I
Among the many nephews whom Sixtus IV. had raised to eminence, the
most distinguished was Giuliano della Rovere, Cardinal of S. Pietro in
Vincoli, and Bishop of Ostia. This man possessed a fiery temper,
indomitable energy, and the combative instinct which takes delight in
fighting for its own sake. Nature intended him for a warrior; and,
though circumstances made him chief of the Church, he discharged his
duties as a Pontiff in the spirit of a general and a conqueror. When
Julius II. was elected in November 1503, it became at once apparent
that he intended to complete what his hated predecessors, the Borgias,
had begun, by reducing to his sway all the provinces over which the
See of Rome had any claims, and creating a central power in Italy.
Unlike the Borgias, however, he entertained no plan of raising his own
family to sovereignty at the expense of the Papal power. The Della
Roveres were to be contented with their Duchy of Urbino, which came to
them by inheritance from the Montefeltri. Julius dreamed of Italy for
the Italians, united under the hegemony of the Supreme Pontiff, who
from Rome extended his spiritual authority and political influence
over the whole of Western Europe. It does not enter into the scheme of
this book to relate the series of wars and alliances in which this
belligerent Pope involved his country, and the final failure of his
policy, so far as the liberation of Italy from the barbarians was
concerned. Suffice it to say, that at the close of his stormy reign he
had reduced the States of the Church to more or less complete
obedience, bequeathing to his successors an ecclesiastical kingdom
which the enfeebled condition of the peninsula at large enabled them
to keep intact.
There was nothing petty or mean in Julius II.; his very faults bore a
grandiose and heroic aspect. Turbulent, impatient, inordinate in his
ambition, reckless in his choice of means, prolific of immense
projects, for which a lifetime would have been too short, he filled
the ten years of his pontificate with a din of incoherent deeds and
vast schemes half accomplished. Such was the man who called
Michelangelo to Rome at the commencement of 1505. Why the sculptor was
willing to leave his Cartoon unfinished, and to break his engagement
with the Operai del Duomo, remains a mystery. It is said that the
illustrious architect, Giuliano da San Gallo, who had worked for
Julius while he was cardinal, and was now his principal adviser upon
matters of art, suggested to the Pope that Buonarroti could serve him
admirably in his ambitious enterprises for the embellishment of the
Eternal City. We do not know for certain whether Julius, when he
summoned Michelangelo from Florence, had formed the design of engaging
him upon a definite piece of work. The first weeks of his residence in
Rome are said to have been spent in inactivity, until at last Julius
proposed to erect a huge monument of marble for his own tomb.
Thus began the second and longest period of Michelangelo's
art-industry. Henceforth he was destined to labour for a series of
Popes, following their whims with distracted energies and a lamentable
waste of time. The incompleteness which marks so much of his
performance was due to the rapid succession of these imperious
masters, each in turn careless about the schemes of his predecessor,
and bent on using the artist's genius for his own profit. It is true
that nowhere but in Rome could Michelangelo have received commissions
on so vast a scale. Nevertheless we cannot but regret the fate which
drove him to consume years of hampered industry upon what Condivi
calls "the tragedy of Julius's tomb," upon quarrying and road-making
for Leo X., upon the abortive plans at S. Lorenzo, and upon
architectural and engineering works, which were not strictly within
his province. At first it seemed as though fortune was about to smile
on him. In Julius he found a patron who could understand and
appreciate his powers. Between the two men there existed a strong bond
of sympathy due to community of temperament. Both aimed at colossal
achievements in their respective fields of action. The imagination of
both was fired by large and simple rather than luxurious and subtle
thoughts. Both were _uomini terribili_, to use a phrase denoting
vigour of character and energy of genius, made formidable by an
abrupt, uncompromising spirit. Both worked with what the Italians call
fury, with the impetuosity of daemonic natures; and both left the
impress of their individuality stamped indelibly upon their age.
Julius, in all things grandiose, resolved to signalise his reign by
great buildings, great sculpture, great pictorial schemes. There was
nothing of the dilettante and collector about him. He wanted creation
at a rapid rate and in enormous quantities. To indulge this craving,
he gathered round him a band of demigods and Titans, led by Bramante,
Raffaello, Michelangelo, and enjoyed the spectacle of a new world of
art arising at his bidding through their industry of brain and hand.
II
What followed upon Michelangelo's arrival in Rome may be told in
Condivi's words: "Having reached Rome, many months elapsed before
Julius decided on what great work he would employ him. At last it
occurred to him to use his genius in the construction of his own tomb.
The design furnished by Michelangelo pleased the Pope so much that he
sent him off immediately to Carrara, with commission to quarry as much
marble as was needful for that undertaking. Two thousand ducats were
put to his credit with Alamanni Salviati at Florence for expenses. He
remained more than eight months among those mountains, with two
servants and a horse, but without any salary except his keep. One day,
while inspecting the locality, the fancy took him to convert a hill
which commands the sea-shore into a Colossus, visible by mariners
afar. The shape of the huge rock, which lent itself admirably to such
a purpose, attracted him; and he was further moved to emulate the
ancients, who, sojourning in the place peradventure with the same
object as himself, in order to while away the time, or for some other
motive, have left certain unfinished and rough-hewn monuments, which
give a good specimen of their craft. And assuredly he would have
carried out this scheme, if time enough had been at his disposal, or
if the special purpose of his visit to Carrara had permitted. I one
day heard him lament bitterly that he had not done so. Well, then,
after quarrying and selecting the blocks which he deemed sufficient,
he had them brought to the sea, and left a man of his to ship them
off. He returned to Rome, and having stopped some days in Florence on
the way, when he arrived there, he found that part of the marble had
already reached the Ripa. There he had them disembarked, and carried
to the Piazza of S. Peter's behind S. Caterina, where he kept his
lodging, close to the corridor connecting the Palace with the Castle
of S. Angelo. The quantity of stone was enormous, so that, when it was
all spread out upon the square, it stirred amazement in the minds of
most folk, but joy in the Pope's. Julius indeed began to heap favours
upon Michelangelo; for when he had begun to work, the Pope used
frequently to betake himself to his house, conversing there with him
about the tomb, and about other works which he proposed to carry out
in concert with one of his brothers. In order to arrive more
conveniently at Michelangelo's lodgings, he had a drawbridge thrown
across from the corridor, by which he might gain privy access."
The date of Michelangelo's return to Rome is fixed approximately by a
contract signed at Carrara between him and two shipowners of Lavagna.
This deed is dated November 12, 1505. It shows that thirty-four
cartloads of marble were then ready for shipment, together with two
figures weighing fifteen cartloads more. We have a right to assume
that Michelangelo left Carrara soon after completing this transaction.
Allowing, then, for the journey and the halt at Florence, he probably
reached Rome in the last week of that month.
