CHAPTER VII

I

Julius died upon the 21st of February 1513. "A prince," says

Guicciardini, "of inestimable courage and tenacity, but headlong, and

so extravagant in the schemes he formed, that his own prudence and

moderation had less to do with shielding him from ruin than the

discord of sovereigns and the circumstances of the times in Europe:

worthy, in all truth, of the highest glory had he been a secular

potentate, or if the pains and anxious thought he employed in

augmenting the temporal greatness of the Church by war had been

devoted to her spiritual welfare in the arts of peace."

Italy rejoiced when Giovanni de' Medici was selected to succeed him,

with the title of Leo X. "Venus ruled in Rome with Alexander, Mars

with Julius, now Pallas enters on her reign with Leo." Such was the

tenor of the epigrams which greeted Leo upon his triumphal progress to

the Lateran. It was felt that a Pope of the house of Medici would be a

patron of arts and letters, and it was hoped that the son of Lorenzo

the Magnificent might restore the equilibrium of power in Italy. Leo

X. has enjoyed a greater fame than he deserved. Extolled as an

Augustus in his lifetime, he left his name to what is called the

golden age of Italian culture. Yet he cannot be said to have raised

any first-rate men of genius, or to have exercised a very wise

patronage over those whom Julius brought forward. Michelangelo and

Raffaello were in the full swing of work when Leo claimed their

services. We shall see how he hampered the rare gifts of the former by

employing him on uncongenial labours; and it was no great merit to

give a free rein to the inexhaustible energy of Raffaello. The project

of a new S. Peter's belonged to Julius. Leo only continued the scheme,

using such assistants as the times provided after Bramante's death in

1514. Julius instinctively selected men of soaring and audacious

genius, who were capable of planning on a colossal scale. Leo

delighted in the society of clever people, poetasters, petty scholars,

lutists, and buffoons. Rome owes no monumental work to his inventive

brain, and literature no masterpiece to his discrimination. Ariosto,

the most brilliant poet of the Renaissance, returned in disappointment

from the Vatican. "When I went to Rome and kissed the foot of Leo,"

writes the ironical satirist, "he bent down from the holy chair, and

took my hand and saluted me on both cheeks. Besides, he made me free

of half the stamp-dues I was bound to pay; and then, breast full of

hope, but smirched with mud, I retired and took my supper at the Ram."

The words which Leo is reported to have spoken to his brother Giuliano

when he heard the news of his election, express the character of the

man and mark the difference between his ambition and that of Julius.

"Let us enjoy the Papacy, since God has given it us." To enjoy life,

to squander the treasures of the Church on amusements, to feed a

rabble of flatterers, to contract enormous debts, and to disturb the

peace of Italy, not for some vast scheme of ecclesiastical

aggrandisement, but in order to place the princes of his family on

thrones, that was Leo's conception of the Papal privileges and duties.

The portraits of the two Popes, both from the hand of Raffaello, are

eminently characteristic. Julius, bent, white-haired, and emaciated,

has the nervous glance of a passionate and energetic temperament. Leo,

heavy-jawed, dull-eyed, with thick lips and a brawny jowl, betrays the

coarser fibre of a sensualist.

II

We have seen already that Julius, before his death, provided for his

monument being carried out upon a reduced scale. Michelangelo entered

into a new contract with the executors, undertaking to finish the work

within the space of seven years from the date of the deed, May 6,

1513. He received in several payments, during that year and the years

1514, 1515, 1516, the total sum of 6100 golden ducats. This proves

that he must have pushed the various operations connected with the

tomb vigorously forward, employing numerous workpeople, and ordering

supplies of marble. In fact, the greater part of what remains to us of

the unfinished monument may be ascribed to this period of

comparatively uninterrupted labour. Michelangelo had his workshop in

the Macello de' Corvi, but we know very little about the details of

his life there. His correspondence happens to be singularly scanty

between the years 1513 and 1516. One letter, however, written in May

1518, to the Capitano of Cortona throws a ray of light upon this

barren tract of time, and introduces an artist of eminence, whose

intellectual affinity to Michelangelo will always remain a matter of

interest. "While I was at Rome, in the first year of Pope Leo, there

came the Master Luca Signorelli of Cortona, painter. I met him one day

near Monte Giordano, and he told me that he was come to beg something

from the Pope, I forget what: he had run the risk of losing life and

limb for his devotion to the house of Medici, and now it seemed they

did not recognise him: and so forth, saying many things I have

forgotten. After these discourses, he asked me for forty giulios [a

coin equal in value to the more modern paolo, and worth perhaps eight

shillings of present money], and told me where to send them to, at the

house of a shoemaker, his lodgings. I not having the money about me,

promised to send it, and did so by the hand of a young man in my

service, called Silvio, who is still alive and in Rome, I believe.

After the lapse of some days, perhaps because his business with the

Pope had failed, Messer Luca came to my house in the Macello de'

Corvi, the same where I live now, and found me working on a marble

statue, four cubits in height, which has the hands bound behind the

back, and bewailed himself with me, and begged another forty, saying

that he wanted to leave Rome. I went up to my bedroom, and brought the

money down in the presence of a Bolognese maid I kept, and I think the

Silvio above mentioned was also there. When Luca got the cash, he went

away, and I have never seen him since; but I remember complaining to

him, because I was out of health and could not work, and he said:

'Have no fear, for the angels from heaven will come to take you in

their arms and aid you.'" This is in several ways an interesting

document. It brings vividly before our eyes magnificent expensive

Signorelli and his meanly living comrade, each of them mighty masters

of a terrible and noble style, passionate lovers of the nude, devoted

to masculine types of beauty, but widely and profoundly severed by

differences in their personal tastes and habits. It also gives us a

glimpse into Michelangelo's workshop at the moment when he was

blocking out one of the bound Captives at the Louvre. It seems from

what follows in the letter that Michelangelo had attempted to recover

the money through his brother Buonarroto, but that Signorelli refused

to acknowledge his debt. The Capitano wrote that he was sure it had

been discharged. "That," adds Michelangelo, "is the same as calling me

the biggest blackguard; and so I should be, if I wanted to get back

what had been already paid. But let your Lordship think what you like

about it, I am bound to get the money, and so I swear." The remainder

of the autograph is torn and illegible; it seems to wind up with a

threat.

The records of this period are so scanty that every detail acquires a

certain importance for Michelangelo's biographer. By a deed executed

on the 14th of June 1514, we find that he contracted to make a figure

of Christ in marble, "life-sized, naked, erect, with a cross in his

arms, and in such attitude as shall seem best to Michelangelo." The

persons who ordered the statue were Bernardo Cencio (a Canon of S.

Peter's), Mario Scappucci, and Metello Varj dei Porcari, a Roman of

ancient blood. They undertook to pay 200 golden ducats for the work;

and Michelangelo promised to finish it within the space of four years,

when it was to be placed in the Church of S. Maria sopra Minerva.

Metello Varj, though mentioned last in the contract, seems to have

been the man who practically gave the commission, and to whom

Michelangelo was finally responsible for its performance. He began to

hew it from a block, and discovered black veins in the working. This,

then, was thrown aside, and a new marble had to be attacked. The

statue, now visible at the Minerva, was not finished until the year

1521, when we shall have to return to it again.

There is a point of some interest in the wording of this contract, on

which, as facts to dwell upon are few and far between at present, I

may perhaps allow myself to digress. The master is here described as

_Michelangelo (di Lodovico) Simoni, Scultore_. Now Michelangelo always

signed his own letters Michelangelo Buonarroti, although he addressed

the members of his family by the surname of Simoni. This proves that

the patronymic usually given to the house at large was still Simoni,

and that Michelangelo himself acknowledged that name in a legal

document. The adoption of Buonarroti by his brother's children and

descendants may therefore be ascribed to usage ensuing from the

illustration of their race by so renowned a man. It should also be

observed that at this time Michelangelo is always described in deeds

as sculptor, and that he frequently signs with Michelangelo, Scultore.

Later on in life he changed his views. He wrote in 1548 to his nephew

Lionardo: "Tell the priest not to write to me again as _Michelangelo

the sculptor_, for I am not known here except as Michelangelo

Buonarroti. Say, too, that if a citizen of Florence wants to have an

altar-piece painted, he must find some painter; for I was never either

sculptor or painter in the way of one who keeps a shop. I have always

avoided that, for the honour of my father and my brothers. True, I

have served three Popes; but that was a matter of necessity." Earlier,

in 1543, he had written to the same effect: "When you correspond with

me, do not use the superscription _Michelangelo Simoni_, nor

_sculptor_; it is enough to put _Michelangelo Buonarroti_, for that is

how I am known here." On another occasion, advising his nephew what

surname the latter ought to adopt, he says: "I should certainly use

_Simoni_, and if the whole (that is, the whole list of patronymics in

use at Florence) is too long, those who cannot read it may leave it

alone." These communications prove that, though he had come to be

known as Buonarroti, he did not wish the family to drop their old

surname of Simoni. The reason was that he believed in their legendary

descent from the Counts of Canossa through a Podestà of Florence,

traditionally known as Simone da Canossa. This opinion had been

confirmed in 1520, as we have seen above, by a letter he received from

the Conte Alessandro da Canossa, addressing him as "Honoured kinsman."

