I
Leo X. expired upon the 1st day of December 1521. The vacillating game
he played in European politics had just been crowned with momentary
success. Some folk believed that the Pope died of joy after hearing
that his Imperial allies had entered the town of Milan; others thought
that he succumbed to poison. We do not know what caused his death. But
the unsoundness of his constitution, over-taxed by dissipation and
generous living, in the midst of public cares for which the man had
hardly nerve enough, may suffice to account for a decease certainly
sudden and premature. Michelangelo, born in the same year, was
destined to survive him through more than eight lustres of the life of
man.
Leo was a personality whom it is impossible to praise without reserve.
The Pope at that time in Italy had to perform three separate
functions. His first duty was to the Church. Leo left the See of Rome
worse off than he found it: financially bankrupt, compromised by vague
schemes set on foot for the aggrandisement of his family, discredited
by many shameless means for raising money upon spiritual securities.
His second duty was to Italy. Leo left the peninsula so involved in a
mesh of meaningless entanglements, diplomatic and aimless wars, that
anarchy and violence proved to be the only exit from the situation.
His third duty was to that higher culture which Italy dispensed to
Europe, and of which the Papacy had made itself the leading
propagator. Here Leo failed almost as conspicuously as in all else he
attempted. He debased the standard of art and literature by his
ill-placed liberalities, seeking quick returns for careless
expenditure, not selecting the finest spirits of his age for timely
patronage, diffusing no lofty enthusiasm, but breeding round him
mushrooms of mediocrity.
Nothing casts stronger light upon the low tone of Roman society
created by Leo than the outburst of frenzy and execration which
exploded when a Fleming was elected as his successor. Adrian Florent,
belonging to a family surnamed Dedel, emerged from the scrutiny of the
Conclave into the pontifical chair. He had been the tutor of Charles
V., and this may suffice to account for his nomination. Cynical wits
ascribed that circumstance to the direct and unexpected action of the
Holy Ghost. He was the one foreigner who occupied the seat of S. Peter
after the period when the metropolis of Western Christendom became an
Italian principality. Adrian, by his virtues and his failings, proved
that modern Rome, in her social corruption and religious indifference,
demanded an Italian Pontiff. Single-minded and simple, raised
unexpectedly by circumstances into his supreme position, he shut his
eyes absolutely to art and culture, abandoned diplomacy, and
determined to act only as the chief of the Catholic Church. In
ecclesiastical matters Adrian was undoubtedly a worthy man. He
returned to the original conception of his duty as the Primate of
Occidental Christendom; and what might have happened had he lived to
impress his spirit upon Rome, remains beyond the reach of calculation.
Dare we conjecture that the sack of 1527 would have been averted?
Adrian reigned only a year and eight months. He had no time to do
anything of permanent value, and was hardly powerful enough to do it,
even if time and opportunity had been afforded. In the thunderstorm
gathering over Rome and the Papacy, he represents that momentary lull
during which men hold their breath and murmur. All the place-seekers,
parasites, flatterers, second-rate artificers, folk of facile talents,
whom Leo gathered round him, vented their rage against a Pope who
lived sparsely, shut up the Belvedere, called statues "idols of the
Pagans," and spent no farthing upon twangling lutes and frescoed
chambers. Truly Adrian is one of the most grotesque and significant
figures upon the page of modern history. His personal worth, his
inadequacy to the needs of the age, and his incompetence to control
the tempest loosed by Della Roveres, Borgias, and Medici around him,
give the man a tragic irony.
After his death, upon the 23rd of September 1523, the Cardinal Giulio
de' Medici was made Pope. He assumed the title of Clement VII. upon
the 9th of November. The wits who saluted Adrian's doctor with the
title of "Saviour of the Fatherland," now rejoiced at the election of
an Italian and a Medici. The golden years of Leo's reign would
certainly return, they thought; having no foreknowledge of the tragedy
which was so soon to be enacted, first at Rome, and afterwards at
Florence, Michelangelo wrote to his friend Topolino at Carrara: "You
will have heard that Medici is made Pope; all the world seems to me to
be delighted, and I think that here at Florence great things will soon
be set on foot in our art. Therefore, serve well and faithfully."
II
Our records are very scanty, both as regards personal details and
art-work, for the life of Michelangelo during the pontificate of
Adrian VI. The high esteem in which he was held throughout Italy is
proved by three incidents which may shortly be related. In 1522, the
Board of Works for the cathedral church of S. Petronio at Bologna
decided to complete the façade. Various architects sent in designs;
among them Peruzzi competed with one in the Gothic style, and another
in that of the Classical revival. Great differences of opinion arose
in the city as to the merits of the rival plans, and the Board in July
invited Michelangelo, through their secretary, to come and act as
umpire. They promised to reward him magnificently. It does not appear
that Michelangelo accepted the offer. In 1523, Cardinal Grimani, who
was a famous collector of art-objects, wrote begging for some specimen
of his craft. Grimani left it open to him "to choose material and
subject; painting, bronze, or marble, according to his fancy."
