came out of his own

workshop, as though he had some part in the performance. While engaged

on this piece, which, beside the figure of the saint, contained many

strange forms and diabolical monstrosities, Michelangelo coloured no

particular without going first to Nature and comparing her truth with

his fancies. Thus he used to frequent the fish-market, and study the

shape and hues of fishes' fins, the colour of their eyes, and so forth

in the case of every part belonging to them; all of which details he

reproduced with the utmost diligence in his painting." Whether this

transcript from Schöngauer was made as early as Condivi reports may,

as I have said, be reasonably doubted. The anecdote is interesting,

however, as showing in what a naturalistic spirit Michelangelo began

to work. The unlimited mastery which he acquired over form, and which

certainly seduced him at the close of his career into a stylistic

mannerism, was based in the first instance upon profound and patient

interrogation of reality.

IV

Lodovico perceived at length that it was useless to oppose his son's

natural bent. Accordingly, he sent him into Ghirlandajo's workshop. A

minute from Ghirlandajo's ledger, under the date 1488, gives

information regarding the terms of the apprenticeship. "I record this

first of April how I, Lodovico di Lionardo di Buonarrota, bind my son

Michelangelo to Domenico and Davit di Tommaso di Currado for the next

three ensuing years, under these conditions and contracts: to wit,

that the said Michelangelo shall stay with the above-named masters

during this time, to learn the art of painting, and to practise the

same, and to be at the orders of the above-named; and they, for their

part, shall give to him in the course of these three years twenty-four

florins (_fiorini di suggello_): to wit, six florins in the first

year, eight in the second, ten in the third; making in all the sum of

ninety-six pounds (_lire_)." A postscript, dated April 16th of the

same year, 1488, records that two florins were paid to Michelangelo

upon that day.

It seems that Michelangelo retained no very pleasant memory of his

sojourn with the Ghirlandajo brothers. Condivi, in the passage

translated above, hints that Domenico was jealous of him. He proceeds

as follows: "This jealousy betrayed itself still more when

Michelangelo once begged the loan of a certain sketch-book, wherein

Domenico had portrayed shepherds with their flocks and watchdogs,

landscapes, buildings, ruins, and such-like things. The master refused

to lend it; and indeed he had the fame of being somewhat envious; for

not only showed he thus scant courtesy toward Michelangelo, but he

also treated his brother likewise, sending him into France when he saw

that he was making progress and putting forth great promise; and doing

this not so much for any profit to David, as that he might himself

remain the first of Florentine painters. I have thought fit to mention

these things, because I have been told that Domenico's son is wont to

ascribe the genius and divinity of Michelangelo in great part to his

father's teaching, whereas the truth is that he received no assistance

from that master. I ought, however, to add that Michelangelo does not

complain: on the contrary, he praises Domenico both as artist and as

man."

This passage irritated Vasari beyond measure. He had written his first

Life of Michelangelo in 1550. Condivi published his own modest

biography in 1553, with the expressed intention of correcting errors

and supplying deficiencies made by "others," under which vague word he

pointed probably at Vasari. Michelangelo, who furnished Condivi with

materials, died in 1564; and Vasari, in 1568, issued a second enlarged

edition of the Life, into which he cynically incorporated what he

chose to steal from Condivi's sources. The supreme Florentine sculptor

being dead and buried, Vasari felt that he was safe in giving the lie

direct to this humble rival biographer. Accordingly, he spoke as

follows about Michelangelo's relations with Domenico Ghirlandajo: "He

was fourteen years of age when he entered that master's service, and

inasmuch as one (Condivi), who composed his biography after 1550, when

I had published these Lives for the first time, declares that certain

persons, from want of familiarity with Michelangelo, have recorded

things that did not happen, and have omitted others worthy of

relation; and in particular has touched upon the point at issue,

accusing Domenico of envy, and saying that he never rendered

Michelangelo assistance."--Here Vasari, out of breath with

indignation, appeals to the record of Lodovico's contract with the

Ghirlandajo brothers. "These minutes," he goes on to say, "I copied

from the ledger, in order to show that everything I formerly

published, or which will be published at the present time, is truth.

