CHAPTER XIII

I

The correspondence which I used in the eleventh chapter, while

describing Michelangelo's difficulties regarding the final contract

with the Duke of Urbino, proves that he had not begun to paint the

frescoes of the Cappella Paolina in October 1542. They were carried on

with interruptions during the next seven years. These pictures, the

last on which his talents were employed, are two large subjects: the

Conversion of S. Paul, and the Martyrdom of S. Peter. They have

suffered from smoke and other injuries of time even more than the

frescoes of the Sistine, and can now be scarcely appreciated owing to

discoloration. Nevertheless, at no period, even when fresh from the

master's hand, can they have been typical of his style. It is true

that contemporaries were not of this opinion. Condivi calls both of

them "stupendous not only in the general exposition of the histories

but also in the details of each figure." It is also true that the

technical finish of these large compositions shows a perfect mastery

of painting, and that the great designer has not lost his power of

dealing at will with the human body. But the frigidity of old age had

fallen on his feeling and imagination. The faces of his saints and

angels here are more inexpressive than those of the Last Judgment. The

type of form has become still more rigidly schematic. All those

figures in violent attitudes have been invented in the artist's brain

without reference to nature; and the activity of movement which he

means to suggest, is frozen, petrified, suspended. The suppleness, the

elasticity, the sympathy with which Michelangelo handled the nude,

when he began to paint in the Sistine Chapel, have disappeared. We

cannot refrain from regretting that seven years of his energetic old

age should have been devoted to work so obviously indicative of

decaying faculties.

The Cappella Paolina ran a risk of destruction by fire during the

course of his operations there. Michelangelo wrote to Del Riccio in

1545, reminding him that part of the roof had been consumed, and that

it would be necessary to cover it in roughly at once, since the rain

was damaging the frescoes and weakening the walls. When they were

finished, Paul III. appointed an official guardian with a fixed

salary, whose sole business it should be "to clean the frescoes well

and keep them in a state of cleanliness, free from dust and other

impurities, as also from the smoke of candles lighted in both chapels

during divine service." This man had charge of the Sistine as well as

the Pauline Chapel; but his office does not seem to have been

continued after the death of the Farnese. The first guardian nominated

was Buonarroti's favourite servant Urbino.

Vasari, after describing these frescoes in some detail, but without

his customary enthusiasm, goes on to observe: "Michelangelo attended

only, as I have elsewhere said, to the perfection of art. There are no

landscapes, nor trees, nor houses; nor again do we find in his work

that variety of movement and prettiness which may be noticed in the

pictures of other men. He always neglected such decoration, being

unwilling to lower his lofty genius to these details." This is indeed

true of the arid desert of the Pauline frescoes. Then he adds: "They

were his last productions in painting. He was seventy-five years old

when he carried them to completion; and, as he informed me, he did so

with great effort and fatigue--painting, after a certain age, and

especially fresco-painting, not being in truth fit work for old men."

The first of two acute illnesses, which showed that Michelangelo's

constitution was beginning to give way, happened in the summer of

1544. On this occasion Luigi del Riccio took him into his own

apartments at the Casa Strozzi; and here he nursed him with such

personal devotion that the old man afterwards regarded Del Riccio as

the saviour of his life. We learn this from the following pathetic

sonnet:--

_It happens that the sweet unfathomed sea

Of seeming courtesy sometimes doth hide

Offence to life and honour. This descried,

I hold less dear the health restored to me.

He who lends wings of hope, while secretly

He spreads a traitorous snare by the wayside,

Hath dulled the flame of love, and mortified

Friendship where friendship burns most fervently.

Keep then, my dear Luigi, clear and fare,

That ancient love to which my life I owe,

That neither wind nor storm its calm may mar.

For wrath and pain our gratitude obscure;

And if the truest truth of love I know,

One pang outweighs a thousand pleasures far._

Ruberto Strozzi, who was then in France, wrote anxiously inquiring

after his health. In reply, Michelangelo sent Strozzi a singular

message by Luigi del Riccio, to the effect that "if the king of France

restored Florence to liberty, he was ready to make his statue on

horseback out of bronze at his own cost, and set it up in the Piazza."

This throws some light upon a passage in a letter addressed

subsequently to Lionardo Buonarroti, when the tyrannous law, termed

"La Polverina," enacted against malcontents by the Duke Cosimo de'

Medici, was disturbing the minds of Florentine citizens. Michelangelo

then wrote as follows: "I am glad that you gave me news of the edict;

because, if I have been careful up to this date in my conversation

with exiles, I shall take more precautions for the future. As to my

having been laid up with an illness in the house of the Strozzi, I do

not hold that I was in their house, but in the apartment of Messer

Luigi del Riccio, who was my intimate friend; and after the death of

Bartolommeo Angelini, I found no one better able to transact my

affairs, or more faithfully, than he did. When he died, I ceased to

frequent the house, as all Rome can bear me witness; as they can also

with regard to the general tenor of my life, inasmuch as I am always

alone, go little around, and talk to no one, least of all to

Florentines. When I am saluted on the open street, I cannot do less

than respond with fair words and pass upon my way. Had I knowledge of

the exiles, who they are, I would not reply to them in any manner. As

I have said, I shall henceforward protect myself with diligence, the

more that I have so much else to think about that I find it difficult

to live."

This letter of 1548, taken in connection with the circumstances of

Michelangelo's illness in 1544, his exchange of messages with Ruberto

degli Strozzi, his gift of the two Captives to that gentleman, and his

presence in the house of the Strozzi during his recovery, shows the

delicacy of the political situation at Florence under Cosimo's rule.

Slight indications of a reactionary spirit in the aged artist exposed

his family to peril. Living in Rome, Michelangelo risked nothing with

the Florentine government. But "La Polverina" attacked the heirs of

exiles in their property and persons. It was therefore of importance

to establish his non-complicity in revolutionary intrigues. Luckily

for himself and his nephew, he could make out a good case and defend

his conduct. Though Buonarroti's sympathies and sentiments inclined

him to prefer a republic in his native city, and though he threw his

weight into that scale at the crisis of the siege, he did not forget

his early obligations to the House of Medici. Clement VII. accepted

his allegiance when the siege was over, and set him immediately to

work at the tasks he wished him to perform. What is more, the Pope

took pains and trouble to settle the differences between him and the

Duke of Urbino. The man had been no conspirator. The architect and

sculptor was coveted by every pope and prince in Italy. Still there

remained a discord between his political instincts, however prudently

and privately indulged, and his sense of personal loyalty to the

family at whose board he sat in youth, and to whom he owed his

advancement in life. Accordingly, we shall find that, though the Duke

of Tuscany made advances to win him back to Florence, Michelangelo

always preferred to live and die on neutral ground in Rome. Like the

wise man that he was, he seems to have felt through these troublous

times that his own duty, the service laid on him by God and nature,

was to keep his force and mental faculties for art; obliging old

patrons in all kindly offices, suppressing republican aspirations--in

one word, "sticking to his last," and steering clear of shoals on

which the main raft of his life might founder.

From this digression, which was needful to explain his attitude toward

Florence and part of his psychology, I return to the incidents of

Michelangelo's illness at Rome in 1544. Lionardo, having news of his

uncle's danger, came post-haste to Rome. This was his simple duty, as

a loving relative. But the old man, rendered suspicious by previous

transactions with his family, did not take the action in its proper

light. We have a letter, indorsed by Lionardo in Rome as received upon

the 11th of July, to this effect: "Lionardo, I have been ill; and you,

at the instance of Ser Giovan Francesco (probably Fattucci), have come

to make me dead, and to see what I have left. Is there not enough of

mine at Florence to content you? You cannot deny that you are the

image of your father, who turned me out of my own house in Florence.

Know that I have made a will of such tenor that you need not trouble

your head about what I possess at Rome. Go then with God, and do not

present yourself before me; and do not write to me again, and act like

the priest in the fable."

The correspondence between uncle and nephew during the next months

proves that this furious letter wrought no diminution of mutual regard

and affection. Before the end of the year he must have recovered, for

we find him writing to Del Riccio: "I am well again now, and hope to

live yet some years, seeing that God has placed my health under the

care of Maestro Baccio Rontini and the trebbian wine of the Ulivieri."

This letter is referred to January 1545, and on the 9th of that month

he dictated a letter to his friend Del Riccio, in which he tells

Lionardo Buonarroti: "I do not feel well, and cannot write.

Nevertheless I have recovered from my illness, and suffer no pain

now." We have reason to think that Michelangelo fell gravely ill again

toward the close of 1545. News came to Florence that he was dying; and

Lionardo, not intimidated by his experience on the last occasion, set

out to visit him. His _ricordo_ of the journey was as follows: "I note

how on the 15th of January 1545 (Flor. style, _i.e._ 1546) I went to

Rome by post to see Michelangelo, who was ill, and returned to-day,

the 26th."