In the correspondence with Lionardo, Michelangelo alludes to this act

of recognition: "You will find a letter from the Conte Alessandro da

Canossa in the book of contracts. He came to visit me at Rome, and

treated me like a relative. Take care of it." The dislike expressed by

Michelangelo to be called _sculptor_, and addressed upon the same

terms as other artists, arose from a keen sense of his nobility. The

feeling emerges frequently in his letters between 1540 and 1550. I

will give a specimen: "As to the purchase of a house, I repeat that

you ought to buy one of honourable condition, at 1500 or 2000 crowns;

and it ought to be in our quarter (Santa Croce), if possible. I say

this, because an honourable mansion in the city does a family great

credit. It makes more impression than farms in the country; and we are

truly burghers, who claim a very noble ancestry. I always strove my

utmost to resuscitate our house, but I had not brothers able to assist

me. Try then to do what I write you, and make Gismondo come back to

live in Florence, so that I may not endure the shame of hearing it

said here that I have a brother at Settignano who trudges after oxen.

One day, when I find the time, I will tell you all about our origin,

and whence we sprang, and when we came to Florence. Perhaps you know

nothing about it; still we ought not to rob ourselves of what God gave

us." The same feeling runs through the letters he wrote Lionardo about

the choice of a wife. One example will suffice: "I believe that in

Florence there are many noble and poor families with whom it would be

a charity to form connections. If there were no dower, there would

also be no arrogance. Pay no heed should people say you want to

ennoble yourself, since it is notorious that we are ancient citizens

of Florence, and as noble as any other house."

Michelangelo, as we know now, was mistaken in accepting his supposed

connection with the illustrious Counts of Canossa, whose castle played

so conspicuous a part in the struggle between Hildebrand and the

Empire, and who were imperially allied through the connections of the

Countess Matilda. Still he had tradition to support him, confirmed by

the assurance of the head of the Canossa family. Nobody could accuse

him of being a snob or parvenu. He lived like a poor man, indifferent

to dress, establishment, and personal appearances. Yet he prided

himself upon his ancient birth; and since the Simoni had been

indubitably noble for several generations, there was nothing

despicable in his desire to raise his kinsfolk to their proper

station. Almost culpably careless in all things that concerned his

health and comfort, he spent his earnings for the welfare of his

brothers, in order that an honourable posterity might carry on the

name he bore, and which he made illustrious. We may smile at his

peevishness in repudiating the title of sculptor after bearing it

through so many years of glorious labour; but when he penned the

letters I have quoted, he was the supreme artist of Italy, renowned as

painter, architect, military engineer; praised as a poet; befriended

with the best and greatest of his contemporaries; recognised as

unique, not only in the art of sculpture. If he felt some pride of

race, we cannot blame the plain-liver and high-thinker, who, robbing

himself of luxuries and necessaries even, enabled his kinsmen to

maintain their rank among folk gently born and nobly nurtured.

III

In June 1515 Michelangelo was still working at the tomb of Julius. But

a letter to Buonarroto shows that he was already afraid of being

absorbed for other purposes by Leo: "I am forced to put great strain

upon myself this summer in order to complete my undertaking; for I

think that I shall soon be obliged to enter the Pope's service. For

this reason, I have bought some twenty migliaia [measure of weight] of

brass to cast certain figures." The monument then was so far advanced

that, beside having a good number of the marble statues nearly

finished, he was on the point of executing the bronze reliefs which

filled their interspaces. We have also reason to believe that the

architectural basis forming the foundation of the sepulchre had been

brought well forward, since it is mentioned, in the next ensuing

contracts.

Just at this point, however, when two or three years of steady labour

would have sufficed to terminate this mount of sculptured marble, Leo

diverted Michelangelo's energies from the work, and wasted them in

schemes that came to nothing. When Buonarroti penned that sonnet in

which he called the Pope his Medusa, he might well have been thinking

of Leo, though the poem ought probably to be referred to the earlier

pontificate of Julius. Certainly the Medici did more than the Delia

Rovere to paralyse his power and turn the life within him into stone.

Writing to Sebastiano del Piombo in 1521, Michelangelo shows how fully

he was aware of this. He speaks of "the three years I have lost."

A meeting had been arranged for the late autumn of 1515 between Leo X.

and Francis I. at Bologna. The Pope left Rome early in November, and

reached Florence on the 30th. The whole city burst into a tumult of

jubilation, shouting the Medicean cry of _"Palle"_ as Leo passed

slowly through the streets, raised in his pontifical chair upon the

shoulders of his running footmen. Buonarroto wrote a long and

interesting account of this triumphal entry to his brother in Rome. He

describes how a procession was formed by the Pope's court and guard

and the gentlemen of Florence. "Among the rest, there went a bevy of

young men, the noblest in our commonwealth, all dressed alike with

doublets of violet satin, holding gilded staves in their hands. They

paced before the Papal chair, a brave sight to see. And first there

marched his guard, and then his grooms, who carried him aloft beneath

a rich canopy of brocade, which was sustained by members of the

College, while round about the chair walked the Signory." The

procession moved onward to the Church of S. Maria del Fiore, where the

Pope stayed to perform certain ceremonies at the high altar, after

which he was carried to his apartments at S. Maria Novella. Buonarroto

was one of the Priors during this month, and accordingly he took an

official part in all the entertainments and festivities, which

continued for three days. On the 3rd of December Leo left Florence for

Bologna, where Francis arrived upon the 11th. Their conference lasted

till the 15th, when Francis returned to Milan. On the 18th Leo began

his journey back to Florence, which he re-entered on the 22nd. On

Christmas day (Buonarroto writes _Pasgua_) a grand Mass was celebrated

at S. Maria Novella, at which the Signory attended. The Pope

celebrated in person, and, according to custom on high state

occasions, the water with which he washed his hands before and during

the ceremony had to be presented by personages of importance. "This

duty," says Buonarroto, "fell first to one of the Signori, who was

Giannozzo Salviati; and as I happened that morning to be Proposto, I

went the second time to offer water to his Holiness; the third time,

this was done by the Duke of Camerino, and the fourth time by the

Gonfalonier of Justice." Buonarroto remarks that "he feels pretty

certain it will be all the same to Michelangelo whether he hears or

does not hear about these matters. Yet, from time to time, when I have

leisure, I scribble a few lines."

Buonarroto himself was interested in this event; for, having been one

of the Priors, he received from Leo the title of Count Palatine, with

reversion to all his posterity. Moreover, for honourable addition to

his arms, he was allowed to bear a chief charged with the Medicean

ball and fleur-de-lys, between the capital letters L. and X.

Whether Leo conceived the plan of finishing the façade of S. Lorenzo

at Florence before he left Rome, or whether it occurred to him during

this visit, is not certain. The church had been erected by the Medici

and other magnates from Brunelleschi's designs, and was perfect except

for the façade. In its sacristy lay the mortal remains of Cosimo,

Lorenzo the Magnificent, and many other members of the Medicean

family. Here Leo came on the first Sunday in Advent to offer up

prayers, and the Pope is said to have wept upon his father's tomb. It

may possibly have been on this occasion that he adopted the scheme so

fatal to the happiness of the great sculptor. Condivi clearly did not

know what led to Michelangelo's employment on the façade of S.

Lorenzo, and Vasari's account of the transaction is involved. Both,

however, assert that he was wounded, even to tears, at having to

abandon the monument of Julius, and that he prayed in vain to be

relieved of the new and uncongenial task.

IV

Leo at first intended to divide the work between several masters,

giving Buonarroti the general direction of the whole. He ordered

Giuliano da San Gallo, Raffaello da Urbino, Baccio d'Agnolo, Andrea

and Jacopo Sansovino to prepare plans. While these were in progress,

Michelangelo also thought that he would try his hand at a design. As

ill-luck ruled, Leo preferred his sketch to all the rest. Vasari adds

that his unwillingness to be associated with any other artist in the

undertaking, and his refusal to follow the plans of an architect,

prevented the work from being executed, and caused the men selected by

Leo to return in desperation to their ordinary pursuits. There may be

truth in the report; for it is certain that, after Michelangelo had

been forced to leave the tomb of Julius and to take part in the

façade, he must have claimed to be sole master of the business. The

one thing we know about his mode of operation is, that he brooked no

rival near him, mistrusted collaborators, and found it difficult to

co-operate even with the drudges whom he hired at monthly wages.