Nor am I acquainted with any one who had greater familiarity with

Michelangelo than I had, or who served him more faithfully in friendly

offices; nor do I believe that a single man could exhibit a larger

number of letters written with his own hand, or evincing greater

personal affection, than I can."

This contention between Condivi and Vasari, our two contemporary

authorities upon the facts of Michelangelo's life, may not seem to be

a matter of great moment for his biographer after the lapse of four

centuries. Yet the first steps in the art-career of so exceptional a

genius possess peculiar interest. It is not insignificant to

ascertain, so far as now is possible, what Michelangelo owed to his

teachers. In equity, we acknowledge that Lodovico's record on the

ledger of the Ghirlandajo brothers proves their willingness to take

him as a prentice, and their payment to him of two florins in advance;

but the same record does not disprove Condivi's statement, derived

from his old master's reminiscences, to the effect that Domenico

Ghirlandajo was in no way greatly serviceable to him as an instructor.

The fault, in all probability, did not lie with Ghirlandajo alone.

Michelangelo, as we shall have occasions in plenty to observe, was

difficult to live with; frank in speech to the point of rudeness,

ready with criticism, incapable of governing his temper, and at no

time apt to work harmoniously with fellow-craftsmen. His extraordinary

force and originality of genius made themselves felt, undoubtedly, at

the very outset of his career; and Ghirlandajo may be excused if,

without being positively jealous of the young eagle settled in his

homely nest, he failed to do the utmost for this gifted and

rough-natured child of promise. Beethoven's discontent with Haydn as a

teacher offers a parallel; and sympathetic students of psychology will

perceive that Ghirlandajo and Haydn were almost superfluous in the

training of phenomenal natures like Michelangelo and Beethoven.

Vasari, passing from controversy to the gossip of the studio, has

sketched a pleasant picture of the young Buonarroti in his master's

employ. "The artistic and personal qualities of Michelangelo developed

so rapidly that Domenico was astounded by signs of power in him beyond

the ordinary scope of youth. He perceived, in short, that he not only

surpassed the other students, of whom Ghirlandajo had a large number

under his tuition, but also that he often competed on an equality with

the master. One of the lads who worked there made a pen-drawing of

some women, clothed, from a design of Ghirlandajo. Michelangelo took

up the paper, and with a broader nib corrected the outline of a female

figure, so as to bring it into perfect truth to life. Wonderful it was

to see the difference of the two styles, and to note the judgment and

ability of a mere boy, so spirited and bold, who had the courage to

chastise his master's handiwork! This drawing I now preserve as a

precious relique, since it was given me by Granacci, that it might

take a place in my Book of Original Designs, together with others

presented to me by Michelangelo. In the year 1550, when I was in Rome,

I Giorgio showed it to Michelangelo, who recognised it immediately,

and was pleased to see it again, observing modestly that he knew more

about the art when he was a child than now in his old age.

"It happened then that Domenico was engaged upon the great Chapel of

S. Maria Novella; and being absent one day, Michelangelo set himself

to draw from nature the whole scaffolding, with some easels and all

the appurtenances of the art, and a few of the young men at work

there. When Domenico returned and saw the drawing, he exclaimed: 'This

fellow knows more about it than I do,' and remained quite stupefied by

the new style and the new method of imitation, which a boy of years so

tender had received as a gift from heaven."

Both Condivi and Vasari relate that, during his apprenticeship to

Ghirlandajo, Michelangelo demonstrated his technical ability by

producing perfect copies of ancient drawings, executing the facsimile

with consummate truth of line, and then dirtying the paper so as to

pass it off as the original of some old master. "His only object,"

adds Vasari, "was to keep the originals, by giving copies in exchange;

seeing that he admired them as specimens of art, and sought to surpass

them by his own handling; and in doing this he acquired great renown."