It is not quite easy to separate the records of these two acute

illnesses of Michelangelo, falling between the summer of 1544 and the

early spring of 1546. Still, there is no doubt that they signalised

his passage from robust old age into a period of physical decline.

Much of life survived in the hero yet; he had still to mould S.

Peter's after his own mind, and to invent the cupola. Intellectually

he suffered no diminution, but he became subject to a chronic disease

of the bladder, and adopted habits suited to decaying faculty.

II

We have seen that Michelangelo regarded Luigi del Riccio as his most

trusty friend and adviser. The letters which he wrote to him during

these years turn mainly upon business or poetical compositions. Some,

however, throw light upon the private life of both men, and on the

nature of their intimacy. I will select a few for special comment

here. The following has no date; but it is interesting, because we may

connect the feeling expressed in it with one of Michelangelo's

familiar sonnets. "Dear Messer Luigi, since I know you are as great a

master of ceremonies as I am unfit for that trade, I beg you to help

me in a little matter. Monsignor di Todi (Federigo Cesi, afterwards

Cardinal of S. Pancrazio) has made me a present, which Urbino will

describe to you. I think you are a friend of his lordship: will you

then thank him in my name, when you find a suitable occasion, and do

so with those compliments which come easily to you, and to me are very

hard? Make me too your debtor for some tartlet."

The sonnet is No. ix of Signor Guasti's edition. I have translated it

thus:--

_The sugar, candles, and the saddled mule,

Together with your cask of malvoisie,

So far exceed all my necessity

That Michael and not I my debt must rule.

In such a glassy calm the breezes fool

My sinking sails, so that amid the sea

My bark hath missed her way, and seems to be

A wisp of straw whirled on a weltering pool.

To yield thee gift for gift and grace for grace,

For food and drink and carriage to and fro,

For all my need in every time and place,

O my dear lord, matched with the much I owe,

All that I am were no real recompense:

Paying a debt is not munificence._

In the chapter upon Michelangelo's poetry I dwelt at length upon Luigi

del Riccio's passionate affection for his cousin, Cecchino dei Bracci.

This youth died at the age of sixteen, on January 8, 1545.

Michelangelo undertook to design "the modest sepulchre of marble"

erected to his memory by Del Riccio in the church of Araceli. He also

began to write sonnets, madrigals, and epitaphs, which were sent from

day to day. One of his letters gives an explanation of the eighth

epitaph: "Our dead friend speaks and says: if the heavens robbed all

beauty from all other men on earth to make me only, as indeed they

made me, beautiful; and if by the divine decree I must return at

doomsday to the shape I bore in life, it follows that I cannot give

back the beauty robbed from others and bestowed on me, but that I must

remain for ever more beautiful than the rest, and they be ugly. This

is just the opposite of the conceit you expressed to me yesterday; the

one is a fable, the other is the truth."

Some time in 1545 Luigi went to Lyons on a visit to Ruberto Strozzi

and Giuliano de' Medici. This seems to have happened toward the end of

the year; for we possess a letter indorsed by him, "sent to Lyons, and

returned upon the 22nd of December." This document contains several

interesting details. "All your friends are extremely grieved to hear

about your illness, the more so that we cannot help you; especially

Messer Donato (Giannotti) and myself. However, we hope that it may

turn out to be no serious affair, God willing. In another letter I

told you that, if you stayed away long, I meant to come to see you.

This I repeat; for now that I have lost the Piacenza ferry, and cannot

live at Rome without income, I would rather spend the little that I

have in hostelries, than crawl about here, cramped up like a penniless

cripple. So, if nothing happens, I have a mind to go to S. James of

Compostella after Easter; and if you have not returned, I should like

to travel through any place where I shall hear that you are staying.

Urbino has spoken to Messer Aurelio, and will speak again. From what

he tells me, I think that you will get the site you wanted for the

tomb of Cecchino. It is nearly finished, and will turn out handsome."

Michelangelo's project of going upon pilgrimage to Galicia shows that

his health was then good. But we know that he soon afterwards had

another serious illness; and the scheme was abandoned.

This long and close friendship with Luigi comes to a sudden

termination in one of those stormy outbursts of petulant rage which

form a special feature of Michelangelo's psychology. Some angry words

passed between them about an engraving, possibly of the Last Judgment,

which Buonarroti wanted to destroy, while Del Riccio refused to

obliterate the plate:--

"Messer Luigi,--You seem to think I shall reply according to your

wishes, when the case is quite the contrary. You give me what I have

refused, and refuse me what I begged. And it is not ignorance which

makes you send it me through Ercole, when you are ashamed to give it

me yourself. One who saved my life has certainly the power to

disgrace me; but I do not know which is the heavier to bear, disgrace

or death. Therefore I beg and entreat you, by the true friendship

which exists between us, to spoil that print (_stampa_), and to burn

the copies that are already printed off. And if you choose to buy and

sell me, do not so to others. If you hack me into a thousand pieces, I

will do the same, not indeed to yourself, but to what belongs to you.

"Michelangelo Buonarroti.

"Not painter, nor sculptor, nor architect, but what you will, but not

a drunkard, as you said at your house."

Unfortunately, this is the last of the Del Riccio's letters. It is

very probable that the irascible artist speedily recovered his usual

tone, and returned to amity with his old friend. But Del Riccio

departed this life toward the close of this year, 1546.

Before resuming the narrative of Michelangelo's art-work at this

period, I must refer to the correspondence which passed between him

and King Francis I. The King wrote an epistle in the spring of 1546,

requesting some fine monument from the illustrious master's hand.

Michelangelo replied upon the 26th of April, in language of simple and

respectful dignity, fine, as coming from an aged artist to a monarch

on the eve of death:--

"Sacred Majesty,--I know not which is greater, the favour, or the

astonishment it stirs in me, that your Majesty should have deigned to

write to a man of my sort, and still more to ask him for things of his

which are all unworthy of the name of your Majesty. But be they what

they may, I beg your Majesty to know that for a long while since I

have desired to serve you; but not having had an opportunity, owing to

your not being in Italy, I have been unable to do so. Now I am old,

and have been occupied these many months with the affairs of Pope

Paul. But if some space of time is still granted to me after these

engagements, I will do my utmost to fulfil the desire which, as I have

said above, has long inspired me: that is, to make for your Majesty

one work in marble, one in bronze, and one in painting. And if death

prevents my carrying out this wish, should it be possible to make

statues or pictures in the other world, I shall not fail to do so

there, where there is no more growing old. And I pray God that He

grant your Majesty a long and a happy life."

Francis died in 1547; and we do not know that any of Michelangelo's

works passed directly into his hands, with the exception of the Leda,

purchased through the agency of Luigi Alamanni, and the two Captives,

presented by Ruberto Strozzi.

III

The absorbing tasks imposed upon Buonarroti's energies by Paul III.,

which are mentioned in this epistle to the French king, were not

merely the frescoes of the Cappella Paolina, but also various

architectural and engineering schemes of some importance. It is clear,

I think, that at this period of his hale old age, Michelangelo

preferred to use what still survived in him of vigour and creative

genius for things requiring calculation, or the exercise of meditative

fancy. The time had gone by when he could wield the brush and chisel

with effective force. He was tired of expressing his sense of beauty

and the deep thoughts of his brain in sculptured marble or on frescoed

surfaces. He had exhausted the human form as a symbol of artistic

utterance. But the extraordinary richness of his vein enabled him

still to deal with abstract mathematical proportions in the art of

building, and with rhythms in the art of writing. His best work, both

as architect and poet, belongs to the period when he had lost power as

sculptor and painter. This fact is psychologically interesting. Up to

the age of seventy, he had been working in the plastic and the

concrete. The language he had learned, and used with overwhelming

mastery, was man: physical mankind, converted into spiritual vehicle

by art. His grasp upon this region failed him now. Perhaps there was

not the old sympathy with lovely shapes. Perhaps he knew that he had

played on every gamut of that lyre. Emerging from the sphere of the

sensuous, where ideas take plastic embodiment, he grappled in this

final stage of his career with harmonical ratios and direct verbal

expression, where ideas are disengaged from figurative form. The men

and women, loved by him so long, so wonderfully wrought into

imperishable shapes, "nurslings of immortality," recede. In their room

arise, above the horizon of his intellect, the cupola of S. Peter's

and a few imperishable poems, which will live as long as Italian

claims a place among the languages. There is no comparison to be

instituted between his actual achievements as a builder and a

versifier. The whole tenor of his life made him more competent to deal

with architecture than with literature. Nevertheless, it is

significant that the versatile genius of the man was henceforth

restricted to these two channels of expression, and that in both of

them his last twenty years of existence produced bloom and fruit of

unexpected rarity.

