I
Michelangelo returned to Florence in the spring of 1501. Condivi says
that domestic affairs compelled him to leave Rome, and the
correspondence with his father makes this not improbable. He brought a
heightened reputation back to his native city. The Bacchus and the
Madonna della Febbre had placed him in advance of any sculptor of his
time. Indeed, in these first years of the sixteenth century he may be
said to have been the only Tuscan sculptor of commanding eminence.
Ghiberti, Della Quercia, Brunelleschi, Donatello, all had joined the
majority before his birth. The second group of distinguished
craftsmen--Verocchio, Luca della Robbia, Rossellino, Da Maiano,
Civitali, Desiderio da Settignano--expired at the commencement of the
century. It seemed as though a gap in the ranks of plastic artists had
purposely been made for the entrance of a predominant and tyrannous
personality. Jacopo Tatti, called Sansovino, was the only man who
might have disputed the place of preeminence with Michelangelo, and
Sansovino chose Venice for the theatre of his life-labours. In these
circumstances, it is not singular that commissions speedily began to
overtax the busy sculptor's power of execution. I do not mean to
assert that the Italians, in the year 1501, were conscious of
Michelangelo's unrivalled qualities, or sensitive to the corresponding
limitations which rendered these qualities eventually baneful to the
evolution of the arts; but they could not help feeling that in this
young man of twenty-six they possessed a first-rate craftsman, and one
who had no peer among contemporaries.
The first order of this year came from the Cardinal Francesco
Piccolomini, who was afterwards elected Pope in 1503, and who died
after reigning three weeks with the title of Pius III. He wished to
decorate the Piccolomini Chapel in the Duomo of Siena with fifteen
statues of male saints. A contract was signed on June 5, by which
Michelangelo agreed to complete these figures within the space of
three years. One of them, a S. Francis, had been already begun by
Piero Torrigiano; and this, we have some reason to believe, was
finished by the master's hand. Accounts differ about his share in the
remaining fourteen statues; but the matter is of no great moment,
seeing that the style of the work is conventional, and the scale of
the figures disagreeably squat and dumpy. It seems almost impossible
that these ecclesiastical and tame pieces should have been produced at
the same time as the David by the same hand. Neither Vasari nor
Condivi speaks about them, although it is certain that Michelangelo
was held bound to his contract during several years. Upon the death of
Pius III., he renewed it with the Pope's heirs, Jacopo and Andrea
Piccolomini, by a deed dated September 15, 1504; and in 1537 Anton
Maria Piccolomini, to whom the inheritance succeeded, considered
himself Michelangelo's creditor for the sum of a hundred crowns, which
had been paid beforehand for work not finished by the sculptor.
A far more important commission was intrusted to Michelangelo in
August of the same year, 1501. Condivi, after mentioning his return to
Florence, tells the history of the colossal David in these words:
"Here he stayed some time, and made the statue which stands in front
of the great door of the Palace of the Signory, and is called the
Giant by all people. It came about in this way. The Board of Works at
S. Maria del Fiore owned a piece of marble nine cubits in height,
which had been brought from Carrara some hundred years before by a
sculptor insufficiently acquainted with his art. This was evident,
inasmuch as, wishing to convey it more conveniently and with less
labour, he had it blocked out in the quarry, but in such a manner that
neither he nor any one else was capable of extracting a statue from
the block, either of the same size, or even on a much smaller scale.
The marble being, then, useless for any good purpose, Andrea del Monte
San Savino thought that he might get possession of it from the Board,
and begged them to make him a present of it, promising that he would
add certain pieces of stone and carve a statue from it. Before they
made up their minds to give it, they sent for Michelangelo; then,
after explaining the wishes and the views of Andrea, and considering
his own opinion that it would be possible to extract a good thing from
the block, they finally offered it to him. Michelangelo accepted,
added no pieces, and got the statue out so exactly, that, as any one
may see, in the top of the head and at the base some vestiges of the
rough surface of the marble still remain. He did the same in other
works, as, for instance, in the Contemplative Life upon the tomb of
Julius; indeed, it is a sign left by masters on their work, proving
them to be absolute in their art. But in the David it was much more
remarkable, for this reason, that the difficulty of the task was not
overcome by adding pieces; and also he had to contend with an
ill-shaped marble. As he used to say himself, it is impossible, or at
least extraordinarily difficult in statuary to set right the faults of
the blocking out. He received for this work 400 ducats, and carried it
out in eighteen months."
The sculptor who had spoiled this block of marble is called "Maestro
Simone" by Vasari; but the abundant documents in our possession, by
aid of which we are enabled to trace the whole history of
Michelangelo's David with minuteness, show that Vasari was
misinformed. The real culprit was Agostino di Antonio di Duccio, or
Guccio, who had succeeded with another colossal statue for the Duomo.