We may pause to doubt whether at the present time--in the case, for

instance, of Shelley letters or Rossetti drawings--clever forgeries

would be accepted as so virtuous and laudable. But it ought to be

remembered that a Florentine workshop at that period contained masses

of accumulated designs, all of which were more or less the common

property of the painting firm. No single specimen possessed a high

market value. It was, in fact, only when art began to expire in Italy,

when Vasari published his extensive necrology and formed his famous

collection of drawings, that property in a sketch became a topic for

moral casuistry.

Of Michelangelo's own work at this early period we possess probably

nothing except a rough scrawl on the plaster of a wall at Settignano.

Even this does not exist in its original state. The Satyr which is

still shown there may, according to Mr. Heath Wilson's suggestion, be

a _rifacimento_ from the master's hand at a subsequent period of his

career.

V

Condivi and Vasari differ considerably in their accounts of

Michelangelo's departure from Ghirlandajo's workshop. The former

writes as follows: "So then the boy, now drawing one thing and now

another, without fixed place or steady line of study, happened one day

to be taken by Granacci into the garden of the Medici at San Marco,

which garden the magnificent Lorenzo, father of Pope Leo, and a man of

the first intellectual distinction, had adorned with antique statues

and other reliques of plastic art. When Michelangelo saw these things

and felt their beauty, he no longer frequented Domenico's shop, nor

did he go elsewhere, but, judging the Medicean gardens to be the best

school, spent all his time and faculties in working there." Vasari

reports that it was Lorenzo's wish to raise the art of sculpture in

Florence to the same level as that of painting; and for this reason he

placed Bertoldo, a pupil and follower of Donatello, over his

collections, with a special commission to aid and instruct the young

men who used them. With the same intention of forming an academy or

school of art, Lorenzo went to Ghirlandajo, and begged him to select

from his pupils those whom he considered the most promising.

Ghirlandajo accordingly drafted off Francesco Granacci and

Michelangelo Buonarroti. Since Michelangelo had been formally articled

by his father to Ghirlandajo in 1488, he can hardly have left that

master in 1489 as unceremoniously as Condivi asserts. Therefore we

may, I think, assume that Vasari upon this point has preserved the

genuine tradition.

Having first studied the art of design and learned to work in colours

under the supervision of Ghirlandajo, Michelangelo now had his native

genius directed to sculpture. He began with the rudiments of

stone-hewing, blocking out marbles designed for the Library of San

Lorenzo, and acquiring that practical skill in the manipulation of the

chisel which he exercised all through his life. Condivi and Vasari

agree in relating that a copy he made for his own amusement from an

antique Faun first brought him into favourable notice with Lorenzo.

The boy had begged a piece of refuse marble, and carved a grinning

mask, which he was polishing when the Medici passed by. The great man

stopped to examine the work, and recognised its merit. At the same

time he observed with characteristic geniality: "Oh, you have made

this Faun quite old, and yet have left him all his teeth! Do you not

know that men of that great age are always wanting in one or two?"

Michelangelo took the hint, and knocked a tooth out from the upper

jaw. When Lorenzo saw how cleverly he had performed the task, he

resolved to provide for the boy's future and to take him into his own

household. So, having heard whose son he was, "Go," he said, "and tell

your father that I wish to speak with him."

A mask of a grinning Faun may still be seen in the sculpture-gallery

of the Bargello at Florence, and the marble is traditionally assigned

to Michelangelo. It does not exactly correspond to the account given

by Condivi and Vasari; for the mouth shows only two large tusk-like

teeth, with the tip of the tongue protruding between them. Still,

there is no reason to feel certain that we may not have here

Michelangelo's first extant work in marble.