After writing this paragraph, and before I engage in the narrative of

what is certainly the final manifestation of Michelangelo's genius as

a creative artist, I ought perhaps to pause, and to give some account

of those survivals from his plastic impulse, which occupied the old

man's energies for several years. They were entirely the outcome of

religious feeling; and it is curious to notice that he never

approached so nearly to true Christian sentiment as in the fragmentary

designs which we may still abundantly collect from this late autumn of

his artist's life. There are countless drawings for some great picture

of the Crucifixion, which was never finished: exquisite in delicacy of

touch, sublime in conception, dignified in breadth and grand repose of

style. Condivi tells us that some of these were made for the

Marchioness of Pescara. But Michelangelo must have gone on producing

them long after her death. With these phantoms of stupendous works to

be, the Museums of Europe abound. We cannot bring them together, or

condense them into a single centralised conception. Their interest

consists in their divergence and variety, showing the continuous

poring of the master's mind upon a theme he could not definitely

grasp. For those who love his work, and are in sympathy with his

manner, these drawings, mostly in chalk, and very finely handled, have

a supreme interest. They show him, in one sense, at his highest and

his best, not only as a man of tender feeling, but also as a mighty

draughtsman. Their incompleteness testifies to something pathetic--the

humility of the imperious man before a theme he found to be beyond the

reach of human faculty.

The tone, the _Stimmung_, of these designs corresponds so exactly to

the sonnets of the same late period, that I feel impelled at this

point to make his poetry take up the tale. But, as I cannot bring the

cloud of witnesses of all those drawings into this small book, so am I

unwilling to load its pages with poems which may be found elsewhere.

Those who care to learn the heart of Michelangelo, when he felt near

to God and face to face with death, will easily find access to the

originals.

Concerning the Deposition from the Cross, which now stands behind the

high altar of the Florentine Duomo, Condivi writes as follows: "At the

present time he has in hand a work in marble, which he carries on for

his pleasure, as being one who, teeming with conceptions, must needs

give birth each day to some of them. It is a group of four figures

larger than life. A Christ taken from the cross, sustained in death by

his Mother, who is represented in an attitude of marvellous pathos,

leaning up against the corpse with breast, with arms, and lifted knee.

Nicodemus from above assists her, standing erect and firmly planted,

propping the dead Christ with a sturdy effort; while one of the

Maries, on the left side, though plunged in sorrow, does all she can

to assist the afflicted Mother, failing under the attempt to raise her

Son. It would be quite impossible to describe the beauty of style

displayed in this group, or the sublime emotions expressed in those

woe-stricken countenances. I am confident that the Pietà is one of his

rarest and most difficult masterpieces; particularly because the

figures are kept apart distinctly, nor does the drapery of the one

intermingle with that of the others."

This panegyric is by no means pitched too high. Justice has hardly

been done in recent times to the noble conception, the intense

feeling, and the broad manner of this Deposition. That may be due in

part to the dull twilight in which the group is plunged, depriving all

its lines of salience and relief. It is also true that in certain

respects the composition is fairly open to adverse criticism. The

torso of Christ overweighs the total scheme; and his legs are

unnaturally attenuated. The kneeling woman on the left side is

slender, and appears too small in proportion to the other figures;

though, if she stood erect, it is probable that her height would be

sufficient.

The best way to study Michelangelo's last work in marble is to take

the admirable photograph produced under artificial illumination by

Alinari. No sympathetic mind will fail to feel that we are in

immediate contact with the sculptor's very soul, at the close of his

life, when all his thoughts were weaned from earthly beauty, and he

cried--

Painting nor sculpture now can lull to rest

My soul, that turns to his great love on high,

Whose arms to clasp us on the cross were spread.

As a French critic has observed: "It is the most intimately personal

and the most pathetic of his works. The idea of penitence exhales from

it. The marble preaches the sufferings of the Passion; it makes us

listen to an act of bitter contrition and an act of sorrowing love."

Michelangelo is said to have designed the Pietà for his own monument.

In the person of Nicodemus, it is he who sustains his dead Lord in the

gloom of the sombre Duomo. His old sad face, surrounded by the heavy

cowl, looks down for ever with a tenderness beyond expression,

repeating mutely through the years how much of anguish and of blood

divine the redemption of man's soul hath cost.

The history of this great poem in marble, abandoned by its maker in

some mood of deep dejection, is not without interest. We are told that

the stone selected was a capital from one of the eight huge columns of

the Temple of Peace. Besides being hard and difficult to handle, the

material betrayed flaws in working. This circumstance annoyed the

master; also, as he informed Vasari, Urbino kept continually urging

him to finish it. One of his reasons for attacking the block had been

to keep himself in health by exercise. Accordingly he hewed away with

fury, and bit so deep into the marble that he injured one of the

Madonna's elbows. When this happened, it was his invariable practice

to abandon the piece he had begun upon, feeling that an incomplete

performance was preferable to a lame conclusion. In his old age he

suffered from sleeplessness; and it was his habit to rise from bed and

work upon the Pietà, wearing a thick paper cap, in which he placed a

lighted candle made of goat's tallow. This method of chiselling by the

light of one candle must have complicated the technical difficulties

of his labour. But what we may perhaps surmise to have been his final

motive for the rejection of the work, was a sense of his inability,

with diminished powers of execution, and a still more vivid sense of

the importance of the motive, to accomplish what the brain conceived.

The hand failed. The imagination of the subject grew more intimate and

energetic. Losing patience then at last, he took a hammer and began to

break the group up. Indeed, the right arm of the Mary shows a

fracture. The left arm of the Christ is mutilated in several places.

One of the nipples has been repaired, and the hand of the Madonna

resting on the breast above it is cracked across. It would have been

difficult to reduce the whole huge block to fragments; and when the

work of destruction had advanced so far, Michelangelo's servant

Antonio, the successor to Urbino, begged the remnants from his master.

Tiberio Calcagni was a good friend of Buonarroti's at this time. He

heard that Francesco Bandini, a Florentine settled in exile at Rome,

earnestly desired some relic of the master's work. Accordingly,

Calgagni, with Michelangelo's consent, bought the broken marble from

Antonio for 200 crowns, pieced it together, and began to mend it.

Fortunately, he does not seem to have elaborated the surface in any

important particular; for both the finished and unfinished parts bear

indubitable marks of Michelangelo's own handling. After the death of

Calcagni and Bandini, the Pietà remained for some time in the garden

of Antonio, Bandini's heir, at Montecavallo. It was transferred to

Florence, and placed among the marbles used in erecting the new

Medicean Chapel, until at last, in 1722, the Grand Duke Cosimo III.

finally set it up behind the altar of the Duomo.

Vasari adds that Michelangelo began another Pietà in marble on a much

smaller scale. It is possible that this may have been the unfinished

group of two figures (a dead Christ sustained by a bending man), of

which there is a cast in the Accademia at Florence. In some respects

the composition of this fragment bears a strong resemblance to the

puzzling Deposition from the Cross in our National Gallery. The

trailing languor of the dead Christ's limbs is almost identical in the

marble and the painting.

While speaking of these several Pietàs, I must not forget the

medallion in high relief of the Madonna clasping her dead Son, which

adorns the Albergo dei Poveri at Genoa. It is ascribed to

Michelangelo, was early believed to be his, and is still accepted

without hesitation by competent judges. In spite of its strongly

marked Michelangelesque mannerism, both as regards feeling, facial

type, and design, I cannot regard the bas-relief, in its present

condition at least, as a genuine work, but rather as the production of

some imitator, or the _rifacimento_ of a restorer. A similar

impression may here be recorded regarding the noble portrait-bust in

marble of Pope Paul III. at Naples. This too has been attributed to

Michelangelo. But there is no external evidence to support the

tradition, while the internal evidence from style and technical

manipulation weighs strongly against it. The medallions introduced

upon the heavily embroidered cope are not in his style. The treatment

of the adolescent female form in particular indicates a different

temperament. Were the ascription made to Benvenuto Cellini, we might

have more easily accepted it. But Cellini would certainly have

enlarged upon so important a piece of sculpture in his Memoirs. If

then we are left to mere conjecture, it would be convenient to suggest

Guglielmo della Porta, who executed the Farnese monument in S.

Peter's.