Light is thrown upon these dissensions between Michelangelo and his

proposed assistants by a letter which Jacopo Sansovino wrote to him at

Carrara, on the 30th of June 1517. He betrays his animus at the

commencement by praising Baccio Bandinelli, to mention whom in the

same breath with Buonarroti was an insult. Then he proceeds: "The

Pope, the Cardinal, and Jacopo Salviati are men who when they say yes,

it is a written contract, inasmuch as they are true to their word, and

not what you pretend them to be. You measure them with your own rod;

for neither contracts nor plighted troth avail with you, who are

always saying nay and yea, according as you think it profitable. I

must inform you, too, that the Pope promised me the sculptures, and so

did Salviati; and they are men who will maintain me in my right to

them. In what concerns you, I have done all I could to promote your

interests and honour, not having earlier perceived that you never

conferred a benefit on any one, and that, beginning with myself, to

expect kindness from you, would be the same as wanting water not to

wet. I have reason for what I say, since we have often met together in

familiar converse, and may the day be cursed on which you ever said

any good about anybody on earth." How Michelangelo answered this

intemperate and unjust invective is not known to us. In some way or

other the quarrel between the two sculptors must have been made

up--probably through a frank apology on Sansovino's part. When

Michelangelo, in 1524, supplied the Duke of Sessa with a sketch for

the sepulchral monument to be erected for himself and his wife, he

suggested that Sansovino should execute the work, proving thus by acts

how undeserved the latter's hasty words had been.

The Church of S. Lorenzo exists now just as it was before the scheme

for its façade occurred to Leo. Not the smallest part of that scheme

was carried into effect, and large masses of the marbles quarried for

the edifice lay wasted on the Tyrrhene sea-shore. We do not even know

what design Michelangelo adopted. A model may be seen in the Accademia

at Florence ascribed to Baccio d'Agnolo, and there is a drawing of a

façade in the Uffizi attributed, to Michelangelo, both of which have

been supposed to have some connection with S. Lorenzo. It is hardly

possible, however, that Buonarroti's competitors could have been

beaten from the field by things so spiritless and ugly. A pen-and-ink

drawing at the Museo Buonarroti possesses greater merit, find may

perhaps have been a first rough sketch for the façade. It is not drawn

to scale or worked out in the manner of practical architects; but the

sketch exhibits features which we know to have existed in Buonarroti's

plan--masses of sculpture, with extensive bas-reliefs in bronze. In

form the façade would not have corresponded to Brunelleschi's

building. That, however, signified nothing to Italian architects, who

were satisfied when the frontispiece to a church or palace agreeably

masked what lay behind it. As a frame for sculpture, the design might

have served its purpose, though there are large spaces difficult to

account for; and spiteful folk were surely justified in remarking to

the Pope that no one life sufficed for the performance of the whole.

Nothing testifies more plainly to the ascendancy which this strange

man acquired over the imagination of his contemporaries, while yet

comparatively young, than the fact that Michelangelo had to relinquish

work for which he was pre-eminently fitted (the tomb of Julius) for

work to which his previous studies and his special inclinations in

no-wise called him. He undertook the façade of S. Lorenzo reluctantly,

with tears in his eyes and dolour in his bosom, at the Pope Medusa's

bidding. He was compelled to recommence art at a point which hitherto

possessed for him no practical importance. The drawings of the tomb,

the sketch of the façade, prove that in architecture he was still a

novice. Hitherto, he regarded building as the background to sculpture,

or the surface on which frescoes might be limned. To achieve anything

great in this new sphere implied for him a severe course of

preliminary studies. It depends upon our final estimate of

Michelangelo as an architect whether we regard the three years spent

in Leo's service for S. Lorenzo as wasted. Being what he was, it is

certain that, when the commission had been given, and he determined to

attack his task alone, the man set himself down to grasp the

principles of construction. There was leisure enough for such studies

in the years during which we find him moodily employed among Tuscan

quarries. The question is whether this strain upon his richly gifted

genius did not come too late. When called to paint the Sistine, he

complained that painting was no art of his. He painted, and produced a

masterpiece; but sculpture still remained the major influence in all

he wrought there. Now he was bidden to quit both sculpture and

painting for another field, and, as Vasari hints, he would not work

under the guidance of men trained to architecture. The result was that

Michelangelo applied himself to building with the full-formed spirit

of a figurative artist. The obvious defects and the salient qualities

of all he afterwards performed as architect seem due to the forced

diversion of his talent at this period to a type of art he had not

properly assimilated. Architecture was not the natural mistress of his

spirit. He bent his talents to her service at a Pontiff's word, and,

with the honest devotion to work which characterised the man, he

produced renowned monuments stamped by his peculiar style.

Nevertheless, in building, he remains a sublime amateur, aiming at

scenical effect, subordinating construction to decoration, seeking

ever back toward opportunities for sculpture or for fresco, and

occasionally (as in the cupola of S. Peter's) hitting upon a thought

beyond the reach of inferior minds.

The paradox implied in this diversion of our hero from the path he

ought to have pursued may be explained in three ways. First, he had

already come to be regarded as a man of unique ability, from whom

everything could be demanded. Next, it was usual for the masters of

the Renaissance, from Leo Battista Alberti down to Raffaello da Urbino

and Lionardo da Vinci, to undertake all kinds of technical work

intrusted to their care by patrons. Finally, Michelangelo, though he

knew that sculpture was his goddess, and never neglected her first

claim upon his genius, felt in him that burning ambition for

greatness, that desire to wrestle with all forms of beauty and all

depths of science, which tempted him to transcend the limits of a

single art and try his powers in neighbour regions. He was a man born

to aim at all, to dare all, to embrace all, to leave his personality

deep-trenched on all the provinces of art he chose to traverse.

V

The whole of 1516 and 1517 elapsed before Leo's plans regarding S.

Lorenzo took a definite shape. Yet we cannot help imagining that when

Michelangelo cancelled his first contract with the executors of

Julius, and adopted a reduced plan for the monument, he was acting

under Papal pressure. This was done at Rome in July, and much against

the will of both parties. Still it does not appear that any one

contemplated the abandonment of the scheme; for Buonarroti bound

himself to perform his new contract within the space of nine years,

and to engage "in no work of great importance which should interfere

with its fulfilment." He spent a large part of the year 1516 at

Carrara, quarrying marbles, and even hired the house of a certain

Francesco Pelliccia in that town. On the 1st of November he signed an

agreement with the same Pelliccia involving the purchase of a vast

amount of marble, whereby the said Pelliccia undertook to bring down

four statues of 4-1/2 cubits each and fifteen of 4-1/4 cubits from the

quarries where they were being rough-hewn. It was the custom to block

out columns, statues, &c., on the spot where the stone had been

excavated, in order, probably, to save weight when hauling. Thus the

blocks arrived at the sea-shore with rudely adumbrated outlines of the

shape they were destined to assume under the artist's chisel. It has

generally been assumed that the nineteen figures in question were

intended for the tomb. What makes this not quite certain, however, is

that the contract of July specifies a greatly reduced quantity and

scale of statues. Therefore they may have been intended for the

façade. Anyhow, the contract above-mentioned with Francesco Pelliccia

was cancelled on the 7th of April following, for reasons which will

presently appear.

During the month of November 1516 Michelangelo received notice from

the Pope that he was wanted in Rome. About the same time news reached

him from Florence of his father's severe illness. On the 23rd he wrote

as follows to Buonarroto: "I gathered from your last that Lodovico was

on the point of dying, and how the doctor finally pronounced that if

nothing new occurred he might be considered out of danger. Since it is

so, I shall not prepare to come to Florence, for it would be very

inconvenient. Still, if there is danger, I should desire to see him,

come what might, before he died, if even I had to die together with

him. I have good hope, however, that he will get well, and so I do not

come. And if he should have a relapse--from which may God preserve him

and us--see that he lacks nothing for his spiritual welfare and the

sacraments of the Church, and find out from him if he wishes us to do

anything for his soul. Also, for the necessaries of the body, take

care that he lacks nothing; for I have laboured only and solely for

him, to help him in his needs before he dies. So bid your wife look

with loving-kindness to his household affairs. I will make everything

good to her and all of you, if it be necessary. Do not have the least

hesitation, even if you have to expend all that we possess."

We may assume that the subsequent reports regarding Lodovico's health

were satisfactory; for on the 5th of December Michelangelo set out for

Rome. The executors of Julius had assigned him free quarters in a

house situated in the Trevi district, opposite the public road which

leads to S. Maria del Loreto. Here, then, he probably took up his

abode. We have seen that he had bound himself to finish the monument

of Julius within the space of nine years, and to engage "in no work of

great moment which should interfere with its performance." How this

clause came to be inserted in a deed inspired by Leo is one of the

difficulties with which the whole tragedy of the sepulchre bristles.

Perhaps we ought to conjecture that the Pope's intentions with regard

to the façade of S. Lorenzo only became settled in the late autumn. At

any rate, he had now to transact with the executors of Julius, who

were obliged to forego the rights over Michelangelo's undivided

energies which they had acquired by the clause I have just cited. They

did so with extreme reluctance, and to the bitter disappointment of

the sculptor, who saw the great scheme of his manhood melting into

air, dwindling in proportions, becoming with each change less capable

of satisfactory performance.