He is honourably known in the history of Tuscan sculpture by his
reliefs upon the façade of the Duomo at Modena, describing episodes in
the life of S. Gemignano, by the romantically charming reliefs in
marble, with terracotta settings, on the Oratory of S. Bernardino at
Perugia, and by a large amount of excellent surface-work in stone upon
the chapels of S. Francesco at Rimini. We gather from one of the
contracts with Agostino that the marble was originally blocked out for
some prophet. But Michelangelo resolved to make a David; and two wax
models, now preserved in the Museo Buonarroti, neither of which
corresponds exactly with the statue as it exists, show that he felt
able to extract a colossal figure in various attitudes from the
damaged block. In the first contract signed between the Consuls of the
Arte della Lana, the Operai del Duomo, and the sculptor, dated August
16, 1501, the terms are thus settled: "That the worthy master
Michelangelo, son of Lodovico Buonarroti, citizen of Florence, has
been chosen to fashion, complete, and finish to perfection that male
statue called the Giant, of nine cubits in height, now existing in the
workshop of the cathedral, blocked out aforetime by Master Agostino of
Florence, and badly blocked; and that the work shall be completed
within the term of the next ensuing two years, dating from September,
at a salary of six golden florins per month; and that what is needful
for the accomplishment of this task, as workmen, timbers, &c., which
he may require, shall be supplied him by the Operai; and when the
statue is finished, the Consuls and Operai who shall be in office
shall estimate whether he deserve a larger recompense, and this shall
be left to their consciences."
II
Michelangelo began to work on Monday morning, September 13, in a
wooden shed erected for the purpose, not far from the cathedral. On
the 28th of February 1502, the statue, which is now called for the
first time "the Giant, or David," was brought so far forward that the
judges declared it to be half finished, and decided that the sculptor
should be paid in all 400 golden florins, including the stipulated
salary. He seems to have laboured assiduously during the next two
years, for by a minute of the 25th of January 1504 the David is said
to be almost entirely finished. On this date a solemn council of the
most important artists resident in Florence was convened at the Opera
del Duomo to consider where it should be placed.
We possess full minutes of this meeting, and they are so curious that
I shall not hesitate to give a somewhat detailed account of the
proceedings. Messer Francesco Filarete, the chief herald of the
Signory, and himself an architect of some pretensions, opened the
discussion in a short speech to this effect: "I have turned over in my
mind those suggestions which my judgment could afford me. You have two
places where the statue may be set up: the first, that where the
Judith stands; the second, in the middle of the courtyard where the
David is. The first might be selected, because the Judith is an omen
of evil, and no fit object where it stands, we having the cross and
lily for our ensign; besides, it is not proper that the woman should
kill the male; and, above all, this statue was erected under an evil
constellation, since you have gone continually from bad to worse since
then. Pisa has been lost too. The David of the courtyard is imperfect
in the right leg; and so I should counsel you to put the Giant in one
of these places, but I give the preference myself to that of the
Judith." The herald, it will be perceived, took for granted that
Michelangelo's David would be erected in the immediate neighbourhood
of the Palazzo Vecchio. The next speaker, Francesco Monciatto, a
wood-carver, advanced the view that it ought to be placed in front of
the Duomo, where the Colossus was originally meant to be put up. He
was immediately followed, and his resolution was seconded, by no less
personages than the painters Cosimo Rosselli and Sandro Botticelli.
Then Giuliano da San Gallo, the illustrious architect, submitted a
third opinion to the meeting. He began his speech by observing that he
agreed with those who wished to choose the steps of the Duomo, but due
consideration caused him to alter his mind. "The imperfection of the
marble, which is softened by exposure to the air, rendered the
durability of the statue doubtful. He therefore voted for the middle
of the Loggia dei Lanzi, where the David would be under cover." Messer
Angelo di Lorenzo Manfidi, second herald of the Signory, rose to state
a professional objection. "The David, if erected under the middle arch
of the Loggia, would break the order of the ceremonies practised there
by the Signory and other magistrates. He therefore proposed that the
arch facing the Palazzo (where Donatello's Judith is now) should be
chosen." The three succeeding speakers, people of no great importance,
gave their votes in favour of the chief herald's resolution. Others
followed San Gallo, among whom was the illustrious Lionardo da Vinci.
He thought the statue could be placed under the middle arch of the
Loggia without hindrance to ceremonies of state. Salvestro, a
jeweller, and Filippino Lippi, the painter, were of opinion that the
neighbourhood of the Palazzo should be adopted, but that the precise
spot should be left to the sculptor's choice. Gallieno, an
embroiderer, and David Ghirlandajo, the painter, suggested a new
place--namely, where the lion or Marzocco stood on the Piazza. Antonio
da San Gallo, the architect, and Michelangelo, the goldsmith, father
of Baccio Bandinelli, supported Giuliano da San Gallo's motion. Then
Giovanni Piffero--that is, the father of Benvenuto Cellini--brought
the discussion back to the courtyard of the palace. He thought that in
the Loggia the statue would be only partly seen, and that it would run
risks of injury from scoundrels. Giovanni delle Corniole, the
incomparable gem-cutter, who has left us the best portrait of
Savonarola, voted with the two San Galli, "because he hears the stone
is soft." Piero di Cosimo, the painter, and teacher of Andrea del
Sarto, wound up the speeches with a strong recommendation that the
choice of the exact spot should be left to Michelangelo Buonarroti.