III
The first act in the tragedy of the sepulchre had now begun, and
Michelangelo was embarked upon one of the mightiest undertakings which
a sovereign of the stamp of Julius ever intrusted to a sculptor of his
titanic energy. In order to form a conception of the magnitude of the
enterprise, I am forced to enter into a discussion regarding the real
nature of the monument. This offers innumerable difficulties, for we
only possess imperfect notices regarding the original design, and two
doubtful drawings belonging to an uncertain period. Still it is
impossible to understand those changes in the Basilica of S. Peter's
which were occasioned by the project of Julius, or to comprehend the
immense annoyances to which the tomb exposed Michelangelo, without
grappling with its details. Condivi's text must serve for guide. This,
in fact, is the sole source of any positive value. He describes the
tomb, as he believed it to have been first planned, in the following
paragraph:--
"To give some notion of the monument, I will say that it was intended
to have four faces: two of eighteen cubits, serving for the sides, and
two of twelve for the ends, so that the whole formed one great square
and a half. Surrounding it externally were niches to be filled with
statues, and between each pair of niches stood terminal figures, to
the front of which were attached on certain consoles projecting from
the wall another set of statues bound like prisoners. These
represented the Liberal Arts, and likewise Painting, Sculpture,
Architecture, each with characteristic emblems, rendering their
identification easy. The intention was to show that all the talents
had been taken captive by death, together with Pope Julius, since
never would they find another patron to cherish and encourage them as
he had done. Above these figures ran a cornice, giving unity to the
whole work. Upon the flat surface formed by this cornice were to be
four large statues, one of which, that is, the Moses, now exists at S.
Pietro ad Vincula. And so, arriving at the summit, the tomb ended in a
level space, whereon were two angels who supported a sarcophagus. One
of them appeared to smile, rejoicing that the soul of the Pope had
been received among the blessed spirits; the other seemed to weep, as
sorrowing that the world had been robbed of such a man. From one of
the ends, that is, by the one which was at the head of the monument,
access was given to a little chamber like a chapel, enclosed within
the monument, in the midst of which was a marble chest, wherein the
corpse of the Pope was meant to be deposited. The whole would have
been executed with stupendous finish. In short, the sepulchre included
more than forty statues, not counting the histories in half-reliefs,
made of bronze, all of them pertinent to the general scheme and
representative of the mighty Pontiff's actions."
Vasari's account differs in some minor details from Condivi's, but it
is of no authoritative value. Not having appeared in the edition of
1550, we may regard it as a _réchauffée_ of Condivi, with the usual
sauce provided by the Aretine's imagination. The only addition I can
discover which throws light upon Condivi's narrative is that the
statues in the niches were meant to represent provinces conquered by
Julius. This is important, because it leads us to conjecture that
Vasari knew a drawing now preserved in the Uffizi, and sought, by its
means, to add something to his predecessor's description. The drawing
will occupy our attention shortly; but it may here be remarked that in
1505, the date of the first project, Julius was only entering upon his
conquests. It would have been a gross act of flattery on the part of
the sculptor, a flying in the face of Nemesis on the part of his
patron, to design a sepulchre anticipating length of life and luck
sufficient for these triumphs.
What then Condivi tells us about the first scheme is, that it was
intended to stand isolated in the tribune of S. Peter's; that it
formed a rectangle of a square and half a square; that the podium was
adorned with statues in niches flanked by projecting dadoes supporting
captive arts, ten in number; that at each corner of the platform above
the podium a seated statue was placed, one of which we may safely
identify with the Moses; and that above this, surmounting the whole
monument by tiers, arose a second mass, culminating in a sarcophagus
supported by two angels. He further adds that the tomb was entered at
its extreme end by a door, which led to a little chamber where lay the
body of the Pope, and that bronze bas-reliefs formed a prominent
feature of the total scheme. He reckons that more than forty statues
would have been required to complete the whole design, although he has
only mentioned twenty-two of the most prominent.
More than this we do not know about the first project. We have no
contracts and no sketches that can be referred to the date 1505. Much
confusion has been introduced into the matter under consideration by
the attempt to reconcile Condivi's description with the drawing I have
just alluded to. Heath Wilson even used that drawing to impugn
Condivi's accuracy with regard to the number of the captives, and the
seated figures on the platform. The drawing in question, as we shall
presently see, is of great importance for the subsequent history of
the monument; and I believe that it to some extent preserves the
general aspect which the tomb, as first designed, was intended to
present. Two points about it, however, prevent our taking it as a true
guide to Michelangelo's original conception. One is that it is clearly
only part of a larger scheme of composition. The other is that it
shows a sarcophagus, not supported by angels, but posed upon the
platform. Moreover, it corresponds to the declaration appended in 1513
by Michelangelo to the first extant document we possess about the
tomb.
Julius died in February 1513, leaving, it is said, to his executors
directions that his sepulchre should not be carried out upon the first
colossal plan. If he did so, they seem at the beginning of their trust
to have disregarded his intentions. Michelangelo expressly states in
one of his letters that the Cardinal of Agen wished to proceed with
the tomb, but on a larger scale. A deed dated May 6, 1513, was signed,
at the end of which Michelangelo specified the details of the new
design. It differed from the former in many important respects, but
most of all in the fact that now the structure was to be attached to
the wall of the church. I cannot do better than translate
Michelangelo's specifications. They run as follows: "Let it be known
to all men that I, Michelangelo, sculptor of Florence, undertake to
execute the sepulchre of Pope Julius in marble, on the commission of
the Cardinal of Agens and the Datary (Pucci), who, after his death,
have been appointed to complete this work, for the sum of 16,500
golden ducats of the Camera; and the composition of the said sepulchre
is to be in the form ensuing: A rectangle visible from three of its
sides, the fourth of which is attached to the wall and cannot be seen.
The front face, that is, the head of this rectangle, shall be twenty
palms in breadth and fourteen in height, the other two, running up
against the wall, shall be thirty-five palms long and likewise
fourteen palms in height. Each of these three sides shall contain two
tabernacles, resting on a basement which shall run round the said
space, and shall be adorned with pilasters, architrave, frieze, and
cornice, as appears in the little wooden model. In each of the said
six tabernacles will be placed two figures about one palm taller than
life (_i.e._, 6-3/4 feet), twelve in all; and in front of each
pilaster which flanks a tabernacle shall stand a figure of similar
size, twelve in all. On the platform above the said rectangular
structure stands a sarcophagus with four feet, as may be seen in the
model, upon which will be Pope Julius sustained by two angels at his
head, with two at his feet; making five figures on the sarcophagus,
all larger than life, that is, about twice the size. Round about the
said sarcophagus will be placed six dadoes or pedestals, on which six
figures of the same dimensions will sit. Furthermore, from the
platform, where it joins the wall, springs a little chapel about
thirty-five palms high (26 feet 3 inches), which shall contain five
figures larger than all the rest, as being farther from the eye.
Moreover, there shall be three histories, either of bronze or of
marble, as may please the said executors, introduced on each face of
the tomb between one tabernacle and another." All this Michelangelo
undertook to execute in seven years for the stipulated sum.