"Michelangelo accordingly went home, and delivered the message of the

Magnificent. His father, guessing probably what he was wanted for,

could only be persuaded by the urgent prayers of Granacci and other

friends to obey the summons. Indeed, he complained loudly that Lorenzo

wanted to lead his son astray, abiding firmly by the principle that he

would never permit a son of his to be a stonecutter. Vainly did

Granacci explain the difference between a sculptor and a stone-cutter:

all his arguments seemed thrown away. Nevertheless, when Lodovico

appeared before the Magnificent, and was asked if he would consent to

give his son up to the great man's guardianship, he did not know how

to refuse. 'In faith,' he added, 'not Michelangelo alone, but all of

us, with our lives and all our abilities, are at the pleasure of your

Magnificence!' When Lorenzo asked what he desired as a favour to

himself, he answered: 'I have never practised any art or trade, but

have lived thus far upon my modest income, attending to the little

property in land which has come down from my ancestors; and it has

been my care not only to preserve these estates, but to increase them

so far as I was able by my industry.' The Magnificent then added:

'Well, look about, and see if there be anything in Florence which will

suit you. Make use of me, for I will do the utmost that I can for

you.' It so happened that a place in the Customs, which could only be

filled by a Florentine citizen, fell vacant shortly afterwards. Upon

this Lodovico returned to the Magnificent, and begged for it in these

words: 'Lorenzo, I am good for nothing but reading and writing. Now,

the mate of Marco Pucci in the Customs having died, I should like to

enter into this office, feeling myself able to fulfil its duties

decently.' The Magnificent laid his hand upon his shoulder, and said

with a smile: 'You will always be a poor man;' for he expected him to

ask for something far more valuable. Then he added: 'If you care to be

the mate of Marco, you can take the post, until such time as a better

becomes vacant.' It was worth eight crowns the month, a little more or

a little less." A document is extant which shows that Lodovico

continued to fill this office at the Customs till 1494, when the heirs

of Lorenzo were exiled; for in the year 1512, after the Medici

returned to Florence, he applied to Giuliano, Duke of Nemours, to be

reinstated in the same.

If it is true, as Vasari asserts, that Michelangelo quitted

Ghirlandajo in 1489, and if Condivi is right in saying that he only

lived in the Casa Medici for about two years before the death of

Lorenzo, April 1492, then he must have spent some twelve months

working in the gardens at San Marco before the Faun's mask called

attention to his talents. His whole connection with Lorenzo, from the

spring of 1489 to the spring of 1492, lasted three years; and, since

he was born in March 1475, the space of his life covered by this

patronage extended from the commencement of his fifteenth to the

commencement of his eighteenth year.

These three years were decisive for the development of his mental

faculties and special artistic genius. It is not necessary to enlarge

here upon Lorenzo de' Medici's merits and demerits, either as the

ruler of Florence or as the central figure in the history of the

Italian Renaissance. These have supplied stock topics for discussion

by all writers who have devoted their attention to that period of

culture. Still we must remember that Michelangelo enjoyed singular

privileges under the roof of one who was not only great as diplomatist

and politician, and princely in his patronage, but was also a man of

original genius in literature, of fine taste in criticism, and of

civil urbanity in manners. The palace of the Medici formed a museum,

at that period unique, considering the number and value of its art

treasures--bas-reliefs, vases, coins, engraved stones, paintings by

the best contemporary masters, statues in bronze and marble by

Verocchio and Donatello. Its library contained the costliest

manuscripts, collected from all quarters of Europe and the Levant. The

guests who assembled in its halls were leaders in that intellectual

movement which was destined to spread a new type of culture far and

wide over the globe. The young sculptor sat at the same board as

Marsilio Ficino, interpreter of Plato; Pico della Mirandola, the

phoenix of Oriental erudition; Angelo Poliziano, the unrivalled

humanist and melodious Italian poet; Luigi Pulci, the humorous

inventor of burlesque romance--with artists, scholars, students

innumerable, all in their own departments capable of satisfying a

youth's curiosity, by explaining to him the particular virtues of

books discussed, or of antique works of art inspected. During those

halcyon years, before the invasion of Charles VIII., it seemed as

though the peace of Italy might last unbroken. No one foresaw the

apocalyptic vials of wrath which were about to be poured forth upon

her plains and cities through the next half-century. Rarely, at any

period of the world's history, perhaps only in Athens between the

Persian and the Peloponnesian wars, has culture, in the highest and

best sense of that word, prospered more intelligently and pacifically

than it did in the Florence of Lorenzo, through the co-operation and

mutual zeal of men of eminence, inspired by common enthusiasms, and

labouring in diverse though cognate fields of study and production.