IV

While still a Cardinal, Paul III. began to rebuild the old palace of

the Farnesi on the Tiber shore. It closes one end of the great open

space called the Campo di Fiore, and stands opposite to the Villa

Farnesina, on the right bank of the river. Antonio da Sangallo was the

architect employed upon this work, which advanced slowly until

Alessandro Farnese's elevation to the Papacy. He then determined to

push the building forward, and to complete it on a scale of

magnificence befitting the supreme Pontiff. Sangallo had carried the

walls up to the second story. The third remained to be accomplished,

and the cornice had to be constructed. Paul was not satisfied with

Sangallo's design, and referred it to Michelangelo for criticism

--possibly in 1544. The result was a report, which we still

possess, in which Buonarroti, basing his opinion on principles derived

from Vitruvius, severely blames Sangallo's plan under six separate

heads. He does not leave a single merit, as regards either harmony of

proportion, or purity of style, or elegance of composition, or

practical convenience, or decorative beauty, or distribution of parts.

He calls the cornice barbarous, confused, bastard in style, discordant

with the rest of the building, and so ill suited to the palace as, if

carried out, to threaten the walls with destruction. This document has

considerable interest, partly as illustrating Michelangelo's views on

architecture in general, and displaying a pedantry of which he was

never elsewhere guilty, partly as explaining the bitter hostility

aroused against him in Sangallo and the whole tribe of that great

architect's adherents. We do not, unfortunately, possess the design

upon which the report was made. But, even granting that it must have

been defective, Michelangelo, who professed that architecture was not

his art, might, one thinks, have spared his rival such extremity of

adverse criticism. It exposed him to the taunts of rivals and

ill-wishers; justified them in calling him presumptuous, and gave them

a plausible excuse when they accused him of jealousy. What made it

worse was, that his own large building, the Laurentian Library,

glaringly exhibits all the defects he discovered in Sangallo's

cornice.

I find it difficult to resist the impression that Michelangelo was

responsible, to a large extent, for the ill-will of those artists whom

Vasari calls "la setta Sangallesca." His life became embittered by

their animosity, and his industry as Papal architect continued to be

hampered for many years by their intrigues. But he alone was to blame

at the beginning, not so much for expressing an honest opinion, as for

doing so with insulting severity.

That Michelangelo may have been right in his condemnation of

Sangallo's cornice is of course possible. Paul himself was

dissatisfied, and eventually threw that portion of the building open

to competition. Perino del Vaga, Sebastiano del Piombo, and the young

Giorgio Vasari are said to have furnished designs. Michelangelo did so

also; and his plan was not only accepted, but eventually carried out.

Nevertheless Sangallo, one of the most illustrious professional

architects then alive, could not but have felt deeply wounded by the

treatment he received. It was natural for his followers to exclaim

that Buonarroti had contrived to oust their aged master, and to get a

valuable commission into his own grasp, by the discourteous exercise

of his commanding prestige in the world of art.

In order to be just to Michelangelo, we must remember that he was

always singularly modest in regard to his own performances, and severe

in self-criticism. Neither in his letters nor in his poems does a

single word of self-complacency escape his pen. He sincerely felt

himself to be an unprofitable servant: that was part of his

constitutional depression. We know, too, that he allowed strong

temporary feelings to control his utterance. The cruel criticism of

Sangallo may therefore have been quite devoid of malice; and if it was

as well founded as the criticism of that builder's plan for S.

Peter's, then Michelangelo stands acquitted. Sangallo's model exists;

it is so large that you can walk inside it, and compare your own

impressions with the following judgment:--

"It cannot be denied that Bramante's talent as an architect was equal

to that of any one from the times of the ancients until now. He laid

the first plan of S. Peter, not confused, but clear and simple, full

of light and detached from surrounding buildings, so that it

interfered with no part of the palace. It was considered a very fine

design, and indeed any one can see now that it is so. All the

architects who departed from Bramante's scheme, as Sangallo has done,

have departed from the truth; and those who have unprejudiced eyes can

observe this in his model. Sangallo's ring of chapels takes light from

the interior as Bramante planned it; and not only this, but he has

provided no other means of lighting, and there are so many

hiding-places, above and below, all dark, which lend themselves to

innumerable knaveries, that the church would become a secret den for

harbouring bandits, false coiners, for debauching nuns, and doing all

sorts of rascality; and when it was shut up at night, twenty-five men

would be needed to search the building for rogues hidden there, and it

would be difficult enough to find them. There is, besides, another

inconvenience: the interior circle of buildings added to Bramante's

plan would necessitate the destruction of the Paoline Chapel, the

offices of the Piombo and the Ruota, and more besides. I do not think

that even the Sistine would escape."

After this Michelangelo adds that to remove the out-works and

foundations begun upon Sangallo's plan would not cost 100,000 crowns,

as the sect alleged, but only 16,000, The material would be infinitely

useful, the foundations important for the building, and the whole

fabric would profit in something like 200,000 crowns and 300 years of

time. "This is my dispassionate opinion; and I say this in truth, for

to gain a victory here would be my own incalculable loss."

Michelangelo means that, at the time when he wrote the letter in

question, it was still in doubt whether Sangallo's design should be

carried out or his own adopted; and, as usual, he looked forward with

dread to undertaking a colossal architectural task.

V

Returning to the Palazzo Farnese, it only remains to be said that

Michelangelo lived to complete the edifice. His genius was responsible

for the inharmonious window above the main entrance. According to

Vasari, he not only finished the exterior from the second story

upwards, but designed the whole of the central courtyard above the

first story, "making it the finest thing of its sort in Europe." The

interior, with the halls painted by Annibale Caracci, owed its

disposition into chambers and galleries to his invention. The cornice

has always been reckoned among his indubitable successes, combining as

it does salience and audacity with a grand heroic air of grace. It has

been criticised for disproportionate projection; and Michelangelo

seems to have felt uneasy on this score, since he caused a wooden

model of the right size to be made and placed upon the wall, in order

to judge of its effect.

Taken as a whole, the Palazzo Farnese remains the most splendid of the

noble Roman houses, surpassing all the rest in pomp and pride, though

falling short of Peruzzi's Palazzo Massimo in beauty.

The catastrophe of 1527, when Rome was taken by assault on the side of

the Borgo without effective resistance being possible, rendered the

fortification of the city absolutely necessary. Paul III determined to

secure a position of such vital importance to the Vatican by bastions.

Accordingly he convened a diet of notables, including his

architect-in-chief, Antonio da Sangallo. He also wished to profit by

Michelangelo's experience, remembering the stout resistance offered to

the Prince of Orange by his outworks at S. Miniato. Vasari tells an

anecdote regarding this meeting which illustrates the mutual bad

feeling of the two illustrious artists. "After much discussion, the

opinion of Buonarroti was requested. He had conceived views widely

differing on those of Sangallo and several others, and these he

expressed frankly. Whereupon Sangallo told him that sculpture and

painting were his trade, not fortification. He replied that about them

he knew but little, whereas the anxious thought he had given to city

defences, the time he had spent, and the experience he had practically

gained in constructing them, made him superior in that art to Sangallo

and all the masters of his family. He proceeded to point out before

all present numerous errors in the works. Heated words passed on both

sides, and the Pope had to reduce the men to silence. Before long he

brought a plan for the fortification of the whole Borgo, which opened

the eyes of those in power to the scheme which was finally adopted.

Owing to changes he suggested, the great gate of Santo Spirito,

designed by Sangallo and nearly finished, was left incomplete."

It is not clear what changes were introduced into Sangallo's scheme.

They certainly involved drawing the line of defence much closer to the

city than he intended. This approved itself to Pier Luigi Farnese,

then Duke of Castro, who presided over the meetings of the military

committee. It was customary in carrying out the works of fortification

to associate a practical engineer with the architect who provided

designs; and one of these men, Gian Francesco Montemellino, a trusted

servant of the Farnesi, strongly supported the alteration. That

Michelangelo agreed with Montemellino, and felt that they could work

together, appears from a letter addressed to the Castellano of S.

Angelo. It seems to have been written soon after the dispute recorded

by Vasari. In it he states, that although he differs in many respects

from the persons who had hitherto controlled the works, yet he thinks

it better not to abandon them altogether, but to correct them, alter

the superintendence, and put Montemellino at the head of the

direction. This would prevent the Pope from becoming disgusted with

such frequent changes. "If affairs took the course he indicated, he

was ready to offer his assistance, not in the capacity of colleague,

but as a servant to command in all things." Nothing is here said

openly about Sangallo, who remained architect-in-chief until his

death. Still the covert wish expressed that the superintendence might

be altered, shows a spirit of hostility against him; and a new plan

for the lines must soon have been adopted. A despatch written to the

Duke of Parma in September 1545 informs him that the old works were

being abandoned, with the exception of the grand Doric gateway of S.

Spirito. This is described at some length in another despatch of

January 1546. Later on, in 1557, we find Michelangelo working as

architect-in-chief with Jacopo Meleghino under his direction, but the

fortifications were eventually carried through by a more competent

engineer, one Jacopo Fusto Castriotto of Urbino.