Michelangelo must have promised to fulfill the commission, for we have
a letter from Grimani thanking him effusively. He offers to pay fifty
ducats at the commencement of the work, and what Michelangelo thinks
fit to demand at its conclusion: "for such is the excellence of your
ability, that we shall take no thought of money-value." Grimani was
Patriarch of Aquileja. In the same year, 1523, the Genoese entered
into negotiations for a colossal statue of Andrea Doria, which they
desired to obtain from the hand of Michelangelo. Its execution must
have been seriously contemplated, for the Senate of Genoa banked 300
ducats for the purpose. We regret that Michelangelo could not carry
out a work so congenial to his talent as this ideal portrait of the
mighty Signer Capitano would have been; but we may console ourselves
by reflecting that even his energies were not equal to all tasks
imposed upon him. The real matter for lamentation is that they
suffered so much waste in the service of vacillating Popes.
To the year 1523 belongs, in all probability, the last extant letter
which Michelangelo wrote to his father. Lodovico was dissatisfied with
a contract which had been drawn up on the 16th of June in that year,
and by which a certain sum of money, belonging to the dowry of his
late wife, was settled in reversion upon his eldest son. Michelangelo
explains the tenor of the deed, and then breaks forth into the,
following bitter and ironical invective: "If my life is a nuisance to
you, you have found the means of protecting yourself, and will inherit
the key of that treasure which you say that I possess. And you will be
acting rightly; for all Florence knows how mighty rich you were, and
how I always robbed you, and deserve to be chastised. Highly will men
think of you for this. Cry out and tell folk all you choose about me,
but do not write again, for you prevent my working. What I have now to
do is to make good all you have had from me during the past
five-and-twenty years. I would rather not tell you this, but I cannot
help it. Take care, and be on your guard against those whom it
concerns you. A man dies but once, and does not come back again to
patch up things ill done. You have put off till the death to do this.
May God assist you!"
In another draft of this letter Lodovico is accused of going about the
town complaining that he was once a rich man, and that Michelangelo
had robbed him. Still, we must not take this for proved; one of the
great artist's main defects was an irritable suspiciousness, which
caused him often to exaggerate slights and to fancy insults. He may
have attached too much weight to the grumblings of an old man, whom at
the bottom of his heart he loved dearly.
III
Clement, immediately after his election, resolved on setting
Michelangelo at work in earnest on the Sacristy. At the very beginning
of January he also projected the building of the Laurentian Library,
and wrote, through his Roman agent, Giovanni Francesco Fattucci,
requesting to have two plans furnished, one in the Greek, the other in
the Latin style. Michelangelo replied as follows: "I gather from your
last that his Holiness our Lord wishes that I should furnish the
design for the library. I have received no information, and do not
know where it is to be erected. It is true that Stefano talked to me
about the scheme, but I paid no heed. When he returns from Carrara I
will inquire, and will do all that is in my power, _albeit
architecture is not my profession_." There is something pathetic in
this reiterated assertion that his real art was sculpture. At the same
time Clement wished to provide for him for life. He first proposed
that Buonarroti should promise not to marry, and should enter into
minor orders. This would have enabled him to enjoy some ecclesiastical
benefice, but it would also have handed him over firmly bound to the
service of the Pope. Circumstances already hampered him enough, and
Michelangelo, who chose to remain his own master, refused. As Berni
wrote: "Voleva far da se, non comandato." As an alternative, a pension
was suggested. It appears that he only asked for fifteen ducats a
month, and that his friend Pietro Gondi had proposed twenty-five
ducats. Fattucci, on the 13th of January 1524, rebuked him in
affectionate terms for his want of pluck, informing him that "Jacopo
Salviati has given orders that Spina should be instructed to pay you a
monthly provision of fifty ducats." Moreover, all the disbursements
made for the work at S. Lorenzo were to be provided by the same agent
in Florence, and to pass through Michelangelo's hands. A house was
assigned him, free of rent, at S. Lorenzo, in order that he might be
near his work. Henceforth he was in almost weekly correspondence with
Giovanni Spina on affairs of business, sending in accounts and drawing
money by means of his then trusted servant, Stefano, the miniaturist.
That Stefano did not always behave himself according to his master's
wishes appears from the following characteristic letter addressed by
Michelangelo to his friend Pietro Gondi: "The poor man, who is
ungrateful, has a nature of this sort, that if you help him in his
needs, he says that what you gave him came out of superfluities; if
you put him in the way of doing work for his own good, he says you
were obliged, and set him to do it because you were incapable; and all
the benefits which he received he ascribes to the necessities of the
benefactor. But when everybody can see that you acted out of pure
benevolence, the ingrate waits until you make some public mistake,
which gives him the opportunity of maligning his benefactor and
winning credence, in order to free himself from the obligation under
which he lies. This has invariably happened in my case. No one ever
entered into relations with me--I speak of workmen--to whom I did not
do good with all my heart. Afterwards, some trick of temper, or some
madness, which they say is in my nature, which hurts nobody except
myself, gives them an excuse for speaking evil of me and calumniating
my character. Such is the reward of all honest men."