This was eventually decided on, and he elected to have his David set
up in the place preferred by the chief herald--that is to say, upon
the steps of the Palazzo Vecchio, on the right side of the entrance.
The next thing was to get the mighty mass of sculptured marble safely
moved from the Duomo to the Palazzo. On the 1st of April, Simone del
Pollajuolo, called Il Cronaca, was commissioned to make the necessary
preparations; but later on, upon the 30th, we find Antonio da San
Gallo, Baccio d'Agnolo, Bernardo della Ciecha, and Michelangelo
associated with him in the work of transportation. An enclosure of
stout beams and planks was made and placed on movable rollers. In the
middle of this the statue hung suspended, with a certain liberty of
swaying to the shocks and lurches of the vehicle. More than forty men
were employed upon the windlasses which drew it slowly forward. In a
contemporary record we possess a full account of the transit: "On the
14th of May 1504, the marble Giant was taken from the Opera. It came
out at 24 o'clock, and they broke the wall above the gateway enough to
let it pass. That night some stones were thrown at the Colossus with
intent to harm it. Watch had to be kept at night; and it made way very
slowly, bound as it was upright, suspended in the air with enormous
beams and intricate machinery of ropes. It took four days to reach the
Piazza, arriving on the 18th at the hour of 12. More than forty men
were employed to make it go; and there were fourteen rollers joined
beneath it, which were changed from hand to hand. Afterwards, they
worked until the 8th of June 1504 to place it on the platform
_(ringhiero)_ where the Judith used to stand. The Judith was removed
and set upon the ground within the palace. The said Giant was the work
of Michelangelo Buonarroti."
Where the masters of Florence placed it, under the direction of its
maker, Michelangelo's great white David stood for more than three
centuries uncovered, open to all injuries of frost and rain, and to
the violence of citizens, until, for the better preservation of this
masterpiece of modern art, it was removed in 1873 to a hall of the
Accademia delle Belle Arti. On the whole, it has suffered very little.
Weather has slightly worn away the extremities of the left foot; and
in 1527, during a popular tumult, the left arm was broken by a huge
stone cast by the assailants of the palace. Giorgio Vasari tells us
how, together with his friend Cecchino Salviati, he collected the
scattered pieces, and brought them to the house of Michelangelo
Salviati, the father of Cecchino. They were subsequently put together
by the care of the Grand Duke Cosimo, and restored to the statue in
the year 1543.
III
In the David Michelangelo first displayed that quality of
_terribilità_, of spirit-quailing, awe-inspiring force, for which he
afterwards became so famous. The statue imposes, not merely by its
size and majesty and might, but by something vehement in the
conception. He was, however, far from having yet adopted those
systematic proportions for the human body which later on gave an air
of monotonous impressiveness to all his figures. On the contrary, this
young giant strongly recalls the model; still more strongly indeed
than the Bacchus did. Wishing perhaps to adhere strictly to the
Biblical story, Michelangelo studied a lad whose frame was not
developed. The David, to state the matter frankly, is a colossal
hobbledehoy. His body, in breadth of the thorax, depth of the abdomen,
and general stoutness, has not grown up to the scale of the enormous
hands and feet and heavy head. We feel that he wants at least two
years to become a fully developed man, passing from adolescence to the
maturity of strength and beauty. This close observance of the
imperfections of the model at a certain stage of physical growth is
very remarkable, and not altogether pleasing in a statue more than
nine feet high. Both Donatello and Verocchio had treated their Davids
in the same realistic manner, but they were working on a small scale
and in bronze. I insist upon this point, because students of
Michelangelo have been apt to overlook his extreme sincerity and
naturalism in the first stages of his career.
Having acknowledged that the head of David is too massive and the
extremities too largely formed for ideal beauty, hypercriticism can
hardly find fault with the modelling and execution of each part. The
attitude selected is one of great dignity and vigour. The heroic boy,
quite certain of victory, is excited by the coming contest. His brows
are violently contracted, the nostrils tense and quivering, the eyes
fixed keenly on the distant Philistine. His larynx rises visibly, and
the sinews of his left thigh tighten, as though the whole spirit of
the man were braced for a supreme endeavour. In his right hand, kept
at a just middle point between the hip and knee, he holds the piece of
wood on which his sling is hung. The sling runs round his back, and
the centre of it, where the stone bulges, is held with the left hand,
poised upon the left shoulder, ready to be loosed. We feel that the
next movement will involve the right hand straining to its full extent
the sling, dragging the stone away, and whirling it into the air;
when, after it has sped to strike Goliath in the forehead, the whole
lithe body of the lad will have described a curve, and recovered its
perpendicular position on the two firm legs. Michelangelo invariably
chose some decisive moment; in the action he had to represent; and
though he was working here under difficulties, owing to the
limitations of the damaged block at his disposal, he contrived to
suggest the imminence of swift and sudden energy which shall disturb
the equilibrium of his young giant's pose. Critics of this statue,
deceived by its superficial resemblance to some Greek athletes at
rest, have neglected the candid realism of the momentary act
foreshadowed. They do not understand the meaning of the sling. Even
Heath Wilson, for instance, writes: "The massive shoulders are thrown
back, the right arm is pendent, and _the right hand grasps resolutely
the stone_ with which the adversary is to be slain." This entirely
falsifies the sculptor's motive, misses the meaning of the sling,
renders the broad strap behind the back superfluous, and changes into
mere plastic symbolism what Michelangelo intended to be a moment
caught from palpitating life.