VI

Antonio da Sangallo died on October 3, 1546, at Terni, while engaged

in engineering works intended to drain the Lake Velino. Michelangelo

immediately succeeded to the offices and employments he had held at

Rome. Of these, the most important was the post of architect-in-chief

at S. Peter's. Paul III. conferred it upon him for life by a brief

dated January 1, 1547. He is there named "commissary, prefect,

surveyor of the works, and architect, with full authority to change

the model, form, and structure of the church at pleasure, and to

dismiss and remove the working-men and foremen employed upon the

same." The Pope intended to attach a special stipend to the onerous

charge, but Michelangelo declined this honorarium, declaring that he

meant to labour without recompense, for the love of God and the

reverence he felt for the Prince of the Apostles. Although he might

have had money for the asking, and sums were actually sent as presents

by his Papal master, he persisted in this resolution, working steadily

at S. Peter's without pay, until death gave him rest.

Michelangelo's career as servant to a Pope began with the design of

that tomb which led Julius II. to destroy the old S. Peter's. He was

now entering, after forty-two years, upon the last stage of his long

life. Before the end came, he gave final form to the main features of

the great basilica, raising the dome which dominates the Roman

landscape like a stationary cloud upon the sky-line. What had happened

to the edifice in the interval between 1505 and 1547 must be briefly

narrated, although it is not within the scope of this work to give a

complete history of the building.

Bramante's original design had been to construct the church in the

form of a Greek cross, with four large semi-circular apses. The four

angles made by the projecting arms of the cross were to be filled in

with a complex but well-ordered scheme of shrines and chapels, so that

externally the edifice would have presented the aspect of a square.

The central piers, at the point of junction between the arms of the

cross, supported a broad shallow dome, modelled upon that of the

Pantheon. Similar domes of lesser dimensions crowned the

out-buildings. He began by erecting the piers which were intended to

support the central dome; but working hastily and without due regard

to solid strength, Bramante made these piers too weak to sustain the

ponderous mass they had to carry. How he would have rectified this

error cannot be conjectured. Death cut his labours short in 1514, and

only a small portion of his work remains embedded at the present day

within the mightier masses raised beneath Buonarroti's cupola.

Leo X. commissioned Raffaello da Urbino to continue his kinsman's

work, and appointed Antonio da Sangallo to assist him in the month of

January 1517. Whether it was judged impossible to carry out Bramante's

project of the central dome, or for some other reason unknown to us,

Raffaello altered the plan so essentially as to design a basilica upon

the conventional ground-plan of such churches. He abandoned the Greek

cross, and adopted the Latin form by adding an elongated nave. The

central piers were left in their places; the three terminal apses of

the choir and transepts were strengthened, simplified, reduced to

commonplace. Bramante's ground-plan is lucid, luminous, and

exquisitely ordered in its intricacy. The true creation of a

builder-poet's brain, it illustrates Leo Battista Alberti's definition

of the charm of architecture, _tutta quella musica_, that melody and

music of a graceful edifice. We are able to understand what

Michelangelo meant when he remarked that all subsequent designers, by

departing from it, had gone wrong. Raffaello's plan, if carried out,

would have been monotonous and tame inside and out.

After the death of Raffaello in 1520, Baldassare Peruzzi was appointed

to be Sangallo's colleague. This genial architect, in whose style all

the graces were combined with dignity and strength, prepared a new

design at Leo's request. Vasari, referring to this period of Peruzzi's

life, says: "The Pope, thinking Bramante's scheme too large and not

likely to be in keeping, obtained a new model from Baldassare;

magnificent and truly full of fine invention, also so wisely

constructed that certain portions have been adopted by subsequent

builders." He reverted to Bramante's main conception of the Greek

cross, but altered the details in so many important points, both by

thickening the piers and walls, and also by complicating the internal

disposition of the chapels, that the effect would have been quite

different. The ground-plan, which is all I know of Peruzzi's project,

has always seemed to me by far the most beautiful and interesting of

those laid down for S. Peter's. It is richer, more imaginative and

suggestive, than Bramante's. The style of Bramante, in spite of its

serene simplicity, had something which might be described as shallow

clearness. In comparison with Peruzzi's style, it is what Gluck's

melody is to Mozart's. The course of public events prevented this

scheme from being carried out. First came the pontificate of Adrian

VI., so sluggish in art-industry; then the pontificate of Clement

VII., so disastrous for Italy and Rome. Many years elapsed before art

and literature recovered from the terror and the torpor of 1527.

Peruzzi indeed returned to his office at S. Peter's in 1535, but his

death followed in 1537, when Antonio da Sangallo remained master of

the situation.

Sangallo had the good sense to preserve many of Peruzzi's constructive

features, especially in the apses of the choir and transepts; but he

added a vast vestibule, which gave the church a length equal to that

of Raffaello's plan. Externally, he designed a lofty central cupola

and two flanking spires, curiously combining the Gothic spirit with

Classical elements of style. In order to fill in the huge spaces of

this edifice, he superimposed tiers of orders one above the other.

Church, cupola, and spires are built up by a succession of Vitruvian

temples, ascending from the ground into the air. The total impression

produced by the mass, as we behold it now in the great wooden model at

S. Peter's, is one of bewildering complexity. Of architectural repose

it possesses little, except what belongs to a very original and vast

conception on a colossal scale. The extent of the structure is

frittered by its multiplicity of parts. Internally, as Michelangelo

pointed out, the church would have been dark, inconvenient, and

dangerous to public morals.

VII

Whatever we may think of Michelangelo's failings as an architect,

there is no doubt that at this period of his life he aimed at

something broad and heroic in style. He sought to attain grandeur by

greatness in the masses and by economy of the constituent parts. His

method of securing amplitude was exactly opposite to that of Sangallo,

who relied upon the multiplication rather than the simplification of

details. A kind of organic unity was what Michelangelo desired. For

this reason, he employed in the construction of S. Peter's those

stupendous orders which out-soar the columns of Baalbec, and those

grandiose curves which make the cupola majestic. A letter written to

the Cardinal Ridolfo Pio of Carpi contains this explanation of his

principles. The last two sentences are highly significant:--

"Most Reverend Monsignor,--If a plan has divers parts, those which are

of one type in respect to quality and quantity have to be decorated in

the same way and the same fashion. The like is true of their

counterparts. But when the plan changes form entirely, it is not only

allowable, but necessary, to change the decorative appurtenances, as

also with their counterparts. The intermediate parts are always free,

left to their own bent. The nose, which stands in the middle of the

forehead, is not bound to correspond with either of the eyes; but one

hand must balance the other, and one eye be like its fellow. Therefore

it may be assumed as certain that the members of an architectural

structure follow the laws exemplified in the human body. He who has

not been or is not a good master of the nude, and especially of

anatomy, cannot understand the principles of architecture."

It followed that Michelangelo's first object, when he became Papal

architect-in-chief, was to introduce order into the anarchy of

previous plans, and to return, so far as this was now possible, to

Bramante's simpler scheme. He adopted the Greek cross, and substituted

a stately portico for the long vestibule invented by Sangallo. It was

not, however, in his nature, nor did the changed taste of the times

permit him to reproduce Bramante's manner. So far as S. Peter's bears

the mark of Michelangelo at all, it represents his own peculiar

genius. "The Pope," says Vasari, "approved his model, which reduced

the cathedral to smaller dimensions, but also to a more essential

greatness. He discovered that four principal piers, erected by

Bramante and left standing by Antonio da Sangallo, which had to bear

the weight of the tribune, were feeble. These he fortified in part,

constructing two winding staircases at the side, with gently sloping

steps, up which beasts of burden ascend with building material, and

one can ride on horseback to the level above the arches. He carried

the first cornice, made of travertine, round the arches: a wonderful

piece of work, full of grace, and very different from the others; nor

could anything be better done in its kind. He began the two great

apses of the transept; and whereas Bramante Raffaello, and Peruzzi had

designed eight tabernacles toward the Campo Santo, which arrangement

Sangallo adhered to, he reduced them to three, with three chapels

inside. Suffice it to say that he began at once to work with diligence

and accuracy at all points where the edifice required alteration; to

the end that its main features might be fixed, and that no one might

be able to change what he had planned." Vasari adds that this was the

provision of a wise and prudent mind. So it was; but it did not

prevent Michelangelo's successors from defeating his intentions in

almost every detail, except the general effect of the cupola. This

will appear in the sequel.

Antonio da Sangallo had controlled the building of S. Peter's for

nearly thirty years before Michelangelo succeeded to his office.