These general remarks, he adds, apply to Stefano, whom he placed in a
position of trust and responsibility, in order to assist him. "What I
do is done for his good, because I have undertaken to benefit the man,
and cannot abandon him; but let him not imagine or say that I am doing
it because of my necessities, for, God be praised, I do not stand in
need of men." He then begs Gondi to discover what Stefano's real mind
is. This is a matter of great importance to him for several reasons,
and especially for this: "If I omitted to justify myself, and were to
put another in his place, I should be published among the Piagnoni for
the biggest traitor who ever lived, even though I were in the right."
We conclude, then, that Michelangelo thought of dismissing Stefano,
but feared lest he should get into trouble with the powerful political
party, followers of Savonarola, who bore the name of Piagnoni at
Florence. Gondi must have patched the quarrel up, for we still find
Stefano's name in the _Ricordi_ down to April 4, 1524. Shortly after
that date, Antonio Mini seems to have taken his place as
Michelangelo's right-hand man of business. These details are not so
insignificant as they appear. They enable us to infer that the
Sacristy of S. Lorenzo may have been walled and roofed in before the
end of April 1524; for, in an undated letter to Pope Clement,
Michelangelo says that Stefano has finished the lantern, and that it
is universally admired. With regard to this lantern, folk told him
that he would make it better than Brunelleschi's. "Different perhaps,
but better, no!" he answered. The letter to Clement just quoted is
interesting in several respects. The boldness of the beginning makes
one comprehend how Michelangelo was terrible even to Popes:--
"Most Blessed Father,--Inasmuch as intermediates are often the cause
of grave misunderstandings, I have summoned up courage to write
without their aid to your Holiness about the tombs at S. Lorenzo. I
repeat, I know not which is preferable, the evil that does good, or
the good that hurts. I am certain, mad and wicked as I may be, that if
I had been allowed to go on as I had begun, all the marbles needed for
the work would have been in Florence to-day, and properly blocked out,
with less cost than has been expended on them up to this date; and
they would have been superb, as are the others I have brought here."
After this he entreats Clement to give him full authority in carrying
out the work, and not to put superiors over him. Michelangelo, we
know, was extremely impatient of control and interference; and we
shall see, within a short time, how excessively the watching and
spying of busybodies worried and disturbed his spirits.
But these were not his only sources of annoyance. The heirs of Pope
Julius, perceiving that Michelangelo's time and energy were wholly
absorbed at S. Lorenzo, began to threaten him with a lawsuit. Clement,
wanting apparently to mediate between the litigants, ordered Fattucci
to obtain a report from the sculptor, with a full account of how
matters stood. This evoked the long and interesting document which has
been so often cited. There is no doubt whatever that Michelangelo
acutely felt the justice of the Duke of Urbino's grievances against
him. He was broken-hearted at seeming to be wanting in his sense of
honour and duty. People, he says, accused him of putting the money
which had been paid for the tomb out at usury, "living meanwhile at
Florence and amusing himself." It also hurt him deeply to be
distracted from the cherished project of his early manhood in order to
superintend works for which he had no enthusiasm, and which lay
outside his sphere of operation.
It may, indeed, be said that during these years Michelangelo lived in
a perpetual state of uneasiness and anxiety about the tomb of Julius.
As far back as 1518 the Cardinal Leonardo Grosso, Bishop of Agen, and
one of Julius's executors, found it necessary to hearten him with
frequent letters of encouragement. In one of these, after commending
his zeal in extracting marbles and carrying on the monument, the
Cardinal proceeds: "Be then of good courage, and do not yield to any
perturbations of the spirit, for we put more faith in your smallest
word than if all the world should say the contrary. We know your
loyalty, and believe you to be wholly devoted to our person; and if
there shall be need of aught which we can supply, we are willing, as
we have told you on other occasions, to do so; rest then in all
security of mind, because we love you from the heart, and desire to do
all that may be agreeable to you." This good friend was dead at the
time we have now reached, and the violent Duke Francesco Maria della
Rovere acted as the principal heir of Pope Julius.
In a passion of disgust he refused to draw his pension, and abandoned
the house at S. Lorenzo. This must have happened in March 1524, for
his friend Leonardo writes to him from Rome upon the 24th: "I am also
told that you have declined your pension, which seems to me mere
madness, and that you have thrown the house up, and do not work.