The new project involved thirty-eight colossal statues; and,
fortunately for our understanding of it, we may be said with almost
absolute certainty to possess a drawing intended to represent it. Part
of this is a pen-and-ink sketch at the Uffizi, which has frequently
been published, and part is a sketch in the Berlin Collection. These
have been put together by Professor Middleton of Cambridge, who has
also made out a key-plan of the tomb. With regard to its proportions
and dimensions as compared with Michelangelo's specification, there
remain some difficulties, with which I cannot see that Professor
Middleton has grappled. It is perhaps not improbable, as Heath Wilson
suggested, that the drawing had been thrown off as a picturesque
forecast of the monument without attention to scale. Anyhow, there is
no doubt that in this sketch, so happily restored by Professor
Middleton's sagacity and tact, we are brought close to Michelangelo's
conception of the colossal work he never was allowed to execute. It
not only answers to the description translated above from the
sculptor's own appendix to the contract, but it also throws light upon
the original plan of the tomb designed for the tribune of S. Peter's.
The basement of the podium has been preserved, we may assume, in its
more salient features. There are the niches spoken of by Condivi, with
Vasari's conquered provinces prostrate at the feet of winged
Victories. These are flanked by the terminal figures, against which,
upon projecting consoles, stand the bound captives. At the right hand
facing us, upon the upper platform, is seated Moses, with a different
action of the hands, it is true, from that which Michelangelo finally
adopted. Near him is a female figure, and the two figures grouped upon
the left angle seem to be both female. To some extent these statues
bear out Vasari's tradition that the platform in the first design was
meant to sustain figures of the contemplative and active life of the
soul--Dante's Leah and Rachel.
This great scheme was never carried out. The fragments which may be
safely assigned to it are the Moses at S. Pietro in Vincoli and the
two bound captives of the Louvre; the Madonna and Child, Leah and
Rachel, and two seated statues also at S. Pietro in Vincoli, belong to
the plan, though these have undergone considerable alterations. Some
other scattered fragments of the sculptor's work may possibly be
connected with its execution. Four male figures roughly hewn, which
are now wrought into the rock-work of a grotto in the Boboli Gardens,
together with the young athlete trampling on a prostrate old man
(called the Victory) and the Adonis of the Museo Nazionale at
Florence, have all been ascribed to the sepulchre of Julius in one or
other of its stages. But these attributes are doubtful, and will be
criticised in their proper place and time. Suffice it now to say that
Vasari reports, beside the Moses, Victory, and two Captives at the
Louvre, eight figures for the tomb blocked out by Michelangelo at
Rome, and five blocked out at Florence.
Continuing the history of this tragic undertaking, we come to the year
1516. On the 8th of July in that year, Michelangelo signed a new
contract, whereby the previous deed of 1513 was annulled. Both of the
executors were alive and parties to this second agreement. "A model
was made, the width of which is stated at twenty-one feet, after the
monument had been already sculptured of a width of almost twenty-three
feet. The architectural design was adhered to with the same pedestals
and niches and the same crowning cornice of the first story. There
were to be six statues in front, but the conquered provinces were now
dispensed with. There was also to be one niche only on each flank, so
that the projection of the monument from the wall was reduced more
than half, and there were to be only twelve statues beneath the
cornice and one relief, instead of twenty-four statues and three
reliefs. On the summit of this basement a shrine was to be erected,
within which was placed the effigy of the Pontiff on his sarcophagus,
with two heavenly guardians. The whole of the statues described in
this third contract amount to nineteen." Heath Wilson observes, with
much propriety, that the most singular fact about these successive
contracts is the departure from certain fixed proportions both of the
architectural parts and the statues, involving a serious loss of
outlay and of work. Thus the two Captives of the Louvre became
useless, and, as we know, they were given away to Ruberto Strozzi in a
moment of generosity by the sculptor. The sitting figures detailed in
the deed of 1516 are shorter than the Moses by one foot. The standing
figures, now at S. Pietro in Vincoli, correspond to the
specifications. What makes the matter still more singular is, that
after signing the contract under date July 8, 1516, Michelangelo in
November of the same year ordered blocks of marble from Carrara, with
measurements corresponding to the specifications of the deed of 1513.
The miserable tragedy of the sepulchre dragged on for another sixteen
years. During this period the executors of Julius passed away, and the
Duke Francesco Maria della Rovere replaced them. He complained that
Michelangelo neglected the tomb, which was true, although the fault
lay not with the sculptor, but with the Popes, his taskmasters. Legal
proceedings were instituted to recover a large sum of money, which, it
was alleged, had been disbursed without due work delivered by the
master. Michelangelo had recourse to Clement VII., who, being anxious
to monopolise his labour, undertook to arrange matters with the Duke.
On the 29th of April 1532 a third and solemn contract was signed at
Rome in presence of the Pope, witnessed by a number of illustrious
personages. This third contract involved a fourth design for the tomb,
which Michelangelo undertook to furnish, and at the same time to
execute six statues with his own hand. On this occasion the notion of
erecting it in S. Peter's was finally abandoned. The choice lay
between two other Roman churches, that of S. Maria del Popolo, where
monuments to several members of the Della Rovere family existed, and
that of S. Pietro in Vincoli, from which Julius II. had taken his
cardinal's title. Michelangelo decided for the latter, on account of
its better lighting. The six statues promised by Michelangelo are
stated in the contract to be "begun and not completed, extant at the
present date in Rome or in Florence." Which of the several statues
blocked out for the monument were to be chosen is not stated; and as
there are no specifications in the document, we cannot identify them
with exactness. At any rate, the Moses must have been one; and it is
possible that the Leah and Rachel, Madonna, and two seated statues,
now at S. Pietro, were the other five.
It might have been thought that at last the tragedy had dragged on to
its conclusion. But no; there was a fifth act, a fourth contract, a
fifth design. Paul III. succeeded to Clement VII., and, having seen
the Moses in Michelangelo's workshop, declared that this one statue
was enough for the deceased Pope's tomb. The Duke Francesco Maria
della Rovere died in 1538, and was succeeded by his son, Guidobaldo
II. The new Duke's wife was a granddaughter of Paul III., and this may
have made him amenable to the Pope's influence. At all events, upon
the 20th of August 1542 a final contract was signed, stating that
Michelangelo had been prevented "by just and legitimate impediments
from carrying out" his engagement under date April 29, 1532, releasing
him from the terms of the third deed, and establishing new conditions.
The Moses, finished by the hand of Michelangelo, takes the central
place in this new monument. Five other statues are specified: "to wit,
a Madonna with the child in her arms, which is already finished; a
Sibyl, a Prophet, an Active Life and a Contemplative Life, blocked out
and nearly completed by the said Michelangelo." These four were given
to Raffaello da Montelupo to finish. The reclining portrait-statue of
Julius, which was carved by Maso del Bosco, is not even mentioned in
this contract. But a deed between the Duke's representative and the
craftsmen Montelupo and Urbino exists, in which the latter undertakes
to see that Michelangelo shall retouch the Pope's face.