It has often been remarked that David's head is modelled upon the type
of Donatello's S. George at Orsanmichele. The observation is just; and
it suggests a comment on the habit Michelangelo early formed of
treating the face idealistically, however much he took from study of
his models. Vasari, for example, says that he avoided portraiture, and
composed his faces by combining several individuals. We shall see a
new ideal type of the male head emerge in a group of statues, among
which the most distinguished is Giuliano de' Medici at San Lorenzo. We
have already seen a female type created in the Madonnas of S. Peter's
and Notre Dame at Bruges. But this is not the place to discuss
Michelangelo's theory of form in general. That must be reserved until
we enter the Sistine Chapel, in order to survey the central and the
crowning product of his genius in its prime.
We have every reason to believe that Michelangelo carved his David
with no guidance but drawings and a small wax model about eighteen
inches in height. The inconvenience of this method, which left the
sculptor to wreak his fury on the marble with mallet and chisel, can
be readily conceived. In a famous passage, disinterred by M. Mariette
from a French scholar of the sixteenth century, we have this account
of the fiery master's system: "I am able to affirm that I have seen
Michelangelo, at the age of more than sixty years, and not the
strongest for his time of life, knock off more chips from an extremely
hard marble in one quarter of an hour than three young stone-cutters
could have done in three or four--a thing quite incredible to one who
has not seen it. He put such impetuosity and fury into his work that I
thought the whole must fly to pieces; hurling to the ground at one
blow great fragments three or four inches thick, shaving the line so
closely that if he had overpassed it by a hair's-breadth he ran the
risk of losing all, since one cannot mend a marble afterwards or
repair mistakes, as one does with figures of clay and stucco." It is
said that, owing to this violent way of attacking his marble,
Michelangelo sometimes bit too deep into the stone, and had to abandon
a promising piece of sculpture. This is one of the ways of accounting
for his numerous unfinished statues. Accordingly a myth has sprung up
representing the great master as working in solitude upon huge blocks,
with nothing but a sketch in wax before him. Fact is always more
interesting than fiction; and, while I am upon the topic of his
method, I will introduce what Cellini has left written on this
subject. In his treatise on the Art of Sculpture, Cellini lays down
the rule that sculptors in stone ought first to make a little model
two palms high, and after this to form another as large as the statue
will have to be. He illustrates this by a critique of his illustrious
predecessors. "Albeit many able artists rush boldly on the stone with
the fierce force of mallet and chisel, relying on the little model and
a good design, yet the result is never found by them to be so
satisfactory as when they fashion the model on a large scale. This is
proved by our Donatello, who was a Titan in the art, and afterwards by
the stupendous Michelangelo, who worked in both ways. Discovering
latterly that the small models fell far short of what his excellent
genius demanded, he adopted the habit of making most careful models
exactly of the same size as the marble statue was to be. This we have
seen with our own eyes in the Sacristy of S. Lorenzo. Next, when a man
is satisfied with his full-sized model, he must take charcoal, and
sketch out the main view of his figure on the marble in such wise that
it shall be distinctly traced; for he who has not previously settled
his design may sometimes find himself deceived by the chiselling
irons. Michelangelo's method in this matter was the best. He used
first to sketch in the principal aspect; and then to begin work by
removing the surface stone upon that side, just as if he intended to
fashion a figure in half-relief; and thus he went on gradually
uncovering the rounded form."
Vasari, speaking of four rough-hewn Captives, possibly the figures now
in a grotto of the Boboli Gardens, says: They are well adapted for
teaching a beginner how to extract statues from the marble without
injury to the stone. The safe method which they illustrate may be
described as follows. You first take a model in wax or some other hard
material, and place it lying in a vessel full of water. The water, by
its nature, presents a level surface; so that, if you gradually lift
the model, the higher parts are first exposed, while the lower parts
remain submerged; and, proceeding thus, the whole round shape at
length appears above the water. Precisely in the same way ought
statues to be hewn out from the marble with the chisel; first
uncovering the highest surfaces, and proceeding to disclose the
lowest. This method was followed by Michelangelo while blocking out
the Captives, and therefore his Excellency the Duke was fain to have
them used as models by the students in his Academy. It need hardly be
remarked that the ingenious process of "pointing the marble" by means
of the "pointing machine" and "scale-stones," which is at present
universally in use among sculptors, had not been invented in the
sixteenth century.
IV
I cannot omit a rather childish story which Vasari tells about the
David. After it had been placed upon its pedestal before the palace,
and while the scaffolding was still there, Piero Soderini, who loved
and admired Michelangelo, told him that he thought the nose too large.