Having at last definitely entered the service of Pope Leo,

Michelangelo travelled to Florence, and intrusted Baccio d'Agnolo with

the construction of the model of his façade. It may have been upon the

occasion of this visit that one of his father's whimsical fits of

temper called out a passionate and sorry letter from his son. It

appears that Pietro Urbano, Michelangelo's trusty henchman at this

period, said something which angered Lodovico, and made him set off in

a rage to Settignano:--

"Dearest Father,--I marvelled much at what had happened to you the

other day, when I did not find you at home. And now, hearing that you

complain of me, and say that I have turned you out of doors, I marvel

much the more, inasmuch as I know for certain that never once from the

day that I was born till now had I a single thought of doing anything

or small or great which went against you; and all this time the

labours I have undergone have been for the love of you alone. Since I

returned from Rome to Florence, you know that I have always cared for

you, and you know that all that belongs to me I have bestowed on you.

Some days ago, then, when you were ill, I promised solemnly never to

fail you in anything within the scope of my whole faculties so long as

my life lasts; and this I again affirm. Now I am amazed that you

should have forgotten everything so soon. And yet you have learned to

know me by experience these thirty years, you and your sons, and are

well aware that I have always thought and acted, so far as I was able,

for your good. How can you go about saying I have turned you out of

doors? Do you not see what a reputation you have given me by saying I

have turned you out? Only this was wanting to complete my tale of

troubles, all of which I suffer for your love. You repay me well,

forsooth. But let it be as it must: I am willing to acknowledge that I

have always brought shame and loss on you, and on this supposition I

beg your pardon. Reckon that you are pardoning a son who has lived a

bad life and done you all the harm which it is possible to do. And so

I once again implore you to pardon me, scoundrel that I am, and not

bring on me the reproach of having turned you out of doors; for that

matters more than you imagine to me. After all, I am your son."

From Florence Michelangelo proceeded again to Carrara for the

quarrying of marble. This was on the last day of December. From his

domestic correspondence we find that he stayed there until at least

the 13th of March 1517; but he seems to have gone to Florence just

about that date, in order to arrange matters with Baccio d'Agnolo

about the model. A fragmentary letter to Buonarroto, dated March 13,

shows that he had begun a model of his own at Carrara, and that he no

longer needed Baccio's assistance. On his arrival at Florence he wrote

to Messer Buoninsegni, who acted as intermediary at Rome between

himself and the Pope in all things that concerned the façade: "Messer

Domenico, I have come to Florence to see the model which Baccio has

finished, and find it a mere child's plaything. If you think it best

to have it sent, write to me. I leave again to-morrow for Carrara,

where I have begun to make a model in clay with Grassa [a stone-hewer

from Settignano]." Then he adds that, in the long run, he believes

that he shall have to make the model himself, which distresses him on

account of the Pope and the Cardinal Giulio. Lastly, he informs his

correspondent that he has contracted with two separate companies for

two hundred cartloads of Carrara marble.

An important letter to the same Domenico Buoninsegni, dated Carrara,

May 2, 1517, proves that Michelangelo had become enthusiastic about

his new design. "I have many things to say to you. So I beg you to

take some patience when you read my words, because it is a matter of

moment. Well, then, I feel it in me to make this façade of S. Lorenzo

such that it shall be a mirror of architecture and of sculpture to all

Italy. But the Pope and the Cardinal must decide at once whether they

want to have it done or not. If they desire it, then they must come to

some definite arrangement, either intrusting the whole to me on

contract, and leaving me a free hand, or adopting some other plan

which may occur to them, and about which I can form no idea." He

proceeds at some length to inform Buoninsegni of various transactions

regarding the purchase of marble, and the difficulties he encounters

in procuring perfect blocks. His estimate for the costs of the whole

façade is 35,000 golden ducats, and he offers to carry the work

through for that sum in six years. Meanwhile he peremptorily demands

an immediate settlement of the business, stating that he is anxious to

leave Carrara. The vigorous tone of this document is unmistakable. It

seems to have impressed his correspondents; for Buoninsegni replies

upon the 8th of May that the Cardinal expressed the highest

satisfaction at "the great heart he had for conducting the work of the

façade." At the same time the Pope was anxious to inspect the model.

Leo, I fancy, was always more than half-hearted about the façade. He

did not personally sympathise with Michelangelo's character; and,

seeing what his tastes were, it is impossible that he can have really

appreciated the quality of his genius. Giulio de' Medici, afterwards

Pope Clement VII., was more in sympathy with Buonarroti both as artist

and as man. To him we may with probability ascribe the impulse given

at this moment to the project. After several visits to Florence during

the summer, and much correspondence with the Medici through their

Roman agent, Michelangelo went finally, upon the 31st of August, to

have the model completed under his own eyes by a workman in his native

city. It was carefully constructed of wood, showing the statuary in

wax-relief. Nearly four months were expended on this miniature. The

labour was lost, for not a vestige of it now remains. Near the end of

December he despatched his servant, Pietro Urbano, with the finished

work to Rome. On the 29th of that month, Urbano writes that he exposed

the model in Messer Buoninsegni's apartment, and that the Pope and

Cardinal were very well pleased with it. Buoninsegni wrote to the same

effect, adding, however, that folk said it could never be finished in

the sculptor's lifetime, and suggesting that Michelangelo should hire

assistants from Milan, where he, Buoninsegni, had seen excellent

stonework in progress at the Duomo.

Some time in January 1518, Michelangelo travelled to Rome, conferred

with Leo, and took the façade of S. Lorenzo on contract. In February

he returned by way of Florence to Carrara, where the quarry-masters

were in open rebellion against him, and refused to carry out their

contracts. This forced him to go to Genoa, and hire ships there for

the transport of his blocks. Then the Carraresi corrupted the captains

of these boats, and drove Michelangelo to Pisa (April 7), where he

finally made an arrangement with a certain Francesco Peri to ship the

marbles lying on the sea-shore at Carrara.

The reason of this revolt against him at Carrara may be briefly

stated. The Medici determined to begin working the old marble quarries

of Pietra Santa, on the borders of the Florentine domain, and this

naturally aroused the commercial jealousy of the folk at Carrara.

"Information," says Condivi, "was sent to Pope Leo that marbles could

be found in the high-lands above Pietra Santa, fully equal in quality

and beauty to those of Carrara. Michelangelo, having been sounded on

the subject, chose to go on quarrying at Carrara rather than to take

those belonging to the State of Florence. This he did because he was

befriended with the Marchese Alberigo, and lived on a good

understanding with him. The Pope wrote to Michelangelo, ordering him

to repair to Pietra Santa, and see whether the information he had

received from Florence was correct. He did so, and ascertained that

the marbles were very hard to work, and ill-adapted to their purpose;

even had they been of the proper kind, it would be difficult and

costly to convey them to the sea. A road of many miles would have to

be made through the mountains with pick and crowbar, and along the

plain on piles, since the ground there was marshy. Michelangelo wrote

all this to the Pope, who preferred, however, to believe the persons

who had written to him from Florence. So he ordered him to construct

the road." The road, it may parenthetically be observed, was paid for

by the wealthy Wool Corporation of Florence, who wished to revive this

branch of Florentine industry. "Michelangelo, carrying out the Pope's

commands, had the road laid down, and transported large quantities of

marbles to the sea-shore. Among these were five columns of the proper

dimensions, one of which may be seen upon the Piazza di S. Lorenzo.

The other four, forasmuch as the Pope changed his mind and turned his

thoughts elsewhere, are still lying on the sea-beach. Now the Marquis

of Carrara, deeming that Michelangelo had developed the quarries at

Pietra Santa out of Florentine patriotism, became his enemy, and would

not suffer him to return to Carrara, for certain blocks which had been

excavated there: all of which proved the source of great loss to

Michelangelo."

When the contract with Francesco Pellicia was cancelled, April 7,

1517, the project for developing the Florentine stone-quarries does

not seem to have taken shape. We must assume, therefore, that the

motive for this step was the abandonment of the tomb. The _Ricordi_

show that Michelangelo was still buying marbles and visiting Carrara

down to the end of February 1518. His correspondence from Pietra Santa

and Serravezza, where he lived when he was opening the Florentine

quarries of Monte Altissimo, does not begin, with any certainty, until

March 1518. We have indeed one letter written to Girolamo del Bardella

of Porto Venere upon the 6th of August, without date of year. This was

sent from Serravezza, and Milanesi, when he first made use of it,

assigned it to 1517. Gotti, following that indication, asserts that

Michelangelo began his operations at Monte Altissimo in July 1517; but

Milanesi afterwards changed his opinion, and assigned it to the year

1519. I believe he was right, because the first letter, bearing a

certain date from Pietra Santa, was written in March 1518 to Pietro

Urbano. It contains the account of Michelangelo's difficulties with

the Carraresi, and his journey to Genoa and Pisa. We have, therefore,

every reason to believe that he finally abandoned Carrara, for Pietra

Santa at the end of February 1518.