Friend and gossip, let me tell you that you have plenty of enemies,
who speak their worst; also that the Pope and Pucci and Jacopo
Salviati are your friends, and have plighted their troth to you. It is
unworthy of you to break your word to them, especially in an affair of
honour. Leave the matter of the tomb to those who wish you well, and
who are able to set you free without the least encumbrance, and take
care you do not come short in the Pope's work. Die first. And take the
pension, for they give it with a willing heart." How long he remained
in contumacy is not quite certain; apparently until the 29th of
August. We have a letter written on that day to Giovanni Spina: "After
I left you yesterday, I went back thinking over my affairs; and,
seeing that the Pope has set his heart on S. Lorenzo, and how he
urgently requires my service, and has appointed me a good provision in
order that I may serve him with more convenience and speed; seeing
also that not to accept it keeps me back, and that I have no good
excuse for not serving his Holiness; I have changed my mind, and
whereas I hitherto refused, I now demand it (_i.e._, the salary),
considering this far wiser, and for more reasons than I care to write;
and, more especially, I mean to return to the house you took for me at
S. Lorenzo, and settle down there like an honest man: inasmuch as it
sets gossip going, and does me great damage not to go back there."
From a _Ricordo_ dated October 19, 1524, we learn in fact that he then
drew his full pay for eight months.
IV
Since Michelangelo was now engaged upon the Medicean tombs at S.
Lorenzo, it will be well to give some account of the several plans he
made before deciding on the final scheme, which he partially executed.
We may assume, I think, that the sacristy, as regards its general form
and dimensions, faithfully represents the first plan approved by
Clement. This follows from the rapidity and regularity with which the
structure was completed. But then came the question of filling it with
sarcophagi and statues. As early as November 28, 1520, Giulio de'
Medici, at that time Cardinal, wrote from the Villa Magliana. to
Buonarroti, addressing him thus: "_Spectabilis vir, amice noster
charissime_." He says that he is pleased with the design for the
chapel, and with the notion of placing the four tombs in the middle.
Then he proceeds to make some sensible remarks upon the difficulty of
getting these huge masses of statuary into the space provided for
them. Michelangelo, as Heath Wilson has pointed out, very slowly
acquired the sense of proportion on which technical architecture
depends. His early sketches only show a feeling for mass and
picturesque effect, and a strong inclination to subordinate the
building to sculpture.
It may be questioned who were the four Medici for whom these tombs
were intended. Cambi, in a passage quoted above, writing at the end of
March 1520(?), says that two were raised for Giuliano, Duke of
Nemours, and Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, and that the Cardinal meant one
to be for himself. The fourth he does not speak about. It has been
conjectured that Lorenzo the Magnificent and his brother Giuliano,
fathers respectively of Leo and of Clement, were to occupy two of the
sarcophagi; and also, with greater probability, that the two Popes,
Leo and Clement, were associated with the Dukes.
Before 1524 the scheme expanded, and settled into a more definite
shape. The sarcophagi were to support statue-portraits of the Dukes
and Popes, with Lorenzo the Magnificent and his brother Giuliano. At
their base, upon the ground, were to repose six rivers, two for each
tomb, showing that each sepulchre would have held two figures. The
rivers were perhaps Arno, Tiber, Metauro, Po, Taro, and Ticino. This
we gather from a letter written to Michelangelo on the 23rd of May in
that year. Michelangelo made designs to meet this plan, but whether
the tombs were still detached from the wall does not appear. Standing
inside the sacristy, it seems impossible that six statue-portraits and
six river-gods on anything like a grand scale could have been crowded
into the space, especially when we remember that there was to be an
altar, with other objects described as ornaments--"gli altri
ornamenti." Probably the Madonna and Child, with SS. Cosimo and
Damiano, now extant in the chapel, formed an integral part of the
successive schemes.
One thing is certain, that the notion of placing the tombs in the
middle of the sacristy was soon abandoned. All the marble panelling,
pilasters, niches, and so forth, which at present clothe the walls and
dominate the architectural effect, are clearly planned for mural
monuments. A rude sketch preserved in the Uffizi throws some light
upon the intermediate stages of the scheme. It is incomplete, and was
not finally adopted; but we see in it one of the four sides of the
chapel, divided vertically above into three compartments, the middle
being occupied by a Madonna, the two at the sides filled in with
bas-reliefs. At the base, on sarcophagi or _cassoni_, recline two nude
male figures. The space between these and the upper compartments seems
to have been reserved for allegorical figures, since a colossal naked
boy, ludicrously out of scale with the architecture and the recumbent
figures, has been hastily sketched in. In architectural proportion and
sculpturesque conception this design is very poor. It has the merit,
however, of indicating a moment in the evolution of the project when
the mural scheme had been adopted. The decorative details which
surmount the composition confirm the feeling every one must have,
that, in their present state, the architecture of the Medicean
monuments remains imperfect.