The sculptor immediately ran up the ladder till he reached a point
upon the level of the giant's shoulder. He then took his hammer and
chisel, and, having concealed some dust of marble in the hollow of his
hand, pretended to work off a portion from the surface of the nose. In
reality he left it as he found it; but Soderini, seeing the marble
dust fall scattering through the air, thought that his hint had been
taken. When, therefore, Michelangelo called down to him, "Look at it
now!" Soderini shouted up in reply, "I am far more pleased with it;
you have given life to the statue."
At this time Piero Soderini, a man of excellent parts and sterling
character, though not gifted with that mixture of audacity and cunning
which impressed the Renaissance imagination, was Gonfalonier of the
Republic. He had been elected to the supreme magistracy for life, and
was practically Doge of Florence. His friendship proved on more than
one occasion of some service to Michelangelo; and while the gigantic
David was in progress he gave the sculptor a new commission, the
history of which must now engage us. The Florentine envoys to France
had already written in June 1501 from Lyons, saying that Pierre de
Rohan, Maréchal de Gié, who stood high in favour at the court of Louis
XII., greatly desired a copy of the bronze David by Donatello in the
courtyard of the Palazzo Vecchio. He appeared willing to pay for it,
but the envoys thought that he expected to have it as a present. The
French alliance was a matter of the highest importance to Florence,
and at this time the Republic was heavily indebted to the French
crown. Soderini, therefore, decided to comply with the Marshal's
request, and on the 12th of August 1502 Michelangelo undertook to
model a David of two cubits and a quarter within six months. In the
bronze-casting he was assisted by a special master, Benedetto da
Rovezzano. During the next two years a brisk correspondence was kept
up between the envoys and the Signory about the statue, showing the
Marshal's impatience. Meanwhile De Rohan became Duke of Nemours in
1503 by his marriage with a sister of Louis d'Armagnac, and shortly
afterwards he fell into disgrace. Nothing more was to be expected from
him at the court of Blois. But the statue was in progress, and the
question arose to whom it should be given. The choice of the Signory
fell on Florimond Robertet, secretary of finance, whose favour would
be useful to the Florentines in their pecuniary transactions with the
King. A long letter from the envoy, Francesco Pandolfini, in September
1505, shows that Robertet's mind had been sounded on the subject; and
we gather from a minute of the Signory, dated November 6, 1508, that
at last the bronze David, weighing about 800 pounds, had been "packed
in the name of God" and sent to Signa on its way to Leghorn. Robertet
received it in due course, and placed it in the courtyard of his
château of Bury, near Blois. Here it remained for more than a century,
when it was removed to the château of Villeroy. There it disappeared.
We possess, however, a fine pen-and-ink drawing by the hand of
Michelangelo, which may well have been a design for this second David.
The muscular and naked youth, not a mere lad like the colossal statue,
stands firmly posed upon his left leg with the trunk thrown boldly
back. His right foot rests on the gigantic head of Goliath, and his
left hand, twisted back upon the buttock, holds what seems meant for
the sling. We see here what Michelangelo's conception of an ideal
David would have been when working under conditions more favourable
than the damaged block afforded. On the margin of the page the
following words may be clearly traced: "Davicte cholla fromba e io
chollarcho Michelagniolo,"--David with the sling, and I with the bow.
Meanwhile Michelangelo received a still more important commission on
the 24th of April 1503. The Consuls of the Arte della Lana and the
Operai of the Duomo ordered twelve Apostles, each 4-1/4 cubits high,
to be carved out of Carrara marble and placed inside the church. The
sculptor undertook to furnish one each year, the Board of Works
defraying all expenses, supplying the costs of Michelangelo's living
and his assistants, and paying him two golden florins a month. Besides
this, they had a house built for him in the Borgo Pinti after Il
Cronaca's design. He occupied this house free of charges while he was
in Florence, until it became manifest that the contract of 1503 would
never be carried out. Later on, in March 1508, the tenement was let on
lease to him and his heirs. But he only held it a few months; for on
the 15th of June the lease was cancelled, and the house transferred to
Sigismondo Martelli.
The only trace surviving of these twelve Apostles is the huge
blocked-out S. Matteo, now in the courtyard of the Accademia. Vasari
writes of it as follows: "He also began a statue in marble of S.
Matteo, which, though it is but roughly hewn, shows perfection of
design, and teaches sculptors how to extract figures from the stone
without exposing them to injury, always gaining ground by removing the
superfluous material, and being able to withdraw or change in case of
need." This stupendous sketch or shadow of a mighty form is indeed
instructive for those who would understand Michelangelo's method. It
fully illustrates the passages quoted above from Cellini and Vasari,
showing how a design of the chief view of the statue must have been
chalked upon the marble, and how the unfinished figure gradually
emerged into relief. Were we to place it in a horizontal position on
the ground, that portion of a rounded form which has been disengaged
from the block would emerge just in the same way as a model from a
bath of water not quite deep enough to cover it. At the same time we
learn to appreciate the observations of Vigenere while we study the
titanic chisel-marks, grooved deeply in the body of the stone, and
carried to the length of three or four inches. The direction of these
strokes proves that Michelangelo worked equally with both hands, and
the way in which they are hatched and crossed upon the marble reminds
one of the pen-drawing of a bold draughtsman. The mere
surface-handling of the stone has remarkable affinity in linear effect
to a pair of the master's pen-designs for a naked man, now in the
Louvre. On paper he seems to hew with the pen, on marble to sketch
with the chisel. The saint appears literally to be growing out of his
stone prison, as though he were alive and enclosed there waiting to be
liberated. This recalls Michelangelo's fixed opinion regarding
sculpture, which he defined as the art "that works by force of taking
away." In his writings we often find the idea expressed that a statue,
instead of being a human thought invested with external reality by
stone, is more truly to be regarded as something which the sculptor
seeks and finds inside his marble--a kind of marvellous discovery.