Thus ended the tragedy of the tomb of Pope Julius II. It is supposed
to have been finally completed in 1545, and was set up where it still
remains uninjured at S. Pietro in Vincoli.
IV
I judged it needful to anticipate the course of events by giving this
brief history of a work begun in 1505, and carried on with so many
hindrances and alterations through forty years of Michelangelo's life.
We shall often have to return to it, since the matter cannot be
lightly dismissed. The tomb of Julius empoisoned Michelangelo's
manhood, hampered his energy, and brought but small if any profit to
his purse. In one way or another it is always cropping up, and may be
said to vex his biographers and the students of his life as much as it
annoyed himself. We may now return to those early days in Rome, when
the project had still a fascination both for the sculptor and his
patron.
The old Basilica of S. Peter on the Vatican is said to have been built
during the reign of Constantine, and to have been consecrated in 324
A.D. It was one of the largest of those Roman buildings, measuring 435
feet in length from the great door to the end of the tribune. A
spacious open square or atrium, surrounded by a cloister-portico, gave
access to the church. This, in the Middle Ages, gained the name of the
Paradiso. A kind of tabernacle, in the centre of the square, protected
the great bronze fir-cone, which was formerly supposed to have crowned
the summit of Hadrian's Mausoleum, the Castle of S. Angelo. Dante, who
saw it in the courtyard of S. Peter's, used it as a standard for his
giant Nimrod. He says--
_La faccia sua ml parea lunga e grossa,
Come la pina di San Pietro a Roma.
--(Inf._ xxxi. 58.)
This mother-church of Western Christendom was adorned inside and out
with mosaics in the style of those which may still be seen at Ravenna.
Above the lofty row of columns which flanked the central aisle ran
processions of saints and sacred histories. They led the eye onward to
what was called the Arch of Triumph, separating this portion of the
building from the transept and the tribune. The concave roof of the
tribune itself was decorated with a colossal Christ, enthroned between
S. Peter and S. Paul, surveying the vast spaces of his house: the lord
and master, before whom pilgrims from all parts of Europe came to pay
tribute and to perform acts of homage. The columns were of precious
marbles, stripped from Pagan palaces and temples; and the roof was
tiled with plates of gilded bronze, torn in the age of Heraclius from
the shrine of Venus and of Roma on the Sacred Way.
During the eleven centuries which elapsed between its consecration and
the decree for its destruction, S. Peter's had been gradually enriched
with a series of monuments, inscriptions, statues, frescoes, upon
which were written the annals of successive ages of the Church. Giotto
worked there under Benedict II. in 1340. Pope after Pope was buried
there. In the early period of Renaissance sculpture, Mino da Fiesole,
Pollaiuolo, and Filarete added works in bronze and marble, which blent
the grace of Florentine religious tradition with quaint neo-pagan
mythologies. These treasures, priceless for the historian, the
antiquary, and the artist, were now going to be ruthlessly swept away
at a pontiff's bidding, in order to make room for his haughty and
self-laudatory monument. Whatever may have been the artistic merits of
Michelangelo's original conception for the tomb, the spirit was in no
sense Christian. Those rows of captive Arts and Sciences, those
Victories exulting over prostrate cities, those allegorical colossi
symbolising the mundane virtues of a mighty ruler's character, crowned
by the portrait of the Pope, over whom Heaven rejoiced while Cybele
deplored his loss--all this pomp of power and parade of ingenuity
harmonised but little with the humility of a contrite soul returning
to its Maker and its Judge. The new temple, destined to supersede the
old basilica, embodied an aspect of Latin Christianity which had very
little indeed in common with the piety of the primitive Church. S.
Peter's, as we see it now, represents the majesty of Papal Rome, the
spirit of a secular monarchy in the hands of priests; it is the
visible symbol of that schism between the Teutonic and the Latin
portions of the Western Church which broke out soon after its
foundation, and became irreconcilable before the cross was placed upon
its cupola. It seemed as though in sweeping away the venerable
traditions of eleven hundred years, and replacing Rome's time-honoured
Mother-Church with an edifice bearing the brand-new stamp of hybrid
neo-pagan architecture, the Popes had wished to signalise that rupture
with the past and that atrophy of real religious life which marked the
counter-reformation.
Julius II. has been severely blamed for planning the entire
reconstruction of his cathedral. It must, however, be urged in his
defence that the structure had already, in 1447, been pronounced
insecure. Nicholas V. ordered his architects, Bernardo Rossellini and
Leo Battista Alberti, to prepare plans for its restoration. It is, of
course, impossible for us to say for certain whether the ancient
fabric could have been preserved, or whether its dilapidation had gone
so far as to involve destruction. Bearing in mind the recklessness of
the Renaissance and the passion which the Popes had for engaging in
colossal undertakings, one is inclined to suspect that the unsound
state of the building was made a pretext for beginning a work which
flattered the architectural tastes of Nicholas, but was not absolutely
necessary. However this may have been, foundations for a new tribune
were laid outside the old apse, and the wall rose some feet above the
ground before the Pope's death. Paul II. carried on the building; but
during the pontificates of Sixtus, Innocent, and Alexander it seems to
have been neglected. Meanwhile nothing had been done to injure the
original basilica; and when Julius announced his intention of
levelling it to the ground, his cardinals and bishops entreated him to
refrain from an act so sacrilegious. The Pope was not a man to take
advice or make concessions. Accordingly, turning a deaf ear to these
entreaties, he had plans prepared by Giuliano da San Gallo and
Bramante. Those eventually chosen were furnished by Bramante; and San
Gallo, who had hitherto enjoyed the fullest confidence of Julius, is
said to have left Rome in disgust. For reasons which will afterwards
appear, he could not have done so before the summer months of 1506.
It is not yet the proper time to discuss the building of S. Peter's.
Still, with regard to Bramante's plan, this much may here be said. It
was designed in the form of a Greek cross, surmounted with a huge
circular dome and flanked by two towers. Bramante used to boast that
he meant to raise the Pantheon in the air; and the plan, as preserved
for us by Serlio, shows that the cupola would have been constructed
after that type. Competent judges, however, declare that insuperable
difficulties must have arisen in carrying out this design, while the
piers constructed by Bramante were found in effect to be wholly
insufficient for their purpose. For the aesthetic beauty and the
commodiousness of his building we have the strongest evidence in a
letter written by Michelangelo, who was by no means a partial witness.