During that long space of time he formed a body of architects and

workmen who were attached to his person and interested in the

execution of his plans. There is good reason to believe that in

Sangallo's days, as earlier in Bramante's, much money of the Church

had been misappropriated by a gang of fraudulent and mutually

indulgent craftsmen. It was not to be expected that these people

should tamely submit to the intruder who put their master's cherished

model on the shelf, and set about, in his high-handed way, to

refashion the whole building from the bottom to the top. During

Sangallo's lifetime no love had been lost between him and Buonarroti,

and after his death it is probable that the latter dealt severely with

the creatures of his predecessor. The Pope had given him unlimited

powers of appointing and dismissing subordinates, controlling

operations, and regulating expenditure. He was a man who abhorred jobs

and corruption. A letter written near the close of his life, when he

was dealing only with persons nominated by himself, proves this. He

addressed the Superintendents of the Fabric of S. Peter's as follows:

"You know that I told Balduccio not to send his lime unless it were

good. He has sent bad quality, and does not seem to think he will be

forced to take it back; which proves that he is in collusion with the

person who accepted it. This gives great encouragement to the men I

have dismissed for similar transactions. One who accepts bad goods

needed for the fabric, when I have forbidden them, is doing nothing

else but making friends of people whom I have turned into enemies

against myself. I believe there will be a new conspiracy. Promises,

fees, presents, corrupt justice. Therefore I beg you from this time

forward, by the authority I hold from the Pope, not to accept anything

which is not suitable, even though it comes to you from heaven. I must

not be made to appear, what I am not, partial in my dealings." This

fiery despatch, indicating not only Michelangelo's probity, but also

his attention to minute details at the advanced age of eighty-six,

makes it evident that he must have been a stern overseer in the first

years of his office, terrible to the "sect of Sangallo," who were

bent, on their part, to discredit him.

The sect began to plot and form conspiracies, feeling the violent old

man's bit and bridle on their mouths, and seeing the firm seat he took

upon the saddle. For some reason, which is not apparent, they had the

Superintendents of the Fabric (a committee, including cardinals,

appointed by the Pope) on their side. Probably these officials,

accustomed to Sangallo and the previous course of things, disliked to

be stirred up and sent about their business by the masterful

new-comer. Michelangelo's support lay, as we shall see, in the four

Popes who followed Paul III. They, with the doubtful exception of

Marcellus II., accepted him on trust as a thoroughly honest servant,

and the only artist capable of conducting the great work to its

conclusion. In the last resort, when he was driven to bay, he offered

to resign, and was invariably coaxed back by the final arbiter. The

disinterested spirit in which he fulfilled his duties, accepting no

pay while he gave his time and energy to their performance, stood him

in good stead. Nothing speaks better for his perfect probity than that

his enemies were unable to bring the slightest charge of peculation or

of partiality against him. Michelangelo's conduct of affairs at S.

Peter's reflects a splendid light upon the tenor of his life, and

confutes those detractors who have accused him of avarice.

The duel between Michelangelo and the sect opened in 1547. A letter

written by a friend in Florence on the 14th of May proves that his

antagonists had then good hopes of crushing him. Giovan Francesco Ughi

begins by saying that he has been silent because he had nothing

special to report. "But now Jacopo del Conte has come here with the

wife of Nanni di Baccio Bigio, alleging that he has brought her

because Nanni is so occupied at S. Peter's. Among other things, he

says that Nanni means to make a model for the building which will

knock yours to nothing. He declares that what you are about is mad and

babyish. He means to fling it all down, since he has quite as much

credit with the Pope as you have. You throw oceans of money away and

work by night, so that nobody may see what you are doing. You follow

in the footsteps of a Spaniard, having no knowledge of your own about

the art of building, and he less than nothing. Nanni stays there in

your despite: you did everything to get him removed; but the Pope

keeps him, being convinced that nothing good can be done without him."

After this Ughi goes on to relate how Michelangelo's enemies are

spreading all kinds of reports against his honour and good fame,

criticising the cornice of the Palazzo Farnese, and hoping that its

weight will drag the walls down. At the end he adds, that although he

knows one ought not to write about such matters, yet the man's

"insolence and blackguardly shamelessness of speech" compel him to put

his friend on his guard against such calumnies.

After the receipt of this letter, Michelangelo sent it to one of the

Superintendents of the Fabric, on whose sympathy he could reckon, with

the following indorsement in his own handwriting: "Messer Bartolommeo

(Ferrantino), please read this letter, and take thought who the two

rascals are who, lying thus about what I did at the Palazzo Farnese,

are now lying in the matter of the information they are laying before

the deputies of S. Peter's. It comes upon me in return for the

kindness I have shown them. But what else can one expect from a couple

of the basest scoundrelly villains?"

Nanni di Baccio Bigio had, as it seems, good friends at court in Rome.

He was an open enemy of Michelangelo, who, nevertheless, found it

difficult to shake him off. In the history of S. Peter's the man's

name will frequently occur.

Three years elapsed. Paul III. died, and Michelangelo wrote to his

nephew Lionardo on the occasion: "It is true that I have suffered

great sorrow, and not less loss, by the Pope's death. I received

benefits from his Holiness, and hoped for more and better. God willed

it so, and we must have patience. His passage from this life was

beautiful, in full possession of his faculties up to the last word.

God have mercy on his soul." The Cardinal Giovan Maria Ciocchi, of

Monte San Savino, was elected to succeed Paul, and took the title of

Julius III. This change of masters was duly noted by Michelangelo in a

letter to his "dearest friend," Giovan Francesco Fattucci at Florence.

It breathes so pleasant and comradely a spirit, that I will translate

more than bears immediately on the present topic: "Dear friend,

although we have not exchanged letters for many months past, still our

long and excellent friendship has not been forgotten. I wish you well,

as I have always done, and love you with all my heart, for your own

sake, and for the numberless pleasant things in life you have afforded

me. As regards old age, which weighs upon us both alike, I should be

glad to know how yours affects you; mine, I must say, does not make me

very happy. I beg you, then, to write me something about this. You

know, doubtless, that we have a new Pope, and who he is. All Rome is

delighted, God be thanked; and everybody expects the greatest good

from his reign, especially for the poor, his generosity being so

notorious."

Michelangelo had good reason to rejoice over this event, for Julius

III. felt a real attachment to his person, and thoroughly appreciated

both his character and his genius. Nevertheless, the enemies he had in

Rome now made a strong effort to dislodge Buonarroti from his official

position at S. Peter's. It was probably about this time that the

Superintendents of the Fabric drew up a memorial expressive of their

grievances against him. We possess a document in Latin setting forth a

statement of accounts in rough. "From the year 1540, when expenditures

began to be made regularly and in order, from the very commencement as

it were, up to the year 1547, when Michelangelo, at his own will and

pleasure, undertook partly to build and partly to destroy, 162,624

ducats were expended. Since the latter date on to the present, during

which time the deputies have served like the pipe at the organ,

knowing nothing, nor what, nor how moneys were spent, but only at the

orders of the said Michelangelo, such being the will of Paul III. of

blessed memory, and also of the reigning Pontiff, 136,881 ducats have

been paid out, as can be seen from our books. With regard to the

edifice, what it is going to be, the deputies can make no statement,

all things being hidden from them, as though they were outsiders. They

have only been able to protest at several times, and do now again

protest, for the easement of their conscience, that they do not like

the ways used by Michelangelo, especially in what he keeps on pulling

down. The demolition has been, and to-day is so great, that all who

witness it are moved to an extremity of pity. Nevertheless, if his

Holiness be satisfied, we, his deputies, shall have no reason to

complain." It is clear that Michelangelo was carrying on with a high

hand at S. Peter's. Although the date of this document is uncertain, I

think it may be taken in connection with a general meeting called by

Julius III., the incidents of which are recorded by Vasari.

Michelangelo must have demonstrated his integrity, for he came out of

the affair victorious, and obtained from the Pope a brief confirming

him in his office of architect-in-chief, with even fuller powers than

had been granted by Paul III.

VIII

Vasari at this epoch becomes one of our most reliable authorities

regarding the life of Michelangelo. He corresponded and conversed with

him continuously, and enjoyed the master's confidence. We may

therefore accept the following narrative as accurate: "It was some

little while before the beginning of 1551, when Vasari, on his return

from Florence to Rome, found that the sect of Sangallo were plotting

against Michelangelo; they induced the Pope to hold a meeting in S.

Peter's, where all the overseers and workmen connected with the

building should attend, and his Holiness should be persuaded by false

insinuations that Michelangelo had spoiled the fabric. He had already

walled in the apse of the King where the three chapels are, and

carried out the three upper windows. But it was not known what he

meant to do with the vault. They then, misled by their shallow

judgment, made Cardinal Salviati the elder, and Marcello Cervini, who

was afterwards Pope, believe that S. Peter's would be badly lighted.