Thus he says in one of his poems: "Lady, in hard and craggy stone the
mere removal of the surface gives being to a figure, which ever grows
the more the stone is hewn away." And again--
_The best of artists hath no thought to show
Which the rough stone in its superfluous shell
Doth not include: to break the marble spell
Is all the hand that serves the brain can do._
S. Matthew seems to palpitate with life while we scrutinise the
amorphous block; and yet there is little there more tangible than some
such form as fancy loves to image in the clouds.
To conclude what I have said in this section about Michelangelo's
method of working on the marble, I must confirm what I have stated
about his using both left and right hand while chiselling. Raffaello
da Montelupo, who was well acquainted with him personally, informs us
of the fact: "Here I may mention that I am in the habit of drawing
with my left hand, and that once, at Rome, while I was sketching the
Arch of Trajan from the Colosseum, Michelangelo and Sebastiano del
Piombo, both of whom were naturally left-handed (although they did not
work with the left hand excepting when they wished to use great
strength), stopped to see me, and expressed great wonder, no sculptor
or painter ever having done so before me, as far as I know."
V
If Vasari can be trusted, it was during this residence at Florence,
when his hands were so fully occupied, that Michelangelo found time to
carve the two _tondi_, Madonnas in relief enclosed in circular spaces,
which we still possess. One of them, made for Taddeo Taddei, is now at
Burlington House, having been acquired by the Royal Academy through
the medium of Sir George Beaumont. This ranks among the best things
belonging to that Corporation. The other, made for Bartolommeo Pitti,
will be found in the Palazzo del Bargello at Florence. Of the two,
that of our Royal Academy is the more ambitious in design, combining
singular grace and dignity in the Madonna with action playfully
suggested in the infant Christ and little S. John. That of the
Bargello is simpler, more tranquil, and more stately. The one recalls
the motive of the Bruges Madonna, the other almost anticipates the
Delphic Sibyl. We might fancifully call them a pair of native pearls
or uncut gems, lovely by reason even of their sketchiness. Whether by
intention, as some critics have supposed, or for want of time to
finish, as I am inclined to believe, these two reliefs are left in a
state of incompleteness which is highly suggestive. Taking the Royal
Academy group first, the absolute roughness of the groundwork supplies
an admirable background to the figures, which seem to emerge from it
as though the whole of them were there, ready to be disentangled. The
most important portions of the composition--Madonna's head and throat,
the drapery of her powerful breast, on which the child Christ
reclines, and the naked body of the boy--are wrought to a point which
only demands finish. Yet parts of these two figures remain
undetermined. Christ's feet are still imprisoned in the clinging
marble; His left arm and hand are only indicated, and His right hand
is resting on a mass of broken stone, which hides a portion of His
mother's drapery, but leaves the position of her hand uncertain. The
infant S. John, upright upon his feet, balancing the chief group, is
hazily subordinate. The whole of his form looms blurred through the
veil of stone, and what his two hands and arms are doing with the
hidden right arm and hand of the Virgin may hardly be conjectured. It
is clear that on this side of the composition the marble was to have
been more deeply cut, and that we have the highest surfaces of the
relief brought into prominence at those points where, as I have said,
little is wanting but the finish of the graver and the file. The
Bargello group is simpler and more intelligible. Its composition by
masses being quite apparent, we can easily construct the incomplete
figure of S. John in the background. What results from the study of
these two circular sketches in marble is that, although Michelangelo
believed all sculpture to be imperfect in so far as it approached the
style of painting, yet he did not disdain to labour in stone with
various planes of relief which should produce the effect of
chiaroscuro. Furthermore, they illustrate what Cellini and Vasari have
already taught us about his method. He refused to work by piecemeal,
but began by disengaging the first, the second, then the third
surfaces, following a model and a drawing which controlled the
cutting. Whether he preferred to leave off when his idea was
sufficiently indicated, or whether his numerous engagements prevented
him from excavating the lowest surfaces, and lastly polishing the
whole, is a question which must for ever remain undecided. Considering
the exquisite elaboration given to the Pietà of the Vatican, the
Madonna at Bruges, the Bacchus and the David, the Moses and parts of
the Medicean monuments, I incline to think that, with time enough at
his disposal, he would have carried out these rounds in all their
details. A criticism he made on Donatello, recorded for us by Condivi,
to the effect that this great master's works lost their proper effect
on close inspection through a want of finish, confirms my opinion.
Still there is no doubt that he must have been pleased, as all true
lovers of art are with the picturesque effect--an effect as of things
half seen in dreams or emergent from primeval substances--which the
imperfection of the craftsman's labour leaves upon the memory.