Pietra Santa is a little city on the Tuscan seaboard; Serravezza is a

still smaller fortress-town at the foot of the Carrara mountains.

Monte Altissimo rises above it; and on the flanks of that great hill

lie the quarries Della Finocchiaja, which Michelangelo opened at the

command of Pope Leo. It was not without reluctance that Michelangelo

departed from Carrara, offending the Marquis Malaspina, breaking his

contracts, and disappointing the folk with whom he had lived on

friendly terms ever since his first visit in 1505. A letter from the

Cardinal Giulio de' Medici shows that great pressure was put upon him.

It runs thus: "We have received yours, and shown it to our Lord the

Pope. Considering that all your doings are in favour of Carrara, you

have caused his Holiness and us no small astonishment. What we heard

from Jacopo Salviati contradicts your opinion. He went to examine the

marble-quarries at Pietra Santa, and informed us that there are

enormous quantities of stone, excellent in quality and easy to bring

down. This being the case, some suspicion has arisen in our minds that

you, for your own interests, are too partial to the quarries of

Carrara, and want to depreciate those of Pietra Santa. This of a

truth, would be wrong in you, considering the trust we have always

reposed in your honesty. Wherefore we inform you that, regardless of

any other consideration, his Holiness wills that all the work to be

done at S. Peter's or S. Reparata, or on the façade of S. Lorenzo,

shall be carried out with marbles supplied from Pietra Santa, and no

others, for the reasons above written. Moreover, we hear that they

will cost less than those of Carrara; but, even should they cost more,

his Holiness is firmly resolved to act as I have said, furthering the

business of Pietra Santa for the public benefit of the city. Look to

it, then, that you carry out in detail all that we have ordered

without fail; for if you do otherwise, it will be against the

expressed wishes of his Holiness and ourselves, and we shall have good

reason to be seriously wroth with you. Our agent Domenico

(Buoninsegni) is bidden to write to the same effect. Reply to him how

much money you want, and quickly, banishing from your mind every kind

of obstinacy."

Michelangelo began to work with his usual energy at roadmaking and

quarrying. What he learned of practical business as engineer,

architect, master of works, and paymaster during these years among the

Carrara mountains must have been of vast importance for his future

work. He was preparing himself to organise the fortifications of

Florence and the Leonine City, and to crown S. Peter's with the

cupola. Quarrying, as I have said, implied cutting out and

rough-hewing blocks exactly of the right dimensions for certain

portions of a building or a piece of statuary. The master was

therefore obliged to have his whole plan perfect in his head before he

could venture to order marble. Models, drawings made to scale, careful

measurements, were necessary at each successive step. Day and night

Buonarroti was at work; in the saddle early in the morning, among

stone-cutters and road-makers; in the evening, studying, projecting,

calculating, settling up accounts by lamplight.

VI

The narrative of Michelangelo's personal life and movements must here

be interrupted in order to notice an event in which he took no common

interest. The members of the Florentine Academy addressed a memorial

to Leo X., requesting him to authorise the translation of Dante

Alighieri's bones from Ravenna to his native city. The document was

drawn up in Latin, and dated October 20, 1518. Among the names and

signatures appended, Michelangelo's alone is written in Italian: "I,

Michelangelo, the sculptor, pray the like of your Holiness, offering

my services to the divine poet for the erection of a befitting

sepulchre to him in some honourable place in this city." Nothing

resulted from this petition, and the supreme poet's remains still rest

beneath "the little cupola, more neat than solemn," guarded by Pietro

Lombardi's half-length portrait.

Of Michelangelo's special devotion to Dante and the "Divine Comedy" we

have plenty of proof. In the first place, there exist the two fine

sonnets to his memory, which were celebrated in their author's

lifetime, and still remain among the best of his performances in

verse. It does not appear when they were composed. The first is

probably earlier than the second; for below the autograph of the

latter is written, "Messer Donato, you ask of me what I do not

possess." The Donato is undoubtedly Donato Giannotti, with whom

Michelangelo lived on very familiar terms at Rome about 1545. I will

here insert my English translation of these sonnets:--

_From heaven his spirit came, and, robed in clay,

The realms of justice and of mercy trod:

Then rose a living man to gaze on God,

That he might make the truth as clear as day._

_For that pure star, that brightened with his ray

The undeserving nest where I was born,

The whole wide world would be a prize to scorn;

None but his Maker can due guerdon pay.

I speak of Dante, whose high work remains

Unknown, unhonoured by that thankless brood,

Who only to just men deny their wage.

Were I but he! Born for like lingering pains,

Against his exile coupled with his good

I'd gladly change the world's best heritage!

No tongue can tell of him what should be told,

For on blind eyes his splendour shines too strong;

'Twere easier to blame those who wrought him wrong,

Than sound his least praise with a mouth of gold.

He to explore the place of pain was bold,

Then soared to God, to teach our souls by song;

The gates heaven oped to bear his feet along,

Against his just desire his country rolled.

Thankless I call her, and to her own pain

The nurse of fell mischance; for sign take this,

That ever to the best she deals more scorn;

Among a thousand proofs let one remain;

Though ne'er was fortune more unjust than his,

His equal or his better ne'er was born._

The influence of Dante over Buonarroti's style of composition

impressed his contemporaries. Benedetto Varchi, in the proemium to a

lecture upon one of Michelangelo's poems, speaks of it as "a most

sublime sonnet, full of that antique purity and Dantesque gravity."

Dante's influence over the great artist's pictorial imagination is

strongly marked in the fresco of the Last Judgment, where Charon's

boat, and Minos with his twisted tail, are borrowed direct from the

_Inferno._ Condivi, moreover, informs us that the statues of the Lives

Contemplative and Active upon the tomb of Julius were suggested by the

Rachel and Leah of the _Purgatorio._ We also know that he filled a

book with drawings illustrative of the "Divine Comedy." By a miserable

accident this most precious volume, while in the possession of Antonio

Montauti, the sculptor, perished at sea on a journey from Livorno to

Rome.

But the strongest proof of Michelangelo's reputation as a learned

student of Dante is given in Donato Giannotti's Dialogue upon the

number of days spent by the poet during his journey through Hell and

Purgatory. Luigi del Riccio, who was a great friend of the sculptor's,

is supposed to have been walking one day toward the Lateran with

Antonio Petreo. Their conversation fell upon Cristoforo Landino's

theory that the time consumed by Dante in this transit was the whole

of the night of Good Friday, together with the following day. While

engaged in this discussion, they met Donato Giannotti taking the air

with Michelangelo. The four friends joined company, and Petreo

observed that it was a singular good fortune to have fallen that

morning upon two such eminent Dante scholars. Donato replied: "With

regard to Messer Michelangelo, you have abundant reason to say that he

is an eminent Dantista, since I am acquainted with no one who

understands him better and has a fuller mastery over his works." It is

not needful to give a detailed account of Buonarroti's Dantesque

criticism, reported in these dialogues, although there are good

grounds for supposing them in part to represent exactly what Giannotti

heard him say. This applies particularly to his able interpretation of

the reason why Dante placed Brutus and Cassius in hell--not as being

the murderers of a tyrant, but as having laid violent hands upon the

sacred majesty of the Empire in the person of Caesar. The narrative of

Dante's journey through Hell and Purgatory, which is put into

Michelangelo's mouth, if we are to believe that he really made it

extempore and without book, shows a most minute knowledge of the

_Inferno_.

VII

Michelangelo's doings at Serravezza can be traced with some accuracy

during the summers of 1518 and 1519. An important letter to

Buonarroto, dated April 2, 1518, proves that the execution of the road

had not yet been decided on. He is impatient to hear whether the Wool

Corporation has voted the necessary funds and appointed him to

engineer it. "With regard to the construction of the road here, please

tell Jacopo Salviati that I shall carry out his wishes, and he will

not be betrayed by me. I do not look after any interests of my own in

this matter, but seek to serve my patrons and my country. If I begged

the Pope and Cardinal to give me full control over the business, it

was that I might be able to conduct it to those places where the best

marbles are. Nobody here knows anything about them. I did not ask for

the commission in order to make money; nothing of the sort is in my

head." This proves conclusively that much which has been written about

the waste of Michelangelo's abilities on things a lesser man might

have accomplished is merely sentimental. On the contrary, he was even

accused of begging for the contract from a desire to profit by it. In

another letter, of April 18, the decision of the Wool Corporation was

still anxiously expected. Michelangelo gets impatient. "I shall mount

my horse, and go to find the Pope and Cardinal, tell them how it is

with me, leave the business here, and return to Carrara. The folk

there pray for my return as one is wont to pray to Christ." Then he

complains of the worthlessness and disloyalty of the stone-hewers he

brought from Florence, and winds up with an angry postscript: "Oh,

cursed a thousand times the day and hour when I left Carrara! This is

the cause of my utter ruin. But I shall go back there soon. Nowadays

it is a sin to do one's duty." On the 22nd of April the Wool

Corporation assigned to Michelangelo a contract for the quarries,

leaving him free to act as he thought best. Complaints follow about

his workmen. One passage is curious: "Sandro, he too has gone away

from here. He stopped several months with a mule and a little mule in

grand style, doing nothing but fish and make love. He cost me a

hundred ducats to no purpose; has left a certain quantity of marble,

giving me the right to take the blocks that suit my purpose. However,

I cannot find among them what is worth twenty-five ducats, the whole

being a jumble of rascally work. Either maliciously or through

ignorance, he has treated me very ill."