In this process of endeavouring to trace the development of
Michelangelo's ideas for the sacristy, seven original drawings at the
British Museum are of the greatest importance. They may be divided
into three groups. One sketch seems to belong to the period when the
tombs were meant to be placed in the centre of the chapel. It shows a
single facet of the monument, with two sarcophagi placed side by side
and seated figures at the angles. Five are variations upon the mural
scheme, which was eventually adopted. They differ considerably in
details, proving what trouble the designer took to combine a large
number of figures in a single plan. He clearly intended at some time
to range the Medicean statues in pairs, and studied several types of
curve for their sepulchral urns. The feature common to all of them is
a niche, of door or window shape, with a powerfully indented
architrave. Reminiscences of the design for the tomb of Julius are not
infrequent; and it may be remarked, as throwing a side-light upon that
irrecoverable project of his earlier manhood, that the figures posed
upon the various spaces of architecture differ in their scale. Two
belonging to this series are of especial interest, since we learn from
them how he thought of introducing the rivers at the basement of the
composition. It seems that he hesitated long about the employment of
circular spaces in the framework of the marble panelling. These were
finally rejected. One of the finest and most comprehensive of the
drawings I am now describing contains a rough draft of a curved
sarcophagus, with an allegorical figure reclining upon it, indicating
the first conception of the Dawn. Another, blurred and indistinct,
with clumsy architectural environment, exhibits two of these
allegories, arranged much as we now see them at S. Lorenzo. A
river-god, recumbent beneath the feet of a female statue, carries the
eye down to the ground, and enables us to comprehend how these
subordinate figures were wrought into the complex harmony of flowing
lines he had imagined. The seventh study differs in conception from
the rest; it stands alone. There are four handlings of what begins
like a huge portal, and is gradually elaborated into an architectural
scheme containing three great niches for statuary. It is powerful and
simple in design, governed by semicircular arches--a feature which is
absent from the rest.
All these drawings are indubitably by the hand of Michelangelo, and
must be reckoned among his first free efforts to construct a working
plan. The Albertina Collection at Vienna yields us an elaborate design
for the sacristy, which appears to have been worked up from some of
the rougher sketches. It is executed in pen, shaded with bistre, and
belongs to what I have ventured to describe as office work. It may
have been prepared for the inspection of Leo and the Cardinal. Here we
have the sarcophagi in pairs, recumbent figures stretched upon a
shallow curve inverted, colossal orders of a bastard Ionic type, a
great central niche framing a seated Madonna, two male figures in side
niches, suggestive of Giuliano and Lorenzo as they were at last
conceived, four allegorical statues, and, to crown the whole
structure, candelabra of a peculiar shape, with a central round,
supported by two naked genii. It is difficult, as I have before
observed, to be sure how much of the drawings executed in this way can
be ascribed with safety to Michelangelo himself. They are carefully
outlined, with the precision of a working architect; but the
sculptural details bear the aspect of what may be termed a generic
Florentine style of draughtsmanship.
Two important letters from Michelangelo to Fattucci, written in
October 1525 and April 1526, show that he had then abandoned the
original scheme, and adopted one which was all but carried into
effect. "I am working as hard as I can, and in fifteen days I shall
begin the other captain. Afterwards the only important things left
will be the four rivers. The four statues on the sarcophagi, the four
figures on the ground which are the rivers, the two captains, and Our
Lady, who is to be placed upon the tomb at the head of the chapel;
these are what I mean to do with my own hand. Of these I have begun
six; and I have good hope of finishing them in due time, and carrying
the others forward in part, which do not signify so much." The six he
had begun are clearly the Dukes and their attendant figures of Day,
Night, Dawn, Evening. The Madonna, one of his noblest works, came
within a short distance of completion. SS. Cosimo and Damiano passed
into the hands of Montelupo and Montorsoli. Of the four rivers we have
only fragments in the shape of some exquisite little models. Where
they could have been conveniently placed is difficult to imagine;
possibly they were abandoned from a feeling that the chapel would be
overcrowded.
V
According to the plan adopted in this book, I shall postpone such
observations as I have to make upon the Medicean monuments until the
date when Michelangelo laid down his chisel, and shall now proceed
with the events of his life during the years 1525 and 1526.
He continued to be greatly troubled about the tomb of Julius II. The
lawsuit instituted by the Duke of Urbino hung over his head; and
though he felt sure of the Pope's powerful support, it was extremely
important, both for his character and comfort, that affairs should be
placed upon a satisfactory basis. Fattucci in Rome acted not only as
Clement's agent in business connected with S. Lorenzo; he also was
intrusted with negotiations for the settlement of the Duke's claims.
The correspondence which passed between them forms, therefore, our
best source of information for this period. On Christmas Eve in 1524
Michelangelo writes from Florence to his friend, begging him not to
postpone a journey he had in view, if the only business which detained
him was the trouble about the tomb. A pleasant air of manly affection
breathes through this document, showing Michelangelo to have been
unselfish in a matter which weighed heavily and daily on his spirits.