"It cannot be denied," he says, "that Bramante's talent as an
architect was equal to that of any one from the times of the ancients
until now. He laid the first plan of S. Peter's, not confused, but
clear and simple, full of light and detached from surrounding
buildings, so that it interfered with no part of the palace. It was
considered a very fine design, and indeed any one can see with his own
eyes now that it is so. All the architects who departed from
Bramante's scheme, as did Antonio da San Gallo, have departed from the
truth." Though Michelangelo gave this unstinted praise to Bramante's
genius as a builder, he blamed him severely both for his want of
honesty as a man, and also for his vandalism in dealing with the
venerable church he had to replace. "Bramante," says Condivi, "was
addicted, as everybody knows, to every kind of pleasure. He spent
enormously, and, though the pension granted him by the Pope was large,
he found it insufficient for his needs. Accordingly he made profit out
of the works committed to his charge, erecting the walls of poor
material, and without regard for the substantial and enduring
qualities which fabrics on so huge a scale demanded. This is apparent
in the buildings at S. Peter's, the Corridore of the Belvedere, the
Convent of San Pietro ad Vincula, and other of his edifices, which
have had to be strengthened and propped up with buttresses and similar
supports in order to prevent them tumbling down." Bramante, during his
residence in Lombardy, developed a method of erecting piers with
rubble enclosed by hewn stone or plaster-covered brickwork. This
enabled an unconscientious builder to furnish bulky architectural
masses, which presented a specious aspect of solidity and looked more
costly than they really were. It had the additional merit of being
easy and rapid in execution. Bramante was thus able to gratify the
whims and caprices of his impatient patron, who desired to see the
works of art he ordered rise like the fabric of Aladdin's lamp before
his very eyes. Michelangelo is said to have exposed the architect's
trickeries to the Pope; what is more, he complained with just and
bitter indignation of the wanton ruthlessness with which Bramante set
about his work of destruction. I will again quote Condivi here, for
the passage seems to have been inspired by the great sculptor's verbal
reminiscences: "The worst was, that while he was pulling down the old
S. Peter's, he dashed those marvellous antique columns to the ground,
without paying the least attention, or caring at all when they were
broken into fragments, although he might have lowered them gently and
preserved their shafts intact. Michelangelo pointed out that it was an
easy thing enough to erect piers by placing brick on brick, but that
to fashion a column like one of these taxed all the resources of art."
On the 18th of April 1506, Julius performed the ceremony of laying the
foundation-stone of the new S. Peter's. The place chosen was the great
sustaining pier of the dome, near which the altar of S. Veronica now
stands. A deep pit had been excavated, into which the aged Pope
descended fearlessly, only shouting to the crowd above that they
should stand back and not endanger the falling in of the earth above
him. Coins and medals were duly deposited in a vase, over which a
ponderous block of marble was lowered, while Julius, bareheaded,
sprinkled the stone with holy water and gave the pontifical
benediction. On the same day he wrote a letter to Henry VII. of
England, informing the King that "by the guidance of our Lord and
Saviour Jesus Christ he had undertaken to restore the old basilica
which was perishing through age."
V
The terms of cordial intimacy which subsisted between Julius and
Michelangelo at the close of 1505 were destined to be disturbed. The
Pope intermitted his visits to the sculptor's workshop, and began to
take but little interest in the monument. Condivi directly ascribes
this coldness to the intrigues of Bramante, who whispered into the
Pontiff's ear that it was ill-omened for a man to construct his own
tomb in his lifetime. It is not at all improbable that he said
something of the sort, and Bramante was certainly no good friend to
Michelangelo. A manoeuvring and managing individual, entirely
unscrupulous in his choice of means, condescending to flattery and
lies, he strove to stand as patron between the Pope and subordinate
craftsmen. Michelangelo had come to Rome under San Gallo's influence,
and Bramante had just succeeded in winning the commission to rebuild
S. Peter's over his rival's head. It was important for him to break up
San Gallo's party, among whom the sincere and uncompromising
Michelangelo threatened to be very formidable. The jealousy which he
felt for the man was envenomed by a fear lest he should speak the
truth about his own dishonesty. To discredit Michelangelo with the
Pope, and, if possible, to drive him out of Rome, was therefore
Bramante's interest: more particularly as his own nephew, Raffaello da
Urbino, had now made up his mind to join him there. We shall see that
he succeeded in expelling both San Gallo and Buonarroti during the
course of 1506, and that in their absence he reigned, together with
Raffaello, almost alone in the art-circles of the Eternal City.
I see no reason, therefore, to discredit the story told by Condivi and
Vasari regarding the Pope's growing want of interest in his tomb.
Michelangelo himself, writing from Rome in 1542, thirty-six years
after these events, says that "all the dissensions between Pope Julius
and me arose from the envy of Bramante and Raffaello da Urbino, and
this was the cause of my not finishing the tomb in his lifetime. They
wanted to ruin me. Raffaello indeed had good reason; for all he had of
art he owed to me." But, while we are justified in attributing much to
Bramante's intrigues, it must be remembered that the Pope at this time
was absorbed in his plans for conquering Bologna. Overwhelmed with
business and anxious about money, he could not have had much leisure
to converse with sculptors.
Michelangelo was still in Rome at the end of January. On the 31st of
that month he wrote to his father, complaining that the marbles did
not arrive quickly enough, and that he had to keep Julius in good
humour with promises. At the same time he begged Lodovico to pack up
all his drawings, and to send them, well secured against bad weather,
by the hand of a carrier. It is obvious that he had no thoughts of
leaving Rome, and that the Pope was still eager about the monument.
Early in the spring he assisted at the discovery of the Laocoon.
Francesco, the son of Giuliano da San Gallo, describes how
Michelangelo was almost always at his father's house; and coming there
one day, he went, at the architect's invitation, down to the ruins of
the Palace of Titus. "We set off, all three together; I on my father's
shoulders. When we descended into the place where the statue lay, my
father exclaimed at once, 'That is the Laocoon, of which Pliny
speaks.' The opening was enlarged, so that it could be taken out; and
after we had sufficiently admired it, we went home to breakfast."
Julius bought the marble for 500 crowns, and had it placed in the
Belvedere of the Vatican. Scholars praised it in Latin lines of
greater or lesser merit, Sadoleto writing even a fine poem; and
Michelangelo is said, but without trustworthy authority, to have
assisted in its restoration.
This is the last glimpse we have of Michelangelo before his flight
from Rome. Under what circumstances he suddenly departed may be
related in the words of a letter addressed by him to Giuliano da San
Gallo in Rome upon the 2nd of May 1506, after his return to Florence.
"Giuliano,--Your letter informs me that the Pope was angry at my
departure, as also that his Holiness is inclined to proceed with the
works agreed upon between us, and that I may return and not be anxious
about anything.
"About my leaving Rome, it is a fact that on Holy Saturday I heard the
Pope, in conversation with a jeweller at table and with the Master of
Ceremonies, say that he did not mean to spend a farthing more on
stones, small or great. This caused me no little astonishment.
However, before I left his presence, I asked for part of the money
needed to carry on the work. His Holiness told me to return on Monday.
I did so, and on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, and on Thursday, as the
Pope saw. At last, on Friday morning, I was sent away, or plainly
turned out of doors. The man who did this said he knew me, but that
such were his orders. I, who had heard the Pope's words on Saturday,
and now perceived their result in deeds, was utterly cast down. This
was not, however, quite the only reason of my departure; there was
something else, which I do not wish to communicate; enough that it
made me think that, if I stayed in Rome, that city would be my tomb
before it was the Pope's. And this was the cause of my sudden
departure.