At this time Michelangelo's mind seems to have been much occupied with
circular compositions. He painted a large Holy Family of this shape
for his friend Angelo Doni, which may, I think, be reckoned the only
easel-picture attributable with absolute certainty to his hand.
Condivi simply says that he received seventy ducats for this fine
work. Vasari adds one of his prattling stories to the effect that Doni
thought forty sufficient; whereupon Michelangelo took the picture
back, and said he would not let it go for less than a hundred: Doni
then offered the original sum of seventy, but Michelangelo replied
that if he was bent on bargaining he should not pay less than 140. Be
this as it may, one of the most characteristic products of the
master's genius came now into existence. The Madonna is seated in a
kneeling position on the ground; she throws herself vigorously
backward, lifting the little Christ upon her right arm, and presenting
him to a bald-headed old man, S. Joseph, who seems about to take him
in his arms. This group, which forms a tall pyramid, is balanced on
both sides by naked figures of young men reclining against a wall at
some distance, while a remarkably ugly little S. John can be discerned
in one corner. There is something very powerful and original in the
composition of this sacred picture, which, as in the case of all
Michelangelo's early work, develops the previous traditions of Tuscan
art on lines which no one but himself could have discovered. The
central figure of the Madonna, too, has always seemed to me a thing of
marvellous beauty, and of stupendous power in the strained attitude
and nobly modelled arms. It has often been asked what the male nudes
have got to do with the subject. Probably Michelangelo intended in
this episode to surpass a Madonna by Luca Signorelli, with whose
genius he obviously was in sympathy, and who felt, like him, the
supreme beauty of the naked adolescent form. Signorelli had painted a
circular Madonna with two nudes in the landscape distance for Lorenzo
de' Medici. The picture is hung now in the gallery of the Uffizi. It
is enough perhaps to remark that Michelangelo needed these figures for
his scheme, and for filling the space at his disposal. He was either
unable or unwilling to compose a background of trees, meadows, and
pastoral folk in the manner of his predecessors. Nothing but the
infinite variety of human forms upon a barren stage of stone or arid
earth would suit his haughty sense of beauty. The nine persons who
make up the picture are all carefully studied from the life, and bear
a strong Tuscan stamp. S. John is literally ignoble, and Christ is a
commonplace child. The Virgin Mother is a magnificent _contadina_ in
the plenitude of adult womanhood. Those, however, who follow Mr.
Ruskin in blaming Michelangelo for carelessness about the human face
and head, should not fail to notice what sublime dignity and grace he
has communicated to his model here. In technical execution the Doni
Madonna is faithful to old Florentine usage, but lifeless and
unsympathetic. We are disagreeably reminded by every portion of the
surface that Lionardo's subtle play of tones and modulated shades,
those _sfumature_, as Italians call them, which transfer the mystic
charm of nature to the canvas, were as yet unknown to the great
draughtsman. There is more of atmosphere, of colour suggestion, and of
chiaroscuro in the marble _tondi_ described above. Moreover, in spite
of very careful modelling, Michelangelo has failed to make us feel the
successive planes of his composition. The whole seems flat, and each
distance, instead of being graduated, starts forward to the eye. He
required, at this period of his career, the relief of sculpture in
order to express the roundness of the human form and the relative
depth of objects placed in a receding order. If anything were needed
to make us believe the story of his saying to Pope Julius II. that
sculpture and not painting was his trade, this superb design, so
deficient in the essential qualities of painting proper, would
suffice. Men infinitely inferior to himself in genius and sense of
form, a Perugino, a Francia, a Fra Bartolommeo, an Albertinelli,
possessed more of the magic which evokes pictorial beauty.
Nevertheless, with all its aridity, rigidity, and almost repulsive
hardness of colour, the Doni Madonna ranks among the great pictures of
the world. Once seen it will never be forgotten: it tyrannises and
dominates the imagination by its titanic power of drawing. No one,
except perhaps Lionardo, could draw like that, and Lionardo would not
have allowed his linear scheme to impose itself so remorselessly upon
the mind.
VI
Just at this point of his development, Michelangelo was brought into
competition with Lionardo da Vinci, the only living rival worthy of
his genius. During the year 1503 Piero Soderini determined to adorn
the hall of the Great Council in the Palazzo Vecchio with huge mural
frescoes, which should represent scenes in Florentine history.