Upon the 17th April 1517, Michelangelo had bought a piece of ground in

Via Mozza, now Via S. Zanobi, at Florence, from the Chapter of S.

Maria del Fiore, in order to build a workshop there. He wished, about

the time of the last letter quoted, to get an additional lot of land,

in order to have larger space at his command for the finishing of

marbles. The negotiations went on through the summer of 1518, and on

the 24th of November he records that the purchase was completed.

Premises adapted to the sculptor's purpose were erected, which

remained in Michelangelo's possession until the close of his life.

In August 1518 he writes to a friend at Florence that the road is now

as good as finished, and that he is bringing down his columns. The

work is more difficult than he expected. One man's life had been

already thrown away, and Michelangelo himself was in great danger.

"The place where we have to quarry is exceedingly rough, and the

workmen are very stupid at their business. For some months I must make

demands upon my powers of patience until the mountains are tamed and

the men instructed. Afterwards we shall proceed more quickly. Enough,

that I mean to do what I promised, and shall produce the finest thing

that Italy has ever seen, if God assists me."

There is no want of heart and spirit in these letters. Irritable at

moments, Michelangelo was at bottom enthusiastic, and, like Napoleon

Buonaparte, felt capable of conquering the world with his sole arm.

In September we find him back again at Florence, where he seems to

have spent the winter. His friends wanted him to go to Rome; they

thought that his presence there was needed to restore the confidence

of the Medici and to overpower calumniating rivals. In reply to a

letter of admonition written in this sense by his friend Lionardo di

Compagno, the saddle-maker, he writes: "Your urgent solicitations are

to me so many stabs of the knife. I am dying of annoyance at not being

able to do what I should like to do, through my ill-luck." At the same

time he adds that he has now arranged an excellent workshop, where

twenty statues can be set up together. The drawback is that there are

no means of covering the whole space in and protecting it against the

weather. This yard, encumbered with the marbles for S. Lorenzo, must

have been in the Via Mozza.

Early in the spring he removed to Serravezza, and resumed the work of

bringing down his blocked-out columns from the quarries. One of these

pillars, six of which he says were finished, was of huge size,

intended probably for the flanks to the main door at S. Lorenzo. It

tumbled into the river, and was smashed to pieces. Michelangelo

attributed the accident solely to the bad quality of iron which a

rascally fellow had put into the lewis-ring by means of which the

block was being raised. On this occasion he again ran considerable

risk of injury, and suffered great annoyance. The following letter of

condolence, written by Jacopo Salviati, proves how much he was

grieved, and also shows that he lived on excellent terms with the

Pope's right-hand man and counsellor: "Keep up your spirits and

proceed gallantly with your great enterprise, for your honour requires

this, seeing you have commenced the work. Confide in me; nothing will

be amiss with you, and our Lord is certain to compensate you for far

greater losses than this. Have no doubt upon this point, and if you

want one thing more than another, let me know, and you shall be served

immediately. Remember that your undertaking a work of such magnitude

will lay our city under the deepest obligation, not only to yourself,

but also to your family for ever. Great men, and of courageous spirit,

take heart under adversities, and become more energetic."

A pleasant thread runs through Michelangelo's correspondence during

these years. It is the affection he felt for his workman Pietro

Urbano. When he leaves the young man behind him at Florence, he writes

frequently, giving him advice, bidding him mind his studies, and also

telling him to confess. It happened that Urbano fell ill at Carrara,

toward the end of August. Michelangelo, on hearing the news, left

Florence and travelled by post to Carrara. Thence he had his friend

transported on the backs of men to Serravezza, and after his recovery

sent him to pick up strength in his native city of Pistoja. In one of

the _Ricordi_ he reckons the cost of all this at 33-1/2 ducats.

While Michelangelo was residing at Pietra Santa in 1518, his old

friend and fellow-worker, Pietro Rosselli, wrote to him from Rome,

asking his advice about a tabernacle of marble which Pietro Soderini

had ordered. It was to contain the head of S. John the Baptist, and to

be placed in the Church of the Convent of S. Silvestro. On the 7th of

June Soderini wrote upon the same topic, requesting a design. This

Michelangelo sent in October, the execution of the shrine being

intrusted to Federigo Frizzi. The incident would hardly be worth

mentioning, except for the fact that it brings to mind one of

Michelangelo's earliest patrons, the good-hearted Gonfalonier of

Justice, and anticipates the coming of the only woman he is known to

have cared for, Vittoria Colonna. It was at S. Silvestro that she

dwelt, retired in widowhood, and here occurred those Sunday morning

conversations of which Francesco d'Olanda has left us so interesting a

record.

During the next year, 1519, a certain Tommaso di Dolfo invited him to

visit Adrianople. He reminded him how, coming together in Florence,

when Michelangelo lay there in hiding from Pope Julius, they had

talked about the East, and he had expressed a wish to travel into

Turkey. Tommaso di Dolfo dissuaded him on that occasion, because the

ruler of the province was a man of no taste and careless about the

arts. Things had altered since, and he thought there was a good

opening for an able sculptor. Things, however, had altered in Italy

also, and Buonarroti felt no need to quit the country where his fame

was growing daily.

Considerable animation is introduced into the annals of Michelangelo's

life at this point by his correspondence with jovial Sebastiano del

Piombo. We possess one of this painter's letters, dating as early as

1510, when he thanks Buonarroti for consenting to be godfather to his

boy Luciano; a second of 1512, which contains the interesting account

of his conversation with Pope Julius about Michelangelo and Raffaello;

and a third, of 1518, turning upon the rivalry between the two great

artists. But the bulk of Sebastiano's gossipy and racy communications

belongs to the period of thirteen years between 1520 and 1533; then it

suddenly breaks off, owing to Michelangelo's having taken up his

residence at Rome during the autumn of 1533. A definite rupture at

some subsequent period separated the old friends. These letters are a

mine of curious information respecting artistic life at Rome. They

prove, beyond the possibility of doubt, that, whatever Buonarroti and

Sanzio may have felt, their flatterers, dependants, and creatures

cherished the liveliest hostility and lived in continual rivalry. It

is somewhat painful to think that Michelangelo could have lent a

willing ear to the malignant babble of a man so much inferior to

himself in nobleness of nature--have listened when Sebastiano taunted

Raffaello as "Prince of the Synagogue," or boasted that a picture of

his own was superior to "the tapestries just come from Flanders." Yet

Sebastiano was not the only friend to whose idle gossip the great

sculptor indulgently stooped. Lionardo, the saddle-maker, was even

more offensive. He writes, for instance, upon New Year's Day, 1519, to

say that the Resurrection of Lazarus, for which Michelangelo had

contributed some portion of the design, was nearly finished, and adds:

"Those who understand art rank it far above Raffaello. The vault, too,

of Agostino Chigi has been exposed to view, and is a thing truly

disgraceful to a great artist, far worse than the last hall of the

Palace. Sebastiano has nothing to fear."

We gladly turn from these quarrels to what Sebastiano teaches us about

Michelangelo's personal character. The general impression in the world

was that he was very difficult to live with. Julius, for instance,

after remarking that Raffaello changed his style in imitation of

Buonarroti, continued: "'But he is terrible, as you see; one cannot

get on with him.' I answered to his Holiness that your terribleness

hurt nobody, and that you only seem to be terrible because of your

passionate devotion to the great works you have on hand." Again, he

relates Leo's estimate of his friend's character:

"I know in what esteem the Pope holds you, and when he speaks of you,

it would seem that he were talking about a brother, almost with tears

in his eyes; for he has told me you were brought up together as boys"

(Giovanni de' Medici and the sculptor were exactly of the same age),

"and shows that he knows and loves you. But you frighten everybody,

even Popes!" Michelangelo must have complained of this last remark,

for Sebastiano, in a letter dated a few days later, reverts to the

subject: "Touching what you reply to me about your terribleness, I,

for my part, do not esteem you terrible; and if I have not written on

this subject do not be surprised, seeing you do not strike me as

terrible, except only in art--that is to say, in being the greatest

master who ever lived: that is my opinion; if I am in error, the loss

is mine." Later on, he tells us what Clement VII. thought: "One letter

to your friend (the Pope) would be enough; you would soon see what

fruit it bore; because I know how he values you. He loves you, knows

your nature, adores your work, and tastes its quality as much as it is

possible for man to do. Indeed, his appreciation is miraculous, and

such as ought to give great satisfaction to an artist. He speaks of

you so honourably, and with such loving affection, that a father could

not say of a son what he does of you. It is true that he has been

grieved at times by buzzings in his ear about you at the time of the

siege of Florence. He shrugged his shoulders and cried, 'Michelangelo

is in the wrong; I never did him any injury.'" It is interesting to

find Sebastiano, in the same letter, complaining of Michelangelo's

sensitiveness. "One favour I would request of you, that is, that you

should come to learn your worth, and not stoop as you do to every

little thing, and remember that eagles do not prey on flies. Enough! I

know that you will laugh at my prattle; but I do not care; Nature has

made me so, and I am not Zuan da Rezzo."