Michelangelo's position in the house was that of an honoured guest or

adopted son. Lorenzo not only allowed him five ducats a month by way

of pocket-money, together with clothes befitting his station, but he

also, says Condivi, "appointed him a good room in the palace, together

with all the conveniences he desired, treating him in every respect,

as also at his table, precisely like one of his own sons. It was the

custom of this household, where men of the noblest birth and highest

public rank assembled round the daily board, for the guests to take

their places next the master in the order of their arrival; those who

were present at the beginning of the meal sat, each according to his

degree, next the Magnificent, not moving afterwards for any one who

might appear. So it happened that Michelangelo found himself

frequently seated above Lorenzo's children and other persons of great

consequence, with whom that house continually flourished and abounded.

All these illustrious men paid him particular attention, and

encouraged him in the honourable art which he had chosen. But the

chief to do so was the Magnificent himself, who sent for him

oftentimes in a day, in order that he might show him jewels,

cornelians, medals, and such-like objects of great rarity, as knowing

him to be of excellent parts and judgment in these things." It does

not appear that Michelangelo had any duties to perform or services to

render. Probably his patron employed him upon some useful work of the

kind suggested by Condivi. But the main business of his life in the

Casa Medici was to make himself a valiant sculptor, who in after years

should confer lustre on the city of the lily and her Medicean masters.

What he produced during this period seems to have become his own

property, for two pieces of statuary, presently to be described,

remained in the possession of his family, and now form a part of the

collection in the Casa Buonarroti.

VI

Angelo Poliziano, who was certainly the chief scholar of his age in

the new learning, and no less certainly one of its truest poets in the

vulgar language, lived as tutor to Lorenzo's children in the palace of

the Medici at Florence. Benozzo Gozzoli introduced his portrait,

together with the portraits of his noble pupils, in a fresco of the

Pisan Campo Santo. This prince of humanists recommended Michelangelo

to treat in bas-relief an antique fable, involving the strife of young

heroes for some woman's person. Probably he was also able to point out

classical examples by which the boyish sculptor might be guided in the

undertaking. The subject made enormous demands upon his knowledge of

the nude. Adult and youthful figures, in attitudes of vehement attack

and resistance, had to be modelled; and the conditions of the myth

required that one at least of them should be brought into harmony with

equine forms. Michelangelo wrestled vigorously with these

difficulties. He produced a work which, though it is imperfect and

immature, brings to light the specific qualities of his inherent

art-capacity. The bas-relief, still preserved in the Casa Buonarroti

at Florence, is, so to speak, in fermentation with powerful

half-realised conceptions, audacities of foreshortening, attempts at

intricate grouping, violent dramatic action and expression. No

previous tradition, unless it was the genius of Greek or Greco-Roman

antiquity, supplied Michelangelo with the motive force for this

prentice-piece in sculpture. Donatello and other Florentines worked

under different sympathies for form, affecting angularity in their

treatment of the nude, adhering to literal transcripts from the model

or to conventional stylistic schemes. Michelangelo discarded these

limitations, and showed himself an ardent student of reality in the

service of some lofty intellectual ideal. Following and closely

observing Nature, he was also sensitive to the light and guidance of

the classic genius. Yet, at the same time, he violated the aesthetic

laws obeyed by that genius, displaying his Tuscan proclivities by

violent dramatic suggestions, and in loaded, overcomplicated

composition. Thus, in this highly interesting essay, the horoscope of

the mightiest Florentine artist was already cast. Nature leads him,

and he follows Nature as his own star bids. But that star is double,

blending classic influence with Tuscan instinct. The roof of the

Sistine was destined to exhibit to an awe-struck world what wealths of

originality lay in the artist thus gifted, and thus swayed by rival

forces. For the present, it may be enough to remark that, in the

geometrical proportions of this bas-relief, which is too high for its

length, Michelangelo revealed imperfect feeling for antique

principles; while, in the grouping of the figures, which is more

pictorial than sculpturesque, he already betrayed, what remained with

him a defect through life, a certain want of organic or symmetrical

design in compositions which are not rigidly subordinated to

architectural framework or limited to the sphere of an _intaglio_.