"Now you write to me at the Pope's instance. So I beg you to read him
this letter, and inform his Holiness that I am even more than ever
disposed to carry out the work."
Further details may be added from subsequent letters of Michelangelo.
Writing in January 1524 to his friend Giovanni Francesco Fattucci, he
says: "When I had finished paying for the transport of these marbles,
and all the money was spent, I furnished the house I had upon the
Piazza di S. Pietro with beds and utensils at my own expense, trusting
to the commission of the tomb, and sent for workmen from Florence, who
are still alive, and paid them in advance out of my own purse.
Meanwhile Pope Julius changed his mind about the tomb, and would not
have it made. Not knowing this, I applied to him for money, and was
expelled from the chamber. Enraged at such an insult, I left Rome on
the moment. The things with which my house was stocked went to the
dogs. The marbles I had brought to Rome lay till the date of Leo's
creation on the Piazza, and both lots were injured and pillaged."
Again, a letter of October 1542, addressed to some prelate, contains
further particulars. We learn he was so short of money that he had to
borrow about 200 ducats from his friend Baldassare Balducci at the
bank of Jacopo Gallo. The episode at the Vatican and the flight to
Poggibonsi are related thus:--
"To continue my history of the tomb of Julius: I say that when he
changed his mind about building it in his lifetime, some ship-loads of
marble came to the Ripa, which I had ordered a short while before from
Carrara; and as I could not get money from the Pope to pay the
freightage, I had to borrow 150 or 200 ducats from Baldassare
Balducci, that is, from the bank of Jacopo Gallo. At the same time
workmen came from Florence, some of whom are still alive; and I
furnished the house which Julius gave me behind S. Caterina with beds
and other furniture for the men, and what was wanted for the work of
the tomb. All this being done without money, I was greatly
embarrassed. Accordingly, I urged the Pope with all my power to go
forward with the business, and he had me turned away by a groom one
morning when I came to speak upon the matter. A Lucchese bishop,
seeing this, said to the groom: 'Do you not know who that man is?' The
groom replied to me: 'Excuse me, gentleman; I have orders to do this.'
I went home, and wrote as follows to the Pope: 'Most blessed Father, I
have been turned out of the palace to-day by your orders; wherefore I
give you notice that from this time forward, if you want me, you must
look for me elsewhere than at Rome.' I sent this letter to Messer
Agostino, the steward, to give it to the Pope. Then I sent for Cosimo,
a carpenter, who lived with me and looked after household matters, and
a stone-heaver, who is still alive, and said to them: 'Go for a Jew,
and sell everything in the house, and come to Florence.' I went, took
the post, and travelled towards Florence. The Pope, when he had read
my letter, sent five horsemen after me, who reached me at Poggibonsi
about three hours after nightfall, and gave me a letter from the Pope
to this effect: 'When you have seen these present, come back at once
to Rome, under penalty of our displeasure.' The horsemen were anxious
I should answer, in order to prove that they had overtaken me. I
replied then to the Pope, that if he would perform the conditions he
was under with regard to me, I would return; but otherwise he must not
expect to have me again. Later on, while I was at Florence, Julius
sent three briefs to the Signory. At last the latter sent for me and
said: 'We do not want to go to war with Pope Julius because of you.
You must return; and if you do so, we will write you letters of such
authority that, should he do you harm, he will be doing it to this
Signory.' Accordingly I took the letters, and went back to the Pope,
and what followed would be long to tell."
These passages from Michelangelo's correspondence confirm Condivi's
narrative of the flight from Rome, showing that he had gathered his
information from the sculptor's lips. Condivi differs only in making
Michelangelo send a verbal message, and not a written letter, to the
Pope. "Enraged by this repulse, he exclaimed to the groom: 'Tell the
Pope that if henceforth he wants me, he must look for me elsewhere.'"
It is worth observing that only the first of these letters, written
shortly after the event, and intended for the Pope's ear, contains a
hint of Michelangelo's dread of personal violence if he remained in
Rome. His words seem to point at poison or the dagger. Cellini's
autobiography yields sufficient proof that such fears were not
unjustified by practical experience; and Bramante, though he preferred
to work by treachery of tongue, may have commanded the services of
assassins, _uomini arditi e facinorosi_, as they were somewhat
euphemistically called. At any rate, it is clear that Michelangelo's
precipitate departure and vehement refusal to return were occasioned
by more pungent motives than the Pope's frigidity. This has to be
noticed, because we learn from several incidents of the same kind in
the master's life that he was constitutionally subject to sudden
fancies and fears of imminent danger to his person from an enemy. He
had already quitted Bologna in haste from dread of assassination or
maltreatment at the hands of native sculptors.
VI
The negotiations which passed between the Pope and the Signory of
Florence about what may be called the extradition of Michelangelo form
a curious episode in his biography, throwing into powerful relief the
importance he had already acquired among the princes of Italy. I
propose to leave these for the commencement of my next chapter, and to
conclude the present with an account of his occupations during the
summer months at Florence.
Signor Gotti says that he passed three months away from Julius in his
native city. Considering that he arrived before the end of April, and
reached Bologna at the end of November 1506, we have the right to
estimate this residence at about seven months. A letter written to him
from Rome on the 4th of August shows that he had not then left
Florence upon any intermediate journey of importance. Therefore there
is every reason to suppose that he enjoyed a period of half a year of
leisure, which he devoted to finishing his Cartoon for the Battle of
Pisa.
It had been commenced, as we have seen, in a workshop at the Spedale
dei Tintori. When he went to Bologna in the autumn, it was left,
exposed presumably to public view, in the Sala del Papa at S. Maria
Novella. It had therefore been completed; but it does not appear that
Michelangelo had commenced his fresco in the Sala del Gran Consiglio.
Lionardo began to paint his Battle of the Standard in March 1505. The
work advanced rapidly; but the method he adopted, which consisted in
applying oil colours to a fat composition laid thickly on the wall,
caused the ruin of his picture. He is said to have wished to reproduce
the encaustic process of the ancients, and lighted fires to harden the
surface of the fresco. This melted the wax in the lower portions of
the paste, and made the colours run. At any rate, no traces of the
painting now remain in the Sala del Gran Consiglio, the walls of which
are covered by the mechanical and frigid brush-work of Vasari. It has
even been suggested that Vasari knew more about the disappearance of
his predecessor's masterpiece than he has chosen to relate. Lionardo's
Cartoon has also disappeared, and we know the Battle of Anghiari only
by Edelinck's engraving from a drawing of Rubens, and by some doubtful
sketches.
The same fate was in store for Michelangelo's Cartoon. All that
remains to us of that great work is the chiaroscuro transcript at
Holkham, a sketch for the whole composition in the Albertina Gallery
at Vienna, which differs in some important details from the Holkham
group, several interesting pen-and-chalk drawings by Michelangelo's
own hand, also in the Albertina Collection, and a line-engraving by
Marcantonio Raimondi, commonly known as "Les Grimpeurs."