VIII

The year 1520 was one of much importance for Michelangelo. A _Ricordo_

dated March 10 gives a brief account of the last four years, winding

up with the notice that "Pope Leo, perhaps because he wants to get the

façade at S. Lorenzo finished quicker than according to the contract

made with me, and I also consenting thereto, sets me free ... and so

he leaves me at liberty, under no obligation of accounting to any one

for anything which I have had to do with him or others upon his

account." It appears from the draft of a letter without date that some

altercation between Michelangelo and the Medici preceded this rupture.

He had been withdrawn from Serravezza to Florence in order that he

might plan the new buildings at S. Lorenzo; and the workmen of the

Opera del Duomo continued the quarrying business in his absence.

Marbles which he had excavated for S. Lorenzo were granted by the

Cardinal de' Medici to the custodians of the cathedral, and no attempt

was made to settle accounts. Michelangelo's indignation was roused by

this indifference to his interests, and he complains in terms of

extreme bitterness. Then he sums up all that he has lost, in addition

to expected profits. "I do not reckon the wooden model for the said

façade, which I made and sent to Rome; I do not reckon the period of

three years wasted in this work; I do not reckon that I have been

ruined (in health and strength perhaps) by the undertaking; I do not

reckon the enormous insult put on me by being brought here to do the

work, and then seeing it taken away from me, and for what reason I

have not yet learned; I do not reckon my house in Rome, which I left,

and where marbles, furniture and blocked-out statues have suffered to

upwards of 500 ducats. Omitting all these matters, out of the 2300

ducats I received, only 500 remain in my hands."

When he was an old man, Michelangelo told Condivi that Pope Leo

changed his mind about S. Lorenzo. In the often-quoted letter to the

prelate he said: "Leo, not wishing me to work at the tomb of Julius,

_pretended that he wanted to complete_ the façade of S. Lorenzo at

Florence." What was the real state of the case can only be

conjectured. It does not seem that the Pope took very kindly to the

façade; so the project may merely have been dropped through

carelessness. Michelangelo neglected his own interests by not going to

Rome, where his enemies kept pouring calumnies into the Pope's ears.

The Marquis of Carrara, as reported by Lionardo, wrote to Leo that "he

had sought to do you honour, and had done so to his best ability. It

was your fault if he had not done more--the fault of your sordidness,

your quarrelsomeness, your eccentric conduct." When, then, a dispute

arose between the Cardinal and the sculptor about the marbles, Leo may

have felt that it was time to break off from an artist so impetuous

and irritable. Still, whatever faults of temper Michelangelo may have

had, and however difficult he was to deal with, nothing can excuse the

Medici for their wanton waste of his physical and mental energies at

the height of their development.

On the 6th of April 1520 Raffaello died, worn out with labour and with

love, in the flower of his wonderful young manhood. It would be rash

to assert that he had already given the world the best he had to

offer, because nothing is so incalculable as the evolution of genius.

Still we perceive now that his latest manner, both as regards style

and feeling, and also as regards the method of execution by

assistants, shows him to have been upon the verge of intellectual

decline. While deploring Michelangelo's impracticability--that

solitary, self-reliant, and exacting temperament which made him reject

collaboration, and which doomed so much of his best work to

incompleteness--we must remember that to the very end of his long life

he produced nothing (except perhaps in architecture) which does not

bear the seal and superscription of his fervent self. Raffaello, on

the contrary, just before his death, seemed to be exhaling into a

nebulous mist of brilliant but unsatisfactory performances. Diffusing

the rich and facile treasures of his genius through a host of lesser

men, he had almost ceased to be a personality. Even his own work, as

proved by the Transfiguration, was deteriorating. The blossom was

overblown, the bubble on the point of bursting; and all those pupils

who had gathered round him, drawing like planets from the sun their

lustre, sank at his death into frigidity and insignificance. Only

Giulio Romano burned with a torrid sensual splendour all his own.

Fortunately for the history of the Renaissance, Giulio lived to evoke

the wonder of the Mantuan villa, that climax of associated crafts of

decoration, which remains for us the symbol of the dream of art

indulged by Raffaello in his Roman period.

These pupils of the Urbinate claimed now, on their master's death, and

claimed with good reason, the right to carry on his great work in the

Borgian apartments of the Vatican. The Sala de' Pontefici, or the Hall

of Constantine, as it is sometimes called, remained to be painted.

They possessed designs bequeathed by Raffaello for its decoration, and

Leo, very rightly, decided to leave it in their hands. Sebastiano del

Piombo, however, made a vigorous effort to obtain the work for

himself. His Raising of Lazarus, executed in avowed competition with

the Transfiguration, had brought him into the first rank of Roman

painters. It was seen what the man, with Michelangelo to back him up,

could do. We cannot properly appreciate this picture in its present

state. The glory of the colouring has passed away; and it was

precisely here that Sebastiano may have surpassed Raffaello, as he was

certainly superior to the school. Sebastiano wrote letter after letter

to Michelangelo in Florence. He first mentions Raffaello's death,

"whom may God forgive;" then says that the _"garzoni"_ of the Urbinate

are beginning to paint in oil upon the walls of the Sala de'

Pontefici. "I pray you to remember me, and to recommend me to the

Cardinal, and if I am the man to undertake the job, I should like you

to set me to work at it; for I shall not disgrace you, as indeed I

think I have not done already. I took my picture (the Lazarus) once

more to the Vatican, and placed it beside Raffaello's (the

Transfiguration), and I came without shame out of the comparison." In

answer, apparently, to this first letter on the subject, Michelangelo

wrote a humorous recommendation of his friend and gossip to the

Cardinal Bernardo Dovizi da Bibbiena. It runs thus: "I beg your most

reverend Lordship, not as a friend or servant, for I am not worthy to

be either, but as a low fellow, poor and brainless, that you will

cause Sebastian, the Venetian painter, now that Rafael is dead, to

have some share in the works, at the Palace. If it should seem to your

Lordship that kind offices are thrown away upon a man like me, I might

suggest that on some rare occasions a certain sweetness may be found

in being kind even to fools, as onions taste well, for a change of

food, to one who is tired of capons. You oblige men of mark every day.

I beg your Lordship to try what obliging me is like. The obligation

will be a very great one, and Sebastian is a worthy man. If, then,

your kind offers are thrown away on me, they will not be so on

Sebastian, for I am certain he will prove a credit to your Lordship."

In his following missives Sebastiano flatters Michelangelo upon the

excellent effect produced by the letter. "The Cardinal informed me

that the Pope had given the Hall of the Pontiffs to Raffaello's

'prentices, and they have begun with a figure in oils upon the wall, a

marvellous production which eclipses all the rooms painted by their

master, and proves that when it is finished, this hall will beat the

record, and be the finest thing done in painting since the ancients.

Then he asked if I had read your letter. I said, No. He laughed

loudly, as though at a good joke, and I quitted him with compliments.

Bandinelli, who is copying the Laocoon, tells me that the Cardinal

showed him your letter, and also showed it to the Pope; in fact,

nothing is talked about at the Vatican except your letter, and it

makes everybody laugh." He adds that he does not think the hall ought

to be committed to young men. Having discovered what sort of things

they meant to paint there, battle-pieces and vast compositions, he

judges the scheme beyond their scope. Michelangelo alone is equal to

the task. Meanwhile, Leo, wishing to compromise matters, offered

Sebastiano the great hall in the lower apartments of the Borgias,

where Alexander VI. used to live, and where Pinturicchio

painted--rooms shut up in pious horror by Julius when he came to

occupy the palace of his hated and abominable predecessor.