Vasari mentions another bas-relief in marble as belonging to this

period, which, from its style, we may, I think, believe to have been

designed earlier than the Centaurs. It is a seated Madonna with the

Infant Jesus, conceived in the manner of Donatello, but without that

master's force and power over the lines of drapery. Except for the

interest attaching to it as an early work of Michelangelo, this piece

would not attract much attention. Vasari praises it for grace and

composition above the scope of Donatello; and certainly we may trace

here the first germ of that sweet and winning majesty which Buonarroti

was destined to develop in his Pietà of S. Peter, the Madonna at

Bruges, and the even more glorious Madonna of S. Lorenzo. It is also

interesting for the realistic introduction of a Tuscan cottage

staircase into the background. This bas-relief was presented to Cosimo

de' Medici, first Grand Duke of Tuscany, by Michelangelo's nephew

Lionardo. It afterwards came back into the possession of the

Buonarroti family, and forms at present an ornament of their house at

Florence.

VII

We are accustomed to think of Michelangelo as a self-withdrawn and

solitary worker, living for his art, avoiding the conflict of society,

immersed in sublime imaginings. On the whole, this is a correct

conception of the man. Many passages of his biography will show how

little he actively shared the passions and contentions of the stirring

times through which he moved. Yet his temperament exposed him to

sudden outbursts of scorn and anger, which brought him now and then

into violent collision with his neighbours. An incident of this sort

happened while he was studying under the patronage of Lorenzo de'

Medici, and its consequences marked him physically for life. The young

artists whom the Magnificent gathered round him used to practise

drawing in the Brancacci Chapel of the Carmine. There Masaccio and his

followers bequeathed to us noble examples of the grand style upon the

frescoed panels of the chapel walls. It was the custom of industrious

lads to make transcripts from those broad designs, some of which

Raphael deigned in his latest years to repeat, with altered manner,

for the Stanze of the Vatican and the Cartoons. Michelangelo went one

day into the Carmine with Piero Torrigiano and other comrades. What

ensued may best be reported in the narration which Torrigiano at a

later time made to Benvenuto Cellini.

"This Buonarroti and I used, when we were boys, to go into the Church

of the Carmine to learn drawing from the chapel of Masaccio. It was

Buonarroti's habit to banter all who were drawing there; and one day,

when he was annoying me, I got more angry than usual, and, clenching

my fist, I gave him such a blow on the nose that I felt bone and

cartilage go down like biscuit beneath my knuckles; and this mark of

mine he will carry with him to the grave." The portraits of

Michelangelo prove that Torrigiano's boast was not a vain one. They

show a nose broken in the bridge. But Torrigiano, for this act of

violence, came to be regarded by the youth of Florence with aversion,

as one who had laid sacrilegious hands upon the sacred ark. Cellini

himself would have wiped out the insult with blood. Still Cellini knew

that personal violence was not in the line of Michelangelo's

character; for Michelangelo, according to his friend and best

biographer, Condivi, was by nature, "as is usual with men of sedentary

and contemplative habits, rather timorous than otherwise, except when

he is roused by righteous anger to resent unjust injuries or wrongs

done to himself or others, in which case he plucks up more spirit than

those who are esteemed brave; but, for the rest, he is most patient

and enduring." Cellini, then, knowing the quality of Michelangelo's

temper, and respecting him as a deity of art, adds to his report of

Torrigiano's conversation: "These words begat in me such hatred of the

man, since I was always gazing at the masterpieces of the divine

Michelangelo, that, although I felt a wish to go with him to England,

I now could never bear the sight of him."