We do not know at what exact time Michelangelo finished his Cartoon in
1506. He left it, says Condivi, in the Sala del Papa. Afterwards it
must have been transferred to the Sala del Gran Consiglio; for
Albertini, in his _Memoriale_, or Guide-Book to Florence, printed in
1510, speaks of both "the works of Lionardo da Vinci and the designs
of Michelangelo" as then existing in that hall. Vasari asserts that it
was taken to the house of the Medici, and placed in the great upper
hall, but gives no date. This may have taken place on the return of
the princely family in 1512. Cellini confirms this view, since he
declares that when he was copying the Cartoon, which could hardly have
happened before 1513, the Battle of Pisa was at the Palace of the
Medici, and the Battle of Anghiari at the Sala del Papa. The way in
which it finally disappeared is involved in some obscurity, owing to
Vasari's spite and mendacity. In the first, or 1550, edition of the
"Lives of the Painters," he wrote as follows: "Having become a regular
object of study to artists, the Cartoon was carried to the house of
the Medici, into the great upper hall; and this was the reason that it
came with too little safeguard into the hands of those said artists:
inasmuch as, during the illness of the Duke Giuliano, when no one
attended to such matters, it was torn in pieces by them and scattered
abroad, so that fragments may be found in many places, as is proved by
those existing now in the house of Uberto Strozzi, a gentleman of
Mantua, who holds them in great respect." When Vasari published his
second edition, in 1568, he repeated this story of the destruction of
the Cartoon, but with a very significant alteration. Instead of saying
"it was torn in pieces _by them_" he now printed "it was torn in
pieces, _as hath been told elsewhere_." Now Bandinelli, Vasari's
mortal enemy, and the scapegoat for all the sins of his generation
among artists, died in 1559, and Vasari felt that he might safely
defame his memory. Accordingly he introduced a Life of Bandinelli into
the second edition of his work, containing the following passage:
"Baccio was in the habit of frequenting the place where the Cartoon
stood more than any other artists, and had in his possession a false
key; what follows happened at the time when Piero Soderini was deposed
in 1512, and the Medici returned. Well, then, while the palace was in
tumult and confusion through this revolution, Baccio went alone, and
tore the Cartoon into a thousand fragments. Why he did so was not
known; but some surmised that he wanted to keep certain pieces of it
by him for his own use; some, that he wished to deprive young men of
its advantages in study; some, that he was moved by affection for
Lionardo da Vinci, who suffered much in reputation by this design;
some, perhaps with sharper intuition, believed that the hatred he bore
to Michelangelo inspired him to commit the act. The loss of the
Cartoon to the city was no slight one, and Baccio deserved the blame
he got, for everybody called him envious and spiteful." This second
version stands in glaring contradiction to the first, both as regards
the date and the place where the Cartoon was destroyed. It does not, I
think, deserve credence, for Cellini, who was a boy of twelve in 1512,
could hardly have drawn from it before that date; and if Bandinelli
was so notorious for his malignant vandalism as Vasari asserts, it is
most improbable that Cellini, while speaking of the Cartoon in
connection with Torrigiano, should not have taken the opportunity to
cast a stone at the man whom he detested more than any one in
Florence. Moreover, if Bandinelli had wanted to destroy the Cartoon
for any of the reasons above assigned to him, he would not have
dispersed fragments to be treasured up with reverence. At the close of
this tedious summary I ought to add that Condivi expressly states: "I
do not know by what ill-fortune it subsequently came to ruin." He
adds, however, that many of the pieces were found about in various
places, and that all of them were preserved like sacred objects. We
have, then, every reason to believe that the story told in Vasari's
first edition is the literal truth. Copyists and engravers used their
opportunity, when the palace of the Medici was thrown into disorder by
the severe illness of the Duke of Nemours, to take away portions of
Michelangelo's Cartoon for their own use in 1516.
Of the Cartoon and its great reputation, Cellini gives us this
account: "Michelangelo portrayed a number of foot-soldiers, who, the
season being summer, had gone to bathe in the Arno. He drew them at
the very moment the alarm is sounded, and the men all naked run to
arms; so splendid is their action, that nothing survives of ancient or
of modern art, which touches the same lofty point of excellence; and,
as I have already said, the design of the great Lionardo was itself
most admirably beautiful. These two Cartoons stood, one in the palace
of the Medici, the other in the hall of the Pope. So long as they
remained intact, they were the school of the world. Though the divine
Michelangelo in later life finished that great chapel of Pope Julius
(the Sistine), he never rose halfway to the same pitch of power; his
genius never afterwards attained to the force of those first studies."
Allowing for some exaggeration due to enthusiasm for things enjoyed in
early youth, this is a very remarkable statement. Cellini knew the
frescoes of the Sistine well, yet he maintains that they were inferior
in power and beauty to the Battle of Pisa. It seems hardly credible;
but, if we believe it, the legend of Michelangelo's being unable to
execute his own designs for the vault of that chapel falls to the
ground.
VII
The great Cartoon has become less even than a memory, and so, perhaps,
we ought to leave it in the limbo of things inchoate and
unaccomplished. But this it was not, most emphatically. Decidedly it
had its day, lived and sowed seeds for good or evil through its period
of brief existence: so many painters of the grand style took their
note from it; it did so much to introduce the last phase of Italian
art, the phase of efflorescence, the phase deplored by critics steeped
in mediaeval feeling. To recapture something of its potency from the
description of contemporaries is therefore our plain duty, and for
this we must have recourse to Vasari's text. He says: "Michelangelo
filled his canvas with nude men, who, bathing at the time of summer
heat in Arno, were suddenly called to arms, the enemy assailing them.
The soldiers swarmed up from the river to resume their clothes; and
here you could behold depicted by the master's godlike hands one
hurrying to clasp his limbs in steel and give assistance to his
comrades, another buckling on the cuirass, and many seizing this or
that weapon, with cavalry in squadrons giving the attack. Among the
multitude of figures, there was an old man, who wore upon his head an
ivy wreath for shade. Seated on the ground, in act to draw his hose
up, he was hampered by the wetness of his legs; and while he heard the
clamour of the soldiers, the cries, the rumbling of the drums, he
pulled with all his might; all the muscles and sinews of his body were
seen in strain; and what was more, the contortion of his mouth showed
what agony of haste he suffered, and how his whole frame laboured to
the toe-tips. Then there were drummers and men with flying garments,
who ran stark naked toward the fray. Strange postures too: this fellow
upright, that man kneeling, or bent down, or on the point of rising;
all in the air foreshortened with full conquest over every difficulty.