Sebastiano's reliance upon Michelangelo, and his calculation that the

way to get possession of the coveted commission would depend on the

latter's consenting to supply him with designs, emerge in the

following passage: "The Cardinal told me that he was ordered by the

Pope to offer me the lower hall. I replied that I could accept nothing

without your permission, or until your answer came, which is not to

hand at the date of writing. I added that, unless I were engaged to

Michelangelo, even if the Pope commanded me to paint that hall, I

would not do so, because I do not think myself inferior to Raffaello's

'prentices, especially after the Pope, with his own mouth, had offered

me half of the upper hall; and anyhow, I do not regard it as

creditable to myself to paint the cellars, and they to have the gilded

chambers. I said they had better be allowed to go on painting. He

answered that the Pope had only done this to avoid rivalries. The men

possessed designs ready for that hall, and I ought to remember that

the lower one was also a hall of the Pontiffs. My reply was that I

would have nothing to do with it; so that now they are laughing at me,

and I am so worried that I am well-nigh mad." Later on he adds: "It

has been my object, through you and your authority, to execute

vengeance for myself and you too, letting malignant fellows know that

there are other demigods alive beside Raffael da Urbino and his

'prentices." The vacillation of Leo in this business, and his desire

to make things pleasant, are characteristic of the man, who acted just

in the same way while negotiating with princes.

IX

When Michelangelo complained that he was "rovinato per detta opera di

San Lorenzo," he probably did not mean that he was ruined in purse,

but in health and energy. For some while after Leo gave him his

liberty, he seems to have remained comparatively inactive. During this

period the sacristy at S. Lorenzo and the Medicean tombs were probably

in contemplation. Giovanni Cambi says that they were begun at the end

of March 1520. But we first hear something definite about them in a

_Ricordo_ which extends from April 9 to August 19, 1521. Michelangelo

says that on the former of these dates he received money from the

Cardinal de' Medici for a journey to Carrara, whither he went and

stayed about three weeks, ordering marbles for "the tombs which are to

be placed in the new sacristy at S. Lorenzo. And there I made out

drawings to scale, and measured models in clay for the said tombs." He

left his assistant Scipione of Settignano at Carrara as overseer of

the work and returned to Florence. On the 20th of July following he

went again to Carrara, and stayed nine days. On the 16th of August the

contractors for the blocks, all of which were excavated from the old

Roman quarry of Polvaccio, came to Florence, and were paid for on

account. Scipione returned on the 19th of August. It may be added that

the name of Stefano, the miniaturist, who acted as Michelangelo's

factotum through several years, is mentioned for the first time in

this minute and interesting record.

That the commission for the sacristy came from the Cardinal Giulio,

and not from the Pope, appears in the document I have just cited. The

fact is confirmed by a letter written to Fattucci in 1523: "About two

years have elapsed since I returned from Carrara, whither I had gone

to purchase marbles for the tombs of the Cardinal." The letter is

curious in several respects, because it shows how changeable through

many months Giulio remained about the scheme; at one time bidding

Michelangelo prepare plans and models, at another refusing to listen

to any proposals; then warming up again, and saying that, if he lived

long enough, he meant to erect the façade as well. The final issue of

the affair was, that after Giulio became Pope Clement VII., the

sacristy went forward, and Michelangelo had to put the sepulchre of

Julius aside. During the pontificate of Adrian, we must believe that

he worked upon his statues for that monument, since a Cardinal was

hardly powerful enough to command his services; but when the Cardinal

became Pope, and threatened to bring an action against him for moneys

received, the case was altered. The letter to Fattucci, when carefully

studied, leads to these conclusions.

Very little is known to us regarding his private life in the year

1521. We only possess one letter, relating to the purchase of a house.

In October he stood godfather to the infant son of Niccolò Soderini,

nephew of his old patron, the Gonfalonier.

This barren period is marked by only one considerable event--that is,

the termination of the Cristo Risorto, or Christ Triumphant, which had

been ordered by Metello Varj de' Porcari in 1514. The statue seems to

have been rough-hewn at the quarries, packed up, and sent to Pisa on

its way to Florence as early as December 1518, but it was not until

March 1521 that Michelangelo began to occupy himself about it

seriously. He then despatched Pietro Urbano to Rome with orders to

complete it there, and to arrange with the purchaser for placing it

upon a pedestal. Sebastiano's letters contain some references to this

work, which enable us to understand how wrong it would be to accept it

as a representative piece of Buonarroti's own handicraft. On the 9th

of November 1520 he writes that his gossip, Giovanni da Reggio, "goes

about saying that you did not execute the figure, but that it is the

work of Pietro Urbano. Take good care that it should be seen to be

from your hand, so that poltroons and babblers may burst." On the 6th

of September 1521 he returns to the subject. Urbano was at this time

resident in Rome, and behaving himself so badly, in Sebastiano's

opinion, that he feels bound to make a severe report. "In the first

place, you sent him to Rome with the statue to finish and erect it.

What he did and left undone you know already. But I must inform you

that he has spoiled the marble wherever he touched it. In particular,

he shortened the right foot and cut the toes off; the hands too,

especially the right hand, which holds the cross, have been mutilated

in the fingers. Frizzi says they seem to have been worked by a

biscuit-maker, not wrought in marble, but kneaded by some one used to

dough. I am no judge, not being familiar with the method of

stone-cutting; but I can tell you that the fingers look to me very

stiff and dumpy. It is clear also that he has been peddling at the

beard; and I believe my little boy would have done so with more sense,

for it looks as though he had used a knife without a point to chisel

the hair. This can easily be remedied, however. He has also spoiled

one of the nostrils. A little more, and the whole nose would have been

ruined, and only God could have restored it." Michelangelo apparently

had already taken measures to transfer the Christ from Urbano's hands

to those of the sculptor Federigo Frizzi. This irritated his former

friend and workman. "Pietro shows a very ugly and malignant spirit

after finding himself cast off by you. He does not seem to care for

you or any one alive, but thinks he is a great master. He will soon

find out his mistake, for the poor young man will never be able to

make statues. He has forgotten all he knew of art, and the knees of

your Christ are worth more than all Rome together." It was

Sebastiano's wont to run babbling on this way. Once again he returns

to Pietro Urbano. "I am informed that he has left Rome; he has not

been seen for several days, has shunned the Court, and I certainly

believe that he will come to a bad end. He gambles, wants all the

women of the town, struts like a Ganymede in velvet shoes through

Rome, and flings his cash about. Poor fellow! I am sorry for him

since, after all, he is but young."

Such was the end of Pietro Urbano. Michelangelo was certainly

unfortunate with his apprentices. One cannot help fancying he may have

spoiled them by indulgence. Vasari, mentioning Pietro, calls him "a

person of talent, but one who never took the pains to work."

Frizzi brought the Christ Triumphant into its present state, patching

up what "the lither lad" from Pistoja had boggled. Buonarroti, who was

sincerely attached to Varj, and felt his artistic reputation now at

stake, offered to make a new statue. But the magnanimous Roman

gentleman replied that he was entirely satisfied with the one he had

received. He regarded and esteemed it "as a thing of gold," and, in

refusing Michelangelo's offer, added that "this proved his noble soul

and generosity, inasmuch as, when he had already made what could not

be surpassed and was incomparable, he still wanted to serve his friend

better." The price originally stipulated was paid, and Varj added an

autograph testimonial, strongly affirming his contentment with the

whole transaction.

These details prove that the Christ of the Minerva must be regarded as

a mutilated masterpiece. Michelangelo is certainly responsible for the

general conception, the pose, and a large portion of the finished

surface, details of which, especially in the knees, so much admired by

Sebastiano, and in the robust arms, are magnificent. He designed the

figure wholly nude, so that the heavy bronze drapery which now

surrounds the loins, and bulges drooping from the left hip, breaks the

intended harmony of lines. Yet, could this brawny man have ever

suggested any distinctly religious idea? Christ, victor over Death and

Hell, did not triumph by ponderosity and sinews. The spiritual nature

of his conquest, the ideality of a divine soul disencumbered from the

flesh, to which it once had stooped in love for sinful man, ought

certainly to have been emphasised, if anywhere through art, in the

statue of a Risen Christ. Substitute a scaling-ladder for the cross,

and here we have a fine life-guardsman, stripped and posing for some

classic battle-piece. We cannot quarrel with Michelangelo about the

face and head. Those vulgarly handsome features, that beard, pomaded

and curled by a barber's 'prentice, betray no signs of his

inspiration. Only in the arrangement of the hair, hyacinthine locks

descending to the shoulders, do we recognise the touch of the divine

sculptor.

The Christ became very famous. Francis I. had it cast and sent to

Paris, to be repeated in bronze. What is more strange, it has long

been the object of a religious cult. The right foot, so mangled by

poor Pietro, wears a fine brass shoe, in order to prevent its being

kissed away. This almost makes one think of Goethe's hexameter:

"Wunderthätige Bilder sind meist nur schlechte Gemälde." Still it must

be remembered that excellent critics have found the whole work

admirable. Gsell-Fels says: "It is his second Moses; in movement and

physique one of the greatest masterpieces; as a Christ-ideal, the

heroic conception of a humanist." That last observation is just. We

may remember that Vida was composing his _Christiad_ while Frizzi was

curling the beard of the Cristo Risorto. Vida always speaks of Jesus

as _Heros_ and of God the Father as _Superum Pater Nimbipotens_ or

_Regnator Olympi_.