VIII

The years Michelangelo spent in the Casa Medici were probably the

blithest and most joyous of his lifetime. The men of wit and learning

who surrounded the Magnificent were not remarkable for piety or moral

austerity. Lorenzo himself found it politically useful "to occupy the

Florentines with shows and festivals, in order that they might think

of their own pastimes and not of his designs, and, growing unused to

the conduct of the commonwealth, might leave the reins of government

in his hands." Accordingly he devised those Carnival triumphs and

processions which filled the sombre streets of Florence with

Bacchanalian revellers, and the ears of her grave citizens with

ill-disguised obscenity. Lorenzo took part in them himself, and

composed several choruses of high literary merit to be sung by the

masqueraders. One of these carries a refrain which might be chosen as

a motto for the spirit of that age upon the brink of ruin:--

_Youths and maids, enjoy to-day:

Naught ye know about to-morrow!_

He caused the triumphs to be carefully prepared by the best artists,

the dresses of the masquers to be accurately studied, and their

chariots to be adorned with illustrative paintings. Michelangelo's old

friend Granacci dedicated his talents to these shows, which also

employed the wayward fancy of Piero di Cosimo and Pontormo's power as

a colourist. "It was their wont," says Il Lasca, "to go forth after

dinner; and often the processions paraded through the streets till

three or four hours into the night, with a multitude of masked men on

horseback following, richly dressed, exceeding sometimes three hundred

in number, and as many on foot with lighted torches. Thus they

traversed the city, singing to the accompaniment of music arranged for

four, eight, twelve, or even fifteen voices, and supported by various

instruments." Lorenzo represented the worst as well as the best

qualities of his age. If he knew how to enslave Florence, it was

because his own temperament inclined him to share the amusements of

the crowd, while his genius enabled him to invest corruption with

charm. His friend Poliziano entered with the zest of a poet and a

pleasure-seeker into these diversions. He helped Lorenzo to revive the

Tuscan Mayday games, and wrote exquisite lyrics to be sung by girls in

summer evenings on the public squares. This giant of learning, who

filled the lecture-rooms of Florence with Students of all nations, and

whose critical and rhetorical labours marked an epoch in the history

of scholarship, was by nature a versifier, and a versifier of the

people. He found nothing' easier than to throw aside his professor's

mantle and to improvise _ballate_ for women to chant as they danced

their rounds upon the Piazza di S. Trinità. The frontispiece to an old

edition of such lyrics represents Lorenzo surrounded with masquers in

quaint dresses, leading the revel beneath the walls of the Palazzo.

Another woodcut shows an angle of the Casa Medici in Via Larga, girls

dancing the _carola_ upon the street below, one with a wreath and

thyrsus kneeling, another presenting the Magnificent with a book of

loveditties. The burden of all this poetry was: "Gather ye roses while

ye may, cast prudence to the winds, obey your instincts." There is

little doubt that Michelangelo took part in these pastimes; for we

know that he was devoted to poetry, not always of the gravest kind. An

anecdote related by Cellini may here be introduced, since it

illustrates the Florentine customs I have been describing. "Luigi

Pulci was a young man who possessed extraordinary gifts for poetry,

together with sound Latin scholarship. He wrote well, was graceful in

manners, and of surpassing personal beauty. While he was yet a lad and

living in Florence, it was the habit of folk in certain places of the

city to meet together during the nights of summer on the open streets,

and he, ranking among the best of the improvisatori, sang there. His

recitations were so admirable that the divine Michelangelo, that

prince of sculptors and of painters, went, wherever he heard that he

would be, with the greatest eagerness and delight to listen to him.

There was a man called Piloto, a goldsmith, very able in his art, who,

together with myself, joined Buonarroti upon these occasions." In like

manner, the young Michelangelo probably attended those nocturnal

gatherings upon the steps of the Duomo which have been so graphically

described by Doni: "The Florentines seem to me to take more pleasure

in summer airings than any other folk; for they have, in the square of

S. Liberata, between the antique temple of Mars, now the Baptistery,

and that marvellous work of modern architecture, the Duomo: they have,

I say, certain steps of marble, rising to a broad flat space, upon

which the youth of the city come and lay themselves full length during

the season of extreme heat. The place is fitted for its purpose,

because a fresh breeze is always blowing, with the blandest of all

air, and the flags of white marble usually retain a certain coolness.