In addition, you discovered groups of figures sketched in various
methods, some outlined with charcoal, some etched with strokes, some
shadowed with the stump, some relieved in white-lead; the master
having sought to prove his empire over all materials of
draughtsmanship. The craftsmen of design remained therewith astonished
and dumbfounded, recognising the furthest reaches of their art
revealed to them by this unrivalled masterpiece. Those who examined
the forms I have described, painters who inspected and compared them
with works hardly less divine, affirm that never in the history of
human achievement was any product of a man's brain seen like to them
in mere supremacy. And certainly we have the right to believe this;
for when the Cartoon was finished, and carried to the Hall of the
Pope, amid the acclamation of all artists, and to the exceeding fame
of Michelangelo, the students who made drawings from it, as happened
with foreigners and natives through many years in Florence, became men
of mark in several branches. This is obvious, for Aristotele da San
Gallo worked there, as did Ridolfo Ghirlandajo, Raffaello Sanzio da
Urbino, Francesco Granaccio, Baccio Bandinelli, and Alonso Berughetta,
the Spaniard; they were followed by Andrea del Sarto, Franciabigio,
Jacopo Sansovino, Rosso, Maturino, Lorenzetto, Tribolo, then a boy,
Jacopo da Pontormo, and Pierin del Vaga: all of them first-rate
masters of the Florentine school."
It does not appear from this that Vasari pretended to have seen the
great Cartoon. Born in 1512, he could not indeed have done so; but
there breathes through his description a gust of enthusiasm, an
afflatus of concurrent witnesses to its surpassing grandeur. Some of
the details raise a suspicion that Vasari had before his eyes the
transcript _en grisaille_ which he says was made by Aristotele da San
Gallo, and also the engraving by Marcantonio Raimondi. The prominence
given to the ivy-crowned old soldier troubled by his hose confirms the
accuracy of the Holkham picture and the Albertina drawing. But none of
these partial transcripts left to us convey that sense of multitude,
space, and varied action which Vasari's words impress on the
imagination. The fullest, that at Holkham, contains nineteen figures,
and these are schematically arranged in three planes, with outlying
subjects in foreground and background. Reduced in scale, and treated
with the arid touch of a feeble craftsman, the linear composition
suggests no large aesthetic charm. It is simply a bas-relief of
carefully selected attitudes and vigorously studied movements
--nineteen men, more or less unclothed, put together with the
scientific view of illustrating possibilities and conquering
difficulties in postures of the adult male body. The extraordinary
effect, as of something superhuman, produced by the Cartoon upon
contemporaries, and preserved for us in Cellini's and Vasari's
narratives, must then have been due to unexampled qualities of
strength in conception, draughtsmanship, and execution. It stung to
the quick an age of artists who had abandoned the representation of
religious sentiment and poetical feeling for technical triumphs and
masterly solutions of mechanical problems in the treatment of the nude
figure. We all know how much more than this Michelangelo had in him to
give, and how unjust it would be to judge a masterpiece from his hand
by the miserable relics now at our disposal. Still I cannot refrain
from thinking that the Cartoon for the Battle of Pisa, taken up by him
as a field for the display of his ability, must, by its very
brilliancy, have accelerated the ruin of Italian art. Cellini, we saw,
placed it above the frescoes of the Sistine. In force, veracity, and
realism it may possibly have been superior to those sublime
productions. Everything we know about the growth of Michelangelo's
genius leads us to suppose that he departed gradually but surely from
the path of Nature. He came, however, to use what he had learned from
Nature as means for the expression of soul-stimulating thoughts. This,
the finest feature of his genius, no artist of the age was capable of
adequately comprehending. Accordingly, they agreed in extolling a
cartoon which displayed his faculty of dealing with _un bel corpo
ignudo_ as the climax of his powers.
As might be expected, there was no landscape in the Cartoon.
Michelangelo handled his subject wholly from the point of view of
sculpture. A broken bank and a retreating platform, a few rocks in the
distance and a few waved lines in the foreground, showed that the
naked men were by a river. Michelangelo's unrelenting contempt for the
many-formed and many-coloured stage on which we live and move--his
steady determination to treat men and women as nudities posed in the
void, with just enough of solid substance beneath their feet to make
their attitudes intelligible--is a point which must over and over
again be insisted on. In the psychology of the master, regarded from
any side one likes to take, this constitutes his leading
characteristic. It gives the key, not only to his talent as an artist,
but also to his temperament as a man.
Marcantonio seems to have felt and resented the aridity of
composition, the isolation of plastic form, the tyranny of anatomical
science, which even the most sympathetic of us feel in Michelangelo.
This master's engraving of three lovely nudes, the most charming
memento preserved to us from the Cartoon, introduces a landscape of
grove and farm, field and distant hill, lending suavity to the
muscular male body and restoring it to its proper place among the
sinuous lines and broken curves of Nature. That the landscape was
adapted from a copper-plate of Lucas van Leyden signifies nothing. It
serves the soothing purpose which sensitive nerves, irritated by
Michelangelo's aloofness from all else but thought and naked flesh and
posture, gratefully acknowledge.
While Michelangelo was finishing his Cartoon, Lionardo da Vinci was
painting his fresco. Circumstances may have brought the two chiefs of
Italian art frequently together in the streets of Florence. There
exists an anecdote of one encounter, which, though it rests upon the
credit of an anonymous writer, and does not reflect a pleasing light
upon the hero of this biography, cannot be neglected. "Lionardo,"
writes our authority, "was a man of fair presence, well-proportioned,
gracefully endowed, and of fine aspect. He wore a tunic of
rose-colour, falling to his knees; for at that time it was the fashion
to carry garments of some length; and down to the middle of his breast
there flowed a beard beautifully curled and well arranged. Walking
with a friend near S. Trinità, where a company of honest folk were
gathered, and talk was going on about some passage from Dante, they
called to Lionardo, and begged him to explain its meaning. It so
happened that just at this moment Michelangelo went by, and, being
hailed by one of them, Lionardo answered: 'There goes Michelangelo; he
will interpret the verses you require.' Whereupon Michelangelo, who
thought he spoke in this way to make fun of him, replied in anger:
'Explain them yourself, you who made the model of a horse to cast in
bronze, and could not cast it, and to your shame left it in the
lurch.' With these words, he turned his back to the group, and went
his way. Lionardo remained standing there, red in the face for the
reproach cast at him; and Michelangelo, not satisfied, but wanting to
sting him to the quick, added: 'And those Milanese capons believed in
your ability to do it!'"
We can only take anecdotes for what they are worth, and that may
perhaps be considered slight when they are anonymous. This anecdote,
however, in the original Florentine diction, although it betrays a
partiality for Lionardo, bears the aspect of truth to fact. Moreover,
even Michelangelo's admirers are bound to acknowledge that he had a
rasping tongue, and was not incapable of showing his bad temper by
rudeness. From the period of his boyhood, when Torrigiano smashed his
nose, down to the last years of his life in Rome, when he abused his
nephew Lionardo and hurt the feelings of his best and oldest friends,
he discovered signs of a highly nervous and fretful temperament. It
must be admitted that the dominant qualities of nobility and
generosity in his nature were alloyed by suspicion bordering on
littleness, and by petulant yieldings to the irritation of the moment
which are incompatible with the calm of an Olympian genius.