When all were assembled, the Pope told Michelangelo that the deputies

were of opinion the apse would have but little light. He answered: 'I

should like to hear these deputies speak.' The Cardinal Marcello

rejoined: 'Here we are.' Michelangelo then remarked: 'My lord, above

these three windows there will be other three in the vault, which is

to be built of travertine.' 'You never told us anything about this,'

said the Cardinal. Michelangelo responded: 'I am not, nor do I mean to

be obliged to tell your lordship or anybody what I ought or wish to

do. It is your business to provide money, and to see that it is not

stolen. As regards the plans of the building, you have to leave those

to me.' Then he turned to the Pope and said: 'Holy Father, behold what

gains are mine! Unless the hardships I endure prove beneficial to my

soul, I am losing time and labour.' The Pope, who loved him, laid his

hands upon his shoulders and exclaimed: 'You are gaining both for soul

and body, have no fear!' Michelangelo's spirited self-defence

increased the Pope's love, and he ordered him to repair next day with

Vasari to the Vigna Giulia, where they held long discourses upon art."

It is here that Vasari relates how Julius III. was in the habit of

seating Michelangelo by his side while they talked together.

Julius then maintained the cause of Michelangelo against the deputies.

It was during his pontificate that a piece of engineering work

committed to Buonarroti's charge by Paul III. fell into the hands of

Nanni di Baccio Bigio. The old bridge of Santa Maria had long shown

signs of giving way, and materials had been collected for rebuilding

it. Nanni's friends managed to transfer the execution of this work to

him from Michelangelo. The man laid bad foundations, and Buonarroti

riding over the new bridge one day with Vasari, cried out: "George,

the bridge is quivering beneath us; let us spur on, before it gives

way with us upon it." Eventually, the bridge did fall to pieces, at

the time of a great inundation. Its ruins have long been known as the

Ponte Rotto.

On the death of Julius III. in 1555, Cardinal Cervini was made Pope,

with the title of Marcellus II. This event revived the hopes of the

sect, who once more began to machinate against Michelangelo. The Duke

of Tuscany at this time was exceedingly anxious that he should take up

his final abode at Florence; and Buonarroti, feeling he had now no

strong support in Rome, seems to have entertained these proposals with

alacrity. The death of Marcellus after a few weeks, and the election

of Paul IV., who besought the great architect not to desert S.

Peter's, made him change his mind. Several letters written to Vasari

and the Grand Duke in this and the next two years show that his heart

was set on finishing S. Peter's, however much he wished to please his

friends and longed to end his days in peace at home. "I was set to

work upon S. Peter's against my will, and I have served now eight

years gratis, and with the utmost injury and discomfort to myself. Now

that the fabric has been pushed forward and there is money to spend,

and I am just upon the point of vaulting in the cupola, my departure

from Rome would be the ruin of the edifice, and for me a great

disgrace throughout all Christendom, and to my soul a grievous sin.

Pray ask his lordship to give me leave of absence till S. Peter's has

reached a point at which it cannot be altered in its main features.

Should I leave Rome earlier, I should be the cause of a great ruin, a

great disgrace, and a great sin." To the Duke he writes in 1557 that

his special reasons for not wishing to abandon S. Peter's were, first,

that the work would fall into the hands of thieves and rogues;

secondly, that it might probably be suspended altogether; thirdly,

that he owned property in Rome to the amount of several thousand

crowns, which, if he left without permission, would be lost; fourthly,

that he was suffering from several ailments. He also observed that the

work had just reached its most critical stage (i.e., the erection of

the cupola), and that to desert it at the present moment would be a

great disgrace.

The vaulting of the cupola had now indeed become the main

preoccupation of Michelangelo's life. Early in 1557 a serious illness

threatened his health, and several friends, including the Cardinal of

Carpi, Donato Giannotti, Tommaso Cavalieri, Francesco Bandini, and

Lottino, persuaded him that he ought to construct a large model, so

that the execution of this most important feature of the edifice might

not be impeded in the event of his death. It appears certain that up

to this date no models of his on anything like a large intelligible

scale had been provided for S. Peter's; and the only extant model

attributable to Michelangelo's own period is that of the cupola. This

may help to account for the fact that, while the cupola was finished

much as he intended, the rest of his scheme suffered a thorough and

injurious remodelling.

He wrote to his nephew Lionardo on the 13th of February 1557 about the

impossibility of meeting the Grand Duke's wishes and leaving Rome. "I

told his Lordship that I was obliged to attend to S. Peter's until I

could leave the work there at such a point that my plans would not be

subsequently altered. This point has not been reached; and in

addition, I am now obliged to construct a large wooden model for the

cupola and lantern, in order that I may secure its being finished as

it was meant to be. The whole of Rome, and especially the Cardinal of

Carpi, puts great pressure on me to do this. Accordingly, I reckon

that I shall have to remain here not less than a year; and so much

time I beg the Duke to allow me for the love of Christ and S. Peter,

so that I may not come home to Florence with a pricking conscience,

but a mind easy about Rome." The model took about a year to make. It

was executed by a French master named Jean.

All this while Michelangelo's enemies, headed by Nanni di Baccio

Bigio, continued to calumniate and backbite. In the end they poisoned

the mind of his old friend the Cardinal of Carpi. We gather this from

a haughty letter written on the 13th of February 1560: "Messer

Francesco Bandini informed me yesterday that your most illustrious and

reverend lordship told him that the building of S. Peter's could not

possibly go on worse than it is doing. This has grieved me deeply,

partly because you have not been informed of the truth, and also

because I, as my duty is, desire more than all men living that it

should proceed well. Unless I am much deceived, I think I can assure

you that it could not possibly go on better than it now is doing. It

may, however, happen that my own interests and old age expose me to

self-deception, and consequently expose the fabric of S. Peter's to

harm or injury against my will. I therefore intend to ask permission

on the first occasion from his Holiness to resign my office. Or

rather, to save time, I wish to request your most illustrious and

reverend lordship by these present to relieve me of the annoyance to

which I have been subject seventeen years, at the orders of the Popes,

working without remuneration. It is easy enough to see what has been

accomplished by my industry during this period. I conclude by

repeating my request that you will accept my resignation. You could

not confer on me a more distinguished favour."

Giovanni Angelo Medici, of an obscure Milanese family, had succeeded

to Paul IV. in 1559. Pius IV. felt a true admiration for Michelangelo.

He confirmed the aged artist in his office by a brief which granted

him the fullest authority in life, and strictly forbade any departure

from his designs for S. Peter's after death. Notwithstanding this

powerful support, Nanni di Baccio Bigio kept trying to eject him from

his post. He wrote to the Grand Duke in 1562, arguing that Buonarroti

was in his dotage, and begging Cosimo to use his influence to obtain

the place for himself. In reply the Grand Duke told Nanni that he

could not think of doing such a thing during Michelangelo's lifetime,

but that after his death he would render what aid was in his power. An

incident happened in 1563 which enabled Nanni to give his enemy some

real annoyance. Michelangelo was now so old that he felt obliged to

leave the personal superintendence of the operations at S. Peter's to

a clerk of the works. The man employed at this time was a certain

Cesare da Castel Durante, who was murdered in August under the

following circumstances, communicated by Tiberio Calcagni to Lionardo

Buonarroti on the 14th of that month: "I have only further to speak

about the death of Cesare, clerk of the works, who was found by the

cook of the Bishop of Forli with his wife. The man gave Cesare

thirteen stabs with his poignard, and four to his wife. The old man

(i.e., Michelangelo) is in much distress, seeing that he wished to

give the post to that Pier Luigi, and has been unable to do so owing

to the refusal of the deputies." This Pier Luigi, surnamed Gaeta, had

been working since November 1561 as subordinate to Cesare; and we have

a letter from Michelangelo to the deputies recommending him very

warmly in that capacity. He was also the house-servant and personal

attendant of the old master, running errands for him and transacting

ordinary business, like Pietro Urbano and Stefano in former years. The

deputies would not consent to nominate Pier Luigi as clerk of the

works. They judged him to be too young, and were, moreover, persuaded

that Michelangelo's men injured the work at S. Peter's. Accordingly

they appointed Nanni di Baccio Bigio, and sent in a report, inspired

by him, which severely blamed Buonarroti. Pius IV., after the receipt

of this report, had an interview with Michelangelo, which ended in his

sending his own relative, Gabrio Serbelloni, to inspect the works at

S. Peter's. It was decided that Nanni had been calumniating the great

old man. Accordingly he was dismissed with indignity. Immediately

after the death of Michelangelo, however, Nanni renewed his

applications to the Grand Duke. He claimed nothing less than the post

of architect-in-chief. His petition was sent to Florence under cover

of a despatch from the Duke's envoy, Averardo Serristori. The

ambassador related the events of Michelangelo's death, and supported

Nanni as "a worthy man, your vassal and true servant."

IX

Down to the last days of his life, Michelangelo was thus worried with

the jealousies excited by his superintendence of the building at S.