How greatly he was affected can be inferred from a letter written to
Giovanni Spina on the 19th of April 1525. While reading this, it must
be remembered that the Duke laid his action for the recovery of a
considerable balance, which he alleged to be due to him upon
disbursements made for the monument. Michelangelo, on the contrary,
asserted that he was out of pocket, as we gather from the lengthy
report he forwarded in 1524 to Fattucci. The difficulty in the
accounts seems to have arisen from the fact that payments for the
Sistine Chapel and the tomb had been mixed up. The letter to Spina
runs as follows: "There is no reason for sending a power of attorney
about the tomb of Pope Julius, because I do not want to plead. They
cannot bring a suit if I admit that I am in the wrong; so I assume
that I have sued and lost, and have to pay; and this I am disposed to
do, if I am able. Therefore, if the Pope will help me in the
matter--and this would be the greatest satisfaction to me, seeing I am
too old and ill to finish the work--he might, as intermediary, express
his pleasure that I should repay what I have received for its
performance, so as to release me from this burden, and to enable the
relatives of Pope Julius to carry out the undertaking by any master
whom they may choose to employ. In this way his Holiness could be of
very great assistance to me. Of course I desire to reimburse as little
as possible, always consistently with justice. His Holiness might
employ some of my arguments, as, for instance, the time spent for the
Pope at Bologna, and other times wasted without any compensation,
according to the statements I have made in full to Ser Giovan
Francesco (Fattucci). Directly the terms of restitution have been
settled, I will engage my property, sell, and put myself in a position
to repay the money. I shall then be able to think of the Pope's orders
and to work; as it is, I can hardly be said to live, far less to work.
There is no other way of putting an end to the affair more safe for
myself, nor more agreeable, nor more certain to ease my mind. It can
be done amicably without a lawsuit. I pray to God that the Pope may be
willing to accept the mediation, for I cannot see that any one else is
fit to do it."
Giorgio Vasari says that he came in the year 1525 for a short time as
pupil to Michelangelo. In his own biography he gives the date, more
correctly, 1524. At any rate, the period of Vasari's brief
apprenticeship was closed by a journey which the master made to Rome,
and Buonarroti placed the lad in Andrea del Sarto's workshop. "He left
for Rome in haste. Francesco Maria, Duke of Urbino, was again
molesting him, asserting that he had received 16,000 ducats to
complete the tomb, while he stayed idling at Florence for his own
amusement. He threatened that, if he did not attend to the work, he
would make him suffer. So, when he arrived there, Pope Clement, who
wanted to command his services, advised him to reckon with the Duke's
agents, believing that, for what he had already done, he was rather
creditor than debtor. The matter remained thus." We do not know when
this journey to Rome took place. From a hint in the letter of December
24, 1524, to Fattucci, where Michelangelo observes that only he in
person would be able to arrange matters, it is possible that we may
refer it to the beginning of 1525. Probably he was able to convince,
not only the Pope, but also the Duke's agents that he had acted with
scrupulous honesty, and that his neglect of the tomb was due to
circumstances over which he had no control, and which he regretted as
acutely as anybody. There is no shadow of doubt that this was really
the case. Every word written by Michelangelo upon the subject shows
that he was heart-broken at having to abandon the long-cherished
project.
Some sort of arrangement must have been arrived at. Clement took the
matter into his own hands, and during the summer of 1525 amicable
negotiations were in progress. On the 4th of September Michelangelo
writes again to Fattucci, saying that he is quite willing to complete
the tomb upon the same plan as that of the Pope Pius (now in the
Church of S. Andrea della Valle)--that is, to adopt a mural system
instead of the vast detached monument. This would take less time. He
again urges his friend not to stay at Rome for the sake of these
affairs. He hears that the plague is breaking out there. "And I would
rather have you alive than my business settled. If I die before the
Pope, I shall not have to settle any troublesome affairs. If I live, I
am sure the Pope will settle them, if not now, at some other time. So
come back. I was with your mother yesterday, and advised her, in the
presence of Granacci and John the turner, to send for you home."
While in Rome Michelangelo conferred with Clement about the sacristy
and library at S. Lorenzo. For a year after his return to Florence he
worked steadily at the Medicean monuments, but not without severe
annoyances, as appears from the following to Fattucci: "The four
statues I have in hand are not yet finished, and much has still to be
done upon them. The four rivers are not begun, because the marble is
wanting, and yet it is here. I do not think it opportune to tell you
why. With regard to the affairs of Julius, I am well disposed to make
the tomb like that of Pius in S. Peter's, and will do so little by
little, now one piece and now another, and will pay for it out of my
own pocket, if I keep my pension and my house, as you promised me. I
mean, of course, the house at Rome, and the marbles and other things I
have there. So that, in fine, I should not have to restore to the
heirs of Julius, in order to be quit of the contract, anything which I
have hitherto received; the tomb itself, completed after the pattern
of that of Pius, sufficing for my full discharge. Moreover, I
undertake to perform the work within a reasonable time, and to finish
the statues with my own hand." He then turns to his present troubles
at Florence. The pension was in arrears, and busybodies annoyed him
with interferences of all sorts. "If my pension were paid, as was
arranged, I would never stop working for Pope Clement with all the
strength I have, small though that be, since I am old. At the same
time I must not be slighted and affronted as I am now, for such
treatment weighs greatly on my spirits. The petty spites I speak of
have prevented me from doing what I want to do these many months; one
cannot work at one thing with the hands, another with the brain,
especially in marble. 'Tis said here that these annoyances are meant
to spur me on; but I maintain that those are scurvy spurs which make a
good steed jib. I have not touched my pension during the past year,
and struggle with poverty. I am left in solitude to bear my troubles,
and have so many that they occupy me more than does my art; I cannot
keep a man to manage my house through lack of means."