Documents regarding the commencement of these works and the contracts
made with the respective artists are unfortunately wanting. But it
appears that Da Vinci received a commission for one of the long walls
in the autumn of that year. We have items of expenditure on record
which show that the Municipality of Florence assigned him the Sala del
Papa at S. Maria Novella before February 1504, and were preparing the
necessary furniture for the construction of his Cartoon. It seems that
he was hard at work upon the 1st of April, receiving fifteen golden
florins a month for his labour. The subject which he chose to treat
was the battle of Anghiari in 1440, when the Florentine mercenaries
entirely routed the troops of Filippo Maria Visconti, led by Niccolò
Piccinino, one of the greatest generals of his age. In August 1504
Soderini commissioned Michelangelo to prepare Cartoons for the
opposite wall of the great Sala, and assigned to him a workshop in the
Hospital of the Dyers at S. Onofrio. A minute of expenditure, under
date October 31, 1504, shows that the paper for the Cartoon had been
already provided; and Michelangelo continued to work upon it until his
call to Rome at the beginning of 1505. Lionardo's battle-piece
consisted of two groups on horseback engaged in a fierce struggle for
a standard. Michelangelo determined to select a subject which should
enable him to display all his power as the supreme draughtsman of the
nude. He chose an episode from the war with Pisa, when, on the 28th of
July 1364, a band of 400 Florentine soldiers were surprised bathing by
Sir John Hawkwood and his English riders. It goes by the name of the
Battle of Pisa, though the event really took place at Cascina on the
Arno, some six miles above that city.
We have every reason to regard the composition of this Cartoon as the
central point in Michelangelo's life as an artist. It was the
watershed, so to speak, which divided his earlier from his later
manner; and if we attach any value to the critical judgment of his
enthusiastic admirer, Cellini, even the roof of the Sistine fell short
of its perfection. Important, however, as it certainly is in the
history of his development, I must defer speaking of it in detail
until the end of the next chapter. For some reason or other, unknown
to us, he left his work unfinished early in 1505, and went, at the
Pope's invitation, to Rome. When he returned, in the ensuing year, to
Florence, he resumed and completed the design. Some notion of its size
may be derived from what we know about the material supplied for
Lionardo's Cartoon. This, say Crowe and Cavalcaselle, "was made up of
one ream and twenty-nine quires, or about 288 square feet of royal
folio paper, the mere pasting of which necessitated a consumption of
eighty-eight pounds of flour, the mere lining of which required three
pieces of Florentine linen."
Condivi, summing up his notes of this period spent by Michelangelo at
Florence, says: "He stayed there some time without working to much
purpose in his craft, having taken to the study of poets and
rhetoricians in the vulgar tongue, and to the composition of sonnets
for his pleasure." It is difficult to imagine how Michelangelo, with
all his engagements, found the leisure to pursue these literary
amusements. But Condivi's biography is the sole authentic source which
we possess for the great master's own recollections of his past life.
It is, therefore, not improbable that in the sentence I have quoted we
may find some explanation of the want of finish observable in his
productions at this point. Michelangelo was, to a large extent, a
dreamer; and this single phrase throws light upon the expanse of time,
the barren spaces, in his long laborious life. The poems we now
possess by his pen are clearly the wreck of a vast multitude; and most
of those accessible in manuscript and print belong to a later stage of
his development. Still the fact remains that in early manhood he
formed the habit of conversing with writers of Italian and of
fashioning his own thoughts into rhyme. His was a nature capable
indeed of vehement and fiery activity, but by constitution somewhat
saturnine and sluggish, only energetic when powerfully stimulated; a
meditative man, glad enough to be inert when not spurred forward on
the path of strenuous achievement. And so, it seems, the literary bent
took hold upon him as a relief from labour, as an excuse for temporary
inaction. In his own art, the art of design, whether this assumed the
form of sculpture or of painting or of architecture, he did nothing
except at the highest pressure. All his accomplished work shows signs
of the intensest cerebration. But he tried at times to slumber, sunk
in a wise passiveness. Then he communed with the poets, the prophets,
and the prose-writers of his country. We can well imagine, therefore,
that, tired with the labours of the chisel or the brush, he gladly
gave himself to composition, leaving half finished on his easel things
which had for him their adequate accomplishment.
I think it necessary to make these suggestions, because, in my
opinion, Michelangelo's inner life and his literary proclivities have
been hitherto too much neglected in the scheme of his psychology.
Dazzled by the splendour of his work, critics are content to skip
spaces of months and years, during which the creative genius of the
man smouldered. It is, as I shall try to show, in those intervals,
dimly revealed to us by what remains of his poems and his
correspondence, that the secret of this man, at once so tardy and so
energetic; has to be discovered.
A great master of a different temperament, less solitary, less
saturnine, less sluggish, would have formed a school, as Raffaello
did. Michelangelo formed no school, and was incapable of confiding the
execution of his designs to any subordinates. This is also a point of
the highest importance to insist upon. Had he been other than he
was--a gregarious man, contented with the _à peu près_ in art--he
might have sent out all those twelve Apostles for the Duomo from his
workshop. Raffaello would have done so; indeed, the work which bears
his name in Rome could not have existed except under these conditions.
Now nothing is left to us of the twelve Apostles except a rough-hewn
sketch of S. Matthew. Michelangelo was unwilling or unable to organise
a band of craftsmen fairly interpretative of his manner. When his own
hand failed, or when he lost the passion for his labour, he left the
thing unfinished. And much of this incompleteness in his life-work
seems to me due to his being what I called a dreamer. He lacked the
merely business faculty, the power of utilising hands and brains. He
could not bring his genius into open market, and stamp inferior
productions with his countersign. Willingly he retired into the
solitude of his own self, to commune with great poets and to meditate
upon high thoughts, while he indulged the emotions arising from forms
of strength and beauty presented to his gaze upon the pathway of
experience.