Peter's; and when he passed to the majority, he had not secured his

heart's desire, to wit, that the fabric should be forced to retain the

form he had designed for it. This was his own fault. Popes might issue

briefs to the effect that his plans should be followed; but when it

was discovered that, during his lifetime, he kept the builders in

ignorance of his intentions, and that he left no working models fit

for use, except in the case of the cupola, a free course was opened

for every kind of innovation. So it came to pass that subsequent

architects changed the essential features of his design by adding what

might be called a nave, or, in other words, by substituting the Latin

for the Greek cross in the ground-plan. He intended to front the mass

of the edifice with a majestic colonnade, giving externally to one

limb of the Greek cross a rectangular salience corresponding to its

three semicircular apses. From this decastyle colonnade projected a

tetrastyle portico, which introduced the people ascending from a

flight of steps to a gigantic portal. The portal opened on the church,

and all the glory of the dome was visible when they approached the

sanctuary. Externally, according to his conception, the cupola

dominated and crowned the edifice when viewed from a moderate or a

greater distance. The cupola was the integral and vital feature of the

structure. By producing one limb of the cross into a nave, destroying

the colonnade and portico, and erecting a huge façade of _barocco_

design, his followers threw the interior effect of the cupola into a

subordinate position, and externally crushed it out of view, except at

a great distance. In like manner they dealt with every particular of

his plan. As an old writer has remarked: "The cross which Michelangelo

made Greek is now Latin; and if it be thus with the essential form,

judge ye of the details!" It was not exactly their fault, but rather

that of the master, who chose to work by drawings and small clay

models, from which no accurate conception of his thought could be

derived by lesser craftsmen.

We cannot, therefore, regard S. Peter's in its present state as the

creation of Buonarroti's genius. As a building, it is open to

criticism at every point. In spite of its richness and overwhelming

size, no architect of merit gives it approbation. It is vast without

being really great, magnificent without touching the heart, proudly

but not harmoniously ordered. The one redeeming feature in the

structure is the cupola; and that is the one thing which Michelangelo

bequeathed to the intelligence of his successors. The curve which it

describes finds no phrase of language to express its grace. It is

neither ellipse nor parabola nor section of the circle, but an

inspiration of creative fancy. It outsoars in vital force, in elegance

of form, the dome of the Pantheon and the dome of Brunelleschi, upon

which it was actually modelled. As a French architect, adverse to

Michelangelo, has remarked: "This portion is simple, noble, grand. It

is an unparalleled idea, and the author of this marvellous cupola had

the right to be proud of the thought which controlled his pencil when

he traced it." An English critic, no less adverse to the Italian

style, is forced to admit that architecture "has seldom produced a

more magnificent object" than the cupola, "if its bad connection with

the building is overlooked." He also adds that, internally, "the

sublime concave" of this immense dome is the one redeeming feature of

S. Peter's.

Michelangelo's reputation, not only as an imaginative builder, but

also as a practical engineer in architecture, depends in a very large

measure upon the cupola of S. Peter's. It is, therefore, of great

importance to ascertain exactly how far the dome in its present form

belongs to his conception. Fortunately for his reputation, we still

possess the wooden model constructed under his inspection by a man

called Giovanni Franzese. It shows that subsequent architects,

especially Giacomo della Porta, upon whom the task fell of raising the

vaults and lantern from the point where Michelangelo left the

building, that is, from the summit of the drum, departed in no

essential particular from his design. Della Porta omitted one feature,

however, of Michelangelo's plan, which would have added greatly to the

dignity and elegance of the exterior. The model shows that the

entablature of the drum broke into projections above each of the

buttresses. Upon these projections or consoles Buonarroti intended to

place statues of saints. He also connected their pedestals with the

spring of the vault by a series of inverted curves sweeping upwards

along the height of the shallow attic. The omission of these details

not only weakened the support given to the arches of the dome, but it

also lent a stilted effect to the cupola by abruptly separating the

perpendicular lines of the drum and attic from the segment of the

vaulting. This is an error which could even now be repaired, if any

enterprising Pope undertook to complete the plan of the model. It may,

indeed, be questioned whether the omission was not due to the

difficulty of getting so many colossal statues adequately finished at

a period when the fabric still remained imperfect in more essential

parts.

Vasari, who lived in close intimacy with Michelangelo, and undoubtedly

was familiar with the model, gives a confused but very minute

description of the building. It is clear from this that the dome was

designed with two shells, both of which were to be made of carefully

selected bricks, the space between them being applied to the purpose

of an interior staircase. The dormer windows in the outer sheath not

only broke the surface of the vault, but also served to light this

passage to the lantern. Vasari's description squares with the model,

now preserved in a chamber of the Vatican basilica, and also with the

present fabric.

It would not have been necessary to dwell at greater length upon the

vaulting here but for difficulties which still surround the criticism

of this salient feature of S. Peter's. Gotti published two plans of

the cupola, which were made for him, he says, from accurate

measurements of the model taken by Cavaliere Cesare Castelli,

Lieut.-Col. of Engineers. The section drawing shows three shells

instead of two, the innermost or lowest being flattened out like the

vault of the Pantheon. Professor Josef Durm, in his essay upon the

Domes of Florence and S. Peter's, gives a minute description of the

model for the latter, and prints a carefully executed copperplate

engraving of its section. It is clear from this work that at some time

or other a third semi-spherical vault, corresponding to that of the

Pantheon, had been contemplated. This would have been structurally of

no value, and would have masked the two upper shells, which at present

crown the edifice. The model shows that the dome itself was from the

first intended to be composed of two solid vaults of masonry, in the

space between which ran the staircase leading to the lantern. The

lower and flatter shell, which appears also in the model, had no

connection with the substantial portions of the edifice. It was an

addition, perhaps an afterthought, designed possibly to serve as a

ground for surface-decoration, or to provide an alternative scheme for

the completion of the dome. Had Michelangelo really planned this

innermost sheath, we could not credit him with the soaring sweep

upwards of the mighty dome, its height and lightness, luminosity and

space. The roof that met the eye internally would have been

considerably lower and tamer, superfluous in the construction of the

church, and bearing no right relation to the external curves of the

vaulting. There would, moreover, have been a long dark funnel leading

to the lantern. Heath Wilson would then have been justified in certain

critical conclusions which may here be stated in his own words.

"According to Michelangelo's idea, the cupola was formed of three

vaults over each other. Apparently the inner one was intended to

repeat the curves of the Pantheon, whilst the outer one was destined

to give height and majesty to the building externally. The central

vault, more pyramidal in form, was constructed to bear the weight of

the lantern, and approached in form the dome of the Cathedral at

Florence by Brunelleschi. Judging by the model, he meant the outer

dome to be of wood, thus anticipating the construction of Sir

Christopher Wren." Farther on, he adds that the architects who carried

out the work "omitted entirely the inner lower vault, evidently to

give height internally, and made the external cupola of brick as well

as the internal; and, to prevent it expanding, had recourse to

encircling chains of iron, which bind it at the weakest parts of the

curve." These chains, it may be mentioned parenthetically, were

strengthened by Poleni, after the lapse of some years, when the second

of the two shells showed some signs of cracking.

From Dr. Durm's minute description of the cupola, there seems to be no

doubt about the existence of this third vault in Michelangelo's wooden

model. He says that the two outer shells are carved out of one piece

of wood, while the third or innermost is made of another piece, which

has been inserted. The sunk or hollow compartments, which form the

laquear of this depressed vault, differ considerably in shape and

arrangement from those which were adopted when it was finally

rejected. The question now remains, whether the semi-spherical shell

was abandoned during Michelangelo's lifetime and with his approval.

There is good reason to believe that this may have been the case:

first, because the tambour, which he executed, differs from the model

in the arching of its windows; secondly, because Fontana and other

early writers on the cupola insist strongly on the fact that

Michelangelo's own plans were strictly followed, although they never

allude to the third or innermost vault. It is almost incredible that

if Della Porta departed in so vital a point from Michelangelo's

design, no notice should have been taken of the fact. On the other

hand, the tradition that Della Porta improved the curve of the cupola

by making the spring upward from the attic more abrupt, is due

probably to the discrepancy between the internal aspects of the model

and the dome itself. The actual truth is that the cupola in its curve

and its dimensions corresponds accurately to the proportions of the

double outer vaulting of the model.

Taking, then, Vasari's statement in conjunction with the silence of

Fontana, Poleni, and other early writers, and duly observing the care

with which the proportions of the dome have been preserved, I think we

may safely conclude that Michelangelo himself abandoned the third or

semi-spherical vault, and that the cupola, as it exists, ought to be

ascribed entirely to his conception. It is, in fact, the only portion

of the basilica which remains as he designed it.