Michelangelo's dejection caused serious anxiety to his friends. Jacopo
Salviati, writing on the 30th October from Rome, endeavoured to
restore his courage. "I am greatly distressed to hear of the fancies
you have got into your head. What hurts me most is that they should
prevent your working, for that rejoices your ill-wishers, and confirms
them in what they have always gone on preaching about your habits." He
proceeds to tell him how absurd it is to suppose that Baccio
Bandinelli is preferred before him. "I cannot perceive how Baccio
could in any way whatever be compared to you, or his work be set on
the same level as your own." The letter winds up with exhortations to
work. "Brush these cobwebs of melancholy away; have confidence in his
Holiness; do not give occasion to your enemies to blaspheme, and be
sure that your pension will be paid; I pledge my word for it."
Buonarroti, it is clear, wasted his time, not through indolence, but
through allowing the gloom of a suspicious and downcast
temperament--what the Italians call _accidia_--to settle on his
spirits.
Skipping a year, we find that these troublesome negotiations about the
tomb were still pending. He still hung suspended between the devil and
the deep sea, the importunate Duke of Urbino and the vacillating Pope.
Spina, it seems, had been writing with too much heat to Rome, probably
urging Clement to bring the difficulties about the tomb to a
conclusion. Michelangelo takes the correspondence up again with
Fattucci on November 6, 1526. What he says at the beginning of the
letter is significant. He knows that the political difficulties in
which Clement had become involved were sufficient to distract his
mind, as Julius once said, from any interest in "stones small or big."
Well, the letter starts thus: "I know that Spina wrote in these days
past to Rome very hotly about my affairs with regard to the tomb of
Julius. If he blundered, seeing the times in which we live, I am to
blame, for I prayed him urgently to write. It is possible that the
trouble of my soul made me say more than I ought. Information reached
me lately about the affair which alarmed me greatly. It seems that the
relatives of Julius are very ill-disposed towards me. And not without
reason.--The suit is going on, and they are demanding capital and
interest to such an amount that a hundred of my sort could not meet
the claims. This has thrown me into terrible agitation, and makes me
reflect where I should be if the Pope failed me. I could not live a
moment. It is that which made me send the letter alluded to above.
Now, I do not want anything but what the Pope thinks right. I know
that he does not desire my ruin and my disgrace."
He proceeds to notice that the building work at S. Lorenzo is being
carried forward very slowly, and money spent upon it with increasing
parsimony. Still he has his pension and his house; and these imply no
small disbursements. He cannot make out what the Pope's real wishes
are. If he did but know Clement's mind, he would sacrifice everything
to please him. "Only if I could obtain permission to begin something
either here or in Rome, for the tomb of Julius, I should be extremely
glad; for, indeed, I desire to free myself from that obligation more
than to live." The letter closes on a note of sadness: "If I am unable
to write what you will understand, do not be surprised, for I have
lost my wits entirely."
After this we hear nothing more about the tomb in Michelangelo's
correspondence till the year 1531. During the intervening years Italy
was convulsed by the sack of Rome, the siege of Florence, and the
French campaigns in Lombardy and Naples. Matters only began to mend
when Charles V. met Clement at Bologna in 1530, and established the
affairs of the peninsula upon a basis which proved durable. That fatal
lustre (1526-1530) divided the Italy of the Renaissance from the Italy
of modern times with the abruptness of an Alpine watershed. Yet
Michelangelo, aged fifty-one in 1526, was destined to live on another
thirty-eight years, and, after the death of Clement, to witness the
election of five successive Popes. The span of his life was not only
extraordinary in its length, but also in the events it comprehended.
Born in the mediaeval pontificate of Sixtus IV., brought up in the
golden days of Lorenzo de' Medici, he survived the Franco-Spanish
struggle for supremacy, watched the progress of the Reformation, and
only died when a new Church and a new Papacy had been established by
the Tridentine Council amid states sinking into the repose of
decrepitude.
VI
We must return from this digression and resume the events of
Michelangelo's life in 1525.
The first letter to Sebastiano del Piombo is referred to April of that
year. He says that a picture, probably the portrait of Anton Francesco
degli Albizzi, is eagerly expected at Florence. When it arrived in
May, he wrote again under the influence of generous admiration for his
friend's performance: "Last evening our friend the Captain Cuio and
certain other gentlemen were so kind as to invite me to sup with them.
This gave me exceeding great pleasure, since it drew me forth a little
from my melancholy, or shall we call it my mad mood. Not only did I
enjoy the supper, which was most agreeable, but far more the
conversation. Among the topics discussed, what gave me most delight
was to hear your name mentioned by the Captain; nor was this all, for
he still added to my pleasure, nay, to a superlative degree, by saying
that, in the art of painting he held you to be sole and without peer
in the whole world, and that so you were esteemed at Rome. I could not
have been better pleased. You see that my judgment is confirmed; and
so you must not deny that you are peerless, when I write it, since I
have a crowd of witnesses to my opinion. There is a picture too of
yours here, God be praised, which wins credence for me with every one
who has eyes."