There then I seek my chiefest solace, when, taking my aërial flights,

I sail invisibly above them; see and hear their doings and discourses:

and forasmuch as they are endowed with keen and elevated

understanding, they always have a thousand charming things to relate;

as novels, intrigues, fables; they discuss duels, practical jokes, old

stories, tricks played off by men and women on each other: things,

each and all, rare, witty, noble, decent and in proper taste. I can

swear that during all the hours I spent in listening to their nightly

dialogues, I never heard a word that was not comely and of good

repute. Indeed, it seemed to me very remarkable, among such crowds of

young men, to overhear nothing but virtuous conversation."

At the same period, Michelangelo fell under very different influences;

and these left a far more lasting impression on his character than the

gay festivals and witty word-combats of the lords of Florence. In 1491

Savonarola, the terrible prophet of coming woes, the searcher of men's

hearts, and the remorseless denouncer of pleasant vices, began that

Florentine career which ended with his martyrdom in 1498. He had

preached in Florence eight years earlier, but on that occasion he

passed unnoticed through the crowd. Now he took the whole city by

storm. Obeying the magic of his eloquence and the magnetism of his

personality, her citizens accepted this Dominican friar as their

political leader and moral reformer, when events brought about the

expulsion of the Medici in 1494. Michelangelo was one of his constant

listeners at S. Marco and in the Duomo. He witnessed those stormy

scenes of religious revival and passionate fanaticism which

contemporaries have impressively described. The shorthand-writer to

whom we owe the text of Savonarola's sermons at times breaks off with

words like these: "Here I was so overcome with weeping that I could

not go on." Pico della Mirandola tells that the mere sound of the

monk's voice, startling the stillness of the Duomo, thronged through

all its space with people, was like a clap of doom; a cold shiver ran

through the marrow of his bones the hairs of his head stood on end

while he listened. Another witness reports: "Those sermons caused such

terror, alarm, sobbing, and tears, that every one passed through the

streets without speaking, more dead than alive."

One of the earliest extant letters of Michelangelo, written from Rome

in 1497 to his brother Buonarroto, reveals a vivid interest in

Savonarola. He relates the evil rumours spread about the city

regarding his heretical opinions, and alludes to the hostility of Fra

Mariano da Genezzano; adding this ironical sentence: "Therefore he

ought by all means to come and prophesy a little in Rome, when

afterwards he will be canonised; and so let all his party be of good

cheer." In later years, it is said that the great sculptor read and

meditated Savonarola's writings together with the Bible. The

apocalyptic thunderings and voices of the Sistine Chapel owe much of

their soul-thrilling impressiveness to those studies. Michelet says,

not without justice, that the spirit of Savonarola lives again in the

frescoes of that vault.

On the 8th of April 1492, Michelangelo lost his friend and patron.

Lorenzo died in his villa at Careggi, aged little more than forty-four

years. Guicciardini implies that his health and strength had been

prematurely broken by sensual indulgences. About the circumstances of

his last hours there are some doubts and difficulties; but it seems

clear that he expired as a Christian, after a final interview with

Savonarola. His death cast a gloom over Italy. Princes and people were

growing uneasy with the presentiment of impending disaster; and now

the only man who by his diplomatical sagacity could maintain the

balance of power had been taken from them. To his friends and

dependants in Florence the loss appeared irreparable. Poliziano poured

forth his sorrow in a Latin threnody of touching and simple beauty.

Two years later both he and Pico della Mirandola followed their master

to the grave. Marsilio Ficino passed away in 1499; and a friend of his

asserted that the sage's ghost appeared to him. The atmosphere was

full of rumours, portents, strange premonitions of revolution and

doom. The true golden age of the Italian Renaissance may almost be

said to have ended with Lorenzo de' Medici's life.