Correspondence was carried on during this year regarding the library
at S. Lorenzo; and though I do not mean to treat at length about that
building in this chapter, I cannot omit an autograph postscript added
by Clement to one of his secretary's missives: "Thou knowest that
Popes have no long lives; and we cannot yearn more than we do to
behold the chapel with the tombs of our kinsmen, or at any rate to
hear that it is finished. Likewise, as regards the library. Wherefore
we recommend both to thy diligence. Meantime we will betake us (as
thou saidst erewhile) to a wholesome patience, praying God that He may
put it into thy heart to push the whole forward together. Fear not
that either work to do or rewards shall fail thee while we live.
Farewell, with the blessing of God and ours.--Julius." [Julius was the
Pope's baptismal name.--ED.]
Michelangelo began the library in 1526, as appears from his _Ricordi._
Still the work went on slowly, not through his negligence, but, as we
have seen, from the Pope's preoccupation with graver matters. He had a
great many workmen in his service at this period, and employed
celebrated masters in their crafts, as Tasso and Carota for
wood-carving, Battista del Cinque and Ciapino for carpentry, upon the
various fittings of the library. All these details he is said to have
designed; and it is certain that he was considered responsible for
their solidity and handsome appearance. Sebastiano, for instance,
wrote to him about the benches: "Our Lord wishes that the whole work
should be of carved walnut. He does not mind spending three florins
more; for that is a trifle, if they are Cosimesque in style, I mean
resemble the work done for the magnificent Cosimo." Michelangelo could
not have been the solitary worker of legend and tradition. The nature
of his present occupations rendered this impossible. For the
completion of his architectural works he needed a band of able
coadjutors. Thus in 1526 Giovanni da Udine came from Rome to decorate
the vault of the sacristy with frescoed arabesques. His work was
nearly terminated in 1533, when some question arose about painting the
inside of the lantern. Sebastiano, apparently in good faith, made the
following burlesque suggestion: "For myself, I think that the Ganymede
would go there very well; one could put an aureole about him, and turn
him into a S. John of the Apocalypse when he is being caught up into
the heavens." The whole of one side of the Italian Renaissance, its
so-called neo-paganism, is contained in this remark.
While still occupied with thoughts about S. Lorenzo, Clement ordered
Michelangelo to make a receptacle for the precious vessels and
reliques collected by Lorenzo the Magnificent. It was first intended
to place this chest, in the form of a ciborium, above the high altar,
and to sustain it on four columns. Eventually, the Pope resolved that
it should be a sacrarium, or cabinet for holy things, and that this
should stand above the middle entrance door to the church. The chest
was finished, and its contents remained there until the reign of the
Grand Duke Pietro Leopoldo, when they were removed to the chapel next
the old sacristy.
Another very singular idea occurred to his Holiness in the autumn of
1525. He made Fattucci write that he wished to erect a colossal statue
on the piazza of S. Lorenzo, opposite the Stufa Palace. The giant was
to surmount the roof of the Medicean Palace, with its face turned in
that direction and its back to the house of Luigi della Stufa. Being
so huge, it would have to be composed of separate pieces fitted
together. Michelangelo speedily knocked this absurd plan on the head
in a letter which gives a good conception of his dry and somewhat
ponderous humour.
"About the Colossus of forty cubits, which you tell me is to go or to
be placed at the corner of the loggia in the Medicean garden, opposite
the corner of Messer Luigi della Stufa, I have meditated not a little,
as you bade me. In my opinion that is not the proper place for it,
since it would take up too much room on the roadway. I should prefer
to put it at the other, where the barber's shop is. This would be far
better in my judgment, since it has the square in front, and would not
encumber the street. There might be some difficulty about pulling down
the shop, because of the rent. So it has occurred to me that the
statue might be carved in a sitting position; the Colossus would be so
lofty that if we made it hollow inside, as indeed is the proper method
for a thing which has to be put together from pieces, the shop might
be enclosed within it, and the rent be saved. And inasmuch as the shop
has a chimney in its present state, I thought of placing a cornucopia
in the statue's hand, hollowed out for the smoke to pass through. The
head too would be hollow, like all the other members of the figure.
This might be turned to a useful purpose, according to the suggestion
made me by a huckster on the square, who is my good friend. He privily
confided to me that it would make an excellent dovecote. Then another
fancy came into my head, which is still better, though the statue
would have to be considerably heightened. That, however, is quite
feasible, since towers are built up of blocks; and then the head might
serve as bell-tower to San Lorenzo, which is much in need of one.
Setting up the bells inside, and the sound booming through the mouth,
it would seem as though the Colossus were crying mercy, and mostly
upon feast-days, when peals are rung most often and with bigger
bells."
Nothing more is heard of this fantastic project; whence we may
conclude that the irony of Michelangelo's epistle drove it out of the
Pope's head.